#the apartment complex is taking its sweet fucking time.

[bluinary]

Whoa I'm really sad!!

[pedgito]

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 | Lucien De Leon x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | it was never a favor, allowing him to take up space in your apartment. but, time after time, he finds his way back and somehow, it brings an unexpected normalcy to your life.

author's note | in my heart, it's still flores. but canonically its de leon. i had the opportunity to watch the movie and hot take, it was...alright. but pedro's character made me just as feral as i expected. so here's this absolute monster for no reason other than, well, me ovulating.

content warning | 18+ mdni, the uninvited spoilers, set post-movie, roommates to lovers, enemies to lovers, reader works in the film industry, financial hardship, shitty living situations, lucien is a schmooze and a drunk, but also a sweetheart, angst, feelings, reader has shit luck with dating, there's also smut in here somewhere i swear (oral, couch sex, unprotected piv, all the good stuff)

word count — 11k (sorry lmfao)

“Lucien?” You grumble around the chewy granola bar you’ve snatched from the craft table, “Lucien De Leon?”

The agent, Lucien’s agent—James, also working for a few of the on-set cast, looked hopeless.

He nods, squeezing tight at the phone in his hand, one more inconvenience text from snapping it in half.

“No,” You refuse, chewing at the sweet and sticky granola, “why—why me? My tiny apartment?”

“He’s exhausted any other chance,” The agent explains vaguely—yeah, real convincing, this guy, “listen—I like you, you’ve helped me in plenty of binds. It’ll be two weeks before he’s leaving for work, I just need somewhere to keep him for a while.”

“You’re making it seem like I’d be dog sitting or something,” You retort, watching as the agent glanced down at his phone, notifications spilling in, “this is Lucien—controversy magnet, and he’s rude—”

“You’ve gotta get to know him—”

“The one set I’ve worked on with him he spilled my coffee on me and acted like I made him do it. Fuck him, tell him to sleep on a bench.”

“I’ll pay you,” He scrambles, “Just—please?”

You pause, narrowing your gaze. Being a production assistant hadn’t been the life of luxury, minimal pay in an overpriced city in a shitty apartment with barely decent and affordable rent was nothing short of miserable.

“How much?”

“A thousand,” He offers—a shrug of uncertainty follows.

Silence stretches.

“Two thousand? Come on–that’s a thousand for each week.”

“Make it three and you’ve got a deal.”

The agent is quiet for a few seconds before he caves, sighing heavily, “Fuck, fine. Three. Can I drop him off tonight?”

“Tonight?” You balk, “You know, you’re actually the worst.”

His hands grip your shoulders, shaking you with far too much force than needed, “You’re a lifesaver, thank you.”

He’s long gone and buried in a phone call before you grumble a disgruntled, “You’re welcome.”

-

You consider later that evening that disclosing the recent…activities around your apartment complex would have been a good idea, especially with someone as high profile as Lucien taking up space in your one bedroom apartment.

Three break-ins in the past two weeks, noisy and unruly neighbors both above and sandwiching you—it wasn’t exactly peaceful or safe, but it was something. 

You wait with a creeping anxiety as you tap your chopsticks against the homemade ramen you’ve made for yourself, one true moment of happiness in the day as you’re finally sitting down to relax, feet aching terribly.

It was coffee runs and constant back and forths over forgotten supplies or paperwork—it was the perfect job to keep you active and on your toes, never sure when someone might blow up on you for whatever reason it may be—you were nothing special, helpful, but when it came down to it, you were more or less in the way, so you often made yourself small out of habit. 

The knock that startles you is hurried, like a panic. It sends your heart rate skyrocketing but your name echoes on the other side of the door, scrambling to open the door, you’re faced with two men.

The agent, James, a decent man despite his unorganized and erratic personality—and Lucien, a piss poor disguise covering his face.

You snort, addressing the ball cap and sunglasses with an amused expression, it was doing nothing to cover the instantly recognizable wispy brown hair of his and aquiline nose—the upcoming king of stage and screen. It was a wonder he even made it here in one piece.

“A natural chameleon,” You joke, widening your door to let them inside—the apartment was clean, thankfully. You’d scramble to get home after work and pick up, given you didn’t have much time to actually prepare, “seriously—get inside before someone clocks you.”

The agent stays though, like his feet were planted.

“He’s all yours,” He tells you, “you’ve got my number—don’t let him leave. I’ll check in when I can. Keep an eye out for paps.”

“Hey, no—” You interject, watching as the agent turned on his heels and departed, “we didn’t agree to—”, turning the corner with a shout of a long, helpless, “that!”

You sigh with a deep frown, turning over your shoulder to find Lucien with a chopstick in hand, noodle dangling from the utensil with a curious face, sniffing it cautiously. 

“Hey!” You chastise, plucking the chopstick from his fingers, “Stop that.”

He looks at you curiously, obviously taken aback by your tone of voice and lack of intimidation by him, like a startled cat.

Jesus, okay.

You force a calming breath through your nose and look up at him, “Would you like some?”

“Is it gluten free?” Lucien inquires, peering over your shoulder at the still steaming hot bowl of soup.

“Actually, yeah,” Your brow furrows, “it—it is.”

“Sure,” He shrugs, beginning to remove his cap and glasses, along with his jacket, resting them haphazardly on the kitchen island as he takes a seat on the only other unoccupied barstool in your kitchen.

“Oh no,” You swiftly rectify his actions, “we’re not doing this—there’s a coat rack for a reason and a shelf by the door for things like,” You walk toward the front door, hand circling the object like a cherished belonging, “keys—sunglasses, hats,” You stress the final two words and point at the items before jutting your thumb frustratingly at the door, “—if you don’t mind, while I make your dinner.”

It was clear he’s spent most of the past several years with people ready and waiting on him, never questioning or ordering around, but it was basic human decency, you weren’t going to allow him to be amiss to it.

He obliges quietly, a surprise to you. You hide the satisfied smirk as you pour the broth into the bowl along with the noodles before placing the bowl on his side of the island, placing another dish near him, scattered with different toppings.

Lucien looks silently intrigued, the ends of his mouth curling down in interest as he sprinkles various toppings over his food, beginning to eat silently as you return to your own meal.

After a long enough silence and Lucien’s occasional slurping you decide to set a hard boundary, given the various personalities you’ve dealt with in the industry, it was you being proactive out of habit.

“Let me be clear, I’m not doing this out of the goodness of my heart,” You inform him, locking eyes with his intense stare, something you hadn’t forgotten, not since the on-set incident, “This is still my home. Don’t be an asshole about it.”

“James said you were a firecracker,” Lucien smirks slightly, resting his chopsticks along the top of the bowl, “and a little bit of a bitch, but—”

“Good, he hasn’t lost his mind then.”

“Don’t worry, I’m a professional at this shit now. You won’t even know I’m here.”

Highly unlikely, you think.

He even makes a point by grabbing his bowl and emptying it before placing it in the sink before extending his hand out to your own bowl. You watch him wash the dishes, something that looks unnatural, but you aren’t going to complain.

“You always cook like that?” Lucien asks curiously over the running water, head turning over his shoulder briefly.

“No, only Friday. I never have time otherwise, work is…busy,” A generous way to describe it, but Lucien doesn’t seem to care or question, drying off the last dish before extending his hands out by his side in a grand gesture.

Maybe he was expecting a roaring applause, but you don’t give him the satisfaction. You offer him a genuine thank you but it doesn’t extend beyond that before you’re trailing a few feet over toward the living room, a clean pillow and blanket draped over the couch, along with a fitted sheet if he felt like using it. It was all unmade, allowing him to set it up himself.

“Also,” You clasp your hands together at your front, “James didn’t mention this because I didn’t tell him but we’ve had a string of break-ins for a while now, so—always keep the deadbolt locked. Please.”

His eyes widen, looking around the apartment for the quickest escape. You were on the seventh floor, the only other escape option was a less than reliable balcony that you barely used.

“I have a bat,” You tell him, before pointing toward the door beside the entrance, “in the shoe closet, but I think we’re okay.”

“Think?”

You shrug, “It hasn’t happened yet, but the police have shit response time around here.”

Lucien looks overwhelmed, but nods.

“Oh, and the neighbors like to have really loud sex—walls are thin. Have fun.”

“No puedo creer esta mierda—” He mumbles under his breath as you turn your back, a sharp flap of a sheet, and a short laugh from you follows.

“Blame your agent, Lucien.”

He didn’t think you’d understand him, but your astute hearing proved otherwise. 

Lucien was putting on an act with his gesture, clearly. 

He doesn’t respond, pouting his way through the process of setting up his new bed for the next couple weeks in silence, ignoring the soft click to your door as you turn in for the night, the creeping and soft city noises filtering in through the thin apartment walls.

It wouldn’t be an easy night but he's never really liked big, empty houses anyways.

—

The weekend is uneventful; you fear it might be a dream, too good to be true, a complete fluke.

Maybe he had a change of heart overnight, but Lucien is overly polite.

He deconstructs his bed both mornings, packing it away in a corner of the living room, listening to the television at a reasonable volume with fresh coffee in the coffee pot, he cleans up his dishes and leaves a marginal mess. 

The real kicker—he has the ability to keep the toilet seat down with your now shared bathroom attached to your bedroom, a real…gentleman. 

You eyed him suspiciously most of the day, when he’s unaware and preoccupied, wondering when the facade would drop. Does he even remember the coffee incident? 

He had to, right?

He approaches with a silent gesture of his emptied cup as you fill your own.

Fine—you pull the cup from his grip and fill it to the brim, sliding it back over carefully.

He sips gingerly as he raises it to his lip before speaking, “S’good coffee.”

“Thanks,” You answer nonchalantly, pouring a generous amount of sugar and cream into your coffee and stirring, watching as the dark black lightened into a soft brown, “are you a coffee guy?”

“I’m an anything guy,” Lucien responds, “but—good, it’s good. I’m impressed.”

“Why?” You ask with a little more bark than needed, a flippant tone rounding out your morning irritation as you readied for work. “Are you—you really don’t remember, do you?”

Lucien raised his eyebrows in question, expectant.

“Your last job, up in Hollywood Hills. You spilled coffee all over me, blamed me, then got me suspended for a week, because of your outburst. I barely managed rent that month”

His eyes narrow, recollecting the thought like he’d been stricken with temporary amnesia.

“You’re all so much of the same, y’know?” You continue, sipping generously from your cup as his face relaxes, following your movements with a casual glance. “Cocky, egotistical, little dicked men. Without me you wouldn’t have that ridiculous fifteen dollar hyper whateverthefuck water you insisted you needed in your trailer, or your dry cleaning? God forbid. Seriously, fuck you.”

“Wait—” Lucien staunches, hold his hand up in pause, “hold on—”

You wait for approximately half a second before you roll your eyes, pushing beyond him to gather your bag and keys, “You know, I don’t need a disingenuous apology. I’m not doing this as a favor. I’m being paid.”

James had lied to him, that much he was figuring out as he processed the situation. You weren’t someone offering up free charity, a helping hand for a starving actor in need—except that wasn’t the case for him. Despite his team's careful guidance; he was a repeat offender of bad choices and money management, a part-time alcoholic, and a serial flirt. He knew how to play his hand and he was good at it, but with you—it was clear that you were a challenge.

But, it was only a couple weeks. He could survive that. He was a people person first and foremost and he’d charm the hell out of you if given the opportunity. 

“James said he’d be by in an hour to pick you up for your meetings today���lock the door when you leave. Please.”

Still speechless, he watches you leave with a stiff, crisp shut of the door.

He couldn’t remember, racking his brain for one incident after another. His own fair share made him cringe in hindsight, but he…couldn’t remember. He’d almost hoped you were a fresh face, leaving him free of judgment, but it was clear that this situation was about pure survival.

-

“You did do that,” James confirmed to him as they left the first brand meeting that morning, “It was the morning of the big awards show—you remember?” He doesn’t wait for Lucien’s response, continuing, “Poor kid got her ass chewed out and had to take a trip to the clinic for the burns. It was��a mess. Never cried, though. I’ll give her that.”

And, like a strike of a match, it floods back. You’re shocked expression, mouth slightly agape as the sting of pain settled in, bracing for the impact of Lucien’s wrath because you knew. A man allergic to accountability, oozing power, it was almost too easy.

“Shit.”

“Yeah. Apologies seem pointless now, but it could help. But…be genuine.”

“I’m genuine.”

James gives him a certain look, one that argues otherwise.

“I am.”

Only time would tell, really.

By the end of your work day, it was with great relief as you stepped through the door of your apartment until you remembered one fine detail you had told Lucien more than once.

Lock the door.

The eeriness hits you as the door clicks shut behind you, the place falling into a dead silence for a brief moment, your bag hitting the counter as you maneuvered your keys between your fingers, ready to take on what you could with what little strength you had to offer.

Just maul their face off, that seemed like the best option.

You count the seconds in your head, breath held tight and constricted in your chest. You quickly check the available pathways—living room, kitchen, before slipping down the hall, left with the only room to flee if not away from your apartment.

Bedroom light off, not a thing out of place, pristine even—but your eyes track toward the bathroom light seeping underneath the gap in the door. With careful, measured movements you approach the door although you haven’t thought through the actual process of what you wanted to do.

But, before you can react the door is swinging open as the bathroom is plunged into darkness, revealing a sopping wet Lucien, towel tied tight around his waist as he slings a smaller one over his shoulders, completely relaxed until he spots you.

Both of you scream—you out of anger and fear, Lucien at the incoming hand that he snatches by the wrist, your eyes landing on each other, your nostrils flaring in frustration.

“You’re insane!” Lucien shouts, shoving your hand away, “You nearly tore my face off.”

“I thought you were an intruder,” You seethe, “—what kind of maniac showers with the front door unlocked while home alone?”

“You said you had a bat,” Lucien excuses, “I could have defended myself.”

You sigh, plucking the keys from your grip before you toss them on your bed, stepping away from Lucien and away from the radiating heat of his body as it glistened, obnoxiously.

“Get out,” You snap, “get out—go—”

“I was just gonna…grab my clothes and come change in,” He weakly gestures toward the bathroom, earning a sharp look of distaste in his direction, “alright—alright, Jesus.”

He pauses for a moment, though. Before the lightbulb clicks on and he’s scrambling into the living room and back in record time, shoving a small white envelope into your hands.

“What is this?” You ask tensely, blindly ripping at the seal as you stare at him.

“It’s uh—what I owe you, for the coffee thing. I…I remember now. Figured I could pay you for the work I made you miss…is that about right?”

You peer at the wad of cash. It was indeed, enough.

“You’re unbelievable,” You reply, shaking your head.

It gives him false hope, wondering if it was all going to be brushed under the rug and that he could continue the rest of his stay in a somewhat semblance of peace, but then your expression flips and oh…that’s not…

“Are you physically incapable of saying the words “I’m sorry”—would it kill you? Allergic to accountability? God, you know what, I’m gonna call James and tell him I just can’t do—”

“No,” Lucien panics, hand around your bicep as you attempt to push past him, immediately recognizing the fierceness of his grip he loosens it, calms himself, “no—please, listen…I…I didn’t think you’d care enough to hear it. I do remember now and I was a dick, I was trying to offer a gesture of good faith. Peace, even?”

“Is this even your money?” You ask curiously, brow furrowed as you help up the envelope.

“Yeah, yeah—I pulled it out of my savings. Why? Do you…not want it?”

You quickly snatch the envelope away, “No, I’ll take it. But, words mean a lot. Like calling me an ignorant little bitch.”

“Okay, okay. I am sorry. I had a lot going on and I know that isn’t an excuse either, but I am.”

You tilt your head in examination, peering through the raw emotion on his face, whether he was putting on a masterclass in acting or not, it was believable enough. You could remain bitter, even if it meant suffering in silence, but you liked the peace just as much as he, so you compromise.

“You still have to get out,” You inform him, walking your fingers tauntingly toward the door, “and I swear, Lucien, if you used all the hot water—”

-

Lucien was insistent about rehearsing at least five hours a day, even on weekends. Luckily, most of those days you were spared, but when you’re barricaded away in your bedroom, sound travels. And Lucien doesn't care much to stifle his performance, maybe it was a weapon to backfire at your inconsiderate neighbors, but it was driving you insane.

He’s stuck on one scene, clearly a building tension that explodes and apparently he can’t nail, having heard the lines a hundred times over through the muffled walls—your first instinct was to complain, tell him take it elsewhere, but you remember your deal with James. Lucien just needed a place to stay for a while and this was his job.

Eventually, you poke your head through your bedroom door with a cautious expression, watching Lucien examine his face in the mirror, filing through various emotions before he finally gives up, tossing the script against the counter.

He spots you as he turns, already gearing up to apologize or maybe even excuse—but instead, you speak.

“Is it for an audition?”

“How’d you know?”

“The yelling, the emotion—I guess? I help on set with self tapes from time to time. I’ve learned to spot the difference between just memorizing lines and trying to feel the script.”

Lucien pushes his lips out in thought, tongue rolling over his teeth as his hands settle against his hips, pushing the sweatpants lower on his hips as he stands, deliberating.

“Just ask,” You tell him.

“You any good?”

It was a genuine question, not meant to attack your own ego. Besides, it makes you laugh.

“I’ll get your good side,” You promise him, surfacing from your room as you beckon for his phone with your hand, getting straight to work.

It only takes a few minutes to find a solid place to set up, against one of your cream colored walls, pictureless and plain, but with ample lighting from inside and out, it highlighted the wispy grays in Lucien’s untamed curls hanging over his forehead, the wrinkles creasing there as he looked down at the script and examined the text.

“Do you have them memorized?” 

Lucien nods absently, his finger trailing down the side of the paper until it was suddenly gone, snatched from his hands with a smile on your face as you pointed for him to slide into frame. You take a step back, watching the screen with a careful eye before motioning with a finger for him to move a few centimeters to the left, “There. Perfect.”

You flatten out the creased paper as you speak, “From the top?”

Lucien smiles halfheartedly—the stress washing from his face for a moment—and nods.

–

You could keep up, that much was obvious.

Lucien is used to the monotone voice on the other side of the camera during auditions, forced tones and half-cocked emotion, it was hard to act against and with, but he’s learned to push through for the sake of a role. 

It was an emotional scene, almost a requirement to have that intensity to act against and Lucien caught your eye line at one point, face buried in the script as you uttered the lines with teary eyes, letting your own emotion fill you to the brim and flow out, giving him a real and authentic reaction to act against.

He watched it back with a grin, mostly out of his own cocky admiration for himself but the secret you’ve been hoarding, a welcome surprise.

“Have you never considered acting?” Lucien asks curiously, emailing the video off to his agent.

“Cameras are daunting,” You shrug, folding and filing away some freshly washed towels as Lucien reclined on your couch, “I prefer being behind them.”

“You’re a natural,” He offers honestly, “that’s really rare.”

You shake your head in amusement as you riffled through the unfolded laundry, separating in different piles until you come across a no longer white blouse, stained a soft pink—and of course, Lucien. It was Lucien who offered to take laundry down the night prior, needing a moment away from being cooped up in the apartment, swearing he had it under control.

“I told you not to put this in the wash load with the colors! Look at this—” You held up the obviously stained blouse, crumpling up the fabric and tossing it to the couch with a frustrated huff.

“To be fair, it’s been years since I did my own laundry,” Lucien responds casually, “—don’t worry, I’ll have James buy you another.”

Your face twitches, actually twitches.

“No, no—it…it’s fine. It’s only a shirt,” You tuck a loose hair behind your ear as you heave the towels into your arm, “just—whites and colors, always separate them.”

And while living with Lucien had mellowed out some, it was still tumultuous at times.

Fighting over the bathroom was a regular occurrence, both of you guilty. But, that could be worked through, it wasn’t the end of the world. Occasionally it was the lights, a bad habit of Lucien’s to leave them lingering in his wait, lamps and fixtures, nothing was safe. Opened cabinets, items forgotten and out of place. It was all tedious and frustrating, picking and choosing your battles as they came, brushing far too much under the rub for the sake of peace.

You knew it was almost over, enjoying a quiet night to yourself while Lucien was apparently out at dinner—you weren’t sure, you didn’t really care, but you enjoyed the glimpse of what was to return to you, tucked away on the couch while half-dressed, hand stuffed into a freshly popped bowl of popcorn.

It was Friday and your neighbors never failed to come home from a rowdy night of partying with everything but sleeping on their mind, getting straight to business and your grab for the remote was immediate, turning up the volume to drown out the obnoxious moans and groans of drunk sex happening on the other side of the wall.

Lucien arrives back somewhere near the middle of the movie, the soft laughs from you pulling his attention to the couch as he clocked the nineties rom-com on the television, your cheek resting against your balled up fist, placing his wallet against the counter to signal his entrance.

“Loud enough for you?” Lucien jokes, approaching the singular piece of furniture in your living room, fingertips pressing against the arm of the couch as he takes in your appearance, shirt barely reaching beyond mid-thigh, thick socks keeping you warm as you curled in on yourself, careless that Lucien was definitely looking you make a noise in question, the words processing in a delayed manner.

You reach for the remote, pausing the movie briefly to reveal the reason; the insistent thump of wood against cheap sheetrock and moans, squealy and high-pitched, forcing a raised eyebrow from Lucien that needed no words.

“Nevermind,” He concedes,hands thrown up in defeat with a chuckle hidden behind his teeth, walking closer to examine the screen, filing through his internal rolodex of films and drawing a blank.

“Are you going to keep standing there like a total weirdo or are you going to watch the movie?” You ask with a joking tone, tucking your feet underneath you as you made room, glancing down at your phone as a notification brought the screen to life.

Lucien catches the faint tug of a smile on your face as you type away, clicking the phone into sleep mode a few moments later before continuing the movie without a word.

You’re not sure which one of you succumbs to sleep first, but it didn’t matter, finding that you both aligned together easily as you slept, covered with a blanket that Lucien must have snatched somewhere near without disturbing you—and when you wake in the middle of the night, complex quiet throughout, you can’t even find it in you to move.

–

Lucien’s length of stay was diminishing quickly and you were relieved, only a few more days and things would be back to normal, you’d be three thousand dollars richer, and you wouldn’t have to confront the fact that Lucien wasn’t entirely as bad as he seemed, temper aside.

You’re both on your way out the door on a weekday morning when you spot him, navy blue hoodie draping his body, one you favored because of its size and comfortability.

“That’s mine,” You utter as you’re fisting your keys into your hand and tucking a makeup applicator away in your bag, “that’s…mine—why is it on your body?”

Lucien looks down, perplexed. He could’ve swore…

“It’s mine, I swear,” You’re peering over his shoulder and pulling at the collar, examining the tag by his neck, or lack thereof—you always cut them out, hated the feeling against your skin.

“It’s mine,” You say with finality, “But, it’s fine. I’ve been meaning to replace it anyways. And now that you’ve worn it, definitely.”

“Ouch,” Lucien chuckles, shaking his head at your bluntness, “I guess I deserve that. I did think it was mine, though. Swear. Must’ve gotten mixed up somehow.”

 “Oh, well, just burn it now—oh, shit, before I forget,” You point your finger at his chest, stopping him in his tracks, “I’ve got a date tonight. I’ll more than likely be gone when you get back here. I’m leaving a key under the mat, you know the deal. Respect it…protect it like you give a shit if anything happens, it’s all I have.”

“Date?” Lucien teases, “Sounds—”

“We’re not doing this,” You cut him short, finger raising higher in reprimand, “don’t do that.”

Again, Lucien values his well-being, so he admits defeat. 

It was difficult for him, his eagerness to please and charm, to command the conversation and impress—but with you, it was impossible. Truly, it was mesmerizing to him.

It was several hours later when Lucien arrived at the apartment, pointedly locking the door behind him as you had reminded him several times—he wasn’t completely aloof.

His orders takeout on a whim, disguised under a fake name and the careful directions to leave at the door, having practiced the art of subtly when it came to laying low, enjoying a couple beers from a pack James had bought him as a small celebration for a week of good, decent meetings. 

