#some of the harder-to-find meanings might be a stretch though

[revelboo]

U h, so like, I may or may not have gotten absolutely hooked on your blog 👉👈 I absolutely adore your fics with the Seeker Trine, I don’t see much of them out there so when I stumbled upon your little series, it got me good. I am super invested in each of the stories and I really, really like the way you right!! Looking forward to more :3

Thank you!

True Romance Pt 5

Seeker Trine x Reader

• Wings flaring out tiredly to stretch out the kinks, Starscream pauses in the door to the communal habsuite he shares with his trine before closing the door behind him, sprawled on his back with his head hanging off the edge of his berth Skywarp glances at him, jaw clenching, then his attention is back on the human laying against his chassis, his servos sliding along your back. Across the room, Thundercracker is fiddling with the communication screen, so engrossed in his project that he’s not even noticed his entrance. “What is this?”

• Startling, Thundercracker offers Starscream a sheepish smile. “Movie night? I’ve been watching some of their media and it’s pretty interesting,” he says, inclining his head toward you sleeping on Skywarp. And he waits for Starscream to tell him he’s too busy, because he always does that. Knows his brother is the SIC and stays buried under reports and requests, but he just wants them all together like it had been before the war. Before the Decepticons. At least for a little bit. The ‘no’ doesn’t come though as Starscream drifts closer to Skywarp, attention on you.

• “They were cold again,” Skywarp growls, annoyed at being caught tending to you when he shouldn’t care less. But he likes the warmth of you there against him, the softness that should be off putting to him. Your little cheek is against him, knuckles against his canopy. Trusting him enough to rest under his watch and he’s not sure what to make of that or why it spreads warm through his spark.

• “Always,” Starscream vents softly, reaching to pick you up. Noting the way Skywarp tenses, but doesn’t try to stop him even when you make a pitiful sleepy sound of protest until he cradles you to him. Head lifting to look up at him, seeing who has you, and immediately relaxing again. And he can’t understand this trust of yours. That you just accept this and them instead of raging to be freed.

• Feeling that thrum in your bones when Starscream cups you to him, you know you should be trying to escape. But there’s almost always at least one of them watching over you. They’re not your friends by any means, but as he runs a servo against you, you’re not sure they’re your enemies either. Know it’s just Stockholm’s ringing your bell, because they’re always fussing over you, bringing you things, food, whatever they think you might like. Trying to keep you happy when they don’t have to. You’re still a prisoner, but it’s harder and harder to see the bars of your cage every day, they just keep blurring with every gentle touch. They’ll get bored of you eventually and let you go. And you’re not sure how you feel about that. “Everything okay?”

• Sitting on his berth, Starscream looks down at you. Seeing you watching him in return. Always asking them about their day. Trying to collect intel on them to pass along to your government in case you manage to escape? That must be it, but he still finds himself telling you. And you just lay your cheek on his servo and listen, asking questions and agreeing with him. Like you might really care. Hating that he wants to believe that, because something is very wrong with him.

Previous

[smusherina]

yard work - chapter 16 [final chapter] (regina george x reader)

fandom: Mean Girls (all media)

pairing: Regina George x OFC/Reader

summary: You'd been in the same class as Regina George since kindergarten. You'd lived on the same street even longer. Once upon a time, when life was sandbox disputes and who got the swing first arguments, you'd even been friends. Now, in junior year of high school, you doubted she even remembered you. The same couldn't be said about you. You definitely remembered her.

warning(s): talk of past drug use and withdrawal symptoms.

chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4 / chapter 5 / chapter 6 / chapter 7 / chapter 8 / chapter 9 / chapter 10 / chapter 11 / chapter 12 / chapter 13 / chapter 14 / chapter 15

[love renée but fuck am i getting sick of this gif. been looking at it for sixteen goshdarned chapters. finally i am freed.]

You woke up first. Naturally. Every time, every single morning that you'd had sleepovers, you'd been the first to wake up. The sun was shining through the blinds in a pleasant, warm yellow tone. Still morning but not unreasonably early.

You shifted to a more upright position, looking down at the girl still snoozing, whose hand was holding onto your forearm. She was all sprawled out, starfished as much as one could be on a couch. Her body was taking up the shorter end of the L-shape, one knee curled up towards her body, just barely on the couch, while the other stretched well beyond the end of the divan. You were situated much the same, except the other way around. You laid on the longer end so that your heads had almost met in the corner.

Her arms reached out towards you, one around your pillow and the other holding onto you. You knew you'd fallen asleep with much more distance between you, but you couldn't say you minded her having drifted.

Did you, though? You sighed and grumbled as you got up. Might as well do something while you contemplated reality, or something. Mrs George had insisted on some classic American breakfast ingredients, such as bacon and pancake mix. You didn't feel like causing a fire hazard, so pancakes were a no-go, at least for now. Eggs and bacon you could do.

What did you even, like, want? Realistically, actually, no, unrealistically what did you want? There was no sense in trying to make your base wants and desires realistic because at that point was any of that yours anymore? Likely not.

You wanted nights spent with Regina, talking and eating take-out, laughing until your tummy hurt and looking at her glowing in the blue light of whatever Adult Swim show was on at the time. You wanted grocery trips with Mrs George and to go to Kylie's games. You wanted people at school to just, simply not be jerks. You wanted Janis to find peace. You wanted Cady to wake up.

You wanted yesterday to not have happened. You wanted Thanksgiving dinner at the Georges' to never have happened. You wanted for your dad to be different, for Mr George to be different. You wanted your mom to not have died.

Looking at the bacon sizzling in the pan, you chewed on your lips and thought about that. You wanted many things. So many things, mostly for things to not have happened or to have happened differently. It was all wildly unrealistic. You were not a wizard, a time-traveller, or some other mystic being. You were a teenager.

You cracked the eggs into the mix. God, it smelled divine. You pulled a salt and pepper shaker from the spice rack and sprinkled a reasonable amount on there. You groaned out loud and threw your head back when you remembered there was sriracha in the fridge. Mrs George had seen you eyeing the bottle and had not taken a no for an answer, despite your abundant protestations.

"Spare your kitchen utensils the horror and go masturbate in your room like a normal person!" Regina hollered from the living room.

"Oh! Spatula! Harder! Harder!" You cried, moaning like you were receiving the blowie of your life. "If you want breakfast you're gonna have to witness this sordid affair." You called back, giggling. You leaned back from the stove, bending back at the waist. Regina was leaning her chin on the armrest, still more or less sprawled on your couch. There was a pout on her lips and a light flush to her cheeks.

"I'll show you sordid, nerd." She grouched before getting up. You straightened your posture, turning back to the stove, and probed the eggs in the pan with the spatula with a satisfied grin on your face.

You wanted this and more, above all. Was that something you were allowed to want? More importantly, was that something you were allowed to ask for?

Regina came up behind you, hand coming to rest on the small of your back. You didn't jump, much, which you were proud of.

"Looks yummy." She pointed out.

You hummed in agreement. "Can you put toast in the toaster?"

"Sure."

Then, as if no time at all passed, you were sitting down. Then eating and chatting. There was toast, eggs and bacon, and you'd made yourself a bowl of oatmeal. Mrs George had splurged on some blueberries and local honey. Regina refused to make eye contact when you were chewing, citing that your O-face was hard to look at. You only moaned louder and made more faces at her.

Then, just as you were heading to the couch to digest the meal as god intended, lying down, Regina yanked you to the foyer. Still in your jammies and everything, she insisted you bundle up and go for that walk she was talking about yesterday.

You'd hoped she would've forgotten. Sure, the weather was nice for once but if you didn't have to go outside then why would you? It was below freezing!

Much like her mother, she would not budge. You were going on a walk.

"What am I? A dog?" You muttered as you wrapped your scarf around your neck.

"If you were a dog, you'd be a... A Doberman." She was already dressed. It was odd for your roles to have switched like this. Usually, you were the one waiting for her to get ready. She had on a thick, white parka and a cute beanie. She also had on black leggings sure to insulate absolutely nothing and bulky, also black, fur boots.

"What? 'Cause I'm big and scary?" You preened at that, smiling widely.

"Nope." She tilted her head, examining you. "Gloves."

"Geez, okay, mom." You grabbed some mittens from the hat rack. "Why Doberman?"

"They wouldn't look so scary if they didn't have their ears clipped, y'know?" She said. You just looked at her weirdly, not catching her meaning. Your ears were not clipped. "Anyway, let's go."

"Aye aye," With that, you were out of the door.

You walked the block and down to the street. The sidewalk stopped so you went by the side of the road. She was walking ahead of you. It was cold out but not too windy, so it didn't feel so bad.

The sidewalk started again eventually. There, you walked side by side. You were just looking at a bird perched on a wire when you felt her grab your hand. Thinking she had something to say, you turned to look at her. She was still facing forward, the other hand in her pocket, walking along. She was just holding your hand.

Oh. Oh. She was holding your hand. Out in public. Not a lot of people were out at this hour, not even cars since it was a weekend. There was a woman with a stroller. A psychopathic man out on a jog. A dog walker. Still, it was outside where anyone who walked by could see.

You arrived at the park, hands clasped together. You stopped by a bench.

"I don't think we should sit." You said, observing the coating of snow piled on top.

"Let's go over there." Regina pointed to a tree a little ways away.

You went obediently, following the tug of her hand in yours. She was holding your hand. You felt all warm in your chest, like you were full of warm water.

You stopped by the tree. She looked around, trying to spot if anybody was nearby. Then, like she had a secret to tell you, she motioned for you to bend down closer. You did. Her hand squeezed at your fingers as the other came up to your neck, pulling you down the rest of the way.

The warmth you'd felt became hot, like an oil fire erupting in the foil-covered saucepan that was your heart, kernels and half-popped popcorn sputtering out as she kissed you. Your eyes just barely got to shutter closed before she pulled away. Instinctively, your body so starved of affection and touch, you chased her and found her lips again.

She smiled against your mouth. It felt like a secret of the utmost importance being shared, like a pinkie finger wrapped around your own in the corner of the room during a sleepover, giggled promises and childish adoration. She tasted vaguely like breakfast, and maybe egg-breath should've been nasty, but it wasn't.

Cold seeping in, the anxious feeling like you were soon going to be caught taking hold, you pulled away. You didn't lean away entirely, crowding her against the tree. When you'd gotten so close, pinned her, you weren't sure.

"Do..." What were you supposed to say post-kiss? "Do you like it sloppy?"

"What?" Her brows furrowed and the smile on her face turned sharper. What to say post-kiss: Not That.

"Uh, I mean, I just- uh..." You swallowed. "I don't know how to, like, I don't have technique. I dunno. Was that good? I saw Aaron was doing it differently..."

Regina rolled her eyes, head thumping lightly against the tree as her neck lolled back. "You would bring up Aaron now." She sighed. "It's fine. It's- it's good."

"Okay." You swallowed again. A slow smile crept up to your face. "It was good?"

"Ugh, yes, shut up." She shoved you away, but you just allowed the momentum to swing you back to her. "I... I don't think I'm good at words."

You chuckled at that. "No, you're not." She glared. You shrugged. "But, hey, you know me. I'm Chatty Kathy."

"No," She huffed through her nose, seemingly in frustration. "I wish I could say to you what I mean. What I feel. But I just... It's... It's not supposed to be but it's embarrassing."

Looking at her, hunched in on herself like a girl her age was supposed to be at times, so different from how she was most of the time, made your chest feel tight. You figured a person having been raised like she was, having turned out the way she had, would find being vulnerable uncomfortable. Or, as she said it, embarrassing.

Then again, it wasn't your place nor your duty to psycho-analyze her.

"Reg, I..." You hesitated. "I'm tired of, like, sitting in the passenger seat while you bulldoze everyone. I'm tired of feeling like if I do something you don't like you'll push me under too." You pulled away from her, hands getting sore from leaning your weight against the rough bark. "And then there's this whole thing." You gestured around you at the empty park. "Even if we were the best couple ever in terms of, I dunno, vibes or something, we're still..."

"Lesbians." She finished for you. "I'm a lesbian, Jorts." A sentence you never thought you'd hear from Regina George. "I know. For me, it felt justified for a long time, keeping them in their place, but since we started talking again, doing all that stuff just started to seem... Unimportant. And stupid." She fiddled with her fingers, eyes glued to the space between you. "It hasn't gone away. I still want to, I guess, hurt people because it does make me feel better even if it's, like, fucked up. But I want something else more than I want that."

"What's that?" You couldn't help but ask, hope stuck in your throat. Choking hazard.

"You, obviously." She said it so flippantly as if those words didn't just send your heart into the Milky Way. "I want you. I'll stop doing that stuff for you. I know we can't be out yet, but I... I have good grades."

You looked at her, puzzled. She huffed and continued. "I'll go to college. Major in, uh, I dunno, some sorta politics and I'll change the law. Maybe a law degree would work better for that, actually." She seemed to think about it for a moment before returning to her point. "Whichever one would be best in getting gay marriage legalized."

"You..." You had to laugh at that, disbelieving as well as delighted. "You're gonna change the world for me?"

"If that's what it takes." She said, determination shining so bright it made your eyes water.

"Wow, okay." You licked your lips, trying to will the stupid grin off your face. You had some important questions still. "If I moved away, would you still stop?"

She paused at that. Took a moment to really look at you, like she hadn't considered that to be a real possibility.

"Yes." She sounded so sure you believed her. "I just don't have... What it takes anymore. I guess. I don't know if there's something wrong with me that I... I want to be mean, sometimes. It's funny. For me." She glanced down and then looked somewhere over your shoulder. "It took a lot of work to get to what Regina George is now. I don't want to put in all that next year."

"Y'know what they say. New year, new me." You quipped, looking down at her. You were quite sure your pupils had morphed into heart shapes, despite your valiant efforts to have this meaningful conversation without seeming like a love-drunk idiot.

(She kissed you. You kissed her. It was a beautiful morning, you were on a walk and you'd held hands and then you'd kissed under a barren willow tree. It was the first day of Christmas break and you were spending it with Regina George.)

"Does that mean I can be a raging bitch till January 1st?" She asked, eyebrow notching.

You laughed. "Only if you..." You bit your bottom lip, getting nervous. "Only if I get a kiss for every mean thing you say."

"Deal." She offered her hand to you, a cheesy smile on her face.

You pulled your glove off and spit on your hand, then made to take hers.

"Ew! That's disgusting!" She flinched away from you, violently shoving herself back against the tree. "Don't- no! Not near me! Don't touch me with that!"

She bolted and you ran after her, cackling maniacally. You waved your spat-on hand at her as you chased her around the park, her shrieking and you laughing.

"I'm serious, J!" She looked at you over her shoulder as she ran. "Stop chasing me!"

"Stop running away from me!"

"You're just gonna smear your spit on me, you- you fiend!"

"Pinky swear I won't!"

"I won't pinky-swear with your disgusting paws, you-"

With a yelp, Regina tripped over something, probably a root, and fell to the ground. You, having been closing in on her, put the brakes on, windmilled your arms, and tried to stop, but soon followed her into the snow.

"Ouf!" The breath wooshed out of her as you fell on her. She wheezed as you rolled off of her, half-heartedly punching in your direction. You giggled and dodged to the best of your ability, not even minding the snow seeping through your pyjama pants.

Giving some time for her to recover, you laid on your back and looked up at the sky. Clear blue with some thick, greyish clouds looming in the peripheral, morning was turning to day fast. Soon, the park would surely get some more traffic. Kids and their adults, mostly. There was a sizeable play area in the centre. You were pretty much on the outskirts of the park.

It was a familiar spot. You and the guys used to meet your other friends here all the time. Those times it'd been night, too dark to see the faces of the guys with big gym bags, filled to bursting with little plastic baggies and glass bottles.

You turned your head to look at her once her breathing had quieted down.

"You bitch," She hissed at you, the usual venom in her voice gone, replaced by exhaustion. You could only smile, somewhat sheepish but mostly just happy.

"It'd be a lot harder to resist if we were still in school, y'know." You said, turning back to watch the sky. "You can't change the law until we graduate. Until then, we're stuck here. And then, let's say you do change the law and it's passed, it's gonna take some time for people to accept that."

"Yeah," Regina agreed, folding her arms under her chin to lean on.

"And you can say that you'll change a hundred times easily, but actually doing it is different."

"When did you get so wise?"

"When I was all alone for years and did some stupid stuff."

"Like what?" You could tell she wouldn't be expecting what you said next. Even you weren't expecting it.

"You know how I sell drugs and alcohol, right? Where do you think I get the stuff from? I got to know some people while we weren't talking." You sighed. Remembering those times, the worst of them, still so fresh despite it having been years, wasn't nice. "Vandalism, underage drinking, shoplifting, driving without a licence... Did some harder drugs than weed... Stupid shit. I stopped most of it when I got caught the last time and almost went to juvie. Dad got me out, somehow. Probably threw money at people."

You turned your head to look at Regina. She was already paying keen attention to you. "I told my mandated therapist I was gonna change. I said I wasn't going to ever do anything like that ever again. I lied, of course."

"When did you actually stop, then?" She asked.

"Months after the mandated therapy was over." You put your hands in your pockets, getting cold. "I wanted to do it before then. I wanted to just, not be that. A druggie fifteen-year-old spraypainting some dilapidated trailer, hanging around guys that were way too old to be hanging around me. I didn't want to be that but at the same time being anything else was terrifying. I don't think highly of myself, but that was low even for me. Then, Mrs George found me one time."

"Mom?" The question was more out of shock than actual inquiry.

"Yeah." You blinked a couple of times. "I was in a bad state. Withdrawals. I made her promise she wouldn't tell my dad if I allowed her to take me home. She was talking the whole ride from downtown to mine, trying to keep me awake. I just lost it. I don't remember what I said or exactly what I did, but she had to pull over and restrain me." You gulped. "It was awful. Then she offered that I could mow your lawn for some money. I used it the first couple of times to get a new dose. She used to ask what I'd be spending it on and those times I had some bullshit excuse, but the first time I said I was probably gonna get some McDonalds', she cried. Cried real actual tears." You didn't feel like looking at Regina, but you could feel her eyes on the side of your head. "After that it just... It wasn't worth it."

"You never told me." Regina breathed out, still sounding shocked.

"I didn't want to." You turned onto your side, body facing her. "I was- am ashamed."

You didn't feel shame now, though. You undoubtedly would later, tomorrow perhaps, but not now. You were glad for it. You regretted it, wished you hadn't gone down that road, but lying there in the cold snow there was only indifference. That had happened. You had done that.

"Me too." She whispered. "Obviously, it's not the same, but-"

"I know what you mean. And it could be more similar than you think. Quitting an addiction is hard, but I wouldn't say quitting a behaviour is easy."

"It's stupid to compare drug addiction to being a bitch." Regina huffed, a frown on her face. "It's incomparable."

"Well, then let's not compare. Both can be hard in their own way without diminishing the other. What I'm trying to point out is that," You thought for a moment. "We're both trying to get over a bad, toxic habit that feels safe and good and like the only option, without seeing the merit or the other supposedly better option first. It's scary."

"Are you still trying to get over it?"

"I haven't been on drugs since, no. But it's not something that goes away. Not ever."

"And you're still kinda in it." She said, remembering your hustle around the school.

"Yeah. I can't expect you to be all buddy-buddy with everybody suddenly. That'd be hypocritical."

"So what do we do?"

What a question. One that you did not have the answer to. You didn't feel unsettled by the confusion. You hadn't told anyone of your dark past (gosh, could you be any more emo?) since those that knew had just kind of stumbled across it, so telling somebody felt... Good. You'd just sort of blurted it all out without thinking about it too much.

"Can we go back home? I wanna..." You stopped, realizing I wanna make out with you on the couch sounded awfully crude.

A lecherous grin spread Regina's cheeks. "Oh, I see. You just want me for my body."

"No!" You denied, indignant. "I would never."

"You would never want me for my body." She reiterated, purposefully misconstruing what you said. "Wow. Just wow."

"Regina, c'mon, I just mean..."

"Say what you were gonna say." She rolled away and up, towering above you with a twinkling smile pointed down at your prone body.

"Let's just go," You said and tried to get up. Like some bondage dominatrix, she pushed you back down with a shoe on your chest.

You hated how that sort of got to you. Your heart beat faster against her Ugg. Hopefully, she didn't feel it through the thick sole.

"Nuh-uh. Say it."

"I... I wanna make..." You took a deep breath and closed your eyes. "I wanna go home and make out with you on the couch."

"Oh, that wasn't so hard, now was it, baby? Let's go."

It was only once you'd made it back, chucked your wet clothes into the hamper, and spent a considerable amount of time in liplock, that either of you thought to circle back.

"Hey," Regina said, adjusting her weight to not be leaning on you so heavily. Your lips smacked apart and, gosh, now you were the gross ones. "I just now realized,"

"What are you realizing while you're supposed to be kissing me?" You pouted, falling onto your side and away from her. Your hand went over your eyes like you were a swooning maiden. Regina just patted your leg in mock consolation.

"You have your drug thing-" Only she would refer to your past addiction as your drug thing. "but I was, like, the only one doing anything actually wrong. Actively. You know what I mean." You craned your neck to look at her. Your double chin was probably epic.

"I lied to you by omission. I was really mean to you on Thanksgiving."

"Okay, lying by omission was bad and never do that again," She paused, waiting for you to affirm. You nodded solemnly. "But you were only mean after I was mean first. So, both forgiven. Anyway, I'm talking, like... I don't know how to say it."

You blinked. You didn't know what she meant so you couldn't really help. Regina huffed, nails scratching absent-mindedly on your calves.

"You made it sound like we were both wrong for how things exploded." She eventually said. "That was all me."

"I shouldn't have been such a doormat. I let you walk all over me and I never said anything about how I really felt."

"I don't think you can be in the wrong for that."

"I think I can be. At least the way that I was. I could've said something."

"And what would that've achieved? Me cutting you off and nothing changing?"

You clambered up to your elbows. "And now we're here." You smiled, one side a little crooked with how gleeful you were. "Look, we can hash everything out during the break, now just... Let's focus on other things."

Regina, still looking conflicted, caressed a hand up your leg. You shivered. You were in just a hoodie and loose briefs. Regina was more covered up than you, but still in just your old basketball shorts and a big band tee.

"Reggie, I'm getting used to asking for things I shouldn't want. Amuse me." You turned onto your back and hooked your legs around Regina. She fell forward, hands braced on either side of your torso. "Kiss me."

"I just don't want to mess up and have all this go away." She swallowed, a worried crease between her eyebrows.

"I think we're gonna mess up plenty of times. It's a possibility you'll find some justification to make somebody's life hell for a time. I could relapse." You pulled her closer with your legs, arms coming up to cross your fingers behind her neck. "A lot of the time we're not gonna want to admit it, we might not even know it. So, we can lay out a few... Promises, or something."

"Okay," Regina said, gazing down at you like you never imagined. Like you meant things to her. Important things.

"Promise me that you'll listen. Even if you disagree, please hear me out." She nodded seriously. "And, in turn, I promise to speak my mind. When I don't like something, or just like something, I'll say so." Again, she nodded. You loosened your hold on her neck and rubbed your thumbs on her cheeks. Getting to touch her like this, having her literally between your legs, was more than you ever thought you'd get.

Even if this ended in a similar fashion to the Thanksgiving kiss, or even much, much worse, you'd have regretted not taking the chance for the rest of your life.

