#the stranger id pack

[hellish-npts]

The Stranger [TMA] ID Pack

Pt: The Stranger [TMA] ID Pack /end pt

Names: Angler, Anglerfish, Baldwin, Breekon, Calliope, Cecily, Daniel, Doll, Dollie, Dolly, Gregor, Hope, Kempelon, Nicoletta, Nicolette, Nikita, Nikola, Nikolai, Orsinov, Rawlings, Sarah, Strange, Stranger, Tom, Unknown, Wolfgang, Xenia, Xenios, Zeus

Pronouns: almost/almosts, anglerfish/anglerfishs, circus/circus', clown/clowns, doll/dolls, figure/figures, figurine/figurines, hunt/hunts, preform/preforms, ringmaster/ringsmasters, strange/stranger, strange/stranges, stranger/strangers, theatre/theatres, trap/traps, wax/waxs, 🎭/🎭s, 🕯️/🕯️s, 🧸/🧸s, ���/🪆s

Titles: avatar of the Stranger, humanity's mockery / reflection, prn who borrows faces / identities / voices, prn who is almost human, prn who is blessed / cursed by the Stranger, prn who is made of endless facades, prn who owns / wears gorilla skin, prn who owns [ many ] dolls, prn who plays / owns the Calliope, prn who works for the House of Wax / Circus of the Other / Breekon & Hope, prn with glassy / dull eyes, prn with no true identity, the [ ball - jointed ] doll, the imitation of life, the wax sculpture

Genders: Sillystranger, Flagmastrange, Archistrange, Requestrange, Coinstrange, Avastraxen, TMA0170708 (SweetArts) Gender, AshSweetStrangergender, Tmastrangerhunter, Strangerangel, Strangerdemon, Strangerbitch, Strangerfreak, Strangerloser, Strangerweirdo, Unknowingial, Strangergender, Mannequiliveic, Strange / Stranger System, Clownthing

Other ids: Stranger Xenintation, Human:), Dissostrangeava, Human..?, Avatar of the Stranger Occuden, Uncanny Valley Eiment, Strangersensus, Uncannyvesil, Strangeripsese, Avatar of the Stranger, Stranger4Stranger, The Stranger Eiment, Satellanescior TheStrangerperspesque, TheStrangertant, TheStrangervior, TheStrangervesil, TheStrangerhearthic, TheStrangerallion, TheSrangerdernic,

Words in bold are Names, Pronouns, Titles, Genders, and Other ids respectively

Tagging @radiomogai and @id-pack-archive

[acronym-chaos]

The Stranger Inspired ID Pack

[PT: The Stranger Inspired ID Pack].

[ID: A purple thin line divider shaded at the bottom, end ID]

Names

[PT: Names].

Abigail, Adeline, Alistair, Ambrose, Anwen, Aveline, Azura, Belinda, Bennett, Calliope, Cassius, Cecil, Damien, Darcy, Delilah, Doll, Doppel, Echo, Eloise, Emory, Evelyn, Facsimile, Falsity, Faux, Faye, Felix, Form, Gideon, Harlequin, Hollow, Idol, Ingrid, Isolde, Jasper, Lenore, Lucius, Manikin, Mannequin, Marionette, Marlowe, Mask, Masque, Mimic, Mirror, Mock, Morgana, Mortimer, Oddity, Oswin, Parody, Peregrine, Puppet, Reflection, Reginald, Replica, Rosalind, Silas, Silhouette, Thaddeus, Thalia, Theodora, Thing, Twine, Vesper, Vivienne

Pronouns

[PT: Pronouns].

Co / Copy / Copies; Do / Doll / Dolls; Doub / Double / Doubles; Echo / Echo / Echoes; Face / Face / Faces; Figur / Figure / Figures; Fo / Form / Forms; Gui / Guise / Guises; Mask / Mask / Masks; Mimi / Mimic / Mimics; Mo / Mock / Mocks; Mo / Model / Models; Puppet / Puppet / Puppets; Ref / Reflect / Reflects; Repli / Replica / Replicas; Sha / Shape / Shapes; Vis / Visage / Visages

Titles

[PT: Titles].

A Harbinger of the Uncanny, A Shapeless Mimic, A Silent Observer, The Echoing Figure, The Facade Weaver, The Faceless Mannequin, The Hollow Form, The Identity Thief, The Mocker Masque, The Mysterious Masquerade, The Odd Entity, The Reflective Stranger, The Replicant, The Unfamiliar Familiar, The Unsettling Presence, [Pronoun] Who Borrows Faces, [Pronoun] Who Conceals Reality, [Pronoun] Who Echoes Humanity, [Pronoun] Who Fashions Facades, [Pronoun] Who Manifests Doubles, [Pronoun] Who Mirrors Souls, [Pronoun] Who Twists Appearances

[ID: A purple thin line divider shaded at the bottom, end ID]

Requested by @yipiiee!

Also tagging: @pronoun-arc @id-pack-archive

[thespacesay]

ID: a tweet by National Park Service @\NatlParkService.

When hiking, the early bird gets the face full of spider webs.

Bring a tall friend and let them lead.

/ end ID

[lildiva00]

last part of virgin!Choso<3 (im gonna write more for him tho, just in other scenarios!!) other parts here: part 1 part 2 part 4

.⋅ ۵♡۵ ⋅.

Virgin Choso who stands on his small balcony, looking over the city, a grey cloud creeping out between his lips.

Choso had taken up smoking. He’d asked Leiri about it when he’d seen her doing it, and she’d told him it helped her to relax. he’d bought a pack right after that. The first couple of times he’d coughed the smoke out. But now he does it smoothly, inhaling and exhaling the smoke with no problem. It makes him feel at ease even just for a moment, and lord knows he needs it right now. Humans are fucking weird he thinks, they’d jepordize their health for a little break from their troubles. Guess that doesnt sound so ridiculous now that he thinks about it. Either way hes a human now too, or a half one atleast.

he squeezes the cigarette into an ashtray and looks at the time when he hears the door bell ringing. Its late and you’re here.

he hears you running up the stairs, and when you get to the top you run to him, giving him a soft hug. His heart keens.

“hi Choso!” you smile and let go of him, he immediately misses the feel of you, “hey,” he mumbles.

“why do you smell like cigerattes?” you huff and your nose crickles. cute.

he raises his shoulders.

“i cant believe it…who taught u to do that huh?” you make a disappointed face and fold your arms, tapping your foot on the floor. And he knows youre just joking, you and Yuji have been using enough sarcasm around him for him to have a pretty good understanding of it.

“Leiri,” he shrugs.

“of course…that hag,” you grin. And you look so fucking adorable, in your little outfit, and the way you look when you smile makes him weak. He has your bag ready on the couch, he had washed your panties before putting everything back into it. But he can’t think about that now, or he’ll turn bright red.

he sighs “i made dinner,” he says, “if you’re hungry,” you stop infront of him and you almost look like youre gonna cry from happiness. “im starving,” you say quickly, “what did you make?”

He’d made rice bowls for you. your favourite. And you eat like a girl who’d gotten her first meal in months. Happily humming while eating your food.

Rather than focusing on eating his own bowl, he thinks about eating every meal of the day with you, sitting across from him.

when you’re done you put your plate in the sink and you yawn, you look adorable when you yawn, you look adorable when you do anything.

you turn around, “Choso?”

his heart skips a beat. he nods.

“it’s really late and um…dark outside and i don’t really want to walk home alone,” you look away, are you….blushing?

“is it okay if i stay here for the night?”

And hes heard the stories. About what happens to pretty girls when they’re alone at night and they don’t see the stranger walking behind them. And his fist clenches at the thought of someone being mean to you. He’s stronger than any human. he’d crush their fucking skull.

“you can stay,” he says quickly, a little too eagerly he realises. And you smile, “give me your plate,” you say, looking greatful that he let you stay, unknowing of the fact that he’d do just about anything if it meant your safety, or your happiness.

You start washing the dishes in his tiny kitchen, and when Choso tries insisting that he wants to help, you splash a bit of water on him. And you laugh so sweetly, when he jumps a little, trying not to get hit.

When youre done washing up, You both stand in silence for a while. For some reason its not as akward as it sounds.

“i will sleep on the couch,” he says,

“no Choso…id feel bad, you sleep in your bed,” you mumble.

You both argue like that for a while, and youre not letting up. stubborn little human.

you both get quiet for a moment.

“how big is your bed?”

“Queen size,”

“so why dont we just…sleep in it together?”

youre blushing slightly again. it must be his imagination.

And then he thinks about it. Friends sleep in the same bed sometimes right? you dont mean anything by it, he thinks, its just you being polite.

“i guess…we could do that yes,” he agrees.

you smile and nod, “okay,”

Choso excuses himself to go to the bathroom then, telling you to go ahead and get ready for bed.

He looks at himself in the mirror. He takes out his buns, his hair falling down to his shoulders. His eyes are dark and sunken. He looks dead he thinks. He looks down, “behave,” he says quietly, mostly to his heart, but also his dick.

he buries his head in his hands And He realizes he cant, he realizes the second he’s gonna look at you in his bed, he won’t be able to stop himself. to stop himself from confessing everything he feels, everything he’s done. that he thinks about you all the time, that you drive him insane, that he stole your pretty panties and came in his hand from the smell of your wet cunt.

When he rounds the corner of his bedroom, you’re sitting patiently on the edge of his bed, waiting for him.

“i am going to sleep on the couch, i don’t think this is a good idea,” he says it quickly, before he changes his mind, before its too late to go back.

you open your mouth to speak, hesitating a little.

“is it because of what yuji told me?”

his brain goes quiet. “what?”

“that you…that you like me?”

fuck. its over. he sighs angrily. that little fucki-

you stand and walk to him.

and when you put your hand on his chest, for a moment he forgets why hes mad, he forgets who he is and what year hes in. all he sees is you. And how close you are all of a sudden. and how youre leaning in, standing on your tippy toes, pressing your soft lips to his, in a short gentle kiss. His world stops for a moment.

And when he regains his senses, his instincts take over and he kisses you back ferociously, it’s sloppy and uncoordinated, but neither of you seem to care.

You walk backwards onto his bed, and you push him down so he’s sitting on the edge. He looks at you like a puppy dog, and his cheeks are flushed red.

When you sit down in his lap his dick twitches in his pants.

“i- i didnt think you…,” he stutters. he doesn’t really believe what’s happening.

“well i do,” you say, while cupping his face in your hands. “a lot,”

“can i…” he needs it he needs it he needs it, “can i eat your pussy?” he mumbles it quietly.

your eyes widen. fuck, he shouldn’t have said that, it was way too fast, you were just kissing.

“oh…uh okay,”

fuck. yes.

he lifts you up from his lap, and you skriek a little from surprise. He puts you down in a chair in the corner of his bedroom.

he gets on his knees infront of you and speaks quietly,

“i…im sorry i,” he sniffles a little, he’s so overwhelmed. And you’re letting him taste you.

you lean down and give him a kiss, biting your lip slightly.

“its okay…we can talk later, if you need it i’ll give it to you okay?”

And fuck he almost cries, and he buries his face in your lap. You shush him a little, caressing his hair. Hes hugging your legs.

He lifts his head, and you start unbuttoning your pants. Slowly sliding them down your hips as they fall to the floor. You spread your legs and he whimpers. Your panties are pink this time, and theres a big wet spot on them. And he doesn’t spare a second, he dives his head into your cunt, rubbing his face in it and licking at the wet spot desperately. you moan his name softly, and he cant help but grind his hard cock against the leg of the chair. Hes pathetic but he doesnt care, he wants you to feel good, he wants to make you cum on his face. He groans into your weeping pussy as he thinks about you cumming for him.

He pulls away a little, silently begging you to remove your panties. He wants to see your pussy so bad. His pussy.

You slide down your panties to reveal your soaked cunt. Choso almost growls. He looks up at you, asking for permission to keep going. you nod, your eyes half lidded. Spoiled little princess, he thinks, and thats exactly how hes going to treat you from now on.

he leans in again, kissing your pussy and it makes a wet sound. He licks his lips and groans deeply at your taste. He starts lapping at your cunt like a dehydrated puppy. He’s making out with your pussy now, swiping his tongue all over. You can tell he’s inexperienced, but it doesn’t matter, he’s doing such a good job.

you feel so good, his tongue is too much, its all too much. You love him so much. And you cum unexpectedly, crying out his name, begging him to keep going and he whines. You thrash around and Choso keeps you steady, his strong hands grasping your hips.

After youre done he keeps licking up your cum, making sure youre cleaned.

“Choso…stop, too much,” you say softly.

He pulls away.

His face is covered in your juices, dripping all the way down his neck. And he looks so happy. He stands up, like its on instinct. He needs to hold you.

He grabs you into his arms and plop down onto the bed, with you on his chest. He squeezes you into him, kissing your hair while you slide your panties on again.

“mine,” he says softly. youre his now.

You look up at him, searching his eyes, “Choso i wanna um…you know,” you gesture to his crotch. you want to make him feel good too.

but he looks away shyly. its embarrassing and pathetic, “i um..,” he sits up with you in his lap.

He doesnt feel hard under you anymore. And then it clicks.

“oh my god did you…”

he blushes furiously and nods, “its embarrassing,” he had cum in his pants the second he put his face in your bare pussy.

“no! no…it’s really…hot,” you reason and he looks less embarrassed. He looks into your eyes then, looks at your pretty little face and he already knows he wants you to be his forever.

“do you want to be my girlfriend?” he asks nervously.

you giggle and nod eagerly, jumping on him, wrapping your arms around him and nuzzling into his neck.

hes the luckiest man in the world he thinks. And you both fall asleep, you laying on his chest.

.⋅ ۵♡۵ ⋅.

guys they didn’t actually fuck and i’m SORRY

now….part 4?? hey!!! HEY OKAY IM SORRY!! comment if yall want more ill do a lil short one where buddy ACTUALLY looses his virginity.

taglist:

@iqzo @multy-fandom-lover

[withwritersblock]

Hold My Hand

~Hold my Hand by The Fray~

Author's Note: I am obsessed with this trope. Tooth rotting fluff Summary: Jack takes care of Y/N after a night out Warnings: nothing Word Count: 3,079 Jack Hughes x fm!reader

She rarely got drunk. Drinking was something that she would only do if it was only one drink that lasted the entire night. Tonight, she found herself drinking more than one. More than two and definitely more than three. 

Her friend Hailey was having a bachelorette party at a club that was catered towards country music fans. It was a Friday night and the club was so packed. The area dedicated to the line dances was now a giant mosh pit where everyone was dancing and grinding against one another. 

Y/N stayed on the outside of the circle, dancing by herself surrounded by her friends. Her hands were up in the air as she was swaying back and forth letting the vodka in her system take over. 

A gasp fell from her lips as hands looped around her waist, she shoved them away as she spun around seeing a complete stranger trying to dance with her. She shook her head, tossing her balance with her. “I have a boyfriend!” she shouted towards him, crossing her arms over her chest. A dramatic pout fell to her lips as she began walking away from the group.

She was always a fan of the good ol’ Irish goodbye where she would disappear some time in the night. It was usually after the two in the morning mark when she would disappear and head home. Since she never would drink, the girls always assumed she went straight home.

She pulled her phone out of the small purse she carried with her that only had her phone, ID, and credit card in it. She began searching for his contact as she needed to go home. She brought the phone towards her ear as she began walking towards the exit of the club. 

The phone only rang a few times before he answered. “Hey baby, you okay?” Jack asked, his voice rasped slightly; almost as if he was asleep before he answered.

“I miss you, can you come p-pick me up?” she slurred as she leaned against an open table.

“I’m already on my way, baby, I’ll be there in like ten minutes,” he offered, a soft chuckle leaving his lips. “Are you drunk?” he asked, an evident grin on his lips. She didn’t say anything, instead she let out a long dramatic hum that went to the beat of the music in the club. “Be outside in five minutes, okay?” Jack explained softly.

“Okay,” she sang out as she pulled the phone from her ear as she struggled to place it bak into her tiny bag. 

She leaned against the table, shifting her gaze towards the exit. She tilted her head back as she took a deep breath. Pushing off of the table, she stumbled forward towards the exit. Desperate for fresh air, even more desperate to see her boyfriend. She squeezed through a few people as she stumbled outside to not fresh air but instead an aggressive smell of cigarettes.

Her lips fell into a pout as she walked towards a bench that had no one sitting at. The bench bars were cold against her steaming hot skin. Her frame was only covered with a black tight skirt as well as a matching black top. A huff of air left her lips as she dug for her phone in the small bag.

She pulled the phone out of the bag and stared towards her lockscreen. It was a photo of Jack that she took during Christmas this past year. He was half asleep as he was trying to open the present she had gotten him. His face was sunken deeply into a hoodie. She tilted her head to the side as she continued to look over the photo; admiring the soft smile on his lips and his tired eyes.

It took only a few more minutes for Jack to pull up in front of her. She stood up, adjusting the ends of her skirt. She stood still, shoving her phone back into the tiny purse. She watched as Jack climbed out of the car. He left the car on and the door open. He was wearing a hoodie and matching sweatpants.

“My boyfriend!” she cheered out as she tilted her head to the side and swayed slightly. Jack shook his head while laughing. Quickly, he walked up towards her.

She stood still waiting for him to walk up towards her. “Let’s go, baby,” he let out softly. She shook her head as she waited for him. He stood directly in front of her and took a deep breath. Delicately he took a hold of her waist and pulled her towards him. 

She wrapped her arms around his neck, leaping towards him. He giggled as he lifted her off of the ground, “Did you have fun?” he asked softly as he pressed his lips against her cheek.

“I’m so drunk,” she mumbled as she pulled back, meeting his eye. Her lips fell into a pout. He chuckled as he shook his head slightly. “Don’t laugh at me,” she whined out.

“I’m not laughing at you, baby. Let’s go back to my place,” he mumbled as he began to guide her towards the passenger side of the car.

“Okay,” she said as she leaned into him. Jack carefully pulled the passenger door open. Y/N slowly began to climb into the passenger seat. She sat down, her feet still dangled outside of the car. Jack took a hold of her ankles, putting them inside of the car. He leaned back getting ready to shut the door. “Where are you going?” 

Jack paused for a moment, holding the door and looking towards her. His mouth fell open as he fought another laugh rising in his throat. “I gotta get in the car, babe,” he let out somewhat jokingly.

Her eyebrows furrowed harshly as she let out a soft laugh. “Oh yeah,” she mumbled through a gigle. He rolled his eyes playfully as he carefully shut the door for her. He instantly jogged around the car towards the driver seat, the door was still open and he quickly sat down in the seat. He slammed the door shut and looked towards her instantly. 

“Gotta be quiet when we get back to my place, Lukey is asleep, okay?” he explained as he reached towards her, taking a hold of her seatbelt. Slowly, he locked it into place before he sat back down into his seat.

“You’re the loud one,” she whispered as she felt her head start to get heavy. He chuckled as he put on his own seat belt the same time he began to pull out of the parking spot.

“I beg to differ,” he teased as he continued driving down the street towards his apartment. 

A pout fell onto her lips as she reached towards him, taking a hold of his free hand and interlocking their fingers. “Don’t be mean,” she mumbled as he raised his hand up and kissed the back of her hand.

“How am I being mean?” he asked while laughing.

“You’re laughing at me again!” she mumbled as she pulled her hand away from him. He rolled his eyes playfully as he reached over and took a hold of her thigh. His thumb started gliding along her skin. She tilted her head back, looking towards Jack.

“I’m not laughing at you, baby,” he let out through a grin. “You’re just adorable,” he teased. She rolled her eyes dramatically as she stared towards his hand on her thigh. Her fingertips trialed over his hand. 

The drive back to his apartment only took a few more minutes. He pulled up towards his parking spot and put the car into park and instantly took his keys out. “Almost there, my love,” he mumbled as he pushed the car door open. She let out a dramatic sigh as she began trying to take the seat belt off of her frame. She unbuckled it and pulled it from her frame.

He slammed his car door shut as he jogged around towards the passenger side, where she had already opened the door. Jack held the door open, waiting for her to climb out of the car. It took her several seconds but she was able to stand up from the seat. Her clutch purse in her hand. 

Lifting her head up slowly, delayed as her vision was blurred slightly. He took a hold of her waist, guiding her away from the passenger door. He slammed it shut and took a hold of his keys to lock his car. “Let’s get you ready for bed,” he whispered in her ear before pressing his lips against her cheek. He kept both hands on her waist as he helped her towards the lobby doors. 

“I’m not tired,” she mumbled as she straightened her poster slightly as he guided her towards the doors.

“Oh really?” he asked teasingly before he pressed his lips against her shoulder. She hummed dramatically as she pulled away from his grasp. He let his arms hang beside him as he watched her take fast steps away from him. She spun around and began to walk backwards. 

“I’ve got big plans for you tonight,” she teased as she continued walking ahead, she smirked as she scanned his frame. 

Jack rolled his eyes playfully. There would be no plans. She was too drunk to even stand up without swaying back and forth. He would never even think about doing anything with her in this state, despite her best efforts. It was almost definite that she would fall asleep the second her head hit the pillow in his bedroom.

“Big plans?” he asked teasingly as he walked up towards her, replanting his hands onto her hips. She pressed her back against his chest for support.

“So many,” she mumbled as they entered the lobby, he nodded towards the night desk clerk before he walked towards the elevator. “I’m gonna let you do–”

“Okay!” he interrupted her as he quickly pushed the elevator door button several times. Jack glanced towards the person at the desk before he spun their bodies around. He leaned into her ear, “Quiet baby,” he whispered before he pressed his lips just beneath her ear.

“Make me,” she let out teasingly. Jack’s eyes widened, his mouth fell open. She spun around, resting her hands on the base of his neck. She looked deeply into his eyes as the elevator doors opened behind them. Without hesitation, Jack guided her into the elevator, practically lifting her into the elevator. 

“We’re not doing this,” Jack let out as a soft chuckle fell from his lips.

Her hands started gliding through his hair as her lips fell into a pout. Jack leaned back, pressing the button for his floor. “Why not?” she whined as she leaned towards him, pecking his lips briefly.

He chuckled as he leaned back. “You are drunk,” he explained as he raised his and up and brushed a few pieces of hair away from her face.

“So?” she let out as her body leaned into him. He stablized her as he tilted his head to the side, looking into her drunken gaze. “You can still kiss me,” she offered as her gaze dipped towards his lips.

“Maybe,” he mumbled as the doors soon opened to reveal his floor. Slowly, he spun her body around as he rested his hands onto her waist again. “Remember, gotta be quiet, baby,” he whispered as they walked up towards the door.

“Make me,” she teased again. He squeezed her hips before he looped one of his hands around her stomach before he pulled his keys from his pocket. 

“Please,” he let out as he unlocked the door and pushed it open. She nodded as Jack began to guide her inside. Her heels instantly started clacking against the hardwood flooring. He cringed at every step she made. Luke was always a light sleeper and hated getting woken up. Jack did not want to have to deal with that.

She reached towards the wall beside the door for support, her heels hitting the floor harder it seemed. Jack clenched his jaw as the sound echoed through the quiet apartment.

