#tonight is an All Thoughts Head Full but also empty night it seems

[bcneheaded]

artemis + inebriation spell from a disatisfied powerful entity that was unable to HARM artemis due to his Non Violence charm he has on his shop (safe point like in games jgjfgdf) but resorted to something just inconvenient and probably would sully his reputation ever so slightly.... petty karen entities be like anyway your muse coming to the shop ... wondering why its closed so early (... the word early is relative esp because his shop is almost ALWAYS open--) so they go in and end up essentially taking care of this millennia old demon under a drunken spell

[unstable-samurai]

Passenger

Nana x Male Reader

word count: 7.8k

A/n: special smut to celebrate Nana's birthday 🥳

You're sitting at the counter, glass half-empty. The bar lights are dim, casting a warm amber hue that makes the place seem imperfect, but in a comforting way. Most nights, someone else serves you, someone who never asks your name, and you never feel the need to say it.

But tonight, that person isn’t here. Instead, there’s Nana.

You’ve noticed Nana before. How could you not? She stands out like a wildfire in the middle of a forest. She has that kind of beauty that’s almost aggressive, as if every detail was designed to challenge the idea that perfect people don’t exist. Her hair is long, black like the night outside, and her body... Her body is like a work of art, covered in tattoos you try not to stare at for too long, but they demand attention. Her curves, her intense eyes. She moves like she doesn't care about the world, but you notice her every move, and although you haven't realized it yet, she also notices you.

Tonight, she's the one who walks up to you. When she stops in front of you, you can’t hide your surprise.

"Another one?" she asks. Her voice is slightly deep, velvety.

You nod, trying not to seem nervous, but you know you are failing.

"You come here every night," she says as she fills your glass. "But I never serve you."

"Yeah. It’s always that bearded guy," you reply, forcing a smile. Your voice feels smaller than it should.

"What brings you here every day?"

"I like the atmosphere."

"It’s not the best place to be every night, you know."

You let out a sigh.

"Still, you work here every night."

She raises an eyebrow.

"And that’s exactly why I know it’s not a good place for you. By the way, my name is Nana."

You grip your glass tightly, as if it’s the only anchor keeping you there. You do the formalities, say it's a pleasure to meet her and also give her your name, then continue: "Well, I’m new in town," you end up saying, not sure why you’re opening up to her. "I don’t know many people yet."

She pauses for a second, as if studying you. Something in her eyes changes. She doesn’t say anything, but the way her lips curve suggests she’s interested.

"New in town... and you’ve already chosen this hole of a bar to spend your time?" she teases, with a half-smile.

You laugh, a short, nervous laugh. "It’s what’s available."

She leans in a bit, resting on the counter. "And what are you looking for here? Besides cheap beer?"

You think about the answer. You don’t have one. Or maybe you do. Or maybe you really don’t.

"I don’t know," you reply.

She smiles. A smile that says she understands what you’re going through.

—

The bar is almost empty now, just you, Nana, and a few lost souls at distant tables. The conversation flows easily, slipping through words like the drink she keeps serving you. You feel a lightness in your shoulders that wasn’t there when you walked in, as if the weight of the day had melted away, dripping to the floor along with the drops of beer.

"I get off at midnight," she says, casually, as she dries a glass with a cloth. "What do you think about going for a drive with me?"

You almost choke. "Are you serious?"

She looks over the rim of the glass, one eyebrow raised, a small smile on her lips. "Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?"

You glance around, as if expecting someone to wake you from a prank. "I thought... I don’t know, it was just bar talk."

"Bar talk is usually full of crap, I know," she says, pushing the glass aside. "But I’m not the type to say things just to say them. When I need to clear my head, I go for a drive."

Now you’re more intrigued. "A drive?"

She leans on the counter, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. As if there were nothing strange about a bartender inviting a guy she barely knows to go out at night. "I have a hobby," she says, without rush. "I like to restore old cars."

"Old cars?" That catches you off guard. You didn’t expect that. Of all the things she could have said, that was the last.

She points her thumb outside, toward the street. "The Impala out there. It’s mine."

Your eyes follow her finger, and you see the car parked outside. A black Impala, classic, gleaming under the faint streetlights. You’ve seen it plenty of times, but you never imagined it was hers.

"You’re kidding," you say, with a half-smile. "I see it there all the time, but I didn’t know it was yours. It’s beautiful."

She smiles, a smile that feels more personal now, as if you’ve hit something you didn’t know you were aiming for. "I restored it myself," she says, with contained pride. "Took a few good years, but there it is, ready to take me wherever I want."

You can’t hide your admiration. She’s different. Very different. The kind of person who seems to have lived a hundred lives while you’re still trying to figure out your first. And she seems to enjoy keeping you off balance.

"You... seem like a one-of-a-kind girl," you blurt out, without much thought, and realize how foolish it sounds once it’s said aloud.

"I could say the same about you," she replies, with a wink.

You feel a little out of place now. She has this confidence, this raw energy that you’ve never had. And you, the opposite of everything Nana seems to represent, never imagined attracting someone like her. But, for some reason, here she is, inviting you out, asking you to get into her car, to see her world.

"So," she says, suddenly serious. "Are you coming or not?"

Your mind is still processing everything, but before you can overthink it, you respond. "I’m in."

"Then you’ll be my passenger for the night," she says, grabbing her car keys from her pocket and twirling them on her finger. She leans closer, the distance between you shrinking until you can smell her. "I’m gonna take you to places you’ve never been before," she murmurs, and the way she says it makes it feel like those places aren’t just physical.

—

You’re standing outside, arms crossed against the chill of the night that seems to grow colder by the hour. The bar has finally closed, and now you can hear the muffled voices inside, the last of the staff finishing up. The black Impala is parked in front of you, gleaming under the streetlight. You wait, anxious, unsure of what to expect.

The door to the bar opens, and she appears. Nana. This time, without the counter between you. You notice now, in a much more intense way, how her body fills the space. She’s all soft lines and yet strong, tattoos tracing her arms that you imagine extend to places you haven’t seen yet.

She pauses for a second, noticing your gaze, and smiles with a bit of amusement. "Like my tank top?" she asks casually, turning slightly as if wanting you to get a better look. "I think it fits just right, don’t you?"

You swallow hard, and suddenly, your words seem to have evaporated. "Yeah... it looks great on you."

She lets out a low laugh, tilting her head as she slips on her leather jacket. "You’re not very good at hiding things, are you?"

Before you can respond, she opens the car door and motions for you to get in. You walk to the other side, feeling the ground unsteady beneath your feet. When you settle into the passenger seat, the smell of the leather upholstery mixes with her perfume, something intoxicating.

She starts the car, the engine purring low, deep, like a beast waking up. Nana leans slightly toward you, offering a cigarette. "Want one?"

You hesitate for a second, but... why not? "Sure."

She lights your cigarette first, then hers. The car still parked, both of you smoking in silence. You cough twice before getting the hang of it. The smoke mingles with the cold air seeping through the slightly cracked window. She seems content with the moment, like the entire scene is unfolding exactly as she had planned.

"Where are we going?" you ask.

She takes a long drag from the cigarette before answering, blowing the smoke out the side of her mouth. "I was thinking we could head to the coast. There’s a cliff along the road where you can see the sea, the bridge, and the lighthouse... it’s beautiful at night." Before you can respond, she continues, turning her face toward you with that mischievous smile that seems to be her signature. "But honestly? The destination doesn’t matter much. What matters is the ride." She looks at you for a second longer. "The company."

The way she says that — the way her eyes linger on yours — makes you feel like, yes, you will understand.

“I’m in your hands,” you say.

—

The Impala rumbles softly as she finally parks on the shoulder near the cliff. The road seems deserted now, wrapped in darkness, except for the thin line of streetlights stretching ahead. You step out of the car, the night air cooler here, damper, with the salty scent of the sea rising up to meet you. Nana gets out on her side, slamming the car door and pulling the zipper of her leather jacket up to her chin. She glances at you for a moment, her eyes gleaming, as if analyzing your reaction.

“This way,” she says, her phone's flashlight on, pointing to a trail that winds down a small hill, overgrown with weeds. “Watch your step here. It gets slippery.”

You descend slowly, each step sinking slightly into the loose soil. The wind is stronger here, whipping through the leaves and Nana’s hair, which she pushes back carelessly. You follow close behind, focusing on each movement, trying to appear confident but feeling the vulnerability of walking along a dark trail leading to a cliff.

Finally, you reach the cliff’s edge. The view is breathtaking—the suspension bridge stretching across the gap, the sea below churning under the distant light of a lighthouse. Lights flicker in the distance, and for a moment, it feels like the whole world is just this scene, this moment.

“Wow,” you murmur, taking it all in. “I’ve never seen the bridge from this angle... but I’ve seen pictures of people here.”

“Some braver tourists come here,” she says. “I think it makes them feel alive.”

She turns to you, a mischievous smile on her lips. “Want to take a picture too? To mark the moment.”

You laugh nervously but agree. “Sure… why not?”

Nana raises her phone, positioning you against the dramatic backdrop. “Stand there, try to look... introspective.”

You awkwardly pose, crossing your arms and gazing at the horizon. She snaps the picture and looks at the result, chuckling softly. “Came out great. I’ll send it to you later.”

She shows you the picture, and yeah, it really is great.

She leans against a rock, lighting a cigarette and offering you one. You take it, inhale slowly, the bitter taste blending with the night. Silence hangs for a while, until she breaks the tension with a question.

“So… how’s life treating you?” Her voice is soft, but there’s something more behind it, a genuine curiosity, like she really wants to understand.

You hesitate, thinking about how to answer. “I’m not sure if I’m doing it right, to be honest.”

She laughs quietly, but not mockingly. It’s more a sound of recognition, like she’s heard that many times before.

“Knew you’d say something like that,” she replies, blowing smoke to the side. “Most people aren’t sure. Everyone pretends they know what they’re doing, but really, we’re all just fumbling in the dark.”

You look at her, waiting for more. She seems to be building up to something bigger.

“See… the problem is, we’ve been taught to measure happiness the wrong way,” she says, her tone turning more serious now. “They made us believe that happiness is about having things. Buying a new car, getting a promotion, finding the perfect partner. And all that’s just temporary bullshit. When you get it, it’s great. It lasts for a while. And then?”

She pauses, as if giving you time to process. “Then you need something else. Another goal, another prize. Happiness has become this trophy we’re always chasing. But no one tells you the race never ends. It’s like working on a treadmill.”

“You think we shouldn’t chase those things?” you ask, trying to grasp where she’s headed.

She looks at you with an intensity that catches you off guard. “It’s not that we shouldn’t chase them. It’s that we should stop measuring our lives by them. What really matters is right now. We spend so much time trying to build a perfect future that we forget the present.”

She exhales slowly, as if each word comes from some deep, lived truth. “What happens when you reach all those goals and still feel empty? Modern culture, capitalism, they sell you this idea that you’re incomplete until you have everything. But no one tells you that ‘everything’ doesn’t exist.”

You stay silent for a moment, considering. It feels like she’s saying something that’s been lurking in the back of your mind, unspoken.

“So, what should we do? Just give up on all that?”

Nana gives a sly smile, like she’s been expecting the question. “It’s not about giving up. It’s about redefining what ‘everything’ means. For me, it’s this. The journey. The company. Not the destination. What you do now, in the moment, with the people you’re with... that’s what matters. Happiness is in what you do along the way, not what you achieve at the end.”

She flicks the cigarette to the ground, crushing the tip under her boot. “Once you start living in the present, you stop worrying so much about achieving the future. Because, one way or another, the future comes. And most people don’t even know what to do with it when it arrives.”

You stand there, staring out at the horizon, feeling the weight of her words. It’s a philosophy that challenges everything you’ve been trying to do since moving to this new city, trying to fit in, trying to find your path.

“So, what now?” you ask, more to yourself than to her.

She smiles, looking at you in a way that makes the air around you feel heavier. “Now? Now you finish that cigarette, enjoy the view, and stop worrying so much about what comes next.”

—

On the way back to the car, Nana stops suddenly, spinning on her heels with a provocative gleam in her eyes. “Get in the backseat,” she says, her voice soft but with an authority that leaves no room for questioning.

“Why?” you ask, unsure of her intent.

She smirks. “Just do what I’m asking.”

You hesitate for a second, but curiosity—and something else—wins out. You open the back door and slide onto the seat. You barely have time to adjust before Nana climbs in after you, straddling your lap without hesitation. The warmth of her body against yours is immediate, electric.

“You’ve been waiting for this all night, haven’t you?” Her question comes as a whisper in your ear, her lips barely brushing against the skin of your neck.

Before you can respond, she kisses you, and everything becomes a blur of lips and skin, your heart pounding in your chest. Her hands move down your body while yours trace the curves of hers, feeling every inch.

“You’re so hot,” you blurt out, unable to hold back.

She laughs, a low, confident sound. “I know,” she replies, her lips barely leaving yours.

Her movements grow bolder, her body pressing into yours, her hips grinding provocatively against you, making you even harder beneath her. She notices. “I drive you crazy, don’t I?”

All you can do is nod.

“I’m going to take the lead tonight,” she says, sliding down without breaking eye contact.

“Lead on,” you answer, giving in completely.

She kneels in the cramped space of the backseat, shrugs off her jacket for more comfort, and tosses it to the front seat. Then, with swift efficiency, Nana unbuttons your pants, pulling them down along with your boxers in one fluid motion. Your hard cock is now exposed, throbbing under the dim light of the car.

She wraps a hand around it, pausing for a moment as if admiring her work. “Mmm, big and thick,” she comments like she’s appreciating a piece of art. She leans down, placing a soft kiss on the tip, running her tongue slowly along it, teasing. “Relax,” she whispers, her eyes never leaving yours, “because now, I’m taking you to the edge.”

She starts slowly, teasing. The tip of her tongue circles the head as if testing your limits. “Did you expect to get a blowjob tonight?” She smiles but doesn’t wait for an answer. “I’ll show you what it’s really like.”

Her tongue trails from the base of your cock, moving upwards agonizingly slowly, every movement deliberate. One hand grips you at the perfect spot, squeezing just enough to make you pulse, while the other fondles your balls, alternating between pleasure and pain in a rhythm that makes your mind spin.

You groan, the sounds escaping uncontrollably. “Fuck, Nana…” is all you can manage.

She pauses for a second, holding your cock against her face, rubbing it against her cheek. “This is what you’ve wanted from the start, isn’t it?” Her tone is a mix of teasing and command. “Seeing me down here, driving you crazy.”

Before you can answer, she takes you fully into her mouth, without warning, without preparation. Her hot mouth envelops every inch, the pressure perfect. She goes deep, as far as she can, not giving you a chance to breathe. You try to say something, but the sensation is too much.

She begins to move, her lips sliding up and down, with force and precision. “I want you to look at me,” she says, pulling you out of her mouth for a moment, her eyes locked on yours. “Watch what I’m doing.”

You obey, breathless, heart pounding in your chest.

She returns, this time more intense, sucking hard, obscene sounds filling the confined space of the car. Saliva drips down your cock, her hands working in sync, squeezing the base, each movement pulling you closer to the edge. She changes the pace again, speeding up, then slowing down, torturing you, keeping you on the brink of orgasm but not letting you go.

“You’ll only cum when I say so,” she declares, her mouth still around you, the words muffled but the command clear. “Understood?”

You can only nod, completely at her mercy. Every movement feels designed to extract the maximum amount of pleasure. Her hand is now firm on your balls, squeezing with precise control, while the other continues to guide the rhythm at the base of your cock. She speeds up again, sucking with a fervor that makes your vision blur.

“Fuck, Nana, I... I can’t anymore,” you moan, your whole body burning, muscles tense, pressure building.

“Not yet! Only when I allow it.”

Nana grips you harder now, almost brutally, her eyes locked on yours as she intensifies every movement. Her rhythm is relentless, no pauses, no mercy. Her hand squeezes the base of your cock as if she wants to wring every drop of pleasure from you. She knows what she’s doing, pushing you to the limit, not letting you breathe, not allowing you any control over what’s happening.

“Go on, I want to feel you lose control,” she whispers, her voice muffled as your cock slides deep into her mouth. The wet, filthy sound of each suck echoes through the car, mingling with your moans, now hoarser, more desperate. Her hand on your balls squeezes perfectly, making your vision darken at the edges.

She speeds up, her hot mouth sucking harder, her tongue swirling around the tip, teasing and pressing in all the right ways. Her other hand keeps your cock steady, controlling every inch that enters and leaves her mouth. You try to hold on, but she’s in command and won’t stop until she breaks you.

“You’re going to cum for me, aren’t you?” she says, her mouth still wrapped around you, each word making your cock throb more, pushing you closer to the edge. “I want you to cum now. In my mouth. I want to taste it.”

Your legs tremble, your whole body tense. The heat inside you grows, the pressure building until it feels impossible to hold on for another second. The control you tried to maintain disintegrates when Nana increases the intensity again, sucking with a force that makes you let out a deep moan.

“Nana, I’m going to...,” you can barely form the words, your entire body ready to explode.

“That’s right. Now you can,” she murmurs. Nana takes you all the way in, her throat tightening around your cock, and that sends you straight over the edge. Her hand grips your base firmly as she keeps sucking, drawing out every second of your orgasm. You have no choice anymore, your body gives in, and you feel the first wave of pleasure rip through you, your cock throbbing violently in her mouth.

You cum hard, your body shaking with intensity, muscles clenched as your cum explodes into her mouth. She doesn’t pull back, doesn’t hesitate. She keeps you deep, her mouth sealed, sucking every last drop, feeling every pulse. You feel the warmth of your own cum fill her mouth, and she doesn’t stop, still sucking, wanting more from you. She makes sure you give it all, every drop.

“That’s it... good boy,” she whispers between licks, her voice warm and husky, as the last spurt escapes, your body still trembling, exhausted.

She slowly pulls your cock out of her mouth, her lips sliding along the length in the process. Her eyes never leave you, dominant, satisfied.

“I told you I’d take you to the edge,” she says teasingly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, your taste still on her lips.

You’re buttoning up your pants, trying to process what just happened. Your mind is a whirlwind—everything feels surreal, like you’re watching from the outside. Nana is there, still with that lazy smile on her lips, as if she’d just done something casual, something she does with anyone. But you know that’s not true, she saw something in you. Though you’re not sure what.

“How do you feel?” Her question pulls you back to the car, to the moment.

You chuckle softly, a little incredulous. “Good... Too good, actually,” you answer, letting out a breath in a sigh that tries to release the tension.

“Great,” she says, reaching over the driver's seat to grab her jacket back. “That was the plan. And we’re just getting started.”

You look at her, confused. “Wait, there’s more?”

She laughs, tossing her hair back before sliding into the driver's seat. “Of course there’s more. I haven’t even had my turn yet.” She turns the key in the ignition, and the Impala roars to life like a beast awakening.

You join her in the front seat, grabbing another cigarette from the pack on the dashboard without thinking too much. The silence between you is comfortable now, almost conspiratorial. Nana glances at you from the corner of her eye, approving. “Light one for me too,” she says.

You obey, lighting both cigarettes and handing one to her. The smell of tobacco fills the car as the Impala rolls down the streets of the sleeping city. The engine hums, blending with the sound of tires on asphalt, a buzz that cradles the adrenaline.

Nana takes a long drag and exhales the smoke slowly, her eyes fixed on the road. “Ever gotten a blowjob in a car before?” The question comes casually.

“No,” you admit.

She smirks. “And how did it feel?”

You think for a second, the words swirling in your mind, trying to find something that captures what just happened. “Indescribable... Especially coming from someone as gorgeous as you.”

She laughs, a low laugh, like she expected that kind of compliment. “Thanks,” she says, with a hint of sarcasm. She shifts gears and speeds up a little more.

“Where are we going now?” you ask, trying to understand what else she has planned for the night.

Nana shrugs. “I don’t know. But there’s a gun in the glovebox, we could go out and rob some places... like Bonnie and Clyde.”

“Too bad I’m a pacifist,” you joke, playing along.

She pouts mockingly, as if disappointed. “Of course you are... The best guys always are pacifists.” She winks, taking another drag before leaning in closer, the smoke mingling in the air between you. ��But maybe we’ll find another way to have fun, huh?”

—

The Impala roars down the empty road, slicing through the quiet of the early morning like a blade. The city lights flicker in and out of view, passing as yellow and red blurs, while Nana drives with one hand on the wheel and the other holding her cigarette. Each time she inhales, the glowing tip briefly lights up her face, showing the smile that never leaves her lips.

She’s been talking for minutes, maybe hours—you’ve lost track of time. Her words are like smoke, wrapping around you in a philosophical fog that seems endless. “Freedom,” she says, taking a deep drag and letting the smoke out slowly, “isn’t what everyone thinks. It’s not doing what you want, when you want. No. It’s knowing that you’re nothing, nobody gives you a purpose. You’re free to create your own.”

You watch the streets go by, the low buildings and traffic lights blinking green. “Sartre,” she continues, never taking her eyes off the road, “he had this view... that we’re all condemned to be free. Like, the freedom to have to make choices, to live with those choices. There’s no ‘fate,’ just the shit you choose to do.”

You nod, not saying much, but taking in every word.

“Real freedom is knowing that all of this,” she gestures widely with her hand, indicating the city around you, “is meaningless. You, me, everyone. And still choosing what to do with it.”

The Impala turns onto a larger avenue now, lit by an endless string of streetlights. “We live in this invisible cage, you know? Jobs, money, house, car. But none of it matters, because in the end... nothing matters.” She smiles sideways, as if she’s just told the most tragic and funniest joke in the world.

You stay silent, processing. You’re not sure if you agree, but something about the way she speaks, the intensity with which she lives, makes sense. It’s like she’s living everything with such urgency that you have no choice but to keep up with her pace. It’s terrifying and addictive at the same time.

Another turn and you pull into an alley, where a neon LED sign marks a convenience store. Nana slows down and parks the car. “Second-to-last stop,” she says, turning off the engine and turning to you. “Convenience store. Let’s buy something to celebrate this condemned freedom.”

You step out of the car with her, the cool night air hitting your skin. She pulls the zipper of her jacket up again. “Tell me something,” she says as you walk toward the store entrance, “if you could do anything right now, with no consequences… what would you do?”

The question lingers, heavy, as she opens the store door. You don’t know how to respond, but the truth is, ever since you got into that car, it feels like you’ve been living exactly that: a night without consequences, a blur of unexpected freedom.

She grabs a soda from the fridge and tosses it to you. “Cheap philosophy, right? I promise I’ll stop here. Wait for me outside. Don't worry, I'll pay for your soda and buy some things and be right back.”

—

You’re leaning against the car’s hood, soda can in hand, but not really drinking. Suddenly, the convenience store door opens, and there’s Nana, but now she's holding something. It’s not what you expected—no bottles of beer or another round of cigarettes. She’s carrying a cake. Nothing fancy, just a white cake with frosting. And as she approaches, you can read what’s written, a bit crooked, in pink and blue icing: “Happy Birthday.”

You’re confused. “Happy birthday to me,” she says with a smile that tries to be casual, but you can see a hint of something deeper there.

“Wait, is it your birthday?” The question escapes before you can process it.

Nana lets out a short, humorless laugh, as if amused by your surprise. “Yeah, it’s today.” She waves the cake in front of you, almost like presenting proof. “Surprise, I guess.”

You straighten up, the soda can dangling loosely from your fingers. “Damn, happy birthday!” You hug her, awkward but sincere. The cake almost squashes between you, but she laughs again, this time genuinely. When she pulls away, you're full of questions. “But why… why are you spending your birthday with a stranger instead of, I don’t know, your friends, family?”

She shrugs, her eyes drifting for a second before returning to yours. “I don’t think anyone’s awake now to celebrate with me. I’ve got the whole day ahead for that. Right now, it’s just… my time. I was going to do this alone, you know? But then, I saw you alone at the bar and thought… maybe it would be nice. Maybe we could keep each other company.” She makes it sound simple, and maybe it is.

You watch as she places the cake on the hood of the car, like it’s the most natural setting for a celebration. She opens the packaging of a plastic knife—the flimsy kind that could snap at any moment trying to cut through tougher frosting—and starts slicing the cake right there, no ceremony, no ritual. Just a girl and a cake in a convenience store parking lot.

“I’ve only known you for a few hours, but this is so… you,” you comment.

“Good. You can lose everything, except your essence.”

As you take your first bite, the sweetness fills your mouth, but it’s the bitterness of the early morning that still lingers in the air. You’re eating cake in the middle of a parking lot, yet somehow, it’s the most meaningful cake you’ve ever had. She’s eating too, her eyes fixed on the horizon where the city lights blend into the dark sky.

“Everything I’ve said tonight,” she begins softly, “was more about me than you. I’m getting older, and these dates always make me think… reflect on everything. The choices. What could’ve been different, what still can be. I guess I was just trying to reaffirm something to myself.”

You look at her, chewing slowly. There’s something vulnerable in that moment, something you hadn’t seen in her until now. “Nana, you’re doing great,” you say, your words feeling a bit silly, but somehow, they make sense. “Look at you—you’re killing it.”

She smiles, but there’s a melancholy curve to her lips. “Yeah, maybe. Who knows.” She sighs, not out of exhaustion—more like someone shedding a weight they've carried for too long. “I always get reflective on my birthday. Maybe I just need to stop overthinking.”

You smile back, and something inside you, a light sense of urgency, makes you promise, “I’ll get you a present later.”

“You’re already my present,” she says, and then, with a quick move, she swipes some frosting and gently spreads it over your lips.

Before you can react, she kisses you. It’s sweet and warm, the taste of frosting mixing with the heat of her lips. And for a moment, you think of nothing—not the cake, not the parking lot, not the wild world. Just her.

She pulls you a little closer, and for a second, you get lost in the rhythm of her breathing, in the way her chest rises and falls, pressed against you. Nana’s hair falls over her face, and you feel its softness brushing against your skin.

When she finally pulls away, just enough to look into your eyes, your lips are still wet from the kiss. She quickly licks her own, as if savoring the moment. “This night…” she begins, her voice low, almost a whisper. “It’s been really great.”

You try to say something, but your mind is still spinning from the kiss, so you just manage to say, “Thanks… for pulling me out of my comfort zone.”

“The night’s not over yet, we still have so much to explore, so much to feel. And if you think that was stepping out of your comfort zone… just wait.” She pauses, her eyes drifting to your lips before locking onto yours again. “There’s more where that came from.”

You chuckle, not because it’s funny, but because it’s all you can do. The weight of her words feels lighter now, the tension between you both like an electric current that keeps flowing, even when you’re not touching. Her taste still lingers on your lips.

“You have no idea how much I needed this,” you say, finally taking in a full breath, as if you’ve been holding it since the night began. “I didn’t know it, but… I needed it.”

She gives a small nod, as if she knew that all along. “I can feel the energy of the people around me. And when I saw you at that bar… you looked like you needed a different kind of night. Something… off the script. And now here we are.”

“Yeah… here we are.”

“But seriously,” she continues, her voice lower, almost confiding. “I wanted tonight to be good. And I’m glad you’re here with me. Truly.”

You run a hand through her hair, just a light touch, but it says everything. “I’m glad you chose me for this.”

“You were the best choice of the night. And now…” She glances around, as if looking for something, anything to pull you both back into the moment. “Let’s finish this cake before it melts on the hood.”

She scrapes a bit more frosting with her finger and brings it to her mouth, but before tasting it, she smears another dollop on your lips again, with a mischievous smile. “This time, I want you to kiss me.”

—

Nana drives in silence, the car gliding along the nearly empty road. The city lights fade behind you, and the cool night air begins to seep in through the slightly open window. You feel the freshness, the smell of asphalt and dew-covered grass. She doesn’t say much, just smiles occasionally, as if she knows exactly what's coming and wants to savor your curiosity. And you, lost in your own thoughts, can only wonder where she's taking you now.

"It's a place where we can really relax," she says, breaking the silence. "You'll see. I promise."

Minutes later, you pull up in front of a motel. It's not one of those seedy places you see in mafia movies, but it's no five-star hotel either. The neon lights blink in soft tones, and the sign above the entrance looks a bit old, but well-maintained. You recognize the place by sight, but you never imagined you'd find yourself here. Nana pulls the handbrake in a swift, almost automatic motion and looks at you.

"Shall we?" She doesn’t wait for an answer. She steps out of the car, and you follow.

Inside, the lobby is small and discreet. A receptionist behind the counter doesn’t even look up from the book she's reading while Nana handles everything. In minutes, you’re climbing the stairs, walking through narrow hallways with striped wallpaper. There's a strange calm in the air.

When you both enter the room, it’s... normal. No surprises, just a wide double bed covered with white sheets and a brown bedspread. A lamp in the corner casts a soft light, and the curtains are thick enough to keep the outside world at bay. In the background, a TV is mounted on the wall, a small fridge nearby, and the inevitable mirror above the headboard—a cliché the motel couldn’t resist.

Nana kicks off her shoes and jacket in seconds, almost like she's at home. She walks over to the bed and, without hesitation, jumps onto it, sinking into the sheets.

"Good," she says, looking at you lazily, "I hope you know how to make the birthday girl happy. You know what I mean, right?"

You give a half-smile, a bit awkward, and walk to the bed, sitting on the edge. The feel of the soft mattress under you eases some of the tension in your body. She reaches out and touches your arm.

"Relax," she whispers. "No need to rush."

