#there are some great fic opportunities here I suppose

[blkkizzat]

❝ AITA FOR ACCIDENTALLY GETTING MY ANCIENT SORCERER BF HIGH? ❞

MODERN ERA TRUE!FORM SUKUNA X READER

» thread [summary]: Sukuna just ate all your edibles and is now more lit than Tokyo Tower—great. Now you have to fuck his high n' grumpy ass calm before you're the one that's actually fucked.

» upvotes [wc]: 11.9k » awards [cw]: true form sukuna, crack fic 110%, dr*g use, accidental dr*gging, slight dubcon, sub!sukuna, cunnalingus, fingering, whiny!sukuna, riding, twin-cock sukuna, nipple teasing, lots of banter, spanking, bimbo!reader, pussy smacks, frottage, premature ejaculation, creampie, breeding fantasies, rimming, cum eating, femdom, uncut/uncircumcised, high n' sassy sukuna, bondage, lots of teasing, and bits of fluff . » mod comments [a/n]: part of the 'we be burnin' JJK 420 collection (ill make a series post eventually i swear lol). I had the goal of keeping this under 12k and i made it! by 44 words. this was supposed to be a 5k fic but I got carried away because I love exploring modern day tf!sukuna x reader relationship so lots of banter and tid bits.

Enjoy!

Ok girl. Deep breaths. You got this! 

Standing in front of the large shoji door to Sukuna’s quarters, any nerve you build quickly dissipates by the time you raise your hand to knock.

SHIT-SHIT-SHIT!  

Swaying on your feet, suddenly, you don’t feel so sober anymore. Well, technically you weren’t even sober to begin with—far from it actually, you'd just started the come down from some pretty powerful edibles.

Edibles which happen to be the source of all your troubles now. 

You thought Sukuna leaving, for what you assumed would be a few days, would be the perfect opportunity for you to get completely zoinked off your ass—and that's exactly what you did.

Yet, unbeknownst to you, his plans had changed and he had returned home only after a day.

So when you finally awoke from your weed-induced power nap to discover Uraume had served Sukuna the remaining of the matcha and adzuki manju edibles you had made, you just about fell out.

Uraume had given Sukuna all three dozen of them. 

You didn’t even intend to make so many, but you accidentally doubled the recipe for weed butter and you weren’t about to let good product go to waste. Not with how tough it was to find good weed in Tokyo with it being illegal and all.

But fuck! 

You can’t recall a single time Sukuna ever enjoyed human food—more sated by human flesh instead. 

Yet from what Uruame told you he had already eaten at least five of them already.

Who knew The Curse King had such a fucking sweet tooth?!

Of course, Uraume blamed you once you explained. And true, while you did make the edibles, you certainly didn’t tell their ass to serve them to Sukuna!

Uraume scoffed at you though, claiming anything in Sukuna’s palace belonged to Sukuna—including you and whatever you happened to bake. 

The pompously dull scolds Uraume gave went in one ear and out the other as you rolled your reddened eyes. Eyes which immediately turned into a panic when Uraume demanded it be you, not them, to check up on Sukuna.   

That was the whole reason why you are even in front of Sukuna’s door right now sweating fucking buckets. 

Especially, since Uruame made the utterly insane accusation of you attempting to poison Sukuna. 

You tried to argue that Sukuna is immune to toxins—but Uraume wouldn’t listen to any of that. 

Hell, If you thought you could take Uraume in a fight, even in a more sober state, you would have literally scrapped with their ass before you agreed to check on a possibly high Sukuna. 

Who knows what kind of nefarious time The King of Curses would be on while high!?

Uraume is the one who is his attendant and also fed him the edibles!

They should be the one to go!  

But you also aren’t an idiot. You know for a fact Uraume would hand you your ass and then force you to go check on him anyway. No sense in getting unnecessarily bagged up when Sukuna himself might actually kill you.

So here you were, in front of his door dreading what might be waiting for you on the other side. 

“Woman! You are annoying me more by just standing out there, come-in or fucking leave.”

Piercing your thoughts, Sukuna’s gruff command booms through the door with enough force to make you take a few steps back.

Okay maybe, just maybe, this wouldn’t be so bad?

He sounded normal enough. 

No one high could still be this grumpy.

Sukuna is The King of Curses after all. 

Something as simple as a mere plant shouldn’t have any affect on him, right?

Steeling yourself, you slide open the door to his chambers. 

You make a mental note to fire your therapist, as the deep meditative breathing patterns they recommended does fuck all to temper your increasing anxiety in this situation.

Peering into the room before you enter, you see Sukuna propped on his side atop the wooden engawa patio leading to his private gardens. His nose seems to be buried in some ancient text you can't quite decipher from this distance.

Well, he looks normal enough too—from what you could tell at least.

You walk towards him but Sukuna makes no acknowledgement to greet you. 

However, if you could see his face, you would see the amused evil that pulls up at the corner of his lips. 

Sukuna can sense your uneasiness radiating off of you in waves. 

You’d not been this distressed to be in his presence in quite some time and yet you still sought him out—something you rarely did—even in a good mood. Typically, you’d only come to him when he called for you or when you wanted his cock. 

You had to want something from him—and a slut like you was never shy about asking for dick. 

Interesting.  

Sukuna knew you hated having to humble yourself to ask anything of him, so he took great pleasure in teasing you for it when necessity meant you could no longer delay your request.

Whatever you wanted, Sukuna certainly wouldn’t make it easy for you.

Where would be the fun in that?

And neither would your own body, apparently, make this situation any easier. You nearly trip over your own feet as the paranoid side effects of your high reaches full throttle.

Your eyes growing wider with each step forward.

The vision of the tea set next to him along with the plate of your manju edibles—the now almost empty plate—confirms your fears.

Only one solitary piece remained.

Nervously, you kneel near Sukuna’s feet, your back perfectly straight and your arms extended in front of you. Forcing yourself into an overly formal position to avoid fidgeting any more than you already are.

A tense silence settles between you both—well, tense for you. 

Sukuna seems perfectly content to bask in your discomfort. 

You swallow, unsure how to start.

Even if he wasn’t a malevolent ancient cursed sorcerer, telling someone they’ve been accidentally dr*gged was never going to be a pleasant conversation. 

Although, you still do your best to be covert in your inspection of him—no sense in telling him he’d been dr*gged at all if he wasn’t actually high.

Sukuna on the other hand is growing impatient with your nervous energy. 

When he finally speaks, you’re nearly jumping out of your own skin. 

“Why are your eyes so red, brat? Don’t tell me you’ve been fucking crying again? Is the time of your moon cycle upon us already?”

Did this man for real just ask you if you were on your period!?!?

Exhaling deeply out of your nose, you give him a polite, yet clipped, reply.

“Just allergies, m’lord.”

You wanted to tell him off so bad but you didn’t want to piss him off more than necessary, considering the circumstances. Besides, you were certain your eyes were red as hell right now from being high for the last three hours. So in order to control your temper, you proceed to gaslight yourself into thinking that, for someone like Sukuna, this was a logical assumption to make.

The thought stops you from cussing him out at the very least.

However, Sukuna is astute enough to know you’re lying.

Truthfully, he’d only made the comment to rile you up.  

Not only were you a horrible liar to begin with—but everything from your clenched knuckles, to the way you gnaw on your inner cheek to contain your sass, are all dead giveaways.

Those facts withstanding, Sukuna could tell by the subtle shift in the scent of your intoxicating pheromones alone if you were on your moon cycle or not. 

And it was far too late into summer for it to be allergies.

No, something is on your mind. 

Something you didn’t want to come right out and tell him. 

Not that he tended to care at all about any of your silly concerns, but seeing you had seeked him out in such a frazzled state has him curious.

What other than him could get his favorite lil’ human this upset?

Sukuna immediately loses the little remaining interest he has in his book, all of his interest now focused on you.

His evil grin widens.

“Then is ‘just allergies’ to blame for placing the notion in your dizzy little head that I wanted to be fucking bothered with your presence right now? Or are you telling me ‘allergies’ is a new modern term for sluts wanting dick?”

Son of a bi—and see this is exactly why you actively avoided him when you’re not fucking him! 

Sukuna was obnoxiously insufferable to be around when he wasn’t giving you toe-curling, heart-stopping, vision-blinding orgasms. You surely would have at least tried to escape by now if it wasn’t for that—well, that and the fact he did have a literal palace and you no longer had to have a job or worry about rent, bills and all the other shit you hated about adulting. 

You weren’t treated like a princess but you pretty much had access to everything practical you could ever want. 

Although you were still working on getting a stable internet connection up in the mountains.

Yeah, no, Sukuna wasn’t a bum by any means and you could surely do a lot worse than a mean, forever-grumpy, ancient asshole.

Sigh.

However, as far as you were concerned now, you had two ways you could play this: you could fly off the handle at his intentionally crass insults or you could pay it. 

You choose the latter, knowing he would soon grow bored of you if you just shrugged off his mockery, ignoring him. 

You just need to buy yourself a bit more time to tell for sure if he was high or not. Then you could fuck off and enjoy the remainder of your own high as you wouldn’t be getting stoned for a while now.

Thanks to him eating all your stash.

“Uhhh, no m’lord. I-I just wanted to know how you enjoyed the manju I made. I filled them with matcha and adzuki beans…It was my first time baking them.”

Oh? 

You still wanted to play games?

Sukuna’s gaze darkens at the chance to pick at you more. The more you would lie and beat around the bush the more Sukuna wanted to press your buttons. 

Never getting bored of pissing you off, angering you was his second favorite pastime. You made it too easy to wind you up like a coil until you snapped like a little twig in his grasp. 

All so he had an excuse to do his actual favorite pastime—punishing you. 

Lacking any sort of discipline, you were more of a hot head than he was at times—which was saying something. Sukuna loved to bring you to the very limits of your sanity with his taunting of you. Only so he could watch you helplessly thrash beneath him, frustrated that you could never beat nor overpower him. 

You were a curious little sorcerer who got off on edging death which was apparent from how your fiery anger quickly sparked into shameless arousal, like the massive cockslut you are. You’d be cursing Sukuna to hell before begging him to take you along for the ride.

In turn, Sukuna would bully both of your tight greedy holes, mesmerized by your filthy cunt creaming enough to soil a puddle onto any surface he happen to fuck you on. 

You had to have been a succubus in a past life. 

His sexual appetites were immense but you were nearly insatiable yourself. Fucked out and trembling, with your eyes barely open, you’d never stop pleading him for more until he’d fuck you unconscious. 

Nevertheless, in this lifetime you were a pitifully weak sorcerer in comparison to him—however you could be considered ‘special grade’ if ranked solely on your ability to take dick. 

Truly, your best quality and what has kept you alive thus far. 

At least that’s what Sukuna would tell himself when the thought of you dead leaves him feeling restless and agitated. It’s why he never lets you leave the palace grounds other than with Uraume on their occasional visits into Tokyo. 

Sukuna had deemed you too weak to be left to your own devices outside of his palace.

You were his plaything, to do with as he pleased—and right now, he wanted to make you absolutely lose your shit.

From the way your aura bristled, it was clear you just needed one final push.

And so, Sukuna pushed.

“HA! I could tell—”

On the verge of unraveling altogether, your brow twitches as you count backwards from a hundred in your mind to calm down—another bullshit coping mechanism from your soon-to-be-fired therapist.

100…99…98…

“—thought you filled those manju with horse shit.”

97…9—

Never failing to take the bait, you wouldn’t disappoint him this time either. 

Jumping up, you wobbled on your feet but that didn’t stop you from stomping your foot in indignation with enough force to make the old wooden floorboards creak.

“THEN WHY IN THE EVERLOVING FUCK DID YOUR BIG HUNGRY ASS PRACTICALLY EAT THREE DOZEN OF THEM!?” 

From the looks of it Sukuna was perfectly fucking fine—like you had figured he’d be. 

This had proven to be a complete waste of your time even checking on him. The brief encounter had done nothing but fuck up the remainder of your high since he wanted to be such an ornery bastard about everything.

Forgetting all about your plan to not piss him off, instead you flip him off, storming away. 

“LIKE THEY DON’T EVEN AFFECT YOU?! WHAT A FUCKING WA—”

Like a blur Sukuna rises as his four arms extend to ensnare you.

However lucky for you, you sense him in time to dod—wait… did you just dodge him!? 

No, that's not right he must have missed.

Huh?

HE FUCKING MISSED!?

Whipping your body around, you face him. 

Your wide confused eyes meet his own puzzled gaze, one that you notice is turning increasingly more red by the second to extend beyond just the color of his pupils. 

You don’t even have the time to appreciate how adorably ridiculous the expression is on him before the realization hits—

—OHHHH SHIT—SUKUNA IS HIGH AS FUCK!!!

He likely hadn’t moved from that spot since he so gluttonously devoured your entire tray of edibles. In turn, as is with the nature of getting high, if you are sitting or laying down while you partake, you often don’t realize exactly how baked you are until you finally stand up. 

And from the looks of it the high had just hit him like a fucking semi-truck.

Sukuna was absolutely lit.

Staggering in his stance, a look of surprise is on both of your features. You were for certain Sukuna would have fallen to the ground if not for his hand catching onto the wall beside him. 

His awkward movements are akin to someone suddenly realizing how bulky and inconvenient it was to be approaching 8-feet-tall with four massive arms.

“O-Ohhhh my god, Ohhhh my fucking god! Y-You can actually get high!?!”

Thoroughly gagged, your hands fly to cover your mouth. Always one for inappropriate reactions at awkward and improper times, you can’t suppress your snorts of laughter as the reality of him actually being high settles in. 

Sukuna on the other hand is currently fighting a losing battle with vertigo to find steady footing. His bloodshot eyes take on a more deadly appearance as his pupils glow red in fury to match. 

“W-What the fuck did you do, woman?!”

Did he just stutter too!? 

Oh shit this was too good. 

You cursed yourself for not having your phone on you, but knew better to bring a phone around Sukuna. He’d broken your phones one too many times because he wouldn’t admit he was more jealous of you paying attention to your talking clock (it was TikTok) than him.

Yet at the same time, his accusations that any of this is your fault piss you off further. 

“ME!? I’m not the one who just smashed over 3000 grams of weed! Pretty sure that much would even take down a fucking elephant!!”

In response, Sukuna growls as his cursed energy discharges off of him in erratic waves. Yet the intensity is not nearly as oppressive as you knew it could be.

The weed is clearly having an effect on him. 

“Watch how you speak to your King, brat. I won’t warn you again.”

Dripping with sarcasm you bow dramatically. 

“Oh no, how could I forget my place, Sukuna! How about you ask next time before you just gobble up all my shit? Then this wouldn’t have even happened!” 

When bickering with him, you often dropped all formalities which always got you into deeper trouble.

“S-SHUT THE FUCK UP!!”

CRACK~!

Wood splintered around Sukuna, falling to the ground in a heap. Sukuna had unintentionally misfired a cleave right through the wall next to you and effectively remodeled his chambers to extend into the next room over.

A few strands of your hair get caught in the crossfires and they float in the air beside you, along with the various debris from the wall. 

It’s becoming quite apparent that while high, Sukuna struggles to keep his immense cursed energy in-check and it fluctuates to match his temper. 

The look of shock on your face mirrors Sukuna's, who is now staring at his hand as if he had grown a sixth finger. It’s not a finger though, it's his eye from the face on his hand, bloodshot and red. That's when Sukuna notices the eyes on his face are also bloodshot, perfectly matching yours.

“ASSHOLE! What if that fucking hit me?!”

“Well, you sure as fuck wouldn’t be alive to be screeching at me right now, woman…”

You were seething. 

How is everyone still treating this like it's your fault!?

“No one told you to eat all my edibles, King Big Back!”

Sukuna growled at your insults even if he didn’t really understand them. 

He was huge—of course he had a big back…? 

Your words, which Sukuna deems nonsensical, only make him dizzier and amplified the almost out of body experience he was currently in. Clearly the fault of your so-called “edibles”, Sukuna couldn’t remember the last time he felt so out of sync with himself as he leaned against what was left of the structure.

Not since he’d first adjusted to being a cursed object in his very first host. 

“Well fuck me then, for not realizing you were brewing poison, witch.”

“Yeah fuck you, because its just a plant! A harmless little plant! Didn’t they have hemp back in your pre-historic era, you old fossil?!”

Sukuna growls at your insults, but nonetheless considers your words.

Of course they had hemp. 

Being practically native to Japan it was utilized in many trades, but this had to be a different variety of the plant. Sukuna never heard of it being consumed, as the plant had more pragmatic uses for clothing and tools. 

“For practical use, woman! Not to make potions and consume like some fuckin’ degenerate.”

Your eyes narrowed. 

Sukuna of all people calling anyone else a degenerate was rich. 

“For the last time Kuna—it's not any kind of poison or potion! You’re supposed to be immune to toxins, remember?”  

Sukuna growls once more. 

True, poisons had no effect on him. 

If what he consumed was in fact just a plant, and nothing imbued with venom nor curses, then perhaps this didn’t make the cut? 

Although Sukuna is sure the after-consumption effect has to be akin to something poisonous, since for the first time in likely what had to be a thousand years, the unfamiliar sensation of nausea crept up his throat.

Stepping back inside his chambers, he teeters unsupported on his feet before dropping down to a seated position. The uncoordinated clumsiness of his actions causes the room to shake, sending more fragments of the now-destroyed wall crumbling around the both of you.

Dare you say it, you kinda… feel bad for him?

Sure you were still pissed at him, and in no way were you about to accept responsibility for this…but in this state he looked sort of, well, pathetic. 

You didn’t think you’d ever be using that word to describe Sukuna, who’d time and again proved to be more fearsome than the beasts of nightmares. 

Yet at the moment he was definitely giving off more sad Hello Kitty vibes, rather than a monstrous primordial tiger. All four eyes on his face were dilated to comical proportions and the tired scowl he wore was more akin to a toddler’s pout.

It was… cute?

Upon further appraisal, as he sits with arms and legs crossed like a child after a tantrum, you decide he definitely looks cute.

And dare you say even—baby girl?

Not like you could ever tell him that though. 

You’re sure if you called him that, no matter how weak and uncoordinated he was now, Sukuna would somehow muster the willpower to wring your head right off your pretty little neck. 

Regardless, having Sukuna be so weakened, even temporarily, was unsettling to say the very least. 

“I-I really didn’t think you would eat them, Kuna. You don’t even like human food!”

Your voice takes on a more apologetic tone as you begin to inch over to him. 

Dropping down on all fours, you cautiously crawl closer bit by bit in a similar fashion as to how one would a wounded beast you were scared might lash out—even if you were only trying to help it.

“I don’t ever fucking recall saying that, brat.”

Sukuna hisses but the fatigue was clear in his tone.  The bite in his words hardly evoked the blood-curdling fear he was so easily capable of under normal circumstances.

Sukuna closes his eyes in exasperation, which consequently has you rolling yours. 

Bulllllllshit!

Every single thing that man tried, he hated!

Well, every single modern thing. 

Oh fuck, they had manju back then too, huh?

Stopping once you are directly in front of him, you peer up at him with big doe eyes, sweet and apologetic.

But Sukuna isn’t falling for it—or he didn’t want to at least. 

Cracking open an eye at you before closing it again, Sukuna turns away from you, nose upturned. 

Urgh, what a big diva! 

You almost want the normal, insanely irritating, Sukuna back instead of the blitzed sassy creature before you—almost.

“Listen Kuna, you did eat a whole shit load... More than any grown ass man I’ve ever seen to be honest…”

You shook your head and mumbled the last part under your breath, ignoring his sassy gripes, as he definitely still heard you.

“Ok, so I have literally zero clue as to how long your high will last… but I mean hmm… why don’t you try RCT?”

Sukuna stares daggers at your sheepish expression. 

You had to be an idiot.

If Sukuna could focus his cursed energy enough for RCT he would have fucking done it already! Not to mention, take his sweet time in punishing you too. However, all that would have to wait until the disorienting effect wore off enough to make that possible.

For now though, Sukuna just wants to be alone.

This 'weed' was having strange effects on him, he is growing inexplicably nervous to be in your presence for some ridiculous reason.

“Leave.”

“Nope.”

All four of Sukuna’s eyes flare and stare you down the best they can through his red-eye squints.

“I gave you an order, brat. I won't ask again.”

Sukuna tried his best to deliver his threats in the bone-chilling tone he was so well known for, but it falls flat, yet again, thanks to him being higher than a pair of perky tits. 

His frown, and thereby his pout, intensifies at his current ineffectiveness.

“I can’t just leave you though, Kuna…”

Thinking him docile enough, you slowly crawl into his lap and thread your arms between the two sets of his own, gazing up adoringly at him. Sukuna allows you to do so without fuss, although he doesn’t return your embrace nor does he look at you. 

His own head swirls too much—especially with how his skin begins to tingle just from the sensation of your warm body pressing against his. 

“You need me! What if we were to get attacked by jujutsu sorcerers right now? I’d have to protect you!”

You don’t even try to suppress your giggles this time when your body is shaken by the disgruntled rumbles from his chest.

“Tch—with the few measly crumbs of cursed energy you do possess, you can’t even protect your own fucking self—”

“Hey!”

“—so if that happens, then were both royally fucked.”

Okay, so you weren’t anything close to a super strong special grade sorcerer. But you think you’d be somewhere around grade 1 now, so you could hold your own against most!

At least enough for you both to escape! 

You’d only really be in trouble if that sexy white-haired blue-eyed sorcerer, Gojo Satoru, showed up. Although from the way he winked at you the last time you saw him, saying ‘you’d be prettier as a Jujutsu High teacher instead of one of Sukuna’s lackeys’, you’re pretty sure if you flirted hard enough you’d be okay at least.

Still, you actually liked living with Sukuna a lot more than you cared to admit. Moreover, ‘Jujutsu High teacher’ would qualify as you having to work an actual job—yeah nah, fuck that. 

You’d stay with your ancient asshole, thank you very much.

Bringing your attention back to Sukuna, who had since closed his eyes to keep the room from spinning, you poked a finger into his cheek.

Sukuna ignores you, but you persist.

Your little finger presses deeper and deeper until a mouth forms on his skin to snap at you, causing you to snatch your hand back before you lose said finger. 

“Worry about protecting yourself, brat! You’re aware when this wears off, I’m going to fucking rip you apart and feed you to the mouth on my stomach limb by limb.”

Unphased, you flirtatiously bat your lush lashes as one of your hands slipped through his robes to caress the spot where his mouth forms. 

“Awe Kuna, if you have the munchies that badly and want me to ride your stomach again—all you have to do is ask. I’ll let you eat me right up.”

His abs clenched ever so slightly from your touch.

“Urgh, woman, you should go enjoy the last hours of your life while you still can…”

His threat dissolves into grumbles, still making no attempt to push you off.

Well, if you were in fact about to go to glory as soon as Sukuna could control his powers again—you might as well enjoy yourself while you still can.

“Yeah, yeah, Kuna—but until that happens just relax, okay?  Let’s have some fun, eh? That’s the whole point of being high in the first place!”

Sukuna rolls his eyes but allows you to push him back to the floor. His body feels so heavy and laying down was so much more agreeable than sitting up in his condition.

Still, he couldn’t see how this out-of-body-like experience could be fun. 

Fun for Sukuna was killing. 

Sukuna enjoyed most of his thrills relishing in the screams of his victims as he bathed in their blood which poured so liberally through his deadly claws. 

He even has a pool of blood for god sake!

Well had—until you nagged him pretty much to death, complaining that you couldn’t be expected to bathe in the garden koi pond. As a result, Sukuna had Uraume restore the hotspring to its original state —if only to get you to shut the fuck up.

Hn, now that he considers it, you are way too much fucking trouble than your crazy-ass, tight-ass, lil’ cunt was worth—his current predicament being the ultimate testament to that.

“This isn’t fun.”

It’s your turn to smirk as you straddle him.

“It will be!”

For me at least. 

You don’t say that last part out loud though.

You’re smiling down at Sukuna playfully, pulling your tank top from overhead to reveal your simple pink cotton bra with little flowers printed on them.

Sukuna, who had since draped an arm over his face, regards you skeptically from under his muscular limb with his lower set of eyes.

“And just what do you think you’re doing now, brat?”

“What does it look like asshole? I’m gonna fuck you.”

“And if I tell your bratty ass to fuck off and die?”

“Well, for one—it’s not like you can stop me. And two—when has me saying ‘no’ ever stopped you?”

You stare down at him sweetly.

“Slut.” 

Sukuna snarls, turning his head in a huff once again.

Checkmate.

This was the ultimate win as far as you’re concerned. 

Sukuna had his way with you entirely when you fucked. He was always in control—of everything. Not that the slutty masochist in you ever minded, but you wanted a turn to be the dominant one for once and control his pleasure.

Hell, if you knew marijuana would have this much of an effect on him you would have given him some sooner! 

Besides, you could tell by the way his robes rose on the lower half of his body he was already feeling its euphoric effects. 

Yet you had no idea just how much. 

Sukuna’s already inhuman perception intensifies the experience a hundredfold. His limbs are heavy, as if the floor might give way, libel to sink into the very earth at any moment.

Staring out into the garden, he could see everything in vividly intense hypervision through his dilated orbs.

Every rustle of the leaves, every movement of even the smallest creatures, and every particle in the air took on a lustrous sheen. All his senses were in overdrive, creating a strange euphoria vibrating through his body, suspending him in time—that is until your honeyed voice snapped him out of it.

“Hi~ Look at me, Kuna~~”

Soft hands cup his large face, bringing his sights back to you. Sukuna emits a disapproving grunt, or at least he thinks he does.

He’s not entirely sure. 

With his attention now focused on you, everything else in the world seems to still.

The anxious throbs in his chest seem to prolong each beat, as if his heart might stop altogether. Sukuna concludes that these palpitations and irregular rhythms must be a side effect of the plant.

Has to be.

It certainly wasn’t the way the light of golden hour shimmered on your skin so radiantly, like an otherworldly ethereal creature only seen at dusk—making him feel like he was the inferior mortal in your presence. 

“Don’t float away on me…”

Your voice, filled with angelic mirth, tickles his ears while your fingers gently card through his hair.

Sukuna bites his tongue, drawing out thick, viscous red liquid to suppress the needy purrs bubbling in his throat from your doting caresses.

How could he be the one to float away when you had the appearance of one who had descended from the sky? 

Sukuna's lower set of hands unconsciously brace your thighs like a vice, as if to anchor you and prevent you from levitating away from him.

Goddamn, if not some potion, you had to have cast some twisted spell. 

Everything about you right now was enthralling to him.

Has your skin always been this silky?

Sukuna succeeds in remaining quiet, yet fails in keeping his lower half controlled, involuntarily bucking his hips. His eagerness apparent, you rub your clothed mound over his twin cocks that stiffen beneath you.

Your hands skillfully loosen the knots in his obi to uncover his firm abs and ritualistic tattoos already covered in a sheen layer of perspiration.

Sukuna’s breath hitches when your fingernails graze over his sensitive exposed nipples. 

“Watch it, brat.”

But he sounds so far away now, you don’t really pay him any mind.

You are lost in enjoying some of the far less intense, but still lingering, effects of your own high. 

Humming a saccharine tune, your head tilts back as you relish the pleasurable strain in your inner thighs just from having them span over his broad pelvis. The melody serves as an accompaniment to the steady rhythm of your hips, unraveling him more by the second.

When your eyes do open again, you observe the strain evident across Sukuna’s sharp features. 

You simper, wondering how long Sukuna could hold on before he fell apart completely underneath you?  

Picking up tips from the royal headache himself on how to press buttons, you taunt Sukuna with your coos.

“Are ya still mad at me, Daddy?”

You’re pouting but your mischief is evident, twinkling brightly behind your eyes.

Sukuna’s own eyes narrowed at your boldness. 

You just loved calling him ‘Daddy’ like the filthy whore you are—lacking in any sort of couth.

This whole situation was infuriating for him. 

And as such, Sukuna wants to be mad at you—to teach you a lesson, to have you meet your death at his own powerful hands—but alas—his own body betrays him. 

Your still sparkling aura exacerbates his intoxicated frustrations along with his more carnal desires as euphoria rushes through him. 

His nostrils flare when the candied perfume of your sinful little cunt—already soaked untouched—saturates the air.

Fucking hell—he could practically taste you on his tongue.

“Just get on with it then, if you think you can, woman—”

Giving your rear a firm smack, Sukuna hurries you along.

“—although, I’m sure your weakling ass will give up and be begging me to fuck you within the first minute.”

You roll your eyes. 

Even in spite of his breath laboring slightly, along with minor twitching spasms of his thighs underneath you—he’s still acting tough.

“Hmm, we’ll see about that. Won’t we, Daddy?”

Sticking your tongue out at him, you hop up to kick off your slippers. You take your time in removing your shorts though, hands sensually sliding them down, giving him a little show. 

All four of his eyes follow the provocative sway of your hips intently, just the same as the one time you showed Sukuna what a lap dance was. 

Of course he’d enjoyed it. 

However, where’d you fucked up was mentioning how your previous lovers had enjoyed it too—because your twerking had lasted all of 20 seconds. Sukuna had then pinned you down, growling as he called you all manners of vulgar slut-whore. The result was you limping for the next 2 days, fuck harder than he ever had previously, angered by the thought of you ever having done that for anyone else.

However, as much as you wanted to take your time torturing him for once, you were too selfish to deny yourself. The thought of you having control when fucking him has you dripping. 

Settling back on top of him, you’re on all fours facing towards his cocks. Giving Sukuna a prime view of your pussy in those cheeky pieces of fabric you called undergarments.

This wasn’t a typical view for Sukuna, who was used to looking down at you when you sucked him off from a kneeling position—so he could see exactly how those fat tears would well in your eyes as he ruined your throat when he forced your head even further down.

But this view wasn’t so bad. The growing wet spot on your panties confirms his nose had been accurate. However, you do look every bit of the fiendish whore that you are, getting so wet for him when he hadn’t even touched you.

You’re in your own world though and you audibly gasp upon peeling back the lower half of his robes. Taken aback by the thick globs of pre that gather at the very tip of his engorged cockheads. His essence pools in the folds of his foreskin until no more fluid could be contained, overflowing down his uncut length. 

You’d never seen him this leaky before.

Your pillowy lips experimentally blow cool air across both tips and Sukuna hisses as his cocks twitch in your hands. Wasting no time, your tongue deviantly flattens as you lick up the trail of dribble that ran down his upper shaft. 

His lower cock was hardly forgotten as your thumb completely uncovers the hidden tip. The well of pre spilling from him allows you to more easily pump his slightly girthier length in circular motions while you continue to salaciously suckle the other.

Sukuna unwillingly rewards you with an audible grunt of pleasure.

“Hnng—Y-You’re a fuckin’ cocktease! S-Suck me right, whore!”

You giggle at his faltering voice and Sukuna smacks your ass in response. His heavy hand still stings your skin even in his weakened state, making you all the wetter. 

For each kitten lick, a slap to one of your plump cheeks rings through his chamber. 

Sukuna is captivated by the way your flesh molds to his touch. He kneads each of your cheeks in his giant hands, leaving them warm and tingling. 

The abuse to your rear goes straight to your pussy. You forget for a second that it's Sukuna, and not yourself, who is supposed to be the subservient one in this situation.

“Hurry up, brat! You seriously think a half-assed job like that is enough for me to cum?”

In response to his provocations, your warm breath salivates over his swollen glands before entirely engulfing his upper cock.

