#whatever no one can complaine when i play my music

[j-crow]

yowch!! that hurt more than i expected!!!!!!

[reignpage]

Frat Boy!Gojo

Cosmopolitan: sober thoughts

Word Count: 6.1k Contents: their first date, cursing, a little angsty, but mostly fluffy, not proofread (barely skimmed this so again, dunno how much sense it makes)

“Before you get any bright ideas, just know I’m sharing my location with at least ten people.”

Whistling, the biggest pain in your ass saunters over to you

The moon is full, a big white orb that would otherwise bring you a lot of peace to look at but right now, only pisses you off for reasons you’d rather not spend too much time pondering. Rarely anyone comes around these parts; it’s at the very edge of the city, a half-hour drive from campus, and surrounded by miles of dull, old suburbia. You’re standing in front of a metal gate, slightly taller than you, with vines wrapping around the pickets. It swings slowly with every gust of wind, creaking before it meets the stone wall with a bang.

Gojo grimaces. 

“Seriously, did you have to choose the scariest place in all of Eden? I mean, I respect the commitment to the aesthetic, but this is just crazy,” he grumbles, eyeing the cathedral from its huge marble pillars to the sharp spires piercing the night sky. 

You roll your eyes. Trust him to leave the date planning to you just to complain every step of the way. You’re already regretting playing along with whatever games he’s conjured up this time, but at least you’ve got home turf advantage; you know this place like the back of your hand. There won’t be any surprises happening tonight. 

Without replying, you walk off, heading straight through the gate. 

“Hey, wait! Don’t leave me here. I don’t want to end up as a statistic.”

Shrugging, you say, “If you’re scared, you can go back home.”

When he doesn’t say a thing and follows you, you smile. You win. But that feeling of victory doesn’t last very long because then he starts muttering about the cobwebs and how they’re everywhere, then about the tombstones, how they’re so messy with moss covering the engravings and that ‘the spirits must definitely be like so mad about all that’, and when you don’t respond to any of his musings, he even complains about the eerie music foreshadowing his pending doom, like in Jaws.

There is no music. 

“Where are we even going?” He pokes your shoulder, snatching his hand back faster than you can swat at it. “I thought we were going to, I don’t know, have a picnic under the stars and cuddle on top of someone’s grave, like Mary Shelley did.”

“How the fuck do you even know about that?” 

Gojo lifts one shoulder. “Must have heard it online or something.”

You roll your eyes again — you have a feeling you’ll be doing a lot of that tonight, maybe even for the rest of your life if things go the way your parents plan. When you had first found out the village idiot is the president of the most sought-after fraternity of the most prestigious university in the country, you thought maybe no one else had stepped up. But then you found out he’s a Legacy --the Gojos have governed that fraternity since its conception -- and well, the pieces fell into place. 

Mischief no doubt sparkling in your eyes, you look at him over your shoulder. His eyes are full of suspicion and when they meet yours, he becomes even more doubtful of your intentions. With a grin, you whisper, “We’re going someplace no one will hear you scream.”

“Kinky.”           

That didn’t have the desired effect. How annoying. Though you don’t fail to notice how he moves in closer to you, his warmth radiating to your body through your black, fur cloak. You don’t shift away. 

Gesturing for him to follow you through a gap in a wooden fence, you squeeze through to avoid splinters, pulling at your dress when a piece of lace catches on a nail. Just as you’re about to offer advice on how to contort his body to get through, he climbs over the fence and lands on his feet without stumbling, all in one quick sweep, like he’s who wanders these hallowed grounds at night and not you. 

“What?” He asks when he spots your glare. 

Not even those stupid sunglasses are out of place. Very annoying, indeed. 

“Come quickly,” you bark, fixing your silk gloves to cover more of your skin as the chill settles in. It’s only six in the evening, and yet there’s no hint of light in the broad expanse above you, just the moon and the stars lighting your way, and occasionally your companion’s phone flashlight when he needs to look at what he’s stepped in. 

He laughs. “No one’s ever said that to me before.”

“Do you make it a habit to talk about your sex life with a girl on a first date?”

“You’re the first, so not a habit. Not yet anyways.” 

Screeching to a halt, your hand clutches his elbow to still him. Your jaw is slack and you’re staring, completely disbelieving. “There’s no way this is your first date. You took that girl to the casino.”

Gojo stares off into the distance as he ponders the notion, fingers tapping his chin. Then, he insists, “No, it really is my first date. And anyways, I don’t consider that night a date; she pretty much invited herself along. It was more like I was just taking her to the casino as her escort. Or maybe that does count as a date. If so, then I’ve been on a lot of dates. But none where I’ve actually used the word date. Does that even matter because —“ 

You wave a hand in front of his face to cut off his rambling; he talks way too much. “So, you’re telling me, I’m the first girl you’ve ever asked out on a date? That’s insane, Gojo. You hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” he protests with a frown.

“You sure acted like you did for months,” you counter. 

He insists, “I don’t hate you. Never did. I just acted out but yeah, I’m sorry. I was a dick.”

Clearing your throat, you straighten up and continue walking. “It’s fine. Water under the bridge.” 

“You sure? ‘Cause I can get on my knees and beg.”

“Don’t tempt me, Gojo.”

He catches up to you and hums a playful tune, his light mood returning; Serious Gojo is gone like he never existed. “Guess that’s what you’re into, huh?”

“You’ll never know,” you snort, pushing a branch away from your face and letting it snap back into his chest, he yelps.

His hand reaches past you, lifting a thicker branch high above the both of you, before leaning close to your ear and whispering conspiratorially, “We’ll see.”

Disregarding the shiver than runs through you, you push on, moving almost on muscle memory alone. Your mind is attempting to distract itself by scanning the area, being careful not to be caught on church grounds after hours, pushing through the woodland to get to the clearing tucked away at the very back, where you go for peace and quiet. 

Truthfully, you have no idea why you decided to have this date here, of all places. This place is sacred. Literally but also figuratively — this is the place you always ran to when the world got a little too loud, a little too busy and bright for you. No one else knows about this haven as far as you’re aware and you always thought you’d do anything to keep it that way. And yet, you’re showing it to him. Actually, guiding him to the place. 

You should have at least blindfolded him so he couldn’t memorise the way. 

Maybe you wanted to spite him by living up to his expectations and being the gothic monster that he thinks you are -- you want to scare him off before he lets his curiosity take him too close to something that might scald him. He needs to be afraid of you. 

Or maybe you recognised that shadow in his eyes, the ones that suggests he’s lost as much sleep about this whole farce as you and thought he could do with a little silence. 

You both arrive at a thick bush, a massive wall of a shrub towering over even Gojo. Behind you, the cathedral is only a blob, lit up by lanterns, whereas you’re both submerged in darkness; there are no streetlamps here. 

“I’m totally going to be murdered here, aren’t I?” He whistles as if to say, ‘it’s been a good life, and I’ll have to just accept my fate’. 

“Yeah, I was lying when I said it was all water under the bridge. I’ve actually been colluding with the devil to sacrifice your white ass.”

Gojo laughs.

He laughs a lot, but rarely like this, you note. He chuckles when his friends do something stupid like push him into the fountain, and he snorts when he reads the most recent article on The Bulletin. But you’ve never really seen him throw his head back and clutch his stomach, at least not with anyone but you. He does it when you get caught texting him under the dinner table, when you give him the middle finger from across the Quad, and that one time you bumped into him in the hallway and almost apologised before you realised it was him.

It’s the kind of laugh that’s infectious, and you hoped every time he does it that you’re somehow immune. However, when he looks at you with a brightening sparkle in his eyes, you realise you’re very much not. 

You clear your throat again. 

“Through here, is a very special place. You must swear you will not desecrate this place, lest the Mother Crone curse you for your treachery,” you announce, wiggling your fingers at him for extra flair. 

Placing a hand on his heart, he stomps his foot like a soldier and swears, “I would never. I will take this secret to the grave.”

Satisfied, you grab the loose part of the hedge wall and pull it aside to reveal the little doorway to your secret hideout. He throws you a side glance before he ducks down and enters. You follow behind him, tucking the disguised door behind you. 

He doesn’t say a thing as you zoom to the side where you grope for something in the grass, right under part of the hedge. When you feel the smooth, cold plastic, you don’t hesitate to switch it on. 

Long wires of fairy lights light up, bulb by bulb, along the top of the hedge and down, like a really wide Christmas tree circling the hidden clearing. You hear him mutter a ‘woah’ under his breath as he scans the area — there’s only one thing here on the flat ground, it’s also lit up fairy lights along the top pole. It’s your most prized possession.

“You have a swing?” He shouts incredulously. Giggling like a child, he makes a run for it, jumping onto one of the two seats where he rocks back and forth on his feet. Then he’s whooping as he swings higher and higher, hair whooshing back and forth as he grins, taking in the cold autumnal air and the growing warmth of the lights. “This is freaking awesome!”

Sitting on the spare seat, you kick your feet gently so you can swing a little. Deep down there was a worry festering within, anxious that he would find this place boring, that he’d scoff at your idea of fun especially on a first date, but looking up at him, still hollering and grinning, you think, that was such a silly thought. 

Gojo slows to a mild back and forth momentum and wonders, “Are you sure I’m allowed to be here? This place seems pretty private, like your own mancave or something. Do girls have a version of a mancave? ‘Womancave?”

In the corner of your eye, you see him clamber down to sit as you answer his question. “I wouldn’t have taken you here if you weren’t allowed, dumbass.”

“Yeah, well, I’m still not convinced this isn’t an elaborate scheme to murder me and hide my body in a grave.”

“Neither.” You shrug. 

He laughs. 

Eventually, you both swing side by side, alternating up and then down. The wind is howling a little, rustling the trees surrounding you and the moon’s obscured by dark cloud. Neither you nor he say anything to break the silence. You were also worried that you’d come to hate his presence in your safe space, finding his tall, lanky presence an irritation, but surprisingly, you don’t mind it. 

It’s nice to have company. 

Especially when that company is keeping his mouth shut. 

“How often do you come here?”

Or not. 

With a sigh, you reply, “Like twice a week. I can’t come as often as I’d like because of all the classes and stuff, not to mention all the wedding planning we have to do.”

“Guess you have it worse than me since I don’t even need to be fitted for a suit; they already have my measurements,” he muses. 

“For whatever reason, it’s always the women who have to plan these things, even though it’s the men that propose.” You accidentally make eye contact with him. “Or at least, that’s how it usually goes.”

Gojo hums, a little sheepishly, before he changes the subject. “So, how did you find this place?”

“We buried my grandmother in the graveyard when I was fifteen. We were close and I took the loss pretty hard. I couldn’t stand all the people pretending they cared so I ran off, got lost and found this clearing. Well, I actually fell through the hedge, but I found it, nonetheless. And this swing was here already. I don’t know how long it’s been here or why it’s here, but it is.”

“That sounds like a fairytale.” He swivels, swinging a long leg over to straddle the seat, facing you as he leans back against the metal chain. “I’m sorry for your loss, by the way. I lost my grandmother too and it was rough.”

You saw that on the news years ago, it was one of those private family events that make the national headlines by complete virtue of the family name. Your parents grieved in public like it was their own loss and you didn’t understand why. Of course, as you got older, you became more and more acquainted with the idea of ‘reputation’ and ‘public image’, but you still feel that same distance to the concept as you did when you were but a child. 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you repeat back to him.

He shrugs. “It’s alright. I’ve got my gramps. We’re best buddies.”

“You have a lot of best buds, don’t you?” 

Gojo strikes you as the kind of guy who makes friends easily, thought you question the depth of most of those friendships; sincerity is a rare phenomenon in your world. 

“No,” he huffs, “I have Suguru, the girl that gave you my number, and gramps. I have lots of close friends, though.”

Considering his words, you realise you don’t have any best friends. Sure, you have friends you hang out with often, people that share your interest, that you can party with, but none you feel as strongly about as he does with those three people. You can hear it in his voice, the conviction, the pride, the confidence. And when you glance at him, you know he doesn’t even realise how defensive he sounds about his people.

How nice it must be to have someone like him as a friend.

“We could be friends, if you’d like,” he offers, and when you look at him with confusion, he adds, “You said it out loud, silly. You think I’m a good person to be friends with. Which, of course I am. I’m like super awesome.”

You burst out laughing. What he said isn’t even funny and he certainly doesn’t mean for it to be, but for some reason it is. So, you laugh, throwing your head back and clutching your stomach. He makes noises of complaints, telling you it’s rude to laugh at people. That makes you laugh harder. 

“Gojo, be serious for a second. We can’t be friends, idiot,” you push out between puffs of laughter. 

He frowns, lips twitching to fight back a smile at your flushed face. “Why not? We’re getting along fine right now, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, for now. But we’re going to be married. Or at least, we’re supposed to be. And think of all the complications that brings, it just doesn’t provide the conditions for a healthy friendship, especially considering our beginning. Think of all the people in our circle who had arranged marriages. How many of them get along? Like, really get along. Hell! Think about our parents.”

“Well, we could be different. We don’t have to end up like them. We can break the cycle or something.”

You stop laughing.

Something shifts in the air, like the moon’s reappeared, the wind’s slowed down, and his eyes shine just a little brighter. It’s sudden and you almost don’t notice it, almost shrug it off. But there’s a sincerity lingering between you and it demands your attention.

Fixing him a solemn look, perhaps similar to the one he gave you before, you assert, “That sounds an awful like an admission of surrender, Gojo.”

“Maybe it is.”

The speed at which he concedes, the sheer resolution in his eyes and the way he doesn���t falter when he says it all scream at you something you won’t accept. Can’t.

He grips your elbow, his long fingers wrapping around the limb with ease, demanding your attention. The sombre expression on his ghostly face haunts you. It’s like he’s shifted into a different person, into someone years older, a man burdened with great responsibility. 

“I’m sorry. About how I started this year off. I regretted everything I said as soon as I said them. I can’t even remember why I said and did those things, but I definitely don’t have a good reason,” he rasped, a desperation lacing his words like he needs you to understand, like he tosses and turns over it. “I know you’re just as much a victim of this as I am, but I was facing a problem I didn’t know to solve, and I lashed out. At you. At someone who didn’t deserve it. And I’m sorry.”

You reel back, snatching your arm away. His touch burns the way ice does, and you have to rub warmth back into it, despite the layers between your skin and his. The sincerity in his eyes is alien, revealing far more about the ongoings of reality than you can absorb in one night. Confusingly, your heart is pounding to the beat of a song you’ve never heard before. 

This date thing, taking him to your secret haven, giving him the opportunity to see you not as the enemy but rather as a woman was a mistake. It’s all one big mistake. It would have been fine if he had stayed as the Gojo you knew, the boisterous, obnoxious party animal that cares only about immediate gratification. But the man in front of you is not someone you can marry. He isn’t the type of man you can be around and feel absolutely nothing for. 

“I’m hungry,” you mutter, standing abruptly.

He looks up at you, something passing in his eyes, almost akin to disappointment or sadness, and you can’t bear to think about what that could mean, so you simply gesture for him to follow you. 

In silence, you walk back the way you came, using your phone’s flashlight to navigate through the thick haze of darkness. This was a mistake; you let him in for a second, gave him a glimpse into your life, and you aren’t even sure why. Was it because you could hear your mother’s voice telling you to do whatever it takes to drag the man to the altar or because, despite yourself, you actually wanted to see what going on a date with Gojo means? 

Maybe it was both. 

Or neither. 

You’re losing more and more of yourself these days, doing things you’d never thought you’d do for one reason or another, and you no longer even know what you want. Your pride or your family? A marriage with Gojo or the friendship he’s offering? Is there’s a third option.

“What’d you wanna eat?” He asks, rocking back and forth on his feet as he stares up at a streetlight. 

You’ve both made it back onto the main road, the swings a mile away. He didn’t press the topic more, simply walked beside you and pushed branches away like before. 

It’s nearing eight in the evening and your stomach growls. 

“Who said I’m eating with you?”

Gojo rolls his eyes and pokes your shoulder. With a sulky tone, he groans, “Don’t be mean. You’re hungry, I’m hungry, let’s eat. Simple!”

“Can you cook?” 

He beams, sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose as he looks at you over them, bright eyes sparkling with what you can only guess to be mischief. You realise you really should think before you speak. 

—

That’s how you find yourself in his frat house kitchen, cloak discarded, hair up and gloves off. His frat members are out, partying, he claims, so the whole house is free. When he suggested it, you looked at him like he was insane, but he only wiggled his brows.

“You scared?” He cocked his head, grinning at you in a way that made you want to punch his teeth in. 

Narrowing your eyes at him, you responded, “No, of course not.”

Gojo bent his arms and rocked his head, making clucking noises that echoed in the empty street. Every note pierced your body, mocking and goading. You knew exactly what he was doing, and it was fucking working, the stupid bastard. Without responding to his accusation, you stomped over to his car and gave him a glare. He fetched his car keys and spun them on his finger with a victorious whistle.

“Grate this,” he orders. 

His kitchen is huge, which is understandable for the size of the house and how many people live here. Apparently, there’s three more kitchens in the damn place, not that you believe even a quarter of the guys that live here know what a cutting board is. The kitchen is surprisingly clean, however. It’s sparkling clean. 

“We have cleaners that comes in every other day,” he chuckles, noticing your looks of complete judgement whilst he boils some pasta. “But we are pretty strict on cleanliness, regardless. And everyone knows, I’m not afraid to crack the whip to keep everyone in line.”

Scoffing, you clarify, “You? Cracking whips? I find that hard to believe.”

He leans against the island you’re stationed at, the sound of water simmering filling the small space between you. Watching you grate the cheese, he hums, fingers fiddling with the lace of your sleeve. He mutters, “I know how to be serious when I need to be.”

You hum too. 

Still fiddling with the fabric, you ignore his wandering hand, fingers slipping under to roll the soft lace between his fingertips. Goosebumps rise on your skin. His touch is tentative, hesitant and gentle — one would think he’s just afraid to snag the fabric, acknowledging the craftsmanship, but one glance up at him, seeing his gaze fixated on your exposed skin more than your sleeve, you know otherwise. 

“Hands to yourself, Geralt.”

“If I’m Geralt, that must make you Yennefer,” he retorts. With a laugh, he pulls away, returning to the stove to tend to the pasta sauce. You don’t realise how much warmth he generated until you feel a sudden draught. 

The smell of frying onions and garlic is delicious and you’re becoming more and more starved by the second. He’s agile, moving swiftly and on muscle memory as he opens drawers and cabinets to gather the things he needs. 

“How often do you cook?” You ask, arm getting tired from the motion of grating the block of cheese.

Gojo shrugs and admits, “Not as often as I’d like. Weekends are for parties and pizza and all the other days, everyone’s doing their thing, studying or whatever, and eating by myself is kinda sad, so I just eat out usually.”

“How is it possible that you eat out so often but still remain so skinny?”

That was apparently the wrong thing to say because the next thing you know you’re being spun around and pressed into the island with a hard body. His arms are caging you in, keeping you still as he grins at you. 

He had thrown his jacket by the door when you both walked in; his biceps bulge as he flexes. They’re so much bigger now, or maybe they were always like that. And he’s pressed so close his Adam’s apple is right in front of you, bobbing when you tilt your head back so you can meet his eyes. 

“I’m plenty jacked, actually,” he brags and to add salt to the wound, he leans down, cheek brushing against yours to whisper against your ear, “wifey.”

You shove him off, snorting at his lame line. He back away with little protest. Trying to hide the heat in your face, you wash your hands, turning away from him completely. 

The rest of the hour passes by in a blink of an eye, and you finally sit down at the dining table across from each other. He’s a decent cook and you pay him a compliment even though it physically hurt to do so. 

“Do you not cook very often?” 

“I make sandwiches and ramen, that’s as far as I know how to do,” you admit with no shame.

He pours you a cup of water and asks, “Do you not have a chef to pre-make meals for you? My father insisted I have one, but I complained to my gramps about the lack of privacy and independence, and he gave up pretty quickly.”

You pause. It’s a stupid question to ask someone, from anyone else it’d drip in condescension, but you know he’s genuinely asking and it’s a valid question, just not one you’re ready to answer. So, with a careful shrug, you say simply, “I’m fine with the way things are.”

Gojo doesn’t sense the tense quiver of your voice, or if he does, he has enough tact to ignore it, so he continues the conversation. He talks to you about what being a frat president entails, and you tell him your experiences as the Treasurer. 

He also shares stories of his friends: the time ‘the gang’ snuck into the gym to put shaving cream in Toji’s locker after he had his room bubbled wrapped down to every single pair of boxers, each and every one of his friends’ drunk habits, and how he’s actually a lightweight so he sticks to beers most of the time but he hates the taste and actually much prefer cocktails. 

“Wait, wait,” you say between laughs, “you drink cosmos in secret ‘cause you don’t want your frat mates knowing their president actually hates beer?”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. But it isn’t my fault those things taste like wheat piss!”

You laugh harder. “They do! They totally do!”

“Has anyone ever said you have a pretty la—“

“Woah!” A voice yells out. “What’s going on here?”

You both turn to look at the wide-open door. Two men walk in, they’re in gym clothes, wide toothy grins on their faces as they stare between you and their president. You recognise them as second years, often hanging around Gojo in pictures or loitering in the Quad. 

One guy, a fake blond, wolf whistles when he sees you. “Satoru, you didn’t tell us you were having a girl over. It’s been a while; we rarely even see your bestie nowadays.”

“Yeah, this is a sight for sore eyes. This place was getting too much hotdog and not enough buns, if you know what I mean.”

When they both guffaw, you grimace. Their voices are grating, like sharp notes, and despite yourself, you cower in your seat. You hate the way they’re looking at you, in half desire and half repulsion — they’re enjoying the sight of a woman in their space, but they don’t know what to make of your attire. Usually, you don’t let people like them get to you, not their comments and not their stares. But something’s different, you’re more sensitive, less guarded. 

“Isn’t she your fiancé? We’ve heard all about her. The girls from Delta Sigma said she dresses like a witch, and well, they aren’t entirely wrong.”

“Get out.”

Three heads turn. Gojo’s standing; you hadn’t seen him move. He’s leaning on his fingertips, head hanging as he stares at his empty plate. No one says a thing. There’s no air in here anymore. Only silence, a grim, gut-wrenching silence. 

They stammer. “H-hey, man. What’s wrong?”

“Get. Out.”

“Come on, we’re just messing around,” the fake blonde chuckles nervously. 

Gojo looks up, slowly, like a creaking door. When his eyes settle on them, they stagger back with the force of his disappointment, and again with his wrath. Though you feel the tendrils of that infinite space between you, you don’t bear its impossible weight. 

With his body tense, veins bulging along his arms, broad shoulders pushed back ready for something you can’t quite grasp in this moment, you realise he really is jacked. And those muscles aren’t just for show or pressing girls against marble countertops. 

As great as it would be to be his friend, it’s even greater to not be his enemy. You didn’t realise it then, but you do now, if Gojo had ever really wanted to make someone disappear, he probably could have done so. 