She gets up and goes to the small light control on the wall. With a click, a soft neon glow, in shades of pink and purple, fills the room, replacing the lamp’s light. Now, the room has a warm, intimate, almost dreamlike atmosphere.

She returns to the bed, this time with two small bottles of tequila she found in the mini-fridge. She hands one to you, opening hers with a pop.

"Shall we toast?" She raises her bottle in the air. "To unexpected nights... and the best company."

You raise yours too. "To the most interesting birthday girl I've ever met."

You drink, and the alcohol burns its familiar path down your throat, spreading warmth through your body. She lets out a soft laugh, that laugh you know so well, and moves closer. The closeness between you grows, not just physically, but in a way you can’t quite explain. As if, with every sip, every exchanged glance, something deeper is being built.

"I like this," she says, her voice soft, almost melancholic. "Being here, now. With you. It feels like... like I've finally stopped running for a second, you know? Like life pressed pause so I could breathe."

You feel the warmth of her hand on yours and gently squeeze it. "And I like that you pulled me out of my own head for a night."

She smiles, her eyes glowing under the neon light.

The tension between you grows, but it’s not rushed. It’s slow, almost like a rhythm you’ve created together. She leans in and kisses you, this time with a softness that suggests it's not just desire—it’s connection.

She pulls back, looking into your eyes, as if she’s studying every part of you. "From now on, the birthday girl is all yours."

Then she sighs, looking at you with those eyes that, until now, always seemed in control. But now, for the first time, they seem to be surrendering to you.

She gently takes the tequila bottle from your hand and places it on the bedside table along with hers. Standing, Nana’s hands move to the hem of her tank top, and in a slow, almost ritualistic gesture, she lifts it over her head. The fabric slides down her skin like it's nothing, and suddenly, she’s exposed. Her slender body, the tattoos, her small, almost non-existent breasts, raw beauty without pretense. She sits at the edge of the bed, vulnerable for the first time.

"Do you like what you see?" she asks as she lies down on the bed. She’s not in control now.

For now.

You don’t answer. Instead, you stand up, just to be able to look down at her, feeling the power of the situation shift. She stays there, lying down, waiting, in a long, tension-filled pause. You want her even more because of it.

Nana looks at you, biting her lower lip, impatient but silent. And then, with a brief smile, you lean over her. Your hands go straight to her neck, firm but not aggressive. Just enough for her to feel that you're in charge. She closes her eyes, her breath quickening as you lower your head and begin kissing her skin—first her neck, then her shoulders. Your touch is slow, every movement deliberate, and she melts bit by bit. She moans as your lips trail down to her breasts. You open your mouth, teasing her skin with your tongue, tracing the outline of her small, dark areolas. Nana sighs, eyes closed, wordless now. She’s passive, completely surrendered, her moans soft and ragged.

"Keep going..." she murmurs, barely audible.

You obey, but at your own pace. You take one of her breasts in your hand, gently squeezing while sucking on the other, your tongue playing with her nipple. Nana arches her back, trying to move against you, but your hands on her hips keep her in place. She struggles, impatient, but you don’t let her. "Slow down, Nana," you whisper, your voice controlled, almost cold. "The night is ours."

She laughs, a short, shaky laugh. "You bastard..." she says, but there’s amusement in her voice, an acceptance of the role she’s now playing. "Are you going to make me beg?"

"Only if you want to," you reply, your lips returning to her breasts, alternating between them now, nibbling harder, your tongue circling the areolas. She moans louder, finally surrendering completely to the situation.

Nana lets out a long sigh, her fingers twisting into the sheets as you move over her with more intensity, and her breathing becomes erratic. "Damn, this... this is..." She can barely form a sentence. "This feels so fucking good..."

She tries to squirm, seeking more contact, but you hold her down again, keeping her in place. And for the first time, she doesn’t fight back. She accepts it, and that’s exactly what you wanted.

Then comes the moment. "Now I need you to eat me out," she says. And of course, you oblige. Her pants slide down her legs, and when you see it, there’s that wet spot on her white panties. You hold back the anticipation for a moment as you undress, there’s no rush, and that teases Nana in a fun way. Now free of any fabric, you trace your fingers over her panties, feeling the warmth, the moisture, while your lips travel down her thighs, following a path that leads you closer to what you really want.

She moans softly, but just enough to let you know you’re doing it right. Every second of anticipation is killing her, and she likes it. Until it becomes unbearable, and she squeezes her thighs around your head, whispering, "Lick me already. Come on, I’m about to explode."

When you pull off her panties, it’s like peeling away the last layer of something much deeper. The air in the room feels heavier, and her scent fills the space like a wild, addictive perfume. You kneel between her legs, the warm skin of her inner thighs pressing lightly on either side of you. Every breath she takes, every swallowed moan, brings you closer, deeper. Your tongue moves slowly, first lightly, as if testing, tasting the contours. The wet heat pulsing inside her precedes something big, something that’s going to break when you finally open the floodgates.

"Don’t stop..." she whispers, surrendered. "More... deeper."

You comply. Your tongue works as if following a rhythm only the two of you know. Its tip finds that exact spot, and Nana arches, her hips trembling, as if every muscle in her body is short-circuiting, rebelling. She moans louder now, unashamed, uncontrolled.

"Like that... don’t stop, fuck, keep going..." Her voice blends with her breathing, her moans becoming more spaced, almost suffocated.

You feel her taste growing stronger, the moisture increasing in your mouth, on your lips, and then, without warning, Nana’s entire body contracts. Her muscles tighten, her legs squeeze your head hard, and she cums, a muffled scream escaping her throat. Her body trembles, her hips spasming involuntarily, and you keep going, knowing it’s not over. Not for her.

"Fuck... this... my god..." She moans through gritted teeth, eyes squeezed shut, her whole body vibrating as if she’s in another dimension. And you continue, your tongue sliding faster, deeper, until she lets out a final moan, long, drawn-out, as if exorcizing everything inside her.

When you come back up, her taste is still fresh in your mouth. You kiss her, her tongue meeting yours, and she tastes herself on your lips.

"You... fuck... you drove me crazy," she says, her voice weak but still full of intent. She looks at you, her eyes bright, satisfied, then she smiles. "Now... fuck me. Fuck me like it’s the last thing you’re going to do today."

She turns over on all fours, her knees sinking into the mattress with that natural movement, without hesitation. The invitation doesn’t need words; it’s all in the gesture, in the way her hips raise, her spine arched just enough to drive you completely insane. The tattoos scattered across her slim body come alive under the soft room light, every line of the design blending with the shadows, while her desire escapes in small sighs.

You grab her hips, your fingers digging into the soft flesh as if trying to anchor her to the moment. The first thrust is slow, almost a test, and Nana lets out a low moan, something between pleasure and provocation. She loves feeling the tension building in you and pushes back, forcing you to go deeper.

"That’s it..." she murmurs through gritted teeth, "harder."

You obey. The sound of skin against skin fills the room, mixing with her moans, growing louder each time. The pace quickens, you pull her closer, burying yourself deeper, while Nana moves against you, her hips meeting yours with perfect precision at each thrust. The sheets bunch up beneath her, and her moans turn into something almost animalistic, a rough sound that makes her body tremble.

"Fuck..." she moans, her head dropping forward, hair falling into her face. "Fuck me faster."

You grip her hips harder, her body responding to yours with absolute submission. Every movement is an exchange—a silent request, an inevitable response. Her moans become more erratic, the bed creaking with the frantic rhythm you both reach. Her whole body tense, the muscles in her back and thighs contracted, almost falling apart under your hands.

Suddenly, she stops, breaking the rhythm, and turns around. Her gaze is wild, a mix of excitement and challenge. "Now let me do it my way."

She climbs on top of you, her knees sinking into the mattress next to your hips, and the sight is mesmerizing. Nana looks down at you, her eyes half-closed, lips parted, as she slowly lowers herself, feeling every inch of you filling her again. She lets out a heavy sigh and starts moving, first slow, controlled, her hips rising and falling with calculated precision, almost cruel.

"You like watching me like this?" she asks, her voice raspy, full of satisfaction.

All you can do is nod. And she smiles, that smile that says she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. Nana picks up the pace, her hips slamming against yours with force, riding you without a shred of inhibition. Her hands find your chest, nails lightly scratching your skin, her face twisted in pure pleasure. She leans forward, her small breasts pressed against you, her mouth close to your ear as she whispers, her voice broken by moans.

"You... are... perfect."

Nana's hands grip your shoulders, her hips riding your cock with the precision of someone who knows their body well. But it won’t last like this. Not for long. You need to take control. "My turn," you whisper against her ear. She lets out a low moan, a half-smile, like she was waiting for it.

She climbs off of you. You both adjust, lying on your sides, legs intertwined, and you pull her closer, your mouth on her neck, tasting her sweaty skin, the scent of desire mixing with the heat of the room. "Closer," you say, as your hands travel down her tattooed hips, pulling her into you. Nana doesn’t hesitate, grinding her hips, sinking deeper into you, her eyes half-closed, mouth open, moaning.

"You like it like this, don’t you?" you ask, one hand sliding to her neck. She turns her head to look over her shoulder, that same half-cynical, half-hungry smile.

"I love it," she murmurs, and then your fingers lightly tighten around her throat. Nothing violent, just enough for her to feel the pressure. It makes her moan even louder, her body reacting, giving in to the control you’ve taken. "Harder," she asks, eyes shutting like she's lost in her own satisfaction.

You squeeze a little more, controlling the intensity with the same precision you control the thrusts. Each time you bury yourself inside her, she grips the sheets, her whole body tense with pleasure. The heat of her skin, the way she moves against you, the sound of her moans muffled by your hand... all of it makes you lose track of anything else.

"You’re so fucking hot," you say, your entire body focused on how she’s giving herself to you. She moans in response, but her words are getting more fragmented, harder to get out. You release her neck for a second, just to let her breathe better. She swallows hard and lets out a short laugh, almost in disbelief.

"Fuck, you’re gonna make me come again," she confesses, and you realize you’re almost there too. You pull out of her, sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling Nana into your lap, and she climbs back on top of you. The heat of her skin against yours is instant, and you feel her entire body mold to yours like a second skin. Your feet are planted firmly on the floor, ready for the intensity of Nana’s hips. Her hands grip your shoulders, and her pussy sinks down slowly on your cock with a precision that’s pure wickedness.

The room is a mess of discarded clothes, crumpled sheets, and the scent of sex hanging in the air.

She settles in, adjusts, and then starts riding, slow at first, almost like she’s teasing, savoring the moment.

"Mmm, I knew you’d like it when I ride you… Mmm, yeah, I bet it has become your favorite position…" she murmurs, her voice low, while her nails lightly scratch your shoulders, her ass moving with pinpoint accuracy on your cock. The sensation is overwhelming, the tight, wet grip as if she was made for this.

You hold onto her hips tightly, fingers sinking into her skin, pulling her closer, deeper. "Fuck, Nana… You’re so good," you blurt out, not even realizing the words slipped out.

She lets out a little laugh, muffled by the sound of bodies colliding. "I know," she replies, and you can feel her ego swelling alongside the pleasure she’s giving you. She picks up the pace, and now there’s nothing gentle about it. No. Now it’s skin on skin, the sound of flesh against flesh, and her ass moving fast, faster, her moans coming in waves, louder and louder.

You feel everything. Her weight in your lap, her hips rising and falling in a rhythm only she controls. The way she moans when you pull her even closer, when you force the thrusts to go deeper. The sensation is brutal. You can barely think, barely speak, all you can do is moan along with her, your bodies drenched in sweat and pleasure.

"You like it when I do this, don’t you?" she gasps, her hair falling messily across her face as she rides you like she’s competing with her own pleasure. "You love it when I sit on your cock, right?"

You can only nod. Any attempt to speak would be a pathetic moan at this point.

She leans forward, her lips at your ear, her breath hot and ragged. "I’m gonna come like this… right in your lap," she whispers, like it’s a dirty secret. "And you’re gonna come with me. Together."

And there’s no escaping it. She’s pulling you along, dragging you down with her, every movement sinking you both deeper into this shared haze of raw pleasure.

Nana speeds up, riding with an almost desperate urgency now, her moans turning into muffled screams, her nails clawing at your back, leaving marks. With each thrust, you feel like you’re about to lose your mind, like the pleasure is tearing you apart from the inside.

Nana leans forward, her hair falling loose across her face, her hands braced on your shoulders as she picks up speed, and it’s like the world is melting around you. Each time she comes down on your cock, the sound of flesh slapping together is almost deafening. Her ass slides so perfectly in your lap it feels like you were made for this.

"Fuck, Nana…," you let out, almost without control, gripping her hips, pulling her even deeper, feeling your cock completely swallowed up. "I’m gonna come..."

She smirks, a wicked, crooked grin, as she keeps riding you with an almost violent intensity. "Come inside me."

Your hands slide down her sweaty back, fingers digging into her flesh, and you can only nod, speechless, your breathing ragged, your body already trembling, about to collapse. She leans in, her words a whisper against your ear: "Come with me… I want your hot cum in my tight little pussy."

And then it happens. Her body shakes, and yours follows, and everything implodes. You feel the spasm that grips her, her pussy tightening around you in a way that knocks the breath out of you, and that’s it. There’s no turning back. You come with a force that feels like it’s ripping your soul out of your body, filling her up, each thrust spilling more. Nana screams your name, or at least something that sounds like it, and she sinks down one last time, slowly, sitting fully on your cock, feeling every drop of your cum inside her.

"Fuck, Nana…" is all you can manage as the world comes back into focus, your body exhausted but still buzzing with the intensity of it all.

You stay like that, quiet, your bodies still pressed together, breathing heavy, trying to find a normal rhythm again. The room is drowned in silence, the kind of silence that only exists when the noise was so loud before it feels almost unreal now. You’re still inside her. You can feel the soft, steady heat of Nana’s body around your cock, a warmth that pulses slowly, matching the rapid beat of your heart. She doesn’t move, just stays there, relaxed against your body.

"It feels so good having you inside me like this," she says, almost like letting go of a secret, her voice low, muffled, without her usual brazen confidence. You smile, still catching your breath, and you feel a trickle of your hot cum running down your cock. "It’s your birthday, but I’m the one who got the gift," you reply. "Thank you. For this amazing night. For the conversation. For the sex. For getting to know you, Nana."

She stays quiet for a second, and you feel her body tense a little against yours. Like she’s embarrassed. Nana? Embarrassed? It’s almost funny. You can hardly believe it, but there it is, the slight blush on her cheeks, the way she looks off to the side. And before you can say more, she kisses you. A quick kiss, but full of urgency. Like she wants to stop whatever words you were about to spill.

"Shut up, idiot," she mutters against your lips, a little laugh escaping her.

You pull her a little closer, savoring the last remnants of the moment, not wanting to break whatever it is you’ve just created together. She sighs, relaxing even more, as if she’s finally let her body collapse after holding it all together for so long.

"This was a gift for me too," she finally says, letting out the laugh she’d been holding back. "And what a gift, huh? I didn’t think it’d be so... memorable." The word comes out with her typical sarcasm, but there’s a layer of real gratitude hidden beneath that tough exterior.

"I’d say the same," you reply, your voice a little lighter, your body finally slowing down, though still electrified by the feeling of being inside her.

Then, suddenly, she lets out a quiet, mischievous giggle. "Can you feel it?" she asks. "Can you feel how full of cum I am?"

She slowly climbs off your lap, placing one foot on the bed, her eyes locked on you as she spreads her legs. "Look at this," she murmurs, using two fingers to part her pussy lips, letting the cum start to drip out. "Wow, you really filled me up." The liquid drips down her fingers as she teases, "What’s better than a creampie for a birthday?”

—

You wake up to the soft light filtering through the motel curtains, making everything seem a little more golden, like the place was painted by an artist obsessed with warm tones. Your body feels heavy, but relaxed, your mind floating between dream and reality, the memory of last night still buzzing in your muscles, your skin, in the scent of Nana that seems to have fused with the air.

You barely move, and you can already feel it. She’s there. Pressed up against you. Skin on skin. Your naked bodies intertwined in a way that makes it seem like you’ve always known how to fit together, like you’re not strangers, like this isn’t the first time. And then, without warning, you feel her lips. First, a soft kiss on your chest, like she’s exploring the territory again, testing the waters. Then, the kiss travels up to your neck, and suddenly, her lips are on yours, warm and hungry. She doesn’t need to say anything. The way she kisses you says it all.

You finally open your eyes, your body starting to wake up, though you’re already fully awake where it matters. “Nana, you need to stop,” you joke, your voice raspy, trying to sound more relaxed than you really are. “You’re going to get me obsessed with you. And later, I’ll remember this and want more.”

She laughs, her lips still on yours, a quiet giggle that you feel vibrate against your mouth. “Who said we’re done here?” she whispers, gently tugging on your bottom lip with her teeth before letting it go. “Maybe I’m just getting started.”

“So, you want to see me again?” you ask, half-joking, half-serious, testing the waters.

She raises an eyebrow, like the question is ridiculous. “After a night like that? Of course I want to see you again. Many times, actually.” She bites her lip, her gaze a little challenging, like she’s already planning something, and you know she is. She always is.

Without warning, Nana reaches for her phone on the bedside table. She unlocks it and smiles, a mischievous smile. She opens the camera and points it at you both. “Let’s capture this moment.”

You frown, still half-asleep, half-disbelieving. “Are you serious?”

“Of course I am.” She says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “A night like this deserves a keepsake, don’t you think?” She doesn’t wait for your answer. Her finger is already on the button, ready to take the picture.

The idea feels strange, but you go with it. You snuggle up to her, both of you smiling for the camera, like it’s something you do all the time. She snaps the photo, the two of you grinning, with no pretense. Just warm skin, relaxed bodies. Then, she takes another. This time, you tilt your head and kiss Nana, the sensation more vivid, with a clarity that comes with daylight, when everything feels more real, less driven by the adrenaline of the moment.

When the camera’s click finally falls silent, she tosses the phone aside and leans back against you, eyes closed, body relaxed. “This is going to be a good memory,” she murmurs, and there’s something in her voice that makes you believe her.

She shifts, the sheet slipping slightly, and you feel the warmth of her skin against yours. Nana settles more into you, a slow, almost deliberate movement. She lets out a quiet laugh, more breath than sound, and you feel her smile against your neck.

“I can feel it,” she says, her voice warmer now, closer to a whisper. “You’re already hard for me.” And then, as if to prove her point, she adjusts her body again, rubbing against you like she’s discovered a new toy and can’t resist.

You sigh, half pleasure, half yearning. “Yeah, I’m horny,” you admit, no beating around the bush. There’s something about the way she’s pressed against you, the smell of her hair mingling with the room’s air, that erases any notion of self-control.

“Good,” she says, as if that’s exactly what she was waiting for. “How about a nice blowjob to start the day?”

You already know the answer, but you stay silent for a second, your mind processing the almost ridiculous simplicity of the proposal, the casual way she talks about it, like she’s asking what you want for breakfast. It’s something you love about this now not-so-strange girl. So finally, you open your mouth. “Yes, please.”

She giggles, the kind of giggle that’s full of mischief, of pure fun. She leans over you, her hand trailing down your stomach to your cock, her fingers cool against your warm skin. “I knew you’d say that,” she murmurs, almost to herself, as she starts to move slowly down your body, like she’s studying your every reaction.

Nana crawls down to your hips, her movements slow, lazy, like she has all the time in the world, and then lowers her head. Her lips touch the tip of your cock first, a kiss almost chaste, before she opens her mouth and takes you in.

—

The sun is already up, it's around nine in the morning. You're in the car next to Nana after a night that felt like it came straight out of a dirty and perfect dream. The motel is left behind like a distant memory, a blur of neon and crumpled sheets. Now, you're parked in front of your house, and reality is there, knocking at the door.

Breakfast helped you get your energy back. You had to insist on paying. It was the least you could do. Nana didn’t want to accept it, but at some point, she got tired of arguing. Though, you know she doesn't really care about that kind of thing. She doesn’t seem like someone who worries about small formalities. But for you, paying for breakfast was your way of thanking her for more than just the night. It was for a temporary collapse of everything you knew.

She leans against the steering wheel, her slender fingers drumming on it. "We’ll talk on Insta, I’ll send you the photos there too," she says, her eyes fixed on the road ahead.

You smile, still a bit dazed, your muscles tired from all the pleasure and exhaustion. "That’d be great." You smile, not sure what to say in these final minutes. "I really enjoyed meeting you, Nana. I mean that."

She turns to you. “I liked meeting you too, you’re a nice guy.”

The words come out with the casualness of someone who's been through this before, but with a sincerity that makes you believe that, even if it’s fleeting, it was special in some way.

You watch her, her profile illuminated by the morning light, and realize how something so simple, a chance encounter, can turn your day, your week, maybe even your life, upside down if you let it.

"Happy birthday again," you say, your hand already on the door handle.

"Thanks," she replies. “I hope the rest of my day is as interesting as it’s been so far.”

You laugh, unsure if she's being serious or joking. But then, just before getting out of the car, something pulls you back, a final question you have to ask. "But... what now, Nana? What do we do?"

She looks at you with that smile, the one you’ve already learned to associate with the unpredictable. "Now?" She pauses, starting the car, her eyes focused on the road. "Now, we just jump to the next night and see what we find."

Of course. You knew she’d say something like that. You nod, a smile forming on your face, because there’s nothing more to say. You step out of the car, feeling different somehow, even though everything around you looks exactly the same as before.

Nana waves slightly, and you stand there, watching the car disappear around the corner, knowing that last night was just one among many that could happen.

[newfallstrangeleaves]

Masked Yandere with an unknown identity

Magic bullet

M!Yander X F!Reader Warning: Druging reader, non-con, NSFW, P in V, Oral (F receiving), slight somnophilia. Summary: Its the winner of this poll. The man with the mask gets you a drug that makes you unable to move your body but you can still feel everything he does to you. Authors note: It really took some time to get it up :( sorry

If this were any other occasion, this would not be happening. He would check your apartment to make sure nothing was wrong or that no one other than himself where within your proximity. But word spread of a drug, something even he caught on to and now can't stop himself from getting his hands on. 

That this is the right alley is only a guess. The directions were unclear and he had spent nearly three nights just wandering to hopefully run into the right people. But it's been hard having to choose between anonymity and direction. The mask is a good protection, but it’s also a deterrent. It doesn't matter who you are and where you are from, everyone agrees that if you meet something that frightens you, you turn and walk the other way. 

But tonight the hard work bears fruit. At the far end of the alley stands three men, they are tense and seem to be waiting for him. When he approaches they act cool, buffing their chests out and blowing cigarette smoke his way.

“Heard you looking for something.” One of them says. 

“Yeah, you have it?” 

“Whoa, boy calm down, why you in a hurry? Are you scared or something?” If this is an intimation tactic it's not working. On the contrary, he is feeling rather bothered. 

“Yes, actually I am. I have the money, you got the stuff or not?” 

“Here.” One of the guys with a pretty nasty black eye holds up a bag with white powder in it. Its snapped out of his hand before he even had time to react.

“HEY!”

 “So this is the stuff?” He holds the bag away from the guy with the black eye. 

“Yes, You know, we will be nice to you today and let this pass, but if you grab stuff like that again-”

“Do you want the money or not?” 

“Hand it over.”

He brings out a hefty amount of bundled-up money. He holds it between the two of them for a second before he throws it to the side and lands right into a puddle. 

 “Go, take it. I thought you wanted it.” The man glares at him, but it's hard to do with only one eye. 

“Your dead, you know that.” But before anyone has time to react, with a swift motion he tackles the guy with the black eye to the ground. His moans in pain are enough to make the other two back off. 

With the drugs secured, he is off to your apartment. 

Your apartment has never been too difficult to get into. With the copy of your key back in his pocket, he heads for the bedroom. Just to see you. Despite it not being long between the meetings, things still tend to feel lonely. 

Coming home to an empty apartment, cooking and winding off for the day all in solitude. And even now, caressing your sleeping face he wishes for things to be different. To have you and to have you as his very own. 

But today the drugs will have to do. He can already feel his cock hardening at the thought of being inside you. Eagerly he heads for the kitchen. He tries to be as quiet as possible so as to not wake you as he pours you a glass of your favorite juice. He contemplates for a second before he decides that half of it will do. 

With the spiked drink in hand, he gently strokes your face, this time with the full intention of waking you.  

“Hey, wake up darling, I just need you for a second.” He can't contain himself for chuckling at your confused face, how cute you look when you're startled. “I just need you to drink this.” 

“What? What is it?” He helps you to a sitting position before he, as gently and firmly as he can, grabs your jaw to keep your face in place. He knew before going into this that you would never agree to drink his concoction. 

You struggle at first, your hands trying to grab at anything to get the glass away. But you're losing the battle and as you fight to not choke on the liquid, you drink most of it. Some spills down on your clothes and comforter but it's nothing that you will be using anyway. 

You cough and gasp for air as he places the glass calmly on the table. 

“What was that??” You're panicking, he can tell. 

“Shhh, it's okay, you know I will never do anything to harm you. I tell you this all the time.” He wraps his arms around you and lays you back down on the bed. His arms and legs pinning you in place. You are opposing and pleas to let go go unheard, he just hushes you and strokes your hair to calm you, it doesn't take long for the drugs to kick in. All of a sudden your arms lose their strength and fall flat to the side. Your eyes are the last thing that shuts but when they do he can't contain himself anymore. 

“I know you can still hear me so don't be scared. Now, I'm sorry I drugged you, it will wear off eventually, until then if figured we could have some special time together. Try something new.” His words get more and more breathy with every word. Arousal is getting the better of him. 

The first thing that comes off is his mask, how he has been aching to feel his lips against yours. He is smiling into the kiss, his breath fanning your face. Though your lips don't give his anything in return just the feeling of you is enough, for now. Then it's the gloves that fall to the floor. He doesn't want to leave one speck of your skin untouched by his lips and his hands when this night is over. 

He gives your lips one quick peck before he travels down. His lips glaze over your neck, and he trails a few kisses over your collarbones. He is too eager to stop just there, he wants what's further down. Gently he lifts the oversized shirt you're sporting as night clothes, over your head. 

He goes straight for one of your breasts. His tongue goes over and around your nipple, sucking and biting gently. He gives one side a few minutes before he switches. When he deems them done he turns his attention to the only piece of clothing still covering you. With a quick motion, it's thrown to the side and you're back to how he loves you. Bare before him.  

“I promise you, my love. I will make you feel so good. So good, so so good.” He pushes your legs apart taking in the scene before him, your beauty is astounding. “You don't understand how much I've looked forward to tasting you.”

His tongue works away eagerly at your core. He starts at the clit, working you up, wetness already leaking out of you and he laps it up. He adds a finger, you're still rather tight but with every movement and every lick, you're relaxing. 

Then when he goes back to focusing on your clit and with a second finger inside you he hears it. A tiny whine escapes your lips. It spurs him on so much that he thinks for a moment he might be pushed over to climax over it. Almost. 

But he is determined to push you over yours first and he does. Your breath hitches as you squeeze around his fingers. Oh, how he looks forward to you doing that to his cock. As you settle back down he can feel his cock aching in his pants. Without a moment of hesitation, he throws off everything. 

“I feel so exposed.” He says and chuckles. “Even though you can't see me.” He lines his body up with yours, his cock hard and throbbing in between the two of you. But he holds back, instead, he kisses you. 

“I don't know why I'm hesitating now. I guess it's because I kind of wanted…More, if that makes sense.” He sighs. “But it's really your own fault. I would have never done this to you if you'd just accepted me, and allowed me to be with you fully, I wouldn't have taken such drastic measures. …But let's not worry about that now.” 

His forehead meets yours as he looks down. He lines his cock up to your entrance. He pushes in slowly to not overwhelm you, but it's still tight. He groans and a moan slips your lips. 

“Maybe I've been too secretive, holding my identity intact and away from you for fear of rejection. Though I know you never would reject me, even if you wanted to. Because we  both know you love this.” He pushes slowly in, bottoming out as he speaks. “Youre..Fuck…Feels so good.”

His trusts are slow at first. He is using every fiber within him not to either rail you right into the mattress or to cum right this second. But it doesn't take long for him to amp up the pace. The wet sounds from where the two of you connect and the whines that constantly leave your lips. It could be the drugs starting to wear off, but he doesn't miss the way your eyebrows twitch together and that your moans come more frequently now. 

But he is too into it to care now, too in the moment to care about whether the drugs are wearing off or not. He feels you tightening around him and miraculously he pulls through your orgasm, keeping his own intact. 

“I want another…Please…Give me another one.” He mumbles into your ear, sweat dripping down his brow. He continues until he feels you tightening up once again, this time his release comes before yours. The way your pussy squeezes around him a second time makes him lose it. But despite feeling spent he fights through your high with sloppy thrusts. The overstimulation feels like a reward.   

He pulls out just to drop down on your chest, resting his head between your breasts. He lays there and listens to your steady heartbeat for just a moment. Then he worms his arms around you and rolls over on his back with you on top. 

“I want to clean you today.” He whispers into the top of your head. “You know, really take care of you now after I've had my fun.” 

He looks over the bed, the bedding having been thrown on the floor and he sighs. Feeling contempt with you in his arms, this is where you belong, where you always should be. 

“Maybe that could wait a moment or two.” But just as he says that he can see your fingers moving slowly. You are getting the control over your body back and with that pops the bubble he wanted to stay a little longer in. “Or not.” 