"And... This is the most important one... Come closer."

Regina shifted closer, bending down, her elbows coming to rest next to your chest as she turned her ear towards you.

You whispered conspiratorially, like this was top-secret: "Still let me do your yard work."

Notes: Fucking christ. I wrote this all in one sitting. 4.3k words. That's like two chapters. I've written long chapters before, longer than this, but I got so used to the 2k on average pace that this felt huge.

Also! Don't be spooked by the [final chapter] marking! This is the last chapter in the story, yes, but we'll be hearing more from Reggie and Jorts still! I have a couple of epilogue sequences I want to write. Would y'all be interested in a poll as to what order those should be published? As in, chronological. Do we start from 10 Years Later... or something more like, idk, next summer? Lmk in the comments :)

This might be counterintuitive to add, and if my lovely amazing readers have exercised their reading comprehension during this series they might get why on a more nuanced level, revenge on Gretchen was left out purposefully. This will not be the last we hear of her, I have some plans for her in some of the epilogues, but yes. That plot point was left open on purpose.

The name. A lot of people like it! I was feeling insecure about my lack of foresight and impulsive naming, but hey, as it turns out it's not that deep! To add, it went really nicely with the end there I think :) No changes will be happening.

This note is getting so long. I just wanna thank everybody that's been along for the ride so far. I read every single comment and check my notifications way too often for new ones. I'm pretty used to writing for quite dead/inactive fandoms on AO3, and I love that site it's my origin, but it's very different to Tumblr. I just feel like people on here are much more open to sharing their thoughts. Everybody who's bore witness to my grief with the taglist, thank you for your patience. And thank you so much for wanting to be on it. I cannot believe people wanted that. For little ole me? Oh, you shouldn't have...

If there are spelling errors or grammatical weirdness, shhh. I'm not reading all that again at 1am. Toodles!

Taglist will be posted separately! Comment on that post if you want to be added to be notified when the epilogies are published!

[nottsdarling]

Delusion

Summary; Finding out that your boyfriend of 3 months has been lying and pretending about his feelings the whole relationship.

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

: Cheater!bf Mattheo x reader

: word count ; 1.5k

: cw; cheating, lying, manipulation

: a/n! this is part two!! you can find part 1 here. Enjoy my angels!

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

You heard the footsteps quicken behind you, echoing in the empty hallways, as you tried to speed up, wanting to escape the confrontation that was inevitable. You knew Mattheo would catch up, his determination never letting him fall behind, especially when he was set on something—or someone. But even as his hand wrapped around your arm, you kept your gaze on the floor, refusing to look him in the eye. The grip on your arm was firm yet shaky, betraying the emotions beneath his tough exterior. Mattheo’s calloused fingers, a sign of his roughness and recklessness, felt painfully real against your soft skin. You felt your heart clench, but you wouldn’t allow yourself to show it.

“Y/N… please,”

He said, his voice filled with an uncharacteristic vulnerability that you hadn’t heard before. He tugged slightly, as if pulling you closer would somehow mend the gap between you, as if one touch could erase everything that had happened. But you shook his hand off, your body instinctively recoiling from him.

“Don’t touch me,”

You said, your voice strained but steady.

“I can’t do this.”

“Y/N… we were just joking, it was just guy stuff,”

He said, the excuse faltering as he saw the hurt in your eyes. You shook your head.

“Guy stuff? That’s what you call it? Making a fool out of me? Leading me on while laughing with your friends about how easy it is to play with my feelings?”

He tried to speak, his mouth opening to form words, but nothing came out. You could see the regret in his eyes, like he wanted to reach into his chest and hand you the guilt-ridden mess that was his heart. But no amount of remorse would undo the damage. You forced yourself to stay strong, even though part of you wanted to give in to his apology. Mattheo had always been charming, persuasive, the kind of guy who knew just the right words to say. But this time, his silver tongue failed him.

“Please, Y/N. Just… just listen to me,”

He pleaded, desperation coating his words. He ran a hand through his hair, visibly frustrated with himself.

“I�� I didn’t mean for it to get this far.”

You scoffed.

“What exactly did you mean, then, Mattheo? To keep me around as some toy you could pick up and toss aside whenever you felt like it? I’m not here for your amusement.”

You could feel the bitterness seeping into every word. He looked wounded, and yet that wasn’t enough for the hurt he’d caused you. The silence stretched on, with only his shallow breaths and your pounding heartbeat filling the void. Finally, he whispered,

“What do you want, Y/N?”

For a second, the weight of your feelings pressed down on you, almost making you crumble. But anger resurfaced, becoming a shield you desperately clung to.

“I want you to leave me alone. I want you to go back to whatever you were doing before you decided to mess with my life.”

“I’m sorry,”

He said, his voice breaking.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

You laughed bitterly.

“Sorry for what? For playing with my heart like it was nothing? For making me think that maybe, just maybe, you actually cared?” You felt the sting of tears but blinked them away, refusing to let him see just how deeply he’d hurt you.

“Go fuck yourself, Mattheo.”

The words tore out of you, laced with every ounce of anger and betrayal you felt. You turned away from him, feeling the satisfaction of letting go and the agony of what might have been. Mattheo stood there, shoulders slumped, the pain in his eyes mirroring the ache in your heart. He looked down, defeated, as if your words had hit him harder than he ever expected. The silence between you both felt like a chasm, one that he couldn’t cross. But he didn’t walk away. Instead, he stayed there, his voice a quiet murmur that you barely caught as you began to walk off.

“I didn’t deserve you,”

He said, so softly that it was almost a whisper. You paused, something about his tone stopping you in your tracks. Against your better judgment, you glanced over your shoulder. His face was pale, his eyes rimmed red with an emotion that even he seemed unaccustomed to showing.

“I never deserved you, Y/N,”

He repeated, his voice a raw confession.

“I know that. I thought I could keep things casual, that I could pretend it didn’t mean anything. But it does. It means everything.” His words hung in the air, pleading with you to believe them. You turned back to face him fully, though your arms remained crossed, your posture defensive.

“Why are you telling me this now, Mattheo? After all that’s happened, why now?”

“Because… because I can’t lose you,”

He said, his voice trembling.

“I can’t let you walk out of my life without trying to make it right. I know I messed up. I know I hurt you. But I need you to know that none of it was a game to me. I acted like an idiot because I was scared. Scared of how much I cared about you, of how vulnerable you make me feel.”

You stared at him, processing his words, the sincerity evident in his voice. For the first time, you saw past the bravado, the layers of sarcasm and charm he’d built around himself. You saw the boy who was terrified of rejection, of losing the one person he finally let himself care for.

“And now?”

You asked softly, feeling your anger slowly unravel.

“Now, I’m asking for a chance. Just one chance to prove that I’m not the jerk I’ve been acting like,”

He said, his gaze locking onto yours with a steadiness that took you by surprise.

“I’m asking you to let me show you that I can be better. For you.”

The rawness of his confession left you speechless. A part of you wanted to walk away, to protect yourself from being hurt again. But another part, a deeper part, remembered the moments you’d shared with him, the glimpses of vulnerability he’d shown, the times he’d made you laugh when you thought no one could.

“Mattheo,”

You started, your voice wavering,

“You can’t just expect me to forget everything.”

“I don’t expect you to,”

He replied, taking a cautious step closer.

“But I’m hoping that maybe, with time, I can earn your forgiveness. That maybe I can make things right.”

You hesitated, letting his words sink in. Could he change? Could he truly prove to you that he was willing to make amends, to become someone worthy of your trust? After a long pause, you finally spoke.

“One chance, Mattheo. That’s all you get. And you have to earn it.”

A flicker of hope lit up his face as he nodded, determination replacing the despair.

“I’ll do whatever it takes,”

He promised, his voice steady and resolute.

“I won’t let you down this time.”

Over the next few weeks, Mattheo set out to prove his sincerity. He showed up for you in small, consistent ways. He was there to walk you to classes, to bring you coffee in the mornings, to listen when you needed to vent about your day. Slowly, he chipped away at the wall you’d built around your heart, his gestures becoming more genuine, more heartfelt. He wasn’t just charming or persuasive; he was present, dependable, and vulnerable in a way you’d never seen before. Gradually, you found yourself softening, the anger dissolving as you saw the effort he was making. He was trying, truly trying, to be someone worthy of your love. And with each passing day, you felt yourself falling for him again, but this time, it was different. This time, you were certain he wasn’t hiding behind a mask. One evening, as the two of you sat beneath a starlit sky, he turned to you, his expression nervous but hopeful.

“Y/N, I know I’ve said it before, but I want you to hear it again. I love you. And I’ll keep saying it until you believe it, until I prove that I’m here for you, and only you.”

You looked at him, seeing the man he’d become, and felt a warmth in your heart that you hadn’t felt in a long time.

“I believe you, Mattheo,”

You whispered, a soft smile playing on your lips.

“I believe you.”

And as he pulled you into his arms, you knew that this time, it was real. You knew that he was yours, and that you were his, in a way that felt like coming home. The past hadn’t vanished, but it had given way to a new beginning. Together, you found a love that was honest, true, and unbreakable, a love that had grown from the ashes of hurt and transformed into something beautiful. And in that moment, beneath the stars, you knew that this was the happy ending you’d both been searching for.

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

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[ellstersmash]

Prompt time! Solas and Athi discuss at length if the other would love them as a worm. Please and thank you 🙏

rare and marvelous

Fandom: Dragon Age Pairing: Solas x f!Lavellan Rating: G for General now illustrated :')

-

“Are you comfortable in that form?”

Athi’s voice cuts into the quiet of the Fade and Solas’ own silent musings, the path they’re currently on less twisting, and therefore less mentally demanding, than most.

“This form?” he responds. “Or do you refer to another?”

“You know, most people don’t have to specify that.”

“I believe we can agree that I am not most people.”

Athi’s features scrunch together in amusement as she most certainly prepares to tease him—her favorite pastime, not that the Fade provides much of a variety from which to choose. “So true,” she says, the sing-song notes of it echoing in the shifting emptiness around them. “You’re very special.”

“Your approval of my circumstances is paramount,” he states dryly. “Which form are you currently curious about?”

“Your new—or, well, old—spirit form. It’s very… tendrily.”

Solas chuckles. “I can say with great confidence that I have never before been accused of being ‘tendrily.’”

“Love that we’re still finding firsts. Don’t you?” Athi nudges him with an elbow. The self-satisfied smile on her face makes its own light, her playfulness a beacon in the dull dark of this domain.

“You are right,” he says, “and I should hardly be surprised that you are still able to surprise me.”

“Or maybe you should be surprised by my surprising you, otherwise it’s not much of a surprise, is it? But back to my question: do you like to hang around as your tendrily spirit-self?”

“It is not so dissimilar to this one.”

“It floats.”

“Well, yes.”

“And you don’t have hands.”

Solas chuckles. “But many tendrils, as I’ve been recently informed. Besides, one does not need appendages to affect the Fade; only a capable mind and sufficient will.”

“Well, you need appendages to affect me,” Athi mumbles.

Solas grins over at her then, waiting until he catches her eye to lean closer, lower his voice, and ask, “Do I?”

She’s not the only one with the power to tease. It has the intended effect, of course: her eyes widen and unfocus for a few long moments, the air thickening with desire before she shakes it off.

“So is that a yes, then?” she asks.

“Yes, I am comfortable in that form, as I am comfortable in this one.”

“But not the wolf.”

This is not something he’s considered, and he takes his time answering. “The Dread Wolf was born of a specific need to threaten the evanuris and as a show of power and protection for those who would escape or oppose them. And, as you know, it takes a great deal of energy to maintain. I would not call it ‘comfortable’ by any stretch of the definition.”

“Cute, though.”

Solas rolls his eyes at her flippancy. “I refuse to dignify that statement with a response.”

“That is a response.” But she takes his hand and squeezes, warmth diffusing into Solas’ chest as her affection washes over him in gentle waves.

Some time later, it occurs to him to wonder why she brought this subject up in the first place. “Are you comfortable with my spirit form, Athi?”

“I mean, sure. It’s just new. And it is different, at least to me. Not as solid.”

“Different in a bad way?”

“No. I mean, yes in some ways. Harder to kiss you, for one thing.” She squeezes his hand again. “Also I’m never really sure which eyes to look into.”

“In truth, that form does not have eyes, or even sight in the way you’d experience it.” 

Athi looks up at him, a vacant expression which he can only classify as bewilderment on her face.

“There are other senses which allow me to perceive the world,” he continues. “Ones which are very difficult to explain to someone who cannot experience them, but rest assured that I know where you are and what you are doing, whether in spirit form or this one.”

“That clears things up less than I think you think it does.”

“I am sorry. Perhaps you might simply choose your favorite ‘eye’ with which to maintain contact as we converse.”

“Right, I’ll give that a go.” 

“Does it truly bother you? Does it change your opinion of me?”

Athi stops short, her hand still clasped in his tugging him to a halt in turn. “What? No, it doesn’t ‘bother’ me. It’s just different. And I have to be different with it.”

“But I am still…” He is unsure how to ask the right question, but feels it imperative that he discover the answer. “I am still Solas, to you? Even when I wear that form?”

“Who else would you be?”

“Does it change how you feel about me? Your—” It is still so hard for him to accept the concept that even forming the word is a challenge. “Your love for me?”

“Oh.” Athi’s whole being relaxes on a sigh and a soft smile. She lifts his hand to her lips and kisses two of his knuckles. “Don’t be ridiculous. Nothing can change that.”

“Well. That is a relief. Thank you.”

They continue along their path, but the quiet hardly has time to settle back in when Athi speaks again.

“Solas?”

He hums an acknowledgement.

“If I were in a different form, would you still love me?”

The answer is obvious, but he entertains the subject. “Temporarily?”

“No, I think permanently.”

“Of course I would. It is your spirit that I adore—though I am fond of your form as well.”

She laughs brightly. “Good answer! But what if it was really different? Like a fish? Or a worm? What if you woke up one day and I was a worm?”

“Is your spirit intact within this worm?”

“Let’s say yes.”

“Then yes, I would still love you. And I would learn to love your worm form in time.”

“Okay.” She’s silent long enough that he thinks the matter dropped, then: “But what if my spirit was changed, too? What if I had a worm spirit now?”

“That would be an impossibility.” Even more impossible than the premise, but he keeps that to himself. “If your spirit was no longer yours, but a worm’s, then there would be no you within it. I would cherish your memory into eternity, and leave the worm to live out its life.”

Athi gasps and stops again, dropping his hand to match her other one on her hip. “You would leave me?!”

“It would not be you, vhenan. It would be a worm.”

“But I would be the worm!”

“You’re not the worm. Without your spirit, the worm is just a worm.”

“What if I was always the worm?”

She appears genuinely distressed, and Solas isn’t sure he can reason his way out of a conversation this ridiculous. “Then we likely would never have met. You would not love me either.”

“You don’t know that!”

Solas sighs heavily, cradling his temples in one hand. “I fear we’ve stepped out of the incredibly hypothetical discussion we began and into a deeper one.”

Athi starts ahead without him. “You’ve certainly stepped into something.”

[blindmagdalena]

Resignation

Summary: 18+ 1.5k homelander x reader, established relationship, dirty talk, thigh riding, grinding.

After you have a particularly rough day at work, Homelander offers you some sound career advice, and a little stress relief.

spiritual successor to Customer Service, but stands alone. this is for everyone who's sick of this capitalist hellscape, and the crummy jobs we're forced to work to survive. not proofread, we die like men. 🖤

Another day, another dollar, another near meltdown.

You spend most of your commute home trying to pull yourself together. After the day you’ve had at work, the last thing you need to do is burst into tears before you even made it home. It’s taking everything in you to keep it at bay.

There’s just something about you that apparently screams Hey! Abuse me! in the workplace.

At least you’ve got something to look forward to when you get home.

Or rather, someone.

“I’m home,” you announce tiredly, stepping inside. You kick your shoes off, and despite your mood, you smile at the pair of tall red boots that sit next to them. It took some convincing to get him to take them off consistently, but ever since he’s started spending more and more time hiding out at your place, you’ve insisted on some ground rules

“Living room,” Homelander calls back.

Walking in, you find him crouched in the living room, staring at your cat with a level of intensity you’re not sure what to make of. “Uh, something going on here?”

“Yep,” he answers evenly. “Asserting dominance.”

You watch your cat blink slowly before lazily rising, stretching into a wide yawn, and hopping down to greet you. Homelander stands, scoffing triumphantly. “I won.”

“Uh-huh,” you give back distractedly, bending down to scritch your cat's ears.

“Hey, what’s up?” He asks, frowning as he approaches. “Your eyes are all red.”

“Hard day,” you tell him, readily accepting his encroaching embrace. You sink easily into his arms, noting that his gloves are off today. That’s new. You slip your arms around his neck, your body tired and heavy as you trust him with the full weight of it. He holds you up effortlessly.

He exhales a huff of hot air right by your ear that gives you goosebumps. “Quit,” he says, his voice set low.

“That’s what you always say.” “Because I mean it,” he shoots back fiercely, pulling away to meet your gaze. “Quit. Fuck those assholes already. You don’t need them. You have me,” he says, reiterating a conversation the two of you have had at least a dozen times now.

Money is nothing to him. He could buy you out for three times your salary for the rest of your life with his pocket change.

“I can’t just not work,” you say, pulling your hands down from his neck to lay flush on his chest. “I need my job.”

“The only thing you need is me,” he stresses again, kissing you. He always feels like he’s restraining himself when he touches you, holding himself back from moving too hard, too fast, from devouring. It’s thrilling to lose yourself in. “Why do you insist on tormenting yourself?

Stomach fluttering, you can’t help but laugh at the slight petulance that slips into his voice. “Because if I give up and let you take care of me, you might get bored, and then I’ll have nothing,” you say, and though you mean to make a joke of it, to fill your voice with playful whimsy, the confession lands harder than you expected it to. You’re tired, you’re stretched thin, and as your own words sink in, you realize just how bad it’s gotten.

Homelander withdraws, leveling you with a look that confirms it: that wasn’t a joke, and neither of you are amused.

You blink several times, suddenly speechless. “I…” You realize your eyes are burning again, and with every blink, your vision gets more bleary. “I just meant…”

“Do you really believe that?” He asks, his brows pinched.

“No,” you answer reflexively, voice too sharp even to your ears. “No, not that… I don’t know, I was trying to make a joke, but maybe… I don’t know. I get scared sometimes,” you say carefully, trying desperately not to spill the tears gathering in your eyes. “That someday I’m not going to be enough because y–”

His lips meet yours before you can continue, muffling the rest of your sentence. His hands are impossibly warm as they sweep up your back, eventually cupping either side of your neck. He kisses you like he’s starving, like he needs the taste of you to breathe, like he would die without you. He kisses you until your brain feels foggy and there’s a dull throb between your legs.

“You’re ridiculous,” he all but growls against your lips, thumbs stroking your cheeks. “I’m not going to get bored. Good fucking luck getting out of this one,” he says, slipping a hand to the back of your neck and squeezing for emphasis. You shiver, your tears lost in the wake of the slow rolling heat moving through your body. “Besides, you know damn well you’re the one who’ll be taking care of me.”

You can feel his smirk against your lips, and you laugh unexpectedly, the sound of it bordering on the sob you had very nearly fallen to. “You need a babysitter now?”

“Why, are we roleplaying? That’s pretty naughty,” he purrs.

“Stop it,” you laugh, pushing his face away, but he doesn’t relent. 

“What? Sexy babysitter could be fun,” he says, kissing a trail up your neck.

“Pervert,” you accuse, turning your face to kiss him. He accepts greedily, tongue slipping between your lips. You sigh a soft moan into his mouth, which only encourages his hands to wander even more, eventually settling on your ass. Without warning, he grabs tight and hauls you up, hitching your legs around his waist, swallowing up the startled gasp you give.

He settles down onto the couch, and maneuvers you until you’re straddling his thigh. You can feel the magnitude of his strength thrumming between your legs, pressed up tight against that same throbbing heat he ignited in you with those fervent kisses.

Cupping your face, he pulls you down for more of the same.

“Go ahead,” he says against your lips, his own curved into a gloating smile. “Grind. I can smell how bad you want it.” His voice is low, as coarse and sweet as raw sugar. His words hit you like a punch to the gut, worsening the pulse of your need.

Immediately, you start to rock your hips, grinding down against him. He rewards you with a hand on your thigh, squeezing as it slides slowly higher, his thumb skirting along your inner thigh. “No more stress,” he murmurs, the words warm on your lips. “No more tears. Just you… with me… mine.”

The way he rumbles that word against your ear sends a shiver trilling up and down your spine, the heat at the center of you spiraling up, up, up, blossoming throughout your entire body. He flexes his thigh and gives you one sharp little bounce on it, wringing a moan out of you. You roll your hips faster, tightly clenching your thighs on either side of his. You push both hands up into his hair and hold on tight, panting into the crook of his neck.

Homelander slips both hands back to your ass, gives a generous squeeze while he helps your body move, rolling it in time with the way he flexes and occasionally bucks his thigh against you. “Say it. Say you’ll quit, and you’ll be all mine,” he demands softly, grip flexing on you. There’s a neediness at the edges of his voice. “Give me that. Give me you.”

You screw your eyes shut, keening breathlessly. The grind of fabric against sensitive skin is almost too much, too dry, but it’s fucking good, too. You’re getting wetter and wetter, losing yourself to the relentless pace he sets for you, and the hungry way he kisses at your throat. 

“C’mon. Give it up. Give me everything. M’never letting you go,” he pants, at which point you realize he’s also grinding against your leg. The arousal–the sheer animalistic need–in his voice makes your stomach flip, and with one last shuddering noise, you’re coming against his leg, moaning loud in his ear as the wave of pleasure slowly wrings out every last bit of tension that you had been holding onto.

You collapse against him, your arms hanging limply around his neck. He nuzzles at your jaw, kissing a trail to your lips. You reciprocate lazily, your eyes closed as you luxuriate in the aftershocks of the unexpected release.

“Quit,” he whispers persistently, lips pressed to the corner of your mouth. “We’ll take care of each other.”

“This is playing dirty,” you slur, feeling stupefied in your post-orgasm haze.

“Oh, I’m just getting started,” he says, taking your hand from around his neck, and slipping it between his legs. You bite your tongue. Christ, he runs fucking hot. Even through the fabric of his suit, you can feel the throb of his cock. “You’re gonna be writing your resignation letter in my cum by the end of the night.”

You make a sound somewhere between a laugh and an unsteady moan, clenching against his thigh. “Okay,” you say, lifting your head to kiss him. “Prove it.”

Much to Homelander’s delight, you submit your notice of resignation the very next day.

[bb-sg]

Beg pt.1

Gojo x Reader

18+ only! MDNI!!! Warnings: Blood and shameless sm*t, slightly mean/dom Gojo, reader has female anatomy

Where reader finds Gojo wounded in the forest. Reader takes care of Gojo and he finds an interesting way to repay her..

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

The wind blew gently, tousling your hair amongst the tall grass as you stared up at the sky and watched the clouds drift by. You closed your eyes as the wind picked up and basked in the warm sunlight, happy that you made the decision to stop and rest by the river. You knew you should continue the trek back to your home but couldn’t pass up the opportunity to enjoy the serenity of your favorite fishing spot. It had become a part of your routine. Wake up early, drag your cart to the river to gather fresh water, attempt to fish and make the hike back up to your house in the forest. You’d pick some berries and fruit that you would find along the way and load them into your cart. The days had begun the blur together, but you didn’t mind.