Things had been looking up recently and it made Lucien unsettled in a way, but thankful nonetheless, sipping at the beer generously and relaxing well into the night, dusk turning to black skies and few twinkling star lights, drowned out by the thick smog of city pollution. It started raining eventually, a soft pattern picking up gradually and he, for natural reasoning, is slightly concerned. So, he stays up despite some lingering exhaustion, barely hitting a quarter beyond eight o’clock when the door handle rattles, soft curses on the other side of the door that send him to his feet, peering through the peephole to spot a sufficiently blurry outline of you.

And what he opens the door to is not what he’s expecting, although, he wasn’t even sure what he was expecting in the first place, but this…it wasn’t it.

You were wet, clothes dripping and rain water pooling at your feet, everything sticking to you like an uncomfortable glue, cold and shivering, your bottom lip trembling.

Without thinking, Lucien shifts into action. 

He doesn’t ask a single question, not at first. Silently pulling the items off of you as you allow him; keys and purse first, clanging against the counter before he’s pulling your coat of, blouse, even kneeling down to remove your shoes before he’s carrying the clothes to the bathroom with you in tow, turning on the shower until it was steaming up the mirrors, heat radiating through the room as you pulled at the button of your jeans weakly, fumbling with cold and feeble hands.

He holds his hands up, careful not to approach in a way that would startle you or force you into attack mode, which seemed unlikely with the disheartened look on your face and he asks quietly, “Do you need help?”

You’re quiet for a long, tense moment before you nod, trying to quell the full body shivers as he assists you in stripping down to your underwear, also soaked. He pulls the curtain back and helps you over the side of the tub with the solid weight of his hand and speaks again despite your silence, “I’ll wait in your room—do you need anything?”

It doesn’t take a genius to piece things together as Lucien settles against the edge of the bed and it angers him for some forlorn reason, a feeling he hasn’t experienced in a long time. When the shower cuts off, he straightens, hesitates—should he leave? 

You’d want privacy, right? Yeah. No, definitely.

He rises to his feet without another thought, his awful timing sending you straight into his chest as you swung the door open, towel snug around your body and smelling sharply of fresh, citrus body wash.

“S-sorry,” You stammer out, “you don’t—you don’t have to wait around, Lucien. Or give a shit, either. I don’t expect you to and I don’t care—”

It was unusually cold. He’s become familiar with your snark, that sharp and cunning personality, but this was different. This was a push, a defense of hard and impenetrable walls building up before his eyes and he speaks without thinking, hoping that it slips through the cracks.

“Regardless, I’ll listen,” Lucien provides—it wasn’t an overwhelming expression of fake, forced care or, god forbid, love. But, it was a raw enough response that it grabs your attention, “—if you want me to.”

—

He cranked up the heat while you dressed, flipped open his leftover takeout, and listened. You weren’t used to this and for a while, you were half-expecting him to find a way to turn the situation on himself, a sob story for a sob story. But, he doesn’t.

“This sushi…” You savor the taste, eyes falling closed.

“Good, isn’t it?” Lucien smirks, popping another into his mouth with careful precision, chopsticks in hand.

You could cry, it was such a strong and startling feeling that it caught you off-guard, “Yeah, really good.”

You clear your throat, tears shoved aside, “Have you ever ditched a date before?”

Lucien shakes his head with a subtle frown.

“Right, Lucien De Leon,” You respond jokingly, that magical emphasis around his name, “any woman would be dying for all of….this,” You gesture to him lazily with a faux disgust that couldn’t even be forced, both of you divulging into a laugh.

“Hey, you said it,” Lucien shrugs with a pointed wink that you shouldn’t find so attractive, but the natural charm he emits makes it impossible, “—but, no. Can’t say I have.”

“Even the ones who wouldn’t put out?”

“At the risk of sounding like an asshole—“ Lucien begins, but you follow the rhythm of the conversation and it isn’t long before the lightbulb strikes on and you’re nodding.

“Right, you probably don’t have an issue in that department. Stupid question, sorry.”

You pluck the last piece of sushi off the styrofoam and chew, speaking behind your hand, “I should’ve known that dude was a prick, only stared at my tits the entire date.”

Out of reflex, his eyes drag to your chest and you click the movement in an instant, “Not helping,” You warn him lightly, “I guess I was too blunt, he kept…touching me. I told him I didn’t feel comfortable going back to his place, he made some excuse to go to the bathroom and I waited for a half hour. Until the server came by with the bill—so, not only did he ditch me, I paid a hundred dollar tab and I didn’t even eat my food.”

Even in Lucien’s wild days, he couldn’t imagine doing that. Not when he was drinking more heavily, partying, hooking up on a daily basis—before his first failed marriage, it was foreign to him. 

“You could’ve called me, or James, shit—an uber.”

“Phone died,” You shrug lamely, “it doesn’t matter, anyways. And don’t get me wrong, casual sex—it’s fine, but I got too hopeful, I guess. All men are the same.”

“Come on,” Lucien jests, “that’s not fair.”

“Fine, enlighten me, then.”

“You can’t expect fairytale shit—I mean, I’m one failed marriage and plenty of missteps in my life. Do you think I’m a bad guy?”

“Do you want me to answer that honestly?” 

Lucien sighs in defeat, scratching at his mused hair as he tosses the empty food container aside.

“I’m fucking with you,” You offer in a quieter tone—even if you weren’t friends with him, he didn’t have to put in the effort to help or listen, but he was, “I’m—just, thank you.”

“I’m in good graces now?” Lucien asks curiously, that playful mischief gracing his face with a smile.

You make a motion with your hand from your head as you grab, like pulling a thought and throwing it away, “Coffee incident? Forgotten—unless you pull some heinous shit.”

“You know, I might actually miss this,” His finger does a swirling motion, encompassing your living room, “you—eh,” a shaky hand motion that earns a jab to his thigh from your foot, “shit, ouch—that was a joke.”

“I know,” You concede with a smirk, “—I won’t, though. I want my couch back. And my bathroom.”

“If it makes you feel better, I think you’re a catch,” He tells you, “although, I do like the ones that bite, so—“

You reach forward this time, swatting playful at his chest with the back of your hand, but his fast reflexes beat you, your fingers smacking into solid rings.

He snickers softly and examines the grimace on your face as you pull back, “Pobrecita,” He coos mockingly, reaching for your hand and pressing a gentle kiss against the skin, “see what I mean?”

You ignore the heat that strikes through your body like a freshly lit match, pulling your hand away with a distinct eye roll. 

He’d be gone soon and this would all be a ridiculous memory to think back on. 

There was no room for newly evolving feelings, or worse, infatuation. 

—

The three months you spend falling back into your normal routine is monotonous, safe, but the kind of security that has you itching for change. You find yourself checking on Lucien more often than you should, regular social media checks, the occasional subtle question to James when you happened to catch him on set. It wasn’t healthy, but you couldn’t help yourself. 

He did seem more erratic, often coming across other quick clips and social media stories of him at the club during waking hours, pure reckless abandon, he was having the time of his life—you couldn’t blame him, but it was…slightly alarming.

It was a Saturday night when all hell broke loose, police sirens raining down the street as you raced to your open window, peering down at the obscured face of a man in cuffs as he was roughly shoved into a police car before there’s a pounding knock at the door, your heart nearly bursting out of your chest at the sound.

Turning on your heels and swinging the door open, you can’t help but find yourself speechless at the sight.

“Think they caught your burglar,” Lucien notes under his baseball cap, eyes catching the cascading red and blue lights outside your window, duffel bag at his feet and a regretful look on James’ face.

You tilt your head at the discovery, your brain working overtime before your eyes widen.

“Just hear him out,” He pleads with prayer like hands, phone sandwiched between two begging palms, “Lucien—go,”

Lucien seems to stutter-step in his mind, not expecting to be the one leading this proposition as he side-eyes James, “I…need a place to stay…again,” Lucien squints his eyes and stares up at the ceiling, looking almost embarrassed, “for the next six months.”

“No,” You nearly shout out incredulously, “the first time wasn’t a trial run.”

There’s a long moment of tense eye contact and uncertainty.

An underlying worry in your gut at the sight of Lucien, a little worse for wear but still mostly himself, gripping tightly at his carry-on bag in his hand, thumb rubbing nervously at the leather strap.

Goddammit.

–

He’s paying the entire six months of rent he planned on staying there while he filmed for a movie they were shooting a short ten minute drive from your complex, a quaint little studio gracious enough to let the crew film free of charge—he’d given you the whole spiel, in one ear and out the other still wondering how you’ve tangled yourself in this web again.

“Can I just ask you one thing?” You inquire, helping him file away some of his clothes in a drawer you had emptied out for him like this was normal. He makes a soft noise of acknowledgment with his lips pursed together, tired sunken eyes staring back at you, “Why not get your own apartment? A house? I mean, you’ve got the money?”

Lucien clears his throat, scratching at his neck where it jostles his chains, fingers slipping under the silk fabric of his shirt, “I, uh—feel weird…livingalone,” He rushes out, quickly turning to grab more clothes as you stand, hand placed against the top of your dresser as your brow furrows, feeling like you’d just fallen deaf.

“Come again?”

A small huff as Lucien passes a stack of expensive shirts, material that had to be ethically sourced or…some bullshit like that, he’s told you the story before in passing.

“I don’t like living alone, ‘s why I float,” He offers lamely, tossing the empty duffel into the corner of your room—you’d pick it up later, it didn’t matter, “I left all my old stuff to my ex-wife, it was easier that way.”

Often you had to remind yourself that Lucien was older, nearing his late forties while you were still managing through your late twenties, a big thirty on the horizon.

It dawns on you then that you don’t know much about Lucien at all outside of tabloids and gossip sites, the rumor mills running through Hollywood—you often find yourself reminding you of the fact he was still a person, with troubles, clearer now more than ever.

“It wasn’t always like this,” He assures you, “I’m a fuckin’ mess, I already know.”

“I think we’re beyond judgment, Lucien,” You assure him, “You saw me sobbing and nearly naked—just keep this place clean, like you give a shit about it, alright?”

Lucien nods dutifully, “Yes, ma’am.”

–

You learn quickly that his long term stay meant that little quirks were beginning to surface—always organizing your things out on the sink opposite of his own, a small gesture that didn’t go unnoticed when you were rushing out the door on days he wasn’t given a call time. Or how he always made sure there was food waiting when he arrived before you—takeout or not. He wasn’t a great cook, but he could manage.

In turn, you tried to cook more often. And he loved to hover, but not with a homey, warm feeling that made you feel safe, rather like a curious dog nipping at your ankles. And more so, he would finish his own plate before looking cautiously at your own before you nod, allowing him to pick from your plate with a greediness that made you giggle under your breath.

“My ex-wife never cooked,” He had told you once, “I mean, she tried—but she was terrible. And this,” His tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek as he steps at the homemade ravioli, “is there anything you can’t do?”

“Say no, apparently,” You gave him a solid once-over, a look from head to toe—he’s never offended anymore, taking the playful jest in stride, it had already been a month and it was beginning to feel like normal, again, having him there.

Your conflicting schedules meant a lot of time away from each other, which wasn’t bad. It almost helped more than you expected and while your apartment wasn’t well-fit for a roommate, Lucien made the place feel less empty.

You couldn’t say it out loud, but you were starting to understand the charm. You could see beyond the facade and the persona—a troubled man with ambition, purpose, but a mountain of struggles. The drinking wasn’t a surprise, nor his uptick in smoking. He always smoked out the window so the smell wouldn’t permeate, but the drinking started to become…an issue. 

It wasn’t that Lucien couldn’t handle himself when he drank, but he often did it to fill the dead time—so he said—when you were still at work, fighting with his own demons in his mind. He always ended up on your bed those nights, curled up in a fetal position at the wrong end and you couldn’t find it in yourself to move him, draping a blanket over him before you decided to spend the night on the couch. It was a weekly occurrence after a while, slowly growing in frequency.

He always apologizes, tells you he won’t do it again, but eventually you find yourself melding around him, sleeping in a way that keeps you comfortable and doesn’t disturb him. You don’t judge him, don’t think any lower of him—but there was concern and Lucien could see it growing with every passing conversation as the weeks dragged along. 

By the third month, the dam breaks.

You don’t sugarcoat anything for him either.

“Do you need rehab?” You ask bluntly, watching him peel the gold-flaked under eye patches from his face, shoulder leaned against the doorframe, “Or, like, therapy?”

“I’m not an alcoholic,” He defends, washing his hands under the warm water, “I can get sober if I wanna, but it helps with the stress, you know?”

“No,” You respond honestly, but softly, “I don’t. Unless this is just some big excuse for you to sleep in my bed, which if it is—”

Lucien chuckles, toweling his hands dry, “You caught me.”

“You would tell me if it was getting bad, wouldn’t you?”

It seemed like the least he could do, considering how greatly you were carrying the burden for him by allowing him to stay in the comfort of your own home, treating him like a human. You ignored the tabloids anymore, always negative and nefarious toward him, like he wasn’t allowed to make a few mistakes along the way. He had to be perfect, given his troubling start in the industry. DUIs, cheating, eventually settling down to marry but that didn’t work out great for him either—you’d done some research lately, out of pure curiosity to understand what he wasn’t always willing to share, but you preferred to hear it from him.

Lucien squeezes at your chin in a comforting manner that makes you grimace in feigned disgust, forcing a gentle laugh through your nose as he answers, “Yes, I would.”

–

When he should, he doesn’t. 

Award season was approaching and work was hectic, Lucien had wrapped on his next project and his previous one was gearing for a big release and line of promos, which meant Lucien had to be on his game.

The lamp in your living was broken, a shattered glass bottle on the floor beside it, a trail of clothes following to your room and a heat in the apartment that was sweltering in a way that had you stripping down immediately to the thinnest layer you could manage without getting to your underwear, jeans and a thin strapped top as you walked barefoot toward your room.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting or hoping for, but it isn’t this.

He’s naked, completely bare, save for the blanket draping his groin to save his modesty, out cold but skin obviously clammy, reeking of alcohol and sweat and you can’t help scrambling to the floor, unable to form any type of tangible sound. You check for a pulse, fearing that you might have just found yourself in an inescapable scandal, but it was there. That soft thump, thump, thump under your fingertips before you press the back of your hand to his skin and despite the sweat, he’s cold. He must have sweat out most of the alcohol in his system, your eyes dragging to the forgotten bottle on the ground.

You sigh, eyes falling closed as you gather your thoughts. You devise a plan, slow and methodical—first was to clean, grabbing the clothes and broken glass from the ground, leaving no trace of his mayhew before you’re returning to your room and straight for the bathroom, immediately turning on the cold water, the stream forceful as it pushed through the showerhead.

“Fuck,” You curse to yourself as you glance at Lucien who is mostly dead-weight, struggling to understand how you can get him from one point to another—with another quiet huff you approach him, shifting until you can get your arms under his armpits and heave him up, blanket falling from his waist as you yelp, eyes shooting toward the ceiling as you continue to drag his slumped body toward the tub, “okay—god, Lucien, you fucking owe me.”

It takes some maneuvering and the unbelievability that you are so incredibly close to his bare ass and dick in a way that most would fall over backwards for, regardless of the situation—it felt wrong, seeing him in such a manner and so completely helpless, but you shove the thought aside as you finally get him in the tub, the cold water waking him almost immediately.

It starts with a gasp, a sharp tug of the curtain and coarse, “Shit,” that assures you he was alive and well, coherent, even. A small smile tugs at your lips as you hear him let out a string of curses before he finally settles.

“There’s a bottle of water and some Advil on the counter—take it,” You instruct behind the curtain, “I’m going to grab dinner—try not to hurt yourself, please.”

He doesn’t acknowledge you, not that you expected it. And it doesn’t take long to grab the food either, calling it in and driving there and back in about twenty minutes, finding Lucien freshly showered and sitting on the stool near the counter, eyes telling a story of exhaustion but his insistently bouncing leg telling another.

“Chicken or steak?” You ask nonchalantly, holding the styrofoam containers in both hands.

He takes a moment to answer, unsettled by your calmness, “...steak.”

You hand it over without a question, grabbing a couple drinks before you’re digging in, standing opposite of him rather than sitting, eating in a silence that grows, thickens.

“It’s quiet,” You note the obvious before you scroll through your phone, searching for a soft tune to play through your speakers, something to fill the air, “better—how’s the food?”

“I like it,” Lucien responds with a full mouth, somehow endearing as he swallows and sips at the second water you offered him, attempting to help keep him hydrated, even if it was still annoyingly hot in your apartment, “—I…I think I broke your AC.”

“You did. I’ll put in a work order for it to get fixed,” You answer, a solution to the problem, “are you okay?”

If Lucien was being honest with himself, he can’t remember the last time anyone has asked him that—not genuinely, anyways. He falls silently, biting at his bottom lip in deep thought as his eyes squint, poking quietly at his food.

Talking was hard, you understood that. But, you hoped there was some trust built between you in the past few months, that you hadn’t laid your vulnerabilities out bare the night you came home rain soaked without the ability for him to share too. Plus, he’d broken your favorite lamp.

“It’s complicated,” Lucien diverts, but that doesn’t stop you, eyes lying in wait as you laid your utensil down to listen, “—I’ve got two kids. One, he’s eighteen…awesome, awesome kid. His name is Raynor. I didn’t meet him until a few years back, I’ve been tryin’ take make up for that. We even went on a roadtrip a couple summers back.”

Lucien fiddles with the cap on the water bottle idly, speaking further, “I, the other, my daughter, she’s a couple years old—it was a crazy night with a co-star,” You clock the information immediately, knowing who he was talking about without the confession, and he knew too—it wasn’t exactly a well kept secret in Hollywood as Delia was now married, to another co-star, raising that child, “a long story for another time, but we’re going through this nasty court battle.”

It would explain his financial situation a little, his willingness to take roles as he could, but the growing stress on his face as weeks passed, the tendency to hide or ignore the situation rather than face it—you understood, to a degree. 

“So, all the drinking? The transiency?”

“It just helps,” He shrugs—helps him forget, temporarily, before it all comes barreling back at him, “she wants to revoke shared custody—she’s got her more anyways, with my work and everything, but she wants to deem me unfit, make it—” Lucien’s throat tightens, exactly why he wanted to avoid this conversation entirely, “she wants to erase me and the moment the press gets wind—”

All hell would break loose. 

“Lucien, I don’t think it works that way,” You assure him, even if your knowledge was slim, “there’s…that's your right, she’s your child.”

“Given my history, the judge could consider it,” Lucien replies lackluster, ashamed, “look—I’m sorry to dump this shit on you, I fucked up your apartment, I can find another place to stay and I’ll pay out the rest of the rent like I promised.”

You look at him with a gentle expression, tilting your head until his eyes finally rise, “I asked,” You remind him, “and I hated that lamp anyways, so you did me a favor,” It was a lie, but given his emotional state it was acceptable, watching as he forced a weak laugh, “I’m not kicking you out either, if the media publishes anything about it, you hunker down here. I can deal with a few paps, you know? We do work in the same industry, after all. I may not understand the full scope but I do understand, Lucien.”

He returns a look with sad, red-rimmed eyes as you reach to clean up your shared dinner, before approaching him with a careful few steps, a hand gliding over his bicep and your fingers rubbing at the small dip in the back of neck, your first real initiation of genuine touch. He was a touchy person himself and seemed at ease by the feeling, your lips coming to press a soft kiss against his cheek. Kind, friendly, you pat at his back.

Something changes between that touch and the look he gives you as he turns, eyes flicking toward your lips out of desire, silently he pushes logic aside and leans forward, pulling your chin into his hand like he has before, a familiar touch followed by a foreign one, plush lips against your own that has you swimming in a mix of emotions, eyes falling shut briefly before you realize what was happening, lips parting slightly as the tip of his tongue touches your own before you’re ripping away, eyes wide.

“Oh my god,” You utter out, wishing the words had stayed inside of your head, “I, uh–I’m—”

You stutter relentlessly before you’re scrambling toward your room, door falling shut with a soft click as you sink into your sheets, heart racing uncontrollably and your hands covering your face, unable to face what you had just escaped from as a knock comes a few minutes later on your bedroom door.

You couldn’t face him. You couldn’t.

Eventually, he leaves. Slow footsteps that eventually lead toward another door that closes too, unsure of where he was wandering off to, but you couldn’t think about that, not with the conflicting, battling emotions in your head and chest, a startling yearning coming from just a simple touch.

He was everything you despised—somehow finding level ground, adoring him, caring about him, it was never supposed to go this far. He started as an inconvenience, a disruption to your life…and now, you weren’t sure you could imagine it without him there, in some form.

It takes a couple hours, already deep into your slumber, but the dip of weight in your bed startles you for a moment before the movements stop, the strong press of a back against yours, and an unspoken security that pulls you both under quickly.

He’d gone out drinking again, but at this point, you couldn’t blame him.

–

He awakes to a sweet smell, distinct and fresh. And air, cool air. It can’t be dawn, the sun is too far in the sky to be early morning. Lucien rises with a heavy grogginess, rubbing at his eyes as he finds his footing and walks toward the living room of your apartment, finding your back turned to him as you fiddled with the buttons on your AC as you bid someone goodbye, a man carrying a toolbox descending toward the hallway.

He gears up for an apology, the words balancing on the tip of his tongue.

Suddenly, you’re in front of him, two filled mugs in hand, coffee just the way he liked.

 And Lucien doesn’t know when or why the feeling overtakes him, but he kisses you again. It isn’t a simple peck. It was full, all-consuming, feet lifting off the ground type of kiss.

No, literally—you rise to your tiptoes as the cups jostle in your grip as two large, warm hands curl around your back and his lips melt against your own, earning a starling gasp that slips through slightly parted lips, followed by his name after a moment too long.

“Coffee, coffee,” You mumbled quickly, “hot—burning, my toes,” Lucien pulled away quickly at the words, watching as the tan liquid pooled at your feet before he rushed to clean up the mess.

You watch with an amused expression before you finally hand the cup of coffee over, “Good morning to you too, I guess,” You smirk, biting down on your cheek to stifle the laugh that was fighting it’s way out, “please don’t tell me you’re still drunk.”

“I need to apologize,” Lucien tells you, “...again—I’m—I’m sorry for kissing you—again, like that, assuming that was something you wanted. I got pulled into the moment—”

You’ve had all night and morning to think it over, mulling over the emotions and feelings, still not quite sure, but you couldn’t help the swirling feeling of nervousness that had grown more frequent in Lucien’s presence, his looks, his flirtatious nature and touches. You were under his spell completely.

And if you didn’t want to kiss him, you would have stopped him.

Besides, you didn’t want to be the bearer of more bad news after his terrible night, having been let go from your job position that morning, no notice—you were still reeling, but didn’t want to burden Lucien with the news.

You needed something else to occupy your mind.

“Drink,” You instruct, taking a seat on the couch as you sip at your coffee in silence, watching as Lucien mirrored your actions and sat at the opposite end, legs out-stretched and his chest on display, tanned skin with neatly trimmed chest hair, soft tummy leading into the charcoaled, stretchy lounge pants leaving little to imagination as he fidgeted in his seat.

“Where’d you go last night?”

Lucien’s face immediately flushes with guilt, “The—a bar. I didn’t drink. I swear, I—”

He makes a small noise of frustration and closes his eyes, “I did something stupid, I needed a distraction, alright? I shouldn’t have kissed you, that’s not what you wanted, I know that.”

With a silent reservation, you press the coffee cup into the table in front of you before slowly make your way toward him on your knees before you pluck the half-empty mug from his grip and return it to a similar spot, feeling a surge of bravery as you climb onto his lap—there’s some underlying stupidity there, you think. But, fuck it.

“You don’t know what I want,” You assure him, fingers dragging along the top of his head before you’re tugging at the stands to tilt his head back, kissing him soundly, sweet dark roast on your shared breaths as you lick into his mouth, the opposite hand pressed flat against his bare chest. It takes a while, but eventually his brain catches up, along with his movements, and his hands curl around your bare thighs, fingertips grazing the silk shorts you wore to bed the night prior, like butter against your soft skin as his fingers climb and dig, pressing into your skin as you continue to discover every inch of him he had to offer—mouth, tongue, neck, chest.

It was a dormant hunger that had awoken after careful thought and pure primal need, tired of waiting things out for perfection when you had something tangible in front of you.

