#so i had to just like. force it down so i could sit there in silence for 15 minutes while everyone else talked to each other.

[casedeviant]

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𓋰 ╭ 18+ ╮ top male reader & bottom transmasc satoru gojo ⓘ solo masturbation . phone sex . sex toys . squirting . multiple orgasms . voice kink . daddy kink . talking him through it but you're at work . twt link . 1.7k wc

i did not plan for this to be so long lol but horny 3am thoughts i guess. not proof-read. love the thought of gojo being super giggly and a little airy when he's horny. grown ass man btw. anyways, inspired by this suggestive video i saw on twt. enjoy.

what are you going to do when your boyfriend satoru randomly sends you a video of him grinding his clit up and into your bedsheets, just half an hour after you left the apartment to go to work?

you're in the office, impossibly hard now, wracking over all the ways you could make use of his holes instead of all the ways you should be writing paperwork instead; it didn't help either, that all of this is left up to your imagination at eight o'clock in the morning.

the video wasn't even that explicit to begin with. but he always knew how to be a sleazy little thing at the most inappropriate of times, getting under your skin at any chance he thought was amusing and necessary.

before you proceed to play the short and scandalous video, you slip in your airpods from their case that was sheltering against the pockets of your slacks, turning the volume down to a moderate level.

it's not like it mattered when you had both earbuds in, but with how easily they can block out the noises around you, you felt like you needed to experience this way before you lost your mind completely.

after you hover over the play button, your thumb comes down on the illuminated screen, sizing the video into full screen that has you tilting it horizontally.

your cock instantly responds at the sight behind your pants, forcing you to hunch over yourself against your office desk. one of your hands come up to your chin in riveted focus, as the other holds the end of your phone, lightly letting it sit against the mahogany wood.

"daddy- i miss you... i woke up from a wet dream where you were violating my sweet, little body. i can't stop thinkin' about you and your big, stupid, fat cock."

your brows crinkle and you let out a sigh, running a palm down your face, ever so slowly, at that nickname. it was no use trying to rub away the frustration as clear as day on your countenance, when the only frustration was actually sitting in your pants and not displayed on your face instead.

satoru was tickling your patience.

"f-feels... good... ngh" your eyes carefully watch him guide his lower half up and into the crinkled duvet. one of his hands rested on the outside, as his hips bucked up, adding pressing. the line of muscles that sat against his lower stomach and navel flattened and then bulked as he continued the rocking motion, slips and stutters ensuing.

i know, my sweet boy, would be what you'd say to him if you were there with him in that moment, but instead, you reply with a "come in", as your secretary interrupts your riveting watch time with a hefty knock on the door.

"but it's never as good as what your warm cock feels like inside of me."

a cough suddenly escapes your lips, and she looks over at you with a raised eyebrow. you then deadpan at her, adjusting your tie.

"what is it?"

"we have a meeting in five?"

shit, you forgot about that.

"fine, whatever. i'll be out there in a second. so give me a bit of time to prepare these papers."

she pushes up the spectacles on the bridge of her nose suspiciously as you placed your phone screen down against the table, the light catching against her glass frames. she nods at you with a sigh, the stern look on her face prior, washing away. she bows politely before excusing herself from the room.

as she closes the door behind her, you immediately turn your phone over to look at the video again.

and that's when you thought it couldn't get any better than it sounded listening to your boyfriends moans over important business meetings.

the duvet has migrated further down his thighs now, just resting above his knees. and you watch him furiously rub away at his clit with two fingers in a circular pattern.

"fuck, satoru..." you breathe out from underneath your breath as he continues to pleasure himself in the video.

"ah! ah! right there~ oh my god, [name]! s' good! ahh....ahhh...p-please" the whine at the end of his string of pleasurable moans caught you off guard with how vulnerable they sounded.

how long ago was this video sent? fuck it, i'm calling him.

when you exit out the video before it finishes, you click on the phone icon that dials up his number.

"hmm, baby? what are you doing calling me up this early in the morning?"

cheeky bastard.

"strip."

there's a moment of silence, and you know exactly what type of facial expression the man is making – that stupid little smile, index nail caught between his front teeth. looking real innocent for someone who's fucking guilty of turning you on so early in the morning.

"'nd how do you know i'm not already naked?"

"'satoru. do as you're told."

"ah......"

"you don't want to disappoint daddy just before an important meeting, do you?"

"..."

you hear him begin to take his clothes off behind the phone, ruffling noises filling your ears.

"there, are you happy now?"

"not quite. put the phone down, onto the vanity for me."

with how much his voice echoed from before, you knew he was in the ensuite bathroom. probably preparing to shower after just getting himself off. stupid mutt.

"okayyyyy... 'nd then what?" he asks in a spunky voice. a devious smirk graces your lips.

"then, i want you to put the glass holder for our toothbrushes, over the speaker."

at this point, satoru isn't quite sure what you are up to. but after more moving noises, he replies back to you.

"i did it... is this really mea-"

"now, i want you to go into the bottom drawer, where you will find something very, very special."

after you interrupt him, he bends over to inspect it. as surmised, inside, there was a pink vibrating dildo you bought just for him.

"i-"

his voice shakes, not from embarrassment, but out of pure joy that you bought him something "so cute!".

"good boy, 'toru."

satoru swallows thickly, anticipating your next instructions carefully, now understanding what you wanted him to do.

"are you still wet from earlier?"

"mhm"

"use your words, boy."

"y-yes... i'm still- wet, daddy."

"good. i want you to attach that dildo to the side of the sink for me, just below your phone. i need to hear how properly soaked you are."

you hear the suction cup underneath the dildo seize the side of the vanity, giving your go-to to speak.

satoru is already slightly bent over, rubbing his folds over the toy. you can hear it as clear as day, the slippery sounds reverberating in your skull.

as you stand to proceed to leave, you slip your phone in your pocket, deciding to go with one earbud so it wasn't as noticeabley suspicious. you left the odd one on your desk as you left your office, heading towards the meeting room.

"d-daddy? are you there?"

"just a second, my love."

you step into the vacant elevator that took you to the floor with the meeting room.

"are you still there, my love?"

"mhmm... how do i- turn it on? i need this thing inside of me, right now!"

you chuckle before pressing the earbud into your ear to hear him better.

"on the side. but do it carefully, i want to hear you take it slowly, imagining its me fucking you instead."

satoru whines at that notion, already picturing the angle your cock naturally tilted at. he then pressed the pink, now vibrating, silicone head against his dripping entrance, knees buckling when it pushes in.

the squelch sound could be heard crystal clearly amongst his whines, and it makes you wonder how the hell you're going to hide the half-boner in your pants.

as the elevator dings, informing you that you arrived at the correct floor, you step outside.

"i don't want to hear you stop or take a break at all during my meeting, got it, my dear?"

satoru nods his head furiously, as if you could see him... "yes, daddy. i under- ah! stand..."

the silver-haired man pushes his hips back, sheathing the entire dildo into his hole. his back arches, finding the sensitive bundle of nerves between his legs as his knees bend together, holding him upright.

"welcome, [name]"

satoru hears on the other end of the phone, and he knew the meeting was about to begin. you nod nonchalantly, moving into the room with the rest of them.

"f-fuckkk. ah! oh god." satoru snivels, reaching his first climax as more drool exudes from his weeping cunt and onto the cold tiles below him. he fucks himself through it, his ass repeatedly slapping against the vanity's side. the echoes sends a shiver down your spine.

you inhale sharply, running a hand through your hair as you take a seat next to your secretary.

"the meeting has begun."

you nod when the gentleman the opposite side of you, announces.

"d-daddy. i need you so bad. FUCK! it feels like 'm gonna cum... again. holy shit- this thing slaps."

you roll your eyes at the way he breaks tone, thinking that you were directing it at the fellow in front of you. the man glares at you, before continuing to speak again.

you were thankful that you didn't need to speak much this meeting.

as time passed, and it ended, you hear satoru squirt on the other end of the phone, the suction cup that was holding the dildo to the sink, slipping off.

you hear him collapse to the ground, slapping his own pussy. heat instantly reaches your ears at that thought; slapping his cunt, that's a new dirty drink you'd like to try out for yourself.

i wonder what face he is making. you think to yourself.

"sir?" your secretary calls out to you, and you stand up from your seat, excusing yourself as the others packed up too. as the two of you make it back to your office in silence in the elevator, you quickly excuse her.

"'toru? baby, are you still with me?"

"..."

"satoru?"

"hehehehe"

"fucking hell..."

you let out a momentary sigh.

"you're going to regret sending me that video so early in the morning, when i get home from work today."

"oh yeah?"

you let out a hearty chuckle.

"you don't believe me?"

"i don't knowwww. maybe i don't." he lets out a small titter again, clearly fatigued from coming so much

"stop it. get a shower. your daddy will be home in..." you check your watch, sighing, realising, your day is just getting started.

"...soon."

[winterst4n]

Sit still!

Pairing: Nurse!Reader x Grumpy!Bucky Barnes

Warnings: Very, very light swearing. Just pure fluff!!

Word count: 1.3k

Summary: After stupidly jumping out of a craft on a mission, ending up with many broken ribs. Bucky is placed under your care unwillingly and he makes the week hell for you. But when the week ends he starts to regret everything.

A/N: This is pretty short and maybe i’ll come back to it another time and try something new but so far i like how this turned out. If you like this, i’d really appreciate it if you could share or leave comment!

“Will you just sit still?!” You grumble at Bucky for what feels like the millionth time today.

“Well stop poking me and maybe I will.” He practically hissed at you. You swear that when Fury assigned you to take care of him he was plotting your early death– or at least Bucky's death.

“If you sit still I'll give you a cookie…” you try to bribe, but of course this just earned you a very hard and angry glare from Bucky.

Due to Bucky’s recklessness on a recent mission, he is now under your care until he can breathe without whining and groaning about his ribs, which he broke several of. He thought the easiest and quickest way to land by a mission base was to jump out of the craft without a parachute– stupid!

You were the nice nurse. The nurse everyone on the team liked to be cared for the most when they had an injury, except a certain fossil. He was grumpy and rude to you for no reason, always making an effort to ruin your day with some stupid comment every time he saw you. But this week had been hell!

So here he was pouting and glaring at you in the plush armchair in your office that practically cowers under his large frame. “I need to check the progress of your ribs and I can't do that without touching you. So please…just sit still.” You sigh, your patience being stretched very, very thin.

Bucky notices your stress and annoyance with him and he does feel some sort of pity but he can’t shake this unfamiliar feeling you give him everytime he feels your hands on his body or your gaze on him. “...Fine.” He mumbles grudgingly.

You move your hands back into place against his chest, gently feeling where the broken ribs are located. Due to the serum, he had enhanced healing abilities but it never failed to amaze you how fast they fixed up his and Steve’s body.

“They’re healing just fine.” you say as you pull your hands away and move to sit by your desk. “I still don’t recommend doing any strenuous activities just yet but, you’ll live.”

Bucky just rolls his eyes like usual and keeps his unwavering scowl on his face– it annoys you and somehow hurts you to see just how unwilling he is to accept any help. That was the way HYDRA treated him though, you knew that. Hell, everyone knew that.

“James…” you start softly with a quiet sigh. “It’s just me and you in here…i need to know if you’re in pain so i can fix it.”

Silence– as expected.

He sighs and looks down at his boots, his feet shuffling slightly as he thinks about your words. Soft brown locks fall over his eyes and shields you from looking into his broken and guilty eyes. “I’m fine” a hoarse voice says so quietly.

Hesitating for a moment, you look over his body language and think about his tone. “Okay…” you respond simply, knowing not to push him.

Within the silence, Bucky stands up and storms out of your office– he almost let it all out. How did you have this effect on him? You were so easy and sweet, the complete opposite of him, he couldn’t let you in and see what HYDRA did to him. You weren’t allowed to see how everytime you checked his vitals, he felt like he was back in HYDRA’s claws, back to being prepped to be shocked again. No, he had to keep you away from that.

The week passes and ends, you were no longer assigned to take care of Bucky anymore and he’s back to missions and training– avoiding you. Part of you is happy that he’s not around you everyday by force, no longer having to endure his glares and rudeness but another part of you felt shitty.

That week felt like showing Bucky for the first time that it was okay to be cared for, to be looked after with no ulterior motive except for the benefit of his health. You wish he had that reminder everyday instead of throwing himself into missions, being reckless with himself because he didn’t think his body was worth protecting. This feeling was stronger than the happiness over his departure from your care– a lot stronger.

It seems you weren’t the only one thinking about that week. After some reflecting and thinking (a.k.a, talking to Steve), he realised why he felt so strongly when you touched him and why he wanted to open up to you. Yes, he was angry at the reason why at first. Angry at himself for being so foolish and falling for the team nurse, “She’s supposed to be caring!” he repeated like a mantra. Angry at himself for feeling like it was okay to let you in, to want you to care about him, to know why he struggled.

But Steve explained to him that you weren’t as weak or as fragile as he kept insisting you were– scolding him slightly for the way he dismissed you. Bucky realised that he should probably explain some things to you– or at least apologise, you were only doing your job and he took it out on you.

That night he wrote a letter to you, the words were genuine and words he knew he would mess up if he tried to say them to his face–

“Hey, I'm sorry. I know that’s pretty generic but it’s the truth. I’m still figuring this shit out so don’t take it too personally, it’s just really hard for me. I know you were only doing your job and I'm so sorry that I made it difficult. I wish I could take it back and just be open with you. I know you would’ve treated me the way i needed if i asked, you’re sweet like that. You’re good at your job and I'm pretty sure my ribs feel even better than they did before I jumped out of that plane. Anyways, i hope you’re free tomorrow night so maybe we can grab a drink, I’ll even buy you one of those fruity cocktails if you’re into that,

James Buchanan Barnes.”

Sealing the letter, and addressing it to you on the front, he walked through the compound and eventually found your office and slid the note under the door for you to find in the morning.

But on this night in particular, you decided to stay late to finish some work, maybe by luck or fate the note arrives while you’re already there. You read through the letter and smiled softly, touched that Bucky would let you in like this, you knew it was rare considering he really only spoke to Sam and Steve.

Pocketing the note, you quickly walk down the hall to head to Bucky’s room to give him an answer. Your feet carry you as quickly as they can without running, trying to catch up to Bucky as soon as possible.

You arrive at his door and knock three times in a very desperate motion before the door swings open. There he is. In his sleepy and shocked state. He’s surprised to see you here so soon but he’s slightly anxious for your response– he’s practically anticipating for you to throw the letter back at him and insult him.

To his surprise, you don’t. “I don’t need a fruity cocktail, I'd prefer a coffee…tomorrow morning, in my office?” you say softly as you bite your lip back gently in anticipation.

Bucky’s eyes seem locked in place on your face, his lips parted from surprise until they slowly break into the tiniest smile that lights up his face in your eyes, a smile that gives you a glimpse into the charming soldier before HYDRA.

“Coffee it is then, Doll” he says in a low tone before gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, wanting to fully see your face in all its beauty. Wanting to see the face of the person he was about to let into his life and hopefully never let go of.

[heeluvv]

𝐓𝐔𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ✶⋆.˚

pairing ☰ tutors! jayki x student! reader

genre ☰ smut

warnings ☰ fingering, pussy eating, masturbation, handjob, teasing, etc.

natty’s notes ☰ request, mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

honestly, you still didn’t understand why you were required to take a japanese class. it wasn’t that you hated the language—if anything, it was one of the ones you had actually been interested in learning. but the one thing that completely sucked the excitement out of it?

your infuriating professor.

she made the class insufferable, her teaching methods feeling more like a punishment than a learning experience. she wasn’t necessarily unfair, just cold, strict, and utterly indifferent to whether you sank or swam. and right now, she was making it very clear that you were sinking.

you stood by her desk, hands gripping the strap of your bag, shifting uncomfortably under her stern, emotionless gaze. her face was unreadable, lips pressed into a firm line, her sharp eyes boring into yours like she could already see your failure etched in stone.

“honestly, y/n, there’s not much I can do for you.”

her voice was flat, impassive, delivering the words with no sympathy, no concern, just a matter-of-fact finality that made your stomach tighten with frustration.

“you have until the end of this semester before I have to withdraw you from this class.”

she spoke as she gathered her belongings, meticulously organizing her papers before slipping them into her bag, completely unaffected by the way your chest tightened at her words.

you clenched your jaw, forcing yourself not to roll your eyes too hard.

if it weren’t for your parents breathing down your neck about your grades, you wouldn’t have even cared about being withdrawn. but they did care. and you wanted to prove them wrong—prove to them that you were capable, that you could actually excel in something.

but you were running out of time.

“um…” you cleared your throat, your voice coming out less confident than you wanted. “is there… any tutors that I could get the contact info for? or maybe extra materials? please—” you exhaled, swallowing your pride as you looked her straight in the eye. “i beg you, just… don’t withdraw me.”

your fingers tightened around the strap of your bag, anxiety settling heavily in your chest as you waited for her response, praying she would actually give you something to work with.

she let out a heavy sigh, the kind that made it painfully clear she wasn’t all that invested in your success—but at least she was giving you something. rummaging through her desk drawer, she pulled out a small stack of business cards, thumbing through them before finally selecting one. her fingers paused over the worn edges, as if she had done this countless times before, handing desperate students the same lifeline when they had nowhere else to turn.

she slid the card across the desk, and your eyes immediately locked onto the names printed at the top—nishimura riki & park jongseong.

underneath, their contact information was neatly listed, along with a small, minimalistic logo indicating they were official, independent tutors.

“these are the tutors I recommend you reach out to,” she stated, voice still as emotionless as ever. but then she paused, tilting her head slightly before adding, “though be aware that the school does not provide financial support for their lessons. you’ll have to pay them yourself.”

your fingers tightened around the card, already feeling your wallet crying in protest.

tutors weren’t cheap—especially ones that were highly recommended. but at this point, what choice did you have?

your grades in every other class were flawless, sitting comfortably between 96-90%, a perfect record marred only by this one class, this one miserable 45% that threatened to ruin everything. you couldn’t let that happen. you wouldn’t.

so, right then and there, you made your decision.

“thank you so much.”

your voice was firm, resolute, appreciative despite the sinking realization that you were about to go broke for the sake of passing this class. still, you bowed slightly—a gesture of gratitude you rarely extended, but this was a rare moment of kindness from a woman who never once showed it.

clutching the card tightly, you turned on your heel, already feeling your mind swirl with possibilities.

who were these tutors?

and more importantly—what had you just signed yourself up for?

it had been a week since your extra japanese lessons with riki and jongseong began, though he had quickly insisted you call him jay as the three of you grew more comfortable, less formal. but any sense of familiarity disappeared the moment your lessons started—because when it came to teaching, they were unyielding, demanding, and relentless.

“do it again, y/n.”

jay’s voice was calm but firm, his sharp gaze fixed on you as you struggled to pronounce the sentence correctly. his patience was there, but only barely.

“it isn’t right. you have to listen well, doll.”

that nickname—doll.

his voice wrapped around it like silk, low and effortless, the pet name rolling off his tongue with a casual intimacy that sent a sharp tingle down your spine.

you tried again, but your tongue fumbled, the syllables coming out clumsy, and before you could even process your own frustration, riki was already speaking.

“relax, kitty.”

kitty.

the name had snuck its way in subtly over the past few days—a slow, deliberate progression from innocent teasing to something far more intimate.

“what’s wrong? you seem more out of it today.”

his tone was lighter than jay’s, more teasing, but still expectant, waiting for an answer you weren’t sure how to give.

because how could you explain it?

how could you explain the way your body betrayed you every time they spoke to you like that?

the small gestures that were casual, but never accidental—the way riki’s fingers would linger a little too long when passing you a pen, fingertips brushing the inside of your wrist, tracing just enough to leave a trail of heat.

the way jay would lean in too close, his hand ghosting over your lower back, resting there for a second longer than necessary, warm and grounding.

and now?

now it was the sweet pet names, soft and intoxicating, slipping from their lips so effortlessly, completely unbothered by how wrecked they left you.

you didn’t mind it.

but your body?

your body made it far too obvious.

every time they called you something cute, every time their voices dipped just a little lower, your cheeks would heat up instantly, a burning flush creeping up your neck.

your thighs would press together without thinking, a shameful, automatic response you tried desperately to suppress.

but the worst part—the absolute worst part—was the way they had started whispering in your ear.

you didn’t know why your ears were so damn sensitive, but the moment their breath ghosted against your skin, the moment their lips came close enough to brush against the shell of your ear—

it was over.

your entire body would jolt, a sharp shiver running down your spine, goosebumps rising along your arms as you fought to keep yourself composed.

and when it became too much—when the air between you grew too thick, too charged, too unbearable—you would abruptly excuse yourself, mumbling something about needing the bathroom, heart pounding, body burning, needing even just a moment to breathe.

but deep down?

you knew they had already noticed.

and so they tested it.

you sat right next to jay on the couch, the warmth of his broad frame pressing against your side, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his skin. at first, you had been thrown off by the fact that their lessons were held at their apartment rather than a more formal setting, but you never questioned it. maybe you should have.

riki sat across from you, a notebook resting loosely on his lap, but his sharp gaze wasn’t focused on the pages. no, his attention was fixed entirely on you, his eyes raking over your figure, studying you like he was searching for something.

your stomach twisted slightly, an unfamiliar nervous energy settling in your chest.

because if you were being completely honest—these were the hottest tutors you’d ever had.

they carried themselves with an effortless confidence, an aura that was undeniably magnetic. the way they moved, the way they spoke, the way they played off each other so seamlessly—it was almost unfair how well they complemented one another.

riki was the playful one, always teasing, always smirking, always testing just how flustered he could make you before you snapped.

jay, on the other hand, was demanding, firm, relentless. he would make you repeat yourself over and over, pushing you until your pronunciation was flawless, sharp, precise.

and right now?

right now, both of them were watching you struggle.

your throat felt dry as you lowered your gaze back to your notes, your fingers gripping the edge of the paper tightly. you tried again, attempting to pronounce the phrase correctly, but the words came out shaky, uncertain, hesitant.

because this time—it was harder.

this time—jay was closer.

his sharp gaze bore into you, his presence looming, his breath warm against your cheek as his eyes flickered from the side of your face down to your notes.

and then—his hand.

you barely registered it at first, the way his palm came to rest on your lower back, fingers spreading slightly, his grip firm, grounding.

but the second you did, your body tensed instinctively, the heat of his touch burning through the thin fabric of your shirt.

he wasn’t moving.

he wasn’t pulling away.

he was just holding you there.

keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

“oh, you sound so fucking cute, doll.”

jay’s voice was dark, velvety, each word dripping with mockery, amusement, and something far more dangerous. his breath fanned against your skin, the heat of it sending a violent shiver straight down your spine.

