#you being there is an inconvenience and maybe it’s a front for something but the food is good

[28harryssunflower]

Beneath the badge

The precinct was quiet at this hour, just the hum of a few late-night officers shuffling through paperwork. The coffee machine gurgled, filling the air with the scent of burnt caffeine.

Harry sat at the small break room table, fingers drumming against his cup, though the coffee had long gone cold. Across from him, you leaned back in your chair, idly scrolling through your phone, completely at ease. Like you weren’t the biggest contradiction he had ever met.

He let the silence linger, watching you, waiting. Then, finally, he spoke.

“I know what you are.”

You didn’t even look up. “And what’s that, Styles? A better cop than you?,“ you laughed and kept scrolling on your phone.

He scoffed, shaking his head. “You can drop the act. I know you’re involved with the mafia.”

That made you pause. Just for a second. Then you let out a sharp laugh, shaking your head. “Jesus, you’re still on this?”

He leaned forward, eyes locked onto you. “Every time we get close to making a major bust, the targets disappear. Someone’s tipping them off. And somehow, none of our cases against organized crime ever hold up in court.” His voice dropped lower. “You expect me to believe that’s a coincidence?”

You finally looked up at him then, tilting your head as if studying him. There was no fear in your expression, no hesitation - just quiet amusement.

“I expect you to believe in facts,” you said smoothly, setting your phone down. “Not whatever conspiracy theory you’ve cooked up in that pretty head of yours. I don’t know what you’re hoping to find, but there’s nothing there, Harry. So stop looking, for Christ’s sake“

The way you said it - so calm, so certain - sent a chill down his spine.

“And if I don’t?” he challenged.

You held his gaze for a long moment, then sighed as if he were nothing more than a frustrating child. “Then you’re wasting your time.”

With that, you stood, grabbed your empty coffee cup, and brushed past him like the conversation meant nothing. Like you weren’t hiding a double life right under his nose.

Harry watched you walk out of the break room, jaw tight.

He wasn’t wasting his time. And he was going to prove it.

The night air was cold, the streets slick from an earlier rain. Harry sat in his car, parked a few blocks away from the old warehouse, gripping the steering wheel tightly. His heart pounded as he watched you step out of your vehicle and disappear inside.

He had followed you from the station, keeping his distance, headlights off. Every instinct screamed at him to turn back, to leave this alone. But he had come too far to stop now.

After waiting a few minutes, he climbed out of his car and moved toward the building, keeping to the shadows. There were guards at the front entrance, so he circled the perimeter, looking for another way in. A fire escape. A side door. Anything.

Then, movement.

Before he could react, strong arms grabbed him from behind, twisting his wrists back. A sharp pain exploded in his temple as something hard struck him, and the world spun.

Darkness.

Harry woke to the sensation of cold metal biting into his wrists and ankles. His head throbbed, his vision swimming as he blinked against the dim light. The basement was small, the air damp and freezing. A single flickering bulb cast eerie shadows along the concrete walls.

He tried to shift, but the restraints held tight. His entire body ached, and when he exhaled, it came out as a shaky, pained breath.

Then, footsteps. Slow, deliberate.

You stepped into the room, hands in the pockets of your coat, looking at him like he was an inconvenience.

“I told you to stop looking for clues,” you sighed. “Why didn’t you just listen?”

Harry let out a weak chuckle, though it hurt to even breathe. “Maybe because I don’t like being lied to.”

“Lied to?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow. “I never lied. I told you there was nothing to find. You’re the one who didn’t listen.”

His fingers curled into fists, the restraints digging into his skin. “You’re a goddamn cop. A fucking police sergeant, Y/N! Or at least, that’s what you want everyone to believe.”

“And yet, here we are.”

There was something so infuriatingly calm about the way you said it, like none of this mattered. Like his life wasn’t currently at your mercy.

His temper flared. “Go to hell.”

You tilted your head, considering him. Then, with a small scoff, you turned to the men standing by the door.

“Do what you want with him,” you said. “Just don’t kill him. He might still be useful later.”

Harry barely had time to process your words before you turned and walked out, leaving him alone with the men who had no problem carrying out your orders.

Time blurred. Hours? Days? He wasn’t sure anymore.

The beatings came in waves. Sometimes they asked him questions - who else knew about his suspicions, what he had found, what he was planning to do with it. Other times, they didn’t bother asking anything at all.

The pain became a constant, his body screaming in protest with every shallow breath. His wrists were raw from the restraints, his entire body bruised and bloodied.

When the door finally creaked open again, he barely had the strength to lift his head.

You stepped inside, arms crossed, eyes sweeping over him with something unreadable.

“You look like absolute shit, Styles.”

He let out a weak, breathless chuckle. “Yeah? Well, you still look like a traitorous bitch, so I guess we’re even.”

Your expression didn’t change. You took a slow step forward. “What am I supposed to do with you now?”

He licked at his split lip, tasting blood. “You could let me go.”

You hummed, considering. “Tempting. But you and I both know that’s not happening.”

Silence stretched between you.

Finally, you sighed. “You never should’ve followed me.”

Harry forced himself to meet your gaze. Even now, something sharp and defiant still burned in his eyes. “Yeah? Well, I don’t regret it.”

Something flickered across your face - Annoyance? Amusement? He couldn’t tell.

You turned toward the door. “I’ll figure something out.”

Then, you were gone again.

Harry exhaled shakily, resting his head back against the cold chair.

He wasn’t sure what scared him more - the thought that he might not make it out of here, or the fact that, despite everything, you still weren’t sure what to do with him.

Harry wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take.

Pain was a dull, constant presence now, a steady throb in his ribs, his arms, his legs. His face felt swollen, his body a canvas of bruises and open wounds. Every breath hurt, every shift of his weight sent agony shooting through his bones.

But worse than the pain was the waiting. The silence between beatings, between visits.

And worst of all was you.

When you came back, it wasn’t with fists or threats. You simply stood there, watching him, studying him.

Like he was a problem you still hadn’t figured out how to solve.

Harry forced himself to lift his head as you stepped into the cold basement once more, the door creaking shut behind you. You weren’t dressed like a cop now. No badge, no uniform. Just dark clothes, tailored and expensive, the kind that belonged to someone in power.

Not a police sergeant.

A crime boss.

You crossed your arms, leaning against the wall, eyes sweeping over him. “Still breathing?”

Harry let out a weak, humorless chuckle, though it hurt to even smile. “Disappointed?”

You tilted your head. “Not yet.”

His jaw clenched. “You just here to watch me bleed, or are we gonna get to the part where you pretend you don’t know what to do with me?”

You exhaled, tapping a finger against your arm. “You’re really pushing your luck, Styles.”

“What luck?” he shot back. “I’m tied to a fucking chair in your basement, covered in my own blood. I’d say whatever luck I had ran out the second you decided to have me dragged in here.”

You didn’t argue. Didn’t deny it. You just studied him, like you were waiting for him to break.

Harry didn’t break.

“I don’t get it,” he muttered after a long silence. “You had every chance to kill me. Could’ve put a bullet in my head the second your men dragged me inside. Would’ve been easier. Cleaner.” He narrowed his swollen eyes at you. “But you didn’t.”

You sighed and pushed off the wall, stepping closer. “You think I want to kill you?”

“I think you’re stalling.”

You didn’t answer right away.

And that told him everything.

Harry let out a dry laugh. “Jesus. You really don’t know what to do with me, do you?”

You clicked your tongue, pacing slowly. “You’re a problem, Styles. A stubborn, reckless, insufferable problem.”

He smirked, wincing at the sharp pain it sent through his split lip. “And yet, here I am. Still alive.”

You stopped walking, turning to face him. “For now.”

Another silence stretched between you.

Then, with a sigh, you crouched in front of him, your voice dropping to something quieter. “Tell me, Harry - what am I supposed to do with you?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “Let me go.”

You huffed a laugh. “Right. And then what? You run back to the precinct, tell everyone what you’ve seen? Watch as they either laugh in your face or mysteriously drop the case before it even starts?”

His blood ran cold at that.

You shook your head, voice calm. “You think you’re the first cop to figure it out? To start asking questions?” You leaned in just slightly. “You ever wonder why my other partners all mysteriously disappeared?”

Harry swallowed hard, his throat dry.

There had been whispers before. Officers who got too close to the wrong cases. Cops who disappeared, who wound up dead under suspicious circumstances.

And yet, here he was. Still alive.

“You don’t want me dead,” he muttered, realization settling over him like a weight. “You need me for something.”

Your expression gave nothing away, but you didn’t deny it.

Harry exhaled, shaking his head. “What do you want from me?”

A slow, dangerous smirk tugged at your lips. “Loyalty.”

He let out a weak laugh, the sound rough and bitter. “You’re out of your fucking mind if you think I’d ever work for you.“

You stood, adjusting the cuffs of your sleeves. “I don’t need you to work for me, Harry. I just need you to stop working against me.”

His stomach twisted. “You want me to turn a blind eye.”

“I want you to be smart.” You glanced toward the door. “You’ve got two choices. You leave this basement, and you keep your mouth shut. Or…” You trailed off, eyes dark. “You don’t leave at all.”

Harry clenched his jaw. “You expect me to just walk away from this?”

“I expect you to understand that you don’t have a choice.”

A long silence stretched between you.

Finally, you sighed. “Think about it.” You turned, heading for the door. Before you left, you glanced back over your shoulder. “I’ll come back for your answer.”

Then, you were gone.

Harry sat there, bloodied and broken, his mind spinning.

You were right about one thing. He never had a choice.

But he’d be damned if he let you win.

The hours stretched on. Maybe it had been days; Harry had long lost track of time. The cold concrete floor, the frigid air of the basement, the constant ache in his body. But most of all, the feeling of your absence - the way you always appeared, just when he thought he might lose his mind from the silence. Then you’d leave again, leaving him with nothing but the echo of your words.

“Think about it.”

It was maddening.

He wasn’t sure what he had expected when you walked out of that room. Part of him wanted to think that you’d show a little mercy, maybe offer him a way out. The other part, the more realistic part, knew that mercy wasn’t in your vocabulary. You’d already made it clear how things worked in your world. It was either fall in line or disappear.

But as time wore on, something gnawed at him - a feeling in his gut that he couldn’t shake.

You had shown him more than just power. You had shown him control.

And the way you’d asked, so casually, what he would choose… it wasn’t a question for you. It was a test.

A test that Harry wasn’t sure he was ready to fail.

When the door opened again, Harry didn’t look up immediately. He already knew who it was.

The sound of your footsteps was unmistakable. Heavy, confident. There was a deliberate grace in the way you moved, a quiet authority that made his blood run cold.

“You’re still alive,” you said, almost as if you were surprised.

Harry finally looked up, eyes narrowing at you. His voice was rough, strained, but his defiance still lingered beneath the pain. “And you’re still a fucking bitch.”

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes glinting in the low light. “Careful with that tone, Styles. You’re in no position to talk like that.”

“You can kill me. Or you can let me go. Either way, I don’t give a damn anymore,” Harry spat, his voice raw. “But I won’t work for you. Not now, not ever.”

A slow smile crept across your lips as you studied him, like you were weighing him.

“Is that your final answer?” you asked, voice soft but dangerous.

“I’m not playing your fucking games, Y/N.” He winced as he shifted in the chair, his limbs stiff from the prolonged restraints. “You can’t break me. I won’t be another pawn in your empire.”

Your smile never wavered. You stepped into the room, circling him slowly. “You think I want to break you, Styles?”

Harry didn’t answer, but his brow furrowed.

“You’re a smart man. A cop, even,” you continued, voice calm. “You know how this works. People like me don’t get to the top without making hard choices. Without putting people in situations like this.” You paused just in front of him, your eyes never leaving his face. “But I never said I wanted you broken. I just need you to see the bigger picture.”

“The bigger picture?” Harry echoed, disbelief dripping from his words. “You think I’m going to just accept being part of your little mafia, your fucking criminal syndicate?”

You tilted your head, almost as if you were trying to read him, trying to figure out if he was bluffing. “You could be useful, Harry. More than you think. You’re good at what you do, and you’re smarter than most of the idiots who work for me.”

“Smarter doesn’t mean I’m willing to become a criminal.”

You leaned down, bringing your face closer to his. There was no warmth in your eyes, only cold calculation. “You think this is about criminality? It’s about power, Harry. It’s always been about power.” You straightened, her gaze hardening. “You have a choice: you can either help me take what’s mine, or you can keep resisting and become nothing more than a footnote in my story. It’s your call.”

Harry swallowed, the weight of your words sinking in. He didn’t want to admit it, but part of him - some dark part - understood. You weren’t just another criminal. You were building something. Something vast, something dangerous. The question was, did he want to be part of it? Or was he better off dead?

The silence in the room stretched, thick and suffocating.

Then, with a deep breath, Harry looked you in the eye. “And if I say no?”

“You’ll stay here,” you answered bluntly. “I’ll keep you locked up. Maybe for a day. Maybe longer. It’s up to you.”

Harry’s heart raced, but his voice didn’t falter. “And you’ll keep me alive just long enough to let me watch you take everything?”

You stepped back and sighed, clicking your tongue in mock disappointment. “You’re stubborn, Styles. I’ll give you that.”

Then, you leaned in close enough that he could feel your breath on his skin. “But you’re also smart. Smarter than most. I just need you to stop fighting what’s inevitable.”

He shook his head. “You don’t get it, do you? I’m not your pawn. I’m not your toy.”

You held his gaze, silent for a long moment. Then, finally, you spoke again, voice soft. “You still think you have a choice?”

Harry didn’t answer. His breath came shallow, his mind racing. What did he have left to fight for? His pride? His integrity? The badge he wore, even though it was tainted by this mess you’d dragged him into?

Then, without warning, you turned away, stepping toward the door. “I’ll give you some time, Harry,” you said, your back to him. “Think about it. You’ll make the right decision in the end. Everyone always does.”

Before the door shut behind you, you paused for a second, turning your head just enough to glance at him. “You just have to ask yourself one question: What’s more important? Your life, or your ideals?”

The door closed softly behind you, and Harry was left alone again, the sound of your footsteps echoing down the hallway.

Time didn’t feel real anymore. Harry had no concept of how long he had been in that room. His mind drifted in and out of consciousness, his thoughts a swirling mess of conflicting emotions. Was there a way out? Did he even want to find one?

All he knew was that the choice before him felt impossible. But there was something buried deep inside him - a spark he couldn’t ignore.

You thought you had broken him, thought you had pushed him into a corner. But Harry Styles wasn’t a man who easily surrendered. Not to you. Not to anyone.

He would find a way out.

Even if it meant taking everything you had built down with him.

Harry didn’t expect the change in the air when the door opened again. It was different this time - there was no anger, no bitterness in your presence. Just a quiet, predatory calm, the kind that made his pulse quicken in his chest.

You entered, heels clicking softly against the floor, your steps measured and slow. You weren’t dressed in your usual tactical gear or business attire. No, tonight you were dressed casually - loose, soft fabrics that clung to your body just enough to be dangerous. The kind of clothes that didn’t scream power, but whispered it.

And Harry knew immediately that you weren’t here to negotiate.

You were here to break him.

You stepped closer, the distance between you closing in an instant. Harry’s breath hitched, but he refused to look away from you, even as his heart began to pound in his chest. He could feel the tension in the air thickening, like a storm about to break.

You crouched down in front of him, your eyes never leaving his as you gently brushed a lock of hair from his face, your fingers lingering on his skin a little too long. His entire body tensed at the touch, but he didn’t flinch. He couldn’t - if he did, you would know.

“Harry,” you said softly, your voice almost a purr. “You’re tired. I can see it. You’re tired of fighting me.”

He swallowed thickly, his throat dry. “I’m not tired. I’m resisting.”

You smirked, your lips curving up slowly as you leaned in just a little closer. Your noses brushed together lightly, just enough to make Harry’s skin prickle with heat.

His heart raced, and for a moment, he wondered if he could resist you at all.

You were close enough now that he could feel your breath against his lips. Every small movement, every subtle shift in your body, was an invitation he couldn’t deny - not fully.

He fought to keep his breathing steady. “Don’t do this,” he muttered, voice hoarse and full of warning.

But you ignored it, instead brushing your lips against his in a teasing, barely-there touch. It was so close to a kiss that Harry felt his body react before his mind had time to catch up. He leaned forward instinctively, his lips nearly finding yours.

But then, just as quickly as it began, you pulled away, just out of reach.

Harry froze, his chest heaving as he fought the instinct to reach for you.

“You’re stubborn,” you murmured, your voice a velvet whisper that danced over his skin, teasing and dangerous. “But even the strongest walls crumble eventually.”

Your eyes locked onto his, full of dark amusement. You knew you had him. You were just waiting for him to admit it.

The moment felt stretched, like time itself had slowed down. Harry’s pulse was pounding in his ears. He hated this feeling, hated how his body responded to you despite everything. He couldn’t let you win - not like this.

But then, as if sensing the hesitation, you reached out again. Slowly, purposefully. This time, your hand didn’t just hover near his face. It cupped his cheek, your thumb grazing over his lips.

“Let me make it easier for you,” you said softly. “I can make this all go away, Harry. All you have to do is stop fighting me.”

His chest tightened, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself to believe it. To imagine giving in - to let you take away the pain, the confusion, the endless tug-of-war inside of him.

But just as quickly, the thought vanished.

“No,” he breathed, his voice breaking slightly.

Your smile grew, but there was no kindness in it. Just cold, triumphant knowledge.

“You’re so close, Harry,” you whispered, leaning in again, this time a little more deliberately. “Just let go. Imagine all the power, the protection..”

Before he could stop himself, his lips met yours - soft, hesitant at first, as though he wasn’t sure whether to pull away or lean in deeper.

And then, just as quickly, you pulled back.

You laughed softly, but it wasn’t a laugh of joy. It was cold, a little mocking. “Told you. You’re crumbling. Piece by piece.”

Harry’s eyes flickered with a mix of frustration and disbelief. He had wanted it, wanted to feel the kiss - just a moment of surrender. But you had yanked it away just as he reached for it.

“You’re fucking cruel,” he muttered, struggling against the restraints once more. His chest ached as the reality of the situation hit him - he was out of control.

“Maybe,” you said with a soft chuckle, your hand brushing his hair back once more, a slow caress. “But I’ll give you something this time.”

Without warning, you kissed him again.

This time, it was soft, slow, and real. A kiss that didn’t linger in the air, didn’t taunt him. Your lips pressed gently against his, coaxing him into something he didn’t want to feel.

But Harry couldn’t fight it anymore.

His lips parted slightly, responding despite himself. His body seemed to betray him, urging him closer to you. He closed his eyes, forgetting for a moment the world around him, losing himself in the softness of the kiss that had started as a battle and was now an admission of something he couldn't deny.

You pulled away after a long moment, your lips brushing his one last time before you stood, eyes gleaming with an unreadable expression.

"I'll leave you to think about it, Harry," you said softly, your tone still dangerous but laced with something else-something almost tender. "I’ll give you whatever you want. Let's see what you do with it."

Without another word, you turned and walked out, leaving him alone in the silence once more.

This time, the silence felt heavier than before. Because this time, Harry knew that everything had changed.

His walls were crumbling, bit by bit. And there was no going back.

Harry’s body felt as though it had been run through a grinder, every inch of him aching in a way that made the very thought of movement feel impossible. His head was swimming, his thoughts muddled as he tried to make sense of what had happened over the past few days.

The last time he had truly been awake - aware - was when you kissed him. It felt like a distant memory now, one that wasn’t entirely real, like it belonged to someone else. But now, as the door creaked open again, the faint light spilling into the cold, damp room, Harry knew this was no dream.

Two men, neither of whom he recognized, stepped into the basement. They were tall, broad-shouldered, but there was something almost sympathetic in their eyes - something Harry had never expected to see in people working for you.

One of them knelt down beside him, loosening the restraints around his wrists, while the other offered a hand, a silent offer to help him stand. Harry didn’t trust them. He couldn’t - he was still confused, his mind still reeling from everything that had happened, everything he had just barely survived. But the offer was there, and as much as he hated to admit it, he was in no shape to refuse.

With their help, Harry was slowly guided to his feet. His legs felt like jelly, his body unsteady as he tried to make sense of the reality around him. He tried to shake off the grogginess, but his head still swam, his vision blurred, and every step was a battle of wills against his own body.

The men didn’t say anything as they guided him down the hallway, away from the basement, through winding corridors. Harry could barely focus on where they were going, but when they finally stopped in front of a door and opened it, the warm, steady scent of cleanliness hit him.

A bathroom.

He was led inside, and one of the men stood guard by the door, while the other helped him towards the shower. His body ached even more now, the bruises, the cuts - everything just seemed to scream louder with every move. But there was something about this that felt almost foreign, surreal.

“Take your time,” the man said quietly, before stepping back and closing the door behind him.

Harry stood there for a moment, his gaze settling on the mirror above the sink. He looked like hell. His face was swollen with bruises, his lips split, his body covered in cuts and dark marks from the beating he had endured. His hair was matted, his clothes torn and bloodied.

He didn’t know what to make of it. Why were they helping him?

Shaking his head, Harry stripped off his dirty, torn clothes, stepping into the shower. The hot water hit his skin like a revelation, stinging against the rawness of his wounds, but he couldn’t help the sense of relief that washed over him as the dirt and blood began to disappear.

His thoughts, for the first time in days, became clearer. He knew this wasn’t the end. No, this was something else. You had done this - had brought him here, had kept him alive. But why?

When he stepped out of the shower, his body felt cleaner, though still far from whole. He wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped into a new set of clothes laid out for him. Soft, comfortable fabrics that felt strange on his skin after days of being in that filthy, cold basement.

He didn’t know what was going on. He didn’t know what the next step was.

But he knew one thing - he was about to face you again.

After what seemed like an eternity, Harry was escorted down another hallway, this time with more urgency. His mind was still clouded by the events of the past few days, the uncertainty gnawing at him. He had no idea where he was being led, but as he rounded the corner, he saw a familiar door ahead.

Your office.

The two men who had helped him stood off to the side, giving him the space to walk on his own. When he reached the door, they pushed it open, and Harry stepped inside.

You were sitting behind your desk, your posture relaxed but confident, your eyes sharp as ever. You didn’t look surprised to see him - if anything, you seemed almost expectant.

“Sit,” you said, gesturing to the chair across from you, voice cool and calm.

Harry hesitated for a moment, his muscles still aching from the beatings, but he followed your command. He sat, still unsure of what to expect.

“I bet you have a lot of questions,” you said, your gaze never leaving him as you folded your hands on the desk.

He didn’t answer right away. He couldn’t find the words. Finally, after a long pause, he spoke. “What happens now? With everything? With our jobs as cops?”

You leaned back in your chair, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at your lips. “I’m still going to work. I still have business to handle. But that’s not something I’ll explain to just anyone.”

Harry swallowed, then asked what had been on his mind. “And what about me? If I agree to this… loyalty you’re asking for, what happens to our work as cops?”

Your eyes flickered with something unreadable, but you didn’t hesitate. “Once I’m sure I can trust you, Harry… 100% trust you, you’ll be able to go back to work. But you need to be loyal. You need to prove to me that you’re with me in this. That you’re committed. It won’t be easy, but I think you’re smart enough to understand that.”

Harry’s brow furrowed slightly. “Why me?”

You paused, the faintest smirk still playing at the corners of your mouth. “Because you’re the one who figured me out. When we worked together as cops, you were the one who saw through the cracks in the facade. You were the one brave enough to follow me. You survived everything that happened to you down there. I’ve been watching you, Harry. You’re perfect for this.”

He was still processing your words, trying to make sense of everything. But the more you spoke, the clearer it became. You had chosen him. Not because he was weak, but because he was strong. Because he had potential.

The silence between them stretched for a moment before you spoke again, your tone a bit softer, almost… personal.

“You’re the only one who could be my partner. All I need from you is loyalty. Can you give that to me?”

Harry sat back in his chair, still stunned by everything, by how much you seemed to know about him, about what he could become.

He didn’t know what the future held. But for the first time in a long time, he was starting to see where it could go.

“I can,” he said, his voice steady.

You smiled, and it was all sharp edges.

The atmosphere in the room shifted after Harry’s admission of loyalty. What had once been tension-filled, laced with uncertainty, now felt like the calm before a storm - quiet, expectant. You leaned back in your chair, watching him closely, as if sizing up the man who had just pledged his allegiance to you.

“You’re going to need to understand the business, Harry,” you said, your tone steady but full of weight. “The way it works, and how your role will fit into it.”

He nodded slowly, feeling the gravity of your words settle in his chest.

You stood up from behind your desk, the smooth motion making your presence even more commanding. “First thing’s first,” you began, “Let me show you where you’ll be staying. I’ve set up a place for you. We can’t have you wandering around unprotected, not just yet.”

Harry followed you out of the office, the heavy silence between you growing thick with anticipation. He had known, deep down, that there was more to the situation than just surviving the basement. He needed to know everything.

As you led him through the labyrinth of hallways, it felt surreal - the quiet hum of the place, the occasional murmured conversation, the faint metallic smell of something serious in the air. Harry’s senses were heightened, alert, taking everything in. The walls of this place were filled with secrets. He could feel them pressing down on him with every step.

You stopped in front of a door and opened it. Inside was a modest, yet comfortable room. It wasn’t lavish, but it was clean, secure, and private. A large bed sat in the center of the room, with dark, simple furniture surrounding it. There was a desk in the corner and a window that, while high up and small, gave a glimpse of the world outside.

“This is where you’ll stay for now,” you explained, stepping inside, allowing him to take it all in. “It’s private and secure. You won’t have to worry about anyone getting to you here. Your privacy is as important as your safety, so make yourself comfortable. You’ll need your strength for what’s to come.“

Harry stood by the doorway, still absorbing the shift in his reality. Everything felt strange. The boundaries between his old life as a cop and his new life in the underworld of organized crime were blurring, and the walls between them had been torn down with a single declaration of loyalty.

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions about the business,” you continued, your gaze now softer, almost like you were giving him permission to ask. “And you deserve answers.”

He took a deep breath, then spoke. “So, how does this all work? The mafia, the power structure, everything…?”

You looked at him with a hint of amusement, as if you knew this moment would come. “It’s a delicate web, Harry. Everything is connected, from the street level all the way up to the higher echelons. People think they know how things run, but they don’t - everything is orchestrated. Money, influence, power - they all intertwine. You’ve seen the violence, the shadows, but there’s more to it. There’s control. There’s finesse.”

You paused, your eyes growing more intense as you spoke. “I’ve built this organization from the ground up. We handle everything - from legal businesses to underground operations. There’s not a single part of the city that doesn’t feel the touch of our influence, and every step we take is calculated. But the key to success? Loyalty. Every part of this family is held together by loyalty.”

Harry felt the weight of your words, the weight of the entire organization’s power seeping into the room. It was so much bigger than he had ever imagined. And yet, here he was, standing in the heart of it.

“You’re going to have to get used to it,” you said, your voice more serious now. “Once you’re healed, you’ll begin your training. You’ll learn the ropes - how to run things, how to move people, how to control the business. This isn’t just about muscle, Harry. It’s about making smart decisions, understanding the nuances, and ensuring everything runs smoothly.”

You led him through the building, showing him the various rooms. There was the main office area, filled with people working behind computers and desks, each one absorbed in their task. There were storage rooms where goods were moved under the radar, the dark corridors where deals were made with no witnesses.

The deeper they went into the building, the more Harry realized just how vast this operation was. It wasn’t just a few guys on the street corner dealing drugs. This was a multi-layered, sprawling empire with reach everywhere.

“You’ll meet the people you’ll be working with soon enough,” you said as you led him into one of the back rooms, where a group of men sat around a table, discussing operations. “But first, let’s talk about the rules.”

Harry nodded, eager to understand.

“Rule number one: Don’t betray the family. That’s non-negotiable. Betrayal is met with consequences, and you’ve seen firsthand how severe those consequences can be. Rule number two: Always be loyal, not just to me, but to the entire operation. If you help us, we’ll help you. If you prove you’re worth it, you’ll get everything you need - protection, power, money. And rule number three: Never get too comfortable. This business doesn’t allow for softness. You’ll see things, you’ll do things that change you. But you’ll stay sharp, stay smart, and always keep your eyes open. We have eyes everywhere.”

Harry took it all in. His mind was working fast, piecing together the fragmented information. He had no choice but to accept it, to understand that this wasn’t just some small-time operation. This was a massive, complex organization. And now, he was part of it.

