#to search it up and go if they’re coming near you

[dyketoro]

holy SHIT. just got back from the nova twins show and BY GOD were they incredible!!!!!! EASILY some of the most fun i’ve ever had in a pit and they sound sooo fucking sick live. i am not fucking joking if any of y’all get the chance to see them you HAVE to fucking go!!!!

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Sleeping, Dancing and Mistletoe

Summary: Logan x Fe!Reader -> Times when people found evidence that you and Logan were possibly a couple, and the one time you both finally confirmed it.

Disclaimer: Mostly fluff, mentions/illusions to sex, Logan checking you out. Couple of swear words here and there. This has been unfinished in my drafts for at least a week so...yeah. This is finished. little Christmas at the end. Not Proof Read.

For what felt like the thirtieth time in the hour, you turned over with a huff and pressed your pillow to your ears, trying to muffle the sounds coming from next door. 

And just as it finally died down, you sighed and was just about to thank some ancient being for hearing your prayers when…it started again. 

“That’s it.”

Changing out of your longer pyjama bottoms and into some sleep shorts, you made your way out of your room, keeping your footsteps as quiet as you could until the noises faded away and you started to reach your intended room. 

Opening up the door, you found exactly what you were looking for. 

Shaking his shoulder as he lay on his stomach, you whispered his name, hoping he’d hear you. 

“Logan.” You shook him for a third time. “Logan.” 

Nothing. 

With another sigh, you slapped his face gently and said his name once more, a little louder and firmer. 

“Logan.”

Finally, he groaned. “What?” 

His voice was muffled by his pillow but you could hear him just well enough. Or maybe you were just used to his grunts that they were starting to become their own language you could understand. 

“Move over. I’m sleeping here tonight.”

“What’s wrong with your bed?”

“Nothing.”

“Then go and sleep there.” Logan turned his head away from you and scrunched up his pillow beneath his head.

“I can’t. My neighbours have decided tonight is Valentine’s Day 2.0.”

You pushed half of his body with your hands until he finally got the cue to turn over. 

“Too much information.”

You shook your head, “Too much information is what I’ve been hearing for the last hour.”

Finally, Logan rolled onto his back, his covers covering his bottom half, and groaned. “Fine.”

“Thank you.”

Logan straightened himself in his bed, giving you room to get in beside him. And the minute you touched his covers, you were glad you had changed into shorts. 

Logan was like a furnace. Just constant heat radiating from his body and for as much as it, at times, got too hot to stand near him, he was also, in your opinion, the best person to fall asleep beside. 

“Just shut up and go to sleep.”

Laying on your side, it wasn’t long until you closed your eyes, thankful that you could hear nothing other than Logan’s steady breathing and the distant clock down the hall that was forever ticking. 

However, just before you fully drifted off, you felt Logan’s hand take hold of yours and you smiled. 

He could be gruff all he liked, but when it came to you, he could be a softie. 

By the time morning rolled around, Storm was in search of both yourself and Logan. So, when she found your bed empty and cold, she figured Logan would know where you were. 

But he was asleep. 

Right beside you. 

Storm leaned against the door frame for a while, taking in the picture in front of her. 

Logan was fast asleep, something that was a miracle in itself, with you right beside him, your head turned towards the windows in his room, his own looking towards you, all the while, his arm slung over your midsection and one of your own hands, holding his. 

“Storm- what are you- Oh.”

Jean looked inside. 

“Looks like someone had a good night.” She smiled before looking back at Storm. “Do you think we can finally ask if they’re together?”

“I’d say this is confirmation enough.”

You shifted in your sleep as did Logan, and the two girls hid behind the corner for a moment. 

You turned your head and the rest of your body towards Logan, all the while his arm held you in a stronger grip and pulled you towards him. 

It took you a moment but you finally opened your eyes, adjusting to the light before your vision finally cleared on a sleeping Logan. 

For a moment, you allowed the hand between you both to reach up and brush the stray hairs from his eyes. It was rare you ever got to see Logan this…calm. 

Serene. 

Rested. 

Unknowingly, you started to run your left thumb over Logan’s arm that still held onto you. 

Then his fingers twitched, running over the exposed skin at the bottom of your back. 

“Are you watching me sleep?” His voice was rough, the first words in the morning. 

“Not anymore,” you smiled, brushing the final parts of his hair out of his face. 

“Thanks for letting me stay.”

Then a cough came from the door. 

Logan groaned. “Is this a new hobby; watching people sleep?”

Jean and Storm laughed from the door. “You two look cosy.”

You lifted your head and glared at Jean. “There is one reason I’m here. Maybe I think it’s time you make an investment in soundproof walls.”

Jean turned a little red and Storm laughed. 

“Look, we’ve got a busy day. You can kiss your boyfriend later.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you called out just as Logan called; “She’s not my girlfriend.”

Storm and Jean nodded and just as Jean snapped a picture, she sent it to both yourself and Logan as they walked away. 

“Sure.”

Leaning up, Logan reached for his phone to see the notification pop up before he placed it back down and you climbed out of bed. 

“They’re got a point.”

“About us being a couple?”

You threw a t-shirt at Logan. “Having a busy day.”

Logan laughed a little, scrubbing his face as he watched you leave his room before he reached behind him and took hold of his phone once more. 

Jean and Storm were right. 

From the picture…they did look like a couple. 

A couple of days passed and you were sitting in the quiet living room, the fires on both sides roaring. 

All classes had been finished for two days and some kids had returned home for the holidays, which meant you had some free time on your hands. 

And for you, that meant finally reading. 

Until you sensed someone stood behind you. 

“If you want to know what happens, you could just ask me.”

Logan plucked the book from your hands and circled around the sofa before coming to sit down beside you. 

“Logan! Give it back.”

“I want to see what it’s about.”

You sighed and sat up, “It’s a romance, Logan.”

“A romance?” Logan had a hint of a smirk on his face. “Like the…trashy kind?”

“Like the romantic kind.”

Logan looked at you and smiled. “The trashy kind.”

You rolled your eyes and took the book back from him, leaving him to fix the blanket so it rested over both of you. He placed his arm over the back of the sofa, allowing you to lean into him, whether you noticed you were doing so or not. 

“Just because you might not believe in romance, doesn’t mean the rest of us are the same.”

“I believe in romance.” 

“Yeah, right.”

Logan couldn’t help but smile. “What?”

“The Wolverine,” you said with a deep voice. “Believes in romance?”

Logan nodded. “Occasionally.”

“Occasionally?”

“Do you just like repeating everything I say?”

You nodded and smiled. “Occasionally.”

Logan rolled his eyes and took the book back from you and read a line out loud. 

“People really talk like this?”

You leaned into Logan. “No, but in a book it’s not so bad. Go on, read some more.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

You nodded. “You’re like my own personal audiobook.”

Logan gave a short smile before getting a little cosier and continued reading out loud. 

It wasn’t long before Logan found you asleep against him and he shifted in order to avoid you getting a crick in your neck. 

“Keep reading.”

“I thought you were asleep.” 

“Now I’m awake.” 

“Fine, just be quiet.”

You gave a fake salute. “Yes, sir.”

Holding his arm around your body that was pressed between himself and the sofa, Logan quickly kissed the top of your head and went back to reading. 

And ten minutes later, you were asleep. 

And so was he. 

An hour passed before someone found either of you, but this time, it was Scott and Bobby. 

“They might be in- oh. What do we have here?”

“Oh my god, Rouge has to see this. I told her they were together.”

Bobby rushed off and soon returned, pulling Rouge with him. 

“What is it?” Then she gasped. 

“Believe me now?”

And what Rouge saw made her smile. 

On the slightly too small sofa for Logan, you lay both between him and the sofa, as well as partly on him with your hand a little over his heart. His head was turned towards you. The blanket had fallen a little, so she reached over and pulled it up both of you before turning around and throwing a log onto the fire. 

“Come on, let's leave them.”

“But-”

“No, you are not going to disturb them. Come on.”

Rouge dragged the pair out and closed the door behind her. 

The third time people suspected you and Logan were an item was one late evening in October. 

Half of the kids were playing outside with all the freshly fallen leaves, whilst some of the older kids helped them find different critters and point them out, and build them habitats. The rest of the kids were either in their rooms or studying. 

Save for two. 

Bobby and Rouge were hiding outside of the kitchen watching yourself and Logan cook. 

“I didn’t even know he knew how to…chop. Let alone cook.”

“You should have more faith in him.”

“Come on, Rouge. You can’t tell me you weren't thinking it, too.”

And she couldn’t. Because she was. 

Meanwhile inside the kitchen, Logan was watching you from the kitchen island as he continued chopping the veg. 

There was something different about you. From the way you practically danced around the kitchen finding the different items for the recipe, to just…you. Whilst he was (semi) shirtless, just having his zipper hoodie on, along with his jeans and socks. He would have been fully dressed, except you had come and ambushed him in his room – even though you denied the word “ambushed” – to get him to help. 

And you were just simply in your pyjamas (of sorts) along with one of his zipper hoodies. 

“Bub,”

Logan laid down his knife and walked over to you as you stood by the stove, standing a little higher to see how much water was left in the pot at the back. 

You hummed a questioned response, but was met with a question…you didn’t expect. 

“Dance with me?”

“What?”

Logan smiled lightly as he pulled the wooden spoon from your hand and pulled you closer to him, despite him walking backwards. 

“Come on,” his voice in a light whisper. “Dance with me.”

“Didn’t take you for a dancer.”

Outside the door, Bobby and Rouge mouthed to each other; “They’re dancing.”

And you both were. 

Gently swaying to the music for a while, you allowed Logan to lead you around a small space in the centre of the kitchen. 

“We’re gonna burn the sauce.”

Logan gave a slight smile at you as he spun you out and back in, “We’re not gonna burn the sauce.”

“Logan.”

“Can’t you ever just enjoy a moment?”

“When that moment doesn’t include burning the house down, yes.”

“Bit of a jump, don’t you think, from burning the sauce.”

“Ha, so you agree. We’re gonna burn the sauce.”

Moving over, Logan turned down the heat on one of the pans before taking your hand back into his. “Now we won’t.”

Bobby and Rouge watched, in shock, the rest. 

For one, Logan knew how to dance? Since when? And since when did he…cook and dance in the kitchen? Unless…

Then Logan did something even you didn’t expect. 

He dipped you. 

You hand tightened its grip on Logan’s arm as you let out a small, if a little nervous, laugh. 

Logan had been full of surprises recently. From the impromptu audiobook session in which you woke up in his arms, to him not only dropping off a cup of coffee during your break from teaching but also a freshly baked muffin. 

And now he was dancing with you in the kitchen. 

And dipping you. 

When you had rushed him out of his room to help you cook, you hadn’t expected him to know the recipe for the sauce from the top of his head. Something he just happened to rattle off whilst you were looking for the cooking notebook that should have been in the cupboard beside the oven. Let alone be the one to ask to dance in the kitchen, and dip you. 

Bring you back up, both of you gave a slight chuckle as you turned around, the music slowly fading away in the background. 

“Logan…”

Looking at him, you forgot what you were going to say. 

Had his eyes always had so much green in them? 

Logan’s palm became warm against your back as it pressed further into you. Or maybe you pressed further into him and he just held you tighter. 

Slowly, your hand left his bicep and trailed towards his chest all the while your eyes studied his face. You’d known him for years and seen him a thousand times or more. 

So why did now feel like you were seeing him for the first time? Noticing him? Noticing each particle he was made up of that allowed him to sway with you in the kitchen to the music that had changed on the radio?

Only, before the space between yourself and Logan became any more closer, a noise came from outside the door. 

A sneeze. 

A sneeze that shocked you and Logan back into reality. 

Still holding you, Logan looked towards the door and gave a hint of a smile when he saw the flash of white disappear behind the beam. 

Realising what was happening, you lowered yourself back to the ground and slowly stepped out of Logan’s arms. “We should finish up.”

Logan nodded in agreement, however did look back at you when you got back to the stove, not noticing you do the same a few moments later, watching him pick up the rest of the veg and toss it into the collider to be washed. 

Time passed and after more music, more conversation - including a burnt tongue from when you had shoved a wooden spoon with fresh sauce on, into Logan’s mouth for him to try - and a lot of scrubbing later, you found Logan sitting inside the library and collapsed next to him. 

“Good news, the kids loved the food,” you told Logan. “Double good news; Jean and Scott are on cooking duty tomorrow.”

“Thank fuck.”

“Thank you for helping me.” Turning to look at Logan, you found him already looking. 

“You did ambush me.”

“I didn’t ambush you.”

“I wasn’t dressed.” Logan examined himself. “Technically, I’m still not.”

You rolled your eyes with a slight smile. “Fine. Maybe it was a mini, tiny, miniscule ambush.” 

You made a small space between your fingers. “Like this big of an ambush.”

Logan looked at you, at your fingers and then back to you in slight disgust before moving your fingers wider with his own. 

“That big of an ambush.”

You rolled your eyes and dropped your hand. “And they say us women are dramatic.”

It was Logan’s turn to roll his eyes. However, as he did so, his arm wrapped around you, and pulled you back into him and the sofa. 

“Just shut the fuck up for a minute and listen.”

You did so. 

“I don’t hear anything.”

“That’s the point.” Logan’s eyes were shut as his head rested on the back of the sofa. 

Eventually you gave a shrug and joined him. 

An hour later, Storm found you both fast asleep beside one another so with a knowing smile, she found a blanket, covered you both up and closed the door behind her. But not before reminding herself she needed to get verbal confirmation from you both. 

She wasn’t handing over any money to Jean and Xavier until she had verbal confirmation of what exactly was going on between you two. 

And she didn’t have to wait long…at least in the long run, she didn’t have to wait long. 

Until then, there were plenty more incidents of falling asleep next to each other, bringing each other coffee, dancing to music in the kitchen, smiling and laughing – all before she finally got verbal confirmation that the inevitable had finally happened. 

Finally, it was acceptable to decorate for Christmas. 

Two days prior, Rogue, Logan and Storm had been helping you find all the old decorations in the attic and bring them down. Storm did try then to bribe something out of Rogue, but she apparently was just in the dark as the rest of them. 

But the smile she gave when she looked over at Logan, who was placing down another box from the back of the pile for you to take a look at, told Storm something different. 

“I can’t believe you leave it this late to decorate.”

Logan looked at you. “We’re still in November.”

“So?” 

Taking hold of the garland, you started to climb the ladder. Logan held onto the bottom just to be safe. 

“If you had it your way, the decorations would be up all year round.”

“Hey, no.”

“Hey, yes.”

“I’d take them down for…” you tried to think. “Halloween. You’d have a little break.”

Logan didn’t look entirely thrilled. “Halloween is one day.”

“Technically, it’s a month.”

“To you, it’s a month. To the rest of us, it’s a day.”

You looked back at him. “To you it’s a day, to the rest of us it’s a month.”

Then you looked back at the garland. “How does that look?”

“Great from where I’m standing.”

You looked a little confused for a second before quickly looking over your shoulder, realising where Logan was, in fact, looking. 

Not at the garland, but at your ass. 

You smiled and started to step down the ladder, hitting his shoulder on the way down. 

“I meant the garland.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Logan looked up. “Looks great.”

You laughed. “You didn’t even look.”

With a smile as you finally stepped back into his arm, he looked to the side and up. “It looks great.”

“Good. Now,” Logan turned back to look at you and you kissed him quickly. “We have to put up five more.”

“I get to watch you put up five more.”

You smiled. “This is why you’re my favourite person.”

Logan smiled. He could help you with everything else, but when it came to the garland, you had full control on where it went. Which, he didn’t mind. So long as he got to watch you put it up. 

You quickly kissed him once more, only to be pulled back when you tried to walk away. 

Then Logan gave you a real kiss. 

A little dizzy, you smiled and placed a hand on his chest and closed your eyes. “Wow.”

He gave you a quicker, lighter kiss. “You better get going before Rogue comes back with another box of lights.”

“Light?” Then it hit you. “Oh, yeah.”

Logan smirked a little as he watched you walk away and down the hallway. 

It was a couple of hours before everyone was in the same room, making the final touches all the while most of the other kids were either playing outside in the snow, were taking naps or decorating their own rooms. 

And the others had been watching you and Logan all day. 

The stolen glances, the stolen touches, the slightly knowing smiles from both Rogue and Bobby. And then, as Logan was helping you down from the ladder, his hand on your thigh, Bobby went to make the final hammer to hang up the mistletoe. 

“Wait, no. Not there.”

“Where then?”

Storm looked around. “I know. Y/n, hang this just above there. We don’t need a remake of Mistletoe Central 1997.”

Logan looked at Storm. “Do I wanna know?”

Storm shook her head. “Here.”

She handed you the mistletoe before Logan passed you the hammer back from his belt. 

Three knocks and the nail was set in and the mistletoe was above you on a corner beam, just a little to the side of the christmas tree. 

At least this way, those looking for it, would find it. 

"Oh, no, wait.” Jean said, looking at you. “Have to kiss someone. It’s tradition. You’re under the mistletoe.”

There was no one else apart from Logan.

Logan looked around at the others. He wondered how long it would take. 

Coming up behind you on the ladder, you moved over for him to stand beside you. His palm on your back held you steady and, leaning his other arm on the ledge of the ladder, his hand cupped your face and he kissed you. 

Lasting a little longer than the others had expected, you soon heard Rogue giving a little cheer, as well as a couple of whistles from the others. 

“Okay, I think they get it.” You whispered to Logan as he finally pulled away, a smile very noticeable on both of your faces. 

“Happy now?” Logan asked, turning towards where Jean and Scott were standing. 

“That was some kiss.”

You felt yourself blush at the comment. As did Logan. 

He helped you back down the ladder before you both turned and really saw the other's expression. As well as the exchanging of money between people. 

“Sooo…how long has this been going on?”

You were leaning into Logan, his hand around your back and on your hip. 

You looked at Logan, “A couple of months. We’re…what? November now so that would…”

“That would…” Logan counted back in his head. “May…June, July…six months.”

You looked back to the others. “Six months.”

A chorus of shocked faces and loud voices sounded out; “SIX MONTHS?!”

All before a small call from Rogue was made, which made both yourself and Logan smile. 

“I knew it!”

[pucksandpower]

Find Me Again

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: in which two soulmates are destined to always find each other only to be torn apart lifetime after lifetime after lifetime … until finally, they’re not (aka the reincarnation AU)

Alexandria, 30 BC

The scorching Egyptian sun beats down on Alexandria as you hurry through the bustling streets, your sandals slapping against the warm stone. The air is thick with tension — whispers of Octavian’s approaching army have the city on edge. But your mind is elsewhere, focused on the stolen moments you’ll soon share with Lando.

You slip into a secluded alleyway, heart racing as you spot his familiar silhouette. Lando’s face lights up when he sees you, though worry creases his brow.

“There you are,” he murmurs, pulling you close. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come.”

You melt into his embrace, savoring his warmth. “I’m sorry I’m late. The palace has been in chaos with all the rumors flying about.”

Lando’s arms tighten around you. “It’s true then? Octavian draws near?”

You nod against his chest. “I fear so. Cleopatra grows more desperate by the day.”

He pulls back, cupping your face in his calloused hands. His dark eyes search yours intently. “Come away with me,” he pleads. “We can leave the city tonight, find passage on a ship bound for Greece or Cyprus.”

Your heart aches at the longing in his voice. “Lando, you know I can’t abandon my duty to the queen. She needs me now more than ever.”

“And what of my need for you?” Lando’s voice cracks with emotion. “Each day I’m torn between my loyalty to Rome and my love for you. I cannot bear the thought of you in danger when Octavian’s forces arrive.”

You reach up to caress his cheek, feeling the stubble beneath your fingers. “My brave soldier,” you murmur. “Always trying to protect me. But I’ve survived far worse than regime changes. We’ll find a way through this, as we always do.”

Lando leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed. “I wish I had your optimism. Every time I close my eyes, I see visions of you lying lifeless amidst the chaos of battle.”

A chill runs down your spine despite the oppressive heat. “Don’t speak of such things,” you chide gently. “We make our own fate, remember?”

He sighs, pressing his forehead to yours. “I know. I just ... I can’t shake this feeling of impending doom. Promise me you’ll be careful, my love. Promise you’ll do whatever it takes to stay safe.”

“I promise,” you whisper, sealing the vow with a tender kiss.

Lando responds eagerly, drawing you closer as the kiss deepens. For a blissful moment, the world fades away and there is only the two of you, lost in each other’s embrace.

A distant shout breaks the spell. You reluctantly pull away, both breathing heavily.

“I should go,” you murmur regretfully. “Cleopatra will be wondering where I’ve disappeared to.”

Lando nods, though he doesn’t release you from his arms. “When can I see you again?”

You bite your lip, considering. “Three days from now, at sunset. Meet me by the lighthouse?”

“I’ll be there,” he vows solemnly. “Be safe, my love.”

With a final lingering kiss, you slip from his embrace and hurry back towards the palace. Your heart feels lighter despite the looming threats, buoyed by Lando’s love and the promise of your next rendezvous.

But fate, it seems, has other plans.

The next few days pass in a blur of mounting tension. Cleopatra grows increasingly erratic, oscillating between grandiose plans to seduce Octavian and talks of ending her own life. You do your best to comfort and counsel her, all while stealing moments to daydream about your upcoming meeting with Lando.

On the fated evening, you’re helping Cleopatra prepare for bed when she suddenly fixates on a basket of figs brought by a servant.

“Ah, how fitting,” she muses, a strange glint in her eye. “Did you know, my dear, that the Egyptians that came before us believed figs to be the fruit of the afterlife?”

A chill runs down your spine. “My queen?”

Cleopatra waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t look so worried. I was simply contemplating the cyclical nature of life and death. Come, help me into bed.”

You obey, tucking the sheets around her with practiced ease. As you turn to leave, her hand darts out to grasp your wrist.

“Stay with me a while longer,” she implores. “I find I cannot bear to be alone with my thoughts tonight.”

Your heart sinks, knowing you’ll miss your rendezvous with Lando. But duty wins out over desire. “Of course, my queen. I’ll stay as long as you need me.”

Hours pass as you sit by Cleopatra’s bedside, listening to her reminisce about better days. Just as your eyelids begin to grow heavy, a commotion in the hall startles you both fully awake.

“What’s happening?” Cleopatra demands, sitting up.

Before you can answer, the doors burst open and a breathless messenger stumbles in. “My queen,” he pants, “Octavian’s army has breached the city walls!”

Cleopatra’s face hardens. “So, the end has come at last.” She turns to you, her gaze intense. “Fetch me the asp.”

Your blood runs cold. “My queen, surely there must be another way-”

“Do not argue with me!” She snaps. “I will not be paraded through Rome as Octavian’s prize. Now go, quickly!”

With a heavy heart, you hurry to retrieve the venomous snake from its hidden chamber. Your hands shake as you return, presenting the basket to Cleopatra.

She reaches for it eagerly, but pauses. Her eyes meet yours, softening slightly. “My faithful friend,” she murmurs. “You have served me well. I release you from your duties. Go, find that Roman boy of yours and flee while you still can.”

Your eyes widen in shock. “You knew?”

Cleopatra’s lips quirk in a sad smile. “I’ve always known. Now go, before it’s too late.”

Torn between duty and desire, you hesitate. In that moment of indecision, everything changes.

Cleopatra reaches for the asp, but in her haste, she knocks the basket from your hands. The snake falls to the floor, immediately striking at the nearest target … you.

Pain explodes in your ankle as the asp’s fangs sink into your flesh. You cry out, stumbling backwards.

“No!” Cleopatra wails, lunging to catch you as you fall.

The world begins to spin as the venom courses through your veins. Your last coherent thought is of Lando, waiting faithfully by the lighthouse. As darkness closes in, you pray he’ll forgive you for breaking your promise.

Hours later, Lando fights his way through the chaos of the conquered city. He charges into the palace, heedless of the danger, desperate to find you.

When he bursts into Cleopatra’s chambers, his worst fears are realized. Two bodies lie motionless on the floor — the queen and beside her ...

“No,” he chokes out, falling to his knees beside your lifeless form. “No, no, no. This can’t be happening.”

Lando gathers you into his arms, cradling you against his chest as sobs wrack his body. “You promised,” he whispers brokenly. “You promised you’d stay safe.”

But promises, like empires, are so easily broken. As the sun rises on a new era for Egypt, it sets on this chapter of your shared story. Yet even as this life ends, the seeds of the next are already taking root, waiting to bloom in another time, another place.

For true love, like the mighty Nile, cannot be contained. It flows ever onward, carving new paths through the landscape of eternity.

Pompeii, 79 AD

The ground trembles beneath your feet as you race through the chaotic streets of Pompeii. Ash rains from the sky, coating everything in a ghostly gray shroud. All around, people scream and push, desperately seeking escape from the fury of Mount Vesuvius.

“Lando!” You call out, your voice hoarse from the acrid air. “Lando, where are you?”

A hand suddenly grabs your arm, yanking you into a narrow alleyway. You whirl around, ready to fight, only to find yourself face to face with Lando. His usually immaculate toga is torn and stained with soot, his dark curls matted with ash.

“Thank the gods,” he breathes, pulling you into a fierce embrace. “I thought I’d lost you in the crowd.”

You cling to him tightly, savoring his familiar warmth amidst the chaos. “We need to get out of the city,” you say urgently. “The mountain — it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

Lando nods grimly. “I know. I’ve been trying to make it to the harbor, but the roads are completely blocked. It’s madness out there.”

Another tremor rocks the ground, stronger than before. Pieces of masonry rain down from the surrounding buildings. Lando shields you with his body as you both press against the alley wall.

“We can’t stay here,” you say once the shaking subsides. “It’s not safe.”

“Nowhere is safe,” Lando replies, his eyes haunted. “But you’re right, we need to keep moving. Come on, I know another way to the docks.”

Hand-in-hand, you dash back out into the crowded street. The air grows thicker with each passing moment, making it harder to breathe. You pull the edge of your stola over your mouth and nose, squinting through the haze.

Lando leads you through a maze of side streets and back alleys, avoiding the worst of the panicked crowds. But with each turn, your hope dwindles. The mountain’s fury seems to be growing by the minute, raining down fire and ash with terrifying intensity.

As you round another corner, you come face to face with a wall of rubble blocking the entire street. Lando curses under his breath, pounding his fist against a fallen column.

“It’s no use,” he says, defeat creeping into his voice. “Every path to the harbor is cut off. We’re trapped.”

You squeeze his hand reassuringly. “Then we’ll find somewhere to wait it out. The gods won’t abandon us. We just have to have faith.”

He turns to you, a sad smile playing on his lips. “Always the optimist, aren’t you? Even in the face of certain doom.”

“One of us has to be,” you reply, managing a weak smile of your own.

Another violent tremor shakes the ground, nearly knocking you both off your feet. In the distance, you hear the ominous rumble of collapsing buildings.

“Quick, in here!” Lando shouts, pulling you towards a sturdy-looking stone building. You duck inside just as a fresh barrage of burning rocks pelts the street where you were standing moments ago.

As your eyes adjust to the dimness, you realize you’re in some kind of workshop. Half-finished statues and blocks of marble are scattered about, coated in a fine layer of ash that has sifted through the cracks.

“A sculptor’s studio,” Lando muses, running his hand along a nearby bust. “Rather fitting, don’t you think? To spend our last moments surrounded by art meant to outlast us all.”

You shoot him a reproachful look. “Don’t talk like that. This isn’t the end. We’ll get through this, just like we always do.”

He sighs, pulling you close. “I admire your spirit, my love. But I fear this time, the Fates have other plans for us.”

As if to punctuate his words, the ground gives another violent lurch. The air grows even thicker, filled with choking dust and sulfurous fumes.

“It’s getting harder to breathe,” you gasp, fighting back a coughing fit.

Lando guides you to a relatively clear corner of the room, helping you sit on the floor before settling beside you. He wraps his arm around your shoulders, drawing you against his side.

“Just try to take shallow breaths,” he instructs, his own voice strained. “Like this, see?”

You nod, focusing on matching your breathing to his. For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your labored breaths and the distant rumble of the mountain.

“Lando?” You whisper after a while.

“Hmm?”

“I’m scared.”

He tightens his hold on you, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I know, love. I am too.”

“Tell me a story?” You ask, your voice small. “Like you used to, when we first met. Remember?”

Lando chuckles softly. “How could I forget? You were the most stubborn student I’ve ever had the misfortune of tutoring.”

“Hey!” You protest weakly, managing a smile despite everything. “I wasn’t that bad.”

“Oh no?” He teases. “Who was it that insisted the Odyssey would be vastly improved if Odysseus had simply asked for directions?”