“what’s wrong?”

his lips pressed against your ear, the warmth of them searing, sending your senses spiraling into overdrive.

“am i teasing you too much?”

his voice was barely above a whisper, yet it felt thunderous, making your breath catch in your throat, your pulse hammering beneath your skin.

“you can’t take it?”

a sudden, slow flick, the tip of it grazing the shell of your ear, warm and wet and deliberate, dragging along the sensitive curve before running smoothly down the length.

your body jerked, a sharp, strangled whimper tearing through your lips before you could even stop it.

it was loud, clear, undeniable.

jay chuckled, low and satisfied, his lips still pressed against your ear, savoring the way you had completely melted under his touch.

“you don’t think we notice, baby?”

your breath hitched violently, the teasing lilt in his voice sending heat pooling between your thighs.

“the way you rub your thighs together when you think we’re not looking?”

your eyes squeezed shut, embarrassment flooding you, but it didn’t matter—because they had already seen everything.

“the way your skirt always rides up when you sit on this couch—”

jay’s fingers ghosted over your bare thigh, tracing light, lazy patterns, just enough to make you squirm.

”—only to get up and leave a wet patch behind?”

your entire body flushed hot, a wave of humiliation and arousal crashing over you all at once.

riki, who had been watching in silence, let out a low chuckle, shifting slightly where he sat, his eyes glinting with something wicked.

“did you really think we wouldn’t notice, kitty?”

you swallowed hard.

they had been paying attention all along.

before you could even process the overwhelming heat of jay’s breath against your ear, another sensation sent a violent shudder through your body—a second pair of lips, warm and teasing, pressing against your other ear.

riki.

his breath was heavier, thick with something raw, unfiltered, a deep, gravelly hum of satisfaction slipping past his lips as he leaned in closer, closer, closer—until you could feel the low grunts vibrating against your skin.

your entire body tensed, every nerve alight with desperate need, your pussy clenching involuntarily at the sheer sound of them.

you could feel the evidence of your arousal, your slickness spreading, seeping onto your inner thighs, dampening the fabric of your panties, clinging to your heated skin.

“what do you think about that gets you so fucking wet, baby?”

riki’s voice was silky, slow, edged with amusement, his fingers gliding down from your jaw, tracing along your collarbone, ghosting over the exposed skin peeking through your slightly disheveled school shirt.

had it been this loose before?

or had they noticed the way you subconsciously tugged at it, the way you unknowingly tried to expose more skin, craving their touch before you even realized it yourself?

his fingers barely skimmed the surface, teasing over the delicate fabric as if testing how far he could go before you completely crumbled.

“you probably think about us fucking you so hard, baby, hm?”

jay’s voice came low, dark, unforgiving, each syllable dripping into your ears like poison.

“wanting our dicks so deep inside you?”

your breath hitched sharply, the vivid imagery in his words sending a sharp, nearly unbearable ache straight to your core.

“or do you think about the way we’d finger fuck you so well—”

jay’s fingers danced lower, trailing over your stomach, stopping just before they reached where you needed them most, his touch hovering, taunting, cruel.

”—feeling you clench around our fingers, so fucking desperate to cum all over them, hm?”

a broken, shaky breath escaped you, your thighs pressing even tighter together, but it was useless.

because they had already noticed everything.

you couldn’t take it anymore.

the aching heat between your thighs was unbearable, an insatiable fire burning deep in your core, demanding relief—demanding them. you tried—desperately, hopelessly—to create some kind of friction, rubbing your thighs together, squeezing them tight, but it was pathetic. useless.

it wasn’t enough.

it would never be enough.

“please…”

the word slipped from your lips in a soft, wrecked whimper, your voice barely above a breath, pleading, helpless, needy.

their hands were everywhere, slow and teasing, fingertips grazing over your exposed skin, tracing lazy patterns, skimming over your arms, your waist, the dip of your thighs—but never where you needed them.

you squirmed, writhed, arched into their touch, your body betraying you completely.

“please what, baby?”

riki’s voice was low, dark, dripping with amusement, his words vibrating through you, making the heat pulse even stronger, deeper, sharper.

his eyes raked over you, intense, unreadable, his gaze settling on the way your legs clenched together, your body fidgeting with desperation.

“what does the princess want?”

he knew.

he fucking knew.

and still—he wanted to hear you say it.

your breath hitched, your lips parting, quivering, shame and desire twisting inside you, making your stomach tighten with longing.

“touch me, please…”

the words were barely audible, fragile, broken, as if even admitting it shattered whatever restraint you had left.

and the second they left your lips—jay and riki exchanged a glance.

a knowing glance. a dangerous glance.

jay was the first to break, his restraint snapping like a frayed thread, his movements slow but deliberate as he sank to his knees before you.

his hands glided down your thighs, fingers spreading over your skin, thumbs pressing just lightly enough to make you shiver. the warmth of his palms sent a shockwave through your body, leaving goosebumps in their wake as he gently but firmly parted your legs.

the moment you were fully exposed to him, he stilled.

his jaw clenched, his dark eyes locked onto the mess between your thighs, the way your slick had completely soaked through your panties, the way your inner thighs glistened under the dim light.

you were dripping, ruined, so fucking wet for them that the sight alone had his breath staggering, his self-control crumbling.

“holy fuck—”

his voice was low, strained, laced with something raw and primal.

his fingers hovered, barely grazing the damp fabric of your panties, the delicate material completely drenched, clinging to your folds like a second skin.

he let his fingers linger, running a slow, lazily teasing stroke along the seam, feeling how sticky, how completely soaked you were, his touch coming back slick and glistening.

his fingers pressed down just slightly, not enough to give you what you needed, but just enough to make your hips twitch, your breath hitch, your body ache for more.

“so fucking wet—fuck…”

his voice came out hoarse, almost dazed, as if he couldn’t quite believe how wrecked you already were for them.

he dragged his fingers up one more time, watching how easily they slid over your slick-covered panties, his gaze flickering up to meet yours, heavy-lidded, intense, completely locked in.

“all this for us, huh, baby?”

his smirk was pure sin, his fingers still teasing, still lingering, still refusing to give you what you were so clearly begging for.

jay’s fingers hooked into the waistband of your soaked panties, his movements agonizingly slow, dragging the flimsy fabric down your legs, letting them pool at your feet.

he made no move to remove your skirt, instead lifting it just enough before pushing himself underneath, as if the idea of you still being partially clothed only fueled his hunger more.

his breath was hot, teasing, suffocating as it ghosted over your exposed, dripping cunt, the warmth sending a violent shiver straight through your spine.

his tongue flicked out, licking broad, wet strokes over your folds, no hesitation, no build-up—just pure, unrelenting hunger.

“oh—fuck!”

a loud, broken moan was ripped from your throat, your body jerking violently, hands flying out in search of something—anything—to ground yourself.

but the only thing within reach was riki.

your fingers clamped down on his thighs, nails digging in, gripping hard, using him as leverage as waves of pleasure crashed through you.

“you like it, baby?”

riki’s voice was smooth, teasing, dripping with dark amusement as he watched your wrecked state.

“love the way jay is making you feel, huh?”

his hands fumbled with his belt, undoing it with one swift motion, his pants falling to his thighs as he pushed his boxers down next.

his cock sprang free, thick, heavy, flushed an angry red, the tip leaking with precum, twitching with every subtle movement.

before you could even register it, he was already grabbing your wrist, guiding your trembling hand towards him.

he wrapped your fingers around his length, the warmth of your palm making him groan lowly, deep from his chest.

“just like that, baby.”

his fingers covered yours, guiding your hand down his cock, then back up, slow, torturous strokes.

your touch was hesitant at first, but the moment you felt the throb of his veins, the sheer heat of him pulsing against your palm, thick and overwhelming—you squeezed slightly.

his breath hitched, sharp and ragged.

“uh—fuck.”

his head tilted back slightly, his jaw clenching as he let you pump him slowly, the pace still dictated by his hand over yours.

his head tilted slightly, his lips still pressed against the shell of your ear, his breath ragged, heavy, each exhale sending waves of heat coursing through your veins.

a deep, low groan rumbled from his chest, vibrating against you, his body tensing as the pleasure surged higher.

“fuck, baby…”

his voice was gritty, strained, filled with something dark and unfiltered, and the sound alone made your fingers tighten instinctively around his cock.

his movements against your hand grew rougher, needier, his hips jerking forward, pushing himself deeper into your grip, chasing more friction.

“what are your parents gonna say, hmm?”

his tone was mocking, teasing, utterly shameless, his lips grazing your heated skin, enjoying the way your body twitched, trembled, clung to every syllable that dripped from his tongue.

“being eaten out and fisting my dick in your hand like a good girl—”

his grip on your wrist tightened, his hips grinding forward, forcing you to stroke him faster, harder.

”—just for your tutors, huh, baby?”

his words sent a violent shudder ripping through your body, your entire form tensing, burning, aching, the filth of his voice intertwining with the relentless, sinful pleasure that jay was unleashing on you.

loud, helpless cries tore from your throat, your body completely at their mercy, caught between the wrecking force of their touch.

jay’s tongue was devastating, licking, flicking, sucking your clit mercilessly, his lips sealing around the sensitive bud, his tongue moving in tight, endless figure-eights against your cunt.

nonstop. precise. cruel.

“so fucking sweet, baby—fuck…”

jay groaned against you, his voice muffled against your folds, his grip tightening around your thighs, keeping you right where he wanted you.

riki’s cock throbbed against your palm, thick and heavy, his body shuddering under your touch, the sight of you falling apart beneath them only making him ten times harder.

“jay!”

your cry tore through the room, loud, desperate, completely wrecked as he slammed three fingers into you at once, the sudden stretch making your entire body jolt against the couch.

your walls fluttered, struggling to adjust to the sudden intrusion, but jay gave you no time to recover.

his fingers moved instantly, expertly, setting a steady, merciless rhythm, curling just right, pressing against that deep, devastating spot inside you.

your thighs trembled violently, muscles clenching as his tongue and mouth never once faltered, sucking, licking, flicking over your swollen clit, his mouth working in perfect sync with his fingers.

your hips jerked up, completely out of your control, grinding against his face, chasing more, needing more, your body fighting to keep up with the overwhelming pleasure.

but the pleasure didn’t just stop there.

your hand tightened around riki’s cock, your strokes growing faster, rougher, every motion slick and effortless from the precum leaking down his length.

“oh fuuuck, doll—don’t stop.”

riki’s moan was loud, ragged, his chest heaving, his breath coming out in short, heavy huffs, his head tilting back against the couch, exposing the long curve of his throat.

his abs tensed, flexed, his fingers digging into your thigh as he thrust into your hand, his body rocking in sync with every stroke, completely unraveling under your touch.

the sounds in the room were obscene—jay’s muffled groans, the wet, messy sounds of his fingers pumping into you, curling, stretching, wrecking you.

riki’s low, breathless curses, the slick drag of your palm up and down his cock, the way his hips jerked forward, his need for relief just as desperate as yours.

you were losing control.

and they were loving every second of it.

the coil in your stomach twisted, tightened, pulled impossibly taut, the sensation so intense it had your hips jerking back desperately, fucking yourself onto jay’s fingers, chasing your release.

a low chuckle vibrated from beneath your skirt, the sound dark, amused, completely in control.

“that’s it, doll.”

jay’s voice was muffled, drenched in satisfaction, his fingers curling deeper, faster, sharper, pressing against that spot with every precise thrust.

but riki—riki was falling apart just as fast.

his moans grew louder, more raw, his breath coming out in jagged, uneven gasps, his cock twitching violently against your grip.

“oh fuck—fuck, baby—”

his voice broke, deep and wrecked, his hips snapping forward, fucking into your palm, completely at the mercy of your touch.

“i’m gonna cum—fuck, i’m gonna cum—”

his head tilted back, exposing the long line of his glistening throat, his lips parted, eyes squeezed shut, his entire body shuddering violently.

his cock throbbed aggressively, the final jolt of pleasure hitting him hard, sending thick, hot ropes of cum spilling over your hand, painting your fingers, dripping down his stomach in messy streaks.

he groaned, low and breathless, his fingers digging into your thigh, his entire body tensing as the aftershocks tore through him.

the warm, sticky evidence of riki’s release covered your hand completely, thick ropes of cum coating your fingers, dripping down your palm, the sheer mess of it making your stomach twist with something filthy and overwhelming.

his cock twitched violently, still spilling out more, more, his breath ragged and uneven, body shuddering beneath your touch.

but it was the final pulse, the last desperate throb against your palm, that tipped you over the edge.

your orgasm hit like a lightning strike, a sharp, suffocating wave of pleasure that ripped through every nerve in your body, blinding, consuming, devastating.

“fuck—”

your thighs clamped down hard around jay’s head, trembling uncontrollably, your entire form jerking, writhing, completely at his mercy.

“fuck yeah, baby—just like that.”

jay’s voice was gravelly, thick, dripping with satisfaction, but he never stopped.

his mouth sealed tighter around you, his tongue working even faster, greedier, messier, as if he could drink you in completely, pull every last drop of pleasure from your body.

his groans vibrated against your core, the sound deep, guttural, completely wrecked, sending aftershocks pulsing through you, making your thighs shake even harder.

his hands gripped your hips, forcing you even closer, pressing you into his mouth, making sure you had nowhere to run from the overwhelming sensation.

“mmm, fuck—”

he was moaning against you, slurping, sucking, devouring, his tongue flicking fast, unrelenting, determined to lap up every single drop, to prolong your high until you were nothing but a shaking mess beneath him.

he was obsessed with the way you tasted, the way you trembled, the way you completely fell apart for them.

and even as your body shuddered, completely spent, completely wrecked—they still weren’t done.

natty’s notes ☰ 💗 anonnnn i hope you liked it !

[bm571158]

“You Can’t Rush Greatness.”

There was only fifteen minutes until the two of them were supposed to be walking down the red carpet at the F1 75 launch event. She’d been dressed for the last half an hour, wandering nervously around the hotel room and touching up her already flawless makeup, just to do something to occupy herself. She wasn’t sure why she was so nervous, it wasn’t like she was the one who had to get up on stage after all.

Lando on the other hand, was completely unphased by the whole thing, almost to the point of it being annoying. He’d been messing around online, playing some kind of virtual reality golf with Max and some other friends when she got in the shower. She’d come out of the shower half an hour later to find him still in exactly the same position. The only thing that had made him look away for a second was the sight of her dropping her towel to the floor and being momentarily naked while she reached into the wardrobe for a robe. Then he’d gone straight back to playing golf, leaving her to get ready.

By the time she had blow dried and curled her hair, sitting cross legged in front of the full length mirror to start applying her make up he’d finally paused his game for long enough to get in the shower. He’d stopped off to give her a kiss on the cheek on his way through to the bathroom, telling her that you looked pretty, and smudging your still unfinished makeup.

If he’d just started getting ready when he then got out of the shower the two of them would’ve been on time and there would’ve been no issues. But instead he’d laid on the bed, towel wrapped around his hips, complaining bitterly about how much he didn’t want to go although they both knew he hadn’t got a choice. It was the only reason that she had agreed to go with him in the first place, he’d argued that the whole thing might be a little bit less awful with her for company and she never had been able to say no to him.

The only thing was it was the first time in their fledgling relationship that the two of them had officially attended anything together. While Lando was incredibly relaxed about the whole thing, to the point that they were supposed to be leaving in under five minutes and he still hadn’t finished getting dressed, her stomach was churning with nerves.

“Come on, Lando.” She hurried him along. “We’re going to be late.”

“You can’t rush greatness.” He smirked, going back to trying to fasten his cuff links.

She just rolled your eyes at him, turning back to the mirror to straighten out her dress for the hundredth time. The quiet groan Lando let out had her turning back to face him though.

“What?” You asked.

“The bloody collar doesn’t do up!” He sighed, tugging at the collar of his shirt, the buttons a long way off meeting to prove his point.

“This is why you’re supposed to try things on more than two minutes before we walk out of the door.” She pointed out, walking over to him and grasping the collar of his shirt. It was a long way off meeting, there was no way it was going to button up even if she forced it, not without strangling him at least.

“You look really, really sexy tonight.” He smiled, eyes running appreciatively down her body as his hands fell to your waist.

“We definitely don’t have time for any of that. We’re already late.” She rolled your eyes at him. “And you’re going to have to ditch the tie as well. There’s no way we’re getting this done up.”

“At least all that neck training torture is doing something I guess.” Lando joked. “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” She nodded. “Shall we go?”

“One sec…” he dropped his hands from her waist, crouching down to put his shoes on. “Now we can go.” He plucked his coat off the hook by the wardrobe, handing hers to her.

It was a lot of drama and unnecessary work, to get into the specially painted McLaren so that he could drive round to the red carpet at the entrance. She pointed out on the way there that the two of them could’ve walked from the hotel of the entrance in less than half the time it took to get there in the car. Lando had agreed, muttering something about the whole thing being very unnecessary, but had been parking the McLaren up at the bottom of the red carpet before he could say much else.

He’d jumped out, with a friendly wave to the crowd, coming around to her side of the car to open the door. As soon as she was out his hand was firmly holding hers, giving it a firm squeeze of reassurance before the two of them set off up the red carpet. The flashes of the cameras were blinding, and she faltered a little bit, never having felt quite so out of her depth in the whole time that the two of them had been together.

“You okay?” Lando whispered, leaning in so his voice was low in her ear.

“Yeah, just don’t let go of me.” She told him, gripping his hand a little tighter even at the thought. The last thing she wanted was to be left aimlessly wandering around here on her own. She didn’t know anyone, or where they were supposed to be going.

“I won’t, I promise.” He reassured her.

He’d kept his word. The only time he’d let go of her hand was to wrap his arm around her instead, pulling her in a bit closer to him when she started to shiver from the cold on the hope of keeping her a little warmer. She had stood a little awkwardly beside him as he gave various interviews on the way in, but eventually they made it in to the venue and Lando pulled her chair out for her so that you could sit down at the McLaren table.

The venue was huge, packed with an excitable crowd. Lando was quick to take his coat off and drape it over her shoulders as she shivered, not expecting it to be quite as cold as it was inside. She shot him a grateful smile, and he returned it, his hand falling onto her thigh as he turned to speak to his team principal who was sitting beside him.

It was a strange evening, the jokes a bit cringey, the reveal of each car being over the top and seeming to go on for a little too long. McLaren having won the Constructors Championship in 2024 meant that they were the last team to reveal their car. Lando kissing the top of her head quickly and giving her an encouraging smile as he headed off to get ready with Oscar, Zak and Andrea as the evening began to draw to a close.

She smiled and cheered when he came out on the stage later on, dressed in his new race suit for the 2025 season. He somehow managed to find her in amongst the crowd, giving her a wave and a wink that had her blushing before he turned his attention back to the interview that he was supposed to be giving.

It took a while for him to find her again after he was done on the stage, but when he did he was back in his suit, curls ruffled from getting changed and with a big smile on his face.

“You ready to go?” He asked, holding out his hand.

“I am.” She agreed, taking his hand.

He called out a goodbye to the remaining members of the McLaren team that were hanging around at the table, the venue already rapidly emptying, and then quickly led her through the crowd.

He didn’t bother picking up the car to take them back to the hotel, the two of them completing the short walk back to the lobby in less time than it would’ve taken the valet to pull the car around.

“They’d better not be planning to do that every year.” Lando groaned, leaning against the wall in the elevator as they waited for it to take them up to their hotel room. “That was absolutely ridiculous.”

“I don’t know, I thought you looked pretty sexy up on that stage.” She smirked. “The suit… it really looks good on you.”

As she said it her hands reached for the collar of his shirt, the one that was never going to fit around his muscular neck, and as her fingertips grazed over his skin Lando shivered under her touch.

“Oh really?” He smirked, any earlier trace of tiredness rapidly fading as he grabbed her by the waist.

“Mmmm.” She agreed, fingers toying with the next button down, exposing a little more of his toned chest. “If you’re not too tired, maybe I’ll help you out of it… reward you for doing such a great job tonight.”

“Is that right?” He smiled, biting on his lip as he tightened his grip on her waist. Her hands slowly worked their way down the buttons of his shirt.

“It is.” She agreed, stepping out of her heels and dropping down a couple of inches lower in front of him.

He lifted his hands off her waist to allow her to pull his jacket and shirt down his arms in one smooth move, leaving him bare chested and stood in front of her, eyes watching her every move as he waited to see what she was going to do next. It was her show, and he felt a shiver of anticipation as he waited for her to do something.

She slowly trailed her fingertips from his collarbone, down the defined muscles of his chest, across his abs and to the waistband of his trousers. He sucked in a sharp breath as he fingers dipped just below the waistband, but before she got to where he wanted she pulled her hand away and turned her back to him.