It was a simple life. Quaint. Quiet. Peaceful, just like you liked it.

You sighed, and slowly lifted your body up out of the grass, stretching lazily as you got back on your feet. You grabbed ahold of the cart, careful not to spill the two pails of fresh water and started your walk back. You whistled lowly to yourself as the forest grew thicker the closer you got to your home. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw birds suddenly screech and fly away, followed by the sound of a loud thud. Then you felt it, the heavy and overwhelming sudden presence of cursed energy that hung in the air. The energy flickered and consumed the air around you like a campfire. No, it was more unstable, more chaotic. Like a wildfire that threatened to burn you alive. You stopped abruptly, spilling some of the water out of the cart.

Is that a curse or a person? You slowly drew the knife that was strapped to your thigh and contemplated your next move. Should you run away and flee? Or should you investigate the mysterious presence? You wanted to believe it was a tourist or a hiker passing through, but it was unlikely. You were miles away from the nearest trails and even further from the closet town. You bit your lip and gripped the knife tighter. Your heart was beating so loud you thought the entity might hear it as you made the decision to approach the spot the cursed energy emanated from.

Slowly, you walked closer, ready to defend yourself if you needed to. As you approached you made your way further into trees, you saw the silhouette of a man slumped against a tree. The man was unmoving, his head hung low against his chest. Then you saw it. Blood. It covered his face, neck, and torso, slowly dripping off his hair that covered his face. You gasped, and slowly jogged over to him. You nudged his leg with your shoe, but he didn’t respond.

Is he dead? Please don’t be dead.

You knelt next to him and brought your fingers to his pulse point, carefully waiting to feel a heartbeat. You finally felt it, faint and slowly thumping against your fingertips.

He’s still alive somehow! He’s in bad shape though, I’d never be able to get him to the hospital in time.

Quickly you pulled his body away from the tree and onto his back. You scanned his form and found three critical wounds seeping with blood. You concentrated hard and directed your reversed cursed energy to your hands and hovered over the cut in his neck and wound on his temple. You felt your energy flow into his body and simmer in his cut, slowly healing and sewing the flesh back together.

He must have tried to heal himself but was only able to barely keep himself alive.

You closed your eyes and focused harder on reconstructing his cells, closing his wounds. A wave of exhaustion crashed into you as you moved your hands to the hole in his stomach. You pushed your energy into him again, but you felt weak, barely able to cauterize the severed veins.

I don’t have enough energy left to completely heal this one. I need to stop, or I will pass out before I even get halfway through. Shit.

You groaned in frustration, bringing your hands back to your sides. It’s starting to get dark. I can’t leave him here.

You stumbled to your feet and back to your cart. You removed the pails of water, set them on the ground and pulled the cart back to the injured man. Suddenly it dawned on you, this man was a giant. Your cart looked tiny next to him. Another groan shook your body as you bent down and started to drag him up onto the cart. After what felt like hours, you finally got him in the cart. Sort of. His body was in the cart, but his limbs and head hung over the sides.

It'll have to do. I hope you know a good chiropractor though. You thought to yourself, trying to make light of the situation you found yourself in.

You began the rest of the mile walk back to your house with the man in tow. You struggled and strained to get him back as quickly as possible.

Why am I doing this? I could have just left him there!

Doubt flooded your mind as the gravity of what you were doing finally sunk in. You don’t know this man. He could be a killer for all you knew. If his cursed energy was this strong when he was near death, there was no way you would be able to defend yourself if he turned out to be dangerous. No matter how many doubts and worries crossed your mind, you kept pushing forward. Something was telling you this was the right thing to do.

Once you reached your house you pulled his limp body out of the cart and into your bedroom. You slowly and ungracefully lifted him onto the bed. Out of breath, you draped a blanket over him and moved the pillow under his head.

Now what?

You staggered over to the chair in the room and fell into it. The minute your body slumped in the chair every muscle and bone in your body screamed in agony. You were exhausted, sore and drained of all your cursed energy. Your eyelids began to droop of their own accord, as you laid your head back against the headrest. You fought to stay awake but eventually gave up, slipping into unconsciousness.

***********************************************************************************

Your eyes flew open as woke up the next morning. You scolded yourself for falling asleep with a stranger in your home.  You immediately jumped to your feet and looked over at the man in your bed. He was still asleep in the same position you had put him in last night. You sighed, relieved that he didn’t wake up and rob or murder you while you slept. You stretched and moved closer to him.

 I still don’t have the energy to finish healing him completely.

You stood next to him and studied him closer. It was hard to make out his features clearly as he was still covered in dried blood.

I suppose I could clean him up a bit.

You grabbed a washcloth from your drawers and went outside to retrieve water. You only had a small amount of water left at the bottom of one of your buckets.

Shit, I left all the water back where I found him. I’ll have to go back and get it later.

 You went back to your bedroom with the bucket in your hand. You pulled the chair up to the bed and sat down next to him and began wiping the blood away from his face and out of his snow-white hair. Once you cleaned off his face you brushed his hair away from his forehead and saw that he was handsome. Gorgeous really. His hair was messy but framed his face elegantly. His long white eyelashes brushed against his cheeks. He had a strong, chiseled jawline and full, soft looking lips.

You blushed furiously as you realized you had been staring at him for too long. You cleared your throat awkwardly and set the bucket and washcloth. You started to undo the buttons on his shirt to expose the stab wound in his chest. The wound was still deep, if you were able to close it up more, he would be able to rest more comfortably. Closing your eyes, you focused on what little cursed energy you were able to restore overnight back through your hands and into his chest.

I won’t be able to close it completely, but this will at least help get him out of a critical state.

After a few minutes, you pulled your hands away. You examined the cut, noticing it was more shallow and smaller than before. You smiled weakly and began cleaning his chest and stomach of the remaining blood and dirt.

You couldn’t help but gaze over his bare chest. He was much stronger than he looked under his shirt. You gently dragged the washcloth over his broad chest and down his abdomen. You watched the water trail down the valley between his prominent ab muscles. Your cheeks grew hot as you admired his body once it was free of any blood.

Wow, he is gorgeous. He could be a model if he wanted to be. Just who are you Mr. Abercrombie?

An idea popped into your head as you dressed his wound.

He probably has an ID on him. You realized.

You carefully reached into the pockets of his jacket and pants, finding a phone and a wallet. You thumbed through his wallet, pulling out an ID. Gojo Satoru. 21 years old. Looks like he’s a 6’3” giant from Tokyo. You are a long way from home Gojo Satoru. You returned his ID to his wallet and checked his phone. It came to life, revealing his 15 missed calls from a Suguru Geto, 3 missed calls from a Shoko Ieiri and a Principal Yaga. You contemplated trying to contact one of them but realized his phone was locked and more importantly, there was no cell reception. You rubbed your fingers against your forehead in frustration.

Of course. Why would I think it would be that easy?

Rolling your eyes, you placed his belongings on the nightstand next to the bed and pulled the blanket back over him. He still hadn’t stirred so you decided to continue your morning like you normally would, expecting him to be asleep all day. You went back to retrieve the water pails you had left behind and tended to your garden. You were still weak from using your reversed curse technique and grew too tired to complete all your chores by midday. You gathered the food you were able to gather and hauled it inside. You peeked into the bedroom to check on Gojo only to find him still asleep.

You made a light vegetable stew for lunch and after inhaling a whole bowl yourself, you decided to bring some to your guest, in case he woke up soon. As you were setting the bowl of soup on the nightstand, his eyes flew open. In a blink of an eye, he roughly grabbed your wrists and sat up, wincing in pain as he growled, his voice hoarse and rough.  

“Where am I?”

*************************************************************************************

GOJO’s POV

His eyes fluttered open abruptly in a panic, head pounding, and body screamed in pain.

Fuck! Where the hell am I?

He scanned the room curiously. Sunlight streamed through a window, dancing between thick, dense trees. He was tucked into a bed he had never been in before, in what looked like a cabin that he’d never seen before. He tried to sit up, but his body refused to move. He cringed as pain coursed through his body. Begrudgingly, he gave up and closed his eyes, trying to remember how he had got here.

Riko. Kuroi. Suguru. Fushiguro Toji. It all comes crashing back to him. He had failed. He had failed to beat Fushiguro in the first fight. He failed to protect Riko, Kuroi and Suguru. He had failed. He should have been dead. He remembered healing his body enough to track Fushiguro down again and kill him once and for all. After Toji’s body fell to the ground, he collapsed too. He grit his teeth in anger as the memories played through his mind.

How did I get here though? Did I warp here?

Suddenly, he sensed someone’s cursed energy approaching him and tensed his body. He waited until the woman was close enough, and as she set a bowl down next to him, he pounced. Grabbing her small wrist tight enough he wondered if he would break it. His six eyes scanned over her, assessing how strong she was, making sure she wasn’t a threat. Her energy was undisturbed in the wake of his advance, and her gaze locked with his, unwavering and fearless but still calm.

Gojo watched her cursed energy flicker around her, it was not abrasive or dangerous. There was an inviting aura that lingered around her allowing him to relax a bit.  He scanned up and down her body and took her in. She was in her early twenties, dressed in minimalist style clothing and wore a plain black mask that covered her from her nose to her neck. He wondered what she was hiding under that mask. Underneath the dull clothes she was rather beautiful though. Shapley body, flowing hair and bright eyes. Her gaze was still fixed on him, but her features were soft with concern. Or pity. Either way, he hated the way she looked at him. Like a wounded dog left in the street.

“Where am I?”

End Gojo’s POV

*************************************************************************************

“Where am I?”

He let your wrist go slowly, like he was unsure if you were a threat or not. You rubbed your wrist where fingerprint shaped bruises were beginning to blossom on your tanned skin. You gently tried to push his shoulders down to encourage him to lay down, but his cursed energy flared and stopped you just short of touching him and pushing you back. You shied away from him as he lashed out again and tried to stand up but doubled over in pain causing him to fall to your knees.

“Fuck! I said where the fuck am I? Do you know who I am?!” He seethed.

You watched him pull himself up on the bed again, clenching the now reopened wound on his chest. He grimaced in pain when he pulled his hand away from the seeping cut with a shaky hand.

All that hard work ruined in thirty seconds. You rolled your eyes aggressively before turning to grab more towels from the bathroom, as well as a map and a pen and notepad.

You cautiously approached his bedside again with your hands clearly displaying the items you had retrieved. You held out the towel for him as you gestured to the bleeding gash. He groaned as he apprehensively grabbed the towel from you and held it tightly against his chest. He glared at you with bared teeth as you stepped closer. You held up a map of Japan and pointed to him and then pointed to the barren and dense Aokigahara forest. Suicide Forest. The Sea of Trees. You tapped the area where your home resides a few times before pointing back to him.

Hopefully you’re not as dense as this forest and can figure this out without having to breaking out the full charade experience. You watched his eyes moving between your eyes and the map before breaking out in a fit of laughter that crippled him again.

“What? You can’t talk? I know I’m sexy but there’s no need to be shy kitten.” He grinned like a Cheshire cat and leaned closer. “Don’t tell me I took your breath away already.”

I should have let him bleed out in the forest. Once again you give him an eye roll before circling your house on the map and throwing it into his lap. You threw the gauze and bandages from the nightstand onto his lap as well as you stormed out of the bedroom.

He might be worse than a serial killer. I can’t believe this is the guy I saved.

You heard him ripping the gauze and bandages off his body as well as his pained groaning. You waited in the living room for him to either call out to you or for it to be silent enough that he could have fallen asleep. You hoped for the latter.

“Hey Angel! Come back here!” He singsong yelled out from the bedroom.

You slowly dragged your body back into the bedroom to see him slurping down the soup without a spoon and his demeaner more relaxed than before. He tipped the bowl back, almost spilling the soup down his now bare chest. You noticed that he had used his own reverse technique to heal the remaining wound on his chest. He was seemingly good as new.

“You should be a chef. I don’t even like vegetables normally. I think we got off on the wrong foot. I’m Gojo. Gojo Satoru. I’m guessing this hobble is your place?”

You sat down in the chair adjacent to the bed and waited for him to continue. Not eager to see where this interaction was headed already.

“This is the part of the conversation where you tell me your name?” He prodded while staring you down.

That’s when you really saw him. Saw his eyes glow an inhumane sparkling blue, his stark white hair more neatly combed but still hanging in his eyes, marble skin and his cocky grin. He looked ethereal even in his weakened state. You were drawn to him as you leaned forward in your chair to look at him better. This only caused him to chuckle lowly to himself and ran his hand through his hair and pushing it out of his eyes.

“Fly back to earth for me little angel.” He winked at you. “I need you to help me out here, can you do that for me? Can you tell me your name and why we are in the so lovingly named Suicide Forest?”

You blushed a deep shade of red and quickly glanced around the room for the notepad and pen you had brought in. You wrote out your name quickly and turned the notebook back around to show him.

“Pretty name. You really don’t talk huh? You’re not like a monk or something are you?” He eyed your clothes and lack of belongings in your home.

This fucking guy.  You scowl at him and responded with a hastily written “No”.

“This is your house though, right?”

You wrote down a “Yes” and tapped it with the pen a few times.

“Are you the one who healed me?”

You tapped the Yes on the notepad again, sheepishly looking anywhere but at him. You felt uncharacteristically shy when talking to him.

“Well, guess I should thank you then. It takes a lot of control over cursed energy to heal others. Are you a sorcerer?”

You shake your head no, apprehensively.  

“Then where did you learn how to use cursed energy like that?”

You averted his gaze and shook your head again. You had no intention of sharing your life story with this obnoxious stranger.

He chuckled again and jumped off the bed. He stretched his arms above his head in a lazy fashion that made his pants droop down his hips more. His deep V caught your attention again while he cracked his joints and yawned. Your eyes trailed up his abs, to his chest where a pink scar stood in place of his old gash. You wondered what it would feel like to trace your fingertips over the scar, up his neck and into his soft hair.

“Oi! Kitten!” Gojo teased, an amused lit to his voice. He grinned widely at you and suddenly he was kneeling in front of you with your hand in his. His mischievous grin spread across his face as you turned red and bit your lip under your mask.

What is he doing? I should get up, ask him to leave or something. Your body refused to move though. You were frozen in the chair, unable to make yourself pull away from him.

He kissed your hand gently, and looked up at you with his blue eyes.

“You’re not much with words but your eyes tell me everything. Maybe I should find a way to thank you for your hospitality, hmm?”

He slid his hands to your thighs and parted them as he leaned in to whisper in your ear, “You know, I happen to know that you’ve been staring at me quite a bit. Do you see something you like?”

You gripped the arms of the chair tightly and tried to close your legs, but his body blocked your attempts, forcing you to keep them open. You shivered when you felt his breath fan over your ear as he ran his hands up your thighs to cup your ass and pull you to the edge of your chair. Your heart raced and pounded in your chest as you tried to squirm away from him. He kept you caged with his body and pulled back to look into your eyes.

This can’t be happening! I can’t do this. I barely know this guy! You started to shake your head, pleading with him to stop when he held your chin still and pulled you so close you could smell a hint of cologne wafting off him. His cologne reminded you of the smell of fresh rain. It drew you in and you found yourself giving into his touch. A gnawing ache grew in the pit of your stomach that you couldn’t ignore. The proximity of your lips to his made you regret wearing your mask today.

“Don’t try to lie and tell me you don’t want this. I can hear your heart racing, feel how warm you are and see how red your cheeks are. I bet...”, he trailed off as he used one of his hands to unbutton your pants. “If I slipped my fingers into your panties, I would feel your pussy weeping for me. You took care of me princess, now be a good girl and let me take care of you.”

You bit your bottom lip as you struggled internally, trying to choose between making the rational decision or giving into your need and desire. His skilled hands started pulling at your pants and you found yourself lifting up enough for him to be able to slide your pants all the way off. He leaned back and spread your legs apart more to admire the view of the growing wet spot on your panties. He whistled lowly before he grabbed your waist and slid his other hand to tangle and pull your head back by your hair. He leaned into your neck and inhaled your scent before nibbling on your ear. Gojo felt his own desire for you growing while he watched you squirm against his hold.

“So, what do you say angel, will you let me take care of you? Let me thank you the best way I know how. ”

You exhaled a shaky breath before giving him the smallest nod in agreement. You felt your skin burn with need. You gave in to your temptation and reached out to pull him by his belt loop even closer, feeling his growing bulge against the inside of your thigh.

He smiled against your ear before wrapping his arms under your ass to scoop you up and throw you down on the bed. You squealed in surprise as you landed with a soft thud. You covered your mouth as a precaution. Hoping you can catch any sound or words before they start to leave your mouth.

Fuck, I have to be careful. I can’t let anything slip, I need to keep my guard up still.

You felt him laying slow, sensual kisses on your inner thigh before pressing light kisses on to your soaked panties. He hummed happily at the sight of your arousal and nuzzled his nose against your clothed pussy. The vibrations tickled you as you felt yourself grow more wet.

Please, touch me. You pleaded with him in your head.

As if he could read your mind, he looked in your eyes as he tucked his fingers under the band of your panties and yanked them off you. As soon as your pussy was exposed, he used two thumbs to spread your lips apart while he licked up your slit and then circled your swelling clit. You stifled a moan against with your hand when he wrapped his lips against your clit and gently sucked.

He clicked his tongue as he reached and yanked your hand off your mouth and snarled, “Don’t you dare hold back. I want to hear you princess. I need to hear how good I’m making you feel.”

You noticed the change in his voice. His former teasing and joking was replaced by something dark and demanding. The edge in his voice and the way his eyes bore into you made you feel intoxicated. You melted into his touch as he moaned and ran his tongue up and down your wet entrance, gathering your slick and savoring your taste. You whimpered and bucked your hips against his mouth, begging for more.

He loved how sweet you tasted and how desperate you were to be touched. So needy and wanton. He held your hips in place as he pulled his lips away and smiled at you through lust hooded eyes.

“Here’s the deal, you healed three of my wounds so I’m going to make you cum three times, can you be a good little kitten and purr for me?”

You moaned, feeling you let your guard down and giving in to your impulses. You felt him tease your entrance with his middle finger before slowly plunging it inside you. Your hips tried to buck against him again but he held you down tighter.

“Let me do the work. Just lay back and let me take care of this sweet pussy you have.”

He started thrusting his finger in and out of you lazily at first while his tongue lapped at your clit. His long finger took no time in finding the spongey spot inside of you that made you screw your eyes shut and a strained scream rip out of you. He circled your clit with his wet tongue while he slipped another long finger into you and started bullying your sweet spot. It didn’t take long for your first orgasm to wash over you, making your back arch and a loud moan echo in your empty house. He hummed in approval as he pulled his fingers out of your cunt and languidly licked up and down your slit. He watched you come down from your high before he kissed your puffy and swollen lips gently.

“Good girl. You taste so good angel. Makes me wonder how good you feel.” He whispered while kissing up your stomach. His hand ran under your shirt to pull it off you. Your breath hitched in your throat as you realized the only thing you had on now was your mask. He took one of your nipples in his mouth while tweaking the other between his fingers. He switched and suckled on the other sensitive bud while fondling your other breast. You mewled quietly, your body still humming from your recent orgasm. He sat on back his heels while pulling your pussy flush against his cloth cock. Even through his pants you could feel how big he was, and it made your mouth water.

“Fuck angel, I’m trying not to be selfish right now but I’m struggling not to just take you and make you cream on my cock. Fuck.”

He bit his lip as he guided your hips against his, grinding your swollen pussy on him. The feeling and sight of your bare pussy grinding against him made him want to hold you down with his hand around your throat while he pounded into you relentlessly.

I need you. Please, I need to feel you.

He groaned in frustration as he pushed you back down on the bed and off his lap. You could see him fighting to hold himself back as he looked at your glistening heat. You wanted to yell at him, tell him just to do it. Beg for him to ruin you but you knew it was too dangerous. He hovered over you, looking into your eyes before trailing down to your covered lips. His hand reached up to pull your mask off, but you frantically pushed his hand back down. His eyebrow raised up in annoyance, clearly irritated you won’t remove the last barrier between you two.

“Don’t be naughty kitten.” He tutted.

His hand swiftly slipped between your legs and slid two fingers into your sensitive hole. You yelped and threw your head back. You closed your eyes in ecstasy as your body responded to his fingers curling against your g spot over and over again. You thrashed and squirmed as his fingers moved in and out of your faster. He pressed his palm against your clit while he kept rubbing against your walls. Gojo moaned in your ear while feeling your pussy flutter on his fingers when you reached your second high. This orgasm made your body ridged, tears pricked your eyes as you bit your lip so hard you tasted blood.

“That’s two Angel. I owe you one more. I want something from you though before I make you cum for the last time. Can you do something for me kitten?”

Your vision was blurry with tears still as you nodded your head eagerly. You wanted to tell him you would do anything for him at this moment.

“I want you to use your words and beg me to fuck you. I know you can talk, I just want to hear your sweet voice begging me to make you cum on my cock.”

You felt him smirk against your ear while he kept pushing his fingers in and out of you slowly. Not fast enough to make you reach another climax but just enough to keep you on the edge.

No, I can’t. You shook your head. Please try to understand.

He pressed his palm harder against your clit causing you to jolt with pleasure. You pressed your body up against him and you cried out. He smiled wider and increased the pressure as his hand grinded against you. He loved how you looked with tears now flowing down your cheeks in desperation. Just as you were about to go over the ledge, he pulled his hand away from you and hovered over you but didn’t touch you. Your body felt cold where he was once touching you and the anguish of a buildup release sank in your core.

He repeated this process two more times before you were a blabbering mess. You were losing your self-control more and more. He mocked you, “Come on angel, stop fighting. I will keep going until I break you.”. Each word punctuated by his fingers thrusting into you harder and harder. Your resolve was crumbling and Gojo could feel it. Your body shook as you gasped and panted. You closed your eyes and prayed you could hold on longer, just as you were about to cum, he pulled away again, just before your dam broke. He knew this would be the one that would get you to cave as he quickly pulled down your mask before you could stop him.

His crystalline eyes widened when he saw what you were hiding under the mask. Bold curse marks decorated your mouth and tongue. Under different circumstances he would have taken a moment to appreciate how beautiful you were. How gorgeous the contrast was between the dark markings and your plush pink lips. You were from the Inumaki Clan. A cursed speech user.

He saw you take a deep breath and before he could stop you, he felt your cursed energy crash over him. He felt his body stiffen and throb violently before he even understood what you had said. He felt the curse swallow him whole as he finally made out your words.

“Fuck me! Gojo please!”

[tinytennisskirt]

TINYTENNISSKIRT PERSONAL FAVES & PERSONAL SUMMARIES (CHALLENGERS)

summarizing my favourite fics that I've written so maybe if you haven't read them, you find reason to. Not in any specific order.

More Than Anything- Art Donaldson

I love this one a lot personally. It was a request and although I had to stretch to make ends meet, I am a huge fan of friends to lovers. I love childhood best friend! Art so much. He's a cutie. But thats what this is, childhood best friends to lovers but the platonic doesn't change. It just alters. The miscommunication, the misunderstanding of Patrick's words to reader are hurtful and they change things but Art fixes it and brings it all back together? I was already in love. It's worse. A kiss ending with a HUG ending is a weakness for sure.

