#the question is just why they did exactly that

[poguehearted77]

Just Another Cliché

Summary: Rafe has been asking to take you out for years and you always shoot him down, after a particularly bad day, you decide things can't get much worse.

<<Here's some fluffy angst for those who need it>>

Shitty was an understatement for the day you had. This day will go down in history as the worst day any soul has ever lived through.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me." The murmur is bitter on your tongue as you stuff your hands deeper into your warm pockets. The breath of your words were visible in the crisp winter air as you were about to pass by Rafe Cameron who waited patiently outside of your apartment building with a single rose just like he always did.

Since your senior year of high school, every year on the fourteenth of February, he would wait outside your complex, asking you out, then you say no, then he goes home. That's the tradition.

Well, technically you never said no. You'd always make up some excuse. 'I don't have time for a relationship right now' or 'Now's a bad time' are just a few of the examples you've used over the last five years.

It's not that there was anything wrong with him. You actually did find him attractive. Aside from the sketchy reputation he had going for him back in high school, he was still a relatively nice guy.

You just didn't have the time for a relationship, or at least you didn't before.

A small smile forms on his face as he sees you, already knowing what to expect. Another excuse like "Fine," yup, just as he thought- Wait.

"Say that again?" His head shakes in disbelief, blue eyes bulging slightly. Your shoulders shrug under your heavy-duty winter jacket. "My car was towed, then I lost my job, so why not lose my dignity too? Let's go out." You say and his heart begins to bounce off the confines of his ribs.

Not sure if it was the frosty air nipping at his cheeks or his lifetime wish finally unwrapping before his eyes, his cheeks flushed and he blinked a few times. "You won't regret this, I promise." he holds out the rose for you to take, and you finally do. For the first time in five years. You bite back a scoff, not in the mood for empty promises.

"Why haven't you given up yet?" You ask and now he places his hands in his pockets as a chilling breeze sweeps past you. He's rocking back on his heels slightly, "Life's too short to give up." The tiny smile on his face does make you scoff this time but he moves past it, "I'll text you later," is the last thing he says before he walks off.

You look down at the rose, then at his shrinking figure as he heads for the distance. A little pep in his step and you shook your head, immediately regretting your decision.

Great, this is exactly what you needed, another cliché.

-

Just another cliché is exactly what it was. On the lowest day of your life, you finally gave Rafe a chance. Of course, he changes your life in ways you couldn't imagine and leaves you with a dead weight of regret for not giving in sooner.

Your first date wasn't anything out of the ordinary, but it was fun. The two of you were inexperienced skaters failing to skate in the middle of the town square during the heart of winter. With festive lights outlining the rink where you laughed every time one of you fell.

There was even a point in time when you'd both embraced the cold connection with the ice floor and had a deep conversation on the sidelines, watching the other skaters circle the rink.

"Why me?" The question slips out before you can catch it and he licks his lips. He anticipated the query would arise eventually. "You remember that party Hailey Vanderbilt threw back in senior year?"

You hum with a nod, that was a party you'll never forget. Pool toys ended up in the trees, broken windows, jello in the hot tub, fights in the front yard and gambling in the back. "You and a few of the girls were playing truth or dare and they had dared you to start a rumour that I'd shaved my head because my family had joined some cult or some shit."

It took you a second, but the memory came back to you. "You don't know this, but I was fucking wasted behind the couch, but I'll never forget the way you stood up for me to them and refused to do it, and I dunno, I jus' think that was really cool of you." His head turns to you, his gaze softening when he looks at you.

At that moment, you felt the butterflies flap around in your stomach for the first time. He clears his throat, expression becoming more sombre as he continues. "My mom," He starts, taking a difficult swallow to get the words out.

"She was really sick. I got caught up with the wrong crowd to deal with it. Doing anything people said would get me distracted, even for a little, but she got worse and me being high every day didn't help so I quit. Her chemo was taking everything from her and eventually, she just shaved it off, she hated looking in the mirror and it killed me."

Your chest tightened at the story, having a sneaking suspicion of where this was going, "So when you shaved your head..." You trail off and Rafe nods along, turning away from you as a stray tear falls. "It was for her. You sticking up for me meant so much more than you know."

So there you both sat, on the ice with your backs against the wall in silence while the faint Christmas music chimed in the background. The date had taken a sad turn but you're glad it did, it sparked the beginning of your forever-evolving bond.

That was only the first date of many. Dozens and dozens of dates had flown past you and with each one you hated yourself a little more for letting him stand outside of your complex for five years rather than invite him inside.

"This is a nice place." He compliments as he takes a look around before settling himself on the couch with you beside him. "Thanks, it used to be a lot nicer when I could afford it. Had to sell some stuff to keep it after I lost my job."

He chuckles, "That explains why we're facing a blank wall and no television." and you pinch him. "Sacrifices had to be made. Who needs a TV anyways when there's so many other things we could do to keep ourselves busy." Your wandering hand gently runs down his firm thigh and you can feel the muscles in his leg tighten.

This was unchartered territory for you. You'd been dating for almost three months now and have never been intimate in that way, but Rafe knew the kind of person you were. A perfectionist, you need to be sure of everything before you try it.

Based on how fervently you were currently kissing along the length of his neck he could assume he had a pretty good idea of where your head was at. "Baby, baby--" He struggles to keep you at bay so he can lock eyes with you. "Are you sure about this? We don't have-" You silence him with the passionate attack of your lips against his.

Nearly tackling him onto his back, your hips straddling his as you demonstrated your certainty to him.

-

The months went on and sleepovers became more frequent. Even when Rafe had that tired look in his eye which was more often these days, you kept him up with your bright eyes and wide smile as you explained to him the newest conspiracy that intrigued you.

He tried his best to listen to what you were saying but he'd often lose himself in the labyrinth of his own mind. You were just so cute when you were talking about what you were passionate about. Especially when you wore the glasses you cursed so much, opting for contacts during the day.

"Why don't you wear your glasses more often?" He asks and you frown, "Rafee, did you hear anything I just said?" He nods, "Of course I did. I heard every last word.... up until about five minutes ago." You whine and he hugs you tight as an apology, placing a sweet kiss on your forehead.

You couldn't stay mad at him. That was proven time and time again when even your biggest fights would be resolved within 24 hours. Rafe insisted on talking things out, no matter how hurt the both of you may feel. He never wanted to go to sleep without making things right. "Life's too short," He would say.

You both had your shortcomings, but that goes without saying. Rafe was short-tempered and you were stubborn, a bad combination for an opinionated conversation. Things can quickly spiral out of control but when it came to apologies, Rafe outdid you every time. Flowers, or a small gift to show his feelings.

Even now, as Rafe leant against your kitchen island as you transferred the flowers he'd gifted you 'just because'. A weak smile graced his lips as he noted the way you did everything with such intensity, putting your all into everything you did.

Leaning forward onto his crossed forearms he watches you. "You're staring, babe." You say and he can only hum. "Can't help it. I like what I see," His words elicit a soft warmth to radiate in your chest.

"I love you, y'know that?" You're startled as you feel his arms wrapping around your waist from behind. "You tell me only every day, Rafe." He comes down to peck your cheek before you're rotating in his hold to face him. "But I love you too." You're unable to contain your smile as you say it.

It wasn't the first time but every time the words left your mouth, it gave you a little bubbly feeling. Security blossomed within you anytime your eyes grazed over his features.

"Let's go out tonight, yeah? Let's go dancing." Rafe declares without thinking and you laugh, tilting your head to look at the time over the stove. "It's almost midnight, nothing's open at this hour." You reason, but he doesn't back down.

Holding you by the hand, he twirls you. "Not a problem, we'll just do it here." That night your apartment was filled with laughter and soft jazz. Rafe hardly ever had this much energy so late but you loved it.

Two days after that night of dancing, you woke up to an eerie silence that felt too heavy for the morning. You went about your routine, still buoyed by the memory of Rafe's laughter filling your apartment. You checked your phone—just the usual notifications, a missed call from an unknown number, and a message from Sarah that simply said, "Call me."

You barely had time to press dial before she picked up, her voice trembling. She tried to speak, but only the sound of soft, choked sobs came through. Finally, she managed, "I’m so sorry…"

The words hit you, but you didn’t understand them. You wanted her to stop, to say something else—anything else. She kept speaking, her words blurred and distant, as though you were underwater, drowning. Somewhere in her explanation, you heard the words, "peacefully… in his sleep." But it didn’t feel peaceful. Your mind raced, demanding answers. Why hadn’t he told you? How long had he known?

Over the days that followed, Rafe's family gently filled in the pieces: he’d been sick for years, silently enduring, doing everything he could to hide it. Every date, every moment spent laughing with you, was a deliberate choice he made to live his last days fully, in love and joy, with you.

He hadn’t wanted you to know because he couldn't bear to see you suffer for him the same way he was once familiar with in his senior year. Even in the end, he kept the truth locked away, shielding you from the loss he knew was coming.

The weight of his choice tore you apart. You wanted to be angry, to hate him for leaving you out, but in his silence, there was also a strange kind of love. A love that had given you a few precious, unburdened moments together. Still, the pain settled deep within you, refusing to ease.

The anger, hurt, and ache became constant companions in the days that followed. But in his absence, you began to understand just how much he’d given for you.

He'd shared with you how hard it was for him to deal with that eerie state of loss. The stage where the person isn't gone but you know you'll lose them. It alters you in a messed up kind of way and he wanted you as far from that reality as possible. He was protecting you from his own condition till the very end.

Helping his family to clear out his apartment was easily the hardest thing you'd ever done. You couldn't do it without tearing up with every belonging of his you touched.

His favourite hoodie that he never let you wear but loved when you did. The polaroids in his drawer that you took from your first date, taken from the floor of the ice rink.

You noticed he'd scribbled writing on the back of the photo.

She finally said yes.

That was all it took. The last bits of your composure were stolen from you and you wept on his bedroom floor. Everyone always told you it would get easier but it never did. How could things get easier when the other half of your heart was buried six feet below the ground?

You learned to live with the loss, forcing a smile when in the company of others and taking deep breaths every morning when you woke up. Mildly disappointed the realm beyond the living hadn't reaped you during your slumber.

Very slowly, you begin to adjust to this new reality. It’s not the life you imagined, but you learn to live with the loss, carrying him with you in the smallest, most tender ways. His favourite hoodie becomes your comfort on cold nights, wrapping you in his memory and his scent.

Just because he was gone doesn't mean you'd end all of your traditions. Each year on the fourteenth of February, you visit his grave, placing a single red rose on the stone as a quiet tribute.

Though the ache remains, you hold his spirit close, carrying him forward into every milestone and memory yet to come, honouring the love you shared while finding the strength to continue onward.

In some ways, your love story turned out to be just another cliché—until it ripped your heart out from your chest, leaving you with the unbearable ache of everything he left unsaid, every unfulfilled promise, and the haunting silence of a future that will always belong to him.

Somehow, even in the quietest, most heart-wrenching moments, you never gave up on finding the silver lining, because life’s too short.

[cuinaminute229]

With death comes life part 2

pairing: Agatha x Rio x reader

a/n: this is sprinkled with angst and fluff

part 1

...

The surrounding trees are all twisted and dead, with heavy vines hanging from branches too high to reach. What you see is a barrier. A makeshift fence that keeps the witches to the road.

The air carries a subtle fog that lingers just out of reach, shrouding the forest of the road into the unknown. Even the leaves that make up the path are all dead. Only magic keeps them vibrant with false life.

You almost feel insulted. 

Nothing here can sustain life. It never will.

The road is an abomination. It shouldn’t exist.

And yet here you are.

When you look up at the sky, a feeling of loss settles in your chest. The sky is not real; the moon is a false imitation, and the stars are all wrong. 

You will never not hate this place. 

The soft whispers of a conversation tug at your attention when you notice the witches at your back are talking about you. With a subtle shift, you slow your steps and listen in. 

They speak so carelessly about your reaction to seeing Agatha, about the anger they saw. About how they could use your emotions to drive a wedge where, unbeknown to them, there is a canyon. 

In the simplest of terms, they want to manipulate you to their advantage because they do not trust Agatha. 

Because you do not trust Agatha. It’s insulting in the most human way possible.

Where on earth did she find these people? Why did she find them?

There’s something you're missing, you just know it.

The moment you hear Rio's name is the moment you turn around, you do not care what they are going to say. Their little conversation ends now. The shift in your momentum is fluid as you turn around mid step, eyes narrow in suspicion. 

You keep your face blank when they all jump in union. The very obvious change of demeanor tells you they did not know you were listening in on them.

You let the silence linger as your eyes scan over the small group. They cling to each other for comfort, but it only takes a moment for you to recognize that their bonds as a coven are new. They are still easy to bend, easy to break.

“You know,” Your voice is gentle, giving nothing of what you feel away for them to see. “To betray one's cover on the road,” 

You spread your hand out to emphasize exactly where you all are. “To break the rules only punishes all.”

“She is the one that tried to cheat!” The pink dressed witch points out like you need to be taught, like she needs to tell you who Agatha Harkness is.

As if you don't know exactly who she is. It's almost laughable how much this witch thinks she knows more than you.

“And now one of you is dead. How tragic.” This is not the first and will not be the last time a witch loses their life on the road. Do they not understand that?

“But that death is not her fault.” This time your voice is cold, stern. It feels like you're scolding children. “You failed as a coven. So do not blame your misgivings as a group on her.”

When only silence becomes their response, you decide to turn back around and continue down the path. The next trial awaits, and you want to get this over with as soon as possible. 

But a voice makes you pause. 

“Why do you hate her?” The unexpected question knocks the air out of your lungs and the world seems to stop. As if everything dead and alive waits for your answer. 

Memories rush forward with such force you wouldn't be surprised if you can never breathe again.

The sight of a never ending forest, a small cottage tucked away from hunters and strangers alike. The laughter of a young boy with Agatha's hair and Rio's smile, a bright yellow flower in his hands.

The years before tragedy felt like a lifetime. 

You were happy. You were loved. 

You want to cry. 

With a small hitch in your breath, you close your eyes and push down the tidal wave of emotions. If you become overwhelmed, the road’s magic will latch onto you like a leech. You can't risk it.

“My reasons are my own. Focus on surviving the road.” Your words are final, empty of the emotions that are battling beneath your heart. You know you can never pick up the pieces of yourself that are broken. 

But for now, you can ignore them.

You will not let them see you like this. Never again will Agatha see this side of you.

When you finally catch up with Rio, you take notice of the house in the distance, the windows lit in a deep orange sunset light. The fog of your surroundings only adds to the ominous look of it.

That must be the next trial.

What catches your attention next isn't Agatha arguing with the boy. It's not the group of three walking over to settle whatever disagreement there is. No, it's the fact that Rio is leaning against a tree, feigning boredom. Her knife in hand, twisting it in her grip as if she's studying the blade.

The leaf in her hair is bright in color, almost like fire, and it stands out against the rich brown of her hair. As if she can sense eyes on her, Rio glances up. Her eyes find you in an instant and you give her a small smile.

She waits as you walk over to her and it's only once you stop in front of her, your back to the others, does she return your smile. She tucks her knife away and holds out her hand, a small flower blooming in her palm. “For you.” 

Your smile turns bittersweet as you reach for the flower, the baby blue petals remind you of a clear afternoon sky. As your fingers touch the stem, it flourishes. Reacting to the caress of your magic that trickles from your fingers. You hold the flower for a moment before tucking it beneath your coat. 

As you look back to Rio she pushes forwards, off the dead tree that she knows you won't touch. When she steps into your space, it feels like you’ve broken the water's surface and can finally breathe again.

“You look filthy.” You tease her before she can notice if anything’s wrong. The dirt that covers her skin and her clothes gives her a rough look, and yet her makeup is as pristine as ever. Her hair looks like she’s just rolled out of bed. There are twigs and leaves and who knows what else hidden in the mess of her hair. 

“Says the one who also had to crawl out of a grave.” Rio responds, leaning just a bit closer when you reach out to brush your fingers through her hair. Her hand settles on your waist with ease, her thumb brushing back and forth in a soothing motion.

“Which I'm assuming is your fault.” You voice your suspicion as you tug on the largest of the leaves you can see in her hair. 

To summon a green witch, let alone any witch to the road, is almost impossible. You don't even know why they tried it in the first place. 

Rio says nothing for a moment. She just lets you thread your fingers through her hair, pulling at the twigs and leaves you find. She licks her lips when you brush your thumb behind her ear, letting out a soft sigh as she closes her eyes.

An annoyed huff and angry footsteps causes you to pull back from her, suddenly self conscious. But Rio's hand catches your wrist before you can step out of her personal space. When she blinks open her eyes to look at you, her brow furrowed slightly. You can't help but give her a reassuring smile. 

Agatha is storming off again. Because of course she is. She will not wait for the two of you.

“Tell me later?” You know this conversation isn't close to over, but right now, time is essential. Rio gives you a small nod and only then do you step away from her.

Finding Agatha is easy. She's at the next trial, waiting for the two of you. The door is decorated with stained glass, the phases of the moon surround the centerpiece, which is the waxing moon. It's almost beautiful if you didn't know that danger lies just behind it.

You feel Rio just behind you, watching the group intently. The graze of her fingers on your back is a welcoming sensation when you realize who’s trial this is.

The protection witch.

With a quick scan, you find her easily, the witch with the red streaks in her hair. She looks the most nervous, hands shoved into her pockets, shoulders hunched.

The teenager is the one to usher her inside, voice reassuring. He calls her Alice and holds his hand out for her and once she takes it; he walks through the door beside her. The other two follow close behind, nerves elevated for what is to come.

When there is only you, Agatha, and Rio left at the door, the tension seems to skyrocket. 

You clench your jaw when she looks at you as if she expects you to go first, but you don't move. The door stays open and no one moves.

When Agatha’s patient wanes, she jerks her head to the door, her voice callous, and yet she can’t look at you when she speaks. “After you.”

It’s only when Rio pushes her knuckles against your lower back do you finally give in. The very moment you walk through the door, you’re blinded by a light as bright as a newborn star. It’s honestly a weak imitation, but that doesn’t mean it can disorient you any less.

As the world around you slowly comes into focus, you notice two things right away. 

One, the air is pungent with magic. It’s so bad you swear you can taste it. Two, when you turn to look at the others, you notice everyone is dressed in seventies fashion attire. 

Glancing down, you see that you too, have also changed outfits. You brush your fingers over the gold embroidered that stands out against the white design of your clothes. Small beads and complex stitches run in calm waves up your sleeves. As you turn your arm to follow the designs, you notice your nails are also painted white. 

“Don’t drink anything. Don’t eat anything. Don’t touch anything.” Alice tells everyone as she glances around the room with a distrust that runs deep. 

“Sounds like there’s a story there.” Rio says as she looks at Alice, brows raised in intrigue. When she catches your gaze, she’s not subtle as she looks you over. She’s adorned in black and gold. The low cut of her blouse catches your attention and you may stare a little too long. Her smile is predatory when she notices you looking. 

“The road isn’t subtle.” Alice mutters, her disdain clear.

You glance around at her words, curious about the history that this trial will bring up.

The room looks like a music lounge studio. Instruments and microphones are set out like they are just waiting to be played. The floor is covered with different rugs; the lights have a certain aesthetic and even the walls are mismatched stones with different things decorating them. 

Your eyes land on the grand piano when everyone gathers around a wall mirror that one of the witches has found, getting a clearer look at the clothes that now fit the aesthetic of this trial. You leave them to their curiosity and walk to the center of the room, a metronome catching your attention from where it sits atop the piano. 

You don’t notice her at first, brow furrowed as you brush your fingers over the edge of the piano lid. You hum a soft lullaby as your fingers tap to the rhythm in your head.

When you see her fingers graze over the piano, you freeze. When she finishes your melody, her beige nails tapping lightly against the polished black case of the piano, you step away.

You look at Agatha like she’s a ghost. 

She’s not—she wasn't—you never told her. Rio doesn’t even know.

It was only for Nicky. It was his song.  

“What are you doing?” You back up when she finally looks up at you. She can’t hide it when her eyes glance over your attire. You know her too well. The way her eyes linger just a little too long, the way she clears her throat before jerking her head back to the piano. She takes a deep breath, rolls her shoulders like she’s buying time.

She looks like she wants to say something but stops short. When she reaches for her brooch, finger tapping lightly as if she needs a physical reminder it’s still there, you understand. 

He told her. Of course he did.

Whatever Agatha is trying to accomplish by reminding you of a life you can never get back, you need her to stop.

You can't do this. The emotional whiplash is getting exhausting.

“Why are you here?” She tilts her head to look at you, her expression clouded with suspicion.

“Why are you?” You deflect her easily, asking your own question. To walk the road once and survive is akin to a miracle. Why would she come back here?

“I asked first.” She pushes into your space, eyes narrowed, her tone condescending. When you shift to move away from her, she grabs hold of your wrist. 

You don’t expect what comes next. You have no time to prepare as your magic comes alive with the contact. It’s been so long since she’s touched you that a lifetime couldn’t prepare you for her pain.

The absolute onslaught of unchecked emotions feels like agony. Her touch burns. It’s scolding hot with the centuries of anguish and hatred that Agatha has clung to. It seeps under your skin like a parasite.

You want to scream.

You need her to let go. Right now.

“I am not here for you. I want absolutely nothing to do with you.” Your words are brutal, every ounce of hatred you have ever felt is directed at her. You know you will regret this later but right now you are desperate.

Agatha steps back as if you physically slapped her. As if you ran a knife right through her heart. But she lets go, that's what you needed.

When you move away from her, cradling your wrist close to your chest, she scoffs. 

“And they call me cruel.” Her voice wavers, head turned away so you can not see her vulnerability. Your heart already hurts but you say nothing. 

The churning in your stomach makes you feel sick. You weren't expecting her to touch you. You weren't expecting your magic to respond to her.

Not like this. Not after all this time.

As you look down at your trembling hand, fingers clenching into a fist, you know one thing for certain. You didn’t feel a flicker of magic from her when she touched you. 

Agatha has lost her magic.

[polyacrylamidepensieve]

Oh my god what dx said about residency and becoming a doctor and being self conscious about not having been exposed to most movies, shows, and music - been feeling so self conscious about my tastes in everything. Was recently told that a lot of my tastes are just plain bad, and it has me questioning everything. T is a somewhat sheltered white kid who always thought fish wasn’t supposed to taste like anything until I introduced them to fish tofu, but they resented the very idea of guiding me through movies and music they liked - said they wanted a partner, not someone they needed to “teach�� about good music and plot holes. And I’m still smarting from that. Maybe next year I’ll finally get around to all of the Star Wars movies, and Star Trek, and the rest of LOTR, and and and…

But until then I rly am hoping I someday find someone who is as excited to share their favorite media with me as dx’s partner was. And maybe even someone who will watch my favorite chinese historical dramas with me, as well as my favorite anime, and introduce me to amazing new movies.

