#the lighting in this scene is off the chain i love it

[deathmybride]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ the earth from a distance | andrew hozier-byrne *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

ship: andrew hozier-byrne x fem!oc

warnings: references to death, alienation

summary: Gráinne moved to Dunbur to escape her past, to live quietly and write, and wallow in all the grief she had acquired. Andrew has other ideas…

word count: 3663

a/n: dedicated to my beloved @ath3nasgard3n who came with me to see bogfather in concert and held me while I SOBBED to Abstract (Psychopomp), even though she had never listened to hozier before that night.

Also, the setting for this fic is the Old Wicklow Head Lighthouse in Dunbur, which is now a BnB that you can stay in.

How to pronounce Gráinne and Máire

It began, as all good love stories should, with the death of a stranger. This time, it was the old lady who lived in the disused lighthouse by the battered shore, dying as the leaves turned to copper. I had lived in Dunbur for almost a year by that time, I never saw the heather part for any cars that might wind along the gravel path to the sea- but, then again, I was not watching for them. Either way, Lady, my poor MX5 was not built for such terrain and I could feel the scrub catching in sods under her chassis all the way down to the grass flat that had been designated as parking.

My gumboots squelched on the sopping turf as I hopped out, squinting at the pallid sun that tried so hard to reach me through the permanent duvet of cloud. It was a nice day by County Wicklow standards, no rain, minimal mist, and nearly, nearly sunny. The only reason to rug up was the damn wind billowing off the sea. I caught a gaggle of county gents eyeing Lady with appraisal while their wives loaded their cars with salvaged kitsch.

“She’s a beauty.” Mr Mulligan, the butcher- the most confident of the group- spoke up, peering out from beneath his tweed flat-cap with a face far too chipper for an estate sale.

“Ta.” I nod in thanks. “She’s old enough to order a pint.”

“What year?”

“‘99.”

“Ah, excellent year.” He said. I supposed it would be true if cars were like wine. “You’re a fine driver to get her up the back ass of nowhere, o’er all this shite.”

“Ta, just dumb luck, I reckon.” I moved to step away, but he cut in closer.

“We got ‘em lil’ cutlets in at the shop, I know they’re your favourite.”

“Ah, ya can’t fuckin’ get a word outta this one without him sellin’ ya some gobshite.” Mr Ronan, the newsagent spoke up with a roll of his eyes.

“Ahh, rev up ya bastard!” He aimed a light smack at his friend, and soon they were in playful fighting stances.

I took their rough-housing as my cue to retreat, finding their high spirits quite macabre and feeling grateful that the old lady’s family could not see them over the shallow rise.

The sale itself took place over the hillock and down in a scoop of grass a little ways away from the lighthouse. The townsfolk picked over fold-out camping tables laden with knickknacks and books, and a sparse supply of farm equipment and furniture on tarps nearby. I resolved to steer clear of there since Lady wasn’t known for her boot space, and I did not feel like calling in a favour from someone with an appropriate vehicle for the countryside. There was a dull hum of conversation hanging over the scene, and as I approached I must have murmured ‘hello’ and forced a smile for half a dozen of my regular customers. A few young men in black coats seemed to be dealing with the sales; grandsons of the deceased, I assumed.

I started with the books, finding a Folio Society copy of The Divine Comedy for a relative bargain,and- to my surprise- a few of Anne Rice’s Christian novels. I had little luck with anything else and was about to give up and go home, but something more caught my eye. It was a teddy bear with fur like lush, green grass. It had a curious face, with dark eyes and wide, brown nose that matched the brown on its paw-pads. Around its neck were four bells on a chain, each a different autumnal shade. Immediately taken by him, and spying a toddler staring at him with hungry eyes and grubby hands, I decided I couldn’t live without him and snaffled him up. The bells jingled pleasantly, and the fur was silky in my hands.

“Alright?” Someone sidled in beside me- Sue- the dumpy older woman who worked at the dingy smoke-and-gun shop down the street from the cafe where I worked.

“Hi.”

“Quer’n windy out, ain’t it?” Her eye contact was intense and probing.

“Aye.” I kept it brief. Once you got her talking, she wasn’t likely to stop.

“Cute.” She pointed to the bear, raising her brows. Her curiosity read phoney. “Bairns at home?”

“No. He’s for me.” I giggled in embarrassment, but she did not appear to be listening.

“Look at all this shite, would ya?” She picked up an admittedly hideous angelfish paperweight made of blue glass, sneering. “Hard to imagine such a proper woman would fill her gaff with this much cheap junk.”

“Mm.”

“You couldn’t move in that place for all the stuff.”

“You been in there, then?” Shit, she’s got me asking questions...

“Well,” She fiddled with her straw-blonde pageboy hair, suddenly self-conscious. “No, but you know that’s what its like, I mean look at it all.”

“Mmhm.”

“You know, I sold her fags.” She lifted her chin, prideful, yet almost disapproving. “Seven packs, each week on a Tuesday.”

“Maybe that’s what got her.”

I regretted the words as soon as they escaped my mouth, smiled tightly at her aghast expression and made a run for one of the young men dressed in black. This was a sad town, I reminded myself. A sad town, with sad gossip, and sad old ladies who die alone in bleak, majestic places full of items haunted by memory. What do I care if Sue starts spreading rumours?

The man served me quickly, seeming distracted. I wished him well and expressed sorrow for his loss. He thanked me in a robotic way, as if this were the hundredth time he was hearing those sentiments that day, and gave me a paper bag for my books. I took my cue to leave, hiking up over the rise to my car. As I went, my eyes strayed to the lighthouse. It burst up from the earth like the trunk of an enormous tree, though it lacked the natural curvature of wood, instead taking the form of an eight-sided prism. Ringed around the top was a deck with a railing just visible from such a distance. My feet slowed, suddenly intrigued by the memory held within the stones. I cast about a furtive glance. Nobody around, and all the patrons out of sight behind the slope. A closer look couldn’t hurt anyone, could it? Without another thought, I made a break for it, trying to walk swiftly without appearing to be hurrying in case the eyes I felt boring into me were not just a figment of my active imagination.

The gorse and heather grew all the way up to the base of the structure, which stretched high up above me in six tapering sections. I tilted my head back, I shielding my eyes against the glare. It was so tall, yet not even the domed top could scratch at the clouds. It was too windy to see the mist settle low enough to swallow the top, yet the idea of such a sight was glorious in my mind’s eye, like a tower from a fable. I wandered around the base, picking my way across the brush, until I came to the door. It was enormous and fortified, and appeared to be locked. I pushed on it hard, expecting nothing, but it swung in with a creak and a great feeling of resistance.

The surprise drew a gasp from my lips as I slipped inside. The inside seemed tiny in comparison, with low ceilings yellowed by years of indoor smoking. The inner walls were rounded, rough with crackled plaster and faded yellow wallpaper hanging off in sloughs. The air smelt of mildew and damp, and I noticed that the window at the rear was open in an attempt to flush out the smell. I crept over, laying my feet lightly. There was a book laying face down on the sill and a pair of reading glasses folded beside them. A chill ran over me at the realisation that these people may still be using this space.

Get out of here Gráinne, what the hell are you doing? I scolded myself internally as I abandoned my package of books and made a beeline for the stairs. You stupid woman, they’re gonna catch you! Sue’s probably told them all you spit on their grandmother’s memory by now!

The stairs ran openly up the walls of each floor, and I found myself gripping the iron railing as I climbed. They creaked and popped as they took my weight, the sound amplified by the empty stone interior. I saw that the second and third floors were as empty as the first, each showing signs of water damage and decay. The fourth floor was home to a frankly enormous four-poster bed that took up almost the whole room. The fifth floor appeared to be a bathroom, while the sixth was a kitchen. I was out of breath by the time I reached the top, and I had counted 109 steps from the ground floor.

As I bent over, holding my knees while I caught my breath, I noticed that in the corner there was a pull-down attic style door that hung open invitingly. It looked a tad rickety, and the fact that it was open at all should have read as suspicious, but the climb had taken a good five minutes and I’d be damned if I would leave without seeing the view from the very top. Gritting my teeth, I took the final climb, white-knuckling the rail as I popped my head out into the brightness. The wind howled against my ears, cutting through my beanie. I blinked my dry eyes against it, peering through my lashes and rubbing furiously against the sting.

“Hello, miss.”

Such a cheerful voice had never struck such terror in a person. A shock like falling galvanised my blood and before I had time to register what had happened, I had sprinted backwards down the stairs and stood frozen at the bottom. A beat passed, then he appeared, kneeling at the top of the trap door like a gargoyle: a young man with a soft face and a nest of dark hair poking out from beneath a knitted beanie. He seemed to be suppressing a smile, and when he spoke, it burst across his face with a giggly laugh.

“I see you down there.”

“Sorry!” I blurted out. “Sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think-”

“Hey, hey, it’s alright.” He put a hand over his heart in an old-fashioned gesture of sincerity. “I didn’t mean to frighten ya.”

“N-no, I shouldn’t be up here anyway, I…”

“Well, strictly speaking, no you shouldn’t. But I left the door unlocked, and if it wasn’t you, it would be someone else.” He tilted his head, offering a kinder smile than I deserved. “You’re not in trouble.”

“I-” I took a deep breath, trying to swallow my stutter. “Thank you for… understanding.”

He shrugged.

“S’alright. People get curious. It’s not like there’s much left to steal, anyways. Unless you think you can get that bed frame down the stairs.”

“I-I don’t think I could, no.” A nervous giggle found its way into my voice.

“Alas, neither can the movers. She’s a beauty though, ain’t she? Though I think I’ll have to burn some sage before I sleep in it. I’m not the creepiest thing in this place, I’ll tell you what. Banshees and spooks in every corner.” He seemed amused at my wide-eyed confusion. “You may need to sage the bear too. I think I see Aunt Máire’s ghost peepin’ out through its beady eyes.”

“Right…” He raised an eyebrow as I held the bear close to my chest.

“Sorry, I’m just messin.’”

“I know.” I said quickly, taking a tentative step back, eyeing the stairs. “Well, I’m gonna…”

“What? You’re not coming up?”

“I-I shouldn’t. I’ve already basically broken in.”

“Nonsense.” He shook his head, his smile almost exasperated. “You’ve climbed all this way, surely come out and have a look. I don’t mind, I promise. I’m invitin’ ya.”

In that moment it occurred to me that this was a stranger- albeit a kindly and handsome one, but a stranger nonetheless- and we were in a very secluded spot. He could be anyone. He could want anything. I felt my phone pressing on my leg from my jeans pocket. He put his hand up in surrender.

“I won’t twist your arm about it, but the door is open if you like. I’ll let you get on, or would you like me to walk you back down?”

“No.” I left myself no more time to think on it. After all, it was the middle of the day, and the folk at the sale could see us standing by the railing. “I’ll come up. If you don’t mind.”

“Of course.”

He moved aside obligingly, offering a hand to help me up. It seemed rude not to accept such an offering, and I could not say I regretted it. His hands were huge and soft, his grip firm but gentle. He kept hold of me for a beat longer than he needed, meeting my gaze with eyes narrowed against the glare. He was gorgeous up close, with down turned moss-green eyes that resembled those of a creature far older than any human, half hidden beneath thick, dark lashes. He smiled as he stood up, and as my stare dropped to his cherub lips I noticed his close cropped beard was auburn in the watery sunlight. He rose up, and up, and up, and soon he was towering over me like a beech tree.

“Wow, you’re tall.” I had to shout over the roaring wind.

He laughed. A husky sound that made his shoulders shake.

“Aw, and you’re such a tiny ting, I feel like I owe you a couple inches.” Instantly, he blushed. “That’s not what I- uh- oh, forget it.”

He tore off his beanie and buried his face in it. Bubbling up from the depths of me, for reasons unknown, was some of my old sense of humour.

“Well, I wouldn’t say no…”

“Ugh, inappropriate, missy!” He swatted at me with his beanie, then sniffed in mock offence. “You don’t even know my name.”

“Hey! You’re the one who started on about all your inches…”

“And I do have a few.”

“See what I mean? Unbelievable.”

He rolled his eyes, then contained himself no longer and let loose his infectious laughter. Soon enough, I was in bits. When we could both hold a straight face, he leaned in and offered me a handshake.

“I’m Andrew, by the way.”

“Gráinne.”

“Gráinne” He leaned in as he spoke, the sound softening as it passed through his mouth. The ‘r’ rolled gently like the crest of a wave into the breathy final syllable, and the name I once found so masculine and harsh sounded like a prayer to my ears. “Borrowed name for an English girl.”

“Not borrowed,” I sniffed, suddenly protective of the name I once considered an unflattering mouthful, and embarrassed at my obvious lack of an accent. “I’m a quarter Irish on my father’s side, if you believe in splitting yourself into fractions. It’s my great grandmother’s name.”

“I apologise for my rudeness.” Again, he put his hand on his heart. I had to stand close to hear his soft tone as the gale whipped my face. “I was only surprised. Gráinne isn’t such a common name these days, which is a shame ‘cause I find it quite beautiful. Do you speak any Gaeilge?”

I shook my head, heat marring my cheeks.

“If you fancy learning, I’m your man. These courses…” He shook his head. “They teach you how to speak it, but they can’t help you with the feeling.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” I would be lying to myself if I denied the thrill of excitement I felt at the prospect of getting to know him in some small way.

“I certainly hope so.” He took a step back and gestured broadly. “Such a view is surely incentive enough.”

I looked around, realising that in my fascination with this sprite of a man, I had failed to take in my surroundings. One one side, the prairie hills rolled gently out toward the horizon, marbled in a thousand shades of green, brown, bronze, even pink and yellow where the gorse and wildflowers grew dense through the grass. Clusters of trees and scrub broke up the smooth flow of the turf, crosshatched with paths carved out by hares and foxes. Further out, I saw a sparse gathering of cottages, and an ivory freckling of sheep over the surrounding hillside.

We wandered the circumference of the deck, looking down first upon the rows of reliable utes, and one fragile sports car; then, at the people milling around the tables like tiny crabs on a beached porpoise. Finally, we regarded the stark, white shape of the new lighthouse and control centre; unnatural, yet homely against the shore. Down there, the brilliant tapestry of colour gave way to grey stone that formed jutting structures along the shore, growing smaller and smaller until they reached the small stretch of beach that must have been made from gravel, or even coarse sand. The sea there was deep grey, roiling with pale breakers that threw up jets of foam as they crashed against the rocks. Above the water, yet still strangely beneath us, grey gulls wheeled on the wild wind. Their cries carried over the roar of the sea, reaching us on a breath of sharp, briny air. I inhaled deeply, feeling the spirit of this ancient place come into me, cold and fresh.

“It is… beautiful. Do you mean you’d teach me up here?”

“If it was a bit less windy, yeah.” He scrunched his nose. “Otherwise, I’m renovating the kitchen in the next few weeks. Once its done up and not so decrepit we could use that.”

“So, this really is your place, then?”

“Aye. And about a hundred acres worth of peninsula. The workers at the new lighthouse have right of way, of course, but whatever. It’s a good deal.”

“Wow,” I allowed myself an awed gasp. “You inherited all that?”

“Well, my cousins did.” He itched the back of his neck, as if about to confess to an embarrassing fact. “They were gonna put it on the market and split the money, so I said I’d buy it sight unseen if they come down to help me clear out all the stuff.”

“Wow. How can you afford all that as such a young age?”

“I’m older than I look.” He admitted with an awkward laugh. “But younger than my soul, ma says.”

“You’ve been here a few time before?”

“More’n a few, I’d wager.” He turned his glittering eyes to me. “You don’t seem new either. We’ve probably met before, once upon a time.”

“You’d think I’d remember someone like you.”

“Ah, I’d say the same about you.” I did not miss the redness on his cheeks. “Memory is a fickle thing. Anyway, I can afford this place because I lead a charmed life. I work hard, yeah, but luck has so much to do with it. You collect your share of four-leafed clovers growin’ up ‘round here.”

“You’re from Dunbur?”

“Newcastle, up the coast a ways.”

“I might have driven through on my way to Dublin.”

“Might’ve.” He checked his watch. “Sorry, I better get back to the vultures.”

He strode over to the stairwell, and I took it as my cue to follow.

“Oh, you can stay up there as long as you like.” He assured me. “Just make sure you lock the door on the way out.”

“Oh, no, I better go home myself. Dinner to cook, laundry to do…”

“It never ends, does it?”

“Mm-mm.”

We made our way down, moving quickly as he took two stairs at a time. He reached the ground before me, but I found him waiting for me with an amused look on his beautiful face and my book bag under his arm.

“Sorry, I forgot about your poor, tiny legs.”

“Rude.” I tried to take my bag from him, but he was already digging through it.

“What have we got in here… The Anne Rice novels, very nice, and oh! The Divine Comedy! Have you read it before?”

“No, never.”

“You’ve got to.” He handed it over with gravitas. “Do not let this gather dust. Read it, it’ll change your life.”

“I will.”

“Good.” He glanced over his shoulder as we stepped outside, pulling the enormous door closed behind him. “Alright, I’ve gotta run, but it’s been lovely to meet you.”

“You too.” I was about to let him go, but I wanted to see him for just a moment longer before he dissolved like mist. “Oh, Andrew?”

“Mm?”

“I’m… sorry, for your loss.”

“Thank you, but I never really knew her. She was the black sheep of the family, a title I’m happy to inherit. One day, I’ll tell you all about it.” Gently, he tapped my elbow with the back of his hand, a gesture that set my skin alight. “I’ll see ya round, Gráinne.”

“Bye.”

He waved as he left, the ever present smile still lingering on his lips. He turned to me again when he reached the crest of the hill and waved once more. I waved back, and when he disappeared over the rise, I bounded over to watch him walk away. One more time, he turned, as if he sensed me watching, and lifted his hand over his head.

“Gráinne.” I whispered, trying to match his lilting cadence. “Gráinne, Gráinne…”

I knew then that my name would never sound as sweet again, and wondered how much more exquisite it would be were it to pass from those budded lips in a sigh of bliss.

[khaotunq]

Neo Trai as Boston (Only Friends, 2023)

[blkkizzat]

YAKUZA!TOJI X MILF!READER —aka toji on some joe goldberg bullshit

🎞️ 𝐒𝟏 𝐄𝟐:

⟢ rating: mdni 18+ stalking, yuji is yakuza!sukuna x reader child, toji is still delulu af, size-kink, milf kink, breeding kink, voyeurism, dilf!toji, dissociative sexual fantasies, sukuna is an asshole, masturbation, killing fantasies, obsessive tendencies, heavy manipulation, brooding, yandere fluff, cute kid megumi.

⟢ episode run time: 𝟖.𝟕𝐤 ⟢ episode list: m.list ⟢ subscriber access: please comment on m.list to be tagged, rather than individual episodes as its easier for me to track. ⟢ director's note: e2 is here!! sorry for the initial issues! i hope you guys enjoy as we go deeper into toji's delulu, it's so much fun writing from his perspective. i feel like with each epi he only gets worse, hfsvsdjkfhvbsdj. he's still daddy tho.

The sky has since fallen completely dark, but the city lights of Tokyo still twinkle brightly in the distance, drowning out any stars. The light pollution still appears beautiful though, as a comforting beacon of civilization in the surrounding darkness.

The atmosphere, which had previously been so violently vibrant, has now quieted to a muted calm as the world slows down, whipping cool night air around Toji’s tense frame on his balcony.

However, it does fuck all to soothe the seared edges of his temper. 

Nor does the serene scene do anything to calm the heated exchange still taking place inside your condo.

Your domestic dispute with Sukuna fiercely rages on.

Toji savors the last few puffs of his cigarette before discarding it and quickly lighting another. Chain smoking is his last salvation, lest the persistent urge to protect you completely overtakes him and causes him to act rashly.

The current state of the organization had suspicions at an all-time high. Toji couldn’t afford that considering who he was dealing with and what all could come in between the two of you should he err from the plan. 

Closing his eyes, Toji manages to regain control by doing the one thing that never failed to pacify him—thinking of you, of course. 

Both the sweet poison and the bitter antidote to Toji, you do nothing but constantly plague his psyche. 

But perhaps it’s that he knows you need him as much as he realizes he needs you. 

Over the course of time he had watched you, it didn’t take long for Toji to conclude that you only chose to remain with Sukuna for the security he provided. Preservation and the obligations of motherhood were the only logical motivations you could have.

It was glaringly apparent that Sukuna didn’t love you. 

Even a blind man could see the truth of it.

Sukuna only visited you on rare occasions, when yakuza business took him beyond the central city limits, as Toji’s own surveillance and connections had revealed. 

And whenever he did show up, it usually led to arguments between the two of you. If you had indeed loved Sukuna at one point you weren’t foolish enough to hold onto any of those illusions now. 

Moreover, the subject of illusions—Toji had been privy to having many fantasies of you.

Weathering away at the stone around his heart he strived his whole life to build—only to then rebuild once again after his late wife—addictingly sweet visions of you so swiftly demolish the walls he set in place.

Toji allowed himself many hopeful images of what life could be like with you. 

A life of ease. 

That said, it would never be too easy. 

Toji is still a yakuza himself and he knew the organization would never let him walk away entirely. 

Nevertheless, his role was somewhat unique—an executive assassin was almost unheard of. Toji took on as many kills as he did as a way to numb and distract himself, not because it was required of him or he couldn’t pass it off to another. And ever since he’d laid eyes on you he had no desire to busy himself with anything other than you.

Toji takes pleasure in knowing he wouldn’t ever have to be away from you for long too. 

As it happens, he already owns a spacious five-bedroom home just outside Tokyo in Chiba—the previous home he had hoped to share with his late wife. Toji had planned to surprise her with it once she left the hospital.

Yet instead of leaving the hospital with Megumi’s mother by his side, Toji had walked out alone. Numbed to the world, his hand had gripped the sleek black urn that had mockingly held her remains—along with his shattered hopes.

And as a result, no one had even crossed the threshold since the purchase was made.

But that would change though now that there would be the four of you to breathe life into the home.

Who else could give you that kind of life but Toji? 

Certainly not Sukuna.

Toji would give you everything if you let him—but you weren’t an easy conquest, something he learned quickly as you prove it to him time and time again.

⟡

Toji recalls your second encounter with a sharpened clarity. It had taken him only two weeks to meticulously study your habits. The encounter had been carefully orchestrated, but despite his planning, the day hadn’t quite unfolded as Toji anticipated to say the least.

Parked down on the block of your typical walking path, Toji sat in his blacked-out Mercedes, keeping an eye on his rear-view mirror monitoring your approach. The mirror also showed Megumi, who was peacefully dozing in the backseat.

Heh, yeah he’d made damn sure to have the kid with him back then too.

Hardly older than 18 months and already a lady-killer, Megumi never failed to melt the heart of any woman who laid eyes upon his abundant chubby-cheeked cuteness. 

Not like Toji had ever really needed to expend the effort before now. He knew just a mere look from him could get panties leaking, but you’d be harder to conquer than that. 

Toji would enjoy taking his time, which if he thought about previously he would have deemed odd—he’d never been one to hold himself back or take his time with a woman.  

Not anymore. 

Not since her at least. 

But the agony that had accompanied thoughts of his late wife had dulled considerably since he’d first started observing you. 

A bonus of that being it no longer hurts as much to see Megumi—not when he would picture you rocking him in your arms.

Toji had even gone so far as to believe that she would have approved, that she would have liked you. He imagined she would have gladly chosen you to take care of both Megumi and him if she’d known you.

A familiar form appears in the rear-view mirror and Toji knows it’s game time.

Here you were, a reward for his diligence in tracking your habits, right on schedule.

Your features sparkled in the summer sun as you pushed Yuji along in his stroller, humming a tune while the child giggled along clapping. 

The kid’s bubbly deposition had to come from you, Toji decided—surely none of it could have come from, nor been influenced by, Sukuna. 

Toji wondered if you could even make a somber child like Megumi smile.

Biding in-wait until you passed, Toji snatched up Megumi and kept far enough distance so as to not alarm you of his presence. 

His original plan had been to exit the car as you passed by and walk into the store together. But that all changed when Toji got the first glimpse of what you were wearing. 

Toji would avoid being noticed by you, but your attire made it near impossible for him not to notice you.

The dress you wore was barely made modest enough to wear in public by the cardigan you draped over it. A less curvaceous woman could have likely pulled it off without turning a head.  

However on your body, the way the thin loose fabric hung off your shape as it clung onto the moist areas of perspiration like a second skin—was fucking obscene. 

Especially as despite your continued efforts, the crack of your ass kept gobbling up your sundress no matter how many times you subtly tried to yank it free.

Toji bet your ass could swallow his cock up just as well. 

Damn.

Toji wished the walkup to the store was longer. 

He’d never been one for prayer, but he would have started if whatever God deemed it fit right at that very moment to send an unanticipated gust of wind. 

Your lack of panty line had his mind racing as to whether you wore a thong or were just slutty enough to be outside bare-assed in a short sundress mid-afternoon.

The green of your sundress matched his eyes too and Toji took it as another sign from the universe, he was on the right path by pursuing you like this.

You were doing this intentionally just to tease him, weren't you? 

Hoping he’d see you like this and to tempt him into taking a peek, right?

Entering the grocery store, Megumi seated in-cart, Toji continued tailing you as you shopped.

True to the homemaker he previously confirmed you to be, you picked up mostly fresh produce, prime cuts of meat from the butcher, and some pantry baking items. 

You were capable of more than just the frozen dinners he’d be more accustomed to if not for his Nanny’s cooking. She was a decent enough cook too—but she wasn’t you. 

Nothing she cooked smelled a fraction as good as the mostly foreign, but appetizing, smells that wafted from under your door to fill the hall with warm spices.

The food you would make him, once Toji gets you settled in your new home, would definitely be much better. 

You were truly perfect, well nearly so.

After tailing you down a few aisles, Toji suspects the one minor flaw you may have is you appeared to be the absentminded type. 

How else could you be disregarding his overbearing presence as he continuously had put himself in your line of vision? Restlessness overtook Toji as he waited for you to look up and catch his eye, giving him a casual opening.

You had been too consumed with your phone to notice his attempts— which if he would guess, wouldn’t be successful anytime soon. 

Grumbling, Toji had to take matters into his own hands if he wanted to shop with you at all.

Easy enough too, you were already so carelessly distracted.

Momentarily taking his eyes off you, Toji calculated how long it would take you to reach the end of the aisle. So as you moved from one aisle to the next, he casually nudged his cart into your path, creating a T-bone collision that made it look like you were at fault for leaving the aisle.

The bang was jolting enough to finally draw your attention.

“OH MY GOD! I WASN’T WATCHING WHERE I WAS GOING! I’M SO SORRY– I-I …Fushiguro?!”

Heh, took ya long enough to notice. 

“Well, hey doll. Long time no see, ma.”

A flagrant lie. 

Toji had seen you nearly everyday—you just hadn’t seen him. 

He could tell you were flustered and embarrassed as multiple heads in the store had turned towards the two of you from the rattling collision. 

You couldn’t apologize enough to Toji who was on cloud nine from your attention focused on him.

And as Toji had predicted, your attention was soon stolen by the black spikey haired baby boy seated in his cart.

“Oh wow Fushiguro!!—” 

“—Toji, ma.”

A smirk bloomed across his features as you rolled your eyes at him, continuing your affections towards Megumi.

“—I remember you said you had a son but I didn’t know you had a little mini-me, he’s so adorable!”

Toji didn’t fail to notice the double—no triple, take you had given between himself and Megumi. 

He also couldn't help but see how your big ass tiddies looked—like they wanted to bounce right outta that sundress and into his mouth—as you bent down to get a closer look at Megumi. 

No bra too?

Oh, you’d surely be the death of him.

But Toji's cock wasn’t the only part of him swelling, his heart rate sped like crazy just from watching you fuss over Megumi so apologetically—much like a loving mom soothing her own child at the sight of him sniffling back tears. 

For a moment, Yuji’s giggling drew Toji’s attention as the boisterous kid seemed to think it was some sort of ride. Needing no comfort at all, Yuji merrily squealed with laughter at the impact, continuing to stuff rice puff snacks into his little face.

The distraction kept Toji from warning you not to pick up Megumi and before he Toji knew what was happening— you scooped Megumi up. Settling Megumi into your arms, Toji noted you cradled him with the same joy radiating from you as you did Yuji—and much to Toji’s shock—Megumi let you.

It went without saying that Megumi wasn't the friendliest kid. 

Toji suspected he had inherited that from him, along with his trademark scowl. The little terror was known to pitch a screaming fit if someone other than Toji or his nanny picked him up. 

However, in your hold, Megumi appeared calm—angel-like even—as far as Toji was concerned.

More curious than upset, Megumi's tears dried at the corners of his eyes as he reached out to gently bop your nose with his tiny fist.

“Aye! Manners, kiddo.”

Toji chides Megumi, but inside he is amazed by the interaction. 

Returning the gesture, you softly boop Megumi's nose with the pad of your finger, causing him to grab it in defiance, as you offered him softly whispered apologies for upsetting him.

This served to confirm in Toji’s mind the place you belonged in his life. 

He couldn’t be wrong about you. 

You were perfect.

Everything was aligning better than he could have hoped for.

“No harm done ma, Megumi can take a lick. Just like his daddy.” 

You shook your head at Toji and gently rubbed soothing circles on Megumi’s back, cooing at him.

“Oh? So you’re growing up strong like your daddy, huh, Megumi?”

Megumi tilted his head slightly, his thumb resting gently in his mouth.

“Just don’t fool yourself into thinking you’re smooth like he does.”

You shot Toji a teasing smirk, immediately resulting in a half chub pressed against his suit pants.

Now you were… teasing him? 

Oh, you had no fucking idea just how smooth Toji could be when he wanted. And Toji planned to put 3 more kids inside of you soon too, just as smoothly.

Those facts withstanding, Toji could tell his son hadn’t quite made up his mind about you yet. Megumi just blinked at you, but the fact that he wasn't screaming his head off was good enough for Toji.

“Don’t let the blank stare fool you, ma, he likes you. Trust, ya would know if he didn’t. Just takes him a while to warm up to most folks.”

You gave Toji another playful smile.

“Hmm, and wonder who he got that from?”

Primal urges surged in his veins as Toji wanted nothing more than to grab you in his arms at that moment, although Toji settled for countering with a smirk of his own.

“We’re not that bad ma—once you get to know us.”

Toji flashed a toothy grin at you, amused by the upward pull at the corners of your lips as you tried and failed, not to be entertained by him. 

You gently set Megumi back down in the cart, smoothing down his onesie and safely buckling him in before turning back to Toji.

“I’m sure Megumi is a perfectly sweet kid, who just needs to come into his own a bit.”

“Eh? And whadda ‘bout me, mamas?”

“The jury is still out on you—Fushiguro.”

“—Toji,” he corrected once again—and again you responded by rolling your pretty eyes under those long thick lashes of yours.

Oh, Toji had just the thing for that ass since you liked to roll your eyes back that much. 

Toji imagined how deeply they’d be lodged into your head once he stuffed you full of his fat cock—all in one go—effectively pushing your guts up into your chest. 

Yeah, he had it bad for you—real bad.

Unable to stop the many intrusive sexual thoughts that would spring in his mind just from being close enough to smell the scent of your sweet vanilla and jasmine perfume.

Yet Toji couldn’t let the chance pass to press his limits with you.

“So—How about ya give me y’er number so we can set up a playdate, eh? Since ya think Megumi’s such a sweet kid and all, mamas.” 

Caught off guard, you looked away from Toji in contemplation, chewing on your lip.

“Hm... I-I don't think that’s such a good idea, Fushiguro.”

You shift your stance a bit, taking on a defensive posture. 

Tch, fuck. You’d be harder to crack than Toji originally thought. 

Plus you seemed to still have some loyalty to Sukuna, even if you held no love for him.

But that was all fine, Toji calculates—a good thing even.

That just meant you would be all the more loyal to him once he did have you.  

Thinking on his feet, Toji subtly switches tactics, playing dumb as he lifts a brow.

“Toji, doll, but ya know what I do for work. Think I gots time to be babysitting brats? What, s’not a good idea for the nanny to bring Gumi by?”

“Oh! Of course the nanny! Yeah that’s fine, erm, that's… sorry. I thought—”

“—thought, what mamas? You tryna get a playdate with me too? ”

Toji couldn’t hold back his laughter as your eyes widened in shock. 

Embarrassment washed over you like a tsunami, intensified by Toji's teasing. You hid half your face with one hand while the other gripped the grocery cart handle so tightly that Toji half-expected it to snap off.

“Kiddin’ ma—lighten up a ‘lil eh? Ya left y’erself wide open for that one, doll.”

Sighing in defeat, you finally conceded to his charms, exchanging numbers with him solely so his nanny could coordinate the playdates.

“I see you think you got jokes, Fushiguro.”

Toji relished the win as your smile returned. 

“Ya know I do—and it's Toji, mama.”

With that shift, Toji was pleased to see you gradually lower your guard around him, the ice between you started to melt. You continued your shopping together, Toji casually picking up a few items, occasionally seeking your advice on what to feed Megumi.

Truth be told, he had no idea. The nanny always handled all the shopping.

Subtly taking the lead in the conversation, Toji casually provoked you into revealing more about yourself. Details he couldn’t piece together—like where you grew up, what your life was like before Japan and what brought you here—all which he cataloged meticulously in his mind. 

Toji wanted to ask how a smart girl planning to be a doctor with a full-ride exchange program scholarship to Tokyo University got knocked up by a dumb fuckhead like Ryomen Sukuna—but the very last thing he wanted you to think about when you were with him was Sukuna.  

However, each piece of information he learned of you convinced him more of how much he wanted you—

“Oh yeah, Fushiguro! Despite what you said, I actually managed to make a friend!”

–all to himself.

Tch, a fuckin’ friend?

Toji’s demeanor darkened, but you didn’t notice—too busy humming to yourself while checking apples for bruises in the produce section.

Not like this information came as a particular surprise to him, Toji's eyes narrowed as he could guess exactly who it was right away.

Toji had seen the tall raven-haired woman whose afternoon jogs in the park so-conveniently aligned with your walks with Yuji. You both would exchange pleasantries as she admired your son, and you her commitment to fitness, that you would say you never seemed to have the time for these days. 

Yet your interactions from what he had seen never ventured much beyond that. 

Although Toji would normally oblige you a few friends, having a friend here would complicate his plans.

The women of The Nursery up until now had done such a good job in isolating you all on their own without him having to lift a finger. Toji was relying on their catty caste system to ultimately drive you into his arms, as the only person you could rely on.

Toji couldn’t have one of them ruin that. 

He needed to know more about this ‘friend’ of yours. 

How well have you gotten to know each other? 

And in what ways?

The fact that this development happened right under his watchful eye, without him knowing the depth of it, had Toji cross to say the least.

Thankfully, your isolation had you starved for an attentive ear, so you were eager to spill your guts about your new friend to him. 

And as the good future husband he’d be to you, Toji was sure to listen now as he would in the future—or at least appear like he was most of the time.

“She’s new like me! Well, not new I suppose, but back for a stay here with her fiancé until things calm down due to all the commotion happening overseas now.”

So that woman did intend to leave. 

Good. 

The sooner the better so Toji’s own hand wouldn’t have to be forced and your little ‘friend’ could be spared. 

Toji couldn’t have anything or anyone coming in between the two of you—no matter the consequences from who they were.

“She doesn’t have any kids so I’ve been giving her tips and sharing how I dealt with Yuji this past year. She always seems to be busy though, so we haven’t really had the chance to really do anything—but she calls me often.”

Toji’s teeth clenched. 

They dared to make phone contact even?

And bad girl—you’d been so eager to give this stranger, who had no respect for boundaries, your number but you hesitated with him?

What did Toji need to do to show you he was the only one with your best interests in mind?

Toji was the only one you should have confided in and the only one you should trust.

“Heh, well isn’t that nice, ma.”

Toji would have to figure out how to deal with the problem of your new friend at a later time. He didn’t want to spend the fleeting moments he had remaining with you brooding, as it was sure to soon show on his face and sour the mood.

Pivoting the subject back to just the two of you, Toji inquired about the baked goods he’s still owed. He could tell you’d forgotten already, but he wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity he had to taste your cooking. 

It would keep him sated long enough until he could actually taste you.

“Ya know, I usually don’t like sweets though.”

Toji told you when you asked his favorite dessert and you were genuinely determined you could bake him something he’d like.

“Hmm, you know I can make a mean fudge brownie! I make them with semi-sweet chocolate too. Plus, since I moved here I also cut some sugar and added matcha to the recipe, so they wouldn’t be too sweet. they are so gooey they melt in your mouth.”

“Heh, yeah—I bet you would too, ma.”

This time, you didn’t suppress your amused cackle as you shook your head and pushed your cart forward, still overall ignoring his persistent flirtations even if you were growing more comfortable with them.

Toji sensed the playful personality you’d kept tightly wrapped under all those layers from being with Sukuna, whose cruel sense of humor would only serve to crush yours. 

Toji couldn’t wait to be the one to fully draw it back out of you.

“Ugh—boy, you play too much, Fushiguro!”

Toji chuckled, pushing his cart along after yours—he could tell your cheeks were still burning though. 

“—Toji, ma.”

When you both finally reached the register, Toji checked out first, slyly sliding his card to cover your groceries as well.

You were completely unaware though, having left your cart with him in line while you rushed Yuji to the bathroom.

Yuji, being the growing boy that he was, had devoured his rice snacks too quickly and promptly spat them up all over himself.

Feeling smug in his chivalry, Toji anticipated seeing an even sweeter smile when you returned to find your groceries already paid for.

Yet, he’d seemingly made another miscalculation with you. 

As when you returned to see your groceries bagged and paid for, you kept Yuji in your arms as you placed your bags of groceries in the stroller itself, storming out without a word leaving behind a dumbfounded Toji.

Toji was more than puzzled as you seemed furious at the fact Toji had done what he deemed to be ‘a-nice-thing-any-woman- would-want’. 

The fuck happend?!

Shifting Megumi and own bag in his arms, Toji swiftly pursued you. 

“Oy, mamas!”

You ignored him but Toji wouldn’t give up on you easily, or at all truthfully. 

You didn’t realize that yet but Toji figured you must have gathered he was bullheaded enough to keep following you until you acknowledged him once you abruptly stopped and whipped around to face him.

“What, no ‘thank you’ f’er me, ma?”

Toji watched your nostrils flare as you angrily snapped at him.

“Thank you?!” 

God, you were beautiful—even pissed off. 

Toji knows he should be more focused on what you were saying in the moment, as you heatedly  gave him a piece of your mind. However, Toji zoned out momentarily, unable to quiet his internal thoughts that screamed to him how pretty you were with your brow furrowed and cheeks puffed in indignation. 

“... and furthermore you think you can just buy me, is that it?! That just because I have to rely on Sukuna and accept living in a building full of side hoes to give Yuji a comfortable life that I’ll just giggle and go along with anything like the rest of those bitches?!”

Shit. 

You were actually pissed. 

Ah fuck. 

Toji had greatly underestimated your self-worth. Once again, you proved him wrong—and once more, that pleased him. It further highlighted how you were in fact a pearl among The Nursery pigs.

“Uh, Fuck mamas, er–I-I…no–”

Yet you proved to be such a wildcard that you had Toji of all people stuttering as he scrambled to find the right words to appease you.

“—then what?! Say something!”

Toji had to think fast. 

He could see how it looked bad now, but in a rare form from his usual nature, Toji’s intentions had been honest. Toji just really wanted to show you he had the means and could take care of you—not to buy you. 

