#used a reference from the in a heartbeat short

[lyracarvahall]

HeartBeat Sync Part 16

Showtime Shenanigans

Part 15 Here

The trio talked about the events of the day as they ate. San occasionally offered Y/N bites of his food. It was sweet that he wanted to make sure that she ate well. Seonghwa seemed particularly ravenous.

"He always eats like that. He eats the most out of all of us honestly." San smirked as he began packing up the trash and throwing it away. He tied up the leftovers and put them to the side.

Y/N did not want to get between Seonghwa and his food conquest so she attempted to get up to get ready to record San's track. Seonghwa whimpered and placed a hand on her leg mid-bite. After he slurped down his noodles he blushed. "Sorry. I don't know why I did that."

"Don't worry honey. I know the connection is new and raw. I can be with you as long as you need me to be.."

Seonghwa teared up a little and nodded. "Thank you. I am alright but I have a small request if that is alright."

"Of course."

"I know we have to hurry and record San's vocals but I don't want to leave you yet. Is it alright if you sit in my lap while he records or is that too forward?"

Y/N put her head on his shoulder. "That is fine Seonghwa. I honestly need the contact right now too." She worried though that her thicker frame would crush the poor guy. He seemed to sense her insecurity however and took her by the hand, leading her to her chair and pulling her down onto his lap, placing his head on her shoulder. After enjoying a few seconds like that in silence, he scooted the chair closer so she was able to reach her laptop again. Seonghwa began clicking away on his phone.

Y/N giggled at the sweet gesture and she looked to her left to see San looking very happy watching the pair of them. She sent her gratitude to him through the bond and his smile widened.

Suddenly her phone went off.

"Okay baby, I will get the recording going so we can head back for the show tonight." San walked into the recording booth and put on the headphones. She fired up the reference vocals and she watched him sway and listen. He looked peaceful and content. After the first playthrough, he looked at her with pride.

"Baby, this is wonderful...I see what they were talking about now. It is a bit different than our usual sound but still screams 'us'. Plus your vocals are so lovely."

Y/N blushes at this awed response. San chuckled at her reaction and said, "I am ready to try it now if you would like. I may need some notes from you though."

"That is fine honey. Alright." She cued up the reference track again and San started singing the highest melody in the harmony. She gave him a few low notes through out so he was the weaver throughout the other tracks. She gave him a couple of notes and soon enough he was also done with his recording.

"Did you guys want to hear how you all sound together?" Y/N was trembling both due to nerves and pure joy in sharing her baby.

Both men huddled around her laptop and she hit play. Through the speakers, a haunting 4 part harmony came and seemed to hold the trio captive. It was her first track to the rock and house opera. It came out better than she ever could have thought and it was due to these men's amazing talent. It would not be nearly as epic without them.

Seonghwa rubbed his hands up and down her waist and San cradled her head against his stomach as he stood next to her. When the song finished, there was silence for a few moments. Y/N began to panic that maybe they didn't like it.

San seemed to sense her unease and began to stroke her hair. "No no no baby! We are blown away! This is incredible! I cannot wait for the final results!"

"Really? Are you sure it isn't too much?" She asked hesitantly.

Seonghwa spoke from her right shoulder so his low soft voice was right by her ear. "We are ATEEZ honey. We are the definition or extra. Don't you dare sell yourself short. This is wonderful."

She shivered with the way his voice in her ear effected her. he chuckled darkly which only furthered the effect.

San chuckled as he released her head from his hold. Sinking down to his knees, he whispered into her left ear. "Oh my poor baby. being effected by your men so strongly. Later I will kiss it all better." With that he got up and walked to the studio door, opening it and lingering in the doorway. "I ordered a driver as we need to get back. You coming baby?"

Y/N quickly got up from the chair, nearly toppling Seonghwa over. "Oh my gosh I am so sorry!" She covered her face in embarrassment.

Seonghwa belly laughed and pulled her into a hug. "It's okay sweetheart. Sannie was the mean one teasing you." With that he began to gather her supplies and cords and placed them in her bag. San had the food already in his hands and made his way out to the car. After she saved their progress, she closed her laptop and hurried and packed it before ducking her head in embarrassment and heading out the door. Seonghwa laughed and followed behind.

Once they got to the car, she sat in the front seat and the two men sat in the back chortling to themselves. Y/N rolled her eyes in the rearview mirror and they were off. On the way to the venue, she messaged Eden thanking him for letting her use the studio space.

She appreciated but also felt very pressured by the faith everyone had in her. Hopefully she lived up to expectations.

Finally turning into the arena basement parking, the car dropped them off and they headed inside. Y/N followed the guys since they knew where they were going and there were security just inside the doors to collect them. Suddenly, out of nowhere someone flew towards Y/N and wrapped around her like a koala. As she was pinned to the wall, she realized it was Wooyoung. Her face was swiftly covered in kisses and he clung to her tightly. He was swiftly removed by San picking him up by the collar like a cat being lifted by the scruff.

"Wooyoung! Damn you gotta be gentle!"

Wooyoung looked at her and suddenly appeared to look guilty. "Hey I'm sorry babe! I just saw that Mingi got hugs and kisses from you and I got super jealous so i figured if I snuck some now I could say that I won. I mean I didn't mean to run into you that hard but I was running a long ways and..."

"Woah woah!" Y/N grabbed his face and smooshed his cheeks, making him look adorable. "Honey it's okay. Come here." She leaned forward and gave him a bunch of gentle pecks on his lips and he seemed to melt in San's arms. "If you are a good boy for the rest of the day, I will reward you, ok?" She saw his pupils dialate and he rapidly nodded.

"Yes ma'am!" He took off back towards their dressing room.

Y/N giggled as he watched him run like a track star. Seonghwa seemed to beam at her laughter and squeezed her shoulder. "We should get ready sweetheart. Feel free to come with us. He slid his hand down her arm to intertwine his fingers with hers. Gently guiding her, she followed him back to the dressing room. She looked around at all of the staff on the way and not many of them even noticed. The couple that did gave subtle nods and she had a feeling they were a part of the NDA signing spree.

Once they opened the dressing room door, the boys seemed to stop what they were doing and focus their eyes on her and Seonghwa's joint hands. He felt her embarrassment and pulled her to him, lifting her hair up out of the way so her new mark was visible to everyone. Hongjoong came up behind Y/N and gently combed his fingers over the mark. "It's beautiful baby." Seonghwa flinched a little bit at the nickname Hongjoong gave her but swiftly returned to petting her hair. Y/N knew it was hard but that he was trying. She let Seonghwa cling to her as long as he needed to.

"We'll talk soon." Hongjoong said quietly and then he walked away. Seonghwa let out a shuttered breath and she squeezed him to show her support. He cleared his throat and released her, making his way to one of the makeup chairs to start getting ready for the show. Various members were occupying themselves in different ways. Some were also getting makeup done. One was listening to music on his phone. Mingi and Yunho were taking selfies in a corner.

"Hey baby! Come over and take pictures with us!" Mingi shouted across the room.

"No! No way! I can't..." Yunho began to pout. "Oh Yuyu don't start...I...okay fine." She couldn't resist that face.

Making her way to the two trees, she found herself smooshed between them with each placing a kiss on one of her cheeks. They showed her the picture and she looked beautiful with a beaming smile and they looked totally smitten as they kissed her.

"Oh my god I love this so much! Please send it to me!" Y/N gave each of the a kiss on the cheek but Mingi pulled her behind a dressing partition.

"Hey baby. Is it okay if I touch you?"

"Mingi there are people over there."

"Okay but I am taking a kiss. Come here." He put a couple of fingers in the hem of her jeans and pulled her forward. Gently combing his other hand to tuck her hair behind her ear, he kissed her like he meant it. Plump lips trying to imprint themselves upon hers. "Mine"

Looking in his eyes, it was like she could see the loving and dominant sides battling one another.

"Until later baby." He left her pent up behind that partition. What is the deal with these men teasing her today? Made her want to stomp and throw a fit but she took a couple of deep breaths. Soon, the stage hand came in announcing it was showtime. She scurried to the door just in time to give small kisses to each of her men as they made their way out of the door.

One of the makeup artists dramatically fanned herself as she put her kit away. "Girl you are so lucky! Pardon me for saying so but DAMN they are hot and you have them all in your pocket!"

"They are hot, but they are also so much more."

The makeup artist swooned a little. "This is why they all love you." She finished packing up her kit and walked out the door. Y/N went to follow her but then stopped in her tracks. Wait...Did they actually love her? As a person or was the bond all of it. She knew she really needed to step up getting to know these men she cared so much for. She nodded at her internal commitment as she left the dressing room to root her men on from backstage.

Next Part Here

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Taglist: @imbaebi @vtyb23 @nuggiesnuggetdog04 @mrsminseochoi

[iwikitty]

[featherandferns]

sugar (fic)

ex!jj maybank x ex!fem!reader | set in season 4 without the Blackbeard mystery! (non-canon) | inspiration

content warnings: mentions of/references to sex (m and f receiving; MDNI); drug use; unfaithful relationships

word count: 18k.

blurb: JJ comes back into your life - older, richer and different again from before. Can the past stay the past, and the two of you be friends, or is there too much history there to let it all lie?

Cinnamon Buns

“Where would you like these?” Someone calls out to you. You turn and take in the tray of mouth-wateringly delicious looking cinnamon buns that a volunteer holds. Smiling, you point to a far table on the grassy field. 

“Anywhere over there is good! Those look amazing, thank you so much!” 

You turn back to the task at hand: organising cans of tinned, chopped tomatoes. To your left is a stack of bags of rice and to your right, bags of pasta. It’s quick work as you separate them by flavour: garlic and herb; chilli; regular…In the background you overhear chatter of fellow volunteers. Where should I put this? Who had the plastic bags? This was your happy place. 

‘The Stirring Spoon’ is what you had called it. It was your passion project born out of daydreams. A collaborative, community effort, providing food to anybody and everybody, free of charge. It wasn’t a traditional food drive. Instead, it was like a potluck dinner that you hosted every Wednesday in the late afternoon, running into the evening. People brought whatever dish they had prepared, or any ingredients that they had going spare which you and a handful of other volunteers whipped up into mains and desserts. Tomato soup and lentil curry and meatball subs and rainbow brownies and chocolate chip cookies. You’d even managed to rope a few local establishments into it. Any leftover bakes that they had when the workday was over, or things that were just a smidge out of date by a day or two, you took and offered out. Today? Cinnamon buns that were baked yesterday at a humble cafe in the town centre, just shy of Figure Eight. Food health and safety laws were strict but you could stretch them for The Stirring Spoon. After all, you weren’t technically selling a product so no harm done. People were clued in about the supposed “risk”. 

You lift up a can of tomatoes and study the ‘best by’ date on the metal lid. A month in the safe zone. Perfect. As your mind flicks through recipes of what you could cook up, a voice stood out amongst the chatter nearby. It was like a siren’s call; distinct and damning. You could pick it out even when deaf. 

“I gotta delivery here for y’all.”

“What’s in it?”

“Fresh sorta stuff. ‘Tatoes and that kinda thing.”

“Over there, I’d say.”

As the footsteps approach you can feel your heartbeat quicken. It taps nervously in your ribcage like you’re sixteen all over again. Your focus remains on the task at hand until a slight shadow casts over you, and you know you can’t stall any longer.  Your hands freeze over a can of tomatoes. Looking up, standing in front of you, clear as daylight and bright as dawn, is JJ Maybank. He’s dressed in his usual attire of a worn-down t-shirt and shorts; his fingers and wrists decorated with metal rings and beaded bracelets. If you squinted, it’d be like no time had passed at all. He doesn’t look all that different from the last time you saw him and yet, he’s entirely changed. In his hands is a large cardboard crate of various fresh produce. You smile. 

“JJ.”

It comes out in a breath as though you’re seeing something supernatural before you. In a way, you are. How long has it been now? Two years? Nearly three?

His own surprise mirrors yours on his face. But JJ was always better at hiding his emotions, once he had a chance to catch them. It was like a teasing glimpse before he closed the curtains. His recovery is quick as a smile starts to show, and he says your name like he’s practised it everyday. 

“Hey.”

“What’re you doing here?” you ask.

“Brought some deliveries,” JJ says, hitching the box. “Kiara mentioned something ‘bout a community kitchen drive y’all do and we thought we could contribute and stuff.”

“Well, that’s nice of y’all. Thank you,” you reply. 

You shuffle some stuff out of the way on the pop-up table in front of you to make space for JJ’s box. It’s hard not to watch his arms as he lowers it down, the way the biceps flex and tense beneath the skin. It’s hard not to think of other times his arms have looked that way, wrapped around your body, tugging you closer. You blink the memories away. 

JJ’s hands slot into his short pockets. He rocks on his feet. “Looks like it’s a pretty popular thing, huh?v This food drive, I mean.”

You glance around at the bustling volunteers. Smiling, you say, “Yeah, I guess it caught on pretty quick. Could say the same about y’alls tackle-and-bait shop you got going. It’s the talk of the town ‘round here.”

JJ grins with visible pride and it isn’t until you see it that you realise how much you missed his smile. You wonder if he’s surveying your face and body the way you are his, as if looking for some inconsistency or change since the last time you saw him. 

“Yeah, it’s coming together pretty nice. Helps having a bunch of us working on it, though.”

“I bet,” you say. You’d heard the chatter on the island about the Pogue’s latest venture. The sneers of the kooks and the curiosity of the locals. Their bets and wagers on whether the business would sink or float. You’d wanted to wander down and check it out for yourself but you always chickened out. Truth was, you’d been avoiding JJ Maybank like the flu, and now here he was in front of you, putting all your quarantining to shame. Your eyes flit down at the crate and you gently rifle through the food for a distraction. Tomatoes and potatoes and bunches of fresh berries and fruit. 

“I, uh, don’t know if there’s much in there that y’all need but–”

“No, no, this is great,” you assure him, smiling. “It’s really generous of y’all. Every contribution is appreciated.”

“Happy to help. To be honest, it’s Kie and Sarah you should be thanking.”

“Yeah, I didn’t peg you as the gardening type,” you tease. 

“Well, only for the stuff that matters,” JJ grins with a wink. You consciously try to fight away the warmth running to your cheeks. Damn it, you weren’t sixteen anymore. “So…how have you been, then? Since we last…y’know–”

“Baby!”

It’s a reflex reaction to turn at the sound of Mark’s call. He comes bounding over with a wide grin. His shirt sleeves are rolled up to the elbows and flour is dusted on his khakis. It’s a reflex to close your eyes when he dips his head to plant a kiss to your lips, too. You rub them together after as you prepare yourself for what might be the most awkward interaction you’ll ever go through. 

“JJ,” you say, turning to the blonde haired boy. “This is Mark. Mark, this is JJ. We used to…uh…Well, we used to hang out.”

“JJ - pleasure,” Mark says sincerely. He sticks out his hand and for a painful moment you genuinely worry that JJ might never take it. But he does, shaking it. 

“Likewise,” he says. 

You feel Mark’s spare arm slide around your back, his palm placing itself respectfully on your side. That was Mark: respectful. Righteous but not in an arrogant way. He was kind and caring without judgement, like the sort of Christian boy your nana would want you to bring home. The sort of guy who would bring your mother flowers and play golf with your father on the weekends. The kind of face you’d see flash on the television during the six o’clock news as the reporter relays a daring and heroic tale of saving orphaned kittens from a burning tree. 

“This is the guy that’s started the tackle-and-bait shop. Y’know, the one with the surf store and stuff,” you say to Mark. Realisation dawns upon Mark and he wags his finger at JJ. 

“Wait, wait, JJ as in JJ Maybank? One of the gang who found El Dorado?” 

You roll your eyes at the pure awe in his voice. JJ chuckles somewhat nervously and nods as he says, “yeah, uh, that JJ, I guess.”

“Holy shit! Baby, why didn’t you say!? Oh man, I read all about that. It sounded freaking incredible! I have so much to ask you, I mean-”

You place a hand to his chest and laugh, slightly embarrassed by his fangirling. “Baby, baby! Cool it a second, yeah?”

Laughing, you glance at JJ. And you catch it. That emotion he lets slip just before correcting himself. His eyes dart to yours in a second but they were looking elsewhere before. They were looking at your hand on Mark’s stomach. 

“Nah man, it’s cool. You guys should stop by sometime and I can tell you all about it. The other Pogues too, yeah,” JJ cordially replies. 

“Oh sick, man. That’d be great,” Mark beams. You smile at JJ and nod. 

“I’d love to see what you guys have done to the place,” you tell him. JJ smiles but it falters, like a flickering lightbulb that’s fighting to stay on. An awkward quiet passes and you clear your throat and glance around at the voluntary effort. “Well, I should probably get back to work.”

“No, yeah, course. I ought’a get back to the shop,” JJ replies. 

“Thanks for the stuff though. We really appreciate it.”

“You brought this?” Mark wonders, picking a strawberry out of the crate. He pops it in his mouth and hums happily. “Damn, those are some fresh strawberries.”

“Yeah, man. All from our local garden we got going.”

“This place sounds like the dream,” Mark tells you. You smile up at him. He takes the crate in his broad hands and lifts it easily into the air. Being sandwiched between two toned-up guys had you feeling as brittle as candyfloss. “I’ll take this over to Nancy. Nice meeting you, JJ.”

“Yeah, you too, man.”

You watch him wander off a moment before turning back to JJ. He offers you another smile. “I’ll come check out the shop soon,” you promise. 

JJ points at you, playfully warning, “you better!” before walking away. You watch him with every step he takes and the moment he’s out of sight your head drops. You let out a breath that you didn’t know you’d been holding. Your entire body feels as though it’s vibrating; your heart running laps in your ribcage. And the funniest part of all is the strange thought that races around your mind, he’s real. It had been so long since you’d seen JJ, let alone heard from him, that it felt like a daydream. The memories were so hazy now that they’d been painted over in sepia and you wondered if you’d imagined the whole thing. But no, here he was, knowing you and recognising you, and talking to you. The two of you back in Kildare, seemingly for good. 

“Baby! Can you give us a hand?”

The call drags you out of your thoughts. Your eyes fall onto your boyfriend. He stands a good head taller than most people. He’s almost lanky in build but not ungainly; broad shouldered and slim nosed. His eyes are those of an otter: nearly black with how brown they are; beady and shining, even from over here. There’s a smattering of freckles over his cheeks which is adorably boyish in contrast to his stubble on the jawline. He’s smiling at you in a way that all girls want to be smiled at. Unashamed in his admiration for you. It grounds you from the dizzying interaction with JJ and you walk over to him, ready to help out in any way you can. 

The rest of The Stirring Spoon passes without a hitch or unexpected visitor from the past. It’s as popular as always, with locals and tourists stopping by. The lentil and tomato soup that you whipped up disappears within the first half hour, alongside the nearly stale but still delicious cheese bread. Mark stands by your side the whole time, smiling as he serves. He whispers little jokes in your ear that have you giggling in the quiet periods of the food drive. Then came the evening rush, with people stopping by after work. The culmination of it all meant JJ was pushed out of your thoughts and back into the long-term store, where he’d been haunting before. That is, until you’re tidying up. 

“That JJ guy seemed nice,” Mark says from the table to your right. You look up from the plastic snack-bags you’re tidying away. “You said you guys used to hang?”

“When we were sixteen,” you reply. 

“How come you stopped hanging out?” he wonders. 

You look down at the bags and obsess over the colours of the labels as you debate how best to word your reply. What do you divulge to him? There’s an index of memories labelled JJ and you know not all need to see the light of day, let alone enter the mind of your boyfriend in scarring reenactments. 

“We just grew apart. He was going through some stuff, I think, and then he got really into that whole treasure hunting thing,” you tell him. It was true enough to not be a lie. Mark hums in thought. 

“That’s a shame.”

You quirk a brow, amused. “Why? Cause I could have cashed in on the gold too?”

Mark shrugs and you laugh. “What!? I’m just saying, some people are worth staying friends with!”

But that was the thing. You and JJ weren’t just friends. Shaking your head, you close the cardboard box of repacked snack-bags and carry it over to the table where he’s working. You held him wrap individual muffins in napkins before placing them in a large tupperware box. 

“Hey, y’know what’d be nice?” Mark says. 

“What?”

“If we took them over some leftovers. I mean, we made most of this stuff with the ingredients they gave us anyway. And there’s still some of those cinnamon buns going spare.”

You take pause and look up at him. He’s obliviously working away, head tucked down to look at the muffins. There’s an easy smile that’s permanently etched into his face, as if he came out the womb cheesing away. That wasn’t why you fell for him though. No, it was his kindness. His offhand generosity that came so naturally to him it was almost offensive. Pressing up onto your toes, you cup his jaw and press a kiss to his cheek. He chuckles quietly. 

“You’re wonderful,” you hum happily. “I think that’s a great idea.” 

“You go wrap up some cinnamon buns then. I’ll pack up some of these muffins for them.”

You do as he asks and soon enough, there’s a box of miscellaneous leftovers from your food drive. Mark drives. The sky is a delicate colour of amber and pink warning of soon nightfall. Colours like that always make you feel relaxed. It helps ease the nervousness of seeing JJ again. You weren’t sure why it was making you so antsy. It wasn’t as if you and JJ parted ways on bad terms. You suppose it’s just a bitter-sweet memory. All memories of JJ came with that sour coating now, like sherbet lemons on your tongue. You wonder if you’d feel the same way if Mark weren’t around. 

But he is, and you’re glad he is. 

Looking over to him, you reach out your hand to capture his, resting on his thigh. He glances over at you and smiles. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just happy, s’all.”

“That’s good,” he says, looking back to the road. Like something from a music video, he raises your interlocked hands to his lips and presses a kiss to the back of your hand. “Means I’m doing something right, if you’re happy.”

It’s impossible not to do a double-take as you pull up to what was formally the Maybank property. It’s as if new life has been breathed into it. More than just a lick of paint, there’s two brand new buildings alongside a pretty sturdy looking pier and dock. There’s a handmade charm to everything that makes it all the more enticing and impressive. Mark seems to think so too because he whistles as the two of you pull up the driveway. You look to your left and see the Twinkie. A relic from your past, of memories half-naked, rolling around the back with JJ, sharing a blunt in a post-orgasmic haze. Your thoughts shut off with the engine. 

Mark takes the lead, his hand in yours, and carries the box of leftovers up to the house. You both wander up the porch and Mark knocks twice on the door. Your eyes look at everything, taking it in, admiring every detail, until someone opens the door. It’s Kiara. 

“Hey. Can I help you?” she asks your monolith of a boyfriend. You poke your head from around his body. 

“Hey Kie.”

“Oh my Gosh! Girl, where have you been?” Kie beams. The two of you embrace, laughing and smiling. “Wait - did you get the stuff I sent JJ over with?”

“Yeah, we did,” you say. “Thank you so much.”

“We actually brought this as a thanks,” Mark adds, offering out the tub. She eyes him almost with suspicion. 

“Sorry, I forgot to say - Kie, this is Mark. My boyfriend,” you explain. Kie’s eyebrows shoot up with that final word but she recovers quick. 

“Nice to meet you, Mark,” she says. She takes the box and glances through the plastic. 

“Just some leftovers we thought you might like. Muffins and cinnamon buns and things like that.”

“Thanks guys, you didn’t have to. We’re happy to contribute,” Kiara tells you. “In fact, me and Sarah were talking about maybe making it a regular thing. Like every Wednesday we bring some stuff from the garden, or fish that we’ve caught?”

“Oh my God, yeah, that’d be amazing,” you nod enthusiastically. “We can definitely figure out a system.”

“Perfect. I’ll put these inside. You guys want a drink or anything? I can show you around,” Kiara offers, opening the door wider in invitation. 

You glance over her shoulder into the room and then around the porch, behind you out to the water. You’re not sure why you were expecting JJ to just appear out of thin air in front of you. 

“JJ’s out on the dock, if you want to catch up,” Kiara posits, as if hearing your thoughts. You look at her and hold her gaze, and - unable to read what her expression means - nod. 

“I think I’ll go say hi. We didn’t get a chance to properly catch up,” you reply. You glance up at Mark. “You want to come with?”

“It’s alright. I’ll stay here and get the tour,” he tells you with a wink. You smile, press a kiss to his lips, and wander off with a wave to Kie, towards the dock. 

Feet thudding on the slabs of wood, the structure creaks as you walk to the shop. An American flag waves in the breeze. You run a hand along the thick rope bannister and glance down into the growth of plants and water weeds underfoot. I can’t believe they built all of this, you can’t help but think as you walk up to the wooden-slatted tackle-and-bait shop. As you walk into the store under the wooden ‘WELCOME’ sign, reggae music blesses your ears alongside the smell of incense. It’s jam-packed with miscellaneous water accessories: fishing gear, surfing gear, refreshments, you name it. There’s nobody behind the counter. You glance around and squint, catching onto a spot red through the window. JJ lies outside atop of a vintage cooler, feet crossed one over the other, arms tucked under his head. You can’t help but smile. Walking outside, you lean against the doorframe and fold your arms over your chest. 

“Well, as far as customer service goes, this is pretty crappy.”

He snaps up to sit like he has the joints of a ken doll. You laugh as he blinks his eyes awake, laying them on you. 

“Oh shit,” he says, clearing his throat, running a hand through his hair. “When’d you get here?”

“A few minutes ago. You looked pretty comfy there,” you say, amused. 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s a good nap spot,” JJ chuckles nervously, glancing down at where he just lay his head. He straightens his t-shirt and then looks back at you. His brows furrow. “Wait, what’re you doing here?”

“Came by to see the new place,” you reply, gesturing around you. “You offered.”

“Didn’t think you’d be in such a hurry.”

“No time like the present and all that.”

You’re acutely aware of how you’re avoiding mentioning Mark and how he’s currently being led around JJ’s former house and yard under Kie’s tow. 

“This is a pretty sick set-up,” you praise. 

“Yeah, it’s pretty good, huh?” JJ grins, getting to his feet. “Here, you want a beer? We’re technically closed for business anyway.”

Laughing, you shrug. “Sure. Why not.” 

Cracking open the cooler, he reaches in and retrieves two ice-cold cans. One is tossed to you and you catch it, and a feeling of deja vu rings through you. JJ, younger, just as handsome, throwing you a can of beer at a kegger. He leans against the cooler and you against a wooden pillar. Cracking cans and the fizz of beer, and you take a refreshing sip. A comfortable quiet comes and the two of you catch one anothers eyes. You smile. 

“I don’t think I said earlier, but it’s really nice to see you again,” you tell JJ. 