Cottage Culture- Art Donaldson

It's an Art fic but it definitely doesn't lack Patrick. I love the dynamic I wrote for reader and the boys- its very established that they are long time friends and are very comfortable with each other. There's a lot of casual touching which means a lot to me. I love it. But Art who has feelings ugh love him for it. It's that thing with the trio where the connection between reader and Art is just a little bit more intimate in the ways that matter. Just a hint, but it makes so much difference. Plus a kiss in the water? Need. This fic takes place at a cottage away from the world and takes place over the course of a few days, so there's so many instances of attraction and so many POVS. It's also very summery so if you're feeling like a cottage getaway with your two fav challengers boys, this is perfect.

Let It Linger- Art Donaldson

I think I'm probably most proud of this fic. It took forever to write and I actually gave up twice, but it got completed. It's like an AU of the movie itself, but it bounces back and forth like a tennis ball on a court from Art's time at MRTA to post-canon divorced! Art who is searching for his old best friend at their 15 year high school reunion. I really really love this one because it's very friendship and yearning oriented. How close reader and Art get to being together before they fall out and into no contact for fifteen years but he sees her again and talking to her again feels like no time has passed? Finding out that fifteen years ago, reader liked him too? I really like writing super non-romantic romantic scenes like the simple things and the simple conversations between reader and Art that are so specifically somehow intimate though they're trying to make it feel like it's not. It's friends to lovers but in a way that isn't exactly satisfied. It's honestly so fucking good, I loveeee this one.

Sweetheart- Patrick Zweig

an AU where Patrick is a girl dad is just the perfect universe. He's a single dad in a cluttered house with an absolute angel genius of a daughter and reader is considerably younger than him. She's twenty, he's nearing forty. It's not inherently romantic at first, it's just banter, but he's soooo dirty. He can't help but think about her in a way that isn't exactly holy. And she's got some semi-innocent crush on him. He goes on dates but every night he comes home and has his little bits of banter with her and things get increasingly harder to manage over time. He might actually like her which is crazy, but I never specifically wrote that he does like her in any way that isn't sexual because I wanted the reader to kind of be in the not-knowing because why would anyone expect his character in this to be ACTUALLY into the twenty-year-old babysitter? This one is a smut and it's honestly really tasty and rough, but the ending is what is supposed to get you like 'ah, I see. feelings.'

Best Friend Patrick Zweig who is Totally Not In Love With You

This was my second headcanons list and I somehow ended up giving it a plot, so it's not just headcanons. It's a list of things Patrick does as your best friend who has feelings for you. The list format is loose, it's a headcanon and then it's like... written dialogue underneath the headcanon to explain it so it's more engaging. I really enjoyed tapping into my autism like 'yeah, he'd do that'. It's got all the good stuff like some jealousy, some quiet yearning, He's repressing his feelings which I love because it's so him. He and reader have a good dynamic and it's NOT ONLY x reader but it's also NOT ONLY headcanons. It's a good mix!!!

Those Three Words- Patrick Zweig

I'm honestly a little unreasonably obsessed with this one. It was such a small but well-written request I just HAD TO make it extra. I honestly never really plan out the way my fics go other than knowing the basics. But the aspects are always just as I go. Patrick going from a player to set on ONE girl for the first time in his life is wild and crazy and he likes her and gets her number but they're friends for months before they start dating. Reader becomes one of his best friends and it's lovely and fun and he's so into her. Surprisingly so. Like even takes him by surprise but it's so fun to write Patrick who is actually IN LOVE for the first time WHAT SO CRAZY. I love domestic life kinds of romance and yeah he says I love you so soon, but he means it. And he gets a bit of a monologue and it's funny and he's soft with her which I love and adore.

Just some behind the scenes thoughts. All fics are linked at their titles! Also just a sly little reminder that I LOVEEEEE comments. Your thoughts and feedback mean the world to me. Also, requests are open always <3333

[eastwindmlk]

For day 4 of @jilytoberfest I will add to the McGonagall as James' godmother agenda.

939 words under the cut.

You are cordially invited to the wedding of James F Potter and Lily J Evans.

Minerva looked at the silvery stag and doe that pranced along the invitation that she had placed on her desk after breakfast, the attached letter still sealed and waiting. The transfiguration professor was well aware of what opening that letter would do to her sentimental Scottish self.

She had watched these two grow together and had been a driving force behind them being appointed Head boy and girl. If anyone asked, and no one would, she prided herself on having helped kindle their relationship. Offered a guiding hand and subtle encouragement wherever she could. Especially when James would come to her for advice that he pretended was absolutely not about Miss Evans, even when it very clearly was.

As a teacher, Minerva knew not to meddle, but as a godmother, she had a duty to her godson and that was to meddle on behalf of his parents. Though she never offered anything but sound advice.

Perhaps she also convinced Horace to pair them up in potions, but that was neither here nor there.

Despite her best effort not to think about the letter, her students figured out altogether too easily that she was in a particularly good mood. She had to snip at the questions about the good news to get the room back in order.

The longer the day stretched, the more distracted she found herself becoming. During dinner she almost stabbed Alma with her fork as they both reached for the roast carrots and on her way to her room she nearly missed a trick step and stumbled, scraping her knee.

In the light of the candle at her bedside and shifted into the familiar mattress, her fingers feeling the fine parchment she’d learned to associate with the Potter household.

My dearest, godmother,

Minerva would never tire of this little quirk in James’ letters, this little wink that he never failed to open with. She knew he was well aware of the implication, the affection this little gesture and she couldn’t help but feel special in this knowledge.

Enclosed you will find the invitation I am certain you have been eagerly awaiting after the news of our engagement. I also know that you likely do not approve of the length, or lack thereof, of our engagement. I want to assure you that we are being sensible.

We are also young and in love, so please be a little forgiving.

For a moment Minerva considered if she really could be disapproving of this union. She knew it was inevitable and given the times they lived in, she could hardly blame them to cling onto every opportunity to celebrate love and light.

You have always been a guiding hand in my life and I know that Lily feels similarly about you and it would mean the world to us if you would attend.

It is on behalf of my future wife that I now write to you.

She couldn’t help but chuckle at just how eager James seemed to be to call her his wife, there was something incredibly endearing about it. She did wonder what she needed if James was the one asking. Curiosity prickled her into reading further, leaving her theorising for after, if she still needed to.

As you might recall from previous mentions, the relationship with her family has been strained for quite some time now and when I confided my worries with you before even I was not aware of the extent of this. However, it looks like only her father will be willing and able to attend the wedding. I’d hoped that you might be willing to help.

Her heart broke when she read this, the words blurring as her eyes watered. She had only been vaguely aware of the situation while they were still attending school. Minerva knew that some muggleborn families took the news harder and it often reflected in these students finding her office in times of need. She could tell from the questions they asked and how they often oscillated before the brave dared to hug her.

Lily Evans had never been that girl. Or so she thought.

Even if Miss Evans had not been one of her favourite recent graduates, not that she had any, she would have still said yes.

If that is not too much of an imposition I would… It would be a weight off my shoulders. Watching her be turned down by her mother and sister was painful to witness and I am not proud of the things I wanted to tell them. I am even less proud of the fact that I bit my tongue.

It is with a heavy heart and a whole lot of frustration that I admit that I do not know how to make this better.

Minerva could see the spots where his quill nearly punctured the parchment and let her fingers glide over the indents like she could feel the remnants of his frustration still lingering in the words. It was then that she decided that the answer to this letter could not wait until morning. She could barely wait to read the final lines before letting them know.

She dragged her eyes back to the page, fingers twitching impatiently.

Even if you cannot, I know you have some sound advice for me. Should we discuss this over tea? Mother’s honeybees have been rather busy and Lily makes this amazing honey cake. Perhaps I can bribe you with a slice? Or a whole tray if need be?

Ever your devoted godson,

James Potter

[boyfriendstevie]

banana pancakes

a lazy morning in with robin; inspired by the middle picture that i came across on pinterest! my first time writing anything remotely smutty for robin, pls be kind lol. fem!reader obvs. 1.1k. nothing crazy, but mdni!! 18+ pls!!

Robin’s side of the bed is empty when you wake up. You roll over, eyes still closed as you reach out for your girlfriend. It’s only after your fingertips touch bare sheets that you open your eyes in surprise, a pout finding its way to your lips. Your favorite part of weekend mornings is cuddling in bed, and Robin’s not even here to do that. You’re sure she’s still in the house — in fact, you can hear noises coming from the kitchen — but you still wish she was next to you. 

Sighing, you sit up and stretch, scanning the room for something to wear. All you’ve got on is a pair of underwear, but you spot one of Robin’s big sweatshirts on the dresser across the room, and decide it’ll be perfect for your lazy morning in. It smells just like her as you slip it on over your head, and all you want is to find her. 

You follow the sounds of breakfast being made to the kitchen, a little afraid of what you might find. Robin is not exactly skilled at cooking, and it’s totally possible that the kitchen is a absolute disaster right now, though you do smell coffee, and maybe pancakes. You’re pleasantly surprised to find that the kitchen is still in working order, and even more pleased when you notice that Robin is completely topless. She’s only wearing a pair of sweatpants that look like they might be Steve’s, considering they’re rolled at the waist, and her bare back is on display to you, her smooth, pale skin taunting you. There’s a mug of what you assume is coffee in one of her hands, while the other holds the door to the fridge open as she looks for something. 

You’ve got to move quickly if you want to hold her while she’s standing like this, so you do, padding across the kitchen with a murmured ‘good morning’ so you don’t completely surprise her, your warm hands finding her waist. She still jumps a little when your hands touch her, squeaking in surprise, though she quickly relaxes into your touch. Her skin is cool from the chill of the fridge, and you slide your hands around the curves of her hips, hands warm against the softness of her tummy. She hums, leaning back into your hug, pressing against your front, “G’morning, bub.”

“This is a nice surprise,” you mumble, your cheek smushed against her shoulder blade.

“Oh!” she perks up a little, closing the fridge so she can rest her hand over one of yours, “‘M glad! Wasn’t sure if you’d want banana pancakes, or when you’d wake up, but just thought I’d make some anyways, and—“

You can’t help but giggle, pressing a kiss to the crook of her neck. She’s oblivious to what you actually mean, and it just makes you adore her even more. Pressing your nose to the space just behind her ear, you giggle again and murmur, “Rob, baby, the pancakes are nice, but I was talking about this…” You trail off, untangling your hands from hers so you can slide them up her torso, coming to rest against her ribs delicately, just underneath her breasts. 

Her breath stutters — you can feel it against your hands — and you have to stifle another laugh. Her chest heaves and she blinks slowly, "Oh. Yeah, I just… didn’t… didn’t wanna bother with a shirt, and—" She struggles to find words as you move your hands again to cup her breasts. The only time Robin runs out of things to say is when you’re touching her like this. You love her voice, love listening to her talk, but you almost love her breathy moans and whimpers more. 

Robin has perfect tits, and there are few things you love more than playing with them. She’s soft under your touch, nipples already starting to peak from the cold air of the fridge, only growing harder as the pad of your thumbs rub across them gently. A whine escapes her lips, desperate for more. 

You kiss her neck again, this time nipping at the spot that makes her weak in the knees, “Y’so pretty, birdie. Love your tits so much, this is the best thing to wake up to.” As if to prove your point, you pinch both of her nipples, rolling them between your fingers gently. 

She keens at that, chest pushing into your hands, and her cup of coffee nearly falls from her grasp. Luckily, you’re paying enough attention to notice, and swipe the mug from her hands, placing it onto the counter next to you. She mourns the loss of your touch, but only for a second, and quickly takes the opportunity to turn around in your arms, a lovesick smile tugging at her lips as she leans in to kiss you. 

It’s soft but eager, Robin’s teeth nipping at your bottom lip. She tastes like coffee and maybe a hint of the mint toothpaste she uses, but you can’t get enough of her. You want to resume where you were before, maybe continue where you left off, so you pull your mouth from hers, planting a line of wet kisses down her neck to her collarbone. 

The groan she lets out is music to your ears as her head tips back in pleasure, thudding into the wooden cabinets behind her. The sound makes you giggle, but you’re undeterred, kissing across the swell of her breast until you’re just above her nipple. Your lips part against the soft skin, and she gasps when you leave a hickey there.  

Robin’s hands find your hair as you move lower, tongue darting out to circle her nipple. She whines again, a high pitched sound that she can’t quite control as your other hand comes up play with her other breast, not wanting to neglect her, “Ah, fuck, baby, I—“

You let your teeth graze her sensitive nipple as you pull back from her chest, lips shining with spit as you give her a grin, “Fuck, you’re beautiful, Rob.” Her chest heaves, an unbelieving laugh escaping her lips. Her eyes flutter open, glancing at you before quickly cutting across the kitchen to where the pancake batter sits next to the stove. You know exactly what she’s thinking, and beat her to it as you say, “Ya know, I love that you made pancakes, but… I could go for something else right now.” 

She laughs again, raspy and filled with joy, and hoists herself up onto the counter behind the two of you, parting her thighs so you can slot yourself in between them, “That’s fine with me, baby.” 

[sluttyten]

You In My Arms

Chapter 7: An Eye For An Eye

full masterlist || haechan masterlist || YIMA chapter index

summary: now that the truth is out in the open, you find it harder than ever to keep yourself from wanting Haechan constantly. But at least now you know that he wants you just as much.

length: 9,317 words

tags: voyeurism, exhibitionism, slowburn, friends to lovers, masturbation, public sex, fingering, general perversion, smut

previous chapter || next chapter

Waking the next morning, you stare up at the ceiling for a good long while. Remembering yesterday, remembering last night. 

You got the truth from Haechan. You shared secrets. 

He kissed you. 

And still, you feel giddy about it, like a young girl with her first kiss. 

Haechan kissed you. 

You kissed him. 

You cover your face with your hands to muffle the excited sound that spills from your lips. 

What happens now?

You go through your day as normal. You clean the apartment, you and your roommate make a grocery run in the mid-afternoon, and then as the day creeps towards evening, your thoughts start to turn and focus exclusively on Haechan. Thinking of what you’d said to him before he first kissed you. An eye for an eye; a truth for a truth. You want equality, which means he’s watched you, so you want to watch him. Properly watch him instead of just from a distance in the dark, though you didn’t share that particular truth with him last night. 

Your roommate leaves for the night to go on a date with her partner and then stay at their place. Which leaves you to fend for yourself for the night. Before she got into this relationship, the two of you spent many Friday and Saturday nights together here in the living room, bundled up in blankets with takeout from a variety of your favorite places. But tonight you either have to decide on a place for yourself, or you can throw together dinner from what you’d bought earlier at the grocery store. 

Unsure what you really want, you just play around on your phone until your brain and your stomach can come to an agreement on what to eat. 

You scroll on Twitter for a little while, get lost down a TikTok rabbit hole until the sky outside is dark and the time staring back at you reads quarter after nine. You switch to Instagram, and right there at the top of your screen it shows that one haechanahceah has added to his story. 

You tap on it. 

He’s holding his phone close to his face as he laughs, the blue sky of twilight barely visible behind him along with a flash of YangYang’s face and toothy smile. The sound of wind rushes against the microphone. The camera flips and you see a skateboard under his feet, pavement rushing by, and then a path stretching out along the river. 

The next part to his story: pictures of food covering a table. Haechan tagged several other people, though YangYang and Ten’s are the only usernames that you recognize from them. 

Drinks. Everyone clinking their glasses together. 

And then the most recent addition to his story is just a simple picture of the moon shining like a fat pearl in the velvet night sky. There’s a song playing, lyrics scrolling over the image of the moon, and it’s a song of neediness, desire, longing. 

It was posted five minutes ago. 

And just as you’re about to close out of the app and order yourself some dinner, your phone chimes with a message. 

“Are you doing anything right now?” From Haechan. 

When you don’t answer immediately, you receive a second message from him. “I saw that you just watched my story. Don’t pretend like you’re not on your phone.”

You call him. 

He answers immediately. 

Judging by the lack of wind, you assume he’s not outside any longer. And furthermore, the silence in the background makes you think he might not even be with the others anymore. 

“Hello?” He says, a little breathlessly. 

“What did you want?” 

Silence, then a slight rustling sound. Then, “I was just wondering if you were free or if you’re busy. I’ve been out with some guys all day, I just got home, and I want to send you something.”

“Oh?” You cradle your phone against your face. “Like what?”

“How was it that you phrased it yesterday?” Haechan pauses, as if thinking, then says, “Oh, right. You said you want equality. You want to watch me, since I’ve watched you.”

Your heart thuds in your chest, sending pulsing heat to your extremities. “Haechan….”

“So let me ask again,” his voice dips lower, asking, “Are you doing anything right now? Can I send you something?”

All thoughts of dinner have been removed from your mind. The only hunger you feel now is for what Haechan is offering you through the phone. 

“I’m not doing anything.” You hope your voice isn’t shaking, that you don’t sound nervous or over-excited. “Send it.”

He laughs a little under his breath, and you know that you failed at sounding so cavalier. The eagerness and hunger bled through in your voice. 

“Alright, I’m hanging up now.” Haechan’s own voice is light with amusement and excitement. “I’ll send it shortly.”

After the call goes dead on his end of the line, you sit there, clutching your phone in your hands, perched on the edge of the sofa. You wonder if you should order food, if you should just try to eat something. It’s late. If you’re going to eat tonight, you’d better do it now before you get so swept up that you forget to eat altogether. And where do you want to watch this video at? Do you want to just watch it out here? Or should you close yourself away in the privacy of your bedroom, snug in your bed to witness exactly what you’ve been longing to see for so long now?

You think back to the night that started all of this interest in watching and being watched. The night of the hot tub. The first time that you felt there could genuinely be a little something more than just friendship between you and Haechan as you shared that bed with him. You remember longingly noticing the bulge in the front of his shorts when he’d emerged from the hot tub’s water, and you remember about an hour later when he’d stripped beside you in the dark. It had been quite dark, but not dark enough that you hadn’t caught the barest glimpse of his ass and just the shadowy hint of his cock. 

But now? Now your curiosity will be satisfied. 

You snack on something you pull from the pantry, waiting and waiting and waiting. After twenty minutes, you send him a text with a bunch of question marks. 

“Patience baby” is all you get back from Haechan. 

But the thing is, you’re feeling rather impatient. You’re horny now, excited thinking about getting to watch him. You do move to your bedroom, closing the door, turning the lights down, tucking yourself in with your phone held to your chest. You’re going to enjoy this. 

Finally after too fucking long, your phone chimes again. 

When you open the message, the rectangle of the video is just black. 

You tap play, and it fills your screen, still black. 

For a moment, you think something’s wrong with the video, but then you hear sound. The rustle of sheets. A shuddering breath. Something moving in the dark, which you realize a moment later is the shadow of some part of Haechan’s body against the faint light of his computer’s blinking power button. 

What is this? You wanted to see him, not just hear him. 

And then the video is illuminated as his bedside lamp is clicked on. The phone camera passes over rumpled sheets. There’s a flicker of tanned skin, the curve of his bare thigh. You hold your breath as at last the camera focuses on the fit of his fingers around his dick. 

It’s pretty and tan, just like the rest of him. 

His cock is actually bigger than you imagined it would be. You figured Haechan would be a little below average in terms of size, if you’re being honest, but the cock you’re looking at on your phone screen exceeds your expectations. He’s probably average in length, but damn, he’s thick from base to the tip, which is a pretty shade of pink that reminds you of his lips. He’s got a perfect cock, in your opinion. Right away, you want him in your mouth, your throat aches for it. 

And then you just sit back and watch the video, admiring the way he touches himself, the sounds he makes, the way that as he gets close to orgasm his hips twitch off the bed to rock into the circle of his fingers. You drink everything in, hungrily consuming the video to notice all the small details. The small scattering of moles across his belly and thighs and his arm and hand. The dusting of hair leading from below his navel to the base of his cock. 

You’ve been with a decent amount of men. You’ve seen cocks, touched them, tasted them, had them inside you. But you’ve never had Haechan’s, and the longer you sit here watching, the more that you feel like this video is just a cruel tease. 

Is that how he felt while watching the video feed of you masturbating in the office? Like it was just a cruel tease of what he couldn’t have?

Haechan moans your name in the video and your belly goes tight and hot at the sound, a whined praise from his lips.

How long would it take you to get to his apartment right now?

His hand flies over his length in the video, his moans like music to your ears. “Oh, fuck,” he grunts, “Baby, bet your pussy would be so tight around me right now, so wet and slippery. I know you get super wet. Are you wet right now?”

Fuck. Yeah, you are. You’re not touching yourself though, too caught up in simply watching him to want to take away from it. But your core is throbbing with heat, panties soaked through. 

“You’d be taking my cock so well, angel.” Haechan gives one sharp thrust into his hand, his heels digging into the mattress as his hips lift off the bed. “Do you think you’d be a good girl for me? Do whatever I ask? Would you get on your knees and beg for me?”

If you were there right now, you certainly would be on your knees, mouth open wide, tongue out for his cock. You would let Haechan make such a mess of you. You would let him cum on your tits and your throat in public, and you would proudly wear that pearl necklace like a prize.

“Or would I need to punish you? You’ve shown me how naughty you can be.” He moans, passing his thumb right over the weeping slit of his cock. “What would even be a good punishment for you? Taking you out in public, teasing you, but not letting you cum? Sit you on my cock in front of all of our friends, tease you nice and slow while you keep my cock warm. But, no, you would enjoy that too much, wouldn’t you? What if I didn’t allow you to cum? Would that be punishment enough? I’d have to take you home, angel, edge you for as many times as you nearly gave us away.”

Your toes curl at the sound of his words, and you feel your pussy clench around nothing. You can’t take it anymore. 

You slip your fingers inside your panties, dipping them through your wetness. 

Haechan moans again, and your entire body buzzes and flares with heat in response. 

“I’ve never really done anything in public before, not quite like you,” Haechan says, still fisting his cock. “Only ever when I’m tucked out of sight, in semi-privacy, or after dark.” His hand holding his phone shakes, his breath shudders. “But you make me want to try getting a little riskier.”

You can just imagine it now. Taking Haechan out with you like you’d tried to do with a few of those random guys you hooked up with. Taking him to the park to have some fun on a picnic, tucked in a corner of the aquarium as the pretty fish swim by, fucking around in the car on a hot summer day with the windows down and your sweaty bodies exposed to the sunlight. 

You fuck yourself on your fingers, trying to keep your eyes focused on the video, but your vision grows hazy with lust, fantasies sweeping into your mind to overlay the visual of Haechan squeezing his hand around his cock with a groan, bucking his hips up into the tight grip of his fist as he finally cums with your name on his lips. Pearly drops coat his fingers, landing on his belly, and he keeps touching until he cums weakly again, spurting from his cock onto his belly too, all of it gathering in the dip of his belly button. 

You want to lick him clean, gather it all on your tongue and let it leak over his dick again before you blow him just to see how quick his refractory period is. 

You replay the video, and this time you touch yourself. You fold a pillow on the bed, straddle it, and ride your fingers while you hump the pillow, keeping the volume on his video loud where your phone lies beside your knee. You close your eyes and imagine that you’re riding him, fucking yourself on his cock instead of your fingers, that your clit is gaining friction from contact with him instead of your pillow. You imagine that it’s his hand coming down on your ass, a sharp smack that leaves your skin smarting; that it’s his fingers that pinch at your nipples; his shoulders that your fingernails dig into instead of the mattress. 