He’s mumbling your name softly as you lean into him, the bottom of your lip dragging against the tip of his nose as he pulls you away, strong hands encompassing your face as he looks at you, searching your glazed over eyes, “What are you doing?” He asks, apparent concern.

“Distracting you,” You tell him, immediately diving back in to kiss him, nipping at his chin playfully, a shaking sigh falling from his lips, “are you distracted?”

He chuckles weakly, “What happened to me being a cocky, egotistical, little dicked man?”

“I can go back to hating you if you want,” You respond, nipping at his ear before you pull back to look at him, so close you can feel his breath against your lips, “If you’re into that sorta thing.”

He could see in your eyes that you needed this too, a way to shut your brain off for a while, months of failed dates you’ve told him all about, in detail, he can’t help but chuckle at your eagerness, stifling a groan as you core grinds against him, cock stiffening with the movement.

“Maybe,” He’s undecided, “we’ll see how this goes.”

You smile wide, feeling a surge of pride as he returns the kiss more fully, a hand twisting around the back of your neck as he kisses you fully, all wet and uncoordinated but it makes your heart flutter in excitement.

“Let me taste you,” He begs, clawing at your top in an attempt to get his hands on your skin, pushing up the fabric as you follow his movements, top off, stripping your shorts down along with your underwear, an eager Lucien gripping at your hips to maneuver you down into the cushion as he hastily shoves the table away with his feet to make room for him on the floor, no reprieve as he hooks your legs over his shoulder and splits his tongue through your folds, licking up the center.

A man of his word, he tastes. Noisily he licks and prods, tongue dipping inside of along with wandering fingers, sucking gently at your clit until you’re yanking at his hair, hand curling over the back of his scalp, fingernails digging into the top of his back, moans spilling from your lips like a flowing river, the rapids rushing through, walls clenching around nothing but cool air as Lucien parts from you, admires. 

He’s got two hands on your thighs to keep you open, “Wider,” He coaxes, your breath quickening as he squeezes at your thighs, “right there, don’t move.”

He shoves his pants down his hips, the heel of his palm rubbing down his shaft as he wraps his fingers around his cock, jerking himself off at the sight of you, glistening and eager, your fingers digging into the cushion fabric—you’ve seen him before, naked, in starkly different context. 

But, he had nothing to be ashamed of, your eyes counting the faint splattering of freckles on his chest as his hand glides over his cock, tugs, thumb sliding over the tip to spread the precum down his shaft and you don’t hear him calling your name until his hand touches your skin, gliding over your knee as he taps, coming to with a weak, “Huh?”

Lucien laughs under his breath before he’s beckoning you closer, pushing up with your palms as he cups his hand under your chin and asks—no, demands, “Spit,” He tells you, following his order without missing a beat, the saliva dripping into his hands as you push it past your lips and he moves closer, knees settled on the plush rug in your living room, guiding you until your ass was nearly hanging off the couch and using your saliva to aid the tug of his cock.

“No condom,” You quickly interject, slightly out of breath. His mouth opens like he wants to respond but you quickly shush him, “we can avoid the spiel, I’m on the pill.”

Lucien shrugs with a cocked smile, “Just checking. You alright?”

You nod eagerly, dying for a reason to shut your mind off.

It was the perfect angle, his hips just level enough with your hips that he slid in with ease, adding his own string of spit into the mix as rubbed it down your cunt and pushed his cock inside—deeper, deeper, the head of his cock sliding against your folds teasingly as he rocks his hips until he’s fully flush inside of you.

Your anxious hands are taken hold by him, curling around his wrists instinctively before they’re being shoved over your head and against the back of the couch, his towering frame leaning over you as his hips piston you at a bruising pace, deep enough that it aches. It’s been long, so long and you feel pathetic for already wanting it so bad, core pulsating with an insatiable need.

His breath is hot, wet against your skin as his teeth graze against your breast, sucking the skin between his teeth as you gasp, “Louder,” Lucien coaxes, “let ‘em hear you. Think they deserve it after all they’ve put us through.”

You laugh at that, full-body and airy, eyes falling shut as Lucien plants a foot against the floor, changing up the angle to an intense degree, his cock slipping out briefly as he adjusts, catching glimpse of the string of shiny slick that connects you both before the thick head of his cock pushes back in, a soft squelch of admittance, a tell-tale sign of your obvious enjoyment.

If he knew this would shut you up, he would’ve tried seducing you months ago—though, he had a feeling the attempts would be futile, he was floating on his own cloud of disbelief that after all his wrong-doings, his missteps, it hadn’t pushed you away.

“Show me—huh, show me what you like,” Lucien pleads through baited breath, hair sticking to his forehead from the sheen of sweat, his own hands leaving yours with the silent promise that you wouldn’t move them, finding purchase underneath your thighs and pushing them up toward your chest, your fingers gripping around the back of the couch in desperation, “touch—touch yourself, show me.”

The drag of your hand is slow, but eventually your fingers hover over your cunt, pressing against your sensitive clit as you circle, slow and intentional movement that rips a loud moan from your chest matched with his pointed thrusts, feeling his stamina weaning as he watches, hips stuttering.

“You’re a fucking dream,” Lucien admires, “makin’ a damn mess, too. You hear that?”

He slows down on purpose, partially for his own benefit but he’s proving his point, that sticky squelch of arousal, his faint grunts mixed with your quickly rising moans.

“Does it make you nervous when I stare?” He asks curiously, eyes locked on your pussy, watching his cock split you open, gripping him and pulling him back in eagerly with every thrust, “Look at me—answer me, baby.”

There’s something so distinct in the way he says it, laced with an addictive drug.

Your eyes peel open, bleary behind near tears and you shake your head.

“Do you wish it did?” You counter, earning a subtle head shake from Lucien as he pulls out.

A moan of disappointment leaves your mouth before he’s quickly jostling your around, chest against the couch, his hand spreading wide over your back as he bends you over, fisting his cock as he feeds it back into your greedy cunt, the swollen head making you gasp as it pushes through your over-sensitive folds.

He uses the leverage as his hand climbs, gripping at your shoulder to pull you up, bracketing your body into the couch with a knee at your side, pressing you tight into his chest, his hand sliding around to your chin and turning your face to his, lips parting as he fucks you with a newfound ferocity, eyes rolling back so deep you aren’t expecting the fingers that find your clit, circling the senstive nerves until you’re tipping over the edge, soft encouraging words pulling you through your orgasm like a gentle wave, his fingers slowing down as you resurface.

He comes soon after, his hips stuttering out of pace again as you lean forward, feeling him pull out at the last possible moment before he’s painting thick strips of come against your lower back, the fingers of his left hand digging into your skin as he grabs you tight, the tip of his cock sliding against your ass.

You collapse with a content laugh, oblivious to Lucien searching frantically for something to clean you up before settling on one of the kitchen towels, your body slumped lazily against the couch and sighing when you feel his warm touch, the words slipping out on their own accord, “I got fired.”

“What?”

He tosses the dirty towel aside and passes over your clothes, pulling his own lounge pants back up his hips, sans underwear—and it makes you curious how often he does that normally, comfortable as he takes a seat, legs spread wide as he settles into the cushion.

“They called this morning,” You explain easily, pulling your top over your head and maneuvering your panties and shorts back on, “wouldn’t give me a reason, but it doesn’t matter.”

Lucien’s brow furrows in thought, rubbing his thumb against his fingertips out of habit.

“Is this one of those situations where you’re gonna ask if I’ll sign an NDA?” You half-joke.

He shakes his head almost immediately. He doesn’t seem to find it amusing, almost slightly concerned—or wounded?

“Come work for me,” He insists, “I’ve been needing an assistant.”

“Isn’t that a conflict of interest?” You ask him, staring at his flush chest and mused hair, evidence of rigorous sex all over his face, it was almost enough to have you confessing some unspoken feelings, but you weren’t that easily broken down.

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“Are you just trying to find a reason to stick around longer?” You tease him, a smile peeking out behind your tired expression, “Because it won’t work.”

“No—I’m serious about getting my shit together,” Lucien promises, “I might need a little help…but I want to.”

“Can I think about it?” 

Lucien nods, hands dropping to his lap as he fiddles with a ring on his finger, eventually trailing toward the chains around his neck before his head is popping up, a quizzical look on his face.

“Wait—was that because you were having a bad morning?”

The sex, he means.

A smile breaks out on your face, “Nothing an orgasm won’t fix.”

He can sense it isn’t the full truth, but he doesn’t pry.

“Damn straight,” He chuckles, both of you falling into a comfortable silence.

–

Your answer doesn’t come for a solid week, thinking over the pros and cons. It was complicated, indeed bound to be messy if you allowed it, but Lucien was promising to double your pay, no undermining, no hovering—it seemed too good to be true.

But, you were taking the risk.

Lucien was still awaiting the imminent release of the court documents, the storm of press, but when you were secured in the safety of your apartment, hidden under the blankets as Lucien clung to you, head buried in your chest and his cock still buried inside of you, a slow and lazy day was what he needed, but he also craved you—and he was addicting, impossible to deny.

“We can’t keep doing this when I start working for you,” You remind him.

“Who says we can’t?” Lucien asks curiously, adjusting his hips as he slides deep inside of your cunt, peering up at you with soft eyes, “We keep it casual, if we decide we wanna stop. We stop. It won’t affect your job. I’m not that much of a dick, baby.”

“Well, for starters, you can’t call me baby at work.”

Lucien nods dutifully, listening to you divulge into a long lists of hardset rules, eventually pulling your focus back to him, his hips moving at a slow but gradual pace until you can’t focus any longer, giggling loudly as he buries his face into your neck, a sufficient end to the conversation.

The rest could be figured out later.

-

dividers: @/saradika-graphics

[alphabetboyluvr]

landslides - 001 | goldrush - jjk

part title credit: goldrush - taylor swift

everybody wonders what it would be like to love you... i can't dare to dream about you anymore... it never will be...

pairing: officeworker!jungkook x female reader (coworkers)

premise: jungkook asks you to dog sit over chuseok. he doesn't ask you to steal the empty spaces in his head, the dreams he's yet to have, nor the idea of you always just being 'you' to him - and yet, like a thief in the night (with his own damn dog as your accomplice), you do.

warnings: fluff more than angst, but it's not clean cut - there's also a touch of smut. office worker jk, fuck boy (but kind!) jk, mentions of his workplace escapades, oc is dating mingyu (yay), oc sorta fancies jk (boo), solo masturbation (m), vivid thoughts of shagging (jk is a perv! wow! unlike me to write him as randy bastard!), lots of facetime calls, oc and jk are fundamentally flawed as a pairing, genuine friendship, daddy kink? ig? but like kinda sweet?, jungkook has a complex brain house and you've been banished to his annexe!! he also has a thing for claw clipped hair lol

wordcount: 6.8K

note from holly: so... i dogsat (? idk if thats a word) for my friend last chuseok and this was the result hahahaha. my friends dog (boba <3) is so tiny and small!! but i've always been a big dog girlie so bam was fun to write. i really love this one and have recently found all of my old notes from around that time detailing the rest of the couples lives, so pt. 2 is in progress.

minors dni // cross posted to wattpad

Bam notices the storm roll in before you do. His ears twitch, head lifting from its rested perch on his paws.

“What’s up, baby? Hey?” You coo, his sudden shift obviously prompted by something. His snout begins to twitch, too, and his bottom lip shakes as a small growl vibrates from his throat. His eyes are on the window, stalking the clouds as they roll past. “Hey.”

You sit up a little straighter to lean forward and scratch behind his ear. He leans into it, but doesn’t take his eyes away from the sky.

“You see the rain, huh?” You hum, looking between the pup and the window ahead. You can’t place it yet - it’s too far in the distance - but you find yourself coming to sit beside him. He doesn’t lean up against you like he usually does. Just continues to lightly growl.

There’s no threat behind his noises, no malice - he’s just shouting back at the thunder you can’t hear. When you see a bolt of lightning flash in the distance just beyond the city skyline, you know that it won’t be long until Jungkook’s apartment block is drenched in the weather.

It’s just gone midnight when he calls. His face is a little puffy, smile a little lopsided.

“Hey Bammie,” he coos into the camera. You’ve got it angled down to where the pup is resting his head on your knee, peacefully unwinding after his long walk. Bam doesn’t stir at Jungkook’s voice, so he tries again. “Bammie?”

The way he elongates his puppy’s name is sweet - a tone of voice reserved only for his most trusted companion. He sure as hell has never spoken to you like that.

“Sorry, bud,” you say as you lift the camera up to your face. He’s pouting. “I don’t think the vibrations sound the same through the phone.”

“I miss him,” he says not even caring to acknowledge your thought process. “Is he okay? Was he good on his walk?”

“He’s all good,” you smile. “Best boy in the world. None of the other dogs you mentioned were down at the park, so it was just us two.”

He nods into the camera and purses his lips. “They might all be away. Visiting family.” He rolls over in his bed and lets out a yawn. “How’s the apartment? Got everything you need?”

You nod back. “All good. Might have eaten my way through your cheese stash already. I’m gonna shower then head to bed in a minute.”

“Make sure you leave the bathroom door open a little,” he says. “He’ll whine if not.”

“Will do.”

“Thank you,” he says. “I really appreciate you doing this. He hasn’t been too much work, has he?”

“He’s good as gold,” you say as you switch to the back camera. The view is serene, and Jungkook’s lips instantly settle into a smile. Bam is up on the sofa with you, snuggled against your lap. The skyline twinkles through his window, the reflection of his mood lamp obscuring some of it - but he’s quietly pleased that you’re using it. It’s how he normally winds down, too. Main lights off, galaxy on his ceiling. Must make Bam feel a little more at ease. You go to scratch behind his ear, and he huffs a little, all content and cosy. “Thanks for asking. He’s never too much work. You trained him well.”

“Hmm,” Jungkook hums. “Could have trained you a little better, though.”

He laughs when you switch the camera back to your face, mouth open, brows knitted together. “Me?!”

“Yes, you,” he grins now but tries to hide it; to restore the stoicism to his face. It doesn’t work. “What did I tell you about the sofas?”

You purse your lips together as if you’re not smiling. He’s got you there, admittedly.

“Look, he’s just so cute!” Despite the fact you’ve turned the camera back onto Bam, Jungkook can tell you’re pouting. “How could I say no?!”

“Easily!” Jungkook laughs. “That’s how he became so well trained! I leave for one night and-”

“Shuuuush,” you laugh, and when the camera switches back to you, Jungkook can’t help but let his smile persist. You look tired, and so does he, but there’s something about the call that has made you forget all about the fact you were planning on going to bed soon. “My swamp now. My rules.”

“My swamp,” he protests, but the look on his face is so saccharine that you can’t take him seriously. He thinks the same could be said for you. “Anyways, it’s late. Go get your shower. If you need more towels, there are some in the cupboard by the boiler. Don’t forget to turn the vent on - it’s the switch next to the light.”

“Alright, will do,” you nod and then yawn. Bam pricks his head up. “Hey baby,” you speak to him. “Did I wake you?”

“Show me him.”

You switch the camera around to where you’re scratching at Bam’s ear. He leans his head into the scratch, thoroughly enjoying it, your long nails far scratchier than Jungkook’s. It’s not the same - Jungkook is far stronger, so is a little rougher which suits Bam just fine. Still, he likes your scratches better than no scratches at all.

Jungkook whines. “I miss him.”

“He misses you, too. Want me to call in the morning?”

Jungkook shakes his head. “We’re up early tomorrow, heading over to Haedong Yonggungsa in the morning. Probably be up before you. Send me pictures though.”

“Will do. Night, buddy.”

“Night gremlin,” he smiles, and then begins to coo. “Night Bammie. Daddy misses you.”

He wishes you wouldn’t look at him in the way that you do when he says that; lips turned upwards at the very corners, dimples pressing into your cheeks, eyes bright.

“Shut up,” he says, but you’re already laughing.

“Daddy.”

“I am his dad!”

“Daddy.”

“Oh my god, fuck off,” he laughs. “Have nightmares, gremlin.”

“Sweet dreams, Daddy.”

“Fuck off!”

You hang up before he can protest your taunts any more, though he does text you one final ‘fuck off,’ and a reminder that you can bolt his front door if it will make you feel safer.

His apartment is in a high-rise, and his neighbourhood is far nicer than yours. You do the bolt up regardless, and think that it’s sweet that he considered your comfort enough to remind you about it.

Bam sits by the sliding door of the bathroom, the tips of his paws just teetering over the line of the door frame. He rests his head on his legs, snout angled towards the hallway. It still makes you feel a little weird. You don’t really want a dog watching you shower, even if he is a dog and has no real understanding of what’s happening - so you turn your back to him and just reassure yourself that Jungkook showers with the door open wide.

It’s a funny thing, to think about your co-worker’s showering habits. Not one that you’ve ever thought to indulge in before - but Jungkook would go ballistic if he heard you refer to him as your ‘co-worker.’ You’re friends. Pretty good ones, at that.

You’re level players at your company; earn the same wage, hold the same rank. There’s not really any competition between the pair of you - you work in different departments - but are often paired together when the two sections merge for joint projects. You make for a good team.

Over the years, you and Jungkook have also learned that you’re a highly capable team when it comes to playing beer pong against your colleagues on Friday nights, and at the mixed-doubles tennis tournament that your company insists on you participating in every year. It’s either that or be on the Christmas Party Planning committee, and you know which you’d rather do.

Thinking about tinsel in August? No, thank you.

There is however one crucial flaw to your partnerships: how you live your lives. How you manage your money.

See, Jungkook is frugal. He makes big investments - his apartment, his cars, games consoles, Bam. Doesn’t spunk his cash away on the small shit. His apartment is in the heart of the city, only a few floors from the very top. He gets a birds-eye view of the world around him. You don’t even want to imagine how much his deposit cost.

Probably more than you have in your savings. You do spunk your cash away - on the small shit, no less. Clothes, cafes, that sort of stuff. Nothing that holds permanence. It frustrates Jungkook to no end. He thinks you could have a better life if you just used your money wisely - but you’re happy in your slightly cramped apartment, happy when the serotonin of a shopping spree boosts your mood, happy when you’re laughing with your friends over coffee and cake.

You wouldn’t be happy if you felt restricted. You think that Jungkook is.

He disagrees. He has enough in the bank to buy whatever he wants. He has financial freedom.

But there’s a difference. You’re both free in your own ways.

It’s for that reason you’d never work as a couple. Would infuriate one another far too much. Everyone who is close to you both knows this; how badly suited you would be. They’ll joke about all of the women in the office trying to get their mitts on Jungkook - even the married ones - but not you.

It’s funny because they’re right. Everybody wants him.

He collects stars from their eyes and accumulates them in his own. The girls blush and giggle about how he looks at them with galaxies, but they don’t realise what a thief he is. Don’t realise he’s stolen their shine, and incorporated it into his own. A spotlight follows him, and you enjoy watching the show unfold with an amused grin whenever a new secretary catches his gaze for the first time.

It’s not intentional. You don’t think Jungkook realises he does it. In fact, he hadn’t realised that it was such a pattern of behaviour until the midnight squalor of a dive bar had you talking about office conquests, and how the photocopier room had seen his bare ass more than it had seen toner changes.

“Shouldn’t shit where you eat, Jeon,” you’d grinned.

“Firstly, that’s a horrible phrase - and secondly, it takes two to tango. They’re just as much to blame as I am.”

But they’re not. He’s the only repeat offender.

“And anyways,” he had deflected, sinking down the final dregs of his beer. “Don’t act like you’re some kind of saint. Everyone’s fucked a colleague at least once.”

You’d just raised an eyebrow.

“You’re telling me you haven’t?”

“Like I said - shouldn’t shit where you eat, Jeon.”

Now, if he’d have said housemate, you would have folded. Downed your drink. Ordered a repeat round.

Something about a shared space - domestication - really gets you. It’s joint laundry loads, shared dinners, movie nights; grocery shopping, D.I.Y. furniture, arguments about who gets the bigger room. More often than not, it never matters, ‘cause you just end up staying in theirs.

You live alone now. After the third time, you knew better than to let yourself fall into the trap once more.

He learns about your affliction a few months later, and goes on tease you relentlessly.

In fact, he mentions it when he propositions you a few weeks before Chuseok. You had both spent the last couple of holiday periods overworked, slogging through the festivities. For the first time since either of you can remember, your workload has eased up.

You’ve already told him you’re planning on doing sweet, sweet fuck all. You’ve told your family you will be working, because you just want to finally breathe for a while; stay in with a tub of ice cream and your favourite films. Speak to no one. Do nothing.

“I’ve got a favour to ask you,” he had said as he approached your desk before the end of the day. It was a Friday, but you weren’t heading for after-work drinks with the usual suspects like you typically did. You had a date, instead. A third one with the same guy - Mingyu - which felt like a miracle. Even Jungkook was a little shocked that the poor guy wasn’t sick of you.

“Go on,” you had mused as you checked over your to-do list for the following week.

“You gotta promise me something first.”

“Promise you what?”

“That you won’t fall in love with me.”

You’d swatted him away the ruler on your desk, and told him to get his head out of his ass. “Been able to resist your charms this long, Jeon. Give me some credit.”

“It’s only ‘cause you know I’d reject you, you little gremlin.”

“I thought you wanted a favour? Funny way of going about it.”

“Sorry, sorry. You’re right,” he had conceded with an apologetic smile. “Forgive me.”

“What do you want?”

“How would you feel about potentially staying at mine over Chuseok to look after Bam? My parents want us to head down to Busan for the weekend and see relatives seeing as I’m finally free and know it’s a big ask but I-”

“Oh my God, yes?!” You had smiled so wide Jungkook thought you might fracture your jaw.

You love Bam.

In fact, he might just be your favourite thing about Jungkook.

Occasionally you walk him with Jungkook on the weekends, when you’re both hungover and need to get out of a slump. You’ve grown up with pets, but moving to the city in your early twenties to pursue your career meant apartment living.

You’re a rural girl deep down, and would never want to keep a pet in a high rise.

Jungkook manages it, but he goes home at lunchtime to walk Bam during the winter. In the summer, when it’s too hot, he goes home at lunch regardless, to lounge around with Bam under the air con.

Sometimes, you go with him. Bam is always pleased to see you.

Jungkook lied and said he asked around because he didn’t want to inconvenience you.

Truth is, he wouldn’t have trusted anyone else with his baby. He’d never spent a night away from Bam. Hated the idea. Despised it, in fact. He would have just taken Bam with him to Busan, but didn’t think it would be fair to force him on the journey from Seoul.

Over in Busan, when Jungkook hangs up, the conversation isn’t over. It continues in his head.

“Hey, wait…”

“Mhhm?”

“You just… look nice tonight, that’s all.”

He thinks you’d blush. Would tell him to lay off the soju. Accuse him of getting too drunk for a family get-together. He’d let you. Would take the beating of your false accusations, because it would be far easier than admitting he’s not had a single drop.

He thinks of the hug he’ll give Bam when he gets home; how wild his tail will waggle, how he’ll jump all over the place, and how you’ll be giggling. In his mind, you’ll be smiling just as wide as he is.

You’d stay for dinner. Jungkook would order from your favourite place to say thank you. Bam would snuggle up to Jungkook - on the sofa - and you’d be on the other side, stroking his back. He’d be happy. Bam, not Jungkook. But also Jungkook. Hopefully you, too.

When the time would approach for you to go home, you’d offer to help. Rinse out the containers. Hair up in a claw clip, t-shirt off your shoulder like it so often is.

Jungkook doesn’t notice, but his hands begin to trail down his body as he thinks of you. His phone is still on his chest, rising and falling with every beat of his heart. The tips of his fingers stroke against his skin.

He thinks of you laughing with him about something inconsequential. You’d flick water in his direction when he’d make some joke at your expense. It’d all be in good humour.

But then he’d flick some back at you, and water war would break out. Bam would run excitedly between the pair of you, Jungkook chasing you around the kitchen island with wet hands - and you’d do the exact same back. You’d flick water over the counter, tap still running and he’d call you a gremlin.

There’s a smile on his lips as he thinks of his. His hands roam further south. He’s ticking at his abdomen. It’s nice. Feels calm. He likes to engage his senses when he thinks of scenarios like these. Makes it feel more real.