He smiles, small and reserved. “Thanks. It’s nice seeing you too. Even if it is with Joe America over there.”

“Joe America?” you snort. “Come on, he isn’t that bad.”

“No, no, he seems…uh, he seems nice.”

“He is nice.”

“I believe it.”

“Well…good.”

That marked the end of that conversation. You take a sip of your beer and sigh, looking out to the view of sunset over the marshland. 

“I wish you could’ve seen it,” JJ suddenly says. You look over to him with a frown, confused. “El Dorado, I mean. South America. It was beautiful. Like actually fucking stunning out there.”

“Really?” you say, smiling. 

“Hell yeah,” he grins. “Like there was colours out there that I didn’t even think existed without, like, LSD, man.”

You laugh and he does too and you’re glad whatever awkwardness that just came passed quick like a seastorm. 

“I still haven’t gone farther than Charleston, so I guess I’ll have to live vicariously,” you lightheartedly remark. 

“Yeah, well, turns out there’s a pretty big world out there,” JJ grins. 

“Glad one of us got to see it,” you hum. 

“Nah, you’ll see it too. All of it. Even Paris.”

The city’s name hangs heavy in the air. It was more than just a throwaway comment. It was a secret message, as if JJ was speaking in code. I remember it. I didn’t forget. You wash down the adrenaline with another sip of beer. 

“But no place like home, huh?” JJ says, clearing his throat. 

“Probably helps now that John B ain’t a fugitive anymore,” you muse. JJ laughs, nodding. 

“Yeah, yeah, no, for sure.”

“Well, I’m glad you found your happiness, JJ,” you say, smiling at him. “I’m glad you found yourself out.”

“Ain’t we all?”

The two of you watch one another for a moment. His resting smile lingers on the edges of his thin lips. His round, soft cheeks that add to a boyishness about him that his jawline doesn’t allow. You always liked JJ’s hair though. A mop of blonde planted atop of his head with sun-bleached highlights and deep-sea lowlights. But he’s taking you in too. You can’t take the weight of his stare after a while. Taking a deep breath, pushing away from the beam, you ditch your half-drunk beer atop of the cooler. 

“Well, I better get going.”

“You sure? I mean, we can hang out a bit longer, if you like?”

You smile politely and shake your head. “I’m not the one driving, so…”

JJ looks over your shoulder and spots Mark. “Ah. Didn’t know Dollar Store Chris Evans was here, my bad.”

“JJ! Don’t be mean!”

“I ain’t being mean! If anything, that’s a compliment,” JJ defends. You roll your eyes. “Look, I’ll see you around though. It’d suck to go back to being strangers again when we’re both in the same place for a change.”

Despite the innocence of the offer, something in your gut tells you that you shouldn’t agree. You should set a boundary there, draw a line, and leave it in the past. So, really, you have nobody to blame but yourself for saying “I’d like that” with a smile in farewell, before walking back across the dock to your boyfriend. 

Salted Chips

JJ had always been in your life. However, in the past, he was more of a background character, like an NPC in a videogame that creators constantly add in like an Easter Egg. The kind of character you’re curious about, in terms of their past and their present, their wants and their fears, but the kind you never have the privy to get close to in that way. He’d be at parties, at the surf break, at the shops or at school, but he wasn’t in your life. Until he was. 

Fate came in the form of a seating plan for history class. 

You and JJ were classmates. Table buddies. At first, the conversation was nonexistent. Sometimes JJ wouldn’t show up to class at all, either bunking off or playing truant in the bathrooms to light up a joint. But sometimes he’d come to class, usually escorted by Pope, and you’d share an uncomfortable silence as you worked through the hour. But then came an assignment that needed to be done out of class, and numbers were exchanged and words were shared outside of ‘what did he say’ and ‘what’s the homework’ and ‘what answer did you get for five?’. At your prompting to start on the project, JJ offered up the Chateau to work at, John B’s house that was a renovated fishing shack on the marsh. 

To stimulate inspiration for the poster the two of you had to create - outlining the history of the American Civil War - JJ had offered up beers and a blunt, and you were glad to take him up on the offer. If you’re going to be doing schoolwork at the weekend, you might as well get something out of it other than mind numbing boredness. It seems you saying yes to JJ’s “gifts” put you in his good books. It’s as if you could see the moment his opinion of you changed. From there, it was as if the two of you had always known the other. Conversation came easy, banter even more so. Time spent together stretched outside of the classroom and instead into lunch breaks and evenings and weekends. He’d seek you out at keggers and hang with you at the beach. Somewhere in the roots of you friendship grew an attraction from the fondness. You noticed it in his lingering glances, his drifting gaze from your eyes to your mouth to your body. Later, you heard it in his words, finding innuendos in smalltalk, catching compliments like falling stars. Eventually, both slightly intoxicated, it came to a head, about three months into this natural-forming friendship. 

“Yo!”

You turn around, beer in hand, startled by the interruption. It’s JJ. He’s wearing a cap, squishing down his beautiful locks of blonde; the muted green pairs well with his t-shirt. His combat boots sink into the ground, damp from the rainfall earlier in the day. Everything smells piney and fresh. You lift a finger to your lips to coax him to be quiet. His brows quirk up, a bemused smile gracing his gorgeous face. God really does have favourites, it seems. 

“You good?”

“Sh! You’ll scare them,” you whisper. At his cocking head, confused, you fervently gesture for him to come over. He does. His presence by your side is almost overwhelming. The buzz from the liquor makes it difficult to keep your itching hands to yourself and your inhibitions at bay. “You see them?”

“See what?”

“The birds.”

“What?”

“Look, here,” you mumble. You lean close to him so you can point clearly with your finger, just along his line of vision. A whiff of JJ’s scent dusts your nose. He’s warm like he creates heat. Through the canopy of leaves, you can make out a single branch of a tree. In the nook, against the trunk, is a nest, and inside is a bunch of baby birds, cawing out for their mother, hungry, blind. You’d left them some salted chips on the floor, crumbled and scattered, in case the mother wanted to steal some to take up and gift. She probably wouldn’t, but something about their cries made you feel the need to do something, and it wasn’t as if you could offer up your beer. 

“Woah.”

“You see ‘em?”

“Yeah,” JJ breathes. “That’s sick, how did you see them?”

“I heard them first,” you tell him, keeping your voice low so as to not frighten them. “Needed some air.”

“The smoke from the campfire botherin’ you?”

“I swear to God, it targets me,” you sincerely reply, making JJ laugh. You finally retract your finger (still sticky from the Smores made earlier) and turn, looking up at him. He looks down at you. Some strands of hair stick out from under his cap, pressing against his forehead. His brows are almost permanently slanted, eyes bright in the dusk of the evening. His shark tooth necklace sits against his chest. JJ’s lips quirk at your staring. “It’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair?”

“You’re so pretty,” you say, shaking your head, smiling. The alcohol has given you too much confidence, it seems. Loose lips. His eyes widen in momentary surprise but he catches it, covers it well. Then, comes his mask of confidence. He gives you a cocky smile. 

“You’re not too bad yourself,” he suavely replies. 

“Nah, I mean it. You’re really something, Maybank,” you smile, doubling-down. In for a penny and all that.  

His smugness fades into something more real. He doesn’t seem to know how to take compliments like that. Then, strangely, something like panic tugs his brows together. “I’m not very good at this sorta thing.”

Your frown of confusion seems to spur him on. 

“Being honest. Real. I’m…I’m pretty fucked up, y’know?”

“The best people are,” you murmur, meaning every word. 

“Nah, I mean it, though. I’m not…I don’t wanna hurt you.” JJ says it so quietly, so sincerely, that you get the sense that he’s never said it before. Maybe only thought it on dark nights, when you’re so alone with your thoughts it’s maddening. Smiling, shaking your head, you lift a hand to his cheek. Your heart hiccups at how he relaxes into your touch. 

“I don’t think you have to worry ‘bout that,” you whisper. 

You’re not sure who moves first, whether it’s him or you, but you end up a hair-width apart at the lips. His breath is hot as it fans onto your lips. Risk comes like a lightning rod and you take it, pushing onto your toes, connecting your lips with his. His hand finds yours and squeezes. That small gesture, as innocent as it is, tells you that you’re crossing this boundary together, from friends into something more. 

Pistachio Pastries 

The smell of coffee rouses you from sleep. You hum sleepily into your pillow, nuzzling in the scent of your boyfriend: peppermint and sage. A heavy palm gently pets your hair. 

“Wake up, sleepy,” Mark murmurs. 

You grumble in protest and he chuckles. The bed dips and the duvet lifts as he climbs back into the cocoon of warmth. Rolling over, you tuck yourself against him. He always slept in pyjamas. It was adorable. Nothing cheesy: just a simple shirt and flannel bottoms. His arm hooks around your waist and holds you against him. You swear to God, you could hide here forever. Mark was safety and security. Mark was the netting beneath a trapeze artist. Mark was the emergency brake in a racing car. 

“Wednesday again,” he says, stroking the skin of your back. “Kiara messaged the Instagram page today. Said one of them will drop off an order around one-ish.”

“Sweet.”

An alarm blares from Mark’s phone and he cusses, breaking apart from you to retrieve it and turn it off. You take the opportunity to sit up and grab your coffee. The steam tickles your nose as you blow on it. Routine. Mornings spent in the mini home Mark had made in his parents backyard, in their old shed. He brought you coffee in the morning and you brought him tea before bed. You’d be asleep by ten and awake by eight. Your shifts at the smoothie shop typically followed a Monday through Friday routine, with the exception of midweek, with Wednesdays reserved for The Stirring Spoon. Weekends passed in a blink. Then, you reset to continue with the same thing again. 

But that’s okay. Routine is okay. It’s reliable. Monotonous in a way that assures certainty. Besides, you liked your job, and your coffee, and your Stirring Spoon. But maybe it might be nice to stray from it all, just for a change. 

You carefully place your coffee back on the side table and look over to Mark. He’s scrolling on his phone, lips set in a line, brows tugged together in vague concentration. A thrill runs through your body at the thought, as you press several kisses to the skin of his neck. You feel him breath beneath you. Then a kiss comes to your forehead, quick like a grandparent to their least favourite grandchild. 

“Baby,” you hum, lifting a hand to rub your finger along his jawline. 

“Mhm?”

“Do you have any, like…things you wanna try.”

He takes a moment to think, looking up from his phone. A smile comes to his face and he looks down at you, and your body burns with anticipation. “Surfing. Was never that good at it but I’d like to try it again, y’know?”

It fizzles away like water atop of a dying flame. “Oh. Yeah, no, yeah…that’s…you should do that.”

He frowns. “You okay?”

“Well, I just meant more…in the bedroom. Like anything, I don’t know…” Your face burns like you’re a nun stumbling across a Playboy magazine. “Kinky?”

“Kinky?”

“Not like oh my God, kinky. Just…I don’t know…”

He quirks a brow, smiling at you in a teasing sort of way. “You got some kink you’re not telling me about?”

“Maybe,” you tell him, hoping it comes out seductive. 

“I don’t know,” Mark sighs, resting his head back against the wall. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows and you lick over your lips. He grins, like something dawned upon him, and he dips his head suddenly to press his lips to yours. “Wanna know what I’ve always wanted to try?”

“Mhm,” you say, lifting your hands to cup his face and keep him near. Yes, your body practically cries. Tell me, tell me, tell me. 

“Well,” he stalls, kissing you again. You chase his lips, shortening in breath. “I’ve always wanted–” another kiss “-to try-” another kiss “-doing it in the shower.”

It’s hard not to deflate completely with disappointment. 

Wow, yeah Mark. Kinky. 

But when you open your eyes, you come face to face with a nervous, sweet, caring Mark. A Mark who always makes sure you feel good and safe. A Mark who would never walk past an elderly man struggling to cross the road. A Mark who would donate a twenty dollar bill he found on the roadside. And you can see it in his eyes, this burning passion, this shock at his own words, because for him, that was like confessing to watching gangbang porn in a Church. So, you plaster on a smile, feigning excitement. “No, yeah. That’d be fun. We should totally do that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you grin, kissing him again. He sighs, pushing back against you. Your body sparks up again. The feel of his hands on your sides is like static energy. “We should try it now.”

“Now?”

“Mhm,” you nod eagerly, kissing at his lips desperately. “Good way to start the morning, huh?”

“Maybe,” he says. He pulls away slightly, guilty as he adds, “but it’s been a while since I cleaned the bathroom. And I promised my mom I’d help her out today, and I gotta be good to go in like ten minutes so…”

“Oh.”

He kisses you fleetingly on the lips and then tosses the bedsheets off his lap. You watch him get up. “But maybe soon? Like Friday?”

Routine with scheduled sex. 

“Okay,” you say through a false smile. You sink against your pillow and watch him put on his slippers. The moment his back turns, you drop the expression. You’re so disappointed there doesn’t feel much point in trying to get off by yourself now, either. You don’t seem to fix your frown quick enough before he turns back around. 

“Oh, hey, baby, I didn’t mean to upset you,” Mark frowns. He lowers down so his eyes are level with yours. You pout like a child as you look at him. He pushes some hair off your face. “I swear, if I weren’t about to go help my mom, I’d be all over you right now.”

“Mhm.” Maybe you are being a bit selfish. He’s helping his mother for God’s sake! Smiling, properly this time, you jokingly warn, “I’m gonna hold you to that, Mark.”

“You better,” he winks. He kisses you before leaving the room, into the bathroom. Sighing, you roll on your back and blink up at the ceiling. You practise your mantra - Mark is good. Mark is good for me. Mark is good. Mark is good for me - and you get up to start your day. 

The Stirring Spoon is a good distraction from your whining libido. It’s hard to think about fucking when you’re comparing shapes of pasta. And yet, you still find a way. Because as you stack packets of spaghetti, you try and recall the last time you and Mark had really good sex. Not sex where it’s soft and nice and satisfying. Sex when you feel like you might cry or scream, just to cope with the pleasure pulsing through your body. Sex when you’re actually scared that you might have a heart attack from how fast your heart’s beating. Was it ever like that with Mark? Was it ever like that with anybody else?

Yes. 

“Hey.”

The very boy who just popped into your mind like a vision stands before you, crate in hand, smile on face, as if you manifested him. 

“JJ.”

“You good? You were looking at that spag pretty hard,” he asks, amused. 

“No, yeah, I’m good,” you say. You drop the pasta like it’s incriminating to what you were thinking about. Don’t tell JJ about the hot sex I was thinking about with him, pasta, please. “What’re you doing here?”

“Delivery from Kildare County Kitchen,” he says, dropping the crate down onto an empty spot on the table. “Some of Cleo’s less deadly version of her gumbo; a few sandwiches that Sarah whipped up; and some fish me and John B caught the other day.”

“Damn, that’s quite the haul,” you say, glancing into the crate and surveying its contents. “Thanks, JayJ.”

As you retrieve the items and lay them out carefully and neatly on the table, JJ shoves his hands in his short pockets and looks around the yard. “So. Loverboy here?”

“He’s busy today, helping his mom.”

“Ah. You short of a helping hand today, then?”

“Why? You want to help?” you say, half-joking. But JJ shrugs. 

“I’m not doing much. Why not?”

“Don’t the others need you back at the shop?”

“There’s five of them, I think they’ll manage,” JJ replies sardonically. He claps and rubs his hands together. “Where do I start?”

“Um…” You stand upright and scan the area, checking what looks the most chaotic. As if on cue, the local bakery van pulls up. “Oh, sweet. Delivery. You can help me unload and log inventory.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The two of you walk over to the van, side by side, hands kept politely to yourselves. Small talk sits on your tongue but doesn’t make it into the world. 

“Morning Mr Parker,” you call. 

“Morning, darlin’,” he croons in his southern accent. “You too, Maybank.”

“Good to see you, sir,” JJ nods. 

“What you got for me today?” 

“Some good stuff, I’m not going to lie to y’all,” he grins over his shoulder before opening the doors to the back of the van. Mr Parker pulls out a tray of sealed baked goods. JJ steps in and takes it, and as he holds it you crack open the lid to peer in. 

“Pastries?”

“Pistachio pastries,” Mr Parker says proudly. His takes off his cap and brushes a hand through his short grey hair. “My wife got a bit carried away. People in this town don’t have that fancy of taste buds.”

“Maybe not on the Cut,” JJ mumbles, making you smile. 

“Well, be that as it may, glad I can contribute something to your little venture,” Mr Parker tells you. He squeezes your shoulder sweetly. “Y’all doing a good thing, with this here Stirring Spoon.”

“Thank you,” you say, overwhelmed by the simple praise. “Well, we appreciate any contribution, especially pistachio flavoured ones.”

With that, the three of you get to work carrying the four trays of baked goods to a spare table. Bidding Mr Parker farewell, you and JJ take pause against the table. 

“I think I’ve earnt a break.”

“You’ve been here less than an hour.”

“Time flies by when you’re having fun, and all that,” he says passingly as he cracks open one of the bakery tubs. He grabs one of the pastries and tosses it into his mouth. His eyes widen as he chews. “Holy shit. These are so good.”

“JJ, you’re not supposed to eat the–”

“--try one.” A pastry is shoved into your mouth. You glare at him but bite, and holy shit this is really good. It must read on your face cause JJ grins. “Yeah, right? So good.”

“Oh my God,” you mumble. The two of you smile at one another like you’re stealing cookies from a jar. 

“You remember that time we got high and raided Pope’s dad’s fridge?”

You laugh and nearly choke on the flaky pastry. “Oh my God, I totally forgot about that.”

“You were like a fucking racoon,” JJ sniggers. 

“You were the one that got me high in the first place.”

“I didn’t fucking drug you! You wanted to try it!”

“Yeah, I did,” you grumble, unwilling to accept responsibility for completely draining the Heyward fridge. 

“You’re cute when you’re high.”

You glance up at him. His smile is coy, like he knows he shouldn’t have said that. Because he shouldn’t. Rolling your eyes, you play it off as best you can. “Cute whilst I’m stuffing my face with questionable cheese?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, shrugging. “You’re cute all the time though, so guess it’s not very hard for you to be even cuter high.”

“JJ, stop it.” Your tone is gentle but firm. “I have a boyfriend.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” JJ says. “Captain Vanilla.”

You hate how he isn’t completely wrong. “That’s not his name.”

“It’s just too easy,” he shrugs, playful as always. “The guy is a walking textbooked ‘good guy’.”

“What’s so wrong with that?” you mumble, picking out another pastry and studying the way it’s rolled. 

“Nothing, I guess. Just find it funny.”

“Funny how?”

“That you’d go from me to him.”

You glance up from the pastry to meet his gaze. “We never officially dated, JJ.”

“Same difference,” he shrugs. “But hey - you know you. You know what you want.”

“Exactly…” 

You do know you, don’t you? It sounds like such a crazy thing to question. But the older you get, the more you think you don’t know a thing about yourself. What’s your favourite colour? What’s your favourite animal? What do you want out of your future? What do you want out of a relationship? Journeying back to the morning, your mind replays the scenes like a horror movie. The worries of when the last time you felt passion in the bedroom feeds into worries of when the last time was that you felt passion, period. Oh no: it feels like an existential crisis might be coming on, about thirty years too early.

“Hey.” You snap out of your spiral. JJ forces a smile. “Just wanna know that you’re still living, not just secure. Y’know. As a friend.” 

Funnily enough, that does little to cheer you up. 

Croissants

JJ’s skin is warm against your cheek. Your face rests on his bicep, using it as a makeshift pillow, as you lay skin-to-skin, body-to-body. One of your legs is hooked over his, and his palm rubs large, mindless patterns against the sweat-sticky skin. The room is bathed in moonlight, the curtains drawn closed, and you can hear the sounds of the marsh from outside the Maybank residency. You wonder if JJ might have fallen asleep. His chest is rising and falling rhythmically and you can’t see his face from here, to tell if his eyes are open or shut. But then he sighs and you smile against his arm. 

“Tell me about your family,” you request in the quiet of the room. 

“What about them?”

“Anything, really. Like about your mom and dad; if you have any siblings,” you murmur. 

“Not much to tell,” JJ replies in a hum. 

“Still. Tell me anyway.”

“Tell me about yours,” JJ deflects. You crack a smile. 

“Alright,” you relent. “I live with my mom and my dad. She’s a waitress and he’s a mechanic.”

“You got any brothers or sisters?” he asks, his thumb massaging your upper leg. 

“I did,” you say, your voice turning softer. “An older sister.”

“What happened?”

Your lips press together. An image flashes into your mind like a jumpscare, of a coffin dressed in white daisies and lilies. Swallowing thickly, you close your eyes and will the memory away. It’s then that you decide to confide in JJ. 

“Do you know who Andy Warhol is?”

“I recognise the name,” he replies after a moment, not questioning why the sudden change in topic. 

“He was an artist. Painted a lot of pop-arty things.”

“Is that the freakshow who painted those boring-ass soup cans?” JJ wonders. You laugh quietly. 

“I wouldn’t describe him like that but yeah, that’s the guy.”

“What about him?” JJ asks. 

“He was in love with this man, way back when. He kept a diary and this man he was in love with died, and Andy was heartbroken. But he ain’t like to say that somebody had died. Instead, he used to write that ‘they went away’, like on a trip or somethin’,” you tell him. Your voice trails off towards the end, fearing JJ might laugh at you as you go on to say, “I don’t know. I think I’d like to say that about my sister.”

JJ shifts underneath you until the two of you are lying side by side, now able to see one another’s faces through the muggy darkness of the room. His eyes glow in the non-existent light, shining and present, gazing into yours. 

“Where’d she go, then? On this trip of hers,” he coaxes. Your lips part in surprise, and for some reason, you want to cry for his small act of kindness. Then, you smile, small and sombre. 

“To Paris, in France,” you whisper. 

“She go to the Eiffel Tower?”

“Every day. She eats dinner there at night and watches it twinkle. For breakfast, she buys a croissant and sits by the Seine,” you murmur. Tears wet your eyes as you picture your lost sister, venturing the streets with the wind in her hair, kissing her plump cheeks. Your voice is thick when you continue, “it’s her dream to see all the stuff in the Louvre. She goes every week and keeps a note of where she’s been and where she wants to go.”

“Like the Catacombs?”

You laugh and sniffle. “Nah. They’re too creepy for her.”

“Damn straight,” JJ mumbles. “They scare the crap outta me.”

As a tear lets slip, trickling down your cheek, JJ reaches out his thumb and wipes it away. His hand lingers on your face and you feel yourself lean into his hold. It’s like he’s holding you up. He’s holding you together. You open your eyes into his. There’s a smile on his face, different to the others. More reserved, less obvious, so different to the JJ you’d known and heard of before. You’re terrified of losing it entirely or saying something especially stupid, and so instead you mouth two words: ‘thank you’. 

When he kisses you, it’s different too. There’s something about it, like a taste that wasn’t there before, and it lingers in your mind and mouth. It only grows as JJ deepens the kiss. Your hand traces his jawline and your fingers loop through the locks of his hair, and you tug him closer with a breath. The dance of your lips and tongues and teeth is growing more and more familiar by the day and it terrifies you how easy it has been to become accustomed to it. How easy it has been to become accustomed to JJ. Hands on your hips, JJ lifts you atop of him with a grunt, him rolling onto his back. You shrug the comforter off your back and straddle him. Your hands cradle his face, palms cupping his cheeks. You kiss him like he’s the antidote to all your ailments. Your mouth chases him in the teasing of his lips, breaking apart just to reel you back in. JJ’s teeth nip at your lower lip and pull, just so, just enough to have you whining and sighing like some lovesick fool. Maybe you are. 

“JJ,” you mewl, rocking back against him. He groans as you begin to torture his jawline and neck. Groans louder when you suckle on the tender skin by his ear, painting hickeys like a beautiful landscape. His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips deep enough to leave delicious bruises. You feel him growing hard beneath you as you grind against him like some animal in heat. 

“Fuck, you’re so…Fuck…” 

Your lips continue their descent down his body. Kisses are peppered along his windpipe, bridging over his Adam’s apple, and you can feel every breath, every stutter, every sigh. Down his chest, bare and broad, and down his stomach. His hands are now free from your hips and instead they tether into your hair, combing through the strands. You look up at him from between his legs - he’s made space for you - and can make out his lazy smile through your hooded gaze. JJ’s looking down at you too. His eyes glow. 

You ghost a kiss over his boxers and he inhales a long, deep breath, his head tilting back into the pillows, eyes undoubtedly slipping shut. Lips upturning with a smile, your fingers tuck into the band of his boxers, and you pull them down his legs tantalisingly slow. Somewhere in the shadows of the room you hear him mumbling, ‘please.’ Taking him in hand, revelling in his short gasp, you guide him to your mouth. The smell, the feel - it all consumes you as you go down on him. The brush of bristly hair scratching against your nose, flooding your senses. JJ’s hand comes to the back of your head quick, as if guiding your pleasure, wordless praising your ways. Until it’s not wordless. 

“Fuck, that’s it…Taking me so fucking good, huh? Look so pretty like this…”

You hum around his length and he stammers out a moan. Your eyes flick up to take in the sight of his exposed neck, head thrown back, mouth hanging open as he lets noises slip through, shameless and sinful. And you love it, the way you can bring him to the brink, the way you can manipulate his satisfaction like moulding something out of clay. A finger here, a stroke there. The tip hits the back of your throat uncomfortably. You pull away with a damning pop and a trail of saliva connects the two of you. Resting your head against the apex of his thigh, you jack him off with your hand, almost mesmerised by the way he pulses in your hold. Maybe it’s the sounds he makes. JJ Maybank walks like he’s a God; it’s a power trip to have him weak at your hold. 

“Please, please, fuck…Jus’want your mouth, baby, please,” he begs through gritted teeth. His hand gently yet firmly pushes at your head, trying to guide you back to him, and you feel a giggle bubble up through your throat. It feels unnatural, this version of you. Sexy, seductive, sly. 

“You want my mouth?” you tease, pressing a kiss to his throbbing dick. 

“Fuck - yes, yes, please,” he groans. You glance up at him and meet JJ’s gaze. His hair, damp with sweat, hangs over his forehead, dangling over his eyes. A sadistic smile is on your face as you pull away, easing your hand off him too. His brows furrow. It’s like something snaps inside of him - some restraint he was holding breaking like the overstretching of elastic. His hands are on your in a second, gripping and grabbing at your body like you weigh no less than feathers, and you gasp as he tosses you onto your back. He’s on top of you, ravishing your throat and collarbone so mercilessly, you’re gaping at the ceiling, eyes wide. 