T did introduce me to a few incredible movies, which is why I feel so bad about them not liking anything I showed them. Feels a bit like my tastes are just - less refined in general. But I don’t really even know where to start, since it’s not like my parents exactly watch a ton of american movies or would let me watch tv or movies growing up. The things my parents have exposed me to are mostly korean dramas and nature shows. My dad is a huge romantic and loves Dido and Celine Dion. Not exactly helpful as a jumping off point, though certainly lovely sounding music? like I never quite figured out what there is to hate about most music. Heavy metal screamo makes my blood pressure rise, and I don’t relate to country, but… how else do other people even judge music? I usually like most things I listen to, unless they raise my blood pressure by being severely discordant or whiny / off pitch. I even love classical, having played the piano since I was 5.

Been wanting to read all of Pratchett for years. Have not gotten around to it… but finally read the first discworld book recently and it was awesome. And Neil Gaiman is practically my favorite author, so ofc I loved loved Good Omens.

Okay so this is a big deal

To me, and to a significant subset of Sir Terry's fans (including most of you who've found this by the tags), his writing is serious commentary on the human condition - politics, prejudice, self-control, revenge vs. justice, religion, idealism, faith in people vs. cynicism, and more - dressed up with fantasy settings and a hefty leavening of humor to make it fun to read. And it is WILDLY fun to read, actual laugh-out-loud or at least a snicker averaging about every page.

But there's this common idea among the "important literature" people that fun and funny books are not also worthwhile or important in the same way.

This is a Discworld book being released WITH ACADEMIC COMMENTARY and AS A PENGUIN CLASSIC. That's a HUGE amount of recognition.

[parfaitblogs]

over the moon ❀ s. reid x reader

in which a bout of insomnia prompts the usage of your arguably overworked baking equipment. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: fluff tags: established relationship. cliché flour fight into kissing... sorry... no i'm not. use of pet names. make out sesh (obviously).  word count: 1.4k a/n: also known as spencer and reader take on the margotlia bucket list for margovember!!! happy birthday to my lover @pathologicalreid!!! who has very quickly become my other half on this silly little side of tumblr. a prophet told me there are snickerdoodle cookies and a smithsonian date with our names on it in our futures ♡

"Honey, please tell me the light on in the kitchen is you getting a glass of water."

Like a deer in headlights, you're frozen in your beelined pathway between the fridge and the countertop of Spencer's kitchen, the carton of eggs in your hands preventing any attempt of a lie to him.

"Uh..." Your eyes lock with his, and he's visibly deflating upon spotting the pantry's baking ingredients arranged in front of you. "I'm just getting water?"

"I didn't realise you put sticks of butter into your water," he counters, voice meticulously picking apart your lie in front of your face. "Does that taste good?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sure," he nods his head, his feet carrying him over to you behind the counter. "What recipe have you chosen to victimise today?"

"Snickerdoodle cookies," you mumble, as his arms wrap around your waist, and his chin sits on your shoulder, eyes peering at your phone screen that had the cookie recipe open. 

"Any particular reason?" 

"I couldn't sleep," you explain. "Did I wake you up?"

"Yeah," he nods, and a beat passes where you mumble a quiet apology to him, before he's pulling away from you and picking up your phone. "Where do we start?"

It wasn't the first time you had baked instead of sleeping, and it certainly wasn't the first time Spencer had woken up to the sound of your hand mixer combining sugar and butter, or the oven timer dinging to accompany the smell of freshly baked muffins. In fact, he had become accustomed to not getting through an entire fortnight without at least one tray of baked goods taking up counter space. 

It was the first time he had offered to help you, though. He either accompanied you and watched you bake, or sat at his desk to get paperwork done (he said he should use the extra time spent conscious wisely). 

"You don't have to help," you're shaking your head, but he's already going to the sink to wash his hands. 

"You only slept for two hours before waking up to do this. I'd like to get you back to bed sooner rather than later," he answers, patting his hands dry. "I won't sleep until you do, anyways."

"Okay," you relent, staring at him almost stunned, before you return to the recipe you had up on your phone. "Um... could you combine the sugar and butter?"

Baking with Spencer Reid seemed to make everything a lot easier. Ignoring the obvious (the help an extra set of hands provided), his eidetic memory meant you could throw a step his way, and he'd know exactly what he was doing. Having asked him to add the eggs to his sugar and butter mix, he was already separating the yolk from the whites before you needed to say a thing.

"Have you ever stuck your hand into flour?" you ask him, and he lifts his head, eyebrows frowning together. 

"No. Why would I do that?"

"To know what it feels like," you say, dryly, though there isn't any malice behind it. "Have you never wanted to know what it feels like?"

"You can use context clues to figure out what it would feel like," he replies. "Correct?" 

"Spencer, you're entirely missing the point," you shake your head, and though he lifts his head from his sugar-butter-and-egg mixture to question you, he doesn't even remotely expect a large fistful of flour to explode across his chest. 

Then, you're laughing, and he's still battling with the initial shock of your flour attack for a few more seconds to laugh with you. But, when he does, he's almost mocking with it, and your face falls when he's putting his own hand into the container labelled flour, lifting it, and dragging his hand over your stomach. 

"Oh my God!" you say through a laugh, looking down at the smear of flour on your t-shirt. "Spencer!"

"Reap what you can sow," he retorts. 

So, you do.

You aren't too sure when the flour fighting gets more intimate. Somewhere between your fingers running it through his hair, and his hands landing on your ass, as he tugs you into him.

You're heaving, though the smile on your face is perfect, and he's certain he might be falling in love with you all over again. Cheeks stained in flour and all. 

"Hello," you sing, lifting your chin up to smile at him.

"Hi, sweet girl," he replies, ducking his head down to brush his lips against yours, and you pull a face at the faint taste of flour on them. 

Your finger lifts up to brush his lower lip, face growing concentrated as you brush the powder off it. "You've got a little... something..." 

"Do I?" he asks, condescendingly, and you're firmly nodding your head. 

"Yep. This is why I bake alone, Spencer Reid," you tut. 

His eyebrows raise. "I don't know if I want to even try to prove you wrong."

"I wouldn't recommend it."

"Duly noted. Anything you do recommend?"

You pause. "Kissing me might help in my journey of forgiving you for this mess."

If he's got any plan to defend himself, it crumbles beneath the words of your request, and his lips are stretching into a smile. 

"I'll do whatever I can."

His lips have a film on them from the brushed away flour, making them softer than they usually are, as he presses them against yours. Hands that were once resting almost teasingly on your ass lift to your hips, and your own drop to the countertop behind him as you lean into him.

As you usually feel in your slow moments like this with him, you feel your heart soar, your head tilting to the side as you accomodate his face being so close to your own. 

Arguably, his favourite thing about kissing you for longer than half a second, is the mewls and hums that leave your lips. Never too much to prompt anything more, but instead just enough to tell him just how much you enjoy kissing him. A feeling that is entirely mutual.

As soon as it starts, it's over. Which can't really be true, for you are panting when his head pulls away from yours,  and he's got that glassy look in his eyes that always makes your body warm. 

"We need to go shower," he murmurs, breath warm against your skin. 

You want to decline, just to stay standing right there in the kitchen with him, the urge to keep kissing him almost overwhelming. But his fingers have lifted to brush against a patch of flour on your neck, and you're surrendering at the feeling. 

"Okay."

Thus, forty-five minutes and one unreasonably long shower later, you were standing back in the kitchen, a bowl with cinnamon and sugar in front of you. Spencer's t-shirt hanging off your body — after you had expertly coerced him into letting you wear it — and a fork in your hands as you whisk the two toppings together. 

He's sitting on a stool on the other side of the bench, stirring the dough together after you had complained it was too thick. He argued it was supposed to be. 

Heading over to Spencer once the cinnamon and sugar was combined in a bowl, you mumble, "Okay. 'm tired," your head buried into the crook of his neck. 

"Yeah, weaponising that flour probably exhausted some energy," he muses, letting go of the wooden spoon to wrap his arms around you. "We still need to bake these, though."

"Cookie dough is yummy too," you retort, hand reaching out to pinch a piece of the dough. 

"Cookie dough isn't safe for you to eat," he answers, catching your wrist before you can get ahold of any batter. Upon seeing your pout, combined with the tired look in your eyes, he relents, letting you pick up a small piece just to eat. "How about we put this in the fridge, and we bake them tomorrow?" 

"I like that plan."

"I thought you would."

Helping him with the clean up consisted of you putting the dough in the fridge and cinnamon sugar in the pantry, and him doing... everything else. He didn't seem to mind, though, and his hands found their place on your waist as he walked you back towards the bedroom. 

"C'mon, sleepy girl."

He laughs at your incoherent grumble towards the name calling, letting you drag him back into the bed adorned with wrinkled sheets. 

"Thanks for baking with me," you say, voice layered with your exhaustion as you're curling up next to him. 

"Thanks for attacking me with flour."

"And I'd do it again."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[ssentimentals]

As someone who is terrified of spiders, I need fluff prompt 14 with Wonwoo in my life! Thank you!! 💜

as someone who is terrified of spiders as well - i got you!! thank you of course for requesting, hopefully you will like it! 💜

fluff prompt: 'why are you on the table? - a better view of life. '...where is the spider? - ...by the door.

how did this thing even get inside is beyond you. sitting on the table with knees tucked to your chest, your whole life now resolved around not losing this creature from your sight; you didn't even turn around at the sound of the door opening, too scared that it'll just disappear if you look away even for a second. light tremors rock your body and you grip spatula tighter in your hand. god, why do they even exist in the first place? the second this thought crosses your mind you instantly feel guilty, correcting yourself mentally that they can exist of course, just nowhere near you. yes, that sounded acceptable.

'baby, i'm ho-' wonwoo pauses at the doorway with two big bags of takeout in his hands. he quickly takes in your position and asks, bewildered: 'why are you on the table?'

you can't look away, because that thing will move exactly in that moment, you know. so, you don't. 'chilling,' you reply, moving a little closer to the edge of the table. 'you know, seeing a better view of life from here.'

you can't see wonwoo's expression but you know that he's rolling his eyes right now. he's not unfamiliar with your antics, so maybe you shouldn't be surprised when after sound of bags rustling and something dropping on the floor, you hear a very reasonable question: 'where is the spider?'

is this embarrassing how quickly he got to the root of the problem? maybe, you don't really have time to dwell on it now. pointing with spatula to the other corner, you mutter: 'by the door.'

universe did good by pairing you with wonwoo in this life - he has no fear of spiders and an ocean of patience for dealing with your fear of them. you also appreciate how wonwoo has no murdering intent and simply catches the spider with napkins and lets it go freely through the window. once that is done, he turns to you with a small smile on his face, amusement dances on his features. 'my damsel,' he teases, helping you get off the table.

'shut up,' you mutter, because now embarrassment kicked in. 'you got us takeout?'

'chinese, yes. also got your favorite dessert.'

you grin, looping your arms around his neck to bring his face down for a loud kiss. 'thank you!' you rush to the bags and then pause suddenly, turning around. 'for the spider as well.'

wonwoo shakes his head, equally parts amused and fond. 'sure, babe. anytime.'

a/n: request your own here! <3 - nini

[obitobi-simp]

This is obito uchiha alao knowen as tobi

BTW spoilers for naruto

Yeah that one is a lie

He's a bitch that just refuses to die

That's befor he went on a mission how did he break that promise ?

He got crushed by big rocks on one half(and give his new bff his magic eyeball cuz his bff lost an eye saving his ass(Wasted) but not relevant rn). You'd think he'd die from the boulder? Think again cuz You thought wrong he survived and got saved by old Founding Father and groomed and manipulated into being a terrorist (he was just being silly)

In said terrorist group, the origami girl blows him up with 600 billion mini bombs made out of paiper. He survived. To that's on him tho cuz he could sacrifice a magic eyeball(not his he has a stolen eyeball collection on a wall in a cave?) to save his sorry ass from being blown up for 10 min (his eye magic allows him to basically be dany phantom for 5 min straight and she wanted him dead)

Within naruto this still makes sense the next ones are just him surviving out of spite ig?

Next major thing he willingly let's his BFF stab him in the heart with lighting magic he survived that one and was heavly breathing for 5 min still somehow idk why his lungs didn't get damaged

Then he was forced to fully revive the guy that saved and groomed him(he was zombi kind of thing) the way that is done is exchangeing life for life (also eyeball magic bonus the magic eyeball in question originaly belongs to the manipulative zombi)

Idk how he survived long enougth to become the host of an ailen eldrich tree but he does he lives . He get's that thing removed which should kill him but he only takes a qick nap

Did i mention that that thing was split into 9 "monsters" and scattered ? And he got to play host to one of them that alao leave his body again . He should be dead but isn't

Did i mention all these things canonicly instant kill other ppl ? Othervhost that got the "monsters" removed from their body instantly died even the MC . Lightnig heart oircer no one survived showen multiple times kills ppl

Oh did i also mention the 3 things all happen in a singel night one after another in canon ?

This bitch just either A)refused to die on purpose B) survived out of pure mental instability and spite C) pissed off some deity(not that unlikely now that I think of it) D) the god of death shinigami or whatever didn't want to deal with him in the afterlife(he's a lil piece of shit and an annoying one on top of that too there are 4 gender male female and he's a living torture device if he really wanted to be one) E) the cultist warlock that was part of his terrorist boyband who got immortality from his patrion put a curse on him idk F)he out plotted the plot

He only dies later cuz after being used abondanig his life for a lie and doing a bunch of bad shit (he did nothing wrong in his life ever) the only good thing he could do was save the new born he put a bomb on exactly 17 years ago and let himself be turned to ash by an alien moon goddess

You thought that's it? No, he leaves the realm of the dead just like that to teleport to his BFF and give him magical eyeballs and a megazort to seal said alien moon goddess again. THEN HE DIES

He could've survived that shit if he didn't want to die. But I love that the only time he dies is at the hands of 2 beautiful woman

im aware this is an insane thing to say but i fucking. love characters that are just cockroaches. and i dont mean like. gross i mean they just do not fucking die. they can survive anything. they will outlive EVERYONE because they just will not die no matter what be it because they have a reason or because they literally cannot stop surviving the odds i love it i love it

[1nthedarknessofthenight]

﴾ you shook me

pairing: college student!seungmin kim x f!reader

genre: one-shot, university au, smut

word count: 9K

warnings: student! and teacher! ⋆ switch!seungmin and switch!reader ⋆ choking! ⋆ hair!pulling ⋆ small!age gap ⋆ jealousy ⋆ possessiveness ⋆ fingering (f.receiving) ⋆ oral (f.receiving) ⋆ cowgirl!position ⋆ unprotected!sex ⋆ creampie!

summary: you were captivating, you were in his mind and his soul, taking a bite of it each time you would glance his way, you shouldn’t excite him, you shouldn’t enjoy getting under his skin, it was so wrong…so wrong that it felt good

author’s note: he wants that cookie so bad

request by @khandzilla

──────────────────────

He thinks, he has a problem and you are it. You are haunting him and it seems like you have under a spell. You are so collected, so put together, it makes him feel dirty to have these thoughts about you. You are supposed to be a person to look up to, idol in his life, not his only thing that he wants to have. You are teaching him what to do, but he can’t hear — see anything other than you. Your words are soothing, yet strong, but he can’t do it. He wants to do good, think good for himself mostly as these years are the most important ones in his life, but it seems like it stopped the moment you walked into the room.

Your body clad in fitted skirt and blouse, the click of your heels silencing whatever noise was being made in the lecture hall. He wasn’t the only one. How could he? You are perfect — an intelligent and well behaved woman that knows the power of her own words. You are so good…in a sense of teaching of course. The way you never stumbled over your words, the time you took while thinking over the question the other students around him asked…he felt sick. Maybe it’s the hormones, natural urges that keep filling his mind with filthy, filthy things.

He kept it to himself mostly, but he remembers every one of your outfits. So elegant and unrevealing it made him lose his mind. You weren’t showing anything, other than your stocking clad legs when you would wear a skirt. Those girls in his class looked primitive next to you, so not put together, still figuring things out and that’s maybe why he liked you so much. You were a woman, a little older, yet still fresh. You always held your head high, but you never were prideful. You were a natural, seductive and he wishes you would claw your burgundy nails into his scalp, so you could see what exactly it is on his mind while he is attending your class.

It really angers him that a simple pencil skirt and a fitted sweater make him so dazed. He swears that he shivered when he saw the red bottoms of your shoes, his favorite, because they perfectly showcased your success in life. You were unreachable, untouchable. The worst part was that you never acknowledged him that much. Just few glances, always making sure to rise his hand high when you were making attendance. You were so good in what you did, teaching, listening. He remembers the time, when he saw his name in your handwriting while you were giving back tests to the other students. He forgot to even write his own name down, too caught up in your pursed lips while you were going over some papers. His name in your neat handwriting never looked better.

It is so unfair — looking like that and also being so unforgiving. His eyes are staring at the paper in his hands, bright red marks all over the whole page. He sometimes wonders if you get pleasure from giving these tests every two weeks. It was for a greater good, you were just making sure that everyone knew what was going on, but this one — this test was the most important one and he didn’t score high…he never did. He wants to say it is because of you, but it is mostly, because of his own mind.

Sighing, his hand runs through his hair, shaking his head at his own stupidity. He feels his friend leaning over his shoulder, a low whistle blowing against his cheek. “That’s not good.” Says, the long haired blonde, making him look at his paper and not to his surprise he did better than him.

His eyes go briefly to you, but his vision is blocked by a bunch of student who are already making their way out of the auditorium to their next class. He always likes to stay a little behind, because it gets stuffy sometimes and mostly he just likes to wait for you to possibly bump into you…on an accident. However like all those times you are way too quick for him, already packing up your things and putting them back into your worn out luxury bag, it only highlights the distended between you two. How could you do this to him? No, how could he do this to himself?

His hand stills in his short, black hair, fingers a little sticky from gel, nails digging into his head. “I just keep getting distracted—“ He mumbles to himself, though his friend catches it quickly.

“I get it — because look-“ Felix gestures to you just as you put your bag over your shoulder. “How can you pay attention with a thing like that.”

He wants to ignore his friend’s words, but it is the truth. You are so distracting and you don’t even do it on purpose, it’s all him. “I’m gonna ask for a redo.” He sighs out, finally moving to put his things away. The blonde immediately smacks his lips, shaking his head at his statement.

“I don’t know, man. She’s kind of strict, doesn’t give second chances.”

Trailing his eyes over your slowly distancing figure, his lips lift up slightly into a smile. “Watch me—“ Standing up, Felix only raises his hands in a shudder, letting him do whatever he wants.

He wished that he could, so many things. He ignores how his heart beats just a bit faster at the thought of talking to you alone. You always spend your small break in your office — was he distracted by you that much? In every other class he thinks he does a pretty decent job, every class other than yours. And yours was to his luck the most important one. He wonders what you looked like in his years, what kind of student you were. A nerd or a party girl? No, you are too uptight for that in some way and it only reminds him the difference between you and him.

The corridor is quiet, other than the few distant voices behind the close doors he passes by. The clicks of a clock makes him count just how much time he spends thinking through his words. You are not strict, you are just great at your job, but he needs just one more chance to prove you that he is somehow the same as you. He could never be as smart as you, but he wants you think of him — think of him. His feet drags him to the door of your office, black, cursive of your name and titles glaring at him. Even just staring at the door, he can feel your energy. Knocking on the door, his hand shakes a little when he hears an immediate ���come in’, your voice piercing through him.

Your office is a perfect reflection of you — dark, put together, but somehow screaming. Your figure is sat behind your desk placed in the middle of the room, those glasses you sometimes wore on the end of your nose, eyes staring through the lenses right at him. You look like a liquid sex to him, so naturally alluring he has to wonder if you are a siren in disguise. You are definitely leading him slowly to his end, to you. You lick your brown, matte lips, straightening your back and making your breast press against your sweater that perfectly outlines your curves. “Seungmin…here because of your test I presume?” You can read him like a book.

Nodding, he exhales through his nose by hearing his name coming from your luscious lips. Of course you know his name, you have everything memorized, but still the excitement rising in his chest is immense. He is still standing in the same spot. However you are calling to him to come closer, but he thinks if he did, he would do something really stupid. “Yeah…why did I get such a low score?” Seungmin knows why, because the reason is right in front of him. He feels stupid to even ask such question.

You drink in his frozen state, tilting your head just a little at his words. “In the test, I asked all of you to include both your explanations and the sources where you found these answers in the books I assigned you to read — and you didn’t do that.” You keep your voice low, almost sounding like you were scolding him, but he doesn’t seem to picked it up.

Seungmin points at his head, long index finger pressing into his temple. “Here’s my citations—“ Your lips pull into a smile of amusement, the move making his already raised eyebrows hit his hairline.

“It doesn’t work like that, every information comes from somewhere and you knew before hand.” He enjoys your attention that you are giving him right now, but the tone you use makes him embarrassed. “Next time keep that in mind.”

You end the discussion very quickly and when you turn back to your papers, he feels himself taking a little step closer to you. It does make you glance back at him, raising an challenging eyebrow at him. He is getting desperate. “Isn’t there a way I can redo it or something? Please—“ You wonder if he realizes how much his voice got whiny at the end. You almost coo at him, but the way his face scrunches up in frustration, makes you think twice about your decision.

A short, but heavy silence spreads around the room as your unmoving stare stay at his fidgeting figure. “No.” Is your answer firstly and you take a short breath to gather your thoughts, while his shoulder start to fall in disappointment. “I do not except redos, but you can write an essay regarding this topic.” A big wave of relief washes over him, already nodding his head at your request. His enthusiasm does quiver a little at your next words. “You have till Friday.”

“But that’s like in four days—“

You don’t even shrug at him, already going back to your work, but you do hold yourself not to correct his tone with you. Seungmin should feel greatful, but you still had to make it difficult for him. You know about how tight his schedule is, but that really isn’t your problem. You dismiss him by just a quick wave of your hand, flashing your long, manicured nails at him. He watches you for a second longer, before he walks out of your office, releasing a long sigh. He already is starting to feel tired, because he knows he has to do his best in such short amount of time. However he realizes that you have given him something that you have never given before — a second chance.