Pulling off of him with a pop you alternate taking the other one into your mouth. Sukuna flinches as you swirl your tongue around his lengths. Vacuuming your lips, you alternate between the two twin cocks.

Sukuna grits his teeth. 

He had taught you to take him completely, although he always forced your throat open. He was genuinely surprised that you could do it on your own, which, to be honest, you probably couldn't have done without the weed relaxing the muscles in your neck and throat.

That’s when you hear it—the tiniest of whines—but a whine nonetheless.

“HA! See!—Kunaaaa, did you actually—”

If you could have seen his face you would have giggled at the pink that lightly dusted his features. Regardless, Sukuna isn’t one to take being bested lightly. 

Sukuna hooks a finger through the crotch of your panties, yanking up roughly. From this angle, the effect only puts tension on your pussy—tugging your panties taunt and compressing your clit. You keen loudly as you release his cocks, no longer able to focus on getting him off.

“FUUHHHHCK!”

One hand keeps your panties pulled taut, another hovers over the most heat of your core, lazily rubbing over your covered entrance. Your ever increasing wet spot has him in a trance like state as it spreads to take over your entire crotch area, dampening his fingers.

RIIIIIIIP!

Sukuna tears your underwear clean off, shredding them, 

Damn. Those were one of your favorite pairs of lounging panties too! 

You're ready to tell him off but you never get the chance as two large fingers bully their way into your pussy, leaving you sobbing.

Even over the vulgar sloshing of your sloppy hole, you can audibly hear a rough moan from Sukuna as your core constricts around his burly fingers. Your hands and knees tremble violently as you struggle to maintain your balance.

Sukuna’s tactile sensations at its peak, he is in awe of how well your gummy walls suck his thick digits in further. The velvety ridges of your cunt was like an incubator of fiery heat—a heat that may even rival that of his own divine flame technique.

“W-Waiiiiiiit—N-No fair, K-Kuna!”

Of course, your pleading slurs go unheeded. 

Like a mortal who had dipped his hand into a heavenly jar of warm ambrosia, the allure of your cunt in his intoxicated state is bewitching to say the very least. Sukuna’s hyperfixation is focused on a single-minded mission to dig out more and more milky nectar from your convulsing lil’ hole.

Your searing walls clench down when a sharp nail grazes your g-spot. Crying out, your eyes sink back into your head and your slick pours down the length of his muscular forearm.

Sukuna enjoys making a mess of you. 

Your fluids splash across his broad chest, arms and a bit even reaches his face—mouth forming on his cheek to greedily lick up your remains.

Even with limited control over his own faculties, Sukuna was still able to turn you into a quivering mess.

Dammit! You were supposed to be the one in control! 

You can only weakly grasp at his cocks as the motions of his fingers switch from languid exploratory strokes to fast pumps, adding a third finger and pressing a thumb into the rim of your puckered hole.

Stirring up your insides, Sukuna, to be frank, isn’t doing it for your reactions but for your pussy’s. 

Mind clouded, Sukuna fully dissociates once again in his enchantment of you, he doesn’t even realize you aren’t sucking him off any longer. He is much too distracted by every response your gooey cunt gifts him.

If anyone had asked him, in his utterly toked state, Sukuna would have sworn your cunt was actually squelching out full sentences. Sukuna, of course —fully fluent in ‘Cuntanese’—understands her with sparkling clarity.

She wanted more, to cum even harder. 

She’s so fucking warm, so creamy, so lewd—all for him.

Becoming more sloppy and unaware in his actions, Sukuna’s growling increases. His current frustrations centered on needing to see more of your creamy slick spurt out of you. 

Somehow all four of his hands are covered in your essence now. The hands with fingers not inside your pussy or rimming your ass, spread your cheeks wider, holding them up as the remaining one pinches your clit crudely. 

Helplessly, ass up, you lay your head down on one of his upper thighs. You drag your nails alongside his hips hoping to disrupt his daze, but on the contrary, it does nothing but spur on Sukuna’s mania further. 

The both of you being high made the situation that much worse. 

Sukuna’s fingers drive you towards oblivion, crashing into ecstasy. The edges of your vision smoldered, blurring your sight. You aren’t sure if the sun had finally set and the stars you saw were in the sky or behind your own lids, momentarily disassociating from pure pleasure. 

With a scream, you cum for the second time, your eyes locked behind your skull and your legs spasming as waves of pleasure make your hips twitch uncontrollably.

Holy fuck!!! You’d never cum that hard while high before! 

Sukuna finally snaps out of his enthralled reverie, only to discover you’ve been reduced to a mere puddle on his torso. Your holes are agape and swollen from his brutality, glistening with fluids that hadn’t stopped dripping onto him yet.

You practically see his smug grin, a fang poking out from his lips, just from his smarmy tone.

“Heh—giving up that easy just from a couple fingers in your cunny, brat? Thought you were gonna fuck me?”

You whine. Even if his own voice sounded a bit strained it was nothing compared to your own condition. Yet despite your rubbery limbs, you muster the strength to push your jellied body up—determined to have your way with him. 

Sukuna chuckles at your persistence.

The mouth on his stomach opens to lap away at the remains of your squirt on his torso and your slick-coated thighs. The thick slimy tongue has you jolting forward with a rippling moan when it flicks over your sensitive clit.

“Heh, woman, you look like shit.”

HA! How are you going to fuck him when you could barely be touched without shaking? 

Sukuna guess you’ll be tapping out before the first round is over, tch—of course you’d need him to take over. 

Testing his condition, Sukuna raises his head only to be immediately slammed with vertigo rushing psychedelic colors behind his eyes. He curses lowly to himself, still pissed the plant is having this much of an effect on him.

Sukuna makes a promise to himself that he will in fact kill you, iif you leave him blue balled because of this. The high causes his cocks to ache more than ever.

“Tch—If you’re going to do it, then do it. Fuck me then, ya nasty lil’ slut.”

Sukuna was right, you are a slut.

Fucked out by his fingers or not, your still aching pussy wouldn’t be satisfied until she was stuffed full of him.

But it would still be on your terms.

Sukuna looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to move and feigning boredom. 

However, his mood turns to annoyance though when he notices you only plan to take his bottom cock, he didn’t work that ass of yous ass open for nothing. 

“BRAT—”

“—SHUT IT and let me concentrate if you wanna get your nut!”

You do quiet him though, once you manage to squeeze his thick cockhead into your cunt. Pussy clenching around his tip like a vacuum suction, you hear Sukuna slurp a thick wad of spit through his teeth as he grinds down on them. 

It was cute, him trying not to react to you, That serves as enough encouragement to keep you from mentally succumbing to the monstrous girth entering you—for now at least.

Easing yourself lower on his fat girth, you’re panting, tongue out and hips quivering just from getting the head of him inside.

You’d learned to take him well enough, but that was when he was the one bullying himself into you. Having to mount him yourself was daunting to say the least. Only halfway in and your guts are shifting while moisture burns the corners of your eyes.

This was the exact reason you chose not to take in both his cocks. 

You would struggle enough with just one of them. 

His cock inside you, already pressed against your cervix, he is almost 3/4ths in and you have no idea how you will manage the rest. Suddenly wondering if Sukuna uses some kind of curse technique to fit all of him inside you without skewing your organs.

“Shiiiiit, f-fuckin’ dummy thick monster c-cock, this b-big for no f-fuckin’ reason…”

You mumble to yourself, clearly floundering.

Sukuna smirks at your labored efforts but his mask cracks as you finally surrender to gravity and bottom out on him—the resulting cry from him is somewhere between a growl and a whine. 

That was the end of resistance for Sukuna. 

His ultra-sensitive cock twitching in the sweltering embrace of your gummy walls, convinced his dick might melt off then and there—the heat, he decided, was most definitely hotter than his divine flames.

Once nside you, Sukuna returns his bruising grip to your hips. His trembling fingers betray the fact he still doesn’t have the capacity to regain control anytime soon. 

Exhaling your own shaky breath, legs under you, you lean back. One of your arms reaching back to plant on his muscular thigh, the other pressing his unattended shaft into the soft curves of your belly, adjusting yourself so its base brushes up against your clit. 

Your warmth welcomes his unsheathed cock like a soft pillow and he’s biting his lips again, blood trickling down his chin.

Although he’s still leaking more than enough pre for lubricant, you still dip your head forward momentarily to drop a large wad of dribble on the cock nestled against your curves. 

Your perverse acts are the cherry on top for Sukuna, who keens out a moan so loud, so needy and pathetic, it has your own toes curling. Fueling you to milk more from him as you bring down your hips harder, morphing The Curse King to goop beneath you.

Your own whimpers are just as obscene from the sight of his length extending past your belly button. It was surreal to see a distinct outer visual of just how deep his inner cock is inside you, you could feel them press together through your skin.

God, he was nearly in your ribs.

“S-Shiiiiiiit—M-MOVE! Ya f-fuckin’ dumbass brat!”

Sukuna yells at you, speech slurring, as his nails prick into your skin slightly. 

You chose not to sass him this time though, too needy for it as well. 

Establishing a rhythm, if you had the capacity to imagine anything beyond how his cock was spearing you open between your thighs—you might have mused that any curses in his palace—Uraume especially, must be absolutely terrified at what has their fearsome master is sobbing so wretchedly.

You’re thrilled at the idea of having transformed the most powerful cursed sorcerer into the crumbling virgin-like man beneath you. 

You feel your body tremble as his swollen member throbs intensely inside you, causing you to sense the rhythmic pulsation of his heart resonating deeply within your being. Sukuna's face, usually composed, now displays an unexpectedly stressed expression, which only adds to his adorableness.

Yet, your own eyes were crossing so bad you couldn’t even enjoy your victory like you want. 

Desperately moaning, you’re lifting yourself up and down, riding him in earnest as you fuck yourself dumb on his huge girth. Just one of Sukuna’s cocks were so intoxicating and you realized, the privilege of actually having him fuck you instead of you doing the work.

In order to guarantee both of your pleasures. 

But you are hardly giving up—slippery fluids create delicious friction as his top cock also slides over your swollen clit.  Your tits bounce lively every time your tight soggy pussy devours his cock back down to the base. The sound of skin slapping echoes throughout the room, only overshadowed by Sukuna's unusual cries of pleasure. 

Your inner thighs ache from exertion but you are in the zone now. You’ve willingly become your own torturer as you impale yourself on him. 

Mind floating away as you treat his cock thrusted against your belly like a fidget toy. Your nails mindlessly rim the edges of his foreskin before grasping the tip of his cockhead, sliding the last bit of skin down to fully expose his angry bulbous tip. You squeeze him tightly while your other hand comes from behind you to pump the base. 

While Sukuna’s lower hands still desperately hang on to your hips, he's since thrown one of his upper hands over his face much to his chagrin. The other, claws fully extended, proceeds to tear up the tatami matting of his floor. 

Sukuna’s pitchy whimpers and badly suppressed whines have you so hot you forget yourself once again. Chasing your own pleasure, you pump his upper cock like slippery reigns as you ride him. 

And that is exactly what breaks him. 

Peeking out from under his forearm, Sukuna observes how your head is like a bobble, lulling with your movements as your slackened jaw so dumbly seeps drool down your body. All thought leaving your silly little head, babbling nonsensical coos and praises for his big cock ruining you.

Despite not being in control, Sukuna still feels a strange wave of warmth spread in his chest from watching you fuck yourself completely fucking stupid on him. The feeling instantly has his balls tightening, resulting in his upper cock twitching so violently that it even catches your fucked out attention. 

You glance down just as his engorged length finally relieves itself, spurting out a geyser of cum all over you.

Sukuna releases a moan that is husky, deep and guttural—quite literally guttural—as he had just moaned from the mouth on his stomach. His upper cock is still spraying a hefty load of cum that covers your stomach, thighs and some even shooting up to hit you right below your eye. 

Your eyes widen.

“Did you just moan from your tummy!?”

You’re hardly in the position to tease him though, disheveled and covered in his sticky essence.

You were quite the mess in your own right—heh, but you still weren’t the first to cum! 

Sukuna glares at you, panting through his scowl with watery eyes.

Leaning forward, you continue to taunt him, keeping your hand firmly around his now flaccid member. Sukuna flinches and hisses, attempting to swat your hands away, but he finds himself even more weakened than before, unable to pry you away.

“Hmm, are you trying to tell me you prefer my hands over my pussy?l Or are you just this much of a slut for getting your nasty foreskin played with, Daddy?”

His lower cock pulses at your words, still painfully hard inside you, reminding you of your own needs. You don’t wait for Sukuna’s response before you’re back bouncing on him with increased fervor, pulling at your neglected tits and still giving him shit.

“C’mon Daddy, talk to me. You love it when your lil’ slut rides you while she’s all sticky, covered in your cum, yeah?”

For emphasis your fingers swirl shapes into the streaks of spunk on your belly, sloppily writing out the Kanji for “Sukuna” over your womb.

Sukuna’s face beet red from the anger and shame of having been reduced to a mere plaything for you.

Writing his name on you with his cum!? Fuckin’ debased, foul, nasty wh—

“Oh my, you’re backed up, Daddy. I can feel you twitching—a-ah!”

You snap him out of the turmoil of his thoughts with the lazy lust-filled evil saturated in your voice as you moan out more torturous, mind melting words for Sukuna.

“Y-ou’re gonna have to tell me before you cum, Kuna, kay? You spray this much inside me, with this thick monstrous cock of yours—you’ll get me pregnant, ya know. You wouldn’t want that—or do you?”

Your fingers play in his essence on your belly once more, circling the Kanji cum scribbles of his name branded on your skin. 

“Bet ya wanna fill my tight lil’ pussy to the brim—force me to carry your lil’ curse-spawn-terrors—make you a real daddy, Daddy. You’d like that, huh?”

Sukuna’s sweat slicked hands struggle to hold onto you, throwing his head back so he doesn’t have to look at you. 

He can’t keep you in his sights as he can’t stop the vision of you, being completely made his—belly full of his growing seed and tits full of milk—from invading his mind. 

Dizzy, Sukuna can only think with his cock as you ride him towards nirvana. He’s almost at his greatly diminished limit again, his stamina now a joke of his usual.  

Chasing your own high, you rub at your clit vigorously while you grind yourself against him. Your pussy spasming around his length that stretches you so well. Body wrecking itself with pleasure, your cries grow louder and more desperate.

So close. You’re so close. So clo—

But Sukuna is first yet again—crooning out a choked roar as he cums again, this time inside you.

With no warning....asshole.

Nevertheless, the satisfying warmth of his seed bursting against your cervix has you moaning from the overwhelmingly full feeling in your guts. Creampie frothing out of you, gathering at the base of his cock. 

You were low key surprised that you were able to goad him into doing it at all. You weren’t seriously trying to get pregnant—just tease him a bit. You didn’t know he’d be this into breeding fantasies, as even though you are on birth control Sukuna for damn sure didn't trust any human pill to stop his cursed seed, always pulling out.

“W-Woah, this makes it, what? The second time you’ve cum before me—and inside me now too!”

The streaks on Sukuna’s furious cheeks leave behind evidence of the few tears you’d managed to fuck out of him.

“Aweee Kuna, should I call ‘Baby’ now? Only babies cry and cream before Mommy does.” 

Sukuna chest heaves, staring death at you as he gives you the finger—one of the few modern gestures he’d picked up. 

You laugh, although your body winces as you slide his thick softening member out of you. 

Globs of your shared fluids drip out of you and onto his torso when you finally will yourself to stand-up over Sukuna, smugness radiating in your whole demeanor.

Desiring to remove that smug expression from your face, as well as your head, he cannot recall a time when he was defeated to such an extent since he was last imprisoned and his fingers were scattered.

Teetering on your cramping legs, you delight in your victory nonetheless. Taking your time in soaking up the image of him, grumpy, soiled, and flaccid, imprinting it in your mind to throw it in his face the next time he decides to get sassy with you.

You know he’s likely going to kill you for what you were about to do, but you’d never get a chance to do something like this again. 

Besides, he surely has weed dick now given his still flaccid cocks and you still need to come!

Sauntering to stand by his head, your soft foot presses down on his clavicle, prompting Sukuna to bare his teeth while a clawed hand comes to wrap around your ankle.

“Heel, Kuna. You still have to make me cum.”

“I don’t have to do fucking shit but make good on my promise to rip you apart once this bullshit wears off.”

You pay him no mind as your foot shifts to raise his chin, forcing him to meet your gaze while your fingers swiftly glide up your inner thighs to spread your pussy lips. His cum still trickling out from the creamy plug that is visibly filling your center. 

“Eat it.”

Sukuna looks at you skeptically, like you just lost the little remaining sanity your crazy ass had in the first place.

Who the fuck did you think you were?

To one—have him take a command from you, and two—actually think he’d let you dominate him in such a way.

Sukuna scoffs.

“Sit on my stomach and I might let you cum, brat.”

“Nuh-uh, Kuna—I wanna ride your actual face. It’s the least you can do after you came before me twice!”

Trying not to visibly wince, Sukuna was so over your nagging and constant reminders of how weak he was while high, trying to tune you out. 

“...and then inside me without warning—like you don’t give a fuck if I happen to get pregnant!”

“I don't, get pregnant.”

“I—wait…WHAT?!”

You must have heard wrong. 

Sukuna would want a lobotomy before a kid. 

He always pulled out. 

He just did not tell you to get pregnant.

No way!

Sukuna growls, he’s admittedly getting tired, but it's clear you wouldn’t give him any rest until you came once more. Well, at least with a mouth full of pussy he couldn’t say anymore wildly embarrassing shit he didn’t mean.

He really didn’t want kids, but picturing you pregnant made his dicks so unfathomably hard in the moment, it was confusing, not to mention infuriating. However, the last damned thing Sukuna wanted to do was talk about his slip up.

Left with no choice but to eat you out nasty enough for you to forget all about it.

“I SAID—If you don’t want to get pregnant, then park that ass of yours on my face, bitch.”

You bristle at Sukuna calling you a bitch, yet you let it pass once all four of his arms yank you down to sit you directly on his face, his tongue plunging straight into your gooey cunt.

And true to his skills, the conversation was the last thing on your mind, having been scrubbed of all thoughts once you felt his hot mouth consuming your sensitive flesh. 

Sukuna's tongue traces torturous circles on your clit, before grazing it with sharp canine, prompting your hands to delve into his unruly locks. The grunts that escape Sukuna's lips as you tug on his hair intensify the pleasurable tingling in your pussy, compelling you to pull even harder.

To your delight, what his primary tongue lacks in girth compared to the one on his stomach, it makes up for in dexterity. Sukuna laps, swirls and twists through your folds. His tongue darts in and out of your wet slit so vulgarly leaking his cum, sending tremors up your spine.

Choking on your whimpers, your hips can’t stop shaking and Sukuna has to brace your thighs down to keep you in place. Sukuna wasn’t about to let you run from it now, not after all the shit you put him through.

You begged to cum in his mouth—so you are going to cum in his fucking mouth.

You cry out when a hand reaches up to manhandle your chest, pinching at your nipples and rolling them between his gruff fingers.  The pair of hands on your thighs move to your ass, gripping your flesh overflowing in his grasp.

Gasping, your mouth falls open, when his fingers massage your ass, spreading it open as he tilts you back to spit into your hole. Replacing his own mouth with one on his hand as he returns his attention back to your savory lil’ cunt.

Shiiiiiit!

Feels so good, you’re so close to cumming again. Your body trembles, the fire inside you spreading from your core to your fingertips as your face contorted in pleasure.

“Su-S-Sukuna, pleeeaseee, Daddy.”

You’re not even sure what you are asking for at this point, you just want more of it. 

More of everything.

Sukuna, obliges you. 

Losing himself in your lust, his panting becomes more wet and ragged. He’s painfully aroused once again, this time simply from listening to your whiney pleas. Sukuna’s tongue digs into your cunt deeper, scooping out his own cum and devouring it along with the continuous flow of your own fluids gushing out of you.

Your taste is much sweeter, cutting the unpleasant taste of his own salty spunk, so Sukuna relentlessly sucks more out of you. 

Sukuna is so caught up in giving you pleasure, he’s completely unaware of the fact he’s now humping the air, cocks flinging pre on his abs as they sway against the imaginary friction.

“K-Kuna, I’mma—shiiiiit—cum!”

You clench a fist full of his hair, nails digging into his scalp. You continuously buck your hips forward, your clit brushing agonizingly up against his nose. Quivering, glorious waves of pleasure wash over you, Sukuna knows all your pleasure spots as he easily takes you to the very heights of your ecstasy.

Sputtering moans nonsensically, you nearly slip off Sukuna completely when you tilt back too far. You unintentionally end up choking him as you catch yourself by grasping onto his neck for support.

Sukuna, caught off guard, gags. The intense vibrations from him choking on your pussy as he heaves for air tips you right over the edge. Your world washes white as you cum, thighs and hips and convulsing. 

Outlasting you this time by a hair, Sukuna cums hard, his milky fluids jetting out from his cocks to spill onto his stomach—shooting up as far as to land on your back.

Dazed from your orgasm you don’t actually realize he'd cum again until you actually slip on the mess he’s made when you begin to climb off his face.

“D’aww, Baby done messed himself bad this time, huh?”

“Perish.”

Weariness seeps through his tone, betraying the fatigue that weighed on him after cumming even harder than the previous two times.

Silence fills the space as neither of you noticed before how the sun had long since set. The soft moonbeams were the only source of light in his chambers, illuminating the space more than usual, due to the now destroyed wall.

Your bones feel like mush but you still manage to grab Sukuna’s discarded robe, using it to somewhat wipe off your bodies. 

Sukuna doesn’t register how intensely he’s staring at you, having dissociated once more. 

His arrogance is replaced by a strange look of infatuation—well strange for him.

Sukuna is lost again, charmed by your shining aura in the lunar light. The very essence of your soul glows iridescently to him, even in darkness.

He muses there’s not a being, human nor curse, as captivating as y—TCH, THE FUCK?!

Whatever you gave him was turning him into a real fuckin’ sap, thats for damn sure. 

Sukuna needed this nightmare to be over, and have neither of you ever speak of it again.

You on the other hand are doing your best to fight the urge to bashfully shrink away. There were typically only 3 emotions that ever appeared on Sukuna’s face: brooding, predatory or straight up hostile.

Him looking at you this way is freaking you out.

“You’re a weirdo.”

Sukuna exhales, exasperated. 

He doesn’t know what to do with you. His troublesome lil’ human that, for some insane reason, he’d formed an attachment to beyond using as a cocksleeve.

“Then you’re a dumb slut who likes to fuck weirdos, brat.”

Shoving your face into his neck, you inhale the scent of his skin and your sex.

“Got me there, Daddy.”

Nibbling up to his chin, one of his arms wrap around you, bringing you impossibly closer when your teeth graze over his sweat slicked Adam's apple. 

Grinning at him, you lick up any of your essence lingering on his face.

“You know, I’m going into the city with Uraume next week—I could get some more of this shit, we could actually smoke it next time, hm?”

“You could also be a corpse scattered in a million pieces by then.”

Although Sukuna’s yawns sound more like roars, he can’t even bring himself to be annoyed at his displays of weakness any longer. The edible enhanced the stated feelings of the after sex high, amplifying it a hundred fold and making him unusually docile. 

Even if Sukuna could now understand why mortals do this for “fun”, he personally just never wanted near the stuff again—let alone in his fucking palace.

But he’d fight you over that later.

“Moreover, I will literally never eat any of your concoctions again.”

You’re yawning too, the effect being contagious as the question absentmindedly slips from your lips.

“...Hm, s’that so? *yawn* ….Well why did ya in the first place, Kuna?”

Tsk, stupid woman—because you made them, of course.

Sukuna said it in his head. 

Sukuna swore he said it in his head.

But when you immediately bolt upright, eyes expanding like saucers, he knows he fucked up. 

Attempting to recover, he tacks on a brash comment. Remarking on how he knew consuming them all would piss you off—oh and it had—but in this case, the damage had already been done.

Concern flashing across your eyes, you hurriedly brush your fingers through his rosy locks. Picking and prodding, firmly turning his head from side to side, until Sukuna’s own hands entrap yours, pausing your frantic actions.

“And just what the fuck are you doing now, woman?!”

“Checking for stitches.”

Sukuna gives a disgruntled snort, scoffing at your foolishness.

“I’m serious! Kenjaku’s not in there with you, is he?!”

“You must actually think I won’t kill you, brat….”

You giggle softly, satisfied with his answer as you peck tender kisses on his lips but Sukuna is unmoved. 

Sukuna hardly ever kisses you to be fair—but you’d just fucked him to tears! 

The least he can do to repay you is a kiss!

“C’mon Kuna, stick out your tongue a lil’ for me.”

Sukuna stares at you unamused.

“Aweee—Please, Daddy?”

Your words hang in the air, a rebuttal poised on the edge of his lips. 

But upon meeting your bright angelic eyes, Sukuna in a moment of unexpected impulse, closes the gap between you. 

Your lips clash as you breathe in one another. The kiss is less urgent than your earlier cravings, but just as filled with desire. A tumultuous dance of tongues and teeth, fueled by some magnetic pull that would likely never be vocalized in words—yet you still feel everything Sukuna leaves unsaid.

You smile once he allows you to pull back for air, blowing a kiss at him before resting your head back on his chest. Your body easily molds over him and his remaining arms snake around your form.

All of Sukuna’s eyes were closed, the welcome heaviness behind his lids extending down through his entire being.

Honestly, this is the most at peace he’s been in centuries. 

“Mmm…one more question, Kuna?”

Of course, you would be the one to disturb that though.

“Only if you promise to go the fuck to sleep after, brat.”

You nod into his chest, your hands only cupping a tiny part of his biceps as your manicured nails trace along his tattoos.

“How’d they taste?”

Seriously? 

You’re fucking insufferable. 

But Sukuna is way too over it all to fight you right now.  His entire body feels akin to a giant sandbag with every passing second.

“Decent. Now sleep.”

Your shrill squeal has him regretting his compliment immediately. 

“Aweee Kuna, Daddy! You big softie! Next you’ll be telling me you love me, huh?”

Tsk, and this is exactly why Sukuna would fuck you unconscious—so he didn’t have to put up with your nonsensical overly emotional prattling after. The intimacy of pillow talk has him queasier than the vertigo he’d experienced earlier. 

“I loathe you.”

“Love you t—”

Faster than you can react, his powerful hands move, grappling your head down and clamping over your mouth instantly.

“SLEEP!”

Listening to the grumbles resonating in his chest from Sukuna's unintelligible muttered curses, you hum contentedly with his hand over your mouth, a simple ghost of a smile lingering on your lips as you ease into a comforting slumber.

The next morning, you are stirred awake by blinding sunlight.

Still lethargic from the night before, and totally not a morning person, you try to roll over. Yet you find yourself unable to move. 

Huh?

Wanting to rub your eyes clear of sleep, you become aware that your hands, for some reason, are behind your back and are also immobilized.

Panic begins to set in. You fear it might be a bad bout of sleep paralysis—that is, until you hear Sukuna’s dark voice bellow over you sarcastically.

“Oh? What’s this? The lazy whore finally arises…”

Heart pounding anxiously, your bleary eyes open to the vision of Sukuna’s form towering over you next to his bed. 

Ok, at least he had the decency to—

A flash of red catches your eye.

Oh, fuck…

Entangled in the shibari frog-tie position—you are bound in complex knots. The thick silk crimson ropes intricately weave their way around your naked body. 

Tied with seasoned precision, the visually striking pattern of the ropes accentuated your body’s serpentine contours. Knees bent, your plump thighs are spread wide and apart, which secure to your calves. 

You feel a chill run through you as the early morning air breezes past your cunt, fully exposed as the ropes are the only thing adorning you.

Equally excited as you are terrified, your squirms cause the diamond cut pattern to imprint deeper into your supple skin. Shivering under his smolder, goosebumps erupt across your skin and fat tears well on the edges of your eyes.

Sukuna sinks low to crouch over you.

“Now, now—”

His powers fully restored, the depraved smirk Sukuna wears is the most chilling you’d ever seen.

“—you didn’t delude your silly little head into thinking I wouldn’t get my turn, now did you?”

Sukina cups your face, the mouth on his hand savoring your tears.

The harsh reality donning upon you as to how fucked you really are in this situation right now.

Shifting his grasp to squeeze your cheeks, Sukuna forces your mouth open. 

Fully awake, your eyes nearly pop out of your head as Sukuna unveils a platter—the same platter bearing the last remaining manju edible.

“Now fucking say ‘ahh’ for Daddy, brat.”

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

» a/n: what you think of 420 Sukuna? Hopefully it wasn't too long/dragged on? this is meant to be a one shot btw. im really not trying to do a p2 (please, lmfao i cant). i still have a toji 420 fic half written and an idea for nanami but putting those on the back burner to finish another installment of otaku!gojo or nerd geto p2, one of those will be next. i promise! taglist will be in reblogs.

comments & reblogs make my coochie cream

[pomefioredove]

My brain is kinda sluggish plus I'm indecisive but also i did like several of these (also if i need to divide up this post let me know)

I have no clue which i like best so i simply made a list but let me know if i need to chunk it up

For Riddle Rosehearts

"If you obey all the rules, you miss all the fun." Or "I'm putting you on my to-do list."

For Vil Schoenheit

"Don't bite your lip, I want to do that."

For Ruggie

"You like me because I'm a scoundrel."

vil done here!

summary: "if you obey all the rules, you miss all the fun." type of post: short fic characters: riddle additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, maybe ooc, post book 1

You think it's a pretty pathetic sight, but you make no mention of it. Their egos are bruised enough as it is.

"How long?" you ask, sitting across from the shackled duo.

Ace knocks against the solid collar around his neck. "Not long... But we can't present like this,"

You were hoping he wouldn't say that.

And just a day after you told them not to do anything stupid this week, too...

Deuce says nothing; he's been sulking at the end of the table like a puppy with its tail between its legs for the entire lunch period.

"Have you tried reasoning?" you ask. "Maybe he can take them off for the presentation, then put them back on?"

Ace scoffs. "Reason? With Riddle?"

"I thought he was trying to be more lenient?"

"He is," Deuce mutters, hanging his head. "But that just means he only dishes out punishments when someone really deserves it..."

"It was just a stupid painting!" Ace says.

"That we set on fire!"

You look between the two as they bicker over the accident, bewildered by their lack of concern about where this puts you.

Ace and Deuce were supposed to perform the magical component of your defense project, while you and Grim presented. Now...?

You stand. "I'll talk to Riddle,"

Your friends share a pitiful look, but do nothing to stop you as you hurry out of the room.

Surely, Riddle will understand. He wouldn't let you suffer from Ace and Deuce's mistake!

"No," he says.

"But-"

Riddle beheads the wilting flower of a rose with a sharp snap of his shears. It tumbles into the underbrush.

"They destroyed a priceless piece of art. It was hundreds of years old!" he snaps, leaving no room for disagreement. "They should be thankful it's only a week."

He moves on to the next browning rose, inspecting its petals before decapitating it, too.

"But I didn't do anything. I told them not to do anything dumb, I tried to reason with them,"

"Reason? With Ace and Deuce?" he scoffs.

"I would recommend asking for an extension on your assignment until they've carried out their sentence,"

It's too late to ask for another week; he must know that. And you're not giving up so easily.

There must be something you can say...

"But it was an accident,"

Riddle scoffs. "Of course it was. And the rules clearly state that accidental arson of a painting more than three hundred years old must be punished by losing their heads,"

Rules. Great. This is quickly becoming a lost cause.