You laugh, the sound quickly dissolving into a cough. “Well, it’s true! Twenty years to get home? Penelope should have moved on.”

Lando shakes his head in mock dismay. “Such disrespect for the classics. I clearly failed as your tutor.”

“Never,” you murmur, snuggling closer to him. “You taught me far more important things than dusty old stories.”

“Oh? And what might those be?”

You tilt your head up to meet his gaze. “You taught me what it means to truly love someone. To find a home not in a place, but in a person.”

Lando’s eyes shine with unshed tears as he leans down to kiss you softly. “And you, my darling, taught me that life is meant to be lived, not just studied. You brought color to my world of scrolls and stone.”

Another tremor shakes the building, sending a fresh wave of dust raining down on you both. The air grows thicker, each breath a struggle.

“Lando,” you wheeze, gripping his hand tightly. “I don’t want to die.”

He pulls you onto his lap, cradling you against his chest. “Shh, it’s alright. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

“Promise you won’t leave me?” You plead, your vision starting to blur.

“Never,” he vows fiercely. “Not in this life or any other. Wherever our souls go next, we go together. I promise.”

You manage a weak nod, focusing on the steady beat of his heart against your cheek. As consciousness begins to slip away, you’re struck by a strange sense of déjà vu.

“Lando?” You murmur, your voice barely audible.

“Yes, love?”

“I think ... I think we’ve done this before.”

He lets out a shaky laugh. “What, died in each other’s arms while a volcano erupts? I think I’d remember that.”

You shake your head slightly. “No, not exactly. But this feeling ... like we’ve known each other forever. Like we’ll find each other again, no matter what.”

Lando is quiet for a long moment. When he speaks, his voice is thick with emotion. “Maybe we have. Maybe we will. I’d like to think so.”

“Me too,” you whisper.

As the world crumbles around you, you cling to each other. Your last thoughts are not of fear or regret, but of the love you share. A love so powerful it transcends time itself.

And as this chapter closes, another waits to begin. For some bonds are too strong to be broken, even by death. Your souls are destined to find each other again and again, weaving an eternal tapestry of love across the ages.

Salem, 1692

The air in the Salem courthouse is thick with tension and the bitter scent of fear. You stand before the assembled judges, your wrists bound tightly with rough rope that chafes your skin. The crowd of onlookers murmurs and shifts restlessly, their faces a sea of suspicion and barely concealed hostility.

Lando sits among them, his face a mask of anguish as he watches the proceedings. He wants nothing more than to rush to your side, to shield you from the madness that has gripped the town. But he knows that any show of support would only damn you further in the eyes of the court.

Judge Hathorne’s voice rings out, silencing the whispers. “The accused will step forward.”

You take a shaky step, raising your chin defiantly despite the terror coursing through your veins.

“You stand accused of witchcraft and consorting with the devil,” Hathorne intones gravely. “How do you plead?”

“Not guilty,” you declare, your voice stronger than you feel. “I am no witch, merely a midwife and herbalist. I have done nothing but help this community.”

A snort of derision comes from the crowd. You turn to see Goodwife Putnam, her face twisted with malice. “Lies!” She shrieks. “I saw her dancing naked in the woods, consorting with dark spirits!”

“That’s not true!” You protest. “I was gathering herbs for my remedies, nothing more!”

Judge Hathorne raises an eyebrow. “And can anyone vouch for your whereabouts on the night in question?”

Your heart sinks. You had been alone that night, as you often were when foraging. “I ... I was alone, your honor. But I swear on all that is holy, I am no witch.”

A ripple of whispers sweeps through the crowd. Lando’s fists clench at his sides, his jaw tight with the effort of remaining silent.

“Very convenient,” Hathorne remarks dryly. “Goody Putnam, you may continue with your testimony.”

The woman stands, her eyes gleaming with a fervor that chills you to the bone. “I’ve seen her speaking to animals as if they could understand her. And just last week, my cow’s milk turned sour the very day after she visited our farm!”

“That’s ridiculous!” You exclaim. “Milk spoils, it’s a natural occurrence. And I often speak to animals, as do many others. It does not make me a witch!”

But your protests fall on deaf ears. One by one, your neighbors step forward with increasingly outlandish accusations. Every misfortune, every unexplained event is laid at your feet.

“She cursed my crops!”

“My child fell ill after eating her bread!”

“I saw her flying on a broomstick!”

The claims grow more absurd, but the judges nod solemnly at each one. You feel the noose of suspicion tightening around your neck with each passing moment.

Finally, unable to bear it any longer, Lando leaps to his feet. “This is madness!” He shouts. “You’re condemning an innocent woman based on nothing but gossip and superstition!”

All eyes turn to him. Judge Danforth fixes him with a steely glare. “Master Norris, you will remain silent or be removed from this courtroom.”

“I will not be silent while you murder an innocent woman!” Lando retorts. He turns to the crowd, imploring them. “Can’t you see what’s happening? We’re tearing our community apart with these baseless accusations!”

A murmur of uncertainty ripples through the onlookers. For a moment, you dare to hope that reason might prevail.

But then Abigail Williams, one of the young girls at the center of the witch hunt, lets out a blood-curdling shriek. She points a trembling finger at you. “Her specter! I see her specter tormenting me even now!”

The other girls quickly join in, writhing and screaming as if in the throes of possession. The courtroom erupts into chaos.

“Order!” Judge Hathorne bellows, pounding his gavel. “Order in the court!”

As the commotion dies down, he turns to you, his expression grave. “The evidence against you is overwhelming. Unless you confess and repent, I have no choice but to find you guilty of witchcraft.”

Your heart pounds in your chest. You know that a confession might spare your life, but it would mean living a lie. And worse, it would lend credence to the madness gripping Salem.

“I will not confess to crimes I did not commit,” you say quietly but firmly. “I am innocent before God and man.”

Judge Hathorne’s face hardens. “Then you leave us no choice. You are hereby sentenced to death by hanging. May God have mercy on your soul.”

The crowd erupts into a mix of cheers and shocked gasps. Lando’s anguished cry rises above the din. “No! You can’t do this!”

He rushes towards you, but is quickly restrained by two burly constables. “Let me go!” He shouts, struggling against their grip. “She’s innocent!”

Your eyes meet his across the chaotic courtroom. Despite everything, you manage a small, sad smile. “It’s alright, Lando,” you call out. “Be strong. This isn’t your fault.”

As the guards move to lead you away, Lando breaks free and rushes to your side. He cups your face in his hands, his eyes wild with desperation. “I’ll find a way to stop this,” he vows. “I won’t let them take you.”

You lean into his touch, memorizing the feel of his hands on your skin. “There’s nothing you can do, my love. Promise me you’ll stay safe. Don’t let them take you too.”

“I can’t lose you,” he chokes out, tears streaming down his face.

“You won’t,” you whisper fiercely. “Not really. I don’t know how I know this, but I swear we’ll find each other again. In another life, another time. This isn’t the end for us.”

The guards roughly pull you apart. As they drag you away, you keep your eyes locked on Lando’s, drawing strength from his gaze.

The next few days pass in a blur of fear and desperate prayer. You cling to the strange certainty that had come over you in the courtroom — that somehow, someway, this is not truly the end for you and Lando.

On the day of your execution, you walk to the gallows with your head held high. The crowd that has gathered is subdued, some already beginning to question the justice of what’s happening.

You scan the faces, searching for Lando, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Your heart aches at his absence, but you understand. It would be too painful for him to watch.

As the noose is placed around your neck, you close your eyes and think of Lando. Of his laugh, his gentle touch, the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. You hold onto these memories as the world falls away beneath your feet.

Your last conscious thought is a promise — to find him again, no matter how long it takes.

Miles away, hidden in the woods, Lando feels the exact moment you leave this world. He collapses to his knees, a wordless cry of anguish tearing from his throat. But even in his grief, he feels the echo of your final promise.

“I’ll find you,” he whispers to the uncaring forest. “In this life or the next. We’ll be together again. I swear it.”

And so another chapter closes, the threads of your shared destiny stretching onward through time. The cycle continues, each life bringing you closer to the moment when you’ll finally break free of this endless dance of death and rebirth.

Yekaterinburg, 1918

The Ipatiev House looms dark and foreboding in the Yekaterinburg night. You pace the confines of your makeshift prison, the once-opulent rooms now a stark reminder of how far the mighty Romanovs have fallen. The sound of raised voices and heavy footsteps from the floor below sends a chill down your spine.

“They’re coming,” your sister Maria whispers, her eyes wide with fear.

Before you can respond, the door bursts open. A group of armed men file in, their faces grim and purposeful. Your heart nearly stops when you spot a familiar face among them.

“Lando?” You gasp, scarcely able to believe your eyes.

He meets your gaze, his expression a turbulent mix of emotions. “Grand Duchess,” he says stiffly, the formal title at odds with the intimate moments you’ve shared in secret.

“What’s happening?” You demand, struggling to keep your voice steady. “Why are you here?”

Yakov Yurovsky, the commandant of the house, steps forward. “The Ural Soviet has decided to execute the Romanov family,” he announces coldly. “You are to be moved to the basement immediately.”

A wave of terror washes over you. “No,” you breathe. “No, this can’t be happening.”

Your eyes lock with Lando’s, silently pleading. For a moment, you see the conflict raging behind his eyes. But then his expression hardens, and he looks away.

As the guards begin herding your family towards the stairs, you manage to maneuver closer to Lando. “How could you be part of this?” You hiss under your breath.

His jaw clenches. “The revolution demands sacrifices,” he mutters. “Even from those we ... care about.”

“Care about?” You repeat incredulously. “Is that all I am to you now? After everything we’ve shared?”

A flicker of pain crosses his face. “You know it’s more complicated than that. Your family’s rule has caused immeasurable suffering. This ... this is justice.”

“Murder is not justice,” you retort, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and anger.

Before he can respond, you’re roughly pushed forward. The journey to the basement is a blur of terror and disbelief. Your mind races, desperately seeking a way out of this nightmare.

In the dank cellar, Yurovsky instructs your family to line up against the wall. You find yourself between your younger siblings, instinctively trying to shield them even as your own knees threaten to give out.

“Wait,” you cry out as Yurovsky raises his hand to signal the firing squad. “Please, spare the children at least. They’re innocent in all this!”

Yurovsky’s face remains impassive. “There can be no Romanov heirs left to rally around. The old regime must end here and now.”

You turn to Lando, making one last desperate appeal. “Lando, please. If what we had meant anything to you, don’t let this happen. Help us!”

For a moment, you see the Lando you knew — the passionate young man who spoke of creating a better world, who held you under the stars and whispered promises of a future together. But then the revolutionary mask slips back into place.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice barely audible. “But this is bigger than us.”

As the soldiers raise their weapons, time seems to slow. You think of all the lives you might have lived — the futures now forever lost to you. A strange sense of déjà vu washes over you, as if you’ve faced death with Lando before.

“Ready!” Yurovsky’s voice cuts through your reverie.

You straighten your spine, determined to face your end with dignity. Your eyes find Lando’s one last time.

“Aim!”

“I forgive you,” you mouth silently, even as tears stream down your face.

You see Lando’s composure crack, anguish flooding his features. He takes a half-step forward, as if to intervene, but it’s too late.

“Fire!”

The basement erupts in a deafening cacophony of gunshots and screams. You feel a searing pain in your chest as bullets tear through you. As you crumple to the ground, your fading vision fixates on Lando’s horrified face.

With your last breath, you whisper, “Find me again.”

Then darkness claims you.

Lando stands frozen, unable to tear his eyes away from your lifeless form. The smokey smell of gunpowder mixes with the metallic scent of blood, turning his stomach.

“Finish them off,” Yurovsky orders dispassionately. “No survivors.”

As his comrades move forward with bayonets, Lando stumbles back, retching. He staggers up the stairs and out into the cool night air, gulping it down desperately.

What has he done?

He’d believed so fervently in the revolution, in the need to sweep away the old order to build a better world. But staring at his blood-stained hands, Lando feels nothing but horror and soul-crushing guilt.

Your final words haunt him. “Find me again.” But how can he, when he’s destroyed any chance of a future together?

As dawn breaks over Yekaterinburg, Lando makes a decision. He can’t undo what’s been done, but he can ensure the truth isn’t buried along with your body.

Over the coming weeks, as the Bolsheviks spread lies about your family’s fate, Lando works in secret to document what really happened. He gathers evidence, writes detailed accounts, and arranges for the information to be smuggled out of the country.

It’s a dangerous game. If caught, he’ll be branded a traitor to the revolution. But Lando no longer cares about ideology or politics. His only goal is to honor your memory and ensure that history remembers the truth.

Late one night, as he prepares to flee the country with his damning documents, Lando allows himself a moment of quiet reflection. He thinks of your smile, your compassion, the way you challenged him to see beyond his rigid beliefs.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers to the empty room. “I failed you in this life. But I swear, somehow, I’ll make it right. If there’s any justice in the universe, we’ll meet again. And next time, I’ll protect you. I’ll choose you over everything else.”

As he slips out into the night, Lando feels a strange sense of certainty. This isn’t the end of your story. Somehow, someway, you’ll find each other again.

The wheel of fate continues to turn, carrying your intertwined souls towards yet another lifetime. But with each cycle, the bond between you grows stronger. Perhaps next time, you’ll finally break free of this tragic pattern and find the happiness that’s eluded you for so long.

Jonestown, 1978

The humid Guyanese air hangs heavy over Jonestown, thick with tension and the cloying scent of tropical flowers. You stand among the gathered crowd, your heart pounding so hard you fear it might burst from your chest. Beside you, Lando’s hand finds yours, squeezing tightly.

“This isn’t right,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the droning speech coming from the pavilion. “We need to get out of here.”

You nod imperceptibly, not daring to speak. Jim Jones’ paranoid ravings have reached a fever pitch in recent days, and you both know that even the slightest hint of dissent could be deadly.

“My children,” Jones’ voice booms out over the loudspeakers, “the time has come for us to make our final stand against the oppressors who seek to destroy our paradise.”

A murmur ripples through the crowd. You scan the sea of faces, seeing a mix of blind devotion and barely concealed terror.

“Our Congressional visitors have betrayed us,” Jones continues, his words slurring slightly. “They will bring nothing but destruction. We have no choice but to enact our glorious revolutionary suicide.”

Your blood runs cold. You’d heard whispers of this plan, but had desperately hoped it was just another of Jones’ manipulative tactics.

“Lando,” you whisper urgently, “we have to run. Now.”

He nods, his face pale but determined. “Follow my lead. When I give the signal, we make a break for the jungle.”

But before you can move, you feel a vice-like grip on your arm. You turn to see your mother, her eyes wild with fervor.

“Where do you think you’re going?” She hisses. “This is our moment of triumph. You will not ruin it with your lack of faith.”

On Lando’s other side, his father has a similar hold on him. The older man’s face is a mask of grim resignation. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be, son,” he says quietly.

You watch in horror as Jones’ lieutenants begin distributing paper cups filled with a sinister purple liquid. The bitter almond smell of cyanide fills the air.

“No,” you breathe, struggling against your mother’s grip. “Mom, please. This is insanity. We don’t have to do this!”

But your pleas fall on deaf ears. Your mother’s grip only tightens as she accepts two cups from a passing aide.

“Drink,” she commands, thrusting one towards you.

You shake your head vehemently, clamping your mouth shut. Beside you, Lando is engaged in a similar struggle with his father.

“You can’t force us to do this!” Lando shouts, drawing the attention of nearby cult members. “This is murder!”

Jones’ voice cuts through the growing commotion. “Those who resist are traitors to our cause. They must be made to comply, for the good of all.”

Suddenly, you’re surrounded by a group of Jones’ most fanatical followers. Rough hands grab you, forcing your head back. You struggle wildly, but it’s no use. You feel the cold rim of the cup pressed against your lips.

“No!” Lando cries out, fighting to reach you. “Leave her alone!”

But he too is overwhelmed, multiple hands restraining him as the poisoned drink is forced upon him.

The sickly-sweet liquid burns your throat as it’s poured into your mouth. You choke and splutter, but can’t prevent some of it from going down. Beside you, Lando’s muffled cries tell you he’s suffering the same fate.

As the hands release you, you collapse to your knees, coughing violently. Your vision swims, the world taking on a surreal, nightmarish quality.

“Lando,” you gasp, reaching out blindly.

His hand finds yours, gripping it weakly. “I’m here,” he manages, his voice raw. “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t protect you.”

You crawl closer, fighting against the growing weakness in your limbs. All around, people are collapsing, some screaming in agony while others slip away in eerie silence.

“It’s not your fault,” you whisper, cupping Lando’s face with a trembling hand. “We never stood a chance against this madness.”

Lando’s eyes, clouded with pain, meet yours. “This can’t be how it ends,” he says desperately. “Not again.”

A strange sense of déjà vu washes over you. “Again?” You murmur, confused.

He nods weakly. “I don’t know how, but I feel like we’ve been here before. Facing death together, unable to stop it.”

As the poison works its way through your system, flashes of other lives flicker through your mind. Ancient Egypt, Pompeii, Salem, Russia — each time, finding each other only to be torn apart.

“I remember,” you breathe, wonder mingling with the pain. “We keep finding each other, but we never get our happy ending.”

Lando pulls you closer, both of you shaking with the effort of fighting off the inevitable. “Next time,” he vows, his voice barely above a whisper. “Next time we’ll break this cycle. We’ll find a way to be together.”

You manage a small, sad smile. “Promise?”

“I promise,” he murmurs, pressing a weak kiss to your forehead.

As consciousness begins to slip away, you cling to each other. The sounds of screaming and Jones’ maniacal laughter fade into the background. In these final moments, there is only you and Lando, and the love that has somehow endured across lifetimes.

“Find me again,” you whisper, echoing words spoken in another life.

Lando’s grip on your hand tightens fractionally. “Always,” he breathes.

As darkness closes in, you’re filled with a strange sense of hope. This tragic cycle can’t go on forever. Someday, somehow, you’ll find a way to break free and finally have the life together you’ve been denied so many times.

Your last thought, as you slip away, is a prayer to whatever cosmic force keeps bringing you together.

Next time, let it be different.

Next time, let us live.

And as your souls depart this tragic scene, unseen wheels of fate begin to turn once more. The cycle continues, but perhaps this time, with the weight of so many shared lifetimes behind you, you’ll finally find your way to a happier ending.

In the years that follow, as the horror of Jonestown is revealed to the world, two names are lost among the hundreds of victims. But your story — the story of a love that refuses to be extinguished — lives on, waiting for the next chapter to unfold.

Monaco, 2024

The soft glow of computer screens illuminates Lando’s face as he leans into his microphone, his eyes darting between the chat and his game. “No, chat, I’m not going to sing the Baby Shark song,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “You lot are absolutely mental, you know that?”

The door to his streaming room creaks open, and he glances over, his face softening into a warm smile as you pad in, wrapped in an oversized hoodie you’ve stolen from his wardrobe.

“Speaking of sharks,” Lando grins, addressing his audience, “look who’s decided to join us. It’s my favorite cuddly shark!”

You roll your eyes fondly at the nickname, a reference to your habit of playfully nipping at his shoulder when you’re feeling particularly affectionate. As you approach, Lando pushes his chair back slightly, making room for you to settle onto his lap.

“Come here, you,” he murmurs, wrapping an arm around your waist as you curl into him, burying your face in the crook of his neck. To his stream, he explains, “Sorry chat, the missus is feeling a bit clingy tonight. Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”

You mumble something unintelligible into his skin, making him laugh. “What was that, love? The stream can’t hear you when you’re trying to become one with my neck.”

Lifting your head slightly, you repeat, “I said, don’t let me interrupt your gaming. I just wanted cuddles.”

Lando presses a quick kiss to your forehead. “You’re never an interruption. Besides, I think the chat’s been asking for a cameo from you all night.”

You turn to face the camera, waving sleepily. “Hi, chat. Sorry I’m not more entertaining tonight. Long day at work.”

The chat explodes with greetings and well-wishes, scrolling by almost too fast to read. Lando chuckles, giving you a gentle squeeze. “See? They love you. Probably more than they love me, to be honest.”

“That’s fair,” you murmur, nuzzling back into his neck. “No one loves you more than I do.”

Lando’s breath catches for a moment, and you feel his heart rate pick up. Even after all this time together, simple declarations of love still affect him deeply. It’s one of the many things you adore about him.

“Alright, chat,” Lando says, his voice a touch huskier than before. “You’ve gone and made her all sappy. I hope you’re happy with yourselves.”

You can’t help but giggle at his attempt to deflect. “Oh please, you love it when I’m sappy.”

“Maybe,” he concedes with a grin. “But if I admit that, they’ll never let me hear the end of it. I have a reputation to maintain, you know.”

You snort inelegantly. “What reputation? Everyone knows you’re a big softie.”

“Oi!” Lando protests, poking you in the side and making you squirm. “I’ll have you know I’m very tough and manly. Right, chat?”

The stream erupts with a mix of agreement and playful disagreement, peppered with emotes and inside jokes. You watch the scrolling text with amusement, marveling at the community Lando has built.

“See?” Lando says triumphantly. “They agree with me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure at least half of those messages were sarcastic, babe.”

Lando waves a hand dismissively. “Details, details. The point is, I’m incredibly macho and not at all a softie.”

“Mmhmm,” you hum skeptically. “Is that why you cried watching Up last week?”

“Hey!” Lando exclaims, his cheeks flushing slightly. “That’s classified information, that is. You can’t just go revealing my secrets to the entire internet!”

The chat goes wild at this revelation, demanding to know more about Lando’s movie-watching habits. You can’t help but laugh at his mock-outraged expression.

“Sorry, love,” you say, not sounding sorry at all. “But if I have to put up with your sniffling during Disney movies, the least I can do is share the joy with your fans.”

Lando groans dramatically. “That’s it, I’m filing for divorce. Chat, you’re my witnesses. This is grounds for divorce, right? Revealing a man’s most intimate vulnerabilities?”

You roll your eyes fondly. “We’re not even married yet, you goof.”

The words slip out before you can think better of them, and suddenly the atmosphere in the room shifts. Lando’s eyes widen slightly, his gaze locking with yours.

“Yet?” He repeats softly, a note of wonder in his voice.

You feel your cheeks heat up, but you don’t look away. “Well, yeah. I mean, unless you had other plans?”

For a moment, Lando seems to forget entirely about the stream. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing gently across your skin. “No other plans,” he murmurs. “Just you. Always you.”

The intimacy of the moment is broken by the chat exploding once again, this time with a flurry of ring emotes and excited keysmashes. Lando blinks, seeming to remember where he is.

“Right,” he says, clearing his throat. “Well, chat, I think that’s my cue to end the stream for tonight. Got some, uh, important things to discuss with this one.”

You bury your face in his neck again, half embarrassed and half thrilled by the turn of events. As Lando rushes through his usual sign-off, you can feel the barely contained energy thrumming through him.

The moment the stream ends, Lando spins his chair to face you fully, his eyes bright with excitement. “Did you mean that?” He asks eagerly. “About the marriage thing?”

You lift your head, meeting his gaze with a soft smile. “Of course I did. Lando, I’ve loved you for lifetimes. There’s nothing I want more than to marry you.”

Something flashes in his eyes at your words — a fleeting moment of recognition, as if some long-buried memory is struggling to surface. But then it’s gone, replaced by pure joy.

“Lifetimes, huh?” He grins, pulling you closer. “Well, in that case, I suppose we better make this one count.”

As his lips meet yours in a tender kiss, you’re filled with an overwhelming sense of rightness. After so many tragic endings, you’ve finally found your happily ever after. And this time, you’re not letting go.

“I love you,” you murmur against his lips. “In this life and every other.”

Lando’s answering smile is radiant. “And I love you. Always have, always will.”

As you lose yourselves in each other’s embrace, the echoes of past lives fade away. This is your time, your chance at happiness. And you plan to make the most of every single moment.

[mo0nfairy]

ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ STREETS !

summary :: over 20 years of kenji’s life has been spent preserving the surviving scraps of innocence from his childhood. since then, he has been desperately searching for anything to fill the rotten void in his chest. when a news reporter gives him everything he could ever ask for by merely existing, kenji fears the man he may become without them near.

word count :: 8.3k

content warnings :: mdni! yandere!kenji, obsessive!kenji, g/n reader, blood/violence, alcohol, stalking, drugging, kidnapping, nausea/sickness, mentions of sex, use of ‘daddy’ honorific (but nothing sexually explicit occurs).

kenji sato's yandere traits are . . .

nurturing, heroic, & smothering

──── Over the course of his childhood, Kenji possessed the same desires every child had. The same wishes he’d whisper to planes he mistook for shooting stars.

He remembers climbing the blunt limbs of the oak tree in his backyard, pretending to be a hawk and searching the grass for any delicious rodents to sink his claws into. He can still feel the dirt under his fingernails when he’d get lost in the woods, pretending to be a tiger and barring his teeth to any predators after his kin. His only worries would consist of his next meal and where he'll settle in for the night, instead of the loneliness that resided back home.

However, as all stories go, Kenji grew up. As the years passed, though, the more constricting his grip became on this childhood dream. For every candle Kenji blew out, he only wished to be one with the great outdoors and rid himself of the expectations shoved upon him. As any child innocently wanted.

Now in adulthood, every candlelight snuffed out was a silent plea for peace. And so desperately, he is trying to protect the bird nest he intricately crafted. Woven with strands of his young, raven-black hair, chunks of sidewalk chalk, tufts of fur of his favorite stuffed animals — every forgotten, sacred piece of his childhood that still remains unscathed.

Year after year, the relentless abuse of the world and his responsibilities reign down on him, prying their violent, eager fingers into his beloved bird nest. Today, Kenji holds whatever scraps still remain close to his chest, nestling them beneath a canopy of creativity and everlasting hope. Protecting whatever bits of innocence and childlike luster that survive the weight of the world.

When he pictured his father’s role of Ultraman as a child, he imagined perseverance and bravery. Now with that title bequeathed to him, Kenji is anything but. He is clumsy, reckless, and negligent. The very last thing he wishes to do now is follow his father’s footsteps, but alas, he has been given no choice.

The Neronga waltzes through the city streets, exuding chaos with every step it strides. Tossing around chunks of buildings and fistfuls of debris. And begrudgingly, Kenji trails after it like a parent trying to tame their exuberant child. 

A booming roar echoes from the beast's throat, angry bolts of electricity sparking from its horn. One swift punch to its jaw and the creature is out cold, leaving miles of destruction and disorder in its demise. With the threat neutralized, now comes the clean-up. He plucks citizens like they are tiny dolls and drops them to safety, who all thank him profusely for his aid. All except one.

Several bystanders crowd over a pile of rubble, waving their hands in an attempt at garnering the attention of Ultraman. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m coming, I’m coming…” Kenji mutters, stepping over passing cars as though they’re scatterings of colorful legos. 

Piece by piece, he brushes past the lumps of bricks and metal. Disinterred from beneath the rubble is you. Hauntingly beautiful in your unconscious state. 

“Oh…” He exhales breathlessly, chest rising and falling with rapid pants. 

And there it is. 

That canopy of creativity enveloping him; that bird nest suddenly overflowing with rebirth and life. Everything bursts in colors so prismatic, Kenji finds himself at an impossible balance between feeling weakly heavy and ecstatically light. Never has his soul been so completely satiated before, even in the brightest days of his childhood.

Love, that’s what this must be! Love, warmth, happiness — every inkling of light this world has to offer! How could he ever feel dejected again with this angel now in his-? 

“Your heart rate is spiking.” That familiar, robotic voice interrupts. “You know what happens when Ultraman gets stressed.” 

Like clockwork, his color timer blares in distressful hues of light blue and sharp red. Though, how could Kenji possibly pay attention to such trivial matters when he’s holding you in his hands? How could he pay attention to anything else? 

Unfortunately for his sake, reality tears him away from his entranced state by brute forcd. A blinding flash of white permeates the street and in a blink, Kenji has returned to his normal self. He is back to being the notorious baseball player, worldwide heartthrob, and, most notably, smaller than his heroic alter ego.

When he shifts his gaze up, he finds you descending from the grasp he once held you in. Just like the fearless prince in every child's imagination, he scurries to catch you before you meet the unforgiving ground.

When his bare hands meet your skin, a gasp is yanked from his chest. His heart lurches, obtaining speeds he did not deem possible. Even sprinting from base to base did not garner this physical reaction out of him. You just feel so good against him, so perfect. Like the missing puzzle piece he’s been tearing apart the house looking for, now within its respected place. Bound to be cemented there forever – that sounds good to Kenji. 