“You would do well to remember that I, as descendent of the founder of Alpha Phi Delta, have a right to terminate any fraternity brother’s membership without a need for sufficient cause. Just because I’ve never exploited that clause doesn’t mean I’m above it. So, get out. Now.”

Cheeks red and heads hung low, they walk back out without sparing you another glance. 

Gojo sits back down, shoulders still tense. 

The silence hasn’t disappeared, but it has lightened, much more tolerable now. With an uncertainty in your movements, you push your knife and fork together and pat your lips dry. 

“Well, this has certainly been an eventful night,” you say. “I really ought to go, though.”

Gojo nods and takes your plate, leaving to go to the kitchen whilst you freshen up in the bathroom. 

When you come out, he’s already waiting outside with his hands tucked in his pockets, staring up at puffs of clouds he breathes into the night sky. There’s a sombre air around him, like you’re better off not disturbing him, but when he spots you from the corner of his eye, that air evaporates and he beams, literally brightens, practically shadowing the moon. 

“Hey, come on, I’ll drive you to your dorm,” he asserts with a smile. 

And he does. You get into his car for the second time of the night and watch the campus blur past you. Through the ten-minute car ride, he sings along to the pop songs on the radio, bopping his head to every beat like they’re coursing through his veins. 

“You don’t know these songs? Really?” 

He’s completely incredulous, looking at you as if you’ve grown two heads. You roll your eyes and jokingly explain you’re committed to the aesthetic. He finds that funny. The rest of the ride continues wordlessly.

“Alright, this is me,” you announce when he parks. He climbs out the car with you, leaning against his door as you shuffle awkwardly on your feet. “Despite certain parts of the time being…stiff, should we say, I had a lot of fun. Surprisingly.”

A tinge of red colours the tips of his ears. “Yeah, me too. I expected to lose my life, or at least a few limbs, at that graveyard, so I’m pretty happy with the turnout.”

You roll your eyes. “And I’m very happy I’m not covered in pig’s blood coming out of your frat house.”

“No, closest we had to that was the pasta sauce,” he chuckles. 

“Which was surprisingly delicious, by the way. You should cook more often instead of the junk food you eat.”

“Says you?” He pushes your shoulder lightly. “Miss Cup Noodles.”

“Whatever.”

The conversation dies there, laughter fading as both of you eye the doors of your dorm building. You pull your cloak tighter around you, irritated that, even though he’s just in jeans and a plain graphic tee, he’s seemingly unbothered by the temperature drop. 

“You should go in,” Gojo suggests, voice softer, barely louder than a whisper. 

You nod and make a step to go, but then a warm hand wraps around your wrist, tugging you back. He’s carrying the weight of it in his palm, thumb grazing your wrist. There’s electricity thrumming where he touches and you’re about to snatch your hand away before he tightens his grip. 

“Just a second,” he mutters, before pulling out something from his pockets. Something black. 

Your gloves. 

You forgot to put them on, having left them in the kitchen. 

He’s taking his time, smoothing the material over your knuckles, ensuring your fingers are tucked in properly. His thumb lingers on the curve of each finger, exploring the slopes. Your breath hitches as his hands envelope yours completely, his touch deliberate and light and there’s no other way to describe it: it’s positively reverent. 

The glove slide snugly into place, a second skin but they feel new, as if fresh from the machine, still warm. 

You shouldn’t let him reach for your other hand, shouldn’t just watch as he unfolds the other glove, slipping it on with much more care than you yourself had ever done. His eyes are watching the fabric consume more and more of your skin, until they meet the ends of your sleeve, and no skin remains. 

“Gojo,” you breathe out. 

He shakes his head, brows furrowing. “Satoru. Call me Satoru.”

When he finally looks up, your eyes meet and your pulse quickens, quick and short breaths pulling your chest up and down. You didn’t even realise one hand is clutching his shoulder whilst the other remains in his grip. And you certainly don’t notice that you’re standing much closer than before, only a hair’s breadth from finding out whether his lips are as soft and plush as his touch. 

“You smell really nice,” he whispers, thumb running across your knuckles, like he’s willing warmth into your hand. 

You’re so close it only takes one gust of wind to push you together, to taste what a future with him could mean, to seal the first date with something that’ll keep you up at night. Just one kiss, one bad decision and everything could fade away for a second. You could pretend he’s just a boy and you’re just a girl and this is a normal date, that you have a normal relationship and tomorrow you could go back to being arranged lovers. 

His lashes flutter, so long and wispy and you’re jealous. Flickering between your eyes and your lips, you know he’s searching for any sign that you might want this just as bad as he does. You’re craning your head back, back arched to reach him, and when your chest rubs against his for a millisecond, he shuts his eyes with a groan.  

“Hey! If it isn’t Gojo,” a gruff voice bellows.

You step back, gasping for air and desperately smoothing your skirt down as you give a shaky smile to the newcomer. He’s a tall, buff man wearing shorts and carrying a basketball. He pats Gojo on the back, oblivious to the tension, to the way his friend is pouting, grumbling about how he ‘ruined the moment.’

The man looks at you with a friendly enough smile, eyeing your appearance with nothing more than curiosity before he gives you one of those manly nods. 

“Whatcha doing at my girl’s dorm?” He asks. 

Clearing his throat, Gojo answers, “Just dropping my wi—I mean, my friend off. Yeah, just stopping by.”

The guy doesn’t look ready to stop talking. So you take the initiative to excuse yourself with an awkward kiss on the white-haired boy’s cheek and you whisper, “Goodnight...Satoru.”

You don’t wait for him to reply.

Just as you’re about to enter your dorm building, you hear a distinct, “Dude, I totally cockblocked you, didn’t I? Fuck, put that thing away. You’re gonna poke my fucking eyes out!”

You smile just as your phone pings.

[angelsforthenight]

MRS. AND MRS. SMITH — abby anderson x fem!reader

ways you can help gaza 🇵🇸

do not buy tlou2 remastered!

a/n: this is way more inspired by the mr and mrs smith series (2024) not the 2005 one!!! this explains why they’re wives :3

you’re an assassin along with your assigned partner/wife, abby anderson. fed up with her toxic behaviour, you’re pleased when the mission is centred around you seducing a man for murderous motives. why? well, because you know it’ll get under abby’s skin. little did you know, things would blow over way more than you thought it would.

cw: mdni, owen feature🤮🤮, long fic, kinda slow-burn ig?, femme fatale, arranged marriage couple, kinda toxic relationship, violence, mention of blades, car sex, mean!abby, bratty!reader, dom!abby, degrading, bdsm, ass-smacking, finger-fucking, cursing, jealous!abby, hair pulling, dry-humping, finger-sucking, choking, rough sex, teasing, squirting.

“short brown hair, rugged beard. got that?” abby’s murmuring voice comes in from the earpiece you’ve got attached. you groan and roll your eyes, wishing you could mute the goddamn thing.

see, any other day, you would’ve loved to hear your wife’s pretty little voice guiding you — her praises when you’d do something right or her degrades if you’d do something wrong both sending shivers down your spine, compelling you to do whatever she wanted.

but not today. today you’re over it. so what do you respond with?

“yeah, i know, anderson. we both got the fucking brief.” you hiss. you know how pissed abby gets whenever you curse at her; so that’s exactly what you do. you relish at the thought of her gritting her teeth, not being able to snap at you in front of all of these people.

that’s right, you two are at a charity gala event. it’s fancy. too fancy to the point where it’s intimidating: glistening chandeliers, artistic decorations and bustling people wearing glamorous attire. you and abby needed to blend in with the crowd so not only are you two dressed smartly for the occasion but are also split up. not that you’re complaining. you’re sick of her. sick of her petulance whenever you’d get glorified by the agency instead of her, sick of how sometimes she can be so simple-minded, sick of how, at points, she lacks at making you feel loved.

your job is to take out an owen moore, for unforeseen reasons. you never question what the agency tells you to do, neither does abby.

you’re planning to lure him in an concealed area with your enticing charisma, make him believe you’re going to sleep with him before slicing him dead with your blade. you prowl through the many people, scanning the area with a keen eye to find him. claude debussy plays as background music, taming your harrowing nerves. killing is never easy.

“found him yet?” abby sighs.

“please don’t distract me.” there’s way too many people and it’s beginning to stress you out. what if you never find him? failing the mission is the last thing you wanna do.

“i’m getting bored. plus, small talk with strangers pisses me off.” she complains.

“not my goddamn problem.” you retort, the ends of your tight-fitting dress flailing against your legs as you pick up the pace, worrying if there’s not enough time, worrying if he’s even here in the first place.

“literally what is your problem? acting extra fuckin’ snobby tonight...”

your eyebrows knit together. abby always finds a way to get under your skin.

“let’s not fucking start—“ you’re about to snap and make yourself look like a fool in front of all of these people until somebody accidentally bumps into you: spilling his drink all over your dress. great!

“oh shit. sorry, i didn’t mean that.” you hear a man’s voice as you stare down at your ruined dress in disbelief. you slowly glance up at the culprit; only to find the noted brown hair and rugged beard staring right back at you. owen moore.

despite your worked up embarrassment and your extreme annoyance, you manage to flash a smile.

“it’s okay, but... you do realise you owe me now right?” you bat your eyelashes, hoping you don’t look silly.

“and what’s that?” owen chuckles, rubbing the back of his head and making immense eye contact. he’s already flirting back, you think. this is about to be so fucking easy.

with a few drinks, owen’s already tipsy and you’re leading him to the vast room. you make him believe you’re just as woozy; stumbling and giggling away. you take advantage of his obliviousness: your hand brushing against the slit of your dress, fingers cupping the wooden handle of the blade in the garter wrapped around your thigh. whilst he laughs and babbles nonsense, you carefully trace the edge of the blade — feelings of excitement rushing to the surface. regardless of the fact that killing is never easy, it’s also never not exhilarating.

you’re about to fully whip out the blade until owen decides to be bold: setting his slobbery hands against the small of your back and trying to lean in for a kiss.

“woah.” you feign a grin, pulling his hands away. “we go at my pace.”

“aww�� please?” he mumbles, trying to seem like an adorable puppy but instead making it look disgusting. this is sad, you think. you try to grab your knife again but he’s now grabbing your arms; desperate for a fruitless smooch.

“come on… don’t play hard to get.” he growls, his sudden aggression catching you a little off guard. no need for stress, you know what to do. your knee prepares itself to kick hard in between his legs until somebody’s arm suddenly emerges from behind, wrapping around his neck and squeezing hard.

“what—“ you breathe in bewilderment, eyes widening. despite owen choking and uselessly clawing at abby’s arm for escape, her gaze stays intently trained on yours; a death stare. it’s unnerving.

it doesn’t take long for owen to turn cold and slack, eyes rolling to the back of his head. abby lets him go, but not without cracking his neck first, and you watch as he flops onto the floor.

“what the fuck, abby…” you mutter, palming a frustrated hand across your face. “where the hell did you even come from?”

“there’s doors.” she tilts her head towards the backdoor behind her. you hadn’t even noticed it. your eyes travel back to her; irresistibly ogling at the black suit clinging to her body, complimenting her form. you almost forget you’re supposed to be mad at her.

the blonde chuckles wryly, a petty exhale. “you starin’? assumed pussy boys were more your type.”

“real fucking mature.” you snarl. “i had him. i was this close to killing him, abby.”

“you were taking too long.” abby shrugs, condescendingly pouting. you grit your teeth.

“jealousy? really? grow up.”

“at least i watch where i’m going. nice dress, the wet splotch is a nice touch, really.” she slanders, narrowing her eyes. you scoff, trying to pretend as if that dig didn’t offend you.

“you’re a fucking child. help me with the body.”

you two leave the building with ease, pretending as if owen is a friend that’s had too much to drink, wrapping his arms around the both of your shoulders and leading him to your car. abby opens the boot and you two push him inside. you two will decide on how deal with the body later.

for now, you’re sat on the passenger’s seat whilst abby drives, the two of you salty and quiet. abby’s driving way too fast; her hand gripping the steering wheel like her life depends on it. she’s obviously fuming.

“can you slow down?” you glare at her.

“you owe me… i mean, who even says that?” abby grumbles, ignoring your request.

“a lot of people do. now slow down, we don’t wanna attract attention from police knowing there’s a dead body back there.”

“not to mention that you’ve had an attitude since last night! the way you were flirting with that oliver guy? or whatever the fuck his name was, had to be on purpose. to spite me.”

abby starts driving even faster, increasing your stress. “owen.” you correct, “you’re so self absorbed!” you continue to beg for her to slow down.

“he’s, like, the embodiment of revolting too. don’t even get me started at the way he was trying to force himself on you. i should’ve put a bullet in his brain.” abby rattles on, pure jealousy oozing from her tone.

“you were definitely enjoying it too. i know you were.” she turns her head to look at you, not paying attention to the road.

“abby. abby!” you scream as abby almost runs through a poor family trying to cross the road.

“fuck.” abby murmurs as she swerves messily, just in the nick of time, steering into a deserted field. the two of you are out of breath from the fright, hearts racing from the adrenaline. abby rests her head on the wheel, letting out a long sigh.

“just what the hell is the matter with you?” you scold, “all this shit over a mission? are you serious?” abby’s lack of response leads you to continue yelling at her.

“of course we’re going to have to flirt with our targets now and then! the fuck happened to your professionalism? if i had known you’d be acting like this then i would’ve never—“

“why didn’t you kiss him?” abby raises her head to look up at you, her face blank. you blink, a little taken aback by the unexpected question.

“i…” you look away. you’re not exactly up for abby knowing that you couldn’t kiss him because of her. “where even are we anyway?”

“nice try. since you’re so professional, why didn’t you kiss him? he clearly wanted to. you could’ve easily killed him then.” the corner of abby’s lips arch up into a smirk — the familiar smug look of hers that never fails to get you weak.

“for someone who’s had so much to say just a second ago…” she leans in a little, arm resting against your headrest, “…you’re awfully quiet.” her voice is hushed down to a soft whisper, and you swear you’re beginning to feel a little lightheaded.

“look, abby, you’re my wife… so…” you mumble in response to her pressing question, avoiding eye contact. abby chuckles, loosening her tie. here comes the floodgates.

“don’t play dumb and pretend as if the agency didn’t arrange that.” her finger presses against the dome light of the car; illuminating your embarrassed face. just what she wanted to see.

“you’ve been enjoying yourself, seeing me all jealous like this. you liked playing femme fatale, hmm?” her finger slowly twists itself around a strand of your hair, before she yanks a handful, forcing your head closer. you wince, eyes clenched shut. your cunt decides to flex too — reminding you that she’s got a mind of her own, and that she finds being in an empty field like this, in abby’s car, pretty fucking hot.

“let’s face it…” abby whispers, so close that you can feel her breath tickling your ear, shooting heavy tingles down your body.

“you want me so bad it hurts.” her eyes drift down to your thighs that are starting to shift uncomfortably in your seat. it’s beginning to ache down there and it seems like abby’s aware of that. you can’t help it. after all, abby sitting so close: loose strands of hair framing her face, unfastened tie and darkened eyes fixed on you, feels so good that it’s suffocating.

you squirm a little and abby grins, her fingers still laced in your hair. her grip slightly tightens as she licks her lips. she looks hungry.

“maybe what hurts is your fingers in my hair.” you quip, though your voice is a little shaky.

“maybe you need to fix your attitude.” abby retorts, “like, seriously, pipe down… you’re probably soaking down there.” she snickers, right on the money.

“fuck you.” you glare at her, gauging her reaction. you want to believe you’re saying this out of sheer anger for what went down tonight, but deep down, you know that’s not the case. in reality, you just want to get under abby’s skin. it’s what you’ve been craving since the beginning; to get her pissed.

you wipe the pleased look off of abby’s face, which is now replaced with a frown. your heart pounds with anticipation: so much so that your chest faintly heaves, lips parted.

abby’s eyes wander to your lips and in one swift movement, she pulls you in; pressing her lips against yours. you’re quick to kiss her back, the sweetness of her mouth sealing yours. fervent can’t even begin to explain the way you two are kissing. akin to wild animals, small muffled groans escape the both of you.

desperation is thick in the confined air of the car, as abby pulls away and shrugs her blazer off. you stare up at her.

“hurry… with your slow-ass.” you whine.

“watch your fucking mouth. c’mere.” abby commands. you naturally do as she says and she begins to unzip your dress — not without making sure to go deliberately slow.

“why do you have to be so mean?” you sigh, burying your face in the crook of her neck.

“oh, trust me… i’m only gonna be meaner.” she warns whilst planting gentle kisses on your neck. you’ve always admired abby for her ability to vary from being sour to tender in seconds. little did you know, the peppered kisses on your neck served as a prior apology to how cruel she’s going to treat you in a second.

once everything is off, abby marvels at your body. like a painting in an art gallery, she makes sure to pay attention to even the minuscule details of your body. it’s her favourite thing in the entire world.

“turn around.” abby mutters, her eyes hazy; voice bleeding with lust.

“what?”

“just do it.”

you hesitantly do as she says. abby beams: finding your weak resistance amusing yet is also excited to break you.

“now… bend over.” she coos, clearly poking fun.

you shoot her a glare, cheeks flushed. “what am i, your dog?”

“don’t piss me off.”

you glare at her for a few seconds longer before sighing, reluctantly bending over.

“arching that back and everything… wooow.” abby teases, “and to think i haven’t even touched you yet.”

“oh, just fuck off, abby…” you complain, the embarrassment beginning to overwhelm you.

“what was that?”

“i said fuck—“ but you’re cut off by a yelp when abby brings her palm down flat against your ass. you flinch violently; very, very taken off guard.

“mm? didn’t quite hear you. repeat yourself.” abby taunts, smacking you again. you grunt and flinch yet again, feeling the sting of her slap coarse through your body. abby’s humiliating you, milking every last drop of your embarrassment. the worst thing yet? you’re enjoying this way more than you should be.

“i’m not kidding. speak.” abby commands, showing no signs of mercy. your skin is already starting to gleam red, and your pussy? well, it’s a fucking party down there.

“abby…” you cry, completely under her control. the more she smacks, flesh recoiling under her palm, the more your head goes blank.

“go on babe… finish what you were saying before.” abby prods. this time, when she smacks you, her fingers grasp the flesh on your ass tightly; watching in delight as her fingertips leave little red marks. you’re trembling like a leaf, both from the pain and the arousal.

see, the thing with abby is that she never likes to let things go. she adores jabbing at you until she gets what she wants.

another smack, this one so hard that you need to press your palms against the window. abby then grips your waist and pulls you way closer; making your ass press against her hips.

“you wanna get fucked?” abby mutters, teasingly bringing your waist back and forth against her hips: hard, playful thrusts. your bare cunt pressing against her crotch is, without a doubt, driving you insane. you frantically nod in response to her question, in which abby replies with latching her hand around your neck; forcing you upright so that your back is now against her chest.

“use your words.”

“y-yes…” tears begin to stream down your face. you’re desperate, yearning for her touch as if it’s a life or death situation.

“so finish what you were saying.” her fingers slightly squeeze around the sides of your neck.

“i-i told you to f-fuck off but i d-didn’t… haa… mean it.” you splutter. the you a while ago would’ve had her mouth agape in horror at your behaviour right now.

“see? that wasn’t so hard, was it?” abby coos, her fingers tracing down your stomach, in between your thighs. long, drawn-out circles are traced on your swollen clit, her fingers pressing just the right amount of pressure. you groan, and abby taps her chin against your shoulder; smirking at how your legs are writhing, desperate for more.

“where’d all your attitude go?” the blonde ridicules. her other hand moves over to your breast, squeezing it, her thumb caressing your nipple. as to the hand working on you, her middle and ring finger brush against your folds; up and down. she’s touching you but it doesn’t feel like it’s enough: abby knows that.

“don’t do this to me, abby…” you exasperate. she lets out a breathy chuckle before flipping you over and setting you down onto the car seat. she reclines it back, eyes yet again fixed on you. you stare up at her with big glossy eyes, your head blank as if you’ve been dumbed down.

abby gloats at how helpless you look, grabbing your face with one hand and squishing your cheeks. “you look stupid.”

“shut up and fuck me.” you mutter in a muffled tone. abby laughs as if what you’ve said was the funniest joke in the entire world. you wonder if abby can feel your cheeks burning up against her palm.

before you know it, abby plows her thick fingers so far inside your cunt that you’d squeal, if it wasn’t for abby’s hand still clenched on your cheeks.

“this what you wanted?” abby purrs, fingers curling up against your g-spot already. you moan, back arching and squirming.

“oh! riiiiight, you can’t speak.” she gloats, playfully shaking your head with her hand. you whine in embarrassment, yet you secretly enjoy how she’s handling you like a doll.

abby’s finger-fucking you rough, wet squelch noises filling up the car. the sound of it is so erotic that it leaves you dizzy, eyes rolling to the back of your head. the blonde releases her grip on your face but not her thumb, that slips inside of your mouth.

“suck.” you mindlessly do as she says, as if you’re brainwashed. you can see abby’s cheeks tint red when you slowly suck her thumb, making sure to keep eye contact.

abby chuckles, looking away. seems like she didn’t think you’d actually do it.

“you’re shy.” you point out. you triumph over the fact that now it’s her turn to be embarrassed, but not for long.

“shut the fuck up.” abby says brusquely, her fingers operating way harder than before; relentlessly pounding against your g-spot. you cry, feeling overwhelmingly good.

that rigid attitude you had a moment ago? now dead and buried. you feel surreal, a series of mewls and sobs leaving your lips.

“nothing smart to say anymore? you look fucking pathetic.” and she’s right. you look like a hot mess. abby smothers your tears all over your face. you mindlessly move your hips, fucking yourself on her fingers. she smirks, loving what she’s seeing. you feel a knot beginning to untie in your stomach, sublime throbs coursing all over your body.

“i’m cumming…” you manage to choke out.

“i know.” abby buries her face in the crook of your neck, and you shiver at the feel of her breath against your skin.

“i’ll decide to be nice and let you finish.”

and that’s your cue. with an ending moan to seal it off, you feel your body tense up, eyes widening. abby leans in and presses her forehead against yours. you squeeze your eyes shut, before your body relaxes. you’re panting like a dog, staring up at abby with foggy and depleted eyes.

“so cute…” she murmurs before cupping your chin and kissing you — this time, soft and tender as opposed to the way she was kissing you before. you feel warm.

so absorbed in each other, you two forget about how you’re in the middle of nowhere and how the body in the car boot needs to be dealt with. for now, you two have something more important to worry about: how you’re gonna clean up the mess you’ve left all over the chair and dashboard.

a/n: you made it !!! thought it’d be funny if the target was owen😭😭 hope u enjoyed reading <3

[rhenuvee]

Playing Animal Crossing New Horizons with HSR Men

Warnings: ugly villager slander, established relationship (can be platonic or romantic)

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

Argenti: Your fellow knight of beauty grows quite fond of the game, immediately finding the freedom of creativity in decoration endearing. He always gives you compliments on your OOTD, and takes screenshots whenever you design a new area on your island. Argenti gave himself the gardening job- spending his bells on red rose seeds. He gets proficient in following the flower guide, and is very proud of himself if he ever gets a golden rose on your island. He loves the villagers, finding them each very cute, and even beauty in the "ugly" villagers. "Did you see the villagers wearing the red rose on their head? I must say I am flattered they love it so much. Though, I am more happy that they appreciate the beauty of our island." He enjoys documenting the beautiful places in your island with photos <3

Aventurine: From the beginning he points out the fact that Tom Nook is a capitalist, which makes you roll your eyes thinking he thinks this game is silly. However, it is quite the opposite as it doesn't take him long to get out of his home loan debt and is somehow extremely lucky. It's unfair to you that he could just log in on any given day and have the best deal for turnips. However because you are his favourite he says he’s willing to buy you whatever you want, he guesses. He happens to be able to catch rare species like the Coelacanth, and it infuriates you but you really can't be if it's helping the museum. "445 bells per turnip, sounds like music to my ears~" "What's that? You want this violin? Well I guess I could spare you a few bells... is one million okay?"