But then he’s thinking of your shirt and the fact it’s white.

And then he’s imagining catching up with you, holding you captive as he angles the tap towards your face. You’ll be shrieking and scrambling to get away, Bam by your feet, Jungkook laughing.

He’d relent, but only enough for you to twist to face him.

Jungkook’s fingers are by his thighs. Stroking. Caressing. He’s avoiding his cock. Knows it’s firm. His index finger spreads to his balls. Teases.

And then he thinks of your body pressed against his torso, your ass to the counter.

You’d both be soaked.

He’d look at your lips. Look in your eyes. Feel your chest against his. He’d swallow hard.

It’s at this point he forgets about Bam in the scenario. It’s just you and him.

His palm rests over the length of his cock. Presses down. His hips roll.

He’d tell you that you’ve made a mess. You’d tell him to clean it up. His heart would be racing. So would yours.

And it’s funny, because his heart actually is. It’s beating so fucking hard in his childhood bedroom, that he thinks his parents must be able to hear it through the walls.

He’s in a far-too-firm single bed, but in his head, he’s with you in his kitchen.

He begins to grip his cock, long fingers wrapping around his shaft. He pulls up. Pushes back down. Says your name. Whines.

He doesn’t even really realise he’s doing it.

Just thinks about you.

Thinks about the way it would feel to sink his lips into yours; the first bite of a forbidden fruit. Thinks about that quick tongue of yours, and if it would be just as quick to find its way into his mouth. Thinks about your manicured nails that Bam loves so much, and how they’d scratch against his scalp instead. Thinks about the way his hips would rock against you, kind of like they are now; pulsing beneath his duvet.

His mind jumps. Skips the foreplay. Doesn’t mean to - but the thoughts are intrusive. Insidious. Insatiable. He can’t help it.

He pushes up into his hand. Pauses. Waits out the feeling. Retracts. Repeats.

In his head, it’s you that he’s pushing into.

The sensation is entirely different, granted, but - fuck - he hasn’t gotten himself off all week and hasn’t had sex in far longer, so it all feels the same to him.

He hasn’t worked out the mental logistics.

His imagination is jumping from the kitchen to his bedroom and then back to the kitchen again. Can’t decide where all of this is happening - and then suddenly, he finds himself railing you in the utility room.

You’re perched above the washer, held in place by him. He can smell the laundry detergent. He’s got spotlights in the room, but they’re turned off. Only lights from the hallway and the city skyline illuminate you.

It’s obscure. The shadows in his head conceal you a little. He’s gripping your waist beneath your shirt. The baby gate which keeps Bam out of the laundry room is closed.

You’re not talking, just fucking, fucking, fucking and -

“Fuck,” he whines, hand is jerking at his cock, heart rate stuttering.

He shouldn’t be thinking about you like this.

Shouldn’t let his mind jump again to a point where you’re fucking naked, and your sodden shirt is on a pile of yet-to-be-done laundry.

But then it jumps again, and one of his towels is on the floor. He’s laying down, back against it. The same position that he’s in now in his childhood bedroom - but he’s thinking about you. The silhouette of your body. The warm curves of your body. The way you bounce on his cock and then-

Oh god, it’s torture the way his cock throbs. Pre-cum leaks from his tip as his speed builds. It’s just a fantasy. Nothing more nothing less. But it’s you. And then he’s thinking about pulling you down for a kiss, and the scent of your perfume and the way you’d moan into his mouth and then his legs are shaking, torso tensing.

He’s taking it too far. Too fucking far. You. Fuck. He can’t. But he doesn’t stop. Just keeps going. Fucks his hand like it’s your pussy.

He’s pulling himself closer, closer, closer, and then he thinks about your voice, and the way you called him Daddy, and he can’t help himself. The pressure that releases in his stomach is catastrophic. Jungkook mewls your name. Calls you baby. Unloads all over himself. White hot cum paints his belly. Seeps into his belly button. Makes a mess of his hand as he coaxes the last few ropes out. It’s been a while since his last nut, but the amount he produces is not fucking normal.

It rolls down the side of his toned torso, Jungkook swallowing harshly as he tries to regulate his breathing. He doesn’t think he can. Doesn’t know what to do with himself. Just kind of lays there. Curses. Knots his brows together. Is frustrated with himself.

You’ve been friends for years. He’s never done anything like this before. He chalks it up to nothing more than him just being a little too horny for his own good. Cleans himself off. Puts his phone on charge. Berates himself for being a piece of shit. Spends a good ten or so minutes staring at the ceiling with an empty head before he falls asleep.

And it’s funny, because when you wake up in the morning, panties damp, the dream you had about Jungkook railing you in his own damn bed, you find yourself looking across the space where he usually sleeps. You reach ouch. Stroke the emptiness. Curse. Spend the rest of the day unbearably horny. It frustrates you. Makes you snappy with Jungkook when he calls.

He asks if you’ve seen Mingyu. You tell him no. He says maybe you should - but makes sure to add, “He’s still not allowed in my apartment.”

“I’m not gonna bring anyone into your space, Jungkook.”

It’s something he knows, and something he trusts you not to do, but he’s still reinforcing boundaries. Making sure that there are still some left. He thinks that if he pushes you closer to someone else, it will sort his brain out. Alleviate him of the guilt that he’s feeling.

But you don’t see Mingyu.

When Jungkook calls again that evening to find you walking Bam alone, he’s pleased. Doesn’t want some guy you’re fucking anywhere near his most prized possession. Bam, that is. Not you. But now that he thinks of it, he finds he doesn’t want Mingyu anywhere near you, either.

“Good day?” You ask, voice a lot lighter than it had been earlier.

Jungkook nods, but he doesn’t really smile. “I miss Bammie.”

You pout. “He misses you too. He’s gonna be so excited when you get home.”

The camera switches to the back camera so he can watch Bam bound along the path. He’s on his lead, snout sniffing in all the flowerbeds. It’s dark out, but there are enough lights on the trail for him to be able to see clearly.

“How is he? Eating okay? Going to the bathroom okay?”

“Eating like a champ, and producing shits to confirm that,” you say flatly. It’s definitely your least favourite part of animal ownership - but the reward is so much greater than having to pick up shit off a sidewalk.

“That’s my boy,” Jungkook grins, before turning his focus to you. “You all good? Seemed a little stressed earlier.”

Jungkook’s expression doesn’t change when the front camera flips back to you, but he finds his heart racing again. When you turn your head to check the car that’s driving past, he notices your hair is up with a claw clip. Just like it was in his… thoughts about you the night before. He likes how attentive you are - how you checked the source of the noise. You’re protective. Follow your instincts. Thinks you’re the best person he could have asked to look after Bam.

“I’m all good,” you say, and you really are.

“I know it’s not exactly the relaxing Chuseok you were planning-”

“Jungkook, it’s fine,” you smile. “It’s been nice. I like Bammie far more than I like you.”

“Understandable.”

You both smile, and Jungkook begins to babble about his day, telling you stories about his parents, and his weird cousin who never knows when to not say inappropriate things, and the aunt who keeps trying to set him up with all of her friends’ daughters.

“Don’t shit where you eat,” you remind him. “Sounds too close to home. Your auntie would never be out of your business.”

“I know, I know,” he rolls his eyes. “And hey - it’s been, like, a year since I last did that! Cut me some slack, gremlin. Anyways, Mingyu works in our building. You’re basically shitting where you eat.”

“I’m actually… I think I’m gonna cool things off with him.”

“Oh?”

“It’s like not a big deal. I’m just not really feeling it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No, you’re right. I’m not,” Jungkook admits, but is sombre as he does so. He remembers how happy you’d seemed after the first few dates. “But I am sorry that you haven’t found the right guy yet, gremlin.”

“Who knows, maybe I’ll find the love of my life at the dog park tonight.”

“You are not allowed to use my baby as a flirting tactic.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Too late - I’m already here and there is an absolute DILF. Byeeeee.”

“Wait, no-”

You hang up before he can finish, with a grin on your face to rival a Cheshire cat.

The park is empty. Not a single DILF in sight. You ignore his call when he rings back. Will let him sweat it for a bit.

Jungkook lies awake that night.

Doesn’t do much.

His family are still chatting in the sitting room, but he can’t draw himself away from the sanctuary of his own private space, where your voice is still echoing around the room. He’s starting to understand why you’d been craving your space so much for the holiday period.

He doesn’t wanna have to return to the room with a false smile, and a feeling in the pit of his stomach that could rival the ache of getting the ferry across Busan harbour during monsoon season.

Doesn’t want to form cognitive thoughts that distract him from his mindless reflections of you.

Jungkook’s mind works like a house, and right now he’s in the annexe.

He rarely ever goes in there.

Finds he gets too comfortable and neglects the rest of the house. He’s got a garden to tend to, a kitchen to clean, and beds to make - but why would he leave the annexe when it has everything he needs? He’s comfortable there.

It’s normally reserved for the hyper-fixations he’s trying not to fixate on. He locks them away. Hasn’t really visited since he got hooked on GTA5 when he should have been studying for the University Entrance Exam. It’s still there, and he knows better than to pop it in his games console - but there’s someone else on the couch, now. It’s not just him in his mind-annexe. Someone’s in his space. He daren’t let himself go further into the room.

In fact, he’s desperately trying to jump across to the main house. Get himself out of the thoughts that are gonna consume him. He needs to close that God damn door.

But he watches the figure like a car crash. He’s scared. Unable to look away.

Not for fear of it being a monster hidden in the depths of his mind.

Quite the opposite, actually.

Monsters don’t wear their hair up with butterfly-shaped claw clips, or let the clasp of their necklace trail down their spine like that. Monsters don’t twist their back out of habit just to make it click. Monsters don’t spend their days doodling in a journal like the figure on his couch is doing.

But you do.

An iteration of Bam rests up against Jungkook’s leg in his mind, nose wet, tail lightly wagging, so he puts his hand on his pup’s shoulder for comfort. To support him. To guide him away from the annexe and back into the damn main house.

“C’mon,” he says to Bam, expecting him to leave. Expecting him to follow his commands.

It’s his head, after all - but Bam doesn’t heed his commands. Instead, his claws click against the hardwood floor and towards the figure on Jungkook’s couch. A palm outstretches, and Bam leans into it. Hums in content as a set of dark nails scratch at his ear.

“Hey, baby Bammie,” the figure sings and Jungkook knows that voice. Knows it so well that it’s hardly a surprise it’s embedded into his brain so perfectly.

And he knows.

He knows if he lets the person turn around exactly who it’s gonna be. He knows that he can’t let it happen. He won’t.

Because he and you are friends; nothing more, nothing less. Incompatible at best. A match made in hell; so wrong it could never be right.

Jungkook sits up. Shakes his head. The world in his mind tears away into darkness. He stands and tells himself to get a grip before joining his family. He needs the distraction. Needs to have cognitive thoughts. Can’t let himself get trapped. Can’t let him kid himself into thinking that you’re anything more than his friend.

It’s just cause he’s missing Bam, he reasons. Emotions are getting all mixed up. It’s the affection he feels for his beloved best friend that is getting misplaced onto you - although, if he thinks about it (which he won’t (knows better by this point (knows his mind can’t be trusted to behave))), he’d realise that you are his best friend.

It’s unfair to compare you to Bam because you’re an entirely different species, but there’s no other human he likes better than you.

One more day, and he’ll be home. One more day, and he won’t have to call you when he’s all sleepy and confused over his feelings. One more day, and things will be back to normal. One more measly day.

And then he’ll be reunited with Bam, and he won’t have the stress of family or thinking about the week of work ahead to contend with.

One more day. He can do this.

He will do it. Will barrel home at the speed of lightning; will stop only for red lights and maybe the occasional gas station snack, potato spirals on a pointed wooden skewer and deep-fried chicken slathered in a sauce he can never quite figure out the recipe for.

He’ll think about picking you up some bungeoppang - the ones filled with choux, not red bean paste - because he knows that you adore it so. There have been occasions when you’ve begged him to drive you out of the city to the large gas station out West just so you could have bungeoppang from one specific stall.

The signage is faded, and the prices haven’t changed since 2009, but that’s how you know it’s the good shit. A family recipe batter passed down for generations. The woman who makes it is always the same, and though she never remembers you, you always remember her. Beam so brightly Jungkook thinks he’s going blind whenever you spot her.

It’s only because of that one time you’d showed up with the sole mission to retrieve some of the delicious delicacies, only to be confronted with a handwritten ‘closed today, back tomorrow’ note taped to the menu. You never know when the next family emergency or trip out of town might be for your beloved bungeoppang-making Ajumma.

It’s a little after midday when Jungkook’s car rolls into the gas station. He’ll be home soon.

He tells himself that he’s just doing as he always does. Will get his tornado potato. Wolf it down. Go back for some chicken, maybe some tteok.

He’s stayed out of the annexe today. Doesn’t even think about the doorway because he knows the magnetic pull is far too strong for his cobalt heart.

Had ignored your call this morning - sorry, just saying goodbye to everyone. will see you later. - and had pushed all thoughts of you to the side. He’s even tried to stop thinking about Bam because thoughts of him will inevitably lead to thoughts of you and Jungkook is getting dizzy, quite frankly. It’s like he’s chasing his tail, never knowing when to admit defeat.

At least Bam gets enjoyment out of it when he does it. All Jungkook gets is lingering feelings of remorse.

But as he hits the home straight, a small paper bag full of choux bungeoppang cooling down on his passenger seat, his head starts to clear. He’s fixed the lock on the gate that leads to the annexe. Won’t go down that path.

Jungkook arrives ahead of schedule. Parks his car, and doesn’t tell you he’s arrived. Leaves his bag in the boot of the car, but picks up the pastries from his passenger seat.

Opens the door of his apartment quietly. You don’t hear it. Are too busy dancing around the living room with Bam to some mid-noughties classic.

“Hey,” you laugh a little breathlessly as finally notice him. He’s leaning against the wall. Is wearing his glasses, to make up for the long drive. You think it’s a crying shame he doesn’t wear them at work, too.

“Was I interrupting something?”

“No, not all,” you say. There are deep creases below your eyes, testament to the size of your smile. “Me and baby Bammie-” you reach over and stroke at his sides, a little rough and tumble, but perfectly joyous “- were just burning off a little energy before you got home.”

Jungkook crouches, arms outstretched for Bam. The puppy knocks into Jungkook’s chest, legs all moving slightly out of coordination, excitable whines sounding in his throat. His tail wags so fast you think he’d be able to produce electricity if he really tried.

They match each other’s energy; delirious happiness, content only when in one another���s presence.

“Hey buddy,” he coos. “Daddy’s home. I missed you. Missed me too, hey? C’mere.”

His strong hands stroke Bam’s sides, and you watch how playful they both are with unadulterated awe. It seems absurd how similar the two of them are; man and his best friend.

“He was lost without you,” you confirm.

“It’s that right?” Jungkook pouts as he scratches behind Bam’s ears, cradling his face in his hands. “Did Bammie miss Daddy?”

Bam barks. Yes.

“Hey, I’m sorry, boy. I’m home now, though. Daddy’s home.”

Yes, you think. Yes, he is.

The night dissolves much like Jungkook thought it would. You stay for dinner. Watch crappy entertainment shows, and laugh at how absurd people can be. There’s warmth in his apartment, even though he hasn’t turned the heating on.

“You’ll never know how much I appreciate this,” Jungkook says softly as midnight approaches. Bam sighs. There’s rain on the windows, but the storm doesn’t bother him tonight. Not in the slightest. “Thank you.”

Your head shakes. Smile perseveres. “Happy to do it. You know how much I love Bam.”

Silence wraps around your words like a velvet bow, pulled taut. There’s no double knot, but there needn’t be. It isn’t unravelling any time soon.

“So,” you change topic. “How long do you reckon it will take the new secretary to fall in love with you? I’m thinking maybe four days.”

Jungkook wants to make a joke; tease you about how your mind jumped from how much you love his dog, to the idea of loving him. Not you loving him, granted, but it only took a few electrical signals between neurons for you to get there. Must associate him with love pretty closely.

“Four days? Far too quick.” Jungkook pauses. “You’ve been staying here for four days. Reckon that’s an appropriate amount of time to fall in love with someone?”

He’s being facetious. It’s all in jest and yet you feel your heart beat a little faster. Only for a moment. There’s a mild concern in your features, fearful that he can somehow sense the thoughts you’ve been having; the fantasies, the daydreams, the moments of weakness.

You look at him with eyes he doesn’t recognise. Your lashes are low. Sultry, even. Suggestive. Teasing.

And then, they roll.

“Jeon, you have those poor girls on their knees within a single ‘hello’. Don’t act like you don’t know it, you big old flirt.”

“If Bam wasn’t so peaceful, I’d kick you,” he mumbles, stroking at the dark fur behind his pup’s ear. Bam sighs, content to have him back. There’s a smile on Jungkook’s lips. Both are perfectly content. Both are happy to be with the people they like the most in the world.

“He’d just defend me,” you taunt. There’s a serenity to your jokes, and light-hearted banter that means nothing more, nothing less than just enjoyment of one another’s company. “I’m his favourite now.”

Jungkook laughs. Scratches a little firmer behind Bam’s ear. “You hear that, boy? Gremlin really thinks you’d choose her over me.”

You pull your torso back. Turn your body to face his. Let disbelief wash over your features, as if Jungkook saying shit like that’s a surprise. The movement alerts Bam, his head lifting, the chain links of his collar rattling. He looks over to you, then back to Jungkook.

“He LOVES me.”

“I thought dogs are supposed to take after their owners, though?” Jungkook teases. “And I can’t fuckin’ stand you.”

Your playful shock dissolves into narrowed eyes and a suppressed grin. Bam’s looking at you again, so you cup his dainty face and scratch the underside of his jaw. “You hear that, baby Bammie? How are you so lovely when your Daddy is such an asshole?”

Jungkook’s steady gaze lifts to you from Bam. You’re still cooing at the puppy, scratching beneath his snout, but Jungkook’s back in that damn annexe again. He isn’t smiling - but his eyes are unbelievably soft.

So, so velvety. Like satin, maybe; ribbons tied around ponytails. Brushed cotton, perhaps; his still-warm bedsheets fresh out of the tumble dryer.

Soft, like he imagines your hair would be; released from its claw clip, falling around his face. Soft, like he imagines your lips would be; pressed against his, in the privacy of his bedroom. Soft, like he imagines your laugh would be; soundtracking the living alarm clock that is Jeon Bam, as he bundles onto Jungkook’s bed at just gone six-thirty the following morning.

But then you look up at him, and his stare is hard. Still sparkling, yes - but diamonds, not stars. Concrete speckled. Pennies tossed in an empty well; the steel bolt of his door which keeps the outside world at bay.

Hard, like he imagines your teeth would be; tugging on his bottom lip in the shadows of his bedroom. Hard, like he imagines your nails would be; leaving a trail of ruby red sin down his back. Hard, like he imagines your laboured breaths would be; lips resting ajar against his, your very essence pouring into him as he pushes into you.

Hard. Soft. Confusing and conflicting, and just so unbelievably him.

“What?” you question, bemused by the way his demeanour changed. “‘Daddy’ really gets you, huh?”

“Does fuck all for me,” he says with a little temperance, but there’s a smirk on his lips. His tongue runs along the inside of his cheek.

A few have tried the moniker on him, but it never fit well. Would fall from their lips and crash to his bedroom floor. He’d just kiss them to shut them up.

But you… You have him reconsidering. Have him a little hot beneath his sweats.

It’s not really the idea of being your Daddy, but the concept of being one full-stop that has him adjusting his legs slightly. He’s a man of big investments, after all. No greater investment than starting a life with another person. He likes the idea of it.

Makes him think of you talking with a toddler - I’m not sure, baby, go ask Daddy -and the pitter-patter of feet across the hardwood floors of his apartment. Makes him think how gentle you are with Bam, and how wonderful he knows you’d be with a kid. Makes him think all kinds of shit he’s never let himself indulge in before.

When he goes to bed that evening, and his sheets are seeped in the scent of your perfume, he thinks of it all over again.

Thinks of you.

And realises he can’t think about you without his heart racing, any more.

The door of the annexe in his mind is broken, now. Off its hinges.

And apparently, so is he.

Shit.

part two (x)

[urlovebot]

Tell your friends

cw: requested! smut. full on. cunnilingus. strap/harness. possessive bada hitting it from the back 🧎‍♀️

a/n: feedback is so greatly appreciated. i rarely write full smut fics so im shaking in my boots about this one. thank u for reading!!

The universe really had it out for you today. You tried to have a simple conversation with annold dance partner, but now you're in front of your girlfriend, sprawled out as she's knuckle deep in your cunt, leaving soft kisses on your lower stomach,

"Does that feel good, baby?"

You whine as a response, back arching into her touch. She's been edging you for an hour now.

You wouldn't have been in this predicament if you had just kept your mouth shut. You'd decided to talk up your old dance partner at a party you and Bada attended together. You didn't think much of it until you looked down at your phone. You knew you were in some deep shit, but you couldn't help but play into Bada's possessiveness. It wasn't often that she'd get into moods like this so you could not take this opportunity for granted.

Your old partner makes a subpar joke and to you, you act as if its the funniest thing in the world. You double over, giving them a very nice view into the low cut top you were wearing, grazing their arm, and giving them a cute giggle. It was all fun and games until you felt Bada's chest against your back, one arm snaking around your waist, the other grabbing the drink from your hand and taking a sip herself.

Bada's presence in a room never fails to make people gasp, especially in a room full of both seasoned and rookie choreographers/dancers. She was extremely popular and had the talent to back it up. On top of that, she stands quite tall at around 5'10 and happens to be one of the finest people in the world.

So imagine your previous partner's surprise (and fear) when the Bada Lee peering down at them with an intimidating stare, almost daring them to keep it up with her girlfriend. Bada sets your drink down on the counter and extends a hand out to your partner,

"Hi, I'm Bada, Y/n's partner." Purposely using "partner" to describe the ambiguity of your relationship. Your previous partner looks scared shitless, their hand shakes as they reach out to meet Bada's hand in a weak handshake,

"N-nice to meet you! I'm Y/n's old dance partner."

Bada drops her hand and smiles a smile that would seem kind to an innocent bystander, but you recognized the glint of anger her eyes, and in the way she grit her teeth in her response. Her arm tightening around your waist,

"Hm. I don't think I recognize that name. Would I know your work from anywhere?"

Your ex partner just blinks.

"Well, Y/n, its about time for us to go, huh?"

Your voice shakes as you say your next sentence, doing your best to stay strong,

"Actually, do you mind if I meet you at the car? I want to exchange numbers real quick."

Bada's jaw tightens her eyebrows raise to the sky and you're ready to bust out laughing at any point now. Her face quickly changes back to a sickeningly sweet smile,

"Of course baby. Don't be too long, we've got a long night ahead of us." And with that, she saunters away, not turning back once.

Once you've finished your conversation, you walk out of the party. You see Bada leaning against her car, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. You try to blubber out some excuse as to why your conversation lasted an additional ten minutes, but Bada is having none of it.

Bada grits her teeth, "Get in the fucking car."

No way you're saying no to that. You get into the car, Bada slamming your door shut. As you're driving home her hands are gripping the steering wheel hard.

"Baby you're gonna hurt-" You are quickly silenced with a stern side eye. The rest of the car ride is silent. It's silent as you get out of the car, into your apartment complex, in the elevator, the hallway of your floor, and silent as you shut the door behind you. As you turn around to walk further into the apartment, you bump into a sturdy figure, stumbling back just a bit. When you look up, Bada is wordlessly staring down at you.

She's thinking about ways to punish you. She wants to make you as frustrated as she is. She wants to see you whine and beg for her. She wants to watch as your body writhes under hers as she makes you feel so good. Because you're hers. And it seems like you've forgotten.

So, here we are. Earlier she'd taken her time unzipping your dress, kissing down your shoulders. Leaving hickeys on your chest, down until she reaches your lower stomach. She was being so honey sweet, you had no idea what was in store for you. You've been on edge for so long now. Your brain was fuzzy and the only thing you could think of was Bada's hands in your cunt, her mouth dipping down to circle around your clit and suck.