“Ken, they can see you!” Mina’s frantic voice interrupts once again. 

When he pulls his vision from you, he finds a collage of people begin to surround the adjacent area. Their mere gaze threatens to jeopardize his identity once and forevermore.

“I’m sorry, ‘m so sorry, baby.” Kenji whispers into your ear.

Pressing a hard kiss to your cheekbone and relishing at the sensation of your skin beneath his lips, he reluctantly guides your limp body atop of the rubble. A few final caresses to your warm flesh and he is scurrying off into the night, completely inconsolable with these brand new emotions. New emotions he fears terribly, but has now clasped all coherent function in his body.

A single week had passed since the city's last Kaiju attack. These several days have proven to be nothing short of torturous for Kenji.

He has been rendered miserable after latching onto the light he’s been chasing for years, only to have it torn from his hands like candy from a baby. All because he’s been forced into a gig he never signed up for. Kenji has lost the love of his life and nothing can reprimand the grief it has left behind. 

Through extensive, but fruitless effort, he has assigned Mina the task of dissecting all of Japan in search of you. With only a description of your face, coated with dirt and blood, there is very little the efficient robot can do. And once again, his desires are left to collect dust in the hollow corners of his soul.

Kenji now resides in his ‘man-cave’, as he so confidently calls it. “Healthy body, healthy mind.” Mina teases, displaying the assortment of coconut water stacked in the fridge. With a sigh of defeat, he takes a resentful sip and cringes at the horrid taste. His efforts to stuff his face with junk food like some heartbroken blonde in a chick-flick were rejected by Mina, as she is always pushing him to pursue greater health. Waving his white flag, he asks for Mina to just turn the TV on, searching for anything to mend the pain poisoning his heart.

“Ken. I wonder if you might consider taking a break.” Mina confesses. 

He stares at the robot, searching her metal face for reasoning.

“From TV?” 

“From finding that citizen.”

His face scrunches in disdain. 

Quit you? Is she serious? How could he ever do that? Could he even survive such a predicament? 

“Give up the one thing that puts a smile on my face?” Kenji questions. “Sorry. No. TV, please.”

Some sincere praise from saved citizens will surely fill the hole in his chest, he assumes. Help him in his efforts to protect that bird nest he cradles close. 

The TV flickers to life and presents Channel 7 News, the place in which Kenji is featured most on. Seeing his most recent work with a bold “WOUNDED NERONGA AFTER ULTRAMAN EXIT” beneath the scene granted no surprise to him. 

What does stun him into a defying silence is when the screen shifts and your face fills up the expanse. Bandage on your scalp and microphone in your hand, you inform viewers at home of the recent neutralized threat and your new status here on the channel.

“Well, this has been quite the warm welcome! I’ve just arrived here in Japan and I’ve already been greeted by the Neronga, evident in this bandage on my noggin’.” 

The coconut water in his mouth spews out like a sprinkler when Kenji spits out the beverage. He chucks the open can across the room, ignoring the stain it will inevitably leave on his lavish carpets.

“That’s them! That’s them, that’s them, that’s them!” He exclaims to Mina. 

Shuffling off the couch, he crawls over to the television as though his legs had completely given out beneath him. His hand caresses the surface where your cheek is. 

“Sources tell us you were rescued by Ultraman himself!” A news anchor speaks. 

“Yes, that is true. Unfortunately, I was a bit too woozy to thank him properly, but he did save my life. It is heroic acts like Ultraman that help keep this city alive.” 

Unbeknownst to you, your words made a certain baseball player melt into putty. Hearing your praises, even when it is probably written on a script behind the camera, is nothing short of heavenly. 

The anchors, third-wheeling between two soulmates, continue to blabber about other fresh events taking place in Japan. Pressing languid kisses to the fuzzy static, all Kenji can listen to, all he can focus on, is you. Every twitch of your brow, every curve of your skin, every stretch in your smile — it all has him mesmerized. Like a siren lulling a fisher into the sea, where he would dive straight into oblivion had it been you in the deep waves.

“This was Y/N L/N with Channel 7 News.” 

Your name sits like honey on his tongue. Sickeningly sweet and absorbing of every word. 

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N.” He repeats your name like a magic spell, almost as if you’d manifest into existence had he whispered it enough.

“Signing off.” 

The screen cuts and you vanish from the screen, overtaken by irritating advertisements. As though you were physically there with him, Kenji reaches for you. Desperate to bring you, his Y/N, back into his unwavering embrace.

Now, if there is anything renowned about Ken Sato, it is his charm, which also serves as his most powerful superpower. So, with enough flexes in the mirror to give himself a good ego boost, his “put a ring on Y/N’s finger” plan has now ensued in full effect. 

The foundation of this plan resides in who you are, what intricacies and threadings course through such a marvelous creature. He demands Mina, stronger than he ever has before, to learn every little detail there is to know about you. There cannot be a stone left unturned. Kenji needs to know everything. 

And every fragment of information she delivers to him binds his presumption furthermore: you two were made for each other. You’re like a page torn straight from an ancient fairytale. Crafted by God himself to hold his hand. He’s sunk his fingers into your background, your dreams, your hobbies, and he has nestled them all into his bird nest, entwined with the elements of himself. Bound to remain at one another’s side for eternity.

To enlighten you on these matters, however, Kenji has to find clarity through the whirlwind of emotions overpowering his senses. Then, he is positive he’ll be granted the ability to finally speak to you. However, the thought alone is enough to send a sun-hot shiver down his spine. He’ll need some thorough caresses to his ego before he can garner the confidence to merely stand in the same room as you.

It certainly does not help when everyday is spent battling the intense waves of euphoria, obsession, and of course, the suffocating guilt.

He left you behind. He abandoned the one thing that matters most to him and nothing can atone for this mistake. All because of Ultraman being most imperative, which Kenji had been force-fed to believe. Never again will he choose his occupation over you. Or anything, for that matter. You outweigh everything in terms of vital importance. 

He begins these efforts with baby-steps. To start, he assigns Mina to leave expensive gifts upon your bed. Bouquets of flowers, lush clothing, rich chocolates, luxurious jewelry, action figures and plushies galore! All you have to do is look at something in the store for more than a picosecond and it’s wrapped in a bow for you the following day. You also cannot forget the amount of times you’ve arrived home to find your favorite meals freshly made on the kitchen table.

In your overworked, lethargic brain, you assume everything is left by your sweet, elderly landlord who misses her grandkids and needs a fresh face to spoil rotten. You just choose to ignore how the gifts are impossibly far out of her budget.

Miles away from you, Kenji is tearing himself apart as he assumes your lack of recognition to be rejection. He knew he should’ve purchased those shoes in a different color! What was he thinking buying you roses instead of carnations, God, how cliché can he be!? 

He should’ve known you wouldn’t lend him your heart in return for his riches. You are not that foolish or shallow; you’re far more meticulous than the greedy pigs he’s so accustomed to feeding. 

Kenji will not claim defeat yet, though. He is never one to waver so easily, especially when it is you that is the golden prize. If he cannot flaunt his riches, why not himself? The richest item of all? And if his money cannot slither himself into your heart, he is positive it can push him in the intended direction. 

He’ll leave lumps of cash in the hands of massive corporations, all to cast his face wherever it can reach. On billboards, on buildings, on blimps — whatever place you may possibly be. Inevitably, you will have no choice but to see his gorgeous face and fall head over heels with him. The same way you so easily made him fall for you. 

Unfortunately, though, there are not enough cans of coconut water or buckets of chicken drumsticks in the world to bring you to his doorstep, there to fall into his arms and promise forever at his side. Kenji has failed in claiming your heart as his, once again, but another failure is not nearly enough to get him to welcome defeat. Not when it is you he is promised, never when it is you.

From here, he’ll pursue grander efforts. You’ll be occupied in the studio, skimming through your lines while makeup artists poke and prod at you. A squeal of excitement will permeate through the expanse, shouting out for a man by the name of Ken Sato.

Loud rumbles echo through the city streets as Kenji revs the engine to his motorcycle, complemented by his famous hair-flip and heart-throbbing wink. And feverishly, he scrutinizes every face behind the window, desperate to see those gorgeous features smile and melt at the sight of him. Then, he can spring straight into your studio, gather you in his arms, and race off into the sunset with you. Just like the fairytale dream you deserve. 

But alas, the universe refuses to give him such a privilege. You’re too engrossed with the tasks at hand, not some money-obsessed athlete who adorns the walls of teenage girls across Japan. 

If he could hear your assumptions, he’d assure you are sorely mistaken. Kenji doesn’t want the accolades, the riches, the fame. He just wants you. The one who showed him what it truly meant to be wild; the one who showed him what it truly meant to be free. So desperately, he wants you to know this, as well. To feel it with every beat your heart passes, to feel it imprinted in your skin with every kiss and caress he leaves. He could lose everything, just not you. God, not you. 

The man is speeding off with the pieces of his shattered heart before you can even process what had even occurred.

Kenji, once again, is met with another revelation. If it is not his name that can bring you into his embrace, then maybe it is his second self, the one you so wholeheartedly praise for his heroic acts.

Dressed in these ridiculous garbs, Ultraman leads danger towards your direction to “save” your life, all other innocent bystanders be damned. These efforts do not ever bridge on being dangerous. Merely a quick scare or two. And it definitely pays off, oh, does it pay off. Watching the fear in your eyes ease into relief at the sight of him never fails to get him numb with rapture.

“Fear not, citizen! Kenj- I mean, Ultraman will save you!” 

The last occasion he ever abused his role consisted of an orchestrated car accident. Nearly caught in the crossfire, you ever-so-gracefully dove away from the scene and skidded your knee in the process. A thundering “NO! BABY!” rings through the air. So absorbed in adrenaline, you do not even process the volume of the sound. 

What does grasp your attention is Ultraman taking you into his hand and lifting you far, far away from the ground. You ensnare yourself around his finger in response, clinging to him like a lifeline. Kenji melts from the action, as well as the underlying implications. You, relying on him, your silver-armored prince, for protection — that is everything he could ever wish for sat right in the palm of his hands. 

“Shh… It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay… Daddy’s here…” 

The words, shaky as they are, fall from his mouth like water through a cracked dam. It’s all just so easy, assuring you of his protection and comfort. The only way of preventing him from caring for you is to end his life. And Kenji has a lot of fight in him before he’ll allow himself to be separated from you.

You remain in his hands until an ambulance arrives. For the umpteenth time, he is forced to let go of you again. He cannot hide the perceptible agony it brings him to watch you rely on somebody else for aid. 

One day, it will be him, he assures himself. One day.

In the meantime, your rejection continues to take a heavy toll on him. Kenji is now famished without you, emaciated and starved to the bone. In some feeble attempt at satiating this hunger, he’ll try to find these fragments of you in others. He will drink himself ill then bring a blurry face to bed, all to shake the memory of you out of his head. These efforts, once more, only result in failure.

This time around, a harrowing guilt rots in his chest. There is no one else like you, he should’ve seen it clear as day. Kenji was a fool to ever think there could be. Now, he has cheated on the one who matters most to him. And there is nothing to placate the anguish he’s tormented by.

This perceptible ruination does not go unnoticed by journalists, either, who do not waste the opportunity of an eye-grabbing headline. Articles about him flood the web, detailing his miserable failures out on the field. Crawling to base seconds too late, sprinting directly into walls, and receiving more strikes than anyone can count — Kenji and the famous Sato name are falling apart by the seams.

He examines the glistening trophies and signed baseball cards in another attempt at protecting his ego and its butchered remains. None of it is enough, though. None of this success is notable without you at his side.

In a fit of rage, he throws his Giants helmet against the basement floors, landing with a harsh thud.

“They reject me? Ken Sato!? Best baseball player of all time!? The one and only Ultraman!?” 

His poor helmet is victim to his abuse, once more, as he leans all his might into a forceful kick. 

“Nobody can resist Ken Sato!” 

Another attempt at thrashing around in anger results in his knees buckling beneath him, sending his body to the cold ground. That was the final failure Kenji needed to break down into a sobbing fit. Head buried in his palms, he begs, pleads, for mercy. 

“I… I’m doing my best, okay? God!”

His body curls into itself, like pathetic prey trying to protect itself.

“I buy you everything you want, I save your life again and again, I-” 

Kenji cuts his tangent short by choking on a gagged cry. His fist clenches over his heart, overwhelmed from the sheer pain the organ is enduring. His chest stutters and twitches from the force of his blubbering. Globs of snot and spit gush across down his face, some clumps managing to pervade across his tongue.

“Ken? Are you crying?” A monotone voice speaks. 

“No! I’m… Not crying!” 

His coughing whimpers and wet face reveal the truth. Weakness is something he was taught to be ashamed of, after all. What kind of man would he be if he let himself crumble over such petty matters? Would you ever fall for him after witnessing such a dramatic sight?

“Want me to load up Y/N? That might make you feel better.” 

A few snivels through the silence and Kenji answers her. “Yeah… Yeah, I-I’d really like that…”

Maybe this is what he needs, just a few hits of his favorite drug to keep him in stable condition. Then, he’ll utilize the newfound strength to revive his honor, finally earning your affection in the end.

Pixels unfold in varying colors across the ground, spreading across the walls and ceiling like a reaching wave. The scene overtaking the basement now displays a romantic scene. Cherry blossom trees dance with the warm wind, petals drifting through the Spring air. A grand waterfall descends from a moss-covered mountain and leads to a river, where fish swim along with the stream. As he stands to his feet, Kenji finds himself at an arched bridge stretching over the river as the gentle melodies of nature sing around him.

When his gaze drifts around, he feels his heart practically plummet into the pit of his stomach when he sees you. Leaning over the wicker barrier and tossing out handfuls of kibble for the hungry fish.

Turning over your shoulder, you look up at Kenji with those glittering eyes, causing his breath to get caught in his throat. To make matters even worse for Kenji’s weak self, your face then breaks out into a candy-sweet smile. You are so innocently oblivious to how you’ve reduced his heart rate to an old engine, stuttering miserably. That smile could make even the devil repent, he’s sure of it. With luminosity like that, the greatest evils would have no choice but to succumb to their contrition.

Dusting your hands off, you frolic over to where Kenji stands. A lighthearted giggle escapes past your lips in the process, nearly bringing him to tears from how precious the sight is. Your hand slips into his and he might as well have crossed the pearly gates of heaven. Fuck, why hasn’t he made Mina do this before?

“Come on! Come feed the fishies with me!” You cheer in that captivating tone. That adoring voice could ask so sweetly for death and he’d deliver you buckets of blood. Just keep talking to him like that.

The impact you have on him is so immense, in fact, Kenji falls to his knees. The throbbing ache that his fall courses through his body might as well have been background noise, not when his senses are overwhelmed with how blissful your presence is.

His arms enclose around your legs, burying his face into your fuzzy sweater. With an amused hum, you sink your hands into his dark locks. The gesture makes him dizzy with elation. Spinning around the merry-go-round of devastating jubilation.

“Tell me you love me.” Kenji whines, his sensitive voice muffled against your stomach. 

With another giggle that squishes his gooey heart, you respond.

“I love you, Ken.” 

… Ken? 

No! No, you wouldn’t call him that! 

You’d call him Kenji, or better yet, you’d conjure up some adorable nickname in that witty head of yours. Anything but Ken; anything but what everyone else sees him as. 

And just like that, the fantastical facade shatters and reveals what really lies beneath. None of this is real. As much as he wishes it would be, as much as he’d throw away everything for you to be beside him in this moment, all of this is merely a figment of his imagination.

“No! You’re not real! Y/N- They would never-!”

The tears return and leave his body through broken wails. Once again, he has been forged into a mess of cracked hiccups and ground-shattering sobs.

His clenched fist meets the solid ground, piercing pain invading his entire arm from the impact. The punch was thrown far from where you stand. Even as a hologram, Kenji cannot bear to hurt you. He couldn’t wish violence upon you even if he wanted to. 

The dreamscape stood before him crumbles as quickly as it was formed. Darkness spreads once again and the romantic scene of cherry blossoms and fish kibble fades away. A physical manifestation of what he has become without you present.

Chasing after a sliver of your attention has now thrust Kenji into a staggering state of despair. His sob playlist shakes his house with its ear-splitting volumes, pushing more tears down his face while he stuffs his mouth with donuts. 

The weight of the pain pushes him toward drastic measures, as he is now a hollow shell of who he used to be. Measures he assured himself he would never come to, but has inevitably crashed landed in.

If you do not fall for his riches, his charm, his fame, then Kenji will just have to… “persuade” you towards that goal.

Cameras flash and flicker in his face as he charms his way through another press conference of millions. Only this time, he has ground-breaking news to share. 

“Fans have seen you blow supposed kisses to someone outside the venue. Is there a special someone in your life?” 

Directly across the field is your studio, but he will not tell others this fact. It is his duty to protect you, after all. But, scattering a few breadcrumbs won’t hurt anyone.

“Yes. Yes there is.”

The room erupts in hushed gasps and the rushed scribbling of pens. Another wave of questions tumbles toward Kenji’s way.

“They mean everything to me. I owe all my success to Y/- I mean, my baby.” 

A knowing smirk grows on his face. The Sherlock’s of the internet will surely connect the dots. Netizens will also fawn over how misty-eyed he became speaking of you, while others will rage in jealousy over their dream man falling for someone else. No matter what occurs, he will protect you during your sudden shift to fame. You have his word on that.

Days later, Kenji receives an email. And he almost considers admitting himself into a hospital for the near heart attack he receives upon reading it. 

Signed by none other than Y/N L/N, you ask him to meet with you in order to “clear the air” and “sort out this drama”. 

Several times, he scans the username to find some sort of fault, something that shows him it is just the works of an envious hater. However, his suspicions are never confirmed. The message is purely and undoubtedly you, no online troll or basement hologram in sight!

Without another second to waste, he responds to your email with a place and time, that being two hours from now. Kenji intends on fulfilling his role of the dashing boyfriend and to drive you there himself, flaunting his sumptuous motorcycle in the process. Mina, however, has since been programmed to detect every potential danger in your path, even something as minor as a crack in the pavement. When she displayed the graphic results of recent biking accidents, his heart lurched in his chest.

For now, he will simply have to meet you at the luxuriant restaurant he booked the best table for. In the future, he will convert to safer forms of transportation and your foot will never touch a pedal again. Not with your prince charming around.

Arriving an hour early, Kenji bursts through the bathroom doors and wipes the beads of sweat seeping down his face. All the makeup and detail he put into his appearance, all melted to a mess because of the anxiety you pump through his body. 

It is almost comical. He, Ken Sato, is nervous? He’s done the classic dinner-date over a zillion times, delivering his suggestive pick-up lines and swift winks. Staring at his exasperated face in the mirror, he is at a loss of where to go from here. What will he even say? What famous lines can he use? How can he give you his black card and a copy of his house key without you running away? 

Kenji finally sits down at the reserved table, located on a far balcony and looking over the grand city. His wristwatch blares red and presents the stack of missed calls from his dad, of which he willfully ignores. He went twenty years without his father and survived. Meanwhile, he went one week without you and thought he was on the cusp of death. He cannot bring himself to care about anything else. Not when he’s finally got a hook on you.

A waiter then asks him if he was feeling alright, concerned over the sight of his pale skin, shivering body, and twiddling thumbs. Kenji assures the man he is alright as he restlessly taps his foot, stalking the door ahead for the face he loves most to saunter through. The building could just about crumble to ash and he’d still sit here, waiting for your arrival.

And just like a movie, you pass the threshold and rob all the air from his lungs. 

You merely walk his way, but to him, you resembled a fawn frolicking through a green meadow, an angel wandering across roads of fluffy clouds. Those sporadic nerves die at the sight of you, rendering him to a melted pile of twitterpated nonsense. You tread closer and closer and closer and Kenji does not know how much more his body can handle before you completely dissolve him into a puddle.

“You have five minutes.” 

Your voice perfuses into his ears like birdsong, real and raw this time. That noise greeting him every morning is the only wish he’d ask from a magic genie. 

“Wh-Wh-?” He stutters like a lovesick loser, mentally slapping himself across the head for such a pathetic introduction.

“I said you have five minutes to explain yourself. Then, I will le-” 

“I love you.”

Surprise eases out your scrunched expression. You’ve never met this man before. Yet here he is, spewing out this gibberish. All of this has to be some form of joke, you assume. Where those irritating Youtube pranksters will sprint out from their hiding spots and shove their cameras in your face, cackling like hysterical hyenas.

“I am in love with you.” 

Maybe this is just his way of leading partners into bed with him. A powerful effort to add another name to his lengthy body count. And for whatever reason, he plans to jot down your name on that list.

“And you are worth more to me than anything.” 

You scrutinize his face for some inkling of rationality, something to explain what the fuck he means by that. Your efforts prove to be futile, as those teary, doe-eyes peer into your soul with nothing but sheer, unadulterated devotion. As though you were both fresh newlyweds enjoying the luxury of your honeymoon, complemented by the glimmer of your new wedding rings.

“Okay.” You swallow dryly, unease bleeding through your body. “You get another five minutes to explain yourself. On one condition.”

Kenji perks up at your proposition as though you had offered your hand in marriage. 

“Yes! Yes, whatever you want!” 

The man in question ponders over what riches you could ask him for and how elated he’d be to give you them. Taking you on shopping sprees and serving as your adoring husband, paying every penny and carrying your bags for you while you peruse to your liking. Just say the word, maybe flutter those pretty lashes, and he’ll personally deliver the very planet into your hands.

“I want you to leave me be.” 

If it weren’t for the fact this man was a complete stranger, you’d feel a sting of guilt over the perceptible emotion that washes over his face. Kenji anticipated the demand of clothes, foods, travel tickets, of which he would gleefully fulfill. Not this. Anything but this. 

“Alright, f-for how long? 10 minutes? 20?” 

“Forever.” 

You might as well have surged your fist into his chest cavity and torn his heart out, stomping out the ba-bump beneath the force of your boots. You might as well have climbed the tree behind his childhood home and ambushed his bird nest, tearing apart the array of twigs and squishing the healthy eggs. You might as well have just killed him right then and there, as nothing could pain him more than such a fate. Forever without the one he loves most is a life you couldn’t pay him to suffer through.

His bottom lip begins to tremble, stomach gurgling with nauseated shock. A few gags masked by coughs go unnoticed by you, as you could’ve sworn you saw a bright flash of white in the distance. Did someone… Take a picture? 

“... What’s wrong, baby? What are you looking at, huh?” 

Shifting your gaze back to Kenji, you find his features sheen with sweat and sickly-green from the queasiness you’ve forced upon him. What you especially notice is the accent of smugness beneath it all, etched into the smirk stretched across his lips.

Hushed whispers in the distance accelerate in volume, until the entire restaurant erupts in flashing lights.

Paparazzi!? What the fuck are they doing here!? 

Kenji leans back into the chair and slings an arm around the back post, seemingly posing for the photographers invading your conversation.

“Oh, no! We’ve been caught! The horror! Whatever will we do now that our secret is out…?”

If it weren’t for the sake of your career, you would’ve socked that smile clean off his face. Maybe even knock out a few teeth while you’re at it.

Critics have now officially cleared the name of Ken Sato due to his recent spike in excellent performance. Sports commentators even toss around jokes of how Sato’s new partner has knocked some sense into him.

Another game of hundreds and the cologne of arrogance around Kenji could suffocate the entire arena. A recent report detailed by you is casted on the billboard outside your studio. He blows yet another kiss your way as he jogs onto the field, ignoring the shouting fans who seethe with envy. He has made it official across the nation that his heart is sewn into your hands. And not even God could level the happiness coursing through his body. 

That is, until an uninvited visitor opens his mouth. The Swallows catcher begins to taunt him about his lover on the big screen, unaware of the lethal consequences it would harbor.

“You let the team hit, Sato? Shit, I might talk to coach about a transfer so I can get a piece of th-” 

The baseball bat in Kenji’s hands collides with his jaw before he can finish his sentence. 

Several more plunges into his skull and a swarm of teammates swarm around to break apart the scene. The crowd is alive with excited hollering, drowning out the noise of the blood-stained threats Kenji barks his way, strings of saliva spurting from his mouth like some feral mutt. 

The onslaught of players quickly, albeit with struggle, overpower him, successfully retrieving the weapon from his grasp. The edges of his manicured nails dig into the meat of his palms, forming maroon crescents in his flesh. Blind with rage, more threats that will surely put him behind bars are screeched into the air.

A few harsh yanks from the group of men and Kenji is finally pried from the catcher. He is dragged off the field past the rushing paramedics before he can fulfill his promises.

“And now it looks like there are words being exchanged between Sato and the Swallows catcher... Oh! Oh, no. We haven’t seen a brawl like this in a long time! Both benches have cleared. They’re throwing punches…” 

Soothing his sore muscles in an ice bath, Kenji watches the recording of his public meltdown with trepidation. Your eyes are not far and surely, you will bear witness to the violence his hands are capable of. He fears you daring to think he will treat you as such and his chest aches from the thought alone.

All he wants at this moment is to tear down the door to your apartment, take your precious face into his hands, and speak the utter truth as he assures you he will never bring harm to you. He’ll inform you of the context of the fight and what sparked such a reaction out of him. Then, you’ll thank him profusely for his heroic defense and drown him in your sugar-sweet kisses. Just like he has dreamt of every night, often waking up in the morning with his puckered lips against his knuckles.

Now, however, Kenji has surely destroyed any chances of gluing you to his side forever. You resent him for that stunt he pulled at dinner, and now, you are afraid of what he and his baseball bat may do. The ongoing success of Ken Sato has crashed and burned, resulting in the loss of what he cared for most.

“Ken!” Mina calls out to him. “I have something to show you!” 

Assuming it is another plan of millions to stamp the title of ‘lover’ all over you, he rushes out of the bath and throws his clothes on. Venturing into the basement, he is met with the very last thing he expected.

The containment unit has been raised. Inside is you, fast asleep with a bow on your head. Wearing just his jersey and holding onto a plushie designed after himself. 

“Surprise!”

Mina’s robotic arms stretch out, presenting the gift she captured retrieved for Kenji.

In addition to your permanent presence, the containment unit has been extensively decorated. The adornments are all pink and fluffy, like a cloud draped over a sunset. A circle-shaped bed is strung above the ground, supporting the weight of you and the mess of plushy comforters. It rocks you from side-to-side like a fussy baby who skipped out on naptime.

The scent of lavender pervading the air eases you into a deeper slumber. Tranquil white noise hums from the surrounding speakers, suffusing with the sounds of a light rainstorm. There are even holograms of shimmering stars and a full moon hovering over you, like some colossal mobile strung above a crib. Among the stars is a constellation, of some sort, that reads “Y/N SATO” in glittering letters.

And poor Kenji doesn’t know if he wants to beat Mina into shambles of wires or give her as many HTTP cookies her synthetic heart could ask for. For now, he is too woozy to make a coherent decision regarding her well-being. As he stated before, you always remain of utmost importance.

“My God…” He gasps out through stuttering breaths. 

His heart pounds so violently, he can barely hear the sound of his own voice over the persistent thumping. Kenji wobbles over to you as though he had just stood on his two legs for the very first time. He is almost positive there is a certain air suffusing from your body, entering his bloodstream and choking him with fervent stress. Every step forward renders his body weaker and weaker.

Images then begin to haunt his mind, preceding what may happen in minutes time. Kenji sees your weeping face, crying to release you from this bird cage. He can hear the thundering volume of your voice declaring you will never fall in love with him, how you’ll soon vanish and leave him to forever rot in solitude.

The emotions these thoughts garner stir in his gut like a meal that doesn’t agree with him. Gags poke and prod at his throat, threatening to release the butterflies fluttering around his stomach. A glob of bile then spurts from his mouth and splats against the floor. Kenji, horrified and sick with worry, races away from the scene before he spills his guts in front of you and humiliates himself even further.

What on Earth is he meant to do now?

When you finally awaken, you’re convinced you’ve been melted into jelly. Maybe even restrained in a tank of thick oil. Limbs weak at wet spaghetti, you cling to any fragments of energy in your system as you try and discern your environment. 

“Well, look who woke up!” A female voice greets you. “Do you want to see daddy?” 

Something globe-shaped hovers around the barrier you’ve been ensnared in. If it weren’t for your groggy state, you’d verify it to be a robot and not a talking basketball. 

“’Daddy’? What the hell are you talking about?” Your confused voice protrudes broken and sluggish, still stained with the sleep you’ve just woken from. 

A screen forms above you and before your distorted vision, you find the very last sight you wished to see. Ken Sato, your own personal parasite, sits stiff in the living room just upstairs. Bouncing his leg in an anxious rhythm, he seems to be engrossed by a video on his laptop. As you listen further, the contents become more distinguishable.