“Think that’s funny, huh? Wanna see how much you like it?”

You stammer something out; you don’t even know yourself if it’s a yes or no. All you know is you want him - you need him - on you, in you. Anything. JJ doesn’t make you wait. His hands pull your panties away swiftly. A finger slips all too easily through your slit and you gasp, eyes rolling shut. His laugh is deep, crooning, cruel in your ear. 

“So fucking wet for me, hm? Such a fucking slut. Wanna see how it feels?”

“P-please.”

The stretch of your walls isn’t unpleasant as he eases a finger in. You let out a wanton moan. It pumps leisurely inside, the foreign metal of his ring overwhelming, and the brush of the tip of his thumb against your clit has you panting from the pleasure. 

“Yeah, you like that, huh?”

“Fuck…”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. Then the torture begins, of the instant movement of his finger, in and out, in and out, before easing away so suddenly it’s like he was never there. After that, the faintest of pressure on the exposed skin at his mercy. His damp finger trailing the inside of your thigh. He repeats this cycle until you’re almost in tears. Your hands clutch the bedsheets in fists, feet writhing uselessly at the head of the bed, kicking at the flimsy pillows. You know he’s gloating from the power he holds. Something tells you he doesn’t get this much control in most aspects of his life. Something tells you he gets off this just as much as you. “You wanna come? Do you?”

“Fuck! Please, please, JJ, please. I’ll do anything, please, please,” you blubber. You don’t care how embarrassing it sounds; how much it pleases him. All you care about is feeling that hot, blinding, pulsing pleasure consuming your every nerve, every bone, every fibre of your being. His breath is hot against your collarbone. JJ kisses the lobe of your ear in such a tender way you wouldn’t be able to fathom the magic he works with his hands below the belt. And as you finally break, tumbling over the edge, letting out a fucked-out sob when you do, you can make out JJ’s low voice, his Southern accent thick like molasses. 

“That’s it, baby. Make a mess on my fingers.”

Smores 

Despite telling Mark where you’re going, it still feels like sneaking around behind his back as you walk up to the Pogue’s house. But this isn’t anything nefarious. This is just you breaking routine. This is you catching up with old friends, current friends, and having fun. Sharing some drinks, smoking a joint or two, sitting around a campfire. Good, old fashioned fun just like when you were sixteen. 

Yep. That’s all. 

“Hey yo! There she is!” JJ hollers the moment you come into view. 

“Hey!” you smile, waving. In your other hand is a bag filled with a six pack of beer, a packet of graham crackers, some chocolate and a bag of marshmallows. You ditch it by the cooler to hug everyone hello. JJ’s last. His arms wrap around you like tree vines, secure and strong, and it’s familiar in a way that has you lingering. Mark. You break apart and take a seat on the opposite side of the campfire to him. 

“What’s in the bag, mystery girl?” the girl you now know as Cleo asks. 

“Some refreshments,” you say, lifting up the six pack. That earns a few whoops and hollers of approval from the already tipsy group. “And some snacks.”

“Smores?” Sarah gasps. She takes the bag of marshmallows from you. 

“Just like old times,” you say. Your eyes catch JJ’s. He’s watching you. 

“Let’s light these bad boys up,” John B announces. The gang is vocal in their approval. Sticks and twigs are gathered for skewers. Marshmallows dangle over the open flames that lick into the dusky air. A marshmallow shoves at yours and you glower at JJ. 

“Leave my marshmallow alone.”

“Hey, this is America. I got rights, y’know?”

“Says who?”

“The constitution,” he retorts, grinning. You roll your eyes, trying and failing to bite back your smile. 

“Y’all better stop it,” Cleo says in her thick Jamaican accent. “I ain’t wanting any marshmallows going to waste.”

“You heard her,” you playfully quip at the blonde haired boy. He rolls his eyes at you. He’s smiling. The amber of the fire paints his face like an oil artwork. What must it be like to grow up that beautiful? 

No, no, stop it. Stop it! God, what is wrong with you? This is just because you and Mark have been a bit distant lately. Yes, that’s all. You’re getting stuck on nostalgia. It’s a mind’s trick. It didn’t work before with JJ so who’s to say it will again. The two of you are friends - he’s been a good friend - and you don’t need to go muddying the waters. You punish yourself by staring into the flames and trying to make images of Mark’s face in the fire. 

The night spurs on with drinks that wash down the sickly sweet snacks. You listen to the tales of El Dorado and laugh at the reminiscences of youthful madness when you were all in high school. It isn’t until you’re back in the bubble of the Pogues that you realise how much you missed it. It’s like rediscovering your favourite movie from childhood. It brings a certain comfort that few things can match. They ask about The Stirring Spoon and you recount the tale of how you came about with the idea, of how you got it off the ground. Nobody asks about Mark and you’re ashamed that you don’t feel the urge to bring him up, either. 

You go for another swig of your beer to find it empty. The cooler by John B is empty too, upon investigating. You drop the lid. 

“You guys got any more beers?”

“Probably some down at the fish and tackle shop,” Kiara tells you. 

“Thanks,” you say, starting towards the dock. The further you walk, the more the vivacious chatter turns into a humming like the crying cicadas and croaking frogs and cooing owls. The water laps at the wooden pillars and you smile, letting your eyes slip shut for a moment as you walk. Nature is so wonderfully peaceful. The cooler is full of bait and chum, but there’s a small section for the beers. You retrieve one and drop the lid to find JJ standing in your peripheral. 

“Holy shit!”

“Sorry!”

“What the fuck, man?” you laugh. 

“Just wanted a refill too,” he says, shooting you a squiffy smile. His hair is dishevelled. He seems to wear caps less now, you note. You’re happy about that. In your tipsy state you can admit your attraction with less shame. You chalk it up to appreciating beauty the way one can appreciate a perfect sunset or timeless painting. To stop your staring, you open the cooler and hand him a can. “Thanks.”

“Hey, cheers,” you say, holding your drink out. He clinks his against yours. “To old friends.”

The two of you take a drink. Neither of you go to move back to the other Pogues (who are seemingly in some weird charades battle that is far from quiet). JJ gestures over your shoulder. “You seen the boat yet?”

“The H.M.S?” 

“Nah, the new one,” JJ answers. 

When he walks past you, you catch a whiff of his smell and it reminds you of home. You turn and follow him. He steps up onto the large boat. It’s painted bright green and in yellow paint, the name reads The Snapper. JJ offers you a hand and you take it, letting him help you up onto the boat. You feel your phone vibrate in the pocket of your shorts but you’re in no mood to check it. 

“Pretty sweet, huh?”

“So sweet,” you agree, looking around. JJ wanders over to the main console and flicks on an overhead light. He glows beneath it. When he takes a seat on the bench, you do the same, sitting opposite. Sighing, you lean your head back against the brutal plastic. “This is the life.”

“Yeah? You miss the marsh?”

“I miss it all,” you quietly confess. 

You can hear the rustle of clothes and the flick-flick of a lighter. The smell of cannabis drifts into the air. “Here.”

Opening your eyes, you lift your head to find a joint extended out to you. Smiling, you take it with thanks and have a hit, then a second, then a third. You haven’t smoked in what feels like forever. Mark doesn’t like the smell; says it makes him feel sick. You wonder why you stopped indulging in something you enjoyed just because of that, even on your own time. 

“Thanks,” you say, passing the joint back. You ditch your beer can to the side. One poison at a time would be best in these sticky situations, you reckon. 

“What’d you mean, ‘you miss it all’?”

“I don’t know,” you sigh. You gaze off into the distance; it’s hard to make out much definition in the dark, save for some lights of houses in the far distances and the silhouette of plants and trees. “I feel like my life is so…‘same’ now.”

“Same is good.”

“Sometimes,” you say. “But I keep thinking about what you said to me, the other day. About being secure but still living. What if…What if I’m not living?”

“Well–”

“--I mean, look at you guys! You went to El Dorado! You found El Dorado, and the Royal Merchant, and the Royal Merchant’s treasure, and the Cross of Santo Domingo. What did I find? A mouldy tomato in a box of potatoes.”

JJ cracks up and you roll your eyes. “It’s not funny,” you mutter, smiling nonetheless. You take the joint back and have another drag. Relief fills your system. The muscles in your face loosen along with your mouth. “It’s pathetic. I’m nearly twenty-one and I’ve been as far as Charleston and have about a handful of exciting memories to my name.”

“Woah, come on now,” JJ chuckles, taking the blunt back. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit hard on yourself? You heard what Mr Parker said: that Stirring Spoon thing is awesome, and that was all you. You’re feeding the community, bringing people together. That’s way cooler than some shiny fucking  stones.”

“Meh,” you shrug. “Guess I’m just jealous of you.”

“Ha! Yeah, don’t be,” JJ sarcastically berates. A shadow comes to his face. Foot in the mouth syndrome curses you.

“Shit. Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You’re good. I sometimes forget how bad it was too, with how things are now,” JJ admits. He smiles at you and takes another hit. “But I guess I didn’t fully let you in then, huh?”

“You think?” you jest. He laughs, thankfully, and you inhale the sweet scent of the herb. “Guess I just get stuck on the good memories from before. Like all the days skipping school to surf. And how the summers felt like they could go on forever. Or that time we broke into City Hall, or pranked Topper’s house.”

“Damn, I guess we did get up to a lot of shit, huh?”

“Damn straight,” you grin. Following the dance, you take the joint back. 

“Well, I can think of some other memories, too,” JJ says. His grin is telling, tongue poking through his teeth. You bite back your smile. 

“Don’t,” you warn. 

“What?” he chuckles. 

“Don’t! That’s dangerous territory,” you tell him. You point your joint at him. “That’s no man’s land.”

“Oh man!” JJ groans, tossing his head back. “Why’d you have to call it that!? You know that’s like calling a moth to a fire or whatever!”

“What?” you giggle, eyeing him. 

“Telling a guy not to do something is the exact thing to do to get a guy to want to do something,” JJ argues nonsensically. You laugh, shaking your head at him. He holds your gaze and you feel your smile settle into your skin like footprints into damp sand. “They were pretty good memories, huh?”

“Yeah,” you quietly say. “They were pretty good.”

“Remember that time we did it on the beach.”

“Stop it,” you say, but there’s little conviction in your words. You can’t take his eyes anymore, the blue dragging you under like currents in a riptide. You look down at the joint and fixate on the way the embers burn at the paper. 

“Or that time–”

“JJ, I mean it,” you say, your tone losing its humour now. You shoot him a look that you hope will put a pin in it. “We should talk about something else.”

“Alright, alright,” JJ surrenders, holding his hands up and all. He relaxes back against the plastic seat of the boat and you do the same. Your legs outstretch so you can rest your feet on the spot beside him. The two of you catch each other’s gaze and look away, chuckling bashfully like preteens. You take another hit of the joint and watch the smoke fizzle away into the night. “How’d you meet Mark, then?”

You glance at JJ. “A few months back. He’d just moved to Kildare and came by to The Stirring Spoon to help out, and we sort of hit it off.”

“He seems like a nice guy.”

“He is,” you smile. But it fades. The weed tickles at your emotions, pulling the wires as if to wreak havoc. JJ seems to take advantage. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you lie. You take another hit and shake your head, plastering on a smile. “It’s nothing.”

Sighing, JJ folds his arms comfortably over his chest. “Y’know, just cause I know what you look like naked don’t mean we can’t be friends now.”

Barking out a laugh, you shake your head. “There was definitely a better way you could have put that.”

“Probably,” he shrugs, grinning, “but it’s true, ain’t it? We can be friends.”

“Of course we can. We are,” you emphasise. 

“So…That means that if you wanna vent about Mr Loverboy to me, you can,” JJ offers. 

Laughing, you rock your head back and gaze up at the sky. The stars are out. They shimmer white and crystal in the abyss of the night. “That’d be too weird, I think, but I’ll keep it in mind, thanks.”

“I just got one question. Just one.”

“Go on,” you reluctantly reply. 

“Does he say ‘thank you’ after the two of you fuck?”

You burst into fits of laughter. It’s so sudden that it has you doubling over. Tears slip from your eyes and you wipe them away, looking at a grinning JJ. God, you missed him and his twisted sense of humour. 

“He just looks like the kinda guy who would!”

“Oh my God, no!” you laugh, shaking your head. Catching your breath, you manage out, “no, he doesn’t say ‘thank you’.”

“Is he the sub then? Cause there is no way that guy is laying his hands on you without written permission.”

“JJ stop! I’m gonna pee myself!” you cackle, kicking your feet. JJ starts laughing too. You open your eyes and make out his face in the lowlight of the pier’s lamp. Wheezing, you catch your breath and calm yourself. “This is exactly what I was talking about.”

“I can give the guy pointers if he needs them,” JJ jokes. Your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets just at the idea though and you point at him in another warning. 

“Don’t you dare!” you say, trying not to crack up again. “‘Sides, he doesn’t need pointers.”

“Everybody needs pointers,” JJ says with a roll of his eyes. “John B gave me one of the best pointers.”

“I find that impossible to believe,” you snort. 

“He did! It was a tip for kissing. Works like a fucking charm too, I’m telling ya.”

“Mhm, I’ll bet,” you sarcastically return. You glance at the joint to check if it needs tapping off, take another drag, and then look up to find JJ watching you. He hasn’t changed enough for you to forget what that expression means. 

“You want me to show you?”

“Show me? How?” you say with furrowed brows. Something in the air shifts with your question. An unspoken thing, an unseeable thing, but something nonetheless. A nervous tickle comes to your throat. 

JJ doesn’t reply but he slowly leans over the seat towards you. Your breath catches in your lungs the moment he enters your bubble, breaking some unspoken barrier, and your smile fades away like day into night. You feel as though you’re stuck in place, plastered to the seat, and you’re ashamed to admit that you don’t hate that you are. You’re ashamed that you’re not pushing him away, telling him to buzz off, laughing at his idiocy. You’re ashamed that you’re curious as to what he’s going to do next. 

JJ’s close enough now that you can smell him. His cologne mixed with something sweet but tangy, like seasalt and citrus. Something masculine underneath, that has a primal instinct inside of you wanting to claw its way out. Your fingers grip the edge of the seat instead. Your eyes stare into his. You study the laps of green and grey in the sea of blue, mesmerised in the way the night sky reflects in the iris. His gaze darts down to your lips and you have no idea how this happened and how you got here, and everything is blurry but so, so clear from the cannabis as he leans forward, and you can’t move but you should move and you want to move but you don’t, you never want to move again, as his lips brush against yours just so, just enough for you to know that they have, that he has, that he’s real, but that he hasn’t, and that you can take it all back, and that it doesn’t count and it shouldn’t and you shouldn’t but–

Your hand clutches his jaw and you pull him in. His lips crash against yours in a breath. You kiss him like you won’t ever kiss him again. He sighs against you in the hurried mesh of mouths, groaning as your tongue brushes against his, tasting him for the first time in years. It’s like finding a childhood toy and it smells like nostalgia. It’s like eating a baked good and it tastes like a specific holiday. It’s like smoking your first joint and it feels like floating. 

Until you’re not. 

Your body falls back down to earth with a thud. You shove JJ away as if he’s flammable and you’re the deadly spark. Your mouth hangs open in shock, your eyes filling with horror, and the worst feeling you’ve maybe ever felt overcomes you so suddenly, you worry you might be sick. 

Guilt. 

“Oh my God,” you whisper. You lift a hand to your lips and your fingers brush against the damp of his spit that lingers, and it confirms that it was all real. “Oh my God.”

JJ’s lips move to try and formulate words but nothing happens. He looks just as stunned as you do. His eyes are wide, lips swollen, cheeks pink. Those three words bang about your brain as you take in the sight of him. It’s not at all unfamiliar. 

Hot ash from your joint drops onto your thigh and you cuss, brushing it off. You toss the joint into the sea behind you as if it’s the culprit, the plotter, behind all of this. Then you’re on your feet and rambling out excuses. 

“I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I did that. I think it was - it was definitely the weed. I really should go, it’s so late. I’m so sorry. Oh my God, I have no idea-”

It’s as you’re about to step off the boat and onto the wooden pier that JJ’s hand locks around your wrist. It freezes you in place once more and you want to climb out of your body and scream at yourself. Instead, you look down at him. 

“You can stay, y’know,” JJ whispers. There’s a pleading in his eyes, a tenderness that you haven’t known before in him, and you finally know how Eve must have felt with that damn serpent in Eden. Temptation at its finest, dressed up in blonde, unruly hair and dreamy eyes and sculpted muscles and a graphic tee. 

Mark. 

You shake your head and snatch your hand free. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come here.”

And no matter how vehemently you tell yourself that you mean it as you hurry away from the pier and from the house, you know you don’t. 

Cheap White Wine 

The tart tanginess of the wine is sharp on your tongue as you take another swig. It’s late, or perhaps early, and the Chateau is illuminated by amber and orange from lamps. It’s raining outside as hurricane season rattles on, but you and the Pogues could care less. When you have wine, you really have everything you need. 

“Come on, come on!” Kiara laughs, egging on you to loop your arm in hers. The two of you line dance together to an old noughties CD in the player. You swing one another around in a tipsy haze to the upbeat tempo. Pope and John B heckle and holler from the pull-out sofa, toasting their beer cans up in approval. You’re happy here, like this, in your bubble. As the song comes to a close on a major chord, you and Kiara giggle and take joking bows to your audience. You frown when you look around the room, not finding JJ anywhere. 

“He’s on the porch,” Pope says, seemingly catching on. 

“Thanks,” you smile, a little embarrassed that you’re that easy to read. Taking the wine, you venture out the door, closing it behind you as another song starts up. Kie’s cheer and begging for John B to dance is muted through the shutters and windows. 

JJ sits on the sofa, a joint lit up, legs outstretched on the coffee table. He glances up at the sound of someone coming out and smiles at the sight of you. 

“Hey. Can I join?” you wonder. 

“Course,” he hums, shuffling a cushion in invitation beside him. You sit and lean against him, hitching your feet up onto the table beside his. He knocks one of his shoes against yours teasingly and you smile. Through the netting of the porch, you can make out the lashing of rain in the yard. It’s pitter-pattering is soothing like a nursery rhyme. You sigh and let your eyes slip shut. “Having fun?”

“Always,” you mumble, making him laugh. “You got any dreams?”

“Like sexy ones?”

“No,” you giggle, elbowing him, making him let out a few laughs too. “Like actual dreams. Ambitions. A wish.”

JJ takes a pause for thought. You have a swig of your wine as you wait, revelling in the sound of his heartbeat through his shirt, steady and constant. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Your heart sinks with disappointment. This wasn’t the first time this has happened. It felt as though every time JJ came close to pulling back the curtain and letting you see a glimpse, he caught eye of something that scared him and he slipped it shut again. He told you what he wanted to tell you and kept the rest close to heart. You weren’t going to pry his cards from his body to see them, but it would be nice if he showed you them once in a while. It felt like the more time you spent with him, the less you knew. You could guess things from small clues as if playing a boardgame. He hardly went home, never mentioned his mother, and his father came into conversation with a shadow. He spoke lowly of himself, presumed the worst before others could, and it saddened you how clearly he believed everything he said. JJ couldn’t see himself the way you did. 

“I do,” you whisper, hoping it might entice him to share. 

“Oh yeah? What’s your dream?”

“I want to start a kitchen.”

“Huh?”

“Like a community kitchen thing. Not a bakery or a restaurant, just a place for all kinds of food, for all kinds of people, y’know? A good thing, like that. My sister used to help out at a soup kitchen and…I don’t know. I always liked that.”

JJ squeezes your thigh in acknowledgment. “Sounds fuckin’ amazing.”

“Thanks.”

In the Chateau, John B and Kiara laugh and Pope speaks loudly over them, something teasing, and you smile. The smell of weed fills the air before you and blends in with the notes of your wine and the telling scent of JJ. You wonder if the smell of you affects him in the same way; if the flavours of your perfume haunt him when he can’t sleep the way his cologne does for you. Suddenly, somewhere in the serenity of the moment comes a calamitous realisation, like a rumble thunder breaking the rain. 

You were falling in love with JJ Maybank. 

Biscuits  

Food poisoning. That’s what you’d told Mark. The heavy sickness that had sat in the bottom of your stomach like a boulder since last night lingered still. You hoped it was a hangover, but that passed with an advil. You knew what this was. 

You only escaped the guilt in your sleep. The moment you returned home, you climbed under the sheets of your bed like a child hiding from the bogeyman. Sleep was the only reprieve, though it didn’t come easy, and the second you came to in the morning, the first thought in your head was the look on JJ’s face just before his lips touched yours. 

Fuck. 

Your phone pings with another message that is no doubt from Mark and you can’t bring yourself to look at it. It doesn’t help that there’s a framed picture of the two of you staring at you from the bedside. It was his gift to you for your one month anniversary, because of course Mark cares about one month anniversaries. You hadn’t gotten him anything; you had to make up some lie that it was late in the mail, and then run to the shops that night. Just further proof that you don’t deserve him. 

Hello, hell? I’d like to reserve my spot in advance. Queen sized bed please, for me and my whorish ways. Much love. 

When the phone begins to ring you groan aloud and send it straight to voicemail. You bury your head beneath the pillow and close your eyes, but the memories haunt you like flashbacks. JJ’s eyes. JJ’s lips. The way he tasted, the way he bit your lower lip just so, in that way that only he knows, in the way that he always knew drives you crazy–

“Stop it!”

Hello, hell? Quick update: I think I might be going insane, too. Just thought I should preface you. 

Somewhere in your self-loathing, you manage to drift off into another restless sleep. It’s broken by a tapping on your door. Groaning, you force yourself out of the safety of your bed and wander to your door, expecting to find your mom. Instead, your head tips back to see the face of your boyfriend. 

“Hey,” he says. His voice is thick with concern, brows knitted with worry. “How you feeling?”

“Like shit.” Thankfully, you didn’t have to lie with that one. “What’re you doing here?”

“I needed to check on you,” he replies. He steps into your room and you make space, sitting on your bed. He closes the door behind him. “I tried calling but you didn’t answer.”

“Yeah, sorry, uh…I was just feeling really frail, y’know?”

“Oh, baby,” Mark sighs. He sits beside you on the bed and places his large palm on your forehead. His brown curly hair sits in perfect ringlets atop of his head. One dangles over his forehead, out of formation, and it reminds you of JJ. Just how you went from me to him, JJ had said. Were they that different, after all? “You got a temperature?”

“I don’t think so,” you say. You gently push his hand off your face. “I think I just need to sleep.”

“Well, I’m here to take care of you.”

“Really?” You hope the dread in your voice isn’t obvious. 

“Course. You’d do the same for me,” he smiles. He lifts a bag you didn’t even notice he was carrying and shows you each item. “Mama’s homemade biscuits. She’s real worried about you, y’know?”

“I’m fine,” you insist, “just a bit sick. I think the worst of it has passed.”

“That’s good, then. I’ll make you a hot drink, yeah? We can watch a movie or something. You get cosy,” Mark tells you. You nod and try your best to smile. Mark leans forward and presses a fleeting kiss on your lips, and the sickness comes back tenfold. You want to cry the second he’s out of your room. 

Mark is good. Mark is good for you. But what if you’re not good for Mark? 

Chocolate Chip Cookies

“I don’t understand.”

You sigh, rubbing tiredly at your forehead. Bile lingers in the back of your throat but you swallow it down, alongside the feeling of self-reproach. This was it: the conversation you’d been dreading. The conversation that needed to happen. You’d rehearsed your words in the mirror like practising lines for a play. Journals and diaries filled with debate, as to whether you stay or bolt. But now was as good a time as any, and you knew in your mind what the right thing to do was. You can’t risk getting in the car accident if you step out of the vehicle. 

“Did I do something?” JJ then asks, his voice weak, naked. You meet his gaze and shake your head firmly. 

“No,” you breathe, “no, you ain’t do nothing, JJ.”

“Then I don’t get it,” he repeats, stronger this time. Frustrated. You knew none of this would be easy. 

“Look,” you cut yourself off with a sigh. You shuffle your crossed legs, sitting on JJ’s bed in the Chateau in a way that you never have before, as if you’ve never stepped foot inside his life. “My parents are heading to Charleston for a couple months anyway, to stay with my grandmother and help look after her, and…well, maybe it’s for the better, that we have this distance sooner rather than later.”

“Distance?”

“You’ve been removed, JJ,” you mumble, hoping not to sound accusatory. “And that’s okay, I know you’re busy. I mean, you told me from the start that you don’t do the whole relationship-thing. But I don’t think I can stay, not right now.”

“Okay, is this some kinda joke?” JJ snaps. He gets to his feet and paces a few steps in the small throughway of his bedroom. Taking off his hat, JJ rakes his fingers through his hair. He looks at you, eyes fiery, expression hard as if to shield from the hurt that you don’t mean to cause. “What the fuck are you even talking about? I thought we were fine.”

“We are fine,” you insist. Sighing, you try and find the best way to explain yourself without giving it all away. “Look, I ain’t meaning that you’re a bad guy or that you’re damaged or anything like that. I don’t think that, not at all. But…How can I explain this?”

JJ takes a moment or two to calm himself as you hang your head and clench your eyes, searching for the perfect turn of phrase to make your thought process make sense. You find it. Lift your head, soften your gaze at the hurt on his face, and try your best to smile through the sorrow. This wasn’t easy for you either. 

“You know when you see a tornado?”

He stares at you for a short while before nodding, urging you to continue. 

“Things that like…They’re always so pretty for afar. So mesmerising, how nature can create something like that. Stunning, really. Epic. But then, you get too close, and you get sucked in. And it’s just chaos and there’s no way out of it without being broken.”

JJ nods again, pursing his lips. 

“I think that’s what might happen here,” you whisper. “If I stick around.”

“I don’t get it. You’re saying I’m gonna break you?”

“No, I’m saying…I’m saying you’re not in a spot right now to give me what I need. That ain’t your fault, JJ, but I can’t let myself stay knowing that I’m gonna have my heartbroken. I wish I could - I wish I could just wing-it like that - but I can’t.”

There’s a pregnant pause that JJ drags out, staring at you as if trying to see into your head, searching for some lie. Sighing, he must come up empty, as he takes the spot beside you on the bed again. You test the waters, leaning against his chest, feeling the warmth radiate through his t-shirt. One of his hands lifts and strokes your hair, smoothing it down. 

“I really do care ‘bout you, y’know? Like, that ain’t fake,” JJ admits in a hushed tone. 

“I know, JJ,” you reply, just as soundless. “I just think you gotta figure yourself out before you can…”

“...love you?” JJ hesitantly whispers, after you lose nerve. Your eyes squeeze shut. 