Bada coos at you, "I know baby. It hurts doesn't it."

You nod your head, a tear rolling down the side of your face. "Good God. Bada- oh fuck- i need to cum."

She chuckles and shakes her head, removing her fingers from your weeping cunt.

"Beg me."

You squeeze your eyes closed,

"You are such a dick."

Bada stands, making her way to the drawer located in the nightstand on her side of the bed. She pulls out one of the many toys you both use.

"Keep it up sweetheart. It's okay. I'll fuck it out of you."

Bada unzips her pants, a harness already present. She giggles when she sees your eyes widen. She leans down, face so close to you that when she talks, you feel her mouth against yours,

"I knew you were gonna be a fucking brat the minute we walked out of the house," She stands upright once more. She makes her way over to the edge of the bed,

"You wore that skimpy ass outfit and expected me to be okay with someone seeing you like this? hmm?" She grips your hips, forcefully flipping you over.

"So the minute I saw you make eye contact with me while-" Bada starts pushing her strap into you and groans, "While you gave that girl false hope. I realized just how fucking reckless you are."

You whine, the silicone cock strapped to your girlfriend reaches so deeply into you it nearly hurts. You pull the sheets above you but Bada tsks,

"Don't fuckin' run from it."

Her arm loops around you to wrap her large hand around your neck, pulling you flush against her still clothed chest. She kisses down the shell of your ear,

"You gonna be good for me, honey?"

You muster up all of the energy you have left in you,

"Fuck off."

Bada chuckles, kissing your cheek. She grabs your hips and pulls you back towards her. You groan and immediately your body goes nearly limp. Bada snorts, "Just a cock-hungry whore, hmm? Looks like you remember exactly who you belong to," She grinds her hips into you, "Nobody could make you fall apart like me, isnt that right baby?"

Your whines coincide with her thrusts into you. She was right. You'd never been fucked like this before Bada. Everyone else was just too soft for you, but not Bada. She wasn't afraid of breaking you, which is exactly what you wanted. You need Bada to break you down and build you back up from nothing. Bada speeds up her thrusts, hips just slight of slamming into you.

"T-Thank you Bada."

She grins against your neck, "You are so very welcome, sweetheart." She lets go of your neck, leaving you to slump against the sheets, the only thing holding you together was Bada's hands gripping your waist, pulling you back against her to meet her in each thrust. She could tell how close you were by the way your hands gripped the sheets. She loved seeing you like this. Pliant. Ready to take whatever she gives you. She thinks about how much of a brat you were earlier and smacks your ass twice in succession.

"You gonna keep being a fucking brat? Or do you wanna go back to being my good girl? mmh? My angel?"

Your cries get louder as she grinds against your g-spot, "Wanna be your good girl- fuck. please let me cum-"

Bada laughs at you, "Say it again and I'll let you cum."

At this point, your brain is mush. Your body tingles and you can feel one of Bada's hands smooth down your back, pressing between your shoulder blades. She was fucking you into the mattress.

" 'M yours Bada. Your angel, please-"

Bada uses the hand pressing between your shoulder blades and runs it up to your hair, grabbing you by the hair and pulling you against her once more. She leaves feather light kisses on your neck, contrary to her forceful thrusts. She makes it back up to your ear, voice barely above a whisper,

"Cum."

You fall apart at this command, writhing against bada, moaning out so loud that she makes a mental note to apologize to your neighbors the next time she sees them. But she grins nonetheless, loving how you're unraveling against her. Your little fists reach for anything to grab on to, trying to anchor yourself back to reality and bada groans, she loved this. She loved you. And hopefully you remember just how much you love her too.

Once you stop convulsing against her, she gently lays you against the bed, pulling out and taking off her strap. Just as you start to regain clarity, wondering where your girlfriend went, Bada is by your side with a warm cloth, ready to wipe you down. She figures you'll both shower in the morning. You watch as she cleans you up, gentle as ever. Her cheeks have a faint flush to them. her bangs sticking to her forehead. You silently thanked the universe for blessing you with a Bada Lee. As you continue admiring her, you notice her avoiding your eyes altogether. Your brows furrow-

"Bada."

She hums without looking at you.

"Look at me."

She freezes for a second and then continues cleaning you up.

"Bada lee-"

"I can't look at you right now."

you look at her, dumbfounded.

"You just fucked me within an inch of my life and you want to act funny?"

Bada just lets out a dangerous chuckle,

"Unless you want me to pin you back down for round two, I suggest you stop asking me to look at you."

You sit up, hand grabbing her jaw, forcing her to look at you.

"Who said I didn't want to go for a second round?"

[sweetbbyshion]

Mom next door

-> Shoyo Hinata x fem!reader

characters: Shoyo Hinata

genre: smut

summary: Hinata gets closer to an older woman after getting back from Brazil.

warnings: NSFW, reader is a mom, AGE GAP (hinata is 21, reader is 31), oral (m->f), penetrative sex, he used a condom so its all good, mentions of aftercare, reader has some insecurities but it's not too descriptive

Your arms had given out a long time ago and your legs would too if it wasn't for the strong hands gripping your hips to keep them steady. “Fuck,” Shoyo said behind you, “do you know how long I have been waiting for this?”.

You had an idea. Hinata Shoyo looked at you like he wanted to destroy you the moment you met. He was the new neighbor and your daughter was a clumsy little thing that crashed against his legs when she was running away from you, laughing and not looking where she was going. Akame was immediately entranced by the bright hair and even brighter smile and quickly introduced herself, with the best pronunciation a three year old can have. You had to be the one apologizing, explaining the little one had a hard time understanding that when mom said ‘stop running’ it meant to actually stop and not run any faster. Hinata just laughed, all sunshine and flowers surrounding him, and crouched down to Akame's level to ruffle her hair and ask her to be good for mommy. You saw the way he looked at you, with burning passion and desire. At least, that's what you thought. Hinata looked at you up and down, as if he was memorizing your body. He left you blushing and daydreaming while your daughter pulled at the hem of your sundress to ask for strawberries.

It didn't take long to find out Hinata was only twenty one. Some of the mothers at Akame’s kindergarten lived in the same apartment complex as you so, naturally, they saw Hinata as well and couldn't help but gossip about the beautiful young man that was always so polite and sweet. That's how you found out he was ten years younger than you and completely crushed your expectations. Maybe you read the signs all wrong. There was no way such an attractive young man was attracted to you. You were older, signs of a pregnancy still lingering.

You were so wrong.

The advances Hinata made at you weren't part of your imagination. He was always offering to help you as if he wanted to spend more time close to you and he touched you at every opportunity he had, grabbing your waist whenever he walked behind you in the kitchen during movie night or brushing your hands together while walking. At first, you thought he didn't know your age. Hinata might have thought you appear younger so, during one of your movie nights, you told him your age in a conversation. That desire burning behind his eyes came back at full force and he pushed you back on the couch, hovering above you. He talks but you barely catch a word. Hinata kisses you like he lives for it; fast and sloppy at first like he's tired of waiting for this moment. Then it's slower and sweeter, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth, sucking your tongue softly and swallowing your gasps.

You warn him that Akame is still asleep so you both make your way to the bedroom. He locks the door as you pull the oversized shirt over your head. The pants are off next and you can feel Hinata looking at you even if your back is turned to him. The man turns you so he can kiss you again; and he keeps kissing you until you're laying on your bed.

It's a blur for a while, too entranced on the way his lips taste and feel. You don't even realize he has taken off his clothes until your hands are gripping on bare skin. Hinata keeps kissing down your body as his hand makes its way between your legs. You don't have time to even think about feeling insecure because of how exposed your body is. It's like Hinata senses your preoccupation and it's right there to take your mind off of it. He kisses your inner thighs, bites them a few times and then latches onto your clit. You let out a gasp and quickly cover your mouth with your hand when you realize you're not home alone. “Tastes good.” Shoyo whispers against you, pushing a finger inside. He groans and moans like he is the one getting pleasure out of it. His hands explore your body while he’s humping against the bed as he eats you out so good. You're pulling at his bright hair, so soft between your fingers.

You don't remember the last time someone made you feel this type of pleasure. You're not sure there was even someone that could compare. You roll your eyes back, arch your back and beg for release. Hinata doesn't stop you; he simply stares at you with those big brown eyes as he pushes three fingers inside and sucks on your clit. There's drool everywhere, a wet mess all over the place. And you're so close but, suddenly, the sensation of his mouth is gone.

“Turn around for me, yeah?”

Chills run down your spine due to the demanding voice of such a sweet man. You do as Hinata says, wanting to please him as much as possible. You look over your shoulder to see him rip a condom open. He smiles at you and your heart beats faster at the sight. “Taking your time? I’m not as young as I used to be. I’m getting tired. you joke, eyes trailing down his tanned body. His big muscles shift at every movement and you're entranced by him.

He kneels behind you and your heart flips with anticipation. Your arms are getting tired already but you don't want to give up yet, so you just try to ignore it. Hinata’s hands hold your waist, squeezing it gently and rubbing his thumb over the skin. It's the comfort you need to prepare yourself for the tip of his dick pushing inside you.

It has been a while since you had sex but you feel so reassured by Shoyo that it doesn't take much for him to bottom out smoothly. He stays still for a while though, letting you get used to it. It isn't until you start pushing back against him that Shoyo starts moving his hips.

It isn't too fast, careful not to make too much noise whenever his skin slaps against yours. However, even though he isn't going fast, he is going deep. You feel his dick reach places you don't think ever got reached.

He groans under his breath and you're biting your lip to stay quiet. Your arms end up giving out, too tired to hold your body weight and you hide your face on the soft pillow beneath you.

“Fuck.” he says behind you, “do you know how long I have been waiting for this?”

Your eyes practically roll to the back of your head. Hinata whispers low praises next to your ear, his body fully pressed against yours as his hand sneaks between your thighs to rub your clit slowly. You whisper his name, a plea for him to help you reach your climax. He guides you to it, without a hurry, and kisses the side of your head when he feels you squeeze around him, finally reaching your orgasm. Shoyo follows a few thrusts later, releasing inside the condom.

He pulls out and quickly helps you turn around to lay on the bed. He disappears for a bit before turning back with a wet towel. Shoyo stands next to you in all of his naked glory, sweat coating his tanned skin. You still think he looks handsome and can't stop staring at him while he cleans you the best he can with the towel.

“Shower?” he simply asks. You nod, yelping when Shoyo picks you up from the bed.

You kiss his cheek, then his jaw, then the corner of his lip. Hinata is smiling brightly and he can't stop even as he tries to kiss you, smiling against your mouth.

You shower together, Shoyo lovingly washes your body and kisses you every time your insecurities threaten to show up. It’s nice to be close to someone like this, you didn't think you would get to experience this again. He helps you dry yourself, helps you get dressed and then he is pulling you to bed, wrapping his arms against your frame.

And when you wake up, it's with the noise of Shoyo excitedly talking to your daughter in the living room about a random cartoon. You walk there and Akame gives you the biggest smile as she asks if Shoyo will be having sleepovers more often. “I guess he will.” is all you reply. Shoyo looks at you, pretty brown eyes shining and you nod, “Yeah, he definitely will.”

[cloudsmateria]

leon kennedy x reader / college au

summary: you and your best friend leon had gone off to university, too busy to see each other for the longest time you'd both been away. you eventually find the time to meet up, getting drunk and acting on some building up feelings :3

warnings: start of a smut, alcohol, not proof read idk its kind of a shit ramble that i didn't put much cohesive effort into but it's quite cute so i posted it

anyway, i’ll probably do the smut in p2

words: 2.7k

It had been a month since you last saw Leon. Ever since you started law school, and he got into his cop training program both of your schedules had been stacked, despite you both still living in the same city the 45-minute commute to each other's homes was too much. As your best friend, you both managed to call each other every other night, confiding about whatever stupid experiences you both had in your new lives.

Tonight, you finally were able to agree on him coming to your apartment tonight, as you finally managed to get all work out of the way to have a fully free weekend off. You didn't realise how excited you were for his arrival until he texted you he was at the door. You sprinted through the halls and threw the door open.

"Leon!" You shout, jumping onto him and wrapping your arms around him.

"Y/n." He smiled, hugging you back.

“I haven’t seen you in way too long.” 

“We saw each other on Facetime last night.” You finally pull away with a smile. 

“You won’t even let me have a moment to be sweet.”

“It weirds me out, you're impossible to take seriously.” He rolls his eyes in response as he walks into your apartment, falling onto your couch, you sit next to him, kicking your legs up and leaning your head against his shoulder. “Did you wanna order takeout?”

“I wanted to go out. Haven’t left my apartment to explore the city since I joined the training academy. But we’ll just stay in here for a few minutes, catch me up, then we can go outside and do dumb shit.”

“Catch you up on what?” You laughed. “You’ve been my virtual therapist for the past month. Let’s talk about you. Show me what you learnt in your training or something, entertain me.”

“You’re right, you’ve talked too much, your voice gives me a headache.” You slap his chest and he lets out a light laugh, grabbing your wrists and pulling you over him to lay on his chest. “Get comfortable first, it’s long.”

“Doubt it.”

“You have it easy. This training is just as physically draining as it is mentally.”

“It shows. You’ve grown a lot since I last saw you.” You say, tracing your finger up his arm that has noticeably grown in size, and he’s already been going gym since he was 15.

He laughs. “You must've missed me bad, I’ve never seen you this nice.”

“What’s the training like?”

“I’m at the top of the class right now but the coaches are fucking evil, 4 people have already left.” He rambles on about the jarring people he’s met and the few friends that he’s made until the story is over and he gets up regretfully as he loses the weight of your body on top of him. You go into your room to change as you are still in pyjamas, getting into a skirt with a baggy sweater you wore a little too much.

“Is that my jumper?” Leon asked as you walked out. “Is it? I've had it for ages." He steps closer and snorts when he gets a closer look, flipping the back to see the label.

"You stole this from me last year."

"You mean I borrowed it indefinitely."

"I could arrest you."

"I'd like to see you try your best, trainee. It looks better on me anyway, finders keepers."

"What if I took it back off you?"

"You'd have to catch me first."

"I'm pretty fast."

"Not as fast as me." You grin before pushing him and sprinting out of your apartment, the sound of his footsteps trailing behind you.

"You think you can lose me?!" He taunted.

"I've done it before!" You shout back, running down the stairs of the apartment complex, and out into the streets, almost losing your breath from how much you were laughing. Suddenly, he sped up to an ungodly speed, picking you up when he caught up and throwing you over his shoulder. "Oh my god! What do they feed you in training?!" You yell, slapping his back.

"Mostly protein." He says, sarcastically.

"Are you gonna put me down or carry me around the city like a caveman?"

"I’ll drop you."

"Don't even joke about that." He laughs.

"Fine, fine, I won't." He puts you down and you both start walking around the city, looking for a corner store to get into.

"Let’s get wasted." You say, pointing to a small corner store.

"You’re so irresponsible." He said, going into the store and coming back out with soda and a bottle of vodka, he popped it open instantly when he came out, taking in a mouthful without wincing, passing it over to you straight after as you both walked down the street.

"I found this nice spot, it's 5 minutes from here."

"You didn't tell me about this when we were on Facetime."

"I was hoping to show you in person, I haven't told anyone else about it." You say, taking a mouthful of the burning liquid, coughing slightly, and passing it back over.

"Well, lead the way."

After a few minutes, you were standing on the roof of an abandoned, bordered car park with a pretty view of the river that ran through the city. You already had a wooden bench up there that you took as someone left it on the side of the road.

"How did you find this?" Leon asks.

"I just went on a walk one day and saw the entrance was bordered up and decided to explore, no-one ever comes up here." You said, leaning against the rails. "How much have we drank?"

"About a quarter of the bottle. Do you want more?" He asked.

"Yeah." He passes it over to you. "Do you remember the time we broke into that abandoned hospital near our high school?"

"And you freaked out when you thought that fake skeleton was real.."

"You're never gonna let that go are you?"

"We had to climb out of the window and I had to catch you before you fell to your death. Of course, I'm not going to let it go, you owe me."

"What do you want then? A drink?”

"I can pay for my own drinks and I just paid for yours." He said signalling to the bottle in your hand.

"You get to continue to enjoy my lovely company, that's all I owe you."

"Good enough." He sighed, taking a swig. The both of you sit around, both of you talking each other's ears off until he makes a suggestion.

"We should play a game."

"What's the game?"

"Truth or dare."

"Yes! I don't remember the last time we played this. Truth."

"Any crushes yet?"

"Honestly, not really. There are some cute guys in my uni but I'm just too busy with work. Truth or Dare."

"Dare."

"I dare you to finish the bottle."

"No problem." He said, finishing the bottle, and dropping it on the ground. You laughed at him, knowing he's going to be out of his mind later.

“You’ve been going to too many parties.” You say, watching in astonishment. “This is definitely some pretence for a future alcohol problem.”

“You’re gonna be the reason for my future alcoholism.”

“To be fair you are the type to become an alcoholic over a girl.”

“You’re that girl. You’re the most annoying thing in my life and I can’t get rid of you.” 

You hit his arm.

“You hit me too. Can’t get worse.” You roll your eyes with a smile.

“Seriously, you got anything going on with any girls?” You ask, feeling a bit of tension rise. He gives you a knowing grin. “Because I love gossip, don’t get any ideas.”

“Yeah, her name is Sienna. Funny girl, might ask her out soon.” You nod, questionably annoyed. “I’m joking. God. You look like you’ve seen a ghost, got something you wanna tell me?”

“The alcohol is just hitting.” You say. “Don’t get so full of yourself. You know I wouldn’t get with you if you were the last man on earth.”

“Yeah, right.” He smiles amusedly, a plan in mind. “Truth or dare, y/n?”

"Dare."

"Kiss me." Your heart stops.

"I'm not kissing you."

"You have to."

“Do I?”

“Never took you for a girl who’d pussy out on a dare.”

You sigh.

"You have some sick satisfaction out of tormenting me." You say, standing up and straddling his thighs. Fuck. You can feel the thick muscles of his shoulders as you rest your hands upon them. 

"You have no idea." You stare at him with a small frown.

"You're so lucky I'm drunk." You lean in slowly, feeling his fingers trace over your skin, sending goosebumps all over your body. You're just a few centimetres away from his lips, your lips parting, your heart thumping, his gaze dropping down to your lips. Suddenly, you hear him quietly laugh as you start to close your eyes.

"I'm not actually going to kiss you." He says.

"What?"

"You don't have to kiss me, it was a joke."

"Oh god." You sigh, faceplanting into his shoulder.

"You're so cute." He snorts, wrapping his arms around your waist.

"I think you’re the one who’s gonna make me an alcoholic." You mumble. 

“Come on, let’s go back to your apartment before you jump off the railings.” He says, letting you get off.

"You're evil." You say once you get to the ground.

"And you're so gullible. How is someone supposed to not take advantage of that?"

"Now you’re showing your true colours, you’re going to regret saying that." You say as menacing as you can, before tripping up from how tipsy you were, just for him to grab the back of your sweater to keep you upright.

"Keep threatening me, I love it."

“Freaky bastard.”

“You have no idea.” He says, grabbing your hand to speed you up for you to trip again, he laughs as you manage to catch yourself. “Do you need me to carry you?”

“No thanks.”

“Too bad because I want to get back in a timely manner.” He says, wrapping his arm around the back of your knees and carrying you off. You weren’t going to complain. 

“Are you not drunk?”

“I’m drunk. I just have more spatial awareness than you.” He carries you the quick 5 minutes to your house. Managing to walk all the way up the stairs with you still in his arms, his stamina was kind of hot, or maybe those were just drunk thoughts. 

He sets you down on your couch, getting you both a glass of water to put on your side table. 

"I didn’t say this but I took some judo classes." You say, just letting whatever dumb shit stumble out your mouth as you take a sip from the glass.

"Did you now?" He says sarcastically.

"We should spar."

"You never fail to surprise me with your stupid ideas." He says while watching you get up. "Are you that confident?"

"You're scared, that's why you're trying to chicken out." He pushes himself up off the couch.

“You’re going to hurt yourself.” He says, watching you hype yourself up, jumping up and down.

“Come on, let’s go.”

“Come at me then.” He said, fully intending to go easy on you. You quickly try to tackle him onto the floor, wrapping your leg around him to drop him, and to his shock he falls onto his back, leaving him groaning and rubbing his back. “I didn’t think you were being serious.”

“Fuck yeah! Told you you’d regret it!” You shout, jumping up, he grabs your leg and pulls it down making you fall over him, rolling over so that you were pinned down by your wrists.

“How cute, Leon.” You smile, tucking feet underneath him onto his chest and launching off you and getting up. You usually weren’t this successful given you’d only gone to 2 classes, the drunkenness definitely provided you some much-needed confidence. He laughs breathlessly from the rollercoaster you just put him through, resting on his wrists for a second before standing up with you. 

“You wanted me to show you what I learnt in training right?” He says, as you rub your hands together mischievously. You run toward him, him holding both of your hands when you try to push him, pushing against each other as he swipes both your feet from under you and pins you to the floor, his shins pressing on your thighs to make sure you don’t pull the same trick again. Both of you are still breathing heavily from the high of the last round. 

 "You should give up now." He whispers, lacing his fingers in between your own.

"You should know better." You whisper back, smiling. His eyes drop down to your lips, his head fogged as the alcohol in his system starts to kick in more.

"What if I don't?" He leans in, brushing his lips over yours, your stomach fluttering, you were so glad you were drunk. You never would've come up with this idea if you were sober.

"What are you doing, Leon?" 

"Beating you up.”

"You're drunk."

"So are you." He replies, connecting your lips. The kiss is slow and soft. Not how you expected a drunk make-out to be. His lips part and your tongue meet his, the both of you letting out quiet sounds as the kiss gets more heated, his body weight shifting down. His arms wrap around your waist, under your jumper as he stands up with your legs wrapped around him. "We shouldn't be making out on the living room floor." He says and presses his lips against yours again. You were already a little light-headed from the alcohol, his lips trailing down your jawline, your neck, the soft breaths of his breath against your skin, it was almost dizzying. His foot pushes your bedroom door open and he places you down on the bed his lips still all over and his fingers lifting the jumper over your head. He trails his fingers over the waistband of your skirt.

"How much did you miss me?" He breathes against your lips.

"More than anything."

"How much did you miss me, Leon?"

“I was going insane." He whispers, his fingers slipping into your underwear, sliding them off and throwing them across the room. He sits up, taking his shirt off.

"Now that's just the alcohol talking."

"It's not, the time away made me realise something I should've ages ago." He said, leaning back over and kissing you. His hand trailed back down under your skirt, a finger gliding over your slit, a soft moan coming from his lips.

[tabithatwo]

it's yellowjackets / jennifer's body parallels time!

hi hello keep reading if you would like to hear about shauna/jennifer and jackie/needy, here's my totally noncomprehensive, very much off the cuff thoughts on this very complex and interesting dynamic!!

