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a-edgar-allan-hoe · 2 years ago

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Wild Horses

Part 1

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Doctor!Reader

Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4

A/N: Just a little idea I had after seeing all the TikToks and now I am yanked onto the Ghost train. I used to watch my brother play the game but that was a while ago so bear with me here. (advice or little pointers are much appreciated). I also might make this into a short story or add another part to it, let me know y’all. Comments and reblogs are much appreciated!

Summary: Imagine being the new physician assigned to the team and a certain masked individual takes a new keen concealed interest in you. The two of you are too awkward to function.

Warnings: language, fluff, angst

You were assigned to the team as their personal physician, as requested by the higher ups in order to make sure the soldiers stayed in best health, both physically and mentally. You used to work at your local hospital before you were offered the position.

You knew the dangers and the risks involved, but you were in debt and had student loans that needed to paid. So after much hesitation, you accepted the offer, eventually being convinced by the fat paycheck.

You remembered the day you were first introduced to the team, the way everyone's eyes glued to you like a hawk, their large forms towering over your small frame in the room while you picked at the skin around your nails in nervous habit.

They were curious to say the least, wondering what the hell someone like you was doing in a place like this. And since when did they get the chance to have a full on doctor to treat them, usually they were offered combat medics. You had guts, that's for sure.

You on the other hand were nervous, frightened even, with the thought of living in the same quarters of men wrapped up within the tumults and afflictions of war without a single clue as to their current psychological state. You had seen the worst of men and humanity growing up and you no idea who these soldiers were, what they were capable of, or what their intentions might be. Maybe you should have requested that briefing before you hopped on that plane.

Amongst all of their gazes, you had failed to notice a certain masked individual in the far back of the room, his form shrouded amongst the others as he studied you. His eyes, hidden underneath the grooves of his mask that only seemed to be darkened by where he stood blocked by the only source of light, watched your every movement, from every gesture of your perfectly manicured fingers to every smoothing of the lint-free fabric of your sweater to the way you kept shifting your weight from one foot to another.

One thing was apparent; during the entire length the high ranking officer next to you introduced you and debriefed the men on what was expected and such, you had not uttered a single word, minus the small polite and somewhat strained smile on your face while your eyes told another story. Why the military truly hired you, he may never know.

After being shown your little office and workspace including your room, you were quick to settle in, decorating the area to the best of your abilities with what you had taken with you from back home in order to bring some life into the dull and two-dimensional area. If anyone questioned you on it you would just say that your own sanity is extremely vital in order to ensure quality treatment for your patients.

Once everything in your office was set up, you threw on your white coat and retreated yourself to your office space, sitting at your desk and hastily going over the files that you had completely forgotten about that were given to you regarding the soldiers' previous health before they come pouring in reporting symptoms of god knows what. Best be prepared. Jesus how many bullet wounds can a single individual have.

The soldiers were advised to do their routine physical examinations with you so the first one to come waltzing in through your office door was none other than Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, a cheeky grin plastered on his face and much too excited for his own good. That boy's got a crush on you I swear. To be honest I'd be lying if I said the whole team didn't have a schoolboy crush on you.

The men were quick to warm up to you, relieved to have a gentle soul in their midst after all the shit that goes down outside, you were like breath of fresh air. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to bring a doctor on board, as quiet and reserved as you were. They speculated you were just shy, the reason why you never spoke much, not knowing that you just couldn't hold a conversation if your life depended on it, especially around those you weren't close with. At first they couldn't tell because of your major rbf.

During their routine check-ups or whatever issue they had going on, they would do most of the talking, which was a good thing on your end because it helped you to piece together their temperaments. Thank the lord no one is a psycho murderer. Oh wait.

Soap is the most chattiest of them all. Boy wouldn't shut his mouth when he sat in your office. He's super flirty. But not as flirty as Alejandro.

Ghost on the other hand was reluctant to step into your office for his check-ups. After all he was usually the one to tend to his own wounds or just push through whatever it is that is going on, so he did not know what all the fuss was about in having to get his health checked. So when you call out his last name more than once might I add, clipboard in hand and scanning the area for whoever looks to be headed in your direction, he can't help but heave out a sigh, trudging over to where you stood, your clean white coat a stark contrast to the rest of the environment as you leaned against your door to hold it open.

You muttered out a small hello to which he let out a small huff as you moved aside to let the man enter, watching him walk into your office and seat himself down. That man intimidated you a bit not gonna lie. Not only could you not see his face but he had also not said a single word to you. And not to mention he was absolutely huge as compared to you, even more so in person. You also had heard a lot of stories from the other guys.

"How is your day?" You ask, shutting the door behind you as you briefly read over his previous but extremely short records on your clipboard. There's barely anything on this man. Does he not get ill?

Ghost is quiet at first, watching your eyes scan over the clipboard and curious to know just what is on those papers before your eyes flit up to meet his and catch him off guard, which causes him to answer abruptly. "Fine."

"Okey dokes." You give a quick smile.

Did you just say okey dokes.

Clearing your throat, you go over to where he sat and set the clipboard down on the table next to you beside your laptop. You didn’t have to read his body language to know he did not want to be here at all. So you were going to do him a favor and make the appointment as quick as possible.

"So do you have any allergies to any medications, any allergies I need to know of?" Your fingers hover over the keyboard of your laptop as you turn to face him, only to be met with an expressionless skull of a mask and the expressionless eyes beneath. Oh boy this session was going to be something. You had heard of how he had never shown his face, so you made sure not to question on it.

"No ma'am."

"Are you currently taking any medication?" You ask the same standard set of questions you have asked every single patient of yours, typing as you go.

"No ma'am."

Any previous illness? Disease?"

"No."

The more you ask him questions, the more he strangely finds it easier to answer. Your voice is surprisingly soft, warm even, like the start of autumn, and he finds it comforting to listen to. Or maybe it's just some technique doctors learn during training in order to relax their patients.

"Do you have any history of smoking, alcohol, or illicit drug use?"

".......sometimes I'll have a smoke, and a glass of bourbon." He's almost waiting for you to hand him a pamphlet about the dangers of smoking.

"How many times would you say?" You ask for details, your eyes still glued to the screen of your laptop as you await his answer.

Ghost is a bit confused by the amount of questions you ask, but he also has not been to the doctor's so how would he know. "Um I don't know."

"A rough estimate is fine."

"Not much, maybe 2-3 times a week or so when I'm not on duty."

"How many times a week do you exercise?" You feel silly for asking this question to a man like him but it's all part of the procedure and you almost pray he doesn't hate you for it.

"Every day." So no pamphlet?

Jesus this man has more discipline than you. You can barely get up in the morning.

"Okayyy." You mutter out, more to yourself as you enter in his responses.

Ghost finds himself watching you from his seat on the chair, his eyes tracing over and studying your features as you type away on your laptop. He thinks you're really pretty but either doesn't want to admit it or just flat out does not know that he finds you attractive.

There are certain details about you that he can't help but find himself intrigued by, like the small black outline flower tattoo on your hand that was located near the area of your thumb, running along the curve to meet the knuckle of your forefinger. He's curious as to the meaning behind it, if there was one. He wanted to ask what type of flower it was, perhaps it was your favorite? It would give him an idea as to what flowers to get you.

"Have you ever been hospitalized, had any surgical procedures done or been treated for any chronic conditions?"

"No." Ghost shakes his head before remembering his wounds from combat, wondering if that is something you should know. "Just the bullet and knife wounds from combat. Nothing too serious."

Jesus fucking christ. You were willing to bet he treated those wounds himself.

Ghost is not a fan of hospitals. Pretty sure this dude just looks up YouTube tutorials on how to fix himself instead of just going to the doctor like a normal human being.

"When was the last time you visited your general practitioner.......or just any doctor in general?" You ask the last question, willing to bet it never.

There was silence on his end as you looked towards him waiting for an answer, the clicking of your keyboard coming to a stop and only loudening the silence. Ghost could not remember the last time he had been to a hospital or even scheduled a visit. And as you looked at him, your eyes almost staring into his soul, still waiting for a response, he could not help but feel a tad bit embarrassed, as if you were judging him for not being a responsible adult. Also it didn't help that you were goddamn pretty.

"I'm gonna take that as a very long time, the last time being the prehistoric ages, correct?" There's the slightest hint of a tease in your voice.

"Uh.......yes ma'am." Ghost squints his eyes at you as you go back to typing on your keyboard. Did you just.............did you just call him…..He does not know how to feel about that. Did you just try to crack a joke? He always thought doctors were the serious type.

"Okay then." You straighten up, grabbing your sphygmomanometer off the table and turning yourself to face him. "Is it okay if I check your blood pressure?"

The man is stunned. No one has ever asked his permission for anything before. He's so used to either taking orders or giving orders that he doesn't know how to respond and stares at you for a moment, forcing his brain to process what to do next before eventually giving a nod.

"Is it okay if you take your jacket off so I can get a clearer reading?"

He nods again, still in shock as he takes off his jacket, leaving him in his black long sleeve thermal. He's almost thankful he wasn't in his full tactical gear, having to imagine you standing there waiting for him as he removes every single piece of equipment off his torso.

"Thank you." You give him a short smile, placing your hand under his tricep and gently lifting his arm in order to wrap the inflatable cuff around his bicep. You almost blush at the mere size of this man's arms. "Now you're just going to feel a slight pressure okay."

Ghost can't help but feel a slight warmth spread to his cheeks at the way you handle him with such care, as if he were the small delicate thing and not you. Now he knows why the others were so giddy after leaving your office.

As you place your stethoscope on his forearm near his elbow to listen to his blood pumping through the artery, your other hand pumping air into the cuff using the inflation bulb with your eyes glued to the numbers on the gauge, he can't help but to notice the old Donald Duck watch that sat at your wrist, the ones with the moving arms and the vintage style black leather straps.

And as he further investigated your attire, he noticed a few other details, like the colorful glittery badge reel in the shape of a pill container with the words "licensed drug dealer" printed on it that was attached to your scrub top, the glitter sticker with the words "I'm nicer than my face looks" as well a few Disney character stickers and the little frog looking keychain that hung off of your badge. He was wondering what the hell that thing was. Your accessories were awfully colorful for a general doctor. Something was telling him you either used to work with families or children. Whatever the hell managed to bring you to such a drastic change.

You brought him out of his thoughts as you shifted from your position, unwrapping the inflatable cuff from around his bicep and placing it back on the table before typing the results into your laptop. "Okay," You adjust the ear pieces of your stethoscope back into your ears as you turn back to him, "I'm going to perform some auscultations, which is just listening to the sounds of your heart and your lungs so if you could just sit up straight and relax that would be wonderful."

Simon straightens up his posture as you place your free hand on his shoulder, at this point you're not sure if you're steadying him or yourself, your fingertips just barely grazing across the bottom of his neck. He doesn't know why but, it's as if your fingers are directly touching the skin underneath, despite the fabric of his mask that separated your fingers from his skin. Your hands feels hot, like really hot and he has no clue why.

The soldier only feels his cheeks warm up even more so now as you inch closer to carefully place the diaphragm of your stethoscope on his chest, your head tilted and your eyes lowered to the floor as you listen for his heart beat. He gets a whiff of your perfume and he finds himself drawn to it. You smell like something along the lines of jasmine petals, geranium, myrrh, frankincense, and a hint of sandalwood. Now he definitely knows why the others are fawning over you. Poor Simon is praying you don't hear how his heart is nearly racing. He does not know why he is feeling this way and it slightly bothers him in the way that he has no clue what it is he is feeling.

He catches how your brows slightly furrow at the center and his heart skips a beat. Now he's fucking embarrassed and this man rarely ever is embarrassed. Maybe he's even starting to panic. Can you tell? Do you know? You open your mouth to say something but he quickly interrupts he just got back from a run so you dismiss it with a shrug, placing the diaphragm on his back now and asking him to give you a couple of deep breaths.

"Okay. Take a deep breathe in, breathe it out. Breathe in, and out."

He complies with your instructions, breathing in slow and deep breaths as you go from one side of his back to another.

"Good job." You remove the earpieces and let your stethoscope hang around your neck as you go back to your table, recording in more info. Hang on did you just, did you just tell a grown 6'4" man good job.

Even Simon is confused. Like bitch.

"Okay, so we're all done with that." You inform him, before going over to one of the drawers and sliding it open. "Now if you don't mind, I would like to have some blood work done on you, just to make sure there are no underlying issues that need to be taken care of."

Simon is silent so you turn to him. "Is that okay, Ghost, is that what the others call you? Would you like me to call you Ghost?"

Goddamn you're too polite. "That's fine by me ma'am."

"Perfect. Now is it okay if I take your blood sample?"

Ghost nods, so you grab the tools necessary and place them on the table next to you.

"Could you please roll your sleeve up and make a fist for me? Thank you." You ask him once you sanitize your hands and throw on a pair of fresh gloves. You grab the tourniquet and catch sight of the tattoos that cover his forearm as you tie the tourniquet around his arm above the elbow. You're curious to know the story behind them but you have a feeling he's not one for storytelling or just talking in general so you remain silent. You tear open the small packet of the alcohol wipe and apply it to the area. The chemical is cool against his skin as you sanitize the area before letting it air dry. Simon can't help but notice how small your hands are.

Simon watches you intently as you work, the way you are so focused and so precise with each step, and yet so gentle. It's almost cute.

"You're just going to feel a little pinch." You tell him in a soft tone, a tone you were used to using on all your little patients before inserting the needle into his vein. As if the man hasn't been shot or stabbed and god knows what multiple times before.

At this point Simon doesn't even notice the needle in his arm, he's too focused on the details of your face. He can sense that you're nervous around him and he feels bad. Even though he's just met you, the last thing he wants is for you to feel scared or unsafe around him. And even though this whole situation is awkward for him since he never was a fan of visiting the hospital, you're their physician, and at the end of the day you're there to patch them up. So he comments on your dark circles, thinking you haven't gotten any rest since you arrived here. "You look tired."

"............that's just my face." You give him that distinct smile, the same smile you have given anyone who ever commented on them as you connect the vacutainers to the needle to draw his blood, your eyes glued to the dark red liquid seeping through the thin clear tube before pouring into the sample tube.

If you thought it was quiet before, well you are most definitely wrong because the silence is absolutely deafening now.

Simon nearly punches himself for his stupidity. Why in the bloody hell did he say that of all things. He wanted to tell you he liked your dark circles but decided to bite his tongue instead. Now he's definitely not going to say another word. Better yet, once he leaves your office, he's not coming back. He's just going to avoid you at all costs in order to save both you and himself the embarrassment. He's willing to bet the others handled this way better than him.

"But I suppose I am a bit jet-lagged though. Haven't really gotten any rest since I got on that plane." You add. "I appreciate your concern."

You most definitely said that to make him feel better about himself, Simon thinks to himself as he stares at the wall and avoids your face. There was no other reason.

Once your done drawing his blood you ask him to hold the piece of cotton pad down onto where the needle was punctured as you open up the drawer where the gauze is located. "Do you have a favorite color?"

Did you just ask him his favorite color? Simon stares at you blankly. Were all doctors this odd?

"I'm guessing you like black?" You pull out the roll of black gauze, displaying it in front of you with the most deadpanned expression possible.

You've got jokes. Simon thinks to himself. If he had looked a little closer he would have noticed the ghost of a smirk on your lips.

"You should see the colors the others picked." You tease as you wrap the gauze around his arm at the elbow, making sure it isn't too tight but also not loose enough to the point where the cotton pad underneath slips out.

Simon narrows his eyes at you. Bloody fucking hell. The others picked a color?

You're pretty sure Gaz requested you get an Elmo print one he saw online once somewhere. Soap asked if there a print of the Scotland flag available. The look of hurt on his face when you said there wasn't so you improvised and gave him both the blue and white gauze. You gave him a Dum-Dum lollipop to make him feel better. The others may have also gotten a lollipop as they left your office, especially after seeing the special treatment that Soap received. Were they jealous? Maybe.

Once you tell the man he is all good to go and that you will call him once you're done getting the results from his blood sample, he nearly jumps out of the chair and bolts out of your office. He prays some unknown miracle happens and that his blood sample magically disappears so that he doesn't have to face you, firmly believing he insulted you and that you thought he called you ugly when that is not what he intended. I am telling you this man does not know how to compliment. They should make a guidebook for dummies specialized just for him.

You watch him disappear out your door with a quirked brow. Well that was fucking weird.

When Simon leaves the area he finds Soap lounging about on a chair with a sucker in his mouth.

"The hell is that?" Simon squints at the sergeant.

"Mph mph." Soap's voice comes out muffled.

"What?"

Soap pauses and turns to see Ghost looming over him. "It's a Dum-Dum."

"A fuckin what?"

"Y/n said they're called Dum-Dums." Soap pulls it out of his mouth, twisting the stick of the lollipop around in his fingers as if he were inspecting it. "This one's a cotton candy flavor."

"She gave you a fuckin lollie?"

"It's pure dead brilliant I tell ya. Why, did she not give ya one?"

More silence. Simon would be lying to himself if he said he wasn't a tad bit butthurt.

"Maybe you scared her." Soap jokes.

Simon lets out a grumbled incoherent huff and walks away.

Soap just shrugs and pops the lollipop back in his mouth.

Simon has a feeling he is going to go to bed thinking about his actions.

Part 2

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austinrrylover · 2 months ago

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LOVE ISLAND - NICHOLAS CHAVEZ

summary: francesca works on a film set, which stars nicholas chavez. after meeting in a very spontaneous way, francesca gets the job of being his assistant for the shoot

warnings: MDNI, nsfw, slow burn, smut at the end (it’s worth it, i promise)

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‘Get me her! The blonde one!’ Ariana said with a strict expression as she pointed in my direction.

I only saw her pointing at me from afar but I heard when she said it. She wants me? A brunette gentleman in a gray sweatshirt and trousers comes closer to me as I just stand trying not to look at him directly and just analyze the call sheet I already know from front to back.

‘So, hi, Ari wants you to be her assistant today. The other girl dropped out, fired. Okay?’ He asks and I look at her.

Ariana is so intimidating I have heard all the stories of how easy it is for her to fire people over stupid mistakes. But hey, this is what this industry is about and I have been waiting to step up my game.

‘Of course.’ I say smiling.

‘Okay. Put a sweater on you have to go out to the trailers with her.’ He says and I quickly rush over to the chair I put my jumper on.

I was wearing simple blue jeans and a white dress shirt, which was now covered by an oversized gray hoodie.

Ariana waved at me, her expression not changing from her usual stern face. I swiftly try to catch up to her.

‘I am going to go meet the AD, you stay here and wait for everybody’s cars to arrive.’ She says as we exit the big studio door.

People are already deep in work, gaffers fixing lights, the camera is already set up. A woman with a big suitcase comes up to me.

‘Hi, make-up for Miss Coleman. Where do I find her trailer?’ She asks me.

‘Uhm…’ I look around and see the trailers.

‘Come with me.’ She follows me and I come across the trailers.

On each door there are different names. ‘Mr. Waltz’ ‘Mr. Butler’ ‘Mr. Chavez’ ‘Ms. Coleman’ I stop.

‘Here it is. I don’t believe she has arrived yet.’ I smile and she gets in the trailer.

People just keep coming and coming when I see Ariana running toward me with a keycard.

‘Road’s closed on the 6th. Four actors are going to be coming from the back entrance, the 2nd. Go over there with the cart and pick them up, thanks.’ She hands me the keycard and the key for the cart.

She turns away and starts running as a big Range Rover arrives.

‘And get them in make-up!’ She shouts as I see the director quickly getting out of the car and Ariana running to him.

Cart. I check the time: 7:56. I quickly get on it and I follow the signs which point to the 3rd enterance. Or was it the second? Shit. I look at the keycard.

‘Opening 1-2-3rd enterance.’

‘Fuck’ I say under my breath.

Third fucking day and I already fuck it up. I usually handle really small PA jobs here and on other films, where people need me as a helping hand, bringing them coffee or help around on the set but now when I actually have something important to do I fuck it up.

I reach gate number three. 7:59. The actors should be arriving at 8. Nobody is here. Am I at the right enterance? I look around trying to determine if I am at the right place when I see a big black car rushing in front of the gate. It doesn’t stop and just goes behind a building so I can’t see, but it is enough for me to notice that I am at the wrong gate. I try pushing the gas in as much as I can on this awfully safe and slow cart to reach the 2nd gate.

When I get there the driver is already out of the car, trying to open the gate with his keycard which is obviously not working, since he has one for the main entrance.

‘I’m here! I’m here!’ I shout as I get off from the cart.

‘I’m not getting fired for you not getting here on time. I was here at 8:00, I just couldn’t get in. Make sure to tell your supervisor. Faszomba.’ He angrily says with his hungarian accent and I sigh.

‘My fault. Sorry. I’m supposed to take them from here. Whose driver are you?’ I ask.

‘Nic.’ He answers and I take a sharp breath.

Nicholas Chavez. Fuck. I try to say something when he gets out of the car, his brunette hair messy on his head, little curls forming where his sunglasses are pushed onto his forehead. He has a bunch of papers in his hand and was wearing a simple black zipup with black jeans. He was breathtaking to say at least.

‘Thanks Robert.’ He smiles and pats him on the shoulder as I open the gate with my keycard. He looks at me.

‘I don’t believe we have met.’ He extends his hand.

‘No, I am Francesca.’ I say and take his hand.

‘Nicholas. Are you PA?’ He asks.

‘Yes.’ I smile and I slowly start walking to the cart.

‘We have to wait for the others. Or do you want to go?’ I ask. What a stupid fucking question. He is busy, why would he want to fucking wait around.

‘No sorry, you must be busy and all that make-up, I will take you’ I get into the cart.

‘You think I need that much make-up?’ He smiles. God his smile. It’s so flirty but so innocent at the same time.

‘No, I mean, no, your character and—‘

‘I’m messing with you. It’s okay. We can wait.’ He smiles and opens up the script in his hand.

‘Do you want me to run lines with you?’ I ask and god why can’t I shut up?

‘No thank you, I’m okay.’ He smiles reassuringly and I look away awkwardly.

‘First day?’ He looks up.

‘No actually, third. Here. I worked on other films.’ I say.

‘Are you from Hungary?’ He asks me.

‘No, I’m from Italy but we moved here when I was 10.’ I explain. Is he talking to me just because he is trying to be nice?

‘That’s great. I love Budapest. Italy too.’ He smiles and I smile back.

We sit in silence and after a few seconds he looks back to his script. I keep looking back and forth between him and the enterance, why aren’t they coming?

8:14

Ariana is going to kick my ass. The main actors are nowhere to be found and one of them I’m basically holding hostage on this fucking cart. I nervously look at my phone. 8:15. Fuck me. 15 minutes late on a film set is a nightmare.

‘Maybe we should go.’ Nicholas looks at me and gets into the passenger seat of the cart.

‘Okay, I’m going to take you and then I’ll come back.’ I say while taking a deep breath and getting in to the driver seat.

‘Relax, Francesca. It’s okay.’ He reassures me with the biggest smirk on his face. Does he think my frustration is funny?

‘They can fire me. Not that it’s any of your fault I’m just saying.’ I mumble.

‘They can fire me too.’ I huff loudly. Him? Are you kidding me?

How would they fire him? Never in a million years would happen.

‘What, they really can.’ He smiles and I start the cart.

‘I can imagine.’ I say, boldly. Are we bonding?

‘Or I could just say this cute PA didn’t get me to my make-up in time.’ He smiles at me, as I see from the corner of my eye.

I blush and my brain goes through hundreds of possible scenarios all at once as to what should I reply to him. He notices my frustration and chuckles…I don’t know if it’s a polite chuckle or a real one but I’ll take it.

‘Do you know if my assistant is already there?’ He asks.

‘No.’ I say as I start the engine and I turn the wheel to turn around.

The route is kind of embarrassing, he is just looking around, but I don’t dare to form a word, what if he wants to be left alone? But what if he wants me to talk to him? Fuck.

‘Do-‘ I start as my phone suddenly rings. I take it from my pocket. ‘Ariana Dern’. Fuck. I put it on speakerphone.

‘Hi!’

‘Where the fuck are you?’ I suddenly regret putting it on speakerphone as Nicholas turns his head toward the phone with wide eyes.

‘I am bringing Mr. Chavez to the set.’

‘And the others?’ She asks and I stutter.

‘They… only the driver of Mr. Chavez came, but I’m going to go back and try…’

‘No, come here, bring him and then get off that thing. We need you here. Stage 4.’ She says and hangs up.

‘Sorry. You know how producers are.’ I smile.

‘What were you going to ask?’ He looks at me.

‘What?’ I ask.

‘What were you going to ask me?’ He asks again, patiently, slowly.

‘Oh… just… I don’t remember.’ Fuck.

‘Oh ok. Well give me a heads up if you do.’ He smiles as we arrive to the set.

We stop and he gets off the cart. Ariana is running towards us.

‘Mr. Chavez, Nicholas, hi, your trailer is just there, ready for makeup!’ She smiles and shoves like three hundred pages of paper in my hands.

‘Bring this to the gaffers.’ She whispers to me. I look at her, and then Nicholas.

‘Now.’ She says again and I smile at Nicholas before leaving.

‘Bye.’ I say shyly.

‘Bye Francesca.’ He says loud enough, for sure everybody around us heard it.

We lock eyes one last time as he makes his way towards his trailer, Ariana pushing on his back softly. He looks at me and smirks. Or I just imagine that, I honestly don’t know.

With his last gaze, Ariana looks back at me too, shooting me a stern look which makes me remember the dozens of paper in my hand.

I go into the set that is already built, shouts of ‘Lights on!’ coming from all directions. People rushing from place to place and electricians writing notes. I look at the papers in my hand and search for a gaffer to give this to.

‘The DOP wants this?’ An older man asks me as he looks at the paper in my hand.

‘I guess so.’ I say, I have no idea.

‘Then get him here, if you are not sure.’ He scolds me.

I nod and I start going back towards the trailers. I need to find Ariana because this is way above my expertise. I see the director again, he is wearing glasses and is talking to one of the actors.

‘You!’ I hear Ariana’s voice. ‘Your name?’

‘Francesca.’ I say.

‘Okay, from this moment you are cast PA. Don’t bother with anything else. These fucking incompetent bitches can’t show up in time. If they come, tell all of them that they are fired, understood?’ She asks.

‘Yes, the gaffers need the DOP, right now. Any idea where I can find him?’ I ask with a smile.

She waves her hands in front of my face.

‘Did you hear anything I just said? Don’t bother with it. Go! You are going to help Mr. Chavez and Mr. Waltz. Mr. Waltz has his own assistant team so you’ll probably just need to arrange his make up and lunch for him. The young kid, you go and ask him what he needs, okay?’ She rolls her eyes and goes right past me.

I nod to myself and I go to the trailer Nicholas was going into before.

I knock and I enter. Nicholas is getting his makeup done, two girls are doing a big scar onto his forehead.

‘Francesca!’ He says jokingly.

I smile and I step closer.

‘Do you need anything?’ I ask.

‘Nothing, darling, what time do I need to be on set?’ He asks me.

I’m slightly taken aback by his overly flirty name but I try to not have a huge reaction to it.

‘Thirty minutes.’ I say as I look at the call sheet on my phone.

‘Thank you.’ He says.

It’s only 9, and it already feels like a whole day has passed.

The rest of the day went fast though. Nicholas had scenes from 9 till 1 and then I arranged his lunch, but had to be on my way for Mr. Waltz who also needed his schedule. After that, Mr. Waltz had scenes from 1 till 5 and Nicholas once again from 6 till 9.

I’m amazed how these actors put their body and soul into these roles and how the director guides them perfectly. It has always been a big dream of mine to be a director or a writer and I can’t believe my hard work is starting to pay off.

After the first day I helped Ariana with some paperwork and got on the bus to get home. I knew I had to be up at five so I went to bed as soon as I could.

The next day went the same as this one. In the morning I went to get Mr. Waltz and helped him with getting the call sheet and organising his lunch. Nicholas didn’t have any scenes today.

I tried to make friends today because I had less to do with one person less to take care of.

The next day Nicholas came bright and early, the crew wasn’t even here yet.

‘I need to talk to the director.’ He said as I was sitting in his trailer when he changed into his costume.

‘About the shirt?’ The costume designer girl asked.

‘Yes, can someone get him?’ He asked politely.

‘He is not here yet, but I’ll tell you when he is.’ I said.

He smiled which I could take out as a bit of an annoyance, like he was impatient.

The costume designers slowly got out of his trailer and I followed them outside before he stopped me.

‘Can I have a word?’ He asked and I came back inside.

‘Yes?’

‘Do you know the director?’ He asked, sitting down on the couch.

‘Yeah, I have seen him around but haven’t talked to him.’ I say and we fall into silence.

‘I think he regrets casting me.’ He sighs. I look at him with wide eyes. Why would he think that? I sit down next to him.

‘Why would you think that?’ I ask when I know if he thinks that the director failed at his job. The director’s most important task is to make the actors feel comfortable.