“Unzip me?” She suggested, gathering her hair up and sweeping it to one side to make the zip easily accessible for him.

He reached eagerly for the zip, because she looked beautiful in the dress but he knew what was underneath it was going to be even better. The zip slid down smoothly, and after quickly shrugging her arms out of the sleeves the silk material slid down her body and pooled at her feet.

The sight of her nearly naked in front of him, a few scraps of black lace the only thing covering her, snapped Lando out of his trance. His hands were back on her almost instantly, pulling her back towards him so that her back was flush against his chest, hand sliding around to explore her soft and tanned skin. His teeth nipped lightly at the skin of her neck.

A quiet sigh of contentment slipped out of her lips as he found the particularly sensitive spot behind her ear that he knew drove her wild.

“Lando…” his name escaped her as a breathy sigh, his hands skimming down the soft skin of her stomach towards the waistband of her underwear. “Please…” she didn’t even know what she was asking for, just for him to do something more than the current maddeningly slow trail of his fingertips over her skin.

“Shhhh… patience.” He reminded her, hand still moving painfully slowly, his lips trailing slowly down her shoulder. One hand moved up to loop through the straps of her bra, dragging them slowly down her arms before he finally unclasped it and let it fall to the floor with her dress.

She shivered as the cold air of the hotel room hit her bare skin, a sharp contrast from the warmth of Lando’s skin behind her, pressed against her back.

She had no idea how long he kept her there, a hand firmly on her hip keeping her in place as his hands and lips slowly explored her skin. There was no hurry, absolutely no urgency to his movements, just a lazy exploration of the body that was starting to seriously test her patience.

He did eventually turn her around to she was facing him, lips capturing hers in a kiss that left her breathless. His hands grabbed the back of her thighs, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her back through the room towards the bed.

The bed was still strewn with clothes from where he’d got ready from the event and he quickly brushed them off before dropping her on to the bed, grinning at her as she bounced on the soft mattress, hair fanning out around her like a halo and laid there waiting for him. He made short work of getting out of his now painfully tight trousers, crawling back up the bed and leaving a trail of kisses up her body as he went.

“Lando… please..” she groaned, locking her legs around his waist in an attempt to pull him closer.

“You’re impatient tonight, huh?” He grinned, leaning in to meet her lips with a passionate kiss that left her breathless.

“Lando…” she ground her hips in to his now obvious erection that was straining at his boxer shorts. “Don’t tease me.”

She rolled her hips into his again, harder this time, and heard his breath catch in his throat. She took advantage of the fact that she had him momentarily distracted, using her grip around his waist to flip the two of them over so she was straddling him.

He looked a bit dazed and confused as to how they’d ended up in that position, but he didn’t fight her. He just lifted his hips allowing her to drag his boxers down his legs, and before he could say anything she’d rid herself of her own underwear, braced her hands against his chest and was sinking down on him.

He swore quietly under his breath as she took all of him, sinking down onto him agonisingly slowly. Once he bottomed out, filling her completely she made no attempt to move, just watching his facial expression, head tipped back on the pillow and his mouth slightly open as he tried to catch his breath and regain some control, the feeling of her around him almost being too much to handle.

“Come on, don’t tease me.” He whined, his hands finding her hips, trying to encourage her to move.

“What was it you said earlier?” She asked innocently. “You can’t rush greatness?” As she spoke she began to move, setting an agonisingly slow pace that had Lando seriously considering just flipping the two of them over and having his way with her.

“You’re going to make me regret that, aren’t you?” He groaned, the noise a mix of frustration and pleasure as her hips rolled in the slow rhythm that she had set.

“You’ll have to wait and see.” She winked.

[seosracha]

⸻ SOUVENIR (preview)

SYNOPSIS ⸻ getting into your dream school, far away from the place you are forced to call home, in a romantic place like Paris has always been your dream. Even more dreamy is your fathers best friend, Park Jonseong, who just so happens to be a well-off lawyer in the heart of France.

PAIRING ⸻ dads bestfriend!jay x fem!reader

GENRE ⸻ strangers to lovers, fluff, smut

TAGS ⸻ power imbalance, age gap (reader is 20, jay is 38), daddy issues, both don't have a mother, lawyer!jay :D, descriptions of France that might be incorrect (sorry), more tba.

WC ⸻ currently 5k, est 15-20k

PLAYLIST ⸻ souvenir by selena gomez, je me souviens de tout by tayc, 100 by dean blunt, sad girl by lana del rey

NOTE ⸻ all updates regarding this fic will be published under its tag. i want to make it worth the wait so it probably wont be published this month, or the next. But i PROMISEE ill try to get it out as soon as possible. ill leave u with this for now;)

It’s Sunday. And you're fucking stressed.

The week that led up to the beginning of the semester had been fun enough to make you second guess going to school all together. Seeing the picture perfect city with your own two eyes was a blessing you never expected to experience.

You’re on his couch, flipping through one of the aged books that could be found on his shelf.

French. Complicated. Too serious. But at least you could pretend you understand, or even care for the piece of literature.

Jay sits at the kitchen counter, typing away at his laptop. And honestly, he doesn't know why. Just five steps away is his office, perfectly designed to accommodate all his needs. Yet he chooses the hard, uncomfortable stool at the kitchen island.

“Jay-” you start, eyes still on the book that has caused you to become more bored than you were before opening it “What kind of lawyer are you? Like, what do actually do” your voice is casual, as you steal a glance at him.

He fixes his glasses but doesn't look away. “Corporate” it’s fast, and automatic, almost like he’s heard the question millions of times in his life. Probably because he has.

“Boring” you comment, expecting something more scandalous.

“Pays the bills. That’s enough” his voice is even.

You turn on your side, stretching out your legs. He watches. He watches you, comfortable in his space. Almost too comfortable.

“Sorry to disappoint” he adds, putting his focus back on the unanswered mails in his inbox. But he knows you’re right there, and it bothers him. Not in a bad way- and that feels oddly unsettling.

“Have you never considered something dirtier? Riskier?” you muse, tilting your head.

It was just curiosity. You weren't doing it on purpose.

Were you?

“Dirtier?” he mutters to himself, before glancing away one more time “I don’t take risks. It’s idiotic” the explanation is accompanied by his firm tone.

“Never?” his eyes gloss over the work he hasn't finished yet. He still closes his laptop though. Jay walks over to the couch, sitting down close to you, but not too close.

A hum of disagreement slips past his lips “Never” he leans back on the couch, exhaling deeply as he looks at the time.

“I think you like control too much” you know that you shouldn’t comment on his decisions or life, but it comes naturally as you can’t stop the words from coming out.

He chuckles, looking over at you, watching the way your body spreads out on the brown leather couch “And I think you talk too much”

Still, something inside him tenses. Jay knows you’re right, but at the same time, it pisses him off because- you have no idea.

You laugh softly, shaking your head as you set down the book on his coffee table. Jacques Prévert. Opened right on the poem he knows by heart.

‘Bête comme les regrets, tendre comme le souvenir’ - Foolish as regrets, tender as memory. Jay always liked the line. More than the poem itself, actually. When he first read it, he didn't quite understand. He still doesn't, not when he never experienced that fragile love, beautiful as day and cold as marble.

His father had given him the book right before he moved out. Jay never really comes back to it- written in French, by a French author, it still reeks of the life he desires to forget. The life that he hasn't lived for the past 20 years- yet it always comes back to him in the most unexpected moments.

“You’re just like all of my dads old friends, I swear” It's playful, harmless. But Jay stills at the jab, his gaze freezing on you.

“Old?” he raises an eyebrow, and there's a smirk that tugs at the corner of your lips.

“Older” you correct, too deliberately.

It’s almost like you're mocking him, testing his ignorance. It’s like you want to see if he’ll correct you. He doesn't.

He knows you're not the stubborn kid his friend used to complain about. But he also knows how much older he’s gotten since then. It seems to terrify Jay, the fact that it doesn't stop him, not at all.

Jay knows he’s the one who brought you here, and maybe he could blame it on the slip of his tongue, or perhaps the need to fulfil an obligation towards his friend, but that wouldn’t be necessarily true.

He sullied his life with his own hands, and he knew how much harder it was only going to get to not dirty yours too.

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 I BITE MY TONGUE, IT'S A BAD HABIT

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: dazai doesn't care about stupid holidays, but when he sees everyone but him being gifted chocolates from you, he starts to find himself severely bothered. it's the principle, he tells himself—nothing more, nothing less, just the principle.... right?

(wordcount: 6.9k; fem!reader, sfw, dazai is jealous and silly. unedited.)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: HAPPY LATE VALENTINE'S DAY, take pmreader and dazai being silly teens in love who refuse to tell each other how they feel in words. i had this posted on valentine's day but then turned into a big baby and deleted </3 i am still a big baby but i am a big baby who is going to leave the post up this time HAHAAH

Dazai doesn’t care about stupid holidays. 

In fact, Dazai can count the things he cares about on one hand—he cares about Odasaku and Ango because they’re his friends, he cares about crab because he likes eating crab and he can recite every known fun fact about them off the top of his head, he cares about the arcade a few streets over because his favorite video game is there and he beats Chuuya every time and it’s funny watching him get mad, and he cares about you because you’re also his friend and you gave him a room in your apartment even though he could have his own but is just stubborn about not wanting to be in Mori’s building.

So, he’s not sure why his feet are rooted to the ground in Mori’s office as he stares down at the small round box of chocolates sitting on top of his desk. There’s a note on top of it that’s partially blocked from his line of view, but he can very much see your signature at the bottom of it. 

You complain about Mori all the time, so it doesn’t take him long to put together that there must be a reason why you went out of your way to get him chocolates even though he knows you’ve been busy with some conflict happening in Russia. It’s not Mori’s birthday, and Dazai’s mind quickly tracks back to the stands of chocolate he saw set up on the same corner that the arcade is on.

Valentine’s Day, he realizes, eyes narrowing down on the chocolate.

“Such a dear she is. She dropped it off for me this morning,” Mori sighs when he realizes what Dazai is looking at. “Elise-chan hasn’t gotten me chocolates yet.”

“That’s because you don’t deserve chocolates, stupid Rintarou,” Elise’s familiar pitched voice comes from Dazai’s left—he hadn’t even noticed her sitting on the ground coloring because his gaze was pinned to the chocolate the moment he stepped into the room. Elise looks up at Dazai with a smile that’s just a bit too sweet, “Aw, she didn’t get you any? That’s too bad, Dazai-kun.”

Dazai’s jaw twitches at the snide comment, and he looks away from Elise back to Mori, who looks oddly intrigued by Dazai’s reaction, which is enough to let him know that he’s over-reacting, so he’s quick to smooth out his expression, even if the irritation in his chest continues to swell. He doesn’t even know why he’s so bothered—he doesn’t care about stupid holidays, and he doesn’t care about chocolate. It’s really not a big deal, but he can’t seem to snuff out the growing annoyance.

“I’m sure she’ll give you one later, Dazai-kun,” Mori says with a placating smile that almost sends Dazai over the edge. “No need to fret.”

“I’m not-” he starts to say, but is cut off quickly by Elise.

“Or, maybe she just doesn’t like him enough to give him any,” Elise says with gleeful giggle. “How did she word it again? Oh, yeah, you forced your way into her life, didn’t you?”

Dazai doesn’t take anything anyone says to him or about him to heart, but he especially knows not to take anything Elise says to heart, considering the girl’s ardent distaste for him. He’s never been sure why she hates him so much, but he figures that it’s because he can make her disappear with his ability, and he’s half-tempted to grab her arm and do just that, but he knows it’ll only make Mori even more interested in why he’s so emotional over this. That’s the last thing he wants considering he doesn’t even know why he’s getting so worked up about it.

But what did Elise even mean? Why would you tell them that he forced his way into your life? If anything, you’re the one who forced yourself into his life when you showed up at his shipping compartment during that winter storm a few months ago. He just… capitalized on it, that’s all. You would’ve kicked him out if you didn't want him hanging around, but you didn’t. And Elise is known for twisting the truth, but then… Why didn’t you give him chocolates? That’s the whole point of the holiday, right? To show appreciation for the people in your life?

It’s not the holiday that’s bothering him, it’s the principle. 

Dazai is suddenly ten times more antsy than he was when he first noticed the chocolates. There must be a logical explanation for this—maybe you really are giving him them later, or maybe you’re only giving them to Mori because you have to. Snidely, he notes that the chocolates you gave him looked like they could be bought at a convenience store, so it’s not like you put much effort into it. 

“Elise-chan,” Mori chides, although he still sounds terribly amused, violet eyes glittering as he scrutinizes Dazai. “Don’t say such cruel things. I taught our hime to have good manners, Dazai-kun will get chocolates from her, even if they’re just obligatory.”

Obligatory, Dazai has to force himself not to physically blanch at the word. He thinks he would almost prefer not to get chocolates from you. How are you just going to give obligatory chocolates to someone you live with? You guys are friends, aren’t you? He doesn’t know much at all about Valentine’s Day, but he does know that there’s different types of chocolate depending on your relationship with the person, and he thinks he’ll jump off the roof if you give Chuuya nicer chocolates than him.

Chuuya.

“I have to go,” Dazai says abruptly, turning to leave.

“Goodbye, Dazai-kun,” Mori sings, much to Dazai’s surprise. He was half-expecting Mori to tell him to sit back down so they could go over whatever he was called to his office for. He still doesn’t even know why the man called him up here—maybe it was just to flaunt the chocolates he received, Dazai thinks bitterly. “I wouldn’t worry too much.”

“I would!” Elise calls after him as he lets the door slam shut behind him, but Dazai doesn’t pay her any mind.

Surely Chuuya wouldn’t have gotten chocolates if he didn’t, right?

———

“Give me those right now.”

Chuuya pauses from where he’s about to pop a round chocolate into his mouth, eyes cutting to the side in irritation when he realizes that Dazai is standing in the doorframe of his office. Dazai is tense and jittery all at the same time—he’s not even looking at Chuuya, he’s staring at the set of chocolates sitting open on his desk and the familiar handwriting on the note next to it. Chuuya’s set is much nicer than Mori’s; they’re his favorite truffles, imported in from Belgium, and there’s a red wine on his desk to go along with it.

It makes Dazai sick. 

“The fuck?” Chuuya asks, sitting up a bit straighter and giving Dazai a weird look before pointedly eating the chocolate in his hand. Dazai’s eye twitches. “What’s your problem this time, you freak?”

“I said give me those right now,” Dazai repeats, inhaling deeply as he takes a few steps closer. “Give me them.”

Chuuya looks a bit concerned now, grabbing the chocolates you gave him and dragging them closer to him. Dazai is undeterred, stalking forward and reaching quickly for them. Chuuya reacts faster, snatching them off the table and holding them close to his chest.

“Fuck off,” Chuuya spits, sounding confused and irritated all at the same time. “What the hell is your problem?”

Dazai could think of an excuse—they’ve been tampered with, poisoned, you accidentally gave him the wrong ones and you sent him here to grab them before Chuuya ate them all—but the only thing that escapes his lips is the same demand.

“Give me the chocolates.”

“What?” Chuuya demands. “No, you fucking psycho, get out of my office.”

Dazai’s hand instinctively twitches in the direction of his gun, and Chuuya catches it from the way his eyes shoot open.

“Yo,” Chuuya says loudly, rising to his feet. “What the fuck, Dazai?”

Logically, Dazai knows that whether he gets the chocolates from Chuuya or not, it won’t change anything. It’s the principle of it that’s the issue. Even if he manages to get his hands on the chocolates, you gave them to Chuuya and you didn’t give them to Dazai, but still, the sight of Chuuya with them is setting Dazai off in ways that he just can’t seem to get under wraps. 

“Give me-”

Chuuya’s face twists in irritation and he slams the chocolates down on his desk before walking around it in Dazai’s direction. Instead of making a smart decision and running out of his office before he can get a faceful of Chuuya’s fist, he takes the opportunity to dart forward and grab the chocolates he put down, throwing them onto the ground and driving his heel right into the box. 

“You bastard,” Chuuya shouts, grabbing Dazai by the collar of his jacket hard and throwing him hard into the side of his desk. Dazai barely withholds a wince as the corner of Chuuya’s desk drives deep into his side, crumpling to the ground hard. Chuuya kneels down to see if there’s anything left to salvage of the chocolates you gave him, but finds himself sorely disappointed. “What’s your fucking issue, Dazai?”

Stubbornly, Dazai doesn’t respond, raising his chin and meeting Chuuya’s gaze, trying to pretend that there is no issue and like he isn’t acting deranged over chocolates. 

Not chocolates, he reminds himself, the principle.

“I knew you were weird about her but jeez,” Chuuya scoffs, picking up the mess of chocolates on his floor, brows furrowed in irritation. “You can’t even handle her giving someone else chocolates on Valentine’s Day. You need some serious fucking help, man. It’s the whole point of the goddamn day. You gonna go around and take everyone’s chocolates, you possessive freak?”

Dazai cringes and can’t stop himself as he asks quietly, “How many people has she given them too?”

Instantly, he knows he’s made a mistake—his voice came out all wrong and Chuuya notices it from the way he squints and frowns. He forces his expression to clear of any possible emotions and rises back to his feet, tilting his head to the side as he dares Chuuya to point out that his voice wavered when he asked the question.

“I don’t fucking know,” Chuuya shrugs, side-eyeing him suspiciously but choosing not to point out the weird tone he asked the question in. “She came in with a ton this morning, figured I was the last since she didn’t have any left with her when she came up here before.”

Oh, Dazai thinks, staring at Chuuya absently. Dazai didn’t anticipate that. At once, both of his theories to explain why you didn’t give him chocolates are disproven, and Dazai falters. If you came in with all of them at once and had none left by the time you got to Chuuya, then all signs pointed to that you’re just not giving Dazai chocolate for Valentine’s Day.

But why? Dazai doesn’t think he’s done anything wrong lately—in fact, he’s barely even had time to talk to you lately because you’ve been busy talking with your informants in Eastern Russia. You spent most days in Tokyo, and by the time you got back to your apartment, Dazai was out on his own missions. He hasn’t had the chance to do anything wrong, unless him just being around you is wrong.

How did she word it again? Oh, yeah, you forced your way into her life, didn’t you?

Elise is known for twisting the truth, she doesn’t usually lie about things—why did you tell them that he forced himself into your life? Do you not want him staying at your apartment? Mori did mention that he taught you to have good manners and he never says anything without there being an ulterior motive behind it. Was he trying to imply that you’re just being polite in letting him stay? Dazai doesn’t know; he’s always struggled to read you, but you’ve always made him feel welcome and wanted more than anyone else. It disconcerted him for a while, but he’s grown used to it in a way that he probably shouldn’t have. 

Now, he’s doubting it all.

Chuuya’s eyes suddenly widen, his small brain clearly realizing something it wasn’t meant to. Dazai’s gaze hardens as he waits for Chuuya to say whatever it is he wants to say, but instead of speaking, the slug snorts. His hand flies to his mouth to smother the noise, but he just can’t stop himself from bursting into laughter. Dazai bristles.

“What?” he demands.

“You’re so fucking stupid,” Chuuya howls, eyes tearing up as he laughs so hard that he wheezes. Dazai stiffens but otherwise doesn’t say anything, and that’s evidently an answer enough for him. “God, shitty Dazai, you’d think you of all people would know better. Get the fuck out of my office.”

Dazai doesn’t want to admit he has no idea what Chuuya’s talking about, but he also isn’t going to let Chuuya order him around, so he stands there stubbornly until Chuuya rises to his feet to grab Dazai by the back of his jacket again. Dazai instinctively drives his elbow hard into Chuuya’s chest, but he’s unbothered by it, shoving Dazai forward through the door of his office.

Chuuya gives him a mocking smile and goads, “How about you go ask her why she didn’t give you chocolates?” 

Before Dazai has the chance to shoot back a snide comment, Chuuya slams the door right in his face. It’s not the principle that’s bothering him, Dazai realizes glumly, it’s the implication that maybe he’s been wrong about his friendship with you this whole time.

———

Dazai doesn’t even get out of the main building before he runs into someone else who has chocolates that are definitely gifted by you considering it’s your new partner. Itou Asahi is lounging in the lobby of headquarters with Hirotsu and a few members of the Black Lizards that Dazai doesn’t recognize. Dazai has never particularly liked the man—in fact, Dazai despises him and he despises how you seem to think the world of him—but now, his jaw is tight as he glares at the man from across the lobby.

Itou seems to be able to feel the daggers being shot in his direction. He looks up as he pops a chocolate into his mouth, eyes narrow as he tries to pinpoint who exactly is staring at him so intensely and pauses when he notices Dazai. He nudges Hirotsu, and to Dazai’s horror, he realizes that Hirotsu also has a set of chocolates that he hasn’t opened on the couch next to where he’s sitting with a note that Dazai can’t read from the distance but is the same pale pink parchment that Mori’s and Chuuya’s were written on.

Mori. Chuuya. Itou. Hirotsu. Why not him? What did he do?

Dazai sneers in Itou’s direction when the man lifts his hand and awkwardly waves, turning on his feet to leave the building. He had been planning on going to your apartment to sulk to see if you notice that he’s wildly irritated over the fact that he’s not received chocolates from you, but instead, he’s going to go grab a cheap bottle of whiskey from the nearest liquor store and drown himself in his misery back at his shipping container.

He doesn’t know what he did to you, and he thought if he did something wrong, you would’ve said something to him instead of icing him out. Isn’t that what you preach to him? Communication? Yes, Dazai sucks at it and has made no attempts to be better about it, but since you’re the one preaching it, you should at least have the decency to act as you preach. 