Nonetheless, Toji really only had himself to blame as he’s sure you’ve heard of his far less than pious reputation. 

Ostracized or not, the bougie women of The Nursery were terrible gossips and he was sure you’d overheard plenty less than savory information about him. 

Of course, with all things considered, you’d assume the worst of him.  

But Toji had never even bothered to learn any of those bitches names, much less buy them anything—they would give him gifts.

In this situation though, to quell your anger and regain your favor, Toji devised a quick lie, hoping it would smooth things over.

“Tch,” he began, scratching the back of his head and awkwardly looking away from you.

He had to be sure to sell it. 

“No, it’s just ah, the guy—er, the teller. He assumed we were together.” 

Toji shifted his stance, readjusting a drowsy Megumi in his arms.

“So, you told him we were…?” 

You raised a brow, huffing but you didn’t seem as angry as before. Toji saw your eyes soften a bit, distracted by a cute lil yawn from Megumi who sleepily burrowed his face deeper into his shoulder.

Good kid, lookin out for y’er old man, aye Gumi?

Seeing how Megumi was disarming you, Toji knew this was his chance at redemption. Like a gentle giant, Toji’s large hand dwarfed his son’s small head with affection pats—an action he had picked up from observing you.

“Not exactly—but I supposed it looked that way, ma. What with the kids n’ya leaving all y’er shit with me n’all. Easier to just pay then explain.”

Toji continued before you could say anything, seeing as you didn’t look quite convinced.

“Trust me, from all of what you told me today, I know ya can take care of y’erself mamas… even if you are with that asshole.”

You regarded Toji with a scrutinizing gaze for all of a minute, yet that minute felt like hours to him. 

He couldn’t remember feeling this uneasy ever—and being in the Yakuza put him in several situations in the past he thought he wouldn’t make it out of. 

“Fine,” you resigned with a sigh, “It’s whatever then.” 

Seeing that you had set aside the words you originally intended to scold him with, Toji felt that this was the best possible outcome he could have hoped for.

Well shit, bullet dodged.

“Uh yeah, well…I’ll see you around then Fushiguro—”

Toji couldn’t just let you leave like this, on uneasy terms with your frustration still evident.

“—Wait ma!”

And even more so as Toji stopped you once again.

“Look…I ain’t too big to admit I fucked up, mamas. Let me make it up to ya, yeah? Give ya a ride back so ya don’t hafta walk back in this heat?”

Toji knew you wanted to reject his offer out of pride, but he was serious now—there was no fuckin’ way he was gonna let you walk back. 

Your load of groceries was way more than your usual trips, and on top of carrying Yuji, a sizable boy for his age, your purse and pushing the stroller would turn a 15 minute walk into a 25 minute one easily. 

The scorching summer sun perched high at its peak at this time of day and the thick, near suffocating, humidity could easily turn to heat exhaustion—especially for a young toddler.

He knew you knew that too.

You’d have to accept, per Toji’s calculations.

And you did.

“Okay, why not...” 

Yet the reluctance was clear in your voice. 

The ride back began uneventfully, yet the calm atmosphere inside the car was tinged with awkwardness. 

Megumi was snoozing in his car seat, while Yuji sat on your lap in the passenger seat. 

Despite the lingering tension, Toji could see the relief on your face. The transition from the sweltering heat to the cool comfort of his air-conditioned Mercedes had clearly brought you much-needed respite.

The domesticality of it all was something Toji didn’t realize he would miss as much as he did, and it pissed him off that it was something Sukuna of all people had and took for granted. 

However, when Toji glanced over at you, he tightened his grip on the wheel with both hands.

Your actions were purely innocent as you entertained Yuji, bouncing him on your knees. However, the movement caused your sundress to lift and bunch damn near to your hips. 

Toji swore he could feel the steering wheel crack under his grip as he fought the urge to slide a hand onto your thigh, or at minimum over his soon-to-be-bricked-up cock. 

Fuck. Get it together. 

But there was nothing Toji could have done to stop his dissociative daydreams, which had grown increasingly vivid since laying eyes on you, from consuming him. 

The sleek hardness of the leather steering wheel morphed to be malleable like the inner flesh of your thighs. Toji gripped the wheel tighter, which only made the visualization of how soft your skin would be in contrast to the texture of his calloused hand more apparent. The same hand which would so graciously sink into the warm plush of your skin with reassuring squeezes. 

Finally, Toji would also get his answer as to whether or not you had been wearing panties. Toji’s wandering hand would only need to travel up the tiniest bit higher to press his knuckles right against your core.

And when it came down to it, whether you had them on or not mattered little to Toji—regardless of the result, he still intended to bully his thick middle knuckle directly into your clit. 

Toji would take satisfaction in keeping his main attention on the road as he engaged you in casual conversation—all the while drawing slow absentminded circles around your bud. He would only pause if he felt the lil’ thing swell up enough—to the point where the soft clicking sounds from your slick could be heard if there wasn’t music playing. 

He’d edge you with subtle, yet incessant, pleasure all the way home. Seeing just how much of his teasing your messy cunt could handle.

Toji's mind was stuck so badly in-between your thighs that he’d actually been caught off guard when you finally broke the silence, eagerly asking about his playlist as “How Do U Want It” pumped through the car speakers. 

And that's how Toji managed to worm his way back into your good graces.

You seemed genuinely surprised to discover he was also a fan of ’90s hip-hop when he told you he was. 

Of course, being a fan of ’90s hip-hop wasn’t a lie—but he had heard this particular song playing from your apartment before, so he made sure to add it to a playlist for whenever he’d be able to get you into his car. 

Much to Toji’s enjoyment, before long you were laughing again as he attempted—very, very poorly—to rap along to some of the lyrics in English. 

Pleased to have won you back over, Toji purposely missed at least two turns just to keep you in his car a bit longer.

If the day had ended there, he would have considered it a win. 

But, of course, with his luck, things would prove to be anything but victorious.

Naturally, once you both returned, Toji carried your bags upstairs. However, that didn’t stop him from playfully teasing you.

Toji joked that—‘Miss Independent didn’t want him paying for her groceries, but she sure as hell didn’t mind him carrying them’—and was rewarded again with the soft snorts of your laughter.

It’s not like you didn’t have your hands full though, cradling both Megumi and Yuji, who were now fast asleep—one on each of your shoulders.

It was…cute.

Fuck, when even was the last time Toji even thought something was cute? 

You were cute though, especially with the kids. 

That he didn’t mind admitting. 

Toji regretted that he didn't snap a picture of the moment. He knew it would likely be over soon.

Heh, maybe it didn’t have to be though.

With both boys asleep in your arms, Toji considered the likelihood of coaxing you to invite him in. You’d surely need help carrying both Yuji and your bags inside—but he didn’t want to push his luck, especially after he had already majorly fucked things up with you once today.

Although, Toji realized you wouldn’t need any convincing when you looked at him with a kind smile that reached all the way into your bright eyes. That was all the encouragement he needed to step across the threshold, technically uninvited, as he held the door open for you.

Toji would have entered too, had the energy not immediately shifted. 

“—and just what the fuck is this?”

Motherfucker.

Down the hallway, Sukuna had since stepped out of the elevator with his right hand, Uraume, close behind. Sukuna appeared already agitated, barking rushed orders over the phone. 

But Sukuna abruptly ended the call the moment he saw Toji about to enter the condo with you. And as if he owned the entire building himself, Sukuna exuded obnoxious dominance in every stride as he approached. 

Toji may have outranked him but Sukuna rivaled Toji in both size and presence, sauntering over to loom behind you with an unmistakable air of possessiveness.

Tch, Sukuna shouldn’t even be here. 

Toji had miscalculated—a rare miscalculation, but a big one nonetheless—what he gets, he supposed, for trusting a less than meticulous intel source. 

According to his, now incorrect intel, Sukuna was supposed to be in Shinjuku at headquarters. The fact that he was here, interfering with his time he had so meticulously planned with you, infuriated Toji. 

Shit—he hadn’t wanted Sukuna to see you two together just yet.

Despite Toji being unable to hide his disdain, he offered a respectful nod to Sukuna, as was customary between fellow upper-ranked yakuza. 

Sukuna returned the gesture in-kind, along with a smug grin that had plastered itself across his face.

Tension saturated the air and Toji noticed that your once-gentle smiles had faded, replaced by wary glances exchanged between him and Sukuna. 

Toji’s hand causally brushed yours as you carefully handed Megumi back to him before you faced Sukuna.

He noticed you running the spot on your hand where your skin had touched.

Did you also feel the electricity between the two of you burn your skin?

Toji had.

“If I knew you were coming, you could have picked me up from the store, Ryo! Then I wouldn’t have had to be a bother to Fushiguro...”

You could never be a bother to Toji.

Looking you over, Toji scrutinized your every movement. He knew you were merely trying to shift focus and keep the peace—but to do it for him? 

After everything today, and how he unintentionally put his foot in his mouth with his actions?

Were—were you falling for him, already?

The slightly strained smile on your face still looked sweet enough, and Toji might have mistaken it for genuine—if not for the real warmth you’d shown him just moments before Sukuna’s arrival. 

You really had saved your smiles just for him, isn’t that right mama?

Toji’s heart beats wildly at the thought, however his good temperaments were greatly diminished as he noted how the light in your eyes dimmed.

Seeing you shrink yourself to answer to Sukuna, no matter how insignificant—pissed him off.

Well, at least thanks to him, you wouldn’t have to suffer Sukuna much longer.

As Toji had expected, Sukuna didn’t try to suppress his asshole-like nature, even towards you. Your attempted olive branch had been rebuffed by the heavy hand on your shoulder. It was evident Sukuna was unconcerned with your excuses as he focused solely on Toji.

“Ah Fushiguro, I see you’ve met my son and his mother.”

Even though Sukuna had failed to give you a title, the intent behind his words and demeanor was unmistakable: 

Sukuna owned you.

So that's how it is, eh? 

Toji couldn’t say he was surprised.

Although his possessive nature wasn't driven by affection for you, Sukuna simply never liked to share his toys.

Sukuna must have thought you were just another plaything for Toji, well aware of what Toji got up to typically at The Nursery, 

Eh, and were you any other woman, Sukuna would have been right. 

But you were never toy to Toji, he wanted much more than just to fuck you, even before he realized it himself. 

Toji would be lying if he said that he wasn’t looking forward to that too though. 

“Heh, we’ve already had our introductions before, isn’t that right…?” 

Toji was pleased by the flushed, wide-eyed expression on your face when he dared to address you by your first name—just as he was pleased that Sukuna’s smirk faltered into a scowl at Toji’s bold familiarity with you.

Toji mainly did it to piss Sukuna off. However seeing you flustered, knowing he could have an effect on you even in front of Sukuna, had been a much sweeter treat. 

“Oh? Then she must know not to pay heed to old roosters who are now forced to spend more time in the hen house than running the farm these days. Although, a rooster who cannot crow effectively is of little use anywhere else, I suppose.”

Toji’s expression held firm onto the casual smugness he wore, but inside he was boiling. 

Toji knew exactly what Sukuna was referring to.

Since his late wife passed, Toji had been only sent for specialized jobs that required his immense powerhouse abilities. Although he could easily air out a room of 20 men, Toji was considered to be more of a loose cannon than ever before.

Simply not caring—Toji took his anger out on more than just his targeted kills with no second thoughts given to the collateral damage of the environment he was in nor the civilian casualties around. Thus Toji made the damage control messier and harder on the organization in cases where more precision was needed. 

Some would have called that a liability and had him dealt with, yet the bigger liability still would be trying to ‘deal with’ Toji in the first place. 

Many had tried over the years for one reason or another—and it had been a guaranteed death sentence every time too. 

Regardless, Toji had remained dog loyal to the organization though, with little care for power or status, even though it came to him anyway. 

As long as he was paid, Toji had been content—and in turn, so had the organization. 

This resulted in Toji mostly being able to do as he pleased, even when he went a little rogue at times. 

“Rooster, eh—”

Toji knew Sukuna’s condescending smug attitude stemmed from the special privileges he’d been given to sit in on the executive meetings to solve the current unrest of having to do with whatever old fuck of an executive had gotten himself offed.

Regardless, it could still be seen as a loss of status not being in those meetings.

More importantly—Toji’s rogue behaviors could easily be manipulated into a target on his back should Sukuna assert he’d been a part of the internal treason.

Toji knew he had to tread cautiously with Sukuna, but Toji still did not feel threatened in the least.

“—I’d like to think of myself here as more of a fox though, it suits me better don’t ya think?” 

Toji’s gaze had briefly met your own, and you quickly turned away, his grin growing even wider.

But then again, if Sukuna wanted to think Toji was down and out—Toji would let him. 

It would work to Toji’s advantage in the long run with securing you as his anyway. 

Toji wasn’t worried as he had nothing to do with that old geezer getting wacked and he was glad they’d left him out of it.

Besides, Sukuna being brought into the inner circle could have just as easily been a way to keep a closer watch on him. After all, Sukuna wasn’t an executive—and while Toji was, his role was to eliminate threats, not uncover them. It made more sense for Toji to stay away than for Sukuna to be involved at all.

All which was a net win for Toji, as he found himself with more opportunities to spend time with you, while the organization conveniently kept Sukuna occupied.

With a swift, smooth motion, Toji bent down to retrieve the stray apple that had rolled from your grocery bag. He polished it against his suit jacket before handing it back to you with a sly smile.

“Ya know, I am just next door lil’ hen. This ol’fox is still capable of being a good neighbor. I’ll always have plenty of sugar for you too, should you ever find yourself in need…”

Toji turns to Sukuna.

“...Especially since Sukuna has his hands full on the upper levels of the farm these days, eh? S’a wonder at all how ya manage to visit the hens on this floor too.”

Toji watched with amusement as your eyes widened at the blatant innuendos given right in front of Sukuna, who merely was left growling as his cell audibly and persistently vibrated.

Sukuna deemed the call more important than the coded banter with Toji, as he all but dragged you and Yuji into the condo—leaving the groceries for Uraume to bring in.

Although he had won the battle of the day, Toji regretted his actions later that evening when he inevitably lost the war.

Sukuna made sure to let it be known Toji lost too, as Sukuna had fucked you against the adjoining wall of the master bedroom so hard the entire wall shook.

Your pained yet pleasure-filled moans seeped through the thick insulation of the walls.

Using you like you were just one of his toys, Sukuna was quite literally pounding the point home that you belonged to him with every forceful quake.

Point taken, but what angered Toji more was Sukuna was being too rough with you.

Toji could have sworn he heard you plead for Sukuna to slow down and the irony of his concern was not lost on Toji. 

Toji was never known for being a particularly gentle lover himself, but your body had been through enough—you’re a mother now. 

You deserved better than the careless treatment of some cheap plastic fuck doll. 

Nevertheless, despite the roughness, it was clear from the diluted moans through the insulation—you had liked it.

Sukuna was still making you cum. 

And oh god, did Toji ever want to prove to your precious pussy that his thick inches would fuck her even harder if that’s what she asked of him.

Toji had to repress a frustrated groan when he realized he was painfully hard. 

Your damped cries had Toji palming himself for relief before he even knew what he was doing.

Yet for all the perverse arousal he felt, Toji did feel some semblance of guilt. 

His taunting of Sukuna ensured that this punishment was a lesson for the both of you.

But—Fuck. 

Toji couldn’t deny his sadistic side.

He was a killer after all. 

Even the distressed tremor of your euphoric moans sounded absolutely heavenly to him, and it wasn’t long before Toji fumbled with his own belt to drag out his heavily leaking cock. 

Thick humid breaths left Toji as he hissed from having thumbed off the viscous pre-gathering on his redden tip. 

Toji slowly spread it down his pulsing length, shuddering. 

His frustrations at not being the one touching you—not being the one making you shiver and moan, are only rivaled by his frustration of this being the first time he’s had any real fire in his loins since he’s met you.

The fierce desire to cum was overtaking his more rational brain or self-control as he’d hadn’t been this hard in weeks, even when he’d rub one out from watching old security footage of you.

Wanting any semblance of contact, Toji placed his free hand on the wall—on the exact spot he imagined Sukuna had your cheek pressed against. 

With closed eyes, Toji pictured himself cupping your face, thumb smoothing away any stray hairs or tears while he is the one thrusting into you, filling you.

His large hand encompassed his length while he thrusted into his rough palm, faster now that the speed of the thumping had increased—signaling Sukuna was close to finishing you.

Swallowing a frustrated roar, your muted cries for Sukuna through the wall brought Toji out of his fantasies and back to the harsh reality that Sukuna was the one balls deep in your tight milf pussy—while he was only in his own hand.

Nevertheless, Toji was determined to cum and even more so, determined to soon be the one making you scream in pleasure. 

If you were this loud now—you’d be much louder on his cock. 

Toji leaned in even closer, resting his head on his forearm against the wall, the wall that still shuddered with the force of Sukuna ruthlessly rearranging your guts. 

Forcing himself to dissociate once more, so he could finish—Toji squeezed his eyes shut tightly as he bit his lip to the point of drawing blood. In the daydream, in Toji’s mind, it wasn’t the coarse skin of his palm that stroked his cock but the silky, wet heat of your cozy lil’ cunt. 

Toji convinced himself that the sloshing noises that rang throughout his bedroom were from him stretching your pussy to his shape as his fat tip slammed against your cervix— and not from the embarrassing amount of pearlescent fluid spilling over his hand. 

He hadn’t even cum yet—a testament to how backed up he truly was. 

Toji should have been ashamed at the way his girth had pulsed in his palm, but he was so close, and so determined to finish with you, there was no room for ego.

Picking up speed to nearly the point of chafing, Toji jerked his cock feverishly. Toji came when he heard the loudest moan yet vibrate through the wall, and the banging had ceased with a final jarring shake. 

Rolling back his eyes, Toji released his load all over the wall of his master bedroom, finally sated. Toji had allowed himself to release a strangled groan of relief, once he believed you both were no longer near the wall.

Panting and half-delirious with euphoric release, Toji’s eyes followed the trail of his thick cum splatter slowly trickling down the wall as his once engorged cock deflated in his hand. 

With a curled lip and narrowed-in eyes, the white fluid turns red in his mind’s eye. 

A dark chuckle escaped his lips and Toji fantasized what it would be like to put a slug right between Sukuna’s eyes. Toji’s large load pooled onto the floor in a similar fashion to how Sukuna’s brains would leak, spilling out as it also formed a similarly morbid pool of fluids.

Yet even despite his more ruthless inclinations, upon inhaling a deep breath, Toji felt an unfamiliar zen wash over him.

Killing was just business to Toji, and he couldn’t recall the last time the thought of offing someone had brought him this much pleasure or any semblance of peace.

Yet the fact revealed itself to him then, in that moment—the truth that he’d kill everyone in this goddamn organization for you if that's what it took.

Toji knew Sukuna wasn’t one of those cowardly fucks who would just roll over while someone moved in on his woman either, so Toji would likely be forced to kill him should Sukuna ever find out his true plans for you. 

Toji sighs reluctantly—it was just a mere fantasy.

Not that he gave two fucks what would happen to Sukuna, but killing him would only fan the flames and might even cause an all-out internal war within the organization. 

A war that as the top assassin, he’d be expected to quell with force—for god knows how long.

Ultimately, that would mean a loss for Toji too.

The more involved with the organization he was, the less time he’d get with you.

Brute force was never the ideal way to deal with someone like Sukuna, and it would be better for everyone if you seemingly left him of your own accord. 

But what other choice did he have? 

He’d do what it took to get you at the end of the day.

And while these complications may have deterred a younger Toji, you, as well as the challenge itself, breathed new life into his aging bones.

That life extended into all areas of his current one. Even the usually reserved Megumi had become less quiet and more responsive to Toji with his changed demeanor and increased presence around The Nursery.

You didn’t even know how much you were fixing his life even if you were only on the outskirts of it now. 

You had made him better—so in turn, he would give you better.

Toji had no real interests, hobbies, nor friends. 

Your moving-in had been the most exciting thing that had happened to him since she had been alive and Toji had lived the last year of his life on autopilot—but no more. 

Now that he had something, well, someone that made him feel energized once again. 

⟡

The familiar trill of a cell phone—one of the many burners he used for his yakuza dealings—pulls Toji out of his thoughts once again.

His lip curls in annoyance at the person on the line.

This is why Toji likes working alone. 

Others were not only liabilities, but they were rarely ever self-sufficient. 

Always wanting to ‘check-in’ and ‘confirm the plan’, rather than just taking the damn action themselves like they were supposed to. 

But alas, the task of getting rid of Sukuna was something Toji knew he couldn’t do alone, he needed the intel source, even if they were unreliable at best. 

Toji answers the call, but keeps it brief with his clipped replies.

By the time it ended, he was already scoffing, indifferent to the voice still speaking on the other end as he cut the call short and hung up as soon as he got the info he needed. 

Shoving the phone into his back pocket, Toji sparks another cigarette.

His 'partner' had so kindly reminded him of the loose ends he still needed to tie up.

But that could wait. 

For now, Toji remained where he was, stationed on his balcony—ready to stay out here all night for the small chance you may need him.

©𝐛𝐥𝐤𝐤𝐢𝐳𝐳𝐚𝐭 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐠𝐟𝐱, 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞.

⟢ end credits: please comment, like and reblog and lmk what you think! I'd really appreciate the feedback as this fic has been my baby working on it.

i will likely end up completing another work while i work on episode 3 as my adhd ass usually needs to break it up in order not to get writers block and unlike e2 i had only done the outline so far, so if i post something else in the meantime just know i'm still working on episode 3!

[gogobootz1]

Dog Day Afternoon

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: New to town but oh-so sought after, a few stumbles might just lead you to love

Word Count: 3k

Dearest Gentle Reader,

Today, I write with news from the North. The reclusive Duke of Devonshire has come to London. It seems that after the death of his younger brother some time back, he is determined to find his eldest daughter, the new heir, a husband. The lady is supposedly very beautiful and will no doubt consume all of the attention of eligible young bachelors. I only bid good luck to her competition, as they will surely need it.

The fluffy tails of your two best friends could not keep still. The black Newfoundlands you had trained from puppyhood loved carriage rides, mostly because they loved meeting the horses before and after. You were sure they'd grow even more excited when you arrived at the park.

As the carriage slowed, you smiled, eager to get them some exercise. Your maid stepped out first, and you momentarily handed her both dogs' leads. Accepting a hand down from a footman, you turned to take them back when they broke free of her grasp entirely. Worse yet, they took off at a run.

You called after them, then whistled, but they were determined. Usually, they didn't give you any trouble with recall. Reaching for the dog whistle you kept on your person, you found nothing.

Without a second thought, you took off after them.

"My Lady!" Your maid called from behind you, panicked. You paid her little heed, anxious to have your babies back safe.

Park patrons stood as your dogs, followed by yourself, ran past. They gawked openly at the strange scene put on by an unknown young lady.

You were relieved when they slowed, but it didn't take long for them to sprint off again. They rounded a corner, quick as lighting. You kept after them, unable to see the obstacle around the bend.

Crashing right into someone's back, the two of you stumbled. The poor gentleman in front of you took the brunt of the impact, but you didn't have time to stay and make a formal apology. Staggering a bit, you resumed your chase.

"Sorry!" You yelled over your shoulder.

"Wait! Miss," the man called after you but gave up as you ran further away.

When your dogs ran off the path and into a clearing where people were picnicking, you grew really worried. Chasing after them on a trail was one thing, but ruining the outings of fellow nobility would be an altogether worse embarrassment.

You stopped in your tracks when you realized who the boys were scampering up to: your little sister. Abigail sat on a blanket with a girl who looked to be about her age. In her mouth was the dog whistle. You tended only to use that whistle when you took them out in the woods, and you'd trained them to run back to you at the sound of it. It gave you peace of mind knowing that you could call them back at any time if they went too far off in the forest or on one of your walks.

Abigail seemed pleased to see the two of them. A surprised grin graced her face as she patted them. They were even happier to see her, showering her in kisses. "Hoo-y? Moo? What are you doing here?" She giggled.

Her laughter stopped when she saw you stalking over. Thoroughly out of breath, you crossed your arms when you reached them. The three of them looked guiltily up at you. With a snap, your dogs came to sit on either side of you. Although your countenance was thoroughly enraged, scratching behind both dogs' ears decreased your intimidation factor.

"Why on Earth did you steal that?" You nodded toward your whistle.

"I think it makes for a chic necklace," Abigail said defensively. You stuck a hand out, and she reluctantly placed the whistle she'd put on a chain in it.

"And why on Earth were you using it?" You asked expectantly.

She held her hands up in surrender, "Miss Hyacinth was skeptical that the whistle could not be heard with human ears. I was simply showing her how it worked." Abigail was clever- you'd give her that. You could hardly scold her in front of her companion, and you wouldn't dream of scolding the other young girl for something so clearly not her fault. Using her as a human shield was a cowardly tactic by your sister, however. "And I thought you weren't arriving until later!"

"They were antsy. I figured I could abandon the harp in favor of allowing them some exercise," you explained, then glared at her, "This was not the type of exercise I had in mind."

"But Hoo-y and Moo love running free," she pouted at you.

"They are not allowed to run free in public spaces where I must chase after them!" You snapped at her. Crouching to get closer, you reached into your purse and gave both dogs a scrap of jerky. "Huginn and Muninn are both well-behaved gentlemen, and you may have tarnished their good names by causing this wild romp!"

"Huginn and Muninn? Does that make you Odin?" A deep voice called from behind you. You rose and turned to see a tall, handsome gentleman with dark hair.

His question took you by surprise. Most people did not understand their names. You blinked for a second before collecting yourself, "No." It was hardly a smart reply, but it was the most you could manage after chasing your dogs a few hundred meters. You shook your head a little, vaguely embarrassed by your answer, before turning back to the girls.

"Would you please excuse Lady Abigail, Miss Hyacinth?" The bright young lady nodded at you with a pleasant smile before you even finished speaking, "The least she can do after causing such trouble is help me walk the dogs." You directed the last part toward your sister, who reluctantly stood. Taking one of the leads from your hand, she bid goodbye to her companion before walking off. You nodded at the young lady and the handsome stranger before following after her.

Benedict watched you walk away from his sister's picnic spot, only slightly removed from the rest of the family's. He collapsed down next to Hyacinth and stole a grape from her plate, "Who was that?"

"My new friend, Abigail," she replied, smacking his wrist. He ate the grape anyway.

"And the older one?"

"Her sister," Hyacinth looked at him skeptically, "why do you ask?"

Benedict thought of how you'd practically pushed him to the ground in the middle of the walkway, then ran from the scene. "No reason," he shrugged.

——————————————

The first ball you'd be attending was later that evening, and you were incredibly nervous. Sat on the floor of the library, you brushed through Muninn's coat in an attempt to calm your nerves. Waiting for your father to finish changing was making you even more anxious, the dread just building up in your body.

"Why are you on the floor?" His voice finally came from the doorway.

"His coat needed brushing," you shrugged innocently. The Duke waved at you to come join him, and you stood, brushing some fur off yourself. Muninn stood, too, and closely followed as you joined your father.

"You're only lucky he didn't slobber on you," your father shook his head at you fondly, offering his arm.

Taking it, you made one last bid to skip the event, "Remind me why we are attending this?"

"A future Duchess needs a husband," he said simply.

"Does she really?" You asked wryly.

"No," your father answered seriously, causing you to stop. "Well, only if she should like a Duke or Duchess of her blood to follow in her footsteps," he tugged on your arm to keep you walking.

That only made you feel worse. While before you felt nervous, guilt was now in the mix. What if that didn't happen?

"If you never marry, I will not love you any less," he revealed. "I only ask that you try," your father asserted, "but if there is nary a man up to snuff, I would have you die a spinster." You laughed at that, feeling some pressure relieved. He joked with you for the duration of the carriage ride and up until you were announced at the ball.

"Now presenting; His Grace Daniel, Duke of Devonshire, and his daughter Lady-"

The entire company of the room turned to watch the two of you descend the stairs.

"What? Is there something on my face?" Your father whispered to you jokingly.

"Oh, only that awful mustache," you whispered back playfully. You caught the corner of his lip twitching as he tried not to laugh at the jab at his expense.

A few more seconds of staring had you whispering to him again, "I see now why you never leave the house." That earned a huff of a laugh from him.

"Let us thank our host, then visit the refreshments," he relayed the plan.

"Excellent idea," you replied quietly as he dragged you toward a finely dressed older woman.

"Lady Danbury," your father nodded at her in greeting.

"Lovely to see you again, Your Grace. It's been quite some time," she smiled at him knowingly.

"Indeed it has," he laughed, "may I present my daughter?" You smiled then, giving her a polite nod as well.

"My, how you've grown, my lady. The last time I saw you, you were far shorter than me," she chuckled, and you laughed politely with her. Unfortunately, you had no memory of that meeting. It must have been a long time ago, and she must have visited your home at Chatsworth House.

It was only a few more moments of small talk before your father excused the two of you, under the guise of not impeding her from talking to other guests.

He fixed you both a glass of lemonade at the refreshments table before he was pulled away. As much as he hated socializing, people loved him. He sent you an apologetic glance as he left. You only shook your head at him, smiling.

You took a brief glance around the room, noticing a few debutantes conversing near you. You sent them a smile, but they sneered in reply and closed ranks. Stunned at their response, you didn't quite know what to do.

"They can be rather mean," you turned to find a young red-headed woman beside you. "Not to mention jealous," she said helpfully.

"Jealous?" You were confused. They hadn't even met you. "Of me?"

"Oh, yes," she laughed a bit. "Haven't you read Lady Whistledown?"

You were embarrassed to have no idea of what she spoke, "I haven't met her. Is she in attendance?" That got an even greater laugh from your companion.

"Lady Whistledown is a gossip columnist and a rather popular one at that," she informed you, and you felt foolish for your last comment. "She wrote about you in her latest issue."

"Really?" You were stunned, as you'd only recently arrived in London.

"She predicted you'd steal the attentions of every available gentleman away from your fellow debutants," she nodded.

"No wonder they hate me," you sighed, sorry to have made a bad impression on the debutants before making their acquaintance. "Oh, I'm sorry, I still haven't introduced myself!" You were eager to make at least one good first impression.

"I'm Penelope Featherington," she said with a smile.

"I must admit, Miss Featherington," you shook your head, "I think Lady Whistledown's prediction will prove incorrect." She tilted her head and gestured for you to go on, "I've not been approached by a single gentleman."

Penelope took a quick look around the room, accidentally meeting a few pairs of eyes. Plenty of people had already been looking in your direction. She smiled a bit at your obliviousness, "I think perhaps they're just intimidated."

"Oh no," your eyes widened, "have I done something wrong?"

"Not at all," she assured you, "I think it's just... no one wants to take the first shot at a great stag and miss."

"I'm not sure I like being prey in this metaphor," you deadpanned, causing her to laugh once again.

It seemed one young gentleman mustered the courage to be the first to approach, and he really was young. "Good evening, ladies," he greeted you both, then offered you his hand, "would you care to dance?"

You placed your hand lightly in his but sent Penelope a look as he led you off. She giggled as you went. From there, you were off to the races. Dance after dance, gentleman after gentleman, you were exhausted.

"Please excuse me, sir, I'm feeling rather parched," you did not even recall this one's name.

"Oh no, please, my lady, I shall fetch a beverage for you," he nodded, "stay right there! Don't move!" He kept eye contact with you as he walked backward a few paces. You couldn't help but walk backward away from him, and you continued to do so even after he'd scurried off.

In fact, you retreated so far back that you retreated right into someone else's back. You both turned.

“You rather love bumping into me,” the gentleman you’d seen earlier said.

“Excuse me?” You certainly hadn’t seen him before this morning, so you had no idea what he meant by that smart comment. Your offense at his statement outweighed the sway of his good looks, unlike earlier.

“This makes twice,” he insisted, “once chasing after your ravens and once just now.”

It took you a second to catch up, “It was you I knocked over in the park earlier?!” Embarrassment rolled over you like a wave. “Oh God,” this was awful, “I am so incredibly sorry. Truly, I am mortified. And I would have apologized earlier, I-“

He only laughed a bit, “It’s quite alright. I got the sense you were in a rush.” His teasing tone brought a smile to your face.

“They’re usually so well-behaved,” you assured him, “I’m afraid my sister was behind the debacle.”

“Oh, yes, she was sitting with Hyacinth, was she not?”

“You know Miss Hyacinth?”

The gentleman grinned and bowed, “Benedict Bridgerton, her brother.”

“Very nice to meet you,” you smiled, “officially.”

“I’m not sure I caught your name,” right as he asked, you heard it being called.

“My lady?” You whipped around, and spotted the gentleman you’d abandoned searching for you. Wincing, you scuttled toward the closest pillar and ducked behind it. Benedict stayed put, but watched you run off with great amusement. After a moment, he chose to follow you.

“Are you hiding?” He teasingly asked.

You peered around the pillar, hoping the man had walked away. When you saw he hadn’t, you ducked away again, “yes!”

Benedict blinked at you, smiling, “Why?”

“My feet hurt,” you confessed, “I have danced every dance. I haven’t sat down in hours. Frankly, I’m surprised so many are interested after my jaunt through the park.”

“Perhaps they were impressed by your display of athleticism,” a crooked grin crossed his face. You leveled him with a look.

“There you are, my lady,” you jolted at the foreign voice, and Benedict had to clap a hand over his mouth to muffle his laughter. “I could not find you, so I’m afraid I drank your lemonade as well,” you could see Benedict’s shoulders shake with laughter, “Are you ready for our next dance?”

A look of pure horror must have crossed your face, because Benedict finally intervened, “I’m afraid she’s promised the next dance to me.” He pulled a pencil from a pocket in his jacket and outstretched one hand to you. You held out the arm your dance card was attached to, “In fact, I’ve very generously been granted all her remaining dances.” He winked at you as he filled in the four remaining spots. You fought off a grin.

“I see,” the man you interrupted you said sourly. He turned on his heel and marched away. Neither you nor Benedict could stop your laughter at his reaction.

“It is not my intention to further burden your feet,” he assured you after a moment, “I only hoped to dissuade him.”

“You did a fine job,” you grinned at him, “you have my gratitude.”

“I think I rather scandalized him,” Benedict chuckled, and you shook your head.

“It seems rather easy to scandalize this lot,” you said.

“Well, you’re right about that,” he nodded.

You sighed, “I think they’re all so concerned with presenting themselves as proper and important they forget to consider anyone else. Not one man I danced with asked me about myself.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Benedict shook his head, “I hope the rest of your evening is more relaxing.”

“Thank you,” you nodded at him, “at the very least, I know my dogs will listen to me when I return to them.”

Benedict laughed at that and slightly bowed towards you again, “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, my lady. I hope to bump into you again soon.”

Your eyes widened, “Maybe not bump.”

“Goodnight,” he smiled at you and nodded before leaving you free to go find somewhere to sit.

Soon enough, you father found you relaxing on a chaise lounge in a nearby study. He only shook his head, and offered you his arm to depart.

——————————————

The next morning brought with it house calls. You’d been hoping to spend a quiet morning working on a new piece for the harp, as you’d forgone practice the day before. But, much to your chagrin, you were forced to dress and be presentable within only ten minutes of your waking.

It didn’t take long for the sitting room to be bombarded with interested parties, though none were interested enough to truly speak with you. Each brought with him a new bouquet of flowers, and you soon grew worried you’d start sneezing uncontrollably. Eventually, you became so overwhelmed that you bribed poor Abigail to keep them occupied while you disappeared.

The only question she had for you was if you cared what she did to them. You’d given her free rein. With one look at her wicked grin, you fled the room.

Quickly turning the corner to another hallway, you quite nearly crashed into someone.

“That was almost three,” Benedict joked with you.

“Almost,” you highlighted, “but only a close call.”

“True,” he nodded.

"What brings you here?"

Benedict smiled, "I had hoped to call on you. Have I caught you at a bad time?"

"Not at all," you shook your head jovially.

"Excellent! I brought a gift," he produced a brown paper bag. You were slightly confused but glad for something other than flowers.

"Thank you," you reached for it, but he pulled it back.

"Not for you," he shook his head. You blinked back at him, wide-eyed. "Unless you have a proclivity for raw steak." Benedict laughed at the shock on your face, "I thought Huginn and Muninn might enjoy a treat."

A surprised smile eased onto your face. Your eyes sparkled as you looked at him, "I'm sure they'll appreciate it."

"Do you think they might also appreciate a walk in the park?" He asked, "A chance at redemption?"

"I think they'd like that," you grinned widely as Benedict smiled and offered you his arm.

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

He didn't ask a single question! And he was wearing these- FUGLY jeans

Lol I've been toying with this idea since S3 part 1 came out, hope you liked it! I let her live in 2005 Mr. Darcy's luxurious mansion so you're welcome

(sorry for obscure norse mythology references)

[lolapiastri]

happy new year | l. norris

warnings: smut, whole lotta smut, everyone gets head, dirty talk, lando won't shut the fuck up, spitting lol, praise, don’t really know what’s going on half the time

authors note: found this in my drafts from december please enjoy x

31st december 2022, monaco - 11:54pm

“come on mate, get another drink down you,” max fewtrell handed his best friend a jagerbomb, his spare hand resting on landos shoulder, his drunken self unable to stand properly.

lando smiled slightly, before taking the drink and shotting it in one. it had been a few days since him and his girlfriend broke up, and he wasn’t anywhere near over her yet. he didn’t know if he ever would be, judging by how he felt right now. he wanted to be at home, bottle of some 40% spirit in hand and trying to forget.

max wouldn’t let that happen though, forcing him out tonight so he finally left the confinement of his apartment, hoping that the party scene would alleviate some of the stress on landos shoulder.

“come on, there’s so many fit girls here, take your pick,” he slurred, before being pulled away by his girlfriend for the traditional new years kiss.

lando hadn’t realised it was almost midnight, and suddenly he felt his stomach drop at the reminder that last year he was doing this with his ex. he grabbed another drink from the bar and got it down him quickly, planning on sitting at the bar while everyone around him spend the next few minutes with their loved ones.

until he saw you.

his eyes were glued to you the moment he saw you, stuck on how the short red dress you were wearing clung to your curves, stuck on how your hair tumbled over your bare shoulders, stuck on how the sparkly eyeshadow glistened under the neon lights or the club and lit up your whole face.

you made eye contact was you turned towards the bar, and obviously he caught your fancy, with a black button up that pronounced his muscles more than usual, a chain around his neck, and his hair in defined dark curls that contrasted his tanned skin. he looked almost like an angel descended from the heavens, except an angel would never have such a sorrowed look upon their face.

he beckoned you over with a flick of his fingers, eyes never leaving your body, and you may have been upset if you weren’t as gone as you were. you settled yourself in between his legs, taking the half drank glass from his hand and finishing it off for him, leaving a faint red mark on the rim.

he was infatuated at first glance. his hands settled in the dip of your waist, almost engulfing your body with their size. his mouth slowly curved into a smirk as he watched you lean over him to place the now empty glass on the bar, allowing him a small look at your lace bra you were wearing under your dress.

he checked the time on the clock. 11:57.

“what’s your name, gorgeous?” he asked, thumbs drawing lazy circles against the fabric of your dress.

you told him your name, before then asking for his, and his eyes widened with the realisation that you didn’t know who he was, or you were too drunk to realise.

“lando,” he smiled softly, voice deep and husky.

11:58.