────

Seungmin’s eyes were droopy, head pounding, dark circles under his eyelashes. He spend these past few days working and working and for a short while you were put into the back of his mind. He had to do good to secure his grade and the memory of your disapproving face made him work even harder. While writing, trying to get every information that was supposed to be in his head already, it in his exhausted state felt like you were looming over his shoulder. Like a phantom, he can’t lie — there wasn’t a minute that he didn’t think of you while working on the paper.

Something that helped him keep his head high was his friend’s facial expression when he told him how you did give him a second chance to prove himself, though the tiredness around his eyes wasn’t unseen. When Thursday came around Seungmin couldn’t take it anymore. He knew that he was too tired to even pay attention, so was it even necessary to be in school anymore? It was the last lecture of the day and he already had a plan to just skip the next day to finish his work. However even in his hazy state, he wouldn’t be able to make up what he saw when he left the room.

The soft click of the door shutting behind him was quiet, hallway usually filled with students now empty other than your standing figure and the other. Professor Bahng was chatting with you, awfully close to you, the pointed tips of your shoes slightly touching his polished ones. You were smiling…he has never seen you so bright before. Your voice was soft as ever and your eyes strained on the man before you, not even catching his presence. He still made his moves minimal, just not to be caught, but even if he tried really hard, he couldn’t hear anything of the conversation. Seungmin couldn’t fight the jealousy from seeing you being so close to someone and when he saw Professor Bahng’s hand rubbing softly at your arm, he had to sneer.

Gritting his teeth, he almost bites his tongue at those shared secret whisper between you two. You were too out of his league, even if Professor Bahng was successful as well he could never handle you. In Seungmin’s eyes no one could possibly deserve such an amazing woman like you, but he himself could try, he thinks. Your painted lips stretched into a smile, mirroring the man before you, before you with a small flip of your hair turn around to walk the opposite way. The man stood in his spot for a minute longer, watching you walk away and Seungmin is sure that he was looking at your ass with that big, stupid smile on his face.

The glare on his face is hard, eyes moving from you to Professor Bahng who walked pass him, not even acknowledging him. In some way, one side of him didn’t want to know what you two were talking about and the other almost made him kick his Professor’s feet so he would fall face first, hopefully wiping that stupid smile off his face. He didn’t of course, too blinded by the waves of different emotions to be able to do anything.

This small encounter made it a bit harder for him to focus, but with the last bits of strength he had left, he made it. When Seungmin send you the email with his work, he felt proud, but still just a little anxious about what you might think of it. He knows that you like to keep your work organized, he knows how quick you are with everything, he knows from the other students how you would always answer in a record time, but…you didn’t. Maybe it was the hour he send it at, but something is telling him that you are basically glued to atleast one device. You were everywhere, but now, it was like you disappeared. He knows it’s nonsense, but you not responding made him rightfully nervous. He kept refreshing his email, but nothing. He couldn’t sleep, whole saturday ruined for him, because he just couldn’t even breathe without your answer. So it made him do a very stupid thing…

A simple knock was all that it took, the noise was loud to his ears, making him snap back into reality. He can’t fight against his own thoughts anymore. This is all inappropriate, borderline creepy of him to do and when you open the door, your face full of surprise, it makes him think of all possible consequences. Your hand is around the door handle, air getting slightly knocked out of your lungs, but you quickly find your composure. You stare in shock at the man before you, eyes going up and down his lean body.

“Seungmin…” You don’t know what to say for a second and by that he slowly starts to regret showing up at your house. “What are you doing here?” You are a little alarmed by his presence and appearance, but by the look on his face it seems like he is surprised himself.

“You didn’t reply to my email.” The words fly out of his mouth, gasping almost.

Your lips parted, body invisible behind the slightly open door to your home. Big red warning sign blares in your head, though your curiosity is taking over. You are rarely surprised by something, someone and him showing up at your doorstep did make you almost double over. His question, more like a statement, hangs heavy in the air and the small hidden meaning behind it is obvious to both of you. You should feel creeped out, maybe frightened, yet excitement rumbles in your tummy. “I was busy…” You trail off, going back to your almost monotone voice, leg just barely peaking out of door. The movement makes his eyes travel down briefly to your stocking clad leg, but it is hidden again quite quickly, atleast he can still see your face. “How did you know where I live?” You finally ask, red painted lips slowly moving around your words.

Seungmin shrugs a little, trying so hard to play it cool. The truth is that finding out where you live was rather easy and he wished that he knew it sooner. “Felix told me.” His answer makes your features form into realization, eyes going briefly behind him to look into the direction of the small house few minutes away from yours.

“Of course…” You mumble lowly, squinting your eyes at him in the darkness. He is for sure bold to show up like this, unannounced, it’s highly inappropriate — that’s the only word that can summon up this whole situation.

When he sees you closing the door a little at his answer, he immediately puts his foot in the small gap left in the doorway, preventing you from closing the door. “No, wait!” There’s a big desperation in his voice and the looks shared with you are slowly turning into something way more different than before. You should scream at him, at least look a little angered, but you are still as ever. You only look at him, blinking slowly and he at that notices your dark eyeshadow, perfectly outlining your siren eyes. “Please, Miss can you look at it? It won’t take long, I promise—“

There’s a shift in the air. Your stare is hard and piercing. Seungmin thinks that he just dug up his own grave by being so disrespectful and maybe he should have just waited for you to answer a little longer, but the waiting is already eating him up. You don’t say anything, but as you open the door wider that is the only answer he needed. However no relief washes over him, on the other hand, cold sweat starts to gather at his hairline when you let him see you fully.

He has never seen you without your so called uniform, but this…he wonders if these kinds of clothes are just permanently glued to your figure. Your usual skirt however is shorter, ending just at the middle of your yummy thighs that are pushed together as you twirl around. It is like you want to show yourself off to him, a large lump forming at the back of his throat, because he knows that if you would bend over he would see everything. You let him get a short glimpse of your overly tight blouse, few buttons undone at the top. Not to mention your darker make up and pulled up hair — he doesn’t regret coming at this late hour to your house at all anymore.

Stepping in your home he gets a whiff of you, the strong, spicy, yet sweet scent you always wear. He is shaking inside, when he closes the door to your house behind him, leaving you all to himself. One thing that is definitely the most inappropriate is your outfit. He just can’t get over it and he drinks up the view of your naturally swinging hips, leading him further inside your clay home.

Seungmin almost trips over his own feet, while taking his boots off, not wanting to disturb your perfectly polished floor. Following the sounds of your heels clicking, he wonders what exactly got you all dressed up at this late hour. There’s no way you actually prefer staying in your work clothes, nor wearing these high shoes in your house. When you lead him through the small corridor to your lightly lit living room, he sees a coat thrown over the couch, your handbag laying on your black coffee table.

“Do you—“ Seungmin trails off, following you with his eyes as you stop at a small desk with a computer. You do take your work home in some way. “Have any plans…Professor?” Watching you pull out a chair for yourself to sit at the table, you finally look at him. How are you so good at making him feel so unseen, while also making him completely drunk of your presence alone?

There is a subtle smirk on your face, that he thinks is only imaginary, when you turn to your computer, your hand under your chin blocking his view. “That doesn’t concern you.” Your voice sounds unbothered by his small prying, but it still pokes at his heart.

“Just trying to make a conversation.” Seungmin says, though he starts to grow concerned about what you might be doing after you dismiss him. All dolled up, surely it’s not only for yourself. His own thoughts are soon answered, just as he goes around your couch closer to you.

You click away on the screen, watching him by the corner of your eye how he goes to sit at the edge of your grey cushion couch and he almost falls backwards with your next words. “Yes…I’m going on a date.” You say it so smoothly and unbothered, while he on the other hand freezes in his seat.

His worries were just confirmed. His hands form into fists, nails digging into the palms of his hands. The raging jealousy fills his field of vision and if you would turn your head to glance back at him, you would see it in his eyes. Were you surprised by him, just because you were expecting someone else? Someone else to talk to you, listen to your voice — touch you? It’s sick, you are older than him, you have the whole right to go out and have fun, then why does he feel so absolutely betrayed. His lips are set into thin line, stare unmoving from you and he already forgot about what is and what is not appropriate. Well, he was just trying to make a conversation…

“With whom?”

You pull your bottom lip into your mouth, tasting your lip gloss. Your fingers move across the mouse, eyes going over the text before you. He is so easy…you have to bite down at your tongue. Your small silence is making him shake and you thrive in it, enjoying it a little too much. Your eyes, body is facing the computer, eyes flying over his work like you haven’t already read it, however he has your full attention. You feel Seungmin’s eyes on your lips, watching you release your bottom lip from your mouth. “Professor Bahng.” Your lips move slowly, tongue rolling and with his eyes, he sees the answer before he hears it.

Heavy coat of rage falls over him, suffocating him with such jealousy he has to hold himself back. The fact that what he saw in the hallway really was something more than just a friendly conversation is making his blood boil. You were smiling at him, agreeing to go to dinner at such a late hour. It is obvious why, but he just doesn’t want to imagine his filthy hands and mouth all over you. “Mr. Bahng? He is like forty!” His voice is loud, but he doesn’t really care about his behavior.

You click your tongue at him, tilting your head into his direction and flashing your glimmering eyes at his fidgeting figure. “And? Age is just a number.” You are inviting him in, with your change of expression and posture. Was his mind already playing tricks on him or were your words laced with a deeper meaning?

Seungmin trails his eyes over you, but you don’t tell him enough to know that he isn’t imagining it. Are you flirting? Maybe it’s just you, he knows that even a simple word from you makes him shake. He hates it, just as much as he loves it. “Maybe it is…” You look back at him briefly, but you don’t give him much of your attention. You are making him go crazy with your unbothered behavior, you for sure have to know the power you have over him. “But you realize that he just wants to fuck you, right?” The words flew out of his mouth so fast, he almost cringed, but to his surprise you don’t scold him.

You actually laugh, the sound short yet real and he melts into the material of your couch. “Yes, I am aware — that’s why I’m going.” Of course his own cheerful demeanor doesn’t last long, because you just love to play with his emotions. The fact you are letting him use such language, letting him in your own personal life is big for him. He thought you would be more careful about what you say, but when you let him in your home, something changed about you. You are no different, still somewhat cold and collected, but with this light burning in your eyes.

“So…you are really just looking for a booty call, Professor?” Humming, he finds it hard to keep it together. His words are not meant to disrespect you, but they are still really, really bold. Such a question to ask your teacher…The whole situation, how you are letting him talk to you like this, made him for a second forget about his jealousy, because you look very much unmoved by the fact that you were getting ready to get bend over. Seungmin feels spit gathering in his mouth at the thought. Your hair pulled back by his hand, makeup smeared across your face, drool running down your cheek — he really is done for. “I thought, you were not the type.” You do look like a proper lady on the outside and with you being his mentor it shouldn’t bother him what your preferred way of having sex was. You are however captivating, he just can’t help himself. He lost the control over his whole body moments ago.

Your clicking stopped a long ago too, just staring blankly at the last passage of his essay, reading the same sentence over and over again. Looking back at him, you think about what to say next. You want to play with him a bit more, maybe embarrass him, but that seems unlikely. Seungmin never once was truly embarrassed by the choice of his words. Even if he looked spooked a little by his own statements, he still was confident and stood by what he said. Maybe he is just lying to you and to himself. His lean body is hovering a little over you, even if you are sitting a little far away from him, but you both know you has the real power here.

You let your own curiosity win again, putting your hands before you on the table and the subtle push of your breast is instantly noticed by him. “What type did you think I was?” Pursing your red lips, your hair falls slightly into your eyes, but you still see the small flash of bashfulness in him.

Shrugging, he tries hard not to tremble at your stare. “I thought you would be already dating someone...” He swallows the lump in his throat, even though he looks quite collected, it’s like you can still see right through him. You watch him closely, how he swings forward and then backwards in his seat, like he will jump into your direction at any moment. He looks a little lost in thought — well, lost in your cleavage. “Also…I think you need something more than a quick fuck—“

You can’t lie that you didn’t look forward to your little date, but it was more of a conference with a promise fling right after. You also can’t lie that Professor Bahng isn’t attractive and yummy in his round glasses, but you are not too into him. The young man before you is basically offering, but still subtly. Your crossed legs tighten around each other a little, you can’t play blind for that much longer. “Language, Seungmin. You are in my house.” You warn him, but the small smirk on your lips is telling him that it doesn’t mean much. “Besides…everyone has needs that they need to fulfill, even if it’s not in a preferred way.” The light coming from the screen of your computer reflects in your glasses, so he is unable to see your small awaiting look.

Seungmin does make you look at him again as he sits up, putting his hands in his pockets. It seems like you are always waiting for something. He loves your mature tone that you always use, even when you have a smile on your face. Your sultry voice is taking over his body quickly and he has to make fists in his pockets to hide it. He shouldn’t feel so hopeful after hearing you say that you are single. He is naturally surprised, but also not — you are a maneater. “You are saying there’s no one?” He voices out his words slowly, emphasizing on that one specific word. He loves having your attention, even when you would get quiet, he is drowning in your aura. He is already shaking with the possibility that is growing right in front of him. He has to remind himself that maybe you are actually the one making a friendly conversation — but then why are you letting him take a few steps closer after his statement.

You look up at him a little, eyes glaring at him through your glasses. He is already closer than ever before, even back in your office, even when you opened the door for him. He never really realized the distance between you two til now — till now when there is almost none. Your voice stops him from leaning on the table, standing before you with eyes staring right into your open shirt. “Your work…it’s good.” You say, looking between him and the screen. “Atleast from what I’m reading—“ You are not necessarily denying that his other passages are not good, you just can’t help yourself.

The fact that he went to your house mainly because of his essay is long forgotten, but he still feels relief wash over him. “Thank you.” Both of your voices get quieter and it’s chilling. The tension can’t be ignored anymore, he knows you feel it too, there’s no way you don’t.

His brown eyes travel over your body, at your pushed up breast and then your legs. The skirt you are wearing is almost at your waist, because of your crossed legs. Even in the dark he can see your muscles spasming just how tight they are pressed against each other. Seungmin mouth is dry, when he looks back at you. You are battling your eyelashes, your pretty, glossy lips looking good enough to eat. He doesn’t hold back anymore, it’s now all clear to him — you want him to make the first move.

You are still sitting in your spot, when he walks around the table to stop right at the corner. He is still leaving some space between you two and he swears your breathing started to got a little faster. This is all becoming so difficult for him and even you — why does the most forbidden things taste the most delicious? You have him wrapped around your pretty little finger. The smile you are wearing is anything, but innocent and the way you twirl around to face him fully is making it hard for him to even breathe. Seungmin leans closer to you, hands still in his pockets and he has to wonder if you can tell why exactly he is doing that. “Are you still going on that date?” He asks and he somehow knows that even this thing and marking his work already flew over both yours heads.

“Why wouldn’t I be? You think something changed my mind?” Your eyes are droopy, tilting your head at him. He has to laugh drily, because you are starting to drive him mad with your tactics.

“Fuck — stop playing with me…” The smile disappears from your lips, but you don’t look any moved, on the other hand you look even more amused. There is something about how you shuffle a little lower on your chair that really sets him off.

You really are just playing with him and he lets you regardless, however he has enough of it. Your breathing is heavier, lips parted, while he watches you uncross your legs. His hovering body over yours didn’t make him feel like was the one above things. Seungmin gasps softly at the sight of your inner thighs, skin still covered by your black stockings, the dark material masking everything to his displeasure. He truly is the one who made the first move, but you make the first touch — with your leg outstretched, you poke at his thigh, heel perfectly piercing his hand in his pocket.

The move makes his knees buckle, sweat gathering at his hairline when you lay your foot flat, pushing right into his bulge. You swear you can feel him pulsating under you. The one prominent vein pressing against the thin skin of his neck is telling you all that you need to know. He’s been hard since the moment he saw your mini skirt, his cock leaking and making an absolute mess. The groan that leaves him is loud, cutting through the thick air in the room. His eyes momentarily close at the relief, cock jumping from your touch, but when he looks back at you, it makes you stop.

Your leg falls down, your touch leaving him way too quickly. Your movements made your skirt just barely graze your upper thighs and he knows if you would open your legs, he would see your soaked cunt. In his hazy state, he has to stabilize himself with a hand on the table, so close to yours. You smack your lips together, him following your eyes that are staring right at the prominent imprint of his cock. “Well, look at you…” Your voice is breathy, feeling your arousal coat your skin from the sight of the dark spot on his pants.

He is trying to catch his breath, fidgeting in his spot and he is using all his might not to touch you without your permission. “I will make you feel good, better than him…I promise, I will not stop till you say so—“ He just barely leans forward, but you stop him with your leg again, now heel digging at his stomach preventing him from coming closer to you, but it is enough to catch a whiff of your perfume.

You are shaking inside from the look on his face. His usual styled hair is fluffy, soft looking and you can’t wait to run your hands through those strands. “You boys, think you will have a woman at your mercy with a small promise?” His eyes close for a second at your tone, knees buckling under him.

“Please, let me…please…” He hates how much control you have over him, but he soon will realize how much it is the opposite. If it meant to finally feel you, oh he will even beg…

You smile at his whine voice, leg moving up and down his lower tummy, heel catching at his belt. “Never thought you would be the type to beg, Seungmin, but it does look good on you—“

Shaking his head, his gaze is slightly hidden behind by his short hair, but it still feels intense as ever. “I can be anything you want, need…” Seungmin is getting desperate, looking like a hurt puppy, but still like a man that is willing to do anything to please a woman.

There’s so much that a person wants, but you want only one, simple thing. “I just want it to be you.” You say, voice clear and letting him hear the permission he so desperately needed.

His legs are already weak, so when he falls to his knees before you, it feels like the only right thing to do. His move makes you gasp softly, leg that was once on his stomach now on his shoulder, but still your legs are closed. “You won’t say anything—“ You say it like a demand, but there is a genuine concern in your voice. This is all so wrong, being attracted to each other — so forbidden. “You don’t want me to lose my job, do you?” The risks you are taking are high, he knows that and he is more than willing to take this whole interaction to his grave.

Seungmin shakes his head, the risk of getting caught is awfully arousing to him in some way. He would do anything to show your date just how much you love someone younger taking over you. He watches you slowly part your legs, the soft light of the room, making your basically uncovered pussy glisten. His mouth falls open at the sight, nothing other than the thin material of your stockings is his way. “Fuck…no way you were going to walk out like that.” He sees your eyes darting away from him and his cock jumps at the small move. You are both gasping when his hands travel up your legs, nails creating tears in your stockings and you don’t feel even a little frustrated. His hands are hot, warming you up and making you melt under him. His long fingers stop at your pubic bone, eyes meeting, just as he tears the middle part of your stockings.

A groan leaves him, mixing with your sharp gasp at his action. His eyes are drinking up the sight of your exposed cunt, left hand that is wrapped around your leg digging into your skin. “He could never deserve you.” With his words his mouth stays open, leaning closer to your center and the only thing that stops him before he could lick a long stripe up your folds is your hand his hair.

“You think you do?” There’s a genuine smile on your lips, feeling you play with the short strands of his hair.

“I’ll work for it.”

With that said he leans to catch the skin of your inner thigh into his mouth. The material of your stockings is tearing around his teeth that nibble at you. You sigh in pleasure, head rolling back as he makes his way up your leg, right to your cunt. You feel your juices sliding down your ass, creating a pool under you and he can’t help but grab his covered cock. He is making a mess just like you and he doesn’t waste any time, finally licking at you and moaning at your raw taste.

Seungmin is pent up and just as much he wants to make you feel good, he wants to make you tremble in the same way you do with him. His muscle lays flat against you, running it over your hole, lips, before stopping at your twitching clit. The soft sounds you make are like honey to his ears, making him slurp all of your sweetness into his mouth. The nasty sounds are making you moan louder, tugging at his soft hair, just as moves his tongue from side to side over your bud.

“Seungmin…” He moans with you, watching just as your head rolls back to meet his gaze. He wants to take his time with you, but seeing your glassy eyes is too much for him. “Oh!” You hum in pleasure when his fingers follow the sticky trail left by his tongue.

His rings click against each other, middle and ring finger circling around your hole. For a woman that made him fall to his knees, you sure are becoming a complete whimpering mess. Your glasses are falling from you nose, red lipstick a little faded from your nonsense biting at your lips. His neck is hurting a little from this position, but the pain is all worth it with the whorish moan you let out when he finally slides his fingers into you.

You are warm, dripping, sucking his digits right in and he can’t wait to fuck you on his cock. He needs it, you have to let him fuck you — he has to prove it you. His fingers curl up, scissoring and trying to find that one spot that makes you shake. He can feel your nerve endings pulsating in your clit as he wraps his lips around it, sucking just right, making you slide down your seat. You help him with his neck pain by putting your leg onto the table, pushing your hips up and he doesn’t even move away from you as you change your position.

His mouth is glued to you, fingers fidgeting till he hear a soft whimper, as his fingertips press against the squishy softness inside you. Your nails dig into his scalp, rutting against him, when he starts to quicken his movements. Your mouth is open, eyebrows furrowed, completely impressed by how good he is at reading your body. “Keep going — just like that, fuck!” He never heard you talk so loud and your curse is echoed, when he feels your walls contract around him.

Seungmin is letting his spit mix with your pleasures, drooling all over you. Your erratic movements are making him dizzy, eyes unmoving from you. He is so lost in you, he literally nibbles at your mound and to his surprise you only pull him closer to you. The squelching noises coming from your cunt every time he would move his fingers is making him ache, his other hand palming at his rock hard cock. A drunk smile spreads across his face when with a particular suck at your abused clit he hears you moan wildly.

You are so close, tasting your orgasm on the tip of your tongue. His fingers are in you so deep, fucking you with them so hard that you feel them in your throat. When a small whimper leaves him, your leg falls down off the table, ass lifting from your seat, your trembling legs wrapping around his head. The sound of your moans is slightly muffled by your thighs, but thankfully he still sees how your eyes rolls into the back of your head. He feels how your pussy tightens around his fingers, how your clit jumps between his lips and he has to take his hand off himself not to cum with you.

Your release coats his face, your legs and the hand in his hair pushes his nose right into you and he just takes it. You are shaking in your seat, moan getting caught in your throat at the waves of undying pleasure. You can’t get enough of it however. Your walls are sucking his fingers deeper, almost reaching your cervix and when your legs fall from his red, ringing ears, it’s clear than you are yet not done with him.

Your hand tugs at his hair, his mouth leaving you with a pop, heavy breaths tickling your soaked center. The look on your face is pure ecstasy, your hair messy, glasses fogged up. You glance at each other for a second longer trying to catch your breath, but then you abruptly stand up on your shaking legs, him slightly helping you find your balance with his hands digging into your thighs. He has to hiss when you tug at his hair again, his scalp stinging, when you pull him up to his own feet. “Sit.” The demand makes him groan, letting you twirl him around and push at his chest to only fall into the same chair he just eat you out on.