He gently lifts you off him and goes to get his belongings together. He gives you a quick clean and a peck to your lips before he is out the door just in time for you to slowly sit up and open your eyes.

[catopoliscat]

next time / kento nanami/fem!reader.

who would have thought that kento nanami was a virgin? not you. not after this long. perhaps he was saving himself for someone. perhaps he was waiting for you.

tags: nsfw. 18+. fem!reader. afab reader. penetrative sex. alcohol. dry humping. virgin!nanami. mutual pining. friends to lovers. creampie (wrap it kids). unprotected sex. touch-starved!nanami. canon!verse. you've known nanami since school. tinges of angst. nanami wanted you bad lmao. it's love babey. reader has experience. no use of y/n or any other placeholders. ever. wc: 7.7k. a/n: i kind of fear nanami's a little ooc here lmao, but i've spent too long on this so fuck it we ball he deserves this

also how mad would you be if i said this was set a week before shibuya arc be honest

mdni.

You’re a bottle and half of zinfandel deep when Nanami tells you. 

Although you’re both a little warm, tipsy perhaps, you didn’t think either of you were quite drunk enough for this conversation just yet. It was a regular occurrence for the two of you to share a drink on a Friday, or a bottle in more pressing times. 

There were more bottles than glasses, lately. 

It was just two old friends, catching up. Talking. Complaining--usually about Satoru. Often you’d reminisce on easier times. Warm summers in the Jujutsu High courtyard, the cold tin of a soda in your hands, a bottle of water in his. Quiet talks of dreams and eventualities. Ignoring the gaping absence of a third at between you. 

Tonight though, you’re not sure when the topic had changed. Somewhere between the last dregs of the first bottle and the beginning of the second, the conversation had grown more sombre than usual. Talk of love and relationships always seemed to make the air heavier around the two of you, for different reasons. A stark air of loneliness that not even the most tart of white wine could overpower.

You had offhandedly mentioned turning down one of the windows you had met on your last mission. He had been younger than you, still full of life where the holes in yourself had long since emptied it out. You had shaken your head, flattered, but tired. There were better options for a man like him, still full of hope and vitality, a whole life ahead of him… when you knew any day yours could be cut deftly short. 

You had told yourself it had little to do with the fact that the man’s bright smile had reminded you of another, so many years ago.  

In the quiet of Nanami’s living room, swirling the last drops of your wine in your glass, you had mentioned that you had no real desire for relationships anymore. Other than sex, of course, but only sexual. A temporary release, one of the few you had left. Nameless faces and hurried touches. Sometimes clinical, sometimes primal. Always quick, and never the same person twice. 

You know?

To which Nanami had replied, “No.” 

Misunderstanding the gravity of what he was saying, you had raised an eyebrow, a curious smile playing at your lips. “Not one for one-night stands?” 

It occurs to you distantly that you don’t know a lot about Nanami’s romantic life. Close as you two were, or so you liked to believe, he had never really mentioned it. And you had never asked. 

Nanami had shook his head in response to your question, and you had nodded. It aligned with his character, you thought. As cold and stoic as he liked to act, you couldn’t imagine a world where he would use and discard someone. He felt too much, cared too much. He would love too much too, if given the chance. If he gave himself the chance. 

In your musings, you had almost missed what he had murmured next. 

“I’ve never had sex at all.” 

Kento Nanami. A virgin.

The confession has your lips parting, your eyes blinking. Once, then twice, akin to an owl. You glance down at your wine glass for a moment, as if it had been the slightly smeared glass that had been speaking to you instead, and not the esteemed stoic sorcerer you had known for the better part of ten years. 

You look over at Nanami on the couch, but he’s staring at the carpet, his expression contemplative, almost pensive. His brows are drawn taut, a small knit on his forehead. His lips are drawn into a thin line, a slight crease in his chin. There was a specific emotion dancing in his eyes. You almost dared to use the word vulnerable.

It seems… ridiculous. Nanami? Attractive as he was? Kind, considerate, hard-working, to a degree. A woman’s dream. In another life, perhaps your dream too.

Had it not been for Nanami’s serious demeanour, and the fact that ‘joke’ and ‘Nanami’ rarely went together in the same sentence, you might have thought he was pulling your leg. A joke between friends. 

But he wasn’t. He very clearly wasn’t. 

“That’s… fine,” you finally say after a small moment, fearing you had let the silence linger too long. “There’s no rush for these things.” 

Nanami’s hum is short and clipped. Gruff, almost. He still refuses to meet your eye for now, and you make no move to change that. You get the distinct feeling that this newfound vulnerability doesn’t stem from him never having sex, but rather, the reason why he’s denied himself - because you know for a fact it has little to do with opportunity. 

You had lost track of how many women you had watched Nanami turn down, clipped and short, yet always polite. 

The silence is heavy between you. In the other room, you can hear the hum of his refrigerator, the buzz of the bulbs in the lights. Nanami’s apartment has always been quiet, but this silence feels suffocating. Paired with the wine, your head feels thick, your tongue thicker. 

A few moments pass, and as the revelation of his virginity settles into your stomach like seltzer water, you realise… it makes sense. Nanami wasn’t the type to use someone for sex, even if eager. He’d only have sex with someone he was in love with. Someone he trusted at the very least. 

And Nanami, as he had told you and a few others before, refused to entertain the thought of love whilst he was a sorcerer. No one with two working brain cells needed to ask why. He wasn’t alone in that choice, either. 

You toy with the stem of your wineglass whilst you toy with a reoccurring thought in your mind, one that you entertained often, but had yet to voice aloud. 

“You shouldn’t keep depriving yourself, Kento,” you say quietly. The use of his first name, rarely used in your adulthood, garners you a glance from him. It’s a small sign that you’re taking this seriously. 

“I’m not deprived of anything.” 

You scoff at that, small and quiet. “You deprive yourself of a lot, apart from pain,” you drawl, setting your wine glass down on the coffee table. Like always, the wine and Nanami’s masochistic tendencies have your tongue loosening more than it should. “I understand not wanting to have sex with anyone you’re not in a committed relationship with. It’s kind of… admirable, and definitely you.” You fold your arms across your chest, fixing him with a stare that he still refuses to meet head-on. “But why deny yourself the chance of love?” 

In the back of your mind somewhere is a voice chanting ‘hypocrite’, but you ignore it. Nanami, however, does not. 

He finally turns his head to face you, the lines underneath his eyes seemingly heavier in the dim light of his apartment. An eyebrow arches. “And meaningless sex is different?”

You scoff again, louder this time. “It’s not meaningless just because I don’t love my partner.” 

“Or even know their name?” 

You raise a sharp eyebrow, your own lips now pressing into a thin line. A part of you wants to retort, to snap, but you remember the vulnerability in his face from a few moments ago, and you just about hold your tongue.

With an exhale, you grab the half-empty wine bottle off of the coffee table instead and gesture for Nanami to hold out his glass. He does, and the glug of the wine fills the space between you.

“You ever thought about it?” You ask, filling up your own glass. In your peripheral, you see him sit quietly for a moment before he nods his head. 

“I’m only human.” 

You hum. “You should experience it,” you add. You swirl the wine in your glass once before bringing it up to your lips. “Even once. Even if it means nothing.”  

With one glance, you can tell immediately that the idea doesn’t sit right with him. It was easy to forget sometimes how rigid and traditional he could be. Formalities that few seemed to care about these days. Always on the things you least expected. 

“I couldn’t,” Nanami replies, shaking his head. 

Oddly, you feel the desire to insist. Days of a sorcerer were short, and getting shorter every year. Younger than yourself and Nanami had already died long before they would ever have the opportunity to touch another, kiss another; to feel the warmth of a body against your own. They would never know what that distinct pleasure was like, even if they desperately wanted to. Time was infinite to the young, until it wasn’t.  

It occurs to you quickly that you’re thinking of Haibara, and everything you and Nanami had experienced that he never would. 

Something must show in your expression because Nanami raises an eyebrow at you. You swallow, before setting your glass back down on the coffee table with a dull clink. You look at him, your face surprisingly collected and casual for what you’re about to ask. 

“What about me?” 

Nanami’s questioning look only deepens for a moment, before something passes by his eyes. His lips part, his version of a falter. You know he knows what you’re implying, but still, he asks, “…what about you?” 

“What if we had sex?” You say without hesitation. “You know me. You trust me.” 

Nanami falters further. He straightens in his seat, his glass resting on his thigh, the thick muscle straining against his slacks. His whole body is thick with a tension you usually only see before a fight with a particularly highly graded curse. A vein protrudes from his neck.

His eyes flick between your face and your own glass, clearly wondering if it is time to call this night done, but you rise from your seat before he can, taking a small step toward the couch he’s sitting on. 

You sit down next to him, a little closer than you usually might. He doesn’t move away. Your thigh brushes against his, and this close, you can hear his breath hitch in response. 

“I’m not going to push this any further, Kento,” you say quietly, “but I’m letting you know it’s an option.” 

Although you and Kento were hardly affectionate with one another like most friends, you decided to take a chance tonight. You had already taken several, what was one more?

Reaching out, you take his glass from his hand and set it next to yours on the coffee table. Hesitating only a moment, you place your hand on top of his, your fingers curling around until your fingertips touch his palm.

His hand is stiff and warm underneath your own. The bones and knuckles press against your skin.

Something in the back of your mind is wondering why you’re pushing this at all. Would it matter if Nanami died without experiencing the pleasures of the body, really? Would the world stop turning for either of you? You know if Nanami really wanted to, if he felt the want, the desire - then he could leave this apartment right now and find someone willing, someone other than you. He could have done so years ago, during those few years he had masqueraded as a normal human being with a nine-to-five. 

You were risking a friendship over… what? The implied hopes and dreams of a dead fifteen-year-old? Haibara was dead. It didn’t matter to him whether Nanami experienced the things he never could. 

Nanami’s gaze flickers between your eyes for a moment, and this close, you can see the faint traces of the wine staining his lips. Your gaze must linger for a touch too long because his tongue swipes across his bottom lip. The pink skin glistens with the faint glimmer of his saliva.

When you look up, you see his eyes trained on your own lips, before they quickly flick back up to meet your eyes. 

“We’re friends,” he murmurs, his voice low, slightly thick. 

“And we always will be,” you reply.

He glances down at your hands. Somewhere between your own thoughts and Nanami’s reiteration of your friendship, your hands had interlocked, fingers intertwined like vines. He was gripping your hand a little too tightly to be comfortable, but you didn’t flinch. 

You’re not sure whether it had been your subconscious doing, or his. 

“I… can’t,” Nanami mutters finally, closing his eyes for a moment. “Not like this. Not… now.” 

Something clenches in your heart at his rejection, although you had expected it. You’re not sure if it’s because he’s denying you, or himself. 

You smile softly nonetheless and nod. “If you ever change your mind, you know where to find me,” you say quietly, going to pull your hand from his grip and give him some space. 

Only he doesn’t let go. If anything, his grip tightens slightly. 

Your eyes flick between his hand and his eyes, still trained on your face. You raise an eyebrow, your lips parting to speak, but he beats you to it. 

“But I’d like to kiss you.” 

Something resembling a very quiet ‘uh’ pushes past your lips in a long exhale.

You’re not sure why the idea of kissing him felt more… intimate than the fact that you had offered your body to him only seconds prior. You’re not sure why there’s a prickle of heat at the back of your neck or your lips burn with a sudden need.

“Nanam-“

As if remembering himself, he shakes his head slightly, blinking away whatever stupor had just possessed him. He looks away, his grip on your hand loosening, but not quite pulling away. 

“I… don’t know why I said that,” he mumbles. “You should go-“

Your free hand is already gripping his chin, turning his face toward yours a little too sharply. A subtle grunt leaves his throat as he looks at you, his gaze foggier than usual. From the wine, you, or the whole situation? Who knows. 

Fingers against his neck, feeling the quickened thrum of his pulse, your thumb brushes against his chin, pulling the skin until his lips naturally part. You feel Nanami’s shaky exhale against your lips as you lean forward, warmth breath mingling with yours, the scent of wine heavy on the air. 

You close the distance slowly, giving him time to stop this, to pull or push away. To draw an end to this nonsense before it went any further. 

Instead of pulling back or pushing you away, he closes the gap so quickly your noses almost bump together. 

The first press of his lips against you feels hurried and unsure. It’s off-center slightly, barely hitting the corner of your mouth, but Nanami is quick to correct it. He slots his lips against yours more firmly the second time, his lips parting to capture yours fully. You feel a rush of air against your cheek as he exhales through his nose. 

The kiss is unhurried, curious almost, yet there’s a subtle urgency in it that surprises you. Your free hand moves from his chin to his jaw, fingertips softly caressing the sharp curve of it. The sound and feel of his sigh against your lips makes you shiver, and you become enamoured with it. 

Enamoured with him.

You part your lips further, your tongue swiping against his bottom lip, finally tasting the remnants of the wine that you had spotted earlier. An odd sound builds at the back of his throat before his mouth parts too, his tongue brushing against yours. 

Something changes quickly then. His hand, larger than you ever really noticed, cups the back of your neck, his calloused thumb pressing against your jaw, drawing you closer. Your other hands, still intertwined, seem to tighten around one another like a snake's coils. The wet smacks of your lips grow louder in the quiet of his apartment, just about overriding the sound of increasingly ragged breaths, borderline panting. 

Your head feels thick. Dizzy. The kiss is indulgent, almost sloppy now. Nanami’s tongue is in your mouth, exploring every crevice, tasting you with an eagerness you hadn’t thought he was capable of. Every time you brush your tongue against his, your taste buds wetly sliding against his own, a small sound rumbles in the back of his throat, somewhere between a groan and grumble. 

After a moment that feels like an eternity too short, you pull back slightly, just enough to see his eyes as you open yours. Nanami denies you this, however, because when you open your eyes, his are still closed, almost scrunched. A faint frown tugs at his brow. 

He leans forward until his forehead rests against yours. The heat of his skin against yours feels searing, your noses softly brushing against one another’s. He sighs deeply, as if pulled from the back of his chest. It almost sounds like defeat. 

“Kento-“

“I want you,” he breathes out, and your voice almost hitches as you feel rather than hear his voice. It’s a deep, husky sound, more rumble than syllable. But there’s a crack in his tone belying a raw vulnerability that you weren’t familiar with. Not from him.

His eyes finally open, looking up at you from underneath his brow. His hazel eyes are almost black, you realise, the familiar colour you’ve always admired swallowed up by a sea of coal. You wonder if yours are the same. 

He’s trembling too. You can feel his fingertips shake where they press against the nape of your neck. 

“I thought you didn’t want… this,” you murmur. ‘Sex’ suddenly feels too…

“I changed my mind,” he replies, a touch too quickly for you to believe that he was thinking clearly. 

But God, did you want him too. You want him so fucking bad it almost makes you ache. Your feelings toward Nanami had always been friendly, respectful. He had been your closest friend, your ally, your confidant. You had been through so much together. You liked him, every part. 

And somewhere along the way, between the four years apart as he pursued a different life and the first time you had hugged him when he finally returned, Gojo grinning over his shoulder… you think, that like had changed to love.

It quickly occurs to you that you weren’t pushing Nanami to experience sex for fear of him missing out. That was you. You were scared of missing out on him.

It’s that revelation that makes you pull back slightly, and Nanami’s eyes widen a little, some of the hazy fog clearing. His hand slides from the back of your neck, falling limply against the couch next to your thigh. 

“I… I shouldn’t have put you in this position,” you mutter, glancing away, staring at the two wine glasses on the coffee table before looking back at him. “It’s your choice. Your first time should be on your terms, not because I think you’re missing out or depriving yourself.”

You go to remove your hand from his, but once again, his grip tightens, but there’s a tenderness to it this time. A gentle squeeze, almost begging you not to go. Not yet. 

He looks serious now, staring at you squarely, as if about to deliver a mission report, and its the first familiar expression you’ve seen on his face thus far. He swallows thickly, the only thing belying his hesitation. 

“I said I couldn’t have a one-night stand.” 

You frown. “And th-“

“I don’t want this to be a one-night stand.” 

Some of the breath flees your lungs as you look at him. His lips are still pink and slightly swollen from kissing, his cheeks still slightly flushed from the wine and your touch. You become distinctly aware of the scent of his cologne, faded but warm from his skin. It’s soft, smoky almost. You have the urge to bury his nose in the crook of his neck and breathe.

You know what he’s trying to say, what he’s trying to ask. You know what he wants because you want it too. You realise you’ve wanted it for a long damn time. 

Words fail you. They feel… inadequate to describe what you’re feeling, what you desire, what you’ve always desired buried down underneath the guilt and trauma. 

But you still can’t bring yourself to say it out loud. Not here. Not yet. 

And neither can he.

You’re not sure who makes the first move, all you know is that your lips are pressed against his and he moans into your mouth as if something had finally let go. It’s like a cork had finally been released, a lifetime of pent-up feelings pouring out in one gush. 

His hand is back at the nape of your neck, holding you tightly this time, unwilling to let go. His lips part more readily with every press, his tongue seeking yours with a pinpoint determination. You skip his jaw this time altogether, aiming straight for his hair that you’ve been dying to touch since… you don’t know when. 

The hand that had been holding yours hostage finally releases, only so his fingers can brush against your waist. His fingers brush against your ribs through your clothes, tugging you closer until you’re rising up onto your knees on the couch just to oblige. He’s tilting back, his broad shoulders bumping against the couch cushions behind him - and it’s only distantly you register it’s because you’re pushing him back against it. 

Something shouts at you in the back of your mind to take your time, to savour this, to savour him. You may want each other badly, but this is Nanami’s first time. It should be done carefully, respectfully, the way he would treat you if this position had been reversed. 

But then Nanami’s hand has moved from your waist to your thigh, blindly grabbing it as he pulls it over his lap. Before you know it, you’re straddling his hips with a huff against his lips, and something like a sharp, pained groan leaves his lips. 

You pull away from his lips with a ragged breath, concern knitting your brow until you realise what the cause of his groan was. 

Straddling him, you can feel the pulse of his desire underneath you, the hard ridge of the bulge in his pants pressing insistently against your core through your own clothes. One hand is grabbing your hip tightly, almost too tight, as his forehead rests against your shoulder. The other hand is on your thigh, his thumb digging into the plush flesh there. 

His breathing is ragged, extremely so. Hot puffs fall against your skin. You weave your fingers through his hair softly, and you watch with reverence as a strong shudder rolls down his spine in response.

“We can stop, if you’d like,” you murmur against his ear, going to rise up on your knees to give him a little breathing room.

“Don’t,” he grunts, the grip on your hip and thigh quickly stopping you. He exhales again, a shaky sound as he keeps his forehead stamped against your shoulder. His voice emerges again, barely audible, slightly pained. “...I’ve wanted this for so long.”

Your grip in his hair tightens in response. In a flood, memories of him rush through your mind. A thousand different glances, subtle touches, small clues. Even in school, the way he would linger, a touch closer every time Suguru or Satoru would appear. The hand at the bottom of your back in a restaurant. The way he would lean in to hear you in a crowded place. 

The way his arms had tightened around you when he had returned after four years away. I missed you too, almost inaudible against your ear. 

Nanami didn’t want a one-night stand. What was the point of sex at all, if it wasn’t with you? 

The thought has you rolling your hips down against his before you can stop yourself, feeling the firm length of his cock grind against your core. A moan leaves your lips, and something guttural leaves his. 

The hand on your thigh moves up to your other hip, pulling you down tighter against him as if he could slide inside you right now. “Don’t tease,” he hisses between clenched teeth. He turns his head slightly, his lips brushing against your neck. He leaves a searing, open-mouthed kiss against your pulse point. “Not now, not after this long.” 

“You think you’re the only one who waited?” You pant as you grind again, firmer this time. His hips buck against yours in response, a muffled groan leaving his lips, imprinted against your neck. You can feel his cock throb against you, twitching against the fabric that separates you. 

“…you wanted this too?” He breathes out after a moment. 

You nod, though you doubt he can see it from the way his face is buried against the crook of your neck. “Since you came back. Since you hugged me back and said you missed me.” 

His hands move from your hips to wrap tightly around your waist as if he couldn’t bear for a single slither of space to be left between you two. His hips jut up against you once again, a ragged breath leaving his lips. It seems the idea of you wanting him for so long the same as he had the same effect on him as it had on you. If not more. 

He holds you a little tighter, running the sharp point of his nose along your throat as he tilts his head up. Finally, finally, he breaks free of your neck to look up at you, lips parted, eyes almost desperate. 

With a thick swallow, Adam’s apple bobbing, he goes to say something but falters, and murmurs your name instead. His dark eyes flick between your eyes and your lips. His cock twitches underneath you. 

“Please,” is all he can croak out, and the moan that almost leaves your lips would have been primal. 

You nod your head, giving his shoulders a small squeeze, pushing him back slightly. He seems reluctant to let go, but finally relents after a little insistence, reclining back against the couch. His arms unwind and his hands drop to your hips. He looks up at you, clearly waiting for your lead. 

You sit back slightly on his parted thighs, the muscles firm and supportive underneath you. Letting your hands fall from his shoulders, you drag your fingertips slowly down over the expanse of his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through his wrinkled shirt. As your fingers skate over his abdomen, you feel the muscles flex and roll. Nanami looks at you readily. 

“We should do this properly,” you murmur, your eyes trained on the lower buttons of his shirt, near the waistband of his slacks. “In a bed.” 

Nanami, to your surprise, shakes his head quickly, giving your hips a small squeeze. “We’ve waited long enough.” 

You raise an eyebrow but don’t disagree. Despite the need, the ache, the pulse of your own core, you can’t help but think of if the positions were reversed. The image of candles, roses and soft music fills your mind, Nanami’s guiding hands and murmured praises. It would be slow and romantic. Perfect. 

“Nanami,” you breathe out, almost chastising. With the way his cock is pressing against you, you have no doubt he’s not thinking clearly right now; the thought of having what he had wanted for so long within his grasp clouding rational thought. 

He shakes his head again, a lock of his mussed hair tickling his brow. “Next time.” He shifts, sliding down the couch a little more and spreading his thighs - and in turn, spreading yours. He grips your hips tighter, pulling you a little closer until you’re seated right on top of him. “Next time,” he repeats in a groan. “We’ll go slow. I’ll explore every inch of you, taste you. Now, I just want…” He exhales an unsteady breath, sounding like your name. “I just want you.” 

Your fingers linger near his shirt's lower button, and one of Nanami’s hands unclasps itself from your hip to gently grasp your wrist. He guides your fingertips to the belt buckle, the metal cool against your hot fingers. 

You meet his eyes once more, and his gaze is a paradox of firmness and vulnerability. He’s nervous, you think, but ready. Almost desperately so. 

Without another word, your other hand reaches down to join your other one, and your fingers are surprisingly deft as you slide the leather through the metal. Nanami watches your hands with rapt attention until the belt is loose. Your fingers slide over the metal button of his slacks, and you don’t check in this time. You pop it open before sliding his zipper down, the crackle of the metal teeth as loud as a gunshot between you.

A small sigh of what you think is relief leaves his lips as the fabric parts, giving you a small glimpse of the dark boxers underneath, straining over his cock. A small wet patch blooms at the top, wear his tip would be, and a shudder runs through you. 

Your fingers tuck into the waistband of his underwear, lingering for a moment. You look up at him at the same time he looks up at you. Without a sound, Nanami lifts his hips and you rise up to your knees. 

With a few firm tugs, you manage to inch his slacks and boxers down enough to free him. A small huff leaves his lips as the cooler air of the apartment hits his overheated flesh, and you watch in rapt attention as his cock twitches, the flushed tip glistening already.

It’s longer than you expected. Thicker too. Uncut. A prominent vein runs up the underside of it, and you have the sudden urge to follow it with your finger, or your tongue. 

Nanami shifts underneath you, and you realise you’ve been staring a touch too long.

You pull your eyes away from his cock to meet his eyes, and his breathing seemed to have quickened. Anticipation is making him stiff, almost antsy, a rare sight on a man you’ve rarely ever seen anything of other than composed. 

It’s endearing. 

Reaching down, you satisfy your own urge and run your fingertip up his shaft, following the vein, feeling it pulse steadily to the rhythm of his heart. Nanami’s hips twitch, his eyelids fluttering. Dark eyelashes tickle his cheeks.

When you curl your fingers around him, gripping him firmly at the base, his eyes shoot open, snapping to the sight of him in your palm. You give him one pull upwards, and a bead of pre-cum wells in the divot of his slit. 

“Fuck,” comes out in a very quiet, gruff choke. Your eyebrows rise in surprise, a small smile on your lips. Nanami didn’t always curse, and especially not like that. 

“Language, Nanami,” you tease, and his eyes flick up to you, something indignant and impatient in his eyes. You usually weren’t one to tease, and he wasn’t one to be teased. 

You continue to stroke him slowly for a moment, rubbing your thumb against the sensitive tip. You fingers quickly become tacky, the glide of your hand more fluid, until the lewd wet noise starts to rise to the same level as Nanami’s breathing. He grunts with every upward stroke, his hips twitching underneath you. Had it not been for your weight on top of him, you get the distinct feeling he’d be bucking up into your palm a little more eagerly. His head falls back against the couch, lips parted, his eyes fluttering closed once more as he relaxes more into the sensation. 

It occurs to you that you’ve seldom seen Nanami this relaxed. 

“Are you sure you want to do this here?” you ask, “with me on top?” 

He nods but doesn’t open his eyes. His hands run up from your hips to your waist, a soft caress. “It’ll be… easier for me- hah-“ Another choked groan leaves his lips as you give the head of his cock a small squeeze, and Nanami’s hand flies to your wrist in a blink, stopping you from making another move. 

You feel his cock throbbing in your grasp, and Nanami’s straight-up panting now, his eyes slightly wild as he tilts his head up to look at you. It’s an arousing reality to know that you had just pushed Nanami dangerously close to the edge without even meaning to. 

“I won’t last,” he murmurs, looking up at you, his eyes shining.

 You realise quickly that he’s actually asking a question. Are you sure? 

“This time,” you reply with a small smile. With his hand still around your wrist, you give his cock another squeeze, and he grits his teeth, that vein in his neck protruding once more. You can see the taut muscles in his abdomen flexing from where his shirt has bunched up. 

As much as the idea of making Nanami cum, right here, right now, appeals to you, you relent for now. You’d love nothing more than to watch him spill into your palm, to see the euphoria and bliss play out on his face… but that was for another time. The next time, perhaps. 

You release his cock, letting it fall back against his lower stomach with a dull smack, making him hiss through his teeth. Leaning forward, you brush your lips against his throat, nipping at the skin softly. 

You guide his hands to the waistband of your own bottoms, and he wastes little time in following your unspoken order. The press of your lips against his throat clearly distracts him, but he manages to pull down your clothes enough to leave you in your underwear. You kick them off the sofa haphazardly, not leaving his neck for a single moment. 

He catches you off guard when his hand immediately dives for your sex, cupping your heat through the dampened fabric. You stutter against his neck, gripping onto his shoulders for support in response. 

Your eyelids close, goosebumps erupting across your skin as you feel just how wet you are. “Nanami,” you gasp.

“Kento,” he whispers quickly. Once, then twice, he rubs his palm along your clothed pussy, something guttural building in the back of his throat as you buck down into his touch. “You’re… so wet.” 

The wet spot on the fabric clings tightly to your folds, doing very little to dampen the sensation of his touch. His fingers are exploratory, a tentativeness that belies his lack of experience with this, but his touch, the fact it’s him, here and now, makes up for it all. 

You can’t remember the last time you enjoyed a touch such as this. Not like this. 

Despite toying with Nanami’s cock until he almost burst, hypocritical impatience gets the better of you, and you remove your hand from his shoulders to tug down your own underwear, kicking it off to join the growing pile on the floor. Bare from the waist down, Nanami’s eyes roam over the exposed skin almost hungrily. 

Both calloused hands run up your thighs, pressing into the soft flesh slightly. You see his hand move for your pussy once more, but your fingers are curling back around his cock again before he can distract you. 

Next time, keep parroting in your mind. Next time you can both endure hours of foreplay; touching, kissing, tasting, the whole nine yards. You promise to make him cry out before he even sinks inside you, to run your tongue along every inch of his skin until you’re sick of the taste of him. You’d know he’d do the same. 

But you two had waited long enough. 

Gripping the base of his cock again, you brush it up against your heat, your own slick smearing across him. Nanami’s eyes almost roll back into his head, but he closes his lids before you witness it. You’re faring little better, the mere sensation of having him against you like this, the tip of his cock rubbing up against your clit sending you dizzy. You angle your hips, and just feeling the thick head press against the tight, slick ring of muscle is enough for a moan to already tumble past your lips. 

Something flickers in Nanami’s gaze as he opens his eyes again, honing in on the sight of you braced above him like this. He grips your hips, his touch light, merely supporting you for now. You look back once into his eyes, and go to check in just once more, but he leans forward, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s little more than teeth and raw need. 

His lips pressed against yours, you sink down, the wider head of his cock slipping inside you. Your lips part in a soundless gasp against his mouth, swallowing the ragged groan that leaves his throat. The stretch is slightly more than you’re prepared for. Distantly, you think, skipping foreplay wasn’t the wisest idea, but desperation, need, pushes you forward regardless. 