You’re such a hypocrite, Dazai thinks bitterly, his throat feels clogged and his chest feels tight and his side hurts a shit ton—he doesn’t like any of this, and with each passing second, he’s becoming increasingly more bothered by this situation. 

He’s not irritated anymore, he’s just hurt.

———

Dazai doesn’t end up going right to the shipping container. It’s late afternoon on a Friday, so when he’s halfway to the convenience store, he decides to make a pitstop at Bar Lupin to see if Odasaku and Ango are already hanging there. Luckily, one thing can go right for him today, because the two of them are in fact already sitting in their designated stools drinking their alcohol of choice.

Neither of them have said much of anything to him since he’s arrived besides greeting him. He wonders if he interrupted them—very extremely sour, he thinks that he wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case considering he seems to be a burden on just about every single person he thinks is his friend. 

“I didn’t think you’d be free today,” Odasaku finally says. “We would’ve texted you.”

“I didn’t have a mission scheduled for today,” Dazai replies flatly, unable to muster the energy to put on an energetic front for the two of them. Usually, he doesn’t need to fake it around them because he does genuinely have a good time with them, but he’s just in such a bad mood because of everything with you and all of the newfound doubts plaguing him that it’s impossible for him to take his mind off of it. “Why would I be busy?”

Odasaku and Ango share a look with one another, Dazai catches the way Ango subtly shakes his head and is instantly suspicious. Odasaku either doesn’t pick up on it or doesn’t care, because he says, “It’s Valentine’s Day. I thought you’d be spending it with…”

Odasaku trails off when Ango’s headshakes become more frequent, but Dazai already knows what he was about to say. Stiffly, he asks, “Why would I spend Valentine’s Day with her?”

Ango’s smile is unsure as he shares another look with Odasaku before turning his attention toward Dazai and prodding, “Did something happen?”

“No.” Neither of them respond to his sharp answer, and after a few moments, Dazai blurts out, “She doesn’t want me living at her apartment anymore.”

“What-” Ango begins before seemingly rethinking his question, letting out a sigh. “Did she tell you that?”

“No,” Dazai says after a second, “but I know.”

“How do you know?” Ango presses. “Did you overhear her talking to someone?”

“Well, no,” Dazai responds awkwardly, “but I know.”

“How do you know?”

“Because she didn’t get me chocolates,” Dazai finally explodes, voicing the words that have been bothering him all day. “She got Mori chocolates. She got the slug chocolates. She got her moron of a partner chocolates. She even got Hirotsu chocolates, but she didn’t get me chocolates. And Elise said that she told her and Mori that I forced my way into her life. Isn’t that rich? She’s the one that forced her way into my life. I don’t need her, I never did. I just liked her stupid apartment. I could get my own if I wanted to, I just didn’t want to put in the work.”

Dazai thought maybe getting all of his complaints out would make him feel better, but he only feels worse, because half of that isn’t even true. He likes being able to bother you at night instead of rotting alone in his shitty shipping container, and he likes when you make him coffee in the morning before heading out to a meeting. He likes Friday night movies and he likes forcing you to play video games just so he could beat you and brag about it. You told him that you were his friend, so shouldn’t you like doing all of that with him too instead of it being a burden?

“Don’t you think you’re overreacting?” Odasaku asks bluntly, never one to mince his words. Dazai slowly turns his head to look at the older man, barely catching the way Ango briefly shuts his eyes in exasperation. “I mean, you don’t even know if she’s not getting you any yet. You’re just assuming. The day isn’t over.”

Odasaku is usually logical, and he’s one of the few people who Dazai will take the advice of without question, but this time, Dazai shakes his head. He knows that’s not the case, you brought all of your chocolates to headquarters, and you handed them all out and didn’t give any to him. You knew he didn’t have a mission today so it’s not like he was busy, and even if he was, you could’ve given them to him this morning before he left. And either way, it’s not like that explains what Elise said.

“You should head back to her apartment,” Odasaku continues. “I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

“You know what, you’re right,” Dazai says, becoming increasingly more incensed with each passing second. He knew befriending you was a bad idea—nobody actually wants to be Dazai’s friend once they get to know him, it’s been true his whole life, he’s still half-convinced that Odasaku and Ango only humor him because they think he’ll just kill himself. Once people start to see how odd and fucked in the head he really is, they start to distance themselves from him; you can’t distance yourself from him since he’s living with you, so this is just your way of silently telling him you’ve had enough. He knew things would turn out this way, and he hates the way it still makes his chest hurt. He rises to his feet abruptly, “I am going to head back to her apartment—so I can pack my stuff and leave.”

“Dazai,” Ango calls after him, but Dazai doesn’t respond, storming out of Bar Lupin without another word.

He doesn’t need you, he tells himself again, willing the pain in his chest to turn into something more manageable—anger, resentment, but preferably, he just wants to be indifferent. He doesn’t need you and he knew this was going to happen, so it’s time for him to just take the hint and go on his way, back to how things were before you forced yourself into his life.

———

You’re not there when he gets back to your apartment and you’re not there by the time he gets his things together and leaves. He was especially frustrated when he found himself disappointed by that, because he realized he was unintentionally wasting time packing his things because he was hoping you would show up and stop him. 

But you didn’t, so Dazai is now back at his shipping container huddled under a blanket because it’s cold. He’s almost done with his first bottle of whiskey, trying to numb the pain in his side and all of the shitty emotions he just can’t seem to rid himself of. It’s been three hours since he moved his stuff back into his shipping container; you should be back at the apartment by now—it’s thirty minutes off when the two of you watch your Friday night movies, and you’re usually back at your apartment getting snacks together with him by now.

You’ve realized he’s gone by now. Dazai hasn’t checked his phone, mostly because he doesn’t want to know if you cared enough to reach out. If he’s right about all of this, you’ll just take it as a blessing and move on, not wanting to risk an opportunity arising where you’d have to be polite and ask him to come back. As if he would. If Odasaku is right though… No, Dazai isn’t even going to go down that route, the last thing he needs is-

He’s startled when he hears three loud bangs on the metal wall of his shipping container. Instantly, his gaze focuses on the door. He knows it can only be one of two people, because you and Chuuya are the only ones shameless enough to come by without warning. Odasaku and Ango would text first and everyone else is too wary of him to come anywhere near the shipping yard, much less bang right on his door.

“Dazai, open up! What the hell?” He hears you shout from the other side of the thin wall. “It’s cold, come on! What are you even doing out here?”

You came looking for him, Dazai realizes, swallowing thickly. Dazai isn’t often wrong about things, so he doesn’t dare get his hopes up and he doesn’t respond to you. The roll up door rattles as you try to pull it up, but Dazai doesn’t budge to help you. It’s locked, so you won’t be able to open it and Dazai just waits for you to leave so he can go back to sulking in peace. 

“Dazai, come on,” you complain. “What’s wrong? I was waiting for you back at the apartment, why didn’t you come home?”

Though Dazai intended on just ignoring you until you went away, he can’t help the snide comment that escapes his lips, “Home? You mean your apartment?” 

He immediately takes another swig of whiskey, but the burn of the alcohol does nothing to take away from the bitter taste the words leave on his tongue. From the way you pause, you seem to realize something is wrong—extra snidely, he wonders when you became as slow as Chuuya.

“Yeah, my apartment, the place you’ve been living at for three months?” you say incredulously and Dazai winces. “What’s your problem?” 

“My problem?” Dazai asks coolly. “Maybe you should be answering that instead. You’re a hypocrite.”

He knows that will set you off—he’s always been good at getting under people’s skin—and he’s noticed how you bristle whenever Mori hits you with “Now, dear, let’s not be hypocritical.” He can almost imagine the way you go stiff and the way your face goes cold, but it doesn’t bring him the malicious satisfaction he expects.

 Instead, he only feels heavier.

Unfair, he thinks tightly. You’re always so unfair.

“Can you let me in?” you ask after a few moments of silence. Dazai is even more bothered now that he didn’t get the reaction he expected, gaze lowering to the ground. “I’d prefer not to freeze to death out here.”

This time when you ask, Dazai finds himself rising to his feet. He hasn’t drank enough yet to be unsteady, but he can certainly feel the blood rush to his head as soon as he stands up.

He makes his way over to the door, only fumbling once with the lock. He doesn’t slide it open for you just to be petty, but he doesn’t need to anyway—as soon as you hear the lock click open, you’re pulling open the door and Dazai pointedly turns his back to you before you can step in.

“Seriously?” you ask. Much to Dazai’s pleasure, you do sound a bit irritated now. “Dazai, what the hell? Why are you acting so weird?”

“Me?” Dazai demands, voice shrill at the sheer audacity you have coming to his shipping container and insulting him after what you did. Didn’t do. Same thing. He whips around to face you, a barrage of snide comments about to fall from his lips only to hesitate when he sees a fancy box in your hands. “... What is that?”

Your gaze sharpens and your brows furrow. You move the box out of sight behind your back, but Dazai dances around you to try to get a better look at it. The two of you play a game of swivels and twists for a few moments, but Dazai has to call it quits when the pain in his side gets worse and the alcohol goes right to his head. 

You give him a concerned look, but don’t press about the way he winces. Instead, you say, “Tell me what your problem is first. Why are you drinking here alone in the dark?”

“... No,” Dazai says after a second. “What’s in the box?”

Dazai really doesn’t want to get his hopes up, so he chews the inside of his cheek and rocks back and forth from his toes to heels, hands clasped behind his back as he tries to distract himself. You roll your eyes, but your lips curl up into a fond smile that almost eases all of the stress Dazai has felt all day. Almost.

After what feels like an eternity, you pass the box over to him and Dazai immediately darts forward to grab it before you can change your mind. Though he knows what it is before he opens it, he can’t control the relief that floods him when he sees the expensive chocolates sitting inside the box—most of them are shaped in the typical Valentine’s Day heart, but some of them are-

“They’re crabs,” Dazai says gleefully, a genuine smile spreading widely across his lips as he reaches down to pluck one out of the box and pop it into his mouth. The chocolate is soft and creamy, it melts in his mouth the moment it touches his tongue and he lets out a delighted hum. He eats another, and then another after that. “How did you get them crab shaped?”

You don’t answer the question; you stare at the chocolates, conflicted, and Dazai isn’t sure why. You seem to be trying to decide whether or not you want to say something, but you let out a sigh, seemingly deciding against it. 

Instead of whatever you were debating on saying, you rest your hand on your hip and ask him, “Why did you take all of your stuff out of your room?” 

Your room, Dazai swallows the chocolate in his mouth as he tries to figure out how to respond to your question. He doesn’t really want to admit that he had a meltdown triggered by the chocolate that you just handed him, and you do seem genuinely put off by the fact that he left. Maybe he was wrong, he thinks, pressing his lips together as he considers the possibility. He’s hardly ever wrong, but he supposes it wouldn’t be the first time that you’ve managed to surprise him; since the day he met you, he feels like his mind is dulled when you’re around. He hates it.

So, he throws Elise under the bus.

“Elise said that you told her I forced myself into your life,” he says, voice coming out far more bitter than he intended for it to. He raises his chin stubbornly. “I wouldn’t want to keep imposing.”

Your expression flickers momentarily and you look a bit hurt, Dazai immediately swallows another chocolate, hopeful that he’ll swallow the sudden guilt he feels along with it. He doesn’t.

“Mori was trying to get me to convince you to live in the apartment he has set up for you in the main building,” you explain quietly after a few moments, crossing your arms over your chest. “I told him that he was better off trying to convince you himself because it was your decision to stay at mine. I didn’t have much of a say in it.”

Dazai lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and because he has no self control, he starts to ask, “But if you did have a say in it…”

Your expression softens in a way that makes Dazai’s stomach turn in on itself and your eyes flicker down to the box he’s holding before you quickly look back up at him. The box of chocolates in his hands suddenly feels a lot heavier, and his grip instinctively tightens around it.

“I… my apartment is a bit too big to live in alone,” you answer, and then add, “I would prefer you stayed.”

Dazai doesn’t respond, but his gaze does dart down to the three bags of clothes he brought back to the shipping container with him, all still packed. It wasn’t all of his stuff, just enough for it to be noticeable to you when you went to his room looking for him. Maybe he had been hoping you would come bring him back.

“I don’t have a movie picked out for tonight, if you want to pick,” you offer when the silence stretches on.

Dazai glances down at the chocolates you gave him again and then he says, “The Discovery channel has a new documentary on -”

“No.”

“What?” Dazai demands. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“I am not watching another crab documentary, Dazai.”

“The last one was good.”

“The last one bored me to tears.”

Dazai rolls his eyes, leaning down to pick up one of his bags and you grab the other two after sending a narrowed look to his left side, slinging them over your shoulder as you step outside of the shipping container. Dazai follows you, rolling the door back down before giving you a mocking look.

“So you just want to watch one of those stupid superhero movies again? The only one actually entertained by them is bird-brained Chuuya, anyone with two brain cells knows how it ends just from the first scene,” he says snidely, enjoying the way you immediately scowl at him.

“Just because you know how it’s going to end doesn’t mean it’s not entertaining,” you argue. “You can be entertained by something predictable.”

“Not me,” Dazai sings as he follows you out of the shipping container yard and to the road. Much to Dazai’s displeasure, he realizes that you did not come here alone—your new partner is sitting in the front seat of the car waiting on the side of the road, scrolling through his phone. Distastefully, he demands, “Why is he here?”

“He drove me,” you say like it’s obvious. “What’s your problem with him anyway?”

“Nothing,” Dazai mutters, making sure to give the older boy a dark look as he slides into the back seat. 

He expects you to get into the passenger seat, but instead you move to sit in the back with him. Before you do, he stiffens as he remembers his clothes were not the only thing he stole from your apartment. Your eyes narrow in suspicion and you place your hand on your hip.

“What else did you take before leaving?”

Dazai sulks at how easily you figured out what the issue is and lies when he repeats, “Nothing.”

“If we get back home and immediately have to come back out here, I’m going to waterboard you, Dazai,” you say flatly.

“I’ve been waterboarded before,” he says stubbornly.

“Not by me,” you threaten.

 Dazai sighs dramatically, letting his head fall back against the headrest.

“I stole all of the remotes in the apartment,” he admits, shifting to push himself up to walk back over to the shipping container, wincing again when he shifts the wrong way. He pauses when you roll your eyes and hold your hand up to stop him.

“I’ll get them,” you say. “Stay here.”

“Don’t leave me with him,” Dazai complains, but you slam the door in his face.

Instantly, the light and playful expression drops from his face as he turns his attention to the rear view mirror, eyes locking with Itou Asahi. The blonde raises his eyebrows tauntingly, as if he’s daring Dazai to say something to him, and Dazai has half a mind to reach for the gun stuffed in the pocket of his black jacket. He refrains if only because he doesn’t want to piss you off even more.

After a moment, Itou twists in his seat to look at Dazai. Dazai’s eye twitches in irritation, realizing that he’s about to speak to him.

He nods to the box of chocolates. “She spent a month at my place trying to get it right.”

Though Dazai planned on ignoring him, he can’t stop the quiet, “What?” that slips from his mouth.

“The chocolates,” Itou says like Dazai is stupid, which irritates him but he’s still confused so he’s forced to wait for him to explain. “She tried custom ordering the crab shaped ones but had a tantrum because they looked ugly. So she spent a month learning how to make them so she could mold them on her own. She only just finished this batch today—still isn’t satisfied with how they came out, but ran out of time.”

Dazai’s throat swells up as he stares down at the chocolates, an odd warmth spreading through his chest that he can’t snuff out. Scrutinizing them more carefully now, he sees all of the tiny imperfections that wouldn’t be there if you’d store bought them—the hearts aren’t all perfectly even, some of the legs on the crabs are longer than others, there’s an indent on the back of the heart shaped chocolate he’s holding like you’d touched it while it was too soft.

His fingers close around it carefully, lips parting to speak but he can’t find any words. When did you have the time though? You’ve had so many missions lately-

Oh.

“All the missions in Tokyo…”

“Her missions were learning how to fucking make chocolate and they were in my apartment, not Tokyo,” Itou scoffs. “I’m never going to be able to eat chocolate again in my life the amount she’s force fed me. I can hardly stand the smell of it now. I had to send her to Nakahara for him to taste test the last few batches.”

Dazai’s gaze sharpens, obscenely bothered at the thought of Itou Ashi and Nakahara Chuuya being your taste testers and Itou is complaining about it. “You should be grateful you got to try her chocolate,” he snaps immediately.

Itou’s jaw drops and he immediately shakes his head. “You two are so fucking-” he starts to say but cuts himself off when he sees you approaching the car again. 

Dazai squints at him, almost wanting to dare him to continue, but his expression lightens when you open the door, remotes in hand and an irritated expression still painted on your face.

He only moves over enough to give you room to sit instead of moving to sit behind the driver’s seat. You squint at him, but Dazai gives you a small smile and says quietly, “My chocolates are much nicer than Chuuya’s.”

Your expression immediately softens and your lashes flutter as you avert your gaze—the telltale sign of you being flustered. Dazai’s lips part to say something else, but no words come out, gaze pinned on the pretty glow the moonlight casts over your face. You look like you want to say something as you look down at the chocolates again, but again, you seem to decide against it.

“How do you even know what Chuuya got?” you ask suddenly, clearing your throat. Dazai freezes. “And what happened to your side? Every time you move you’re wincing.”

“I… stopped by his office and saw them?” he offers, his next smile is too sweet, and you catch it from the way your eyes narrow. Defensively, he says, “The slug didn’t deserve chocolates from you.”

“Oh my god, Dazai,” you complain, burying your face in your hands. 

Dazai’s face flames up, and he shoots a dirty look in Itou’s direction when the older boy bursts into laughter. 

“Slugs can’t eat chocolate,” Dazai insists. “I was helping him, really.” 

“I can’t stand you,” you sigh, but when you shift in your seat, you shift so that you’re sitting a little closer to Dazai, shoulder pressed against his and thighs knocking together.

He glances down at the box of chocolates in his lap again, and the chocolate heart resting in his hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, he passes it over to you. You give him a questioning look, but Dazai pointedly looks away as he wills his cheeks not to reflect his flustered thoughts, waiting for you to take it. His breath catches when your fingers brush his hand as you take it from him.

“Thanks,” you say softly.

Instead of directly responding, Dazai prods, “So, about the crab documentary…”

You let out a heavy sigh as you side eye him. “Fine,” you agree, “but you’re doing the garbage this week.”

“What?!” he demands. “It’s not my turn.”

“The price you pay for forcing me to watch nature documentaries for movie night.”

“It’s not just nature, it’s crabs.”

“Deal or no deal?”

“Fine. Deal.”

“Good,” you say with a saccharine smile that Dazai doesn’t like because he knows you’re thinking something bad. “Deal.”

After a few moments, you add, “I would’ve put it on even if you didn’t agree.”

“I’m going back to my shipping container.”

You laugh loudly, and Dazai’s heart skips a beat at the sound of it. He very much ignores the way Itou shoots an amused look back at them, focusing instead on the way your eyes glitter as your laughs fizzle into soft giggles.

“As if,” you say, knocking your shoulder into his. “I’ll just drag you back again. You’re stuck with me whether you like it or not.”

His lips curl up into a small smile in response to your words, gaze dropping back down to the chocolates sitting in his lap, and then back to you.

“Will you?” he asks quietly, a bit too seriously.

Your smile softens, and Dazai’s heart lodges right in his throat. “Count on it.”

[delilahsturniolo]

— ୨୧ wildflower . . . m.s

in which . . . matt takes care of his drunk ex girlfriend at a party, not expecting you to confess feelings you shouldn’t have.

warnings . . . unresolved angst, mentions of a break up, alcohol mentions, honestly really sad.

written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)

matt had never expected to see you again, especially not like this.

the bass of the music pulsed through the floor as he made his way through the crowd of intoxicated strangers. matt wasn’t even sure why he had come. maybe out of obligation to his friends, the feeling of being left out, or maybe because deep down, he still searched for you in every room he walked into. matt told himself he was over you. It had been six months since you both ended things. six months of forced smiles, of avoiding old songs that reminded him of the way you used to hum along, of ignoring the aching loneliness that crept into his chest when he least expected it.

and then, just as he turned the corner—he saw you.

you were slumped on a couch in the corner of the crowded living room that flashed with colorful lights, a half-empty red plastic cup dangling lazily from your hand. your hair, which was perfect a few moments ago—was now a disheveled mess, your makeup was also smudged unintentionally. you were laughing with a guy, a guy you didn’t even know, a guy you met 10 minutes ago. and that pissed matt off.

the random teenage boy giggled at whatever drunken nonsense slipped out of your mouth, but when matt looked into your glassy eyes—he saw nothing but sadness, and hurt. it was absolutely breaking his heart to see you in this state, something twisted in his gut, you never ever drank like this, at least the old y/n wouldn’t.

without thinking, matt stepped forward, brushing past people until he reached you. he stepped in front of the guy you were talking to, not giving the slightest fuck that he interrupted your conversation with him. how could that boy just—stand there and let you do this to yourself? matt leaned down, delicately tapping your cheek and placing that same hand on your shoulder afterward. “y/n.” he spoke.

you slowly lifted your head, squinting at him as if he was a mirage or hallucination of some sort, your mind was foggy. your lips parted, “matt?” you slurred. matt swallowed thickly. “yeah, it’s me.” he reassured. your face crumpled, and for a moment—he thought you were going to cry. instead, you let out a breathless laugh and reached for his face, your fingers clumsily grazing matt’s jaw. “i misssseddd youuu, i knew you’d be hereee!” you laughed stupidly, slurring your words. matt frowned, noticing how you were barely able to sit upright. he touched your arm, rubbing it soothingly, suddenly you felt a familiar sensation of warmth and comfort again, even when you were drunk. “come on, let’s get you some water.”

you immediately pouted at him. “nooo, i like it here! ‘cause you’re here!” matt ignored the way your words sent a sharp pang through his chest, he crouched beside you. “you’re drunk, love.” he cursed himself in his head for letting that familiar name slip out, he was just so used to calling you that. “so what? it’s fun when i’m drunk!” you giggled, swaying slightly.