Blade: Let's not kid ourselves here- it takes a lot of convincing and help from Silver Wolf to get him to even be in the presence of Animal Crossing. He says he would much rather stand and look at the wall (SW: "You already do that everyday"). Eventually he sits himself next to you, and listens to your giddy rambling about what to do in the game while he puts on a serious face not saying anything. After the preliminary tutorial/startup gameplay, he finally says, “…why is this rat harassing me for money.” However, the loans aren't the worst but the villagers chasing him down are. He purposely ignores them and grumbles when you tell him to answer ):/. He prefers to watch you play, but because he sees you smile and laugh at his sarcastic comments, he thinks it's not so bad.

Boothill: He's definitely down to try it out, but he ends up being a bit of a troll. He doesn't really mind cute/ugly villagers, until he judges them for what they say. “That’s right, (y/n) did catch all those fish.” “Did he just ask me if he could call me Muffin.” “WHAT DO YOU MEAN I GOTTA PAY ANOTHER LOAN?!!?” Yeah… he quickly feels the grindy-ness, complaining that Tom Nook was working him like a forkin’ dog. A little bit of comical rage, but he won’t lie he is enjoying it. He also asks if there are any guns and he is disappointed, so he opts for the net. He's a little rough and rowdy, but he does it in style. That being said, he 100% spends his extra bells on a cowboy outfit.

Dan Heng: He agrees instantly- aw :(. He knows you (and March) have been begging him to play. He’s is fairly good at it- gets out of the tent quickly, masters catching creatures, a nicely organized house… He’s quite resourceful too, chopping down trees and going to mystery islands to farm the heck out of it. The villagers love him, both of you often seeing them run to him with the little sparkly flowers. And even though he's normally serious, you can't help but fawn over how sweet he is with the villagers. "...She wants to call me Shmoopy, do I-" "YES." Villagers asking him to catch a fish? He's immediately on it. He remembers their names and treats them like real people :(

Dr. Ratio: "Is it educational?" Bro is such a nerd. You deadpan at him, and sass him for expecting this to be IXL or something. He is also one to get through the tutorial part easily. You expected him to be overly critical of the game, but he finds appreciation in the museum: both the creatures and the art. Is it a farfetched idea that I think he'd know how to tell the reals and fakes right off the bat? "Do you really think Da Vinci spilled coffee on his work?" At least it saves you the troubles of wasting your bells and getting a fake. I think your island would not be a mess, and would have at least a few statues (you know the ones) which add his touch to it.

Gallagher: Honestly he's happy as long as he gets a little area for himself. Kind of a wild card this one- somehow calm and chaotic at the same time, and it's puzzling because how is he doing such weird things with a straight face? Trolls the villagers quite a bit (he's lucky ACNH villagers are nice) by hitting them with a net (just once though) and giving them different catchphrases every time they ask. "Why is Bob saying 'spaghettini' at the end of his sentences?" "Um, because I thought it'd be funny? Also I'm kinda hungry so-" "Gallagher ):/" Despite the randomness, he is wholesome at times. He is also one to compliment your new outfit, and stargaze with you on the new area you decorated.

Gepard: He's busy so you weren't expecting too much from him, but he takes pride in having a well-rounded island. He gets so excited when he catches a new species that you don't have yet- what a cutie. Also goes full throttle when there's a bug-off or fishing tourney. Despite being a video game, I feel like there will be some way he messes up taking care of plants. The flowers overgrow, the turnips rot, and he doesn't understand why the trees aren't growing? But with some tips from you along with your island designing skills, your island rank moves up and he is BEAMING. "Zucker asked about you." "...he did?" "Mhm, he asked how you were doing, and said he saw you laying out pathways on the island."

Jing Yuan: He finds it so cute when you ask him to play. Lowkey like Blade where he likes watching your happy expressions when playing. He's happy that this game provides him a way to relax while not getting bored. Secretly an enjoyer of villager drama: "Wolfgang wants to apologize to Audie with this present. What happens if I don't deliver it?" "Again? Ah, just give it to her quickly." "...what if I don't." "...Jing Yuan." Oddly I feel like he'd enjoy the group stretching (what an old man), and encourages you to join. Like the "Dozing General" he is, there will be times when he's inactive and gets the bed head.

Luocha: You weren't expecting him to enjoy the game, but he's surprisingly willing to be resourceful. His storage is full of materials, which you scold him for because this is the reason for his empty undecorated house. But he always has things you need so you can't exactly complain. Also one to be pretty smart with managing bells and resources, able to maximize their worth. When the island gets visitors like Label or Flick, he has items ready. "Luocha... where did you get that coat?" "This? It's a designer piece, from Miss Label." I'd say he does have a sense of beauty in design, so thankfully your island is gorgeous.

Sampo: Sympathizes with Redd like a true scammer. "Aw look, he just needs a bit of money to get started... he even gave us a 'cousin's discount'." However, a rivalry starts with Redd when Sampo's first art piece turned out to be fake (scammer gets scammed moment). He asks if he can be the salesman that he's supposed to be. When villagers run up to him to offer bells for an item he has, he accepts thinking it'll get him a deal along the way. Unfortunately friendship gets you nowhere in terms of home loans. I'd say he's pretty good with the turnip stonks, so there's a balance. Also TRASH ISLAND. I'm sorry, but your man is a hoarder, "But what if I need this?" (Literally me.)

Welt: When you ask him to play he asks why the animals are crossing. He finds the style and characters are so cute, and he can see why you enjoy it. This is definitely a way he gets in touch with his "youthful" side. He loves the creative freedom in the game, even getting indecisive about how to design your island, and thinking of what outfit to wear. He once made a simple t-shirt for fun, but was surprised when he saw a villager wearing it. It'd be so cute and funny when he learns new emotes- and he just spams them with a straight face. Not gameplay related, but I feel like in his free time he'd draw you both in villager form <3.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Cherry Wine. aka - Cherry, Part Two.

everything feels like love when you're drunk... right?

pairing - bestfriend!steve harrington x female reader

warnings - smut. cursing. alcohol consumption. characters who wouldn't even recognise their own feelings if they smacked them in the face.

word count - 3k

author's note - I love it when people walk each other home... if you couldn't tell. I think some of our most honest conversations happen on the street at 3am. thank you so much for all the love on Cherry!! I hope you enjoy this part two. friends to lovers might just be my favourite trope ever. it gets me everytime :(.

as always, if you enjoyed, please reblog!! reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics <3. thanks, angels.

part one. part three. part four. series masterlist. masterlist. inbox.

His eyes are glued to you.

They have been since he watched you pour just a little too much cherry vodka into your red plastic cup.

He keeps trying to catch your gaze across the smoky room, multicoloured lights clouding his vision. There's some sort of punk song playing through a stereo system somewhere, the beat of the guitar thumping through the wooden floorboards and into Steve's bones.

You're laughing, head thrown back at something Eddie has said. He's funny, Steve thinks. But not that funny. He watches carefully, refraining from intervening right up until the moment you almost trip over your own foot and into the curly haired boy. Steve's moving across the room before he can even process it.

"Cherry," he teases, hand snaking around your waist to hold you upright. "You okay?"

You turn in his hold to throw your arms around his neck, looking up at him with big doe eyes.

"Stevie."

You say his name so sweet that he stumbles and almost takes you down with him.

"You okay?" you giggle.

"I'm good. You good?"

"I'm good."

You sway with him for a second, closing your eyes and revelling in the warmth of his hands on the bare skin of your waist.

"You're a little tipsy, huh?"

"Just a little."

"You wanna go home?"

You chew on your lip for a moment, weighing up your options.

"Can we go to your place? I don't wanna face my parents like this."

Steve leans in to press a kiss to your forehead, brushing the hair back from your face.

"Of course. Let's go, hm?"

"Let me grab my jacket. I'll meet you by the door."

You slink off upstairs, leaving Steve alone with Eddie.

"Just friends," Eddie mocks under his breath quietly.

"What?"

"Nothin'."

Steve stares at his friend with a brow quirked, stormy look on his face.

"All I'm sayin' is - I don't look at my best friend like that. Don't hold 'em like you just did. Don't have sleepovers either."

"I've known her since we were kids. It's different."

"I've got friends I've known since kindergarten. I don't kiss them on the forehead."

"I wouldn't put it past you," Steve mumbles, finished with the conversation. "Whatever, man. You don't get it."

"Oh, I get it. You're in love. Steve and Cherry, sitting in a tree-"

"Don't call her that."

"See? You're defensive over her nickname, because you gave it to her. Don't be an idiot, Steve. Life's too short."

"Yours will be, if you don't shut up."

Eddie takes that as his cue, shaking his head as he leaves to go and complain about the music choice.

Steve meets you outside, chuckling when he sees you shivering as you hold your jacket.

"Cherry, put your coat on. You're freezing."

You look up at him, slightly bewildered, and he fights to keep the smile off his face. Taking it from your hands, Steve slips the jacket around your shoulders, hands skimming up your arms to warm you.

"Better?"

"Better."

You slip your hand into his and begin to walk away from the noise, finally taking a deep breath when you're down the street.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," you reply, nudging him with your shoulder. "Feet hurt though. Fuckin' shoes."

You both stop, Steve kneeling down in front of you to unbuckle your heels. You look at him questioningly and he winks, cheeky and full of love.

He slips them off your feet and sits down on the curb, taking his sneakers off and gesturing for you to step into them.

"No, Steve. I chose to wear these, it's my own fault."

"I know, and they looked cute. But now you're going to wear these."

You step into the shoes reluctantly, holding back tears when he kneels and ties your laces tightly. Rising to his feet, he presses a kiss to your forehead before intertwining your fingers again, picking up your heels with his other hand.

You're both quiet, as you walk. Neither of you needs to say anything. It's always been this way. Steve's not good with silence usually, but with you, it's more than comfortable. Sometimes, you'll sit for hours in his bedroom doing your own things, content to just know the other person is there.

"Minnie Lawson kept asking about you tonight."

You try to keep the disdain from your voice as best you can, praying Steve doesn't pick up on it.

He does. He doesn't mention it.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

You keep walking, smiling occasionally when you catch sight of Steve's socked feet next to yours.

"What did she say?"

You mentally kick yourself for bringing it up, but take a deep breath and tell him anyway.

"Kept asking if you were single."

"And what did you say?"

"Told her she needed to ask you herself and that I'm not your secretary."

Steve cackles at this, loud and endearing. The sound makes you grin, whether you want to or not.

"Shit, Cherry baby. What did the girl ever do to you?"

"I didn't mind when she asked the first couple times, but the more she drank, the more she forgot. She couldn't remember if she'd already asked so kept asking again."

He laughs again, squeezing your hand where it still holds his tightly.

"She didn't talk to me."

"Didn't think she would."

He looks at you for a moment too long, your eyes meeting the floor to avoid his gaze.

"Mikey was asking about you tonight, you know."

You'd had a crush on Mikey in ninth grade, the summer after he'd gotten tall and started to look less like four walking limbs and more like a man. He was a nice guy, if not a little boisterous sometimes.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Said you looked pretty. Wanted to know if you were still with the Douchebag."

You chuckle at the hatred in Steve's voice at the mention of your ex boyfriend.

"And you said..."

"That he was in the wind, thankfully."

"Dodged a bullet with that one."

You lean into his arm, savouring the warmth of his skin you can feel through your jacket and his long sleeve shirt.

"Mikey wants to ask you out."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really. Is that so hard to believe? You're a catch, you know."

"I don't know. Boys like Mikey never look at me, usually."

"I look at you."

Your breath hitches in your chest. It's like your heart has forgotten how to beat.

"Yeah," you whisper. "But you're Steve."

After a moment, you add,

"My Steve."

You rest your head onto his bicep, still clutching his hand. He leans down to press a kiss into your hair, resting his cheek there for a moment.

"You're worlds apart from boys like Mikey, Steve. He's nice, but he's not you."

You're not sure where all this sudden truth is coming from, but you're wondering if the cherry vodka has maybe hit you a little harder than you first thought.

"And you and Minnie Lawson aren't even in the same league. You've got nothing to worry about."

You both process Steve's words, before he starts stuttering.

"I mean, not that you, not that - it's not like you were worried, I'm sure. I bet you weren't. I just mean... you know what I mean, right?

Thankfully, you do.

"I know what you mean. I always do."

He stops walking, turning to face you on the sidewalk, hand never dropping yours. You're not sure where you are, but you know Steve knows. He'll keep you safe. Always.

"Okay," he breathes.

"Okay," you breathe.

"I love you," he breathes.

"I love you," you breathe.

"I don't want you to date Mikey Carter," he breathes.

"I don't want you to date Minnie Lawson," you breathe.

You both inhale deeply, following the other person's lead.

"I can't stop thinking about the other night," Steve whispers, so quietly you'd have missed if it you weren't so in tune with him.

Your lungs constrict for a second, all the air leaving you at once.

"Me neither."

You're stood in the street whispering to each other, frightened you'll burst the bubble you've accidentally created.

"I feel bad," you confess.

"Why, honey?"

"Because I... I didn't return the favour. I just let you get into bed and fall asleep. Sorry."

Steve's hands come up to cradle your face, eyes searching yours as if he's reading his favourite book.

"I didn't want you to. I told you, it wasn't about me, it was about you. I didn't... I didn't initiate it so I could get something in return."

"Sorry."

"Stop apologising, Cherry. You've got nothing to apologise for."

"Sorry," you reply without thinking, causing both of you to double over into fits of laughter.

Steve wipes the happy tears from your cheeks, gaze never leaving yours. You look at each other for a moment, feeling the atmosphere shift. The world could collapse around you both, and neither of you would notice. It's just you and Steve. Nothing more, nothing less.

He leans in gently, pressing his lips to yours in a featherlight kiss. He tastes like beer and spearmint.

"You're wearing your lipbalm."

"You've been chewing your gum."

He chuckles, kissing you again softly.

"You wanna go home?"

"Please. You're in your socks, and I look like a clown."

He looks at your feet and laughs, the sound much too loud for the early hours of a Sunday morning.

"Let's go, Cherry baby. My warm bed awaits us."

The stars guide you home hand in hand, Steve stealing the occasional kiss when you happen to be looking in his direction. You kick off his shoes by the door, running straight up the stairs to change out of your uncomfortable dress. Steve stops by the kitchen to grab you both a glass of water, bounding up after you and spilling half the liquid in the process.

He stops in the doorway when he reaches his room, breath caught in his throat. You're stood in just your panties, bare back to him, rifling through his drawers to find the soft grey shirt you always steal.

It's a sight he's seen before. Something is different this time.

"Where is it?" you ask, not turning around.

You know he's there. You know he knows what you're looking for.

This is what love is, he thinks suddenly. The knowing. The unknowing. The knowing that the other person knows. The other person knowing that you know. Unspoken knowledge.

"Bottom drawer, left," he chokes out. "Washed it."

You slip it on and turn around, pouting. The boy quirks a brow at you in question.

"Doesn't smell like you. Smells like your detergent, but not you. Will you wear it, when I leave?"

"Yeah," he chuckles, fighting the blush from rising across his chest. "Anything you want, baby."

Steve shrugs off his clothes, slipping on a fresh pair of boxers before sliding into his side of the bed. You're in the bathroom, humming a tune that he can't quite place but knows he heard tonight. He watches you through the open door as you sway gently, ready to jump up and catch you if need be. You pee with the door still open, and Steve chuckles. It's like you've been married for twenty years.

"Can you please turn the fan on? I'm hot."

"Anything for you, Cherry Pie."

You jump into your side of the bed, sitting up to face the boy next to you. It might be 3am, but you're both wide awake, veins buzzing with endless possibility.

"I've been thinking," you murmur quietly.

"Never a good sign."

"Shut up."

You both laugh, and you can't help but grin. What a miracle, you think. To be alive at the same time as a boy like Steve Harrington. To know him. To love him.

"Will you let me return the favour?"

It's a vague question, but Steve knows exactly what you're asking. He chokes on his breath, tilting his head to look at you.

"Babe, you don't have to-"

"-I want to. So badly."

Steve inhales deeply, willing himself to calm down.

"I don't have to, if you don't want me to. But I can't stop thinking about the way you'd taste."

The boy thinks he's died and gone to heaven. Dreaming, maybe.

"Honey... fuck."

Steve nods, bottom lip caught between his teeth.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Please. Jesus."

He's breathing so frantically, you're worried he might pass out. The last thing you need is your best friend unconscious.

"Breathe, Stevie. It's just me and you."

"Me and you."

"Always."

He comes back down to Earth, so you lean in to kiss him, all tender and cherry flavoured. Tangling your fingers into his hair, you push him backwards so he's leaning against the headboard. You straddle his hips, plush lips pressing into his neck, his chest, his collarbones. Steve's practically melting, a puddle of love and affection beneath you.

"Let me take care of you," you whisper into his ear, and who is he to deny you when you ask so sweet?

You crawl down his body until you're situated between his legs, thick thighs bracketing you in. You kiss along the inside of the muscle, nipping as you go and revelling in the way he jumps and hisses. It's nice to be the one in charge for once.

You scratch your nails along the bulge in his boxers, smirking when his hips buck up into you. You think, for a moment, that you'd happily lie here and tease him like this for hours, just to see when he'd snap. But this isn't the time for games, so you store that thought for another day.

"This still okay?"

"More than okay," he replies, all breathy and ungrounded. You link your fingers with his and squeeze, and all his nerves melt away.

You don't let yourself begin to think about why he's nervous. You know Steve's a ladies man, you know he's done this many times... so why is it different with you? You wonder if maybe you should talk about it afterwards. You're not sure if either of you are ready for that.

Mouthing at him over his underwear, you hum in contentment at his warmth. He's always run hot, every part of him. It's one of your favourite things.

You hook your fingers into the waistband of his boxers and tug them down, throwing them onto the floor somewhere. The room is dimly lit by the lamp on the nightstand, the lightbulb casting shadows across Steve's slightly sweat damp skin. The fan acts as a soundtrack, white noise breaking up the silence.

You look at him and bite your lip, buzzing with anticipation. It's not like you haven't seen each other naked before, but it's different like this.

"Just... tell me what you like or what you don't like as I go along, okay?"

Steve smiles in adoration, running his thumb over your cheekbone gently.

"Okay."

You wrap your hand around him and curl your wrist, holding back a smirk when the boy whines. It's a pretty sound. You'd like to hear it again and again until he loses his voice.

Leaning in, you lick up the length of him, groaning at the salty musk. His taste, his scent, his sounds... it's all so Steve. He's the centre of your universe, everything around you just Steve Steve Steve.

Taking him fully into your mouth, a hand flies into your hair, tangling his fingers. He doesn't move you, just tethers himself to something real, something grounding. You take him as much as you can, working up a rhythm between your tongue and your hand. Steve's breathing as if he's just ran a marathon, chest heaving and lungs burning.

He finds his voice, suddenly.

"Oh fuck, baby."

"Shit, Cherry. Fuck, just like that."

"That's it, atta girl. Perfect girl. My girl."

"Oh, you're so good. So fucking good."

He tenses, fingers tightening in your hair once again.

"So close, baby. Don't stop. Please."

You double down on your efforts, twisting your wrist in that way you've figured out he likes as you hollow your cheeks and suck. The boy sees stars, vision going white.

The noise he lets out as he finishes will be forever engrained in your mind, a never ending symphony that no orchestra could ever recreate.

He goes lax, collapsing back against the bed as you swallow, never breaking eye contact. You stick your tongue out as proof and he groans, deep and gutteral.

"Kiss me," he chokes, too blissed out to move.

You crawl up his body and press your lips to his, squeaking in surprise when he slips his tongue into your mouth to taste himself.

"Filthy," you laugh, resting your forehead against his.

"You love it."

You shake your head, but can't wipe the grin from your face.

"I love you."

"I love you more."

After a second, you giggle.

"What's funny?"

"I'd like to see Minnie Lawson do that."

Steve laughs, loud and melodic in the low light of the room.

"She's got nothing on you, Cherry baby. No one does."

You process the words, heart stuttering in your chest.

"We should talk about this," you whisper.

"We will," he assures, tugging you into him so your head is resting on his chest. "Tomorrow."

Lines have been crossed, lives have been changed, but the stars above your heads remain the same. They'll always guide you back to Steve.

The lamp flickers, the fan hums, the crickets sing their night time lullabies.

The boy leans down to press his lips to yours. He tastes like cherries and every kiss for the rest of your life.

@allcheesemelts @valerievortex @swiftsgirlfriend @steviespookie @betweenstarsandsatellites @mrsjoequinn @enigmaticloki

[kneelingshadowsalome]

FATUM NOS IUNGEBIT 2/4

König x F!Reader

Summary: You have seen him in your dreams. The seer has divined his coming. But nothing has prepared you for witnessing him in the flesh. (Historical AU where König fights for the Roman Empire in an auxiliary unit, finds a cute barbarian woman and decides to keep her as his own.) Part 1 here. Word count: 5.1 k Tags/warnings: 18+ ONLY. Spoils of war/enemies to lovers trope, graphic depictions of violence, historical gruesomeness, pining, odd banter, mixed feelings, romantic fluff, dubcon cuddling, eventual smut. Captor/captive dynamic. König is a brutal warrior... and a gentle giant. A/N: Part two! I don't usually rec music for my fics but if this fic was a song, it would be Dead can Dance’s In Power we Entrust the Love Advocated.

You wake up with a giant plastered on your back.

His bed is far more comfortable than your own, soft and cushy, and there must be flowers somewhere in the hay because there is a surprisingly pleasant odour lingering in the air as you come to. The mattress overall doesn’t reek of too much sweat: some poor slave must change the fillings often enough for König’s stench not to settle on the bed. Actually, you’ve slept quite nicely, despite being embraced by an ogre the whole night.

König has slept like a stone, too, but stirs when you start to shift. You turn on your back and find his drowsy stare on you: it’s generous and warm as he pulls you closer to him. You could roll your eyes when you notice he’s hard down there again – he’s probably hard all the time, whether in bed with a woman or raging on the battlefield, sticking his swords into some poor man’s gut.

“Gut geschlafen?” He asks, and you reckon he’s trying to ask if you’ve slept well – in his domain, in his embrace, after he just slaughtered half of your village.