‘He doesn’t really give me any criticism. He just says okay to everything. I- I don’t know.’ He says and this sudden vulnerability makes me realise how hard it must be for him to away from all his family and friends, all alone in this new country.

‘I’m sorry, it’s not like you can do anything about it, never mind.’ He is avoiding looking me in the eye.

‘No- no, you can tell me. I- seriously think you are doing an amazing job but maybe he is just intimidated to give you advice, you should just talk to him about it, in my opinion.’ I say.

‘You think?’ I nod.

‘I think you are doing a really great job. You are going places, good for you.’ I smile and I make a ‘bold’ move and put my hand on his back. He looks up at me.

‘Thank you.’ He smiles and I take my hand back. The awkward silence and him staring into my eyes makes me jump up on my feet and stand in front of him.

‘Do you want a coffee?’ I ask and he chuckles. He stands up and suddenly we are incredibly close.

‘I’d be so lost in everything if I didn’t have you.’ He half whispers.

‘I’m just doing my job.’ I say and fuck I should have said something more friendly I know, but there is no going back now.

He smiles and moves past me.

The rest of the day I’m mainly on set. I am very exhausted by the afternoon and Nicholas still has to do a whole scene which is 2 hours in the call sheet.

He rushes into his trailer and I run with him.

The make-up girls are already inside and they are putting oil on his body because he is shirtless in this scene. His hair is messy and all their hands are roaming over his chest. God.

‘Do you need water?’ I ask.

‘No thanks, darling.’ He says, again with this name.

One girls eye shoots up to me and I look down to the papers in my hand in embarrassment.

‘Okay, you gotta be on set Nicholas.’ The AD runs into the trailer.

He nods and I help him put on his robe.

‘Break a leg.’ I say in a whisper.

And he actually turns and winks at me. Then he is out of the trailer.

‘That Nicholas guy is so fucking sexy.’ I overhear from a dressing room. I pass by and look in with a side eye. I can’t recognise either girls standing inside.

‘He is, I was supposed to be his PA, but that bitch pulled me out last minute.’ She sighs.

‘Fuck, I’m sorry girl.’ Another one laughs.

‘That blonde girl is his PA.’ One says, whose voice I recognise, the make-up artist.

‘Lucky-‘ One says as the other cuts her off.

‘Uh-uh. Not luck. I was doing his make-up when he literally asked for her. He literally said to Ariana that he wants her.’ The make-up artist says.

I try to back away but I can’t stop eavesdropping.

‘What the fuck? Does he know her or something?’ One asks with a judgy tone.

‘She probably sucked his dick or he can see she wants to suck his dick. He called her darling when she came inside.’ She says and I gulp. What? Was this really the case?

‘Sleeping her way to the top, purr girl.’ One says and they all laugh.

No. Does everybody think this?

I try to think back on the week and realisation hits me. It really was too good to be true. Did he really choose me because he wants to fuck me and then get me fired?

I hear the director yell ‘Cut!’ from a distance and somebody else shout ‘That’s a wrap for today!’ I make my way back to the set and I see him talking to his acting partner before shaking his hand and the director’s hand. He starts going towards his trailer when the make-up girl run up to him with a few towels.

I slowly step toward his trailer. I don’t know what to think.

Ariana comes behind me.

‘Ah, Francesca! Brilliant work today! Thank you! Never had a better PA here!’ She moves past me.

30 minutes pass when I help Mr. Waltz and his team get to the right gate to go home. I make my way back to Nicholas’ trailer.

I knock and take a deep breath.

‘Come in.’ He says.

I step in and he is still wearing his robe with jeans and is sitting on the couch on his phone.

‘Hi Francesca.’ He smiles.

‘Hi.’ I say bluntly. ‘Your driver will be here in 15.’ I say and I open the door. I don’t wish to be here for more than necessary.

‘What’s the problem?’ He stands up.

I close the door back.

‘Nothing.’ I lie. The problem is that he is ruining my reputation here. I didn’t sleep my way up here.

‘Sure?’ He steps closer and that’s when I realise actually how tall he is.

‘Yes. Are you okay?’ Why would he even care how am I?

‘Yes. Tell me the problem, baby.’ He whispers and I scoff loudly at that name.

‘What?’ He steps back.

If I tell this to him, I lose my job. Or maybe I won’t.

‘You know I heard people say they think I got this job because I sucked your dick?’ I say before I could even think if I should say it.

‘That’s not true of course, but the big difference between you and me is that it’s good for your reputation that you sleep around because you are this sexy superstar in the making, but for me… it’s the worst.’ I confess.

‘You think I’m sexy?’ He stands closer.

‘You are missing the point. And I do not, I said that as “the public”.’ I lie. Of course I think he is sexy.

‘I only asked for you because you seemed like a normal person.’ He says. ‘Not because I wanted you to suck my dick. Not that I would oppose to it.’

He adds that to the end which makes me blush.

‘Nicholas. I’m serious, do you want me to lose my job? You can’t talk to me that way.’ I say.

‘I would never let that happen.’ He says as he moves his hand up to my jaw.

I take in a sharp breath. My body is fighting my mind, I arch my back to get just slightly closer to him but my mind is telling me: no. He looks deep into my eyes and smirks.

‘Nicholas please. We can’t do this.’ I whisper as one of his hands travels down to my waist.

‘Do what?’ He smirks and this playfulness is getting into my head, I suddenly feel dizzy and my mind is blank, just him.

‘What’s the problem with this?’ He leans in closer and before I could react he kisses my neck softly.

I am suddenly overwhelmed by his closeness and his lips on me so I put my hands on his chest, regaining my thinking.

‘Nicholas, I’m serious. This can lose me my job.’ I say.

‘Nobody has to know.’ He looks me into the eye and I can see his eyes are full of lust. ‘Besides, I wouldn’t let them fire you.’

‘My reputation would be ruined, and what about my next job, where I’d get a different actor not you. Do I have to sleep with him?’ I ask.

‘No, definitely not. I’d hate that.’ He says and I smile and gently push him away.

‘We can’t, Nic. I’m serious.’ I smile softly at him.

He sighs deeply.

‘Okay. Just friends then?’ He asks and extends his hand.

‘Yes.’ For the next two months for sure.

I take his hand and suddenly he pulls me forward into his chest. I’m once again taken over by him and he smirks as he sees my red face.

‘Just one kiss?’ He asks with that smirk that I just can’t, can’t even explain and I fold. I nod.

He rushes forward and suddenly our lips are on each others and he is pushing me back against the door, his huge hands settling on my waist. I can’t help but to put my hand into his hair and pull it just a bit before he uses his tongue to enter my mouth. It’s too much but I love it. It kills me that he is only wearing a robe and I could touch his perfect chest, but I won’t do it because I fear I couldn’t stop after that. He moans into my mouth and I slow him down. I give him a last gentle peck on his plump lips.

‘Get dressed.’ I say and he steps away from me.

‘Okay.’ He smiles and I leave his trailer.

I go and get my bag and my food from the locker and check on my phone when I can catch the next bus. It says 3 minutes so I run. I say bye to everyone who is still there, and although I wanted to day bye to Nicholas, I see him getting into his car as I run past them. I hate running to catch the bus, I feel like it’s so humiliating when you run and put in all that effort and in the end you just fail.

This is what happened to me. The bus didn’t wait for me and now I have to wait in the cold for 25 minutes.

Sitting in the dark bus stop is when it hits me. I just had a heavy make out session with this hot actor that everybody wants and I was the one who stopped it, when I could have gone on and… I don’t want to imagine what would have happened.

‘No, Nicholas, we should stop.’ I say breathlessly.

‘Why?’ He asks and puts just one fingertip up my shirt, my skin heating up from that one little contact.

‘You just said we are just friends.’ I manage to say but he can’t stop kissing me.

‘I can’t do that baby, not now that I have tasted you.’ He says and he grabs into my ass and pushes me more into the wall. ‘I want you so bad.’

‘Nic…’ I moan as he makes his way down and kisses my neck and my jawline.

‘Shush, be quiet.’ He says as he gets on his knees and unzips my pants. I take a sharp breath.

‘So sexy.’ He whispers as he slides down my pants. I step out of them. ‘Hey!’

I look down at him as he is waving hey to me.

‘Hey! Francesca!’ He smiles from his knees. What?

I look up and my daydream fades, as Nicholas is waving me from his car that just stopped in front of me.

‘Get in!’ He says as he gets out of the car.

‘What?’ I ask and he comes and puts his hand on my lower back.

‘Robert is gonna take you home.’ He says and he opens the car door for me. I sit in and he sits next to me.

‘Köszi, Robi.’ I say in Hungarian and Robert starts the car.

‘You can speak fluently?’ Nic asks me.

‘Yes, uhm, mostly.’ I say nervously. Suddenly all that confidence that I had before, stopping him and all that, is gone.

‘That’s awesome. Italian too?’ He asks.

‘Yes, also, mostly.’ I reply.

‘Can you say… you are so beautiful in both languages?’ He asks and ugh I hate how he can cloud my brain. I’m sick of his games and sick of his childlike playfulness when in reality he probably just wants to fuck me and get it over with. Ariana said I did a good job and what if I’ll risk this film for this guy? I won’t do it on the next one.

I lean in closer.

‘Why do you want to know? Do you have your eyes on someone?’ I smile.

He is visibly taken aback, but his smile tells me he enjoys this side of me. I do too.

‘Yes, a very beautiful, smart and hot woman.’ He says and he moves his pinky finger to touch the side of my thigh.

‘Lucky lady… what’s her name?’ I push my thigh to his finger, so he puts the whole of his palm on me.

‘Wouldn’t want you to be jealous, baby.’ He says and he gives my thigh a firm grab.

‘Who says I’d be jealous?’ I ask.

‘I think it’s obvious. Your eyes are begging for me right now.’ He leans in to my ear. ‘I can see it in your eyes… you want to just get up from the seat, get on top of me, rip off my shirt and ride me here.’ He whispers and I get goosebumps.

‘Isn’t that right, baby?’ He says and moves his hand to palm my inner thigh.

‘Hm?’ He nudges me with his nose.

‘Do you want that?’ I ask.

‘More than anything.’ He says and he tries to move in to kiss me.

‘Patience. Can’t we wait… till we are more private?’ I ask and he nods and smirks.

After a frustrating car ride we get out at Nic’s hotel. We tell Robert I live close here so he doesn’t find it suspicious that I get out here. Like he couldn’t see him whispering and gripping my thigh just 10 minutes ago.

We get into the elevator and surprisingly, he doesn’t make any moves. We just stand in silence. Which I don’t like so I turn and press my lips to his. He quickly returns the kiss and grabs me from the back of my thighs to lift me up and push me against the wall.

‘What about patience?’ He asks and he palms my breast.

‘Fuck that.’ I say and the elevator door opens, Nic carries me to the door, holds me with one arm and opens the door with his other hand. When inside he throws me down on the giant couch and gets on top of me.

‘I want you so fucking bad, Francesca.’ He says and I quickly get to work and lift his shirt off. It is a different experience seeing it now, in front of my face, the abs glistening in the small light, ready to be touched by me, then in front of all those people today.

‘I can’t believe how sexy you are.’ I say boldly and he guides my hand to touch his toned stomach.

‘You haven’t even seen everything yet, princess.’ He keeps kissing me and moves past my neck, and while still holding my hand he undoes one button on my shirt with his teeth. I’m not sure if he is very skilled or he just ripped it. He moves my hand lower and I can feel his v-line which has a tiny trail of hair on it when I reach the waistband of his jeans. He uses his other hand to undo all my buttons, setting my bra covered breasts free.

He takes a deep breath and starts kissing them. I fidget with the waistband of his jeans when I finally reach inside. He moans.

He grabs my hand, pulls it out and props my hands up, on the top of my head.

‘Keep them there.’ He says and starts kissing down my belly.

He unzips my pants, pulls them down and pulls my panties to the side.

‘It’s so hot that I made you this wet.’ He looks up to me and takes a long lick up. I can’t help but be loud. He starts taking smaller licks at my clit and one of his fingers comes up to tease my hole. I reach down to grab his beautiful messy hair.

‘I said keep them there.’ He murmurs without parting from my pussy.

I put my hand back to the side of my head and I close my eyes to really feel how good he is doing. He is basically making out with me down there and I have to bit into my knuckle not to scream.

He suddenly grabs me by my waist and we sit up, before he takes his pants, while the only thing I can do is watch his muscles tighten with his every move and his dick jump with my every move.

He stands and he pushes me back down. He notices me staring and smirks.

‘Do you want to suck it?’ All I can do is nod and I get on my knees in front of the couch.

He puts up on foot on the couch, the other stays on the ground and puts his member right in front of my face. Despite his tallness this is the perfect level for me.

‘Suck, darling.’ He says and he puts one hand in my hair. I gently lick from the base till the tip till I take everything I can in my mouth.

‘Ah, baby, you are doing so good.’ He moans and he caresses the back of my head as I go back and forth on him.

I put my hand around the part I can’t fit and continue like that. He thrusts forward a few times which causes me to gag.

‘So good for me baby.’ He says and I look up at him.

‘Get up.’ He pulls out of my mouth and pulls me up. He sits down on the couch and pulls me on top.

‘Now, do you want this dick inside you?’ He asks and holds my face with one hand and the other slaps me on my ass.

‘Yes please.’ I say and he smirks.

‘Then get on it and bounce for me baby, I can’t wait to see your ass all on display for me.’ He says and he doesn’t have to tell me twice.

I start to get on top of him when I decide I’m gonna give him a show and I turn, my back to him.

‘Do you want it like this, Nic?’ I ask teasingly, my ass over his dick, his member already feeling my heat.

‘God, yes.’ He sighs and he grabs my waist and I sit down on it.

‘Fuck, ah fuck, you are so tight.’ He says and I start to move on it up and down.

I can hear he is enjoying himself from the loud breathing and moans, he slaps my ass occasionally, and these sounds alone are bringing me closer and closer to the edge.

He comes back from leaning in the couch and his stomach is now pressed to my back. He reaches one hand in front of me and starts massaging my clit.

‘I wish I could do you from behind all day, princess. You are so fucking pretty.’ He grabs my face and pulls it sideways to kiss me. I go harder and bounce faster on him as he plays with my clit.

‘Get off.’ He says and I do as he says, and just like I could read his mind, I get on all fours on the couch.

‘Francesca. You are such a slut for me. And you tried pretending you didn’t want me.’ He says as he comes up behind me and wastes no time pushing into me. ‘Now look at you, completely at my service.’ He says and he once again reaches to my clit and flicks it and rubs it till I’m sure I’m seeing stars.

‘Do you want to come?’ He asks when he feels me shivering under him.

‘Yes please, fuck.’ I say and I keep on fucking back on him with my ass.

‘Okay, princess.’ He says as he sets a steady pace with his thrusts and rubs my clit.

‘Come, baby, come for me, show me.’ He says into my ear and with a few more rubs I feel like I’m in heaven and I come. I come hard. In that moment he pulls out of me, I reach back to grab and jerk him all over my back and my ass. I collapse down on the bed.

I hear him grunt from behind me and as I’m about to look back…

‘No, baby! Don’t move, it’s all on your back. Wait.’ He says and he rushes to the bathroom to get a towel.

‘For your hand.’ He gives me a tissue and starts wiping the come from my back in the meantime.

I still feel powerless so I just lay on my stomach when he leans down to be face to face with me.

‘You were amazing baby. I loved it.’ He says and I smile.

‘You were pretty fucking good too.’ I say and he chuckles.

So what now? I sit down and I’m not sure where my clothes are, probably tossed somewhere. Am I supposed to go home? He disappeared into the bathroom, this would be the perfect opportunity for me to get away without having to experience his post nut clarity rejection. I find my shirt and put it on. He did indeed rip one button off. I put on my panties and I pray that me not peeing after is not going to kick me in the ass.

‘I could’ve gave you a shirt. That’s ruined.’ He comes out, just in his boxers. His hair is so messy, he is so handsome.

‘It’s okay… I can’t find my jeans.’ I say.

‘You sleep in jeans?’ He asks and I look at him and tilt my head and bit my lip to avoid my smile for a moment.

‘Nic. You don’t have to do this. It’s fine. I can go home. It’s better like this than in the morning when we have work and we avoid each other all day. Let’s sleep on this so tomorrow we can forget it.’ I say.

‘I don’t believe you want to do that. And I don’t either.’ He says and pulls out some kind of pasta from the fridge.

‘We will worry when the shoot is over. Until then you are welcome to come over to fuck my brains out again, or just to watch a reality show or something.’ He says and he divides the pasta into two portions.

I feel like he is genuinely meaning what he is saying. I sit up and he comes and gives me one of the plates.

‘Love Island?’ He asks.

‘The UK one?’ I ask.

‘Well, of course, babes.’ He says in a British accent.

He puts his arm around me and we eat our pasta and watch Love Island till we both fall asleep, me in his arms.

#nicholas chavez #nicholas #nicholas chavez fanfic #nicholas chavez smut #grotesquerie #fanfic

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corroded-hellfire · 1 year ago

Note

hello!! i have seen so many eddie x fem reader but never a chubby fem reader so? can u do one and plz take as much time

(can it also be smut???)

- suki

This honestly felt cathartic to write. Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy 🩵

Warnings: smut, p in v, unprotected (wrap it up), oral, f!receiving, body image issues

Words: 4.5k

"Ugh, it’s so cheesy.”

Eddie groans and drops his head back against the couch dramatically. You scoff as you watch him out of the corner of your eye, wanting to keep most of your attention on the flickering television screen in front of you. The end of An Officer and a Gentleman plays, where Richard Gere picks up Debra Winger and carries her off bridal style.

“I think it’s romantic,” you say, lazily flicking your hand at your boyfriend’s chest.

His dark eyebrows raise up to meet his bangs as he kicks his socked feet up on the cluttered coffee table.

“Really?” he asks. “So, you’re saying you want me to just scoop you up like that and carry you?”

The snort that comes out of you isn’t intentional, but Eddie’s words force it to come out.

“Hell no,” you tell him. “You’d break your back.”

Eddie’s previously raised eyebrows furrow as he stares at you. His spine straightens and he crosses his arms across his chest, offense leaking into his posture.

“What do you mean?”

Surely, he must be joking, you think. But the way his gaze is focused on you makes you realize he’s serious.

“Eddie.” You brandish your hand towards your larger body before gesturing to his own svelte frame.

Unsure how to feel about your insinuation, Eddie shifts in his seat to face you better. He eyes your body, something that always makes you feel a little self-conscious even if it’s in an admiring fashion.

“You think I can’t carry you?” he asks.

“Not without blowing out your back.”

That has Eddie pushing himself up off the couch and rubbing his hands together. He nods to you as he shifts his weight from foot to foot.

“Let me try,” he says.

“No.” You don’t move an inch.

Eddie’s shoulders slump, reminding you of a deflating beach ball as he begins to pout.

“Babe,” he whines. “Come on.”

“No, Eddie,” you reply, tone more definitive this time. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.” He waves off your concern as if it’s the last thing on his mind. But you’re aware that it’s very real and know it would only make you feel more uncomfortable in your own skin if your weight hurt your boyfriend.

“Just drop it,” you try.

As persistent and stubborn as Eddie is about something once it’s entered his mind, he can see your demeanor changing bit by bit, moving closer to upset. It doesn’t mean he’s going to let it go entirely, though. He’ll let you think he’s forgotten about it for now, just continuing on with the nice evening you’re having. But there’s already an idea turning the gears in the back of Eddie’s mind.

The next week, you waltz into the Munson’s trailer–having learned long ago that you can just let yourself in–and your brow furrows as you slip off your shoes. Eddie is standing between the couch and the television, doing arm curls with a pair of smaller but heavy-looking weights. Not once have you seen Eddie lifting weights before, so you’re confused, unsure of what’s going on.

Eddie’s eyes glance over to you, away from the rerun of Who’s the Boss playing on the television and gives you a smile.

“Hey, baby,” he says as naturally as always. “Be done in a minute.”

You finally find your voice as you track his arms moving up and down. “What’re you doing?”

“Knitting a sweater,” he answers without missing a beat.

“Ha ha, very funny.” You roll your eyes even though he isn’t looking your way and plop down on the couch behind him.

Eddie lets out a small, breathy laugh and turns his head to the side so you know he’s talking to you.

“What’s it look like? I’m lifting weights.”

“But why?” you ask, tucking your legs up beneath you.

When Eddie turns face forward again, you catch a glimpse of his smirk in the reflection on the TV.

“So you’ll have no more excuses about why I shouldn’t pick you up,” he says.

Letting out a dramatic groan to rival one of Eddie’s own, you flop down on your side and bury your face into one of the couch cushions. Irritated, you pick your head up and glare at the back of your boyfriend’s head.

“This again?” you ask.

“I’m gonna sweep you off your feet,” he says as he begins his last set. “Wait and see.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dustin whines, leaning back in his seat. He swipes at one of the D20s on the table out of frustration. “Where the hell is he? Eddie’s never been late for a campaign in his life.”

“Are you sure your boyfriend didn’t mention anything about being late?” Mike snaps at you from the opposite side of the table.

“For the third time, Michael,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest, “no.”

Jeff opens his mouth to say something, but the drama room door bangs open to reveal their Dungeon Master, his soaking wet hair turning the white portion of the Hellfire shirt see-through. There’s a beat of silence as everyone takes in his appearance. Leave it to Dustin to break the seal.

“Where the hell were you?”

“Is it raining out?” Lucas asks no one in particular, eyes trailing Eddie’s weighed-down curls.

He doesn’t receive a response as Eddie saunters into the room, acting as if he didn’t just break one of his own most important rules. Your boyfriend throws a wink your way and presses a kiss to the top of your head as he passes by you to get to his throne. Once he’s plopped down in the seat and made himself comfortable, he takes in all the eyes staring at him from around the table.

“I was in the gym. Weight room, more specifically,” Eddie says, as if they should have known this all along.

“Like…where the athletes train?” Gareth asks, nose wrinkling up in confusion. You can taste Eddie’s snarky reply in the air before he even parts his lips.

“Congratulations on knowing what the weight room is, Gareth the Great.”

When Eddie’s eyes don’t meet yours, you wonder if he’s avoiding your gaze or not. He has to know that the fact that he was lifting weights again would grate on your nerves. Either he’s oblivious–which is entirely possible–or he’s being smart and not meeting your glare. Eddie is quiet for a moment, which is so unlike him that you’re wondering if maybe he’s waiting for you to say something. If that’s what he wants he’ll be sorely disappointed though because you’re biting your tongue for now. Even though he’ll definitely hear about it later when there are no witnesses around.

“All right,” Eddie finally says, clapping his ringed hands together. “Shall we get started?”

Whenever you want to vent about Eddie or something he did, you never have a shortage of friends to go to. Most are glad to lend an ear and a few even look forward to hearing what crazy thing he did this time. But when it comes to how you’re currently feeling in regards to your boyfriend, none of your friends could truly understand because they’re all, well…thin. They might be sympathetic to your situation or even relate in some different way, but none of them would wholly understand because they’ve never been viewed in the same light that you are by society. It’s not their fault they don’t understand, it’s just how it is.

Unfortunately, you’re not as good at keeping your emotions hidden as you thought you were. It’s only a few days before Nancy corners you at your locker.

“Are you okay?” she asks, narrowing her usually wide eyes at you.

“Fine,” you say with as much forced enthusiasm as possible while you dig around the locker for your biology textbook.

“For argument's sake, let’s say I believe you,” Nancy says. “Why have you been so quiet lately, then? You seem distracted, like your mind is somewhere else.”

“It’s stupid,” you say to her as you find the book you were searching for.

“Hey,” Nancy says, voice taking on a more serious tone, “no it’s not. Whatever is bothering you, you can tell me.”

You’ve known Nancy long enough to know she’s truly trying to help you and is determined to find out what’s wrong. You also know that if you tell her that you’re not ready to talk about it, she’ll drop it and respect your wishes. But you have been itching to talk to someone about everything that’s been going on, and the opportunity presented itself to you on a silver platter.

“After school?” you ask softly.

Nancy nods. “I’m putting the finishing touches on a story for the paper. I’ll be in there alone.”

When the bell rings signaling the end of school you find her right where she said she’d be. Bent over a few papers, shuffling them back and forth and inspecting them with a small furrow to her brow. As soon as she sees you, though, she moves her work to the side and gives you her undivided attention.

“What’s up?” she asks.

Trying to buy every second you have before you open your mouth and start to explain your predicament, you make yourself comfortable on the stool across from your friend and situate your bag between your feet on the floor. There’s no more stalling, you realize, as you continue to shift in your seat though. Deep down you know Nancy will be sympathetic and would never intentionally steer you wrong, it’s just the fact that she won’t get it that’s keeping you from spilling your guts.

“I’m not interviewing you, you know,” Nancy says, the ghost of a smile dancing on her lips. “You can start whenever.”

“Eddie keeps saying he wants to lift me up.”

The admission just tumbles from your mouth, no preamble, no build-up, just straight to the problem that’s been lying heavy on your heart.

“Okay…” Nancy drags out the word and she leans in towards you. Clearly, she was expecting more to the story than this.

“And I told him that he’ll hurt himself and now he’s working out and lifting all these weights to prove that he’s strong enough for it.” For someone who wasn’t sure if they wanted to talk about this to begin with, you’re now word vomiting everywhere. Between the speed of your words and the way they seem to come out before being processed in your mind, you’re strangely reminded of how it is to talk with Robin when she’s flustered over something. The thought has you biting back a smile; maybe now you’d give Robin less grief about talking so fast.

“Why don’t you just let him try then?” Nancy asks.

An internal scream sounds in your head at her question. Of course she doesn’t understand what the big deal is. It’s not her fault, but you also know there are no words you could use to explain it to her to convey how you feel deep down about it. It’s something you either know from experience or not.

“You’ve seen the two of us together,” you finally respond, voice measured and quiet. “He’s so slender and has some lean muscle, but not enough to lift my fat ass.”

It’s obvious from the way Nancy does her cute little pout that she doesn’t like your comment.

“You are–”

Here it comes, you think. She’s going to say how pretty I am, even though I didn’t say I was ugly–just fat.

“–stressing yourself out by thinking about this too much. Let Eddie lift his weights. If you still don’t want him to pick you up, tell him. You know he respects your boundaries.”

It’s not what you expected her to say at all, and you admonish yourself for thinking Nancy would be anything less than logical about this. And her logic is sound. You know she’s right, but the emotional part of your brain still isn’t completely satisfied.

On your way out of the school after talking with Nancy, you pass the weight room and hear someone inside. You peek in the small window cut into the door and spot your boyfriend’s mass of messy curls. He has a barbell over his hips, thrusting them up and down. The sight alone has your knees feeling weak. The motion of Eddie’s hips has you hypnotized for a few moments before you decide to go in.

Eddie isn’t facing the door and he’s wearing headphones, so he doesn’t hear you as you slip in and close the door behind you. Now you can hear the soft grunts that leave his lips with every thrust, and it has you biting down on your lower lip. When you take a step closer, you can hear the music Eddie’s listening to, the song pounding out past the headphones. Even though Eddie doesn’t know you’re there it’s almost as if he’s trying to seduce you. The hips, the grunts, now he’s listening to Burnin’ Up by Judas Priest? That’s the most often played song while the two of you are having sex.

Deciding it’s fine if you’re perving a bit on your own boyfriend, you watch him while he does a few more reps. As he begins to slow down and finish up, you move to take a seat on the piece of equipment next to him. Eddie grins when he notices you sitting there and tugs the headphones down so they’re hanging around his neck.

“Hey, baby,” he says. “I’d hug you but I’m all sweaty.”

“It’s sexy.”

Eddie laughs at the blunt way you say it.

“Really?” he asks.

You nod your head and Eddie takes it as an invitation to come over and sit next to you. He wraps you up in his sweaty arms, teasingly wiping his forehead against the shoulder of your shirt. It makes you laugh and you wrap your arms around his damp middle. The black material of his Ozzy shirt is sticking to his skin–and now yours too.

“Gonna go take a shower,” Eddie says and presses a kiss to your temple. “Then we’ll go get some food, yeah?”

“Sounds perfect.”

The next week you’re over at Eddie’s house, on your back with Eddie on top of you as you make out. There’s a long-forgotten shitty horror movie playing in the background, but the cheesy, shrill screams of the victims don’t even register to either of you.

Rough calloused hands slide down your shirt, moving from your breasts to the hem of your tee, where it’s riding up. Eddie’s skin on yours has you arching your back as his hands travel upwards again. It’s clear that he wants your shirt off and who are you to deny him?

“Bedroom,” you mumble as you break apart just long enough for you to yank your shirt off. Eddie takes advantage of your quick preoccupation with your clothing to scoop you up in his arms, bridal style. “Eddie!” you squeak.

He just chuckles and squeezes you tighter against his body.

“Maybe now you’ll let me throw you around when I have to punish you for being a bad girl,” he says, a cocky smirk quirking his kiss-bruised lips.

