#time to time the weight of it probably would have driven him up the wall by now. or killed him. mike wasn't sure which would've been worse'

[bravevolunteer]

oh also i HAVE to post this too because it's so deranged. mike there is something so deeply wrong with you. you know you don't HAVE to do that to yourself right. you can hang up some posters or something. he's literally doing the push-ups BECAUSE he hates it. i can't keep defending you against the masochism allegations if you keep ACTING LIKE THIS.

[innerfare]

Zoro Relationship Headcanons 

Summary: A collection of headcanons about being in a relationship with Roronoa Zoro

Genre: Fluff

CW: None // SFW

———

A ton of initial attraction, sparks between the two of you, but he doesn’t make a move, and neither do you because he doesn’t actually seem open to it. Zoro doesn’t appear available, so you try to put it from your mind, a difficult task considering he always seems to be in your way, interjecting himself into your conversations, arguing with you about the littlest things, taking off his shirt to lift weights while you watch. 

Has a bit of an existential crisis when he realizes it’s not just respect, friendship, and even regular attraction (of course he’s noticed you’re attractive he’s not blind) between the two of you but deeper affection, deeper than he’s felt in his entire life. Lays awake at night worrying he’ll put it all on the line for you, contemplating what it means to love someone when you’re as insular and goal driven as he is. Is there even space for you in his life? There’s going to have to be because the thought of not napping beside you makes him feel like he’s falling into a bottomless abyss.

Gets extra crabby, especially with you, after realizing his affection for you, still doesn’t make a move. It actually comes down to Robin engineering several situations where you two are left alone together and finally just locking you two in the library together when nothing else has worked. You confront Zoro about his attitude and he snaps, pushing you into the wall and kissing you. And that’s that. 

If you don’t know how to fight, he’ll be teaching you. And if you do know how, he’ll be sparring with you to make sure your skills are up to par. He doesn’t even realize what he’s doing at first until it hits him one day: he’s taking care of you. He knows he won’t always be there to protect you and wants to make sure you’re safe. 

Doesn’t give you gifts often, but on the rare occasions he does, they’re thoughtful. Has most definitely given you a sword and at least two knives, though a part of you dreads unwrapping these things because you know you’re going to spend countless hours learning how to use them, though you’re ultimately grateful he values your safety so much. 

“Damn it, woman.” Be prepared to hear this multiple times a day. If you move his things, if you mess up his hair, if you give him an erection. If you’re bad at something, slow at something, or simply not doing something the way he would do it, he’ll try to take over, and then he’ll bicker with you when you don’t let him; if you’re the type to let him, you’re probably not his type. Old married couple vibes 100%. 

If you’re sick, “what’s your problem?” If you’re sad, “what’s with you?” Doesn’t mean to be rude, just not exactly high in emotional intelligence. 

You’ll spend the morning bickering, parting ways as he goes to work out and you do your own thing, and then you get together in the evening to go out drinking and you’re best friends, laughing and dancing together. It raises some eyebrows on the crew but they just roll with it (they are the Straw Hats after all).

Definitely wears your robe, even if its a satin kimono with flowers on it. This man doesn’t give a single fuck. If you get mad at him for it, he’ll pretend he didn’t know it was yours. “How was I supposed to know?” “It’s pink with flowers on it!” Will also use your toothbrush, body wash, etc. Would wear your clothes if they fit. What’s yours is his. 

Secretly such a gentleman. Doesn’t like to be thanked for it, though. He’ll brush it off, at times even acting annoyed at you for saying anything. 

Also secretly loves it when you’re sweet to him- cute pet names, kisses on the cheek, etc., but pretends not to. 

Never carries you bridal style. If he carries you, he’s throwing you over his shoulder, and if you complain, he’ll smack your ass and grumble, “quiet, woman.” Might smack your ass again because he likes the feel of it; also likes how you squeal in response, though he would rather die than admit it.  

If you roll away from him in the night, he drags you right back over to him. And if you try to get out of bed in the morning before him or even leave in the middle of the night to get water or go to the bathroom, he won’t be allowing it. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[mercillery]

ADMIRALS AS TEACHERS

WARNINGS: GENDER NOT SPECIFIED + NOT PROOFREAD + MODERN AU???

CHARACTERS: Akainu + Kizaru + Aokiji

NOTES: This was has been sitting in my drafts for a while... Also, to whoever sent in requests yes I am working on them just give me time please <3

AKAINU

Honestly, Akainu would likely teach a subject that requires an unwavering commitment to discipline, structure, and a strong sense of justice. Subjects such as ethics, law, or history seem to be right up his alley. Specifically, I envision him as an Advanced Placement (AP) History teacher. His approach to teaching would be strict and authoritarian, instilling both respect and a sense of fear among his students. 99% of the students in his class are driven by fear of him rather than actual motivation to learn. That being said, the atmosphere in his classroom would be one of constant pressure and high expectations, which almost every student finds overwhelming and intimidating. 

Akainu would demand nothing short of absolute perfection. He would have zero tolerance for disobedience or laziness, expecting his students to show the same dedication and rigor that he himself embodies. Any form of attitude or defiance would be met with immediate consequences—Akainu would not hesitate to expel a disruptive student from his classroom without a second thought. Is spending time outside the classroom better than being stuck in his class? Probably. But your chances of failing his class have probably just increased by a lot, and he will absolutely catch on if you’re just being disobedient to skip his class. So don’t abuse this.

His primary focus would be on the material being taught rather than on his students' personal feelings or stress levels. To him, the importance of the subject matter would always trump any student's grievances or frustrations. He would expect his students to maintain a laser-sharp focus, regardless of how they feel about school on any given day—meaning that you’ve got to bring your A game to his class every day. It’s that or nothing. Even if you’re grieving or stressed like crazy, he expects you to give it your all, no matter what. Sorry! 

Akainu motivates his students through a combination of fear and respect rather than through encouragement or praise. He firmly believes that the fear of failure and its consequences is a powerful motivator, driving students to excel in their studies and adhere to his exacting standards. For students who are particularly afraid of failing or falling short of his expectations, Akainu's methods can be both terrifying and effective. The fear of disappointing him or not meeting his high standards often has students working themselves to the brink, sweating blood, and shedding tears to avoid his wrath. Despite the intense pressure, those who manage to channel their fear into diligence and hard work will find that they can succeed in his class! And yes, he does notice when his students are actually trying and putting in effort; he just isn’t the type to announce it to the whole school building out loud.

His classroom is orderly, with students seated in neat, precise rows. He enforces assigned seating, meticulously choosing who sits where. And this isn’t a random arrangement; Akainu deliberately separates friends, ensuring they sit far apart, while placing those who aren't close right next to each other. This strategic seating plan is just another layer of his strict control over the classroom environment, much to the students' frustration. Moreover, the walls of his class are adorned with military posters and detailed maps of various historical battles. This carefully curated setting, combined with his demanding teaching style, ensures that students understand the weight of their education under his watchful eyes… 👁️ 👁️

To conclude, Akainu’s teaching methods are definitely controversial, as most view his strictness as too harsh or oppressive. However, he believes that it is necessary to prepare his students for the harsh realities of the world they will eventually enter. He has good intentions, believe me. He’s just too strict and intense.

AOKIJI

After mulling it over for a while, I still can't pinpoint the exact subject he would teach. Environmental science, literature, or geography all come to mind, but I can't decide :( Regardless of the subject, though, one thing is certain: he’s a student favorite for a multitude of reasons. Despite his frequent tardiness—honestly, he’s late to his own class more often than not. Students and faculty alike wonder how he manages to keep his teaching position. But the truth is, no one really cares because Aokiji is simply adored by everyone—specifically the students. His laid-back attitude and approachable demeanor make him the most beloved and popular teacher in the entire school. It's almost as if his popularity grants him immunity from the usual rules and expectations. He’s the kind of teacher who leaves a lasting impression—the one students talk about long after they've graduated.

As I mentioned just now, Aokiji has a habit of arriving late to his own class, but his students don’t mind because that just means they get more time to chill. His tardiness has become a running joke among the students too. In fact, it’s almost a tradition at this point. Despite his late arrivals, Aokiji makes up for it by staying late to help students who need extra assistance. If you're wondering about his usual delay, it's typically just a few minutes. However, on Mondays, Thursdays, or any of those universally dreaded days, he can be 20–30 minutes late at best.

Unlike Akainu, Aokiji very much cares about his students' well-being, even if it’s not immediately apparent. Despite his tired and nonchalant appearance during class, he absolutely cares—trust me on this. If you’re struggling to focus on school because of other issues weighing on your mind, you can turn to Aokiji. He’s always ready to listen, and he’ll never dismiss your concerns. Whether you need to talk things through or just need some space, he’s there to support you. He might suggest signing you up for a guidance counselor or offering some time alone to collect your thoughts. Whatever you need to feel more comfortable and less stressed, Aokiji will do his best to accommodate. His students know they can rely on him, not just as a teacher but as a genuine source of support and understanding.

His class is... messy? Chaotic? Unorganized? Probably all three. Desks are scattered haphazardly around the room, with some areas having far more desks than others. Aokiji doesn’t care where his students sit as long as they aren’t too disruptive. He’s the kind of teacher who gives his students the freedom to arrange themselves. Some students take advantage of this by placing their desks close to his, eager to chat and interact with him since they absolutely enjoy talking with him. If Akainu ever walked into Aokiji’s class, he’d probably have a stroke. The disarray and lack of strict order would be too much for him to handle. But for Aokiji and his students, this chaotic setup works perfectly.

Aokiji is also known for his patience with his students. When one or a group of students become too disruptive, he lets it slide a few times, but with each incident, he becomes a bit more firm—not mean, just firm. He understands that students need a bit of leeway, and his relaxed approach reflects that. Despite his leniency, he rarely has to make students change their seats for being disruptive. His students usually get the message after a few warnings and straighten up, likely because they genuinely like and respect him as a teacher. However, if a student is being outright disrespectful or causing problems for him or another student, that's when Aokiji's demeanor changes. He becomes noticeably firm and directly addresses the issue. He’ll tell the student that they need to either chill out or take a walk around the school for a few minutes to cool off. When something like this happens, the entire class becomes captivated. It's almost as if every student suddenly has a bowl of popcorn, eagerly watching the situation unfold. They relish not only the chaos of the situation but also the rare moment of seeing Aokiji get serious, given his usual laid-back attitude.

In conclusion, Aokiji is one of the coolest teachers in the building. That’s about it. Everyone loves him and wishes to have him as their teacher for every class.

KIZARU

I'm definitely getting physics teacher vibes here... Yeah, Kizaru would be the perfect fit for teaching physics. Physics can be really complicated and confusing, but with his laid-back attitude, you'll feel much more at ease. His relaxed approach helps take the edge off, so you won’t find yourself too stressed out or panicking when grappling with the subject matter. And there’s an added bonus: Kizaru speaks incredibly slowly (like in the anime lol), which gives you plenty of time to process everything he’s saying. This means you can really take in the information and understand it better, rather than feeling overwhelmed by a barrage of fast-paced explanations. So, even if physics isn’t your strong suit, Kizaru’s teaching style makes it a lot more approachable for you.

Now, unlike other teachers, Kizaru actually goes out of his way to make his class entertaining and engaging. He understands that while some students can push through the boredom and focus solely on the material, others struggle with staying attentive. He completely gets it—he’d be bored too if his own class was dull. With this in mind, Kizaru uses everyday objects and interactive demonstrations to bring physics concepts to life. Whether he's using a simple toy car to explain inertia or demonstrating wave interference with water in a tub, he makes sure that the principles of physics are not only accessible but also enjoyable to learn. Additionally, Kizaru infuses his lessons with humor and a touch of sarcasm, making jokes that keep the class lively. His witty remarks and playful banter can quickly recapture the attention of his students if their minds start to wander. And just like that, in no time, he wins over his students, making physics a subject they look forward to rather than dread.

Kizaru is incredibly patient with his students. He never rushes them and always takes the time to ensure that everyone understands the material before moving on. If a student is struggling, he's always ready to offer one-on-one help. His supportive approach fosters a casual atmosphere where students feel comfortable asking questions and participating in discussions! For those who are too nervous to ask questions in front of the class, Kizaru has a special approach. He makes it a point to quietly check in with these students individually, asking if they have any questions or need further clarification. He understands that some students are just too shy or prefer not to speak up in a group setting, so he keeps a close eye on those who tend to be more reserved. This attentiveness ensures that everyone, even the quietest students, has their needs met. Kizaru’s ability to create a welcoming and supportive environment means that no one gets left behind!

Inside Kizaru's classroom, it's a hub of physics experiments and fascinating gadgets. From gyroscopes spinning on desks to pendulums swinging gracefully and intricate Rube Goldberg machines humming with activity, the room is alive with hands-on learning opportunities. The seating arrangement in Kizaru's class is designed to promote collaboration and lively discussions. Desks are often grouped in clusters, encouraging students to work together on projects and problem-solving exercises. What's more, Kizaru allows his students the freedom to choose their seating partners! However, he maintains a balance by gently addressing any disruptions that may arise. While students are generally free to sit where they please, he sets clear expectations for behavior. If there's occasional distraction, Kizaru might let it slide a couple of times, but he ensures that the focus remains on productive learning.

I feel like outside of just normal class, Kizaru leads or supports a physics club, where students can delve deeper into their interests, participate in science fairs, and engage in fun physics-related activities like building rockets or participating in robotics competitions.

Kizaru takes an understanding stance if he notices a student having difficulties because of personal problems like stress or other issues. He acknowledges the need for space and time to attend to personal problems and acknowledges that everyone encounters challenges occasionally. As a lenient and understanding teacher, Kizaru absolutely prioritizes the well-being of his students. If someone requires additional time to cope with personal challenges or simply needs a break to recharge, he's supportive and accommodating. Whether it's offering extensions on assignments, providing extra guidance, or simply lending a listening ear.

In summary, Kizaru's physics class is a dynamic blend of humor, creativity, and hands-on learning, transforming physics into an exciting and accessible subject for all his student!

[rottenpumpkin13]

If you were to write a happy au ending for pre Nibelheim seph how would you write it?

A happy ending for Sephiroth? You mean, for Sephiroth only? You didn't specify that part :) *evil laughter*

This is unedited because I'm just about falling asleep, so forgive any mistakes please 💚

-

Sephiroth found himself teetering on the edge of sanity, slowly slipping in and out of it as if his very consciousness was fading with each word he read.

As the minutes passed, Sephiroth's eyes struggled to distinguish the numbers and letters as they melded into an indecipherable haze.

Whispers—real whispers—from the pages echoed through his mind like distant screams, each syllable clawing at his peace of mind.

His grip on reality slipped further as the whispers intensified, melding with JENOVA’s beckoning. Of course, Sephiroth didn't know that. All he saw, all he could see and hear was SOLDIER, Cetra, Project G, S-cells, JENOVA.

But Sephiroth was driven by an insatiable hunger for understanding, for answers he had sought his whole life. So he persisted, consumed by the very knowledge that wanted to devour him whole.

And then it happened. Very quickly, akin to the flap of a butterfly wing that created a whole other timeline.

In a split second, Sephiroth's eyes flickered, a momentary rebellion against the beckoning madness.

The weight of the texts and the suffocation of the whispers became too much. He closed the book he had been reading.

The decision to momentarily step away from it all was a gradual pause.

He welcomed the relief as the weight on his shoulders began to ease, JENOVA's whispers fading into the tail end of consciousness until all it became were desperate whispers.

He knew he would come back later. But for now, he just needed a…What was the word for it?

Sephiroth pulled open the library door.

On the other side, the door swung open with a force so violent that it startled the eavesdropping boys.

Zack’s eyes met Sephiroth's tired ones. Cloud was behind him, clasping his hands over his mouth and looking wide-eyed up at Sephiroth.

Zack scratched the back of his head, a sheepish grin on his face as he laughed nervously.

“Uh…Sorry, Sephiroth. We didn't mean to eavesdrop—”

Cloud pulled a face. “Yes we did?”

“We were passing by,” Zack said between gritted teeth, shooting Cloud a glare that made the blond clamp his mouth shut instantly.

Sephiroth could barely understand the words being spoken to him. He looked from Cloud to Zack with the same dead expression.

Zack coughed. “Were you—were you going to take a break, or…?”

Ah, so that was the word.

"A break... Yeah... that's what I need." His words nearly lost their way through the fog in his mind. "I need a break,” he repeated. “A break.” Like a mantra. “I need a break from everything.”

The absurdity of the situation brought an unexpected yet bitter twist of irony to the moment.

Zack's concerned gaze met Cloud's, a silent exchange that conveyed their shared worry.

"Will you come out now?” Zack's time held genuine care “You need to eat something, Sephiroth. Drink some water too."

Cloud tried to be mindful of boundaries but was unable to hide his concern. "A-And some sleep! If I'm not overstepping!"

Sephiroth was momentarily drawn out of the suffocating haze by them, nodding in reluctant agreement.

They guided him away from the library, linking either of his arms with theirs, mindful of how dizzy and weak he was.

"Think Mrs. Strife is gonna be thrilled to have the legendary Sephiroth over for dinner?" Zack asked.

Cloud rolled his eyes, groaning silently. “The good news is that she'll probably make enough food to feed the army.”

“Great! ‘Cuz the dude hasn't eaten in…What's it been, a week?”

As Zack teased Cloud about his bedroom decor—the dozens of Sephiroth posters on his wall were going to be nightmarish for the young Infantryman to explain—Sephiroth glanced back at the library door.

He never wanted to step foot in there again.

"Hey, Cloud, maybe when Sephiroth's all rested, we can come back later and check out what's in that coffin downstairs.”

He felt much better now that he was out. Whatever that thing was that had been calling out to him earlier…He was unreachable to her now.

Cloud shot Zack a skeptical look. “Have you never watched a single horror movie? That's how people die, Zack.”

“Don’t worry, Spike, I make a great protagonist.”

He could come back later. He would have to burn the whole mansion to the ground.

The trio continued on their way, leaving the library behind.

But as Jenova's influence waned in Sephiroth's mind, in another corner of the Nibelheim, Genesis trudged back into the foreboding depths of the reactor.

The pain in his shoulder had flared up again, a physical manifestation of the stress that clinged to him no matter what he did.

Cursing under his breath, he begrudgingly retraced his steps. The sheer ridiculousness of his predicament did not escape him—a seasoned SOLDIER forced to reenter the place where his pride had been freshly wounded all for a misplaced book.

“Minerva bequeath me your strength,” he muttered to himself.

The hum of machinery seemed almost mocking as he sailed into the dark chamber.

"When the war of the beasts brings about the world's end, the goddess descends from the sky..."

Genesis continued to recite the lines, his mind briefly shifting between the search for the misplaced book to the ominous undertones of Loveless.

The irony of invoking such profound verses in the heart of the mako reactor—a place fraught with unnatural energies—did not escape him.

"Wings of light and dark spread afar... She guides us to bliss, her gift everlasting.”

Genesis almost had a heart attack then and there. He summoned Rapier at once, whirling around and pointing the weapon at the source of the voice.

The female voice lingered in the air, a haunting echo that sent a chill down his spine. His gaze settled on the divine presence before him.

The goddess?

As if in response to his thoughts, JENOVA's voice echoed through the chamber once more.

"Infinite in mystery is the gift of the Goddess. We seek it thus, and take to the sky. Ripples form on the water's surface. The wandering soul knows no rest."

In the glow of the mako, Genesis felt an inexplicable pull, drawing him nearer to the glass containing JENOVA—well, to the untainted mind it was Jenova.

To the enthralled devotee, he was seeing the goddess herself.

A childlike awe painted his features. The pain in his shoulder now felt like a distant memory. Whether JENOVA had eased his suffering or erased his ability to feel the pain, Genesis could no longer tell. It no longer mattered.

His voice was filled with an almost reverent awe.

"The gift of the goddess."

As for JENOVA, if it could not be a mother to her first option, she would become a goddess to her second.

Hindsight is not always grim, but when it is, it takes on an almost comical sense. Genesis did always have an affinity with fire.

[ollieofthebeholder]

And If Thou Wilt, Forget: a TMA fic

Read from the beginning on Tumblr || AO3 || My Website

Chapter 27: The little shivering gaping things

It had been a long, frustrating month. Actually a long and frustrating year. So when Tim got an email from Lou asking him to meet her for a late lunch to celebrate her birthday, he’d jumped at the offer, even if it meant he’d have to catch a cab or extend his lunch, since he hadn’t driven to work. He wouldn’t vent to her, wouldn’t ruin her day, but it would be nice to get to talk to someone who wasn’t involved in…all this. And maybe she’d know some places to find Gertrude.

He’d insisted on both Sasha and Martin going at their regular time, assured them he would talk to Jon, and used the span of time he had to himself to probe at a few threads he’d deliberately left hanging from statements he’d been assigned, secure in the knowledge that Jon wouldn’t call him on it…yet. He was just packing his laptop up to head out the door when he heard a thump, a clatter, and a rustle from the Archivist’s office.

And every sense he’d honed over the last two years fired off at once.

Tim was out of his seat and across the Archives floor before he had a chance to consciously think about it. Jon was standing over by the shelving unit he’d put up against one wall of the office, or what was left of it, anyway; it looked like it had collapsed, maybe because he’d put too much weight on it. There was dust all over that part of the office and a…tang in the air Tim couldn’t quite place but definitely didn’t like.

“You okay?” he asked Jon, who looked momentarily flustered.

“Ah…yeah,” Jon said, straightening his shoulders. “A…spider.”

Something prickled on the back of Tim’s neck. It could have been completely innocuous, but if the Web was involved…“Did you get it?”

“I…hope so.” Jon looked at his hands, as if searching for evidence. “I think so. Nasty, bulbous looking thing.”

A big, obvious-looking spider? If it hadn’t had a clear marking that told Jon it was toxic, it was certainly there just to draw attention, and that definitely meant the Web. Tim’s eyes roved over the shelving unit. “What did you do, try to tackle it?”

“No, just…” Jon waved at the shelves. “Cheap things, I guess. I was just trying to—”

Tim sucked in a sharp breath as his eyes locked onto what he hadn’t realized he’d been looking for. The shelving unit, as it had collapsed, had slammed into the wall. Not hard, probably, or at least it didn’t look like it should have been hard, but there was a distinct dent in the plaster. No…no, not a dent. A hole.

The tang in the air got a bit stronger, like a gust of wind had just come out of that hole, and he recognized it all at once: the sickly, musty odor he’d last noticed, last consciously noticed, in the corridor outside Martin’s flat. The smell of insects, and rot, and…filth.

Corruption.

Oh, shit.

“Jon,” he said sharply, cutting off whatever Jon had been trying to explain.

“What?” Jon looked at Tim, then followed his gaze. “Oh…uh…got dented when the shelf collapsed, I suppose.”

“That went clear through.” Fear was encroaching, threatening to choke him, but Tim had to stay calm, had to stay sensible. “Fuck, that’s supposed to be an exterior wall.”

“It—it should be.” Jon, in defiance of all logic and common sense but totally in line with his insatiable curiosity, bent over to examine the crack in the wall. “I think it’s just plasterboard.” He reached out, tentatively, and pushed at the largest portion; it crumbled away almost instantly.

“Jon, don’t, get away from there!” Tim shouted, lunging deeper into the room.

The musty, decaying smell got even stronger, and he heard the wet squelching sound of too many crawling, writhing things eagerly rushing towards them. Jon reeled back, throwing his arms up over his face. “Tim, run. Run…”

Too late. Way, way too late. The weakened wall ballooned briefly, then crumbled away at the bottom, and hundreds, thousands of the grey and white worms started erupting out of the wall. Jon yelled in dismay and backed off. Tim thought he was going to run—sensibly—but instead he lunged for the Archivist’s desk and began scrabbling with one hand across the surface, his eyes darting back and forth between the onslaught of filth and the desk.

“What are you doing?” Tim shouted at him.

“Almost—” Jon half-gasped, and Tim realized he was going for the tape recorder.

“Leave it, it’s not—” Tim half ran, half jumped over and reached for Jon’s arm.

Jon, not even looking in his direction, nearly folded himself lengthwise and managed to seize the recorder with a glad cry. “I got it!”

There was a sudden bang as the door to the office swung inwards and hit the wall, and Martin’s voice came from behind them. “Guys? Is everything—oh, Christ!”

“Shut up and get the extinguishers!” Jon yelled back.

“What?” Martin squeaked out.

“Fuck that,” Tim ground out. Jon’s eyes were still fixed in terror on the invasion, Martin was obviously too frightened to think clearly, and while it would obviously be best to extinguish these before they got any deeper into the Archives, his priority had to be getting Jon and Martin out of the line of fire. If these things got into them…no, it didn’t bear thinking about. He grabbed Jon’s arm and yanked him hard, then turned and dragged him towards the door, shouting at Martin, “Out, out, out! Grab the nearest CO2 and let’s go!”

“Right, right, right, right, right, right, right, right, yep.,” Martin babbled, backing out of the doorway, stumbling over his own feet, before turning and darting for the wall near the computer, where the little black-banded CO2 canister still hung. Tim knew, knew it had been serviced and replaced after he’d used it on the outlets behind Mister Megabytes and hoped and prayed nobody had used it since then.

In that, at least, his luck held; Martin grabbed it, aimed it at the threshold of the Archivist’s office, and let loose with the gas. Tim kept dragging Jon forward. “Come on! Don’t stop to fight them all! Document Storage, now!”

Jon was stumbling along at Tim’s side, running well enough on his own, and Tim, stupidly, released his arm, intending to drop back a little and go for one of the bigger extinguishers that had to be around somewhere nearby. Unfortunately, he did so at the exact moment as Jon looked back, presumably to check the pursuit of the worms. He slammed full speed into Sasha’s chair, which crashed to the ground with Jon on top of it. The recorder flew from his free hand and slid across the floor towards the shelves.

“Dammit!” Jon flailed, panicked as a drowning swimmer, and managed to free himself from the chair. Instead of continuing towards Document Storage, though, he started scuttling sideways to the worm army, obviously intent on the recorder.

“Jon! Santa cazzo Madre di Dio,” Tim swore. He put on a burst of speed, full Big Brother Mode activated, and caught Jon around the waist. Jon yelped, then screamed in the instant Tim hoisted him up over his shoulder.

“Jon, it’s okay, it’s just Tim!” Martin cried frantically.

“Martin! Get in the fucking storage room!” Tim bellowed, stomping a patch of worms with a disturbingly satisfying pop and vaulting over the chair. He was rewarded by the sight of Martin sprinting, almost as fast as he’d left his apartment, towards Document Storage.

His intention had been to toss Jon in, slam the door behind himself, and go back out to do battle with the things invading his Archives, dammit, Gertrude wasn’t here and she had left him in charge, Elias be damned, the Archives and those in it were his to protect, he’d already failed once, twice if you counted Breekon and Hope turning up to make their delivery, thrice if you counted Sasha getting lured out by the Twisting Deceit…all of that ran through his mind in the three bounds it took to get across the Archives to safety, but Jon’s hands were balled up in the back of his shirt and Martin was holding the door for him and he had to at least get in and get Jon down safely before he went back out there, and the second he was across the threshold Martin slammed the door and leaned against it, breathing heavily.

Jon was whimpering faintly as Tim slid him back over his shoulder to sit on the cot. Tim was about to reassure him that they were safe when his brain locked onto the pitch and timbre of Jon’s screams. Not fear. Pain. He instantly gave him a once-over and quickly found what he was looking for and afraid he’d find, in what little meat there was to his calf, just behind his left ankle. “Shit fuck damn! Martin, bottom left drawer, there’s a first-aid kit, I need it now!” He quickly patted himself down and—as he’d expected—came up with nothing but his key ring. He gritted his teeth. “This isn’t going to be fun, but it’s going to be the best I can do.”

“Wh-what are you—I, I didn’t get the recorder, I need to go grab the recorder,” Jon chanted, looking pale and dizzy. “I need to—”

“I’ve got one,” Martin said over his shoulder, rummaging through the drawer. He came up with the small metal kit triumphantly, then looked over at Jon and paled. “You’re bit!”

“I—nngh—“ Jon grimaced as he tried to move his leg.

Tim tried his hardest to keep his voice calm and level. “Jon, there’s a worm in there. I need to get it out. This is going to be messy, but—”

“Here. Use this.” Martin pressed something into Tim’s hand. “I’ll, I’ll get that recorder, okay?”

“I need you to hold him still,” Tim said, at the same time as Jon blurted out fervently, “Yes, please.”

Martin hurried over to his things, and Tim resigned himself to the fact that Martin was always going to do what Jon asked first. He looked at the object Martin had pressed into his hand and was surprised to discover it was a corkscrew—probably the one they’d used for Jon’s birthday wine last year. He eyeballed it, then the hole in Jon’s trouser leg…yeah, okay, that was probably about the right size.

“Okay,” he said, as calmly as he could. “This is still going to be messy, but probably not as bad. Sit still, okay? Can you do that for me?”

Despite the situation and the pain he had to be in, Jon still managed a pretty impressive glare, if not up to his usual standards. “I’m not a child, Tim.”

“You’re younger than my brother. You might as well be,” Tim shot back without thinking. “Sit still and try not to kick me in the face.”

He pushed the leg of Jon’s trousers up, exposing the bloody hole, and swiped at it with the first piece of gauze he found in the kit until it was clear enough for him to see. Gripping Jon’s ankle in a firm but not too tight hand, he lined the corkscrew up with the hole, gritted his teeth, and shoved it in.