You finished showing him around, leading him back to the front of the building, where you stopped in front of a large, imposing door. “This is where the real decisions get made,” you said, turning the knob and walking inside. The room was different - larger, more grandiose. A large desk sat in the center, and everything about it screamed power and authority.

You took a seat behind the desk, looking at Harry as he stood before you, the weight of everything becoming more apparent with each passing second.

“So,” you began, your voice calm and direct, “You’re probably wondering why I work in the police force and why I have such a high rank.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed slightly. He had been wondering that, but didn’t want to ask outright.

You leaned back in your chair, a small smirk on your lips. “It’s simple, really. I work in law enforcement because it provides me with protection, information, and access. I worked my way up the ranks to where I am now because it keeps my identity hidden. I can control operations, stay in the shadows, and make sure the police are always one step behind. Being a sergeant is just a cover, but it allows me to manipulate situations in our favor. It’s a chess game, and I’m always three moves ahead.”

Harry took a moment to process your explanation. It made sense. Of course, it did. You’d never gotten to where you were by simply being ruthless on the streets. Your power came from the blend of street smarts and bureaucratic position - a perfect balance.

“You chose me because I was smart enough to figure it out,” Harry said, his voice steady. “Because I survived down there.”

You smiled again, this time with something warmer beneath the coolness. “Exactly. You’re the only one who could’ve seen through it all. That’s why you’re my partner now.”

Harry nodded, the weight of it settling on his shoulders. This wasn’t just about surviving anymore. This was about building a future, one that was far more dangerous and far more complex than anything he’d ever known.

But he knew one thing for sure - he had no choice but to see it through.

It had been weeks since Harry’s first steps into this new world. Weeks since he had been dragged out of that basement, since the days of pain and questioning had turned into recovery and immersion into the depths of the organization. His wounds had healed, and with each passing day, he grew stronger. His body was back in fighting form, but it was his mind that had shifted most. The constant presence of power, of danger, and of you, had subtly yet surely changed him.

You had kept him busy, training him, showing him the inner workings of the operation - how everything flowed, how people were manipulated, how to command respect without uttering a word. It was all starting to click into place, and Harry had quickly realized that this was no ordinary criminal empire. This was sophisticated. This was precise.

But now, after the bruises had faded and the last remnants of the bloodstains were gone, you were about to let him take the next step. He had passed the tests. He had earned your trust, even if it still felt like the weight of the world hung over him every moment. The life he once knew—being a cop, standing by the law - was beginning to feel like a distant memory. A faint echo.

It was a late afternoon when you called him into your office again. The sun was low in the sky, casting the room in warm hues, but the air felt thick, like a storm was coming.

“Come in, Harry,” you called from behind your desk, your voice steady and cool.

He pushed the door open, standing before you. Your gaze immediately swept over him, assessing him. He had come a long way from that ragged man who had been dragged into this place bruised and broken. His clothes were pressed, his hair freshly cut. There was a sharpness to him now that hadn’t been there before. You could see it. The transformation wasn’t just physical - it was in the way he stood, the way he spoke, the way his eyes sharpened when they met yours.

“You’ve made progress,” you said, the corner of your lips curving up just slightly. “You’ve been patient. Now, it’s time to step back into the world you came from.”

Harry blinked, the weight of your words settling in. He had been waiting for this, and yet, now that it was here, he wasn’t sure if he was ready. Going back to the police force after everything - after knowing what he knew, after seeing the way things really worked - it felt strange. But he knew he had no choice.

“You’ll be going back to work,” you continued, the matter-of-fact tone to your voice making it clear this wasn’t up for discussion. “You’ll need to come up with an excuse for your absence. People are going to start asking questions. It’s time for you to slide back into the role you were always meant to have. Keep up the facade.”

“I don’t have any idea how I’ll explain it,” Harry said, his voice laced with uncertainty. His return to the force felt more like a trap than a solution, but you’d made it clear that his involvement with you - his loyalty - was the ticket to surviving this new life.

You stood from your desk, walking toward him with a slow, deliberate step. “That’s your job, Harry,” you said, voice lowering just slightly. “I trust you to figure it out. Think of something. Make it believable.”

He was quiet for a moment, considering your words. As much as he hated to admit it, he didn’t have an answer. He hadn’t thought about how he would explain his absence, how he would step back into the role of a cop after everything had changed. The very fabric of his life had been torn apart, and there wasn’t an easy excuse that would make his return seamless.

“You’re going to need to do a little more than just walk back in like nothing happened,” you added, a glint of something almost predatory in your eyes. “People will want to know. If they ask too many questions, they won’t be asking them for long.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t like the way you said it, but he understood. You weren’t just offering him a return to normal. This was part of the game. He would have to play it - or risk being burned in the process.

“I’ll figure it out,” he said after a long pause, his jaw tightening as he steeled himself for whatever would come next.

You gave him a slight nod, as if you expected nothing less.

“You’ll need to be careful, Harry. They’re always watching. And now that you’re part of this family, part of this operation, you have to make sure your allegiances are clear. We can’t afford mistakes. There’s too much at stake. One slip-up and you’ll be out. And we both know what happens to people who cross me.”

He couldn’t help but swallow at the coldness in your voice. He knew you meant every word.

“Understood,” he replied, his tone resolute.

“Good.” You took a step back, assessing him once again, a look of satisfaction on your face. “Now, let me show you how business is done.”

You walked to a hidden panel in the wall, pressing a combination of buttons that Harry hadn’t noticed before. With a quiet click, the panel slid open, revealing a room behind it - a conference room, a war room, filled with monitors and papers scattered across the tables.

“This is where things get decided,” you said, your voice firm as you gestured toward the room. “The operations, the plans, the logistics. Everything flows through here. You’ll need to know how to navigate it all if you’re going to remain useful to me. You’ll be involved in every decision from now on. When you walk back into that precinct, you need to remember who you answer to.”

The room was dimly lit, with computers and equipment lining the walls. It was the nerve center of the operation, and Harry felt the weight of it pressing on him as you motioned for him to step inside.

“The network we have here is vast,” you explained, tapping on one of the screens. “We control nearly every aspect of the city’s underworld, and a good portion of its legal front as well. But no one can know that. People like power, but they’re afraid of it too. The trick is staying out of sight while controlling everything behind the scenes. You’ll be working closely with the people who run these operations. And you’ll need to report back to me.”

Harry felt the intensity of the room’s purpose. It was clear now - this wasn’t just a small-time operation. This was an empire.

“So, what’s the next move?” he asked, his voice steady, matching the cold, calculated energy that seemed to permeate the air.

You smirked slightly, leaning against one of the tables as you glanced at him. “You’ll see soon enough. First, you need to get yourself back in that precinct. You need to convince them that you’ve just been on vacation, or had a personal issue. Make it believable. Make it stick. If you want to keep up the facade, you have to be convincing. I’m not going to make it easy for you, Harry, but I know you’ll find a way. You always do.”

Harry nodded slowly, his mind already working on the excuse he would use. It wasn’t just about surviving anymore - it was about surviving while playing two sides of a dangerous game. One slip, one wrong move, and it would all crumble.

He was part of this now. There was no turning back.

Time passed, and Harry changed.

At first, it was subtle - small things he barely noticed himself. The way he stopped hesitating before pulling the trigger on orders you gave him. The way he no longer flinched when dealing with threats, when watching men beg for mercy they wouldn’t receive. The way he spoke, the way he carried himself - it all shifted.

You had warned him from the beginning that this life would consume him. That the line between right and wrong would blur until it no longer existed. And yet, he hadn’t fought it. He had let it happen.

Now, he stood beside you, not as your reluctant captive, not as the cop who had uncovered your secret, but as something else entirely. As your equal.

The police force still believed he was one of them, still saw him as the officer who had simply taken time off for “personal reasons.” But Harry knew better. That life had become a disguise, a mask he wore only when necessary. The real Harry Styles now walked these halls with you, running the empire by your side.

And then there was the other shift.

The one neither of you had expected.

It had started with stolen glances, with tension so thick it could suffocate. The proximity between you had become unbearable - charged moments where neither of you moved, neither of you spoke, but the air between you burned.

Then, one night, it snapped.

Neither of you knew who moved first. Maybe it was you. Maybe it was him. It didn’t matter.

What mattered was that one moment you were arguing over a deal gone wrong, your voices sharp, eyes locked in a battle of wills - then suddenly, his lips crashed against yours. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t hesitant. It was fire and violence, dominance and surrender, all wrapped into one.

Your back hit the desk as Harry’s hands tangled into your hair, pulling, demanding, and you met him with equal intensity. Clothes were torn, breathless curses spilled between heated kisses, and by the time you were both tangled in the sheets, bodies slick with sweat, neither of you could remember how it had even started.

It didn’t end that night.

It became a habit. A reckless, addictive one.

Neither of you acknowledged it at first. There were no confessions, no whispered affections. Just stolen moments between business meetings, secret rendezvous behind locked doors. It was raw, desperate, filled with an edge that neither of you cared to dull.

But then it changed again.

Harry didn’t just come to your bed for pleasure. He started staying. Waking up next to you, running his fingers over your skin before the sun had risen, pressing lazy kisses against your shoulder before either of you had to return to the world.

And you let him.

Neither of you had planned for it, but neither of you regretted it.

The world saw you as ruthless crime lords, untouchable, feared by many. But behind closed doors, it was different.

There was trust, loyalty - a bond unbreakable in its intensity.

Harry no longer hesitated when making decisions that once would've haunted him. If someone needed to be eliminated, he did it. If a message needed to be sent, he delivered it.

You had corrupted him completely.

But he hadn't just fallen into the darkness - you had dragged him in, and he had embraced it.

Together, you ruled. You weren't just a mafia boss and her loyal right-hand man anymore. You were a couple - a dynamic duo, the perfect team.

The city was yours, and nothing would ever take that away from you. Nothing could break the bond you shared.

You were in this together, and as long as you held on to each other, nothing could stand in your way.

my thumbs hurt so bad lol

[ollvr]

What are your meatball sub criteria?

I need the meatballs and the sauce to have a little bit of a kick! They have to be a little spicy, i like a nice sharp cheddar for the cheese and my preferred vegetables are bell peppers, red onion and jalapeño’s if I think the meatballs and sauce aren’t spicy enough (looking at you subway). I like a nice crusty bread for the sub that’s fluffy on the inside so it soaks up the sauce a little.

[enderlovez]

No Germs Found

Spencer Reid x Female BAU Reader WORD COUNT: 1000+

Summary: You and the team are back in Arizona on another case, and when an amazing unfortunate mishap takes place at the front desk, everyone is forced to share rooms with each other.

Content Warning: non-sexual nudity, strong language in reference to the temperature, blushy Spence, mentions of heat stroke, pain from the heat, mentions of murder, slightly NSFW at the end, Spencer likes boobs- I MEAN WHO SAID THAT?

A/N This is kind of a continuation of another one of my works called Germs, but they don't necessarily need to be read side by side. There's only one mention of something that happened in the first part, and it's not really that important to the story, so...

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

None of you really anticipated being on another case so soon, at least not in the same place you'd just gotten home from a few days before, and the place you all seemed to... strongly dislike.

Maybe 'dislike' isn't the right word, but one thing is for sure — the moment you step foot off the jet, you feel like you're covered from head to toe in sweat, and your throat dried up like a fish in a desert.

Not to mention how you' were all stuck in a stuffy room all day, with crappy air conditioning that did absolutely nothing for anyone. So far you had practically nothing on the unsub, they were slippery as soap, and that stress — the stress of not knowing who they are, who they are going to kill next — has you in a very grumpy mood.

And despite the inconveniences, the day still somehow finds a way to get worse.

That much is clear as Hotch strolls up to our group of people with an annoyed look on his face — granted he almost always looks like that when we're having a hard time finding anything on the unsub.

"There was a malfunction in their system, and they overbooked their rooms," he says simply, only earning a choir of groans from us, "so we're going to have to double up tonight."

You throw your head back, a heavy sigh escaping your mouth. It's been a long day, and all you want is to lay around without your clothes on and go to sleep — but you can't exactly do that with someone else in there with you.

"You're free to pick your roommate yourself, but please, for the love of God, keep it professional," he finishes as he drops a small pile of numbered keys onto the little table in the reception.

Everyone immediately splits off into pairs, while you make no move to do anything, laying back on the armchair with your neck bent over the top, eyes closed against the white fluorescent lights.

"You know, frequent hyperextension of the neck can have negative effects on its structure and function," a familiar voice says from above you. "Around fifteen to twenty-five percent of North Americans experience lasting effects, such as chronic pain and nerve issues."

You peel your eyes open to find none other than the brilliant Spencer Reid standing over your head, dangling a key over your face, and just like that, all your apprehension melts away.

"Stop flirting with me, Spencer, it's incredibly unprofessional," you joke lightheartedly, a vibrant smile overtaking your face as you pluck the key from his fingers.

He doesn't seem to realize you're joking, though, because he immediately goes to defend himself, stuttering adorably and blushing firetruck red. "No, um, I wasn't — I would never flirt with you!" he tries to defend himself, only realizing a second later how it might've come off. "I-I mean I would, but that's not what I was trying to do."

You shake your head and laugh, standing from the armchair and threading your arm through his so you can lead him down the hallway towards the room you both would be staying in.

The room that was, technically, booked for only one person.

The room that only has one bed.

It's not like you don't want to share a bed with him, you're more worried that he might not want it, with his whole 'germ' thing. Not that he really seemed to care about that the other day, when he drank straight from your water bottle without a care in the world, then proceeded to ask you out on a date.

"I can sleep on the floor, if you'd like," he offers quietly as he shuts the door behind him.

You immediately dismiss that idea, shaking your head before the words are even fully out of his mouth. "You're not sleeping on the floor, Spencer, that's not fair," you say quickly, a sly smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. "That is, as long as you're alright with me sleeping in my underwear, because I will be doing that."

Of course you're half-joking — if there's any indication that he's uncomfortable with that idea you'll just sleep in a t-shirt and shorts, it's just that you'd much rather not in this heat.

"N-no, no," he says, his voice pitched just a little too high. He's blushing from head to toe, you know that without even looking at him. "You can s-sleep in whatever you want to, I don't mind."

It's entirely unprofessional, you know that, but you really can't help it as you instantly begin tearing your sweat-drenched clothes from your body, tossing them around haphazardly until you're left in only your bra and underwear. You don't waste another second, flopping onto the bed, briefly stretching your limbs out, then rolling to one side.

It's a relief to be out of those clothes...

Only now do you realize that Spencer has not moved an inch from were he was standing when you initially asked the question, face bright red, breathing uneven as he tries desperately to keep his eyes from dipping from your face.

"Come on, I don't bite," you say quietly, patting the empty space on the other side of the bed, meanly deciding it would be funny to tease him, "not unless you ask very nicely."

Nervously, he drops his stuff beside the door and makes his way towards the bed, siting on the edge of his side. You're sure you can see him sneaking glances down at your chest every now and then, when he thinks you're not paying attention.

Who is he kidding? You're always paying attention to him, clinging onto every word he says like you'll die if you forget a single one.

"Come on, Spencer," you urge, "you've literally shared spit with me, don't get all shy now."

You're phrasing it that way as a joke, and you're sure he knows that.

But the next words that come out of his mouth leave you stunned, mouth dropped open and butterflies stampeding through your stomach, heart beating a million miles an hour.

You're not expecting something like this to come out of his mouth, really, but after his strange confidence the other day in drinking all your water and asking you out, you're not sure what to expect now.

"Can you please bite me, then?"

[obsessedwithceleste]

Lessons in Love

(Or why Enzo should be banned from advanced potion making)

Theodore Nott x Ravenclaw Reader

Summary: Ft. Enzo being bad at potions, the Ravenclaw common room door, and more than one accidental love confession.

word count: 3.3k

©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

A deep sigh escapes your lips as you walk purposefully through the empty halls of the castle. You loved Enzo. Really, you did. But how that bastard had managed to squeeze enough O.W.Ls out of his arse to get into advanced potion making was absolutely beyond you.

It’s not that you thought your childhood best friend was dumb per se. You simply thought his talents lay elsewhere. Like in herbology. Or anywhere really where adding a pinch too much powdered moonstone didn’t result in a glittery pink potion exploding all over the front of your robes. This never would have happened of course, if your usual, equally talented, potions partner, Theodore Nott, had actually bothered to show up, but god only knew where that boy had wandered off to.

Walking into classes earlier that day you had been giddy with excitement. While potions may not have been Enzo’s forte, it was most definitely yours and advanced potions was finally giving you the challenge you had been craving. Amortentia, your professor had said, is the strongest love potion in the world, thereby making it exceptionally difficult to brew. You already knew this of course as it had all been detailed in the days readings. Not only would it make someone obsessively in love, but it also had an addictive scent, changing to fit what one was most attracted to. Now that was all well and good until one was covered in it.

Originally, you figured that all would be fine. Enzo profusely apologized, quickly following up with a joke about how “at least you’ll smell nice for once.” But oh how right he’d been. It started with students accidentally bumping into you in the corridor as you went from class to class as they subconsciously leaned in to follow the alluring scent. A minor inconvenience you thought. (Although you did have to choose to ignore that third year almost getting impaled on a statue’s sword because he wasn’t paying attention after you passed.)

But then Cho and Marietta couldn’t stop leaning in to get a whiff of the scent all throughout the start of charms, causing Flitwick to continuously shoot concerned glances at the three of you. You eventually caved, moving quickly and silently to the back of the class room where Enzo was sat with the rest of the Slytherins. As soon as he saw you making your way over, he leaned over, whispering something in Daphne’s ear beside him. She gives you a quick look of knowing pity before moving into the empty seats usually claimed by Theodore and Matteo who were, unsurprisingly, still no where to be found.

“For what it’s worth, I really am sorry,” Enzo mumbles, at least having the decency to look embarrassed as you plop into the seat beside him.

“This is horrible! I did not need to know that Marietta’s amortentia smells like bloody Cormac McLaggen or whatever his name is,” you hiss in response.

Enzo lets out a quiet chuckle, sneaking a quick glance at your house mate.

“Hey,” he whispers after a moment, “What do you smell anyway? You must be going mad having that stuff all over you.”

You shoot a glare at your friend. You had a sinking feeling he already knew, considering he had been poking fun at you for weeks. You shudder remembering all those disgusting kissy faces Enzo had been making at you from across the library just last week. Bloody bastard was fishing for confirmation. Maybe if you ignore him, he’ll simply go away you think to yourself. Enzo however, takes your silence as an admission of guilt, a grin spreading across his face.

“I knew it. So tell me y/n, what does dear Theodore Nott smell like? Cigarette smoke? Hippogriff dung?” He snickers.

“He is my best friend, Lorenzo,” you whisper, giving the boy beside you another withering glare.

Enzo’s face falls at this.

“I’m your best friend.” He grumbles.

“I don’t know why. You’re mean to me,” you reply with exasperation.

He immediately perks up again at this, giving you a slight nudge.

“So I’m right? You do like Theo?” He asks excitedly.

“Enzo, I will avada you, and make it look like an accident,” you hiss in response.

“Come on, y/n, I’m your best friend, you have to tell me these things,” he pouts.

“Oh really? Like how you have to tell me about how you’re probably smelling Daphne’s shampoo right now? Or is it her lavender perfume?” You ask innocently, batting your lashes.

Enzo goes beet red at this, gesturing wildly at you to lower your voice.

“Hush woman! She’s right there!” He hisses.

You say nothing, only giving him a triumphant grin before turning back to Flitwick to try to salvage what few notes you’d been able to take down that lesson.

The final straw occurred during ancient runes when poor, unsuspecting Hermione sat down behind you and asked with a look of bewilderment if you had been showered with Draco’s cologne that morning. Her look of absolute horror only grew as you told her of your distressing situation. You thought she might faint when she realized that Draco had been within earshot and now had a shit eating grin on his face. With a sigh of defeat, you give Hermione an apologetic smile before deciding it was time to turn in the white flag of defeat.

You breathe a heavy sigh of relief as you finally come to a stop outside your common room door. You then frown, realizing you had in fact, made it to your common room door.

“What makes a raven like a writing desk?” The metallic voice of the Ravenclaw common room door asks, springing to life.

This putrid, skanky little-

“You wouldn’t want me to shove either of them up your ars-“

A low whistle catches your attention before you’re able to finish cursing out your common room’s door thoroughly.

“Whoa there feisty, let the eagle be,” Theo’s voice laughs as he steps into view.

The strong scent of roasted coffee beans and smoke that had been burning your nostrils all day hits you once again like a ton of bricks. Giving the eagle another withering glare, you turn your full attention to the looming threat approaching. You would sooner throw yourself off of the astronomy tower than let Theo know that your amortentia smelled like him. Someone had to keep the boy’s bloody ego in check.

“Full offense Theodore, I’ve had a horrendously awful day today, and I really don’t have time for whatever nonsense you’re about to start.” You say with a roll of your eyes as you cross your arms at the boy in front of you.

Theo laughs again, mirroring your movements as he leans against one of the pillars lining the halls.

“Poor principessa. Have a hard day in classes without me?” He asks with a smirk.

You scowl in response. It didn’t help that you had, in fact, missed the brunette’s comforting, albeit annoying, presence all day, but you weren’t about to admit that.

“Now that you mention it, I didn’t even realize you were missing. What snake hole did you slither off to today?” You ask, the lie sliding easily off your lips.

Theo cocks as eyebrow at that but leaves it be.

“Matteo wanted to ditch, had to baby sit. Make sure he didn’t get into too much trouble. You know how it goes,” Theo replied shrugging his shoulders. “And what’s a pretty little witch like yourself doing skiving off class?”

Theo takes another step forward.

“Don’t come closer!” You yelp before you can stop yourself. You had no interest knowing what Theo would smell if he got close enough. He frowns at you however.

“And why not?” He challenges, taking another step towards you. This boy really did not take well to being told what to do.

“I- I smell. Really bad. Had to leave class, I just- ya know, smelled, so bad” You splutter, mentally kicking yourself. Who says that in front of the guy they like? Why were you like this?

Theo’s thick brows shoot up at your declaration before he takes a final large step towards you and leans in, pressing his hand against your forehead before moving it down to feel your cheek.

“Y/n are you ill? Do you need to go see Madam Pomfrey? I can walk you there if you’d like.” He says, any bit of snark his voice previously held long gone.

“I’m fine Theodore, really.” you say, batting his hand away.

“Are you sure?” He asks, looking at you disbelievingly.

He leans in again and takes in a whiff of your scent and you immediately tense, freezing where you are. God damn it. His brows furrow.

“Y/n, you smell perfectly normal, maybe a bit stronger than usual, but definitely not bad.” He says, looking even more confused.

Before you’re able to fully process the words that just came out of Theo’s mouth, Enzo and Pansy come barreling down the hall towards the two of you in a fit of giggles.

“Y/n! y/n, you know I’m sorry, really I am, but if dousing you in amortentia is all it takes to get Draco and Granger to make complete fools of themselves in front of each other, I’d do it again!” Enzo exclaims between breathy laughs. “You haven’t seen ferret boy run past, by chance, by the way have you?

“Sorry, amor-what now?” Theo asks, blinking as he purses his lips.

You look between the three of your friends in alarm, praying no one mentioned anything after Theo had just announced that you smelled perfectly normal to him.

“Oh, you’re going to wish you were there! After you left, Draco was so pleased with himself. Looked like a kid on Christmas. Kept trying to flirt with Hermione until she finally sent a flock of doves to run him out of the classroom! Professor wasn’t too happy bout that one. Let us go early to find the blonde loon,” Enzo says, completely ignoring Theo’s question.

“I’m sorry, amor-WHAT?” Theo asks again, louder this time.

You feel yourself cringe.

“Amortentia.” Pansy snorts. “Do try and keep up Teddy.”

“This is what you get for always skiving off class with Matteo,” Enzo adds, nodding at the boy as if he were his disappointed mother.

“Mhmm. Enzo totally floozied over y/n’s potion this morning. Blew it up all over her and she’s been having people wander up to her to take a sniff all day.” Pansy tells him with a sniff.

Theo blinks again before slowly meeting your eyes as what he said only moments earlier begins to sink in. Pansy, ever the cunning witch, was lightening quick to catch on.

“Speaking of which, I am suddenly so interested in what exactly it is that you smell, dearest Teddy,” Pansy says as her eyes flicker between the two of you, a mischievous grin growing on her face.

Theo scowls at the nickname.

“Campfire.”

“Old parchment.” You say in unison.

Pansy smirks.

“Do you smell that Enzo?” She asks, making a show of sniffing the air around her. “I think I smell- a liar. Or two.”

Enzo only snickers as he eyes the both of you up. He knew exactly what you had been smelling all day and you begin to feel panic rise up in your chest. You send a menacing glare his way, daring him to open his mouth.

“Come on Pans, I don’t think Draco and Granger are the only ones who’ll be chatting up tonight,” he says finally.

Glaring at the pair’s disappearing backs, you once again turn slowly back to the problem at hand.

“Soo,” Theo starts at the same time you blurt out,

“This is entirely your fault.”

Theo’s mouth drops open, and he has the audacity to look offended.

“How do you figure mi amore?” He asks.

“You’re supposed to be my partner in potions, but you weren’t there today, so I had to work with,” you shudder, “Enzo.”

Rolling his eyes at your dramatics and giving you a small smile, Theo lets himself relax, leaning on the wall as he towers over you.

“Enzo isn’t so bad,” he says, slowly bringing a hand up to rest on your waist, gently moving you towards him. You pretend not to notice, taking a small, nervous step forward.

“He singed off Matteo’s eyebrows last year. The year before that, he didn’t realize there was a difference between fire flower and fired flour, and his potion melted through the floor. I heard a Puff call him Slytherin’s Seamus,” you retort. “Do you realize how bad you have to be at something to get made fun of by a Hufflepuff?” He snorts at that, cocking his head in agreement.

“Well I’m sorry alright? I’ll make it up to you.”

“You’ll have to. I have to go in again to remake the potion. Don’t want that bad mark on my grade.”

Theo only hums at this, as you’re finally standing nose to chest with him, forcing you to tilt your head up to still see his face.

“You really do smell nice,” he murmurs, pressing his nose lightly into your hair.

You make a face before nuzzling into his chest to hide the redness growing on your cheeks.

“I’m not talking about this in public. I simply refuse,” you say, trying to melt into him from pure embarrassment.

Theo looks down at you with a devilishly handsome grin before turning back to your long forgotten common room door.

“Hey, open up. She technically answered your little riddle earlier,” he tells the door.

The eagle grumbles something unintelligible as it starts to life again.

“I can always melt you down. I’m sure you’d make a great piss pot,” Theo threatens, going to pull out his wand.

The door swings open rather violently and you’re pretty sure you can hear a rather colorful string of curses come out of the eagle’s beak as you make your way inside. Having been there a thousand times before, Theo easily leads you to your shared, but thankfully empty, dorm room, closing the door behind you.

“You really don’t get along with that eagle, do you principessa?” He asks, throwing his shoes off and making himself comfortable on your bed like he usually did.

“Like you’re any better. You just threatened to turn it into a chamber pot,” you retort, falling easily back into your usual banter. This was fine. This was safe.

Theo only raises a brow at you.

“The blasted door is still mad at me for making a ur mum joke when it asked me if a chicken came before the egg in front of a bunch of second years.” You admit, letting your arms fall to your side.

Theo lets out a loud laugh at that shaking his head and extending his arm for you. You walk carefully towards the bed before hesitantly accepting his invitation. It’s not that cuddling with Theo was something unfamiliar to you, as much as you were hyper aware of the slightly awkward tension between the two of you that wasn’t usually there. You slide your shoes off as well before curling up next to him and laying your head on his chest. The two of you lay in silence and you slowly let your eyelids flutter shut, lost in the feeling of Theo’s chest rising and falling.

“You know. You still haven’t told me what your amortentia smells like,” Theo says, finally breaking the silence as he gently brings his hand up to run his fingers through your hair.

“Take a wild fucking guess,” you murmur, refusing to open your eyes and determined to get further lost in his warm touch.

He only hums in response, continuing to comb his fingers through the soft locks of hair.

“You know when Enzo asked me if I smelled you today, he thought you’d smell like hippogriff dung,” you say eventually.

“Fucking tosser. What did that git smell? Wild lavender?”

“And Daphne’s shampoo.”

You feel Theo snort as if he expected no less of your ever romantic best friend. Silence once again rolls over the both of you as you absentmindedly play with the edge of his shirt, rolling the soft fabric between your fingers nervously. The quiet begins to feel suffocating, so you open your mouth to speak, but Theo beats you to it.

“Champagne. And that perfume you always use. With the little white flowers. Lilies of the valley, right?” Theo says.