(i'm not getting into the basic parallels, i'm gonna assume you know the karyn kusama of it all, the heart necklace, the homoerotic female friendship, the death)

yellowjackets is so brilliant because it feeds you stereotypes and absolutely does not deliver on them. there could be an entire paper on each girl and how this is true for them specifically, but walk quickly with me because i want to get into the nitty gritty gory fun stuff! a brief oversimplified example: nat is referred to as a burnout, some would assume she's a loner based on that, but she cares about the team as a unit more than arguably anyone else. (this is common in real life too, our stereotypes often don't hold water in reality and yj reflects that beautifully!)

now to the jackie/shauna of it all. it would be oh so incredibly easy to look at jackie and think she's the jennifer of the duo. we are set up to see her as prettier, more popular, more demanding. but that illusion falls apart QUICKLY if you pay attention to the things that jackie actually says and does. she's not a mean girl. she's actually one of the kindest on the team. she doesn't pick on shauna, she clings. there are plenty of takes on this on tumblr so i won't exhaust it, my adhd loves to digress and meander but i'm forcing myself back onto the trodden path to this point: people look at the first few minutes of the pilot and they immediately decide that they know who these girls are. the audience typecasts jackie as a jennifer and shauna as a needy. the popular, bubbly girl and her shy, bookworm best friend.

a lot of people, especially casual viewers who don't study this show like its their job (god, wonder what that would be like lol) understandably stop here. but to me the BRILLIANCE of yj is that they don't actually make it HARD for you to undo your initial impressions. the material is there. it isn't hidden. it isn't some deeper self of each character that is unraveled throughout seasons. they push, push, push to see just how far they can carry our deeply held stereotypes/expectations. how forward and violent can shauna be, with viewers still clinging to a shy and sweet girl, who was really their own creation? how kind and honestly pathetic kicked-puppy can jackie be, with viewers still clinging to a mean girl, who was really their own creation? how far will we go to warp the characters intentions, so that we can keep them in the box we understand them in? they ask this of the viewer and of other characters, but AGAIN i digress.

so, while this might sit strangely with some, yes i think that jackie is very much aligned with needy if you peel back just one layer. but far above and beyond that, shauna is so very fucking jennifer.

the overall veneer is thinned immediately in yj. there isn't one girl in the stands and one on center stage. jackie and shauna are both on the team. they go to the same parties, they play the same sport, i would argue that shauna isn't even coded as "less pretty" (please note the word coded, because i'm not saying needy is literally less pretty than jennifer, i am simply saying that we have hair, makeup, clothing, glasses trends that we use to stereotype characters, are you with me?)

so now what? now these girls are both and neither. shauna thinks that she is the needy to jackie's jennifer. jackie wears the necklace and the introductory shots frame her as important. but we're already diverting from that set-up.

our absolute clearest common denominator here is one that i rarely see people mention funnily enough: JENNIFER IS A SUCCUBUS. she CONSUMES. she KILLS. she WANTS and she TAKES.

now before you get TOO EXCITED!!! i see some of you getting ready to say i'm a shauna shipman hater, put the pitchforks down!! shauna is one of my favorite characters of all time. i love her crazy ass so deeply that it's alarming. (i don't hate jennifer, either, for the record.) i love her largely for WHAT she is. i think sanitizing or sweetening her is a disservice. she's amazing and complex and wounded and capable of deep love. but she also, quite LITERALLY, consumes.

her character is sex and desire and violence and obsession and consumption. and it's AMAZING. she's POWERFUL. she's our main framing character (in this dynamic), rather than needy. the scripts are switched. jennifer dies and needy lives, and that's one story. that's clearer cut, simpler, made for a horror film. but here, jackie dies and shauna lives, and that story is deep and rich and goes on to include a whole lot more death and destruction and chaos.

shauna tells us herself that it excites her. she likes it. she is this girl. this woman. she reminisces and she recreates and she covets.

jennifer tries to consume needy, shauna literally consumes jackie.

there's more to this story, obviously. you could deep dive and mine for the intricacies of the set up and fall of stereotype and expectation, or collect all of the exact parallels. but i'll stick with a few, because this is a quick outburst of thought.

a huge one, who is taking whose boyfriend?

here's another personal favorite of mine, just for kicks

is it too complex to neatly tuck away? absolutely. they're different stories with different themes. shauna isn't simply a teenager possessed by a demon. it runs far deeper. as is the essence of this show.

but if you want to look at parallels, look at the one who has been holding the knife the whole time.

[angelitaby]

future!leonardo x reader. tw; descriptions of gore, death and peepaw leo angst :3 does this count as a one-shot?

𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐎 is awake tonight, his arm draped over his forehead. he is completely alone. exception to the low glow of a lamp on his face. complex emotions are unfolding unbidden.

he can hear thumps and cracks from outside the room, familiar to the strong workings and sharp pains of his heart. the ash still rustles, patters, and sighs. it’s a taunting echo of your footfall, every light step a second he won’t get back. leo’s chest pounds louder. the ash storm buffets, his breath colliding rhythmically with the booming of his migraine. it's loud. like an agitated heart. pains and aches everywhere. he hears a snort of laughter. it's not real. it's not... real.

"you're getting old..."

a man filled with delirium from lack of sleep can't help but dream of his lost lover. his vision is blurry, but in the corner of his eye stands a figure, leaning against the frame of the doorway. it's not you. it's not you.

"you haven't been sleeping again, i see."

he doesn't answer, and the blurry figure moves in front of him, ghosting it's fingertips over his jaw like how you used to. cradling his face, running a thumb over his lips.

"what happened to needing your beauty sleep, leo?"

you are long dead, he should not be able to feel these sensations, but his body intimately remembers your touch like a phantom wound. he closes his eyes. and even if he was talking to himself, he couldn't help but respond this time. his voice is broken, it's so sad.

"i'm so sorry..."

"it's okay, leo. you're okay."

it's okay. it's... okay. he's—his eyes open wide, and he jolts up as if he had just been shot. your figure vanishes away like a wisp. and leo is once again forced back into reality. the reality that he will never be able to feel your true touch, and he will never wake up beside your forgiving gaze again. the feeling of you in his arms is something on the list of many things he will never have again. you're dead. and you're gone. it's not real. he has to remind himself. and his mind flashes to the night where he couldn't save you. against his will it replays in his head. flashbacks of you falling granted by some unknown force as an unholy gift.

a fate which made you beg for death. after feeling pressured by the eyes of a true monster peering through you and festering underneath your skin, writhing like worms through your sinews, rippling through your veins and kissing at each inch of the intricate maze under your skin until it threatened to break and face the sun. overcoming you to a madness. it laid itself where it could. your organs. behind your eyes, in your brain. in the deep layers. pulling your limbs apart with the power of a village, gnawing at your flesh to take as its own. with a smell that had made you want to vomit. it was dizzy. you wanted to scratch at your skin until it escaped.

eventually, you were unable to feel it after a sharp stab through your chest. your last heartbeat, your last breath. you began to see hallucinations. unable to see the world for how it really was. you lived in a blissful hallucination for a few moments. living in a distant dream, where none of this happened. a little world where you got to start a family, make a home. where you were safe. safe, because he was there. safe, he always was, leo. it didn't hurt, this dream. you knew it wasn't real, and perhaps it was selfish to feel so... so accepting of death, but fuck, did it feel nice. for once, you weren't in pain. were you smiling?

it was bitter sweet. it was beautiful. your skin split open, blooming outward like petals. blood sparkling like rain as it returned to the dirt. to be consumed by fungi that would continue the decomposition cycle with your marrow in its veins. eyes that were carefully embedded into your skin screaming as leo's ōdachi went right through your heart like cupid's arrow. they all looked at him. taunting. so, so taunting. it was like the kraang was laughing right at his face as it ripped you away from him.... you. you were gone. he felt his limbs go numb, he couldn't breath, he couldn't breath. he—oh, God. he couldn't fucking breath. donatello had to drag him away, but he was yelling the whole time.

and donatello, in an attempt to comfort his brother, he called your death something strange.

he called it... mercy.

[astroyongie]

Wet Castle

Note: I can't find the request anymore on my inbox! Anyway this comes from a request that wanted a writing about yn x Wooyoung and x San with the mafia/gang tag. This part one, part two could come out if you guys enjoy this one!

Wet Castle 

pairings: Wooyoung x YN and San x YN 

synopsis: After growing up in one of the most dangerous Seoul Gangs, a strange accident made you decide to cut ties with your affiliation and leave the gang you were so attached with. You moved to Itaewon, doing small works for money, until the day you met Wooyoung, a nice guy next door who worked right under a small coffee shop. You can’t help getting closer to Wooyoung, knowing fairly well that your past life will never leave you alone.. 

Triggers: Mention of subtle smut, drugs, alcohol, hard language.

Part two: here

Part One

You inhaled the smoke, burning your lungs once more. The cold breeze caressed your blushed face, as you blow thick smoke into the air. You hated Itaewon. But it was still better than going back to Seocho District. At night, you would often find yourself in the apartment complex stairs, smoking one cigarette or two, while eyeing the drunk men passing by as they searched for another club to get. Women were nearby too, many dressed with short dresses, giggling like children whenever they got the attention of those richer than them. 

The streets raged in drunk and drugged people and foreigners looking for fantasies. It was a paradise for underground business and a nightmare for those who wanted to live a quiet life.

Fuck, you hated Itaewon. You just hated Seocho more. 

“Y/n?” a voice called and you lazily turned your gaze to the man in front of you. You sighed, standing from the stairs and taking another hit from your cigarette.

“Yeosang.” 

It has been 3 months since you left Zeeta, one of the most - if not the current most- renowned gangs in South Korea. You already knew, it wouldn't be easy leaving such life behind, none of the people you have ever met did. The only way out was certain death, and yet there you were. Hanging by a thread, not fully out, not fully in. 

Yeosang bowed his head swiftly at you, before reaching inside his pocket. He pulled out a small envelope before extending his arm to you. You looked up into his blazed eyes, blowing out the smoke before taking in the small envelope. It was heavy and you could smell its contenance from distance. Money. Dirty money. 

“You can go now.” You ordered and Yeosang tsked.

“I don't take orders from you, white tiger.”

Your annoyed glare didn't seem to make Yeosang react. You have known him for years now, and your intimidating gaze was routine for him. Looking up in the sky, he added. “He wants to know when you are coming back.”

You stayed silent, the uneasy feeling coiling at the base of your stomach. Turning around, you took one step up the stairs before answering, swallowing the aftertaste of this visit.

“I won’t. Tell him to stop sending me money. I dont need it.” 

You didn't look back. Instead you went straight back to your flat, feeling suddenly colder. It was only once you had closed the door behind you, after hearing that click of the lock, that you allowed yourself to breathe in and out. You hated Seocho. But you hated him more. 

… 

The Pirate Coffee Shop was probably the only positive thing in Itaewon. Their coffee was strong and bitter, enough to make you pull a comfortable expression, each time the liquid poured down your throat. The pastries were sweet and the smell of freshly baked goods usually made your body relaxed. Although you didn't eat them that much, being surrounded by it made you feel somehow calm. You take it for a habit to come over each morning, sitting always on the same table in the front of the big windows, at the bottom of the shop. You had become an usual customer to the point where ordering wasn't even necessary. 

It felt comfortable. It felt nice. To have the sun heating your face while you read your books or the newspaper. You almost felt like a normal civilian when you did so.

The waiter came, pushing a hot black coffee in front of you, alongside a pistachio croissant. You removed your eyes from your book, furrowing your brows when you saw the pastry. It's been a week now, that you had been receiving food that you had never once ordered. At first you didn't even complain but now, it had happened way too much to be a simple coincidence.

“I didn’t order this.” you called out, before looking up and meeting the almond eyes of the waiter. Ah yes, the waiter. The small etiquette on top of his blouse clearly said “Wooyoung” but you had been mentally calling him brat, for quite some time.

The brat would always pester you with questions about your living, making small talk that you often tried to turn down. you weren't stupid, you could clearly see that he had been trying to hit on you, but you wouldn't allow yourself to enjoy his company. Not now, at least.

“It's on the house,” the boy said, a ravishing smile ripping through his face.

“You said that yesterday,” you mumbled and eyed the pastry with a watering mouth. Wooyoung had been working at this coffee shop for about a month. At first, he would avoid you, as the owner would always be the one taking your orders and serving your black coffee. That until this brat started to serve you. You didn't mind at first, it was their job after all. But it's been a week now, that the insolent has been offering you food like you were a homeless person. 

“I saw you look at it this morning,” Wooyoung explained, pulling the serving plate against his chest, the same smile covering his features. “I thought you might want to try it.”

You licked your lips in an attempt to hide a seemingly smile. “Did I?”

“Yeah.”

“Wooyoung!” The owner called from the countertop, his old wrinkles giving him a perpetual aspect of being upset. “Leave the customer alone and go to work, you rascal!”

“Yes boss!” the boy said before turning to you once more. “I am Wooyoung, by the way.”

“I know.”

Your reply seemed to have left him a little confused, but he did grin widely at you. Before he could ask for yours, the owner called him again, making the young boy rush to give the other customers their orders. You grinned slightly, eyeing the waiter for a few seconds as he kept doing his job. His  black hair was messily tied in a small ponytail, his dimples showing each time he would smile at someone inside the shop. Wooyoung was probably younger than you, for a year or two, you figured.

You pulled yourself out of your thoughts, looking back at your croissant. 

Maybe Itaewon wasn't that bad. 

…

“Maybe I should leave for the countryside.” 

You mumbled to yourself as you walked past the streets, the cold night making you push your hands deep into your jacket’s pockets. As per usual, Itaewon was crowded with people at night, foreigners looking for adventures and some fun, men looking for hookups and girls thirsting for attention that their parents couldn't give them. It was pathetic really, but you couldn't help but enjoy walking in the same streets they did. It somehow made you feel better.

Was it because they were as fucked up as you? Or maybe because you blended so well in this atmosphere, that you felt finally invisible enough not to worry about your safety. 

You truly didn't know. You craved freedom, a normal life without constantly worrying about tomorrow. Yet, you couldn't let go of the thrilling feeling of potentially dying tomorrow gave you.

The air was thick with the scent of smoke and alcohol. It was easy to spot the people that once worked below you. These insects of humans, wearing those green woodies, have pockets full of people’s wildest fantasies. Ecstasy, heroine, coke, cannabis. You name it, they had it. You still couldn't comprehend how one could be so stupid, that they felt the need to consume this shit to feel better within themselves. Life was shit no matter the things you put inside your body.

Hypocrite, you thought. After all, you had consumed the same crap they did, more than once. 

You turned left, walking back to your flat. It was getting late, and you didn't feel like drowning yourself in alcohol anymore. Reaching inside your back pants pocket, you took your cigarette pack, sighing in annoyance when you noticed only one left. You didn't have any money on you either, so it wasn't worth it to go and buy some now. 

Looking forward, you already could see the stairs to your flat, a couple of minutes away, and even the faint light of the Pirate Coffee Shop, which was probably going to close soon. You took the last cigarette and brought it to your lips, stopping your steps in order to light it up. Before you could reach for your lighter, you saw an old man coming to you, lighter bright.

“Please, allow me, doll”

The man said before lighting your cigarette. You gave the man a quick look, as you inhaled smoke to light your poison. He was old, his clothing was not that expensive to be worthy of your attention. A pity, otherwise you might have joined him for some fun. Once your cigarette lit, you took a step back, bowing your head slightly before passing through.

“Hey!” the man called, his voice slightly annoyed. “Hey, those aren't manners! You should say thank you, bitch!”

“Piss off, I am not in the mood,” you neutrally said. Men, they always thought they were entitled to do whatever they wanted, just by doing the bare minimum. You felt a pressure on your arm, before you were turned around with force. The surprise of the movement made you drop the cigarette into the ground. The man grabbed you by the collar, as your eyes were still fixed on your last freaking cigarette, burning away on the dirty ground. 

“Hey bitch, maybe I should teach you some manners”

“Old man..” You murmured, before glaring at him, feeling your patience running thin. “Do you want to die?”

“Huh?”

You felt your hands turn into fists, your body shifting slightly to accommodate his grip. He reeked of alcohol, pupils blown wide and his breath made you nauseous. Taking care of vermin like him was easy. A right blow under his shin and this guy would be knocked off until tomorrow morning. He probably had his wallet with him, so that would be a big win for you. You just needed to hit, now. 

“Hey!!! What do you think you are doing!”

Your eyes widen at the voice reaching behind you, making you instantly release the muscles of your hand. The old man raised his eyebrows before letting go of your collar, his confused eyes glued to the men that stood behind you. You looked back, seeing Wooyoung approaching. He wasn't dressed in his waiter clothing anymore, his dark jeans suiting him like a glove and his long jacket covering half of his body. The brat stopped by your side, wrapping a hand around your shoulders which made you freeze in place. The nerve this damn rascal had-

“Back off, or I will call the cops,” Wooyoung said in a serious voice, making the other man tsked in annoyance.

“I wasn't doing anything wrong, you got it all wrong.”

“You were gripping my girlfriend, am I wrong?” Girlfriend? this bastard must be out of his fucking mind-. Your thoughts stopped when you felt Wooyoung pulling you closer to his side. The old man mumbled something under his breath, before waving in an apologizing manner, turning around. You hated men. You truly did. Once the old man was out of sight, you pushed away from Wooyoung's grip, who smiled down at you. 

“Gosh, good thing I was here-”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” you asked angrily, making the boy in front of you look down at you in surprise.

“Sorry?”

“We don't know each other, why the hell did you did that for?” Wooyoung kept looking at you, dumbfounded by your statement before shrugging lightly. 

“You don't need to know someone to help them, you know.”

You stayed silent, eyeing him once more before he turned his gaze to the side, his dimples disappearing under what seemed to be a small pout. Fuck, was this guy this childish? You cleared your throat, embarrassment starting to crawl up your spine. 

“Sorry,” You ended up saying, rubbing the back of your neck “I didn't mean to sound ungrateful.” 

The brat looked at you again, giving you a small smile. You tried to ignore it, turning your gaze forward before walking down to reach your flat. This was quite a night, and honestly you just wanted to crash on your bed and sleep it out. You frowned as you noticed the damn bastard following you, his long legs reaching your side. 

“What are you doing?” you asked

“I am accompanying you until you reach home safely, of course.”

“I don't need that.”

“You could encounter another drunk guy you know. It's dangerous around here.” 

You sneered. “I can handle that much.”

Wooyoung chuckled which made you look at him in confusion. There wasn't any malice in his eyes, they were soft and genuinely relaxed. This guy… truly was an irrational brat but you couldn't blame him. After all, he didn't know anything about you. He was too kind, too nice and you knew fairly well that guys like him did not last one day in your world. Wooyoung wasn't very tall, he wasn't very buffy either but he did smell nice. He definitely wasn't your type, but you could use him for your needs. You have always heard that good guys were a nice surprise in bed. Your last one night stands sucked ass, none of the guys you set up with were able to give you any type of satisfaction, and you were tired of having to think about him, to get off. You needed a change. 

When you reached the stairs of your flat, Wooyoung stopped. You took a few steps up but upon noticing that he wasn't following you, you turned around. 

“Good night, then.” He said, a tender smile covering his tired face.

“Do you wanna get a drink at my place?” You asked, unbothered by his surprised reaction. Wooyoung’s face turned a very pale pink but his answer did not match his body language. 

“I won't go drinking in someone’s house, to which I don't even know the name of.” 

That sneaky bastard.. you smiled this time, turning around as you kept walking up the stairs. “Your loss then, brat.”

“I will see you tomorrow morning,” He said back, an amused timber tingling in his voice, from the name you had called him. You bit your bottom lip before replying without looking at him

“yn.. it 's yn.”

You left Wooyoung there as you reached the door of your flat. Taking the keys out of your pocket, you insert it on the lock, your eyes narrowing as you notice that the door was unlocked. Fuck.. fuck.. someone was inside. You gulped down, taking a deep breath before twisting the knob of your door. Once you reached inside, the lights were out and the faint scent of spice and musk cologne hit your nostrils. You felt your body coil in a strange sensation as you reached your living room. 

There was he. Sat on your couch, cigarette on his lips. Even in total darkness you could see the patterns of his tattoos designing themselves up from the few unbutton bottoms of his white shirt to his neck. The oni mask tattoo that covered his left hand as he took the cigarette out of his mouth to look at you, made you shiver. 

Your Past.

Your Present.

Your Future. 

The Red Dragon. 

“Yn” he called your name, a deep voice making your knees weak and your mind foggy. 

“San.”

[offbrandkyoya]

31 date night

previous | masterlist | next

Time really seemed to hate you. Just this class and you’ll be able to see Scaramouche. You wrote in your notebook what was written on the chalkboard, then you’d glance at the clock. Your knee jumped up and down. You were literally sweating, biting your bottom lip. You swore your classmates thought you were high or something.

Finally, the bell rang, and you are so quick to leave. Almost tripping in the halls, you ran to your apartment complex, threw your stuff on the ground, and headed straight to your room. You checked yourself out in your mirror. “I hope he thinks I look good..” You mumbled, cheeks flushed. “Oh, right!” You kneeled to your drawer and shuffled inside to find a small bag with a cute purple ribbon that closed it. You gently placed it inside your purse and ran once more out to the cafe across your place.

Once reaching your destination, you stopped to catch your breath, and then sat at a table outside near the window. You placed your purse around the chair and composed yourself. A waitress came out and walked up to you with a polite smile. “Will it just be you today?” She asked. You shook your head. “No, someone will be here soon.” “Would you like some water while you wait to order?” “Yes, please.” “Alright.” You waved at her. “Thank you so much.” She beamed and nodded while she headed inside.

You took out your phone to see if Scaramouche texted you. You frowned when you saw nothing. You didn’t want to seem annoying so you put your phone back in your bag. The lady came out once more with a glass of water. “Here you go.” “Thanks.” She went inside once more to tend to another customer. You sighed and drank to calm your nerves. You rested your chin on your hand and watched the people entering stores, leaving homes, walking down the streets. You let another sigh as you felt a bit lonely.

You took another sip until you noticed a figure heading your direction. He looked pretty scary as he wore shades, a black mask, a black hat, and a black hoodie. It was even oversized and he wore ripped jeans. He stopped in front of you, huffing. You were kinda scared since why is a dude, wearing all black, standing in front of you? Were you about to get mugged right now?! You couldn’t help but scoot your chair back. “C-Can I help you?” You mustered out.

He was stunned which made you confused. “I’m not a stranger.” ‘Wait, I know that voice…’ You gasped, “Scara-“ His eyes widen and you instantly covered your mouth. “S-Sorry.” He sighed before sitting across from you. “I didn’t recognize you.” You whispered, putting your hands down. “I can’t get noticed. Fans are crazy.” You giggled. “Oh, are you ready to order?” The same lady walked up to you. You nodded, “I would like an ice caramel coffee!” “Got it. And you sir?” Scaramouche shifted awkwardly. “M-My friend would like… black coffee?” He nods. “Yes! Black coffee!” You repeated with confidence. The lady giggled. “Alright. I’ll be back.” She leaves and you both let out a huge sigh.

“Black coffee?” You raised a brow. “W-What?” “It makes you suspicious.” “Ugh, shut up!” You laugh. “I didn’t know you like caramel.” “It’s good!” Scaramouche scratched his cheek. “I don’t really like sweets.” “Booo.” You pouted. “But I’m so sweet and always filled with sugar!” Scaramouche was silent for a moment before looking away. “I guess you’re an exception.” You blushed. “I’m back!” The lady interrupts the moment, placing your drinks down. “Enjoy!” She heads inside. You grab the straw, placed it in its cup, and began to take sips.

Scaramouche looked at you weirdly. “Aren’t you gonna mix the sugar in?” “That’s to much work.” “What the fuck?” You laughed and he put down his mask to drink. “I feel like I’m on a date with a pop star.” He choked. “Cause you are.” “Yeah, but you look like you’re from a gang.” “That contradicts what you just said.” You took another sip before handing it to Scaramouche. “Try mine and I’ll try yours.” He was hesitate but shoved his drink towards. You both drank at the same time and cringed. “Too sugary.” “Too bitter!” You handed back each others beverage. “You really like that stuff?” You say at the same time then laugh.

“It tastes like your soul.” You say and Scaramouche rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” Suddenly, Scaramouche lifted his mask up, leaving you a bit confused. “What’s wrong?” You ask in a whisper as he shrunk in his seat. “Fans.” You turned behind you and there were two girls, clearly wearing Kazuha and Xiao merch. One of them spotted you and headed straight toward as you. You groaned, “Oh great.” You stood up, covering Scaramouche. “We saw your picture.” She said, scanning you up and down. “You really do look hideous in person.” “Right, well, I’m not the one wearing a shirt of my friends face. Which, by the way, they actually don’t like seeing that in public but of course, you guys never respect their wishes.” She growled then took out her phone, snapped a picture of you, then ran back to her friend. “What a weirdo.” You say as you sit back down.

Scaramouche sat back up once the girls were gone. “The hells her problem?” “It’s whatever.” You shrug and drink. Scaramouche looked at you worriedly but you seemed fine. “Let’s go somewhere fun!” You say while standing up. “Fun?” You grabbed his arm, pulling him up. “Yes, fun! Don’t be a party pooper!” You placed a tip and money to pay for the drinks and pulled Scaramouche along with you to who knows where.