“no, y/n. you’re hurting. you’re coping with alcohol.” matt spoke, his voice breaking slightly. for a second, something flickered in your eyes—like a moment of clarity cutting through the haze. but then, you let out a dramatic sigh, letting your head fall against matt’s shoulder. “i miss you.” you whispered weakly. matt’s breath caught. he should have let it slide, brushed it off as drunk talk. but the way you said it—like it was something you had been holding in for so long, something too painful to admit sober, made it absolutely impossible to ignore. “y/n…” matt hesitated.

you lifted your head, your expression hazy yet heartbreakingly sincere. “do you ever think about us?” you murmured. all the time, he wanted to say. every damn day. he thought about you so much it killed him, you were the only thing that consumed his thoughts, and his heart. but instead of responding to your drunken question, he looked away. “let’s get you home, yeah?”

you whined in protest but didn’t resist as he helped you up. you were very unsteady, leaning heavily against him as the two of you navigated through the party. people stared, some whispering, but matt didn’t care at the slightest. all that mattered was getting you out of there safely. the cold night air hit you guys as he led you outside. you shivered, and without thinking, matt shrugged off his hoodie and draped it over your shoulders instinctively. you blinked up at him, eyes wide, like he had just done something earth-shattering.

“thank you for taking care of me, you always do.” you said. matt looked away, “old habits.” he shrugged. you reached for his hand, your fingers lacing through his. it was instinctual, natural, like muscle memory. and gosh, he wanted to pull away. he wanted to tell you that this—whatever this was, wasn’t fair. but you looked at him with so much raw vulnerability that he couldn’t bring himself to move.

“i still love you,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. his heart stopped upon hearing this. “every single day,” you continued. “and it sucks. it really, really sucks, because i see you everywhere. i hear your stupid favorite songs in coffee shops, and i still order your dumb vanilla lattes because they remind me of you. and i know i messed up, but, i don’t know how to stop loving you.” matt clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay still, to not let his emotions take control. “you’re drunk, y/n. you don’t mean that shit.”

you let out a humorless, dry laugh. “drunk words are sober thoughts, right?” more like—drunk words, sober heart. matt closed his eyes. he wanted to believe that you were just saying these things because of the alcohol, but deep down, he knew better than that. and you were right, these were things you were truly feeling.

you were hurting. just like he was.

and for a brief, fleeting moment, he considered telling you the truth—that he still loved you too, that he had spent every night wondering if you missed him even half as much as he missed you. that maybe, just maybe, you guys could find your way back to each other. but then he remembered why the both of you broke up in the first place. the late-night fights. the misunderstandings. the way you guys tore each other apart even when you swore you both wouldn’t. so instead, he exhaled shakily and forced himself to say, “you just need to sleep this off.”

a tear slipped down your cheek, but you nodded. “okay..” your voice broke. matt’s gaze softened as he wiped your tears, feeling a pang of sympathy and guilt within him. he helped you into the passenger seat of his car, buckled you in, and drove in silence. every now and then, he’d glance at you, at the girl he once called his forever, and silently wondered in solemn if love alone had ever been enough.

when matt finally reached your apartment, he walked you to your door, making sure you got inside safely. you turned to him, looking heartbreakingly sad in his oversized hoodie. “will i remember this in the morning?” you asked softly. he forced a small smile. “i don’t know.” you hesitated, then whispered, “would you…want me to?” matt swallowed the lump in his throat. every part of him screamed to say yes, clawing at his brain to just grab you and kiss you tightly, break down in tears and apologize for everything.

but he knew better.

“goodnight, y/n. get some sleep for me okay?”

and with that, matt turned and walked away—leaving behind the only girl he had ever loved, even when it broke him to do so. some people weren’t meant to stay.

just like wildflowers, they were beautiful, but they didn’t last forever.

© delilahsturniolo do not copy, re use, or modify any of my works.

taglist

[demonic0angel]

Danny ends up in Gotham with no memories of his past or ghost powers. In an attempt for more power a rouge observant weakened Clockwork with liquefied blood blossoms, sent multiple rouge ghosts through the portal to occupy the rest of team Phantom before stabbing Danny in the back with an electrified blade coated in liquefied blood blossoms as well. This forced Danny into human form as his core cracked, leading to him having amnesia.

Danny ends up working at a low rent hair salon after the owner finds him in an alley behind the shop and patches him up. He's also staying in the apartment above the salon. He doesn't get the danger when a robber tries to rob the store. Danny sits the robber down and gives him a hair cut and listens to his woes, and treats him like a normal person. He encourages him to do better.

This keeps happening and goes from petty criminals to some of the rouges. The bats are kinda freaking out when they find out that Harley and Ivy opened a therapy office and flower shop and that the Riddler opened a one hundred percent safe and legal escape room business. Tim gets sent to investigate the salon and becomes fast friends with Danny.

"So, what type of haircut are you looking for?" The boy asked, as he draped a sheet over Tim.

Tim hummed and then said in a very serious tone, "Low taper fade."

He got smacked at the back of the head for that.

"Don't you start!" The boy said, though he was laughing.

Tim pouted. "Ow!" It didn't really hurt, but he'd take whatever he could in order to make this nameless boy open up.

The boy gasped. "Oh no! I'm sorry— I was just joking! Does it hurt a lot?" He ran his hands through Tim's hair, rubbing at his scalp. The sudden touch made Tim jump before he relaxed at the massage.

Tim shook his head and said, "No, no, it's fine."

The boy leaned down to look at his face and then sighed. "Do you really want a low taper fade?"

Tim snickered. "Nah, just a trim, please."

The boy laughed. "Sure! I was worried I had to shave you bald."

Tim gasped in mock horror as the boy laughed again. They chatted some more, trading stories and making jokes until Tim finally asked, “Hey, I heard that this place gets a lot of visits from villains? Is that true?”

The boy blinked. “Villains?”

“Yeah. I heard that Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy was here. And the Riddler. And Mr. Freeze. Is it true?” He asked, trying to sound eager.

The boy chuckled. “I’m not too sure? Sometimes, people come in here and threaten to rob the store and I try to calm them down. I’m not really sure if they’re villains, I’m new.”

Tim blinked.

“… you’re new? To Gotham?” Huh. He hadn’t expected that from someone who had supposedly been able to talk down Gotham City villains.

There were a strange amount of newcomers coming to Gotham lately. Batman and the others had been hearing rumors of a red haired woman tearing up the underworld in search of something and had apparently even made contact with Red Hood.

The boy was oblivious to his thoughts and only nodded, trimming more hair. “Yeah. The owner of the salon found me after I was on the streets and then patched me up. So I’m working here to help him out.”

Tim nodded slowly.

“Say, what’s your name again?” Tim brought out his hand. “I’m Alvin. Alvin Draper.”

The boy blinked again and then smiled. He shook Tim’s hand and turned him back around to take off the protective sheet. “Daniel,” he said. “Daniel Nightingale.”

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Night Owl

Pairing:Task Force 141 x Wife!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, sleep-deprived soldiers, excessive love and affection, soft Task Force 141 boys, poly if you really squint

Author's Note: I had so much fun writing this (I work nights and this is what my family stumbles upon when it comes to me lol) also, you’re Simon’s Wife🙂‍↕️

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The house was quiet, save for the low hum of the television in the living room. It wasn’t late for you—not by your standards—but for your husband, it was the dead of night. The world outside was silent, the sky a deep navy, and the only light in the room came from the glow of your laptop screen and a few dim lamps you had turned on to avoid waking anyone.

You had been working the night shift for months now, your internal clock flipped completely. While your husband, Simon, along with his team—who you had definitely fallen head over heels for—was used to unpredictable schedules, it still threw them off when they came home and found you awake, fully immersed in some new project at ungodly hours.

Tonight was no different.

John was the first to stir. His years in the military made him a light sleeper, so the faint rustling of paper and the quiet muttering to yourself pulled him from sleep. Blinking blearily, he glanced at the clock. 2:47 AM. He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face before sitting up.

Padding into the living room, he found you hunched over the coffee table, a pile of colorful yarn in front of you, fingers fumbling with a crochet hook. Your brow was furrowed in concentration, tongue peeking out slightly as you tried to master the intricate loops.

“…What are you doing, love?” he asked, voice gruff with sleep but laced with affection.

You looked up, grinning. “Learning how to crochet. Figured I’d make a blanket for the couch.”

John stared at you for a long moment, then exhaled a soft chuckle as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “Of course you are.” His eyes softened, admiring how adorable you looked bathed in the warm glow of the lamp.

Just as he was about to sit down beside you, another presence shuffled into the room. Simon, still half-asleep, padded in wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and an old hoodie, his familiar skull mask nowhere in sight. His messy blond hair stuck out in different directions, and his eyes, though heavy with sleep, immediately found you.

He blinked slowly, taking in the scene—the pile of yarn, John sitting nearby, and you in the middle of it all.

“…Why?” he asked simply, his voice low and raspy.

You shrugged, giving him a playful smile. “Keeps my hands busy. Besides, the couch could use a cozy touch.”

Simon stared for a second longer before shaking his head with a soft, fond sigh. “Thought I was dreaming when I smelled coffee. ‘S too late for this, luvie. You’re mad.”

You rolled your eyes as he made his way into the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water. Moments later, he slumped onto the couch beside you, his large frame sinking into the cushions. Without a word, he pulled you closer, one arm wrapped lazily around your waist, his head resting against your shoulder.

You smiled, feeling the warmth of his affection despite his sleepy state. Picking up the half-finished crochet piece, you shoved it into his hands.

“You wanna learn?” you asked, eyes twinkling with mischief.

Simon sighed deeply but didn’t push it away. “You’re lucky I love you,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your hand.

A quiet laugh escaped your lips as you replied, “More like I’m lucky I married you.”

Before Simon could retort, footsteps echoed from down the hall. Johnny and Kyle had apparently heard the commotion, neither willing to be left out. Johnny, with his hair a complete mess, rubbed at his face as he stumbled in, while Kyle trailed behind, wrapped in a blanket, his eyes barely open.

“Are we having a bloody crochet party at three in the morning?” Kyle mumbled, voice thick with sleep but tinged with amusement.

You grinned. “Technically, yes.”

Johnny plopped onto the floor next to you, peeking at the tutorial on your laptop. “Ah, hell, might as well learn somethin’ while I’m up.”

“Think you mean, fail to learn something,” Kyle quipped with a smirk, earning a shove from Johnny.

The room filled with soft laughter, the kind that warmed your chest. Simon’s hand absentmindedly traced slow circles on your back, while John settled beside you with a steaming cup of tea he’d made. Kyle and Johnny wrestled briefly over who got the bigger ball of yarn before ultimately giving up and sharing.

Hours passed, filled with quiet chatter, failed crochet attempts, and laughter. You showed them how to make loops and chains, guiding their hands when they struggled. Johnny’s project ended up looking more like a tangled mess than anything coherent, but he was proud nonetheless. Kyle managed to make a lopsided square, grinning when you praised him.

Simon, surprisingly, picked it up quickly, though he pretended not to care. Every now and then, he’d glance at you, watching how your face lit up when explaining something. John, meanwhile, stuck to sipping his tea, occasionally offering words of encouragement but mostly enjoying the peaceful chaos.

By the time the first rays of sunlight began to creep through the curtains, the living room looked like a cozy disaster zone. Balls of yarn were scattered everywhere, half-finished projects lay abandoned, and the boys were slumped in various positions.

John had given up and was leaning against the arm of the couch, his head tilted back, the infamous beanie covering his face. Simon was nestled against your side, his fingers still loosely curled around a tangled ball of yarn, soft snores escaping him. Johnny and Kyle were sprawled out on the floor, half-asleep, their attempted crochet projects tossed aside as they cuddled under a shared blanket.

You smiled, heart full, and pressed a gentle kiss to Simon’s temple. Setting your own project aside, you stood, grabbing pillows and extra blankets. Carefully, you placed them around your boys, tucking them in. You made sure Johnny and Kyle were cozy, pulling the blanket up to their chins. John, half-awake, murmured a soft, “Thanks, love,” as you placed a pillow behind his head.

Finally, you curled back onto the couch beside Simon, his arms instinctively wrapping around you. His face, even in sleep, was peaceful, the usual hard lines softened. You buried your face in his chest, feeling his heartbeat steady and calm.

“This is perfect,” you whispered, though no one was awake to hear it.

Even if it meant crocheting at three in the morning, it was moments like these that made everything worth it—surrounded by the men you loved, feeling safe, cherished, and utterly at peace.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[dorealis]

Series Title: Pound of Flesh

<-pt.1 pt.2 pt.3->

Summary: Simon has always wanted something soft to call his. The problem is that he's always had issues with women. When he stumbles across a dark website that traffics people, he knows he should tell someone. But that thought goes out the window when he sees her.

Content Warning: non-con. Reader is a trafficking victim. Stockholm Syndrome. Simon is not a good man here.

Simon is almost certain that his Lovie hates him. She cries a lot and shies away from him. She won't look at him, and she has picked up the habit of screaming bloody murder when he touches her. He knows it must be scary being ripped away from everything and everyone that she knows. He chalks it up to it being a symptom of homesickness. Maybe she's just scared and her feelings are too big for her.

No matter. He can relate. He too has been a victim of feelings that are too big for his own body. He wants her to want to be near him. Wants her to seek him out on her own. So he turns the heat completely off in his home. He's been in freezing temperatures before, dealt with frost bite, shivering bones and harsh angles since his childhood. When he breathes, nothing but frost expells from his lungs. He's always known cold, ice even, and is comfortable with the numbness that accompanies it.

His Lovie, unfortunately, is not acclimated to such harshness.

She's shivering and the thin and short tee-shirt he gave her only stops just below her chest. Arms wrapped around herself, trying to self soothe or keep warm. He thinks it's cute, precious how she rocks back and forth. He has her perched on the couch, and he sits down next to her, legs spread out so that his thigh touches hers. The flinch she gives off melts into another shiver.

"Simon...I'm cold." Her teeth chatters on her words. Those sweet and dangerously attractive doe eyes get turned to him. "Can I at least put on pants?"

"Did you earn the privilege of pants?" He says to her. "You've been on your worst behavior all day."

She doesn't say anything and just rubs her arms. Tears, his second favorite part of her, spring into her eyes. He loves when she cries, it does something to him. The sight stirs the blood in him and makes his cock hard and already he can feel himself chubbing at the sheer thought of tasting her tears. He prompts her to answer with a raised brow.

"No sir...I haven't." She whimpers.

"What are you willing to do to earn your warmth?"

Her eyes widen in shock. Body trembles as she forces out her next question, "I don't understand."

He chuckles and pulls her into his lap, another thing he likes to do. He enjoys just moving his Lovie whenever he wants, however he wants. She naturally fights him and stills like a deer in headlights when she feels his cock pressed against her. He watches her breathing pick up, her chest heaving hard, on the verge of panic.

"You're such a little dummy." He kisses her temple and the grips the back of her neck. "It's okay, I normally hate having to explain things, I do that all day at work." He nips at her earlobe and she draws in a sharp gasp, she squirms. "You just have to be trained is all. The more you love on me, the more I will give you."

She stares into his eyes, horror etched on to her face. She's weighing her options, he can see it in how she shifts her eyes away from him. "You- you promise?" Such a small and sweet voice. Everything about her sweet and he could eat her alive. Swallow her whole, crack her bones wide open and drink the marrow. Consume her, devour her, infuse her soul into his.

She doesn't know it but yet, but he is utterly enchanted by her. In love with her since the day he saw her photo on that site. Enamored by the way the camera had caught her in just the right light, her hair a halo on her head, smile brighter than the sun itself. When he reached out about her that night in the world's most shadiest chat room, he was given a price and asked if he wanted her delivered or if he wanted her corralled for him to hunt. He obviously chose to hunt her, all he had to do was give the preferred venue and everything would be set into motion.

"Will I get to have pants and a blanket?" She asked him, pulling him from his thoughts, "I'm cold."

"This isn't a two for one sale Lovie." He glances down at her chest and see her nipples are hard and poking through the fabric.

Lovie takes a deep breath and she places her soft hands on his cheeks. She's crying again, but it's not the hysterical crying, it's the adorable silent type. With a lick to her lips, she leans in, eyes sliding shut and presses her lips to his. It's the first kiss she initiates, and it makes Simon's heart skip a beat. The kiss is gentle and a bit clumsy, and he loves it. His hands drift down to her hips and gives them a squeeze in encouragement.

But it's not enough. The sick monster in him is growling. Maw opening in a twisted stretch, itching to snatch more than what his sweet Lovie is giving him. He holds back though and tries his best to kiss her back in the same fashion. He isn't sweet, he's more like vinegar that's soured, and he's surprised that she hasn't jumped back in disgust. All too soon she pulls away and looks pleading.

"What does that get me?"

He smiles, "It gets you shorts."

She closes her eyes and slowly trails her hands down the plains of his chest towards the drawstrings of his sweats. He watches the fine tremble of her hands. His Lovie is so shy, meek, it's a wonder she lasted so long in life without him.

"Your mouth gets you pants. Cunt will get you a blanket. So both and you get both. Your ass gets the heat turned back on for the night." He explains as she pulls his cock out and holds it. There's already pre-cum pearling at the tip and he's enjoying how he feels in a hand that has never known hardship. "Well Lovie?"

She slips off of him, settling between his legs, and moves to place her lips on the red and rudy tip of his cock. He grips her jaw though and gives her stern look, "You bite and I break your jaw." He smiles sweetly at her but it comes off menacing.

Lovie nods once and kisses the tip before sliding her mouth onto him. He knows it must be uncomfortable for her jaw, the stretch too much. But the inside of her mouth is warm and wet, almost as good as her cunt. He sighs and places his hand on top of her head and encourages her to take more into her mouth. She does her best, the soft sound of her choking makes him groan.

"You're okay Lovie, you're doing fine." He restrains himself from fucking up into her mouth. He imagines breaching her throat and feeling her panic and jerk trying to breathe. Sucking in a sharp breath, he relaxes as her hand squeezes the base of his cock lightly. It makes him shiver in anticipation.

Lovie pulls back and plunges herself down again and he helps along, finding a rhythm that he likes and that she can maintain. Watching his love, his girl pleasure him through lidded eyes almost makes him blush. The way she sucks and her cheeks pucker up on each pull, makes him twitch. Her spit begins to drip out of the corners of her mouth and it's a bit messy and he likes it. Without warning he bucks his hip and she gags trying to pull away.

"Look at me sweetie." He rasps. He wants to see her eyes, and Jesus fuck. With the angle she looks up at him, the dried tear tracks on her face and her still watery eyes, he loses his patience. She yelps when he grips her hair tightly and yanks her off. He's on his feet and shoving his cock harshly back into her mouth. Panicked hands swat at his thighs as he forces all of him down her throat. It's just as he though it would be.

Tight. Warm. Euphoric.

He fucks her mouth like it's her cunt. Suffocating her when his wiry hairs meet with her nose. She's crying again, fat crocodile tears streaming down her cheeks. When she clamps her eyes shut, he jostled her head.

"Eyes open, look at me." He pants out. She complies and it's everything he didn't know he needed. "Fuck, good Lovie, good girl."

There's vibration in the back of her throat from the muffled crying. The tip of his cock feels it and that sensation zips and zaps up his spine. It's going to Pavlov him into getting hard whenever she cries and it's really her fault. It will be her fault when every little thing she does makes him insatiable.

But it'll be a feedback loop.

He'll train her, her mind, and her body, to crave him just as much. Every little need she has, will be linked intrinsically to him. She wants to be warm? She will look for him for warmth. She wants a little bit of comfort? Her first instinct will be to present herself to him like a bitch in heat. She wants something that he considers to be a luxury and a privilege? She will be wet and dripping at the thought of doing whatever to have it.

Simon can't wait, and he knows he's going right to hell for this, but he's ecstatic for when she wants comfort and love. When she wants that she will seek him out.

Lovie gags and whimpers as he pistons out of her mouth. His pace is feverish as he squints down at her through his lust induced haze. She looks like an absolute doll like this. Her slaps against his thighs have lessened and she grips onto the fabric of his sweats tightly. Desperate to hold on, and the sound of her struggling to breath even through her nose is too precious. He has her very being in his hands and it makes his need for control thrum wit satisfaction.

"Oh Lovie, my sweet Lovie, youre too sweet to me." He grunts and shoves his cock impossibly far down her throat. She won't taste his cum this way but he doesn't mind. There will be other times for her to savor the taste of him, to memorize it. He feels her throat and body tensing as he cums. The pure idea of all of his spend collecting in her stomach makes him twitch. He grinds his hips into her face, basking in the aftershocks of his orgasm.

He guides her mouth off of him carefully. She coughs and breathes deeply, trying to get as much air into her lungs as possible. She sniffles and stares up at him, the look is pure heaven. She seems as if she's ashamed of her actions. He can't let her feel that way.

"Oh Lovie, you sweet sweet thing." He wipes some of the drool from her lip. "You did such a good job."

Her voice is raw, "Can I have my pants now?"

"Sure Lovie." He said as he put himself away, his mind already thinking about what elese he withhold from her. He takes off his sweats and offers them to her. She tries not to scrunch her face up in disgust, but she takes them.