“you here with anyone?” he asked, eyes dropping down to your red-stained lips before meeting your eyes again, the actions so quick you could barely recognise it happening.

you shook your head. “well, my friend, but she’s here with her boyfriend so…”

“i’m in the same boat,” he chuckled softly, subconsciously pulling you closer and closer towards him, so your thighs were brushing against his, “my mate max is here but he’s ran off with his girlfriend now.”

“god i hate people in couples,” you laughed, receiving one in return from lando, “they act all in love with no regard for those of us who are single.”

11:59.

“tell me about it,” lando rolled his eyes, his hand slowly climbing up your body so they were now resting against your rib cage.

you looped your arms around him, hands settling in the nape of his neck, a finger wrapping around a loose curl in his hair. he stood up now, looking down on you, and leant down so your faces were mere centimetres apart.

“you know it’s almost midnight,” he whispered in your ear, breath warm against your skin.

you hummed in response, feeling your heart beat doubly as fast against your ribs, the air suddenly feeling so much warmer.

“and i don’t have anyone to kiss.” as the final word left his mouth his lips attached to your neck, soft under ear, leaving a sloppy kiss that made you want more, want so much more.

“i don’t have anyone either,” you almost whispered, scared you had the wrong impression, but of course you didn’t.

chants of people in the background took you out of your little bubble, as the familiar ‘ten, nine, eight,’ sounded through the club.

lando leant right in, so your lips were practically touching already. “can i kiss you?”

you nodded just as the clock struck midnight, and his lips crashed into yours, with a sense of lust that you hadn’t felt in far too long.

the kiss was wet, it was sloppy, but it was desperate and needy and it sent a shiver through your body down to your core. your hands buried themselves in his hair, pulling against his roots and causing him to groan into the kiss, allowing him to stick his tongue in and control the kiss.

your tongues moved in harmony as his hands ran down the lengths of your body, as if he was scared this would be the last time he could touch you, the last time he could feel you under his fingertips. they eventually settled against your ass, cupping it lightly as he pushed your hips against his, so you could feel his semi through his jeans.

you wanted to kiss him forever, wanted all of him all at once. you decided that if the world ended now, you would be happy to die here and now, in landos embrace, his lips pressed against yours.

he pulled away, but only for his lips to find your neck, leaving open mouthed kisses until he found that sweet spot, the spot that made your neck roll back, giving him more access to suck against your skin, undoubtably leaving deep purple marks wherever he went.

your hands detached themselves from his hair and instead you dragged them down his body, fingers spaced out as you passed his pecs, passed his abs (though you were very tempted to linger there), and finished at the waistband of his jeans, dipping an index finger inside to trace the elastic of his boxers.

you felt him groan against your skin, pulling away to give you a look as if to say ‘really? in public?’. deciding to play it innocent, you just beat your eyelashes at him, a confused look on your face, and slowly ventured lower and lower.

lando wasn’t having any of that, however, grabbing your wrists easily in one hand and dragging you over to the door, pulling his phone out to call a taxi. you tried to kiss him again, but he just tutted, with a dangerous glint in his eye that told you you were in for it when you got back to his.

the taxi arrived sooner rather than later, and lando made an effort to sit in the front, leaving you in the back alone. you were confused, wondering where the sudden coldness had come from, wondering if you had pushed it too far. but when he turned around midway through the journey, and mouthed ‘behave now, and i’ll be nice later’, you knew it was going to be a fun night.

you quickly sent your friend a text to let her know you were okay, not that she would read it for another few hours, before deliberating whether or not to behave. on the one hand, behaving means that you wouldn’t piss lando off and that he’ll ‘be nice’ later, whatever that meant. but one the other hand, you kind of wanted to push his buttons, see what you could get him to do. which is why you decided to call your friend and stir up some trouble.

“hey bitch!” you practically sang into the phone, the drunkenness being more apparent than ever. you could see lando in the rear view mirror, and watched as his face seemed confused, but not upset.

“hey!” she slurred back, as drunk as you were, “where the fuck are you?”

“i’m with this guy,” you smirked to yourself as you started your plan, “but i can’t lie, he just doesn’t seem all that you know. like he seems like he’s all talk and he won’t deliver.”

lando raised an eyebrow at that, but still didn’t say or do anything, thought you could tell he was definitely listening in now.

“then why are you going with him?” your friend asked, and you could faintly here the music of the club in the background.

you hummed into the phone, but loud enough for lando to hear as well. “don’t know, maybe i just feel bad for him. he just doesn’t seem like he knows how to fuck, you get what i’m saying?”

lando’s fist clenched at that comment, but he still kept his cool, at least from the outside.

“like, i don’t know, he just doesn’t seem like he knows how to make me cum.”

that particular comment must have hit a nerve because lando leant back and grabbed the phone from your hand. you pouted and lazily attempted to grab it back, but really you were glad you were able to rile him up.

he quickly spoke to your friend, telling her you were okay and where you were going, before hanging up and ignoring your pleas for your phone.

it was only a few more minutes before you were back at lando’s flat, and he still ignored you while he paid the driver and guided you up the stairs, other than a link through your arm to make sure you didn’t fall. you liked the fact that he was still a gentleman, even though it seemed like he was about to not be.

“lando-” you whined as you waited outside his apartment, watching him unlock the door, but he cut you off before you could say anything else.

“what did i tell you?” he asked, voice still and stern, not facing you at all.

you tried to grab his wrist to get him to face you but he resisted. “to behave.”

“and you didn’t behave, did you?” his voice was almost patronising, but it was deep and rough and so fucking sexy that you didn’t care. “so now, i have to show you that what you were saying to your friend isn’t true. unless you’re going to apologise and tell me you didn’t mean it?”

he was giving you a chance to back down, to take the easy route. but it was new year’s day and you were never going to see him again, so you decided to have some fun.

“i don’t know what to tell you, you just don’t seem like you could make a girl cum,” you played it like you didn’t care, when your heart was racing knowing that something good was coming next.

he finally opened the door to his apartment and picked you up, your legs naturally looping around his waist as he pulled you into a rough kiss. it wasn’t like the one earlier, where even though it was rough there was a sweetness behind it, but instead this was pure lust and need in a kiss. his tongue explored every part of your mouth, at a ferocity that you felt like you were on fire, and that no bucket of water could ever pull you out.

his hands settled under your ass, kneading the skin under the silk of your dress. your hands found his shoulders, broad and wide, and you needed them stabilise as your world was spinning around you.

he carried you through his apartment, with you getting a brief look before he threw you onto his bed, leaving you looking up at him with rosy cheeks and lust-hazed eyes.

in the light he looked majestic, with two dimmed lamps either side of you projecting warm orange hues onto his face. fuck, he was gorgeous, chiseled by the gods themselves, and as he undid the buttons on his shirt and rolled up his sleeves, your mouth almost started to water at how beautiful he looked.

you pulled yourself up, going to try and finish undoing the buttons to take his top off, but he stopped you, once again capturing your wrists but this time pinning them behind your back.

“you don’t get to touch if you misbehave, baby,” he said, fake-pity written all across his face.

his other hand pulled your dress off your shoulders, and he let go of your hands for just a moment to remove it from the rest of your body. your heels were next, as he undid them slowly and carefully, taking his time to admire you, watching as your patience was running out.

left in just your lacy red lingerie, you watched as he climbed back over you, obvious hard on that he ignored as his lips met yours in another kiss. it wasn’t quite like the other one, slightly softer, as if he was checking that you were okay with all this. and of course you were.

he pulled away. “i can’t make you cum, yeah?”

“that’s what i said, isn’t it?” you teased back, tilting your head while trying to catch your breath.

“well, i guess you won’t be coming tonight then,” he almost sighed, before diving into the crook of your neck and leaving harsh, aggressive kisses wherever he could, adding to the deep purple marks he caused earlier on.

he slowly made his way down your neck, before finally making it to the valley of your breasts, where he sucked harder than before, obviously trying to deepen the colour and add to your pleasure. his hands found your breasts, taking one in each and kneading them, a soft massage that felt better than it ever should have done. was it the alcohol? or was it him?

he pulled your right boob out of your bra, eyes widening as his index finger and thumb took your nipple in between them and started to roll it gently. you arched your back in reponse, a weak moan falling from your lips, which pushed your breast into his fingers more. his other hand pulled out your other breast, but instead of his fingers his lips attached to it, and your mouth parted subconsciously as a wave of pleasure washed over you.

god, he was good. and he knew he was good judging by the smirk on his face. you almost regretted not letting him pleasure you how he was planning to.

almost.

“fuck, lando,” you let out a breathy whine as he swapped over, both of your nipples having an overwhelming sense of pleasure, “look so pretty sucking my tits.”

you could tell he liked that, as a vibration shook through your body when he moaned against your skin. he pulled away, much to your dismay, but you stopped minding as he slowly made his way down your body, still leaving the open mouthed kisses as he reached your belly button.

“you know,” he almost panted, hands still fixed on your tits, “i was gonna make you feel so fucking good.”

one hand leaves your nipple, a cool trail down your stomach before it settles at your waistband, mimicking your actions from in the club. your hips buck against his hand, causing him to chuckle slightly, as you crave more and more and more of his touch’s

“i was gonna make you come on my tongue, it would have felt so fucking good,” his sultry voice was working wonders as his fingertips traced the patterns in the lace, “would have had you screaming my name as i sucked your clit, would have felt fucking euphoric.”

even his words made you feel something, made you feel like any moment now you were about to combust. one finger trailed down your panties, feather light over where you needed him the most, but with the lace barrier in the way.

“god, you’ve ruined these, huh?” he chuckled, feeling how your wetness had soaked through your underwear. “so fucking wet and all i’ve touched are your tits. so responsive for me.”

you wanted to talk back, wanted to have some bite to you, spur him on even more, but you couldn’t conjure up anything while he left soft kisses on your inner thighs.

“still want my mouth, baby?” his voice was sickly sweet, but the tone behind it was cruel and teasing, because obviously you still wanted his mouth.

you nodded as best as you could, but he shook his head a response, a ‘tut tut tut’ leaving his mouth.

“need words, darling,” he almost sang, “or else you’re not getting anything from me.”

you mustered up every last drop of energy you had and spoke up. “please, lando. i want you.”

“want what?”

it took every fibre in your body to not tell him to fuck off there and then. you wanted to, you really wanted to, but you also wanted him. and that want won.

“want your mouth on me, please, lando.”

and that was enough for him, as he pulled down your lace panties and finally revealed your pussy to him.

“fuck me, darling,” his finger trailed over your folds, feather light, as he took in the sight of it, “you’re glistening, look, you’re dripping out.”

you would have felt embarrassed, but the dutch courage must have taken over. “not used to seeing a girl so wet, huh?”

his tongue poked his cheek. “easy, pretty girl. let me make you feel good.”

he gently blew over you, making you squirm slightly, before he dived straight in and began sucking your clit. the pleasure was instant, your hips bucking into his face as he chuckled against you, sending waves of pleasure through your entire body. everything he had made you feel up to this point was microscopic compared to the pleasure you felt now.

it only grew when he slid two fingers into your pussy, curling them up at hitting that spot inside of you, looking over as your face contorted in pleasure, eyes closed, mouth hung open, he thought you looked like the prettiest girl in the world.

you were already close, no idea how as you hadn’t been going for that long. but the mix of his fingers in your cunt and his mouth on your clit was bringing you to the edge.

“i- i’m close, lando,” you stuttered, speaking hard when so much pleasure was coarsing through your veins.

he tilted his head slightly. “you’re close did you say?”

you nodded, feeling your orgasm approaching faster and faster, you could already feel it happening now. to add to everything, his fingers somehow reached deeper inside of you, contorting in a way where everything was just so fucking good.

“i wait,” he let out a soft, fake laugh, “i forgot. i can’t make you cum.”

and with that he pulled away, leaving you recovering from a high you never even got. you had to take a minute, your body feeling worse than ever as the euphoria slowly went away, and the lack of human touch was getting to you.

“what’s wrong, baby?” he faked pity, reaching down to swipe his thumb across your cheekbone. “you weren’t expecting to finish, not according to what you said in the car.”

you slowly opened your eyes, seeing his gorgeous face looking down on you, and fighting the urge to throw a punch. you subconsciously leaned into his touch, craving it despite the atrocity he just performed, and watched as he undid his belt with his other hand.

“here’s the deal,” he pulled away, leaving you with a whine, before unbuttoning his shirt and taking it all off, allowing you to see his abs for the first time that night. “you’re gonna suck me off, and if you do a good job, then, and only then, do you get to cum. understand, darling?”

you nodded. secretly, you wanted to suck him off anyway, and with this deal you would get to come as well. he took a step back from the bed, tapping his foot against the floor as a gesture for you to come down. you couldn’t understand though, brain slightly fucked from the shortly lived pleasure, and instead looked at him confusedly.

“get on your knees for me, baby,” he cooed, and you did as he said, sinking onto his wooden floor and looking up at him, waiting for his next order. with the promise of an orgasm at the other end, at this point you would do anything to get to the prize.

he started to unzip his jeans, and as you went to help, he instantly took a step back. “hands behind your back, no touching remember?”

you poured, but did as he said, linking for fingers behind your back as you waited for him to get ready. he pulled his boxers down, and jesus christ were you not ready.

he looked big through his hard on in his jeans, but you were not ready for all that. you could tell you were shocking your shock through your face, and he let out a soft chuckle and grabbed your chin with his right hand.

“think you can take it?” he asked, holding it with his other hand as he kept your eyes on it, watching as your mouth suddenly seemed to water.

you nodded. “mhm. just wanna make you feel good, baby. that’s all i want.”

he smiled down at you. “give me a kiss.”

you tried to climb up to kiss his lips, but his hand kept you pressed down, and you understood instantly. you leant forward to press your mouth against his dick, kissing the tip gently and watching as his head fell back. you left open mouthed kisses all down his length, finished at the base before climbing all the way back to the top. you started leaving kitten licks on the tip, watching the veins in his neck pulsate at your actions.

“god, you’re so fucking good,” he grunted, hand moving from your chin round to the back of your head, nestling in your hair as he started to take control. “you gonna take me all in?”

you hummed against his cock, opening your mouth as he guided you down, controlling your movements as he gently fucked your mouth. you tried your hardest not to move or choke, instead trying to focus on his pleasure.

you couldn’t help your eyes watering though, and when he looked down he obviously felt bad, relaxing a little bit as he let you take more charge.

“look so pretty naked on your knees for me,” he cooed, taking in sharp breaths as your tongue swirled around his tip. “who knew that such a sweet looking girl could give head like this? yeah, keep going, fuck, you’re so fucking good.”

you just kept going, knowing that the more you pleasured him the more likely you were to get pleasure yourself. lando didn’t want to seem selfish, however, as his hand wrapped forward to stroke your cheek again.

“fuck, play with your nipples for me,” he ordered, slightly out of breath, but moaning as you started to play with yourself. he let out a groan as you moaned around his cock, head bobbing like this was your last day on earth. “such pretty tits, should be framed in a museum how good you look right now.”

you could tell he was close by how his breaths got shallower and shallower, and his thrusts into your throat got weaker. he pulled away though, leaving a string of saliva from your mouth to his cock, which you licked up instantly. you went back to kissing his cock, waiting as you squeezed your nipples even harder.

“you were so good, huh, baby?” he picked your naked body up, grabbing your hands and wrapping them round his neck, telling you that you could finally touch him again. “listened to everything i told you to do, such a good girl.”

his praise was music to your ears, and his actions matched the tone of his words. he lay you gently down on the bed, climbing over you as his lips met yours in the softest kiss of the night. it was an ‘are you okay?’ kiss, an ‘i hope i didn’t go too far’ kiss, a ‘you look beautiful’ kiss, and it was possibly your favourite of the night.

“gonna fuck that dripping pussy,” he mumbled into your lips before continuing the kiss, lining his cock up against your entrance, tapping it against your clit purely to watch you squirm with elation.

and as he thrusted into you it was like your world had stopped. fuck, he felt so good inside you, filling you up more than you could have imagined and left you choking on air as inch by inch he entered more and more.

lando felt much the same, obsessed with how you felt clenched around him, how tight you were as he continued in. he waited once his whole dick was in, holding back from setting a rhythm until he was positive you could take it.

“feel so good clenched around me,” he muttered out, leaning back so he could check you were alright, check that you were ready for this, “such a tight little pussy needs to be stretched out.”

you nodded at him, a signal to start moving, and he did as he was told, beginning to thrust in and out of you at such a pace that your mouth flew open in shock. his hands dug into your hips, undoubtably causing marks as he fucked you deep and hard.

the moans emitted from your mouth were ungodly, borderline pornographic, and led to you covering your mouth in embarrassment. lando was having none of that, however, stopping his movements to gaze into your eyes.

“don’t you dare not let me hear those pretty sounds,” he thrust at the end of the sentence, as if to solidify his point, and you allowed yourself to moan, “want all the neighbours to hear how good i’m fucking you.”

you were so close to the edge, once again seeing it in the distance, and you clenched around lando trying to let him know. he chuckled and leant into your shoulder, kissing over the deep marks he’d left earlier, just adding to the euphoria you were feeling.

“gonna cum,” you whined, grabbing one of his hands and guiding it to your clit, needing that final push to make it over the edge.

he understood instantly, rubbing rough circles while sucking against your neck. the pleasure was washing over you in waves, and it wasn’t long until you felt your orgasm rush through your body, every part of you feeling lighter and in a state of happiness you couldn’t remember ever feeling before.

lando kept going, however, chasing his own orgasm, and you decided to help him get thrre, however harsh it was for you. your lips found his neck for the first time, leaving sloppy kisses along his collarbones that were followed by a row of dark purple and red.

“fuck me,” he grunted, thrusts getting sloppier as he got closer and closer to the edge. “gonna pull out, yeah?”

you nodded against his chest, nails tracing over his abs as you rocked your hips in tandem with him, so sensitive that you might even come again.

as he kept thrusting into you, you remembered how much he loved being praised earlier, and thought that might help get him over the edge.

“being so good, fucking me so well lando,” you sighed, whispering into his ear as you kissed up his neck.

you felt his thrusts stutter with your words, obviously having a positive impact as a blush rose to his cheeks. his hands gripped even harder around your hips, and you began to feel another orgasm coming.

“such a pretty boy, so so pretty, look so good and fuck me so good,” you kept going, your hands leaving him and instead finding your clit. “got the prettiest dick as well, feels so good all wrapped inside me.”

“fuck-” he choked out, before pulling out and finishing all over his chest.

he panted while you got yourself to finish, cumming over your fingers. you threw your head back against the pillow, watching your chest as it rose and fell, trying to catch your breath.

lando joined you, lying across the bed while pulling himself together. you decided you weren’t finished, however, crawling over on top of him and licking his cum off of his abs, making sure to get every last drop off. his hands tangled themselves as you finished, pulling you up to him so he could kiss you again, making out like teenagers as you just enjoyed each others company.

“so,” lando finally broke the silence as he pulled away from the kiss, “i did make you cum.”

you shrugged as you rolled back to the side of him. “was it more fun that i challenged you?”

“definitely. never known someone so responsive to some dirty talk,” he jested, earning a slap on his bicep.

“never known someone love to be praised so much,” you retaliated, shutting him up as he went to grab you a glass of water.

he returned quickly, along with some boxers for him and a baggy t-shirt for you. you noticed the t-shirt it had ‘mclaren’ across it, and you hummed for his attention as you threw it on.

“you like cars then?” you asked, not expecting him to laugh in reponse.

“yeah, you could say that.”

you tilted your head in confusion, but decided you were too tired to understand whatever was going on. “you don’t mind me staying the night?”

“not at all.”

“you gonna tell me why that was so funny in the morning?” you asked, knowing it would be your last question before you drifted off to sleep.

he hummed. “of course. happy new year.”

“happy new year.”

[j-psilas]

Will we ever get anything quite like Code Geass again?

I don't think it's possible.

Code Geass is Japanese nationalist propaganda disguised as a global political drama, disguised as a military mecha show, disguised as yaoibait, disguised as a teen melodrama, disguised as a high school romcom, disguised as a Pizza Hut commercial...

...except those layers aren't layers at all, but are instead comingled in a giant snake ball of insanity.

The lead writer, Ichirō Ōkouchi, only ever worked as an episode writer for other shows prior to Code Geass, and never took the helm of an anime series ever again. And it shows. [EDIT: Several people have pointed out his other lead writing credits to me. So I misread Wikipedia—sue me. I maintain that this guy is a better episode writer than he is a lead writer.]

The minute-to-minute pacing is impeccable from a mechanical standpoint, with tension and stakes rising to ever-higher peaks, balanced out by the slow simmers of the b-plot and c-plot. It keeps the viewer on the edge of their seat at all times. Meanwhile, the large-scale plot is the most off-the-wall middle school nonsense I've ever seen, continually surprising the viewer by pulling twists too dumb to have ever have been on their radar—and therefore more effective in terms of raw shock value.

"Greenlight it!" was the mantra of this anime's production. It must have been. It has, in no particular order, all of the following:

Character designs from CLAMP, the foremost yaoi/BL group in Japan at the time—for characters who are only queer insofar as they can bait the audience, and only straight insofar as they can be more misogynist to the female cast.

Speaking of the female cast, hoo boy the fanservice. We've all seen anime girls breast boobily, with many cases more egregious than Code Geass, but there's something special about it happening immediately after—or sometimes in the middle of!—scenes of military conflict and ethnic cleansing.

Pizza Hut product placement everywhere, in every conceivable situation. High-speed chases, light slice-of-life scenes, intimate character moments, all of it. Gotta have Pizza Hut.

The anime-only Pizza Hut mascot, Cheese-kun. He wears a fedora.

The most hilarious approximations of European names—which I would love to see more often, frankly. Names like, I dunno, "Count Schnitzelgrübe zi Blanquezzio."

A depiction of China that is wholly removed from any modern reality, with red-and-gold pagodas, ornamental robes, scheming eunuchs, and a brainwashed child empress. There's a character named General Tsao, like the chicken.

Inappropriate free-form jazz in the soundtrack, intruding at the most unexpected times.

A secret cabal not unlike the Illuminati, run by an immortal shota with magic powers, holding influence all across the world, at the highest levels of government. They matter for approximately three episodes.

An unexpected insert scene of a schoolgirl using the corner of a table to masturbate. She's doing it to thoughts of her crush, the princess Euphemia—because she believes Euphemia to be as racist as she herself is, and that gets her off. This interrupts an unrelated scene of our protagonist faction planning their next move, which then resumes as if uninterrupted.

Said schoolgirl, in a fit of hysteria, threatens to detonate a worse-than-nuclear bomb in the middle of her school. She then goes on to develop an even more destructive version of that bomb, and become a war criminal, in a chain of cause-and-effect stemming from the moment she finds out that Euphemia wasn't actually that racist.

A character called "the Earl of Pudding."

A premise that asks us to believe that the name Lelouch is normal enough that he didn't need to change it when he went into hiding as an ordinary civilian. "No, that's not Prince Strimbleford von Vanquish! That's our classmate, Strimbleford Smith."

The collective unconscious, a la Carl Jung, within which the protagonist fights his villainous father for control over the fate of humankind. After this is over, the anime just keeps going for about ten more episodes.

An episode in which a mech tosses a giant pizza.

A gay yandere sleeper agent who can manipulate the perception of time.

Chess being played very badly, even to the untrained eye. Lelouch frequently checkmates his opponent by moving his king. This goes hand-in-hand with the anime's crock of bad chess symbolism.

A fictional drug that can most succinctly be described as "nostalgia heroin."

Roller-skating mecha in knightly armor, and some of the most sickass mecha fight choreography that I've seen.

I could go on and on, but I think you get the picture. This anime is what the average Westerner in 2006 thought anime was, and it was made in a confluence of factors that cannot be replicated. I've never had so much fun watching something that I found so... insulting. Repugnant. Ridiculous. Baffling. I love it sincerely.

Catch me cosplaying Lloyd Asplund at a con sometime, or maybe even the big gay loser himself, Lelouch vi Britannia.

[b14augrana]

Open Arms

Two players, one last name. Only one of you is suffering from the legacy attached to it

Alexia Putellas x sister!reader

masterlist

Warnings: angst and/or hurt + bit of an inconclusive ending lol not happy or sad kinda just… 🫠

A/N: more alexia angst in the place of aapa pt. 4! heavily inspired by open arms by sza, and i highly recommend that you listen to it because this will make a whole lot more sense if you do + it’s amazing. this song is so dear to my heart and honestly one of my favourites ever, so i had to write something inspired by it because the meaning is so deep and interpretable in many ways. this is just one of them :)

You thought that playing for Barcelona was your lifelong dream.

It was a picturesque scene; two players sharing the same last name stepping onto the pitch in the same jersey. It had been your dream at one point, until you realised the influence of your sister was leading you to believe that.

This set something off in you, like it triggered a chain reaction of thoughts and epiphanies that led up to the inevitable.

It was so hard to shine as your own individual self, when all you were credited for was the name on your back and the uncanny resemblance you had to Alexia. You were good, you were so good, but nobody ever noticed. You knew it would stay like this forever if you didn’t do something for yourself.

You could remember your hometown of Mollet de Vallès to be a place that was rife with FC Barcelona pride; it would’ve been the ultimate betrayal to your neighbourhood if you hadn’t elected to play for the club. It would be the ultimate betrayal to leave them, as well.

You were born and raised in Barcelona. The culture, the people, the club, all of it was surely intertwined into your soul. That wouldn’t stop you from running away from every bit of it and breaking out of the manacles this city held you in.

If it wasn’t for your sister and the fact that all your years spent at the club was deeply rooted in the love you had for her, you would’ve been gone ages ago.

At first, you thought you were just having one of those days when nothing felt like it was going your way, but the feelings persisted and you became more acutely aware of the real problem — you were staying for Alexia, and her feelings were beginning to come above your career and self-esteem.

You could only spend so much time in the dark before you started craving the light. Living in her shadow was simply not good enough. You had spent enough of your life feeling hopeless.

Being on the same team as her meant that the closest you’d ever get to being called good is comparisons to your sister. Alexia was La Reina. Alexia was everything. You? Well… you were barely anything if not Alexia’s little sister, the other less impressive Putellas.

Talks with your agent made the decision you had to make crystal clear; you could continue to be downplayed as long as you stay at Barcelona, or you could leave the club and feel what it’s like to be appreciated for the skill you possess instead of your relations to Alexia.

The hardest part of this entire thing? Telling her.

You could pack your things and book your plane tickets, call your agent and tell him to start negotiating with clubs, let the board know that you’re leaving for good and never turning back, but breaking the news to Alexia was easier said than done.

When you were in her kitchen one night, bearing a burden on your shoulders, you hesitated to speak. The knowledge of your career at Barça coming to an end after one more match was severing your tongue, preventing you from speaking, and eventually you’d cave beneath it and keep it all to yourself until Alexia found out in the worst way possible. The deal was done, you put pen to paper, and you were set to join Bayern Munich. All that was left to do was tell Alexia.

Bayern Munich, so far away from Barcelona, it was perfect. You could restart and build a name for yourself, completely separated from your family name. Even if Alexia did get angry, you would be in Germany within the next month (give or take a week), so what did it matter?

Part of you had faith that she’d understand, recognise your intentions and not take it to heart. The entirety of you hoped and prayed for that.

“Alexia,” you started, turning around in your seat at the dining table to look at her while she poured herself a glass of water. She hummed in response to you, as to indicate that she was listening.

“I’m leaving the club. I’ve signed it — the contract — and it’s done. I’m going to Bayern.”

She turned off the faucet suddenly, standing at the sink with her back to you. Her grip on the glass tightened ever so slightly, and you could hear the deep breath she took.

“What?” she mumbled, turning around to look at you with eyes narrowed in disbelief. You glared at the table, nodding your head slightly.

“I’m going to Bayern,” you repeated, looking up to meet her now widened eyes as she placed her glass down. “I’m leaving Barça.”

She glanced at you, her eyes softening for a moment, and you could tell that she was barely registering the news.

“You can’t,” she responded, “Barça is your home, we belong here, both of us–”

There went any chances of her understanding you. That other part of you that knew she wouldn’t be rational about this, had been proven right. “You belong here, Alexia. I don’t,” you shot back, pointing at her with an almost accusing finger.

“What’s wrong with the club?” Alexia snapped. You glared at her, your angered façade crumbling away to reveal the true sadness that remained behind it.

“This club is your dream, (Y/N). I mean, I don’t get it,” she laughed, her expression seeping with disbelief, “You love it here, I love you here– don’t you remember? We used to talk about retiring here together, assisting each other and scoring from each other’s passes. Remember how you’ve always wanted to score a bicycle kick off one of my corners? Why do you want to leave, when we haven’t done all this, when there’s still so much for us to achieve?”

It wasn’t her fault that everyone kept you in the dark. Alexia would never want you at Barça if she knew this was going to happen. Still, you couldn’t cave now. There was no use in regretting anything, because it was done. Maybe if you had told her about your plans to leave, you would’ve felt this regret earlier, and things would’ve been different. Empty ‘what-ifs’ only reminded you that it was too late.

But still, her plea to make you stay was solely built on whatever regarded her. Not a single thing about what you wanted to do was taken into consideration.

“Tell me what made you want to leave, and I’ll make them change it. Just don’t ruin your career by leaving,” she continued.

“You know what?” you started, standing up so you were eye-to-eye with your sister, “I thought you out of all people would understand, but no. You’re selfish, Alexia. This is what’s best for me, I can’t stay here if I want to be any good!”

You were yelling, and you never liked to yell, but it felt like the only way to properly convey your feelings to the woman.

“I’m not even second best to you. Sometimes I feel like I’m only kept at this club to make you look good, and I am so, so sick of it. For years I’ve– I have no confidence left, no sense of pride in myself, I barely ever feel happy wearing this jersey because it’s always been your dream, not mine! I’m not the Putellas that belongs here, everyone knows that, so don’t try to make me stay because this is my only chance to be great. I want to be great, Alexia, and you should know better than anyone what it’s like to want that.”

It was only normal that you began to tear up amidst your words, and they trembled on your waterline as you spoke.

Alexia looked defeated.

More than anything, she felt unbridled amounts of guilt running rife through her. She wanted to reach out to you, hug you, tell you that everything would be alright and she never looked at you as a dim light that made hers look brighter, but she was glued to the spot, her muscles twitching and urging her to step forward with no avail.

“I love you, and I’ve stayed all this time for you. Honestly, I never even wanted to stay. You’re the only one that’s holding me down.” It was like a huge weight had been lifted off your shoulders, and in its place sat a mix of relief and guilt.

Alexia stayed silent, only a singular tear slipping down her cheek, the start of many that she would shed behind closed doors that night. It was more than just losing a teammate to her, and she wasn’t so emotional because her sister was leaving; it was the realisation that she didn’t know you very well in the first place, and the culpability of realising that she really had been holding you down.

That conversation was one of the last you had with Alexia in person. You played one last match for the Blaugrana, and then you left for Germany the following week.

Even weeks of knowing prior to your final match couldn’t soften the blow as Alexia stood on the pitch, clapping for you as you waved goodbye to the fans and teammates alike, tears brimming in your eyes that were akin to the ones rolling down her cheeks.

She walked up to you, and she embraced you like she never has before, like you were disappearing into nothingness instead of another country. You gripped her tightly, savouring the hug and trying to memorise the feeling, and when she pulled away, she had a pensive smile on her face.

“If you ever want to come back to me, I’ll always be right here with open arms. Cuídate, hermana.”

[lotsoflola]

happy new year - l. haechan

summary: when a stranger asks to share your first kiss of the new year, you allow yourself to have some fun, just for the night... genre: icl it's just smut warnings: smut, whole lotta smut, this is complete and utter filth i am so sorry. everyone gets head, dirty talk, spitting lol, praise, kinda dom!haechan, don’t really know what’s going on half the time word count: 5.1k authors note: happy new year!! little treat bc im on my period and in love with lee haechan. (sidenote: this went so far i don't know what came over me but jesus christ)

31st december 2023, seoul- 11:54pm

“come on mate, get another drink down you,” mark lee handed his best friend a jagerbomb, his spare hand resting on haechan's shoulder, his drunken self unable to stand properly.

haechan smiled slightly, before taking the drink and shotting it in one. it had been a few days since him and his girlfriend broke up, and he wasn’t anywhere near over her yet. he didn’t know if he ever would be, judging by how he felt right now. he wanted to be at home, bottle of some 40% spirit in hand and trying to forget.

mark wouldn’t let that happen though, forcing him out tonight so he finally left the confinement of his apartment, hoping that the party scene would alleviate some of the stress on his best friend's shoulder.

“come on, there’s so many fit girls here, take your pick,” he slurred, before being pulled away by his girlfriend for the traditional new years kiss.

haechan hadn’t realised it was almost midnight, and suddenly he felt his stomach drop at the reminder that last year he was doing this with his ex. he grabbed another drink from the bar and got it down him quickly, planning on sitting at the bar while everyone around him spend the next few minutes with their loved ones.

until he saw you.

his eyes were glued to you the moment he saw you, stuck on how the short red dress you were wearing clung to your curves, stuck on how your hair tumbled over your bare shoulders, stuck on how the sparkly eyeshadow glistened under the neon lights or the club and lit up your whole face.

you made eye contact was you turned towards the bar, and obviously he caught your fancy, with a black button up that pronounced his muscles more than usual, a chain around his neck, and his hair in defined curls that contrasted his tanned skin. he looked almost like an angel descended from the heavens, except an angel would never have such a sorrowed look upon their face.

he beckoned you over with a flick of his fingers, eyes never leaving your body, and you may have been upset if you weren’t as gone as you were. you settled yourself in between his legs, taking the half drank glass from his hand and finishing it off for him, leaving a faint red mark on the rim.

he was infatuated at first glance. his hands settled in the dip of your waist, almost engulfing your body with their size. his mouth slowly curved into a smirk as he watched you lean over him to place the now empty glass on the bar, allowing him a small look at your lace bra you were wearing under your dress.

he checked the time on the clock. 11:57.

“what’s your name, gorgeous?” he asked, thumbs drawing lazy circles against the fabric of your dress.

you told him your name, before then asking for his, and his eyes widened with the realisation that you didn’t know who he was, or you were too drunk to realise.

“haechan,” he smiled softly, voice deep and husky.

11:58.

“you here with anyone?” he asked, eyes dropping down to your red-stained lips before meeting your eyes again, the actions so quick you could barely recognise it happening.

you shook your head. “well, my friend, but she’s here with her boyfriend so…”

“i’m in the same boat,” he chuckled softly, subconsciously pulling you closer and closer towards him, so your thighs were brushing against his, “my mate mark is here but he’s ran off with his girlfriend now.”

“god i hate people in couples,” you laughed, receiving one in return from haechan, “they act all in love with no regard for those of us who are single.”

11:59.

“tell me about it,” haechan rolled his eyes, his hand slowly climbing up your body so they were now resting against your rib cage.

you looped your arms around him, hands settling in the nape of his neck, a finger wrapping around a loose curl in his hair. he stood up now, looking down on you, and leant down so your faces were mere centimetres apart.

“you know it’s almost midnight,” he whispered in your ear, breath warm against your skin.

you hummed in response, feeling your heart beat doubly as fast against your ribs, the air suddenly feeling so much warmer.

“and i don’t have anyone to kiss.” as the final word left his mouth his lips attached to your neck, soft under ear, leaving a sloppy kiss that made you want more, want so much more.

“i don’t have anyone either,” you almost whispered, scared you had the wrong impression, but of course you didn’t.

chants of people in the background took you out of your little bubble, as the familiar ‘ten, nine, eight,’ sounded through the club.

haechan leant right in, so your lips were practically touching already. “can i kiss you?”

you nodded just as the clock struck midnight, and his lips crashed into yours, with a sense of lust that you hadn’t felt in far too long.

the kiss was wet, it was sloppy, but it was desperate and needy and it sent a shiver through your body down to your core. your hands buried themselves in his hair, pulling against his roots and causing him to groan into the kiss, allowing him to stick his tongue in and control the kiss.

your tongues moved in harmony as his hands ran down the lengths of your body, as if he was scared this would be the last time he could touch you, the last time he could feel you under his fingertips. they eventually settled against your ass, cupping it lightly as he pushed your hips against his, so you could feel his semi through his jeans.

you wanted to kiss him forever, wanted all of him all at once. you decided that if the world ended now, you would be happy to die here and now, in haechan's embrace, his lips pressed against yours.

he pulled away, but only for his lips to find your neck, leaving open mouthed kisses until he found that sweet spot, the spot that made your neck roll back, giving him more access to suck against your skin, undoubtably leaving deep purple marks wherever he went.

your hands detached themselves from his hair and instead you dragged them down his body, fingers spaced out as you passed his pecs, passed his abs (though you were very tempted to linger there), and finished at the waistband of his jeans, dipping an index finger inside to trace the elastic of his boxers.

you felt him groan against your skin, pulling away to give you a look as if to say ‘really? in public?’. deciding to play it innocent, you just beat your eyelashes at him, a confused look on your face, and slowly ventured lower and lower.

haechan wasn’t having any of that, however, grabbing your wrists easily in one hand and dragging you over to the door, pulling his phone out to call a taxi. you tried to kiss him again, but he just tutted, with a dangerous glint in his eye that told you you were in for it when you got back to his.

the taxi arrived sooner rather than later, and haechan made an effort to sit in the front, leaving you in the back alone. you were confused, wondering where the sudden coldness had come from, wondering if you had pushed it too far. but when he turned around midway through the journey, and mouthed ‘behave now, and i’ll be nice later’, you knew it was going to be a fun night.

you quickly sent your friend a text to let her know you were okay, not that she would read it for another few hours, before deliberating whether or not to behave. on the one hand, behaving means that you wouldn’t piss haechan off and that he’ll ‘be nice’ later, whatever that meant. but one the other hand, you kind of wanted to push his buttons, see what you could get him to do. which is why you decided to call your friend and stir up some trouble.

“hey bitch!” you practically sang into the phone, the drunkenness being more apparent than ever. you could see haechan in the rear view mirror, and watched as his face seemed confused, but not upset.

“hey!” she slurred back, as drunk as you were, “where the fuck are you?”

“i’m with this guy,” you smirked to yourself as you started your plan, “but i can’t lie, he just doesn’t seem all that you know. like he seems like he’s all talk and he won’t deliver.”

haechan raised an eyebrow at that, but still didn’t say or do anything, though you could tell he was definitely listening in now.

“then why are you going with him?” your friend asked, and you could faintly here the music of the club in the background.

you hummed into the phone, but loud enough for haechan to hear as well. “don’t know, maybe i just feel bad for him. he just doesn’t seem like he knows how to fuck, you get what i’m saying?”

haechan's fist clenched at that comment, but he still kept his cool, at least from the outside.

“like, i don’t know, he just doesn’t seem like he knows how to make me cum.”

that particular comment must have hit a nerve because haechan leant back and grabbed the phone from your hand. you pouted and lazily attempted to grab it back, but really you were glad you were able to rile him up.

he quickly spoke to your friend, telling her you were okay and where you were going, before hanging up and ignoring your pleas for your phone.

it was only a few more minutes before you were back at haechan's flat, and he still ignored you while he paid the driver and guided you up the stairs, other than a link through your arm to make sure you didn’t fall. you liked the fact that he was still a gentleman, even though it seemed like he was about to not be.

“haechan-” you whined as you waited outside his apartment, watching him unlock the door, but he cut you off before you could say anything else.