“Mhm.”

“You can’t love me ‘til then, either?”

Laughing sadly, you shake your head against him. He really couldn’t tell how much you’d fallen for him already, could he? “I don’t think you gotta worry ‘bout that ever, JJ.”

A soft kiss is planted on your forehead. “So…Just gotta do some soul searchin’, huh?”

“Somethin’ like that,” you hum. “But hey, I tell you what.”

You break apart from the comfort of his hold, tilting your head so you can look up, into his eyes. The pain in JJ’s gaze tears you like wrapping paper, and it’s worse to know it’s your fault, but you know that it’s the only way to save you both from further pain. It isn’t the right time, and that’s a shame, and it isn’t fair, since you’ve memorised the outline of him and drawn him into all your plans and daydreams. But you can hear it when you talk and feel it when you sleep together, this detachment, this removal of himself, that can’t come until he’s healed in a way that he’s far away from now. There’s something pulling him away from you, an adventure of sorts, and you don’t want to keep him from it. You want JJ to love you but you want him to choose you, too. And until then, you don’t have it in yourself to sit around on the sidelines, waiting for your heart to be broken. It’s like sitting a toddler in front of a plate of chocolate chip cookies but demanding them not to touch; the temptation might just kill you. 

“What?” JJ gently prompts, bringing you back from your thoughts. 

Your smile is sick with inner lamentation. “If you do figure yourself out, after some soul searchin’ and all that, then chances are I’ll still be here. So, I guess, if you ever feel like fallin’ then lemme know. You can catch me on the way down.”

JJ’s smile is beautiful, even when his eyes are wet with unshed tears. You lean up and press a fleeting kiss to his lips, but you don’t let yourself linger. If you do, you’re afraid you’ll never leave. You murmur some sort of goodbye, making an excuse that you should get going, and JJ doesn’t argue. He watches you as you stand, waves farewell with two-fingers as you leave, and you walk home with your heart halfway broken but more whole than it might’ve been if you stayed and tried to make this impossible thing work. JJ wasn’t ready to fall in love, not yet, but you already had. 

Ham and Cheese Sandwiches  

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I promise,” you reply to Mark, smiling reassuringly. You wonder if it looks like a grimace. It feels like one. Even touching him makes you want to cry, as you brush your hand atop of his on the table. Your feigned food poisoning was two days ago now but Mark was still worried for your health, likely because you were still acting so withdrawn and drained. It’s hard to sleep when you’re consumed by guilt and confusion. “Why don’t you see if Nancy needs a hand in the kitchen, yeah? I can work on the inventory out here.”

“You sure? I don’t mind helping.”

“I’m sure,” you nod. “I can come get you if I need anything.”

“You better,” he grins. He dips his head and kisses you and it takes everything inside of you not to pull away like a flinch. It’s not him. It’s you. You feel like you’re poison. Like JJ’s kiss has infected you and you can’t get Mark sick too. His brown curls bounce as he walks back to the building. You busy your mind with counting tins of soup. The Stirring Spoon had never had so many posters, so many new recipes, with how much you’d been trying to keep yourself busy. You picked up extra shifts at the Smoothie Shop to avoid Mark during the daytime, and you submerged yourself in your voluntary-planning work and ‘early nights’ to avoid him during the night. It wasn’t fair to him but you didn't know what else to do. 

Well, that’s a lie. You know exactly what you should do, but denial is so much easier. 

Ducking down, you grab another box of leftover soup from a local supermarket. They’d recently changed providers and all the old stuff had to go. You were thinking of making toasted sandwiches with soup. Grunting, you lift the box onto the table. The sun beats down on you as if the universe is punishing you. Good, it’s the least I deserve. 

You can spot him anywhere, even blind. He’s in the far corner carrying a smaller box than usual, compared to his crate. A sudden wave of panic comes over you and you speed walk over to him. He frowns as you approach. 

“You good? Hey!” 

You grab his arm and drag him out of sight from the field, behind an overgrown bush. “W hat are you doing here?” you hiss. 

“Bringing sandwiches?” he replies, as if it should be obvious. “Are you okay?”

“JJ, you can’t be here,” you snap. “Mark is literally in the other building!”

“So?” 

“So? Do you…Do you not remember what happened the other night?” you ask, calming down slightly. 

JJ sighs and puts the box down on the floor. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he shrugs. “Look, clearly you spun out. I ain’t gonna mention it if you don’t want me to.”

“Wait…Really?”

“Jesus Christ, I ain’t a homewrecker,” JJ chuckles, trying to lighten the mood. You want to crack a smile but you think your face might be permanently stitched in perpetual concern forever. His laughter dies. “Listen, I think you got some stuff to figure out, a’right?”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t get offended! I’m jus’ saying…” JJ cuts himself of with a sigh and brushes a hand through his hair. He pinches the bridge of his nose. You missed all his little ticks and quirks. “Look, don’t kill me for sayin’ this, I’m just tryin’ to be honest. I don’t think Mark’s the right guy for you.”

“I-”

“I’m sorry, a’right? I don’t think you want to admit it either but…I think you gotta be honest. You don’t love him, okay? And that’s a’right, I’m not saying he’s a bad guy. I just think you need to make a choice.”

“What does that mean? A choice?” you quietly ask, terrified for his answer. 

His smile is sad as JJ shrugs. “I was an idiot to lose you once, I ain’t gonna lose you again - not if I can help it. If Mark’s who you want - if Mark makes you feel like you’re living - then I’ll never bring it up again. Hell, I’ll stay away from you forever, if you want. Least, I’ll try to. I don’t know if I can be held accountable for when I’m drunk but- look, now I’m getting side tracked. The point is:”, JJ speaks with his hands,  “if Mark isn’t the one for you…I’m here to catch you, y’know?”

You blink at JJ and blink away the tears. You’re not sure if you can form words right now, not even sure what words they would be, so you try your best to nod. JJ tries another smile. 

“There’s some sandwiches from Kie and Sarah for today. I hope it all goes okay. Just…lemme know. Or don’t, y’know? Either way,” he trails off with a shrug. You feel cemented into the dirt as JJ backs away. Then he’s gone. Your eyes slip shut. Some weird hybrid of JJ and Mark’s faces fill your thoughts. 

‘If you ever feel like fallin’ then let me know. You can catch me on the way down.’ 

‘I’m here to catch you.’ 

You need to figure this out and fast. It wasn’t fair to anybody, not even yourself. Dragging things out doesn’t make it any easier, it only delays the inevitable, like tediously inching a bandaid off the skin. Sometimes you just have to rip. You just have to prepare for the aftermath.

How ironic, how when you were sixteen it was you waiting for JJ to figure himself out, and now it’s your turn. It’s a shame you were never all that much of a fan of irony. 

Cinnamon Buns 

Baking is therapeutic. The precision of weighing out the ingredients; the cathartic relief from beating together butter and sugar until fluffy like clouds; the tapping and cracking of eggs; the rhythmic folding of flour; the soon-to-arrive reward for your labour. You like baking when life gets stressful. Few things are so systematic, so simple, so quick to resolve, as baking. Life is more complicated than that. 

Mark and JJ. Two sides of different coins. Neither good, nor bad. Human, just like you. 

As you prepare the batter for cinnamon buns, you try to make sense of everything. Figure yourself out, as JJ had put it. 

Mark was designed to be easy to fall in love with. It was as if the universe had a recipe for him, everything the girls crave, the people fawn over in romance novels, the parents pray for in their child’s partner. Responsible; caring; thoughtful; kind; secure; safe. Mark was good. There was no other way to put it. Hell, you met him at a voluntary community kitchen. He gave you stability like a white picket fence. Perfect and practised, like he’d been waiting for that his whole life. But you found yourself restless in the fairytale. Found yourself itching for change, for chaos, for clutter. He was sentimental in a way you weren’t. That wasn’t to say you were heartless - the two of you just loved differently. 

JJ Maybank? He wasn’t designed for it in the same way, but it was impossible to not fall in love with him. You knew it from the moment your paths crossed, back when you were sixteen and the two of you tumbled through two months together. That’s why you left in the first place. To save yourself from the inevitable heartbreak that it would bring, because sixteen-year-old JJ was in no place to commit to anybody. You assumed that with time your feelings would fade away and when you met Mark, you believed they had. You liked Mark - that wasn’t false - and you had feelings for Mark. But the love you had for JJ didn’t vanish. Like energy, it could only be transferred. It went into the back of your mind as if in hibernation but the moment JJ waltzed back into your world, it was awake. It was impossible to ignore. 

Mark was the netting beneath a trapeze artist, but JJ was the acrobat. Mark was the emergency brake in a racing car, but JJ was the driver. But JJ was safety too. He made you feel safe, but he also made you feel alive. 

And you wanted to feel alive. 

Mark was routine. He was predictable. You could see the next five, ten, twenty years of your life laid out nice and neat with Mark. But did you want that? Did you want to give up the adventure? The chaos? The things you missed so desperately. 

As you drizzle the topping on top of the cinnamon buns, you summarise your scrambled thoughts into one neat realisation: you wouldn’t have kissed JJ if you truly wanted Mark. 

Your heart feels like it’s in your throat as you walk to Mark’s house. The buns sit neat in the tupperware and you’re careful not to shake them. His door looks like a tombstone as you knock on it. There’s a noise from inside and the door opens. Mark smiles down at you. He’s dressed in a baby-blue waffle sweater and it’s so undeniably, so wonderfully him. 

“Hey!” he grins. 

“Can I come in?” you ask. It sounds ridiculous asking that when you used to sleep in this house almost daily. 

“Course,” Mark replies. He opens the door further and you slip inside. It shuts behind you. You place the tupperware on the countertop, taking too much time in letting go. “You alright?”

“Mhm. I just…I think we should talk about some stuff,” you say, feeling your voice losing power. 

“Alright. Come, sit,” he urges. You do as he asks and take the spot on the bed beside him, leaving a gap. “What’s up?”

You fumble your fingers together and stare intensely at your hands, racking your mind for the words, for where to start. You’d practised this so many times in the mirror. Childish. 

“I did something and I need to tell you, because you’ve always been so good to me, and so honest with me, and it isn’t fair to hoodwink you.”

“Okay,” Mark faintly replies. 

You take a steady breath in. Mark is good. He deserves the truth. “I went to see JJ last week, and one thing led to another, and we kissed.”

For a moment, there’s nothing. Just the sounds of the air conditioning unit humming as white noise. Then, 

“Oh.”

You clench your eyes shut before looking up at him. He’s detached in his expression. Your eyes fill with tears. “I’m so sorry, Mark,” you whisper, scared your voice will break if you talk any louder. He meets your gaze. “You don’t deserve that. You don’t deserve to be treated that way. You’re such a good, genuine person. I just…I don’t know why, but I just…I can’t love you.”

Mark swallows thickly. The tears are warm and sticky on your cheeks. It’s so selfish to cry when you’re the one who threw the punches. You hang your head with shame and watch the teardrops land on your restless hands.

“I swear I didn’t plan it. I didn’t even know I still had feelings for JJ until…Well, until then.”

“I did.”

Your head snaps up. He’s staring at you, but he doesn’t look angry. No. There’s a shadow of a smile on his lips. A sad smile, no doubt, but a smile nonetheless. 

“You did?”

“The minute you saw him, that Wednesday at the start of the month. I saw it on your face, clear as day. You never used to look at me like that.”

“Mark–”

“--That’s okay,” he nods. He’s crying too, now, and you’re not sure what to think, what to do. But Mark does. Of course, he does. His hands reach out to hold yours, warm in his clutch, and you blubber like a petulant child. “You’re not a bad person, Y/N. I could tell something was bothering you this past week.”

“I just didn’t know how to tell you, and I didn’t even know what it meant. But I have to be honest for the both of us, and I don’t…I don’t think I’m the girl you’re looking for, Mark,” you say through your tears. 

Mark smiles solemnly and nods once. The squeeze of your hands tells you everything. I know. I agree. It’s okay. 

“Do you hate me?” you ask in a moment of pure patheticness. Mark laughs and shakes his head. 

“You’re too pretty to hate.”

“Ugh! You can’t say things like that!” you whine, throwing your head back. He laughs again, soggy with his sorrow, and he shrugs. 

“Just got to keep my good-guy rep up.”

Laughing, you shake your head at him and smile. The two of you share a breath and he nods. A conclusion. His smile dwindles. 

“I’m gonna need time, though…Before we can be friends, maybe. Just to…You know…”

“Of course,” you whisper. “I understand. Whatever you want, whatever you need. It’s all on your terms, I promise.”

Mark nods. Thanks you. It is so fucking bizarre to have the man you cheated on thank you but here we are. Life is full of strangeness. 

“Can I give you a hug?” you wonder. Chuckling, he nods, and you waste no time in throwing your arms around his shoulders. Mark holds you in the embrace and the two of you savour the feeling of one another for one last time. Against his shoulder, you murmur, “I’m going to miss you, Mark.”

“I’m going to miss you too,” he tells you into your collarbone. “JJ’s a lucky guy. But make sure to tell him I know where he lives if he hurts you.”

You tearfully giggle against him. “I’ll pass on the message.”

Bacon Sandwiches

It’s warm today; bright and brilliant. The critters are happy, chirping in the trees, croaking in the overgrowth by the water of the marsh that lines the Pogue’s house. Your footsteps feel heavy as you walk up the driveway, anticipating weighing you down. You lift a hand to shield your eyes from the sunlight and make out JJ. He’s at the entrance to the shop, stood a few rungs up a free-standing ladder. He’s trying to staple something to the walls - a banner of some kind - and you make your way over. 

“Need a hand?”

He jumps and you cringe. Oops. JJ looks down at you and his lips quirk at the corners. The muscle tee he wears is grey and hangs loose on his well-kept frame. He’s armed with a staple gun. “Yo. What’re you doing here?”

“Want a hand?” you repeat, nodding up at the banner, not quite ready to confess. JJ shrugs and nods. 

“Sure. Thanks.” 

You glance around and find something that looks sturdy enough to stand on. Dragging it over, you boost yourself up and hold out your hand to take the other side of the banner. Holding it up against the wall, JJ leans forward and steadies himself with an elbow on the wooden panelling. 

“We’re selling bacon sandwiches on weekends now, so thought we oughta advertise it, y’know? So, anyway, what’re you–” a grunt and a click of the staple gun, “-doing here?”

You step down from your boost and JJ takes your place. You don’t speak, stalling time, as JJ secures the banner. Sighing, taking it in, nodding with contentment, JJ jumps down and ditches the gun. The he stands with his hands on his hips and looks at you, shrugging again. 

“I, uh…I needed to talk you,” you say, clearing your throat. 

“A’right. What about?”

“Just like…” You rock your head back, take a breath, and steel yourself. Somewhere in that split second, you find a new mantra. JJ is good. JJ is good for me. I’m good for JJ. We’re good for each other. Smiling, you look at him again. “Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?” he mumbles. 

There’s a playfulness, a teasing, as you shrug. “That you’ll catch me.”

You can see the words as they process through his head. See the moment he tracks the meaning, parses it altogether. A smile, beautiful and brimming, greets you, and then JJ crosses the gap between you in two large strides. He wraps his arms around you and lifts you up in an embrace. He swings you around for good measure and you laugh, looping your arms around his shoulders, holding him close, smiling against him. This is good. 

“You mean it?”

“I mean it,” you whisper in reply. He carefully reunites you with the ground. You smile up at JJ, gazing into his blue eyes, bathing in their depths. Your hand strokes along his jaw, slides down his front until it rests just above his heart. “It was always you, JJ.”

“You think…You think you can love me now?” he nervously asks. 

You shake your head with a silent laugh. It feels like breathing, like you’re finally free, as you admit, “I’ve always loved you.”

It comes and goes like a comet; the flash of shock in his eyes; the glow of his smile; the burning passion of his lips on yours. And as you kiss JJ, without guilt, without fear, you finally feel at home. When you break apart, short of air, JJ rests his forehead against yours. His thumb smooths along the soft line of your jaw and you smile. He takes a small breathe, shaky, unsure, but JJ's words are sure like bedrock.

"I love you too."

[not-rigel]

Ain't no country boy quitter

MORE COWBOY/OUTLAW SEV

rating: E

warnings: smut, outlaw sevika, top sevika, rough sex, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, strap-on sex, praise, some descriptors used, BITING

WC: 2.3 k

this is part 2. part 1

Sleep is slowly starting to release its hold on you, control and sense of touch slowly returning to your body as you wake. You feel gentle presses to your neck along with little tickles of air. A few seconds later, you can recognize the feeling as Sevika kissing your neck. She feels the moment you wake up, feeling the shift in your breathing and heartbeat under her lips. 

“Howdy,” you greet her, voice groggy from sleep.  

Sevika chuckles into your skin. She hated being mistaken for a cowboy before you, any reference to the occupation made her roll her eyes. But you made her love it, made her want to buy a ranch and herd cattle sun-up till sundown. She already has a horse, so maybe the idea was close to reality and that made her happy. 

“Mornin’, sugar. You need more sleep? Know I kept you up plenty last night,” she kisses into your neck. You hum a low moan, feeling her plush lips press onto your pulse. 

“I was having a nice dream,” you muse. 

“Yeah?” 

“Was being kissed by an outlaw. Real pretty lady.” You're trying to flatter her though you don't need to. She's heard her name depart from your lips enough times last night to know what you think of her. 

“Let's get you back to your dream, sugar,” she says, shifting up to press her lips to yours. She has the softest lips you've ever known, capable of expressing so much through their touch. She pulls herself in close and cups your cheek, her thumb gently, somehow lovingly, strokes your skin. You're still completely bare from last night's activities and her breasts caress yours. Still half-asleep, you weakly pull her in closer to you by her lower back. Your hand remains there, holding her to you.

The two of you meld together in the kiss, bodies and souls feeling light. You want to make this moment last forever, stay like this for however long you can. But eventually you have to separate from her to breathe. 

“Can this be the type of dream where you melt into me?” you propose, knowing she can make the impossible possible. 

Sevika kisses your cheek, "It's your dream, sweetheart. Tell me what you want.” You try to think it over but all you can focus on is how wonderful her touch is. Her skin radiates warmth and comfort. 

“Is there anything you want?” you ask her, unable to decide. 

“I want what you want,” she answered simply. 

“You really know how to put on the charm, cowboy.”

“I’m dead serious sugar, I’m all about pleasure. Need to satisfy you.” Her hand leaves your face, trailing down your neck and collarbone. She returns to the kiss, her large, plump lips covering yours. Your breath hitches as she paws at your tit. She gropes your breasts, devouring each of your moans into her mouth. All of your reactions fuel her, make her entire body buzz with passion and excitement. 

Your hips grind against nothing, seeking stimulation. She shifts to press her thigh between your legs and your thighs immediately spread to welcome her. The kiss grows hungrier as you grind against her, tenderness replaced with lust. 

Your arousal is leaking onto her thigh and it helps you grind faster against her. Sevika flexes her thigh and you feel it on your clit. Your hand on her back clenches and your fingernails press into her skin. You almost miss it but she lets out a short whimper. The sound goes right to your nervous system, lighting all your nerves and your spine and your brain. You need more. You dig your nails into her skin and she fully moans into your mouth. 

“Dammit, sugar. You figured out my secret,” she chuckles. She loves being marked, bitten, scratched, having her hair pulled. Any evidence that she made you feel so good that you can't help but tear away at her. 

“I was hopin’ you'd like it a little rough,” you giggle, you loved her gentleness and sweetness from last night but you need this woman to ruin you. You need her to fuck you until you only know two words, ‘please’ and her name. 

“How rough do you want me?” She's testing your limits, needing to know exactly what she needs to do to make you fall apart for her. She needs to give you the most perfect blend of pleasure. 

“I don't want you to hurt me but I want you to push my limits. Something just tells me you know how to make me scream your name until I forget it,” you challenge. 

“That I can do,” she smirks, pressing one last peck to your lips. She presses kisses down your jaw then moves down to your throat. She pinches your nipple, trying to get you to react. Your reaction is better than she hoped, moaning and grinding harder onto her thigh. Kissing your neck as you moan is a delight Sevika wishes she had known sooner. She moves her lips over to the other side of your neck, her tongue licks your skin as she starts placing hickeys onto you. Each suck onto your skin makes your body jolt and cunt pulse with arousal. 

Her lips begin to trail down to your collarbone. Sevika is in no hurry in her path and it makes you shiver. She lets out a low growl as she hears you moan and places more hickeys against your skin. Your breasts are all she can focus on, taking mouthful after mouthful of your softness into her mouth. Sucking marks not even an inch apart then kissing them over. She tweaks your nipples every now and again, getting all her favorite reactions from you. 

“Sevika,” you groan. She separates from your breast, looking up to see your eyes pleading with her for more. You push her head down, trying to shove her between your legs. Well, Sevika is less shoved and more following your directions, allowing you to think you have the strength to move her. 

She settles between your thighs, turning her head away from where you want it. You had no clue that asking her to push your limits would translate to teasing but you trusted she knew what she was doing. 

She kisses the inside of your thighs, which are quivering with want. Every time she gets close enough to your entrance, her lips move away. She switches back and forth between your right and left thigh, working the stimulation up before she devours you.  

“You are a treasure,” she sighs against your inner thigh, her breath tickles your heated skin. 

Sevika ceases her teasing, parting your folds with her tongue. Each stroke pushes heavy moans out your mouth. Sevika can't think of anything better than this. You filled all her senses. Your taste on her tongue and musk filling her nose. Your thighs squeezing her head. Your pubic hairs tickled her nose and some stuck in her mouth. Your desperate pleas above her for more are the sweetest sound she'll ever hear. Your beautiful eyes are blinking down at her, fighting to stay open as she slips two fingers into you. 

“Please please fuck.. Sevika,” you whine as her fingers begin to fuck you. 

Her movements are stronger and more forceful than last night and your cunt is grateful, drooling onto her in appreciation. She's attuned to every twitch of your muscles, adjusting to each little reaction, desperate to please. When your cunt squeezes her fingers, she strokes your sweet spot faster to make you clench harder. You grip a fistful of her hair to tug it and she groans against you. The sharp pain is fuel to her desire. 

It's brutish by Sevika's standards, how she locks her mouth onto your clit to suck on it while driving her fingers into you. She's learned the exact pressure you need to cum and she goes over that limit. Sevika reaches a rhythm, tending to your clit with an earned amount of knowledge. You rock your hips toward her, desperate for more of her ferocity. 

Her fingers will not slow down until you've cum and you don't have far to go. You don't hear that her moans turned into growls, resounding from deep in her throat. She's ready for you to fall apart, pouring herself entirely into pleasuring you. You clench around her again and she increases the pressure on your g-spot. 

Your orgasm is slow, it spreads across your body from where the concentration is highest. Your body is a conduit, dispersing the heat until you're covered in its comfort. All her teasing proves it's worth, making your orgasm plateau higher than usual. She removes her fingers and mouth from you when your orgasm is through. 

“Be right back, hon,” she says, giving you a quick kiss then leaves the bed to retrieve a couple items. She finds her hat on the floor, discarded from last night. She sets it onto her head and you giggle at your sweet outlaw. She retrieves her strap-on and steps into the harness. 

“Don't ever wake me up from this dream,” you sigh, watching her tighten the straps onto her hips. Sevika is almost too perfect to be true, so handsome and pretty and charming. 

“Sugar, I'm starting to think this is my dream,” she admits, appreciating the vision of loveliness laying on her bed. She joins you on the bed, covering your body with hers. 

“This is the only thing I'll ask you for. If I'm making you feel good, please tell me. If you're lovin’ how I make you feel… Can you bite me, scratch me, or pull my hair? And if you hate the idea, just say no,” she offers. If she is going to be rough with you, you have full permission to be twice as rough back. Her fingers gather some of your cum dripping from your cunt, then she spreads it over her dick.

“How hard? Don't wanna hurt my favorite cowboy.” 

“As hard as you need, sweetheart. You ain't gon’ harm me,” she confirms. Sevika shifts her hips and the firm tip of her dick pressed against your slit. She pushes in at a comfortable speed, watching your cunt swallow her inch by inch. The feeling of her entering takes your breath.

“Breathe, darlin’,” she encourages, and you force your chest to fill with air. 

When you've taken a couple healthy breaths she starts her thrusts. She goes at a comfortable pace, fucking her entire length into you with pauses between each push. You wrap your legs around her hips and pull her entirely into you. 

“Not to question your methods but I'm ready for you to ruin me. Push my limits,” you permit, allowing her freedom to fuck you roughly. 

“My apologies, I was wantin’ to find that limit before making a bastard of it.” 

She harshens her movement, fucking harder and faster. Nowhere near her full strength but you wouldn't know the difference at the moment. You could only let out choked gasps as she thrusted into you, somehow pushing even deeper than before. Each stroke was hard and precise, her dick insistent with every plunge into you. You’re looking at her wide-eyed while she fucks you and she loves it. Loves how your eyes just plead for more as she ruins you. Sevika feels all your pleasure heat her body. It brought her pleasure. 

“You make me feel so good,” she groans, pressing a kiss to your cheek. 

“Fuck, f-fuck… you feel s'good,” you try to echo but your words are stuttered.

Sevika is overwhelmed with the need to be sweet to you, it's who she is. She's a proper gentlewoman but she also needs to fulfill your wants. She keeps her harsh pace but kisses you gently on the cheek, whispering sweet nothings into your skin. 

“I could stay here forever with you. Nothing else exists right now.” 

Another kiss to your cheek paired with a particularly hard thrust. 

“You're like a dream come true.”

More kisses to your cheek and her mechanical hand reaches down to swipe your clit. 

“You're beautiful, absolutely beautiful.” 

Her kisses shift to your tightly shut eyelids and her hand works circles over your clit. 

“Sev! Keep fucking me! Keep fucking me!” you chant, close from her relentless fucking and sweet words. 

In losing your mind to her fucking you, you forgot that she asked you to bite her if you love how she makes you feel. You turn your head to wrap your teeth around any flesh you can find. You experimentally bite at her jaw, hard enough to feel the flesh give. 

“Harder,” Sevika whimpers, her voice is like you've never heard it before. It's light and airy as she breathes out the request. You bite harder onto her and her moan comes from deep within her, probably the deepest you've ever heard from her. Knowing you did that to her pushes you from close to right on the edge. One more thrust from her and you're falling. You move your mouth from her jaw to her neck, needing more flesh to anchor into. You don't think about how hard you're biting her, only that you're communicating your orgasm through it. 