You open your eyes to look at him in confusion.

“That’s what you smell like.” He says, carefully running his hand down your spine, sending a shiver through you.

“I smell roasted coffee. And smoke. Not the fire-y kind though. The kind that sticks to your clothes cause you refuse to quit smoking.” You respond, looking into his eyes warily for his reaction.

Theo only smirks in response, a cocky grin spreading across his face.

“Aw mi amore, I’m what you’re most attracted to?” He asks, the teasing bait evident in his voice.

You feel heat rise to your cheeks as Theo gazed intently down at you in his arms.

“Shut up Theodore. You sure know how to ruin a moment,” you say, once again burying your face in a chest.

You feel his chest rumble with laughter before his hand snakes it way up to your chin, tilting your head up and capturing your lips with his. His lips are softer than you imagined as he moves them gently against yours. You let a soft gasp escape and Theo pulls you closer, gripping your waste tightly, and shifting you on top of him, deepening the kiss until you’re both left gasping for air.

“Was that more of what you had in mind amore?” He asks with an innocent smile, looking up at you with what you could only describe as his best baby seal eyes.

“I mean, you were definitely significantly more shirtless when I imagined it, but I can settle.” You joke.

Theo’s eyes darken however, and he lifts you as if you weigh nothing, flipping you over so that he now hovered above you, your back pinned against the bed beneath you. With one swift movement, Theo pulls his shirt up and over his head before lowering himself back down, his chest now pressed against yours.

“Better?”

You can’t help but laugh at the boy’s determination as your eyes shamelessly take in the lean muscle and tanned skin that was current above you.

“Theodore, as much as I enjoy this, you have to put your clothes on. Cho or Marietta could walk in at any time,” you tell him as you begin to make soft circles across his waist line with your thumbs, admiring the boy in front of you.

“Mm. You mouth is saying one thing, but these,” he says, placing his hands over yours, “are saying something else entirely.”

You roll your eyes, pulling your hands out from under his and handing him his discarded shirt.

“One kiss?” He asks, looking at the shirt as if it had mortally offended him.

“One kiss.”

He leans down, once again capturing your lips with his, but with more intensity this time. You feel one of his hands brush your waist as his thumb pushes up under your shirt, the rest of his hand following soon after, gripping tightly at the warm skin beneath. You let out a breathy moan when he flicks his tongue across your bottom lip, and he takes it as an invitation to let his tongue explore the rest of your mouth.

An awkward cough shakes you from the haze and you look up, over Theo’s shoulder to see Cho standing guiltily in the doorway.

“Sorry,” she says, looking literally anywhere but you and the shirtless boy above you. “Bad time?”

You cover your eyes in embarrassment, feeling heat once again rush to your cheeks.

“What did I tell you!” You groan, letting your head fall back onto your mound of pillows. Meanwhile Theo has a much too self satisfied grin across his face.

[jennifer-jeong]

Smut | AFAB!Reader Cinematography

SUMMARY Men who’d take videos of your cum covered body or face to save for later.

CONTENT NSFW, 18+, smut, assigned female at birth (AFAB) reader, implied feminine reader (he calls you a "good girl" etc.), exhibitionism if you squint, praise, filming sex, making porn basically, vaginal penetration, implied blowjob/face fucking, alludes to cunnilingus, cum on body, swallowing cum, facial, ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+

WORD COUNT: 627

Ones you probably expected FUSHIGURO TOJI, RYOMEN SUKUNA, GOJO SATORU, CHILDE, KAEYA, UZUI TENGEN, MIGUEL O’HARA, MARIUS VON HAGEN

Ones that you might not have expected but they do it possessively KAMO CHOSO, NANAMI KENTO, FUSHIGURO MEGUMI, ALHAITHAM, HEIZOU

There’s something about filming fucking you from behind with the flash on that turns him on like crazy. The way your ass bounces and the plush flesh recoils makes him lightheaded. The sounds that fill the room turn you both on, making you extra sensitive. The light slapping of skin, the wet “plap” noises, the sound of his veiny cock dragging on your slick walls, hitting the deep bundle of nerves in you with every thrust. There’s a visible ring of cream around the base of his cock and there’s a clear shine because the flash reflects off how wet you are and how much you’ve coated his dick. You can’t explain why, but it has you reaching your high faster than you expected.

Maybe it’s the way that he eggs you on more, saying things like “behave for the camera, darling,” or when he talks to the phone like “look at you, taking it so well… Such a good fucking girl.” Maybe you secretly liked being filmed, even though you knew no one would ever see it but you and him. Maybe you liked the nasty idea of being watched, even if only by your boyfriend when he opens the video in the future to pleasure himself to.

You don’t dwell on the thoughts for long though, your impending orgasm pulling you out of your pondering. You give him a short and strained sob of a warning before you clamp down on him. You moan into the pillow you shoved your face into to contain your uncontrollable voice. Waves of pleasure crash through your body as you visibly shake for the camera. The scene in front of him plus the tightening of your pussy around him has his eyes rolling back and has him cumming in a few strokes. He shoots his load all over your ass and back, a few ropes of cum reaching your upper back. He kneads your ass as he enjoys his afterglow and ends the recording after properly capturing your cum covered body. But he’ll still stay there, cooing praises and telling you how well you did. He’ll sit there, admiring his work. Seeing his cum drip down your ass is such a filthy and sinful view, he just can’t help how satisfied it makes him feel.

Other times he’ll have your pretty self on your knees, filming you with your tongue out, doe eyes looking up at him as he pumps his cock with his hand. You’ve just sucked the soul out of him, deepthroating him and letting him face fuck you. He’s already so close and you’re basically asking him to paint your face with how you’re looking at him. The whole situation makes your needy cunt clench around nothing. He knows that you deserve a reward and he’ll either fuck it into you or eat you out to give it to you after this. So, he finishes quickly so he can take care of you fast. He groans out to let you know he’s about to cum. He aims for your mouth but towards the end, he covers your face with his release. It forces you to close an eye shut to avoid any unwanted inconvenience.

He records the whole thing using the room’s ambient lighting instead of flash, the flash sometimes doesn’t capture your cute face properly since the camera is a bit far away, so he chooses this. For him, the whole point of filming is to capture your lovely expressions, especially when, after he finishes, you swallow and open your mouth to show him you didn’t waste a drop. He praises you a bit before ending the recording and giving you the reward you deserve for being his pretty and good girl.

|| MASTERLIST ♡ || Thank you for reading! ||

[burts-baked-bees]

Okay?

OPLA Sanji x Fem!Reader

{masterlist for OPLA Sanji ongoing story}

Tags: Slight angst to fluff, slight pining, Sanji and reader are close friends and have truama bonded, Sanji has no clue he's in love with reader the poor sap

CW: Launguage, mentions of abuse, slight WCI spoliers, mentions of drinking

“I swear I’m one shift away from throwing myself in the godforsaken ocean.” Sanji huffed angrily as he threw himself down in a nearby booth. The Baratie had cleared out for the night leaving the cooks to clean the line and the waiters to clean the dining room, but halfway through the dreaded cleanup Sanji had both metaphorically and physically thrown in the towel. The dish cloth he had been holding went flying across the room as he put his feet up on the booth he was in and groaned indignantly.

“That old shitbag won’t so much as let me breathe on the line! I’m a cook! Not a fucking waiter!” He yelled, turning his head back towards the kitchen, as if Zeff could hear his complaints.

“You think maybe it has something to do with the fact that you call him an ‘old shitbag’?” A voice came from the other side of his booth. A small smile curled his lips as he sat up some and peeked over the rounded edge of the red leather seat.

“Oh I’m sorry, did I interrupt your nap time madame?” Sanji laughed as he took in the sight of Y/n laying on her back with her eyes closed in the opposite booth. “So sorry for the inconvenience, but aren’t you meant to be cleaning tables?” He teased as Y/n cracked an eye open and glared at him.

“Aren’t you?” She asked with a sly grin, earning an eye roll and angry huff from the blonde.

“Seems the only thing I’m meant to do is slowly die from boredom in this trash heap of a restaurant.” Sanji sighed as he fell back into his seat, pulling out his lighter and messing with the lid. Y/n laughed softly before sitting up and resting her arms on the dividing seat. She placed her head atop her arms and looked at him with a mock pout.

“Awww is the best chef in the East Blue all bummed that his dad doesn't like his cooking? Again?”

Sanji snapped his lighter closed and raised a finger at Y/n, pointing aggressively at her with a snarl.

“I am the greatest chef in the East Blue. Even if that geezer can’t see it.” He stated, earning a chuckle from Y/n as she sat up and raised her hands in surrender.

“Easy now, no need to shout at a lady.” She cooed as Sanji chuckled and gave her an angry smile, hanging his head.

“How dare you throw my own principles back in my face.” He chuckled as he began fidgeting with the silver ring on his finger. Y/n sighed and rested her chin on her folded arms again, smiling softly at the mop of blonde hair in front of her. She reached over the divider and brushed some of his hair from his face, earning a soft hum from Sanji as he closed his eyes.

“I think we both know he’s only doing and saying these things because he wants the best for you. Though I’ll be the first to admit, his way of going about it is absolute shit.” She laughed as she watched his lips curl into a smile. He looked up at her, her fingers brushing against his cheek as he moved.

“Yeah, I know…” He sighed as he leaned his head back against the wall. She pulled her hand back and looked at him with sympathetic eyes. “But you're a stowaway as much as me.” Sanji joked, “And yet I’m the one being treated like a sniveling child every fucking time I step foot in that kitchen.” He huffed as he looked over at her through his bangs. She chuckled as she hung her arms over the back of his booth and cocked her head to the side.

“My dumbass thought I could be a pirate and got stuck here paying off a debt cuz’ my ship damaged the hull of this ‘trash heap of a restaurant’.” She fired back, using his own words. He opened his mouth to speak but soon closed it again as he shook his head.

“Yeah that was pretty dumb.” Sanji joked as he pulled his jacket off and tossed it to the seat beside him. Y/n gawked at him before laughing and reaching forward to hit him softly on the shoulder. He leaned away from her and shouted

“Oi! Don’t damage the goods!”

She looked at him with mocking wide eyes and barked a laugh,

“Both Patty and I would have to disagree with you on that one, lover boy.” She snarked as Sanji rolled his eyes. A calm silence filled the space as Y/n sat up on her knees and looked at Sanji. She could see something was going on inside his head, and she knew him well enough to infer that he wasn’t going to say a damn thing. She studied the way his brow furrowed and noted how his eyes seemed more gray then blue in moments like these.

There was a profound sadness in him that she had only caught glimpses of in her three years aboard this ship. A profound sadness that he had more or less shared with her one drunken night in the bar when they should have been sleeping. A profound sadness that she wished every single day she could lift from him. The two sat in silence as the ship rocked softly under them; Y/n felt compelled to speak, to do anything that might help ease his overactive mind.

“Still, knowing what I know, having Zeff treating you like this can’t be good for the ole’ psyche…”

Sanji tensed up slightly at her words and Y/n mentally kicked herself for making that insinuation. She wanted to help him, but after the words left her mouth she felt a heavy guilt fill her bones. She watched as he shut his eyes and took a deep breath before smiling ever so slightly.

“Trust me, love. I may complain like this from time to time-”

“Almost ninety-five percent of the time."

“Ooookay. Almost ninety-five percent of the time, but nothing is worse than… what I came from.” He gave her a somber smile and pulled out his lighter again, flipping the lid open and closed in an almost rhythmic pattern. She returned his sad smile and pushed her baby hairs from her forehead.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned that.” She spoke softly as she looked out at the empty dining room; the tables were cast in an eerie candle light and the china adorning the tables glimmered like stars. Sanji looked at her, as her attention was placed elsewhere, and smiled fondly. He felt a warmth rise in his chest as he took in the curve of her profile. The slope of her nose, the length of her eyelashes, the round of her cheeks. The candle light of the empty room cast dancing shadows on her face that made her look otherworldly; he felt his smile, and eyes soften as he looked at her.

“Y/n I wouldn’t have told you about my shitty past if I didn’t trust you to check in on me like this every now and again.” Sanji spoke softly as Y/n turned her gaze back to him. She was almost stunned to see the expression on his face. The look in his eyes was, most of the time, reserved for the elegant ladies that entered the restaurant day in and day out. And yet here he was looking at her like that. She brushed the fond gaze off and swayed her head back and forth while giving him an apologetic look.

“I know, but it’s still not my place to dredge up old memories of abuse when I don’t even know the full story.” She responded, playing with the ends of her uniform shirt.

Sanji smiled at her and leaned forward in his seat, one hand braced himself on the seat top while the other reached forward and pulled her towards him. Y/n closed her eyes as she felt his lips press against her forehead.

“I appreciate you checking on me. It shows that you care.” He said softly, his words muffled seeing that his lips were still connected with her forehead. She smiled softly as he placed a loud exaggerated kiss to the skin there before pulling away and holding her face in his hand. “Okay?” He asked with a huge smile. She laughed at his theatrics and moved to stand up, leaving Sanji sitting alone in his booth as he looked up at her standing form.

“Whatever you say-” She began as she reached out a hand to help him up. He took it with a laugh and allowed Y/n to pull him to his feet. “-My favorite Baratie waiter.” She finished as she dropped his hand and started walking away from him, stifling her laughter. Sanji stood there with his jaw dropped as she walked away from him, his shock soon turning into a smile as he watched her shoulders shake from holding in her laughter. He let a chuckle slip out as he pushed up his sleeves and made a beeline for her.

“How DARE!” He yelled as he grabbed her from behind and lifted her off the ground slightly laughing as she yelped and then dissolved into laughter when she broke free. She began running to a nearby table to put distance between herself and him as she pointed at him,

“Not fair!” She yelled, watching as Sanji pointed back at her.

“Don’t you dare get me started on ‘fair’!” He responded as he laughed.

____

Zeff stood in the doorway to the kitchen watching as Sanji ran around tables with that wannabe pirate waitress. He observed in silence as the pair laughed and threw dish towels at each other instead of cleaning tables.

The small boy he once knew, terrified of making connections with those around him due to some dark past he kept to himself, was smling and laughing as he chased around what could only be discribed as a friend.

A small smile curled his weathered lips as he shook his head and walked away, the sounds of youth fading into nothing.

“Not bad, little eggplant… Not bad…”

[wakeup01]

buttslut

If you had asked Dante whether he would ever bottom, 1, he would probably punch you. And 2, he would insist that topping gays was just something 100% straight men like him did. And he’d say it with…well, with a ‘straight’ face. It was a display of superiority and power, an act to show people their place. He wouldn’t be seen dead bent over, presenting his rear. The mere idea disgusted him, a fact he made very clear when loudly talking to his recently made friend, Cris, inside the local inclusive night club.

An unlikely friendship that only came about from bumping into each other while Dante was taking selfies in the college bathrooms. Something of a regular past time, as Cris quickly learned. Even in a public place, Dante didn’t miss the opportunity to admire his own body, smirking as several gay guys around him turned to get a glimpse. Maybe that was the only real reason he agreed to come along. Then again, he was capable of being kindhearted, in his own special way.

“You see those pathetic ‘guys’ earlier? Practically begging to be shown what a real man can do.” Dante commented, chugging down the rest of his beer. Blatantly ignoring the warning hanging on the wall which stated ‘discrimination will not be tolerated’. Yes. Kind. In his *own* special way. “You get me?”

“Uh huh...” Cris sheepishly replied, trying to hold back a wince. Looking down with disappointment, his eyes tearing up slightly. Now definitely wasn’t a good time to reveal that he was actually trans. Maybe when the sun was about to implode, yes, that seemed like a more appropriate occasion.

Dante was a somewhat typical douchebag jock in most respects, keen to display his dominance and superior body to anyone with a hole to fill. A fuckstick with a guy - rather inconveniently, attached. Dante pushed out his perfectly sculpted chest and flexed his rippling muscles while he made his openly deriding remarks as a group passed him by. Deliberately yelling over the obnoxious club song that was blaring overhead. Cris merely laughed nervously, ashamed to admit his infatuation with Dante’s body - adjusting his trousers as his dick unconsciously rose to attention at Dante’s confident voice.

“Christ, your drink looks kinda fruity. You should try some of mine.” He lifts a glass and holds it out.

“Maybe later, do you want to go dance? I kinda dig this Charli…song.” Cris’ voice peters out at the expression shot in their direction. “Maybe not, huh.”

Unfortunately for Dante, the patrons and staff weren’t too keen on his ‘colourful’ choice of words, especially when starting to talk about ‘butt sluts’, as he put it. A bit of glitter blown in his direction was all that was needed to kickstart a change in perspective. Cris watched with wide eyes as he witnessed his toxic crush’s language and demeanour gradually adjust in front of him.

Dante attempted to brush away the glitter that somwhow got all over him. “The fu—fudge is this gay shi—shizzle!” Instead he only managed to spread it everywhere, speeding up the adjustments. Dante took another sip of beer and scrunched his nose up at the taste, pushing the drink aside. His stiff and once proud stature grew limp, hips swaying to the rhythm of the club music. The plethora of swears and insults softened into a series of enthusiastic lisps and giggles. His deep voice changing pitch one word at a time. “This soOOoong s—slaps, like, a totes banger!” Dante shouts out, to his friends amusement.

“But I thought you hated this—“

“Uhhhh, as if!” Dante’s whiney intonation quickly interjects, somewhat unbefitting of the muscled body it came from, his defined pecs still pushing out against the thin fabric of his tank top.

A warm insatiable itch caused Dante to absently remove his top and shorts, revealing a jockstrap cupping his bubbly rear - which quickly doubled in mass as it comically splayed out beneath him. A result of the rainbow glitter sticking to his sweaty body. The rest of him remained built like a tank, wide shoulders and thick thighs. A meaty chest glistening under the flickering lights of the club. He was so hot, but not just in appearance. The drunken stupor had fully gripped his easily manipulated mind. Everything around him suddenly seemed soo funny.

“Gawd, my butt’s, like, pretty big. Weird. Heehee.” Dante points out, turning slightly to show Cris, causing his cheeks to wobble. “Do girls even want big butts on guys?”

“Well…I…” Cris stammers, blushing bright red at the image of his ultra masculine friend shaking his butt while effeminately biting his lip.

“Like suuuper big and…” Internally Dante was unaware of his out of character behaviour, unquestioning as his brutish dominance was purged, replaced by adorably bratty submissiveness. He was the same old Dante deep down, just…happier. And sluttier. His body unconsciously began to gyrate to the heavy bass throbbing in his head. All he noticed was the growing need centred around his tight hole. His fingers cautiously touched the jiggly mound of flesh weighing him down from behind. Dante’s eyes filled with lust as he stared at his friend Cris, noting the sight of him and all the other hot men around him. A pleasurable sigh escapes his pursed lips.

“Big and…empty.”

A couple minutes of character growth later, members of staff arrived to offer Dante ‘vip status’ at the club. A program they had setup to deal with any ‘troublemakers’. Dante didn’t mind however, and agreed instantly. Cris followed as he got directed out the back door towards his new station, taking his position as a public relief hole. Leaning against the wall as the cool night air brushed against his bare skin. All the while he was incapable of keeping his hands off his rear, feeling it up without a second thought as onlookers watched. Dante simply nodded along dimly while the club’s manager explained that he was about to be fucked and used repeatedly to atone for his remarks. That once he has filled his quota, he and his twerkable bubble butt would become the club’s next permanent dancer.

Dante smiles and says “mmkay” while pushing his hands against the wall and widening his legs - staring blankly ahead. “Like this?” There was a little sign above his head that simply read ‘hole’ with an arrow pointing down. Just in case it wasn’t clear.

Cris made sure he was first in line to try out the new resident ‘butt slut’. He positions himself behind Dante, and struggles to hold back a laugh at the sight of the once bigoted jock willingly preparing to get dicked. He definitely liked him a lot more like this - the same muscled physique, but without the crude superiority complex. Their friendship was sure to hit new heights.

“Ready? Let me show you what a ‘real man’ can do.” Cris says with a newfound sense of confidence. Playfully, he spins Dante’s baseball cap around and places his hands across the himbo’s rear, parting his huge round cheeks to show off the cherry he was about to pop - before the rest of the club would inevitably leave him gaping.

“Mm.” Is all Dante can muster before Cris’s cock forcefully stretches him open and leaves him moaning like the natural cock hungry bottom he now was. “Don’t—don’t stawwwp babe!”

[bvidzsoo]

Through your colours

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: artist!Kim Hongjoong x barista!reader

੭ Warning: recreational drug use (weed), alcohol consumption, swearing ੭ Word count: 11k ੭ Rating: nc-17 ੭ Genre: fluff, angst-ish, slice of life, strangers to lovers, a hint of simp Joong? post university setting ੭ Summary: A broke barista and a broke artist meet in a student infested dingy pub, what do they have in common? The desire to make something great of themselves, to live a fulfilled life. But first impressions can go wrong, deterring people from each other. You're probably lucky that's not how your story with Hongjoong goes, though.

A/N: Hello, hello, my lovelies! I present you another story that was supposed to be a drabble but instead turned into...a smaller oneshot?? I consider anything that's below 15k a drabble because my oneshots just go over 20k all the time, save me! This idea came on a random whim while my pinterest suggested three photos lol, and it took me some time to write it, but it's here at last. Your feedback is greatly appreciated, let me know what you thought of this little story, and I hope you enjoy it! divider

            Gustav Klimt had once, sometime during the nineteenth century, stated that, “Art is a line around your thoughts”. This could be interpreted many ways, of course, but for an artist it was just as plain and simple as Mr Klimt had said. Whatever was on your mind, you could give it life by putting it on a piece of paper by the brush of ink and feather against the parchment, or by the swift twist of one’s wrist as their brush coloured their canvas. Art comes in many forms, many thoughts, and many interpretations. After all, everyone relates to it based by their own experiences, based on the emotions they feel and have felt before…and overall, their capacity of seeing beyond what’s shoved in front of their eyes. Maybe that’s why Hongjoong would stare at a painting or picture for hours on end without growing tired. He liked to see everything, he wanted to understand every stroke of brush, or why the lightning fell in that specific way on the item in the picture. Hongjoong wanted to feel the same emotions the author of the creation had felt while creating their piece. It helped him draw inspiration, expand his horizons towards new possibilities. Hongjoong liked new challenges as long as they were about his art. In life, he preferred the steady and sure lifestyle, the one that was predictable enough that it wouldn’t send him into an existential crisis over the smallest inconvenience.

Hongjoong needed order in his life since his art was all over the place, judged by many and often misunderstood. He didn’t paint just for the fun of it, sure, there were passion projects he started on a whim without much of a goal in mind, and usually those were well received by his professors, by his colleagues. But whenever Hongjoong wanted to say something through his art, he’d get scrutinized for it. He yet had to find that one person that saw beyond what others called a mess. He’s never thrived for attention or validation, but it had gotten lonely after a while when he realised nobody really understood him. He felt like he was the odd one even in a crowd full of odd people. He’d always been different, more open-minded and receptive to the changes in the world, and he’d always been judged for it. Here, instead of being frowned upon due to his character, he was sometimes ignored because his art was either dull or not good enough. Nobody seemed to understand that art is relative and subjective, that whatever lay on the canvas made by Hongjoong was his and would always be. That he had dipped his brush into a touch of colour from his soul, displaying it for the world to see on the once blank canvas. He became vulnerable for them and yet nobody had appreciated it yet. And so, Hongjoong got used to not being seen for his art, but for who he was.

Quirky with questionable fashion taste to many, bold because he wasn’t afraid to try out new styles—much like with his paintings—and intimidating because no matter how many times he tried out something new, he’d instantly make it his, owning whatever concept he had in mind. Hongjoong knew not everyone was against him out there, but it was easy to fall hostage to such thoughts when he was alone. It would make sense for an artist to have a mind clouded by questions and rarely answers, a mind that worked too fast and yet never good enough. Doubts and fears pulling one down, Hongjoong loved expressing it through his paintings, his hand nothing but a guide to the brush clutched tightly between his fingers, calling out to him even when he chose to step away. Hongjoong was in it for life, and he wondered whether the weeping willow tree by the river bank in his framed painting was a premonition for how his life would look like.

            The bar was busy like every other night in this student-infested town. It wasn’t even a surprise anymore, you should have known better than to wear your boots with high heels. There were no seconds to waste and even less time for breaks between preparing drinks, cleaning the bar, and running around the room to clean the tables too. Nobody wanted their hands sticky because someone had previously spilt their drink, and you were more than ready to clock out for the night. The only problem was, however, that you still had three hours left of your shift. You sighed as you averted your eyes from the clock, realising you hadn’t started preparing the drink the drunk college student had asked for on the other side of the bar. His eyes were glossy and he was swaying in his spot, you debated filling his cup with water rather than Vodka, but you couldn’t risk getting a complaint since your boss was a stinky little fucker. Your hands worked fast, and years spent doing this kind of work were showing as you did a few tricks, hoping you’d get a nice tip. You doubted the college guy would leave a huge tip, if anything at all, but at least you tried. It was all about trying in places like this one. Trying to stay calm when a customer was rude, trying to remain sane when night after night the DJ played the same playlist for the drunken students, trying to smile and hide the fact that you hated when these frat boys flirted with you. And also try and hide the fact that you were fed up with people, and needed at least a month away from civilisation.

But if one wanted to achieve something in life, one had to work for it to happen since it wouldn’t fall from the sky. Going abroad and starting a new life over there wasn’t for free, and it especially wouldn’t happen overnight. You were well aware of that, that’s why you were working day and night, taking up shifts that were probably too long to be healthy. But the dream you had in mind demanded such sacrifices, and if it meant working hard right now for a comfortable life in the future, you were willing to spend your nights sleepless and surrounded by annoying college students. You had been like them once, after all, but that was a few years ago, and since then, the harsh reality has awoken you. What was the purpose of a degree you couldn’t do anything with? Yeah, you could’ve laughed at yourself, but then it would soon turn into hysterical crying and you weren’t strong enough to deal with such emotions. You’ve cried enough, it was time you took action now. You sighed as another rush of bodies crowded the bar, asking for shots and long cocktails. You weren’t a fancy place by any means, but you served the usual sweet cocktails that could be found in every other place. Your hands worked fast as you catered to everyone’s likes, your coworker, Hanni, was somewhere lost between the students as she had gone to clean up the tables. And even in your rush, it seemed like you couldn’t satisfy everyone. It shouldn’t have phased you, but you’ve had a rough day today.

“Hey, babe, think you could work those hands faster, maybe?” You ignored the question and smiled as a group of girls paid for their pink cocktails, leaving a bigger tip than most men would. You felt grateful and felt your smile turn genuine when the tallest in the group winked at you before they became part of the rowdy crowd again. Then, you could face your impatient customer. He didn’t look like a student, way too old to be in a crowd filled with students, but who were you to judge? Some people go to college at a later age, maybe he wanted to get the full student experience. Although, you doubted a thirty-year-old had anything in common with young adults on the brink of maturing, if they managed to mature during their upper-level study days.

“What can I get for you?” Your voice was raised since the music was booming, and unfortunately, you also had to lean over the counter to hear the man better. For some reason, that made the man smirk as he leaned forward as well, eyeing you up as if you were a piece of meat. You ignored it as your teeth ground together, you’ve seen men like him before, he wasn’t the first to act like this and you knew he wouldn’t be the last one either.

“How about…you, sugar?” Your expression didn’t budge as his smirk became shit eating as if he had accomplished anything by saying that. You waited, without blinking or reacting to what he’s said, hoping he’d catch on that he wasn’t hilarious nor flirty.

“Don’t we all wish to have a piece of the pretty barista?” That managed to throw you off as your head whipped to the side, eyebrows furrowing as you just now noticed the newcomer. He was…well, something else for sure. He wore no casual or ordinary clothes, nothing you could compare to the annoying frat boys or just the other dudes with a regular fashion sense. His hair was dark but it looked a little fried, as if it had been bleached already one too many times before. His white blouse was loose and tucked in at the waist, his black pants wide and reaching below his ankles. A thick belt was secured around the guy’s petit waist, and if you looked harder, you swore you could see a dark blue bow tied to it. His brown vest seemed to elevate the outfit even more, the pleated brown choker sitting at the base of his throat with a few other silver chains, a ruby pendant hitting his pecks as he was leaning against the counter lazily. His hip was jutted out and his painted nails tapped against the side of his head, cat-like eyes blinking slowly as he watched you. The hat he wore looked something like you’ve only seen in Peaky Blinders, and for a second, you almost chuckled. He looked peculiar but not in a negative sense, it’s just that you haven’t seen someone like him stumble inside the pub before. He didn’t seem to belong with the crowd and that would’ve been something you’d appreciate on any other day than today.