So you sink down further, inch by inch, and as he slides deeper and deeper, his grip on your hips grows tighter and tighter, until the force of his fingers dulls the ache of his cock kissing your cervix. 

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp as you finally bottom out, hips sitting on top of his. You realise you’re breathless, and that cowgirl might not have been the best position for taking someone of his size. Certainly not in one go, like you just had. 

Nanami is fairing no better. His mouth is agape, his biceps trembling where he clings to you. He seems dazed, winded, panting into your mouth as his arms wind against you. He pulls you forward, and you both moan as his cock seems to slide just that little bit deeper. 

You’re dizzy, strained, stretched out far more than you can ever remember being before. Your eyes are scrunched closed, your forehead knocking against his. Everything feels distant and muffled. It takes you a moment to realise Nanami’s muttering something repeatedly in fragmented gasps.

When you open your eyes, he’s looking at you almost panicked, his eyebrows knitted upward. His teeth are bared, gritted - and it’s now you notice that you’re clenching around him so tight that you’re not sure if you’re causing him more discomfort than pleasure.

You swallow thickly, trying to catch your breath. You’re flushed, prickly heat blooming across your chest and neck. You shift a little, and something pained rumbles from the back of Nanami’s chest in response.  

“Do you want me to stop or-“

“Don’t,” he grunts, his fingers shaking against your back. “Don’t move.” 

The throb of his cock inside you is insistent, and it takes everything in you not to clench tighter around him in response. You know he’s close, dangerously close, and as much as you want to rise up on your knees and slam yourself down on his cock until he’s begging you to stop, you clench your jaw and relax. 

You bury your face in the crook of his neck, kissing his skin softly; small pecks and affectionate touches. He shivers, and his cock still pulses, but slowly, muscle by muscle, he relaxes too, ragged pants dissolving into hot, muted breaths. His arms around you loosen, holding now, not gripping. 

“Tell me when you want me to move,” you whisper against his ear, pressing a small kiss to the lobe. 

He nods, brushing his cheek against yours with a soft sigh. His hand moves from your back upward, until he cups the back of your head, drawing your lips back to his. It’s a soft kiss, loving; slow and sensual slides of wet skin mingling with gentle exhales. Before you know it, and before he says, you’re rolling your hips greedily, just grinding against him for now. 

A guttural sound leaves his lips. His forehead feels hot and sticky pressed against yours like this, a strand of his hair tickling your cheek. 

You feel his thighs shift, widening as far as the slacks still around his thighs can allow, feet planted more firmly into the carpet. The first roll of his hips is disjointed, off rhythm with your own, but the slight drag of his cock against your walls has you moaning brokenly. The second roll, a little more confident, has you pressing your hips down to meet it, and your back arches like a cat.

“Fuck yes,” you moan, your voice thick and throaty. You moan his name, wait for the third shallow thrust, and meet it. “You feel so fucking good.” 

He looks up at you like you hung the stars, his eyes widening at the sound of his name tumbling past your lips like a fractured halo. He loses his rhythm, but you soon pick it back up for him, starting to use your thighs to slide more eagerly down his cock. It’s still shallow, Nanami’s arms around your waist preventing you from really going for it, but you’re unwilling to part from the closeness for now. 

You bounce a few inches at a time, the dull clap of your hips and the lewd squelch of your hot cunt wrapped tight around him filling the air of the apartment. With each bounce, a grunt pushes out from his chest, hot breath fanning across your face. 

Nanami, though inexperienced, starts to let his body guide him. His hips buck up to meet you more confidently, and the growing force of his movements has you keening, fingernails biting into his shoulders. 

You look square into his hooded eyes, breath mingling, and see the flush across his skin, his lips glistening with saliva. You moan again, higher pitched this time, and Nanami’s next thrust has you jolting up a little, nose bumping against his. You clench around him again, and his brow knits together. 

“S-Shit,” he pants, his hips starting to jolt more readily, pushing a little too forcefully into you, quickly losing his rhythm. “I’m not… I’m not going to last…” His movements quicken, grow more erratic, and you’re not even sure he realises. “… you’re so fucking… tight.” 

The last part is little more than a throaty whisper, his voice cracking. You stop meeting his thrusts and instead, widen your stance, tighten your core, and let him take what he needs. The movement, though small, isn’t lost on him, and he looks up at you, emotion swimming heavily in his dark gaze. 

He thrusts up grow more erratic, sloppier, something like a grunt leaving his mouth with every dull thwap of his hips against your ass. His arms tighten around you, fingertips pressing into your skin. A groan, a hiss, and a swallow. The couch creaks and strains. 

“N-Next time - hah - next time… I want t-to feel you cum around me,” he pants, his arms starting to shake. “I’ll give you everything, anything, fuck, I-I’ll keep going until… until… God-“ 

He’s barely pulling out now, a mere inch is all he’s moving, the head of his cock bullying against the soft spot right next to your cervix. Choked, high-pitch moans are the only sounds you can make, and you distantly note you’ve never sounded like before. Not ever. 

You’re getting there, you realise. Not quite close, and definitely not as close as him, but the way his cock fits inside you, the slap of his hips against you, the way he’s looking at you… it’s pushing you there fast. 

But it’s not quite enough. 

“I’m close,” he gasps. “I… where…” 

“Inside,” you reply without hesitation. Something passes by his eyes, a small flicker of concern, perhaps, swimming in the sea of lust and arousal. You try to find your bearings enough to tell him it’s okay, you wouldn’t have taken him inside if you weren’t protected-

-but then his cock is twitching inside you, and Nanami is shaking, shaking underneath you, his thighs jolting, nearly bucking you off his lap altogether. 

With one last slam of his hips against you, buried as deep as he could possibly ago, a long, primal groan leaves him. It’s deep, visceral, easily mistaken for something pained - and it might be the most divine fucking sound you’ve ever heard in your life. 

He buries his face against your throat as his hips buck involuntarily a few times, and you shiver as you feel that familiar warmth bloom inside you. He’s giving you everything, or what feels like it. Your pussy flutters around him, and his fingertips press into you so tight you wouldn’t be surprised to see bruises. 

His heart is hammering against your chest, the thump pounding even in your own chest. Ragged pants and a heavy quiet settles over the living room. His cock continues to twitch inside you, growing weaker with every thud of his heart. 

Nanami doesn’t pull his head from your throat for a long while, his nose pressing into your skin as he pants against you. 

After a moment, he finally swallows. “… I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I… I should have made you-“ 

“Shut up,” you murmur against his warm hair, breathing in the faint scent of sweat and his shampoo. He seems to get the picture, of what you were trying to say. He always did. “Next time,” you add anyway, just to be sure. 

He lifts his head from your skin, looking up at you blearily. You smile fondly as you see his face again, the harsh lines on his brow and his eyes smoother now, no longer creased as they always seemed to be. He looks… so much younger, you think, like this. Relaxed. Sated. 

You brush some of his sweaty hair out of his face, and his eyelids flutter at the brief contact. He seems exhausted, you think.

“I meant what I said,” he murmurs as he looks up at you. “I don’t want this to…” His palm moves against your back, sliding down your spine. “I want you. Properly. I always have.” He swallows. “Always.” 

Your eyes soften. He looks at you expectantly, almost vulnerably. 

“You have me,” you murmur in reply, finally. “Properly.” 

A small smile tugs at his lips, and it’s warmer than you’ve ever seen before. Genuine. Light. It’s as if a decade of weight lifts from his broad shoulders, if only briefly. 

He pulls you close once more, his lips pressing against yours softly, lovingly, and the world seems to fade away. 

For now, of course. 

masterlist.

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Practice On Me — Part Three — Azriel x Reader

Summary: It’s not an Illyrian party without at least one person starting a fight. Azriel is a jealous little shit. Y/N wants to put the smile right back on his face.

(I really don’t want to ruin this chapter for u but I finished writing it and all I could hear was Camilla Cabello in my head singing “I’llll be hooome for chwismois” — you’ll see why)

Word count: 6.2k

Warnings: Some fiiiilthy language. 18+, NSFW, smut, minors dni 🌶️

It’s not that you and the others are trying to take advantage of Rhysand’s mother’s absence. But having an empty property at your disposal definitely comes in handy.

Particularly on nights like these, two weeks later, when the cottage is packed full with more people than it can reasonably host. There’s drinking and conversation and faces you don’t even recognise, and someone has brought Elpys Vine, a herb grown by someone’s sketchy great uncle on the continent that’s supposed to make you hallucinate.

Judging by the empty chair that a male opposite you keeps winking at, you think it’s probably having the desired effect.

The spot next to you dips down as Azriel takes a seat at your side. He hands you a drink, and so naturally, his arm drapes around your shoulders. It’s comforting — and also a relief, to know that things are still normal after what happened on this very couch two weeks earlier. Not a slither of awkwardness.

But your eyes have most definitely been snagging on every unfamiliar female around you and wondering if one of them could be the target of Azriel’s affections. If Kaeda is here tonight, he hasn’t said so.

Part of you wants to ask, and part of you…doesn’t. For whatever reason.

“This is definitely already way out of hand.” Az comments, cocking an eyebrow as he takes in the volume of people packed into the small space. “I thought it was supposed to be a small gathering.”

 “That’s what Cassian told me, too.” You say, and then curiosity gets the better of you. You try to make it seem casual as you study the various females dotted throughout the room. “Is Kaeda here?”

Azriel’s eyes find yours, and he gives a small shake of his head. “No.”

“You didn’t invite her?”

“I didn’t invite anyone. That was Cassian’s job.”

You heave a very dramatic sigh indeed. Sometimes, Azriel is his own worst enemy.

Not that you’ve minded helping him so far — not at all. But surely there must come a point where he directs all he’s learnt at the intended person.

“I will make my move.” He tells you. “I’m just…not quite there yet. Still working on it.”

Fair enough, you suppose. Before you can say anything else, Cassian is suddenly slumping haphazardly into the space at your other side. One of Azriel’s shadows snakes out and clasps your drink before it can slosh down your front.

“Time for a game.” Cassian calls to the room, and you want to groan. Games with Cassian usually ensure chaos. “Let’s play Knife Point.”

There are enough enthusiastic responses that you know your reluctance will be wildly outnumbered. Knife Point is a game that’s used as a ruse to kiss as many people as you like — something you delighted in at fifteen, when kissing was still new to you, but you don’t feel quite the same excitement five years later. It’s pretty simple: a knife is placed in the centre of the table, and the players gather round. One-by-one, everyone takes their turns spinning the knife, and whoever the point settles on when it stops is who the spinner must kiss.

Basic, really. But Cassian loves kissing people.

You and Azriel share a look — one that says he’s no more excited for this than you are. And then you both crack a grin and settle into your seats, because you’ll always go along with Cassian’s shenanigans, even if you complain about them first.

“It seems only fair that the future high lord starts us off,” Cassian says, and slams a dagger down on the coffee table with unguarded enthusiasm. He grins at Rhys, who’s sat in an adjacent armchair with a curvy redhead on his lap. “Rhysand, darling — would you do the honours?”

Rhys flutters thick, dark lashes and gently removes the female from his thigh. “It would be my pleasure.”

The room watches closely as he spins the knife in a sleek way that has a few gazes heating. It spins fast, and then slows, slows, before landing on a female to his right whose name you don’t know. He angles himself towards her, and the smile he gives her most definitely has her falling head-over-heels in love, and the heated kiss he lands on her mouth most definitely has her falling head-over-heels in lust. She looks genuinely heartbroken when it comes to an end.

But then it’s her turn, and she’s kissing Jonan, an ex-fling of yours, and then Jonan is kissing Cassian, and then Cass is spinning the dagger and it’s pointing at you.

Your friend bellows a comical shriek of delight and jumps up so enthusiastically that this time, Az’s shadows can’t stop your drink from spilling. Cass is utterly oblivious as he turns to you with a wicked grin, holding his arms out.

“Come here, sweetpea.” He uses the nickname he’s called you for as long as you can remember. “Come make all my heated dreams come true.”

You snort, handing Az what remains of your drink and pushing to your feet. You intend to deliver a quick peck to Cassian’s lips, but so typically, he clasps your face with enough force to lift you from the floor, and his mouth lands heavily on yours.

Immediately, a chorus of jeers and laughs ring out around the circle. Cassian’s huge hand cups your jaw, and he kisses you like you’ve seen him kiss countless males and females before. It doesn’t matter that you’re his friend, an old comfort blanket — he gives you the exact same energy he gives them. He doesn’t do things by halves.

And the kiss certainly isn’t bad, if not a little strange. You can think of far worse people to be doing this with right now.

It goes on a little longer than necessary, and when you feel it deepen, feel Cassian’s tongue probing yours, you break away. Make a dramatic show of grimacing and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Damn.” Jonan snorts. “You didn’t kiss me like that, Cass.”

Cass smirks. “You’re not half as pretty, nor half as arousing.”

They squabble, and the game continues, and you slump back down by Azriel’s side, already tuning out the noise. You turn to retrieve your drink, only to find Az draining the rest of it.

“Hey.” You knock your arm against his. “I was going to finish that.”

He stares forward, not even looking at you as he quietly replies, “I figured you were too busy.”

Your face creases into a frown as you take in the stiff, rigid set of his body. He’s damn near hunched in that corner of the couch, and it can’t be comfortable with how his wings are a little squished, but it seems almost as if…as if he’s trying to put some space between you.

You try not to think too much about it as you return your attention to the game once more. The knife continues spinning and people continue kissing, and only once does the blade point in Azriel’s direction, to which he tersely announces he was never playing to begin with.

It’s that which makes you realise the reason behind his mood going south. He’s only just started exploring the art of kissing with you, only just started becoming comfortable with it. The last thing he’ll want to do is make a whole song and dance about it and kiss a near stranger in front of a group of people.

Combine that with his natural aversion to huge gatherings, and it makes sense, now, why he’s clutching your empty cup so tightly, and the muscle in his jaw keeps moving.

When everyone else is distracted, you place a hand on his arm.

“Why don’t we go for a walk?” You suggest. “Get some fresh air.”

But he barely looks at you. Just keeps staring forward. He shoots a quick, hard look in Cassian’s direction and rips it away just as fast.

“I’m fine here.” He says. “You knock yourself out.”

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

You know Azriel well enough to know when his social tolerance is at an all-time-low, and being at a party is the worst possible thing for him.

He goes more and more into himself, his brooding, and he seems to emanate an invisible signal that warns people to stay far, far away. Not even the drunken, giggling females approach him. The Shadowsinger is in a dangerous mood, and it won’t take much to set him off.

He doesn’t seem all that interested in talking to you, either, given that all your attempts have been met with quiet, one-worded responses. And so, figuring he’ll come to you when he feels like it, you wander off to get yourself another drink, and you sink into the throes of the party.

At some point, you feel a warm touch on your forearm, and you turn to find Jonan there. He’s a damn nice male — for an Illyrian. A little cocky, maybe, but kind. Not the sexist brute that so many of them turn out to be. You and he had been two eighteen-year-olds, excited about exploring each other’s bodies and sex in general. Realistically, it was never going to go anywhere, but you ended things in good spirits, and you’ve very casually fallen into each other’s beds on a few occasions since.

Judging by the way his dark eyes drink you in, you’re sure he’s hoping that tonight will end in the same manner.

“I haven’t seen you in a while.” You say as you pull back from the hug he gives you.

His eyes seem to glimmer with flirtation. “Perhaps you haven’t been looking hard enough.”

You snort. “Or perhaps you don’t train close enough for us to run into each other all that often.”

That’s definitely it. The Illyrian males are sorted into different training groups based on a whole host of different things. Unsurprisingly, Rhys, Cassian and Azriel are in the most skilled group. Jonan is in a different one.

And it’s Jonan’s group, you know, that has just got back from a harsh training exercise that takes them away for weeks at a time. Which is the most likely cause of you having not seen him in passing.

Azriel’s group will be the next to go on one last training exercise before everyone breaks for the winter solstice. They’ll be setting off any day now, as soon as they’re called forth by their general. A few weeks without your three closest friends is a thought you don’t want to linger on.

“How was the training exercise?” You ask, genuinely interested. There will always be a part of you that wishes that was you, out there, putting your skills to use.

But you’re female. And females stay behind.

“Fucking brutal.” Jonan answers. “The weather is bad this year, so we were out there a week longer than we were supposed to be. My sleep pattern is still fucked.”

“Sounds like you need to relax.”

“Oh, I do.” His eyes trail down your body. “Perhaps you can help me with that.”

You open your mouth, not entirely sure what you mean to reply. All you know is that you’re not jumping at the offer of easy, mindless sex like you have done in the past.

But before you can respond, Jonan is stumbling forward, into you. Thanks to a huge, muscled body knocking into him.

He whips around to face Azriel, spilled drink forgotten in his hand. You didn’t even see Az‘s approach.

“Watch it, Shadowsinger.” Jonan narrows his eyes at him. “You almost knocked Y/N over.”

Azriel stops and eyes Jonan with clear dismissal. A rare, antagonising expression sits on his flawless features. “Are you talking to me?”

“Do you see any other shadowy fucks around here?”

One side of Azriel’s lips twitch up in satisfaction. So rarely does he waste his time looking for a fight, but he’s looking for one now — and has found one.

“What I see,” he says, and steps closer to Jonan, towering over him considerably, “is an irritating little cunt who’s in my way. Move.”

But Jonan doesn’t move. Like a typical Illyrian, he salivates at the prospect of a punch-up. He looks a little pathetic as he tries to square up against Az.

“Now, now, Azriel,” he sneers. “That’s no way to talk about Y/N, is it?”

And the mention of your name in Jonan’s mouth is all it takes for Azriel to launch himself at him. There’s not nearly enough room for this, and as he grabs Jonan by the front of his tunic and slams him against the wall, all sorts of surrounding objects go flying.

At once, everyone is turning to watch the confrontation. And so fucking typically, of all the people in the room, neither Rhysand nor Cassian are anywhere to be found.

Which means you’re dealing with this alone. Because nobody else will care to break this up.

You curse quietly and jump in just as Jonan goes to land a hit on Azriel’s jaw. He falters as you throw yourself between them as best as you can at the angle. It’s not great, but you manage to wedge an arm between them.

“Hey. Enough.” You snap, and it feels like all the times you’ve reprimanded the camp younglings. “Cut this out right now.”

Jonan scowls. And actually says, “He started it.”

It makes you never want to have sex with him again. Never have you been drier between your thighs.

“I don’t give a shit. It stops now.” You stare between them seriously, and then you’re firmly grasping Azriel’s arm. “Az, we’re leaving. Now.”

There’s a moment’s hesitation, like Azriel really, really does not want to give up the fight. But then he’s letting go of Jonan’s shirt, more or less dropping him to the floor.

“Fine by me.” Az fucking smirks at the male. “Enjoy the rest of your night.”

You don’t spare Jonan a single further look as Azriel grabs your hand and pulls you through the thralls of people, all disappointed at a fight not coming to fruition. But their attention is quickly stolen by something else, and you don’t look back as you and Az step out into the cold.

Az begins to walk as though the past minute never even happened. You’re quick to catch up to him and grab hold of his forearm.

“Hey.” Your breath clouds in front of your face in the cold night air. “What was that?”

Azriel shrugs. “It was nothing. He is nothing.”

“You—”

“It’s fucking freezing, Y/N. Can we just go?”

You stare back at him. The urge to pry more, demand an explanation, is a strong one. But it is freezing, and in this frame of mind, you’re not certain he’ll tell you anything, anyway. He’s in a strange mood — probably in anticipation of the upcoming training exercise. Perhaps unwisely, you decide to drop it.

“Go where?” You concede. The biting cold makes the decision to do so much easier.

“Dormitories. You can stay with me tonight.”

Dormitories is a very generous term for the limited accommodation that is offered to each training legion. Most of it sits unused, due to the majority of Illyrians preferring the harsh, toughening dwellings of tents and crumbling old houses in all extreme weathers. But a certain amount of small, draughty rooms are available, and Az tends to make use of his when the cottage begins to feel too crowded, and he needs a break from living on top of Rhys and Cass.

There’s no hammering droves of snow tonight, and you’ve patched up your boots enough to hopefully last you a little longer. A broad expanse of stars glimmers above you, making it a rather pleasant night for a stroll — or it would be, if not for the unavoidable presence of Azriel’s bad mood.

Your attempts at conversation are met with non-committal responses, and by the time you’re kicking through the peeling wooden door to the accommodation, you’re fucking exasperated.

Azriel can be very, very insufferable when he thinks himself into a foul mood.

You could go home, back to your father’s house — you certainly consider it as you follow Az into his cramped dwellings, but…you don’t know. You wouldn’t like to leave him like this. To walk away without seeing him crack a little smile. In nine years of friendship, you’ve never done so before. So you shut and lock the door behind you, and resign yourself to a very silent, very tense night.

You press your back against the door, watching as Azriel perches on the edge of the bed and removes his shoes. Through the walls, you hear the distinct sound of skin slapping against skin, and the building moans of a female close to climax. This miserable building is more often used as a place for a quick fuck than it is to actually sleep in.

But Az doesn’t seem to notice as he shrugs out of his clothing, quickly slipping on a pair of low-slung cotton sleeping trousers, and sprawls out across the mattress, wings fanning around him.

You’re not sure why you don’t move, at first. Or maybe you are.

Your gaze snags on the toned muscles of Azriel’s torso, and the smattering of dark hair that maps a line from beneath his bellybutton to what sits under his trousers. You’ve seen it countless times before, and yet you can’t stop staring.

Particularly when he stretches his arms above his head, and then drags a hand down his stomach. To him, it’s a subconscious act, but to you—

You can’t stop yourself zeroing in on his hand. The very hand that touched you and bathed you in a pleasure so stunning, so splintering, that you hadn’t dared to try and replicate it yourself since. Such inexperienced fingers had coaxed such expert sensations—

“Are you coming to bed?” Azriel’s voice drags you from your thoughts.

“…Right.” You clear your throat. “Yeah.”

“There’s a shirt for you in the armoire.”

You shuck off your clothes, digging out the tunic you often borrow from Az to sleep in. He barely spares you a glance, his eyes glued to the ceiling. You can’t help heaving a sigh as you pad over and slip beneath the blanket. The faelights wink out, and for a while, you both lie there in silence. It’s you who eventually breaks it.

“Are you going to tell me what that fight with Jonan was about?”

Az slings an arm above his head. “You were there. I’d hardly call it a fight.”

“No, I’d call it an overreaction.”

“Jonan’s an arrogant bastard and everyone knows it.”

He brooks no room for argument. And he’s not exactly wrong, either. You know Jonan gets himself into more brawls than the average person. But Az wasn’t exactly justified tonight.

But before you can think of a response, he says, quietly, “Sorry — if I ruined your night.”

You pause. And then roll onto your side, staring at his outline through the darkness. “You didn’t. I didn’t want to go to the party, anyway.”

There’s a tiny, soft snort. “Me neither.” He agrees. “But going along with Cassian’s ideas is the story of our lives.”

“That it is.”

Az says no more, does no more. And you…you hate it. Because it’s not simply that he’s sleepy and dozing off beside you. He’s just as awake as you are. And his mood is still heavy and tense.

You can’t stand it.

It’s perhaps against your better judgement that you inch closer to him, your mind already made up about how you might lift his spirits. It’s dangerous, because your arrangement has simply been about helping him, and he’s always been the instigator, knowing what he needs and when he needs it. Which he most certainly isn’t doing now.

But you would be helping him…in a way. And you can’t lie and say that it hasn’t bothered you, over the past two weeks, that you didn’t get to return the pleasure he gave you.

It would still be a learning experience. That’s what you tell yourself as you press against his side and drape your arm over his stomach.

Az pauses, but this isn’t unusual for the pair of you. You’ve cuddled like this plenty of times over the years — with your other friends, too. And so there’s no hesitation as he slides an arm beneath you and tugs you closer, his wing tucking you in.

You rest your head on his chest, and you murmur, “I don’t want you to go on the training exercise.”

You really, really don’t.

You always miss your friends when they’re sent away, but it seems…heavier, somehow, this time. Like there’s more between you to miss.

That…that is not a good thought to have.

You banish it from your mind rather than dwelling on it.

Az’s hand presses against your back. “I’ll be home in time for Solstice.”

You hear the unspoken promise in that statement; the one Azriel knows you need to hear. Because this isn’t just about simply missing his company.

Solstice is…hard for you, to say the least. Being holed up with your father, him drinking from the crack of dawn until he collapses in a chair by the fire. His unpredictable, volatile moods and tendency to pick at you over every tiny thing. It’s the time of year you rely on your friends the most, and you spend the entire day waiting for your father to pass out so you can sneak away and forget him for a while.

Azriel’s bare skin is so pleasantly warm, lulling you back to the present. You shelve your worries for the time being, press your cheek against his pectoral, and breathe in his frost-and-cedar scent. His wing drapes over you, cocooning the two of you in your own little world.

And there’s no better place than inside that world to ease some of Azriel’s tension. Bring the smile back to his lips.

“…Az?” You whisper, slowly gliding a hand over his stomach.

His body tenses beneath you. There’s a pause before he answers, “Yes?”

“What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing…” He clears his throat. “Nothing much. What are you thinking about?”

The question is an opening for you to stop this right here. You could return a similar, half-assed response, remove your hand from his stomach and go to sleep. Like any sensible, reasonable friend would do.

Or you could be honest.

You could tell Azriel that your close proximity has you thinking all about the magic of his fingers, the sensations he wrought from you. You could admit that it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve thought about it since it happened — not at all. You could tell him that you’re still a little stunned, because besides yourself, nobody has ever made you come that hard.

You could tell him how badly you want — need — to return the favour.

And never one to back down from a situation, however daunting, you do exactly that.

“I’m thinking…” you murmur, and your finger begins to just slightly trace lines over his stomach. Your touch is so light, and yet you feel his body react beneath you. “I’m thinking that there’s more I’d like to teach you about touching.”

A little breath escapes him. “Oh?”

“Mhm.” That finger of yours gets a little bolder, making bigger sweeps over his skin and dancing close to his waistband. “But this time, I want to touch you. You made me feel so good, Azriel. I want to make you feel good as well.”

“You…you don’t have to do that.”

Gods, you know you don’t. You know this situation has never been about him expecting anything from you. Just a friend helping a friend out. No big deal.

But who says you can’t both get something out of it?

“I know I don’t have to.” You answer him. Your hand stops its movements, and you stare up at him, your eyes accustomed enough to the dark to make out certain features. “And I won’t, if you don’t want me to. Do you want me to?”

A tiny, tiny little pause.

And then Azriel rasps, “Yes.”

It’s a guttural, gasping sound, and it’s so delicious that you want to swallow it.

You don’t hesitate in moving your hand up to his face. You angle it towards you. Slant your lips over his.

And you smile. There’s a mulled wine that Azriel far prefers drinking over the piss-poor ale that most males around here favour, and it’s not the first time you’ve tasted it on him. It’s pleasing to explore — the spices and berries and damp heat of his mouth a combination that coaxes you to slide your tongue between his lips.

Az seems pretty well comfortable with his kissing technique, now. He leans into it, not at all tentative, his tongue meeting the strokes of yours. And then he suddenly breaks away.

“I like—this.” He pants heavily, breath fanning your face. “I like doing this.”

The words make something glow inside you, because that is precisely what you want. This isn’t just about teaching him the technicalities of physical touch. It’s about liberating him from the barriers he’s built in his mind, and showing him how much he can enjoy it.

And your friend deserves that.

You plan to really show him.

You slide your hand over his hip and haul him closer, eliminating the tiny little gap that existed between your bodies. An act that makes him suck in a breath.

“If I do anything at all that you don’t like, you need to tell me, Az.” You stare at him. “Okay?”

He nods.

“I need your words. Swear it.”

“Gods, Y/N, I swear it.”

He kisses you this time.

He really does like doing that.

The kiss is hot and hungry, loitering on the precipice of being frenzied. Azriel’s hand slides to the back of your neck, his fingers kneading the skin there. A dim faelight blinks back to life, bathing the two of you in enough warm light to see each other. His tongue pushes past the seam of your lips.

But you don’t give him the chance to stroke at your mouth. There are a million other places you can think of kissing; a million other places you’re just as desperate to get your mouth on.

Your lips glide along Azriel’s jaw with the lightness of a breeze. He goes still, appearing to wait with bated breath to see what you’ll do next, and how it will feel. He’s never been kissed here before.

Nor at his neck. You kiss the skin gently, at first, and smile to yourself at the little breath that hitches in Az’s throat. Something told you he’d be amenable to neck kisses.

Indeed, he is, as you attach your lips to the column of his throat and suck.

It’s a soft ungh, this time, that escapes him. A noise of both surprise and delight. Perhaps he never before considered the sensitivity of the neck, how enjoyable it might be to be kissed there. It’s one of many things you want to be the one to teach him.

You suck and lave at the area until his stomach is caving beneath your hand, and then you’re moving on, dragging your mouth over his collarbone. Down to his pectoral.

His skin is hot but its taste is cold — cold, like his scent. Frost and snow, icy starlight, the whipping winds and thrill of flying. Gods, it’s all delicious, and you close your mouth over his nipple, desperate to taste more.

Azriel starts, his back arching just a little. Your eyes flit up to his as your tongue teases the peaked flesh.

“This okay?” You check, allowing your teeth to graze just a little.