"There has to be some other way they can be punished," you say. "You said you weren't going to lose your head about these things anymore."

He sighs, rolling his eyes as if frustrated with you. "The rules-"

"Come on, Riddle- If you obey all the rules, you miss all the fun!"

Riddle stops. For a moment, it's almost like... he's actually considering your offer.

"...What exactly did you have in mind?"

-

"This is what you call a compromise?!"

Ace's head of fiery hair pops up, the color a striking contrast against the green of the hedge maze.

You shrug. Riddle, sitting across from you as you watch the two tend to the shrubbery, almost giggles.

"The Prefect has been more than fair. If anything, you should be thanking them for the opportunity to end your punishment early," he says, pouring you another cup of tea.

Ace grumbles, scratching his neck under his collar.

Deuce nudges him, and the two get back to work on trimming the hedges, a puny pair of shears in each hand.

Riddle smiles. "I must say, I'm rather impressed by your persuasion skills. It's not often that I change the terms of a punishment after it's dealt,"

"Well, I didn't want to fail on their account,"

"I heard that!" Ace yells. Riddle grins again.

"Perhaps your ingenuity will inspire them, then," he hums, cupping his tea in his palms.

"In the meantime, I believe another tea party is in order for tomorrow afternoon- they have a lot of ground to cover. Care to join?"

[sexilene]

I FEIN FOR A FULL FIC ABOUT PRINCESS!READER WRITTING IN HER DIRAY S'SO CUTE LIKE

yeesss OFC!! ignore any mistakes sorrriii ˚ ༘✶ ｡˚ ⁀➷ princess!reader w - mentions of sex, p in v, rafe making it up to you through sleepy sex!!

your nighttime self-care routine sometimes included needing to write in your diary the things you wouldn't dare say out loud. you sat on your side of the bed with the dim warm light illuminating the room while rafe took a shower. often doing all your skincare, shower stuff, and oral care before rafe so that after you can let it all marinate before sleeping. you grab your pink fluffy pen from your nightstand to start your journaling. 

dear diary, today was so totally not great, rafe ended up leaving me this morning to play golf with the boys even after he promised to take me to martino's to get some tea cakes that i've been craving for the past week!! AND on top of that, i missed a hair appointment since rafe had the car all day and he's like my boyfriend chauffeur!! this blows!! i hate him and he will not be given kisses or sex until further notice. 

rafe walks out of the bathroom, with a towel around his waist, his hair all wet, and droplets of water running down his muscles. the view almost makes you forget why you were pissed at him in the first place, but then you quickly snap out of it when you remember you are supposed to be "ranting" in your diary. 

"whatcha doin'?" rafe asks, making you look over at him, he's put on some comfy pajama pants and sat down on his side of the bed, leaning over to look at what you are writing. 

"i'm doing self-care, it's my de-stress diary." 

"why do you need a diary? that's what i'm here for, tell your secrets to me." he shrugs and leans closer to really read what's on the pages. 

"nuh uh, somethings i would say aren't lady-like." you bring the diary to your chest to prevent him from reading it. 

"hey, lemme see. i'm basically entitled to read your diary, it's a boyfriend's right."

"no baby that's just an invasion of privacy." you giggle which makes him huff.

"okay well we promised no secrets, so give it here." he reaches for the diary, you roll your eyes and give up, handing it to him. 

"fine, but i should not be held accountable for what i wrote, its girl stuff."

"aww shit baby, i forgot about martino's, i'm sorry," he remembers as he beings to read what you wrote. "no sex or kisses until further notice? that's fuckin' ridiculous kid." he furrows his eyebrows while he's reading. 

"mm-hmm, it's not like you'd notice anyways since you've been so "busy" recently." you exaggerate and roll your eyes.

"don't roll your eyes at me, fix your attitude." he points at you scoldingly which only makes you pout and reach for the diary again. 

"if you think you really need this then fine, but no more talking shit about me in there. use your words." he closes the little book and hands it back to you. 

"i did." 

"you know what i mean." 

"i can't say it to your face." you shake your head and place the diary on your nightstand. 

"yes, you can." he wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer to him, your back to his bare chest. 

"you smell really good." you sigh, wishing you could just give in and climb on top of him.

"thank you, baby. so do you." he kisses your bare shoulder, slipping down the thin strap of your silky nightgown. 

"but i'm still mad at you."

"rant to me then."

you sigh again, "you forgot that today was supposed to be our day, you suck and if you really loved me you wouldn't have done that." you exaggerate again. 

"i know princess, i know, and i'm sorry but i do love you so don't even start." your boyfriend chides, look back at him and he takes the opportunity to kiss the corner of your mouth. 

"no rafe, no kissing."

"don't be brat, i'll make it up to you. take you to martino's first thing tomorrow and i'll take you to do your hair, how'bout i fuck you to sleep nice n' slow right now? hmm?" he places his hand on the side of your face to bring you closer so he can press a kiss to your cheek. 

"mmhm ohkay, be gentle." you nod, rafe just grins and attacks you with soft kisses all over your lips, jaw and neck.

"just relax baby, lay down i'll do all the work." rafe extends his arm to reach over to your nightstand light to turn it off, now the only light coming in is the moonlight streaming in through the balcony windows. you lay back against the mattress, head hitting the pillows and rafe lifts the thin dress above your hips. never really wearing panties under your nightgown while you sleep, he rubs your bare pussy with the pads of two of his big fingers. rafe pulls himself out, also not wearing any boxers under the plaid pajama pants to sleep, and lines himself up to slowly push in, you wine and dig your nails into his biceps. 

"shshsh....you're fine." your boyfriend soothes as he begins to slowly and gently stretch you out, giving you a few wet kisses on your neck. the way he smells and feels on top of you makes you feel so warm and sleepy, that your eyes begin to fall closed as he thrusts into you very softly.

"i love you," you whisper, wrapping your arms around his neck to make you feel closer to him even though he's balls deep inside you right now. 

"i love you more princess, jus' fall asleep, i've got you."

[jjbalice]

Martyr's Folly

Summary: Yunho helps and comforts the reader after they've accidentally cut too deep.

Genre: a hurt/comfort Yunho x reader oneshot

Word count: 4.81k (15-20 mins)

Trigger warnings: semi-descriptive self-harm (blood, cuts, use of blades - nothing too crazy, though, don't worry!), panicking, crying, mentions of relapsing, lots of pet names, nicknames, and physical affection lol, Yunho is a blessing

A/N: This fic is pretty personal since I've been struggling with not feeling valid enough because of the way I SH, which isn't the stereotypical kind you see in movies and such. In a way, it's an attempt at scaring myself from buying any actual blades mixed in with the comfort I crave whenever I slip up, I guess.

Baby cuts. Cat scratches. Damage dealt within the epidermis and the higher half of the dermis. Whatever you want to call it.

For a few weeks now, that's exactly what has been slowly but steadily appearing on your feet and lower calves. Or re-appearing, rather. A bad habit from the past coming back to haunt you all over again for no apparent reason.

No but seriously, what reason for doing this is there? You're happy, you have a stable part-time job on the side of your studies that are also going great, and an incredible boyfriend with whom you've just celebrated a 6-month anniversary. No real issues in your life as far as you can see.

Sure, sometimes you get caught up in a fight with your friends or parents, or even with Yunho, or maybe some of your insecurities hit extra strong on some days. But all of that is normal, right? Just some passing obstacles that get resolved in a few days tops.

So why are you here, at 3 am, staring at the husk of a person in the mirror? Why is your head so empty yet incomprehensibly full at the same time? Why are your hands all fidgety, getting ready to strike any moment?

Truth be told, you have no clue.

This was supposed to be a lovely weekend for you. You got off work early on Friday, securing enough time to pack your stuff at your dorm before heading to Yunho's apartment for a sleepover. He's been trying to convince you to move in with him after your anniversary, saying how it would be both cheaper and closer to your university. Both of those arguments are true, and yet you remain stubborn, wanting to keep your independence for just a bit longer.

Alas, Yunho has no choice but to respect your decision and settle for weekend sleepovers in the meantime.

And even those are great! The two of you get to talk for hours and play games, cook dinner together or order in and watch TV... Mainly, though, you get to cuddle and snuggle to your hearts' content (and maybe even do a bit more than that, if the opportunity and want arises).

That's also one of the main reasons for your hesitance over this whole... relapse thing.

Because of Yunho and his affectionate nature towards you, hiding the traces of your renewed habits became much more difficult. You couldn't cut where you used to before, all of those areas feeling way too exposed now.

And so, you settled on the bottom of your legs. Anything a pair of longer socks could easily hide without too much questioning from your boyfriend. Let's just say your feet are cold all the time now, even though summer's just barely starting to end.

Is it satisfying to harm there? No, not at all. The area is too small and angular, and the pain-to-mark ratio is nowhere near optimal. Everything feels too bony and stings more than other places, and all you get from it are the faintest of scratches.

But anything to at least partially quell the urge, right?

Well, not exactly.

If the razor blade hidden within the confines of your duffel bag was any proof, your methods weren't exactly effective.

You've never used an actual razor blade before, never even planned on trying it since you knew about the dangers of using it and how everything could get out of hand within seconds. Sure, the scissors and other sharp objects you've used until now weren't exactly perfect either, but they didn't put you at as much of a risk of going to the ER.

...So why did you buy the blade then?

Well, it was pretty cheap, first of all. You could just buy it, think about using it, and then throw it out without feeling too guilty about it, right? Not to mention how it helped you feel more valid about harming, even if you haven't used it yet. Self-harm is always depicted as razor blades on wrists, so even just owning one somehow helped you feel a bit more valid amidst the disappointing scratches on your leg.

It's been a week since you've bought said blade (or 5 blades rather, as they came in a pack - what a steal!). During that week, not much has happened to it. Right after you paid and got your receipt, you tossed the paper into a nearby trash can and stashed the pack of blades into your wallet. And there they were even later tonight, as you quietly crept to your bag to retrieve them, careful not to wake Yunho up.

But let's rewind back a bit. Back to where today's misfortune started.

Just like with everything else lately, you don't know why the urge to indulge washed over you specifically tonight. You and Yunho have spent such a fun evening together, lounging around and enjoying each other in whatever way felt right.

And yet, the moment the lights were turned off and your boyfriend spooned you from behind, holding you close while his breathing slowly evened out, it was as if something had shifted in the air. An overwhelming sense of emptiness washed over you, making you feel both completely dull and overstimulated. Yunho's arms around you felt both like an anchor and a vice, the opposing feelings adding even more to the already rising chaos in your mind. You were suddenly overly aware of every part of your body, as if your own skin was calling out to you.

You didn't want to.

You knew you had to.

As gently and quietly as you could, you unwrapped yourself from Yunho's embrace and got up. He let out a soft sigh at the loss of contact, and you had to admit, you already mourned it too.

Sneaking into the bathroom, you closed the door before turning on the lights. Avoiding the reflection in the mirror, you began searching through the cabinet under the sink. You didn't want to see yourself right now. If anything, it would just add to the confusing conflict raging within you, and you really didn't need that.

Rummaging through each shelf one more time, you let out a frustrated huff. There was nothing you could use. Well, save for the expensive-looking razor Yunho owned, but you really didn't have the patience or coherency to take apart your boyfriend's belongings.

It's time, then.

The return to the bedroom was a bit stressful, as you couldn't decide between searching through your duffel bag there or bringing it with you to the bathroom. Both options seemed too noisy right now, causing you to awkwardly loom over the bag for a few moments, chewing nervously on your bottom lip.

In the end, you decided to just risk it, crouching down to begin unzipping the top. Strangely enough, you kind of hoped Yunho would hear it and wake up. Maybe the shock of being caught would stop you for the time being and you could just go back to bed.

To both your luck and dismay, Yunho didn't wake up, his biggest reaction being the slightest stir of the sheets.

With your wallet in hand, you walked back to the bathroom, your steps a bit bolder this time. Now that you knew Yunho wouldn't wake up so easily, you didn't pay as much mind to the noise you were making.

In a weird way, you were upset. Upset he didn't wake up. Upset he didn't magically realize what your new obsession with socks could possibly mean. Upset he wasn't there to stop you right now.

But along with the upset came a strange feeling of calm. Joy, even.

He doesn't know. Nobody has any idea you're doing this right now. Nobody cares enough to find out anyway. You're free to reign over your body as you please, especially if it will finally shut down the confusing mess of emotions boiling within you.

It will, right?

It's 3 am. You're staying over at Yunho's apartment and he's currently sleeping in the bedroom next-door. You finally gather enough courage to look at yourself in the mirror, but it's rather disappointing. The shell standing in front of you doesn't bring up any emotions anymore. It doesn't even look like you, you think. Maybe this isn't you, after all. That's what you like to tell yourself whenever the moment is over, that this isn't actually the real you harming yourself. This is someone else taking hold of you and your upcoming actions.

You sit down on the cold bathroom floor, a razor blade in hand. When did you unpack them? The small paper packaging and 4 other blades are lying right next to you. Huh. Guess you did just now.

You don't bother taking off the socks. A precious thing like this shouldn't be used in such a shitty spot anyways.

Then again, you also don't exactly want to die right now, so the wrists are off-limits. Sure, you want to feel more valid and that place is the most stereotypical one to cut, but you're already holding the blade you thought you'd never dare use, so that's enough "progress" for now.

Now that you think about it, the thighs sound pretty scary too. You've always heard of some major arteries being located in the thigh. Perhaps you shouldn't risk it there then. Not yet, at least.

And so, like a coward, you move back to your lower leg.

To your defense, you do go considerably higher than usual! You pick a nice spot that's vaguely in the middle of the side of your leg, where your shins and calves would meet.

Deep breaths. You can do this. Just brace yourself and-

...

...

Oh fuck.

No, no, no nonono-

You knew the risks, you knew you should watch out for the pressure when using a razor blade for the first time since it's so much sharper than any pair of scissors you own, but somehow even the lessened pressure you put was too much.

Within seconds, blood started flowing to the surface. You dropped the blade, making it fly in a random direction as your hands trembled.

Your eyes welled with tears as, despite the blood, you could see a gash way deeper than any cut you'd ever made until now; you could literally see two parts of your skin split-

You're gonna throw up. Or faint. Or both. Oh fuck.

The first drops of blood fell onto the tiles just as your own tears pooled over. Your chest heaved with your labored breathing. You didn't know what to do.

Should you go to the ER? Will it stop on its own? Should you wake Yunho up? Oh god, you should probably wake Yunho up, shouldn't you.

Wiping your tear-stained face as best as you could with your shirt, you crawled over to the bathroom door. You were too scared to walk, afraid you'd faint if you stood up so suddenly.

As you sat by the door, another sob wracked through you. You couldn't calm down, you were too scared of what might happen if you didn't take care of the gash in time. And yet, you couldn't help but fear what might happen if you woke Yunho up. Now that you think about it, maybe it will just stop on its own and you can hide it for the rest of the weekend and then you'll just make up a story of how you got into an accident at work and-

One look at the trail of blood behind you was enough to get your hands on the door handle, pulling the door open on your second try. The door handle flew back up with a loud bang as you dropped back down, but the door was open at last. You pulled it fully open from where you sat, taking a few shallow breaths once you did so.

"...Y/N?"

Now. Now he wakes up. Not at any point before you could have done this. Now.

In the back of your mind, a strange feeling of anger bubbled up. Somehow, you wanted to blame Yunho for not getting to you sooner. But the second you realized what your brain was trying to do, you felt another pang of nausea hit you.

Yunho was not to blame in the slightest. This is all you. You started this, you went through with it, and now you're crawling back to him for help. Don't even try to put any blame on him, no matter how much easier it would make this whole thing to stomach.

"Y/N, are you okay?"

Right, he was awake. The shuffling of the sheets coming from the bedroom confirmed as much.

You tried to call out to him but choked on another sob instead.

All of your fear of being seriously hurt and needing help immediately shifted, transforming into the most heart-wrenching wave of guilt imaginable. Just what have you done? Why are you burdening someone else with this? Are you really going to make him see this?

Your thoughts were quickly interrupted by the first footstep. All the raging panic hit you anew, making you speak before you could think.

"W-wait!" You cried, an unknown feeling of desperation clutching your chest. "Please, please don't come here, please."

To your surprise, the footsteps actually stopped.

"...I'm waiting, but please tell me what's going on," Yunho replied with obvious unease.

Well, uh. You haven't exactly thought this far, have you?

"O-okay, I, well, I," you stumbled over your words, trying to work through the mush of your brain to come up with anything even barely comprehensible. "I did something really bad and I think I need your help but you have to promise not to be mad. I don't know what to do but please don't be upset."

Selfish. That's what you were. Even amongst all this chaos and pain you were about to drag Yunho into, all you could think about was saving your own face and evading consequences.

"Y/N, I'm sorry but I'm coming in," Yunho suddenly announced, and the footsteps resumed. "I need to see if you're okay, I promise I won't be mad."

There was no escaping it now. You could only brace yourself for the worst, whatever that would entail.

Two feet stood before your hunched-over form. You didn't dare look up, you didn't dare see what he was feeling.

As carefully as he could, Yunho stepped around you and further into the bathroom. You heard the scraping of metal across tiles before the cabinet doors opened. A towel, a first aid kit, and a medium-sized, colorful box appeared before you, along with your boyfriend in his cozy pajamas. Still, you didn't dare look up.

Wordlessly, he propped your injured leg up as gently as he could, as if he was handling the finest china in the world. Placing the dark grey towel under it, blood immediately rolled down and seeped into the material.

"Okay, this might seem a bit weird, but just- I'm not an expert or anything, far from it, really, but-"

As Yunho rambled nervously, you watched his hands tear open a pack of pads. Ever since your sleepovers became a more regular thing, he'd made sure to keep some in his apartment at all times in case of an emergency. Never had he thought he'd use them in this type of emergency, though.

You watched in confusion as he pulled out one of the pads, opening it and double-checking which side was sticky and which was dry. Unable to hide his worried grimace as he got closer to the wound, he pressed the cotton pad against it.

"I- I probably have something better in the first aid kit to stop the bleeding, but while I look through it, just hold that down to the cut, okay?"

You nodded weakly, deciding not to ask any questions and just let your boyfriend try to fix you. Not that you could say much anyway, not with the way your throat had dried and closed up from all the anxiety.

You silently kept watch as Yunho fumbled through the red bag, noticing the slight tremors in his hands. When you looked at his face, however, it appeared surprisingly neutral.

Ah, so he was trying to stay calm to not worry you any further, but on the inside, he was freaking out just as much as you, if not more. Great. You didn't think you could feel more guilt than you already had, but guess not.

"I'm sorry it's taking so long," he spoke up again, "Mingi would get injured all the time before he'd moved out - you know how clumsy he can get - and I, uh, haven't exactly taken the time to re-organize everything. Sorry."

Your lips twitched into the smallest of smiles, along with a hushed "It's okay, babe".

Yunho's eyes shot up at your words, mirroring your soft smile with his own. Pausing his search for just a second, he leaned over and planted a quick, reassuring kiss on your forehead. "You're right. I'll take good care of you, don't worry. After the first accident Mingi had here, I bought some steri-strips... They should still be around here somewhere, but we threw the original packaging away, so they're just a bit hard to find."

You hummed in understanding, hoping you could ease at least some of his worries by showing him you were doing alright.

Somehow, the moment Yunho appeared in the doorway, all of your previous panic stopped. It was as if through his presence, the jumbled mess of worries surrounding you had split into two. Yunho had graciously shouldered the worries about your physical state, while you focused on keeping his mental well-being in check. All of the fear about his reaction to this situation as a whole was still there, of course, but for the time being, you'd managed to shove them to the back of your mind. It was something to worry about later, when the two of you could calm down and properly talk to each other.

For now, all you had to do was just worry about Yunho while he worried about you.

"Finally!" Yunho sighed in relief, fishing out two small packs of steri-strips. "Okay. Let's do this, then."

But as he shuffled closer to your leg again, he paused.

"Wait, I'm sorry for assuming," he began while opening the first set, "but you don't want to go to the hospital, right? They'd obviously do a much better job than me, but since you said you needed my help, I just, I guessed that- you know. Should we go to the hospital instead?"

You immediately shook your head no, making Yunho smile faintly, glad to have read you right and that he wasn't wasting time trying to play hero.

You were thankful he didn't insist on taking you to the hospital. You knew it would probably be for the best, but right now, in your state, you couldn't even fathom going. You were terrified just crawling to the door to beg for Yunho's help, let alone driving to the opposite part of town to have complete strangers examine you.

"Right then," Yunho sighed, mentally steeling himself for the next step. "Can you feel your leg fine? Feeling faint or anything?"

You just shook your head, slowly easing the pressure you held on the cut. "I'm okay, I think. Just a little shaken up still."

Yunho nodded thoughtfully, helping you unstick the bloody pad from your hand. Luckily, it seemed that most of the bleeding had stopped, at least for now. "It's okay, I'm a bit out of it too."

"Sorry for making you do this," you whispered sincerely, but Yunho quickly stopped you again.

"Don't be sorry, Y/N. I know you didn't mean to do this. You wouldn't have called for me like that if things went down the way you wanted them to."

You couldn't bring yourself to say anything after that, feeling your throat tighten as a fresh wave of tears rushed to your eyes.

You averted your gaze as Yunho began cleaning the area as gently as he could before placing the strips down, helping hold the wound shut. Four strips helped the cut close up, and then two were laid on top of them to help everything stay put. Despite no professional medical training, you swear your boyfriend could do anything like an expert first-try. Well, considering him saying something about treating Mingi's injuries, he might have actually trained a bit already. Either way, you could feel your nerves easing a considerable bit at the sight of the gash finally closed-up.

"There we go," Yunho said contently, giving your other leg a gentle pat. "Just stay put a little longer, okay? I'm gonna clean up a bit in here."

Oh, that's right.

You were so out of it you completely forgot about the blades scattered around, the blood dripping across the floor, the towel, pads, first aid kit, everything.

Closing your eyes, you tried to focus on your breathing. It has mostly returned to normal, but you could still feel a lot of tightness in your chest.

"Hey now, don't go falling asleep on me, okay?" You heard Yunho calling out to you a few meters away, making you peek one eye open.

He was kneeling by the sink, scrubbing at the dirty tiles. When he noticed you looking at him, he flashed you a quick, comforting smile.

"'m not falling asleep," you protested, "I'm just resting a bit, sorry."

"It's okay, I was just a little worried."

Yeah. That's definitely one way to put how Yunho was likely feeling right now.

But that could be dwelled on and discussed later. For now, all you had to do was sit still, breathe deep, and stay strong.

...

"You still with me, princess?"

You opened your eyes again, this time to find Yunho sitting in front of you. You don't know how much time has passed, too focused on pacing your breaths, saying the alphabet forwards and backwards, thinking about your favorite TV show moments - anything to calm down, really.

When he saw you were still fully awake, he pulled out a gauze bandage with a small smile. "We should be fine with just the steri-strips, but let me wrap this up for you to be one hundred percent safe, okay?"

You let him do as he pleased, trusting his judgment better than your own at the moment. As he bandaged your leg, you looked around the room, noticing everything was back the way it was before you'd entered.

"I put the, uh, the blades away for now," Yunho continued, a nervous edge to his tone. "I didn't want to just throw them away without permission, but leaving them out here in the open didn't seem like a great idea either. Sorry if it seems distrustful, it's just... you know."

"You're scared I might do it again," you finished for him, making him nod hesitantly. "It's okay, I get it."

It was honestly surprising how easy it was to talk to Yunho about this. Maybe it's because he already saw the worst of it, maybe it was the way he took such gentle care of you, or maybe it was just his entire attitude about this so far. Caring, non-judgemental, open to listen.

"Alright then, I think we're done here. Let's get you to bed, shall we?"

Before you could respond, you were picked up by a pair of strong, warm hands. You wanted to object for a split second, but on second thought, maybe it was in your best interest not to move too much right now.

A few moments later, you were laid back down on the bed, a soft kiss pressed to your temple before you were shrouded in your blanket. With a whispered promise of returning again, Yunho rushed back to turn off the lights and close the door, enveloping the two of you in darkness. You waited a second, two, and then the bed dipped behind you with a quiet creak.

"Come here." Yunho's arms wrapped around your waist from behind again, holding you closer than before. "Is this okay? Should I give you space?"

"It's fine, Yuyu."

His chest shook with a small chuckle. "Oh come on, don't call me that right now." He somehow snuggled up even closer to you, pressing his face into your neck. "I'm already emotional enough as is."

A beat or two of silence passed between the two of you before he spoke up again.

"Was this," Yunho paused, hesitating for a second, "was this the first time you did something like this, or are there... more?"

You sighed. "Well, this was the first time I've messed up like this and used an actual razor blade, but in general? There's been a few instances, yeah. Most of them happened years ago, but lately, it started up again."

Yunho stayed quiet this time. As the silence stretched on, you began to grow worried. Is this the moment where he gets mad at you?

A sniffle broke through the air, quickly followed by another. The hold around your waist tightened.

"It's the socks, isn't it?" Yunho barely choked out, voice trembling.

Never have you felt so guilty in your life before.

"I thought it was weird, I wanted to ask you about it, I really did," he sobbed, burying his wet face further into your shirt. "I didn't want to make you feel bad about it if it was genuinely just something you preferred, so I held back, but it worried me anyway. I should have asked so much sooner."

"Yu..." You tried to turn around in his embrace, but he stopped you, not letting you see his tearful eyes. "Honey, it's not your fault in the slightest, please don't beat yourself up about it."

"But I should have-"

"Just listen to the same advice you gave me, hm? You never wanted this to happen, you wouldn't be so torn up about it otherwise. It's really not your fault."

With what you assumed to be a watery hum of agreement, Yunho nodded into your back.

You tried to turn around again, and this time, Yunho finally let you. You watched as his silhouette sat up, reaching around for the tissue box on the nightstand before wiping his tears and blowing his nose.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, crumpling the tissue and putting it away, "you're the one hurting and I'm making it all about myself."

You tutted softly as he laid back down, shuffling closer to him to drape yourself over his broad chest. "That's not true, Yun. I know this is really hard on you as well, you have all the right to be upset. Please don't hide it just because I'm also in pain."

"Okay," he accepted, taking a deep breath to calm himself.

The room stayed quiet for another few minutes, save for the faint rustling of the sheets as you intertwined one of your hands with his.

"If it's okay," Yunho croaked in a careful, ginger tone, "could we maybe talk more about this tomorrow? I feel like I have over a million questions right now, but I don't want to overwhelm you when you should be resting."

You let out a small, sleepy chuckle. "Yeah, that sounds good. I think I'll also feel a bit better if we talk about this some more tomorrow. It's a bit embarrassing even now when I know that you know, but I trust you enough to share this part of me, I think."

Yunho leaned down to kiss the top of your head, making you smile. "Thank you, you have no idea how much that means to me. And please, never feel embarrassed about this. Just because this stuff is not talked about enough doesn't mean your feelings are wrong or not valid. We'll figure this out together, I promise. No matter what it takes."

"Okay. I look forward to tomorrow," you said, pressing a quick peck to his sternum before lying down again. "Goodnight, Yuyu."

"Goodnight, love."

Please, don't hesitate to reblog or comment!! Any kind of feedback is much appreciated!! <333

(Also would once again like to say that this was not meant to romanticize SH in any way, and I hope it did not come across that way. Take care, everyone <3)

[more-hysteria-things]

BEGGING FOR SOME LIKE JACK FLUFF FROM LIKE A ROUGH DAY ON SET AND HIM JUST BEING SWEET TO US!! (my first scenario🥳)

ROUGH DAY

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jack champion x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: it’s one of those days on set, and jack is not having it. even worse that it’s his birthday, the day when it’s supposed to be fun and carefree. then, you come along to truly show how much he means to you.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: none! just tooth rotting fluff :)

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,224

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: FIRST JACK FIC LFG.

also, since this is my other account for non-sturniolo fics i’m still putting the same tag list. if you would like to not get tagged for this blog, just let me know!

shoutout to bbg @venusbabysblog for helping me get started🥹

𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 blessing. it’s a job where you have great opportunities to meet amazing people and be in hit films, but sometimes it’s a struggle. jack opens the door to his trailer with a clenched jaw, shutting the door as he looks around. his eyebrows twitch in confusion, noticing how you’re not in sight.

your boyfriend loves to bring you along to wherever he goes for filming. one reason being that he honestly can’t live without you, but also because you’re his biggest fan and will support him through anything. usually, you’d be watching him act from afar or you’d be waiting in his trailer by watching TV or keeping yourself occupied in general. however, you’re nowhere to be seen.

he’s on a long break until later tonight, which annoys him. he just wants this day to be over. “y/n?” he calls out, peeking his head into the small bedroom. alas, you’re not there.

alarms start to go off in his head, although it’s silly. you can’t really go anywhere, but since you’re not in your usual spot, the caring boyfriend in him makes him worry that something bad has happened. especially since you didn’t text him that you were going somewhere or anything.

then, a giggle is heard along with the opening of his trailer door, and he turns around to face the noise. he takes a small sigh of relief when he sees you beaming from ear to ear holding a present bag.

while in the middle of a scene, jack texted you about the day he’s having—lines he couldn’t nail, and a director who seemed impossible to please. you frown slightly when you see his semi-disgruntled face, shuffling over to him excitedly to wrap your arms around his body in an embrace he desperately needs. he exhales deeply, bends down to nuzzle his face into your neck, and kisses it softly.

“sorry, i was hoping i’d be back before you were, but your mom and i got stuck in traffic,” you say in his chest before pulling away after long seconds. trying to make the atmosphere more positive, you smile and extend your arm with the bag in hand. “happy birthday!”

the smallest smile appears on his face, grabbing your hand to head over to the leather couch to sit down. he places the bag onto the floor, removing the tissue inside of it to reveal his presents. his eyes widen in surprise, seeing more than he thought you’d get him. “you didn’t have to do all of this...” he says, a small blush forming on his cheeks.

he pulls out the first thing that sits on top of the rest, which is a homemade birthday card out of construction paper in his favorite color. he lets out a chuckle as he looks at the front of it, seeing two drawn stick figures that are supposed to be you and him holding hands with the title in big writing: HAPPY BIRTHDAY •ᴗ•

opening the card, there’s a bunch of words scribbled on the right side.

jack,

*queue song* happy birthday to you!

i am so incredibly proud of you watching the way you chase your dreams. here’s to many more birthdays, memories, and quiet moments in between the chaos. no matter how many lights and cameras around, you’ll always just be jack to me. the one who laughs too loud, holds me close, and somehow manages to make me feel like I’m the only girl in the world.

i’m so grateful to be apart of your story.

always, y/n ❤︎

p.s. like what your name implies, you are indeed a champion.

his heart jumps with joy, closing the note and leaning in to peck you on the nose. your face turns red as you try not to beam with happiness, tilting your head to the bag. “there’s still a lot more.”

he nods, placing the card aside as he grabs a leather journal, specifically personalized for him. the border of it is embroidered with eye-catching detail, his initials JC in big cursive letters in the middle. you know jack sometimes likes to scribble lines down in between takes in a way to remember, or something to put his ideas in for fun. he flips through the pages rapidly, the gust of air flowing on his face as he smells the paper and leather mixed.

you watch his every move, nibbling on your bottom lip excitedly when he pulls out a small, navy blue box. inside of it is a chained necklace with a small pendant of a waxing crescent. the moon phase the day he was born.

scratching the back of your neck nervously, you speak. “this one’s a little girly…” you trail off. “you don’t have to wear it, you can hang it up or something for decoration. i just thought it was pretty.”

he nudges your arm with his elbow. “stop that. it’s beautiful; i love it.”

jack carefully takes it out of the box, undoing the chain and reaching behind his neck to clip it. the length is perfect, and the accessory oddly suits him. “thank you.” he says softly, running his hand over the moon and reaching into the bag once more.

this time, he pulls out two things. another book along with a film camera on top of it tied in ribbon so both items can stick together. while untying it, he notices the scrapbook underneath.