You slump to the side, fingers still slowly pumping as your body trembles from your orgasm. Your free hand searches the bed for your phone and when you swipe out of the video, you see Haechan has sent you a few more messages that you somehow missed. 

One is a closeup photo of his belly, shiny and wet with his cum. One is a simple question of “did you like it?” And then the third and final message is just a steamy mirror selfie, where only a circle to show his face has been wiped clean on the mirror, and the rest of his nude body is blurred out by the steam. 

You simply respond with a picture of your hand, cum stretching between your fingers, more wetness dripping down your palm. “I liked it.”

Monday morning, you don’t see Haechan at all before you go into your meeting with Taeil. It’s probably for the best. You wouldn’t be able to focus on the meeting if you’d seen Haechan; instead you’d be lost in dreamland, thinking of his cock, the rasp of his voice as he moaned your name. 

So you walk into the meeting with a clear head, which makes it run smoothly and successfully. Taeil is proud of you, he’d told you, stating that you worked hard and efficiently on the project, finishing it in less time than it would’ve taken anyone else. And he doesn’t say it in so many words necessarily, but he does hint that there might be a promotion coming up for you. 

You leave the meeting ecstatic, and the feeling carries you through the rest of the day. 

Tuesday, Haechan gets called away for a business meeting on the other side of the city. Wednesday, it’s your turn. Annoyingly, now that you’re finished with the project and finally thought you’d have some free time, something has always got one or the other of you busy. 

You’re never at work at the same time for that whole week, and that weekend he goes home to visit his family. 

You receive a video then of him on the beach at home, the sunset stretching out before him, and Haechan jerking off. He sends it along with the message “since I once saw you by the ocean, this is only fair,” which he explains he meant he watched you and Renjun in that outdoor shower in Thailand. 

You message each other back and forth constantly that weekend. Just casual conversations and then also the deeper, dirtier kind of conversations. More talk about his watching and your enjoyment of being watched, his new experimentation with exhibitionism. You talk about more things — other kinks and interests. His somewhat unsurprising interest in consensual non-consent. Your interest in a threesome, which you’ve never participated in; Haechan follows this up in recounting what he’s experienced. 

Come the following Monday morning, following all of that talk with none of the action, you’re itching with the need to see him. To actually be in the same space as Haechan. 

That need for proximity only grows when you walk into the office and spot Haechan sitting at his desk just a short distance from yours. 

He’s sipping at an iced americano, spinning back and forth in his chair as he stares at the desktop computer’s screen. He turns to catch your eye as you pass him. Your fingertips brush the back of his chair, just barely touching the fabric of his shirt, but he turns his entire seat to follow you with his eyes. 

“You smell nice today,” he says. 

You turn to look at him, and Haechan’s eyes are currently trailing down your legs. The skirt you’d worn today is perhaps a bit shorter than entirely appropriate, but it has captured his attention fully. He hungrily stares at your thighs, your calves, the way that your heels hug your feet. And then his attention sweeps up to your face again. 

“Do you have plans later?” He asks even as you keep walking away to your own desk. 

You don’t, and you tell him that, but before he can suggest any plans for you and him, someone else speaks up from where you hadn’t even noticed her. 

Taeil’s secretary. 

“Oh, Channie!” You cringe as she uses a nickname for Haechan. “Mr. Moon was actually wondering if you could help him out later. You have a friend that’s a mechanic, right? Mr. Moon’s car has been acting up, so he was wondering if you wouldn’t mind taking it for your friend to look at?”

Haechan barely conceals his scowl. The friend in question is Chenle, who recently took his history of wealth, an interest in the inner workings of luxury cars and what he’d learned while studying for a business degree, and he opened a car repair shop business — a far cry from the culinary degree he’d mentioned pursuing when you last saw him. 

“Sure, I can take it to him. But his shop is expensive. He typically only works on luxury cars,” Haechan says. And as far as you’re aware, Mr. Moon drives a Hyundai to and from work everyday, not exactly a luxury vehicle. 

The secretary just smiles. “That’s fine! Mr. Moon recently upgraded to a BMW.”

Hours later, as you’re leaving for the day, you follow Haechan down along with Mr. Moon’s secretary to see the car. It is in fact a shiny, brand new BMW. You wouldn’t think there would be anything wrong with it at all since it looks like it just rolled right out of the factory into this spot in the parking garage. 

The secretary passes the keys over to Haechan, and you don’t miss the nervous way his eyes widen as he takes in the feel of the keys in his hand and then eyes the length of the flawless and expensive car. 

“You’re sure he wants me to take it? He doesn’t want to? I could give you directions, and give my friend a call.” Haechan’s fingers close around the keys. 

She shakes her head, smiling widely as she looks from Haechan to you and then back again. “Mr. Moon has a flight to catch for that conference in Germany. So he’s unavailable to take the car right now, and since he’ll be out of the country for the next week, it just makes sense to have it get worked on while he’s gone.” And then she passes a card over to Haechan as well. “You can charge the mechanic’s bill on this card. And once the car’s finished if you wouldn’t mind just bringing it right back here, and you can leave the key and the card in his office. Thank you, Channie, we both really appreciate it!”

And then she’s walking off, leaving you and Haechan standing there to gaze at the car. 

“You do have your license, don’t you?” You ask. 

Haechan nods wordlessly. “Yeah, but shit. I’ve never even been in a car this nice; I’ve definitely never driven one as nice as this.” 

He unlocks the car, and you watch as he nervously reaches for the door handle. The door opens smoothly, soundlessly, unlike your car which groans loudly pretty much every time you touch it. 

The interior of the car is a cool, sleek black. The dashboard is a screen that comes to life the moment Haechan turns the car on. The engine purrs, and Haechan settles into the driver’s seat, making himself right at home. 

“How do I look?” He asks, gripping the steering wheel and staring ahead through the windshield. “Do I look like I could drive one of these?”

You laugh. “You look hot, Haechan. Like a very, very wealthy man who uses flashy cars to impress people.”

He glances over at you. “Is that what you think Taeil’s doing? Using the car to impress, possibly to compensate?”

“Impress yes. Compensate?” You look Haechan in the eye as you say, “I think you’d be the one who could tell me that. Does he have anything to compensate for?” Haechan’s admitted that he’s watched Taeil fuck the secretary through his hidden cameras, so he should know if Taeil’s gotten a flashy car to compensate for dick size or his skills in bed. 

Haechan shakes his head. “No, he’s fine. Just to impress people then. And it’s definitely working because I’m impressed.” He buckles his seatbelt, adjusting the seat height and distance from the steering wheel, readjusting the mirrors. He does look very hot in the driver’s seat of this nice car. The suit he’d worn to the office today and the pair of sunglasses that he plucks from the cup holder certainly help with the vibe. 

He closes the car door, and a moment later rolls down the dark-tinted window so you can see him again. 

“You want to come with me?”

You lean in, resting your elbows on the edge of the window. Your face is only inches away from Haechan’s, and that delicious fragrance he wears is all you know for a few delirious seconds. You can envision yourself sliding onto the buttery soft leather of the passenger seat. You can envision convincing Haechan to pull over into another parking garage or a park’s parking lot, into anywhere at all and letting you ride him in the driver's seat of this fancy car, finally getting to experience his cock for real. 

You think you can see some of your fantasy playing out behind the dark brown of his eyes too. He’s smiling with a little edge of heat. 

“I shouldn’t.” You take a step back. “I know I said I didn’t have plans, and I haven’t seen Chenle in a while so it would be nice to see him, but I have a feeling that if I get in that car with you…” You meet Haechan’s gaze. “I feel like I’d be distracting you a little too much. Or at least I would want to.”

Your gaze drifts from his eyes to the curl of his hand on the wheel. You don’t think you’d even be out of this parking garage before you’d already be tugging his hand to rest on your thigh, urging his fingers up beneath your skirt. After a week of being denied Haechan’s physical presence in your life, a week filled with nothing but want for every part of him, you feel like an addict being presented with their drug of choice, and it’s almost impossible for you to say no to what he’s offering. But you’re trying so hard to not jump Haechan in your boss’s car. 

“What you’re saying is I’m too sexy right now in this car. You’d be throwing yourself at me?” He grins. 

That’s not what you said, but yes, it’s exactly what you meant. 

You take another step back. “I’m going to go home. You take this car to Chenle for him to work on. Maybe let me know when you’re done, and we’ll see about making some plans then. If not, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Again, you look at his hand on the wheel, the way it flexes, squeezing around the curve of the steering wheel, and your mind flashes to the videos he’s sent you — his hand on his cock, fingers dripping in cum. 

You walk away, taking the elevator to the third level of the parking garage where you’d left your car this morning, and then you sit in your car for a few moments to compose yourself before you head home. Your thoughts, as much as you try to steer them away from the crafted fantasy of fucking Haechan in a fancy car, keep returning there. Again and again on the drive home. 

You’ve just arrived home, just stepped out of your car to head up to your apartment, when you receive a message from Haechan. 

Without hesitation, you open it. 

A video. At first you can only see the interior of the car, and then the camera swings down to focus on his lap. Or, more specifically, on his bare cock. 

“Traffic,” Haechan says. “I’m stuck in traffic, and I’ve got a boner because all I can think about is how if you were here with me right now, you’d be throwing yourself at me.” He laughs a little. “Okay, maybe I’d be the one unable to keep my hands to myself. But unfortunately, right now my hands are all I’ve got for myself, and we’re barely moving in traffic, so I just, ah, thought I’d bide my time productively. I said it the other night, you make me want to take risks in public.”

He’s just rocking his hips off the seat, driving his cock against his hand. 

“The fact this isn’t even my car makes this even hotter. Do you think our boss and secretary have fucked in here yet, or am I the one breaking it in? Shit, if you were here this could be your hand around me. Or maybe your lips. We could break this car in together, would you like that? The windows are so dark though, no one would be able to see you.”

He strokes his cock with a moan. The car lurches forward, you can see his thigh relax and clench as he releases and then steps on the brake. 

“Gotta be careful,” he mumbles to himself. But then he’s right back at it, stroking his cock, and it rubs against Taeil’s steering wheel by accident. His fingers squeeze around his tip and you can see the shiny smear of his precum against the material of the steering wheel. 

He thrusts his hips up, another moan breaking through his lips. 

“It’s gonna be a mess when I cum,” he grunts. “Knew I should’ve brought you for easy cleanup. Could’ve cum in your mouth, made you swallow every drop.”

Your body reacts to that. A lurching feeling of arousal in your core, imagining cleaning up Haechan’s cum. 

His hand stills on his cock for a moment, just the thumb teasing slow circles around the tip, and then he releases his hold with a curse. “We’re moving again.”

And the video ends. 

It’s not until that moment that you realize you’ve just been standing frozen there beside your car this whole time. You pocket your phone and head up to your apartment to take a cold shower. When you get out, you have a new message. 

Another video. 

In this one, the phone is at a different angle and his pants are gone, his shirt is lifted up to expose his belly. And he’s quickly jerking off. There’s no finesse, no teasing or dirty talk. It’s just a quick, short clip of Haechan’s hand moving fast and tight, bitten back moans escaping his teeth as he cums over his fist, dripping down onto his thighs and onto that flawless leather seat. 

“I get why you like this,” Haechan says, bringing the phone up so you can see his chin. “Some man just walked by where I’m parked on the street outside Chenle’s place. The windows are dark so he couldn’t see in, but I had the window rolled down just a little, and he definitely heard me moaning. He was looking, and that’s when I came. What do you think he’d have done if he actually saw me?”

Exactly. That’s exactly what you like about exhibitionism. The thrill of getting away with it and the questions of what if you hadn’t gotten away with it. What would they do if they caught you?

In the video clip you watch Haechan wipe his hand clean on the inside of his undershirt before he tugs his button-down back into place. He straightens his tie and his jacket, then he manages to slide his boxers back up over his hips with one hand. 

“Do you think he’s got any napkins or tissues in here?” Haechan mumbles, reaching around to rustle through the contents of Taeil’s fancy car. “I need something to wipe my jizz up with.”

You smile to yourself, noting the blend of amusement and frustration in Haechan’s voice. 

Eventually he finds something, and he wipes and smears the glob of his cum that had landed on the leather seat. 

It’s then that he slides his phone onto the car’s dashboard, giving you a view of the sky through the windshield. He makes some noise that you assume is him pulling his pants back up, and then he finally picks his phone back up again, showing his face on the video. 

“Anyway, I’d better head inside now and pass the car off to Chenle.” The car door opens, the sounds of the wind and traffic mixing with the sound of his voice. “I’ll have to see how long this takes, but maybe we can still make plans.”

You hope so. 

You spend a little while after that taking care of the Haechan-inspired itch that needs scratching, feeding yourself with fantasies featuring him. You keep expecting to be interrupted by him texting or calling about plans, but you’ve taken care of yourself with no word from him. 

You wait, going about your afternoon doing some laundry and a little cleaning around the apartment. All of it is meant to distract you from being nervous about the reality of making plans with Haechan. Plans that you assume will only lead to finally having sex with him. 

And when he finally sends you a message, your heart takes up an erratic pace. 

But it’s not quite the message you’d hoped for.

“Chenle wants to hang out. He already messaged Renjun, YangYang, and Xiaojun. Do you want to come?”

Now, those aren’t exactly the plans you had in mind, and even as your heart swells with disappointment, you agree. You do want to see your friends, especially Chenle who you haven’t seen in quite a while. But considering that you’re meeting up with all of them for dinner, that they all have a tendency to want to chat late into the night, and since you’re picking up YangYang and Xiaojun on the way, you don’t find your odds of any actual plans with Haechan happening tonight. 

Xiaojun’s girlfriend has basically moved in with him, so she comes along too, and your car is crowded on the way to meet the other three for dinner. And the booth table Chenle booked is even more crowded. 

Everyone is squeezed in so tightly that Haechan has you pressed up against the wall. Across from you, Xiaojun pulled his girlfriend onto his lap. The woman that comes over to take your order only offers an apologetic smile and says that this is the only size table they had left. 

It’s fine. Really. 

You’re all very close friends, so if some of you have to sit with arms around each other, ankles knocking and twisting beneath the table, that’s fine. 

And if it means that at some point after your order is put in and the first round of drinks are served, Haechan tugs one of your legs up over his so he can slide just a little closer to you and save a little extra space for Renjun on his other side, well… you’re not going to complain. 

He glances your way, a sparkle in his eye. 

His hand doesn’t leave your thigh. 

You’re still wearing a skirt, though it’s not the short one you’d worn to work today. 

This is a longer, casual skirt. One that’s loose and floaty enough that when Haechan starts walking his fingers along your thigh, the fabric easily starts bunching up, gathering beneath his fingers and drawing up your leg. 

You tamp down the urge to shiver when the pads of his warm fingers make contact with your bare thigh. 

Liquor burns the back of your throat as you quickly drink the alcohol the woman brought to your table. You hope that the flush of alcohol in your cheeks might conceal the way that you can already feel yourself blushing beneath Haechan’s touch. 

And then he starts stroking his fingers over your inner thigh. Moving them back and forth, fingers drumming gently a melody that you can’t determine. 

The frustrating thing is that you’re in a tizzy, but Haechan is perfectly cool. He’s maintaining a conversation with the others while he builds the heat inside your core. 

And then he squeezes your thigh. 

Palm flat to your skin. Fingers pressing in. 

You snap your head to the side to look at him, your hand dropping beneath the table to cover his hand on your thigh. Your leg draped over his twitches, foot kicking out. 

Unfortunately your accidental kick makes contact. 

Chenle frowns, looking around at your side of the table. “Who just kicked me?”

“Sorry,” Haechan apologizes quickly, covering for you. 

Judging by the way that Chenle moves and the slight thump beneath the table, paired with Haechan’s grunt and jolt, you assume Chenle landed a retaliatory kick. 

Haechan pouts and starts to whine, playing it up dramatically. The others roll their eyes and tease him as he reaches for Renjun asking for him to kiss it better, as he tells Chenle he owes him dessert because his kick had been an accident while Chenle’s had been fully intentional. He asks YangYang to kiss it better, too, to which YangYang flips Haechan off. 

Then he turns to you. “Will you kiss it better?”

Renjun laughs into his drink, nearly choking on it. 

He’s known about your crush on Haechan for ages, so you’re sure he finds that comment very amusing.

You glare at Renjun from over Haechan’s shoulder. Haechan pouts at you, and as much as you desperately want to kiss his soft-looking lips, you’re not going to kiss him in front of your friends right now. “Just take a drink, and you’ll forget about your boo-boo.” You pick up his glass and lift it to his lips for him, tipping it back and pouring it into his mouth. 

Haechan holds eye contact with you, and a pulse of something races along your spine. 

Some of his drink spills from the corner of his mouth, and he lifts a hand to your wrist, pulling your hand and the glass away from his mouth. “I feel better already.”

Beneath the table, he massages your thigh again. 

When the food is served, you would’ve thought he’d need both hands to eat, but to your surprise and satisfaction, Haechan keeps one hand firmly on your thigh, the other to handle his chopsticks. 

You do your best to maintain conversation with the others. After a while, once you’re used to the weight of Haechan’s hand on your thigh and the press of his fingers along the sensitive skin of your bare upper thigh, conversation and concentration get a little easier. You eat and laugh and talk with your friends all while Haechan’s fingers roam higher. 

It’s only once the food on the table is dwindling, once Haechan has eaten his fill apparently, that he turns his focus back to teasing you properly. 

He’s in the middle of talking to Xiaojun about some culinary festival. His fingers slide higher than they’ve been yet, brushing the soft edge of your panties. 

You choke a little on your food, and his fingers withdraw for a moment as attention around the table turns to you. 

“I’m fine.” You cough, reaching for your glass, gulping it down quickly to cool the heat consuming you. 

Xiaojun resumes talking. Haechan’s fingers return to your panties, slower this time and accompanied by a glance to the side from him. Checking with you. 

You slide your hand down to his again, giving him a nod of approval, and applying a little pressure to get his hand moving again. 

The corner of his lips turn up in a barely-suppressed smile. 

The smile grows when his fingers brush along the center of your panties, and he finds them damp. You try to steady your breathing, try not to lean into Haechan as he circles his middle finger over your clit, as he strokes along your slit over your panties, working you up, making you wetter. 

You lean back against the cushioned back of the booth, shoulders pressed into the corner. 

Your hand shakes when you lift your glass to your lips. You hope no one notices. You hope no one notices the attempt you make at taking a steadying breath. Pray no one notices that your eyes are growing distant, your face warm, your posture dissolving.

Haechan eases his fingers inside your panties, and you slide a little lower in your seat to spread your legs just a bit wider. 

You’re reminded of that first time with Renjun. This is a very similar set of people, but this time you don’t have to stare longingly across the room at Haechan’s thighs. Now you’re able to drop a hand to his lap, your hand curving over his gorgeous thighs wrapped snug in his suit pants. You don’t touch him — not in the way that he’s touching you, anyway — just leave your hand there on his thigh, fingernails dragging over the material of his pants as he slides his long, middle finger into your core. 

How he does this so smoothly, so casually, showing nothing at all on his face…. You don’t understand. 

You’re shaking. You’re blushing. 

You’re an exhibitionist, but tonight Haechan has you blushing like a virgin. 

Luckily, the others are pretty much distracted. They don’t notice when you thump your head to the side against the wall, when you lower your gaze to your lap to watch the indecent bulge beneath your skirt as Haechan starts moving, thrusting first the one finger, and then as he adds a second. 

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from making a sound, though Haechan keeps glancing your way as if hoping to catch your lips parted around a silent moan. 

If anyone does look over at you while you’re utterly distracted, then they probably just assume you’ve hit your limit in alcohol. You’re flushed and your eyes are looking a little glazed. You look like you’re about to fall asleep leaning against the wall with your head angled down like that. 

Truly you’re a hot fucking mess. Your upper inner thighs feel slick with arousal. You’re sweating behind your knees, the back of your neck, under your arms. It’s taking everything in you to not just throw caution to the wind entirely, to haul yourself into Haechan’s lap, to kiss him and ride him right here at the table in front of your friends. 

That thought ignites a new level of heat inside you. 

You remember talking about something like that once with Renjun. Imagining cockwarming him in front of your friends. He’d not been too sure about it, but that had been at the start of whatever it was you’d been doing. 

A little sound slips out between your lips. 

Haechan looks at you, his mouth twisting with amusement, teasing words right on the tip of his tongue. 

You grip his thigh, nails biting into his leg even through the pants. Whatever words he was going to say, he swallows down, just watching you eagerly as he fills you again and again with his fingers. Neither of you pay any attention to your friends around the table, each of you too focused on the same goal: your orgasm. 

When it hits, you just close your eyes and ride it out on Haechan’s fingers. The waves of pleasure pulse through you, and you can feel the way that you’re soaking his fingers, the way he keeps pressing in for more and more, until finally you move your hand from his thigh to push his hand away from in between yours. Wetness drips against your thigh as he removes his fingers. You may have squirted just a little bit, and judging by the heat in Haechan’s gaze, he liked it. 

“Need some water?” He asks, voice just loud enough for the others to barely catch it. “Something to sober you up a bit?”

With his clean hand, Haechan pushes a glass of water towards you, the sides of it dripping with condensation. Gladly, you accept it, gulping down a few mouthfuls of icy water before you press the cool glass to your cheek. When you open your eyes, you make eye contact with Xiaojun. 

His gaze flicks away to Haechan, then back to you before he returns his attention to YangYang who’s in the middle of some dramatic retelling of a sleaze from the club the other night. Just once more, Xiaojun glances your way, and you can’t help wondering if he’d noticed. He’s seen you orgasm before, never in public, but he’s no stranger to it. 

You wonder if he’s told his girlfriend that you used to hook up? 

Before you can pay much more thought to that matter, Haechan brings his hand up from beneath the table. While everyone else is hanging on every word of YangYang’s story, Haechan builds himself a little perilla leaf wrap. You watch him, only barely listening to YangYang, more interested in the way that Haechan fingers glisten with your wetness as he holds the perilla leaf to fill it. 

He catches your eye as he bundles the leaf around the filling, and then he all but shoves the entire thing into his mouth. Including his fingers. 

It’s lascivious the way that he basically sucks his fingers clean of your wetness. The way that even after he’s pulled them out, he waits until he’s finished chewing and swallowing the perilla leaf wrap, and then he licks each of his fingers. 

When Chenle eyes him with a mildly disgusted face, Haechan just shrugs. “What? When you’re eating, don’t you know the juice is the best part?”

“I wouldn’t lick my greasy fingers in public like that,” Chenle responds, shaking his head. 

“Yeah, well, there’s lots of things people shouldn’t do in public.” Haechan smirks and wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. 

You sit your glass down and lean forward against the table, resting your hand on his leg beneath the table. “You’re interrupting YangYang’s story. Be quiet, Lee Haechan.”

The rest of the night doesn’t last long. YangYang has to go to work, so he just catches a taxi to take him there. Xiaojun and his girlfriend decide to go check out a restaurant of one of his culinary friends for dessert a short distance away. 

“How’re you getting home?” Haechan asks after you’ve all paid and the others have begun to head their own ways. “I know you’re not drunk, but I think you’ve had too much to safely drive yourself.”