“I don’t think we were talking to you, no?” The cocky man in front of you raised a mocking eyebrow at the other guy, and you rolled your eyes for a second. But before you could answer, the other guy did for you.

“You threatened my game is better than yours?” The artsy-looking guy asked with a chuckle, his tone was more on the higher side, and you found yourself not irked by it too much. But you weren’t here to have men measure their cocks by who can get the barista’s phone number faster, so you interrupted them before they could piss you off even more.

“Listen, fellas, I don’t have all night. What do you want?” Your tone was sharp, straight to the point, and shut down all attempts at flirting as the man in front of you scoffed, shooting a dirty look at the peculiar-looking one. You tilted your head as the older man finally faced you, trying to downplay his irritation as he plastered on a charming smile again. It made your jaw tick again, but you said nothing more.

“Do you have whiskey?” You were already reaching for the bottle of Whiskey before the man was finished talking, your other hand grabbing a glass as Hanni finally returned to the bar, her tray filled with dirty glasses.

“I’ll just wash these and come help.” She said as she passed by you and you nodded, filling the man’s glass with ice and whiskey, not too much but not too little either. Who even drinks Whiskey in a place like this one? But you didn’t care as long as he’d be out of your hair, so you placed the glass on the counter, but before you could tell the guy how much it was, he had already slid a bill on the counter, sauntering away. You grabbed it and pushed it into your fanny pack, taking a step back to take a deep breath. You could do this, Hanni was back and maybe you could ask her to cover for you for five minutes. A bathroom break was allowed at any time, after all. Your small moment, however, was interrupted by a scoff. You blinked your eyes open and looked towards where the sound came from, eyes narrowing when you realised the other guy was still lingering around.

“What a pig, he didn’t even tip you.” You had to agree with his slurred words but instead walked over with an impassive expression. You weren’t here to be nice or to make friends, and you never failed to make it clear to your customers. These entitled dudes thought they could get your number and get in your pants with just a few—fake—nice words, you could confidently say you hated them all and that they made you wish you never again encountered their species. But alas, that wouldn’t happen tonight, so you headed over to the pompous guy, raising an eyebrow. He was intriguing, you couldn’t deny that, but you also knew not to mingle with guys who frequented the pub. So, even if one sparked your interest, at the end of the day, you’d still walk home alone and relish in the quiet of your room.

“What can I get for you?” You tried to keep your tone level as your hip pressed into the counter, feet aching now even more. You were ready to chuck your damn boots at the wall and call it a night, but as Hanni flashed you her typical sweet smile, you knew you couldn’t leave her alone in the wolf's den. She was too sweet and too naïve, smiling and laughing along to the shitty jokes of the frat boys who were eyeing her up with little regard for the fact that she was visibly uncomfortable.

“Something sweet like you.” You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, telling yourself to keep your cool. He wasn’t saying anything offensive, unlike many other men, he just kept calling you sweet and pretty. That could be considered even nice, but not tonight.

“The menu is literally behind me, you can choose anything from it.” You pointed a finger behind yourself, where you knew the menu was hung high on the wall so that everyone could see it. The peculiar guy just gave you a look of confusion before looking past you, blinking his eyes lazily once again. You tapped your fingers against the counter, waiting for his choice, glad that you could take a breather now that nobody was crowding to get their drinks refilled. Hanni whizzed past you when she noticed a smaller group of girls approaching, her smile reaching her ears and already talking to them, beckoning them closer. Hanni was an excellent barista, she kept her customers entertained and always engaged with them…unlike you, but that’s why your duo worked so well. You were the stoic one and she was the sunshine, but you were both quick on your feet so your boss couldn’t complain.

“Uh, I’ll take a Cosmopolitan.” The guy finally decided and you quirked an eyebrow, grabbing the shaker.

“That’s not sweet.” It was unlike you to make conversation, but the words were on the tip of your tongue so you couldn’t ignore them. The guy chuckled, letting his elbows rest on the counter as he placed his chin in his palms. Your eyes raised for a second to look at him, and you were taken aback by how cute he looked. But as he blinked slowly again, a small smile spreading onto his lips as he watched you, you quickly focused your attention on his Cosmo.

“I know, I was just trying to make you feel better.” He sighed, tracing a manicured finger against the dirty counter. You had to clean that too. As you grabbed some olive to stash on a toothpick, you followed his finger with your eyes and noticed the two silver and shiny rings on his finger, his nail done a neon yellow with a black smiley face painted on top of it.

“What do you even know…” You scoffed to yourself, placing the martini glass on the counter for the guy to take. He was still looking at you, his eyes hazy, and you allowed yourself to take in his features. He had a petite and sharp nose, pretty and well-fitting with his sharp jawline and otherwise intimidating eyes if it wasn’t for the smile in them. His lips were more plump than thin with a pretty Cupid’s bow, slightly pouty as he gave you a small frown.

“Well, I bet you don’t plan on wasting your life away here.” The way he spoke had an airy feel to it, as if he wasn’t really thinking before speaking, “And by the looks of it, it seems as if your degree didn’t take you too far as of now, which is not a big deal, people change their minds all the time.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as the guy reached for his Cosmo, your fingers brushing together since you hadn’t retracted your hand yet. You ignored how warm his fingers felt, the softness of them as they lightly brushed against yours, “It’s just sad to see talented people waste their lives away in places like this one, you know? I mean, we all go to college to make something of ourselves, but then we end up in a dimly lit and smelly bar, selling alcohol to entitled pricks, forced to listen to their attempts at flirting, or them berating us for ‘not’ doing our job. Sure, it’s honest work, but at the end of the day, when you walk home after an ungodly long shift, you still hate yourself, so…”

Something in you broke at his last sentence, making you gulp hard. You still hate yourself, the guy had said with the most easy-going expression on his face, a slight smile pulling at his lips as he continued to blink lazily at you. What did he even know when he was clearly wearing designer clothes to a pub where alcohol could be spilt on you, among many other things? Who was he to assume you couldn’t do anything with your degree, rubbing it in your face that he knew people ended up like this when he clearly came from a rich background with all those accessories on him, his tone airy and almost mocking. Your jaw clenched again as you realised you had tears in your eyes, and your hand came down harshly on the counter as the guy slipped a bill towards you, way over the price of his damn Cosmopolitan.

“Go fuck yourself.” You snapped as you threw the change back at him, watching his expression fall, his eyebrows raising comically high. You didn’t sit around to listen to him trying to get your attention again, you brushed past Hanni and leaned down to tell her that you needed five minutes. She gave you a worried look before nodding, letting you head to the bathroom as a few tears spilt down your cheeks. Today was complete shit, you couldn’t wait to get home and ignore all the responsibilities and problems you had. You were doing this for a better future, this was just a small fragment of your life, and it wouldn’t last forever. At least you really hoped so.

            You released a long sigh as the cool air hit your face, eyes stinging from the sudden coldness as the red backdoor slammed shut behind you. Hanni and you kept telling your boss to change the hinges, but he had more important things to take care of, of course. Stepping aside so that the door wouldn’t slam into your back if any staff member decided to come outside at this moment, you leaned against the cold wall, pushing your hands into your pockets. You didn’t bother grabbing your jacket, although you should have given the fact that your skin was now covered in goosebumps, teeth slightly chattering. It was always a whiplash coming outside from that parched pub, having to forcefully push through the bodies too busy to notice your approaching form. It was another busy night, the weekend was approaching so the students were coming in waves that the pub could barely house. You’ve been telling your boss that you should put a capacity limit, but he wouldn’t make as much money like that as he was making now, so of course, he said no. He was a greedy monster and he didn’t even try to hide it.

Just as you closed your eyes, you heard a loud tsk followed by a hiss, and your head jerked to the side, your eyes widening. You hadn’t realised there was someone else here with you, too taken by your own thoughts of wondering what you’d cook for dinner…if you make it home at a decent hour, which was looking less and less likely to be. With your eyes narrowed and head turned, you tried to find the source where the sound had come from, eyebrows furrowing when you noticed someone crouched down right by the door, their head lowered over their knees. It wasn’t your business what anyone was doing, really, but if a client was feeling unwell and would need assistance, you’d feel guilty if you just walked away without a word. So, sighing to yourself, you pushed off the wall and took a few steps to approach the person, eyes taking in the black messy curls on the top of his head. The person had a baby mullet growing out, framing his pale nape. You cleared your throat and reached down, gently poking at the guy’s shoulder.

“Hey, you good?” You asked unsure, eyebrows furrowing when the guy grunted only. Tilting your head, you realised he was shielding his left hand, his right thumb trying to roll the sparkwheel of his lighter, but to no avail.

“Yeah, this bloody thing won’t work.” The guy groaned, shaking his lighter as he tilted his head back, a hand-rolled cigarette hanging between his lips. Your eyes widened as you realised the face was familiar, having seen him just yesterday. The guy’s eyes looked innocent as they rounded, recognition flashing in his too. You gulped and straightened up, your expression slightly hardening as the guy’s harsh words from yesterday rang through your ears. He seemed pretty fine to you, but before you could step aside and go back inside, he spoke up.

“Hi there, pretty barista.” He then grinned, a lazy pull of his cherry-red lips, his tone easy. You didn’t expect him to be so easy-going after what you had said to him, but it almost looked like the guy wasn’t bothered by you cursing him out…maybe he really wasn’t, “You on a break?”

You crossed your arms in front of your chest, watching as he struggled to get his lighter to work. You had one in your pocket, but you found a bit of satisfaction in watching him struggle. Maybe if he asked whether you had one, you’d let him use yours. But people who didn’t ask wouldn’t get help, that’s what your father taught you, at least.

“Obviously.” You muttered matter of fact as the guy hummed, grinning wickedly when the lighter finally sparked to life, allowing him to light his cigarette. You watched as the flame danced in front of his face, making his dark eyes appear amber-like, sharper from this angle. You realised, alarmed, that you were appreciating his looks so you quickly stopped, looking away as the guy puffed out a whiff of smoke.

“You want some?” The guy asked, reaching his hand toward you as you eyed the cigarette, its smell hitting you. It was too herbal to be a normal cigarette, you belatedly realised as you watched the guy take another hit of his joint.

“What’s in it?” You decided to ask, just to make sure. If you were wrong and it was a regular cigarette, maybe you’d accept a smoke. You didn’t usually smoke but you were still tired from yesterday’s shift, and something that could loosen your nerves would be highly appreciated.

“Good stuff.” The guy grinned, giggling even a little, and the sound almost put a smile on your lips, but you caught yourself in time and instead shook your head, pushing your hands into your pockets again.

“I’m working, so, no.” The guy just hummed as he looked up at you again, taking a drag of his joint as you gulped and everted your eyes. It felt like he was gazing right through you and into your soul as your eyes had met, and given the fact that you were still butt-hurt over what he had said to you yesterday, you refused to look at him too long…you’d only admire his beauty, either way. He wore a fuzzy yellow and pink sweater today, his brown dress pants looking way too thin for this weather, but the guy didn’t seem to mind. His nails stood out with their unique design, and he wore fewer rings today but more earrings than yesterday.

“Hey, yesterday…what I said at the bar, I didn’t mean to berate you.” The guy gulped, his eyebrows furrowing as you looked back at him, slightly taken aback to see such sincerity on his face. You’ve never met someone so easily readable before, “My intention wasn’t to hurt you, I was smoked out too so I was just running my mouth, I do that when I’m high, sorry…”

A beat of silence passed as the two of you shared an apprehensive look, making you bite your bottom lip. You cleared your throat and at last averted your eyes, kicking a few pebbles towards the guy without meaning to, “Right, I shouldn’t have cursed you out either…I’m sorry too, I guess.”

The guy hummed, a smile slowly appearing on his lips before he took another drag of his cigarette, his eyes boring into yours again, “I’m glad the pretty barista doesn’t hate my guts anymore.”

You have no idea what took over you, but your cheeks were suddenly flushing as if you had been noticed by your crush for the first time, your skin prickling. You weren’t one to care about the compliments your clients gave since most of them were only trying to get in your pants, but this guy seemed to be genuine. He didn’t try to hit on you, he was just calling you pretty, and it was getting to you. You hummed and turned towards the door, hand reaching out for the knob when suddenly the guy spoke again, “Humans are easily susceptible, you know? We judge without knowing first, and we rarely apologise and recognise our mistakes. I hate people like that, rude people for no reason too. I don’t stand for all that bullshit, so I’m glad you told me to fuck myself instead of smiling at me like you do with all the other assholes. I appreciate your hard work, we all have to make due somehow and you aren’t less for working in this pub, pretty barista.”

There he was again, making your chest feel heavy as you huffed, a sarcastic smile pulling at your lips. Once again, what did he know about you? Maybe you loved this damned job, maybe being a barista in a shitty pub has been your lifelong dream. You almost scoffed at yourself, eyes narrowing as the guy took more drags of his joint, seemingly waiting for an answer that you didn’t exactly want to give. But you didn’t want him to have the last word, much like yesterday, so you plastered on a sarcastic smirk, “There you go again, blabbering your mouth when you’re smoked out.”

You didn’t expect the guy to start laughing loudly, his head falling back as it landed against the wall, his eyes crinkling at the corners. You didn’t mean to gape, but he was beautiful and painfully honest, it was refreshing in a world full of fakeness. He was an intriguing person, and you would’ve allowed yourself to become interested in him if only you had met in a different setting. With a hum and lingering eyes, you pushed the door open as the guy nodded at you in goodbye once he realised you were leaving for good. And with a faster beating heart, you willed yourself to focus on the few hours that you still had of your shift.

            It’s been quite a while since you had the chance to wake up at the crack of dawn without feeling tired, or without having to rush in for an early shift. Through hard work, you had earned these two days of break, and while you wished you had been given a full week, you made sure to utilise these two days wisely. You had always been an early bird, wishing to wake with the sun, opening your windows to hear the song of the birds, but it was too cold for them to hunker down in front of your window today. You didn’t mind, you’d take a stroll after your breakfast and check out the new art store that’s opened not too far from your apartment. You’ve heard great things about it, the prices seemed to be reasonable, and it had an adjoint bookstore and a coffee shop as well. A quick check on the internet showed you just how cozy it was, so you thought you could buy a book from your to read list and settle down in the coffee shop. It sounded like a great plan to destress and forget for a bit about work and all the idiots that kept you up at night, quite literally.

Your scarf was thick as you buried your nose into it, trying to keep it warm from the cold chill of the early morning. The city was awake with you, orange sun rising on the horizon and blinding you as you were walking towards it, you couldn’t help but smile. It warmed your cheeks and body, feeling the sun on your skin during cold season always felt like a blessing, you would always relish in it as much as you could because you knew it wouldn’t last for long. You exhaled as your eyes remained squinted, watching the people around you as you walked towards your destination. Kids were rushing to school, parents by their sides guiding them, and traffic was as crazy as ever, impatient drivers honking and disturbing the little peace everyone had. You paid it no mind and felt thankful that you were able to wake up so early instead of just going to bed, all tired and wishing for your boss to fire you. But if he did fire you, you would be in trouble, so you didn’t actually wish for that to happen. And suddenly as you turned the corner, the guy’s words from the bar managed to ring through your ears once again. Working at the pub was just as much of an honest job as it would’ve been working anywhere else.

You sighed, realising you were thinking about him again. You’ve been doing this a lot lately, letting your mind wander to his peculiar fashion sense and even more peculiar way of thinking. He seemed almost raw with his words and thoughts, unafraid to say them to your face. It was refreshing and intriguing, but you couldn’t let yourself be sidetracked right now. You had a purpose, and that was working until you had enough money to move away. If somehow a guy came into the picture right now, you felt like that would mess up all your plans and vision of the future. Under no circumstance would you stay here, but you knew your heart would betray you and try to keep you here for longer, with your lover. You didn’t even want to think of the guy as a potential love interest, you didn’t even know each other, so you shoved these thoughts to the back of your mind as you reached the art store, eyes widening at its exterior.

You haven’t seen anything quite like it before, the windows reached from ceiling to floor, a clear view of what was going on inside. There was a spiral staircase that led to the higher level which was littered with bookcases and low hanging retro chandeliers, bean bags spaced out on the floor as people sat around with books in their hands. To the right was the coffee shop with a separate entrance if you were only here for coffee, but you could also enter through the art store. And the art store was gorgeous as you made your way inside, the double doors opening easily. A sweet scent hit your nostrils as you walked further inside, your eyes wide as you took in the whole place. Paintings were hung on the walls, blank canvas placed underneath as many shelves housed all kinds of art supplies. The clerks were all smiley and they welcomed you warmly once they noticed your arrival. Maybe you could find a nicer workplace, something like this one. The workload seemed less strenuous and the people that came here to shop were less rowdy and rude. As much as you loved admiring the fine arts, you didn’t have the talent for drawing or painting, you could mess up even something as simple as a cloud. It was embarrassing, but arts have never been your forte, so you headed for the staircase to look for the book you had on your mind.

Navigating around the many shelves seemed a bit intimidating at first, but then you noticed they were sectioned on different genres, the tags hanging low from the ceiling with an arrow pointing towards the section to help you out. You smiled to yourself as you unrolled your scarf from around your neck, the warmth of the store helping your frozen fingers as you turned down a corner, two tall bookshelves on your sides. At the end of the row sat a younger girl with a manga in her hand, another one pressed to her lips as she seemed to be giggling. You felt yourself smile as you came near her, looking at the titles of the books. Asking for a clerk to help you find the book you were looking for would’ve helped enormously, but you found yourself wanting to stroll around in the warmth, fingers grazing the spines of the books. The girl giggled just a bit louder and blushed when you glanced her way. This wasn’t a library, so she wasn’t disturbing anyone, but she was still mindful of those around her. You turned the corner once again, finding the High Fantasy section, having made your research beforehand, you knew you were in the right place. It took a bit more cruising down the row to finally find the book you were looking for, and you grinned when you found it, taking it off the shelf.

You thought about strolling around the store more just to discover it further, maybe they had cheap trinkets you could buy. You even thought about paying a visit the coffee shop as well, maybe they had one of your favourite patisserie delicacies. You wouldn’t turn down something sweet right now, you didn’t have a sweet tooth necessarily, but there were days when your cravings got the better of you. With that in mind, you headed back the way you had come, sneaking another glance at the younger girl as she gasped, manga now clutched tightly in both of her hands. You chuckled before you rounded the corner, now back on the main aisle that led to the spiral staircase. You noticed that most people who were inside the store looked to be college students, their outfits mismatched colours and patterns, hair coloured something vibrant as most of them had piercings you never even thought possible before. You really liked their style and found yourself staring at them, blushing when a girl caught you and raised an eyebrow before she smiled. You nodded your head and hurried down the stairs, flustered and a little embarrassed. They oddly reminded you of the guy from the bar, you thought he’d somehow fit right in with the people inside the store. It looked something he’d enjoy, not that you knew anything about him besides that he smoked weed, wasn’t afraid to speak his mind, and had a nice sense of fashion.

You were looking at the hard cover of your book as you got to the base of the staircase, taken by the pretty illustration and completely unaware that someone was headed straight towards you, just as taken by items in his hands as you were by your book. The collision could’ve been avoided if you both had been paying attention to where you were going, but alas, you gasped loudly as you felt a hard body collide into yours, items spilling loudly onto the floor. Your head shoot up, eyes wide as you looked at the equally startled man and—wait, it was the same guy from the bar! You gulped, suddenly feeling nervous as your cheeks burned, but the guy hadn’t noticed you yet as he had crouched down to collect his items off the floor. You felt bad and hoped the expensive palette on the ground hadn’t been broken, so you crouched down too and reached for it to inspect it. The guy still hadn’t quite noticed that it was you out of all people, but as you reached for the same brush, his head raised sharply. Your smile was apologetic as the guy’s eyes widened, recognition flashing on his face. This was the third time you met this week, the sheer coincidence of meeting outside the pub was a bit jarring…especially since you’ve been just thinking about him.

“Pretty barista from the pub!” He motioned towards you then chuckled, letting you pick up the brush. Your book was placed on the ground next to you so your hands were free to help.

“Hi,” Your voice came out a lot shier than you had intended it to be, and you chewed on your bottom lip awkwardly, “Sorry about this, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Don’t worry,” The guy chuckled, scooping up the small canvases, “I wasn’t either. If it makes you feel better, it was both of our faults.”

You hummed and grabbed the last item off the floor, standing at the same time as the guy. His arms were filled with his items, and you wondered if you handed over the four in your hands how he’d be able to carry everything. Despite the cold weather outside, he was underdressed. He wore a simple turtleneck with a brown knitted vest over it, long flowy plants and mismatched tennis shoes. As you both stepped aside from the staircase to make way for others, you cleared your throat and averted your eyes once you realised you were staring again. But you hadn’t seen him wearing glasses before, and with the curly strands falling over his forehead, he didn’t only look handsome but cute as well.

“What brings you here?” The guy made conversation as you tried to figure out how to hand him his items without making him drop them all again, “I say this without meaning to be rude, but you seem like the last person who’d be interested in art.”

You huffed, not bothered by his honesty, “While that statement is incorrect, I’m not here due to the art section of the store. I was looking for a book.”

“Right!” He exclaimed, glancing down at his own chest, “Oh, sorry, you can hand me those, I can carry them!”

“Are you sure?” You asked as he nodded enthusiastically, so you complied. You stepped closer to place the other four items in his arms, watching as he clinched the smaller canvas underneath his chin to keep it from falling. You would’ve laughed and offered to help until he got himself a bag or something, but the guy looked pretty content like this. Like it wasn’t his first time doing this…

“Are you collecting them?” The guy’s incomplete question left you raising a confused eyebrow at him, “Sorry, I saw you’re buying The Hobbit. It’s a pretty famous reprint, the covers are gorgeous, my best friend is collecting them so I assumed you are too.”

You glanced down at the book in your hand and bit your bottom lip, trying to brush off your embarrassment. Why were you feeling like this all of a sudden? It made no sense, but you didn’t want to leave a bad impression on the guy…even though his perception of you might already be fucked since this wasn’t your first time meeting.

“I’ve, uh, so, uhm, I have a to read list for books I’ve never read while growing up, so now I have a little tradition that I buy a book from the list each month and read it.” You spoke quickly, avoiding eye contact as the guy listened to your ramble. His intake of breath was sharp and you chanced a glance at his face, finding his eyes wide and his mouth rounded.

“Wait. Are you saying you haven’t read The Hobbit before?!” He sounded incredulous and alarmed, and your cheeks grew hot once again, actually managing to sour your mood a bit. Not having read the book didn’t make you less by any means, but you had a feeling this guy was well-versed in literature, so it felt like a jab and even a subtle scrutinising.

“Yeah, not everyone likes reading while growing up…” Your tone grew cold and voice snappish as you continued to avoid eye contact, looking towards the front desk so that maybe the guy would get the hint that you were done with this conversation. But it didn’t actually surprise you that he continued speaking without noticing you didn’t want to keep conversing anymore.

“That’s totally cool, my brother hated comic books growing up and now he’s obsessed with them.” The guy chuckled, expression innocent and tone genuinely excited, “I think you’ll love the book, it’s filled with adventure and otherworldly creatures. It’s a nice step back from our grim reality, I feel like you need that right now.”

Okay, there he was assuming again that he could just…psychoanalyse you or whatever, “Can you stop doing that? I’m not a painting you can interpret to your liking.”

The guy blinked, face going blank before his cheeks flushed, his gaze averted now from yours, “I…have I been doing it all this time?”

“Ever since we’ve met.” Your answer was sharp and quick and the guy blushed even more.

“Oh, sorry, I just…I’ll stop doing that,” Then he smiled awkwardly and held eye contact with you, “I’m Hongjoong, by the way, I don’t remember introducing myself.”

Because he hadn’t. You repeated his name in your head, finding yourself liking the sound of it, it seemed like a fitting name for him. You hummed, extending your hand.

“I’m Y/N.” But you and Hongjoong glanced down at your extended hand and then his occupied ones at the same time, chuckles leaving your mouths as he seemed flustered.

“I’m shake your hand the next time we see other.”

“If there will be a next time.”

“I quite like the pub you work at, pretty barista.” You cleared your throat and avoided looking at him because as corny as it was, it kind of made your heart flutter. What was happening? The chiming of the doorbell reminded you that it was time you left and took care of other errands you had in your schedule, but before you could say goodbye to Hongjoong, he asked a question that took you off guard, “Wanna grab a cup of coffee with me?”

Then he turned sideways, nodding towards the adjoined café, and you hesitated for a second. You could actually slip in a little time to have coffee with him, but you felt reluctant. You had met him at the pub, after all, and you still couldn’t decide what type of person he was. Of course, he was handsome, and so far, has showed a good character, but there were little moments when he somehow managed to ruin everything with his words. And he was still a complete stranger, so, listening to your rational mind, you slowly shook your head.

“I don’t like coffee, but thanks!” Your smile was easy, Hongjoong’s face morphed into something knowing as he hummed with a nod.

“Sure, I’m glad I caught you here.” Then, as you were about to take off, he added, “The pretty barista now has a name, I can say my morning was successful.”

You tried to huff and look irked, but the blush betrayed you. You just shook your head before heading for the front desk, “Goodbye, Hongjoong.”

“See ya!” His smile was radiant as he turned around and headed for the café instead, and you realised he was underdressed because he had come from the coffee shop, his things already there. And with Hongjoong on your mind, you followed his distinctive walk as he sauntered over to his table with an elegancy yet swagger you hadn’t seen before.

            Now, a week ago you probably would have said no to a preposition that involved you following home a complete stranger whose name you had known for a maximum of four days, but tonight had been literal shit and you were on the verge of tears when Hongjoong had sauntered over to the bar, his Chesire like smile blinding. You had one more hour left of your shift and you’d be clocking out, not even staying behind to help Hani clean up. Your cramps were terrible and a guy who hit on you for the whole night had spilt his drink on your favourite blouse, calling you a bitch as well for shunning him away, so, when you saw Hongjoong approach the bar with mischief in his eyes, you were ready to scream at him and tell him to get lost. Except that you didn’t do all that because his question completely threw you off guard.

“Y/N, do you like art?” He had a rolled-up joint resting at his ear, his hair pulled to the side and clipped back with colourful hair clips. Your laugh that bubbled past your lips sounded incredulous and tired, but you nodded.

“I do, do you want something to drink?” Hongjoong shook his head, leaning across the bar despite it being wet from spilt alcohol.

“When does your shift end?”

“In an hour.”

“Wanna see some of my art?” Then Hongjoong grinned, looking proud of himself, “I’m a painter.”

Something came over you and didn’t even let you ponder over your decision, “Do you have weed?”

The answer was obvious as you glanced at the joint and Hongjoong laughed, tilting his head in a way that sharpened his features under the neon lights of the pub.

“Obviously, got some on me right now. Want some?” Not while you were working, afterwards, however, you were free to do whatever.

“After my shift, yeah.”

“Cool, I’ll meet you in the back. See ya.”

And that’s how you ended up at Hongjoong’s apartment, not even ten minutes away from the pub. Your feet ached and your cramps were so bad you felt like doubling over and emptying your already empty stomach, but you tried to hold yourself together in front of Hongjoong. There was a nervous flutter in your chest as you had followed him up the steel staircase, the building old and dodgy. However, the second you walked inside his studio apartment, it felt like you had entered a different realm. He was the true definition of an artist, you came to realise, with canvas strewn around the apartment, most finished but some blank, oil paint tainting the wooden floor and even the walls. The colours were neutral, beige with a slip of sage green here and there, the curtains sheer and pulled to the side as Hongjoong hurried over to the windows to push them open. There was an earthy smell in the air mixed with something sweet like vanilla, and you couldn’t help but marvel at the cosiness of Hongjoong’s studio. You recognised a few prints on the walls, they were the paintings of well-known painters who no longer lived, and the décor Hongjoong had used was rather vintage than modern. His huge wardrobe was open, and he pushed the door closed with little care as he picked up a hoodie off the floor. You were surprised he even owned one of those.

You flinched when it collided against your head, confused as to why he had thrown it at you. Hongjoong chuckled as he shrugged his coat off, trying to tidy his messy bed but quickly giving up when he realised you didn’t look like you cared. Truthfully, your apartment wasn’t in a better shape, the dishes in the sink had been there for three days and your bathroom was in dire need of a deep clean.

“We can’t smoke weed with closed windows, so it’ll get colder.” Hongjoong suddenly explained, shrugging on a cardigan that looked very soft, “Wear my hoodie, it’ll keep you warm.”