THE STORY OF US…

he glances at you as he starts to look into it. the pages are filled with film photos, ticket stubs, and little mementos from your favorite times together. you’d written little captions under each, capturing inside jokes and sweet moments. it was something he could flip through on hard days.

however, each left page is blank. “you can add to it whenever you have the time. it takes two people to make a love story, you know.” you explain, feeling somewhat cheesy and cringy at the saying, but you mean it.

last but not least, the last few items are snacks. homemade cookies, energy bars, and even a small container of his favorite food.

he feels overwhelmed by all of the gifts but in a good way. nobody has ever shown him this much adoration before, and it’s obvious how much he means to you. “y/n.” your name rolls perfectly off of his tongue, his eyes not leaving the presents now scattered on the couch cushion. “i love it all so much. genuinely, thank you.”

you place your hands on the sides of his neck so he can look at you, kissing him full of love. he cherishes you, and he couldn’t ask for a better girlfriend. he’s always so grateful that he met you that time in his hometown. you made his 𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐃𝐀𝐘 turn around completely.

“how’d you even do all of this?” he adds, starting to feel dumbfounded about how you did all of this under his nose without him knowing.

“i don’t kiss and tell.” you say with a smirk. “but also with the help of your mom.”

laughing, he grunts as he lays to rest his head on your stomach, your hands finding way into his wavy hair. “i’m so in love with you.” he mumbles, grabbing your hand and kissing the back of it.

best. birthday. ever.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @moncherriis @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @raysmayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @tworosesblackthorn @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hearrtsturns @freshsturns @etershine @sukiipjs @h3arts4harry @sturnioloblogs @creamoncreamoncream2 @ivyyyyyysposts @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @mbsbaby @mattsdollie @thesturniolos @nononopenono1 @bitchydragonparadise @hrt-attack @dwntwn-strnlo @venusbabysblog @meerkatzthings @bernardsbendystraws @hoes4matthew @deareststurns @starz4star

[hyunjinsjeans]

Breakfast in bed (Bangchan x Reader)

Summary: going with Chan on his trip to America you can’t let an opportunity to give it a try to have that baby you talked about pass you by.

Type: Fluff 🧸, NSFW 🔞

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, unprotected sex (don’t do it, guys!) , little proofreading.

Word count: 2263 words

Related: He Knows (Chan ver.)

Masterlist Here

AN: This fic is a part 2 to Bangchan’s version of the He Knows Series. It can also be read as a stand alone. There is so little plot, I’m a little sorry. I’m also a little shy around smut still but I’m trying guys 👉👈This is the first one! Let’s go!

You breathe in the morning air. America has been wonderful, after Chan decided to bring you along only a few days before the departure date, you had to get the days off from work and plan accordingly.

Chan finds himself dragging you behind him everywhere, he cannot help it. While he is in his leader mindset, he is also so unable to disconnect from you. You experience his bossy side first hand. He is strict and direct, and he does not play games with the boys whenever they begin having too much fun during dance practice.

Chicago has been kind to the boys, even though they have spent little time on their own personal interests, you still find yourself having a great time seeing them all do what they love. Their set was a massive hit, the boys had great fun and Felix went a little overboard on stage… You enjoyed the show from a spot backstage with some of their staff as well as Changbin!Reader and Felix!Reader who had made it with their little ones.

“Hey… what are you doing all the way over there?” He drops his arm over his eyes as he lays on his back in the bed.

You hear his voice and smile from the open balcony. You turn in your old snoopy pj shorts and shirt and look at him, forgetting about the birds that fly above the busy city. You’ve already made coffee on the coffee machine in the small hotel room, the small mug between your hands.

“Morning, sleepy head!” You step aside and close the balcony sliding door. “I was just having a second with my thoughts, how’d you sleep?”

Chan sighs but does not move a muscle, still tired. You walk up to the bed, leaving the coffee on the bedside table and sit next to him, placing your hand on his forearm you pull the limb away from his face and whisper.

“Mmm, that good?” You arch an eyebrow and watch him whine.

He rolls on his side and wraps his arm around you, dragging you down onto the bed beside him. “Yeah, it’s nice to share a hotel room with you…”

You complain as you drop on the bed, hands go reach out to him on instinct. “Chan!” You can hear him chuckle at your plea. “I’m telling Lee Know you don’t like sharing rooms with him.”

He smiles and wraps his arms around you, “tell him something he doesn’t know…”

You push his messy hair away from his face and examine his face. Eyes closed and expression full of glee. He takes a deep breath and you put your hand against his cheek, he smiles and puts his hand on top of yours, turning his face to kiss your palm.

“I’m so glad you could come. I miss you so much when you stay home.” He admits in a soft voice.

You hum and lean in to kiss his nose. “I know. I feel weird when you’re travelling.”

Chan opens his eyes and meets your gaze, his hand reaches out to touch your face too, his fingers drag along your temple and fix a strand of your hair behind your ear. You lean against him and let him turn to lay on his back again, now pulling you softly into his chest. You wrap your leg around his and let your arm rest on his stomach while your head finds the perfect spot on the crook of his neck.

“Remind me, what time are we supposed to check out?” You rub your nose against his skin, inhaling his scent with a soft smile on your face.

“This afternoon. I think they said at around 3…” his arms squeeze you against him, he closes his eyes when you start nipping at his neck, “babe, what are you doing?”

You smile and slip your hand slowly up his chest and neck until you reach his jaw, “I’m spoiling my husband, what are you doing?” You say playfully.

He chuckles, “well, obviously I’m being spoiled!”

You laugh against his skin, kissing his neck before throwing your head back to look at him.

“Should I stop?” you wait for his reply.

Chan’s grasp on you tightens, “I never said that!” He complains and you giggle in response.

“Oh, so I am allowed to give you hickeys?” You press your lips on his neck again.

“No, no, no!” He puts his hand on your hair and pulls you away softly, “I’m still the only one allowed to give hickeys.”

He stares at your neck for a moment and then his eyes meet yours, all sleep has disappeared from them all of a sudden.

“Mm, actually… let me fix you with one…” He dips his head into your neck and pushes his plush lips against your neck.

You close your eyes as his breath hits your skin and you feel him nibbling on the sensitive spot right under your ear. Your head falls on the pillow and you run your hands up and down his naked chest. He presses his body against you and you grip onto his shoulder, pulling him on top of you as you roll onto your back.

“Looks so pretty, babe.” He whispers when he pulls away and watches the small mark on your neck.

With a cloudy mind you sigh, while he is fully awake now you feel like you’re being put into a trance.

“Chan,” you whisper, combing his hair back with your fingers. “You do realise I have to walk behind you at the airport, right? Now sporting this thing on my neck.”

He smiles and chuckles, “couldn’t help it…” He brushes his nose against yours. “I remember seeing you dance and jump around last night. You looked so cute, so excited to watch us perform. I’m glad you had fun.”

You nod with your head still on the pillow. Looking up at Chan you understand a little better why he wanted you to come. It has been a couple of months since you two decided to grow the family, encouraged by those members who already had kids. The night before you had helped Changbin!Reader with her two year old, Hajoon. She was an excitable little girl and you had a lot of fun holding her and dancing, playing with her small hands as she giggled with her big noise cancelling headphones. Obviously, Chan was eager to watch you have that same kind of fun with a child of your own.

“Aw, are you getting the baby fever?” You tease him, “welcome to my life, be thankful LeeKnow!Reader couldn’t be here, I’m a fool for their baby boy!”

Chan giggles, giving your lips a soft peck.

“Don’t worry, you can be a fool for our baby too. Let’s work on that, yeah?” He proposes.

“Oh, you’re on a schedule now? Is it time for that?” You tease.

“Mmmhm,” He kisses you, smiling into the kiss. “It’s time.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and play with the hair on the back of his head, letting his tongue into your mouth once he licks your bottom lip. You bring your leg up to his hip and feel his hand pull it up against his side. Your hand goes to find his arm and you hold on to him, his fingers leaving a trail of goosebumps on your skin. He kisses down your neck and bites every so often, making you gasp and let out little whispered sounds. He pulls your shirt and shorts off and has you laying on your back naked in a few minutes. His hands touch your legs from the ankle to the back of your knee, to your thighs and then his strong hands grip your hips. You reach up and touch his naked chest.

Chan grabs your hand and brings it to his lips, kissing your knuckles and the back of your hand, before leaning down and kissing your stomach, right above your belly button. You whine under his kiss but let him kiss an agonisingly slow path down your belly and between your legs.

He really gives no warning before his face is buried into you, his hands holding your legs apart over his shoulders.

You gasp under his mouth and put a hand on his hair, fingers tangle with his dark locks while your other hand holds on to fistfulls of the bedsheets. You throw your head back as his tongue works on your most sensitive spot, making sure you are absolutely ready for him. You pant with a strong string tightening inside you, breathing seems so difficult as he laps at your folds, his nose rubbing against your sensitive clit. He hums into your sensitive knob and you gasp loudly, legs shaking in his grasp. He keeps going, eating you out like a starved man, only stopping after you cum on his mouth. You call out his name, your back arching off the bed as you do. He kisses your thighs and then your belly and up to your chest, his hands now eager to grope your breasts, he speaks against your chest, lips brushing your skin as he does so. “So pretty, babe… you’ll be even prettier with our baby…”

You nod, lazy hand landing on his shoulder. “Mmhm,” you kiss his lips, “I can’t wait…”

He leans into your kiss and struggles to kick off his boxers fast enough, you laugh as he has to step off the bed to get them off. Smiling, you sit up in the middle of the bed and wrap your arms around your weakened legs and stare. He looks back at you with a sheepish smile on his face as he stands fully naked before you.

“What are you laughing at?” He climbs onto the bed again, his hands land on your knees and he pulls them apart slowly, still face to face with you as you sit up.

“I’m thinking I love you,” you caress his cheek. “And that I am so eager to have your baby one day, hopefully soon…”

It is not spoken, but as the time has gone on and you’re still a couple months into trying for a baby, the two of you have relaxed a lot about the topic. Especially you, since the stress of it was not doing you any good. Chan feels his heart fill with hope when you say those words. He wants the same thing you want and he knows the uncertainty of the situation is hard to cope with, everytime you get a period it’s both of you who deal with the disappointment. Everytime you’re together like this, you remind each other that it’s not a “task”, that you’re doing it because you want to, because it means something.

He sighs and his shoulders relax, he laughs to himself and grabs your face. “I love you too, Y/N. And I can’t wait either…”

You cup his face and bring your lips to his, he leans the rest of the way and he pushes you down slowly, hovering over you as you wrap your legs around his waist. He slips his hand between your bodies and guides himself inside you. You grip his shoulders and moan into his ear as he starts kissing down your neck. You feel him sink in, all the way in until there is no more space between you. He whispers in your ear but at that moment he starts moving. His hips snap against yours and you plant your feet on the bed, head thrown back.

“Channie…”

He hums and groans into your skin. Picking up the pace, it becomes almost unbearable the way he reaches the most sensitive spot inside you, your legs shaking with the imminent release approaching. You dig your fingers into his back and meet his every move, hips meeting his.

“...so close, Chan… ‘m so close…” You let him know in a whine.

He pulls your legs up, his hands find the back of your knees and he pushes them against your chest as he keeps going.

“It’s okay, babe… I’ve got you,” he basically folds you in half as he continues with a fast pace.

You grab onto the bed sheets and soon find the drag of his cock inside you too much, a loud moan falling from your lips as you cum. He gasps and fucks you through it, his hips stuttering a couple of times before he suddenly lands a hand on the headboard behind your head.

“That’s it babe, I’m going to… gonna cum too.” He announces.

Only a couple thrusts later, his warm cum is spilling inside you. You reach up and pull his hand down kissing his bicep before he lets go of your other leg and you can fully wrap yourself around him.

You let Chan kiss your lips, your cheek and your neck before he pulls away and peppers your collarbone with kisses as well.

“You’re so extra…” you joke, he chuckles and asks why, “because you didn’t have to put me in a mating press!”

He breathes in, “oh, you love it…”

You put your hands on your face, unable to deny his statement. You hear him laughing and cannot help yourself but smile.

“See?” He kisses your hands still on your face. “Hey, I’ve got a good feeling about this…”

You let him take your hands away from your face and smile at one another, hopeful but unaware this would be the moment that would change your lives.

———

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[baby-yongbok]

Yes, Mistress

Demon!Seo Changbin x Demon Lord!Afab!Reader

✮ Genre - Explicit (non-idol) - Sub!Changbin x Dom!Reader [MDNI] ✮ WC: 3k

✮ Summary: Needy and lovestruck Changbin will do anything to be the center of attention for his mistress. ✮ CW: This is a monster fucker fic [I know, I didn't see it coming either], Unprotected sex, Anal sex, creampie, light degradation, Changbin is big like really. (I think that's all)

✮ A/N: Okay, so, I tried to finish a different Changbin fic I had to end Binnie Birthday Week but it just wasn't doing it for me so I wrote this in 6 hours. Don't ask me how I came up with it or anything I don't know the answer to any of your questions 😭So here's my first monster fucker fic (Does this fall into that category? I think it does) Enjoy! + reader is depicted as chubby/plus size and is a POC ♡

✧ Masterlist ✧

“You’re staring.” You whisper to the entity beside you. He’s been eyeing you for at least an hour. You’ve gotten good at ignoring him but the persistent heat of his pitch black gaze can get a bit heavy. “Does it make you nervous when I stare?”

Your bright eyes catch his dark ones and he shrinks a bit. He knows better than to say something like that. He knows not to play around but Changbin can be a bit of a tease. You suppose it’s all in the fun of being a hell dweller, they’re entitled to some entertainment but not when it comes to you. Not when it comes to, Mistress.

“Why would you make me nervous?” You sit up straighter in your chair, pushing your hair to the side to give him a good look at the sigil etched dark into your skin. You’ve acquired ownership of Changbin and a few other demons through the lordship of your father. They fear him of course, but you? You’re different. They’ve learned that you’re more than a bright eyed princess, you’re ruthless, and that’s what excites them. “I make you nervous, never the other way around.”

“Yes, mistress.” Changbin mutters, eyeing you like a lovesick puppy. “I’m sorry for staring it’s just that I -”

“Want attention?” You stand from your seat abruptly and the fiend watches closely. There’s no hint of anxiety or fear from him but you can smell it. You’ve grown familiar with the scent, it keeps you up at night. It drives you insane and paints a smile on your face, something like the one you have now while Changbin digs his blackened claws into the dense wood of the table in front of him. 

“You want me to give you attention? You’re jealous that I’ve been calling on Minho more?” He nods, gulping heavily as his midnight pupils beg for you. “What can you give me? What are you offering me, hound?”

“Whatever you need, my mistress.” He stands before you and you glare, you can hear the remnant thumping of his damned heart as he realizes what he’s done. No one stands before you without a summons. “I’m sorry.”

He kneels promptly, Bowing his head towards your bare feet. You take this opportunity to look him over, his pitch black hair shines in the light of your common room and his ashened fingers are digging into the hardwood below him and great anticipation. 

There’s a reason that you’ve been overlooking Changbin’s willingness to serve, you like him too much. He’s an annoying love sick imp who you have an undeniable attraction to. He’s the only one of your legion that is casually allowed in your common room. He’s the only one that you allow to dine with you on nights like tonight and he’s the only one who can make you feel like you’re one of them. 

You want him, so much so that he pulls your demonic nature to the forefront and you can’t have that, though it is nice to indulge every now and then. 

“You’re so needy that you’ve forgotten your place, hm?” You step towards him and he keeps his gaze cast to your feet. “Need I remind you who’s in charge?”

You raise a foot to his chest, pushing him back forcefully. He extends his arms behind him to break the fall and you furrow your brows down at him. “Oh, you’ve truly forgotten.” You push him again and he falls backwards. 

“Mistress, I’m -” You shush him, watching as his dark pants grow an impressive tent. “You’re so in love with me, aren’t you?” 

He grunts, the tent stiffening at your inquiry. “You were told that I am to be obeyed. You were told to serve me at all costs no matter the consequence. My father told you that I am your owner and you’ve made the honor to serve me your reason to breathe, haven’t you?”

“Yes, mistress. I do love you.” The sound of fabric splitting at the seams echoes through the room, you watch as his thick cock fights to free itself of its confinement. “You’re everything.”

“I know I am.” You press the ball of your foot down between his pecs, the muscles bulge and strain under your touch. Changbin watches as you let your dusk colored toes run over his stomach. He’s soft and strong under your touch and it takes so much control for both of you to stay in line. “You want to serve me?

“Yes, please.” His dark eyes nearly glow in the dim light, his smoky claws have marked your floors with proof of his wavering restraint and his raven hair is nearly smoking with a revenant flame. 

Your foot stops at the hilt of his cock just as his useless pants give way to his arousal. He grunts at the bite of cool air that meets his throbbing length, his eyes snap shut in a desperate attempt at taming himself. “I’m sorry, Mistress.” He blinks up at you, sincerity glazing the pitch black.

“Don’t be sorry, my sweet.” You circle the hilt of his cock with your big toe, knocking the head of it as you make your rounds. The sounds that leak from him make you want to make some of your own. “How about you use this pretty dick to serve me, hm? How about we try a little something?”

You press your foot to his length, he moans at the contact. It’s high pitched and begging for more, begging for you. “Yes, whatever you’d like. Anything, mistress, I’m yours.”

He throbs under the slight pressure of your foot and your pussy drips at the feeling. You’ve been growing wet since he started staring so you’re certain that you’re a puddle by now. 

“I’m wet.” You state simply but it’s anything but simple to Changbin. “Let’s see if you can still eat pussy correctly, then we’ll try a little something, yeah?” He nods, mumbling confirmations that you don’t care to listen to as you rid yourself of your underwear. 

Strings of sticky arousal pull from your cunt to the soaked gusset of the fabric. The sight of it makes Changbin’s cock dribble with arousal. If he weren’t so thick you lick it up for him. You’d swallow his cock so perfectly that he just might get his soul back, but that’s a quest for another day.

“Eyes on me, fiend.” You position yourself over him, lifting your skirt so that you can watch his gaze flick between your pretty brown eyes and your sopping cunt. “Eat.” You lower yourself onto him and he’s tasting you before you can take a breath. 

His long tongue slips and glides through your folds with expert precision. He laps at every soaked corner and flicks your swollen clit just how you’ve taught him. Growls rip through the both of you followed by panting moans spilling over your parted lips. 

“Fuck, Changbin.” You lift your skirt higher to watch him. His nose rests on your public mound, tickling the hair that you’ve carefully shaped as he shakes his head back and forth with your clit snug between his blushed lips. You throw your head back, animalistic wails ripping from your chest as he sucks on the sensitive nub. This is why you can’t fuck Changbin, he ruins you. 

“‘M gonna fucking cum. Gonna cum gonna cum, swallow my fucking cum.” He hums against you, continuing his blissful attack on your cunt until you’re writhing on top of him. His nails dig into the supple flesh of your thighs, leaving marks for the others to see when you summon them for a night. He might not be the only one allowed to fuck you but he know’s that he’s the best. He wants to be the best.

“Release.” You order in a breathy moan and he licks up your cunt one more time before pulling 

back. You’re panting over him, eyes shut with the faintest hint of a grin. “Sit up.” He moves swiftly, grabbing you by your thighs and sitting straight up with you positioned in his lap. Your wet cunt is sitting right over his throbbing length and he has to hold his breath to control himself.

“I want you to fuck me.” You lace your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a heated kiss. It’s a clash of hungry tongues fighting for dominance and sharp teeth biting at the plump flesh of the others lips. It’s a battle that you’ll always win. “Fuck my ass.”

“Mistress.” Changbin groans against your lips but you silence him with another kiss. You suck his skilled tongue into your mouth. Twirling the muscle with your own before falling back into a makeout. “I’ll fuck your ass.” He mumbles as you break the kiss. 

“Do you think you’ll fit?” You rock yourself over him and he melts. His claws sink into you, and his frame swells under your magnetic touch. You take his hand and bring it back to grip your ass, he grabs at the flesh leaving a harsh spank on your cheek before he brings his finger between them to rim your tiny hole. 

“Fuck.” Changbin’s cock twitches against you as he presses into the tight ring of muscle. “It’ll be so tight, gonna stretch you out.” You sigh a moan and he follows. 

“Let’s see if you’re right.” You move, hovering over his daunting length. He runs the tip of his dick through your folds to collect your sweet slick before he positions his swollen tip. You lower yourself down onto him, hissing at the brutal stretch. “Ah- my god, Changbin.”

“‘S too fucking tight, not gon - Holy hell, you won’t. You can’t” Only the head of his throbbing length has breaches your hole. Your legs are shaky and unstable the more you try to take. He’s barely a quarter in and you swear that you can feel him in your stomach. “Come here.” 

Changbin’s hands find your waist and he lifts you up just enough for the very tip of him to stay in place. “I’ll fuck up into you, is that okay?” You agree, supporting your weight with steady hands on his shoulders. The gesture is useless since Changbin is strong enough to hold your weight times any given number but you keep your hands planted anyway.

You inhale deeply and he takes it as his cue to push up into you. You scream into the air on your exhale, It ends in a moan as more of him sinks into you. Your cunt clenches at the fullness and your sticky arousal trails back to give him just enough lubrication to aid him. 

“You’re so fucking big, Bin.” He groans, bucking his hips up slightly to feel more of you. “I wanna feel you in my fucking guts. You’re gonna fill me up, gonna fuck me better than anyone else aren’t you?” You struck a chord, it’s obvious with the way that he growls beneath you. 

“Fuck yes, I fuck you better than anyone.” He moves you down, controlling you by your waist as he bucks up into you. You feel the delicious burn of the stretch as more of his cock sinks in. “My mistress, I’m hers. I fuck her tight tiny hole like no one else.”

His head is thrown back, his dark eyes are shut and his mouth is parted in a silent moan. You’re almost an exact mirror of him except you’re anything but quiet. You’re moaning, panting, growling, screaming. Every sound known to man and beyond is vibrating through you at the delicious stretch of his cock. 

“Mine.” He mumbles, pushing into you further. He’s fucked out, soul snatched and hypnotized by the thought of you and all that you encompass. This is what you live for. This is what it feels like to have these pretty fiends wrapped around your finger. This is euphoria.

“Shit, Changbin. Changbin you’re fucking deep so fucking- holy fuck.” You’re damn near limp in his arms once he bottoms out. He holds you against his strong chest, his arms wrap around your middle and he bucks up into you little by little. 

You have no idea what spot he’s hitting. You have no idea how there could possibly be room for him this deep inside you. None of this makes sense but the pleasure coating your nerve endings doesn’t care for it to. “Fuck me, fuck me, now.”

He lifts you up on demand, helping you bounce on his cock at a pace that would be boring if you weren’t stretched to your limit. Tears stream down your pretty red cheeks, your tongue lulls out of your mouth as you pant cross eyed and fuck out in his arms. “So pretty.” He whispers, moving you on his cock like his favorite fuck toy. 

“My clit, please. Touch my pussy.” Changbin maneuvers himself, one arm wraps around you to keep you bouncing on his cock while his free hand rubs at your swollen bud. You cry out above him, tears streaming and screams echoing as he holds you still to fuck up into your pretty tight hole. 

Skilled fingers flick and circle your clit as you fall apart in tandem. You claw unique shapes and freeform sigils into his back as he summons the pleasure in your body to take over each and every burning inch of flesh he wishes desperately to devour.

“Cum, cum, cum.” You chant with sprinkles of his name here and there. He presses firmer circles into your clit at the warning. You look up at him with tear stained cheeks and blown pupils and he stares back at you with a shimmering darkness behind drooping lids. “Please let me make you cum, Mistress.”

He’s out of breath when he pleads to you and you’re barely breathing as still and cry out in his hold. He fucks into you slowly as you come undone. The hand that was once on your clit is carving lines into the hardwood as he tries to control his own orgasm. He helps you ride through yours, guiding you to grind on his cock until you’re finally breathing again. 

Your eyes flutter open to the most beautiful image of a fucked out hellwalker that you could imagine. He’s practically drooling as he watches you. His shirt is ripped from the swelling of his frame, his hair is a tousled mess from the mindless raking of your fingers and his kiss bitten lips are quietly whispering lost prayers for him to keep his composure. 

“You’re so good to me.” You run your hands through his hair and he sighs at the contact, blinking up at you. “I’ll reward you with my cunt, use me to cum.” His eyes get darker, if that's even possible, he sits up straighter against you and you moan at the way your holes clench. 

“Use me and fill me with your cum, I can take it, don’t worry.” You coo at him and he keens. His arms circle you again, squeezing you tight against him as he fucks into you slowly. 

“Thank you.” He whispers, fucking into you faster and faster by the second as he chants fucked out ‘thank yous’ into the air. “You’re so fucking tiny. So small in my arms I could fuck you for days, for years. Can I please? Can I please have my mistress forever? I’ve already given myself to you, I’m yours, all yours.”

He’s in his head, he’s so caught up in his mumbling that he barely processes your screaming. He’s too lost in his deep need for you to realize that he’s simply manhandling you in his hold. He’s moving you over him like a toy that he’s determined to break. “I’m yours all yours.”

A grunt that can only be recognized as inhuman erupts from him as he falls apart. Ropes of heavy, thick cum paint your walls and you find yourself coming undone again at the feeling of it. You moan into the air like a woman possessed as you squirt all over his stomach, your arousal pools and drips down with the cum that escapes your tiny hole where Changbin still has you plugged and full. 

You pant against each other, skin glistening with sweat as the air around you evaporates. He’s still holding you, nails digging into your sides and marking you yet again. His back is no better, there are traces of you on almost every inch of him and he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

You gather all of your strength to pull yourself away from Changbin. He helps you, guiding you up and off of his cock. You moan as you slowly start to feel empty with each inch of him that escapes. Once you’re free of his cock his cum spills from your gaping hole. He gawks at the sight, cock twitching at the way your hole clenches around nothing. 

You waver a bit as you try to stand but he keeps you steady, holding you by your hips as you stand over him. He blinks up at you, his hazy gaze meeting yours. “Did I serve you well, mistress?”

You offer him a lazy smile. “Hm, I think you could’ve done better.” He freezes, eyes growing wide and that delicious smell of anxiety is rolling off of him in an instant. 

“I’m sorry.” You pet his head, combing the messy hair with your fingers. “Don’t be sorry just make it up to me.” 

“Of course, anything.” You take an unstable step towards him, relying on his strength to keep you steady. “Clean me up.” 

His eyes flick down to your messy cunt, the mix of your and his arousal is slick against your skin and he holds back a moan at the sight. He knows that you’re fucking with him, you’re using him and it’s just what he wanted. This is the attention he was hoping for. 

“Yes, mistress.”

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[leclsrc]

has yet to pass ✴︎ cs55

centre image by tony belobrajdic

genre: exes to lovers, slow burn, fluff, humor, slight angst, yearning, some sexual tension

word count: 12.5k

Four years after an angry breakup, the universe is bored enough to nominate Carlos Sainz for GQ Sports’ Man of the Year and assign you to be the writer of his profile.

notes... internet translated spanish lol

auds here... requested, this fic is long! i hope you all like it apologies for the inactivity </3 exes to lovers we have a very love/hate relationship but this was a pleasure to write

You’re half sure your head is about to pop out from how annoyed you are.

At the office, mornings move slowly in the very corporate-desk-job kind of way, but today is notably slower. Your boss had called you in an hour earlier to discuss important matters, and this is your third hour waiting already. Either your boss is a dumbass, or you got the wrong email, which both essentially mean the same thing anyway.

The time on your Panthère tells you you’re curving into the three-and-a-half hour territory, and right as you’re about to get up to get a glass of water, the large wooden door swings open and your name is called through the crack in it. Suddenly the irritation dissipates into nerves, and because Jonathan didn’t specify anything in the email, you realize you could be wading into anything right now. Termination. Promotion. A brick to the head.

“Morning,” you offer once the door’s been shut behind you. 

“Sorry for the wait,” he says politely. “We’ve been in discussions with GQ Sports all day. All night last night, too. It’s all proper boring.”

You nod, remaining fairly quiet and waiting for him to break the news to you. He clears his throat, places his hands on his hips and exhales.

“Right, so this is all related to GQ, actually. They’re doing a Men of Sports segment and they asked us to assign one of our writers to an athlete. You’re our best right now, really—your article turnout last year was absolutely stellar. So, there’s, ah… there’s tennis, yeah, there’s footie, obviously, and—under usual circumstances, you’d get to choose one of either. But we actually really wanted to cover racing this year.”

The cloud above your head carrying the dreams of interviewing Leo Messi or Roger Federer pops dismally.

“Racing.” You repeat curtly.

“It’s gotten proper viral this year!” He smiles, gestures to nothing to prove his point. “Every teenage girl’s got a crush or other on a driver. Anyway, we set you up with the racing category, and the segment comes out in around six months.”

“I’ve got a tiny bit of a qualm about th—”

“So it’s decided. GQ’s going to pick out the driver for you, and you’ll be introduced at a gala next week.”

“Wait—” you laugh uncomfortably. “I’m thankful for the opportunity, and wow, thank you for choosing me, really, but do I not get to pick my own driver?” You clear your throat. “I mean, I’m spinning the story.”

“I know,” he sighs. “But this deal moved pretty quick, so a majority of the leverage goes to them. Don’t worry, though—a lot of the drivers will have great stories, I’m sure. You’ve got Lewis, you’ve got the Verstappen guy, you’ve got the Rosberg fellow…”

“Rosberg retired in 2016.”

“Oh, fuck, seriously? Well. Hit me with a brick then.”

—

The gala is a fundraiser to celebrate the season kicking off, you realize when you step outside the car and read the navy blue banner across the entrance to the carpet. It’s all fancy fonts and table placements, but One look at the watches and earrings in this place will tell you there’s more than enough funds already. You digress, anyway, walking inside to find the only one person you’re familiar with in the world of racing.

“Lewis,” you mutter when you locate him, voice dry with dread (and lack of alcohol), “kill me now.”

“On the off chance you’re serious—I’m actually willing to do so.” You slap his arm and he scowls.

“I’m supposed to meet the driver I’m writing about tonight, but the GQ guy hasn’t texted me. Christ, I hope it’s you. At least I have years’ worth of blackmail on you to really sell the profile.”

He only laughs, guiding the both of you to a champagne tower and offering you one. You down it in seconds, suffocated by nerves and the curiosity blooming inside you. “You don’t think it’s…?”

“I think they keep track of those things,” he replies, but his voice is only half-sure. “Conflict of interest and that. But Jonathan did say it was a quick deal?” You nod. “So it’s not impossible, I suppose.”

Big help, you chirp sarcastically, eyes perusing the large room. There are tables populated by celebrities, by politicians, and of course, by drivers. You keep scanning, squinting to chisel your search further, but it’s cut off by a tap of two fingers on your shoulder. 