Jack reached towards her, taking a hold of her waist and lifting her up from the ground. Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck for support. “Hey! Wh-What are you doing?” she let out loudly. 

Jack delicately tapped his hand against the back of her thighs, “Shhh,” he let out as he carried her towards the couch.

Carefully, he placed her down onto the couch. Slowly, he glided his hands away from her frame as he sat down beside her. Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment as her lips fell into a dramatic pout. 

“You’re not very nice,” she whispered dramatically. He smirked as he looked down towards her. Delicately, he took a hold of her legs, draping them over his lap. Teasingly he ran his hand up and down her legs. He watched her tilt her head back and let out a huff of air.

“How am I not nice?” he asked teasingly as he lifted one of her legs up as he took a hold of her heel and delicately pulled it from her foot. He leaned down and placed it down onto the floor. Slowly, he did the same with her other heel.

“You won’t kiss me,” she let out while shaking her head dramatically. Her eyes widened as she suddenly got dizzy. He chuckled as he lifted her legs up so he could stand up from the couch. Carefully, he leaned down and took a hold of her heels. 

“Let me get you ready for bed and then maybe I’ll kiss you,” he teased as he placed her heels near the shoe rack by the front door. Quickly kicking his own shoes near the rack, he jogged back towards the couch. Her eyes were shut as she was letting her head hang slightly. 

He leaned down and took a hold of her arms, trying to make her stand up. “No, I’m good here,” she whined out. Jack chuckled as he pulled her up anyway. Her eyes opened up and she reluctantly stood up in front of him. “I–I was comfy,” she mumbled.

“You’ll be more comfy in bed, come on baby,” he whispered as he guided her towards his bedroom. His hands were on her waist, practically holding her up since she was so tired. She hummed as he pushed open the door. Slowly, she pulled away from his grasp as she practically nose dived towards the bed. 

Jack leaped towards her trying to stop her from falling onto the bed. He stopped as he watched her grip the comforter tightly beneath her head. He smiled softly as he walked towards the door and shut it.

“Honey, do you wanna go take a shower or get into something more comfortable?” he offered as he walked towards the bed. She hummed as she kept her body on the bed. He sat down beside her, he brushed a few pieces of hair away from her face, “Come on, baby,” he offered.

“No, I’m comfy here,” she mumbled.

“I’m going to grab some clothes for you, okay?” he explained. She nodded as she fluttered her eyes open. He stood up and walked towards his closet, glancing towards Y/N. Her body was hanging half of the bed. He rolled his eyes playfully as he took the first t-shirt he saw off the hanger. He took a hold of a pair of shorts that she left behind a few weeks back.

He stepped out of the closet and walked towards the bed. “Y/N,” he let out softly as he watched her reluctantly sit up.

“You’re trying to get me naked,” she offered as she looked up towards him as he walked towards her. He chuckled as he held up the t-shirt and shorts towards her. 

“Oh, is that what I’m doing?” he asked teasingly. She reached towards him, taking the clothes. Y/N nodded dramatically as she switched her gaze towards the clothes. “Oh, so I’m not being a caring boyfriend?” he offered. She shook her head slowly as she stood up. Jack took a hold of her waist, helping her keep her balance. “Let me help you,” he whispered.

“Okay,” she mumbled, nodding along slightly as she allowed him to help her get changed into something more comfy. 

After a few seconds, she was in a new outfit, less restricting than her clubbing outfit. Jack glided his hand down her back as he tossed her clothes towards the corner of his room. “How are you feeling, baby?” Jack asked as he guided her towards the bed again. He took the comforter and tossed it lower slightly.

“I wish you were at the club with me tonight,” she mumbled as she sat down onto the bed. Y/N looked up towards Jack, her eyes softening. 

“Yeah?” he asked softly as he took a hold of her legs, helping her lay down completely. 

“The music was so good,” she mumbled as Jack took the ends of the comforter and covered it over her frame. Y/N took a deep breath as she met Jack’s gaze. “We would’ve danced so much,” she slurred as she smashed her face deeper into the pillow. Jack chuckled as he glided his hand along her side. 

“Next time honey,” he let out as he pressed his lips to her forehead. She smiled as her eyes shut delicately. Jack chuckled as he stood up and walked towards the bathroom that was attached to his bedroom. 

He flipped the light on as he walked towards the bathroom counter that had a package of her makeup remover wipes. He pulled one out and began to walk back towards the bed. 

A soft smile formed to his lips as he watched her roll onto her back. “I love you,” she slurred out, keeping her eyes shut. 

“I love you more, beautiful,” he whispered as he walked towards the bed, sitting down beside her. Slowly, he began to wipe the makeup from her face. He knew that she would feel much better in the morning. 

“You take such good care of me,” she mumbled as a soft smile formed to her lips.

“Get some sleep, baby,” he whispered as he leaned down and delicately pressed his lips against her forward.

[chingyu1023vick]

New Mods For Seasons

🎀 Two early accesses and one free mod to celebrate this seasonal time in your Sims game!  I'm grateful to share my happy moments with you guys this year.

~

⭐NEW: Weather Lot Challenges

⏩ A bundle of 42 Lot Challenges to cheat the weather of the current Lot, regardless of the natural weather forecast, worlds, or seasons.

This mod does not override any game tunings, and it works with my other weather mods!

🆗 Compatible with all my other mods and traits.

🧩 Requires EP05 Seasons Expansion Pack

👉 Gameplay Effects of Weather Lot Challenges

These Lot Challenges affect the weather immediately as soon as the Lot is loaded with your Sim on it, and the effects will stay even when the Sim is off the lot until you remove the Lot Challenges. 

They are supposed to be used as cheats for storytelling, easier gameplay, taking screenshots, etc. You are recommended to remove the Lot Challenges from the Lot when you no longer need them so that it won't interfere with your normal gameplay.

Since a Sims world shares the same climate, giving multiple Weather Lot Challenges to different Lots of the same worlds and loading those Lots will cause the weather to switch rapidly.

👑 Mod Info HERE

🧡 Download HERE NOW!!!

Public Access: Jan 16

~

⭐NEW: Snowy Worlds

⏩ This mod disrespects geography and makes all worlds (except Batuu and secret locations) snowy in winter. 

🤗You can pick what worlds to snow!🤗

This overrides the region tuning and weatherForcastList tuning of those worlds to make the snow fall and accumulate. Please ensure you have no conflicted mods that are editing these game tunings.

🆗 Compatible with all my other mods. Works well with my Nice Climate Mod!!!

🧩 Requires EP05 Seasons and the packs tagged on each package!!!

💘 List of Worlds now have Snowy Winter:

Pick and install only the worlds you have!!!

Ciudad Enamorada_EP16: Lovestruck

Del Sol Valley_EP06: Get Famous

Oasis Springs_BG

Ravenwood_EP17: Life & Death

San Sequoia_EP13: Growing Together

Selvadorada_GP06: Jungle Adventure

Stranger Ville_GP07: StrangerVille

Sulani_EP07: Island Living

Tartosa_GP11: My Wedding Stories

Tomarang_EP15: For Rent

👑 Mod Info HERE

🧡 Download HERE NOW!!!

Public Access: Jan 16

~

⭐NEW: Nice Climate Mod

⏩ This mod lowers the chance of bad weather like blizzards, heat waves, and thunderstorms.

🆗 Compatible with all my other mods. Works well with my Snowy Worlds!!!

🧩 Requires EP05 Seasons Expansion Pack

👑 Mod Info HERE

🎁 Download HERE (Free)

Have a nice and warm holiday season!

🔆 Changelog in December 2024 HERE

🔹 Links to ALL My Traits, Game Mods, and CCs

🔹List of IDs for creators who want to refer my traits to their own mods 

🔹 List of Chingyu’s CC Traits Name and Descriptions for mod users

🔹 Check Mod Status after a patch & Compatibilities

👁‍🗨 Learn how to install a mod & FAQs

👁‍🗨 Terms of Use

👁‍🗨 Ask Questions/ Suggestions/ Bug Reports on Discord

▶ I need to see a screenshot or LE report to help you figure out what’s wrong!

👁‍🗨 Download on my Patreon

👁‍🗨 Follow me on Twitter

[4pfsukuna]

Match my freak

Who knew arrogant playful and king of unserious antics was a cam boy? But can you match his freak?

Warning: Gojo is the warning. fingering, oral, back shots.

inspired by this, also this and especially this from twitter

part 2 here

“My glorious blue eyed king” you sweet talk into the phone a shrill tone in your voice. Adrenaline had still been pumping through your veins from the loud music of the club— it was supposed to be girls night with your friends. Until someone decided to climb on the speakers, fall and send blood across the floor.

“Flattery gets you everywhere with me” your bestfriend and ⅓ of your friend group rasp into the phone and he sounds slightly out of breath. “So you must want something” he deadpans and you release a dranatic gasp.

“How dare you?” You scoff the banter between you two stirred up so easily. The flash of police lights in the distance lets you know the club wont be opening back up tonight and why take the train an hour back home when he owns a penthouse in the city about 15 minutes away.

“Maybe i just wanted to check on you” you huff adjusting your lip gloss the wind blowing strands of your jet black middle part 30” bundles into it. 

“Mhmm. '' and he doesn't even try to make it sound believable and you shift on your feet the strap of your heels hurting but you refuse to take them off and raw dog the ground barefooted.

“You know— because I'm a good friend.” you add twirling the front layers of your hair around your finger.

“Sure princess” hes rolling his eyes playfully and you hear him shuffling through the phone.

“And i just couldnt imagine you being so lonely in that huge penthouse by yourself” you finally giggle into the phone hearing him chuckle.

“Uber black?” He ask the phone now on speaker and you can hear him typing into the phone.

“This is why youre my glorious blue eyed king” you tease before hanging up knowing your friends were about to start gushing again for the millionth time about how you two should just start dating since you flirted so much. But they just didn't understand your relationship it was similar to how you and Suguru were as well.

The car ride is smooth and he sends nothing but the best, when you arrive the driver opens the door, bids you a good night and only pulls off once he's sure you've made it indoors. Not wasting much time in the lobby you use the keyfob to let yourself up letting Satoru know you were close so he could have the door open.

“You look like a prostitute” he teases the minute he opens the door for you, taking in your outfit— a black mini skirt that exposed almost half of your butt cheeks and the crop top pushed your titties out so much they faced your chin and the heels… it was a suprise you didnt hurt yourself.

that playful demeanor that never dwindles when hes around you but you still punch him hard in his shoulder. 

“Ow! Id pay for you though” and this time he knows the hit is coming so he dodges creating enough distance between you two.

“Please, youre the one who answered the door shirtless bird chest out” you joke back letting your purse strap fall off your shoulder heels clicking against the hardwood floor.

“Just cause you gawk at my 8 pack and muscles doesnt make it a bird chest” he flexes running a hand through his snow white hair sending you a wink.

Before you could answer his phone rings and the black koi fish display picture lets you know it's suguru the 2nd of your friend trio.

“Yeah i gotta take this, you know where my clothes are” he tells you, nodding you setting your purse on the table and plugging your phone up to his charger. You weren’t a stranger to having sleepovers,  stealing his clothes and his whole bed. He actually enjoyed your platonic yet teasing relationship.

heading into his room everything is neatly in place except for his bed sheets and there's a light blue glow coming from his computer screen.

Ready to ignore it until you see your nick name for him on the screen “blue eyed king” and your eyes are instantly locked in on the saved livestream of him holding his dick in his hand. Being the nosy nancy you are you begin scrolling down seeing clips of him with a cock ring on, a vibrator on his tip and even one on some throne. Each video had a large amount of money next to it and some of the video's viewers count almost close to reaching the millions.

Each of them you notice he’s wearing his blind fold maybe to hide his identity, maybe its a kink people have you aren’t able to dwell more on it because his voice breaks your thoughts.

“—top shelf and you cant reach the—“ he stops in his tracks the arrogant smirk on his face falling once he notices what your eyes are on. He freezes completely once he realizes his fuck up hes honestly not even sure how much youve seen and hes ready to begin apologizing but his lips wont move.

You on the other hand have never seen thee Gojo Satoru freeze let alone have a deer in the headlights expression and you want to milk it but you can imagine the thoughts swirling in his head and the way his ears are burning red youd just have to committ it to memory and get him another day.

“Is this why youre so rich?” You ask glancing back at the screen and this time your eye catches the “audio only” tab and questions begin floating in your mind faster than you have time to form a sentence. But he knows you and knows whats coming he doesnt want to talk about it and hear you call him weird or disgusting so he rushes forward trying to play it off.

“Well arent you a peeping tom” his smirk returns as he goes to one of his closets grabbing an old jujutsu high tshirt for you trying to divert your attention but you dont take the bait.

“A peeping tom is someone who watches i was just a nosy nancy” you speak matter of factly before realizing what you said when his smirk broadens as he stands infront of you holding out the shirt and ready to close the screen. He doesnt expect for your hand to reach out and stop him.

“All of the dates are from friday nights, you go live then?” You ask and he tries to shake your hand off when did you get so strong?

“When you and suguru are typically to busy to interrupt” he finally gritts out still trying to keep a cool demeanor. Since this is the last thing he wants to talk about, hes ready to use his other hand but you grab that too the shirt falling on the floor between the two of you.

“Is me being here interrupting?” You ask curiously and his eyes meet your wide eyed curious expression and he hates when you give him that look or got serious with him. He loved the playful banter seriousness was for suguru not you.

“Of course not my first priority is making sure youre okay and safe” he tells you scratching the back of his head, you wish you could record this moment and save it cause gojo acting awkward when you were sure his only personality trait was an arrogant flirtatious know it all.

“So prove it, go live then while i'm here” you taunt and you couldn't blame the alcohol you only had 3 shots and you were sure they've worn off by now this was pure curiosity and a slight bit of arousal. But to Gojo it was a challenge he saw right through you.

“Fine” he shruggs looking at the time making sure it wasnt to late though hes sure hes built his fanbase up enough to the point of them waiting all weekend for him.

“And i want to watch” you tell him taking a seat on the desk looking around his room for a brief moment but his quietness grabs your attention so when your eyes settle back on him and he has his usual arrogant smirk you know hes about to say something stupid.

“Sweetheart if you wanted to see if my cock was really that big in person that was all you had to say” he teases crossing his arms not expecting you to match his stance.

“I do so chop chop glow stick boy and dont be shy. And stop calling it that its a dick” you tease at the cultural difference in the word.

Satoru positions you out of the frame, dims the over head lights adjust his blindfold and starts the live stream an alert going off to his subscribers that hes online.

A particular ding sound catches your attention and you look over seeing people are sending him money with notes.

$5 take it off.

$8 lose the sweats

$9 jerk off through the sweats.

$3 tease us.

$20 to grab it through the sweats.

$15 to show off your happy trail

$40 to say hi princess

$10 to say hi princess

And he chuckles licking his lips. No way he just made $100 and hasn’t even said a word, pretty privilege is real.

“Hi princess” and your mouth waters slightly it was the exact same tone he used with you and although he had a blind fold on you knew he was looking directly at you.

Its not long before his pants are around his ankles and his boners peaking through the cotton gray boxers, a wet stain from the precum as grips himself through his boxer's voice getting heavier with lust.

Its when he hooks his thumb in and lowers it exposing his sculpted  vline even further, then his happy trail that leads to his neatly trimmed white bush and finally his long length with a slight curve and pink oozing tip.

For the first time that night your legs rub together and it doesn’t go unnoticed by satoru. He instead decides to make a show taking longer pumps off his length putting emphasis on his curve and smearing the precum letting out little exaggerated groans.

There's a constant stream of dings before he chuckles heavily and this time you cross your legs a weird stir you’ve never felt before heats up your core listening to how deep his voice is.

“Yeah i am more vocal tonight with— mnnnffff- my groans. I have an audience” he tells his viewers and a few more dings come through.

$10 thats so hot

$50 fuckkkkk imagine being in the room with him.

$51 id pay to be in that room.

$30 why am i hard (im a girl)

“She’s actually the reason I’m streaming tonight so say thank you to her” he admits and the dings start shooting faster

$5 thank you

$37 there is a goddess

$60 thank youuuu

$90 thank you to the blue eyes’ princess

“Look at how much you made” he tells you a silent promise he'd give those tips to you before chuckling at the princess comment. “Shes such a good girl”

And that comment has you rubbing your legs together once more. When did it get so hot in here?

“You ok, princess?” He ask licking his bottom lip slowing down his pace his eyes focused on the thickness of your brown thighs squeezing together. You nod but thats not enough for him. “Come on use your words for me” he stays in character forcing you to speak.

“Yes Toru, i-im okay” your voice is soft and sultry and he definitely has never heard it that low it does something to him and he has to change his focus before this whole thing is over to fast.

 A few more dings ping through at the sound of your voice

$19 she sounds hot

$23 fuck there is another person there

$45 ugh i just know hell talk you thru it

$30 the stutter was so perfect

$50 her voice is so sext

$2 sexy*

$35 she sounds so innocent

“Innocent? She’s anything but! she actually has a cute little but plug in right now” he scoffs before letting spit drop from his lips onto his dick and your fingers grip the seat he takes notice smirking at you now. Your jaw drops and you honestly aren’t sure if its from his action or words.

“Feeling tense over there? You are the one who wanted to watch” he smirks before biting his bottom lip only to stiffle a mosn.

“It looks cute with my skirt!” You snap back wanting to defend yourself but that just sends the dings back in action with pleas to show them the plug.

“No” he immediately tells them not thinking it Would go that far and honestly wanting to respect your boundaries, this wasn’t something the two of you talked about and he wasn’t going to put you on the spot.

But you stand stepping into the view of the camera bending over slightly to show a glimpse of the plug. It's silent between the two of you. The only sound is the dings and comments. The light reflects of the body shimmer on your brown skin perfectly.

He doesn’t realize he’s frozen after you sit down for a moment in complete shock you quite literally showed your ass. A thick bead of precum rest at his tip and he had to take a deep breath to not cum right there.

“She's such a cock tease isn't she” and that spurs you on. You're quick to stand again though before you can get fully in frame Satoru stands black scarf in hand as he ties it around the lower half of your mouth protecting your identity.

The minute he finishes youre bent over, slight arch showing the ring and Gojo decides fuck the comments at this point and the new viewers and subscribers. Sitting on the bed next to you he arches you forward even more now giving a slight view of the wet spot on your cherry red panties.

But your pussy lips are so fat they suck in the fabric giving more of a view though it blocks the ring. Slowly reaching out to grab the string of your thong he notices you don’t even flinch at his fingers brushing your core. He hooks a second finger in sliding down to your lips, knuckles brushing against your clit making you whine slightly.

The sound pulls him from his heaven and his face is instantly lined up with yours.

“Im sorry sweetheart, you don’t have to do this” he quickly apologizes and it dies on his tongue with the eye roll you send him.

“What? I just want to know if i can have the money they send… it’s only fair since its my ass” you ponder making your butt jiggle with a shake of your thighs the dings of money increasing as you prove your point.

Pulling up your mask enough to reveal your lips Gojo leaves a sloppy kiss tongue tangling with yours over you lean back into it.

“Hollow. That’s your safe word. Say it and I’ll stop, okay?” He chases your lips once more sucking on your bottom lip before adjusting your mask and going back to your thong.

Spreading you open, Satoru feels his dick twitch watching the wet sticknyess pull apart on your folds followed by the soft sound it makes.

$38 shes so wet

$57 you can hear the wetness

$50 you can see how wet she is

His fingers trace further down your lips spreading your puffy folds, admiring so much he almost forgets what is happening. He sucks a long digit in his mouth before slowly pressing it into your hole with slight resistance because you’re so tight.

Your soft gasp makes him pull out even slower rubbing the juices on your clit in circles before pressing the digit back in. Having Satorus finger in you wasnt at all how you thought your night would go but as he starts pumping with a particular curl you let out soft moans.

“Your pussy is so pretty and wet princess” he rasp adding a second finger smacking your ass with the other hand. The sharp sting is followed by a soft rub and you can feel yourself getting wetter the more he pumps his fingers. 

He uses his other hand to circle your clit, leaving open mouth kisses on your hip playfully nipping a cheek.

“Mmphhh…fuck toru” you moan softly pushing back slightly on his fingers when he applies a tad bit more pressure to your clit. But theres a slight hesitation to his actions you can tell a part of him is nervous to break the boundary but his fingers are already inside of you.

“Toruuuu please” you whine clenching on his fingers and hes not sure what does it but he begins pumping his fingers faster with more force. Your moans come out louder at a particular curl of his finger making his breathing heavy.

“Tell me how good it feels princess” he demands but there's a slight whine to his voice as if he needs it, needs to hear how good he's doing. Of course he has a praise kink. 

“Sooo good, feels so good” you whine equally as needy he pulls his fingers out popping them into his mouth letting out a groan of his own. He twist his fingers in your core once more before licking all over them savoring your taste.

“I want you to ride my tongue” He husk out, applying a lot more pressure on your clit making you lurch forward the wetness running down your legs now. You nod and he's on his knees in no time head between your legs and tongue licking over your underwear. 

Your leg buckles and hes quick to use the moment as an oppurtunity to place a hand on either cheek massaging and spreading as he devours your clit through your underwear. It was so needy he was at your complete mercy like this and you loved it you could feel the wetness gushing out of you. 

He finally rips your underwear off and latches on to your clit licking, sucking and flicking his tongue while pushing another finger in your core.

“Fuck toru” you whine the pleasure shooting through your whole body a hand sinking into his hair with a light grip which only spurs him on. 

“Taste so good” He moans watching you from his spot beneath you before leaving two sharp smacks on your left cheek groaning at your wetness.

Adding two more fingers before he begins to move faster the squelching sounds increase and when his long slender fingers hit a spongy spot inside of you, your legs buckle.

“You gonna cum for me?”he asks and you know this little pervert knows there's a teasing tone in his voice that never leaves no matter how horny he is. You love it!

“T-toru im—nghh” your body clenches as the first orgasm of the night builds up your hands tightening up in his hair “fuuuuuck” you moan, the juices dripping down his face but he keeps going letting you ride through your orgasm.

His fingers slow down enough for you to catch your breath and when you turn to face the monitor you catch sight of him pumping his dick in his hand. He hasnt stopped licking though instead now hes licking up every drop of your juices messily and its smearing on his face down to his chin and chest.

The sight has your mouth watering again and this time you grind against his tongue at a slow pace and his hands slow down to match your grind. His tongue trails down to your hole thrusting in and out and when you grind faster his fist pumps faster his groans becoming louder and frequent borderlining whimpers. Its when his tongue slips even further back dancing across the plug that you yank him by his hair.

“Toru!” Your voice cracks and his chuckles vibrate against your core in typical Gojo fashion to laugh at everything.

“Mmmm sorry princess, got carried away” his muffled voice speaks, devious tone in his voice still. His hands reach up to pull your skirt and underwear down but he ends up tearing them both off in the process along with your shirt as he stands up.

“Sorry princess” he repeats though this time before you can process his mouth latches onto a brown nipple swirling a tongue around it as he pinches the other pulling a moan from you switching nipples and repeating the process.

Slowly sitting on the bed he turns you pulling you back up against his chest and props your legs up so the camera has a perfect view of what hes about to do.