You hummed, glancing down at it before you stepped out of your shoes, shrugging your jacket off and wearing the hoodie. Its scent was sweet but potent with something musky, and you blushed as your nose buried into its fabric, drinking in its soft material.

“Make yourself feel at home!” Hongjoong grinned, walking over to the small kitchen section to grab two cups, “Do you want tea?”

You shook your head as you walked towards the small bean bag, pushing it with your leg to try and get it more gathered together. And then, just as you were about to sink into the chair, you heard a faint sound come from the kitchen. You turned your head and were met with a small black creature blinking at you in wonder.

“You have a cat?” You asked in surprise, staring back at the little pet. Hongjoong chuckled, looking down at his pet as the electric kettle started whistling.

“Is it so surprising? I found him near a dumpster a few years ago, he’s been by my side ever since.” You couldn’t help but gaze at Hongjoong with admiration as he spoke, pouring hot water into his cup for the tea, “His name is Woo ‘cuz he reminds me of my friend. They are both rascals and really loud.”

As if on cue, the cat meowed loudly and you chuckled, finally easing yourself into the bean bag. Your lower back protested and your spine cracked as you allowed yourself to lean back, arching your back. You could’ve cried at the relief, thankful to finally be off your feet. You couldn’t wait for the weed, it would dull your cramps and help you ease up after the day you’ve had. You were probably in dire need of a shower since you smelled like alcohol, but you didn’t feel comfortable showering at a guy’s place you barely knew. Which, now that you thought more about it, realisation started setting in. You weren’t too smart for following Hongjoong home, but he had never creeped you out, so you decided to give him the benefit of the doubt tonight. You stared at the cat as Hongjoong mixed honey into his berry-flavoured tea, the warm mist hogging up his glasses. The cat, still at Hongjoong’s side, stared back at you and then slowly walked towards you, its head tilted in wonder. You smiled at it and let it smell your fingers, taking you off guard when it unceremoniously climbed into your lap, starting to make biscuits against your lower abdomen.

“Ah, of course, you’re already in the lap of the pretty barista.” Hongjoong mused with an amused smile on his lips, “You take after Wooyoung more than one would think.”

You had no idea who this Wooyoung guy was, but it sounded like he was a flirt if Hongjoong wasn’t bluffing.

“I like your apartment,” You blurted out as you started petting the cat, smiling down at it when it started purring, “It’s got character, much like you.”

“That’s the first time you said something completely honest to me.” Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked up at Hongjoong, the joint from his ear now gone as he grabbed some matches to light it up. You didn’t think that was true, but you didn’t say anything as Hongjoong came nearer, sitting down on the floor across from you. You looked at him as he took a long whiff of his joint, then extended his arm for you to take the weed. It’s been quite a while since you smoked any, you knew it would hit you faster, but you hoped it wasn’t too strong or you’d become sick. You took a careful drag of it as Woo settled into a slumber in your lap, and the earthy taste of it made you grimace. But you kept the smoke in your lungs for a bit before exhaling, taking another drag as Hongjoong watched you with a lazy smile. He looked so…handsome. You’ve had a few days to yourself to think about Hongjoong after your encounter in the art store, and you realised you were attracted to him. It was mostly physical since you liked his looks, but his brutally honest character also had you intrigued even if you’d get offended at times by what he was saying.

“I find it hilarious that you decided to come home with me after you declined to have coffee.” Your eyes met Hongjoong’s quickly just as you were about to hand over the joint, “Do you really don’t drink coffee? Or did you just want to get rid of me that day?”

“I…” You licked your lips as Hongjoong took the joint from you, grinning as he took a long drag once again, “Both, actually. I just…I don’t know you well enough and we’ve also met at the pub, I don’t like meddling with clients. Those frat boys are horny and only want to sleep with me.”

“Good thing I’m not a frat boy then, right, Woo?” Hongjoong grinned and ruffled the slumbering cat’s fur, looking back at you with an understanding look, “I’ll be done with my master’s degree in just a few months.”

You hummed, picking at the sleeve of Hongjoong’s hoodie before you saw the joint handed to you again, “And after that? What do you plan on doing?”

Suddenly, Hongjoong had a pensive look on his face as he leaned back on his arms, staring up at the ceiling. You took shorter drags of the joint now but kept the smoke in your lungs until it started burning.

“I want to travel the world, visit art galleries and drink a lot of expensive wine.” That didn’t sound bad at all, Hongjoong continued before you could tell him, “It’s hard breaking into the industry as a painter even though some realtors have already approached me to buy my paintings and put them on display.”

“And? What did you say to them?” You felt genuinely curious, the cat sighed loudly in your lap and Hongjoong looked at you two, reaching out for the joint. Your fingertips brushed together and Hongjoong’s hands felt too cold, but you didn’t comment on it.

“I turned them down,” Hongjoong smiled, but it looked almost sad before he shrugged, taking a drag, “I don’t want just anyone owning my creations. I want someone who understands what’s on that canvas to contact me, I want someone who genuinely loves art and isn’t just doing it for the money. It’s hard to find people like that nowadays, but I’m willing to wait as long as it takes…even if that makes me broke.”

Hongjoong scoffed out a chuckle, sounding bitter by the end of his sentence. For someone who was so good at reading others and commenting on their lives, Hongjoong seemed to be having his own demons he had to fight. You hummed, closing your eyes for a second as you felt your muscles ease up, your cramps less torturous. You were glad the weed was slowly kicking in, your cramps would’ve had you crying if not.

“So how do you plan on travelling if you have no money?” Maybe the question was insensitive, but you were curious. Hongjoong didn’t take offence as he smiled, looking at you with sparkling eyes.

“There are art courses all around the world, I might sign up for one and leave, never look back…”

“Do you hate it here?” The question tumbled past your lips before you could stop yourself, “Because I don’t.”

Hongjoong didn’t look surprised as he nodded, handing back the joint so you could finish it. Three drags and it would be gone, so you took your time savouring it.

“It’s not the worst, but I don’t see much of a future for myself here.” So, Hongjoong was just like you then, “When are you leaving?”

“How did you know?” You sounded shocked as Hongjoong shrugged, averting his eyes.

“You and I are rather similar, you just fail to see it, Y/N.” Well, maybe he was right, maybe he wasn’t. You couldn’t read Hongjoong as well as he could read you, you needed more time to feel out his character.

“Six months and I’m out of here, never to come back if life’s kind to me.” Your voice was quiet as you didn’t look at Hongjoong, smoke wafting through your lips as you finished the joint. Hongjoong hummed, a low and warm sound, as he reached for the stud to take it from you. Your fingers brushed together once again, and you looked at Hongjoong when he held your wrist.

“You’re stronger than you think, you’ll make it big out there, Y/N, have more faith in yourself.” You found yourself smiling now, head a little hazy as you nodded, finding it easier to believe whatever Hongjoong told you.

“You’re the artist between the two of us, you’re the one supposed to make it big.” Hongjoong chuckled and stood, headed for the kitchen.

“Can’t we both make it big?” He raised an eyebrow as he threw the stud away, turning around to face you. You hummed, not entirely agreeing with him, but you decided to nod. Then, Hongjoong turned towards where his bed was and grinned, “You’re here to see some art, no?”

“Right, I almost forgot about that.” Hongjoong chuckled, then beckoned you over. You grabbed the cat in your lap and pressed a kiss against its small head, placing it on the bean bag in your spot. Your feet felt light as you headed towards Hongjoong, who had sauntered over to the desk pressed up against the wall underneath the open windows. He turned the small lamp on, and suddenly you were looking at small canvases filled with colour and abstract shapes. Somehow they looked like an organised mess, even in the overflowing swirl of colours, you managed to find a pattern that seemed to never end like a loop. You turned your head to look at Hongjoong, and suddenly you realised his art was a perfect reflection of who he was.

“I can tell you made these.” Perhaps phrasing it like that was offensive, but Hongjoong only looked curious. He hummed, raising an eyebrow.

“How come?” His voice was quiet, curious.

“I can see you in these.” You pointed at the canvas with orange and yellow as the more prominent colours, circling a deep blue that looked almost black, “The blue is you at your core, dark and perhaps scared of the world. And then all that orange and yellow? I think that’s how you see the world, how you wish it treated you, hoping it would lighten all that darkness that looms over you all the time. And this one? I wonder if it was a coincidence you hid so many infinity symbols in the background, this burgundy is gorgeous, by the way. I think everyone is afraid of disappearing without leaving a trace of themselves in this fucked up world, and I actually…I admire you for being so honest and straightforward, very few people are like you.”

Hongjoong’s eyebrows were furrowed the longer you spoke, but he remained silent as you smiled, looking down at the white canvas, unfinished but with light blue swirls creating the illusion of a clear sky, “I wonder what this will turn into. So far, it reminds me of serenity, of the calm before a storm. Life’s like that too, don’t you think? It’s quiet and gentle, and then it turns into a scary thing that can destroy us if we let it.”

Hongjoong just gulped, his eyes clouded but his heart racing. He was positive no one had been able to interpret his art for what it was before, and he wondered how much of him you could see through his eyes if you could read so well what the trail of his brush had left on a blank canvas. It made him feel seen like never before, not even his biggest supporter, Wooyoung, could see beyond Hongjoong’s intentions when he sat down to paint, to tell the world his pain and rage, yearning for someone to just finally see him.

“You’re…” Hongjoong gulped, his throat feeling dry as you smiled at him, curious if you’d been right, “You are a person I should cherish more from now on.”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise, your heart skipping a beat once again. What did he mean by saying that? You wanted to ask, but Hongjoong stepped closer, his tone breathy as he spoke up again, “‘Whoever wants to know something about me – as an artist which alone is significant – they should look attentively at my pictures and there seek to recognize what I am and what I want’…that’s what Gustav Klimt once said. And so far, you are the only person who’s managed to do that.”

Your mouth gaped open, and you both heard Woo stretch and meow loudly, his soft footsteps loud as he walked towards Hongjoong’s bed, jumping up and finding a new spot to sleep. You didn’t know what to say back to that, but you felt your heart race as your cheeks flushed, shy all of a sudden. Hongjoong was looking at you with a softness no man has looked at you with, it was a bit hard to take it all in without freaking yourself out that this wasn’t real, that it was just the weed, or that maybe Hongjoong wasn’t as genuine as his expression showed.

“Y/N,” You didn’t flinch when his hand wrapped around your wrist, his tone still soft, “I think you already know that I find you pretty, and I…I might have gone to that dingy pub for so long just to see you, actually.”

Those words had your heart racing even wilder as you looked up, finding Hongjoong’s face closer to yours as his eyes now bore into yours, “I should’ve been more specific when I asked you to have coffee with me. I meant to ask you out on a date, but I panicked because I knew I had slightly upset you, but…”

He gulped nervously and you felt so curious to hear what more he had to say, perhaps a smile would encourage him, so that’s what you did, offered him a small friendly smile. He released a breath and cleared his throat, his hand slipping from your wrist to your hand, “Can I kiss you?”

If this was anyone else but Hongjoong, your answer would have been an instant no. But the longer you looked into his eyes, the more excited and giddy you felt, so you just nodded your head and licked your lips, trying to ignore the deep flush of your cheeks. Hongjoong chuckled, suddenly looking shy, but he started leaning in, his eyes fluttering closed just as your lips met. It was careful, it was sweet and it made your heart roar as you stepped just a bit closer, your noses brushing together as your lips moved slowly and carefully, mostly just testing out the waters. Hongjoong’s lips were soft and sweet, and surprisingly didn’t taste like weed but like peaches. You wondered if he used any sort of lip balm to have them taste like that. His hand settled on your cheek and he gently caressed your cheekbone with his thumb, making your heart roar once again. It’s been long since someone had treated you with such gentleness, and you told yourself to remain level-headed, but it would be just so easy to fall in love with Hongjoong. You couldn’t help but smile as you two pulled apart, Hongjoong tried to hide his own grin as he sucked his lips together, but his eyes gave him away. You chuckled and he giggled, and suddenly you felt the urge to pull him into a hug.

“So,” He cleared his throat as he let his arms rest around your torso loosely, “If you don’t like coffee, what do you like?”

“Delicious cakes.” You didn’t hesitate to answer and Hongjoong chuckled, patting your head.

“Well then, would you like to go on a delicious cake-hunting date with me?” You closed your eyes to contain your excitement, but the weed had not only eased your muscles but your always worrying mind as well.

“Yes!” You didn’t mean to squeal, but it was hard not to when Hongjoong startled giggling sweetly once again, nodding his head.

“Good, I’ll make sure we find the best spots in the city then.”

And perhaps not just in the city, but also in foreign countries while you attended Hongjoong’s art expositions, an expensive bottle of wine waiting for the two of you back at the hotel.

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[mixingandmelting]

Hey so how do you think the bat boys would deal with a s/o who’s like the sweetest thing ever and he just sees them get mad, mama bear mode at a super powered hero who could end s/o if they wanted too. Like this super powered hero abused their powers and hurt someone on purpose cuz they’re thought it was funny or like violated their mental privacy with psychic abilities and messed with their head just cuz they are slightly annoyed at them over something mildly inconvenient and basic, (), (a fellow ally hero) and for some reason didn’t see a problem with it and they look confused like they didn’t see the problem as to why they’re being scolded like a bad child and apologise to s/o to appease this s/o cuz they’re friends, and s/o like, “are you kidding me? It’s not me that you need to apologise too and not do that again!”? Maybe the boys have seen slight glimpses into their s/o having some fire in them sent the boys way in the form of some sass when the boys are wrong about something and be stubborn about it?

Dick: 

Does he laugh or cry?  Donna’s covering her mouth with both hands while tapping him every other second to ask if the team should step in. Wally is making him concerned about the potential chance of him dying from hypoxia because he can’t stop laughing. Maybe he should’ve been the one to give the whole lecture why abusing powers for personal reasons is a big no-no. And he was going to do it too, already having the infamous Batman-glare from not being happy, at all, for witnessing the misuse of power for a petty reason. But so far, in his opinion, you’re doing a pretty good job at getting the message across. 

“-Oh, so you think you’re the next Superman or Green Lantern, huh? All big and tough when you resort to using your powers for being called jumbo?” 

See? Plus he’s pretty sure no one, including himself, wants to interfere when you’re like this. You left the Titans a strong impression when you, the warmest and kindest person he has known, showed this side of you before Dick and Gar were about to go at it with each other during a mission that was going wrong. Not only had you asked him if he was trying to prove he’s babygirl  by snapping at his fellow teammate over speakers of his phone, you had gone after everyone else the second your sharp hearing caught the sound of snickering. It was quite a humbling experience to say the least. They managed to actually get themselves back together and  improve their teamwork, starting with everyone comforting each other as soon as you hung up (too bad it didn’t help his case. He still remembers standing in front of the door for over five minutes, hesitant to enter his own home on the day he came back). 

“Are you kidding me? It’s not me you should be apologizing to. Go apologize to the right person and don’t do it again!” 

Oh, no. Well, there’s nothing he can do about it now. He gives the other his condolences, understanding what they must be going through. Doesn’t make the scene any less ridiculous though, the vigilante ten times your size and more powerful, slightly bending forward with a sad puppy look while you’re waving your arms. He plops himself on a broken part of a building and sits back to watch the other party turn around and drag their feet towards the victim while you walk right behind them like a disappointed mother. 

Jason:

He’s turned around, his hand is on the intercom, the other wrapped around his waist to sell the image he’s in the process of tying the loose ends of the finished mission. But it’s getting harder by the second to not burst from the conversation you’re having with the other vigilante. 

“So what you’re telling me is that using your powers to get back at someone because you were annoyed with them is perfectly acceptable and not immature, childish, or stupid. And you’re sure you’re not being immature, childish, AND stupid.”

He covers his snort with a cough. Listen. You’re already considered tiny when with him. Muscles, strength, give or take height. Your heart is the one exception, wider than the sea and accepting to most including himself. To the vigilante? You’re an ant. But here you are, lecturing them to the brink of their ears falling off while they look like a child getting scolded. 

He gets it. Had he been in the hot-seat, he probably would look the same. Out of good faith once, he took Duke  on a mission that involved Black Mask, To give the teen the taste of working as a solo vigilante even though he was far from completing vigilante training. By the time Bruce and the rest of the gang had arrived, his head hung low, standing as if he was the military. You, on the other hand, were forty-one minutes in and counting on your lecture, the poor teen behind you at a loss on whether he should stop you or not. Trust no one in the family to keep silent when people he doesn’t know come up to him at gatherings to ask if the story of him getting served by you is true. He’s still bitter, especially with everyone knowing he can’t do a single thing. Not when it’s tied to gentle and loving you. So when someone who’s close to you and/or him goes through the same misery, it brings him joy from gaining a new comrade, a sympathetic companion. 

“You better get going and apologize right this instance or so help me I will-” 

“That’s my babe.” Jason murmurs, faking a tear from how moved he is under his helmet. Proud that his one love is able to verbally go face-to-face with someone that can squash you if they wanted to. Until it registers in his mind that you’re silent. Turning around, he flinches and awkwardly waves a hand at your glaring form. Well damn. When things were getting good too. 

Tim:

He doesn’t even bat an eyelash to what’s unfolding behind him, going over the mission like normal despite all the glances the JLA gives over his and the rest of Young Justice’s shoulder. 

“Based on how the sediments that were being transported in the crates, we were able to rule out-”

“Sorry to interrupt Robin, but what’s going on behind you four?”

It’s a record-breaking moment. Their responses have never been as in-sync or instantaneous until then.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s not an issue.”

“I don’t see a problem.”

“There’s a problem?” 

The JLA members force themselves to ignore it for the time being from the expression all four of them give. Good. The less questions asked, the better for the team. It was the other day Cass had to face you from the stunt she pulled during said mission they’re going over right now. He knows for a fact that Conner and Bart remember all the times you remind all three males the fire that resides in the soft and sweet you when not taken seriously. When it’s him,Tim can never manage to make eye-contact with you for a few days. Bart hides behind the nearest and largest object the second you’re within a ten-mile radius of him. Conner? He has it the worst. Often left in skin and bones, he used to lie on the floor of his bedroom and contemplate the meaning of life every time someone enters and tries to talk to him. He’s gotten better, having progressed to where he seems to freeze on spot if ignoring the miniscule sniffle he makes. 

You do manage to amaze Tim at the same time, proving to him how  “if there’s a will, there’s a way” is a scientifically proven phrase from the way you stay perfectly fine despite going on for five minutes straight without breathing. 

He does sympathize for the vigilante that can probably kill you on the spot had you not been their friend. From the background of his screen, he can see you point at a certain location before the other dejectedly floats towards that direction. Just in time too. He was running out of ideas on how to stop the league from further finding out Young Justice can’t function without you momming them. 

Duke:

He sends a prayer, wishing the victim to rest in peace. He’s seen you before, experienced first-handedly how you are when you’re in mother-hen mode. And he can say, with complete confidence, the person on the receiving end is a goner. 

Duke’s first time was back during the We Are Robin movement. Looking back, he has to admit younger him was an idiot to think he could dismantle a bomb on his own with no experience, nonetheless one set by Penguin’s men. But him in the past was in his emo-teen phase. Meaning, he didn’t acknowledge or consider all the red flags blaring at his face from how dangerous it was going to be, his mission on proving how useless the adults were to keeping a city safe taking priority. Needless to say, he was a mess when he got back to the base, barely managing to escape with his life intact. 

He thought he knew what was coming when everyone pats his shoulder as they walk out and leave him with you in their meeting room. You didn’t scream. You didn’t yell. The worst part?  He couldn’t defend himself. There was no room for any counter arguments because you knew he knew everything you were saying was right (and because he had a massive crush on but that’s besides the point). Charred front and back, he was instantly put in place and shedding out of his phase there and then. Hence, that moment being the last encounter with that side of you from all the efforts he had put in to do anything to avoid having those horrid times he experienced that day repeat itself again.

“What part of you makes you think it’s me you need to apologize to? On top of messing with a person’s mind because you didn’t like their attitude toward you? Are you sure you’re trying to help save the city? Or are you just- ” 

He shakes his head. He watches the remaining fight in their eyes disappearing, face becoming impossibly paler and ashen when you proceed to shred the remaining dignity in them. On one part, it almost, almost, makes him want to step in and save the other from further looking as if they wanted to dig a hole and bury themselves in it. On another, he’s glad he’s not the one facing your wrath. He can do another day of not going through it, thank you very much. 

Damian: 

He’s having the time of his life. Not as much as he usually does when he ruins a criminal’s perfect night, but still, nonetheless enjoyable. Despite the disapproving eyes Jon shoots at him, his grin grows wider at each strike you give to the vigilante. 

It satisfies him deep in his heart, the image of you destroying their soul piece by piece. Them tasting the hell he constantly goes through.

He suspected you had a fire in your heart since he first met you. How else would it explain your warmth and care you showered others in, including himself? Most cases, he has to maneuver himself to keep most of that warmth to himself. When he doesn’t, that’s when he gets burnt. 

Somehow you always manage to catch him, finding out from someone, perhaps from Drake, Brown, or Todd, about all the reckless actions he did during the mission he went on. Remember the Amazo suit mission he had with Super Boy? You were waiting at his and Super Boy’s hide out the day after it was over. The incident at Lazarus Island? He never wanted to die so much as he did when he had to endure your motherly wrath in front of Suren and Maya. Twice, in fact, after he chased the two that snickered at him during the whole session with his katana.

“Mr. Damian Thomas Wayne-“ is not where you stop. Your grip on his ear is surprisingly strong, where he can’t get you to let go no matter how much he struggles from pure resolve to have him stay where he is. His family had once laughed when he told them how terrifying this skill was, only you in possession of it to his knowledge. Now they, too, fear it having experienced it when they tried to thwart his very much valid and warranted concerns once in front of you. 

“You need to apologize to them, not me! And-Hold on! What do you think you’re doing? Don’t use psychosis! Actually say sorry to them!” 

There’s distraught written all over the vigilante’s face. They aren’t given the choice to choose seeing you don’t budge, leading them to childishly stomp their way towards their fellow teammate, grumbling all the way. They could’ve not listened to you and retaliated back if they really wanted to. Unfortunately, for him, it seems that they want to be in your good grace. Something along the lines of being your friend. Too bad, he disapproves. They’ve been too chummy with you the past few days for his liking and need to be taught the bare requirements to be close to you.

[itwdoris]

tw; piss.

yuta didn't even know why he was at that party, with the loud music making his eardrums vibrate as much as his body and the bright colored lights flashing and making him slightly dizzy, or maybe that's the result of the drink...

anyway, he's right there with a packet of snacks he found in the kitchen under his arm and one of his hands occupied with a empty cup, just watching people dancing and drinking in front of him, his dry throat straining to swallow the saliva, maybe it was time to get some more of the drink which seems more alcoholic than anything, but it's still pink and he doesn't know why.

but he doesn't care about that, in fact, he doesn't care about anything but you, when you walk by him with your face so red and your clothes almost showing parts that maybe shouldn't be showing. but he doesn't look, nah uh, even though your boobs are shining so brightly and your panties are his favorite color right now.

yuta just squint his eyes at the way you try to find a cup that isn't full across the messy table, looking so nervous, could something have happened? maybe he can help. please, he wants to help so bad.

"something happened?" he asks in an attempt to get closer without you thinking he's a loser. then you lift your face and look at him, wich makes his whole skeleton shake. you understood what he said, and that's good, because he doesn't know if he could say it again without stuttering.

nhg! "need a cup-" you bite your lips, furrowing your eyebrows because you're about to leak, your knees pressed together like the last salvation. you can see an empty cup in his hand, your eyes long for it. "yuta... can i take your cup, please?"

"oh yes, for what?" he's not trying to be inconvenient, it was an innocent question, it's just that the way you said his name is stuck in his head. but now your face is redder, because you only meant to take the cup and you couldn't even give it back, how to explain... "you look nervous... hum.. you can tell me if you need-" but his voice stopped when you came closer to him, holding his hoodie and looking at him with those desperate little eyes. oh lord.

"i really need to pee, but someone's having sex in the toilet..." you squeeze your eyebrows tighter because you feel it leaking, oh no, it's dripping, your panties must be stained. "yuta, please-"

it was enough, because now yuta's heart is about to burst out of his chest and his cock is waking up needing attention between his legs.

he sighs, winking before throwing the snacks on the table and pulling you with his free hand, the other struggling not to dent the red plastic cup as he pulls you, obviously careful not to hurt your pretty little arm as he pass through the people with you.

there are people everywhere, it's hard to find an empty corner, but he won't look any further when you make him stop, moaning because you can feel it running down your thighs. okkotsu's mouth tingles because he knows very well how he could help right then and there, a tent forming in his pants.

even so, you struggle, holding on, pressing your pussy as he pulls you by the hand into the emptiest room you've found before, you squirm internally at the thought of having to do this in public, but then, your eyes capture your true salvation in the middle of the race;

a broom closet.

you pull him back and push him inside, without thinking twice before closing the door quickly, it's tight and dark, smelling of sex and you can both feel it, but doesn't matter now.

you feel your hips being pulled against yuta, gasping at the feel of something hard, his nimble hands pull your clothes up and rip the side of your panties like they're nothing. you'll miss it, but he has a better place to curl it up later on. you can only hear the rushing noises, the rustling of fabric, your hands on the shelves around you because he's doing everything so fast that your brain can barely process it.

he glues your back to his chest with his arms pressing you, holding you in place, he places the cup right below your pussy, resting his chin on your shoulder, long fingers go down to your folds to open them up. "go, let it out " he asks softly, too close to your ear, you hold a moan. "please, pee f' me..."

and he don't even have to ask twice, because the piss pours out of you and splash on the cup below you with force, making your knees almost fail as a moan up your throat, completely relieved and pleasurable, your eyes rolling. he keeps holding the glass, nothing getting lost, pulling your lips to aim the flow better, sighing so hard.

"hmn... " yuta bury his nose in your shoulder, his warm breath hitting your skin. his mind keeps thinking about how he could be there in the place of that cup, licking up all the piss that ran down your legs and so many more things...

thinking about how pretty you must look, how he could do this all the time, wondering if you'd piss yourself while he buries his cock inside your wet cunt. if he only knew how much you thought about him too.

but the flow gradually slows down to an end, he passes the glass through your folds just so that nothing drips out and let you go slowly so he don't spill the glass. it was difficult to move around in that cramped closet, dark enough that you could barely see.

dark enough for you not to see that oh- yuta was drinking your piss?!

im cumming so hard with these ideas i-- LORD, thanks to tigeri anon <3 i was so excited and for this one that i think i've lost the main idea a bit, forgive me! but anyway, hope u guys like it too =( <3

( im trying to get better i swear guys

[joostsblog]

hey i love ur work !! could you do a joost x reader who’s scared of the dark and there’s a power cut or something pls 🩷

you're all i think about ~ joost klein friends to lovers one shot

My masterlist here ✨💌

Pairing: Joost Klein x female!reader

Description: A movie night at your friend Joost's place turns into disaster and maybe something not so bad after all when there's a power outage.

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: Tysm for the request, I loved writing it! I hope you enjoy❣️You can always send in requests <3 (title borrowed from the song lights out by fizz!)

Warnings: a panic attack, fear of the dark, not proofread

Movie night tonight? Joost had texted into your friend group chat and somehow nobody was down. Except for you. You were always down if Joost would be there. You would cancel other plans if it meant that you would be able to see Joost. So this is how you ended up by your friend Joost's doorstep, snacks in hand, ready to spend the evening at his place.  

You had known each other for a few years now, hanging around in the same circles but it had only been 7 months (7 months and 11 days to be precise, you kept count) since you had suddenly developed a crush on your friend. A crush so bad that sometimes you almost couldn't contain it and you were afraid that any second you would lose control over yourself and just blurt out your confession in front of all your friends when you hang out. Thankfully that hadn't happened so far. So you kept your secret.

You were afraid that if Joost would find out about your true feelings for him, it would ruin your friendship. That all the long hugs, the loving teasing, the ruffles through your hair, the sweet compliments and pep talks would end because he would feel weird about showing that affection to you.

"(Y/N)!" Joost exclaimed with a big smile as he opened the door for you and engulfed you in one of those heavenly hugs. "So glad you could make it!" he said as he rubbed your back softly. "I can always count on you," Joost said after pulling back.

"Of course!" you said.

A short while later you were both lounging on the sofa, while High School Musical was playing on the TV (Joost's choice), giggling and singing along. Your sides were almost touching, Joost's fingers occasionally grazing yours when you both reached for the popcorn bowl at the same time. In moments like these, the longing and wanting you had for Joost was almost unbearable. You just wished there was a universe in which you could just reach out for him and kiss him on the lips as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Instead, you were damned to stay at a distance and just drink up every small touch that occurred to keep you satiated.