“A-Are you okay?” you ask, arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. “You won’t offend me if you have to put me down.” You’re very aware of his lithe body and how it’s supporting your larger one. This has to be hurting him–right?

“Babe.” Eddie chuckles again and shakes his head. “I’ve been lifting weights that weigh at least double what you do. It feels like I’m holding a feather right now.”

Narrowing your eyes at him, you try to determine if he’s lying or not. But the way he holds steady, not seeming to strain or struggle with you in his arms calms your worries. Eddie heads down the hall and carries you into his room and tosses you down on his bed. You land with a bounce and a giggle as he climbs up on top of you.

His lips attach to your neck as his fingers reach down and fiddle with the button of your jeans. Once it’s popped open and he drags the zipper down, Eddie starts to kiss his way down your body, making sure to press his lips against every part of you that he can. Your chest, your tummy, your hips. When he gets to your jeans, Eddie slides himself off the bed to kneel before you. He makes quick work of getting your pants off and lets out a sinful groan when he sees the wet patch forming on your pale green cotton panties. It encourages Eddie to move even faster as he yanks your underwear off so quickly that you blink and you miss it.

Eddie dives right in, wasting no time to run his long, talented tongue through your folds. You grip the off-white sheets below you in your fists at his ministrations. The laugh that rumbles through Eddie at your drawn-out groan sends vibrations up your body, only adding to the pleasure. Strong hands wrap around your thighs and pull you even further down the bed so Eddie can get better access to your pussy. His tongue repeatedly flicks over your clit and your eyes practically roll back in your head. Your boyfriend knows exactly how to work you up and bring you to the brink of–

“Hey,” you pout when Eddie pulls back and sits on his heels. “Fuck, Eddie, I was close.”

“I know, angel.” His words are soft and kind despite the mischievous glint in his eye. “But there’s something I need you to do first.”

“What?”

Eddie climbs on the bed and crawls up towards his pillows. He plops flat on his back as he says, “Sit on my face.”

“Eddie,” you say with a breathless laugh. “I’ll crush you.”

“Then I go out doing what I love,” he says with a shrug of his shoulders. “I always told you that you’d be the death of me.” Eddie looks over you with those brown doe eyes and you feel the resolve melting away in your chest. “But seriously, please come here. I already miss how you taste.”

Lifting you was one thing, but this seems like something he couldn’t prepare for by going to the gym. The sincere, pleading look in his eyes tells you that he really wants this, though.

“Are you sure?” you double-check.

“God, yes, please.”

Hesitantly, you shuffle up closer to him and lift yourself up to straddle his face. Bracing your hands on Eddie’s headboard, you still can’t bring yourself to lower your body. Just as you’re about to open your mouth and say something to Eddie, your boyfriend wraps his arms around your thighs and pulls you flush down against his mouth.

“Fuck,” you groan. You can practically feel Eddie grinning against your dripping pussy as he gets back to work. After a few moments of making sure Eddie isn’t suffocating below you, you start to relax into it and are able to enjoy the sensations of his tongue leisurely licking up and down your heat. A particularly hard lick to your hole has you letting out a gasp and clutching onto the wooden bedframe hard enough to snap it in half.

“Shit, Eddie. A-Almost there.”

He hums in acknowledgment, even though you didn’t need to tell him. Your body was something Eddie was a quick study in; it didn’t take him long to learn all the little quirks and tells your body gives him when you’re getting close to orgasm.

“Fuck,” you moan between pants as your breaths become shallower. Sweat slicks your skin as you hurdle towards your peak, body a live wire as Eddie works your body just as flawlessly as he does his guitar. “I-I’m coming, Eddie, fuck, I’m coming.”

Eddie tightens his grip on your thighs as your hips rock against his face. His nose brushes against your clit and it shoots a spark through your body, only heightening your pleasure.

As the high wears off, you feel boneless and collapse down on the bed next to Eddie. He huffs a breath of laughter and raises himself up on an elbow to watch you recover. Satisfied smirk on his face, Eddie wipes his mouth off on the back of his hand. He only gives you a moment longer to catch your breath before he gives you a smack on the ass.

“Hands and knees, baby,” he says.

Energy not fully recuperated yet, you give him a nod but otherwise don’t move. Eddie’s not having that, though. A strong arm wraps around your waist and yanks you up, causing you to yelp in surprise. As you settle onto your hands and knees like you were told, you peek over your shoulder to see a cocky smirk adorning your boyfriend’s face. He ghosts a feather-light hand up your spine as he leans in to murmur in your ear.

“Told you I’d manhandle you if I needed to.”

There’s hardly enough time for your brain to process his words before he’s yanking your hips backward towards him. The sudden motion has your arms giving out and you drop face-first into his pillow, filling your senses with the citrus-scented shampoo he uses. The husky chuckle that comes from above you lets you know that this is the exact position he wanted you in any way. You let your eyes flutter closed as you revel in the sensation of him dragging his cock up and down your soaked folds. It’s meant to be teasing you–and it is–but you’d be lying if you said the motions didn’t feel amazing.

Eventually, Eddie can’t take his own teasing anymore–he’s so damn hard in his hand now. He lets his cock drag against your clit one last time before he pushes himself into you. A moan gets muffled into Eddie’s pillow as your fingers involuntarily claw at his sheets. If you were facing him, you know you’d see him smirking. The bed begins to squeak as Eddie moves his hips, his own groans tumbling out as he slides further into you with each thrust until he’s finally bottoming out.

“Fuck,” Eddie groans, head falling forward. His hands grip the soft plush skin of your hips hard enough to leave fingerprint-sized marks. You turn your head to keep from suffocating against the pillow, but you know you’d willingly starve yourself of oxygen if it meant Eddie would keep pounding into you like this. “Shit, baby. I’ll never get over how tight you are. God damn, I love your body so fucking much.”

The only response you can manage is a groan, thoughts fleeing from your head with every snap of his hips against yours. His pace begins to pick up and you know he’s getting closer to the edge. But suddenly he pulls completely out of you, leaving you achingly empty. The loss makes you whine as you look over your shoulder at your boyfriend. Words still haven’t come back into your brain yet, so you just questioningly grunt at him, which makes him laugh.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he says. Your eyes track him as he shuffles up the bed until he’s sitting with his back against his headboard. He pats his thigh and winks at you. “Get over here.”

He doesn’t need to ask you twice. Throwing your left leg over his lap, you whimper as you lower yourself slowly onto his angry and leaking cock. The moment you’ve seated yourself on him, he thrusts his hips up into you, causing you to gasp and clutch onto his pale, freckled shoulders to steady yourself.

“Fuck!” you cry. “Yes, Eddie!”

The smirk that graces Eddie’s beautiful features is so self-satisfied. Normally, you’d come up with a witty quip or bratty action to wipe that look off his face, but the pleasure coursing through your veins leaves you incapable of coherent thought.

Eddie wraps an arm around your waist and starts bucking his hips wildly up into yours.

“Shit,” you all but scream as you drop your forehead down to rest on Eddie’s shoulder. “God, Eddie.”

“Think my lifting paid off now, baby?” Eddie asks, smugness dripping in his tone. He chuckles and presses a kiss to your collarbone as you nod and bury your face into his neck.

“Yes,” you mumble against his skin before pulling back so he can understand you. “Yes, shit, your hips are magical.”

A chuckle rumbles through Eddie’s body and he tightens his grip around your waist, holding your body flush up against his. As you feel yourself getting closer and closer to your climax, your fingernails dig into the delicate skin on Eddie’s back.

“You’re so fucking sexy, baby,” Eddie says. When you don’t acknowledge his statement, he tugs on your hair and forces you to look him in the eye. “Jesus Christ, I love your curves. Every single inch of your body. It’s fucking mine. So perfect, holy shit. How’d I get so lucky?”

“All yours,” you confirm, nodding as much as you can with his hand in your hair. “My body is all yours. Every curve, every i-inch. Fuck, I’m close, Eddie.”

“Me too, sweetheart,” Eddie says between labored breaths. “Come with me.”

“O-Okay,” you stutter out in a whisper.

Your orgasm crashes over you, wave after wave of pleasure washes over you as you cling to your boyfriend. The way your walls clench around Eddie’s cock has him coming immediately after you, his hair tickling the skin of your cheek as he drops his head forward to rest against your body.

“Baby, yes,” Eddie moans as he spills inside of you, hips rutting against yours as he fucks his spend into you.

When he’s finished, Eddie lifts his head up before dropping it back against his headboard. A satisfied smile is on his lips as he looks at you, rosy cheeks and coated in a sheen of sweat as he tries to catch his breath. Your body collapses against his, breathing just as heavily, and Eddie wastes no time in wrapping both of his arms around you. It’s quiet as the two of you bask in the feelings, both physical and emotional. Eventually, Eddie turns his head and presses a kiss into your hair.

“I love you, baby girl.”

“I love you too, handsome.”

“So,” he starts, dotting soft kisses down the length of your neck, “you gonna let me pick you up now?”

It’s not something you even need to think about. “You can do whatever you want if you fuck me like that again.”

The laugh that Eddie lets out has you smiling against his skin. He brings his hand up and lightly trails his fingers up and down your spine.

“Glad to hear that,” he says. “I think next I want to try lifting you over my shoulder. You know, like firemen do. How’s that sound?”

The question makes you lift your head up to look your boyfriend in the eye.

“Only if you wear the uniform, too.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #request

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anisespice · 1 year ago

Note

tokyo revengers boys when their horny but their s/o is too busy to deal with their shit? (u can add bonten-)

aye aye, anon! 🫡 needy men are my favorite flavor 🤤 thank you so much for your patience, and requesting ♡♡♡

pairing: tr x gn!reader

warnings: mature language, MDI. cursing, vague descriptions of sex, teasing, mild nipple-play, empty threats, crack!fic coded behavior, a tiny pinch of barely-there angst in mikey’s with a hint of misogyny, and i think that’s it :D feel free to lemme know if i missed anything!

notes: something about this request screamed sano to me, and maybe even throw sanzu in the mix for a little treat ( ˘ ³˘). also may have strayed a little from the original plot of the request, but the premise is fairly the same >:)) hope you enjoy !!

tagged: @fantasycantasy , @illegalspacecow

“Get outta there.”

Though your tone sounded stern, your demeanor remained placid as you continued typing on your laptop, making no move to actually stop the hands from creeping inside your sweater. You were well aware of their destination, and it was anything but harmless. SHINICHIRO was latched onto you the moment he arrived at your place, excited to spend his day off alone with you, and away from the prying eyes of his siblings for once. Rarely did the two of you get alone time due to your conflicting schedules, savoring the moments you did get without outward distractions in the way.

Things were going great for the most part…until your boss decided to dump busywork into your email, last minute.

“…tell ‘em to go fuck himself, so you can focus on fucking me,” Shinichiro grumbled into your shoulder, calloused hands feeling up your chest with slow, deliberate touches. You chortled, masking the small moan that nearly slipped out when he gently grazed your nipples.

“Good idea, Shin. But wait, oh shoot, fucking you won’t exactly pay my bills, now will it? So, knock it off.”

“Who says it won’t? I’ll pay your bills for the next month, hell, the next six months, if it means you’ll let me just stick it in, baby, please..”

You hissed through your teeth at the small pinch he gave your sensitive nubs, dick damn-near throbbing against your lower back as he rutted against you. Should’ve known sitting on his lap while you worked would backfire, poor thing’s so wound up, you felt a little bad. It’d been nearly three weeks since you and Shinichiro had even a second to breathe the same air, let alone touch each other.

You weren’t immune, craving a taste of him just as much, there’s nothing you wanted more than to succumb to his persuasion. But, having been on bad terms with your tyrant boss one too many times, you couldn’t afford to procrastinate.

“Shini,” you spoke, breathless as he suckled on your neck, growing more bold with his touch, “a-as much as I’d love for you to do that for me… you don’t exactly have the funds to make such an offer.”

He huffed, nipping playfully at your pulse. “I’ll get another job. Good? Good, problem solved, can you take your clothes off now?”

“Tempting…but no. Appreciate the sentiment, though.”

Shinichiro whined in the crook of your neck. His hands slowed to a stop inside your sweater, slipping down to rest on your tummy instead. It sent a tiny shiver up your spine, but was ignored all the same as you attempted to resume typing, seeming to have put a damper on his resolve. Or, so you thought.

Not even a minute passed when you felt his fingers searching for something else to play with. Something that has been calling his name since he waltzed through your front door. “Shin…”

Your warning fell upon deaf ears. Shinichiro merely shrugged, feigning innocence while his hands breached the waistband of your sleep-shorts, stopping right at your pelvic bone. Leaning back in the chair, the ravenette spread his legs further apart, forcing yours to do the same, giving him even more access to your already accessible center. Despite his lanky stature, homie had grip—Try and close your legs all you want, you’ll pull a muscle before pulling out of it. Your heart was borderline going Macarena, focus jumbled up to the point there were more typos than words in the report you tried completing.

You huffed, though your tone sounded less stern compared to the first time. “Shinichiro. If you don’t let me finish my work…I’ll ban your dick from ever entering me or this house for a whole month.”

On any other given day, that empty threat would’ve done the trick, hands flying off you so fast you’d think he got electrocuted. But, this wasn’t any other given day. This was already a two-week long hiatus of his most favorite place to be, in between your legs, and the only thing keeping him from it was your lack of underwear beneath thin-cotten shorts. Threaten him if you must, but it won’t work.

You weren’t fooling anyone.

Playing hard to get could take you so far, but he knew you were mere moments from crumbling to your desires you tried so hard to suppress, no shot you’d last another day, let alone a month. He was determined, and you were being stubborn—An immovable object verses an unstoppable force. Eventually, someone had to give. And it wasn’t about to be you.

It went on like that for another few minutes, him feeling you up and you batting him away. It only worsened the second he went further in your shorts, teasing your sex until you soaked through the fabric. You could feel his smug grin against your shoulder, no doubt thinking he was winning this battle. However, Shinichiro wasn’t aware of your trump card, your Charizard, if you will.

It’s a dirty trick. But desperate times call for desperate measures.

By slamming your fists atop of the table, startling him right out of your shorts, you turned to look him dead in the face, and said, “Don’t make me call Mikey.”

The mechanic widely blinked. But, his shock was short lived as he fixed you a sarcastic look, bringing his slick-coated fingers up to the light and right into his mouth to be even more obnoxious. After pulling them out with a wet pop!, Shinichiro called your bluff.

“You wouldn’t.”

“And would. Emma’s probably dying to catch up with me anyway, since I haven’t been around as much lately. And we both know Mikey would come just to spite you.”

As you continued to hold his stare, not backing down or giving any indication that you were joking, the sardonicism began to melt off his demeanor, and soon realization took its place. Shortly after that, betrayal. How could you be so cruel? He was already competing with an inanimate object, he’ll be damned if his siblings get added to the list. Taking a moment to weight his options, or lack there of, his face soon resembled a kicked puppy with his bottom lip stuck out and everything; you could’ve sworn his eyes started to water. “t’s not fair…been waiting all damn day…”

“I know, baby. But I need you to hang on for just a little longer f’me, okay? And once I’m done, then I’m all yours.” You cooed, placing a small peck on his nose as an olive branch. It seemed to do the trick, his frown softening as he pointed at his lips, puckering them. You snorted, but happily obliged, even placing a few more across his face until you got a smile. Shinichiro soaked up whatever he could as he leaned into you for more.

When it seemed he was satisfied, you turned back to continue working…only for the ravenette to try his luck one more time. “Can I get one here, too?”

You peered at him from over your shoulder—Give you one guess where he was pointing, wearing that all too pleased grin from before. You deadpanned.

“…I’m calling Mikey.”

“NoOO—”

—

“That’s considered sexual harassment, Mr. Sano.”

If he could time travel, MIKEY would beat the breaks off his past-self for ever encouraging you to fill the role of secretary at his work. At first, it seemed like a fantastic idea—Standing at his side, his pretty little assistant, wearing a tight uniform that left nothing to the imagination. He’d bend you over his desk and fuck you anytime he pleased, you’d call him Sir, and walk around the office filled to the brim with his cum until time to go home, then he’d fill you up all over again—The perfect work-life balance.

However, the gangster didn’t account for one teensy thing—You, actually taking the job seriously, and setting professional boundaries the moment you were hired on the staff. No matter if you’d be practically all over him in the car moments prior to clocking in, the second your kitten heels touched the marbled floors of the lobby…he wasn’t your lover anymore. He was your boss.

And he hated it.

“Sexual harass—You’re my s/o, [______].”

“Not within these walls, I’m not.” You continued reading one of the files left on your desk to review for tomorrow’s meeting, only for it soon to vanish right before your eyes. After a long blink, you held out an expectant hand to the stubborn blonde. “May I have that back, please?”

“No.”

“Mr. Sano-”

“If you address me formally one more time, I’ll take you right here in the middle of this hallway. Try me.” He hissed, holding the file out of reach.

You pursed your lips, fighting a grin. Seeing him get so worked up over not being able to get his dick wet was entertaining to say the least, but you were well aware he wasn’t kidding. Clearing your throat, you attempted to tread lightly as your expression morphed back to neutral.

“Alright. Mikey,” his eye twitched, but you continued, “would you be so kind as to let me finish reading the material for your meeting tomorrow? I would hate for anything to be amiss because I didn’t do a thorough review.”

“Tch. Where’s Kakucho? I distinctly remember assigning this task for him. Not you.”

You raised a brow. “You sent him on an impromptu errand to fill up the time he was spending ‘idling at my desk’. You remember that?”

Mikey averted his gaze. “…Don’t recall.”

“‘course you don’t,” you exhaled. “Mikey, with all due respect-”

“Not that name either.” He commanded, slapping the file back on the desk before placing his hands upon it to lean forward, towering over you. You couldn’t fight the grin this time, tilting your head up at him, amusement in your gaze.

“That’s your name, is it not?”

Mikey glared. “You know that isn’t the one I’d prefer you to use.”

With a shrug, you easily replied, “It’s what most of your employees call you. And last time I checked, that included me-” Mikey was quick to grab your chin, forcing you to look deep into his dark, deranged eyes. Man’s was definitely toeing line of his limit, and you were pushing it.

“And last time I checked, you aren’t like most employees. You’re my partner who’s working on my last nerve, and should really consider dropping this whole ‘professionalism’ act before I remind them why they were hired in the first place. And no, it wasn’t for your work ethic and attention to detail, or whatever bullshit Koko told you in the interview.”

Ouch.

Not to say you didn’t figure there were ulterior motives behind getting approved for the job, especially under the circumstances that you were heavily under-qualified to work in their type of environment. But, you tried your damnedest to keep up, do your part, and not be a burden on the team. For him to call it nonsense and boldly confirm such suspicions outloud? You think he realized his mistake the second your face reverted back to its neutral state. Wiggling out of his grip, you leaned back in the chair with your arms tightly crossed to your chest.

“That so? Well then, Michael, how ‘bout I remind you why a man shouldn’t mix his business with his pleasure. Things could turn ugly for him, maybe even end up losing both a loyal employee and a lover all in one day. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Out of all the names, that one made him cringe the most. A clear indicator of his grandiose fuck-up, one that if he didn’t fix immediately, he’d soon suffer the consequences. And your wrath.

“Wait, I didn’t mean it like that. It came out wrong-”

“Oh, I’m sure it didn’t. You’re a man who speaks his mind, after all.”

Mikey, though subtly, panicked. This wasn’t at all how he expected the conversation to go. But, it’s not his fault! It was his dick doing all the driving. With you working for Bonten, his long hours became yours, and by the time you both got home, sex became scarce due to your exhaustion. He was immune to the taxation of the job, while it was kicking your ass. And to top it off, he couldn’t even cop a feel of his own s/o, in his own damn building, because of ‘power imbalances’ between a boss and secretary that was ‘socially unacceptable’, according to you…as you work for the biggest crime syndicate in all of Japan.

Flawed reasoning aside, it drove him insane.

But, no thanks to his lust-clouded brashness, if Mikey thought getting some action at work was difficult, his chances at home just got a whole lot worse. He’d be lucky if you even slept in the same bed tonight.

“[_____],” he sighed, reaching over to grab your hand, though you moved it away at the last second. “You do a fantastic job here, angel. Exceeded all my expectations, actually-”

“Well, based on the merits of why you hired me in the first place, that doesn’t sound like much.” At that point, you went back to reviewing the file he threw back on the desk, seeming disinterested. But, Mikey knew better.

He’d hurt your feelings. To be reduced to nothing but eye candy for him, when you were busting your ass off like everyone else, it stung. It was playful at first, but now the blonde had crossed a line. With determination, Mikey removed the file from your sight once more, rounding the desk before crouching down so he could level with you this time.

You allowed him to take your hands in his, still indifferent. Mikey spoke with a tenderness only reserved for you, one that never failed to melt any cold front you built to wane his efforts.

“I was being childish. I shouldn’t have diminished your role like that, and I apologize for making you feel like your work isn’t appreciated. I’m glad to have you as my loyal employee. Even if a visit in my office from my lover from time to time wouldn’t be too bad, either…”

His words trailed off, along with his gaze as he reminisced. You chortled, shaking your head. Mikey looked back at you, ghost of a grin on his face. “I’ll back off. Promise.”

You raised a brow, skeptical. “You mean it?”

“Mmhm. Under one condition.”

You groaned, “Mikey-”

“Manjiro.”

“Oh, is that the condition?” He lightly pinched you for the snark, resting his head on your lap. But, before you could reprimand him for his inappropriate position, your words catch in your throat.

His stare was intense as they gazed up at you with hidden hunger, the tenderness still swimming in the inky pools, but not as present compared to moments ago. Mikey licked his lips, nuzzling against your plush thigh.

“Work less hours. Don’t want you to run yourself ragged trynna keep up with the rest of us. We’ve been doing this line of work a lot longer than you have, baby. No need to overcompensate. I’m already proud of you.”

Steadily did those words make your heart melt, until your were practically mush once they’ve set in. To hear his pride in you almost made you kick your feet, for that was all you really wanted at the end of the day—Acknowledgment. Validation. Praise. And working less hours would definitely benefit in more ways than one, more so on your mental health. You won’t lie and say this new job hasn’t been a challenge, all the talk about blood, death and drugs, one could only handle so much.

“Thank you..Manjiro.” He lit up at the sound of his name spilling sweetly from your lips. “I greatly appreciate you saying that. But, what’s the catch?”

He hummed, hands releasing yours to caress your calves all the way back up to your hips. Mikey didn’t pull nor tug, more so just holding you in place as he continued to watch you like a hawk. Eventually he shook his head, tresses fluttering with him as they curtained the sides of his face.

“No catch. Work your hours, I’ll leave you be…But once those hours are up, you better be sitting pretty on my desk with your reports in one hand and your underwear in the other, waiting for me to choose between my business and my pleasure. Deal?”

—

“Pout all you want, I’m not sitting on your face.”

When you informed your darling SANZU that your Saturdays were strictly for housework, he honestly thought you were joking—What idiot in their twenties would spend the weekend doing that?

Evidently his idiot, that’s who.

Imagine his surprise when he showed up, unannounced, ready to have you on every piece of furniture, only to be threatened with a feather duster the second he went to grab your ass. “Paws off. I already changed the sheets on my bed, cleaned the bathroom, the kitchen, and mopped the floors, so unless you’re here to help dust or wipe windows, keep it in your pants, Haruchiyo.”

Needless to say, he wasn’t the happiest houseguest.

After the long work week he’s had, Sanzu was looking forward to locking the two of you in the back all weekend, going at it like rabbits with no other purpose but keep the neighbors up—Pretty much until the room stank. But, thanks to this cleaning ritual of yours, that wasn’t about to happen anytime soon. Especially not with the various scented candles you were burning to hide the potent smell of bleach and pine-sol. God, he was getting such a headache from overstimulation…and not the good kind.

“This is such bullshit,” he groaned into the couch, where you banished him after he tried to bend you over the washing machine while you were loading another basket of dirty clothes. “Why’d you even invite me over if we weren’t gonna do anything…”

You paused from folding, side-eyeing him. “I didn’t invite you.”

“You said you were staying in all day. That’s practically code for: I’m bored, come dick me down.”

Your laugh had snuck up on you, racking through your entire body to the point you had curled forward. The leap he took to draw such a conclusion nearly gave you whiplash as you attempted to regain composure. “Maybe for freaky-fucks like you, but the rest of us usually mean it as something mundane. Like, oh I dunno, doing chores.”

“On a Saturday?? What ‘re ya, 80??”

You shrugged, placing another item onto its respective pile. “You don’t have to stay, y’know. If you have something better to do, then by all means, don’t let me keep you.”

Sanzu abruptly sat up from his position, the clothes you had laid on his back flopping onto the floor, instantly losing their folded shape. You shot him an annoyed glance, but figured some of the blame was yours for using his skittish-ass for a table. The pinkette wore a pitiful look, wide cerulean eyes piercing right through you as he gave a defiant punch to the couch cushion, “Was ‘posed to be doing you! And you are keeping me from doing that!”

With a huff, you set aside the pile you were currently working through to gather up the clothes that he so rudely let fall to the floor. “Unfortunate. Now lay back down, and be a good table. Since you wanted to be chair so fucking badly.”

“Piss off.”

He absolutely laid back down.

#🍁allspice #🍁wasabi #burnout go BRRT‼️🫠#tokyorev #tokyo rev #tokyo revengers #tokyo rev x reader #tr x reader #tokyo rev headcanons #tokyo rev imagine #tr smut #tokyorev smut #tokyo revengers smut #bonten #bonten smut #bonten x reader

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bluehoodiewoozi · 2 months ago

Text

If You Want Me

Lee Jihoon x fem!Reader

Genre: fluff

Word Count: 1,881

Warnings: lots of crying. (y/n)’s not the sharpest tool.

[Established Relationship AU] You find a strange box in your boyfriend’s drawer and it brings forth a life-changing event.

You were buzzing with unburnt energy, itching for something – anything – to do.

It was just one of those days where you couldn’t sit still. It wasn’t that you hadn’t already done much: the standard 8-hour work day was already finished and you still felt like you needed to be useful. There was so much to do and you were excited to get to it.

It was a blur of productivity. The speakers filled the apartment with the melodies of a playlist Jihoon had once made for you (you had lost track of what he made the playlist for; he had simply made you so many) as you practically waltzed around, finishing chore after chore at near magical speeds: the dishes, the laundry, the windows, the curtains. You watered the plants and gave their big green leaves a good wipe-down.

Around 11 pm, a text chimed on your phone. It was Jihoon, a heart emoji proudly on display by his contact name.

“Want anything to eat?” he asked, ever so thoughtful – or perhaps trying to avoid the awkwardness of eating alone.

You gladly replied to him, practically begging for your favourite noodle dish, and returned to organising your wardrobe. Even that task was done soon and you were once again left with a strange itch to just do something else. Literally any chore. But you had done them all already.

Well. Except Jihoon’s side of the wardrobe.

The half-wrinkled black and white t-shirts on the shelves and a random pair of sandals shoved in there was an eyesore compared to your perfectly folded blouses. He wasn’t the messiest person you had met, but he rarely had time to actually keep his closet as neat as he or you would’ve liked.

Usually you left his side for him to deal with, but – you thought to yourself – there’s no harm in helping out.

You folded his shirts properly, throwing a few stained ones to the laundry bin. You organised his jackets and sweaters by colour. You began organising his underwear drawer – the messiest of them all – when you found something curious.

It was a box. A very small one, covered in a velvety material. You thought, perhaps in a tired daze, it looked like something a piece of jewellery might come in. Earrings? Or a ring perhaps?

But why would he keep his rings in a box? He had a perfectly good jewellery tray on the nightstand – one you had handmade for him in a pottery class on a double date night. And the box couldn’t have been for you either – you rarely wore rings or jewellery of any kind and he knew that.

So what was in this box?

You tried so hard to fight the curiosity and just leave it be. You loved and trusted your boyfriend. You knew he wouldn’t hide things from you. Maybe it was a gift from someone. Maybe the box was empty and he had simply forgotten to throw it out.

But you had come this far and you were getting tired and you just had to find out. One little peek wouldn’t hurt, right? It surely couldn’t.

Against the warnings of your last rational braincells, you opened the box. Your jaw dropped in surprise.

It was, indeed, a ring. A pretty one at that. With an intricate golden band and a heart-shaped ruby in the middle. You thought to yourself that even you wouldn’t mind wearing something as beautiful as this.

But it wasn’t your ring. And, frankly, you wondered if it was really his either. Suspicions and curiosity grew and when you snapped back to reality you had already sent a photo to your friends’ chat, asking what they thought it was.

The answer was immediate and loud: “??? THAT’S CLEARLY AN ENGAGEMENT RING, YOU IDIOT?!”

Your heart dropped. Your body felt hot all over. You worried you might faint from shock.

Could it be? Was this really what they thought it was? Had you just accidentally ruined your boyfriend’s plans to propose?