You give him another pout, which is starting to become your signature expression now. He replies to your grumpiness with a smile, his own trademark move, the one that threatens to strip you from all your arms. He squeezes you fondly against his chest, and then his hand starts to wander: he plays with your tits again, then slinks further down to brush your navel. When he crosses the border and heads straight toward your womanhood, you seize his arm.

He whines softly at your refusal, but to your surprise, he actually stops. You let him go as he moves back up and stay immobile under his touch, amidst the flowery scent and the faint stench of dirt and man sweat, sighing as he cups your breast again. He doesn’t seem to get enough of them, and they’re beginning to feel sore: he gave them so much attention last night already and is now at them again.

You pull his hand away, but this time, he doesn’t respect your wishes but resists you. Trying to hinder a man who’s as strong as a bull is futile, but you have an attempt at it anyway. It turns into a play fight: you wrench his hand down, he drags it back up. Up and down and up and down, as if your breast is a hill he needs to conquer at all costs. But he’s the only one who finds any amusement in your silly game: eyes narrowing again with a smile, a few soft chuckles under that hood telling you he enjoys it when you fight him a little.

It all ends when you finally slap him.

It’s neither a good nor a hard slap, and his mask muffles whatever sound was supposed to give you at least some measure of satisfaction. 

But he stops... And laughs.

“Ja, ich weiß. Ich habe deine Leute getötet. Ich verdiene eine Ohrfeige.”

His language is harsh and throaty, abrupt, and you tell him that, safe with the knowledge that he can’t understand a word you say either.

“You talk ugly,” you complain and watch him up and down, searching for a clue that would tell you that he somehow understands your insult. König simply thunders with another mirthful laugh at your morning crank.

“Es ist schön, mit dir zu reden. Aber jetzt muss ich weg.”

He looks down at you like he’s the Sun God now, thoroughly life-giving and kind. Then he dares to bend forward and press a kiss on your forehead.

“Go away,” you try to push him back with your hands - the hood prevents you from feeling his skin and breath and lips, but the… intimacy is still too much.

“Brute,” you want to spit the word out but end up sounding like a child attempting to quarrel instead. And he’s laughing at you again, both with his eyes and his mouth, covered by that darned hood. You don’t know why on earth you would think that such a charming laugh must come from an equally charming mouth.

He finally retreats and rises from the bed, stretching out his arms. The broad muscles on his back are exposed to the frigid air and his cock is jutting out, long and veined, completely unaffected by the cold. This beast is ripe and ready for another day, and you swallow when you see him in his full glory again, tall and wide and strong, looking like he’s about to eat an entire boar and fuck ten women in the process.

“Schön,” he comments as he turns to look down at you, lying naked and sweet there in his bed. He looks at you like you are the most lovely, adorable, difficult little thing. He even gives his horse cock a few good strokes while taking your sleepy little pouts in.

“Ugly,” you slur back, and he winks at you. 

Gods… You’re too hot and riled to even speak.

You choose to vehemently stay in bed as König starts his day: eats some fruit from the table - still naked - pours himself some wine and washes his mouth with it, tears a handful of bread from a loaf and starts to eat with his mouth open, munching loudly under that hood, walking around without bothering to cover himself and that ungodly erection that is bouncing in the air without a care in the world.

You, on the other hand, escape back under the warm covers of the furs, but your eyes never leave König. He draws the draping flap of his tent aside - still naked - giving his soldiers a good view of his morning wood, a lovely chance to get a look at their champion. Perhaps it’s his way of saying good morning, you think bitterly. Then he leaves, probably to take a piss, and you’re more and more convinced that this man is the worst beast that has ever walked this earth.

You’re still under the furs when he returns and finally gives you the grace of clothing himself. It’s stupid that you mourn losing the sight of those shoulders and feel a bit disappointed when his cock disappears under the red tunic. His manhood doesn’t look any less intimidating even when growing soft; it’s still long and veiny and thick, and you find yourself… curious. Just curious.

He doesn’t put his armour on this time, chooses to wear only his tunic and sandals and a pair of hard-boiled leather cuffs to protect the vital veins on the wrists. He does take one Gladius with him, though - a sign of distrust in his own men or a Roman custom, you can’t tell.

He’s already at the mouth of the tent when he turns and points at you, now with a good amount of sternness in his voice.

“Du. Bleibst.”

…

He’s away the whole day. Probably drawing plans at some field war council, eating and drinking and bouncing some poor girl on his knee. 

Even the thought makes your nose wrinkle and your stomach churn. Of course there are other trophies, and of course men want to show them off, pass them around, give their commanders a chance to give each woman a good squeeze. König has probably stuck that cock into a few women by now. Moaning, screaming women. 

Or then he just settles for annoying their poor senses out of them…

You can’t deny that you’re relieved he hasn’t thrown you to the wolves yet, not even after you denied him. Wondering why on earth he would even want to listen to your wishes gives you an awful headache, and the image of him laughing at - or with - some other shy captive girl is making you uncomfortable. So uncomfortable that you throw the skins away after noon, and decide you’re not going to just succumb to your fate, least of all give in to sadness and apathy. 

You eat this and that from his table like you’re not a slave girl but an honoured guest, a queen. You eat his figs and his bread and some smoked meat; you even drink some of his wine, as sour as it is. You’re a bit tipsy when you go through all his belongings, which are not as abundant or exciting as you thought they would be. 

You thought you’d find tiny chests filled with gold coins and rings. You thought you’d come by dried body parts taken as trophies, perhaps the crown of some long-forgotten Hibernian king. But there are only a few trinkets under his bed, a huge bow and some arrows, his armour and the second Gladius, perfectly stored above the ground so that rust and mould wouldn’t bite them. There are jugs of wine and some firewood and oil for the braziers, there’s water and benches and the table and lots and lots of candles in different shapes and sizes… But that’s it. There’s no hoard, no treasure, nothing to prove to you that this brute is just another Roman soldier trying to gather a fortune by raping and pillaging so that he can go and retire early from all the bloodshed.

And it makes you shiver. Does he do this just for the sake of it, only because he enjoys killing so much? What is his reason to fight?

The only item that sends an odd sting in your heart is a small wooden statue. You feel like a thief when you rummage through a small satchel you find next to his breastplate, the only place you didn’t feel like peeking into because it looked so… personal. 

Proving to yourself that you don’t care about his privacy or feelings, you end up pushing your fingers inside it anyway, meeting this peculiar carved piece of wood. There is nothing else there in the satchel, just the statue, and you feel yourself swallow a lump in your throat as you see it depicts a lush, buxom woman. Her breasts are nearly the size of her belly, larger than her head, and you realize that it is clearly the statue of the Great Mother this brute carries with him.

You put it back quickly, feeling a tingling in your fingers and a rapid flutter in your heart, as if you had just poked into something quite sacred. And it is sacred, the Mother. You wonder why, for the love of all the gods, this man would keep such a divine and fertile amulet near him. The statue is supposed to be a vessel for wishes and fortune; it is an idol of worship. König seems like the last man on earth to take up worshipping women.

You just want to get out of this place but can’t. There’s no one to go back to: your chief is dead, the people have fled, the rest of the warriors are scattered across the land. You have no idea where your brother might even be. 

You have no wish to escape this tent; you have no desire whatsoever to step a foot outside and show yourself to his hungry men. 

König comes back after nightfall and is not surprised at all to find you haven’t escaped. He’s not surprised that you have eaten some of his food either; he doesn’t even scold you. But then the eternal groping starts again as he gets undressed and lays himself down next to you.

You don’t even know why you allow him to touch you. Perhaps it’s because you know it’s better to just let him caress you if he wants; it’s better to suffer the weight of his hands on you if it means he won’t rape you with that cock. If you don’t complain, perhaps he will settle for squeezing and petting and stroking you.

But your body is a traitor: it’s hungry for him, for some ungodly reason, and always craves for more. You say to yourself that you only allow this to happen because it’s a condition, a compromise, a meeting in the middle. You never acknowledge the way your nether lips puff up like a fat flower every time he fondles your breasts. You pay no attention to how wet you get when he caresses your face, your waist, even your thighs, every part of you except the place between your legs, the place you kind of want him to touch... If only he would be gentle and didn’t get too excited, you’d let him touch you there, too, as sick and accursed as it is.

And it’s all good until he starts to hum. 

It may be some song from his homeland, the land of ugly brutes, but it’s not a crude giant song… In fact, it’s a rather beautiful, melancholy tune. Your body is relaxed and your pussy is wet; your nipples are tight and pleased as he pets you slowly, lovingly - but that song is too much. You don’t want him to see you cry, not even a single tear, and now there’s an entire flood about to occur.

“Don’t touch me,” you whisper, trying not to choke on your sorrow. He doesn’t stop - of course he doesn’t. He gets bolder by the day, and he can see that you’re enjoying yourself. In a way.

"Magst du es gestreichelt zu werden?" He asks, soft and tender, so incredibly gentle that the tears are about to burst forth at any given moment now.

“Ich glaube das tust du,” he rumbles when you don’t answer him. His hand is heavy and broad on your hip as he finally stops caressing you. You squeeze your eyes shut, and it causes the glimmer in your eyes to fall. Tears roll down your cheeks and into your hair, as you lie there next to a titan, about to shatter into a million pieces.

“Wurdest du schon einmal berührt…?”

You want to shout at him to shut up already, to stop talking so gently, asking you questions you don’t understand, to stop trying to find a way to communicate with you through song and hum and touch. The hand on your hip moves, slowly, with devastating cunning towards your core. He’s about to touch you there, to try and feel if you’re wet... If you’d like it that he pounded you a little. You wonder if he would do that gently too, and almost laugh through your tears. It will be your undoing if he finds out that you’re soaked all the way to your thighs, aching to feel him inside you, even a finger, just something…

“No… Nein,” you rule out sternly, opening a new way of communication. You don’t know if the word is correct, but he catches it immediately and stops. 

“Nein?”

He sounds both happy and sad; happy that you try to use his language, sad that you use it to give him such a disappointing command.

“No touching,” you repeat and open your eyes, finding his hazy figure hovering above you. You barely discern the gulf of sadness in his eyes, but it is there: undisguised, trying to reach out and join with yours. Gods… How strangely appropriate it is that you are both so very alive, wanting to be devoured by each other’s hunger and lust, only to find yourselves on the brink of tears and hollow loss.

“No... No touching…”

“Verstanden.” 

He takes his hand away from you and turns, not even joining you under the fur tonight.

…

The next morning, you wake up attached to him.

Somehow you’ve managed to wriggle under his furs and, on top of that, crawled to hug his side like this. You blame the spring cold for it, of course. Your heart bangs against your ribs as you notice how tightly you’re squeezing him, breasts pressed flush against his hard middle, belly fluttering against his hip. You’ve even draped your leg across his so that your poor, lonely cunt is resting right there over his thigh. 

You swear in your mind with all the words and terms you know and can think of.

How the hell are you supposed to detach from a giant without waking him up? His arm is around you, holding you loosely in a warm, pleasing shackle. He feels so, so good - blazing, big and safe, so incredibly nice. You never knew sleeping next to a man could feel so nice. You’re half asleep still, mainly because his body and scent make you feel like you’ve had too much wine again.

You allow yourself a few more moments before you rip yourself off him. Or at least, try to: the arm snares you the instant you attempt to move. It prevents you from leaving him, and you end up hovering awkwardly there, almost on top of him, tits pointing straight at his face, panicked, doe-eyed stare guided to his unwavering blue eyes, open, and regarding you with warm love.

And the damned man smirks again.

“No touching?” He inquires with silly, completely feigned shyness.

“Shut up,” you breathe and try to get off of him, but his other hand comes to brush your cheek next, and you freeze.

“Schön… Pretty,” he tries, and you nearly whimper at the sound of your native tongue in his mouth. 

Pretty… Is that what the word means, the odd ugly word he has repeated ever since he stole you?

His eyes are warm and his hand is gentle as he caresses your cheek, and the snare around your waist tightens. Softly… Invitingly.

“Stop it,” you whisper, on the brink of tears again, because this time, your shields and armour and weapons are gone. You just woke up to a feeling of odd contentment, fulfilment, even joy. 

And it’s not right. 

He has no right to be this gentle with you.

You sniffle and sigh, and cast your eyes down to the chest that belongs to a giant. But you can’t deny that there must be a heart under there. A human heart under your palm. Your hand is right there over the strong beat because you’ve tried to push yourself away, and he won’t let you go. Another tear falls somewhere in the hair of his chest, and he rumbles with such compassion that you want to slap him again, hit his chest with your tiny little fists and bawl.

What you do instead is break down and let the ocean take you. You cry and sob and wail, right there in front of him, until he turns you on your stomach and comes to rest halfway on top of you. Through your tears, you understand that he’s trying to soothe you with his weight. It’s pure insanity how well it works. It releases a whole well of grief, and you start to shake with the cries; your whole body shudders with the sorrow as you retch it all out while König continues to caress you like a pet. He strokes your hair, pets your back, he even pats your ass as if you’re just a baby.

You cry long and hard, so long that he eventually lets out a long, deep sigh. When you’ve calmed down a bit and remain still, sniffling occasionally while squeezing the furs in your fist, trying to remember what it is to be an animal with feelings other than just sorrow, he leaves you.

He simply rises, and gets dressed, and leaves.

That is very much what you don’t need right now, much to your surprise. He was good at consoling you, as odd as it sounds.

Cold starts to creep in when there is no warm body next to you, and your skin misses the calloused gentleness of his palms. You wouldn’t mind if he wanted to hum that song to you now. But the darned bastard had to leave just when you were about to turn and cup his hooded face in return...

König comes back after a short while, but he’s not alone. You gather the furs against your chest, horrified and angry when you notice he returns to the tent with a short old man, vigorous and busy, but so tiny in stature that you doubt he was ever a warrior. You wonder if this is another foreigner or if you have the dubious pleasure of meeting your first genuine Roman.

They both stare at you, quite nonchalantly, while you sit there on the bed and try to cover your nakedness with animal skins while having red eyes and a pair of uninviting, quivering, puffed-up lips. 

The short fellow looks you up and down, then turns to talk to König in what appears to be this giant’s mother tongue. It’s a curt suggestion, muttered under his breath, and you realize König must’ve fetched a translator for you.

Oh, good Mother... Great Mother.

You watch these two men before you in a state of stunned shock, as König looks at you, then back at the old man, and nods. The Roman looks slightly vexed as if he just got up too. Then he starts to speak.

“Excuse our manners... We are men at war. If you wish to get dressed, we will wait outside.”

You blink at your own language being spoken to you, perfectly discernable but accompanied by a thick accent. You nod, and the men leave, returning only after you’ve dressed and cleared your throat in the tent.

“He asks if he killed your husband,” the translator starts immediately while König goes to sit on his favourite Roman bench. You’re wide awake now, and the nauseating feeling of being suddenly in the middle of an interrogation rises to your throat with a clot.

“He… What? No,” your eyes dart to König, who is looking at you with his undying ardour. For a man with so much sadness in his soul, he’s surprisingly carefree when he wants to.

“Do you have a husband?”

You gulp at the questions levelled at you. König keeps watching you intently, and you choose to look at the old translator instead, shaking your head slowly. The men exchange a few words, and the Roman turns to scold you with his stare.

“Master reminds you that it is wrong to lie,” he says, putting a lot more weight on his words this time. Roman or not, he calls this giant master, which means that he is just another slave in this camp. You swallow again and try to think, think, think; all the while König’s stare strips you of all your pretences, garments and words.

He thinks you’re trying to hide some imaginary husband, you understand and consider whether you should say that you have a husband: if there is any benefit you could gain from such a lie. König would only probably try to hunt him down… But what if he found out you were telling him tales? Would he feed you to his horny war dogs then?

“I’m not lying,” you say through slightly gritted teeth.

There is another exchange of words before the translator turns to you again.

“Are you untouched?”

“What…?”

“Master asks if you are a virgin.”

The translator is utterly unfazed, and mainly looks like he has better things to do than get to the bottom of whether there has been a cock inside you yet.

“That’s none of his business,” you hiss. The old man turns and starts to translate your words with a dull look.

“Wait—don’t tell him that,” you take a panicked step forward. 

Oh good Father in the Sky… Strike these men down so that I may be freed from them.

They pay you no attention; a few sentences pass from mouth to mouth, and the old man nods.

“Master says you are clearly a maiden,” he declares. You peek a glance at König, who is looking at you with hunger, and not the kind of hunger people look at their breakfasts with. Your breathing is getting out of hand, and when he opens his legs wider, clearly making more room for a rising cock, you decide to throw caution in the wind.

“You know what? Your master can go fuck himself with a stick for all I care…!”

The old man turns. He doesn’t even care to sigh; he merely opens his mouth to give your words to König.

“Don’t you dare translate that!” 

Finally, the old man sighs. He looks at the ceiling as if begging his gods to take him away from this tent. König’s stare flashes between you two, and he is evidently curious. Clearly, this is the most exciting conversation he’s ever had.

“Was sagt sie?”

“Tell him that I want to be freed,” you hurry to say before the translator can tell your insults to König. After a brief conversation, König leans forward in his chair to see the effect his words have on you.

“He says he can’t do that,” the Roman informs. “His soldiers will find you and take you.”

You close your mouth and try to even your breaths. No one says, You don’t want that. Everybody in this tent knows you don’t want that.

“He asks if he killed your brother or your father.”

You sniffle, quite involuntarily.

“No. He didn’t.”

“Then why are you angry and sad?”

There is a hint of genuine interest in the man’s voice. Both of these men are confused as to why you would bawl your eyes out after the massacre of your people.

"Because… Because he…"

“He says it is a man’s duty to die in battle. You should be proud of your fallen ones, not cry and feel sorry for them.”

“Tell him that he can go fuck himself,” you shout, not giving a single shit anymore about whether he translates the words or not. 

To no one’s surprise, he does.

“He says he’d rather fuck you,” he returns to you with König’s message.

You can’t bear to look your captor’s way, and still, that’s exactly what you do. You look at the giant as he stares at you, keen and hard and patient. But you know his patience has its limits. It’s almost like a promise, the way he leans forward in that chair and looks at you from under the hood, shameless and challenging.

“Never,” you guide your words to König now. It’s a brave little whisper, but you know that it’s a lie. Even the Great Mother knows you’re lying. You almost hear the cackle of the old woman rising from the earthen ground, from the chthonic depths, to mock you and your vows.

You hear the old man’s words from somewhere far away, from underwater, as König’s stare wrestles you down and takes away your little knife. He subdues you even when he’s sitting, and shares a string of words: a harsh promise. You hold your breath as his cock gives a pulse under that tunic, and your eyes fall, fall, fall onto it, because there’s no escape…

“He says he can make you feel good,” the voice says, and you can’t even hear who speaks. Your mouth is full of water, but you swallow it down, then shoot your way up to the surface, up, up, up into the sunlight, until you can breathe again.

You rip your eyes from König and look at the Roman translator with loathing and contempt.

“You can leave now. This conversation is over.”

Then you turn, trying not to pay any attention to the hushed conversation that proceeds behind your back. The man leaves the tent: you can hear it, and you can also hear how König rises from the chair and walks right behind you.

“No… afraid,” his hands come to rest on your shoulders, but you don’t even flinch. You knew he was going to touch you again. Perhaps you were even looking forward to it.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you start to argue, but he doesn’t take the bait.

“You like trees?”

He speaks your words, not good, but he speaks them. You wonder if he has known parts of your tongue all along and has simply concealed it. Has he understood what you’ve said to him…? All the slurs and stupid things? Mother, grant mercy…

“Why would I like—What kind of question is that?”

“Climbed a tree,” he explains cheerfully behind you. You turn and look up, yet again rendered weak. Giants are supposed to be stupid. They’re not supposed to know the language of faeries…

“Nosy,” he brushes your cheek with a smile in his eyes.

“Nosy?” 

You huff - as if you wanted to be there and witness him.

As if you had a choice after the seer pushed you on this insane, cruel path.

“Wanted to see me so bad?” König tilts his head playfully.

Gods… You can only look at him with brows curling with helpless frustration, lip trembling from how he seems to know your every little secret. He nods when you don’t say yes or no. He’s perfectly happy to read all the answers from your eyes.

“Ich wusste, dass es so war,” he changes into his own language, and you don’t need to understand the words he says.

You know he knows. He knows you, he knows you to your core, and it doesn’t really matter in which circumstances you two met. He knows far more than you, something about souls and how they’re supposed to meet, how little squirrels and giants belong together, as crazy as it is. That there is no chance in life: no, it was meant that you two meet. To him, it was no coincidence that you practically dropped into his lap from that tree.

“Did you like what you see?”

He holds your shoulders gently as you quiver and shake inside.

“No,” you peep.

“I like what I see,” he declares; a benevolent god.

…

A/N:. Thank you so much for your love and interest in this fic! As you may have noticed the fic now has 4 parts, which is because the 3rd chapter got too chunky and I had to split it 😇 Next part might take a while because I'm moving soon, but let me tell you... These guys will be put into *situations*. Oh, and a reminder that I don't have a taglist for this so please check any future updates from my pinned masterlist post 🩷

Translations:

Gut geschlafen? - Sleep well?

Ja, ich weiß. Ich habe deine Leute getötet. Ich verdiene eine Ohrfeige. - Yes, I know. I killed your people. I deserve a slap.

Es ist schön, mit dir zu reden. Aber jetzt muss ich weg. - It is lovely to talk to you. But now I have to go.

Du. Bleibst. - You. Stay.

Magst du es gestreichelt zu werden? - Do you like being petted?

Ich glaube das tust du. - I think you do.

Wurdest du schon einmal berührt…? - Have you ever been touched…?

Verstanden. - Understood. 

Was sagt sie? - What does she say?

Ich wusste dass es so war - I knew it was so.

[dumbpsique]

DATING OLIVER AIKU; how it feels.

|If by a miracle you won this man's heart, what kind of boyfriend would he be?

|Red stars: NSFW

☆ I disagree with those who say that Oliver is not jealous. He is absolutely very jealous, after all, he understands very well how the male mind works.

☆ lots of hugs in public, without caring if the entire press is pointing cameras at you.

☆ He wakes up early and plays on his cell phone, which means he will have lots of photos of you sleeping with your mouth open, drooling or even videos of you snoring.

☆ It absolutely makes you embarrassed. without wanting to? Don't be silly, it's a hobby.

☆ He eats while playing on his cell phone, so while you're complaining about all your problems, he's watching some tiktok at full volume.

☆ your dates are car trips where you can put your feet up, choose the music and adjust the air conditioning temperature.

☆ When he comes into contact with kids, he acts like an idiot, running after them, spinning them around, jumping, doing whatever they want. then you comment about wanting to start a family and he blanches "god, no."

☆ 100% needy when he wants something. holding onto your waist, sniffing your neck and whispering "pleeeeease" in your ear.

☆ calls you the most shameful petnames possible in public. Are you in front of a waiter? "my little parakeet." They are having lunch with his parents "cute baby, can you pass the salt?" Yes, he is ridiculous.

☆ He never knows how to give you gifts, he always buys the most expensive one.