“Shit! I'm cumming. You're making me fucking cum,” she wails, her hips are stuttering and breaking their pace. A few more thrusts and her body goes limp atop yours. She's crushing you but it's the best feeling in the world. It's the most you've felt of her and you still need more. You recover before she does, stroking her cheek from where her head rests by yours. 

“I need you closer,” you whisper to her. 

“Don't see how I can get any closer, sugar,” she mumbles, still not recovered from her orgasm. 

“I need you so close. Want you to crawl inside my chest and lay down right next to my heart. I need you that close,” you tell her. It might be a bit grotesque and odd but you mean it. She's never going to be close enough to you. Even with her still buried inside you and her weight pressing you into the bed, she'll never be close enough. 

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[gojokive]

Welcome Home, Honey ♡

❝synopsis❞ ‣ the men of JJK coming home after a long day to find you in lingerie, sleeping because you were waiting for them.

𓆩☆𓆪 PAIRING(S) › jjk men x afab!reader 𓆩☆𓆪 GENRE(S) › fluff/(little)smut 𓆩☆𓆪 WORD(S) › 3.7k+ » 13min read. 𓆩☆𓆪 WARNING(S) › women wearing lingerie・cockwarming・whispering sweet nothing's・cuddling・somnophilia・f! fingering・butt plugs・alot of apologizing・mention of penetration・sweet nicknames・not much else, let me know if I miss anything! ♡ 𓆩☆𓆪 POST DATE › 01.15.2025 𓆩☆𓆪 NOTE › the links take you to picture of the lingerie I envision for each reader. the person used doesn't indicate the body type nor the skin color of the reader, they are just used for lingerie reference! thank you for coming to my ted talk(:

❝featuring❞ ‣ nanami kento・gojo satoru・kamo choso・ryomen sukuna・fushiguro toji・ shiu kong・geto suguru・atsuya kusakabe ♡

‣ 𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚒 𝚔𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘 ♡ ↳ lingerie choice

"Sweetheart? I'm home!"

The front door creaks open as he's expecting you to rush him like you always do. When he calls out to you again and he doesn't get a response, he's quick to shut the door to hurry with his nightly routine.

It's eerily quiet and that's something Nanami isn't use to. Usually you're up watching something on TV or he can even hear you moving about in one of the rooms down the hall but, there's nothing.

And he hates it.

"Darling?" He calls into the apartment one last time as he kicks off his shoes and sits them by yours at the door.

He can see that you're home.

All your things are in it's right place. It's just... you're not here to greet him.

He sighs, exhaustion flooding through his bones and feeling a bit bitter at the fact that they kept him from you. He hadn't expected to make it home this late!

But, of fucking course, Gojo and the higher ups- you know what? What's done is done all he wants to do now is cuddle up to his lovely wife and get some sleep.

It's was the only thing he was looking forward to on the ride home (aside from your cooking because he's starving).

He shoves his jacket off to hang it nearby as he slowly makes the walk toward your shared bedroom. Loosening his tie in the process, he tosses his bag on the couch on the way there.

"You in here, honey?" His heartbeat quickens as he calls into the room but he quickly stops when he sees you're on his side of the bed. Face snuggle into his pillow, his eyes trail down your body the moment he notices what you have on.

The pretty orange lingerie hugs your figure beautifully (metaphorically patting himself on his back with a job well done for picking it).

He plays with the straps that kiss your pretty thighs as he remembers buying it as a gift and telling you to wear it on a special occasion of your choosing.

He's guessing today was the day you were going to surprise him with it but of course, he was late getting home (he blames the higher up and Gojo for his... incompetence).

"I'm so sorry." He frowns, taking short strides to get to you but stops when he remembers he needs to shower and change.

Vibrating with excitement, he can't wait to crawl into bed with you, wanting to have you in his arms. He knows the last thing he wants is for you to scream at him for tracking blood and dirt into the house.

Let alone into the bed.

"I'll be back." He whispers, leaning in to gently kiss your forehead and watches your face scrunch. You don't see how much his face softens, how he turns back to lovingly gaze, honestly not wanting to leave the room.

He's in complete awe with how beautiful his wife is.

He hates that he wasn't able to be here in time for your surprise but that doesn't mean he can't wake you up with a surprise of his own.

‣ 𝚐𝚘𝚓𝚘 𝚜𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚞 ♡ ↳ lingerie choice

"I'm home, buttercup!"

Exhaustion is Satoru's last name right now and all he wants is to fall asleep in your marital bed, together.

"Babyyyy?" He whines, hoping it'll make you come to him faster but, alas, you're still no where to be found.

What does he have to do? Wail your name all through the house to get your attention? All he wants is to see your pretty face! Hug you, kiss you.

He tosses his bag and coat on to the floor near the door, opting to deal with it later. A firm pout on his lips, his main priority is finding you so he can get the love and affection he's yearning for.

The frown on his face deepens until he makes his way into the living room to find you on the couch with your legs to the side of you and leaning on the back of your hand to try and stay upright.

He can hear the light snores as your favorite show has become nothing but white noise.

"Oh my poor princess..." Satoru can't hold the giddiness bubbling inside of him at the thought of you trying your hardest to stay awake for him. You're so fucking cute and it makes him so angry that the higher ups kept him from you tonight.

His eyes immediately grow in size once he rounds the couch to see you. Crouching down to get a better look, he faintly grins as he plays with the strings that's fallen onto your hips.

"I knew it would look good on you, baby," Satoru mumbles to no one but himself. Just looking at you makes Satoru's mouth water with all kinds of possibilities. He wants nothing more than to rip it off of you but... he'll wait until you're fully awake for that.

He caresses the side of your face, noticing the light makeup you decided to put on as well. His hatred for the higher up's growing when he realizes you were wanting to simply surprise him just because you can.

He tries to quell his anger, noting it would have no use here as he pinches your chin between his fingers and rub his thumb against your bottom lip. He chuckles when your lips enclose around it as you begin sucking on it without warning.

"Wake-up, Sweetheart," He whispers only to hear you groan in response. You snuggle deeper into your hand. He thinks for a moment, knowing he should go ahead and get cleaned up while you're sleeping so he can quickly make his way back to you.

He does just that.

When he comes back, you're still sleeping and he has no other choice but to scoop you into his arms and whisk you away to your shared bedroom.

You wake when you realize you're moving, smiling with relief when you realize it's him. He lays you down on the bed, letting the towel wrapped around his body fall to the floor as he crawls into bed with you.

“I missed you today...” He whispers, leaning over you as you dreamily lock your arms around his neck to pull him closer.

"Then show me how much."

He presses his forehead against yours, and honestly, he could sleep but not when he has a duty to perform.

"Your wish is my command, baby."

‣ 𝚔𝚊𝚖𝚘 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚘 ♡ ↳ lingerie choice

If it was up to Choso, he would never leave your shared home. Living with you has become the highlight of his morning and nights and each second he spends away from you, he feels a deep bitterness that he can't quite explain.

All he knows is the moment he walks away from Jujutsu High, his whole being is buzzing with excitement. Giddiness. So Joyous.

Coming home to you gives him a sense of thrill as he can't wait to kiss you, hug you and just simply orbit around you.

So what he doesn't expect is to come home to you stretched out on the couch with your phone discarded on the floor. A pretty burgundy lace material adorning your beautiful body as he recognizes the set you're wearing. The one Shoko helped him pick out for your anniversary.

His breathes hitches, legs frozen in place as he sees how gorgeous you look with the lingerie hugging your perfect body. 

Can he touch you? He wants to so bad! Would that be okay? What would you say?

He should probably let you sleep because he knows you and Gojo have been putting in overtime with training the others and this was one of your only days off. He should- but wait... you wore this for him, right?

What should he do?

You wanted him to see you like this so it has to be okay!

There's a lot of mental gymnastics going on in his head to rationalize his thoughts. He's sweating bullets, back turned as he doesn't even realize you've woken up. Standing to your feet, you slink your arms around his waist. Startling the poor boy.

"Welcome home, Baby.” You giggle, laying head on his shoulder as he whips his head to the side to get a look at you.

“I-I didn't mean to wake you. I'm sorry.”

“Don't worry, you didn't.” You lazily smile, pulling back and taking him by the hand to lead him to the couch. Laying down with him on your chest, you undo the hair ties to let his hair fall into his face.

Caressing his cheek in the process, you ask him how his day was, noting how late it was as you help him peel off the layers of clothing and leaving him in nothing but his boxers.

He continues to talk excitedly about how teaching his brother to use blood manipulation was going and well he's doing seeing as he feels he isn't the best teacher.

He's doing his best and you can't help but chuckle at his enthusiasm.

“You know, I missed you, today.”

The moment he is comfortable, you notice he's curled himself into you as his face is buried in your breast.

"I always miss you when you're gone."

In an instant, Choso's heartbeat flutters as his cheeks burn with the intense love he feels for you.

"That's why you're dressed like this? This was for me?"

You nod with a soft smile, noticing his gaze on you and nothing else. The hearts in his eyes grow with each passing second.

"Of course, who else would it be for silly?" You grab his hand, bringing it cup your breast. Biting his lip, he glances at you as if to ask for your permission and when you nod, he quickly tugs the straps down to get a face full of your breast.

“Show me how much you missed me, pretty boy," You tell him as he leans up to kiss you passionately.

His body vibrating with anticipation of what's to come.

‣ 𝚏𝚞𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚘 𝚝𝚘𝚓𝚒 ♡ ↳ lingerie choice

"Aren't you a pretty little thing, mama." Toji chuckles, pushing you to turn over on your back.

The forest green lace molds to your body flawlessly and fuck, you look so damn good in that little number. So good that Toji finds himself growing impatient, quickly jumping in the shower to wash of the days work so he can settle into bed quicker.

"Can't believe this is all for me," He proudly says, hearing you moan his name although you're still sleeping. You look good and god, he wants to rip it off of you but another part of him wants you to keep it on.

The more he rubs over your clit, the wetter you become as he runs his finger over your clothed pussy.

You must be dreaming of him too.

“Don't worry. I'm gonna make you feel real good ma,” He purrs, towing over you as you wearily blink trying to wing yourself awake.

"Toj?"

"Yeah? I'm here." He smirks, pushing your legs apart to give him easier access. He leans in to gently kiss against your neck listening to moan out his name and feeling how wet you've become in a matter of seconds. "Look at 'ya... Didn't think ya would wear it."

"Wanted to surprise you."

Your back arches the moment his slips his finger inside you, letting out a sharp gasp. Biting his lip, he watches how well you take his thick fingers. So wet with your essence and it makes him want to taste you even more.

"I missed you..." You whine, your hips jerk to try to get more friction as he chuckles at your desperation.

Leaning in to capture your lips in a passionate kiss, your eyes roll to the back of your head and letting him push your legs up to your chest to get a better look.

“I'm gonna make ya feel real good." He yanks the bra cups to the side to let your breast spill out of the lingerie piece. "Isn't that what ya wanted?”

“Yes." You moan, rolling your hips to tryand get his fingers deeper. “I-I missed you so much. You were gone too long...”

“I know, I know." He chuckles, pulling the small, barely visible piece away from your pussy. "I missed you too, mamas.” He nips at your bottom lip before pulling his fingers out of you. He sticks them in his mouth with a loud groan as you watch on with hooded eyes, lust hidden withing them.

“Want me to show ya how much?” He asks, taking his cock in his hand to rub it against your pussy lips.

“Please-” You gasp as he inches himself inside of you.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you gasp for air, knowing you're gonna have a long night ahead of you.

‣ 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 ♡ ↳ lingerie choice

‘Come find me.’

Suguru reads the note with soft smile, knowing how playful you get when you miss him. It makes him wonder what you have in-stored for him.

He can't wait to find you. Being gone for almost two weeks takes a toll on a man. He missed you more than he missed being home and he couldn't wait to have his hands all over you.

' You're getting warmerrrrr(; '

He chuckles, taking the little pink notes with him as he made his way to your shared room.

At least, that's what he hoped until he found you laid out on the bed in what was (more than likely) the gift you were talking about. 

Disappointed? Yes, but he's definitely not surprised. You could never stay up even if you tried and honestly, it's the cutest thing in the world.

He hates that he was forced to come home this late, hating the higher-up's for all the missions they've been sending him and Satoru on.

He wants to be home, with you. Is that too much to ask?

He slowly peels his shirt off, standing near the bed as his fingers lightly trail up the back of your thigh. You shudder from the contact. The purple lace catching his eye as he pushes it over your ass to get a better look at the pretty lace thong.

The heart jeweled butt-plug catching his eye after.

"Pretty." He smirks, you floral perfume filling his senses as he's quick to take his pants off and toss them to the side. "Baby?"

He leans in to kiss all over your neck, hearing you moan softly in his hold.

“I'm sorry I wasn't home earlier.”

“Sugu?” 

“I'm here, gorgeous.” He whispers close to your ear as you turn over to face him. Face to face with his gorgeous purple eyes that's filled with nothing but love as he smiles. “I'm sorry I'm late. I missed your surprise.”

“You're here now.” Holding his hand, you intertwine your fingers. "That's all that matters."

He kisses are soft but asserting as you throw your arms around his neck to tug him closer. Deepening the kiss further when goes to pull your leg over his hip to keep it there.

“I'm happy you're home, Sugu.” You gasp as he pulls back before running his thumb over your bottom lip.

“I'll always come home to you, princess.”

The warmth of his embrace making you feel just how deeply loved and cherished you truly are.

‣ 𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚞𝚔𝚞𝚗𝚊 ♡ ↳ lingerie choice + kimono

Duties of the day done and over with, he tells Uraume to run a bath while he makes his way toward his chambers with heavy feet.

He's ready to have your servants bring you to him but when he slides the door to his chambers open his eye catches movement.

It's then that he realizes you're already here.

You're laid on his side of the bed, the canopy doing little to nothing to shield how naked you are. The small kimono fallen open and showing you in all your glory since the lingerie hid nothing.

"Stupid woman," Sukuna growls, stomping his way over to the bed to shake you awake as the rage continues boil his blood. The thought of some nobody seeing you like this has him wanting to rip the heads off of anyone who dares cross his path.

Although, he knows no one is stupid enough to enter his chambers unannounced, it's the principal. Your body is for his eyes only and he'll gouge the eyes out of anyone who even thinks about staring for too long.

"Wake the hell up, woman."

He tries to shake you awake but you're out cold.

He sighs, taking the moment to admire just how good you look in the little lingerie piece. Wanting to strangle those idiots from keeping him busy and away from you.

He calls your name, pinching your jaw to shake your head from side to side.

"Wake. Up."

Your eyes flutter open as you take in the mountain of a man standing over you. Grinning wider now that he's here.

"'Kuna."

"Come." He sees you frown, although he allows you to climb into his lap and lay your head on his shoulder. He picks you up and carries you to the bath that Uraume has been keeping warm for the both of you. "Bathe with me."

Peeling the beautiful kimono off your body, the heart cutouts makes him chuckle at how on the nose it is.

"Like it?" You sleeply asks, allowing him to reach behind you to unclasp it and drop the tiny underwear to your feet before stripping himself of his dirtied clothes.

He hums, stepping into the bath and shooing Uraume away so you could be alone.

"Lay back."

You do as you're told as his bottom two arms wrap themselves around your waist. His top right hand being used as rest, his head cocked to the side to watch you while the top left stretches itself on the edge of the bathtub.

He's as hard as a rock right now and it's all your doing but he'll let you rest.

For now.

‣ 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚞 𝚔𝚘𝚗𝚐 ♡ ↳ lingerie choice + lace cover-up

His angel.

That's all he can think when he walks into your shared bedroom to see you laid out on the bed looking so ethereal.

There's something so alluring about the way the lace hugs your body, making him feel just how much you effect him.

He adjusts his slacks, his cock growing stiffer by the second when realizes you fell asleep waiting for him to get home.

It doesn't help that he was missing you today (more than usual) and coming home to this? It was definitely the icing on the cake.

"My pretty girl." He mumbles, unbuttoning his shirt to let it fall open as he sits on the side of the bed to take in the lacey material.

He's going to kill Toji from keeping him from you.

Fuck, he wants to ravish you as he feels up your body. His touches are as light as a feather, watching you unconsciously squirm away from his touch.

God, you don't know what you do to him. It's the littlest things that keep him on a leash.

And he definitely doesn't mind.

He leans forward and gently kisses your ear, chuckling when your eyebrows pinch together.

"Wake up, baby."

Confusion settles on your face as you slowly wake to recognition.

“You're home?” Your smile lights up his world (it's a little dopey too but it's the cutest thing in the world) and he can't think of a better way to be greeted.

“Yeah, I’m home, doll.” He leans in to place a kiss on your lips, hoping to give you more tonight (if that's what you want of course).

‣ 𝚊𝚝𝚜𝚞𝚢𝚊 𝚔𝚞𝚜𝚊𝚔𝚊𝚋𝚎 ♡ ↳ lingerie choice

After the night he had, coming home to you like this is nothing short of a treat.

His gorgeous wife, sitting up and leaning back against the headboard with the book you’ve been reading sat in front of you.

"Hey Honey," You greet him with the sweetest smile, closing your book to set it aside. "You're home later than I thought you would be."

He can only sigh in annoyance, knowing the only reason you're awake at one in the morning is because of him.

Well, not really him, but because of the mountain of curses that's been popping up lately.

He hates it. He's sorry for making you suffer like this. Making you wait so long before gracing you with his presence. You don't deserve this.

"I'm sorry, sweetie." He frowns, letting you tug him closer by his tie to get him to climb into bed.

He can change shower and clothes later... You just want to cuddle into his strong arms as he lays his head on your chest.

Finally able to relax in your hold.

"It's okay." You kiss his forehead and gently brush his hair back. "It's not your fault."

"I know but still-"

"Not tonight. Sleep. We'll talk about it in the morning, alright?"

"Okay..." He whispers, kissing your cheek to hear you giggle out his name. The sound shooting straight through his senses. "You look beautiful, by the way."

"Well..." You tease as he listens to you talk without a care in the world. Nothing but love swirling in his eyes. "It was your surprise. I wanted to do something special but they fucked that up, huh?"

He hums, playing with the frills underneath your breast as he begins kissing the bits of your stomach that's exposed.

"How about we continue this surprise in the morning?"

Don't get him wrong! He’s grateful for you dressing up for him and trying to stay awake to greet him but he's so damn tired that he knows he won't be able to give you the dicking of your life.

At least, not right now.

Plus he also wants you to get your rest as well.

"Sleep with me?" You turn over on your side to let him hold you from the back, holding his arms against your stomach to make sure he doesn't move.

He kisses the back of your neck before telling you good night.

He can't wait to ravish you in the morning but for now, sleep is his priority from the day that he had and it should be yours as well.

© GOJOKIVE 2024-2025 ➳ ALL RIGHTS RESERVED  PLEASE DO NOT PLAGIARISE -and/or- TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORK. ・thank you for reading! & remember: you nice, keep going.❤️ ・comment/reblogs(s) and like(s) are totally welcomed! › read more work here: masterlist ‹

[sexlapis]

# the D word

꩜ nanami x gn!reader

ns4w, daddy kink, penetrative s e x, praise, fluff, crack, undisclosed kinks, the tiniest bit of angst, petnames

⤷ synopsis : nanami accidentally reveals his “secret” kink.

wc: 1.4k

a/n: i love a good daddy kink fic #sorrynosorry

masterlists

*

the first time that word slips from his lips, you don’t even think he realises.

it had been a tiring, stressful day for nanami and unfortunately, those types of days are not uncommon in his line of work.

some days are better than others. some days he is here, with you and present even after a bad day but other times…he can be gone for months.

luckily, it wasn’t one of those days.

while you finished off preparing dinner, nanami rests on the couch, head lolling back into the headrest. his noticeable tie is long gone, along with his suit coat and goggles. the top few buttons of his blue shirt are undone, the sleeves of it rolled up to his elbows, revealing the pale expanse of his trimmed forearms.

you walk into the living room, where he is. “nanami, dinners ready. let’s go eat!”

nanami grunts, eyes closed and not making any viable efforts to join you or to eat.

you tilt your head, sympathy in your eyes. maybe he has a headache or just wants to sleep. i’ll leave him the leftovers for work.

“_____,” nanami drawls out, sounding like he’s minutes away from passing out, “_____, c’mere, come sit for a second, hm..”

“hm? oh…ken, are you okay?” you move closer to him, placing the back of your hand on his forehead, “maybe you should go to bed.”

“no. yes. no. i’m fine,” nanami huffs, running a hand down his face before patting his lap, “just c’mere, come sit. come sit on daddy’s lap.”

any thoughts in your head, any words you were to utter, any movements you were to make instantly come to an abrupt halt.

uhm…what?

daddy?

your jaw may as well be plonk on the floor.

now, you and nanami’s sex life is not boring or unsatisfactory in the slightest, the exact opposite in fact. you and nanami were happy with what you had. but you most definitely did not peg him to be the type who likes to be called…that word.

did you like that word though? growing up, you had always thought it was a bit strange hearing your friends call the guys they found attractive a term that one would use for their father. for you, it wasn’t even a question or even a thought. you simply and absolutely were not a fan. it wasn’t for you…or so you thought.

that word. nanami said it so easily, so readily, like he didn’t even think about what he was referring to himself as, like he did it every day of his life.

the way in which he said it, in a weary, gentle groan, urging you to sit on his lap, so unfazed like he knew you would say yes to his request as if he has ever called himself “daddy”.

it makes the pit of your stomach alight with unexpected desire. all because of one word.

so you decide to indulge him (and maybe, secretly, yourself too).

you shuffle the short distance to nanami, carefully sitting yourself right in the middle of his lap and curling your knees up on his thigh, you cheek now smushed against his shirt. the steady rhythm of his heartbeat almost sends you to sleep.

he hums, content when he rings his arms around you body like vines and prods his nuzzles the top of your head, breathing heavily and letting his eyes close.

“this is all i needed…”

the next day, all is forgotten.

*

the next time he said it, the sun had just about risen over the clouds on a lazy weekend.

sweat slides between the gravitating bodies of you and nanami, luminary, golden light shining over the two of you. only the sound of skin coming together and the sounds of soft, tired pleasure were all that could be heard in the room.

nanami embraces you closely as you move on top of him languidly, not in a rush at all but already so, so close to reaching your peaks.

he groans, loud and deep. nanami is more vocal in the morning you’ve noticed, all drowsy and vulnerable and pliant. blonde strands of hair stick to his forehead as rouge washes over his neck and cheeks.

“hmfp…fuck…oh shit,” nanami’s hands finds your rippling ass, groping gently and pulling it, exposing you most intimate areas to the chill of the morn, “i’m cumming. fuck, i’m cumming. you’re gonna make daddy cum.”

it embarrasses you. how quickly your eyes roll into the back of your head when he calls himself that damn name again.

you don’t stop and the unhurried circling of your hips around nanami’s cock as you, quite literally, ride out your high has him clutching onto your waist whilst he releases himself inside of you, jerking himself upwards and holding you in place, ensuring you take it all.

languorous rolls of the hips turn into soft grinds as you milk him for all he’s worth. he’s jelly in your hold, moaning quietly and long eyelashes fluttering.

“god…” you chime, lifting yourself up and off his manhood, making him hiss at the cold. white drips out of you, dripping onto nanami’s lower torso.

the next few moments are still after he moves you lay next to him, still regaining your breath and coming back to earth. you peer to your left and that his eyes are closed.

probably going to fall back asleep…

you kiss his sweaty shoulder, “it’s okay baby, you can go to sleep.

nanami whines, breathes out and he…sleeps once again.

no mention of that either.

*

later on in the day, rain patters against the clear window. you and nanami sit closely on the couch, a book in your hand and a very loved kindle in his. he wears his nerdy reading glasses and a cream-coloured sweater, looking all cosy, homey and domestic.

…your mind is not on the book in front of you. not in the slightest.

daddy… just when i think i’ve got him all figured out…

to you, it’s odd. i mean, it would be odd to anyone if their partner began referring to themselves as “daddy” out of the blue, right? why not discuss it with you first? what if it was a turn-off and you didn’t even like it? then again, nanami has not heard any complaints from your mouth. you’re not even sure you have any complaints about his quite generous use of the word.

i think it’s starting to grow on me.

you should just ask him. but what if he’s embarrassed?

well he should’ve thought about that and discussed it with me?

what if it’s awkward?

well not all conversations in a relationship are going to be comfortable.

what if he just shuts down and gives me the silent treatment?

well, maybe-

“since when you do you have a daddy kink?”

nanami chokes on his own spit, coughing before he sputters, staring at you like he should be the one that’s shocked, “wh-what?!”

“don’t play dumb! are we just gonna pretend that you haven’t been calling yourself da- the “D” word recently?” you whisper-shout the last part, feeling heat rise on your face, “where did that even come from?”

“alright, alright i-,” he sighs, “listen i…i’ve-i’ve liked.. it for a while now. it was just-,” he sighs again, looking to the floor, “embarrassing.”

“…oh nanami…” you cuddle up to him, moving his hand away from his now red face, kissing the back of his hand, “you’re so silly. you don’t have to be embarrassed. loads of people like those things…a heads up would’ve been appreciated though…”

“right. sorry.”

you shrug it off, “nah, it’s fine. i actually think it suits you. “daddy” huh?”

“oh, jesus christ.” nanami presses his eyes together, rethinking his life choices.

“oh no, don’t backtrack now. you brought this upon yourself this time…you do have a lot of…”daddy” qualities to be honest,” you genuinely begin to ponder, “you’re caring, kinda fatherly, dominant, you even carry me to bed sometimes and pick out my clothes and -”

“please-”

“what is it? is daddy getting shy? you weren't shy last night.”

nanami might as well melt into the ground as you snicker in his face. you are having far too much fun with this.

“are you done?”

“yes, daddy.”

“eugh.”

you giggle some more and really, nanami does see the humour in this. a stoic man too embarrassed to tell his partner about his little kink? that is silly.

“but seriously, it’s fine. i kinda like it!”

“yes, i got that impression.”

you smack his bicep. “not too much. just tell me next time, yeah? i don’t want to be having sex and then next thing i know you’re calling me “master” or something, that would be crazy.”

“…yeah… that would be crazy…”

“…”

“…”

“nanami? what-”

*

< thank u for reading ૮꒰ˊᗜˋ* ꒱ა >

[myfavoritesstuff]

Hi, How are you doin?

May I request a fluffy cuddle scenario/oneshot with Andrew where they're talking before drifting off cause both of them have a bit trouble sleeping? Hmm.. and maybe a little nsfw at the end? Thank you!