Jon, unsurprisingly, screamed and—as Tim had more or less expected—jerked back, trying to pull himself free. Tim was stronger than he was, and he’d extracted enough splinters, thorns, and God knows what else from his daredevil baby brother, and he simply stiffened his arm to hold him steady and twisted the corkscrew in deeper. It squelched unpleasantly.

“And…there we go. Recording again,” Martin said. “Did you get it?”

Tim felt the tip of the corkscrew catch on something that he really hoped was the worm and not a muscle. Jon cried out in pain, and Tim’s heart, despite everything, clenched. He glanced up at Martin briefly. “Martin, I need you to sit behind him and hold him. Jon, Martin’s going to hold you, okay? This won’t take long, but it is going to hurt. I need you to be brave, okay?”

Evidently the pain was overriding Jon’s sense of indignation, because he nodded, then gave another soft cry of pain and closed his eyes. Martin, his whole face creased in anxiety, hastily sat on the cot next to him and wrapped his arms around Jon’s torso from behind, hesitantly at first, then more confidently and securely when Jon leaned back into him, almost involuntarily. Tim nodded, even though Jon couldn’t see him. “On three, all right? One…two…three.”

He pulled the corkscrew straight out. Jon cried out again and gripped Martin’s arm with almost clawlike fingers, but the corkscrew came free with a sucking pop and on the end was a feebly wriggling worm that, despite the bit of metal wrapped around its arse, seemed relatively intact. He pinched it off the end with the gauze, dropped it to the floor, and stomped on it as hard as possible. He wiped the blood off with a fresh piece of gauze, tapped a plaster in place, and—without really thinking about it—kissed the injured spot before rolling Jon’s trouser leg back down and patting it gently. “There. All done. Good job, Jon, you did good.”

Jon was breathing heavily, and his face was streaked with tears, but he sounded almost like his normal self as he opened his eyes. “Thank you, Tim.”

Tim glanced up at Martin, who��reluctantly, it seemed—let go of Jon. He didn’t go far, though. “Quick thinking with the corkscrew, Marto. Why do you have it, anyway?”

“For the worms.”

“What?” Jon looked up at Martin in confusion and some irritation, although noticeably less than usual.

“For pulling the worms out of people.” Martin gestured at the smear on the floor. “Like now.”

Jon followed Martin’s gesture, then cut his eyes away quickly; Tim swiped it up and lobbed it towards the rubbish bin in the corner. “How’d you think of that?”

Martin shrugged. “I used to carry around a knife, but I started thinking that, well, cutting laterally into someone wasn’t really the most efficient way to get them out, and besides which, they seem to be quite slow burrowing in a straight line, so, given their size, th-the corkscrew just seemed to be the better option.”

“Well, you’re right. Although I really hate that this is something you had to think about.” Tim found an alcohol wipe in the kit that probably wasn’t any good anymore, at least not for cleaning people, and began methodically wiping the blood off of the corkscrew.

“Thank you,” Jon said softly.

Tim glanced up at Martin. “You thought of this place without me shouting at you about it, right? That’s why the cot is in here?”

Martin’s cheeks turned pink. “Yeah. The room’s sealed. I checked it myself when I moved in.”

“Climate controlled, as well,” Jon put in. “Strong door. Soundproof.” He sighed. “These old documents are better protected than we ever were.”

“I did my best,” Tim muttered under his breath. He handed the corkscrew back to Martin and pushed to his feet. “Anyway, it’s a good place for you two to lie low.”

Jon looked up sharply at Tim. “What do you mean, you two? We’re trapped in here.”

“Look, someone’s got to stop those things,” Tim argued. “Gertrude Robinson trained me, so right now, I’m the best we’ve got. You two stay here and—”

“No,” Martin blurted out, his face drained of all color and his eyes huge with fear. “Don’t go. J-Jon’s right, it’s not safe, it—d-don’t go out there!”

They were well and truly scared…which was good, Tim supposed, it would keep them here and not getting themselves in trouble. On the other hand, their fear was going to draw the Corruption to them at some point or another, and even though the worms couldn’t easily access it, they’d get in eventually. He’d need to make sure they were either calm or protected before he could leave them.

Yeah. Good luck with that.

He glanced out the window of the door. No sign of Prentiss, not yet—that was good. And the worms seemed to be…backing off? Maybe he had a shot at this. He turned back to Jon and Martin. “Listen to me. Listen. It looks like we’ve got a clear path to the exit right now, but I know that’s bullshit. They’re waiting for something, and if we try to run for it they’ll be on us so fast, you have no idea. The Archives are in danger and so are we, and we’re not going to fix it by hiding in here. So unless you want to wait until someone comes to save us—”

“O-oh, God. Sasha!” Martin’s face, impossibly, got even paler. “I think she was out at lunch. She doesn’t know—we should, someone should call her, tell her not to come back inside.”

“There’s no signal in here,” Jon said, looking stricken as well. “We’ll just have to hope she heard the noise.”

Tim turned to look out the window again and cursed at the sight of the figure. “Too late! She’s just come in—fuck, she doesn’t see them.” He whirled back around and stabbed a finger at Jon and Martin. “Keep each other safe. Don’t open this door for anything unless I tell you it’s safe. The code word is ‘candlelight.’ If anything else tries to come through, you spray it to death and you run, and you get out of the Institute by any means necessary. Do you understand me?”

“Tim—” Jon protested, starting to try and get up, then collapsing to the ground with a cry. Martin rushed to his side. Tim used the momentary bit of chaos to open the door wide enough to admit himself and squeeze out, slamming the door behind himself.

His worst nightmare…well, close enough to it anyway…presented itself. Sasha had stooped to pick up the tape recorder and was looking at it carefully…but there was another figure behind her. This one wasn’t as tall as Sasha, with long, stringy dark hair and the tattered remnants of a red dress…and honeycombed all through it were holes, out of which poked more of the greyish-white worms.

“Sasha! Behind you!” he yelled at the top of his lungs.

Sasha turned around and gave a ragged gasp, clutching the recorder to her chest like a talisman. The thing that had to be Jane Prentiss smiled at her with a mouth that was more worms than teeth.

“Do you hear their singing?” she asked. There was a swelling hum that was almost musical if you didn’t think too hard about it as hundreds of worms suddenly began squeezing up through the cracks between the floorboards around her.

“RUN!” Tim put everything he had into his bellow as he cleared the distance in two great strides and slammed into Sasha, tackling her out of the way as Prentiss and the worms sprang for them. She screamed and hit the floor, and honestly a whole lot of worms in the process, which made her scream louder. Tim quickly rolled to one side and onto his back, then sprang to his feet.

Prentiss was close. Too close. And they’d killed a bunch of worms when they landed, but there were still more, and more coming by the second. He leaned over, grabbed Sasha’s arm, and bodily hauled her upright.

“Go! Run!” he shouted, propelling her towards the door.

“Tim! Come on!” Sasha held onto his wrist and dragged him along behind her, still clutching the recorder with her free hand, worms popping and squishing under their feet.

Tim let her until they reached one of the shelves and he realized how full of worms it was. There were…way more than he’d expected, and yet somehow not as many as he would have expected if the Creeping Rot was seriously invading. He shook off the moment of analytical paralysis and let go of Sasha’s hand. “Run! Get help! I’ll hold them off!”

If she heard him, or responded, he didn’t notice; he only noticed that, thank God, she made it out the door of the Archives. Tim blew a raspberry at the shelf full of worms, then turned and bolted for the Archivist’s office. It was the logical choice—it was Ground Zero for the invasion, but also, it was Gertrude’s office. If there was anything in the Archives that could fight off an invasion, it was probably hidden in there somewhere.

Some of the worms leaped at him as he reached the door. He yelped, secure in the knowledge that there was no one to hear him, and dodged to the side to avoid them. Naturally, he overcompensated and tumbled headlong into a pile of boxes holding old case files. Or at least, they should have held old case files. From the solid nature of the things he hit, they didn’t—and from the faint clanking, they were probably fire extinguishers. God bless Martin and his paranoid hoarding.

Tim dove into one of the boxes and came up with an extinguisher. He twisted the pin and yanked it out, aimed the nozzle, and squeezed the trigger.

Just as Sasha had said in her statement, the worms died fairly quickly on contact with the extinguisher. He sprayed, and sprayed, and sprayed, until the extinguisher came up dry, then dropped it, grabbed a new one, and repeated the process. There were too damn many of the things, though, and he couldn’t get out of the office to get at them properly, so it was just…spray them until they stopped coming at him, specifically.

Had Elias actually had the new system installed? Tim vaguely remembered something about men coming to install, but had they…? Yes, yes they had, because the crew boss had gotten into a twenty-minute argument with Jon about it and then insisted on Elias signing about fifty different waivers saying they wouldn’t hold the company accountable if the Archives actually caught fire and the system didn’t do anything, and he recalled now the kid on the crew mentioning offhand that they’d assumed it was a computer archive rather than a paper one. And he’d managed to convince them not to install it in the Document Storage room, so if they managed to get it active, Jon and Martin would be safe.

Tim probably wouldn’t, but he’d suffocate if he had to.

He managed to clear enough space that he could slam the door shut. It wouldn’t help for long, though, since the hole in the wall was right there, but nothing seemed to be coming at him at the moment. He had five…maybe ten seconds’ breathing space. Well, breathing was optimistic. Still…he fished his phone out of his pocket and hit the preset number, then jammed his phone against his ear as he dug for more fire extinguishers. One ring, two, three…

“Delano.” Gerry sounded slightly distracted, like he’d been engrossed in his art, which he probably had been.

“Gerry, I love you,” Tim blurted out before Gerry could say anything else.

“What?” Now Gerry sounded startled, which was fair. Tim calling in the middle of the day was usually met with something joking, and since they rarely said that…

“I love you,” Tim repeated, the words tumbling over one another as he darted his eyes back and forth from the door to the ruins of the shelves. He could hear the squelching, squirming noise, and over it all, in his own head, he could hear the loud ticking of a clock slicing off seconds of his life. He didn’t have time for this, but he didn’t have time for anything else. “Whatever happens, I need you to know that.”

“Tim, what—?” Gerry’s voice sharpened with fear, but Tim had already seen the first worm poke its head out from under the door.

“Gotta go!” He hung up without further ado and kicked viciously at the worm attempting to squeeze through; he killed it, but he also put a noticeable dent in the bottom of the door. Oops.

It wasn’t safe in here. Sasha would get help, she’d—she was smart, she’d figure out a way to activate the fire alarm and get the fire suppressant system working in the Archives, even if there would probably need to be an actual fire to activate it, maybe one of the worms would bite through Mister Megabytes’ cord and short it out. Jon and Martin would be okay in their incredibly defensible position, hopefully, at least long enough for the system to activate; it wasn’t airtight, obviously, but they should be okay. Tim needed to go, though, and it looked like the only way out was to figure out where the worms had been. Probably just a narrow space between the walls, a secret passage that had been boarded up or a temporary wall put in to portion off the building when it was modernized or something. Either way…it wasn’t here.

The hole was bigger than it had been when he’d hauled Jon’s scrawny ass out of the office. Not a surprise, Jane Prentiss had to have got out somehow…God, she’d been in the damn walls. Tim moved a little closer and sucked in a sharp breath, ill advised as that was, when he realized it wasn’t just a gap in the wall. It was a proper tunnel.

Hadn’t Gertrude said the Institute was built more or less right over the remains of Millbank Prison? This could have been part of that original complex. Which meant these could go anywhere, extend for miles under the surface. They probably weren’t in great shape, except that if it was Millbank, it had been designed by Robert Smirke, who built to last. Either way, it also likely meant the space would be a bit more open, so he might be able to get away from the carbon dioxide. On the other hand, it was going to be dark, and he’d need both hands to work the fire extinguishers.

Actually, that was an easy fix. Tim whipped his belt off his waist, threaded it through the buckle, and tugged it around his head so it was almost but not quite snug. Then he activated the torch on his phone and tucked it on one side, then turned on the pocket torch on his keys and stuck that upright on the other before tightening the belt and securing the tang. Definitely not the most elegant thing he’d ever worn, but hardly the worst, and in the absence of a wreath to set candles in it would have to do. He grabbed a trio of extinguishers under one arm, crossed himself, and sent up a quick prayer to Saint Lucy, then plunged into the hole.

It was…dark, obviously, and the light of his improvised crown cast odd shadows on the sides of the tunnels, but it was cool and dry and oddly quiet. At first he thought there were no worms left down here, but then he saw some—moving faster, and much more quietly than they had in the Archives. Something up there, probably Gertrude’s wards, was slowing them down, but down here they were…stealthier. Quieter. A different kind of fear, maybe.

It didn’t matter. Tim unleashed the first of his canisters of carbon dioxide on the batch and watched them die, then ran over their corpses. He had to find…something. An exit. An answer. Fucking Gertrude.

She had to know about this, didn’t she? Was that why she’d put the shelves where she had? To know if something tried to break through that wall? Obviously there had to be other entrances, this couldn’t be completely sealed off…well, Jane Prentiss had got down here somehow, and even if the worms could squeeze through the floorboards, she couldn’t. She’d never mentioned it to Tim…or Gerry, probably…but that didn’t mean she didn’t know about it, only that she didn’t mean to tell them about it. Which meant that she was either not sure of how dangerous it was, or using it as a contingency plan for something. Either way, there was the possibility she was down here somewhere.

There was also the possibility that, if she was down here, she was lost. Hopefully she had enough food to last her a while, because this place was a fucking labyrinth. Tim wasn’t sure if he was more worried about meeting the Minotaur, the Goblin King, or the world’s biggest lab rat, but at least he didn’t sense the Spiral down here, so this was…probably real. Probably not changing. Probably. He didn’t really sense the Buried, either, so there had to be a way out.

He was…definitely a little dizzy. Okay, so maybe pumping six canisters of carbon dioxide into a room he was actively standing in wasn’t the smartest idea, but what was he supposed to do, let them get to him? Or worse, destroy the Archives?

He had to get back up there. Had to find another way up, had to find another way in. If he could get outside and loop in through the side door, maybe he could start a fire and—no! No, he couldn’t actually start a fire, Jon and Martin were trapped in there, even if the fire suppressant system put it out right away they might still get hurt.

Frith in a barn! What a business. The line popped into Tim’s head, and he took a deep breath to center himself. He was starting to think in circles. Right. Focus on getting out, then he could figure out how to save the others and stop Jane Prentiss.

The realization that, if this was the Creeping Rot’s attempt at a ritual, it was likely going to make Jon and Martin sacrifices for its ascension struck Tim at about the same moment as another small wave of worms appeared. He sprayed the fuck out of them with the first of the CO2 canisters and ran, ran like he could outrun his poor decisions, ran like he could outrun his past, ran like he could catch the future before it slipped out of his fingers. Ran like his life and the lives of everyone he cared about depended on him, because they did.

And, of course, he made a wrong turn and found a dead end. No…not a dead end. A room.

A room that was filled with worms. Tim quickly hopped backwards through the door—and then paused in the act of aiming the fire extinguisher. He turned his head slightly and cut his eyes to the side so he had a bit more light and could see better, because the vague impression he got looked…odd, and he needed to make sense of it. Without consciously being aware he was doing it, he crossed himself and recited the old familiar novena to Lucy of Sicily, Santa Lucia, bringer of light, patron saint of the blind and those who wanted clearer sight.

And his eyes opened, and he Saw.

The worms were knitting themselves together, weaving themselves into a solid mass. The structure rose into the air, creeping up the wall. Two structures, really—two columns, curving slightly in on themselves, not quite meeting but getting closer by the second. Silent but fast, the worms crawled up over their brethren and twined themselves into the ends, securing in loops and links and chains. It would take so little time for them to meet. At the rate they were going, Tim estimated another ten minutes, tops, before the two halves connected into an arch.

Into a doorway.

“Not on my turf, bitch,” Tim snarled. His voice echoed oddly in a way he wasn’t entirely sure had to do with the tunnels but couldn’t spare the brainpower to think about just then. He dropped the two spare canisters to the ground, raised the nozzle of the one he’d already started using, and squeezed the trigger hard.

The gas hissed as it dispensed into the room. The worms didn’t scream—of course they didn’t, that would be ridiculous, they didn’t have mouths—but he felt them screaming to the core of his being as the ones he touched with the carbon dioxide died. Not enough of them. Not nearly enough. He squeezed and sprayed until the fire extinguisher was empty, then dropped it to the ground, snatched up the next one, and sprayed it into the room as well. It was definitely getting harder to breathe by the time that one was spent, but Tim was absolutely not finished. Coughing violently, he scooped up the third one, backed out of the doorway, and sprayed it into the room, filling it like a hellish steam room.

Maybe Gertrude would have had a better solution, but hey, it was Tim’s first time disrupting a ritual. And he was improvising a bit.

He wasn’t stupid enough to think that was the end of it, though. He’d disrupted the portal, but Jane Prentiss was still out there and she was still going to try…even if she couldn’t bring the Corruption into the world fully now, she might still hurt his people if he didn’t find them and get them out. He hefted the canister to gauge if there was still anything in it. Felt like there was.

Right. Tim backed further down the corridor until he was far enough away from the tendrils of carbon dioxide that he could safely take a deep breath, then turned on his heel, squared his shoulders, and kept moving. Briefly, he touched the Saint Anthony’s medal beneath his shirt and murmured a quick plea for assistance—hey, Lucy had done him a solid back there, no reason to think the other saints wouldn’t get in on it—before focusing his attention on finding his way out of the tunnels, back to the Archives, and back to stopping Jane Prentiss.

Back to saving the others. Back to saving the world.

Gertrude had left him in charge. She had trusted him with her Archives in her absence. He had to keep proving himself worthy of that.

[rookiesdays]

Sacred Games Ch1: Policeman's Day

First time reading and it opened with a dog got hurt? well okay bro, that's unexpected I thought it would be like in a calm environment but no straight to the let's hurt anything that's alive in this earth. Oh there's domestic violence not graphic but still make me shocked? Since I never read books with Indian setting kinda hard to remember the character's name.

"There was a promise in the grim arches, in the thickness of the walls and the uncompromising weight of the façades, there was the reassurance of bulky power, and so law and order" (Page 7)

Okaaay as an architecture student? I could visualize this one and I love the quote.

So inspector Sartaj is the main character, he's having some crisis about his own future, on his word 'he is past forty, divorced and barely have achievement like the rest.

Anyway I love it when a writer describe foods the character eat, it will make it more memorable like tengkleng that Laut Biru always eat with his family from the book The Sea Speaks His Name. Now on this chapter Sartaj eat uttapam, I search the recipe looks delish buuuuut bruh I don't understand the ingredients and where to get it. Anywaaaaayyyy back to the topic.

Okayyyyy? I never really read something like this before but I like the writing style, as someone who have a hard time visualizing when I read fiction books this one? this one is kinda different since I can visualize it clearly on my head. Another scene is where a thirteen years old boy doesn't want to go to school, shout at his parents, the mother of this boy take him to the police, she's damn tired of him, now how the scene unfold is easy to understand, easy to visualize it, somehow I could create movies on my head when reading it, even though usually I couldn't imagine anything everytime I read fiction books.

Another interaction. is this will be another character that I like I wonder? a manager of restaurant and bar, Shambhu if I remember correctly he's 24 at the first glance, as if you could glance at a fictional written character, anywayyy the first impression of him is he probably the type of a character that too chill in every situation with his swaggery persona.

I love the humor in this book, match my own, I'm cackling here and there. Some found family trope, Sartaj interaction with Majid family aaaawwww. Then another case, happened someone died after drinking with their friends. I listen to playlist for traveling in empty places by nobody, the vibes match makes me feel somber while reading it.

Aaaan done, I'm done reading the first chapter. It's character driven, I guess? we can see much later is it plot driver on character one. The vibe is immaculate, I feel like watching movies without really doing it, imagination and scenario start to filled my heads up. I love the vibe, this is something that I enjoy reading.

[seeking-sanity]

Climbing Mountains

I never imagined myself hiking a mountain. 4,802ft at that... I never had a desire to spend time walking up a hill to walk back down, just to say I did it.

What I also never knew, was how much that hike would change my self reflection.

I have struggled with so many esteem issues. Weight being my "best handled", self-acceptance, self-worth, personal value, capability... being fully transparent, I didn't think I would ACTUALLY do it. I've never done more than hills, and really avoided those at most costs. I wanted to do this, because I was challenged. I wanted to do this because I said I could... to someone willing to hold me accountable.

I woke up far too early on a Saturday, completely ill-prepared... Ate the wrong breakfast [and regretted it for the rest of the day], drank too much water too fast, and wanted to quit on myself more times than I would ever admit...

I heard a man that has patiently showed me a kind love, a caring compassion, a friendly banter; tell me I could do it. Over and over. "just keep taking the next step, you got this." he was probably sick of saying it... I heard the sincerity in his voice at the trail head as he promised me we could turn back at any point...

we had driven 4 hours in moderately annoying traffic. I insisted on blasting a mystery playlist a zune I had incidently recently found and charged. I sang in my out of tune, doesn't really know all the proper lyrics and makes em up as I go, top of my lungs, 2000s angst voice.

He laughed at me and gently persuaded the skip button through the most annoying songs of our youth. Limewire downloads that digitally decayed over time, only one skip away from finding a vintage CD collection and a discman with the OG skull candy...

I insisted on bug spray, pushing the "i got this" confidence to the max with the deet 40 and fly spray... he spent the entire day helping me acheive goals I didn't know I had...

We got to the top of the moutain in 5 hours, the goal was 4 up 4 down. We made our day in 8. With breaks, and pictures, and a backpackers lunch at the summit. We shared a few moments with other hikers along the way... but what I didn't realize, until now- weeks later... we shared something more- trust.

I trusted this man with my life. Literally. I trusted him to accept my limits, push my boundaries, and accepted his encouragement when I had nothing left in me. We stood together on a 4802ft mountain, but it was the absolute top of the world.

It has been my experience, that people don't invest in people like me. People don't put effort into climbing walls, breaking gates, tending gardens filled with every sign of neglect. It would have been easy for him to quit on me too. To turn back, to act in any manner other than the gentle strength he shared to get me there.

It has been my experience that people I would do anything for, will do so little in return. I have raised children I didn't bear, paid bills that were not my own, funded vacations to places I didn't want to see. I have always only ever gotten what was easy. Effort, rarely at best.

This man... this kind, sweet man- has only ever gotten the most authentic me. the "take me as I am", the hardened shell after abusive heartbreak. He has gotten the reaction to assumed intention, the lash out of familiar behaviors even though he didn't follow the trend, he has gotten the "i'm not running, but I'm not trying either" version of me most of the time...

Not to say I'm reckless. Or that I disregard his feelings. I just- was waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to fall into fitting the same mold...

This man proves daily, in a thousand consistent ways, he is different.

I don't beg for attention, I don't lack it either. I don't exhaust myself looking for activities, he makes an effort to plan dates too. I don't search for a connection constantly, insecure that it will cease to exist at any time... it just blooms. Like mountain laurel on the appalachain, beautiful. simple. strong, well rooted.

I climbed a mountain, with a man I wanted to spend time with. What I found on top of that mountain, was the insight to a man that was finding ways to show me everything beautiful. To share the moment with me.

The top of that mountain was a moment I hadn't even thought about, taking credit for the work it took to get there. The "don't quit" that was said so gently, screaming echos in my soul... he believed in me, for what seemed impossible to me.

We hiked back down that mountain, my whole body felt different. I appreciated it more. I was capable. I am strong. I walked beside the man that is making me believe I am as beautiful as the sun rising over the peaks... I hiked down that mountain with a confidence, a feeling of overwhelming success. Everyone else has quit on me, fell short of being willing to cheer me on for one more step... I conquer a mountain with a man that didn't quit for either of us. He never lost patience, never lost confidence in making it to the top- and back down- and out. My steps were so much lighter. Recognizing the gift that hike was. For me, believing I could do it. For me, excited to take on more. For me, seeing a man stand beyond every trauma response pre-determined thought process... For me, making it beyond the self imposed limits, walls- that I had so carefully lived behind...

I walked down that mountain leaving behind every insecurity I had let the past burden me with. I walked down the mountain next to a man willing to stand beside me for ALL the mountains, all the ups and downs. A man willing to believe in me, even when it is hard. That keeps rooting for us, when I'm letting me drag us down. That is willing to take ONE.MORE.STEP with me.

We left that trail head, and sat in the car... exhausted. 11.41 miles of pushing my body and mind to its self imposed limits. I looked at him, smiling a big goofy smile. He laughed a little, and asked me what mountain I wanted to do tomorrow.

Do the thing you didn't think you'd ever do. Believe you can do it. Go for the one you always wondered about...

Climb the mountain.

[wingsdreamt]

steeleidolon​:

If only.

If only they’d known to say something. If only they could have seen past the walls of their assumptions. If only, if only, if only they were less myopic in the moment. Kunsel finds himself at once mute and thunderstruck, resonating like a beaten gong, mouth and eyes open. Jaw dropped, staggered but for the stillness of face in hands, hands on face, balanced leg over leg.

They have no way of knowing what could have happened. They were operating with the flawed information they had and the examples all around them. The machine of war, relentless, constant, driving, driven, drowned out all else. Expectations and demands precluded humanity in its men. ShinRa subdues what it prohibits, and if it persists then they capitalize on it, wring it for all that it is worth. Masters of surveillance, masters of leverage, unpredictable pressures subject to the whims of those at the helm.

If, if, if. They do not know, they cannot know, and between them, ‘regret’ is forbidden.

They are beyond the reach of their former taskmasters. They are here, buried like splinters beneath the Company’s skin. They are here, now, together, after years. After maybe-nevers, with all the clarity of distance and understanding.

The past is training. Mistakes are an opportunity to learn. To do it right. To do better. They have time. It’s not too late. 

Silence gives way to a hum. Thoughtful. Agreement. And then to trembling shoulders, to laughter that breaks, cascades, a tumult - and sure, maybe his initial 'hahaha’ makes him look and sound unhinged. Maybe he is unhinged. Something has certainly shaken loose. Tears in his eyes, on his face, awe and wonder and a smile that makes his cheeks ache, Kunsel laughs as the lines connect. Laughs at himself, at Zack, at both of them. At their idiocy.

At their fortune. Fortune favors the foolish, it seems.

Laughing. Warm and full, soft, overwhelmed, overjoyed.

Kunsel’s silver tongue fails him at the moment. Words fail him altogether, but some things require none. This energy demands movement - a slide of arms around Zack’s neck, a tilt of chin to seal lips together, chuffs muffled to puffs of breath through his nose. Closer with a shift of thighs, Kunsel abandons most of his seat to perch atop Zack’s spread knees.

Alive. Against all odds, alive.

And home.

The sound is contagious. Laughter, in this hidden space away from the rest of the world that used to be so lonely. Warm with life, with promise and admission. A place to call home, even if home was never a place.

“I love you,” Zack can’t help but murmur again with the just-enough space between them to breathe. “A lot,” he adds through a shaky, nervously giddy exhale and a nuzzle.

They could bury themselves beneath the weight of the dreaded ‘L’ word and to Zack it still would not be enough. If that makes him a fool, then at least he's a romantic one. Nothing could lessen the smile on his face as he pushes his nose against Kunsel’s cheek and breathes in. He does not mind that his nose gets a little wet.

Zack slides his palms over leatherbound muscle, starting at Kunsel’s knees, kneading, curling his fingers, and smoothing all the way up to Kunsel’s hips. Another concerted sniff against a cheek, then grazing of lips back to Kunsel's mouth to rekindle the loss of connection. 

There is no rush. They have time, their time, whenever this may be, this mysterious fixed point that exists only behind the whisper of air scrubbers and filters beneath the ground. 

And he’s a much better kisser now than when he was starting out– plus the added benefit of knowing what to do with his hands. Hands that thread up Kunsel’s torso as he deepens their kiss, trailing desire through fingertips over firm muscle. His left hand comes to rest over the beat of Kunsel’s heart, trapping body-warmed dog tags against the steadily increasing moderato of his pulse. A tempo Zack’s heart probably mirrors, especially as he rubs his right thumb against the rounded end of a nipple piercing and tilts his head away to break the seal of their lips to instead lavish attention along the column of Kunsel’s throat. 

Then, dropping his hands to clasp them right beneath the seat of Kunsel’s pants, Zack rises from his seat to walk them both towards the sleeping pallet. 

[reddtea]

Lonnie Machin, Anarky

I think this character has been done pretty dirty, though starting off he didn't really have a great impact or was all that endearing. He was really just an excuse for Alan Grant to go off about Anarchy philosophy so this character just went off with these massive walls of text in his speech bubbles at Batman while Batman is trying to fight him, usual hero villain fare. Which I'd imagine didn't make him a particularly approachable character when it comes to writing. It would probably be a good idea to do a bit of research to figure out what the anarchism philosophy is before you're trying to write a character that's supposed to be very intelligent and knowledgable about the political school of thought he's supposedly driven by. From a panel I've attended about comic book writing I don't get the impression that writers are given a ton of time to really think and stew on their idea for long running stories that a character like this would seriously benefit from, to you know avoid word vomiting all over a single given comic issue.