Outside, the cool night air brushes against your warm cheeks. You know he’s right. You were drinking quite a bit earlier, and driving wouldn’t be safe. 

“You can take me.” You grab for his arm. “My car is right there. You can just drive me home.”

“Chenle did quick work on Mr. Moon’s car earlier. I have to return it to the parking garage at work. I can’t do both.” Haechan leans against the wall outside the restaurant, looking at you. You can’t help smiling, can’t help gravitating towards him. 

“I can drive.”

You turn around, almost surprised to see Renjun there. His hands are in his pockets, and he even looks a little surprised too. 

“I can drive you home,” he says to you. “I haven’t had anything to drink in the past couple hours. I can take you. Plus, it’s been a little while since we got to talk, just the two of us.”

You nod. “My car is right here.” You point across the street to where your car sits like a piece of garbage behind Mr. Moon’s fancy BMW. Your keys are in your purse, and it takes you a minute of rummaging around to find them, but once you do, you drop them into Renjun’s waiting hand. “And here’re the keys.”

Haechan knocks into your other hand, his knuckles skimming along the back of your hand. “Let me know when you get home, okay? Both of you.”

You’re quite tempted to kiss him goodnight. To drape your arms over Haechan’s shoulders, to taste the saltiness of the samgyeopsal, the sweetness of the soda he’d been drinking too. 

He taps a finger against your forehead. ���Don’t fall asleep before you get home. Renjun won’t carry you to bed.”

Renjun laughs. “I could.”

You’re not blind to the look that Haechan shoots at Renjun. A sharp look. A curse embedded in there. The threat that spells out that Renjun had better not even try. 

Wordlessly, Renjun unlocks your car, and with a loud groan (from the car, not from him), he opens the door on the passenger side for you. You slide in, and Haechan fills the open door, fitting himself in between the door and the body of the car, a hand on each one as he looks down at you. 

“Text me once you’re home.” His voice is a gentle command. Your heart warms, and you nod. 

“Goodnight, Haechan.”

The driver’s side door of your car squeals open, and Renjun drops himself into the seat. 

Haechan steps back, closing the door for you, and he just waits there on the sidewalk, watching as Renjun starts the car, as you both buckle in, as Renjun pulls away from the curb. You wave, and Haechan waves back, watching you go. 

You’re still watching him shrink in the reflection of the side mirror when Renjun starts laughing. You look over at him. “What?”

“So you finally succeeded? That’s happening?” He laughs, readjusting his grip on the steering wheel. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You fold your arms, checking the mirror again, but Haechan is too far now for you to be able to see him anymore. 

Renjun waits a moment, during which the quiet sound of a turn signal is all that fills the silence. And then, “I’m not blind. Maybe the others were somehow oblivious, but I was sitting right beside Haechan all night. Also, I’ve fingered you around our friends before, I can see the signs.”

“Shut up. You couldn’t tell.” You shoot a look over at him, but he stays focused on the road. 

“Maybe. Maybe not. But either way, you just confirmed it for me.” He smiles, sending a short glance over at you before he looks ahead again. “You were too squirmy, and there was a long time that Haechan only had one hand above the table. Guess you found your perfect match in him, didn’t you? Lucky, since you’ve had that crush on him for so long.”

You sigh, tipping your head against the window. “He’s gross, Renjun. A real pervert.” You say those words as if they are compliments, as if you’re calling him dreamy, a real prince.

Renjun makes a noise on the other side of the car, and you’re not sure if it’s disgust or one of intrigue.

“I love it, honestly.” You twist your head to the side. Renjun’s profile is outlined by streetlights in pale amber. “We talked one night recently, and everything came out into the open. The things I’ve done, things he’s done. He’s so much worse than I am.”

Renjun tilts his head. “How? You were constantly begging me to fuck you somewhere public. How could he be worse than that?” He doesn’t say it with any vitriol, but rather like he’s teasing you. You know Renjun was just as eager to do everything as you were.

“He’s been watching people for a long time. I won’t give you all of the details, but did you know that when he went through your phone while we were all in Thailand, he sent himself videos from your camera roll?” 

That makes Renjun’s head finally turn to look at you fully. Luckily you’re stopped at a red light already, so he runs no risk of rear-ending anyone. “He what?”

“It’s just one of the confessions he told me. He didn’t show me them, just told me about them.” You shiver a little with delight as you recall, “He told me that his favorite one is the first one we filmed together, me riding you in my car. And he doesn’t even know that it’s me; I haven’t told him that yet.” You laugh, resting your cheek again on the cool window. “He also said that he wasn’t asleep that final night in Thailand when we messed around right there beside him. He’s a little perv, Renjun, watching us and all of our friends too. It’s just… gross, but I can’t explain it. I like it.”

Now he laughs too. “You’re both gross. I should’ve known that about him. After he spent months crashing on our sofa at school because his roommate caught him being a chronic masturbator.” He shakes his head. “Maybe caught isn’t even the right word.”

You laugh too, but your mind is filled with the vivid imagery of the video Haechan had sent you earlier. His fingers wrapped around his cock. Cum dripping pearly white down his fingers. Your laugh tapers off into a sigh. 

“I’m happy for you,” Renjun says after driving a few moments in silence. “For you and Haechan.”

“I’m not so sure there is a Me and Haechan yet. We just talked. We’ve kissed.” Your heart flutters in your chest, wishing you’d have kissed him goodnight. “He’s sent me a few videos, and we talk of course, and then there was tonight. But we haven’t, like, talked and we haven’t gone on a date or actually had sex. I want it to be a proper thing, not like what you and I did, and not like what Xiaojun and I did.”

“Trust me,” Renjun shares, “The way Haechan looks at you, the way he treats you… he likes you. Genuinely and completely, and both of you are fools if either of you let the other get away. I’ve known him longer than you, and I’ve never seen him the way he gets with you; and he’s been that way for a while now, honestly. When I talk with him, you always come up inevitably, in some way he always twists conversation to mention your name, to tell a funny story or to praise something that you did at work. And he’s always been, like, protective of you, whether you noticed it or not. I don’t think you need to worry about it not becoming a proper thing.”

When Renjun drops you off at your apartment door, you’re left with a lot more than just the car keys that he returns to you. Your mind and chest are buzzing thinking about what you’d talked about in the car. 

You want to call Haechan as soon as you’re inside. You want to hear his voice. You want to tell him that you like him too, because it’s only now that you’ve been mulling over Renjun’s words that you remember that Haechan had confessed the night you first kissed. He’d whispered an “I like you” after you kissed on the street, and you’d been too busy reeling him back in for another kiss to tell him that you like him too. 

You decide maybe you’re still a little tipsy, and maybe you should wait to call him and confess that you like him too until you’re in a clear state of mind. 

So instead of calling him, you just send him the confirmation message that you got home safely. 

And he calls you. 

He’s still driving, returning the car to the parking garage at the office. You talk to him when he’s returning the car, when he’s riding the elevator up to the Moon Corporation’s offices, as he drops the key and the credit card off in Mr. Moon’s office. You keep talking, just keeping him company, as he leaves and rides a cab back to his place. You keep talking to him as you go through your bedtime routine — brushing your teeth, washing your face, using the toilet, changing out of your clothes. 

“I’m home now.” Haechan yawns in your ear after a while. “It’s been a long day.” 

“It’s been a long everything.” You sigh, sinking into your bed. “About earlier, at the restaurant….”

Haechan hums quietly on his end of the line, and you can hear him close a door, sit his phone down, and from the way sounds are more distant and slightly echoier, you assume he put you on speakerphone. 

“I really enjoyed that.” You stare up at your ceiling, fighting the blush that rises to your cheeks, the heat that flares in your belly as you remember the feel of his fingers — Haechan’s fingers! — against your thighs and inside you, pulling you apart so easily. 

“Me too,” he admits. “Though I would rather have had you spread out on that table so I could get a proper taste of you. The little licks I got off my fingers weren't enough.”

You have to bite back a whimper at the mental image he’s painted. “Haechan… I—I still haven’t gotten to touch you. Or taste you. I feel like I’m at a disadvantage again.”

His voice sounds distant from the phone when he says, “I guess we’d better remedy that, angel. But there’s one thing I need you to do for me before you can get a taste.”

“Hm?” Your heart is racing. 

“Go on a date with me. A real date. Dinner and talking, maybe a movie. Dessert.” Haechan’s voice draws nearer again, and then suddenly you can tell he’s scooped his phone back up, that he’s holding it to his face. “I want to be wined and dined before you have your way with me, babe.”

That makes you laugh. But you quickly agree. 

“A date. Name your time and place, Haechan.”

The smile in his voice is clear when he promises, “I’ll get back to you on that. Goodnight.” 

You haven’t felt so giddy at the idea of a date in a long, long time. How are you meant to fall asleep right now?

“Goodnight, Lee Donghyuck.”

previous chapter || next chapter

a/n: not quite the full thing, but they've finally!! at last!! done something with each other! they're building up towards it lol which I'm sure is torture for all of you who've been dying for them to fuck, but it's coming! I swear!

[heygerald]

Falling Without A Harness - Chapter 12

AU where Tom Ryder is still an asshole, just not a psychotic one. In the aftermath of Tom's simple but complicated favor, Parker is forced to finally face reality, and decide once and for all what she wants.

Read the story here: prev / ...

"I can't believe I'm saying this," Melissa's voice echoed across the empty store, each syllable raspy and drawn out, tinged with the same sort of disbelief that has been simmering in Parker's chest all day. "But holy fuck."

The disbelief spirals and explodes, and Parker can't the help the laugh that is startled out of her from the unexpected curse.

"Excuse me," she drawled, aiming for levity, but falling somewhere in the realm of pure shock. "But since when do you curse?"

"Since about eleven am this morning," Melissa chirped back. She's slouched in the reading chair, hair piled on the top of her head in a janky bun, mascara smeared all along her cheeks, and if Parker hadn't been so thrown off by her sudden use of French, she might have taken a moment to reflect on the fact that this is the most out of sorts she has ever seen the girl look. "It just seemed like a good time to start. And, honestly? I kind of get it now. There really is no other way to express yourself properly, is there? Because—I mean seriously, Park—what the fuck?"

Parker knew that she should be scolding the young girl for her language. The last thing she needed was to garner the wrath of a disgruntled mom on top of everything else that she's dealing with. More importantly, she really didn't want teaching the youth curse words to be on her yearly karma bingo card. But... honestly, Parker couldn't help but agree.

There really was no better way to put it.

"Touché."

"Did you know that he was going to post that?"

Parker arched her brow at Melissa. "Do you think I would have left you to cover the shift alone if I knew that this was going to happen? I don't even follow his Instagram. Although, guess I have to after this, don't I?"

Melissa rolled her eyes, head lolling to the side as she stretched out her arms, back, and neck. "Only you would get an exclusive shout-out from the Tom Ryder and you aren't even following his Insta. Totally unfair, by the way."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Is my sudden luck raining on your plans somehow?"

"It's not luck."

Parker slumped on her elbows, a pen stuck sideways in her mouth as she tried to work through her to-do list for closing down the shop. It was hard to concentrate with Melissa's jabbering, though, and it was even harder to find the energy to sweep the shop when she'd much rather just collapse onto her bed. "What else would it be?"

Melissa blinked at her with a tart expression. "Um, hello? You're dating Tom Ryder. That might have something to do with it."

So surprised by the comment, Parker scratched a line across her notepad, and subsequently decided that her to-do list could wait till later. "We're not—I'm not dating Tom."

"Sure," the girl snorted. "He just hangs around your shop all the time, invites you over for parties, gets dinner with you, and—oh yeah—posts you on his Instagram."

"He didn't post me—"

"But, whatever," she continued, already moving on to the next topic. Parker watched as she bent forward and, with a grimace, tried to rub some feeling into her ankles. "I lost feeling in my toes, like, three hours ago. Is that bad? I mean, I'm not gonna have to get an amputation or anything, will I? Because I'm not missing out on Stacy Jordan's sweet sixteen because of you. Her parents rented out this huge dance hall, and they even hired a DJ."

Parker sighed.

Melissa's train of thought was something that she would never be able to keep up with, and today in particular she did not have the stamina to even try. Sourly, she said, "I told you that those shoes weren't very supportive—"

A book is lobbed in her direction, and Parker ducked behind the register before it can make contact.

The loud fwap of it hitting the ground echoes between the two.

"That better not have been a new edition."

"Oh, fuck off," Melissa said.

Parker returned from her hiding spot—back aching when she sits up, neck hurting when she props herself atop an elbow, eyes burning as she squints at the largest stack of receipts she's ever had before—and clucked her tongue. "You know I think I like this new you. You should curse more often."

"Pf. You just want to get rid of the swear jar."

"Well," she hedged, eyes darting to said jar, "it would save me some money. Unless you feel like paying up anytime soon. That's, what, three f-words? I'm not going to turn my nose up at fifteen bucks anytime soon."

Melissa gave an unbothered snort. "You wish."

"So, it's just a punishment for me, then?"

"You won't even need that thing after this week," she pressed on, sinking deeper into the worn out plush of the reading chair as her gaze slowly drifted across the bookstore. The shelves are the emptiest they've ever been, and the decorations they worked meticulously hard to find are in disarray from the constant throng of customers today. It's not a problem they've had before, having to reset the store after closing, but Parker supposes that's a good problem to have. "My feet hurt because of how busy we were, not because of my shoes—which, by the way, I had to wait in line for two hours to get—they will be supportive if I want them to be. Does this mean you'll finally hire Emily?"

"Emily?"

"My best friend. I've introduced you, like, ten times."

Parker conjured up a blurry image of a blonde girl, identical to Melissa in every way except for their different colored hair and eyes, with matching braces to boot. She thought she was nice, but, honestly, she can't really recall. Whatever. "Why would I hire Emily?"

Melissa scowled. "Well, that's rude. Just because she's my best friend doesn't mean that we're going to goof off or anything. She's just as hard of a worker as I am. You'd practically be getting two employees for the price of one if you hired her. Plus, it would drive Maddy H crazy if Emily got to work at Tom Ryder's bookstore and she didn't."

"It's not—" Parker started, before shaking the thought away. Bigger things to focus on, she reminded herself. "I thought we talked about this. I can give you a raise, but I can't afford to hire someone else."

"Uh, correction, you couldn't afford to hire someone else."

Parker puts the stack of receipts away, mind slowly but surely drifting to the next task as she attempts to lock the register down. She would definitely have to stop at the bank tomorrow to deposit their cash from the day—not a problem she had ever had before—and she mentally adds that to the list of musts. "Did I win the lottery without knowing it or something?"

Her question hangs flat in the air, and in response, Melissa curls a disbelieving look in her direction. "You're kidding, right? Did you see how busy we were today?"

"Right, listen," Parker started, but by how intense Melissa's eyeroll was, it was obvious that the teenager would not, in fact, be listening. "One good day of sales doesn't override an entire quarter of awful sales. This was just—just a fluke. I can't just hire Emily on a whim because we had one nice day. Ever heard of a rainy day fund?"

Melissa, hand in the air as she inspects the damage to her manicure, scoffed. "Yeah, but it's not just one good day."

"Are you secretly working at a different bookstore in your free time or something?"

"Oh my god," Melissa moaned, before dropping her boots to the ground with a heavy thud. "Right, you listen."

"Oh, here we go—"

"Park, I know you're big on self decrepitation and whatever—something I'm guessing you learned from your total has been of a brother—"

"Wow. You know, you two have got to figure out whatever this beef is about," Parker interrupted, only to be promptly ignored as Melissa stood.

"But this isn't just going to die down," she said, the stack of bangles on her wrists jangling as she made air quotes to emphasize her point. "Tom Ryder gave you a personal shout-out on his Instagram. That, like, never happens. The only things he posts are selfies, and paid promotions. In February, he posted a three second video about his Erewhon smoothie, and they're still selling out on the daily."

Parker frowned. "Smoothie?"

"So not the point," Melissa grumbled with another jingle of her bracelets. "The point is that this—" she gestured around them, to the bookshelves and the roof and the chair beneath her with one long sweeping motion, "just hit the jackpot. Kay? This is going to go viral, and when it does, you're going to have crowds like today every day."

That doesn't sound right. Parker knows that Tom is famous, that he has millions of followers on all of his social media, and that there are fangirls out there of his even more obsessed with what he does than the one scowling across the room from her. But just because he posted her store doesn't mean that she's going to have throngs of fans outside, day after day.

That sort of thing just... didn't happen.

Not to people like her.

Right?

"Okay, well, I mean," she started, struggling to put her thoughts into words after all of her braincells effectively went on vacation for the weekend. The cash register snapped shut with a metallic clang, and she dangled the key between her hands mindlessly. "Even if we go viral, we'll be popular for a bit, but not for, like, ever. A month, maybe."

Melissa blinked at her in that sort of way that means she's judging her, and when she hefts herself to a stand, Parker can feel the lecture about to come. "Look, I know you're a millennial and you aren't really active online, so I'll break it down for you."

"How gracious," she snarked, rolling her eyes.

"It's going to be like this—like it was today—for weeks. Until something new or something better comes along, but even then you're going to have Influencers coming in for pictures, wanting to stake a claim on this place just like Tom did. Okay? Which means more pictures, more shout-outs, and more people seeing this place on their FYPs."

"FY—?"

"So, yeah, maybe this place isn't going to stay viral forever, but that just means it's all the more important to capitalize on the attention while you can. If people are flocking here just to get stuck in long lines because there's only one employee during the day, then they're going to lose interest faster."

"I know how business work," Parker interjected, offended on her own behalf, but Melissa didn't seem to care one way or the other about her feelings.

"So you know that you need to dress to impress."

Parker narrowed her eyes at the girl shrewdly. She was staring to get that familiar feeling in her gut that Melissa was winding up for some big scheme, and previous experience had proven that when Melissa really wanted something, Parker was helpless but to give in. "Is this just some big production so I'll hire a bunch of your little cheerleading friends?"

The face she made was lethal. "First off, Emily doesn't cheer, she does dance, and that sort of tone is both condescending and so not cool. Secondly, it's an excuse to hire someone else so I don't get stuck like I did today when my boss decides to go gallivanting around town without her phone!"

"I wasn't gallivanting," she defended. "It was, just, an unfortunate—"

"Parker," Melissa said, leaning on her elbows until they were inches apart. "Hire some more people, or you're going to have to work every shift of this store forever because I don't ever want to experience that rush alone again."

Ugh.

The girl had a serious point—about everything, it seemed—but Parker was in no mood to think about any of that. "I already said I'd give you a raise."

"Well, that is a given," she chirped, gathering her purse and jacket from behind the counter. Parker might have been more put off by her attitude if she didn't think the girl deserved a hearty raise. Afterall, she was a little mastermind in her own right, as terrifying as that could be. "But I'd also like to have extra help, and it's no one's business if that extra help is a couple of my friends from school. I take this job seriously, you know. I wouldn't recommend her if she wouldn't be a good employee."

"You're a menace, you know that, right?"

Melissa smiled, and for the first time all day, it seemed more conniving than tired. "I'll send you her resume."

"No, no, no, that's not what I just—"

"And, anyways, she's just as big of a fan of you and Tom as I am. I mean, obviously, she's never met him, but I tell her everything. She totally ships you two. Probably not as much as I do, obviously," she trailed on, finally getting around to swipe the mascara off her cheeks as she bent even closer into Parker's space, "but she's invested. I think it's totally time you post him on your story."

"My what?"

"I mean, he already posted you. Or, you know, your store," she corrected herself, waving a hand around flippantly as if those were the same thing. And, maybe, in the mind of a teenage fangirl, they were. "Relationships are never official until it's on the page."

"We're not—"

"Have you thought about a ship name, yet?" she barreled on, completely ignoring the fact that every extra word she said was only compounded the migraine growing between Parker's temples. "Because I think Ryvers is so, totally cute, but Emily likes Parom better. Although, that sounds a little—"

"Okay, alright, that's it," Parker stood from her stool, and in the matter of seconds had shooed the teenager outside with as much decorum as she could muster. It was ruined, of course, by the bright red blush sprawling across her face like wild fire. "Goodnight, Melissa. Thank you for your help today, I will see you next week."

"But—"

"Goodbye!"

She shut the door with the jingle of the overhead bell and promptly slumped against it. A few beats passed before Melissa's boots clomped off in the direction of the bus stop, and when it fell silent outside, she glanced around. The store at night, with the main lights switched off and the crackled radio drifting from the corner, felt eerily empty after the busy day they had. And while the trash absolutely needed to be taken out, and the shelves needed to be catalogued for what she would have to put in her upcoming order, for the first time ever, Parker decided that there were some things that could wait until tomorrow.

After all, she had a boy to talk to.

---

"Are we dating?"

Tom, dressed down in some Nike sweats and a simple black tee with sleep marks red on the side of his face, blinked at Parker like she was on drugs. And, honestly, she supposed that was a fair assumption to make. After all, it was nearing midnight by the time she pulled into his driveway, unannounced, her hair mussed like a bird's nest from driving the entire way into the Hills with the windows down, and the anxious energy from the day's chaos had yet to make itself useful other than by adding a shakiness to her hands.

And while she had spent the entire drive over contemplating all the things that she wanted to ask him, the first thing that had come out of her mouth when he opened the door was that.

"What?"

Parker winced, anxiously wringing her hands together, before she pressed inside. She supposed having a mansion in the Hills meant that even the closest neighbors were too far away to hear anything, but the idea that there might be someone witnessing what likely could be considered a mental breakdown was not a comforting thought.

"I didn't mean..." she started, shaking her head, before she stooped to untie her shoes. That proved to be an impossible task with how shaky her hands, were, however, and in the end she just kicked them off with a grunt. "That wasn't what I—well, Melissa seems convinced that we are."

Parker could feel his eyes burrowing into her back, and Parker pointedly avoided eye contact as her cheeks flamed a hot red.

"Melissa," he echoed dully.

Cool, she thought to herself. Just be cool.

But the Seavers siblings were not known for their ability to play it cool, and while he drifted after her, Parker miserably tried to think of a way to explain her squirrel-brained thoughts without sounding like a lunatic.

"Well, you know, you posted me on Instagram."

"I didn't post you on my Instagram," he corrected.

And—shit. Wasn't that exactly what she had argued?

Parker was happy that her back was to him as her face flushed an even more indelicate red. It didn't help that there were lamps on all throughout the living room, orange and yellow hues of lighting casting shadows across her already warm face.

"I know, I know, and I told her exactly that, but she has it in her head that posting, well, my shop is the same thing as posting me and then she wouldn't shut up about it today. And now she wants me to hire her friend who is also convinced that we're, you know, dating, and I told her that she's—that that's not—you know..."

The knit of his brows made it painstakingly obvious that Tom didn't know, and honestly how would he? She didn't even know what she was trying to say.

"I... think I need a drink," she muttered, scurrying to the fridge where she withdrew two ice cold bottles of beer. IPAs were not her favorite by a long shot, but there were far more important things to handle, and without hesitating, Parker popped one open. A long swallow followed before she awkwardly slid the second bottle towards Tom. "Maybe I should start again."

His brows disappeared into his hairline, but the moment she met his eye Parker just knew that he was relishing in this particular conversation.

She planted her elbows on the counter, and caught her head in her hands with a whine. "I really wish that you had given me a heads-up about the post."