“Hi. I’m Nick, the GQ rep, and I believe you and I have a meeting,” says the man behind you with an excited smile. “Why don’t we…?”

He gestures to the expanse of the room and you nod, falling into step beside him. He introduces the article, the concept of shadowing the athlete to achieve a more immersive piece of work as a result, something novel and innovative.

He’s right in the middle of talking about Jonathan when he stops at one of the cocktail tables and stations the two of you there. “Okay. You’re one of the biggest names in sports journalism right now, so it means a lot for you to want to represent racing. Especially because both Neymar Jr. and Nadal expressed bids to get you to write their segments!”

“They wh—”

“Right, here we are. Meet your shadow—or, subject—for the next six-ish months.” He places two hands atop your shoulders and wheels you around, so your eyes meet those of, “…Carlos Sainz Jr.!”

Yeah. This is fucking rich. 

Nick is talking but none of it falls right on your ears. Everywhere in your mind, alarm bells ring at full volume, alerting you to the danger present, almost. You plaster on a fake smile to acknowledge his presence, but his outstretched hand goes unnoticed. Clearly picking up on the tension, Nick gives a sheepish giggle and ducks out of the exchange, leaving the two of you woefully alone.

“Carlos,” you say politely. “What a nice surprise.”

There is a limited amount of phrases that are considered acceptable to say to an estranged ex of four years. There’s oh, what a surprise!, didn’t expect to see you here, you look well. It’s limited because nobody ever thinks to run into their estranged ex of four years, and even then, any sane person would do well to avoid interaction at all costs. So you’re really the luckiest son of a bitch in the world to be situated with a stuffy public interaction, under the guise of professionalism, with your ex-boyfriend.

Your history is heavy in the air. The last time you saw each other, things had been a lot different, but now you’re two professionals. Really. You really are professional.

“I refuse to be within ten metres of the guy,” you say, on your third martini. Lewis faces you with poorly hidden concern, and beside him, roped into your lovelorn matters, so does Sebastian Vettel. “Ten metres. Actually, no. Make it twenty. How can I be arsed to write an all-over-him feature about a guy I absolutely hate and haven’t seen in four years?! I had it all sussed—get assigned to Lewis, write the best feature, then restore his eighth world title.”

“—She’s joking,” coughs Lewis.

“Oh, but now? Now, it’s get assigned to my ex, write like shit, never get recognized for a good piece, and die hungry and alone on the streets of London. You know, I should just call Jonathan and tell him I don’t want this. I’d rather go back to writing normal articles.” You pry your clutch open but a hand stops you before you can.

“Don’t.” Sebastian’s voice is gentle, but firm. “This is a test of character, don’t you think? More than that—it’s a test of how good you are as a writer.”

“True,” interjects Lewis, chewing on a quiche. “If you can write a stellar profile about an ex, I mean—you’re just proper talented. But it’s also about how strong you are now, morally. Emotionally.”

“I’m perfectly fine emotions-wise, thanks,” you retort. Both men shrug, backing off, and you feel like you should be smug about it—but your mind is stuck on the topic even as the night passes.

You end up deciding when you’re kicking your heels off in your flat a few hours later, giving Jonathan a ring despite the late hour. It takes a while for the man to pick up, but he does eventually, with an excited tone colouring his voice—“How’s my star writer? Sainz, huh? Real eye candy.”

“About that…” you start, walking over to your bookshelf and chewing your lip, trying to think of the right way to decline the offer. Your eyes land on one of the several awards you’ve garnered in your profession—in fact, the very first one. Most Promising Journalist, it reads, embedded into the front’s frosty surface. 

Four years ago. And you’ve proven it since, if the crowd of glass around it is anything to go by. Why let a petty ex destroy what could potentially be one of your biggest gigs yet? Your segue outside of sports journalism?

“Earth to—yeah, hello? About what?” Jonathan’s voice breaks you out of your thought train.

“… I just, uh,” you say, nodding, “I wanted to say I’m really excited.”

— 

Carlos Sainz Jr., 27, is on the rise as one of Formula One’s most talented drivers… (add more info…) His smooth driving style and charm has led him to become one of the most popular figures in the sport, both on and off the paddock. He is also a huge, absolutely irritating, cannot for the life of him be humble!!!, SON OF A BITCH, PRICK, ASSHOLE—AND THE BIGGEST WANKER ON PLANET EAR

“The team will be here in just a minute,” says the lady who’d ushered you into this meeting room in Maranello. You half-shut your laptop in fear she’ll catch sight of your brief Word document meltdown, but she doesn’t seem to notice, setting a glass of water beside you and you stare idly at it while waiting for the rest of the room to enter. You’re expecting Nick, Carlos, Mattia—the boss—and Charles, his teammate. Jonathan’s already beside you playing Candy Crush on his phone, as per boomer law.

This meeting is pointless. You’ve already exchanged the bare minimum pleasantries with Carlos, anyway, and you cannot for the life of you decipher why there needs to be a whole new corporate clash just for this. But here you are anyway, awaiting your ex-boyfriend’s arrival into the room and back into your sweet life.

He enters with everybody else, his hair half-damp and his eyes meeting yours almost immediately. You clear your throat and turn away, standing to shake hands with Mattia. He’s pleasant about it, expressing excitement for the final output and commending your earlier work as a writer. You offer the polite small talk back, discussing plans for the article and the release date.

“Over at GQ Sports, we’re really trying to make this concept as immersive as possible. That requires the writer to shadow the athlete at almost all times, maybe taking a couple days off if needed. That might mean she gets a paddock pass, and things like that.”

“That’s no problem,” Mattia says. “Anything for the article.”

You end up being introduced to Charles, too—Charles Leclerc, who wears a contagious smile and won’t stop letting his eyes frolic in between you and Carlos, like he can sense the history. You suspect Carlos brought him up to speed, anyway, but it’s still a bit amusing. While the meeting carries on, Charles chips in with a joke. “Hey, if you find this guy irritating, you and I are going to get along.”

You laugh a bit, but remain mostly quiet for the sake of being professional. You miss the way Carlos’ eyes linger on you a second too long, focusing on the tail-end of the meeting so you can, for lack of better word, get the fuck out of here.

Of course, though, you’re stopped in the middle of the parking lot by Carlos himself, whose apologetic face is the first thing you see when you turn around with a huff. You’d already known it was him—he was calling your name loudly as he jogged over to you—but it’s still a sour surprise.

“What?”

“Let’s”—he pauses to take a breath—“talk. Listen, I know it must be an imposition for you to write about this, about me. Let me make it clear that I’m 100% okay if you choose to switch athletes. And if you needed any background information, I’ll be willing to give you that.”

“I don’t care what you’re okay with,” you say blankly. “And I’ve got Google.”

“Right.” He stares. “Um. Okay, well, let’s—can we agree, then? To be civil, for the period of time this article will be written?”

You consider the truce. As much as you’d like to be snarky with him and make your disdain all the more clear, you’re also not interested in making a scene or causing any type of fuss around his—and your—colleagues. The glass awards on your shelf flash through your mind, and you inhale softly. “Okay.”

He smiles. This seems a bit more difficult than you thought, for reasons you didn’t even consider.

“Forget anything ever happened,” he says when your hands meet. Something jolts through you.

Yeah, you’re fucked.

—

Your introduction to the actual sports part of the profile goes well, with a flurry of chaos in Bahrain.

Despite Jonathan’s texted reminder from Friday morning (Stick to Sainz the whole time), you find yourself staying in your comfort zone, ergo following Lewis around nearly the entire weekend. Granted, you are itnroduced to a few more drivers—Mick, Esteban, Alex—but also Lando, one of Carlos’ closest friends on the paddock, who makes dirty jokes from the get go.

Still, even Lewis has to remind you you have another driver to actually cover, so you reluctantly detach from him on the race day and begin your search for—

“Carlos,” you utter, breathless from exhaustion when you finally locate him inside his room at the motorhome, which you swear you checked twenty minutes ago. Either he’s avoiding you or he’s truly impossible to find. He adjusts his suit and looks at you with an unreadable expression.

“Yes?”

“I need a couple of words from you.” You smile politely, taking a seat on the couch armrest. “Like, pre-race nerves, jitters, routine. Anything?”

“I have a playlist,” he says, humming. “I like to call family, have a talk with the engineers.” He says it like en-yi-neers, but you already anticipated it. You’ve known en-yi-neers for years. You know how he talks, pronounces everything. “And I say a prayer, trust the car.”

“Trust the car?” You type the last few words onto your laptop, which you’d been toting around all day. It balances on your lap. “Any follow-ups to that, considering there’s been some chatter around the car this year and its supposed faultiness?”

“I just do what I do best,” he replies, steadfast. “The rest is a gamble I’m willing to take.”

“Perfect.” You finish. “That was a great line. Thanks so much, really.” It’s your reporter voice, the one you use for just about everyone else on the paddock. He nods in response, and the room ebbs into silence again. It’s awkward, when you excuse yourself and exit, already planning exactly how you’re going to tell this to Lewis. Halfway out the door, you purse your lips, turn, and then:

“Good luck, by the way.” Your voice falls soft. 

He looks up, momentarily surprised. “Thank you.”

You nod a little, smiling as you shut the door.

Carlos ends up getting second place—you’re beside a zealous Ferrari engineer when it happens, walking along the pit lane. Compared to your stoic smile, their reaction looks like the pinnacle of human emotion. Your turmoil is all inward, a melting pot of emotion for the driver. Would it be weird, you think, to feel proud? To feel happy? When things have ended?

Much later, when you’re wrestling for comfort in the throng of cheering Ferrari engineers, you squint to find Carlos on the podium.

You’re aware there are photographers everywhere, with high-def cameras that rival your natural eyesight, even, but still you tug your phone out and snap a few shitty zoomed-in pictures of him in second place, smiling and sprayed with champagne. You think of the profile, of the words you’ll use to capture this moment, the season kickoff. But most of all you think of the way his eyes seem to search for something specific in the mass of people, or the way you wished for them to meet yours.

—

Sainz, a self-proclaimed music lover, loads a pre-race playlist that changes every few locations. He names some of his favorite artists and songs as sources of motivation.

You climb into the passenger seat of his Golf when you finally find him, after a half hour of asking around everywhere. First, it was “in the motorhome,” then it was “in a meeting,” then it was “hanging out with Charles”—none of which ended up being true, anyway. He doesn’t question your presence (he hasn’t much, lately), just lets his eyes wander over to you briefly before you begin asking questions.

“Favorite song?” You get straight to it, stressed over the article. Jonathan has been on your ass about missing a deadline and causing the third world war in the process, or something or other. You sigh when you settle into the seat.

“Not even a hello or a buenas noches,” he says as he pulls out of the parking lot to drive the both of you to your hotel. “What’s this for?”

“You already know,” you say, humming as you sift through notes. “Listen. You did an interview before with Toro Rosso, right? Where you said your favorite artists were Muse, Kings of Leon, and The Killers. Right?”

“What the—you are a serious stalker.” He laughs out loud, eyes still on the road ahead.

“It’s kind of my job, Carlos,” you say, smiling and gritting your teeth. “Just answer.”

“Sí, sí. Yeah, I like that genre. I like rock, I guess… rock, indie, 80’s. You’d be surprised how little of an effect music has on my pre-race routine, though, even if I have a playlist.”

“Tell me more,” you muse. Your laziness to retrieve your laptop results in you scribbling soundbites onto your notebook instead. 

“Music is an escape for me, you know? I like it a lot. So as long as something gets me going, I’m good with it. It doesn’t have to be by a favorite artist, or a famous one, or a Spanish one. Though I have been listening to Shakira a lot lately.” Obsessively listens to Shakira, you write. “It’s just release. Lately, I’ve been listening to the same few ones on loop.”

“Care to share?” Music = release. Same songs looped.

He presses something onto the centre console, and music flows throughout the car right after. “This.”

Baby I’m Yours by Arctic Monkeys, you write, and then, all at once, you slowly realize exactly what you’re writing. You stare at the scrawled-on words, the song bleeding into your ears and saturating your brain. You’ve always thought of this song with a weird feeling, one in between nostalgia and hurt, and now it’s on full blast. In Carlos’ Golf, no less, which happened to be the venue for many of your listening parties back then.

Back then—when nobody knew much of this song and it hadn’t yet become an indie anthem. It was just another cover by your favorite band in 2015. It became your song, the song for kitchen dances, the song for long car rides, the song for the red lights, the song for the morning routine.

But now it’s just a song.

“Carlos,” you say. It’s supposed to sound strict, firm, even a little angry. But you’re so affected, it leaves you quietly instead, weakly almost. “Come on.”

“Do you remember when you first showed me this song?” He responds instead, the volume still loud. You allow yourself to smile a little, leaning your head back and watching the cityscape of Bahrain whir past. In a foreign city, you think, you feel more at home than ever.

“Yeah,” you profess. “On my iPhone—what was it then? iPhone 5, or something.” You both laugh a little. The dam has broken, it seems, and topics of your past relationship seem to now be open to discussion. But it doesn’t feel alien, or weird, or uncomfortable. Carlos laughs, makes fun of your old lockscreen, and all is well.

A lot of memories have unwittingly attached themselves to this song. It’s the kind of song where, even in the opening notes, you’re already stunned with the myriad of them. There are the obvious ones: first finding the song, first dancing to it. But it trickles down into the smaller, more niche ones.

The time you got a busker in London to perform it for you both, and danced like idiots at ten-thirty in the evening, while some onlooking geriatric couple watched with mild entertainment. The time you got him a vinyl record of this EP, and left it in the cab before you were supposed to give it to him, leading to you crying on his sofa while he cuddled you and fed reassurance into your ear. The time he attempted to learn the chords to it and broke the string of your decorative guitar.

Like always, Carlos drives one-handed. He’s usually responsible, but if he’s cruising, or driving at a relatively slow pace, he likes to lean back and use his left. His right lays, unmanned, on the centre console of the Golf. You don’t notice it’s there until you finish writing a sample line on your notebook and you lower your left hand absentmindedly, brushing a finger against his in the process.

Your instinct is to jerk away, but Carlos is calm, humming to the song and reading road signs. So you let it rest there, in part to show yourself you’re capable of relaxing, but—and it feels like a heavy thing to admit—also because you like the feeling.

So your hands are there, just shy of each other, barely touching. His pointer finger twitches, almost like he’s trying to hold it back from inviting yours to wrap around it. You let yours brush over them a little bit, pulling away. Then he coughs, and lifts his hand to make a right turn, so you resume writing, eyes downcast. 

—

You’d spent the Saudi weekend less with Lewis (in a bid to follow his advice) and socialized a bit more with Lando and Charles, who both proved to be pleasant company. They played table tennis with you and even shared a good chunk of grid gossip.

“Pierre and Yuki have soooo done it,” whispers Charles, scandalized, sipping a G&T from a decorative polka dot straw.

“Shut up!” You clap a hand over your mouth. “I mean, I had my suspicions. But really? They’ve shagged?”

“Oh.” He pauses dumbly, scratching his head. “I meant they’ve done marijuana.”

“Damn it, Charles,” bemoans Lando. “You’re a sodding buzzkill. We’ve all done weed, this is not news. The gay sex would’ve been.”

The afternoon progresses into night, and you seem to be on a roll with the sports component—Carlos gets to P3 in Saudi Arabia. You travel to his motorhome room after the debrief, where you hope he’ll be, and find him packing shit up inside.

“Good work out there,” you say, and when he looks up he finds himself meeting your eyes in the mirror. He fumbles with the zip of his suit and you walk a little closer.

He huffs out a polite thanks, tugging on the zipper harder. The cloth’s eaten it, a problem that’s been plaguing his race suits as of late—a problem, according to his engineer, easily solvable if he’d just be more patient with tugging it downward to loosen. A problem you’re familiar with as well, from his Toro Rosso days of ranting to you about zippers and sewing.

You lean against the wall and maintain safe distance. “I’m going to ask you about the race later.”

“Alright. What specifically?” He begins the mental Spanish-English translation in advance. 

“Whatever you can give,” you reply, nonchalant. “Maybe more on the feeling while racing. The different perspectives of P3? Sort of like—yeah, you’re on the podium, but it’s not P1.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” he laughs a little, a bit embarrassed he hasn’t fully undone the zipper yet. “Um, sure. I’ll meet you outside afterward.”

“Thanks. And—” You stop yourself in your tracks, still facing him in the mirror. His eyes find yours again, eyebrows raised from the unfinished sentence. “—Be patient with the zip.”

He chuckles, memories surfacing like bubbling lava. “Right. Bueno.” He turns and throws his hands up, looks like he’s surrendering almost. “Help me out?”

You’re incredulous—it’s a highly compromising position.

But he’s not really smiling, and he seems to be seriously asking you to please help zip him up, so you nod. Nod once then twice, walking slowly over to him and placing two fingers on the zipper. You don’t notice how shaky your grip is until you see the way your hand trembles.

Slowly, you tug. Upward, then downward, then upward again, to loosen the stubborn thing. Your eyes move until they meet his, and you realize how close together you are. From here you can see the faint pink indents on his face from the balaclava, and you wonder almost how it’d feel to stroke over it with your thumb. It twitches on the zip and you remember to yank it again.

“Just give me a second,” you say, but you’re not even paying attention to the zipper.

Just him. Just the proximity. The thoughts of what if—what if you leaned closer, right now? Closed the gap, shut your eyes, let your finger trace over the shape left behind by his balaclava, zip forgotten?

“Take your time.” His voice is deep, gentle. 

His eyes pierce yours, the tension growing in between you until you can barely breathe.

You pull and finally, it gives, unzipping the whole way. You blink, breaking eye contact and stepping backwards so fast you almost trip. “I’ll be outside.” The door is shut, the noise damning behind you as you finish an entire cup of water in what you genuinely think to be record time. 

—

“Fine. Fifty euros.”

“Fifty?! Cheap trick. Make it two hundred.” 

“If you’re in the hundred territory, might as well make it five hundred. Turn this into a serious thing.” 

“Deal.” The Brit and the Monegasque clap their hands together in a firm handshake. “Let’s talk terms.”

Charles recites his end of the bet, as clearly as he did when this was first wagered just ten minutes ago. “She and Carlos will start dating before the article is even published.”

“They’re exes, innit?” Lando laughs. “You’re wrong, Charl-ito. They will never date, ever again. Exes don’t date.”

“Unless they’re soulmates,” he reasons.

“Psh, what do you know about soulmates?” The younger raises a condescending brow. “You dated a girl and then her best friend.”

“Back off,” insists Charles petulantly, watching Lando messily write down the evidence of their wager on a small slip of paper. For proof, he’d said, before slipping it into the back of his opaque phone case. He waves it around. “We shall see.”

“You will definitely be paying me up,” Charles says proudly. “Just you wait.”

—

“Care to listen to me?” You hoist yourself onto the stool of this hotel bar, ordering yourself a martini.

“Always,” says Lewis, immediately facing you. He’s always been one of the kindest, most genuine people in your life. He’s known you forever, and he’s the only person here who really knows the extent of your history with Carlos, all the layers, all the fights, all of it.

You sigh and lean against the backrest, deflated. “Carlos and I… I don’t know if this is going to work.”

“The article?”

“Being with him.” You pause to reword it. “Around him.”

“I see. Hasn’t it been, what—four years now, though?”

“Yeah, but…” But why does it feel like you both want those four years gone? The car ride with the song, the eye contact, zip situation after Saudi. You lick over your lips and sit a little straighter.

“Lew, it’s just—and you should know this—when you break up with someone, you’re forced to unlearn all the things you knew about them.” You sigh. “All the… just all of it. The habits, the quirks, the favorite words, the way they like their toast and eggs. And if you can’t, then fine, it’s still okay, because why would you ever need it again? But I haven’t forgotten anything, and now he’s back in my life.”

Lewis stares, with eyes that convey solemnity and a little sadness. He seems to understand, watching you intently, the way your eyes are glassy with unshed tears.

“So now I see him, and it feels like he’s like”—you inhale—“this sounds… bad, but like… I’m… like he’s a lover, kind of. In disguise, a little bit. I don’t know. Like, I have to pretend I know nothing about him, like every little fun fact is a new thing for the profile… but I know everything.” And what a heavy burden it is.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. 

“No, don’t be. I’m pretty sure this is all one-sided.” You take a long sip. “That’s the price to pay for ending on bad terms, I suppose.”

“Just think,” he muses out loud. “When this is all over and you’re accepting your Pulitzer, you won’t even be thinking of him one bit.”

“Right,” you say. Carlos, Carlos, Carlos. He’s the only thing on your mind. “Right.”

You find a working title for the article later. Carlos Sainz, it reads on your Word document. On racing, gracious defeat, and life’s driving forces.

—

Like every other sport, Formula One drivers have their share of bad competition days. Sainz recalls a time his car failed and caused him to DNF—racing vernacular for “Did Not Finish,” a damning phrase for any driver on the grid.

A double kill vibrates through Carlos.

It’s a consecutive hit that’s both professional and personal, and greatly affects the momentum of the profile you’re busy writing. In Australia he’d been reserved, eyes stormy, walking alone but not angry. He’d congratulated Charles and everything, even offered a few words for the article. The last you saw of him was with a beer, brows knitted together.

Tonight you’re in Imola. He’d been okay after the race, the usual silence that comes with a bad result.

No hard feelings, he’d said. This is the business. Hugged Danny, excused himself; nobody said anything. It’s a normal response to a shit day. You spend the post-race buzz with Lewis and Sebastian this time, but you manage to congratulate Lando on the podium finish when you catch sight of him.

“Maaate!” He cries gleefully when he sees you. “Where’s the muppet?”

“Mourning,” you drone. “Reasonably so, I guess.”

“Tough crowd,” he says, kissing his teeth. “But, yeah. Hey—shots on me!”

“Tempting offer.” You eye the bunch of tequila on the table. “But I think I’ll retire early. I need to send a draft pretty early tonight.”

“All good. Have fun being a loser,” he says, watching you leave.  

The hotel, it turns out, is not nearly as fun as the party. Which is common sense.

You spend time writing and rewriting a few paragraphs of the article, stuck on the title of it and honestly wishing you were with Cuervo and vodka right now. You suppose you don’t need one just yet—they usually come to you late, anyways. Jonathan sends you three follow-up emails regarding a draft, so you send him the latest version and read over the file, reciting favorite lines under your breath.

In the middle of reading on the Bahrain P2 and a little segment on Sainz’s favorite Ferrari moments, somebody knocks on your door.

It’s a surprise—you don’t spend much time with people on the paddock, and only few of them know your room number, which leads you to narrow down the person on the other side to a select group. There’s Lewis, most likely of them all. Charles, who you’d grown much closer to as of late. Level with him is Lando. Then maybe, just maybe, Sebastian, to offer late night advice.

It could’ve been any of them, but it’s not. It’s somebody else.

“I’m sorry.” His voice threatens to break. “I didn’t know who else I could talk to.”

“Carlos?” You blink. 

You usher him in after, and you hope his mind is anxious enough that it doesn’t pay much attention to your hideous pajama situation (old hoodie, souvenir L.A. pajama pants). You end up on your balcony, both of you facing the frigid nighttime air. It freezes your cheeks, casts your hair backwards. Your eyes slide to his stoic figure, the way even his hair is blown back by the wind.

He’s quiet, but more relaxed, less stiff. “Sorry, again.”

“S’okay.”

You duck back inside and return with two cigarettes and a lighter. “Wanna?”

“Awful habit.” But he accepts it anyway, sticking it in between his lips. It bobs as he speaks, still unlit. “I need this, though.”

“I don’t do it regularly,” you defend, pressing the flame to the cig. He exhales. “Some situations call for them.”

“This definitely does. Bit of a slap to the face, you know?” You nod. “I’m sorry.” The apology carries more weight than it should, and you know why. 

Like it’s the most difficult thing in the world, you breathe a few times before you respond in a hushed tone. With your words comes a huff of smoke. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. You gave it your all, took a risk, it went to shit. But you gave it your all is what matters in the end. You put heart into it, which is something not everyone does in sports these days.”

“I feel… complimented.” You both laugh at the lack of good phrasing, so he rewords it. “I meant, I feel, how you say? Touched. It means a lot to be praised by you.”

“Does it?” Smoke again, another whiff of it.

“They only ever want to praise the podium finish, the P1, the title holder.” He lets the words fizzle. “But here you are praising a driver who finished like shit twice in a row. More people should be like you, paying thanks to the underdogs.”

It’s not the underdogs, you think. It’s just because of you. 

“More like the shit drivers,” you say instead, in a low rumbling voice. He laughs, calls you stupid in Spanish, and it’s a dead issue.

Later, before he leaves, when the room’s much darker and less bathed in moonlight, you whisper goodbye to him through a small crack in the door. He smiles a bit, and you catch it even with the lack of lighting.

“Thank you.” He says. He means it. You catch his perfume when the door swings closed. It smells like wood.

—

Sainz has off-grid hobbies, one of the most notable of which is cooking. He claims to have a good hold over the kitchen, and cooks several of his favorite dishes on the rare weekend off. Blah blaaahhhh, cooks well. Usually wears funky apron. WRITE THIS PROFILE ALREADY STOP EATING PASTA YOU DIPSHIT

Lando had invited you all to an Airbnb owned by a friend in Umbria, a two-ish hour drive from Imola.

With two free days, you’d followed a small group of drivers—Carlos included—to soak in the rest of Tuscany. Charles and Lando, however, left as soon as you arrived, to check out the last few hours of the farmer’s market. Alex had met Lily at the Eurostar station and they’d gone biking together.

This effectively left you and Carlos alone, which was not an unusual occurrence, but still proved to be a bit tense. With the kitchen free and the fridge stocked, Carlos suggested he cook for you both. Despite your best efforts, you ended up at the island writing and taste testing sauce, chicken, anything he slid over to you on a saucer with a tiny fork beside it.

“You’re going to give me cholesterol problems,” you quip. “This pasta is too good.”

“Cacio e pepe.” He twirls some onto a fork, straight off the pan, and shoves it into his mouth, a low mmmm leaving him once he gets to chewing. You laugh, a stifled sound through the noodles in your mouth at the exaggerated show of delicious food.

“Any favourite food you think is notable enough for the profile?” You type again, backspacing your harsh reminder. Makes a mean cacio e pepe (look up translation later). “Like, food you cook yourself, or even other recipes.”

“This,” he says, pointing to the pan. “This is fuel.”

“Amen.” Loves cacio e pepe.

“And it’s good with chicken.” He points to the oven, where he’s been baking chicken for a bit now. The kitchen smells of it, of the rosemary and oregano and pepper. “Oh, and put that I cook with music on. Let me connect my phone.”

Cooks w/ music. “Why do you need to mention that?”

“Ladies love a chef,” he says simply, letting a familiar song thrum into the woody kitchen. “And I love ladies.”

“Okay, slag.”

“Fuck off!” He begins shimmying all across the kitchen island, cranking open the oven mid-dance to check on the chicken, then continuing to clean the counter. Still he dances, and not very well, either—he always claimed singing was a stronger suit of his, so you allow the fool to be a fool.

Back when you two were still together, Carlos already had a preference for 70’s disco in the kitchen, saying it brought out the dancer in him. Nothing seems to have changed in that department, and you smile with mild embarrassment and amusement watching him dance across the kitchen, using the kitchen towel as a prop and swinging it around.

Loves dancing to The Communards while baking rosemary chicken. “Let me taste the chicken, by the way,” you ask when you finish typing, hopping off the stool and walking to the oven. He continues dancing, hips cocking poorly from side to side to the old song. He retrieves a fork and cuts a piece of chicken, reviewing its doneness briefly before turning with a piece of it stabbed into the utensil.

“Open,” he says. “It’s hot.”

It’s too natural, the way he slowly feeds you the piece. You don’t even realize it until you’re chewing, and by then he’s back to dancing to the song that’s now reaching its end. “It, uh,” you stutter, a bit nervous, “it’s really good.”

“Of course, I cooked it,” he says smugly. You grab a lime from the fruit bowl and throw it, hitting him in the back of the head in retaliation. He turns slowly, still dancing, lips stretched into a challenging smile.

Lando and Charles walk in ten minutes later to Carlos and you, yelping and chasing each other around the wide counter, chicken left atop it and forgotten in favor of the tag game. Charles, toting bags of fruit, faces Lando with a victorious expression. Pay up, he mouths, cocky.

—

It’s much too hot in Miami, but you appreciate the heavy beach culture and the even heavier nightlife.

You work on the profile until your fingers hurt from typing, sending Jonathan another draft for approval. Charles joins you on a cocktail taste test at the open bar until your tongue tastes like gin and your head is a bit spinny. Both Ferrari drivers end up having a shitload of pictures of you sleeping on the leather couch, enough that Lewis ends up getting ahold of them, too.

It’s a 2-3, in the end, with P1 going to Max. The latter throws a party at some place along the beach strip, invites you in one of the only conversations you’ve ever shared with the guy so far. He seems a bit unfriendly, but when you walk into the exclusive club later that night, you find him doing a handstand in front of a beer keg, so that’s that.

FUCK YEAH! Max hollers, following it with a howl so happy it reverbrates in your ears. It’s crowded everywhere, and you’re pretty sure Lewis isn’t here, so you spend a few minutes roaming around, getting a good grip on the vibe of the place.

It’s Carlos who finds you in the middle of the dance floor, nursing yet another drink to aid your lack of social skills. His voice is rough in your ear and it smells like a Jägerbomb, a low laugh escaping it right after. “All alone?”

“Unfortunately,” you tease, turning to face him. “Man, I thought guys were confident in Florida.”

“Cuidado,” he warns, smiling. “This dress is pretty difficult to resist.” His tongue’s definitely been loosened by shots, his eyes half-lidded and looking you up and down. You laugh, raising one eyebrow at the sudden flirty tone, but welcoming it nonetheless, depositing your now empty glass on whatever cocktail table is nearest. Who said you were sober? 

“Nobody’s inviting me, so why don’t you and I dance instead?”

He licks over his lips—he never seems to keep his tongue in his mouth—and winks, nodding.

And here in Miami, through the strobing purple lights of this ridiculously expensive club, you wrap your arms around his neck and dance to whatever Calvin Harris song is blaring through the bass.

His hands are all over you, loosening your stiff stature; they wring into the fabric of your obejctively too-short dress, raking it up a bit. You lean back and he leans forward, following you, drawn into you, your noses pressed together and your eyes meeting. Your breath heightens, holds, your fingers moving to his long hair and holding him close to you.

His hand moves over your ass, pulling you in. He smiles, pokes his tongue into his cheek, and you giggle, almost causing your lips to touch. Your mind is haywire from the alcohol, but you can’t really bring yourself to care. The warmth grows between you, closer and closer, the dynamic easy—

And then someone spills their drink on both your feet, causing you two to break apart and laugh off the tension instead. You’d almost fucking kissed. However you’re going to tell this to Lewis, you don’t even know.

And you’re not entirely sure, you think as you rinse whiskey and bile off the tip of your heel in the bathroom, how it sounds like to write Sainz and I almost made out in public on the GQ profile.

—

Nick emails you directly to ask if Carlos can do some test shoots in Miami for the profile cover.

You convince him to agree, even if he thinks he’s no good in front of a camera, and you two show up to a mostly empty warehouse studio. There’s a white backdrop situated toward the back and a tiny-sized crew of people working.

“Hi. Is this for GQ?” You ask the photographer. “Test shots?”