Seungmin manspreads on instinct and you bite your lip at the sight of him. He looks so dirty and so ready to let you do anything to him as long as he got to touch you again. You don’t keep him waiting for long, when you go to sit down on his inviting lap. “You are so hard…does it hurt?” Cooing at him, his mouth falls open at the feeling of your bare cunt on his clothed cock.

“Fuck me…” Groaning, his hands immediately find your hips, helping you ground on him. His face is leveled with your tits, before his eyes look up to you, watching you take deep breaths through your lips. His eyes linger on them, looking up at you with big eyes.

“You would like that wouldn’t you?”

It’s evil how you smile so sweetly while moving on top of him like this, each thrust growing harder and harder, the material of his pants rubbing at your swollen pussy. He can feel you soaking him, fingers going up to your waist to hold you closer to him. He would loved that actually — he will lose his mind otherwise. Your perfectly pouty lips are so close to him, breaths mixing together, but you don’t lean in. “I’ve been good…” His voice is soft, swallowing harshly by the addicting rolls of your hips. He can feel everything — your taste on his tongue, your pussy leaking and soaking his pants, your manicured nails piercing his shoulders…

You can’t help it, but moan too, your hand caressing his cheek, thumb pulling at his bottom lip. “Yes…you are.” Your praise is silenced by his lips on yours, tongue already pushing into your mouth. It’s all spit, loud smacks of your mouths echoing around your living room and you think you would be satisfied with just that, but there’s nothing you want to see more than his face when he is finally inside you.

Seungmin’s hands fly to your face, palms pushing and squishing your cheeks as he deepens the kiss. Your glasses dig into his nose a little, hands hungrily grabbing at you while yours do the same, stopping at his belt. Your nails click on the metal and the sound wakes him up a little, helping you unbuckle it. When he feels your hands on the skin of his stomach he is already gone, though something comes over him. “I don’t have a condom—“ Seungmin pulls away from you, trying to catch his breath.

You don’t even stop pulling at his pants, tickling him a little with your touch. “It’s alright, I’m on the pill.” He puffs out air, small shock striking him at your words. Seungmin is literally trembling, not even thinking twice before he lifts you up from his lap slightly to let his cock to spring free. The cold air kisses his leaking tip and he hopes you are liking what are seeing when your eyes travel downwards.

You can’t see much of anything, but wrapping your hand around his length told you everything. He is long, veiny, hot to touch and the short trimmed hairs at the base makes you wonder if this was his plan all along. You however can’t really think straight with the faces he is making already and the painful ache in your core, makes you level his mushroom tip to your entrance. You are so fucking hot right now, it’s suffocating you. Just smearing his precum over your hole has you shaking, gripping tightly onto his shoulder as you slowly slide down on him.

Seungmin chokes at how tight and perfect you feel and he knows that he won’t last long. However that makes you even more aroused. Something about him not being able to handle you, already looking so overstimulated just by feeling you slide in and out of you is so good. “You are so fucking hot—“ His eyes are big, going all over you, while leaning back into the chair to give you more room. Your moves are smooth, hips rolling, rising before bottoming out again. Your slick is sliding down to his balls, the sounds of your bodies colliding together filling his ringing ears. He is breathing heavier, hands dragging across you till they stop at your bouncing breasts, smushing them together.

His touch feels in a way possessive and glancing at his face, the pull at his dark eyebrows is making your legs tremble. His cock hits your cervix every time, soft hair scratching at your puffy clit. Your glasses almost fall from your nose by your erratic movements, but he thankfully catches them before they could fall on the ground. He marvels in your beauty, loving the way your lipstick is smudge across your parted lips and he just knows his are stained as well. He can feel your heart hammering against your chest, his hands grappling at your shirt so roughly you can hear it tearing. You don’t even care anymore — you are going to end up a complete mess either way.

He observes you so closely it’s almost nerve racking. Seungmin’s darkened eyes go to your neck, so bare and inviting, his hand gripping at your hip to jerk his hips up a little. It makes you gasp, stopping for just a split second, but when he does it again your legs gave up around him. The more you stop moving the more he fucks up into you and you have to hold back a loud whine from his hard thrusts.

He curses under his breath, when your head tilts back, body arching into him. Your hair is a complete mess, shirt popped open, letting him see the black lacy bra wrapped around your pretty tits. He almost growls at the thought that he almost let someone else see you like this, make you crumble and cry like this — they wouldn’t be able to. The fact you are basically wearing something he would maybe see you in school is making all of his fucked up fantasies better — now it’s a reality. His senses are so heightened that he can even hear the sound of your heels scraping against the floor, trying to find your balance.

He can feel himself slowly falling over the edge, his own legs shaking from lifting you up to bounce you on his cock. The way your sighs get whiner is making it difficult for him to keep his composure. “You are so fucking distracting with your little outfits — c-couldn’t stop thinking about you like t-this–“ His voice is so shaky, he almost thinks you didn’t even hear him, but then he can see the smile even from your head being turned away from him.

“I know, I noticed.”

A gasp leaves you, eyes shooting open when you suddenly feel his hand on your throat. “Say it again.” With glassy eyes you meet his crazed ones. Your face scrunches up, hand flying over his, but you don’t move it away from you. The pressure he applies next, makes you drool and he catches it with his tongue swiping across your bottom lip.

That is probably the most unexpected yet hottest thing you’ve ever experienced. The sudden change of dominance suits him so much, you are not having any trouble at succumbing to it. His mouth his so close to yours that your every word bounces of his lips. “I noticed you…” Mewling your hands fly to grip at his t-shirt, tugging it closer to you to maybe stop him from going so hard on you. When his long fingers tighten even more around your neck, skin burning under his rings, you start to feel the very familiar rumbling in your lower tummy. “S-Seungmin—“ The sound of his name coming from you, while you look so fucked out, makes him crumble.

“Please, cum for me.” Seungmin’s hand around your throat pulls you closer to him, shaking hand squeezing between where your bodies meet to find your clit. “I w-want to fill you up so bad, but I n-need you to cum first.”

He rolls, pinches at your bud, your body jerking up with just his movements and the show of power. The way he can be everything you want, how he can read you, your body and heart makes your last sound of pleasure form into silent scream. You are shaking wildly, sweating as the rope snaps in you, throwing you over the edge. In your state of euphoria, you don’t even hear how his breathing becomes rigid, but you do feel the nearly painful thrust of his hips.

You swear his tip breaches your cervix, the move, making your eyes open, just in time to see his frown of pleasure. A pathetic whimper falls from him, closing his eyes, body slumping against the chair as his cock twitches wildly around you, filling you up with his release. “S-so good–“ You lick your lips as you feel his cum painting you, it was so much that you can almost immediately feel it leaking out of you.

Seungmin head is empty for a moment, trying to catch his breath as he stares with wide eyes at the ceiling. The realization of what just happened — what he did, makes his orgasm feel even better. He feels your body slump forward, falling against his and he shouldn’t smile so much when he sees your eyes peaking up at him. He removes your hair from your hot face, flashing you such a sweet smile that seems laughable after everything that happened. “Will you…go on a date with me, Professor?” His question makes you laugh, smile not leaving your pretty face.

Your own hand pulls his short hair back from his forehead, losing yourself way too quickly at the stars in his eyes. “Call me by my name and sure, pretty boy–“ He grins even wider than before, pulling you up on his body to kiss you. However it does make you both moan in overstimulation, because his cock drags across your walls. With the look you two share next it’s clear that maybe a silly date will have to wait…

[muchosbesitos]

DOUBLE OR NOTHING— featuring toji fushiguro x wife! reader

after countless empty promises spilled from his lips, you wanted to believe that he’d show up to your anniversary of all things.

contents: 18+ content, minors dni. marriage problems, talks of divorce, (some) angst, smut, porn w minimal plot, cunnilingus w fingering, toji being a panty sniffer briefly mentioned, unprotected p in v, spanking (twice), backshots, missionary against a wall, toji kinda being an ass (what did you expect), pet names (ma, doll, etc.)

word count: 5k

author’s note: back from the dead sry

"I'll make it home to you by six, mama. Take you out on a nice date, get you some flowers, all that stuff you like. Promise."

The clock was nearing eight o'clock with no signs of Toji coming through the door anytime soon, your own patience starting to run out with every tick. Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. The sound echoed through your ears since you'd sat down on the leather couch nearly two hours ago, waiting for Toji to fulfill the promise. A promise that he'd made after flaking out on the date planned prior to that one.

And prior to that one. And prior. It'd been more missed dates than actual ones that he'd taken you out by now—you weren't exactly sure why you'd hoped for tonight to be different. Well, you knew exactly why. Today marked three years of being married to one another. You knew that he didn't prioritize date nights with you as much as he should, but you had held some sort of foolish hope that your anniversary would mean something—anything to him.

The divorce papers felt like a dead weight in your hand, much like how your relationship would be the second that you brought it up. It all just seemed so final, seeing the terms laid out that would end years of marriage. Just by the flick of a pen. But the idea was almost like a reprieve, like something that was worth looking forward to. You shook your head, getting up from the couch to set the stack of papers on the kitchen table where Toji wouldn't miss them.

Another half hour of eerie silence and Toji still hadn't come through the door. It was getting increasingly difficult to keep some semblance of hope that he'd even show up at all, much less for your date. You admitted defeat, slipping off your heels and pulling up a throw blanket over yourself. Succumbing to the sleep that was weighing down on your eyelids.

You weren't even sure how much time had passed when you heard the door swing open, the door hitting the wall from the force. The thud of his shoes hitting the tile followed, a grumble leaving Toji's lips. "Fuckin' bastards rigged that race. Robbed me of fifty bucks," he muttered to himself, slipping his coat off before placing it up on the coat rack.

"You're home late," you called out, watching as Toji turned to look at the couch before flicking on one of the living room lights. "Jesus woman, you scared me," he grumbled, a large hand resting by his chest as he looked over in your direction. Toji rubbed a hand over his face, exhaustion lingering on his face like a second skin. It was only then that he looked over at you, really looked at you, and what you were wearing.

Ah shit.

Almost as if he wanted to make the situation worse, he'd chosen to go with, "You got all dolled up just to fall asleep on the couch?" You could've sworn you felt your eye twitch at the question. He'd barely opened up his mouth and you were already wishing that he didn't even bother showing up for the night.

Toji knew he was in deep shit with each step he took into the living room, his mind already starting to work overdrive to figure out what he could do for what he'd missed. A date? No, you wouldn't have put on the very expensive pair of Louboutins for just any date. His mind was blanking on anything other than the numbers that he'd lost with earlier in the day. Come on, think.

"No, I got dolled up because I thought I'd be going out with my husband tonight," you retorted dryly, smudges of eyeshadow sticking to your hand when you went to rub at your eyes. You could see Toji's brows furrow, the wheels seeming to turn in his head for once, before a look of realization settled on his features.

"Look, I'm sorry. I got carried away at the casino," one of the many excuses you'd heard before coming back to bite you in the ass. The same excuse that he'd used last month when he forgot about a work party you'd mentioned to him. Which wouldn't have been too bad if it weren't for all the snide comments being whispered in your direction and all the unwarranted marriage advice.

Advice that you ended up forgetting about chugging down two glasses of tequila like water. "I'll make it up to you, I swear. You can pick the place and all that shit." There went another one. He'd really topped himself using the two of them in a row. You rubbed the bridge of your nose, looking over at him in disbelief. "Do you even know what today was? Why I'm so pissed off?"

"It's your birthday?" Toji spoke after a couple seconds, the answer clearly wrong just by the look on his face. You rubbed a hand over your face, standing up from your spot on the couch. "It's our wedding anniversary, Toji," you spoke up before he made another guess that would just piss you off even further, "And I have something I need to talk to you about. It's on the kitchen table."

Underneath the vase filled with wilted flowers—a collection more than anything that you kept around as a reminder that Toji used to care, was a stack of papers. He placed the vase down on the table with more force than necessary upon realizing what the documents were. "A divorce?" The words slipped out of him with such venom, such distaste, like the idea was unfathomable.

Toji slammed the papers down on the table, the salt and pepper shakers trembling before falling over. "Is that really what you want?" He stepped closer to you when you approached the table, his hands instinctively moving to hold your hips. Holding you close to his body. "No, I didn't get married with the intention of getting a divorce. But you've been neglecting this marriage for a couple months now."

"I'll make it up to you now," Toji spoke quickly, like he was afraid of losing you at any moment. Like you'd disappear if he didn't. And as much as you wanted to avoid looking over at him, the task had just become all that much difficult when you had nowhere else to look at. It only took one glance at his face to realize just what he meant by 'making it up to you.'

"You think you're gonna fix months of pushing me aside with just sex?"

"Nah, I know it's gonna take more. But you've been so tired, isn't that right? So tired of tryin' to keep this marriage from falling apart and nobody taking care of you?" His words were like a siren's song when he whispered them in your ear, your traitorous body leaning back to meet the drag of your fingertips. It was almost laughable at how easily your resolve had melted. "Lemme take care of you mama. Promise I'll make you feel good."

"You wanna call me a dick, never wanna see me again? That's fine, just don't deny me one last taste. Please," And while Toji wasn't a man to beg for anything in his life, he found himself saying the words anyways. "Thought this was you making it up to me," and as much as you were willing yourself not to fold, you felt yourself spreading your legs almost instinctively when his finger dragged up your inner thigh.

"Can't it be both?" Toji's teeth nipped at your neck, licking a stripe up the junction of your neck. Practically salivating at the taste of you, of the expensive perfume you'd put on just a mere hours beforehand. "One could say that you're just being selfish," your words quickly died out when Toji started sucking on your pulse point, your own heartbeat betraying you. You'd expected Toji to sass you back, say something about how your body was just so needy against his touch.

But instead, he dropped down to his knees in front of you. The wooden floor underneath his knees almost made him feel bad for all the times he had you in a similar position. Almost. Toji looked up at you, "Selfish only when it comes to you."

Every slow drag of his fingertips across your smooth skin seemed almost reverent— like you were something to worship. You were, he just failed to realize that until now. Until you were almost out the door. "I'm sorry," the first real apology of the night slipped out of his mouth, his lips pressed against your shin. "I'm sorry," he moved up to your knee, repeating the action. Hushed whispers of I'm sorry's and featherlight kisses moving up your legs, stopping only when he gets to your clothed cunt.

"I'm sorry," Toji uttered his last apology against your cunt, his eyes locking onto yours as he applied an open mouthed kiss on your clothed clit. Barely darting his tongue out, swirling it against the nerves that were just begging for one ounce of stimulation. And he was practically reveling in how needy he made you in the span of seconds. Your back arched to rest against the seat behind you, one of your hands going to rest on his head.

Toji's fingers dragged slowly in between your folds, feeling the wet patch already starting to form through the thin lace material. You refused to make eye contact with him, knowing that if you did, he'd be able to see just how desperate you were in just a manner of seconds. Even if the bastard probably had a clue already. "You sure your pussy agrees with the divorce?" His voice came out to something akin to a purr, the drag of his fingers slowing down.

Getting you even more worked up than you were already. "Fucking hate you, can't even apologize right," you let out a hiss, your hand going down to his hair. Pulling his head even closer to you despite your previous claim. "Fine, I'll apologize correctly," Toji sounded like you were the one inconveniencing him—to which you were. He wanted to take his time with his meal, have you begging for him to touch you. And normally, he would've.

If he weren't desperate to have your cunt on his face again after weeks, months? of just having his fist to work with. His fist and a used pair of your panties up to his nose like a pervert, hips humping the air in desperation. Imagining that it was your tongue flicking across his leaking tip instead of his thumb, that it was your soft hands in exchange of his rough ones. And as easy as it was for him to get laid—he didn't want to be with anyone that wasn't you.

Toji hadn't tasted someone as sweet as you, heard someone so angelic before, but now he supposed that maybe he'd have to put that theory to the test if you left him after all. Just the idea was maddening. That someone else would be doing the same thing that he's doing to you now, that they'd give you the affection that he should've given.

"Especially sorry to you. Been neglecting you for too long," he hooked his fingers around the side of your panties, pulling them to the side just enough to reveal your slick folds to him. Toji swiped the tip of his finger along your entrance, your slick glistening against the harsh kitchen lighting before he stuck in his mouth. Swirling his tongue around it, licking away at it like the slut he was.

And like the deprived man that he'd been, Toji's hands went to the lace of your underwear and stretched it out until a loud rip echoed throughout the kitchen. "You always this wet for people you hate? Or is that just for me?" Toji taunted, pushing your tattered panties down to your ankles. Finally leaning in closer to where you were aching for him to touch you. To do something other than just tease you relentlessly.

Toji settled on his knees behind you, spreading your legs open like you were his favorite meal. His tongue swiped up on your dripping cunt, licking up your essence with sheer greed. "Mmph fuck, so good," his words came out muffled, his tongue swiping across your folds before darting inside of your cunt. Your grip on the table tightened, your hips working on their own accord to push back onto his face. Practically suffocating him in your pussy. Not that he minded. By any means.

Toji practically welcomed it, his hands pushing you down onto his face. Getting absorbed in your cunt completely. "A-Ah fuck, Toji!" You could already see the noise complaint hanging on your front door first thing in the morning. But how could you be expected to keep your voice down? Toji spread your folds apart with two fingers as if he were preparing for a feast, his tongue feverishly licking in between.

"Fuckin' soaked already, knew you loved me," The vibration of the low chuckle that followed his words shot currents up your spine, your ass jiggling all that much more in his face. With such a decadent taste coating his taste buds, dying by your pussy would be nothing short of a blissful way to go out. One of the fingers that he'd been using to spread your folds had been pushed inside of your cunt, your walls clenching around him.

Toji's tongue flicked against your clit, swirling the tip around the bud while his finger slowly pushed further inside of you. The loud squelch of your cunt was the only thing that filled the apartment, everything else completely silent. Your fingers dug deeper into his scalp, a low groan leaving his lips. "F-Fuck, Toji Toji," he pushed another thick finger inside, moving them in a scissoring motion to stretch you out.

"You think y're gonna find someone who can do this?" Toji looked up at you, his fingers curling up to hit that spongy spot inside of you almost perfectly. And if you didn't know any better, you'd almost say that he looked vulnerable while he made the question. Toji's lips wrapped around your clit, gently sucking on it as his fingers worked you closer and closer to your orgasm. You couldn't bring yourself to answer—didn't trust yourself to speak.

"Toji, Toji, gonna cum," you gave him a warning, your jaw falling slack and your lips parting in a o-shape. Soundless moans leaving your lips, feeling that coil in your lower tummy start to tighten up all the much more. With one final pump of his fingers, you were covering his lips with your release. His tongue swiped across his lips, across the scar that he hated, collecting every drop. Savoring what he imagined would be the last taste of you.

"Turn around," It was almost embarrassing how quickly you'd turned around per your soon-to-be ex husband's request.

Toji didn't take more than a couple seconds in unbuttoning his pants and taking them off, his cock hitting his stomach once it was released from its confines. Precum dribbled from his annoyingly almost pretty pink tip, dripping onto the floor. Drip. Drip. Drip. His cock slid through your folds like a slip n slide, your previous orgasm coating his tip with every lazy drag. "Toji," your voice bordered on a whine, pushing your hips to try to meet his movements.

"Tell me what you want," Toji clicked his tongue, one of his hands moving to hold your waist. Keeping you completely still until he got what he wanted. You figured there wasn't any harm in whining—you were already fucking the man after you brought up a divorce. There truly wasn't that much more to lose. "Why do I have to ask for it when you're the one apologizing?"

"Because you're the one pushing your hips back against me. All needy 'n shit. So.. beg."

"Want you inside me, Toji. Please."

"Want?"

You let out a huff before correcting yourself, "Need."

"Come on, doll. You can say it nicer than that, right?" Toji's pointer trailed up your torso, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

So goddamn annoying. You swallowed whatever pride you had left before looking back over at him, "Please, Toji. Need your cock in me. Please."

Toji clicked his tongue, one hand wrapping around his cock and giving himself a couple tentative pumps. "Think you can beg better than that. But since I'm feeling nice, I guess I'll let it slide." So much for feeling apologetic. Toji pushed his cock inside of you in one swift motion, a hiss leaving your lips at the stretch. Even with the fingers that'd been inside of you, nothing could've really prepared you.

"You okay?" Toji dropped his head to rest on your shoulder, whispering the words in your ear. Staying still while your walls tried to adjust to the overwhelming stretch. "You try taking your cock," you muttered dryly, giving him a nod to start moving. "Why would I do that when you take it so well?" Toji pushed the rest of his cock inside, his hands resting on your hips.

Toji wasn't particularly known for being gentle—the one hospital visit after he'd injured your cervix more than enough proof of that, but he started off slow. Slow, shallow thrusts. Fucking you in a way that he hasn't since your honeymoon. "Toji, you can speed up," you assured him, your words getting cut off with a smack to your ass. "What I'd say about tellin' me what to do?" Ah, there was the mean Toji that you recognized.

"Wouldn't need to tell you what to do if my vibrator wasn't looking more appealing right now."

Famous last words.

The change was almost immediate. Mascara dribbled down your cheeks, the sight of your once composed makeup all ruined making Toji's cock twitch inside of you. "Fucking pretty like this, y'know?" His teeth sunk down on the junction of your shoulder, his teeth grazing across the sensitive flesh. His hips snapped roughly into yours, your breathing growing erratic. "Fuck, Fuck, Toji!"

The coldness of his gold wedding band hit your skin as soon as he went to grip your hips, holding you against him like he needed to be close to you. The two of you had been distant for some time and he hadn't bothered to take off his wedding band once, not even on the rare occasion that he actually did happen to take a job. Toji would never admit it, of course—but he was starved for the feeling of your skin against his own.

To confirm that you were still here after all.

Your hands reached out to grab to whatever you could grab—anything, and of course, it just happened to be the divorce papers sitting on the middle of the table. Practically taunting you as your own signature glared back at you. "This good enough for you, princess?" Toji taunted in your ear, his blunt fingernails digging into your sides. "Mhm, j-just like that," your voice came out in a mewl, all bits of defiance completely out of your system.

"There you go. Nasty fucking girl," Toji all but purred in your ear the moment you started to jerk your hips back to meet his own, your ass bouncing with each one of his thrusts. "Just needed Toji to take care of ya," all you could was nod your head fervently, your grip on the divorce papers tightening. And Toji, of course, took notice. He took the papers from you with one hand, giving them a once-over before passing them back over.