“what did i tell you?” he asked, voice still and stern, not facing you at all.

you tried to grab his wrist to get him to face you but he resisted. “to behave.”

“and you didn’t behave, did you?” his voice was almost patronising, but it was deep and rough and so fucking sexy that you didn’t care. “so now, i have to show you that what you were saying to your friend isn’t true. unless you’re going to apologise and tell me you didn’t mean it?”

he was giving you a chance to back down, to take the easy route. but it was new year’s day and you were never going to see him again, so you decided to have some fun.

“i don’t know what to tell you, you just don’t seem like you could make a girl cum,” you played it like you didn’t care, when your heart was racing knowing that something good was coming next.

he finally opened the door to his apartment and picked you up, your legs naturally looping around his waist as he pulled you into a rough kiss. it wasn’t like the one earlier, where even though it was rough there was a sweetness behind it, but instead this was pure lust and need in a kiss. his tongue explored every part of your mouth, at a ferocity that you felt like you were on fire, and that no bucket of water could ever pull you out.

his hands settled under your ass, kneading the skin under the silk of your dress. your hands found his shoulders, broad and wide, and you needed them stabilise as your world was spinning around you.

he carried you through his apartment, with you getting a brief look before he threw you onto his bed, leaving you looking up at him with rosy cheeks and lust-hazed eyes.

in the light he looked majestic, with two dimmed lamps either side of you projecting warm orange hues onto his face. fuck, he was gorgeous, chiseled by the gods themselves, and as he undid the buttons on his shirt and rolled up his sleeves, your mouth almost started to water at how beautiful he looked.

you pulled yourself up, going to try and finish undoing the buttons to take his top off, but he stopped you, once again capturing your wrists but this time pinning them behind your back.

“you don’t get to touch if you misbehave, baby,” he said, fake-pity written all across his face.

his other hand pulled your dress off your shoulders, and he let go of your hands for just a moment to remove it from the rest of your body. your heels were next, as he undid them slowly and carefully, taking his time to admire you, watching as your patience was running out.

left in just your lacy red lingerie, you watched as he climbed back over you, obvious hard on that he ignored as his lips met yours in another kiss. it wasn’t quite like the other one, slightly softer, as if he was checking that you were okay with all this. and of course you were.

he pulled away. “i can’t make you cum, yeah?”

“that’s what i said, isn’t it?” you teased back, tilting your head while trying to catch your breath.

“well, i guess you won’t be coming tonight then,” he almost sighed, before diving into the crook of your neck and leaving harsh, aggressive kisses wherever he could, adding to the deep purple marks he caused earlier on.

he slowly made his way down your neck, before finally making it to the valley of your breasts, where he sucked harder than before, obviously trying to deepen the colour and add to your pleasure. his hands found your breasts, taking one in each and kneading them, a soft massage that felt better than it ever should have done. was it the alcohol? or was it him?

he pulled your right boob out of your bra, eyes widening as his index finger and thumb took your nipple in between them and started to roll it gently. you arched your back in reponse, a weak moan falling from your lips, which pushed your breast into his fingers more. his other hand pulled out your other breast, but instead of his fingers his lips attached to it, and your mouth parted subconsciously as a wave of pleasure washed over you.

god, he was good. and he knew he was good judging by the smirk on his face. you almost regretted not letting him pleasure you how he was planning to.

almost.

“fuck, haechan,” you let out a breathy whine as he swapped over, both of your nipples having an overwhelming sense of pleasure, “look so pretty sucking my tits.”

you could tell he liked that, as a vibration shook through your body when he moaned against your skin. he pulled away, much to your dismay, but you stopped minding as he slowly made his way down your body, still leaving the open mouthed kisses as he reached your belly button.

“you know,” he almost panted, hands still fixed on your tits, “i was gonna make you feel so fucking good.”

one hand leaves your nipple, a cool trail down your stomach before it settles at your waistband, mimicking your actions from in the club. your hips buck against his hand, causing him to chuckle slightly, as you crave more and more and more of his touch’s

“i was gonna make you come on my tongue, it would have felt so fucking good,” his sultry voice was working wonders as his fingertips traced the patterns in the lace, “would have had you screaming my name as i sucked your clit, would have felt fucking euphoric.”

even his words made you feel something, made you feel like any moment now you were about to combust. one finger trailed down your panties, feather light over where you needed him the most, but with the lace barrier in the way.

“god, you’ve ruined these, huh?” he chuckled, feeling how your wetness had soaked through your underwear. “so fucking wet and all i’ve touched are your tits. so responsive for me.”

you wanted to talk back, wanted to have some bite to you, spur him on even more, but you couldn’t conjure up anything while he left soft kisses on your inner thighs.

“still want my mouth, baby?” his voice was sickly sweet, but the tone behind it was cruel and teasing, because obviously you still wanted his mouth.

you nodded as best as you could, but he shook his head a response, a ‘tut tut tut’ leaving his mouth.

“need words, sweetheart,” he almost sang, the petname laced in a sense of mocking, “or else you’re not getting anything from me.”

you mustered up every last drop of energy you had and spoke up. “please, haechan. i want you.”

“want what?”

it took every fibre in your body to not tell him to fuck off there and then. you wanted to, you really wanted to, but you also wanted him. and that want won.

“want your mouth on me, please, baby.”

and that was enough for him, as he pulled down your lace panties and finally revealed your pussy to him.

“fuck me, sweetheart,” his finger trailed over your folds, feather light, as he took in the sight of it, “you’re glistening, look, you’re dripping out.”

you would have felt embarrassed, but the dutch courage must have taken over. “not used to seeing a girl so wet, huh?”

his tongue poked his cheek. “easy, pretty girl. let me make you feel good.”

he gently blew over you, making you squirm slightly, before he dived straight in and began sucking your clit. the pleasure was instant, your hips bucking into his face as he chuckled against you, sending waves of pleasure through your entire body. everything he had made you feel up to this point was microscopic compared to the pleasure you felt now.

it only grew when he slid two fingers into your pussy, curling them up at hitting that spot inside of you, looking over as your face contorted in pleasure, eyes closed, mouth hung open, he thought you looked like the prettiest girl in the world.

you were already close, no idea how as you hadn’t been going for that long. but the mix of his fingers in your cunt and his mouth on your clit was bringing you to the edge.

“i- i’m close, haechan,” you stuttered, speaking hard when so much pleasure was coarsing through your veins.

he tilted his head slightly. “you’re close did you say?”

you nodded, feeling your orgasm approaching faster and faster, you could already feel it happening now. to add to everything, his fingers somehow reached deeper inside of you, contorting in a way where everything was just so fucking good.

“but wait,” he let out a soft, fake laugh, “i forgot. i can’t make you cum.”

and with that he pulled away, leaving you recovering from a high you never even got. you had to take a minute, your body feeling worse than ever as the euphoria slowly went away, and the lack of human touch was getting to you.

“what’s wrong, baby?” he faked pity, reaching down to swipe his thumb across your cheekbone. “you weren’t expecting to finish, not according to what you said in the car.”

you slowly opened your eyes, seeing his gorgeous face looking down on you, and fighting the urge to throw a punch. you subconsciously leaned into his touch, craving it despite the atrocity he just performed, and watched as he undid his belt with his other hand.

“here’s the deal,” he pulled away, leaving you with a whine, before unbuttoning his shirt and taking it all off, allowing you to see his abs for the first time that night, tone still ever-so-mocking. “you’re gonna suck me off, and if you do a good job, then, and only then, do you get to cum. understand, sweetheart?”

you nodded. secretly, you wanted to suck him off anyway, and with this deal you would get to come as well. he took a step back from the bed, tapping his foot against the floor as a gesture for you to come down. you couldn’t understand though, brain slightly fucked from the shortly lived pleasure, and instead looked at him confusedly.

“get on your knees for me, baby,” he cooed, and you did as he said, sinking onto his wooden floor and looking up at him, waiting for his next order. with the promise of an orgasm at the other end, at this point you would do anything to get to the prize.

he started to unzip his jeans, and as you went to help, he instantly took a step back. “hands behind your back, no touching remember?”

you pouted, but did as he said, linking for fingers behind your back as you waited for him to get ready. he pulled his boxers down, and jesus christ were you not ready.

he looked big through his hard on in his jeans, but you were not ready for all that. you could tell you were shocking your shock through your face, and he let out a soft chuckle and grabbed your chin with his right hand.

“think you can take it?” he asked, holding it with his other hand as he kept your eyes on it, watching as your mouth suddenly seemed to water.

you nodded. “mhm. just wanna make you feel good, baby. that’s all i want.”

he smiled down at you. “give me a kiss.”

you tried to climb up to kiss his lips, but his hand kept you pressed down, and you understood instantly. you leant forward to press your mouth against his dick, kissing the tip gently and watching as his head fell back. you left open mouthed kisses all down his length, finished at the base before climbing all the way back to the top. you started leaving kitten licks on the tip, watching the veins in his neck pulsate at your actions.

“god, you’re so fucking good,” he grunted, hand moving from your chin round to the back of your head, nestling in your hair as he started to take control. “you gonna take me all in?”

you hummed against his cock, opening your mouth as he guided you down, controlling your movements as he gently fucked your mouth. you tried your hardest not to move or choke, instead trying to focus on his pleasure.

you couldn’t help your eyes watering though, and when he looked down he obviously felt bad, relaxing a little bit as he let you take more charge.

“look so pretty naked on your knees for me,” he cooed, taking in sharp breaths as your tongue swirled around his tip. “who knew that such a sweet looking girl could give head like this? yeah, keep going, fuck, you’re so fucking good.”

you just kept going, knowing that the more you pleasured him the more likely you were to get pleasure yourself. haechan didn’t want to seem selfish, however, as his hand wrapped forward to stroke your cheek again.

“fuck, play with your nipples for me,” he ordered, slightly out of breath, but moaning as you started to play with yourself. he let out a groan as you moaned around his cock, head bobbing like this was your last day on earth. “such pretty tits, should be framed in a museum how good you look right now.”

you could tell he was close by how his breaths got shallower and shallower, and his thrusts into your throat got weaker. he pulled away though, leaving a string of saliva from your mouth to his cock, which you licked up instantly. you went back to kissing his cock, waiting as you could feel yourself growing wetter.

“you were so good, huh, baby?” he picked your naked body up, grabbing your hands and wrapping them round his neck, telling you that you could finally touch him again. “listened to everything i told you to do, such a good girl.”

his praise was music to your ears, and his actions matched the tone of his words. he lay you gently down on the bed, climbing over you as his lips met yours in the softest kiss of the night. it was an ‘are you okay?’ kiss, an ‘i hope i didn’t go too far’ kiss, a ‘you look beautiful’ kiss, and it was possibly your favourite of the night.

“gonna fuck that dripping pussy,” he mumbled into your lips before continuing the kiss, lining his cock up against your entrance, tapping it against your clit purely to watch you squirm with elation.

and as he thrusted into you it was like your world had stopped. fuck, he felt so good inside you, filling you up more than you could have imagined and left you choking on air as inch by inch he entered more and more.

haechan felt much the same, obsessed with how you felt clenched around him, how tight you were as he continued in. he waited once his whole dick was in, holding back from setting a rhythm until he was positive you could take it.

“feel so good clenched around me,” he muttered out, leaning back so he could check you were alright, check that you were ready for this, “such a tight little pussy needs to be stretched out.”

you nodded at him, a signal to start moving, and he did as he was told, beginning to thrust in and out of you at such a pace that your mouth flew open in shock. his hands dug into your hips, undoubtably causing marks as he fucked you deep and hard.

the moans emitted from your mouth were ungodly, borderline pornographic, and led to you covering your mouth in embarrassment. haechan was having none of that, however, stopping his movements to gaze into your eyes.

“don’t you dare not let me hear those pretty sounds,” he thrust at the end of the sentence, as if to solidify his point, and you allowed yourself to moan, “want all the neighbours to hear how good i’m fucking you.”

you were so close to the edge, once again seeing it in the distance, and you clenched around haechan trying to let him know. he chuckled and leant into your shoulder, kissing over the deep marks he’d left earlier, just adding to the euphoria you were feeling.

“gonna cum,” you whined, grabbing one of his hands and guiding it to your clit, needing that final push to make it over the edge.

he understood instantly, rubbing rough circles while sucking against your neck. the pleasure was washing over you in waves, and it wasn’t long until you felt your orgasm rush through your body, every part of you feeling lighter and in a state of happiness you couldn’t remember ever feeling before.

haechan kept going, however, chasing his own orgasm, and you decided to help him get thrre, however harsh it was for you. your lips found his neck for the first time, leaving sloppy kisses along his collarbones that were followed by a row of dark purple and red.

“fuck me,” he grunted, thrusts getting sloppier as he got closer and closer to the edge. “gonna pull out, yeah?”

you nodded against his chest, nails tracing over his abs as you rocked your hips in tandem with him, so sensitive that you might even come again.

as he kept thrusting into you, you remembered how much he loved being praised earlier, and thought that might help get him over the edge.

“being so good, fucking me so well, baby” you sighed, whispering into his ear as you kissed up his neck.

you felt his thrusts stutter with your words, obviously having a positive impact as a blush rose to his cheeks. his hands gripped even harder around your hips, and you began to feel another orgasm coming.

“such a pretty boy, so so pretty, look so good and fuck me so good,” you kept going, your hands leaving him and instead finding your clit. “got the prettiest dick as well, feels so good all wrapped inside me.”

“fuck-” he choked out, before pulling out and finishing all over his chest.

he panted while you got yourself to finish, cumming over your fingers. you threw your head back against the pillow, watching your chest as it rose and fell, trying to catch your breath.

haechan joined you, lying across the bed while pulling himself together. you decided you weren’t finished, however, crawling over on top of him and licking his cum off of his abs, making sure to get every last drop off. his hands tangled themselves as you finished, pulling you up to him so he could kiss you again, making out like teenagers as you just enjoyed each others company.

“so,” haechan finally broke the silence as he pulled away from the kiss, “i did make you cum.”

you shrugged as you rolled back to the side of him. “was it more fun that i challenged you?”

“definitely. never known someone so responsive to some dirty talk,” he jested, earning a slap on his bicep.

“never known someone love to be praised so much,” you retaliated, shutting him up as he went to grab you a glass of water.

he returned quickly, along with some boxers for him and a baggy t-shirt for you. you noticed the t-shirt it had ‘nct dream’ across it, and you hummed for his attention as you threw it on.

“you like kpop then?” you asked, not expecting him to laugh in reponse.

“yeah, you could say that.”

you tilted your head in confusion, but decided you were too tired to understand whatever was going on. “you don’t mind me staying the night?”

“not at all.”

“you gonna tell me why that was so funny in the morning?” you asked, knowing it would be your last question before you drifted off to sleep.

he hummed. “of course. happy new year.”

“happy new year.”

[boyfhee]

ㅤ ꣑୧ㅤㅤ:ㅤCANDLELITㅤㅤ𝒻t.ㅤㅤ성혼

﹙10097﹚ SYNOPSIS . . . the dating scene sucks, especially when the only person you want to be with is your roommate.

꣑୧ GENRE . . . roommate au, 'i hate them but they're hot' kind of energy

꣑୧ WARNINGS . . . profanities, drinking i mean lots of drinking we need alcohol shortage here, sunghoon smokes, mentions of one night stands, one very suggestive make out scene in the fourth section, undertones of cheating but not from sunghoon or reader, implications of sex although it's very light

꣑୧ NOTES . . . hi ( _ _; ) drowning in nervousness as i'm posting this. it's my first long fic after months ... i think the last one was in may or june 23 ... so please be nice >< don't know why but this didn't turn out how i wanted it to and it's definitely not one of my proudest works, but i hope u guys like it nonetheless huhu TT happy reading and please rb and drop feedback, it's highly appreciated ^_^

001. WHERE THERE’S HEAVEN THERE’S HELL

sunghoon is spiralling again. 

a part of it is because of the endless assignments from classes, but that’s no news. he knows it’s his fault for procrastinating and waiting till two days before the due date to even think about working on them— unlike jake who somehow attends classes probably four times a week and is seen in the football fields instead, and still manages to be the first one to submit his essays. it’s admirable, annoying at most. when he sat down to do his sports science project three days before it was due, sunghoon realised why his professor gave them two months to finish it. 

but realising your mistakes and working on them to be a better version of yourself are two different things.

for one, sunghoon believes those assignments are useless. no one cares about the impact of sports on society, maybe except heeseung and jake but again, in sunghoon’s mind, those two are never important. second, he’s too perfect to be working on himself. sunghoon is the best version of himself. he was born the day his uncle died, and his dad inherited the entire chain of restaurants his family owns across the country. he’s too amazing to be worrying about getting a degree he can buy— he thinks the university should be honoured he’s choosing to study— but that’s simply because his mother doesn’t want him to turn out like his sister. 

back to the matter at hand— as he puts the beer can on the table and sits back on the couch, his eyes travel to the door yet again. seventh time in just a minute, he’s keeping a record of how you make him wait. 

if there’s one thing he hates is being irresponsible ( coming from the great king of irresponsibility himself. ) you said you’d be back by twelve, and it’s half past one in night and not a soul knows your whereabouts. thirteen texts, seven missed calls, his phone is at forty-one percent and sunghoon is at his limit. if it wasn’t for your mom he wouldn’t give two flying fucks about where you are and how you’ve been.

sunghoon is actually surprisingly obedient and well-mannered, as opposed to the popular belief. he gave you and your mother the whole tour of the apartment the day you moved in. even made some coffee which isn’t much but your mother had loved him. he could see it in the way she looked at him with those sweet eyes, holding his hands as if he was her own son, and asking him to look after you. 

‘please take care of my daughter,’ sunghoon thought he was getting married. instead of a wedding bell there were warning sirens going off. to this day he doesn’t know why she asked him that, minutes after she saw a dead cactus in the balcony that he killed by overwatering. he couldn’t even say no to her and just nodded, looking over at you briefly and noticing how you look like you were a bit embarrassed. sunghoon doesn’t know why he’s so serious about ‘taking care’ of you. he thought it would be easy, but you had to be devil’s favourite spawn and sunghoon happens to be your target.

however, he can’t take this anymore. he has a morning class and waiting till two am while drinking beer has done more damage to sunghoon than it should. he gets up from the couch with a sigh, leaving the empty cans unattended for a night as he makes a mental note to clean tomorrow. it isn’t until a click from the door stops him in his tracks. 

“i’m back,” your voice is quiet, a yawn following immediately after your words as you look down while taking off your shoes. you’ve been drinking again, sunghoon can tell it from a mile away. 

“you’re late,” he speaks over the silence, hands on his torso as he’s giving you those squinted eyes and doubtful looks. if sunghoon didn’t know any better, he would assume you fucked someone at the club with how messy you look at the moment.

“yeah well, we had to take gigi to the hospital,” your lazy voice isn’t much louder than a whisper. you stumble towards your room, a hiccup followed soon after by the same quiet and slurred tone. “she ate something weird,”

he huffs at your words, knowing it would very well be just another excuse. “you could’ve at least texted,”

“my phone died,”

“i’m sure your friends would be happy to lend you their phone,” he pauses when he feels himself getting a bit annoyed. a soft sigh falls off his lips as he looks down at the tiled floor before looking up and speaking in a much calmer voice. “i’m just saying it’s not exactly safe to be out alone on the streets this late at night,”

“i wasn’t alone,” that piques his interest. “jay drove me back,”

and sunghoon felt his whole world stop. “jay?”

“yeah, jay, park jongseong,” your voice is surprisingly sweet when you take his name and it bothers sunghoon for some reason. his face scrunches up when you bite back a smile, hoping it’s the alcohol not because of what he thinks it is. “he’s nicer than i thought,”

sunghoon is not unfamiliar with the name park jongseong.

he hears it every day on and off the campus, more often than he likes. first things first, he’s just as popular as jake, for being american, which brings sunghoon to the question— why in the world would he leave america to study in korea when jay could have attended one of the ivy leagues with his face and money?

and the second and more important question, why in the world is park jongseong dropping you home at two in the night?

sunghoon only watches you in disbelief and astonishment as you stumble to your room, mumbling something incoherently. your words ring in his ear like sirens. ‘he is better than you’ jay is better than sunghoon. he scoffs almost offensively in your direction. that has to be the biggest lie of the twenty-first century.

he follows you to your room, reaching out to grab your arms when you almost trip but you manage to balance yourself. he opens the door and turns on the lights for you. “why were you with him to begin with?”

“oh, you don’t know?” and you turn around with eyes wide open as he shakes his head like a deer in the headlight. “he asked me out,” 

sunghoon didn’t get a single ounce of sleep last night. 

it’s your fault, clearly. had you been back earlier on the time, nothing would’ve happened. and jay— sunghoon sights at the thought of him, eyes narrowing as he grits on his pen as if he’s going to break it into two. 

“dude, are you hungry?” jake pokes sunghoon by his shoulder, dragging the latter out of his trail of thoughts. 

“what?” sunghoon shoots a blank look, one that makes his friend sigh in concern. afterall, it’s not everyday he sees sunghoon chewing on a pen. “i’m not,”

“you’ve been out of it since the morning,”

and sunghoon has been out of it since jay’s name fell from your lips. 

he’s not your friend, definitely not the first guy you’ve called by his name after sunghoon. but something doesn’t sit right. even after tossing and turning in bed for the whole night, he can’t figure out what bothers him more— the fact you said jay is better than him, or the fact that he asked you out on a date.

it’s the first one, he convinces himself. who you date is none of his business, he can’t be arsed enough to care about your love life or relationship status. ( although, he does care a little because he’s nosy. ) what bothers him more is that jay is, to put it in simple words, a player. all that face and no empathy for emotions is a waste, and to think you don’t know this— or maybe you do and yet still chose to go out with him, is beyond sunghoon’s comprehension. 

“what do you think about jay?” he asks abruptly, catching jake’s attention, looking at him a little too intently for an answer. 

“he’s a nice guy,” a casual reply before he gets back to his assignment before jake looks back at sunghoon with newly found interest. “he turned in my spanish essay last week, oh and drove me back from the bar a few days ago after you ditched me. why?”

sunghoon simply shakes his head, getting back to his books even though his focus is nowhere near studies. at this point, he doesn’t know if it’s jay distracting him or you. even your words keep playing over and over again in the back of his head. jay and nice in the same sentence doesn’t seem fit. sure, he helps his friends and drops his girl back home, but that’s only three days before there’s a new girl in his arms. 

002. RUNNING OUT OF SANITY

sunghoon doesn’t hear the door click open when you come back from your classes, too busy in the balcony while humming a tune that you recognise immediately. you take off your shoes, noticing how he taps his foot along with the melody, and it’s quiet in the apartment, apart from the sound of traffic and wind rustling through the trees around.

“i don’t like people who smoke,” smoking is not on your list of likes, but you find yourself next to sunghoon whenever he’s with a cigarette. just like now, when you return from yet another one of your dates— or meet-ups as you prefer to call it right now— with jay. it wasn’t really planned. you bumped into him after classes and he was on his way back home, so you asked him for a coffee. 

he almost jumps at your sudden voice but manages to compose himself, scowing at the distaste in your expression before scoffing, the cigarette still dancing between his lips. “good think, i’m not looking forward to be liked by you,”

he studies the frown on your face, glares as if your eyes are shooting daggers in his direction. it’s amusing to him how easy it is to get on your nerves. he leans against the metal railings, hair falling over his forehead. his eyes stay on your for a few seconds before he holds the cigarette between his index and middle finger, putting it away from his mouth and blowing out the smoke in your directions. he laughs mockingly when you step back, fanning out the smoke with your hands, cursing under your breath.

“are you crazy?!” you exclaim in annoyance, coughing slightly at his poor attempt at entertainment. your frown deepens when he mumbles a quiet apology although not meaning it, from the looks of it, and lifts the cigarette back to his lips. 

“you’re back early,” he states casually, tapping the cigarette butt and watching the ash fall down from the balcony before a taunting chortle falls off his lips. “did jay dump your ass or something?”

your nose scrunches up at his actions, although mostly at the tobacco you can still smell in your air. you look down at the road, watching a mercedes passing by. “no, he had to go somewhere so he left early,”

“i knew it! he’s good for nothing,” and he drops the cigarette to the floor, crushing it with his foot even though at the back of his mind, he knows you’re going to yell at him for cleaning that up. “what kind of guy can’t even spend time with his girlfriend?”

“we’re not dating,”

“that’s worse!” he emphasises, and a pause follows as he looks at you with a confused expression. “wait— didn’t you say he asked you out?”

“he did, but he said he wants to wait until exams are over,” there’s a hint of displeasure in your voice. his eyes travel down to your fingers, especially the ring you’re fiddling with before they’re back on your face when you speak again. “we just decided to hang out,”

he practically scoffs at your words, quite literally in disbelief. a knowing sigh comes out of his mouth as he stands straight, this time standing with his back against the railing, feeling the cold metal though his thin white t-shirt. a part of him wants to laugh at your stupidity and point at how naive you are, while another part of him wants to find jay and beat him to pulp. he doesn’t know why there’s anger pooling in his stomach at the mere thought of jay just messing around with you. 

“what a sick bastard,” he huffs with a tincture of annoyance in his tone. “how much do you want to bet he’s playing with you?”

“you’re the one who’s sick,” and even though it clicks with him that you’re referring to a few minutes earlier when he smoked all in your face, sunghoon still frowns when you call him sick. “he’s just prioritising his studies, there’s nothing wrong with that. at least he doesn’t smoke while being all up my face,”

you two just bask in silence after that.

he doesn’t have much to say— actually he does, but he doesn’t know how to put it in a decent, coherent way. of course, your reaction won’t be the most pleasant if he told you he wants to punch jay’s good for nothing handsome face. he wonders what you’re thinking when he looks over at you. you seem happy whenever you talk about your supposed ‘future boyfriend,’ yet it’s evident that you’re upset. he likes to think you’re having your doubts too. it's reassuring to him for some reason— because that’s good for you, of course. if you’re upset, you have your doubts, and if you have your doubts you might not fall victim to whatever sick game jay is playing. 

“oh, actually, he doesn’t smoke,” but then you speak in a matter-of-fact way, as if comparing him to jay before giving him a mocking smile. “he’s better than you,”

those words ring in his mind for a good while. 

you go back inside and he hears you shut the door to your room as an annoyed sigh falls off his lips. hearing that jay is nice from jake was another thing, but hearing to say he’s better than him leaves a bitter taste on his tongue. and he doesn’t know why he’s feeling this way, these little changes in how he usually is, it’s new. it’s frustrating him out. 

it isn’t until his phone vibrates that he’s dragged out of his ocean of thoughts. his brows furrow when he notices the time, having realised that he basically wasted the entire noon even though he didn’t attend classes after giving heeseung an excuse that he’s sick. his eyes squint at the sender, and then a groan escaping his lips when he opens to read it. 

noh chaeun  4:15pm hoon! my last two classes have been cancelled are you up for some coffee?

sunghoon doesn’t reply, rather leaving his classmate’s messages on seen, too bothered by his inner turmoil to spend time with her. it’s not like him to be this way, to be so bothered over something that doesn’t concern him. you’re definitely not someone so significant and jay is definitely not the first guy you’re with. in fact, he has seen you kiss that guy from one of your classes— as much as he hates to recall that incident now— and had sneaked up to tell your mother about it over the phone when she had called you.

you’ve never had a serious relationship, not after meeting him. in his head, you always came back to him and he’d be lying if he hadn’t joked about it with his friends during the initial few weeks after you had moved in. when he had mentioned to jake that you’re pretty and his friend had teased him a few days later, saying his ‘crush’ was with this other guy, sunghoon, did in fact, say he doesn’t care because you always come back to him; or rather his apartment, actually, but whatever fits the joke. 

that day, he had a good laugh out of it and the joke died back then itself, more so after he started complaining about you to his friends. your habits, your actions, the things you say that tick him off, your quirky and quick remarks— everything. perhaps, even about your habit of arriving late on weekends from parties and ruining his sleep because you forget the key most of the time, so he has to wake up and open the door for you, but not guys, never guys. 

it hurts his head to even try and figure it out, to find the reasoning behind the pang in his chest every time you mention jay. he likes to think it’s just harmless competition although for no reason, even though both of them have done plenty of things to piss each other off just for the fun of it. sunghoon thinks he can live with it and walks back inside to the living room, until he sees you walking out of your room on phone with someone, the name of he who shall be mentioned rolling off your tongue again, and he finally pulls out his phone with a frustrated sigh. 

sunghoon  4:21pm sure, i’ll pick you up in ten

“actually, my mom wants to invite your family over for dinner this weekend,” the girl in front of him speaks with a smile after muttering a quiet thank you to the waiter after he gets their order. “she’s very grateful  for the donation your dad made for our art gallery and wants to thank properly,”

“talk to my parents, then,” it’s a simple reply, too bland and forced for her liking.

sunghoon hasn’t spared her a single look in the past ten minutes that they’ve been sitting together at the table. firstly, he doesn’t know why he drove to a restaurant when she asked for a coffee. it’s not even close to dinner time, and the awkward yet sweet smile on her face didn’t make it better for him, so he ordered starters and drinks to drag their little impromptu dinner out. 

“sunghoon, to be honest,” chaeun tries to strike up a conversation again, despite the constant lack of effort from his side. “i want you—”

“hey, isn’t that jongseong?” and he cuts her off immediately, finger pointing outside the glass panes beside them as he stares in the direction behind her with brows knit together in shock. “who’s that with her?”

“jongseong?” she repeats the name before turning her head, forming an ‘o’ when she spots a familiar figure through the multitude on the streets. “ah, that’s myung jihye. she has been pursuing him for a while. i guess he finally agreed,”

“they’re dating?!” his voice is full of surprise and disbelief unlike hers, so seemed to be happy for the girl instead. he stares outside with a heavy silence as the couple disappears between the crowd before looking at the girl in front of him.

“oh, i wouldn’t say that…i don’t know but it’s possible they are.” it doesn’t miss her attention how sunghoon’s fingers tighten around the fork. “everybody in our major knows jihye has crush on him and they’re probably a thing by now,”

and he wishes you were here with him right now so that he could show you the true colours of the dear guy you’ve been going out with, the one who’s supposedly ‘better’ than him. he wants you to realise that his words weren’t false and he isn’t sick, after all, and if you’d cry, he would be down to tell you it’s not the end of the world. that there are a hundred other guys better than jay, ones who won’t even breathe in front of another woman, who’d treat you better— hell, i can treat you better if you ever give me a chance— and then a pause in his train of thoughts.

he looks at chaeun, who’s looking back at him with a perplexed look and her own set of questions. his mind replays those words yet again, and he screams internally.

what the heck?!

surprisingly enough, sunghoon has been thinking about jay for the whole evening now, obviously not in a good way. his eyes keep travelling to the knife stand on the kitchen island occasionally and every single time, he has to convince himself that murder is not the right answer to anything. 

for some reason, he can’t stop imagining your smiles while on date with jay. not that he has ever seen those— wish i could— as he slaps himself out of his state of mind yet again. not only that man is playing with you but on jihye who’s apparently his girlfriend? he lets out the ugliest scoff known to mankind, because in sunghoon’s head, jay is a sick joke made by biology.

he waits for you to return from your shopping spree for about an hour, having beer as a company. he tries to stay awake although his eyes get droopy, and then every ounce of sleep leaves his body when he hears the door unlock. 

“yn,” he practically jumps out of the couch, it almost scares you. he accidentally bumps into the living room table on the way, knocking an empty can of beer to the floor but too busy to bother picking it up. “i have to tell—” his eyes go down to the eleven shopping bags in your hands, as he counts them. “— wait, what did you shop so much for?” 

“oh, i have to attend a family wedding next month,” his chest feels warm when he sees you smiling and looking so excited, and it’s making him go crazy on the inside because he doesn’t know what is happening to him. for some reason, he starts imagining you in a gown, like the one you wore for the fresher’s party, but then he forces his mind to get back to the point. “i’m thinking of asking jay to be my date,”

and his heart drops down to his stomach.

this has to be a fucking joke, and he tells himself. for a split second, he thinks he didn’t hear you properly. maybe you said jake because, well, jake did tweet a ‘date for rent’ form five months ago when he needed money to buy tickets for a post malone concert that cost more than his gentle monster glasses ( not that he got any money but at least they got a good laugh out of it. ) 

you remove your shoes and put the shopping bags on the couch before sitting down as well, letting out a heavy sigh. “you look like you saw a ghost,”

“a ghost would’ve been better,” he catches you looking at him when he mumbles under his breath, sort of grateful you didn’t hear him before sunghoon would rather not have another argument with you over how jay is not only a bad choice, he’s the worst choice. 

he looks over at you when you pull out your phone, fingers fluttering over the screen as you text someone with a giddy smile. he considers telling you what he had seen earlier, but god, he loved to see you smile like that. the way you press your lips together to suppress a grin, looking ever so happy as if you have won a lottery. he doesn’t think you’ve ever smiled like that at him, and it aggravates him even more when he realises that you probably smile like that every time you see jay. 

jay is getting everything he isn’t deserving of, and it pisses sunghoon off down to his bones. 

but again, he can’t bring himself to tell you the truth. you look too happy for your own good, it pains him physically to even imagine your reaction when you’ll come to know the truth. and then he pulls himself together, telling himself that it is your fault in the first place to trust someone like jay and ignore the warning signs he was giving you. 

in the end, he leaves without having any further conversations with you, going to bed two hours earlier than usual even though he knows he isn’t going to get any sleep. sunghoon is convinced he’s losing his mind, faster than a day ago actually. he lets out a frustrated groan and covers himself with his blanket, hoping to catch some sleep. 

it’s going to be yet another long day tomorrow.

003. A CHANGE OF STANCE

sunghoon thinks you’re hot.

what the fuck?

“i asked something,” you remind, pulling him out of his trail of thoughts and he flinches slightly, making your brows furrow in confusion. “how do i look?”

“huh— what? oh,” he takes in your appearance again. hair down, make up done— you’re wearing your favourite lip tint? and the best dress he has seen you in so far, looking so mind blowing it actually blows his mind and short circuits his brain. 

even your favourite lip tint … sunghoon doesn’t know why he’s looking at your lips in the first place but little does he know he’s fucked. 

absolutely. completely. fucked.

nonetheless, he manages to compose himself, clearing his throat and sitting up ever so elegantly on the couch, legs crossed, the magazine still in his hands. “you look…t-terrific,” 

you can’t help but get even more confused at his words, wondering if it was a bad idea to even ask him for his opinion, even though you play along. “like in a good way or a bad way?”

“in a terrific way,” he blurts out, eyes wide open as panic settles in slowly inside his stomach, and he’s stuttering, shocked, surprised, fucked, again. “you look terrific in a terrific way…so terrifically terrific in the most terrific way possible,” 

“are you high?” 

well, he would say he is! never in the two years that he has known you did sunghoon think he’d find himself floored, figuratively, and speechless, literally, at the sight of you. and he’s not saying you look bad on other days. you look good, in fact. good as in plain and presentable, but never in a good good way and definitely not in a hot way, of course. 

“anyway, i’m going out. receive my parcel for me if it arrives,” you move to put on your shoes, taking a few seconds to pick between the two you think would suit your outfit. for a moment, you consider asking him to help you choose— as you look at him up and down peripherally, and he looks terrified. and you shrug it off, grabbing one of your loafers.

“where are you going?” he asks after a good minute of silence, sounding calmer than earlier as he gets off the couch and walks up to you. his nose scrunches up in disapproval as your hands move to one of your jimmy choos for a brief second, before you decide to go back to your initial pick.

“date,” he takes a moment to register your words, despite this happening many times.

a date. he scoffs softly, looking away, arms crossed. 

a date, again. sunghoon doesn’t give a fuck. 

“with jay,” you continue, this time with a sweet smile on your face that makes his heart flutter for some reason. maybe, he does give a fuck. 

now, sunghoon should feel bad for his fellow friend of a friend because he’s on a date with you, but instead he wants to snap his neck in two. the name is starting to give him an ick— jay this, jay that. you’re hanging out with jay, having coffee with jay, going on a date with jay, shopping with jay, next would be going to bed with jay— he pauses immediately, shaking his head. he doesn’t really like the sound of that.

“whatever,” he tells himself when you walk out of that door, looking all pretty and excited. he doesn’t know why he’s getting so worked up over a date, that too with someone who— according to sunghoon and chaeun— is dating someone else. he would pay to see you back home all miserable and he would point fingers at you and laugh, saying he told you already while you had your conscience and rationality clogged up with the possibility of getting dicked down. 

but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re on a date with jay fucking park. and you’re looking hot. 

he sighs, slouching back on the couch, looking outside at the bright blue skies and then sighs again. he needs to be lobotomized.

it’s three in the noon and sunghoon is drowning himself in misery and pity. and soju.

a glass after another and then another, along with two empty bottles already on the table. even the owners are giving him a weird look and heeseung can only let him ruin his reputation so much.

“there, there,” the senior takes the half empty bottle of soju from his hand and puts it aside, sighing pitifully at sunghoon. “that’s enough for today. you need to stop drinking,”

“heeseung,” sunghoon looks up at the guy in front of him, looking horribly pitiful, eyes a bit unfocused from the alcohol settling in his system. “do you know yn?”

and heeseung pauses for a few moments, not knowing what prompted him to ask this question. more so when you and heeseung went to the same highschool and even were in the music club. he nods slightly in doubt, raising his glass to his lips. “of course,”

“do you think he’s pretty?”

“of course,”

“do you think she’s hot?”

“of course,” it takes heeseung quite a few seconds to respond and sunghoon sort of wants to punch him in the face for agreeing because he feels a certain way when others find you hot— but he would claim it’s soju giving him heartburns. “why are you even asking this suddenly?”

“she went on a date with jay,” he responds in the most miserable and sullen voice known to mankind. his shoulders practically slouching at the mention of he-who-shall-not-be-mentioned, finger tracing the rim of the glass in front of him with incoherent whines falling off his lips.

“so what?” jake interjects, beckoning the owner for yet another bottle for soju. it was necessary, as heeseung had warned earlier while arriving at the restaurant, considering sunghoon’s impromptu text about wanting to meet up. 

“jake, did you hear what i said? she’s on a date with jay. park. jong. seong,” the youngest spells out every syllable, sitting up straight as he gets defensive. “she thinks he’s madly in love with her or something but she’s wrong! the day i went out with chaeun, i saw him with jihye and guess what? chaeun said everyone knows they’re a thing but apparently, yn doesn’t know this. i’ve told her so many times that he is not worth it but she won’t understand she’s fucking dumb oh my god,”

and…silence.

absolute fucking maddening silence that made sunghoon go even more insane before jake finally decides to speak, albeit in disbelief. 

“that monologue was unnecessary,” the foreigner pours in another glass for the three of them, filling them up completely, knowing this is going in a new direction yet a one that has been anticipated by both him and heeseung. “besides, since when do you care about her?”

“she’s my roommate,”

“you like her,” heeseung exclaims, and silence follows again for a few seconds before sunghoon gasps scandalously, slamming his glass down on the table which turns a few heads in their direction as jake mutters an embarrassed apology for it.

“i don’t,” sunghoon speaks in a voice much calmer than his previous tone, even leaning in towards the table to put emphasis on his words. jake pours himself another glass, scoff at his words while shaking his head mockingly which only pisses him off more.