“Oh, hi.” He stands and shakes your hand. “I’m Luke. Big fan of your work, by the way. So the concept today is just plain shirt, long hair, gorgeous face, white background. Good?”

“Bueno,” Carlos says behind you with a smile.

You sit on a chair a few metres behind Luke while he works, watching the shots pop up on his screen every time the shutter clicks. As it turns out, Carlos is a brilliant liar, because every single shot—even one where he was fixing a wrinkle in his tee—looks perfectly usable anyway. Sainz is a natural stunner, you jot down.

It’s a bit awkward to admit you can’t help but stare, but his face is undeniably handsome, especially when he’s in front of the camera. Thankfully for you, and heavily owed to Carlos’ natural skill for modeling, the ordeal’s over in less than thirty minutes, and you begin preparing your stuff to leave.

“Oh, crap. I forgot I had to do a test bridal shoot for R&B’s wedding anniversary in September.” Luke sighs, clicking through the photos rapidly.

“R&B. The… music genre?” You ask, confused and toting your bag on your shoulder.

“Silly! Ryan and Blake. As in, Reynolds and Lively? They plan their photoshoots way in advance, and they always need sample poses to choose from.”

“Oh, I get it.” You smile. “Well, we’re sorry for keeping you.”

“You”—he stops both you and Carlos, pacing in front—“you two wouldn’t… mind, would you?”

“Mind… mind what, now?” Your eyes flit toward Carlos’ and you both laugh nervously.

“Being my mannequins for the bridal shoot!”

Both of you balk, making up all kinds of excuses, but as fate would have it, Luke is very convincing and you’re against the backdrop after five minutes of persuasion. He directs you into different silly, quirky poses—a piggyback ride both ways, smiling goofily, the like. Carlos can’t stop laughing every time the shutter clicks, at how silly the two of you must look. 

Luke plays some music to get you both looser, and directs you into a few mocking dance poses. Then he directs you in a partners-in-crime pose, which you love the outcome of. Okay, last one, newlyweds, he says. Carlos, why don’t you get behind her and wrap your arms around her waist?

You clear your throat, letting him do so anyway, his hands big around your frame. “Careful,” you whisper when he’s right behind you. Luke raises an inquisitive brow behind the camera, watches your chemistry unfold through the viewfinder. Your breath hitches a little, but you swallow the nerves.

Look into his eyes, Luke says. So you do, meet them, force yourself not to look away for once and just stare. It’d been easy to do this, because you could just as easily break the stare, but now it’s different. Your eyes flutter, and his stay unblinking. 

It’s like that for a minute, just staring, like all the things you want to say can communicate themselves through eye contact alone. Another twenty seconds pass before Luke coughs, breaking the moment.

“I said we were good like a minute ago, guys,” he says knowingly, packing up with a smirk.

—

Lewis advises you to avert your pent up “romantic” tension to another boy. It’s difficult, but you challenge yourself to find somebody anyway, maybe outside of racing, to use your extra paddock pass (courtesy of Mattia) on. The guys in your DMs are all skeevy, or you’ve unfortunately ghosted them, so they’re all out.

After some searching, you end up using your extra pass in Spain, and for James, a Sky Sports sound editor for streamed football games. He’s British and a huge Tottenham fan who you met during drinks with a few reporters the month prior. Not bad, but not necessarily your type; at this point, though, you’ll take anybody above the bare minimum. And James is above it—a gentleman, kind, funny in the quaint English way. He could be taller, but you find him charming enough.

Noise flows through the paddock, chatter and cheering and interviews. “This is so cool,” says James animatedly. “I feel like a regular Schumacher.”

You give a phony, flirty laugh and enter the Ferrari hospitality, raking your hair backwards. “I’m going to get something real quick, okay? Stay put…” You point at a lone chair. “Over there.”

“Alright,” he says with a smile. “I can’t roam arou—?”

“No!” You say, a tad too quickly. “I mean, sorry. Don’t. Just. I’ll be back really quickly.” Before you can even retrieve your phone charger from Carlos’ room, the owner himself walks into the area, squirting water into his mouth and furrowing his eyebrows together when he sees you standing beside a stranger.

“Hi,” Carlos says, a bit bluntly. His eyes are darting everywhere but at you, lingering a bit too distastefully on James’ timid figure. “You are?”

“Her date,” James says with a nervous laugh, pointing a thumb towards you. “James. Huge fan of you. Of the team.”

“Sure.” He offers a tight-lipped smile, hand meeting James’ outstretched one to form a polite handshake.

It’s awkward, is what it is—awkward and stuffy and Carlos won’t look at you. He clenches his jaw a little, smiles, looks up and down. “You, uh… how long have you guys been…?” He waves a finger in between the both of you, almost fearfully, like the answer will cast him into ashes.

“Not—not long, really.” James laughs again to relieve the tension that seeps across the room. “A month?”

“A month?” Carlos repeats, arms crossed.

“We haven’t even, like, had se—”

“That’s—” you cut in, sharp and apologetic, “wow, that’s plenty. Thanks, James. Could you get us some drinks? I’ll have a beer.”

“It’s one-thirty,” he says.

“Yeah,” you respond. “A beer.”

He leaves you both alone sheepishly, and you turn to face Carlos’ intense expression.

His arms are crossed and he rakes a hand through his hair—but he doesn’t say anything. Why should he, anyway, he thinks to himself, staring at you. You wore your hair in a ponytail today, so he sees more of your pretty face. Oh and so does James. Pendejo.

“Are you okay?” You ask, even if he knows you know what’s up.

“Totally. Muy bien.” He shrugs, drinking water again. “Should I not be?”

“Never said that,” you say, raising both eyebrows. 

“Okay. Well enjoy the beer.”

So he’s jealous. Fine, sue him. He’s jealous of the British gangly guy you thought was good enough to invite onto the paddock. Barely even made a lasting impression. He gives a small, phony smile and walks back, meeting Charles along the way.

“You look like you’ve just seen a ghost, mate,” says the younger, slinging an arm over his shoulder. “Maybe the ghost of James?” He flicks the guy’s forehead, laughing.

P4, it ends up being. Not nearly good enough. But James is the first to say, “Congratulations, hombre!” in a God awful accent, so it becomes ten times worse, really.

—

“Alright guys, Carlos and I here today with some members of our team, and we’re going to play some fun trivia games.” Charles’ eyes read from the signboard behind the camera, his amusement wholly unscripted as he looks from you to Andrea and back to Carlos.

You honestly don’t know why you agreed to this. It might have been Lewis’ gentle persuasion or your boss’ overenthusiastic persistent voice, or the sleepiness that’s been wearing you down and boggling your mind lately, or—and it’s probably this—the fact that James ghosted you after Spain, because you “clearly have a thing with Sainz, and I don’t wanna be a homewrecker.” Whatever it is, you’re apparently a guest on the C² Challenge segment. 

Today is a trivia game against Charles and Andrea, and you’ve all been given a general guide to what the questions entail—math, music, general knowledge, and one scripted Ferrari question at the end. The structure is fairly basic; each team member gets to answer one at a time, both contributing to overall points—and no coaching allowed, for some odd reason.

Charles is a little shit, so he’s made an off-camera bet: loser should treat winner to a round of shots at the next afterparty/get-together. And—who are you kidding, really—Carlos is also a little shit, so he’s game for the bet and has fired you both up to win, spouting Ferrari trivia in your ear should it come up.

“I got it,” you say snappily when he hasn’t stopped pestering you for five straight minutes. “I got it.”

“Oh, did you got it?” He asks sassily. “Okay. When did Ferra—”

“We’re starting in three,” says the cameraman in Spanish, Italian, then finally English.

He holds three fingers up and you hug your tiny dry erase board closer to your torso, readying your camera smile. The video—and the game—start off well enough, a quickfire competition developing between the two teams that infects you and Andrea quickly. 

“Stay calm and collected,” Carlos proclaims, lips stretched into a proud smile. “Our team motto.” He elbows your side and you roll your eyes with a smile, teasing. 

“I think it’s, ah, always—always cheat, mate,” Charles protests, pointing an accusatory finger. 

“You are soooo—tch, I propose we kick Charles for poor sportsmanship,” retorts your teammate, laughing. The force of his laughter shakes the stool he sits on and you bite back a smile, remaining relatively quiet like you’ve been since the start of the video.

The remainder of the game passes with Carlos and Charles neck and neck, you and Andrea working overtime to make sure your teams don’t lose the bet. Eventually it boils down to one question, which Carlos is in charge of answering. Behind the camera, the producer raises a signboard and reads it out: We all know C². What is eight squared?

What a relief, you think. They’ve basically handed the win to you and Carlos on a silver platter. You wait, bumbling in your seat and raising an L sign toward Charles, who sticks his tongue out in response. Excitedly, you watch Carlos cheer for himself and finish writing, turning the board inch by inch until you all see the answer he has written on it.

Everyone stares. Then: “Team Charles wins!”

“Que?!” Carlos blinks, scandalized and a bit amused. He stares at the question then at his answer then, as if dreading the laser eyes, at you. Your eyes narrow, disappointed.

“Carlos. What is eight squared?”

“Eight squared. Eight, and you take another eight, and—it’s right here.” A tan finger points firmly at the number written messily, square in the middle of the whiteboard.

16

“Eres un tonto,” you quip, remembering bits of teasing you’d used on him years before. “Carlos, it’s 64. Eight times eight, not eight times two.”

“Ay, puta—” He shuts his eyes and laughs. “Lo siento! Sorry, sorry. Sorry! I cost us the win.”

Across you, Charles is coaxing a much more begrudged Andrea into a childish victory dance, pulling his arms up and down to convey the joy of winning. You sigh exasperatedly, but smile . For what it was worth, you had a great game anyway. The noise grows, and you watch the producers pack up, the cameraman parting from the camera for a moment to converse with one of them.

Left alone with you for a bit, Carlos lets his voice slip into a quieter one. “Sorry again. I forgot.”

“Forgot?” Your brows furrow, confused. “What?”

“That, you know”—he points at the lonely 16 on the whiteboard he holds—“it’s supposed to be 64.”

 “Oh.” You laugh, a light sound. “Whaaat?! It’s not that deep, Carlos. Seriously, don’t worry about it. It was all fun.”

“Well, I’m glad you had fun,” he says softly, smiling.

“Yeah, me too,” you say, unable to hide your smile. You stay like that for a bit, something blooming in the pit of your stomach you can’t—and refuse to—name.

—

You get two days off, and Charles had suggested you all go to Paris before you go to Cannes, where the Ferrari team is apparently expected for a meeting before Monaco. You’re the one who’d said yes first, even if Carlos seemed to hesitate; he had asked why, to which you responded you’d never been before.

You’d read about it, watched about it, and like every other human on Earth, seen pictures of it. But you’d never been to Paris; work placed you mostly in London, sometimes South America, other times Italy. But Paris was never a destination. So Carlos allowed the greenlight and you flew, with Lando, Pierre, and Esteban tagging along for shits and giggles.

“I’ve waited my whole life for my Eiffel Tower moment,” you say, not even trying to hide your wonder. Carlos got the best room for himself, but invited you in, for the view. He doesn’t tell you he went through hell and back to get precisely this room, so you could peek inside and see the tower.

“Well, you’re here now.” He wedges the hotel balcony door open and walks toward the railing. You follow suit, arms crossed over your torso, eyes stuck on the view. “How is it?”

“It’s as beautiful as I imagined it to be,” you confess honestly, eyes still stuck on the tower, the way it stands alone and glittering against the black of night. Cliché as it is, you feel like you’ve checked one huge box off your bucket list, staring at the landmark like it’s going to evaporate into thin air. 

Beside you, Carlos hums in agreement, but his gaze is stuck on something else. “I know.”

“Oh, do you?” You laugh. “Are you in the business of admiring beautiful things?” You tease, looking up at the stars.

Sensing his eyes on you, you slowly avert your gaze until your eyes meet. The light reflects in his eyes, and they meet yours blindingly, beautiful, luring you closer. The joking tone of your words is caught in your throat, desert dry, your lips parted to spout words you’ve now forgotten, lost track of.

Your silhouettes dance against the lights of the city below, two figures admiring the other. His eyes flicker down to your lips, linger there a second too long. You stumble closer, your foot touching his.  “…Paris.” The words struggle to leave but they do, quietly, an admission of guilt. “It’s always reminded me of you.”

 “Not Spain?” He asks, leveling your volume. You’re closer, so close you feel his breath fan soft against your own face. His voice is deep, accented so thickly, the way it is when he talks with you because he falls into a familiar rhythm of knowing you’ll decipher whatever he has to say.

You giggle, a low, breathy sound. A barely there shake of your head. “I… love it so much, is why. Always have.”

Had there been a pedestrian across the street who looked just a few floors upward, they would’ve found the both of you there, smiling foolishly, blanketed by the night sparkles of the Eiffel Tower and the rest of the city. They would’ve seen the way Carlos leaned in, his eyes on yours and then on your lips, the way you nodded in silent, warm invitation. Come closer, you seem to say. Don’t stray any further.

A lock of your hair touches his jaw, from how close you two are. So close. Everything smells like him, like the musky woody perfume he wears, the detergent he uses. All of that, and everything underneath. The scent of him. Just him. 

You hold your breath when you both lean in, eyes fluttering shut and waiting, waiting for his lips to meet yours.

The door shakes with several knocks, Lando’s voice seeping from the other side of it. “Mate, we’re gonna be late for dinner!” He says boredly, letting his fist collide with it a few more times for good measure.

Instantly, you and Carlos separate, both of you clearing your throats, rushed flimsy excuses escaping your mouths at the same time. You’re warm all over, the excitement, the nerves, tapering off into nothing as you walk back inside the room, busying yourselves with anything. Oh, I need to check if Jonathan’s emailed me. Oh, let me go answer the door.

Lando is waiting, expectant, on the other side when Carlos pries the door open. “Mate! Dinner! I texted you like twenty minutes ago and y—oh.” He spots you sitting at one of the lounge chairs in the room, and immediately his brows raise. “Hey, dude. You’re here?”

“Yeah, to, uh—to get Carlos to OK some edits,” you say with a smile, hoping your nonchalance isn’t too shaky. “I needed to get a draft in by three hours ago, so.”

“Oh. Right, obviously.” His eyes narrow a little, but he doesn’t relax much, gaze suspicious and a bit beguiled. “Well, if you’re not busy, we’re having dinner?”

“I’m good,” you decline, a touch too quickly. “It’s getting late.”

“Alright, well it was a courtesy invite, you dipshit,” Lando teases, and everything feels a bit more normal. You just flip him off, and Carlos retrieves his coat, eyes still not meeting yours when you all exit at the same time. Lando makes up for the hole in the conversation, droning on and on about the restaurant they’re going to, and how good it seems to be.

The elevator ride is equally charged, and you spend it humming and interjecting Lando’s words to come across as unfazed, even if you’re so totally not. Once you’re alone you finally let big exhales leave you. You don’t know if it’s from the anxiety of almost being caught, or the anxiety from the kiss unfinished.

—

LOVE the latest draft, Nick & I both. Could we get a deeper angle? Something re: regrets? Would really tie it together! Best, J

“Huh. Do you have any regrets?” You ask, tearing your eyes away from the short email. Next to you, Carlos nods his head slowly. You’re on the beach in Cannes, taking time off before the meeting and people-watching. Charles had joined you for a good half hour before leaving to sleep in the hotel instead, leaving you two to bask in the now setting sun.

“Everyone does, no?” He stretches a bit. The topic is tense. “But yes, I have some specific ones.”

“Like?” You ask weakly.

“I was stupid when I was younger. More immature, more forgetful. You grow older and you think of all the things you could’ve done right, years too late. There’s a proverb I heard once that goes—camarón que se duerme se lo lleva la corriente. It means to—to stay alert. Don’t let things pass you by.”

“And do you think you followed that advice?”

His eyes meet yours. “Do you?”

—

It’s quiet when Carlos walks inside your flat, and already his heart begins to drain, filling with guilt.

He steps over the creaky floorboard, notices your car keys on the table, your jacket haphazardly slung over the rack, your Chanel bag half-open on the dinner table beside an empty wine glass and a sweaty bottle of Cheval Blanc. The bedroom door’s half-open, light bleeding into the dark rest-of-the-place, and when he gently pushes the door to get in, the sight he faces is crushing.

“…Estás bien?”

You face the window, your back to him, in a beautiful, beautiful black dress. Your hair had been up, but it’s unpinned now, falling in loose, messy waves. You hiccup, and then tense. Feigning nonchalance, you croak out, “Yeah, yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” he says honestly. “I didn’t know the thing was earlier.” His eyes hover to the glass award on the bed, one you’d hoped he would watch you receive tonight.

“I said I’m fine,” you say. “Just”—you sniffle—“it’s fine, Carlos, just get out.”

You’re standoffish, and cold, but Carlos knows you’re incredibly hurt. In an attempt to try and coerce a conversation, he stays. “Let’s have dinner tomorrow,” he suggests in a low voice. “On me. Right? To celebrate.”

“Leave me alone, Carlos.”

“I wanted to go,” he insists. “I had a meeting that ended late, and—”

“It doesn’t fucking matter,” you assert, turning. You’ve clearly been crying hard, your face flushed and shiny, a few rogue tears still on your chin. “Just go.”

“I know how much this mattered to you.”

“And yet you didn’t go.” You sniff, wiping fruitlessly at your face. “Carlos, just…” Your voice sounds thin, heartbroken, worn with pain and real tiredness. 

“Cut me some slack.” Carlos argues softly.

“No, I just… I don’t even know how things got to this point, Carlos. We used to be so much happier. But now, it’s like I have to demand for your time like everyone else does. Now, I—I cook, I plan dinner, I put my own career on the back burner so I can spend more time with you even if I’ve gotten calls, promotions that you don’t even ever… ever ask about, just everything. I don’t think… I don’t feel you love me that way. Care for me, that way. You’ve never shown it, not lately especially.”

“You should’ve told me,” he says, hurt.

“This kind of thing, it…” you shake your head, wiping your clammy hands on the black silk. “It doesn’t need to be said.”

“Let me make it up to you.” He steps closer but you’re quicker, almost stumbling in your rush to avoid him.

“No,” you protest, “just go, Carlos, just go. Get out and close the door.”

“Cariño—”

“Go,” you say, voice hard with contempt. You refuse to meet his pleading eyes. “Go, Carlos.”

So he does.

He passes by, again, your handbag, with the sleek travel-sized bottle of Santal 33 you keep with you always peeking out, and the Cheval Blanc he’d bought you a few months prior, and the jacket you’d bought with his approval almost a year ago. He lingers in his car for a minute, the rain pelting the Golf noisily. 

He drives off, wiping tears from his own face.

And maybe, had he stayed a little longer, he would’ve seen you tearfully emerge from the elevator, into the lobby, then out into the rain, still in your black dress, and let yourself get soaked waiting for him to come back, refusing to believe he’d even let himself leave you so broken.

—

You play Uno to pass the time, your last night in Cannes.

He’s won two games in a row at this point, and you’re almost 100% sure he has a plus four card in his hand, so you play a bit more deliberately, eyeing him with a challenging glint in your eyes. You’re a bit watered down by your earlier conversation, but you feign nonchalance anyway.

Blue 2. Blue 5. Green 5. Then finally, he slaps it onto the deck—a plus four card. “Oh, come on, Carlos,” you say, almost actually irritated.

“I’ll kiss it better,” he says. Suddenly overwhelmed, you push yourself off the counter and storm out.

He follows you, stumbling into the empty balcony and softly shutting the door, voice still colored with laughter. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know you’d be so upset about the—”

You barely hear the rest of his clearly half-hearted, humorous apology. It doesn’t matter to you.

What does matter is everything from the years past crashing on your shoulders like debris, like rain, finally giving under the weight of being so close to him again. Everything. The tangled fog of your relationship, the start, the middle, the terrible end neither of you wanted. You pulsed with want, with yearning, with sadness.

So you ask yourself why? Why? Why? Why couldn’t he have come back? More importantly—why did he let you go so easily?

The truth is, you’ve drowned yourself in work so long you’ve forgotten what it’s like to feel, to be felt. And if Carlos is doing this, all this, all the touching and the tension and the debris and the rain that crash on you like a bruising, torrential storm, for his own pleasure, like this is all a game, then you’ve yearned for nothing.

“This isn’t about the game, Carlos!” It heaves itself out of you in a half-sob, carried by the wind.

He stops—stops walking, stops smiling. Just stops and stares, brows knitted with concern. You refuse to look at him, staring instead at the skyline, arms crossed. The view blurs with tears, lights meshing together prettily.

He stutters your name out in a feeble response. It’s mortifying, the way you start to cry when it leaves his mouth.

You turn then, willing your lips to stop quivering. “Good for you,” you say shakily, “you can—you can fool around, kiss me like it’s nothing, pretend like we never even mattered so you can make jokes about how we’ve ended up here again, back, together.” You inhale, but it’s no use; you’re crying even as you speak. “And I’ll laugh, because it can be funny, you know, fuck it. But… I’m so—”

The wanting shows, in moments like this. Wanting love, wanting comfort, wanting warmth, an escape from work and stress and life. You know how it feels, to be loved. You’d been familiar with it, at some point. You want it again, the ache, the kiss, the pain of it all. More than that, you want him. For just a moment. But all this wanting is so exhausting.

You want this profile to be over. You want to pull him close and tell him how proud you are, but also how hurt you are. You want Spain. You miss Paris. Everything, everything, every memory, every single painful loving thing bursts inside you.

“—tired.” You nod your head, licking tears that have perched on your lip, smiling humorlessly, shrugging. “I’m—I’m tired, and lonely, and being around you makes it worse. Being around you hurts me. It hurts you. This profile was a bad idea, and I should’ve trashed this the moment I learned I’d be covering you. Because I knew then it would’ve turned to shit, and I was right.”

He stares, unmoving. He remembers, too. He’d tell you everything if the words clicked just right. But they never do; they tangle like cotton balls in his throat before he can kneel and name everything he remembers, everything he loved about the two of you. Cariño. Just be mine, tell me everything, tell me you love me.

You wipe a hand over your face. “Let’s just let this go already. You know, we really were good for a while. This… this is maybe just one of those things where we made it in another life, but not this one.”

At his returned silence, you nod, then walk quietly past him and back into the room.

It’s just as empty as you’d left it, dim and lit only by the warm light above the kitchen counter. Your forgotten Uno game lies on the same spot, beside the two empty wine glasses. You stare for a second. Life had been different when he’d lay down his cards just minutes ago.

A coat is tugged from in between couch cushions, your heels from by the door hastily pulled on. Every movement feels heavy, like sandbags are tied to your limbs, your tongue, your eyelids. You turn, one last time, to see the moment suspended in time—and you meet his eyes. Even across the room you feel like you’re drowning in them, dark and solemn. 

“Wait,” he says, and even with just one syllable he’s managed to stop your world from turning again. “You’re right. Everything you said. When I’m around you, I hurt. I’m reminded of how awful I was then. It’s painful to be together.”

Eyes meet, eyes blink, eyes close.

“But you didn’t trash the feature. And I still enjoy your company. You could be covering Rafael Nadal or whoever right now. I could be in a jet to Japan. But you and I are here, are we not?”

Only you. It’s only you.

“I’ve missed you.” It rips through him. “I want to be here with you. I want to make the pain go away, so let me.”

“It’s useless,” you protest, tearily. “This won’t work. I’ll get mad, you’ll get fed up, I’ll get bored, you’ll put work before us.”

“Okay.” He paces toward you, nearer and nearer, closing the distance between you both. “I’ll make it work.”

“Carlos,” you weep, “I don’t know why you don’t get it. Life sucks. And all we get are little moments where things are… are good. So don’t waste the moments like this. Let’s not waste the moments on this.”

“You’re not a waste,” he says—and you crumple into his arms, worn, exhausted.

A knot in your heart is slowly unraveling itself. You’ve waited, yearned for so long, and finally you’re in his arms again, with the kind of quiet resolution only he would understand. You left the lights on for him. You’d do it again, but you don’t have to.

You bury your head in his chest, a chorus of apologies leaving him. I’m sorry, he says. I’m sorry, I love you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Everything.

I love you, you say weakly. I love you, that’s enough. I waited for this to leave, but all it did was hide. The love has yet to pass. It never will.

—

“Yours really is the best selling one!” Nick pulls you in for a hug. “We have Nadal and CR7 on the roster, but Sainz’s is selling like crazy. Your writing is just—” He kisses his fingers. “You are amazing.”

“You flatter me,” you reply gracefully, letting him pull you into another embrace but prying him off a bit faster. You don’t need another Jonathan-esque freakout in the middle of the room.

The GQ party, six months later, almost a mirror of the fundraiser just a few months ago. Only this time, you’re not tacked onto Lewis, and you’re not buzzing with nerves (as much). You had run into Lewis when you entered, and Charles too, and Lando when he spotted you, but none of them are your plus ones to this event.

Your profile is the talk of the journalism scene. Nobody can shut up about it, and it thrills you, excites you, to be witnessing your work be recognized beside Carlos himself. He brings you a glass of champagne and presses a kiss to your cheekbone, smiling against it.

Neither of you notice Lando and Charles behind you, watching like hawks. The elder cackles, presents his hand like a sacrifice and turns to the Brit. “Aha.What did I tell you, chat?”

“Five hundred euros,” moans Lando, slapping a bunch of bills onto it. “You’re an intuitive prick.”

“Those two are soulmates.” They stare at your foolish figures, smiling like idiots, high-fiving even. “The kind that’ll always, always find their way back to each other. Always.”

Lando shrugs. “Hey, honestly, for once, I’m glad I lost a bet.”

“I look great on the cover,” Carlos says, both of you staring at the screen’s display of it. 

“Shut up,” you smile, interlocking your fingers. “Well, my writing looks great inside.”

“Really does,” he says. “I’m so, so proud of you, cariño.”

“Proud of me?” You tease, staring up at him. “You made the last minute title change that caused fans to go crazy.” You both turn to stare at it displayed on the screen, smiling fondly.

Carlos Sainz—on racing, gracious defeat, and refinding love.

[olderthannetfic]

I accidentally killed my own desire to write, and I need some advice. To be really blunt about it, what's the point of writing? When I would spend lots of time laboring over making a good story with a plot and characters who were in-character and connecting all the dots narratively so payoffs were satisfying, my reward was dead silence and virtually no clicks. I posted some mindless smut to my side account one day and got more hits in a day than most of my other works combined got in a year. I know, I know. "Write for ~*~yourself~*~" is the common response. It's the "be yourself!" of writing. It's supposed to be a magical phrase that'll make everything okay. But... I don't like knowing that something I spend months working on won't be read by anyone while something I write in a car while bored got thousands of clicks. I don't like making something I'm proud of and then no one ever looks at it. That's not fun for me. It's not fulfilling.

For a solid decade, I've tried to ignore how the level of interactivity in fandom is falling. Fewer comments. Fewer kudos. No comments in the bookmarks. You put your tumblr and Discord in the AN and get a handful of asks and one person who adds you, talks to you twice and then ghosts you. Most of the comments are "well, actuallys", made even more annoying by them being wrong as opposed to actually correcting an error. I avoid fandom drama, wank, and infighting. I don't engage with things I know will make me unhappy. I try to be happy over in my own little corner. I comment on every single work I read. I want people to enjoy fandom. I used to.

Some dumb smut I wrote in 40 minutes gets five times the hits of the writing I'm most proud of, and it gets it in just under three months. I am not a great smut writer. I haven't stumbled onto an incredible talent I had that makes it so the issue is that I'm so amazing my smut brings all the boys to the yard. People just don't like what I write and put effort into. It's very likely that despite 20 years of writing fic, I suck at writing. And people enjoy my writing most when they don't have to put up with anything substantial and can just skip to the sex.

So for the last eight months, when I write, I just sort of give up. Close the Word doc without saving. No one will read this. No one cares about this. There is no fan eagerly awaiting every update like I await updates from my favorite authors. There's not even someone saying, "update soon!" Close the Word doc. Delete old WIPs. There's no point. I do not tell stories worth reading. I used to. In the FFN days people genuinely enjoyed my work. I'd never have had an opportunity to do the 'I won't update until I get 3 reviews' thing because getting that many on a chapter was usually something I'd do overnight. Post before bed. Wake up. Read the reviews before school. I peaked in high school, I guess.

And now I'm just sort of lost. I still have lots of ideas. Ideas for fics fall into my head all the time. That's never been a problem. What I don't have is any motivation to write them. What's the point of writing? If no one else is reading, I guess the point would be so I could go back and read my own story and have fun with it. Write for myself. But I can review the story and have fun with it in my head without writing it down. It's substantially faster and more importantly, isn't incredibly depressing.

So, at the risk of definitely being calld the second-coming of True Art Anon or a troll or validation-seeking or haha mentally ill haha... what's the point of writing?

--

Okay, so write porn in a car while you're bored.

Look, you can whine all you want about my response, but what you've written here is blatantly about depression.

Lots of people in fandom are still interacting. And no, it isn't just on fics that are objectively written to some pro fiction standard or whatever. Teenagers still breathlessly review poorly spelled cracky masterpieces about this year's big anime and so forth.

Yes, there may be reasons why you in particular are in a slump when it comes to fandom friendships or "plz update" comments. We can talk about that. But this ask is all gloom about fandom in general. That's not realism: that's you having a problem.

--

As for why a person should write: because the actual hours you spend doing the writing are fun.

If they aren't pleasurable in some way, find another hobby.

--

But if you want an answer to the age old "Why did my 5 minute fic get 1000000x more asspats", I've seen meta about this for literally decades.

The most likely reason is that the fic we write quickly and without much thought often feels fresher and more fun. The things we labor over endlessly can feel overworked. Even in cases where they don't, they're often heavier subject matter or more niche subject matter. On top of all that, we just care more, so even a high level of feedback doesn't really feel like enough for the effort and care we put in.

--

Do you really need me to tell you why you don't feel the same as in high school when things were fresh and new?

Go read up on combatting burnout or dealing with post-college anxiety or managing stress in a dead-end job in your 30s or finding meaning in your 40s or whatever is going on.

Everyone goes through fallow periods in fandom and in life.

Feeling reinvigorated has to do with internal factors and some general life circumstance stuff. It doesn't have that much to do with number of kudos. That's just the surface trigger for a mood that was already there.

[psychedelic-ink]

hi:D I don’t know if you take request but I like ur writing style and wanted to request a fic where the reader is having period cramps and Mike helps comfort her

yess my requests are open nonnie! tho when I write them can be questionable fgbgfbfg and thank you so much for requesting this my period is close so this was lovely to write 💜

ㅤㅤㅤ𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐘

ㅤㅤmike schmidt x f!reader

Your breasts ache, your stomach hurts—your body the most uncomfortable place to be. You turn to the side as you bring you knees up to your chest and hug yourself. Another cramp. You squeeze your eyes shut, hissing through gritted teeth. You breathe heavily as you wait for it to pass. Your nostrils flutter. Your face warming up while the pain escalates. It escalates, escalates, and escalates—then it suddenly comes to a halt. 

Suddenly you can breathe again. 

Taking the opportunity, you fill your lungs with air. You want to cry. Everything fucking sucks. You want to call out to Mike who’s watching TV with Abby in the living room but you feel too weak to form the words. You suppose that’s alright. He’s already exhausted and overwhelmed with everything, it’s better that he doesn’t worry about you too—

“Fuck—” 

Your entire body clenches, your arms tightening around you as your nails bite your forearms. Fuck. You need painkillers, the whole bottle of them. The faintest of whimpers fall from your lips. The back of your head is throbbing from how taut your body is. You try to breathe, try to get out of bed, but even the smallest of movements add to the pressure of the cramps. 