So to keep the character a bit more concise and to not think to much on a character that isn't notable enough to be anything more than a one off beat em up and move on you get a Lonnie who's a loser joker wannabe (as if we don't have enough of joker) or an Anarky that's espousing a straw man version of whatever the author hates about the opposing political party to their own (making the work kind of feel empty and dated). I get it investing in making a nobody character is probably not worth the limited time and issues available when it's not an immediate Cashcow that you know Joker to be. --- I get it I get it. However as a person with their own canon version of characters. This part is gonna be about my Lonnie... First off I needed to trim off some aspects of Red hood simply because of the certain events I want to happen to him that just make others not viable for that character anymore. because of that Lonnie is Jason's best friend basically a brother from the very beginning and to the very end. Additional reasons is that Jason should have friends in his formative years as Robin and I think I've heard of something saying that Lonnie was considered as a possible Robin number 3. So here I want him to be kind of a Robin 2.5 so he's not really a Robin but can still technically cover for him but he mostly watches over Jason as a pre killing joke Oracle before Barbara gets paralyze and actually gets to become Oracle. I also think it could be a fun source of a rumor that Robin 2 is ginger because a thug saw Lonnie covering as Robin, lose his black wig for a moment and just assumed that Robin is actually a ginger kid pretending to have black hair.

Second Lonnie can be a counter weight to Jason's gung ho attitude towards being Robin letting himself get really invested and excited about taking on the role and responsibility. Letting Jason do anything to make Bruce and Dick proud as Lonnie approaches the Batman business with a lot of wariness never really being 100% on board with Batman's brand of justice. Partly I was thinking that Lonnie's mother is an overworked single parent, who works as a unit clerk at a ER desk. So she sees and complains to Lonnie about all the injuries that come in of which she can tell are from Batman or some other nonsense. Sometimes discussing her frustrations with higher ups (sometimes Bruce Wayne) that don't understand how the hospital really operates constantly trying to make her job harder. So Lonnie never really likes Bruce or Batman that much.

Third someone to mourn Jason. Lonnie doesn't actually go off the deep end and want to ruin Bruce for just the loss of his best friend. While he blames him for Jason's death, he comes to accept that there's not much else to be done in the end but to pay respects and remember him in his heart. That doesn't mean that Lonnie handles grief well, deciding to cut himself off from Bruce not providing tech support and getting drunk by himself. Lonnie resents Batman but understands what's done is done. He's never going to see his brother by bond again. Fourth Lonnie becomes Anarky when he catches wind that Batman has the nerve to get a new Robin working for him. Anarky is ready to rally and tear down Batman because this Robin is just some asshole rich kid with some tech skills, blind loyalty and holier than thou attitude about Batman's justice. Going on and on about how Batman NEEDS a Robin. Jason his best friend has been replaced by an annoying new Robin who thinks he's better than him, looks down at Park row (crime alley) and calls Jason an unfortunate accident and "batman's greatest failure". Lonnie loses it and goes on the warpath against Batman. Fifth this Lonnie is the one to make Redhood a name on the streets. The sort of name that means sanctuary for the denizens of Crime Alley cutting it out as special section of the city that looks out for it's own and doesn't welcome cops or Batman and Robin into it. The only problem with Anarky trying to cut out his own little turf of Gotham is that he doesn't really have the strength or the guts to enforce and protect Park Row to make it what he wants. So he's sort of stuck striking deals and cowtowing to some mobs that he doesn't like too much (black mask) . It's not until he runs into Jason that they're able to rule over Park Row as they dreamed as kids even if Jason doesn't completely remember what that is. Sixth I'm not totally sure about this one tbh, but I was considering the idea of Lonnie's mother's name being Jenny. Changing her name from Jeanie and running away, when she caught on that her husband was going to do work with the Redhood gang...yeah, with Lonnie not ever knowing who his real dad is. Having Joker mess with him calling him son because Lonnie is conflated with the Red hood moniker and enjoying the thought of screwing with the kid who calls himself Anarky, as the crown prince of chaos. All the while not knowing that the Robin he murdered and Anarky were best friends basically brothers and that Lonnie, Joker's actual biological son with the only woman he's ever cared about, absolutely HATES his guts. This is my Lonnie. I don't think I've ever really expanded much on what his character was so this is kind of the plan going forward with this character in my version of Batman.

here's a few drawings

[system-of-a-feather]

Do you have any tips on trying to self learn martial arts? I was looking specifically at Muay Thai, because it uses elbows and knees, but literally anything is good, I just have no clue where to start.

-Riley

Muay Thai is one of my favorites as stated before so great choice honestly. The thing with Muay Thai though is that a lot of the strikes do best when you can actually strike something as a lot of the strikes use a lot of momentum, and some of the fancier kicks can really be hard to preform in a shadow boxing manner due to how you have to move - so self learning Muay Thai will likely hit a wall at a certain point unless you have a sparing partner, a kick shield set up, or a good heavy punching bag since having that physical contact and grounded weighted "opponent" is caked into some of the moves.

With that being said, a lot of the core fundamentals and body shit for Muay Thai is more than still possible to practice at home without even having a bag or any target other than a good and proper wall (and light switch if you wanna have fun with it)

For example, a lot of Muay Thai moves and basics comes from the general stance (videos below) and the general way to stand while kicking and blocking as - if you didn't know - kicking often puts you on one leg and there is a form of balance and control that needs to be learned to get any of the kicks landing solidly.

For that in particular, most people would learn the basic stance and basic theory of how to stand and kick from someone else experienced (usually in person, but you can definitely find it online) and then usually one of the tips for people struggling is to go home find a wall and lift your leg up and tap the wall with your toes before bring it back. You could also learn the theory of the jab kick and do that specifically, but if you are learning the balance, so much as just using one leg to touch the wall is a good place to start. A particularly fun but "totally not recommended childish" thing is to do this exact thing, but to flick a light switch on and off. It'd piss off any home owner and you dont want to *kick* it on and off, but it is really good for getting that one legged balance and foot dexterity while feeling like a stupid child about it.

Once you get the general balance down, itd look into basic foot work (helps with fluidity and masking tells, this is something you should work on chronically though if you are dedicated), the jab / push kick (for distancing), low roundhouse, and blocking with the legs from some of the dedicated youtube stuff.

Additionally, if you have a friend that either is a masochist that trusts you, you can also run through the motions of strikes and keep the force to like 5% and / or pull back / pull the kicks and not actually strike them, but I would not recommend that to newbies or people without martial arts training since kicks, particularly high momentum driven ones like round houses, can be hard to control if you aren't confident and used to them.

I'm shocked we havent gotten the police called on us for the amount of times we just casually start a kick or punch or strike at our fiance but either not actually hitting him or stopping and then just tapping him playfully.

Also, if you do have a friend that would also be interested, you could always benefit massively by both just getting decent quality shin guards and actually sparing because sparring practice is one of the best ways to learn practical Muay Thai and it makes me kinda sad we only had time to go to a few of the sparring sessions.

I don't follow as much Muay Thai stuff on youtube as much cause I'm a Wing Chun Primary Simp and I'm currently focusing on expanding Wing Chun skills and repertoire but some of the links below I generally skimmed seemed decent starting introduction stuff and the channels - if you like them - probably have more in depth explanations for things than I could put in a single text post.

This first one looks good, it is a bit heavy so I wouldn't suggest all of this in one day and it is a lot for one time but it seems a good brief coverage of a lot of things you could practice.

The second one seems less in depth in the explanations on how to do things, but it seems more beginner friendly in terms of pacing and information.

That being said for both of these I only skimmed them so I might be wrong.

-XIV

[realmofimagines]

Her (Leon S. Kennedy x Reader)

Wordcount: 725 Content: angst, cheating, swearing, mentions of alcoholism  Request:  Leon kennedy infinite darkness I can't I love him I would really love if you did something with leon cheating on reader and the aftermath of him Note: aaaa a lovely bit of angst to get the day going 

“With who?”

Your heart had just been shattered on the spot. Ripped out, chewed up, torn apart, smelted into glass and quite literally stomped on. Your body flushed into fight or flight but instead you froze, unable to process anything other than the burning question on your mind as you stared across at the flinching man in front of you.

“Please,” you stated, your lips wet with tears, “please don’t tell me it was her.”

Leon had barely opened his mouth, but his face spoke a thousand words before his voice did. You could tell, even past his dark, tired eyes, you just knew. It was her, Ada, it had always been her. The femme fetale, the mercenary, the woman who’s name you hated hearing on Leon’s tongue. The very woman he swore to you had only saved his life and just that — she was nothing more, nothing less to him. Until now.

You couldn’t bear to look at him and you turned away, feeling your lungs squeeze as you started to hyperventilate. Your entire future, your home, the bed you shared with him, your life — all for him just for him to lay with another woman. The thought flared alight a rage you’d never experienced, which seemed to focus entirely on the photograph you and Leon had framed when you’d moved in together. A Polaroid from Raccoon City — a sour memory shared between trauma-bonded lovers, now just a joke. 

You gripped the frame between shaking fingers, and turned towards him. You tossed it with such a violent anger that even he ducked with fear, his arms shielding his head as it crashed and smashed and splintered behind him against the wall. 

“Fuck you, Leon,” you stated shakily, trying to maintain some of your dignity by not breaking down in front of him. “Fuck. You.”

That was the last conversation you’d shared. His desperate texts and calls had been unanswered by you, but not necessarily ignored. You’d certainly read and listened, but for your own sake you’d refused to respond.

When you’d left, you’d taken a piece of him with you. He could never comprehend what compelled him to sleep with Ada, and he fought and bargained with himself over the reason each day and each night. And with those timeless days he would drown himself in his sorrows, drinking far more than his liver could probably cope with. Ada held his affection in the palm of her hand like putty, and he’d succumbed to her manipulation for his own self-gratification, as if it were worth it.

Claire and Leon grew distant. Initially she’d tried getting him back on his feet (after a good talking to, of course), but he’d only retreated inside the hardened, guilt-driven shell he’d formed following your breakup. He was more reckless on missions, putting himself in near suicidal situations as if he’d just stopped caring about the outcome. Claire couldn’t support that, and ceased contact with him. 

He’d seen Ada again because, frankly, he was desperate to feel something. But even when sleeping with her he’d failed to reach his finish, her touch far too tarnished by precious, poisonous memories for him to even enjoy the simplest pleasures of the flesh. 

You’d bumped into one another at a coffee shop. It was bound to happen since you were both regulars, and for a brief moment he felt a spark of warmth, so much so that he’d even smiled for the first time in months. But you’d quickly run away, and his smile soon cracked upon really noticing your appearance. You’d lost weight and looked pale in the face, which was adorned with such a pained expression that he’d nearly burst into tears on the spot. 

The next time he’d seen you was at a bar, approximately a month later. You were glowing, having gained back the unhealthy weight you lost, and you genuinely seemed happy. When you’d spotted him, instead of looking horrified, you looked sorry for him. You pitied him, and that made him feel worse.

Why had he done it? Why had he gone and ruined the most pure part of his life? For the sake of an orgasm? To indulge in the fantasy of another woman? None of it was worth it. Nothing was ever worth it anymore, not now that you were gone.

[ronnieiswriting]

Sweet Dreams- Boxer!Paz x Baker!Freader

Inspired by the events of Foul (following straight after) and the Boxer Din AU created and written by the wonderful, amazing, brilliantly talented @djarinsbeskar! WC: 1,641 Tags: 18+, mentions of smut, its a smutty AU ya'll know the drill, sickeningly sweet fluff I have been driven to write this to deal with all my Paz thots- it will become very clear that I make up for the fact that I can't write hot smut by writing the softest shit. Excuse the lack of editing, also, its quite the mess x

After Din had stormed off with his “not-girlfriend” at Avika, Paz was more than ready to go home right then and there, thoroughly unwanting to deal with the feral frenzy that Din had stirred up in and out the ring. But there was no doubt that there would be more calls for blood. And even if that weren’t the case- even if Din wasn’t on the lists tonight- Paz had to stay.

It was his job after all. And one he enjoyed more often than not.

But when he thought about you, Paz’s priorities became trivial- like dust in the wind.

He hadn’t been dating you for long but he already knew that he was in deep. To Paz, you were the one that hung the stars in the sky; you, a hardworking baker with a smile that made his heart ache and hips that made his cock twitch. It was love, the realest he’d ever found, and every day he swore his gratitude to whatever force had sent him to you.

It was almost a taunt to watch Din leave Avika with his “not-girlfriend” tucked into his side- he’d been disqualified from any more fights that night but he couldn’t look any less content about it- when Paz had to stay behind with nothing but the thoughts of you waiting for him back at his place to keep him company.

To pass a bit of time between the words that were being exchanged between Boba and Din’s opponent’s trainer, Paz checked his phone- his mood instantly brightened when he saw a notification from you.

From: Sugar Cookie💖

Hey babe, I just got home. Did you feed Kitty yet? He’s begging me for food rn but I know he’s probs got a full belly and is just being a little gobble guts lol. sent 4:13am

I gave him a tinyyy bit of kibble to hold him over in case you didn’t. Kitty knows I can’t resist him. Sorry for messaging you at work btw. I know you’re busy xx Love you xx sent 4:19am

Paz checked the current time. 5:30am. Shit. He must’ve missed the buzz of the notification amidst the chaos. Usually, your shifts at the bakery ended closer to midnight but he knew you to be a hard worker, proud of the bakery you ran by yourself, and always likely to get caught up in a task until it was done to a high standard. It was just another thing for Paz to love about you.

His thumbs hovered over the reply box; you had probably already gone to bed, exhausted from your own long day of work. He couldn’t bring himself to disturb you but he pushed past that doubt a second later, typing out a response, softened when he reread your messages about his kitten.

“Vizsla!” Boba’s voice pulled him back into reality. “Are you listening at all? This does concern you.”

Paz managed an easy half-lie, fingers tapping away as he switched contacts and began typing another message, “I’m sending Din a text- trying to figure out what started all this.”

…

When Paz finally did get home it was pushing 8am. Expecting to find you curled up in his bed, comfortably asleep, he was shocked to see you as soon as he opened the door to his apartment. You were propped up against a wall of cushions on his couch with a book resting in your lap and his kitten snoozing on your chest. Head thrown back and peacefully still, he could tell you were fast asleep.

Just the sight of you, the shape of your body outlined by the drape of the blanket that was thrown over you, your features illuminated by the warm light of the lamp, the splay of your hair over the pillows- just looking at you relieved him of so much of the stress he had carried home. His eyes traced over your form, picking out the dip and curve of your hips, and he was struck again with the amount of love he had for you. He still couldn’t believe how quickly he had developed such deep feelings for you but that fact made them no less sincere. The softness and simple intimacy (whether that be primarily sexual or emotional) that your company alone promised never ceased to amaze him.

Trying to be as quiet as he could manage, Paz shut the door behind him, put his backpack down by the door, and crossed the room to kneel down at your side. He considered leaving you there for the rest of the night- if he did he could go take a nap and then come back and wake you up by eating you out before making you breakfast- but ultimately he wanted to, needed to sleep next to you… and he couldn’t manage that on the couch.

He got the best sleep when you stayed the night, your chest made a far better pillow and your arms though relatively small provided him with so much warmth that he would be more than content to sleep without any covers (which happened sometimes when you hoarded the blankets).

Paz let out a silent sigh and reached out to stroke the hair away from your face. You stirred in response and he leaned in to press a kiss to your nose, “Hey, baby, it’s just me.”

You let out a soft moan, eyes scrunching up before blinking open, looking up at him blearily, “Paz~”

His heart could have burst at the sound of your gentle voice laden with sleep. Carefully so as not to disturb your place, Paz eased the book from your fingers. The exhaustion was palpable on your face, the weight of many hours of work pulling at the edges of your eyes. “I thought you’d be in bed by now.”

You eased yourself up on the cushions, one hand bracing the kitten against your chest. “I wanted to stay up for you. I didn’t mean to doze off.” Fuck. Paz was slipping his arms under you faster than you could process and when he stood you were tucked against his chest, kitten, blanket and all. You didn’t even seem bothered by the shift, curling your fingers into the neckline of his shirt. The simple touch drove him wild- the burn of your warm skin against his throat like a blowtorch- and the fact that you seemed oblivious to that only made him ache for you more.

When he had gotten you halfway to the bedroom you spoke again in that voice that threatened sleep, “I would've been able to stay up for you if I didn’t have to spend three hours on a last minute order for a wedding cake.”

Paz opened the door with his hip. “You don’t have to say yes to every job you know.”

“I know- but the couple was so sweet, I couldn’t say no. Plus they paid me double and half on top because of the short notice.”

He laid you out on the bed and replaced the throw blanket with his thick quilt, kitten moving to curl up beside your head on the pillow. The comfortable setting was luring you quickly to sleep again but you were still determined to see him next to you before you shut your eyes again fully. When he didn’t immediately join you, you frowned.

Paz eased the crease in your brow with a kiss there, “Don’t pout, sweetheart. I just gotta take a shower.” He could have skipped one for now, knowing you wouldn’t protest his sweaty skin, but he wanted to be rid of the flecks of blood that had stuck to him, everything that had stuck to him from that ring, before he touched you. You started to protest but Paz silenced you with a searing kiss to your lips, “I won’t be long, I promise.”

If he had thought you would be back asleep by the time he finished he was fooling himself. You scooched backwards on the mattress and petted the space you made in front, “come here.”

Paz went willingly, instantly. He eased back the covers and shuffled in next to you, clad only in a pair of boxers, hands instantly finding your skin to greedily palm the warmth that radiated from you. You cozied up to him just as naturally, arms wrapping around his neck so that he could tuck his face against the crook of your neck. With the covers pulled over the both of you, Paz felt surrounded by your presence and it calmed any remaining stress he had.

Although he had reprimanded Din for taking a violent approach to defending a woman’s honor, Paz couldn’t deny the fact that he’d be just as likely to take a similar action if anyone spoke about you like that- just thinking about those vile, entitled words directed at you made his jaw clench subconsciously. And yet just as soon as that anger stirred up in him, it dissipated again, soothed by the thump of your heart against his chest and the delicate fan of air you puffed over his damp skin.

He was reminded of the first time he told you he loved you; not long ago, in the middle of a good hard fuck when he had you by the hip, lost in the emotion of your eyes to the point where his confession had come out as a babble that became a mantra that he punctuated with each thrust of his hips. You had been on the verge of tears then, overstimulated and shaking, when you returned the words to him from your own lips: I love you too.

“I love you.” Paz whispered.

You snuggled against him tighter, a sleepy sigh escaping you when his hands ran up and down your sides. “I love you too.”

[sukirichi]

earned it [06]

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it. But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins. He also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

cw. attempted murder and suicide, angst ig i feel nothing at this point because NAOYA 😭

notes. i’m rolling with the earned it jokes that reader is shippable with everyone so HAH enjoy this chapter because I didn’t enjoy the last LMAO (IM SO EXCITED FOR TOJI TO APPEAR!)

series masterlist

Your muscles throbbed, the pounding of your heart felt even through your skin. You’ve spent hours in the training room, taking punch by punch, landing blow by blow – yet no matter how hard you tried, you kept falling on your ass. At this point, your backside was beyond sore, skin drenched with sweat and clothes sticking uncomfortably to the surface. Meanwhile, your ‘savior’ barely felt the need to catch his breath, instead gazing down at you with disappointment written all over his face.

“Why do you expect so much from me?” you panted, fists clenched on the mat. “Didn’t you tell me you just needed me to get your money back and that’s it? I didn’t ask for you to do anything so stop telling me I’m indebted to you all the time.”

Naoya clicked his tongue, clearly disappointed by your lack of resolve. Above you, he swept up his cane and finally balanced himself. You previously thought he didn’t struggle because he looked so calm and composed, easily overpowering you even with his injury, but his lips were strained, jaw clenched tight that perhaps he was just good at concealing his pain. It made you shut up and watch his every move; his back faced you – probably to hide whatever fleeting moment of vulnerability he had.

“I won’t always be there to save your sorry life,” he said calmly, “You need to learn how to be strong on your own no matter how tough it gets. Now if you’ll keep complaining instead of finishing your training, I could happily lock you up and force you to do my dirty work for me.”

“Then why don’t you go ahead?!”

“I don’t want to,” Naoya responded without missing a beat. He easily closed the distance with a few staggered steps, his head tilted to the side as he surveyed you.

You wondered what went through his mind. Did he see a weak woman? A woman who must be so helpless, so useless that you stayed there, legs too tired and muscles aching too much you couldn’t move? There was no telling with Naoya, and his guarded gaze didn’t help either. Satoru had always been difficult to read at most, but with Naoya – it was practically impossible.

Even as he cupped your chin and twisted it sideways, his eyes narrowed over all your features like he saw something you didn’t, he was too guarded.

“I need you in taking down Gojo Satoru. In order to accomplish that, I have to use his weakness against him. You showing up won’t be enough. No, I want to hurt him…and what better way than to take what was once his, right? Dangle right in front of his eyes what he let go of, make him regret his actions?” his smile turned dark, and for the first time since you’ve met him, you got a glance of what his heart really looked like.

It wasn’t true that Naoya was heartless – no, he just had a dark, sinister heart that didn’t beat the same tune as others. He played his own music with the bones of his enemies, drinking their lifeline from a gold cup and drowning in them, his ominous laughter the perfect antithetical melody of what could’ve been angelic hums.

“Don’t you want that?”

His question made your heart skipped a beat. This whole time, you’ve been so hell bent on achieving something, but what you wanted to reach had never been clear. You were too driven by emotions, by the pain Satoru’s absence had caused, and now that the opportunity was presented before you, you faltered.

“I don’t know what I want.”

“Well, if you ask me what I want…” he tilts your chin up with his finger “It would be to see you strong enough that even you would be capable of taking me down. So be strong, keep fighting – I’ll be there with you every step of the way. You only have one job, and that is to live. I am not allowing you to give up at the slightest of minor inconveniences.”

“And if I get weak?” you questioned with an oscillating tremor, the bite of his cold skin against your heated ones spiking. “If I want to give up? Would I fail you then?”

“I don’t think you’re someone who cares about failing others, so don’t fret whether you’d please me or not,” Just like that, Naoya’s scornful tone had risen again. He let go of you until you dropped down to your palms, blinking back at the sudden change of atmosphere. “Like I said, just do what you need to do, keep going. Don’t look back or be afraid to take the next big step because I’ll always be there right beside you.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“I’m not asking you to, princess,” he snickered, already half way to the door that only he was allowed to go in. Even though you’ve been staying in his manor for quite some time, there were still some things Naoya didn’t trust you with, leaving you only more curious to find out the secrets within.

“Only time will tell. But once you’ve made your decision, know that my ring is always waiting beside your table,” his voice echoed through the large room, stopping in his tracks to look at you once more. This time, he had no haunting features, only the cold emptiness likened to staring back to an infinite void of nothingness.

“I expect an answer when I get home.”

You still remembered the day you decided to wear his ring. Naoya had come then, tired and aggravated from matters he didn’t bother explaining. You stood on his doorway, lips shut tight as you nervously fiddled with your ring, unsure if whether you should tell him or allow him to piece the puzzle himself.

Thankfully, Naoya was a lot more observant than you gave him credit for.

His eyes slid over your face before he followed the motion of your fingers, smirking as the jewel glinted under the bright lights of his home. Wise choice, he’d once told you, and you believed it.

Your life hadn’t been the same ever since. Your spontaneous marriage equated to hellish training of perfecting your image as his trophy wife, spending hours in his secret laboratory and discussing business plans through a glass of wine. Naoya wasn’t around much to teach you everything and it pained him to be your own trainer too so you had to ask help from his guards, refusing to give up and fall down even as your muscles screamed at you to take a break. For Naoya, with Naoya, giving up and running away felt like a myth; a buried solution in the past that should never be brought up again. But now that he was gone, you did exactly that.

You’d given up. Satoru had made you run away.

“Miss,” a deep voice cut you from your thoughts. You tore your gaze away from the  glowing night city of Milan to turn to Satoru’s right hand man, the tall figure looming rather shyly instead of imposingly. “You haven’t eaten since we got here. Would you like anything? Mr. Gojo will cover your expenses.”

“I want to go home.”

He froze at your deadpan statement. Finally meeting your gaze under his lashes, Geto pursed his lips. “You know we can’t do that, Miss. It’s unsafe back in Japan.”

“And who’s to say Toji won’t follow us here?” you snapped, pushing your weight off the Cleopatra set and uncrossing your legs. “Why can’t your stupid boss just activate the account and give it back to us? I think we’ve made it clear we’re more than capable of handling our finances, and I’m pretty sure Satoru doesn’t need any more money when he can afford all this.”

“Mr. Gojo…has his reasons for everything he does.”

You laughed bitterly. Maybe it was the fact that Satoru had left this morning for whatever business he had that you didn’t have anyone else to let your anger out to that you’d swiped your gun under your thigh holster and dashed his way.

Geto’s back slammed against the wall, the cool barrel of your gun pressed to his jaw. He swallowed nervously, eyes darting to your weapon, and you laughed heartlessly. “Oh, please, do tell because nothing makes sense,” you crooned, flipping the safety off and letting your heated gaze meet his rather docile ones. You almost felt bad for him. Almost.

“I could easily put a bullet through your head and hijack his plane. I’ll be gone before you know it and who’s to stop me from doing that? Why should I stay here any longer with you?”

“Because your husband asked you to,” Geto responded softly. You stepped back with wide eyes, yesterday’s event crashing all over you once again. He must’ve sensed you no longer held any hostility because he used his pointer finger to move the barrel away from him, gently peeling your hands off his suit. “Because you know, if you go back to Japan, there will be nothing waiting for you there.”

You balled your fists. “I will kill Fushiguro Toji myself. Then I’ll kill Satoru.”

“Even if he used to be your lover?”

“Especially because he used to be my lover.”

Okay…maybe your plan of escaping and returning to Japan hadn’t worked out that well. Exhaustion finally crept up to your senses that you passed out not long after attacking Geto – who reassured you to no end he wasn’t mad you tried to kill him – and days have passed ever since. You hated to admit it, but being stuck in an overseas hotel wasn’t so bad. Geto’s presence was a lot more comforting than his master’s that you didn’t mind having him watch your every move. Plus, he was really nice to immediately follow your every whim. You wanted hot chocolate? Extra pillows? A really expensive wine that you refused to pay for because you were petty and dramatic? He provided it all without question.

Except he probably should have, because you’d stripped off to your underwear, head tipped back to take one final swig of the nearly empty bottle as you slid deeper into the tub.

Your fiery nature of rolling your eyes at Satoru every time he came around (which was rare, for some reason) couldn’t fool anyone – not even yourself. The moment Geto retired to the living room, you would bite the pillows to muffle your cries, thinking back to when Naoya was still alive. It was an endless torment of what if you had stayed, what if you had pushed the rubble off him, what if you just saved him?

Would he still be alive? Would he have survived? Would you be back with him in the Zen’in Estate instead of holding your breath under the tub in a desperate attempt to conceal your tears?

It hurt so bad. It hurt everywhere.

Your lungs begged you to rise up and breathe, but you stayed still under the water, eyes shut tight and hands clenched around the tub’s edges so hard your knuckles turned white. Soon, you grew dizzy and your grip slipped away. Finally, fucking finally, you were falling, falling way too deep that your legs bent inside the tub. Bubbles erupted from your lips in one last breath. At the back of your mind, you let out a sincere laugh for you’d meet your husband soon. He’d be disappointed, probably scold you all the way to the afterlife – until strong arms pulled you out of the tub and into someone’s chest instead.

“Shit, what are you doing?! You could’ve drowned!”

You coughed out water and fisted Satoru’s button-up shirt that had now clung to his skin from the water. Looking around you, you were still very much alive, the uncomfortable twisting of your heart a painful reminder of that. Above you, Satoru sat you in his lap while he remained cross-legged on the floor, muttering curses under his breath as he wrapped a towel around you.

Scoffing, you pushed his hands away, though you kept the towel anyway to lessen your shivering. Why the fuck was the AC so damn strong here?

“Dying seems like a better option, don’t you think?” you snarled at him, teeth chattering from the chill that had begin to seep in.

Momentarily, you worried on how much of a hot mess you probably looked like. Smudged eyeliner, wine-stained lips, unbrushed hair and remnants of the wine mixing with the once clear bath water – you shook your head at the thought and glared at Satoru.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

“I was out contacting friends to ask for help. We’re going to need a hundred pairs of eyes watching anywhere that Toji could possibly come through.”

“Is this your pathetic idea of ‘keeping me safe’? Locking me up in this stupid hotel and having your man watch me all the time?” you pushed yourself off him, the sudden motion of standing up giving you wobbly legs. Satoru reached over to steady you but you slapped his hand away, your glare warning him to not take another step.

Seeing his face, seeing him worried as if he didn’t just cause your life to turn into absolute hell, you wanted to grab the wine bottle and smash it right at his pretty face. He had no right to look at you with pity.

You hated him, utterly and terribly despised this man with your entire being.

“What are you really planning, Satoru? Why can’t we just come back home and attack Toji with all we’ve got? Why don’t you just give back our fucking money so we can end all this for once and for all and I can leave?!”

“Because I don’t have the money!”

“What?”

“The money…” Satoru’s back slid off the wall, his palm coming up to thread through his hair. He sounded weak, defeated. “I don’t have it.”

“Gojo,” you snatched him by the collar, teeth bared as you demanded, “What do you mean you don’t have it?”

Satoru paled. “When I stole the money from the Zen’ins, the figures were all fake. They’re not real, there’s no actual money hidden behind their accounts and it was too late before I realized that,” his lips trembled as he continued, “Whatever Toji placed in there, it’s not his actual account where he hides everything and it would make sense too because I stole it too easily – almost as if they wanted me to take it. A few hacks here and there and it was immediately wired to me but after meeting you…” Satoru shook his head, chin dropped down low. “I checked again and the account never existed. It’s a fake one. The digits are just there for show.”

“So then why would Toji want it? Why did my husband have to die for nothing?!”

“I don’t know, okay, I don’t know anything!” he argued back until your faces grew closer, his nose brushing with yours.