“Do you even know where to go?” He asked you in which you responded with a shrug. He rolled your eyes at your stupidity but let you drag him around. “Let’s go-“ “Wait!” Scaramouche pulled you in front of him to hide. Instead of asking, you scanned around and there were a line of girls heading to the cafe you guys were just at. You guys were at a good distance so they wouldn’t be able to notice you. You watched them carefully before grabbing Scaramouches hand and running to the public library. The two of you stop to take a breather at the inside entrance.

“That was a close one.” You say before walking up the stairs. He follows you like a lost dog. “Where are you going?” “We’re at a library, we might as well read.” You grabbed a random book from the shelf and sat at a nearby table. Scaramouche sat across from you but you only glared at him. He was startled by this until he noticed you pointing at the book you’re reading. He got the message and groaned as he got up, grabbed a book, and sat back down.

Scaramouche wasn’t really paying attention to what he was reading. He read the first page and was already bored. He glanced up at you and was surprised to see you were actually reading. You seemed into it. Your face was concentrated on whatever scene you were on. Scaramouche found that cute. He blushed and looked back down at his book.

He thought this was gonna be boring but something about you being here made it all comfortable. He still found the book boring but read it either way. You guys sat their reading for a while. He would yawn and wipe his eyes from exhaustion. You closed your book and stood up. “I think that’s enough down time.” You whispered, placing the book back where it belongs. Scaramocuhe did the same and followed you down the stairs. You guys were gonna leave until you gasped. “They have bean bags!” You tried not to shout. Grabbing his hand, you headed towards the kids corner and sat on the bean bags.

You were giggling as Scaramouche felt a bit squished. His face was hot, “We don’t fit.” “So?” You wrapped your arms around his body and he grew stiff. “Should we really do this?” “You don’t want to?” Scaramouche didn’t say anything. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around you, hiding his face in your hair. You grinned with pink cheeks. You were like this for a moment before getting up so you wouldn’t get in trouble. Once you exited, he asked, “Where to next?” You hummed, “Wanna eat something?” “Uh, sure.” You both walked to the nearest fast food and you ordered for the both of you.

You sat across from one another, waiting for your food. Scaramouche took his phone and read text messages received from the manager. He sighed and returned his phone back into his pocket. “What’s wrong?” You asked but he shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.” He leaned back. “Alright.” A man came with your orders. “Enjoy.” And he walked away. You both began to eat and you giggled once you saw Scaramouche’s face. “What?” “You look like a chipmunk.” His face grew red but scoffed. “Shut up. You look like a squirrel.” You gasped, “I’m saying your cute! Asshole!” He stuck his tongue out while you kicked his leg.

Still, you both laughed at your childishness and continued eating. Scaramouche paid for the meal and you headed out once again. “The suns going down.” You say as you walked to your apartment. “Yeah.” He looked up. It was very beautiful. Scaramouche then looked at you. “Yn,” You turned to him. “Hm?” “Uh…” He rubbed his neck. “Sorry.” “For what?” You stopped walking and he did too. “For showing up like this. You must’ve been uncomfortable.” You chuckled and hit his arm. “Relax, Scara. I dont mind. I like you the way you are.”

He blushed. You smiled at his silliness and carefully took down his mask. “Yn-“ You kissed his cheek before pulling it back up. “I had a fun time.” He began to stutter before you started to walk ahead. “W-Wait!” He held your hand to stop you. Scaramouche pulled his mask down once more and leaned to your face, kissing your cheek. You let out a small gasp once he did it. Scaramouche pulled away, his face incredibly red. Redder than yours.

He cleared his throat and looked away, clearly embarrassed. You couldn’t help but smile and held his hand. “Do you… want to be my boyfriend?” He didn’t like at you for a while since he felt like he was gonna die from heat. His eyes glanced at you and then turned his head towards you. “Yeah..” He croaked while nodding. “Uh, but, is it okay if we take it slow?” He asked quietly. You can tell he was nervous about this. This was probably his first relationship ever.

You smile softly, squeezing his hand. “Of course.” You noticed a few tears form his eyes. “Okay.” He mumbled. “I should go.” You say, sadly. Scaramouche frowned but he had to go as well. “See you.” He pulled back his mask but didn’t move. You tilted your head. “Scara?” He was still red but wouldn’t answer your confusion. It took you a moment but you realized what he wanted. You kissed his cheek once more. “Bye.” You waved before heading back. Scaramouche felt like he was gonna explode but he was so happy. Suddenly, you abruptly stopped walking, and ran back towards him. “I almost forgot!”

You opened your bag and shuffled inside. You took out the bag and handed it to him, a little shy. “I got you something.” Scaramouche stared at the gift in surprise before he opened it up. Carefully, he pulled the ribbon off, peeked inside, and lets out a small gasp. You looked down flustered. “I wanted to get you something after what happened to make you feel better.” You scratched your cheek. “I hope it isn’t a waste of money.” “No.” You looked back at him.

Scaramouche holds the ring on the palm of his hand. “I like it.” Even with the mask, you can tell the bright smile he had on and you couldn’t help but feel tears come to you. “I’m glad.” Scaramouche held it close to his chest. “I have to go. Thank you for this day.” You giggled. “So cheesy.” His cheeks flushed red. “Ugh, shut up.” You smiled warmly and headed back towards your apartment. Scaramouche stayed for a while to make sure you got in safely then began his walk home.

Once entering your room, you slid down the door, hands holding your face. “Wow… I have a boyfriend.” You giggled like a school girl as you ran to your room in lala land.

- guys deadass i feel like I already posted parts of this but in reality I never did 😵

- like ISTG THESE THINGS R FINSIHED AND WHEN I THIBK I POSTED THEM AND GO TO DO THE NEXT PART…

- ITS STILK IN THE DRAFTS?!!??

- it’s like I convince myself I posted it when in reality I’m stupid and didn’t 😭😭

🏷️ @sakiimeo @coquettemaiden @rmiyuki @kur44pika @theblueblub @jxxji0309 @dreamsofminnie @ohmyfinggod @redactedhimbo @kunisbeloved @akagism2 @sketcheeee @thefandomcrow @beriiov @thenightsflower @yukiipc @scaraapologist @scarletttcroww @samyayaya @crucnhice @monaypo1 @feiherp @myaaones @warcelia @hangecanweholdhands @yuminako @valiryyz @screechingxiaolover @tiddieshakeshownu @ilovechuuyaa @d4y-dr3am3r @dazaisfavgf @swivy123 @ganyusbrideee @sagegreenthinks @the-left-glove @wonderland-fan @kylexzz @kaoyamamegami @whycantscarabereal @rvoulte @eunchaeluvr

[succcession]

Not Another Weekend Out

Kendall Roy x f!reader (smut) 1.8k words

AN: this is my first story ya'll go easy, but its simple soft dom Kendall stuff so I hope you all enjoy♡

Lately it had felt like every weekend with your boyfriend Kendall Roy meant you spent the night walking into some abandoned looking warehouse in Queens. Or occasionally a glamorous but to be honest, boring night club in Soho. 

Where did he even find these parties? You thought to yourself as you strapped on your high heels, mentally preparing for another night of being Kendall’s arm candy. 

Kendall wasn’t always like this though. Of course, you were well aware of your boyfriend’s heavy partying “habits”. In your first month of dating, he showed up to your apartment three times in the middle of the night. High off of a combination of god knows what, reciting Harvard level love poems at your window. You soon realized the parties were just a part of the Kendall package. 

However, it felt like for a minute you two had started to get truly…close! He began taking you to five star restaurants as opposed to the typical nightclub. Updating you about his schedule, sending “I miss you texts”. You two even had a weekly ritual of falling asleep to 90s cartoons! He had been working out more and doing cocaine less. Why the sudden shift backwards? Was it all in your head? Is he really just a rich, party addicted, man child? Your anxious thoughts began to spiral as you stared at your reflection in his grandiose bathroom mirror. 

“Fucking Beautiful” your mental spiral was interrupted by the grasp of Kendall’s arms squeezing tightly around your waist while placing soft kisses down your neck. 

He seemed to instantly notice the fake smile you put on and the slight sigh that left your lips. Kendall could always tell when you were upset. It was like he was an expert at reading your body language after years of navigating his complex family. 

The Tom Ford suited man turned you around to face him and his soft hands lifted your chin up to meet his eyes. “What’s up? What are you thinking?” He expressed flatly.

“Nothing Ken, I just-“ his lips instantly, forming into a frown. While his almost angelic eyes remained softly looking down at you.

God, he looks so hot when he pouts, you thought. You considered for a moment just forgetting everything. Saying fuck it and just going out. But you were genuinely starting to fall for Kendall and it seemed important at that moment to tell him how you felt.

“I just don’t think I feel like going out tonight” you said, doing your best to sound sweet as opposed to disappointing. 

“Oh uhh yeah well” Kendall stumbled. 

“I was hoping to maybe spend time with just you Ken…” you smiled up at him, reaching for his tie to pull him closer for a soft peck. Kendall quickly deepened the peck wrapping his arms lower around your body and stepping closer to trap you between him and the bathroom counter.

“Mm look at you, so cute and needy for me” Kendall said, as his hand moved up your back, grabbing a handful of your hair and gently tilting your head back to leave soft kisses on your neck. “You know… if you want me. You should be a good girl and just tell me.” Kendall whispered in your ear. His harsh kisses along your collarbone paired with his words cause a soft moan to slip from your mouth. 

Kendall took a slight step back holding your face in his hands. Your lips both parted and nearly brushing against each others as he looked down at you. 

“Tell me what you want y/n.”

A soft breath left your mouth before you stumbled to get the words out.

 “I..mm. I want you Kendall. Right now” This wasn’t exactly how you intended for this conversation to go but you definitely weren’t upset at his reaction.

“Good girl” Kendall softly drew the words out in response. 

Pulling you closer yet again into another deep kiss. The intensity of his lips against yours increased along with the butterflies in your stomach. The way he seamlessly switched between gently caressing you, as if he was too rough you would break. To devouring every inch of your body with kisses and love bites. Squeezing your ass, gripping your hips and thighs, his hands were everywhere. Before they eventually landed on your dress zipper. The room filled with heavy breaths and sighs, your clothes feeling more like a barrier every second.

 As Kendall began roughly pulling your dress down your body, your hands swiftly reached up to begin loosening his tie. His large hands quickly interrupted yours, enclosing around your fingers, roughly bringing your hands back to your side and behind your back as he spun you around. Faced again with your own reflection in the mirror. Although, this time instead of negative thoughts of Kendall, only the thought of his tongue carelessly licking your clit filled your mind. Kendalls dark eyes stared into your reflection as his hands journeyed down your body. His rough finger brushing over your clit, stopping to draw light circles as he toyed with the hem of your lace thong. 

His hands slowly slipping underneath the fabric made you gasp and drop your head down. Kendall was quick to object to that reaction, roughly grabbing your face with one hand, returning your eyes to his hard gaze. 

“I want you to watch yourself cum for me” “okay?” Kendall firmly demanded while slipping your thong down your thighs. 

“Yes..please.. I want to cum for you” you managed to get out as you felt Kendall's middle finger begin to slowly slip into your pussy. His solo finger easily slid in and out and Kendall quickly added in a second. You could feel your wetness spreading as it slowly began to coat the inside of your thighs.

 Kendall was nearly shocked by how quickly you were ready for him. Your soft walls were already beginning to tighten around his fingers, and the lewd echo of your dripping cunt was almost too much for him as his growing cock strained against his pants. But he couldn’t help but tease you a little more.

“God this little pussy is so fucking wet for me. Do you really need my cock that bad?” 

“Mm- yes Ken..please” You pleaded with him. One of Ken’s biggest turn ons was begging, and at this point you wanted to rile him up. His aggressive yet tender tone behind all his words was driving you crazy. You could feel your pussy throbbing, needing more than just his fingers inside you.

“I want to cum all over your cock! God, please ken… fuck me!”

Kendalls hands withdrew from your body as he began undoing his belt, and lowering his dress pants.

“Sh sh sh” Kendall hushed into your ear before leaning down to spit on your pussy. Rubbing the head of his dick in between your folds.

 “How do you still sound so fucking innocent while your begging me to fuck your little pussy?” 

Kendall couldn't hold back his moans as looked down at his dick spreading your wetness, from your slit to your sensitive clit. His teasing was growing unbearable and you couldn’t stop yourself from pushing your ass further back, closer to Kendall. This was quickly met with a hard slap on your ass. The whimper that left your mouth nearly sounded pathetic. 

Kendall began pushing the thick tip of his dick painfully slowly into your pussy. His head dropped to fall against your shoulder and you could feel deep breaths leave his body as he tried not to already cum in your tight pussy. God, the way you stretched around his length slowly squeezing every inch of his dick made him feel like your pussy was made for him. Like you were made just for him. To hold, and kiss and fuck however he wanted.

Kendall pulled out slowly before roughly snapping his hips forward slamming against your ass. He kept this slow yet aggressive pace as his hands made their way up your body and to your tits. He gently pinched your nipples, squeezing the small buds between his fingers. Earning multiple high pitched squeals from you encouraging him to quicken the rate at which he was thrusting into you. 

“Omg Kendall, your cock feels so good inside me, so fucking good” you moan.

 “Oh look at you. You take my cock so fucking good baby don’t you? Mm fuck, look at how pretty you look while you get fucked. God, you make me so fucking happy baby” 

His patronizing tone echoed in your head and you continued doing your best to maintain eye contact with Kendall in the mirror. It was turning you on even more watching yourself become undone for him. Mascara beginning to run down your face as Kendall continued roughly fucking into you. 

You could feel your eyes rolling back as that familiar warmth of your coming orgasm grew in your pussy and Kendall could feel your release coming as you tightened around him. He watched as your attention from him began to fall as you came close to finishing. But he was going to make sure you watched yourself cum all over cock and grabbed a handful of your hair and roughly pulled down returning your gaze to your reflection. 

“Aw don’t look away now baby. You were being such a good girl for me. Don’t you want me to let you cum all over my cock princess?” he says. The final pet name made you shiver “Yes Ken, please I am going to cum. Please let me cum on your cock” you cry out clenching around him. Your voice, so desperate and needy, whining for his permission to let go. 

“Mm cum, cum for me baby.” He praises in your ear, leaving soft kisses on your temple. Still maintaining his brutal pace. Desperately, your hands grip the bathroom sink in front of you feeling your hips involuntarily grinding backward onto Kendall as you feel yourself pulsing around him, milking his hard cock. “Good girl, my good fucking girl” he praises you through your orgasm, all the breath and weight leaving your body. Kendall’s thrust gains aggression before finally stuttering as he finishes into you deeply, dropping nearly all of his weight onto your back.

Kendall hovers above you for a moment letting out deep breaths, staying deep inside of you. Now coming down from your high, you study your two reflections in the mirror. How, Kendalls arms are wrapped so tightly around you. The feeling of his chest rising up and down against you with every breath. You wanted to savor this moment. Hold onto the feeling of him pressed so close against you for when he was gone again.

Eventually Kendall slowly pulled out of you with a soft sigh, peppering kisses along your neck. “I’ve been doing some thinking. And uh.. I think we should stay in more weekends”. 

[p1nkm1lkslug]

HII I have a very self indulgent request, could you write some headcanons for Isaac with an S/O who’s like Elle Woods from Legally Blonde? She wears a lot of pink, feminine and is extroverted and very bubbly and energetic and just genuinely kind, but also very determined. I rewatched it this morning and remembered how much of my personality is based off her and couldn’t get this idea out of my head. 💕

LEGALLY BLONDE 🔛🔝🗣️💯🙏🙏💯 it's literally in my top five 2000s movies list, I luv Elle sm 😭 (I wrote this while playing Ariana Grande also I just realized I have ice coffee)

On his knees,begging,crying,hes so down bad it's lethal

I've been obsessed with Issac and having a very pop girlie ultra fem s/o and he's most definitely the type of guy to literally be an absolute simp over his partner

like no brooding or hiding, he is genuinely gonna break down because of how sweet you are towards him, he's getting a cavity as we speak

I mentioned that Issac is the type to remember things you tell him and I also believe him and Frankie have girl dad energy, so just getting your nails done and showing them to him and he's just like "ah i see we went with the pink gel and bow charms today"

Going out in public is funny because you have the most Cartoonishly evill man in a fucking cape with the sound of an organ and a murder of crows that follow him and he's just hand in hand with Malibu Barbie

Similarly in the movie of you are the type to be fem and have an interest that doesn't have many people who dress alternative then Issac just loves watching you destroy people with your knowledge (because who says you can't wear a pink dress and enjoy STEAM)

I feel like you two met in the apartment complex maybe Issac is walking by the grey skies city looking lost at all that is around him everything a murky mess , and then as he walks by a flash of pink just runs by him and he's met with this sweet perfume

As he just turns to see you quickly running to catch your train, and he practically can't pull his eyes away from you, you stood out like a sore thumb, as you had just missed your next stop you turn and see him gazing at you

Issac doesn't even realize until you flash him a small smile and quickly strut over to him with your small pumps clicking on the floor

"Hello! Sorry to bother I'm sure your busy but would you have the time with you? " And he's just left with his jaw on the ground

HAIR CAREER you saw Elle in the opening clip her hair is beautiful, and Issac has some nice locks so please give him a whole self care day, he deserves to wear pink jelly under eye patches

"This one smells lovely" "Its bath and body works strawberry pound cake! "

He's loaded and he knows it, he's practically threatening you to take his card and shop til you drop

DID SOMEONE SAY HEART LOCKET NECKLACE

In my Rory hcs I mentioned him watching movies with reader and I do for most hcs but the two of you in your hyper pink furry bed as a small tv you use to own plays an early 2000s movie

"And so because of her stupid boyfriend she wants to go law school" "I see.." Issac says slightly smiling "what?" You reply with a small giggle "well...she seems quite similar to you" "Aw that's so sweet"

[aemondsdoll]

sweet thing | aemond targaryen

chapter two \ negotiations.

A/N: heres part two my loves, thinking about maybe bringing aegon into some of their smutty fun once we get into the real thing.

You and Aemond had parted towards the end of your shift.

He left you with his number and a racing heart. Aemond Targaryen wanted you to be his sugar baby?

You couldn’t believe it, didn’t think it was real. Until he texted you.

You couldn’t believe it, didn’t think it was real. Until he texted you.

Aemond: I have a free day tomorrow. Would you prefer to meet in private to talk more about our arrangement?

The text sends your heart out of control. Fuck. You hadn’t expected him to be so open about it, but you responded anyway.

You: Hey. I’d love to. Where should I meet you?

You send with shaky hands, rubbing them on your pyjama pants to rid of any sweat.

Aemond: I’ll have someone come and collect you tomorrow, be ready by ten am.

You: Thank you, Aemond.

You send quickly, heart calming down as a time and place was set. Your phone beeps again, and you look down with confusion, thinking the conversation was over.

Aemond: Wear what I sent you, should be in your mailbox.

Your eyebrows furrow, and you don’t move just yet.

You: And how in living hell did you get my address?

You send, and bring your phone with you as you leave your apartment, going to where the floors mailboxes were. You see a medium sized white box, and take it back to your room.

Aemond: I have my ways, nothing stalkerish, maybe a little bit desperate.

Mmm, so he is capable of humour. You think with a smile. He sends another message, and your cheeks heat up, never had one of your clients wanted to keep up an actual conversation.

Aemond: If you try it on, do send me a photo, sweet thing. :)

You grin, turning off your phone and opening the box. It’s different from what he’s seen you in previously, a lacy ivory camisole, and a pair of matching shorts. The outfit looked comfortable and not overly sexual.

You slipped into the clothing with ease, seeing how well it fit your you figured he must’ve contacted your manager for your measurements.

Lifting your phone once more, you take a picture of the outfit in your mirror and send it to him.

You: sent an attachment.

You: It’s so perfect, I feel so pretty. Thank you Aemond.

You’re grinning as he begins typing.

Aemond: It’s my job to make you feel pretty now.

It makes your heart melt.

Before you know it, it’s the next day. You awake to find you’re not late for Aemonds meeting. So you shower, make yourself smell pretty, and get dressed.

You shave every inch of your body nervously, you don’t know what he likes or prefers, and you wish to please him.

No texts are exchanged until his Chauffeur arrives, sweeping you off to his apartment. The whole ride you were exchanging small talk with his chauffeur; you learn his name is Arryk and him and his twin brother have worked with Aemonds family for years.

Once you’re at the apartment complex, Arryk leads you up into the penthouse, and you shout Aemond a text.

You: Here.

You hear a phone ping in a nearby room and can only assume it’s Aemond, and you’re proved correct as he walks out rushedly, in a dress shirt and long pants. Arryk dismissed himself, and you and Aemond look at eachother for a few seconds, unsure of what to say.

"It looks even more perfect in person," Aemond says, looking you up and down without shame. He gently takes you hand, leading you to his living room, which is extremely spacious and clean. So Simplistic, must be a rich people thing. You think, taking a seat on the couch.

He follows your lead, sitting on the sofa facing you. "I believe we have much to talk about," Aemond smirks at you, and slides over a document. "Oh, an NDA. Alright." You realise, smiling softly as you take a pen and sign it. Aemond cocks his head curiously, but decides its a bit too early to ask.

"So, Aemond, what would this agreement entail?" You ask, gesturing between the two of you, and he takes a breath.

"I'd basically like you to be my arm candy. Business dinners and trips, most public appearances. Ill pay for everything, dresses, plane tickets, living expenses, whatever you need." He speaks gently, without any mistakes, reiterating what he told you last night, but in more detail

On the inside, you're doing a little happy dance. But on the outside, you give him a honeyed smile and nod.

"That sounds perfect, and I must tell you something before we continue," You speak, gulping down your fear as your knee bobs nervously.

"Go on, we are to be partners, you can trust me." Aemond keeps his face mostly stoic, but his voice is twinged with warmth.

"I don't have sex for money, if it happens naturally, it happens." You manage to get out, your face goes entirely red. You're so nervous for his response your blood pulses so much that you can hear it in your ears.

"I agree. I was just about to mention that. You will not be pressured for photos nor anything of that sort." He agrees, eyes going over you once again in a way that made you beg yourself not to get horny.

Though he was showing you the bare minimum, part of you wanted to jump his bones just because of it. "Though... I'm not saying I'd be against it." You smile playfully as you speak. Aemond clears his throat,

"Oh trust me, I'm the furthest thing from against it aswell." Aemond speaks. He looks at you, trying to remain respectful, but seeing you dressed in an outfit he chose and bought, awoke something primal in him.

The tension between the two of you grew, until it was sliced open by another silver haired man walking through the door. Oh gods. You thought, mentally face palming as you notice just who it is.

Aegon Targaryen. Aemond plasters another smile on his face, one much more forced.

"Oh beloved brother, weren't going to introduce me to your new girl?" Aegon pouts at the two of you, leaning against the wall of the living room as he tosses his keys on the coffee table.

"Didn't exactly plan on it, no." Aemond rolls his eyes. "I'm sure you know Aegon," He speaks again, and you nod. "N-Nice to meet you." You stutter, which was uncharacteristic of you.

"Awh, she's a shy one." Aegon coos, his devilish smirk littering his angelic features. What is with this family and its super genes? You think again.

"Aegon, leave us alone," Aemond groans, shooing him off to which he raises his hands in a false surrender and retreats to a seperate room.

So they live together.

You're doomed, arent you?

[futureplayboibunnie]

‘HONEYMOON’

Dr Strange x fem!reader

- OOOOH SHIEEET. did i get carried away? yes i did but fuck it. i promised the most nastiest, classiest smut fic yet inspired by one of my fave lana del rey songs so here it is! given the title, its probably assumed that this fic is abt marriage but i thought fuck it- here’s this horny brainrot instead. love ya. enjoy x

Salt air and the humming of electrical wires and crickets coursed through the sunsetting air of Portofino, Italy. Feeling bliss in the hues of the purple, pink sky , shimmering yellow clouding the cloudless sky, the humidified air full of bees sipping on petals; you finally felt at piece with your static thoughts, the waves of the ocean calming the turbulence of today- the turbulence due to the inadmissable Stephen Strange. You were staring out into the balcony, resting against the cool metal of the glass railing, letting the thoughts wrap you up for once.