And even more importantly – you thought, brain fully going into overdrive now, not even caring that the box sharply closed on your thumb as you clutched it to your chest and sunk to sit on the floor, tears burning in your eyes –, your boyfriend was going to propose? He actually wanted to marry you? It wasn’t just a tired fantasy he joked about with you late at night, giggling and joking about growing old together. He had bought a ring – an engagement ring.

Overwhelmed by your joyous feelings and the guilt of ruining what was clearly meant to be a surprise, you began to cry. Tears blurred your vision, mascara you should’ve washed off hours ago was smudging off your lashes, snot ran down your nose – you were certain you looked absolutely horrendous but you had bigger things to worry about for now.

Practically sobbing, you didn’t hear the front door opening and closing or Jihoon calling out to you from the front door, his melodious voice so full of love as he greeted you. You didn’t notice the rustling of the takeout bag or tired footsteps echoing in the apartment, nearing your location.

He walked into the bedroom, expecting to find you soundly asleep or maybe scrolling on Tiktok, ready to show him some nonsensical meme again. Even if he made fun of you for showing them to him, he greatly cherished the fact that your first thought was to share these things with him.

Instead he found you curled up in front of the closet, sobbing with a velvet box in hand. He froze. "Fuck."

Realising he’d come home, you scrambled to put the box back where you had found it and wiped your tears and runny mascara and apologised and hid your face and said, "Sorry. Don’t look at me. I’m a mess."

Jihoon only chuckled somewhat uneasily and slowly came closer, reaching out a hand to place it onto your shoulder before pulling you into a gentle hug. It was comforting. He was always comforting.

“Why are you crying?” he asked as if he wasn’t fully aware already.

"I–"

"You found the ring, right?"

"How'd you know?" you worried, eyes wide. Was he upset with you? Was he disappointed? Angry? Sad? You couldn’t live with yourself if you had made him feel bad when he had put so much thought into a future with you.

"I saw you put it away,” he pointed out so calmly that it almost lulled you into a false sense of serenity.

"Oh. That was something else,” you lied horribly. You were never a great liar, at least not to him. “What ring? I don’t know about any ring–"

"I think I know what the box of the ring I had made for you looks like, baby," he told you with a slight laugh before reaching into the drawer with his free hand and taking out the very box. Hesitating for just a moment, he then held it out for you, nodding for you to take it.

With shaking hands, you did as told. "It's for me?"

"If you want it," he shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant but his bright red ears and oddly glimmering eyes say he's about five seconds away from a mental breakdown of his own. He coughed to clear his throat before adding, "If you want me."

"What?"

"I– This wasn't how I planned this but," Jihoon ran a hand through his hair, “but I guess the cat's out of the bag.”

He let out a nervous laugh – the one he always did when Soonyoung or Jeonghan convinced him to do something dumb or embarrassing – before dropping to one knee right there, in front of the closet, in front of you – his girlfriend who he thought looked like a sad panda in the best way possible.

He closed his eyes and took a deep calming breath as you waited, holding your own breath. When he spoke again, his voice was hushed and gentle, as if he feared speaking any louder would give away how nervous he was feeling.

“I know this is kind of sudden and you probably weren’t expecting it,” he started, voice wavering, “but I feel like I’ll go crazy if I avoid my feelings for much longer. When I first met you, I knew I’d want you in my life for a long time – whether as a friend or as something more I didn’t know yet.

“But now I know,” Jihoon had begun crying, wiping his tears between anxious giggles when he saw your tear-stained but bright smile – an encouragement –, “I want you as my home, as my everything, as my wife. I’d sooner go insane than live a single day without calling you mine and myself yours. So,” he took the ring in one hand and your hand in his other, “I'm asking you to make me the happiest man alive and accept this ring and marry me. Will you have me?"

There was not a single doubt or even an echo of one in your mind.

“Yes. Yes!”

Nodding rapidly, almost frantically even, you semi-patiently watched him smile the brightest you had seen him do in weeks and gently place the ring around your finger. Before he could even admire the jewellery on your hand, your arms were wrapped around him, lips reaching for his to kiss him as flustered and silly as he had made you with his words.

“I love you,” you heard him whisper against your lips as he pulled you closer until there wasn’t even a molecule of air between the two of you.

You hummed and pulled back just enough to whisper back, “I love you too, future husband.”

He groaned at the words, a dumb grin on his face. “I can’t wait to marry you, seriously.”

“There’s a chapel down the street,” you half-joked (half- because you were so overcome with love for him that you wouldn’t have even mildly protested if he had gone along with the joke and made it a reality).

To your amusement, he was the one to protest, a grumpy frown taking over his previously bright and awestruck face. “I had an entire picnic planned with fairy lights and cake and live music and I even had Mingyu convinced to take photos for us, and instead I ended up proposing to you,” he glanced around the room almost judgmentally, “crying in front of the closet in our apartment, with my underwear drawer open.” He forcefully shut the offending drawer, earning a chuckle from you, before letting out a firm loud hum of protest and pulling you back into a tight hug. “I’m not letting the same happen to our wedding. You deserve the world and I’ll give it to you.”

“... So we’re not eloping then?”

“Not a chance,” he insisted, face scrunching up as if the very idea was offensive, and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “We’re already missing out on engagement photos. Imagine how upset our moms will be if they don’t even get wedding photos.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” you chuckled, pausing before adding on, “future husband.”

He tensed for a moment. Then he spoke, “So about that chapel – do you think they take last minute walk-ins, or…?”

#seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #svt scenarios #woozi scenarios #woozi x reader #woozi fluff #lee jihoon scenarios #lee jihoon x reader #seventeen fluff

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sparklingblu · 2 months ago

Text

Pulse

Sohyun X Xinyu

P.S: I'm trying a new style of writing here.

- x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x -

There's something calm and comforting about the crowded coffeeshop. The hissing of the espresso machine, the bustle of human conversation, the clinking of ceramic cups - they all seem to blend together to create a new yet totally familiar world. That's the reason I've come here. To be swallowed by this background noise and extract myself from reality if just for a moment.

I sit in my usual corner, my elbow against a cup of cappucino which has long since gone cold and a textbook opened but largely ignored. I have read the same line for the last thirty minutes but none of it seems to stick. I'm too distracted by the noise and my own thoughts, adrift in this place.

University is supposed to be a place where you "find yourself" but I seem to have lost my sense of direction as soon as I step my foot here. Everyone around me seems so sure of what they are doing, raised chests and energetic steps. Meanwhile, I'm just trying to keep my head down, pretending like I belong while I don't even know who I am yet.

Outside, the leaves are just starting to turn yellow - the afternoon light casting a lazy red glow on them. It's the start of a new season though I barely feel like anything have changed in this new life I'm settling into. It's just a struggle to fit in from day to day.

I bring my lips to the rim of my cofee cup, grmiacing as the bitter taste washes over me. It doesn't come as a surprise. The only reason people come here is for the atmosphere - to mingle and jingle . The cofee is just a necessity to stay.

I glance at the moving world from my seat near the window. A steady flow of students rush past the platfrom on the otherside, their laughter echoing through the glass. It's as if they know a secret I have yet to understand.

I pull the sleeve of my sweater over my knuckles, retreating into the soft fabric. Nearby, my phone buzzes with a notification from a group chat that I never have been a part of. I don't bother to check and it becomes one of the many sounds that fills the place.

I used to think university would be different - a total contrast to my mundane high school life. That I'd step into the place and everything will click into place. Like the rest of my life have been a prelude to this. But here I am. Already chickening out in the first week.

I chug down the remainder of my cold coffee, shove my books into the bag and was about to leave when a burst of cool air sweeps through the place, followed by the jingle of the bell above the door. And I happen to be one of those people who instictively gawk at the newcomer.

There she is, waltzing into the room like she owns it. The energy of the outside world seems to radiate from her body. There's nothing loud or brash about her but she draws attention anyway - an easy confidence that ripples through the place. She brushes a stray strand of hair our of her face, her eyes crinkling with amusement.

She stands out naturally,moving as if she's utterly home in her skin, in this place. It's the kind of self-insurance that seems totally foregin to me. I can't even imagine what it's like to be in her shoes. Not like I will have a chance. She's everything I'm not.

Her hair is slightly tousel, falling in loose waves that looks almost intentional. She's wearing a plain white shirt, its crispiness a total contrast to her slouch jeans.

She orders a cofee - espresso, no sugar- and while she waits, she cracks a joke at the waiteress, painting her cheeks red. All this time, my eyes linger on her with a strange sort of fascination, watching like she's the only form of enteratinment I have had in a long time. And it's true in a way.

She takes the plastic cup and the change from the waiteress with a smile. She turns and that's when the trouble starts. I have expected her to leave as swiftly as she has come. Someone like her probably have more important businesses than slothing around.

Her eyes dart around the café and it takes me a moment to realize she's looking for a seat. So she's staying. But luck doesn't seem to be on her side today beacaue every single seat has been occupied. Well, except..

"Hey" she says, and it's casual, like we have been friends forever. "Mind if I sit there?"

She's gesturing at the seat across from mine, which I have strategically left empty to create a distance between me and everything else. I hesistate a tad bit too long before I response.

"Sure" I mumble, nodding towards the chair.

She sits, sliding the cup of coffee on the table with a soft thud. I have expected her to pull out a phone or do anything a stranger sharing a table with another stranger would do. But instead, she leans back and scans the room before her eyes come to rest on me.

"I have seen you before" she speaks, offering a slight smile as if she can read my thoughts.

I blink, caught off-guard. No 'hello' s. No 'hi' s. Straight to the point.

"Have you?" I say, sounding awfully stiff.

"Yeah. You have been in the same corner for the last week. You come here a lot?" She sips her coffee, eyes still on me.

I shrug. "Not always. But yeah. It's quiet"

She raised an eyebrow, glancing around the packed café. "Quiet?" she repeats, half laughing. "Compared to the dining hall, perhaps"

Just then, I realize how rudiculous I must sound. "Well, not today" I admit, lowering my gaze back to the books. "But usually"

She laughs again, but not mockingly so. "I get where you are coming from. Sometimes, it's good to be alone even though you are not truly alone" She couldn't have worded it better.

"Exactly" I say, nodding slowly.

A brief silent passes between us. She sips from her cup again. If the cappucino here is strong, I can't imagine what espresso would taste like. But she shows no sign of distaste.

"So, what do you study?" she asks, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup.

"Literature" I answer, shifting in my seat. For some reason, talking about my major always make me feel like I'm giving something away. Like I'm exposing myself.

"Ahhh Literature" She repeats the word, as if she's trying to decipher its meaning. "That must be....intense. Lots of complicated story about lots of different stuffs"

I nod, still unsure where she's headed. "I guess so. It's more about trying to understand them through their words. Deep fry your brain sometimes"

She huffs. "I can imagine. That's why I try to understand them through their heads, it's less exhausting that way. I'm in psych"

That makes sense. She has this way of speaking, as if she knows what the other party will say before they even open their mouths. But at the same time, respecting their boundaries.

I'm still trying to think of a valid response when she lifts her cup and stare at the remaining coffee like she's studying it. Then her gaze lifts back to me, eyes bright.

"You know, espresso reminds me of people"

I blink, surprised at the strange comparison. "Espresso? Why?"

She beams, leaning in. "Espresso's small right? Concentrated. If you take a sip, there's this rush - sharp and intense. It hits you so intensely that if you are not prepared, it can be overwhelming"

She takes a sip, as if giving me time to register her words. "But if you take it in bit by bit, the taste changes. The bitterness mellows out and you can feel each layer of richness underneath"

I stare at her, my tired brain struggling to understand what she's implying. Why espresso, out of all things?

She leans back and continues. "People are like that. Emotions, life, they come at you in the most unexpected times - swift, chaotic. Sometimes it can be too much to handle. But if you give it some times, let it breathe, you start to see the little parts that makes it up. That's when you start to discover yourself"

I can't help but smile. "You have thought a lot about this, haven't you?"

She shrugs. "Maybe. Or maybe I'm just obsessed with espresso"

"Not the one here, I hope"

She smiles, instantly getting what I'm implying. It seems she's a regular customer too. "You gotta work with what you have. But you get the point"

"So....people are like espresso? Is that why you study them?" I question as she finishes up the last few drops of her coffee. This girl really likes espresso.

"Exactly" she snaps. I'm not sure if she's joking here. "It has always been my dream to do a thesis on espresso and emotions"

"Are you....?" I drift off and she bursts into laughter.

I feel the slightest hint of joy, like by asking that stupid question, I have contributed to her amusement in some way.

"Serious? No way. I'm not risking my degree for my unhealthy addiction. The last person I explained this to leave the table as soon as I'm done"

"Well, I'm still here"

Does it sound too cheesy?

"I can see that" She glances at the clock on the wall, frowning slightly. "I should get going. I have a class to prepared for"

I nod, feeling that familiar twist that comes with endings. "Right. Of course"

She stands, adjusting the bag on her shoulder. "It was nice talking to you" she says, her voice warm. "You can call me Sohyun"

"Xinyu" I reply. It sounds so much easier to say my name now.

"Xinyu" She lets the word roll off her tongue. "I like it"

"Thanks" She's already walking to the door when I response.

With one last glance, she re-enters the reality outside of this comforting bubble. I feel a strange sense of anticipation, like the conversation I just had have dropped some hint to solve this puzzle called life.

Sohyun and Espresso and People.

How peculiar.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

The walk back across the campus was pleasant. The scene that welcomes me when I enter my room is not.

As I enter, I'm greeted by the familiar chaos of Yooyeon's world - clothes draped over the chair, a half eaten bag of snacks spilling out on the desk and music playing softly in the background. The mess have become such an essential part of the space that without it, you doubt you will recognize the room.

Yooyeon looks up from her bed, where she's lounging with her phone. She's dressed causual with a twist as usual - an oversized grey t-shrit with the words "You Shall Not Pass" emblazoned across the front and swetpants of the same color. As soon as she notices me, an infectious grin spreads across her face

"Xinyu! You are back!" She exclaims, eyes bright. "Did you finally make a friend or are you still on a first name basis with the library?"

"Ha ha. Very funny" I retort sarcastically as I shove my bag on the bed. "But yeah. I guess so"

She immediately sits up, her attention solely on me. "Wait, what? For real?"

I can't help but smile at her enthusiasm. That's the thing about Yooyeon. It's like she has her own respirator of dopamine. Always on her feet. Not a hint of worry in those blue eyes.

"Her name's Sohyun. We met at the café" I answer, keeping my tone casual. One wrong octave and Yooyeon would immediately detect it.

"Ooooh, a café conversation, huh? Sounds like the opening to a great novel" She laughs, flopping back down to her bed. "What did you two talk about?"

I shrug, though I have anticipated the question. "Just espresso and....people"

Yooyeon grins even wider. "Don't tell me you spill your heart out. Cuz that would be really really-"

"It's nothing like that" I quickly interrupt. "It was just small talk. She's really easy to talk to"

"Easy is good. You need easy" Yooyeon bounces off her bed and start rummaging through her cupboard box of numerous books and posters. It has been a week and she still hasn't bothered to arrange her stuffs.

Not a moment sooner, she pulls out two bright blue mugs. "We should celebrate your burgeoning social life. I have got hot chocolate mix somewhere"

I roll my eyes. "You are impossible"

"Impossibly fun" Yooyeon winks as she pours the hot chocolate mix into the mugs and adds some hot water, the steam curling up. "You are on your way to becoming a social butterfly. Next thing you know, you will be hosting literary salons"

"Sure. After I finish this semester's readings" I reply lightly though the idea terrifies me.

Yooyeon hands me the steaming mug with a triumphant grin. "Here's to new friends and the magic of coffee! If you ever need a social coach to take you on this emotional espresso journey, I'm always available"

I take the mug from her, the warmth of it seeping into my palms. "No thanks"

"Aww come on. I can be the Ron to your Harry. Or the Peeta to your Katniss. Wait, nevermind. That's not a good idea" Yooyeon says, never failing to showcase her obsession with fiction. If Sohyun wants to do a thesis on espresso, Yooyeon would probably make one on Hunger Games. But her dream is closer to being a reality, given how she's in media studies.

"Isn't that the guy....who got like brainwashed or something?" I try to recall the memoies of the movie from time immemorial.

"Yeah. Poor Peeta..." Yooyeon says with a dreamy tone before she brings the mug to her lips.

"Fuck! It's hot" She yelps, immediately recoiling and almost spilling the hot drink.

"Who? Peeta?" I ask.

"No. The hot chocolate. Wait, no. I mean yes. Peeta, not this god awful drink" Yooyeon says while she furiously fans her mouth.

I can't help the chuckle that escape my lips. "I have always liked that Gale guy better"

Yooyeon's eyesbrow knit at my remark. And I already know a debate is headed my way.

"For starters,..."

And so it begins. I participate anyway although I know Yooyeon would win in the end as she always does. I'm not geeky enough for this.

But it doesn't matter. Because she's the only friend I have for now. Debating on fictional man not to be the odd one out doesn't seem so bad of a trade.

Would Sohyun like Gale better than Peeta?

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

I'm up early the next morning. The kind of early that makes the world feels like it's still deciding whether or not it should go back to sleep. I look at the bedside clock - 5:55 am. Ha. I beat the alarm today.

Soft gray light shines through a hatch between the curtains, the world outside still enshrouded in the morning mist. All is quiet except for the occasional footsteps and soft snores of Yooyeon , whose face is half buried in the pillow. I smile, knowing she won't be up for at least an hour. The girl's have been up all night finishing an assignment.

I shiver slightly as the cool air grazes my skin when I pull the covers off. The mornings are getting colder, the first hints of autumn sneaking in. And it means I will have a harder time exiting the warm embrace of my sheets.

The chill in the air clings to me as I head towards the common bathroom. The hallways are empty at this time of the day. Not much early risers here. This building, Bradford Hall, is one of the older dorms on the campus. The floors creak with each step I take and the white paint on the wall have faded with age. For no reason, the place indulges a sense of legacy in me. Like I'm a part of something greater. Maybe it's the smell of chamomile that always hangs in the air.

The walk to the bathroom doesn't take long since my room's on the first floor. There's no burden of stairways. It takes five minutes tops for me to clean up - brush my teeth, wash my face and a couple arrangement of my messy hair that will stay the same way after. I still don't understand how some people manage to spend hours in the bathroom. Making yourself presentable shouldn't be that hard.

When I come back to the room, Yooyeon has tossed over, almost draping off the bed and murmuring something that sounds like a spell. She might be visiting middle-earth, Hogwarts and god knows where.

I cross over to my side of the room, the territory determined by an imaginary line Yooyeon have drawn on the first day. The room is barely big enough for two twin beds, a couple desks and a shared closet. My space is plain, simple. Almost empty except for the small lamp and the stack of books. It works fine by me.

Yooyeon's, however, is a total contrast. Her walls are covered with posters of whatever fictional book or movie you cam name. Not to mention the figurines that line her desk. "They give me motivation" Yooyeon has said. In my opinion, I wouldn't want an inch tall Darth Vader monitoring me all night. I bet Yooyeon would consider that 'hot' too.

I rummage through my closet without any initial dress code in mind. There isn't a need to worry. People wouldn't be up yet. There's no one to impress. I decide to go simple pulling on a bright blue sweater over my shirt and pulling on a pair of jeans. I slip on my worn-out sneakers, their familiar creaks greeting me. After a glance in the mirror, I decide to let my loose locks fall freely. I grab my bag and leave, careful not to wake Yooyeon, who's on the brink of falling off the bed.

The campus seems almost unrecognizable at this time of the day - the morning light bathing it in a warm glow that makes everything looks like it belongs to a painting. The air is still, undisturbed by the usual hustle of students. I take a deep breath as I make my way down the brick path.

The clues of autumn are scattered here and there - the air crisp and the leaves tinged with green and yellow like they haven't decided their favorite color yet. To my left, the towering main library roses like a cathedral, fog clinging to its ebony walls. The arched windows reflecting the sun rays.

Further down, the old lecture halls rise up on either sides of the path. They look like relics from the ancient past, a time unbeknownst. The ivy covered walls adding into its timelessness.

They weren't joking about this place being 'old'.

Ahead, the dining hall comes into view, no less younger than its confidants. With the dark wood beams and the high ceiling, it looks almost like a castle. The stone steps leading to the entrance are worn smooth by countless steps and the wooden doors, though thoroughly polished, creaks slightly as I push them open.

Inside, the place is most empty, save for a couple students scattered around. The smell of coffee and pastries fill the air, comforting in a way that makes me want to stay for hours. I grab a tray, throws on a couple of sandwiches and a glass of juice. My morning appetite have never been impressive.

I takes my usual place near one of the stained glass windows, spots of light showering on the table. I love this place. It's quiet and peaceful. Maybe except when Yooyeon's accompanying me.

I'm haflway through a cheese sandwich when the door swing opens.

Sohyun.

She walks in with a group of friends, at least five of them, talking and laughing. Their energy seemingly announcing they belong here.

Sohyun's dressed in almost the same way at our first meeting - a loose white shirt and cargos. And she strides across the hall with the same confidence from that day.

I didn't mean to stare but my eyes follow her, weaving through tables with her friends trailed behind. Like maybe our encounter was an interlude to something more.

I know I should go back to my sandwhich but when the soul craves, the body has to suffice. She turns my way just for a split second and without thinking, I give her a small smile. It's nothing special, really - just a 'Hey. I remember you from yesterday' kind of smile.

But Sohyun's eyes sweep over me as if I'm not even there and soon, she's swept up with her friends again, laughing at something they said.

It stings. Though it has no reason to. It's like a tiny blow that leaves you off-balance but not strong enough to knock you off your feet. Before I even realize it, my lips have pursed into a tight line and I'm already staring down at the unfinished plate of sandwiches. Maybe, yesterday was just a fever dream.

I didn't expect much, really. A nod, a wave, a smile - a sign of acknowledgement. Anything. I tell myself not to care. It's rudiculous to yearn for approval from someone you shared a coffee table with. But I can't help the cold weight settling in my chest.

I glance up at her again. She's still at the counter, taking her sweet time choosing her breakfast. The way she holds herself is so natural, like she belongs anywhere she goes. I envy that about her. I have always been needed to prove to earn a place in society while she just waltz through everything without a care.

Why is it bothering me so much?

Maybe I should be grateful for her brief cameo in my life. Or maybe it would have been better if we never met. Then she will just be another student who comes to eat breakfast. Not Sohyun.

But now, it's infecting me.

I take a sip of my orange juice, focusing on the cold liquid that wash down my throat. It's nothing, I tell myself. It's jst a stupid plea for attention. It doesn't matter. I have always been good at finding meanings in small thing but sometimes, small things are just......small. There's no more meaning to them than what they are.

Maybe that's all this is.

I watch her from the corner of my eyes as she settles down at a table with her friends, her laughter ringing out across the hall again. And for a momet, I almost want to laugh. Not because anything is funny but beacause how easily she moves through the world, through life.

And how easily she has forgotten me.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Over the next week, autumn have crept in like a quiet exhale. The trees have turned amber and yellow, their leaves falling in slow spiral onto tbe brick paths. The air has become sharp enough to sting my skin when I go out. It's the season of change, like people say. But this year, there's something unsettling about the sudden shift. Like I'm not ready for new beginnings.

Most of my time is spent surrounded by books and notes. Despite the constant pressure, it's nice to finally have a rhythm to life again. The rhythm that my fear of rejection have indulged. I have recovered quick and Sohyun has faded into nothing but another human whose life happen to cross ways with mine.

It's nothing to dwell on.

I sit at my desk, my table lamp casting a faint glow on the pages of 'Jane Eyre'. The word file opened on my laptop is still in the same state as it has been in the last hour - celan and empty. The syllables for the essay due tonight doesn't seem to be manifesting anytime soon.

I tap my fingers idly on the edge of the desk, glancing at the clock. It's nearly midnight now. The campus has gone still save for the ocassional laughter and footsteps of latecomers from the corridor. Peaceful. Quiet. But still not helping me collect my scattered thoughts.

I'm about to give up for the night and go to bed when the door suddenly flies open with a buest of energy and Yooyeon, in all her chaotic glory, stumbles into the room. She's panting, yet she has this wide grin plastered on her face.

I look up from my desk, startled by the sudden enteance. "Hey"

"Hey" she says, plopping down on the bed. "Guess what?"

I raise an eyebrow, bracing myself for whatever dramatic new she has to deliver. "What?"

"Yeonjun wants me to meet him at one of those fancy clubs. And he asked me to bring a friend" She grins even wider. "Guess who that friend's gonna be"

I blink. "Not me"

Yooyeons gives me a look, the kind that says she's not giving up until I give in. "Yes, you. Come on, Xinyu. You have been locked up here for so long. You need to get out"

"I've been studying" It's not enitirely a lie but it's not the truth either.

But Yooyeon's having none of it. "Studying, hiding, same difference. You are coming with me. Plus, it will be fun. Who know? Maybe you will even find a cute boy" She winks, then whispers. "Or a girl"

I'm not quick enough to surpress the blush that creeps up my cheek. "Yooyeon!"

"What? Don't tell me you still can't forget Ms. Espresso"

"This has nothing to do with her" To my surprise, my voice comes out shrill. "I'm just-"

"Blah blah blah. More excuses" Yooyeon cuts me off. "Come on, Xinyu. You will be doing me a huge favour. Yeonjun thinks I have no friends"

"You do have friends"

"Yeah. But no one would be available this late. And I'd rather go with you. You are....less dramatic"

Despite myself, I can't help but chuckle. "You mean 'naive' "

She shrugs, throwing a pillow at me. "You know what I mean. I don't need to worry about you throwing up or passing out or sleeping with the wrong guy"

"You just wants a wingwoman who will behave"

"Exactly" Yooyeon snaps. "So, what do you say? We'll go meet Yeonjun, hangs out for a bit. Then, we can come back to your books if you want"

I glance at my laptop, ths text cursor blinking in and out of existence as if reminding me of the marks soon to be lost. It's tempting to stay here but Yooyeon's right. Perhaps, I can take a breather just this once.

I sigh, pushing my chair back. "Fine. But don't expect me to drag your drunk ass back here"

Yooyeon lets out a triumphant squeal, practically bouncing off the bed. "Yes! You won't regret it"

She's already heading to the door when I throw a sweater over my shoulder. Yooyeon's dressed in her usual fit - jeans and a Lord of the Rings shirt, the one that says "You shalll not pass".

"Seriously? You are wearing that shirt again?" I ask, eyeing her.

Yooyeon shrinks away in mock offense. "Excuse me? Have some respect for the classics. Everybody loves Gandalf"

I roll my eyes. "Whatever. Let's go"

As soon as we step out of the building, we are hit by the cool night air. The campus is fast asleep, the street lamps casting long shadows across the brick paths. It feels peaceful, almost serene.

Yooyeon immediately starts chattering about this new Draco-Harry fiction, her hands waving animatedly as she speaks. I listen, half-distracted, my thoughts finding their way back to a topic unexplored for some times - Sohyun.

Maybe that morning in the dinining hall doesn't mean anything. It's jut a moment, and moments pass.

Despite the countless convincements, a part of me still wonders. What if she had smiled back? What if things have happened differently?

"Earth to Xinyu. Helloooooo" Yooyeon's voice break through my thoughts and I realize she has been talking to me this whole time.

"Sorry" I mumble, recomposing myself. "What were you saying?"

"I said, what do you think of Yeonjun?"

"He seems...nice" I answer, though I barely remember the guy.

Yooyeon grins, clearly pleased. "I know, right? He's the sweetest. And he's really into Harry Potter too, so that's a bonus"

I hum in agreement. Yooyeon's world seems so simple - vibrant, full of energy. Meanwhile, mine feels like the polar opposite. I'm always overthinking, second-guessing.

"Hey" Yooyeon nudges me with her elbow. "You are being all broody again. Stop it. We are going to have fun"

"Yeah, okay" I say, offering her a small smile.

I breath in the autumn air, hoping that mayb, I can stop cllinging onto a loose thread.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

The club is a short walk off campus, tucked into a narrow street line with food trucks and cafés that come alive at night. As me and Yooyeon approach, the distant music grows louder, the rhythmic bass reverberating beneath our feet.

A small line of people snaked out of the entrance, marked by a neon sign displaying its name "The Tavern". The building itself is unassuming, with dark brick walls and small windows dimly lit from the inside.

When we step in, the place opens into a large space with low lighting. The bar run along one side while the rest of the room is a dance floor, dotted with tables around the edge. The air is buzzing with music and energy - people pressed close together, shouting whatever on their mind over the DJ's beat. It's an enitrely different world from the quiet, orderly campus.

"There he is!" Yooyeon yells over the music, wavibg wildly at someone near the bar. I follow her gaze and find a guy leaning against the counter, already grinning like a madman. Yeonjun. I recognize him from the first (and the only) time Yooyeon introduced me. He seems to reflect Yooyeon's restless vigour - a match made in heaven (or Hogwarts, whatever).

"Yeonjun. You remember Xinyu, right?" she says, taking her place next to him. He offers me a smile, not too over the top, but friendly enough. "The one who's always drowning in books?"