“When the moment is right, lean into your partner slowly and tilt your head to avoid bumping noses.” 

The robot clears her throat in an attempt at grasping his attention, but fails to do so.

“Close your eyes and let your lips connect naturally. Match the pattern of your partner to-” 

Another noise of acknowledgment from the robot and Kenji’s attention is finally held. Barely, that is.

“What, Mina?” He answers curtly, eyes refusing to part from the information he is currently absorbing.

“Someone is waiting for you down here.”

In all the years you’ve lived on this planet, you don’t think you’ve ever seen someone move so fast before. Not only did Mina’s words arouse a visceral reaction out of Kenji, but they practically shoved him off the couch from the sheer force of her insinuations. His foot even gets caught behind a chair leg and causes him to land splat on his face, but this is not nearly enough to deter his acceleration. 

The screen you were studying then folds into itself as an elevator descends from above. Through the cyan, blurred exterior, you see the frame of no other than Ken Sato. The doors open a mere inch before the man in question is squishing himself through the tight space. Always the acrobat he is, he gracefully trips onto his face, once again, before clumsily scrambling to his feet.

Now, you’re given the ability to absorb his appearance. Messy locks of black hair lack their normal gelled accentuation. Dark eyes are blown wide as though he were some feral animal. Tan arms are covered in red scratches from the relentless, anxious scratching he abused his flesh with.

The bold ‘ICON’ on his shirt mocks you. Is that what he is? Is that what he expects you to perceive him as? Would an ‘icon’ do such a thing like this?

You ponder over how much time has passed since you’ve been brought into this horrid basement, how much time has passed before friends and family have deemed you missing.

Kenji knows the answer to your questions. It had only been a day; twenty-four full hours of crazed, restless worry. He even skipped out on the championship for this moment, just to ensure you remained safe in the basement. He trusts Mina, of course, but he cannot rely on her to restrain you. The grasp he has on you is dangling by a thread, worn thin by his own stupid antics from before. 

He knows now that if you were to take one step out the door, you’ll be gone forever. And Kenji will die before he allows that to happen. 

Meanwhile, you’re still trying to garner pieces of your memory together. After returning to your apartment from a hectic day at the studio, you allowed yourself to indulge in the hot meals always waiting for you at your kitchen table. Normally, you’d chuck them in the garbage out of distrust. Tonight, however, you were so overwhelmed with lethargy, you couldn’t conjure enough energy to cook yourself a meal. So, the magic dinner-fairy would receive your blessing in the meantime.

One bite in and you were out like a light, oblivious to what exactly is waiting for you once you wake.

What was waiting for you now dashes toward the edge of your dog kennel, as you’d describe it. Kenji places a hand to the surface and his forehead lands against the wall with a light thud. His quickened, gasping breaths fog the glass. He does not leave even a centimeter between himself and the barrier separating both of you. The legs that have scored him more wins for the Giants than any other played in history suddenly grow weak, trembling as they try to support his weight. 

Kenji’s half-lidded gaze is devoted to you only. A curl forms between his brows from the fervency of his emotions the longer he stares. His cheeks go red as two ripe cherries while he just stands and watches, all dewy-faced and blushing.

“Lower the containment unit.” He pants breathlessly, the sheer tone of love drooping from every syllable that parts from his mouth. Like pockets of honey seeping from a honeycomb. 

“Ken. That might be a bad idea. We cannot anticipate how they will react.” 

He presses lazy kisses against the glass as her words go through one ear and out the other. Ignoring her warning, he assures her of these concerns.

“I got ‘em, I got ‘em… My baby…”

To your horror, the walls plummet and grant this monster full access to where you lie. Kenji collapses, again, not realizing he had been leaning his full weight against the walls of the containment unit. This sudden intrusion causes you to flinch and you crawl away from him, attempting to shield yourself beneath the thick covers. 

Body shivering with feverish need, his hand grasps onto the corner of the mattress to stabilize himself. Mere inches away from your foot. His chin lifts to look your way, his eyes only needing to bathe in the sight of you forever. Within his irises, you find swirling pools of darkness illuminated by specks of glitter. Sparkling for you and you alone. 

A smile pokes at Kenji’s lips, bright and formidable, before he addresses your sour expression. 

“Aww, why the long-face? Is my baby hungry, maybe?” 

At the foot of the bed, a fraction of the floor folds open and rises a platter. On this platter is an array of all your favorite foods. Snacks, candies, sodas, juices, whatever your heart could possibly desire. Mina has correlated an all-you-can-eat buffet just for you. Similar to the dishes left for you back in your apartment.

As it spins, displaying every inch and corner of its delicious offerings, you curl further into yourself. You do not want nourishment, you want to leave! To part from this maniac and never hear of his name again! 

With your refusal to eat, Kenji determines the reason behind your dismay to be because of him. Or, in his egotistical brain, the lack of him. The works of an absurdly large ego, you’d surmise. 

“Do you… Do you need… Me?” The hope in his voice is akin to a child in disbelief over receiving surprise tickets to Disneyland.

And Kenji just melts from how gut-wrenchingly adorable you are. By simply existing, you’re yanking at his heartstrings like a puppeteer, guiding him further and further towards the edge of sanity. With eyes peering up at him like that, he’ll welcome the predicament warmly.

“Oh… I’m right here, baby. Daddy won’t leave you.” He coos in your ear, the warm cadence practically oozing into your brain. 

Still overwhelmed with exhaustion, you do not have a morsel of strength left in your body to fight off his affections. Despite how desperately you wish to. Instead, you have to remain pliant as Kenji guides you onto your back, soothing and shushing you as you sink further into the plush surface.

Tearing his shirt from his body, the loss of the ‘icon’ status, he crawls beneath the opulent covers with you. His arm snakes around your waist, while the other cradles your cheek. Hands shuddering and heart pattering as he presses himself against your back, he wonders how he had not simply died right in this moment. You’re too perfect. It’s too much for his poor heart to take. Cupid may as well have discarded the pink-hued arrows and plunged a knife straight into his chest.

Kenji leaves an array of kisses on the back of your neck as you drift back into a tranquil slumber. All those wishes he set on shooting stars have finally returned and placed you directly in his beloved bird nest. All to stay at his side forever.

All to never leave.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

❝ WHY CAN'T I FIND

NO ONE LIKE YOU . . . ? ❞

gif creds .

[modawg]

thinking abt how percy exploded that volcano but from annabeths perspective bc could you imagine being her and watching that bitch explode and being like “damn he really did have a plan he ate that up :)” and she’s waiting there for like half an hour and waiting for him to pop out of the woodwork but as time goes by he doesn’t she’s like “wait a damn minute…”

like ik that shit was traumatic as hell but how FUNNY IS THATTT

she’s like standing a ways away at the entrance to one of the labyrinth tunnels imagining percy walking away from the explosion and pulling her into another kiss after this crazy near death experience she’s probably thinking this is when their gonna start dating (or she’s thinking abt how they’re never going to speak again bc he doesn’t like her like that blah blah) and as she’s thinking abt this she’s like “hmm it’s been a while maybe i should look for him or smth” she’s like calling out his name and ever so slowly the last line of that prophecy starts playing in her head

like she prob went from “percy :) hey percy!! percy im over here !!” to “PERCYYYY‼️🔇🔇🔇PERCY WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU LERCY PERFYYYY PERUC PETYC WHere WHEREE ARE YOU PERRCYYYY‼️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️”

ik that girl was out searching for that man until the helicopters came and she had to dip

coming back to camp covered in soot and trauma thinking she just killed her best friend

this or she didn’t believe he had a plan at all and when he doesn’t show up she just knows deep down that it’s over (not that he’s dead bc unless she has a body ik for a fact she won’t believe that shit) but just that smth bad has happened and that she should’ve stayed with him instead of leaving

[eoieopda]

whiskey neat | jwy

there’s no common ground between yours and wooyoung’s vastly different circles. that is, until tuesday nights at the black cat form the center of the venn diagram.

pairing: jung wooyoung x reader au: strangers to something type: one-shot | smut wc: 8.3k rating: 18+ | minors do not have my consent to interact. cw: inspired by hozier’s “too sweet”, primarily wooyoung’s pov with one switch at the end; bartender!wooyoung, musician!reader, alcohol use, setting is a bar, uhhh wooyoung is a (to the tune of that arctic monkeys song) cigarette smoker, oral sex (v), protected sex (p in v), corruption kink kind of?, use of “sweetheart” (fatal). reader notes: afab (gender identity not designated); kind of naive; into fitness/“wellness” (no body type/weight is described, except wooyoung thinking they’re “strong” + reader thinking that they are in the best shape of their life); wears a sundress at the beginning. the following terms are used in the scenes involving smut: pussy, cunt, clit, tits (no description given). a/n: i quite literally started this in march 2024 and then experienced the most severe hobby death of all time. this is coming after five (5) months of scooping it out of my brain with a melon-baller, so… not my best, but here she is! thanks @sailoryooons for beta-ing because i’m self-conscious lately 🍤

Tuesday nights at the Black Cat never used to be busy. 

For three years, Wooyoung spent the majority of his shifts behind the bar doing fuck all: Folding receipt paper into increasingly complicated and wasteful shapes; replacing citrus wedges that went unused and then brown; paying visits to the stray cat camping out in the alley near the dumpster. He’d go hours without talking to another human being, and he never took issue with it, even if his wallet did.

Two months ago, however, things changed. 

Two months ago, management started panicking about the lack of revenue. To keep the lights on and draw in a crowd of (hopefully) soon-to-be regulars, they implemented a schedule of recurring events — some monthly, others weekly, most stupid.

Wooyoung’s precious solitude disappeared, and in its place, he got trivia nights and turntable DJs, showing off their collections of vinyls. Games of bingo targeting hipsters, who show up en masse to fight it out for prizes — potted plants, of all things — they could easily buy on their own for far less than their tabs’ totals. Themed brunches. 

A million other events and just as many used glasses to wash.

Despite his ever-present scowl — his face just looks like that —  it hasn’t been all bad. Without the newly-added acoustic sessions, the bar wouldn’t need a local performer to both play and host on a biweekly basis. Management wouldn’t have reached out to you; and you’d have no fucking reason to come to a dive like this. Suffice it to say, your pilates-practicing, daylight-disciplined circle of doers would never otherwise overlap with Wooyoung’s, in all its nocturnal, nicotine-dependent grit.

Tuesday nights at the Black Cat now occupy the center of the Venn diagram.

As usual, you come traipsing in half an hour before your set starts with a gig bag slung over your shoulder and a megawatt smile on your face. This is your natural state, he’s come to learn. Solar-powered. It shouldn’t be possible, but you manage to brighten further when your searching eyes find him sitting on the counter behind the register.

Through no fault of his own, Wooyoung’s gaze trails down from your face to the little sundress you’re wearing. It’s new, he notes immediately. The skirt of it flutters with each step you take, showing off more and more of your thighs as you move.

You don’t react to the migrating fabric. Just the same, you don’t notice his appraisal or the way patrons’ heads turn as you cross the bar. 

No surprise there, he thinks. 

From the four (4) entire conversations the two of you have had so far, you’ve made one thing abundantly clear: You’re inclined to assume the best of people and their intentions. 

Nine times out of ten, Wooyoung dodges naivety like that the second it starts skipping his way, well-versed in the consequences of trusting so implicitly. You and your cotton-candy smile have proven to be the outlier, though. Working in tandem, you and that grin have him pinned where he sits with no urge to run.

You don’t notice that, either.

When you slide onto the stool across the bar from him, Wooyoung finally clocks what you’re holding. Your right hand grips some green concoction that he suspects was made with kale. Or moss? In your left hand, an iced Americano — beautifully black — weeps condensation onto manicured fingers, making hard-earned calluses glisten.

Wooyoung’s racing thoughts about those hands are still inflicting psychic damage when you lean further over the counter.

“Extra shot of espresso,” you hum as you hold the coffee out to him. You do your best to tease him, though you’re shy as hell about it, so the words still manage to come gently: “For those of us who were still awake when the sun came up.”

Wooyoung mentioned his coffee order several weeks ago in passing. It’s sweet in a way he’s not used to that you’ve not only remembered how he takes his coffee, but that you’ve brought it to him ever since, apropos of nothing, when all he’s ever done is his best to get a rise out of you. What he’s up to isn’t sweet — not by a long-shot — but it’s easily done and well worth the misplaced effort when he sees how flustered he can make you.

Wooyoung tilts his head, draws his lips in a straight line, and gestures to your cup with his. “Worry about those waking up shortly after sunrise, sweetheart. They’re drinking algae.”

As intended, you’re visibly affected by the pet name, so much so that you stumble over your defense. “It — it’s healthy!”

“It’s swampy.”

Your nose scrunches indignantly, prompting the edge of Wooyoung’s mouth to tick upwards. He doesn’t emote more than that. Five (5) conversations in now, and he’s already picked up on how much it gets to you when he only concedes a hint of a smirk.

As much as he’d relish the opportunity to sit here and keep toying with you, the crowd surrounding you has doubled in a matter of minutes. Just over your shoulder, Wooyoung sees a patron glance down at the screen of her phone to check the time; then, he hears the complaint she thinks is muttered quietly under her breath. It’s not. In fact, you hear it, too, and you divert your wide, heart-shaped eyes away from him. That smile of yours curves in the wrong direction once you do.

When you look back at him, you say, “I should go,” but he hears it for what it is: an apology. 

He’s never been good at ending conversations — especially in the rare case that he’d prefer to keep one going — so he nods, leaves it at that. You pause for a nanosecond, as if you’ve got something else to add, but you don’t. You smooth down the back of your dress once you’ve hopped from the stool to your feet. Then, you mimic his gesture. 

You make it two steps towards the stage before Wooyoung calls out to you, prompting you to spin back around and your dress to flutter:

“Thanks for the coffee, sweetheart.”

Your frown disappears instantly. The smile that replaces it is still there when you disappear into the crowd, only to resurface several seconds later on the tiny stage across the room.

Guitar now in hand, you duck your head through the woven strap, shuffling carefully closer to the microphone stand. You introduce yourself, strum a quiet, major chord, and chirp, “Welcome to both the Black Cat and my favorite day of the week.”

Normally, you leave shortly after your last set, as if you’ll turn into a pumpkin when the clock strikes ten. With the schedule you keep, it’s no wonder. From what Wooyoung has gathered so far, you wake up before dawn most days to get a workout in before heading to the office. The very idea makes him nauseous whenever he thinks too long about it, so he does his best not to. 

Mornings are for sleeping, he told you once.

Life is for living, you’d replied.

Apparently, the two of you have drastically different ideas about what living looks like.

For Wooyoung, life on Tuesday nights looks like catering to a steadily dwindling crowd once you finish up and disappear with a friendly wave goodbye. It’s cleaning up sticky spills, resetting migrated stools, and doing a half-ass restock that will make the opener — him — complain about the closer — again, him — when his next shift starts at 5:00 PM on Wednesday. 

In the gap between his shifts, life looks like meeting up with his similarly shadow-dwelling friends on someone’s balcony to chain-smoke, sip whiskey, and watch the sunrise until he gets bored. From there, it’s either walking back to his apartment or kicking said friends out of his, so he can rot in front of his PC. Eventually, life looks like blackout shades and crashing into bed while the world around him heads out for brunch.

Tonight, however, life is starting to look a little different.

When you wander over, it’s not to say goodnight or close out the tab you think you’ve accrued, which Wooyoung never opened in the first place.

Maybe, he thinks, you’ve finally caught on that all these “technical issues with the point-of-sale system” — occurring for the last four (4) shows in relation to one (1) patron in particular — can’t possibly be a coincidence. That a free drink given will always beget a free drink received. That Wooyoung doesn’t deal in unpaid debts, even if he hasn’t and won’t own up to his petty workplace theft.

You sidle up to his bar and slip back into the stool you’d previously occupied, no more aware of the way your sundress shifts now than you were earlier. Likewise, he’s no less blatant with the way he looks you up and down, eyes lingering unabashedly and hungrily. The pair of you float in each other’s orbit for a few moments just like this: waiting for the other to speak first.

“Don’t you go to yoga class at ass o’clock on Wednesdays?” He eventually inquires, leaning back against the counter behind him with his arms crossed and head tilted.

Your eyes flick down to the screen of your phone, which rests face-up on the bar between your elbows. You clock the time but not the way your current posture causes the neckline of your mostly modest dress to plunge. Conflict creases between your eyebrows, then you tilt your chin to look at him.

Wooyoung knows that look, although he’s never seen it on you before. That look begs to be talked into something, rather than out of it. It’s a look he gets often. For better or for worse, it’s one he never turns down.

“I do,” you admit through a sigh. 

Offering nothing more than a hum to indicate his intrigue, Wooyoung watches you and waits patiently for you to elaborate. Another few seconds slip by without a word. His attention makes you shy, he notes; he loves it. 

But he loves the idea of toying with you even more, so when you don’t say anything else, he takes that attention and diverts it to the few remaining patrons, all of whom have vested interest in closing out and getting out.

Good riddance, he thinks as the last of them stumbles out and away, leaving the two of you in charged silence. 

Even more seconds pass. 

Still nothing.

Wooyoung glances around and finds a bottle of Jameson on its very last leg. It’s the perfect amount for a litmus test — two shots left, nothing more to give and everything to prove. Snatching two overturned shot glasses from where they dry on a holed rubber mat, he empties the whiskey evenly and turns back to you with an eyebrow raised.

Your eyes widen slightly when he sets the spare on the bar in front of you, more so with interest than surprise. For a moment, you stare at it with the same ambivalent expression, nibbling thoughtfully on your lower lip. 

Finally, you all but whisper, “I should’ve been in bed an hour ago.”

With his left palm flat against the bar, Wooyoung rests his weight and leans in, eyelids and voice dropping. “Why aren’t you?” He murmurs, gaze flicking down to your lips then back up again — just long enough for you to notice that he was, in fact, looking. “Hmm?”

Your breath hitches — just loudly enough for him to notice that you are, in fact, finding it hard to function this closely to him.

“On a school night, no less.” His eyes narrow teasingly.

“I’m asking myself the same question,” you confess, though you’re the picture of innocence. Your fingertip traces idly down the side of your shot glass, then back up again. 

He’s as distracted by the mindless movement as you are, albeit for different reasons. Before he lets himself get carried away in wondering whether or not your touch is always that delicate, Wooyoung lifts his glass and gestures for you to do the same. “Sounds like you could use a bad influence.”

A soft clink permeates when your glasses touch, followed by a muted thump when the bottom of each one is tapped against the bar. Your heads are thrown back in unison, just like your drinks, and when your faces finally level out towards one another’s, you counter him breezily, “Maybe you could use a good one.”

Wooyoung thinks he could use more than that.

Breaking eye contact, you glance down at your phone again. It’s obvious that you’re second-guessing your decision to linger. He wants to chuck that brick in the bin with the other useless shit, to get rid of any excuse you might give for having to leave, but he doesn’t. 

And you don’t give him an excuse.

Your hand wraps around that fucking phone, then you stand up slowly. 

“Try not to stay up too late,” you advise with a smile that still manages to read like disappointment.

Don’t.

Reaching into the pocket of your jacket, you pull out the tips you made tonight and collect a few bills before dropping them on the counter to cover the shot you didn’t even order. Wooyoung wants to tell you not to — that your money isn’t good here, even if you are — but he knows it won’t make a difference. 

You sling your gig bag over your shoulder, thank him, and tell him that you’ll see him in two weeks.

He scrubs his hands over his face the second you walk out the door and mutters through gritted teeth, “Fuck.”

You don’t see Wooyoung in two weeks. 

As a matter of fact, you cancel your acoustic session for the first time ever. Management either doesn’t know why you bailed or doesn’t think it’s any of Wooyoung’s business, so no one bothers to tell him. If he’d ever thought to ask for your number, he could check in on you himself, but he didn’t and therefore can’t.

Ignorant and annoyed, he resigns himself to occupying an empty tavern on a goddamn Tuesday night, yet again. 

Nobody brings him coffee. 

Nobody worth talking to crosses the threshold. 

No one makes little comments — genuine concerns poorly disguised as digs — when he uses the paring knife to carve little stars into the lip of the bar top, instead of slicing limes. 

And when he gives up and closes down early, he’s so tired of his own shit that he simply goes home and goes to bed.

Bed being the operative word. 

He doesn’t go to sleep, even though he has nothing better to do. Alternatively, Wooyoung replays your last interaction on a loop in his head, daydreaming about what could’ve happened if you’d stayed. While his thoughts spiral, his hand drifts, finds the pulse beneath the zipper of his jeans, and feels the throbbing ache building through the denim.

It’s pathetic. 

He knows it. 

Too bad that doesn’t stop him from fucking his fist every night for the next several, imagining how much softer yours must feel.

The patron pulls a face the absolute second Wooyoung slides her glass across the bar. 

Wholly uninterested in the response one way or another, he slathers on his customer-service smile and asks her, “Alright?”, in a tone that doesn’t match his expression in the slightest.

“There’s no ice in it,” she mumbles, cringing in mild horror as she does. As if the liquor features his spit instead. “I wanted ice.”

There’s a split second where he almost lets his mask crack, says something shitty just because his mood was already sour before she walked over. Wooyoung doesn’t get the opportunity, however. Over the girl’s shoulder, someone gently intervenes: “Neat means no ice. You’d have needed to order it on the rocks.” 

A beat passes, then comes, “Or — you know, with ice, please.”

Wooyoung neither hears nor cares what the girl says in response. She shuffles off, and that’s all that matters. Without her body blocking the way, he sees you clearly. You’re more done-up than usual, like you’ve just come from somewhere far nicer than here.

“It’s Saturday.”

Probably should’ve started with hello.

After eyeing the glowing, neon clock on the wall, Wooyoung notices that both hands are pointed skyward. He corrects himself, “Nah, it’s Sunday.”

You slip into the now-unoccupied stool ahead of him and nod, chuckling like you can’t believe it, either. When you settle in, you prop your elbow on the bar top, then your chin upon the heel of your hand. Just above, your eyes twinkle with a kind of mischief he’s never seen you wear before.

That might be the thin veil of tipsiness, actually. 

Not that he’s complaining.

Wooyoung hides his amusement by bending over and rummaging through the under-counter refrigerator that hums beneath the register. The rush of cool air has nothing to do with how awake he suddenly feels. He wonders if you feel the same but can’t ask outright; eagerness isn’t his style.

“You’re here on purpose?” He asks instead, resurfacing with a bottle of soju — some new, fruity flavor he assumes you’ll like — and a raised eyebrow.

You hum appreciatively when you see what he’s holding. That soft sound that punches him right in the center of his chest with force. “I was out with friends, but…”

Your voice trails off, too distracted by his hand enveloping the seal-covered bottle cap. With a firm grip and quick twist, it’s gone. You’re still eyeing his hands, he notes, even though all they’re doing is holding the bottle. 

Normally, he’d love to give you the benefit of the doubt and attribute your sudden fixation on the rings he wears. It wouldn’t be the first time a man in jewelry snags attention, complimentary or otherwise. Unfortunately — or maybe fortunately? — for you, Wooyoung forgot to put his usual accessories back on after this afternoon’s shower.

Nope, he thinks, biting back a wolfish grin. He’s not alone. You daydream about his touch, too.

Catching yourself staring, you shift atop your stool with a quiet, self-conscious laugh that sounds more like a sigh. He opts to let it go without further teasing, but he doesn’t let it go entirely. That breathy little noise echoes in his ears, drowning out the faint slosh of liquor as he fills your glass. 

In a weak attempt to distract himself, he remembers your half-finished sentence and prompts with a low voice, “But?”

“They wanted to end the night.” You accept the glass into your hand from his and raise it slightly in thanks. “I didn’t,” you whisper, then bring the rim to your lips to cloak their upward curve.

Wooyoung would be lying if he said your tiny act of defiance didn’t send all the blood in his body rushing straight to his dick. Maybe it’s arrogant of him to assume that he’s the source of this newfound rebelliousness. The spark that lit the fuse, or whatever. Maybe that should bother him. Of course, it doesn’t.

In an effort to hide how strong of a chord your confession has struck, he gestures with one extended finger to the clock. Your eyes follow, and he leans in closer; the smirk you can’t see is still evident in his voice, he’s sure.  “How much of a coincidence is it that you showed up right before the trains stop running?”

When your gaze flicks momentarily back to him, he spots a hint of surprise. This impeccable timing wasn’t a scheme at all, he realizes. Not a plot. If he had to bet, Wooyoung would guess that you’re never out late enough to know that the train schedule ends at all.

God, you’re going to give him a cavity.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Coincidentally, I know someone who gets off just in time to walk you home.”

“This gonna bother you?”

Having stepped out of the bar before Wooyoung, his question prompts you to look back over your shoulder at him, one eyebrow raised slightly out of curiosity. He lifts his right hand from his jacket pocket to reveal the half-spent pack of cigarettes he’d been storing there.

He expects it to, and to his surprise, he cares enough about that possibility that he doesn’t light up without asking in the way he normally would.

“In theory, yes,” you laugh, “because I’d prefer your lungs to be tar-free.”

“And in practice?”

You must not have expected him to note the distinction; you fluster. Grinning slightly, Wooyoung answers his own question on your behalf, “In practice, you find it kind of hot.”

He keeps his eyes on you as he pulls a cigarette from the pack — slowly, to test his hypothesis that you’ve got a thing for his hands — and then, Wooyoung slides the cardboard back into his pocket. 

Your gaze follows while he gently places the filtered end between his lips. It stays put when he furnishes a lighter, holds the flame to the opposite side, and inhales. Turning his head to the side, Wooyoung exhales the smoke where it won’t reach you. 

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” he assures you, eyes devilish. Deer in headlights that you are, you freeze but for the bob of your throat as you swallow. “I won’t make you admit it out loud.”

Yet.

Once he’s decided that he’s played with you enough for the time being, two of you head south, ambling under streetlights without any sense of urgency. Making up for lost time, maybe; picking up where the last Tuesday left off. 

He can’t tell if it’s the alcohol making you more talkative than usual, or if you’re feeling the rush of your off-brand decisions, but Wooyoung’s fine with it, either way. You tell him about your week — in full and without hesitation — like you’re chatting to a friend and not someone you’ve only just started to encounter on a brief, twice-monthly basis.

You had a date this Tuesday night, he learns. It didn’t go well. Too similar, you explain with a wave of your hand. According to you, it’s boring to sit with you at a dinner table. Wooyoung looks pointedly at you as soon as he hears it, noting his disagreement. For a second, you assume something he doesn’t mean: that he enjoys his own company more than you enjoy yours.

“No,” he corrects you. “I just can’t picture dinner with you as something boring.”

You duck your head, embarrassed. “Oh,” is all you manage in reply.

Wooyoung follows your lead across several more city blocks, hanging on every word you say in the meantime. When the pair of you reach the front of your apartment building, his cigarette is spent, but neither one of you is. He takes an extra step towards the garbage can near the door and drops the butt amidst the others in the lid, which doubles as an ashtray. A faint vein of smoke bleeds out until the dark sky laps it up entirely.

You look conflicted when he turns back in your direction. Clearly, you don’t want him to leave just yet, but asking him upstairs is likely way out of your pattern of behavior. Wooyoung sees two options: He could say goodnight and go; take a few steps towards his side of the city, and hope you to act even further out of character, or — 

“If you’re asking, I’m saying yes.”

— he could go off-script entirely.

Your apartment looks exactly the way Wooyoung expected it to. Everything is cozy; a far cry from the modern and monochrome edge of his place. It all makes sense, based on what he’s learned about you so far. Feels like you, although he’ll concede that you haven’t been felt by him just yet.

Each shelf features a tchotchke or framed photograph — or several — but not a single speck of dust. Likewise, the various potted plants you’ve displayed artfully around the space are well-kept. Flourishing, he assumes, despite the fact that he doesn’t know shit about fuck when it comes to plants.

His shoes, ratty in comparison to yours, are toed off at the door before he follows you further into the kitchen. You stop at the island, bottom lip between your teeth once again. Unsure, you nibble on it, like it’ll help you set your dizzy mind straight.

When Wooyoung inches closer to you, he does it slowly, even though every part of his body demands that he ramp up the pace. As badly as he wants his hands — and his teeth, and his tongue…— all over you now, he can’t be the jump scare that sets your little bunny heart to sprinting. The adrenaline is practically vibrating off your frame already with every step he takes in your direction.

Though you could, you don’t move further away, the nearer he gets. You stay put with the small of your back against the lip of the granite counter, hypnotized. Right where he wants you.