You’re so lost in the pain you don’t even hear the door opening. You only notice someone’s here when you feel the faint dip of the bed. 

Your eyes snap open, your back is still turned. A hand curls around your shoulder and squeezes. 

“Are you okay?” you hear Mike ask. “You’ve been here for a while. Abby is making her version of spaghetti.” 

“That’s. . .” you exhale from your nose. “That’s great Mike. But I think I’m gonna skip it.” 

His hand doesn’t leave your shoulder, “You didn’t answer me. Are you okay?” 

You know he won’t leave without some thorough convincing. Knowing this, you turn to your other side to face him. He smiles when your eyes lock and despite the pain, your heart flutters. 

Just as you part your lips, about to tell him that you’re fine and he should just help Abby with cooking, another cramp strikes again. A choked-out sound rips from your throat and you immediately pull your knees to your chest again. You know it doesn’t exactly help. But something about the position makes you believe the cramp will subside. 

“Hey hey hey,” Mike cups your cheeks, thumbs tracing circles on your skin. “Tell me what’s going on. Let me help, baby.” 

“I’m—I’m on my period. I’m cramping.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” You relax a bit as the cramp finally softens. “We should have some advil. Do you need anything else?” 

God, you want to cry. He’s such a caregiver. You look away, embarrassment warming your stomach. “Maybe. . . maybe some of that leftover cheesecake too?” 

“Yeah, of course. I’ll be right back.” 

Before you know it he’s back with a fresh red stain on his sweatshirt—courtesy of Abby and her cooking skills you bet. You shuffle back a bit so he can take a proper seat this time, he does and gives you the advil. “You sure you don’t need anything else?” he places the plate of cheesecake on top of the bedside table. 

“I’m good,” you answer, popping the pill and taking two huge gulps of water. “Thank you. Can we. . .cuddle a bit?” 

Mike smiles and you swear it’s the brightest sight ever, “If I ever say no to that feel free to smack the shit out of me.” 

You manage a small laugh despite the discomfort, and Mike scoots closer, wrapping his arms around you. His warmth feels like a soothing balm against the persistent ache in your body. You rest your head on his chest, finding solace in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

He starts tracing gentle circles on your back, his fingers moving in a comforting pattern. The pain begins to ebb away as you focus on the warmth and love radiating from him. It's amazing how a simple touch can make everything feel a bit more bearable.

“Better?” he asks, his voice a soft murmur.

You nod against his chest, unwilling to let go of the safety his embrace provides. "Much better. Thank you for being here."

"Always," he replies, pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head. “You just need to say the words and I’ll be there.” 

You think you answer him but you can’t tell as sleep slowly begins to take over. 

All you feel is him.

[avenging-fandoms]

i know this will sound too weird, but can i request something for sin hours? where y/n is also a singer and she meets harry at the studio, they're both tired but end up having some... fun? LMAO i'm so weird (btw, i love your work and hope you're fine!)

*you know the faint moaning in 'cinema'? just.. you'll see*

**kinda long.. bear with me. i love this fic

*it's smut. if you don't like it, that's okay! i'm sure there's other great harry fics. if you aren't 18+ FUCK RIGHT OFF

-

You had just flown in from Japan that morning, but you couldn't turn down the opportunity to work with Harry Styles. Harry never did collaborations on albums but you two wanted to work together.

The building was nice, and outside stood Harry with a few other people. You hop out of the car with a smile, Harry's arms immediately opening and you couldn't help but squeeze him a bit. "I have loved you for so long, this is a dream."

Harry grabbed your shoulders and bent down a bit. "I have been obsessed with you for a long time, your lyrics are amazing." He compliments you and you can't help but blush. Harry flashes a smile before introducing you to the people outside. "Shall we begin?"

The session was supposed to start at 8, but you guys didn't officially start until 9:45. You all got caught up talking about deep things, adventures, advice. It was like you had known these people for years and you had just met them an hour ago.

When the session actually started, it was like magic as you two worked with one another. Correcting or changing something the other does politely, so many compliments and singing harmonies together.

"Yn, get in there with Harry and sing the harmony with him." You open your mouth to speak, but you just stutter. "You did it out here, go ahead."

You head into the room as you gulp and Harry holds out a pair of headphones. He counts you two down and the music starts, the both of you singing, enjoying how you sound together so much you can help but sing the whole song with him.

The audio ends and you let out the biggest yawn. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry. I just flew in from Japan this morning and did not get as much sleep as I needed when I got home." He holds the door open for you and you thank him quietly.

"I completely get it, I just came back from Greece." You sit on the couch and he sits next to you with a bit of space, listening to you both singing. "That sounds incredible," Harry looks at you and grabs your thigh. "You are incredible."

You inhale sharply, your lips becoming dry as you open your mouth. Your tongue pokes out slowly and he watches. "Thank you."

Harry winks and looks away from you, standing up. "Let me sing what we have for 'Cinema.' It's just the beginning?" He asks and you couldn't answer, you had no idea was 'Cinema' was.

The music started to go and he started to sing. You watched as he sang, closing his eyes softly, moving his mouth to the side sometimes. "If you're getting yourself wet for me, I guess you're all mine."

You move a leg over the other and lean forward, hand over your mouth. That was so fucking hot.

An hour later, a few people had to leave, then 20 minutes later everyone else left, you and Harry saying you're going to stay to record some more.

""Cinema' is quite the risqué song, Mr. Styles. I love it." You smile as you sit on the stool. Harry smirks as he closes the door, standing in front of your microphone.

"It's missing something though, don't you think? Especially in the beginning." He moves next to you, moving his stool behind you and you lick your lips quickly with an excited shiver.

"Yes.. but.. what were you thinking?" You ask quietly, looking up as he towered over you. His hand holds your cheek softly, inhaling slowly with a smile.

"I want something faint in the background. A noise. And with the lyrics in the song.." His lips kissing your neck softly, your hands immediately grabbing the back of his biceps and whimper.

"Harry.."

"Something like that, yeah." He chuckles and pulls away, laying you back against the stool. "Is it okay if I touch you?"

"Yes, oh god yes please." You beg and he moves his microphone next to him by your head. His fingers pull up your shirt a bit, pushing into your sweatpants and into your underwear. Your hips move in the air as you tried to get his hand closer, but he didn't move.

"So responsive. Do you like being touched?" He leans over you, hips in front of your face with his hard on pressing through his sweatpants. You drop your jaw and pull the waist band down and moan when his dick is exposed.

"Do you?" You ask, spitting in your hand and stroking him slowly, moaning as he slides two fingers into you. You moan and shake your hips, moving them against his hand. His palm rubs your clit as you do, your hand moving faster as your orgasm approached quickly. "Fuck me, Harry."

"Are you sure? I don't have.. I'm clean."

"Me too. And I'm on birth control. Just please fuck me." Harry picks you up over his shoulder, putting you on the couch and pulling off his hoodie, to which you took off your shirt. Harry kissed you and held your breasts in his hands, twisting and pulling and flicking your nipples as he pushes you back against the couch.

"I need a taste." Harry hums, disappearing between your legs and immediately moving his tongue all over your pussy. You gasp and grip his hair, rolling your hips and shaking. "So fucking delicious." You pulled him in for a kiss, Harry locking his arm under your knee and bend the other one. "Put it in."

You smile and grab his dick, sliding his tip up and down your pussy. "Fuck.." You throw your head back and Harry moves his dick against your clit, and you could cum just then. Harry got impatient and did it himself, the both of you moaning.

"How far is too far with you, Yn? Kink wise." He asked, moving in and out of you slowly. You bite your lip, holding his chin and pushing your thumb in his mouth, pulling him towards you.

"Show me what you got, Styles."

Harry picks your hips up off the couch and fucks you into him, your hands holding desperately onto his arms. He slowed down and flipped you over, pulling your hips up and holding your wrists behind your back as he fucks you roughly.

"Fuck.. fuck.. Harry.." Your fingers tried to grab anything, but he had a tight grip with just one hand. The other hand laid hard smacks on your ass, then gripping your hair tightly and forcing your head back.

Harry let go of your hands and held your hip, twisting your hair around his fist. You sit up and Harry pulls out of you, the both of you on your knees as you kiss him roughly. You sit him down on the couch and push his legs out, sitting on his lap and moaning as you slide onto him.

"Your moans are just as pretty as you sing." He whimpers, kissing your neck as you bounce on him. You lay back and hold his knees as you continue to bounce your hips. Harry's thumb rubs your clit and your moans harmonize together, your orgasm quickly approaching.

You sit up and grip the hair on the back of his head, biting his jaw and collarbone. "Can I leave marks?"

"I wish you could, but all my outfits expose my neck and chest." He throws his head back and closes his eyes. "Where can I cum, sweetheart?"

"In me." Your arms wrap around his neck and he laughs.

"Are you sure? That's very risqué." His nails scratch down your back and thrusts his hips up. Harry's mouth kisses down your chest, moaning against your tits as his nails dig in your skin.

"Come on, Harry. Come on.." You smile, brushing your hair out of your face. Your fingers trace his features and watching as he cums, smiling slowly as you hear him whimper your name.

"Did you..?" You shake your head and his eyes widen, now pushing you back against the couch and wrapping his left hand around your throat, ring and middle fingers on his right hand quickly fucking you.

You gasp and hold onto his arm for dear life, moving your whole body and screaming his name. "Good girl, good job." He breathes, pulling out of your slowly and kissed you gently. "Wait here."

You laid on the couch with a bright smile on your face, Harry coming back a few minutes later with towels. "Towels? At a studio?"

"Sometimes I get sweaty when recording, I just get really into it." He shrugs, spreading your legs open delicately as he cleaned you up while humming.

You sigh contently and close your eyes, Harry continuing to hum as he kissed your thigh, your hip, your stomach. You smile and move your head, licking your lips. He kissed your chest, your collarbone, your neck, your jaw, your lips.

"I'm going to need more studio sessions with you."

[mayhemories]

Hi! Can I request a continuation of Teacher's Pet if you're okay doing it? reader takes the kids on a field trip to see whatever animal/cool thing in the rainforest (up to you) Neteyam and a couple warriors volunteer as chaperones to protect you and the kiddos for safety. He volunteered cuz duty but also saw this as a opportunity to get closer to reader 😈 During the field trip he notices one of the warriors try to flirt with Reader. Neteyam is SO jealous about this.

gif: @world-of-pandora

Teacher's Pet Pt. 2

Anon when I saw this request I nearly passed out bc I thought I had accidentally leaked a part of the plot to this chapter. Wtf great minds think alike <3 hope my vision was satisfying for you!! I'm incredibly anxious about this one not being as good as the first one.

Don’t attack me because this part took so long. I was travelling between continents, have two assignments due and writing multiple works at once 🫡 trying my absolute best here. Some of my tags are working and some are broken! I’m so sorry if you asked to be tagged and it did not work for you - it was not on purpose. 

------

Pairing: Neteyam Sully x Reader (James Cameron’s Avatar) 

Requested: Yes | No

Warnings: Swearing. Reader is slightly harassed/made uncomfortable by a male character (Neteyam doesn’t let it last for long). Neteyam is an adult with adult thoughts, Reader is an adult with adult thoughts, albeit a little innocent (just in her nature).

Words: 3.2k

Author’s Notes: Direct continuation of Teacher’s Pet, you can find part one here ← 

Taglist: @lilprettypetite @nyotamalfoy @weasleytwinwheezes @aonungs-tsahik @rainbowsocks @glitterandgoldfinds @bluealiensimp @melsunshine @ussoppl @wondxrgurll @luvlykrispy @myheartfollower @gloryavila @itssiaaax @mashiromochi @punkrockrogers @simpforboys @casiia @neytirqs @oh-austin @eywas-heir

Fic Taglist: @neteyamore @waaakemeeeup @tejas-kris @gardenofvows @nuhteyam @m4nd0l0r @bobojojoba69 @sydhersom @fanboyluvr @humbug5 @viviartsy @izzytheconosieur @dreamybiitch @heaven1oo4 @myheartfollower @agelsully @slythermania @neteyamyam15 @bealone-prm @okaylorrainee @koryianders @uwu-i-purple-you @jackiehollanderr @b-tchymoon @gloryavila @reneyahh

Continue reading under the cut:

It had been a week since dinner with the Sully’s, with your favourite student and her incredibly, incredibly attractive brother. 

Neteyam. 

His name has been running around your mind, stretching and weaving its way around every thought like a songchord every moment since you left his family home. You could not help but feel ashamed at the thoughts your mind had conjured regarding the warrior, regarding his hands and lips and strong arms. A blush broke out across your face, recollecting the private crevasses of your own mind, feeling as though everyone around you could see, could hear, what you dreamed of. 

“y/n!” Neteyam yelled out to you before he could stop himself. He had just come home from rounds, and his visceral yearning for you could not be halted, if he did not see you immediately he probably would’ve ripped the entire village apart until your figure appeared. And how Eywa had blessed him with seeing your face straight away. 

You spun, facing him, looking almost shocked that he had found you in the bustle of the afternoon. And, to his delight, he could’ve sworn that a light smile graced your beautiful face, in addition to a light, fading blush. 

“Neteyam,” Your voice was so beautiful, so, so, so beautiful. Like a song Neteyam never grew sick of. “Can I help you with something?” You asked, gently. Head slightly cocked. Neteyam couldn’t help himself, his body reacting without his brain, his arm reaching for your own, resting it just above your elbow. 

Your entire body felt like it had been set alight. Neteyam’s light grip on your arm made you feel numb, made you feel like you were floating. And how, how, were you supposed to listen, to comprehend anything he said to you? 

“No, no, but I was uh-” Neteyam stuttured, he hated how unsure he was around you, how nervous you made him. “I was wondering if I could help you.” He finished. 

Yes. Yes, he could. He could help you in so many ways that you wished you could voice to him. 

“How so?” You tried to remain professional, remain calm. But Neteyam still hadn’t removed his damn hand and all you could think about was how you wanted his hands. Both of them. Everywhere. 

Neteyam let out a nervous chuckle, his hand retreating from your arm, finding its home at the back of his neck. Something that you had clocked as a nervous tick, though you could never work out why someone like Neteyam, a handsome, strong and mighty warrior was nervous talking to you, a simple teacher. 

“Tuk let it slip that you and the kids plan to visit the syaksyuk tomorrow,” Neteyam felt his cheeks start to burn. He felt like slapping himself in the face, he needed to wake up, needed to collect himself. His father and brother would laugh at him for this interaction, he knew it. “To go that far into the jungle, alone, looking after twenty-something kids is dangerous.” 

You looked down at your feet, and Neteyam felt guilty, felt like he was scolding you. God, he wasn’t much better than his father. 

Your mind was wheeling. You and the kids. You and the kids. You knew, realistically what Neteyam had been referring to. Was it so wrong to wish for him to mean something else by it, though? You and our kids. That was what your heart longed to hear one day. 

“Would you chaperone us, Neteyam?” You asked sweetly. You tried to catch his strong eyeline, and when you did you felt the warm, flowing feeling pool in your chest. Looking at him was like taking your first breath after emerging from a pond, being around him was like feeling warmth after your marrow had been frozen. He made you feel so, so very alive. Alive and incandescent and important. 

Maybe, maybe it was incredibly selfish of you that you used your students as a front, used his sister as an excuse to see him. But you chased that feeling, you sought out his defiblirating presence. 

Neteyam felt like he was flying, felt like he was dying. Like he had flown too close to a tree and his actions had finally caught up to him. And here you were, offering him everything he has ever wanted, so simply, like it was nothing at all. Fuck, he loved you for it. 

You made a reach for him, your own hand mirroring the placement he had on you only moments ago, desperate for that blood-pumping high.

“Only if you���re not busy of course-”

“Of course. It would be my pleasure-”

Neteyam and yourself had spoken at the same time. Two bashful morons who could obviously not contain themselves in eachothers presence. Well, thats what it felt like to Neteyam, anyway. Despite the fact that you were the most intelligent Na’vi he had anything to do with. 

“I can bring a couple of hunters, if you’d like.” Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Why would he do that? Neteyam can’t help run his dumbass mouth, he had secured the situation and fumbled it within seconds. All he wanted was to have more moments with you, alone. Or alone as one can get with a gaggle of children at your feet. 

Not that Neteyam minded seeing a bunch of children at your feet. 

And just like that, that beautiful blooming, romanticism errurpted in your chest, it died. You felt naive, you thought that Neteyam was angling at a moment, somewhat, alone. But him being the perfect, golden man that he was, cared genuinely about your safety. Cared about your class’ safety. Eywa damn it, his sister’s safety. All over again, you felt yourself running amock in your own thoughts. Was it not incredibly kind that he would give up his time to chaperone you and your class? He would only offer if he cared. You did not stop the love that unfurled in your chest. 

“Thank you, Neteyam.” You offered the man a smile, hoping he would sense your genuine excitement. “That’s extremely generous of you, I know how short on free time you are.” 

Neteyam was so, so happy. He felt like crying. He just doesn’t understand how you do it. Neteyam, as if being controlled, like a ghost in his shell, let his hand find yours that laid still on his arm, covering your hand. 

Everything was so effortless with you, so right. He did not just feel acknowledged or witnessed. But perceived, you saw him. Neteyam knew he was projecting. All he did know, though, was that he saw you. All he could wish for was that maybe, Eywa willing, you would see him too. 

Lo’ak was getting increasingly more pissed off. Watching Neteyam pussyfoot around you was painful. At first, it was hilarious. So hilarious that even his Dad got in on it. Jake found himself leaning against a support beam, Lo’ak a hairsbreadth away from him. The two of them watching his eldest son, watching his baby boy absolutely make a fool of himself.

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take, Lo’ak.” Jake laughed lightly, shaking his head. Lo’ak had heard that sentence alot, usually in regard to his behaviour, but this time it was his father laughing at his older brother and Lo’ak was incredibly thankful he wasn’t on the end of it this time. 

“It’s embarassing.” Lo’ak agreed. 

Jake sighed. He didn’t realise how much Neteyam lacked in confidence. In the back of his mind, in the deep, dark part that Jake kept hidden, he couldn’t help to wonder if it was his fault that his eldest struggled to express himself.

“Neteyam!” 

Immediately your hand flew to your side, a blush exploded across your face and ears, you did not know why you were embarrassed that Jake Sully had caught you and Neteyam out- you were doing nothing wrong, anyway. 

But Neteyam’s mirroring blush said otherwise. 

“Time for dinner, boy!” As quick as he announced his presence from a few tents away, Toruk Macto was gone, disappeared into the threshold of his own home. 

“Bring your girlfriend!” Neteyam’s younger brother, Lo’ak called out. Following his father he quickly made himself scarse. You felt Neteyam grow rigid at the younger boy’s teasing words. 

Your blush deepened, and you cursed yourself for turning into a blushing, dumbstruck girl everytime Neteyam was near. 

“I’m uh,” Your heart fluttered everytime the precise, calculated warrior stuttured. “I’m sorry for them, they’re just teasing.” Neteyam looked sincre in his apology, but just as embarrassed as you had been. 

You laughed, shooing him away. His searing presence had become too much. 

“It’s alright, ma Neteyam.” You giggled, you were obviously unaware of what you had just said. Neteyam felt like a hunter going in for the kill with how aware of your words he was. He was enamoured. So fucking in love with you, it was beginning to hurt. “Go, go have a feast with your family.”

You smiled and Neteyam wanted to commit it to memory, etch it into his brain, a permanent reminder of your glowing nature.

“I’ll see you tomorrow!” Neteyam returned the smile, stalking his way to his family home. 

And maybe it was his broad shoulders, or the way his braids moved as he walked. Maybe it was how confident he made you, or how much you wanted him, you didn’t know. But you could not stop the bold streak that only Neteyam could conjure: 

“Neteyam!” You called out, the boy spun, halfway home, brow cocked. “It would be an honour to be your girlfriend, you know!” Echoing the words that his brother had teased him with, you decided not to stay to give him the satisfaction of the last word, you waved goodbye before ducking into your own tent. 

Neteyam chuckled, like a young boy in trouble. All the way home. 

Later that night, while he was trying to find sleep in his private quarters of his family home. Neteyam tossed and turned in his hammock. His thoughts chasing the ghostly figure of you in his minds eye. As he so often did. But this time, words that he would only imagine you saying were replaced with memory. 

Ma Neteyam. Ma Neteyam. Ma Neteyam. 

God. He wanted nothing more than to be yours. To court you, to mate you, to build a home, create a nest for your eventual tribe of children. 

Normally at this point, Neteyam would start to feel guilty, to hold thoughts of you this way in his heart, and dirtier thoughts of you in his head. But as his hand snaked down between his legs, to his throbbing member, Neteyam dwelled on your parting words to him. 

It would be an honour to be your girlfriend, you know. 

And the guilt did not come for him. 

“Children, before we head out to go see the beautiful syaksyuk, I want you all to say a big thank you.” You gestured to Neteyam, and the two other warriors he had conned into chaperoning you and your class. The four adults and twenty-two Na’vi children stood at the precipice of the wild jungle.

“Thank you Ayo’to,” Your class echoed as you placed your hands on the shoulder of the youngest Na’vi warrior that had joined you today, working your way down the line, behind the young men. “Thank you Marek,” you moved along to the shoulders of the next hunter. You found your hands stalling when you reached Neteyam. You went onto your tippy toes, your eyes just peaking over Neteyam’s broad shoulders, giggles rang out from the kids, as one of your hands found Neteyam’s shoulder, the other one wrapping around his taunt bicep. 

“Thank you Neteyam.” You said, along with your kids, his honey eyes finding your own and you wished you could live in his line of sight forever. 

You pulled away, after leaving your hands a beat too long. You ushered the children to follow you, as your chaperones dispersed themselves around. Smiling to yourself, as you realised that Neteyam bought up the rear, sticking incredibly close to the few children in the back of the group. 

So fatherly, so protective, your heart swelled at the sight. 

“Neteyam is my brother.” You heard Tuk whisper to another boy in the class, who was watching the man in awe. Smiling softly to yourself, you were so thankful that you had the confidence to accept Neteyam’s offer of protection in the first place. 

Neteyam felt the smile plaster itself to his face, as he watched you teach the kids. He felt alive as your tail swished back and forth, happily. As you crouched down to be the same height as your students, to point out flora and fauna, to help them learn and love the gift of nature around them. 

He could not help to think how stunning you looked, out here in the morning light of the jungle. How your big, bright eyes glittered when your students answered something right, or engaged in asking questions. 

But to his dismay, the two young hunters Neteyam had pulled to help out, noticed your beauty too. And this soured his mood, greatly. 

He felt livid as he watched Marek’s trained eyes find their target on your ass. He wanted to punch Ayo’to in his square, stupid face everytime he pulled a large leaf back for you. But, the worst part of it all was that this was Neteyam’s own fucking fault. He offered additional help, he picked these two grunts. 

He was incredibly unhappy with his choices.

As you held a slender finger to your plush lips, signaling for the kids to be quiet as you ushered them into a clearing, Neteyam felt guilty for his sudden shift in mood. You were so stunning, so happy. You did not notice how the other two men treated you. You were so focused on the kids, on their education, on their happiness. 

Neteyam felt a tug on his hand, Tuk had almost ignored him the whole walk, enraptured with everything you had said. 

“What’s wrong Neteyam?” Tuk asked, her voice no louder than a whisper. Neteyam loved his sister, loved her keen eye for her family. He noticed that she shared that keen eye with you, too. Like you were her family, too. 

“Shh, nothing, go sit with the others and listen to (y/n).” Neteyam urged Tuk on. The young girl quickly sat in the grass with the other children, their eyes trained on their teacher, despite their surroundings. 

That was just another thing Neteyam found himself loving about you. Your ability to hold a room, to command attention without explicitly asking for it. He smiled to himself as he thought it was a great trait for a Tsahik.

“Kids we must be quiet, must be still as we wait for the syaksyuk.” You walked from the front of the class, to the back, watching them as every Na’vi child had their eyes glued to the tree canopy, waiting for any sign of the blue and yellow primates. 

“You’re a great teacher.” One of the hunters, Marek, had suddenly appeared next to you, whispering in your right ear. "Maybe you could teach me something, sometime." You blushed at the young man’s comments, but it was not the same blush you held for Neteyam. It was different. You were in discomfort. 

“Thank you,” You willed yourself to remain calm, remain professional, in a hushed voice to not scare away the syaksyuk, or be loud enough for the children to hear. “I appreciate that you’ve given time to assist me and my class today.” You kept your words clipped, hoping that your tone and lack of eye contact would push your feelings clearly.

Though you doubt the boy, the man, Marek, you doubted the fact that he cared much about your feelings. 

“Is anyone courting you, (y/n)?” You felt the hunter’s hot breat fan across your neck, you felt like his prey, trapped against his chest and an invisible wall of professionalism standing behind your class. You knew there was nothing explicit in his question, outright. But it was the lewd undertones that had you nervous.

Where was Neteyam? 

“I do not think that is an appropriate question, Marek.” You wished your words had not fallen out of your mouth, shakily, but they had. They had and now he knew you were nervous. 

Where the fuck was Neteyam? 

Neteyam was seeing red, was fuming. 

Marek had crossed a line getting so close to you, that was a given. But as Neteyam watched the bead of sweat roll down your face, watch as your eyes flicked back and forth in front of you, that was enough. 

Silently, as to not interrupt the children’s viewing of the syaksyuk, Neteyam made his way over. 

He heard Marek ask about courting. 

He heard your curt reply. But between your words he could hear your uneasy nature. He could hear the rising panic. 

“You’re excused, Marek.” Neteyam put his hand out to you, relief flooded him as you quickly pulled yourself against his arm and chest, a beat away from Marek and his looming figure. 

“But-” Neteyam cut the hunter off, sick of seeing his stupid face. 

“I want you gone, now. Be quick and quiet about it.” 

You felt like a fool, holding onto Neteyam’s strong hand for dear life. Marek wouldn’t have done anything to you here, not infront of the kids. But it was the fear of it, creeping around in the back of your mind that upset you, nonetheless. 

“Yes Sir.” 

You watched quietly as Marek fled through the brush of the jungle. Silent like the hunter he was. You watched as he pulled the other young hunter, Ayo’to along with him. 

It was you, and Neteyam, and the kids, of course. 

“Are you alright, ma (y/n)?” Neteyam asked softly, pulling your back to his toned chest, his chin resting on the top of your head, large, muscled arms snaking around your waist to hold you tightly against him. Protecting you from any harm. 

You could not help but to lean into his touch, lean into your love for the man. You knew your brain would pick itself raw over the use of that prefix later, now was for you and him. Now was for your kids and the swinging syaksyuk that had appeared through the canopy. 

You rested your hands on top of his own, “I’m alright now, ma Neteyam.” You whispered as the kids began to ooh and ahh at the syaksyuk. Giggling as the primates chattered through the trees. 

You allowed yourself to laugh with the kids, allowed your mind to wander to the daydreams you have of loving Neteyam. Allowed yourself to conjure and image of your firstborn sitting on his father’s shoulders, enraptured with the world around them. 

You let yourself feed into that dream as you felt Neteyam’s very real lips ghost over your hairline, above your left ear. He left nothing but a thought of a kiss there, and you felt that same blooming in your chest. 

“Have dinner with me tonight.” Neteyam gently whispered once more, this time laying a tangible, corporeal kiss above your ear. 

You could’ve folded, in half, then and there if it wasn’t for Neteyam’s strong hold. 

“Anything you want, Neteyam.” You whispered back to him, cocking your head to look up at him. You noticed the muscle flick in his jaw as he looked ahead, pretending not to see your line of sight. Gently, you placed a small kiss on his jawbone. Featherlight, it could’ve vanished if he wished it to. 

You hoped he did not wish it to. 

[gothgleek]

Could you write adrian chase x reader who is Emilia's sibbling and she is starting to realize that her sibbling has a massive crush on Vigilante and she does not approve that at all? Pleaseeee i love him 🥹🥹🥹 and maybe Vigilante really enjoy the reader's friendship, enough to put peacemaker as his 2nd best friend.

I hope you enjoy this short little blurb, especially since it's been a while since you requested it. Also since Tumblr keeps deleting this! But this is my first Adrian Chase x reader fic so I wanted it to be written well. At least, as well as I can write it.

Notes: GN reader with they/them pronouns. Reader’s race is up to interpretation as they are adopted and it’s mentioned once. Takes place post-series with no major spoilers. Likes, Comments, and Reblogs are appreciated!

Emilia was fuming when Chris arrived at the hospital and when he followed her gaze, he burst into laughter. You and Adrian were chatting away in the corner, the busboy animatedly waving his arms while you gave full bellied laughs in response. 

Emilia had been at the Evergreen hospital for a week now and as her next of kin, you were on the first flight to take care of her. She would never admit it aloud but Emilia did look forward to seeing you again. It had been a few years since she had last seen you. But despite that, the two of you always had a good relationship. She had hoped this would be time for the two of you to catch up.

Then you had to meet Adrian. 

The two of you had been working on a puzzle you bought at the local pharmacy and talking about the option of tracking down your birth parents when Adrian popped his head up behind a bush by Emilia’s window. 

“Hey Harcourt!” Adrian said with a bright smile and a blue bandaid on his forehead.

Somehow that smile of his charmed you enough for her to finish the puzzle by herself. And Emilia didn’t even like puzzles. What was she supposed to do with a puzzle of hot air balloons when she was done? 

“So like…” You bit your lips and batted your eyes while the two of you sat at the end of Emilia’s bed. “What other toys do you like playing with?” 

“Oh well,” Adrian turned the knife on its side so you could look at it. Your face immediately fills with excitement when he places it in your hands. Not for the first time, Emilia felt uncomfortable and annoyed she was in the middle of the two’s shy yet lovestruck gazes. Chris seemed to share the sentiment as he was mock gagging beside her. Though it could have been due to him stealing and eating her hospital food.

“This knife is great for throwing, the holes on the side reduces the wind resistance.” You told Adrian animatedly, talking with your hands. Emilia recalled your knife throwing lessons as a kid. 

Adrian lit up with joy just as Emilia groaned. “That’s why this is my favorite knife!” 

Emilia thought if your guys’ mother knew you were taking your knife throwing lessons as an opportunity to flirt- especially with a guy like Adrian- knew she would be rolling in her grave.

You stared into his eyes and began leaning forward. Emilia wished she had something to throw at you. Luckily, a nurse knocked on the door to let them know visiting hours were wrapping up.

You hugged your sister and, glancing down at the finished puzzle, promised to bring another one tomorrow. You promised you would help her finish it, to which Emilia gave you an unconvinced look. Then you offered to bring her some non-hospital food (specifically some waffles and burgers) and she pulled you in for another hug.

“You know,” Adrian says as the two of you walk out the door. “If you’re still in town this weekend, I can set up some appliances in the woods we can throw grenades at.” 

Emilia sat up at once. What?

“What do you mean by that?” She grabbed Chris’s shirt, ignoring the shooting pain in her leg. 

“What does he mean by that? Adrian?” She called out. “Get back here!”

[rockleeisbaeeee]

Tw: angst ig, could be worst. Srry if there’s spelling mistakes.

——

I remember that summer night, when he promised me he wouldn’t forget me, he’d always love me, he’d wait for me.