"Thank you." She ties the drawstrings tightly.

"Oh my lil' Lovie. I'll always give you the clothes off my back. You need only ask."

[muntitled]

Work In Progress

Pairing: Gwi-nam x fem!reader

Summary: Gwinam learns you never know how much you love something until lose it…

Warnings: God Complex!Gwinam, Dark!fic, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, Shy!reader, Bullying, Unrequited Love, Toxic Relationship, Jealousy, Madonna whore complex, Narcissism, Weaponizing!Cheongsan (sorry boo), Public sex, Unprotected Sex, Oral Sex, Underage Sex (technically), Masturbation Fem!rec, Dom/Sub, God Kink?, DUB/CON, humming, Spitting, Extreme Degradation, Mentions of Rape, Dacryphillia, Humping,Choking, Gagging, Subspace, Slapping, Sadism, Masochism, Breeding Kink,

A/n: the word 'rape' is used. Please be aware. You might recognize this fic if you've read my other stuff but it's because I rewrote it for another character cus no one was really checking for Gwinam like that. Kdrama fics are quite niche.

I'm not responsible for the media you consume

You have made peace with the incomparable fact, long ago, that if God existed then he was far too busy to attend to you. There is just too much going on all at once: Smartphones are threatening devolution. The planet is on the edge of a burning match. There are bigger things than this.

Still, swirling in the depths of your stomach is the incriminating need to cry, and pray, and perhaps maybe even touch yourself, too.

Your moral compass is a work in progress.

It had a knack for getting nefariously cloudy, especially when he entered the mix…

Gwinam's eyes are blown into saucers as he looks down at you. He is utterly restless, not knowing what to do with himself, when you took so much of him, so well. His satisfaction has you fighting the urge to hum and moan around the head of his cock.

Despite all this, you are clearly aware of the fact that you should not be enjoying this at all. Not one bit.

For starters, your knees are cutting into gravel, your shirt is unbuttoned because Gwinam was like a moth to a fucking flame when it came to your ample breasts and his hand was locked tightly in your kinky curls, forcing his cock even further down his throat.

You clench your toes, trying not to gag.

"Fuck, you're taking me so well," Gwinam got exceedingly verbal during most of your secret trysts. With his slurred speech, the boy could murmur every curse, praise and degradation under the sun.

"Such a good fucking slut," but the invisible word always hung heavy between you two. A word you always wanted to hear him say…

Mine. Mine. Mine.

He had always, and would always fail to claim you, in any capacity, even under the spell of sexual intoxication.

"What they don't understand… Is that I'm actually a really nice guy." Gwinam begins that weird quirk where he speaks to himself while he uses your body for his own pleasure. You were made to question whether you were his therapist or his whore. You love it though.

Every habit or quirk of his was indiscriminately locked away in a safe and buried in the depths of your consciousness.

"I'm really-" You slide your tongue along his shaft, ripping a hoarse groan from his chest and momentarily stumping his verbal momentum.

"What no one seems to understand, is that… I'm a… fair fucking guy, too." Feeling himself get too close, Gwinam eases his cock fully out of your mouth, languidly stroking himself but still assuming a firm grip on your hair. He is operating on that very specific plain of narcissism that

was special to Gwinam. He is aware of your presence, physically, but his words are spoken into the open air, like you are an inanimate object. A glorified fleshlight.

"And that fucking Jinsu," He punctuates his sentence with an incredulous laugh- it blossoms across his usually stoic visage, raising his buttercup cheekbones towards his smiling eyes. All you can do is sit back on your haunches, lift the sleeve of your fitted school jersey to wipe away the excess saliva. You remain kneeled in front of him, knowing he has yet to finish.

As he talks, a slow feeling of admiration seeps into the pit of your stomach which is utterly pathetic, given that your feelings will not ever be reciprocated.

"They wanna make me seem like a murderer-" he exclaims, "Me?! It's not my fault he tried to kill himself,” He laughs incredulously. His smile is utterly dazzling in the unambiguous morning glow, with his rugged hair messy just how you like it. You recognize his black undershirt as the same shirt he might've worn yesterday, and the day before that, and perhaps even the day before that. His school shirt was wrinkled and unkempt and his shoes had seen far better days - even better years.

Brewing inside you is the need to take care of him. You knew the rest of the student body viewed Gwinam as an earth-dwelling parasite. Something that is only capable of thinking within the capacity of its own survival. Something that takes, and takes, and takes. But how could he know anything different? You suspected that his home life was built on the foundation of survival, on needing to be the loudest, and proudest, and baddest of them all.

"What the fuck are you doing?" The sharpness of his words slice through your thoughts, bringing you back to the lot behind the science block. The sound of students trickling in for their morning classes filled your ears but Gwinam's gaze was placed firmly on something below his exposed cock. Throughout this mindless tirade, your hand had taken to rubbing soft, comforting circles against his leg, quite literally on its own accord. Gwinam is bent over, head tilted as he watches you questioningly. You rip your hand away, embarrassed by the weird show of affection. Seconds stretch to a minute, and your stomach sinks as time passes.

Gwinam, eventually dismisses you, as he always does. He shakes his head and resumes his stroking. "Whatever," He says, tilting your own head back and lining your mouth with the head of his cock once more. His visage darkens into a cruel sadistic grin. "Tell me you want me to come in your mouth."

Almost insitinvely, you did as he ordered, and like clockwork, he groaned and cursed and emptied himself inside your mouth. You swallowed his cum, wondering if he knew how deeply and truly your admiration actually was. There is a moment, perhaps imagined, after he's finished, when the aftershocks are still running rampant through his body, in which his fingers gripping your hair, rub along the side of your soft, supple cheek. It stays there for longer than necessary, leaving bits and pieces of your composure scattered in its wake.

Gwinam straightens his posture, stuffing his flaccid cock back into his pants before making himself as presentable as the student body knows him to be (which admittedly is not a lot).

Before he turns to walk away, he leaves you stranded on a glacier with his ice cold words cutting deep into your beating heart.

"Tell anyone about this-"

"And I'm dead," You interject, "I know."

And with that, you pull your ruffled collar over your lint-free school jersey and check your reflection on your phone to assess the damage Gwinam and his iron grip might have left. You needn't wait for an extension on the conversation because your job here was done, (pun so malevolently intended). As far as Gwinam is concerned, you are an easy conduit to release his frustrations because your unpopularity makes you so incredibly inconspicuous. You blend into any given crowd at any given moment, your name seldom reaching the heights of ridicule among his group because you are so forgettable… There had been no reason to point out your flaws, not because you did not have any, but because you were simply invisible.

It is particularly strange to have any social interaction beyond the bounds of forced proximity through group projects and class discussions… so Cheongsan gifting you even a sliver of attention had been violently unorthodox. So unorthodox in fact, you failed to look up from the weathered pages of your novel when his gentle voice wafted in your direction. It was second period, English, your teacher was running late and while the class descended into mayhem you decided to read.

"I don't know if you're aware of this but…" Cheongsan leans over your desk, a deep shadow over the pages alerting you to his presence, "They both die at the end."

It was incredibly rare that Cheongsan, who sat at the desk directly in front of you, ever felt the need to strike up conversation that was not purely academic. So naturally, you peer up at him with shocked, questioning eyes.

"Sorry?"

"Y-Your book," He stutters, suddenly overcome by a wave of embarrassment even though there was nothing at all to be embarrassed about… he turns his chair slightly in your direction, his eyes darting to the door and the empty teacher's seat before meeting yours once more.

"'They Both Die At The End. The title of the book you're reading."

"Oh…" You affirm, rocking your head back and forth, "You were making a joke?"

"Nah," Cheongsan waves a large hand in dismissal, "The only thing I made was a fool of myself." You're not sure when it happens but you feel the lower half of your face melting into what you suspect is a smile. You can feel your shoulders relaxing and your novel lowering imperceptibly, to see more of him.

"Work on your delivery next time and maybe we'll be getting somewhere."

"You know- I swear I had a pair of balls before the start of this conversation," He purses his lips and clasps his hands on his lap in a dramatic display, "Now I'm not quite sure where they went."

Gwinam's feet pass over the threshold as soon as the sound of your laughter rushes past him. It is almost charming in its familiarity but incredibly curious in its rarity. He can't recall ever seeing you with your head thrown back while the instinctive sound of amusement races through your throat. He does not know he's staring until someone in his friend group shoves past him, to get to their own seats.

His eyes remain on you as he makes his way to his desk, hoping, perhaps, that you would turn your head infinitesimally, in acknowledgement of his presence in the row of desks to your right. You do nothing of the sort and it not only fills him with a weird sort of dissatisfaction but it bubbles into full blown vexation when he realises who is capturing your attention so viscerally.

Gwinam has never prided himself on his patience or tolerance. Overthinking being something he lived without. Most of his actions were spurred from things he felt in the now, and he was really fucking uncomfortable with what was happening now.

Perhaps if he…

"You didn't let me know we were having a picnic," The sound of a chair scraping against the tiles had both you and Cheongsan rallying into silence. Gwinam appears at your side, pushing the chair against yours so he, too, sits facing Cheongsan. Cheongsan who suddenly appears incredibly uneasy. Gone is the comfortable atmosphere cooked by easy and amicable conversation. Gwinam injecting himself into your little bubble created a suddenly charged and suffocating atmosphere. You cannot keep your hardened eyes off Cheongsan as Gwinam lowers himself to his chair, legs spread as he slouches down, like he always does.

"Don't stop now," He exclaims, completely oblivious to the fact that your Science teacher might walk in at any minute. "What were we talking about?" Your heart wrestles in your chest as you see him turn to address you in your periphery. His slouching puts him a level lower than you but it does nothing to lessen his intimidation. "Maybe I should ask, Cheongsan? What were you guys talking about?" There is not a trace of friendliness present in Gwinam's tone, in fact it's the very opposite. Your nerves, swelling with anxiety, only escalates into full on panic when you feel him place a large hand on your skirt under the table.

Cheongsan's voice is low and his eyes are trained on the floor, "Books-" Gwinam cuts him off with fervour.

"Books! How interesting!" The hyperbolic wonder in his tone is utterly rude and unbecoming, but still you refuse to look at him. "And tell me, Cheongsan… how many books have you read so far?"

It is then that Gwinam's once stationary hand begins the faintest trace of movement. He begins slow and tame, his callouses barely registering on the soft fabric of your chequered school skirt until his fingers prod the lining of your skirt…

your breath hitches in your throat.

Never had Gwinam ever felt the desire to touch you. Not in the way he made you touch him. It was made explicitly clear that only he would benefit from your secret rendezvous' and so you were left to deal with your aching cunt alone, with the image of the face he made when he came, still burned into your mind. It had never been about you.

"A couple," Says Cheongsan, fighting to show this bully that he was affected by his intimidation. If only he knew that with every advance Gwinam's palm made, you simply were not there.

"A couple books?" Asks Gwinam for clarity. He remains lax and languid on the inside, but the nature of his wandering hand underneath the desk tells a new story. He finally slips under your skirt. His palm connects with the softness of your thighs and he seems utterly pleased by it

His hand is immediately restless to explore how far you would let him go. Which isn't very far.

Not at all.

If he thought he could suddenly touch you after myriad occasions of using you like a discarded toy… he had another thing coming.

The tips of Gwinam's fingers make gradually increasing strokes along your thigh until his fingers prod the stretch marks on your inner thigh. It is there when you stop him, clenching your legs together, blocking his hand from any further movement.

Gwinam's voice is strained as he says, "And you like reading, Cheongsan?"

Sensing something brewing between the two of you - your withdrawn, hazy gaze, staring directly through him and Gwinam's overabundance in questions, has Cheongsan reeling backwards.

"I asked you a question, Cheongsan."

"I like reading."

"Good! That's really good!" Quite suddenly, Gwinam tilts the ends of his half-moon nails into your thigh, forcing them to weaken and unclamp. Before you're even able to think, his palm is cupping your cunt through your panties- forcing an indecent yelp from your throat which you quickly (and very badly) disguise as a cough.

Gwinam is utterly pleased while he continues mindlessly stroking your cunt. Not for the purpose of any glorious stimulation it seems. His hand is just there to show you (and perhaps maybe himself) that he has access to the most private part of you. That thought alone has an unforeseen and sudden wave of lust coursing through his veins and surging straight to his hardened cock. He thinks of all the things he could have done to you but failed to do. He thinks about how, up until this point, he had ever been satisfied with using your mouth alone, not when he was denying himself the softness of your pussy all along. He felt angry with himself, for being so fucking stupid, he is angry at Cheongsan for seeing whatever it is he saw in you, way before he did and, possibly most harrowing of all is the fact that he is angry with you. And he can't help but be angry at you. How easily you whore yourself out to any and every man. If this thing with Cheongsan had gone far enough, would you venture as far as to suck his cock in deserted sectors of the schoolyard? Had you even fucked Cheongsan before?

You bite down on your lower lip as your head bows to your book once more. The words blend into one another, and all you can feel is a rise in temperature and Gwinam's suddenly restless fingers, pressing rudely against your clit - or the sole purpose of ripping an orgasm out of you right then and there, at the very back of an unsupervised classroom, with Cheongsan still very much a part of the conversation.

"You've got so many books to read in your lifetime," Says Gwinam. He sits up slowly, likely spurred on by the dampness seeping through your panties.

"Don't cut your life short by trying to entertain other people's girlfriends, okay?"

Your skin feels like you are bathing in magma and you hope Cheongsan could not see the slight tremor on your hand as you gripped the sides of your book with more force than necessary. His words, however - they have you shifting forward and widening your legs minutely. You crave for nothing more than to roll your hips in tandem with the circles he's pressing against your clit.

"Understood?"

Your orgasm is dangerously close, with the promise of sheer, disgusting shame and embarrassment if he continues. You feel Cheongsan give you one final look, perhaps pleading for an interjection of denial at some point but you've taken to bouncing your knee under the table, hoping the vibrations might create enough friction to aide Gwinam's hands. He is keeping you trapped in a space of wanting. So much so, that this almost feels like a punishment.

Once Cheongsan is turned back around and facing the front of the class, Gwinam lowers his lips to your ears. You're so completely stimulated, even the warmth of his breath as you fight the urge to hump into his hand like a naughty little thing until you make a mess all over his hand.

"You're such a fucking slut, you know that?" Your book drops to your desk - muffled by the sounds of the classroom cacophony.

"Fuck," You whisper to yourself, blinking your eyes shut, fighting to ward off the need but to no avail. His fingers are long and limber, and they have you nearly cumming right there, in front of your entire fucking class. Had it not been for Mr Lee's haphazard arrival into the class, and the swift removal of Gwinam's fingers from between your legs… you might truly have become the slut he so often labeled you as.

Instead of moving to his designated seat, Gwinam lifts the same hand that has previously been in between your legs, right into the air.

"What?" Asks Mr Lee, his voice as lacklustre as his appearance.

"Can we go? We were excused by the Principal to assist Mrs-"

"Fine, fine," Says Mr Lee with a wave of dismissal before turning his attention to the rest of the class. "The rest of you, open your textbooks to page 56."

Gwinam's hand is clamped around your forearm, already leading you swiftly out the door in a long and wide stride. Had it been any other teacher at all, they might have recognized this for what it so clearly was.

"Here," you have barely made it fully into the girl's bathroom before Gwinam is stuffing his fingers down your throat, making you gag and yelp at the sudden intrusion. "Tell me how good you taste." He doesn't even bother to make sure you're truly left alone in the bathroom before pushing your front against the bathroom counter.

"Answer me when I'm talking to you," He forces his fingers deeper down your throat, causing you to cough and gag around them. You're supposed to be afraid because you've never seen him like this. Gwinam is always a ball of energy between trysts, but it's usually an energy he can somewhat contain.

You don't know what to do with him, not when he's watching you choke on his fingers through the mirror, while his other hand fondles at your breasts and rips your bra down until your nipples are poking through your school shirt.

The figure in the mirror distorts as your eyes begin to water. Thick beads of water grow pregnant at the ends of your eyes before rolling down the side of your face.

"My girl," Gwinam presses his face into your hair, breathing you in, pressing his front against your back. His hard cock in unmistakable through his pants, "My messy little girl,"

You finally moan candidly around his fingers, your fingers gripping the countertops while your hips buck into nothingness. Your eyes plead with him in the mirror, hoping they relay how utterly useless with lust you have become. It would not take hard work to cum, you're sure one more flick against your material-clad nipples might send you over the edge.

"Fuck, why didn't I think of this sooner," This is all new, even for the two of you.

"Spread your legs." He commands, even though his feet are already kicking them apart. "Come here," you break eye contact in the mirror to face the boy behind you.

Gwinam removes his fingers sitting in your mouth, leaving a trail of unbreakable saliva in its wake before replacing it with a long and messy kiss- one that has his tongue forcing itself inside.

Gwinam weaponizes your distraction to slide your panties to the side with one hand and rub your clit with his other, spit-coated hand.

You break away from the kiss, neck craning back and mouth hanging open while your eyebrows dissolve into crescents. You cannot look away from him, as you hump his hand.

"You wanna cum?" You nod enthusiastically. "And what if I told you, you can't cum until I've raped that little pussy of yours? Hm? What then?" His words have you mewling from the sheer pleasure they bring and your orgasm threatens to snap once more.

"Fuck," He hisses, feeling unable to remove his hand from your wet cunt but needing to, in order to undo his belt and pull his aching cock out. "Don't you dare fucking touch yourself," He says in a deadly quiet voice before bringing his hand up to your mouth. "Spit." You don't ever think of disobeying him, not when you're swimming so deeply in your subspace, not when he's the one to bring you here.

Gwinam collects every bit of saliva you offer him before coating his cock in the stuff.

Deciding not to waste anymore time, Gwinam does what his body is screaming for him to do: he bends you over the bathroom counter and pushes cock right through your slippery folds. It's tense and painful and your voice is hoarse from doing all that screaming but the sudden contact strokes a deeply sated part inside yourself. His curved and pretty cock ram your insides with reckless abandon, all while he delivers harsh and sharp slaps against your cheek. Gwinam keeps a firm grip on your throat. His mouth is inches away from you while his hips rut into yours. His words are being delivered through clenched teeth.

"You think you're so fucking cute, huh? You think you can walk around fucking any guy who even looks at you, huh!?" It doesn't even register that Gwinam wrongfully suspects that there had been something between Cheongsan and you, but you keep your mouth shut. For all his indifference in the past, this is how you would make him pay.

"Oh~ Fuck." His cock bruises your cervix, leaving Gwinam balls deep and feral inside you. "Fucking Cheongsan?! You wanna give what's mine, to fucking Cheongsan?!" It's utterly depraved and animalistic and it has your orgasm cresting. "What would Cheongsan think? If he saw me raping you in the bathroom like this? What would he think? Would he still want your slutty pussy knowing I've been inside it? Knowing that I've cum inside you and completely ruined you for anyone else,"

"You…" The tears threaten to spill, "it's only ever been you, Gwinam- oh my God! I'm so fucking close!" You fight down tears as the lava begins to bubble at the pit of your stomach.

"S-Say it again. Tell me you want me!" He exclaims, "Tell me you fucking need me."

"I fucking need you, Oh my God" You push your hips back to meet his thrusts.

His voice wavers after your confession. His strokes becoming sloppy, "F-Fuck! I am your God, baby. You need me so fucking badly…" He nods to himself while his heavy cock finds purchase in a specific clump of sensitive tissue inside your cunt. It has you clamping your own mouth shut, your elbows falling to the counter with your ass sticks out towards him, only allowing him better excess.

"I need you," You agree, swallowing a ball of saliva as you nod towards him through the mirror, "I need your cum inside me."

"Yeah-," Gwinam says, "M'gonna fucking breed your pussy right here, in the school bathrooms- fuck!" His grip on your throat grows tighter until you're wholeheartedly cut off from your air supply. You hump his cock until you feel it twitch inside you.

"Fuck! You're fucking making me cum you stupid slut!" You feel his hot cum spurting inside your walls, triggering your own orgasm that has you gripping his cock like a vice. "Oh fuck- you're fucking milking my cock, baby. Fucking take it." His hips stutter against yours until you've completely drained him of his cum. A sharp tremor settles over your bones and you gasp in vague increments, waiting for the overwhelming state of euphoria to subside… but it never does.

The weight of what you had done comes crashing back down but you are unable to feel anything besides an immense wave of satisfaction at having your deepest need satiated.

"I think I nearly killed Cheongsan today." His voice is a hoarse echo within the school bathrooms.

"There is no Cheongsan," You say, watching him through the mirror, "In my whole world, there is only ever you."

And a part of him believes you but he refuses to affirm something as emotionally stifling as that. Instead, Gwinam's eyes flutter shut as his nose finds your hair once more. His cock is still buried inside you, and you hiss as he moves his hips slowly, almost insitinvely. He loves being so wholly enveloped by you. He loves feeling you everywhere.

[noir-lullaby]

Love is Blind | Terry Richmond

Summary: Falling in love without seeing each other was the easy part. But when the doors open and you finally lay eyes on Terry Richmond, you realise this isn't just an experiment anymore. It's real.

Warnings: pure fluff.

Author’s Note: Y’all, Terry Richmond on Love Is Blind was not on my bingo card, but here we are! 😭 I had so much fun writing this.

Word Count: ~2,800 words

The moment you signed up for Love Is Blind, you told yourself you weren’t going to settle. No half-hearted connections, no forcing sparks that weren’t there. You wanted something real. And yet, sitting on this couch in the pod, you found yourself falling. Hard.

His voice was deep, steady, a soothing kind of rich that made you lean in closer to the wall that separated you. There was a quiet strength to the way he spoke, an intentionality behind every word. He listened to you—not just hearing, but truly absorbing everything you said.