$30 ive already came 3 times

$10 hes usually a dom but subbing 4 her

$17 are they both switches

$60 theyre giving us more!

$65 her pussy is so pretty

$8 this is my last $8

$13 is she a switch too?

He chuckles wrapping a hand around your neck fingers trailing back down to your clit as he uses his middle finger hes watching the camera and it seems like hes watching the camera but hes really watching you. The way your brows furrow, your eyes alternate between fluttering and squeezing shut has him in a trance, you were so responsive and hes waited so long for this hes not sure if he should take it slow or completely slut you out.

Pushing a finger in your core angled at that spongey spot a loud squelch has your hips bucking into his palm with a long drawn out moan that goes straight to his dick. Using his hand on your neck he forces your head to stay directed at the screen and watch yourself as he picks up speed pumping harder.

“You look so pretty spread out and open for me like this” he praises, kissing the side of your head before his lips trace down to your ear nibbling and groaning in it, sending another shock of pleasure to your core, making you clench.

He's reveling in having you this close feeling the heat of your gorgeous brown skin contrasting against his pale skin, the way your hands are gripping onto him the way your eyes float from watching him through the screen to looking down between your legs.

“Oooh you got wetter when i moaned in your ear, you like that? Or is the praise” he ask grinning when your hips lift to buck into his hand again. You wrap a hand around his bicep nails digging in lightly as you try to adjust the pleasure building to much and too quickly, but he removes his hand from your neck and pushes your hips down slapping your clit.

You're losing your mind equally as much as him, his cool hard chest pressed into your back, the rich yet light scent of his expensive cologne and the way his soft lips are never off your skin for long. The attraction had always been there but never acted on it for unknown reasons. You were contempt with keeping him as a friend and if that meant being a cam girl and receiving endless orgasms for tonight and never talking about it again you were completely fine with that

“Keep being a good girl for me baby,” he rasp out picking up speed. “Your pussy is so fucking perfect, so tight and gushy i cant wait to feel you.”

The knot begins to build in you at your words your hips with a mind of their own and he slaps your clit twice more. He knew exactly what to say, exactly how to talk you through it without being overly aggressive. Dare you even call him a soft dom.

“Youre so gorgeous, you smell good—“ he breathes in your hair. “Taste good” and he licks down your neck.

“Sound good” and he thrust his fingers harder into your spongey spot making the squelching louder and a “fuck” falls from your lips.

“Your my good girl, my perfect fucking girl” and you feel his hips begin grinding into you from behind your hips trying to match his along with his thrust leaving you a stuttering mess. 

Your mind and legs were equal parts mush from hearing him say that alone and it's suddenly clear why he had audio clips as well, he would do such a good job at talking anyone through it with the constant praise with the perfect amount of sluttyness to it.

“I want you to cum for me princess, show daddy how hard you can cum all over my fingers. I want this pretty pussy to gush for me” he stutters slapping your clit as he thrust harder and faster not caring about your hips anymore because he had a firm grip and knew what was coming.

When your nails dig in one arm and tries to push the other away he chuckles slapping your clit even harder.

“T-toru i— nnghhh. Im g-gonna…” you whine throwing your head back feeling your whole body lock up this time feeling different from the first.

“Yeah baby? Gonna cum for me go ahead show me how pretty you look wh—“ his words are cut off by you squirting your whole body shaking as you do and he cant stop fingering you through it enjoying the way youre wetting up his hands and legs.

“Oh fuck! Feels so—FUCK” and youre gushing even more before the prior one even had time and being the bully he is satoru doesnt spare you he slaps your clit harder listening to your voice get so high. 

“Toru i-i cant… i cant” you whine But youre getting to close to the edge of the bed from sliding that he has to pull you back yet he doesnt stop hes already decided he wants to fucking ruin you, overstimulate you sol when you think about it in the future you cum from the thought.

“Cant whaaaaat?” He drags out turning his slaps into rubs on your clit but the speed is still there and from the way your eyes are rolling into the back of your head he has no intentions on slowing down.

“I cant take it… fuck… i” you breathe nearly choking trying to escape his grasp but he holds you tighter watching as your brows furrow in pure pleasure body convulsing “i cant” you dry sob

“You crying?” He chuckles, slowing down slightly but it doesn't matter, his fingers are still twisting inside of you in ways that you're sure is a way to pull your soul from your body.

“You can take it and you will cum one more time for me and i promise to stuff you full of my cock” and thats the magic words because you're gushing on his fingers again at shock of how much could actually come out of your body.

“You did so good baby, ‘m gonna give you what you want” he promises propping up two pillows and positioning you on your belly on top of them smiling at the way youre to weak to move which was his plan. Satoru loved your friendship as much as you did, loved you as much as suguru but had you given him the chance to fuck your he’d make it worth your time he just couldn’t be childish and jackrabbit or even cum to quick. 

He also knew you were to competitive and dominant if you felt like he was fucking you to intenseley youd fuck back and the thought has had hin cuming in his hand in under 5 minutes multiple times. Rubbing his tip against your folds a few times he watches as your slick covers his tip and if this was a dream he’d want to die in his sleep.

“My pillow princess” he chuckles though before you can retaliate hes sliding all 8 inches in filling you to the brim and his fingers wrap around to find your clit again making your jaw drop and eyes roll back.

“Fuck baby, your pussys so—nnghh” he groans thrusting slow but deeply he slightly repositions trying not to cum to quick but fuck you were so warm and squeezing him so tight he was glad he gave you so many orgasms earlier cause if you had the energy to flirt the way you typically do hed be done for.

Satoru also wasn't what you expected during sex, you aren't sure what you expected, maybe more teasing aggressiveness… you aren't sure but he was definitely a lover. He was soft, diligent, took his time and definitely made sure to please. 

“Keep that perfect arch for me” he groans leaning his head back when you sink more into the arch and meet his thrust. Your ass jiggling on him with the feeling of you gushing on him was too much and he needed you to cum before he did.

Licking up your spine tattoo he leaves a bunch of open mouth kisses before leaning forward completely grabbing your neck. He begins moaning the most filthiest stuff in your ear and you swear you see stars at his dirty talk.

“Want you to cum all over this dick, its yours mama. Cum all over your dick make a mess for me” he whines his voice higher than before and you know hes close the thought alone is enough to make you release on his fingers. A kiss is placed against your head and you feel him smile with satisfaction before fucking into you deeper than before.

“Fuck toru” you scream nails digging into his hand which doesnt stop him theres only one thing that could but from  the way you clenched for the hundreth time tonight it didnt seem as if youd be using that word.

“I love hearing you moan my name, makes me want to fill your pussy up with my cum. You w-want that?” He talks louder and yes you do want that.

“Harder toru harder” you beg feeling your body begin to lock up again at the thought and his hips stutter for a moment before letting out a rough laugh but giving you exactly what you want.

“Fuck im about to… cum with me princess, give me everything you got baby fuck your pussy feels so good! So tight and you keep gripping me tighter! I want to feel you cum baby please cum on me” he babbles clearly pussy drunk and somewhere along the way overstimulated himself his rhythm so sloppy now unable to stop his rambling.

“Fuck tell me its mine tell me youll cum for me”  he whimpers and you pull his by his hair to your lips kissing him through the mask squeezing youre core as tight as you can

“Yours” you moan out the second you cum feeling him cum right behind you and its sooo much and so warm as it fills you up you cant stop bucking into his hand from the sensation. He collapses next to you grabbing the camera from the night stand and switching from the computer monitor.

He doesn't say anything except breathes heavy and scoops some of the cum that spilled out and pushes it back into you with his middle finger. The scene sends off more dings and he chuckles.

The next time your eyes open you feel something wet between your legs and almost use the safe word until you notice its just a warm rag between your legs wiping you down.

“Its just me you did so good princess”  you hear Gojos voice purring as he rubs your legs. “So good for me, youre so perfect” 

The praises ring out and all you can do is have a lopsided grin on your face as you bask in the praise of the glorious blue eyed king. He leaves a kiss on your forehead climbing into bed next to you and wrapping an arm aroubd your body pulling you close and away from the wet spot.

Snuggling into him he hums kissing your head again, his hand coming down to massage your lower back. The sound of scattered dings makes your eyes open and he uses a remote to turn the stream off and the computer monitor while pulling off your mask.

He actually doesn't stop kissing your head and cheeks aftercare obviously a strong suit for him amongst everything else.

“I knew you werent rich cause of your brains… its your dick” you smirk peaking with one eye and watching as he smirks pulling off his blindfold showing his bright blue eyes.

“So you think i give good dick?” He ask arrogant smile on his face earning an eye roll but theres a teasing smile on your face.

“Princess?” He ask as you roll over to the other side letting out an exaggerated yawn. 

“Was that a no?” You hear him ask and you let out a giggle.

It's silent for a moment before You feel the tip of his dick at your entrance and shutter when he slowly pushes in the two of you moaning in sync.

“Call me your glorious blue eyed king and ill think about taking it easy on you” he groans in your ear with a small thrust. Wrapping an arm around the back of his neck and pushing back he lets one hand find a nipple and the other your clit.

“You have such a filthy mouth” you tell him remembering everything he said as you reach down to caress his balls making his hips stutter,

“Fuck… keep doing shit like that and im never leaving this pussy” he whimpers as your hand keeps massaging, fucking you a bit faster. He cups your clit grunting before flipping you on your back and throwing a leg over his shoulder leaning forward so your face to face.

“Tell me how good i feel wrapped around you” you demand wrapping your other leg around his shoulder and locking your ankles behind his neck. He closes his eyes for a second trying not to lose his mind and go absolutely feral at the way your core just opened up for him with that motion but fuck…

“Hope you like lunch because the way im going to fucking you were not going to wake up in time for breakfast.”

“Mmmm my glorious blue eyed king” you tease watching his eyes glow a little bit brighter.

Well if you made it this far shout out to you this is actually going to be a mini series about satoru suguru and reader becoming poly they actually can all be read as stand alones for my adhd girls/gays/theys and thems and will hold a recap/intro paragraph that explains what lead up to the moment even though i know were all really just here for the smut.

[razrbladekiss]

LOVE BITES | Joel Miller

SUMMARY: its been two years since joel broke your heart, and now you’re thrust into the most awkward situation imaginable. no thanks to tommy, of course.

PAIRING: no outbreak!joel x afab!reader

WORD COUNT: 3.9k, literally pulled this outta my ass in an hour.

WARNINGS: angst. joel is a bit of a jerk and so is tommy but reader can hold her own. 🤭 tiny bit of fluff. plenty of dialogue to scratch the itch inside of my little pea brain!

“What can I getcha?” You call over the music, leaning against tacky wood as you greet yet another inebriated middle aged man. Your tits shine beneath dim light—highlighted with perspiration, liquor and the purple glitter that Cassie thinks’ll get you more tips—and you smile. “Bud Light?”

“Please, doll.”

Your eyes roll. The pet names are one of the worst parts about working at Fuel, but you suppose it’ll never subside. It’s sleazy, here. The place teems with parasitic men—old, sweaty metalheads that’ll never touch a bar of soap even if you bribe them—but they pay your bills with the gratuity they slip into your pocket, so you find it in yourself to tolerate it.

Plus, every so often an attractive stranger comes in and fills your evening with something more interesting than a story that usually starts with “were you even born when this song came out?”

It’s not clear why you’re targeted behind the bar—you’re not the youngest and certainly not the chirpiest—but you surmise that these figments of the male species must have some sort of affinity for being bitched at. Because as soon as someone says something even slightly misogynistic, you’re coming down on them like a wall of fucking bricks.

You’re outspoken. Kind of brash. But it makes for great conversation with some hot guys every so often.

Fuck this shit.

Feigning that internal indignation—and yearning for some kind of drama—you resume your work.

“There ‘ya go, Gil.” You pop off the cap, handing him the bottle and offer a smile. He takes it with a nod, bumbling away from the bar and you turn away to dry some glasses.

It’s busy, but not Saturday night busy. It’s wall-to-wall, but it doesn’t seem as tightly-packed as usual. You’re not rushed off your feet, you’re not being overrun with strange and usual orders from men whose eyes are needing to be held open with toothpicks, or the odd underage girl that managed to slip past Dean while he was checking ID’s.

Something is off.

And it isn’t for the fact that the same three Motörhead songs are playing on a fucking loop, either. Something is looming.

Something a little bit more tense.

“Hey.” Cassie tips her head in a nod toward the crowd while pulling the beer tap. “Look who just walked in.”

You squint your eyes. It’s a struggle to heed any new faces, for the light is so dim and room full of cigarette smoke, but you scan nonetheless.

“I can’t see.” You tell her, taking a few glasses from atop the bar to wash. “Is it that hot guy you always flirt with?”

Her cheeks turn thirteen shades of crimson. She shakes her head.

“No. He’s in Cancun with his wife.”

“Oh.” You say wryly. “So, he’s not interested in you then?”

She blinks in your direction. “We had sex on Thursday.”

Your jaw hits the floor. “Oh.” You repeat your earlier tone. “So, you’re his side piece?”

“Yes. And happily so.” Cassie slips the beer to her patron, and turns to you with an elbow propped against the sticky wood. “But enough about Luke…Can’t you see him? He’s got the denim jacket on—hair a little slicked back.”

Confused, your gaze drifts into the sea of drunks. You’re drawing a blank.

“Oh my GOD.” She grabs a hold of your shoulders, and turns you toward nine o’clock. “Look!”

You follow her line of sight, still blindly searching. Until he comes toward the bar, and you go through all seven stages of fucking grief as he ambles toward you.

He’s got a face like thunder. Eyes dark, nostrils flared.

“Holy shit.”

“Indeed.” The unyielding grip set against your shoulders is released, though Cassie stays close by. For back-up—and slightly inquisitive—purposes.

Tommy. Fucking. Miller.

You haven’t seen him since the night that Joel broke your heart, and you’d be a fool to surmise that the underlying hostility has died off in the two years that your eyes last met. He was a prick to you, that night.

But you’re not scared of him. Never have been. He’s a pussycat.

Aside from that night, the most confrontation between the two of you came on a very warm summers evening, when Tommy was barbecuing and you told him that his burgers needed a little longer when he tried serving them. He pitched a fit, threw the spatula in the air, and left Joel to take over.

He never could take criticism.

“Get out.” You tell him, hand firmly gripped against the Guinness tap. “I mean it, Miller. Get out.”

He ignores you, taking a seat at the bar and your jaw rolls.

“Fine.” You fake a smile, wanting nothing more than to throw a whiskey sour in his face. “What d’ya want, Tommy? Jack ‘n coke? Bud? A slap—“

“I dunno. But now that I’ve seen you, I want you to call my brother.”

Cassie takes a step back when you nudge her, needing to go through this alone.

“Phone works both ways.” Blunt, you say. You pour him whiskey—neat—despite him not elucidating exactly what he wants. “He’s a jackass, Tommy. I ain’t got time for jackasses no more.”

He rubs his lips together after taking a pull, putting firmly the glass against the bar.

“You left him—“

“Wrong. He broke up with me.”

“You left him.” Tommy repeats himself. He’s getting agitated, now. “He didn’t really want you to go. He didn’t mean to say all that he said—“

You scoff, throwing a dish rag over your shoulder.

“Well, he said it. He kicked me out.” You start, ready to reel off all the bad things Joel did to you. “He blocked my number, told everyone that I left ‘cus I was never happy with anything—“

“He loved you, and you were just a spiteful bitch.” Tommy defends, slightly more brash than what he once was.

“Wow. You’ve grown a pair of balls since I last saw you.”

“Oh, fuck it off with the mean shit.” He growls, staring pointedly at you. “You’re not like this, so stop pretending.”

You put a few glasses away beneath the bar, and stick clean scoops into the ice cube tray.

“I was crazy about him, he didn’t need to give me anything more than what he already did, Tommy.” With a small voice, you tell him. “We all know that.”

Tommy runs a hand over the back of his neck. But you’re not willing to argue the case any further—not with a man who downs his liquor in one single shot.

“So, is this why you’re here, huh? To spend the entire night chewin’ me out? ‘Cus if you are, then you can fuck off. I get enough shit from the assholes that come here every night.”

He shakes his head. “Wasn’t on my agenda. Didn’t know that ‘ya worked here, so I guess its been a lovely experience for the two ‘a us, ‘ay?”

Your eyes roll. You pop the cap off another beer for Gil as he stumbles toward you, handing it to him while taking his cash at the same time.

“And why are you here? ‘Cus I didn’t peg you down to be the heavy metal type. That was always reserved for—“

Your face falls. This time, your heart actually starts to pound within the constraints of its ribcage, and you feel nauseous. You’re lucky that no glass is held tightly beneath deft fingertips, or else you’d be having to sweep the shards of it off of the floor.

“Joel.” You murmur as he pads over to Tommy.

He leans against the bar, looking at his brother. He mumbles something about this place being a dive, how loud it is, and that he needs to be getting back ‘cus Sarah’ll be gettin’ worried if I’m not home before midnight.

You’re blinking at him, but he doesn’t notice you’re standing right there. Not until he pins a cigarette between his lips and fishes about his pocket for a light, but comes up empty.

Joel turns around, patting his shirt and jeans pockets, before his eyes flick upward and mouth gapes open. The cigarette is stuck to his bottom lip by the slick of his saliva, and a sheer stroke of luck.

He yanks the stick from his mouth, before he’s pointing at Tommy with it.

It’s almost comical that Love Bites is playing from the jukebox. Though, it makes a fucking change from Whiskey In The Jar.

“This why you fuckin’ brought me here?!” He barks, and you’re glad that it’s so loud in there or else he’d be causing a scene.

Tommy holds his hands up in defense. “I didn’t know she worked here!”

“He didn’t.” You cut in, earning a glare from the man whose heart once lived in your pocket. “What? Do you really think he’d put you—us—in this position willingly?”

Joel looks between the two of you, easing the accusatory gesture. He slips the cigarette between his lips again, and you—begrudgingly—hurl a lighter toward him.

He doesn’t acknowledge you. He just takes it and sparks the cigarette, cupping the cherry as the light takes.

“You’re welcome.” You snark. Joel slides it over to you without even so much as looking upward. “You’re used to that, ain’t ‘ya? Taking things from me when you’ve got no business to?”

He says your name warning, finally meeting your gaze. His eyes are dark. A lot more dismal, than usual. Saddened, maybe.

And his face is gaunt. Still as handsome as ever, but complexion slightly sallow. Though, you just put that down to the fact that winter doesn’t offer too much sun for him to tan, in Jackson.

“I didn’t do shit to you.” Joel upholds, flicking cigarette ash into the ceramic dish atop the bar. You tense up at his tone. “You wanted more than what I could’ve given you, so we both knew it wasn’t gonna work—“

“I loved you, Joel!” You bark across the bar, leaning over a little. He drops a glance to your tits—exposed and glittering—and swallows thickly the lump in the back of his throat. “I wanted to be with you—get married, start a family—was that such a bad fuckin’ thing?!”

“Y’knew I didn’t want that.”

You blink back the tears that are desperate to push over your waterline, and nod. “But if you communicated that to me earlier on in the relationship, then maybe I would’ve shunned those ideas.”

Tommy looks between the two of you, hating the prickly tension. Because—two and a half years ago—you two were the strongest couple he ever knew. Regardless of the age gap, you were obsessed with one another.

But now you’re strangers, standing at opposite sides of the bar.

“Take a break, hon.” Cassie tells you from a distance and you’re peeling off the waist apron faster than you can even acknowledge what she’s saying.

Marlboro reds are being yanked from the ass pocket of your jeans, and the lighter that you had let Joel borrow is snared firmly within the palm of your left hand.

You storm to the front of the bar—ignoring the friendly crowd of regulars, friends, and new-faces—all the while devoured by this overwrought tension that’s bubbling up from the deepest caverns inside of you.

Joel follows you, reaching for your wrist but you shirk the feeling because it’s turning you sick. Just the sheer feeling of his skin—calloused and rough—ghosting over yours is enough to churn your stomach and force those ill feelings to flood back into your system.

You step outside, the din of much-to-loud music now muffled by the steel doors—only clear when someone walks in or out of the bar—and let your back hit against the brick wall with a dramatic thud.

“Sorry.” Joel says, though you know he doesn’t mean it.

“For what, exactly? Dumping me? Making me look like the bad guy, just ‘cus I wanted something?”

He runs a hand over his face, before he’s shifting forward to let a drunken—completely in love—couple pass by the two of you. He joins you up against the wall, his right boot colliding with it.

“I didn’t make you look like the bad guy—“

“Bullshit.” You say. “I see Sarah about town sometimes—she doesn’t even acknowledge me anymore, Joel. I spent five years of my life playing mommy to that little girl, and now I’m like a stranger to her?”

He hates how you’re throwing this back into his face, but he supposes that he deserves it. However, he will not give in to you that easy.

“You never played mommy. She always called you by your first name.” Like he knows it’ll hurt you, he says. “You were just a glorified babysitter, to her—“

“Oh, get fucked!” You bark, teeth clamped together. “You can’t say this shit when you don’t mean it, Joel! You know that she loved me!”

Your words materialize into the saddest tone he’s ever heard from you, and he’s suddenly feeling awful for even musing such a thing. He’s never this mean.

“Fuck—I’m sorry. You’re right, that was an awful thing to say.” Regret depletes him. But it’s too late. Tears are flowing from your beautiful eyes, like a dam that’s burst its way over the river banks, and Joel hates himself for doing this to you. Again.

When he broke things off—and ruined your life—he thought it would be easier to build a wall around himself, and lie to people about the nature of your departure. He told everybody that you left on your own terms, that you wanted things that Joel could never give to you—though, if he had just kept an open mind, then maybe he could’ve.

Because for months after you left his home, he found himself glued to his cellphone, desperate to call or text you to tell you how sorry he was for doing what he did.

That he was too hasty—too fucking mean—to say that he didn’t want a life with you. Because he did.

But it’s too late.

“Piper missed you, Joel.” You wipe away fat tears with the palm of your hand—knowing your mascara has smudged but not being able to find it in yourself to care—and tell him about the dog that the two of you once cared for together. “She sat by the door every morning waiting for you.”

This is killing him. Having you in front of him, but knowing that things will never be the same again.

“She’s four, now.” You smile a little bit. “She didn’t grow any bigger than what a German Shepherd should’ve, but she acts like it. Thinks she’s a fuckin’ rhino, or somethin’.”

Joel chuckles, feeling his own sadness loom in his tear ducts.

“She loves babies.” That maims you, a bit. “Cassie’s sister had a little boy in February. Piper sits by the crib whenever we visit. She would’ve loved being a sister.”

“I bet. She was always such a protective dog.” He stubs out his cigarette, though makes no effort to go back inside. “Especially when it came to you.”

“I’m her mom.” You tell him, blankly. “I feed her. I take her on walks. I groom her. I’m the only person that’s remained a constant in her life since she was eight-weeks old—“

“And I’m sorry for that.” A little stern—not enjoying being discreetly chastised—he says. “But we were never going to work—“

“And you thought that you’d tell me that after five fucking years?” You flick your own roach to the ground now, letting your back peel away from the wall. “Joel, I wasted half a decade with a man who couldn’t see us going anywhere, and you just expected me to be fine with that?”