Somehow, you couldn’t pull away. His knees had drawn up, forcing you to rest on his thighs as you both breathed heavily, your grip on his collar almost havered.

“Whatever the Zen’ins are hiding, that’s beyond me. I may be in the business for far longer than they have, but they have always been notorious with their possessions that I’m not surprised even I can’t find where it really leads back to. Whatever Toji is hiding there, your husband must’ve known something about it. Why else would they fight tooth and bone over it?”

“If there was, Naoya would’ve told me about it.”

“He would if he trusted you,” Satoru suddenly grabbed your wrist and shook it until you stared at your ring. “How are you even so sure he could trust you with that information? Have you forgotten you’re just a pawn to his game and you’re nothing but a bed warmer?”

“Don’t you ever speak about us that way. You don’t know how much he cared for me.”

“If he really did, then why didn’t he tell you why his cousin is after you? He’s using you as bait, Y/N. I’m not the bad guy here. That man you’re so deeply in love with? I can’t guarantee he’s better than me. We’re all men in the mafia, love is the last thing we would care about.”

You pushed yourself off him.

His words stung too much, not because it was a lie, but because you know there was some sort of truth ringing behind it. You trudged out of the bathroom and sat on the bed, unstirred by the fact you dripped all over the carpeted floor. From behind you, Satoru’s rushed footsteps echoed, but you didn’t care. You simply threw on a robe with your back turned to him.

“And you’d know that better than everyone right? Considering how easy it was for you to leave me?” When Satoru didn’t respond, you chuckled humorlessly and sat on the bed. “What Naoya and I had…it was a friendship that healed my soul. I don’t…I don’t know what to do without him.”

“Friendship?”

You smiled sadly. “I wasn’t actually in love with him, idiot. Men like Naoya don’t know what love is, but he sure does know how to protect family.”

The notion of talking about him, of accepting that maybe he really was gone…somewhat reliving.

Satoru was the last person you wanted to talk to your late husband about, but Geto – which is the much better company – wasn’t around, and you hugged your knees to yourself, refusing to let Satoru see through your vulnerability.

“You know, I trusted him more than I did myself. He was always there for me, no matter what. His soul was dark, angry, corrupted – he’s not the man I would fall for, but despite all that, he was the friend I needed,” you buried your face in your knees, voice muffled as you cried, your heart shattering again and again and again.

The ring on your finger had never felt so heavy ever since you wore it.

“I loved him as much as I hated you.”

Satoru was silent, so much so that you wondered if he was even in the same room at all. You sat there crying, too hopeless to even try to conceal it anymore. Shivering, you close your eyes and forced the image of Naoya’s last moments away from your memories, desperately praying to whoever had mercy that you could just forget all about it.

“Geto told me you tried to kill him,” Satoru murmured after a beat, “You could’ve easily escaped and went back to Japan if you wanted to, so why didn’t you? Was it because of me?”

You remembered what you tried to do today.

Just like that, Naoya was alive once more. You were brought back to the day of your wedding when he’d clasped your sweaty, clammy hands in his, rubbing some warmth in them before pressing a kiss at the top of your knuckles. He’d asked you to promise him something then – an entire contrast from his constants orders over your well-being – and it was a promise you’d momentarily forgotten; a promise you’d broken out of mourning.

“Naoya once told me,” you reminisced through dry, cracked lips and even more shattered heart, the picture of his disappointment as clear as day. “Death was the only place he can go where he would never allow me to follow.”

It took a lot, but it somehow got better. After allowing yourself a faint moment of weakness where Naoya resurfaced in your mind to remind you of our promise and your purpose, you felt stronger, somewhat steadier with each step you took. You were still wary around Satoru, although that was a given.

His friend, Geto, was really nice, on the other hand, and you couldn’t explain why you always lowered your guard around the formal dark-haired assistant.

You and Geto were playing chess when Satoru barged in out of nowhere, a plate and a syrup condenser on his hand. “So I got you breakfast,” was his greeting, nodding at Geto once as a silent order to give you two privacy. You pouted as the latter left, but soon your attention had been diverted to the heavenly aroma filling in your senses. Seeing your approval, Satoru hid a smile behind his dark sunglasses. “Still like pancakes?”

“Trying to get into my good graces now?”

“I’m just trying to cheer you up.”

You rolled your eyes but snatched the plate from him anyway. “So I talked to my lawyer,” you begun, pouring syrup all over the fluffy bread until it was almost spilling to the sides. Beside you, Satoru’s snickers were barely muffled, to which you ignored wholeheartedly. “They’ve already processed my inheritance over Naoya’s possessions and assets. Once we return to Japan, I’ll be the next leader of the Zen’in Clan, much to the disappointment of his elders, of course, but they can’t do anything about it,” you informed him with your fork hanging in mid-air, the words falling thickly. “You know what that means, don’t you?”

“That we’re back to being enemies?”

You offered him a sarcastic smile. “Naoya lied about strengthening his alliance with your family. He doesn’t actually give a fuck about you.”

“I figured that much,” he snickered to himself, shifting his weight until his elbows rested on his thighs. “Listen…a friend of mine is flying to Milan tonight to meet us. They have strong connections with banks all over the world and they brought in some information about that hidden Zen’in account. I think we’re finally getting off to somewhere and finding out what really is in there,” Satoru gauged for your reaction, but you kept eating – more like stuffing the pancakes inside your mouth for you were finally free of having to act perfect without your husband.

Satoru’s hand landed on top of yours. “I promise…I’ll give it back to right where it belongs. As soon as it’s wired back to you, I’m setting you free.”

You stared at the unwanted figure over you, and you snatched your hand back, waving a bread knife below his lashes. “You can’t set me free when I was never yours,” you sang breathily, the tip of the blade hovered right at his lips. Satoru raised a brow at you, but you quickly retrieved the knife back with widened eyes. “Now that you mention it…I think Naoya told me something about his family stashing secret weapons and even heirlooms through offshore accounts and buried under islands. He was a little sleepy during that time but I remember it,” pushing the plate away from you as you lost your appetite, you clutched your palms under your chin in thought. “He said he was looking for something he lost as a child, possibly an heirloom.”

“He’s doing all this for heirlooms?” Satoru immediately coughed his words back when you glared at him, raising his hands in surrender. “I mean, I was just saying. I didn’t think he was a sentimental type of guy.”

“The question here is what both Toji and Naoya could’ve both wanted from that account. It’s not just an heirloom, obviously there’s something there worth more than money,” You argued and slapped your knees, heading straight to your (unfortunately) shared room. “Whatever. I’ll get this over with as soon as I get the money back.”

Satoru, as always, was hot on your heels. It annoyed you how he trailed over you like some sort of puppy or shadow – Naoya had always been too classy to not give you space.

The difference between them just kept getting more and more uncannily obvious.

“Whoa there, stop. Did you really think I’d give back the money to you and that’s it? Are you forgetting the fact Toji is out there to kill you just so he can have his hands on it?”

“He can have the money for all I fucking care,” you shrugged and sat on your bed, scrolling through numerous piles of emails and records that Naoya entrusted you to keep. Surely you could find something. “I just need to find whatever Naoya’s spent his whole life killing for.”

“Why don’t you care about the money? Didn’t Naoya expect you to take over his business?”

Your thumb froze over a file. Suddenly, your throat grew dry, and you quickly flashed Satoru a stinky eye. “I-it’s not my main concern.”

“It’s not safe for you. If Toji finds out—”

Got it. You bookmarked an email Naoya had forwarded you around three years ago and resent it to an old friend, pocketing the phone back to your pyjamas before Satoru could see. “I’ll handle it. I’ve been doing well so far before you came into our lives again,” you finalized, stopping for a bit as you waited for that all-too familiar footfall matching with yours, only for the room to be coated in silence.

Satoru stood there on the other side of the room, eyes deep in thought before he sighed. “I’ll meet you at the hotel restaurant tonight. We have a lot to discuss on what our next move should be,” nodding once, Satoru left the room.

The hotel room was eerily silent.

Dinner came around faster than you expected. With Geto out to run some errands for Satoru, something about ‘establishing bases’ or whatever, you were locked in your room, using Naoya’s black card to get enough amount of clothing to last you for your stay here. Even though Satoru had promised he’d take care of everything, you didn’t want to be in his debt for any longer. You weren’t his, you were Naoya’s, and you shot down his curious looks when heaps of shopping bags had been delivered to your door.

An hour later, you left the room, struggling to zipper the back of your dress. Satoru was already in the living room buttoning up his suit jacket, just as handsome as ever (though you’d never tell him that.)

His hands froze in the last button once his eyes landed on you, and you huffed at him, too distressed to even act cute or bothered while pointing to your dress. Satoru strode to you in three long steps, his cold fingers brushing against the dip of your spine when he clutched on the zipper.

You had to bite your lip down to prevent the shivers from spilling through, his lips dangerously close to your ear as he whispered, “You look great.”

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

If Satoru was bothered by the lack of sincerity in your voice, he didn’t comment on it. He removed his hands from you and watched as you slipped black velvet gloves through your arms – just in case you had to end up killing someone; leaving fingerprints was a risk you couldn’t take.

“Did you really get dressed to kill?”

“I came here to negotiate,” you corrected, “I’ll do everything I can to find out whatever’s behind that offshore account. And you, sir,” Frowning at him, you pulled Satoru closer by the tie, perhaps a little too harshly since he nearly knocked his head with yours. He was quick to steady himself as you fixed his tie, flattening it down with your fingers. “You need to know where you should stick your nose in. This is more my business than yours so don’t get in my way acting all hero and shit. I assure you I can handle myself.”

“You’re really going to berate me for worrying about you?”

“You can no longer worry about me,” you disclosed, snatching your black purse from the counter before doing the come hither motion at his shock-still figure. “Now let’s go. We have a case to crack.”

“Case to crack? You sure sound like a detective.”

You snickered, but made no further comment. The elevators dinged and you arrived at the restaurant, which you really regretted not visiting soon enough because the place was grand. Red carpeted floors, golden chandeliers, soft jazz music playing in the background as the lights dimmed down low, the faint clinking of utensils against plates and light chatter of the guests so heartbreakingly nostalgic.

It seemed that even after his death, Naoya had every intention to never leave your side. The setting reminded you too much of your never-ending late night fancy dinners.

Naoya being Naoya, he didn’t blink twice in flaunting his money and renting out entire restaurants all for himself, claiming that he just ‘wanted to have an intimate moment with his wife.’ Sure, it mostly consisted of you discussing what move you should make next, but it was the most affectionate gesture you’ve received after spending years in the quiet and cold environment of the Zen’in Estate.

The outside world wasn’t any better when you and Naoya were marked as targets by the entire government, so it made sense, that only with him that you’d find comfort in.

You must be so out of it you never even noticed Satoru leading you to your seat, a warm meal that should’ve been comforting right under your nose. It was too much – too similar that you headed straight for the wine, ignoring Satoru’s questioning gaze. You noticed from the corner of his eye that he opened his mouth too many times in an attempt to make light conversation, but this dinner wasn’t for you to rekindle your old flame.

No, you were here to wait for his ‘friend’ and review important matters. You were determined to fulfill that purpose alone and only that alone that you never once made eye contact with him, even standing up to reach the salt shaker near him instead of asking him to pass it.

Just as you leaned back to your seat, the music grew louder. A foreign man walked to the stage where he was basked in the spotlight, all heads turning to him when he tapped the microphone, sending little echoes all over the hall. “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s loosen up tonight with a drink and bring our lovers out here on the dance floor,” he sang while swaying side to side, snapping his fingers to the beat that had turned into calming to sensual. “It is a fine evening, isn’t it? Come on, don’t be shy, the night is still so young!”

You dropped your fork beside the plate. “Did you know about this?”

“I swear, I had no idea.”

“Those two attractive lovers in table 42, the dance floor is still much too spacious!”

“Pretty vulgar for a five star hotel,” you commented under your breath and dabbed the pasta sauce off your lips with a napkin, slapping it down the table as you stood up – much to Satoru’s surprise who’d tried to make himself invisible from the host’s eyes. Stupid him; did he really think he could blend in with his sunglasses and snow white hair?

If you were to be honest, you’d rather choke on shrimp than dance with him, but you had an image to upkeep. If you couldn’t gather with the crowd and pretend to be one with others, both your true natures would be fished out even with innocent eyes. You were left with no choice but to be comfortable in the dance floor, sighing deeply as you placed your hands down on Satoru’s wide shoulders. He furrowed his brows at you but said nothing else; strong, cautious hands sliding down from your back before they settled at the curve of your hips.

“Keep your hands to yourself, Mister. I won’t hesitate to stab a fork through your jugular right here.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I know you’re not my little angel anymore.”

Angel. It was what he used to call you back then – when you were still but an innocent, naïve being who never believed in monsters until you fell for one.

He was right; you were no longer his angel. The woman he loved had been left abandoned in the street, the purity of her soul tainted with anger and heartbreak that soon bathed in blood and the need for revenge. His angel was no more – the woman he danced with was nothing but a replica of the face and body he adored the most. Now, you danced with him, not as his angel and neither as his rival’s wife, but simply as a woman whose kindness had long vanished into thin air.

Satoru danced with the devil.

And he should be disgusted just as you should be repulsed with how sickeningly smooth and graceful he was in everything he did, but the wine – yes, it was the fucking wine – messed with you that you actually enjoyed it. Your bodies moved in rhythm and syncopated with the beat, the romantic high notes of the violin and the tender embrace of deep trebles like a classical painting coming to life and you were its subjects to be expressed.

Perhaps…you were just sad. You grieved and mourned too much you’d momentarily forgot what love was, in turn making you forget what it felt like to be constantly unsafe and peeking over your shoulder in case someone tried to kill you.

Satoru just felt so warm, so safe and alive that you found your head dipping lower, your muscles relaxing around his soothing and undeniably tender touch, the space between your bodies diminishing until you surrendered to the power of your desire. You were so close, your ear about to press on his chest to listen to the blissful sound of someone’s reassuring heartbeat along with the music, and then you saw him.

A tuft of blonde hair, a chiseled face, a nude cream suit and a deep blue shirt beneath – what the fuck was he doing here?

The spell was broken in an instant.

Satoru must’ve been under the same trance for his hand trailed lower to pull you closer, your chests grazing with one another before you placed your palm flat on his body, lips thinned into a grim look that resonated with the sick, twisting feeling in your guts.

“I,” you croaked out, clearing your throat when it went dry. “I need to go to the ladies.”

You left Satoru without another word, bunching your dress up to run to where he had disappeared. He was still walking coolly and inspecting the paintings hung in the empty lobby with faux interest – although knowing him, the bastard probably did enjoy classical pieces and studied about them in his free time; which he didn’t have much to begin with.

As if sensing your presence, he stopped right in front of a replica of The Sleeping Venus, his hands dug deep in his pockets. “The shape of being is the visual demonstration of a state of being in which idealized existence is suspended in immutable slow-breathing harmony. All the sensuality has been distilled off from this sensuous presence, and all incitement; Venus denotes not the act of love but the recollection of it. The perfect embodiment of Giorgione’s dream, she dreams his dream herself,” he narrates in his baritone voice, “A little cordial, is it not?”

You took your gun out from your thigh holster and lowered it right at the back of his skull. “Don’t move another inch.”

“No need to be so hostile in a public setting, Y/N. I’m only here to look out for you and making sure you’re not forgetting who you are. Killing me isn’t part of the plan.”

“Neither was murdering my husband,” you growled, pushing the barrel harder against him, though the man didn’t budge before you. “I know that it wasn’t Toji who set off the bomb, Kento, you did.”

“We simply saw an opportunity that couldn’t be wasted. Two notorious mafia leaders in an unsuspecting supposed safe environment?” The fact he didn’t even deny it left you speechless. Kento spun around until your gun rested between his eyes, and he languidly pushed his glasses up his high nose as he looked down on you. “We could’ve killed two birds with one stone had you not been in the way.”

“You guys are out to kill me too now?”

“Don’t act too surprised. The Organization isn’t patient enough to wait for both leaders to die.”

“So you killed my husband?!” you argued, “He was my friend, I told you not to touch him!”

“Only in the exchange that you hand him to us,” Kento echoed, jogging your memory until you were kept up to date. “But it’s been five years and what has happened so far? You’re fraternizing with the enemy and even manufacturing drugs for your so-called husband. Now that he’s dead, you’re here in Italy, looking as stunning as ever as you wine and dine with a former lover,” Kento tilted his head to the side to study your appearance – smiling at how you seemed too bright and fashionable for a woman in supposed mourning.

“I hardly believe you’re actually affected by this at all.”

“How dare you! I’ve proven to no end my loyalty of the higher-ups!”

Kento didn’t bat an eye at your outburst. If anything, he stepped closer to your weapon. “Kill me if you wish, Y/N, but know the moment you put a bullet in my head, the Organization will place you on the same pedestal as Naoya’s and Gojo’s. I wouldn’t recommend such methods considering we’re already at unease on whose side you’re really on. If you do this, you will be our enemy.”

“I did everything for the Organization. What else would you want from me?”

“The contract was easy. We want both leaders – whether dead or alive – in our custody. If you don’t hold your side of the deal, it’s not only your life that we’ll take from you,” Kento pulled out a red coin that made your heart sink deep into your stomach for it served as a threat over the consequences of your actions.

He lowered your gun with the coin and smirked at you, his lips right beside the shell of your ear as he purred, “I suggest you be careful with what step of action you take next.”

“Oi, Nanami, you’re here!” Satoru’s voice suddenly boomed in the hallway. Nanami was as unbothered as ever from taking a step away from you, nodding to your gun which you quickly concealed right before Satoru arrived. You were frozen – rendered immobile with the flashing red metal from his palm – that you couldn’t even protest against Satoru wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “I see you’ve met Mrs. Zen’in already.”

“Hmm, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Madam,” taking your hand in his, Kento’s eyes were nothing but eerie as he kissed your knuckles. “Shall we start our discussion?”

SUKI RANTS! Nanami quoted Sydney Joseph Friedberg (an art critic) in one of his dialogues. A little backstory on the painting was that the portrait was originally made by Giorgone, who had a student and also his lover (if I’m not mistaken) called Titian. Giorgone never finished the portrait because he died from the plague but Titiane finished it for him, symbolizing that Y/N still has a mission that connected her from Naoya even after his death and she has to finish something he started. The portrait is of a nude woman that symbolized oneness of nature and that the woman isn’t posed for the gaze of men, but rather they are dreaming, hence the quote: “Venus denotes not the act of love but the recollection of it. The perfect embodiment of Giorgione’s dream, she dreams his dream herself.” Nanami said the painting’s meaning resonated with Y/N’s situation too much since she wasn’t in love with Naoya, but she had a recollection of their moments that still represented their relationship, and that Naoya’s dream (goals) are also shared by Reader. I was gonna ask you guys what your theories are on that scene but I think this makes me sound cooler if I explain it so *lip bite emoji because I’m still broken over Naoya’s death*

taglist open (lmk if you want to be added/removed):

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[jkstompers]

noise complaints | myg

pairing: min yoongi x female reader

summary: yoongi is tired of his loud, video game addicted roommate, so he decides to move out and get his own apartment for some peace and quiet. but with his luck, gets you as his neighbor: a girl who plays bass in a band and hates the feeling of earbuds in her ears.

word count: 5.8k

genre: neighbor!au, producer yoongi, bassist oc, pwp ( ；∀；) i tried but rlly it’s just... smut

warnings: mature!! (18+!), explicit language, smut, making out, fingering, dom!yoongi, he’s a little mean

author’s note: hi!!!!!! in honor of yoongi’s birthday, i wanted to post this fic that i had sitting in my drafts! i hope u enjoy!! (´⌣`ʃƪ) pls let me know what u think!

banner pic creds here <3

yoongi doesn’t know how to tell his roomate, mark, that his gaming obsession has driven him to take extreme measures that consist of: moving out. he never stops playing video games. all day, all night, his eyes are fixed on the computer or tv screen, always screaming to his team mates about where to go or who’s fucking up. yoongi’s not sure if he can take it anymore.

he’s finally saved up enough to move into an apartment of his own, he’s been planning this for almost 6 months; already visited the apartment complex, discussed prices, background checks, etc. all yoongi really needs to do is finish signing the papers and start moving in.

he decides to just let mark know, no sugarcoat. as yoongi expected, mark practically begs on his knees for him to stay. his parents are paying for his share of the apartment but only if he splits the cost with a roommate, but yoongi’s gone through two years of it already, he’s over it. over the next few days, mark watches yoongi dejectedly as he packs his things.

by the end of the week, yoongi has finished packing and already signed the lease. he tells mark ‘good luck’ and leaves him in the dust, hopefully he’ll find another roommate, but that’s beyond yoongi’s concern now. all he has to worry about now is unpacking his boxes in his brand new apartment.

he looks around at the empty space, with the boxes cornered in one section. he smiles to himself, no noisy roomates, no unwashed dishes, no dirty laundry, ah, finally. peace and qui—

and that’s when he hears the blare of your speakers, it’s not loud enough for the entire complex to hear, but the music obviously bleeds through the shared wall. yoongi groans, knowing that this could be a complete repeat of mark. he’s not sure if he should knock on your door and ask you to lower the music down, it’s only his first day here. don’t you treat your neighbors with respect? why are you so loud?

yoongi decides to ignore it for now. he unpacks his things and starts furnishing the room so he can have a place to sleep for the night. when everything is put together, he feels the weight of the day; how much he’s been lifting and how he’s now renting an apartment hits him all at once. the dull pain resonates in his arms, his head starting to ache, and you’re still playing your fucking music. he can’t take it anymore, especially not with this ache getting worse.

yoongi feels his fist knock angrily against your door three times, he waits for you to open the door. except, he was not expecting a pretty girl to answer, he was expecting maybe an obnoxious frat guy; he’s absolutely flustered. you stand there and look up at him confused, “hi? did you need something?” your voice snaps him out of his thoughts.

“i’m— uh, i’m your neighbor, i’m sorry to disrupt, but if you could just lower your music down a bit, i’m really tired, and—” he starts but a gasp of excitement leaves you, cutting him off.

“my neighbor?! that apartment has been empty for so long! i’m so sorry, i was just so used to no one being able to hear! welcome! i’m ___!” you greet him cheerfully, taking his hands into yours and shaking them. yoongi feels his cheeks turn pink, your hands are soft and you’re so pretty.

“my name is yoongi,” he replies, he stands there not really knowing how to respond to the way you’re so excited. he wishes he could reciprocate but his head is pounding, all he wants to do is sleep.

you pick up on his energy, letting go of his hands to wave him off, “i’ll turn the music off for today, get some rest, yoongi, if you need help, some sugar or something, you can always just knock on my door,” you smile.

yoongi nods, “thank you, ___, goodnight.”

“goodnight, yoongi! nice meeting you,” you reply, closing your door. you blush behind the door, a neighbor? a cute one at that? there’s a sudden rush of adrenaline pulsing through your veins, testing you, telling you to blast your music just so he could come back and you could look at him one more time. but you decide it’s better not to, he said he was tired, maybe tomorrow.

yoongi returns to his apartment, thankful that you kept to your word and kept the music off. his body drifts his pounding head to sleep.

two weeks had gone by before yoongi’s eyes, he spent most of it buying furniture since the apartment looked so bare. one upside to a loft apartment was that he didn’t have to buy too much furniture, a bed, a couch, a tv, and maybe a rug was enough for him, for now of course.

in the time that’s passed, he’s learned that you like playing music when you’re studying, cleaning, when you’re doing anything really. whenever he thinks it’s too loud, he knocks through the wall, you get the hint most of the time. he’s also learned that you can play the bass and that you’re in a band. speaking of that, you’re having a meeting with them right now, and yoongi can hear every word of it.

your band mates decided to barge into your apartment today, waking you from your study nap and telling you that you all need to practice. the volume of their voices is jarring, you never realized how loud you and your surroundings were until yoongi moved in. you’re suddenly conscious about your volume at all times, his knocks whenever you were loud always made you feel terrible, but you couldn’t help but blush whenever you thought of him. you were torn, be loud and get his attention or be quiet and get on his good side.

“___! grab your shit and let’s go!” jungkook shouts. he’s the guitarist and lead singer of the band; he gets impatient sometimes.

“oh just let her daydream for a little bit, she’s probably thinking about her hot neighbor,” seulgi teases. she’s the drummer and your best friend. you don’t let her comment pass so easily, but you try to ignore the way your face heats up.

“you think he’s hot?” you quip back. a smirk on your face as you zip your bass into it’s case. yoongi is surprised at the way he can hear your voices so clearly, he wonders if you guys always talk this loud or if the walls are really that thin. “you haven’t even seen him yet,” you lug your bag over your shoulder.

“he sounds hot.” she shrugs, taking a bite of the apple she stole from your fruit basket. jungkook grows more and more antsy the longer you both talk.

“where’s taehyung anyway?” you ask. the realization comes to you when you feel a missing presence, knowing your 4th member would say something about yoongi.

“how nice of you to finally ask, he’s been waiting in the car for you slow pokes, let’s get going.” jungkook rushes, pushing you and seulgi out of the door. you turn to lock the door when you hear the door to your left slide open.

“oh my god, jungkook look, he’s hot.” seulgi smacks jungkook’s shoulder to make him look. your eyes are glued on the figure standing outside of apartment 77.

“hi— hey, yoongi,” you greet him while locking your door. it’s embarrassing the way the three of you are all almost drooling at the sight of him.

“hi, ___,” he sends a small smile to you, looking over to your bandmates hesitantly. yoongi notices jungkook, an assumption is made in his head almost immediately, boyfriend?

you scramble next to them and introduce them, “yoongi, these are my bandmates, seulgi, she plays the drums, and jungkook, he plays guitar and sings, there’s taehyung too, he plays guitar too but he— he’s um, in the car.”

“ah, nice to meet you.” he nods, greeting them as well. “i actually have to get to work, but it was cool meeting you all,” he excuses himself. you all wave to him.

“way to be fucking awkward guys,” you scold them when you’re all walking to the car. taehyung looks up from his phone to see the three of you walking his way, he starts the car once you open the door.

“hey, not our fault he’s good looking,” jungkook shrugs and seulgi holds her hand up for a high five, which he gladly gives her.

“not fair! you guys got to see ___’s hot neighbor while i was stuck in the car? i knew i should have just came in,” taehyung grumbles, pulling out of the apartment complex’s parking lot.

“it just so happened that he was leaving his apartment the same time we were, maybe you’ll meet him too tae,” you rub his arm. a somewhat sarcastic tone in your voice. taehyung rolls his eyes, starting the drive to the studio.

the music in the car was overshadowed by taehyung and seulgi arguing about when you and yoongi would finally hook up. you had to remind them that he hasn’t even been here a month yet, and that you guys barely talk besides the small hellos and awkward run ins when you’re doing laundry. it seems to keep them quiet, taehyung parks in the lot and you all move into the studio, making your way to the practice room the owners thankfully let you use to rehearse.

a couple songs are played and you all vote for a break. taehyung and jungkook having a guitar battle, seulgi leaning back against the wall on her phone, and you, need to pee! you leave the room and use the bathroom as usual, but a familiar bleach blonde head turns the corner and starts to walk down the hallway towards you, the breath you’re holding turns into a gasp when you realize it’s him. “yoongi?! why are you here?”

he looks up from the ground, looking as surprised as you when he realizes you were talking to him, “i work here, why are you here? are you following me?” he grills, you scoff at the question.

“i’m with my band, we’re rehearsing,” you explain. he raises his eyebrows, you’re not sure what it means. “you don’t believe me?” you pose.

“it’s just a little suspicious,” he shrugs, yoongi knows exactly what he’s doing. he hopes his hint makes sense to you, he’s never really been good at flirting. a familiar feeling erupts in his stomach, one that people could call butterflies whenever he saw you. he really just wants to see you play, and to hear you sing, that’s what he wants the most.

“uh, i can bring you to them? i promise i’m here with my band,” you laugh, warmth spreading to your cheeks. there is no way in hell that you’re going to play in front of yoongi. you were confident sure, but your embarrassing crush on him will make your fingers shake when you try to press the strings down. it’ll be a shitshow!

“can i pee first?” his small laugh brings a smile to your face. boys pee fast, you’ve learned that over time, so yoongi doesn’t take long. you’re both walking back down the hallway, “your boyfriend isn’t angry that you’re with me?” the random question makes your steps stutter.

“i’m sorry, what? boyfriend?” your eyebrows are furrowed as you stare up at him, his face isn’t showing any sign of humor, he’s serious.

“you’re not dating one of your band mates? isn’t that how it usually goes?” his lips purse as you continue to walk to the room that your band is occupying, he’s so serious that it makes you laugh.

“oh my god, yoongi, i’m single as a pringle, they’re my best friends, our number one rule is to never date within the band, that’s how things get messy,” you explain. a weight is taken off of yoongi’s shoulders, it wasn’t his fault he thought of it; you’re beautiful and surrounded by people that probably want you as much as he does.

“oh,” he answers, you both turn the corner and approach the door, “good to know.” the door opens to your three members looking at the two of you with raised eyebrows.

“oh my god, it’s him,” seulgi points to yoongi with her drumstick. you wave your hand to signal her to put it down, ‘it’s rude!’ you mouth.

“are you yoongi?” taehyung asks, taking his guitar and putting it down on it’s stand. yoongi nods, holding his hand out to shake taehyung’s, which he doesn’t take. instead taehyung pulls him into a hug, yoongi doesn’t expect the sudden action of affection, his arms not knowing what to do. “it’s so nice to finally meet you! ___ talks about you a lot,” taehyung’s confession makes your face flush.