“Yes, We Really Do”

Pairing: Andrew Graves x Reader

Prompt: Falling asleep isn’t always easy, but don’t worry, Andrew is there to help.

Note: This does have smut! Ooc Andrew (a bit). This is kind of short but I probably will rewrite it later and make it longer. NOT PROOFREAD

The room was dimly lit by the soft glow of the bedside lamp, casting a warm light over the figures nestled under the covers. Andrew Graves, with his tousled hair and sleepy eyes, lay on his side facing you, a gentle smile playing on his lips.

"Can't sleep?" he whispered, his voice a soothing balm in the quiet of the night.

You shook your head, the day's worries still buzzing like distant bees in your mind. "It's one of those nights," you admitted, feeling the weight of exhaustion without the sweet release of sleep.

Andrew reached out, his hand finding yours under the sheets, fingers intertwining with a comforting familiarity. "Let's talk about something nice then," he suggested, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand.

You thought for a moment, the presence of Andrew beside you already easing the tension in your shoulders. "Remember the day we spent at the beach last summer?" you started, a fond memory surfacing amidst the sea of thoughts.

A soft chuckle escaped Andrew's lips. "How could I forget? You were determined to build the biggest sandcastle the shore had ever seen."

"And you were determined to help, even though it kept collapsing," you added, the memory bringing a smile to your face.

The conversation flowed easily, each word a stitch in the fabric of your shared comfort. As the conversation fades into comfortable silence, you lean your head against Andrew’s chest, feeling his steady heartbeat. His fingers start to trace gentle patterns along your back, sending shivers down your spine. You snuggle closer, seeking comfort and warmth in his embrace.

After a few seconds of listening to his heartbeat, you look up. Andrew’s eyes sparkle with love and adoration as he leans in to press a soft kiss against your lips. Then another. And another. And another. You giggled a bit as he kept lightly kissing you, moving from your lips to all over your face.

The more he kissed you, the more intense the kisses became. Each one lasted longer than the previous one, and each one had a bit more passion to them. His breathing soon became strained, as he whispered to you.

“I know something that would help us sleep”

You immediately knew what he was referring to and became flushed but you didn’t pull away.

˚ ༘✶ ⋆｡˚ ⁀➷˚ ༘✶ ⋆｡˚ ⁀➷˚ ༘✶ ⋆｡˚ ⁀➷

Your walls clenched, as you felt him grinding against you. Slick coaxed your entrance and you felt yourself start to lose focus on what was happening. He seemed to notice and called out to you.

“Hey, keep your eyes on me, okay?” You nodded just as he slipped into you. His thrusts had your breath hitching while he groaned in pleasure. You tried raising your hips, only to have one of his hands push your hips back down. “Let me do all the work tonight. You deserve it.”

He then leaned down and placed wet kisses against your chest and collarbone causing you to shiver. His kisses soon traveled upward, and he ended up placing a few along your jawline.

His thrusts soon became more frequent, each one having both of you grow closer to the end. Exhaling in short breaths, you wrapped your legs around Andrew’s waist pulling him even closer to you.

Your vision then became blurred as you felt yourself release, crying out when Andrew’s thrusts didn’t stop. “You feel so good” Andrew’s voice cut through the air, “you don’t know what you do to me.”

“Andrew” you called out his name, looking directly into his eyes, “make me yours.”

With that he let out his own sound, one that was as sinful as it was beautiful. He then pulled out leaving you to flinch at the feeling.

Wrapping his arms around you, you let out a pleasant sigh as he pulled you in.

“How are you feeling now?” He asked, voice gentle.

“I’m good, I’m happy that I got to spend tonight with you like this.”

“Me too… me too.”

˚ ༘✶ ⋆｡˚ ⁀➷˚ ༘✶ ⋆｡˚ ⁀➷˚ ༘✶ ⋆｡˚ ⁀

“Ugh! Andy! Y/n! Why did you guys have to next to my room?!” Ashley called out in frustration. You were standing next to Andrew as he tried to explain.

“Y/n had trouble falling asleep and besides where did you expect us to do it? Out in the living room?” As the two bickered back and forth, you giggled at them, causing them to look your way. Andrew’s eyes softened and he smiled as he turned to give you a hug and kiss on the cheek. Ashley just groaned and looked away in disgust.

“You really love each other, don't you?” The two of you looked at each other and smiled.

“Yes we really do.”

[slowd1ving]

Hi! If you're not taking reqs then feel free to ignore this but could you write Kim dokja angst? Maybe we're switching the roles and the reader is dying instead of dokja for once lmao

HOUSE OF CARDS ゜・KIM DOKJA

"A house made of cards, like the fools we are." In which a gambler finally pays the price for his bet. never actually written angst so I hope this is good enough anon art creds to kim28_dokja on twt! pairings: kim dokja + gn reader warnings: blood, injury, death, references to child abuse/dokja's past wc: 2.4k

ORV MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

Dokja is shit at games. 

It’s clear to the dealer. Even on the best day, those omnipotent palms that allocate fate will grow clammy (which they never do) and that ever-present smile slowly turns into a profound grimace. They know. They feel it instinctually, on a cellular level: that hand was terrible. 

It’s clear to the people around him. The salaryman stumbles into the building as though he’s just learned to walk: in never-polished shoes, slacks that perpetually crease further with each nervous wipe of his hands, and the clinging scent of smoke that preludes his entrance. He’s not got his life together, they observe, behind stony poker faces he can never quite master. That’s why he’s here.

Most of all, it’s clear to Kim Dokja himself. Every irregular heartbeat pulses in his throat as he gazes at his cards—two seven offsuit. In his sweat-streaked fingers is the short straw urging him to enlist. On the table before him are all his chess pieces, lined up neatly: spectators to the constant check, his inevitable downfall. 

Despite his atrocious luck, the thin red string binding him to this world never quite severs. A fire befalls the casino. A bullet embeds itself in the shell of his helmet and not a hair further. The chess game is postponed by a phone call and the poignant sound of shattering glass—and Dokja is left to shoulder the limbo of an unfinished game.

He’s shit at games, but never truly loses. 

Is it simply up to chance? A coin is tossed into the air: another foolish plan devised, another chip placed that equates to one of his lives. Crisis after crisis—Dokja, that harbinger of misfortune—yet each time, he resurrects. He bets on it, in fact: quite literally gambling away everything. 

It is just how things are. He cuts corners. He smooth-talks the fates into letting his transgressions slide just a little longer. For once, he’s winning, and the grand prize is something beyond his wildest dreams—an ending, to mark the indefinite uncertainty of chapters that seem to grow like nebulae. 

“Dokja.” It’s a sigh each time when he defies the end. Anyone else would interpret it as exasperation, but he likes to think he knows you better than that; it’s relief you greet him with, no matter how many times he sacrifices himself. “You idiot.”

It’s nice to know his long-time friend cares about him. 

No matter how many times he places his bets, the value of his life never seems to deprecate for you. Sacrifice is something you’d rather avoid (so does he, but it cannot always be helped, right?). If Dokja’s life can be used to save more of the people he cares about, all the better. 

In fact, he’d rather keep you away from any front line. 

There’s a story of its own between the two of you: years of scraped knees and violence, of gazing up at your shoulders while you bruise your knuckles with whoever bruised his eye, of friendship pacts forged with spat-on palms and corded bracelets. 

Your very soul is entwined with his scrawny one from years past, and it’s always been the case that yours has fought the battles in his stead. ‘Why?’ he’d once asked, and he still vividly remembers the cool response you attempted to give, only to end up fumbling the words. 

Because I can. Because I want to. Because you deserve it. 

It’s his turn to repay his debts. These fights are no longer about a bloodied mouth and spitting red onto the asphalt. They don’t end with bruised ribs and broken noses. 

You sit out. This one, he thinks grimly, is his fight—one that will guarantee both you and him turning the page on ◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼. Every factor has been considered. Each risk is carefully mitigated at the expense of himself. None of the contingencies fail to prioritise his oldest friend. 

These are chips he cannot afford to bet on. 

Naturally, he keeps them close to his chest. 

゜゜・

Dokja is shit at games. 

His friends know it all too well. Those disbelieving laughs they let out, their fists clenching and unclenching as they debate whether to hit him across the head—Dokja, the herald of despair, he is—and finally the rush of words leaving their mouths like air deflating from a balloon: “Never do that again.”

All in, his chips go—each and every time. There is no other way about it: not unless you shackled Dokja to you in vain to make him listen—to stop the endless deaths he goes through. Over and over, until you feel his mind wear into recklessness, until you see the emptiness that taints his eyes as he slips into quiet contemplation.

How will Dokja die this time?

You’d rather erode into nothingness than clip his wings, though. That book he gushed about to you (syllables rushing over themselves in his excitement each update) gave him back his life—if you ruin his painstaking ◼◼◼◼◼◼◼, you don’t think you could forgive yourself.

Even if he’s ratcheting to Icarian heights. Those feathers of his are beginning to streak wax-hot down man-made frames, made of pages upon pages of a book obsolete to all but one dedicated reader. 

You think he can see the pain in your eyes, before he turns away with lips pressed together tightly. You’ll be safe, he reassured you. You’ve got me. I’ll create an epilogue for you to witness. 

Dokja’s changed. 

Those scrawny shoulders have become something that the very sky settles on: ones that no longer shake behind your own arms. The world has bruised you, and Dokja shall bruise it back. Every favour, repaid tenfold. 

Dokja’s changed. 

He’s still got the same facade of the boy you’ve called your oldest friend. If it weren’t for that, you’d think the man who coldly settles his death were a stranger. Someone you never shook hands with, childishly grimacing at the remains of a spat-upon pact rubbing into small palms. 

Dokja’s changed. 

He thinks he no longer causes misfortune with each risk he takes—as if his life were a mere trifle, as if each shred of news about him doesn’t shatter your heart over and over. 

When will it end? 

You haven’t seen him for months. 

Is it finally time to grieve?

゜゜・

Dokja is shit at games. 

It seems you are too. He turns the page of his book, and beside him the house of cards is carefully stacked on the glass table. It’s a precarious matter: high stakes against yourself, an unsafe tightrope that threatens to give way any moment now. 

Your eyes meet his. 

Like magic, the house collapses. 

゜゜・

You are shit at games. 

You take a deep breath, and begin organising what could be the final legacy of Dokja. It’s something he treasured even over his life, evidently: the ending, which you allow into your soul in the Kim Dokja-shaped hole left behind. 

It’s the first time you take a gamble: carefully picking up the shards of his ideas while rivulets of blood run down your fingers. It’s your turn. 

The battlefield in the scenarios is a sanctuary: white noise washing out Dokja’s ever-persistent voice in your head. There’s a perpetual, acrid smell of ash and smoke—a reek that is far better than the dust of buildings Dokja leaves you behind in. 

It’s hard. 

Gambling is not for you; in the sense that it sickens you, rather than just invoking disaster like it does for Dokja. The only good thing about it is that Dokja’s dream is finally being realised—a tribute to your oldest, dearest friend. Like funerary wine, metallic iron fills your mouth (a once-familiar taste) with each battle, every step closer to the story Dokja wove for you. A fabric so salient you couldn’t help but be entangled in it. 

I can do it. That is your gamble. 

You do it. 

You cut down monsters the size of buildings. You cling to life with bleeding fingernails, scraped raw with tenacity. Tentatively, you begin fleshing in the husk of yourself: talking with the friends you made in the apocalypse once more.

And like Dokja, you begin defying death. 

It starts off small—an arrow that you saw coming but didn’t feel like dodging. Jung Heewon almost blew a gasket when she took a glimpse, but then her eyes met yours—filled with the same distance that Dokja’s were, as though you too were peering through an impersonal screen—and she looked away for a brief moment. 

“Idiot,” she whispers. “Don’t treat yourself like Dokja.”

Your chips pile up. 

Except, you don’t quite have the same privilege that your dearest friend has. 

You will incur the cost, rather than somebody else. There is a reason Dokja is called a harbinger of ill fortune to others, and you are not. In the end, your downfall will be at your own hand. 

“Fool,” Yoo Joonghyuk grimaces as he cuts down a wolf you let claw your arm. The coppery stench is thick in the air, but there seems to be a manic grin on your face as you slice and chop and stab: a madness that slowly spreads like illness through your body. “There is nothing more worthless than sacrifice without cause.”

The debt accrues. 

Kim Dokja dreams of your knuckles, bloodied once more as you stand to face the world. But, it’s just a dream. 

He bets on it. 

゜゜・

You are shit at games. 

Bitter, arterial blood congeals on your hands as you try in vain to staunch the flow. There is nothing quite as caustic as the realisation that you fucked up, because now all the signs of your hamartia are clear. 

The house has long collapsed—it’s that final card that still hasn’t hit that glass table yet. 

Is this what Dokja feels? The thought runs wonderingly through your sluggish mind. Is it what he felt, you mean to say, but your throat grows thick whenever you speak about him in the past tense. You can’t quite accept the reality that he’s gone. The shock anaesthetises your mind: cradling your neurons with such gentleness that it’s hard to conceptualise you’re about to follow him to wherever he’s gone. 

Will I see him again?

Everything reeks of iron: from the massive corpse on the ground, to the claw impaled through your abdomen. It was inevitable. You’ve grown tired of the endless fight, and it’s cost you dearly. 

Your chest heaves desperately. 

Dokja. 

“Dokja,” you croak, collapsing onto the rubble freshly decimated. Despite the rough surface, your blood-slicked hands scrabble for purchase on the concrete—something that doesn’t quite feel like you’re the one puppeteering your strings. 

Deliriously, you watch as the same hand urgently attempts to apply pressure to your wound; it goes against rationality, but then again you’re not really yourself anymore. 

“Dokja?” you try again. Perhaps if you speak loudly enough—syllables soaked with sanguine that dribbles from your lips—you’ll be able to reach your dead best friend. 

There is a pressure behind your eyes. 

It may be tears; it may be an unwelcome guest in your head. 

It’s too late, you think. He’s dead, and soon I will be too. 

“Dokja,” you whisper, and there is salt on your tongue as you feel your limbs grow colder. Everything hurts—your pounding head, the thrum of your pulse as you marr the asphalt with crimson, and finally that stupid bleeding heart of yours that swears you can hear the spirit of your oldest friend. 

You can’t die, you think he says—a quiet scream drowned out by the static of your mind. 

“I’ll see you soon, though,” you slur, and the weight in your mind lifts—blurring and coalescing into a mirage you could recognise blind. 

Frigid fingers pass through the hologram, and you smile, bittersweet. 

“Dokja,” you breathe. “It’s been almost a year since I last saw you.”

His hands grasp your shoulders desperately, though his frantic mouth goes unheard upon your ears. You… can’t… die, his lips read—but that’s silly, you think. Doesn’t he want you to meet him again?

Horns curve out of his head, while his wings fluff out—shoulders shaking, with an expression you’ve only seen once on his face before. Utmost grief, when he came soaked in congealed blood and a haunted look in his eyes: murmuring she killed him, over and over. 

He’s your best friend. He was your best friend. 

Kim Dokja has lost his final gamble, and the bullet in the chamber has finally been spun into place for you too. 

“I can see you soon, right?” you murmur—there are cold fingers brushing against your forehead, and you think death is unexpectedly gentle. 

His lips wobble. 

Incorporeal fingers trace the tear tracks on your face—ones that mirror the slow stream of salt from his own eyes. You didn’t even notice—too caught up in the gradual greyness that spreads through each vessel, weaving through sinew and bone and brain. 

“I did a good job, right?” Your sword rests across the ground, heavy after almost a year of fighting. “Maybe it’ll help with the ending that you wanted.”

Dokja’s face crumples, and you can feel your own throat growing thick. Dokja, I’m scared, you want to admit. For the first time in your life, there’s a choking fear that grips you as the red surrounding you blooms into a field. 

Your own wings are rapidly coming apart. 

“Dokja, I don’t want to die,” you mumble. Struggling, you curl and uncurl your hands into fists, but you can no longer feel them. 

“Dokja,” you try again. You can no longer see him, but whether it’s from the salt clouding your vision, or the haze of limbo, you cannot tell. 

There is a phantom pressure that lingers on your face. 

“Dokja,” you gurgle, mouth iron-hot with arterial blood. “Don’t leave me alone—please.”

No response is given, but that sepulchral presence seems to remain—this time, those hands brush and cradle your face. 

You cannot tell if it’s him or death itself, but you don’t think death would kiss you like that. 

As if he could possibly breathe life back into you, his ghostly lips move against yours. Desperately, so urgently you half-wonder at his panic. 

Dokja, you want to ask. You’re already dead, right?

Right? 

With the final scraps of your vision, you watch as he pulls back—his tears pattering across your face—watch as his mouth moves for a final time.

I can’t live without you.

But by then, it is too late.

The words go unheard, and Dokja is alone once again.

[prythianpages]

Wanna Be Yours | Part Two

Rhysand x Reader | Rhysand is absolutely smitten with you and you appear to be blind from it.

This is a part two to this. You can find the masterlist to keep track of future parts here.

warnings: none

a/n: I use a prompt from the lovely @thepromptswhisperer . you can find the post here. I bolded & italicized the dialogue I used from it.

The secrets that Rhysand holds in his heart are harder to hide than he thought. He can’t help it. His heartbeat is at its peak whenever you speak or simply look his way. The weight of his confession persists, akin to an inconsolable ache nestled in his chest, right above the delicate golden thread that intimately connects his soul to yours. 

Three months have passed since that night—the night when he found himself grappling with delirium, induced by the venom coursing through his veins. It was the result of a miscalculated move when patrolling the Night Court’s borders. His injuries, though not fatal, seemed insurmountable due to the poison's cruel deception that night. In a panic, he insisted on seeing you and only you. If he were to face oblivion, he wanted you to be the last person he saw.

The poison, however, proved powerless against your skill. You healed him and brought him back from the brink. "I think I might be in love with you," were the words he had uttered to you and though he was lucid, he meant them. Wholeheartedly.

And now, there's no uncertainty. He is in love with you. The Cauldron may have destined you two together but Rhysand is beyond doubt that he would love you, bond or no bond. You’re beautiful, sweet and kind. Everything he could ever dream of, and dream of you he has done. A lot. 

Rhysand wonders if you dream of him too. If you think about him as much as he thinks about you. He wished he had been there to see your reaction when opening his gift but you had been busy all day. It sparked a worry in him that you were being overworked. Then, his own duties got in the way, leaving him with no choice but to leave it at your door. You had greeted him the following morning when you went to check up on him. The smile you graced him with in appreciation for the gift was as golden and glorious as the sun itself. One he wants more of.

You have him wrapped around your finger and you don’t even know…

“Whiskey for your thoughts?”

Dragging himself away from the labyrinth of his thoughts, Rhysand brings himself back to the sitting room of his house. He accepts the glass of golden brown liquid from Cassian with gratitude, leaning back into the soft cushion of his chair. 

“I miss her.”

Azriel’s shadows seem to flicker with a knowing gleam. He doesn’t have to ask to know who Rhysand is referring to.  “It’s only been a couple of days.”

“A couple days too long,” Rhysand replies with a sigh, prompting a chuckle from Cassian. As he swirls the liquid in his glass, mirroring the stirring emotions within him, his usually composed facade begins to waver. “She’s my mate.”

“We know,” Cassian grins, though it’s the first time Rhysand has said it. A quick exchange of glances with Azriel makes Cassian shrink back sheepishly, putting on a surprised expression. “Sorry, I mean. What??”

Rhysand glances between Azriel and Cassian. “You know?”

Cassian and Azriel exchange another guilty glance before Azriel turns to Rhysand. “We suspected,” he replies.

“You’re not exactly subtle, you know. We also heard your confession–ow!” Cassian's words were cut short as he shot Azriel a glare, rubbing his arm.

Rhysand arched an eyebrow, a mix of amusement and disbelief in his eyes. He takes a sip of his drink, the corners of his lips lifting into a wry smile. "How is it that you two heard, but she didn’t?" he asks, his tone taking on a solemn note.

“I invited her to dinner and you know what she did?” Rhysand doesn’t wait for his brothers to reply to continue. “She brought Madja and another healer with her. Thought it was a group dinner. I bought her flowers and she handed them out to her patients. Thought I had given them to the infirmary, not her. I asked her to join me for a coffee but she said she was busy and I do believe her–there’s been a nasty flu going around. By the Cauldron, is she even taking care of herself? Maybe, I should pretend to be sick just to get her to see me…”

Rhysand downs the remainder of his drink, the burn in his throat paling in comparison to the burning he feels for you. Turning to Azriel, his eyes sparkle.

“Hit me.”

Azriel chokes on his drink and Cassian grimaces as droplets land on his arm. “What?”

“C’mon. I’m sure you’ve been longing for it, especially after I sent you to parole the Illyrian camps last week,” Rhysand says with a smirk. He then angles his head, giving Azriel perfect access. He taps his jaw. “Hit me. Hard. So that I don’t heal as quickly.”

“Why aren’t you asking me?” Cassian asks, tone on the brink of offense. “I can give you a nasty black eye!”

Rhysand is about to reply when a shiver runs through the air. The room then falls into silence. Rhysand feels something teasing at the edges of his senses. His eyes narrow. There’s an unsettling disturbance within the rhythmic pulse of his court. An intruder.

Azriel’s shadows pick up on the stirrings of Rhysand’s instincts. He’s rising from his seat, ready to take on the uninvited presence. However, Rhysand, swifter than his fleeting shadows, vanishes into the embrace of the dark night before Azriel can.

**

There’s a knock on your door and you pull your gaze away from the gold trinket box Rhysand gifted you. Carefully placing it back onto your nightstand, you make your way toward the door. Madja, your mentor, is on the other side. She holds a faelight in the palm of her hand that highlights the gentle contours of her face. The small smile on her lips speaks volumes and you don’t have to ask why she’s coming for you in the late hour. Still, you can’t help but voice your curiosity as she guides you to the foyer of the infirmary.

“What is it this time?” 

“Nothing you can’t handle, I’m sure.”

You smile in greeting to the Shadowsinger who is waiting for you. He nods his head at you and without a word, offers his arm. Madja calls out words of encouragement to you. 

Azriel’s shadows wrap around you both and winnow you to Rhysand’s private residence. A beautiful and vast estate nestled in the heart of Velaris. He guides you to Rhysand’s room, though you know your way around well. As your hand reaches for his bedroom’s door, Azriel’s voice stops you.

“I must warn you…he’s in a mood.”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” you say, echoing Madja’s words from earlier. It’s more to reassure yourself than him. Azriel only smiles at you in response.

Rhysand’s room is spacious. Its walls are bathed in a deep shade reminiscent of midnight and adorned with tapestries of celestial landscapes. Everything about the room reflects the refined taste and mystical elegance of its inhabitant and what a mystery he is to you. The High Lord of the Night Court is the most powerful in Prythian history. To many, he is careless and as cold as the winds from the Illyrian mountains. 

Only those dear to him know the truth of his nature. You still can’t wrap your head around as to why he chose to let you see the man behind the mask. Perhaps, it’s all attributed to your power but with Madja living here, you don’t quite understand the need for two healers in Velaris.

“Daybreak.”

Rhysand looks like a dream. 

He stands under the arched openings of his balcony.  Wispy curtains sway with the light night breeze, carrying with them the intoxicating fragrance of citrus and sea that caresses your senses. As moonlight spills into the room, it bathes him in a stellar glow, causing his membranous wings to dance in magnificent midnight hues. You can’t help but wonder which is more beautiful–the breathtaking view of the Court of Dreams from his balcony or him.

A stifled sound from Rhysand pulls you out of your trance, blinking away a gentle intrusion you felt in your mind.

“I have a name, you know,” you remind him.

“I know.” Though his back is to you, you can hear the smirk in his voice.

He turns to face you and you pick up on the telltale signs of subtle surrender in the slump of his shoulders. His wings vanish and your eyes trace down to his chest, where he cradles a feebly wrapped arm. A subdued darkness stains the light bandage. As your eyes lift back up to his face, his lips press together into a fine line.

“Come,” you say as you motion for him to sit. With a casual flick of your wrist, your first aid kit materializes from the pocket realm, settling gracefully onto his desk.  “May I?”

Rhysand promptly slips his shirt off before extending his injured arm to you with a nod. You arch a brow. “You didn’t have to take off your shirt.”

“It’s warm here,” he protests, though a mischievous glint dances in those violet eyes of his. He leans back into his desk chair, manspreading those glorious sweat clad thighs of his. “Feel free to admire me, darling,” he smirks at you and you force yourself to look away only to catch his biceps tensing with purpose.

“You’re blushing.” He muses, his eyes tracing every nuance of your reaction. 

“Yeah, so? Never seen anyone fall for your charm before?” You retort, feigning nonchalance. Internally, you’re cursing the way your blush deepens and the way your stomach flutters at the sound of his laughter. It’s deep and alluring, wrapping around you like a sweet melody. You’d think after months of knowing him, you’d be immune to his shameless flirting.

Focus, you remind yourself as you do your best to ignore the playful smirk that continues to grace his luscious lips. So much for Azriel’s claim of Rhysand being in a mood. Whatever had soured his temper must’ve gone away, you think. Despite his injury, he looks perfectly fine to you. 

You gently grasp his forearm and begin to unwrap the bandage carefully. Up close, the flush of his cheeks become more pronounced and the thin sheet of sweat glistens on his tattooed chest. Your keen eyes immediately pick up on the black ink trickling from the small wounds on his arm. Recognition dawns in your eyes.

“These are puncture wounds from a Puca.”

“Very astute of you, darling.” 

A furrow appears on your brow as curiosity mingles with bewilderment. You can't fathom how a Puca, a dangerous creature that roams throughout Prythian, managed to get this close to someone as powerful and even more dangerous as Rhysand. 

“What did it appear to you as?”

Rhysand's demeanor undergoes a shift. A-ha, there is that sour mood you had been expecting. Something akin to embarrassment flickers in the depths of his violet eyes. He instinctively pulls his arm back, but you tighten your hold, silently demanding an explanation.

"They say that a Puca uses your own desires to lure you and then eat you," you remark, your tone a mix of caution and concern.

Rhysand, attempting to maintain an air of nonchalance, hums thoughtfully. "Is that so?"

You drop your gaze as your hands fall into the familiar rhythm of tending to his injuries. “Azriel said you were in a mood so whatever it appeared to you as, must’ve been something for it to get you this go—“

“You.”

Confusion clouds your expression, and your glowing hands still. "What?"

You can feel the heat of his gaze, so intense that it lingers on you. "It appeared as you."