I give him an awkward wave. "Hey"

"Nice to meet you again" He says, his voice smooth. "Yooyeon's always talking about you"

"Only good things, I hope"

He laughs. "All good. Don't worry"

Yooyeon reaches for Yeonjun's half-finished shot of whiskey on the counter but get stopped by a firm grip on her wrist.

"Eh eh eh. You are ordering your own drink, miss"

Yooyeon pouts at Yeonjun's remark. "You don't even want to share a drink with your girlfriend?"

"You see. The reason it's called a 'shot' is that it's meant to be savoured by a single individual" Yeonjun's voice has gone unsettlingly serious.

"And they say Xinyu's the smart one" Yooyeon says, punching his arm.

"And they say men are the agressors" Yeonjun retorts. "How do you even deal with this witch, Xinyu?"

Before I can think of anything to say, Yooyeon grabs his arm. "Before I cast a casual Crucio on your sorry ass, we should get to the dance floor"

Yeonjun didn't argue with that. The banter is just their way of communicating. "Xinyu, you should come too" he invites.

"Uh.....no. I'm good. You two go ahead"

"Are you sure?" Yooyeon asks, despite knowing nothing can budge me. "It wil be fun, I promise"

I shake my head, smiling. "I will pass. I think I will just....get a drink"

Yooyeon is silent for a moment, then she's off, dragging Yeonjun into the sea of bodies. I watch them disappear, Yooyeon's laughter echoing back, carefree and loud, like she's exactly where she belongs.

Me, though? Not so much. So, I head to the bar,sliding onto one of the stools and order a Coke. There's no need for anything stronger. I can barely tolerate anything that have the slightest bit of alcohol and that's speaking from experience. The bartender barely looks at me as he hands it over, already moving on to his next order.

I take a sip and glance around. The place is packed, bodies moving in rhythm, couples tangled up in each other and some loners who are just swaying, lost in the music. It's loud, chaotic and I feel totally out of place. It's not that I don't want to have fun - I just don't know how to in place like this. Maybe my definition of 'fun' is different from everyone here.

I lean back against the bar and take another sip. The girls here are all glitter and glamour - tight dresses, high heels and bold colors, shimmering under the disco light. Like the night is made for them.

And then there's me in my oversized sweater and faded jeans. My white sneakers seems an imposter to their sleek heels. I have been so eager to get out of my comfort zone for once that I forget to do the necessary preparations.

I search for Yooyeon's familiar face in the crowd, but she's lost in the restless horde, probably twirling around with Yeonjun. I'm happy for her but all I feel is...detached. It's pathetic. I know. I'm too old not to know my constant fear of being the outsider, of being denied.

I'm halfway through my coke when I feel someone slide into the seat next to me, the barstool creaking under the weight. I didn't look up, hoping that it's just another stranger who comes to mind their own business. But then, he clears his throat, loud enugh for me not to ignore.

"Hey" a voice rings out, smooth but with a cocky edge.

I glanced over and there he is - perfect hair, gleaming jacket and a gold chain around hid neck. I might not be the best at socializing but I recognize the type immediately - the kind that's used to getting everything he wants. I can see it from his look, like he spends too much time in front of the mirror. He gives me a lazy smile, the one that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Come here often?" He ask, leaning a bit too close. His cologne is strong and mixed with the sour stench of his breath, it's impossible not to flinch

"No" I say flatly, taking a sip of my coke.

"That's a shame. You should. A pretty girl like you shouldn't be sitting alone"

I bristle at that, the compliment feeling more like an insult. "I'm not really into clubs" I reply, my lazy tone desperately showing my lack of interest.

He either doesn't know or care. Instead, he leans closer, his elbow casually resting on the bar next to me. "You just haven't found the right sort of people. I could show you a good time, you know"

I swallow a sigh, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. "I'm fine, thanks"

But he only smiles wider, as if my rejection is part of a game he's used to playing. "You sure? Cuz I don't see anyone with you here. How about I buy you another drink? Something better than coke"

"No, really. I'm good" I say, more firmly this time, hoping he will get the message. But the bastard won't take his eyes off me.

"You are playing hard to get, huh?" He tilts his head. "You wouldn't believe how many girls like you I have seen. Acting all tough, only to end up in my bed at the end"

That did the job for me. I straighten up in my seat. "Can you just leave me alone?"

"Oh, come one. I'm just-"

"Fuck off, Taeil"

A voice cuts through the tension and I instinctively turn my head toward the source. Sohyun stands a few feet away, arms folded. Her shirt has been tucked into her dark jeans, casual but sharp. Her eyes narrow onto the guy who is now known as Taeil, as if she's used to seeing the scene plays out.

Taeil straighten up, his smile wavering. "Relax. We are just talking"

"No, you are not" Sohyun steps closer, gaze hard and unblinking. "Here's what's gonna happen. You are going to walk away and leave her alone.

Taeil's smirk returns but it's not so sure as before. "And what exactly are you going to do if I don't?"

Sohyun's lips curve into a smile, one colder than any I have seen from her. She pulls out her phone, holding it up for him to see. "Let's see. I don't think your parents will be so happy to see their son acting like a druggie. Plus, it wouldn't be good for either you or your parents if the video end up in the wrong hands"

All the color drain out if Taeil's face, leaving him gaping. "You are blaffing" He protests, though the panic is clear as day in his voice.

"You know I'm not" Sohyun smiles like a predator who has cornered its prey. "So, fuck off"

For a moment, there's silence, the music filling in the temporary gap. Taeil shifts on his feet, his confidence all gone and finally, he lets out a sharp breath. "Fine. Whatever" His eyes flash with fury. "But this isn't over yet"

Sohyun gives him a mock wave, wriggling her fingers as he strides out of the club.

I exhale, realizing I have been holding my breath. I look over at Sohyun, who's still standing there with her phne. A neutral look has returned to her face. Like the Sohyun just a moment ago was a totally different person.

"You ok?" She asks, sliding her phone back into her pocket.

"I - yeah. Thanks" I reply, still a little stunned.

She shrugs, giving me a small smile, genuine this time. "That guy's a creep"

I nod, processing everything that has happend in the last few minutes. Sohyun, the psychologist. Sohyun, the saviour. What isn't she?

She pulls up the stool next to mine, the one Taeil has occupied just a moment ago and settles in. I shift slightly, suddenly hyperaware of her presence, of how close she is. The bar light cast little shadows on her face, illluminating the little details on her face I haven't noticed before. The tiny mole on her nose catches the light first, then the one under her left eye. They are so small, barely there but they stand out now that I'm seeing her up close.

"First time here?" She asks. How she knows, I have no idea. Maybe it's my my clothes that give it away.

"Yeah" I admits, a little sheepishly. "It's not really my kind of place"

Sohyun raises an eyebrow, amused but not surprised. "Yeah, I figured. You don't exactly look like you are having the time of your life"

I let out a small laugh. "Is it that obvious?"

She smirks, her eyes flickering over to my outfit. "Just a little"

I glance down, fidgeting with the edge of my sweater, suddenly even more aware of my appearance. "It's not really.....I don't usually go to places like this"

"So, not a party person?" Sohyun's voice is more curious than judegemental.

"Not really" I admit. "I'm more of a...stay-in and read type"

Her smile grows and for a moment, the chaotic sounds of the club faded as if we are alone. "Well, you are here now. So might as well try to enjoy it"

She's so easygoing, so at ease with herself it makes me want to throw caution to the wind too. But then, I remembered that morning in the dining hall and my stomach twists. The memory is still nagging at the back of my mind. I bite my lower lip, debating whether or not I should bring up the subject.

Sohyun takes a sip from my nearly empty can of coke and before I can stop myself, the words spill out. "I saw you the other morning. At the dining hall"

Her eyebrows knit together in curiousity. "Oh?"

"I smiled at you" I say. "But you didn't see me"

Or act like you don't, I thought.

Her eyes widen for a moment before she speaks."Wait, really? Xinyu, I'm sorry. I didn't see you"

I blink. "You didn't?"

She shakes her head. "I swear. If I'd seen you, I would have smiled back. I promise. I guess I was just in my own head then. I'm sorry"

Her words are soft, delicate and sincere. It unravels the knot in my stomach I have pretended to be non-existent. Still, she could be lying but I decide to trust her,realizing how much I care about what she thinks of me.

I galnce away, feeling my cheeks heat up slightly. "It's okay" I mumble, sipping from the empty can of coke. "I just thought....maybe I'd misread things"

Sohyun gives me a small, warm smile. "You didn't misread anything. I'm sorry if you feel like that"

She's apologizing too much now it's starting to get uncomfortable. So I dismiss it with a nod.

Sohyun shifts in her seat, her eyes flickering down to my sweater, which have bunched up awkwardly from the way I have been sitting. Before I can fix it myself, she reaches over. Her finges gently tug at the hem of my sweater, smoothing it down without a second thought.

"There" she says, her hand lingering a moment longer more before she pulls it back.

I'm still processing the gesture when almost absentmindedly, she reaches out and brush a stray strand of my hair out of my eyes. Her fingertips skim the side of my face and for a moment, time slows down - just enough for me to notice the way her eyes soften.

"There you go" she says, leaning back. "Now you are perfectly suited for the night life"

We both smile at that and for a heartbeat, I swear I can feel something shift between us. Something I can't quite name. Something that might as well be a misinterpreted signal.

The air settles into a quiet lull, the ghost of her fingers still tingling on my skin. The warmth of the moment hangs awkwardly between us and for a moment, all I can do is sit there, actuely aware of the silent between us.

"So..." I clear my throat. "Do you come here alone too?"

The corner of her mouth quriks up like she finds my question amusing. "Alone?" she repeats. "No. Not really. I'm here with my friends most of the time"

I nod. "So, are they here tonight?"

She glances towards the dance floor. "Yeah. They are somewhere out there" she says with a small laugh. "I kinda slipped away for a bit. Needed a break"

A break. From what, though? The noise? The people? The club?

I hesistate for a second. "Not really your scene either?"

She gives me a sideway glance. "It's fun but...sometimes, I don't know. It can geta little old. Same people, same music"

"Yeah" I agree. "I get that"

She taps her fingers against the bar, thoughtful for a moment. "What about you? Do you come here yourself or did Yooyeon drag you here?"

My eyes widen. "You know Yooyeon?"

Sohyun chuckles softly. "We are friends on instagram. She followed me first, I think? She seems fun"

I can't help but laugh at that. "Yeah. She's definitely fun"

Sohyun tilts her head, as if searching for Yooyeon in the crowd. "She told me she's your roommate when I mentioned I see you in one of her stories. She's been hyping you up"

"She -what?" I stare at her, feeling the panic rising in my chest. "Hyping me up?"

Sohyun greans, leaning in just close enough for me to catch a faint scent of her perfume. "Yeah. She says you are a lot cooler than you let on"

I shake my head, laughing under my breath. "That's Yooyeon....being Yooyeon"

"Well, she's not wrong" Sohyun adds, her eyes catching mine for a split second before she goes back to staring at the dance floor.

The silence settles in again, like an early intermission. Sohyun's eyes flicker back to me and I try to ignore the way she's watching me like she's considering something. I sip at the can of Coke that has been emptied long since.

"Do you wanna get out of here?" She asks so casually, like it's something she asks anyone alone in a night like this.

"What?" I ask, unsure if I've heard it right over the loud music.

She lets out an exasperated sigh. "It's too loud. And hot. Let's do something fun"

I hesistate, unknowingly squeezing the coke can flat. "Like what?"

Sohyun gives me a small smile, laced with certainity and mischeif. "Trust me. You will like it"

There's something in her voice that disarms me. Perhaps it's because this night has already been so surreal, with Yooyeon dragging me here, the drinks, the noise and then Taeil's annoying persistence. And now, Sohyun, who had seemingly ignored me is suddenly offering to whisk me away. It feels like too much, and yet, somehow, not enough.

I find myself nodding faster than my brain can catch up. "Okay"

Sohyun stands, sliding a couple bills on the counter before I can protest. She doesn't say anything, just gestures towards the door, and I follow her out of the club.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

The air outside is sharp and cold and for once I'm grateful for my out of place sweater. Sohyun, however, doesn't seem to be fazed. If not, she seems to be enjoying it.

The music fades into the distant as we walk in silence, winding through the quieter streets near the campus. I don't ask where we are going and she doesn't offer an explanation. Instead, we fall into step beside each other, our shoulders brushing ocassionally. My pulse is still racing, though I don't know if it's from the club or from the cold.

Sohyun's pace is unhurried, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her jeans and I keep my arms wrapped around myself, pulling my sweater tight. After a while, we reach one of the taller campus buildings, its ivy covered walls bathed in the moonlight. During the day, these buildings always looks heavy, weighted down by unknown legacies. But under the silvery gloom of night, it has all been replaced by a strange sort of calm.

"Come" Sohyun gestures towards the side door as she leads me in. The hallway is dim, lit only by the low, humming lights overhead. She doesn't say a word as she climbs up the stairs, up and up until we reach the top floor. I'm breathless by the time we come to a stop in front of an old, rusted door, with a faded sign that reads Roof Access: Authorized Personnel Only.

Sohyun gives me a quick wink as she pushed open the door with a soft creak. "Not like anyone ever come here" She mutters to herself as she steps out into the night.

I follow her onto the roof, and for a moment, I'm stunned. The sky stretches out above us, a blanket of stars scattered across the black canvas of night. The city lights flicker below and I can still hear the distant sound of traffic but for the most part, it's quiet. Like the rooftop itself is another world within this world. The wind tugs at my sweater and I pull it even tighter around me, bracing against the sudden rush of cold.

Sohyun is already sitting at the edge of the roof, her legs dangling over the side, her gaze fixed on the stars. She pats the spot next to her and I sit, careful to keep a distance between us.

I tilt my head up, admiring the stars, feeling the enormity of the night settling down on me. "You come here often?"

"Yeah" Sohyun says, her voice soft. "Whenever I need to think. Or when I just need a breather"

I nod, unsure what to say. This isn't what I expected when she said something fun. But in a way, it's better.

We sit in silent for a moment, the only sounds the wind and the distant hum of the city below. This calm, it's peaceful and stirring at the same time. As if there's a deeper meaning to it that I can't quite grasp.

"It's funny" she says. "Back in the country, I used to lie out in the fields and just....watch the stars. Sometimes, I would stare at them for hours. It never fails to soothe me"

I watch the way her eyes trace the sky as if she's searching for something. To be honest, I have expected someone like her to be from a big city. An image of her anywhere else is unimaginable.

"Must've been nice" I murmur. "Being able to see them so clearly"

She nods. "Yeah. It's not the same here. The city kinda takes over. Light pollution and all"

I can hear the nostalgia in her voice and for a moment, I imagine her as a little girl lying under that wide country sky, her face lit by starlight. There's something tender about it, something that makes me want to reach for a fragment of her from a different time.

After a pause, I point up at the sky. "Well, we've got stars here too. Not as bright, but they are still there"

Sohyun tilts her head, following where I'm pointing and I can't help but smile a little. "Okay, bear with my nerdiness for a second"

She chuckles. "Go for it"

I lift my hand, tracing an invisible line through the air. "That's Orion. See the three stars right there, in a row? That's his belt"

Sohyun squints, trying to follow. "Oh, I think I see it"

"Orion was a hunter" my voice dropping slightly as I tell the story. "A really good one too. Some says he fell in love with the goddess Artemis but her brother, Apollo, wasn't too happy about it so he tricked Artemis into killing Orion" I pause. "She realized her mistake too late and heartbroken, she placed him among the stars so she can always see him"

The story hangs in the air when I finish. I glance at Sohyun, her face bathed in a soft glow. She's quiet for a moment, her expression thoughtful.

"That's kind of sad" she says quietly.

"Yeah" I whisper. "It is"

I shift slightly, turning to face her and she does the same. Our eyes meet and for a moment, the world stills. I notice the way her hair flatters with the breeze, the city lights reflected in her eyes and the faint smile tug at her lips.

"You are really something, you know that?" she says, her voice low. "Is this your revenge for my espresso lecture?"

I blink, then smiles, feeling the tension melt away. "Maybe" I say, my voice almost teasing. "But instead of coffee, I use tragic mythological hunters"

Sohyun tilts her head, her smile widening. "Touché. You really know how to open-up someone"

"It's a natural talent" I shrug, although my sarcastic tone gives away the bluff.

"So, this is how you get back at people?" She continues, her voice still teasing. "By making them feel guilty for their ignorance about constellations"

I laugh, rolling my eyes. "Please, you are not the first person to endure my mythology rants. Consider yourself lucky it wasn't longer"

"And I thought my espresso thesis was bad enough"

It's like we are back in the café except that now, I'm the one doing most of the talking. But we are still the same two people with their own crazy obsessions.

Then in the lightest of gestures, Sohyun reaches out. Her fingers find the sleeve of my sweater, gently tugging at the cuff, as though fixing it, like she did earlier. She looks at me, eyes warm and amused.

"Revenge or not" she says, letting her hand fall back to her side. "I think I like your stories"

I swallow, trying not to lose my footing in the closeness of the moment. "Well" I managed to say, my voice uneven. "Next time, I will make sure to pick a happier story"

Sohyun chuckles, leaning back, although her eyes never leave me. "I will hold you to that"

The air around us suddenly become charged with something unspoken. There's a quiet, almost reverent pause in the conversation as if neither of us wants to break whatever delicate thread is holding this moment together.

Sohyun shifts slightly, inching just the slightest to my side. The stars seem to burn brighter, and I find myself leaning into the silence, into the space between us that feels both heavy and light at the same time.

"Do you ever feel like....." Sohyun starts, her voice quiet, like she's speaking into the night as much as to me. "Like everything around you is waiting for something to happen?"

I blink, her words sinking into the stillness. "What do you mean?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

Her gaze flickers back to the stars. "Like....right now, for instance" Her eyes meet mine again, and there's something in her expression, like she's trying to find the right words. "It's like we are on the edge of something"

Her words send a shiver through me, not from the cold but the hidden meaning underneath. It's not an unfamiliar feeling, but it's one I've been pushing aside ever since we met. The strange pull towards her, a quiet fascination that has grown into something else entirely, something that's so wrong and so right at once.

I glance at her and find myself staring at the mole under her left eye, like I'm seeing her for the first time.

"I know what you mean" I finally say, my voice almost too quiet like I'm afraid to break this fragile peace between us. My hands tighten around the railing and I glance down for a moment, trying to gather my thoughts. "It's like.....something have changed"

She moves an inch more closer, the space between us nearly non-existent now. I wonder if she can hear my heartbeat now. My breath catch in my throat as she leans in, enough to cover the remaining space distancing us.

"You are right" she says softly. "Something has changed"

It's so quiet, her voice almost swallowed by the night. MY gaze flickers to her lips for a second - a brief unintentional moment that I quickly pull back from. But I wasn't quick enough.

Sohyun notices. I can see it in her way her expression shifts. And she knows that I know that she knows. Her hand, resting casually on the railing, moves slightly, her fingers brushing against mine in the lightest of touches. It's barely a graze but it's enough to send electricity tingling through my nerves.

The moment stretches, suspended between us, as if we're waiting for something to happen or maybe just waiting for one of us to make a move. The tension is palpable now, not uncomfortable, but thick, charged with possibility.

I can't tell who moves first, or if we even move at all. It's like an invisible force has suddenly drawn us together. Her face is so close now, I can see the way my breath mingles with hers in the cool night air.

Then slowly - so slowly it feels like the world is holding its breath - Sohyun lifts her hand. She reaches out, her fingers brushing against my sweater, smoothing a wrinkle near my shoulder like she did the last two times. But this time, it's different. There's an unspoken intentionality to it that makes my breath quickens.

Her hand lingers, tracing the fabric for a moment longer than necessary. And then, without breaking eye contact, she lifts her other hand, gently tucking a strand of stray hair way from my face and tucking it behind my ear. The tender touch send a warmth through me.

Suddenly, everything feels sharper, more vivid - the sound of the wind, the soft glow of the city lights, the way her fingers linger near my cheek, as if she's waiting for my permission to go further.

"Sohyun..." I whisper, not even sure what I'm trying to say, but needing to say something, anything, to break the tension between us.

But she doesn't move. She just watches me, her eyes searching mine, her hand still resting gently on my cheek. "Is this okay?" she asks as if it's a secret we only know.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak without stuttering, unable to think of anything but the way her breath feels against my skin.

And then so so slowly, it feels like time has stopped, she leans in.

Her lips brush against mine in the lightest of touches, barely a kiss at all, more like a promise, like she's testing the waters, waiting for me to pull away, to tell her to stop.

But I don't. I won't.

Because in that moment, everything have ceased to exist - the city, the stars, the quiet night around us. All that's left is the warmth of her lips, the way they press against mine, gentle but certain.

I kiss her back, just as softly, just as tentatively. And for a moment, it feels like my life has reached its epitome.

Sohyun's hand, resting near my cheek, slides down to cup my jaw, her fingers warm against my skin. She tilts her head slightly, pressing her lips more firmly against mine, and I feel a soft sigh escape me before I could stop it.

My hands, awkward at first, find their way to her waist. I hold her there, not too tight, but enough to feel the warmth of her body through the thin fabric. She responds by pulling me closer, her fingers slipping into my hair, tugging me gently, deepening the kiss.

Her hands move from my jaw, sliding down my neck, her fingers grazing the sensitive skin there. My heart is pounding louder than the wind around us, around the city below. The kiss becomes more insistent, more desperate, as if we are trying to say something through it, something words can't describe.

Sohyun's lips parts with mine and for a moment, I think she's finally pulling away. But instead, she moves closer, her breath ghosting against my jawline. A soft shiver runs through me when I feel the first press of her lips against my neck, light and teasing.

Her mouth moves slowly, gently exploring, like she's savoring the taste of my skin. Her lips trail down the side of my neck, and when she presses a firmer kiss jut below my ear, I can't stop the quiet gasp that betrays my lips.

Sohyun hears it. Of course, she does. And I feel her smile against my skin.

"You are so sensitive here, Xinyu" she whipsers before her lips continue their path lower, her hands finding the back of my neck.

When she presses an open-mouthed kiss to the curve of my neck, her tongue barley flicking against my skin, I feel my whole body tense with the intensity of it. My hands tighten around her waist, pulling her even closer, yearning for more.

"Sohyun..." I whisper, barely recognizing my own voice and her response is to kiss me harder, her lips hot against the sensitive skin of my neck.

The world won't stop spinning, I reduced to nothing but the sensation of her mouth, the warmth of her body against mine and the quiet, breathless sounds that fill the space between us. It's overwhelming and yet, I can't imagine it stopping anytime soon.

When it finally does, I can still feel the ghost of her lips lingering on my skin. I feel her breath, close to my neck for a second longer before she pulls back. The cool night air rushes in where her lips had been, but the heat she left behind stays, radiating beneath my skin.

I open my eyes, barely realizing I have closed them and glance at her. Sohyun doesn't say a word. She just leans in, her dark locks scattering as she rests her head on my shoulder. Her gaze is fixed on the stars, unblinking as if she's trying to imprint them to memory.

But then, without looking away, she lets out a quiet breath and says, so softly I almost miss it.

"Fucking Apollo"

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

#triples #park sohyun #zhou xinyu #kpop fluff #girl group fluff #kpop fanfic

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dreamescapeswriting · 9 months ago

Text

Birthday Surprise ~ BC & JJK

WORD COUNT: 1.9K

GENRE: established relationships, SMUT minors DNI or you will be blocked!!! Unprotected sex, birthday surprise, threesome,double penetration

PAIRING: Chan x reader x Jungkook

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - January 2024

⤜MASTERLIST

All day long you'd been wanting the day to hurry up and pass all you wanted was to be home with your boyfriend but you'd been forced to go to work, and on your birthday no less. Sighing to yourself you unlocked the front door to your shared home and walked inside, a wave of excitement washed over you. The house smelt amazing like someone was cooking and you could hear Chan laughing with someone and a smirk tugged up on your lips. Chan told you that he had something special planned for you but he hadn't told you any of the details, just that it was something you'd been wanting for a long time.

Which could have been many things but as you stepped further into the living room, your eyes widened in surprise. Chan was sitting on the sofa with Jungkook, one of his closest friends and you knew exactly what he was doing here as they both turned to face you. Big smiles on their faces and a twinkle of mischief in their eyes,

"Surprise!" They shouted in unison as you looked around the room, it was covered in balloons and decorations making it festive as you pouted a little. No one had ever gone through so much effort for you before and the action made your heart skip a beat,

"You guys! You did all this for me?" You whined as Chan stood up, walking over to you and hugging you tightly before placing a gentle kiss on your cheek.

"We wanted to make your birthday extra special," He said, winking down at you as you realised this was exactly what you thought it was.

A while ago during a drunken game of truth or dare Jungkook had mentioned that he had a small crush on you which had made Chan jealous at the time until he admitted he wanted a threesome with you. After a long talk with you the next day you and Chan had decided it would be something you both wanted to explore if you found the right person who turned out to be Jungkook.

"Happy Birthday! We've been planning this for weeks, we hope you like it." Jungkook said as he hugged you this time making you smile brightly at home taking you to the kitchen so you could all share a meal together.

The living room was transformed into a tiny celebration between the three of you, completely with a homemade meal and cake that was decorated with candles. The whole evening you were sharing stories about your time at work, snapping photos together and playing board games - of course, Jungkook won every single time.

"We have one last present for you," Chan whispered in your ear, you were sitting on his lap when you felt your whole body burning up at the sudden attention from both men.

Jungkook and Chan had had a long and extensive talk about this weeks ago when he first went to him with the idea and Chan wanted this just as much as you did. Chan looked at Jungkook before nodding and watching as the man walked over to you and smirked.

"Can I kiss you?" He whispered, still wanting to be a gentleman about this before you grasped his chin and kissed him softly. Chan smirked as he watched Jungkook's cheeks flush a bright red colour, your hands clutching onto Jungkook's sweater as you pulled him closer to you. You could feel Chan's cock twitch beneath you as you made out in front of him.

"This is so hot," Chan mumbled before he began peppering light and sensual kisses from your jawline down to your collarbones. You let out a small whimper whenever he bit down on your skin, sucking softly as you ground your hips against him. Kissing Jungkook was so different to how you would kiss Chan, while Chan kissed like he was waltzing along a dancefloor with you, Jungkook kissed you like he was a winner in a fight and you were the prize.

Chan runs his fingers along your skin, pulling your top down until he can get a perfect view of your breasts and wastes no time latching onto your nipple.

A moan left your mouth forcing you to pull away from Jungkook who was smirking down at Chan,

"Someone is a little impatient," He chuckled but Chan smirked around your nipple, his other hand squeezing the other breast.

"Have you seen Yn's tits? How could I stay away?" He groans out, sucking on your nipple again and making your head roll back staring up at the ceiling. You were already in heaven from the attention.

"You're right, they're perfect," Was all you heard Jungkook say before you felt another mouth on your other breast, sucking harshly on your nipples making you cry out both their names. Your eyes screwed tightly shut as you ground against your boyfriend's hips, needing more than just their mouths on you.

"You're so desperate for this, do you want us both to fuck your greedy cunt?" Chan's demeanour switched as you whimpered.

"Y-Yes."

"I mean, it's her birthday. We should be spoiling her," Jungkook smirked as your body heated once again.

"I want to watch you come apart for both of us, you'll do that for us right, angel?" Chan's nickname for you sounded like sin on his lips and you nodded frantically at him. Both of the men smirked at one another stripping off their clothes as you did the same, removing every bit of fabric until you were bare in front of them.

"Stunning," Chan whispered in complete awe of you, it didn't matter how many times he'd seen you naked before it was always a sight for him and he never wanted to look away.

"Beautiful," Jungkook whispered running his hands over the curves of your body making your spine tingle at the attention. It had taken a while for you to accept being naked in front of Chan but you finally felt confident in your own skin to do it. Jungkook was the first to make a move on you as he laid you down against the floor, his lips kissing down your stomach until he reached your clit and his fingers slid into you,

"You're so tight," Junngkook pants out, slowly moving his fingers in and out of you as you moaned out softly,

"I can't imagine what my cock is going to feel like." He groans as Chan smirks down at you, your eyes finding his as you bite down on your lip.

"F-Fuck," You moaned out as Jungkook began quickly driving his fingers in and out of you, your back arching away from the floor as Chan used his arm to playfully hold you down. Your orgasm was growing faster as your legs started to shake, whimpering out Jungkook's name,

"I-I'm gonna cum...P-Please...Fuck! Please." You pleaded, your hands finding something to grip onto as you rocked your hips.

"Cum for him, Yn," Chan told you as began sucking on your nipples again,

"Cum for both of us," He added making you cry out their names as your orgasm washed over you. Neither Chan nor Jungkook slowed down as they watched you throw your head back against the floor letting out the loudest moan you'd ever done. Chan kissed up and down your neck as he slowly lay down on the floor beside you,

"Ride me, angel." He instructed as you were quick to get up off the floor and straddle your boyfriend's lap, Jungkook watched as you lined yourself up with his cock.