Suddenly the TV and all the lights in the room turned off all at once and you were sat in darkness.

"What the-?" Joost laughed amused.

You were frozen on the spot and stayed silent as you were scared of the dark. You just hoped that the darkness wouldn't persist too long as you could feel yourself spiralling already.

"I'll check if it's the fuse," Joost sighed, obviously slightly annoyed at the inconvenience.

"Alright," you said quietly as Joost got up and used his phone's torchlight.

You took a peek outside the window and realised that the streetlights were also off which would imply that there was a bigger power outage.

"Fuck fuck fuck," you whispered.

This was bad. Not knowing when and if the power would come back on only worsened your state and being left alone in Joost's living room certainly also didn't help. You grabbed your phone and forced yourself to get up from the sofa. You walked to the door that connected to the corridor to look for Joost.

"Joost?" you asked timidly before you turned your head to look down the dark corridor.

"Booo!" Joost suddenly said with a laugh appearing out of nowhere in front of you.

Your heart skipped a beat and you dropped your phone. Your body started shaking uncontrollably as you tried catching your breath, having absolutely no control over your bodily reaction to what Joost probably thought was a harmless joke. Overwhelmed you could feel the tears slowly trickling down your cheeks.

"(Y/N), everything alright?" Joost asked concerned as he registered your quick breathing. You tried answering but couldn't produce an intelligible response. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry," Joost said as he realised his mistake. His arms quickly wrapped around your body as he engulfed you in a warm embrace. His chin was resting on your head as he was taller than you, his hands softly caressing you. "(Y/N), I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," you could tell that Joost felt bad for causing your panic.

"It- it's f-fine," you finally managed to push out.

"No no no, I'm sorry," he repeated, softly swaying your bodies back and forth.

"No, I'm such a chicken, I'm afraid of the dark," you explained, voice straining as your throat felt tight and your tears made it difficult for you to speak.

"I swear I didn't know," Joost said. "Come here," he said and led you back to the sofa. "Sit down and close your eyes, just pretend you're taking a nap, okay?" he said and you did as you were told. He softly put a blanket around your shoulders as he sat down beside you. Joost rested his hand on your cheek and wiped away some of your tears.

"I feel so stupid," you admitted, feeling terrible.

"No no, please don't, Lieverd," Joost softly insisted and you wondered whether the pet name was a slip of the tongue. "Don't say that," he said and suddenly you could feel his lips pressing to your forehead and your heart fluttered. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "I'll be right back, I swear," Joost said before getting up from the sofa.

You kept your eyes closed and tried to calm down your breathing slowly. Having felt Joost's lips against your skin just a moment before sure did distract you but it also certainly added to your nervous heart beating.

"Here I am again," Joost said in a soft tone to not scare you this time. You could hear him shuffle around the room before he said "I got us some lights," and you opened your eyes.

Joost had propped up both of your phones with the torchlight illuminating the ceiling as well as his laptop and iPad which just showed a white screen at maximum screen brightness.

"I don't have any candles," Joost said apologetically.

"It's fine," you softly laughed. "Thank you."

"Well, candles would have been more romantic," Joost said and your heart fluttered again. "Is there anything else I can do for you?" he asked earnestly.

"This is much better, thank you," you said. "But a hug would be nice."

"Of course," Joost smiled and opened his arms as you crawled over to him into his arms. "I'm sure the power will come back on soon," Joost tried reassuring you, his hand softly stroking the back of your head as you were cuddled up against his chest. Joost started softly humming some melody and the vibrations from his chest started calming you down more.

"This is nice," you murmured and you could hear a smile in Joost's hum, his hand drawing circles on your back. "I'm sorry if I ruined this night."

"No, don't be silly," Joost pulled back lightly to look at you sternly. "Any moment spent with you is perfect."

You looked up at him, heart beating fast as you realised how close you two were to each other. In this moment you wished you were in pitch darkness again because maybe then you would have had the courage to close the few centimetres between you and kiss Joost.

"Don't tell the others, but you are definitely my favourite out of all of them," you said which was the closest thing to a love confession you were able to get past your lips. You saw how Joost's eyes lit up at your words, a grin spreading across his lips.

"You are also my favourite, Lieverd," he whispered. You looked at each other in silence, Joost's hand holding your head, his other arm still wrapped around your shoulders. Joost moved his hand to cup your cheek instead and looked at you fondly. His thumb was just resting by the corner of your mouth. You almost didn't dare to breathe just to not interrupt this delicate moment. Joost's thumb lightly brushed against your bottom lip and your heart skipped a beat before he moved closer to you and you instinctively followed suit. As your lips were only a centimetre apart the both of you briefly paused as if to ask the other for permission before you closed the gap and your lips finally met in a kiss. It was gentle and sweet but yet so passionate. Your hand was resting on Joost's chest you swore you could feel his heart beating faster. His arm was holding you close and his smell engulfed you. It was everything you had hoped for and so much more. After you broke the kiss you grinned at each other, Joost's hand caressing your cheek.

"I'm gonna make sure you'll never have to be in the dark again, I swear," he said before leaning in to kiss you again.

[gatitties]

War & crack

─Task Force 141 x young!reader

─Summary: some headcanons about your life working with TF141

─Warnings: cliché¿, reader is a gen z

Part two / Halloween special

so... I've been consuming some content about CoD and I know the least about the franchise but the few things I've read have been so good that I couldn't resist writing something too 🫢, sorry if something is out of character since I don't know many things

— You are a threat to society.

— Your parents sent you to the military in the hope that your bad behaviors would disappear, realistically, they were not prepared to be parents either.

— Parental neglect, what a surprise.

— You had many bad influences in your adolescence and free access to the Internet without parental control was like throwing gasoline on the fire.

— Theft, extortion, assault, harassment, banditry, disobedience to authority, fraud, driving without a license, breaking and entering, kidnapping, arson, arms trafficking...

— You had a good record of minor criminal records, the vast majority due to bad friends, but you were already an accomplice.

— Which led you to the fact that when you reached the age of majority, you were enlisted directly into the army without being able to have a choice.

— It wasn't as bad as you thought except for the amount of physical exercise you were subjected to, but you knew how to put up with it.

— Despite being young, in the three years that you served as a cadet, you were sent to many missions, perhaps with the hope of dying since the generals sent you to the front lines of the battle.

— You didn't care, you were feral, careless enough and craving adrenaline, you liked to dance with death in every fight.

— You were the first to run whenever you could to start the attack, after all, all you liked to do was hit, stab or use close-range weapons.

— You lost an arm because of that, you didn't care much because now you have a prosthesis with decorations to your liking.

— Then you were sent to Task Force 141.

— None of the boys expected someone like you, they definitely had a bit of a hard time adjusting to your personality.

— You were a strange combination between Ghost and Soap, going from being a grave to being an explosion of emotions at any moment.

— The first time you saw Ghost you thought he was giving you a side eye and you gave it back to him.

— Later you learned that it's his normal look but you give him the dead look every once in a while.

— Soap and you are not a good combination when you know each other better, he will just give you approval to all the stupid things you see on the internet.

— Gaz might join, but most of the time he just warns you that Price won't be amused.

— Price will look at you like a parent disgusted (but not surprised) by some of your nonsense.

— Confidence sucks, and when you're spouting darkly humorous jokes or about the ways you want to kill yourself because something goes wrong, Price isn't in that boat.

— It's not worth it if you justify it with 'my traumas, my jokes'.

— Honestly, everyone is worried about the number of times you've said you were going to kill yourself for the slightest inconvenience.

— They don't understand most of your current meme references, maybe Gaz, being the second youngest, will pick up on something.

— They were so confused with your attack tactics, because you had practically none, you just jumped in with luck to hit everything you could, which worked every time.

— You will train with Ghost because you are not aware of your surroundings when it comes to fighting.

— The first time they saw your prosthesis they thought a bullet had hit you in the arm, but when you laughed and removed the metal arm shouting 'everything is possible when you're physically disabled' they swallowed their concern.

— You show affection with punches, you punch Soap's shoulder, Gaz's back or Price's side, Ghost... you prefer to communicate with your eyes because the last time you punched him in a friendly way you almost ended up with your shoulder out of its place.

— They can't take you seriously, they really do try but it's impossible, you look like an impulsive teenager who they are babysitting even if you're in your twenties.

— At least it's like that outside the battlefield, you get more serious or focused on the missions.

— Gaz saves your ass whenever you get distracted, which is most of the time, you tell him that he has won heaven but if death wanted to kiss you you weren't going to refuse the offer.

— Seriously, stop with the jokes about your death or depression, Price will get you a psychologist.

— It seems like a joke but Ghost and you end up getting along quite well, it's a quiet and pleasant dynamic, without pressure.

— As with Soap, you know how to adapt a lot to everyone's personalities, as if you were a sponge that absorbs all the likes and disappointments of the boys to get along better.

— You don't give a shit about your own life but you're fighting tooth and nail to protect others.

— Which leads you to almost die once, on top of that, Price scolded you for jumping to try to save them, you didn't care, you'll do it again.

— Squeaks or bangs in the wee hours of the morning? It's you moving the few pieces of furniture in what you can call your own room.

— Someday you'll give the boys a heart attack (Ghost maybe not) because you walk in the dark at night since you tend to stay up late.

— Price will scold you for not sleeping well and drinking so many energy drinks or coffee.

— You will leave random objects in the boys' rooms, like, last time you bought little ducks of different colors and hid them.

— Price denies with a small smile when he sees a yellow duck with a cowboy hat as a paperweight.

— Gaz laughs when he sees a blue duck with an aviator hat in the drawer where he kept his records.

— Soap finds a yellow duck with an umbrella hat next to his bath stuff and fiddles with it when he has time for a long bath.

— Ghost narrows his eyes at the sight of a black duck with sunglasses and gold chains under a pile of clothes in his room, he sighs leaving it in the small window of his room as decoration.

— You are strictly prohibited from bringing any type of animal into the base of operations as a pet, once you wanted to have a raccoon, a tarantula, a snake, you even named a cockroach you saw in the kitchen.

—Just- no.

— So you chose to have a carnivorous plant as a pet, it was acceptable at least.

— You are also prohibited from cooking without supervision.

— You're like a new world for them, but honestly, they wouldn't know what they would do if something happened to you now that you've earned their love.

[aleniaaa]

"Plan B" Rafe Cameron x JohnB's!sister!reader SMUT

summary: Maya Routledge finds herself stuck with Rafe Cameron in Barbados.

warnings: age gap (18-21), unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it!), guns, violence

a/n: hey y'all bit longer than my usual fanfics; please repost if you like it :** kisses on y'all's foreheads

words: 3,9k

After being transported from the so-called "Poguelandia" to Barbados, I decided to make a run for it. I had to get away from the Pogues. Even though I was a Pogue by blood, I never truly felt like I belonged with them. My dad didn’t care much for me or my brother. He was always obsessed with finding treasure, chasing after some fairytale fantasy. When I saw those same legends starting to get into my big brother’s head, I realized how much he had changed. His obsession, along with his girlfriend Sarah, made me think that maybe they had both lost it.

Escaping from them wasn’t too difficult, not with the chaos and noise of the city. I found myself walking through a market, trying to steal some fruit—honestly, it was the only skill I’d ever learned from my dad. But out of nowhere, someone grabbed me from behind. I felt a hand clamp over my mouth, silencing any attempt to scream. I was helpless, and no one came to help. The more I struggled, the more I felt myself slipping away. Soon, everything went black, and I drifted off into unconsciousness.

When I woke up, I was no longer in the market. I was in a strange, well-furnished room. But what struck me first were my clothes—I was now wearing a beautiful red silk dress. Panic surged through me. What was going on? Anxiety gripped me, and I froze in fear, unable to move. My mind raced, but all I could think was, "This isn’t how I’m going to die." After a moment of sheer shock, I forced myself to stand and rushed to the door. I yanked on the handle with all my strength, shouting, "HELP! PLEASE LET ME OUT!" But there was no response.

I went to the window, desperate for any hint of what was going on. All I saw were fields stretching for miles, nothing but endless grass in every direction. I collapsed onto the bed, trying to think of how I could escape this place. As if on cue, the door opened. A man, armed and speaking in a foreign tongue, gestured for me to follow him. I had no choice but to obey, my legs trembling beneath me.

He led me to a large living room where I was confronted by a man who looked like he belonged in charge. "Hello, Miss Routledge," he said, his voice smooth and controlled. "I apologize for the inconvenience of your trip here, but the circumstances left me no choice. Please, sit." He gestured toward a chair in front of him, and as I hesitated, he introduced himself. "I am Mr. Singh."

I glared at him. "What do you want from me? Let me go!" My voice trembled, but I couldn’t hold back the anger.

"You see, Miss Routledge," he began, his Caribbean accent thick and authoritative, "you have something that belongs to me. And I would greatly appreciate it if you returned it to me."

I shook my head, confused. "I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have anything."

He smirked, his eyes narrowing. "Now, Miss Routledge, I know you’re lying. And do you know what I despise the most? Lies." His tone grew colder.

"I’m not lying! I don’t know what you’re talking about!" I protested, my heart pounding in my chest.

"The diary," he said, his voice sharp. "I know you have it—or at least, you’ve had it. Where is it?"

It clicked. He was talking about that treasure-related diary John B had been obsessing over. I wasn’t interested in any of that. "Look, if it’s about that nonexistent treasure, I don’t have it, and I don’t want it. You should talk to my brother, not me. He’s the one obsessed with it," I explained, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Very well," Singh said with a cold smile. "Take her away."

Before I could react, two guards grabbed my arms, dragging me aggressively toward the door. I kicked and screamed, trying to break free, but it was no use. As they pulled me away, I heard Singh's voice behind me, calm and sinister. "Even if you don’t have what I’m looking for, maybe you’ll still serve as bait."

The door slammed shut, and my heart sank. I had no idea what was coming next.

I was lying on the bed, trying to process everything, when I heard the door creak open. To my surprise, the last person I expected to see walked in: Rafe fucking Cameron, dressed in a sharp suit. He froze when he saw me.

"What are you doing here, May? Are you trying to ruin my deal?" he snapped. I blinked, momentarily thrown off guard. Rafe was the only one who ever called me "May"—everyone else always called me Maya. For some reason, he liked to shorten it. There was something in his tone—anger, annoyance—something that made me uneasy.

"What the hell are you talking about? I’m literally kidnapped here!" I shot back, my confusion rising. "How the hell did you even get here?"

He looked at me like I was the crazy one. "What do you mean you’re kidnapped? I’m here to close the sale of the cross." His voice was calm, but I could tell he wasn’t lying. My suspicion that he was behind this situation faded a bit.

"Yeah, some pilot found us on a deserted island, and it turns out he’s mixed up in all this. He wants some diary my brother has and is trying to use me as bait," I explained quickly.

Rafe sighed, rubbing his face. "Jesus Christ, you Pogues always try to get your hands on things that don’t belong to you."

I felt my anger rise. "Hey, I’m not like them, okay? I didn’t ask for this, and I don’t give a damn about any treasure! So don’t talk to me like that."

He took a deep breath, as if trying to calm himself. "Alright, listen. I’ll talk to this guy and try to make a deal. You stay here, and be good. Afterward, I’ll figure out a way to get us out of here. Sound good?" He pointed at my face, making sure I was listening.

I nodded, and he left. Rafe was gone for about 25 minutes, meeting with the man. When he returned, I could see the worry in his eyes.

"And?" I asked, eager for answers.

"Ugh, we’re in deep shit," Rafe muttered. "He thinks I’m after the treasure, too, and offered me some shady deal for the cross."

"What about getting us out of here?" I pressed.

"Yeah, Plan B," he said, looking serious. "They won’t let us go. We’ll have to break out or something. Listen carefully. There’s one guard outside the door. You need to get his attention, and I’ll hide. Once he comes in, I’ll grab his gun and take him out, alright?"

I nodded, feeling the tension building. Minutes later, I screamed at the top of my lungs, "Help!"

The guard didn’t waste any time. When I went silent, the door opened, and he stepped inside, gun pointed toward me. "Hey, what’s going on here?" he called out, walking in the direction of the bathroom.

That’s when Rafe sprang into action. He lunged at the guard, landed a punch to his face, grabbed the gun, and then slammed his elbow into the guard’s stomach for good measure. The guy went down hard, unconscious before he could even react.

"Okay, follow me." Rafe led the way, taking out a guard on the way out. I placed my hand on his back, trying my best to stay calm despite the fear bubbling inside me.

"I’ve got a boat at the port that can take us to OBX," Rafe said, glancing back at me. "I can drop you off anywhere you need." His offer was a surprising shift from the usual cold, distant Rafe I knew. It was a kind gesture, and for a moment, I felt a flicker of something warmer.

We climbed into a truck loaded with hay, both of us relieved to have escaped. Rafe leaned back against the wall of the vehicle, a small smile creeping onto his face as he glanced at me.

"You know, May, I never took you for a Pogue. You're better than them," he said casually.

"Thanks," I replied, unsure of how to react. The truth was, Rafe had always been my secret crush, the one no one knew about. But because he was a Kook and I was a pouge, I never let myself think of anything more.

Hearing him say that, though, made me feel almost equal to him for a moment. It was nice, in a way, to know he saw me differently.

When we arrived at the port and boarded his yacht, Rafe was busy preparing it for the journey ahead. I watched him for a moment, and after a while, he noticed my gaze.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Like what?" I replied, a little taken aback.

"Doesn't matter," he said with a chuckle.

As the yacht sailed, the quiet between us stretched until Rafe broke it with some small talk. "So, how's school? You're a senior, right?"

"Yeah, it's alright," I answered. Rafe was 21, and I was almost 18, so he was already done with school.

"You want something to drink? It's gonna take us about two days to get to OBX," he offered.

"Sure, what do you have?" I asked.

"Whiskey, wine, beer, or water," he said, glancing at me.

"Beer would be great, thanks," I replied.

He handed me a cold beer, and as the sun started to set, we spent the evening talking. After a few beers, I started feeling the effects, my head spinning just a little. Rafe seemed to be handling it better, even though he had been drinking too.

"You know, I had a pretty big crush on you back in the day," I said, laughing lightly.

"Really?" he asked, a little surprised.

"Yeah, I used to look for you around school," I admitted, feeling a bit embarrassed.

A moment of silence passed, and then Rafe turned toward me, his expression softening. "I didn't know that," he said quietly. He leaned in a little, and for a second, the world seemed to slow. He looked into my eyes and kissed me. Lightly grabbing my face, deepening the kiss.

I reached my hand to unbuckle his belt. My underwear was soaking and I was ready to take him. Before that I had slept with my now-ex-boyfriend but he didn't make me feel so horny as Rafe in that moment. I don't know if the alcohol made me this confident but I sat on top of him, straddling his crotch. I felt his arousal on my ass. I continued kissing him and his hands were exploring every inch of my body.

Slightly squeezing my boobs, pinching my nipples through the dress, stroking my back. I unbuttoned his cotton shirt and started placing small pecks on his refined abs. "Wait" he suddenly stopped me "I didn't bring condoms" he looked at me with concern.

"Fuck it, I don't care." I said quickly. I was too aroused to stop now. His hand slid under my dress and found my panties. One of his fingers slid inside me and I let out a small moan. With his fingers pumping inside me I took his pants off massaging him through black pair of boxers. When he felt I was close to orgasm Rafe withdrew his hand and pulled me in for a kiss. Meanwhile I took out his cock and palmed it. He was moaning. "Shit, May" I lined his dick with my entrance and slowly lowered myself on it.

I grabbed his torso to steady myself and when I adjusted to his large size I started rocking my hips back and forth. "Ohh Rafe You feel so good." I was breathing heavy and my vision started to blur from pleasure. "You make me feel so good Rafe. If I knew your dick was so good I'd make a move sooner." I felt his finger circle my clit.

I picked up the pace and started moving my hips faster. "Fuck May I'm so close right now." He painted and I felt his dick twitch inside my coochie. I squeezed him and cummed, leaving a white ring around him.

Soon after he also came and I felt his warm release. I rode out the last bits of his orgasm and got off him, laying next to him trying to steady my breath and heartbeat.

"Damn John B would freak out if he knew I fucked his little sister." he smiled with his eyes closed. I playfully smacked his chest laughing with him.

[jjkamochoso]

Hii! Could I request a Feitan x Female Reader who's part of the Phantom Troupe, and a something on a mission goes wrong and the Reader ends up getting injured. She's fine and used to it, being part of the Phantom Troupe, but Feitan just isn't having it and scolds her to be more careful in the future. That is, after he does the unthinkable to the source of your inconvenience!

Thank you so much for your request!!! I love writing Feitan and I hope you love what I came up with in this story :) <3

Phantom Pain

Fluff

Feitan Portor x f!reader

Warnings: graphic violence: blood, torture, death

The mission started off so ridiculously easy that you were almost yawning, the heist going exactly as planned. Feitan and Shalnark were busy shoving money and jewels into big duffel bags while you and Phinks were on watch outside the vault. The estate you were raiding was quiet, not uncommonly so since you waited to break in when the owner was out of town with most of the bodyguards, but just enough to where you wondered if the security team was really that dumb to leave a vault full of valuables so readily accessible. With arms crossed and annoyance written all over your features, you hoped the treasure the boys were bagging was worth it.

"Ugh, I'm beyond bored," you groaned, trying to ignore the persistent feeling of wanting to yank your hair out in frustration. "Are they almost done in there?"

"No clue. By the sounds of it, I'd say they're close to finishing." Phinks leaned his head back against the wall, looking like he could fall asleep at any moment.

"Good. I'm all for simple jobs and quick money but this one is almost too simple. I can't believe no one's shown up yet. Some security system they have."

Phinks opened one eye. "Look, I'm always in the mood for a fight but can't you just enjoy this? Besides, I'd rather fight no one at all than a bunch of weaklings."

"Mmm, I'm 50/50 on that one. Maybe if I had a weakling or two to fight right now I'd have more of an opinion."

All of a sudden, there was a loud pounding noise coming from the doors in front of you.

"Open up! This is security, we've come to detain you!"

You saw the doors rattle as the people on the other side began to break them down. Sure, they were locked, but you hadn't bothered to barricade them with anything since you figured it wasn't necessary. The estate's leftover guards came rushing in, brandishing guns.

If looks could kill, you'd be dead ten times over.

"Now you've done it, y/n," Phinks said, rolling his eyes, "the place is swarmed. This enough action for ya?"

"Hmm... no. But it'll do." You had a mischievous twinkle in your eye. "Wanna have a contest to see who gets the higher kill count?"

When Feitan heard your voice from outside the vault, he couldn't help the grin that appeared under his cowl. You were reckless, dangerous, bloodthirsty--all qualities he liked in a person.

"We finish this quick. I don't want to miss the show outside."

"You just want to watch y/n in action, don't you?" teased Shalnark.

"Shut up," Feitan growled, grateful for the face covering that was hiding his blush. When the last of the bags were filled, the two men exited the vault, eager to join the fight waged between the estate security team and their fellow Phantom Troupe members. However, Feitan's attention was caught by a short yelp from across the room. It was completely imperceptible to everyone else over the constant sound of gunfire, but he heard it loud and clear. His narrow eyes darted your direction where he spied you gritting your teeth as you continued throwing punches. Were you in pain? No, there was no way you could've gotten hurt here. These guys were anything but formidable foe, almost all already dead from the seasoned Nen users.

You were bleeding.

As he took men down left and right, his razor sharp fingernails cutting into flesh with ease, he saw your injured arm dripping blood onto the floor. How did you let that happen? How did he let that happen? It didn't matter at this point; he just knew he was pissed and someone was going to pay for leaving a mark on his most prized possession.

The gunfire had seized and all was quiet except for the pleading whimpers of the security team members that were unlucky enough to still be alive. You were about to make a snarky remark when you saw Feitan practically fly to your side, his cold gaze looking between your injury and the three men cowering in front of you.

"Which one hurt you?"

You were used to seeing Feitan angry but never in your life had you seen such rage and hatred present in his eyes. He always had a menacing air about him but that description would be an understatement as to what you were witnessing right now. Even Phinks looked concerned about the state his close friend was in and he had seen him do countless unthinkable things to others over the years.

"P-please, i-it wasn't me! I didn't-"

In a flash Feitan had the sputtering man's tongue in his iron grip, ready to rip it out. "Trash like you no speak around her."

You almost felt bad for these guys. You knew Feitan was protective of his friends, you and him being particularly close, and anyone who hurt those people he cared for found themselves at the mercy of the most merciless man.

You pointed your finger at a guy to his right. "It was that dude."

Blood soaked the floor as two of the men's lifeless bodies fell. The third one, the cause of your pain, was on the verge of passing out from fear. For his own sake, you wished he had because what Feitan was about to put him through before death was NOT going to be pleasant. For him, at least. Feitan was going to have a wonderful time torturing the man.

"You?" Feitan leaned down, grabbing the man's chin as his fingers became soaked with the stranger's tears. His voice became eerily cheery as he addressed his next victim. "Don't cry, we have fun together. I show you what it's really like to inflict pain."

Feitan pulled down his cowl to reveal a sadistic smile and you felt chills throughout your entire body. You always thought Feitan to be handsome but seeing him in this state of bloodlust, for you no less, made your heart go into overdrive.

"Wow, this guy's in for a world of hurt! Feitan, you don't mind if we watch, right?" Shalnark called out, a big smile plastered on his face.

"Don't care," Feitan replied. "Y/n, pick a side. Left or right?"

"Hmm, left."

There was a sickening crunch followed by a loud screech of distress. Feitan had broken the man's left leg, rendering him immobile. The expert torturer then went to work: first came the extraction of fingernails; starting with the left hand, of course. Unlike most of his other torture sessions, he wasn't wasting any time causing this man pain. He was in a frenzied state, eager to make what was left of the man's life as horrible as possible. You watched as Feitan continued his precise work, screams filling your ears as a strong metallic smell seeped into your nostrils. By the time the man's heart stopped, his body was a mangled mess. You had a pretty strong stomach but the sight of various bodily fluids leaking across the floor made you queasy.

"You die so quick. Shame."

In a final fit of rage, Feitan unsheathed his sword and turned to you.

"Stupid girl. If you not pay attention, this happen to you."

There was a squelching noise as Feitan rolled the man's now decapitated head toward you like a bowling ball. Phinks and Shalnark ran into the vault to grab the stolen goods to load in the getaway car, ready to head back to base (and not wanting to deal with anymore unresolved romantic tension between the two of you).

"Everyone else had guns! I wasn't expecting the guy to have a knife," you pouted, pressing a hand to the cut to stop the bleeding.

"Tch, don't press dirty hand in open wound. You get infection."

Feitan gave his cowl a swift yank over his head and your eyes widened in surprise as he went to tie it around your arm.

"Are you sure I can use this? I know you wear it most of the time and I don't want to get it dirty," you said.

He just scoffed. "I wouldn't give if I didn't want to."

You jumped involuntary when you felt Feitan's nimble fingers work the cloth around your bleeding limb.

"Did that hurt?" he inquired, grey irises studying you intently.

"No, I'm fine," you squeaked, clearly embarrassed at your reaction but if he noticed your strange behavior, he didn't mention it. The pressure of the makeshift bandage reduced your physical discomfort a decent amount, which you were grateful for, but it did nothing to ease the mental discomfort you were feeling from Feitan's unyielding gaze.

You folded your arms. "What?"

"You need be careful in the future. You do stupid things, you die. You not take fight seriously, you get hurt or die. Even if opponent weak, you need pay attention some!"

Feitan's voice was louder than you had ever heard it before and his words were choppier than normal as he was effectively chewing you out for your foolishness. Getting hurt was mostly inevitable in any sort of mission, but your cockiness was your downfall today, not your lack of skill.

"You're right," you sighed. "I'm sorry for worrying you."

"I not worried," he replied, his tone disgruntled. His body betrayed him, though, as you saw the beginnings of a blush bloom across his pale cheeks. With the cowl on your arm instead of his face, you were able to see the effect you had on the short man you'd come to love.

"You sure about that?" you teased, making Feitan give you the nastiest side eye he could conjure up. You laughed, happy to see he cared about you just as much as you did about him. Grabbing a bag of treasure, you started loading the getaway car as well.

"You good? You're redder than a tomato," Phinks said upon entering the room. "We leave alone you with y/n for a few minutes and she's got you all flustered like that? Looks like you're the girl with a crush in this situation."