“taehyung! what the fuck!? i’ve talked about you like twice, yoongi, i swear,” you defend yourself, pushing taehyung off of him. you laugh awkwardly, yoongi shoots you both a gummy smile.

“nice to meet you, taehyung,” he completely ignores your defense. he finds it cute, your flustered face as you try to tell taehyung to shut up.

“anyways,” you huff. “yoongi thinks i followed him here, so i am showing proof that i’m actually here with you guys and not stalking him.”

your friends snort at the same time, “actually, yoongi, we have no idea who this girl is! i think she’s following you,” taehyung whisper-shouts, you smack his shoulder.

“no but really, ___ we were just gonna call it a day, seulgi said she has to go to a family dinner soon and taehyung said he was hungry,” jungkook speaks up. it’s then that you realize that their instruments were almost all packed. yoongi looks down at you, a small smile on his face once he realizes what they’re trying to do.

“i leave to pee for five minutes and you guys hatch a plan to ditch me?!” you cross your arms over your chest.

“well… we just told you, so, technically we didn’t ditch you, also i can’t drop you off, yoongi, you can drop her off, right?” taehyung smiles to him.

“i—“ yoongi starts but you cut him off with plans to scold your members. they knew exactly what they were doing and you weren’t having it.

“taehyung, you’re dropping me off, let’s not bother yoongi,” you move to pack your bass but yoongi shakes his head.

“i can drop you off,” he smiles.

“oh, see! perfect! thank you, yoongi.” taehyung grabs his hand and gives him a good shake, before you know it your members are out the door.

you sigh as you lift your case and sling it over your shoulder, “it’s okay, yoongi, i can walk.”

he rolls his eyes, “don’t be ridiculous, are you hungry? we can eat first.”

his hand is outstretched and you’re not sure what it means, does he want to hold your hand? but no, he’s asking for your bass, so he can hold it instead of you. you reject his offer, “i can hold it.”

“you’re really stubborn,” he notes. it makes you snort.

“you’re not into stubborn girls?” the joke slips from your mouth before you can think.

this is the perfect time, yoongi thinks. “if it’s you, maybe i’ll make an exception.”

you try your best not to show any type of reaction, but you can’t really ignore the way your heartbeat quickened. yoongi leads you to his car, putting your bass in the trunk as you get comfortable in the front seat. he follows you soon enough and is driving out of the studio parking lot.

“you don’t have to work?” you question. getting into the car of someone you barely know is quite risky of you, but he was your neighbor, and he was hot. that doesn’t give you a reason to trust him, though for some reason, you think you can rely on yoongi, it’s a gut feeling.

“technically i work all day, i’m on my own schedule, i basically spend the entire day in the studio,” he explains. his focus is on the road but from his peripheral he can see your body turned to him, and your eyes glued on him.

“workaholic?” you guessed, he smiles.

“you could say that.”

“that’s good then, i’m giving you a reason for a break!” you clap, your nervousness fading as you start to get comfy with yoongi.

a friendship blooms from that lucky, odd encounter that day.

you forgot how long it’s been since you officially met yoongi and spent the day with him, maybe two months? three months ago? you never kept track. but you do remember that things changed after that. the two of you so obviously flirting with each other whenever you had the chance. yoongi would offer you a ride to the studio, which you greedily took whenever he asked; because he was a cool guy to be with, and in all honesty you were trying to put the moves on him. you’re not sure if he’s taking the hints though, you’ve never been good at the shy type of flirting, most of the time you’re upfront.

speaking of being upfront: yoongi hasn’t really been complaining about your noise lately, and it’s been eerily quiet on his end. no knocks on the wall when your volume was a tad bit higher than usual, no texts telling you to ‘be quiet’ when you were practicing late at night, nothing. you figure it’s because the two of you have grown a lot closer. hanging out together and even making some inside jokes together type of close.

it’s soon that you figure out why yoongi hasn’t been upfront, complaining to you about your noise, because he talked to your apartment manager about it. you knew namjoon well, he was one of your classmates in college. his father originally owned the place, so he’s been taking over for him. you’ve grown close to namjoon due to situations that left you outside of your apartment multiple times without your keys. his master key saved your ass one too many times. so, when you received a letter from him in the mail this morning with a big red ‘important’ stamp on it. you knew you were in trouble.

the words noise complaints, your neighbor, and eviction were the only ones you needed to read for you to be stomping towards yoongi’s apartment. you didn’t care that it was ten in the morning and you’re banging on yoongi’s door. you knocked nonstop until he opened up. his sleepy face scrunched in confusion as he stood before you.

“___? what’s wrong?” his morning voice could have made you melt, if you weren’t so fucking angry. you step past him, moving inside his apartment. “okay, come in, i guess,” yoongi says as he shuts the door behind you.

“you complained about me?! i got a fucking letter from namjoon! he never sends letters!” you raise your voice. it’s too early in the morning to be yelling, your voice is a bit rough, it sounds like you’re croaking.

it’s also way too early for yoongi to be dealing with this, so his voice is soft when he says, “be quiet, we’re gonna get complaints from the other neighbors now too.” he walks up to you and your very angry expression. he just looks so kissable right now, it’s making you angrier. how could he look so perfect when you’re mad at him? that’s so rude!

you lower your voice when you ask, complying to his demand. you cross your arms over your chest, “why would you do that?”

yoongi laughs.

it makes your eyebrows furrow. was he not taking you seriously? you loved this apartment, you needed to live here. it makes the anger boil a little hotter. “you think this is funny, yoongi? i’ve—” your voice is raising once more.

this time yoongi rolls his eyes. “shut up.” his voice grew deeper than it already was, the bass traveling straight to your lower belly.

you try to act as if it had no effect on you, but your small silence before you spoke made things a little obvious. “excuse me? shut up?” you scoff. your feet carrying you closer to yoongi, breaking the distance in effort to intimidate. yoongi wasn’t one to be scared, if anything, he found it funnier.

but the way that your pretty face looks when you’re angry makes yoongi want to do more, wants to push and push because he can feel the tension between you both. you can too. “yeah, you’re so goddamn loud all the time, shut the fuck up.” he moves a little closer, the distance between you both is almost none.

it makes your eyes flicker to his lips. here you were, thinking that you were gonna teach yoongi a lesson, yet you want to kiss him. “want me to shut up?” your eyes move back to his, making eye contact. he licks his lips in anticipation. “make me,” you press.

you feel his soft hand against your cheek first, leading you to his lips. then it was the plush of his lips against yours. this feeling could definitely make you shut up. before you knew it, you were pushing yoongi over to his couch. he breaks the kiss to plop down onto the couch, you follow suit, straddling his lap.

“if you wanted to make out with me, you could have just asked.” you spoke before reattaching your lips.

he smiles into the kiss, “where’s the fun in that?”

the kiss deepens, tongues exploring each other’s mouths and small whimpers escaping your throat. they go straight to yoongi’s groin, you can feel his hard cock against your core through your sweatpants. instinctively, you grind down, the feeling makes him groan out.

his large hands move to your ass, running over them and trailing up to your waist. his hands sliding under your shirt, you know you aren’t wearing a bra, and yoongi finds out soon after. his thumbs running right over your hard nipples, “eager?” he smirks.

you roll your eyes, “i’m just cold.” the lie makes yoongi scoff, tweaking your nipples between his thumb and index fingers. now, goosebumps raise over your skin, and it wasn’t because of the cold.

“take your shirt off,” he speaks against your lips. usually, you weren’t one to follow orders, your rebellious spirit screaming in your head, telling you to take control. but you’ve never wanted anything more than to let yoongi have you, let him do whatever he wants to you. because outside of this, he just seems so nice, never mean, never demanding. you can’t help but indulge in this new side of yoongi you’ve discovered.

so you’re taking your shirt off, the breeze created by his air conditioner makes you shiver, but yoongi's warm hands are there to comfort you. running them over your breasts, squeezing them just right as he kisses down your throat. “y-yoongi—” you whimper. his lips find a certain spot that has you grinding harder onto his dick.

“you aren’t very patient,” he speaks against your skin. “i’ll let it slide this time.” a tender kiss to your neck is placed before he lingers on the spot a little longer, sucking and licking, making sure to leave a pretty red mark. he makes his way to your nipple, wrapping his mouth around the bud and sucking. the feeling makes you throw your head back, his hand tweaks your other nipple, refusing to neglect it.

it was true, you were not patient. you hated waiting too long for something, just like how you hate the feeling of your warm core go uncared for. the grinding wasn’t enough at this point, you wanted more, needed it really. “are you gonna fuck me or not?” you push him gently off of your nipple.

an almost annoyed gaze is painted on his face, “are you going to beg?” he quirks an eyebrow.

you weren’t one to plead, “no.”

“then no,” he asserts. you purse your lips, complete dissatisfaction displayed on your face. “don’t worry, kitten, i’ll make you feel good.” yoongi gives in. he didn’t know how long he could hold back, your attitude makes him want to check you, make you cum as many times he wants you to until you’re obeying.

the nickname makes you drip. he’s pushing up from below, his leg kneeling onto the couch as he lays you down. your head lays against the pillow he has on the couch, yoongi gives you a swift kiss before he moves down, trailing kisses on the valley of your breasts and your stomach, stopping just before the waistband of your sweatpants. “yoongi,” you mewl.

“hm? wanna beg now?” he challenges. his fingers teasingly slipping under the band. your body reacts so easily to his touch, your hips slightly jerking up at the graze of his hands.

but you’re stubborn, not wanting to let yoongi win even though the only thing you want right now is for him to make you feel good. “no, never.” you shake your head.

yoongi doesn't verbally reply, instead, nodding and smirking to himself. “can i eat you out then?” he asks. you don’t trust your words, so you nod, knowing you’ll fall into the trap yoongi has set. “i need to hear you say it, kitten.”

“yes,” you quickly say.

yoongi quirks a brow. “yes, what?”

you roll your eyes, just once, you tell yourself. “yes, please.”

“good girl,” he praises. you hate to admit that you liked the way he called you a good girl. your sweatpants and panties are pulled down at the same time, revealing your wet pussy. “so pretty, baby.” he positions himself between your spread legs. you bite your bottom lip in anticipation.

kisses against your thighs and pubic bone are what he starts off with, then a brief kiss to your clit that makes you gasp. “oh, god—” you lean your head back against the couch.

“also, just to let you know, the letter was a joke,” yoongi breathes. mouth ghosting your lips, where you need him the most.

at first you didn’t pay attention to what he said, a hum leaving your lips until then you realized, “what?!”

“i thought it’d be funny to scare you a little bit, namjoon and i are friends, i asked him if he could do it for me.” he explains with a smile on his face.

you rolled your eyes. you knew it was too serious to be namjoon, his style was more so speaking, not letters. you couldn’t be mad at him, at least you weren’t in trouble. but you play it up for the fun, “will you make it up to me?” a sly look on your face.

“what do you want?” he leans his head against your thigh, waiting patiently for your answer. his fingers ever so gently running up and down your thighs.

“your cock,” you demand with a mischievous smile. your hands run through his hair, eyes pleading because you won’t allow your mouth to let the words out.

yoongi acts like he thinks about it, but all he truly wants, is to devour your and make you feel so good. “you don’t deserve it.” he denies you of the pleasure you want, but he surprises you, running his tongue along your slit.

“oh— oh, yoongi,” you mewl. your hands moving to play with your boobs, but yoongi knocks your hands away. he directs them to his hair, telling you to pull. his hands replace yours, playing and tweaking with your nipples as his tongue does the work.

“taste so good, baby.” yoongi loves the sight of you so vulnerable in front of him. you’re bare, naked while yoongi still has all his clothes on. he loves it. your eager body twitching from the ministrations of his tongue. he pulls away for a second, “don’t cum until i say so.”

“that’s not— umph!” you start but yoongi retracts his hands from your breasts, bringing them back to your thighs to spread them further apart. your lips reveal your sweet spot for yoongi to take, and he’s relentless. the taste of you on his tongue drives him crazy. “that’s not fair,” you moan out.

yoongi doesn’t care. he loves being in control. so when your phone starts to ring, yoongi thinks this is the best time to assert dominance. “answer it,” he commands. he pulls away from your pussy, the loss of the feeling of his tongue makes you groan out in displeasure. in turn, yoongi rubs his middle and ring fingers against your clit. it makes you gasp. he slips the fingers in, your walls pulsating against his fingers. another moan leaves your lips. you were completely ignoring the rings coming from your phone. he repeats himself, “answer the phone, baby.”

“but,” you spoke. your worry being that you were so wound up and yoongi’s fingers were still residing inside of you. you knew it would be way too obvious.

“they won’t know,” he assures. a gentle touch against your thigh comforting you, making you believe this was a good idea.

your fucked out brain obliges, your hand moving to reach for your phone. jungkook’s contact name displayed on the screen, you press the green button and place the phone next to your ear. “jungkook? what’s up?” you answer. yoongi’s eyes locked onto yours as you speak.

“speaker,” he mouths. you nod, mindlessly obliging. taking the phone away from your ear and pressing the speaker button. his fingers dangerously still in your pussy, ready to cause chaos whenever he felt like it.

“dude! guess fucking what!” jungkook shouts over the phone. yoongi pushes deeper, bottoming out his fingers. it makes your eyes roll back, a quiet gasp escaping your lips.

you’re moving the phone away so he doesn’t hear it, but yoongi is pushing your hand back into position. “what?” you cough, trying to cover the noise.

“you okay? you sound… weird.” jungkook snorts over the phone, you can hear seulgi and taehyung in the back, their bickering all too familiar.

“i— i’m good.” you nod even though he can’t see you.

“okay, well, this guy from a record label called earlier, he said he wants to take us all out to eat and talk about our future!” jungkook informs. your eyes widen. a record deal?! even yoongi reacts, a cute, surprised look on his face. how funny was it that you were receiving this news with yoongi’s fingers fucking you.

“you’re lying.” you sit up a little bit, leaning onto your forearm. yoongi decides to be nice, letting his fingers stay stagnant in your hole so you can enjoy the news.

“i’m serious! we’re on the way to yours right now to pick you up, be ready in five minutes,” he tells you.

“right now?!” you exclaim. yoongi smirks, starting to pumping his fingers in and out of you, making your breaths a little more labored. “oh— fuck,” you groaned, you tried to cover it up by making it sound like you were annoyed. but anyone could be able to tell what you were doing, the squelch of your pussy loud enough for the entire apartment complex to hear probably.

“what the hell are you—” jungkook starts but you cut him off, yoongi’s fingers moving faster and the string in your belly about to snap from the tension.

“okay, jungkook! bye! love you! see you in a bit!” you rush the words out and press the big red button to hang up, throwing your phone onto the floor as yoongi leans over you with a smile on his face.

“congratulations, baby.” he punctuates his sentence with a quick circle around your clit. you’re so wound up, you could feel tears starting to build up in your eyes.

“yoongi, please, please let me cum.” you beg, giving in to his desires. the sound of your begging is music to his ears. he smirks, quickening the tight circles around your clit. your legs spreading wider if that was even possible.

yoongi’s plans were cut short due to your new plans, but he didn’t mind. he was happy for you, and he’s never wanted to make someone cum as much as he does now. “alright, kitten, cum whenever you want,” he whispers in your ear. his fingers coated in your wetness gliding against your clit, it feels way too good. the string in your belly snapping as soon as he gave you permission.

you found yourself letting out some of the loudest moans because yoongi was just that good. “holy fuck, yoongi,” you gasp. your chest rises and falls quickly, taking in as many breaths as possible.

“good job, baby.” he kisses your neck, letting you recover before slipping his fingers out and bringing them up to your lips. at first you furrow your eyebrows, this isn’t something you usually do; but when he says, “open,” you find yourself obliging easily. “good girl,” he smiles as you suck your cum off of his fingers.

you pull his fingers from your mouth when you’re sure you’ve sucked them clean, “i got a record deal dinner, min!” you rush to put your clothes on. yoongi tries his best to help, but all he wants to do is give you a big hug. he lets you put your clothes on before he’s holding you in his grasp, while you’re trying to make your way to his door. the two of you wobbling to his door.

“let me kiss you first, rockstar.” he smiles, his hand gently taking ahold of your face and giving you a kiss. it tastes just like you, the sultry memory that will live in yoongi’s brain for as long as it’s able.

he tries to kiss you once more, but you’re pushing him away. “i gotta go, yoongi,” you giggle. his hands holding you close to him, your back pressed against his front door as you kiss each other sloppily. “yoongi!” you smile, more laughs erupting as he helps you open the door. as soon as the door slides open, yoongi’s eyes move behind you, a sly smile on his face.

you turn to see your three band mates, all of their mouths agape. “i fucking told you! pay up, idiots!” seulgi smacks the both taehyung and jungkook’s shoulders.

your face blushes tomato red. you try to hide your face as you open your apartment door. before you turn the key, you hear yoongi congratulate the four of you. “good luck at your label meeting! make sure they don’t scam you,” he advises. your bandmates laugh, thanking yoongi and moving into your apartment. they don’t let you live down the embarrassment for the entire night.

when you come back home, you sit on your couch. a smile taking over your face when you think about how great the day was. you think the dinner went perfect, and when you hear a knock on your door, it has you rushing to open it.

yoongi stands outside your door with a cupcake and a single lit candle stuck in it. “congratulations!— it went well right?”

you stand in front of him, a sweet smile on your face as you nod. “i think they loved us,” you pull him into your apartment.

“of course they did! you guys are amazing!” yoongi hugs you, holding the cupcake above your head so it doesn’t get in your hair.

the rest of the night you and yoongi enjoy each other’s presence and the two of you talk about everything and nothing.

yoongi says the cupcake is just for you, but you take a knife and split it, “for us.” you give him a quick peck before eating your half, and then kissing him once more.

for us. it repeats in yoongi’s mind.

us.

yeah, he’d like that.

[sugako]

my roommate’s toys

kuroo x f!reader

sum: after listening to you, his roommate, get off on her toys most nights kuroo comes home early to accidentally find you when you weren’t expecting

cw: 18+ mdni, nsfw, smut, slight voyeurism (dub/non-con, kuroo listening to you masturbate), mentions of male masturbation, female masturbation, toy use (dildo, vibrator), oral (receiving), size kink, creampie, some aftercare, roommates to lovers

wc: 2.4k 

a/n: i just had a teeny tiny thot and suddenly it was like 5 pages long, but mostly all just pure smut 

If by some miracle you had been able to hear the front door open, you still probably wouldn’t have stopped. You knew he might be home late. That was what he said at least the night before, work was busy and he might be home late. Might, in your opinion, was a strong word that turned out to be a complete, accidental lie. 

Kuroo really had thought he was going to be home a little later than usual, only telling you because he knew you wanted to watch some movie with him that night. Instead, he got even his extra work done all before he had to punch out. When he walked in, the house was a little quieter than normal. You weren’t in the main room of the apartment, the television wasn’t on, the shower wasn’t running, there was nothing for only a moment. The second he got his shoes off he heard you. 

Pitchy moans barely quieted by the thin walls of the apartment hung heavy in the air. This wasn’t the first time he had heard you, of course. Sometimes late at night or in the bright hours of the morning, he would hear your quick breaths, muted vibrations, and occasional wet slaps. His hand would snake down to hold onto his remarkably hard erection, driven solely by the thought of you. The first time he had regretted it, felt awful after he came all over his stomach to the sounds of your sighs, but now it felt like part of his routine. 

Now felt different. He longed to hear you and see you, to really see you. It would be an accident, he decided, feet already padding toward your door. Ever so slowly, he dragged a knuckle down the surface just above the handle, but the subtle noise didn’t alert you. 

He had said “might”, which you had taken as “would definitely”. This was why you were backed up against the wall above your headboardless bed with a dildo hilted in you, rocking back and forth on it, grappling for your vibrator, knowing you needed to finish soon before he got back. 

“Hey, I saw-!” His voice cut off at the sight before him, so much more than he had imagined. Parallel to his frame of vision, he got the perfect view of you being split open by a dildo suctioned to the wall behind you. It was a light pink, almost clear, completely coated in your slick. 

The moment was extremely brief as, within the next tenth of a second, you rushed to cover up with a blanket, kneeling with your back flush to the wall. The blanket you had recklessly tossed over yourself barely covered your back or ass, but it was worth the try. 

“Tetsurō!” You squealed, motioning to the door. He was motionless, mouth gaping like a fish out of water. “What are you doing?! Go!” Your entire body burned in pure shame and embarrassment, completely unable to look at him but knowing he was still right there. 

“I… what if…” he cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. He had practiced these silly cliche words time and time again in his head, always imagining it would come down to this, but not knowing his dream would turn into reality tonight. “I can help you.” He said with as much cool confidence as he could muster. 

“That’s not funny. Just… just go so we can pretend this never happened.” You stumbled over your words, tears welling up in your eyes as you tried to imagine this wasn’t real. He took careful note of how you were trembling, nerves melting away.

“I’m not joking.” He said evenly. “I hear you all the time and now I come home to you basically screaming while you fuck yourself on a dumb, little toy. I want to help you.” 

Finally, you looked at him again. His eyes were hardened, stuck exactly on you with a steely expression. Your chest heaved a little faster and you were suddenly acutely aware of how naked you were under the plush blanket and the toy still tucked inside of you. 

It wasn’t difficult to admit to yourself that he was handsome and you had certainly thought of him other than a roommate in the past. The words were stuck in the back of your throat like putty, “Um, I…” 

“Yes or no?” He kept his eyes straight on you, never wavering. The answer was simple you just had to get it out. 

“Yes.” You finally said with a small nod. Kuroo couldn’t begin to hold back his small grin as he closed the door behind himself and advanced toward the bed. It dipped with his weight when he sat on the edge, forcing you to shift around the toy. 

“Why don’t you start with taking that blanket off?” He trailed the back of his hand down your cheek, watching your teary eyes clear up as they filled with want rather than embarrassment. 

“Yeah, just let me,” you gulped, trying not to wince while you pulled yourself off the fake cock. 

His throat went dry when he realized what you had just done. Before the blanket could slip past your shoulders, he grabbed you and forced his lips against yours. It felt so natural, you cursed yourself for not having tried anything months ago. Tongues met each other in a messy, impassioned war, that you ultimately just let him win for the sake of his ego. 

When he leaned you back on the bed, you had almost forgotten all about the toy still suctioned to the wall until it bumped the back of your head. Kuroo held back a chuckle but pulled it off the wall anyhow. You opened your mouth to tell him where to put it, quickly stopped by the cool, damp tip pressing against your lips. 

“Think of this as a warm-up before the better and bigger things.” He purred while he pressed it deeper and deeper into your mouth, watching the pink plastic slip inch by inch into your mouth. Sucking lightly, you cleaned it, greedily tasting yourself, while he slowly and shallowly pumped it and out of your lips. 

At last, when he pulled it away and saw the pornographic string of spit that connected your lolled, panting tongue to the narrow tip, he thought he was going to lose it. The next words you said didn’t help either. 

“Bigger?” You whined quietly, concern and excitement etched onto your face. Groaning into your neck, he carefully tossed the toy toward the bottom of the bed. 

“I’d say so, but you can be the judge.” Needing to unbutton his pants to relieve some pressure, he sat back up, making sure to pull the blanket completely off of you. “At least you’re a little prepped, but I think I can do more.” 

In less than a moment, he had slinked between your legs, spreading your thighs wide with your knees draped over his broad shoulders. The first, hurried lap against your folds made you twitch against him involuntarily. Your hands immediately found his messy hair and grabbed on to steady yourself as he found your clit. 

“Mmhm, you sound better in person than you do behind a wall.” He mumbled against you before he went back to lapping you up. 

“Why…ah, why were you listening?” Too blissed out to feel embarrassed anymore, you barely felt a twinge of shame at his comment. 

“Wasn’t listening, you’re just too fucking loud. And these walls are thin.” Kuroo rolled his eyes, trying to keep his focus all on how you were squirming under him, hips bucking against his face as you chased release. 

Eyebrows knit, you tug a little harder on his hair, forcing a deep groan out of his that vibrates against you. “Should’ve told me,” you gasp when he gives your clit a hard suck, “told me before.” 

“And not get this show?” Is the last quip he mutters back at you before his tongue flashes across your clit, forcing the growing coil in the pit of your stomach to snap. Completely out of your control, your hips grind and tremor against his face even though he has a tight hold of your legs. 

While you struggle to recuperate under his, he’s tearing away the layers he still has on. His tie is somewhere near your side, button-up tossed on the floor, pants and boxers shucked to the foot of the bed, threatening to slide off. Blinking away the haze, you finally get a good look at him. The look is more than good. 

Your eyes rake down his build, slim but obviously very fit for someone who works in an office. It’s obvious that you’re not being conspicuous, but you can’t help it, especially not when he was being honest about his ‘warm-up’ comment. 

“My eyes are up here,” he chuckles before engulfing you and pressing a quick kiss to your lips. “How do you want me?” 

“Huh?” 

“This is all for you, so how do you want me? Want me to fuck you like this?” His eyes flickered up and down your close bodies. “Or do you want to be on top? I could pick you up. Maybe from behind like you had that dumb, little toy stuffed in you?” He watches as your breath silently hitches at the last comment. “Tell me.” 

“Y-yeah, want you, um, behind.” You choke out, feeling his hard cock brush against your thigh as he sits back on his heels again. Before he can instruct you, you’re already on your hands and knees, chest pressed into the mattress. 

He’s glad you can’t see the way he slowly blinks at the sight of your pretty ass and the curve of your back. It almost doesn’t feel real. His perfect, cute roommate all splayed out, drooling cunt exposed and begging to be fucked by him.

Soothing a hand over your lower back, he pulls you back by the hips to line himself up, eliciting a little squeak from you as you’re jostled across the blankets. He presses his tip to your entrance, fingertips digging into your ass, as he slowly presses himself in. When he hears you whimper, clenching around him when he’s only halfway in, he pauses, letting you settle. 

“Shh, it’s okay, you can do this. Relax.” He grunts, gently easing in another slow inch. 

You’re so wet you’re already dripping cum along your thighs and down onto the sheets, but it isn’t enough to quell the stretch he gives you. 

“Just so big,” you cry, trying to focus on relaxing while he splits you open. “Feels so good though.” 

“I know, I know.” 

He’s grateful that you’re holding your body so well, otherwise, he was worried he might just collapse on top of you now. Finally, he’s bottomed out, heavy balls resting against the top of your plush thighs. 

“Please…” You sputter out, gently moving your hips back against his. “Want you to fuck me hard, please, Tetsu.” 

He can’t say no to that. He also can’t say much of anything, transfixed on the way you’re creaming around his cock, pretty white ring already settled around his base before he gets more than three strokes in. The first few times he thrusts against you are light, he’s still easing you in, but by the fifth or sixth he’s slamming against you and picking up speed with each second that passes. 

You’re whimpering and moaning in the sheets, going slack as his hands work in tandem with his hips to pull you off of him and bring you right back so he can slam in even harder. The front of his thighs slap against your ass, the smack echoing in the room along with the slick squelches from where your bodies meet one another. 

“Like being fucked by a real cock?” He grunts out, hands grappling through the sheets for something he saw earlier.

“So good, yeah,” you whine, words barely stringing into a coherent sentence. “A lot better.” 

“Wanna cum on a real cock?” 

The loud whir of your vibrator makes you clench around him and whimper out some more nonsense. “Ye-eah, wanna cum. Wanna cum on your cock. Want you to cum in me.” 

His entire body flares at your words, but he keeps up his bruising pace and reaches around to press the vibe to your swollen clit. “Don’t worry, I’ll fill you up with everything I have, baby. You just gotta cum first.”

The latter part is easy. Already so sensitive and so full now, the vibrator makes easy work of you, forcing you up and over that ledge once again. Your pussy flutters around his length, holding on so hard it nearly forces him to still, but he pushes through. He turns the vibe off, letting you settle before he really starts pounding into you, so close to his own release.  

Your torso is slack, hips only held up by pure will and his hands that drag you along his cock like a ragdoll. A slurred string of praises to him, how good he feels, how good you feel drip out of your mouth like honey. You’re not even sure if he can really hear you, but you keep going until you feel him twitch inside of you and hold your ass flush to himself before strings of his cum splatter against your insides.

There’s so much filling you up, you feel hot, sticky drips trail down the inside of your thigh. Kuroo, a panting, flushed mess behind you, watches when he slips his softening cock out of you and his white cum slowly leaks from your still quivering entrance. 

Daze finally breaking, he reaches up and grabs some tissues beside your bed and gives you a rough clean-up before he does himself, throwing the messy tissue toward the small bin in the corner of your room. 

You let yourself fall to your stomach, lazily rolling over and pulling the blanket over your chin, motioning for him to get under as well. He complies, with a small, goofy grin, and snuggles close to you, wrapping his arms around your waist to hoist you closer. 

“Good?” He asks quietly. 

“Very good.” You grin, taking his face in your hands to push his stray hairs out of his eyes before you press a kiss to his forehead. 

[writingsbychlo]

let it snow | joel dawson

word count; 20,746

summary; the night is made for doing things you probably shouldn’t do, and the mornings are for running away from them. except, for when you’re snowed in, and trapped with your problems for who knows how long.

notes; this is based vaguely on the movie ‘two night stand’, but very loosely, it does not follow much of the idea at all, just the basic outline. you absolutely do not have to have seen the movie to read this.

warnings; smut, reference to unprotected sex, very light (accidental) slut shaming, that’s about it.