“Yes.” Az breathes. “I never considered that that might feel good for—for a male, too.”

You smile, repeating the action, fastening your lips totally around the nipple and giving a gentle suck. It earns you another quiet sound in response.

But you don’t want quiet. You want to make your friend feel so good that he can’t keep a lid on those sounds. The muscles of his stomach are quivering under your palm, and you decide it’s unfair to make him wait any longer.

So as your tongue circles his nipple, you slip your fingers beneath the waistband of his trousers.

You’re careful, even though you know the sharp intake of breath is a positive one. Nobody’s hands but his own have ever ventured here. You want him to be aware of every touch, every feeling.

Your fingers skate over the dusting of fine, coarse hair. And lower. And then your hand is on his cock.

The mere weight of your touch drags a breathless little noise from Azriel’s throat. And you pause.

Azriel is big, even by Illyrian standards.

From touch alone, you can feel its length, its thickness. You’re not entirely sure you can fit him in your hand, let alone anywhere else.

But gods are you willing to try.

You take your time exploring every detail, starting at the smooth, swollen head — already leaking a droplet of moisture —and circling its rim with your finger. Azriel’s hips jerk, and you smile, removing your mouth from his nipple to kiss further down,

“Still doing okay?” You ask, coasting your lips over his ribs. The pads of your fingers stroke over the head of his cock slowly, casually.

But there is absolutely nothing casual about Az’s voice as he grounds out, “I’m doing great.”

“Want me to keep going—”

“Please.” The word escapes his mouth before you can even finish the sentence. “Please.”

You smile, and you scoot lower down his body, giving yourself the perfect angle to explore the muscles of his abdomen with your mouth, your tongue.

It allows you to feel the exact moment you glide your palm down the length of Azriel’s cock, following the long, jagged vein.

Gods, it feels like it goes on forever.

The skin is velvety, smoothing over every vein, every bump and ridge. You explore it all, as much for your enjoyment as for his. You can’t imagine what it must be like to feel it sliding in and out of you, hitting a spot so deep inside you that you’d have to bite the mattress—

A thought you should not be having. It isn’t going that far.

And there’s a twinge of disappointment at that fact. But now isn’t the time for disappointment.

You trace the length of Azriel’s cock all the way down to his balls, and he’s trembling beneath you. You tug at his trousers, whisper, “Can I pull these down?”

It might be silly to ask, given that your hand is already well beneath the fabric. But you want him to have a choice in everything.

So when he gives a firm nod and lifts his hips for you, you tug the cotton trousers down, peeling them easily from his hips.

Azriel’s cock springs up. And it…it might just be the most perfect cock you’ve ever seen.

You damn near moan at the sight of it.

But before the sound can escape you, you smother it by pressing your lips to Azriel’s stomach. You kiss the skin, lap at it, graze your teeth over it. And your hand returns to his hardened length.

Finally — fucking finally — you wrap your hand around him.

Azriel makes a gasping sound at your touch, his hips canting up into your hand. He’s so responsive to your touch that you have to clench your thighs together to ignore your own arousal. This is about him. Entirely about him.

It’s about him as you slowly begin to pump his shaft, peppering kisses down and down until you’re at his hip. It’s about him as you squeeze gently and hear the hitching of his breath.

“So responsive,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his hip.

“Is that—gods—” He hisses between his teeth as you pump a little faster, “—is that a good thing?”

“Very good, Az. I want to know that you’re enjoying it.”

“I am. Fuck, Y/N, I am.”

“Good.” Another kiss lands on his skin. “You’re doing so good for me.”

The praise drags another noise from the depths of his throat — the loudest he’s made so far. You don’t know whether he’s simply gaining in confidence, or whether he’s losing control. Maybe both. Hopefully both.

And you think you might lose control, too. Watch with rapt fascination as the head of his cock leaks, and it’s swelling, thickening in your hand, and you know he’s not going to last much longer.

You really want to taste him before he falls off the edge.

“Holy gods,” Azriel pants, his teeth biting into his lower lip. “Y/N, I don’t think I’m gonna last.”

“Don’t fight it.” You lick your lips. “Can I put my mouth on you?”

The question makes him fucking groan, and he chokes out an affirmative response, his cock rutting into your hand. You know he’s close, and you want him to finish. Preferably on your tongue.

And when you slide your mouth onto his cock, you know that’s going to happen.

You hollow your cheeks, sucking him into your mouth as much as you can.

Azriel shouts, his head falling back, eyes screwed shut. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

You suck on him, tongue tracing the length of the vein that’s beginning to throb. He doesn’t seem to be aware of the way he slides his hands into your hair, his hips rolling.

“Y/N,” he pants, your name languid and slurred on his tongue, “m’sofuckingclose.”

You pull your mouth off of him long enough to say, “Look at me. Watch me while you come.”

And then you’re sucking him again, your hand wrapped around the base of his length. You pump and lick him and bob your head in time to Az’s hips canting against you, and you think the sounds he’s making may just be the most beautiful ones you’ve ever heard.

And he watches you so closely, his brow furrowed, his lips parted, his chest heaving. Your gaze collides with his, and you’re hollowing your cheeks and giving a particularly harsh suck.

“Oh, gods, Y/N, fuck!”

Azriel spills into your mouth, shot after shot coating your tongue. You take it all, swallowing greedily, savouring the saltiness and the hint of something else that is just Azriel. It seems endless, and so do his groans, his constant string of curses, the jerking of his hips and the trembles wracking through his entire body.

You damn well suck him dry. Not a drop is spared.

As you finally pull him out of your mouth, wipe your lips with the back of your hand and glimpse his shaking, sated form, you know you’re committing the sight to memory. For when this is all over.

He’s…he’s a vision. Head still tipped back. Stomach and chest still heavily rising and falling. Pleasure still pinching his face. His hands are fisted tightly in the bedsheets.

You leave him to come down from his high. He’s still panting a little when his head lolls forward, and his eyes meet yours.

“That was—” His voice cracks a little. “God’s, Y/N, I don’t have words.”

“It’s okay.” You press a gentle kiss to his stomach, tucking his sensitive length back into his trousers. “Words aren’t necessary. You did so well.”

His arms are suddenly around you, tugging you up and against him, your body slanted slightly over his. All the earlier tension from the night is gone, and it’s just you and him, your love and friendship, your unbreakable bond.

Az holds you tightly, burying into your hair. And you think that this was maybe more than just…you returning a favour. You think this might have been a soul-shifting moment for him. Something that released him from the invisible bindings that have held him back for so long.

And it saddens you a little to think that that might be the end of it. That you’ve done all you can do.

But still, you’re honoured to have helped him this far. To have guided him through it.

“Thank you.” He whispers, dropping a kiss onto the top of your head. He’s still trembling, and he tucks himself in tight as if he’s worried he might break. “Just…thank you.”

You don’t quite know what to say. It feels a little…final, and you don’t like that.

So you simply nestle into his side, and you repeat your earlier truth, your voice a whisper. “I don’t want you to go on the training exercise.”

Because you know you’ll miss him more than you ever have before. It’s going to be far harder this time.

What, exactly, that means…you can’t bear to think of it right now.

And there’s no need to as Az holds you tightly, kisses your head again.

“I’ll be there with you on Solstice.” He says. “I promise.”

azriel tags: @hanasakr @positivewitch @ruler-of-hades @brekkershadowsinger @nightscourtt @imperfect0angel @luna-1-3-5 @hyacinthoideshispanica @lucyysthings @lahoete @littlemoonash @blacksstarrynight @azriels-mate123 @ghostly-poetic @frieddesigninspiringquotesslime @a-frog-with-a-laptop @illyriansimp @morrie-rose @passingthroughfireandshadow @illyrian-dreamer @azrielsbabyg @96jnie @mich0731 @mulansaucey @truthtellerfanclub @acourtofbooksandmagic @insightsonmylife @basicbittywitty @curbside-cyanide @acourtofchaosandmess @123345566 @starrynights-frostbites @eos-princess @thesillyyogourt @ona-raising-07-l @acediahamartia @dontfollowmepleaseitsannoying @polli05927 @asdfjklbooks @azriel-luvr @amysangel @humanpersonlasttimeichecked @wildflowernightmere @audie-writes @aaronwarnerswifereal @starxqt @lulufairbank @laurzwrites @livelaughlovenestaarcheron @girlwith-thecinder-blockgarden

[empprentiss]

Peace

Aaron Hotchner x Reader (Aaron providing reader comfort after a tough case)

contains: no use of y/n, hurt/comfort, general cm themes, I think that’s all? (please let me know if I missed anything!)

a/n: hi! I’m certain something along these lines has been done before so sorry in advance for that! it’s been a long, long time since I last wrote anything so I may be a bit rusty. also the first time I’ve written for hotch, and the first time I’ve posted any of my writing on here so I’m slightly nervous! regardless, enjoy! <3

word count: 1.56k

You’re quiet on the drive home.

That in itself is a cause for concern. You’re a talker by nature. On any given night, regardless of how heavy your eyes may feel after poring over a mountain of paperwork and staring at a computer screen for the entirety of the day, or how emotionally exhausted you may be after yet another gruelling case, you’re constantly full of chatter. It’s endearing. Or, at least Aaron thinks it is. Such a stark contrast to his own mannerisms; you’re the rambler, he’s the listener.

Though he may also be weary from whatever work he has endured through any given day, he loves to listen to you talk. He watches you out of the corner of his eye as he drives, an almost imperceptible smile on his lips. You gesture wildly with your hands, stop midstream every once in a while to take a sharp intake of breath before carrying on with your train of thought, eyes alight with passion, no matter how mundane the topic of conversation may be. He’ll hum his assent every once in a while, nod along to show he’s paying attention, but otherwise he’s happy to let you chatter away, simply grateful for your company.

Tonight is different, though.

Tonight you’ve not said a word since the pair of you left the office, and it’s worrying him.

The most recent case had been taxing. Perhaps more so than normal. Any case that involves children seems to hit the team hard, but this one was far worse. The violent nature in which the UnSub tore apart his victims was harrowing, nightmare inducing, and would stay with all of you for a long time.

Hotch had been tempted to send everyone home as soon as the jet touched down in Quantico, but hadn’t. Despite his quiet, reserved love of and care for his team and their health, he knew that the paperwork following a case was vital and time consuming, and he’d rather they got it over with so everyone could go into the weekend with clear heads, and wouldn’t be expected to rehash all the gory details come Monday morning. So they’d stayed, and they’d worked, and they’d filtered out at 5 o’clock, a weary chorus of hushed goodbyes lying in their wake.

The bullpen was empty by the time Aaron had ushered you out to the car. Your legs had felt heavy, your heart heavier still, and had it not been for his grounding touch on the small of your back, you’re certain you would’ve dropped to your knees and let out the most blood curdling of screams. Once in the car, he’d helped you buckle your seatbelt before climbing into the drivers seat and heading for home. The radio was switched on, at a low volume, and provided a calming soundtrack for the drive.

He wanted to speak to you, wanted to hear your voice in return. But he remained silent, his gaze flickering towards you every so often, his hands aching to reach out and touch you. You, for the majority of the journey, lay your head on the window and kept a steady gaze on the passing scenery.

Aaron was out of the car first once he’d pulled into the driveway and parked the car. You hadn’t even registered his departure until he was carefully prying your door open so as not to startle you. You looked to him with a furrowed brow, the concerned look on his face almost breaking you.

“We’re home, honey.”

You’ve no recollection of walking into the house, let alone the upstairs bathroom. But when you seem to come to your senses, you find yourself sat on the closed lid of the toilet, wringing your hands together, teeth biting at your lower lip. Aaron is leaning over the bath, the fingers of one hand trailing through the water to check the temperature, the scent of your favourite bubble bath surrounding you.

When he turns, you almost crumble. He gives you the sweetest smile, all dimples. The stoic facade he adopts when in the company of others shatters when it’s just the two of you. He’s softer. He handles you like glass, as if you could quite easily shatter. It should annoy you, really, but it doesn’t. Because it’s Aaron, and you know it’s merely his way of showing you how much he loves you.

He knows you’re strong, capable of anything - these are things he regularly reminds you of. But he’s also the first to remind you that you’re allowed to be vulnerable, to lean on others, on him, when you need to. It doesn’t make you weak - it makes you human.

His footsteps echo as he walks towards you. The crack of his knees as he crouches by your feet would make you laugh on any other occasion, would have you mocking him and making jokes about how old he’s getting. But not tonight. You don’t have it in you to speak right now, let alone tease him.

Lifting his hand to your face, he pulls your lip from between your teeth. With a calloused thumb, he rubs across the cracked skin, wiping up a drop of blood as he goes. He’d usually scold you for it, but he stays quiet. Your cheek is swallowed by the entirety of his palm, and you lean into the warmth and comfort his touch always provides.

There’s a familiarity in his actions, as he rises to his feet and starts to help you out of your clothes, that makes your heartache. The way in which he takes charge is so reminiscent of Hotch - the leader, the boss, the grump. But there’s a softness to him, too. The way he waits for your nod before you unhooks your bra and pulls the straps down your arms, the way his touch lingers on your skin, the way he presses loving kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, the palm of your hand.

That gentleness is only for you.

That side of him is purely your Aaron.

Once your clothes are shed and tossed into the laundry hamper, he takes your hand and steadies you as you settle into the heat of the bath water. A stifled gasp sneaks past your lips, and he’s about to apologise for the temperature. But then you sink down, relax into it, and the apology dies on his tongue.

You’re certain he’ll leave now. He’s so in tune with your emotions that he’s confident you’ll want some privacy, a moment to yourself. You prove him wrong when you grasp at his fingers, your eyes filled with a silent plea.

Stay.

So he does.

He settles himself on the edge of the bath, strong, calloused fingers inching through your hair, scraping at your scalp. Your eyes flutter closed and you once again relax into his touch. You truly can’t remember the last time you felt love like this, so completely safe with another person, your heart fit to burst. And you want to tell him. Want to thank him, to whisper how much you love him as though it’s a secret for just the two of you. But your throat is hoarse from holding back tears, so you’ll figure you’ll tell him later.

You have time.

Aaron is diligent as he helps you through your routine. He washes your hair, warns you to close your eyes as he rinses the shampoo out, watches as it collects around you in the water. His fingers feel wonderful on your scalp as he massages in your conditioner, and again as he washes it away. He’s careful not to be too rough as he takes a wash cloth to your face and your body. And when he presses a kiss to your lips once you’re clean, his heart swells at the smile you give him.

It’s only a small thing. If he’d have blinked, he’d have missed it. But it’s the first smile he’s seen on your face in days, and he finds himself basking in it, brain in overdrive as he thinks of ways to draw more from you.

You feel more human after your bath, more steady. So, as you stand at the counter, wrapped up in a towel that swallows your small body, and brush your teeth, he dips out of the room for a moment. When he returns a minute later, it’s with a change of clothes in each hand. Underwear for the both of you, as well as a couple of t-shirts (both his, you notice quickly, and once again you’re overcome with love for the man that knows you so completely that he knows you’d want to be entirely surrounded by him tonight).

The plug is pulled from the bath, lights are switched off, and you’re both crawling into your own bed once you’re dressed. It’s only when you’ve been away for a while that you come to appreciate the small comforts your home provides - the mattress that is perfectly molded to your shape, the softness of your own pillow, the silk of the sheets on your bare legs.

And it’s when Aaron collects you in his arms, brings your head to rest on his chest, your fingers tangling in his shirt, a mumbled ‘I love you’ pressed into your hair, do you feel something you haven’t felt in days.

Peace.

[blairxbear]

Healing Wounds

Billy Hargrove x Reader

Summary: When Billy gets into a fight at a party, how will you react to cleaning his wounds?

Word Count: 1.9K

Warnings: Fighting, Drinking, Swearing, Blood, Attempted Assault, Wounds (non descriptive)

As always this blog is 18+, MDNI

“Hold still!” you command, turning Billy’s jaw towards you. He lets out a hiss as you press the cotton pad to the exposed cut just below his eyebrow. He notices the way your gaze softens at this and the way your grip on his chin lightens. Lifting your fingers to trail the bruise on his cheek lightly enough that he barely feels it. Billy can see the conflicting feelings in your eyes, the fear of him being hurt but also the anger of the events that had transpired earlier that night.

With Billy’s popularity in Hawkins, he was expected to go to whoever’s party it was that weekend. He reveled in the attention he received from his peers, you on the other hand weren’t as keen on it. A house full of drunk teenagers always led to dramas you didn’t need in your life when there was already so much going on in Hawkins.

You watched Billy down his drinks while the crowd cheered him on, spitting out the remainder of his drink into the air. You watch as he turns, eyes scanning the crowd until his gaze falls upon you and he sends a wink your way. Soon enough he’s in front of you with his arms wrapped around your waist pulling you into him, “What do you say, I get us another drink?” You raise an eyebrow as you tease him, “I think you just chugged enough beer for the two of us.”

He leans in close pressing a kiss to your cheek before his lips rest against your ear, “Oh, I think you know I can handle more than that princess.” The nickname sends a shiver up your spine, which Billy doesn’t fail to notice. You feel his smirk as he presses another soft kiss to your cheek. You playfully swat at his chest as he pulls away, you can’t resist mimicking his smile as he lets out a laugh. You lean up to press a kiss to his lips, much too quickly for his liking as you feel him follow your retreating lips with his own. Placing your empty bottle in his hands, “I’m going to the bathroom, wanna grab us another and I’ll meet you back here?” He nods before pulling you in for another kiss, “Don’t be too long.”

Making your way towards the bathroom in the unfamiliar layout you can’t help but think about Billy, you loved when he was like this. He seemed so care free tonight and you relished in the thought of him getting a night of peace, where the two of you could just be together. The soft kisses and touches you shared now that he was finally comfortable enough to be somewhat vulnerable with you. You wouldn’t tell him this but you couldn’t wait until the night was over when you knew Billy would hold you in his buzzed state, whispering soft affections in your ear and placing sloppy kisses wherever he felt like it.

Lost in your daydream you hadn’t noticed someone behind you until you feel a hand grasp your arm and pull you towards them. Looking up you immediately recognise Alex, he was in a few classes with you and had at one point asked you out on a date without knowing you were with Billy, well either he didn’t know or he didn’t care. His grip on you tightened as he pulls you closer and you can smell the alcohol drenching his breathe, “What are you doing up here all alone beautiful?” You pull your arm out of his grip and take a step backwards, “I’m here with Billy.” You try your best to keep your voice steady as he stalks forward cornering you against a wall. You try to take a step sideways to avoid his closing proximity but he places a hand next to your head to trap you in between his arms.

“Where you going sweetheart?” clearly ignoring your answer to his earlier question. “Billy is waiting for me.” You keep your voice firm and try to end this without making Alex angry or escalating the situation. He leans in closer to you as if he’s about to whisper a secret in your ear, “Doesn’t look like Billy is here, can’t care too much if he leaves you by yourself, can he?” The smirk he flashes you as he moves a strand of hair from your face, raises the hair on the back of your neck for all the wrong reasons.

“Alex, get off me,” you shove his chest lightly causing him to lean back slightly but still keep his arms blocking you in. “Come on baby, I can show you a better time than Billy ever could.” You shove against him again but this time it does nothing to stop him as he leans in closer trying to kiss you, “I said get off me!” your hands are thumping against his chest now. You screw your eyes shut as you feel them fill with tears and try to pull your head back even further from him and into the wall.

Before you know it the weight of Alex has been lifted and his grip on you is gone. You open your eyes just in time to see Billy land a punch right into the side of Alex’s face. You gasp at the scene unable to remove yourself from the wall that you still felt pinned against. Both of them are taking hits but eventually Billy gets the upper hand and slams Alex into the wall further down the hall. Its only now that you're broken out of your fear fueled stupor, rushing over to where he has Alex in his grip wanting to stop them before he hits Alex again.

“Billy don’t! He’s not worth it!” he doesn’t even take his eyes off Alex. You watch the way his chest rises and falls and the pure rage in his eyes as he looks at Alex. You gently place a hand on Billy’s arm, he turns his head slightly to look at you. Finally noticing the tears that stain your cheeks and the sad expression you wore he softens slightly, “Please Billy, just take me home?” How could he ever refuse you?

He turns back and brings his face closer to Alex, “You're lucky that Y/N has a more forgiving nature than I do. Apologize to her.” Alex’s eyes flick between the two of you, you refuse to meet his gaze, not taking your eyes off Billy. But Billy was running out of patience, only holding on so that he didn’t upset you anymore, “I said apologize!” Billy slammed his hand against the wall next to Alex’s head, causing him to jump in panic, “Sorry! I’m sorry!” Billy lets him go but doesn’t step back, “If you even look at her again, it’ll be the last thing you do. Do you understand me?” Alex can only nod before scurrying off out of sight.

Billy takes a breath to calm down before turning back to look at you, his hand instinctively reaching out for you to make sure you were okay. You take a step back out of his reach and his hand hesitates before he drops it completely. You can’t even look at him right now, you turn away and make your way towards the exit with him trailing not too far behind. The car ride was silent, still not looking at Billy you kept your eyes glued to the passenger window. You could feel Billy’s eyes on you as he would look over at you, worry etched into his brow.

Billy closes the door behind you both as you arrive in your empty house. Immediately seeking your comfort, “Y/N I…” “Sit.” You cut him off pointing to the seat at the kitchen table, he doesn’t even hesitate before following your directions. Any other time the sight of him being so obedient would have made you giggle, but right now you were too overwhelmed with emotions to think straight. He can’t help but wonder what you're doing as you disappear, he contemplates calling out to you but without knowing how you were feeling he didn’t want to risk it. You soon return with some medical supplies and now here you were, the hurt prominent in your eyes while you trailed your fingers over the blossoming bruise on his cheek.

You soon return to the task at hand turning your attention to the cut on his lower lip, he watches your face the entire time. He could almost smile at the pout you wear and the furrow in your eyebrows as you concentrate. But your watery eyes that have yet to make eye contact with him stops him. You let out a sigh as you are almost finished his face. “Are you angry with me?” he speaks so softly, if you hadn’t been so close to his face you might’ve missed it. “Yes.” But he notices the wobble in your lips as you try to hold back tears.

Billy grabs the hand that is currently cleaning his lip and gently brings it to his mouth placing a kiss to the pulse point before locking eyes with you, “I’m sorry baby.” It’s all it takes to finally break your resolve. Tears finally leaking from your wet eyes as you let out a small sob. “Hey, hey shhh. None of that sweetie.” Billy’s arms wrap around you as he brings you into his lap, pulling you close into his chest.

“I’m so sorry Billy,” you mumble out in another sob, he pauses at this, confusion clearly etched into his face as he pulls you back. “Baby what are you sorry for? You did nothing wrong?” he brings his fingers up to wipe away the tears that continue to fall, “I just hate seeing you get hurt. Especially because of me.” He sighs before bringing your forehead to meet his, “this is not your fault you hear me?” you nod as you pull back to wipe your tears away as you start to calm down.

“Good. Nobody hurts my girl and gets away with it.” A small smile appears on your face much to his delight, “There’s my pretty girl.” He gives you one of his devastatingly handsome smiles before his expression becomes more serious, “I promise I’ll never let anything happen to you okay? I’ll always be here to protect you.” “Well then I guess I’ll always be here to clean up the mess afterwards,” you barely get the words out before he pulls you in for a kiss, practically smashing his lips against yours to try to convey his feelings as best as Billy knows how.

He lets out a small hiss before pulling back after you brushed against the cut on his lip. You can’t help the giggle that escapes you, “Guess I shouldn’t kiss you for a while,” he huffs out a small laugh before the smirk returns to his face, “Are you kidding me? A little bit of pain is worth it if it means kissing you for the rest of my life.” Lifting your chin with his fingers he pulls you in to what will be one of many of the kisses the two of you will share tonight.

[wheeboo]

i miss you, don't call me | lee seokmin

SYNOPSIS. in which a particular boy has been clouding your mind lately, and you decide to drink away the thought of him𑁋when that isn't the right choice. PAIRING. ex!lee seokmin x gn!reader GENRE. angst, hurt/comfort... but also not really WARNINGS. drinking, swearing WORD COUNT. 2.5k

notes: kinda inspired from the song "i miss you, don't call me" by alessia cara. just wanna say i am forever guilty and full of shame for writing angst for this man. it feels completely out of character to write angst for him 😭😭

You hate the taste of alcohol.

You hate the way it lingers a bitter aftertaste on your lips, the way it burns like a smoldering ember down your throat that refuses to be extinguished, the way it wraps its tendrils around your senses and makes the world spin so merry around you.

You hate the taste of alcohol, yet there's a certain fascination in the way it blurs the edges of reality and a strange comfort in its familiarity. You were never usually one to drink in general, but tonight was different, and you find yourself caught between the resistance and the surrender, tip-toeing on the edge of clarity and a spellbound haze.

This is supposed to make you forget. Forget the deadlines, the expectations, the responsibilities, the miniscule hole in your chest that you have been trying to close. This is supposed to propel you in the right direction𑁋at least, that's what you convinced yourself in the hours before you wounded up in the middle of your living room with a half-empty glass in your hand. It's midnight, or something, you don't know for sure, and you couldn't be bothered to even check anyway.

This is supposed to help you forget him. He did nothing wrong, or anything wrong for the matter. His smile was always so bright like the sun, so full of life. He's like a bruise that refuses to fade, yet merely painful to the touch. You take another sip, and the amber liquid seems to carry with it the warmth of his laughter. And when you close your eyes just for a few seconds, you swear you can feel the warmth of that figurative sun on your face. Or maybe it's the alcohol. Or both.

It's been almost a year since you let him go. The reasons were complicated𑁋or simply, you both were just different𑁋and the echoes of that choice still reverberate in the quiet corners of your heart. You were convinced it was for the best for both of you, and all it took was two sentences for that line to be cut right on the same couch that you sat on.

And yet, the ache of his absence persists, leaving a void in your chest that you couldn't stitch up yourself.

Does he... still think about you from time to time?

It's a question you've asked yourself in the quiet moments before sleep. You wonder if he ever glances at the same moon that hangs in the night sky and thinks of the moments you shared under its wake.

You try to bury the thought away under the weight of another sip, but it resurfaces like an insistent tide as you let out a heated hiss to its taste. The room around you sways slightly, your head is starting to pound, and your thoughts are restless with nothing but just him.

The screen to your phone lights up on the coffee table, and you glance down at it, suddenly contemplating the idea of reaching out to him. Maybe it's the alcohol whispering in your ear, urging you to seek closure, or perhaps, rekindle a flame that was never truly extinguished.

The unanswered question lingers like a spectre in the room. Does he still think about you? The question gnaws angrily at your skin, and you find yourself reaching for the phone almost instinctively, as if drawn by a sudden invisible force.

With a deep breath, you unlock your phone. His contact is still there, his slightly blurry name staring right back at you like an open invitation. You tap a few times before landing on his number, and with a mixture of intoxication and courage, you press the call button.

The phone rings, each tone amplifying the drumming in your head. Your heartbeat quickens with each ring, the sound of it echoing in your ears. The haze in your mind seems to intensify, and you realise you might be crossing a line, but it's too late to turn back now.

The seconds tick away, and just as you begin to think about hanging up, he answers.

"Hello?"

His voice reaches through the phone and into your clouded consciousness. For a moment, you freeze, caught between the impulse to speak and the weight of the drunken-induced courage that made you make this call.

"Hey, Seokmin." Your voice comes out smaller and weaker than you anticipated.

A beat of silence follows your words. The weight of his name hangs in the air. You can almost sense Seokmin trying to process the unexpected call.

"Y/N?" His voice carries a mix of surprise and concern. "Is that really you?"

"Yeah," You reply, your words sounding less sure than you intended. "It's me."

There's another pause, and you can almost feel the distance between you two through the phone.

Then his voice comes through again, gentle and cautious, "Is everything okay?"

"Um..." You croak out, your thoughts stumbling over the words. "I just... I just needed to hear your voice."

Another pause. The only thing you could hear is the faint static on the other line.

"My voi𑁋Wait, are... are you drunk?"

A nervous laugh escapes your lips. "Uh, maybe a little," You admit embarrassingly.

Seokmin lets out a soft sigh on the other end of the line. You can't tell if it's from relief, concern, or disappointment, but the weight of it presses against your chest. It's almost suffocating.

"I just..." You start, the words hanging in the air. "is it bad to... to say that I miss you?"

The silence that follows is almost deafening. You can nearly imagine his face on the other end𑁋the ever expressive sunshine Lee Seokmin whom you spent nearly all of your college years with. A faint smile tugs at your lips at the thought of it, the thought of him. Sure, you've wondered how he has been from time to time, but tonight felt different. You can't tell if the alcohol is confusing missing with longing, or if it's amplifying a truth you've kept buried for too long.

"Y/N, you... We don't even live in the same city anymore." Seokmin's voice breaks the heavy silence. There's some suppression to his voice, like he's trying to hold something back, but you don't seem to notice. "Things have changed."

You bite your lip unconsciously, almost too hard you think it might bruise and bleed. The reality of it all settles in𑁋that you live hundreds of miles away from each other𑁋and a knot forms in your stomach. You take another sip of your drink, hoping the alcohol can provide some sort of shield for the vulnerability seeping through.

"I'm... I'm not asking to get back together, I..." Your voice trails off again, and you swallow a lump in your throat. "Things here have been awful, and I couldn't help... couldn't help but think of you, I guess."