Whatever was smug withered and died. "A heads-up?"

"Just so I could have been more prepared, you know," she hedged, fingers nervously plucking at the wet label on her beer bottle. "Between the crowds today and my system freezing and Melissa pestering at me about our—you know—whatever, I feel like I've been running around like a headless chicken. It's been a lot to handle."

He was silent for a long moment, and by the time that she dared to glance at him he had managed to shake off any remaining sleepiness. Now, he scowled at her long and hard. "Right, well, next time I'll make sure to get your approval ahead of time. Should I have changed the picture too? Written a longer post about how much I fucking adore your shitty little store?"

Parker reared back. "Hey, it's not shitty."

"Right," he scoffed, shaking his head at her. "You know, most people would at least hold off on their complaints until after they've said thank you. Common deceny, and all that."

Parker deflated against the counter as Tom looped around the other side of the couch to sit down. There were pillows sprawled across it, a blanket pooling on the ground, and a Tom shaped indent in one of the cushions from where he had been sleeping before she showed up. When he flicked the tv off mute, Parker became increasingly aware of how poorly this conversation was going.

She took a deep breath and a long dreg of her beer before carefully seating herself on the table smack dab in his line of view. When he refused to give in, however, she took the remote out of his hand and flicked the tv off with a huff.

"Tom—"

But he wasn't having any of it, and he rolled his eyes at her so intensely that it must have hurt. "Oh, fuck. Look, if you're going to make this into some big lecture or whatever you can save us both the time and effort. I already spent the day dealing with this bullshit from Gail. I don't need it from you too."

As almost every mention of his producer did, that caught her off guard. "Gail?"

"Yeah, imagine that," he scoffed. "I try to do something nice, for once, and the first thing she does is yell at me because of it. And now you're here doing the same thing, and I don't even know what I expected, but it sure as shit isn't—"

"Why would she yell at you?" she interrupted.

He finished half of his beer in a swallow. "Why do you think?"

She wasn't sure. That was half the reason she asked the question, but when he tensed—as if preparing for that exact sort of answer—Parker's mouth snapped shut just as quickly as it had opened.

Why would Gail be upset?

Sure, she was his producer, and likely was miffed about missing out on her fee, but it wasn't like a percentage of twenty grand would have had any real impact on her salary. After all, Tom hadn't minced his words earlier when talking about how much of his yearly income went to the movie mogul. And Parker had seen her house; the woman wasn't going to be pinching pennies any time soon unless she was robbed at gunpoint. And even then she would probably benefit from her high profile connections.

Which meant if it wasn't the money that she cared about, it must have been...

Realization was a painful thing, and Parker rounded towards Tom with wide eyes. "She's upset because you did this without asking her?"

Another swallow of his beer. "I told you that I don't do stuff without asking her."

"But you did this time."

"Because she would have fucking said no," he ground out, distaste over even having to admit it obvious from his tone. "Which is fucking—I mean, it's my fucking life. I can do what I want. Should be able to, anyway. I'm the one making her money, but I do this one thing and she's all pissed off about it. You know how small that makes me feel? That she would even expect me to get permission from her?"

"Tom," she said, only to have him steamroll on.

"It's bullshit. Total bullshit."

"Tom," she tried again when he didn't seem to hear her.

But whatever floodgate he had opened wasn't closing anytime soon, and Parker felt her chest constrict. "Everything I do is because she tells me to do it. I don't even chose who I sponsor. But I do one post without her permission and get shit for it. And apparently, not just from her. Because you're here too, pissed that I didn't tell you ahead of time, and it's like no matter what I do it's—"

Not knowing what else to do, but knowing that she had to do something, Parker lurched forward to sling her arms around his neck. He went stiff beneath her touch, freezing as she attempted to pull him to her, before his hands slowly bracketed around her waist.

"What are you—?"

"I'm sorry," she muttered. Then, when that wasn't enough—because how could that ever be enough—she tightened her hold on him hoping that it might convey what she didn't know how to say. Parker shook her head into the crook of his neck, swallowing. "Fuck, Tom, I'm sorry. I didn't come over here to yell at you. I swear I didn't. I'm not even mad, I don't know why I said that thing about the heads-up, I just... I just was so overwhelmed today that I didn't know what to say or how to bring it up or thank you that I just—I just word vomited. Okay? I'm sorry. I am. I'm sorry."

"Hey," he said, arms tightening around her. "It's okay."

But it wasn't okay, and he had to know that. "But it's not, Tom. You just—you just changed my life, you know? What you did... I've never had that many people in my store before, and they were lined up, and the line didn't dissipate all day! I think I sold, like, half my inventory because of you, and if that continues even for a month then I'll be able to actually finance my store and I won't have to close and... I'll never be able to thank you enough for that."

She leaned back to find Tom frowning at her. "It was just a post."

"To you, and to Gail," she said, finally being able to express what she had been stewing on all day. "But to me... it's everything. I don't know how I'll ever be able to pay you back."

"Pay me back?"

"I mean, I could give you some of the profit, but it probably won't be much. Especially since I still have loans to pay off, and I need to get insurance, and fix the AC, and maybe even hire some new staff, but I'm sure I could give you percentage. Like, a little over time, and it definitely won't be much, but—"

She didn't realize she was rambling until Tom shook her. "I don't want you to pay me back, Park."

"But—"

"Nah," he said, shaking his head at her. One of his hands twisted into the cotton of her sweater, and for the first time that night, as he ducked his head to avoid her gaze Parker realized that maybe he was just as anxious about this entire thing as she was. "I owe you, okay. Not the other way around."

Parker couldn't think of anything more ridiculous than that, and her brows furrowed a divot into her forehead. "What are you talking about?"

He released a chuckle of disbelief, the sound low and raspy in his throat. "I know I'm an asshole. What you said when we first met, that day on the set, it pissed me off so much because... you were right, and no one else had ever bothered to tell me. I'm an asshole to staff and to the crew and to your fucking brother, but do you seriously think I'm blind to all the things that you've done for me?"

Floundering for words—and thoughts—all she could do was blink at him.

Tom glanced away, fingers wrapping themselves into her shirt, skating a burning line over her skin. "You—you're..." he started, before drifting off. Clearly, she wasn't the only person struggling to put their thoughts into words tonight, but Parker was too dumbfounded by the fact that Tom Ryder was admitting to be an asshole above all else, that she couldn't find the energy to interrupt him. "No one has ever... held me accountable before."

Even more bewildered then before, she stared at him. "And that's... a good thing? Because I thought that drove you crazy? I mean—"

"God, of course it drives me crazy," he cut her off with another chuckle. "But you do it because—because you see something in me that no one else does, you know? You see... me. Not the rich, famous me that everyone else sees and takes advantage of, but the asshole on the inside that no one else likes. Do you know how many people have found me in the bathroom like you did? Do you know how none of them have ever cared before?"

Parker's hands skated around his neck, desperate for something to hold onto, to feel, as she gently flattened them out on his chest. "You don't owe me anything for that," she said, shaking her head. "You didn't have to do this just to make up for that. I like being in your life, being your friend, your... I think more people care about you than you think, Tom."

He swallowed, and her eyes tracked the movement of his throat. "And you're the only person in my life that would say shit like that and mean it."

"Of course I mean it. I wouldn't lie to you."

"I know," he said, hands drifting further up her back, a connection that she didn't dare break as they settled into the groove of her spine. "And that's why I did it. So I don't want anything from you, alright? I just... want to give you this. Fuck Gail, fuck my social media manager, fuck all of them. Just this once I want to do something for someone else. Well, no, even that's a lie. Not for someone else, but for you."

Parker bit her lip, feeling her heart thump against her chest, and she was certain that he must have felt it too as she leaned against him. "Really?"

"Yeah," he said. "You're—just... you're not like other girls, you know that?"

Despite the tension growing between them, the softness of the moment and the tender way he was holding her, Parker couldn't keep back a startled laugh. And when she did laugh, Tom's hands paused in their movements, brows knitting a second time as he watched her with something wary struck across his features.

"Sorry, sorry," she said almost immediately, biting her lip, only for another giggle to escape. He looked truly put off then, and she carefully skated her hands back around his neck. "I just... sorry, I'm not laughing at you. That just so sounded like a line."

The wariness vanished, replaced by irritable fondness, and his hands pressed her closer. "Yeah, well," he said, that oh-so familiar smugness of his curling his mouth upwards. "What if it was?"

"Oh?"

He shrugged, pressing on. "Lots of girls would kill to hear that kind of line from Tom Ryder, you know? You should consider yourself lucky."

"I thought I wasn't like other girls."

"You're not. No other girl has ever driven me fucking crazy like you do."

"Flattering," she snarked. But the skate of his hands was starting to ignite a nervous fluttering in her stomach, and as her nails dug into his shirt, Parker could barely maintain a sense of decorum as she smirked at him. "Well? Go on then."

"With?"

"You've given me a line. I'm interested in seeing what other sorts of moves the famous Tom Ryder has to woo the ladies. You want to show me your wine cellar? Art collection? Is there a disco ball that comes down from your ceiling if I clap?"

His entire torso shook as he laughed. "See what I mean? You're drive me fucking crazy."

"Ah, maybe, but that wasn't a no—"

Parker swore that a single kiss from Tom Ryder had the ability to set her entire body alight. Sometimes, she wondered if he felt it too; the way the pads of his thumbs would trail a burning line along her skin or how her hands got shaky as she trailed them up into his hair. His hands certainly didn't shake; not when they pulled her sweater over her head or drifted along the length of her legs, fingers dipping into the ticklish spot behind her knees, tugging her impossibly closer before moving up, up, up...

This time, there was no party to return to, no busybodies to avoid or assistants needing Tom's attention in between fittings on set, and most importantly no phone to chirp at them or brother to distract.

There was just her and him, Parker and Tom.

And when the tension between them—once ugly and mean and festering and awful, now golden and beautiful and, maybe even destined—finally broke, she realized that it wasn't so bad to have someone to drive crazy; perhaps, even, it was the spark that she had been missing.

[remnantsofthepast-if]

Update - Chapter 9 (Act 1 Finale)

Chapter 9 – According to plan

Everything is ready to set sail for your destination. The cycle is ending and it's time to say goodbye, but a certain individual might have something to say about it.

---

Finally, the last chapter of the first act of Remnants Of The Past has arrived! I think back now, and it almost feels like yesterday when I started writing this story. It has certainly grown much more than I initially thought, and I am grateful to all those who have reached this point ^^.

Returning to the chapter itself, besides the final stretch of the story, I also bring some good news that I've been wanting to share for a while! As you know, I've been editing the entire story before finishing it, adding things, tweaking others, and removing some that didn't quite convince me, but there were two things I didn't want to mention until they were completely finished.

Firstly, I've added a friendship route! My idea has always been to make a romance story that accompanies the adventure, so I quickly dismissed the option of making a separate route without any romance (I'm a romantic, I can't help it), but this was when I planned to lock the romances at the end of the act. However, the flow of the story decided that it would be in Chapter 4, and I understand that some may find it harder to stick with one so soon, so I started thinking about adding an alternative route to enjoy the story without MC having a romantic interest, and here it is!

But this doesn't mean that the story will be shorter or less enjoyable if you choose for your MC to remain single! The scenes with the ROs have been adapted to this route, and you can spend time with the characters in a completely platonic way. Sometimes you'll be able to choose who to hang out with, and other times the encounters will be random.

And lastly, the second thing I've added, which excites me more than I thought, is that the mysterious individual is officially an RO! I know some of you were eager to give love to this character (or at least try), and I'm not going to be the one to stop you! However, this RO will be very, very different from the others. Much slower, and with details that I can't mention because they would be severe spoilers, but the option will be there for those who want to take it. To do this, you must choose for MC to remain single for now in Chapter 4.

And that's not all, this character now also has a female version! How cool is that? :D The downside to this, though? All of you who use a save file prior to this update will see the pronoun variables and encounter several inconsistencies that will take you out of the story, because in that save these variables do not exist, so you'll have to start from the beginning.

IMPORTANT NOTE!! This complete first act will be completely free for one week.

On Wednesday, April 24th, the free version will be replaced by the demo that will cover up to Chapter 4, and the purchase version will be available on both Itch.io and Patreon for all those who cannot purchase it through Itch.io.

I hope you enjoy this chapter! I've revised everything as thoroughly as I could, but I may have missed some things. If you see anything strange, don't hesitate to contact me or submit a report here!

[r0-boat]

Pollen drunk

Congratulations to Beemas winning the poll I know I said I probably wouldn't write anything special but hey, I was feeling extra motivated. Enjoy your extra sweet gift. Full of some humor and all horny!

-That one headcannon where a certain type of pollen makes bees monstrously horny-

Bee!Ingoxreaderxbee!Emmet.

( very brief implied Elesa x reader)

Gn!reader (queenie is a playfull nickname they used for you, but reader goes by they/them and is normally called royal or your highness)

Cw: degrading, some praise Kink, cream pie, dub con, breeding mentioned, name calling, sex pollen.

It was just a normal morning when Emmet received a report from the head of the Drone Scouts about an abnormally large plant. The report peaked Ingo's interest and you were dying to go anywhere that wasn't your work desk,

According to the report the area where the plant was spotted didn't seem dangerous, no enemy hybrids or any Titan bugs. it seemed no harm in bringing you along, it has been a while since Ingo and Emmet had proper alone time with you.

They missed feeling this close to you clinging to them as they beat their wings trying to find the exact location where this plant was said to be.

Emmet let our chuckle when he felt you're hold around him tightening, you're cute frightened noises made his heart skip a beat.

" Don't be scared sweet darling I would never drop you, I'm a verrrrry good flyer"

He reassures letting out a buzz akin to a purr as a nuzzles his nose into your hair.

" Oh it seems we've reached our destination?"

Ingo calls out to his brother, pointing at a large pink flower with droopy petals.

Large was an understatement it easily towered over the tallest trees. Soaking the sun while its pink petals casted on to the three of you as you landed.

Emmet kissed your forehead gently lowering you to the ground.

Feeling the ground once again beneath Your Feet you stretch was the two brothers walk to the massive trunk that is the stalk of the plant.

They inspect the plant their antennae twitching.

" nothing too suspicious... but I do sense a powerful sweet smell coming from somewhere."

Ingo states to his brother.

" You smell it too?"

Emmet closed his eyes before opening them.

" I do... it smells sort of like chocolate or... maybe vanilla, but I do smell something else something more Floral... Roses... Lavander."

"How curious... I deduced it might be coming from the top of the flower. The pollen perhaps?"

Emmet nodded " I agree with you brother"

Ingo and Emmet walked away from the stem looking up at the pedals. As they continue to talk with one another.

You watch from a distance enjoying the fresh air smiling as you enjoy watching your kings do their job.

"Male or female?" Ingo ponders.

Emmet running farther out from under the flower. "ahh... Umm... curious... it produces pollen but it ony has a Florussy."

Ingo hears you bust out laughing as he turns red he immediately shouts scolding at his brother "EMMET!! That is not appropriate language for a royal such as yourself to have!"

Ingo hears you laugh harder as Emmet smirks and points at you " Bullshit! Why can't I use the dirty human slang when our Highness can describe Elesa having a "sweet Bee-ussy""

Your heart sinks immediately, Turning Away not wanting to meet ingo's death gaze. You could feel his eyes burning into the back of your head.

"I will deal with the both of you later..." Ingo growls before sighing, realizing the conversation has been derailed.

"Brother you mentioned that the flower didn't have a Stamen."

" Plant Cock and balls, correct" Emmet says with a straight face. You try to stifle your snort.

Ingo's eyebrows twitch, It's obvious he's just trying to poke his older brother's buttons. but doesn't take the bait. Putting his hands to his mouth as he thinks to himself

" very strange... that means the flower somehow still produces pollen even though it is female"

Immediately Emmet raises his hand pointing up" I advise a closer look!"

"MY THOUGHTS EXACTLY!" Ingo yells a little too loud.

They fold out their wings preparing to lift back off.

You got up from your stump " you're going to the top of the flower now? oh that's so cool! can I come too?"

Ingo shakes his head " apologies your highness this is much too dangerous we wouldn't want you to slip and fall..."

The other king nodding in agreement with his brother before chiming in " Stay on the ground where it's safe honey."

You pout but don't protest walking back over to your stump playing around with the much smaller flowers That Grew around the stump

"next stop The Pistil!" Ingo yells before they take off flying to the top of the flower.

~~

You've been waiting down here for more than 10 minutes, starting to run out of things to do. You keep looking back up at the top of the flower wondering if your kings are okay.

You dug your foot into the dirt trying not to think of the worst things that could have happened to your dear Kings.

You here buzzing snapping you out of your thoughts your heart skipping a beat and happiness seeing your kings again, well only Ingo.

You got up from your stump as he begin to approach you. However you seem to notice something was different about him

A yellow powdery substance seem to cling to his black uniforms.

Ingo's pupils are dilated and his movements seem to sway, as they got closer to you you can see his face was flushed a deep red, as he seemed to be out of breath.

Before you can ask where his brother had gone you felt arms wrap around you.

Emmet!

His breath tickling your neck.

"You smell so goood your Majesty~"

He purrs in your ear guiding you and sending you back down on your stump. " sit down Queenie you seem soooo tired."

"Emme-" you gasp as you felt his lips and tongue against your sensitive ears kissing and nipping at them before going down.

When Ingo finally gets to you he's immediately on his knees. His gloved hands groping your legs as he pulls them apart "haha... I'm so so thirsty, do you have anything sweet for me to drink?" Ingo smiles eyes your thighs and hips licking his lips thoughts of biting into your plush thighs invading his mind.

Your face turns bright red, what has gotten into your kings. The bee hybrid behind you coos his hands now going under your shirt. " Tooo cute!"

Emmet leans in whispering filthy things into your ear "This is why you're my faaaavorite fuck toy~"

You whimper your heart's beating faster his words going straight to your core.

You felt hands touch and feel every curve of your body while your pants get slipped off of you.

" let me taste you~ I'll make you feel so good before I pound you in the ground like cock drunk whore." Ingo growls

You practically moan that his sentence Ingo hardly ever degrades even when he does he always seems to apologize afterward. those words coming out of his mouth like that excited you.

Emmet chuckles at your noises his mouth moving to your neck making sure to give the sensitive skin plenty of attention.

" oh? Dear Brother, can it be... that are beloved Royal is actually just a cum hungry slut?"

Ingo moans pressing his face against your clothed sex inhaling your raw sweet scent of arousal.

" you might be right Emmet. Then we must feed them quickly we don't want our royal fuck pet starving"

You let out a moan grinding against Ingo's hand as he pulls your underwear to the side.

"Oh fuck, Ingo Emmet p-please!"

Emmet hums his thumb rolling over your perk nipples as he continues covering your neck in his marks.

"What is it sweet one?" Ingo asks His hot breath between your legs making you shiver.

"I want both of you."

"Sooo greedy~" Emmet coos before sinking his teeth into your shoulder as Ingo begins pleasuring you with his tongue.

Your legs shake as Ingo devours you his tongue extending with each lick wanting more and more of your taste. He eats you with the vigor, while his brother behind you starts manhandling you squeezing your hips pinching your nipples feeling pressing grabbing anything that interested him. All the while he curves is assault back under your ears Whispering more filthy things into them while he licks and sucks your ear lobes.

You Buck your hips grinding yourself into Ingo's mouth, smothering his face with your core. His sweet honey likes saliva making your sensitive core buzz delightfully enhancing your pleasure.

You smell so sweet drowning him in your scent, you squeeze and twitch in his mouth, on his tongue he knows you're close.

"thats it you're doing so good, Cum for me, fill my mouth."

Ingo demand speeding up his hand hitting your thighs encouraging you to explode on his face.

Which you do you fall over that edge his hand harshly slapping your plush thighs over and over as you fill his mouth with your juices.

" it's feeding time dear~" you hear Emmet say as you're lifted and laid over the stump.

Emmet unbuckles his belt his throbbing cock slapping against your face. His Clawed hands brushing through your hair before grabbing.

" and you'll swallow every last drop of me, right dear?"

You nod opening your mouth before Emmet could ask.

"Oh? So obedient, good pet~ you're so good at this~ you're making me feel so verrry good you're perfect~"

Emmet groans sliding his cock inside of your mouth twitching feeling your tongue rub against his shaft.

Ingo lips pepper your ass with kisses " I can never get enough of you, so stunning, so sweet and good for me... I feel so hot~ I need you!" He presses his clothes bulge against your ass his claws digging into your sides letting out breathless huffs he humps against you. " I don't want to enter you just yet~ wanna t-tease my cock, before I reward myself with your tight warm walls. You're my reward sweet thing~"

Emmet gasps his wings flicking as you try to suck him in deeper.

"Y-you want more? You really- really are cock hungry haha" He starts to move pushing himself deeper your mouth warming his cock.

Ingo finally having enough feeling his boxer soak with precum he finally slides both of them off stroking his hard throbbing cock before pressing it against your entrance.

"i-i can't hold back anymore I need to make sure you're sore tomorrow!"

He feels you with one thrust bucking your body into Emmet. You moan around him it's shaft with makes him buck into your mouth.

"Oh! Honey! So good! y-you're going to make me lose control too!"

When you heard this you immediately start moaning pressing your body up against ingo's cock as you suck harder on Emmet's.

Emmet chokes "Hah! I- I think they want us to lose control"

Ingo snarls his hand smacking your ass " do you want that your highness do you want us to breed you?"

" carve your holes with our cocks?"

Ingo's new dirty talk is really getting to you...

Whatever this yellow pollen stuff from that flower was made your sweet King bees completely different people.

Pneumon in response with made Emmet take his cock out of your throat for a second.

"talk whore"

You cough getting a minute to catch your breath "Please fill me up I want nothing more than to be filled with your cum"

Emmet breath goes heavy immediately filling your mouth back up with his cock.

"F-fuck! Y-you a-are so verrrry cute!" He says grabbing a festival of your hair as he begins thrusting hard into your mouth.

Your eyes roll back as you feel Ingo speed up as well, slamming himself as deep as he could inside of you deep and hard thrusts hitting every spot making your toes curl in your back arch.

Your screams are muffled as you cream on Ingo's cock, your insides clamping down on him milking him for all he's worth.

"O-oh H-highness... you're, too good, gonna to make me-! F-fuck!"

You felt every hot load shoot deep inside of you. "S-so much!" Ingo sobs even after he filled you so full he's still cumming letting out a grown of disappointment when some of his seed spills onto the floor . However Ingo doesn't stop, only slowing down bucking with each pulse of his cock, to instead begin pounding faster riding out his orgasm "S-so good! More! M-mooore!"

Your muffled squeals make Emmet shake, his eyes rolling back as he fills your throat with sticky hot seed, soon overflowing your mouth making you drool White.

Emmet growls in frustration at your wasteful behavior

"T-take it! take it all! You said you were hungry, drink more!"

Your bees begin to get more ravenous with each orgasm they swapped places before taking you on different parts of the ground.

You are surely going to be sore tomorrow or maybe for a whole week.

Distinctly remember Ingo staying true to his words, your nails digging into the dirt while he uses your hole as his fleshlight.

Or Emmet folding your legs in half pounding down into you.

Well... maybe not as distinctly The hours begin to blur as morning turned into dusk when the pollen started to finally wear off.

You were covered in cum and yellow pollen.

The twins laying on the ground away from you exhausted beyond belief.