"You keep talking, you join men on floor."

[e1dritchjackal0pe]

𝕶𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝕭𝖊𝖉 𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖋𝖊𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖆𝖑

Summary: After your night with Farleigh, you wake in the morning to deal with the new, altered state of your relationship. You know for certain that you want more with him, but you have no idea if he wishes the same.

Warnings: 18+ content, minors DNI. AFAB, usage of 'good girl' . Sex in front of a mirror, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), fingering. A bit of fluff. American reader. Not proofread.

Notes: 12.1k words. This probably won't make sense if you haven't read the first part. A big shout out for those of you who commented on the first part of this. Ya'll really slutted me out with all of the compliments and motivated me to write this second bit. Banner by @saradika-graphics

𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔦 - 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔦𝔦𝔦

Everything is warm. Cozy and inviting with a soothing, syrupy kind of heat that saps into your bones and flesh. You don't want to move. The possibility of having to seems like the worse possible inconvenience that you could even face. Your mind is slow to gather itself, caught up within the hazy drag of sleep, reluctant to wake up - outright fighting of the surge of consciousness, in fact. And irritably, you wonder why you're gradually being pulled from the dredges of slumber. Why the comforting threads entangling you is beginning to slip. What could possibly be waking you up right now? 

And that's when your hazed over brain notices that band of light glaring into your eyes; bright and tinged orange from behind your eyelids. It's awful. Horrible even. Where is the light even coming from? You never leave your lamp on, and you always make sure to draw your curtains shut every night before sleep. 

But despite your curiosity, you can't bring yourself to open your eyes. You know that it'll be game over if you do. There's no way that you'll be able to fall back asleep once you get up to check the origin of that offensive glow. But you can't fight the low, tired groan that erupts from your chest in annoyance while you blindly grab at the comforter snuggled around you, sliding it up higher until it's draped over your face and blocking out the light. 

The relief is immediate, and you find yourself shifting in an attempt to burrow yourself deeper into the plush support of the mattress, breathing in a satisfied, deep drag of air. Taking a lungful of something sweet and earthy with hints of something spicy too. It's familiar; comforting and it has you subconsciously drawing in another breath.  It smells like Farleigh, you think contentedly. 

That does have you perking up a bit. Some small part of you becoming hideously awake, like it's trying to remember something that you've forgotten. But you're still actively fighting off the urge get up. You just aren't ready for it. There's some tension in your skull and your mouth feels dry and dehydrated. It's not the worse hangover you've ever had. But then again, the one that you had woken up to on the night after graduation had been near crippling. Honestly, you hadn't thought that you were ever going to survive it. It felt like someone was striking down on your skull with a hammer, trying to split it down the middle. This one was more than manageable, nothing a glass of water and an aspirin couldn't clear up. 

But even then, the urge to get up out of bed to shuffle around in the bathroom was less than thrilling. 

You shift around again, rolling from your back and onto your side, hoping that maybe this position will actually help you in falling asleep again. But you pause when you feel your knee brush against something firm and warm. And a curious nudge from your foot has you coming to the realization that you're prodding at another leg. Someone else's leg. 

It makes your stomach jolt, and the shot of adrenalin combined with the cloud of sleep still seeped across your mind has you squirming in place, while your arms jerk uselessly. It feels like minutes have passed before you're clumsily tossing the blanket from over your head and propping yourself up to look at whoever is lying across from you. 

It's the head of dark curls that you notice first before your gaze lowers, tracing over a pair of closed eye lashes and the set of a familiar pout peeking out from the cocoon of the comforter. It has your brain chugging along sluggishly while it scrambles to catch up. And then last night is rushing towards you in waves. Of running into Farleigh, your shared whispered confessions up on the balcony, and the fervent, relieved fucking that came after it. 

Heat prickles at your skin at the memories. Of the desperate, broken moans that had left his shuddering chest, the feel of his writhing body underneath your thighs, how he had pressed his face between the apex of your legs and - 

Nope, not right now. The last thing you need to be is hungover and horny. 

But that was right, you weren't in your room. He had invited you to spend the night with him afterwards. It had been sweet, and domestic. The two of you had spent the first twenty minutes just soaking in the bath together. And a decent majority of it had been the both of you just leaning into each other. The actual bathing that you had done had been somewhat rushed and done out of necessity so that you could spend the rest of your time leaning against the cradle of his chest. Enjoying the feel of skin-on-skin contact and the other's presence. You stayed in the water until it had gone cool, and the only source of heat was coming from your bodies. And even then, you both were reluctant to leave the tub, basking in conversation and gossip, catching up on the few years where you had never really allowed yourselves to just talk to each other. 

And once the water became too chilled to bear you were quick to get out of the tub and slip into the comfort of his bed. He had been quick to tug you into his arms once you were settled down underneath the blankets. He was practically glued to you since your entanglement on the balcony - not that you were complaining. 

You had all but melted against him for the entire night, laughing and scolding him with no real scorn whenever he had judged or quipped at the movie you were watching in between the kisses he was scattering across your neck. It was disgustingly soft, and light years away from anything you ever imagined yourself doing with Farleigh. If you had told the past version of yourself from yesterday morning that you would be lying his bed and actually enjoying - wanting - to be near him, you would have scoffed. You would have passionately denied the sheer possibility of it. 

But now here you are, admiring the way that he looks underneath the soft pale champagne glow of the morning sunlight with nothing but fondness in your chest. He looks peaceful like this. Relaxed. It's somewhat strange to be able to see him like this. All vulnerable and soft while he's unable to dish out sarcasm and insults. 

"I can feel you staring, you weirdo," he speaks suddenly without opening his eyes. His voice is low and a little raspy from sleep, and the way that it affects you is entirely unfair. A full body shiver runs down the notches of your spine at the smoky quality to it and you try to subtly shift to hide it, but something tells you that he may have noticed with the smirk that's begun to perk at the corner of his lips. 

"Admiring, " you correct, and you shuffle onto your back like you're lifting yourself to get out of the bed, shrugging the blankets off. "But if you don't like it then I can just leave." 

He moves way too quickly for someone who just woke up, slipping his arms around your middle and tugging you back into the warmth of the comforter. But you don't put up any semblance of a fight. You let him take you and you can't hold in the laugh that breaks from your chest when he settles you with your back pressed against him, keeping you trapped with the strength of his hold. 

"You're not allowed to leave, " he grumbles pettishly. It's so different from all of the interactions that you two usually share and a part of you still hasn't caught up to the sudden shift in your dynamic. You feel just as lost as you do happy, but as much as you'd like to start firing off questions you still can't bring yourself to. Not yet at least. And luckily Farleigh is speaking, pulling you out of your thoughts. "Why are you awake so early?" 

"Because someone has very thin curtains that he decided to leave open," you grouse with no real bite.

He tucks his chin over the crown of your head and hums tiredly. You can feel that way that his abdomen vibrates against your back with the sound. The heat radiating from his bare skin is soaking into yours from the barrier of your borrowed shirt, and combined with the scent of his body wash and the left-over remnants of his cologne it has the temptation of sleep beginning to weigh down your limbs. "You could have closed them." 

"Hmm . . . I'm kinda glad I didn't," you admit, snuggling back into his chest as much as you can. "You're so pretty when you're sleeping, and your face isn't all twisted up in a scowl." 

The reprimanding bite that he nips at the junction of your neck catches you off guard, making you jolt with a small, surprised yelp. You can't find it in yourself to even mildly irritated, but you kick at his shin regardless in a playful warning of your own. 

"I'm always pretty," he scolds. 

Then a silence falls across the room. Not uncomfortable but still. Peaceful and light, and the buttery summer breeze pouring from the open window just amplifies the sense of calm. And you smell the dulcet, earthy scent of pollen and fresh morning dew on the air. There's a bird singing from somewhere outside, declaring the rise of the early sun in a gentle coo. And for a moment, it almost sounds like a mourning dove. 

You just allow yourself to relax and lounge in the tranquility of the moment. Idly scanning the contents of his room from the comfort of his bed. Glancing over at the shelf in the corner, stocked full of novels; everything from old literary classics like The Portrait of Dorian Gray, Dracula, The Great Gatsby, a couple of books on mythology, a few Harry Potter novels and you even spy what also seems to be a copy of one of the Sex and the City stories. A few of shirts were discarded in the corner near a small laundry basket like he had thrown them and missed, forgotten on the floor. 

And it suddenly strikes you that this is the first time that you've actually been inside of Farleigh's room. You've gotten glimpses of it of course, typically during brief confrontations while standing in his doorway. Usually, when Felix or Elspeth would send you to his door in their stead to retrieve him or remind him of a mandatory affair. And it's a reminder of the step that you had taken last night. The way that you both had singlehandedly altered the trajectory of your relationship with each other. 

Not even the uncertainty in your gut is enough to disrupt the ease in your bones. But is still there. Unignorable. It isn't awkward or uncomfortable, but it is foreign. This entire situation is new and fragile. The ground that you're treading is something that you've never even grown close to traversing with Farleigh, and with it there is a sense of something delicate and brand new, like eggshells. And a part of you is worried that if you handle it too harshly that it might break. 

But you know that despite your hesitance that a conversation needs to be had. Boundaries and intentions need to be laid bare and the more you hold it off the more confused and distressed you're going to become. 

"Farleigh?" You say softly, and for a moment you think that he's fallen asleep again, but then a questioning hum is purring out into the air in response; you feel it more than you hear it. 

And now there it is. That awful nervousness fluttering at your gut like a ball of panicked, nauseating butterflies. "What are we exactly?"  You nearly wince when you ask it. The dryness in your throat doesn't help anything, and your words nearly catch on their way out. "I know we were both drinking and partying last night, so I just want to make sure that we're both on the same page. That I'm not . . . assuming anything." 

There's another bout of silence. But this time it is distressing, and you wish that he'd just speak. Even if it's just to reject you or say that last night was just a one-time thing. At least, it would be ripping the band aid off. Setting a boundary and cutting you off. As much as it would hurt it would give you closure and let you move on to pretend that it never happened. It would be awkward, tiptoeing around the estate and pretending as though last night - this morning, didn't take place - a beautiful, haunting dream - but you could do it. You would have to. You could still fake all of those old glares and scathing remarks if it meant that a sense of normalcy would remain intact. You could pretend to forget all of his soft touches, and the way that he had called you gorgeous. How he had held your gaze and looked at you like you had hung the moon up into the night sky. You could forget all of it, you swear you could. 

But it's just quiet, and the anticipation is killing you. Letting you choke on your own worry. 

Farleigh shuffles back from you and for one terrifying moment you think that he's leaving the bed, too irritated or indifferent to even try and have this talk with you. But instead, he's softly nudging your arm to guide you to twist around onto your opposite side; making you face him. 

There's something gentle is his eyes, something vulnerable too. And it makes you hopeful that he feels the same way as you do. 

"Well . . . " He starts but then a pause takes over like he's trying to collect himself and find the proper words. You can feel the way that you subconsciously begin to clam up, seizing and waiting to be torn down and told the ugly truth. You brace waiting to have to put on a fake smile and nod before you have to slip from his bed and head to your room in a walk of shame with rejection stabbing inside your chest like glass shards. 

"I was hoping that you'd be my girlfriend." 

The relief that floods through you nearly makes you breathless. And for a moment you think that this is what it feels like to be engulfed in the sun; swaddled in a warmth that reminds you of the nostalgia of a fond, distant memory. It's the joy of a day free at the beach, the repose that comes after holding your breath for a long stretch of time, the exhilaration from finding the answer to a mystery that's eluded you for years. But you can't articulate any of that, can't find a single word that properly conveys your emotions while under the cloud of sleep. 

"Okay," it isn't an eloquent response, by any means. Even just saying 'yes' probably would have read better. But that didn't mean that it wasn't said with any less intensity and enthusiasm. And you can tell that Farleigh must be able to pick up on the true scope of your emotions bleeding through because he doesn't look offended or disappointed. But his eyebrows do lift as he levels you with a look that's purely amused and a little happy. 

"Okay?" He echos with a light chuckle. 

"Okay, " you reaffirm, sliding closer until your noses touch. "I'd love to be your girlfriend." 

The look in his eyes is soft and relaxed, and they're shimmering lightly in the morning glow with hints of amber and a rich brown. And then he's peppering kisses across your face like he's mapping out your features with his lips, trailing them across your forehead and cheekbones and jawline. It's unrushed and slow, like you both have all of the time in the world. Like the sun is permanently fixed in the lavender horizon and isn't due to rise up and give way to a full day. But here and now, it's just you and him, curled up in the covers and one another. 

It's still so strange to be the object of his affections. It's a complete one-eighty from the way that you've interacted for years. Sure, now that you've had your little epiphany last night, you've been able to realize (and come to terms with the fact) that there's always been a kind of attraction and even fondness brewing underneath every one of your little spats and encounters. But never would have thought that you could say that that want, and affection went both ways. That there had ever been anything thing other than animosity and annoyance on his end. 

"What are you thinking about?" Farleigh ask, nuzzling against your cheek to get your attention before he pulls away to hold your gaze. 

"I guess, I'm just a little surprised, is all." You admit, though it is a little cryptic. "I just never got the impression that you liked me all that much." 

Something in his expression sobers, and for a moment you worry that you've said something wrong. That you've accidentally nudged something that he wasn't ready to disclose. 

"That was the point," he confesses, making your eyebrows pinch in confusion. "Of all of the teasing and fighting. For the most part." He pulls back, settling back against the bed and you settle on the flat of your stomach, supporting yourself on your elbows to observe him easier. "Though, I do just genuinely enjoy teasing you. You always get that cute little furrow, right here whenever I do." 

He lightly pokes at the point between your eyes with a smirk. And you swat at his hand, playful and relaxed before his features smooth back into that serious look. You can tell that he's briefly deflecting, trying to drag his explanation out more than it needs to be, and as much as your curiosity is burning at you like a hot ember, you don't make any means to rush him. His gaze skitters around the room with something akin to defeat and exasperation while he tussles with whatever conflict is warring around inside of him. 

Your fingers hesitantly reach for his own, clasping lightly just in case he wants to pull away, and you take it as good sign when he doesn't. Instead, he's threading your fingers together and squeezing, stroking at your knuckles with his thumb. "Felix, " he says suddenly with something like a grimace. "They always pick Felix. The golden boy. And I thought, 'why even try?' " 

The clarification is a little vague and scattered. But you're still able to piece together a mental timeline with the little bits and pieces that he's given. And it finally answers the question as to why your otherwise cordial relationship with Farleigh had seemed to take an abrupt nosedive after Felix's visit to the States all those years ago. Why your interactions went from playful to subtly meanspirited. He was jealous. Envious of his cousin all because he had assumed that you had a crush on or would eventually develop a crush for Felix. 

Sure, you weren't blind. Felix, for all intents and purposes was an attractive guy. And he's has always been a dear friend to you, protective and caring but you can genuinely say that your feelings for Felix had never developed past the platonic sense. Not even out of curiosity. 

And it is a little aggravating to know that all the years of animosity between you and Farleigh was because he wasn't able to sit you down and have a conversation with you. That he had decided to act like a middle school boy who tugs on the pig tails of the girl that he likes because he can't properly convey his feelings. But you also know that that assessment isn't fully fair either. You're aware of the fragile standing that Farleigh has with the Catton's - his own family, and that he no doubt, often feels like a guest in a home that should be considered his just as much as it's his cousins. 

And Felix, whether he realizes it or not, has always been able to achieve and get whatever - or whoever he wants. Usually, from his family's social or financial standing. And so, it wouldn't be the wild for him to assume that you'd be attracted to all of those things too. Especially, considering that you yourself, like many people, don't come from a wealthy family. It's a part of human nature, to gravitate towards the things you can't have. To try and see what life is like on the other side, where you're hand fed from a silver spoon and your every whim can be taken care of by an everlasting stash of money. So, Farleigh's insecurities weren't unfounded by any means, but regardless, it did still hurt to some degree that he felt like wasn't able to just talk to you about the way that he had felt. About the emotions that he had silently been harboring for all of this time. 

"I really did try to hate you. " And when he looks at you his expression is naked and honest. " I tried to push you away, but it didn't work. It never worked." 

He looks vulnerable. Like he's waiting for you to get angry or irritated and he's bracing for an argument. But you don't even contemplate doing anything even close to that. Instead, you're scooting yourself up on your knees to gently swing yourself across his lap, and he welcomes you by gripping onto your hips. You can't feel his skin directly. Not while you're both wearing a pair of boxers (he had lent you one of his to wear for bed last night) but you could still feel the heat of him against underneath you. And it serves to ground you all the same, pulling you into the moment and holding you here. And you take comfort in the sensation of his body against yours. 

"I've never hated you either, " you say, swallowing around the nervousness in your throat. " I thought I did. But I don't think I ever really could, not even back then. I'm mean don't get me wrong, you were arrogant, and rude and some days you made me want to slam my head into a wall . . . But I never hated you." 

There's something akin to relief in his eyes; hopeful and soft. And then he's saying two words that you thought you'd never expect to hear coming from him. 

"I'm sorry." 

It takes a moment for your mind to even register what he had said. But once the apology clicks into place, it has something fuzzy and warm growing in your chest, and you couldn't hide the soft smile pulling at your lips. It's bittersweet. You're remorseful for all the time lost between you but you can't even bother to dwell on it for too long, not now. Not with him gazing up at you, hopeful and waiting. 

And the truth is, is that you weren't entirely blameless, either. Yes, Farleigh had been the one to initiate the friction and enmity between you, but you were also quick to respond in kind. Instead of even trying to take the high road and figuring out the root of his animosity, you were quick to jump on the offensive. Forgoing any ideas of reconciling in the desire to try and get even. You just gave it all up, the months' worth of a gradually cultivated fellowship in the trade of trying to tear him down like he had done to you. 

"I'm sorry, too," you say truthfully. And the last bits of that tense, worried energy that had been tainting the air finally vanishes, carried off on the gentle breeze pouring through the window and out into the courtyard. Its absence welcomes back the playfulness that had been present earlier. "But if we're being honest, I've always enjoyed our little fights." 

The way that he grins in response is the kind that would have concerned you at one time (only just a few hours ago - Jesus, you can hardly believe it still), all cocky and entirely too satisfied. "I know, I clocked that from the very start." 

You can't resist the urge to roll your eyes, and there's a retort on the tip of your tongue, ready to tease him back but instead your mind decides to take a detour and it swerves back around to a different train of thought completely. Making you pause in place, lips slightly parted with the preparation to speak but the initial remark is gone. Leaving to assess your new realization with a bit of confused wonder. The realization that you didn't become acquaintances with Felix until months after knowing Farleigh. And that would mean that he caught feelings before- "Wait, " you pause, squinting at Farleigh questioningly. "You said that you weren't going to even try because of Felix. Then when did you . . ?" 

He sighs lowly, stroking your thighs in a way that seems more absentminded than intentional, like his brain needs a distraction. "The first day that we met there's was something there. It was small. Intrigue, mostly. I didn't think it would go anywhere, and for a little while it didn't." It's matter of fact, not meant to be rude or harmful, just honest. "There wasn't some pivotal moment that changed things. I don't have a specific date to give you; all those feelings were suddenly just there, and I didn't know what to do with them." 

It was the same way for you, you suppose. It wasn't like in the movies where the protagonist shares one defining moment with their love interest that just abruptly opens their eyes to their newfound affection and they immediately fall in love. The build up to your feelings had simmered and climbed up over time. It just sort of snuck up on you so stealthily that you hadn't even recognized that you had them. And even worse, your own hubris had kept you from even acknowledging the little shreds of emotions that managed to sneak by and slip under the radar. You always had an excuse for yourself. 

That fuzzy, tingling feeling that would bubble in the pit of your gut whenever you had seen Farleigh smile back in the past, candid and genuine, that wasn't affection, that was disgust, surely. That searing burn that would scatter across your flesh when someone would lean up against his side and openly flirt with him, coquette and unabashed, it was just your irritation for him, not jealously. 

Your emotions had always been there. Right under the surface and raging, but you had never let yourself see. Had never let yourself indulge. You were so out of touch with them, that honestly, you wouldn't be able to track whenever they had begun to manifest. It could have been from day one for all you know. And maybe it was. Right on that April evening, during the middle of a heatwave that had come in and choked out the otherwise agreeable spring air. The sun had the city in a violent grip, beating down on the concrete and asphalt until it was sweltering. And in an attempt to escape the unbearable temperatures, you and Graham, like many of the other tenants, had taken to the crystal waters of the pool to cool off. And when Graham had asked you if one of his friends could swing by, you had no qualms on the matter. You were honestly intrigued, considering that the said friend was apparently the mysterious Farleigh, who Graham had grown to be quite fond off, with the both of them having met from running with similar crowds. Socializers and party goers. 

When Farleigh had showed up to the pool, you hadn't missed the somewhat disgruntled way that his lip had curled while he eyed all of the people splashing about in the water as he followed Graham over to your seats on the poolside. Like they had offended him by being there. But you could only find yourself being amused by his apparent dislike for the public, and when he had neared you were quick to sit up in your lounger, lifting your sunglasses from your eyes and onto your head to assess him better. 

"You must be the famed Farleigh," you had greeted before extending your hand for him to take, introducing yourself with a smile. 

"That would be me," he had replied, laying back on the chaise beside yours like he had always been there; relaxed and unbothered. Like he had known you forever.  "But 'famed,' huh? Does he talk about me often?" 

"Enough for me to be intrigued." You admitted, folding the corner page of the book you had been reading in a dog-eared marker before shutting it closed so that you could freely turn your focus onto him instead. 

"And what has he told you about me?" He asked. 

Your lips lifted, and for a moment you glanced around the pool, observing the colorful array of plastic floaties and limbs playfully kicking up water. "That you're trouble." 

But it was told without any bite, your tone airy and impish. He didn't necessarily return your smile, but there was a kind of mirth glinting in his eyes. Intrigue as well. He let himself relax into the cradle of the chair without removing his gaze from yours, and you could see his open amusement. And somewhere in the near distance a child squealed in open delight and the laughter of their parent closely followed, but neither of you had so much as glanced away from each other. 

"So, he told you the truth." That had been his response. 

Charming, that had been your first thought of him. And it was one without ire or sarcasm. It was the truth. He had been charming then, and the both of you had spent a good twenty minutes talking to each other after your introduction. Divulging in common interest and gossip. Mostly from you sharing the scandals of your fellow tenants, like how your neighbor from 2E had been cheating on her boyfriend with the guy from 1F or how the elderly woman from down your hall had traded her husband's ashes for a pound of weed. 

But regardless of when your feelings for Farleigh had begun, it didn't change the fact that you were so ignorant and blind, that literally everyone else had taken notice of your attraction before you had. And all of the teasing from Venetia, and Felix, and even Graham hadn't been enough to make you recognize them. 

"And then one day, I couldn't stop thinking about you. " He admits.  There's an intensity in his gaze, and that open vulnerability is still in there too. It threatens to steal your breath, and you have to force yourself to inhale. But it just makes you take the scent of his shampoo; the fresh, delicate fragrance of the detergent and his cologne on his sheets and it just makes the warm haze seeping back into you so much worse. "With your thrifted sweatshirts and bitchy attitude." 

"Oh, I'm the bitchy one?" 

You aren't sure what changes it. What causes the shift. If perhaps it had just been there the entire time and you had been too preoccupied to notice it with your thoughts and heart to heart conversation. Or if maybe it was just from the way that he's looking at you now. With an unmistakable type of want. With a sultry type of need that's hauntingly similar to the fervor that had glinted in his eyes just last night. And the feel of his heated palms gripping your thighs and the pressure of his lap nestled between your legs doesn't make it any easier. But the low heat rising in the room seems to amplify the desire that's beginning to storm inside of you, building up from the sun that's ascended a few more degrees into the morning sky. And combined with the light golden hue casted over the bed, it makes you feel as though you're being incased in a vat of heated honey. Saccharine, hazy and torrid. 

You have to chase after that feeling. Following after it like a flower tracking the suns path across the sky and it leads you to Farleigh. Making you tilt down towards him like it's your purpose, brushing your lips over his and breathing in his air. And all the while you don't break eye contact once. You couldn't. You won't. 

The hold of his finger's flexes on you, like he's trying to ground himself. His anticipation almost seems like a physical thing; like it's brushing up against your body and hanging heavy in the air. And it could be your mind playing tricks on you, but you're certain that he's stopped breathing while he eagerly waits for you to do something. 

It has you lifting a hand up to cup his face, delicate and almost devout in the way that you press your palm against his cheek and his eyelashes nearly flutter from the contact. He looks content like this. No doubt still a little addled from the sleep that's probably still clinging to his brain. But the way that he appears to be so peaceful and fulfilled with something as little as your touch has this insatiable thing growing inside of you, and it feels as though it could grow a will of its own and possess you. The weight of it would have scared you once, if you weren't already so utterly swept up in it.

You can't help but to trace his skin, idly sweeping your thumb across the jut of his cheekbone before dragging it down the fullness of his bottom lip. And it surprises you entirely when he drops his jaw open to take the digit into his mouth. You have to hold back a gasp at the sensation of his tongue brushing over your skin and sucking. And the impish gleam in his eyes almost seems like some kind of dare. Like he wants you to make a move. 

You just press your thumb into his mouth with a bit more pressure and the delicate, airy sigh that leaves him is a reward all in its own. The glide of his tongue, the heat of his mouth, the way that he's looking at you, it's all so blissfully overwhelming. You wish that you could just stay here indefinitely, under the cover of the blankets with his body against your own. 

But . . .

"You're a brat." That's all you say before you extract your digit from between his lips and swing yourself from his hips to climb off the bed. You have to glance over your shoulder when a surprised "what the fuck?" rises out from behind you as you pad over towards the open doorway of the adjacent bathroom. And the outright pouty and exasperated way that Farleigh rolls over onto his stomach and slams his face into the plush of one of his pillows is the last thing you see of him once you cross the threshold, and you can't fight the amused chuckle that leaves your chest. 

You can hear him grumble something, but it's inaudible from your place at the sink, muffled by the walls and distance. You try to ignore those torrential, gushing emotions that are rising up inside your chest but it's hard to fight the smile on your face, and the sight of your reflection in the mirror is humbling almost. You're beaming and your eyes are sparkling with an unhidden mirth. God, you look like a lovestruck idiot. You can hardly recognize yourself like this, but as completely taken as you are by your feelings you can't even find it in yourself to be embarrassed by them. It feels good to just embrace them after years of fighting and lying to yourself. And you finally feel at peace.

It's like relief, being here with him. By wearing his clothes and spending the night in his bed. The toothbrush that you're using was one of his spares. It had still been tucked away in the rigid plastic and cardboard of its packaging when he had let you use it last night. He had been the one to suggest that you take it when you had been fully prepared to swing by the neighboring bathroom near your bedroom to collect you own. But he had told you that you didn't need to bother. That you could just take one of his. And after you had used it, you had placed it in the caddy beside his own for the night. They were all such small things. Tiny minute gestures but they made you feel so wholly wanted. 

When you lean over to spit out the frothy toothpaste into the basin of the sink a pair of arms slip around your middle and press you into the expanse of his front. He hooks his chin over your shoulder to look at you from the reflection of the mirror and you struggle not to make eye contact with him as your rinse the bristles of the brush off underneath the tap. 

"Come back to bed," he says, nuzzling his face into the junction of your neck. "Breakfast isn't for almost another two hours." 

You just hum in response, tapping your toothbrush dry on the edge of the sink before plopping it back into its place in the caddy. "I will, " you promise. "Do you have anything for headaches? I have a little bit of a hangover." 

"Bottom drawer on the left," he directs, and slackens his hold on you for you to slip free. You crouch down to slide the drawer open and rove your eyes over the contents before you single out the white safety lid of a bottle of ibuprofen. Once you have it, you're opening it eagerly and plucking a tablet into the palm of your hand. The throbbing in your skull is still dull, more of an annoyance really. But regardless you're still more than relieved to get something to finally knock it out. 

You drop the sealed bottle back into its place before nudging the door closed with your leg as you rise to stand, and you put the bitter, acrid pill on your tongue. Farleigh is already in the process of brushing his own teeth, and instead of shuffling over to the opposing sink, you're leaning over into Farleigh's space and cupping a bit of water streaming from the tap into your palm to drink up; using it to wash down the tablet. 

He doesn't look peeved in the slightest though, that he has to shift back just a bit on his feet to allow you closer as you toss the pill down. Instead, there's an amused smile on his lips while he watches you. Though you're too busy roving your eyes over your own features to notice, and you can't help the slight exasperation that shows when you spot a few fine pieces of glitter that are still stubbornly clinging to your skin; glinting from your collar bone and the ridge of your left cheek. You'll probably be finding remnants of it for weeks at this rate, in your hair and on your clothes. 