A moment of silence stretches between you two. The corner of Rhysand’s lips quirk up, the silver fleck of his violet irises sparkling with a mix of amusement and something more elusive. His gaze holds yours and there’s the slightest hint of vulnerability beneath his charismatic exterior. One you don’t catch.

"You flatter me," you finally say with a soft laugh, not believing him for one bit. 

And all Rhysand can do is look at you in bewildered wonder as your hands continue to move with deliberate care. He needs to try harder.

**

Days later…

Come back home.

Those three words stare back at you. Haunting and persistent. "Home," you quietly muse to yourself.  Dawn is your home. Or so you once believed. 

A home is meant to be a sanctuary. A place of safety. A place of comfort. Over time, it transformed from your sweet haven into a source of distress. But if Dawn is no longer your home, then what is? 

Is it the Night Court? You don't feel suffocated with high expectations here. The nights may be dark, but the stars shine their brightest here. They watch over you, listening to your silent whispers. There is a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows, almost like a sense of belonging.

You crumple the letter, the tangible weight of memories folding with it. Time is healing, you remind yourself. With a heavy sigh, you turn back to the stack of books and paperwork on your desk. Yesterday had been a slow day in the clinic so Madja asked for you to accompany her while she bought supplies. She treated you to a nice dinner afterwards. It was a much needed break but now, you found yourself behind in your studies and patient’s charts.

With a glance toward your desk candle, you use your powers to light it up. Leaning forward slightly, you fix your gaze on your first report with a strong determination to finish the stack by the end of your shift. No distra–

A knock echoes through the slightly ajar door.

Your office door is often left open, a practice maintained for moments just like this - in case a patient requires urgent attention. While there’s a room in the clinic set up with rows of cots and medical equipment, your office provides an additional space for those seeking a more private examination.

"Hello, daybreak.”

Rhysand strides in, his easy confidence filling the small space of your office. You glance up only momentarily before returning your attention to the task at hand, responding with a dry humor that matches his tone.

"Hello, High Lord. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Rhysand tilts his head, his gaze lingering on you. Moving with quiet elegance, he walks past the examination table and approaches your desk instead. His attention is immediately drawn to a book resting on top of one of the many stacks. A poetry book, he recognizes, adorned with a delicate cobalt blue ribbon. 

“What’s this?”

“A gift from Azriel,” you reply casually and miss the way his face twists at the nonchalance of your tone.

 Rhysand blinks at you. “A what?”

“A book. That Azriel got. For me.” You repeat, deliberately slower this time. 

Rhysand heard you perfectly well the first time. His eyebrows knit together as he gazes at the book, a storm brewing in his expressive eyes. If looks could scorch, the innocent book would be reduced to a pile of ashes. Your birthday is months away and Solstice was weeks ago. 

“I’m hurt.”

You look up, keen eyes glancing over his form again. “You don’t look hurt.”

Undeterred, he saunters closer, swiping a finger across the papers on your desk. "Come on, surely you can spare a moment for a poor High Lord in deep pain."

You inspect his outstretched hand, where a barely visible mark is displayed on his pointer finger. "It's a papercut," you deadpan. 

“It hurts.”

"It's already healed."

Rhysand dramatically lets out a deep sigh and you suppress the urge to smile. The sound of a bell ringing–a sign that someone is in need of help–has you rising from your seat. You walk toward Rhysand, who continues to brood. Holding his gaze, you bring his hand to your mouth and press a light kiss right over where the papercut had been.

“There.” You say, giving his hand a squeeze. “Feel better now?”

Every nerve in his body tingles with excitement, and there's a giddy flutter in his stomach. “Much better,” Rhysand breathes with a grin, savoring your touch.

He doesn’t allow your hand to drop, brushing it over his cheek instead and holding it there with his own. If you can’t see the flush to his cheeks, then surely you must be able to feel its warmth.

“How can I ever repay you?”

“You’re already paying me,” you remind him with a soft exhale, a laugh almost. The sound is music to Rhysand's ears and all his heart wants to do is dance to its rhythm. He realizes he can’t let this moment slip. Not when he finally has your full attention and a golden opportunity to seek more of it.

“You can come with me to the Midnight Eclipse ball.”

“Midnight Eclipse ball,” you repeat, your voice laced with intrigue, and Rhysand can't help but admire the way your eyes gleam with curiosity. “What is that?”

“Come with me and find out,” Rhysand replies, his eyes sparkling at you. He leans in closer, captivated by the softness of your gaze, and with a smile, he boldly adds, “As my date.”

“Your date?” you ask, your breath catching slightly. 

Rhysand only hums in reply, taking pleasure in the way his cheek presses further against your hand as he does so. The look he gives you is almost pleading as he gazes down at you. 

“Okay,” you finally say after a moment of silence with a small smile of your own. “I’ll join you. When is it?”

Rhysand beams down at you, his eyes filled with warmth and anticipation. Shifting his face in your hold, he presses a kiss against the palm of your hand and now it is you who is overcome with a giddy flutter in your stomach. Rhysand, normally attuned to your every shift in expression, is too caught up in surprise to take note of it.

“Next Saturday,” he replies, holding your gaze.

The bell rings again, the sound prompting Rhysand to reluctantly let go of your hand. You give him an apologetic smile as you turn toward your desk, grabbing a couple of supplies. “I’ll see you next Saturday.”

You excuse yourself, walking around him to exit your office. Rhysand follows but chooses to lean against your doorframe, watching as you rush toward the infirmary.

“Don’t forget, it’s a date!” Rhysand calls after you, putting emphasis on the word ‘date.’

“Yes, I got it!” You reply, giving him a thumbs up before disappearing around the corner.

Rhysand smiles to himself. Though Saturday is almost five days away, he doesn’t mind the wait. Not when you just agreed to be his date. He looks down at the hand you kissed, closing it into a fist, overwhelmed with the giddy excitement building up inside him. You’re so utterly endearing. He brings his fist close to his mouth, suppressing the urge to bite it as he swoons over the thought of having you as his date for the Midnight Eclipse ball.

Reality begins to set in and his smile widens into a grin. Now, he has to plan the ball he literally just made up…

a/n: tbh, I don't know how I feel about this part. I feel like I set up expectations too high for myself because I really loved how the first part turned out and this part is kinda meh to me. anyway, I hope you still enjoyed this. I'm looking forward to writing the other part(s) as those include scenes I've had in my head for weeeeeeks lol. (You'll finally learn the little secret or two reader is hiding in the next part...any guesses? )I estimate only like 1-2 parts left, depending on how long the next part is.

tagging: @minnieoo , @phoenixgurl030, @nebarious, @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444

[sandplague]

pathologic 3 save & sound 2024 presentation

this is a quick attempt at a transcript of the presentation. I think I got most of it but there are some words I was unable to hear, I can't say I have a lot of practice doing this and that's on me so if any of you guys can help me I'll edit it asap

Ressa Schwarzwald: I'm Ressa from Gameowdio. Our team has been working on Pathologic 3 with Vasily Kashnikov and his apprentice Nikolai. This video will feature some of the audio stuff we've made together.

Our goal regarding audio direction was to give the real experience of being in the epicenter of an epidemic. Fully realistic, no bullshit. So we are obviously shooting this video in The Town. We realized pretty early that the game was quite different from the original Pathologic 2 because of the time travel mechanics. So for the prototype we built a time travel machine [the date November 1924 shows on screen], which appeared to be quite useful to record some source sounds, and [date changes to November 3024] make this video in just half a second using existing technology.

Let's start with the music.

Vasily Kashnikov: Hi, I'm Vasily Kashnikov, audio director of Pathologic 3 project. I'll tell you how our music is structured. We were already thinking about how the Bachelor's game would sound when we were working on Patholgic 2 and writing music for Haruspex. In Pathologic 2, the music had more ethnic and real motives (motifs?) and instruments. Since the city and its customs are familiar with Haruspex since he was a child, he is involved in the traditional way of life. In the case of Pathologic 3, this is the view of an outsider who evaluates everything from the point of view of rationality and science. Therefore, we are trying to make the Pathologic 3 soundtrack colder and more detached from the steppes and ethnicity in character. There is more synthesis, guitars at the same time, the Bachelor communicates with those in power so the soundtrack contains a large share of minimalist so-called furniture music that could sound in the beginning of the last century. Piano etudes and references to composers of that time: Satie, Debussy, etc. The soundtrack is a rather eclectic mix of dreampop, downtempo, and (?) minimalism.

In the city when the Bachelor is alone with himself, we emphasize the cold mind of the rhythm section: less emotional harmony, and sometimes electronic timbres. In the rooms where we need to separate the main character from those he interacts with, we use more expressive harmonies and more classical instruments: piano and guitar passages.

When we designed the interactive music system, we assumed that time is finite, and the music had to change depending on the amount of time the Bachelor had left. However, we later abandoned this system and now the music changes depending on the state of the Bachelor himself, who can fall into apathy or psychosis. To emphasize these states, we apply filters and effects to different layers of our tracks and get a slower, muffled sound in the case of apathy, and wired (?) nervous, glitchy in the case of psychosis. In the infected quarters, there are interactive systems that... [screen begins to distort] oh my god, Nataliya! Please stop this!

Nataliya Radina: Whoops, hehe, sorry. But yeah, basically the other system we created reflects everything you hear in the game. Such as... If we use our gun when dealing with the local thugs, the longer we aim the weapon at the people, the less sounds of the outside world we hear and the louder becomes the heartbeat. To add to the intensity, sharper tone was used along with a high pitch tinnitus sound. If the psychosis level goes to the maximum, it starts to damage Bachelor's health, which is accompanied by flashes on the screen, as well as low heartbeat and short breathing sounds.

Vasily Kashnikov: In the infected and rebel's quarters, there are also interactive systems that change the character of the music by adding or disabling instrument layers depending on the state of the world or the Bachelor's equipment to fight the plague. As a result, we have 12 tracks for each day spent in the city. they can freely switch between each other and several dozen themes for locations and characters, and all the music is subject to change depending on the state of the Bachelor.

Nataliya Radina: Since the game has a weather changing system, we also wanted to reflect that in our audio feedback as well. The game has global wetness parameter that shows how intense the rain is. The more it rains, the more squishy and muddy are the steps of the outside surfaces. Moreover, if you come closer to the window, you can hear the rain pondering on the glass. Even in the middle of the plague, we always have room for cozy moments, right? My favorite part of that system is involving cows. [cow moo]. So, when it's raining, you can actually hear very very soft sound of raindrops dropping on those bovine butts. And I personally think it's beautiful.

Artur Ramanouski: Hi, my name is Artur, and I was also involved in creating some sound assets for the game.

Probably the hardest thing to record were the footsteps. I had everything planned out: bought the equipment, got every type of surface, but...there was one small thing I overlooked: I live in a city with over 12 million people. Noise everywhere. The solution was simple and ingenious: I recorded everything on a Sunday, because in Buenos Ares, Sunday is the one day when no one does anything.

Nataliya Radina: One of the most important places in the game is the cathedral. There we have a system of ladders that control the speed and direction of time. Direction wise, we can have it flow normally, or reversed. [entire presentation is rewound very quickly so it's back to Ressa]

Ressa Schwarzwald: She is super professional.

Nataliya Radina: As for the speed, we can make it stand still, go twice as fast, or half normal speed. We created an audio system that has to (?) understand what is actually happening around (inaudible). When we reverse time, spatial effects are added to the surrounding sounds. Ambience, steps, and the mechanism itself. When time stands still, we increase the low frequencies in the ambience, and all the other sounds are muted to zero. Now lastly, when the time goes twice as fast, or half the original speed, the pitch of the surrounding sound changes accordingly.

The coolest part of this system is that it's been actually implemented into the game engine using only one parameter.

Ressa Schwarzwald: Thank you for watching. See you here, later!

[daphwritesworld]

#23 A. Russo– digital bath.

content: daddy kink, strap on(r receiving), eating pussy (both receiving), fingering (r receiving), hair grabbing, manhandling, cock warming, impact play, referring to strap as a cock, dom/sub relationship, top!Alessia, bottom!reader

warnings: slight intoxication while having sex, dom lessi, teammates hearing you two fuck, spankings

synopsis: You drunkenly claim that Alessia is a bottom to the team…she shows you & them just how bad you’re lying through your teeth.

word count: 2.6k

!! MINORS DNI!! 18+ CONTENT

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♥♠♥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The teams all gathered in an air bnb for the weekend. It’s supposed to be a “team bonding trip,” but considering how close you all were– it’s really just like a mini vacation. It’s the second night and well into the evening. A few hours have passed since someone, you can’t remember who broke out the wine, but you’re two and a half glasses deep already. Your girlfriend’s disappeared to the bathroom and you’re starting to clench your thighs together every time you think of her. Alcohol always brings out the more horny and risky side of you. Usually so soft-spoken and shy discussing anything like that..goes right out the window after the tipsy level has been reached.

“so who tops, you or less?” a drunk Leah lets out from across the couch.

You’d usually blush and tell her to mind her business or shut up, but the alcohol cursing through everyone’s veins was making you feel confident…and stupid. 

“Obviously, it’s me. Don’t you notice how she does everything I say or want?” a smirk crossing your face as you lift your drink back to your lips to take a sip. The burn masking the lies you know will catch up with you sooner rather than later. 

“Oh my god, she even ties your shoes for you without you asking!” Beth chimes in with a laugh 

“Or how all she has to do is give Russo one look and she shuts right up!” Lia starts getting in on the discussion. 

“See, I told you. I’ve got her on a leash—“

“And who would that be, love? With the collar on and everything?” the color drains from your face as the all too familiar voice from the hallway entrance fills the room. 

Silence follows as her footsteps get closer. You can’t even look up at her, picking at your fingers and looking at your lap to distract yourself. You don’t even look up at her when her feet are right before you. Her fingers reach for your chin, bringing your face up. When your eyes don’t follow she starts counting back from, “five.” your heartbeat starts to pick up. “four,” her voice gets more stern. “three,” her grip tightens on your jaw. “two,” you gulp as you bite your lip weighing your options. “O-“You look up at her, eyes pleading for her to be nice. 

“Look who decided to listen. Now stand u-“��

“No! Less, baby please..” 

“Stand up and say your goodnights. Now.” 

You can tell she’s not playing around from the look on her face and the tone she’s using with you. So you do as she says, rising off the couch and biding your teammate’s goodnight before she’s leading you to the room you’d be sharing for the weekend. The first one on the left as you enter the hall a.k.a the closest one to the living room where all the girls still reside. As soon as the door’s shut she’s got her hand in your hair, bringing you to the bed. She sits herself down first, laying your body down across her lap. She releases her grip on your hair before running her hands down your body, stopping at your waist to yank your shorts down. They collect at your ankles, Alessia letting a groan out as you flinch from the cold air hitting your wet pussy. 

“No panties on, babe? What am I gonna do with you, naughty girl?” 

Before you get a chance to respond she’s letting one of her hands come down onto your ass. You let out a small yelp of pain and quickly cover your mouth, going red at the thought of any of the girls hearing you from so close. 

“Move. Your. Hand.” she spanks you harder after each word, switching between cheeks to not overwhelm you. 

When you don’t make a move to comply with her, she lets out a loud sigh. Her disappointment apparent as she yanks both of your arms behind you, keeping both your wrists bound to the small of your back with just one of her hands. 

Her other one disappears for a few seconds, but before you can think about it.. you hear it. The clacking of her belt coming off, pulling it through the loops of the jeans she’d worn out tonight. 

“You’d think you would of learned to listen by now…unless you just like getting punished. Like winding me up and getting put back in your place after,” the laugh she lets out is bone-chilling. She rubs your ass a few times before you feel the first one. It’s not too bad, but enough to finally bring some tears to your eyes. 

“Alessia!’ it comes out whiney, high pitched, and so so loud. 

It’s followed by another 14, the next one harsher than the last. 

“Lessia, please touch me. I promise I’ll be a good girl for you! J-just please!” your crying at this point, slipping deeper into subspace by the second. 

“You did so good for me, Love. Took all your spankings without complaint. Now let’s reward you a bit, yeah?” She leans down to leave light kisses on your back. Rubbing softly over your ass to not hurt you more, she could tell you’d be bruised there tomorrow and aching before sunrise. You nod your head as you look back at her, tears still flowing and pussy still dripping. She doesn’t waste any time running her fingers through your folds and collecting your wetness to bring up and ghost over your clit. She brings them back down after teasing you, shoving two of her fingers into your pussy to your surprise. A loud moan rips from your throat as you get used to the stretch. The slight sting makes you wetter if possible, already creating a puddle on Alessia’s jeans. She picks her pace up when she feels it soaking through to her skin, her thumb coming up to rub your clit. 

“Lessie, you feel s-so fucking go-good!” your brain is fuzzy at this point. Stuttering and slurring your words as the pleasure starts to blind you. Your toes curling and your thighs squeezing shut– but it doesn’t last. Not for long anyway, because Alessia is pulling her fingers out and away from you. 

“That was mean!” you’re flipping your body around, arms crossed over your chest as the tears roll down your cheeks and the pout wobbles on your lips. 

“Oh look at you, crying ‘cause you didn’t get to cum. I’ve got you so fucking spoiled, don’t I?” Alessia is doing that cold laughter from before, and something about it still sends a rush down your spine. Then she’s up rummaging around in her overnight bag as you stay sulking on the bed. 

“Maybe if you apologize nicely, I’ll let you come on my cock,” it’s spoken so softly compared to everything else she’s said tonight that you fold. Your head jumps up to look at her at the end of the bed and your mouth flies open. She’s stark naked besides the lacey black bra adorning her chest, and the brand new strap-on attached to her waist. The sight truly takes your breath away for a moment until she grabs your ankles and pulls you to her. She manhandles you so her cock rests on your pussy, letting her hand come down and lightly slap your inner thigh.

“I-I’m sorry, baby! I don’t know what came over me to lie, I swear! I won’t do it again, I-I promise!”

“Mm I don’t know, Love..I think you can do a bit better than that, don’t you?” she’s giving you a knowing smirk. One you’ve only seen a few times when she’s in the mood for a certain name. Your eyes go wide, “b-but the girls-”

“Then you better stay quiet,” she says it in a way that leaves no room for discussion. 

“I’m sorry, Daddy. I’m sorry I lied to the team. I’m sorry if I embarrassed or disrespected you…so so sorry! Just wanna be your good girl and cum for you,” your hands come up and guide hers to your breasts. “Just wanna make it up to you, Daddy..”

Alessia groans shortly, cutting it off early to hear the gasp you always let out when she lines her hips up and first pushes the tip in. No matter how many times she’s fucked you, it always stretches you the same. She goes slowly and at your pace, until she bottoms out, rubbing circles on your hips as she waits for your go-ahead. After a few minutes, you look up and nod at her, giving her permission to fuck you…but nothing could’ve prepared you for the way she starts jackhammering her plastic cock into you. Pulling all the way out so she can hear your pussy squelch every time the head dives back in. 

“Ales–”

She stops for a second, throwing your legs up over her shoulders, “That’s not my fucking. Name.”. She thursts extra hard for emphasis making your eyes start to cross. Leaning forward and forcing the strap even deeper inside you at this position. 

“Daddy!” the word flies out faster and louder than anything else you’d said that night, making your girlfriend smile against your forehead as she leans down to press a kiss there. “Ohh f-fuck, your so fucking b-big!” Your hands grab at her forearms, nails digging into Alessia’s skin. 

“You like my big cock, Baby?” she’s biting at your bottom lip now, pulling it away as you moan at the feeling as she lets it go. 

“I fucking love it!” you’re staring into each other’s eyes at this point. Alessia hissing as your nails buried in her forearms start to scratch down, the burn of it creeping up and helping build towards her orgasm. She moves your hands to her back as she lets one of hers find your clit. Rolling figure eights over your sensitive bud, a white creamy ring appearing around the base of her strap. 

“C-can I cum, Daddy?” 

“Not yet, Cuore Mio. Hold it for me,” she’s finally starting to break a sweat at this point. Her baby hairs starting to stick up from her ponytail.

“I c-can’t, Less!”

“Oh yes, the fuck you can. And you will. Don’t you dare cum until I say, you understand?” her voice goes back to being stern, and her thrusts get harder, her frustration with you focusing all into her hips now. Fucking you with so much passion she swears she can feel your pussy gripping her dick like a real piece of her body. She’s too wound up to even make you correct yourself, letting the name slips go by unnoticed.

“I-I’m so-sorry!” you let out a squeal as the straps pushed out of your pussy by the liquid spraying out of it, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as your back arches. 

Alessia’s stuck between wanting to suck the squirt off your pussy or edging you till tomorrow. She settles for a groan of “Fuck, Amore Mio!”

Her fingers instantly start trailing down to replace her cock, curling them into your g-spot and rutting them into it over and over again. Your hand reaches for her wrist trying to slow her down, but it’s no use, she slaps it away with her other one. Your eyesight starts to blur as the coil in your stomach winds back up again, and you try to warn her with a few grunts and moans. She’s got you rendered speechless from the overstimulation, eyes rolling again as she closes her lips around your clit. You soak her fingers instead of her abdomen this time, placing a soft kiss on your clit before standing back up. 

That’s when you see it– the light glistening off her chin and lower mouth. Your cheeks flush as she pulls you in for a kiss, tasting yourself on her lips. 

“Turn around, Love,” she says with a frown, and you know she’s still mad at you for cumming without permission. “And get into position.” 

“Yes ma’am. I’m sorry,” and for once tonight you just do as she asks you the first time. You place your knees open before laying your head on the mattress, arching your back as much as you can. Your beaten ass is on full display for your girlfriend to see her handy work, and she can’t help but to reach for her phone and snap a photo of you like this before tossing it back down. A little reminder if you ever forget this lesson and want a sneak peek back into it again. 

Alessia grabs ahold of your waist with one hand while the other grabs her strap. She grinds against your pussy a few times, getting the strap wet before sliding in balls deep with no hesitation. This angle has the harness hitting her clit perfectly, and her fucking you wildly as she chases the feeling. You hear the groans, moans, and pants from behind you, and try to picture how pretty her face looks. Something about the sounds Alessia is making makes you throw your ass back. The hard smack of your hips hitting hers sends shock waves through her body. Her brows furrow, her grip tightens on your waist, and her sounds of pleasure start being growled into your ear. She’s got a hand in your hair– pulling your head back with a gaspy moan leaving your lips. “Fuuuck, Tesoruccio. Keep going, Baby!” 

And so you do. You push your ass back against her harder in this new position, her legs starting to shake as yours do. “I-I’m close, Lessie!”

“I’m close too, Baby! Cream all over this dick for me, go on,” she’s groaning out how much she loves you, her own cum running down and mixing with yours. Making a mess as your left brain dead, repeating “Thank you!” over and over as your body shakes from how hard the orgasm rocks you. 

She goes to pull out after you’ve both calmed down some– but you wrap your legs around her waist with a pout.

“Don’t go,” you say softly as you take her hands into yours. Interlocking them and placing them above your head.

“I’m not going anywhere, Love. just to get us cleaned up.”

“No, I mean..stay inside me, please? Wanna sleep like this, baby.”

And how could she say no to that? So she scoops you up in the same position and slowly but surely gets you placed under the covers and snuggled up against your girlfriend(and her fake cock).

-bonus-

The next morning…

After a nice wake-up fuck, courtesy of your girlfriend– you decided to slide that harness off her and eat her out. Her hand is in your hair, guiding your head along her pussy as you both try and stay quieter this time. Your eyes are on the verge of rolling just from the sight of her, her chest rising and falling as you bring her closer to the edge with every flick of your tongue.

“Fuck me with your tongue now, yeah just like that! Good girl, Love,” you’re dizzy off the praise she’s giving you, fingernails digging into her thighs as you moan into her pussy.

Her grip in your hair tightens as she starts humping up against your mouth, her wetness and cum getting all over your face as you savor the times like this when she’s the one underneath you. (even if she is the one in charge still)

When she cums for the second time in a row, she pulls your mouth up towards her own. Sharing a kiss and finally starting to get up and dressed for the day

“You brought your own clothes you know?” your girlfriend says as she pulls your back into her chest. you can feel the rumble of her laugh as she leans down slightly to leave a kiss on the back of your neck. “And you know i’ve been looking for this hoodie you, Mostriciattolo!” it’s followed by a light slap to your ass. Not too hard to hurt your bruises, but not soft enough to not feel it.

“Yeah i did ..but they don’t smell like you, or fit like yours, and well…too bad so sad, babe! Finders keepers losers weepers!” You turn around and plant a kiss on her lips before going to the door, clad in some of her training shorts and a hoodie of hers you had actually packed with you. You can still remember her running around looking for it while playing the oblivious girlfriend…But once you both make it to the kitchen it is an all-out brawl. 

“You know I never took you for the Daddy type. Leah sure, but you?? I’m actually taken aback. Some best friend you are!” Ella is the first to break the intense stare-down between everyone in the room.

“OH DADDY YEAH RIGHT THERE!”

“Who did that? I do NOT sound like that!” you finally chip in after hearing the god-awful pornstar-level rendition of your voice, a deep crimson blush spreading across your cheeks.

“I’m scarred for life after last night, remind me to never get a room next to yours again. I swear you lot they were up at 6am fucking AGAIN,” Leah grimaces at the thought, “how you two got like 3 hours of sleep and still managed to go again for two hours this morning is actually bloody ridiculous. You both should be studied in a fucking lab.”  

The kitchen breaks out into loud laughter and incessant teasing remarks as you bury your face into Alessia’s neck to hide. She’s about to rip into everyone for making you upset, but she feels the smile and the small laughs against the skin of her neck and relaxes.

[artsninspo]

002 | Richmond Inc.

「 ✦ full library & archive ✦ 」

「 ✦ aaron pierre & characters library ✦ 」

⇚ 001

♠ authors note: hi! wow, wow, wow - the first part of this is doing so well. thanks to everyone who has liked, commented and reblogged. a few notes firstly- I've changed the POV . Our OC is Lorence Cole commonly referred to as Cole professionally, no worries though she’s very much a black woman.

♠ summary: Terry Richmond is still keen on recruiting Lorence for the open directors position within his security firm. Her stellar results during both tactical and physical trials makes her a top candidate but his reputation is in the way of her eager acceptance of the offer.