“i knew this would happen,” heeseung continues, stating it as a matter of fact while nudging jake to pour him a glass as well. “saw this coming from a mile away when you cried over her going on a blind date the last time you got drunk,”

he can’t point out when that must’ve happened, but he doesn’t refute his words, simply letting his eyes travel across the room for a few moments. the frown on his lips deepens when he meets jake’s knowing gaze as he gets defensive once again. “i’m telling you, i don’t like her,”

“you said that about hello kitty but she’s everywhere in your room now,” he turns his phone with the screen up when he feels jake’s eyes on it, or particularly on the hello kitty sticker on his phone cover as the boy nudges him for another glass. “go on, you’ll need it.”

and sunghoon does, drinking more than he usually does thanks to jake filling his glass again and again for the sake of his sob story. the cab drops him in front of his apartment and he stumbles his way to the elevator. the silence sobers him out for some reason as he leans against the walls of the elevator and thinks about you.

perhaps you’re still with jay, sharing smiles and stories, kisses if you’re brave enough. he likes to think you are not, that you would chicken out— it makes him feel better about himself. he imagines you holding hands with him and then shrugs that thought off his mind just as quickly, huffing at the bitter taste it leaves in his mouth as he walks out of the elevator once it reaches his floor.

sunghoon planned to take a shower and sleep, but every thought water downs to nothing when he spots you crouching next to the door with knees pressed up to your chest. he can’t see your face, but he knows you’re sad, and it makes him stop in front of you, his heart accelerating when you look up at him with glistening eyes.

you look miserable.

and sunghoon has no reaction. he’s frozen, hands on his side as he stares at you. he was supposed to laugh at you for your stupidity. but you look so utterly sad and heart broken, god, he wants to punch jay in his throat. yet again, every single thought leaves his mind when his eyes fall back on your face, his hands instinctively opening out to you as he speaks in a voice as soft as a feather.

“let’s go inside,”

004. CANDLELIT 

“he said it was a bet,” you speak over the silence, fiddling with your fingers. you look up at sunghoon— who’s sitting with legs crossed in front of you while you’re curled up in one corner of the couch. “and that he never meant to drag it out for so long but he didn’t know how to tell me,”

“a bet?” he scoffs bitterly, looking away for a fraction of a second before his eyes are back on you. “what an asshole,” 

it’s not the first time sunghoon has said that. in fact, asshole is all and the only word he uses to define jay. you still think it was a stretch, for jay isn’t that bad. sure, he lied to you and played with your feelings— which you will never accept that you had feelings for him because you don’t want to look pathetic— but he wasn’t rude. well, at least he paid for all the three dates you two went on with the locations being some high end restaurants or bakeries. 

on the other hand, sunghoon stares at you in silence. his eyes trace over your sullen face, and then to your fingers. for a second, he considers holding your hands…roommates can do that at least, right? to comfort one another, but then he catches you looking up at him and he averts his gaze to a distant corner. “don’t start crying now!”

“i’m not! i didn’t even like him that much…” and he can’t help but suppress his smile at the pout on your face as you refuse to look at him. it’s adorable, he never thought he would ever say that, but it’s true. your mannerisms are cute, you’re cute, and it’s eating his brain cells.

“is that so? you talked about him like you two were in love or something,”

“stop it!”

he stares at you quietly for a few seconds again. even though you’re being defensive out of embarrassment right now, trying to prove to him that you’re not heartbroken, sunghoon knows you’ll be crying the moment you’re behind the closed doors of your room. on other days, he wouldn’t care so much. not more than giving a few pats on a back and telling you to suck it up despite the concern in his voice. today, however, he feels differently.

you got played. it’s your heart that’s broken. you feel like a fool, and yet sunghoon is sitting in front of you, trying to find words amidst awkwardness and hesitation. his heart feels heavy for you. it’s unfathomable on his part.

he suddenly remembers the day you mentioned that jay is better than him. he almost scoffs at that, again. well, you might harbour feelings for the american guy but at least sunghoon never had you holding back your tears. and he swears it would never come to that, if you ever have feelings for him because sunghoon would be a better boyfriend— and then he comes back to his senses as soon as those words register inside his brain, cheeks heating up at the sudden thought before he clears his throat. 

“do you want ramen?” he manages to change the topic ever so swiftly, getting up from the couch and already walking to the kitchen without waiting for your response. apparently, getting away from you would ease his heartbeat, although hearing your voice has just as much effect on him as your presence or a mere thought of you.

“are you cooking?”

he lets out a breathy laugh at your words, getting two packs of ramen from the shelf. “of course, do you think i’d ask you to cook when you look like you went through a divorce and lost the custodies of all your three kids?” 

you frown at his words, although ending up laughing at them just a second later. it’s hard to not laugh at how silly he is sometimes, if you ignore his annoying tendencies. sunghoon puts the water to boil, fighting back a smile at the sound of your laughter. it’s better than seeing you all sad over a guy who doesn’t deserve you.

you get off the couch as well, making your way to the kitchen, wanting to help him since he listened to your sob story. it’s quiet, and you hear slight rumbling outside as you take a quick look at the weather outside through the windows and then within a few seconds, thunder pierces through the silence hanging in the room. 

sunghoon flinches visibly, freezing in his stance before the sound of heavy rain fills the kitchen. he turns on the electric stove and it blows out. all the lights in the apartment go out, darkness settling in and disturbed just as quickly as the room fills with bright flashes of light, illuminating your face for a short second before it’s dark again.

“wait, i’ll get my phone— oh,” you reach out for the back pocket of your trousers, quickly get your phone and turn it on for the flash light before it powers off. “out of battery,”

he takes a blind step into the darkness when it thunders again and he notices you standing with your arms around yourself when the light surges in the room for a moment again. he hopes you won’t push him away if he puts his arm around you, but then you two bump into each other. a quiet apology finds its way out of your lips, and he can tell you’re flustered. 

“where are the candles?” he asks to distract you from the fact that he’s holding your hand and pulling you aside gently, so you don’t crash into each other again. your hands feel oddly warm in this cold weather, and it only flutters his heart even more.

“second shelf from the right i think,” your voice is interrupted by thunder again and your hands instinctively tighten around his fingers. and then a loud thud follows, causing you to gasp slightly. “are you okay?”

“i can’t fucking see,” his voice is strained, oozing off pain as he lets go off your hands. you open your mouth to speak before he bumps into something again. something falls off the counter, perhaps the spoon by the sound of it and he apologises shortly after. it’s harder to navigate around his own apartment, more than he had imagined.

sunghoon manages to find the candles, setting them on the counter with pure intuition before lighting one of it up with the lighter he always carries around in his pocket. he turns around, almost bumping into you and before he could say anything, he sees you pressed up against one of the counters, face illuminated by the dim candle light. 

you’re close, too close, he’s afraid you can hear his heart going crazy at the proximity. his mind is telling him to step aside but he’s too lost looking in your eyes, ( as you are too ) with you looking so impossibly beautiful under the faint golden glow. 

“is this okay?” he whispers softly and you simply nod, not a word coming out of your mouth as you find yourself entranced by his face. sunghoon has always been aphrodite’s son, as his admirers would call him, and now that you’re seeing him so closely, you’re realising he’s something much more beautiful.

it doesn’t slip your attention how his gaze settles on your lips for a quick second, your body tensing up at the sudden movement. your breath hitches as he leans closer, dipping his head down. your heart is racing while he feels like his heart has stopped— it’s timeless, as he finds himself just a few centimetres away from your lips, not wanting to stop even though he gives you a chance to pull back, whispering softly, “can i?”

you nod. and sunghoon doesn’t waste another second, capturing your lips with his. 

it’s still at first, with your lips only pressed up together for a few seconds. it’s only a few seconds after he pulls back ever so slightly, and then tilts his head to the other side and goes in for another kiss, this time moving his lips slowly against yours. he feels you tense up for a brief while and then melting as you kiss him back, your fingers lacing around his tenderly. you flinch when it thunders again, breaking the kiss, but feeling shivers down your spine as you feel his breath on your lips. 

he takes a few seconds, fingers ghosting up your hands to rest on your waist, tugging you closer as he brushes his lips against yours. “focus on my lips,”

and he kisses you again, this time a bit more firmly, albeit it’s slow and gentle at first, his lips moving against yours in a way that's both comforting and exciting. but as the moments pass, he presses in deeper, more insistently. he lets his body press more firmly against yours, his chest touching yours as his tongue gently teases at the seam of your lips. it was working, the way his lips move against yours, it calms your nerves from the thunder but lights them up again when he nibbles gently on your lower lip, his fingers digging into the skin of your waist as he continues to kiss you so fervently. 

it takes a passing second for you to realise what you’re doing. it surprises you, however not enough to pull back, or maybe the way his tongue feels against yours stops you from doing so. you’d be lying if you say you hadn’t thought of kissing him before— as early as two days after moving in. and now that you’re actually kissing him, everything feels like a fever dream.

he tucks your chin up with his fingers, pulling you in closer to deepen the kiss. he is a good kisser, sunghoon uses that to boast about himself, he has always been good at this— kissing, bragging, making your knees weak, and all you could do was melt into him wet and sloppy kisses that he plants on your skin. 

he dips his head down to your neck, pressing sloppy, open mouthed kisses down the column of your throat, pulling your blouse aside to get a better access to your collarbones and shoulders. it felt like his body has a mind of its own, and he’s only following right behind. when a soft gasp leaves your lips, he moves back to your lips again, wanting to swallow every little sound you make that makes his mind haywire. 

your breaths are heavy, hands around his neck with fingers grazing the skin of his nape. a movement that makes him moan softly in the kiss as he presses you against the counter, holding you between his arms. his hand that's resting on your hip moves up, tracing the curve of your waist and then sliding under your shirt to rest on your bare skin, lips curling up in a subtle smirk as he hears you gasp yet again. 

“sunghoon—” you pull back, getting a quick glance at his half-lidded eyes when the lightning from the thunderstorm fills the room. he can still feel your laboured breathing on his lips and it does nothing but pull him in even more. after all, sunghoon would be lying if he said he didn’t imagine doing this with you.

“we’ll stop,” he pecks your lips, then trailing his lips down your jawline and to your neck, leaving a trail of gentle kisses along your skin. “when the candle goes out,” 

005. WHERE THE LINE FADES

when sunghoon wakes up the next morning, he’s met with cold empty sheets on the side and the memories from last night start flooding his mind. his heartbeat accelerates at the mere thought of you, especially how you were last night and every time his name fell off your lips in bliss and pleasure— he would’ve preferred waking up to you rather than emptiness. 

he lays idly for a few minutes and stares at the ceiling, looking for where it all had started. was it the day you told him jay asked you out? maybe not, he doesn’t like to think of himself as a jealous person. it must’ve been when you asked for his opinion on your outfit, he tells himself, you looked too good to be true that day. a few seconds more and he sits up with a soft groan, seemingly unable to find answers to any of his questions.

the weather seems to have improved as he notices the cosy sunlight outside. he slips on this shirt before walking down to the shared bathroom, rubbing his eyes softly and brushing his fingers through his hair with a sigh. he puts his hand on the door knob and looking up in surprise when it opens on the other side.

“oh,” the slight hint of shyness on your face doesn’t escape his gaze, just like how enchanting you look this early in the morning with hair wet from the shower. you bite slightly on your lower lip before the awkwardness in the air is disturbed by your voice. “morning,”

actually, it must’ve all started the day you moved in.

“morning,” he replies back, rubbing his nape and looking away. the weight of questions lingering around makes it hard for him to look in your eyes. “would you like to have breakfast?”

you nod and follow him into the kitchen after making a short trip to your room. 

you steal a few glances at him while eating your breakfast, feeling your palms sweat at the thought of bringing it up to him. you avoid it for a few minutes, tossing the question around in your head while trying to make small talks about the ketchup, as bad as it could get. it feels a bit suffocating until you finally decide to address the elephant in the room. “so about last night—” 

“it was a mistake,” he cuts you off immediately, a heavy pause following shortly after. he looks up in your eyes for the first time since the morning. “let’s just forget it,”

and his words leave a bitter taste in your mouth. it could’ve been just another one night stand for you had it not been with sunghoon— your roommate, the person you see everyday, the person who managed to give you butterflies the day you moved in. your fingers tighten around the spoon and you consider arguing back for a moment before you push that idea further back in your head.

it could be just another thing added to the lists of things that have been buried, like the time you and sunghoon almost kissed in the elevator last year.

“right,” you nod quietly, convincing yourself that it’s not a big deal. that he’s just another guy in your life like jay. actually, you don’t feel like wanting to compare them anymore. you don’t know where the line marking the difference fades. “of course, yeah,”

you don’t even like the sound of that.

“yeah,”

you don’t wait another minute before leaving your unfinished breakfast on the table and going to your room. his eyes follow your movements, conscience nudging him to chase after you. he contemplates it for a while, and then you walk out with your bag. “i’ll see you after classes,”

and then sunghoon doesn’t see you for the rest of the morning.

or the day, in fact. usually, you two end up bumping into each other at least once, but sunghoon doesn’t see you around for the whole day. he skips spanish, deciding to go back to his apartment earlier than usual. he turns on the tv, deciding to watch a football watch with beer on the side while waiting for you. an hour passes, then another, and another.

there’s no sign of you.

it isn’t until he rings up a few of your friends that he hears that you’re staying over at giselle’s for the night. he wouldn’t blame you, couldn’t, not after everything that went down a night ago. you needed some space and so did he, but somewhere inside he wondered if he should’ve been honest with you when you brought up that topic during breakfast instead of saying the first thing that came to his mind and dismissing it.

but, he dismisses it again, letting you be on your own for as long as you need, knowing you’d come back soon.

which you do, the very next day, much to his surprise. he had expected you to avoid him for at least a week. he notices the way you look when you return early in the morning, tired and exhausted as if you hadn’t got a single ounce of sleep. there’s silence engulfing him but you walk to your room before he could even open his mouth to speak. and then you ignore him for the rest of the day.

he starts feeling annoyed at some point, trying to come up with a reason for your actions. he tries striking up conversations with you and you give short responses, or just nod. when you walk away without answering him when he asked about your day, sunghoon wanted to grab your wrist and pull you back for a second, but he dismisses that idea just as soon as it pops up in his head. he doesn’t even realise how quickly time passes in silence, not until he returns from heeseung’s apartment after spending two nights and one day with him and jake and checks his phone, realising it’s already close to being a week till you’re gone radio silent. he notices a few texts, mostly his study group that have been planning meet-ups to study, one that he rarely attends. his eyes especially squint in confusion at the texts from your mother, saying she had been trying to get in touch with you but getting no response. 

he was on his way to his room when he heard the door unlock. a pause, the click of the doorknob strikes through the silence, followed by your footsteps. he takes a few seconds to sort out his thoughts before speaking. “your mom texted me since you weren’t picking up her phone,”

“my phone died,” you give a simple response, almost too quickly for his liking. he lets his eyes follow your movements as you take off your shoes and jacket, putting it on the couch. 

it takes him back to the day you told him about jay asking you out. 

it was exactly the same— you arrived late, your phone had died. he was asking the same questions, albeit laced with annoyance. today, it’s hesitation, maybe slight doubt. sunghoon can’t stop you from seeing jay, but the idea of you being with him bothers him more than expected. so, he follows up with yet another question. 

“where have you been?” he asks, wanting to maintain a casual demeanour even though his heart is pounding in his chest just from being near you. he isn’t expecting any response, actually, however he’s met with surprise when you actually reply. 

“with jay,” the words fall from your mouth as if you’re used to them, used to saying his name. there’s an awkward pause before you clarify. “we had dinner together. he wanted to apologise properly,”

“that’s— that’s great,” he manages to squeeze out, but sunghoon thinks jay could’ve left you alone instead of meeting you if he wanted to apologise so bad.

you definitely had feelings for jay, even though they didn’t go as deep for you to come home sobbing your eyes out the day you learnt the truth. to sunghoon, that is enough of a reason to hate him even more. just the mere thought of your heart sinking whenever you’d even think of jay made him fist his hands, nails almost digging in the palm of his hands. 

sunghoon doesn’t have much experience with girls. in fact, none at all. flings are one thing, and girlfriends another. he has had both— none too serious. the first time someone asked him out was in highschool, although he’s surprised it didn’t happen much earlier. that time, just agreed to go out with her because his friends were in relationships too and he didn’t want to fall behind. it wasn’t soon before it turned into a competition after he got into university. not his best self, it isn’t something he’s proud of now that he thinks about it. 

and sunghoon isn’t half better than jay in that aspect, although obviously not as bad as to bet on going on a date with another girl while he already has a girlfriend. however, if you had feelings for him— as he thinks while watching you walk to your room— he wouldn’t let a single tear fall from your lips. 

“about that night,” he follows you into your room, practically hearing his heartbeat echo through his ears. he gulps nervously when he notices you looking at him with a sliver of hope in your eyes. “it wasn’t a mistake,”

“oh,” and you stop in your tracks, having no idea how to respond. an awkward pause follows as you bite your lower lip habitually before speaking, feigning a casual tone. “well, we can still put it behind—”

“i don’t want to,” he blurts out, cutting you off mid sentence. you notice how his voice is quiet as always, yet there’s panic and anxiousness behind those eyes. “i mean, i tried to, but it’s difficult. you’re always on my mind,”

there’s a silver of determination behind his voice. it’s surprising and equally anticipated. sometimes, he feels like he thinks of you every minute no matter what he’s doing. it was never this bad, these days even the regular banters between you two give him butterflies. and sunghoon understand that he might be far from your type in men. perhaps, you actually prefer someone like jay, who treat you to a fancy dinner to apologise, or maybe that guy from a few months ago who can’t remember the name of. 

you and sunghoon can be polar opposites and he would still be standing here, fingers fidgeting nervously with the hem of his denim jacket, looking so uncharacteristically out of place. he would choose to have this talk again, as much as he hates confronting, because it never about who your type is and always about the fact that you’re sunghoon’s type— as he realises this when you tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, looking at him with lips pressed together. you look cute, more so when you’re awkward, and he can’t believe he’s coming to terms with this but god, he is falling for you. 

he is falling hard, and falling deep. it’s nothing like him, you make him nervous, almost as if knocking him out of air whenever your eyes meet, and he would gladly suffocate to death. it was quiet with too many questions hanging above his head, and he noticed the way you fiddle with your fingers with the cutest expression known to mankind and sunghoon knew he was screwed. 

“i’ve got it so bad for you, yn, really,” —he speaks as if he’s out of breath due to the nervousness— “really bad. i tried to keep you out of here,” he said, pointing at his chest, cheeks flushing red as the words fell off his lips. “but you won’t go, you just won’t.”

and sunghoon has never been so…out of place, for the lack of better words. it’s amusing, even to you, the way he is right now. the sunghoon from three weeks ago wouldn’t even care but he, now, is pouring out all of himself, as if stripping him naked of his emotions and letting him see what lies behind the suave smiles and prideful words. as if showing you how easily you have him going crazy, right out of his mind and how he can’t help but just stare blankly as his eyes travel down to your lips occasionally— as they do now— and it leaves you in a frenzy when you notice it. 

“i can’t stop thinking about that night— not in a weird way, just…” and you’re just standing in front of him, trying not to laugh at his antics. he’s cute, a pause, what the fuck. and then you just go along with it, knowing there’s no point denying it anymore now that you two are having this conversation.

you notice his little mannerisms, like how he can’t look in your eyes for the life in him, how he keeps shifting his weight from one leg to the other. it’s adorable, especially the way he can have all the attention in the room with just his mere presence. that’s sunghoon for you, with a presence so heavy it’s loud even when he’s silent. it’s so loud you can practically hear his mind, of all the words you know he wants to say but can’t. there’s a hitch in his breath, his eyes meet yours for the first time in the past few minutes— i like you— they say, and the next thing sunghoon knows is that you’re kissing him. 

“i like you too,” you whisper against his lips after pulling back, your lips brushing against his. sunghoon feels like every single nerve in his body has been sparked, giving him goosebumps when you slowly intertwine your fingers with his.

of course, you know how he feels even before he could say it out loud. maybe, he just made it obvious for you to guess, otherwise sunghoon likes to think of himself as someone who can hide his feelings well. he lets go of your hands as soon as he feels you lace your fingers with his and instead, cups your cheeks ever so tenderly and leans down to capture your lips with his, smiling in the kiss. “i love you,”

˃ᗜ˂ : if you made it till here, i'm sending each one of u kisses >< thank u for reading, i hope u liked it. ps i had to put my heart aside and write jay's name ... never again will i put my man thru this huhu TT he's too good to do these things

[aethon-recs]

2024 Update to Tomarrymort Longfic Recs — 8 additional fics

I wanted to add 8 lovely new longfics that have been published since the last time I put together this rec list — 6 more for the Intermediate reads list and 2 more for Advanced. Hopefully you’ll find something within these additional 950k words of absolutely brilliant Tomarrymort fic to sink your teeth into and enjoy:

Longfic rec list collection:

Tomarrymort Beginner reads are the fics I would use to introduce someone to the ship and help them get a baseline for the variety, themes, and tropes that best represent our ship;

Intermediate reads are for readers that are already familiar/sold on the ship, and are looking for fics that explore interesting new facets of the Tomarrymort dynamic; 

Advanced reads comprise challenging works of some nature, whether the writing features more complex subject matter and/or pushes the boundaries of what’s possible in a piece of fanfic.

Please enjoy these 8 additions to the list, all of which are either completed or still updating as of 2024!

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Intermediate Longfic Recs

A Light That Never Goes Out by @kippipies (M, 80k, WIP)

Setting: Non-Magical AU Premise: If Harry is the target of a dangerous crime lord called Voldemort and his gang of Death Eaters in a modern mafia AU. Why I rec it: This is a delightful, high-energy caper of a fic in which Harry is a scrappy low-time criminal who accidentally crosses crime boss Voldemort. Naturally, Voldemort sets his sights on getting revenge, but Harry slips through his fingers at the last minute each time. The action scenes in this fic are incredibly dynamic and super fun — I felt like I was watching an action movie at each confrontation between Harry and Voldemort.

And the Living Will Envy the Dead by @k-s-morgan (M, 81k, WIP)

Setting: Time Travel (1940s) Premise: If Harry were flung back in time to Tom’s sixth year and almost immediately reveals he is Tom’s horcrux, setting off a chain reaction of obsession and control.  Why I rec it: An intricately crafted character study of Tom and how he gained control over the rest of Slytherin House by the time Harry meets him at the start of sixth year. Harry’s arrival throws Tom’s plans off-kilter, especially once Harry reveals he was Tom’s horcrux in another timeline. This leads Tom to believe the other version of him had somehow loved Harry, and shows him that it’s possible to form such a connection with Harry here if he wants, despite how dark, cruel, and violent he turned out and how little he cares for others. 

By Any Means by @corpium (E, 74k, WIP)

Setting: Alternate Universe Premise: If Harry has a younger brother Evan who is the Boy-Who-Lived, yet Harry’s overprotective actions towards Evan end up attracting the attention of Voldemort directly onto himself. Why I rec it: This is a really engaging and fast-paced adaptation of canon events if Harry were born 2 years earlier and his younger brother were the one that the prophecy applied to. The relationship between Harry and Evan is really sweet, as they share the burden of growing up at the Dursleys and all the adventures that Harry underwent in canon. There’s also such a fascinating exploration of magic as Harry gradually becomes more powerful as a result of all the trials that he’s put through, eventually becoming powerful enough to attract the attention of Voldemort. 

Pledged by @moontearpensfic (E, 118k, WIP)

Setting: Alternate Universe Premise: If Harry and Tom are best friends that enter together into a Hunger Games-crossed-with-Triwizard Tournament in their seventh year.  Why I rec it: This fic depicts co-dependency to such an intense degree between Harry and Tom. Not only are they inseparable best friends throughout their time at Hogwarts, they also perform a cooperative magic ritual that binds their magic to each other permanently, and allows them to share thoughts and feelings with each other across a mental link. There’s also an intriguing mystery at the heart of this story, as Harry and Tom try to figure out the origins of the Triwizard-style tournament that they enter into in their seventh year. 

Revolution of Configured Stars by @tollingreminiscentbells (E, 153k, WIP)

Setting: Voldemort Wins AU Premise: If Harry was raised in a pureblood family in a universe where Voldemort wins, and ends up attracting the attention of Voldemort in his seventh year at Hogwarts.  Why I rec it: This is such an intricate, incredibly thoughtful depiction of a society where Voldemort won and Harry was raised as a ward of a pureblood family. By the time it’s Harry’s seventh year, he’s a budding Arithmancy scholar who wants to explore whether it’s possible to choose the optimal timeline via arithmantic calculations, which catches the attention of Voldemort. Voldemort and Harry’s relationship unfolds in such a steamy way, and they truly feel like equals who hold each other in high regard, as Voldemort reveals that they have been inextricably linked by fate, whether or not he ended up trying to kill Harry as a baby in this particular timeline. 

the stars, my destination by @milkandmoon-ao3 (M, 15k, WIP)

Setting: Time Travel (Marauders Era) Premise: If Harry is sent back in time as an infant and adopted into the Potter family, growing up and attending Hogwarts alongside James.  Why I rec it: There is a dearth of Harrymort fics set in Marauders Era so it is such a delight to read about Harry’s friendships and rivalries with Marauders Era characters, like being best friends with Regulus and Quidditch rivals with James. As Harry starts his sixth year, the First Wizarding War heats up in the background and begins spilling into their life at Hogwarts as many of their classmates are recruited to fight on either side of it. All the while that he has to keep secret the strange mental connection that he’s had with the Dark Lord all his life. 

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Advanced Longfic Recs

Hearthstone Abbey (Series) by @ramabear (E, 152k, WIP series)

Setting: Soulmate AU Premise: If second year Harry is plucked away from his canon universe by Voldemort from another universe who is his soulmate. Why I rec it: I wholly melted at all the ways Voldemort takes care of Harry in this fic, better treatment than Harry’s ever gotten in his entire life, and Harry is so lovable and adorable in turn. Voldemort has established himself as a religious figurehead/cult leader in the alternate universe, and it was very interesting to read about his alternate path to power. The soft grooming in this fic was so so delicious, ramping up in intensity as the fic progresses; Voldemort completely dotes on Harry and their dynamic is so sweet and tender, a very nice counterbalance to the sinister and predatory tones that underlie their relationship.

if we were lovers by @reggieblk (E, 277k, complete)

Setting: Non-Magical AU Premise: If Harry and Tom meet in a prestigious drama programme and fall for each other against a backdrop of high stakes threatre productions.  Why I rec it: The character work is so rich and detailed in this coming-of-age story in a modern AU setting. It’s clear there was so much thought that went into all the character interactions here, not only between Harry and Tom, but also the ensemble cast of characters who inject so much heart and humor into this story as well. I love the way that @reggieblk cleverly weaves in elements from Shakespeare’s plays and uses the theatre backdrop to depict how the love story between Harry and Tom unfolds — their developing relationship feels, at the same time, both very immersive and cozy, as well as highly fraught with tension. (As a bonus, there is an absolutely amazing original play in the interlude chapter that was written specifically for this fic!)

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[sugawhaaa]

HONGJOONG ONE-SHOT

"Is this what my princess does when she misses me?"

Warnings::SMUT

genre::masturbation(fem) fingering, dildo riding, collar, hair pulling, choking (a whee little bit) spanking, degradation, cream pie, pet names, porn without plot, aftercare bc Hongjoong is a sweetie 💕 [tell me if I missed anything bc I probably did] also the whole "feeling it in your stomach" thing is an exaggeration don't come at me okay? Also if u doing this and u feel it in your stomach pls call an ambulance.

Pairing::HARD!dom!Hongjoong x sub!fem!reader

A/N:: writing this literally had me in shambles bc everytime I wrote like 3 lines in I just got so turned on I couldn't focus. I don't mean to toot my own horn but holy fuck this fanfic drives me wild in the best way possible.

🎧::

There's no doubt that your boyfriend is a busy man. He's a workaholic and spends more time at the studio than home. You wish you got to see him more and experience simple things with him but deep down you know his love for you is never ending and you have all the time in the world to be with him.

Sometimes though your body needs him even when he's not around so you have to rely on yourself. Tonight was one of those nights. You decided to turn on some porn and enjoy yourself to the fullest. You turn off the main light and turn your LED lights to red. You tease yourself for a while, just like Hongjoong would. You use your fingers for a while teasing your fingertips along the folds and entrance before switching to a clear dildo. You started off slow, forcing your hands to move slowly even though your body begged you to go faster. You wanted to create a realistic scene of what Hongjoong would do.

You threw your head back as the dildo hit all the right places before hearing the door open. You instantly panic and reach for your phone, turning off the loud lewd sounds coming from the speaker. You look up at Hongjoong with guilty eyes as he closes the door behind himself. You inch up to the top of your bed.

"Hongjoong?" You blush as he sits on the desk chair next to your bed, crossing his legs as he looks at you.

"Keep going," he nods as he watches you, a glint of lust lingering in his eyes. You look confused before doing as you were told. You knew he wore the pants in the relationship, especially in bed. If you disobeyed you knew you would regret it. He watched intently as you started moving the dildo again, a devilish smirk grew on his face. "Is this what my princess does when she misses me?" He asks with a mischievous grin. You nod as you keep pounding the dildo inside you. "Oh you're such a dirty little girl aren't you?" He teases as he puts his hand on his chin. "Don't muffle those little moans, keep your mouth, open darling," Hongjoong cooes and you do as he says.

Your moans fill the room along with the sound of you clenching around the dildo, your slick walls sticking to it. Hongjoong's eyes are glued on you, watching your tits bounce, your pussy leaking, your mouth hanging open. His eyes fill with lust as he looks at you with that devilish smirk of hunger. The urge to pick you up, flip you onto your stomach and pound into you is just too much for him. He watches as you reach your orgasm, leaning back in his chair as he watches you. "Look at the mess you've made~" Hongjoong smirks as you pull the dildo out of you. "Such a good whore," he says before standing up. He goes to your nightstand and pulls out the collar and chain. You lay back on the bed and he sits next to you, equipping the collar around your neck.

He hooks the chain to it before tugging it, making sure it's secure. He caresses your cheek softly as he looks down at you, pure love and lust in his eyes. He strokes back your hair before kissing your forehead.

"Did I do good?" You ask softly and he smiles endearingly.

"Yes baby, but I need you to keep being a good girl okay?" He reassures you. "Know get on the floor," he demanded and you did as he said. You go on your knees on the floor next to the chair he was using. He grabs the dildo and sticks it to the floor. He finds your bottle of lube on the desk and he grabs it, lathering the dildo in the lube.

Realistically you both knew that the dildo didn't need anymore lube with the amount of cum that was on it but you also knew how much Hongjoong loves the sight of lube and cum everywhere. "C'mere baby," he says in a soft yet seductive tone. You line the tip of the dildo up with your entrance, watching carefully as you sit down on it. Hongjoong smirks as he watches the dildo fill you up. You whimper loudly as you hit the floor. "That's it," he praises as he grabs the chain to your collar again. He sits in front of you watching, his bulge pressed against his dress pants. You started slowly moving up and down on the toy. Hongjoongs eyes followed your movements very carefully, watching how you'd grind down on it. He analyzed your movements that made you react the most, being sure to thoroughly memorize them to use on you later.

As he watched you he couldn't wait any longer. He unzipped his pants and pulled them down along with his boxers to free his erection. He started pumping his cock as he watched you ride the dildo just how he told you to. No words needed to be spoken, only moans and whimpers bounced off the walls of the room. The pleasure inside you started to boil up your body. Hongjoong pulled the chain causing the collar to tighten around your throat. You squint your eyes shut as your orgasm starts surfacing.

"I'm gonna cum," you whimper softly as your head falls forward, your hips still moving. Hongjoong pulled the chain harshly forcing your head to look up at him as you came. He watched intently as your body tensed up, shaking from the pleasure and one last thrust down and you shattered. Your pleasure spilling out of you as you moan loudly. The sight of you breaking beneath him tipped him over the edge, his load shooting onto your face. A low groan escaped his throat as he coated your face in his cum. The sight of your face decorated with his semen snapped a string of control in his mind. He finally lost all composure.

"Get up," he demanded as he moved to the bed. You did as he said, standing on wobbly legs from the rush of pleasure you just experienced. He pulls you up to the bed before taking off his shirt "On your knees baby," he orders and you instantly get into position. Laying your chest down on the bed and sticking your ass up. You feel him grab your hips and his tip lines up with your entrance. He holds the chain to your collar as he slowly pushes inside you, his cock stretching your walls perfectly.

You moan loudly and grab the pillow in front of you. "You're so tight," he groans. "Did you miss me that much~?" He says as he grips your ass with one hand. The sound of your bodies colliding and the bed creaking rings in your ears as the pleasure swallows you whole.

"Yes daddy," you whimper before feeling him drop the chain. He grabs a fist full of your hair instead, pulling your head up.

"That's right," he smirks as his pounds get harsher. "Beg for it," he looks down at you before bringing his hand up and slapping it across your ass. The loud clap echoing in the room electing a gasp from your lips.

"Please Hongjoong, I wanna cum," you whimper and the feeling of dominance rushes over Hongjoong. He can control you. He gets to decide when you can cum.

"Louder," he demands before clapping your ass again. You whimper beneath him.

"Please!" You basically scream. "I want to cum!" You grip the sheets hard and Hongjoong's thrusts suddenly speed up to the point you see stars. You didn't know it was physically possible to go this fast. You moan loudly as you feel tears spark in your eyes from the pleasure. "I'm cumming!" You scream out and Hongjoong smirks. The feeling of your walls hugging him tightly drives him closer to the edge.

He lets go of your hair and you bury your face in the pillow as you cum simultaneously. His seed fills you up as he buries his cock so deep inside you, you can feel it in your stomach. He pants heavily before gently sliding out. He lays you on your back and pins you down to the bed. His eyes are full of hunger and desire for more. You breathe heavily as you lay there under his mercy. He kisses up your jaw, giving you some time to come down from your high. He licks up your jawline to your ear before nibbling on your earlobe.

His hands trail down to your tits, massaging them as his tongue rolls along your skin. His thumb grazed over your nipple and you jumped lightly. The sudden sensation makes your lips part and release soft moans. His opposite hand travels even lower, going down to tease your entrance. His middle finger tracing down your folds. "Your so fucking wet," he growls against your ear. "I just wanna fuck you so hard," he says before groping you again. "I love everything about you, your tits, the way your ass moves when I slap it, the way you drool when I hold your mouth open," he says before biting your neck. You bring your hand up to caress the back of his head, playing with his hair.

"I love you too," you smile before Hongjoong sits up again. He lines his tip up with your entrance before slamming his hips against your. You moan loudly and grab the sheets. He grabs your wrists and pins them above your head as he thrusted into you. It seemed like he never got tired during sex, he could fuck you for hours on end and he wouldn't even be phased. Yet you'd be a slobbering, crying, fucked up, mess under him.

"Tell me how much you want it," he groaned as his grip tightened on your wrists.

"Please, Hongjoong," you moan loudly. "I want to feel you…" your mind blanked out. The feeling of his cock sliding in and out of you drives you wild. All you wanted was for him to keep treating you like his sex toy. "Please keep using me," you whine and he grips the chain once again, pulling it up as he continues to thrust into you. "Use me like the slut I am," you moan out hoarsely and that devilish grin spreads across his face again. Hearing you call yourself a slut made him feel so overpowered. He licked his lips quickly as he used his skilled hips to pound into you.

"Yeah? Is that what you want?" He teases and your eyes roll back, the angle of his cock hitting your g-spot so perfectly. He pushed inside you again, burying his length inside you before rolling his hips on yours. Your back arched up into him at the feeling of his cock roaming around inside you. You couldn't even say anything, you couldn't tell him to keep going, you couldn't tell him how good it felt, you couldn't even moan. The only thing on your mind was the pure bliss of pleasure that coursed through your veins. "Look how fucked up you are," he hissed in a low voice before continuing to thrust deep inside you.

He finally let your wrists go, you dropped your arms down to see red marks around your wrists. The outline of his fingers still present.

Hongjoong starts to lose himself in you, his possessive aura lowering as his climax approaches. The new depth and angle of this position didn't feel like heaven just for you, it also felt like the gates of heaven were upon him as well. "Shit," he groans under his breath as his arms start to give out. His body fell a little closer to yours. He put his forehead on yours before stealing your lips in a passionate kiss as he exploded inside you. His seed filling you up right to the top of your cervix. He thrusts into you a few more times before you Crack beneath him again. Your entire body contorts and shakes from the pleasure. You separate from his lips, catching your breath. You tangle your hands in his sweaty blue hair. You continue to hold him close to you before kissing him again.

He ran his hands through your hair as well before holding your cheek, caressing it softly with his thumb. He pulls back again to look at you. Your eyes are watery and red, your face red and sweaty, your hair tangled and damp, your chest heaving for air as your mouth hangs open.

"I love you so fucking much," he says as he pulls you in a tight hug. You chuckle and hold him close. He then pulls out of you carefully, watching how when he pulls out of you it's like pulling a plug from a drain. All the cum dripping out of you. He crouches down and licks up your folds softly. "I can't let it go to waste," he hums between kitten licks. You bring your hand down to pet his head softly. Once he's finished he lays down next to you, his body facing yours, his hands still all over you. Caressing your hair and face. His eyes fall down to your collar, quickly reaching out to take it off. "Sorry, I-I kind of forgot about that," he blushes as he takes it off. You chuckle lightly at his embarrassment.

"It's okay baby," you say in a hoarse voice. You admire him as he rolls over and puts the collar on the nightstand. Your eyes fall to his chest, it's been a while since you saw him completely nude like this. You reach your hand out to caress his chest and down to his abs, feeling the muscles. He looks at you a little surprised. "I haven't seen you like this in a while. You've been working out a lot," you smile before bringing your lips down to place some hickies along his chest. He chuckles lowly at the feeling of his skin sandwiched between your lips. You run your fingers along his skin when he notices the marks around your wrists. He takes your hand and brings it up for him to look at.

"Oh, baby," he says softly before kissing the sensitive skin. "You should've told me to let go if it hurt," he looked at you with apologetic eyes.

You shake your head. "I didn't even notice it hurting," you smile and he looks at you, still upset.

"Let me see your neck," he lifts up your chin to check if there were any marks on your neck. He runs his thumb against the tender red skin around your neck. It wasn't as bad as your wrists but it still looked painful. "What about your ass? Turn around," he quickly gestured for you to turn and you reluctantly did. You could feel his eyes on your rosy red ass cheek. "I'll go get some lotion," he says before standing up and you blush.

"Honey it's fine," you say as you grab his wrist, bringing him back to the bed. You bring him back into your arms as you cuddle each other.

"I'll call you out of work tomorrow so you can rest up," he pets your hair and you shake your head.

"No, no it's okay hongjoong," you assure him but you both know he isn't going to listen.

[word-wytch]

Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 17

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

Chapter 17/? 19k. Series Masterlist

✏︎ Finally alone, tensions come to a head and feelings erupt.

✏︎ Series Summary: Forced to move back home to Hawkins after your fiancé cheats on you, you begin to fall in love again with an audacious 20 year old metalhead, only there’s one problem — he’s still in high school and you’re his English teacher.

While you struggle starting over in a place you never thought you would return, Eddie struggles feeling stuck in a place he can’t manage to leave — until you offer to help him. Of all the lessons learned, the most important are the ones you teach each other.

✏︎ Chapter CW: smut (18+ nsfw), emotional first time, heated conversations, hurt/comfort, love confessions, heavy petting, dry humping, body worship, unintentional edging, nipple play, cock stroking, piv sex (protected), aftercare

✏︎ For reference, here is a bingo score card map of Teach's apartment

✏︎ Special thank you to @the-unforgivenn @munson-blurbs @rip-quizilla @ladylilylost for holding my hand behind the scenes and rekindling my light with your own on a daily basis.