Once he’s close enough, Wooyoung tests the waters. You let him; your gaze clings to him so strongly that he feels the weight of it without reciprocating. With his thumb and forefinger, he traces the belt loop closest to your left hip, then tugs slightly, making your breath quicken for a moment. 

Eyes still focused on his own ministrations, he murmurs, “Am I the first stray you’ve ever brought home?”

You don’t answer with words. His gaze flicks upwards, and from under heavy-lidded eyes, he sees the tiny nod.

“Full of surprises.” He looks down again, purposely depriving you of eye contact, and moves his fingers from your belt loop so that the pad of his thumb brushes over the top of your jeans. There, the skin of your hip peeks out from under the denim, hot to the touch. “Not just sweet, are you?”

“Someone told me I needed a bad influence.”

The sudden re-introduction of your voice pulls his focus. You stare back at him boldly, and it feels like a dare. Both of his hands move to your hips now, simultaneously guiding you closer to his chest and keeping you pinned between his body and the island.

“You’ll miss your Sunday morning pilates, I fear,” he tuts with a slight shake of his head.

“You’ll make attending redundant, I hope.”

And then your mouth is on his, all tongue and teeth, while you card desperate fingers through his hair. It occurs to him, as he licks into your mouth, that the split-dyed strands you're clinging to are a microcosm. 

Black and white. 

Conflicting tastes, like sugar and salt, that only make sense together in certain contexts. Like this one — right here, right now — with the two of you tangled up in your half-lit kitchen, so caught up in exploration that inhibition takes the backseat. Steeping in the aftertaste of soju and cigarette smoke, scent heady like arousal.

You break the kiss to catch your breath but can’t make it very far. His teeth claim your bottom lip, pulling forth the softest little growl he’s ever heard.

“Fuck,” he echoes with a growl of his own. 

That’s it. Breathing is overrated. Wooyoung’s ready to suffocate, so long as you let him.

“Lay back on the counter.”

You’re stunned into silence for a second, and while you blink back at him, he wonders if you’ll actually let him eat you out where you eat. It’s objectively filthy, he knows, but he might drop dead where he stands if he has to wait another second — or take another step elsewhere — before he tastes you.

Your answer is a leap, figuratively and literally. The hands you’ve been using to cling to him each flatten palm-down on the island behind you. With his grip on your hips to boost you, you scramble to your new stage; and you shatter the conservative expectations he had for you in the process. 

A newfound confidence flashes in your eyes, making his stomach flip and his dick twitch. A patronizing frown graces your kiss-bitten lips. “You didn’t walk three kilometers here just to look at me, did you?”

He sure as shit didn’t. Still, he can’t help but bask in the odd sense of pride he feels in staring up at you on the pedestal he put you on. The more time you spend with him, the rougher you seem to get around the edges; and he’d be lying through his teeth if he said he didn’t love the grit.

In lieu of a verbal response, Wooyoung locks eyes with you and gestures downward with the index finger of his right hand. You follow his silent command eagerly and without question; he keeps the praise you’ve earned on the tip of his tongue, saving it for later.

It takes less time than he expects to strip you of your jeans, most of which is attributed to slipping them off your ankles and dropping them blindly over his shoulder. They hit what he believes to be the range with a soft twack, then a barely audible crumple when they finally find the floor. 

Your lace underwear disappears in a similar fashion, albeit more eagerly. Couldn’t be helped, he thinks. That scrap of fabric was the last barrier between him and the thing he’s been craving most since he met you; and fuck, if you don’t exceed his expectations once again.

“Christ,” is all he can say.

It’s rare to find a pussy so perfect that it wipes out his vocabulary, let alone makes him want to weep. That’s exactly what’s waiting for him when you spread your thighs wide enough to accommodate his body between them. Really, the only thing driving him more insane than the sight of you is the thought of how many self-imposed rules you’ve broken to get to this point — the self-discipline you’ve thrown out the window on your way down to him.

He accepts the invitation, descends upon your wet heat like a man starved, and loops his arms underneath your thighs. Immediately, your thighs tighten around the sides of his head, muffling the groan that slips out of him the second your taste hits his tongue. Just the same, you’ve got him drunk in an instant while he laves his way through folds sweeter than cherry wine.

From under his own lashes, he looks up and sees yours flutter at the sensation of his lips encircling your clit and suckling slowly, deeply.

“Oh, my g-god,” you hiccup before your fingers are in his hair again, nails scratching perfectly along his scalp. “You’re so —” 

Wooyoung’s wickedly curved lips are slick in more ways than one, though he doubts you can see them through all those stars in your eyes. You don’t see the switch-up coming, either. Unwilling to let you race too far ahead of him, he scales it back, trading his deep pulls for targeted kitten licks.

“— evil.”

Your frustration rings out with a tortured whine. Wooyoung can’t blame you; he knows he’s cruel for guiding you so close to the edge, right out of the gate, then refusing to send you off of it. But he has to draw this out as long as he can, savor what he can for however long you give him.

And to your credit, you take it well. 

You give, too, offering up the moans, whimpers, and sighs he couldn’t have dreamed up correctly if he tried.

Well…

Wooyoung did try. Gave it his best shot, even, but his imagination fell short. He knows that now. The pitch was wrong, the timing was off, and he failed to anticipate just how badly it’d fuck him up to feel you grinding against his tongue. To have your fingers tied off in his hair, refusing to accept anything less than closeness.

That particular chorus swells for the first time when he unwinds his right arm from where it secures your left thigh; and his middle finger slides into your cunt, curls upwards to greet that spongy patch of nerves along your front wall. 

Eyes swimming with previously untapped desire, you look so pitifully perfect. Only breaking eye contact to throw your head back, you start to wail, “Wooyoung, I —” 

But the rest of that thought must turn to static before you can finish it. Charged silence settles in its place, save for your ragged breathing. All the while, his tongue never lets up on your poor, abused clit, though your arousal already has him coated, leaking down over the knuckle.

A particularly needy tug of his hair seeks what you can’t verbalize. 

More.

Closer.

When he adds his ring finger to fuck you further open for him, you can’t keep his name from spilling out of your mouth. Wooyoung starts to sound like a summoning spell; an invocation repeated so desperately that he just might give you what you want.

“W-Wooyoung, please,” you choke out, hips bucking up to chase his mouth. “I’m so close!”

The fact that you’re downright begging — on the brink of tears, no less — goes straight to his head. He lets up for a moment to purr, “Since you asked so nicely…”

The hand he doesn’t have half-buried in your heat grips your right hip, hard, securing you against the granite. It’s for the best, really. You jolt so much when he finally lets you cum that you could’ve knocked him out otherwise.

Not that he’d complain.

When the aftershocks peter out, and you gain back some control of your trembling limbs, you collapse back onto the countertop, chest heaving as your breath struggles to even out. One leg stays put, hinged over his shoulder, the best kind of dead weight; the other pools off the edge of the island, hanging limply.

Before pulling away entirely, Wooyoung presses an open-mouthed kiss to the soft skin of your inner thigh, suckling slightly — just enough to leave a calling card, though he doesn’t want anyone but you to know it’s there.

“You fucking menace.”

Your eyes flutter open and catch the way he’s grinning, the lower half of his face otherwise shining with a mix of spit and slick. With you watching intently, he licks his lips, simpering, “Think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you swear.”

“Deserved.” You sigh contentedly and close your eyes again for a second, but the blissed-out look on your face doesn’t dissipate. 

Wooyoung wonders if you’re holding onto the image of him between your thighs, replaying it behind your lids. The sight of you is going to haunt him — then and now, before and after. Even if your stamina is depleted now, his appetite’s been sated. He can survive off of this moment alone for weeks if necessary.

But you summon the strength to stretch your arms over your head, to moan breathily while you arch your back off the counter and ease the tension in your muscles. Then, in a burst of vitality, you sit upright. Eyes alight, you give him a smile to match.

“Help me down?”

As if he’d say no to a question asked that sweetly.

You wobble when your feet touch the ground again and thank him when he snakes an arm around your waist to steady you. With a nod in the direction of what Wooyoung assumes is your bedroom, you beckon him, “Come with me.”

“That’s been the plan, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes at him — another first — and take his hand in yours. Fingers intertwined, you lead and he follows through the adjoining living room towards a door on the far side of the apartment. The pair of you barely cross the threshold into your bedroom before you turn and tug his hand, pulling him into a kiss.

“Do me a favor,” you murmur against his lips.

Wooyoung has no questions about that — the answer is yes, no matter what the favor is — but there is something he’s wondering about: when you open your mouth against his, can you taste yourself on his tongue?

Distracted by that thought, and the way your free hand makes its way to the button of his jeans, he nods. It gives him the opportunity to swallow down the groan that builds in his chest when you squeeze his still-clothed cock.

Your mouth leaves his then, drops to the side of his neck. Something about the light nip of your teeth below his ear makes his resolve start to crumble. It only gets harder when the warmth of your tongue flicks over his skin to soothe the sting. He sounds fucked out already when he sighs, “Anything.”

“Let me repay you for all those drinks you never charged me for.” Between kisses down the length of his neck, you purr, “Not exactly subtle, you know.”

He clenches his jaw to keep it from dropping. “Have I been hustled?” 

“Is it hustling if I offer to reimburse you?” 

Knowing damn well what it’ll do to him, you flutter your lashes against his skin, forcing him to fight off a shiver. There’s no hiding the rush of heat that follows; he doesn’t need to ask to know that you feel it creeping up his neck. “I’ll make up for it,” you promise. “Atone, and all that.”

Wooyoung reaches up and cups your jaw with his hand; you follow his direction and look up at him with excitement twinkling in your eyes, juxtaposing the deep black in his. “I’m charging interest,” he bites back. “The rates are astronomical.”

“Oh?”

“Oh, indeed. Get on the bed, sweetheart.”

With a light smack on your ass, he sends you on your way. In the few seconds it takes you to skip over to your mattress and jump onto it, he tugs his shirt up and over his head, then tosses it aside. Before unbuckling his jeans and tearing those off, too, he snatches his wallet from the back pocket. More specifically, the condom he’s been keeping within just in case you ever decided to stoop to his level.

You’re a second away from drooling when he makes his way over and stops at the edge of the bed. That kind of hunger is yet another thing he failed to see coming. There’s something insatiable in your eyes now, darkening by the second. 

You reach out for the condom, but he pulls his hand back, holds it up where you can’t reach. Frustration makes your eyebrows pinch together. Out of context — if you weren’t naked, wet, and wanting him — he’d likely go out of his way to tell you how fucking cute you look when you’re annoyed. 

“Don’t pout at me, sweetheart.” Wooyoung’s warning tone is gravel-lined, sharp to the touch when it hits you. Whether you intend it or not, your breath hitches in tandem with your pupils dilating.  “I’ll let you do it, but I have one condition. Consider it a repayment term.”

You tilt your head to the side, eyes narrowing with intrigue. “And what’s that?”

“No hands.”

The surprised look he was counting on never comes. He gets sheer determination instead. You pull the packet from between his fingers, rip the foil open with your teeth, and flick the empty wrapper onto your nightstand. Not a second is wasted in you tugging his black briefs down his thighs.

You don’t deal in unpaid debts, either, it seems.

What happens next nearly puts him in an early grave. Wooyoung fucking wishes for a fly on the wall to witness you — someone else to memorialize the finesse you exhibit in working that latex down his length with your mouth alone — because he can’t believe his own eyes. In fact, he has to screw them shut to keep from cumming at the sight of you with his dick down your throat, lips flush to his pelvis.

“My god,” he groans, head dipping backwards. “If that’s how good your fucking mouth feels…”

You give him a second to pull himself together. Then, you wrap your hand around his wrist and pull him. He drops into the space you were occupying just a second ago, and as soon as his back hits the mattress, you steady yourself with your palms on his chest and position yourself over him.

Now, he can’t keep his hands to himself. His fingertips scratch up your thighs, leaving goosebumps along the fastidiously trained muscles underneath his touch. Palms gliding up the curve of your ass, then your waist, then those fucking tits.

“Shit,” you mewl. He lightly pinches your left nipple between his thumb and forefinger, spurring you on to rake your nails over the flesh of his chest. The way he tenses under your touch must embolden you. “Play with me all you want, but I need you inside of me now.”

Wooyoung has no idea where this assertiveness came from, but he’ll be goddamned if he doesn’t give you everything you want and then some. To prove that you’ve earned the lot, you line yourself up and take everything he has. 

Somehow, you manage to take his vision, too. The world gets blurry as your heat envelopes him; everything in the periphery blackens until all that’s left is you throwing your head back in pleasure. No other light, no noise beyond the obscene sound of your pussy soaking his length and the collision of your perfect ass against the tops of his thighs.

As strong as you are, Wooyoung knows your orgasm will wipe you out long before your body tires. He sees your eyes start to roll back in your head, even when you put your palms down behind you and lean away from him to perfect the angle. 

Not good enough, he decides. He wants to watch your pupils blow when you fall apart.

“C’mere,” he rasps. 

Fuck, he’s about to break, too. 

“Eyes on me, sweetheart.”

You push off your hands and move to lean in, but you wind up crumpling against his chest, immediately overwhelmed by the depths of his strokes when you re-enter his gravity. With the proximity perfected, every movement that follows is desperate — animalistic, even. Clinging fingers, sweat slicked bodies swapping searing heat. He lifts his hips to drive himself further into you with every downbeat, sets a pace so punishing that he has you speaking in tongues.

When you cum the second time, the moan that rips through you almost sounds like a sob. It really might be. The droplets on your cheeks are either tears or sweat; one or both would be justified, considering the show you just put on for him.

Shit, how you managed to blow his world to pieces just by walking into his bar, he’ll never understand. All he knows is that when he cums — not long after you — and his entire fucking body goes numb, you’re there on the other side of the cataclysm to kiss him back to life.

Sweet.

When you wake up, you don’t even have a guess as to what time it is. That’s your fault, you know. You didn’t think to connect your phone to its charger prior to falling asleep in a mess of sheets. The numerous alarms you always keep set didn’t go off, obviously, but right now, that’s the least of your worries. 

Until your phone has enough juice to power back on, you won’t know if Wooyoung texted you before sneaking out of your apartment.

You’d taken it as a good sign when he asked for your number in a fucked-out haze. Now, you realize, that naivety of yours was operating in full swing, even when the rest of you was down for the count. That’s what one-night-stands are for, you tell yourself. That’s the decision you made.

Uncharacteristically, you’re tempted to spend the rest of your day — however much of it is left — rotting in bed. It’s an urge you’ll give in to, you can already tell; just like the one that got you here in the first place. The only thing stronger than the call of your bed is the grumbling of your stomach, begging for sustenance.

Sighing loudly, you throw your comforter off your lower half and wiggle towards the edge of your bed. Bare feet meet the braided rug below, then unsteady legs do their best to get their bearings. As you ache, you realize that you need to give credit where it’s due:

You’re currently in the best shape of your life, and Wooyoung still managed to fuck the constitution out of you.

You bend slowly to scoop a shirt from your untouched laundry basket, groaning all the while. On its own, it’s long enough to cover your ass, so you don’t bother to dress yourself further — except for the fuzzy slippers waiting next to your bedroom door.

It’s closed, you note when you finally bother to look at it. It wasn’t when you fell into bed with Wooyoung. He probably didn’t want to disturb you on the way out, you figure. This would strike you as thoughtful if it didn’t feel like a chapter ending too soon. Reaching out to reopen it, you tell yourself to be less sentimental.

In the living room, laying eyes on an empty kitchen, you also tell yourself, I told you so. This isn’t a drama, after all. There’s no love interest in your kitchen to cook you an unexpected breakfast. 

Pre-made frozen breakfast sandwich it is, then.

You tear open the package with more effort than you should’ve needed to expend, then dump the single-serving lump onto a paper plate. As if on autopilot, you shove the plate into the microwave and smash a few buttons without registering much of it. The quiet hum of the machine nearly lulls you straight back to sleep.

Well, it likely could have.

The metallic rattling up the hall catches your attention, prompting you to step backwards so you can peer over at your front door and confirm that it’s locked. It is. You turn back to your breakfast in progress, and it takes five (5) entire seconds before you realize the issue here.

Keys jingle with more determination, right on cue. You spin around fully this time, eyes wide, to find Wooyoung in your doorway. He holds the door open with his elbow because both his hands are full; and as if that all wasn’t enough, he tries to toe off his shoes without being able to see them over the cardboard to-go tray in his hands.

“Fucking —” he grunts, wobbling. 

It must’ve been louder than he intended because he winces immediately. In his moment of panic, his eyes flick over to your bedroom door. Then, when he realizes it’s open, they search for you, blinking in surprise when they find you. He peeps, “Oh.”

As it turns out, his ability to make you lose your words isn’t limited to late hours. The sun is beating through the sliding glass door to your balcony, and you confirm that you’re just as dumbstruck by him in daylight. So, you simply point to the drinks and paper bag he’s holding with your eyebrows pinched in confusion.

“Found that café you go to on Tuesdays,” Wooyoung explains gruffly. His morning voice is every bit as ruinous as you imagined it would be. “The logo on their cups is just a cloud, so it took a lot of wandering to solve that fucking mystery.”

This time, it’s you who peeps. “Oh?”

It’s then that he finally succeeds in getting his shoes off. With his hip, he nudges the door shut; your key ring chimes in the process, having been attached to his belt loop. In a few steps, he sets his burdens down on the kitchen island and looks up at you with a wicked glint in his eye. Apparently, his immediate thought is the same as yours. Simpering, he picks everything back up and makes for your living room’s coffee table instead.

“I’m glad to report that the green shit you drink doesn’t include algae or moss.” He lifts a smoothie from the carrier and holds it out to you, flashing you a smile that makes your knees wobble. “However, I regret to inform you that it does contain vegetables.”

If you try any harder to bite back your idiotic grin, you might lose your lips. “Did you — did you really think there was moss in it?”

He waves his hand dismissively. Notably, he doesn’t say no. That hand then lowers, finger crooked to beckon you closer. You move in, and you try to focus on the moment in front of you, rather than the obscene flashbacks the gesture gives you. The knowing look you expect doesn’t follow, though. Wooyoung simply places your drink in your left hand and your keys in your right.

“Sorry for borrowing those without asking or — well, notifying you in any way, whatsoever.” He grimaces. “I figured I’d be gone for a minute, and I didn’t want someone to waltz through your unlocked door and wake you up.”

“Was burglary on that list of concerns, or is sleep truly your main priority?”

At this, he grins like an idiot. “You’re getting better at that, you know.”

The look on your face must convey your confusion. 

“I like the version of you that doesn’t pull punches,” he continues, sounding almost embarrassed to admit something about himself.

You take a move from his playbook and slide your finger through his belt loop, tugging him forward until he’s squarely within kissing distance. “This Wooyoung?” You murmur, “The one who got up early to hunt down a smoothie he’s disgusted by? Objectively likable.”

He rolls his eyes, but it doesn’t distract from the pink tint overtaking his cheeks. “I don’t know about that.”

You kiss him before he can offer to agree to disagree. And when you finally pull back, you nod firmly. “He might be sweet enough for me.”

while likes are appreciated, comments/tags/reblogs with your thoughts are really what make my brain go brrrtt.

ateez masterlist. multi masterlist. navigation.

tagging: @jihopesjoint @bahng-chrizz @sourkimchi @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @notevenheretbh1 @borabitsch @bubbly-moon (also paging @moni-logues because i feel like woo is our sister wife, lmfao.)

[dreamingoftaehyun]

ᯓ★ Cat Lovers | 나재민 ˎˊ˗

"Who expected the owner of a cat you found near your house to be the hottest man you've ever laid your eyes on?"

☆ pairing: na jaemin x afab! reader ☆ genre: fluff, smut. 18+ mdni. ☆ au: strangers to lovers ☆ word count: 5.5k

☆ a/n: my nct writer debut !! i've finally dived into ncity and now i wanna write for them too. i'm so excited to share this.. i love jaemin sm (i can see him being the dream member i write the most tbh) sorry if this is a little corny. i can't not be lovey-dovey when it comes to na jaemin :(

₊ nsfw warnings under the cut

₊🎧: pretty boy the neighbourhood, kingston faye webster, no other heart mac demarco, show me how men i trust, freak lana del rey, positions ariana grande

☆ warnings: not proofread! outdoor sex, exhibitionism, fingering, oral (m! receiving), unprotected sex (do not do this), pet names like ‘baby, princess, good girl’, they’re very in love

  Your daily commute to the convenience store was nothing out of the ordinary. Except this time, today, there was.

  You weren't paying attention to your surroundings, your body running on autopilot. You walked towards the next aisle, a few items in your hands, then— CRASH!

  Before you knew it, you ran straight into a very warm, hard wall...? The items you held clattered to the floor and when you looked up, you realised it wasn't a wall. It was a man. A very attractive man.

  "Shit! I'm so sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going." You quickly apologised. You didn't notice his hand was supported on your lower back until you both stepped away from each other.

  "No worries, are you okay?" He asks before you both crouch down to pick your dropped items up, his hand accidentally brushing yours. "Y-Yeah, I'm okay, thank you..." You blush as you both stand back up, and he helps you take the items to the checkout.

  Searching for an opportunity to ask him for his number, your mind was racing. The two of you walked out of the store together, and the man hands you your bag of items. "Get home safely." He smiles, waving, before he turns his back to you and walks the opposite direction.

  It dawned on you as you watched him walk away into the distance that neither of you told each other your names. Idiot.

  It's ridiculous how such a short, insubstantial interaction with an attractive guy put such a big smile on your face during your walk home. What an odd day.

  · · ─────── · ·

  When you were close to your house, you heard a meow from around the corner. Stopping in your tracks, you listened closer.

  Meow.

  You decided to see if your ears were playing tricks on you. When you turned the corner, you spotted a white rag doll cat with matted, filthy fur, that seemed to be starving. You cautiously approached it, but when you held your hand out, it immediately came to you.

  "Hi little one," You call in a sweet voice. It lets you pet it whilst you take the time to study the collar around it's neck, reading what was engraved on it. "Ah, so your name is Luna." You contemplate aloud.

  You scoop the cat up and make your way to your house just down the road. "Come on Luna, I'll get you something to eat."

  Stepping into your home, you go straight to your kitchen. "There you go, I'll be right back with food." You call to the cat while setting her down on the floor. You get a bowl and fill it with cat food, placing it on the floor.

  After you ensured the cat was fully fed, you took the time to run it a bath. You expected the process of washing her to be hard, but Luna was one of the most docile cats you've ever met. When you placed her into the bath, she literally just stood there and allowed you to clean her with no troubles.

  "All done!" Calling in a sing-songy voice, you gently lift the drenched cat from the bathtub and pat her dry with a towel. "I should really give your owner a call now."

  You sat in the living room watching over Luna as you dialed the numbers that were on her collar into your phone. You felt guilty that you desperately wanted to keep the cat, but this was the right thing to do.

  The phone rings several times until it's finally picked up, a males voice speaking over it. "Hello?"

  "Hi, sorry if you're busy but I've got your cat, Luna, in my apartment, I found her outside." You explain and you hear the man gasp. "Oh my God, you found her?! She's been missing for almost two weeks!" The owner exclaims.

  "Are you able to come pick her up now?" You ask, waiting for the owner to answer. A few moments pass, you assume he's looking at the time or something. "Maybe, may I ask for your address to see how close it is? I have some errands to run but those can wait."

  You give him your address and apartment number, and luckily you lived only a few blocks away from him. "I'll be there in 15 minutes!" The owner says before hanging up the phone. You look across the room and see Luna playing with a cat toy you had. You really wanted to keep her.

  · · ─────── · ·

  After fifteen minutes exactly, your doorbell rung. You buzz him up, and a few moments more a you hear a soft knock on your door. You grab Luna and open the door.

  It was him! The guy from the convenience store earlier that day was Luna's owner. Maybe it was fate to meet again.

  "Oh, hello there again." He greets first, a sheepish smile adorned his face, seemingly taken aback that it's you. "H-Hi, here's your cat." You hand Luna over.

  Luna's owner immediately engulfs the cat in a hug. "Oh my baby, I missed you!" He dramatically sighs and you can't help but giggle. "Don't ever run away again." He scolds the cat with a pout.

  He looks back at you for a moment. "Um, I should give you some money or something for finding her." He fumbles with his pant pocket, about to pull out his wallet. "No! It's fine, you don't need to do that."

  The man nods in understanding, putting his wallet back in his pocket. "I'm Jaemin, by the way." He introduces himself.

  The name strangely suited him. "I'm Y/N. Nice to meet you, again..." You mutter the last part and he laughs. "I really love your cat by the way, she's so well behaved!"

  "Yes, she's a dream. Except when she decides to go on little adventures around the neighbourhood," Jaemin smiles and coos at the cat in his arms.

  A few moments pass in silence as you study the man. He seemed lost in thought, until he finally looked up at you with a grin and opened his mouth. "Hey, instead of me paying you, maybe you could come visit Luna and my other cats every now and then?"

  The proposition sounded very tempting. But you hardly knew the guy... Your survival instincts were screaming red flag! But deep down you knew Jaemin was harmless.

  This could be the perfect opportunity to get to know him. "Sure, I'd love that."

  "Great! I'll give you my number."

  · · ─────── · ·

  You and Jaemin had been texting non-stop since. Mostly because he would spam you to play pool with him on iMessage but that's besides the point. Every time you'd get a notification from him, you'd start giggling and kicking your feet. You were down bad for a man you hardly knew.

  Jaemin hadn't asked you to come over yet. He was scared you'd misunderstand his intentions. You expected that, so you initiated first.

  When the conversation you were currently having with him died down, you decided to finally bring it up.

                           so... when do i finally get                             to see luna again?

    I'm free tomorrow,     you? :)

                            sounds like a plan!!

  Squealing over the message like you were a teenager texting your crush, you immediately stood up to pick out an outfit while you texted back.

  You turned your phone off and threw it on your bed as you looked through your closet. Jaemin had a good fashion sense, — You definitely didn't stalk his Instagram — so, what you picked had to be something that wasn't too much, but also give a good impression.

  You decided on wearing a baby blue sweater with a white skirt to match. The skirt wasn't too short, but you did decide to wear it on purpose. Whether that purpose was good or bad, you didn't know.

  You could hardly fall asleep, excited for what was to come tomorrow.

  · · ─────── · ·

  When you approached Jaemin's apartment building, you started feeling anxious. What if he ends up hating me?

  Those kinds of self destructive thoughts are what would always hold you back from things. But this time you refused to listen to them.

  You took the elevator to his floor, double checking the room number he sent you. Knocking on the door that had the numbers 24 on it, you heard clattering inside and quick footsteps approaching the door.

  Your anxiety bubbled down when the door swung open and you were met with Jaemin's smile that beamed down onto you like the sun. He looked a little disheveled, his hair messy and his face flushed. Why was he out of breath?

  "Hey Y/N. Come on in," Jaemin steps aside and lets you pass him, stepping into the small hallway. "Um, ignore the mess please. Luna and Lucy were fighting just before you came, and I had to break them up. Very strenuous work." He explains with a chuckle, gesturing towards the knocked over items on the floor that you assumed was the decor on his coffee table.

  "No worries. Where is Luna?" You ask, looking around and only seeing a male cat you've never seen before. "That's Luke. Luna's probably hiding under the couch. I've put Lucy in timeout since she was the one that started the fight."

  Jaemin continued to tell you about his cats. You loved how proud he was to be a cat father. As you sat on his couch together, a white furball in the corner of your eye nudges your leg. "Luna, there you are!"

  You coo as you grab the cat and pull her into a hug. "My other cats will be jealous," Jaemin chuckles. "Luna seems to love you."

  "I have to admit, I almost kept her when I found her." You smile guiltily, but Jaemin just laughs. "You know, Luna's the only one of my cats that don't warm up to other people besides me. You're special."

  Your heart races at Jaemin's words, heat creeping up your neck. "I just have that effect, I guess." You smile sheepishly.

  Jaemin just nods, silence filling the room. You continued to play with Luna, not noticing the gaze the man had on you. You only turn to look at him when he clears his throat.

  "Do you want to get something to eat?" Jaemin asks. Your eyes widen a little, caught off guard. "There's a cafe close by. We could walk." He adds.

  You can't help but smile. "Why not?"

  · · ─────── · ·

  Was this a date? Those thoughts ran through your head during the walk to the cafe. You and Jaemin walked side by side, close enough that your hands would brush every couple of steps. You noticed he was a bit shy, and so were you.