♠ pairing: Terry Richmond (Aaron Pierre - Rebel Ridge) X Lorence Cole (Black Fem OC)

♠ word-count: ~1.5K

⌖ - Richmond Inc. Training HQ

Second to being in the presence of the Boss, tactical day is my second least favourite part of my job. It’s not that I’m a pacifist but the idea of pulling the trigger and striking a human being in a vital artery is the last thing I want to be doing. Securing my ear protection I let the rounds go being as precise as possible so I can leave sooner than later. This training is proactive and preventative for agents like me who never see the more violent side of the field. It's a necessary evil. A team is only as strong as their weakest link and if shit ever hits the fan I never want to be the person left behind who can't carry their own weight.

“Hey Cole join our competition” a couple of the guys call as I pack up the firearm.

“No thanks” I respond. “Wouldn’t want to make you boys look bad.” I add playfully and they all laugh telling me my comment is wishful thinking. The Boss is huge on being proactive. Since its inception Richmond Inc. has only lost one employee while on assignment. That was while he was being a hero and not doing what we were trained to do. I move onto a larger weapon and look through the scope taking the stationary targets down one by one before heading  on to the moving targets course. This one is a simulation, kind of like virtual reality but it feels real. It’s a culmination of all of our training, unfortunately us women are required to perform it twice. Once with heels and the other time in footwear of our choosing. My score is satisfactory and I relax after finishing the tactical portion. I take a short breather before I head to finish the physical training. Some of the field agents come out to place the weighted vests and ankle weights on me before I’m forced into the pool. Stay afloat for twenty minutes or cross the length of the pool twice. I manage the crossing with difficulty before I’m pulled up from the up edge. It’s the track that sees me next. I dry off as much as I can before making quick work of the three miles within the time constraints. When I’m finished I take my time in the sauna before changing. I get dressed and make myself presentable before emerging from the facilities. I’m gonna need an energy drink and a coffee to make it through the rest of today. Chatter gets my attention and I find the Boss standing in front of the exit. I look for another exit to avoid any interactions. I curse myself again for finishing so quickly - I wouldn't have if I knew he was in town.

“Lorence, of course you’re top twenty” A familiar voice shouts, blowing my attempt at discretion. Still, I smile at the sight of my mentor wearing a proud smile. Joel taught me everything I know about passing both the tactical and physical trials, lord knows I was bottom ten when I first joined the firm. “Rich told me you declined a director position. Why would you do that? You have everything it takes.” He asks discreetly. Unlike the Boss Joel is generous, kind and patient. He spoiled me with his easy going temperament. If it were a director position under him there’d be nothing to discuss. I’d sign the dotted line in a heartbeat. The possibilities of how ugly this job can become would be my only worry and not verbal abuse from time to time.

“I’m not good under pressure” I mutter.

“Yeah fucking right. How many times have you talked us out of a bind?” Joel asks like a proud father figure. His greatest leadership quality is that he likes to see others shine and knows how to get the light out of them. “More than half of us in the field aren’t as smart as you. Negotiate. The Boss isn’t above reason and always puts the company first. I can put in a good word.” Joel offers.

“It’s not that I’m smarter, it's that none of you guys listen. I’m not interested in Joel” I respond jokingly.

“No, your testing proves you’re the right one for the position” he says.

I sigh. “I enjoy my life, okay?”

“What, sitting on an overpriced couch? Spending hours cooking for one?” Joel teases and I glare at him while he has a laugh at my expense.

“Come on, try the winter circuit - it’s lowkey and easy to get your feet wet. You can shadow me. $750k to do what you can do in your sleep” Joel says being a salesman.

“What? Do you get a commission?” I tease.

“No, I'll get my best agent back.” Joel says.

I take a deep breath in and weigh my options. “I have one condition before I seriously consider it. If you don’t think it’s possible then drop it”

“What” Joel asks, brow raised and ready for a challenge.

“I deal with you and not the Boss” I tell Joel who seizes up. His brows bunch like it's the most ridiculous request. Confusion covers his expression, most of why people become directors is for the position's proximity to Mr. Richmond. It's worth his weight in gold. “You know I make mistakes in the beginning and he’s an eagle eyed freak who blows up on people. I don’t do well with that. If you can take the tirades for me I’ll consider the promotion” I explain and understanding settles into his expression. He nods looking down dimples settling into his cheeks.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” Joel laughs shaking his head side to side.

I’m not at all amused. “It’s my line, it’s my condition. I like peace” 

“Are you being this insane for praise too or just criticism?” Joel asks, patronizing me.

“Both are fine with me, they can trickle down through you” I shrug and the hulk himself comes over looking down at his tablet. Black cashmere sweater, silver watch, grey cargos and a fresh trim. Stop it, I scorn my thoughts as he joins us.

“Impressive results Cole” Richmond says.

“Thank you, Joel taught me everything I know” I confess and Joel gives me a half smile.

“She’s a quick study” Joel says, throwing a compliment back my way.

Richmond continues scrolling on the tablet before pausing. He looks up with visible concern. “Monitors show significant distress while shooting.”

“Pacifist” Joel smiles looking from me to the Boss. “Unless bugs are involved. No bodies, no blood” Joel explains.

“Hmm” Richmond says, tapping on the tablet.

“You’re virtually fearless though” he says, continuing to scroll like I'm not right in front of him.

“Exactly. An unreasonable amount of disregard for her own well being but tremendous concern for others. It’s what makes her one of one” Joel says, being exactly the kind of sponsor I’d want under any other circumstance.

“I see,” the Boss nods, looking at me. I hold his gaze for a few seconds before turning back to Joel.

“Well Joel I hope you know you’re getting nothing for that flattery. I’m heading home. Mr. Richmond” I interject nodding in the Boss’ direction to cut the conversation short. It’s like a part of me knows observing Richmond from afar is fine but up close it’s hard to forget I'm in the presence of someone absolutely lethal.

“Drive safe” Joel responds and I nod.

“You too, thanks” I force a smile heading out the front door and into my car where I take a few deep breaths. When I pull out of the lot I see Joel and Richmond in conversation and cringe internally. The agent in me says suck it up and take the position but every other part is warning bells that say stay away. Just the thought of one of his full metal jacket tirades makes me shudder in place. Maybe that’s what was required of him in the army but it doesn't inspire people like me who want to do good. I don’t need anyone telling me what an idiot I am after I make a mistake I know better than anyone else. I was sick for a week when one of my proposed exit routes was subject to a traffic jam. I was the head logistics navigator and spent the next thirty minutes covering my ass to save the clients. Although everything went off without a hitch I demoted myself. Joel was generous but no amount of consolation minimized the fact that I shit the bed. I ran another 10 assignments at a subordinate rank before I felt comfortable at head rank again. The margin of error for director’s is less forgiving under certain circumstances. Gaining intel and filtering for what's necessary is no small feat the success of every project is on your shoulders and so are everyone else’s fuck ups.

New directors are routinely on the Bosses bad side and that's a place I never want to be.

003 ⇛

authors note: thanks for reading 🖤 sound off in the comments on if you think Lorence is making good or bad decisions in regards to her promotion and how we think Mr. Richmond handles her terms 💭 cant wait to see what you all think!

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[nincompoopydoo]

Hey! Can you please write something for Aaron Hotchner with the prompt ‘I never saw such a woman, she would certainly be a fearsome thing to behold.’ ?

YOU ARE IN LOVE

PAIRING: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader WORD COUNT: 800+ SUMMARY: Hotch is in love and you’re trying to figure out who. Little did you know… A/N: can u tell i love writing confessions ;-; and peek the ts reference! anyway hotch has my whole heart. thanks for the request! note: paragraphs in italics is a flashback. WARNINGS: swearing. reader being kinda clueless. mentions of a gun. no beta we die like men. PROMPT: “I never saw such a woman. She would certainly be a fearsome thing to behold.” [from this prompt list] MASTERLIST

“I know that look, Hotch,” you hint with a natural inquisitive tone, “You are in love.”

This was normal for the two of you – an unlikely friendship with a shared need for coffee to survive late-night paperwork, rudimentary for a budding friendship of otherwise Quantico strangers. You crossed paths from your work with the CNU on the floor below and first backed the BAU a year ago with a hostage negotiation. You were new to the job but rose quickly up the ranks. Ever since, you kept seeing each other everywhere.

11 pm. Coffee. You’d always meet.

He isn’t sure how the topic of being in love came about, but he suspects you had a hunch for quite some time. For a moment, Hotch’s heart drops at your words but quickly catches the curiosity in your tone, and the general ignorance to the fact that your prying means a lot more to him than you realised.

You really haven’t got a clue.

Hotch feels a beckoning of warmth flaring in his cheeks, spurring a sheepish smile and a passing light chuckle. His gaze trails the rising steam billowing from his black coffee and disappearing into the expanse of his office.

He shifts his eyes to you, casually hunched in your seat, legs stretched out, and your coat hung at the back of the chair. You’re watching him with a curious look.

“In love is a bit of a stretch.”  

That’s a lie. He’s very much in love with you.

Your smile curves into a sly smirk. You know he’s lying.

“So, you don’t deny it?”

“Are you interrogating me?”

You scoff, shifting in your seat to cross your arms. “Look, be thankful I’m not using hostage negotiation tactics on you right now. Answer the question, Hotch.”

Hotch laughs, and it leaves him with a small smile. He shakes his head, gaze falling to his mug once more. “I don’t deny it.”

You simply hum. “I won’t pry, but I believe it’s customary to tell me how you met and what she’s like.”

Hotch raises a brow, and you reflect his expression – it’s a challenge. He’ll never make it out of Quantico if he doesn’t tell you.

With a heavy sigh, he ultimately gives in. 

“We first met on the field. She assisted us on a case…”

“Agent Hotchner!”

He spins around to see you trudging across the road while strapping on your tactical vest. You introduced yourself with a polite smile through squinted eyes under the glaring sun and shook his hand. Firmly.

You’re CNU – hostage negotiator. A fresh face.

“We appreciate you coming on short notice,” Hotch says curtly, though the smile that tugs his mouth betrays his usually serious demeanour.

“Well, anything for our upstairs neighbours.” You beam up at him, and Hotch prays that his suddenly flushed cheeks are hidden under the shade of the nearby trees.

You make a final adjustment to your vest with a light huff and unclasp the holster that secured your gun, withdraw it and extend your firearm to Hotch in a heartbeat. It’s a silent request and an act of trust.

Hotch hesitantly took the gun from your grasp. “You sure about this?”

You pressed your lips in a thin line. You were terrified. “Yeah... Unsub isn’t gonna talk with a gun in his face.”

Another smile his way. “Just cover me while I’m in there.”

Your words resonate with a heaviness that strikes directly at his heart. There’s a clear passion for your job despite your horrified disposition. It isn’t noticeable, but he sees it. He respects that about you.

Hotch just nods assuringly, “Always.”

“– Alright, pause. She’s highly intelligent, an excellent communicator, fears nothing, and I’m assuming incredibly hot...” You stop yourself and laugh to yourself, expression gleaming with amusement. “I never saw such a woman. She would certainly be a fearsome thing to behold.”

You don’t mean to, but he can see you trying to ‘crack the case’: the identity mysterious woman. He knows you’ll uncover the truth eventually. Despite harbouring a confession for months, Hotch understands there may never be a right time. It needs to be now.

So, he allows you to piece it together.

“She certainly is.”

You’re not listening anymore, brows shooting up like you just had a revelation. “Wait, you mentioned she’s a negotiator?”

“Yeah, she’s from the floor below.”

Your brows furrow with confusion.

“The floor below?! But there’s only Annie, who’s very much happily married, and–”

A beat. Realisation settles upon your face, and Hotch’s heart leaps.

Oh.

OH.

You blink at him, dumbfounded.

It’s you.

“...You’re in love with me?”

Your words are barely audible and careful, bearing their fragile weight and gravity. There’s a crease between your brows, eyes gleaming with expectancy. 

He has never been so sure.

“Yeah, I think I am.”

A beat. He says it so plainly that it assures any doubts you had before. Your breath hitches.

Hotch is in love with you.

Instantly, your face splits into a bashful smile as you reach for his hand, a gentle touch to your palm, fingers intertwined with your own.

“I think I’m in love with you too.”

[hoshinasblade]

For real, the animator had ri have been a Hoshina loyalists. Cause no way he looks that bad. For a Narumi prompt it could be funny that he gets with someone that doesn't know him. Someone who doesn't believe he is the 1st division captain because they only see him as the "wet cat" version of himself. And we have Narumi losing his mind over the fact you don't believe him

(not sure where tumblr took my post again because i cant find it lol) the budget went to hoshina and his tight shirt and there was nothing left to animate narumi properly. anyway, this is such a cute and interesting prompt because because yes, he is losing his mind over you not believing he is the cool first division captain 😆

pairing: gen narumi x f!reader trigger warnings: narumi gen is a trigger warning himself, just super short because im not used to writing anything narumi-related yet. hopefully you don't get mad at me anon for not going exactly per the ask lol my brain is a mush right now, i'll try harder on my next fics

the rich man is here, shouted the kids from the hallway. you can hear their hurrying footsteps - excited little taps that in turn triggered your heartbeat to race as well. you shut your eyes, calming yourself down.

narumi gen is not exactly a rich man; the children in the orphanage just calls him that fondly. apparently he has been dropping by for years, way back when you weren't working as a teacher yet. the older orphans refer to him as nii-san.

narumi would bring toys snd snacks for the kids, and would spend time with them until the early evening before he has to say goodbye. last time, he played video games with everyone; he brought crayons and sketch boobs for his visit today, and within an hour, it was eerily quiet - the little girls and boys holding their pencils, drawing all sorts of things.

the youngest in your herd, a six-year old boy with a missing front tooth ran to you when he saw you by the door, showing you his drawing - a stick-man figure with a knife in its hand, and an animal beside it which you were not sure whether it's an oversized dog or a giraffe.

"it's a kaiju, and narumi nii-san is fighting it", the boy explained, and you patted him in the head. "he's a captain of his team, i'm gonna be like him when i grow up!"

you looked at narumi who is sitting on the floor, but he was already looking at you. you shifted your gaze. "this is so pretty, we should display it in the art wall", you suggested to the boy who grinned at you, clapping.

"you know that it's not a good thing to do, lying to kids, right?" the children had bid narumi goodbye just past 7pm, and although some of them cried, narumi was quick to promise he would be back next weekend. you were surprised, he used to only be here once a month.

"huh?" he responded to you with confusion. you walked him out the orphanage to the parking lot outside. "i don't know what you're talking about."

"look, i know you are trying to be nice. and i thank you for that. what you've done for these kids is more than anyone else have done for them. but telling them you're some guy who kills kaiju is wrong. and telling them they can be like you?" you scoffed.

narumi's mouth was wide open before he realized you have finished your speech. "but i am a guy who kills kaiju", he replied, his hand on his chest as if he is swearing on his life. "really, i'm not lying. i'm the captain of my team -"

"right, and you fight kaiju on the daily," you finished his sentence for him.

"yes, i am a real badass, i promise!" he exclaimed when he sensed you do not believe him in the slightest. it looks comical how he looks close to panicking over the fact that you are not buying whatever he's selling. he frowned at you, and you stared at him, the eye contact lasting for a few seconds.

maybe this guy is a con-artist and he makes his living manipulating people, you said to yourself. this would make a lot of sense considering you think he has the good looks to lure people in. narumi had flirted at you once or twice before - or you wish he was flirting and you were not just reading too much on his actions.

"you know if you meet my friends, they would tell you the truth," he suggested, his voice cheerful.

"why would i meet your friends?" you asked, equally confused.

"so they can tell you that i am the coolest captain of the anti-kaiju defense force. they would also tell you i am a good man and a dependable friend," narumi said, reciting maybe the contents of his curriculum vitae to you. is he in a job interview? you wanted to ask but didn't.

you sighed in defeat. "are your friends as exasperating as you are?" you asked in jest.

"come on, let me impress you", he told you with sincerity that is almost startling. you were not expecting him to sound so genuine, so adamant at proving himself to you.

the kids will have their dinner in a few minutes and you will be needed to help out. you gave narumi one last glance before strolling back to the orphanage. "i'm off on fridays", you said.

narumi's smile could have lighted the entire street.

[marchsfreakshow]

Withdrawals And Heartache [Kai Anderson]

Angst / smut teasings

Your friend got you into a cult when you moved back into town for a bit. Not that you knew it was a cult. But, the leader...looks oddly familiar.

Request for anon who suggested a part 2 to 'A Drug For His Heart' !! Ur request honestly gave me so many ideas so thank u for that.

Some warnings: smut implications has non-con, reference to hitting, Kai himself. Mentions of religion/corruption. Ultraviolence references but the roles are reversed. We got everything here at MarchsFreakshow

No one's perspective

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

"look just come to one. It'll be worth it."

"Hm.."

You looked at your friend with distain. Being back in this town, knowing the possibility that Kai still lived here tugged at you. Well...you hadn't seen him so far, what was the possibility of seeing him at this... meeting you were suggested? You figured 100% you wouldn't see him.

The man's voice was lower, his face darkened by the shadows. You almost clung to your friend when you walked into the room with them. This place looked familiar. But you didn't put it past you, plenty of houses in this town looked similar to one another. Maybe it was your ditzying memory. 2 years away and a job that paid you well. There was not much here for you apart from family.

"Finally."

His voice rung through your ears. Your friend sat you down with them at the back. Why that voice...like the one that whimpered your name so long ago? Despite those lingering thoughts, his face was still hidden by the shadows. Quick, lingering glances to you. Like he knew you. His eyes on you had you slightly squirming. Adjusting your legs casually, pulling your coat sleeves down. He took notice of it all.

"You. Stay sat." His finger pointed directly into your eyes. Silently eyeing your friend, begging them to stay. Yet, they left in the crowd. Eyes meeting eyes. His footsteps, calculated, short and sour.

Standing up, you left your chair, to stand in front him. The stringy, greasy blue hair, the boba black eyes, the nose. The hands.

Kai.

"Kai.."

He repeated your online name. It made you cringe slightly. "You looked familiar. Why are you back in town?"

"Family."

"Tell me something...your real name. The one people use to devote their time to you."

Slightly stuttering, you got out your real name.

This wasn't the incel, nervous, shaky loser you met on Reddit over 2 years ago. Kai stood taller. Still had terrible hygiene. Atleast one thing never changed. He was more confident in himself, proud and ready to kill. And..the blue hair. It almost confused you. Why blue? He looked perfectly fine the way he did with his natural hair.

"It suits you." A moment of almost awkward silence between the two of you. "Why did you move? Was it me?"

"It wasn't you." It was him. Another step towards you, and his hands confidently found the small of your back. Not reminiscent of his shaky, nervous hands on your waist and your back when he held you close, when he pulled you flush against his chest. Yet that heartbeat stayed the same. Picking up it's own pace once he had you in his arms once again. "Ha...Kai." You breathed out, sprawling your hands over his chest, almost an instinct to push him away.

No. He couldn't have you push him away. Not after what you put him through. "I missed you."

"...I didn't."

Those dark eyes, somehow darker when Kai stared his soul into your soul. Rage. Confusion. Why didn't you miss him? He poured his heart out to you when it was so long ago. Shouldn't you've taken it all to him when you noticed it was him? The dim light over you flickered like a horror movie, a horrible cliché. His fingers digging themselves into your coat fabric, holding himself back from doing something that could drive you away from him.

Kai missed you. He had back in his arms. After so long. He held himself back. His true love. His love for you wasn't enough. Was it? It never was enough. Why was loving you hard? It was so easy...when you were the same person. "I'm different now Kai." Like you knew what he was thinking. "I'm healthier...not wasting away in front of a-"

His hand struck you. A quick, hard slap over your cheek. The reddening skin covered just as speedily with your own hand. "Kai-!"

"Do you really think you're that much different from when you were depending on me?"

"..what the fuck Kai?!"

Meeting your gaze, levelling himself. This definitely wasn't Kai. Whoever it was, you wanted out. Now. "..Still a pretty one. I suppose you're one with a rosary on your bedstand. Hoping for a better world."

No retort after a few minutes. Steeling silence with a unclear gaze, your hand still soothing the sting of your cheek. It almost earned a huff of a chuckle from the blue haired man. Why blue? "Believe yourself to be a lamb? Innocently following the word of god?" Well...you wouldn't go so far as to call yourself a lamb of god. But maybe you read a few verses on Sunday. Visited the church and made a donation when you felt you needed some time away from your own head. Not a full puppet to the landscape of religion. Silent still. Not giving up yet? Kai had seen that. Seen how you were digging your stare into those eyes of his.

"Your god has only let you down." Taking a step around you. Breathing out a sigh, putting his hands on yours and wrapping them around you. Pressing his cheek to the side of your head. Like he was taking you in. "If god...truly loved you..why has you lead you here?"

Your lips were sealed. No response. There was no way you were giving into his stupid tauntings. He was doing this on purpose. Riling you up. You ached to lay your hands back on him. Yet, not wanting to give the desperate man an inch of your time. Such a different man to the one you knew, but still the same. Needing your attention, and your touch at all times like the loser in his mom's basement.

Now that was mentioned...you were here. In the basement. This..was infact Kai's house. How could you be so stupid? Of course this was Kai's place!! You knew the hallways looked familiar. The whole house. "fuck."

"There we go... can't keep yourself quiet for long. Even when I begged you to stay quiet." He lead you over to a table. Even if that did include a bit of thrashing and refusals. Attempting to get yourself away. Such a pitiful thing. So pitiful. The stinging of your cheek had lessened by this point, but it was still there. Never backing yourself down however. You'd gotten this far. Such a pretty thing. "I've missed you..Even if you haven't missed me."

Not particularly wanting to give into your fate, you continued to struggle. Attempts to get away from him; cut your trip short and go back home.

As much as you would never admit it, Kai did appear in your mind once or twice after you moved away. How could he not? For one, he took your virginity. You took his. That was something important to you, and you yanked it away from eachother.

Like how he yanked your jeans away from you. The cold air hit your thighs before you could respond. Both of you stayed silent. His belt hit the ground. You still felt the same. Gripping onto you. Playing with your skin as he got used to how you felt around him again. Whimpering your name again. But your actual name this time. Not your online name.

Somehow become his again, even though you'd leave again in a week or so.

"fuck..mine.."

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

Tags: @babygorewhore / @taintandviolent / @oceanblvd111 / @nahoyasboyfriend / @coentinim / @slutforgarlogan / @briaroftheroses @am3ricanh0rrorwh0re /. @evanpeterspeter / @feefymo / @fear-is-truth / @lacucarachapisser / @marchsfreak / @saintlucretia / @jazz-berry / @t8-ak47 / @lemoniiiiiii / @xrag-dollx

[endzithefangirl]

Scandals

Authors note: So, let's talk the Sinner doping thing first. I think the story is legit, it was one billionth of a gram. But, I do think that if Jannik wasn't no. 1 and from Italy he would have been suspended until the investigation ended. Still found innocent, but he'd be benched for a few months at least. As for Carlos smashing rackets... Honestly it was hot. At least to me... I was shocked because he never does stuff like that but I think the Olympic final was still in his mind and he just lost it. Anyway, enjoy these crappy shot fics!

Summary: Two short stories in which our two talented young tennis players, who have recently been in 'scandals', need a little reassurance

Warnings: English isn't my first language, no use of Y/N, gender not specified, everything stated in the Autors note is my opinion and I do not ask everyone to agree!

Word count: 711

Carlos Alcaraz x Reader

"Hey," you say as you enter Carlos' hotel room. "You okay?"

"Mmmmh, come here," he replies, looking you up and down. You walk over and hug him, smoothing out his messy hair. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you in close, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck and taking a deep breath. You hold him tight. "What was that about, hm?" you ask cautiously, referring to his anger at the court. He leans his forehead against yours, sighing.

"I just lose myself sometimes. I get too in my own head, too competitive, too hard on myself." He presses closer against you.

"You broke a racket; we were all so shocked..."

Carlos huffs, slightly embarrassed. "I know, I lost my temper... again. I should have done better, but I just couldn't keep it together."

"It's okay," you say, trying to calm him down. "It's okay, baby. Everyone has off days. You weren't feeling great, and Monfils just decided to play his best."

He exhales loudly. "I know, I know, but it's just so irritating. I wanted to win so badly, needed to win so badly... but I just kept screwing up and making stupid errors and—" He stops talking and rests his forehead against your shoulder.

"It's okay. Now you need to relax, get back into the headspace for the US Open. Okay?"

He wraps his arms around your neck, his body pressed tight against yours. "Will you help me? Help me relax?"

"What do you want me to do, baby?" you ask, looking gently into his eyes. Carlos' grip around you tightens, and a vulnerable look enters his eyes. He lets out a deep sigh as he lays his head on your chest. Your touch is soothing as his arms wrap around you, his eyes closing, melting into your embrace.

"You better, baby?"

He nods, nuzzling his face against you. "...Much better…" He pulls you tighter against him, almost like he doesn’t want to let go. Carlos stays there, listening to your heartbeat, feeling the steady rise and fall of your chest. He presses gentle kisses against your collarbone and shoulder, feeling a little clingy.

"Mmm, you wanna stay like this for a bit?"

He nods, slightly embarrassed by the clinginess but too tired to care. "...Just a little longer..."

Jannik Sinner x Reader

"Damn, they really booed you," you say as Jannik comes back from his first-round match. Jannik sighs in annoyance. He walks to his locker and grabs a towel. With a hint of irritation, he responds, "That’s nothing new."

He takes off his sweat-soaked shirt. "Yeah, but... they were really booing. It's because of the doping scandal—" He pulls out a clean shirt and starts getting dressed. "I don’t know why they still think I’m cheating..."

"...Well, you did get off better than most people would have..."

Jannik closes his locker a bit too hard. He runs a hand through his curly red hair and looks at you. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Well, if you weren't world number one, and you didn't have the fancy lawyers, and if it wasn't one billionth of a gram—"

He cuts you off, getting closer to you. The annoyance is evident in his voice. He looks you in the eyes, his tone low and serious. "You think I’m protected because I’m world number one and have money for fancy lawyers?"

"Do you think that if it was me, they would have let me play before I defended my case?"

He's silent for a moment, thinking about what you just said. His face slowly relaxes, and he looks away. "No, probably not…" he says, his voice calmer now.

"Look, I know you're innocent," you say, standing up and wrapping your arms around his bare shoulders. "But you need to know that you got the absolute best-case scenario that most people wouldn't get."

Jannik's face is now completely relaxed too. A few beads of sweat run down his bare chest. He puts his sweaty arms around your waist and looks into your eyes again. He doesn't argue with you anymore because he knows you are right. "I didn’t really see it like that before…"

"You're not a bad person, Jannik. You're just so fucking lucky it's annoying."