“You didn’t waste your fucking time with me.”

“I could’ve had a family, by now!” You yell, your cheeks damp once again. Eyes stinging. “Joel, I could be somebody’s mother. Somebody’s wife.”

He feels awful that he’s taken that from you, but surmises that it isn’t too late.

“I know that you did it all before you met me—I know that was something that I was signing up for when I started dating an older man,” you take a breath, “but I thought that you might’ve changed your mind. Because I thought that you loved me—“

Joel grabs firmly your hands and shakes them, getting you to look at him. His eyes plead with yours.

“I did love you.” He breathes deep. “I think there’s a part of me that still loves you. But I couldn’t give you what it was that you wanted—“

You yanked your hands from his grip—for the second time this evening, actually.

“Couldn’t, or wouldn’t, Joel? Because to me, it seems like you were scared of committing to me for fear of something bad happening.”

“Don’t—“

“Not everyone leaves, Joel.” Softly, you tell him. “I was never planning on walking outta your life, so I don’t know why you were so scared to commit to me.”

Because I’m fucking insecure?

You look down at your watch, realizing that you’ve been out here far, far too long.

“Look.” You make eye contact with him. You miss the way he so boldly meets your gaze whenever you speak. “I’m sorry that you thought I was too high maintenance—that you’d never be able to keep me satisfied—but I was. There was never a doubt in my mind that I wouldn’t have had the best life with you, Miller.”

“But you wanted kids—“

“And I had Sarah. Of course, I wanted to mother my own children, Joel, but it wasn’t the end of the world. It just hurt to know that you didn’t want to give me that, when I was always so willing to do it for you.”

His eyes close slowly, realizing how much of a fucking prick he’s been these last twenty-four months.

“I’m sorry—“

“I need to get back in there.” You say with a small nod, gripping firmly the heavy-set door to the club before you’re stepping inside and leaving Joel completely dumbfounded.

I need to make this right.

It’s twelve forty-three in the morning when you finally amble up your driveway, and you’ve actually never been this happy to see your house before.

The kitchen light dim—though still bright enough to see Piper’s silhouette by the door—fills your heart with an immediate sense of comfort after such a long fucking day.

Carefully guiding yourself up the wooden steps so that you don’t fall, you edge nearer to your front door. But not before your boot is colliding with a little bag perched on the top step.

There’s a tag—your name inscribed—and you feel your face fall. Do you have a stalker?

But any premonition is squashed when you take the bag inside—wary, of course—and open it up. Piper is running laps around you all the while your hands fish around the pink cardboard.

“Oh?” You take out an envelope, and your heart sinks.

It starts with your name, and a little wonky heart next to it. Not to mention, it’s written with a pink gel-pen.

I’m sorry for being a jerk, I’d understand if you hate me. Today was fucking horrible, and I’m a douchebag. Not just for today, but for this whole thing. I’m sorry for making everybody think that you’re a bitch, and I wish that I would’ve told you sooner that I didn’t want children, or to get married again. Now that I’m thinking about it, it doesn’t seem all that bad. I’m also sorry that Tommy was a dick, he said he texted you but it bounced back—must’ve blocked his number. But honestly I don’t blame you. We’re assholes and you never deserved us in your life baby.

Take this card as an apology, if you want to. But take those candies and the dog treats, and have a nice evening with our little girl. I’ve unblocked your number and put my own inside of this envelope, so I hope that you’ll call me and we can make things right again.

Love always, Joel.

You wipe at your tears with the back of your hand, and pull out the dog treats alongside the nerds gummy clusters, and smile. He knows you both so well.

“Here, Piper girl.” She comes barreling over to you, almost sweeping your knees from beneath you. “Look’it what your daddy bought for you.”

Her ears prick up at the mention of Joel, and it’s at this moment that you realize you’ll be seeing him again a lot sooner than what you originally thought.

[pupsmailbox]

ELDRITCH ID PACK

NAMES︰ abacuc. abholos. abianak. aether. ahoth. aine. alala. alder. amadio. arkham. ba'al. basmach. bast. belial. blank. bonifatius. byagoona. byte. caelestoth. caine. calogerus. chaos. chrodechildis. cipher. clue. cthulu. custodia. cypher. daoloth. darkness. dethal. diaz. ebony. edwyn. elder. eldritch. elm. emereo. enigma. epiphagan. epoch. eternity. fortunatus. godid. habakkuk. han. haze. hitch. hydra. hynos. ieremahel. illuminathia. inpesca. istasha. juniper. kaiser. kallistos. kaos. kaprosistha. keme. kross. lapse. leto. lovecraft. luxoth. lythalia. maya. mechal. melekh. miasma. mirabilis. mirage. morana. mormo. mystery. nctolhu. nctosa. nightmare. nodens. noire. noxia. nyctelios. oddity. oroprimus. oroursus. ortun. oryx. oukranos. pandora. paradox. peregrinus. pseudo. pulse. renatus. rom. rowan. runa. rune. runfrid. sebek. sitheach. spy. sthanee. stitch. stranger. thasaidon. trojan. truth. unoch. user. veil. vibur. void. vulture. wylie. xitalu. yamath. yorith. zycanthe.

PRONOUNS︰ abso/absolute. absolute/absolute. answer/answer. blind/blind. book/book. chao/chao. chaos/chaos. cipher/cipher. claw/claw. clue/clue. code/code. confuse/confusion. corr/corrupt. corrupt/corrupt. cosmic/cosmic. curio/curio. curse/curse. cypher/cypher. danger/danger. dark/dark. death/death. deep/deep. deity/deity. delete/delete. depth/depth. destroy/destroy. dev/devour. devour/devour. diety/diety. doll/doll. dread/dread. eat/eat. eerie/eerie. eld/eld. elder/elder. eldritch/eldritch. en/en. end/end. eon/eon. ero/ero. error/error. eter/eternity. eternity/eternity. eye/eye. faith/faith. fear/fear. find/find. flesh/flesh. forgot/forgotten. glitch/glitche. glow/glow. god/god. hidden/hidden. hide/hide. hint/hint. horr/horror. horror/horror. hunt/hunt. hx/hxm. incompre/hensible. it/it. ix/ix. jolt/jolt. lack/lack. lord/lord. lost/lost. mad/mad. madness/madness. miasma/miasma. myst/myst. old/old. omen/omen. one/one. puppet/puppet. quiet/quiet. raven/raven. read/read. sanity/sanity. see/see. seek/seek. shx/hxr. space/space. spot/spot. spy/spy. star/star. stellar/stellar. step/step. string/string. submit/submission. sui/sui. that/thing. thon/thon. thxy/thxm. track/track. uncanny/uncanny. unknown/unknown. virus/viruse. void/void. what/what. whisper/whisper. ☄️ . 🎭 . 👁️ . 📜 . 🕳️ . 🧠 . 🧿 .

[yoonmetogether]

Not In the Cards Prelude pt. 1

pairing: gambler!Yoongi x !fem reader genre: strangers-to-lovers, age gap, intro to mafia/bodyguard au summary: how it all started. you won all of his money at poker, he hates you for it, but you find yourself hiding in a closet with him. (This is rlly e2l2e2l lol) warnings: alcohol, mild derogatory language, yoongi's an asshole, reader antagonizes him, motorcycle riding, gambling, smoking, drinking, smut, quickie in a janitor’s closet 🥴, insane bickering, usage of sl*t, yoongi and those red chopsticks from haegeum, a smidge of violence (not towards each other), implied parental absence, scars, reader mentions a minor injury from a car crash wc: 10.2k minors dni. 18+ only thanks to my beta reader @yoonglesyeobo and also to @syllviere for their help and support! <333

prologue l ch. 1 play nice l prelude. strangers 1/3 l prelude. 2/3 l prelude. 3/3 l ch. 2 l

You picked a great time to fly back home - smack dab in the middle of monsoon season. Of all the light things you packed in your backpack and duffle bag, you forgot an umbrella.

And the first thing you did once you set foot on the mainland soil of your Jeju pit stop, was ask your driver to take you to the Sehwa beach on the east coast. But the cash you had got you only about three-quarters of the way there, so you were dropped off into the one part of town you’re familiar with. Memories of happier times dance around the streets as you walk down them, on your way to the place you know best. Even though it will remind you of how things once were and never will be again, you go because it’s the only place you know where you can earn money without really having to work for it.

You’re soaked to the bone when you walk into the bar. The lights are low and dimmed with a green hue and floating smoke. It’s loud with banter as men get drunk on this gloomy Friday night.

You find an ATM near the bathrooms and withdraw 700,000 won.

“Hi, sweetie. Are you lost?” one of the pretty waitresses asks as she approaches you in a short apron and even shorter skirt, lips painted a vibrant ruby. Her silky bob is curled just above a black choker around her neck, and she glances down as you slide your wad of cash into your wallet, sliding it in your jacket pocket.

“Uh, no. Can I get a drink and a seat please?”

She looks at you with apprehension laced in her polite expression. “There’s a much quieter bar a few blocks down the street. You might have a better time there.”

“I appreciate that, but I’m actually looking to win some money.”

“I see,” she says after a pause, giving you a onceover. “Are you old enough?”

Yeah, an illegal gambling ring probably wouldn’t want to get tacked on with another charge of hosting minors if the cops were ever smart enough to come snooping around a place like this. You pull out your ID and hand it to her, watching as she holds it up and you know just what she’s looking for because you’ve used a fake to get in here before.

The corner of her mouth lifts in a small smile as she passes it back to you. She turns around and beckons you forward with two fingers in the air, leading you through the bar and as you trail behind her, nostalgia walks with you.

At the bar was where you took your first shot, had your first cigarette, in spite of your brother’s protests, and the den downstairs that you’re heading to was where you won your first real hand at poker. It’s still the same old musty, dusty, probably moldy basement that you remember, but now the ghosts of your past linger in the air so it’s hard to go through without getting a little misty-eyed.

As you step off the stairs, the waitress is surveying the room. It’s much more crowded and loud than upstairs since there are high stakes all around. You strain your neck, looking for an empty chair but they’re all occupied by men with too much time and not enough money to lose.

“Well, all of the tables are full right now, but I can set you up with a drink at the bar while you wait for an opening.”

“What about the table in the back?” Her eyes narrow.

“That’s for more experienced players.” Leaning against the railing, you hum, check your manicure.

“I’ll cut you twenty percent of my win if you get me in there.”

Her eyebrows lift in surprise. “You’re that confident?”

“This is where I learned how to play pro. I win more than I lose.”

She looks you up and down again, like she can’t figure you out.

“Make it twenty-five.”

“Deal,” you grin and she mirrors you, flashing her teeth.

“Follow me.”

You pull your damp hoodie further over your head in an attempt to shield your face as you follow her through the maze of tables towards a door in the far corner of the low-ceiling room. It’s slightly obscured by the counter and sheer, moth-eaten curtains that match the shitty wall color, and you thank the waitress when she pulls them to the side to direct you through. She then leads you into a small hallway but pauses right before the second door frame.

“I have to tell you, these men aren’t exactly their mothers’ favorite.”

You shrug. “Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

“Alright, well if you change your mind…”

“Thanks, but I won’t. I owe you that big tip.”

She smiles. “Don’t let me down, girlie.”

“Is there room for one more, gentlemen?” Her voice carries over the cocksure babble of the middle-aged men surrounding the round, green-felt table, littered with scattered poker chips, worn ashtrays and crystal glasses of whiskey. You’re met with a thick cloud of smoke as you approach an empty seat at the table. They all fall quiet as you pull down your hood, revealing your wet hair and the fact that you are not one of them.

A collective muttering of derision rises as you pull out the chair but you act completely unbothered, unzipping your drenched coat and shrugging it off. You fish your wallet out of your jacket and pass all of your cash to the attendant who exchanges it for chips.

“What do you know about poker?” one of the men prods.

"Plenty. Deal me in. What’s the ante?”

“I think you’re wasting your time,” another cuts in. “You should go see if they have a kiddie table.”

The men shove elbows into each other in raucous laughter at your expense but it doesn’t affect you at all.

“Let her play.”

You look up at the new voice. Gravelly. Gruff. Tempting.

Shit. How did you miss… him? The youngest man in the room, the one with parts of his face shadowed by the god-awful, dim lighting, has not taken his eyes off of you since you walked in. You can tell by the way the bumps on your skin prickle every time your attention flickers in his direction and your eyes catch. His hair is orangey, as much of it that pokes out from under his black beanie, and he’s wearing a black varsity jacket with white stitching on the front that makes him stand out among the rest of the men’s unflattering suits and loose ties.

He lifts his cigarette, takes a drag, and blows it out, blinking between you and two black poker chips he taps on the table.

You glare at the subtle smirk on his lips as he says, “Easy win.”

This will be fun.

The first few rounds you do get shit hands, but you bet on them anyway, enduring the condescension that leers from the entire table each time. The only one who doesn’t laugh is the one you can’t stop stealing glances at, the one who just nonchalantly smokes and places bets and looks at his cards, and occasionally stares right back. Makes your heart flip. You’ve noticed, though, from watching him a few times, that when the flop is laid out and it’s time for the first bets, if he blinks a little erratically while staring at his hand, he folds soon after. You fold on a two-pair after checking, and the players get a kick out of that when you reveal that you had a potentially winning hand. You pretend to be super bummed. But now you’ve got them right where you want them.

So far, you’ve bet the majority of your money but you’re fairly certain that won’t matter in a few minutes. In your hand, you hold an 8 and 2 of Diamonds. On the table, lies a ten of Spades, six of Clubs, 4 and Queen of Diamonds, and three of hearts. You school your expression. One more diamond card and it’s a flush. You look up and it seems the majority of the table has folded, but ‘kiddie table’ man and ‘beanie with a mean stare’ man are still in the running. Both of their hands have been good so far, but ‘beanie with a mean stare’ has won most of the rounds. This is the last one and you’re running out of time to win all of it back. You feign a nervous glance around the table before you check. ‘Kiddie’ checks as well and you wait for ‘mean beanie’ to follow suit but instead, he scoots the rest of his chips in to raise the bet. Huh. He’s getting cocky, going all in. He only blinked once when the dealer laid down the flop, so you suspect he has a good hand. But not a great one, so you’ll raise the stakes. The men mutter in amusement when you match his bet and he lifts a brow, but the rest of his expression remains neutral. The dealer asks if that’s the final bet, and when no one responds, he flips the fifth card. Your heart jumps. 

A nine of Diamonds.

‘Kiddie’ goes first and displays his three-of-a-kind. Hm. Not bad. You glance over to ‘mean beanie,’ waiting for him to make the next move but he only stares at you, unblinking, a thin line between his lips. You take a deep breath and put on a sheepish smile while flattening your cards near the center of the table so everyone can see.

“Is this a flush?” They all still, and you fail to fight off a grin when their many pairs of eyes go back and forth between the river and your two low rank cards that add up to a high rank hand.

‘Mean beanie’ is now staring at his cards, a noticeable tick in his jaw and you know you’ve won. He tosses them down with a quick flick of his wrist and you can’t help your smirk at his obvious dejection. You observe his 5 of Hearts and 7 of Spades.

“Oh, a straight? How nice.” Your head tilts mockingly. “You almost beat me.”

He frowns and you feel enthralled, resisting the urge to blow him a demeaning kiss. With a content sigh, you lean forward to scrape your scored chips towards you, holding your arms out like a hoop to move them all because there’s just that many. You stand as an attendant appears to retrieve your chips to count and trade for the table’s cash. You think you’ll get a nice hotel room to shelter from the storm.

“It was a pleasure playing with you gentlemen,” you say politely as you stand. “I’ll enjoy spending your money.”

The devilish grin you send to all of them lingers on ‘mean beanie’ who is now refusing to look at you. There’s a pep in your step as you stride up to the attendant behind the counter near the door, waiting for him to cash you out.

You watch as the men file out, glaring at you and muttering bitter curses amongst themselves. You shrug it off. Serves them right for underestimating you just because you’re a young woman. You may have been putting on an act, but men run the world.

Shouldn’t they have been smart enough to pick up on that?

‘Beanie’ is the last one to go, head ducked as he pulls out his phone. He’s still in the hallway when you exit, backpack stacked with 10 million won. His foot is on the bottom step as he types furiously on his device.

“Hey, good game,” you say in a light tone as you pass him, but there’s too much sass in your smile to seem genuine. “And you’re right. That was an easy win.”

He lifts his head slowly, eyes narrowed in a vicious glare, pockets his phone and takes a step up. It makes your heart speed when he comes nearly face to face with you, and you can see him in this mildly better lighting.

“How’d you pull that off, huh? You count cards?” He’s pretty much seething but fucking hell, he's attractive.

“No,” you blink innocently, living for the ferocity in his darkened eyes. “I just count on men to be dumb enough to believe a pretty girl like me doesn’t know how to gamble. Thanks for being so full of yourself that you can’t see through a sham like that.”

His jaw ticks as his glare rakes up and down your form.

“You’re full of yourself, too. You’re not that pretty.”

It’s a cheap shot, but it’s obvious he’s just trying to make himself feel better by hurting your feelings because he has nothing else.

“Aww, you sound like a sore loser. Do you want to go back in there? Try to win some back?”

“I’m done playing for the night.” He still hasn’t gotten out of your face and the scent of his earthy cologne with traces of cigarette smoke is doing unhealthy things to your blood pressure.

“Understandable. It would suck to get your ass beat by a girl twice in a row.”

He's radiating with vexation but it doesn’t intimidate you in the slightest. If anything, it’s making him more attractive, which makes you think you should do some deep, serious internal reflection. His nostrils flare just before he swivels on his heel to face the steps.

“Oh, by the way, I noticed that you blink a lot when you get a bad hand. You should work on that.”

His head jerks to you, seeming to take offense to that. He looks you up and down again, scowls, and starts up the stairs.

“Maybe with your money, I’ll buy some expensive makeup to doll myself up better!” You call up.

“You’d need a lot!” 

Fucking liar. You cackle as he jogs up the rest of the way.

******* Upstairs, he’s already out of sight. You relocate the waitress who greets you expectantly, an enthusiastic grin breaking out on her face when you pull out your winnings. She gives you a small cheer and while you sit at the bar to count out her cut, she makes you a drink on the house.

Once you finish it, you check the time and realize you shouldn’t hang around here for much longer. And you’re starting to feel the effects of jet lag now that you’ve got your money problems squared away. But of course you left your jacket downstairs. You ask the waitress if you can go get it.

“Sure, but come right back.”

In the hallway, you falter when you hear a one-sided conversation, spoken by that low stony voice that tickles your brain. You peek your nosy head around the corner, pulse spiking with a thrill when you see ‘beanie’ standing on the other side of the room, next to another hallway.

“The fuck do you mean it didn’t go through? 

As he listens on the other line, he hangs his head, fingers digging into his eyes in what appears to be frustration before dropping them on his hip.

“Shit, are you serious?... Can you just send me some for a plane ticket? I’ll pay you back...” He sighs dejectedly. “Fine. See you back home.”

He curses again, louder this time, and you take that as your cue to saunter into the room, pretending you don’t notice him as you head for the table.

“You stalking me?” You blow a raspberry, leaning down to grab your jacket from the chair and hold it up for him to see.

“As if. You’re not that interesting. And you’re a sore loser,” you tack on. “Not my type.”

(Straight up lies.)

“Well, you’re fucking annoying.”

“Thank you!” You exclaim, hand on your chest like you’re honored. “I’ve worked so hard to be.”

He glowers at you and you really want to laugh. Why is he so angry? It’s not like you stole his money. Tricked him? Maybe, but you can’t exactly be fair in a place like this. His head shakes as he passes by you for the exit.

“So I really won all of your money, huh? And now you’re strapped for cash?” He pauses, slides narrowed eyes your way, and stuffs his hands in his jacket.

“Mind your business.”

“What? It just sounds like you’re in a tough spot, especially with the big storm coming later. I’d hate to think that you’re stranded in torrential downpour with nowhere to go all because some mid-looking girl took your money.”

“Don’t patronize me,” he snaps.

“How is that patronizing? I’m just saying, I’m sorry you fell for my dirty little trick, but I can help you out if you want.”

He strides into your space and you step back, heart pounding when he gets in your face again. There’s a dangerous look in his eyes but you’re not at all threatened.

“I don’t need shit from you.” You tip your head up and bat your eyelashes, sneaking a glance at his lips, pink and plush and enticing. 

“Okay,” you shrug nonchalantly, failing to fight off a small smirk. Warmth creeps up from your cheeks to your ears when his blown out pupils flash down to your mouth. And the tension in between you transforms with a feral magnetism.

His tongue darts out to his bottom lip and your eyes widen a fraction at the sight.

“You’re really aggravating, you know that?”

“You can walk away.” His head tilts at your challenge and the magnetism grows when he doesn’t move.

Just then, your heads turn towards the stairs when voices and footsteps start to descend.

He grabs your arm and tugs you around the corner and to the end of the hallway, whipping open a small door and stepping inside before pulling you along with him. Your nose wrinkles at the odious smell of industrial cleaning agents.

“What are you doing?”

“Shut up,” he hisses, tugging you away from the door to the adjacent side of the small and dark closet. “No one’s supposed to be down here now that they’ve closed things up.”

“Oh,” you whisper, settling against the wall. “You don’t really strike me as the type to follow the rules.”

“I’m not,” he grits, voice deep enough to not be heard easily. “But I know that consequences still apply if I get caught.”

“Well, this isn’t how I expected to spend my Friday night,” you huff with a cross of your arms. “Holed up in some janitor’s closet with a common criminal.”

“You’re one too, y’know. You committed a felony just by stepping foot in here. And then another, when you won all that money.”

You mimic that last sentence in a childish tone and his chest heaves in a huff.

“Will you be quiet?”

“Am I pissing you off?”

“You have been since the first goddamn minute you walked in.”

“If I annoy you that much, you could’ve just hidden in here yourself and left me out there to get in trouble.”

“I still have time. I could push you out now.”

“Do it then.”

A silence follows, like he’s contemplating. Hesitating. That magnetism comes back to buzz and burn.

“Or maybe, and I’m just spitballing here, you wanted an excuse to get me alone in this dark, tight space?”

He scoffs. “You’re delusional.”

“Hm. Then why are you so close? There’s more than enough room for the both of us to have space.”

When he doesn’t say anything, unease pinches your gut as you think you’ve gotten ahead of yourself and misread things. You can’t help that his whole broody, pissed off vibe turns you on for some reason. So you move to get away from him, create some space now that you’re embarrassed but his hand finds the crook of your elbow and stops you. Heat floods your cheeks for a whole different reason.

“What are you trying to get at?” You smile, heart pounding with nerves because you know his rejection would sting like hell. But you’re not about to let his attitude shit on your confidence.

“C’mon, you’re not that dumb.” His fingers dig into your arm, not enough to hurt but enough to feel that you’ve pinched a nerve.

You gasp when he pushes your arm until your back hits the wall and you stare at the silhouette of his face, his hand lifting above your head. Blood rushes in your ears when he leans in so close that his warm breath fans down to your chin.