"Come on, since ya wanted it so bad, read me those divorce papers," Toji handed you the stack of papers, pointing to where you'd signed your initials just a couple hours prior. Your hands shook as you held the papers, your vision blurry as you tried to make out the legal jargon in front of you. Even the simplest of words seemed all too complicated to try to make out.

"T-Toji, I can't," your voice cracked, your grip on the papers tightening when his cock reached all that much deeper inside of you. Toji clicked his tongue, peering over your shoulder to read the first sentence from the document. "That's not what it says ma, try again."

"Without all the stuttering too."

You took a deep breath, willing yourself to focus on the words in front of you instead of Toji's cock sinking further and further into you. "S-Says that the divorce agreement was made today between us," you clutched the sheets tighter, your eyes almost rolling back when Toji bottomed out inside of you. The tip of his cock dripping precum, your walls fluttering as you tried to get adjusted.

"Mm, yeah, keep goin'," Toji really couldn't care—his focus solely on the way that your cunt stretched out to fit his cock. Leaking around his shaft, loud squelches when he pulled out overplaying whatever shitty soap opera was playing. "And what'd I say about the s-stuttering?" Toji mocked your words, his own hips stuttering mere seconds later while he tried not to get absorbed in your cunt. Not that it was an easy task by any means.

It was hard, especially with the way that you claimed to be over this marriage despite your pussy claiming otherwise. When you opened your mouth to speak, the only thing that left you was a moan. "F-Fuck Toji, right there," your eyes shut tightly at the touch of his calloused hand making itself in between your legs, his thumb rubbing at your clit in a speed that felt like it combated his own running abilities.

"That's not what it says, c'mon," Toji grabbed your chin with his thumb and pointer, turning your head to face the overwhelmingly long divorce papers. You wouldn't finish tonight if he intended for you to read the whole thing, you knew that much. A harsh slap against your swollen clit made the pleasure coursing through your veins mix with pain, a shaky gasp leaving your kiss-swollen lips.

Drool leaked from the corner of your mouth, the black ink smearing with each drop that fell from your parted lips. Your walls enveloped every inch of his cock perfectly, your cunt holding his cock in a vice-like grip. "That I won't try to t-take your things," you managed to get out, hoping that it would be good enough. You knew the two of you wouldn't finish today if he made you read the never ending stack of papers. 

"Good enough," Toji sounded like he would've kept it going if he could, but you set them down as quickly as he spoke. It was almost like Toji was trying to remind you of why you'd fallen in love with him in the first place—the man reverent to your cunt and your cunt only. Every grip of your hips kept you closer and closer to his body, almost as a way for Toji to make sure you weren't slipping away.

"Wh—" Before you had the chance to complain about the loss of contact, Toji had already carried you without a smidge of struggle. His hands hooked underneath your plush thighs, hoisting you up against the wall. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his slutty waist, practically clinging onto him like a koala. "There we go, there's that pretty lil face," Toji placed his pointer underneath your chin, taking in the view in front of him.

The glazed over look in your eyes, the sweat beading up on your forehead, the makeup that he'd successfully ruined—everything about you was just so beautiful. How you tried to avoid looking in his direction for too long. "Don't leave me ma, need you in my life," the words were whispered into your ear, his cock pushing back inside of you in one swift motion. Toji's fingers went back to your throbbing clit, his pointer and middle rubbing against it at the perfect speed.

Not too fast, not too slow, and not too rough.

"Don't ask me to do that," you almost sounded pained as you spoke—not from him filling you up, but for the implication of his words. You'd practically babble anything right now, anything for him to keep going. To forget about the reality that awaits the two of you. Toji's lips found yours in an instant, the exchange between the two of you almost depraved. His mouth was feverish in the way that it moved against yours, like he'd never get the chance again.

Your hand went to the back of his head, pushing him closer against you. Letting yourself forget for just a little while longer. A string of saliva connected your lips to his when you pulled away—only to catch air. "I’m close, Toji, so close," you whined against his lips, your release coating his shaft a mere moments later. Toji only used that as lubricant, his movements quicker against your cunt to chase his own release.

"There's no one else for me, I'll stop goin' to t-the casino, stop gettin' into trouble," Toji had been reduced to a babbling the first thing he pulled out of his ass, if only to get you to stay. His head rested against the junction of your neck, basking in the remnants of proximity that he could get. Shaky breaths left his lips with each thrust of his hips, feeling himself getting closer and closer. "You've been saying that since we've been married."

"I mean it this time, I promise," you'd never heard a lie sound so pretty slipping from someone's lips before until now.

He bit down on the side of your neck, hard. Not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to where you'd probably have to use a tube of concealer to even attempt to cover up the bruising mark. Causing you problems even now. But you'd be lying if the sudden act of possessiveness had your walls clenching against him even tighter, if that was even possible anymore.

His cock was barely moving against the tight grip you held around his shaft, his pace stuttering. "Fuck, fuck, so tight," Toji let out a loud groan, completely at the will of your pussy. He threw his head back, a light shade of pink dusting his cheeks in this lighting. Ropes and ropes of cum decorated your cunt, his softening length snug inside of you. Toji ended up pulling out a couple moments later, scooping the drops of cum that leaked down your thighs with his finger.

Toji was shameless in the way that he stuck the finger in his mouth, a low moan leaving his lips at the combined taste of him and you. Before your rationality came back, before you got the chance to even think about regretting this, you leaned in and crashed your lips against his own. Tasting yourself on his tongue. The kiss lingered between the two of you more than it needed to, it was less rushed than the prior ones you'd shared.

Like a last taste.

"So, you still want to get that divorce?" Toji knew you would've just babbled whatever for him to keep going, saving the question until now. His movements were almost reluctant as he pulled his pants over his legs once again, making little attempt to fix up his hair. If anything, his fingers only ended up messing the strands even more. Despite knowing the answer deep down, Toji still held out hope. That maybe you'd had some eye-opening moment while he was balls-deep.

You stood up properly, looking over at the ruined sheets on the table before looking back over at him. "I do," you spoke after a couple seconds, grabbing your tattered panties from the floor and smoothing over your dress. Trying to maintain whatever semblance of dignity you had left. Even if it was probably just as tattered up as your underwear at this point.

"Why? You know I love you. You know that you love me. So why should we get separated?" You did know that. But you also weren't sure that he'd ever loved you enough to consider changing. To consider the fact that you needed some sort of affection outside of sex.

"Because you think that somehow every problem between us can be resolved with sex. You say that you want to do better and yet, you never do. It doesn't even feel like you're my husband half of the time," all the bottled up feelings from the past couple months spilled out of you in a manner of seconds. All the bottled up thoughts that maybe you should've told your husband about earlier. Though, you weren't even sure if Toji would've paid it any mind.

And almost as if he'd read your train of thought, "Why didn't you tell me about all this before just hittin' me with divorce papers?"

"Because the few times that I did, you told me to stop bitching. That I shouldn't have anything to complain about with a roof over my head and a fridge full of food," you started off, almost waiting for him to deny what you were saying, "And while I'm not saying that I'm not thankful for those things, I also don't want to feel ungrateful for saying that I miss my husband."

Silence lingered between the two of you, each second that passed by only confirming what the two of you already knew by now. That a divorce wasn't such a far-fetched idea. Toji knew there wasn't left to even attempt fighting for, so he simply just told you, "I'll sign 'em when you get the new ones."

[papaya-twinks]

what a way - l.n 🎈

Warnings; Smut, 18+, soft!sex, blowjob, morning!sex

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader

Lando groaned, shifting slightly onto his side, a warm, tingling feeling flooding down his thighs. It was 7am or something, the sun pooling onto his bare torso, the air cold, yet his body hot. Why?

The reason, well, his gorgeous girlfriend. “Y/N, oh fu-,” he cut himself off with a moan, a sudden, sharp sensation of pleasure shooting through his body, not unwanted, but surprising to his system.

You were under the sheets, your hand at the base of his cock, pumping your salvia up and down his length, his hand coming to push your hair out of your face as he lifted the duvet.

“Fuck, Y/N, what have I, fuck, done to deserve this?” he groaned, watching your tongue slide under his head, tracing the vein along the underside with your finger, just as he adored.

You hummed, almost indignantly at his question, what did he mean by that? “Your birthday, silly,” you giggled, pulling back to speak before you returned to his cock, licking over his head.

“Love this- fuck, love you,” he groaned, voice raspy and rough from the morning as he resisted bucking his hips into your mouth, his cock pushing down onto your tongue.

The weight of his cock, heavy on your tongue, combined with the sensation of your hand pumping his cock, he could feel his orgasm getting closer, his chest lined with a sheen of sweat.

“Gonna fuckin’ cum,” he groaned, pushing your head slightly, as if trying to push you to take him all. And you did exactly that, sliding all the way to his shaft, his head hitting your throat.

“Fuck,” he gasped, your tongue slipping over his cock, his cum spilling down your throat, your lashes sticking together from tears as he watched you, his eyes closing.

Just watching him cum, from down where you were, his seed filling your belly, was enough to make you smile, pulling his dick out from your mouth, soft and limp in your hand.

“Well, happy birthday to me,” he pulled you onto his chest, kissing your hair.

[angelofwintersky]

snowy night - oneshot

summary: satoru and you are about to go home after your unsuccessful first date, but the car breaks down, making you stay there on a winter night, with no heat and angry glances.

tags: gojo x reader, fluff, winter fic

warnings: none, just swearing

word count: 1.7K

awkward, painful silence sat in the car as you and gojo were driving home from the unsuccessful date you two just had. outside the snow wasn't just gently falling, but pouring from the sky, clouding the windows too, the sun was setting on the horizon, pinkish light illuminating the landscape before you.

your arms were crossed, your gaze looking through the window with slightly narrowed eyes as you try to ignore the white-haired boy sitting next to you with the wheel in his hands and pout on his lips.

you barely even remembered what exactly started the arguement between you two, but you were certain that it was his fault and without an apology, the date shouldn't continue. him acting like the annoying, stubborn person he is, just continued the bickering further, not thinking it would really end the whole date.

well it did.

"going on a date together was a stupid idea to begin with" you think with a quiet huff as your grip on your coat tightens.

all your friends were nagging you to go on a date already, shoko stating that she could see the 'chemistry' between you. well it seems like she's blind, because even when you all are spending time together, you and gojo just cannot get along. never.

could he make you ever smile? yeah that happened sometimes. did you notice that sometime's he's acting like he wants to catch speifically your attention? of course you did. did some of your conversations live rent-free in your head? perhaps.

but.

does that mean that you have to go on a whole ass date just to continue the endless cycle of pushing eachothers buttons? absolutely not.

"are you thinking about how you want to apologise?" he looked at you from the corner off his eye, a suppressed smile tugging on his lips.

"are you?" you glare back. "because if one should apologise that is you and you only."

he just looked back at the road, not ready to admit defeat, but deep down knowing that maybe he shouldn't have tried to make you jealous. at least not on the first date.

"i have nothing to apologise for" he then answered with a shrug, immediately regretting the descision. why was it so hard to just apologise to you? he didn't understand.

"nothing?" you scoff. "you know-"

before you could continue on with your scolding, a loud, sudden sound comes from the front of the car, making you jump a little. the vehicle started to slow down on the snowy road until it eventually stopped, gojo pulling in over just in time.

"what happened?" you glance at him as he's trying to start the engine again, without any success whatsoever.

"no idea" comes the not so helpful answer before gojo opens his door, getting out of the car. "stay inside."

you watch him open the car hood, looking into the car. you follow him, standing next to him in the ankle-deep snow and staring at the vehicle. you place your hands on your hips and lean forward in the hope of seeing something.

"what are we looking at?" you ask.

"i told you to stay inside, it's cold here" he says grumpily, not answering your question.

"oh, so you're suddenly now worried? or just missing that waitress?" you say with a scoff which makes him grin a little.

"so you did become jealous! i knew it!"

"i did not. now stay silent and fix the car, make yourself useful!"

he hums, looking into the vehicle like he is concentrating on something, then back at you.

"i have no idea how this works" he says.

"are you telling me that we're stuck here?" you say every word slowly, frustration penting up in you.

"exactly!" a big smile spreads on his lips. "don't worry, i already told shoko to come and get us."

you narrow your eyes a little bit. the wind was blowing hard, your hair blowing in your face, you felt like you're about to become a snowman if you stand there for more than two minutes.

"then why are we even standing here gojo??"

a dramatic gasp escapes his lips, hand on his heart theatrically.

"c'mon love, not the last name!! did this date mean nothing to you?" he whines.

"you didn't answer my question!" i cross my arms, looking around. we really are in the middle of nowhere. not even street lights were around, it was starting to get dark.

"it's adorable to watch as your cheeks turn red from the cold" he finally answers, not surprising you the least.

"i can't help but feel like you're still trying so hard!"

"and the problem with that...?" his smirk widened, making you a little angrier. if he could've just apologised for flirting with the waitress, you two would be in a so so much better situation, but no that's where he draws the line!

you just leave him there before he could say anything, you get back into the car on the backseat, shivering as you already feel the temperature of the car lower drastically, windows becoming somewhat icy, the seats feeling hard and cold too.

you look around for any blankets but get interrupted by the white haired annoyance, dropping himself on the seat next to you.

a sigh of frustration leaves your lips, crossing your arms as an attempt to warm yourself up while staring outside through the window once again.

the car was pulled over in a quite pretty area, a forest covered in soft snow, the lonely branches of the trees holding the weight quietly, a few crows sitting on them before all of them opens their wings, flying away and only leaving two behind. the restaurant he brought you to was higher on the mountain, making the landscape from there even more beautiful.

of course he had to fuck it up.

the moments were slow, every second lasting decades as you two sat in silence, cold running on your body, the shivering was now undeniable.

you glanced at him, he didn't make any effort to warm himself up, he even took off his coat. suddenly unwanted thoughts started to invade your mind, talking about how warm his body must be.

"aren't you cold?" you ask after a few minutes.

gojo's blue eyes meet yours, at first, for a teeny tiny second he seems like he'll smile but then just pouted instead, his hands fiddling with his clothes. if he just held your hand in his, that would probably make the cold more bearable.

"why? you worried?"

you huff, turning your head away again. you knew that your worry was exactly what he wanted at that moment.

"you're just crazy" you answer, expecting the conversation to continue but he doesn't say another thing.

you look at him again, but as soon as you do, he wraps his black coat around you, trapping you with it and pulling you into his arms, your head against his chest, a small yelp leaving your lips.

his body felt warm, but yours started to feel a little bit warmer somehow. the stiffness leaves you seconds later, even though you try not to melt into the hug too much.

his arms were holding you close, his head rested on top of yours, his heartbeats seemed to speed up even if just a little bit.

"gojo-"

"don't even start a sentence like that" he interrupts you with an almost childish frown on his face.

"you have three seconds to say that before i push you away and drag you into that forest." your voice is threatening but somehow he still managed to hear the smile in your tone that you tried to hide with every fiber of your body.

"c'mon, don't be cruel!" gojo whined, glancing down at you.

"two..."

his grip around you slightly tightened as if he was afraid that you'd really pull away.

"one-"

"fine, i love you!!" he said as fast as he could, his gaze turned away.

your breath hitches, eyes widen at the sudden confession, you feel like you've been slapped in the face, in the best way possible.

"you what?" you ask, trying to steady your voice.

at least being cold definetly wasn't your number one problem anymore.

"isn't that what you wanted to hear??" he questions dramatically, raising his voice a little.

"i wanted a fucking apology!" disbelief in your voice as you match his tone.

a few moments of silence comes as he is just staring at you, blinking slowly. you had to admit he looked quite adorable like this, big blue eyes looking at you, a small blush creeping on his cheeks.

"oh!"

you can't help but chuckle at his reaction, a grin appearing on your face.

"so you love me?"

"and if i do?" he huffs.

"then, satoru" you start out, already seeing his expression light up when you finally say his first name. he just loved how it left your lips so effortlessly yet with so much kindness. "you're extremely lucky because i may be feeling the same way."

"i knew it!" he says smugly, trying to forget that he ever questioned it. of course you love him. "from day one."

you raise one eyebrow, glancing up at him once again.

"day one i wanted to strangle you."

he pouts again.

"and now?"

"i still want to strangle you" you say. "but now with a little affection."

he chuckles, pulling you so close that you're basically sitting on his lap at this point. he hides his face in the crook of your neck, his hair in his face, arms around your body as he is still trying to warm you up.

big snowflakes started to fall from the sky, the storm quieting down. all you could feel was his body hugging yours warmly, his scent filling your mind, fogging your rational thoughts as you melt into his embrace.

time slowed down but you couldn't been happier.

"say it" he mumbled eventually.

you sigh, eyes closing while a smile is spreading on your lips.

"i love you too."

after those words, you slowly start to feel like your eyelids are becoming heavier, all the adrenaline from the frustration leaving your body. your breathing becomes relaxed and before you drift into sleep, you have to admit, maybe shoko was right about this whole thing after all. maybe it could work out.

haii!! i hope you had a good time reading this, it's the first fanfic i've ever written so sorry if it's not that good! also, english is not my first language so if i made a mistake feel free to correct me (^-^)

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 9

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7 || PART 8

Jeff calls her. It’s the first time they’ve spoken on the phone, and something flutters in her chest.

“How did you get this number?” she asks, finger twirling the coiled wire of the phone as she smiles down at her socked feet.

“There’s only one Cunningham in the phone book, Chrissy,” he replies, all dry wit—she can almost see the smirk on his face. “It’s not exactly rocket science.”

She laughs, shuffling around her kitchen, suddenly desperate to move, but she’s leashed to the wall by her phone’s cord, so it’s only about four steps each way until she’s bungee-corded back to the starting point.

“Smartass.”

Jeff laughs this time, quiet the way he always is, but her chest feels like a supernova’s exploding in it. “But that’s not why I called.”

Chrissy’s smile fixes to her face before drooping down into her shoes with her gut. “What’s wrong?” she asks, now standing statuesque in her kitchen, cold tiles leaching all the warmth from her feet even through her thick socks.

“Nothing,” Jeff sighs, and there’s a crackling sound, like he’s rubbing his face in exhaustion. “Just—Steve drove me home.”

“Is he okay?” she asks, clenching the phone hard enough in her hand that the cheap plastic creaks.

“I think so?” Jeff replies, sounding unsure. “He just seems sad, man.”

Steve and Jeff don’t spend a lot of time together, but he’s been around enough that she trusts his judgment.

Steve is sad.

Chrissy wants to sink down to the cold tile beneath her and never get up. Instead, she shuffles back over to the phone and swings herself up onto the countertop—what her mother doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Her heels clack against the cupboards noisily, broadcasting her restlessness even as the worry sinks straight through her.

“What about?” she asks, already knowing the answer.

“He thinks Eddie hates him.”

Chrissy sucks in a breath and lets it shudder out before biting her lip against the next logical question. “Does he?”

“He thinks he does,” Jeff replies promptly. “But he definitely doesn’t.”

Chrissy hums, too lost in her own head to think of a reply. It doesn’t matter what Eddie feels if the effect is the same: a sad Steve Harrington.

“I don’t think you guys should do this anymore,” Jeff says, snapping her out of her spiral.

“I know,” she groans, shoulders slumping. “But Steve’s hellbent on keeping it up.”

He sighs again, muttering, “boys,” with such a defeated air that she can’t help but laugh again.

“You just keep an eye on yours, and I’ll do the same for mine,” she says, smile audible in her voice. “Deal?”

“I feel like yours is a bit easier to wrangle than mine,” Jeff scoffs, a twinge of bitterness leaking into his tone.

And he’s right; Eddie still hasn’t even told Jeff about the letters he’s been getting, much less asked his opinion on them. Steve, at least, keeps her appraised of his next moves, shares his feelings, and asks for her help even if he won’t always take her advice.

So, when Steve’s acting weird when she sees him the next morning—all shifty-eyed and nervous—she doesn’t ask. He’ll tell her when he’s ready. Besides, the hallway’s too crowded, and she’s got a sneaking suspicion that it has something to do with her and Jeff’s conversation last night.

She’s proved right when they hit the library at lunch instead of the cafeteria, and Steve barely waits until they’re settled in their usual table, feet interlaced.

“He hates me,” Steve whispers.

“He doesn’t hate you.”

Steve pouts across at her, bottom lip stuck out like a puppy dog as he accuses, “you’ve been talking to Jeff.”

Chrissy bites her lip. “I always talk to Jeff.”

He rolls his eyes, but it seems to lift his spirits. “Did you ask him out yet?”

“Shut up.” She kicks him beneath the table until he laughs.

Without further preamble, he pulls a piece of paper from his bag and pushes it across to her. She expects the latest note from Eddie, having yet to read the last one, but it’s not—it’s a letter from Steve, clearly responding to something she’s yet to see.

“Did you pick up the letter yourself?” she asks, panic sinking through her. He could get caught, and then all their subterfuge will be for nothing. She might lose her best friend. 

“Yeah,” Steve mutters, so shyly that she can’t bear to chastise him further. “What do you think?”

She reads it again, trying to look past the panic to the words in front of her. “It’s good,” she says, and it is. “Do you want to send it like this?”

His handwriting is barely legible, even to her with her weeks of practice, and there’s a few misspellings, but she’ll do whatever he wants, forever and always. But he shakes his head, and asks, “Will you edit it?”

“Can I see the one you’re responding to?” she asks.

He pulls it out of his bag and pushes it across the table without a complaint. She picks it up and begins to read.

         Secret Admirer,

         There was a little hiccup with my guitar and plugging her in, but otherwise it went great! All four of the drunks at the Hideout clapped politely when we were done, and not even one of them booed us off stage!

         The riff is still getting on my last nerve, darling, you have no idea. I wish I could hear you play, I bet you’d inspire me so much, a stroke of genius would strike me and I’d know exactly what I’m missing.

         (I don’t know how to ride a bike. My dad was never around to teach me, and by the time I moved in with Uncle Wayne, I was too old to learn.)

         Darling, did you dream of me? Was it a naughty dream?

         Yours,

         Eddie

P.S. The Lord of the Rings is the name of the whole trilogy, so I hope you find it in The Fellowship. Can’t believe you don’t even know Tolkein. It’s okay, baby, I like you anyway. 

She smiles when she’s done, kicking him beneath the table as she asks, “Does this sound like someone who hates you?”

If anything, Steve just gets droopier. “It’s for you,” he mumbles, and she doesn’t have anything to say.

Chrissy squeezes his foot tighter between her own in a pantomime of a hug.

Even with his newfound pessimism, he carefully rereads her edited words once she’s done. He smiles down at it, clearly cheered by the act of writing to Eddie.