☆ thinks you're the hottest woman in the world and loves showing off by your side. points to all the guys on the team "that's my girl"

☆ He stresses you out in fights because he doesn't respond to your insults. use sarcasm or just respond with "okok, if you think you're right"

☆ his parents adore him. Oliver is a natural extrovert and even gets along well with his grandparents. he talks about football, helps your mother in the kitchen, plays with your younger siblings and bothers your father.

☆ It cooks SO badly that it's depressing. Every romantic night ends with a burnt pan and a last-minute pizza order.

☆ squeeze your ass regardless of who you are in front of. zero embarrassment, every couple does this, right? in public or not, what changes?

☆ he says he's going to braid your hair (you always end up with knots, but you leave it because you think it's cute.

☆ 8 or 80. he will open the car door in a gentlemanly way or forget you outside and leave.

☆ the kind of guy who if you ask him to buy pads he will ask you what size your pussy is.

☆ makes jokes about having lovers, but would never trade you for anyone.

☆ double meaning jokes ALWAYS! this guy has no discernment of limits (he dies laughing at his own jokes.

☆ every event he takes you to, you end up on a couch with a glass of wine in your hand while cursing everyone there.

☆ he enjoys semi-public sex, he feels turned on by the fact that he can be caught or that he can hear you melting for him.

☆ tags you anywhere you consider hot. his fingers are marked on her waist, bites on her neck and breasts. That's why he thinks he's exceptional.

☆ "do you like this? oh you do, look at the way you're whining." damn, he's dirty.

☆ it will break your ego painfully, denying you orgasm and making you beg for it.

☆ I would ask to record. no one is made of iron, what would he do when he was horny and in another country without you? having videos made everthing easier.

☆ have rough sex and sleep spooning FR

[inumkii]

mha boys working at a bakery

included: bakugou, kirishima, denki, shouto, and a little dabi feature

okay this prompt except its not awwww cute baker au! inspired by my old job, it was a bit miserable but i try to look back on it fondly

bakugou’s one of the bakers, almost always opening at 6am. there's a rare occasion where you're scheduled to open with only him and he's there early, prepping the dough with faint classical music playing in the background. opening shifts with him (and shifts in general) can be quite nice because he tends to mind his own business while you cover the counter, but you have walked in to him yelling at denki for leaving the scones in the oven for too long. i would say he’s pretty quiet when he bakes as long as no one else gets in his way. feel free to talk about whatever as he bakes because for you, he’ll silently listen. for anyone else, he’s complaining that they’re distracting him- unless! two people are talking mad shit or gossiping on the clock, he’s secretly listening in.

saturday morning opening shifts are your favorite because the two baker and two counter combo is almost always bakugo, kirishima, mina, and you. the reason why you put up with the miserable opening hours is because kiri and mina loveeeee to gossip about everything they’ve learned throughout the week between your coworkers and bakugou chimes in with additional information that no one else knew. you guys are surprised every time but he just shrugs it off.

kirishima is a sweetheart who does all the tasks that you don’t want to do. ask him to cover mopping tonight? done. need the stack of 50 sheet trays carried to the back? he’s taking care of it. he’s normally baking in the morning but he’ll close from time to time and you always know you’ll be out early when you see his name on the schedule.

denki takes closing shifts more often because he likes to call dibs on the pastries that didn't sell that day. he works at the counter more than baking,,, we all know why.. but he insists he can do either!! for everyone’s sake, especially the customers, you stick him behind the register.

i do think large group orders freak denki out so you have to stand next to him and help him ring them up every time. you really can't tell if he's pretending for the sake of having you by his side or if he genuinely can’t do it. (its a bit of both)

you guys have a closing checklist where you have to sign your name next to every cleanup task after completion but you and denki both hate doing the same things. so he’ll be a pain in the ass and sign his name prematurely on random tasks so you’ll get stuck on mopping duty. sorry. this is getting self indulgent but your personal favorite task is to take the chalk board advertisement for the bakery back inside at the end of the day. after a 7 hour shift, its a nice thirty second walk outside. somehow denki finds out that you love that task so he starts beating you to it. its gotten to a point where someone will innocently ask if anyone's taken in the sign for the night and there's a split second where you guys look at each other before immediately racing out the front door to see who can get to it first.

shouto is a gentleman!!!!!! he’s always there in the daytime, takes the 9-4 shifts mostly. hired as a baker but he took the counter once and he really charmed those old ladies popping in for their morning muffin so he’s kinda been defaulted to the front. you’ve been guilty at handing the phone to him when a wholesale order has gotten too confusing and he’ll kindly take over. he’s become the face the regulars see the most when they walk in due to the nature of his shift times.

you mostly catch shouto for an hour or two when you work closing shifts, coming in around 2. some nights, by the time you realize you need to take out the trash, its already dark outside. the dumpster walk isn’t necessarily far, but its not pleasant nor does it feel very safe. but when you go to check the trash, you realize shouto silently took them out before he got off his shift a few hours ago so you didn’t have to walk out in the dark. he’s never scheduled closing shifts, but if someone needs it covered + he sees that you're the other closer, he’s quick to offer. walks you back to your car too.

there’s a coffee shop in the same shopping complex that your bakery is friendly with. by the end of the night, any leftover pastries get put into a ziplock and handed over to them in exchange for a free coffee. the mysterious barista who’s name tag reads ‘dabi’ is always the one to thank you for bringing over the treats and making your latte. he knows exactly what you're gonna get every time he sees you walking up to the front of the cafe. he sends you off every night with a wink and your coffee in hand

(you aren’t aware that dabi is related to shouto at all. its never been brought up and they're mostly on different shift schedules. so when shouto hears about your closing night exchanges, he starts shifting his schedule just so he can accompany you. and to keep an eye on his brother to make sure he’s not going to pull anything funny.)

-

additional all might as my boss: early morning opening shifts are your worst enemy just because you cannottt be bothered to wake up earlier than noon, so when you do, you come in having just woken up ten minutes before. your boss catches you one morning and stops you for a ten minute rant about how you should be more confident with your bare face! and makeup is a social construct, so feel beautiful with yourself!! and you think its sweet but you didnt even notice how you weren’t even wearing the usual makeup look. thanks greg. i guess. he means well.

[strang3lov3]

Sore Loser

Roman’s face is soaked in your wetness, he’s made a mess of himself devouring you whole. Once you’re close, he pulls away, triggering a cry of frustration from you. “Now? Forgive me yet?”

“No,” you seethe.

Tags - stepdaddy!roman, smut, oral sex (f!receiving), fingering, unprotected piv, creampie, dirty talk, nipple sucking + titty play, waluroman roy, uhhhhh idk. The usual. You know what you’re here for. A/N - just needed to get this out of my system. did i promise jack delroy freak nasty period sex, yes. but i just have a lot of stepdaddy thots and it's a curse, really. you understand. Thank you @endlessthxxghts for editing!!

Stepdaddy!Roman Masterlist

A box of half-eaten pizza and breadsticks sits on the ottoman that is pushed out of the way, and you’re on the couch, not allowing yourself to sit comfortably as Roman uses his Nintendo Switch Joy-Con to adjust the aim of the digital bowling ball he’s about to roll. Roman, of course, insisted on being player one, not that his choice gave him the upper hand in the game at all. He’s at a pathetic score of 83 right now. You’re at 237. 

Roman launches his ball, not hoping for any score in particular. It’s the last round anyway. Aaaaand…right into the gutter. 

“This is such fucking bullshit,” Roman whines, tossing his red Joy-Con onto the couch before taking his seat next to you. “I know it was before your time, but bowling on the Wii was much better than whatever this shit is.”

“You’re just pissed off that I’m winning,” you retort. “And I was around for the Wii, asshole. I used to make you play Mario Kart with me.”

“Then you’d know how much better it was,” he says. “This shit? This is garbage. Why are there obstacles, what even is that?”

You roll your eyes and grab your own teal Joy-Con, then stand up to play your last turn. After lining up your ball, you’re in the process of letting it go when Roman leans forward and squeezes your ass, startling you and in the process, fucking up your roll. “Dickhead,” you huff. You play your second turn and earn yourself a spare anyway, winning the game. 

Roman watches you spin around with a big, stupid grin on your face. You lift his hand and force him to hold it there so you can high-five him. “Ow,” he complains, with no real hurt in his voice as he squeezes your hand, holding you there. “Be gentle with me. I’m a very fragile man, kid, you know this.” 

“Oh, I know it.” 

Roman rolls his eyes. Walked right into that one. “Watch it,” he warns, dropping your hand. He flutters his fingers in the absence of your touch, missing the weight of your hand in his palm. “New game. I’m sick of Switch Bowling.” 

“Only ‘cause you lost.” 

“You know, they say you’re either good at bowling or you’re good in bed. So really, if we think about it, who’s the real loser here, huh?”

Roman’s taunt earns him a shy smile tugging at your lips as you avoid meeting his gaze. He stands up and pats your cheek gently, feeling the heat of the blood rushing through your skin. “I like that Mario Kart idea. Haven’t played that one in a while,” he tells you, making his way to the entertainment center where you keep all of the Switch games. He kneels on the floor and pulls out Mario Kart from a glass cabinet, opens the game case and puts the little card into the console, running a hand through his sleek hair as the game boots up. Roman takes his place on the couch, and you slide off of it and sit between his legs on the floor, resting the side of your face against his knee. 

Roman’s player one again, of course. The cheerful music plays as Roman picks a course. He carefully browses through each one, but settles on Coconut Mall anyway because he knows it’s your favorite. And when it’s time to choose your character, Roman snags Princess Peach, the character he knows is yours. 

“Hey, give her back. Peach is mine.”

“No, I uh- I don’t think so. Pretty sure Peach has always been mine.” 

“That’s not true, Roman, you’re always Y-” you turn around and look up to see Roman snickering and smiling down at you. “Fuck it. I’ll be Yoshi, then.” You move the joystick on your controller and choose Yoshi as your character.

“Oh, like hell you’ll be Yoshi.” Roman reaches down and attempts to pry your Joy-Con from your hands, but fails. “Fuck you. Give him back or I’ll play as Wario and make everything worse for us both.”

“Heh,” you laugh. “Waluromey.” 

Roman rolls his eyes, dramatically shaking his head. “Cute. Whatever, I guess I’m Peach,” he mumbles, moving to the screen where you design your vehicle. “She suits me, don’t you think? Because I do have the perfect peach. And eggplant. And cherries.” 

His words get a rise out of you, just as he intended. You tell him how much you hate him and all the stupid shit he says and yet, your smile betrays you. Your cheeks and ears warm as your mind drifts to all those euphemistic parts of him. “Start the fucking game, Roman.” 

And so he does. Roman’s unfamiliar with the controls of Mario Kart on the Nintendo Switch, so he has trouble taking off. You race right to first place, lapping him in no time. 

Fucking Joy-Con. Too small for the hands of an adult. Roman’s brow is pinched in concentration, and he’s trying his best to ignore your giggles and the way you brag and taunt him, calling him technologically inept and cracking jokes at his middle-aged-ness. Fuck you. You think you’re hilarious when you finish your third lap and Roman’s still on his second, getting lost in the split screen. He spent a good three minutes focusing on Yoshi rather than Peach.

“They say if you’re bad at Mario Kart, you’re also bad in bed, you know. And you’re in twelfth place.” 

Roman kicks you in the thigh, knocking you off balance a bit. “Fuck off.” 

Your fingers crawl under the fabric of his pants and you curl your hand around his leg, waiting patiently for him to finish the race. Finally, he does. “Wow, Roman. That was awful, even for you. I didn’t even have to blue shell you for you to fuck up that bad.” 

Roman laughs mockingly. “Shut up and pick another course. We’re playing again.” 

You pick a waterpark course, one you’re less familiar with. You turn around again to look at Roman, who seems aggravated. His competitive streak. You point to his A button on his Joy-Con, “Press this at like, two, when the game is counting down. You’ll take off quicker.” 

“Obviously,” he mumbles. “Did you just figure that one out?” 

Roman uses your tip when the game starts again, and he’s doing better than he was before, until you hit him with a squid. And then one of those lightning bolts. And a banana peel, and a blue shell. Once again, you’ve lapped him before he’s even completed his first. And Roman can’t seem to hit one of those magic, rainbowy question mark boxes that you’ve been hitting in spades, giving you all sorts of overpowered one-ups on him. 

So Roman decides he’ll utilize his own power-up. 

“I could beat you playing one handed,” he says. 

“What, so you can jerk yourself off with the other?” 

“Close. Do you care if I try?”

You nod, barely paying attention to him. Roman holds his controller in one hand, leans over you, and with his free hand reaches into your henley pajama top, cupping one of your breasts.With his thumb and forefinger, he pinches your nipple gently, twisting it between the two digits. You gasp in response to his touch, biting down on a moan. “Rome…”

“You said I could try,” he replies, semi-focused on you, more focused on Mario Kart. 

“But this - ah - you’re ch-”

“Cheating?”

“Yeah,” you moan. 

“What are you gonna do about it?”

You drop your controller and your head tilts back into Roman’s lap, resting against his thick bulge. With your eyes closed, you relish in the feeling of Roman teasing you, now paying attention to your other breast. He squeezes it firmly, then circles your areola with his fingertip. It pebbles under his touch.  

Roman’s playing with one of your breasts, and you reach for the other. You moan and gasp loudly, “Shhh,” Roman hushes your noises. He gropes your breasts for a few moments longer, then takes his hand away to focus entirely on the game in front of him. He’s been playing it steadily this whole time, now having worked his way up to fifth place. Roman tsks. “Fuck, look at that. You’re in twelfth place. Oof.” 

“Roman, you-” you interrupt yourself to groan in irritation, then straighten out your shirt and pick your controller up to race through the course. “...fucking dick.”

 Roman laughs. He’s managed to collect blue shells and banana peels and even worse, he’s managed to learn to use them. And now, he’s worked his way up to first place while you’re still stuck at last. 

The game ends. He wins, of course. “Wow, kid. That was awful, even for you,” Roman mocks, rubbing it in. You turn around to glare at him. “What?”

“That wasn’t cool.” 

“I thought it was cool.”

“It was bullshit,” you complain. “You’re bullshit.” 

Roman exaggerates a pout and does little to hide his smirk.  “So upset when you don’t get your way,” he murmurs through his smile. 

“Fuck off. I’m pissed off at you now.” 

“Yeah,” Roman says, sliding off the couch to meet you on the floor. “You tell me, sweetheart. Really let me have it. Tell me how fucking pissed you are.” 

“I am! It was supposed to be a fun game and you just had to behave like a fuck- oh,” you moan, because Roman’s lifted up your shirt and is now toying with your nipples again. He lays you on the carpeted floor, circling one of your nipples with his tongue as he pinches the other. 

“You were saying?”

“You…”

“Sore loser,” Roman mumbles, now sucking on the sensitive bud. He kisses the surrounding flesh, kisses his way across your chest to repeat the action. And you’ve gone silent. Not really, as you’re still moaning and whining his name, but you’re out of any words beside Roman. 

He kisses down your torso and pulls the drawstring of your pajama bottoms, then slides your pants down your legs and kisses over your mound, pushing your knees toward your chest. Roman looks down at your body, all soft as you’re folded in half for him, pussy glistening with creamy ribbons of your arousal. “You’re fucking soaked,” he says, his breath hot against your core. “So sensitive. You don’t take much at all.” Roman wastes no time in eating you, licking you from bottom to top, eliciting a loud cry of his name. “Listen to that moan. Holy shit,” he laughs. 

Roman traces your folds with the tip of his tongue, then circles it around your clit. “Do you forgive me?”

“No,” you breathe. 

“Hmm.” Roman sucks on your clit, causing you to writhe and squirm beneath him. “How about now?”

“No.”

He pushes two fingers into your entrance, curling them rhythmically as he licks you. You arch into him, hands tangling in his hair. He loves when you do that. 

Roman’s face is soaked in your wetness, he’s made a mess of himself devouring you whole. Once you’re close, he pulls away, triggering a cry of frustration from you. “Now? Forgive me yet?”

“No,” you seethe. 

Roman only smirks. He kneels above you, pulls off his shirt and shucks his own pajama pants down his legs, where his cock slaps against his stomach. He strokes it once, twice, then lines it up with your entrance and slides inside you. “Now?”

“Mmm, not q- not quite,” you hum as he bottoms out, instantly building a pace. You wrap your legs around his torso and rock your hips into each of his thrusts.

“Just give it a minute. You’ll get there.”

Roman kisses you, swallowing your moans. You hold his bare shoulders, nails digging into his skin. He braces himself on his forearm as he rolls his hips into you, and wriggles his hand in between your bodies. While rubbing your clit in circles, Roman fucks you perfectly, deeply and at a swift pace. 

Your moans become frantic, and Roman feels your heat pulsing around him. “You close?” he pants.

You nod. “Yeah.”

Roman nods back, his movements never faltering. In quick time, your orgasm courses through you. You come hard on Roman’s cock, your pulsing walls coaxing along his own release. He comes inside you with moans of his own, whispering your name as his thrusts slow to a still. 

With Roman still inside you, you and he catch your breath together. “There. Now do you forgive me? Did I make it all better?”

“No,” you tell him. “I still hate you.” 

Roman rolls his eyes. “You’re impossible,” he tells you. He removes himself from you with a soft groan, quickly cleans you both up, and queues up another game of Mario Kart. This time, he plays fair. 

-

If you enjoyed, please let me know by reblogging or screaming at me in my inbox!! I appreciate so much when you make this blog feel like a community by doing those things ♡

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[flemingsfreckles]

Midnight Kiss

Synopsis: you learn Jessie has never had a midnight kiss, you decide to change that.

Warnings: none!

WC: 1.1k

A/N: hi, happy new year! I couldn’t sleep last night and started this little blurb and I’ve finished it on the train to the airport so it’s very short, I apologize. Hope everyone gets a new years kiss if they want one, or maybe a new years high five, whatever you’re in to :)

“Ever had a midnight kiss?” You leaned over practically shouting in Jessie’s ear as the two of you stood side by side on the wall of a bar.

It had been Sophia’s idea, renting out a bar to celebrate the new year, she invited her various friends as well as national and club teammates. You weren’t one for partying anymore, outgrowing that phase when you left college, but when Sophia had texted, practically begging you to come you agreed.

The night hadn’t been half bad, surrounded by a lot of familiar faces, loud music and dancing, and some good food you couldn’t complain too much. But the longer the night went on the more you longed to be back home snuggled in bed.

“Nope, at least not on New Years, you?” Jessie turns her head to glance at you. You nod your head as you bring the beer bottle in your hand to your lips. Taking a sip you debate if you should give her further details or not.

“Yeah, funny enough a fair amount with men.” You notice how Jessie’s eyes raise as she brings her own drink to her lips. “Most of them were just for fun, drunken kisses that didn’t mean anything.” Suddenly shy about your history of drunk kissing, you change the subject. “So never? Not even as a joke?”

Jessie just shakes her head before adding a shoulder shrug.

“Would you want to be?” It’s kind of a joke, offering to kiss your teammate. But it also wasn’t, you’d always had an admiration for Jessie, her composure, the way her brain worked, not to mention the freckles, the curls, the maple brown eyes.

“Huh?” Those same eyes squinting at you in confusion.

“I just mean, I could, we could, if you wanted to.” You tried to be nonchalant about it, but in reality your heart was racing. You figured the offer was light, she didn’t have to know the feelings behind it, that you were maybe interested in a little bit more than just a new years peck.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Her words cause your stomach to sink slightly but you weren’t quite ready to give up, you wouldn’t push her into it, but you were curious.

“Why not? it doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“That’s actually the problem.” Jessie mumbles as she brings her drink to her lips, taking a longer sip than normal, tipping the bottle back until it empties into her mouth.

“What do you mean?”

She looks at you, a firm stare, one that almost makes you feel stupid for not understanding what she meant. Your fingers begin to pick at the label on your bottle, a nervous habit. She raises her eyebrows at you. “Seriously?”

You throw your arms out slightly in a shrug.

“If we kiss, I’m worried it won’t be nothing. I’ll go home and not be able to sleep because of it. I’ll be up thinking there’s something there, something between us, while you go and forget we even kissed before you leave the building because it means nothing.”

“I said it could mean nothing.”

Now it’s her turn to look confused. Instead of making her wait you explain yourself.

“It doesn’t have to mean nothing. It can mean something, if that’s something you’d be interested in exploring.” You pull off a chunk of the label, picking causing it to fall off the bottle. You take a sip in an attempt to distract yourself from the nerves that had bottled up.

“Really?” She says it as if she doesn’t believe you, as if this was a practical joke being played on her and she was waiting for the laughing to start.

“Yeah.” You not and smile at her, placing your hand on her shoulder. “You really think I’d spend my whole evening glued to your side if I wasn’t into you? I mean I get it, you’re cool and all but I’ve been trying to flirt with you for months.” It’s now your turn to look at her like she had missed the big clue.

“Oh.”

“I just said it could mean nothing because I didn’t know how you felt. I didn’t want there to be weird feelings if you just thought I was trying to kiss you for my own enjoyment.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

You’re pulled your your own bubble of tension when the crowd surrounding the bar begins counting down from 10. You look over to see a big count down on the screen as the clock approaches midnight.

“Five!”

You turn back to look at Jessie, she’s looking back at you. You don’t have the chance to ask with words instead raising your eyebrows in question at her.

“Four!”

Her tongue quickly runs along her bottom lip, and then she nods.

“Three!”

It takes a moment for your brain to register her head movement. She nodded.

“Two!”

You put your bottle down on the small ledge next to you, freeing your hands. One comes to her waist, pulling her closer, the other to the side of her face.

“One!”

You lean down, putting your lips to hers as an array of noisemakers, fireworks, and shouts happen in the background as the new year starts. All the sounds fade out as your attention is brought back to Jessie, the way her soft lips were on yours, her arms thrown around your neck, pulling you down and into her just as much as you were holding her tight to your own body.

You both pull back, earlier than you truly would’ve liked. Her eyes open just after yours and you can’t help but hide the smile that ran across your lips. She mirrors you, a big smile, that she tries to bite back and a faint blush on her face.

“So? Midnight kiss worth it?” You tease her, trying to break the slight buildup of romantic and sexual tension that had occurred from a simple kiss.

“Oh definitely, especially if there’s going to be more of those in the new year.” Leaning over, her head rests on your shoulder and she tilts her head up to look at you.

“I think I can make that happen.”

[vervainandspritz]

BETTER LATE THAN NEVER

Teenage!Tommy Shelby x Teenage!Reader

Summary: One kiss and plenty of definitions to the meaning of it. Did it even have one? Y/N and Tommy seem to have different opinions on the matter.

Warnings: a bit of angst, swearing, violence, jealousy

A/N: interact please!!

~~

"Aren't you mad?! He was... Standing so close to her! How dare he!" Eleanor everything but yelled, pacing back and forth in her bedroom after she watched through the window how the middle Shelby brother chatted with Margaret on the street, while she was almost all over him. El was red from anger, hating when someone disrespected her dearest friend. Y/N on the other hand was sitting by the vanity table, curling her hair and sighing deeply at Eleanor's words.