“You wanna be fucked in here like a slut? Is that it?”

Holy mother of fuck. The way he said that - husky, dark, low but so intense has to be a sin.

“Can you even get it up this late at night, old man?”

“Who the fuck are you calling old?” He snaps. “You’ve got to be at least 30.”

He better be joking! “What does that make you, then? 45? 50?” 

“Try 27.”

“Huh. You’re still a lot older than me.” You don’t find that hot.

“By how much?” he queries, a bit of apprehension in his tone.

“5 years.”

He exhales sharply, a breath of relief. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Keep telling yourself that. Is almost 30 too early to have ‘dysfunctional’ problems?”

Large hands on your hips force you to turn around and face the wall, and you plant your palms on it with a gasp when he grinds his clothed erection on the swell of your ass.

“Does this feel ‘dysfunctional’ to you?” he growls, grinding against you again, slower this time but harsher so you can feel all of what’s swelling in his pants. He’s big, because of course he is, and you figure by the end of this, you’ll be the dysfunctional one.

“I-I don’t know,” you stutter, throat suddenly dry. He chuckles, and it’s like a jolt of thunder worthy of a hurricane storming through every seed of your nerves.

Sighing, he leans into you, chest barely brushing your back, and returns his hand to the wall above your head, ducking his chin to breathe down your neck and you gasp again as he rolls his hips once more while muttering darkly into your ear,

“Do you want to find out?” A shiver bolts down your spine, and your center starts to throb with sinful desire.

Getting fucked on a Friday night in a cleaning closet by a common criminal is definitely not something you expected to be doing on your trip back home. But you don’t want it to go in any other way.

“Mhmm.”

“Is that supposed to be a word?”

“Yes!” You whisper yell.

“Yes, what?” he emphasizes, tone gritty and dominating.

“Yes, I want to find out.”

Quiet passes for a minute and you think he’s in the middle of rethinking things, but then he manhandles you to the side of the closet opposite from the door, and you put out your hands to feel that you’re pressed into a set of shelves holding big ass rolls of paper towels or something.

He tugs at the hem of your pants. “Take these off.”

“Why can’t you do it?”

“Because I’m giving you a chance to change your mind,” he mutters.

Huh. You hesitate only because that was unexpected. But you weren’t planning on changing anything. Without a word, you undo the clasp on your jeans and reach back to find his hand, taking note of the insane electricity that surges through you once you touch him, and bring it back to your waist, silent permission that he can continue. Nothing is said as he slides your pants down your ass, and you wait for him to work on his own jeans but instead you feel his fingers trickle on the inside of your upper thigh, breath hitching as he inches closer to your heat. You spread your legs and arch your back to give him indication to touch you. He cups your mound, and you lurch forward with a moan, grabbing the shelf to hold onto for dear life.

“You better stay quiet,” he grumbles. “Because if you get us caught, I’ll tell them I found out you were counting cards.”

“And you were fucking me as punishment?” you challenge over your shoulder, but the vitriol in your sneer is extinguished when he glides a lone finger between your folds.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “You’re already wet. Being a dirty slut like this turns you on?”

You don’t answer, brain malfunctioning when he starts rubbing circles over your clit, and you duck your head as it increases your arousal. A whiny moan floats out when he teases your hole and hums to himself. Your shoulders tense when he slips a digit in, shushing your louder moan as he adds another and pumps in and out to work you open. You have to hold your breath every now and then to keep your noises to yourself.

As he keeps finger-fucking you, there’s some shifting and then a slap of something falling on the floor, followed by the sound of foil tearing.

“Did you just get a condom out of your wallet?” you manage to croak.

“No, I pulled it out of thin air,” he deadpans dryly.

You roll your eyes. Men. Always staying locked and fucking loaded. And he called you a slut? You open your mouth to convey this to him, but you figure one more smart-ass comment will deny you of what you’re craving.

You salivate when you hear him undo his belt and unzip his jeans. He steps back with a faint moan, and you imagine him finally pulling himself out to roll on the condom. Shit. You know you’re in for it.

His hand finds your waist again, and he spits, loudly, before tapping his tip on your center, gathering your arousal. Your body jerks at the sensation of his head dragging through your folds and over your clit before coming back to prod your entrance, making you tense up in anticipation.

“Are you going to back out? Last chance.”

“No, I’m good.” There’s a lapse in movement and in words but then he pushes in and- fuck! It’s a stretch. You moan over a bitten tongue as your eyes squeeze shut, urgently trying to adjust.

“We don’t have to do this if you’re not up for it,” he mutters quietly when your cunt refuses to cooperate, thanks to a mix of nerves.

"I am, damn it!”

“Then fucking relax.”

So you deflate your lungs, using the idea of just how good it’ll feel once he fills you up for motivation to do as he says. You let your body go almost entirely limp and he must notice because he digs his fingers into your waist and guides himself in, agonizingly slow, expanding your walls with girth so fulfilling.

A low growl resonates in his chest when he sinks in all the way, fingers flexing on your naked hips as he gives time for you to adjust. His hard dick twitching within tells you that he needs a second too. Then for a few minutes, he fucks you at a snail’s pace while you try not to lose your shit. He pulls out to bend his knees, and thrusts back up into you, breathing shakily as he increases the pace.

He doesn’t take his hands off of your waist. Doesn’t grope your tits, or cup handfuls of your ass, just holds onto your hips to keep you in place, occasionally uses them to adjust his stance behind you. A part of you wishes he would because you know his large hands could work wonders on your skin, but at the same time there’s a modicum of respect coming from his restraint. You don’t know if that’s what he’s going for or if he just genuinely doesn’t want to touch you - which, ouch - but you’re pretty sure most guys would take you letting them fuck you in a closet as automatic permission to touch all parts of your body whether you asked them to or not, but apparently he’s not one of them.

There is one place, though, that you desperately need him to put his hands on and for whatever reason, he’s not.

“Are you gonna play with my clit anytime soon? Or did you, in your old age, forget where it is?” He huffs, dark and indignant in your ear.

“It’d be nice to get off at some point ton-” A hand slides over your cheek and a pair of fingers gets shoved on your tongue, cutting you off.

“Shut. Your. Mouth.” Your eyes roll back at the rigid and domineering grit in his tone, and your back arches to press further into him, needy, wanting. His other hand rises to replace his fingers with a balled-up piece of fabric, and then he snakes down to in between your legs. You have to bite down on whatever fabric he used to muffle you when he easily finds your aching nub and spreads your saliva over it before stroking in agonizing circles. Your teeth clamp down harder on the mysterious material to barricade a whimper.

His hips, on the other hand, start to smack against your ass with animalistic determination, like he wants to fuck you as fast as he can so he can get this over with. Which is fine by you, because it feels so fucking good. The force of his thrusts paired with the tips of his fingers rubbing your clit in rough, calculated strokes has your nails scraping on the wall due to the overwhelming pleasure building within you.

He starts to fuck you at a different angle and you almost cry out when he spears against your spot.

“There?” he asks, rocking in the same place experimentally while you clench around him. Your thighs start to shake.

“Mhmm!” you exclaim. He doesn’t stop fucking you there until you come, and even though you already can’t see shit, you definitely black out for a second. The material in your mouth isn’t helping your breathing situation but it’s preventing you from crying.

He hisses and then yanks out, lets go of your waist, and you involuntarily drop to your knees.

“Shit, my fault,” he mutters, but you’re focused on plucking the cloth out of your mouth, scrunching it in your palm. You weakly pull your jeans to your hips and turn around when he curses again, reaching out to find his dick as he jerks himself to completion. He stops and rips off the condom, thumb sliding up your chin and into your mouth to force it open.

“Gonna come,” he grumbles. You nod and stick out your tongue, and using his thumb as guidance, he slides his thick mushroom head past your lips, filling your mouth with hot ropes of cum. He emits some kind of purring sound as you swallow it all down and your eyes roll to the back of your head.

After allowing a moment to accept what just happened, he steps back again and sighs heavily as he tucks himself in, fixing his belt while you wipe your mouth with the inside of your shirt. When he bends down to pick up his wallet, you wait for his hand to offer you help up off the floor, but he just turns around, leaving you to stand up on your own with shaky legs.

That’s not the vibe you were starting to get from him, but okay?

Swinging on your jacket with a bit of shame, you walk up behind him where he’s listening at the door for anyone outside, and realize that you just let this guy fuck you in a weird-smelling closet and come in your mouth before you even got his name.

“I’m Angel, by the way.”

“That’s nice," he says flatly, tone withdrawn.

“Did you flunk preschool? This would be the part where you tell me your name.”

“I'm good.” You scoff, taken aback. 

"Geez, dude. After all that, you can’t even tell me your name?”

"Nah. Not like we’re ever gonna see each other again, right?” That stings. He doesn’t have the courtesy to do something normal after doing something so unorthodox?

“Whatever, prick.”

When he opens the door, you toss the fabric at him and shove into his shoulder, not looking back as you hurry towards the stairs, taking two at a time to get away from him.

The waitress gives you a wary look as you stomp towards her, and you offer an embarrassed apology while you gather your bags. You thank her, pass her a few more bills, and make an escape to the bathroom. You refuse to look in the mirror as you get yourself together. What the fuck were you thinking?

But as the universe would have it, he’s outside under the awning because of the rain, scrolling through his phone and smoking a cigarette with a foot propped on the wall.

Without slowing down, you walk by him, pluck the cigarette from his fingers and continue down the block. At the corner, you stop abruptly, and lift the stick to your lips, take a drag, then toss it into the street, staring right at him. He frowns and with the hand not stuffed in his jean pocket, raises his middle finger and you shoot him one right back, blowing out smoke and holding back a cough. You flag down a cab with a heavy weight in your chest that crawls up to your throat and threatens to imitate the storm pouring from the clouds above.

The rain follows you into the crowded restaurant and you do your best to shake it off of your clothes and shoes before you go in. An older male server rushes by carrying a tray of soju and shot glasses, beckons you further inside and gestures over to the far end of the room where a small empty table sits in front of the window. As you weave your way towards it, you pass by groups of friends, some couples, others colleagues, all having a good time staying out of the storm together. It makes you a little bitter and a lot lonely.

You sit down with your back facing away from the reminder that you’re the only one occupying a two-person table and order a bottle of soju and a hot bowl of noodles that will take away some of the wet chill clinging to your skin.

A motorcycle zooms by. The engine sounds like a single-cylinder with a good torque. A Ducati maybe?

As you wait, you lean back in your chair, arms crossed, and stare outside, reminiscing about old times. Old friends. All a part of memories now.

A few minutes after the server delivers you a bottle of soju and you take a shot, you head to the bathroom to wash up and finally acknowledge the shame lingering in your appearance. When you emerge, passing by the bar, you’re stopped in your tracks by the face of the man who is the reason for that shame. Your heart pounds abnormally. He’s sitting a few barstools away from you, beanie gone, unveiling orange hair and roots that could use a touch up, with a black and white bandanna tied under his chin, like it was being used as a mask. Was that what he stuffed in your mouth earlier?

You stare at him as he sips some clear liquor out of a whiskey glass and when he finally notices, he, for some reason, doesn’t look that surprised to see you.

“You again,” you scowl. “Who’s stalking who now?” He shrugs.

“This is a small island.”

Your eyes roll at his shit logic.

“Well, sorry to have ruined your whole ‘we’re never gonna see each other again’ bullshit.”

He doesn't reply, just frowns into his glass. Feeling hot all over, you stew as you stomp back to your table to retrieve your wallet, fishing out a large bill that you slap on the counter once you return to the bar. The bartender comes over and you make a point of looking over at the prick while you say,

"His drinks are on me." You prolong your vengeful gaze on him, fighting your tongue when his jaw only clenches in response, and head back to your table in a huff.

You try to let it go and not sear holes through his back, instead focusing on your wonderful meal and full glass of soju. He can go to hell.

It seems that the universe has other plans in store when mid-bite, you feel a presence approach and you think it’s the server coming to check on you, but when you look up and the presence stops at your table, your heart skips at the musk that pummels your lungs and puts you in a chokehold. Because it’s the same one that enveloped you from behind not too long ago, strong enough to mask the stench of cleaning supplies. And the source of it slaps a familiar lone bill in front of you under a veiny, slender hand. He stares down at you with an unreadable look in his eyes. Glancing at the bill, you make no move to take it back or acknowledge the fact that he didn't let you pay, even though you just won a bunch of his money. What is this guy playing at?

"Take it."

"No," you shoot back, resuming your meal for an excuse not to look at him. 

He sighs and you think that's the end of it.

But then he scoots into the seat across from you. Your heart flatlines when he glances at you, barely acknowledging you or your shocked expression, and cards a hand through his hair, flipping his bangs away to showcase his forehead, clear of blemishes. Isn’t that fucking typical.

“Um, can I help you?”

“The kitchen’s closing soon and I want to order something,” he says casually as he gets comfortable.

“And you’re sitting at my table because? I thought I was annoying.”

“You are,” he replies, still not looking at you but at your bowl. “But all the other tables are full.”

You scoff and take a sweep of the restaurant, desperate to catch him in a lie - surely people have left and freed up spaces since you got here. Nope. The seat across from you was the only one empty. But why does he have to be the one who fills it?

“You could just go somewhere else.”

“It’s pouring out there.”

“Afraid you’ll melt?”

He flickers a small glare your way, then moves it behind you when the bell over the entrance announces a customer’s arrival. He’s acting indifferent, like he wasn’t just a complete dick, and you don’t know what to make of it.

“So does this mean you're done being an asshole to me now?”

“You think I should be nice or something?”

“That would be a start.”

“Aren’t you not supposed to be nice to strangers? Didn’t your mother ever teach you that?”

That draws a cloudy expression over your face. “I’m sure she would’ve if she was ever around.”

He looks at you and you can see a smidge of his hostile demeanor fall away. Your attention drops to your lap, waiting for him to give the little pity party you’re used to people throwing you when they find out you have an absentee parent. But he doesn’t, just shifts in his seat and lets a little tension out of his shoulders.

“Yoongi.”

Your eyebrows furrow as you look across again, thrown for a loop. “What?”

He shrugs, juts out his bottom lip in what you think is a pout. “You wanted my name, right?”

He looks shy and, dare you say, cute saying that. 

“Was that so hard? You know that makes us not strangers anymore,” you point out with a widening smile as he glowers at you.

You reach for the soju bottle but he leans forward and snatches it away. Puzzled, you withdraw your hand, but he gestures to your glass and mimes a pour. There’s uncertainty stitched between your brows as you pick up the glass and hold it out with two hands while he pours a shot. You can’t help but notice the scar etched in a jagged line across the back of his right hand turning the bottle, and you look away from it so you don’t gawk. But you’re curious.

Even though you don’t yet fully respect him, he is still 5 years older, so you turn to the side to knock the shot back. When you’re done, you silently offer to return the favor but he shakes his head, fills your glass once again and sets the bottle down, leaning back in his chair with his arms folded across his chest, glancing between you and the table with a dart of his tongue over his bottom lip.

You stare at the liquor, tips of your fingers dancing around the rim of the glass as you debate how much of your sobriety you should hold onto for the night.

“You’re not drinking?” you ask after you down the shot, wiping your chin.

“I’m driving.” You hum in acknowledgement.

“Are you gonna eat?”

He shakes his head. “I’m good.”

“I thought that was the whole point of sitting at my table.”

“I changed my mind.” Liar. He’s been eyeing your bowl ever since he sat down.

“You’re a shit liar. No wonder I cleaned you out.”

He flips you off and you just sigh. A lost cause. You catch the scar on the back of his hand again, the skin raised but healed.

The atmosphere between you since his gesture has slowed things down, setting a new pace that’s strange but not entirely unwelcome. The liquor spreading warmth in your chest loosens your inhibitions, bringing forth your curiosity.

"What happened to your hand?”

"Bar fight,” he replies a little too quickly. You don't believe that.

"Some bar fight." He rolls his eyes at your sarcasm but then his attention flickers back with a tick of his eyebrows when you lower the collar of your sweater, exposing the skin just below your right shoulder that displays your own gash.

“I got this when I used to race during my first couple years at university.” You smirk when both his brows shoot up, clearly not expecting your story. “I was drifting and my component spun out and drove me off the road and I smashed into a guardrail. He was fine, but my windshield shattered and a big piece of glass just wedged in right here.” You press a finger against the very visible healed stitching. “It hurt like a motherfucker, dug into my bone and all that, but the scar came out pretty bad ass, don’t you think?”

He tilts his head with an amused expression, as if not expecting you to sound somewhat proud of your preventable injury.

“I’m sure you were smart enough to stop racing after that.”

“Yeah, but I still went to functions and stuff. And then one night, cops busted our spot and a bunch of us got arrested. I spent a couple days in jail and my brother had to come bail me out.” You pause to think about how irate Jin had been, flying halfway across the world to pay your bond, dragging Namjoon along to fight for you not to be charged. Jin chewed you out the entire time, about how dangerous that was and how you could’ve killed somebody and yourself. Of course you knew that, but you’ve always proved to be a damn good driver, only racing on empty roads after memorizing every wind, bump, and bend. You never let him see your scar because he would find a way to never let you see the light of day again. But then he made you transfer schools and you lost touch with your racing friends. You made sure your brothers never found out your accident didn't deter you from speed racing. You were just too good and made money off of it that you couldn't give up.

“And what was that you were saying earlier about being stuck alone somewhere with a felon?” He muses sarcastically, snapping you back to the present.

Glossing over that snide remark, you launch into another anecdote, regaling him in the story of the first time you ever raced when you lost horribly to your brother and he never let you live it down. And the time you were the getaway driver when your brother and your friends decided to add to the graffiti collection under a bridge near boarding school.

“I think you’re oversharing,” he intervenes when you bring your spiel to a close.

“Would you rather sit here and talk about the weather?”

“I’d rather not talk at all.” He looks down as soon as he says it and your eyes droop into a frown. Well, so much for that. Leave it to a guy to pull stupid shit like that.

“Right,” you mutter, leaning down to pick up your bags. “All I’m good for is a fuck.”

You get out your wallet and a large chunk of the cash that you won, leaving a sum for the bill on the table. As you rise, you fold a larger wad in half and slam it down next to his hands. He glances at it before dragging his gaze up to you, blinking a few times as you harshly stare him down. You sniff, swing your bag onto your shoulder, and turn your back on him.

“Stop.” You do and turn, slowly. “I know I’m an asshole, but I wasn’t implying that, okay?”

Blinking at his response, you step up to his edge of the table. You tilt your head, waiting for him to elaborate but when he doesn’t, a mildly disappointed sigh leaves your lungs.

“If that’s your idea of an apology…” He stares up as you hold him in suspense. “Then I’ll take what I can get.”

The tiny quirk of his lips has you plopping back in your seat, albeit a bit reluctant. As you set your bag back down, he slides the cash back over.

“I’m not taking your money.” You frown.

“Well, at least order something to eat, I don’t mind treating. Unless you have that weird masculine thing where it’s offensive if a girl pays for food.”

A light smile threatens to break out on his face and you think it could be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

“Nah, I’m never one to turn down a free meal.”

He finally orders and you try not to watch him eat, finding it endearing the way he rests his fingers holding chopsticks against his cheek while he chews. So you just return to quietly sipping your drink and watching the rain beat down on the pavement, illuminated by the street lamps. Occasionally, bumps rise on your skin like they did earlier when you feel his eyes on you. You just let him stare because it makes you feel warm.

The bowl slides to the middle of the table and Yoongi sits back with a satisfied sigh. You look over and smile, getting ready to tease him about his appetite but then the bell rings and Yoongi’s expression drops completely. He straightens in his seat, pulls the bandanna up over the lower half of his face and a dreadful feeling sinks into your gut when he grabs the chopsticks and holds them with a tight grip, veins popping and knuckles paling. You look over your shoulder, blood stirring with anxiety when you see a few men from the poker game heading straight for your table.

“Get your bag,” Yoongi mutters, shifting so his feet are turned to the side. Swallowing thickly, you bring up your backpack and wrap your arms across it, pressing it into your chest.

“So you decided to catch up to her before us. Well done, my friend,” the man says, clapping Yoongi on the shoulder. A cold front moves in on the tips of your fingers, settles a tundra in your gut and freezes you in your seat when Yoongi doesn’t look at you, just stares at the man above him.

Was this all just a ruse? He was just keeping you here so his friends could come and mug you? You’re not that naive.

Right?

Just when you start to doubt all of your life choices, Yoongi smacks off the man’s hand, leans forward with his eyebrows furrowed at you.

“I’m not with them.” Your heart races as you look between them. For once, you feel backed into a corner.

“Yes, you are, pretty boy. Because if you’re not, then it seems to me that you both plotted to set us up and that means you’re both in trouble.”

“No one plotted anything. I’ve never met him before,” you declare, catching onto their lie, washed over with relief that you haven’t been duped.

“You just underestimated me and that’s not my fault.”

The man looks at you with an ugly lip curl.

“Oh, yes it is. You never should’ve been there in the first place, so hand me and my friends back our money and this all goes away. No one gets hurt.”

Yoongi’s jaw moves like he’s grinding his teeth. “That’s not what I heard,” he mutters.

Your clutch anxiously onto the sides of your backpack, not wanting to know what he means. You slowly reach under your chair to grab onto your duffle, ready to run at a moment’s notice.

The stranger bends down to lean towards you. “Give me the money. Now.”

“Get out of her face, man,” Yoongi spits, standing with a hand on his shoulder to push him back. You stand as well, holding tightly onto both of your bags as you look back at the door, but for all you know, there are more men out there waiting.

You jump when the man attempts to snatch your bag but promptly withdraws with a shout in pain, and you don’t expect to see Yoongi piercing his shoulder with the chopsticks. As your heart and mind race, he yanks the utensils with added red out, keeps them in his fist, and shoves back the two men who crowd him, sending them into the tables behind. Dishes crash and customers leap up in exclamations of surprise, and Yoongi takes the opportunity to push you away and get behind you, hand flattened on your spine to compel you in the direction of the kitchen.

He seizes your duffle bag so you have an easier time moving, and you both ignore the protesting shouts from the chefs and servers as you run through the hot kitchen. As you stumble outside, the rain cascades over you, and your heart stops for a moment when you realize you have no plan to escape. But then he wraps his free hand around your forearm, glancing up as more shouts echo from the restaurant. He pulls down the bandana. His face looks radiant in the blurred street lights.

“This way.”

You both take off down the block, and in the midst of the sprint, Yoongi slides down his hand to instead curl his fingers around your wrist and leads you across the street. It’s not the rain that makes you shiver.

The scent of the storm washes over you as your feet hit asphalt, a few honks blasting from cars you dart past. Yoongi puts himself between you and the vehicles that shout profanities at him and you can’t help the laugh that escapes you when he shouts right back and throws up a middle finger. You slide your hand into his palm to give him a good tug so he won’t end up in another squabble with an irate driver and he turns back to you. For some reason you’re smiling and when he looks at you, your heart pounds, but it could easily be mistaken for exertion. But when you spot the crinkle at the corners of his eyes that tells you he’s smiling too and your pulse skips a beat, you know it has nothing to do with running.