  The two of you now sat side by side in a booth. You thought that a table where you faced each other was too 'date-like', so you gravitated towards a booth and it seemed Jaemin understood and slid beside you.

  Since it was midday, you ordered bacon and eggs with an iced tea as brunch, Jaemin the same. "So Jaemin, what do you do?"

  "I'm in my last year of college. I'm majoring in graphic design and photography. I'd like to make it into my career some day." Jaemin explains, and you stare at him in awe. "What about you?"

  "I never went to college, so I've been kind of aimlessly working different retail jobs. It's enough for me, I never really had a dream career." You explain, the words tumbling out of your mouth before you could stop. "Sorry, I overshared a bit there."

  Jaemin just shakes his head. "No, I want to learn more about you. Overshare all you want!"

  You just nod and smile, about to ask another question but were interrupted by the waitress placing your food and drinks down in front of you.

  "Thank you," You say as the waitress walks off. "Um, so what made you get three cats?"

  Jaemin laughs. "I don't really know, to be honest. I started with one, then I ended up adopting the other two. They're siblings, I couldn't bear the fact they'd be separated."

  "Awe, that's so cute. You're so admirable." You compliment and you don't miss how he shyly smiles.

  The conversation went smoothly, the two of you learning things about one another. You even told him stuff some of your friends don't even know about. Jaemin felt like a safe space, like you could confide in anything with him.

  Finishing your meal, the question of if this was something more than just a hangout plagued your mind, so you decided to just ask. "Jaemin, is this a date?"

  You just had to ask him when he was taking a sip of his drink. He choked, coughing. You pat his back to help him out, making sure he was okay before speaking again. "Sorry, is it not?"

  "It originally wasn't, but if that's what you want it to be, then sure." Jaemin smiles at you. His eye contact was magnetic, you couldn't stop yourself from looking at him.

  "Okay..." You replied meekly, not expecting that reply. Your face was burning at this point.

  Your body jolts when Jaemin's hand covers your own hand, that was placed on the booth seat. "However, I would like to take you on a proper date. What do you say?"

  Your heart jumped into your throat, not able to speak at his forwardness despite his outwardly shy demeanor. You melt at the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs. "It's okay, Y/N. Don't be anxious."

  It's like he knew you already. "That'd be lovely, I-I mean, I'd like that." You stumble over your words, making you both chuckle in amusement.

  After a few more conversations, you both decide it's time to leave. "I'll walk you home." Jaemin offers.

  "No! You don't have to do that," You shake your head. "But I want to." Jaemin insists.

  "I don't want to trouble you..." You sigh. Jaemin pouts but nods in understanding. "Okay, fine. Just make sure to text me when you get home so I know you're safe!"

  "Fine, dad," You groan, rolling your eyes jokingly. "See ya!" Jaemin just grins, waving like how he did when you first met. "Bye, Y/N!" He calls as the two of you part ways.

  · · ─────── · ·

  It was the night of your and Jaemin's proper date and you were shaking with anxiety. He was taking you to the movies, so it was going to be a chill, fun date Putting your outfit on, you admired yourself in the mirror.

  You decided on a simple white long sleeved crop-top and a light blue pleated denim skirt. Along with some sheer tights underneath since it was getting colder.

  It was just a casual outfit, but something about it made you look hot. You checked the time and saw you only had 45 minutes until Jaemin arrives, so you scramble to do your hair and makeup.

  Luckily you finished right on time, putting on your perfume as the last step before you heard a knock on the door. Grabbing your bag and putting your shoes on, you open the door.

  "Jaemin!" You exclaim, engulfing him in a hug. You could still feel the lingering touch of his hand on your waist when you pulled away. "You look amazing," Jaemin smirks, eyeing your figure. You couldn't help but feel small in his gaze.

  You took the time to drink him in. His hair was styled in the way he usually does but this time he looks different. Sexy. He wore a simple white t-shirt with a black leather jacket paired with a pair of jeans. "I could say the same to you." You smile.

  "Shall we go?" He asks as he jokingly lifts his arm up for you to link yours with his, and you nod with a laugh. Jaemin opens the passenger door to his car for you and you can't help but tease him for how chivalrous he was being.

  "So, what movie are you taking me to?" You ask, looking over at the man now focused on the road ahead. "It's a secret." He hums and you roll your eyes.

  "If it's a horror movie I might kill you, I swear." You mutter and Jaemin laughs. "I can tell you it's not horror. Don't worry, you'll love it."

  When Jaemin pulled into an outdoor parking lot, you were confused. Where was the movie theatre? But then you realised it was an outdoor cinema, and you squealed. "I've never been to one of these before!"

  Jaemin smiles as he parks his car in a spot that had a clear view of the screen. "And, guess what?" He replies. "It's a showing of your favourite movie!"

  You gasped. He remembered your favourite movie? You both talked about all your favourite things with each other over text but you didn't expect this at all. It may have been the bare minimum, but your heart swelled with love nonetheless.

  Jaemin got a blanket and a few pillows from his backseat and you helped him spread them into the trunk of his car, creating a nice seating area for the two of you to watch the movie comfortably.

  "This is so lovely, thank you Jaem." The nickname rolled of your tongue. "I like that, 'Jaem'." He murmurs, mimicking the nickname. "Call me that more often, baby."

  Your knees almost buckled at the pet name he gave you. His words laced with honey had you wrapped around his finger, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

  After back and forth flirting, you settled into the trunk of Jaemin's car. The movie started playing and you were immediately enthralled, not realising how close you were laying next to Jaemin until you felt his hand rest your thigh.

  You shyly peeked at him, he was fully focused on the movie. You lean in closer to him as the night air was getting colder, and he wrapped his arm around your waist.

  You basked in the feeling of his touch, not wanting it to end. Sadly, it ended as soon as it started, because Jaemin moved his arm to pull a blanket up on the two of you. His touch was quickly replaced by his hand on your thigh again.

  He started tracing circles on the inside of your thigh and you shivered. The seemingly innocent action quickly making you think impure thoughts.

  Swallowing, you looked away out of shame. "What's wrong, princess?" Jaemin asks in a whisper, and you jump at how close he is to your face when you whip your head back around. "Why're you so jumpy?"

  "I-I'm sorry," you stutter, trying not to make a fool of yourself. Jaemin smirks when you look down at his lips, not breaking the distance between you. "Can I kiss you?" You whisper.

  Jaemin doesn't answer as he closes the distance between you, and you melt into the kiss almost instantly. It was sweet and gentle, like he was being cautious. But you got impatient, swiping your tongue against his lips.

  He lets you in, sucking on his tongue as your hand toys at the hair on the nape of his neck. He groans softly onto your lips, enamoured by you.

  You can feel the hand he has on your thigh creep up dangerously close to your growing arousal, his other hand cupping your cheek. When you pull away, he grips your inner thigh roughly. "Wanna make you feel good, can I?" He whispers seductively into your ear.

  You nod your head but Jaemin shakes his in response. "Nuh-uh, I need to hear you say it."

  "Please, Jaem... Want you." You mewl and he grins. "I'll take care of you."

  He pulls you into his lap while still keeping the blanket on you, his hand cups your clothed core from under your skirt, which was now raised up past your upper thigh. You sigh, your head falling into his shoulder as he slips your underwear out of the way.

  "You know, I never hook up on the first date, but you..." Jaemin whispers lowly into your ear, you squirm under his touch when his fingertips just brush your clit, it's not enough. "You make me crazy, I can't keep my hands off of you."

  Whimpers spill out of your mouth when Jaemin's thumb finally rubs your clit, slow and tantalising. The movie was loud enough and the car was far away from others that you doubt anyone would hear you unless you started screaming, so you let out any pretty noises that Jaemin forced out of you.

  His fingers rub up and down your vulva with his thumb still on your clit. "So wet for me, you're adorable." Jaemin cooed, his deep voice so close to your ear. You watch as he moves his hand that was on your pussy up to his mouth, his lips wrapping around his digits.

  He hums in delight, not breaking eye contact with you as he licks them clean of your slick. "Fuck..." You moan softly at his ministrations, your eyelids heavy with lust.

  "Can't wait to taste you properly. But that'll have to wait." Jaemin pouts, the enticing tone of his voice making you insatiable. "Jaem, need more. The movie's almost finished."

  He listens, his fingers dipping into your entrance, but only giving you just a taste of them. He was doing it on purpose.

  You groan in frustration, and he just chuckles while finally putting two fingers inside you. He shows no mercy as he fucks his fingers quickly into you straight away, making you pant and writhe against him.

  You were so wound up already, and he didn't even touch you that much. Maybe it was just his aura, but it felt like Jaemin had cast a spell on you. You were love drunk on him. It was only your first date, you remind yourself.

  When you throw your head back into his shoulder out of desperation, his lips swallow your moans, you could barely breathe with how long he kissed you but you loved it. Then, he added a third finger, then a fourth. You were gone.

  You were already wound up tight but once he added pressure on your clit with his thumb, and you felt his other hand press down on your lower abdomen harshly, it was over.

  "Fuck— fuck, Jaemin!" You choke out, your orgasm washing over you like a tidal wave. "Shit, you came fast." Jaemin chuckles in your ear, and you feel like crying when you feel him pull his hand away. You were about to protest, tell him to get over himself, but he puts his fingers in your mouth right as you opened your mouth.

  You lick your cum off of them, not breaking eye contact despite the fact that his eyes on you doing something so lewd made you want to crawl into a hole. "You look so pretty." He smiles.

  How could he sound and look so sweet during such an impure moment? "Can I do something to help you out too?" You ask when you shift your body and feel his rock hard cock on your ass. "It's okay, the movies about to finish anyway. I like pleasing you." He shakes his head.

  You hum, turning your attention back to the ending scene of the movie. "I can't wait to sink my dick in that pretty pussy of yours, though." Jaemin whispers into your ear when the credits start rolling, his voice deep and laced with sin.

  "My place or yours?" You ask, pulling your panties back in place and your skirt down before you help Jaemin pack up the blankets and pillows. "Mine."

  When you were in the car on the way back to Jaemin's apartment, a sense of dread suddenly came over you. It wasn't because you were scared of him, it was how he thought of you right now.

  What if he thought you were a slut for hooking up on the first date? What if he just wanted to fuck and nothing more? Your leg started bouncing anxiously as you sat in the passenger seat next to Jaemin.

  "Are you having second thoughts? I can take you home if you are," Jaemin speaks up, worry in his voice. "No, no it's not that... I just..." You trail off, unable to get your words out.

  "It's okay. Let it out." Jaemin reassures, placing his hand on your thigh and squeezing lightly. "Are you just doing this for the fuck, or do you actually want this to go somewhere? Because I do." You speak after moments of hesitation.

  Jaemin stays silent for a moment, before finally opening his mouth. "I gave you my number originally because I had an interest in you since the convenience store, if I'm being honest. This is not just to hook up."

  You let out an exhale you didn't even know you were holding. You stay silent as Jaemin parks his car in front of his apartment building, you could tell he wanted to say more.

  "I do want this to go somewhere. I don't care where, I'd just like to be with you in any way I can. I really like you, Y/N." Jaemin confesses.

  "I know we have just gotten to know each other, but my heart pounds every time I see you, even when I get a notification from you on my phone." He continues and you can't wipe the grin on your face.

  "God, I believe we're fated to meet because why are you so perfect?" You utter and he laughs. "I just poured my heart out to you and that's how you reply?"

  You giggle and playfully shove him. "Sorry, I can't take this seriously. But I'm grateful you can be so emotional with me, because I'm not great at telling people how I feel." You say before giving him a long, passionate kiss that had him melting under your touch. "D-Did you want to come in?" He stutters.

  "Yes, you being romantic really turned me on." You mumble and he rolls his eyes with a grin before grabbing your hand and pulling you out of the car.

  · · ─────── · ·

  It was no surprise he had you on naked, on his bed in the matter of minutes as soon as you entered his apartment.

  But when he unbuckles his belt, you sink to your knees and move his hands out of the way, doing it yourself and pulling his pants and boxers down in a rush.

  "Jeez, you're that hungry for it?" Jaemin teases but you ignore him as you stare at his cock once it springs free and hits stomach. It was pretty and veiny, the tip flushed from the blood rushing to it. "You're drooling." He says.

  "Shut the fuck up or I won't suck you off." You deadpan and he stops talking. You smirk as he lets out a small moan as soon as his tip enters your mouth.

  "Who's drooling now?" You challenge, looking up at his blissed face. "S-Shut up, I just haven't done this in a while..."

  You giggle and keep sinking down on his cock, your hands taking the space you couldn't fit in your throat without gagging. You start off slow, thrusting his cock in and out of your mouth and jerking the base of it off, Jaemin's soft groans spurring you on.

  His hand in your hair tightens when you remove your hands and try to deepthroat him, but your gag reflex stops you so you pull away. "Sorry, fuck... I also haven't done this in a while." You shyly admit while Jaemin strokes your hair to comfort you. "Baby, you're doing amazing. Don't stress, just do what you're comfortable with."

  Why couldn't every man act like him? You smile and take him in your mouth again, but this time his cock slips past your gag reflex and you cheer internally. "Ah, fuck. Good girl," Jaemin praises and you whimper around his shaft, the vibrations sending shivers down his spine.

  "Mhmm, just like that." Jaemin moans, hand in your hair getting tighter as you take him in your mouth deeply. You started playing with his balls, and that was when his moans started getting breathier.

  You could feel him twitch, but as you were getting ready to swallow his cum, he pulls you off of him. You pant, catching your breath as he wipes the spit and drool off of your face. "Wanna cum somewhere else."

  Jaemin helps you up off your knees and lays you down on his bed. “You’re so beautiful, Y/N.”

  Embarrassment blooms through you, looking away. “Don’t hide from me.” Jaemin’s hand moves your head to face him.

  He then pulls away and looks through his bedside table. “Shit, I don’t have any condoms…” He mutters. “It’s okay.. I’m clean and on birth control.”

  He hesitates. “When was the last time you got tested?”

  “Six months ago. But I haven’t fucked anyone since.” You answer. “You?”

  “Last week. I’m clean too.” He smiles sheepishly and you chuckle. “It feels better raw, anyway.”

  Jaemin’s face flushes but he closes his drawer and positions himself between your legs anyway. “You sure?” He asks one more time.

  “Yes, Jaem. Fuck me already.” You groan, sexual frustration washing over you when you have a hot, naked man who is interested in you right in front of you.

  He finally sinks his tip inside of your entrance, his cock going inside bit by bit until he finally bottoms out. You both moan together in relief.

  “You can move.” You reassure, your hands on his shoulder as he hovers above you before thrusting once or twice, experimenting.

  He wasn’t huge so you didn’t feel any pain. You weren’t sure if it was just because it’s attached to him, but his dick felt good.

  His thrusts started to speed up, his hands holding your hips tightly as your hands scratched down his back.

  “Ah- Ah, god,” You whimper as he hits the spot that made you feel stars in only a matter of minutes. “Jaemin…” His name leaves your lips drawn out and whiny, just how he likes it.

  “Will you be my boyfriend?” It comes out of your mouth without you realising until Jaemin stills his hips, his dick twitching inside of you. He laughs in disbelief.

  “You ask me that while I’m balls deep inside of you?” He teases and you hide your face with your arms, embarrassed.

  “Look at me, Y/N.” He orders and you listen. “Yes, I’ll be your boyfriend.”

  He pulls you up for a kiss, this time it was filled with something you couldn’t point out but it felt amazing. Then, he snaps his hips up inside of you and goes back to his pace he had before. “Fuck!”

  “Baby, you’re gonna drive me crazy… Swallowing my dick so tightly, like I was made for your pussy.” Jaemin rambles, too lost in the pleasure to care if he sounded insane, but you ate up every word he said to you like it was your last meal.

  “I’m close.” He whispers, his thrusts getting faster and he snakes a hand to your clit, trying to get you over the edge too. “Come with me?”

  “Y-Yeah,” You slur, his relentless pace making you dumb. You felt his dick twitch inside of you before he pulled out, jerking himself off while rubbing at your clit.

  You came at the sight of him alone — all sweaty, moaning and fucked out for you. Your body convulsed and you felt his warm cum on your stomach before he collapsed beside you, pulling you into an embrace.

  You gave yourselves a few minutes to come back to Earth. “Let’s get cleaned up…” Jaemin mutters, helping you to his bathroom.

  · · ─────── · ·

  You and Jaemin had been dating for a month now, and you basically became his cats’ mother. You were over at his apartment any time he wasn’t busy with college or work. You fucked like rabbits too.

  You’d suck him off when he’s trying to write his papers, he’d eat you out when you were chilling on your phone. You made love almost every night… You were content.

  After not dating anyone for almost four years, Jaemin coming into your life was the best thing that could have happened to you, and you couldn’t help but thank Luna for coming to your apartment building that day when she escaped Jaemin’s.

  “Hey baby, you finished?” Jaemin knocks on the doorframe to get your attention. “Almost, give me a second.”

  You type the last sentence onto your laptop, closing it with a smile. “Finished!” You exclaim.

  “Finally, I’ve been waiting all day to touch you.” Jaemin groans. You giggle as he picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carries you to the bedroom.

  “Well now you have all night.”

[bbyobbyo]

Ever since you stopped using his Spotify account in the mornings, you find other ways to mess with your boyfriend.

A short continuation of this fic, but can be read as a standalone.

content: fluff, established relationship, idol!Jihoon, banter, reader and jihoon just have a permanent jam session going on, they’re in love i swear

wc: 857

note: ahhh they’re back!! thank you to everyone who read the first part and gave it love😊 this has been rotting my brain for a while and i originally was playing with this concept for the original but couldn’t pull it together but we’re here now! shoutout to @highvern because it was partly inspired by her fic “Between the Titles” which is such a great read that i highly recommend along with literally everything else she writes!! all the songs featured here are real and from an era of kpop I hold near and dear to my heart so if you recognize any of them, you’re a real one 🥰

Jihoon is not a morning person, never has been. As he sits in the dressing room of the filming studio, he can feel his eyelids getting increasingly heavy. Some of his members are actively sleeping, in fact, and Jihoon knows he’ll be joining them soon if Wonwoo takes any longer in that makeup chair.

Blasting in his ears is his usual Bruno Mars playlist, a sad attempt to try to recover his energy before he knocks out next to Mingyu sleeping on a mat on the floor, but to no avail because his mind slowly slips away until a piercing airhorn noise jolts him awake.

SEVENTEEN TEEN TEEN NEOWANA SAI E

Uhh. This was definitely not his Daily Bruno Mars Mix.

He immediately searches his screen to find out what happened when he finds his answer in the form of a text from you.

[8:18 am] good morning sleepyhead :)

[8:18 am] hope I didnt scare you too bad :)

He scrunches his face up in disbelief, half amused that you managed to catch him off guard with possibly the most annoying wake up song on Seventeen’s discography, and half annoyed at the realization that he must’ve forgotten to cancel your Spotify Jam session from yesterday.

He decides to leave your text on read. After all, he has plenty of time to be petty today. Furiously searching through his library, he queues up a song and before Mingyu can finish singing the first chorus, he smashes the next track button in smug anticipation.

Now Playing: Fxxk U • Gain, Bumkey

And he doesn’t have to wait long before he gets your reply.

[8:20 am] oh i see how it is

Now Playing: This is War • MBLAQ

If Jihoon wasn’t awake before, he definitely is now. Even as he gets called in to do his makeup next, he thinks carefully about his next move.

Now Playing: LOSER • BIGBANG

…

Now Playing: WHO, YOU? • G-DRAGON

An audible scoffs escapes from his lips as he involuntarily tilts his head back in amusement, much to the dismay of his makeup artist who had just started on his foundation. He mutters a shy sorry before resuming his search for a reply. Maybe he needs to take a different approach to this if he hopes to continue having Jam sessions with you in the future.

Now Playing: Whatcha Doin’ Today • 4Minute

As Jihoon eventually discovers, his hopes to change the topic of conversation were in vain as two songs were suddenly queued one after another.

Now Playing: Why Don’t You Know • CHUNG HA, Nucksal

Next in Queue: Mind Your Own Business • Ailee

Jihoon thinks he’s met his match, coming to the realization that he could never out sass the love of his life. But he wasn’t willing to back down so easily either.

Now Playing: I’m so sick • Apink

Next in Queue: Because of you • After School

Your next move nearly sends him to tears.

Now Playing: Excuse Me • AOA

Next in Queue: You Don’t Love Me • Spica

Next in Queue: I ain’t going home tonight • Navi, Geeks

Next in Queue: I Don’t Need a Man • miss A

As he chuckles to himself for what seems like the hundredth time this morning, this newfound form of entertainment suddenly becomes incredibly precious. Although you see each other nearly every day, Jihoon realizes just how much he misses you, talking to you about everything and nothing at all, bantering like you’ve known each other for your entire lives.

Now Playing: Am I too easy? • U-KISS

...

Now Playing: Mystery • Beast

Even though he couldn’t be with you physically, he knew you were enjoying yourself just as much as him on the other side. He could almost picture your smile of satisfaction as you found your next song, knowing that he would appreciate your humor. And appreciate he did, happily tapping away at his screen until his makeup artist puts on his finishing touches and tells him to call the next member.

Now Playing: Gotta Go • CHUNG HA

Next in Queue: I’m Busy • 2NE1

Next in Queue: Plz Don’t Be Sad • HIGHLIGHT

…

Now Playing: Okay Dokey • MINO, ZICO

Little does he know that his members are in the corner snickering at the sight, knowing that only one thing could have their producer smiling like an idiot at his phone the whole morning.

Soon enough, Jihoon and his members get swept up into their schedule involving the filming of various contents for their Youtube Channel, a task that usually takes the entire day if a game is involved. Thankfully, the game allowed for members to go home early, a rare treat considering how competitive his members can get when it comes to shooting content.

After his usual rounds of “good work everyone” to the company staff and his members, he gets ready to see the person who been on his mind (and in his ears) since the morning. Taking out his phone, he queues one last song while exiting the building.

Now Playing: Run to you • SEVENTEEN

[suashii]

— 𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝓊𝓃 ౨ৎ

boothill x f!reader. 1.3k wc. ﾉ sfw ﾉ fluff ﾉ non-canon compliant ﾉ farmhand!boothill ﾉ flirty teasing ﾉ pet names ( sweetheart :3 ) ﾉ mentions of food

previous part ౨ৎ masterlist ౨ৎ next part

boothill is usually making his way back to the house by now, but you don’t hear the click of the door opening to announce his arrival or the sound of him kicking off his boots at the entryway. his schedule has become familiar to you as you’ve established one of your own and you’ve taken note of how he always strolls in around lunchtime. you’ve taken note of other things, too, like his big appetite, how he eats whatever you cook without complaint, and the way he never fails to thank you for the meal.

his flattery when it comes to your cooking skills knows no bounds and consistently earns eye rolls on your end but it’s becoming increasingly difficult to ignore his gentlemanly qualities.

lunch is just about ready and the farmhand is nowhere in sight. you turn to your grandpa who’s sitting at the table as you wipe your hands on the dish towel. “did boothill go out?”

his focus shifts from his half-finished crossword puzzle to you. “not that i know of. he’s probably just finishing up.”

he’s right, the man could be in any minute for all you know. but something feels wrong about setting the table and starting to eat without him. as much as he grates on your nerves and makes you feel feelings you’d much rather bury, you’ve grown used to three people sitting around the table. the next words that push past your lips make you wonder if you’re truly the one to speak them.

“i’ll just let him know the food is ready.”

your grandpa hums in acknowledgment, letting you slip past the sliding doors without protest.

the heat of the air hits you immediately and you close the door behind you quickly to be sure it doesn’t warm up the kitchen. the long-sleeved blouse you put on this morning suddenly feels excessive as you traverse the grounds in search of boothill.

it’s not as easy to find him as it has been in the past and you’re beginning to think that he did leave but the fact just slipped your grandpa’s mind. you’re nearing the edge of the property when you consider dropping the manhunt and returning to the house. maybe boothill won’t mind if you set aside his plate for later with a little note explaining that you couldn’t find him.

the moment you think about turning around, something catches your eye. there’s something propped up on the post of the split rail fence. you squint your eyes to get a better look only to realize it’s not something, it’s someone—boothill.

he’s sitting up with his back against the post and his feet stretched to the next—they’re crossed at the ankle. his arms are crossed, too, resting comfortably on his stomach. the hat that’s usually situated atop his head is tipped down to shield his face from the sun’s harsh, bright rays.

you’re unsure if he’s awake or not so you approach him quietly, light steps carrying you closer to the man. the wind catches his hair, blowing unbound black and white strands in rhythm with the breeze. your newfound proximity offers you a better glimpse at the man, namely his exposed chest that you didn’t take notice of a few seconds ago. his shirt is unbuttoned nearly to where it’s tucked into his jeans, leaving smooth, glistening skin on display. even the addition of a denim vest over the white button-up isn’t enough to hide his tanned skin and the beads of sweat forming on it.

you catch yourself staring and shake your head before turning it up to look at the clouds. the blue sky and fluffy spots of white are a pretty sight but the picturesque scene does nothing to help you get the image of boothill’s toned abdomen out of your head. you fear it’s stuck to your eyelids, haunting you every time you dare to blink.

how are you going to look at him across the table without imagining what’s under his shirt now?

the thought reminds you of why you came out here in the first place—you’re supposed to be bringing him inside for lunch. you’re sure he’s asleep by now—he most definitely would have felt your greedy gaze on him if he weren’t—but you’re willing to stir him from his nap if it means getting him out of this summer heat (and getting him to cover up).

you cautiously reach out to take his hat in your hand, lifting the accessory away from his face. you’re not sure how the sudden introduction of light doesn’t bother him but he remains still like you never disturbed him at all.

his resting expression is different from the others you’ve seen paint his face. there’s no crease between his eyebrows like there is when he’s working hard, no curl to his lips like when he’s got a teasing remark on his tongue. he simply looks peaceful, calm, unbothered. pretty, you have to stop yourself from saying aloud.

and it’s all ruined in a moment.

“see somethin’ you like, sweetheart?” his eyes don’t open but the little smirk you so often find him wearing has made itself comfortable on his lips. you take a startled step back—you were sure he had nodded off. how long has he been awake? does he know you were staring?

the lack of an answer from you leads boothill to open his eyes, though they squint almost instantly upon being met with the brightness of the sun. although, that doesn’t stop him from meeting your eye and holding your gaze.

you disregard his question and keep your eyes on his face, not risking letting your gaze fall below his neck. “if you’re tired, you should go sleep in the house. it’s way too hot to nap out here.”

his eyebrows raise ever-so-slightly at your suggestion, smile unwavering. conversely, yours furrow at the change in his expression—nothing good can come of it. “if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you’re worried about me.”

you press your lips together. is that what led you out here—your worry about him missing a meal? worry doesn’t feel like the right word… you simply want to adhere to your routine which, whether you like it or not, now includes boothill. that’s that, worry is out of the question.

“i’m not worried,” you tell him, clenching your fists as if that’ll help you convince yourself. it’s only then that you realize you’re still holding his hat. you look down at it in your hand and suddenly your palm and the tips of your fingers feel hot, like that hat is a scorching fire that’s burning you. you quickly toss the accessory into the man’s lap. “i only came out here to tell you lunch is ready.”

having gotten your job done, you turn on your heel and start back towards the house. you only make it a few steps before boothill is coming up beside you, his steps falling into rhythm with yours. it’s a mistake to glance his way as he hasn’t bothered buttoning up his shirt and his hands are stuffed in his pockets like he had no intention of doing so.

you're not so lucky to go unnoticed this time and it would be unlike boothill not to comment on your wandering eyes. “what? like my outfit that much?”

you silently scold yourself for staring, eye flitting away from him. “it’s fine.”

“oh? somethin’ else catch your eye, then?” he asks, and you can hear the humor in his voice. “maybe it’s my—”

“oh my god!” your hands fly up to cover your ears and they’re hot to the touch. “shush!”

despite the barrier, you can still hear his hearty chuckle that comes at your expense. 

the thought comes far too late but you realize you would have been much better off leaving him to bake in the sun, never making the effort to call him in at all. because now, even after you’ve made it through lunch, washed the dishes, and are back in the comfort of your bedroom, you’re still going to be thinking about the farmhand and his annoyingly perfect abs.

thanks for giving this a read! reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated ❤︎

[akutasoda]

Heyeyey can I request boothill, Sunday and aventurine with a fem s/o who’s always on her phone? Like even when it’s charging or even when they’re cuddling she just has to be on her phone?

screentime overload

synopsis - how are they with a s/o who cannot put their phone down?

includes - aventurine, sunday, boothill

warnings - fem!reader (no pronouns used), fluff, crack, wc - 721

aventurine ★↷

↪he can be a bit of a fifty fifty when it comes to his phone. normally the only time he uses it is for IPC relevant things, messaging you or ratio and if he's really bored, mindless scrolling. his work can keep him rather busy and so he doesn't exactly have the time to sit around all day.