It was nothing like you had imagined. 

In your countless daydreams involving Eddie’s van, it was always things like the breeze gusting through a cracked window, or the bones of his knuckles as they stretched between yours that drew your focus. The details were always fuzzy. Staring into the open passenger door, they were coming into full view now under the yellow interior light. Cigarette butts crowded the ashtray beneath the radio. A nest of candy wrappers cradled naked tapes in the center console. McDonalds bags littered the seat that would soon be yours. Eddie crinkled them into hasty balls beneath his fists, arcing them over his shoulder to clatter against a cymbal somewhere in the back. 

“Sorry, I uh, wasn’t expecting company,” he said with a shameful shake of his curls. Bracing the seat cushion, he reached toward the floor before chucking two empty Mountain Dew cans into the rear abyss. French fry crumbs clattered to the weather mat with a brush of his hand against the plaid fabric. Coyly glancing from under his lashes, he sat back in his own seat and gave the space a final look. “Ok, should—should be good now.”

Like an open maw of caramel leather, it could have swallowed you. Securing your thumb under the strap of your bag, your boots left the salty pavement and found the ledge, lifting you out of the darkness and into the dim chaos. With a gracious smile, you slid into your place beside him. The seat was a comfortable cradle at your back; spacious and sturdy. Sliding your bag between your knees and feet, it found a home on top of the fry crumbs and other mysteries you decided not to entertain. 

You sat there for a beat as the details enveloped you; the scent of old cigarettes and leather, the stale hint of fast food, the exhaust on the cold night air wafting in through the open door. It squealed on its hinges when you shut it, sealing you behind its jaws as the light above you faded to black. 

Then it was just you and him. Just you and him in the dark leather cavern with nothing but the light from the dashboard and the soft floodlights making a halo of his frizz. Nothing but the engine rumbling idly, and the rush of your pulse in your ears. Nothing but short bursts of breath, and eyes that roamed with cautious amazement. 

It was strange for Eddie to see you here. You, in the passenger’s seat of his van. Out of your usual context. Surreal, like a dream he’d woken into. 

“Thank you,” you muttered into the silence, “for the ride.”

Eddie blinked hard, snapping from his trance. “Yeah—yeah. Sure thing.” Chains rattled against the zipper of his sleeve as he shifted the gear to reverse. Reflexively, his right hand braced your headrest, peering over his shoulder as he slowly backed out. “So uh, where are we going?”

His scent sucked the words off your tongue — the acrid remnants of grease on his fingers, the warm musk of his leather-clad wrist. Tearing your eyes away from his tendons flexing inches from your face, you eked out a response. “Oh—just make a left onto Randolph.”

With a nod, he hit the brake, removing his hand to shift forward toward the parking lot exit. Tail lights caught the soft glitter of snow as your small white sedan faded in the ample side-view mirror. There was a view from up here, like the van was swallowing the pavement as it careened out onto the road. Like you were seated in a leather throne, watching traffic below surge like a sea of subjects on the rush hour wave. 

Eddie tapped his hands against the wheel to a nervous rhythm before one of them reached toward the stereo—which might as well have been a button labeled detonate—because the thundering sound could have blasted you both back into 1984.

“SHIT—” he screeched with a manic twist of the volume dial, a stray curl wavering in his ragged breath. “Sorry.”

A laugh bubbled out of you. A wild, cackling thing, as if you were a toy wound up by nerves and the noise had released the crank. It was absurd—surreal—watching traffic lights change from the passenger’s seat in Eddie Munson’s van as Iron Maiden squeaked out the quietest guitar solo you’d ever heard. 

Eddie’s shoulders slacked in relief, hand relaxing against the wheel as he breathed a chuckle. The stoplight painted his cheeks even redder, and your spinning world stilled to a single focus as you gasped for air: his wild eyes, glimmering with soft bewilderment like you were an angel or a ghost he’d picked up along the road. Like he was struggling to believe you were real. Like he was struggling to believe you were here.

And just like that it was quiet again. The van rumbled idly beneath your seat, kicking up a smokescreen of exhaust. His soft lips parted and twitched. Straightening your shoulders and dipping your chin, you prepared to receive any words he had to offer. You even thought a soft smile might encourage their release, but nothing came out. The light turned him green, and with a sharp sigh through his nose he shifted his attention back to the road.

Smoothing your hands across the wool in your lap, you chewed at your own stubborn words as you did your bottom lip. But they were too big to make it out. Too loud, even with the rumble of the engine. Instead you cast your attention over your shoulder with a heavy sigh. Lately it was rare to find yourself out past dark. Even rarer that you looked past your own pained reflection in the glass. Passing below you like a panorama, Christmas lights wrapped stout bushes and glowed under a fresh blanket of snow. Plastic reindeers and light-up Santas crowded lawns amongst nativity scenes. Bright colored bulbs wrapped porches and rooftops. Through these dirty windows, you could almost call it beautiful. 

“Straight?”

You blinked out of your daydream. “Mhm, until Chester, then make a right.”

Eddie gave a single nod, keeping his eyes on the road. Typically by the time he made it past Melvald’s he would be fumbling in the pocket of his coat, pinching a cigarette out of the box and feeling for his lighter on the dash while his knee kept him out of a ditch. Today he had precious cargo. Chin locked dutifully forward, he still couldn’t keep his eyes from staying, from catching the lights as they danced across your holy form. You were watching them intently, lost in some daydream he could only speculate about. It was a vision he could get used to. Secretly he hoped you’d stay distracted, just a moment longer. Long enough to snap a mental polaroid, to shake it and save it for later. Tension splayed his hands on the wheel, and he firmly adjusted his grip with a slow exhale.

Shifting against the leather beneath you, your fingers found the stitching, running nervously along the smooth piping, filing it somewhere deep in your memory. It was good like this. Cruising like a tall ship above the sea of cars as Eddie palmed the wheel. Feeling his presence in the seat next to you; solid and stable like a captain at the helm. It was better than a dream. Absent of clasped palms and open windows, but rich in realness. 

Tin cans rolled hollowly in the back as the van veered right, and you wondered how many other lucky people had been given this place of honor after shows at The Hideout, or parties on the weekend, or long summer nights that bled into day. You could almost picture him pulling up to a gas station; the smoke wafting out of the doors as they opened, the crinkling of Snickers wrappers and cracking of pop cans, the laughter over the roar of the stereo. You were surrounded by remnants of good times past. Closing your eyes, you imagined for a moment that he was taking you somewhere else. Somewhere fun and exciting, somewhere you would surely leave behind remnants of your own.

When the van passed the baseball field and approached the tidy row of lights outside of each apartment door including yours, you wished he would just keep driving. Way out past the farms and forests, straight into the stars. You wouldn’t even look back.

“This lot here,” you gestured as a crushing feeling crept into your chest.

With a solemn nod, Eddie did as he was instructed. He braked and cranked the wheel, drove all the way to the end—to the last apartment on the single-story strip—and pulled into the empty spot in front of it. 

You sat there for a moment, idling as the large headlights illuminated a single red door, the number 8 beside it. Suddenly it was like you were a child again, being dropped off at home after a weekend with Janet. It was the same sinking feeling. With a slow exhale, you worried your lip between your teeth.

Eddie killed the engine. His hand splayed the wheel, brows pinching as his thumb dug into the leather with a heavy sigh. Your eyes connected, and the staring match began. It sucked the moisture from your mouth. All you could taste anymore was your heartbeat. All you could see were those eyes—dark and brimming with a million words behind them, almost loud enough to hear. Let me in, they begged. Please, I’m so close.

The door was right there, glowing and red. All it needed was for you to unlock it. Only you could do that. Words wrestled on your tongue. They grappled with each other, flung each other from the ropes and into the ring. You can come in, one side said. Help me find a mechanic. The angel—or was it the devil—pulled that voice into a headlock, gritted thank you, goodbye in a voice that sounded an awful lot like your mother.

Goodness was a mantle. A weight that kept your shoulders back, your lips pressed tight. In the end it was goodness that moved your hand, grabbed the leather from between your legs and slid the heavy burden onto your lap. It was goodness that placed your fingers on the cold plastic handle and pulled. 

“Wait—”

There was a sparkle in your eyes. It flickered in the darkness as you turned over your shoulder. 

“We need to talk.”

Your fingers left the handle as you settled back into your seat with a sigh. “I know, we do.”

“Like, now.” It was loud and insistent, much more than he intended, but it just leapt out. “I want to talk to you now,” he repeated softer this time, thumb digging into the leather of the steering wheel.

“Okay, yeah. Yeah—no you’re right.” Your stomach did a summersault at the admission.

The knot in Eddie’s gut released slightly. He chewed his lip for a second before continuing. “I mean, we could talk out here I guess but it’s like, twenty degrees out and I’m running low on gas.” 

Your front door glowed in the halo of his headlights. He didn’t have to spell it out. You weren’t going to make him. But it had to be him who was asking, because all your lips had space for were four words, pinning their opposition to the mat, buying just enough time to sneak out. “You can come in.” It was quiet, but clear as you tugged the plastic handle, nodding over your shoulder for him to follow.

Eddie’s eyes grew wide, and in an instant he was throwing off his seatbelt, fumbling his keys into his pocket, and scrambling out the door into the cold.

It was like your fingers were moving through molasses, like they’d never held a key before, less found the right one on your keychain, placed it in the slot, and turned. It didn’t help that he was watching so intently, that you could feel his breath in clouds over your shoulder. Still, despite your churning nerves and roaring conscience, one of the voices—whether it was the angel or the devil, you hadn’t decided—rose up in hope as you turned the handle and pushed in.

It was nothing like he had imagined. 

Then again, he wasn’t really sure what he had imagined, just that there was something—some sign of life—like posters, or paintings, or something that suggested you even lived here. Instead as you flicked on the lights to the narrow hallway, he saw nothing but white walls. He froze for a moment, glancing down at his boots weeping onto your clean white carpet. He was struck by the impulse to remove them, to preserve the cleanliness of such a sterile environment, but when you kept on walking, the impulse was greater to follow. 

In a few strides he was passing a kitchen to his left; plain with a small formica table and chairs. He couldn’t get a glimpse of much else before the hallway emptied into the living room. This space looked slightly more lived in, but barely. There was a crocheted afghan in shades of brown draped over the cream floral couch. A remote and papers on the coffee table. A TV in the center of the room. In the corner by the sliding glass doors were few cardboard boxes labeled with words he couldn’t make out. Even the Christmas tree beside them was bare. It was amazing to him how much nothing there could be in a place somebody lived, how it was even possible. The only piece of furniture that seemed to hold some fragment of personality was the long record cabinet pushed up against the wall to his right. On top there were even a few records leaning between the speakers and the record player. It was hard to make out what they were from the track list on the back, not that he had much time before you turned around.

Eddie Munson was standing in your living room. Right behind the TV. You had to blink a few times to believe it. The dark, broad angles of his shoulders jumped out against the stark wall behind him as if he was a cardboard cutout. Out of place, out of time. He was moving though; stuffing his hands in his coat pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels as he chewed his bottom lip. 

You’d really done it now—invited a wolf inside your den. And now you were alone with him. Truly alone. Hidden from the outside world behind a door you’d locked yourself. You could say anything—do anything—you wanted. Fingers moving to the top button of your coat, they froze just as they did when you passed the front closet. As if removing it would render you vulnerable, would encourage him to do the same, encourage him to stay. Goodness drew your fingers from the plastic, tucked them safely inside your pocket.

“Thank you for the ride, I really appreciate it.”

“Yeah, no problem.” He took a step forward, and a knot began to twist low in your belly. “Look, I’m sorry about what I said last week. About it not being a big deal,” he began with a slow, deep breath. “It was like, really fucking stupid a-and just—god,” he pinched the bridge of his nose, “insensitive of me and I’m sorry.”

You could tell he’d really thought about it. By the look in his eyes you were sure it had eaten away at him ever since you’d left him in your classroom. “Thanks, I appreciate the apology.”

His shoulders relaxed a little.

“I’m sorry too, honestly. This whole situation is…” you shook your head, breaking his gaze with a bitter sigh, “a mess. I never—” you sucked your teeth, searching for the words like they were stones on a dark path through the woods. “This is my fault.”

Eddie blinked in disbelief, offering a hollow laugh. “No, it isn’t.”

“No, it is.”

He rolled his eyes, unable to mask his annoyance. “What, like I didn’t ask you out? Ask you to smoke with me? Ask you to kiss me?” The last question lingered in the air between you, hanging for a second before you cut in.

“I should have said no,” you doubled down. “It’s my responsibility—”

“Stop.”

“I never should have put you in this position—”

“STOP.”

“No, it is my fault, Eddie. I’m your—”

“What, you’re my superior?” He strode forward, spitting fire like a volcano. “What like—like I’m some helpless child?”

“No—”

“Then talk to me like I’m an adult, because I am.” He was yelling now. Suddenly it felt like you were shrinking, dwarfed by his imposing silhouette. He must have seen the fear flicker in your eyes because he doubled back, raking his hand through his hair with a ragged sigh. “I’m twenty years old,” he leveled. “I’m twenty years old and still in fucking high school for some reason.”

Folding your arms across your thick coat, your lips twitched but nothing made it out. It was swallowed by the emptiness of the room, by the silence he left you in, by his dark eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t come here to argue, I—” he balled his fist and lowered it with a sharp breath through his nose. “I’ve barely been here five minutes and I’m already fucking everything up.”

Tentatively, your boot met the carpet in front of you, approaching as if he were a wounded animal. “You’re not,” you soothed.

Eddie took a deep breath, eyes smoldering like coal. “I hate this.” 

“Yeah, me too,” you stated quietly.

“I hate that has to be like this. That I’m like this and you’re—” he gestured toward you, hand falling dejectedly as if the next word was too painful to speak, “that I can’t—” he swallowed the wavering threatening his voice, “can’t be with you the way I really want to be.”

The heat in his voice could have melted you—leaked you out of your coat, and your boots, and your blouse until you seeped into the carpet. Until there was nothing left but the puddle he had rendered you. “I know,” you breathed. “So do I—”

“Then why don’t we just—?” He stepped forward, a hunger growing in his eyes like he’d glimpsed his first meal in days. Like he wanted to devour you.

And you wanted it. More than you cared to admit. The heat creeping up your neck didn’t lie, but your feet were far more self-preserving, treading backwards on the carpet. “It’s dangerous.”

He took a deep breath, straightening his shoulders with a frustrated sigh. “You know what, how ‘bout I just drop out?”

“Eddie—”

“No, really. As soon as we come back from break.”

You shook your head, pulse pounding in your temples. “I can’t let you do that.”

“Why not? It would solve the problem, wouldn’t it?”

Your coat was suddenly suffocating, the room closing in like the narrowing space between you as he encroached with another step. “No. I’m supposed to be helping you a-and now I’m just getting in the way.”

Eddie fumed, nostrils flaring. “Getting in the way of what, some stupid piece of paper? I mean what the fuck do I need a diploma for anyway?” He gave a hollow laugh. “W-what you think I’m gonna be like, a doctor or some shit?”

His words were like daggers, aimed at himself but they sank into you. “It’s important to you. I know it is because you would have dropped out a long time ago if it wasn’t. I’m not gonna let you throw that away. Not when you’re this close. Not for me.”

The anger was rising again, building like steam in his chest. “Then what do you want me to do? Stay in school, risk your job?”

You paused for a moment, eyes flicking back and forth over the carpet. “Even if you did drop out, how do you think that would look to this whole town? You suddenly drop out of school and then… what? We just happen to start dating? You don’t think that would raise a few eyebrows? Most of my coworkers know that I’m tutoring you. It’s easy to put two and two together. People talk.”

Eddie heaved a sigh, glaring at the tidy stack of papers on your coffee table, the neatly folded afghan on your couch, suddenly swallowed by the order, the evidence of both of your positions. “Then what should we do?” He felt like he was on trial, like you held a wooden hammer, like he was waiting for it to fall. 

In the end, all you could offer was your honesty, like a hollow whisper. “I don’t know.”

It sunk like an arrow in his chest, shocked him with the depth of its sting. “Why not?” The words just shot out, and the pinch in your brow let him know where they landed. “I’m sorry—I mean of course I know why not—like practically speaking but—” His retort was drying up on his tongue, pounding feebly in his chest. “I just thought that, I mean we both—we both have feelings for each other.” A tangible pain flickered in his eyes. “Don’t we?”

“Yes, but—” The words caught in your throat at the sight of him. Those enormous almond eyes that haunted you whenever you closed yours. The way his lips twitched and trembled and begged you to capture and still them. And those hands, capable of so many things. Under stage lights they were sure and nimble, plucking complex melodies with ease and precision. Under fluorescents they fumbled carelessly, left everything they touched either bent, broken, or beaten. Did you trust them to protect you? Trust them with your career, your reputation, your heart? Did he know what he was truly asking you? When you finally collected the words, they came out low, and quivering. “You could ruin me.”

He wasn’t sure what hurt more, the fear in your eyes or the sting of your mistrust. Eddie took a step forward, placing a hand on his chest in earnest. “I would never do that.”

Anger startled you as it rose up, clawing its way out of the grave you buried it in when you slammed your car door shut outside the pawn shop. “I’ve known you for four months, Eddie.” Your lips formed a hard line, tears threatening behind your eyes as you gestured to the boxes in the corner. “I knew him for five years.” 

Eddie seethed, a fury rising in his chest at the man who’d hurt you, at the whole situation. “I can’t change that,” he snapped. “I wish I could. I wish I could just-just wave my hand and make it all better. I wish—” he breathed a hollow laugh, “that everything was different. That we’d met at some bar and I was some—some… I don’t know, just some guy instead of some fuckup who needs your help with his chemistry homework.” His voice betrayed him, fracturing the last few words. He swallowed, tears welling behind his eyes. After a deep breath, he finished. “I wish I could change a lot of things, but I can’t. All I can do is ask for you to trust me because the only thing I want in this world is a chance to show you how much I love you.”

The words bloomed in your chest, stung behind your eyes, hung like the aftershock of a bomb in the space between you. All your life you had wanted so many things. All of them ended up stored in boxes, sitting in drawers, held in secret daydreams. Remnants collecting dust. Fantasies no one would ever know. Eddie Munson stood there in your living room and told you that he loved you, and never in your whole entire life did you want something as badly as you wanted to believe him. To tell him that you loved him too. To crash into his arms and never leave. But fear held its icy grip, kept you frozen in place. Tears burned behind your eyes but you buried them too. “Those are big words, Eddie,” you whispered. 

Molten feelings churned in his gut, came spewing out before he could stop them. “I’m not illiterate,” he snapped.

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know what this probably looks like to you,” he wavered hotly, nostrils flaring as his mouth became a thin, hard line, though his eyes were welling and wounded. “That—that I’m just some young, reckless guy who has the hots for his—” the last word caught in his throat.

“I don’t think that,” you whispered.

“Then what do you mean?”

The pain in his voice fractured the ice around your heart. “I just...” You breathed a deep sigh, searching for the words in the carpet before meeting his gaze again. “I just need to make sure you mean them, like really mean them, because—” your voice snagged. Through the hot blur, you glanced at your full moving boxes. Your empty Christmas tree. Your empty walls. Empty as the day you left Indianapolis. Empty as the day you moved in. “I can’t do this again.”

The crack in your voice could have shattered him, much less the image of you, shrinking in your stiff wool coat, swallowed by the sparseness of the room. You, trembling like prey, smaller than he’d ever seen you. 

“I mean them,” he uttered hotly. “I can’t do anything about your position, or mine, or your past, or how difficult this is for both of us. But…” he drew a deep breath, treading his words like rocks on a river. “I want you to give me a chance. A chance to be like—like a real person with you. Someone who can take you on a real date a-and—” The rest of it snagged in his throat, eyes welling as he swallowed back tears. He clenched his hand into a fist. Steadying himself with a deep, convicted breath, he continued. “I promise you will never have to worry—at least about how I feel—because I love you. And I mean it.” He let it hang in the air for a moment, straightening his shoulders. “All I’m asking for is a chance to show you.” 

You closed your eyes, tears cascading down your cheeks as you stifled a sob. When you opened them to a blurry room, Eddie was standing there, waiting for you. In your whole life you could count on one hand all the truly bad things you’d ever done. This, by any technical account, would be the worst of them all by a long shot. But when you searched your heart for the right answer, all you could find were fragmented dreams of the wind in your hair, and your feet on the dash, and his hand clasped in yours, and the wild open road, and every soft, quiet want you had ever locked away. When you finally opened your mouth, all you could manage were two words—broken, half-whispered, terrifying, and true. “Show me.” 

Swiftly, like a summer wind, Eddie crossed the room in two quick steps, snatched your face in both his hands, and kissed you. And just like that you were swept away. Stunned and breathless and whole all at once. Crushed between his hands and mouth, hot tears pinching through your lashes to cascade over the rough pads of his thumbs. You blindly grasped for him, fisting the leather of his coat to keep him from evaporating, to keep you from floating away. An exhale shook from both of you—wet and shuddering—as he parted just a fraction, just enough to capture you again. You melted there against his lips, wept like melting snow into his palms, dripping toward the carpet as his thumbs swiped the remnants from your cheeks. It was sniffling and sloppy, messy and real, and here—in the absence of bells, and desks, and lights that made everything wrong—it was the rightest thing that you had ever known.

With both his agent hands, Eddie kissed you for every time he wanted to but couldn’t. A thousand fervent daydreams pressed against your lips. One for every time he saw you in the hall, every time you’d brushed against his arm, every time you’d looked at him with kindness when everyone else saw a freak and a waste of their time. 

“I love you,” you whispered against his lips. A shallow sob escaped through the corners of his mouth and you kissed it away, thumbs soothing over his wet cheeks. “I love you.” Kiss. “I love you.” Kiss. “I love you.” And you meant every word.

Eddie stilled against the bridge of your nose and sighed, eyes closed, relishing as the words washed over him like a balm. Your breath mingled in soft pants as you rocked against his forehead, swaying to a rhythm only the two of you could hear. As if on cue, you opened your eyes together and were swallowed by two massive brown spheres. 

His thumbs gave your cheeks another swipe before dropping from your face, and yours did the same. You both took a moment to reset yourselves, wiping your eyes and noses on your palms and sleeves, soft chuckles escaping through giddy, disbelieving smiles at one another. His lashes were wet and clinging in a way that made him impossibly more beautiful.

Until now, your touch had belonged to the shadows. A timid trek across the ridges of his knuckles under the cover of a desk. A fenced exploration over the landscape of his ribs in the dark outside The Hideout. Now—in the gentle glow of the lamp beside your couch—you boldly cupped his face with both your hands. 

He was real, all of a sudden. The oval face that shot you smirks in the hallway and haunted your waking dreams, now here in the palms of your hands. Dragging your thumbs over the apples of his cheeks, they dimpled with a smile. Warm and flush in the golden light, softer than you’d ever imagined. Every subtle angle of his face, drawn together to make him—the ridge of his jaw under your fingertips, the phantom brush of stubble as you traced it. With gentle awe, your thumbs grazed over the crinkles in the corners of his dark, roving eyes. Real. Here. Yours. Now.

“I read your assignment,” you softly admitted. 

Eddie’s eyes widened with a gentle puff through his nose. “Oh yeah, how’d I do?” he murmured playfully. “B minus? I mean I didn’t exactly finish so it’s probably more like a—“

You silenced him with your lips. After a breathless, five second eternity, you parted with a heavy smack and looked him dead in the eyes. “A plus.”

Eddie melted between your palms. Trailing your hands down the soft contours of his cheeks, jaw, and neck, they flattened against his chest for a moment as it rose and fell beneath his black hoodie; steady and strong. He glanced down at your hands through gentle lashes, and then back up at you. With a coy flick of your eyes, you slipped up and over his shoulders, fingers diving under the silken liner of his coat. With both palms, you traced the strong angles, guiding the leather off of them until it thudded to the floor.

There was a single beat before he kissed you. Hard. Drawing the air from your lungs and the sense from the rest of you. When his tongue asked for admission there was no hesitation. You let him in, parting your lips to accept his wet heat, swept away by his current—breaking and cresting over and over. Hands hanging limply at your sides, he captured and devoured you, drawing you into his maw with every slip of his tongue against yours.

Your chest lurched forward as he tugged the buttons of your coat, working them from the thick wool eyelets with an urgency that bordered on frustration with the garment’s existence. His lips parted slightly as he glanced down, noses still touching, panting into the fractional distance as the eagerness of his fingers threatened the strength of the thread. Your mantle fell to the floor in a heap, and his hands—greedy and splayed at your waist—pulled you close.

His kiss came in waves, taking you under, again and again. It was the most delicious thing, to drown. To go slack and let the slick heat of his mouth take you under. You were learning to love drowning. Learning to love the darkness and the lack of air, the crushing of his body, the lapping of his mouth—bringing you to surface just enough before plunging back in. It was safe, to drown with him. 

Both hands twisted into his hair, tugging with fervent desperation as need rose up in you like a bubble that had been trapped at the bottom of the ocean, so sudden and consuming. Your teeth dragged along his bottom lip, tugging the plush membrane with a boldness that earned you a groan, a tightening of hands around your waist, a warm, wet tongue which you eagerly accepted. Yours danced against the gummy muscle, tasting everything—the hint of acrid smoke, the wistful sighs that echoed in the cavern of your mouth, the satisfied fulfillment of being truly alone.

His hands were burning through your blouse, splayed open at your waist like he was trying to make contact with every atom, pulling you so close it stifled your breath. There was a whole landscape here, a hill under your soft red cardigan where your back dipped toward your spine. He trekked it with his fingers, up and over, back and forth, feeling the muscle bend to his touch, and the subtle arch in your back when he did.

A feeling prickled through him. Up through his fingers, low in his belly. Desire—so familiar, and yet foreign as it ignited in a way that satisfied this time. There was something else too, rippling through his chest, seating somewhere in his sternum as he dipped his fingers—just the middle and ring—beneath the wool barrier of your skirt. The zipper grazed his knuckles, and he tasted something even sweeter than the strangled moan that ushered past your tongue:

Power.

He did it again. Pressing his fingers into the curve of your spine, splaying beneath the wool and pulling back in a firm grip around the muscle of your lower back, letting his fingers drag firmly over your skin like he was trying to claw through the cotton. 

It burned in a slow, delicious way. Burned in a way that made you dizzy, made your pulse jump from your throat and thrum in that low, forbidden place, beating life into a space that could no longer be ignored. You clenched your thighs together, arching your back at the demand of his touch, dipping your tongue into his sopping mouth as a helpless sigh escaped you. 

He lapped it up eagerly. Again, fingers splaying, clawing, burning. Like a sorcerer weaving a spell through the fabric—drawing you nearer, making you pliant. He met your sighs with approving hums. Bright, like the timbre of his voice, but the color was deeper, thick with a coaxing desire. They slipped down your throat like water in a desert, leaving you thirsty for more. 

There was an animal in you. Eager and starving. Pawing at his chest as his lips slid between yours in a rhythmic cadence. His hand burned at your back, clawing with insistence, warring with the few remaining shreds of his decent will. You obeyed with a cant of your hips, more than was proper, more than was chaste. Your rational mind flickered in for a moment, but the throaty, approving hum it earned you and solid mass of his waist molding and conforming to yours hushed it quickly. 

Eddie nipped at your bottom lip—testing, eager. A tingling rush flooded your core, tugged at your wrists like marionette strings, draped them over his shoulders and around his neck. Do it again, you begged with an arch of your back, pressing your chest to the contours of his. Eddie obliged with a drag of his teeth.

There was an animal in him too. Stirred by rocking of your hips, taunted by your boldness. It was like a waking dream, more unbelievable than any fantasy he’d ever had. You, draped around him like a doll, begging him to play. Boldly, he splayed his hand, starting between your shoulder blades and dragging firmly down your soft cardigan as he traced the length of your spine. You, bending like a string on a guitar, molded by his touch to sing the sweet release of your sigh. It ghosted hotly on his tongue, swirled in the pit of his belly. What other melodies were locked inside, waiting for his hand to be expressed?

Boldly, he breeched the barrier of your skirt, palming past the ridge of rough fabric, down, slowly down, over the mound of your rear. He rested there, grabbing with the full spread of his hand. It was sinful, how taught and plump the muscle was, how he’d watched it move for countless days from his station in the back of your classroom, eyeing how it shifted as you leaned on tired feet, etching words onto the board while he memorized your figure. Eddie tightened his grip, drawing upward, letting the swell of it pinch through his grasp.

Music—in the gasp of your mouth against his, the quick suck of air hushed by his lips, relinquished in a sigh. Guiding you closer, rocking you into him with the strength of his wrist, repeating the motion, reveling in the waves he made with every grapple of his palm.

The ice in you was melting, tingling to life like a limb half asleep, radiating through the pinch of his hands to that dormant place again. He was using both of them now—spreading and massaging as his tongue probed deeper. Your arms relaxed, limp on his sturdy shoulders, eyes closed, letting him do as he pleased—mold you like putty in his palms. Letting him lead you with the dance of his lips. Letting him sway you to his own silent rhythm. Letting him, letting him. 

It was like a waking dream to feel him in this way. To feel the angles of his body rock into yours, timed with the rhythm of his mouth. Such sensual movements coming fromthe man whose heated glances often gave you pause to wonder. It was a fantasy you could get lost in. Words—as they had been since you had met—were too bold, too brash, too loud. But here, you could tell him anything you wanted. So you told him, whispered the deep desires of your heart with a slow grind of your pelvis. He answered with a moan—sticky sweet, rippling across your tongue and down your throat. 

Your arms released slightly from their seat atop his shoulders, unable to mask your delight in the softness of his curls against your wrists and fingers, how the ringlets slipped through them like silk. How desperately you’d longed to touch them. How suddenly evident that was. 

It felt so good to feel him with the wholeness of your hands—free now to wander wherever they pleased. Possessed by the animal stirring inside you, they padded up the ridges of his neck, tangled in the hair at the nape and tugged. 

Eddie groaned into your mouth, surprise and delight ghosting hotly on your tongue. It jolted in the space between your legs, aching alive with every movement of his body, every sigh and sound. It ached for more, curious about what else you could coax out of him. Breaking from his lips, yours traveled south, over and under the ridge of his jaw, delighting in the barely-there brush of sandpaper stubble as you tracked it, the way he tipped his head to expose the pale column of his neck. 

His scent was so present here—concentrated, rich, and sweet all at once, clinging to him in the delicate oils of his skin and hair. It spoke to you in a silent language, one that the animal in you was fluent in. Heady and intoxicating with green lights, and safety, and irrepressible desire. You pressed your lips to his neck, inhaling deeply as his pulse thrummed with life beneath them. It was a chaste and reverent gesture, honoring his life-force with your mouth as you trailed slowly down. 

Eddie sighed at the contact, closing his eyes, presenting his neck to you like a feast. It occurred to him here—in the fuzzy, swirling mush his brain was becoming as the blood rushed south—that he had never been kissed like this before. So reverently and lovingly, as if you painted worship with your lips. 

Tendons rippled as he swallowed, and the animal in you stirred to gather a taste. Starting with kitten licks, innocent flicks of your tongue peppered between kisses against his beating flesh, so salty and musky and sweet. His chest dipped in a sudden exhale against yours. Tightening your grip in his silky curls, you angled him to you, jaw unhinging with a mind of its own before swiping a long, greedy trail up his tendons.

“Ohh—” The sound leapt out of Eddie’s throat, surprising even himself. Not that he would have wanted to catch it. He wanted to let you know, wanted to ensure that you continue.

You tasted the velvet vibration under your tongue. Felt the release of his hands, the warmth at your waist, dipping under your cardigan to feel you as closely as he could. Buried in the shadow of his hair and scent, you continued your trek—licking and kissing while his palms pressed you closer. 

Eddie was turning to putty by the second, all logical thoughts escaping out his rushing ears like steam. The animal was stirring below his belt; stretching and yawning, tingling awake. Suddenly he was clawing at the starchy cotton barrier, digging up the fabric from where it was secured beneath your skirt. 

The air was cool all of a sudden there, tingling from exposure but quickly soothed by a clammy warmth. The animal in you preened, arched into his touch, dizzy from the contact with your skin. It bared its teeth, dragging them slowly along the column of his neck with the next pass of your lips.

“Oh fuck,” Eddie groaned, unsure in his haze whether it was from the rush of your teeth or the bareness of your flesh under his fingers. Finally. Lids twitching as his eyes rolled back in his head, a memory flickered in—a bustling, crowded hallway. You, standing front of his locker clutching books in your arms. Him, ushering you forward. The first time he’d ever touched you here. He had stored the memory away safely, memorized the dip of your waist under his palm, played it over and over until it wore out like an old tape. Your skin was alive under his fingers now—smooth and warm and real and reacting. 

With one hand resting on his shoulder, your other twisted deeper into his hair. Silk between your fingers, nails grazing up the back of his skull. You mumbled nonsense into the wet trail of his neck, nipping and kissing and licking, tasting his swallow as his hand splayed across your skin. There was a whisper of perspiration at his hairline as the room became incredibly hot all of a sudden. 

You were reacting. Arching under his fingers, growing bolder and bolder with every pass of your mouth across that incredibly sensitive spot. It made him dizzy, stupid. Absolutely set his blood on fire. With a slow, upward swipe, his hand climbed the column of your spine—up, up, up—until his fingers grazed the clasp of your bra. Jesus Christ. It was hardly the first time he’d touched a bra, but it was your bra, and you were the one reacting beneath it.

Eddie was reacting too. He could feel himself unfurling in his boxers, rising fully to attention. God damn it, Munson. It’s just a bra for crying out loud. But there was no hope of taming it now, not when your teeth were grazing that sensitive spot that made his entire body flush with heat. It throbbed as your tongue dipped below the collar of his shirt, your hips so dangerously close. He wasn’t exactly ready to give you an anatomy lesson, fearful it scare you with its realness somehow. 

But you were gone, lost in the smoke-acrid scent of his clothing, in the salt of his skin yielding under your tongue, in the hiss of his breath as it left his lungs. Lost in the warmth of his hand sliding down your bare spine. Pressing raw, wet kisses to the humming stretch of his neck, you concluded that you couldn’t feel nearly enough. 

You captured his mouth again, and this time the kiss was open and hungry, sweeping and led by your tongue. Hands breaking from around his shoulders, you trailed over the firm swell of his pecks, down his ribs, around his waist. You pawed down his back with a slow, greedy swipe, admiring the firmness of his muscles under the thick cotton, the way his hips tilted from the pressure as you neared his belt. You did it again, more pressure this time, trekking your pelvis upward across the landscape: stiff denim zipper, steel belt buckle, and—

A hard jab to the hip. 

Eddie gasped into your mouth and drew back in horror, lips gaping and sputtering the beginnings of an apology. “I—um—”

Your eyes flicked down at the tent in his jeans, unable to stop yourself. “It’s—it’s ok, we were just—” 

“Yeah I know, but—” he swallowed, face like a roaring furnace under your gaze. His hand twitched with the impulse to cover himself, but he redirected it behind his neck, wringing it through his hair with an embarrassed laugh. “I got a bit carried away.”

Your eyes shot back up to his and you fought to keep them level. “No, it—it was me. It’s ok, we can stop—”

“I don’t want to,” Eddie blurted out.

Your eyes widened, lips parting as the gravity of his words set in. It was suddenly quiet enough to hear the clock ticking in the corner, the heat rushing through the vents in the floor. 

“I think that’s um,” he sucked his lip, glancing to the side before meeting your gaze again, “kind of the problem.”

The look in his eyes was darkly threatening, brimming with a wild heat. A feeling stirred deep in your core, something like fear but it fluttered and trembled like yearning. 

“We can if you do though—want to stop, I mean.”

It was suddenly so real—Eddie Munson standing in your living room, offering himself to you in this very bad way. You wanted to think you’d be good, but as the words left his kiss-swollen lips, all you could think about was how badly you wanted to know how it felt.

Eddie just stood there, forcing his shoulders back against the fear closing in around his heart as he awaited your possible rejection. He followed your eyes as they slowly scanned his form, flushing under your gaze, suddenly so aware of himself. It was a look he’d never seen on you before, a heat that simmered beneath curious amazement. 

He wanted you to look.

In all your years of discipline, there had always been a series of events in between you and a moment like this. Coffees, dinners, chaste kisses outside the door of your apartment. It was a long time before you let anyone in, and even still, it had only been one man. One whose cues and advances had become familiar. Predictable. Monotonous. Boring.

You wondered what he looked like under there; that forbidden line protruding under denim, attentive and alert, made ready by your touch. An offering to you, if you would have it. You thought about his skin under the bulk of that sweatshirt as his chest rose and fell, how good it would feel pressed to yours in the dark. How you ached to feel him move in that way. How badly you wanted to know. So terribly bad. 

Finally, you whispered the truth. “I don’t want to stop.”

Eddie’s eyes widened, face falling in near disbelief. Suddenly he felt like a dog that caught a car. 

Show me, your voice echoed in his mind as the carpet, and your records, and your tree came into focus. Show me, as the lamp beside your couch painted your features with soft anticipation. Suddenly, a dam broke, flooding him with images of Fs thrown face up on a small desk in front of him. Of folded arms and disapproving glares. Of a corner somewhere with his back to his classmates as they played with blocks and snickered as he sulked in time-out. 

Show me.

The memories coiled in his belly like a serpent, struck him with a fear that if he did, you might be disappointed. But the way you were looking at him—like a virgin on prom night with your wide eyes and fingers tangled in a knot in front of you—made it all subside.

Slowly, he closed in, umber eyes flickering with a blended hue of want and trepidation. His hand came to your cheek, delicate fingers tracing your jaw as if you would disintegrate beneath his touch. When you didn’t, his thumb grew bold enough to swipe across the apple, palm sure enough to cup your face, angling it upward to meet his lips. It was chaste. Reverent. Different, somehow, than any other kiss you’d shared. His exhale mingled with yours as you melted against his mouth, hand snaking around your waist to pull you close. Every angle of you against every angle of him. No gaps. 

And then he showed you. Open mouthed, tongue scooping in a desperate rhythm with yours. The kind of kiss that left you bruised and breathless. You tasted every aching unsaid word between you, cupping his face to capture all of them. Tasted the power of his want, the demand of his tongue dancing against yours. The taste was deep, heady and complex with the knowing where all of this was heading. He showed you with his palms, clawing at the fabric of your blouse, bunching it up to slip his eager hands beneath it. 

He showed you with a roll of his pelvis, hardness pressed against your hip, splitting your mouthes into a shared sigh from the satisfaction of the friction. It rippled through every dormant part of you, blooming deep and low. Heat raced to your cheeks, heart thumping in the cage of your chest. It occurred to you then, how deeply love and fear were intertwined. How tangled fascination was between them. How desperate you were for him to show you. Desperate to feel every inch of him. Desperate to experience it all. You responded with a tilt of your hips, reveling in the feeling of his length as it dragged, in the delicious sin of it all. And his touch transformed you, made that deeply-buried need rise up in you full-force. 

You kissed him deeply. Eyes closed, swaying under the direction of his palms, tongue dancing in time to his rhythm. How good it felt to just be led, how satisfying his leadership tasted. Abandoning all thoughts, listening only to the soft desires of the animal in you. Yes. Good. More, it whispered. You arched your back, grinding your pelvis sinfully along his length, lost in the feeling. 