Seokmin's side of the line remains quiet for a moment, absorbing the weight of your words. You can almost envision the wheels turning in his mind. There's a siren that wails outside your apartment for a few seconds, before fading away in the distance.

"You're drunk, Y/N," Seokmin states. "This isn't the best time to talk𑁋"

"I just wanted to know if you still thought about me too," You interrupt him, voice firm. The words are forcing themselves out at this point, and there's an urgency in your tone, almost as if the alcohol has taken control of your tongue.

Seokmin sighs audibly on the other end, and you can almost picture him running a hand through his hair.

"This... this isn't fair," he finally responds. "You can't just... call me in the middle of the night and tell me all this now."

His words sting, not because they're harsh, but because they're true.

"You were... you were always so cheery, you know?" You chuckle, words slurring slightly. "Even when I was drowning in stress, you had... th-this way of making everything feel lighter. And right now, I... I'm looking for a new job. Everything's been a fucking nightmare, and you... were the first person I thought of and..."

You stop your track in your words, gulping down an imaginary mass wedged down your throat. When your cast your eyes around your dark apartment, all you could see are the remnants of a life you used to share with him, and the mess you were left to clean up with.

You tighten your grip on your phone slightly. "Do you remember when, um... we used to stay up late, working on our assignments together? It... it feels like a lifetime ago."

There's a soft laughter you hear on the other end, and you think for a moment you might just have made him smile. You feel a little bit lighter at the thought.

"And... the pizza boxes that we turned into little tables because our dorm room couldn't fit all of our textbooks and a decent eating space?" You add on, finding yourself smiling to the visual. Just a tiny bit.

There's some shifting on the other side. He's remembering all of it too.

"We were a little messy back then, weren't we?" he chuckles fondly.

You bite your lip nervously again. "But... it was our mess, right?"

"Yeah," You hear him say, and there's a warmth in his voice. "Our mess that we somehow made work."

You take a sip of your drink again, even though you really shouldn't. But you can't help it. The alcohol seems to fuel your courage, or perhaps it's the shared nostalgia that wraps around your conversation like a comforting blanket. The messiness, the laughter, the late-night talks with his arms around you𑁋they were all part of a chapter that shaped both of you.

Your mind is hazy, but you press on, driven by a longing you can't quite articulate.

"I-I'm sorry, I don't know why I called," You confess, voice trembling. "I just felt this emptiness, and I thought... I thought hearing your voice might fill it, even for just a second."

"It's okay," Seokmin is quick to reassure gently and soothingly. "You don't need to say sorry; it does... feel nice hearing you. But calling me in the middle of the night, when you're drunk... it's not the solution, okay?"

You nod, even though he can't see you. There's some heat that prickles at the corners of your eyes, but you blink them back, trying to contain yourself. You've already made an enough mess of yourself this entire night.

"I know it wasn't..." You clench and unclench your other hand, nails digging into your skin. "I just... needed someone to talk to, and you were that person for me."

"But... I'm not that person anymore," Seokmin clarifies, and his words seems to hit a nerve. "You have to be that person for yourself."

You inhale shakily, realising that you've been clinging to a version of him that exists only in memories. For a moment, you're suspended between the past and the present. The truth in his statement stings, but the pain is necessary. You've been using this idea of him, the memories you shared, to help ground you.

You wish you could reach through the phone and touch the past, rewrite the script, and undo the choices that led to this painful distance. But you already know you can't. It's too late.

Seokmin's right𑁋things have changed.

"Can you... just answer what I asked before?" You ask softly, carefully, tapping your fingers nervously against the glass in your hand. "If you... if you still thought about me."

There's a sound on the other end. You're not sure what it is𑁋a sigh, a chair shifting, or perhaps the subtle closing of his eyes. Whatever it is, it heightens the anticipation.

"Of course I... I do think about you," Seokmin admits, and that particular weakness to his voice paralyses you. Your heart catches in your throat. "I can never forget about what we had. But... we've both moved forward, Y/N. Life took us in different directions."

His words hit you like a cold breeze. It doesn't bring the comfort you expected; instead, it leaves you with a mix of emotions𑁋vulnerability, acceptance, and a tinge of sorrow.

"Maybe... in a different universe?" You hear the uncertainty in your own voice, a wistful hope that hangs in the heavy air around you.

You try to think you imagine a smile to his face when you say that, but the silence on the other end stretches out, and reality settles in again.

"Maybe," he concedes, and the word hangs there, suspended between what once was and what could have been. Just not in this one. "You deserve all the happiness in the world, Y/N. I need you to be happy, even if it's without me. Life keeps moving, and we have to move with it. You're one of the strongest people I know, okay? You can get through this. I believe in you. I always have, and I always will."

You deserve happiness too, Seokmin.

Despite the gloominess to your thoughts, every single one of his words echoes within your head. And it hurts, your head throbbing from the alcohol and emotions. The truth tastes like a bitter pill, and you swallow it down, the sting lingering in your chest.

"I miss you," You admit before you could think straight, slipping out like a confession in the dark, suddenly feeling all too exposed.

"I... I miss you too," Seokmin responds hesitantly, softly; you can hear the small, hint of a smile in his voice. You wonder if he's been smiling like the sun these days. "but... I don't want you to call me like this. Not when you're hurting and drunk. It's not healthy for either of us."

His words carry a gentle yet firm tone, a reminder of the boundaries that now exist between you. You can feel the reality of the situation settling in and the pages that turned since you both went your separate ways.

"I know," You murmur. "I just... needed to say it out loud."

For a minute, you both don't say anything. It's oddly comfortable, yet fragile with an unspoken sadness.

"Promise me you'll take care of yourself, okay?" Seokmin's voice breaks through the quiet. It's a request, a plea.

"I promise," You respond, the sincerity cutting through the haze. "And you take care too, Seokmin."

The conversation lingers for a moment, as if both of you are reluctant to sever the weak tie that binds you in this moment.

"Goodbye, Y/N."

"Goodbye, Seokmin."

When the call disconnects, you sit there for a while, phone in hand, the room now silent except for the distant sounds of the city outside.

You glance down at the almost-empty glass down in your hand, and in a swift movement, down the rest of the drink down your throat, feeling the familiar burn as it goes down. The room seems to sway a bit more than before, and you clutch your phone a bit more tighter as if it might steady you.

Then you shoot your eyes back down at your phone, seeing the way it turns on when you tap the screen, the sudden brightness of the screen stinging your eyes.

Impulsively, you navigate to your messages, and without thinking too much, you find Seokmin's contact and start typing.

[y/n] i love you, i'm sorry

With a deep breath, you hit send, and flip your phone over. Fuck, what did you just do? You're going insane.

Then your phone vibrates again, and you quickly grab it, heart racing.

But then your heart drops. It's not a message; it's a notification.

The number you have reached is no longer available.

taglist (open) ʚɞ @enhazen @haowrld @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @lockburn-castle @vrnism @weird-bookworm @mhlsymlysn @ryuwonieebae @yeonjuns-redhair @wonwooz1 @woohaeyo @mark-geolli @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts

[unlimitedlust]

Good Girl Gone Bad (Javier Peña x Reader)

A/N: Heyyy, another Javier Peña thristy fanfiction for you!!! Now heads up for initial details I noted people appreciate:

Word count: 4.3K

Disclaimers: it’s a female Reader x Javier story, +18 (very explicit scenes ahead guys) 🌶️🔥👄💦, unprotected p in v, tinges of sub Javi and breeding kink!!!

When you see this “-0-”, I recommend you to put “Ride or Die, Pt. 2” by Sevdaliza, Villano Antillano and Tokischa for ambiance purpose!!!

Please let me know if you enjoyed it, likes and reblogs are very much appreciated and also encourage me to keep writing (if you like my writing ofc 😅)

Enough said: Enjoy your reading!!!

Javier seized the burning sensation from the freshly brewed coffee down his throat as he took a big gulp from his mug, as if the bitter liquid was going to turn off his mind from all the work he had to do for at least a few seconds. His eyes scanned the big piles of files around him, the full ashtray almost falling off the front border of his table and next to the telephone he’d left off the receiver on purpose.

DEA staff ran up and down their office talking on the phone, receiving and printing new information from loud fax machines, typewriters keys clicking annoyingly loud, both English and Spanish being spoken all the time. For an ordinary person who wasn’t used to such a busy dynamic it was a maddening environment itself, not to mention the main part of their job, which was chasing after narcos.

Javier knew all their faces and names, but he was under such stress he just didn’t care to engage in any kind of small talk conversations with his coworkers anymore, and day after day he understood the wallflower that sat in the farthest corner of the office, just doing her job like a horse on a winker.

He knew she worked there for a while now, but all the knowledge he had about her was her name and that she was a great investigator. She was so quiet the only times he’d heard her voice was when someone greeted her and she greeted them back. At first Javier thought she was a weirdo, but now not only he admired her invisibility and discretion, but also understood why she wanted to be left in peace in a corner just doing her job.

The fact that she was a beautiful woman didn’t go unnoticed by him of course, even without ever seeing her smile, but she kept herself shut to any contact with anyone in that place he just didn’t dare to bother the peace she seemed to hold and he envied so much.

Sadly his position in the DEA didn’t allow him to have that luxury, after all, he was The Javier Peña.

Hours flew by and by the time Javier broke his attention away from the files in front of him, he realized it was dark outside and he was alone in the building again.

He knew he still had endless work to do for the day, but he’d had enough, his head would explode if he spent another night in that office, he needed to leave and blow off some steam.

“Fuck this shit”

-0-

Grabbing his car keys, Javier left the empty DEA office and drove mindlessly around the city looking for the first place that would grab his attention enough to drag him inside.

Tonight he wasn’t looking for a hooker to spend a few hours by his side, if he wanted that he’d just head home and call one of his contacts and get it over with.

He wanted something different, something cheerful and with heavy drinks, he desperately needed to forget his job and all the shit he had to deal with everyday just for a few hours.

A club with big pink neon lights adorning its name caught his attention as he parked his vehicle on the side of the street, the loud reggaeton beats coming from the inside drawing him in as he made his way to the entrance.

Just as he stepped inside he was swallowed by a sea of sweaty and drunken people dancing, twerking, grinding on each other, hands all over the place, allowing the sensual and captivating beat to take over their bodies and desires.

It was perfect for what Javier needed at that moment.

He made his way through the crowd to one of the bars, checking out a few asses on his way there, feeling more comfortable and confident as he received some flirtatious glances in his direction.

With an ice cold beer in hand he checked out the dance floor in front of him once again, but this time a woman in a dark pink skin tight dress caught his attention. He hadn’t seen her face yet as she had her back turned in his direction, but the way she swayed her hips and how that tantalizingly short dress hugged her body in all the right places made his mouth water at the sight. He couldn’t help but wonder how she would look like moving like that on his dick, riding him in a reverse cowgirl position with that juicy ass and bouncy hips. The thought alone made his jeans feel tighter on himself.

Javier took a larger gulp of his beer as he got ready to approach her, ready to use all of his charm and unfailing game with women in hopes to be the one to take her home tonight.

But as soon as she turned in his direction, his jaw dropped when he realized the woman he was lusting on was the wallflower from the DEA, the one that no one knew nothing about other than her name and the info on her files, held a naughty smile on her face as she danced in the most provocative way possible, dragging not only Javier’s but many other men’s attention, and she knew it, she meant it.

Every now and then men tried to approach her to dance with her and maybe get a little taste, but she ditched them all gracefully. She didn’t want them. She wanted to feel desired and lusted on, but for her the real fun was in taking the candy out of their mouths, which was drawing them in like a mermaid, to then ditch them off like nothing.

The new discovery only encouraged Javier to take his shot with her. He was well aware that working with her could be both a leverage or a weakness, and there was only way he could find out.

She hadn’t seen him yet, the dim and colorful flickering lights over her didn’t allow her to see faces clearly from a certain distance, so he used that to watch her, waiting for the perfect window to go after her.

And just as she left the dance floor to the bar at the other side of the club the window was open.

“Good girl only during business hours?” Javier purred in her right ear just as she rested her forearms on the counter.

He didn’t miss the way his low voice caused goosebumps on her skin, the thin hairs on her arms standing immediately as he got by her side on the counter, waiting for her answer as she displayed a sly smirk on her plush lips.

“What makes you think I’m not a good girl full time?” She batted her eyelashes, a challenging glimmer in her orbs as her eyes traveled from his brown ones to his mouth, watching him lick his lips for a second as he seemed to get lost in his sinful thoughts for a moment.

Taking him off guard, she rested her right hand on his chest and slid her index finger over the first sets of buttons of his cream shirt, opening the them skillfully in a swift motion, revelaving part of his tanned and smooth chest, the light touch of her fingertip being enough to make his heart race.

“I like you better that way” The playful smirk never leaving her lips “Charming”

“Charming enough to buy you a drink?”

“I like shots better”

Javier was now by her side, right elbow propped on the counter as he signaled the bartender for two shots of tequila. He put two shot glasses in front of them along with a salt cellar and served them a small plate with pieces of lime, producing the bottle containing the golden liquid for last.

“Leave the bottle” He demanded just as the bartender finished filling the glasses.

They put salt on their hands, licked it and downed their first shot, the section of lime coming right after to soothe the bitter oaky punch, the alcohol instantly warming up their bodies.

“How did you find me here?” She asked, running her thumb in the corner of her lips to clean off the excess of lime juice.

“Are you upset about that, cariño?”

He faked a pout.

“Well…” She paused, pretending to be thinking deeply about the answer “I’m actually glad you found me”

“Is that so? Mind telling me why?”

“If you play my cards right, might as well show you” She teased him, pouring them another round of tequila.

“Then teach me how to play them”

They took their second round of tequila, but this time their eyes never broke their contact, a silent dispute of power between them, hunters hunting one another, testing each other to see how far their teasing would go, who would lose the battle and give in first.

Javier was both amused and tempted.

Amused because he still couldn’t believe that in front of him, challenging him, was the shy reserved woman from the DEA, claws out and ready to attack.

Tempted because she was the temptation herself. But Javier was a competitive man and he wasn’t going down without a fight.

“Do you dance, Mr. Peña?”

“Javi” He corrected “You’ll have to find out by yourself”

“I’ll take my chances”

She winked and handed him another shot, both of them sinking it fast, the spicy-woody liquid didn’t even burn their throats anymore as their bodies already felt like in flames, not only from the alcohol, but also from the heated exchange between them as every second, every word, every glance felt like electric shocks, like adding fuel to the fire.

Javier waited for her to give the next move as she sized him up, the smug look on her face making clear she had nothing but bad intentions in her mind, and oh boy how he wanted to get into her trouble.

“Come on”

She hooked her index finger in one of his pant’s belt loops and pulled him, the sudden move making Javier jolt forward, his body halting less than an inch away from hers, a dangerously short distance separating them as she watched amused his surprised reaction over her small stunt.

Colorful lights beamed over them as they were now in the middle of the dance floor, a loud song with heavily provocative beats and lyrics guiding their bodies, her arms resting loosely around his neck and one of his hands keeping her close by the end of her back as they danced together, their hips moving in sync, up close, almost intimate, but never brushing against each other, one of his legs strategically positioned between hers as they swayed sensually.

She slid one of her hands down his chest seductively, but this time, he was the one in control.

The hand on her back slid to her waist and spun her around, his hands now keeping her in place and practically locked against his body by her lower belly and waist, her ass now rolling irresistibly close to his crotch.

Javier loved how her skin reacted to the way he manhandled her, goosebumps all over as she bit her bottom lip and threw her head back, leaning against his shoulder as she let herself get lost in her own lustful thoughts for a moment, the suggestive lyrics only adding to her imagination.

Taking advantage of her exposed neck, Javier got intoxicated by her smell, the jasmine and warm notes of cocoa overpowered his senses as his lips traced the sensitive skin towards her ear, the light touch of his lips along with his mustache intensifying the goosebumps she still hadn’t recovered from yet.

“Am I up to your expectations?” He whispered in her ear, his lips moving just above her lobe. His teasing affected her more than she’d like to admit.

They lost track of the time they spent dancing together, teasingly of course, but also having a great time singing, laughing and smiling at each other.

Javier, who'd never seen her smile before that night, couldn’t take his eyes off her lips every time they curved upwards, revealing not only her beautiful lined teeth, but also the dimples on her glowing cheeks, lighting up her already cheerful face.

And again he caught himself admiring her, as they were now outside of the club. Javier stood leaning his back on his truck’s passenger door while she stood on his opposite side, leaning herself on the wall behind her.

A comfortable silence hung between them as he lit up a cigarette and she drank the last bottle of beer she got on their way out. Javier inhaled the smoke, enjoying the feel of the nicotine kicking in his system as he watched her take a gulp from the bottle, her lips wrapping around it softly as she reciprocated his gaze.

He wondered what her lips felt like, not only against his lips, but all over his body, plump and soft kissing him, caressing him, marking him, sucking him, the thought alone making his pants feel tight once again.

The sound of her heels clicking on the pavement took him out of his reverie as he now realized she was coming to him, slow and steady steps. She left the half empty bottle on his truck’s roof behind his head and then took the cigarette from his hands, bringing it to her own lips as she held it between her manicured nails.

And just as she leant on his vehicle by his side, he took his cue to leave his position and imprison her between his body and the truck, his arms hovering on each side of her head, the smug smile indicating she had him right where she wanted him to be: his body inches away from hers, the muscles on his arms twitching with the force he held onto the truck’s roof ledge, trying not to lose the last bit of restraint he still had.

She puffed the smoke out of her lips towards his, the simple yet enticing gesture making him snap and take the cigarette off her hands in a swift motion, throwing it away just as he crashed his lips against hers.

Their tongues met right away initiating an erotic dance, devouring each other, euphoria rushing through their veins as their teasing had finally reached its goal.

Javier cupped her jaw and pressed his body against hers urgently, the jolt against the truck making the beer bottle fall and shatter on the ground, the loud noise and green glass on the pavement not bothering them at all as she pulled the soft curls on his nape and grazed her teeth against his lower lip.

His big hands slid down her waist behind her and grabbed her ass cheeks, pulling her up and making her wrap her legs around him for support, her short dress rolling up to her hips leaving her almost half naked on the street.

Using the leverage he had with the position, Javier ground his raging erection trapped inside his jeans against her core, covered only by already drenched black lace panties, earning a strangled whimper from her.

Part of him wanted to just pull her panties aside and take her right there on the street against his truck, raw and rough. But the other part wanted to take his time with her, after all it would be a shame to just resume the last few hours of teasing in just a few minutes. And also, he didn’t know if he’d had another shot with her after they got back to their professional facades.

“Are we getting inside your truck or you want to give our audience explicit content?” She tilted her head, indicating the group of people next to the club’s door, a few curious eyes lingering, waiting for their next step “Either way I’m in”

“You’re mine only, at least for tonight” His teeth dug on the soft flesh of her neck as he fished the car keys in his back pocket “But as long as I can fuck you I’m into anything you want, bonita”

Javier put her down and opened the truck’s back door, revealing the brown leather cushion dimly illuminated by the street lights.

He let her in first and watched with hungry eyes the way she crawled inside the vehicle and then rolled her body upwards, resting her back on the other door only to then slide her panties down and off her legs, spreading them open in a seductive way, offering herself to Javier, who hurriedly got inside the truck and closed the door behind him.

He pulled her by her ankle and hovered over her, his gaze connecting deeply to hers as he fished the panties she’d dropped on the car floor and put them in his back pocket, the simple yet unexpected action arousing her even more.

Javier’s hand made its way to her nape, bringing her head up for a breathtaking and passionate kiss, their hungry tongues invading and exploring each other's mouth as her fingers slid down the buttons of his shirt, undoing them without breaking their kiss.

As they devoured each other frantically, her hands explored his broad chest and abs, enjoying the feeling of his soft golden skin under her digits and the way his muscles flexed with the thrusting movements he made every now and then, purposely grinding his clothed erection against her exposed core.

Their kiss got sloppy as Javier’s hand found its way down her body, feeling her soft breasts, the curve of her hips then down the smooth skin of her thigh and leg, hooking it on his back before his hand slid up her body again but this time, skipping no beat towards her intimacy.

Javier growled when he finally felt how wet she really was for him, her arousal coating his fingers sliding up and down her pussy in feather-like touches just to tease her.

Whimpering, she rolled her eyes and clawed his back under his shirt when he increased the pressure with his digits and traced tight circles against her needy clit, her whole body melting under him as it got overpowered by shameless waves of pleasure.

Drinking in her sexed expression, Javier slid a finger inside her wanting a bigger dose of satisfaction out of the intoxicating woman under him. The unexpected invasion of his thick

finger made her moan louder and arch her back against his body, which only encouraged him to add another one right after, stretching her further, her slick pussy clenching around his fingers in response.

She bit his shoulder as he finger fucked her, his fingers massaging the magic spongy spot inside her as his thumb roled lazy circles on her clit, making her nails drag angry scratch marks down his back while her other hand pressed hard on the leather backrest, nails desperately digging in it.

Javier trailed small nips and kisses along her collarbone and neck while his fingers kepting working on her, all of it adding to the building pleasure in her lower stomach, getting her closer and closer to bursting at each expert rub of his rough digits against her clit and g-spot.

But she didn’t want to come yet, much less in that submissive condition.

Fighting against her own urges, she pulled his hand out of her, bringing it to her lips to lick her own juices off his fingers, her dark orbs drawing him in as she sucked his fingers suggestively, swirling her tongue around them.

“Now sit” She commanded, cheeks still red and heart racing from his finger fucking “And take of your shirt”

She didn’t need to ask Javier twice for him to comply, he knew she was close on his fingers, and now he wanted to see and feel what she had in mind.

Just as he took his shirt off and straightened his back against the seat, she straddled him and pulled down the top half of her dress, exposing her breasts, hard perky nipples at his mouth’s level and he couldn’t help but to dive in.

Javier fondled and squeezed them hard with both hands before he took a mouthful of one of them, teeth grazing the hard bundle of nerves, then rolling and sucking in with his flat tongue, and then repeated the same stimulation on the other one, feasting on the soft mounds before him as she unfastened his belt and unbuttoned his jeans.

Catching up with her intentions, Javier lifted his hips from the seat, enough to take both pieces of clothes off, allowing her to undress him completely, all while he still delved into her breasts.

With his thick and hard manhood free, she spread his leaking precum over his tip with her thumb, tantalizing him before she finally took it and held it against her clit, rocking her hips back and forth, arching her back towards the front seat behind her and getting herself off against his shaft, her slick blending with his precum.

Javier broke apart from her chest to gaze down between them, his cock sliding easy against her drenched folds, teasing him shamelessly.

“Condom?” He asked, but only out of politeness.

“No” She leaned in, foreheads touching as she whispered against his lips “I wanna feel all of you”

Her answer got his cock impossibly harder and dying to feel her, and for his luck, she was also getting impatient.

Javier held his breath the moment she stopped her motions right when his tip was lined to her entrance, the thrill of anticipation of finally having her making his heart race faster as his hands flattened on her thighs.

“Tell me what you want” She demanded seductively, teasing his tip pressed against her opening, torturing him with slow rolls of her hips, threatening to slide down on him at any second.

“I want you, cariño” He gasped, chest heaving up and down.

“Yeah? And what do you want me to do with you?” One of her hands cupped his jaw and brought his lips close to hers, close enough to feel his ragged breath against hers.

“Ride me, bonita, I’m yours”

She placed a soft kiss against his lips before she leaned back between the front seats and placed her hand over her mound, fingers spreading her folds apart allowing him to have a full view of where his tip met her pussy, until she finally sank on his cock, her opening slowly welcoming and swallowing him in, his thickness stretching her walls each inch as his name came out of her lips in the sexiest moan he’d ever heard, and he swore that that scene alone was enough to make him cum.

But he needed to last, he needed to feel more of her, see her, have her, every detail in front of and on him, getting him terribly pussy drunk on her at each second as he felt their bodies merging and watched his cock disappear inside of her, her walls tightening around him in a slippery and warm embrace.

He threw his head back and rolled his eyes as she started to ride him at a deeply addictive pace, his fingertips digging in the flesh of her hips, pulling her harder down on him at each thrust forward.

“Eyes on me, Javi” Her command came out as a needy whine as her hand slid down his neck towards his shoulder, the skin slapping sounds getting louder as her bounces got harder.

Javier moved one of his hands to the back of her head, fingers tangling in the roots of her hair as he now thrusted his hips up to meet hers, the new and unexpected angle made her cry out his name again and dig her nails onto his shoulders, looking for an extra leverage.

He hooked his other arm on her lower back keeping her body against his, and the way she melted in his arms only made him keep on, thrusting harder and faster against her while she held onto him for her dear life.

Without disconnecting their bodies, Javier laid her on the backseat, eager to be the one fully in charge, especially because holding his release back was being a lot harder than usual.

One of his hands took support in the car’s windows, which was completely humid and foggy and entrentched with sex as he fucked her hard, her back arching and her walls tightening around him with her climax right around the corner.

She closed her eyes and moaned even louder as he put one of her legs over his shoulder, the new angle allowing him to go even further, deeper and drive her into oblivion in record speed.

“Look at me when I’m fucking you” He demanded, bossy as the Javier Peña she was used to watch on duty, and that was the line for her to feel the knot on her lower belly snap hard, strong waves of white hot pleasure through her veins, making her cum hard and milk his cock looking deeply in his dark eyes.

The mesmerizing scene together with the clenching from her climax on his shaft also made him cum seconds after her, exploding inside her, his hot seed filling her in long spurts, the feeling of his dick throbbing inside her riding her high for a few extra seconds before they collapsed, the hand on the car window leaving a wet trail as it lazily slid down.

She moaned when he finally pulled out, instantly missing him inside her as he carefully took her in his arms and laid next to her, nestling her body against his, both their breathings and heart beats still racing fast.

“We have a problem now” He muttered looking at the car’s ceiling.

“What?” Her answer was low and unconcerned, too fucked out to care about anything at that moment.

“Office hours are gonna be challenging from now on.”

[thesandsofelsweyr]

THE SUS BOY NEXT DOOR

《 PART 2/3 // READ ON AO3 // TAG 》

After coming back from a terrible blind date your asshole neighbor is the last person you want to see right now. He doesn’t have his signature scowl for you tonight, however. Tonight he seems terrified.

《WORDS》 2,748 《CHAPTERS》 1 2 3

《PAIRING》 Arkhamverse Jason Todd x Female Reader

《TROPES》 Hurt/Comfort, First Meetings, Neighbors, Pre-Relationship

《WARNINGS》 Aftermath of Torture/Violence (canon typical), Panic Attacks, Scars, Blood and Injury, Swearing

《TAGLIST》 @tild3ath @iiirhiane-g

《NOTES》

This takes place immediately after Jason leaves his failed Batman confrontation and run-in with the Joker from Arkham Knight: Genesis Part 6.

Reader is a true crime addict who enjoys red wine 🍷

This is my first attempt at a reader-insert fic 🙃

Please consider reblogging if you enjoy the read ❤️ (Thanks for all the support you've given my lil story so far!)

《 ALSO ON AO3 》 (comments & kudos there are very much appreciated!)

You push yourself to your feet and hurry over to his kitchen, flipping on the recessed lighting overhead. The kitchen is as bare and spotless as the other rooms you’ve seen, its countertops clear of the usual clutter you’d expect. No rags nor paper towel roll. No knife block nor coffee maker nor toaster—the appliances are the ones that come standard with the unit. No stacks of unopened mail nor candles nor cookbooks nor a sink full of empty dishes. No signs of life except for the adorable houseplant and some liquid hand soap beside the sink (which is good—you need soap).

You pull open drawers and cabinets, feeling a twinge of guilt for invading his privacy like this but it can’t be helped. Even those are mostly empty, only containing the barest amount of necessities like cups, dishes, and flatware—run-of-the-mill kitchen items that were probably provided with the furnished unit. You do manage to find some clean rags and paper towels (and a coffee maker), but nothing like sandwich bags for the ice. On a whim, you check his freezer and bingo! No food or decapitated heads but plenty of ice packs along with an unopened bottle of vodka. You arch an eyebrow at the curious yet amusing stash. Perhaps coming home injured is a typical Friday night for him.

You turn on the sink faucet then tear off a few sheets of paper towels from the roll, wadding them up and wetting them before adding a few pumps of soap then working up a lather. You can’t get the sight of his bleeding face and swollen neck out of your head. It’s hard to imagine anyone doing that to him against his will. He’s an intimidating guy, to say the least. Over a head taller than you, powerfully built with broad shoulders and thick thighs (and a nice ass). Perhaps he got jumped on his walk home—an all too common occurrence on these crime-ridden streets—and his stubborn pride was too wounded to go to the ER. Or maybe it was a gang thing… some sort of hazing ritual? That could explain the bloody letter on his cheek, too, you suppose. But then you remember his shaking hands and fumbling fingers as he tried and failed to unlock his door, and how he jumped at the sound of your voice. He was scared, you realize, your heart swelling with sudden pity. He was more afraid of you than you were of him. Afraid, and probably hurting, too. That thought makes your heart swell even more. It also leaves you a bit shaken. What in God’s name could frighten him? You can only hope that whatever it is doesn’t plan to make a house call anytime soon.