"You sure you can handle us both?" He asked now a little unsure about how this was going to work but you smirked at him over your shoulder.

"Positive," Your voice came out seductive and sweet before you sunk down onto your boyfriend letting him fill you inch by inch until you were crying out his name.

"Fuck, Chan." You whined out,

"That's it, angel. Take my cock, just like that," He moans out, spreading his legs wide and thrusting up into you, your head rolling back as you cried out. The head of his cock hitting that perfect spot inside of you that made everything so much more intense.

"Jungkook, I want you too." You moaned out as you rocked your hips in time with Chan's thrusts, whimpering out as you felt something cold on your ass.

"Just prepping you, baby," Jungkook whispers as he massages lube onto your tight hole, slowly pushing a finger into you first making you gasp out. You'd tried anal before with Chan so it was nothing new to you but the feeling of Chan already deep inside of you with Jungkook's fingers drove you wild.

"Fuck me...Please," You begged as Jungkook slowly knelt behind you and lined himself up with your hole. Jungkook hisses as he slowly pushes into you, filling you up inch by inch until you are crying out their names.

"S-So fucking full," You moan out as you held onto Chan's chest for support. You cried out as you felt both of them inside of you, Chan's thrusting resumed as Jungkook slowly found his own pattern. Both of them alternated with powerful thrusts that drove you insane.

"I-it's too much," You squirm a little, moaning out as you clutched onto Chan's chest, Chan's thrusting slowed and Jungkook stopped completely, looking at Chan for confirmation to continue.

"Colour." Chan moaned out as he stared at you, his eyes softening as he watched you closely.

"G-Green," You told him, letting him know that while it was too much you knew you could handle it.

"You can take it, angel. You're doing so f-fucking good," He groans out as he squeezes your breasts, looking up at you as you stare down at him bucking your hips as they continue to fuck into you roughly.

"You wanted this, don't forget that," Jungkook whispered in your ear, biting down on your skin softly as you cried out his name.

"J-Jungkook, C-Chan," You moaned out as you felt your second orgasm fast approaching,

"The birthday girl gets whatever she wants." Jungkook moans as he fucks into you roughly, your head rolling back to land on Jungkook's chest.

"Cum around our cocks, Angel, we wanna see you cum for us." Chan pants out, his hips thrusting faster as you whimper out his name, barely able to form words anymore.

"Be a good girl and cum," Chan ordered as you cried out, your orgasm hitting you and shattering around you roughly as you clenched around the men.

It didn't take long until both men were moaning loudly, you felt Chan's cock twitch inside of you before his thrusting slowed to a stop and you whimpered when you felt Jungkook pull out of you, suddenly feeling empty until a warm feeling hit the bottom of your back.

"You're so hot," Jungkook pants, falling onto the floor out of breath as you giggled at both of the men who looked just as fucked out as you did right now.

"Stay for a slice of cake and we'll head to bed together," You told Jungkook, your eyes looking down at Chan to make sure it was okay and he nodded, kissing your hand softly as you all lay there trying to calm down from your highs.

The following morning you had expected things to be awkward between the three of you but it wasn't at all, you'd kissed Jungkook goodbye and he headed home leaving you and Chan with the day to yourselves.

"I'll never share you again." He told you as he drew invisible patterns into your skin, your head snuggling into his neck as you nodded at him.

"I never want to be shared again, I'm all yours." You promised him, placing gentle kisses on his skin as he shivered a little at the touch.

@chiisaiblog @sw33tnight @kaitieskidmore97 @laylasbunbunny @stayconnecteed @saymyspringrain @toplinehyunjin @katnisspeetaprim @acciocriativity @just-aelia @choisoorin @straykids5star @midnightfrog625 @beccaskz @scarletemeterio @halesandy @junhannies @gothic4under4lord @lixie-phoria @soulphoenix1618 @aerastus @jin-from-the-block @lensfilm @elizaschuyler18 @piratequeen-impact @kpopsstuffs @chaeyoungs @delulu18 @xyahrinx @katsukis1wife @anthropologymajorkpopmultistan @blairscott @4-chan-inpadella @niktwazny303 @moonlight-the-writer @armystay89 @hadassahchan @yxngbxkkie @myyouthdonut @extrhotjne @ca11me3mily @elissasimp @tinyoonsblog @whitefoxgirl @heyjiminnie @btsiguess-kpop

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jigeuminunbich · 4 months ago

Text

cherie amour | han dongmin (taesan)

synopsis in which dongmin finds himself falling head over heels for the regular that comes into his job (at a vintage record shop) every afternoon.

genre college!au, fem!reader, s2ls (strangers to lovers), and fluff

warnings halfway proofread ngl, kinda has a princess & the pauper vibe (reader is quite privileged & goes to an elite college), quite a few awkward pauses and bashful stares, and dongmin can’t flirt for the life of him

word count 2k

a/n first ff out of the neo realm, hope you all enjoy!

track-list my cherie amour x stevie wonder, can i call you rose? x thee sacred souls, and all i do is think of you x the jackson 5

A bead of sweat trickled down the side of Dongmin’s face. The rickety fan his boss had found from storage was doing absolutely nothing to shield him from the wrath of the summer heat— and the fact he refused to turn on the air conditioning wasn’t helping him in the slightest either.

Despite feeling like he had been transported to the sixth circle of hell, Dongmin didn’t mind his job, it had actually been a juvenile dream of his to work in a place much like this. Somewhere with artifacts filled with history, antique furniture and decor, a devoted community of customers— and surely, that’s what he got following being hired for this position.

But he definitely wasn’t expecting to be overworked as one of the few underlings for his incompetent boss who had inherited the place and having to endure the smell of what could only be described as vintage.

The continuous buzzing of the fan that whirred beside Dongmin’s propped, beat-up sneakers was muffled for a brief moment as in came one of the meager reasons he decided to put up with his job— only, even.

You.

Following the chime on the door, a wave of heat entered the record shop but you graciously came with it, so Dongmin couldn’t really complain. You greeted him with a smile as he hurriedly straightened in his seat and adjusted his posture stiffly. The smile was returned to the best of his abilities, but he’s sure it came off wonky and jarring.

Silently, you waltzed around the shop. It wasn’t very big, and he’s positive you’ve walked each aisle at least a few dozen times but it still had you coming back every other afternoon.

It was ritualistic for you to stumble into the small-scale record shop nestled between an antique boutique and a genuine crystal shop— Dongmin had become hip to this months ago when he had first began working here. Though, it was obvious to him that you had been doing this a lot longer than his time, judging by the way you interacted with veteran staff and even that dense boss of his.

You were around his age, clear from the cardigan you wore that was proudly embroidered in fancy cursive of what he discovered was your home school— the elite college that rivaled his. It had been an initial thought of his that maybe you were an alum and just liked the comfort that the sweater offered but after miraculously seeing you at a rival game between your two schools’ football teams— he knew for sure that you were close in age.

Unfortunately for him, those were the only details he had found on you. Alleged things about you floated around between his coworkers and to his own ears but he ignored them for solid truth. The truth was, you were clearly a devout music lover from a realm he didn’t know of, a school he could only dream of attending, and a lifestyle he had absolutely no experience in.

“Anything new that you recommend?” At the arriose sound of your voice, Dongmin came to a realization that he had been staring at you for far too long.

Under your curious gaze, he stilled. Nearly forgetting to breathe over the fact you were speaking to him. Another fact he had come to realize, is that you enjoyed your solitude. It wasn’t often that you spoke to him outside of your purchase of a vinyl or the rare CD. But when you did, Dongmin always fell into the same trap as if it was happening for the first time again.

��I—uh— what’s your genre?” He knew this already. You had an affinity for 60s music— he came to conclude from the dozen of vinyls he had previously rung up for you.

You hummed, glancing to the spotty ceiling as you contemplated. “I always go for oldies. Anything recent that you like?” As you asked this, you drew closer to the counter where Dongmin was quickly breaking out into a cold sweat over the fact you were verily nearing closer to him.

Your eyes didn’t waver from him, it was clear that you were genuinely interested in his own opinion.

“Well, I don’t listen to too much recent stuff myself, actually.” He managed to respond, not having the capacity to filter his honesty.

Now opposite of him by the counter, you giggled. Dongmin swore his heart skipped a beat, or two for that matter.

“Well, I guess you’re no help then?” Your voice lilted with humor, your head tilting.

“Heh. No, I guess not…” To Dongmin, he was sure your bout of conversation would end here. You would choose something along the lines of your usual, get rung up with some sort of small talk, and go on about your day while he finished out his shift wallowing about how he wished he could’ve said more to you.

“What’s your genre, then,” you squinted momentarily to double-check his nametag. “Dongmin?”

For a moment, Dongmin had forgotten his name was his own. You watched him blink at you for a few beats before visibly collecting himself.

“Me? Well, I like rock— like Nirvana and My Chemical Romance. But I like easy listening stuff too…”

You nodded, “I assumed just as much.”

Dongmin’s eyebrows shot up into his fringe, eyes wide with surprise. “Really?”

An endeared smile etched onto your lips instantly. “Yeah, every time you’re here they’re always playing over the speakers. But I hear the Carpenters every now and then, too. You have good taste.”

Dongmin fought the flattered expression that attempted to spread across his features, clearing his throat in an effort to swallow his excitement. “Thanks.”

You nodded, a silence floating in the air as you two both seemed to wait for the other to carry on the conversation. With the atmosphere starting to feel cramped, you open your mouth to ease the awkwardness but Dongmin thankfully beats you to it.

“We—uhm— actually just get in some new vinyls that I think you might like…”

You visibly perk up at this. “Did you?”

Dongmin nods, his tone coming off a bit hesitant. “Well, you get a rotation of the same artists, I noticed…”

Your laughter eases the weight on his shoulders, he finds himself smiling fondly as you nod your head in agreement. “No, yeah, I do. I guess I’m quite predictable,”

Dongmin shrugs. “There’s nothing wrong with that. I think your music taste is good too.”

You find yourself smoothing a hand over your jacket, flattered. “Thank you,”

“No problem.”

You both lock eyes for a beat longer than expected, your own being the ones to flit elsewhere as could feel the flutter of butterflies swarm in the base of your belly. Dongmin’s gaze on you is only interrupted when you clear your throat before speaking again.

“Did you want to show them to me?”

“Oh! Yeah, sorry,” As if he had been split from a trance, Dongmin lurches back into reality to begin leading you towards a dusty corner of the shop.

A giggle leaves you as you follow close behind. “No worries.”

It’s safe to say Dongmin did not fabricate that the new selections would be to your liking. You find yourself rifling through the crate carefully, multiple familiar artists’ cover arts calling your name. Dongmin can’t help but admire you as you work your way through the vinyls with pure amazement in your eyes.

“Anything catch your eye?” He gestures toward the basket that you were leisurely searching through.

Your gaze shifts upwards to where Dongmin is standing, sheepishly remembering that he was there. “A lot. I’m supposed to be on a budget for stuff like this but— Oh my god! I’ve been looking for this,” you excitedly pull out a yellowed Lesley Gore vinyl.

Dongmin’s amused laughter catches your attention and you roll your eyes at him before shaking your head. “Damn, why’d you have to know me so well?”

“Heh. I can get you a discount, if you’re interested?” Dongmin approaches you, delivering his sentence carefully to test your reaction.

You jerk away in surprise, shocked that Dongmin would even offer to do that for you. But you can tell he’s genuine as he watches you intently awaiting your response. “No, no. I just need to practice some self-control…”

“You sure? I can’t promise that old guy won’t buy up all the Marvin Gaye in here…” You follow his hands as they skim the top of the distressed and begrimed vinyls, almost like a hypnosis.

A huff leaves you, the memories of your elder competition that most likely had no idea was your competition coming to mind. “Shit— you’re right. Okay, fine. I’ll indulge myself just this once.”

You decide to humor Dongmin and yourself, picking through the crate again to remove several LPs that caught your attention. Dongmin nods, finding confidence in being able to bond with you. After you make your final decision, you both head back over to the counter to finalize your transaction.

“You didn’t have to do this, y’know. I’m sure this is actually against the rules…”

“Nah. It’s fine my boss does it all the time for customers he likes too—“ Dongmin realizes his slip of tongue a little too late, his expression reminding you of a deer in the headlights.

“Really now?” You muse.

“Uh—yeah,” Dongmin coughs. “That’s your total…”

Your eyebrows jump instinctively at the outcome, gladly digging around in your bag for your card. “Damn. I’m glad you like me because inflation is killing me right now, here,”

Dongmin accepts your payment and you don’t miss the way he avoids your eyes bashfully. When everything is squared away, your hefty bag in hand, he decides he’s capable of addressing you head on.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you around then?” He visibly forces out, internally hoping it comes across as natural (he doesn’t).

You nod automatically but have a sudden train of thought that you decide to take a chance and verbalize. “Actually… do you get off any time soon?”

The boy across from you is clearly stunned at the inquiry, blinking at you a couple times before answering. “Uh— in about an hour, actually…”

“Cool. I’ll be at the café across the street, if you don’t have anything to do that is… I feel like it’s only right that I repay you…” The last of your sentence trails off as you feel you’re rambling on, but Dongmin couldn’t have looked more interested in you.

“No! I mean, I don’t have anything to do— I’m free, yeah.” Dongmin shuffles, setting himself in a pose that he hoped conveyed how nonchalant he wanted to be but was clearly failing to do so.

You find yourself amused with his antics— a bit flattered as well. “Alright then, see you in an hour?” He nods intently while he watches you back away from the till.

“An hour it is.” He affirms, returning the wave you spare him before the shop’s door chimes again. Promptly, your warmth leaves him to the humidity of the shop. But he holds his pose knowing he’ll be engulfed in it once more.

#taesan x reader #taesan x you #han taesan x reader #dongmin x reader #han dongmin x reader #boynextdoor x reader #bnd x reader #kpop x reader #boynextdoor imagines #boynextdoor fic #boynextdoor fanfic

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shoccolatine · 9 months ago

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things i associate them with

╰┈➤ ❝ LUCIFER. ❞

red wine, dark chocolate, violin music, clinking of glasses, the light chatter in a restaurant, rustling papers, papercuts, loose black feathers, waltzing, chandeliers, skulls, cologne, red wax seals.

╰┈➤ ❝ MAMMON. ❞

chocolate coins, white chocolate, gold chains, the smell of tires and gasoline, mechanic grease smears, leather, the divot in your favourite spot on the couch, coins jingling, fuzzy dice, warm hugs.

╰┈➤ ❝ LEVIATHAN. ❞

pixel art, neon signs, LED strip lights, glitchcore, songs made in mario paint, multiple desktop screens, the clear purple N64 i've had since 2000, aquariums, jellyfish, 20-sided dice, ramune, ecco the dolphin.

╰┈➤ ❝ SATAN. ❞

cats (specifically calico), new book smell, dusty shelves, the rough feeling of novel pages between your fingers, introspection, dark academia aesthetic, existential thoughts, freshly brewed coffee, elbow patches on sweaters, paws and tails.

╰┈➤ ❝ ASMODEUS. ❞

velvet, lace, flowers and leaves, whispering secrets to each other, mirrors, clay masks, warm hugs, sunlight streaming through sheer curtains, gentle laughter heard from another room, glitter, strawberry shortcake, holding pinkies.

╰┈➤ ❝ BEELZEBUB. ❞

all-you-can-eat buffets, sitting with family/friends at the dinner table, the refreshing feeling of downing an entire glass of cold water, a roaring crowd, drops of sweat, grass stains, laughing so hard your stomach hurts, big fangs.

╰┈➤ ❝ BELPHEGOR. ❞

cows, thick socks, pillows, big sweaters, naps, sleepy cuddles, moonlight through the curtains, warming up cold hands, hot chocolate, deep conversations at 3am, watching the stars, astronomy, thorns.

#obey me #obey me x reader #lucifer x reader #mammon x reader #leviathan x reader #satan x reader #asmodeus x reader #beelzebub x reader #belphegor x reader #hcs

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downbadf0rficppl · 10 months ago

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sweater weather

Nomad!Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: While caught out in a snowstorm while on a mission, you resort to desperate measures to keep warm.

Word Count: 3.2K

Warnings: Canon violence, slightly injured reader, smut, manhandling, soft sex, facefucking

Repost

The mission was long. And hard. And all you wanted now was a nice, long nap.

Steve had brought up this particular mission while you two were hiding in Manila. You always preferred the warmer destinations, even when you worked for SHIELD.

It was a simple mission - too simple in hindsight - the grab-the-file-and-get-out type.

"It's Austria," you sighed, again with the cold. "I know, sweets, but it's an ex-Hydra base. We gotta check it out, make sure they don't have anything they shouldn't."

You nodded, "When do we leave?"

"Wheels up in an hour."

When you landed in Austria, your mood soured quickly. There was a foot of snow surrounding the town, and you trudged through the snow to get to the safehouse - a mile away from the nearest town. You were staking out the safe house when the entire town lost power. No lights, no heating, no appliances. It was going to be a rough couple of days.

You bundled yourself in a coat and blankets while you and Steve went over what you knew. The old Hydra base had been abandoned for a while, but it was one of the few that hadn't been on SHIELD's radar due to the lack of activity in the area. It seemed that they had missed something. It seemed very active now.

You spent the first few days making sure no one suspected you were doing anything suspicious. You stocked up on firewood - making sure you would have enough, even if you ended up snowed in for a couple of days. You tried to get out to some shops, but with the three inches of snow in the local town, no shops were open. You hoped that there was some long-life food still left in the safe house.

When you set out, you silently prayed that the power would come back on by the time you had finished dealing with the agents in the bunker. You also thanked Tony for putting a heater in your suit as part of one of his routine upgrades. You weren't freezing your ass off as you broke into the base.

The bunker itself was powered by some self-generating form of energy - no doubt developed as a result of Loki's scepter in the hands of Baron Von Strucker. The bunker was still working at peak capacity when you and Steve waltzed in the building, guns a-blazing, looking for any signs they were planning something big.

The bunker clearly had been expecting you, launching a full assault on you as soon as you guys walked in. Agents flew left, right, and centre, throwing kicks and punches. The odd bullet was fired at your heads. They were good. But you were much better. You dodged each blow, retaliating with one much harder. They may have had power but it was amateur. You were a battle-hardened professional.

One guy was lucky. He took a baton to your ribcage while you were preoccupied with two other guys. Clearly, he hadn't learned to play fair. You threw the other two guys off you, kicking your assailant into the wall. A nasty crack was the end of him.

You left the bunker exhausted, gripping a nasty bruise that was forming over your ribs. Steve wrapped an arm around you, carrying your weight as you hobbled from the bunker. He abandoned the idea quickly, your height difference making the maneuver awkward. Instead, he wrapped his arms under your thighs, scooping you up bridal style.

You nuzzled into his chest, seeking out his warmth as the snow beat down upon you both. Steve was like a human furnace, his heat radiating through you, keeping you warm even in the hostile temperatures you found yourself in. He smiled down at you, gripping you tighter into his body as you retreated into the trees.

It was about 12 miles from the bunker to the safe house and Steve knew he had to get you both there before the blizzard really hit. There he could check your ribs for the extent of the damage. He prayed that the damage wasn't bad, guilt overtaking his mind. A few seconds of preoccupation on his part led to you being injured. Steve felt terrible.

He was also on high alert. There was no exfil team. They weren't Avengers anymore. They were on their own out here - even Nat wouldn't be able to get here in time if they were attacked.

The trudge through the snow was terrible. Frost covered your hair and his beard, and the chills were racking through your body with more frequency. The snow was seeping through your tactical gear, and given that night was fast falling around them, Steve picked up the pace.

More than once, you offered to walk alongside him, saying that you'd both be faster if you could run, but then an odd step would jolt your body and the pained gasp that would leave your lips was an answer enough.

By the time you reached the house, you had fallen asleep in Steve's arms. He kicked the door open with his toe - the key being a biometric scan of his eye.

You woke up as he sat you down gently on the edge of the sofa.

"Welcome back to the land of the living sleeping beauty." He chuckled as you threw your boot at his head. He caught it easily.

You almost swooned. Sometimes, you thought Steve showed off just to get a reaction out of you. You didn't mind - it was hot.

Steve shut the door with a click, kicking off his shoes by the door. You shivered. Somehow it was colder inside the house than outside. Steve grabbed your bag, throwing a pair of soft clean clothes in your direction, before grabbing some firewood and getting a fire started.

You limped into the bathroom, the coldness making your bones ache. You made quick work of your suit - throwing it into the bathtub, before toweling yourself dry. The wetness of the suit had chaffed at your skin, and the threadbare towel was doing nothing to help the soreness of your skin, but a little itchiness was nothing compared to the hell that would be a cold. Especially since you had no idea when you were getting out of here.

"The power's still out!" Steve called from outside the bathroom. You could tell he was leaning on the door frame, ever the gentleman, even in sub-freezing temperatures.

"Yeah, no shit sherlock." You mumble under your breath as you open the door.

Steve smirked, "I caught that." You gave him a sarcastic smile back. He passed you to go dry off, "No hot water, so I dumped my suit in the tub to dry." You said, leaning on the door frame to take in the picture in front of you.

Steve's usually prim and proper appearance was dishevelled, hair run through multiple times. His suit was half-unzipped, toned chest visible under the confines of the tight fabric. A spattering of hair grew on his chest - the result of multiple back-to-back missions. And, of course, being an internationally-wanted fugitive.

He gave you a nod of confirmation, before shutting the door. You turned around to be hit by a wave of warmth. In the time it took you to pull the skin-tight tac suit off your body - which, let's be honest, took quite a while seeing as it was soaked - Steve had managed to get a fire going.

You huddled close to the fire, pulling your legs into your chest and tucking your face into your knees. You stayed there while Steve stirred in the bathroom - the occasional grunt as he bumped into the things making you giggle.

You shuffled closer to the fire, trying to steal every ounce of warmth to warm your frigid body.

"Careful, doll, you might burn yourself." You looked up at him and smiled, reaching for him as he walked towards you. He sat behind you, arms wrapped tightly around your shoulders. You relaxed into his arms. This was nice. You needed to do this more.

He ran his fingers over your ribs, goosebumps following in his path. You winced slightly as he applied pressure. "Not broken." He whispered, hot breath ghosting over your ear. You shivered lightly.

Steve pulled you into a chair, before retrieving the first aid kit. He sat you down, before sinking to his knees in front of you. You clenched your thighs slightly, the action pushing your mind to filth. If Steve noticed, he said nothing. He rolled up your sleeves and your trousers, revealing a plethora of small cuts and bruises that littered your body. Steve made quick work of treating your superficial wounds, smiling sympathetically when you winced at the sting of antiseptic against the cuts.

He snuck a hand under your shirt, locking eyes with you in a silent request for permission. You pulled up your shirt, revealing the large bruise over your ribs. There was a red mark in the centre of the bruise where the pole had hit you. Steve gently wiped it with an alcohol wipe, before applying Arnica cream to the bruise. You watched him tenderly patch you up.

"I'm sorry." His words surprise you.

"What?"

"I should have been there. To protect you."

You scoffed, "In case it slipped your memory, you were preoccupied. It's not your fault."

He nodded silently, rolling your shirt back down. He started to pack up the kit, but you grabbed his arm, dragging him back to sit where you had been sat moments before.

"You're hurt too, Captain," you said, sinking to your knees in front of him in the same way he had. The effect you had on him was far more visible. His face blushed a bright red, and you smiled coyly.

You bandaged up the graze on his leg, hands lingering longer than they needed to. You pushed yourself off the floor and occupied yourself with the knots in his shoulders. The adrenaline made both your bodies tense, but while you had had the time to relax in Steve's arms, he hadn't had that same luxury.

You ran your fingertips over his shoulders, kneading the particularly tight parts. Steve let out a low groan in appreciation, resting his forehead on your stomach. The sound sent electricity through your body, heat pooling at the bottom of your stomach.

Steve's hands came around to rest on your thighs, pulling you closer into his body like he couldn't bear to be apart from you for even a moment.

You leaned to whisper into his hair, "It's not your fault, Steve." His hold on you only became tighter.

You stood like that for a while, your arms running up and down Steve's back while he convinced himself that you were fine.

He walked out back to grab more firewood, promising he'd be back in a few seconds. You smiled to yourself, fingers ghosting over your lips. The thought of kissing Steve was overwhelming, but you didn't want to push him when you weren't sure of exactly how he felt.

You had a pretty good idea though.

Ever since you had joined the Avengers, you had been close. But with the multiple near-end-of-the-world experiences, it never seemed like the right time to explore those feelings. Steve had always been affectionate, keeping close to you, both in public and private. He had bought you flowers regularly when you lived in New York, always remembered your birthday, protected you when Hydra agents and internet trolls attacked you. In return, you had stood by him in every fight that you could - you always had his back. He could count on that. When the dispute over the Sokovia accords had happened, you agreed with Steve - even if that meant you lost some close friends. In the years that followed, you had fought countless enemies side-by-side. Bucky sometimes joined you, Sam too. But for the most part, you two had become almost intimately acquainted.

You crept towards the kitchen, rifling through the cabinets for any long-life food that might have been kept there. You pulled a can out of the cupboard. Baked Beans. You pulled another can out of the cupboard. Baked Beans. And another. And another. And another. All beans.

Buried at the back of the cupboard was a single tin of Chicken Noodle Soup that was so out of date, the mold in it had probably bred a new organism. Baked beans it was then.

You heated the beans up in a pan, placing them over the roaring fire to warm them up. You huddled up to the fire again, chills wracking through your body, keeping the pan over the fire all the while. After a while, with the tomato sauce bubbling slightly, you pulled the pan away from the heat and stood up to serve it into the two cracked bowls that were left in the safe house. Tony had done a good job at emptying the safe houses after the end of the Avengers.

Your hands shook as you evenly distributed the beans. You could hardly bear to be this far away from the fire. You needed more layers, but your coat and your tac suit were soaked through, meaning you had nothing else to wear.

Your hands shook violently again as another shiver ripped through you. You tucked your hands under your armpits and raised your shoulders to cover your ears.

From the corner of your eye, you spotted something fuzzy draped on the edge of the sofa. Steve's jumper. He's been wearing it when he arrived in Austria but claimed that it was far too thick for him - immediately discarding it when you had entered the safe house. You didn't know how it had slipped your mind earlier.

You slipped it on - Steve hadn't lied. It was incredibly thick and cozy. And also quite large, dwarfing your figure, making you feel safe and warmed. You pushed up the sleeves and carried the bowls to the floor in front of the fire.

You noticed an extra pair of Steve's socks tucked into the front of his backpack. You quickly stole them, slipping them onto your feet. You were grateful that Steve was an over-packer.

You crouched back in front of the fire, pulling the jumper over your knees, balancing your bowl on your kneecaps.

You heard Steve before you saw him. He was carrying a pile of firewood in his arms and grumbling about how 'the stupid snow got in his boots and now his socks are wet'. You giggled.

"Glad you find my torment funny, sweets." He said, his eyes still trained on the wood in his eyes, "How would you feel if I got trench foot, and was benched for-" He stopped abruptly.

You looked up at him. His gaze was trained on your body, eyes darkening by the second.

"You shouldn't have done that, sweets."

Your face breaks into uncertainty. Maybe you had completely misread the situation. Maybe Steve only wanted to be friends.

The way he grabbed your face, though, told you differently.

He stooped low to cradle your face in his hands. He placed small kisses all over your face, pecking you like a bird would its food.

"You're mine." He whispered between each one. The declaration made heat pool in your stomach and you couldn't help but laugh. You grabbed his face with your hands, and pressed your lips to his, gently at first. Steve ran his tongue against your lips, begging to be let in.

You moaned as his tongue explored each and every part of your mouth. You could feel him getting harder every second that passed and that only spurred you on.

"Steve," his name fell from your lips like a prayer, "please."

He picked you up and you let out a soft gasp.

"You like that, sweetheart?"

You nodded, words cast from your mind. He chuckled, lust colouring his tone as he shuffled you in his arms.

"Makes me feel safe." You whispered, nestling your head into his shoulder. "Like it when you carry me."

He smiled and laid you on the sofa gently. He pressed deep and sensual kisses on your lips, large and warm hands caressing your body.

You arched your back as he ran a knuckle over your nipple. You were hopelessly horny, begging for friction.

"Tell me what you want, baby."

"You. Only you." You whimpered.

"Where do you want me?"

"Everywhere. Please, Steve." You were begging. Steve's eyes lit up.

"Want me to love you, pretty baby?" Steve said, dragging his fingers up your sides.

"Steve, please!" You were close to tears.

He pulled your panties down, fingers slipping in between your wet folds.

"Fuck, darling, you're making a mess." You shuddered, moans spilling out from your lips. He pulls his trousers down, dick curling into his stomach.

"You ready, sweetheart?"

You nodded in response.

"Good." He slid into you gently, your walls stretching to accommodate him. He groaned, head tossed back in pleasure.