Eddie was gone. Consumed. Possessed. Directed solely by the need to feel that delicious friction spark and soothe. He braced you, tightly gripping your rear, guiding your movements just how he wanted. Suddenly—as if something snapped in his brain—he was pivoting you in a 180 motion to trade places. Lips breaking only to glance where he was going, he backed you into the wall shared by your kitchen. 

“Mmnh!” The noise was pressed out of you as your back met the solid surface. Eddie descended on you, lips locking with your neck, pelvis pressing you firmly to the wall. His hand wandered down your right leg, hiking it up around his hip for better leverage. And you just let him. Pliant like prey, encouraging his savage nature with your sounds. 

It was a position you had never been in before—skirt pooling at your hip, thigh-high stockings and panties exposed like a scene from a book you’d gotten in trouble for reading back when you were in high school. It was something you’d resigned to fantasy, to dog-eared pages illuminated by a flashlight under your blankets. Suddenly you were on the cover—chin tipped toward the ceiling, head dragging against the plaster as Eddie trailed a dizzying path down your neck. He pressed you into the wall with a grind of his pelvis, dragging his stiffness along your most intimate seam. You groaned, eyes rolling into the back of your head as the last remaining shred of goodness dissolved. What was left spoke only the language of desire. A language that felt native, yet foreign, like one you learned before words. Before rules and desks and pencils and report cards and curfews and diplomas. Before your goodness forced you to forget. 

It almost hurt, in the best way though—his fingers digging into your thigh, the muscles threatening to cramp as you squeezed your heel under his ass to hold your position, sweat tingling the back of your knee. A fair price for how good he felt there. Even under the barrier of the stiff denim, you could feel the way he tapered off, the fat ridge of his cockhead as it rutted over your mound. Firm and insistent.

There was a fire in you—alive and insatiable. Stirred awake with every pass of his hips, by the look on his face when you met his eyes—savage and dark, pinching in pleasure, mouth hanging open like he wanted to devour you. His curls were a curtain between you and the light, a shadow both of you could hide in, swaying in his ragged breath. You snaked a hand over his shoulder, tangled it in his mane and gripped hard at the back of his head.

The sound he made was somewhere between a purr and a whine, thick and desperate as he met flesh below your ear again. It rushed through every cell of your body—dizzying, pulsing through the veins in your hand as you raked your fingers across his scalp. You arched against the wall, straining to present your neck to him. 

It was almost too much. You, in his clutches, writhing under the drag of his teeth, the scent of your skin and clothes, the tingle of your nails against the base of his skull. Eddie’s hand wandered down your thigh, swept up in the current of that doughy flesh and the mound of your cunt with only cotton and denim between you. He broke from your neck to get a look at you—stiff blouse disheveled, wool skirt rumpled, skin sinfully exposed, that heavy-lidded, fucked-out look you wore better than all of it. All by his doing. Your breaths exchanged in silence for a moment as his pelvis kept the pace; slow and undulating. His mouth became a gaping O, brows pinching as he reached the apex of his movement before drawing back again.

There was a scent hanging in the air between you. Warm and heady. Deep and complex. One you recognized surely as your own. It was emanating from under your skirt, from that slick, throbbing place. Heat burned your cheeks as Eddie inhaled deeply through his nose, eyes pinching, mouth parting in recognition.

You. So warm and rich and you. Even through the barriers he could feel a slickness, a non-resistance as he thrusted upward over your mound. It drove him absolutely crazy, made the part of his brain that spoke only the language of friction and pheromones take over, made him tingle and twitch and clench with that tell-tale sign of immanent conclusion. Eddie had to brace the wall, close his eyes, collect himself before he lost all sense of control. 

“Oh Jesusfuck—” he panted, “I—ohgod—mmm-hmm-hmm—” Eddie trailed off with a crazed and slightly nervous chuckle, biting his lip as he mustered every fleeting ounce of self-control to draw back from the edge. His cock protested, weeping furiously at the denial. Blood was racing through him at an alarming rate. Sweat tingled his forehead, his chest, his hand still locked under your knee. The animal in him was chomping at the bit, pleading for him to unlatch his belt, undo his zipper, push aside those white cotton panties and slide home. He stiffened his jaw. Clawing into the wall, he hung his head with a sigh. “I want you,” he gritted. “You want me?”

The words throbbed. Buzzed. Ached. You looked up at him fuzzily and responded without a second thought. “Yes.”

“Here?” he breathed before sobering to his own suggestion. “Fuck—sorry.”

The lewd heat of his question sent a pulse deep and low, a question that the animal in you had no qualms about answering. But the human in you wanted so much more. 

“Forget I asked that, I’m just—hah.” He lowered your leg with a deep sigh. Delicate curls clung to the sides of his neck, tingling from perspiration. He cleared them with a wring of his hand, chest heaving beneath a sauna of clinging cotton. “Just need to cool down.” Suddenly he was tugging up sweatshirt from behind his shoulder blades, pulling it up and over his head. It hit the floor with a thud. His shirt went with it.

He stood there for a moment, filling the silence with his breath as you drank him in; a landscape of smooth, pale skin. You swallowed a rush of feelings coursing through you at the prospect of his bareness. A whole new world to your eyes. Ink mapped the space under his collarbone. Delicate curls dusted the valley between his pecks—subtle hills which plateaued to rows of heaving ribs. You followed the trail of dark hair below his navel until it disappeared beneath his belt. A breathtaking vista. 

His skin drew you in like a magnet. Stepping into the sphere of his radiant heat, you traced the swell of his pecks with your fingertips, flattening your palms against the smooth, warm terrain. His heart pounded beneath them. Living, breathing, and bare. With a coy, tentative finger, you traced a path over the ink beneath his collarbone, offering a soft chuckle at the cartoon zombie there. 

“I think he likes you,” Eddie joked, mentally kicking himself the moment he said it. But your smile only grew.

“That’s good, I think I like him too,” you offered playfully, tracing the lines of its wispy hair as your teeth caught your bottom lip.

“Good, ‘cause uh,” Eddie snaked a hand around your waist, eyes crinkling warmly, “he’s not going anywhere.” His words were so suddenly earnest, trailing to almost a whisper.

You melted, eyes flitting to his with a foreign but effortless sultriness as your fingers walked the ridge of his collarbone down into the valley between his pecks. You raked over the delicate curls dusting the path, nails dragging bluntly against his skin. A wonder to explore.

Eddie’s expression darkened at the gesture, filled with a sudden awareness of his own body, his own solid strength reflected back at him through your eyes. Carding your fingers through the whisper of hair, you flashed him a glance before trailing lower. The sensitive skin of his stomach rippled softly under your touch before you hopped the ridge of his navel, entering new territory. 

Thick, dark hair spread between your fingers—down, down over the swell of his belly, following the trail until it disappeared below his belt. There was a hesitance, a coyness that colored your pause before you tucked them curiously beneath it, feeling soft curls against your knuckles. Eddie swallowed thickly, eyes growing wide with anticipation, flitting to yours like a dare.

A strange, thrilling darkness coursed through your hand, gripped his belt buckle and tugged. You were mesmerized by the flex of his abs, by the buck of his hips in response. His nostrils flared, and a sharp puff ghosted over your arms. The tip of his cock almost grazed your palm, flexing against the black denim, perfectly outlined, flooding you with that darkness again. Pulsing deep and low, it bared its teeth and purred its next command.

You obeyed, dropping your hand to the space between his legs. Eddie’s breath hitched, hands freezing in flexed position at his sides. The denim seam stretched out like a runway beneath your fingertips, bulge heavy and round on either side, hot and humid. It was sinful, the way his balls drew upward under your touch, how clearly you could feel their outline, their weight. It filled you with that irresistible darkness, a badness that swelled as your hand trailed upward. His anatomy was evident even through his jeans—roughly six inches, stiff and thick, veering off to the side to seek space inside the tight cage. The ridge of his tip plumed under your palm, fat and damp as your fingers trailed behind. You swallowed, throbbing at the realness of it all.

Eddie hissed, rapidly disintegrating as he watched your hand trace his cock like it was the most mesmerizing thing you’d ever seen. And it was. Watching him fall apart as your fingertips reset themselves under his package, as they drew slowly across every aching inch. The way he twitched as you neared his leaking tip, the strangled sound trapped behind his bitten lips. You pressed against him firmly, dizzy from how sinful this all was, from the ridge of his tip so evident under the denim, from how badly you ached to feel it raw, feel it sink between your thighs and fill you. A purr rippled in the back of your throat as you offered him another slow stroke, pausing at the tip to draw a slow, firm circle with your thumb.

“Holy fuck—“ he breathed, tipping his head back toward the ceiling as his most sensitive nerve endings wept alive. He was desperate—for you, for your touch, for any friction you could offer. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he should stop you. But that voice was distant, tiny, barely a whisper. What was louder was the rush of satisfaction emanating from under your thumb. 

The darkness was growing in you—coiling in your abdomen and stretching through your fingers as you watched his Adam’s apple bob with a thick swallow. Fluid seeped through the denim, and your contact with it flooded you with feelings that made you want to rub harder, faster, to draw other things out of him.

A strangled groan caught in the back of his throat as Eddie tried to tamper down the feelings rising up in him again. The ones that tightened deep within his body, made him twitch and buck his hips to seek your hand. The friction was delicious, overdue, a feeling he was both desperate and fearful to chase. 

“Mmm, yeah?” you purred with a voice you almost didn’t recognize, sliding your thumb right under his heart-ridge where it met his shaft, rubbing up and down in short bursts.

“Yeah,” he choked. It was his favorite spot. The one that sent fireworks straight to his brain, made his brows pinch and knees turn to jelly. He closed his eyes, lost in the feeling, drifting away until the sudden absence of your hand had his eyes snapping open. He whined, flooded with equal parts relief and disappointment.

The rise and fall of his stomach had your body suddenly—violently—crying out for the warmth of his skin against yours. Fumbling with the top button of your cardigan, you slipped it free, working the others until it peeled off of you to join Eddie’s sweatshirt on the floor. Heart hammering with eager anticipation, your fingers met the starch of your blouse.

“Wait—”

You froze over the top button. 

“I wanna do it,” he uttered. 

Hands falling to your sides, you granted him permission with a dip of your chin. 

Slowly, delicately—as if sudden movement would cause you to flee—he feathered the stiff collar with his knuckles, brushing it back to expose the slope of bone beneath it. Tracing the stitching down to the first button, he padded the bone-white plastic, ushering it through the slit with his trembling thumb. 

You swallowed, heart pounding under the intensity of his gaze as the V in your shirt grew deeper. How soft his eyes were—wide and alive but dipping in a way that could only be described as reverent. 

He worked the next button free, exposing a pink satin bow at your sternum, breath fanning the skin beneath it in awe. Like a pearl in the shell of your blouse, nestled between two heaving cups. Unable to help himself, he brushed it with the ridge of his knuckle, smiling as his chocolate eyes lit up.

It was beautiful to watch—the subtle twitching of his cheeks, the angles of his working hands, the curious amazement hiding under his lashes as he exposed you. Such careful movements from a man who could destroy you. 

It was nothing like he had imagined. In his countless daydreams involving him taking your clothes off, he’d failed to capture the subtlety in it. The shy dip in your eyes, the rippling of your heated skin as it met the cool air, the brush of peach fuzz hair under his knuckles as he slowly worked you free. So alive. So real. 

When he was finished, he stepped back and admired his work, checking in with a meeting of your eyes before continuing. With a warm brush of his hand, Eddie slipped the stiff fabric over your shoulder, exposing your bra and the soft, forbidden slopes of it all. You shrugged off the blouse like a shell you’d outgrown, let it fall from around you till it crumpled at your feet. 

You stood there a moment as he drank you in, a sense of power rising in your stillness like a statue at a shrine. With a dip of your eyes, you granted him your divine permission.

Eddie traced the strap with his finger; a shimmering runway of elastic. He’d seen it once before, stored it safely in his memory—black and daring like caution tape, taunting him at a distance as your lips popped from a bottle in The Hideout. Here it was baby pink, rising and falling with the swell of your breath as your lashes dipped shyly toward his roaming hand. He tucked a finger beneath it, impossibly soft skin gliding against his knuckle as he ushered it off of your shoulder. 

Your smile was unstoppable, puffing softly through your nose at such an innocent gesture, the way it made his eyes light up with boyish wonder as the straps yielded to his touch. 

Eddie swallowed thickly, heart racing as his fingers walked along the underwire ridge, across the well-washed pilling satin under your arm and around your back. He located the clasp, eyes dipping down into your cleavage with anticipation as he pinched you free.

The cage fell, straps trailing down your arms until it landed on the ground between you. The chill of the air had you reacting; puckered and alert as you bravely drew back your shoulders.

Eddie’s mouth fell open. 

There was a coyness in your smile that surprised even yourself. A sudden rush of girlishness watching his hungry eyes roam your figure. Not because it was the first time a man had seen you like this, but because it was the first time a man had looked at you like this. Flickering between boy-like awe and man-like heat, you realized that you had never felt more beautiful exposed. 

They weren’t the first pair Eddie had seen. Between all the magazines under his bed and the few real girls that had been desperate or curious enough to show him, he had seen all shapes and sizes. Yours were different. Yours he had memorized from the back of the classroom, dreamt about with his elbow propped against the small desk. Yours had existed as only speculation from stolen glances in the small chair next to yours, as a fantasy just out of reach. 

Jesus.

Christ.

Eddie blinked hard and swallowed. The details were mesmerizing. Holy in their you-ness. The pebbled skin which puckered into hardened peaks, their unique color, the soft flesh around them. Full and round. Rising and falling with shallow, anticipating breaths. Impossibly real. Impossibly you. You, who he adored from far away, trusting him enough to bare yourself up close.

Tracing a featherlight knuckle along the soft underside, Eddie flicked up to your eyes with a heat that could have melted you. All you could muster was a fluttering sigh, and he took his cue. Cupping your breast with his whole hand, he drew his thumb upward across your nipple, watching the peak of it bend to his touch and pop from underneath it. Mesmerized. On the downstroke he captured it against his forefinger, pinching and rolling the sensitive peak. 

A soft hiss escaped you, strangled and desperate to escape. His touch sent a jolt that buzzed through your whole body. All rational thoughts were just noise now, fading away as the angles of his hand came into focus. His hand. There was a roughness to it, a calloused graze that sparked pleasure with every pass. Timid at first, but growing bolder. Through the thickening haze, you watched him watching you—those lust-blown eyes under heavy lids, his features pinched in reverent disbelief. A look he wore unspeakably well.

Eddie swallowed. It was absolutely brain-blanking—the soft, supple skin yielding to his thumb as he cupped that forbidden curve. How your back seemed to arch as though you were a puppet and he held the strings. How your chest—your chest—rose and fell to a rhythm of his making. So much power in a single digit. He extended it in tight circles, studying you, committing every atom to his memory. But watching you slip between his fingers was nothing compared to the look on your face. Your pinching brows, your bitten lip, your begging eyes. A puddle, rendered by his touch.

With sudden animation, both his hands splayed wide, palms clamping over your breasts to grapple in a firm squeeze. Your skin dimpled like dough between his slowly tightening fingers. He did it again, relishing in your fullness, watching with rapt attention the way they yielded to his digits; heavy, soft, and round. Licking his lips, he removed his hands, hovering just above your nipple to rasp a question. “Can I kiss you here?”

“Yes,” you managed, struck with a sudden pang for the fact he even asked. Your answer barely faded out before he descended on you, pressing his pillow lips around your peak, flicking out his wet tongue, taking you into his furnace mouth. You heaved a deep sigh, eyes rolling back into your head. It tingled like a limb that was asleep. You hadn’t known it though, not until he’d kissed you there. It occurred to you—in the thickness of your haze—just how many parts of you had been sleeping. For how long was uncertain, but as you thawed under his touch, the rest of you begged to know what it was like to feel awake.

Eddie lathed his tongue around the peak, pressing his hands to your back to draw you closer, as if he couldn’t possibly be close enough. A hunger had arisen in him, one he’d suppressed on a daily basis since he first laid eyes on you. It coursed through his veins as he latched, surged into his fingertips as he dragged them down your back. His lips locked tight, tongue flicking over that attentive bundle of nerves, sucking it. He was gone, lost in he arch of your back, the heave of your breast against his chin on your sharp inhale, the reward of your moan on your exhale. And just like that, he devoured you. It was sloppy, careless, and yet somehow deeply reverent. The unhinging of his jaw, the way he dragged his whole tongue across your nipple as his bottom lip trailed behind, lathing and sucking again and again until he’d had his fill of one and transitioned to the other.

You’d never had a man consume you in this way; devour you like he was starving. No desire had ever possessed you this badly. But for him, you were a willing feast, and it had never felt so good.

Your nipple left his lips with a pop, eyes darting darkly to yours as he panted through the hanging O his mouth became. This sparked a hunger in you; a fierce desire to taste him again, to feel his bare skin against yours. As if both of you shared the same thought, your bodies collided, slotting at the hips like a puzzle as his arms coiled around your waist. You captured those puffy lips again, delighting in the wet heat behind them. They pressed fervent wishes to yours, ones too bold to utter but distinctive in their taste. His mouth found a rhythm, ferocious and insistent, tongue sliding home against yours, in and out. 

Excitement turned his body to a live-wire at the feeling of your bare curves pressed to his, animated with a sudden urge to rid you of the rest of your clothing, to drag you to the bed and make you his. Images zapped through his brain at lightning speed, raced through his blood with every pump of his pounding heart. Suddenly his lips were at your collarbone, lathing a hot trail up the ridges of your neck as the heat sung through his veins. It came out as a mumble against the skin below your ear. “Bedroom?” 

It was one word. His voice. So heavy and colored with lust that it tingled through your entire body. A million images shot through your head, rippled and throbbed with the want to experience every one. Eddie paused there for the answer, breathing hotly against the skin of your neck, pressing insistently into your hip. It was a sobering word, and yet the weight of it clouded all logic. The clock ticked on in the corner. Your pulse hammered in your ears. The animal in you responded, met his eyes, took his hand, and led him down the hallway through the door on the left.

It was dark in there. Between the glow coming in through the cracked door behind him and the street lamp shining through the slats of your blinds, Eddie could make out the shape of a dresser, a desk, a bookshelf, the rectangular mass of a bed against the wall to the left. And you—a soft silhouette—stopping in the center of the room to look at him. 

There was a small part of you that still could not believe you were about to do this. That Eddie Munson was standing in your bedroom, shirtless and heaving his breath as the faint hallway light made a halo of his frizz. He shut the door behind him, leaving you both in near darkness. There was a pause. A space filled with both your anticipating breaths for just a beat until he descended on you, and then there were no thoughts anymore.

Suddenly it was like you were drunk at a party. Between the wet smacks of his crushing lips, you could almost hear the thud of the bass from the living room, the din of voices bleeding into one outside the door. Every party you had never attended, every bad thing you had always craved to do—flashing behind your eyelids as his kisses intoxicated you.

You surrendered completely. To the fantasy, to desire, to him—parting your lips, receiving his tongue, giving in to the rush of his skin pressed to yours, the waves of him taking you under, his crushing arms around you. In the dark, all hesitance dissolved, all trepidation vanished. His mouth was hot and insistent. His hands, completely in charge. A whine escaped your lips, one that you had never heard before. It was needy and desperate and only stoked the fire in his kiss.

Desire spoke plainly, simply. A language you were learning with each pass of his demonstrating tongue. Soft syllables of “yes” and “good”. Sounds that transcended meaning, reverberated in your chest and throat, distilled down to its essence—love. Pure and true. Rising with each breath. Singing in your veins. You were learning to listen. Learning to forget all you had been taught. Learning to remember. When all was dark and there was nothing left but desire, there was so much to hear, so much to feel, so much to learn, and he was a masterful teacher.

Desire spoke volumes through your fingertips; clawing across the thick muscles of the back of his neck as you collided. It spoke in verses in the breath exchanged between you. Soft stanzas in the rush of skin-on-skin. It moved in daring undulation, a dance laid dormant in your bones, sparked to memory by the soft hair below his navel, by his strong arms around you. 

In the dark, there were only feelings. The tangle of his curls around your fingers, the angle of his jaw between your palms. The friction of your dewey bodies pressed together, nipples dragging against the sparse hair of his hammering chest. The muscles of your hands and mouth burned with desperate heat. Every nerve heightened. Every cell aware. 

Eddie lead the dance with his hips, his tongue, his impatient fingers—free to seek and roam. It was like every fantasy he’d ever had about you was coming to life beneath his palms. In this one he didn’t need to imagine. It could have been any of them—backstage in a dressing room after a sold-out show, at a hotel somewhere along a desert highway, right here in your bedroom just being real people. There was a boldness that came over him, an agency the darkness provided, one where he could be the sort of man he always dreamed he was. One where his hands were sure and stable, never fumbling. One where he impressed you with his prowess, rendered you awestruck and proud. 

Breaking to kiss his neck, you savored the oily sweetness of his skin, the richness of the scent emanating from under his arms—musky and spicy and so indescribably him. You’d caught it a few times in the past when he’d propped his head in his hand on the desk, or stretched toward the sky against the stiff wooden chair. It made you dizzy, filled you with a pang so deep you had to bury yourself in the textbook to sober you human again.

Presently, all rational thoughts were clouded by the tightening of his biceps around you, the tendons rippling under his skin as he swallowed. You flicked out your tongue to taste them, pawing down his smooth back, dragging your nails over his shoulder blades, down, down, down over the dip in his spine, the muscles of his lower back. 

In the dark, only the animals in you remained; ferocious and insatiable. Yours felt like nipping at his jaw, his clawed impatiently at the zipper of your skirt, yanking it down, working it free to pool at your feet. You stepped out of it like an old skin, kicking it toward your dresser. Feeling for the zippers on your boots, you steadied yourself on Eddie’s shoulder, tugging them down with a few clumsy hops before toeing them off. Tossing them into the darkness, they clattered against your dresser before thudding to the floor. The same with your stockings, which landed somewhere by your desk.

Eddie’s kisses became sloppy, erratic, barely a split second before his sweaty palms descended on your rear. They clung to the thin cotton fabric—one at each cheek—and dragged slowly, tightly upward. The burn was delicious, stoking the fire in you as the delicate cotton bunched under his palms to expose you. 

“I have a condom in my wallet,” he mumbled into your neck.

The words struck you dumb, dizzy, rippled up your spine to loll your head backward. He reset his hands, fingertips raking over your naked flesh, clawing into you like dough. All you could respond with was a thick, fuzzy laugh as your cheeks splayed under his touch—back arched, chest sparking against his, brain quickly turning to putty. 

There was no masking his delight as he clawed the cotton fabric, spreading your cheeks like dough under his palms. How pliant you were. Eager. A willing landscape for him to explore. His fingers trekked lower, dipping under your cheek until they brushed a hill of wet cotton. Eddie choked on the sound leaping out of his throat, zapped senseless with need. Snaking his arm around your back, he swiped his fingers slowly over your mound. You were saturated. Soaked through to slick between your thighs. For him. 

The thickness in his breath could have rendered you to ash. You arched your back like a cat in heat; fluttering open, throbbing with emptiness. The sound that came out of you was unrecognizable, rising from that deep, foreign place to purr against his neck. You were learning how much you liked this position—like a ragdoll in his arms, eyes closed as his finger dipped under the seam of your panties, as it slipped against your folds. You loved the way he explored you—heated but tentative. Loved how it made you feel—desired, craved. Loved most of all how it made him react, his breathless cursing, how now two of his fingers were spreading and sliding, parting your folds, exploring your heat. It felt unbelievably good. You spread your legs a little, hoping to encourage one of them inside you. 

But he didn’t. Instead, his hands retreated. Eddie sucked his fingers, eyes pinching as he savored your tang. They left his mouth with a pop. “I need you, now. Like—like right now,” he wavered thickly. Metal jingled, leather snapped against his palm. There was a pop of a button, the sound of a zipper, a sigh of relief that ghosted over your face. He shoved his jeans down around his ass before pausing with an irritated huff. “Fuck, my boots.”

“Let me,” you offered, crouching down until your knees met the carpet. You felt for the laces, padding around his ankle to find the loops, impatiently digging your nails into the tight double knots to work them free. 

It was all he could do just to look at you. You, kneeling before him, fumbling and cursing and so incredibly real. When you finally pried the boots off his ankles, you stood up on your knees, eye-level with his open zipper.

The moonlight bleeding in from behind your curtains made his pale skin glow, accenting the dark trail below his navel. It looked delectable—the swell of his belly before it tapered off to dip below the waistband of his boxers. You pressed your lips to it, nuzzling into the hair before your teeth caught the swell of fat under his navel. It flinched against your lips with his gasp.

You couldn’t help yourself anymore. Your fingers—so trained in good behavior—were suddenly behaving very badly; moving on their own, dipping between his legs to cup his balls. They lurched against your hand, sliding up on either side of the humid cotton. Show me, you begged with your hand as it tracked slowly upward. It felt so bad, in the best way bad could feel. The carpet burning into your kneecaps, the jagged metal zipper grazing the backs of your fingers as you traced upward, the burning stretch of his hardness underneath the cotton, the soaked plume of his tip. So unbelievably bad. Your eyes darkened, and your nose dove into the checkered fabric without a second thought. All remaining fragments of your rational mind were melted by his musk into a fuzzy haze that only understood one thing. It spoke in flutters and wet, aching throbs. Your hand returned beneath his package as you began to track kisses up his clothed, attentive length.

Eddie’s breath hitched, belly ripping in your peripheral as your lips met the ridge of his tip. You pressed a lingering kiss against the soaked cotton. “Fuck,” he hissed, tipping his chin toward the ceiling. He gasped when he felt the warmth of your tongue bleed through the fabric. “Oh—ohhhmyfuckinggod.” 

His whine was almost enough to unravel you. Dragging your fingers coaxingly under the weight of his sack, your tongue got acquainted with his tip, flicking up under the fat, heart-shaped ridge, tasting the slick reward which you lapped through the fabric. It was bad. So terribly bad, yet nothing had ever tasted as satisfying or sounded as sweet as the ragged sighs your bad behavior earned you. 

You purred, giving him a couple generous pecks before your fingers wedged under his waistband. 

Show me, you said as your cool fingers met his molten skin, and Eddie found the strength to open his eyes and look down at you. You, from a thousand aching fantasies kneeling before him with heavy lids and mouth agape as you peeled down the fabric to free him. 

It was a proud thing. Holy in its him-ness. Like a singular painting, the motifs were consistent; a collection of lines and shapes that came together to make him. In the plume of his tip you could almost glimpse echos of the wide, pink bow of his lips, the ball of his nose. It curved attentively upward, bobbing with his breath as you admired it with equal parts reverence and heated curiosity until your hand closed the gap.

There was a breath you both let out together, a silent oh breathed in unison at such intimate contact. Eddie had to bite his lip, close his eyes, tip back his head toward the ceiling as your fingers—the ones he’d ached to touch a thousand times—so intimately explored him. He assumed he was not the first man you’d touched in this way, but the way you were grazing with such delicate wonder gave him pause to consider. 

Desire flooded your entire body, heightened and exhilarated, tingling with curiosity. Fingers trailed over velvet veins, eyes alight as your knuckle swiped upward along the underside, testing its weight and reactivity until it met the dimple of his weeping ridge. A whine left Eddie’s downturned lips; a guttural plea to continue. Obliging, you gripped him, tightening as he bucked into your hand, velvet skin gliding under your firm grasp. “Mmmm,” you purred on an upward stroke, a darkness rousing in you from his complete undoing.

Eddie half-buried his face in his hand, fingers raking across his scalp as your thumb breeched the ridge, padding over his most sensitive spot before circling his slit. “Ohh fuck,” he moaned. “Jesus fuck.”

It wept under your thumb, sticky and gushing another wave of arousal as you squeezed. “You like that?” came a voice you’d never heard before but liked the sound of.

“Ahhhh-hah,” he breathed a crazed laugh as his balls twitched from the friction and the sound of your voice saying that.

His tip was soft and rigid all at once. Slick and inviting to your thumb. You couldn’t stop yourself from rubbing it, from delighting in the way he bucked and melted and breathed under your touch. Your other hand dipped curiously, zipper scraping your knuckles, hair so soft against your palm as you cupped his sack—heavy and actively tightening against his body. 

Eddie’s eyes rolled back into his head, heaving a breath from the pressure mounting inside of him. The animal in him was desperate to chase it—to clench, and spill, and explode—but he wanted to be good for you. Good like he always imagined. He wanted to make your back arch, your toes curl, to drill you till your claws drew down at his back until you howled with your own release.

Mesmerized by his display of pleasure, you pumped your hand, twisting slowly at the top, delighting in the way he rutted into your grip, how effortless his hardness slid within your grasp, the way his breath hissed from behind clenched teeth. 

It felt so good. Ungodly good. Too good. Biting his lip, he sent a silent prayer toward your popcorn ceiling, searching for something—anything—in his bank of horrible memories to bring him back to Earth. But as your thumb settled into the spot that had him seeing stars, a sudden wave of fear crashed over him. “Stop,” he barked, hand clamping tightly on your wrist. “I’m gonna—hah—oh fuck.” Eddie hissed a long breath, drawing himself back from the edge with every last ounce of his will.

“Sorry,” you breathed, releasing your grip. His clammy grasp lingered a second before letting go.

“No, don’t be sorry, fuck, I just—” he released a slow, steadying breath through pursed lips before continuing, “I just don’t wanna totally ruin this. Know what I mean?”

You did, and you imagined it for a second; pumping his cock, feeling his balls twitch against your palm as he exploded to paint your chest white, how it would cream under your fingers as he painted the ceiling with the colors of his voice. It drove you mad with wanting, but the throb between your legs was more demanding. 

“Don’t get me wrong, it—it feels really good. Just… a little too good,” he said, wringing a hand behind his neck. 

With a sensual flick of your eyes, you tugged his jeans and boxers down until he was able to step out of them. Eddie extended a chivalrous hand, and you rose to your feet. Effortlessly, as if they belonged there, your lips found his in the dark, drawing his face between your palms and planting a kiss that lasted a whole breath. His lips parted, tongue seeking yours as his fingers found the waistband of your panties. He looped them through the leg hole with a pointed tug that had you stumbling into him. 

“Mmm?” he mumbled against your mouth.

“Mmhmm,” you sighed. 

He peeled them off of you, leaving a wet trail that clung to your inner thighs as they passed your knees and ankles. Breaking the kiss, you kicked them aside. 

There was a single beat as you both stood naked in the darkness, just breathing as you drank each other in. Bathed in moonlight, stripped away to reveal the truth of what you had been all along: simply a man and a woman. Then, suddenly, as if a trigger snapped in both of you at once, there was a collision. A smashing of lips, a tangle of arms, a slotting of hips as you entwined. 

Your whole body came alive at once, zapping with life as his velvet length pressed to your hip, zinging as his lips tracked down your jaw to seek your neck. It was bliss to come undone, to loll your head back and just give in. To let him lead the dance toward your mattress. To let his hands cup your rear, spread your legs and wedge his thigh between them. To let him do whatever he wanted. The sparse hair of his leg sparked along your delicate flesh. It had you clawing at the muscles of his shoulders, arching your back, grinding your pelvis in a way that would have put the novels you kept in your nightstand to shame.

Eddie propped his foot against your the boxspring of your mattress, kneading his hands against your ass as he made a meal of you. The wet trail you left against his thigh had his brain short-circuiting, leaving nothing but the animal in him to grapple with the living fantasy of you, naked in his arms. He could not possibly touch you enough. There was not enough flesh on his palms, nor nerves in his whole body to feel you in the million ways he wanted to at once. All at once, every fantasy he’d ever had, crashing like a tidal wave as his hands steered your hips in real time. 

It felt better than you’d ever imagined; the rush of his bare skin under your palms as they glided down his back, the estranged pleasure mounting where his thigh met your most intimate seam, the friction of his teeth against your neck. You were drowning in the most delicious way. Drifting toward some place on the horizon that spoke only the language of heavy palms and panting breaths. Letting him carry you there.

You whined when he lowered his leg—quickly replaced by his hand, spreading and exploring, breaking from your neck to watch it happen as his mouth became a silent, hanging O. There was a fire in his blood that was mounting, throbbing in his temples, blinding him with need as his fingers parted slick hair, carded through your folds, slipped against your eager entrance. Every inch of you. The fever broke, and the sliver of his brain that had urged patience snapped silent. Now, a much deeper voice barked. No more waiting. No more wanting. 

Your calves hit the edge of the mattress, sending you tumbling backwards onto the chilly comforter. Eddie was quick to pounce, climbing on top of you, prying your legs open with his. You fluttered eagerly, melting into the heat of his chest as he pinned you to the bed—trapped in the sweetest cage of his arms. 

In the course of your relationship, it was always your position that had wedged itself between you. Yours, behind the big desk. His, behind the small one. Your position—a thing at risk of being lost. A mantle. A standard for you to uphold. This one defied them all. Wrong, by all technical accounts, but in all your life, nothing had ever felt so right as your position beneath him. 

You breathed together for a moment, chests expanding into one another, foreheads pressed together, exploring the bridge of his nose with your own. Thighs splayed open, heart beating rabbit-fast, completely at his mercy. A faint terror whispered in the back of your mind at the prospect of his bareness, at the ways he could ruin you. And yet you ached for ruin all the same.

Eddie’s tip kissed the wet heat of your lips and the animal screamed from the base of his brain to push. But he caught the hitch in your breath, the way your hips flexed backward in response. He bucked reflexively but stilled, biting his lip with a pained huff. “I’m not—I’m not gonna, I just…” 

A soft sense of trust flooded in as Eddie drew a deep breath, dragging himself through your folds. It was a delicious sort of torture, the ache enough to drive you mad. Empty and thrumming with anticipation at the prospect of fullness so near. Drowning in the fantasy of him sinking deep, of feeling him leak from you later. You whined, drawing your fingers down his back as his hips rolled slowly. So dangerously close.

It took all of his strength to hold his position, all his control to keep from sliding in. He liked how it felt; you beneath him, writhing in the cage of his arms. He liked the little sounds you made, how evident your wanting was, how he could feel you almost take him in, how his cock would dip ever so slightly against your entrance like you wanted to. He was stunned by it, delirious from the rush of sensation. “Hmm—” he winced after a few more agonizing seconds, “fuck, I can’t take it anymore.” Peeling himself from your body, he shifted off the side of the bed with a creak of the mattress and into the darkness. 

You laid there on the comforter, staring dazed at the ceiling as he padded across the room. Lifting your head to glance, it struck you just how real this was, and yet more startling than his naked form making his way across your bedroom was how comfortable you felt with all of it. How at peace you were as his belt buckle jingled from the darkness, as his pants returned to a heap on the floor, as his wallet snapped shut. 

It was suddenly all very real—the cool sheets under his knees as you drew back the comforter, the condom wrapper crinkling between his fingers as he felt for the jagged grooves, the anticipating silence filled with both your breaths. The soft metal split, and he fished the rubber from the package with a trembling finger. Tossing the wrapper into the darkness, he felt for the nub that indicated the tip, the ridge that indicated which direction it should roll. He’d done this enough times to know by now but for some reason it felt like a foreign object; clumsy, slippery in his hands as he grasped himself. Finally, he got it; pinching the nub to roll it down over his flinching tip, he unraveled it until it was flush with him.

You watched his silhouette quietly through the frame of your legs, heart kicking up with a sudden, surprising nervousness as you felt the warmth of his hands on your knees. He resumed his position, settling between your thighs, propped on his elbows. The return of his warmth was a welcome thing; comforting and soothing, familiar and indescribably correct. You both laid there a moment just breathing. Just being. Sobering to the tickle of his bangs against your forehead, the sweat beneath them as you rocked against it, the tang of salt when you captured his lips. 

A sudden wave of nerves coiled through his belly as his tip kissed your entrance again, how it gelled with the rush of desire, the fire licking through his veins. His arms trembled under his own weight, the anticipation, the now-ness of it all. “Ok,” he breathed, “you want me?” 

You swiped down his face, clearing the stray hairs that clung to the sides of his mouth and sweaty temples. It was easy to answer. Easy to admit. “I want you.”

It soothed him like a balm, washed over his trembling shoulders, his hammering chest. Imbued him with an urgency that had him splaying his knees, rocking his hips, and inviting himself in.

There was a pressure at your entrance—a filling of that aching space that had you seeing stars. When he asked for admission there was no hesitation. You welcomed him with open thighs and hands that tracked the muscles of his back as you received him in one slow thrust. Your inhale stuttered at its crest, caught in your throat before hissing from your lips as you ached alive, ached awake. Finally, with no resistance. Only the sparks of ineffable pleasure as the emptiness inside you was filled at last. 

A shudder escaped both of you at once, something closer to a sob. Yours directed toward the ceiling, his ghosting over your neck. You stayed like this a moment—locked, seated, stunned by the pleasure of your joining. 

Eddie hung his head with a groan, curls waterfalling around your face as he rutted impossibly deeper. He could have died here, buried himself and made you his tomb. He was crumbling, coming apart, actively deteriorating from the warmth of your body around him, from the all sensations of you, from the stunned satisfaction flooding through every inch of him. Finally, it cried. Finally, finally. The edge was close, a few pushes away. He could feel the components preparing, desperate for release, begging the rest of him to push, push, push. His whole world was spinning, threatening to collapse in on itself. Dragging himself away from the edge with a deep breath, he reeled in the parts that threatened to unravel at at the way you accepted him. How effortless it was, how tightly you hugged him, both inside and out. How your palms gripped his shoulders, soft inner thighs like a cradle for his hips. He swallowed thickly, blinking hard to open his eyes up to you, beneath him, around him like a home he’d been missing his whole life. Finally, he allowed himself to relax into the feeling, to let his weight fall against your belly. Flush with every angle, gasping into the soft crook of your shoulder.

You drew him impossibly closer, tucking your ankles under his rear, raking your fingers across his scalp as he settled. The fullness was ecstatic, the stretch so deep it was like he was burrowing behind your navel, radiating dull pleasure from the space he occupied. It was a perfect fit. Tailor-made to reach the points that pined for pressure in both of you. So full you felt like you could burst. So full it prickled at the corners of your eyes, exited your downturned mouth in a gasp—a silent prayer, a thank you toward one that was answered. One you had asked for in secret, pressed into the folds of linen napkins, whispered into the ceiling of The Hideout as the stage lights touched your face. You could have stayed like this forever, merged and crystalized. Deliriously, you prayed you would, and yet you ached to feel his love animated. To be battered by it. Bruised by it. Bullied by his fierce, frenetic love. By an energy you had glimpsed in stolen moments, witnessed him harness on stage, tasted in the smoke on his tongue.

Eddie raised his head to look at you, admiring the shading of your features in the near darkness, the bliss painted across your lips, your heavy lids. A waking dream. You tipped your chin, feathering his mouth with yours; sensual, playful, eager. He brushed against your parted lips, twin breaths mingling in soft pants before an urge arrested him. It was loud and all-consuming, shouting from the base of his brain, seizing his hips to draw back and roll forward. It had both of you seeing stars, grunting soft exclamations into the fractional distance between you. The sound and the friction gelled like a gas to feed the fire coursing through him, igniting a fierce urge to move, to show you, to deliver his promise. 