With the items in hand—ice packs, wet and dry rags, soapy paper towel wads, paper towel roll—you return to his side. He still doesn’t appear to have stirred, which is troubling, you have to admit, but you put it out of your mind for now. You set the items down on the floor beside the corpse-like body before grabbing a throw pillow from his couch. (Yes, a throw pillow. There’s a throw blanket on the couch, too. It’s the strongest evidence yet supporting your furnished unit presumption, since he definitely doesn’t strike you as a throw pillow kind of guy.) You kneel down at his side, then, ever so gently, you slip an arm behind his neck and lift his head enough to pull back his hood and slide the pillow beneath him. Next you take off his cap, revealing a mop of sweat-damp black hair. You sweep the soft locks back from his forehead so that you can place a cold rag against that warm, sweat-slick skin.

That’s when you notice the scars. You’d never been close enough to him to see that his face is absolutely covered in them. Faint white lines that cut through his features: his dark brows, his full lips, his freckle-dusted cheeks, the bent bridge of his nose. The worst one (aside from the J on his cheek, that is) is a deep gash that slashes across his right cheek and his nose, all the way up to his forehead. Another knife wound? Is this guy a masochist with a knife fetish or is there some freak out there who gets off on slicing up this poor guy’s face? Those marks on his neck imply the latter—the more sinister of the two—and that sends a cold chill shuddering up your spine.

Almost magnetically your eyes are drawn back past the (cute) cleft in his chin to those sunken bands of red ringing his throat. A thin line of blood has surfaced along the outer edge of one of the bands, where whatever was used to strangle him had cut into his skin. As you wipe away the blood with one of the soapy paper towel wads you spot several scratches on his neck, and for a moment you wonder if the assailant also used his hands to choke him. But then you feel your own throat constrict as the horrible realization sets in: those are claw marks. Gouges from his own fingernails where he desperately struggled to pry the ligature away and free his windpipe so he could breathe. Defensive wounds where he fought for his life.

You set aside the wet wad, then, driven by some morbid curiosity, you find your fingers returning to his throat. Ever so delicately, as if trying not to wake a sleeping lion, you touch one of the raw indentations in his swollen flesh, tracing it with your fingertip, feeling how the abraded skin had folded inward around whatever had coiled around his neck and tried to choke the life out of him. His throat vibrates gently against your probing fingers, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. You lay one of the dry rags across his throat, hiding the hideous damage, then place the ice pack on top, as instructed by the health article you Googled. You do the same for the back of his neck as well.

Now you turn your attention back to his scarred, haggard face. After swiping away the trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth you press the soapy paper towel to his cheek, which gradually turns from white to pink as it soaks up the blood seeping from the J carved into his flesh. Once you staunch the bleeding, you lift the towel to replace it with a fresh one, and you get an unimpeded view of what was hiding beneath the cut and the blood, beneath his hat and hood all of those times you passed him in the hallway, all of those times he ducked his head between hunched shoulders to avoid eye contact with you. You pull in a sharp breath. It’s not a J-shaped scar; it’s the letter J branded into his cheek. You can tell by how the skin is puckered around the too-precise curve of the raised letter, by its faint red outline, by how it seems to tug uncomfortably at his cheek.

Your mind rewinds to a few weeks back when you accidentally burned your neck with your curling iron. You’d shrieked like a banshee then thrown the damn thing across your bathroom. The blistered patch of seared skin had throbbed for the rest of the night, and was still sensitive to the touch for the following week. That was the result of hot ceramic glancing against your skin for maybe half a second, if that long. You can’t even begin to imagine how much it would’ve hurt to have held the infernal thing against your neck for long enough to melt a fucking letter into the flesh. And not just any flesh. His cheek; that tender skin right below the orbital bone, less than an inch from his eye. It probably felt like his eyeball was boiling in his eye socket from the immense heat. And the smell! His own flesh barbecuing like meat to be served at a cannibal cook-out…

You don’t want to think about it anymore. You can’t think about it anymore or else you’re gonna be sick. And luckily you don’t have to because a low moan slips from his lips and his lashes begin to flutter. A rush of relief floods through you at the small signs of life, and you absently begin to stroke his soft hair with your hand. Heavy eyelids strain to lift then glassy blue eyes are peeking out from between the slits. You smile down at him, your fingers caringly combing through his tousled hair, easing his way back into consciousness. You expect him to groggily ask where he is or what happened to him.

Instead his eyes snap open, and the romantic portrait you’ve painted inside your mind of this moment is ripped to shreds.

He bolts upright, sending rags and ice packs flying away from him, then that massive wall of muscular torso turns on you. Time seems to somehow speed up and slow down simultaneously as those large, dangerous hands of his are reaching for you, and in that terrible instant you know without a doubt that he means to strangle you. A tiny, panic-stricken sound—the choked cry of ensnared prey—comes from your mouth as you throw up your arms across your face and neck in an comically feeble attempt to defend yourself from certain death, and the thought that flashes through your mind—maybe the last thought you’ll ever have in this lifetime—is that you’ll never have the chance to open that bottle of merlot.

But his hands don’t wrap around your throat; they land on your shoulders, and then you’re sliding, falling backwards from the force of a violent shove, your vision flashing to black as your head bounces off the hardwood floor.

“Ow!” you squeal as a bright burst of pain rings through your skull, leaving you stunned for a split second until your fear takes over, clearing away the haze and stars. You push yourself up on your forearm, blood pounding through your ears as your eyes frantically search for your attacker, heart lurching as you find him.

The guy is scrambling backwards away from you on all fours like some frightened beast, slamming into a floor lamp in his haste to escape. The lamp reels drunkenly, throwing light madly around the room as it whirls, like a waving searchlight at a festival. Then he’s pressed into a corner, able to go no further, yet his hands and heels are gripping the floor for purchase, as if he’s trying to push himself into the walls. As the lamp settles, somehow still upright, its light illuminates the hulking figure backed into the corner behind it, and you notice for the first time that the front of his red hoodie is splattered with an even darker red.

You’re sitting up now, frozen like a deer in headlights, your fight or flight reflexes canceling each other out because you’ve realized that you’re the toothless predator, not the prey, and the guy you’re gaping at with his bloodless face and wild eyes is a cornered animal who’ll do anything to survive. Then, to your horror, that cornered animal seems to remember his claws and reaches for the gun that’s not there, and you thank the universe and every holy entity within it that you disarmed him.

His wide eyes narrow as they lock onto you, and the fear that had filled them only a heartbeat ago has vanished, replaced with a look so cold, so devoid of anything but shadows and darkness, that it turns the blood in your veins to ice. 

“Who are you? What’re you doing in my apartment? What the fuck did you do with my gun?” Some of the wildness returns to his eyes as he shouts at you with a scarred voice, wheezing between each sentence. You shrink back, shocked that the guy can speak louder than a mumble, then your attention is caught by something more unnerving than his shouting, something that clutches at your insides. His eyes… The little hairs on the back of your neck stir again as you study those pale blue irises flecked with green, barely visible beneath his blown-out pupils yet still trained on you like a sniper’s laser sights. There’s something wrong with his eyes… But before you can figure it out he roars: “Answer me!” and you can’t help but jump at the hateful ferocity, his deadly strength palpable in his tone.

Your heart’s in your throat again, and your mind is racing out his door, terrified all 200-something pounds of him are about to pounce on you, so you’re surprised when you not only find your words, but shout them back at him, just as vicious.

“Take it easy! I'm your neighbor, remember? You passed out. I was trying to help you. I thought you were fucking dying!”

You see a flicker of recognition flash over his face before a coughing fit takes him. Then it hits you, like a punch to the gut as you watch him clutching at his blood-splattered chest again as he gasps for a breath. His eyes… they’re red where they should be white. All of the binged episodes of Forensic Files come flooding back to you and you even remember the term for it: petechial hemorrhaging. Burst blood vessels from strangulation. His strangulation.

The rush of pity that wells up in your chest at the awful realization calms your fear enough that you crawl a tiny bit closer to him. “You’re hurt,” you say gently, trying to keep your nerves from shaking your voice. “Your neck…”

You trail off as his eyes snap back to you, pupils still blown wide. You try to hold onto his skittish gaze, praying he won’t notice his gun behind you and lunge, but his eyes fall away to the floor. He raises his free hand to his neck, as slowly as if his wrists were chained to the floor, and touches one of the red furrows there. Then his trembling fingers move to his brand, where fresh beads of blood have surfaced. You hear him mutter something so low and tremulous it’s barely audible, but you think it sounded like… “Plan J”?

“I cleaned it with soap and water,” you reply as he stares blankly at his bloody fingertips. “But it’s deep. You may need stitches. I can bring you some Band-Aids,” you pause, feeling really fucking stupid for suggesting Band-Aids for the guy who’s been strangled and cut and branded. You blurt out the rest: “If you need them… for the time being.”

His eyes have glazed over, as if he’s gone somewhere far away. Somewhere terrible, because his rasping breath quickens and his whole body starts to shake, as though he’s reliving something. His attack? His branding? All of the times that monster of a person cut his face? You desperately want to reach for his hand, to pull him back from whatever hell he’s been sucked into, but you’re too scared to wake that cornered wild animal again.

Finally he snaps out of it, and his eyes close as his hand drops limply to the floor. You watch helplessly as the tension drains from his body and he sags forward, like he’s been crushed by whatever was waiting for him in that flashback.

“You should go,” he mumbles to the floor, barely louder than a whisper.

“Yeah,” you hear yourself agree. As you stand you remind yourself that you can finally have that glass of wine, but the notion isn’t as appealing as it was earlier in the night.

You gather up your phone and bag. You start to ask if you can get him anything before you go but you know his answer so you turn to leave. 

“Thank you.” His small voice cracks like a little boy’s when he speaks, and you know he’s started to cry.

“Yeah, sure,” you say softly as you turn the knob and push open his door. You glance over your shoulder at him one last time. The sight of the broken boy—the boy whose name you still don’t know��huddled in a corner with his knees pulled to his chest, weeping into his hands, wrings your heart out like a wet rag, and you feel your own throat tighten up with tears. You hang your head as you shut the door softly behind you.

[awkwardchick87]

a/n - Here is the "Only one Bed" trope winning drabble!! Enjoy!

c/w - mutual pining, smut (of course) oral, (m and f receiving).

wc - 2085 Part of the @enchantedforest-network <3 Dividers by the always lovely @benkeibear <3

You had been traveling with Vash the Stampede for a few months, and you were quickly learning that his name as the “Humanoid Typhoon” was more than just a silly little nickname. Disaster followed him everywhere. Whether it was in the form of some shootout, or just his bad luck, it didn’t matter. It seemed he had what you referred to as “a cup of luck” and as the day went on, his cup became more and more empty depending on what happened. 

You were also learning that your little crush on Vash the Stampede, was not as one sided as you thought. It started with looks around the campfire, and evolved into touches that lingered a half a second too long. The way he would blush as he helped you bandage wounds. Of course you noticed, your face also getting a little pinker every time his skin made contact with yours. So it was only natural that the very little luck he had that day, was used on the deal you had gotten for supplies, because as soon as you got to your *double bed room* at the ONLY and VERY FULL inn in town, was marked wrong.

The both of you stood in the doorway of the room staring at the single bed. Of course there was only one bed. You smacked your forehead with your palm, cursing Vash, “Well now what?” You shifted into the room, placing your bag on the table. 

Vash took a few steps in and placed his bag on the floor, “Well, I guess I can sleep on the floor. Maybe I can ask for an extra blanket and pillow” He turned and left the room, not waiting for a response, hoping you didn’t notice his red tipped ears. 

Coming back a few moments later, Vash sighed, “Well the whole place is packed, and there are no extra blankets. All they could give me was a pillow.” He stood at the door, a sheepish look on his face. You sighed, “Well, I can’t make you sleep on the floor. We will just have to make due.” You grabbed the pillow from his hands, moving your own over and placing his beside it. “I am going to grab a quick shower first. I feel kind of grimey” You grabbed the smaller bag, containing your toiletries from inside your pack, rushing into the bathroom and shutting the door. You pressed your back against the door, heaving a sigh. This was going to be a long night. You didn’t think you could sleep in the same bed as Vash. Vash kicked his boots off and shrugged his jacket off his shoulders. Sitting at the small desk, he dropped his forehead on the table, how was he going to sleep tonight? You were way too pretty. He heard the water running for the shower and groaned against the table. Now you were going to smell good too. You finished up your shower, shutting the water off and grabbing a towel, quickly drying off and pulling your night clothes on before stepping out of the bathroom, “It's all yours.” you squeaked out. Vash was still at the desk, chin resting in his palm. He looked like he was deep in thought. 

His head popped up, “Oh, yeah, thanks.” He grabbed his own things and quickly walked past you, into the bathroom. 

You sat on the edge of the bed, ‘Ok, I can do this. Its nothing. Its one night. Thats it. We can share a bed for one measly night. No problem!’ Flopping back on the bed, you cover your eyes with your arm. You didn’t get to lay there long, hearing the water shut off in the bathroom, a few moments later, Vash opened the door to the bathroom. He watched you from the doorway as you sat back up, shuffling over in the bed, pulling the blanket up around yourself. 

Walking over from the bathroom, he sat on the bed, as far away as he possibly could. He laid his head down on the pillow, only taking the edge of the blanket and bringing it to his shoulders. “Hey, you can, you can have more blanket if you want.” You whispered. 

Reaching over, he shut off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. THe moonlight filtered in from the curtains. You looked at his back, his skin almost glowing. “No, I’m ok.” he huffed out. 

“Ok.” the silence in the air was maddening. “Hey..” you whispered at him again. He hummed at you in response, “Is this… weird?” you asked. 

He rolled himself over in the bed, still staying as close to the edge as his tall body would let him, “Its a little weird. But not bad weird. I just..” he trailed off, focusing on something behind you instead of your face. He was grateful it was dark and hoping you could not see the blush creeping up his face. “I don’t know if you’re really ok with this..” he finished. 

Reaching towards him, you hesitated placing a hand on his arm before resting it on his bicep, “Vash.. I have no issues sharing a bed with you.” you reassured him. Hearing him sigh in relief, you smiled, “I don’t think I’d be comfortable with anyone else. You saw him smile. 

“Yeah, this would be a lot weirder with someone else.” he chuckled. “Can I ask you one more thing?” 

“Anything.” you replied. 

“Can I kiss you?” The question hung heavy in the air. 

You looked at him, raising your head a little, “Vash? Are you teasing me?” you sounded a little hurt.

“What? No, not at all!” he sputtered “I'm sorry! I shouldn’t have asked -” you cut him off, placing a finger on his lips. 

“Vash. We both know we have.. Something.. Going on here” you gestured, pointing between the two of you, “but I also don’t want to jeopardize what we have.” You propped yourself up on your elbow, “I like you too much and I don’t want to lose you.” you confessed. 

Vash nodded slowly, “I feel the same way, but I still want to kiss you.” he reached a hand up, cupping your cheek. You felt your face heat up. He was not making this easier for you. 

Feeling your resolve crumble, you leaned your head down, brushing your lips against his. He shifted his head just slightly, enough to close the distance. Without thinking, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer and rolling you onto your back, hovering above you. Soft groans escaping his lips and he kissed you over and over. His tongue swiping along your bottom lip, urging you to let him taste you. 

You moaned, opening your mouth and brushing your tongue against his. Bringing your hands up to thread through his hair, you tugged on it lightly, earning a moan in response. He couldn’t help himself, grinding himself against your clothed core, both of you gasping at the delicious pressure. 

“You look so pretty under me.” Vash was breathless, looking down at you with hooded eyes full of lust. One hand reaching under your shirt, gliding across your stomach, up to your breasts. His thumb brushing across your nipple, feeling it harden under his touch. 

Arching your back, you bit your bottom lip, trying to hold your moans back. You grabbed the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head and tossing it to the floor, quickly reaching under you and unhooking your bra, ripping it off your arms and throwing it down also. 

Vash giggled at your eagerness, leaning back to sit on his knees above you. He pulled his own shirt off, blushing lightly. You sat up, placing a kiss on one scar running across his shoulder before kissing the metal grate over the left side of his chest and laying back down. Lifting your hips you pulled your sleep pants down, kicking them to the floor and leaving your panties on. 

Vash sucked a breath in through his teeth before making quick work of his own pants, tossing them to the side. His hands running up your thighs, feeling them twitch under him the closer he got to your core. “Vash..” you moaned. He looked down at you, his fingers hooking into your underwear, pulling them down and tossing them behind him, a smirk on his face. He lowered himself to your core as you threw your head back shyly. 

Using his fingers he spread your pussy lips apart before swiping his tongue from your twitching hole to your clit. Your back arched as you let out a gasp. Groaning at the taste of you, Vash buried his face into your cunt, tongue lapping at your folds. Your hands flew down to his hair, threading your fingers and pulling harshly while you writhed and moaned under him. Pushing his tongue into your pussy, his nose bumped your clit. He devoured you like a man starved. You could feel your orgasm building quickly, like a fire low in your stomach. “Vash.. I’m.. Oh god!” you could help but cry out, the threads of your sanity finally snapping with a flick of his thumb over your clit. Your legs trembled and twitched. Vash quickly shoving two fingers into your clenching hole, helping you ride your high. His tongue flicking across your small bud, sending your mind into a frenzy. You couldn’t form sentences, mindless babbling that vaguely sounded like his name. Vash drank down everything you gave him, his own moans sending vibrations along your core until your palm flattened on his head and you weakly pushed him away. Sitting up on his haunches, he looked down at you. Licking his lips and wiping his chin with the back of his hand. You looked ethereal to him. Panting breath and your body flush with bliss. A thin layer of sweat covered you. “Amazing.” He whispered above you. All you could manage was a weak smile. 

“Give me.. Give me a second, that was.. Wow.” You lifted your arm, resting it on your stomach. 

He chuckled above you, “you don’t need to do anything.” His face was full of adoration as he looked at you, “I’m happy we finally go to do.. Well, anything” signature smile graced his lips. 

“Vash…” you trailed off, sitting up, “I want to help you too.” brushing your fingertips across his cock, he sucked a breath through his teeth. Shifting on the bed, you gestured for him to lay beside you. 

He complied, laying flat on his back as you lay across one of his thighs. You hand gripped his cock at the base, pumping slowly a few times. Vash threw his arm over his head, “Mayfly..” a broken moan bubbled from his throat. Swiping your thumb across the tip, you leaned in, giving the head of his cock a few kitten licks before taking it into your mouth. His hips bucked at the feeling of your warm mouth and soft lips. Taking him further, you wrapped your hand tightly around the base, stroking what you could not fit into your mouth. 

Spit coated his length as you bobbed your head, dribbling down his balls, a few drops landing on the sheets below. Vash moaned, his legs twitching as his flesh hand came down to wrap into your hair. Gripping lightly, he pushed and pulled your mouth along his cock, pushing you a little further each time. Gagging slightly, you relaxed your throat as much as you could, wanting to taste more of him. “Yeah, like that.” he gasped “Suck my cock like that. Oh fuck” 

His balls tightened, his hand pushing your mouth down as far as he could. Your nose brushed against the small patch of hair at the base of his cock while he spilled his cum down your throat. His hips bucked, feeling your throat spasm as you gagged lightly, desperately trying not to spill a drop of cum. His fingers loosened, letting you pull back. You dipped your head back down, wanting every stray drop of cum on your tongue before swallowing. Pulling you on to his chest, Vash wrapped his arms around you. “Thank you.” he whispered. His fingers gliding idly across your arm, tracing nothing in particular. 

You giggled, “We should really be thanking the innkeepers. Think of how much money we’ll save if we don’t need to get double rooms anymore!” 

Vash blushed at you, “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” 

[tinytinyblogs]

Han In Love With You

Love

(n.) Giving the last piece of pizza no matter how much you want it.

Stray kids masterlist here

You've known Han for a while now, but you've never really had a conversation with him. He's always been very shy around people he doesn't know well, and he tends to keep to himself. He's always polite and greets you when he sees you, but he just nods his head shyly and doesn't say much else. You don't know much about him, but you've noticed that he talks more when he's with his close friends. This suggests that he's more comfortable around people he knows well, and that he's able to open up more when he's not feeling shy.

Han has a huge crush on you. He loves to see you smile and laugh when you're talking with your friends. Everything about you seems perfect to him. But he's so shy around you that he can't let out any other words besides "hi."

Han's friend told him that he was making his crush on you too obvious, but Han couldn't understand why you still didn't know how he felt. He wondered if maybe you knew and didn't care. Han had been your secret admirer for a long time, and he would often put lovely notes on your desk or buy you snacks or coffee that he knew you liked. He had been very observant of your likes and dislikes, and he wanted to do everything he could to make you happy.

Han loved the way you smiled when you read the notes he gave you. It made his heart pound so fast that he thought it was going to burst out of his chest. Your smile is the light of his life. It's the thing that makes him happiest. He would do anything to see you smile, even if it meant doing something silly or embarrassing. He wished he could talk more to you, he wished he could get closer to you.

Han is not a party person. He's been invited to several parties in the past, but he's always turned them down. But this time, he can't say no. He hated crowded spaces. He hated not being able to move freely or breathe easily. He hated the noise and the chaos. He hated feeling like he was trapped. And yet, here he was, scanning the room for a place to find a little peace. He could see the park behind the building, but there was no one there. The park was empty, with only a few trees swaying in the breeze.

Han sighed in relief as he stepped out of the building and into the park. The music from the party was still audible, but it was much quieter outside. He could also hear people talking, but their voices were muffled by the trees. Han took a deep breath of the fresh air and looked up at the sky. The moon was full and bright, and it was painting the night sky with a beautiful silver glow. Han smiled. He knew that he would be able to relax here until he could sneak back home.

"It's beautiful here," a voice said from beside him. Han startled and looked up. He saw you standing there, and he was immediately taken aback by your beauty. You were even more beautiful than the moon tonight. "Y-yeah, it is," Han said, his voice coming out in a hoarse whisper. He quickly looked back up at the moon, hoping that you wouldn't notice how flustered he was. "I come here to get away from the noise," you said. "It's so peaceful." There was a moment of awkward silence. Han didn't know what to say. He was too busy staring at you to think straight. "They are so loud," you said, taking a seat beside him. "Gosh, I shouldn't have come."

You look at Han, who is busy playing with his fingers. You've been talking for a while now, and you're starting to feel like he's not really listening to you. "It's better if we can talk more," you say. "I would love to know you more, Han." Han looks up at you, and you can see that he's a little bit flustered. He doesn't know what to say. "I..." he starts, but then he trails off. Han takes a deep breath. "You look beautiful today," he says. You chuckle. "Thank you."

"You say it everyday on the notes," Han's eyes grew wide as you spoke. Han couldn't believe you knew who put the notes on his desk all the time. He was so flustered that he could barely speak. "Sorry," you said, letting out a soft laugh. "I just really love the notes and all the things you give me. If I told you, I wouldn't get any more cute notes that make my day. " Han's face turned as red as a tomato. He couldn't believe that you liked what he did. He had been so shy about putting the notes on your desk, and he had never imagined that you would even notice, let alone like them.

He muttered to himself, "How?" It was loud enough for you to hear, so you glanced at him before looking back up at the night sky. "I came earlier than you, Han, and I saw with my own eyes that you put everything on my desk. But I let you put it down and walk in like I didn't know. It was cute." Your words and your voice were like a melody, blessing his ears. He admired your beautiful face. "Can I still get the notes? They really made my day."

Han's hand slowly reached for yours, feeling the warmth of your skin as he held it. He took a moment to gather his courage, then took a deep breath. "How about instead of giving you notes," he said, "I could tell you every day how beautiful you are and how much I love everything about you?"

Han was surprised at himself for saying it out loud. He had never really thought he would be able to tell you how he felt. But there you were, looking at him with those beautiful eyes, and he couldn't help himself. You smiled at him. "I would love that," you whispered.

Han looked at you, his eyes shining with love. He knew he couldn't stop loving you, because you made him feel so right.

"Uhm, so... can I kiss you?" he asked, his voice a little shaky.

[the1975attheirverybest]

BEING FUNNY IN A FOREIGN LANGUAGE

Warnings: smut, pretentious SATVB commentary, also SATVB spoilers.

read all other chapters here

Chapter 2– “I’m in love with you- I -I - I -I-“

As Amelia rounded the corner, peeking through the glass windows of the hotel lobby, she spotted a familiar head of hair and reflexively smiled to herself. She’d know these curls anywhere.

“Hey, you,” she called out to him as she walked in, Matty’s head turning around at the sound of her voice. “What’re you doing, awake, and…” she scanned his table, noticing the drink in front of him, “drinking — alone, apparently, at this hour?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” He shrugged, eyeing her from head to toe. “What about you? You look like you had a fun night.”

Amelia smiled, recalling tonight’s activities with a flutter in her stomach, “Yeah, I was out with-”

“Your boy-toy?” Matty’s tone was unintentionally critical.

She chuckled, throwing herself into the chair next to him. “He’s…not my boy-toy.” Her objection was weak and more amused than defensive.

“Well, whatever he is, he’s not a gentleman. What, he let you go home, alone, on your own, at 2 in the morning?” Matty scuffed, as if waving him off. “you want me to buy you a drink, by the way?”

“No, it’s okay, I’d rather share yours.” she reached for his glass, taking a sip. “For your information, he invited me to stay the night. Insisted, even. But I didn’t want to.”

“Is that right?”

“Staying over after sex….it just feels serious. This is not meant to be serious.”

“My, my, my!” Matty gestured dramatically, “How the tides have turned.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“I’ve taught you well.” He giggled despite himself. “Mousy, inexperienced Amelia is all grown up now.” He placed a hand on his heart, faking sentimentalism. “I could burst with pride.” He was bursting with something else.

She rolled her eyes, holding back a smile, “piss off.”

When Matty stretched his hand out to reclaim his drink from her, Amelia noticed the notepad, with various scraps of paper sticking out of it, that had been tucked underneath his forearms.

“What’s all this?” she pulled the notepad towards her side of the table.

“Oh, it’s not much. just been trying to write a new bit for the show.”

“Oh?”

“So, part of the plan for this tour is,” he took a big swig of his drink, “that I’d sort of- like- add or tweak it every now and then. You know, to keep things fresh and unexpected.”

She nodded along as he spoke, recalling a conversation they’d had when he first started planning the show. He’d talked about how important it was for him that the show be responding to the audience in real time. A way to get around the repetitiveness of the performance, and the idea of people seeing it online.

“And? What’d you come up with?” She flipped through the pages, reading his scribbles.

“Nothing. I can’t seem to come up with anything.

Brain feels…..both full and empty at the same time.”

She heard the tone of defeat in his voice and looked up at him, not saying anything. He offered her the remainder of his drink, which she accepted.

Matty watched her read his unfinished drafts and fragmented sentences. The words felt heavy in his mouth. He wanted to say them. To free himself. To finally let her know. His lips parted, ‘just say it,’he thought to himself. No words came out. ‘Just fuckin say it. Just tell her.’ He waited a moment, hoping the urge to confess would pass, but it didn’t. He needs to just get it over with. Worry about the consequences later. He’s a grown adult. He’s going to tell her how he feels.

“Amelia-“

“Do you have any cigarettes left on you? I’m in the mood for a smoke.” She didn’t seem to notice that she’d cut him off.

“Oh.” He uttered. The sinking feeling overwhelmed him.

“Well? Do you?”

“Do- I…what?”

“Have any cigs left? Matty, are you listening?” She blinked rapidly.

“Oh- oh, yeah. I do. I do have some left.” He struggled to come back to his body for a moment. Slowly, his hands felt around his pockets. “You wanna go outside for a smoke?” He eventually rose to his feet. “C’mon, let’s go.”

****

“So,” Matty looked at her as she blew the smoke into the cold air of the night. “You and your….boy-toy-“

“Joshua.”

“His name is Joshua?” A smirk twitched on his lips. “That’s a slutty name.”

She giggled, amused. “What the fuck’s a slutty name?”

“Joshua!”

“No, like, how can a name be slutty?” She threw her cigarette bud to the ground and stepped on it with the heel of her shoe. “Cold.” She mumbled. “Can I have a cuddle?”

Matty did not hesitate to throw his arm around her and pull her into his side, hiding her under his leather jacket.

She wrapped her arms around his torso. “You’re warm.” Sighing contentedly and already feeling his body heat spread to hers. “What is it about me and Joshua?” She suddenly recalled that he’d started to say something.

“You were saying earlier….you’re not serious.”

“We’re not.” She rested her cheek against his body. “Plus, we’re leaving for the east coast soon anyway, right?”

Matty nodded.

“Yeah, so I won’t see him again after that.”

He remained silent for a while, taking her words in. He couldn’t help but be delighted. Should he try again tell her now? Should he wait until Joshua is old news first? What would she prefer, if she could choose? How can he make this perfect for her? “You’re freezing. Let’s go upstairs, yeah?”

“What a fine idea.”

***

“You’re exhausted, aren’t you?” Amelia sat next to him on the bed and reached out her hand to stroke his cheek.

He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. He felt the cold metal of the rings on her fingers against his face and the scent of cigarettes lingered on her skin. “You’ve been asking me that every time you’ve seen me.”

“When's the last time that you had a full nights sleep?” She asked, her tone suggesting that she already knew the answer.

“What’s a full nights sleep?” He quipped.