“It looks great, Chris,” he says genuinely, as if she’d done more than correct his spelling and rewrite his letter word for word.

“Thanks,” she replies, smiling across at him, relieved his spirits have risen. “Now, let’s drop this in his locker so he doesn’t have to wait too long to read your lovely letter.”

Steve’s ears turn red with embarrassment, but he dutifully wraps his arm around her waist and leads her out of the library.

Jason’s loitering outside of it, leaning against the wall like it’s a coincidence he’s here at all, but the way his eyes glare at the point where they’re in contact makes a liar out of him.

Steve seems to agree because he pulls her closer and asks, “problem, Carver?” in his snootiest King Steve voice.

Jason holds his hands up, smiling like this is all a coincidence, but he seems to have forgotten that Chrissy knows him, maybe better than anyone. She sees the way his arms are flexing, the way he’s baring his canines more than smiling, and it makes her feel on edge.

“No problem, man,” he replies, untold violence behind every word.

“Let’s just go,” she whispers to Steve.

She’s relieved when he nods, not sparing Jason another look as they take the most direct route to Eddie’s locker. He doesn’t respond until they’re well out of Jason’s hearing range. “That guy’s starting to really freak me out,” he says, talking quietly still, even after putting all this distance between them.

Chrissy sighs. The thing is, she still misses Jason, but the Jason she misses is at least a year dead and gone. Now, all that’s left of him is someone who wants to own her.

“Me, too.”

*** 

There’s something different about the letter he finds in his locker this time.

  Eddie —

  You were the best damn thing those drunks have ever seen, hands down. No, before you ask, I wasn’t there. But when I had that letter under my pillow, I dreamed a little dream (not naughty, I know you’re disappointed, sorry). I don’t remember the songs, but I remember the way you looked for me in the crowd and smiled. All the dream people gave you a standing ovation, me loudest of all.

  You’re never too old to learn to ride a bike. My dad didn’t teach me either, but a friend did. Maybe someday, I could be that friend for you, and when I tell you I won’t let go, you can rest easy knowing I’m not lying.

  Sincerely,

  Your Secret Admirer

  P.S. I know it’s still winter, but I’ll meet you in A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

The handwriting is just the same, and it’s as sweet as always, but still. There’s—something Eddie can’t quite put his finger on no matter how many times he rereads the letter. Maybe he should have paid more attention in English class instead of always working on his next campaign.

He watches Chrissy when she’s not paying attention, trying to figure out what’s changed, but Harrington always catches him and stares him down like a dog marking his territory.

It leaves him flushed, desperately trying to focus on whatever he’s supposed to be doing. By the time he looks up, Harrington’s always moved onto something else.

Maybe it’s just because they know each other now, spend time with each other, are even becoming friends? Eddie doesn’t mind, as long as the letters keep coming. He might even like this letter best of all. It feels more honest, real somehow, like he’s peeling back the layers of bullshit obfuscation to get to the truth of who she is.

He hopes it lasts.

It’s hard to write his own letter back, to meet that same level of transparency to someone who, despite now having a name and face, still feels like a nebulous being. A nebulous being whose favorite color he knows, who’s insecurities feel like they’re his own, whose words he’s stroked on the page late at night while unable to sleep.

He tries to pour that same energy back into his letter.

  Secret Admirer,

  I wish I could dream about you, too. I want to know your face well enough to hold it in my mind, even unconscious. I want to lay my head on my pillow tonight and know that you’ll be waiting for me in dreamland, ready to be the best groupie a guy could ask for.

  The truth is, no one’s loved me before. No one’s liked me, or kissed me, or held my hand during a scary movie. And, that’s scarier than any movie could ever be. Because, you’re it, baby. The one and only, and all that shit.

  I’ve got friends, and that’s enough for me! It really is! But a part of me just wants to hold someone’s hand—your hand. Maybe we can someday. Maybe we can do all the things we’ve talked about: go to a drive-in, play music together, learn to ride a bike. But even if we never do, I’m grateful for every one of these letters. Being wanted is new to me, and I’m not ready to give it up.

  Yours, always,

  Eddie

He steps into the Shakespeare section once more and slips the note into A Midsummer Night’s Dream and promptly tries his best to forget about it. It doesn’t work.

He wants a response immediately, dreads waiting the typical days it takes for a letter to appear in his locker, so no one can blame him for panicking.

“Do you want to come to a Corroded Coffin practice?” Eddie blurts after the latest Hellfire session.

Chrissy’s brow’s all furrowed up as she asks, “Corroded Coffin?”

Eddie’s surprised she doesn’t already know. He’s mentioned it at least once in one of his letters; does she not spend her nights pouring over the words like he does? Does she not have every dotted i and crossed t seared into her retinas?

His intestines wriggle around in his body, fingers itching to tear his letter into tiny little pieces before she reads his desperate, yearning words.

“My band,” Eddie replies, his response overlapping eerily with Harrington’s, “his band.”

Chrissy smirks between them but Eddie barely notices, too caught up in staring at Harrington. “How do you know that?” he demands.

Harrington’s shoulders curl, like Eddie’s the threat here as he mutters his response barely loud enough to hear over the sounds of the other Hellfire members packing up, “uh, the middle school talent show?”

Eddie’s lip quirks up as Harrington looks up from his own shoes and meets Eddie’s eyes. “You remember that?”

Harrington snorts. “Hard to forget, dude.”

Harrington’s smiling—he’s never noticed before but it’s a little off center, just enough to be endearing. Eddie smiles back helplessly, taking a step forward as he asks, “the king remembers little old me?”

He gets a laugh this time, Harrington’s eyes almost crinkling shut with his amusement. He’s got a nice laugh. Eddie’s never noticed before, hasn’t heard anything from him that wasn’t at least a little snide.

Eddie opens his mouth, desperate to elicit that noise again, when Chrissy pointedly clears her throat and reality comes rushing back in—what was that? He snaps his gaze back to her, shuffling his feet, feeling absurdly guilty. For what? Being nice to her boyfriend?

“When is it?” she asks.

It takes him a minute to remember what they were talking about. “Oh!” he exclaims, taking a step back when he realizes how close he’s gotten. “Uh, tomorrow night in Gareth’s garage.”

Chrissy’s smiling, but there’s something sly about it, Eddie knows, watching the flashing of her eyes, that Chrissy Cunningham knows what evil is and has the capacity to perform it. So much for his pet theory that she’s actually a golden retriever stuffed into a human girl’s body.

“Can Steve come?” When Eddie frowns, shifting his eyes to a red-eared Harrington standing stock-still beside her, she continues, “it’s just, Jason’s been a little intense lately?”

Carver’s name seems to bring Harrington back to life. He damn-near growls as he wraps his arm around Chrissy’s waist. “The word you’re looking for is stalkery.”

She snorts, “not a word, but yeah.”

Now that they mention it, Carver has seemed to be within arm’s reach of Chrissy for a while now, loitering on her fringes with his arms crossed like he’s staking his claim, even all these months after they broke up.

“Sure,” Eddie replies, and he means it. Harrington can come if it keeps Eddie from ending up on the wrong side of Carver’s fists. “Harrington can come.”

Harrington’s ears flush again, and he mutters an awkward, “thank you,” before leading Chrissy out of the drama room.

Once they’ve cleared out, Gareth sighs, long and loud as he says, “band practice is going to be so awkward.”

Eddie glares at him, having forgotten entirely about his audience while talking to Harrington and Chrissy. “Oh, it won’t be so bad.”

“Yeah, right,” Doug snorts, shouldering his bag and heading toward the door.

“Oh, ye of little faith!” he replies as all three of them head out the door, Jeff having inexplicably already left despite Eddie being his usual ride home on Hellfire days. “It’ll be fine!”

Before he drives the guys home, he doubles back to the library to try and steal back his note, but it’s too late: the doors are locked and by the morning, the note’s sure to be gone.

They’re right; band practice is awkward, and it’s not even Eddie’s fault. It’s not even Harrington’s fault. It’s Jeff’s.

“You look nice today,” Jeff says, looking directly at Chrissy, who blushes.

He’s right, she does look nice in a cute pink cardigan and some light-wash jeans that fit her well. It’s not Eddie’s style, but it suits her. But Jeff doesn’t have to say it while her boyfriend is standing right there.

“Thanks,” she says, smiling at Jeff.

Harrington just keeps standing there while Jeff does what can only be described as flirting, with his girlfriend. Everyone else carries on like this is normal, but Gareth’s sending him crazy-eyed looks proving that Eddie’s not the only sane one.

Doug’s too busy practicing his riffs, sure, and Jeff’s clearly gone off the deep end, but Harrington? What’s his excuse?

When he’d been dating Wheeler, he’d been all over her at all times, monopolizing her time whenever possible. And sure, Chrissy and Harrington are always together, but there’s never more than an arm around her waist or sitting close together. He’s never even seen them kiss.

And now here he is, letting Jeff flirt with his girlfriend right in front of him.

Eddie just doesn’t get it.

Corroded Coffin’s a fucking mess, Gareth keeping a beat only he can hear, Eddie missing every other note, and Jeff too busy looking at Chrissy to keep tempo. Only Doug is on his game, clearly getting more and more fed up with each new fuck-up.

Chrissy stays by Jeff’s side, whispering with him between songs while Harrington flops down on the couch and watches them play like it’s his own, personal concert.

Eddie can’t take his eyes off Steve. He wants to peel the guy like an onion, figure out what makes him tick, what makes him smile, why the hell he’s here in Gareth’s smelly garage watching his girlfriend make eyes at Jeff while she writes love letters to Eddie in her free time.

He wants to know.

He just—

Wants.

*** 

Steve’s words have been echoing around her brain for days—have you asked him out yet? It’s ridiculous, but before he’d said those words, she’d never even considered it as an option. Boys ask girls out, that’s how it works. But if Steve can like a boy, she can ask out Jeff.

That doesn’t make it any less scary though. She sits on the revelation for a few days more, watching Jeff out of the corner of her eye, flirting back after he instigates. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? It’s still him instigating.

“I’m going to ask him out,” she tells Steve, not looking at him as they walk into the school together, too afraid of what she’ll see.

“Yeah?” he asks, bumping their shoulders together. “When?”

When she glances his way, he’s grinning ear to ear. She huffs, “I don’t know, soon?” Looking away so she doesn’t have to see that sly look on his face. “It’s just so scary.”

“I know, Chris,” he says, bumping into her again and again just to annoy her. “But you’re the strongest person I know.”

She doesn’t feel strong—she feels like a breeze might swipe her feet out from under her, but Steve believes in her. Steve thinks she’s strong, and she told him she’d ask Jeff out, so she will.

So, when Jeff next slides into her passenger seat, she starts the car and drives away without saying a word.

This has become something of a habit lately—if there’s no Hellfire, she drives Jeff home. Usually they talk, or turn on music they both like and sing along. The quiet has his feet tapping and fingers picking at the seam of his jeans. He grows more restless with each minute that passes.

“Chrissy?” he asks finally, a shyness to his voice that she’s not used to hearing. From the first time they’d spoken, he’s been confident—quiet, yeah, but assured. “Are you okay?”

Unable to take the waver of his voice sitting down, Chrissy veers off the side of the road, holding her arm out to keep Jeff from smacking into the dash at the abrupt change in momentum. She puts the thing in park, takes off her seatbelt, and turns in her seat to face Jeff head-on.

His eyes are wide, clearly freaked out by her erratic behavior, but he still unlatches his own seatbelt and mimics her position, awkwardly pulling his feet beneath him when it becomes clear his legs are too long to fit.

She’s helplessly charmed; it may just be Steve and Eddie’s letters rubbing off on her, but she wants to reach out and take his hand. So she does.

His fingers jerk in hers, pulling back a little like it’s instinct before he drops his hand on the console separating them and lets her link their fingers together. Even with the heater on, the interior of her car’s cold enough that his skin scalds against hers, sending a shudder through her.

“Is this the part where you murder me?” he asks, squeezing her hand. “Because if so, let me know.”

“So you can run away?” she asks, grateful for the moment of levity.

“No, because I’m a gentleman,” he replies, winking at her, “and I can help dig the grave, save you some work.”

Chrissy laughs, once again captivated by him. He’s a nerd, how is he so gosh darn charming? Her cheeks hurt, her heart hurts, her whole body is tingling with the anticipation of what she’s about to do.

“Chrissy—“

“Will you go out with me?” she asks, slapping her hand over her mouth when she realizes she interrupted him. She closes her eyes, entirely mortified. “Shoot, sorry!”

His hand spasms in hers before he tightens his hold. “You’re…” he starts, hand shaking in hers. She opens her eyes, horrible visions of him crying dancing behind her lids, but he’s laughing, whole body moving with the effort of suppressing it. “You’re apologizing for the best moment of my life?”

She laughs, too, helpless not to. “Is that a yes, or are you just laughing at me?”

He hums, tilting his head closer to hers, chuckles finally fading away as he replies, “can it be both?”

“Always.”

Chrissy bounces a little in her seat, vibrating with pent-up excitement. Maybe sometimes the girl can get the guy instead of the other way around.

He hums again, low down in his throat, and their gazes lock. The energy in her car is so electric her skin is buzzing with it. She wants to reach across the distance between them and steal a kiss. But girls don’t do that sort of thing. Girls aren’t supposed to—

She leans across the console separating them and kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him. Jeff gasps into it, like he’s the one being electrocuted now, and suddenly his hand is out of hers, but that’s okay because it’s on her face now, drawing her closer, closer, closer, as he sucks on her bottom lip until she gasps.

She might have stayed in that position forever, craning her body uncomfortably forward like a sunflower toward the light, if she hadn’t shifted a little too far to the left into her car’s horn with a bony hip.

As it blares, they both jump apart, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, looking around for a threat that will never come.

“Oops,” she whispers, settling back into her seat, back protesting at the change of angle.

Jeff laughs, head thrown back, long throat on full display. She wants to bite it, but the moment’s long since broken, so she puts her seatbelt on and shifts back onto the road, cheeks flaming, heart warm.

“Does this mean you’re going to give me your letterman jacket?” he asks once he’s finally stopped laughing. “I’m not familiar with jocks courting rituals.”

Chrissy’s responding laugh isn’t her usual cultivated giggle—it’s a bark that makes Jeff grin at her. “Oh my goodness, can you even imagine the looks we’d get?”

“Or that Steve would.” Jeff replies. “But you’ve gotta admit, I’d look good in his jacket.”

She almost wants to do it for the drama, Eddie’s presence rubbing off on her surely, but it’s not quite worth doubling the lynch mobs that will already be after all of them.

“You realize this is only making this whole situation even messier, don’t you?” she asks, eyes on the road.

“Yeah,” Jeff sighs, but his fingers reach across the car and settle atop her hand where it’s clasping the stick shift. “But worth it, right?”

She’s been smiling so much that her cheeks hurt, but at that, she damn-near beams ear to ear. “Yeah, baby,” she says, heat pooling low in her stomach when Jeff lets out a soft little gasp. “You’re worth it.”

[hungwy]

i think i did a good job with these translations. maybe. actually its scary

some points of difference between me and ueda:

ueda clearly separates "sentences" with the em-dash. i think this is good for representing the japanese but. i dont know. i like it better when i dont know if the next line is a continuation or a new thought

moreover ueda opts for punctuation to replicate the flow of the original. which is also great but i also forwent that

specifics:

i dont exactly know what the や in the first line of the first poem is. i do think it's the archaic sentence-final particle indicating sentiment like "isn't it?". which if true makes ueda's translation of that line weird to me. but he's the professional so im probably wrong

ueda takes 秋深き as "autumn deepens", but i couldnt find any evidence of a verb like that! i just assumed it was an i-adjective (well, ki-adjective back then)

the whole two lines of 「隣は何をする人ぞ」 are just plain hard to translate i think. so im happy with my result.

speaking of those lines, i understand why ueda chose to frame "the man next door, what does he do for a living?" it as a question, but i disagree with it (im probably too uneducated to do this). back in basho's time ぞ was indeed a question marker, buuuut, as far as im aware, it was really used for marking rhetorical questions. i dont think simply tacking on a question mark to the translation is all we can do there

the えば in the first line of the final haiku doesn't necessarily imply "whenever" as ueda translates, it's really just a plain "if", but i think ueda's choice is better by creating a more temporally lasting image. mine is more like, almost fearful: if i even try to speak, something will be lost. but whatever

also, for that last poem: its not explicit in the japanese how the lips are involved in the "cold-doing". its possible that its not lips-are-entering-into-a-state, but that lips-are-causing-a-state. i tried to go for the ambiguity there

so obviously ueda's is more reserved and professional and knowledgable and closer to the original. but i also had fun translating these. so take that

[trippinsorrows]

in your hands + two

authors note: well, friends. we've done it again. this is going to be a short series. if you're unaware, it's yet another au based off "looking through your eyes."

need to catch up? read part one HERE.

warnings: fluff, angst and smut

words: 8k (don't ask)

“Remind me again what you know about this guy?”

It’s a valid question. One Solana has no answer to despite the understanding of and behind it.

She shakes her head, once again throwing aside another failed option for a dress, earning another look of disagreement from her best friend and older sister, Yolanda. 

Six years apart, while they weren’t the closest when they were younger, with Solana now being a mother and no longer just an aunt to her niece and nephew, she's found herself growing closer to her older sister.

Something about motherhood being a thing for both of them creating a bond. 

Not to mention, while they haven’t always seen eye to eye on things, in her hardest moments, Solana has been able to lean on her big sister. Hence why she’s packed up her daughter and a couple of different options for her date tonight with Roman and ventured over to her sister’s place.

It would have probably been easier for her to just invite Yolanda over to her apartment, but given that Trick, Solana’s brother-in-law, offered to swing by her place and pick her, along with Soraya staying with them for the evening, it just worked out better that way.

Plus, Yolanda has always been much better with makeup, fashion and things of the sort.

“His name is Roman, and he’s nice.”

Yolanda rolls her eyes. “Yeah, because that’s so much.”

“He’s older.”

Yolanda’s gaze becomes a bit more suspicious. “How old?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. 30s.” The gray in Roman’s beard would indicate he may even be in his forties, but looks wise, he just doesn’t appear that old. He must work a stressful job. Has to be given how wealthy he appears. Rich people seem to always be stressed about one thing or another. Even if it’s a trivial matter that’s very much first world problems. 

Yolanda nods, clearly pleased by the answer, finding the age gap agreeable. “And how did you meet him?”

Solana shrugs. “I told you. At work.”

“At that uppity ass restaurant?”

Solana rolls her eyes, grabbing another dress off the bed. “The one that helps me pay my bills.” Barely. “Yes.”

Yolanda is dedicated to staying on this topic. “So, he just walked up to you and asked you on a date while you had Raya on your hip?”

Solana fiddles with the dress in her hand. “Not exactly…..”

She had to be pacing across her room for a good half hour, cell phone in one hand, folded piece of paper in the other. The little piece of paper that she found wrapped up with the stack of money given to her by Roman exactly three days prior.

A piece of paper with a seven digit number written on it. Dashes and all. A phone number.

His phone number.

She’s thought about it on and off for the past three days, too. Considered throwing it away, considered calling it, texting it even. So many options, and none seemed like the right one.

Why would a man like him give someone like her his number? While on a date, nonetheless? Granted, given from what she saw of their interactions on said date, Solana wouldn’t be surprised if it was the first and last.

And it’s not like there was a wedding ring on either of their fingers. 

So……

It’s why she acts based on that fleeting moment of courage, deciding to bite the bullet and dial the number while Raya sleeps peacefully in her crib. 

It takes another five minutes between the time she dials the number and when she hits send. Her heart is practically beating out of her chest at each daunting ringing on the other end. 

“Hello.” And right away, Solana is regretting her decision. He sounds irritated. 

“Hi.” She clears her throat. “Umm, I—”

“Solana?” And just like that, his tone has shifted into something entirely different. Kinder, almost.

“Yeah, ummm, is this a bad time?”

A deep chuckle on the other end of the phone. “No. Not at all.” It certainly doesn’t sound that way, but she’s not about to call him out on the incongruence. “I was wondering when you’d call.”

“Not if?”

“I said I’d see you later, didn’t I?”

She swallows. He’s so confident. “I—I just didn’t—I wasn’t sure if it was—it was an accident.” And as soon as it comes out, she’s slapping her face as she continues to wear a hole into the floor. What a stupid thing to say. 

Another deep chuckle. His voice is so damn sexy. “You think I accidentally gave you my number?”

“I just…..” A glance at the photo on her nightstand, one of the first photos taken of her and Soraya when she was born, triggers the elephant in the room. “I have a baby.”

“I’m aware.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

“Should it?” He doesn’t give her time to answer. “Look, I’m not a phone person. I prefer to discuss things face to face.” Solana’s stomach twists.“What are you doing Friday night?”

And the twisting intensifies, because there’s no way he’s asking her out?

He can’t be…..right?

She clears her throat, offering an answer that’s not entirely true but not entirely false either. “I—I have to work.” She technically hasn’t picked up the shift yet, but it’s bound to happen. Among other things. Catch up on schoolwork. Be a mom. Stress over bills. Nightly scheduled mental breakdown. The usual. 

“Not anymore,” he says it so easily, like it’s a simple thing that shouldn’t even need to be discussed. “I’ll give you whatever you make in a night.”

Solana laughs, waiting for him to also join in. He doesn't. “Shit, are you—are you serious?”

“Send me your address. I’ll have a car come pick you up.”

And that was all she wrote, hence how Solana ended up in the position she’s in now, readying for her date with a Mr. Roman Reigns.

A knock on the door interrupts her, Heaven, Solana's ten year-old niece walking in, her eyes lighting up when she sees the dress. "It's so pretty!"

Solana smiles, "thank you, baby."

Heaven's eyes crinkle with a sense of playful mischief as she walks over by her mom, sitting on her lap and asks, "are you going on a date?"

Solana and Yolanda share a laugh, the elder sister answering, "she sure is, Heav."

Solana readies to ask her niece a question when Heaven beats her to it. "Is he gonna be Raya's new dad?"

It's unexpected, as are a lot of questions for kids. But, it's still something that gives her pause, makes Solana sad for a second. Cruz doesn't need to be anyone's father. Raya isn't missing out on anything with him, but the innocent question does stir up some deeply rooted fears.

If Raya will suffer from growing up without a father at all?

Granted, it's hard for Solana to justify the alternative. Her father was in her life, and look how that turned out.

Yolanda is wise and helpful, redirecting her daughter, "baby, did you need something??"

Heaven is young enough to not see the innocent subterfuge, instead asking her initial question. “What time is grandpa coming over?”