And just like that he was gone. Possessed. Arrested by a driving need that had him hunkering forward, rocking his hips to a rhythm older than either of you could imagine. Familiar, ingrained, and almost involuntary. The pleasure had him drilling down to chase it; open-mouthed, eyes pinched, swept away by the current of his own making. He was dizzy with it. Lost in it. Fisting the sheets as his hips met your thighs with quick, heavy smacks. Desperate and frantic, hurtling toward his edge at a terrifying speed.

A moan was punched out of you—guttural, gasping. One that had your neck craning against the pillow as your chin reached toward your headboard. And you just held on; winding through his hair, dragging drown his back, drowning in feeling. Tight ripples of pleasure radiated from every thrust, stirring something so deep you had forgotten you had buried it—the fear that you would go your whole life and never feel this way. It bubbled up through your sternum, burned at the corners of your eyes, surfaced in strangled sounds at the back of your throat. 

The friction roared like wildfire between you, and a tightening deep in his body warned him with flashing lights that looked red but felt green. A blended hue of pleasure and fear coiled its way through his abdomen, but he was consumed by you—warm and wet and tight around him. Gasping to his rhythm, making music that he’d never heard before. He harmonized with it, quickening his pace with grunts through gritted teeth. His mind was a swirling mess, forearms burning and trembling, sweat dripping down his neck, but none of it even registered in the wake of blinding pleasure. So good. So fucking good. How badly he wanted to show you, to hear those sounds escalate to screams. 

You sobbed a moan, splitting at the seams as time and sense slipped away down the current. Unraveling like a spool of thread rolled down a hill. Becoming blissfully undone after a lifetime of being wound so tight. Pleasure sparked through your channel, tears flickered in the corners of your eyes. It felt as though you might break open. “Eddie,” you whined, clawing into his shoulders as you arched against the mattress.

It swirled between his ears, rushed down his spine to throb in that deep, low place. His name, your voice, this way. There was a kick inside. A switch that flipped. An urge that he was helpless but to follow, unable to control. His heart rate quickened, breath heaving as he spiraled down a tunnel with nothing to brace but the mattress. “Oh fuck, oh god, oh no, OH—”

It was the moment right before the release that was the sweetest. The tingle he could feel radiating from deep inside like a big yawn. He drew a deep breath with a skyward tilt of his chin, and for a few precious seconds there were no thoughts; no guilt, no shame, nothing at all in the midst of his blackout collision with pleasure. Eddie fisted the sheets, lurching forward as he slammed into you. 

Colors. Vibrant and rich. Painting the air between you with each shallow gasp. Escalating in pitch toward a spectacular display. It poured out of him. Every ounce of frustration, every bottled feeling, every unlived fantasy, erupting all at once. He buried it inside you. Hips pressed flush against your thighs, burrowing deeper with every pulse. Wave after white-hot wave. Crashing over him, coursing out of him with open-mouthed gasps. Waves of relief so good it threatened tears. 

It was breathtaking—the hue of each pitch. Sharp inhales through gritted teeth that melted into deep grunts on the exhale. Each twitch ignited inside you—sparks that had your eyes rolling back, had you drawing your knees toward the mattress to take it all. You grappled his shoulders, nails bluntly dragging down his sweat-kissed skin, grazing up the back of his neck as his moans faded to soft whines. So full. 

There was more. Still more. Coming out in dribbles now, petering to heaves with nothing left behind them. The spasms sent sparks inside you, and you fought to savor them—spreading wider, tucking in your ankles under his rear to draw him deeper. Finally, he collapsed, ragged with relief. He stayed like this a moment. Spent. Deflated. Chest expanding into yours as sharp pants dulled to steady breaths. 

Slowly, Eddie raised his head from where he’d hung it, sobering to the clock on your nightstand. It mocked him with glowing red numbers, of which he hazily calculated that only three had passed since he’d put the condom on. A surge of guilt rushed into the vacuum that pleasure left behind. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, I couldn’t—” he winced, hips jerking in the echoes of his climax. 

His words almost didn’t register through the fog of your bliss. “Sorry?” you breathed, blinking back into the room. 

“I—” he flinched again, fisting the pillow beneath you. “I came like, immediately. And you didn’t.”

“Oh—oh no it’s ok,” you soothed, running a hand down his back. “It felt unbelievably good. Like… the best I’ve ever had.”

Eddie heaved a sigh, overtaken by a strange mixture of shame for himself and pity for you. Suddenly he felt like he was back in your classroom, like you were ignoring his spelling mistakes, praising the C he got on his chemistry test. He shifted his weight, becoming increasingly aware of his chest sticking to yours, of the hair clinging to his neck, of the rubber around him straining with his own fluid, tight in the midst of hypersensitivity. 

He was quiet. A tense sort of quiet you’d seen from him before. Slowly, gently, your fingers found his temple, stroking away the sweat, tracking down to cup his jaw, settling just under his ear as your thumb busied itself with his soft cheek. “Eddie,” you whispered. 

It was soothing. Attentive. The kind of touch a hurt child might receive. A touch he’d craved for longer than he cared to admit, yet in this context, it was the last way he wanted to feel. “M’ gonna make it up to you,” he mumbled. Drawing on his quickly waning strength, he peeled himself from your body to sit back on his heels, still inside you. 

It was almost a shock—how chilly you felt in the absence of his weight. How bare and vulnerable. A soft cry escaped you, arms drawing around your body to shield against the cold creeping in.

The sound stirred him, dredged up and compounded the gnawing disappointment in himself. The nagging sense that he was fucking this up too, just like he did everything else. Desperate to hear something more satisfied, his fingers found your clit, drawing tight circles there. But you were still reeling in the pain of his absence, could still feel the shame radiating from him, and it dulled any chance of good feeling. 

“Stop, Eddie—” You grabbed his wrist. Eddie sighed sharply through his nose, stilling his hand. 

It was flooding in now, that hot tingling feeling he’d felt countless times under the fluorescents. How he’d fucked it all up, how he was making it even worse now. He could feel himself start to go soft, the condom becoming loose, sticky and uncomfortable. He drew back his hips to exit, but your knees locked around him.

“No, please—” The tears were close, right there. Stored from moments before in the height of your pleasure, just waiting behind your eyelids. You took his hand and tugged it gently toward you. “I just want you.”

There was a twinge in his chest that burst at your words, at how they wavered and threatened to crack. At how honest they were, how they felt to hear coming from you. Lead by your hand, he gave in—to gravity, to exhaustion, to a weight he’d carried for so long it seemed to be a part of him. Settling on top of you, resting his cheek against your sternum as heart thrummed steadily in his ear. The pain in your voice still echoed there, the thought that he’d caused it, unbearable. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—” 

You shushed him, stroking over his temple, clearing the hairs that clung to his face. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Your lips found the crown of his head, pressing a long kiss there, inhaling the soft scent that filled you with an indescribable warmth. “I love you,” you whispered. “I love you.”

The words reverberated through your chest into his ear, softening the clench in his jaw, the tightness in his shoulders. Eddie took a shaky breath through his nose. “I love you so much,” he wavered thickly, “I just—I just want to show you—”

It nearly broke you; the pain behind his words, the sudden realization of where they came from. You shushed him again, thumb soothing over his cheek. “You have.”

A knot released in his chest, undone by your careful fingers, exiting as a shallow sob he’d been harboring for longer than these last few moments. For longer than he could remember. The weight of it shook you, but you still remained. Solid, tangible, real as he collapsed into you, a haven for his tired bones to rest. It was all ebbing now—the adrenaline pounding through his veins since the moment you got in his van, the heightened sensations across every inch of his body, the sudden rush of pleasure, crashing all at once. Softening everywhere. A numbness settled over his limbs, all doubts ushered away by your thumb.

And then it was quiet. Absent of even the hum of the heat through the vents. Engulfed in a protective darkness with nothing but the sound of your own steady breathing—slow and soothing. Chests rising and falling against one another, lulled by a rhythm only the two of you could hear. 

His hand found yours in the dark, trailing across your wrist, sliding up your palm to lace his fingers between yours. The bones of his knuckles filled the empty space with a comforting stretch. Just like he’d done a dozen times in the shadows, like he’d done a thousand times in your daydreams. You squeezed back tightly, and for a still, silent moment, there was no separation. No gap to close between what you had and what you wanted. 

It was good like this. Alone. Together. Stroking his temple, feeling the crinkle of his smile against your palm, the cadence of his breath as it slowed nearly to sleep. Drifting off to some place on the horizon where neither of you had been before. Who knows where it would take you, what perils awaited out over the edge, when the sun eventually rose, when the halls filled once more with the echos of a hundred voices watching. But for now, there was only the soothing sound of your breaths, the rhythmic thrum of your two tired hearts as you drifted there together. 

______

Taglist: @mermaidsandcats29 @toxicjayhoo @ooo-protean-ooo @jadequeen88 @wroteclassicaly @kissmyacdc @raccoonboywrites @storiesbyrhi @trashmouth-richie @carolmunson @keeponquinning @blueywrites @alottanothing @bebe07011 @alizztor @godcreatoreli @ethereal27cereal @munsonsgirl71 @mrsjellymunson @emxxblog @siriusmuggle @sidthedollface2 @dollalicia @lma1986 @catherinnn @eddiemunson4life420 @readsalot73 @big-ope-vibes @3rriberri @princess-eddie @nightless @eddieswifu @thew0rldsastage @chaoticgood-munson @hanahkatexo @eddiemunsonsbedroom @beep-beep-sherlock @averagemisfit03 @vintagehellfire @haylaansmi @sllooney @lunaladybug734 @callingmrsbarnes @ajkamins @mimsthebannished

There will be a celebration hosted by the lovely @teddiemunson86 and @ladylilylost on their discord server next Sunday, Sept. 1st at 2pm EDT where I will be talking about the chapter and what the future has in store for our forbidden lovebirds! If you're interested in joining, the link to the server is here. I also frequently post snippets and memes in the discussion channels. Hope to see you there!

📝 MASTERLIST ⎮📖 AO3 ⎮☕️ KO-FI

[delulu-hours]

Dog tags

Pairing: Jake Seresin x F!reader

Summary: Where reading a book has you fantasying about Jake and his dog tags as he has his way with you.

Waring: 18+ smut, unprotected, biting

A/n: Thank you @agentorange9595 for the request and the lovely idea! On a side not, I am not good at writing smut, but I hope you like it.

You couldn't help but bite your lip as you read the book in hand, fighting back a smile and the urge to giggle. Jake had been out for training, and you knew he would be back late, so you decided to finish the book you were reading. It was about a grumpy special op who fell in love with this badass sunshine girl. You had cried with the female lead when she learned about the terrible past the male lead had and the torture he went through during his ops. The romance was there, and it was hot. And there were several instances where they had hot, rough, and steamy sex. You had never felt jealous over the sex in the books until now. And it wasn't how the male lead was fucking her nice and slow, taking his time but being rough. No. It was for a simple reason. 

That reason was that he was fucking her with his dog tags on.

Yep, the dog tags.

As you finished the sex scene, you let out a small groan. You rubbed your thighs together for some relief before placing the book down. "Pure thoughts." You told yourself, trying to help remove the image of Jake hovering over you, his dog tags hanging from his neck. The way his skin would glisten and how you would just be able to pull him closer by the tags. Another groan left your lips as you pulled the pillow to your face, and a muffled scream left your lips. This was torture. You had never known how deprived you were from the sight of seeing this man fuck you with his dog tags. The need for it. The only issue now was asking this from Jake. Asking him to rail you like no tomorrow so you could still feel him in you for days, and your legs couldn't handle walking. To the point where he would leave bruises on your hips from how hard he'd grip you. Your face flushed at the thought, and you wanted to curse your best friend for ever introducing you to a new world of smut. You pulled out your phone and shot her a quick text.

I hate you so much, but at the same time, I love you for recommending this book to me

10:47

You're welcome, and don't come at me with the innocent act cuz we both know it's just a mask. 

10:52

You are anything but innocent, you're just too shy to ask.

10:53

You rolled your eyes at the message but placed your phone on the nightstand. You were almost done with the book and knew you could finish it tonight; however, you were ready to be done with it, so you just placed it on your nightstand. You turned off the lights and got ready for bed. Jake had told you not to wait for him, as you both knew you'd try to stay up until he came home. As you got comfortable, snuggling close to Jake's side, you drifted off and fell asleep quickly. 

______

Several days passed, and now where you were, holding your drink in your hand. You could see the chain peek out from Jake's naval uniform from where you sat next to Bob and Nat. Lately, your eyes have been drifting to it, and you couldn't help the images that filled your mind as you bit your lip." You okay there?" Nat's voice broke your concentration as you looked at her. A smirk on her lips as she raised an eyebrow. "You look ready to jump him and rip his clothes off." The heat flushed against your skin as you let out a guilty laugh.

"Is it that obvious?" You pressed the back of your hand against your cheek. Nat just laughed and nudged you with her arm as you drank the rest of your drink in one go.

"So much so, but don't worry about any of these meat heads noticing except one." You looked up only to see Jake giving you an amused look, the pool stick in his hands as he took a drink of his beer. 

"Oh my gosh," You mumbled. "I think I need another drink." You quickly got up, and Nat followed you.

"Want to tell me what that's all about?" She asked as she hooked her arm with yours as you went to the bar. "Usually, Jake's the one who looks at you like a meal he's ready to devour, not the other way around." This makes your face heat up even more, and the heat between your legs grows.

"Promise not to laugh." You gave her a pleading look as you found two open stools at the bar. She gave you a slight nod as Penny approached you guys.

"What can I get you girls?" She asked with a smile.

"I'm gonna need two shots of tequila." She gave you a look before going to get the shots. Nat had gotten her usual. "I've been reading this book, and it's steamy, Nat." You looked over at her, and a small sigh left your lips. "And when I mean steamy, I mean the girl is bent over while the guy fucks her like he's on heat, leaving marks everywhere. Claiming her and praising her." She raised an eyebrow. "And by no means is that the part that has me like this. Sex with Jake is amazing, but there's one detail in the book that has me running these images in my head, and I can't help it." 

"Oh god, please don't talk about sex with him." She scrunched her nose, and you shook her head. Penny came back and placed the drinks in front of you.

"Y/n talking sex?" She joined in the conversation, surprised as well. You weren't one to be open about these conversations.

"No." You shook your head. Taking one of the shots and taking it down in one go. There was a slight burn in the back of your throat as you placed the glass down. "No, I'm not talking about my sex life. All I'm saying is that I wish Jake would keep his dog tags on. The book I'm reading has plagued my mind with the thought of it, and I need it now." You looked at both women, who seemed amused about your confession. "I'm serious here, guys." 

"Oh, we know that, honey," Penny patted your hand. "And I think that is why it's entertaining for us." You rolled your eyes and took the next shot; this time, no burning sensation followed. 

"It also sounds like you've been deprived of sex for a while." You shot Nat a glare as she snorted. "Like a beast has awoken." You groaned and placed your forehead on the counter.

"I hate you so much." She just laughed, and Pen gave you another shot. You looked at the small shot glass that lay beside you. You rubbed your thighs with a slight whine that left your lips. "I hate ever reading that book even though it's so good! I even saved my favorite parts on it." You pushed yourself up and took the third shot for the night. 

Little did you know Jake's eyes had been watching you the entire time. Since the moment he started playing pool with Coyote, he had felt the way you had been looking at him. He felt your eyes burning into him– undressing him– and if he was honest with himself, he enjoyed it. It was rare when you were filled with so much lust and need that you didn't even realize yourself that you were showing it. He knew you weren't as innocent as you looked; however, you would never voice out what you liked. And he didn't mind it one bit. In fact, he loved it whenever he would discover something new about you. Just like at this moment, he had a vague idea of why you were acting the way you were. He accidentally stumbled across a book he had seen you read recently. He got curious about what it was about whenever he saw you, as your reactions were entertaining. So when his curiosity got the better side of him, and he opened it on a marked page, he wasn't expecting what he read. It was a lot to take in that he had to stop himself before getting worked up, but also because it hadn't been something he expected. The details were so vividly written. Just thinking about doing what was written to you made him hot as he pulled at the collar of his naval shirt. He could see the flush that dusted your cheeks even from where he stood. Coyote called out his name; Jake ignored him, passing the pool stick to Bob as he stalked toward you. He could hear Phoenix teasing you and Penny laughing, but he didn't care what they said. You had him worked up, and now he needed you, preferably in the comfort of your home. "What you ladies goin' on about?" He drawled, his hand touched your lower back, and he felt you flinch. He rubbed his thumb on your back and felt how you leaned into him. Reacting to his touch like you usually would. 

"Nothin', Y/n was telling us a funny story." Nat had an amused look on her face, and you glared at her. 

"You don't mind if I steal her from you then?" Jake asked, already knowing the answer as he moved his hand to your waist, pulling you up. You stumbled a bit due to being caught off guard and the alcohol running through your veins. Nat shook her head, and that was all he needed before drawing you out of Hard Deck. 

"Jake," You whined when you were out the doors. "I was still drinking." He moved you towards the truck. 

"I think you've had enough for the night, Darlin'." You shivered at the sound of his southern accent sounding heavier than usual. "Wanna tell me what has been goin' in that pretty little head of yours?" When you reached his truck, he turned you to face him. His green eyes looked darker, and you didn't know if it was from the night or from the lust that dilated his pupils. His hands were firmly on your waist as he looked down at you. You bit your lower lip as you took him in. He looked beautiful, but the silver chain that caught your attention was sending you overboard. You pushed your hands up his chest as your fingers grazed the chain. He watched you curiously as you pulled his dog tags, freeing them from his shirt. Your fingers play with the chain before they move to the tags. "Is it that book you've been reading?" He asked, and you looked at him with wide eyes. He would see the needy look on your face, the way a pout sat on your lips. He watched the conflict in your eyes before you made up your mind. He felt the pull on his dog tags as he was forced to lower his face to you. His eyes widened, not used to the sudden dominance you were showing.

"I need you to fuck me, Jake." He felt your lips move against his. He felt how his blood seemed to rush through his body and straight to his groin. "I want you to use me, baby." He felt the tightness in his pants. "Fuck me rough. Mark me up." You pressed a soft kiss on his lips. "Please," You begged, looking up at him through your lashes. A growl ripped out of Jake's lips, and he gripped your hips tighter. A small whimper left your lips as you felt his fingers dig into your waist. And then it all happened too quickly. He got you in the truck and drove back home. 

_____

You barely made it through the doors when his hands were all over you. He pushed you up against the wall and pressed up against you. You could feel him. How hard he was. A small moan left your lips as he groped your boobs through your shirt. "You did this to yourself." His lips moved against your neck before his teeth sunk into your skin. You let out a small gasp as you gripped his arm, your nails dug into his skin. His name left your lips with a needy cry. He grabbed the hem of your shirt and pulled it off you before moving to your bra. His fingers traced the lace fabric over your skin, taking in the black color. "Fuck you're so pretty, sunshine." He was tempted to rip your bra. Rip the rest of your clothes, blocking his view of your beautiful body.

"Jake," You gave him a warning tone, already knowing what he was thinking. "You rip my lingerie, and I will cut your dick off." You threatened. He raised an eyebrow as if the temptation was there. He knew you didn't mean it; however, he had ruined a few of your favorite sets.

"Yes, ma'am." He smiled as he lowered himself, placing kisses and allowing his teeth to scrape your skin as he lightly bit you. The goosebumps rose on your skin, and you gripped his hair. Just as he got to the waistband of your jeans, he unbuttoned it. Light feathered kisses on your skin as you threw your head back. He observed you as he slowly pulled your pants down. Your eyes dilated as you looked down at him. He kissed my thighs, and you brought them up, stepping out of your pants. "Look at you," His fingers grazed the front of your black laced underwear. He could feel how wet you were. "All wet for me, and I barely even touched you." He watched as you rocked your hips against his fingers. His other hand gripped your thigh.

"Jake," You whined, needing more. He moved his hands to the back of your knee. Pushing you over his shoulder, he picked you up and marched to your room. A smack echoed in the room, and you felt the burning sensation on your ass. You pushed yourself back up, surprised by his action, while he had a satisfying grin on his lips. He kicked the door open to your room. He didn't even say anything as you dropped him on the bed. You bounced a couple of times as you watched him unbutton his shirt. That look in his eyes made the pit in your stomach flare up. He looked at you like a predator, and you were his prey. He took his shirt off like he was ready to pounce on you, and your eyes racked down his chest. The dog tags hung around his neck and down his chest. You bit your lip as you looked at him, taking in his beauty and how the tags seemed to decorate him. It added to the fuel you had racing through your mind. You moved to your knees, your fingers touching his skin about his waistband as you looked up at him. The doe-eyed look you gave him made Jake groan as he fought the urge to ravage you like the animal he felt. He watched as your fingers undid his pants, your nails scraped his pelvic skin as you pulled his boxers down. He let out a hiss as his cock sprung up and smacked his stomach. You licked your lips as you reached out to grab his throbbing cock. Your thumb ran along the head, rubbing the precum across before you stroked down slowly. 

"Fuck," Jake moaned, and you looked at him through your lashes. He looked down at you with hooded eyes as you pumped back up. His face twisted with pleasure before he grabbed your wrist. "Baby, if you keep touching and looking at me like that, I won't last." He pushed the words out, his tumble rubbing the inside of my wrist. "Tonight, it's going to be about you." He pushed you down, hovering over you as he removed your hands. He used his free hand to move your thigh so he could settle in between your legs. He was slightly rocking himself against you before he pulled back. A frown settled on your lips from the lack of contact. He just had a smirk on his lips. "Take it off, or else they're gonna get ripped." He claimed, motioning to your body. He slipped his pants and boxer off completely, and you wasted no time taking off your underwear and bra. You laid back, watching as his hands wrapped around himself and giving himself a few pumps. His eyes looked at you with such hunger it caused the arousal to gather between your thighs. His hands over the head of his cock as you spread your legs open, showcasing your glistening folds. His nostrils flared as he clenched his jaw. He didn't even bother grabbing a condom as he settled between your thighs. He guided the head of his cock, coating it with your arousal. His left hand rested by your hips as he held himself up. Each time his head rubbed against your clothes, you whimpered. Desperately trying to get him in you, you shifted your hips and gripped his wrist. 

"Jake, please. I need you." You begged, needing him now. He didn't even deny you as he guided himself to your entrance. He didn't even bother prying your hand off his wrist as he held your hip down. He used his hold on you to slip himself in with a full-force thrust. You gasped, back arched as you felt him stretch you open. He forced himself not to close his eyes from the pleasure as he watched the pleasure on your face. Using both hands on your waist, he pulled out all the way, causing a cry to leave your lips before slamming back in. He did that a couple of times, and each time; your reaction drove him crazy. Your nails dug into his skin as you gripped his arm. He moved down to capture your lips, using his right arm to steady himself. The cool metal touched your skin, and you brought his lower lip between your teeth, biting it lightly. Your teeth dragged against his lower lip as he pulled back, and you felt his left hand grip tightly around your waist; you wouldn't be surprised if he didn't leave bruises. He began to move himself in and out of you; the noise of your skins coming into contact echoed in the room. Moaned curses left your lips as your ankles locked behind him. "Jake- fuck- don't," You squeezed your eyes feeling him hit your sweet spot. "Don't stop, please." He groaned, loving to hear your sweet pleas.

You opened your eyes, and a hazy look of pleasure filled your eyes as your gaze lingered on the dog tags that hung between the both of you. You brought your hand up and lightly tugged on it. Jake felt the way you clenched around him. He slowed down, and you looked up at him, ready to complain. "Is this what has been driving you up the walls, princess?" He raised an eyebrow. When you bit your lip and didn't answer, he rocked his hips before pulling out so the tip of his cock rested in your pussy. "Words. Have you been all needy little thing because you've wanted me to fuck you crazy with my tags?" You whined as he pushed himself in a bit. Even if not being in you was torture, Jake needed to hear you say it. You clenched your walls, trying to get him in you. "What did I say? Use your words." The tone in his voice was demanding. You closed your eyes, lip quivering from the lack of him. 

"Jake," You tried to push your hips down, but he held you in place. You knew he wouldn't give you what you needed until you answered him. "Yes," You finally gave in. "I've been wanting you to fuck me with your tags." You looked up at him with hooded lids, and your lashes fluttered against your cheeks.

"See," He trusted himself in you, and you felt full again with him in you. "That's my good girl. It wasn't hard, was it?" You watched as he spun the tags so they would hang on his back, and he felt you clenched down on him hard. "Fuck," He groaned, using his strength to steady himself. "I'm gonna ruin you tonight so this naughty pussy remembers whose it belongs to." He promised, and you felt yourself tense up, knowing that quote a little too well. He licked his lower lip, a smirk dancing on them. You were in for a long night, and you were screwed. He had read your book, specifically the part you had marked.

[maeofthenoldor]

The mithril shirt makes me so emotional. The way that Thorin gave it to Bilbo out of an act of love, even when he was deep in the gold sickness. It represented what they could have had. When Thorin and his nephews die, Bilbo leaves with the shirt, the only reminder he has of him. He then donates it to the Mathom-house, because he cannot bear to see it, again, a reminder of the terrible ending of his journey. When he departs from the shire, he brings with him the mithril shirt for his last adventure. 

He never even knows how valuable the armour truly is, how it was worth. And the FACT that Gandalf never told him probably leans to the idea that it would only remind Bilbo of what happened on the adventure. (We see how Bilbo's way of grief is denial, he never tells the true story, only child-versions of it so it doesn't feel real). Many years later, he gives it to Frodo, in hopes it would protect him, in a way that it didn't for him. Bilbo sent him off to a perilous journey and prayed that his wouldn't end in tragedy like his. 

 But It saves Frodo's life, and god the PARRELS of Thorin failing to save his nephews, but saved Bilbo's nephew.  In the the Tower of Cirith Ungol, the mithril shirt causes the orcs to fight over it. Remember, it was borne out of an act love, and orcs hate everything about light, so it was almost like an act of vengeance that they only saw the value in the mithril, and not how Bilbo saw it (love) which causes them to kill each other. This allows Sam to save Frodo and THIS is the most emotional scene about the mithril shirt for me. Thorin and Bilbo's story ended but it allows Sam and Frodo's to continue.

The mouth of Sauron takes possession of it, and mocks the remaining fellowship. Imagine how Gandalf must have felt in that moment. He knew what it meant already. How he would have to tell Bilbo that the mithril shirt, the one that already invoked his mourning now held the only thing left of his beloved nephew, who he loved like a son. The regret he must feel, for the both of them. No wonder in his wrath, he retrieves the mithril shirt.

Of course, Frodo is alive and the chain mail is returned to his possession. By then the shirt has saved his life twice. I think that Bilbo's thoughts on the shirt shifted, no longer a reminder of what he lost, but what has been saved. Now we dont know if it goes to Valinor with them, I’d like to think it did, but another idea is that Frodo gave it to Sam. It goes in full circle like Thorin giving it Bilbo then Frodo giving it to someone he loved.

it becomes a family heirloom and is passed down through the family, through the Gamgee's descendants. A final act of love.

Maybe I look to much into things and this is just a string of ramblings. Maybe this was a pointless analysis with a clear bias to my favorite ships then an actual true interpretation to the text. Either way, the mithril shirt makes me feel a sense of loss, love and hope. There is something more then a piece of armour that saved the protagonist. One cannot deny how valuable it is to the story.

[trulyumai]

diverting your attention

pairing: carmy / reader

synopsis: bored, you show up to the restaurant, hoping to see your boyfriend and his infamous French fries that he only made for you.

warnings: cussing, light shoving. fluff mostly!

enjoy!

jesus, the restaurant was busy. a line ran out the door, swerved to the right and took up most of the sidewalk with customers waiting for their chance at the food.

carmy couldn’t blame them. he’s been on top of things— his team has been on top of things, listening, working together finally after what seemed like years of bickering and useless nonsense.

his hands moved fast. chopping meat there, seasoning and mashing over here.

there was no end, everyone had their station—their place.

“cus, your girls here!” richies voice boomed past him as carmy worked diligently to scrape away at the newfound mission to potatoes.

“uh huh,” not hearing him, but giving an answer he sliced the remainder of the vegetable before wiping his hands clean; always ready for a new task.

“Did you even fucking here me you dimwit?” A scowl remained on Richie’s face as he side eyed the white shirted man.

Another mumble left the cook and that was all Richie’s temper could take.

With a hard shove to the back, carmys attention was finally diverted. Turning back, the chef violently put his hand up from the startling touch.

“What the fuck, man?!”

“I. Said. Your. Girl. Is. Here.” With every pause on the intonations a poke found its way across carmys chest.

“Okay, okay. I fucking heard you.”

“No you didn’t!” Richie retaliated, moving past him to grab at the now chopped vegetable.

“And you took my fucking task you asshole.”

Carmy eyed him.

“Maybe if you weren’t so slow all the damn time.”

A high pitched version of carmys words came out as an argument, only making the man roll his eyes in such a childish play.

Rubbing his hands dry once more carmy moved towards the front of the kitchen.

And sure enough, there you sat.

all pretty and perfect and— did he say pretty?

sweating from a newfound nervousness carmy itched at his neck, a bad habit that he couldn’t seem to scrape away, no matter the amount of threats and glares you sent his way.

“hey pretty girl,” carmy stood just above you, next to your seated booth, more to the side and cut off from the rest of the avid enjoyers.

“bear!” you smiled, already opening your arms for a tight embrace.

he always smelled so good. musky, heavy. it was the manliest scent you’ve ever had the opportunity of smelling. yet there was always something sweeter there— cinnamon? no, cherries? possibly—

“baby?” warm fingers found their way under your chin, instantly bringing you back to the busy food chain your surrounded in.

“mmh, sorry hunny what was that?”

“i said I’ll be a little late tonight. more people showed up than i thought they would and uh, I’ll probably be pulling an all nighter.” guilt bit at the man’s tongue, already sensing your disappointment.

but you hid it well, a pretty smile lit up your face still, your hands met with his rougher one, smoothing and tending to it out of habit.

“that’s okay, i understand,” you looked past carmy to see Richie, motioning you to get the attention of the man.

noticing your distracted eyes, carmy turned his head and saw his cousin quickly motioning him over to the back.

“—I, i gotta go baby but listen,” eyes on your doe ones, he leaned in.

warm breath met with your cheeks and you couldn’t help but smile as the man bent down so close to your face.

“ill bring by those French fries you love so much,”

“with the seasoning?”

“with the seasoning.” carmy laughed

you couldn’t help but let out a little squeal, wrapping your arms around the neck of your boyfriends shirt.

“ill see you soon, okay?”

you nodded.

“okay.”

A kiss, light and soft was placed on your lips. It lasted only a second before the man waved sympathetically before turning his back to you, flipping Richie off in the process.

satisfied, you fled the scene with a hankering for a soda and heavily seasoned fries only your boyfriend could provide.

[saturnville]

candy bling, joe rantz.

pairing: joe rantz x black fem oc (cleotha jean). content: cleotha jean reminisces on her relationship with joe rantz. warning: more "modern" approach to their relationship. suggestive content. song: candy bling by mariah carey (I suggest you listen as you read). tag list: @neeville @turn-thy-paige @ihe4rtisa @ineedafictionalman @lovebyceleste @alliewassobonum

In the solitude of her room, Cleotha found herself surrounded by fragments of a past she had long tried to forget. She sifted through the contents of a dusty old box, memories flooded her mind with an intensity she hadn't felt in months. Each item she unearthed struck her heart in ways that made her uncomfortable, a relic of a love once consumed by every thought and emotion.

Among the treasures she tried to forbet lay a delicate silver anklet, its tiny bells tinkling softly as Cleotha held it in her hands. Memories of lazy summer days and whispered promises rushed back to her, painting vivid scenes of youthful romance and boundless dreams. 

“What’s this?” Cleotha asked as she was handed a small, velvet bag. Her movements were sluggish as she peeled herself off the pillow she and Joe shared. The soft moan she pushed out was enough to make his insides stir again. 

Joe pulled his arm behind his head and drummed his fingers against his sheet-covered thigh. A small smile pulled on his lips as he shrugged. “Open it.” 

Cleotha held the sheet to her chest and shook the bag. Jingle, jangle. Her eyebrow quipped as she opened the bag and dumped the content in her hand. Two thin gold chains fell out, shining under the gaze of the sun. She hummed in awe as she fingered the chains delicately. “Two bracelets?” 

“Bracelet and anklet,” Joe replied with extra emphasis, a teasing tone underlying in his words. Cleotha, who knew exactly why he bought it, threw her head back in laughter. She muttered, “You’re disgusting.” Still, she held her wrist out for him to place the bracelet on it. 

Joe pulled the sheet back to reveal her brown legs. He readjusted their positions so he was in between her legs, her foot against his bare thigh. Cleotha watched intently as he hooked the gold chain around her ankle. He smiled in pride.

“You like it?” Cleotha asked, rotating her foot in a circle. Joe hummed and palmed her thigh, hooking her leg around his waist. He brought his lips to hers, nipping and sucking at the plushness there. Then, he made his way back down, pecking at her collarbone down to her calf once more, placing her leg over his shoulder.

“I do. I’ll like it even more in a second. Lay back.”

He made her feel so beautiful that day, glistening like jewels beneath the sunlight. Next to it, a necklace adorned with the initials 'J' gleamed in the dim light. She tried to smile as she recalled when she first received it.

“Joe!” she gasped. “This is beautiful! Will you put it on me, please?” 

“Of course. Turn around for me.” 

The smile on her face was childlike as she stood back to chest with her lover. His warm hands pushed her hair over her shoulder then wrapped the chain around her neck. The gold complimented her skin beautifully. He connected the link to the clasp and tapped her hip when he finished. “Let me see, sweetheart.” 

Cleotha Jean grinned as she posed in front of him, the J on her chest smiling back at him. Joe nodded in approval, “Looks pretty, baby.” 

“You think so?” she gushed, running her fingers off the pendant. “Want a closer look?” Cleotha pulled him in by his belt loops and pushed him against the bed, climbing on top of him. SHe wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed butterfly-like kisses all along his face. His cheeks were stained red from her lips,

Joe’s eyebrow raised in amusement as he welcomed her affection, His eyes dropped to the pendant that swung against her chest. “Yes ma’am.” 

But it was the worn envelope nestled at the bottom of the box that stirred something deep within Cleotha's soul. With trembling fingers, she traced the creases of the paper, feeling the weight of years of unspoken words and unanswered prayers. As she unfolded the letter, the words spilled forth like a long-forgotten melody, each line a poignant reminder of a love that had once defined her very existence. 

The park was their favorite place to be. Especially during the month of September. The sun still hugged them, but didn’t suffocate them with her warmth. Nature sung its harmonious song, the animals danced with each other amongst the trees, and the grass was still a bright green. It was a peaceful place to be. 

It was like every other weekend; Cleotha Jean and Joe were sprawled across a picnic blanket with a basket of food propped open in front of them. Joe was lying on his back while Cleotha sat upright munching on strawberries and coloring in her book. 

“Cleo,” Joe said. Cleotha hummed and continuing coloring her flower. “I wrote you a letter.” 

Her coloring stopped. She swallowed the remainder of her strawberry and dropped her colored pencil. Joe reached behind him for a white envelope that he managed to tuck under the blanket without her noticing. He extended it to her, which she took with thanks. 

Joe watched as Cleotha curiously peeled open the envelope and retrieved the letter. It was folded in threes, and was filled from top to bottom. 

My forever sweetheart, Cleotha Jean, 

You don’t understand that I wake up everyday and give thanks that you walked into my life. I felt that I was nothing but a poor kid with seemingly nothing to offer the world until you showed me otherwise. 

I didn’t think it was possible to love someone more than I loved myself. Your existence proves me otherwise. 

I often wonder if you know that you are a gift in human form. Wrapped in a brown shell, garnished with gold. I wish to keep you with me forever, as long as you’ll have me.

I often think about our future together. How I’m going to marry you as soon as we graduate. We’ll buy a house, travel the world, and have children. I’m still banking on 3, but whatever you want, I’ll be content. As long as I’m with you, I’ll take anything.

I want to be yours forever, if you’d have me. 

Will you marry me? 

The letter flew from Cleotha’s hands as she screamed loudly. The birds above her croaked at her sudden outburst. Her hands flew over her mouth and she finally made eye contact with her lover, who’d positioned himself on one knee with an open box in his hand.

The ring was beautiful. It was dainty, just as she liked, and a rich shade of gold. His eyes were hopeful as he awaited her reaction. 

“Will you—“

“Yes!” Cleotha replied gleefully. She threw her arms around him so wildly that he fell backward into the grass. His laughs were music to her ears. “Yes, yes, yes! I’ll marry you.” 

Joe smiled, “Yeah?” 

Cleotha bit back a teary smile and nodded. “Yeah. It’s you and me forever.”

Her sweet baby. She hadn’t realized she’d been crying until she finished the letter and a puddle of tears smudged his neat handwriting. Cleotha folded the letter and put it back in the box, right next to the ring she took off months prior. It stared back at her and she forced herself to look away. She didn’t want to keep it, but Joe insisted she did, saying “it’s yours. I will never take back what rightfully belongs to you.”

With each memory unearthed, Cleotha found herself transported back to a time when love was pure, and the future seemed to be filled with promise. Yet, as she traced the contours of her past, a sense of longing stirred within her, a yearning for the man who had once held her heart in his hands.

She should’ve been over him by now, she scolded herself. Their union had ended more than a year ago; what was she holding onto? Well, another side of her probed. A three year relationship that began in college, an engagement, wedding planning, house hunting, and a planned future. It all dimished at the blink of an eye. It would take more than a year to recover from such emotional trauma. 

Cleotha befriended a bottle of red wine after that. It was sweet and savory, just like him. She chuckled lowly as her fingers dapped away the drop that fell from the corner of her lips. She should slow down, she figured, but it was the anniversary of a love that she cherished more than herself. She owed it to herself to get wine drunk and eat popcorn, right?

She tucked her feet under herself and poured another glass, humming a tune, though nothing particular, to herself. Just as she brought the glass to her lips, a knock sounded on her door. Her eyebrow quipped as her eyes darted to a nearby clock. It was 9:32 on a Saturday night, who could have been at her door. 

“Hold on!” she called out, glass in hand as she stumbled lightly to reach the door. She cursed as she stepped on a shoe that she kicked off in the entryway, toyed with the locks, and peeled the door open. “Oh…” 

If anyone would have told her he’d be standing in front of her right now, she would have called them a liar. The communication had been severed eons ago, only having heard from him when she got the job promotion she had been praying for. Any other conversation, interaction, or moment of desire, was a faction of her imagination. Yet, here he stood, a ghost from her past, with sorrow etched in his eyes and regret weighing heavily on his shoulders. And she had no clue how to handle it. 

She didn’t know whether to cry, scream, or throw herself in his arms. He looked so different than when she last saw him. He was broader, presumably from working out to keep in shape as he moved on from his athlete days. His hair was still platinum, but it was slicked back rather than messible touseled, though she loved it that way. His eyes, so gorgeous and blue, were so sad and empty. 

“Hi, Cleo…” 

Cleotha’s eyes welled with tears. She’d yell, scream, and put him in his place in the morning, but right now, all she could do is throw her arms around his neck and cry woefully into his shirt. With a voice choked with an emotion, she found the strength to say, “I missed you.” Her voice trembled with vulnerability. “I missed you so much.”

And in Joe's eyes, Cleotha saw a flicker of longing that mirrored her own. They stood in the doorway of her home without the exchange of words. The tears and gentle touches spoke loud enough. Maybe in due time, what was broken could be repaired, and the union that began years ago, could be recovered. Just maybe.

—

likes are great, but feedback is desired as well, friends! thanks for reading!