He was bigger than you had thought - you grabbed his bicep as he brushed your g-spot.

“S’big Stevie." You whimpered, "M’all full.”

"Yeah baby? You like that?" His hands came to rest on the bulge in your stomach.

The pleasure exploded like a million fireworks in your stomach. He started moving, setting a brutal pace, pushing in and out of you. His cock brushed your g-spot with every thrust, and soon enough you were seeing stars.

"Love it, Stevie! Please don't stop!" He drilled into you, muttering sweet praises.

The coil in your stomach tightened with each thrust. “M’not gonna last.” you whimpered softly.

“S’okay baby." He praised, "Come for me, pretty girl."

You came with a silent cry, shuddering as a wave of arousal washed over you. Steve rode out your orgasm with you, before pulling out. He stood up to head to the bathroom, but you grabbed his hand and pulled him down onto the sofa. You sank to your knees in front of him, again, and licked a stripe from the base to the tip of his cock.

"You don't have to do this."

"I want to."

You placed a kiss on the tip of his cock before taking it in your mouth and sucking on it. You wrapped your right hand around the base of his cock and used the other to massage his balls. Steve drew a sharp breath in above you. You wrapped his hand around your hair, giving him permission to fuck your face. He grabbed your hair tightly and fucked up into your face, choking you with the brutal pace that he set.

"Oh, God, I'm gonna cum," Steve said, slightly relaxing his pace as he moved to pull out. You pushed your face further onto his cock.

Ropes of his cum coated the back of your throat as he came with moans of your name. Your eyes welled up as your throat filled with his seed. You swallowed it, much to Steve's surprise. He pulls you into his lap, before carrying you to the bathroom to clean you up.

You settle on the sofa in his lap, kissing lightly over and over again.

You turn your head to the fire. "Shit."

"What?" Steve looked at you in concern.

"The food. S'gone cold."

He burst into laughter, resting his forehead on your shoulder. He placed a small kiss on your shoulder. You could get used to this.

fin.

buy me a coffee

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x plus size reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers angst #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers reader insert #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #no y/n

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m1ssunderstanding · 7 months ago

Text

Let it Be Close-watch

Paul, sweety, it's beautiful, but it's killing the vibe.

Ringo looks like a very old, very tired lab rat whose been put through the maze a few too many times

Somehow the air-brown mostly eaten apple is very appropriate.

She looks far too sweet here to ever let John down. Yoko has very kind eyes.

I love how it makes it seem like Paul and John are calling Maxwell “the corny one” but really we know from Get Back that they're talking about a particular arrangement they were trying out for Don't Let me Down.

I swear he's saying “John” there, not “Joan” and also he said “came down upon His head” so… Oh! And Max died in the end in this version? “Sure that Max was dead” Okay. So Paul kills John and then himself. Murder suicide story. Yeah, Paul, you're doing great mentally, we can all tell.

I love how George getting electrocuted was important enough to make the cut for both films. Poor baby. “If this boy dies you're gonna cop it” from the guy who was just singing about a serial killer.

They're so silly

Yoko does not agree with me

Paul: stealing your man, sweetheart. John: oh no I'm being stolen teehee!

They're so silly

Oh wait, were those bitchy looks at George??? Because there he is. Idk could easily be him or Yoko.

this poor autistic baby trying to use words (not his language) to explain music (his language)

“Good MoOornin! Wooah!” I think I just … You know how Mike said people were booing Paul in the theater watching this? Yeah it's because they were pissed he didn't step out of the screen and onto their necks.

Oh Michael put himself in his own movie too? Huh, cool.

They are always in my heart

The way Paul says “get on the mic” to John??? I would've thrown something, that was so fucking bossy! Just his tone and his face and his angry pointing fingers. So mean. And John just goes “okaaay”. Oof.

Ringo covering his eyes like a little kid watching a scary movie during the orange sweater fight. Same, babe.

Sounds like the original lyric John's going for is something long “All I want is you. Nothing else is gonna do.” But that obviously didn't fit with the tune. I wonder if there was a particular conversation with Paul being controlling that made the “everything has got to be the way you want it to” line click in.

Oh my gosh! So George is showing I Me Mine to Ringo and Paul and he says the “I don't give a fuck it can go in musical” line before he even plays it. Not after John's making fun of him like he does in Get Back. Nagra reels experts: which one is correct??

George: it's a heavy waltz. Ringo:*claps hands angrily and punches the air to a ¾ beat. I love him, he's like the core of “Beatle humor” to me.

Woah there! Okay this is the John/Yoko pda Peter Jackson cut, I see. I wonder if there's a lot more footage of them swapping spit that might make the “oh John was just so in love” theory more reasonable.

It's extremely impressive that George just wrote this whole thing last night. You know? John and Paul have brought in all fragments from what I can tell. He's the only one to come in with a basically finished product.

LMAO and we're just going to Apple now. No reason. Nothing happened. Nothing to see. Moving on.

Ringo is so so cute pretending to hide from the cameras. Really he should've been the cute one.

Is it just me or does Paul drop the sillies and get sad when he sings “always be mine” at John? It's his regular voice, too, for a minute, if I'm not mistaken.

Silly cuties. But John's grin and little sexy tongue action happens the second time Paul sings always be mine, so…

What friendly artistic collaboration looks like when it's not psychosexual

Paul: have you played the dubs? George: yeah. Terrible. Paul: Great! Ringo: terrible. John: laughs Paul: (sarcastic) oh, so dreadful. …. John: where's my guitar? Paul: (still sarcastic) well we're just the greatest band ever. Idk I just like this dialogue. It's very them, you know?

This is adorable.

But I also love how they're already communicating with eyebrows, you know? They just bonded so fast and I find that beautiful.

And then Heather ups their game from taking turns going “chchchchch” into the mic to meowing into the mic. She looks at Paul like “okay your turn” and he sets her down lol he's thinking ‘if I meow into the mic right now after John already had a sex dream last night about me, he might actually cream his pants and we can't have that on camera’

Lol Billy just magically appeared!

Paul you're literally so annoying. You started the goofing off and now you're like “alright lads, that's enough.” Mkay.

He is unbelievably sexy and talented though so you know he does have those little things going for him. Someone write me a Paul/Billy fic please!!

Kinda crazy how they all four just slide straight from “Kansas City” to “Miss Ann” to “Lawdy Miss Claudy”. Makes me think of something they might've done in Hamburg.

I'm sorry but Paul finishes “please don't excite me baby. I'm down in misery.” And John's immediate answer is, “well you can get it if you want it, and if you want it you can get it!” And Paul ends up singing “I want it I want it I want it I want it”. Nice. Very subtle, boys. And that's before John gets kinky.

I love how Heather just forces a hug from George and then immediately runs away. What a cutie.

But really. How did anyone watching this get the idea that John hated Paul? Just confirmation bias I guess?

All the cut off conversations kill me but especially the one where John's working though Paul's anxieties. They're just in the middle of it and then cut. “two of us Sunday driving…”

Someone should do a study of whistling in their songs. I feel like it's another one of their tip offs that “hey this one is about us” Anyway I love John's whistling here. He's so good at it. I can just imagine him as some farm boy picking apples, you know?

Imagine booing this poor stay puppy though, like. What? I mean, what if Johann Weiner was wrong and John wasn't crying at the sight of him and Paul playing triumphant together on the rooftop, but at Paul playing his little heart out about their doomed love. Idk it's probably both. Let's be real, John was bawling through the whole thing.

What is George laughing at? Picture quality is garbage because evil corporations don't let you take screenshots of their content, but he looks like that one kid in your elementary school class that just dumped Cheetos all over his crushes desk and thinks he's a criminal mastermind.

Also I do appreciate all the attention given in the chosen shots to the musicianship. I bet they liked that at least if they had the heart to like anything about the movie at the time.

I'm sorry but I love how in sync Mo and Paul are. With this ducking and later the shimmying. I know it's wrong to ship Ringo’s wife with one of the Beatles she didn't sleep with, but… idk I really want her to have bedded all four at one point, you know? She deserves it, being an og.

Okay but yeah I'd be having a public meltdown if I fumbled that too holy fucking shit

Ringo feeling himself as he should

George just looks like he smells nice. Unlike the others. You know?

John has such a beautiful smile. If somebody looked at me like that I'd put him up on a giant screen behind me on my world tour after he'd been dead for forty years too.

That pleeeaaaheeeaaase though. Looking at Paul. How did he survive I'll never know.

The cut from screaming Paul to grouchy nap lady is extremely painful.

John was so cool in this concert. Like the epitome of cool.

Kevin, my love, thank you for your service

I love Yoko leaning so far and craning her neck. She's like a mom at a school talent show. Like “I only came to see my baby.” Type vibe. Which is exactly what she's doing, unlike Mo, and honestly I find both of them extremely valid

You know in movies where the romantic leads are never looking at each other at the same time?

I think I watched George and John switching back on their amps like fifty times because I just love it so much. And from this angle, you can see John's saying something to Paul about it. He looks serious and he's shaking his head. I wonder what he's saying.

Mal Evans I love you forever for this. Look at his hand on the rail, just blocking them off completely, so protective.

Them turning to each other at the end always gets me. It's automatic, like second nature, and it's the last time ever. They deserved better.

Oh Darling duet in the credits are you fucking kidding me??? Was that in the original? “Believe me, when I tell you.” “Oh I do.” That's the second time that they gave away in this footage that they know they're talking to each other in their music.

Alright, that's it, I guess. And then MLH is haunted by this experience for forty years until he makes Two of Us to purge the demons.

#paul mccartney #the beatles #john lennon #mclennon #ringo starr #george harrison #let it be

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extraclwnporeal · 2 years ago

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Eddie holds Steve by his waist. He waltz Steve around graciously. Steve laughs — it sounds like heaven. “No one has ever treated me like a princess before”.

Eddie holds Steve's face. His cheeks are soft, wrinkles drawing a smile, and his eyes are wide and dark. Eddie's thumbs caressed his skin. Steve blushes. “No one has ever hold me like I was fragile before”.

Eddie writes Steve poems. He hands him flowers and handmade necklaces and sweaters and lyrics written for him. All songs were about him, all poetry had Steve as it's muse. Steve whispers. “No one has ever made me art before”.

Eddie loves Steve. Loves him like a madman, like there was no beauty in the world if his moles weren't to be compared to the stars, if the ocean wasn't as bright as eyes, if his smile didn't show up everytime they watched the sun disappear and the moon come. Steve cries. “No one has ever loved me before, not like that”.

Eddie wanted to scream — it was outrageous. Steve had many lovers, had many hands touching his body, many faces that made it to his heart. How come the very sight of love made him wonder; Have I felt like that before? Was I ever treated with love?

Like any unloved thing, he could just wonder.

(But he wasn't unloved anymore. Everyday he heard Eddie's desperate, loving voice scream: “I love you! Can't you see? I love you on purpose!”).

#steddie

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pathologicalreid · 8 months ago

Note

spenwer weid hanahaki pwease 💐💐💐

perennial | S.R.

unrequited love brings spencer to his death bed, unless you can rescue him

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: hanahaki au, spencer reid gets a degree in yearnology, terminal illness, happy ending, surgery, doctors, this is a made up disease, mentions of other diseases like cancer and briefly mentions reid's addiction and schizophrenia, and death. word count: 3.01k a/n: if you don't know what hanahaki disease is, neither did i until bri asked. look here for some background. i did not come up with this concept. im not that creative.

He had never quite been able to pinpoint the date he fell in love with you. He wasn’t sure if it was the say you laughed at his jokes or the way your hair shone in the sunlight. He just knew that he loved you, and it was killing him.

It wasn’t killing him in the colloquial sense, it was physically going to end his life. The deep, brutal love he felt for you had been slowly chipping away at him for well over a year now, ever since you waltzed into his life. Haphazardly, he tossed the packet that his doctor had given him onto his coffee table, the papers ungracefully fanning out over the oak surface as he did.

Leaving his apartment today had effectively drained him of energy, prompting him to call out of work – something he had been doing with alarming frequency these days. Luckily, Hotch was able to give him leeway, but it couldn’t be long until Spencer got into trouble. Someone else would notice, he was sure you already were.

Yours was the face he always saw when he closed his eyes. If he didn’t know any better, he could’ve sworn your features were tattooed on the inside of his eyelids. Despite his exhaustion, he was wary of falling asleep. He didn’t want to see you in his dreams, lest it cause his health to deteriorate even more.

Trying to take a deep breath, something caught in his throat, causing him to stumble over to his pathetic-looking balcony. Leaning over the railing, he lost himself in a coughing fit, letting the petals that were poisoning his lungs fly out of his mouth.

Once Spencer got his bearings back, he straightened up. Blinking tears out of his eyes, he watched the purple flower petals float away in the wind. He was watching the petals when he noticed you, walking determinedly along the sidewalk, your jacket flowing behind you. Was it five o’clock already? Had you already gotten out of work?

Splitting himself in two, he hoped you weren’t going to come to his door while also hoping you were headed to see him. He knew that the dull ache in his chest only grew worse when you were closer, but the possibility of seeing your beautiful eyes provided him with the bravery that he needed to confront that pain.

Watching you disappear into the apartment building, he waited until he heard a knock at his front door. He took the wobbly steps required to reach the front door, clearing his throat, and letting a petal fall to the floor just before he undid the lock and deadbolt.

You swung the door open, not even waiting for him to open the door. He waited as you studied him, eyes flittering across his body – just taking in the state of him.

Spencer had never been overly large or muscular, he had been lanky pretty much from the get-go, but over the past year, he had become frail. You swallowed thickly as you took in the way his sweater practically hung off of him, “Hi, Spence.”

His chest ached at the familiar nickname, everything about you was familiar. “Hi, Y/N,” he greeted politely, and he watched your confidence falter for just a moment before he silently pulled the door open. “You can come in if you want,” he felt as though there were an angel and a devil on his shoulders. One would beckon for you to enter the apartment, and the other wanted to banish you. The only problem was that he wasn’t sure which was the angel, and which was the devil.

Nodding, you stepped into the apartment, your shoes tapping against the hardwood before you took them off. His throat tickled at the recognition that you remembered his preferences for shoes in his apartment. Shoving your hands in your jean pockets, you peered up at him, “What happened to you?” You asked with concern violently apparent in your tone.

Narrowing his eyes, he cocked his head to the side, “What do you mean?” He had to bite his tongue from saying you happened to me.

“Hotch said you called off, and I noticed you had been doing that a lot recently,” you said, your voice a gentle caress.

Your observations of him sent him into another coughing fit, and he silently hoped you wouldn’t notice the flower petals that scattered the floor. Purple anemones created a pattern of lovesickness in the entirety of his apartment. His skin burned where your hands landed on him, gently ushering him to the couch.

Gratefully, he accepted the tissue that you had held out for him, allowing him to conceal his flowers. “I’m worried about you, Spence,” you confided in him, unable to hide the silver that lined your eyes.

He waved you off, shaking his head as he launched into another coughing fit. Once he gathered himself, he looked up, avoiding your eyes, “I had a doctor’s appointment.”

Your eyes widened in recognition, “Did you finally get your cough checked out?” The inquiry was innocent enough, but he couldn’t help but cringe inwardly at the words that had come out of your mouth. How was it that something as pure as worry could cause him so much pain?

He didn’t answer your question, leaning back against the supple leather of his couch. With a sigh, he allowed his body to meld into the cushions, it was almost enough for him to just fall asleep.

Flinching as you set a hand on his knee, he finally met your eyes, “Spencer, are you sick?”

He knew what you were asking, you wanted to know if he was ailing. Maybe if he had cancer or something that could be removed from his body. Maybe his opioid addiction had finally caught up with him. He didn’t think he looked jaundiced, but maybe his liver was failing.

Perhaps you were thinking about something more psychological, he was at the age where he could have a schizophrenic break. You knew very well that that was a fear of his.

There was also a strong probability that his years in the BAU were just starting to catch up with him. “Spencer?” You breathed, holding your breath as you were afraid of what he could be hiding from you.

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” he was sick. A patient in the doctor’s waiting room had called him a love-sick fool, and they had been right.

You spluttered for a moment as you searched for the right thing to say. Telling him you were sorry felt like a waste of words, an apology couldn’t help him now. “Is there a cure?” You asked him softly, leaning closer to him until he could smell your floral perfume – the world was cruel.

Taking a moment to clear his throat, Spencer answered your question while tucking a flower petal up his sleeve, “There’s a surgery, but it comes with… risks.”

His answer didn’t satisfy you; risks weren’t enough for you to sit and watch him die. You pulled your hand off of his knee, sitting on the floor and folding your hands in your lap, “But without it, you’ll die.” It was clear to you that whatever was going on with Spencer was serious, and if his illness was fatal, you would do anything in your power to help him.

“Most likely,” he confirmed, the both of you knowing he had already run every probability relating to his own survival. It was all he could do to not reach out to you as your teary eyes finally flooded over.

Wiping furiously at your face, you scrunched up your nose in frustration, “You have to do it, Spence.” Your voice was insistent.

Sighing, he shook his head despondently, “I can’t.” He noticed the way you bristled at his answer, but he couldn’t elaborate.

The risks that came with his surgery would be devastating. He would lose you. You wouldn’t die, but every memory that he had of you would die. That was a sacrifice that Spencer wasn’t willing to make.

Truth be told, he was afraid. He was afraid of forgetting you. Forgetting the way you sang along to every song on the radio – even if you didn’t know the words. Forgetting the way you liked to dance in the kitchen while you cooked. Forgetting the way you protected the people you cared about so fiercely.

Forgetting you was a nonnegotiable term. He’d rather die in love with you than live in a world where he had never known that feeling.

His fear of forgetting you greatly outweighed his fear of death.

He took a deep breath, which only resulted in more coughing. Your soft hands guided him tenderly, helping him to lie down on the couch. “Will you look after her?” He blurted, looking up at you as you returned from the kitchen.

Setting a glass of water down on the coffee table, you crossed your arms in front of your chest, “Look after whom?”

“My mom,” he clarified, his voice gravelly from all of the speaking he had done today.

Your lips parted in surprise, evidently that had not been what you were expecting him to say. “You want me to take care of your mother after you…” you couldn’t even finish the sentence. “You won’t even fight to stay with her.”

He couldn’t find the courage to explain his sickness to you, so he let you form your own conclusions. If you wanted to operate under the assumption that he was a coward, so be it. At least he still had you. “I can’t fight it, Y/N. I don’t expect you to understand, but I do want you to respect that.”

Shaking your head, you looked down at the floor, not meeting his eyes anymore. Looking at your pretty eyes was a privilege he had lost, it seemed. “I can’t,” your voice wavered as you stepped backward, stumbling over a pile of books on the floor before you turned and walked out the door, taking bits and pieces of him with you.

Laid back on his couch, Spencer wiped his own tears before that too became arduous. Left in his apartment to rot, he thought about this disease. This unexplainable disease that he had never even heard of before being referred to a specialist.

There was one cure for Hanahaki Disease, and that was to turn unrequited love into requited love. You had the ability to cure him, and all you needed to do was tell him you loved him.

And it had to be the truth.

Even if he did get the surgery, he could return to work. He could meet you again, which would confuse the entire team, including you, but he’d still be damaged. His doctor had told him just that morning that his lungs were past the point of no return.

You deserved better than that. You deserved someone who had the lung capacity to kiss you breathless. You deserved someone with the guts to tell you how they feel.

All of that was purely hypothetical because in order to re-meet you, he’d need to survive the surgery.

The surgery he refused to get.

Either way, he was going to lose you. That realization knocked the air out of his lungs, causing him to turn over on the couch in a fit of coughs. Bringing a new meaning to ‘hacking up a lung,’ he continued his fit until there was a pile of purple flower petals beneath his face.

It was fitting that the flower petals were anemones. He had thought that from the very beginning. Anemones were perennials. Perennial, meaning lasting for an infinite time – enduring. Just like his love for you.

When the surgery was first offered to him, he challenged the doctors. Insisting that his love for you could endure any surgery. He was a man of science; he didn’t fully comprehend how a cardiothoracic surgery could affect your memory. Then again, he was coughing up fresh flower petals on the daily.

The click of the latch on his door caught his attention, and you stepped through the door. He was surprised to see you, and even more surprised to note the red rimming your eyes. You had been crying – over him. “I thought you had left,” he murmured, watching you carefully.

Nodding absentmindedly, you kicked off your shoes. “I did, I… I was going to go home, but on my way to the metro, I passed that deli that I know you like. You need to eat, I know you haven’t been eating right - or at all, actually.” You took a deep, shaky breath, setting the deli bag on the coffee table. “It’s just soup, I thought it might help soothe your throat,” you informed him, rubbing the back of your neck as you crouched next to him.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Spencer insisted, even if the smell coming from the bag made his mouth water.

Wiping a hand down your face, you cleared your throat, “I was thinking about you. What if I went with you to your next doctor’s appointment? There could be a clinical study or something available. My college roommate works at Johns Hopkins now, maybe she has an in.” The hope in your eyes was almost enough to break his heart.

He smiled at you sadly, “There’s nothing, I’ve asked.” That part was true, he had called in every favor that he had in order to find answers and solutions. Either no one knew what he was talking about, or they told him things he didn’t want to hear.

Tears welled in your eyes again and he reached out to wipe them from your cheeks, his hands trembling in time with your bottom lip. “I refuse to believe that this is the end. This can’t be how it ends.” You looked at him pleadingly, “Are you sure you won’t get the surgery?”

He nodded regretfully. Losing all of his memories of you was a fate worse than death.

Bowing your head, you let loose a sob, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Spence.” You apologized incessantly to him, “There’s nothing I can do to change your mind?”

His own eyes grew teary until he was just looking at your outline, a blurry visage of the girl that he was dying for. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” he insisted, reaching over and smoothing down your hair. “I don’t want you to feel sorry for me,” he whispered, having a hard time speaking as emotions caused his throat to swell.

“Please get the surgery,” you spouted, eyes widening as if you hadn’t even expected yourself to say that. “Please, Spencer if you don’t do it for yourself, then do it for me,” your words started to merge into pleas.

Silent, Spencer watched you as you unknowingly begged him to forget you.

Taking a shuddering breath, you looked at him, watery eyes boring into his. “If for no one else, then save your life for me.”

“It’s not that easy,” he breathed.

You brushed off his excuses, “Spencer, I need you. I need you to get this surgery because I absolutely have to have you in my life. Please, you’re my- I’m…” you faltered over your words. He watched as you desperately searched for the right thing to say, “god, can’t you see I’m in love with you?”

Spencer’s chest ached as he grew fearful. You didn’t know what you were saying.

“I love you!” You shouted, surprising even yourself. “I love you, and I need to keep loving you. So, I need you to get this surgery.” You swallowed thickly, “Please, Spencer.”

He felt like he was out of tears to cry, “Just so I understand, what kind of love are we discussing?” Platonic love wouldn’t do it, not for this.

Leaning your head back, you stared at the ceiling helplessly, “Like the soul-crushing, yearning, I’d-marry-you-tomorrow-if-you-asked kind of love.”

Nodding slowly, Spencer leaned forward, and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, prompting you to kiss him back. It was soft and careful – the two of you were oh, so careful. “I love you too,” he said, knowing damn well that his yearning had nearly killed him. “But for the record, I’d do a much better job of asking you to marry me,” he pointed that out because he did plan on marrying you one day.

Laughing despite the tears that were still flowing down your cheeks in steady streams, you tilted your head at him, “Does that mean you’ll do the surgery?”

For you, he’d move heaven and earth, but he knew that the surgery wouldn’t be necessary. “Come with me to my next appointment, you can meet my doctor, I’m sure he’d love to meet you.” Spencer’s doctor had, after all, heard everything about you.

“Okay, of course, I will,” you told him, burying your face in your hands. “I’ve been sitting on that for almost a year now,” you admitted, causing his heart to clench.

Propping himself up on his elbow, he eyed you curiously. He wasn’t expecting to return to his old self immediately, but Spencer felt like there was some sort of weight lifted from his chest – like getting over a bad cold. “Hey, Y/N?”

Your eyes widened, “Oh! Your soup!” You moved to get up and grab a spoon from Spencer’s kitchen.

Quickly, he reached up and grabbed your hand, tugging on it until you toppled down onto the couch. You landed gracefully, being careful so you didn’t hurt him. “Actually, I was thinking about something a little more along these lines,” he said, poking his head forward and kissing you again.

Nothing but slow, gentle kisses today. The two of you had all of the time in the world. He leaned back onto the pillows, never separating from you. Finally, he let the scent of your floral perfume drown his senses.

For once, it didn’t fill him with dread.

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separatist-apologist · 2 months ago

Text

Guilty As Sin

Summary: Rhys has been watching Feyre Archeron for a long time. Thinking about what he'd do if he ever had her. How he'd keep her.

And now he has her.

TW: Dubious consent, blood kink, knife play

Read On AO3

It would be, perhaps, Rhysand’s greatest triumph to kill Tamlin Rosewood. After all, Tamlin had set him down this path so many years before—when they’d been teenagers, two boys from questionable, if not wealthy homes, looking for something to make them feel alive. Tamlin had asked Rhys if he wanted to see something cool, and then let him watch as Tamlin sliced apart a local vagrant. It should have been horrifying. Disgusting.

And yet Rhysand had found the whole thing fascinating. More fascinating still was how easy it was to claim his first kill. Rhysand needed a moral code to keep himself in line, to keep from just jamming a blade into every person who passed him on the street. Tamlin had suggested it, too, perhaps recognizing Rhys’ propensity for violence. Or maybe he knew all too well how enjoyable snuffing out life was. How close to God it made Rhys feel.

Pick those that can fight back.

People who’ve wasted their life.

Do the world a favor.

Of course they’d eventually turn on each other. How long before two serial killers realized the world might be better off without at least one of them? It had been a cat and mouse game ever since, trying to catch the other unaware and going to ground when they failed. Tamlin had come close a couple times while Rhys had mostly just watched.

Waited.

Bided his time until Tamlin genuinely believed himself to be a god. That Rhys was so afraid of him he wouldn’t dare. Tamlin had let his guard down just enough to find himself a girlfriend he apparently liked. And she, Rhys decided, was going to be how he finally killed Tamlin. Collateral in their feud, he told himself. After all, any woman dumb enough to fall for Tamlin wasn’t worth much.

He’d looked her up—Feyre Archeron. Her profile picture on facebook was an artbrush, but she’d helpfully listed every job she’d ever had since high school—and there had been many. Rhys ran them all down until he got to the art studio she taught at and, because he liked a little drama in his life, signed him up for one of her intro classes.

He had been unaware he would be the only adult in said class until a wave of bouncy, giggly children had stormed through the doors, taking seats at easels while their parents vanished. He could have slipped out—he’d meant to, he swore it. But Feyre Archeron had come waltzing in wearing a baby blue sweater, sleeves rolled to her elbows, the hem hanging just beneath her ass, and oh. Rhys stayed in his chair, if only to admire the curve of her hips in those cotton soft leggings.

She didn’t seem like Tamlin’s usual type. There was a softness to her features, a constellation of freckles dotted across her nose alongside a splatter of violet ink in those cerulean eyes, that made Rhys certain she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her full mouth curved into an easy smile, gaze settling on him.

“Did you mean to sign up for this?” she asked him, eliciting another round of giggles from the children. There was no malice to her words, playful and sweet. He wanted to put his hands on her. Was she corruptible? Oh, how Rhys wanted to find out. His plans reshaped themselves as they looked at the other, though Feyre didn’t know it. Killing her wasn’t an option, not anymore. No. He’d take her for himself, stripping Tamlin of everything he cared about before finally spilling his blood. And he’d start with perfect, pretty Feyre Archeron.

Rhys offered her a lazy smile, running a hand through his ebony hair. “My skill level is comparable, I’m certain.”

“I guess we’ll see,” she replied, her delight evident. Rhys felt her amusement reflected in his own body. When was the last time anyone had charmed him by sight alone? Nevermind how funny he found her, watching as she interacted with each student with the kind of unending patience he could only dream of. It begged the question—what did Tamlin want with her? He knew Tamlin, and of all the virtues Tamlin might claim to have, patience certainly wasn’t one of them.

He had a famously vicious temper.

Did Feyre know her boyfriend was a serial killer? Did Tamlin know his girlfriend taught school children in her spare time? What would be more abhorrent to who? Rhys never managed to untangle that, just like he never managed to make his brush strokes half as nice as the eight year old beside him. Rhys lingered, waiting until the kids were gone and Feyre was cleaning up to say something to her.

“I’m not some kind of weirdo, I hope you know,” he began, drawing a pretty laugh from prettier lips.

“No? I might have thought so if I hadn’t seen how abysmal you are with a brush. I teach preschoolers on Tuesdays. You might be better suited in that class.”

“You wound me, Ms. Archeron,” he replied, one hand pressed to his chest. “You didn’t like my house?”

“Oh, was that what it is?” she asked, squinting at his muddied colors on the paper. “I thought you were painting me a stormy sky.”