You have no idea where he’s taking you and it’s freeing. And nothing like you’ve ever felt before.

You run until you reach the end of the block where a black Ducati motorcycle is parallel parked in between a stretch of cars and he picks up a matte black helmet from the seat and holds it out to you.

“Here, put this on. Hurry up.” The fiberglass is covered in droplets of rain. It means safety, but from this man who gave it to you? Who keeps confusing you?

A dilemma.

“Why did you come after me?”

“What?” he half-shouts over the loud pattering of downpour. “We don’t have time-”

You step up to stand face-to-face with him and he blinks confusion down at you, mouth open as his chest heaves, panting, orange hair darkened and drenched. You glance down at the chopsticks still trembling in his hand. Adrenaline. He snaps them in half and throws them into the street where they get carried into the storm drain.

It’s raining, but there’s a fire. You repeat your question, keeping the helmet down at your side so there’s not more than an inch between you. He holds your gaze - doesn’t blink or look away. Darkness surrounds you, but there’s none in his eyes.

“I just did.”

He gives no reason, so neither do you when you bunch the front of his soaked black crew-neck and yank him into you, into a kiss that will be seared into your mind like a core memory. He doesn’t lean into it for a split second, like you caught him off guard, but when he does, grabs the side of your face to take over and opens your mouth with his tongue like he’s always meant to taste you, it’s messy and desperate, teeth clacking and mouths moving uncoordinated. It’s the hungriest you’ve ever been kissed. Drinking in the rain, drinking in each other, the helmet slips from your fingers and you don’t notice for a second until he breaks away from your swollen lips and holds it up to you.

“We gotta go.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, regret taking over. He shakes his head and places the helmet into your hands. You frantically look over your shoulder where a few men are catching up, pointing their fingers and shouting as they spot you.

“Come on,” he urges and you slip on the helmet, facing back to see him swinging his leg over the bike and starting up the engine. He sits with your duffle slung around his neck in front of him, chin on his shoulder as he glances back just as you slide behind him.

“Hold tight.” He barely gives you enough time to circle your arms around his waist before he kicks off the curb. The bike roars to life and he speeds it away from the pavement, taking off down the street and into the night. Full of possibilities. You rest your head between his shoulder blades, unable to see the way his fingers tighten around the handle bars. Staring off to the side, you watch the night go by, road illuminated by street lights filtered through the rain, and your heart hammers at the adventure of it all.

The engine still purrs when it comes to a stop, now far enough away from danger. The rain has reduced to a drizzle and your heartbeat thunders within the fiberglass. You flip up the visor so he can hear you marvel,

“You stabbed him.” For you. He stabbed a man for you. And you think that’s why you kissed him.

“I know.”

“That was fucking metal.” His chuckle travels through his chest, so you can feel it in your own.

“I’m glad you think so.” ******* “So, where you headed?” he asks once he comes to the next stoplight. The smell of salt wafts in the air, tell tale sign of the beach.

“My hotel.” “Do you know the directions? I’m not google maps.”

You laugh against his back and tighten your hold around him. His muscles tense up beneath you. At this point, you think you’d let him take you anywhere, but you’re feeling bad about the kiss.

“You don’t have to take me all the way there. Just drop me off at a bus stop, it’s around here somewhere.”

“Buses don’t run this late.” You know for a fact that they do, but you don’t want to dispute him. Especially if it means you can hold onto him like this for just a little longer. Damn. You hated him just a little bit ago. Crazy how fast things can change in the blink of an eye.

“I’ll take a cab then.”

A rev of the engine fills a pause. “It’s late.”

“What?” He clears his throat, talks over his shoulder.

“I said it’s late. And it’s raining. I’ll just drop you off.” A spread of heat in your chest makes this chilly night a bit bearable.

“I thought you’d be itching to get away from me.”

“Yeah, you’d think,” he mutters, hanging his head, sounding dismayed. Or bitter.

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch. Trust me.”

“You just want gas money, huh?” He huffs and tosses his head back, strings of wet hair allowing you a glimpse of his undercut.

“Just give me the damn directions.”

******* All too soon, the venture comes to an end when he pulls into the lot of the beachfront hotel. Quietly, he parks and shuts off the engine and it takes you a second to come down from your rush and realize you’re still holding onto him when there’s no reason to anymore. You snap yourself out of your daze of wishful thinking that this night will never end and remove your arms, immediately missing his warmth and touch. A little too quickly you move off of the seat and he straightens as you stand, removing the helmet and you miss the way he watches you shake out your hair. When you meet his gaze, your heart starts racing again, butterflies multiplying beneath your diaphragm as he stares at you for a moment before glancing down to the helmet you hold out to him. He accepts it with a subtle nod and rests it in his lap while you internally panic, trying to find something not stupid to say so this whole ordeal with him doesn’t end.

“Well, thank you. I half-expected you to ditch me on the side of the road and ride off with my money.”

He leans forward with a soft snort, resting his wrists on the center of the bars, and your heart starts to do gymnastics at the notion that he finds you amusing because it gives you hope that he’s interested enough to not leave yet.

“I’m not that much of an asshole.”

“No, but you’re pretty close.”

“And yet you got on my motorcycle.”

“You told me to trust you and I do.”

“You just said you expected me to ditch you and take your money.”

“Half-expected,” you emphasize. “There’s always room for doubt.”

Just the corner of his mouth quirks up in a smile and you don’t want to see it leave.

“Speaking of room, do you have a place to stay?”

“Not around here,” he shakes his head, leaning back to stuff his hands in his jacket pockets. “But I have a friend across town who’ll let me crash, so I should probably get going.”

Tonight, with this man, has been an entire amusement park of emotions. From obscene attraction, to utter loathing, to being enlivened and now to just being plain disappointed. You don’t want to get off this ride just yet.

You squat down and drop your bag to the ground, digging into the front pocket for a pen and notepad. After you find one and rip out a page, you straighten and stride up to the bike without looking at him, writing down the number of your room. You fold it up once you’re done, passing it over, and watch him hesitate before accepting it.

“In case you change your mind,” you say, pointing at the page with your pen as you cap it. “Or if your friend doesn’t want a felon crashing on their couch.”

“And you wouldn’t mind a felon crashing with you?”

“I let a felon fuck me in a goddamn closet. What do you think?”

He holds your stare for a moment before a subtle smile breaks on his otherwise unreadable expression.

“Well, that’s good to know,” he says, shaking his head, and looks at the note for a second longer, then stuffs it in his jacket.

You sense an impending ‘but.’

“But-” You hate being right. “I think I’ll be okay. You should head inside, it’s starting to rain again.”

Not knowing what else to do besides stare at the ground and contemplate if you should write down your number too, you awkwardly hold out your hand, and then upon realizing how weird that is, quickly change your mind and retract it. Embarrassment flooding your cheeks, you reach down to snatch up your bag and turn around. You don’t wave, don’t say anything because what else is there to do? You don’t want to say it was nice to meet him because you’re still trying to figure out if it was, nor do you want to say ‘see you’ because you’re not sure if you ever will after this. 

You don’t look back, and as you head towards the main entrance where you can pick up your room key, the sound of the motorcycle revving into gear echoes around you and it’s only when it disappears in the distance do you turn around, wishing you weren’t watching him go. More like you were still on the back.

.

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thanks for reading!! let me know what you think! i love to yap!!

xxx - claret p.s. i wrote the poker scene after watching a ten-minute wiki-how video on how to play texas hold 'em lmao

masterlist

taglist: @rinkud @taegijns @viankiss @polarnightmyg @futuristicenemychaos

@busanbby-jjk @lixies-favorite-cookie

[steviewashere]

Little Town Bar Bathroom

Rating: Teen and Up CW: Minor vomiting in the beginning, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Use, Steve is tipsy for a good majority of this fic Tags: No Upside Down AU, No Supernatural Elements, Modern Setting AU, Hurt/Comfort, Mostly Comfort, Fluff, Bartender Eddie Munson, Tipsy Steve Harrington, It Starts in a Bar Bathroom, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Steve Harrington Has Self-Esteem Issues, Down on His Luck Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Countdown to New Years, First Kiss, Implied Getting Together, Happy Ending Also here on AO3, because this one is over 5k words 😬

🎆—————🎆 Working at a bar had its perks. There was a consistent stream of regulars that he constantly talked to. He could change up the specials menu whenever he wanted—adding his own flare to the mix, if he so pleased. Sometimes, he had reign over the music. And, more often than not, he was allowed a free drink by the end of his shift.

The downsides, however, were long and weary. Customers who didn’t know what they were ordering, who swore him to Satan’s asshole if he got something wrong, and tried to barge their way in with fake IDs (as if he wasn’t going to check them). Oftentimes, the bar was packed and too hot and made him sweat like nobody’s business—hell, his shower had a run for its money the other night from how pervasive his musk had been. The last major issue he had took place in the bathrooms.

Given that this is a bar he works at, the stalls often fill with every drunk imaginable. The quiet ones that need a moment to breathe, the guys who can’t keep their hands to themselves (who Eddie has to often throw out), a few who are completely sober and just there to piss, and then the oddball loner. But since they’re drunk—well, the bathroom is often the majority of their custodial staff’s paycheck. Eddie doesn’t handle all that vomit bullshit well, despite tending the very thing causing customers to do that.

It’s tonight, though—New Years Eve, forty minutes to midnight, forty minutes to 2023—that the very thing he hates leads him to the only thing he unconditionally loves. He’s cleaning up the spilled beer on his countertop when he gets the innate, incredible urge to pee. The bar is crowded, so he wrestles in another tender, and speeds away to the men’s restroom. Everything’s going according to plan, as much of a plan as there is when it comes to using a public bathroom, up until he hears it. Somebody in the stall adjacent to him, retching up their entire soul in the toilet bowl.

He winces, just finished drying his hands off, anxiety teeming like water about to boil over, and moves on autopilot to knock on the door. “Y’alright in there, man?” Looking at the bottom of the door, he spots only one pair of sneakers—some Nike Cortez that are roughed up and peeling, falling apart from how much they’ve been used—assuming is easy; the guy doesn’t have any buddies in the bathroom with him. “Noticing there’s nobody else but us in here right now,” Eddie comments. “Can I fetch somebody for you? Help you get home?”

The guy jerks with another sound, moaning miserably once he’s done. He flushes the toilet, but makes no other move. “Alone,” he musters, “she just left me here.”

Eddie bites his tongue. Failed New Years date. Oh, boy. He sighs quietly. “Do you, uh, have someone you can call? Or…uh, I could see if my manager’s free, she could order you a Lyft? They should be free tonight, considering everybody’s drinking.”

“I…I’ll be fine,” the stranger croaks, “been in here a while. I’m sobering. Barely had anything to drink, honest.”

“You think you’re done with the worst of it? Make your way outta the stall?”

“Why? So you can berate me for making a mess of your bathrooms?”

Jeez, this guy is defensive. “No, man. So that I could get you some water, a ride home, maybe some food?”

He groans in the stall, still hunched over the toilet. “Don’t wanna go back out there. Got a fucking headache, all the booze and shit will make it worse.”

Eddie rubs a tired hand over his forehead. “My shift’s over in literally five minutes. Would you…would you feel comfortable enough to go to the diner next door with me? I’ve got some Advil in my employee locker. And I could get you a cheeseburger.”

The guy goes completely quiet and still.

He goes to try and shimmy around with the door, maybe get it off its hinges or something, make sure he’s not choking or—

But then he sniffles softly. “That sounds really nice,” he says, “you’re really nice. What’s…what’s your name?”

“Eddie, and yours?”

“Steve,” he breathes. “Sorry I’m such a sack of crap. Wasting your time.”

“Mm, you’re making it easier for me to clock out, actually. Wasting my time would be somebody trying to return a drink that’s been remade correctly five times. That’s when somebody should be sorry.” He peers down at his watch, right on the money to clock out. “I’m gonna get myself out of the schedule and I’ll come back to get you, okay? We’ll just hang out at the diner. And…I’ve got Lyft on my phone, I’ll call you one when you’re feeling a bit better.”

“Okay,” Steve sighs. “I’ll be waiting.”

He makes a quick turn out of the bathroom, rushing back towards the break room before he can get caught and berated by the other bartender he left to attend to customers. It’s as easy as 1-2-3, punching out, putting away his apron, and grabbing for his things inside his locker. Thankfully, there’s still a bottle of Advil. Granted, there’s only enough for one dose and he typically needs to take one after his shift for his sore feet, but he’ll make do this one time. This one exception—Steve.

Once back in the restroom, the stall that Steve occupied is now empty. Though, standing at the sink and lazily washing his hands is probably the most gorgeous stranger Eddie’s ever seen. Blue jeans and a deep red sweater, hidden under a tattered, brown leather jacket. Lean and tall, broad shoulders, big hands; moles dotting every square inch of bare skin, pink lips, droopy hazel eyes, and a nose that could rival every statue masterpiece. Then, he makes direct eye contact with Eddie.

Caught out. Stilled. But then he chuckles awkwardly, trying to ease some sort of tension—a tension Eddie can’t see. “Managed to get away from the toilet,” he says, “room’s spinnin’ a little.”

Quickly, Eddie’s coming up beside him, placing his left hand on Steve’s back. “How much did you drink, man? Somebody should’ve cut you off.”

“Only a few shots and a beer,” Steve mutters. “Guess I’m more of a lightweight than I thought I was? I don’t know…don’t know…it’s been a while. Usually come here when I got someone to sit down with.” His head lolls back down towards his hands, scrubbing at them loosely under the water. There’s a tired, defeated, sad glint in his eyes. “Been striking out,” he mumbles, “people looking for…for situationships. I don’t even know…what does that mean? I wanted a date, not sex.”

Eddie sighs through his nose and eases his hand up and down the curve of Steve’s spine, petting him as if to soothe him. Which, he supposes, that’s exactly what he’s doing. It’s not the first time he’s met a person out of their luck, crying into their drink. But the look in Steve’s eyes physically hurts. It reopens a hot chasm inside of him, bubbling like magma.

“Just take a minute,” Eddie murmurs, “let the room settle.”

Steve nods, slow and tired. Heavy. “Sorry, Eddie. I swear I’m better than this.” There’s a flash of a smile at those words, one that falls away just as quick as it came. He sniffles again, wet and unmistakeable. “Gonna be ringing in the new year alone, though. And I’ve got a headache. But…hey, I met you. Highlight of my night.”

When he chances a new look of Steve’s face fully, Eddie notes the fresh tracks of tears staining ruddy red cheeks. He coos softly under his breath, pressing his hand more firmly into his back, and stretches out to grab a distant paper towel. The water is still streaming from the faucet, and so he dips the napkin’s edge into the warm pour. Gently, he shifts Steve to face him better and brings the damp corner to his cheeks, patting over the tracks, rejuvenating the color in Steve’s skin so that it all matches.

For a moment, he’s caught out by the still watering hazel eyes on him—damn gorgeous they are, even like this—but they blink at him and he feels it, the stretch of Steve’s small smile. He returns it, of-fucking-course he returns it.

“Let’s get you cheered up, baby,” Eddie says softly, “the sky’s too full of fireworks for you to be sad.”

His palm strokes over Steve’s back, a heavy sweep of warmth. There’s the lulling rise and fall of his lungs, each breath unwavering and strong now, and not as nasally as it had been only moments prior. A hand sets on Eddie’s left hip, secure where it rests, fingers tightening into his belt loops.

“You always hang out with random strangers from the bar?” Steve questions quietly. There’s a hint, a little bit of something coating those words. A tidbit of heartbreak, if he had to give a name to it.

This close, Eddie can smell the last dredges of alcohol on Steve’s breath. There’s also the scent of his cologne, even as stale as it’s gone when he’d been hunched over the toilet, but it lingers. Peppery and warm and decadent like a slice of apple pie from the diner next door. He’s already getting that Steve’s as sweet as one, just needs to be righted slightly so it stands tall on the center of the plate.

The next words out of his mouth are tender and quiet, “No,” Eddie whispers, “you’re the only one.”

Steve hums, soaking up just as pie crust does. His hand tightens again on Eddie’s side. And then he sways them, half-steps, knees knocking. The sink is still streaming and there’s red rimming Steve’s honey eyes. It’s all so private. It’s almost just theirs. 

“Saying I’m an exception?” Steve then murmurs. 

His words land like gentle pecks to Eddie’s lips. And they’re closer than before. And he’d let them get even closer, if there was room.

“Why, you wanna be?”

“Mhm,” Steve buzzes.

The restroom door opens, a foot sandwiched in the gap of their space and the entire world. Eddie doesn’t let go, even if he was supposed to. Steve does, wearily aware. He finds himself not disappointed, though, not even in the slightest.

“You wanna be an exception over burgers now? There’s apple pie, too.”

“Yeah, Eds”—and oh, how that makes his chest flutter something incredible, his heart a newborn bird eager to take flight—“I wanna be your exception.”

If he wasn’t intrigued and swooning before, he most definitely is now.

But as it is, he simply pats Steve on the back and leads him out towards the bar again. Zipping through crowds of girls and forcing his way between boys about to brawl. There’s beer spilling out onto his clothes, that he hopes isn’t getting on Steve’s—doesn’t want to tarnish the absolute darling beauty he’s managed to rescue from the swamps of a muggy bar bathroom. Though, maybe it’s unavoidable. Maybe it’s just what is meant to happen.

Because something about Steve, his hand gripped tight in Eddie’s, the bounce of his step, his glassy eyes and loose smile when Eddie looks over his shoulder—something about the Steve of it all feels as close to myth alive as he’s allowed to believe. And, well, if there are more than three religions and some people don’t believe in any of it at all, then he can hold onto whatever the hell he wants. If Steve at his heels, chest slamming into his back as the cold outside air finally whips them in the face, is destiny, then…Eddie finally believes in destiny.

When the bar’s doors slam behind them and they’re overcome with the noise of distant fireworks and cars rolling by on crowded asphalt, Eddie begins to let go. Though, Steve grips to his fingers a smidge tighter than before.

“Wow,” Steve breathes beside him.

Eddie looks to him. His profile. The sharp angle of his nose, droop of his eyes, and curve of his easy smile. He follows his gaze, up to the sky.

A spattering of stars, only broken by the even brighter bursts of twinkling fireworks. Pinks and yellows and whites travel stark across the sky, each ember firing like a shooting star going home. He places his right hand over his chest, the beating of his heart a tumultuous, daunting thing. And he sighs, panting a short breath—

Let me keep him, he wishes, after tonight, let me have him. Please?

Steve squeezes their hands together, fingers sprawling so they can intertwine. His palm is sweaty, he’s shaking slightly. He laughs, though, a sputtering, unbelievable sound. “Thank god I’m outta there,” he whispers. Eddie gazes at the stretch of his neck, how his Adam’s apple resettles after bobbing out each individual word. There’s moles dotting there, too. Constellations, even more wonderful than the stars above them.

At least, Eddie thinks so. Objectively, he’s correct. Won’t hear anybody else on the matter.

He sinks his teeth into his lower lip and turns his eyes back to the sky. “Yeah,” Eddie murmurs, “you can only take so much being cramped in there. Everything’s a little more…”

“Sobering?”

“Real,” he corrects. “Everything’s more real.”

Their fingers are pretzeled together still. And as if to punctuate Eddie’s point, Steve makes him feel the pressure of their hands. As if to say, “We’re a little more real out here, too.” He supposes they are. And he supposes the budding warmth in his sternum—where he’s believed his soul to be his whole life—is real, too.

Eddie blinks, watching white streaks dissipate through the sky. His stomach grumbles, though, and he’s reminded with a back-handed slap why they’re out here. There’s plenty of time to watch fireworks later, but he’s only got such staggering minutes with Steve. And he promised food.

Maybe it’s too honest and maybe it’s a lot stupid—considering Steve is still such a stranger, an enigma to his brain—but he’d promise a whole lot more if he was allowed.

For now, he starts to drag them towards the diner. Only met with minor resistance from Steve’s stance. He relents quickly, though. Following after Eddie like a lost, scruffy puppy. Through the next burst of fireworks, he hears Steve’s stomach give a low grumble, too.

The greasy air of the diner hits him in one strong gust. Salt and cheese and a sprinkling of cinnamon. Pink bubblegum, too, as a hostess greets them at the door and leads them to a booth in the back right corner of the restaurant. The vinyl must be sticky when Steve bounces onto it, grimacing as his fingertips stay stuck like paw-pads on ice. Eddie finds out a second later when he saddles in right across from Steve, collecting the menus from the edge of the table as the hostess struts away to her bored stool at the coffee counter.

He hands over one menu, Steve taking it from him gingerly. With a passing, soft, “Thanks.” His eyes fall to the plastic sheet in his hands, seemingly enthralled by everything there is to choose from.

Eddie already knows what he wants, choosing to gaze ahead.

There’s a tiny pout to Steve’s lips, subtle an gentle, but definitely present. He’s muttering under his breath, thumbs tracing down the margins of the menu, half-formed sentences like, “Cheeseburger…tomatoes…lettuce—hmph—bacon optional, sounds good.” Steve takes the sleeve of his jacket and brings it up under his nose, wiping hastily at its tip. His face isn’t puffy or red anymore, just tinged with exhaustion. Even like this, slumped over a menu and recovering ever so slowly from the cold that had seeped into their bones and the roller coaster of emotions that had worked through their combined blood, Steve’s beauty is magnetic. But his thinking face? His consideration? His marveling wonder outside?

Aside from his looks, the rest of him still draws Eddie in.

Or maybe Eddie’s easier than he thought he was.

Or…or…Eddie knows what he wants.

“Oh, shit,” Steve breathes, “they’ve got fucking onion rings.”

“They’re pretty good,” Eddie amends.

Steve slams his menu to the surface of the table, hands spread, eyes wide insistently. “Of course they’re fucking good! They’re onion rings!” he softly exclaims. “Ooo, get ‘em with barbecue sauce and a Dr. Pepper? That right there is the champion of all meals.”

“Is that what you want?”

The menu’s picked up again. “Mmm…it does sound good…nah,” Steve says, eyes intense on the choices, “I’m still lookin’.”

Eddie snorts indignantly and greets their waitress. Ordering a basket of onion rings for the table, a couple waters, and a Dr. Pepper for “The man of the hour” with a half-gesture at Steve still muttering under his breath. It’s endearing how long it takes for Steve to finally settle on something, even if their combined grumbling stomachs get louder and louder, roaring over the tinny television in the opposite corner to their booth.

“You better pick something soon, else Anderson Cooper’s gonna blackout before the ball drops,” he gently teases, head nodding to the television. Steve looks to it, snorts, and glances back down at the menu. “I could also just pick something for you, if you’re too indecisive?”

“Chicken tenders,” Steve decides, “with crispy fries and a side of ranch.”

“Are you twelve?”

“Hey,” he objects defensively. “I happen to be a man of taste, thank you very much. It just so happens that I’ve got a young soul ’s’all.”

Eddie hums, face betraying him as it splits with a shining smile. Jeez, this guy is endearing. He leans over the table a bit, resting his chin in his hand; Steve mirrors him, smirking. Soft and low, he asks, “You still got a headache, Stevie?”