Solana’s head snaps up as she looks at her sister through the mirror. Yolanda’s pretty face is painted in guilt as she clears her throat, quietly asking Heaven to complete some made up task, resulting in them being alone.

“Sola…..”

“Is he coming over tonight?”

“Sola—”

“Answer the question, Yolanda.”

Yolanda swallows, defeat overcoming her. “Yes.”

Solana scoffs, partially in disbelief, mostly pissed the fuck off. Shaking her head, she throws the dress down on the bed and grabs her bag, angrily stuffing them in said bag. “Forget it. I’ll see if Kayden can keep Raya.”

Yolanda’s shoulder drops as she shakes her head. “Solana, you’re being ridiculous. He’s our da—”

“Do not call him that,” Solana snaps. “He’s your dad. He’s nothing to me.” She continues to pack away the clothes, the sting of betrayal fueling her actions. “I can’t believe you would try this shit. You know I don’t want him meeting Soraya.”

She sighs, trying to explain herself. “I wouldn’t have let him—”

“Bullshit,” Solana cuts her off, swinging the bag over her shoulder. “When are you going to learn to respect my wishes? I don’t want anything to do with him! The same way he didn’t want anything to do with me!”

“You’re so dramatic. Acting like he was never there.”

“And you’re acting like he was father of the freaking year,” Solana snaps before scoffing bitterly. “Oh wait, he was. For you. It was just when I rolled around he decided he was done with fatherhood.”

Yolanda’s pretty eyes flash with a slice of guilt, but not enough to cause her to confess her wrongdoing. “Solana, he wants to make things right with yo—”

“Well, that’s too bad, because I don’t want anything to do with him,” Solana vows, gathering her bag of clothing that holds her wallet, her phone stuffed in the back pocket of her jeans as she walks out of the room, down the hall, and in TJ’s bedroom where the crib is.

“Hi, baby…..” Solana apologizes as she lifts a sleeping Soraya out of the crib, grateful when her sweet daughter remains asleep. Solana kisses the side of her head and bypasses her sister who stands in the hall, following her out and into the living room. 

Solana finds her brother-in-law sitting on the sofa, watching ESPN. 

“Trick, can you drop me off at Kayden’s place?”

Yolanda is behind her, frustration in her voice. “Solana, you’re being childish.”

Solana ignores her, focusing on her request. “Please?”

She sees the way Trick’s confused expression lifts from her to behind her, Yolanda most likely nodding to give him the sign off. Awkwardly clearing his throat, he shuts off the television and stands up. “Of course, sis.”

Solana mumbles a thank you and ops to stand outside and wait on the porch. She’s too livid with Yolanda to be around her right now. 

She just hopes and prays that this isn’t a bad sign for the evening to come.

—-------

Le Bernardin

A fancy, rich, upscale restaurant. The type where people pay thousands of dollars just for a reservation. Solana had actually applied for a job there, overhearing the pay was a fraction above minimum wage. Only for them to take one look at her and send her on her merry way, less than ten minutes into the interview.

So, it’s a bit of a full circle moment when the SUV pulls up in front of said restaurant, and she realizes the same place that turned her away as a waitress is exactly where she’ll be dining this evening. 

God really does have a sense of humor.

Solana is taken back yet again as she is escorted into the restaurant only to see it completely vacant. There’s a couple of workers, and….and him. 

Roman Reigns.

Somehow, someway, he looks different. Better than before. Bigger. If that’s even possible. 

The closer she gets to him, the more she takes in his appearance. Dress pants, nice shoes, short sleeved, dark blue shirt that hugs his bulging muscles. That beautiful hair pulled back into a bun. Expensive watch on his wrist. And eyes glued directly onto her.

Solana suddenly feels severely underdressed, regretting letting Kayden talk her into wearing the short orange dress and gold heels she eventually settled on after a good half an hour of going back and forth on options.

But, it’s when she’s directly in front of him, his lips curling into a smug smile that the second guessing wanes ever so slightly.

He looks far from disinterested. 

“You look even more beautiful when you’re all done up.” 

It’s hard not to smile at such a compliment coming from such a man.

“Thank you…..” She looks around, nervously gripping her clutch. “Are we the only—”

“I rented it out for us for the night.” Her eyes widening make him chuckle as he moves to pull out her chair for her. “You could say I’m a bit of a private person.”

Solana swallows, still confused but moving to sit down. “How…..how did you?”

“Money talks,” is his simple answer as he sits across from her, motioning for the men who escorted her in the restaurant to leave. “I’m glad you came.”

In a weird sort of way, she is too. Even if she’s not entirely sure why. “I—I wasn’t sure at first.” 

He looks curious. “Why?”

Shrugging, she pushes a string of hair that’s escaped her updo behind her ear. “That woman you were with…..”

Roman rolls his eyes. “She’s irrelevant.”

“Not irrelevant enough for you to not take on a date.” It comes out before she even realizes it. Solana slaps her hand over her face. “I’m so sor—”

“I’ve known her since I was a teenager. We…..mess around from time to time.”

Solana grows quiet. She gets it. He’s handsome. That woman was stunning. It makes sense that attractive people like to fuck other attractive people.

“But, she’s not….she’s not your girlfriend?” Because as handsome and nice as Roman seems, that’s one thing she could never do or get behind. Being the other woman.

“Not at all.” His answer is a lot more relieving than she’d like to admit. “So, can I ask about your daughter’s father?” He skips to the real question. “He still in the picture?”

Solana shakes her head, waiting for the waiter who just walked up to finish pouring the champagne before she answers. “No.” Solana takes a sip, eyes closing, missing the relief that flashes in his eyes. “He—he abandoned her and me.” 

“I’m sorry.” He doesn’t necessarily sound it, but regardless, it doesn’t make a difference.

“I’m not,” she shrugs, being more honest than what’s characteristic for her. “He’s a piece of shit who left me when he found out I was pregnant, showed back up a month after she was born because he assumed I put her up for adoption and left again when he realized I was keeping her.” Solana ends on the bitter but honest note. “I’m glad he’s not in her life. He’d only end up hurting her.”

Flashbacks of her own daddy issues flood in, forcing her to confront the fact that she’s probably just overshared. A lot. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“You’re not wrong. Kids need stability.” He says it so easily, Solana wondering if there’s a story there. “How old is she?”

The question brings the smile back to her face. “11 months. She’ll be a year next month.” Solana can’t believe how time has gone by. It feels like only yesterday she was welcoming her sweet daughter into the world, and now she’s about to be one. Time truly does fly. “I’m sorry, I keep talking.”

“I think I could listen to you talk all night and never get tired.” Their eyes lock, Solana shifts in her seat. His gaze is intense and burning and has her cheeks reddening. “Tell me more.”

“About?”

“Anything.”

She looks away, briefly distracted, wondering just how much the chandelier above their table costs. Probably more than she’s even made in her working life. “I—I don’t know what to say. I’m—I’m 26. I—I have a child. An older sister. She’s married with two kids. I—I’m really close with my mom and my sister…..usually.” She chuckles, adding, “I work two jobs, and I go to school full time.”

He seems intrigued by that last part. “What are you studying?”

“I’m getting my masters in nursing, specifically for FNP. I wanna be a family nurse practitioner.”

“Will be,” he corrects, complementing, “that’s impressive.”

“Maybe.” If only she felt as sure as he sounds. Still, she's appreciative of the kind words and says as much. “Thank you. My—my mom is a nurse. My sister is an RN. Mami wanted to be an NP, but she got pregnant with me right when she started grad school and just couldn’t handle both, so she dropped out.” Solana swallows. “I want to do it for her. For me, too, of course. But her and Raya.” His slight confusion makes her smile as she clarifies, “Soraya’s nickname is Raya.”

Roman makes a sound, acknowledging, “your face lights up when you talk about her.”

The smile is unavoidable. “She’s my heart.” Emotion builds up as she finds herself sharing, “I had just moved back here from Cali when I found out I was pregnant with her, and it….it’s weird, but I—I needed her at that time. I needed her to help me heal.” Solana finds herself subconsciously rubbing at the horizontal scar on the palm of her right hand.

A battle scar.

Most of what she's shared with this man would probably rank pretty high up there on anyone’s list of shit not to say on a first date, probably cementing this being a one and done thing. And, it’s not intentional. At all. She just finds herself opening up to Roman in a way she hasn’t opened up to any man.

Ever.

And, it confuses the mess out of her.

If he's curious about the unspoken story, he doesn’t express as such, just offers her a path to deflection. “Well, I’m sure you have questions for me.”

She does. “What do you do?”

He smiles at her, and she feels her insides melting away. He’s such a beautiful man. “Business exec. I do buyout leveraging. I won’t bore you with the details. I’m also into real estate.” 

She nods, assessing the still vacant room, like she’s just waiting for other guests to arrive, even though he’s made it clear that won’t be happening. “I guess…..I guess you do well for yourself.”

He makes a face. “You could say that.” 

She’s most definitely saying that. 

“What about your family? Do you have any kids?”

“No kids. I have a twin sister. Parents are still alive, but that’s…..complicated.” 

Solana picks up on the almost tension that rises in him at the ending part, the way his eyes briefly dart away.

“I get that…..” Because she does. Oh, she does. “Are you close with your sister?”

Solana is relieved to see that pearly white smile return. “Depends on the day.”

She giggles. “I agree. My sister is my best friend, but she’s also a thorn in my side sometimes.”

“Is that who’s watching your daughter?”

“She was supposed to,” Solana chuckles, elbows on the table. “But, it ended up being a thorn day, so she’s with her godmother.”

He nods, asking, “what time do you need to be back?”

Solana starts to answer while pulling out her phone, “I put her down for bed a little early, so…..” Glancing at the time on the phone, seeing that it’s quarter to 7pm, she shrugs and shares, “I just need to be home by midnight.”

He makes a sound. “That’s a decent amount of time.”

Curious, she finds herself asking, “For what?”

“Whatever you want.” And it’s the way he’s looking at her, how his eyes briefly drop to her chest, the small smirk on his face that there’s definitely something he wants, too. “Or whoever.”

—-----

Straddling Roman Reign’s lap in the back of the SUV that’s currently driving them to his penthouse isn’t exactly how Solana pictured this evening playing out. Even if it was predicted by her annoyingly accurate best friend.

“Ten bucks says you get fucked tonight.”

It was laughable at the time. Solana has never been one to sleep around. Cruz was her first everything. First kiss. First boyfriend. First time. Hell, the father of her first child. She’s never been with another man except for him, never really saw it for or in her to try out different men.

It’s why Roman currently sucking on her neck as his big hand palms her ass through her dress has her thrown for a loop. This isn’t her. At all. And yet, there’s not a single part of her that wants to stop, wants to push him away, to tell him no.

She just finds herself smashing her lips back onto his, the two continuing to tongue each other down until they reach their destination.

His hand closed around her, Solana is trying to gather herself as he leads them into the building to the private elevator. The distraction of his lips on her pulling her from taking in the fact that this man seems to be surrounded by security. Men guarding the SUV as they walked in the building. Men in the lobby of said penthouse. Men in the restauraunt.

Just guards everyone.

Solana chalks it up to a rich people thing. 

Especially when she steps foot into his penthouse.

“Holy shit…..” The interior is dark and sleek. Some shades of red and blue strewn about. It all feels so expensive. “I can’t believe this is where you liv—”

“I’m not gon’ lie, I’m not listening to a damn thing you’re saying right now.” It’s a combination of brutal honesty and a strain of frustration, Solana turning around to see he’s inching towards her. “All I can think about is getting you naked and face down, ass up on my bed.”

She closes her eyes the minute he’s right before her, swinging his arm around her waist, yanking her to him. Solana has to crane her head up to look at him. He’s so damn tall.

The hungry look in his eyes is no doubt too different from the exact way she’s looking at him. He may want her, but she definitely wants him. 

Even if she doesn’t understand it. 

Even if a part of her feels slightly guilty for what’s about to commence. 

Still, it doesn’t negate the fact that she wants this. 

It’s what has her licking her lips and saying so calmly. “So what are you waiting for?”

His smile is wicked, and she only has seconds to think about what she just welcomed into her. Figuratively and literally before he smashes his lips onto her.

Solana has only been kissed by a few men in her life, the majority of them coming from her daughter’s father. And it’s always been…..okay. Decent. Nice, even.

Kissing Roman, however, is none of those things. That hunger in his eyes is matched only by the passion in the way he kisses her, the way his full, pink lips move against hers, his tongue entering her mouth, toying around with her own.

It’s all so powerful and ravenous, and she finds her hands locking behind his neck at the same moment he hikes her up on his waist.

A gasp leaves her mouth, forcing her to break said kiss as he walks her to the back of his place, toward his bedroom.

“How…..” Never a small woman by any stretch of the imagination, especially since having Soraya, it’s a complete surprise the way he lifts and holds her like she weighs no more than a gallon of milk. 

Roman, however, is clearly still not interested in talking, because the moment they arrive in his bedroom, he has her up against the back of his door. His mouth is back on her with those hungry kisses that has her nails raking up the back of his neck, her thighs tightening around his waist. 

His breathing is uneven, his voice strained, and that hardening pressing in between her legs tells her just how badly he wants this too. 

“If you want to stop, you need to say something now.”

It’s the do or die moment. The epic moment of meeting at the crossroads. A part of her is screaming at her to get the hell out of this man’s place and back home where she belongs. With Soraya. Her daughter. Being the best mother that she can be.

But, another part of her, a stronger part of her, wants this, wants him. Because she always does the right thing. Or, tried to, at least. She’s certainly never allowed herself to indulge like this, so where’s the harm?

It’s like Kayden said.

Even woman should have at least one one night stand story. And who better to do it with than the man before her?

Solana’s answer is to press a teasing kiss against the base of his neck. “I’m not saying anything.....”

It feels like she’s barely able to get the words out when he’s carrying her over to the bed, sitting down with her still on top of him. He pulls back and motions for her to climb off. Standing in front of him, Solana watches how his gaze travels over her body before he demands, “take your clothes off. Slowly.”

It’s a strange, almost unfamiliar thing how easy it is for her to follow his instruction without a second thought. One minute her fingers are hooking on the thin straps of her dress, the next she’s squeezing herself out of it, all the while of his eyes never once leaving her.

Heavy breast freed, the only piece of clothing remaining on her is the soaked, black, lacy thong that keeps her cunt covered. 

Roman licks his lips and beckons her over, Solana wordlessly stepping close enough for him to tug her to him, his face buried in her chest. Her head falls back at the same time her mouth drops open as he starts a dangerous combination of kneading one breast while tonguing the other.

“Oh, fuck…..” Her hand is once again on the back of his head. “Roman…..”

“You better get used to saying my name.” He hikes her back on his waist only to flip them, so she’s laid back on the bed with his big, strong body covering her. “Cause it’s the only thing I want to hear for the next few hours.”

Her eyes widen at that, the word escaping her, “hours?”

Roman smiles, and it’s the best and worst thing in the world. So much mischief hidden behind those pearly whites. Carnal, salacious plans. “I like to fuck.” His gaze drops down in between her legs. “And eat.”

There’s a bit of anxiety that spurs the minute he starts dragging those luscious lips from her breast down her chest, his teeth pressing against her skin when he bites down on the band of her underwear. Solana’s hands grasp at the sheets as he uses his mouth to rid her of her final piece of clothing. 

Eyes darting open, she nearly loses it seeing him bring her panties to his face, his own eyes shutting as he deeply inhales and smirks. “I’m keeping these.”

She doesn’t have time to process how he tosses them to the side redirecting his focus to the dripping mess that is her cunt.

He makes a sound, going to pull his shirt over his head, moving to his knees at the edge of the bed. “Look at this pretty ass pussy. Already nice and wet for me.” His words do something to lessen her anxiety but not as much as she’d like. Getting head has always been a mid experience for her. Cruz was…..okay, nothing to be overjoyed about, and he always acted like it was an inconvenience whenever she asked him to return the favor. Not to mention the fact that he rarely, if ever, made her come from it.

Penetration was also hit or miss.

So, her expectations are pretty low up until that first lick of Roman’s thick tongue that has her nearly jumping off the bed. 

“Shit!” Her reaction is a bit embarrassing, most likely more than what’s necessary, but if he’s annoyed by it, he does a damn good job hiding it. 

He looks more turned on than anything. Roman’s long, thick fingers are suddenly playing with the mess she’s certain has already dripped on the soft sheets of his bed. “Lay back, and keep these legs open for me. Can you do that for me, pretty girl?”

More embarrassment with how quickly and fervently she nods her head, again falling back onto his big bed. Solana moans quietly when she feels his face completely submerged in her drenched cunt. 

“Roman…..”

He makes a sound followed by his fingers spreading her folds, revealing her swollen clit to him. “Sweet ass pusssy….” 

Solana hasn’t the slightest clue how she’s supposed to last these hours he’s referred to at least twice now based upon the fact that his mouth alone has her about to climax and tap out. It’s so unfamiliar and borderline inhuman how he works his tongue on and against her, exploring, licking and sucking every part of her that Cruz has somehow seemed to neglect her. 

She has her hand on the back of his head, fisting and undoing his bun, curls cascading around her fist as she presses his face deeper into her. 

It’s when he lifts his head, however, beard, chin and mouth soaked with her essence that she truly has to hold it together. “I changed my mind. I want you to watch me.” She’s not sure how and if she can do anything but, Roman’s dark eyes dropping back to her vagina. “Want you to see how good I eat this pussy…..” 

Good isn’t the word for it, because the methodical way he alternates between flicking, swirling, sucking, all the while playing with her, one finger, two fingers, moving in and out of her, needs to be studied by all men.

This is how you make a woman come, and she does. All over his face. Solana practically convulses as he laps up every bit of her essence, not once letting up, even as her orgasm rips through her. He’s still sucking on her clit, forcing her to push him away due to the overwhelming sensation of it all.

She’s partially discombobulated as his mouth finds her, letting her sample the remnants of her cum mixed in with their saliva as he taunts, “see how good you taste?” Solana is incapable of answering, among many other things. “Gonna eat you out all fucking night…..”

It’s a promise that has her clit throbbing. 

Not as much as it does watching Roman stand up at the edge of the bed and start to undo his pants. She’s unable to look away as he also rids himself of the remaining articles of clothing, her eyes basking in every rippling band of muscle that seems to make up his entire body. 

This man is beautiful and strong and ungodly perfect. It feels too good to be true.

But, it’s when he slides his boxers down, his member springing out with hunger and need that her eyes nearly bulge out of her head. 

“Oh….”

To be fair, Solana has only had sex with one man, so comparing dicks is a hard thing for her.

No pun intended.

It’s a hard thing, because it’s quite unfair and borderline cruel to even have Roman and Cruz in the same category.

Cruz barely scratches 5’7. 

Roman is well over 6ft tall.

Cruz is lean and lithe with some muscle and fat that he’s acquired over the years.

Roman’s muscles have muscles. 

Cruz dick is….average, probably a little under average.

Roman’s dick is massive.

The mushroom tip alone, pre-cum oozing through the slit, is enough to have her rethinking this whole thing. She’s not sure even that can get in.

“I don’t…..” And Solana is suddenly forced to endure the most awkward conversation of her life. “How is it supposed to fit?”

A probably silly question if not for the fact she’s genuinely concerned for the state of her vagina right now.

“It’ll fit.” Roman, however, seems unbothered, stroking himself for a minute before he instructs her. “Get on your hands and knees. Hold onto the headboard if you want.” Despite her newfound anxiety, she follows suit, Solana moaning as he glides his tip along her slippery folds. It’s baffling to her how wet she’s been and stayed for him, even with him already making her come once. This man’s presence alone is orgasm inducing. “You just gotta let me stretch this little cunt for you.”

Stretching is one thing. Ripping is an entirely different thing.

“Trust me.” He seems so sure of himself, and she’s not sure why she seems so sure of him too, nodding as she goes back to focusing on holding onto the headboard. A much needed source of support, clearly. 

Eyes closed, she hears the ripping of the condom package. Can imagine him sliding that thing over the massive, heated, turgid muscle weighing in his big hand.

She feels one hand gently gliding down her back, settling on her ass cheek where he gives her a little slap. “Just try to relax.”

Much easier said than done.

Still, she says nothing, eyes closing and head nodding. 

Now or never.

But, the minute his thick dickhead intrudes her tight opening, they’re both moaning in synchronization. It’s a burning, tight sensation on her part, maybe his as well, but there’s also something pleasurable about it? Something satisfying about the way he carefully works inch by inch of his girthy member inside of her, all the while praising her, goading her, talking her through.

“That’s it. Take this dick like the good girl you are.”

“Come on, baby. Open up for me.”

“Look at how this pussy yielding for me.”

It’s still a tight ass fit, and Solana is partially nervous about what the aftermath will look and feel like. Ice packs, crutches, and Tylenol seem to be in her near future. But, none of that matters once he’s fully seated in her, Solana trying to get used to the feel. So full and filing. 

That time of adjustment seems short lived, almost non-existent, because Solana’s body seems to have a mind of its own when she starts moving her ass back on him, prompting him to grab her hips as he starts to thrust into her.

“Shit, girl, knew this pussy would feel amazing, but I didn’t know it would feel this damn good.” His words are accurate and relatable, the discomfort gradually easing into something of pleasure. “Look how good you taking this dick.”

Eyes shut, Solana rocks her big ass back against him, whimpering when he brings hand down and slaps it. “Roman…..”

“That’s right. My name. It’s the only thing I wanna hear leave that pretty mouth of yours.” He intensifies the force of his thrusts, clearly encouraged by how she eagerly throws her ass back on his big dick. 

“Fuck, it’s so big…..” The biggest she’s ever had. The best she’s ever had. “But, it feels so good….”

“You like that shit, don’t you, baby?” He’s such a tease, taunting her, throwing in her face how good he’s beating her shit up. Solana hasn’t had sex in almost two years, not since before she found out she was pregnant, and this being her return to such a, now, wonderful thing is one hell of an experience. “Like how I’m stretching this pussy?"

“Fuck, I love it.” Because she does. Her knuckles are practically white from how hard she’s gripping the headboard, because it’s the only thing keeping her from screaming to the heavens. This man is a demond. “So good….”

Roman continues to fuck her from behind, backshots at different angles. Her head forced into the pillow. Hands on the headboard. Hands held behind her back. And each time causes her to reach a new level of heaven. 

But, it’s when Roman switches gears, repositioning them so she’s on top, Solana feels emboldened. Being on top with Cruz was always an uncomfortable thing, mostly because he would make comments about her being “too heavy” to ride him.

With Roman, all the man he is, it’s not a concern in the slightest. 

She bounces on top of his god-tier dick without a fucking care in the world. 

And he seems to feel the same. 