They concluded that the pollen does not affect humans, but to bee hybrids a powerful aphrodisiac effect that lasts for hours.

You were covered in pollen so they probably had to wash you off in a nearby spring before bringing you back to the hive. No doubt the drones were absolutely worried for their kings and Royal.

Seeing how much their Royal enjoyed their time together with the pollen....

and how affectionate they were when they got home. They will be sending a team to collect and study the pollen for urm... research.

As for the Royal and Emmet...

After a week of the Royals recovery from uuh... B-back pain... Ingo forced them and Emmet to take a weeks worth of Botany class with the head of the agriculture Department.

[thoughtsonhurtandcomfort]

Shun the Light - Ch 19 - Belladonna

Masterlist

Author's Notes: This chapter skips around a lot too, but not a ton happens and I didn't want it to become repetitive so I tried to just skip to the juicy parts. Matteo POV!

Content Warnings: werewolf whump, environmental whump, homelessness, painful transformation, poison, illness (fever, nausea, dizziness, stomach ache), angst, loneliness, dehydration, vampire whump, beaten, bruises

----

Feeling healthy and with money in his pocket, Matteo could get far away from here. He could have a plan this time, get off to a better start.

That's not what happens.

Matteo regrets leaving almost immediately. It's abundantly clear now that that was his emotions getting the better of him yet again. If he had waited a day or two he might have thought twice about it.

Now it's too late. Dante didn't stop him. That had to mean something, right? Of the two of them, Dante has been the more honest. If he was okay with Matteo staying, he would have said something...

...right?

In the same train of thought he will go from believing that Dante wanted him gone to remembering how he looked as Matteo walked out. Not upset, just...hollow.

Matteo could tell Dante was lonely, he never had to say it aloud. It was etched onto his face, it echoed through the empty rooms. Loneliness was a weight on Dante's shoulders and any time Matteo managed to lift it a little he felt warm inside. Those felt like the only times he ever did anything right.

And he left.

-

With some of the money from Dante he buys a tent, a sleeping bag, better shoes and a coat. He tucks the rest away for food...and for medicine, if it comes to that.

Matteo lingers in the area. He relocates to a stretch of forest on the other side of town, but still only a few miles away from Dante's home. Part of him secretly hopes they'll run into each other, but it's a longshot. Still, he takes a walk almost every night just in case.

Even with new provisions, returning to his old lifestyle is hard, much harder than it should be after only a couple of months. It isn't just the stiffness from sleeping on the ground, the constant fear he'll be discovered, or always being a little too hot or too cold. It's being utterly alone in the world, with no one who cares if he lives to see the next day or not.

Despair sets in quickly and grows with each passing week.

-

On the night of the full moon he has nowhere to go.

Matteo hides his stuff so at least the wolf doesn't destroy everything he bought. He tries to get to as secluded a spot as he possibly can, going so far as to hide in a cave, though there is nothing stopping the wolf from just leaving.

There he waits.

-

-

-

It's so hot...

The morning is actually quite mild, but Matteo wakes sweltering and parched. He couldn't move if he tried. All he can do is lie on his back and shiver and moan through bouts of dizziness and nausea.

His usual sore limbs and pounding head are drowned out by a sharp ache in his stomach that won't relent. Matteo turns onto his side and curls in on himself, rubbing at his belly to try to soothe it. Only then does he notice there's something wet on his hands.

He finally opens his eyes and looks at his shaking hands, fearing he'll find blood - but the substance is purple and sticky. He takes in his immediate surroundings and spots a bush just feet away with branches torn from it. The ground is scattered with crushed berries.

Matteo groans and presses his face into the cool, dewy grass.

Stupid mutt. Just eats whatever it finds.

Before he knows it he's crying weakly. He's sick and sore, feverish and exhausted. He needs water and medicine, a lukewarm bath, a soft bed...

He sobs harder knowing that just a month ago he had all that and more. Now Matteo would do anything for even a moment with Dante's cool hand on his forehead and his calm voice in his ear.

Crying only makes his head pound harder and his thirst worse. If he doesn't get to water soon he doesn't know if he'll make it through the day.

The journey to where he hid his backpack is a long and arduous one. Every time he tries to stand his head spins and he collapses...so he crawls over the rough terrain on hands and knees. The sharp pangs in his stomach continue, often forcing him to double over and focus on breathing until the worst of it passes.

By the time he reaches his things - which are, to his relief, still there - it is late in the afternoon and Matteo is worn down in every way possible. Panting heavily, he leans against a tree and pulls a large water bottle out of his bag. His hands shake as he uncaps it and lifts it to his mouth. He drinks the whole thing, trickling the last few drops of it over his warm face.

Too weak to set up his tent, he uses his backpack as a pillow and passes out.

-

Two days later Matteo is finally strong enough to stand and walk in short bursts.

Now he has to make a choice: go back to Dante, or actually leave this time.

He can't take another month waiting to be...to be rescued, or whatever it was he thought was going to happen. It's only by sheer luck that he hasn't been discovered yet, and that won't last forever.

But he has nowhere to go that is any safer. Out of hope and with nothing to lose, Matteo decides.

Maybe if I beg. Maybe if I offer him my blood, as much as he wants. I can sleep in the basement and live off of scraps like a fucking animal. I don't care anymore.

Even at his lowest Matteo doesn't believe Dante would make him do that. The worst he can do is turn him away, in which case Matteo is right back where he started. But if there wasn't some small part of him that believed he might be welcome, he wouldn't even try. He has to try.

-

Late that night he is still walking, and still barely halfway there.

Matteo overestimated what his recovering body was ready for. He has to take frequent breaks and quickly goes through his remaining water. His appetite hasn't returned and his fever hasn't broken. At this rate he'll have to rest and restock sooner rather than later, which means another night alone in the forest.

He follows the nearest main road and finds a gas station with a 24/7 convenience store. Despite his haggard appearance the cashier barely acknowledges him. Matteo buys several more waters and some medicine without incident.

A few buildings away the only other open business is a bar. Some cars and motorcycles are parked out front and loud music thrums from its walls. Matteo keeps his head down and keeps his gaze straight ahead, not wanting any trouble.

As he passes, Matteo's attention is drawn to something happening in the darkness to one side of the building where the streetlight doesn't quite reach. His senses are still sharp, and maybe that's how he makes out the sound of muffled grunts over the bar's music.

Matteo cautiously moves closer until he can see a group of figures, four of them standing around a fifth that is crumpled on the ground. They're ruthlessly beating someone, and their victim either can't or won't fight back.

Don't get involved, idiot. You're in no shape for a fight.

Steel-toed boots make contact with the fallen man's ribs and he gives an awful wheezing sound that makes Matteo flinch in sympathy and put a hand to his own side.

"HEY!" he shouts. The four men standing freeze in place. Matteo panics a little but feigns confidence as he adds, "break it up or I'm calling the cops!"

At first they seem to ignore him. One lifts the limp body from the ground and slams it against the wall, leaning in to say something that Matteo doesn't catch.

But then he drops him and motions to his three companions. To Matteo's immense relief they walk away, toward the small gravel parking lot, where they get into a car and speed away.

Matteo cautiously approaches the injured man, who hasn't made an effort to get up.

"You need me to call someone for you?" he asks nervously. He doesn't have a phone, but the bar will.

The slumped figure remains silent. He isn't moving, he isn't even...

"Shit, he's not breathing," Matteo realizes. He throws caution out the window and goes to the man's side. "Hey, are you o...kay..."

Matteo nearly stops breathing himself.

Even bruised he knows that face, those pearl-gray eyes.

"Dante?"

[shutit-haha]

Rocker Bakugo pt.2

Rocker Bakugo who writes a song about you. He's angsty and pissed, rather than to admit he's in his feels he just composes this whole piece about not needing you. Low-key it's a fuckin banger.

Rocker Bakugo who keeps you as his manager. You're good at your job, he was lying about people being better than you. No one is better than you. You're the best at everything. Your great with contracts, and his temper, great at loving him, and pushing him to do better.

Rocker Bakugo who says it's only until he can find a replacement but he misses having you around. The apartment's so fucking empty and after about a week he gets fed up with only seeing you for work stuff. So he demands for you to stop by the studio, to watch and listen. (Like you used too.) You know he only misses you, but you'd be damned if you let him off easy.

Rocker Bakugo who plays the song in front of you. He's smug about it too, like he didn't practically plead for you to watch him. (Again.) You're pissed, because what an ass! So of course you make him play it again, and again, and again. After about the third time you let the rest of the band leave but not Bakugo, he has to stay.

Rocker Bakugo who's grumbling and playing shitty now because he's pissed. He's growling and playing harder than he need too. If he keeps this up he might just break something or drain himself entirely. You're a jerk though, you keep poking him and poking him.

"Do you know what you're doing?" You're being condescending. You speak to him as of he were some incompetent child, stare doing little to help negate that idea.

Rocker Bakugo who feels like one. He can see his Mother's gaze right after five year old him has thrown a fit. He sees it in you and it irks him. "Of course I know what the hell I'm doing, I made the damn thing!"

"Let me see the sheet," you're in front of him now. You're standing centered in front of his drum set hand out stretched for the sheet music. Now he really does feel like a little boy. And isn't that what he is? A huffy child who misses his mommy.

"I've got it," he snarls at you, snapping slightly.

You snatch the sheet anyways returning to your spot on the wall. "Play."

"Ain't shit to read."

"You don't got it memorized," you cock a brow. "Play."

"I will dammit!"

Rocker Bakugo who fucks it up. "Do it again." You command him knowing that the poor boy is tired.

"I can't," he mumbles.

"What?"

"I said I can't!" His chest is rising and falling way too quickly, his hair covers his face as to prevent you from seeing his eyes. His arms sag from how sore they are, and there's a slight shake too him. "I'm fuckin' tired, can't keep doing this shit."

"Then I need a new cash cow."

His head snaps forward, eyes meeting yours with a nasty glare. "You know damn well I can't play when you take away the sheet music."

You took a step forward, "you made the damn thing. Figured with how proud and confident you were in it, it'd be hard to forget."

"You're being a b-" He sucks air in through his teeth, slamming down his sticks and tilting his head back so he can breathe.

"Oh but you can turn me into a song? I don't want to be some jingle for a monster energy can Bakugo." You're halfway to him, only a couple steps left. "Do it again."

"I can't."

"Again Bakugo."

"I'm fuckin' tired."

Rocker Bakugo who knows you're still mad at him. He doesn't know how to make it up to you, he doesn't even know how to start.

Rocker Bakugo who tries anyways. He picks up the sticks and starts playing your favorite song. Your gaze softens, it isn't enough but it works for now. The both of you are so tired, you hate sleeping alone and that scene just keeps playing in his head.

His voice is hoarse and dry so when he sings its awful, but it makes you laugh. You're humming with him, just content to be in the same space without all that tension. "I know you're not out to get me, I trust you. Sometimes being at the top-"

"Means you forget to be grounded," the two of you speak in unison.

"Works the other way too," you start. "When you're always looking up, you forget there's trouble even in the stars. Constellations tell stories of heartbreak and death, and all I can think of is-"

"Walking on the clouds," he finishes for you. There's a smug little smirk on his face, pleased that he can still remember that line of yours.

"You gonna behave drummer boy?" Your hand cups his cheek, "gonna keep playing the beat to my heart."

He kisses your palm, and sets the sticks down. "Read over the thingy, was a lot better than I originally thought it was."

"I don't know who told you it wasn't."

"Kaminari had overheard something from the other negotiation team and made a dumbass assumption."

"And you believed it?"

"Was blindsided, sweetheart."

"You owe me."

"I know," he grabs at your waist. "Just come home," his other hand covers the one you have on his cheek.

Rocker Bakugo who has to have make-up sex with you. It's part of your dynamic. When the two of you were in high school you used argue over the smallest of things just so that you could bang afterward. As you guys went to college it became a little more difficult, having to learn that sex didn't make up for communication. Though the two of you struggle with words, you've definitely gotten better. And well any progress is progress.

Rocker Bakugo who some how ends up underneath you. When you said he owed you he didn't expect edging to be the price. Yet here he was in a dopey cow headband, with leather cuffs on each wrist as you edge him till he breaks.

Rocker Bakugo who's too lost in his orgasm to notice you taking a picture. It's deserved though, you'll just count it as part of the punishment.

[entomolog-t]

The Shadow We Cast - 3

The boys are back with two more Prompts down! Delight and Linger ! I love writing these boys so much- just the goofiest vibes.

How long before I make it angsty?

- - - -

Previous Chapter: Chapter 2

Next Chapter: Chapter 4

Word count: 2332

CW: Adult language, substances (beer/drinking)

Man, the food was great. Never in my life had I tasted anything like the weird paste Mark had made- and to put it on meat?? Some crazy part of my was compelled to howl with joy. While the glass bucket Mark had given me to use as a cup proved progressively harder to grip with more and more of the sauce covering my hands, I was plenty fine with the extra effort just for another sip of the cool golden drink- Beer went incredible with hawk wings. 

Leaning back, I groaned as I stretched out, stomach aching.

I’d more than eaten my fill, but it's not like it was everyday that I had such a mouthwatering feast to myself. My eyes flickered to Mark. Both in my own eager hunger and out of a slight unease, I’d been avoiding watching him eat. There was something both ridiculously impressive and deeply unsettling about watching another being consume many times more than my weight in food. Inarguably cool- but the spectacle left me feeling… less. 

My eyes met his own. Though, as soon as my gaze met his, he looked away- quickly focusing on taking another drink. I felt a grin tug at the corners of my mouth. Looks like I caught him staring. I wait until he puts the can to his lips before I speak, 

“See something you like, big man?” 

Mark chokes on his drink- a strangled sound escaping him as his hand shoots up to cover his mouth as he sputters. I can’t help but laugh at the sight of him desperately trying to hold in his drink - his sputtering turning to coughing. The mix of the panicked look on his face and the pitiful sounds are just too much, and I find myself wincing at a sharp pain biting at my sides from the laughter. 

Catching his breath, Mark chuckles. He waves a dismissive hand,

“Man, I’m just shocked at how much you ate.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Dude, you’re what? Ten times my size?” I gesture to the pile of bones on his plate, “How do you think I feel?”

Mark rolls his eyes, 

“Relatively.” He points to the section of meat I’d claimed for myself, “Like, holy shit dude. It looks like you ate one of your legs worth of meat.” 

I shrug. 

“You could have eaten more if you hadn’t filled up by drinking so much.”

He chuckles- but his laugh is cut short as he jerks. The flinch is all the warning I get before a massive hand is sent rocketing toward his opposite arm. A thunderous clap breaks through the evening air. I feel the blood drain from my face, and I can’t tell if it's the sound echoing in my ears or if it's my heart thrumming in my chest. I hadn’t even flinched- a thought that I wanted to be able to revel in- to tell myself it was because I wasn’t so easily cowed… but there was no lying to myself. 

I didn’t even have time to flinch. 

The thought sent a chill through me. 

Mark, unaware of my racing heart, sighed.

“Ugh, the mosquitoes are coming out.” He shot me a nervous smile, “You, uh, wanna head inside and have a few more drinks?” Pausing, he adds “And maybe put a shirt on?”

I chuckle, though it feels more forced than moments ago,

“And why would I do that?” As I say the words, sing songy and teasing, I feel the tension inside me ease. I stand, my body feeling sluggish- heavy with the weight of a good meal. Stretching, I meander over to his waiting hand, making sure he knows I’m turning down the suggestion to get dressed rather than the invitation for more beers. 

Mark rolls his eyes, 

“I mean, you’re wearing enough of the sauce that it might as well count as a shirt.”

I narrow my eyes at him for a moment before looking down. 

Eesh. He… Well, he wasn’t wrong. 

Stomach to chest, I was covered in splatterings and smears of the dark red sauce. My pants were decorated with various stains, some smaller, like where I’d wiped off my hands, and one particularly large spot of sauce where I’d rested the massive hunk of meat against my legs. 

Using my forearm, I haphazardly wiped across my chest, clearing off a decent volume of sauce. 

“DUDE!” I jump at his exclamation, frozen in place with my tongue still dragging along the sauce smeared skin of my arm. I furrow my brow. What was his problem now? 

“Wash off properly before you get in my hand” He scolds. I mimic his exasperated expression and roll my eyes. He tears off another piece of napkin and hands it to me in response. Taking it, I double back towards my drink-bucket. 

“What are you- SAL!” I tip the bucket over my head and feel a wash of cool liquid pour over me- a momentary respite from the overbearing heat of the day. The chill combined with the strange bubbles in the drink are a bit jarring, but in a way that’s invigorating- refreshing even. 

Above me, I can hear Mark sputtering- a mix of “Dudes” and “whys” and other half finished questions. I throw up my hands, confused and frustrated. This guy’s impossible! I cleaned off?? What did he want from me?? 

“Dude! Come on…” The exclamation is chastising in its tone. “Why would you-” Before he can continue I interject, 

“But you said-” An exasperated sigh interrupts my very valid point. He pinches the bridge of his nose as he speaks.

“You know what? It's fine.” His tone suggests it's anything but, yet the smile he gives me feels genuine- as if he’s the one being patient and I’m the one being unreasonable. In a slow and careful movement, Mark once again offers me his hand. 

There's a slight, but not unnoticed, chill that grips me- a little shot of adrenaline at the sight of his incoming hand. A faint tremor in my legs, and a pounding in my heart accompanying a stray thought at the back of my mind that wants me to hesitate- to back out. The thought reminds me almost of getting into cold water; that anticipation of shock making you move slower, as if your brain is trying to persuade you away from that unwanted discomfort.

I set my jaw.

Well, fuck that. 

If I didn’t feel comfortable, I would make myself comfortable. My thoughts are mine to control- not there to control me. 

As if his hand were a body of water, I dove in. His hands were soft as I landed, much more so than my own. It wasn’t the first time it had crossed my mind how comfortable it felt- how warm. 

I flopped to my back and patted the meat of his thumb, coaxing him to move. I don’t miss the way his fingers curl in, or how his other hand comes up to support the first. I can’t help but roll my eyes. Those subtle gestures leave me a bit conflicted- stuck in a middle ground between finding it endearing and finding it patronising. The care to use a delicate hand with me was… nice, yet the thought that I needed to be handled with a delicate hand was bordering on insulting. 

The warmth of his hand and the rhythmic rise and fall with his steps seemed to lull me away from my irritation. Closing my eyes, I let myself relax to the steady sway of his steps. I liked Mark. He was nice. He had good food. He was fun to rile up. I felt my cheeks burning from a goofy smile that wouldn’t seem to falter. This was real. After all these years, I had someone to talk to! Someone to spend time with! There was a giddiness in my chest that just seemed to build- a dizzying surge of wild energy that felt like the room was spinning-

Wait. Was the room spinning??

I felt my stomach lurch, a weird feeling of vertigo prompting me to open my eyes trying to ground myself. The spinning sensation eased to a stop as I sat up. Seemingly right on cue, Mark lowered his hand to the table. 

As soon as I dismount from his hand, Mark’s massive frame turns away from me, rushing toward the sink. I frown as he washes his hands. I’d washed off for him, and yet he was acting as if he’d just handled something foul. As he returns to the table he seems to catch my glare. 

He raises his hands as if surrendering, 

“Dude, you’re sticky.” 

I snort.

“I am not.” 

I patted my skin. Sure, it was a little tacky to the touch, but that was hardly anything to wash up over. I’d just doused myself off in front of him- what more did he want?

While I had no clue what he wanted from me, I knew what I wanted- and that was another drink. 

Eyeing my glass bucket, I meandered over to wear he’d set his drink down. Each step was off- just a little, almost as if it was… Delayed? I took a long blink, trying to orient myself. Was I swaying?

I stumbled, catching myself on Mark’s arm. He flinched under my touch and my scowl returned. 

“Ew, dude, don’t touch me. You’re all sticky.” 

With a glare, I let my body collapse against his arm limply laying over it. He stiffens under my touch, and I feel the strangest sensation of goosebumps forming on his skin beneath me. I keep my head buried against his arm as my scowl is pulled up into a grin. This guy was really something else. Spiders, first aid, and slightly tacky skin?? I bet his own shadow could get a rise out of him. 

I chuckled at my own thought, laughing into his arm as he squirmed beneath me. Mark titled his arm in an attempt to push me back onto my feet, but rather than let him guide me back into a stand, I pulled myself up - stradling the width of his forearm. 

“Oh- Dude, come on. Get off.” He whines, twisting his arm, carefully trying to force me to dismount. His kindness is his own downfall, as the slow and gentle movements are easy to correct against- leaning my weight this way and that to compensate. Above me, he groans. Out of the corner of my eye I watch as his free hand reaches up, prompting me to spring up into a stand- feeling oddly dizzy at the sudden movement. 

He hesitates- hand hovering at my side - either waiting to catch me or unwilling to touch me. Before he can reconsider I spring into action. In one bound I’m at the crook of his elbow. Without pausing I leap, clearing the small gap between his arm and torso as I throw myself at the fabric of his shirt. 

Mark does nothing more than flinch- making a strangled noise as he jerks bolt upright in his seat, hands stiffly to each side of me yet making no move to touch me. I can’t stop laughing, My cheeks burn, my sides ache, yet my arms feel light as I pull myself up the length of his shirt. Mark leans back, craning his neck and tilting his chin away in the most futile attempt to distance himself from me. Stitches form in my sides as I nearly wheeze at the sight. 

Gripping the collar of his shirt I heave myself onto his shoulder, letting out a sigh as I try to quell my laughter. 

“Is something wrong, Big Guy?”  I tease,stifling a giggle while leaning my apparently sticky self onto his neck. The sensation of his warm skin shuddering under my touch is bizarre, “Afraid I’ll-” I pause. His skin is more than just warm, it's hot. I crane my neck, awkwardly trying to look at his face from the odd vantage point. 

His face is red- his mouth a thin line and his eyes are anywhere but on me. 

Oh.

This was too much, wasn’t it? 

I was too much.

I clear my throat, wracking my brain for anything to fill the now very noticeably awkward silence.

“You, um, mind refilling my drink?” 

A little puff of air escapes him, and I watch as a smile pulls at the edge of his lips. Slowly, he turns his head towards me, and all at once I’m reminded of just how massive he is. On his shoulder I’m eye level with him- Mark meeting my gaze out of the corner of his eye… and eye roughly the size of my head. I stagger back a half step, careful to mind my footing. Something about seeing an eye so closely was off-putting, the depth of the brown looking too deep- like something I could fall into; the colour like good healthy dirt.  

He raises an eyebrow.

“Mind getting off?” 

With an exaggerated hop, I let myself drop down the steep slope of his arm, half sliding half falling to his forearm. Mark lets out a yelp at the motion- as if a fall from that height was anything to worry about. 

I step down from his arm, my gait still feeling not quite right- each step somewhat unsteady, as if the table swayed beneath my feet. It wasn’t only my gait- my skin felt strange. Almost numb but not really? It was… buzzing?  Yet despite all the strangeness, there was a warmth in my chest that seemed to spread over into my mind. A light fuzziness that softens the edge of my thoughts. There was an ease- a comfort- that seemed to coat my mind, like a paradoxically warm blanket of snow. 

Maybe a little too warm? 

I knit my brow. 

I could fix that. 

I looked up, craning my neck to meet Marks gaze, 

“So, how about another drink?”