“Yeah,” Steve sighs. “It’ll probably stick with me tomorrow morning. Which sucks. I should’a left the bar as soon as my date stormed off. Would’a saved me a lot of trouble.”

But then you wouldn’t have met me, he wants to say, and that would suck worse.

“I’ve got Advil when the water comes. It’s the last dose in the bottle, but it should help. And also the Dr. Pepper. Caffeine might be good.”

“I don’t wanna take the last of your pills, man. You probably need it more than I do. Been working all day on your feet, I’m sure.”

He merely shrugs. “Yeah, well…I wanna help you. It’ll bring me some comfort if I can make you feel even a bit better, y’know?” Steve doesn’t say anything to that. Just looks at him like a confused, lost dog. Like he’s being offered scraps from a hand that doesn’t shake when he sniffs it. “But if it really bothers you,” Eddie continues, “then we can figure out a way for you to make it up to me.”

Steve cozies deeper into his hand, blinking long at Eddie. “That sounds good,” he breathes. “Say the word…”

“We’ll figure it out before you go home, okay? Not something for you to worry about now.” He fishes the bottle of Advil from his pants’ pocket and opens it swiftly, spilling the tablets into the well of his palm. Steve’s other hand is flopped over on the table, atop his menu, relaxed. Eddie places the pills in his hand and closes his fingers. No argument. “After you eat, I’ll order your Lyft. And then…maybe I can get your number?” He’s cautious about the conversation, though the words hit him at once. Failed date, New Years Eve, situationship. Eddie rushes to add,  “Just so that you can text me when you get home safely, that’s all. Don’t…I don’t wanna come off as, like, preying on you or something. Y’know, after the whole…Yeah. Just. Wanna make sure you get home safe.”

As soon as the breath rushes out of him, it’s like Steve breathes it in, responding with a syrupy, tired giggle fit. His hand fists the Advil tablets tighter. A flush colors his skin, travels down his neck as he loses himself to his laughter. The stretch of his smile and sprawl of his giggles make his nostrils flare. And Eddie doesn’t know how, after seeing the same on so many other guys, but the way Steve’s face simply moves with his joy stirs something in him. Awakes a part that had been hiding in a seemingly unending hibernation.

Shit.

Catching his breath and wiping the tears from the corners of his eyes, Steve resettles. Breathes, “You were so worried!”

“I was!” Eddie exclaims. He makes a dramatic show of crossing his arms over his chest, pouting his lips. “I didn’t wanna overstep. It’d be un-gentlemanly of me.”

“Oh,” Steve sighs, breath finally caught. There’s a big, goofy smile on his face still. His eyes glassy with—what Eddie assumes to be—happy tears. “You’ve already treated me way better than ninety percent of the dates I’ve been on, man. Don’t worry about…about being careful when asking for my number.” He rests in his palm again, his posture growing tired, slumping into the table. “I was gonna give it to you anyway.”

“Ninety percent? Who the hell do I need to fight?”

“People who are…unimportant and too full of themselves? I don’t know, Eds, it doesn’t matter. I’ll probably just…I don’t know,” Steve murmurs. He shrugs half-heartedly again. “I’m gonna go home after this and go to bed, wake up with a raging headache, and probably wish that you were still sitting across from me. Feel like you’d know how to make it better.”

Eddie hums. “Well,”—he positions himself better, sitting up in his seat and folding his hands on the table—“tonight, I’m gonna make sure you ring in the New Year happier than you are right now. And then, when you get home, you’ll text me that you did. I’ll tell you to have a goodnight’s sleep. In the morning, when you wake up, I’ll text you again, ask if you want some coffee. Maybe, if you’re comfortable, I could bring it over to your place and we could have a simple breakfast?”

“You’d do that?”

“If you want me to.”

Steve goes silent, noticeably contemplative. His eyes adrift to the table. In the mean time, Eddie orders their food and passes over the drinks when they arrive. He nudges Steve to take his pills and points out something that Anderson Cooper’s doing on the television.

But he doesn’t bring up tomorrow morning, not right now at least.

Because maybe he’s overstepping this. He’s putting himself in a position Steve doesn’t want him in. Only thirty minutes ago, they were complete strangers in a bathroom bar, groaning and grumbling at each other for being so defensive and combative. Maybe Steve’s got a friend waiting for him back home? Waiting to let him back inside and take care of him in the secret way only true friends know how.

They aren’t anything more than mere acquaintances. No matter how many half-lidded flirty glances Steve passes his way. No matter how many times Eddie’s eyes wander to Steve’s mouth as he gobbles down his serving of onion rings, a wish ringing out in his head, words caught star-bound in his throat, admiring.

He’s allowed to admire.

Not allowed to have, though.

And maybe he won’t ever get there. This will be it. A late night dinner, wishing Happy New Years, jokes tossed across the table like clumsy frisbees taking flight, and an aching in his chest. Feelings blooming in his sternum so suddenly, so abrasively, they’re thorns staggered sharp into his lungs. 

He breathes, his chest seizes, and the whiff of Steve’s stale cologne burrows inside him. He blinks, his eyebrows shoot up his forehead, and Steve’s strong shining summer smile brands to the deep crevices of Eddie’s brain. He laughs, their giggles blend, and the process starts all over again.

Is this what sunflowers feel like? Soaking up the sun, all that they can, and then begin the brittle early death of wilting into oneself? They have to wait so long to be born again.

Eddie doesn’t want this to be a one time thing, dead in the middle of winter, dead before it could be alive.

Steve will have his number, though. He’ll have a weakened headache in the morning now that he’s had some caffeine and begun processing a couple Advil. From there, though, the future is possible, but unseen. He’s not sure if he’s even something Steve could be looking for.

Wishful thinking, he tells himself, hopeful wishing.

“Dude, try this!”

He blinks back to himself, presented with a chicken tender thrusted into his face. It’s dripping in ranch, so Steve’s hand is cupped underneath it, trying to save the table. Eddie gapes, looking to Steve’s face.

The chicken tender is pushed into his space harder. “These are the best tenders I’ve ever had in my fucking life, and I need you to support me on this. Try it.”

At Steve’s request, he gingerly takes a bite. For some odd reason, he finds himself holding their intent and intense eye contact, unwavering. It’s just a chicken tender, nothing to write home about. Not like it tastes any different than the ones he can pick up from the Dairy Queen by his apartment, but if Steve’s saying it’s the best one he’s had…

“That’s pretty fuckin’ bomb, Stevie,” he says. It’s not a complete lie, but it’s not the complete truth. But it does earn him bright eyes and warm cheeks, a side by side dance in the booth across from him, and a pleased little grin. So…maybe these chicken tenders are the best, especially if they get a pretty boy like Steve to look at him like that.

“Told you,” Steve says around his next bite—half of a chicken tender and two folded onion rings. “You ever dip ‘em in gravy, though? That would blow away your socks, blow up your mind, and suck your dick.”

“You, uh, you really don’t fuck around when it comes to chicken tenders, do you?”

“I don’t fuck around with anything. I’m a set-in-stone kind of guy.”

The seriousness in his tone makes Eddie involuntarily choke on air, his eyes drifting away, flush high on his cheeks. He takes a few, quiet bites of his cheeseburger. It’s mediocre and spilling with grease, the bun is stale and the ketchup is weirdly cold, but he savors it. At least it isn’t another basket of tortilla chips and jarred salsa from the bar—he’d probably rip out his own stomach if he had to eat any more of those.

Steve tries to offer him another chicken tender, but Eddie pushes it back gently towards him. Tries not to coo over the soft, sad pout that the gesture earns him. “It’s your food,” he says, “I wanna make sure you eat it, sweetheart. You need it more than me.”

“But I wanna share it with you.”

“Stevie,” he murmurs, “I’ve already got my”—

He’s offered the chicken again. With a very forceful, “Take a bite. You worked for hours, I can tell from how tired you seem, and I want to share this with you.” And then—the bastard—adds a puppy-eyed pout to say, “Please? It would help me feel better.”

Eddie sighs dramatically, leaning forward and taking another bite. He raises his eyebrows, gazing at Steve as he rescinds his food offering. “Happy now?”

Steve nods, smiling as he does so. “Very.” He pops a fry in his mouth and crunches down on it, his grin as big as the Cheshire Cat’s. And then, his focus goes back on his basket of food, none the wiser to Eddie’s openly affectionate adoration.

He forces himself to look away, to stop getting caught up on the Steve of it all, this night. Probably one of the best New Years Eves he’s ever had. Eddie takes a deep breath, though, and looks to the television.

Forty seconds to midnight.

How’d their night drive by so damn fast?

“You gonna count down with me?” Eddie asks, interrupting the lull of silence that filled between them.

“Mm, among one other thing, yeah.”

“What other”—

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve quickly adds, dropping his food into his basket, “how much time do we have?”

“Fifteen seconds.”

He watches Steve wipe his fingers on a nearby napkin, counting aloud with “Fourteen.”

And as the numbers go down, Steve pushes himself closer over the table. Eddie can only match with him.

Ten.

This close, Steve no longer smells like his cologne. Just barbecue sauce and onion rings, the grease from chicken tenders, and a lighter thing that he can’t quite place. Something happy, whatever it is.

Eight.

“Anyone ever tell you that you have nice eyes, Stevie?”

“Don’t think anybody’s really taken notice.”

“Well…”—Eddie breathes gently—“you have really nice eyes.”

Five.

Steve slides his hand across the table, gripping for Eddie’s left. Their fingers tangle, pretzeled together. Warm, even there. His smile is warmer, though, and Eddie begins melting at the sight of it. He wonders if Steve is thinking the same thing.

Three.

“Two,” Eddie breathes.

He squeezes their hands. “One,” Steve sighs. And with it, he surges the last few inches over the table, pulling Eddie towards him, planting a delicate kiss on his lips. It doesn’t carry longer than a couple seconds, but it lingers. Lingers like the decadent, sweet scent of apple pie. They’ll have to get slices before parting.

The diner fills with cheers, whoops and hollers. There’s a burst of multi-colored light outside, painting the left side of Steve’s face with pinks and blues and yellows. Maybe it’s all so cliche. Maybe Eddie tripped and fell, went into some head trauma-induced coma where he can only dream of a picture perfect world waiting for him.

But Steve squeezes his hand again, fingernails pinching into his soft skin.

Eddie knows he’s awake.

The haziness has cleared from Steve’s eyes, replaced with romantic determination. And Eddie knows he must be mirroring something like that, too.

“Happy New Years, Steve.”

“Happy New Years, Eddie,” he murmurs—the breath ghosts over Eddie’s lips, close enough to kiss them—“best night I’ve had in a really long while, thank you.”

He wants to kiss him again, so he does. Gentle and quick, sweetly though, and drenching.

If a night could last forever, he’d pick this one right here.

“My pleasure,” he says and means it to the core of his soul.

“Can I take you up on that coffee tomorrow? I have donuts back home, we could make a morning of it.”

Eddie swallows, sure that Steve hears him. His palm sweats and the thing inside him, stirring and rolling the whole night, is finally, finally alert. “Of course, sweetheart”—it fills him with giddy pride the way that nickname brings a flush to Steve’s cheeks—“what time?”

“I’ll call you when I’m ready. I wanna hear your morning voice.”

“You flatter me.”

Steve raises their joined hands to his lips, kissing the back of Eddie’s. His lips are sticky, somehow, but sweet. The next time they kiss, he hopes Steve tastes like pie. “Good,” Steve whispers, “you deserve to be flattered now.”

And maybe it wasn’t the most romantic start to their relationship…

But Eddie wouldn’t have it any other way.

🎆—————🎆

[joelswritingmistress]

Neighbors With Benefits: Chapter 11 (Joel Miller x f!reader)

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 2500

Warning: Mild smut/fluff

You were back to bliss. Loving Joel had you high as a kite and light as a feather. You might as well have skipped your way around that afternoon leading up to your planned night away with him.

Since you didn't have to lie to your mother anymore, at least not fully, you took your time packing your things for the night before heading out the door. Joel was already out on the course with your father, and so all that was left for you to do was check in. With your father occupied, also playing golf, you figured checking in to the room would be a safe bet.

Your heart rate picked up when you drove through the parking lot of the hotel, knowing the golf course was adjacent to it. For good measure, you tossed on a pink and blue netted ball cap and hurried inside with your duffle bag slung over one shoulder. You caught a quick glimpse of yourself in the door’s reflection and decided you did good by wearing a cute but casual blue and yellow checkered, button down dress.

As you approached the front desk a middle-aged woman smiled. “Checking in?” She asked.

You nodded. “The room should be under Joel Miller and (Y/N).” You couldn't help but couple yourself with him. It was like a personal badge of honor to broadcast that you two were together - even if it was just to one stranger.

“Looks like you're already paid in full,” the woman explained, “Can I just see some ID, please?”

You nodded and retrieved your drivers license from your purse and eagerly handed it over.

“Thank you.” She glanced at your photo, typed a few things into her computer and handed it back. “Would you like both cards, or will Mr. Miller be by to pick his up?”

“I'll take both cards and just let him know I've arrived,” you decided on the spot.

“You got it.” She shoved both key cards into a white, paper sleeve and handed them to you. “Room 612. Elevators are around this corner. Breakfast tomorrow goes from seven to ten and there are fitness rooms on every floor. Pool is on ground level and the bar in the lounge is open until midnight.”

“Thank you!” You smiled, readjusted your bag and hurried around the corner to the elevators.

..

“Thanks for inviting me, Tim.” Joel exchanged a handshake with your father and the two of them chipped away at the bottom halves of their beers.

“Of course.” He gave a nod. “I hope you and the Mrs. can work things out. My wife says Cecille moved back in.”

Joel cleared his throat and took a swig from his beer. “She.. she's back in the house but we're not..” he shook his head, “..we're not getting back together.”

“Oh.” Your father's eyebrows raised, “Well, I'm sorry to have mis-spoke.”

“It's fine.”

He shook his head. “No, I shouldn't have said anything.”

“It's fine,” Joel assured him. “Cecille just decided to drop back in with no notice.” He added, “So, I appreciate the hotel room. You didn't have to do that.” There was guilt that rested on Joel's shoulders, knowing Tim’s daughter was accompanying him overnight.

“You're a good man,” Tim went on, adding insult to injury. “If you need anything from us, let Jen or I know.”

“Thank you.” Joel's smile faded a bit and he masked it by the bottle. He knew his feelings for his neighbor’s only daughter were real; but he was fairly certain that Tim wouldn't see it that way.

Fuck.

“We’re having that picnic tomorrow,” your father reminded Joel as the two of them hopped into the golf cart that would lead them back to the club. “Feel free to stop by and have a beer and a burger.”

“Sounds good.”

Your father cruised the golf cart the short distance back and Joel helped him load his clubs into the trunk of his car. The men parted ways with a handshake as Joel thanked him again for the room.

“I hope you get things sorted out,” your father said with a nod. He gave a wave and slunk into the driver’s seat before driving away as the sun began to creep below the trees.

Joel loaded his car and scooted around the corner to the posh, little hotel that was tucked into the trees and overlooked the course. He made his way inside, checked in at the front desk and made his way up to room 612.

Butterflies made home in your stomach when you heard the door to the hotel room click open. You were about to rise to your feet to greet Joel, though he made his way into the room before you could.

A smile bloomed on your face when your eyes locked. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Joel grinned back and shrugged his bag off his shoulder to the floor.

“How was golf?”

“Fine.” He stood at the foot of the bed with his hands on his hips.

“Did my dad shoot for par?” You snickered but saw Joel couldn't quite smile. “What's wrong?”

Joel rounded the bed and sat down on the side of it, placing a hand gently on your ankle. You knew he couldn't help it when he leaned in and kissed you. It made you smile into the kiss.

He pulled back just an inch or two. “I feel bad for lying to your parents about all this.”

“It's not exactly a lie,” you reminded him.

Joel's eyes remained set on yours. He sighed and let his thumb dance along your ankle bone. “He comped me the room.” He began to shake his head and then looked back up.

You toyed with his hair and then rested a hand on the side of his face. “You might be the best man I've ever met.” You meant it, seeing the guilt in Joel's eyes.

“A good man wouldn't…” He shrugged.

“Joel,” you said, making his eyes meet yours again. “We’re not doing anything wrong. I get that we're neighbors, and that you're friendly with my parents, but I'm an adult.. and I love you. There's nothing wrong with what we're doing.”

Joel never looked away. His hand snaked up your calf, and he began to run his hand up and down the area. He tipped the corner of his lips up in a half-smirk. “You make a solid argument.”

You pulled him back to you, kissing him a little firmer. “As soon as I land my first real job I'm moving out,” you added, “And then you can come over to my place guilt free whenever you want.” You guided him down on top of you on the bed.

Joel’s tongue penetrated your lips and your arms wrapped around his back. “Then we wouldn't be neighbors anymore,” he whispered with a little laugh, making you smile against him.

As your hands pushed up at the back of his shirt, Joel aided your pursuit of him and ducked out of it. He hovered above you, locking his arms in place on either side of where you laid.

“I was going to take you to dinner first,” Joel said in all honesty while still smirking down at you.

“I say we do it all backwards tonight.” Your hand rested on his forearm. “Sex, dessert then dinner.”

Joel huffed a laugh. “Well, I usually don't put out unless my meal’s paid for, honey.”

You laughed a little louder, pushing yourself partway up and resting your hands behind you. Your lips were only an inch or so from his.

“If you really want to take me to dinner first I'll let you.”

Joel never broke eye contact as his fingers reached for the top button of your dress and undid it. He then did the same with the second and the third until you were able to easily shrug your shoulders out of the top of it.

Neither of you said anything else. You accepted a long, sensual kiss from Joel as your hand made home on the side of his face.

You couldn't get enough of him. You wanted to feel the weight of Joel's body. You wanted him inside of you - all the time. You wanted to watch the expression on his face and feel his breaths against your neck. Every moment of intimacy left you feeling needy and satisfied all at once.

When you felt him fill you, your breath became short. You had waited for this all afternoon - as if you hadn't just been with him in your parents’ kitchen earlier in the day. Still, it felt too long.

Joel’s fist gripped the pillow as his other pulled up on the back of your thigh. He nudged your legs apart wider with his knee and drove himself deeper into you.

“Fuck,” you whimpered the word and it motivated him to repeat the movement again and again. “Joel.” You wanted him so badly.

Your legs pressed firmly into the outsides of his, securing him between your legs as if to tell him never to stop. And he didn't; not until he was a sweaty, panting mess on top of you, groaning out as much of your name as he could manage as he buried himself in you a final time.

Fuck. There was something euphoric about watching Joel orgasm. Not only watching but feeling him in that moment. The muscles tensed in his back and shoulders, you could feel it beneath your palms. It was erotic and hot and made you fall deeper and deeper for him. You were a Joel Miller addict.

Your lips pressed together and Joel hummed a moan into your mouth. He rocked his hips gently into you a final couple of times before letting his head fall on the pillow beneath you.

Your eyes flickered open and you eyed the ceiling, still clinging to him as he remained dormant inside of you. Your breathing steadied and you swallowed hard. Before Joel you always thought sappy moments to be corny and unrealistic. While you still wouldn't label yourself as the lovey dovey type, you couldn't help but whisper to him.

“I love you, Joel.” You felt it fiercely and fully. Since first meeting Joel, you were a changed woman.

He lifted his head and planted a firm kiss on your lips, making your eyes close again. Joel then pecked your lips several times in a row. “I fucking love you,” he said in an enthusiastic whisper.

Dessert and dinner were halted by your lust for one another. After a short intermission littered with pillow talk and gentle touches, Joel pulled you on top of him for another round of love-making followed by an aftercare shower together.

When the two of you were finally seated in a dark corner of the hotel lounge, you were still fully flushed and glowing.

Joel's hand topped yours on the table and he smirked across the way, highlighting a set of boyish dimples. “Dessert first,” he reminded you.

Your finger traced over the back of the menu. “Something decadent.”

“You already had that,” he teased, still grinning behind his menu.

“I'll require an encore,” you said back, making him laugh.

“You may be the death of me.”

“I'll be gentle.”

The two of you shared a laugh before ordering a pair of espresso martinis and two pieces of what appeared to be a rich, chocolate cake. When the dessert arrived, it didn't disappoint.

Joel forked a bite of his own and extended an arm across the table, slipping a bite into your mouth. “Decadent?” He asked.

“Very.” You raised your martini glass as you finished the bite. “To..”

“Us,” Joel finished when you didn't.

You smiled. “To us.” You tapped your glass against his. “And tackling the obstacles together.”

“I'm glad I have you in my corner, baby. It's been a long time since I've felt that way.” He took a sip, prompting you to do the same, and then you leaned across the high top table to leave a chaste kiss on his lips.

“I'll always be in your corner.”

Joel's eyes never left yours. “I know.”

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

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[sukirichi]

togame jo x gn! reader | drabble

；746 wc

；just a lil something for him <3 gn! reader but togame says we have a pretty face + reader wears glasses

In the bustling sessions of classes between 45 minute breaks, and the afternoon rush, you found yourself in a predicament. You’d already told yourself crossing the nearby town wasn’t the greatest idea. It was a good fifteen minute walk away, and if you were lucky enough ― which you weren’t ― the line at your favorite cafe wouldn’t be too long. Clearly, such luck was not on your side. Not only did your professor dismiss you late, but the cafe was packed to the brim when you arrived. You had approximately twenty more minutes to run back if you wanted to reach your next class.

You sighed internally. The things you’d do for good coffee.

Fumbling through your bag for your ID, you were unaware of the world around you. Your glasses, perched precariously on the edge of your nose, threatened to slip off with every hurried movement.

“Whoa, whoa!” A voice cut through the cacophony of city sounds and your ragged breathing, and before you could react, a collision sent your glasses tumbling to the ground. Panic seized you as you heard the unmistakable sound of your glasses hitting the pavement ― the world before you becoming a big, indistinguishable blur.

“Shit,” you exclaimed, crouching down in a frantic search. Your vision was a blur without the lenses, and your hands fumbled over the rough concrete.

“Oh. Damn. Here, let me help.”

The voice was back, closer now, and gentle hands joined yours in the search. Together, you scoured the ground, fingers brushing against each other in the race to find the lost glasses. You cleared your throat every time your skin brushed against the stranger’s. Their hands were large, almost like paws, with rough, calloused palms. Even his voice was deep, a little gravelly, like he’d just woken up.

After what felt like an eternity, a soft “aha!” echoed as the stranger triumphantly retrieved the glasses. “‘Believe this is yours.”

You let out a relieved sigh, taking the glasses with trembling hands. “Thank you so much,” you managed, your heart still racing from the unexpected chaos. Cup of coffee in your other hand, you were thankful you hadn’t dropped that, otherwise the entire trip to this part of the city would be a complete, utter waste.

The stranger chuckled softly. “No problem at all. You okay?”

“Yeah, just a bit shaken.” You pushed your glasses back into place, finally able to see clearly. When your eyes focused on the person beside you, a jolt of surprise ran through your body ― akin to being zapped awake.

Whoa.