Lies.

We kept contact for a week. Then nothing, never heard from him again, until.

“Atsumu miya, rookie athlete is now part of the Black Jackals.”

It had been a year since I returned to Japan when I heard it, my career brought me back here, like I knew it would. Like an idiot I texted him for one last time, that I was back, no response, now I know why, he was too busy focused on new people to even remember my name.

——

All those empty words left me forever scarred.

When I was young I dreamed of my happily ever after, getting married to an amazing husband, having kids and growing old together. That dream shattered the moment I saw him with a new girl is his arms on the tv a week later, he denied the relationship rumors, yet the picture was enough to prove that something did happen, he was fooling around while I grieved my shattered dreams, dreams that he was a part of, dreams he promised would become true, he lied.

——

Every day was a monote nightmare, I see him everywhere, my hate for him grows.

My career was taking slow, but firm steps. I always dreamed of being a journalist. I had started within the sports field, thanks to him, since we were supposed to be together, now it’s too late to focus on another field, I enjoyed watching people play though, their passion always made me feel alive. That was what one of the things I liked about him. Now I avoid writing or watching volleyball at all cost. But I knew one day I would have to, that day has come.

“Y/n the boss asks for you,” one of your coworkers said quickly when passing your desk. You went to your boss’s office, having a bad feeling in your gut. You knocked the door and entered, “you called for me sir?” Your boss was looking through some papers looking a bit stressed, “oh yes, you see we’re quite busy and we have no reporters left, I recommended you to the directors and we decided to let you interview the black jackals before their next game,” you froze, you knew you’d have to eventually see him, but never this directly. He wasn’t asking you so there’s no way you could refuse, the opportunity was too good anyways, you’d have to face your fear and see him, it’s fine, you can act as if you don’t remember, even if that was impossible, you could pretend. “Thanks for the opportunity, I’ll do my best.” You said bowing, he dismissed you so you went back to your desk.

I have to face him, there’s no backing out. Would he remember me? Probably not since last time we talked was five years ago, it was a flimsy love you too text, what a bitch. So far he’s acted like I don’t exist, like everything didn’t exist, so I’ll have to do the same.

I’ve gotten some attention in the sports world for my great work, but I doubt he’s ever read it. But that’s fine, the least he knows about me the better.

——

Two weeks later

You woke up, did your routine and went to work.

“Today is the big day! Aren’t you excited??” Lia, your best friend said when approaching your desk, she didn’t know about the thing you had with atsumu, you didn’t want anyone to find out and pity you, “yeah, it’s a great opportunity,” you said with a forced smile, honestly you weren’t feeling good, you felt like you were gonna vomit, but that feeling didn’t let you eat so you probably weren’t going to, “well, I’ll let you prepare, good luck, I know you’ll do good!!” she left to go back to her desk, her positivity got to you, it can’t be that bad, you’re worrying too much, if you just pretend to not know him it’ll be fine, right?

——

You were know standing in front of the gym, the nerves were eating you alive, but there’s nothing you can do now. Breathe, it’ll be fine, he doesn’t remember you. You think to yourself, but oh how wrong you were.

——

I don’t have motivation for part 2 of my oikawa fic so I came up with this, it will become a short series (maybe 3 parts) if anyone wants to be tagged let me know in the comments. Sorry if this feels weird, I made y/n speak in first person when talking to herself, but in third when describing the environment, I hope it’s not confusing 😓

I promise I’ll finish part 2 of the oikawa fic this week and get started with the next part of this one 🙏

[lolishdes]

❝Serendipity❞ || Diluc x Reader

✧A/N: Guys I wanted to write about older Reader and older Diluc, can you even blame me? Also, think of this as a palate cleanser after my previous work hehe

Sorry this took a while, the week has been busy and I had to put so much thought for this fic, wanted this to be great for you guys!

✧Warning/s: Smut

✧Synopsis: One night stands were supposed to only last for one night, that's why they're called that! But how is it you find yourself in a tricky situation as you find out that your one night stand happens to be your business partner too! 

✧Word Count: 5.4k words

Minors kindly don't interact!

Oh how you wish the ground would just swallow you whole at this very moment.

There are things you expected for this day to go, that your time in Mondstadt would be a fruitful one or perhaps it would be an utter disappointment. However none of those expectations included seeing the man who just had a one night stand right in front of you and is about to make a business partnership with you! 

“It's a pleasure to see you, Miss Y/N."

–––––––––

For most of your life as an adult you've spent your time focusing on your business. It was something you were determined to succeed in. Especially being born in the desert, there was only so much opportunity for you out there. So you worked hard for it all,  but such passions have their own sacrifices and setbacks. You have secured yourself financially and you do uphold good relationships with friends and family. However such good relationships are unsuccessful when it comes to your dating life. 

Back then you were dead set in solidifying your business, long hours in the office and sleepless nights. And this not only affected you but also the person you were dating, they said that there seems to be no place for them in your life. So time and time again, lover after lover, they all eventually left. 

After some time you realized that romantic relationships are simply not for you. You suppose it's for the best, this way no one gets hurt but yourself as you sink into that lonely feeling. 

Now that you're in your 40s there have been less people trying to approach you with romantic intent. Maybe it's because society has labeled you as some sort of ‘old hag’, someone who has already reached their ‘expiration date’ or something offensive like that. But that doesn't bother you that much, as you mature you realize that it's best to just enjoy the moment, to have fun one night stands with attractive strangers– so that for at least one night you'll feel the arms of another. 

Currently you are celebrating in Lambad’s Tavern with a few friends as you have just recently successfully launched a new branch in Inazuma City. Quite proud that your spice business has been growing especially fast– and soon it would reach Mondstadt’s lands since you also bagged yourself a potential business partner!

“A toast to our amazing friend, Y/N!” The clinking of glass and loud ‘Cheers’ Can be heard all around the table. You felt shy by their enthusiasm, it was so sweet that they're doing this for you. Kaveh takes a sip of his wine before speaking to you. “Honestly Y/n you're on a roll right now.” You laugh at that. “What's that supposed to mean?” “Oh come on! It's not easy to pull off a place there in Inazuma. They are way too strict with their transactions! And here you are settling one of your branches in Inazuma City no less.”

You playfully rolled your eyes. “You're making it sound like it was easy for me, I can assure you it wasn't. It was kind of a nightmare actually.” you sigh just thinking back at the months you've spent there in Inazuma, getting papers approved and other transactions necessary before you were given the go sign to start building the branch. 

Dehya took a swing of her drink and had a teasing smile on her face. “As if it wasn't obvious already, I will never forget that day you returned to Sumeru with the most god awful eye bags and ran into a pole on your way haha!” Deyha laughed out loud and you could only groan at the memory.

As if the fatigue from work wasn't enough already, the ride home was so rocky with the most atrocious weather to boot that it had your head spinning. Dehya was the first one to meet you once you docked at Port Ormos, she waved a hand at you when she saw your board down the ship. As you waved back at her you excitedly ran to her, you seemed to miss the light pole right in front of you. Dehya will never let you forget that day. 

“Yeah yeah whatever! Gods are you annoying.” Dehya lets out another laugh. After Nilou took a bite of her Samosa she looked at you with slight concern. “But about your health, I hope you did get the proper sleep you needed once you got home” You gave her a reassuring smile. “Of course I did, and anyways It wasn't a total nightmare there in Inazuma. After getting the go sign we went straight to building. There weren't any big problems along the way. Maybe because of a certain architect and his genius consultations and design.” You wink towards Kaveh’s direction. He left out a ‘pfft’ in disbelief by the compliment.

“Uh excuse me, the conversation was not about me, why don't we go back to running into poles or whatever.” Kaveh waved his hand in a dismissive way while taking a sip of his wine. A series of laughs follows and you just sit their mouth open and a hand to your chest, as if wounded by his diversion back to the embarrassing memory. 

By the corner of the tavern a certain gentleman had his eyes on you, his eyes glued to your direction even as the blue haired man in front of him kept yapping about how exquisite the wine was. “ It seems that you've mellowed down, Diluc.” Kaeya teases his brother as Diluc shifts his gaze away from you. “And what is that supposed to mean exactly?”

Kaeya grins towards his brother. “Oh nothing, it's just that you've never openly expressed such interest towards other ladies before. Look at you now, enchanted by her like a moth to a flame~” Kaeya turns behind him and stares at you. You continue to laugh with your friends, never noticing the two gentlemen. 

“Why don't you speak to the lovely lady when you have the chance, yeah? After all, we will be off to Mondstadt by tomorrow evening.”

–––––––––

By the end of the night you all had your fill of wine and food. As per usual Kaveh drank way past his limit, he even started mumbling gibberish while he walked as if he had two left feet. Nilou and Dehya insisted on being in charge of taking Kaveh back home, saying something in the lines of it was their duty at this point to drag him back to Al Haitham. As you waved goodbye to your friends, with Kaveh in the middle and his hands on both Dehya and Nilou’s shoulders, he lifted his head up and said his goodbye to you, his words slurred. 

You giggled at the sight and watched as they slowly walked away farther from you and the tavern. Once they were completely gone you sighed in contentment and turned behind you where the scenery of the forest was. It was already late at night so the streets weren't full of people anymore, but that's good since all you want right now is to bask in the ambiance. Shops were already closing up, boats docked as they sway lighty to the wind, and the stars seem to shine brighter than usual. 

Back when you were younger you would have never imagined seeing such a beautiful sight, thinking that only the familiar sight of sand would greet you everyday of your life. By the distance you see a couple walking together by the dock, they seem helpless in love, as if too busy in their own worlds to bother with anything else. A twinge of envy rises within you, but you try your best to push it away. After all, who would want that? Haven't you learned your lesson already, that kind of relationship just isn't for you…

“It really is beautiful here, isn't it?” 

Tall, dark, and handsome was not what you expected when you turned your head. The man has the most gorgeous pair of eyes, his tied up hair cascading elegantly down his back, a stubble adorned his face, while his posture held confidence. He looked like he was around your age. His eyes never left the scenery even when you looked at him, you simply smiled politely as you gazed back at the scenery. “Yeah it really is, I love Sumeru especially at this hour.” The wind was slowly picking up, making your hair sway with the wind.

The gentleman turns to you with a pleasant smile, he reaches out his gloved hand towards you. “Diluc, and you are?” ‘Diluc’? Huh, familiarity rings at the name. You reached your hand out as well and shook hands with Diluc. “Y/N, a pleasure to know you're at least not impolite.” You jest at him, he chuckles in response. “Well, I do hope I maintain a good impression.” “Oh? And why is that?” “Well…” He trails off his sentence and brings your hand close to his lips, he gives your hand a light kiss. His red eyes shifted towards you. “Let's say I simply want to enchant this one lady that has caught my eye.” 

Heat starts to slowly creep into your cheeks while a tingling sensation can be felt all throughout your hand, the hand that Diluc so delicately kissed. 

Just then a couple started running past both of you and you immediately removed yourselves from another. You looked away from one another in embarrassment and behind both of you heard the couple passing by. “Come on! The theater is at its high right now, we can't miss it!” “Haha right behind you dear!” as their footsteps and voices faded farther Diluc and you just stood there in silence, a little embarrassed and unsure. 

Just then an idea and just a bit of courage emerged within you. “Say, would you mind accompanying me to Zubayr Theater?” You were a bit hesitant to ask him, but for some reason there was just something pushing you to spend a little more time with Diluc. The red head seems to light this idea and his eyes shine a little. He offers his arm to you, to hook your arm with his. “Shall we?” You are more than happy to take the offer as you wrap your arm with his, the familiar warmth coming back to you again. 

As you both entered Zubayr Theater, you were greeted with colorful lights and laughter all around. Children and elderly alike were dancing and feasting on delicacies. And by the huge stage was a band that was playing all sorts of instruments while they maintained a lively beat that people can dance to. You begin to have a rush of excitement and unbeknownst to you, Diluc can see your eyes sparkling in elation. He directed his hand to the center where the people were dancing. “Would you care for a dance?” You looked at him. “You know Sumeru dances?” “Well, it's only due to a certain dancer that I learned how to conduct these dances. So, shall we?” Without hesitation you nodded enthusiastically and pulled Diluc to dance. 

And he stays true to his word, he dances to the beat of the music and syncs with you perfectly. As he twirls you around you can't help but be a little more charmed by this man, your hands were on one another for many hours as you both laughed heartily. This feeling of excitement and joy towards an individual was one you haven't felt in a while...it felt so foreign, yet not unwelcomed. Usually you'd spend your time like this towards someone you considered as your lover, and yet here you are treating this complete stranger with your guard down. 

After some dancing you enjoyed some snacks at nearby stalls, while eating you both converse a little more, telling some stories any of you may have. You found out that Diluc is from Mondstadt and back in his younger days he used to be in the Knights of Favonious as a Cavalry Captain. And you on the other hand told tales of your childhood back in the desert and some trials you have faced. While speaking you didn't notice the way Diluc would look and listen to you attentively, making sure that while you speak he has his full attention on you. 

There were even stalls nearby with fun games, Diluc was exceptionally good when it came to darts, he was able to hit the target successfully and gave you the prize which is a cute Aranara plushie.

–––––––––

At some point you found yourselves back at the docks of Sumeru City. Both of you sat on the wooden planks while you removed your shoes, dunking your feet in the water. Only the sounds of buzzing from insects can be heard as you and Diluc bask in the comforting silence and the presence of one another. There were smiles on both of your faces, you were playing with the water beneath you, lightly splashing the water around. 

Diluc looked at you tenderly, he thought you looked absolutely beautiful at this moment. The way the wind catches your hair, the lovely smile you wore, and how the moonlight seems to accentuate your features. He is completely captivated by you. It was only you and him at that moment, hearts pounding within in anticipation. 

“About what you said a while ago…” You start as Diluc looks at you. “Which part? I believe I said too many things during our time together.” He chuckles. “About being interested in me, I don't think you should waste anymore energy on me.” “And who said anything about this being a waste of energy?” He was quick to reply back but you only looked down at your hands. You smiled bitterly. “I’m sure there are many beautiful young ladies out there worth your while.” “Well I have the perfect candidate right here.” “I’m not young, Diluc.” 

“But you are beautiful.” 

Words seem to be stuck in your throat after he said that. It was unfair that he was saying all this, making you feel happy and special and for what? The night will only end in one way and after that you'll forget the other even existed. That's how it's always been. But unlike the others they never gave so much of their time to you, to actually get to know more about you…

“And I don't mean beautiful as in your looks only, but also your laugh…” He trails off, his hand inching closer to yours. “...your smile, and most importantly your utmost determination towards a better life despite the odds being against you. I really respect that about you.” He was only an inch away from touching your finger tips when suddenly the wind picked up. 

The night was already cold but the wind made it even colder, you start to rub your shoulders to ease the chilly air. Diluc sees this and starts taking his thick coat off. “Ah, there's no need—” “Please, take it.” You were a bit reluctant but nodded anyways, Diluc proceeded to drape his coat around your shoulder. You held the coat closer to your body, not only do you feel warmer now but the strong scent of the gentleman enters your senses. It felt somewhat comforting for some reason, you can smell hints of oak and vanilla. 

You looked at Diluc and was about to thank him, however words left your mouth when you saw Diluc was already looking right at you. Your faces were practically inches away from one another, noses almost touching. You could feel your heartbeat start to quicken from the anticipation. Diluc observes your face a little more, checking to see if this was okay for you, if in any way there was a reason that he should be falling back right now and apologize– but no, there wasn't. You seem to want him just as much as he wants you. 

Slowly he inches closer to you, the tips of your lips practically feeling the heat already. And as he closes the distance between you two, you finally share a tender kiss. You both close your eyes basking in the warmth of the other's lips. His left hand found itself cupping your cheek, deepening the kiss a little more. Your heart leaps in joy and even though you already had a coat on, you could practically feel the goosebumps all over your body. 

As you both pulled away you were left breathless, you rested your head on his shoulder to catch your breath. You both giggle at this, probably from embarrassment, but mostly due to the butterflies forming in your stomachs. Diluc looks at you softly, but a hint of nervousness was present. 

“Say, would…would you mind accompanying me a little longer tonight?”

–––––––––

The way to Diluc’s room was a bit of a blur, all you remember was how fast you two were walking while his hand was on yours. While walking your hearts kept pounding, the anticipation was tortuous but eventually you both arrived inside. Usually you weren't this…nervous? When it comes to having sex with someone, usually it's all hot and heavy and clothes are dropped in a snap. But this time you were slow as you walked in and shook your shoes off.

Diluc was just behind you as he closed the door. Inside the room most of the lights were turned off, only the dimmed lights of some laps were providing you with light. But that only adds to the atmosphere. You were about to take the coat off your shoulders but Diluc got his hands on it first. Neither of you spoke, but there was no need for that really considering that the heavy tension did all the talking. 

He took the coat off and dropped it on the floor, his hands slowly roam down to your hips, taking in every beautiful curve of your body. While his lips found themselves on your neck, kissing and teasing them oh so gently. It was a little agonizing with the pacing that he had chosen, you were getting hotter by the second.  “Diluc what–” “Shh let me take care of you, please?” His voice was low yet tender, you could only nod and let him do what he wanted. 

After he is done teasing he leads you to the bedroom, gently dragging you to the soft sheets of the bed. He entered the room first and sat on the bed, his legs spread a little wider while you stood up and looked down at him. He smiles and pats his thighs, asking for you to take a seat. “Come here, darling.” You compiled and sat on him while facing him.

Despite the lack of light, the moonlight creeping through the curtains does well to highlight Diluc’s features. He had a few wrinkles under his eyes, showing his age. Your hands land on Diluc’s face to swipe away some strands of hair away from his face, while you're doing this Diluc just observes you, enjoying the fact that you're taking in every detail of his face. 

“Hmm is there something you're trying to find on my face?” He chuckles when you slowly back off from his face. “It's just that… you're really attractive.” You start removing your top, unbuttoning the buttons before dropping it on the floor, leaving you only with your bra. “You think so? I can say the same thing about you, especially…” He grabs a hold of your thighs and puts you down on the bed. “When youre right here in my arms~” Diluc smirks above you and adjusts your legs, keeping them at each side of his hips.

You grind yourself on him, you can feel some hardness down there. Diluc lets out a groan and proceeds to kiss down to your almost bare chest. He unclasps your bra to suckle on your nipples, he teases one of them with his lips while the other is being pinched and rubbed. You pant as a response and grab onto his hair, this made Diluc groan, he seems to enjoy his hair being touched. 

He then travels down your body, the tip of his nose slides lower while you can feel his hot breath on your skin. He stops just above your hips, you were about to unzip your shorts, however Diluc stops you before you could sit up.

“I insist.” He says in a deep voice as he bites the zipper between his teeth and zips it down, he then completely removes your shorts off you to reveal your panties. Without a care he discards it on the floor before diving in to press his nose on your puffy pussy lips. He can feel your wetness even through the thin fabric. You can feel his hot breath and the stimulation of his nose, you whine out. “Luc, stop teasing.” He hums at your complaint, the vibrations of his voice stimulating you more. He hooks your panties and removes them to expose your pretty pussy.

It wasn't quite wet yet and Diluc is still left unsatisfied. But that's alright, he simply dived down and started eating you out like a starved man. At first he starts licking you, making sure to tease and prod every part that his tongue can reach, then after that he begins to suck on your clit, earning a whine out of you. His hands grip both your thighs, making sure that they spread wide since you end up unconsciously closing your legs.

Your moans and whines are delicious, your hands are on his hair and fisting him, holding on for dear support from the delirious pleasure. Just seeing the way you feel good makes his cock hard, yet despite the unattended hard on between his legs he does not touch himself just yet. How could he? He's way too busy pleasuring you to even think of himself. He needs to see and hear more of you.

The pleasure only increases from there when you feel a finger enter you. “Oh archons Diluc!” Your back arched a bit from the sudden intrusion. Diluc kept going with both his mouth and fingers teasing your cunny. If that wasn't already enough You could hear Diluc groaning and moaning from below, he seems to be hot and bothered just like you. "That's enough Luc, come here, please…” And who was he to deny you really? 

He starts removing his own clothes, when he was left with only his boxers you could see the form of his cock. He starts pumping himself but then you sit up. “Wait, let me.” Diluc looks at you but compiles anyways, he removes his hand from his cock. You start spitting and licking your hand, making sure to put as much saliva as you can and start stroking him, as you do this Diluc’s breath hitches. With your free hand you cup it on his cheek and share a kiss with him, you could hear him softly moaning and groaning. 

With you stroking his cock and your luscious lips devouring him he can't help but feel oh so hot and bothered. He even believes that he could cum right here right now if you don't stop any moment from now. He pulls away first and rests his forehead with your, he was panting with his eyes closed. “Okay stop, any more and I just might cum–” He was interrupted when you pushed him down on the bed, with you straddling above him. Your hand travels down his beautiful body, your nails dragging down on his skin.

“Let me return the favor, yeah?”

–––––––––

Usually after such a passionate night you would immediately leave early in the morning, to forget their faces and move on with life…However this time it's different, you can't help but look back at that one special night with Diluc. The sex was amazing of course, but was it wrong to have felt that it was more than just sex? Your head gets all scrambled up just thinking about the situation too much. It's been two weeks since then, you won't see him face any longer thus such an individual is out of your life. All that matters now is to meet and hopefully score a partnership with this wine tycoon from Mondstadt. 

“It's a pleasure to see you, Miss Y/N.” The redhead said before you, his eyes were cold and his form was towering over you. Beside you was the Cavalry Captain, the one that told you all about this partnership. “I’m so happy that you could come, Miss Y/N. This is the renowned Diluc Ragnvindr, owner of the Dawn Winery. He has anticipated your arrival!” 

You pray to any god out there that hears you to save you from this dreadful situation. You hesitantly reach out your hand towards Diluc, nervousness was evident on your face. “Mr. Ragnvindr a pleasure to meet you as well.” Diluc's eye didn’t leave you even as he shook hands with you. And although you want the ground to just swallow you whole right now, there's a sense of…happiness? Lighting up within you as felt Diluc’s touch. 

“Now, since the introductions are finished, my job here is done. I have more work to do back at headquarters, may the wind lead you to a prosperous partnership.” Oh gods no, please Kaeya stay! As the man walks away from you two, you're left alone with the Wine Tycoon. You swallowed the small bit of dread within you and acted accordingly, to pretend as if you've never met before, yeah! You're sure Diluc would do the same.

“Well then Mr. Ragnvindr shall we go straight to business?” “Ah yes of course, Miss Y/N. Kindly follow me.” Relief washes over you, this day should go smoothly. Just then Diluc offers you his arm. “Why don't we walk through these Grape Vines as we discuss, yes?” You looked down at his arm. “I would love that, however I can't possibly–” Suddenly he comes closer to your ear, the invisible barrier you had gone. He whispers “I insist.”

A chill runs down your spine. The memories of him between your legs flashes in your mind and your cheeks burn in embarrassment. You hesitate as you hook your arm with his, slowly you two walk along the beautifully grown grape vines. 

The fruits were lucious and some even ready for harvesting already, you look at your surroundings in amazement. For a brief moment you were distracted, Diluc was too as he watched your reaction. “Wow, I've never seen grape vines like these, they never looked so healthy and succulent!” Your hand touches a couple of grapes, inspecting its quality.

“Dawn Winery provides only the best quality for its customers.” Diluc responds right away, he too inspects the grapes around him, proud that he has amazed you, and to at least ease off your nervousness away. The last thing he wants is that look of uncomfortableness on your face  and to have your eye practically screaming for help. 

“Why?”

Both of you come to an abrupt stop. His eyes were looking at yours, a look of frustration and hurt mixed in his eyes. “Diluc I–” “I was worried about you.” You paused and looked down at your feet. Diluc looks at you and sighs. “I apologize, I just…the day you left, you didn't just leave my side but you also left with my heart.” Your heart beats faster hearing that. “I know we never discussed meeting each other in the near future, but I thought my intention towards you was clear. Not only that but how would I have known if you were alright? Did I hurt you anywhere or if you were okay mentally? ”

Your hand forms a fist as you clenched down hard. “You didn't have to worry all that, what we had was a simple one night stand Diluc.” “Was it really just that?” “Yes, it was. We left that room satisfied and that's all that matters.” “That's bullshit and you know it.” “It's not, and anyways why are we talking about this? None of this matters!” 

“Well it does to me!” You avoid his gaze, you can't look at them , you just can't. Because deep down you know that once you look back at his eyes you'll fall right back at this stupid spell he somehow put upon you.

“Look at me please.” When you looked as if you were not budging he steps closer to you, his gloved hand approaches your face as his index finger drags along your cheek tenderly. In a whisper he speaks. “Please look at me, darling.” He sounds so gentle, as if pleading for your attention.

You decide to give in, you can't just not look at him, right? After he asked so nicely too…but at the same time damn him for asking with that soft voice of his. You slowly tilt your head upwards and are met with that gentle smile of his, the same one he gave you before sharing your first kiss under the moonlight. 

“There she is.” You were left breathless as he rested his forehead on yours. Both of you closed your eyes , soaking in each other's presence, after weeks of not seeing each other, desperate for touch. “Gods I miss you so much and you don't know it…” Your heart gets a little wounded hearing that, he sounds so hurt…

“I'm so sorry ‘Luc.” Your hands found themselves on both sides of Diluc’s face, your thumbs rubbed on him in comfort. “I didn't mean to hurt you, truly. I was just unsure and…afraid? I can't quite understand myself, but all I know is that I don't want to be hurt anymore ‘Luc. Heh kind of ironic isn't it?” Diluc furrowed his eyebrows at that. “Well I’m not here to hurt you, please give me a chance…give us a chance.” His hands rest comfortably on your waists, but this just gives more proof on how compatible you two are. It just felt so right that he's here. 

You sigh before you smile back at Diluc and pounce toward him, you land your lips on his happily. This came as a surprise for Diluc, but it was a surprise  most welcome. He sighs from the kiss and wraps his arms on your waists tighter, keeping you as close as he can. 

–––––––––

“You know, I knew we would see each other again.” Diluc said as you both walked while holding hands. “Oh?...Wait, don't tell me you knew me from the start?” “What no! Honestly I didn't anticipate sleeping with a potential supplier and business partner haha!” Diluc laughs softly, the last thing he wanted was a sticky situation, and yet here he is. “Okay so how did you know about me?” “After you left that night, I tried finding you around Sumeru City and I had to find you fast since hours later I would need to leave and head back to Mondstadt.” 

You looked at him, tilting your head. “And? Did you find me..?” “Sadly no, however I did have your name investigated as soon as I settled down here.” You slapped Diluc’s shoulder playfully. “Ew you investigated me? Creep.” You laugh as he looks at you, as if offended. “Well excuse me that I couldn't find you, my mystery girl just suddenly disappeared without a trace after spending the most wonderful night with me!” “Okay you sap, what happened next?” Diluc simply smiles as he continues. 

“I brought it up to Kaeya and that bastard simply grinned, he told me that your business was the perfect candidate he deemed worthy for Dawn Winery. I never anticipated he chose you as Dawn Windery’s supplier, after all there were so many in Sumeru and not only that but Kaeya never revealed to me your name early on, he said to just trust his choices and forced me to drink with him…” 

“Huh a sly one that one is…but perhaps we should thank him?” “Perhaps, but first..” Diluc suddenly picks you up and carries you with both his arms. “We have some unfinished business, why don't we head inside Miss Y/N, hm?” 

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[junkissed]

soooo I can't stop thinking about ocean's view 😭 like I loved it sm 🥹 can you spare some thoughts.. about what happened after 👁️ I hope they didn't live very far away from each other 😭 also wtf jun is so romantic for saying he imagined himself with you at the altar like wtf boy do you want me on the floor for you and your cuteness 😭

yes ofc!! so it's implied that they're from the same city because they're at the same wedding so it would make sense that they both live close to the bride & groom, and therefore close to each other. probably nearby but not too close, and because reader doesn't go to many parties it would make sense they haven't seen each other before even though they share mutual friends. i imagined it as opposite sides of the same town so they're probably like 15 to 30 minutes apart at most :) so still pretty close and they will definitely get together officially once they get back home! i had a couple extra scenes planned at the end (that i didn't end up writing because i didn't have the energy and i just really wanted to get the fic done lol) so i'll put it in bullet points under the cut :)

member — junhui x reader word count — 0.9k warnings — fluff, bullet points, slightly suggestive but no details read the original fic: "ocean view" here! this is a continuation of the story so it won't make sense if you haven't read the fic so go do that first lol

jun sits at your table for the whole reception and you have really great conversations getting to know each other

at some point joshua comes around asking if anyone has seen where he's supposed to sit because he can't find his name tag. jun points him towards his old seat and slips joshua's name card into his pocket when he's not looking, so they did successfully switch and no one found out lol

there's eating, dancing, more secret kissing in the corner once it gets dark and no one can see them

but it gets late, so you and jun decide it's time to part ways. and obviously this time you make sure to exchange phone numbers and info before you leave because there's no way you're throwing away this opportunity twice in a row

you tell jun you'd love to spend the night with him again, but that you have to leave for your flight tonight. jun laughs and says it wouldn't have worked anyway; his flight is also tonight, and he suggests that you carpool. you still don't know that you're from the same city, so you assume he's just joking and you give him another kiss (a very passionate one that almost makes you rethink turning down the carpool offer) but then you both go back to your hotels to pack.

you get to the airport that night and you've just gotten through security and you're walking around looking for your gate and guess who you bump into? and he not only happens to be headed to the same city as you, but he's also on the same airline, the exact same flight at the exact same time!

you sit in the waiting area together and laugh about fate and coincidences, and you're starting to believe what the tarot lady said because the circumstances are too perfect and everything is working out a little too perfectly

you keep chatting until the plane starts boarding, and you get called up to board first so you assume this is (finally) where you say goodbye. you wave and give him a hug and promise to meet up again once the plane lands

you're settled in your seat, pulling out your phone to text him and see where he's sitting, when you hear a voice beside you and you look up and there he is again

he makes a joke about how you just can't seem to get rid of him, and you tell him that you wouldn't want to get rid of him even if you tried, because you already did try and you're glad that the universe had other plans

turns out you're not just on the same flight but your seats are also right next to each other, so there's no need to bribe anyone to switch this time hehe

it's a long flight but it passes by quickly because you have such good company :) lots more talking and getting to know each other

maybe towards the end of the flight he starts to get a little handsy, because he's wanted you so bad ever since he saw you again at the wedding but he was trying to be polite and all that tense sexual energy is finally getting to him

but you manage to hold off until you make it off the plane, and since your house isn't too far out of his way anyway you do decide to actually carpool home

now it's your turn for payback and you're teasing him the whole time he's driving

then you finally arrive at your house and you can't keep your hands off of each other any longer so he decides to spend the night... and you can imagine the rest

you ignore a whole bunch of texts from jeonghan who is demanding to know all the details because he saw you leaving the wedding with jun and you had the biggest smile on your face and he needs to know whether you reconnected with your mystery man or not

another fun detail that i wanted to add but didn't end up writing: for the bachelorette party the night before the wedding, they hired a stripper named hoshi and he was wearing a tiger print thong giving everyone lap dances

i won't be writing a sequel to this fic since this is basically all that i had planned and i've already put it into bullet points, but i hope you liked this little extra snippet!! i always love sharing stuff that didn't make it into the final fic so always feel free to send asks like this <3

no taglist since this isn't really a fic, but you can always join my permanent taglist here!