"Well... We're not together, he's free to do whatever he pleases." She replied, trying to keep her voice in a stable line. Hearing her friend's dramatic gasp, she rolled her eyes and turned around to face her. "El, I'm serious."

"but he kissed you! Just four days ago! How can you not be angry?" She asked with disbelief, but Y/N shook her head and grabbed her hands.

"El, let's just enjoy this night out, okay? You know my father's not fond of letting me go often. And maybe, just maybe we'll show him what he lost, hmm?" She suggested, trying to soothe Eleanor's anger a little.

The other girl just sighed, fixing her hair in the mirror for the last time before glancing back at Y/N.

"Okay. Let's show him"

Less than twenty minutes later they got to the destination.

As soon as they arrived at Y/N father's pub, all guests started nodding with respect, knowing what her surname was, and that she was not to be messed with. Shortly after arriving both girls got their drinks even though it was illegal to sell them to women without a man by their side, yet the bartender knew better than to argue. Irish music was playing loudly, and people mostly danced, drank and laughed loudly, having a great time.

Y/N's and Eleanor's friends already took a seat by the big table, greeting them happily. Time was passing quickly, half an hour later a group of boys barged in, knowing them as the local troublemakers. Mostly Shelby's.

Eleanor immediately glanced at Y/N giving her a silent nod as she went ahead to grab more drinks. Y/N herself couldn't complain about boredom, especially because she caught the eye of David, a boy who was a year older, going to the same school as she was. He was kind and mostly a gentleman. Even though the glances he was sending her cleavage didn't go unnoticed.

He was smart, despite his little self obsession. Talking about his hobbies, asking about hers occasionally, but mostly she was nodding along. Y/N was well aware of Thomas' presence in the pub, so when David started leaning in for a kiss eventually, she also did. Letting out a quiet sigh in anticipation she braced herself for the kiss... That never came.

Instead, she could hear a loud thump of a body hitting the floor and as soon as she opened her eyes, she saw Tommy standing above David, giving him some solid bruises. Her eyes widened with another delivered punch, when the weaker boy's nose cracked.

"Tommy!" She squealed, pulling on his arm. He ignored her for a minute, only when she yelled again did he notice her holding him. As he looked back, she pulled him out of the pub immediately.

"What the fuck are you doing! Are ya mad?!" She yelled, punching him in the chest. He furrowed his brows angrily.

"Me?! What was THAT!" He pointed at the door, leaning down to her level so they could argue properly.

"What?" She asked, playing dumb. Y/N was quite a little actress. He groaned with annoyance, running a hand through his hair before looking back at her.

"I thought we were dating but–but you were.. all over him!" He said in an accusatory tone, pointing at her. Y/N gasped at the gesture, swatting his hand away.

"We're not dating!" She responded in a confident voice, looking into his eyes for a reaction. He glared at her for a second before huffing in anger.

"We bloody kissed! I kissed you!"

"it was just ONE kiss, Tommy! It happens!" She tried to convince both him and herself, keeping her cool almost too well.

He on the other hand folded his arms across his chest, taking a step forward.

"It was just one kiss?" Thomas repeated dumbly, and she nodded in an affirming way. He didn't say a word for a long moment and when Y/N glared at him with disappointment and grabbed the material of her longer dress to lift it and walk away, he stepped forward again.

Before she could react, his big, bloody hands got a hold of her cheek, pressing his lips against hers again, but this time the kiss was longer and he held her closer. More confident.

"There" He eventually said, slightly pulling away and looking down at her, still holding her cheeks. "Two kisses now. Now we're datin'" He said in a voice that does not indicate any opposition. Y/N's cheeks grew hot and it took her a second to collect her thoughts before he sighed with annoyance.

"Suddenly want to date now, do you? In the morning you were all over Margaret!" She said, pushing him away with renewed anger, pushing her hair out of her eyes. Tommy didn't let her step away though, grabbing her hands and pulling her back, wrapping her arms around his waist and holding them there.

"John broke her glasses." He said, caressing her cheek with a slight grin. "I was asking her to not tell on him to her mum, you know, Mrs Lanchester. Our teacher." He explained calmly, grabbing her chin and making sure she was looking in his eyes.

"Oh..." Y/N said, blushing even harder, causing him to smirk, to which she punched him again lightly. "Don't smile like that, Shelby!"

Thomas grabbed her hands, leaning down to kiss her knuckles as he smiled again, before leaning forward and stealing another kiss.

"Is three kisses enough to consider us dating or should I keep kissing you some more?" He asked, his blue eyes glistening with mischief and the feelings he held for her.

~~

"...later he went to war, and I waited. When your father came back, we got married. End of the story." Y/N said, blushing as she glanced towards her husband. Thomas was wearing his mischievous grin, while kids giggled in the background.

"Dad punched that guy!" Twelve year old William chuckled, and little George just cheered along with his older brother.

"He was a cunt anyway" Tommy mumbled, and Y/N shoved him lightly.

"Language!" She said scolded, putting a hand on his thigh under the table. "David was just... Being nice." She responded, to which her husband raised his eyebrows in annoyance.

"Shush, woman" He said, giving her a demanding kiss.

"Oh, stop it!" Fifteen year old Madeline groaned with disgust. "Tell me more instead! How did he ask you to marry him, mum?" She asked curiously.

"Well. He took me to a very special place, fell on one knee... And asked me." Y/N added, smiling wildly at the memory.

"...at least this time he asked." Madeline said with irony, smiling mischievously towards her dad, in the exact same way he usually did.

"Watch it" He warned jokingly.

"Better late than ever" Y/N said, squeezing her husband's thigh and looking at him with love.

[meanbossart]

ASK COMPILATION: Boomer Drow, Scratch, Mouthwashing, Cats and musical opinions.

A more casual compilation this time as I desperately try to make some room in my inbox. I went back so far I found lore questions and art prompts that I really liked but had completely forgotten about... That's why it's a mess in there LOL I will hopefully get to those soon!

Hi! Thank you! I still dream about smoking almost every night and had a couple during the new year but I'm hanging in there :')

Very loose and mostly as a bit. It might be something that I explore more in the future, but as of right now their "canon" setting is far, far more interesting to me!

...That's brutal and highly accurate 😭

[MORE UNDER THE CUT]

I'm not gonna lie, when I started posting I got, uh, a lot of responses like this to my art. About how I drew people "ugly" and frightening and even though it MOSTLY was meant as a compliment, it got kinda... Overwhelming 😅 It definitely led me to do a 180 for a while and re-access how I wanted to draw people. I love drawing flaws but I think that comes from not really seeing them as flaws, so the amount of folks AGGRESSIVELY harping on it did eventually get to me a little bit.

I think I've since found a pretty good balance between simple, pretty and "flawed" that I enjoy, though. So, thank you! I do take your message as a compliment and I'm glad you enjoy him.

DU drow was my first run! I have since played with a different character called Izzantar who was my first non-urge campaign though.

...

...

... I didn't find scratch in the DU drow run. Sorry anon LOL

Now you see, this is the legacy I want to leave behind.

(thanks for making Astarion feel included)

I was the one who recommended it to him and I really liked it! I've always DREAMED of a game that actually and unapologetically put you in the shoes of a shitty person and took you through the complex reasons why they are the way that they are without justifying their actions. And I adore the way the secondary character undeniably had a hand in the tragedy that unfolded despite his good intentions. The game sincerely explored the types of flawed characters I rarely ever see explored and I can only give it my sincerest kudos to it.

I've been considering playing Origins on stream after MANY recommendations, actually!

I would suggest examining and referencing off athletes and gymnasts videos for practice while trying to garner a more in-depth understanding of musculature by crossreferencing that stuff with dry, medical anatomy diagrams. I have a few more in-depth examples and advice in my #tutorial and #advice tags!

DU drow would really like Frida. Jarboe would constantly disappoint him by being the very dumb animal that she is.

I think Astarion would like both of them but complain endlessly about how much attention they demand and how up in his business they'd want to be - I have a feeling he likes street cats, which none of my cats are (Frida has a little street-smarts remaining but has been thoroughly spoiled by now. Jarboe was a hoarder cat before I adopted her and is extremely sociable and un-cat-like because of it.)

I DM'd a single Call of Cthulhu session in my teens and only recently participated in my first ever DnD game in a discord event! That's about it.

This is for the over-attentive ANE readers but Brutus is a Dalyria song for me ☺️

He'd like Jazz A LOT.

But I think he'd be more of a root-punk/post-rock guy, not really into synth. And then a lot of the classics like Elvis, Nina Simone, Marley, etc.

Also Foetus and GG allin for whatever reason.

3 for Astarion, 5 for Shadowheart. Jaheira would never but she could get away with 8.

[eyesofshinigami]

Boyfriend Privileges

Rating: T

CW: None

Tags: Just getting together, language, fluff

Prompt: For @sparklyslug "Love is letting him pick the music"

WC: 959

Written for @steddielovemonth Day 21

The rules were simple in Steve’s car. Wipe your feet before you get in. No snacks or drinks. And most importantly, don’t touch the fucking radio.

Steve is very particular about his music. He likes what he likes and he won’t hear anything about it. He likes pop music because it’s happy, it’s fun, and it gives him something mindless to sing along to when his head feels too full.

Even when the kids complain, or Robin teases him, Steve is steadfast. Whatever is playing is what’s going to play, and no one is going to be able to say anything about it. 

But then Eddie came crashing into his life like a hurricane. 

Eddie is a lot of things that Steve isn’t. He’s confident and loud, brash and unapologetic in just about everything he does. They’re also the same, sometimes; they’re both scarred, both of them just wanting to be loved, to be understood. 

Falling for Eddie was a quiet thing, for Steve. It crept up on him until one day he looked at Eddie, smiling and laughing as he and the kids were gathered around the table playing their dragons game, and he thought oh. Oh I want to be with this person for the rest of my life. 

That’s where it started, and now they’re here. It’s only been a couple of days since Eddie beat him to the punch and confessed first. They kissed, they touched, and decided that this is something they both wanted. Steve could hardly believe that Eddie wanted him back. 

They hadn’t told the kids yet; not that they were hiding it, but they were both enjoying just being together and figuring out what exactly that meant. But it’s good already, with Eddie giving him a sweet, private smile as he slides into the front seat. Steve had volunteered to pick the whole gaggle of them up from the arcade so he could bring them back to his house for a movie night. 

“Heya Stevie,” Eddie says, pulling his hair across his mouth. It’s enough to make Steve’s heart start beating fast even over the sound of the boys climbing into the backseat. “Happy to see me?”

“Always,” Steve answers honestly. Eddie’s cheeks turn a delightful shade of pink and Steve mourns the fact that he can’t leave over and kiss him. Soon, he tells himself. Once they drop the kids off, they’ll go back to Eddie’s trailer and-

“We’re burning daylight, Steve! I thought we were going to watch a movie or something!” Dustin’s voice breaks through the lovesick haze that had settled over them.

Steve grumbles and turns the car on. “Keep your shirt on, butthead. We’re going now.” That incites another bout of grumbling and arguing from the backseat. “Don’t make me regret offering you guys the chance to use the TV. Or make me consider throwing out all those snacks I bought, or sending the pizza back…” 

Eddie pretends to swoon and presses his hand to his forehead. “Oh no, please, oh gracious King of my Heart! Do not let the ramblings of the peasants cast a shadow upon your infinite kindness and patience!” He looks up at Steve with big, wide eyes that make Steve think a whole lot of other things besides the upcoming movie night. “What can this fair knight do to assuage the slight against your good name?”

“I could think of a few things,” he says, just loud enough for Eddie to hear. It makes a pretty cat-like grin break out across Eddie’s face. Oh, the things they’re going to do later…

Eddie seems to be on the same page, licking his lips as he reaches up to the radio. He pushes the button and pops the tape out, slipping in  the he’d made for Steve the night they decided they wanted to give this a go. It makes Steve’s heart skip a beat. 

It’s probably why it takes him so long to realize that the backseat has gone completely silent. No squabbling, so arguing, no nothing. Dead silent. Eddie picks up on it too, turning around in his seat to stare at them. “Did someone press the mute button? What gives?”

“You touched the radio,” comes Will’s voice from the back, sounding awed. 

“Yeah? And? Steve always lets me put music on.”

That gets a reaction. Dustin and Mike start squawking protests. “What the hell, Steve?? You never let us pick the music? You don’t even let Robin touch the radio! What are the three rules of riding in the Bimmer?” Dustin calls out.

“Wipe your feet. No snacks or food. And most importantly, don’t touch the radio,” the other boys in the back chorus together. 

Eddie turns and looks at Steve, smile getting impossibly wider. “Is that so?” 

He could deny it. He could lie and say they’re just being shitheads about it. It’d be really easy. “Yeah. Yeah it is true. But you know,” Steve stops, reaching over and grabbing Eddie’s hand to press a kiss to the back of it. His heart is pounding, but it’s worth it for the stars he sees in Eddie’s eyes. “You’re the exception to the rule.”

The backseat erupts in a whole different bout of noise, but Steve tunes it out. He’s too busy enjoying the way he and Eddie’s fingers are laced together over the console, the mixtape Eddie made for him playing in the background. 

“Does this mean you’ll let us eat in the car now?” Mike tries, sounding put out. 

Steve shakes his head. “Absolutely fucking not.” Though, he looks over at Eddie, who is still grinning like the cat who got the canary. “Except you. Boyfriend privileges and all that.”

It’s worth the noise coming from the back.

[risustravelogue]

Scandalous (pt. 1)

Summary:

You have sex with your beloved in scandalous places.

Featuring:

Wriothesley, Alhaitham (separate), fem!Reader

Tags:

Filthy smut because why the fuck not :3 Semi-public sex, sex toy, double penetration, wall sex (Wriothesley), office sex, bookshelf sex (Alhaitham)

Note:

I'm celebrating my getting Wrio by winning 50/50 with... another smut. Hahaha. /bonked Alhaitham's part has been sitting in my drafts for so long hjksdfksl Also yes, I finally made character banners! Yay!!

This will be a multi-character series! Planned: Wriothesley, Alhaitham, Zhongli, Baizhu, Neuvillette

🔗 Series @ AO3 | masterlist 🔗

For all his cunning and scheming ways, Wriothesley is ultimately a man of action. And the best part? He’s open even to the most outrageous ideas.

So when you shyly asked him if he wanted to try having sex outside of the bedroom, he pounced at the thought and planned everything the next morning—even going as far as telling the guards patrolling the room with the big window into the ocean that he will cover that area himself that night.

When you arrive at your rendezvous spot at midnight, he’s already waiting for you with a naughty smirk plastered across his lips. Humming, he closes the distance between your bodies. The way he’s kissing your lips with unbridled lust is somehow so much more sensual this time.

While his hands are busy slipping under your shirt and playing with your breasts, you unbuckle his belt and yank down his underwear to find his fat cock already hard and leaking from the thought of whatever dirty plans he has for you. After you wriggle out of your work pants, he lifts you up so easily, eliciting a delighted yelp from you as you wrap your arms around his neck and legs around his waist, his shaft rubbing against your slick entrance whenever he takes a step.

“Where are you taking me?” you ask, giggling.

Your husband only chuckles in response as he walks into the moonlight. You feel your walls clench around nothing as you realize what he’s doing.

A soft thud accompanies the cold feeling of your back being pressed against the thick one-way window, the mix of pleasure and pain of his tip bullying its way into your deepest parts following shortly afterwards.

A muffled half-moan, half-protest escapes your throat as he finally enters you completely, his lips angled oh so perfectly against yours to shut you up. He moans against your mouth as he begins thrusting into your wet cunt, the dirty sounds—oh archons, all the dirty sounds—bounce against the metal walls and form echoes of his heated rutting.

“W-Wrio!” you complain, but you can feel your spongy walls clamping down on his thick length. “N-not so loud– ah– too loud–”

He laughs and smacks your butt while pinning you even harder against the window with his muscular body.

“My, my,” he tuts beside your face. The way his lips graze across the skin of your neck makes you shiver. “It’s like music to your ears, huh.”

More loud slaps of skin fills your ear as you come nearer and nearer to your climax. Alas, after a few thrusts, he stops moving.

”I almost forgot. I bought this for you,” he whispers.

Your eyes widen as he takes out a vibrator from his coat’s inner pocket.

“Aha, I see you like your present,” he chuckles. “Don’t worry… it’s nothing you can’t take. I’ve trained you so well, after all.”

“B-but–”

“Ah, ah, ah. No buts. We’re going to have so much fun tonight.”

You whine as he spreads your ass and slides the toy in. You bury your face in his shoulders, embarrassed from the fact that it goes in so easily due to your leaking juices.

“Ready, darling?” he says—but not giving you a chance to answer before he flicks the switch.

Incoherent mewls of pleasure echo through the air as your climax comes crashing like a tsunami. Wriothesley laughs as he moves his free hand to spread your thighs apart, practically pinning your right knee against the window to give him even more access to your deepest parts. You shudder from the feeling of his bushy pubes rubbing against your exposed clit.

“Don’t– I’ll cum–” you protest, but his sloppy kiss shuts you up.

“And what’s wrong with that?” he growls with a playful tone against your mouth. “You can scream however you want. Nobody’s going to head this way tonight, not when I’m… ‘patrolling’ this area.”

He starts grinding while fucking your ass with the vibrator. Your pleas for him to stop—it feels too good, you’re losing control—he answers with shushes and sadistic chuckles.

“Good,” he purrs. “Let go. Let it all out for me like the good girl you are, yeah?”

His moans grows louder with each thrust, and finally, he lets the vibrator go in favor of spreading both of your thighs apart so he can fuck you in earnest. The toy slides out of you and falls with a loud clang next to your husband’s feet, and you can hear a soft hum coming from it if you try to listen hard enough. Not that you can, of course—not when your beloved is making you cum nonstop.

“Ah– ah– Fuck, you’re so tight…” he groans. “So good… taking both my cock and the toy so well…”

His pace is punishingly fast now, but his stamina, built upon years and years of boxing, keeps his knees from giving way.

“Time for your present, darling,” he breathes. ”I’m gonna breed you nice and good, mark you inside with my cum– ghh!”

With a final kiss from his blunt tip to your cervix, he shoots his hot load into your womb, his whole body shuddering from ecstasy. Your fingertips dig into the fur of his coat as you try to muffle your scream of pleasure into his shoulder. He pants while peppering kisses onto your face, making you giggle. You whimper when his length slides out of you as he sets your legs down.

“Can you stand?” he asks. You nod weakly, pushing against his chest to try to stand on your own. Your eyes land on his still-hard cock as he takes off his clothes, abandoning them on the metal floor.

“You’re still hard,” you comment.

“So I am,” he chuckles. He takes your hand into his and leads you onto the aquabus.

“The seats should be comfortable enough for you to lay down,” he says as he pushes your thighs apart once more, pressing your back against the padded seats. His cock twitches against your folds as he plants a full kiss on your lips and whispers,

“Ready for round two?”

You hate skirts.

Even so, you have to wear one today for an Akademiya event’s dress code. Your social battery has drained completely by the time lunch break comes, and you decide to hide in Alhaitham’s office. The face of the usually-stoic husband of yours visibly tenses when he looks up from his book and lays his eyes on you.

He gets up without saying a word, locks the door, and turns to you, a sigh escaping his lips.

“You look so cute wearing a skirt, you know that?” he says, a smile on his lips but a burning, carnal desire in his eyes. A predatory growl escapes his throat as he says in a low voice, “Makes me want to fuck you senseless until you’re nothing but a sweet, hot mess.”

He presses his mouth against yours, effectively pinning you against the office’s bookshelves. His fingers deftly unbutton your shirt, his left arm circling around your waist to keep your hips pressed against his. A muffled gasp and a muffled complaint escapes your throat when his hand slips under your bra and squeezes your breast.

You feel his fingers trail down under your skirt and tug on your underwear. His lips part with yours for a while as he takes the thin fabric off and throws it away, landing right on top of the stack of papers on his desk. As his lips crash onto yours again, you reach down to his belt, unbuckle it, and pull down the straining fabric of his pants, freeing his erect cock from its restraints. His hands find their way to your bare buttocks, and eventually trail downward to the back of your thighs. A yelp escapes your throat and your arms instinctively wrap around his neck when he lifts your legs and keeps them apart, exposing your folds to his hard shaft. He lets out a groan of approval as he grinds his hip against your slick-coated pussy.

“Dear me,” he chuckles, “how long have you been this wet?”

You moan as he moves his hips forward, his hot length pressing against your entrance. “Answer me,” he orders.

“I–” you gulp, “I’ve been imagining this ever since I’ve put on this skirt.” He moves his hips again, his throbbing cock now pressing against your clit.

“Mmm… such a naughty wife,” he purrs. “That doesn’t answer my question, though.”

You whimper as you feel him grind against you. “I don’t know,” you breathe, your fingers digging into his skin. “P-please…”

“Perhaps… you need some help,” he hums. “Knowing you, you must have been wet ever since that pretty mind of yours conjured an image of me fucking you against the bookshelves like this,” he thinks out loud, his voice almost a whisper in your ears. You moan as he grinds his hips again. “Bookshelves… that means House of Daena. You’ve been wet ever since you entered the library, yes?” he chuckles.

“Y-yes,” you say, voice trembling from arousal.

You whine when you feel his cock pressing against your slit more insistently. “Tsk, tsk, darling. You’re nothing but a dirty—”

He grinds, and you whimper.

“—little—”

Another grind, and his tip is now at your entrance.

“—slut!”

With a thrust, he buries his length deep into you, his hips slapping against yours. A scream involuntarily escapes your throat as you shudder in pleasure.

“Shh… people will hear if you keep that up,” he warns, a chuckle underlying his tone.

“Yes… I– I’m sorry–”

Someone knocks at the door, cutting off your words. Alhaitham groans.

“What is it?” he says to whoever is outside.

You hear a muffled voice from the other side of the door. “I heard a scream. Is everything okay?”

“See?” he whispers, planting a kiss on your neck. “Everything’s fine,” he says with a louder voice. “Falling books, that’s all.”

“... If you’re sure, sir,” the voice says with hesitation, then walks away in fading footsteps.

Alhaitham turns back to you, a sadistic glint in his eyes.

“Now… where were we? Oh, right,” he mutters. “You, my dear wife, are a slut—but you are my slut, so I’ll be light on the punishment,” he hums, planting teasing kisses all over the side of your neck and collarbone.

“Or–” he pulls back, his half-lidded verdant-vermillion eyes looking right into yours with barely-contained lust, “—would you rather I go rough on you instead, hmm?”

You feel a shiver rippling through your skin as you feel your walls clench around his cock. A smile grows on his lips at your wordless response.

“I already know your answer,” he says while gently kissing your lips. “But I’d like to hear you put it into words.”

“I– ah–“ you stammer, suddenly very aware of the feeling of your husband’s thickness filling you up. You struggle a bit, prompting him to tighten his grip on your thighs.  “I… I want–”

Your words disappear into thin air with a gasp when he starts grinding against you, the squelching wet sounds filling the air.

“Come on, love. You can say what you want from me,” he teases, his lips grazing your jugular. “Say it,” he whispers.