↪so he found it quite amusing to a degree when he noticed how absorbed you were in your phone. it really didn't take long for him to notice how you practically treated it as a lifeline because no matter where you were your phone was near aswell - more accurately near to your line of sight.

↪it did bring him some comfort in knowing that you would always see his messages because he could always take an accurate guess that you were on your phone and able to respond as quick as possible.

↪however he did find it quite ridiculous that sometimes he'd find you curled up by your charger, phone still in hand. surely you had other things to be doing? maybe you're phone needed a break from you eventually?

↪it didn't bother him per say, but he would prefer it if, when he saw you after a while, that you actually make the effort to pry your gaze from your phone and to him.

↪sometimes he can be quite the menace, especially when, in the morning, you wake up and search for your phone but don't get very far as aventurine would have you in a near death grip hug.

sunday ★↷

↪definitely isn't a phone kind of person. sure he has one but it's mainly for work or managing the dreamscape and most likely only had a couple of actual contacts - yours and robins. he probably could go very happily without his phone.

↪and so he truly doesn't understand why you're so attached to yours. at first he thought that you probably had something going on that needed managing, but when he saw you day in and day out staring down at your screen, he got slightly worried and confused.

↪it baffled him that you could actually spend so much time staring down at that screen but eventually he started getting more concerned that you were causing permanent damage to your eyes. he's the type of person who would tell you about the damage phones can do to you when he sees you laser focused on your phone.

↪in a similar way, he does find a slight comfort in knowing that if he needs to reach you he can. the one day you don't actually get his messages and respond very quickly is the day he panics.

↪sunday isn't exactly the keenest when it comes to physical affection, but when he does come around and finally gets time off to spend with you, he does not want you on your phone for that. if you get unlucky he might start contemplating hiding your phone.

boothill ★↷

↪another fifty fifty. he isn't exactly literate and so any messages are sent via voice recordings and such, this also probably means that he doesn't spend that much time on his phone in general - especially as a galaxy ranger who has bounties to hunt instead.

↪that being said, his phone gets put through the wringer alot. it isn't exactly his top priority in keeping safe when on a mission, so he either loses it or it gets very badly damaged to the point that sometimes you can't even tell it was meant to be a phone.

↪so he did struggle a bit to to comprehend how and why you spent so much time on your phone. he only started getting annoyed when he realised that your phone was robbing him from your affection and time. boothill did once threaten to eat your phone.

↪he still finds it very ridiculous that you spend so much time in your phone, especially when he has caught you multiple times using your phone while it's charging or when you really shouldn't be.

↪but he doesn't mind too much as long as you actually still give him some affection and don't spend that time with your phone in hand again - especially when he gets time to return to you after hunting a bounty or two.

taglist - @little-miss-chaoss, @frankiesteinn

[shanastoryteller]

Happy birthday! Percy Jackson? Or something Siat

a continuation of 1 2 3 4

The girls are asleep, exhausted after another near miss and hasty retreat, and Percy scans the trees for Luke. He’d been off while they set up camp and he’d gone to get firewood and hadn’t come back. He hasn’t sensed any monsters, so unless he got silently taken down by a bear, he’s probably fine. But he’d said he wouldn’t go far and he’s usually pretty good about sticking close after an attack. He gives the tree line another scan before remembering this is Luke and tilting his head back. They’d made camp under the cover of a sheer cliff face and he’s unsurprised to see Luke at the top, sitting on the edge and looking down at them. He is a fan of taking higher ground.

Percy’s not going to let him brood alone, but he also can’t take the long way and leave the girls undefended. Well, the cliff isn’t that steep. He finds a good handhold and then heaves himself up, scaling it while pausing every minute or so to check that the girls are still safely asleep.

He reaches the edge, lifting his hand up, and is unsurprised when Luke grabs it and heaves him onto solid ground. He collapses on his back, panting, and grins at Luke while he stares down at him incredulously. “Are you even human?”

“No,” he answers, pushing himself up to sitting. “But neither are you.”

That gets him a hint of a smile and then Luke is sitting next to him, close enough that Percy can lean their shoulders together. He lets the silence stretch out, a skill that it had taken him a while to learn, then Luke says, “Maybe this is a mistake.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Running?”

Luke shakes his head then shrugs before tilting his head towards Thalia and Annabeth below them. “Letting them come along. It’s one thing if I get myself killed, but-”

“First of all,” he interrupts, “no one lets those two do anything. Secondly, it’s certainly safer than you all going at it alone, like you were before.”

Maybe this is a mistake. He should be encouraging them to go Camp Half-Blood after all, but not like this, not because Luke thinks he’s a failure instead of Hades’s creatures being sent after them. They’re good at this, really, all three of them. If Hades hadn’t had a grudge against a child of Zeus, they probably wouldn’t have needed to retreat to camp.

“I guess,” he says quietly, rubbing a hand over his face.

Percy nudges him in the ribs. “Go on, join them, I’ll take first watch. Things will be better in the morning. They always are.”

It’s something his mother had always said. He’d found out the hard way that it wasn’t always true, but hopefully Luke hasn’t come to that same realization just yet.

Luke stares at him for a long moment then a grin cracks onto his face and he squeezes his shoulder. “Yeah, alright. Thanks Percy.”

He waits until he sees Luke settling next to Thalia, sees his chest even and smooth into sleep, before searching his pockets. The best he can do is one squished orange skittle, but he figures that he’s just waiting for an opening anyway. He flicks on the lighter and the orange coating has just started to melt when there’s the familiar, comforting scent of sea salt in his nose. “Percy.”

“Dad,” he returns, looking up to see Poseidon looming over him, an intimidation tactic that’s worked on him pretty much never.

[lvnleah]

008. | Leah’s return

word count: 1.8k

find the masterlist here!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

January 24th 2024 | 29 weeks + 6 days.

“You’ll definitely be there tonight?” Leah asked, slipping her hands underneath your shirt from behind to rest on your bump.

You turned your head to place a kiss on her cheek, “Yes Le, I promise I’ll be there. I’m going to head to work, check on the bakery and then I’m meeting your Mum and Jacob.”

Tonight, Leah was making her comeback from her ACL. It was against Reading and after a long ten months, she was finally going to be back on the pitch. You were travelling up with her family while she was travelling on the coach with the team.

The excitement in Leah was unmistakable. “I can’t wait to see you in the stands,” she whispered, giving your bump a gentle rub before stepping back.

You smiled, “I’ll be the loudest one there, I promise.” You turned towards the kitchen, grabbing your bag and keys. “Now, I better get going before I’m late.”

Leah followed you to the door, her face a mix of excitement and nerves. “Don’t overdo it at the bakery, okay?”

You nodded, “I won’t. Just a quick check-in to make sure everything’s running smoothly. Besides, Maia has got it all under control.” You said, referring to the young girl who worked at your bakery and was currently running it.

She leaned in for one last kiss. “I love you. See you tonight.”

“Love you too,” you replied. “You’re gonna smash it tonight!”

The bakery was only a short drive away, and as you navigated through the familiar streets, your mind wandered to Leah’s match. The journey had been tough on her, both physically and mentally, and tonight she was going to be making her comeback.

Pulling up to the bakery, you saw the bustling activity inside. It was a small place, but it was yours and you loved it a lot.

You checked in with Maia and sorted some paperwork, you quickly brainstormed a few sales ideas with Maia before you went on your way.

The next stop was Leah’s mum’s house, where you joined her and Jacob for the journey to the stadium.

“Ready to cheer for Le?” Jacob asked as you stepped out of the door, “She sent me a list of your favourite snacks right now for the drive, they’re in the car.

“Ready as ever!” you laughed, “You better not steal my sweets!”

“Everything went well at the bakery?” Amanda asked.

“Smooth as always. Maia’s a lifesaver.”

She nodded, pulling you into a warm hug. “Let’s get going then. We don’t want to miss a moment of Leah’s big night.”

The drive to the stadium was filled with chatter and laughter, you and Jacob bickered like siblings, everyone was buzzing with excitement. As you arrived and found your seats, the energy in the stadium was electric. Fans were pouring in, and the atmosphere was just the same as usual.

You settled into your seat in the box, Jacob on one side and Leah’s mum on the other with the rest of her family scattered around to you. As the teams started to warm up on the pitch, you scanned the field, your eyes searching for Leah. When you finally spotted her, your heart swelled with happiness. She looked focused, determined, and ready to give it her all.

Soon, the warm ups were over and both teams headed inside. Your phone pinged in your pocket, you smiled once you saw it was Leah.

Le 💕: please come see me quickly? x

You: be there in two seconds! x

You excused yourself and made your way down to the tunnel where the players' entrance was. The stadium buzzed around you, but your focus was solely on getting to Leah.

As you approached, a security guard let you through with a nod and a smile. You navigated the narrow corridor, the hum of excitement palpable. Finally, you spotted Leah standing near the entrance to the changing rooms. Her eyes lit up when she saw you.

“There’s my girl,” she said softly, wrapping her arms around you as she placed a kiss on your cheeks.

“Are you ready?” you asked, looking up into her eyes, searching for any signs of nerves.

She nodded. “I am. I’ve worked so hard for this moment. Just needed to see you one last time before I go out there.”

You placed a hand on her cheek, your thumb brushing lightly over her skin. “You’re going to be amazing, Leah. I know it. We all know it.”

She smiled as she rested her hand on your bump, “He’s lively tonight! Must be excited to see his Mumma play.”

“He’s definitely having a party,” you laughed, “Now go out there and show them what you’re made of.”

With one final kiss, you stepped back, giving her a reassuring smile. Leah took a deep breath, nodded, and turned to head into the changing rooms.

As you made your way back to your seat, you felt the anticipation build. The stadium lights brightened, the announcer's voice echoed, and the crowd’s excitement surged as the teams were introduced.

You settled back in with Leah’s family, clutching your bag of snacks that Jacob had dutifully packed. The roar of the crowd grew louder, and when Leah’s name was called, the noise was deafening. You stood, cheering as loud as you could, feeling your baby kick inside you as if he was sharing the excitement.

“Is she alright?” Lia asked, leaning from her seat to talk to you from behind.

You nodded, “Yeah, she’s just a bit nervous and wanted to see me. If I’m perfectly honest I think she just wanted a kiss.”

Laura laughed, shaking her head, “She’s so in love with you.”

The match kicked off, and it wasn’t long before Arsenal scored. Goals came swiftly, one after another, and by the 60th minute, the score was 4-0 in Arsenal's favour. Caitlin had scored in the 23rd minute followed by Stina in the 35th and again in the 45th and finally Laia in the 51st. The crowd was ecstatic, nerves bubbled up inside of you knowing Leah would soon be on the pitch.

When the fourth official held up her number for her to come on, the stadium erupted in applause and cheers. She high-fived Beth’s hand, who was also coming on, before exchanging a quick hug with Caitlin and then Jen.

You leaned forward, gripping the edge of your seat as you watched Leah take her position on the field. It was a moment you had both been waiting for. She looked calm and ready to play, you felt completely different however as nerves continued to build up inside.

Minutes passed as the game resumed its fast pace. Leah moved quickly, her touches confident and like she’d never been away. Even her leadership skills were evident after being out for so long.

Then, in the 80th minute, the moment you had been waiting for arrived. Sabs passed the ball to Leah who kicked it up the pitch to Beth. The ball sailed over and landed perfectly at Beth’s feet, giving her the chance to slot it into the back of the net. The stadium erupted in cheers, and you jumped to your feet, tears of joy streaming down your face.

“Did you see that?” Jacob yelled, his face beaming with joy.

Leah’s teammates mobbed her and Beth in celebration, their joy mirroring yours. Her smile was wide and she looked shocked at her assist. She looked up into the stands, and you knew she was looking for you.

You waved, hoping she could see how proud you were. She gave a small, discreet wave back, her eyes locking onto yours for just a second before she was pulled back into the game.

The final whistle blew with the score at 6-0. The crowd erupted in applause and chants, celebrating both the team’s victory and Leah’s return. As the players made their way off the pitch, you could see the exhaustion and elation on Leah’s face. She had done it. She was back.

After the match, Leah spotted you and ran up to the box, her face beaming with a mixture of relief and joy.

“You were incredible!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms around her.

Leah hugged you tightly, whispering in your ear, “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

You pulled back, “I’m so proud of you, Le.”

Leah kissed you quickly before moving onto her mum, “Alright, mum?”

Amanda pulled her baby close, “I’m so proud of you, bubba!”

Leah took a deep breath as she held onto her mum. “Thanks, Mum. It feels like a dream.”

After a few more hugs and words of congratulations for her family, Leah turned back to you, her hand finding yours. “Let’s go home,” she said softly, “I’m going to get changed then I’ll meet you out the front?”

You nodded, “Sounds perfect!”

Leah headed back down and got changed before heading out the front to meet you. As you made your way out of the stadium with Leah and her family, you felt your baby boy kick again, almost as if he was celebrating too. You looked over at Leah, who was walking beside you, her hand never leaving yours. She caught your gaze and smiled.

“He’s going to be a footballer, I think,” Leah said, placing a hand on your bump.

“Just like his mum then?,” you replied, leaning into her.

Amanda and Jacob walked a few steps ahead, giving you both a moment of privacy. As you reached the car, you felt a wave of exhaustion wash over you, but it was a good kind of tired, the kind that comes after a day filled with joy and excitement.

The drive home was quiet, the kind of comfortable silence that comes with being surrounded by family. Leah’s hand was warm in yours, and you could feel her contentment radiating off her. It had been a long journey to get here, but she had made it. You both had.

When you finally reached home, Leah helped you out of the car, her movements careful and gentle. “Come on, let’s get you inside,” she said, her voice soft.

You followed her into the house, the familiar warmth and cosiness welcoming you back. Leah guided you to the couch and you sank into the cushions with a sigh of relief. She sat down beside you, her hand still holding yours.

“I’m so proud of you, Leah,” you said again, looking into her eyes.

She smiled, leaning in to kiss you. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” she repeated.

You kissed her back, feeling the weight of the day melt away. “We’re a team always,” you whispered.

Leah nodded, “Always.”

As the night settled in around you, you closed your eyes, feeling the love between you and Leah. It had been a night to remember, one that you would carry with you always. And as you drifted off to sleep in Leah’s arms, you couldn’t help but feel proud of her.

[moonstruckme]

Hi!! I love your writing and wanted to request something for any of the marauders with a reader who’s scared of dogs but wants to get over it so they go to like a local shelter or smth to meet the dogs and help r get comfortable with them?

Thanks for requesting sweetheart!

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 913 words

The dogs start barking as soon as you enter the room, which isn’t supremely helpful. 

You flinch backwards. Your back hits Sirius’ chest, your heel touching the toe of his shoe. 

“It’s okay,” he assures you, nevertheless relishing the opportunity to wrap his arms around you. “They’re just excited to see us.” 

You don’t move, eyes sweeping over the rows of kennels as if searching for some hidden threat. Some of the dogs are so eager they’re standing on two legs against the doors, paws hooked in the metal fencing. The bare walls make their barking echo loudly. Sirius can see how it’s a bit overwhelming. 

“Why do they have to sound exactly the same when they’re excited and angry?” you ask.

Sirius almost laughs. He takes a couple of small steps forward to let the door swing shut behind you, and you go with him reluctantly. “They don’t,” he says, “but you can’t really hear the difference if you’re not used to dogs. That’s the point of this, isn’t it, gorgeous?” 

You hum, anxious and unsure. 

“Yeah,” he answers for you. He’s attempting to counterbalance your apprehension with an excess of pep. Sirius gives your middle a reassuring squeeze before stepping out from behind you and going to the nearest kennel. 

“Look, this is Juno,” he reads off the slip of paper on the gate. Juno is practically beaming at him, her tail wagging restlessly as he crouches in front of her. She stops barking as soon as Sirius sticks his hands into her cage, letting him scratch at the fur around her neck and flop her ears this way and that. “Oh, hello, lovely girl.” 

If Sirius was hoping this would inspire some jealousy, it doesn’t seem to be working. Evidently, your claim on the title of Sirius’ lovely girl does not take priority over your wariness of Juno. He pets her for a while longer, trying to showcase how gentle and happy she is, before looking over his shoulder at you. 

“Come here,” he encourages. 

You actually lean back a bit, so slightly Sirius wonders if it’s unconscious. Your face is tight with nerves. 

It’s hard to take your fear seriously when he can’t fathom feeling it himself, but the reality of it is undeniable in your eyes. Seeing you so scared makes Sirius’ chest hurt. 

He softens his tone. “Come here, sweetheart, it’s okay.” 

You approach like you’re certain Juno is going to snap her teeth at you as soon as you’re near, stopping a good couple of feet away from the kennel. 

“Look,” he says, retracting his hands through the metal wiring despite Juno’s protests, “you can start by sticking your hand just nearby, like this, so she can sniff you.” 

You remain standing as you do, looking between Sirius and Juno all the while. Your hand is actually shaking, his poor girl. Sirius reaches for what he can, rubbing up and down on your calf in a way he hopes is encouraging. 

Though the barking of the other dogs is still echoing noisily around you, Juno seems to know to be quiet. She sniffs your hand through the gate for a moment before looking up at you eagerly. 

“Why don’t you sit down here with me?” Sirius prompts.

You retract your hand. One of your fingernails begins picking at the other. “I don’t really want my face in front of her face,” you say. 

“Fair enough.” He sticks one hand back through the bar, scratching between Juno’s ears demonstratively. “Wanna try petting her? She’s friendly.” 

You really are brave, the way you’re quivering like a leaf and yet you do it anyway. Sirius moves his hand to her neck so you can take over the prime spot. When you start to get close Juno bumps her head up to meet you, and you flinch but don’t pull away, petting down the fur on top of her head hesitantly. 

“Try ruffling her fur a little,” he suggests. “You saw how I was petting her, yeah?” 

You take his advice with some grains of salt, migrating your touch to behind her ear and scratching only lightly. Only, you seem to have found the magical spot. Juno’s head turns into your hand, and you take in a quiet inhale as nearly her entire body follows, leaning heavily into your touch. Small, whimpering sounds start to come from the back of the dog’s throat. 

“What’s wrong?” Your hand stills, horror written across your face. “Am I hurting her?” 

“No, no, you’re alright.” Sirius can’t keep from grinning as he watches your fingers begin to move again. Juno looks like she might well flop over. “She’s just happy. She wants to be pet.” 

“Weird,” you breathe, but the majority of your nerves seem to have finally gone out of you. You crouch beside Sirius on the floor, sticking your other hand through the gate. “The sounds they make are so confusing.” 

“You’ll figure it out,” he promises you. “But look at you, baby—you did it!” 

“Mostly,” you hedge, but you’re beaming, both hands buried in Juno’s fur as the dog closes her eyes blissfully. You look to Sirius, bordering on bashful. “Thanks for helping me.” 

He wraps a hand around your thigh, pulling himself closer to kiss your cheek. Both of your hands are going to smell like dog after this. “Don’t mention it, sweetness. After we’re done here, we can go to the puppy room if you want. As a treat.” 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Soldat

A random drabble for @startcarvingdarling

Warnings for fear, kidnap, and spanking.

Character: Bucky Barnes, side of Peter Parker

“Peter? I’m waiting,” you say as he finally picks up. 

“Hmm? Waiting? What do you mean?” He asks as you hear something whirring in the background. 

“What? Don’t tell me you forgot.” You sneer, “you’re at the lab, aren’t you?” 

“Uh, yeah, of course. Where am I supposed to be?” He sputters. 

“Meeting me for our date!” You snip. “Ugh, I’m so embarrassed.” 

“Date? What—I didn’t-- I guess I forgot but I don’t remember--” 

“You never remember anything, do you? Not unless you’re getting some award or simping for Tony.” You huff. 

“What? I mean it. I have no recollection of this--” 

“You texted me last week. Said you want to spend some time together since you’ve been so busy and—Never mind. I’m not doing this. I’m not responsible for keeping your mind straight,” you shake your head, “bye.” 

You hang up as your eyes prick. You should have expected it. You can barely get a message back so why would he follow through on this? Besides, all he ever talks about are his gadgets. 

You drop your arm and turn to the restaurant. You look up and groan. He probably didn’t even make a reservation. You drag your feet away and head back down the street. 

The marquee lights reflect off the dark pavement and cast your shadow across the curb. As you walk, others pass by merrily in couples and groups. They’re raucous as they head out for a night of fun. For time with people who care about them. 

You turn down the next street. It’s emptier, and darker, away from the main strip. Your footsteps echo and you cross the street, undeterred as the traffic is sparse. As you get to the other side, you flinch. You turn. You thought you heard something. 

As you turn back, you jump. There was a shadow there. You spin and search the darkness. You’re imagining things. Even if that’s the case, it is New York. 

You speed ahead through the cones of light glowing from the tall street poles. You pump your arms as your breath hitches. Your heart is racing. You hear another scuff. You turn but see nothing. 

You jump as there’s a clatter down the alley and you squeak, stumbling back. You whirl around again and this time, your path is blocked. The silhouette of a man looms between the safe haven of the lights. His shoulders are broad and his feet wide. 

“Um, you—take it,” you throw your purse at him. He swipes it away. You flinch and step back. “Sir, I don’t--” 

He steps forward and your voice fizzles in the air. You know him. It’s Bucky. Yet, it doesn’t seem like him. His posture is different and he has a black mask over the lower half of his face. His eyes are almost black and he move mechanically as he comes closer. 

“Bucky? What are yo--” 

He grabs you by your throat and you cough. You latch onto his wrist as your phone bounces off the sidewalk. You whimper. The street light is swallowed up in his pupils as brings you near. He presses his nose to yours, the fabric of the mask rough. 

He tilts his head as he pulls back and launches you up. He takes a step and catches you easily over his shoulder. He veers and marches into the alleyway as you squeal. His hand cracks across your ass and your voice catches. He squeezes until your whine, digging into your flesh. 

“Wait- what--” 

He hushes you as he keeps going. You kick your legs and swipe at his back. He doesn’t stop. It’s as if he can’t hear you. As if your pleas are nothing, just like your weight on his shoulder. 

His laughter echoes against the brick walls as he carries you into the shadows. You don’t know where he’s taking you, or why, but you know you should be afraid. This isn’t Bucky, this is what he used to be. 

[vivivav]

‼️ 14 Days With You is an 18+ Yandere Visual Novel. MINORS DNI ‼️

Are these headcanons? am i theorizing? am i analyzing his character? could these just be kinda writing prompts? god fucking knows atp

Kinda turns into just…. a Renren appreciation post at the end. Love them

- If angel is someone who talks to themselves a lot, Ren would thoroughly enjoy that and sometimes reply as if they were having a conversation, and would frequently even use it as an opportunity to practice their “haruko” persona as he replies to them

- Usually when people are on their electronics they almost never look at the little camera directly, instead focused on the screen but those rare moments where Angel actually looks into the camera, if even for a second it makes Ren breathless because it feels like angel’s looking at him.

- got this one from one of the little fics but whenever angel’s on call with someone, Ren loathes it. Because, they don’t like that angel’s paying so much attention to someone else, but on the other hand they’re close their phone. Talking to someone, laughing, making jokes and having conversation and if Ren tries really hard, they can pretend that angel’s having a conversation with him instead.

- Ren tries to time their eating schedule with Angels occasionally, unless he’s just trying to snack on something. Not JUST because they’d find it relaxing to eat with angel but because he doesn’t want to take time away from staring at angel just so they can eat, he’d prefer to train his body to get hungry when angel gets hungry so they don’t waste even a second of his time with angel

- for day 1; not inviting him over and then choosing to call/text him, you can hear them running away from (what’s presumably) angels door so angel doesn’t hear him talk/type, but they only leaves the SECOND angel calls or texts, not before. Now maybe he wasn’t expecting angel to contact him and was genuinely surprised, or, since angel was on call with Moth, (who was urging angel to talk to Ren…) they saw that angel then went on their phone and either looking at his contact or had the chat pulled up, so maybe he just didnt want to waste even a second not staring at angel. Though, maybe it was more of a mix of both

- His first meeting with angel in the library seeming so akward to angel while Rens brain is going a thousand mph. Mad that his first meeting with them wasn’t the perfect one they imagined, mad that he wasn’t prepared, scared you’ll see right through them BECAUSE he wasn’t prepared, nervous to finally be near angel and have them FINALLY talk to him, trying to come up with an excuse as to WHY he pressed the button in the first place (he did NOT read those pages nor that fucking book i am telling you now), trying to come up with any excuses to keep angel there with them for longer, how to stay with angel, to introduce himself, to hear angels voice more, restraining himself to not go completely haywire off the bat because first impressions matter SO much. Then the second you turn away and he gets eleanor out of the way they have to quickly dig in his pockets (or steal stickynotes from the library counter) to try and come up with something charming to write and have angel read to make them find him cute/approachable/not-fucked-up/your-exact-type

-ecords angels voice sometimes and tried to cut and put the clips together to spell something out for him in angels voice (momentary satisfaction but it’d never beat hearing angel actually say it) (most likely it was either their real name or “i love you” or something cheesy like that. maybe.)

- i know he’s not superstitious but the thought of them coming accross one of those posts of “These initials belong together!!” and NOT seeing his and angels initials in there making them mad is so funny lol. Bonus if he sees someone elses initials with angels (Say, A+L as in Angel and Leon). and they’d get mad and either X out everyone elses combinations and put only him and angels in it or search for one with them in it. He knows logically that it doesn’t mean anything and that it was probably just some kid making a fun video but god forbid having someone elses initials with Angels even with something silly like that

- they’d be one of those boyfriends that if angel as little as looks at something for more than a few seconds he’d ask if they’d want it, or just grab it and buy it right away, or remember it and buy it as a surprise for them later. Angel giving a quick second look at like a shirt or a toy and then continuing to walk and then the next day Ren’s giving it to them because he “thought they’d like it”. This alr kinda happens in game on day 2 but pshh they’d buy it for angel even if they didnt literally pause and stare at it for a minute and a half

- Angel forgetting a password to one of their accounts and complaining about it to Ren, who immediately tells them what it is, only for Angel to be like ??? wtf how’d you know. Or, if they weren’t completely caught up in staring at angel he’d comfort them and tell them that they’ll remember it soon. And then write it down for angel somewhere for them to find easily/ purposefully saying something that kinda sounds like it or would hopefully get angel to remember it, like. If the password was “iloveharuko13” he’d start talking about AOG with them, specifically about haruko’s last appearance

- Angel asking Ren how he’s been today when they’re catching up and him-not even thinking about what he was actually doing today just thinking about how happy they are now that angel’s here- just answering with “i’ve been good! how about you..?” very quickly because he’s eager to hear Angels thoughts. He already knows what they’ve been doing but how they FELT about it and their thoughts on it are much more interesting/important

- The reason he stares at angel so much aside from the obvious is that they’re trying with all his strength to develop mind reading powers /silly /not serious but he mightve actually at least tried this at one point no?

- Angel having a diary would be the equivalent of a bible to him. Its angels raw unfiltered thoughts written out BY them. That’s pure gold and god must’ve blessed Ren if angel decided to keep a “top secret” diary. (if angel complained about someone in said diary he’d keep an eye out for them specifically and try to limit angels interactions with them until they made up or parted ways. Or. something happened to them lol)

- idk i just wanna mention that i love their desperate attempts to just be around angel and have them see him. “Sweet boy”, i say, knowing fully well what he’s done and is capable of

- Occasional Angels cutlery thief. you know why (returns them though) (maybe)

- Him asking in their head over and over again “is this real? am i dreaming?” when angel actually invites him over to their place and what ensues because?? only in his dreams right???

- Ren was practically gritting his teeth when they said “what do you think i’ve been doing since you moved away…” at Leon, i don’t think he was angry because Leon moved (probably actually was really happy upon hearing it- maybe thinking “this is my chance! it’s my turn!”) but because the act of him moving made angel sad. It was more of a “how dare you do something that you knew would hurt angel” while secretly they were glad that Leon moved. another,, “loathe” kinda thing? Hates that angel was hurt but happy that Leon wouldn’t be as much in his way anymore?