“I’ll paint whatever you tell me to,” Rhys quipped, noting how her cheeks flushed. No ring on her finger—god, but how incredible to seduce her out from under Tamlin’s nose. For Tamlin not to realize he was losing everything to his old nemesis. How long before Tamlin learned of Rhysand’s treachery? Rhysand was a patient man. It was one of his better qualities, few as they were.

He’d send Tamlin a wedding invitation inked in blood, fuck his new wife, and then, as a gift to her, bring her Tamlin’s still beating heart.

Wife? That was a weird thought.

Rhys cleared his head. He was merely excited at the prospect of punishing Tamlin—that was all. Feyre was beautiful, but hardly wife material. Besides, the kind of woman who spent her time teaching children to color within the lines didn’t want to get shackled to the likes of him. Not long-term, at any rate. Rhys had dated plenty of women, all of whom woke up one morning deeply unsettled and certain they were making a mistake. He couldn’t blame them—he would make an awful husband.

A good lay, though? He could give her that.

“Watch yourself Rhysand.”

“Come, now,” he said, rising from the little metal stool he’d been sitting on. She was so much smaller than him—lithe and lovely, so breakable in a way that made him want to be careful rather than rough. “Only my enemies call me Rhysand.”

“Fine. Watch yourself Rhys. I’ll think you’re flirting if you’re not careful,” Feyre said, twisting that thick, golden brown hair off her face with a paintbrush. Something within him stirred at the sight of wispy tendrils framing her face, fingers twitching with the urge to brush them from her cheekbones.

“Careful isn’t how anyone who knows me would describe me. Besides…maybe I am flirting.”

This was the part where she told him she had a boyfriend. Rhys waited, catching the flicker of indecision streak over her features. He could practically hear her rationalizing it in her mind—there was no harm in a little flirting.

Oh, Tamlin. Rhys cocked his head. How far could he take this before she broke? If he could just get his hands into those tight leggings of hers, she’d forget all about that blonde haired bastard. C’mon, Rhys urged.

His silent plea fell on deaf ears. Too good for the likes of him, Feyre said, “Well, if you were flirting, I’d have to tell you that I have a boyfriend.”

“Lucky him,” Rhys replied, gut twisting despite his easy expression. “I know when I’ve been beat. See you around Feyre.”

And then he left, still smiling to himself as he went. She had no idea, of course.

But Rhys would be seeing her very soon.

–

Feyre stared down at the meal, ruined again. Behind her, Tamlin practically seethed with unseen anger. She could feel him working to leash his temper, to resist the urge to tell her I told you so.

I told you you’re a terrible cook.

“I’ll order dinner,” Tamlin said, ignoring the way Feyre blinked back tears. Bracing the ledge of the sink, she stared out the open window into the dark. She was trying—didn’t that matter? It wasn’t that badly burned, besides. They could have eaten around it. Feyre wished Tamlin would sit down, tell her it looked good, and eat it. Was that so much to ask?

Apparently, given the heavy, long-suffering sigh from the man behind her. “You don’t need to try so hard, Feyre. You have me.”

“It’s—” She choked back the urge to scream that it wasn’t about impressing him. It was about care, about showing him that she loved him in some tangible way. Doing something for him so that he, in turn, might do something for her. Might do or say something that made her feel seen and safe.

It had been a year of the stretching silence and the long sighs. Of not technically doing anything that would cause her to break up with her, all while giving off an air of not liking her very much. Well—that wasn’t fair. When the lights were out and they were in bed, Tamlin was very attentive. Detached, somehow—he never wanted her to look him in the eye—but he knew every place to touch and tease to make her writhe. And that was too often enough to convince her it was better to stay and hope whatever was bothering him faded and he went back to the love sick fool she’d first fallen in love with.

It didn’t help that Rhysand—Rhys—was still lodged firmly in her brain three days post meeting him. He’d been…well…he’d been beautiful. And charming. And funny, too. Endearing, even, as the kids teased him for his poor paint work. And when he’d said he was flirting, well…Feyre had imagined sending Tamlin a quick text message.

This is over. Don’t call me again.

Throwing away a year on a man with a roguish smile seemed like a call for help. Still, he’d been on her mind, unshakable as her relationship with Tamlin stagnated like pond water. He ordered food without consulting her, ate it silently, all the while staring at his phone. He worked for a security firm and spent so much time watching the cameras, tracking people with a single-minded devotion she wished he’d focus on her.

“I’m going out,” he told her abruptly, only after Feyre had changed into a tiny slip of a nightdress, thinking she’d feel better if they at least had sex. His pine green gaze slid down her body without a hint of interest or appreciation. Just an acknowledgement that she had nearly every inch of her skin out for him before looking back to her face. “You can wait up, if you want.” How romantic, she wanted to scream. She felt utterly pathetic, a neglected housewife married for twenty years while her husband had an affair. Only Tamlin’s affair was with his job and Feyre would never come first.

Say nothing, she ordered herself. And yet her traitorous lips said, “Couldn’t it wait another night?”

He regarded her without emotion. “It can’t. Get some sleep, Feyre. I’ll be in later.” Tamlin turned without a look back, swiping his car keys thrown haphazardly on the dresser, and strode from the room. Feyre didn’t, listening to the sound of the soft snick of the closing door and the sound of tires pulling away from the curb.

What was more pathetic, she wondered as she padded into the kitchen for a drink for water? Staying up late to seduce him, thus allowing him to have everything he wanted without doing any work at all, or staying with him when she was so miserable in the first place? Was this love?

Feyre didn’t get a chance to answer any of those questions.

There, in the hall, stood a tall, muscular…man? They certainly seemed masculine, with broad shoulders that tapered into a rather nice waist beneath that high necked sweater. Matching black pants and a belt would have made him look rather nice, had he not been holding a massive, jagged knife in one gloved hand.

The ghost face mask obscuring his features didn’t help, either. Feyre didn’t move, heart hammering against her ribs. Scream. Run. Do something.

“There you are,” a deep, rich voice spoke from beneath the mask, “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Don’t hurt me,” Feyre whispered, rooted in place as he made his way towards her. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, drinking in the heady smell of his cologne and that horrible knife glinting beneath the artificial lights beaming overhead.

With his free hand, he reached toward her and to her credit, Feyre didn’t flinch. She merely stood utterly still as he brushed his knuckles over her cheekbone before sliding his gloved thumb over her lip.

“Hurt you? Darling, I’m here to rescue you.”

Her brain couldn’t make sense of those dark words dripping with the promise of…the promise of what? Feyre tried a step backward, tripping over her own nervous feet to fall to the ground. The man lunged and she braced herself for the pain of his blade, for blood and misery before finally death. But all she found was fingers around her body, hoisting her into the air.

She flailed, heel connecting with his jaw. He swore and the two fell to the ground gracelessly a second time, him tearing her nightdress to keep her pinned beneath him.

“I do so like you like this,” he all but growled as she tried to yank that mask off his face. If she was going to kill her, she deserved to look him in the eyes. His fingers curled around her wrists, subduing her quickly—easily, before gathering both in one big, broad hand. The other came over her mouth and nose, cutting off her ability to breathe.

“Don’t fight me,” he whispered as she kicked out her legs from beneath him. Why was this happening? She was going to die. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

A tear slid down her cheek. How could he say that as he was suffocating her with his hand? She continued to writhe, for all the good it did her, her screaming mind drowning out the words her attacker was saying. Lungs burning, desperately trying to gasp for air, Feyre couldn’t control her limbs. She felt herself getting dizzy, choking on her own pooling spit.

“I’m not going to kill you,” her attacker said, his voice far away. “Stop fighting me and I’ll remove my hand.” Her body went limp as she complied immediately, willing to do anything if it meant she could breathe again. And true to his word, her attacker removed his hand, letting her take a gasping, sobbing breath of air.

“Good girl,” he praised softly, caressing her cheek a second time. “If you do everything I say, no one has to get hurt. Can you stand?”

“No,” Feyre said, eyes closed as she focused only on the sensation of air in her body. She wasn’t going to help him abduct her, besides. Not that it mattered. He had her wrists bound before he picked her back up like she was weightless to him, walking her toward her front door with ease.

“My boyfriend has cameras on the door,” she said, unsure if she was warning this man or helping him. “He’s going to see you.”

A chuckle rumbled from his broad chest. “Oh, I am well aware. Your boyfriend is too busy hunting tonight to check…and by the time he does, you and I will be long gone.”

The cool night air was like a caress against her clammy skin. Feyre saw the car—sleek and dark—parked so brazenly in the drive.

“The police will find you,” she warned, deciding for a little boldness despite her swimming head and desperate desire to fall asleep.

“That would require Tamlin to call them…and he won’t. No, my darling—this is personal and you’re simply caught up in the middle of it. Now—can I trust you to behave in my back seat, or do you need to go in the trunk? I don’t want to put you back there…but I will.”

“What do you mean?” Feyre demanded, mind swimming.

“I mean, I don’t want to die on the road—”

“About hunting,” she interrupted, looking up at that ghostface mask. “About Tamlin not calling the police.”

Her attacker seemed to hesitate, muscles going taut beneath her. “I had a whole presentation planned. Why spoil it?”

“Tell me.”

“Your boyfriend is a killer—just like me. He taught me, in fact—or rather, we taught each other. He can’t involve the police without risking himself so he won’t.”

“Am I bait?”

“Oh, Feyre darling, you are so much more than that. For now, you’re merely my guest. Now—can I trust you in the car?”

Ferye closed her eyes. If she wanted to survive, she’d have to be careful. She had the thought just as her attacker laid her in the back of his car. She panicked, seeing him hovering over her, and immediately kicked him in the throat. He stumbled back as Feyre filled her lungs with air and screamed. She didn’t yell help—but screamed at the top of her lungs hoping a neighbor would come out.

“Fucking shit,” the kidnapper groaned, lunging forward. With her wrists bound, Feyre couldn’t do much, especially when he picked her back up. “Go ahead. Scream as loud as you want—-” She screamed directly against his ear, causing him to jerk back a step. He didn’t speak, merely popped his trunk and dumped her unceremoniously inside.

“Remember I tried,” he said before slamming it shut. Feyre immediately started looking for the little hatch that would open it, pulling it with her teeth.

The masked man was waiting, arms crossed over his chest. “Why must you make this difficult?”

“I hate you,” she bit back, heart racing in her throat. He only sighed before producing masking tape. After a moment, she found it pressed over her eyes and mouth before he bound her ankles, too.

“Open my trunk and roll out,” he dared her, the sound of his voice somehow more terrifying than the sight of him. “See how far that gets you.”

He slammed the trunk again, leaving Feyre alone in the dark. She screamed against the tape, trying to break it until her wrists were raw. He’d begun driving, the music faint through the fabric of the backseats. Would it have been smarter to pretend to be his friend? To lull him into a false sense of security? Feyre had never been particularly patient. In fact, she was spontaneous to a fault, acting without thinking and hoping it all worked out. Of course, that was for school assignments and ghosting friends—never because she’d been kidnapped.

Think, Feyre.

She couldn’t, though. Not beyond her immediate problem, which was the tape over her mouth and eyes. If she could just get it off, Feyre thought she’d be able to think more clearly. Figure out a plan and execute it. She rubbed until her wrists ached and her head pounded, but at no point did she manage to do anything but chafe her skin, exhaling for air roughly through her nose.

Eventually, the car came to a stop, the music cutting off abruptly. Lost to the dark, Feyre went limp as the sound of shoes on gravel flooded her senses. A moment later, cold air rushed into the trunk as hands lifted her in the air.

“You’re a terrible actress,” her captor murmured, his amusement plain. “I’m going to unbind you when we get inside. Are you listening to me? Nod your head.” Feyre did.

She heard the sound of numbers being keyed into a pad followed by the smell of warm cedar, drowning out the unmistakable scent of snow. Feyre was set on something soft—a sofa, before the tape was peeled off her eyes, and then her mouth. She was in a cabin, she realized. Well decorated and comfortable—and likely remote. Had he taken her up into the Illyrian Mountains?

“People will be looking for me—”

“No they won’t,” he replied smoothly, reaching for the edge of his mask. He was showing her his face? Feyre panicked—the only reason he’d do that was if he didn’t intend for her to tell anyone. She almost begged him not to, but a second later he’d peeled it back, revealing…well. Not what she’d imagined.

He was handsome, the asshole. Dark hair paired with eyes so blue they seemed violet were the first things she noticed. He was staring down at her, his sensual lips curled into a smile. The sharpness of his jaw and his high cheekbones gave him an almost aristocratic air, and his warm, brown skin was utterly unblemished and smooth.

She’d been imagining him as some ugly man. This was worse, somehow. If he was caught, he’d have prison groupies. People would wonder if he’d really done anything horrible at all given how lovely he was to look at. That charming smile certainly didn’t help.

"I remember you," she said. "From the art studio."

Rhys grinned.

“Let me explain to you how things are going to work between us,” he began, running a hand through his thick hair. “There is nowhere for you to run, and if you try, you’re likely to plummet to your death or freeze before I find you. No one is looking for you. Repeat that as often as you need to. Tamlin will make all your excuses. He’s not going to rescue you. Until I’m done, you are at my mercy.”

“Are you going to kill me?” she asked, wishing she could curl herself into a small ball.

He chuckled. “No, Feyre. I’m not going to kill you. I think we might get along perfectly well so long as you don’t do anything foolish.”

Like running away. The look on his face told her he expected her to. She didn’t have shoes, was dressed in a pair of leggings and an oversized t-shirt. She wouldn’t get far, but maybe he was lying. Maybe he banked on her fear to keep her compliant.

He made a show of pulling a pocket knife from his pants and freeing her, frowning at her raw, bruised wrists. Feyre drew them against her chest, looking up at him warily. “What now?” He shrugged. “I don’t care what you do, so long as you remain within these walls.”

Fat chance of that. But Feyre nodded, hoping she looked properly scared. The cabin itself was small, and filled with cameras. He’d see her. Fine. He had to sleep at some point—he couldn’t be monitoring her all day, every day.

It was a bit of a stretch to call it a cabin given the home had two floors. It was remote, though, and seemed to function mostly off the grid, and had a rather nice kitchen she doubted he knew how to use. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a den he seemed to work out of—she wasn’t sure, given he didn’t open that door and merely gestured to it with a casual, don’t go in there.

Maybe it was where he tortured his victims.

Feyre was given a room down the hall from him, devoid of a lock. “Look up,” he murmured, chin gutting toward the camera. “Wave to Tamlin.”

Feyre glanced up, unsure which of them she hated more. “He can see me?”

“He’ll see this,” Rhys murmured, leaning against the doorframe. “It’s easy enough to send it to him.”

“You could get back at him without involving me,” she heard herself say, wondering if that made her a traitor. This had nothing to do with her, and Feyre felt as if she was being punished unfairly for whatever was going on between Rhys and Tamlin.

He shrugged. “Consider this a rescue.”

A rescue? Feyre was going to kill him. Maybe he saw it, because he nodded toward the twin bed shoved in the corner. “There’s some clothes in the closet you can use—”

“Who did they belong to?” she demanded, heart leaping in her throat.

“My cousin,” he replied, eyes narrowed. As if he were offended she might suggest there’d been another captive in the room. Feyre didn’t want to think about that—it made her panic all over again.

Rhys left after a few more self satisfied words around how he’d find her if she tried to escape so not to bother. Feyre wasn’t listening, already thinking about escaping through the window. Was it locked? Her bedroom door wasn’t, which felt like a test. Was he hoping she’d try and escape?

Feyre sat on the edge of that bed and talked herself into her plan. Ignoring that it was cold and isolated and that she was woefully unprepared, Feyre instead thought about Rhys.

He wasn’t a god. He was only a man. He might have cameras on her, might have her watched, but he couldn’t search miles and miles of forest. The only advantage he had, supposedly, was that he knew she was missing before anyone else did. Feyre had grown up running through the backwoods and something about the slick way Rhys had his hair shoved off his stupid, too-perfect, face, told her he could not boast the same.

Feyre found booties in the back of the closet, and a million pairs of leggings hanging in the closet besides sweaters that were far too big for her frame. They’d double as a blanket, she decided as she pulled it all on.

He was probably watching her. Feyre turned toward the camera and the blinking red light and offered her middle finger before throwing open that window.

“For fucks sake!” Rhys’s voice called from somewhere inside the cabin. Feyre scrambled out the window, toppling feet over head into the frigid snow. Rhys’s fingers skimmed her ankle, attempting to drag her back inside.

Scrambling to her feet as he came right out behind her in that stupid mask, Feyre realized it was a lot harder to run in snow than she’d expected. She had a head start on him for a solid ten seconds before he slammed into her, taking them both back to the ground. Rhys was made of solid muscle and was heavy.

His bare hand wrapped around her throat, arching her neck upward until his lips touched her ear. “I told you not to,” he said as she writhed beneath him, desperately trying to get out from under him.

“I don’t care what you say!” Feyre screamed. Rhys grabbed her arms, holding them in one broad hand as he restrained her thoroughly.

“You will—” he began, but Feyre head butted him, earning a furious curse in her ear. He half fell to his side, losing his grip on her wrists, which gave her time to scramble back to her feet. Rhys was just behind, grabbing her around her middle before hauling her up on his shoulder.

Feyre screamed, and though Rhys stumbled, he didn’t drop her like she’d hoped he would.

“Scream all you want,” Rhys roared in response, as if he needed to make his point. “No one can hear you!”

“Tamlin is going—”

“He’s not coming!” Rhys interrupted, his fury finally scaring her. She hadn’t been frightened before—not truly. But right then, draped over Rhys’s shoulder while he wore that mask in the dark, his voice dripping with condemnation, Feyre was frightened. He sounded irate, dragging her back into that cabin with sure steps.

He didn’t take her back to that same room. Instead, Rhys dropped her into a different one—one that looked distinctly lived in. One that belonged to him, she realized. Feyre attempted to scramble up but Rhys was consistently faster. He had one leg, and then the other bound to the posts at the end of the footboard.

He sat on the bed beside her, laptop resting on his thigh. He pulled that mask up over his face, tossing it to the bed beside her.

“Look for yourself,” Rhys snarled, shoving the open messages on the screen in front of her face. “Look and see how much he loves you.”

There were a slew of messages between them, and yet Feyre’s eyes snagged only on one.

Kill her then.

She waited to see if she’d cry, but nothing came. “You’re lying.”

“He’s not coming for you,” Rhys informed her, eyes bouncing over her face as if he were searching for something. “This is between us, and you’ve become collateral.”

“Then why don’t you kill me?” Feyre snapped, yanking at her ankles trapped in the leather cuffs. They were bondage cuffs, she realized, rather than handcuffs.

“Why would I kill you?” he replied, cocking his head to the side. “Tamlin might not be mounting some heroic rescue, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t view you as his. His little toy to play with until he gets tired of her…” Rhys murmured, sliding the side of his finger along her neck. “I’m not supposed to touch.”

“Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t do this.”

“I asked you not to leave,” he continued, ignoring her plea as his fingers made their way down her shoulder. “Left the door open so you knew you could move freely through the house. You’re so desperate to get back to him, but I know what he does to pretty little things like you. Where they end up. How their families mourn.”

“Stop,” she whispered, unsure which terrified her more—his touch, or the threat of what Tamlin might eventually do.

Rhys caught her wrist, binding it over her head before Feyre’s mind could catch up with his actions. She was wholly restrained and he was holding a knife as he walked around the bed.

“You’re still bait,” he murmured, one hand sliding over a wooden bedpost. “He can see us right now, you know. He’s watching, hoping I’ll kill you before you tell me something you shouldn’t.”

“He doesn’t tell me anything,” she whispered, trying in vain to wriggle away.

“If you didn’t know anything, he wouldn’t have responded at all. He’s slipped up—you know something,” Rhys declared, running the sharp edge of his blade across her leggings. The fabric snagged, ripping neatly from ankle to waistband.

“I swear I don’t,” she protested as cool air caressed over her now exposed thighs. He wasn’t done as he ruined that oversized blue sweater, too, leaving her in nothing but the shredded remains of fabric. Violet eyes swept over her now naked form and rather than sadistic amusement, Feyre swore she saw unguarded desire staring back at her.

“You do,” Rhys murmured, pausing between her legs. She tried to hide herself from view, but she was restricted by the restraints. “You just don’t remember.”

“How is this supposed to help?”

“Who said anything about helping?” Rhys questioned, tossing his knife beside his mask. The weapon left a small impression atop the black duvet, sharp end pointing toward her ribcage as if to warn her not to try anything.

Feyre pulled against her restraints, for all the good it did her. “Then what are you doing?”

“I’ve been watching you for a long time,” Rhys told her without moving. He did, however, gesture behind him to a wall half hidden in shadow. There, hanging in a gold frame, hung a familiar work of art. Her first ever painting sold—it was a moody seascape Tamlin had accused of being cliche. She’d been brand new, and yet talented enough to be accepted into a showing where an anonymous buyer had overpaid for it.

Feyre still had that first check tucked away in a desk drawer, and when she felt overwhelmed or dejected, she’d pull it out to look at. That same buyer had purchased something from every collection she’d done, always paying far more than she was asking.

“That was you?”

“I have an eye for beautiful things you know,” he informed her, his gaze a brand against her skin.

“You’re jealous?”

“Desperately,” he replied without irony. “It’s always been like that between us. He has everything I want.”

“Rhys,” she whispered, unable to look at him anymore. She wanted to tell him not to do this, and didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing she was afraid.

“He’s watching,” Rhys told her, glancing over his shoulder. “Keeps hacking into my system to see what you’re doing. Will you smile for him, Feyre? Let him think you’re happy?”

“Just let me go,” she pleaded as her captor slid to his knees between her legs. “I won’t say anything.”

“I can’t,” he murmured, lips ghosting over sensitive skin. “I want to keep you.”

Alive, was the unspoken word between them. Did he realize that was a low bar? A bar already set in hell, so far beneath his feet there ought to be no trouble clearing it. And yet…Feyre turned her head as he kissed up his leg, stomach tight from anxiety.

“Like this?”

He shrugged. “I’d untie you, but I think you’d kill me with your bare hands if I did.”

“I think you’d like it,” she shot back, squirming when she felt his warm breath tease between her legs.

“I’m hard just thinking about it,” he agreed with a grin.

His tongue slid up the center of her pussy before Feyre could think of a good comeback. She yelped, trying—and failing—to escape the feeling. It had been too long since someone had done this for her, which was how Feyre explained the bolt of lust racing through her. He didn’t stop, eyes pinned to her face to see if she liked what he was doing.

Feyre was resolved not to react. Men always tired of this act after a minute or two, doubly so when they weren’t being catered to on their back, but instead forced to kneel. It was easy, at least in the beginning, to ignore his tongue teasing her clit. She thought about how cold the snow had been when she’d fallen out the window and reminded herself he’d shoved her in a trunk. That he was a killer, too, and toying with her boyfriend.

Or ex-boyfriend. Feyre wasn’t really sure what they were anymore. She supposed they were over, given he’d told Rhys to kill her. Feyre’s eyes slid to the camera in the corner of the room and somehow, she could feel him watching. Could feel his anger, too—as if this were all her fault. As if she’d kidnapped herself, tied herself up, and was now being forced into pleasure, too.

Are you happy now? Feyre wanted to scream it.

“Eyes on me,” Rhys growled, forcing her to look back down at him. How long had it been, anyway? Her body hummed at the loss of contact, proving that though she was trying not to feel anything, she couldn’t block him out entirely.

“You’re wasting your time,” she whispered.

“All my time belongs to you now,” was his frustrating reply. He returned his tongue back to her pussy and this time, though she tried, Feyre couldn’t refocus on anything but his touch. It was all wrong—his mask lay on the bed, the knife still pointed toward her, inches away from her exposed skin.

For all she knew, he was lying to her and would kill her when he finished.

“Please stop,” she whispered, pulling on her restraints.

“Come, then,” he said in response, his voice muffled.

Feyre didn’t want to come. For a while, she writhed against her restraints until he physically pinned her to the bed, holding her still so he could continue his slow torture. Feyre thought he liked when she fought him—that he wanted to bring her under submission. She held herself back, whimpering from the effort as she counted in her head.

“Do you need a distraction?” Rhys murmured when he heard her reciting the ingredients to a recipe. “Something to turn off that meddling brain of yours?”

“No,” she gasped, but he was on his feet, hands undoing his dark trousers. “I don’t need—I’m fine, I’ll finish—”

“I know you will,” he replied, pulling his long, thick cock from his pants. Feyre couldn’t not look at it as Rhys moved around the bed, extending his restraints so he could reposition her. Feyre fought him, slapping Rhys hard in the face when he undid her arms. He grunted but didn’t react other than to sigh, his frustration plain. With the longer rope, he could tie her hands to the bedposts without overextending her arms while her head now hung off the edge of the bed.

“I won’t,” she informed him.

“You will,” Rhys replied, pinching her nose when she pressed her lips together. As he waited for her to take a breath, he rubbed his cock over her cheek while his other hand slid across her breasts to play with her nipples.

Feyre tried—oh, how she tried—but in the end, she had to take a gasping breath of air. He pushed the head of his cock between her teeth, not caring when sensitive flesh scraped roughly against the jagged edges. The hand that had once pinched her nose now held her throat, squeezing just enough to warn her not to try and bite.

She did anyway.

“Don’t do that again,” he warned, taking his knife and resting it on her stomach. Feyre didn’t believe he’d use it until he took the hilt and began using the smooth silver to tease against her clit.

She couldn’t argue with him, mouth filled with his cock. She widened her jaw to take a breath as he angled his hips, pushing himself further until he was backed up against her throat. Feyre gagged lightly, praying he wouldn’t keep going.

She didn’t want to throw up.

Clearly neither did Rhys. Groaning softly, he whispered, “You suck so well.”

She wasn’t doing anything, really—Rhys moved his hips, setting the pace so he could fuck her mouth. Feyre screamed around him when she felt him push the hilt of the knife into her body so he, too, could fuck her with it. He’d been right about one thing—sucking his cock kept her focused on what was happening between her legs. She could think of nothing else, her mind torn between the air coming into her lungs and what Rhys was currently doing with his mouth.

With his legs spread, he’d returned to licking her clit, focused wholly on that and nothing else. How did he not cut himself on the blade, she wondered as she tried to wriggle the knife out of her pussy.

It didn’t work. Whatever he was doing, he was skilled. Feyre was reacting, her body tightening around the hilt of the blade thanks to the skill of his tongue. Rhys groaned when she sucked in more air than she’d meant to, lips forming a seal around his shaft.

“Just like that baby,” he moaned before picking up his pace. She was going to come and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Feyre tried, eyes leaking from the cock bruising her throat as saliva dripped down her neck. He was going to come, too.

Quick, she realized with some relief. He was timing himself with her, well aware she was close to completion. At least he wouldn’t draw it out? Or he had something else planned. Feyre didn’t know.

Didn’t want to know.

Didn’t want to admit that this was the best she’d felt in a long, long time. How fucked up was it that she hadn’t been able to get off for months, and now, tied up and forced, she was careening toward the sort of pleasure that threatened to unmake her. Was this how stockholm syndrome worked? Her body, flooded with pleasure, began to think that maybe it wasn’t so bad to be stuck here with him.

“Keep sucking,” Rhys moaned again, his hips losing some of their controlled rhythm. Maybe it was better to just get it over with. Feyre sucked around him, though she refused to move her head and help him.

Rhys licked faster, moving in precise circles until her hips began to roll into him, chasing the inevitable. Feyre clenched, finding purchase on the hilt of the blade. Rhys rubbed it just against the perfect spot, his tongue unwavering and Feyre was undone. She screamed around his cock, body bowing off the bed and directly into his mouth. She heard him curse though she didn’t care, half ruined from the pleasure now ribboning through her. Feyre was a star, white hot as it erupted over a silent sky.

She’d forgotten, just for a second, he still had his cock buried in her throat. With a twitching jerk, Rhys came into her throat, his come spilling out the sides of her mouth to join the mess of spit pooling along her collarbone.

Panting, he pulled himself out of her to show her the knife coated in her own release and dripping with blood. His blood, she realized with alarm, noting the gash sliced over his palm.

“I got too excited,” he breathed, wiping it over her naked breasts. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.”

“Untie me,” she whispered, tugging against the restraints. “Please, untie me—”

Despite his injured hand, Rhys was quick about it, undoing her hands first, and then her feet. She’d told herself she was going to hit him for what had just happened, but instead Feyre merely sat up while he stepped out, half naked from the waist down, only to return with a warm rag he used to wipe up the mess of come and blood.

“I’m not going to kill you,” he whispered into her hair, pulling her against his chest.

Feyre looked up at him, unsure if she believed him. “Tamlin told you to.”

“I wouldn’t kill my worst enemy to satisfy him.”

She swallowed. “And…if I wanted to kill him?”

Rhys grinned. “Say less, pretty baby. Say less.”

#feysand #can i get this uploaded by 1pm #with a minute left look at me

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