“P-please fuck me,” you breathe. “I want you to fuck me until I can’t walk straight,” you finally say, your voice trembling and pleading.

He presses his lips against yours while humming. “My sweet, sweet heart… I love it when you’re so honest,” he says. The lust seeping through the low undertones of his voice sends shivers all over your body.

Hmm… maybe wearing a skirt more often wouldn’t hurt, after all.

© @risustravelogue 2023 • no to reposting, yes to reblogging. feel free to send an ask to suggest, chat, etc. :)

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[yooniivrse]

subtle changes | myg

summary. your carefully structured mornings takes a heartwarming turn when yoongi becomes a welcome part of your days, leaving you unexpectedly craving more.

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pairing: yoongi x f!reader

word count: 3.9k

warnings: none :3 (i think, plz tell me if i missed something)

a/n: the end of summer hit me like a truck, which is why this took super long 😭 i'll try my best and have an update schedule to keep me on track, but no promises! idk how i feel about this chapter but you guys have been waiting for too long lol. i hope you enjoy <333

!!! this is the second part of a mini-series. you can read this as a stand alone, but things make more sense if you read the first part !!!

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────

You were very fond of routines.

You liked knowing what would happen next; liked being able to go into auto pilot as your body steered you through the morning, liked leaving it up to your routine to anchor you back to reality whenever life took a toll on you.

Usually, you hated change. You hated its unpredictability; hated the way it slapped at you abruptly like a whip, hated the queasy feeling that bubbled in your stomach whenever it occurred.

But the change that snaked into your strict routine was welcomed with warm, open arms. He slotted into your mornings and evenings with ease, like a jigsaw piece that fits perfectly into the space in a puzzle. A puzzle that happens to be your life.

Yoongi was the first person you greeted every morning before leaving for work or classes. He left his home at the same time as you—something you only noticed in the last fortnight—and would wave at you from his door. You returned the gesture with a bright smile, one that was starting to feel almost too natural.

He waited for you every day without fail, with hands shoved deep into his pockets as he leaned against the wall. When you finally managed to reach his door, he would make small talk with you as you descended the elevator.

You’ve always hated the awkwardness that lingered with small talk but those feelings dissipated when it came to Yoongi. He always listened attentively when talked, chuckling whenever you complained about the lady living opposite you as he agreed. It made you feel comfortable about rambling on about whatever it was that swam through your mind, leaving no space for awkwardness to bubble.

Today, your topic of conversation was the music he claimed to make.

“At this point, I’m starting to think you’re a fraud,” you said.

You both stood outside the elevator of your apartment complex. Yoongi leaned in front of you to press the bottom button, and a ring of red light awoke along the sides of it.

Yoongi’s music has always been a topic of mystery. You’ve practically begged him to share a snippet of his songs with you ever since he mentioned being in a band, and each time he has refused. Though your words were playful, you had no idea if he made music at all. You recently realised how little you knew of him as a person too.

“And why would I lie to you about making music?” he asked.

You shrugged your shoulders. “I dunno. You could’ve been using it to make me fall in love with you or something. Pretending to be some cool, mysterious person in a band when you’re actually the opposite.”

“Well, did it work? Are you in love with me yet?”

You turned to look at him, narrowing your eyes as if to analyse him.

“Nope. You’ve got to try harder than buying me food and walking me to the lobby every morning.”

Yoongi let out a sigh, feigning disappointment. His lips pressed into a thin line that did little to hide the growing smile on his face. “Damn, I really thought I’d have you by now.”

A giggle escaped your lips just as the elevator doors slid open with a ding. You stepped in and returned to your position beside Yoongi, who clicked the second last button. Faint music played in the background, a soft ballad that you instantly recognised.

“I love this song,” you said. Yoongi turned his head to look at you with furrowed eyebrows.

“You do?”

You nodded. “Mhm. I’ve been having it on repeat for the last week.”

“Oh- I love this song too. Well- I’ve only listened to it once or twice whenever my friend plays it, but it’s really good.”

“I know right!” You were grinning as you looked at Yoongi, enthusiasm spilling from your tone, eyes wide with excitement. “It’s so- like- cosy? I don’t know.” A laughing breath escaped you.

“No, you’re right. It has that nice, cosy feel to it.”

You gesticulated wildly as you rambled on about the song and why you loved it so much, while Yoongi watched you with a wide smile. It was nice seeing you talk so passionately about something so mundane, how a simple song could brighten your entire day.

Yoongi didn’t interrupt you once, listening to your every word attentively. He wished he could stay with you, maybe even walk you to your college, just to hear your pleasant voice. There was just something about the smile on your face that made his heart beat a little faster.

But alas, he was forced to part ways with you as you reached the lobby doors. You waved goodbye and walked down the pathway. Instead of going his own way, Yoongi stayed as you grew smaller in his view.

Just before turning a corner, you looked back at him. You threw your head back as what Yoongi assumed to be a giggle—he was too far away to hear—left you. You brought your hands up and swatted them in his direction as if to shoo him away. He moved his hands to rest over his heart, feigning a hurt expression. He failed miserably, earning more laughter from you.

He liked making you laugh. It made his skin feel warm, the mere sound of it causing butterflies to erupt in his stomach.

It was stupid how much of an effect you had on him. He was absurdly comfortable around you, something he found difficult to accomplish around people he’s known for the better half of his life, let alone less than a month.

You lit up his day, your everyday routine giving him a reason to get up and be productive each morning. He never woke up before noon; there was simply no need to because anything to do with the band was held in the afternoon, and he usually did the night shift at his part-time job.

So why was he sacrificing the comfort of his blankets just to see you for ten minutes? Why was he debating on whether to change to a day shift because he didn’t even have anything to do in the morning other than seeing you? Why was he smiling to himself as he walked down the street, earning looks from passersby? And why didn’t he care, all because you were the only thing on his mind?

Honestly, he didn’t have an answer. It was too soon to conclude that he liked you. You were just a genuine friend, someone he happened to click with.

Right?

────

“I wrote a new song. I need you guys to sing it.”

Yoongi threw a leather notebook to the side, where it landed on the brunette who lay sprawled across the couch.

“Ow! Hyung, what the fuck?”

Taehyung plucked out his wired earphones, eyebrows furrowed in exaggerated pain as he took the notebook into his hands. He flicked through the pages meaninglessly before landing on the newly written pages.

On the couch opposite him sat Jungkook and Seokjin, completely immersed in some sort of game they played together. They yelled out profanities and shared movements intended to sabotage the other’s gameplay. Yoongi sighed.

Calling the room a mess was an understatement. A multitude of empty energy drinks, a few random sticky notes—reminders from the members to each other that would end up being forgotten anyway—and a stack of empty plates littered the coffee table. A hill of clothes sat neglected in the space beside Jungkook and Seokjin, and Yoongi automatically crinkled his nose despite the lack of any unpleasant odour.

He would have attempted to tidy up the room, but the long day weighed down on his shoulders. He moved Taehyung’s legs off the couch and slumped down beside him.

“Since when did you write love songs?” Taehyung asked. It was comical how fast Jungkook and Seokjin’s attention turned to Yoongi.

“It’s not a love song, it’s a ballad, idiot,” Yoongi mumbled.

“Same thing,” Taehyung replied, rolling his eyes as he flicked to the next page.

“Aw, Yoongi’s in love,” Seokjin piped up, feigning a sympathetic expression. He brought his hand up and added with a whisper, “Don’t worry, it’ll go away soon.”

“Fuck off, hyung.” Yoongi flipped him off and Jungkook chuckled at the exaggerated gasp that fell from Seokjin’s lips. Before he could start rambling on about how you should respect your elders, the youngest spoke up.

“So, who’s the girl, hyung?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“I told you, it’s not a love song. There’s isn’t any girl.”

“Yeah, right. Just tell us wh—.”

“Is she the one that lives a few doors down?” The new voice emerged from the side of the room, and everyone’s heads snapped up in its direction.

Jimin shut the bathroom door softly as he vigorously rubbed a towel over his hair. The ink tattooed under his chest was displayed in his shirtless form, grey sweatbands lying low on his waist.

“Who?”

“Why was I not told about this?”

“Yoongi has a girlfriend?!”

“She’s not my girlfr—.”

“No, she’s just the only reason you wake up at ass o’clock to see for like- ten minutes.” A teasing smile played at the corners of Jimin’s lips as he propped down between Seokjin and Jungkook. Yoongi shot him a glare.

“She’s a nice person. So what if I wake up a little earlier to see her? I’d do the same for you guys if we didn’t live together.”

Everyone in the room turned to look at him with a deadpan expression.

“Okay, maybe I wouldn’t, but it’s not that big of a deal!”

“Clearly is if you’re writing love songs about her,” Taehyung added. He threw the book over to the three who sat on the opposite couch, and Jungkook caught it with ease before eagerly flicking to the page with the lyrics.

“I’m not writing love songs about her! It’s not even a love song, it’s a ballad!”

“Okay, maybe you’re right. But there’s no way she’s not even a tiny bit of the reason why you wrote this,” Jimin said.

Seokjin nodded in agreement. “You’ve been struggling with writer’s block for like- the past week. And now you’re suddenly writing a song that’s a complete 180 of everything we’ve made so far?”

All four of their beady eyes stared at Yoongi, waiting for an answer. It felt like an interrogation.

“This isn’t fair, this is bullying. If Namjoon was here, he would’ve stuck up for me.”

“Yeah, cuz you’re a big baby that can’t even stick up for himself,” Taehyung mumbled, though Yoongi heard him loud and clear. He opened his mouth to curse at the younger when Jimin interrupted him.

“Uhm, no he wouldn’t. How’d you think I knew about the girl?”

“Asshole,” Yoongi muttered under his breath.

He told Namjoon about you around a week ago. How it had slipped into the conversation, Yoongi didn’t know. But his mind had been foggy from his intoxication that he found himself eventually telling Namjoon everything; about how you met, how you helped him, the dinner you shared. He didn’t even spare the details; how he thought you’re eyes were the most beautiful things he’d ever seen, how your laugh made his heart leap, how he hadn’t felt like this is years—if ever—and it was scaring him how fast he was falling for you.

Yoongi was frustrated at Namjoon but was also grateful that he didn’t reveal everything he had told him that night. If he had, the members wouldn’t be questioning him right now because they would already have a clear answer.

Yoongi sighed, leaning back his head.

“I- Last week, she mentioned this song that she loved ‘cause it was playing in the elevator. And- I don’t know- I don’t think our usual music is her taste. She’s been asking me to play her some of our songs for weeks and I’ve just avoided the subject. I just- I want her to listen to something that I know she’ll love.”

Because he loved seeing you happy. He loved the way you’re face lit up and he wanted you to have the same reaction when you listened to his songs. But he didn’t say that, of course. Just treasured the thoughts deep in his mind because he hated the truth they carried.

“That’s so cute, hyung,” Jungkook said.

“Whatever,” Yoongi mumbled, becoming more aware of the warmth spreading across his ears. “So, will you guys sing the song? I don’t think any rap verses would fit it, so it’s completely up to you.”

“I don’t think we’ll be able to get it finished fast enou–,” Jimin started, but was abruptly cut off.

“Of course, we will,” Taehyung said, throwing a hand over Yoongi’s shoulder. “When you guys get married, tell her that we’re the only reason she fell for you. You know, with our angelic voices an-.”

“Taehyung, I swear to fucking God-.”

────

Snowflakes poured from the sky, clinging to your clothes for a brief second before disappearing into the fabric. The cold air bit into your skin, slowly seeping into your bones and numbing your face.

You were delighted when the snowfall first began a few weeks ago. It had been the only thing that marked the start of the holiday season, and you found yourself giving into the festivities of it all despite the reminders of your finals looming over you like an angry, dark cloud.

Now that your exams were buried in the past, you realised what a hassle the weather was when it wasn’t the only thing cheering you up.

Your nose was stuffy and an angry shade of red. Your limbs ached, weighing down on you. It took you double the time it usually took for you to walk home due to the black ice that coated the sidewalks. You made the mistake of trudging through it carelessly once, and that ended up with a sprained ankle and complete humiliation. No way would you let that happen again.

No one would willingly go out in such weather.

So why was there someone standing outside your apartment? Why was he choosing the bitter cold instead of the heated lobby that stood a mere three steps away? And why was it Yoongi?

A thick scarf hung around his neck, obscuring most of his face with it’s deep, red fabric. His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his black jacket, his head turned down to the floor.

He didn’t notice you as you approached his figure.

“Are you trying to freeze to death?”

His head snapped up. He stared at you blankly for a second before his cheeks rose up ever so slightly, the signs of his rare smile that always made your heart flutter.

“Hi. No—.” He chuckled softly, the sound quickly lost to the busy city. “—I was waiting for you. Didn’t know what time you came back, so...” His voice got quieter as he spoke, trailing off into a mumble.

“Oh, that’s so sweet.” Your words brought a smile to his face, his expression no longer holding a sense of hesitancy. “Why were you waiting for me though?”

“Right. I had to give you this.” He rummaged through his pockets and pulled out a square-shaped envelope. Sensing your confusion from your puzzled expression, he added, “It’s a CD. You wanted to hear some of our songs, so I put together my personal favourites.”

All the words of thanks and appreciation died on your tongue as you took the cover from his hands. It was incredibly light, and you could trace the circular outline of the CD that lay inside.

“Yoongi, I– you really didn’t have to,” you finally managed.

“I wanted to.”

Your eyes crinkled to accommodate the smile growing across your face. “This is literally the best thing anyone has ever gotten me. You could’ve sent me a playlist online, y’know, instead of putting so much effort into it.”

Yoongi hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“I thought you’d like a CD more.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, of course I love the CD. I was just wondering why you chose the harder way.”

“I thought you deserved something more than just a few texts.”

You hoped that Yoongi would overlook the heat crawling across your skin as a result of the cold instead of his words.

“I- Thank you. Seriously, thank you so much.”

He nodded. “You do have something to play it on, right? I actually didn’t think about whe–.”

“Oh yeah, no don’t worry. I have an old laptop that I can put these into.”

Another nod. Yoongi’s eyes darted away as soon as they met yours, glancing around everywhere but you.

“Do you wanna go inside and not risk hypothermia?” you said with a small laugh.

“Uh– I actually have to visit a friend today.”

“Oh, okay.” Had he noticed the way your shoulders deflated at his answer? You hoped not. “I’ll see you around then?”

“Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

You stepped past him and fished out your keys from your pockets. By the time you opened the door and turned back to wave goodbye, he had already walked away.

────

Click.

The CD slid into the side of the laptop with ease. Files popped up on the screen, casting shadows across your skin. You could feel the quiet hum of the machine beneath your fingertips, a steady, calming rhythm that contrasted with the sudden quickening of your heartbeat.

Your eyes wandered over it, soaking in the half a dozen songs Yoongi had chosen. You’d already listened to them all once, but you wanted to hear them again.

There was something about the way they played in your ears, something almost magical in the way the melodies intertwined with your thoughts. Each note seemed to resonate with a different part of you as if Yoongi had handpicked them to speak to your soul.

The songs were beautiful. Despite it not being your usual choice of music, you found yourself treasuring each song close to your heart. You hadn’t expected to feel this way, hadn’t anticipated how deeply you’d connect with the music that was so different from what you normally listened to. But here you were, replaying them over and over, savouring each lyric like a secret only you and Yoongi shared.

Maybe it was because you got to see a new side of Yoongi in his music. A confident, almost arrogant version of him that sang each lyric with pure passion. You could feel the intensity in every word, every note as if they were laced with emotions he could never quite express in person.

Or maybe he just knew you well enough to pick out songs he knew that you would like. Songs that would make you think of him, songs that would linger in your mind long after the last note faded away.

Whatever it was, it failed to stop the giddy feeling that enveloped your skin. A warmth that spread from your chest to the tips of your fingers, leaving you lightheaded and dizzy with emotions you weren’t quite ready to name. You couldn’t remember the last time something—or someone—had made you feel this way.

Your fingers scrolled down on the mouse, a habit that had formed ever since you first got the laptop. You hadn’t expected the screen to move. But it did. A subtle movement that caught you off guard, your breath hitching slightly as you leaned closer to the screen.

A seventh file revealed itself at the bottom of the screen. It didn’t have a name. Just a small, blank icon that seemed to stare back at you, as if daring you to click on it.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Yoongi had probably added it by mistake, but you couldn’t help but wonder if this was something he had intended to keep hidden, something private that you weren’t meant to see. You clicked into it.

Someone cleared their throat.

“Uh, hi. I don’t know if you’ll see this or not, but I hope you do.”

Yoongi’s voice was low and smooth, just like you’ve always known it. But nervousness curled around his words, the hesitance before each one clear as day. It was a stark contrast to the confident, almost cocky tone in which he carried himself within all his other songs.

It made your heart flutter in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

“This is a cover.” He chuckled softly before his voice turned to a mumble. “God this is mortifying.”

You didn’t even realise that you were smiling. The corners of your lips had curled up almost involuntarily. There was something incredibly endearing about the way he sounded so vulnerable, so unsure of himself, and it only made you want to hear more.

“So–uhm. I hope you enjoy, ___.”

Oh, how you loved the way he said your name. The way the word fell from his tongue; like he was born to utter your name over and over again. It felt like a caress, soft and gentle, wrapping around you like a blanket on a cold winter night. You could almost see him there, sitting in front of his microphone, his eyes closed as he let your name slip past his lips.

He plucked the string of a guitar, the high-pitched sound quickly lost to his voice as he began to sing.

The familiarity of the song washed over you, a wave of nostalgia that tugged at your heartstrings. It was a cover of the same song you heard in the elevator a few days ago. The same one you had mentioned to him in passing. The same one he remembered to be your favourite.

He remembered, and it was almost pathetic how such a simple gesture had you feeling things that hadn’t been awakened in your heart for a dreadfully long time.

His voice filled the space with a melodic warmth that seemed to wrap around you like a comforting embrace. You leaned into the embrace—leaned in closer to the laptop in an attempt to be as close to him as you could so that you wouldn’t miss a single word. It felt as if he were singing directly to you as if every note was meant for your ears only.

His voice reminded you of honey; smooth, sweet, clear, and so fucking addicting. You could feel yourself getting lost in it, letting it seep into your very being, soothing parts of you that you didn’t even realise needed healing.

Unfortunately, the song was short. He had only sung half of it, lasting only around a minute and a half. But the enchanting melody lingered in the air long after he finished. You found yourself replaying it in your mind, trying to hold on to the feeling it gave you, not wanting it to fade away too soon.

“I hope I did the song justice.” A breathy laugh. “If I ended up ruining it for you forever, I’m sorry.”

If only he knew how much you would treasure his cover of the song in your heart, or how you would play the CD almost every day because you liked listening to his voice. How you would wake up every morning and–for the first time in a long while–would find yourself looking forward to change.

Looking forward to him.

[skzthelomlhehe]

A lustful collab

Masterlist Total Masterlist

Tag reqs: @arestoucries

Genre: music, fluff, smut, romance, slice of life.

Warnings: sexual descriptions (as the genre suggests)- fingering, harsh language, bleeding, first time, unprotected sex.

Description: In love with your voice he asks for a collaboration. You invite him to your studio but seeing how he was gonna be late you decide to do... Questionable things. And alas he walks in on you doing that cuz you're dumb and forgot to lock the fucking door and things get spicy hehe~

A/N: Heyy! This is my first time writing at Tumblr and also my first take on smut that isn't roleplay lmao the story itself is mostly fluff with smut in between. Hope it doesn't get too stretchy eeee- I literally came up with the plot while listening to connected fr and got even more inspiration from MOVIE by JUNNY srs! anyways~ hope this little delulu one shot can feed yalls delulu hearts~ also PS: A warning is given before the smut starts JUST IN CASE idk why I added it but I did lmao

Vibe with:

It was a beautiful autumn noon. Birds chirping, people probably at home napping or at work or whatever. The street was empty and you were inside your room working on your new song at your parents' house. After a while of humming and singing, you put down your guitar and took off your headphones before looking out the window of your room.

A quiet and peaceful afternoon painted with golden hues of the pretty sunset. Perfect time to record your song. So you decided to take your things which included your guitar, phone, a big tripod and a black foldable chair.

You headed out to the yard with your hands full of stuff barely managing your balance and not accidentally tumbling over and risking every bit of fortune you spent on your set up.

Upon reaching, you successfully manage to put down your stuff in the correct position which was unusual given your extraordinarily clumsy nature. But oh well, luck was just on your side. After you were done with all the silly little labor you finally sat in your chair and started recording. The melody flew gracefully, your guitar cooperated and didn't buzz as your hands guided each note, your voice obeyed your pleas and didn't crack but escaped your lips soft and smooth. The rhymes flowed by as if it were a river devoid of any bounds and for once you didn't feel disrupted or out of breath. Everything went down smoothly which was, once again, quite unusual given your tendency of taking a thousand takes.

All this while, your eyes remained shut as if naturally. You couldn't open them and frankly, neither did you want to. You preferred the soft breeze that tickled your skin, making your hair flow just the tiniest bit. As your song came to an end, you slowly opened your eyes and switched off the recording. Just as you were about to check the video you just took, you were startled by a soft clap followed by a deep, husky yet smooth voice. One that you knew a bit too well. "That was so beautiful! You've got an amazing voice, mate!" The voice spoke out. You looked up, utterly shocked thinking your ears were playing tricks on you. But when you did look up, your heart skipped a beat. In a good way obviously!

There he stood, an averagely tall man, eyes sparkling as if millions of stars were held in them, the dimples at the end of the corner of his smile made you feel like you would drown in them and you honestly don't complain. His hair curled perfectly into a neat fuzz. These details, you knew it too well. A bit too well. Christopher, a well known musician who was the heart throb of many. He's your idol, someone you look upto a lot and also the one who inspired you to go against your family's disapproval and start a career in music. If not for him, you wouldn't be here making music right now.

you quickly put down your guitar on the chair and grabbed your phone stuffing it in your pocket while rushing to him who was standing behind the fence out on the sidewalk. "O-oh gosh thank you...! You flatter me!" You said flustered. You could feel your face getting hotter. Shy? Embarrassed? Flustered? Anything that falls into the similar synonym spectrum, you felt it.

"I'm serious! You make a great deal of a singer." He said, his smile Perking up hiding his eyes. He extended out his hand in a gesture of a shake, "I'm Chris by the way. Just moved here a few days back, nice to meet you!" And almost immediately like the silly fangirl you were, you held his hand, albeit gently unlike those psychos who don't know personal space and bowed "I-I'm Y/N!! It's very nice to meet you too sir!" And with that you just buried your self-esteem deep inside the ground. Sir? Seriously? You could do better Y/N.

Upon blurting out whatever you said, you were met with a rather charming chuckle. You looked up to see the man in front of you laughing, still holding your hand and covering a teeny bit of his smile with his other hand. "You're a funny one, Y/N!" He said, still having the after effects of the little laugh. He let go of your hand, you felt a little disappointed when he did so but you didn't bother to make an expression out of it. "So it seems you live around here? Ive heard you sing but never really saw you before." He spoke, possibly making small talks. "Ah no I used to live here. This is my parents' house, I come by every other week. I live 3 blocks away actually." You spoke quite calmly even though there was a storm raging inside your mind. But no one needs to know that except you and me right? Moving on!