“So you really teach second grade?” Terry asked, a smile evident in his tone.

“Mhm, going on five years now. They keep me on my toes, but I love it. It’s beautiful seeing their minds expand, especially our little Black and brown babies. I want them to see the world as big as they want it to be.”

Terry hummed, a thoughtful pause before he responded. “That’s dope. I respect that.”

You grinned. “And you? A former Marine?”

“Yeah. Did my time, but I knew early on I wasn’t staying in forever. Too much blind loyalty, y’know? And I ain’t with all that.”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “I won’t lie, I’ve always had complicated feelings about the military.”

“How so?”

You exhaled, choosing your words carefully. “I get why people serve. I really do. But it’s hard knowing how much harm our government has done, especially to people who look like us. I could never put my life on the line for a country that’s never fully protected us.”

Terry was quiet for a beat before he spoke, voice even. “I hear you. And honestly? I don’t disagree. I enlisted ‘cause I needed stability. Wanted to make sure my family was good. But the deeper I got into it, the more I saw the cracks. So I left.”

You bit your lip, thinking. “Do you regret it?”

“Nah. It made me who I am, but it don’t define me. I’m more than that.”

Something in your chest warmed at that. You liked the way he saw himself, how he wasn’t confined to one experience, one box. It made you want to know more.

Days turned into weeks, and with every conversation, the connection deepened. You spoke about everything—the best soul food spots, your love for old-school R&B, the books that changed your lives. Be still, your heart.

The laughter, the teasing, the little moments of vulnerability—it all built to this moment.

“I know this might be crazy,” Terry started, voice lower now, like he was holding his breath. “But I can’t ignore what I feel for you. I don’t need to see your face to know I wanna build something real with you.”

Your heart pounded. You had dreamed of this moment, but with him, it felt different. It felt right.

“Terry,” you whispered, emotion thick in your throat.

“Will you marry me?”

Tears pricked at your eyes, the answer already there. “Yes.”

--

The night before the reveal, you barely slept. Your mind raced with excitement, nerves, and the tiniest sliver of doubt. What if he wasn’t attracted to you? What if the chemistry fizzled when you were face to face? But deep down, you knew it wasn’t just about looks. You had fallen for his mind, his heart, the way he made you feel safe without even seeing you.

And then, the moment came.

Standing behind the doors, your hands trembled. This was it. The moment you would finally see him, no walls, no barriers. Just you and him.

The doors opened, and your breath hitched.

Terry Richmond stood there, tall and strong, blue-grey eyes locked onto you with an intensity that made your stomach flip. He was beautiful, and the way his lips parted in awe made you feel like the most radiant woman in the world.

“Damn,” he exhaled, running a hand over his goatee. “You’re even more beautiful than I imagined.”

You let out a soft laugh, stepping forward as he pulled you into his arms. The embrace was firm, secure, like home. He smelled of cedarwood and something distinctly him, and when he pulled back just enough to look at you, there was nothing but warmth in his gaze.

“We really did this, huh?” you murmured, fingers tracing the lapels of his suit.

“Yeah, we did,” he said, voice full of certainty. “And I ain’t letting go.”

Neither were you.

You couldn’t stop staring at him, drinking in every detail—his strong jawline, the faint scar on his brow, the way his hands held yours like he was afraid to let go. “I was scared,” you admitted. “That maybe this connection wouldn’t feel as real in person. But looking at you now? I’ve never been more sure.”

Terry cupped your cheek, thumb grazing your skin gently. “I know what you mean. But I felt you before I saw you. And now that I see you?” He leaned in, voice low and reverent. “I ain’t going nowhere.”

Before you could overthink it, his lips captured yours in a slow, deep kiss. The world around you faded, cameras and crew slipping into nothingness as you melted into him. His hands anchored you, fingers pressing into the small of your back as he deepened the kiss, taking his time like he wanted to memorize the way you tasted. Your arms looped around his neck, holding him close, needing him closer. It was soft and urgent all at once, a promise sealed between you.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, he pressed his forehead against yours, a small smirk on his lips. “Yeah,” he murmured. “This is real.”

The first few minutes together felt like a dream. The way he held your hand, the way he whispered little reassurances—You good? You nervous?—all of it made you melt. The cameras, the producers, all faded into the background. It was just the two of you.

“So… what now, fiancée?” he teased, smirking as he twirled your fingers between his own.

You laughed, tilting your head. “I guess we get ready for the real world.”

“Think we’ll survive?” he asked, half-joking, half-serious.

You squeezed his hand. “As long as you’re in it, I’m ready.”

Terry studied you for a long moment, like he was committing every detail of your face to memory. Then, with a slow, confident nod, he smiled. “Then let’s do this, baby.”

And for the first time in a long time, you felt completely, undeniably, ready too.

taglist: @nayaesworld @slvt4her @novahreign @nbanenefrmdao @kaylalb @woahthatshitfat

[smallratboy]

Geta's Favorite Concubine

You were Emperor Geta's favorite. In the dark reaches of the night, when you were curled up in his bed, your soft breathing ghosting over his chest, he might just admit he loved you. He always called on you, and you always gave him everything he asked. In the midst of pleasure, his presence filling you to the brim, you might just admit you loved him.

tw. smut! mndni!!

Emperor Geta sat on his throne, an imposing figure in his gold robe, a crown of laurels shining amongst his fiery curls. The senators milled about in front of him, arguing amongst one another. He leaned back in his chair, running a hand over his face. It had been this way for hours. 

He stood suddenly, causing everyone to stop and look up at him. He sighed, offering a tight-lipped smile to the men in the room. 

“Senators,” He said, “I can sense you are all weary. Please, rest and think on your conversations. We shall meet again tomorrow, and we shall make a decision.”

With that, he strode out of the room, his robe swishing behind him as he went. He let out a groaning sigh, glad to be rid of those twittering assholes. He found a praetorian monitoring the halls, and bade him to find a concubine and send them to his rooms. 

“Find my favorite,” He commanded, and the praetorian nodded, walking off on his mission. Geta strode through the halls, taking his time to relax before returning to his quarters. He wanted you to be ready and waiting by the time he got there. 

And ready you were. His cock twitched at the sight of you, spread naked on his bed. You flushed as you saw him, meeting his eyes and swiping your tongue across your lip. 

“Caesar,” you whispered, rising to your knees on his bed. Geta made his way over to you, cupping your face in his hands. He gazed down at you, his intense brown eyes stripping you bare. 

“Submit to your emperor,” Geta ordered, letting you go. He pressed down on your chest, forcing you onto your back. He removed his sandals slowly, watching you. Your eyes never once left him as he climbed atop you, jewels glinting in the sunlight. You felt very exposed, naked before him while he was still fully clothed, his crown of laurels shining in the late-afternoon sun. 

His head dipped down to the crevice made by your neck and shoulder, inhaling your scent. One hand was clamped firmly at your hip, while the other thumbed your nipple teasingly. You ran your hand through the hair at the base of his skull, giving a soft tug as he pinched your nipple. 

He left soft, warm kisses along your neck and collarbone, devouring you slowly, his lips leaving a teasing trail. Finally, his lips met yours in a starving kiss, your mind reeling from the intensity of his kiss. 

“Please,” You breathed as he pulled away, your cunt throbbing. You pleaded with your eyes, looking up at him from your position trapped beneath his body. “Please, Geta.” 

He groaned at the use of his name, tilting his head back. You could feel his length pressed against your thigh, hot and heavy and desperate. You ran your hands over his thighs, feeling the muscles beneath his robes.  

“Would you ever defy your emperor?” Geta asked, sitting back and slowly disrobing. Expensive jewels were dropped carelessly to the floor, fine fabrics discarded. His hairless chest glimmered with soft beads of sweat. 

“Never,” you whispered, your hands returning to his thighs. 

He manhandled your legs apart, gazing at your wetness. He licked his lips, his pupils blown. He slotted himself between your legs, his cock brushing against you teasingly. 

“And do you love your emperor?” He asked, lining himself up with your hole. 

“Yes,” you breathed, holding his neck and gazing into his eyes as he slid into you with comfortable ease. You knew one another's bodies so well it was like returning home to have him inside you, flooding all your senses and consuming you.

His lips crashed against yours as he began to fuck you in earnest, his rage and frustration breaking through and driving his thrusts with a flaming intensity. Your broken moans and whines could be heard above the slapping of skin, and you could feel Geta's hot breath on you as he panted. 

“Who do you belong to?” He asked, moving his hand between your bodies to rub tight circles against your clit.   

“You!” You cried, back arching in pleasure. “Always you,” Your nails raked down his back, arms wrapping around him to bring him closer to you. You wanted to feel him everywhere.

“Say it,” He commanded, his words coming out desperate and strained.

“I'm yours!” You moaned, your orgasm crashing over you in waves. Your thighs shook around Geta's hips, and he let out a desperate groan as he came inside you. Slowly, he pulled out and wrapped himself around you, holding you close to him. 

You did not speak as you caught your breath, basking in the afterglow. Your limbs felt soft, and you were warm and sleepy in Geta's embrace. 

He idly played with your hair, watching you softly. You were held securely in his arms, his favorite concubine. His.

[s4svnn]

oob!couple :

Jungkook and oc are out on a date and girl starts flirting with jungkook and oc gets jealous (possible jealousy sex 🫥)

No touching

You always knew your boyfriend was hot, but it still caught you off guard just how many girls asked for his number whenever you were out together. So, to make it clear who he belonged to, you set a rule as punishment—no touching.

Pairing: F1 racer Jungkook x reader

Genre: fluff, angst

Warnings/content tags: teasing, punishment, begging, sub Jungkook, dom reader, blindfolding, bondage

Word count: 3k

The night had started out perfectly. Jungkook and I were out on a date at a cozy little restaurant in the heart of the city, tucked into a booth by the window. The soft hum of conversation blended with the low clink of glasses and silverware, the warm candlelight flickering between us, casting golden hues against his sharp features.

And God, did he look good. Jungkook was the kind of man who turned heads without even trying. His black leather jacket hugged his broad shoulders just right, the white tank top underneath stretching over his toned chest, leaving little to the imagine. His silver rings caught the dim light as he idly tapped his fingers against his glass, a habit of his when he was lost in thought. But the real kicker? His hair—gelled back, exposing every inch of that dangerous jawline, making him look like he had just stepped out of a classic movie.

He was effortlessly cool, effortlessly untouchable. But unfortunately, I wasn’t the only one who noticed. The stares had been relentless all night—lingering gazes from across the room, subtle peeks from waitresses, even a few not-so-subtle ones from women walking past our table. But I ignored them. I was used to it. People always looked at Jungkook.

Look, but don’t touch. That was the unspoken rule.

But apparently not everyone got the memo. Tall, gorgeous, and exuding confidence, she sauntered right up to our table, her heels clicking against the floor like she owned the place. Her dress clung to her body in all the right places, her hair styled perfectly, and her bold red lipstick made her smirk look even cockier. She didn’t even spare a glance at me as she approached us stopping right in front of Jungkook.

"Hey," she purred, placing a manicured hand on the table, leaning in far too close. "I just had to come over and say—you have the most incredible eyes. Has anyone ever told you that?"

I blinked. Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Jungkook, ever the polite one, gave her a small, forced smile. "Uh… thanks?"

That should have been the end of it. A polite brush-off, an awkward silence, and she’d leave. But, of course, she didn’t. Stupid bitch.

"You from around here?" she continued, tilting her head, twirling a strand of hair between her fingers like she was a walking cliché. I took a slow sip of my drink, waiting to see if Jungkook would shut this down himself. But when he hesitated—whether out of politeness or just not knowing how to cut her off—I decided to step in to preserve my sanity. I leaned forward, casually placing my hand on Jungkook’s forearm, my fingers lightly dragging against his skin. "He’s with me," I said sweetly, my voice laced with fake innocence. "His girlfriend."

Finally—finally—she looked at me, blinking as if she had just now realized I was sitting there. And then she laughed. She fucking laughed. The audacity.

"Ohhh," she dragged out, shaking her head. "I thought you were his sister."

I stared at her, deadpan. "His what?"

"Sister," she repeated, like I was the one who wasn’t getting it. "You guys don’t really look like a couple, you know?"

Jungkook visually tensed in front of me, his jaw clenching, his fingers tightening around his glass. But before he could say anything, I tilted my head, mirroring her condescending smirk.

"Aww," I cooed, my voice just as fake as hers. "That’s funny, because I thought a bitch like you would know her place." I flashed her the sweetest smile. "Guess we were both wrong."

Her smirk vanished instantly. "Excuse me?"

"You’re excused," I said, giving a dismissive wave of my fingers. "Bye bye now."

She scoffed, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Wow. Insecure much?"

Jungkook finally spoke, his voice laced with irritation. "You should leave."

The girl huffed, rolling her eyes before muttering something under her breath and stomping off. I smirked, stabbing my fork into my dessert with a little too much force. "Well," I muttered, chewing aggressively, "that was fun."

Jungkook exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he leaned back in the booth, watching me with amusement. "Damn, I didn’t know you had it in you to be jealous?"

I shot him a glare. "Shut up I’m not jealous."

His smirk widened. "You totally are."

"Oh, so now you see things clearly, huh? Where was all this awareness when she was flirting with you?" I huffed, grabbing my drink.

Jungkook lifted his hands in mock surrender, "I wasn’t even flirting back."

"You didn’t shut her down, either."

He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "I was trying to be nice."

"Nice?" I scoffed. "Jungkook, she practically climbed into your lap."

He rolled his eyes. "You’re being dramatic."

I lifted my chin, turning away. "Whatever. Enjoy your fan club."

Jungkook chuckled, reaching for my hand, but I pulled it away before he could touch me. A flash of something dark flickered across his face, and I smirked in return, if he thought this was over he had another thing coming.

The second we got home, Jungkook was all over me. His hands slipped around my waist as soon as we stepped inside, pulling me against him. His lips brushed the shell of my ear as he murmured, "Still mad?"

I smoothly stepped out of his grip, strolling toward the bedroom without so much as a glance in his direction.

Jungkook frowned. "Uh… babe?"

Silence. I grabbed my oversized sleep shirt—the one that barely covered my thighs—and changed into it, knowing exactly what I was doing. When I climbed into bed, Jungkook was already watching me, arms crossed, brow raised. "Alright, what’s going on?"

I sighed dramatically. "Nothing. I’m just enforcing a new rule."

His eyes narrowed. "A rule?"

"Mhm." I turned onto my side, away from him. "No touching."

Jungkook blinked. "No touching?"

"That’s right."

He scoffed. "You’re joking."

I didn’t respond. A few beats passed, then I felt the bed dip as he slid in beside me. His body heat was familiar, comforting—but I refused to acknowledge it. A second later, his lips ghosted over my shoulder, fingers trailing down my side. "Baby…" he murmured, voice low, coaxing.

I dodged, rolling over at the last second. "Goodnight, Jungkook."

He groaned. "What?"

I stretched, pretending to get comfortable. "I’m sleepy."

Jungkook sat up, eyes darkening. "You’re actually doing this?"

I smiled, acting completely oblivious. "Doing what?"

His jaw flexed. "You know what."

I shrugged. "Maybe next time, you won’t let other girls flirt with you."

Jungkook groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Babe, come on."

Jungkook was silent for a few seconds, and I thought maybe—just maybe—he’d give up and go to sleep. But I was wrong. Because a second later, I felt him shift again, his fingers trailing down my arm, slow and deliberate.  He let out a quiet chuckle, the sound low and dangerous. "No touching, huh?"

"Mhm."

His fingers moved again, this time ghosting over my hip. "So if I do this—" his hand grazed my thigh, barely touching, teasing, "—you won’t react?"

I forced my expression to stay neutral, even as a shiver threatened to creep up my spine. "Nope."

Jungkook exhaled a quiet laugh, but I could hear the frustration underneath it. "Baby…" His voice dropped, taking on that tone—the one he used when he wanted something. When he was desperate.

I fought the urge to smirk.

"Jungkook," I said, feigning innocence. "Why are you still awake?"

He let out another sigh, flipping onto his stomach, burying his face into the pillow for a second before turning his head to look at me.

"Because you’re torturing me," he grumbled, voice muffled.

I turned my head slightly, finally meeting his gaze. "Oh? And here I thought you didn’t mind when girls played with you." He groaned, reaching out again, but I moved away just before he could grab me.

"Aylah," he whined, his patience slipping. "Princess, come on—I didn’t do anything wrong!"

I raised a brow. "You let her flirt with you."

"I was just being polite!"

"You didn’t shut her down fast enough."

His eyes narrowed. "She didn’t shut up fast enough."

I hummed. "Mm, interesting. And yet I had to be the one to do it."

Jungkook groaned again, rolling onto his back, throwing an arm over his face. "Baby, please," he muttered. "You know you’re the only one I want, just let me make it up to you."

I stayed quiet.

"Oh, you’ll definitely be making it up to me," I mused, tilting my head slightly. "But we’re going to do this my way."

Jungkook’s eyes flickered with something dark, something intrigued, and before I could even process it, he was already nodding eagerly. "I’ll do anything," he murmured, his voice low, dripping with sincerity. "As long as you forgive me."

I let the silence stretch for a moment, letting his own anticipation work against him.Then, I smirked. "Good boy," I murmured, reaching out to lightly trail a single finger down his chest, stopping just above the waistband of his sweatpants.

His breath hitched. "Now… lay down for me."

Jungkook swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his eyes searched mine. There was something almost vulnerable in his expression—like he was completely at my mercy. And he was. Without hesitation, he shifted back onto the mattress, lying flat against the pillows, watching me carefully. His chest rose and fell a little quicker now, his hands twitching at his sides like he wanted to reach for me but was forcing himself to behave.

I grinned, leaning over him, my lips hovering just above his. "Now, let’s see how well you can listen." I whispered, watching as his eyes darkened. Jungkook lasted about five seconds before he broke. His hands twitched at his sides, fingers curling and uncurling, his entire body tense with the urge to touch me. But when I leaned in just a little closer, my breath ghosting over his lips, he snapped.

He moved—fast—his hands flying up to grab my waist. I swatted them away immediately. "Oh, come on," he groaned, his frustration obvious, his head dropping back against the pillow.

I clicked my tongue, shaking my head. "I mean what I said—no touching."

Jungkook exhaled sharply through his nose, his jaw clenching. "Baby, please—"

I smirked, dragging a finger down the center of his chest, watching as his muscles tensed beneath my touch. "You’re not in control tonight, Jungkook." My voice was soft but firm, leaving no room for argument.

His eyes flickered with something dangerous—something needy. And then, before he could protest, I reached over to the bedside table, my fingers brushing against the delicate ribbon I had worn in my hair earlier that night. It was smooth and silky, the perfect length.

Jungkook watched me carefully, his brows furrowing. "What are you—" But he didn’t get to finish. Because in one swift movement, I grabbed both of his wrists, pinning them above his head.

His breath hitched. "Aylah—"

I wrapped the ribbon around his wrists, looping it securely before tying it in place. It wasn’t too tight—I wasn’t actually trying to restrain him. But it was firm enough that he wouldn’t be able to touch me unless I let him. When I sat back, admiring my work, Jungkook let out a sharp breath, tugging at the restraints experimentally.

"Oh, fuck," he muttered under his breath, his fingers flexing as he realized he was actually at my mercy now.

I smiled sweetly. "Told you—you’re not in control tonight."

Jungkook exhaled shakily, his eyes darkening as he looked up at me, completely at my mercy. "Babe…" His voice was lower now, more desperate. "What are you gonna do to me?"

I grinned, dragging my fingers down his chest again—just light enough to tease, just enough to drive him insane. "Oh, love," I whispered, leaning in close, my lips barely brushing his jaw. "You’ll see."

Jungkook was falling apart. His body tensed beneath me, muscles flexing as he pulled against the ribbon, his fingers curling into fists like he was dying to touch me—but he couldn’t. And that made it so much better. I smirked, letting my lips trail back up his chest, slowly, taking my time, dragging my nails lightly over his skin just to tease him. His breath hitched when I reached his collarbone, and I felt him tremble as I hovered there, letting my lips ghost over the sensitive spot.

"Aylah," he groaned, his voice strained. "princess, please—"

I ignored him. Instead, I sank my teeth into the delicate skin right at the base of his neck, sucking hard, determined to leave a mark—something deep, something dark, something no one could miss. Jungkook gasped, his back arching slightly off the bed. "Fuck—"

I grinned against his skin, my tongue flicking out to soothe the bite before moving lower, repeating the process. Biting. Sucking. Marking. His breath came out in ragged pants, his jaw clenched so tightly I thought it might break. "Aylah—fuck—"

I moved to the other side of his neck, my teeth grazing over the smooth skin before biting again, just as hard.

"Shit—"

His head tipped back, exposing more of his throat to me, and I took full advantage of it, trailing my mouth over every inch of bare skin, leaving a path of dark purple and red in my wake. Jungkook was completely at my mercy—helpless, desperate, mine. I smirked as I moved up, kissing along his jaw, feeling the way it tensed beneath my lips, the way his breath shook.

Then, finally, I reached his ear. I let my lips brush against the shell of it, my voice dropping to a whisper. "Let me show all those bitches who think they have a chance who you belong to."

Jungkook groaned, his body jerking beneath me, his hands pulling at the restraints like he was seconds away from breaking free. "Fuck," he muttered, his voice hoarse. "Baby, please—untie me—"

I smirked, pulling back slightly to admire my work. His neck and collarbone were covered in marks, deep bruises painting his skin—a map of my possession. I ran my fingers over them lightly, watching the way his stomach tensed at my touch. "No," I murmured, tilting my head. "Not yet."