It took you a moment to realise that you weren’t in your own bed when you woke up, startling a little as you came to the realisation. Your walls were not painted blue, and you definitely didn’t have a desk that messy pressed up underneath the window. In fact, your bedroom didn’t have a view like that at all, your bedroom window looked straight out into New York city, and the alleyways behind some dodgy fast-food restaurants.

This was a nice view, calmer roads and little houses, fields sprinkled with snow became visible the more you sat up, and you hadn't remembered it snowing this heavily last night. Sure, you’d been rather preoccupied, and okay, maybe it had been snowing a little bit, but this looked excessive. Although, it would explain the deep chill in the air right now.

You were still a little foggy, jumping slightly as hot breath washed over you from behind the bedding pulling as another body shuffled, and you were stiff all over. Then, it hit you. Reckless, a few drinks in with your happily loved up roommate and her boyfriend, who made you feel more and more painfully single every time you saw them, before you’d retreated to your bedroom, tipsy and secretly bitter, and checked some dating websites. A cute guy, some witty jokes, a funny conversation, and then him.

Everywhere, all at once, a quick train ride and some frantic kisses, your clothes being stripped from your body as that same mouth moved lower and lower, sweaty and hot and barely stopping to ask questions before you were waking up now, a little bit panicked and filled with ridiculous regret. Rubbing a hand over your eyes, you forced yourself to roll over, as calmly as you possibly could, to try and take in the sleeping man beside you.

Messy brown hair, the same shade as dark chocolate, your tongue tingling at the thought of the sweet treat as you liked your lips, resisting the urge to reach out and see if the stands were as soft as they looked. His face was half-hidden within the pillow, slumped down into it, but pale skin reflected little brown moles, his hair beginning to speckle with a light tracing of stubble, the tingle of which was now beginning to make itself known again between your thighs. Long eyelashes on closed lids hid his eyes from you, but you had a distinct memory of them, burned into your mind.

Warm pools of amber and gold, swirling browns that glittered in the low light that had taken over, like flickering candles and pools of caramel, a shade of whiskey that you wanted to be drunk on, beautiful and bright from all the times he’d looked at you. He was handsome, you couldn’t deny that, an odd surge of pride rushing through you as you congratulated yourself on at least being able to pick out somebody physically perfect to have a one-night stand with in your self-pitying loath.

The blankets were sitting around his middle, one hand stretched out a little towards your side of the bed, long and veiny fingers, and you remembered a little just why he’d driven you so wild now, those same veins making tracks up his forearms, disappearing just before his biceps. He was toned, but not overly so, the muscles along his chest standing out, a smattering of dark hair between them, and you could finally remember tracing the slight definition of abs with your tongue, before you’d been tracing something else, and your face flushed with heat as you remembered just how much of the man before you you’d seen.

It felt scandalous now, to be sharing abed with a stranger whom you could barely remember, and to know exactly what he looked like naked, or how he sounded while moaning as he came, but to not even know his last name, or to fully remember the address that you were even at. It was dirty, it was filthy, it was wrong. Oh, but it had been so fun, an experience that everybody should have at least once in their life, a naughty little secret, the one night stand you picked up at a bar, or through a friend, someone you’d look back on fondly once you were ten years older, married and settling down, and as you thought about it more, your lips were still flicking up in a smile.

You’d laugh about it one day.

Slipping from the covers, you tried to find your clothes, not wanting to linger any longer, not wanting the awkwardness of having to deal with stunted small-talk and forced politeness as you tried to adjust to the morning alongside him, someone who was still a little fuzzy in your mind, and your clothes were scattered around the room within easy access, a fortunate happening that made you thank whichever god or deity might be watching you right now.

Sipping your jeans back on, you wiggled a little, trying not to make the flooring creak underneath you, and only pausing long rough to put on your socks, shoes held in hand as you adjust your jumper on your body, a hand running through messy hair to tame it. The man shuffled, and you froze, watching as he paused for only a moment, before flipping over and away from the side you’d been sleeping on, a sleepy huff sounding from him, but he was still snoozing heavily, and you let out a little sigh. Your coat was hanging on the rack, and you grabbed that too, anticipating ho grateful you’d be to have it as you battled against the freezing cold that was surrounding you, toes chilling more and more against the concrete, but you didn’t want to wait much longer to leave.

A scrap of paper, a post-it note from the pad in the hall and a pen that barely had any ink left in, but you scribbled down a few quick words, pinning it up to the corkboard beside the door, and nodding to yourself as you deemed it good enough.

‘had a great time last night, thx.’

With a smiley face and a sign on your name to finish it off, you were undoing the catch across the door, the chain rattling slightly as it fell loose, and you winced, waiting to see if you’d woken him again, the studio apartment he resided within offering little in the way of walls and doors to muffle the muted noises of your escape. When you deemed it clear, your hand sealed around the door handle, clicking it open carefully, and pulling the door towards yourself.

So close, the corridor in sight, but the alarm beeped loudly, and you jumped, the computerised voice startling you so violently that your whole body jerked a little, and you went wide-eyed. You closed the door, hoping it would stop, but the beeping only intensified, and your heart raced in your chest.

“Shit!” Your voice was hissed out in a whisper, and you panicked, hearing the man in bed begin to stir a little, and in a last-minute bid to try and reclaim what little dignity you had left, not wanting to be caught sneaking out, you tore the note back down from the pin-board crinkling it slightly and tiptoeing back to the bedroom. Placing your shoes and coat down quietly as the man began to surface, and you tucked yourself back under the covers on the opposite side, pulling them up to your neck and faking a yawn as he pushed himself up with a groan, sleep broken.

He wandered away from you, your eyes diverting from his body a little bit as the covers fell away, and you were grateful to find that at some point he’d pulled his boxers back on, because you weren’t sure you could handle any more embarrassment this morning. The beeping came to a stop, a mechanic voice informing you that the alarm had been rest, and he was rubbing at his face and yawning as he wandered back through.

“False alarm.”  His voice was still raspy, filled with sleep and cracking a little.

“That’s so weird.” He only hummed in acknowledgement of your words, before he was shaking himself down, settling back into the bed and rolling onto his side, away from you as he fell right back into his slumber, and you sat up. “Bummer that it woke us up. I should probably get going anyway. I had fun, though!”

“Thanks, I think.” He was still half-asleep, barely processing your words, you picked at the sheets a little, trying to decide whether or not you were sufficiently polite enough to be able to leave yet.

“It was perfect for.. y’know.. what I needed. So, thanks, Joe.”

“Joel.” He mumbled, your brows furrowing as your legs swung over the edge of the bed, feet hitting the floor, and a loud creak sounded out under your sudden weight on the floorboards.

“What?” He huffed, deciding that sleep clearly wasn’t a luxury he was going to reclaim, and he pushed himself to sit up, pillows popped behind him.

“My name, it’s Joel.”

“What did I say?” Your fingers were doing up your laces, ignoring the burning heat of his gaze on you.

“Joe. My name has a little ‘L’ at the end. Joel.”

“Right, yeah, my bad.” You cringed a little, picking up your coat from the floor, and pulling it up your arms, an amused look on his face as he watched you.

“Did you sleep fully dressed?”

You looked down, shrugging a little and swallowing thickly as this got more and more awkward, and this wasn’t exactly how you’d pictured the morning after your first one night stand going. “I, uh, got cold.”

“Uh-huh.” You patted your hand at your sides, not sure what else to do, and he stretched his arms out, rolling his head from side to side, before looking at you again. “So, do you want to get some breakfast? Or do you normally just take off?”

“Normally?” He paused his stretching, looking up at you, a confused expression flicking across handsome features, and he made a vaguely confused noise, as though he didn’t know what he’d just spoken. “You said ‘normally’. Like, as if I do this so often that I’d have a normal and abnormal version of it.”

“That’s not what I meant. I have no idea how often you do this, I just thou-”

“I told you last night that this was my first time doing this, or even anything remotely like this!” You remembered that part clearly, because you choked a little on your words when telling him, and then he’d laughed breathlessly and kissed you, while pushing you back into his bed, and your face flushed as you remembered the exact moment, graphic detail almost disturbing.

“Yeah, but, c’mon.” You raised your brows at him, hands sitting on your hips as you stared at him, hoping your face portrayed the fact that you absolutely did not know. “(Y/N), c’mon. Do you really expect me to believe that this is your first one night stand, ever?”

“Yes! Because it is!” He stared at you blankly, before shrugging a little, seeming to accept it, but you were still feeling distinctly judged. “The only reason I’m even here is that my roommate and best friend had her boyfriend over, and I was feeling particularly lonely in the holidays, and they were, y’know, about to.. so, I had to do something, an-”

“No, yeah, you were sexiled, or whatever. I remember that. It’s just, surely this isn’t the first time your roommate has wanted to sleep with her boyfriend while you were home, so this can’t be the first time you’ve.. yeah.” He waved his hands, motioning between the two of you, and your arms crossed over your chest, glaring at him.

“I am sensing some distinctly judgy vibes coming from your side of the bed - which is odd, considering what we did took teamwork - and I haven’t even done anything worth judging!”

“There’s no judgy vibes coming from this side of the bed!” He laughed a little, shaking his head incredulously at you, and had your anger not been reaching its peak, you probably would have been a little more embarrassed. “Honestly, I really admire what you did. I wish more girls were that forward.”

“Forward?” You seethed, rolling your eyes at him. “There we go with that ‘slut’ thing again!”

“Wha- what ‘slut thing’? I’m not calling you a slut!” He moved now, standing up himself from the bed and you averted your eyes, letting him scoop up his shirt from the floor and tug it on over his head. “I’m calling you a girl, who went over to a stranger’s house at midnight. If only there was a word for that.”

“You know what, screw you!”

“That was a joke.” You stormed past him, hearing him chase after you with his own laughs as he tried to suppress them. “That was a joke! I’m sorry, bad timing.”

“You invited me here, just remember that!”

“That’s not quite how it happened, but it doesn’t matter.” He was biting at the inside of his cheek to contain his smile, fixing you with an amused gaze. “Look, why don’t we just have some breakfast? I make really good oatmeal, with a little smiley face made out of jam.” He almost had you, your resolve breaking just a little, before he was snickering to himself again. “And it’s not slutty at all.”

“Save your stupid oatmeal, I think I’m just going to take off.” You swung the door open, a bitter smile on your face as you looked back at him. “Thanks for having me, it was just awesome getting to know you. Have a great life, Joe.”

“Okay, cool, well, I’m just going to assume you did it on purpose that time, because I already told you a bunch of times that it’s Joel with an ‘L’.”

“It wasn’t, but don’t worry, you just have a stupid name!”

“Great.” He huffed, no amusement left in him as he stared at you with frustration. “Well, ‘bye! Lovely having sex with you!”

“Wish I could say the same!” You hissed, his jaw dropping a little, before his eyes were narrowing.

“Sounded like you had a pretty good time last night.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear.” You were prideful and mean, and you’d probably feel bad about it later but right now it was the only way you were getting through this disaster of a morning. “Especially when it’s something like ‘Hey, Joel - cool name.’ Like, what is that? Sounds like the first draft of a name!”

“Okay. Fuck you, (Y/N).”

“Fuck you, back!”

It was a weak ending to the argument, but you didn’t care, the door slamming behind you as you stormed away, quick to hold your coat closer to your body as the temperature between the apartment on the halls was radically different, your breath clouding in the air even from within the building, and you located the staircase.

It was only four floors up, the building being rather oddly constructed, only two apartments per floor, and it was unusually quiet behind all of the doors. When you finally reached the main entrance, remembering him coming downstairs to let you in last night, you undid the catch, your shoulder pushing against the fogged up glass as you made to leave, and a confused and slightly pained cry sounded from you as the door refused to budge even an inch.

You tried again, before you were wiping at the glass, to clear the condensation and try and see what the blockage was, but you quickly discovered it wasn’t fog but ice. Moving over to the window beside a door labelled ‘laundry’, you were met with the sight of snow piled up high, almost three feet up to reach the base of the window, and the roads weren’t even visible. You hadn't realised just how heavy the snow had gotten, and how bad the extent of it all was, until now, where you could see the

“Oh, no, no, no.” Panic flooded through your system as you realised just how screwed you were, trapped in a building with no way out, and your phone was dying, and you weren’t even sure whether your roommate would be up in time to come and find you and clear the snow before the battery died. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Pulling up google, you were quick to check the news reports in the area, finding that the snow had increased and come down heavily overnight, it was a city-wide issue, and there was no way that they’d be getting anywhere near where you were for hours, if that. It was still snowing, albeit not as heavily, but they were prioritising inner-city roads and train lines, not little apartment blocks on the edges of cute fields and open space.

Of all the people you could choose to hook up with, you had to pick the person who was living in the most inconvenient location for a snowstorm.

Glancing around, you realised this was it, you were just going to have to hunker down for a few hours, and in all fairness, it could be worse. At least it was clean and smelled pleasant. Settling yourself down against the cool concrete flooring in the edge of the room, you stretched your legs out before yourself, daring to tap the ‘call’ button on your phone, and bringing it to your ear.

You waited, listening to it ring all the way until it went to voicemail, and then again, and again. After three times, and a whole 5% of what little battery life you had left remaining, you gave up on your roommate, knowing that if it were you at home, you’d be snuggled up cosy in your bed and still fast-asleep too. Switching the device off to conserve power, your head fell back, resting on the wall. Most wonderful time of the year, my ass.

“No, it was super fuckin’ weird. Totally fine, and then suddenly everything is a screaming match an-”

You cursed under your breath, the one voice you had wished you wouldn't have to hear again, followed by rhythmic bouncing of footsteps coming down the stairs, and you glanced up, offering a small wave to the person whom you’d hoped never to have to see again, and his brows furrowed, pausing where he was stood.

“I’m gonna’ have to call you back.” Tucking his phone into his pocket, he took the final few stairs slowly, coming to stand before you, and you pushed yourself up from the floor, brushing the dust from your pants. “What are you still doing here?”

“Blizzard. A whole bunch of snow piled up and now the door won’t open.”

He turned back to look at it, adjusting the basket in his arm before placing it down on the floor, and moving over to the door. Your arms crossed over your chest as he did, watching as he pushed the barred handle down, shoulder ramming into the door, and a grunt left him as it refused to move. He tried it again, before rubbing at his arm lightly, and moving away to peer out of the window just like you did, a little shocked at just how much it was, and you rolled your eyes at him. “I told you.”

“I was just trying to help, there was no need to be rude.” He muttered, and you scoffed once again, turning away from him as he picked the basket back up. He wandered away from you, into the laundry room, disappearing from sight, and you sat back down on the floor.

You heard him test the taps, water still coming through them miraculously, the metal and water within not having completely frozen over, and you brought your legs up to your chest, arms crossing over your knees and chin balancing atop them, preparing yourself for a long while of being bored. It was after many clicks and dials, the soft beeping of the machines as they rumbled to life, that you heard him appear once again, dirty Adidas scraping against the floor, before he came to a stop in front of you.

He looked at you for a minute, seeming to analyse whatever thoughts were going through his head, and you raised a single brow at him, prompting him to speak sooner rather than later. “You can come back upstairs, if you want.” You stared at him for a further minute, jaw dropping a little, and he tucked the laundry stock under his arm. “It’s going to be hours until those roads are cleared, even if they do unblock the doorway. You’ll freeze down here, and you haven’t eaten anything. I’ll make you some breakfast.”

He offered his hand, and sliding your palm against his, he pulled you up from your position on the floor, dropping your hand and spinning on his heel to guide you back up to his apartment. It was awkward, to say the least, and you rubbed your hands together to try and warm them back up, the chill in the air beginning to seep into your clothing and cool you to the core.

When the door opened back up, you let out a little groan, wishing you’d suppressed it better but being caught off guard, and you heard the man before you huff a laugh as your eyes scanned over the small space heater that was set up in the corner, warmth radiating from it and spreading across the apartment. Hanging your coat back up on the hooks by the door, you shuffled through the apartment, not too sure what you should be doing now that you’d returned to the scene of the crime from which you’d fled.

You chose to simply follow what Joel was doing, repeating his name like a mantra in your head so that you didn’t mess it up again, and taking a seat at the round table with a few mismatching chairs around it within his kitchen, watching as he clattered about with pots and pans at the stove. You busied yourself with your phone, finding that you at least had a signal, and could access your social media.

Instagram and snapchat were filled with videos and photographs of the snow, taken aesthetically from the windows, roofs and balconies of people who were lucky enough to be in their own homes, curled up with steaming mugs of tea and the loves of their lives to take pictures from behind frosted glass of the winter wonderland that was more like the bane of your existence.

You replied to a few texts, and messaged your friend again to update her, leaving it there for her to read whenever she came back around to consciousness, to tell her that she didn’t need to rush, and that you’d at least found yourself somewhere to keep warm and safe. Your head snapped up when a steaming bowl of oatmeal was paced down before you, smelling delicious with maple syrup and fruit, a spoon clattering down beside it before the scraping of the chair opposite you was ringing in your ears.

Poking at it, you couldn't help but notice the smiley face sitting on top, the syrup beginning to sink in as the blueberries scattered over the top were almost half-submerged, looking a little wonky but still adorable, and you looked up at the man who was already tucking into his own, finding him staring at his own meal in silence.

“Smiley face.”

Your voice cracked a little with your whispered words, but his eyes met yours, pausing only a second before the edges of his lips were flicking up in a gesture of a smile, and one shoulder rose and fell in a weak shrug. “Told you I would.”

You only nodded, spoon stirring at the contents of the dish, mixing it all together and the face on the porridge disappeared as you blended the flavours, before lifting a heaped spoonful to your mouth. Blowing on it carefully, you took the mouthful between your lips, this time successful in holding in your little sounds of appreciation as the food hit your tongue. It was delicious, you couldn't deny that, warm and satisfying as you tried to fight off the cold that was still threatening to creep in.

It wasn’t that you hadn't worn suitable clothing, but you’d only worn a camisole and jumper with a pair of leggings that were undoubtedly on the thinner side, because warm clothing hadn't been your main concern the night before when they were only going to be peeled from your body an hour or so later, discarded to the floor. Now, you were deeply regretting that decision.

You also hadn't realised how hungry you’d been, because the headache that had been forming, throbbing behind your eyes with a dull ache, was beginning to recede, the anger that had been dwelling within your system was fading, and you were allowing your mind to replace it with guilt instead. You’d been a little crass this morning, yelling and lashing out at Joel when it had been your fault that you felt like shit, succumbing to the sensual temptations of nightfall and your loneliness, and blaming your decisions on everyone else when the sun had risen.

“Look, we’re going to be here a while.” You jumped, spoon clanging against the edge of your dish, and Joel tried - and failed - to bite back his smirk at the amusement of having scared you out of your thoughts. “Why don’t we just pretend like last night never happened? Start over again? You can stay on one side of the apartment, I’ll stay on mine, we don’t even really have to interact. We’ll just coexist until the snow is cleared, and then we can part ways and never meet again. Sound cool?”

You let out a breathy sound of amusement, nodding your head as relief flooded your system. “Works for me. Clean slate?”

“Great.” He nodded, that flickering look of amusement passing over his face again, and he reached a hand out across the table. “Hey, I’m Joel. Your roommate for the next couple of hours.”

You paused, letting out a sigh as he arched his eyebrows in a silent question as to whether you were going to leave him hanging, before you accepted the outstretched hand and shook it. Giving him your name in return, he nodded his head, before he was standing up, and taking both of your bowls away to the sink, dumping them into the soapy water that he’d already prepared so that they could begin to soak.

Crossing your legs under the table, and your nails tapped for a second, silence filling the room for a few minutes, and you desperately searched for something to say that you could use to fill the silence. “Do you want to watch a movie?”

His voice sounded almost as strained as your own, but you let out a little sigh at the fact that at least he’d broken the tense silence between you both, and you hummed. “Yeah, that's good with me. Do you have a phone charger I can use?”

He turned to look at you over his shoulder, hands still submerged within the sink, but you waved the device at him as he took it in. “Yeah, I’ll grab it. You can go and pick a film; remote is around there somewhere. Pick something good.”

You were more than eager to get away from sitting idly at the table in awkward quiet and waiting for the hours to pass, each tortuous minute making you wish you’d just remained downstairs alone, slowly freezing into a statue. The couch was large and plush, slightly worn seats but it only made it look more inviting, a plethora of cushions and pillows laid out for you to settle into, and just as he’d said, the controls were already out on the coffee table, a few coasters and random pieces of stationary covering the surface too.

Switching the television on, you waited for it to boot up, finding that he had netflix downloaded, and there was a list of films in the back of your mind that you’d been waiting to watch, and you flickered through them all as you stared at the screen. Narrowing it down, you felt like a comedy might be a good choice, lighten the air with something easy going and funny, nothing too intense, and the couch dipped at the very opposite end as your company sat as far away as he could, leaning against the other arm of the couch but dropping his phone charger down onto the space between, an olive branch extended in the form of a tangled phone wire.

“How about ‘Jumanji’?”

“Good film.” He mumbled, and you nibble don your lower lip, before he was letting out the breath he was holding and turning towards you. “Second one is on here too, we could watch them both. I haven’t seen that one, just the first.”

“It’s a plan.” You confirmed, clicking play on the movie and crossing your legs, leaning over the side of the couch to try and locate a socket, pushing the plug into the wall, and hooking your phone up the power, the device buzzing in your hand as it began to charge up.

Dwayne Johnson and Kevin Hart were an entertaining pair on screen, and as the group began to navigate through the jungle, you let yourself become immersed in what you were seeing on screen. It wasn’t all that hard, because Jack black was hilarious. The occasional echo of a laugh from one or both of you would crack the silence when something happened, and the picking of loose threads on your jumper had begun to stop as you settled a little more into the situation, your anxiety settling and not needing to be quite so stiff.

When there were only twenty minutes or so until the end of the first movie, your phone buzzed, and then again, a series of rapidly incoming texts, and flipping over the device, it was revealed to you as your friend. Swiping it open, you pulled up the texts, chuckling to yourself at the frantic collection of broken messages that she had sent to you.

[soph 🌹] only just woke up, so sorry!!

[soph 🌹] just checked news, no way to get to u!!

[soph 🌹] roads all blocked, wtf, when did this snow come down??

[soph 🌹] kinda funny tho.

[soph 🌹] only u would go for a hookup and get snowed in there.

[soph 🌹] is he at least hot? tap that again. fill the day with hot sex??

You scoffed, but your lips were forming a smile, and you could feel the glances that were being cast your way every couple of seconds, choosing to glance up and return the look as he turned to face you once again.

“My friend just woke up, she’s finally learning about the snow.”

“Did she know you were still, um..” He scratched at the back of his neck, other hand casting around the apartment. “-out?”

Heat flushed your own cheeks, before you were nodding your head, and he seemed or accept that, silence forming between you both once again as he turned to look back at the TV screen, but stretching out with a little more comfort, long legs crossing at the ankles from where they were extended before him, and he lounged back a little more.

> that’s definitely not going to happen.

You were only given a moment of reprieve, before your phone was chiming again.

[soph 🌹] why not!! not like you’ve got anything else to do

> probably bc we're not exactly getting along. civil at best.

She didn’t respond after that, leaving your message on read, and you assumed that she’d become preoccupied with the man you guessed would have spent the night there with her, and once again, you were envious of her for being at home and comfortable in her own space, when instead, you felt like you were walking on eggshells.

The majority of the second movie was spent more on taking in the details of the apartment around you, instead of the plot line and characters. Posters hung up on the walls, and you wondered how he could afford to live here, the place was nice, but there was nothing here that suggested another person lived in the apartment, but there was no way a college student could afford a place like this alone, unless his parents were paying for it. It was a nice area, the kind of place you could live with if you had kids or were elderly, and you were pretty sure on your way over here the night before that you’d seen someone walking a dog, making it the picture-perfect neighbourhood.

College textbooks and stationery were around, a stack of notebooks and text printouts sitting on the little table before you, and it was almost fifteen minutes before you built up the confidence to lean forward and take them all in with a little more detail. He watched as you went, your eyes moving to meet his as you waited for permission, but he never stopped you, so you picked up the first book that was on top.

‘Art within Literature: The Importance of Illustrations’

“Didn’t have you pegged for an art kinda’ guy.” You mumbled, and you heard him chuckle, before he was sitting up a little straighter, moving across the couch closer to you just slightly, to see which one you had picked up.

“Not the first time I’ve been told that, actually.” He grabbed at the controls, your eyes flickering up to the screen as the sound of the movie cut off, replaced by the boring drone of the local news station, but right now, it may as well have been the most important thing in the world as the two of you perked up to listen. Placing the book back down, your legs folded underneath yourself, and you secretly had your hopes up that they were going to be getting around to this end of the city soon.

It took a while, the list of places that were being cleared was working out from the inner city in circles, your hopes falling more and more and you listened, getting an update on the weather about how it was expected to be even colder tonight than it had been last night, and the snowfall wasn’t expected to stop anytime soon, but instead, you would be here even longer than expected. The earliest that there were any plans for the road to be cleared in this area was tomorrow morning, and sadness was once again spiking within your system, feeling the man beside you sag with just as much disappointment.

“Guess I’ll set the couch up for you, later.”

“Thanks.” You hoped your lack of enthusiasm didn’t show in your voice, because you truly were grateful, and he stood up, wandering away to his bedroom and grabbing the plastic woven basket he’d been using earlier as he went, presumably to start up another load of laundry. When the door to the apartment closed behind him, you were left in silence once again, and you turned down the volume and picked up the next book that had been on his pile.

This one was a sketchbook, that much was clear as soon as you opened the book, and his full name was written across the front page, information on how to return it if it came up lost followed it, smudged fingerprints from graphite and coloured chalks were also along the corners. Flipping the first page, you were caught a little off-guard by the image you saw, yet not entirely surprised.

Clearly, his passions lay with fiction and fantasy, the name of what you assumed to be some kind of ancient Greek novel, much like ‘Iliad’ or ‘The Odyssey’, because a range of different creatures and monsters were scattered across the pages beautiful drawings, incredible details and shading, and you’d never seen anything quite like them. You wanted to trace your fingers over them, but resisted in fear of ruining the delicate art, and flicked through the pages instead.

At the top of some pages the book titles changed, inspirations from different famous works, some you knew and some you didn’t, but the drawings were always perfect. When you reached the final page, you placed it down, guilt once again running through your veins as you remembered the way you’d snapped at him this morning, because the more you learned about him, the more you realised he wasn’t all that bad, and he was probably a pretty decent guy, if you’d just given him the chance to be.

Getting up from the couch, an idea was forming in your mind, a way to at least try to pay him back or make your appreciation known, and you found yourself again in his kitchen, hands on the cupboard doors as you began to look through them.

They were mostly empty, not much in place but enough to make it work, you were sure of it, you could whip up something out of all of it, and you moved across to have a look at the contents of the tall refrigerator hidden in the corner.

“Need help finding something?”

You startled, turning to look at him and closing the fridge, and his hands were on his hips as he stared at you, your arms wrapping around yourself gently as you shrugged. You couldn’t blame him for being a little putt-off, you were just a stranger after all, but you wanted to at least try and make proper amends with him, and so you let yourself be unbothered by the frustration flashing over his features.

“What are you looking for?”

“I was just seeing what you had in.” You waved a hand behind yourself, swallowing thickly and taking a small step around the dining table towards him. “I was just seeing what you had, because I was hoping to cook dinner for you, maybe? Y’know, as a thank you for letting me stay with you, and keeping me warm and all, even though I was rude this morning.”

“Oh.” The tightness in his shoulders loosened, his body slumping a little, tension melting away, and a bashful look flickered over the anger, taking its place as he tried to muster a smile for you. “That would, uh, be nice. Thanks. I don’t have a lot in, though.”

“You really don’t. Do you just survive on junk food and pasta?”

He laughed, a genuine laugh at that, before he was standing before you and reaching over to the cupboards, pulling out a packet of pasta, and holding it out to you. “What’s wrong with junk food and pasta?”

“Nothing! But it’s all you have!”

He only grinned, opening the fridge and standing to the side, double-checking what he had in. “Well, I’ll have you know that I make a great minestrone, and that’s what I was planning to have for my dinner tonight. You can join me.”

“I don’t know how to make that.”

“Well, I’ll teach you, and it’ll change your life. I swear it.” He closed the fridge, leaning back against it with a questioning look on his face, and you shrugged, but you felt a lot more comfortable already, the simple banter between you both mending a broken bridge.

“I was supposed to be cooking you dinner though.”

“You can be my sous-chef, how about that?” Now that was a deal you could work with, and you shook his hand, this time it was filled with giggles and wide smiles, as opposed to the last time you’d come to an agreement over breakfast only a few hours ago, the beginning of the day bringing much brighter prospects than the early morning had. “Now, what do you want to do until then?”

That was a good question, and it took you a minute to think about it, eyes glancing around his apartment for inspiration, pausing on the television stand with boxes of games stacked up underneath, and you lit up a little. “How about board games?”

He groaned, loudly, and you found amusement in it once again, being that this was his apartment, and he was finding issues with his own methods of entertainment and possessions. “Nobody plays board games while sober.”

“It's midday! We’re not getting drunk at midday!”

It was scandalous, and you didn’t have much more space to give over to scandals within the next twenty-four hours, pretty much having reached your quota already, and a cheeky look flickered over his features. “Well, we don’t necessarily have to drink..”

“What are you suggesting?”

Your eyes narrowed on him, and he spun on his heel, not saying a thing but letting you follow him. He cleared the books from the coffee table, stacking them all away on the floor in the corner, before lifting up the fold in the middle. He reached inside, and you waited patiently, your jaw dropping as he revealed the item to you, looking more than proud of himself.