With her face so close to his, Matty’s eyes studied her features, admiring her beauty. Her pretty eyes, the smudged, faded lipstick on her lips. He thought about how the smudge had happened. How, earlier in the night, her lips might have looked different. He hadn’t caught her before she’d gone out to meet Joshua. But he imagined the color sitting perfectly within the lining of her lips. Until another man’s lips had kissed hers. A man that wasn’t him. Had she let him touch her the way that she let Matty so often do? Had his fingers traced her skin? Had he made her feel good? Was she wet for him before he’d even undressed her? Did he make her weak? Had he heard her whine and beg? Had she been vulnerable for him? Did Joshua know that she preferred it when a little pain was delivered with her pleasure? A slight tug on her hair. An ever so slightly rough squeeze of her neck…had he learned her body? Had his name died on her lips, interrupted by her moan as she’d cum for him? Would Matty taste the remnants of someone else on her lips if he could kiss her now? Was it all the same? Just sex? Just pleasure, regardless of the source?

Did Joshua know how she liked her head scratched afterwards? Were they intimate enough for him to notice how shy she gets after the orgasmic high subsides and she feels naked and exposed? Does he rush to cover her up and shower her with praise as he had done, countless times before.

Amelia watched the darkness creep onto Matty’s face, as if suddenly visited by a waking nightmare.

“Matty, are you alright?”

Her gentle voice calmed his racing mind, pulling his thoughts away. He nodded. “Y-yeah.”

“You’re worried about the show, aren’t you?”

The show. Sure, that’s what he’s worried about. She’s not entirely wrong. The future of the tour weighed heavily on his shoulders. Not at this exact moment, though. “Yeah- the…show.” He mumbled.

She kicked off her shoes, climbing into his bed and making herself comfortable. Matty’s body ached for her.

“C’mon.” She patted the empty space next to her, urging him to join.

They each laid on their sides, facing each other, noses almost touching.

“So, tell me what you have in mind.” She smiled and his heart skipped a beat.

“Tell you what?”

“Isn’t that why you’re paying me? To help stage the show?”

“Right…yeah. The show! Yes! Of course…well, erm.” He cleared his throat. “I think we keep the naked body double—“

“Peanut. He has a name! Please.”

Matty laughed.

“How’d you like it if we all started referring to you as the clothed body double?”

“Fair argument….alright. So, I think we keep the Peanut bit. It’s kinda dramatic enough on its own. And it’s open-ended enough for me to, like, improvise as I go, you know? Like I don’t have to do the exact same bit every night. I can pretty much engage with it-“

“Him.”

“Engage with him in any way I like. Depending on what I’m in the mood for.”

She nodded. “Yeah, that’s true….I like that. It’s clever. So, what’s the problem then?”

“The problem is the other bit. The weight lifting and smoking and stuff.”

“Okay…” she was quiet for a moment. Matty found himself getting lost in her eyes, his heart beating to the rhythm of her blinking. “Well, let me ask you this: what’d you write it about?”

“Well it’s commentary on the old show, right? The raw meat eating ‘I’m a man’ stuff. But it’s also….a healthier version of that. So, it’s double edged like that.”

She nodded.

“I guess it’s just….well, part of the criticism that I’m meant to be responding to is that I took the performance bit too far, right?”

“Mhm.”

“I don’t think I’m addressing that adequately by shirtlessly lifting weights.”

Matty watched Amelia frown, deep in thought. She shuffled spring in bed, sitting up and propping up the pillow behind her back to rest against the headboard. His eyebrows shot up to keep track of her. He shifted to lay on his back and felt small next to her.

“Have you thought about reflecting the inadequacy of your response within the response itself?” She spoke after giving it some thought. “Like saying something to the audience about it even as you’re doing it?”

“Like commenting on the commentary?” Matty asked. “That’s meta.” He giggled. “Very matty-coded. I like it.”

She chuckled “matty-coded? God, you’re hot.”

“I am? I mean, yeah, I am, but-“

“I hate that I have a thing for men with big brains it’s so cliche.” She bristled, judging herself.

“I DO have a big brain, you’re right.”

“Get your head out of the gutter. I was actually referring to your brain, nothing else.”

“Oh. What a shame.”

“Don’t say it.” She commanded, looking down at him knowingly.

“I have literally said nothing.”

“I know you. You’re thinking about making a joke about how you have two heads. One up here, and one down there.”

Matty giggled, rolling his eyes. “I was not thinking about that.” He was. He so was. And he found it attractive that she could read him that well.

“Does it bother you that people thought you took the performance bit too far?”

Matty was taken aback by the question. Perhaps it was the abrupt change of subject, or just the fact that he was sleep deprived, and perpetually on the verge of telling her how he feels, but he felt a mix of emotions bubble to the surface. He remained quiet for a long time, contemplating his answer. The longer he thought about it, the more emotional he became.

“I’d love to say ‘no’ but yeah. Yes it bothers me.” He sighed loudly. “It didn’t at first. And to be fair, not all criticisms are valid. There are some objectively stupid tales.” He kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling as he spoke. “And those don’t bother me. I just— I expect Twitter to have something to say no matter what I do or say. That’s sort of a— an occupational hazard at this point. I guess what bothers me most is….people thinking that I did any of it maliciously, you know?”

She heard a faint strain in his voice and sensed that she’d hit a sore spot. “Matty—“

“Like some actually think that I set out to do this with the intention of hurting people.” He exhaled, blinking rapidly to keep from crying. “The concept of punching down in comedy….it’s just….it’s not great. And- I guess you could argue that - I did do that. To some extent?”

“Yeah, and you’re not a comedian. So there’s not really that context either.”

“I disagree.” The statement echoed for a long moment. “I do. I really disagree with you about that.” A few stray tears managed to roll down his face but he ignored them and carried on. “ I don’t think I’m a comedian like in a professional comic kind of way. I’m not like….fuckin Bo Burnham. But I think I’ve set up the persona as a bit of a jokester. Or at least I thought I had. I guess it came out of nowhere for some people.”

“It came off stage.” She corrected him.

“Right. But- metaphorically speaking everything’s a stage.” He gestured vaguely with his hands. “Well, you know what I mean. You’ve heard me say this before. About…..like social media being a performance and all that.” He shrugged. “Anyway, and then- then all that other shit happened and….I guess I’m public enemy number one now.”

“I’m so sorry-“

“It’s fine. It’s whatever.”

“Don’t say that-“

“No, no. I mean it. It’s fine. Like, this isn’t about feeling sorry for myself. I don’t ever want the show to become that.”

Amelia looked him straight in the eyes. “The show doesn’t have to become about that. But you’re allowed to feel however you feel.”

“It’s….I just need to man up and deal with it.” He shifted back to lay on his side again, his arms reaching upwards and wrapping around her, he buried his face into her waist, letting the rest of his tears flow.

***

Matty awoke in a panic. Suddenly jolting in bed and looking around him through squinted eyes as he sat up. “What happened?” He mumbled, his voice heavy with sleep. He noticed that he was in nothing but his boxers. His jeans were folded across the chair on the other side of the room. His shirt was draped over Amelia’s shoulders as she stood by the foot of the bed, sipping on what smelled like coffee.

“Mornin.’” She spoke into her beverage. “Bad dream?”

He nodded. “What time is it?”

“ it’s only 7 am. Go back to sleep.”

“Fuck. Shit. Fuck.” His head hit the pillow again. “I’ve gotta meet Ross at the hotel gym in a bit.”

“I’m sure he’d understand if you canceled just this once.” Amelia made her way towards the hotel coffee machine, rummaging through the complimentary supplies to make him some coffee.

“I figured it out.” He spoke over the sound of the machine, “I’m taking out the weight lifting bit. I’ll replace it with a speech. But it’s going to be funny. I’ll have to write something today. You and Tobias can help me figure out where I should be, onstage, when I deliver it. For lights and shit.”

“Is that what your dream was about?” She picked up his mug, walking over to his side of the bed.

“No. No. My dream was….much more terrifying.”

“You wanna talk about it?” She handed him the mug.

“Not really. Id rather forget about it.” He took a sip and hummed in satisfaction.

“Oh I know how to help you forget.” She whispered into his ear.

“Oh?”

“Have you decided whether or not you want sex yet?”

He stared through her, blankly. Nows not the time to say I love you.

With his eyes still fixed on her, he set his drink down on the nightstand, then he leaned forth and kissed her, wrapping both of his strong arms around her waist and pulling her on top of him.

She yelped, loudly, laughing and reveling in the kisses that he’d peppered her body with. Fuck, she’d missed him. He had a certain unforgettable touch that satiated her, yet always left her wanting more.

“Hold on tight for me, darling.” He whispered from underneath her.

She hovered over him, her hands gripping the headboard tightly, knowing it was necessary, and bracing herself. Matty lined his lips with her center, licking his mouth hungrily.

“You ready?”

“Yes, god yes.”

“What I like to hear.”

She gasped, breathless as she felt his tongue lick into her. Mouthing a silent “fuck yeah” up at the ceiling. His mouth was just as perfect as she’d remembered and replayed in her fantasies. He knew exactly how to move, he’d taken pains to learn the pace that worked best for her, and he took his time working her up: going slow at first, giving her time to adjust, making sure she’s comfortable before dialing up. He relished in the fact that he could tell how great she was feeling by the rocking of the headboard. As the sound of it hitting the wall intensified, so did his mouth, licking, sucking. His newly grown out facial hair grazing the insides of her legs, a new sensation she hadn’t experienced before.

She felt ( and heard) her own wetness covering Matty’s lips, dripping down his chin. He let none of it stop him. He delighted in it, in fact. Took it as a clear indication that he was doing his job right. He loved opening his eyes, seeing her breasts right there in front of him and had to fight the urge to reach over for a quick feel. As tempted as he was, he much preferred keeping his arms wrapped around her, both, for safety, and to keep her in place whenever she tried to squirm away, feeling too sensitive. He knew he’d gotten her right where she wanted when she began to shake and whine.

“Ple-please. Matty- please— I feel- you’re so- please?”

He waited for her to look down, locking eyes with him, then, without pulling his mouth away from her, he nodded, mumbling a “cum for me.”

Matty smiled when he felt her thighs clamp down around his head. She moved faster, carelessly, bouncing up and down, riding his tongue, and screaming out his name.

His grip around her tightened when she let go of the headboard, catching her as she collapsed on top of him.

The sounds of their heavy breathing filled the room.

“Yum.” Matty made sure to add into the heavy silence, making her blush and turn to hide her face in the sheets.

He rolled over to pull her away from the bed and free her beautiful, blushing face. “Pretty sure the entire floor knows my name now. So much for my ‘Adam Levine’ Alias.” He gloated.

“Stopppp. That’s not funnyyy.” She whined, hiding in the crook of his neck.

“Sorry, sorry. I forget you get weirdly shy after doing obscenely sexy things.”

He peeled her off of him, his fingers tilting her chin up. “Hi. Good morning.” He couldn’t help the grin on his face. “Kiss?”

“Can taste myself on you.”

“Don’t you taste amazing?” Matty reached for his lukewarm coffee. “Could put you in my coffee and drink you up.”

“Gross.” She rolled her eyes. “Wait,” she took his mug away as soon as it touched his lips. “Wanna ride you.”

“Uhh…what?”

“Who’s shy now?” She shot up an eyebrow as she set the mug back where it was.

“N-no. Not shy. Just….the last time we did that…well….”

“I cried and hid in the bathroom. I know. But I wanna try again.”

“Are you- sure?”

“Wouldn’t be literally asking for it if I wasn’t.”

“Fair enough- I guess.”

Matty’s body stiffened, head to toe, as soon as she moved to remove his briefs. She felt him tense up.

“You alright?”

“Mhm.”

“Matty, don’t worry. I’m fine. I promise this is fine.”

“Yeah, umm…yeah. It’s fine.”

She studied his face silently for a beat. “So….can I go ahead?”

“I- guess. Yeah…yeah, go on. Do it.”

Amelia was stunned to look down at Matty’s lap and find herself face to face with his flaccid penis.

“Uhh, Matty-“

“Don’t- I know- it’s fine.”

“Uhhu. So you keep saying. But I’m looking at it and- well, it’s not fine. Hey, no big deal! You’re not in the mood right now. You don’t have to be. I guess I just thought, after everything you just did-“

“I AM in the mood. I promise!”

“Does the rest of your body know?”

“It…knows.

“The dick doesn’t lie, Matty.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Sorry, just trying to lighten the mood.”

“Well, I’m not in the mood for that right this second.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” She nodded at his lap. “Sorry! Sorry! I think- I think I reflexively make jokes when I’m uncomfortable. I didn’t mean to-“

“Go to therapy, Amelia! Stop making dick jokes.”

“Soft dick jokes….okay, that wasn’t nice but I’ll let it slide cuz you’re having a crisis of masculinity right now.”

Matty pulled his briefs back up. “I am not!”

“I’m not saying that….that….failing to get it up — there I said it! Okay. We’re all adults here it’s fine! Except I guess Matty Jr. over there cuz he’s refusing to grow but…oh my god someone stop me!!!l” she got off the bed, pacing around the room and avoiding looking into Matty’s eyes. Then, once her brows had stopped sweating she tried again.

“I’m just saying, Matty. Failing to maintain an erection is fine. It’s not some weird measure of manliness or whatever. But you make whole shows about being a man and….I guess I just wanna say that it happens. It’s fine.”

Matty turned around around to sit on the edge of the bed, his feet touching the ground. He found his cigarette packet on the nightstand and began to feel around for his lighter.

“Amelia?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you leave?”

“What? Why?! Are you mad at me? I was joking, Matty! I’m sorry-“

“No, no. I’m not mad. It’s just….please leave? I can’t look at you right now. Don’t want you to see me like this.”

“Oh, for fucks sakes! You’re such a primate. What, are you a wounded jungle animal going off on his own to die with dignity away from the pack? So, your dick can’t get hard so fuckin what? They have drugs for that shit now. Pop a pill and shut up!”

“Leave.” Matty walked over to his hotel room door, pulling it open.

“Unbelievable.”

***

Matty stood in the far corner of the venue, sipping his wine and wishing he were anywhere but this after party. He knew that as Frontman, it reflected well on everybody for him to be there and to put on a smile, especially since they were leaving the west coast in the morning. This would be his last chance to thank and celebrate some local people who helped put this show on for the past few weeks.

His mind, however, was elsewhere. He couldn’t tear his eyes off Amelia. And as he looked at her, his nightmare from the other night replayed in his head. He’d dreamt that he tried to tell her that he loves her, but every time that he would approach her, she’d get farther and farther away, until she’d disappeared. Marty’s never been a superstitious guy, but, something about that dream left a bad feeling in the back of his mind.

‘I’m in love with you.’ Just tell her. Go on. Go up to her. Look her in the eyes and say ‘Amelia, I’m in love with you.’ Do it before you lose the courage. He gulped down what was left of his drink and marched in her direction. She’d been saying goodbye to a venue worker who’d helped her out of a few backstage emergencies.

“Amelia?”

She turned around at the mention of her name. “Matty! Hi! Oh, god. I wasn’t sure…I mean, I’ve been keeping my distance cuz…you know. You kicked me out of your hotel room after not being able to- well, you know. But I just wanted to say.”

“Amelia, shut up.”

“Beg your fuckin pardon?”

“Sorry, I just mean, forget all that. I’ve got something to tell you.”

“Oh? Go on. What is it?”

“Well, it’s simple, really, I-“

Amelia felt someone tap her shoulder and turned around. It was Joshua. He leaned in and greeted her with a kiss.

“Hi, you.” Matty noticed her hand squeeze his shoulder. “What- what’re you doing here? Come to say goodbye?”

“Even better.” Joshua smiled at her. “Here to give you the good news in person. I’m tagging along! On tour, I mean. If you’ll have me.”

“What?!” Matty yelled out before he could stop himself.

Both of the couples heads whipped around staring at him.

“Sorry, pardon. Private moment. I shouldn’t intrude…I’ll just- walk…away.”

As he walked away, Matty thought, THIS must be his dream. His nightmare coming to life.

[brighttears]

Drink Up and Look at the Stars

Joel x reader

No physical description, no use of y/n, gender neutral

Summary: Joel and you get some alone time while Ellie’s asleep, sharing a flask under the stars. Joel acts on some liquid confidence. 

Warnings: Drinking

Word count: 1k

A/n: I can’t stop writing. Also you may recognize the title from Between the Bars by Elliott Smith

–

Despite all his sleepless nights, Joel hadn’t realized just how much brighter the night sky is nowadays until tonight, and he’s thanking the moon and all the new stars for illuminating you like they do tonight. The liquid confidence he swigs makes him want to tell you but he’s still just cognizant enough to not want to take the risk. As he notices the whisky making his body feel lighter, now firmly in the zone of tipsiness, he hopes that you’ll be braver, or stupider, than him and let something like that slip. 

He felt lucky already that you couldn’t sleep and decided instead to join him at his post by the water. He didn’t even mind that the two of you might end up emptying his flask. He likes when he can get you alone and talking, and now he’s got you right where he wants you. Ellie’ll be sound asleep for at least a few more hours, and the whisky has helped you both let your guard down a little bit. 

The conversation has just arrived at recollections of your old lives.

“I always wanted to travel.” you continue on, “Look at me now, hiking cross country, sleeping by the water under the stars.” You try to keep your voice light but your smile is fading. “I guess I should have tried harder, to travel, I mean. I guess it's just that I thought I had more time. Doesn’t that seem so weird now? I used to plan for the future. I mean I was saving up money for when I retire.” you chuckle, “And now…”

“There’s still a chance,” Joel says. You look at him thinking he’s making a joke but his eyes are earnest, “to grow old. And I don't mean like me, I mean old, old. Like, die from natural causes old.” You snort. “I mean it.” 

Joel had always been the pessimist of your little group, but tonight it’s you who brushes off his offer of some positivity. “Would you really want to though? I mean I don’t want to die now, I just mean, I’m not super stoked at the idea of this dragging on for a few more decades.” 

Joel watches your face. He understands, but he doesn’t want to think about you dying, or him dying, so he’s going to ignore all that, just for tonight. Being alone with you like this is some kind of magic for him, protecting him from all the ugliness in his life. He can just be here, now, passing a flask back and forth, watching you under the stars. If only he could freeze time, stay here with you forever and make you feel safe like you make him. But he’s looking in your eyes and they’re distant and he recognizes the sorrow in them. The whisky is a pleasant burn going down his throat.

“Well, we don’t have to think about it, you know.” He reaches his hand towards you, offering the flask. “Drink up. ‘N look at the stars.” You take it from him and raise it to ‘cheers’ the sky.

There is a long, comfortable silence for a few more passes of the flask before Joel speaks up.

“If I could, I’d freeze this right here. ‘N put it in a snowglobe.” His cheeks are plump and pink at the ends of his smile and you giggle at him, putting your hand to your mouth to try to keep yourself from spitting out a mouthful of whisky. 

He turns his head to the stars. “Yeah. Just stay here. Stay here with you for the rest of time. Yeah, rest’a taaaam.” His southern drawl is more pronounced with a belly full of liquor and it makes you laugh.

“I think you’re drunk.”

“Tipsy, not drunk.”

“Well you sound drunk.”

“Well, you’re burstin’ my bubble. Come on, join me in the snowglobe.”

“The rest of time, huh?”

“Yeah. I got millions a questions I wanna ask you.”

“Like what?” you smile with him. 

Joel takes a swig as he considers his answer, then hands it back to you.

“Well, for starters, would you wanna stay in a snowglobe with me?”

“For the rest of time? Hmm…” You pretend to ponder, turning your face to the sky and taping your finger on your chin before returning to his eyes. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Joel smiles wider, adjusting his seat on the ground and looking up at the stars, feeling accomplished. You pass him the flask and yawn.

“Don’t you go fallin’ asleep on me. The night is young! We still got time in our snowglobe!” Joel giggles—an unfamiliar sound that you savor.

You laugh, “I’m not sleepy, just tired. There's a difference. I don’t wanna sleep, I wanna stay up with you.” You turn your head to him, swiveling your neck down to lean your cheek on your hand and stare for a minute or two. “You’re so pretty.” It slips out, but you don’t care. 

“I’m pretty?”

“Mhm.”

“You’re pretty.” He smiles wide at you and you giggle. “Pretty, pretty lil’ thing, you are.” Your heart skips a beat at his words and you watch his eyes dawdle on your face.

“I’m cold.” You lie. 

Joel nods his head towards himself, “C’mere, then.”

You get up and walk the couple feet to him and as you sit down he leans to lay on his side, elbow on the ground to support his head in his hand. He abandons the flask and lifts his other arm up while you settle in and then lays it over your middle. You scooch your body back into his and he wraps his arm around you. 

“Better?"

“Yeah. You’re warm.”

“Mm. Good. You still got a good view‘a the stars?”

“Oh, no, not really. I forgot they were up there.”

“You forgot they were up there?”

“Yeah,” you giggle, “You’re distracting.”

“Well here,” He grunts as he sits up and you feel a twinge of nervous disappointment in your chest as he moves away to lean against the rock wall, but it leaves when he reaches his arms out to you, making grabbing motions with his hands. “C’mere.”

You happily crawl back into his arms and he reaches one to rest behind your neck, his other hand going to gently hold your waist. From this angle, your head leaned back against his shoulder, you get a good view of the stars, but now when you look up, his face is close to yours. You watch his eyes reading your face again.

Joel is lost in you. Right here, right now, there is no sickness, no death, nor loss, there's only you. The only thing that reminds him that he’s a person again is when he sees you looking into him.

“Now you can’t see the stars.”

“Mmm, that's ok. I like lookin’ at you more.”

“You are drunk.”

“Am not. Yer drunk.”

“No I’m not.”

“Good.” 

With that, Joel leans his lips down to meet yours. It’s an innocent, long kiss. Each time you pull away from each other you’re magnetized back again. It feels like forever and you don’t mind that at all.

“Perfect lil' snowglobe.” Joel whispers once you’re able to break your kiss.

“Rest of time.” You whisper back. 

He rubs the tip of his nose back and forth over yours. 

“Rest’a time.”

[wordsinhaled]

have some of the WIP of my dreamling messy meetings AU, inspired by @valeriianz - who posited that dream & hob need more meet-uglies! valid!

in this AU, morpheus is hob's neighbor AND... surprise... also the guy who regularly steals hob's favorite table at the pub. they start up a game where they decide who gets the table each time they're both there by presenting each other with increasingly obscure words, and whoever can't define the word without the use of a dictionary has to give up the table for the night (i don't know, this just seems very on brand for them). etc, etc.

pining, vocabulary, gin & tonic, piano sonatas, frustrated romcom... that sort of thing. :)

-

Hob’s got this neighbor, you see. A neighbor he’s never actually seen, except silhouetted indistinctly behind window-curtains in the evenings, but who has a habit of always playing the piano at odd hours; and does he not realize other people actually live and have proper Circadian rhythms within a certain radius of him? Don’t misunderstand—Rachmaninoff is lovely, truly, it’s just Hob would really adore what is apparently the privilege of being able to sleep a full night, occasionally, like regular folk who aren’t blessed with virtuosic skill and perfect pitch. 

Incidentally, Hob and Morpheus like to frequent the New Inn on the same days and evenings. 

Or, it would be more accurate to say that Hob often patronizes the pub at the same hours as “the stranger at the pub, bit of a prat really,” which is how Hob is forced to think of him the first time he resolutely refuses to get up from Hob’s favorite seat in the house. Eventually, he becomes just “the stranger at the pub,” because he keeps turning up and haunting the place like a particularly picturesque wraith, and he’s also obstinate about not giving Hob a proper name to call him. 

One day, in Hob’s mind, he somehow transmutes into “the handsome stranger at the pub,” and that’s—well. Hob doesn’t know quite how that happens. 

Even more recently, he’s been occupying Hob’s thoughts as “his handsome stranger,” despite Hob not having any right or any grounds to make any sort of claim on him at all. 

It’s all because of their game, Hob supposes. 

Morpheus had been the one to come up with it, this odd little way of deciding who gets the prized table by the window. 

Well. Rather more precisely, as far as Hob is concerned, the person who masterminded their little arrangement was “this bloke at the pub, Gwennie, obnoxious like you wouldn’t believe, sitting in my spot, where, mind you, I’ve sat and done my marking for five bloody years straight and everyone knows it—except him, no, not Mister ‘I’ll Sit Anywhere I Like,’ who’s got zero concept—none!—of the joy of coming to your favorite pub of an evening, and knowing your favorite table is free, and using your favorite pen to mark exams while having a pint of your favorite ale. I mean, the audacity of—” 

But much to Hob’s chagrin, at this juncture his head of department had walked into the staffroom, Gwen had looked at him a bit pityingly, and he had had to rein in the rest of his bluster.

She should pity him, he’d thought; the things he had to live with! Bach’s Goldberg Variations, expertly though his elusive neighbor might execute them at three in the morning, were rapidly becoming Hob’s sworn enemies. And now there was this stranger, who had draped himself over Hob’s banquette as if he owned it and, smirking up at him, had said blithely, “I see plenty of other tables empty at this pub tonight.” 

“Yes, but,” Hob had said, depositing his messenger bag on the chair opposite, undeterred, “this one is mine.” 

“Oh?” The man flicked his eyes away from Hob, down to the table’s surface, which was nicked and worn, scored with generations of drunken mementos: etched messages, crude symbols, lovers’ initials united with plus signs and corralled by hearts. “Will I find your name here, then?”  

[thotsforvillainrights]

Might I request a little dad!stain story?

(I will pull something out randomly and I hope it'll suffice, dearest anon! Also I realized I'm not sure if I gave Stain's daughter a name or not yet so I went ahead and did it in this one.)

~Dad!Stain Tooth Fairy

headcanon|scenario|imagine|match-up|drabble

"Daddy!!!!" A familiar shrill voice called from the other room. "Well looks like you're her favorite tonight." You teased Chizome with a small smile. He shrugged and placed his now empty cup into the kitchen sink. "I suppose so." He mumbled on his way down the hallway to his baby girl's room. When he entered, he'd immediately went into panic mode at the sight in front of him. Chie was standing ON her vanity and looking at herself in the mirror, heels dangerously close to the edge! He wanted to shout and ask her how she got up there but realized he might startle her and cause her to fall down. He settled for sneaking up on her which thankfully worked considering she was focused on the inside of her mouth. "Don't you dare get up here again." His voice scared her, making her scream for just a second. "My eardrum..." he mumbled as he carefully placed her on the ground and kneeled to be at eye level with the girl. "Chie, what on Earth are you in here doing?" She pouted and opened her mouth, one small and chubby finger pointing on the inside. He tilts his head and examines the inside, carefully gripping her chin to hold her head still while his free hand roamed along the top set of tiny teeth. He settled for one directly in the front of her mouth. "Ah, I see. This is a lose tooth. So lose that it looks like it's going to fall any day now."

Chie gasps at his words and quickly slaps her tiny hands over her mouth with a panicked expression. Chizome can see her eyes gathering tears so he thinks up a plan rather quickly. Finally his he comes up with the most reasonable thing at the moment, something rather stupid that he would never believe in a million years.

But hey, she's a kid after all.

"Don't cry little one. Think of what the tooth fairy will bring you for this tooth once it falls out."

"Tooth fairy?" She sniffles, rubbing her eyes and staring at her father with childlike wonder. "Yes, the tooth fairy." He has to hold himself together to not physically cringe at the thought of something so foolish. Chizome continues nonetheless. "Yes, the uh...tooth fairy. He's this magical being in a dress that uh...i don't know, floats around looking for dislodged teeth. He just collects the things, and then he leaves...gifts?"

"Gifts, really!?" He rolled his eyes and nodded at her. "Yes gifts. So let's go set everything up okay?" He points at her bed and watches her run over to it. His heart did small flips at seeing her excitement on full display. Even though the myth was silly, it seemed to cause small children so much joy so who was he to complain? He walks over and pats the pillow. We have to put it underneath here and you need to go to bed. First step is getting it out. Now it might seem scary but I assure you that the thing is so loose it'll come out easily and you won't feel a th-" His eyes widen as the little girl reaches into her own mouth and snatches the tooth out, smiling as a small line of blood trickles down her lips and chin. "Okay now gifts?" He takes a second to compose himself before grabbing the tooth and putting it under her pillow, still slightly shaken at her sudden action. Alright, you lay down now for bed and I'll bring you something special to wash your mouth out." She obeys quickly, (a rare occasion for her considering she fights bedtime with all her might every single night) and gets cozy in her bed. He returns with a bowl and a cup, the cup holding salted warm water. She washes her mouth out with the water and disposes of the spiddle in the bowl. He takes the supplies back to the kitchen, tucks her into bed, and keeps watch for her to fall asleep.

You smile at the sight of your love checking several times throughout the night to see if your daughter is asleep. It's finally go time around 9 p.m. as she's finally dozed off to rest. He acts fast, grabbing a handful of coins to place beneath her pillow. Chizome is careful to not wake her during the whole process. Finally he takes the tooth from beneath the pillow and slips it into his pocket He takes a moment to stare contently at the sleeping girl. His hearts starts twisting up again...much in the same way it did on the day she was born/adopted. "When did you get so big?" He whispers to himself, gently petting her head. He leans down to kiss her forehead and retreats back to the doorway, turning to look at her one last time before turning off the light and heading back to the room where you were waiting.

"Did it go well?" You ask as he settles himself into bed, rolling on his side and draping an arm over you. "Went very well. Now get some sleep. We'll need it when she wakes up in the morning and wants to spend the money immediately."