The stranger was stunning. He had a disarming smile, warm eyes that crinkled at the corners, and an effortless charm that made your heart skip a beat. He was tall, and had broad shoulders ― so wide and square he completely shielded the view behind them. On those muscles lay a yellow jacket with white outlines, matching his golden-tinted glasses that did little to hide his mischievous ― and amused ― gaze.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he said, voice laced with genuine concern. “I should have been more careful.”

“It’s alright,” you replied, feeling warmth trail upwards your neck. Nervous, you begin fiddling with your glasses, looking at anywhere but him. “I wasn’t paying attention either."

The handsome stranger grinned, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "Well, now that we’ve survived the great glasses debacle, ‘think I can have your name?”

Your grip on the coffee tightened, heart beating fast even without the caffeine. You tell him your name, and bite your lip, hesitant yet pushed by curiosity. “And yours?”

“Jo,” he drawls out in that appealing, lazy manner. “Togame Jo. I don’t think I’ve seen you around here though. ‘Would’ve recognized a pretty face like that if I did.”

You blow out a puff of air from your cheeks. Was it suddenly feeling hot in here? Yes, it was ― no, it didn’t. Togame Jo looked comfy enough in his jacket to feel the heat.

“I’m not from here. I’m from the other side ― I just come by here for coffee.”

“Ah, from Furin,” he nods to himself, smirking one last time before turning away with a mock-salute. “Come by again, stranger. Maybe I’ll be the one buying you coffee next time I see you.”

Pushing your glasses back up to your nose, you search for your phone through your bag and mark the next break you’d have ― a coffee date with Togame Jo.

This time around, you’ll make sure to not drop your glasses.

[makethemhoesmad]

close to you

paigey🫶

might have a part two, might not

enjoy!

—

I don't got a single problem with provocative

it had been a while since i’d been out. i haven’t wanted to look good, pretty, slutty, in months. tonight was different. nothing had happened, exactly. one thing just lead to another, then i called my friends and here we are, driving out to somewhere i always forget the name of.

See the bodies, how they burn, it's just the way it is

there are so many people here, all packed together like sardines. i brush hips and arms and hands with people, not remembering their faces, names, or voices when they try to apologize softly, but end up shouting in my face.

Smoky, dark, crowded room

it’s dark here, too. the air feels almost hazy, but that might just be me. i can’t find my friends, but i think i catch a glimpse of one of them far on the other end of the room, their blonde hair looking almost too bright for the atmosphere.

I need nothing under pink light in June

i don’t need my friends here, with me. not under the haze, the sweat, the loud music. who i thought was my friend turns around, face in a rare glimmer of pink spotlight, letting me realize that this blonde woman isn’t someone i know. however, as my eyes skate down her body, noting toned abs and defined biceps, i find myself thinking that maybe id like her to be someone i know.

I was so cool, but then, all of a sudden

You saw me look at you

i guess i stare at this mystery girl too long, because she turns, making eye contact with me. i let out a short, audible gasp, flinching away immediately. i shouldn’t have. i should have looked right into those blue eyes until she was interested enough to come and talk to me.

I burn for you, and you don't even know my name

i don’t do that. i look away, face burning. this is fucking embarrassing. she doesn’t even know my name, i’m pretty sure i don’t know hers but there’s a nagging feeling in the back of my mind that i should. i glance that way again, to see her gone. i’m almost disappointed, until a flash of blonde appears right next to me, and the body carrying it snakes an arm around my waist.

If you asked me to, I'd give up everything

“Hey ma, haven’t seen you here in ages.”

you stutter at her words. she remembers you coming here other times? you barely remember your last time here, why should a stranger know that?

“Haven’t been here in ages, but how would you know that?” i question, batting my eyes up at her. she’s quite a bit taller than me. taller than the average, that’s for sure.

“i’ve seen you, baby, and ill always notice when a cute girl is here wandering around, looking a bit too intimidating.” with her words, she pulls me closer to her, then starts walking through the crowd, and pulls me out the door.

“too hot in there for you, sweetie?” i nudge at her, smirking playfully. she winks, sending a straight shot of heat right down to a place that shouldn’t be hot right now.

“nah, jus’ wanted to ask if you wanted to come home with me out here, where i can hear you better.”

To be close to you

no is probably the smart answer, but for some reason, my mouth keeps moving.

“you see, i’d say yes but i don’t even know your name. wanna start there, or should i just call you sweetheart and we go from there?” 

when the nickname tumbles from my lips, her eyes glaze over just the slightest. 

“paige.” she says. i tell her my name, and she drags me to her car. she leans over me, presumably to open to passenger seat. instead, she slots her lips against mine, letting out a quiet whimper when my mouth opens. i reach back, opening the door and letting us tumble in. she pulls me onto her lap, moving my hips into a heavy grind through our clothes. i groan against her lips, the sensations making my eyes roll back.

“you like that, baby?” She huffs into my ear. i respond by tucking my face into her chest, while rucking up her shirt. she’s wearing nothing under the thin cropped tank. 

i lean down even further, taking one of her nipples into my mouth. i moan around it, as paige speeds up her work on my hips. suddenly, she stops. she climbs over the center console into the drivers seat, then pulls me into a seated position.

“what are you doing, sweetheart?” i say. she seems to like the name still, because her tongue juts out to wet her bottom lip. 

“taking you to my place. wanna watch you come undone on my tongue, ma.”

[bumblesimagines]

I thought about you every night.

I never got your name.

You looke different in daylight.

Cate Dunlap

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

TW/CW: Typical Gen V warnings, drinking, mentions of drugs and drug usage, brief sexual content and i am heavy on the brief

I will always support her rights and wrongs

"So, Andre," Luke drawled as he picked up a glass of champagne, his eyes sweeping over the packed room full of their fellow classmates, school staff, and parents. Another fancy event the university hosted where they pretended they weren't forcing an even more competitive energy onto their students by inviting rich sponsors and alumni with hefty connections. "Where is this friend of yours you keep talking about?"

"He-" Andre subtly wiped the white residue from his nostrils. "-should be right around... here!" He lifted his hand and wiggled his fingers, a big boyish smile stretching across his face.

Jordan rolled their eyes and swiped a cup of whiskey from a distracted guest, swallowing down the contents in two gulps. Cate giggled softly when they scrunched up their face, a soft 'ugh' sound leaving them as they set the cup back down. They wiped their mouth with the sleeve of their button-up, a quiet snort leaving them when they noticed the puzzled look on the guest's face. Cate giggled under her breath, gently bumping her hip against theirs.

"Finally, man! I thought you got lost." Andre gave a hearty laugh and reached past Cate to tug someone by her, eagerly pulling them into his side. Cate's attention jumped away from Jordan to look at the new face, only to realize she very much recognized the 'stranger' when she fully drank him in. Oh, shit. Her body tensed, eyes slowly widening as realization dawned on her. Andre patted his friend's chest happily, giving his shoulders a light shake. "Guys, meet our newest transfer. This asshole and I go way back. I mean, shit, we knew each other when we were in diapers, right?" 

"We sure did." His friend responded, gaze lingering on Cate and lips pulling into a lazy smirk that made her skin buzz alight with heat that spread through her body and left goosebumps behind in its wake. Her gut coiled violently, her gloved fingertips digging into the skin of her arms.

Cate watched with an amused smile as Andre and Luke clung to each other in a drunken mess of sloppy dancing and proclamations of love that ended with 'bro' and 'man'. Jordan cackled from their spot beside Cate, one hand clutching their stomach while the other held their recording phone in hand, no doubt with the idea of tormenting the two with the video whenever possible. 

"I'm going to get another drink," Cate called into their ear and stood up from her seat, giggling as she maneuvered her way around Andre and Luke before slipping in further into the crowd of clubgoers. She ducked and weaved through the sea of people until she finally reached the bar, resting her arms over it and slipping her hand free from her silk glove. 

The bartender squinted at her as she made a drink, likely planning on asking for her ID as expected. She reached over the bar and set the drink down in front of a young man, her eyes sliding away to smile at him. "Enjoy." Cate reached out, wrapping her fingers around her wrist and pulling the bartender's attention back onto her, her fingers beginning to tingle and a hazy look appearing over the bartender's eyes.

"You're going to get me a rum and coke because you don't care about my age, right?" 

"I don't care about your age." The bartender responded robotically and stepped away to begin making her drink, the hazy look disappearing. Cate leaned back and scooped her glove up, tucking her hand back into it and brushing some of her golden hair over her shoulder. 

"Neat party trick." A voice rumbled beside her and she looked at the young man in surprise, her lips parting to quickly fish out her usual line of 'I don't do it often' or 'I swear it's not a habit' but he simply shrugged at the slightly panicked look on her face. To her surprise, she watched him morph into her, copying her from head to toe and making it feel as if she were gazing into a mirror. "Cheers," The sound of her voice coming out of someone else's mouth unnerved her but she stared at him in pure awe.

"You're a... a supe?" She blinked and he morphed back into himself, giving another light shrug in response. "I haven't met anyone who can shapeshift like that before."

He grinned at her. "Well, now you have."

"Hey, man." Luke smiled warmly, completely unaware of the whirlwind going on his girlfriend's head. He stuck out his hand toward him and gave him a good, firm handshake. Cate's throat felt abnormally dry and she finally tore her eyes away from Andre's friend to snatch a cup of champagne from the table beside them, swallowing it down in a large gulp that had Jordan's brows furrowing. "I'm Luke Riordan. This asshole is Jordan and this is my girlfriend, Cate."

"Hi," Cate whirled around to face him, quickly licking away a droplet of champagne from the corner of her lip and offering a polite smile as if she hadn't been thinking of the night they met. "We never got your name, did we?" She cocked her head to the side, lips pressing tightly together when Jordan continued to stare into the side of her head.

"(Y/N)." 

(Y/N). She finally had a name to the face that followed her for weeks, consuming her thoughts and dreams nearly every day. She loved Luke but with each passing day, she found that love morphing into a mixture of guilt and resentment. She was the leash Shetty used to control Luke, to ensure he'd remain the submissive and agreeable boy they needed him to be. Cate never desired to hurt him, not when he'd been so loving and caring over the years, but she yearned for the day she'd finally be able to step out of the relationship and choose someone Shetty wouldn't dream of using. 

"It's a pleasure to meet you, (Y/N)." She liked how it sounded rolling off her tongue, a newfound giddiness rolling over her. "Andre's told us so much about you." 

"Man, I can't wait to see you in the halls between classes." Andre's shoulders did a small excited shimmy, the coke he'd snorted blatantly beginning to take effect on him. He scooped a glass of champagne in his hand and drank from it, his head turning over his shoulder when his father called him and Luke over. "Mm, we'll be right back." He clapped (Y/N) on the back, stepping away with Luke to approach the group of parents and staff.

"I'm not third-wheeling." Jordan abruptly spoke, meeting Cate's stunned stare with a deadpan look and eyebrow raise before they walked away, disappearing through the crowd of mingling guests. Cate stared after them, contemplating forcing them to forget what assumptions they'd made. The last thing she needed was breaking Luke's heart and Shetty learning about it.

"Charming, that one." (Y/N) chuckled and moved closer to her, his hands sliding into the pockets of his dress pants and eyes slowly gazing over her. Cate found all her thoughts about Luke and Shetty vanishing when she looked at him, a soft chuckle escaping her. "You look different in daylight." 

"And you don't have a mysterious aura anymore." 

(Y/N) tilted his head, his smirk morphing into a teasing grin. "So, does that mean you hook up with anyone who looks mysterious at nightclubs?" He questioned, and her cheeks lit aflame. 

The bass of the song playing throughout the club made the walls vibrate against Cate's back, and the coolness of the bathroom door long forgotten with her mind and body preoccupied. Her chest heaved with pants, the air pumping into the bathroom keeping her exposed tits and skin cold from the sweat. The soreness in her legs began to melt away, allowing her to tighten them around the shapeshifter's waist again without his hands to support her up. She kept them wrapped around him, preventing him from moving away. 

Breathlessly chuckling against her throat, he leaned back, his hands still tightly gripping her thighs. She flushed more under his gaze, the arms around his neck tugging him closer to connect their lips again. It was sluggish and messy but Cate hardly minded as she pressed harder against his lips, a soft muffled sigh escaping her.

"You said you came here with friends, sweetheart. They're probably wondering where you ran off to." He reminded her softly, and another sigh escaped her. Her blue eyes fluttered open to gaze into his. She could feel her energy and strength returning to her rapidly; one of the many benefits of being a supe with stamina better than that of a normal human. Cate kissed him again, her back pushing off the wall and chest pressing into him, a whine leaving her when the movement straightened her back and made him slightly slide out of her. 

"Come to GodU," She practically pleaded. "Brink would accept you the second he lays eyes on you and you'd rise to the Top Ten with no problem. Everyone would want to be you or be with you."

"Everyone already thinks that way about me."

"Does this mean you do whatever anyone you hook up with asks of you?" Cate raised a brow, her arms folding over her chest and her chin lifting challengingly. He laughed quietly and picked up one of the last few cups of champagne, bringing it to his lips and crinkling his nose in disappointment at the taste. 

"Big ego you've got there, sweetheart. Andre convinced my parents to encourage me to apply so we could be at the same school, actually, so you've got Andre to thank for this." He explained with a small grin, finishing the champagne and setting the empty cup aside before tilting his body to observe those around them. "And now... this stupidity is my life."

"Oh, come on, it's not all so bad. You've got me rooting for you." Cate said, her hand cupping his elbow and her smile feeling genuine. "You know, I thought about you every night. A guy with amazing powers who should've been at this school a long time ago. You might beat Jordan and Andre out of their spots in the coming weeks."

"Yeah," (Y/N) swiped his tongue over his lips, his eyes gliding slowly across the room. "My gut tells me that's a death wish."

[lemmetreatya]

Maybe It’s Foreboding (Or Not) — Miguel x fem!Reader

word count: 1.9k 

content: no extreme warnings, modern au, fem!reader, reader uses female pronouns, reader commutes to work by train, reader knows basic spanish, hc that miguel speaks both irish and spanish — and that he’s irish on his father’s side (idk if this is correct or not), use of petnames, id say miguel is a bit ooc — but hes not — he just doesn’t have all that canon trauma going on sjsksk

FINALLY DID SOMETHING OF GOOD QUALITY FOR ONCE????? had to get back on my shit yktfv!!! also psa for the translations — i do not speak fluent spanish and not a lick of irish so please!! if there’s anything incorrect/needs changing, dont be afraid to tell me!! hope you enjoy ❤️❤️

Your usual commute to work was barely ever eventful. It mostly consisted of you getting onto your train — hoping you’d get a seat — and feeling despondent every time you noticed no seats were available. 

Which was expected: You had to use a busy train in order to get to work on time. Any earlier and you’d have to wonder around your office’s surroundings to waste time and any later would have you clocking in late. 

This timed train was so much more convenient for pace but it just never granted you those graceful minutes to sit down. 

But alas, you stuck with it, because what else was there to complain about? The trains weren’t too full so it didn’t mean you were squashed like packed sardines and it was relatively quiet due to most passengers being too mellow at this time of morning to make any lucrative noise. 

“Sorry, Miss.” 

At first, you ignored the deep sounding words, assuming they could have been for anyone. But then a soft tap bounced just over your thigh and so you looked down to see what the disturbance was. 

Looking up at you was a man with focused eyes. He wore a plain black suit with matching trousers. His white shirt had two buttons undone and he wore no tie. You couldn’t help but noticed how tossled his hair was. Clearly he was on his way to some type of occupation.

“Would you like to sit down?” He asks. 

“Oh! I…”

You lean off from the pole you were supporting yourself on and adjust your bag on your soldier. Maybe this man was pitying you because you looked tired. You honestly weren’t and were genuinely just being comfortable, but you guess your lax composure compelled this reaction from him. 

“No. Sorry, I was just being lazy. I’m fine, you don’t need to give up your seat for me.” 

You shake your head and deny his request but the man continually persists. He was already starting to get up from his seat. 

“No, en serio, sit.” He moved his briefcase over with his foot. “Can’t have a pretty lady like you standing now, can we?”

And it’s not like you agreed; Flattery of any kind from a stranger was always met with caution, but concerning he was going out of his way to give you a seat, you guess it’d be rude to deny it. 

“Oh…How kind.” You stagnantly laugh. 

The man took your place from before, now standing over you as he held onto the pole. He placed his briefcase between his feet. As you finally sit down and change your bag from your arm to your lap, you look up at the man with a grateful smile.

“Thank you.” 

He only smiles at you acutely before offering you a curt nod. That was the only interaction you had the whole ride before you got off at your stop and made your way to work. 

The next time you see the man isn’t until two days after the first ordeal and towards the end of the week. 

He sees you before you see him, regarding he boarded the train sometime before you, and instantly flags you over.

“Miss!”

Weirdly, his call made you smile, and you pot on over, not expecting much. 

“You really don’t have to.” You try as he gets up and out of his seat. He’s however already shaking his head. 

“Don’t be silly. I already told you why you do so I don’t wanna hear anymore complaining.”

With rolled lips, you nod as you meekly sit down. Having an abash austere about you, you struggle to look up at him as you speak. 

“Thank you. It’s very kind of you.” 

“No need for thanks.” 

You wait several seconds before looking up to give him a communal look of gratitude but you find he’s already looking down at you. You find difficultly baring his coarse stare and so you look back down at your lap. 

Throughout the ride, you can’t help but notice how his leg kept innocently brushing against yours. 

Once again, no more words were shared between you and like before, you get up and leave for your stop once it comes. 

“You know how this goes.”

This is about the sixth time the man has offered his seat up for you, and quite frankly you do know how it goes, but it just never seems like a good enough reason to therefore take his seat. 

“Señor.” You muse with a light smile as you board the train. “You really don’t have to.” 

“Oh, but I really do. Come. Sit.”

The man is already out of the seat, hand widely displaying towards it — it’s yours. 

Despite the seatless train, most people know by now not to sit in it’s stead. The man himself is tall and wide enough to deter anyone from trying, but most reoccurring passengers know the deal as well as you do.

As you take your seat, the man smiles down at you. His smiles have gotten a lot warmer over the various interactions. Per usual, he places his briefcase down near your feet and brush his knees with yours. You believe it’s going to be another wordless journey but the man opens his mouth, closes it, before saying: 

“And please, call me Miguel.” 

He jogs your knee with his, so you were aware it was you he was talking to, but you still looked up at him with a slight expression of confusion. For some reason, it was as if moths — the Night’s Butterfly — were flitting around within the neck of your stomach. 

“Sorry?”

He sighs out of his nose. It was not out of annoyance, but as if he too was experiencing some emotions of nervousness. The man however had enough confidence to look down at you and attempt to gain your gaze. 

“As opposed to señor, call me Miguel.” 

Your mouth lets out a small ‘ah’.

“Miguel.” You repeat. 

So his name was Miguel. 

It suited him, and made slight sense concerning he seemed to know Spanish well, but even more so because it was as if he had metamorphosed right in front of you. It wasn’t a physical change, but being able to put a name to a face definitely altered your perception of him. It was as if he’d become more human. 

With a soft hum, you look up at him with an inquisitive contort. 

“Miguel.” You taste his name in his mouth once more. “Is that what you’d like me to call you or is that your actual, real, government name?” 

The man’s expression was unreadable. 

“Well, what do you think?”

You shrug, unsure why he’s asked the question, but you give your answer anyways. 

“I’d think it’d be kinda stupid for you to give your government name to a stranger on the train. So I’m guessing it’s a nickname or at least a pseudo one.” 

Miguel’s eyes clip towards the moving view behind you, before training back onto your face. 

“Looks like I’m kinda stupid then.” 

You pause, register what he’s said, and then let out a tinkling laugh as you shake your head meticulously. Miguel chuckles a few seconds after you, and he can’t help watching you as he does so. 

There’s a pause. 

“I’m not much of a stranger anymore though, right? We’re more acquaintances than anything.” He tries. 

“But Miguel, you don’t even know my name.”

“Only because you haven’t told me.” He shrugs.

This is the most quick-fire that he’s ever been but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying it. 

“You want my government name or the pseudo one?” You muse. 

“It’s only fair that you give me the government one.” He catches himself before adding more gently, “Only if you’re comfortable doing so and kinda stupid like me.”

Once again, you can’t help the smile that braces your mouth. You tell him your name, the government one, and Miguel knocks your knees together in concur. 

“Ah. Hermosa nombre por una hermosa dama.” [1]

He says, and regardless of whether you understood or not, you knew what he was getting at. If his words didn’t convince you then it was the silky look of— admiration? That gave him away. 

Your cheeks heated, and your head dipped. All you could force out was a humble Thank You. 

“Where I’m from, we have this saying.” 

Miguel angles his breakfast snacks in your direction and you wordlessly take a small handful. 

Surprisingly, your usual train was a lot quieter this morning. Maybe it was due to school holidays season, but there was enough space for you and Miguel to both have a seat. Your journey so far had been non-stop chatter. 

“Más í an ceann í, beidh a fhios ag do chroí sula ndéanann tú.” [2] He reprises wisely. 

It wasn’t Spanish, and you knew Miguel spoke Irish (“That old bastard was only good for one thing.”), so the translation was pretty much lost on you. 

“Is that so?” You say with a hum and a crunch. 

Miguel is also crunching on some of his snack, palm covering his mouth as he chucks the small pebbles towards the back of his throat before he’s shaking his head. 

“Nope, that was a complete fucking lie. No such saying exists like that, I just made it up on the spot.” Miguel leaves room for you to let out a burst of laughter. “But, if it was a saying, I’d live by it like it was gospel.”

Shaking your head, you finish the portion of snacks that were in your mouth before you reply. 

“Maybe you should paten it then. Make sure no one else gets the chance in saying it’s the gospel they wrote.” 

“Maybe I should patent it…” Miguel echoes to himself with a deep laugh. “Yeah, maybe I should.” 

The both of you lull into a comfortable silence. The sort of silence you could fall into with a long time friend who was low maintenance, or a family member who you tolerated sharing the living room space with. It was the type of stilling that didn’t require speech but welcomed it if it came. Mornings with Miguel were the calm before the inevitable storm and the small pick-me-up that pushed you out of bed. 

But then as you pondered how he made you feel, you realise that you only knew Miguel within the context of your work commute. You’d only ever spoken to this man within the short time that you travelled to work; Never before, never after. Had you gotten just one train earlier or later — heck, one carriage — different that fateful day, it would have inevitably changed the course of your life and the starting foundation of the friendship (?). 

Life truly was funny in how it dealt it’s cards. 

“What does it mean anyways?” You ask with piqued interest. 

Miguel makes a WTF face, a face he made often, before he’s scrunching up his packet of finished snacks and dumping it within the blue convenience store bag he had. You recognise that everything he’d purchased was in Spanish. 

“What does what mean? Be more specific.” 

“Your fake saying you lied about.” 

Miguel turns his head to look at you, those deep insightful eyes of his analysing you, searching for something. You’re not sure if he found what he was looking for. Whether he did or not, you wouldn’t know. 

The man only turns forwards again and snorts. 

“Don’t worry your pretty lil’ head about it.” He concludes. “You wouldn’t want to know.” 

________________________________

[1]: Beautiful name for a beautiful lady 

[2]: If she’s the one, your heart will know before you do