A bong, tall with green glass, and it was decorated and bejewelled along the bottom, stickers and actions figures stuck to it, the whole collections making you snort a laugh as you looked at him, before your hands were landing on your hips and a look that you hoped read as ‘seriously?’ written on your face.

“What, you don’t want to?” He waited a moment longer, nibbling on his lower lip, before sitting on the opposite side of the coffee table and finding his lighter. He also reached for the first box on the top of the file, producing a box with one word across the front, brightly coloured and you recognised it. “Suit yourself, but I am. I need something to get through the whole afternoon with you.”

The comment would have stung a lot more had it not been for the cheeky wink that he added onto the end to tell you he was joking, and you sat cross-legged opposite him, picking up the box labelled ‘UNO’ and tipping the deck out into your hands. He clicked at the lighter, waiting for it to spark up, before his mouth was meeting one end of the glass, the contents inside bubbling and gurgling a little as he inhaled, and you dealt out the cards.

He hummed, head tipping back, eyes closed as he settled into the feeling of his eye, and as though he could feel you watching him, his head fell forwards, eyes opening to look at you. “Sure you don’t want any?”

You waited only a moment longer, before huffing out, holding your hand out for them both. “Fine, hand it over.” He placed both pieces on the table, sliding them across the polished wood to you, and you picked them up. Clicking on the flame, you adjusted it in your hand, lips pressing to the cool rim of glass, swilling it a little for good measure, before you were lighting up the end.

Steamy smoke curled up into your lungs as you inhaled deeply, warmth racing through your body as a tingling kind of feeling ran through your throat, tickling and making you grin, in a way that you were familiar with and yet hadn't been accustomed to in a long time. The buzzing feeling raced through your body, already kick-starting nerves and reactions that had felt dormant for a long time.

You hadn't been to a party, a real and exciting college party, since your break up. You’d locked in and sealed yourself away ever since your heart had been broken, and it felt good to adventure back out into the world like this, even if you were locked away with a guy from halfway across town whom you’d known for about twelve hours. “Okay, you were right.”

“Feel better?” He grinned, holding his hand out for the device, and for a little while, the two of you simply shared it between you, letting that initial tingle grow into a proper buzz the world around you beginning to slip away into a haze. Your vision was soft around the edges, slightly out of focus, and the world felt a little more comfortable. Spreading your legs out underneath the coffee table, your back leaned against the couch, feet in his lap as he sat with his legs crossed and folded under him.

When you’d decided your high was enough, you’d started with the games. ‘UNO’ had brought on rivalry and chaos, the two of you raising your voices to the point that you’d been yelling at one another, throats going a little sore as you cursed and laughed, not quite sentient enough now to make the best calls at the game, and so it had felt like it had dragged on for hours, before you had finally been the champion.

He had challenged you to a rematch in the form of a board game called ‘Frustration’, and the two of you had been so busy playing that the time was slipping away around you, the board being flipped by you as he began to win, counters scattering across the floor, and he looked completely and utterly insulted at it, before cracking up laughing with you once again.

After that, you had sprawled all of the games out over the floor, some of them being team games that you were unable to play together, and you’d refused to play a drawing game with him, because you’d peeked at his designs, and were scared to showcase your own drawing in front of him, worried that he’d completely put you to shame and leave you embarrassed.

Poker had been too much of a challenge, half of the pieces for the monopoly board were missing, and you’d done every round of Mario Kart at least once by the time it had come to turning off the console under the TV. Joining you by your side, the two of you were slumped lazily into the couch cushions, shoulders pressed together as the bong sat between you, fresh hits racing through your systems to keep everything exciting, but the thrill of the act itself was beginning to die off, and you were once again out of things to do for entertainment.

At some point, the light outside of the windows had faded, the clumps of snow that had been left along the windowsill were still rising, flakes still falling in flurries from the clouds, except what had once been visible in the day was now dark, the low light of the lamps in the room spilling golden light out across the walls and carpet. Rolling your head to the side, you took in the man sitting before you, watching as he tapped his feet repetitively on the coffee table to the beat of a song you didn’t recognise.

“I looked at your drawings.”

“What?” He paused, twisting to look at you, and he sat up a little further.

“I was being nosey. Earlier, I looked at the drawings in your sketchbook.” His gaze flickered to the leather-bound book in the corner, stacked up with the rest of his belongings, before getting up and putting the bong away, folding the edge of the table back down, and wiping a hand over his face, cheeks tinted pink, and you weren’t sure if it was from the warmth of the room or out of embarrassment. “They’re incredible. Some of the best illustrations I’ve ever seen, actually.”

“You really think so?”

“Yeah. I could never draw like that. I can’t even draw stick men without them being wobbly, sometimes.” He smiled again at that, and you found an odd feeling running through you at the idea that you were able to make him smile, your stomach clenching and twisting as he looked at you fondly, shaking his head a little, eyes dropping to the floor.

“I don’t get a lot of practice with it, I can’t get any apprenticeships yet because nobody wants to hire someone who’s only experience is in one element. Mine being fantasy-sorts, I suppose.”

“Will you draw me?”

“What?” He looked a little startled, eyes wide, and you shuffled forwards on the couch, hand twitching to reach out and take his as you tried to reassure him, watching uncertainty flick over his face. “I don’t really have experience with drawing people. More the imaginary things, described but never seen, less to fuck up if there’s nothing to compare it to.”

“I don’t think you’ll fuck it up.” He swallowed thickly, moving to kneel on the other side of the table, his sketchbook in hands as he fidgeted with it.

“If I mess it up, don’t make me show you, okay?” You only nodded, and he hesitated a moment longer, before getting himself into a more comfortable position, searching through the drawers around him to find his pencils and equipment, laying them out and taking an extra amount of time to line them all up perfectly, and you were sure it was because he wanted to give himself a spare few seconds to hype himself up to it.

You waited patiently, just now beginning to process what was about to happen, and that you’d have to sit still for a long time, while he stared at you, drawing every highlight and flaw of you, while you remained steady under his gaze for as long as it took. When he was ready, you moved yourself a little more, sinking down onto the floor after rounding the coffee table, sitting at the side of it as he positioned you.

“Can you, um-” He tugged two fingers on his own t-shirt, and you looked down at your hoodie, the hood of it crowding around your shoulders, and you nodded, tugging it up from the bottom and over your head. A cool breeze swept over your skin, exposed with only the thin satin camisole hanging on your body to keep you warm, but you felt yourself light up on fire with the way his eyes swept over you. “However you’re comfortable. I’m just going to draw your head and shoulders, so, do whatever you want.”

You pressed your elbows to the wood, hand forming a loose fist and your cheek pressed to it, leaning like that, a slight ankle, and he nodded his head to himself, seeming to approve of the pose. Picking up a pencil, he studied you for a second, the nib hovering over the paper as he held it at an angle that couldn't see, perfect for him to work on though, before stopping.

Placing the pencil between his lips, he held it there, reaching forwards to pull a few strands of your hair free on either side, framing your face and letting them dangle there, curling one around his finger a little to make it twisted, before he was pulling back. “You’re so pretty.”

After that, he was working. Quick strokes of his pencil over the paper as he created the first outline of you, your head, where and how your hair would fall, your hand holding up your head and down to the spaghetti straps on your shoulders, quick movements, a lot of erasing, and very light brushes of the graphite over the paper. Once he was sure he had the form right, only a few minutes in, he started on the details.

His eyes, lingering on your face, licking at his lips to keep them wet as he worked, parted for short breaths, unaware of what he was doing and you resisted biting down on your own as you looked at him, trying to hold your position. It was hard, the look of concentration on his face while staring at your mouth, or the determination in his eyes as he held your gaze and yet was so far away, taking in every little detail, until he was rubbing his finger over certain spots to create shading, and create the minute detailed with finally sharped tips.

Your arm was sore and neck aching when he finally told you that you could sit up, and you rolled your head from side to side, loosening the muscles and tendons that had begun to lock up from the prolonged length of time motionless. He was clutching the pad to his chest, fingers tapping at the back, some slightly smudged with grey graphite, and you inched closer to him.

“Can I see?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” He tried to laugh at his own comment, but was nervous, and you placed a hand over his gently, pulling it toward you slowly, and he gave no reluctance, but wasn’t moving of his own accord. “Okay, you can look, but you have to remember that I’m not good at drawing people, and I’m still high as fuck.”

You’d almost forgotten about that, and it was just now clicking with you why you’d been bold enough to do something like model for a sketch, your inhibitions lower, the boldness of nightfall giving you yet another boost in something that you’d never have done earlier in the day. Taking it from him, you turned it around, seeing the nervous look on his face before you were looking down at the sketch. His own worries had prepared you for the worst, but as you looked at it, you decided it wasn’t all that bad.

There was certainly work to be done, but he had the basic forms down, even you could tell that. It was clear that his skill lay elsewhere, the detailing of things like fins and scales was nothing like drawing the subtle imperfections of skin and the dips and dimples of a face, the creases where a fist held a head up nothing like the folds along the back of a monster, but he certainly had a grounding to work from, and you loved what you were seeing despite it all.

“I love it.”

“You’re totally lying to me.” He mumbled, and you shook your head, placing the notepad down, and fixing your attention on him. “It fuckin’ sucks.”

“It does not! I think it's really good. Especially since you said you had no practice, I was expecting something bad. This is so much better than you made it out to be.”

His lips flicked up at the sides, his head raising, bringing him a little closer to you as he straightened out, feeling better about it all now. “You should’ve seen some of the things I drew in high school. My portraits were awful back then, but I was drawing people while in the car, so it wasn't the smoothest of working places.”

“Yeah, well, I think you’ve come a long way since high school, and I think you’re really talented.”

He hummed, eyes flicking down to your lips again, and this time, as he licked at his own, there was no excuse of artwork, or anything else, your heart jumping slightly in your chest. There was a moment, a second’s hesitation as you questioned whether this was what you wanted. There was time to stop, to pull back, his nose bumping yours lightly, warm breath washing over your mouth, and you were a second away from closing the gap, before loud knocking was sounding at the door, and making the decision for you.

Pulling back, his gaze went over your head, brows furrowing as he stared at the door. “Hello?”

You winced at the loud shout, and he mumbled an apology upon realising it, slight disappointment surging through you, but not as much as relief. You were growing more and more attached to this man, but at the end of the snowstorm, you’d still have to leave, and he was still a stranger. You were high, and the romanticism of the situation was morphing things to look rose-tinted and alluring, and you wanted to be of a rational mind to make a decision like that. “Hey, Joel! It’s Mandy, I was wondering if you would grab your stuff from the laundry room, so I can put a couple of loads through?”

His eyes went wide, gaze dropping to your own for a second. “Shit, I totally forgot about the laundry!”

His hand slipped down to yours, fingers lacing together as he tugged you up from the floor, handing you the basket that had been discarded hours ago, and he opened the door, an older woman who looked positively exhausted, arms full of boy’s clothing, and you pitied her knowing that she must be trapped in a shoebox apartment with a son who would be bouncing off of the walls and unable to burn off that energy.

“Sorry, Mandy, I forgot about it. We’ll grab it now.”

“We?” You muttered, the woman’s eyes flickering over you in amusement, and you were tugged out of the apartment and towards the stairs quickly, hearing the door close behind you, and the much slower steps of the tired mother as she trailed you.

The concrete was cold underfoot, especially the lower you got, and you hissed as your sock-covered feet hit the icy stone, never having had a chance to put on your shoes. Putting the container down, he opened it up, steam curling out into the air, even though the dryer had been finished for hours.

‘You couldn't have let me put my jumper on before we came down here? It’s literally freezing over right outside that window.” You mumbled, Joel turning to you, and he cringed a little, as though he had only just remembered the scrap of fabric you were wearing as a top. Pulling an armful of the warm clothing, he sorted through them, pulling a cosy looking jacket from within, and wrapping it over your shoulders. Heat seeped back into your body, warmed from the machine, and you barely noticed the mother entering the room, waiting for Joel to clear his clothes out, watching as you ripped the hoodie up along the front of your body, hood pulled up and hands made into paws by the long sleeves.

“You look cute.”

“I look cold.” You retorted, and he only rolled his eyes, but Mandy laughed, and that was enough recognition for you.

“Yeah, well, we can make some hot food when we get upstairs and you’ll be fine, how about that?” He sat the collection under one arm, offering his other hand to you, and you pushed up the sleeve of the borrowed hoodie, weaving your fingers with his as he guided you from the room.

“I’ve been waiting for this minestrone you’ve been boasting about. I need to see if it lives up to the hype.

“Hey, everyone loves my minestrone!” He backed his way into the home, dropping your hand in order to place down the basket that wouldn’t be looked at for hours now, you were sure. He ushered you into the kitchen, hurting you along until his hands were tickling at your sides and you were squirming under his touch, laugh loudly as he pushed you into the little room.

You worked alongside him, trying to take in the information he was giving to you but it was hard, because the little things he was doing were distracting you. The way in which his hands moved as he chopped the vegetables or prepare the meat, the passionate easy his voice sounded as he told you all about it, his eyes sparkling a little while instructing you, and the little jokes he’d make while bumping you out of the way with his hip, or guiding you around with nudges of his elbow or shoulders.

While cooking, he opened up a little, a story that you’d never have expected to learn from him, but he told you anyway. His parents had died in a car accident when he was young, too young to really remember them, but he’s been allowed to take several boxes of things with him to his foster home as he waited for adoption, and he’d taken his mother’s recipe book as one of those items.

When he’d been adopted, a man whose family had died and he’d become a foster parent, had helped him experiment with his cooking and drawing, instead of forcing him into typical paths for men to take, making him become a football player or a lawyer like he’d expected he’d end up after leaving the system.

A younger sister, also adopted from another family called Minnow, and a dog adopted from a shelter called ‘Boy’, and suddenly, in the space of time that it had taken to make the meal, delicious smell floating around you, he’d spilled to you his history, and you’d listened quietly as he got it off his chest, figuring out somewhere along the way that you were probably one of the only people to ever know this story.

You weren’t sure if that brought you comfort or not, whether he was telling you out of trust and connection, or whether he was telling you because he knew that you’d never see one another again after today, and so he didn’t mind sharing his deepest protected truths. During the heavy discussion, the nibbling of food and the time passing you by, the high you’d once claimed was beginning to fizzle out, everything coming back to sharpness once again, and yet somehow, just by being in his presence, you still felt that same freedom.

When you were sitting back at the table, he was staring at you with excitement now, watching as you lifted a spoonful of the concoction to your lips to try it, seemingly leaving behind the heavy conversation that had taken place as he simply moved on. You took a longer than needed time to assess it, humming contemplatively just to put him through his paces, before finally giving in.

“Okay, this is really good, I’ll give you that.”

“I told you so!” He cheered loudly, arms thrown up in the air, and you laughed a little, tucking into your meal, and wiping up one of the bread rolls that he'd placed into the middle of the table for you both.

You were tempted to ask him for the recipe, knowing that one day you’d be craving it again, and yet, you weren’t sure if you could, whether it would be appropriate or whether that would be crossing a line, to ask to take away a piece of something that he shared with his late mother.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.” You spoke, tearing off a mouthful of bread roll after dipping it into the soup mix, and chewing slowly as you waited for him to reply.  

“Did you mean it?” You paused your chewing, confusion making itself known on your face as you silently questioned what he meant, stirring your dinner with your spoon as you waited for him to elaborate, and he swallowed his mouthful to do so. “When you said my name sounded like a first draft of a name.”

For the umpteenth time today, embarrassment and regret was flooding through you, and you took your time to finish the food you were eating, his gaze lingering on you as he waited. When you couldn't stall any longer, you sipped at your water, before giving in. “Yes, I did.” His mouth pursed into a thin line, and you reached a hand out across the table, trying to contain your amusement. “Like, a really good first draft, though, almost there!”

“Nice save.”

Silence fell between you both once again, eating food in a comfortable quiet, and once again the direct parallel to this morning’s porridge struck through you, only twelve hours having passed and yet absolutely everything was different between you both. You couldn't put your finger on what it was about him, something that had caught your attention the first time around had now got you captive again, and there was just something adorably charming about everything he did.

Handsome but bashful, shy but cocky, always making jokes but somehow being able to jump right into something deep and meaningful too, and you’d closed yourself off for so long that it was a little scary for everything you were feeling to come rushing back all at once.

You hadn't had a crush since high school, and you weren’t sure if you liked the idea of one forming now.

“What about the other thing, did you mean that, too?” You searched your mind, reliving that argument as you tried to work out what he was referring to, and you almost dropped your spoon as it all came crashing down, remembering the harsh words that you’d spat in the eat of the moment, and yet it didn’t make them any less true. You only nodded your head, and he let out a loud groan, pouting a little. “Well, that fucking sucks.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, it’s really hard to do! Women are just better at doing that themselves, y’know? We don’t have to talk about it.”

“That doesn't help! You can’t just, like, drop a bomb on me like that; ‘hey, maybe you've never made a girl come in your entire freakin’ life’ and then say you don’t want to talk about it!” He pushed his empty dish away from himself, and your brows raised, arms crossing over atop the table, staring at him critically, and deciding you were finished with your food. “I want to talk!”

“No way! Guys can't handle constructive criticism like that! We’ll end up just like we were this morning, and then we’ll be back to square one! I like how we are now!”

“No! I promise you, I can take it. Just, help me out, here?” He reached out, pushing the dishes out of the way so that nothing was in the way, putting on his best puppy dog eyes. “You help me, I’ll help you.”

“What do you mean help me? You think you got pointers for me?”

“This isn’t a one-way street! Last night was awesome, but you could improve on a few things too. Guess you’ll never know, now, though.” He sighed, glancing off over your head, and you knew it was bait, some very obvious bait at that, and you hated to fall for it, but your own insecurities were getting the best of you, and you huffed loudly.

“Fine!” He turned back to you, a wicked smile on his lips as he realised that clearly, he had won. “I bite, you got me. Go!”

“Okay, this isn't just you, I just wanna’ make that clear to start with.” You raised a brow, leaning back in your chair, arm still crossed and listening intently. “What is with the whole lights off, thing? The fuck is that? If the lights are off, like you requested and I so gentlemanly obliged, I could be having sex with anything! I don’t want to be having sex with anything, I want to be having sex with you.” He paused, eyes darting away from you for only a second, and he wet his lips. “Or, y’know, whoever it is I’m with.”

“Lights on? Wow, and all guys feel this way?” He opened his mouth to reply, before you were letting out a loud ‘booing’ sound. “Duh! Girls hear that more than ‘hello’. That’s all you got?”

“Okay, okay, alright.” He smirked slightly, leaning forwards and resting his forearms on the table. “You, and by you, I mean women in general, do this thing where you stand up, and kinda’ turn away, and then get undressed, like, super-fast. Like you’re at the doctors or something, getting a physical!”

“I’ve never had any complaints about how fast I undress before. Most guys like naked me.”

“I love naked you.” He dropped his gaze, scanning along your body, and you threw a bread roll at him as you realised he was remembering you without your clothes on from the night before, the soft accompaniment bouncing from his head and rolling over the table. “Hey! I’m just saying! Naked you is awesome to look at, and touch, but what I mean is that you could make the getting to being naked part a little more exciting.”

“Exciting?”

“Yeah! You know, do that whole slow bra thing, take it off to the side. Drop it in that sexy way. Do that little ass thing with your panties, y’know, where you just-” He wiggled in his seat, demonstrating the little as movement that all girls did with their panties when they wanted to feel a little sexy. “All I’m saying is that guys like the undressing part too, make it more of a.. thing.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes, actually. One more thing.” He paused, this seemingly the one he was most nervous about, and you leaned forward on your elbows, watching him lean in a little too, rolling his lips before speaking. “When I was inside of you, you did this thing. You started helping yourself a little bit, it kind of made me feel like I was being benched. Second-string, forgotten.”

“Duly noted.” You mumbled, and he shrugged a little, the space between you both going void of sound but crackling with electricity. “Is it my turn now?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, first of all, I don’t know who taught guys to do that alphabet thing with their tongue, but it kind of makes me feel like I’m Helen Keller being fucked by her teacher.”

“That’s not a fantasy of yours?” He faked shock, and you tried to cover up your laugh to keep the conversation as serious as you could, and he tried to still himself, nodding for you to continue.

“There was this one moment, during foreplay, where I was close to coming, and I’m pretty sure I subtly pointed it out. Do you remember what I said?”

“Uh, ‘I’m close to coming’?”

“Yes, that’s it!” He scowled falsely, unsure where you were going with this, and it was your turn to smirk a little. “Right after I said that, you totally switched up what you were doing. What was the thought process there? If you had me right there at third, home base in sight, why would you start running in a different direction?”

“Okay, got it. That’s actually helpful.”

“All my tips are helpful! Like, also, you waited for me to undress you. Which was awkward, and a little weird, don’t do that.” You were almost out of advice, pausing for a second to think. “When a girl helps out, that's a good thing! This is sex, not a competition, my ex was weird about that too, just embrace the team spirit, it makes it better for everyone.” He nodded, and you felt a little out of breath, but a weight lifted off your shoulders. “Oh! Yeah, you went too fast. I felt like I was being drilled for oil. Girls want fast, but also slow. Kinda’ felt like you were in a rush, had somewhere better to be.”

“Trust me, I didn’t.”

“Obviously.” You teased, and he grinned, taking in all the information you were giving him. “Lastly, I guess it’s just after. Like, as soon as we finished, you retreated to the other side of the bed like you’d planted a bomb down there. Stick around, hold a girl, count to ten or something. That one will get you a long way, trust me.”

“Cuddling. Noted.”

“Other than that, you were a perfectly adequate lover.” He gaped at you a little, and his whole body sagged.

“Adequate? What a way to boost a guy’s ego.”

“See, I knew this would happen, you’re-”

“Fine! I’m fine!” He reached out, placing a hand over one of yours, and squeezing comfortingly. “Seriously, now I know. I can make use of that advice next time.” He offered you a smile, and you tried to return it, nervous butterflies making you feel a little nauseous as you tried to settle yourself, no indication that he was angry or upset with you. “You said something about your ex in there, y’know. Is that why you broke up, crappy sex?”

You knew it was meant as a joke, something to lighten the mood, but your stomach dropped. “Uh, no.” You cleared your throat, hands pulling from his to clasp them in your lap as you looked away. “That would’ve been because I found him in our bed with one of my friends.”

The air went dead, silence encased you, and you heard the legs of his chair scrape on the floor as he pushed it back. Kneeling in front of you, he took your hands in his, forcing you to meet his eye. “I’m really sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up.”

“It’s okay. At least I know she isn't getting much.”

He chuckled, but it was dry and empty, and he reached up, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “For the record, I think he’s a dipshit. You’re an amazing girl, anybody who would cheat on you isn’t worth you.”

“Thanks, Joel.”

He stood up, pulling you with him, until you were standing up once again. “Go find another film. I’ll get us all sorted here. Anything you want, it’ll cheer you up.” You waited a moment longer, ready to do as he’d said, before a set of lips were brushing against your forehead, and your breath hitched in your throat. Pressing into the touch just a little, it was almost embarrassing how you reacted, how much you’d missed simple affections, how it felt to be excited around someone instead of just bored or dreading having to see them, the excitement of once again experiencing the thrill of something invigorating and new. “I’m honestly sorry for bringing it up.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Kinda’ is.” He mumbled, fingers playing with yours lightly where your hands were still hanging connected, and the whole experience was a little different. This wasn’t a near-miss kiss while high after the intimacy of drawing one another, nor was it holding hands in the rush to get to the laundry room while hopped up on adrenaline and a little embarrassment. “He’s a moron, and he didn’t deserve you. Neither did your friend, if she’d do something like that to you.”

“They deserve each other.”

“Atta’ girl.” He teased, squeezing your hand once more, before letting you go, and as you settled down onto the couch cushions, you had to try hard just to steady your racing heart as you scroll through movies on Netflix, perched happily along the couch, but it was a little chilly, the space heater was barely holding its own against the chill of the outside.

“You got any blankets?” You didn’t even bother turning your head as you shouted the words, still exploring the film choices, and this time, you went for something a little more exciting. A ‘Mission Impossible’ movie was always a hit, right? Everybody loves Tom Cruise.

“Yes, I do.” You jumped, never having heard him moving around, and he stood before you, a fluffy looking blanket bundled in his arms, and you made grabby-hands for it with a grin. He shook his head, slumping down beside you on the ouch, and you bounced a little with the movements he made. “What, you think I read your mind? This blanket is for me, but I might just share it with you.”

“Yeah, what’s the catch?”

“You have to smile, so I know you’re really okay.” You couldn’t help it, trying to bite back the grin on your face as you flushed with shy heat, and he whooped loudly upon seeing the expression. Spreading the blanket out across you both, his fingers brushed across your skin, tucking it around your thighs and over your waist as he and sure you were covered, before his arm was stretching out along the back of the couch behind you.

“You’re too smooth for your own good.”

“Don’t get used to it, I’m incredibly awkward and not nearly as brave, usually.” You rolled your eyes, nudging your shoulder against his but not bothering to say anything, and starting up the movie.

Tucking your legs underneath yourself, you adjusted the blanket, your feet cold as you lifted them up from the cooled flooring, and directing your attention over to your phone. It had been hours since you’d check it, since you'd even felt the need to know whether anyone else had been in touch with you, and even as that realisation came to mind, you still didn’t budge to collect it.

Earlier in the day, you had been bitter and wishing to be home, where you’d inevitably only be locked up tight in your own bedroom and watching movies to pass the time away, listening to Sophie and her boyfriend move around the apartment, trapped in permanently third-wheeling until the snow melted. Now, you were happy, knowing that you’d made a new friend, and that you were at least venturing back out into the world for the first time since having your heart broken.

A hand came down, fingers playing with the edges of your hair lightly, twirling a light strand between his fingers, and as you swept your gaze over the man a foot or so away from you on the couch, his eyes were still fixed on the screen of the television. His fingers brushed against your neck occasionally, and each time, you had to suppress the urge to shiver. It was an invitation, the changing for day to night once again shifting everything between you both, unspoken words to invite you closer, easy for you to choose to take, or not to take, and nothing would be said about it at all.

Your entire body ran over with goosebumps, and your fingers picked lightly at the blanket, unsure of which move you wanted to make. On the one hand, you could definitely take that step, move a little closer and risk falling into that again, or you could stay where you were, play it safe and not risk a thing. Fold your cards and wait for the next round.

“I’ll just be a minute, okay?”

You stood up, his hand falling away from yourself and the blanket laying down on the couch, and he nodded his head, a barely present smile on his face as he nodded his head, and you slipped away, giving yourself just a moment to think as you disappeared to the bathroom. Closing the door behind yourself, you leaned back against it, letting out a deep breath and trying to clear your mind, weighing the pros and cons of where this night might go.

Shaking yourself down a little, you felt the tension flee from your body, and you placed your hands onto the sink, staring at yourself in the mirror hanging over it. You were always playing it safe, always had, and maybe that’s why your ex had adventured and found excitement somewhere else, needing the thrill of it, because you never took risks.

If you hadn't taken a risk last night, you wouldn't be here now, and after all, you’d had a great day. Maybe it would blow up and backfire, maybe when the snow melted you’d never see him again, maybe it wouldn't work out, but you’d never know if you didn’t at least try.

“Oh, woman up. For once in your life.” You muttered, running the water and splashing a little of the cool liquid over your face, refreshing yourself with just how icy cold it was, a little hiss leaving you. Shaking your hands off and patting your face dry, you ran a hand through your hair, deciding you were ready. Uncapping the toothpaste, you took a small chunk from it on your finger, placing the blob onto your tongue and licking it around your mouth for freshness, doing the best you could to clean your teeth a little, before using your hands as a cup and rinsing with some water.

At least you felt a little fresher and more alluring now. A good confidence booster, because fuck it, you were all in.

Stepping back out into the main room, you undid the zipper on the hoodie of his that you’d borrowed, letting it hang open along the front, the thin satin of your camisole on display, the material falling away from one shoulder as it hung baggy on your body now that it was open. Upon your return, he turned to look at you, lips parting a little as his eyes flickered along your body, gaze lingering on the exposed skin of your shoulder, your arms, the midriff shown between the edge of your top and the hem of your leggings, before his jaw was snapping shut, and he met your eyes again, only for a split second, before looking back to the movie.

Lifting the edge of the blanket, you sat a little closer to him than you had been before, your arm brushing against his side as you got comfy, and you heard him let out a slightly shaky breath, fingers tapping against the back of the couch, behind where your head had once been, now further down the couch as you sat close enough to smell the lingering aftershave on his skin.

Five long minutes passed, and you almost thought you’d overstepped, that he didn’t want this as much as you thought he would, that the connection was one-sided, but then his hand slipped down, fingers brushing over the bare skin of your shoulder on the side where the jacket had dipped down, nails scraping slightly, before the rest of his arm followed. Slipping it around your shoulders, his hand hung over you, playing lightly with the spaghetti strap of your top, running along the silky material, under it, playing with it in slow and absentminded patterns, and you contained yourself from celebrating out loud, or doing something that wouldn't be considered as ‘playing it cool’.

You paused, giving it just enough time, the feeling of roughened fingertips rubbing along your skin, and after a moment, you realised it was being inched a little further over. As the strap fell away, falling over your arm again, his movements paused, everything going still for just a second, before his fingertips were pressing to bare skin again. Twisting towards him a little more, you pressed up to his side, lifting a leg until the lower half of your legs were tangled together as they sat ahead of you, propped up on the coffee table.