“That’s it……” She can feel his eyes burning into her as she rocks down on him, her big breast bouncing back and forth. “Ride my dick just like that, baby. Take what you need.”

And taking is exactly what she’s doing, because if this is a once in a lifetime chance to be fucked, thoroughly fucked by a man like Roman Reigns, she’s going to ride it until the wheels fall off. 

Some pun intended.

Roman growls, big hands pressing into her meaty hips. “He can’t never fuck you like this, fill you up like I can.” His lips are hot and pressured against the neck. “He can’t do shit for you that I can.”

She knows exactly who he’s referring to, and not a single lie is being told. “Little ass pussy squeezing the hell out of my big dick.” She moans, pulling his hair as he sucks on her tits, stopping only to again tease her, “you like that shit don’t you?”

She doesn’t stop, just professes all of the wonderful things he and his equally wonderful member are doing for her. “I love it. Fuck, I love it.”

“That’s all you needed. Someone to fuck you nice and right.” Again, it seems this man is incapable of lying, Solana hissing as he squeezes her ass cheeks while his tongue plays with her areola. “Take that stress all out on me, baby. Let me relax you.”

There’s something inherently stressful and relaxing with the way she can’t seem to find the space between reality and fantasy, with how he’s giving her a form of escape she never thought possible. Guiding and talking her to that beautiful point of release. A place she’s never been able to reach before.

Not like this. 

Never like this.

And Roman is perceptive, he can see it. Big hands moving up her back, holding her against him, guiding her on top of him. “Come for me, baby.” It’s less a command and more a plea, his voice almost desperate. “Wanna feel you come undone all over me.”

“Mio Dios!”

Solana is squeezing him, her nails pressing into his skin, her head in the crook of his neck as she comes, hard, heavy, overwhelmingly beautiful and chaotic. And his release comes shortly after, Solana enjoying the sensation of his strong, hulking body against hers, the way his face shifts into something so sensual and perfect as he jerks up into her, emptying into the condom.

She’s not sure how long they stay like that, just long enough for her to start feeling him go soft inside her. That’s when he eventually and carefully lifts her off and lays her down on the mattress, Solana panting and staring at the ceiling. She feels the dip in the bed as he gets up, obviously to dispose of the condom.

It’s only then she realizes that the absence of him inside of her is….noticeable.

A tiny bit of her eager to have it again. To have just one more taste of that deliciousness. 

Even if she probably won’t be able to walk tomorrow. 

Or ever.

Roman returns to the room, completely unbothered by his nakedness. She readies for him to climb back in the bed with her, maybe even ask her to leave. 

But, he doesn’t. 

No, he instead moves back to his previous spot at the edge of the bed. Grabbing her by her calves, he starts sliding her down. 

“I told you.” Her pussy flutters as he spreads her thighs, face to face with her swollen, puffy pussy. “I’m gonna make the most of the time we have.” And Solana is already moaning, already anticipating another round of insurmountable pleasure. “Starting with you coming in my mouth at least three more times…..”

—-------

It’s a strange, unexpected experience for a lot of different reasons. One, Roman has never really been one to let women ‘stay’ the night. He gets his nut, she gets her, and he sends her on her merry way.

And while Solana isn’t staying the night, she remains in his bed. And not just for sex. He gets her to come again in his mouth twice more before she pushes him away, citing that she needs a break. 

He gives her that, but what happens next is….unexpected, to say the least. 

Pillow talk. 

It’s fucking pillow talk that’s started by her simply running her fingers along his tattoos, asking what they mean and represent. That’s followed up with him asking her about her tattoos, which leads into literally hours of them just laying in bed….talking.

No sex. 

Just…..conversation, and normally, Roman would shy away from such a thing like the plague. It’s just never been his thing. 

But…..with her…..it’s different.

He enjoys hearing her talk, the things she shares with him, the way her nose crinkles when she laughs, how her eyes light up when she discusses her daughter with so much adoration and love. He enjoys her presence, the fact that she treats him like…..like he’s normal.

Like he’s not who he actually is, a large part of that being because she doesn’t know who he is, and that probably needs to change. Will change. Just not right now.

He just wants to enjoy having someone to talk to, and it’s easy with Solana. He doesn’t have to second guess motives or intentions or wonder about what kind of hint she’ll drop about wanting something materialistically from him like Sam.

It’s just easy.

So much so that he ends up having a bit of a hard time with letting her out of bed as 11:20pm rolls around, with her once again reminding him that she needs to be home by midnight. He understands it though, respects her dedication to putting her daughter first.

It’s still a bit of a drag for him, a sense of almost disappointment that she can’t spend the night.

Again, wholly out of his norm. 

When they pull up in front of the apartment complex, he finds himself asking, “this is your friend’s place, right?”

The driver has just opened the door for her, but she looks back over her shoulder before climbing out. “Yes, why?”

Roman waits until they’re both standing outside, as he pulls her close to him, enjoying the sight of her wearing his jacket around her body. “Do you need me to take ya’ll home?”

With a soft smile that has him thinking once again about how soft her lips feel pressed against his, she answers, “no, we’ll just stay the night here. It’s late. I don’t want to disturb Raya.”

It’s also way too late for her to be on the road, let alone on public transportation with a baby, hence why he offered.

Pleased with at least that, Roman shares without much thought, “I want to see you again.” And again. And again. And again. Her presence is…..calming in a way he’s not used to.

But, he could certainly get used to. 

Mischief sparkles in her pretty eyes. “See me again or see me again?”

“Both.” It’s an honest answer, and Solana knows that. Can see that while he probably desires her sexually as much as she does him, it’s also something different. Something deeper.

It has to be for her to lay in bed with him for hours just talking.

But, she also knows something else, something that she can’t and won’t negate. “Roman, I—I have a child. I can’t—I can’t just sleep around with you like that. I can’t do friends with benefits.”

“I’m not asking you to.” And the honesty continues as he pushes back some of her hair. “I’m just asking you to give this a chance.”

The word this has her stomach tightening as well as the way he’s looking at her. With such authenticity. The same way she’s probably looking at him.

Solana’s volume dips as she shares with just as much honesty. “Soraya is my number one priority.”

He nods. “I respect that.” 

“She comes first.”

“She should.”

Solana grows quiet. It’s hard to find a reason to disagree with someone who’s being so amenable, and really, what would be her basis for disagreeing? She’s grown. He’s grown. He’s acknowledging that he recognizes her daughter will always come first. What more does she really need?

What reason does she have to not give this a chance?

“If we do this….” She takes a deep breath, fingers grasping at the soft material of his shirt. “You can’t be with anyone else. You can’t be sleeping with random woman while you’re fucking me.”

Because she went through that once. Ignored the signs because she wanted to be happy.

Never again.

Especially not when it comes to her health. 

There’s a bit of hesitation on Roman’s end that she partially understands. She highly doubts this was his first one night stand. “That’s fair,” he finally agrees.

Solana can’t hide her surprise at him not throwing the same stipulation back at her. “You don’t want me agreeing to the same thing?”

Roman chuckles and pulls her into him,“ nobody else could fuck you like I can. You know where it’s at. This the only dick you're gonna ever want now.”

Her cheeks are flushed. “You’re arrogant.” 

But not wrong.

And he voices as such. “It’s not arrogance if I can back it up.” She can’t find it in her to disagree or to call him out, because again, there is no disagreement. “I wanna see you this Friday.”

She can’t deny the small spark of excitement at his offer before the weight of reality sets back in. “I was gonna pick up a shift, Roman…..”

He shakes his head, offering, “I’ll give you whatever you’d make on average.” Solana’s eyes widen a bit. It’s one thing that he already snuck a stack of money in her purse when she was redressing to leave. It’s another for him to continue to offer to financially supplement what she would miss out on by being with him.

“Roman, you can’t…..” That’s trailed off by another realization, even if there is still a small smile on her pretty face. “I don’t think I can get a sitter again.”

Another shrug as he says so plainly. “Bring her.” The horrified expression on her face makes him chuckle as he explains, “we won’t fuck. We can go out to eat again and then back to my place. Now, if she happens to fall asleep and we have some time…..”

Solana’s smile remains as he drops his hand to her ass, palming it, reminding her that this man really did keep her underwear. “You’d be okay with that?”

He explains so calmly. “You have a daughter. I’m not going to pretend she doesn’t exist. If we’re going to see where this goes, she has to be included, too.”

It takes her by surprise. The way he’s so easily going along with this. For some reason, Solana always imagined re-entering the dating world would be stressful given her dedication to always putting her child first. Most men these days don’t get that or aren't trying to “deal” with that. And then there’s Roman.

So…..easy.

It’s nice. Very nice. 

“How about this?” She moves her hands up his chest, feeling how he tugs her even closer. “We can go grocery shopping, and I’ll cook dinner for us.”

Roman smirks, looking down at her. “I got you cooking for me already?”

She giggles, reminding him. “I like to cook. It has nothing to do with me wanting to do anything for you.”

“Hmm. That’s fine. There’s a lot of different things I wouldn’t mind doing for you.” She sighs against him as he squeezes her ass again. “Especially to you.”

Solana can’t say she would be opposed to that.

Either of them.

Finally breaking away, she acknowledges, “I need to get inside.”

“Mmmm.”

Her smile is stapled at this point. “Goodnight, Roman.”

His eyes flicker with something. "Goodnight, Solana." She's walking up the steps when she remembers his jacket. Shuffling back over, she attempts to take it off, only for him to reach out and stop her. "Keep it. It's yours." Finger to her chin, Roman rubs his thumb along her still swollen bottom lip. "Just like you're mine now....."

[nimrochan]

Thank you for your question. To really simplify the answer, no, Israel has never sought to annihilate Gaza or its people. Any pro-Israel activity calling to end Gaza is very rare and not consistent with what most Israelis (including myself) want.

There has been a *very successful* anti-Israel propaganda campaign from terrorist groups ever since WWII ended, spearheaded by Mufta al-Husseini (a friend of Hitler) and tailored to appeal to progressive intellectuals in the west. The “Gaza genocide” is common knowledge now, but there is simply not enough unbiased evidence to support it.

Many claim that there has been a genocide “for 80 years,” yet Gazan population has gone from 80,000 to 2 million, not consistent with ~80 years~ of genocide. At least not a successful one.

In fact before the recent war started by Hamas, most Gazans just… lived their lives. It was a beautiful piece of land. Roughly 150,000 Gazans crossed into Israel every day for work (and that will no longer be allowed probably, because a few of them turned out to be scoping and mapping the area that would later be the site of the 10/07 attacks). There was no IDF presence there. There were no Jewish residents since 2005, because, well, they didn’t want them and Israel agreed to yank them out. Again before the recent war, Israel accepted 1000-2000 Palestinian citizens a year. They, along with roughly 2 million other Israeli Arabs, have equal rights and opportunities (Meanwhile in the West Bank, a Palestinian faces the death penalty if they sell property to a Jew.). A very small handful of these Israeli-Palestinian citizens committed terrorist attacks on Jews over the years (look up the 2015 Palestinian attacks, as an example. I was there, watching it unfold on the news). There is a border around Gaza because of a history of suicide bombers and other attackers crossing over to hurt civilians. I was also there in the 90’s when that was a common problem. I was scared to take the bus to school, because buses were popular targets.

Meanwhile, Hamas put a foothold on Gaza and started firing unprovoked rockets into civilian areas in Israel, since they couldn’t easily cross the border anymore to plant bombs. They’ve been doing this for 20 years. Then they found a way to cross over en masse and rape/slaughter 1200 noncombatant people (I’m sure you know that story at least).

It turns out that the decades of propaganda over Israel’s alleged horrendous treatment of Gazans gave them billions of dollars in aid to build tunnels and rockets.

Hamas continued to send rockets from hospitals, schools, and apartment buildings so that IDF retaliatory rockets would hit civilians. Then they plaster it all over social media - look what Israel did! Then they continue firing rockets over and over and over again. They continue hanging on to the remaining 101 hostages, at least half of whom are dead.

Meanwhile, the IDF utilizes pamphlets and alerts and sirens and all kinds of methods to clear out civilians before they bomb an area. Not exactly “annihilation” behavior.

Why are they displacing upwards of at least a million Gazans from their homes? Because Hamas built tunnels and weapons under them. For the sole purpose of killing Israelis. So yeah, the IDF wants to put a stop to that. As would any normal army from a normal country.

Reliable sources put the combatant - to - civilian ratio at around 1:1 - 1:2.5, which is extremely low. For a dense urban area, average is 1:9.

Looking at it another way - there are about 300,000 IDF soldiers in Gaza right now. They have superior weapons, they have air space. That’s 100 times the number of Hamas members involved in 10/07. So if they killed Gazans with the same unhinged violence as Hamas did in one day … 100 times the soldiers leading to 100 times the deaths, over 400 days… They would have killed over ~20x the population in Gaza by now.

So between the population growth, the forcible removal of Jewish residents from Gaza in 2005, the multiple offers for a two state solution denied by Hamas, the fact that Israel has never sent a rocket first (and you can look that up), the distribution of aid, and the care taken to minimize civilian death in an extremely urban strip of land as small as Manhattan, there doesn’t seem to be an annihilation goal.

Are they capable of annihilating all Gazans? Yes. They’re a powerful military. But they haven’t so far. And I never see accurate or unbiased information to prove otherwise. What I HAVE seen is footage of Hamas torturing Gazans and shooting at people for trying to flee areas that the IDF warned them they would strike.

Let me be clear that I am in no way minimizing the suffering and death of Gazans, especially considering that children make up such a large number of the population. I’ve seen that footage too. It’s awful. It doesn’t have to be labeled a genocide to be horrific. War is horrific.

I’m not going to sit here and pretend that every IDF member is free from sin, that would be foolish and naive, but to spread misinformation about the war is to embolden terrorists and keep them throwing their own citizens in harm’s way for the sake of killing Jews. Yes, I believe that a large part of the pro-Palestine movement is harming both sides.

We don’t want Gaza. (Egypt didn’t even want Gaza when offered). We want people to stop using it to terrorize us. We continue to receive 100+ rockets a day from Hamas and Hezbollah. One of them hit a kindergarten today.

You are welcome to ask me more questions as long as it doesn’t come from a hostile place.

[alxtiny]

Her Favourite Muse | Kim Hongjoong x reader

Synopsis: where you dedicate your work to your favourite muse

Pairing: kim hongjoong x fashion designer!reader, domestic au

Genre: fluff

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: none :)

Notes: happy late birthday to captain hongjoong!! How i wish to be on time someday :’)

Main masterlist

You sat huddled up on the sofa in your design studio. It was almost 2 am, but you had work to do, your hands danced furiously against the paper, the silhouette of your thoughts coming alive. You had just one person in mind, Hongjoong. He was a man who had always stood apart, unapologetically himself in every way. He loved fashion, it was more than just clothes to him. Pieces that were bold, daring, and didn’t conform to conservatism, spoke to him, just like they did to you. He was your greatest muse. It was his way of self-expression, and that’s exactly why you knew you had to do something special for his birthday.

What once was a passing thought, a future project, was now put in motion: a whole collection, inspired by Hongjoong. Every stitch, every cut, every detail would hold pieces of the way he wore his individuality on his sleeve.

…

You were in the final stages of your Kim Hongjoong-inspired collection. The pieces were diverse—bold colors, asymmetrical cuts, intricate details that were both elegant and abstract . There were jackets with painted backs, pants that played with patches and nets, and shoes that made a statement. It was his style, but also your creative interpretation of it. You had even incorporated some of his signature elements and subtle references to the Ateez lore.

Your social media had been buzzing with reactions of fans from the subtle hints you had been dropping, but Hongjoong had no idea what was coming. He’d noticed the occasional post about your ‘new collection,’ but you’d kept the specifics under wraps. And he’d played along, always asking teasing questions, but you’d only smile and change the subject, thankfully he wouldn’t pry further.

…

It was finally 7th November, Hongjoong’s birthday and the eve of the release of your new collection. The day had been eventful, with the drop of Hongjoong’s wonderwall cover and his birthday live, Atiny were already pretty hyped about his birthday, but you had something more exciting to wait for.

After all the main festivities, you pulled him aside, a twinkle of excitement in your eyes. "Hey, I need you to come with me for a bit. There’s something I want you to try on." You dragged him to your home studio, made him stand on the small revolving step in the middle of the room and pulled out a rack with a few outfits.

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow. "Hmm? What’s with this sudden fashion show?" he asked with a playful smile.

You turned to him. “Please, just trust me, okay? You’re gonna love this.”

He narrowed his eyes at you but relented anyway. “Alright, alright. I’m ready for whatever you’ve got in mind."

You walked him through each piece, carefully pulling them out one by one. The first outfit was an asymmetrical cut vest with light marbled golden accents, along with black denim pants that slit down the sides and were stitched to a shimmery tulle to give it a flare. It was perfect on him, crafted exactly to his tastes.

“Try it on quickly,” you urged him, grinning as he hesitated.

Hongjoong slipped into the outfit, and your eyes flickered with anticipation. The fabric hugged his frame, and the gold glimmered under the studio lights. But you weren’t done yet. You handed him a pair of heeled boots with similar patterns as the vest and intricate embroidery along the edges. You finished by adding a few chains and tied scarves around the pants as accessories.

“Wow, this is beautiful,” Hongjoong murmured, turning in the mirror. "But, wait, what is this for...?"

You gave him an aloof smile. “Just wait.”

Outfit after outfit, you had him try on more pieces. Some aiming for comfort, some for elegance and others for rebellion. Each piece was meant to feel like him: distinct, unpredictable, and designed with a touch of eccentricity.

Hongjoong laughed softly as he slipped into one final ensemble: a deep navy velvet jumpsuit with embroidered constellations on the back, shimmering under the light. "This looks like something out of a dream," he said in awe. "But really... why all this?"

“You’ll see,” you said. "All in good time."

…

The next day, you were at your office, brainstorming for new ideas, when your assistant burst into your room, her eyes wide. “You have to see this! Your new collection—it’s trending everywhere!”

Excited, you quickly pulled up your brand’s website and Instagram, and your heart skipped a beat. The entire collection had just been officially announced, it was posted a few hours earlier than you expected and it was already causing a stir across the fashion community.

The site was flooded with preorders, and your social media accounts were exploding with likes, comments, and shares. Fans were already calling the collection "out of this world," with many pointing out how the designs resembled Hongjoong’s style, calling it pieces from his closet.

You felt your heart swell with pride, knowing that Hongjoong had indeed inspired every single piece.

Your phone buzzed, and you immediately answered. It was Hongjoong.

“Is this... is this really all for me?” His voice cracked, and you could hear the emotion in it. "This... this is my birthday gift? You sure are sneaky"

You could hear the disbelief in his voice, but also the love and gratitude. “It’s all you,” you replied softly. “I wanted you to know how much you inspire me, and how much I love you.”

Hongjoong was silent for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was thick with emotion. “I don’t know what to say… thank you. Thank you for this, and for always believing in me, loving me the way you do. I love you so much.”

You face held a lovesick grin. “I love you too, Hongjoong. More than anything.”

…

You decided to share some of the behind-the-scenes moments on your personal Instagram. Pictures of Hongjoong in few of the outfits—laughing, posing, showing off the bold looks with a sparkle in his eye. There were shots of you two together, of other times, his arms wrapped around you as you worked.

You captioned the post with a simple, heartfelt message: "To my favourite muse - Happy birthday to the one who inspires me every day, in every way. This collection is for you, Hongjoong, because no one does it quite like you."

The likes and comments poured in, as fans showered you both with love. Atiny was overjoyed, seeing their favorite couple share such a beautiful, heartfelt moment.

Hongjoong, browsing through your post, wrote under it: “I’ll cherish this forever. Thank you for everything. - Your favourite muse”

© alxtiny . Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, repost, or use my works on any platform in any way.

Send an ask or a message to be added to taglist

DISCLAIMER: THIS IS PURE FICTION AND NOT RELATED TO THE MEMBERS OF ATEEZ IN REAL LIFE PLEASE DO NOT TAKE IT SERIOUSLY

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[ssentimentals]

Hii can i request mingyu + hurt prompt #34? Thankssss

hi sweets! thank you for requesting, hopefully you will like it! 💜

hurt prompts: 'the things you said yesterday... did you mean them?'

someone is caressing your hand. it's a nice feeling to wake up, especially when you know who is responsible for said action. mingyu's face is the first thing you see when you open your eyes and you smile a little. mingyu doesn't smile back and memories of last night rush in, reminding you why you're waking beside him and not in his arms. before panic rises, you remind yourself that mingyu is caressing your hand gently now, so everything can't be that mad.

'morning,' you whisper, afraid to talk in a normal voice for some reason.

'morning.' mingyu repeats and clears his throat. 'slept well?'

you don't really remember how you fell asleep; probably knocked out from crying and fighting. arguments with mingyu were rare but whenever they did happen, they sucked all the energy out of you, leaving you drained and exhausted. truth to be told, you don't even remember coming to the bedroom, so mingyu probably carried you here once you fell asleep in the living room.

'not really,' you reply, not feeling rested at all. 'you?'

he shakes his head. when you first started dating, you both promised each other to never go to bed angry, so what happened last night is an exception of sorts. 'the things you said yesterday... did you mean them?' mingyu asks quietly, voice muffled by the pillow.

your mouth opens but nothing comes out. to your horror, you don't even remember about which things mingyu is talking exactly - a lot of stuff was said yesterday and not all of it was said due to anger or frustration. but mingyu is sensitive, always has been in a much more delicate headspace than you, so you tiptoe around the question, looking for the right answer while also staying honest: 'any of the mean and angry words - no. i love you, gyu, i'd never actually mean any of those. but what i said about the whole thing, like in the beginning, what made me upset in the first place.. yeah, i meant that. i stand by it even now.'

mingyu doesn't say anything at first. he just stares at your hands, chewing on his bottom lip, thinking about your answer. you both treasure honesty the most, so he knows you're being sincere. 'okay.' he settles for in the end, taking a deep breath. 'i also didn't mean everything i said after we moved from the kitchen to the living room.'

you smile and hesitantly interlace your fingers together. 'i know, gyu.'

he nods again and squeezes and when he does that, you feel like you can breathe again. if mingyu is not declining physical contact, if he's still here then you two can work it out. 'we don't have to do it now,' you say, not wanting to get up. 'we can just lay here for a while.'

sigh that mingyu lets out on this is full of relief. 'yes. yes- yeah. please.'

you both move in sync, slotting your bodies together until it's impossible to tell where one ends and another one begins. 'sleep a bit more for now,' mingyu whispers, holding you tight. 'i'll be here when you wake up.'

a/n: request your own here! <3 - nini