Tony had been impressed with yourself and Stephen's work, as overbearing as he can be, he can also be quite rewarding when the time calls for it- he told you and Stephen that you had been working yourselves too hard, that you needed a vacation so he gave you the keys to his apartment complex on the sandy beaches of Italy, you weren't refusing it, though Tony used this as an excuse for you and Stephen to 'figure each other out.’

Whatever that means. You weren't sure you even wanted to know.

Stephen Strange was a violent man, though at most times he was the rational and level headed sorcerer everyone expected him to present, he couldn't deny the history of aggression that surrounded him. He knew he was but he alwavs moved in silence, never letting anyone pluck out a single thought in his brain. All these inane questions from ill-informed people, envious people intent on probing on his life, his love life- no, he wanted people to stay away, even his teammates and colleagues, but you obviously didn't take 'no' for an answer.

Stephen hates the unexpected, you were unexpected. But he was willing to entertain a little bit of quiet time he never really experienced on a day to day basis, even if it was with you- Tony can give and he can take away just like that. He needed to take advantage of this brief period of calm.

It was dusk, he was cruising through the blues as he walked up the stairs of the impossibly lavish complex to just sit on the balcony and let himself be whistful and just think blankly. Stephen was surprised to see you standing out there on the balcony as he made himself through the master bedroom, you seemed tired, perching your head up in one hand as you leaned upon the rail staring out into the Portofino skyline intently. Stephen cocked his head slightly to look at you in this light. You were wearing a billowing silk robe, short, simple, sweet but it brought out everything just right, long legs on display and skin glossed by the dusk sun.

Yeah, you were attractive.

You and him were in a weird sort of situation, you rarely ever spoke to each other but you would trust each other even if your lives depended on it. An unspoken bond, both brooding and grumpy, hard features, no humour.

Opposites attract is such bullshit. Right?

He made his way out to the balcony to be in your company. When he closed the balcony door behind him, you didn't even look sideways to see if it was him, you just exhaled and continued your prolonged stare at the palms and the ivy.

You had a sweet face that was blushing now, an innocent pale rose. This is the most you've given away in time. He wonders if all of your skin is like that- flawless.

‘’What do you want.’’You said to him, impassive as always, voice quiet and firm all at once; you blink erratically, long lashes fluttering.

‘’The view.’’He stated simply as he perched himself next to you, trying to bridle his thoughts.

‘’Dreamy.’’ You muttered with a small smile on your face, and with that you captured Stephen's sentiments entirely, a keen observation. The view was outstanding, cosy and comforting. He hadn't felt comfort in a while, he was restless and in need of a diversion.

You could be that diversion. He shook the unwelcome thought out of his head.

He agreed as he watched, fascinated and intruiged, as the flush creeped upon your skin once more. You were a mystery and he wasn't sure if he was willing to unwrap it at all. Your hair was wild and messy, the subtle breeze sweeping it away; the silence wasn't uncomfortbale, it was just heavy and impossibly loud in his ears.

Be gentle Strange, don't provoke her. He thought to himself.

‘’You seem bored.’’ He attempted to coax you out, hell, you hadn't uttered a word all day- wasn't this supposed to be a vacation?

You exhaled. ‘’I just don't want to talk.’’ You turned your head to look at him in those dark blue eyes, candid and expectant. Suppressing your gape at his pretty face, you took the time to revel in the air of him. He was all rugged, stoic and masculine as if he needed to prove something. You could see through him and his incessant need to isolate to portray a version of himself he wanted everyone to see.

‘’You can think out loud.’’ Stephen creased his eyebrows as he stared at you.

‘’I don't need your permission.’’ You tugged yourself away, building that wall again, being cold as a defense mechanism to hide.

Come on, Strange, tread lightly.

He let vou huff and you both sat in the radio silence, staring out into the waves crashing against the shore. You were both breathing each other's air, not filling up the quiet with nonsense.

‘’Pico Boulevard and Wilshire Boulevard.’’ You breathed out dreamily, lost in the idle thinking of the beauty LA held, even though you were in Italy. ‘’I wanna go there.’’

‘’Never striked me as an LA person.’’ He raised a questioning eyebrow but kept his face stern.

‘’Used to live there before all this superhero crap.’’

‘’Oh.’’ He said softly.

‘’But I was alone there.’’ You regarded the skyline with a puzzled and hard look as if you were remembering something you didn't want to, gulping away the knot forming in your throat. You pulled yourself out of your daze with an upright posture, turning to look at him again as if you could see the blood and turmoil into his dark soul. ‘’I'm alone everywhere.’’

I could really take care of you.

What the hell was he thinking?

Stephen frowned at the startling thought. He wasn't the type of man to take care of things, especially people, especially you. Cosmic threats and torment was a different sort of deal that he was willing to take but looking after you was out of the question...wasn't it? He was violent, prone to acting out, selfish when he wanted to be, impulsive.

But I want to take care of her. She's been through enough.

‘’I'm tired of killing.’’ Your voice was deapan but full of that sincerity that couldn't escape him.

Your eyes were big and wide, something to get lost in entirely, that attractive blush stealing across your cheeks once more, hell, it was like a defense mechanism. Stephen's eyes flitted to your mouth as you parted them to speak.

Fucking hell, how could he have missed something like this?

‘’This is a first. Small talk.’’You gave him a crooked and agreeable smile.

Yeah, yeah baby but right now I don't give a damn because I've only just realised how inviting that mouth is. Inviting indeed.

Stephen didn't like his wayward thoughts but they were there, sitting in his mind.

His broken heart was beating and he thought it was salvaged beyond recognition a long time ago. You were making it beat again. It was blackened by self loathing and arrogance eons ago, he was informed that he didn't have one. It was simple as that, he wishes it weren't true; you were teasing out a humanity in him and it made him uneasy. He was exactly like you, alone for so long.

Stephen was a man you had no desire to fall for, but you did. He's the man you don't fall for. But how could you not? He was a messy man and you didn't want them clean cut and tidy, you wanted the mess. You could save him from himself and he can save you, two broken people in need of a warm presence in this impossible world with an impossible job: saving the world and avenging the wronged.

‘’I like hearing you talk.’’ Stephen's face darted forward as he muttered the sincere compliment, he thought if you looked him in the eyes when he said it, you could see everything he was trying to hide.

You freezed at the admission and you felt yourself get flustered, tucking a stray strand of hair escaping as you tucked a tuft behind your ear. Stephen was pleased about it.

Ah yes, the usual response.

Your lips were parted in surpise and Stephen surpressed the urge to tip your chin and close your mouth for you. You've been kissed before but not often, the thought is surprisingly.. pleasing.

Yeah, yeah suck it up for me baby.

He wishes he could get that moment framed. You really were sweet when you wanted to be, the whole package when you weren't brooding or being moody, but he would be a hypocrite to call you out on it. You were beautiful, polite and had all the physical attributes any man would drool over. You were so damn frustrating, a different creature all together and he was feigning a toxic interest.

‘’Nice to have someone listen.’’ You breathed, shoulders fixed as you tried to remain somewhat sentient as if your knees weren't buckling over his intense gaze. Against your better judgement, you wanted him, damn with the consequences. He tilted his face to smile at you and you were covered in that delicious pink he'd grown to love, it was like you were waiting for his attention. He was very pleased, it was clear he influenced your bodily reactions.

Oh, I can give you all the attention in the world honey.

His salacious thoughts were becoming louder and louder, like alarm bells and he would do anything to make them stop.

‘’It's like a honeymoon. Without the honey or the moon.’’ You let out a brief chuckle, that little twinkle in your eyes adding a lightness to the air.

A strange wave of posessiveness washes over Stephen as did the waves on the shore. It darkened his mood as well as his stare, it was like a subconscious back off stare to any other man in your life even though it was just you two in this moment. The atmosphere was thick with unfulfilled desire and it was thrumming with his brainwaves.

‘'What man wouldn't want you.’’ Stephen's face darted off to the skyline once again, he said it so casually that it made your breath hitch in your throat.

Get a grip, Strange! Jesus.

Why the hell did he always do that? Catch you off guard at your worst moments.

You glared at his face with an intensity you've been trying to feign, Lord above, the man was decadent. Messy and decadent. Grey streaks shining under the now moonlit paled sky, a few strands straying loose as his eyes traced back to yours. A prolonged stare, a prolonged fight, and you weren't prone to losing.

'What are you talking about?' Your voice was breathless and husky, almost alarmed. Shit, he thought he overstepped his boundaries- the look in your eyes said otherwise though. Have you seen through him? Have you deliberately been antagonising him? Your pupils dialate- Stephen knows he could fall into your gaze and never return, you take a deep breath. You stared at his lips for something to fall out of it, entreating him, begging him for a morsel. Anything to stop your scattered thoughts

Oh...sweetheart. If only you knew.

‘’Surely, it's obvious isn't it?’’Stephen's heart rate into an obnoxious overdrive as the darkness surfaces and bubbles in his chest, stretching and tightening its relentless claws around his throat. He doesn't want to fuck this up. Not now. Not ever. To put it simply, you were darling. Sexy. Warm. Moody. Oil soothing upon his deep, dark and troubled waters, there's no way in hell he could fix himself without you. Damn.

‘’I'm awed by you, though I'm sure you've figured that out already.’’ Stephen had trouble starting all of this out but once he started he couldn't stop.

‘’I feel as though I'm incapable of leaving you alone. There's too much of you, too much I want from you but I don't think you're ready for something like that.’’

Your mouth pried open slightly at his out of the blue honesty but you felt yourself panic at his fleeting moments left with you, he was inching to move away and go back inside but you stopped him by grabbing onto his bicep to make him face you, eyes full of insatiable wonder and curiosity, you were blinking up at him dumbly, stunned by his admission. Stephen Strange, the man with guns blazing around him, the man people warned against...wanting you. His halo was full of fire, leather black and eyes of blue.

‘’Too much you want from me? What do you mean Stephen?'’ Your eyes were wilting, eyebrows tensed. He was sure he wasn't thinking straight, his hands grabbed to cradle your face, your skin was soft, smooth, supple and with one touch he wanted to feel every inch of you. You shivered into his touch, stilling and then melting into him, eyes fluttering as if it was a relief.

‘’Say you want me too.’’ You breathed, it was a plead, a beg. Stephen could kick himself at your words, the moody recluse finally coming out of her shell…now this was a turn of events.

‘’You don't want to be with me, sweetheart.’m Stephen warned with an assuring smile, so certain of himself that he would be bad for you, cloud you with hisdarkness.

‘’You're wrong. I'm not scared...I just want you with me. Stay with me.’’ You ran your hands through his hair, you watched him groan slightly into your touch. ‘’ Please.’’You whispered in his ear as he twisted his hands in your hair; you were both just holding each other, Stephen was breathing in your air, engulfed in the scent of your hair.

‘’Kiss me.’’ You gaped into his vast, deep blue eyes. Stephen wanted to laugh. Kiss you? Just kiss you? He wanted to fuck you, spank you. Watch your skin pink under his palm, like that delightful blush that was on your cheeks again. The irony isn't lost on him.

He does though, his lips touch yours gently before endulging himself completely, then teasing your lower lip with his deep. You gasped as he held your body flush against his, suprised with how hard he was holding you, as if he would die if he let go. Stephen's hands travelled upon your waistline, grasping onto you. You ripped your lips away from his, studied your reflection full of desire in his darkening glare, you pulled him by the intertwining of fingers into the bedroom. Stephen couldn't remember the last time he wanted a woman this bad, you were just so fucking unreadable. He always did have a knack for falling for mysterious women, the kind you never knew what was capable of. You led him to the edge of the bed, standing and gawking at each other. You were a jewel.

‘’Lord you're frustrating...’' His said softly as his hands raked through your hair, lips so close and noses nudging.

‘’Given the opportunity you can be very high handed.’’

‘’I always get what I want.’’ He reassured with a chilly glare.

‘’How boring must that be?’’ You flirted as your mouth found his and glued onto it. Damn. Your wit was as disarming as it was charming. You were so responsive, it was delightful.

You moaned against him as he started feeling you through your robe, hands travelling the expanse of your back, fingers finding the goosebumps on your skin, hands curving upon your sweet ass. He wanted to tease you but he also wanted to shock you, tie you up, make you beg, edge you...maybe you would let him tonight, the atmosphere was thick was neediness anyway, kink could make it all the more desperate. His idle hands fiddle with the string of the robe, you stifled the urge to smirk against him. The sweet, appreciative noises echoed through him- right to the end of his dick. Your tongue tentatively meets his...wow...you were very eager. You couldn't remember the last time you didn't overachieve. He thought you tasted luscious- a potent heavy mix of flavours he couldn't quite identify. He simply didn't have the time to. You were so desperate to get in his pants. Stephen wanted to strip you, arouse you some more. He pulled on the strings and it fell cascading down your shoulders, your body was divine. You inhale sharply, naked before him, your hands fist in his hair and he grunts.

‘’You present so well.’’ He cooed- almost drunkenly, so wooed by the filthiness of it all. He pushed you on the bed after he reached behind his back to rid himself of his shirt.

Your eyes are closed, mouth slack, all long limbs as you're sprawled on the bed. Fuck, you're enticing. His cock was hardening in his pants. Hell, the things he could do...the things he wanted to do...You're almost naked on the bed, your hair framing your face perfectly. You were panting. Waiting. Begging through heavy eyes for him to do something, but all he could do is stare…so beautiful in your wake. You caught him in the act though.

‘’Gawking?’’ You smiled. ‘’You could be doing anything...and you're gawking?’’

‘’I haven't even touched you yet and you're already falling apart. Don't be coy and reprimand me.’’ He warned with blackened eyes as he crawled up the bed, eyeing you as if you were his. Only his. The thought pleases him. He didn't want anyone elses paws on you. He was right though, you were shaking under his gaze, he hadn't even done anything yet. It made embarrassment course through you, your cheeks reddened. You squirmed beneath him.

How adorable.

‘’Keep. Still.’’ Stephen leaned down and kissed the delicate skin of your inner thigh, he trailed kisses up your thighs, over your panties- fucking hell, your were soaked- across your belly, nipping and sucking as he went. He enjoyed you writhing beneath him. He wanted to intensify every touch, keep the ball rolling with every kiss, every nip. The thought alone made him wanted to fuck you so hard you were left trembling- he had enough of being gentle. He ripped your panties off with his teeth.

‘’Stephen. you're insane.’’ You exhaled sharply.

‘’For you.’’ You could practically hear his smirk.

Stephen's mouth entrapped your nipple as he bit on one and kneaded the other, your fingers balled into his hair and tugged hard; jaw jutting upward as you arched into him- it was almost unbareable.

Keep still, baby. Keep still and just take in all the pleasure.

Sensing your pleasure was driving him to distraction, you were so fucking repsonsive and ready for him. You're breathless and panting, lost in the fire of immortal pleasure. Stephen's lips captured yours, tongues battling tongues until he let go and tugged at your bottom lip as his hand travelled down your body. He held you, pinned you, feeling your heat, he slowly circled around you. Fucking hell.

‘’So wet.’’ He regarded, completely pleased with the sight and feel of it all. So tight, so wet, so right. So... necessary, seductive, needy, desperate. Pent up feelings caught up in the whirlwind for so long.

‘’For you.’’ You mimicked with a wicked gleam in those eyes.

"You're maddening.’’ Stephen bit at your neck and you let out a shaky exhale at the action. While doing so, he unzipped his pants and tugged it down. He was sure hasn't been this hard in a lifetime.

You were too tense to even look at how big his cock was, the feel of it was enough to tell you how big it was. He pushed himself inside you, he swallowed your cries, your wetness providing him with a much needed ego boost. Has he ever been this aroused? He can barely contain himself. Stephen positioned himself so he could take vou at his own bare whim; eyes open wide, imploring him, seeing him for who he was. Violent. Aggressive. Overprotective. Jealous. Unable to share what was his. But here in this moment, he was letting himself be intimate with you. You'd be the only person as of recent he would allow himself be intimate with.

You were sure this was what heaven on earth was like, him rutting in and out of you, setting a brutal and prolonged pace. Your hands escaped from his hair and your nails left indents on his forearms. The darkeness is slumbering, probably due to his incessant pining for you- he was a stubborn man full of intense arrogance...but he felt a thaw. You were the one that was thawing him.

You had never felt this desire, this type of hunger before, it was startling as it was new and shiny. You wanted so much from him, he said he wanted too much from you- it was perfect.

You weren’t being such a smartass now, were you?

Baby, you’re drooling.

‘’More.’’ You whine.

‘’More?’’ You nodded, his time he thrusted into you that much deeply, continuing such a thundering pace. Your trust in him was overwhelming as it was potent.

Stephen grasps your head, holding and twisting your head in place while he claimed your body and kissed you impossibly hard, claiming your mouth too. That was also his. You stiffened beneath him, he got excited- it meant you were so close to cumming all over him, all around him. You were honey dew.

‘’You're my fucking undoing, you know that?’’ Stephen admitted.

You cried out as you felt your body consumed in fire, you were doused with his desire and this was the spark of the match that set your soul ablaze; tipping your head back, your head was embedded in the sheets..just the sight of your ecstasy was enough. He exploded inside of you, mind haywiring to static, he was losing all sense and reason, he called out your name as he dripped inside of you violently.

When you opened your eyes, you were met with a hard, passionate face. The man was fucking...indescribable. You were both panting, forehead to forehead. The gift he's always wanted. Stephen planted a swift chaste kiss on your forehead, he pulled out of you and he felt your wince as he lay beside you. The warmth of your presence was enough.

‘’Maniac.’’ You giggled.

‘’Aphrodesiac.’’ He corrected and you stifled the urge to roll your eyes at him.

———————

Stephen hadn't had a good night of sleep in so long; now it was morning. The birds cawing, the heat tinged air floating through the room due to the open balcony window, the sheer drapes flowing as did the wind. You were here, in bed with Stephen Strange. Both naked in twisted bedsheets with wine bottles covering the bedside tables.

Breathing in….and out….in and out.

Mimicking every mutter of his chest as your head was in the crook of his neck, his fingers stroking your hair delicately. Beauty in the madness of it all, except you were the madness, his madness but you could be peaceful as you were right now. No care in the rot inducing world, testing the blood soaked waters.

Stephen felt at peace for the first time in a while, he felt like he was on a honeymoon- you did mention it before...

Whatever this was, he was happy with it. You were tracing your fingertips on his ridiculously defined chest, making these moments soften the hard shell you both spent ages building up and it told him that peace was possible after all.

—————

THIS IS SUPER LONG HELP x



[jesslovesboats]

It's the most wonderful time of the year- time for @terrortracks! I'll post my playlists here, along with covers and liner notes or at least a little bit of insight into why I chose these specific tracks.

First up is my playlist for Day 1- explorer of choice!

If you've been here longer than 5 minutes, you know that my favorite expedition is the Karluk, but my favorite guy is actually Joseph Stenhouse, of Ross Sea Party fame. I've never related to a polar guy more, and I project onto him in a way that is probably less than healthy. There's a reason he's the sun sign in my explorerscope.

ANYWAY, he is best known for getting the Aurora back to safety and for sinking u-boats with his bestie Frank Worsley during the war. Later in his life, though, he served as the captain of the Discovery during the Discovery Oceanographic Expeditions of 1925-1927! This was a bad time for everyone involved, as Stennie was fighting with the scientific team non-stop, witnessing absolutely horrific animal cruelty at the Grytviken whaling station, dealing with his own crippling anxiety, depression, and (probable) PTSD, and coming to the painful realization that the age of sail was over and the skills he dedicated his life to perfecting were no longer valuable or necessary. It was an impossibly hard pill to swallow.

This playlist features songs about feeling awkward, out of place, uncomfortable, sad, too old, and not enough. I'm sure none of you can relate to that- me neither!

1. ballad of a homeschooled girl- Olivia Rodrigo

I broke a glass, I tripped and fell, I told secrets I shouldn't tell I stumbled over all my words, I made it weird, I made it worse Each time I step outside, it's social suicide

2. Ashamed- Deer Tick

Murdered my throat, screaming bloody all night Hit him with a book and how he crumbles So, you should have seen how the arches tumble They're golden no more, now I'm smiling in my blood I'm caught in a whirlwind, I'm going to heaven I'm standing on trial and it's painted on canvas An eternal testament to how we are so animalistic

3. Crack Baby- Mitski

Crack baby, you don't know what you want But you know that you had it once And you know that you want it back Crack baby, you don't know what you want But you know that you're needing it And you know that you need it bad

4. Mariners Apartment Complex- Lana Del Ray

They mistook my kindness for weakness I fucked up, I know that, but Jesus Can't a girl just do the best she can? Catch a wave and take in the sweetness Think about it, the darkness, the deepness All the things that make me who I am

5. Calamity Song- The Decemberists

And you've receded into loam And they're picking at your bones Will call cold We'll come home

6. Bite The Hand- boygenius

Here's the best part distilled for you But you want what I can't give to you Your hands are gravity while my hands are tied

7. Ship To Wreck- Florence and the Machine

What's with the long face? Do you want more? Thousands of red-eyed mice, scratching at the door And don't let the curtain catch you, cause you've been here before The chair is an island, darling, you can't touch the floor

8. A Better Son/Daughter- Rilo Kiley

And sometimes when you're on, you're really fucking on And your friends they sing along and they love you But the lows are so extreme, that the good seems fucking cheap And it teases you for weeks in its absence But you'll fight and you'll make it through You'll fake it if you have to And you'll show up for work with a smile You'll be better and you'll be smarter and more grown up And a better daughter or son And a real good friend

[ridiasfangirlings]

Hi there! Does GORA ever discuss what happens to Scepter 4 post-ROK? I know it's discussed a little that since there are still strains, they have a job to do. However, after all the strains seemingly go away, would they still have a job? Just wondering if anything canon has been stated. I would hate for Scepter 4 to be broken apart and go their separate aways (especially after that sweet finale where they all declare themselves to Munakata) :( I imagine though they would still be an organization but maybe something that deals with more organized/complex crimes?

I don’t believe Gora’s ever said anything specifically about what S4 would do once there aren’t any more Strains. One thing I think is important to note is they’ve also been pretty vague on the whole ‘existence of Strains post-Slate’ thing as it is. We know that some of the people who were affected when Hisui released the Slate kept their powers and became Strains, so there are actually more now than there were pre-ROK. At the same time though there’s no discussion that I can recall about if those Strains will eventually lose their powers or if it’s just that there will be Strains until all the current existing ones die. If the latter is the case then I think there’s room to consider that S4 may always be needed in some capacity — if there are more Strains who are kids, or babies, then even if S4 is helping with them now there’s always a possibility that they might grow up and use those powers for bad things and need someone to keep them in line. Similarly there would probably be the need for at least some kind of ongoing monitoring for all existing Strains, just to be sure no one decides one day to remove whatever power-dampening device they might have and go rob a bank or whatever. In that case I could see S4 remaining pretty much perpetually, albeit presumably with a smaller budget and smaller force depending on how much activity there ends up being.

If all Strains eventually disappear then I assume that S4 as-is, at least, would be dissolved. I don’t think that necessarily means they all have to go their separate ways (I know Gora kinda hinted at Homra doing something of the sort, with everyone having their own stuff going on, but I don’t think even that necessarily means that they’ve all broken apart entirely and in general I will just go on record with my bias as saying that I really hate found family stories where the endgame is ‘and then the found family splits apart and maybe send each other Christmas cards once a year,’ fuck that noise). I feel like even without Strains and Kings and all that though Munakata remains an ambitious person and I don’t at all see him just deciding it’s time to retire and going off to do puzzles at home for the rest of his life. I could see S4 morphing into its own sort of special force eventually, either in a very specific security niche run by Munakata or even as like political bodyguards (you know, for when Munakata decides to run for Prime Minister, smirking at his opponent the whole time). Considering Munakata specifically chose all of S4 because he thought they were useful I don’t see him letting everyone go so easily, and on top of that everyone joined because they believed in Munakata’s vision — so if that vision takes them to somewhere they didn’t expect so be it, they’ll still follow their King.