Jungkook let out a frustrated groan, his eyes dark and hazy as he looked up at me. "Aylah," he gritted out, his voice almost a warning. "You’re killing me."

I grinned. "Good."

Jungkook groaned loudly, his fingers twisting against the ribbon, his entire body shaking beneath me. "Baby, please—"

I smirked, dipping down, letting my lips barely brush his. "Beg me."

Jungkook’s breath hitched.

"Babe—"

"Beg, Jungkook," I murmured, tilting my head slightly, my lips ghosting over his but never quite touching. "Tell me how much you want me."

Jungkook swallowed hard, his body thrumming with need. "I want you so fucking bad," he rasped. "Please, baby—just let me touch you. Let me hold you. Let me—" He cut himself off with a groan, his head falling back. "Fuck—Aylah, please."

I let the silence stretch, just watching him, letting him writhe beneath me. I watched as Jungkook’s body tensed, every muscle tight with anticipation as I slowly untied the ribbon around his wrists. He let out a shaky breath, clearly relieved, but there was no release just yet.

"Sit up," I commanded softly, my voice cool, but with an edge that made it clear I wasn’t done with him.

He nodded, his eyes still burning with desire. As he moved to sit up against the headboard, I helped him with a hand on his chest to make sure he wasn’t too unsteady. His breathing was still ragged, chest rising and falling quickly. I could feel his heart pounding beneath my fingertips. Once he was sitting back, his body leaning slightly against the headboard, I stood up, watching him with a smug smirk on my face. His eyes followed my every movement, the fire in them never dimming. He was desperate, and that just made the moment even sweeter for me.

"You’re so good for me, Jungkook," I said quietly, my voice dripping with sweetness and something more dangerous. His lips parted, but he didn’t say anything—he was waiting. His hands clenched at his sides, still unused to not being able to touch. I smirked, bending down to grab the ribbon from the bed. The same one that had bound his wrists just moments ago. I brought it up to his face, letting it trail across his cheek. He looked up at me with those dark, desperate eyes, his mouth opening again like he was going to say something. But I stopped him with a raised finger.

"I told you," I said, my voice just above a whisper. "You’re not in control tonight."

He exhaled sharply, his lips trembling, but he didn’t argue. He understood. Slowly, I took the ribbon and held it in front of his eyes, making sure he was watching it, letting the silk slip through my fingers. Then, with one smooth motion, I wrapped it around his eyes, tying it gently at the back of his head, effectively blindfolding him.

His body froze, but he didn’t protest. His breathing was shallow, his entire frame on edge. He was blind, vulnerable, and I could feel the shift in the air—the power had shifted, and now he was completely dependent on me.

"How does it feel?" I asked softly, watching him as his lips parted again, the words caught in his throat. "Not being able to see? Not knowing what I’ll do next?"

He swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper as he replied, "Fuck, it feels..."

He didn’t finish, but I could tell what he meant. He was on the edge of losing control, and I was loving every second of it.

"Good," I said, my fingers tracing the edge of his blindfold. "Now you’ll have to trust me, won’t you?"

He nodded, his head slightly jerking up, but his hands remained still at his sides, as if waiting for my next move.

"I’m going to make sure you remember who you belong to," I whispered, stepping closer, my lips brushing against his ear, letting my breath tickle his skin. "Every inch of you."

He shuddered beneath me, his body alive with electricity. I could feel his restraint, but I knew it wouldn’t last long. He was mine—completely and utterly mine. And tonight, I was going to take my time making sure he knew it.

[jiminomenon]

punk! karina and mean girl! reader in detention

pairing: punk! karina x mean girl! reader

word count: 2.5k+

summary: stuck in detention together, jimin and y/n do anything but serve their punishment quietly. while y/n tries to pass the time without losing her mind, jimin makes it her mission to get under her skin—tapping her pen against the desk, whispering teasing remarks, and finding every excuse to pull her into trouble. between stolen glances, quiet laughter, and a battle of wills, the tension between them only grows. by the time detention ends, it’s clear that for these two, even punishment feels like a game they both enjoy playing.

from my series: match made in hell

detention was the worst place to be on a friday afternoon, especially when it was because of something as stupid as “inappropriate conduct in the school hallway.” as if jimin casually slipping her hand into the back pocket of y/n’s plaid skirt was some kind of felony.

it wasn’t like she was making out with her against the lockers—this time, at least. but of course, the teachers had it out for them, always looking for a reason to punish the school’s two biggest troublemakers. not that y/n cared about their dumb rules, but wasting an entire hour sitting in silence? now that was a crime.

she sat at the back of the room, arms crossed, leg bouncing impatiently under the desk. the classroom smelled like old books and dust, the air thick with boredom from the other students forced to serve their time.

jimin, however, looked completely unbothered. she was slouched in her chair beside y/n, boots kicked up onto the desk in front of her like she owned the place, chewing lazily on a piece of gum she probably wasn’t even supposed to have. the way she carried herself, so effortlessly cool and careless, made y/n both admire and want to strangle her at the same time.

she exhaled sharply, side-eyeing her girlfriend before finally breaking the silence between them.

“this is your fault,” y/n muttered, glaring at jimin out of the corner of her eye. her arms stayed crossed, fingers digging into her sleeves as if physically restraining herself from smacking that cocky grin off jimin’s face.

jimin merely smirked, tilting her head toward y/n. “you didn’t seem to mind earlier, babe.” her voice was smooth, teasing, dripping with the same arrogance that got her into trouble in the first place.

y/n scoffed, rolling her eyes. “yeah, well, that was before i realized i’d be rotting in here for an hour because of you.” she leaned back in her chair, shifting her gaze to the front of the room, where mr. choi was pretending to grade papers but was probably just counting down the minutes until he could leave.

jimin wasn’t done, though. she leaned in, voice dropping just low enough for only y/n to hear. “you know… we could sneak out.”

y/n turned her head slightly, raising an eyebrow. “and get caught? you really don’t think ahead, do you?”

“c’mon,” jimin grinned, voice dripping with mischief. “since when did you care about rules?”

y/n hated that jimin had a point. she was the last person to care about rules. if anything, she had broken more than jimin had—just in a more strategic way. but she also wasn’t stupid. and she knew that with their reputation, one more stunt would land them in suspension, which meant no sneaking around between classes, no excuses to “stay late for group projects,” no making out behind the gym when they were supposed to be in p.e. detention was bad, but being kept apart? that was worse.

“you’re insufferable,” y/n muttered, shaking her head.

“and yet,” jimin drawled, dragging her knuckles along y/n’s arm now, sending a slow, deliberate shiver up her spine, “you’re madly in love with me.”

“debatable.”

jimin let out a low chuckle, shifting even closer, her breath warm against y/n’s ear. “oh yeah?” she murmured, fingers now ghosting over y/n’s thigh, making her muscles tense despite herself. “wanna test that theory?”

y/n clenched her jaw, knowing exactly what jimin was trying to do. this was her game—push, push, push until y/n finally snapped and kissed her just to shut her up. it was infuriating. but also? kind of hot.

“you’re lucky we’re in public, meanie,” jimin added, her smirk widening as she leaned back, watching y/n’s reaction like a cat playing with its food.

y/n scoffed, shaking off the warmth creeping up her neck. “i’m lucky? you’re the one who wouldn’t survive in here without me.”

jimin hummed, pretending to consider this. “yeah? so what, you’d just leave me all alone?”

y/n didn’t answer immediately. instead, she reached over and took jimin’s hand in hers, lacing their fingers together like it was second nature. she kept her gaze forward, acting nonchalant, but the way her thumb absentmindedly stroked jimin’s skin gave her away. jimin blinked, caught off guard, before her smirk softened into something less cocky, more genuine.

“guess i’m the lucky one then,” she murmured, giving y/n’s hand a small squeeze.

y/n sighed, pretending to be annoyed, but she didn’t pull away. detention was boring, sure. but if she had to be stuck in here, at least she wasn’t stuck alone.

jimin was quiet for a while after that, which was a rare occurrence. normally, she always had some smartass comment, some teasing remark to get under y/n’s skin. but now, she just sat there, hand still in y/n’s, tracing slow, lazy patterns against her palm with her thumb. y/n didn’t say anything about it, didn’t acknowledge the way her heart did a little flip at the feeling. she just let it happen, pretending she wasn’t affected.

the rest of the classroom was dead silent except for the occasional sound of someone shifting in their seat or mr. choi clearing his throat. the clock on the wall ticked painfully slow, each second dragging on like the universe was punishing them specifically. y/n tapped her fingers against the desk, already growing impatient.

“if you’re gonna get me in trouble,” she muttered, keeping her voice low, “at least make it worth my while.”

jimin perked up at that, turning her head with a grin. “oh? what’s this? my mean girl wants a little fun?”

y/n rolled her eyes but smirked slightly. “i’m saying, if we’re stuck here, we might as well make it interesting.”

jimin’s grin widened, the troublemaker in her awakening immediately. “interesting, huh? what are you suggesting, princess?”

y/n leaned in slightly, making sure mr. choi wasn’t looking before whispering, “bet you can’t get out of here without him noticing.”

jimin’s eyes practically sparked with excitement. “oh, babe, you really do love me.”

“debatable,” y/n shot back, but her smirk gave her away.

jimin didn’t waste another second. she stretched her arms above her head like she was just adjusting, then, in one fluid motion, slid down lower in her seat, boots soundlessly hitting the floor. she moved like she had done this a hundred times before, which, knowing her, she probably had. y/n watched, amused, as jimin slid under the desk, crouching low, making sure mr. choi’s eyes were still glued to his book.

then, ever so slowly, jimin started crawling toward the door.

y/n had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. the sight of the school’s resident bad girl—tattoos peeking from under her sleeves, ripped uniform, dark eyeliner still sharp despite the dim lighting—literally crawling on the floor like a damn cat burglar was almost too much. she covered her mouth, pretending to rest her chin on her palm as she kept watching.

jimin was almost at the door now. just a few more inches.

and then—

“ms. yu, where do you think you’re going?”

y/n shut her eyes, exhaling through her nose. so close.

jimin froze mid-crawl, then slowly, slowly, turned her head toward mr. choi with the guiltiest yet most shameless expression y/n had ever seen.

“uh…” jimin started, blinking up at their teacher like a deer caught in headlights. “dropped my pen?”

mr. choi looked unimpressed. “get back in your seat. now.”

jimin sighed dramatically, getting up with zero shame, brushing invisible dust off her pants. she strolled back to her desk, plopping down beside y/n like nothing happened.

“so close,” y/n muttered under her breath, shaking her head.

jimin leaned in, whispering, “hey, at least i tried. you know you love me for it.”

y/n scoffed, looking away to hide her smile. detention might’ve sucked, but at least with jimin around, it was never boring.

jimin didn’t even look the slightest bit ashamed. in fact, she looked proud of herself, stretching her arms behind her head as if she hadn’t just been caught trying to escape like a cartoon villain. y/n shot her a look, a mix of amusement and exasperation, but jimin only grinned in response.

“what?” she whispered, nudging y/n’s knee under the desk.

“you’re an idiot,” y/n whispered back, shaking her head. “next time, maybe don’t be so obvious?”

jimin gasped, pressing a hand to her chest in mock offense. “excuse me, i was incredibly stealthy.”

y/n snorted. “you literally crawled like a raccoon digging through trash. it was pathetic.”

jimin leaned in, resting her chin on her hand, eyes flickering with something teasing. “oh? so you were watching me that closely, huh?”

y/n’s face heated up. she opened her mouth to respond—probably to call jimin insufferable again—but before she could, mr. choi’s voice cut through the room.

“both of you. zip it.”

they both turned their heads forward at the same time, mumbling a half-hearted “yes, sir.”

for a few minutes, they actually behaved. y/n tapped her nails against the desk, staring out the window, watching as the sky slowly turned gold. outside, students were probably on their way home, couples were probably getting ready for their friday night dates, and here she was—stuck in a musty classroom with her reckless, shameless girlfriend who had no idea how to sit still.

because, of course, jimin wasn’t done being annoying.

it started with her finger, lightly tracing random shapes on y/n’s arm. slow, soft strokes, up and down, barely there. y/n pretended not to notice.

then it was her foot, nudging against y/n’s under the desk. y/n kicked her ankle lightly in response, but jimin took that as encouragement.

then—then—it was her hand, slipping under the desk, resting on y/n’s thigh.

y/n’s breath hitched.

she turned her head slightly, giving jimin a warning glare. “don’t.”

jimin smiled. “don’t what?”

y/n grabbed her wrist, nails digging in just enough to make a point. “don’t start something you can’t finish.”

jimin’s smirk widened, eyes darkening just a little. “who says i can’t finish?”

y/n let out a sharp breath through her nose, grip tightening. “you are so lucky we’re in public.”

“you keep saying that,” jimin whispered, voice low, “but i think you’re the lucky one, meanie.”

before y/n could respond, mr. choi sighed loudly, closing his book with a thud. “y/n. jimin. do i need to separate you two?”

they both turned to look at him, blinking innocently.

“no, sir,” y/n said, tone perfectly polite.

“never, sir,” jimin added, smiling sweetly.

mr. choi looked at them for a long moment, then exhaled through his nose. “i don’t get paid enough for this,” he muttered, rubbing his temples.

y/n bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing. jimin, however, wasn’t as composed—she let out a snicker before covering it with a fake cough.

mr. choi checked the clock, sighed again, and waved a hand. “just go. both of you. detention’s over.”

y/n didn’t need to be told twice. she grabbed her bag and was already halfway out the door before jimin even got up, a satisfied smirk on her face.

“so,” jimin said once they were in the hallway, sliding an arm around y/n’s waist, “wanna go finish what we started?”

y/n groaned, shoving her off. “you’re the worst.”

“yeah, yeah,” jimin grinned, lacing their fingers together anyway, “but i’m your worst.”

y/n sighed, shaking her head—but she didn’t let go.

they walked through the empty hallways together, the sounds of their footsteps echoing against the tiled floor. the sunset cast long shadows through the windows, painting the walls in warm hues of orange and pink. y/n should’ve been annoyed—detention had been a waste of time, and jimin had spent the whole thing making it her personal mission to drive y/n insane—but instead, she just felt… content.

jimin swung their intertwined hands slightly, glancing over at y/n with that ever-present smirk. “so, where to now?”

“home,” y/n replied, rolling her eyes. “unlike you, i actually have things to do.”

“boring,” jimin drawled. “c’mon, let’s do something fun. let’s sneak into the pool, or steal the principal’s parking sign again, or—”

“or we could do absolutely none of that,” y/n interrupted, giving her a deadpan look.

jimin pouted, leaning her head on y/n’s shoulder as they walked. “you’re such a buzzkill.”

“and you’re a menace,” y/n shot back, though she didn’t push jimin off.

they reached the school gates, the cool evening air brushing against their skin. the streets were mostly empty, students having already left for the day. for a moment, they just stood there, the world feeling strangely quiet.

then, jimin suddenly tugged y/n closer, wrapping her arms around her waist. “so you really just wanna go home, huh?” she murmured, tilting her head up.

y/n raised an eyebrow. “yes. obviously.”

jimin hummed, then, in a move so quick y/n barely had time to react, she leaned in and pressed a kiss to the corner of y/n’s mouth. it wasn’t a deep kiss, just a teasing brush of lips, but it sent a warm shiver down y/n’s spine nonetheless.

“jimin—” y/n started, but jimin pulled back with a satisfied grin.

“just a little reward for surviving detention with me,” jimin said, winking.

y/n exhaled sharply, trying to suppress the way her heartbeat had picked up. “you’re impossible.”

“and yet, you love me,” jimin shot back, voice annoyingly smug.

y/n sighed, then—because she hated giving jimin the upper hand—she grabbed the front of jimin’s leather jacket, yanked her forward, and kissed her properly.

it was fast and unexpected, but it did the trick. when y/n pulled away, jimin was left momentarily stunned, blinking at her like she had just short-circuited.

y/n smirked. “see you tomorrow, troublemaker.”

and with that, she turned on her heel and walked off, but she didn’t get far. the low, familiar roar of an engine starting made her pause.

jimin swung a leg over her motorcycle, the matte black machine gleaming under the streetlights. she rolled her shoulders, adjusting the collar of her jacket before slipping on her helmet. even with her face covered, y/n could feel the smirk she was giving her.

“need a ride, princess?” jimin called over the engine, voice dripping with amusement.

y/n scoffed. “i’d rather walk.”

jimin revved the engine, tilting her head. “suit yourself, but if you change your mind…” she tapped the seat behind her. “this spot’s always yours.”

y/n didn’t answer, just shook her head with a small laugh before turning away. jimin watched her for a moment longer, then kicked the stand up, peeling off into the night, leaving behind the scent of smoke and leather in her wake.

God, i’m so in love with her, jimin thought, grinning under her helmet as she disappeared down the street.

[therainscene]

[ST5 spoilers ahead. This theory is largely grounded in canon evidence from S1-4, but I will be referencing a couple of old S5 leaks below the cut.]

Stranger Things is a show that delights in escapist fantasy; it's packed with nostalgic references and celebrates the protagonists' love of gaming in order to remind us that we don't need to abandon our childhood interests just because we grew up.

But escapism is a double-edged sword that all too easily turns into an unhealthy coping mechanism, and boy is this show also one that delights in the horror of unhealthy coping mechanisms.

I reckon they'd be missing a trick if these opposing themes didn't crash into one another for the final season.

Vecna seems to be motivated by a desire to help the kids he targets -- he wipes away their tears, he reassures them that their suffering will be over soon -- but he also barely seems to notice or care that he's just making the suffering worse. Which is exactly the attitude you'd expect from a villain who personifies the urge to turn to shitty coping mechanisms.

Since S5 is going to focus on Will's coming-of-age, then whatever Vecna is up to must resonate with Will's worst coping mechanisms.

What better fit for Will "wants to sit in the basement playing games for the rest of his life" Byers than a fantasy world in which everyone is forced to be a carefree kid forever while their bodies rot in the Upside Down?

Think about it: Henry wants to transform the world into something beautiful, but the world he currently seems to be ruling over is nothing of the sort -- is a cold and barren facsimile of Hawkins populated with monsters really Henry's idea of beauty?

Doesn't it make more sense for the Upside Down/Mind Flayer to simply be the hardware that helps him run his simulation of something more relatable -- an idyllic vision of the childhood he wishes he had, populated with all the kids he oh-so benevolently rescued from the fate worse than death that is wake up, eat, work, sleep, reproduce, and wait for it all to be over?

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

We know for a fact that one of S5's episodes is titled Escape from Camazotz -- a reference to the misleadingly idyllic world from A Wrinkle in Time -- and leaked BTS photos from last year show Henry hanging out with a Hawkins child at a mysteriously pristine Creel house.

It's promising, but I'm not a huge fan of using leaks as evidence. They always come devoid of context, and even difficult-to-fake things like BTS photos could be staged by production to throw fans off the scent -- so what does the canon suggest?

One possible hint is that the Upside Down has consistently borrowed imagery from The Matrix throughout the seasons:

But more importantly, this theory is thematically consistent with what we currently know about Will in S1: while trapped in the Upside Down, he retreated to Castle Byers (his escapist safe space), and that's where he was caught, dragged to the library (another escapist space), and plugged into the vines that connect him directly to Vecna.

It's also subtly implied by Will's behaviour in S3 that part of him wants Vecna to succeed: he sticks with El after realizing Vecna is back, despite knowing full well that being able to spy on Vecna means Vecna can also spy on him; and he makes a suspiciously helpful-to-Vecna suggestion about how the party should go about investigating the monster of the week:

Could Will be under Vecna's control here? Perhaps. But I think this is a choice he's making of his own volition.

Consider: At one point Will destroys Castle Byers in a fit of grief that his childhood is over, and this just so happens to be the same scene in which he becomes certain that Vecna has returned.

He has to grow up and face the horrible truth that he's gay and broken and in love with a boy who can't possibly love him back and he does not want to deal with this -- wouldn't he do anything in that moment to find a way to escape back into childhood? Is this not the perfect moment for a seductive voice in his head to start whispering offers?

Bargaining is one of the five stages of grief, after all.

But then, so is acceptance. Will isn't walking the path of villainy here; he's at the temptation stage of his hero's journey.

S4 took him far away from Hawkins and allowed him to work through some of his feelings without Vecna breathing down his neck, and he comes to a very final-sounding decision about it:

He's realized that longing to sit in the basement playing silly games with his crush all day is immature and turning him (in his opinion) into a jealous asshole--

--and now that he's ripped off the band-aid with Mike he's gonna kill that underlying desire once and for all. Right?

Wrong. I mean, that's certainly what he believes at the end of S4 -- but he's still got a whole season of main character coming-of-age shit left to do in this show that delights in escapist fantasy and reminds us we don't need to abandon our childhood interests just because we grew up.

The visual similarities between the Upside Down and the Matrix aren't the only parallels between these two stories -- a theme present in both is the realization that the rules of the world you were raised in are an oppressive lie that you have the freedom to reject so long as you're brave enough to accept the truth.

Much like Neo, Will has a deeper connection to the horrors than any of its other victims (beyond Henry himself), and that connection grants him the gift of True Sight:

Stuck between the View-Master slides is how he describes it. Will can't bring himself to conform to 1980s expectations of normalcy, but he also can't bring himself to retreat into Vecna's time-frozen fantasy and hurt all of his friends.

The solution is to understand that Will's unique position doesn't mean he'll be forced to pick a side and either become a villain or sacrifice himself for the greater good: it means that like Neo he has the power to transcend the rules of false realities.

Will can defeat Vecna without castrating himself in the process, and he can play D&D in Mike's basement for the rest of his life if he wants to...

...just so long as both he and Mike are brave enough to accept the truth first.