He hummed a little under his breath, your head adjusting to rest on his shoulder, and he dared to reach his fingers a little lower than just along your shoulder, brushing as far as the undersides of your collarbones, and you cuddled in a little closer to him still.

“I can’t stop thinking about what you said.” His words were gruff, voice low and gravelling as he kept his tone to just above a whisper, and you rolled your lips together for a second, trying to settle on your words.

“And what would that be?”

“Well, y’know, all the improvements I could make. I’ve been thinking about it.” You only hummed, fingers smoothing over his stomach and across towards his side until you were holding onto him, and the muscles underneath tensed and rippled under the soft cotton tee he was wearing. “But, I’d never really know if I was getting it right until I put it into practice.”

“Well, that does make sense.”

“Yeah, and I mean, I’d need someone who could tell me, give me real talk.” He was continuing on with the rouse, the playful energy between you both sparkling, and the movie was long-forgotten, simply becoming background noise.

“Makes sense. Someone to guide you as you go.”

“Exactly.” He mumbled, turning himself enough to drag the tip of his nose over your cheek, and you tipped your head back a little, making it easier for him as his lips brushed your cheek. “Know anyone up for the task?”

“I think I might know someone.” You whispered, hand coming up to lace into his hair, and he rumbled happily at the scrape of your nails over his scalp.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You promised, and he grinned, shifting enough to let his mouth slant across yours, a kiss that was more than overdue. Lifting a hand to sit on his jaw, he pressed into you a little further, one hand still behind the couch, while the other was sliding down to find your waist, the blanket falling away and the movie becoming nothing but background noise as his lips worked softly with your own.

You’d expected hot and sloppy, but he was taking it slower this time, sweet and passionate, not nearly as desperate as you’d been anticipating, and your heart was racing in your chest with the tenderness in which he kissed you. Once the blanket was kicked from your legs, his hand dipped a little lower, smoothing around your lower back, and pulling you in towards him until you could drape a leg over his thighs. Settling into his lap, both of hands were sitting low on your hips, teeth grazing along your lower lip as the what between you both seemed to double, and you pressed a little closer into him.

“Put your hands, just-” You took a hold of his wrists, lowering his hands a little, your forehead pressed to his as you pushed them around until he could hold fistfuls of your ass through your leggings, squeezing tightly, and you keened into his touch. Rocking your hips down into his own, you gasped, his grunt at the feeling being silenced as your lips closed back over his, and he hummed happily when your tongue dragged slowly against his.

For each rock you made down into him, his hips were jumping, small thrust upwards to meet you, and it became more frantic with every little movement. He was growing underneath you, the material of his sweats doing little to hide the hardening cock that seemed to twitch and jump each time you dragged your core along his length, even through the layers of material, and you could feel yourself growing wetter and weather, uncomfortably so the longer your went, but the pressure was perfect, an orgasm already beginning to grow within you.

When the burn for oxygen became too much, he pulled back, lips worked along your jaw slowly, soft sucks that weren’t hard enough to leave bruises but sent sparks of electricity and excitement flooding through you each time, nips at your skin as he worked his way down your neck, until he was biting teasingly at the shoulder with the strap of your top still hanging over your arm, bare skin exposed to him. “You know, not a criticism, just a compliment, but you really got kissing down to an art.”

He chuckled against your skin, a little breathless, but still enough to make you tremble at the feeling, before he was making his way back up to you, nose dragging over your skin until his mouth could brush against yours. “Is that so?”

“Totally.” You mumbled, your hand slipping into his hair to hold onto a fistful as his mouth crashed back into your own, and he put those skills to good use. He all but knocked the oxygen from your lungs with the intensity of it, leaving your head spinning and lungs burning but you were unable to pull away, the addictive way that his mouth worked with your own, so sensual and intimate that you were flaring up with heat, and you finally knew what it felt like when people said there were fireworks in a kiss, because you felt as though the fourth of July was exploding around you.

“Bedroom?”

“Absolutely.” You mumbled, having to tear yourself away from his kisses, diving back in a few times, before finally, you managed to pull yourself away. You took his hands in your own, pulling him up with you as the two of you moved, and his hands found your hips, guiding you in your backwards walking steps as he followed behind you; foreheads pressed together, occasionally pressing sweet kisses to one another, giggles shared into the air between you until you came to a stop in the doorway.

Turning around, you paused, more of a laugh erupting from you.

“First criticism, messy sheets is a turn off.” He sounded confused for a second, mouth leaving where he had been kissing along your neck, his head coming up to take a look, and he huffed a little.

“Right, yeah, forgot about that. Let me just-” He moved away, on side of the bed to straighten the blankets out, pushing the pillows back up to the top end of the bed, and you helped out, smoothing over them until the job was done haphazardly, but at least it least it was no longer messy, and he stood on the opposite side from you, hands on his hips for a second. “Better?”

“Much.” He nodded his head, licking over his lips, and taking the lower one prisoner as his gaze swept over you, His hair was a little messy, cheeks flushed and lips swollen, and you were certain that you looked exactly the same, the tension between the two of you sizzling. You couldn't handle it, the two of you meeting halfway as you knelt on the bed, his body colliding with yours and lips meeting in frenzied kisses as you connected again.

He reached a hand behind his head, tugging his shirt up and away from his body, a delicious display of flexing muscles and veiny forearms as he discarded of it, shaking the hair that flopped down into his face free.

“That was hot.”

“All I did was take off my shirt?” He whispered, pulling back when you tried to kiss him so that he could raise his brows in silent questioning.

“We like that. When you do that whole ‘taking your shirt off with one hand behind your head’ thing. Plus, you just looked good while doing it.” He looked down at himself, before back up to you, hands cupping your face to bring you in closer to him, and he pressed a series of pecks to your lips, until you were laughing lightly and pushing him back with hands spread over his chest.

He followed you as you stood, and you undid the rest of the zip on the hoodie, letting it fall open, and down your arms slowly, and he watched it go, until the material was crumpled in a pile around your feet. Placing your hands on his chest, you pushed him backwards, until his knees were buckling against the mattress and he was sitting down, staring up at you with wide eyes and parted lips, waiting for your next move. With a finger under his chin, you tipped his face upwards, enough to be able to peck his lips, before you were stepping away from him.

Turning away, you heard him shuffling, the ruffling of material and the slight creaking of the bed, before it was silent, and you took a steadying breath. Crossing your arms over your middle, you tugged the satin top up slowly, brushing your own fingers over your skin, and you heard him groan behind you as it hit the floor, hair falling back down your back upon being freed from the material. Hooking your fingers into the edge of your leggings, you peeled them down your legs, bending at the waist, and removing them from your feet, slowly, before turning back to face him, clad only in your panties.

His eyes were half-lidded, and jaw hanging slack, only clad in his boxers now, but he was palming himself through the material as he sat propped up in the pillows, and you rounded to his side of the bed, one of his hands reaching out for you, and you took it, a gentle hold as his fingers weaved with yours.

“How was that?”

“So fucking hot.” He mumbled, the hand that he had been using to rub at his hard cock through his boxers came free, a wet patch left across the front of the pale checkered fabric, precum soaking into them and your thighs clenched at the idea of having that effect on him. Running the tip of one finger under the waistband of your panties, he tugged you a little closer to him still, before snapping the elastic against your skin. “What about these?”

“Figured you might want to do that.”

Your eyes dropped to his mouth, before meeting his gaze again, only a split second slip, but he was smirking, clearly having seen it. Before you could even process what he was doing, his arms had wrapped around your middle, twisting you around and lifting you to lay in the bed beside where he had been, your head in the pillows and his arms holding him up on either side of you, and you panted a little, the yelp that had left you making you breathless.

“Holy shit.”

“Couldn’t help it. You say dirty things and it makes me feel a little wild.” His legs were caging you in, moving lower and lower as he kissed his way over your collarbones, lips and tongue leaving wet trails between your breasts as he lowered himself further and further.

“Wild is good. I like wild.”

“Hm, I hope so.” He whispered the words, tongue grazing along the sensitive skin above your panties, before he was tapping at your hips with his fingers, and you were lifting them for him to shimmy your panties down. Once you were bare before him, you grew a little shy once again, legs snapping shut, and he chuckled, a hand landing on each knee, and he pressed kisses along the tops of your thighs. “Please don’t be shy, gorgeous. You’re so damn beautiful, you have nothing to be shy about.”

Squeezing his hands at your knees, you twitched a little, pushing yourself up onto your elbows to peer down at him, and he grinned, pressing a kiss to your stomach, before leaning up and pressing an equally quick but sweet kiss to your lips.

“Open up your pretty legs for me, yeah?”

You couldn't hold back, the way he was talking to you and touching you, loving caresses that soothed your nerves, and he groaned under his breath as your slick core was revealed to him. Legs bending at the knees, you planted your feet flat on the bedding, and he was able to settle on his stomach between them, hot breath fanning over your core.

His arms wrapped around your thighs, fingertips digging into them roughly, and he rubbed a hand up and down them slowly, the twitching in your gut coming to a still as he still managed to find time and sentience to ease your nerves as he pressed his mouth in sweet kisses along the insides of your thighs, biting a little at the top and chuckling as he felt you jerk in surprised shock. Lacing a hand into his hair just as his mouth moved to close over your core, you tugged lightly, his eyes flickering up to find yours. “What’s wrong, gorgeous? Did I mess something up?”

“No, no, you’re perfect.” Your words were panted out, and you were trembling while holding yourself up, but you shook your mind clear, trying to focus enough to break through the haze. “Just wanted to say thank you. You’re being such a sweetheart, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this confident before, so before my mind completely clears, I wanted to say that.”

He paused, a look flicking over his features to expose that he clearly didn’t expect that, and there was a much more adoring smile on his face as he processed your words. “It’s my pleasure, you’re worth it, and you deserve a guy to treat you like the special and incredible woman that you are.”

You choked a little on your breath, unsure of how to reply, so you swallowed the lump in your throat, nodding your head, before pushing his back down a little. “Okay, enough heart-to-heart crap. You can continue now.”

“As you wish, princess.”

He dragged his tongue once along your core slowly, and you took a sharp inhale of breath, the feeling of a hot and wet mouth working over you was something that you’d sorely missed, and while Joel had gone down on you yesterday too, this would be so much better and you already knew it. Instead of rushed and nervous, it was erotic and confident, sure in your movements, and sure that he could be the best you’d ever had, you could tell just from the way this night was going so far, that these memories would be burned in your mind for the rest of your life.

Rubbing a thumb over your clit, he chuckled at the way your thighs trembled slightly, before he was pulling away, diving in to replace his finger with his mouth. Lips sucking at the little bud, your fingers tightened in his hair, back arching at the feeling, and he licked over the bud, before repeating the process. Again, and again, and then, he was replacing his movements. Tongue flicking out, rapid kitten licks over the bud, and you squealed a little, thighs clamping around his head as you did, and you whined a little.

“Wait, Joel!” He paused after a moment, your entire body still tingling with the feeling of his mouth, but your legs loosened as he pulled them open, brows raising at you, and slick was already glistening on his chin. “Good, but can be better. Start slow, don’t go right in, tease me a little. Speed up when I’m closer, okay?”

“I thought girls hated being teased?”

“We can love it, if you do it right. You’ll know when to speed up, okay? Start slow, add a finger, then another, speed up when I’m getting close.” He nodded his head, a lopsided smile on his face, and he was taking your advice. He started slow, a long and torturous drag of his tongue over your core, and then again, before his tongue circled your entrance for a moment, barely dipping inside long enough to matter, but then he lapped at your core again. Lips sealing around your clit, he sucked harshly, your back arching up from the bed, your free hand finding purchase tangling in the bedding, and you moaned, loudly. “Fuck, yes, Joel. Just like that.”

He groaned into your body, the feeling reverberating along your skin, and one hand moved from your thigh, slipping along and disappearing from your skin until the tip of one nimble digit was circling your entrance, rubbing lightly across your weeping hole. Filthy sounds were already filling the room, and your mind was going completely blank, the only thing you could process right now was the movements of his mouth against you, tongue and lips working in tandem to drive you crazy as you bucked up into him, holding his face against your core as he slurped and sucked at every drop you had to release.

Slipping that finger into you, he had clearly taken our tip on teasing, because he only sunk it within you to the first knuckle, barely present at all, and yet your walls were clamping around him greedily, desperately trying to draw him deeper in as you felt him twist it a little, circling the finger and beginning to stretch you out, crooking it at the knuckle and tugging a little in your entrance as he began to pump it. A cry of his name left you as he bit down on your swollen clit lightly, the bud throbbing in response, and your entire body jumped at the sensation, loving the way he was taking control with it now.

Each time his finger dipped back into you, he sank a little further, his finger and tongue working in harmony, the same pace with their movements, and your entire body was layered in a thin sheen of shining sweat as he took you apart piece by piece. His hips were grinding down into the covers as he worked, the rustling of the covers giving it away, and he was grunting and growling against your every so often, his eyes closed as he enjoyed his motions just as much as you did, and you forced your hand free from him hair as you realised just how tight your fist had gotten. Just when you thought you might be getting used to this feeling, that you might be able to clear the fog in your mind enough to think straight, he sensed it, upping his ministrations.

“Fuck, Joel!” The coil in your stomach wound up ten times tighter in a matter of seconds as that dull tingling at your entrance made itself known, a second finger taking you by surprise as it plunged inside of you, and your back arched up so high your hips followed, borderline screaming as he picked up his pace. “I-I’m going to-”

“Come? Do it, come on, gorgeous. Give me all you got.” Faster movements, the tandem between his fingers and his mouth going to shit, as he continued to work his fingers in and out of you slowly, but his tongue was picking up his pace again. Switching between sucking and licking, you could barely process what was happening each time, and tears lined your eyes as you felt fire beginning to consume you.

Heat flooded your body, bliss filling every cell in your body and coursing through you until it was all-consuming, and you unravelled against him in a fit of squirming screams, his hands holding you to his mouth as he rode you through the pleasure, two fingers stretching you wide and scissoring you open each time, never giving up on his movements until you couldn't take it anymore.

You pushed him away, panting and gasping for breath, and his eyes were blown with lust as he pulled away, cheeks and chin shining with your arousal, your hand falling over your chest, feeling the erratic beating of your heart under your palm as your eyes closed, trying to contain the way you were feeling. Your throat was already scratchy, growing rough from the calls and cries of his name that you’d released.

“Good?”

“Is that even a question?” You teased, and he collapsed down into the bed beside you, wiping the back of his hand over his jaw, before you leaned in to kiss him, taking his lips with your own, and he let out a needy sound into your mouth as you did. He was rubbing at his jaw, pressing his lips lazily with your own as you kissed him, and he pressed you back down into the bed, leaning over you and letting his body press into yours.

One hand moved to his boxers, pushing them down, kicking them away until they were removed from his body. Leaning over you, a dripping cock brushed along your thigh, your leg raising up a little to rub against him, and he grunted into your mouth, biting down on your lower lip in warning, as he rooted through the nightstand to find a condom. Upon retrieving the package, he sat back on his heels, tearing it with his teeth and throwing the wrapper to the ground, a problem to be dealt with later, and he rolled the rubber along his length.

Long and flushed red, his cock was standing tall and proud, and you rubbed your thighs together a little, watching as he pumped himself slowly, eyes dragging over your body. You could see the cogs working in his mind, before he backed away from you entirely. Moving to the switch on the wall, he turned down the lights, leaving them on a little, but lowering them to a more comfortable level.

“Compromise?”

“I can work with that.” You offered, holding your hands out to him, and the bed bounced a little as he came to laying over the top of you. One leg was pressed between yours, and you shuffled, pressing yourself down against the muscle of his thigh, and a deep sound bubbled up from within him as you rode yourself against his thigh, kissing along his neck, and his head tipped back.

“For the record, I like hickies.”

You paused, a beat passing, before your mouth was sealing over the patch where his neck joined his shoulders, and he groaned loudly as you sucked at the skin harshly. Tipping his head back, his arms trembled a little dipping down until your chests were pressed together, and with every rolled of your core against his leg, your chest dragged over his, the friction making your nipples grown perky, and you whimpered into his neck, lapping at the spot you were abusing.

When you were finished, you pressed a sweet kiss over it, purple already beginning to blossom beneath the splotchy red on his pale skin, and he let out a shaky breath. Brushing your thumb over it, you smirked at the mark you’d made, before finally looking back up to him. Reaching a hand between your bodies, you took his cock in your hand, pumping slowly and watching as his jaw dropped slightly, before you were shifting your legs to accommodate his body and lining his length up at your core.

He rocked forwards, sinking into you slowly, and just like that, everything went fuzzy around you once again. It was like he was your only focus, everything was falling away until it was only him that remained, and your hands found his cheeks, pulling him down to kiss you. You were drowning in his touch, his hips nestled against your own as he gave you a moment to adjust to his size with you, that same twinge of an ache you’d felt this morning coming back in full force, but overpowered by the racing lust that was taking over.

When you felt ready, you clenched around him, curling your hips and feeling his cock shift within you, a gasp falling from you as the head of his cock brushed over your g-spot, and he took that chance to slip his tongue into your mouth. Hot and wet, everything felt like it was in overdrive as you lit up, and his hands were pressed into the mattress on either side of your head as he began to shift, hips drawing out of you, before sinking back in, and he took his time, moving slowly and waiting for you to tell him when he could speed up.

Lifting a leg up and onto his hip, he sank even deeper within you, your walls fluttering around him as you let out joint sounds of pure ecstasy, and his movements stuttered for only a moment at the feeling. One hand came down, fingertips digging into the muscle of your thighs so tightly that you’d be speckled with little polka dot bruises come morning, a sinful thought that made you head spin. You felt carefree, for the first time in your life, there was no doubts or anxiety, just the way it felt to be touched and cared for by him, the way his gaze swept so delicately over your face, or the way his lips puckered a little, curling up at the sides in a smile when your mouth pressed to his.

Hooking your hands under his arms, you encouraged him on, nails digging into his skin and dragging tracks into the flesh, his back arching up to push into your touch, and his pace began to pick up. He took his time, building the pace, and you’d never felt like this before. A high you’d never experienced was beginning to set in, your hips moving in time to match his thrusts.

He was panting into your mouth, hot and erotic as your foreheads remained pressed together, his lashes tickling against your cheeks, and every soft moan of your name that he let out made you want to scream out with pure bliss, because the way his voice cracked around your name made everything within you crumble. He made you weak, he made you completely fall apart, and you weren’t sure how or why, yet you found yourself loving it.

It was raw and exposed, your heart and soul open to him, and instead of crushing it like you’d grown to expect from everyone around you, he was taking care of it. You pushed up into him, pleasure surging through you, broken stutters of his name as he fucked into you, hard and fast, driving deep, and the tip of his cock was pressing to your g-spot each time, pinpoint accuracy as you weren't sure if he even knew that he was making stars flash behind your eyes.

“Joel, don’t stop! I’m so close!”

You moved, licking over two fingers, and making to slip them between your bodies to find your clit, to spur your orgasm on as best you could, but as you moved, he lifted a hand, snatching yours in his own and pinning it to the bed, and a loud moan rippled through you from the dominance he asserted. He seemed almost surprised, for only as second, before his brows were raising. “You liked that, huh? Shoulda’ told me.”

“That’s not general advice, you wanted general advice.”

He shook his head, leaning back down to brush the tip of his nose over your own. “Maybe I’d prefer it if you tailored the advice to yourself specifically. Tell me how to drive you wild.”

“Just keep doing what you’re doing, I like it when you take control of me a little bit.” He nodded his head, seeming to catch on, and he sat back leaving you laying in the bed as the angle changed. Two fingers prodded at your lips, and he raised his brows, waiting for you to draw them into your mouth, wetting the digits thoroughly for him. When he deemed them sufficiently slick, he pulled them back, trailing them down along your body, before pressing down roughly onto the neglected bud between your thighs, crying out for attention to push you over the edge.

As you tumbled into that bliss, he continued going, until your body was jerking and quivering underneath him, and you were crying out his name, clenching so hard around his cock that his head fell back as he gripped at your thigh with his other hand, kneeling between your parted legs and tucked snugly between your spasming walls. “Jeez, you’re so fucking tight.”

He collapsed down over you, sweaty and warm, covering your body with his entirety as he tried to catch his breath, and your eyes were still rolled back in your head, coming back to focus as you slipped back down to earth from the heaven he'd taken you to. “That was incredible.”

“You bet your cute little ass it was.”

You chuckled, feeling him shuffle, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. Locking your knees on either side of his hips, you flipped him over, his eyes wide as he found himself on his back, your hand finding his cock as you sank back down, shivering at the feeling as the aftermath of your last orgasm was still racing through you, and he let out a long and deep sound that vaguely resembled your name, hands finding your waist and pulling you the rest of the way down as he fucked up into you.

“You don’t have to, really-”

“You know, you’re pretty much the first guy I’ve ever been with who didn’t come first, and who genuinely cared about my pleasure.” Your nails scratched over his chest a little, making him shudder at your touch, before you were leaning down, hair drawing around you both, and he stared up at you in awe. “I want to make you feel good, too.”

He nodded, a hand tangling toughly in your hair, and he pulled you backwards, sitting up with you in his lap so that your legs could wrap around his waist more fully, your arms looping his neck, holding you as close as he possibly could. You whined at the feeling of your stinging scalp, loving the way he was manhandling you now, and he knew it too, his lips descending to your throat as he used his other hand to guide the movements of your hips.

“Tell me what to do, I don’t go on top a lot. Tell me what’s good, that’s what you’re supposed to do.” You were pleading with him, desperate to know how you could make him feel as good as you’d made him.

“What you’re doing right now is good.” He mumbled, but as you rolled your hips back down into his with what little space there was, his lips moving over your body until he could lean you back, taking a nipple between his lips and sucking one perky bud into his mouth. You cried out his name, his fist tangled into your hair to hold you still, and you tried to form thoughts, your first attempts at speaking coming out as broken stutters.

“Please, Joel..”

“Please what, gorgeous? Tell me what you need.” He cooed the words out, and you let out a desperate sound, your hips slamming down into his, and your hands found his chest, pushing him back into the bed, hearing the rush of breath he let out.

“Tell me what you want.”

He stared at you, blinking those beautiful brown eyes for a second, before giving in. “Honestly, I just want you to ride me like a pornstar. Go fucking wild, it’s so fucking sexy. When your tits bounce, and you slam yourself onto my cock, hair messy and a little sweaty, that's what I want.”

You nodded, swallowing thickly and bracing yourself on his chest, before you moved more solidly onto your knees, beginning to bounce against him. His jaw dropped, watching the movements of your chest, watching as you leaned back to show off the bouncing of your breasts before him as you built your confidence, and after getting past your anxieties, you were faced with the raging build of confidence that came with being on top.

He was staring at you like you’d put the lights in the sky, and you were, for once, glad that there were lights on to see him and for him to see you, to watch every movement you were making, because pure thrill was written on his face, adoration and lust as he stared, before you were taking one of his hands. Dragging it over your body, you sealed his fingers around one of your tits, pushing into his hands when he took control, fingers tweaking with your nipples, and he raised the other to do that same.

You were close, and you could tell he was too, the breathless way that he was beginning to chant your name on repeat, the way you were sure that the feeling of his cock tapping against every spot within you was going to be burned into your mind for the rest of your life, and the look on his face as he finally neared that peak.

“You look so fucking good. Taking what you want, riding me, absolutely perfect up there.”

“Only because that's how you want to see me, right now.” You whispered, and he shook his head, his hands finding your hips, waiting for you to lift yourself up, and as you did, he slammed you back down onto him, meeting you as he fucked up into you, and your body fell forwards in shock, barely catching yourself before your forehead hit his own, breath shared between you once again. His feet adjusted on the bed, bending at the knee to sit flat and he set a brutal pace, driving the both of you towards your final peak and he drilled into you.

Your eyes crossed, vision spotting, and a scream of his name was torn from you with force as you crashed into yet another earth-shattering orgasm at his touch, the sound of his cries of complete joy seeming muffled as he chased after you over the cliff, falling into orgasmic bliss. He rode the pair of you out, strained and weakening movements as your bodies trembled together, until finally, he stopped, completely sent off all energy, and you collapsed against his chest.

His heart was thudding against his chest under your cheek, your nails scratching lightly at the patch of dark hairs between lightly defined pecs, and he wrapped his arms around you. Rolling you to the side, he was reluctant to leave the bed, letting out a loud sound of distaste ta having to do so, but didn’t travel far, simply far enough to undo the rubber on his cock and tie it up, wrapping it in some tissues and dropping the crumpled heap into the bin.

When he came back over, he lay down beside you on his back, one hand under his head and the other stretched out towards you. As you lay on your stomach, shuffling closer to him, you lifted yourself onto your elbows, peering down at him with a small smile. “So, that was, like, the best sex ever. Right?”

You grinned, head ducking to hide the bashful expression you wore, but you were laughing nonetheless. “Ever.”

“I wish all girls were as cool as you. Like, sex would just be so much better if everyone just had that kind of communication, because, holy shit, that was mindblowing.” His hand came up beside his head, making an exploding noise as his fingers made the motion, as though his head really had exploded, and you grinned, feeling his fingers brush over your skin as he lowered it back down.

Quiet fell between you both, but it was comfortable, nice and easy-going, and you weren’t sure how to break the silence now, but neither was he, though it didn’t matter. When the temperatures that had risen in your body during your sinful act began to come back down, you found yourself cold once again, tucking yourself under the blankets and curling in a little closer to him, fingers brushing through his hair to distract yourself as he lay, staring up at you.

“Y’know, you said something, during it all..”

“You told me to give you advice! Don’t get pissy about it now.” Your joke was taken in good spirits, a loud laugh leaving him, and the burning gaze he’d mixed you with was broken for a few moments as his eyes closed to revel in his amusement, but when the laughter died down, he was looking at you again, with just as much intensity.

“Not that. You said you only thought you only looked good because I wanted you to look good.” His hand found your cheek, forcing you to find his gaze as he spoke. “That wasn’t true. You’re so fucking beautiful, and just because one dumbass broke your heart, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t think of yourself as not being worthy. It only leads to more heartbreak. Don’t let his stupid actions take away from your value.”

“You know, you’re real wise on all this stuff.” His thumb brushed over your lips, and you puckered your lips to press a kiss to the pad of the finger. “Who broke your heart, Joel?”

“What makes you think I’ve had my heart broken?”

“Takes one to know one.” You whispered, and he let out a little sigh, gaze trailing off to stare at the ceiling.

“Her name was Aimee. We were together in high-school. We got into different colleges, and I was so sure we could make a long-distance thing work.” You cringed a little, keeping it internal, already guessing where this was going, but letting him talk. “We did phone calls and video chats, and I went to see her so often, every chance I could, in first year. But then second year came, and everything got busy, and I didn’t get to see her as often as I would’ve liked. I was waiting for the summer break to go and see her. When I got there, things were different, she told me it had changed, that she’d fallen for someone else and just didn’t know how to tell me. She figured we’d just fizzle out, that we had been fading. We broke up officially, but, it didn’t hurt her as much as it hurt me.”

“I’m so sorry, Joel.”

“That’s alright.” He murmured, fingers tracing up and down your arm, and you settled into a comfortable quiet once again.

You were hesitant to admit it to yourself, but you were growing rather fond of the man, your hookup having become so much more. The snow, the cold weather, two broken hearts and a stupid hook up site, and suddenly, you’d found someone who had managed to change your life in a lot of little ways, all in just twenty-four hours.

You turned, finding the man already watching you, lips curled up in a sweet smile and eyes lazily drooped, simply watching you as the thoughts and feelings raced through your mind, and yet, under his gaze, they all seemed to go silent. The worries, the constant surge of ‘what ifs’ and ‘maybes’ all faded away, and you reached out a finger, tapping at the tip of his nose.

His expression somehow managed to morph into something even sweeter, practically giving you a toothache as his nose scrunched up adorably, before he was folding both hands under his head, moving to tangle his legs with yours, and simply sighing a little.

Golden and low lighting made his features seemed a little sharper, shadows on his face highlighting his jaw, cheekbones standing prominent and hair darker, and you knew just how soft it was, strands pushed back out of his face by you. The dark mark on his neck was making itself known now, and you were sure your own body would soon be littered in them, and you would check them all out with pride in the morning.

You turned to look at him again, drawing yourself back out of the spiral in your mind you’d once again fallen victim to, and meeting his gaze with a heatless huff. “What are you staring at?”

“Just.. you.” His brows pulled together a little, eyes sweeping across your face again in a way that made you feel raw and on the edge of your emotions. He lifted a hand, pushing your hair away behind your ears, before settling a hand over your jaw, and stroking his thumb across your skin slowly and soothingly.

“Yeah, well, don’t.” You whispered, voice cracking, and your gaze left his, but his touch never fell away, even when you tried to duck your head. “Don’t look at me like that, not unless you plan to act on it.”

“Oh, I would love to act on it. When this snow melts, I’d like to act on it properly.”

“Like.. a date?” You questioned, eyes flicking up to his for only a moment, and he was beaming what you did, toothy smile showing off his joy for only you to see.

“Exactly like a date, if you’ll have me?”

“Depends.” You murmured, shuffling in closer to him for warmth. “Can I share the bed with you tonight, or are you kicking me back out to the couch?”

He wrapped you up in his arms, pulling you down into his chest as the pair of you laughed, cocooning yourselves in the blankets with a series of rolls and twists, until you pressed up tightly together and locked in such a way. “There, now you’re not going anywhere.” He dipped down, pressing a kiss to your lips, one that you were eager to reciprocate. “Me and the bed are all yours, gorgeous.”

“I like the sound of that.”