"Ahh~ I see~ well! We'll still be seeing each other some time, no? Can I have your number? I don't really have many friends my age round here." He pulled out his phone and held it in front of you expecting you to type your number in. "o-oh sure..!" You took his phone rather abruptly cuz once again you're clumsy cuz why not~ and typed your number in. You made a quick call from his phone and saved your number in his. You handed him the phone before taking yours out and saving it as well. "great! So I'll text later yeah? I gotta run now, but I'll see you later?" He spoke, looking at you expectantly. You just nodded with a bright smile. "That's that then! See ya, mate!" He cheerfully bid you goodbye, turning away and looking at you one last time with a wink and waving his hands in a peace sign.

That was when you went into a faze. And the next thing you know, you're lying in bed, your stuff neatly organized. "So uhh... I was singing in the yard, someone came, said I sang great, the someone so happed to be my fucking crush and idol and he asked me for my number and he said he'll text me... He... He asked... He ASKED FOR MY FUCKING NUMBER OH MY FUCKING GOD IS THIS A DREAM?!?!?!" After taking your sweet sweet time processing whatever happened you started kicking your feet like a teeny tiny little girl in Love even though you're a fucking (your age) year old woman. (Y'all freaky minors I see you so you better get going)

And then all of a sudden amidst your delulu moment, you get jolted awake to reality by a text notification. When you open your screen your face lights up into a bright ass smile, heart in your eyes and just- delulu all over again.

And just like that you snatched yourself a date (not really) with your favourite local artist! How lucky aren't you? Anyways~ you looked at the clock and it was 4:16 pm already. You rushed up, swifting through your closet only to find nothing wearable. "Do I really not have anything here??? Why did I take everything there with me ugh!!!!" You whisper yelled cuz after your little yelling sesh earlier the last thing you want is for people (especially Chris) to think you're crazy. After failing to find anything wearable you quickly grabbed your things and drove off to your studio.

After a lot of deciding you finally found an outfit you wanted to wear and quickly headed into the shower. And after managing to shower, get dressed, put make up on and do any other finishing touches you were finally ready! You took one last look at yourself into the mirror and felt extremely self satisfied. The clock showed 5:35 pm and it takes about 15 minutes to get there by taxi and the last thing you want is to be late. So you hurried down and got yourself a ride and right to the cafe you went.

You've been to this cafe for a good long while now. It was your favourite spot to chill and the bells attached to the door was always a calming welcome for you. This time although, that same ring sent shivers down your spine. And you didn't know why. You were, as usual, greeted by a gentle young man who was pleased to see one of the regulars back again.

"a single seat again?" He asked as you entered. You shook your head, "not this time boy! I've got company" and soon a giggle left your lips followed by a confused, curious and pleased 'oh?' from the man. He smiled and led you to a comfortable seat. A perfect seat is what you considered it. A big glassed window which gave the perfect view of the lit up streets outside. The cafe was warm and cozy like its name. You took your coat off and draped it over the chair lean before taking a seat. After few minutes of waiting which seemed like hours your clock showed 5:56 pm. You were starting to get worried. Was he gonna ditch you? Were you gonna get stood up by a person you admire so much?

As you let yourself spiral into your overthinking, you were brought back to reality with a knock on the wooden table, "hello? Anyone there? Earth to Y/N!" You looked up, blood rising to your face making it warmer. "A-ah yes! S-sorry about that. I sorta uh... Lost myself there, heh." You mumbled, loud enough for him to hear albeit quite faint. "Right, it's all good!" The man took a seat in front of you, "lovely view." He said, looking out the window. "Ah... Lovely indeed." Your awestruck fangirl eyes stayed glued to this man's face, observing every little detail. His beautifully curly brown hair, big lips that stretched into a smile, that deep and gorgeous dimple that dug at the end of the corner of his smile. Lovely... He was more than just lovely.

"So... Which one of the view is lovely here, exactly?" You didn't realise he was looking at you. His right elbow rested on the table while his tilted head rested on his palm, his face painted with a shimmering smile.

You were dazed by the view in front of you, "You..." You muttered, your head falling off your palms, "N-no I mean both! I mean- no- the outside- or like no uh maybe both? Uh- ah! I don't know!" You hid your face within your hands and heard a soft chuckle. That chuckle tickled your ears turning them bright red.

After much awkward blabbering you guys finally got down to business. Having discussed a few of the details, you guys agreed to meet on the weekends in your studio since his new studio wasn't fully done yet. You both decided to discuss further details and make a contract on Saturday at your studio.

Time passed by in the blink of an eye. Before you know it, you guys have had chatted endless conversations in the meantime. Gotten much more closer. And before you knew it, your phone display showed 8:35 AM on a Saturday morning. Chris was supposed to arrive at 12:30 pm, grab lunch with you and then work on the song.

You looked around realising your room was a total mess. You had 4 hours to clean everything up, shower and get ready and you were quite determined.

You cleared everything up, every Speck of dust lying around was removed in what felt like an instant. You quickly took an everything shower. Washing your hair, shaving, skincare etc etc everything.

After all was done, you checked your phone again. The time showed 12:23 PM. You felt content, giving your chest a light pat of approval. You put on some casual clothes and put up your hair into a messy bun. You patted on some powder, a little blush, tad bit of eyeliner and some soft lip tint to tie it all together.

Just when you were done with everything, you heard your door bell ring. Anticipation grew with each step you took running to your front door. "coming!" You yelled.

Opening the door felt like opening it to a beam of light. You were greeted by a warm smile and a "Hey, pretty!" In the softest most endearing tone youve ever heard. It was like music to your ears. You replied with a "hey handsome~" as a giggle left both your lips.

You knew better than to delude yourself but right now... For a tiny bit... You wanted to think this was more than just some collaboration and something perhaps a little more special. Although getting to Collab with this man was a great deal of honor in itself.

You guys drove to the restaurant in his car. The way his veiny hands glided on the steering wheel made you feel things. The way he spoke, the way he sat there driving, the way he laughed, the way the wind ruffled his hair ever so softy, everything made butterflies rage inside your stomach.

You guys vibed to some music, both singing in tune as he drove. At the restaurant you both chatted while waiting for the food. Chris, curious of the food you were having, took a small bite and regretted immediately with how spicy it was. He coughed "good- lords! How do you eat that?" You chuckled. "or you're just too much of a baby to handle even this little bit of spice? You even have food on your face!" "Eh? Where?" He scanned through the corners of his lips trying to wipe the food away. Watching him struggle, you took a piece of tissue and leaned in to wipe it for him. It felt like time stopped, like some kind of a cliche rom com movie. You both stared at each other for a few moments before he cleared his throat. You sat back down clearing your throat as well.

After the lunch, you both came back to your place. For a second it was awkward but that tension was soon killed as he initiated a small talk that dragged into a conversation.

Getting home, you both talked about the collab. You both jotted down a small contract that his manager would review later to confirm it. But you guys were too excited to wait for any of that and decided to start working on the song.

You both presented ideas you guys had come up with in the meantime. While he took a look at the sheet of printed paperwork you switched on your computer. Time flowed like a river with clear path.

"Should we make some alterations in that part?" He spoke, pointing his pen towards the lit up computer screen. "Which one? This?" You moved your cursor towards the line and selected it. "No not that one, the one below. Here this-" without much thought, his hand trailed to the mouse and placed right about your hand. He clicked the line he had originally pointed to, "I think we could make it a little more feely here-" he paused and realised where his hand was. He looked at you, your face flushed a cute shade of pink. Seeing you, his face, too, flushed in a soft blush before he abruptly took his hand away. "R-right yeah we uh we could do that"

You looked away, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear as you bit your lower lip feeling a slight sense of disappointment having him pulled away. His hand was big on yours, the warm weight of it felt comforting. You've had your hand held by a lot of people, family, friends, exes. But this particular moment made you feel like your hand was on fire and frankly, so was your entire body.

You felt a wet slick in your lady down there. You quickly excused yourself to the restroom. You had considered that maybe it was... Something else ... But you had thought maybe it was just your period coming a day earlier. But once you had made it into the restroom, you realised, it was, in fact, what you had anticipated and that anticipation was definitely not your period.

You went back, things seemed a tad bit awkward. You didn't like it. You didn't like it at all. You hated the tension that had been created just because of a trivial matter like mistakenly putting his hand on yours while reaching for the mouse. Although the tension was there, you guys still managed to get some work done. After a while, Chris got a call from his manager asking him to get home since it was already 9:12 pm.

Time sure flew. You wished time would stop so you could spend more time with him but you knew you couldn't. So you swallowed down your disdain and walked him to the exit bidding him goodbye. It was bitter, but it is what it is.

You went back in finding yourself in a faze again. You could barely make sense of anything that was happening. You saved the progress on your computer and went straight to bed because frankly, you didn't have any energy left for anything else.

(just imagine some spicy stuff cuz idk how to write a wet dream 💀)

The next day, you woke up to your kitty feeling extra soaked. You groaned thinking it was the after effects of the wet dream you just had. But to your utter surprise and absolute agony, it was none other than that annoying cousin you despised. That's right ladies, you got your period. Periodt.

You took a quick shower before cleaning up last night's mess. You knew your cramps were about to HIT today. And you dreaded it. You could barely move around the entire day because of the excruciating pain you were in. No wonder your sex drive was so high and you felt pain in your waist for the past week.

Time ticked to 6 PM and it was about time Chris arrived. And just on time, you heard your doorbell ring. You tried your best not to look too groggy. You opened the door to his bright smile again, all the tension out the window. You smiled back, your abdomen almost on the verge of busting.

"Hey... You alright?" He asked, his eyes glistening in concern. "Y-yeah... I just got my period today and the cramps are wild." You replied. "oh... Then... Should I leave? I mean-.. I don't wanna cause you any more pain" you couldn't believe how painfully nice he was. Gosh he was just... So considerate. But you didn't want to miss this opportunity. You didn't want to wait an entire week. "No! No it's okay! I can do it! Don't worry!" You blurted. "alright then. But let me know if you're in any pain ok?" He wanted to make you feel comfortable and just him being so considerate made you feel like you could get through a thousand cramps.

You nodded before letting him in. You guys started working on the song again. But unfortunately, as optimistic as you were before, you couldn't help but feel the pain resurface ever so often. The pain felt harder each time it returned. At some point you couldn't help but groan, clenching at your tummy.

"Are you... Are you ok? You don't look too good." He held your shoulder ever so softly. "Ye-yeah I just... Need to use the restroom real quick. I'll be back." "Sure, take your time."

Just as you were about to stand up, your legs gave out and you tripped. Chris, who was right there, happened to catch you in time. Had you fell, your head wouldve went straight to the corner of the table cracking it open. Your heart raced. But, you couldn't tell if it was out of fear or the fact that you were practically groping his chest. Or maybe it was both.

You got up in a rush, your head felt fuzzy. "ah im- im so sorry! I didn't mean to!" "No- no it's alright! You were about to fall so I just... It's okay I don't mind... I mean... Uhh I would mind if it was some random person who just got all over me without permission but uhh what I mean is it's alright I didn't think anything of it..." He looked away turning his head, his ears a bright red.

You hurried off to the restroom and locked the door. "Stupid stupid! You stupid girl! Agh why did you have to fall on him??" You whisper yelled. Your hands still felt warm from the sensation. Your nipples had perked up and you felt aroused out of your mind. But you didn't want to feel it. You didn't want to be a creep and make him uncomfortable.

Time skip ...

A month had passed now. You guys got even more closer now. In the meantime you had many more physical contacts that ignited sparks within you. The sessions didn't last in tensed awkwardness anymore and you guys were having fun.

You were checking out your calender as usual to check out if you had something important in the coming days. Your period for this month had ended two days ago, you were supposed to have a doctor's appointment on Tuesday and the rent was due on Thursday. Everything was checked out. You looked at your phone that showed 10:34 am on a Saturday.

You suddenly get a text and your face brightens up when you see the sender of it.

If this was a while ago, you would find it illegal to even think of getting coffee with THE Christopher. Asking him to bring along coffee and having him treat you to pastry as an apology just would've felt illegal and a faraway day dream. But here we are.

You flopped down on your bed, scrolling through the gallery in your phone. It had endless pictures of Chris. Even more of him than you, your family and friends combined.

You squealed with every picture as you realised again and again how attractive he was and this very man was coming over every other weekend for a collab. It was just... So unreal to you.

{Warning: here the smut starts so if you're not ok with that please skip until you see a divider. Thank you.}

As you were thinking of all this, you found yourself feeling a tad bit aroused. You put your phone down as you glided your hand through your body gradually sliding in down inside your shorts.

You rubbed your clit that had been a swollen bud and your hole had been leaking ever since, thirsting for a little action. You pulled your shirt up revealing your breasts as they bounced and you pulled your pants down. Your pants hung by your ankle as you slowly rubbed your entrance gently.

It throbbed. It wanted more. You started thrusting your finger in. First your middle, then both your middle and ring finger and soon your index as well. You gradually became a moaning mess. Occassionally calling out Christopher's name under your breath as you fondled your boobs.

Oh how you wished he were here with you. As you were in your moments of pleasure laying unbeknownst of anything, a thud jolted you awake from your fantasy.

You looked towards the door of your room realising the clear view of your kitty you had put on to anyone who stood there. Horror overcame you as you realised who was standing at the door. Chris. His bag had fallen, possibly due to shock of seeing you like that.

His face was utterly surprised. You quickly closed your widely spread apart legs scrambling to hide but it just didn't work out. "h-how are you here?!" You asked, shame and guilt overcoming you. "We-well the door was unlocked and I called out to you but you didn't hear me an-and I just-" his face brightened red. You looked down unknowingly and realised he had a painful bulge that looked like it would pop out any moment now.

"y-you... Why are you..." You pointed, he looked down and quickly hid it. "I'm oh lords I'm so sorry! I didn't-"

As if your body moved on its own, you got off the bed and walked closer to him. He stumbled as you did, "wha- what are you-"

"don't you..." You shut him off, "don't you feel repulsed? You heard everything didnt you?" "I- I mean I did hear you... Calling my name but.. uh.. no no... I ... I don't feel repulsed... Not in the slightest!" He blurted out. You weren't usually the bold type but today, for some reason, you felt unstoppable. You took the bag of coffee from his hand and set it down on the shelf near the door. "So... You're turned on by what you saw?" He looked away turning his head before softly nodding. That nod in itself made you even bolder. You slowly glided your hands to his shoulders, letting your arms rest around his neck as you leaned closer making him flinch.

"Come on, Chris... Look at me..." You whispered. "N-no I..." "But... I want you to look at me." You looked at him with sparkly eyes. He looked at you clenching his fists trying his best not to lose himself.

"Do you... Want to touch me...?"

"I shouldn't..."

"it's not about should or shouldn't... Do you want to? Or not?"

He clenched his jaw, unable to speak anything. You leaned in closer to his face. "if you don't want it... Push me away right now..."

And with that, you leaned in even more. Both of your lips not even an inch away from each other. You could feel his warm breath against your skin. You felt so... So turned on. You'd have thought he would push you away. But to your utter surprise...

He grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you in to a kiss. You flinched and were caught off guard but soon gave in to the passionate kiss. He was rushed, but not too much. It felt good. Your lips touched in perfect harmony. You mewled as you felt his tongue on your lips. Without any complaints you let him in.

Your tongues twirled in a beautiful rhythm. Your breaths clashed with each other. You grabbed onto him a little tighter, pulling him in towards the bed. He pushed you on the bed, kissing you again.

You broke the kiss, unbuckling his pants revealing his throbbing member. His dick was nice and long. Perfectly thick and girthy. You panted at the sight of it and your pussy throbbed. You wanted him. You want to take him.

You got up and pushed him down on the bed as you got on your knees. "Can I...?" You asked and he nodded biting his lips. You could see it in his eyes. Just how eager he was. He huffed as you blowed softly on his tip.

You rubbed it against your soft cheek making him groan. He was already overflowing with precum. You slowly glided your finger through his member. It both scared and aroused you to see his size and how veiny it was. It was throbbing and flinching every now and then.

"just... Do it alreadyy.." he begged and you couldn't wait to comply. You slowly started shoving it inside your face. Licking every bit of it. He threw his head back grasping onto your hair, pushing your head further down. You moaned again finding it incredibly hard to take it all in.

You choked as his tip hit the back of your throat and he let you go instantly. "Ah! Im sorry! Are you ok?" He asked pulling you closer to your face cupping your cheeks. "Yeah.. I'm.. I'm okay. I just don't have much experience with deep throating." You spoke still catching your breath. "it's ok if you don't want to. I don't wanna force you to do something you don't enjoy."

"no it's alright. I want to do it. So just relax." You went back to his groin. This time, taking it slow. Rubbing his member and licking the tip slowly preparing to him all in. Steadily you start putting it inside your mouth. It felt weird at first and you felt overwhelmed but you were determined. You wanted him to feel good.

It gave you immense pleasure when you heard his groans and moans. "Fuck baby you're so hot..." He moaned under his breath. That just aroused you even more. You went back up to his face, kissing him passionately. He pushed you down on the bed and took off his shirt.

Good lords that was the most sexiest and hottest thing you've ever seen. He soon made his way down between your thighs. First kissing your inner thighs along with soft bites that sent shivers down your spine. You yelped a moan when you felt his fingers circling your poor swollen bud and moaned even more when you found him licking it. You thanked your soundproof walls. You thanked yourself who worked endlessly to afford that soundproofing. It just meant you could moan as much as you wanted.

"Shit... Chris... Im... Fuck im so close...!" You mewled. He came up to your face, kissing you relentlessly again as if he was just going to devour you. "can... Can I put it in..?" He asked with these adorable puppy eyes. You felt his tip rubbing against your entrance. "yes.. god... Yes please... I need to Chris... I need you so much... Fuck just put it in already..." You moaned. You couldn't take it anymore. You needed him. You needed him so bad.

"but... There's no condom? Should I go buy some?" He said pulling away and almost getting up. You wrapped your arms around him and pulled him closer. "Fuck condoms just do it! Im safe." (A/N: please use condoms even if you're safe. Your partner might not be safe 💀)

And without much ado, he started shoving it in. It was your first time. You didn't expect it to hurt so much. A drop of tear trickled down your face as you gasped in shock. "agh... Ah fuck... Fuck fuck fuck that hurts ngh..." You cried. It hurt. It hurt so much. You could feel your hymen tearing apart. Blood trickled down your hole. "fuck... Im sorry... Just... A little more... I promise it'll feel better..." Chris reassured you. He pulled you into a tight hug kissing your shoulders and neck. You cried in pain. It was even more painful than you had imagined.

You wrapped both your hands and legs around him. It was painful, but you wanted to keep going. After a while, it was in. His whole dick was completely inside you, wrapped by your walls. "I'm in... Im in..." He huffed. A wave of relief flooded over you. It hurt, but it was starting to feel a little better now.

He gently started moving. Each thrust started making the pain leave your body. And before you knew it, you were overcome by pleasure. Once what was a cry of pain turned to cry of pleasure.

You moaned loudly over and over again calling out his name. "Fuck angh Chris...! Aah... That... That feels so good nngh.." you moaned.

He thrusted inside you, relentlessly. "good fuck baby you feel so damn good... Oh gosh you're so pretty... You're so beautiful... Fuck I love you so much..." He moaned back. You were caught off guard. "you... You what...?" Another tear trickled down your face. Your heart raced like crazy. "I... Im sorry but... I just happened to feel it I... I don't know..." He stopped thrusting feeling hesitant. You smiled before placing a soft kiss on his lips. "Why'd you stop, silly? I love you too... I always have... It feels like a dream to be here like this with you..." You pull him closer. He sniffles, his eyes teary and he smiles before kissing you and thrusting again.

He hugged you, kissing and sucking on your nipples leaving hickeys where only he can see. You suddenly felt a knot form inside your belly. And you knew what it was. "Shit Chris... Im... Im close... Im so close..." You mewled. "I'm... Im close too... Let's... Let's cum together yeah?" He groaned. "Yeah... Yeah let's do that..." You huffed.

Before you know it, his pace fastened and so did both of your grunts and moans. The room filled with noises you made and the noises of skin slapping, kissing and sucking.

And at last, that knot loosened and you felt yourself flinching and trembling and reached your climax. He quickly pulled it out and came on your belly before falling on you. Both of your pants unsteady. He turned to lay down on the bed, your head on his arm. "Fuck... That felt so good..." He huffed. "Yeah... It did.."

.......................

{smut ends here lmao}

After a while of laying there and catching up on breathing. You both decided to take a shower together and clean up. Having done that, you both made your way to the bed and laid next to each other.

"So... You like me?" Chris asked as he caressed your head gently. In embarrassment, you hid your face in his mascular chest. "We-well... I've been a huge fan of yours for a while now and... I've always liked you but... Ever since we've met... I couldn't help but develop feelings more than that of a fan to her idol..." You replied shyly.

"that's... Quite nice to hear actually..." He smiled. You looked at him, your chin rested on his chest. "what about you?" You asked.

"hmm... I've actually seen you before. You performed in the 'Railway Bar and Restaurant' right?"

"Oh yeah... I did. Don't tell me... That was the first time you saw me?"

"I did! I was amazed by your performance. Shortly after I saw you all over my tok tik and tube-you (names are funny cuz I'm pretending to be funny hehe). I really liked the music you made and I wanted to meet your for the longest time. You caught my eye like none other. So when I met you again, I couldn't help but feel this... Attraction towards you."

Your face flushed red. You couldn't believe what you were hearing. It felt like you were dreaming. "So... What are we now...?" You asked, unsure if you should ask to begin with. "I don't know... What do you want us to be?" He asked. "I... Kinda want us to date..." You spoke hesitantly. It felt illegal to ask him that.

But surprisingly enough again, he chuckled. "Sure let's do that." You looked at him in disbelief. He was smiling. And he wasn't lying. He wasn't kidding, he wasn't playing. He really wanted it too. You couldn't help but giggle. He placed a soft kiss on your forehead and then on your lips.

Time skip again....

Another few months later, the collab was finally done and posted. It turned out to be a super hit. Both your and his fandom went crazy over it. At first you both wanted to keep your relationship private but one day a fan saw you guys on a date in a cafe. You were scared his fan would be mad and throw a tantrum but what you didn't expect was that she would start squealing and saying how she was expecting it because of the collab.

A few weeks later you guys came out public. There were two sides of the fans. One side was toxic. They bashed you both for the choice you made. But the majority were nice and supported your decisions.

It was overwhelming, to say the least, but you guys were together and that's what mattered. Both your families loved each other as well. Although your family was a bit hesitant at first, they soon caved in to both your career and your relationship.

Things were looking up and you were happier than ever. Your face was all over different social media platforms, in a good way. Your popularity increased significantly and people loved the music you made.

Now the rest of the story? That's for you to write :3

This is the end of "The lusfut Collab" and I hope you guys enjoyed it! See you again with another oneshot! Byeee!