- Purposefully sometimes leaves angels windows/doors open just so he could see them come closer to shut it. Very rare for them to do bc he doesn’t wanna make angel like,, paranoid (unless they’d be going to him for comfort and safety… but… maybe that’d only be if he’s really desperate…)

- Thinking abt if they’d ‘coincidentally’ show up on angels double date on day 4 or watch from afar. “haha how funny i didnt know you would be here… with……… them………….mind if i come with since i’m here anyway? haha? ^^” …and then him trying to pull angel away from the rest of the group (especially leon and teo ) so it can be another date with just angel and ren…? perhaps. will patiently wait to see

- I think this is alr canon but i’ll say it anyway; him learning angels favourite foods and learning exactly how to cook them. Yes, they could just order the food in through delivery like he does for himself but they want to impress angel and make it specially for them. I feel like the reason he had the pancake recipe STILL pulled up on their phone even though he was already at the very last step of cooking them was because he wanted to be absolutely certain that they were making them EXACTLY the way angel liked- trying to reference pictures for how they were cooked and plated even though he’s probably got them all memorized by heart- but he just wants to be sure.

- Ren stalks angel but in doing so he also stalks everyone close to angel, of course in completely different ways and completely different reasons but they’d nonetheless know a LOT about the people who angel surrounds themselves with; even without hacking into their belongings and finding every little thing about them (Incase he needs to use this infomation against them… or tell angel)

- ^ adding on that him watching angels friends have other friends and become friends with eachother would probably also be like,, something that makes them at least a little happy. In the way of “If they have eachother then they won’t be around angel as much ^^”

- Ren in absolute distress watching angel get sick BEFORE their meeting in the library. Wanting nothing more than to bend reality itself to make angel better and get them everything they need but knowing that they can’t do that yet. (He’d pray that angel wouldn’t notice that their waterbottle on the nightstand keeps “filling itself up”, some pain meds just “showing up” on said nightstand, the cold towel on their forehead being cold again once they woke up… uh, more… taking-care-of-sick-person-things that i’m forgetting rn…)

- Yk that funny thing you sometimes do when you look directly into the camera on your phone/laptop/ whatever youre on and you say sumn like “i know you’re watching me!!!” as a joke. Like the “fbi in my phone” joke. Yeah. imagine that.

- if angel was an artist and drew ren ( be that in secret or asking him to pose ) He’d probably act really flattered and be all smiles and secretly be running laps around his brain like there is smoke building at the top of their head. Angel, taking time out of their day to stare at Ren (or draw him from memory?) and draw him? HIM? As in. Specifically REN, not haruko??? Bonus if he WATCHES angel draw him, weither that be in secret or not, they’d see just how FOCUSED angel is and the effort they’re putting into drawing him. His heart would explode, probably. (Also if angel is staring at them? yeah. yeah.)

- Not enough people talk about how he was so puppy-eyed upset when Leon called angel “sunfish” right in front of them. Interrupting angel and everything. You could practically FEEL the “:(“ in his little “-sunfish?” and the next words out of their mouth were “-Angelfish and i-“ as if Ren was subtly CHALLENGING Leon and trying to compete with him. How dare he have a special petname just for them? As if Ren hasn’t been calling them ‘Angel’ for his whole life? Does Leon even KNOW what sunfish look like? ‘Angelfish’ is so much smarter and they’re prettier fish. It’s essentially insulting.

- When angel starts showing signs of liking Rens real personality he absolutely overthinks the hell out of it. Because, surely not?? That was just their hopeful thinking? Him hearing things, maybe??? I don’t think Ren would believe angel at first if they started showing interest in his real personality, have to convince him before they even think about it. After all, it’s his haruko persona that finally got your attention after 13 years. Surely you like that more than this freaky creepy emo guy. They’re practically opposites afterall

- Angel making any sort of comment about the future that involves Ren- be it in the next day, week or month, he’d be over the moon. You want to keep them around for that long, that you’re already planning it? Thinking about it? Including him in your daily life and schedule? It’d only further his belief that you are an angel

- Rens mumbling coming from the fact that he doesn’t socialize like at all, and is used to just saying things out loud to angel and talking to themselves. He mumbles and whispers things to himself a lot and i REALLY like that trait abt him, i do the exact same thing

- im sorry i wanna mention i really like his little angry face. Rens little furrowed brow and pout. It’s so perfect and he is NOT shy of using it every single time someone interrupts or even suggests taking angels attention. I pause and stare at them everytime he pulls that little “>:(“ face i adore it sm i love the art in this game.

- Already canon but this mans love for matching with Angel in any way is so fun. If you choose to dress in a “comfy” way they get all happy and like almost celebrate it. “Yes!! i knew you liked softer clothes! I was so right picking this outfit this will surely impress them and have their attention on me!”, in the same breath, if you choose to dress “alternatively”, Ren thinks you look very pretty but then they’re a little pouty that angel’s not matching with him, he specifically chose this outfit for angel and didn’t think they’d be wrong since he knows angel so well

holy god i did NOT just write that much… it just turned into rambling oops. i needa replay again and write more haha here i go

rlly hope i’m not just like horribly wrong about everything lol i CANNOT survive a “he would not fucking say that !!!”

thank you sai for creating Ren and showing him to the world with the rest o’ the crew. They are all so very dear to me 💗

[lemonlover1110]

𝐂𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐒

Aki Hayakawa

Pairing: Aki Hayakawa x f!Reader

Summary: The man who revises your paper is straight out of your sex dream. You'll let him do almost anything for him- Except smoke inside your room when he so desperately needs it. But he finds an alternative for his cigarette. And afterwards he can't stop thinking about you.

Warnings: MDNI, Alternate Universe, Smut, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex (m. and f. receiving), Spitting, Public Sex, Creampie, Aki has tattoos and is hot (as always)

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

“Okay… The essay is good, it just needs a few changes.” Aki says, leaning down as he reads the paper in his hand. He’s focused on helping you, and you’re focused on him. Arms and neck filled with tattoos. Both ears pierced. Hair up in a knot. You’ve never seen him around, if you had, you would’ve remembered. And now you’re wondering how you’ve never seen him before. You’re too focused on his face and not at the fact that he’s pointing at the pen in your hand. You’re brought back to reality when he clears his throat, “May I?”

“Oh, yes. Sorry.” You awkwardly chuckle, giving him your pen. He begins to circle and underline the areas that you need to work on, and you feel your cheeks get warm. You’re embarrassed but you don’t know if it’s because he caught you staring mindlessly at him, or the fact that your paper has so many mistakes.

Your roommate, Himeno, suggested that you go to the library so they could check your paper. You find yourself understanding the content, but when it comes to writing an essay in any class, you always get a mediocre grade. Himeno said that one of her friends is helping out, you never asked who it was, and you obviously didn’t bother looking for them. You saw Aki available and went up to him immediately. He luckily could help with the subject you needed help in.

“You have all the right ideas, they’re just disorganized.” He adds, which you don’t know if it makes you feel better or worse about yourself. You know the material, you just don’t know how to properly word it. He takes a seat beside you, all his attention on the paper. Your eyes shift from his focused face to the paper in his hands. He’s nitpicking any minor mistake in your writing. It almost hurts your feelings, even though you know he’s trying to help you.

You came here because you needed help, and he’s giving it to you. Although your mind wanders off, as you watch him move his lips. He’s explaining what you need to fix so your paper receives an adequate grade, yet your brain doesn’t comprehend anything. You’re nodding, acting as if you’re understanding a word he says. Your eyes are staring at the peek of the dragon tattoo that he has on his neck, and you notice that it starts on his arm. Although he has many other tattoos on his arms

“Do you understand?” He asks, which brings you back to reality. You try to smile, trying to hide the fact that you don’t understand and that you were zoning out because he is, in fact, fucking hot.

“I do, thank you, Hayakawa.” You end up responding. He gives you your paper back, and you stuff it back in your bag before standing up.

When you’re back in your apartment, you lock yourself in your room to finish up homework for other classes. You’re thinking of the man that helped you with the best of his ability, while fixing up the essay. You type away on your computer, making the near perfect essay. You come to a stop on the third paragraph to look back at the paper and reread the suggestion he made. 

His handwriting looks neat yet sloppy at the same time, and the way certain letters are written makes you chuckle because who writes them like that? You like his handwriting though. Way better than the majority of guys. 

You focus back on your computer to type out the rest of your essay, but instead of typing more, you open a new tab. And instead of searching up resources to help with your writing, you type in Aki Hayakawa and look to find any social media he has. You find his Instagram and click on it, only to find out it’s private. You squint your eyes to look at the profile picture, but his face is covered by a camera. He seems to be into photography, at least that’s what you can tell from the picture.

He probably has an alternate account for his photos, but you’re really not in the mood to look at pictures of flowers or random insects/animals that you can find in your backyard. You go back to the previous page and also find a Twitter account. A smirk comes onto your lips as you think at what you can possibly find on that page. 

You click on his Twitter and immediately go to the media. You don’t really care too much to read about his thoughts; you don’t want to lose interest because of one unfunny tweet. You grin when you find his face in many pictures, as well as some other photographs that you don’t really care about too much. You come across one particular picture that makes you stop scrolling completely. 

It’s him and your roommate. Himeno’s arms wrapped around him as she smiles at the camera. Aki smiles as well, not as bright as Himeno though. You realize that Aki is the friend that Himeno was telling you about. You sigh as you click out of the picture. You remember her saying,

“He’s so hot, God, I’d do almost anything to be with him.”

You close the tab and go back to your essay, and when you're completely concentrated on the task in front of you, there’s a knock on your door. You puff out a breath before you stand up from your chair and walk to your door. You open the door to find your roommate with a bright smile on her face, a beer in her hand.

“My friend is coming over, come join us.” She suggests. You’re about to shake your head since you don’t have too much time to finish your essay but then it hits you, 

“Is this your same friend that tutors?” You ask, and she hums in response. She doesn’t know that you know him since you never asked for his name. Before she could tell you anything about him, you left. 

“I promise he’s fun! Well… After a couple of drinks. He acts mature and all that but he loosens up.” She tells you. You don’t understand why she’s insistent, but you end up nodding slowly.

“Alright, I’ll join you.” You answer.

“Yay! He’ll be here in a few minutes. Let me get changed.” She responds before walking away, and you decide to do the same. But you decide you’ll wear something different. Maybe something that shows a bit more skin, but not too much. You don’t want Himeno to notice and come to the conclusion you’re trying to impress her friend. You are, but you don’t want her to notice.

Right when you finish changing, there’s a knock on the front door. You walk out of the room and go to the front door, since Himeno is apparently still changing. You open the door, and just as you expected, there’s Aki.

“Oh, hey.” He greets you and says your name. He raises a brow before asking, “Is Himeno your roommate?”

“Yeah. She’s in her room, she’ll come out soon enough.” You inform him and he nods in response. You move out of the way so he can enter the apartment, and when he does, he walks to the couch. He takes a seat and makes himself comfortable. “Would you like a beer?”

“It’s fine. I can get it.” Aki answers and you go to the couch to sit down as well. You put some distance between the two of you so you don’t make him uncomfortable. This awkward silence fills up the room until Himeno walks back and joins you. 

She changed. She changed from a black tank top and sweatpants to a tight white tank top and shorts. You really aren’t surprised. She smiles at Aki, greeting him with a melodious, “Hey~”

You can tell she’s had one too many beers already. She seemed fine when she knocked on your door, but you obviously misjudged her. She takes a seat between the two of you, closer to Aki. Way closer. So much so that she’s almost invading his personal space. Aki isn’t sure what to do with his personal space being invaded, so he tries to scoot away, but he can’t since he’s at the end of the couch.

“Don’t you want to start watching that movie?” Aki asks, hoping that it’ll make Himeno stand up, and give him the chance to reclaim the room that was taken from him. When you hear the word “movie” one thing comes to mind, and it’s nothing pure. You’re not even sure if Himeno meant to invite you– Unless Aki was the one who suggested that they’d watch a “movie”.

“Why don’t you go grab a drink first?” Himeno suggests, the alcohol in her breath blowing into Aki’s face. Her arms wrap around him, and he’s trying his best to distance himself. This is why he tries not to come around at night. She has one too many drinks and gets touchy.

“I actually have to finish some assignments.” You say, standing up from the couch and beginning to walk to your room. You hear a groan from Himeno, but she doesn’t say anything to stop you. Now that Aki is here, she’s changed her mind about having you join them, so she isn’t exactly too mad about the fact that you’ll choose to lock yourself up in your room.

“Uh… Actually, I think I should go with her. I explained everything to her but she seemed to be needing some more help.” Aki tells Himeno, making her let go. He’s clearly uncomfortable, but he doesn’t have the courage to voice it. It makes the woman pout and cross her arms, and Aki says, “Go drink some water and look for a movie you want to watch. I’ll make it quick.”

He follows you to your room, uninvited, and neither of you know what to say when he closes the door behind you. You take a seat at your desk and decide to focus on your homework while he waits it out.

“Sorry…” He begins, and you hum in response. You don’t care all that much about it. He stands around awkwardly, not wanting to take a seat on your bed without asking. “I didn’t expect her to be already tipsy, and she tends to be touchy.”

“Oh yeah, I get that.” You respond. “You can sit down.”

“Okay…” He responds, but instead of actually taking a seat, he walks over to you to check what’s on your computer. He finds the paper that he revised on your desk as well, so he knows you’re still working on the paper he helped you with at the library. “Do you need me to revise that again?”

“I think it’s fine.” You answer. You don’t have all that much energy left to check the paper another time and make more revisions before turning it in. You end up turning off your laptop, deciding to take advantage of the moment. You might never have him in your room again, so you might as well talk to him. “When are you going back?”

“In a few minutes. When she’s had some water and time to be more level-headed.” He replies. He takes a seat on your bed and pulls out his phone. “If not, I’ll just leave.”

“I definitely don’t think that she’ll grab water like you suggested.” You tell him as you stand up and sit down on the bed. He still wants to wait a couple minutes before deciding to leave. “How did you two meet, anyway?”

“Hmm… I think it was around campus or something. She came up to me and we hit it off.” Aki recalls, although he can’t remember it all too well. “She’s three years older than me– I think.”

“Yeah… She’s taken a while to get her degree. But hopefully next year she’ll make it!” You share, and he nods in response. You aren’t sure what you two can talk about other than Himeno, until you look at his arms, “You have a lot of tattoos. That’s cool.”

“You think so?” He responds, and you nod in response. “Himeno was actually the one who pushed me to get a tattoo. It was a small one on my thigh but then I just couldn’t stop getting more and more.”

“I’ve been thinking of getting one myself, which one was the least painful for you?” You ask, and he takes a moment to think about it. He has so many… 

“Forearm is not so bad, also outer thigh is okay.” He informs you. “Neck was very painful, don’t do that. “Butt is okay. At least from what I’ve heard.”

“From what you heard?” You chuckle, and he ends up laughing as well. “Are you sure you don’t have a tattoo on your butt?”

“Maybe once upon a time I went out to drink with Himeno and we got too drunk…” He explains. You begin to wonder for how long exactly they’ve known each other. He shares a couple more things with you– How his ears piercings was also something Himeno forced him to do, that he’s lucky she didn’t force him to pierce his nose and also get a lip ring. They’ve known each other for around four years. Aki is graduating this term, and works part time as a barista. He tells you so much about himself. 

There’s a knock on the door, interrupting the conversation that you and Aki withhold. Himeno’s speech is slightly slurred as she says, “Aki, how much time– Do you have left? Is her paper not ready?”

“Oh she’s definitely opened a few more cans of beer.” You comment, and Aki hums, a bit disappointed. 

“I need a fucking cigarette.” He rolls his eyes. “What options do I have?”

“Sneak out the window– Which I don’t recommend since this is a second floor. Or wait till she passes out and leave. Unless you want to make up an emergency.” You tell him and he subconsciously begins to bounce his leg, looking around the place to decide what he wants to do.

“Can I smoke in here?” He asks and you shake your head. As much as you’d want to let him do anything he wants, the last thing you need is your bedroom smelling like cigarettes. You’ve forced Himeno to smoke outside, even when it’s pouring out

“Sorry, I don’t really want my bedroom to stink.”

“What? Do I stink?” He questions. He’s never associated his addiction with a horrible smell. Sure, smoking outside is the formality so not everyone is clouded with the smoke. Maybe it has a strong smell– Well, it definitely reeks but he fucking needs to smoke.

“You don’t stink, but if you pull out a cigarette in my room then you will. And I will too.” You explain and he still sighs. He lays his back on the bed and stares at the ceiling for a second. 

“Will you suck me off?” He asks out of nowhere, and you feel the heat going to your cheeks as he says that. “I need something that’ll distract me from smoking, and that’ll certainly do the trick.”

“You know, Himeno would be willing to give you a hand if you asked.” You say, your hand going to his belt. Does he need a cigarette so badly or does he just want a blowjob? You don’t care to ask as your lips go down to peck his lips. When you pull away, he says, 

“I don’t want Himeno.” He responds. “She’s a nice friend but that’s all she’ll be.”

“Hmm…? Didn’t we just meet? You’re already talking about us being more than friends?” You begin as you unbutton his pants and pull them down. Your hand goes into his boxers and begin to feel his length, which is certainly impressive. Although you aren’t too surprised. “Will this actually help you?”

“I suggested it for a reason.” He responds, and you pull down his boxers. You run your thumb over his tip, spreading the pre-cum on his cock. You lower your head, your tongue circling around his tip. You met a couple hours ago, and here you are, starting a blowjob. This wouldn’t be your first one night stand though. You’ve fucked guys that you’ve known for a shorter time.

You lower your head completely, wrapping your mouth completely around his cock. You take in as much as you can, and you can hear him softly moan as you bob your head. Your hands stroke the parts of his cock that can’t fit in your mouth, while your other hand cups his balls.

“Fuck– That’s good.” He can’t help but moan as he feels your mouth wrapped around his dick. Maybe he was thinking of a similar scene in the library while looking over your paper. And now he feels your tongue gliding on his shaft. 

You take his cock out of your mouth, your hand stroking his cock while your mouth goes down to suck on his balls. He shuts his eyes and bites his bottom lip as he feels your mouth. God, he has to remember that Himeno is right outside so he can’t let her hear what’s going on inside your room. That he isn’t in fact helping you with your assignment. 

Your tongue licks from the base of his cock back to the tip. Your mouth wraps around his cock again, doing the same thing as before. While it feels great for Aki, he still says, “Baby, can you take it all in your mouth? It’ll be so good”

The pet name “baby” makes your panties wet. All the heat immediately goes to your cunt, but you focus on Aki and making him come. Using your mouth for his pleasure. 

You feel his hand on the back of your head, and he begins to push your head down on his cock. You begin to gag on his cock, and the sound is better than any melody for him. And the best part of all is that it feels so good for him. Even better than before. He could come at any moment.

Too engrossed in what you’re doing, any noise from outside is canceled out by Aki’s moans and your gagging. Until the door strikes open, and a drunk Himeno walks into the room, looking for Aki. You raise your head, taking his cock out of your mouth. You’re wide-eyed while the man can’t help but be annoyed by the fact that he was so close to finishing, and he was interrupted.

Himeno is trying to process the scene in front of her, asking, “What’s going on here?”

“A- Aki needed a cigarette.” You stutter.

“She won’t remember any of this in the morning. There’s no need for an explanation.” Aki assures you. He pulls his boxers back up and begins to fix himself. “I have to go. I’m gonna smoke a cigarette.”

Just as Aki said, Himeno remembered nothing the next morning. Yet, you decided that you’ll keep your distance because Himeno clearly likes him, and getting with him is sort of a betrayal to her. It’s easy to avoid him, mainly because you’ve never bumped into him before. You avoid the library, and he doesn’t come over to hang out with Himeno often.

Nearly a month after everything, you find yourself back in the library, ready to check another paper. The paper Aki checked got a near perfect score, and while you’re trying to avoid him, you value your grades more than anything. Your eyes meet when you step into the place.

You’ll look for someone else because you doubt either of you will feel too comfortable around each other, especially after a month of not talking. Or maybe that’s just you because Aki begins to walk towards you.

“Hey.” He says when he’s in front of you. You smile at him, avoiding eye contact. “Do you need help on another paper?”

“Uh… Yeah.” You nod, looking around to find another person that’s not Aki, to check the paper you need help with.

“I can check it for you.” He states, noticing that you’re looking for someone else. He left someone on their own to come up to you. He hopes at the very least you’ll take his help so he doesn’t look like a jerk.

“Sure… But aren’t you busy?” You question and he shakes his head. You noticed he was with someone else, but he decided to walk up to you. “I don’t want to–”

“It’s fine, they were just leaving.” He responds, and you end up sighing. He furrows his brows at your reaction and just when he’s about to ask what’s wrong, you end up saying,

“You know Himeno likes you, so I think it’s best if we–” You begin but he cuts you off.

“I’m helping you with your essay, I’m sure Himeno won’t get mad with that.” Aki answers, and you end up sighing again. He’s not wrong, but the reason you don't want his help is because you aren’t sure if you’ll behave around each other. 

You end up going with him to take a seat. You pull out the paper and hand it to him so he can look it over. And he takes it as he takes a seat beside you. Unlike the first time, you don’t gawk at him. You stare elsewhere, somewhere that he isn’t in your vision.

You feel him pat your thigh, and the heat goes to your cheeks immediately. “Do you have a pen?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” You respond, reaching into your bag to pull out a pen. You give it to him, and once again stare off into space, until his hand goes back to your thigh. But this time he isn’t patting to ask you for something. He takes advantage of the fact that you’re wearing a skirt. 

He caresses your thigh, all while his focus is on the paper in front of him. You don’t understand how he suddenly got so comfortable with you to do this, but at the same time you really don’t care that much. Except when his hand goes to your clothed cunt and he rubs lazy circles on your panties. No one will notice or know, yet you’re still freaking out. But you won’t push his hand away either.

“Same mistakes as the first time.” He comments, pushing your panties to the side. Two fingers run through your folds as he circles and underlines what needs to be fixed. He mutters, “You’re so wet, and I haven’t done anything.”

“Huh?” You question, your face burning up, the same heat that’s in between your legs. Yet one is of embarrassment and the other of arousal. 

“I said, last time clearly didn’t do anything. You made very similar mistakes.” He begins to circle your clit. You didn’t really expect a stunt like this from him of all people. But then again, you don’t know him well. You’ve stalked his social media after giving him a blowjob, but that’s about it. 

You wait for him to push two fingers in, but at the same time you’re not desperate for it because his fingers’ speed against your clit is just right. He moves his fingers perfectly. You bite your bottom lip, preventing a whimper from leaving your lips.

“Does it feel good, gorgeous?” He asks, glancing at you before his eyes go back to the paper in front of him. “Wouldn’t it feel good if I slipped a finger in? You’d have to ask me in a pretty little voice.”

“Please.” You whisper. You’re scared of being too loud and being heard, although half the library is empty.

“Can you be a tad bit louder? I can’t make out what you’re saying.” He says, and you end up shaking your head. The library is so quiet that you could hear a pin drop, and you’re scared that if you raise your voice just a bit more, that people will turn to see. The place isn’t too crowded. Just a couple of people cramming in for exams.

His fingers press against your entrance, but he doesn’t slip a finger in. He fixes your panties and stands up, “I need a cig. Check over what I wrote. I’ll be back in a second.”

You watch as he walks away, and you stuff your paper back in your bag. You stand up and begin to walk to the shelves. You begin to look for a book that you’ve been researching for a term paper. Instead of asking the librarian for help, you go to the very back of the place, looking for the book. 

You waste around ten minutes, before you spot it. Your arm goes out to grab it, but before your hand gets to it, someone else grabs it. You notice the tattoos on his hand and immediately figure out who it is. You turn around to look at him, and he’s so close that you’re pushed against the shelves.

“I thought I told you to make revisions and here you are…” He sounds a bit annoyed as he says this. His lips go down and he pecks your lips before he kneels down in front of you. He lifts up your skirt, and you press your thighs together.

“Right here?” You ask, tilting to the side for a moment to see if you find anybody. When you don’t, you stop squeezing your thighs. He pushes your panties to the side, once again, and forces you to spread your legs.

“You should really be checking your paper…” He tells you before his tongue licks up your cunt. He really couldn’t care less about your paper. He can say he was upset when he stepped back into the library and you weren’t there, waiting for him. He was going to tease you a bit more. But now he’s glad that you decided to come here because you taste great on his tongue.

He spits on your cunt before his lips attach around your clit. You throw your head back, making a couple of books fall over. The sound would sure catch a couple of people’s attention, but they’re all too focused on their own thing to care. You put a hand over your mouth to muffle any sounds from escaping your lips. 

Books knocking over aren't alarming, the sound of moaning sure is.

He detaches himself from your clit and licks down your folds to the entrance of your cunt. He teases it before he inserts his tongue inside of you, which makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. He moves it in and out of your cunt while his fingers begin to play with your clit.

“Fuck, that’s so good.” You whisper, your hips bucking. He’s looking up at you, watching your face as you try to contain your pleasure. He really wishes he could hear it, but he sure picked the wrong place to do this. Either way you wouldn’t make a sound in your apartment either because of your roommate.

You shut your eyes, feeling your climax get closer and closer. He takes his tongue out of your cunt and begins to flick your clit. The sweetest “Aki” leaves your lips while your thighs begin to squeeze around him. He swears this is heaven, and you’re the sweetest angel.

You keep your thighs squeezed around him while your orgasm takes over you. You hear Aki humming, loving the way you taste around him. A moan escapes your lips, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you come.

Aki continues flicking your clit for a couple more seconds, watching the beautiful face that you make as you orgasm. When a sigh escapes your lips when you come down from your high, he kisses your clit and gets off the ground. He grabs the back of your head and pulls your face in for a kiss. His tongue enters your mouth, pressing against your own. His tongue glides over yours while your hands go to the bulge that’s in his pants.

When he pulls away, a string of saliva connects your lips. You stare into his lust-filled eyes, and you watch him bite down his bottom lip as you feel the bulge in his pants. His thumb pushes down your bottom lip before he orders, “Open your mouth.”

You do as he says and he spits in your mouth. You swallow as your hands unbutton his pants. Your hands go inside his boxers and you begin to stroke his length. He says, “You want me to fuck you here, baby?”

“Hmm…” You hum in response. You pull down his pants, “You already ate me out, we might as well go all the way.”

“You’re right. I’ve been daydreaming about your cunt wrapped around my dick.” He says, stroking his cock a couple of times before he runs the tip through your folds, getting his cock wet with your slick. “And the craziest thing is that this is the third time we meet.”

“It’s the effect I have on people.” You chuckle, before he slowly pushes his cock inside of you. You whimper, feeling as his thick cock stretches you out. You both shut your eyes, taking everything in. He’s even bigger when he’s inside of you, at least that’s how he feels.

“Your pussy feels so good.” He whispers. Your cunt feels just like he imagined– No, even better. So nice and tight. The night he needed a cigarette, he shouldn’t have asked for a blowjob, instead he should’ve straight up asked you to fuck him. He actually would’ve finished.

When he bottoms out, he waits a moment, letting you adjust to his size. He begins to move slowly, looking at your face as you try your best to contain yourself. His bottom lip is between his teeth as he fucks you. One hand goes to the shelf behind you, causing a couple more books to tumble over.

You’re beginning to moan, and as much as he loves the sound, he can’t risk getting caught. One hand covers your mouth while his lips go to your ear, “You want us to get caught, naughty girl? You want everyone to come see you get caught?”

God, he just feels so good inside of you, it’s hard for you to keep it all in. His cock hits all the right spots. You could come alone with the way he moves in and out of you. Yet your hand still moves down to your clit to play with it.

Aki understands the way you feel because he’s trying his best to contain himself as well– In more ways than one, because he could come at any moment. He stops covering your mouth and his lips land on yours again. 

He feels your cunt clench around him, and he moans in your mouth. When he pulls away, his lips go to your ears again, “Love your tight little pussy. I could die in it, and I’d die a happy man.”

His cock picks up speed with every thrust. His hand is back on your mouth, muffling the sounds that get louder and louder with every thrust. You reach your climax, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as your legs spasm.

“So fucking good. I need to come inside your pussy.” He mutters. After a few more thrusts, you feel as his warm cum fills up your cunt. He keeps his cock inside you for a minute. He takes it out and fixes your panties. He pecks your lips one more time, as he fixes himself up. 

“Go fix your paper, and if I like it enough, I’ll give you another reward.”

🏷 @witchofoe @cactustattoo @dearsunaa @mykyoon @tojidilfs @b3ast1706 @crispmarshmallow @matchabluebeiry-for-nanami @nobody289x @nothisispatrick300 @tojianddabisslut @katsuwhore @septembersums @thisbicc @rumi-rants @chloee0x0 @dakumarauder @lovemarvel16 @lilithlunas @sarcasticallydrowning