Though you suppose that you can't be all that mad about it, with the way that it serves to be a reminder of last night. Of the balmy satin breeze and the pleased moans that it had carried. You can already feel your body thrumming in response and the depth of your reverie keeps you from noticing that he had finished brushing his teeth and had placed his brush in the caddy until you see his reflection shuffling around and he's suddenly standing behind you, securing his arms around your waist once again.

You all but melt back against him with a happy hum under your breath. It still surprises you a bit, the way that he seeks you and your affection out and clings to you. Though, you suppose that it really shouldn't be all that much of a shock. He has always been a very physical sort of person, even with those that he has a platonic relationship with. Even in the past, he always seemed to have someone touching him, whether it be by having a person clinging to arm, or sitting in his lap, he was always sharing his space in some kind of way. So, it isn't that farfetched that he'd crave physical intimacy in a relationship just as much. And you're all too eager and willing to fulfill that want. 

Though you suppose that the surprise still comes from how new and raw this all still is. You've had your dynamic solidified with Farleigh for years. And it persisted that way, unshifting and constant until it had been swiftly uprooted and altered by a simple exchange of words. And a part of you still has yet to come to terms with it yet. That you're here with him and so completely, and wholly content. That you're happy with the person who had made it his mission to taunt your every waking moment. It is jarring and strange but no less sweet and captivating, and you don't think that you could imagine being with anyone else right now and experiencing the same breadth of joy and tranquility. 

Your body almost goes lax against his, settling underneath the comforting heat radiating from the plains of his chest and abdomen. It's all peaceful and unrushed. Just two people enjoying each other's company without the threat of any responsibilities or tasks looming ahead to move you apart. And for a moment you think that you could fall asleep like this, standing up while cradled in his arms. 

But then one of his hands begins to wander, shifting from its place around your middle to slip underneath your (his) shirt. And you can't help but to smile, basking in the subtle shift that weaves over the privacy of the bathroom. It's simmering and low and it already has a delicate heat blossoming between your thighs. His fingers trace up your stomach, leaving a buzzing trail across your skin in their wake and when they reach the swell of one your breasts it has you gasping. 

"Open your eyes, " he purrs in your ear, smoky and sonorous and it gives you no choice but to comply. You hadn't even realized that you had closed them until they're fluttering open and meeting Farleigh's in the mirror's reflection. And the smoldering want alight within them has you breathless and thrumming with anticipation. 

His other hand starts drifting, but it isn't slipping up to join the opposing one near your chest, it's traveling down low until his fingers are teasing at the band of your boxers that hang from your hips. He lets his thumb glide underneath the fabric to sweep teasing glides across the skin of your pubic mound. And you find yourself trying to lightly grind against his hand like it might get it to move lower to where you want him. But he doesn't budge, and the only thing that greets you is a condescending chuckle against the side of your head as he plants a kiss into the plush of your hair. 

"I'm going to fuck you with my fingers, and you're going to watch." 

That just about nearly makes your knees go slack. And the warmth blossoming in your stomach is thick and heady already. He doesn't even have to ask if you agree, you beat him to the punch, eagerly nodding in response with a quick yes. And it's then that his hand finally moves. Your mouth drops open when his fingers slip in between your legs, parting through the heat of you and gently grinding against your clit in heavy, teasing glides. And the fingertips on your breast softly pluck at your nipple in time with each circle around the sensitive nerves at the apex of your thighs. 

It has you becoming aware of how wet you already are, but you can't focus on the embarrassment for long because the sheer intensity of Farleigh's gaze has you in a grip. He only breaks the contact to briefly admire the shape of his hand jutting out from underneath the fabric of your boxers before it sweeps back up to your face, making you focus on yourself. There's already a glazed over sort of gleam in the reflection of your eyes, and your chest is rhythmically rising and expanding to release low, airy gasps.  

It has heat prickling at your cheeks in a self-conscious response and you can't help it when you look away from the image of the both of you to train your gaze onto something else. It wasn't seeing him that made you feel awkward, it was seeing yourself  like this that was so strange. You couldn't watch yourself like this. So, you pin your gaze onto the golden trim of the mirror instead, tracing the shapes of the cherubim and flora carved into the wood as some kind of distraction while your hips chase after the sultry simmer that's lowly building within the cradle of your hips. 

But even with that pleasure, you can't help the way you whine when the hand stroking at your breast suddenly leaves. Though you can't voice your frustration before it's slipping from underneath the shirt and taking ahold of your jaw, guiding you to tilt your head back. The cradle of his hand is almost light despite the firmness behind it, more of a suggestion really, but you find yourself yielding to it regardless. Allowing your head to loll back on your neck until it's pressed against him. 

And the angle makes you see yourself in the reflection. You want to glance away again and save yourself from the awkward prickling at your skin. 

"Watch," Farleigh orders softly, nipping at your ear like it was a kind of reprimand. 

And you can't look away now. Not with the sound of his command still ringing in your mind, all low and raspy. 

"Good girl," he purrs. Then one of his fingers is slipping inside of you and even though he had just fucked you last night, you can still feel your walls slightly stretching around the thickness of it. A ragged moan tears from your lips at the feel of it and your body mindlessly jerks against the sensation, making you unintentionally grind against the rigid heat of his cock pressing against your backside. You can hear the soft sigh of pleasure that leaves him at the feel of you rocking against him, and his eyebrows pinch close with a near rapturous type of wince. Like it already felt too good.  

It gives you a sense of satisfaction to know that even while he's pumping his finger into the heat of your cunt and working you into the throes of a syrupy, saccharine pleasure that you could still affect him. You can tell that he's noticed the slight smirk that's begun to tilt at your lips if the way that he glares at you from over your shoulder is anything to go by. And never to be one to back down from a challenge, he's gliding a second finger in alongside the other and curling them in deep. 

Your hands reach for the counter, grabbing onto the edge of the sink for some stability. For something to anchor you while pure liquid heat pours over you like melted wax. But you don't stop fucking yourself on his hand, you don't stop grinding against him either, desperately rolling the swell of your ass against the rigid press of his cock; eager to see that near wounded look that crosses his face whenever he's in pleasure. 

And it feels like a reward when his own jaw drops open with a moan. But then he's biting onto the junction of your neck like he's trying to silence himself, and the mere thought of being deprived of his voice has you whining out. Not this again . . . 

"Farleigh," you keen raggedly, almost hiccupping around the steady, repetitive thrust of his fingers. " Please, I want to hear you. Let me hear you." 

There's a brief bout of silence, and for one horrible moment you think that he's going to deprive you and leave you wanting, but then he's removing his teeth from their hold on your skin and nuzzling his nose against your head. Thankfully, he doesn't try to quiet himself. He lets his lips remain parted, allowing that gorgeous, low panting to escape, pushed out by the way that he's started to grind up against you, meeting the thrust of your hips with his own. 

He looks gorgeous like this, with his eyelids settled low over his eyes from an intense type of want and desire and you think that you can see a fine dusting of sweat already glittering over his skin from the low, golden light projecting from the bedroom behind the both of you. And even with the heavy grate from the heel of his palm rubbing against your clit and the pulse of his fingers building that consuming fire in your gut, you honestly think that a large portion of your pleasure is coming from just seeing him. 

And you think that it might be the same for him. His gaze is fixed onto you with an almost enraptured sort of quality to his gaze, like he couldn't bear to look away from you. And with the way that you're both working yourselves against each other, it's apparent that you're just blatantly getting off on seeing the other becoming worked up and clouded over with desire. 

The sounds of your joined moaning and gasps are amplified within the cradle of the bathroom walls, and it just makes your body burn all the more hotter. Your eyes nearly roll back when his fingertips brush against that debilitating spot inside of you, and your back arches involuntarily, drawing tight like a bowstring. 

"Right there, huh, baby?"  He coos a little condescending, but you couldn't care less. Not with how he's working his fingers so well. Threatening to tear you apart and make you unravel with a few more well-placed swipes. And you just nod. Anything to satisfy him and have him keep going. To nudge you closer and closer to that wonderful, tempting edge and guide you over it. 

"You really want to cum, don't you?" There's a taunting quality to his voice that easily would have tipped you off if your mind wasn't fogged over with lust but right now you're too caught up in feeling to even focus. It takes everything to even reply to him, though it comes out as more of a breathless huff of pleasure rather than an articulated response. And he's got that satisfied grin on his lips. Like he has you right where he wants you. "Then go get on the bed." 

That's the only warning you get before he's slipping his fingers from your cunt and cruelly stepping away from you. The glare that you give him is full of hurt and scathing, and you can feel the dull rise of your approaching orgasm fading into a taunting, warm pulse between your legs and your walls flutter around nothing. But he doesn't appear to be guilty in the slightest. Instead, he's lifting the hand that he had used to fuck you and places his fingers onto his tongue to suck the gauzy sheen of your cum from them. 

It has that desire flaring again and whatever quip you had at the ready extinguishing before you could even try to get it out. And you're quick to turn on your heels, trying to ignore the way that your knees slightly quiver with adrenaline and anticipation as you make your way towards the threshold of the bathroom. Though, you can't stop yourself from shooting Farleigh a look when he plants a slap on your ass when you walk past him to the bedroom. 

But regardless of your frustration, you're doing exactly as he told you and crawling back onto the plush mattress of his bed as soon as you cross the wooden floorboards. You move up on your hands and knees until you reach the pillows, and then you twist around onto your back to get comfortable, swallowing around a shaky breath. 

It takes you by complete surprise when Farleigh sweeps over you, urging you to fall onto the inviting warmth of the bedding as he climbs over your body. You hadn't even realized that he was following that closely behind, but you don't even have time to think on it before his lips are connecting with your own, urging you into heated exchange that completely siphons the oxygen from your lungs. 

And his hands are everywhere, like he's trying to feel every groove and notch of you to collect it and put it away for safekeeping. Like he's trying to memorize your body. He tastes sweet, like peppermint and ice, no doubt from the toothpaste that he had just used a bit earlier. But there's something earthy on his lips too that you gradually come to recognize as your own cum, and it has you moaning into his mouth brokenly. It prompts you to claw the boxers around his waist just like he's doing to your own, the both of you are desperate to get the pieces of fabric from your bodies so that you could finally just feel each other. 

You both separate yourselves from the kiss just long enough for you to prop yourself up to tear his sweater from your body and you don't miss the way that his eyes immediately rove down to your exposed breasts. And as much as you'd love to feel him touching them, you still need to taste his lips on your own. It has you cradling his face in your palms and dragging him down to reconnect your mouth to his in an exchange of tongue and teeth. 

You're both moaning into each other, taking in the others air and gulping in it like it's your own. The atmosphere surrounding the room is thick and charged with something so frenzied and wild that it feels like electricity is getting ready to spill over you. It has you reaching down for the boxers that he's wearing and tugging at them like they've offended you personally. And right now, they kind of are, covering him up and keeping you from properly feeling him. Thankfully, he understands what you want, and he shuffles back just enough, rising on his knees to hook his thumbs into the band secured around his hips to work them down his legs.

For a moment you can't help but admire him once the length of his cock springs out from the cloth of his boxers, but the outright desperate whine that leaves him when you stopped touching him for too long is quick to spur you into action. And you follow after him, reaching to help pull them off, but you have to nudge him on his chest, silently directing him to fall back onto the mattress. And he lets you, settling down so that you tug them past his knees and then off his feet to toss them carelessly across the room. 

But then he's on you again, quicker than you can even blink, and now you're the once again the one laying with their back against the bed. He looms over you with something hungry and eager burning in his eyes and it has your body involuntarily writhing to press up against his own. Distraught with the need to just feel him. He's quick to tear your boxers off with an equal fervor, but he doesn't wait for you to try and help him. He practically rips them off of you, nearly dragging you down the bed when they briefly catch on one of the heels of your feet. 

You spread your legs to let him fully settle between their cradle and the weight of his length pressing against the wet heat of your cunt nearly makes you sob out loud. But unfortunately, despite the frenzy that had overcame him before, he still seems to be in the mood to tease, at least somewhat.  Because instead of offering the both of you the relief that you crave and just fucking you, he just settling himself over you, leaning the brunt of weight on his elbows as he ducks his head down low and takes one of your nipples into the sweltering heat of his mouth. 

You cry out when he sucks at it, tracing it with the tip of his tongue and gently tugging at it with the barely-there scrape of his teeth. It makes you grip onto his shoulders for some sort of tether. Anything to keep you from just floating away from your body. But he doesn't give you any sort of reprieve before he starts to grind against you, dragging his cock through the slick warmth of your cunt and nudging the swollen, sensitive bud of your clit with the head of his length. 

Your fingernails drag across the skin of his back, but it doesn't hurt him if the way that he groans around your breast is any indication. You can't do anything other than just lying back and taking it. And as impatient as you feel, you can't deny that it feels good to try and endure the sweet torture of him making you wait. And you just allow yourself to fall into the melted, sugary haze filling up your skull. 

Your legs fall open wider when his cock slips across you and brushes over your entrance, and for one blessed moment you think that he might actually fuck you. But he doesn't. He just continues to grind steadily; increasing that stifling, profound heat in your body, and it trickles down the individual notches of your spine until it's pouring between the cradle of your hips and settling between your thighs like something molten and inextinguishable and fluid. 

His lips leave your breast with an audible pop but he's fast to shift over and take your other nipple into his mouth, moaning around your chest and teasing the rigid, sensitive skin with the suction of his tongue. It makes you whimper, a little pathetic and certainly needy, and you can feel the vibrations of his smug laughter dancing across your skin. 

It pisses you off, the outright way that he's teasing you and as good as this is, as good as it feels, you need him. You can't keep yourself from removing your hands from the expanse of his back and taking his face back into your hands to move his head from your breast to look at you. Something flickers in his eyes, it could have been a mild form of irritation, but you aren't exactly in the best state of mind to be sure. It melts away just as quickly as it had been there, shifting into something satisfied and fond at the sight of you and there's a dazed sort of quality to his gaze too. And you're pretty sure that you look just as drunk on your lust as he does. 

"Farleigh, please. " You beg shamelessly, panting against his lips as you press desperate, pronounced kisses against his lips. You can feel the way that he's smirking underneath each peck, but you can't find it in yourself to be mad. You're too worked up, and the constant, languid drag of his cock against your clit is doing wonders to evaporate every single coherent thought from your brain. "I need you. Please, I need you to just fuck me - please -" 

"Yeah, you do need me, don't you?" It's said such a matter-of-fact way but even with that haze stuffing your head, you swear that you can see something pass over his expression. Something that almost looks vulnerable and maybe even insecure. It reminds you off his earlier confession. How he had admitted that he'd always assumed that you had a crush on Felix, or that you would eventually come to develop one at the very least. 

It reminds you of your own jealously that you had felt every time that you saw someone with their arms wrapped around his neck or exchanging a flirty set of words. How it had always threatened to choke you with the searing, ugly heat. It hurts you to think that he may still carry that pain now, even while he's wrapped up in your embrace. 

"I need you, " you agree. And you do your best to pour all of your emotions into it, to telegraph to him that it's so much more than sex talk. That you want him to know that you do actually need him. That it's been him. That it's always been him. "I need you, Farleigh. Just you." 

And it must work. The scope of your emotions must show across your face because something affectionate and tender melts over his features and he confirms that he's heard you with subtle nod. 

"I've got you, " he says, pressing a long, wanting kiss to your lips. "I got you, baby." 

And he lifts one of his hands down to take ahold of his girth while he softly rotates his hips, grinding the head of his cock around your clit one last time before he's finally guiding himself into your heat. The moan that leaves you is punched out and ragged already, and your walls clench and flutter around him as he splits you open, gradually feeding you every glorious inch at a time. Letting you feel all of it as it slips inside until he's physically stopped by the press of his hips against yours. 

He's panting already too, groaning lowly from the way that your pussy won't stop pulsing around him as it adjusts to his length. But you can't help it. Not when he feels so good. And your eyes fix onto the delicate necklaces draped from his neck, focusing on the pendants dangling from them to try and keep yourself present. 

You don't even have to beg. He's drawing back until it's just his tip inside of you and then he's thrusting forward in a way that leaves you breathless. But it isn't rapid or ardent like it was last night or even just a little earlier, instead it's unhurried and savoring. The both of you seeming to come to the conclusion that you don't have to scramble zealously. That the both of you already have each other. That neither of you are going to leave the other and you could fully relish in your bodies and presence completely unrushed. 

Your hips lift on their own, instinctively rocking to meet the languorous pattern that he's set, and it has your head rolling back. But even while you're fully basking in the rapturous drag of his cock, you can't pull your eyes from him. The burning, smoldering fog taking over you can't keep you from admiring him and the way that the golden sunlight has highlighted the flecks of a rich bronze and even some faint glints of copper in his hair. There's a thin layer of sweat perspiring on the warm shade of his skin and that pinched furrow between his eyebrows is back, telling you that he's enjoying this just as much as you are. 

And the pleasure is washing over you like heated butter, making your toes curl and fingers twist into the sheets for something to keep you roped here; from drifting off from this moment and getting lost. The breathless moans leaving his chest just work you up even more, making you desperate and wanton. 

He's ducking his head down to mouth at your exposed neck, taking advantage of the way that your head is still tilted back. And he reaches down to grip at one of your thighs, notching it up higher around his waist and it somehow makes you feel all that closer. Eliminating just a few centimeters worth of space between the two of you but it's enough to have you gasping. 

"Farleigh," you cry. And you reach one of your hands up to clasp his upper arm, feeling the muscles underneath flex with each shift from his hips. He grinds into you with each thrust, rolling his hips in a way that has his pelvis grinding over your clit and liquefying your brain into useless mush. It almost feels like too much. It's lighting you on fire and scorching you from the inside out. And the sweet kisses that he's peppering across your skin doesn't help your case. It just helps to make you feel even more adrift, lost in a seizing current and frothing waves. 

You can distantly feel him tenderly nuzzle his nose between the valley of your breast, and the sensation of his tongue trailing across your chest quickly follows, tasting the salt of your skin. And the head of his cock brushes against that spot within you that makes you squirm and sob, and you can tell that the way that you've begun to helplessly jerk underneath him is just the reaction that he was searching for, judging by the feel of his smirk against your body. That he's absolutely reveling in the way that tears have begun to prickle at the corners of your eyes from the pleasure ravaging your body; threatening to spill.  

And as cocky as he may be, you can tell that he's not doing much better. The shameless way that he's moaning out gives away as much; airy and debauched. 

God, he sounds so hot, it has that fluid warmth steadily rising up again, just threatening to tip over you and sweep you away. It has you fucking yourself against him with ardor, whimpering at the persistent cant of his hips. And you keep tightening yourself around the shape of his length, determined to drag him down with you, to feel him come undone and spill over. 

You can tell that he's getting close with the way that his breath his hitching. That you're both hanging off the precipice of something extraordinary and debilitating and it makes you cling to him harder, swinging your other leg around his waist to hold him closer, to try and ground yourself. But the air in your lungs keeps getting choked out, and you're barely able to get your warning out from your lungs. "Farleigh, " you moan, gasping. " I'm gonna cum. Farleigh - " 

He just nods against your chest, huffing and panting over your skin. "I know, baby, I can feel it." 

One of your hands blindly searches around, scrambling for his own that he has somewhere above your head. And he seems to take notice of your unseeing pursuit because soon his fingers are slipping between your own and clenching your palm in a soothing, reaffirming gesture. It has pure devotion blooming within your chest, so strong that it feels as though you might fall apart and burn alight with it. 

He lifts his head from its place on your chest, subtly shifting forward without disrupting the pace that he's set so that he could settle his forehead against yours, using the angle to look into your eyes. And the warmth reflecting in them makes you feel like the only being in the world. Coveted and adored and you can only hope that he's able to recognize the same reverence and affection in your own gaze. That he truly understands how much you actually care and want for him. 

And the sheer breadth of your feelings, of his, of this moment has that all-consuming chasm opening up underneath you and threatening to swallow you whole. But you just need something. Just something small to finally tip you over. 

"Farleigh, " you beg. And it's like he can just sense it. Or maybe he can just feel it in the way that your muscles have all coiled up and tensed in anticipation. Because you don't even have to ask or clarify before he's reaching down between your bodies and swiping his fingers over the slick, swollen bud of your clit in brushes that have your jaw dropping open. 

"Farleigh!" This time you all but scream it as your body seizes almost violently, sweeping you underneath a blazing torrent. It's like being scalded by the sun in an exquisite burn, like breathing after drowning. It's pure pleasure. Complete ecstasy. And the entire time, you're fully aware of feel of Farleigh's body against your own. The way that his thrusts have gone choppy and lurching. You can still hear the way that he's moaning and whimpering even though it sounds muffled and distant and miles away while your brain goes blissfully blank from the brunt of all molten elation pouring throughout your limbs, making you go limp. 

But even throughout all of the overwhelming pleasure taking over you, you hardly allow your eyes to flutter closed; desperate to see him come undone. You can tell that he's close. Just seconds from spilling over and getting swept up just as you had. And it has you squeezing yourself around him, desperate to urge him closer to his orgasm, despite the raw, sensitivity clinging to your nerves. 

"I want you to cum, " you say breathlessly. His face twists up in response, and his hips twitch with just a bit more vigor. "Please, baby, I want to feel it. I need to feel you." 

And that seems to be enough to tip him over the edge, because his body goes rigid, nearly curling in on itself while a torn, frayed moan rips from his lungs and the heat of his cum fills you. His breath catches while he uses you to ride out the rest of his orgasm, and his muscles shudder while he grinds into you with weak, uncoordinated thrusts before he goes lax with a strained gasp. 

He lets himself go boneless on top of you, sinking into your body with a light, satisfied sigh. But the weight of him isn't uncomfortable. It feels good, and you have no desire to make him or yourself shift while you soak in the afterglow. Everything is hazy and comforting, and it feels as though all of the energy has been sapped from your body, but in the best way. 

You can hear the birds outside again, singing and jovial, and the scent of the sweet summer air is still drifting through the window. It's pure peace, with the feel of his form up against you. All of the chemicals moving around in your brain make it difficult to focus, but even then, you're aware enough to notice him briefly reaching down to gather up the comforter, which had shifted in the mad scramble of your bodies to pull it up over the both of you. 

And you can hear yourself moan quietly when he rotates you both without pulling himself out from the heat of your body. So now that you're the one tucked into the cradle of his chest, but all you get is a gentle hush in response. And with the heat radiating from his skin and the cushion of the blankets cocooned around you both it already has you slipping into the hold of sleep as you both settle. But even with the lull of unconsciousness threatening to spill over you, you can't hide from the volume of the emotions welling up within you. It all feels unexplainable. All-encompassing and bright. Like it might burst. Like it might eat you alive. But not violently. It's soft and delicate and fiery, and the sheer gravity of it has you struggling to grapple with it. 

You know what it is. What you're feeling. But that's another step to take entirely. 

"We've still got some time to catch up on some sleep, " you hear him mumble above you in a gentle rasp. "I'll wake you up." 

You just hum in response, but not without placing a small peck onto his chest and nuzzling against him, purely content. And you think that you feel him place a kiss onto the crown of your head in turn and you're unable to fight the smile that curves at your lips. 

You fall asleep in his arms with that single, world altering word on the tip of your tongue. A small, otherwise harmless but no doubt powerful word that sounds a lot like love. 

[milfs-milk]

NO MATTER WHAT YOU ARE [18+]

CHAPTER ONE - ADORATION [MINORS DNI]

[PAIRING] Female!Trafalgar Law x Reader [SUMMARY] Turned into a woman only temporarily, Law still needs a proper wardrobe. You take your now girlfriend out on a shopping date, and despite her initial reluctance, you hope to help her enjoy the experience and her new body. [CONTENT + WARNINGS] Female Law, Genderbend, Reader is femme, Established Relationship, Fluff. This chapter isn't NSFW but the next will be, so minors DNI! [WORD COUNT] 5k

“This is ridiculous.” 

Not for the first time, Law hesitates. Your partner, or more accurately, girlfriend for the time being, comes to a halt just before the entrance of the lingerie store. You can see her reconsidering the necessity of buying clothes for this new figure of hers, her sharp jaw tight and full lips slightly pursed—a scowl to most, yet a pout to you. Despite being in an entirely different body, her mannerisms stay familiar. 

The change is temporary. It was neither expected nor asked for, a complete accident that doused her with feminization fruit. The Heart Pirates, responsive as ever, were quick to erupt into a chaotic blend of amusement and fawning, all while their irritated Captain demanded quiet as she rummaged through her medical books in search of a remedy. But the pages offered no immediate cure, only assuring that the effects will last a few weeks before naturally subsiding.

Which is short lived in your opinion, and entirely too long in Law’s.

She doesn’t seem to harbor the same appreciation you do for her new figure, seeing this change as an inconvenience more than anything. So you hoped to make it less so, however you could. In need of a new wardrobe, you tried swapping her now oversized shirts and jeans for some of your own clothing. The two of you didn’t have much luck. She seemed frustrated with it all, annoyed, sitting on the edge of the bed surrounded by all the clothes that might’ve fit. You sat with her.

“We can always go shopping,” you gently suggested, rubbing her back as she gave you a stubborn look of reluctance, but not entirely refusal. “It could be fun. Just think of it as a date, and we’ll get you something comfortable.”

And she agreed, as much as she didn’t want to. 

You couldn’t blame her. Having spent her entire life in the body of a man, the abrupt transformation into something feminine left her with a certain sense of discomfort, and perhaps what could be considered mild embarrassment. There was no reason to feel shame; not in your opinion, at least, but given the circumstances, Law’s hesitance is only natural. 

Still, as the two of you stand in front of the lingerie store, you try to make light of the situation. 

“Cmon, hun. Have some fun with it.” You grab her wrist, encouraging her inside with playfulness to your voice.  “Doesn’t every man wonder what it’s like to have boobs?” 

“I’m not a pervert,” she firmly insists. Even so, she lets you guide her, her long legs begrudgingly following along.

You huff in amusement. Maybe it isn’t entirely apparent on the surface, but if your time with Law has taught you anything, it’s that she tends to feel more than she lets on. Her reserve comes with all emotions, vulnerable or not. Laughter is stifled into subtle smiles, distress leads to emotional withdrawal, care translates into gentle gestures and quiet support. 

The same pattern can be seen with all things intimate. Attraction, affection, arousal… You had to admit, she did a good job suppressing what she could for as long as she could. The sheer lust she felt wasn’t exactly controlled, but rather hidden—until she finally got a taste of you.

Only then did it become apparent. The subtle hints in her behavior that you couldn’t quite place were suddenly given a reason. You found a name for those lingering eyes, that intense gaze, her tense body language—yearning, to the point of perversion. It was a deep desire, depraved from being deprived for so long, devolving into desperation. 

Not a pervert? Debatable. 

“Well…” you say, tone skeptical. She shoots you a look you expected, simultaneously daring you to keep talking and advising you to shut your mouth. You always thought she was fun to tease, and she always thought you were fun to discipline. You pretend to give in, a smile on your face with your hands raised in feigned apology. 

“Alright, alright. Don’t…” You let out a chuckle before you can finish, and then another as you try again. “Don’t get your panties in a twist.” 

“I already told you,” she’s quick to retort, but slows and hesitates to consider her wording. She never liked saying the P word. “I won’t be wearing… those.” 

“I know, hun.” You let her have this one. Despite any teasing, above all, you want her to be comfortable. She knows that. Still, you place a hand on her shoulder and give it a gentle pat in a gesture of support. “We’ll find you the closest thing to boxers we can. Boyshorts are more comfortable, anyway.” 

Technically, they’re still considered panties, but you don’t say that. You had to get her to wear them somehow. 

The two of you stand inside the store, greeted with dim lighting and a pallet of pink and black decor, the air carrying a strong floral scent from the perfume shop next door. You’re already familiar, but Law takes a moment to scan the wide array of options—different colors, certain styles, sections of specific types of lingerie that she probably doesn't know the names of. You can tell what she’s thinking.

“Yeah, it’s a lot,” you empathize. “But we’ll be quick, okay?” 

She grunts in affirmation, following where you lead. 

And really, you meant it. Initially, at least. It wasn’t your intention to spend longer than necessary browsing the selection of bras, but the more you thought about it, the more it became necessary. Law already insisted she wanted something simple, but this matter needs careful consideration. There’s push ups to sports bras, full coverage to strings and lace, pretty pinks and bold blues and gentle greens… She’d pull them all off, this much you know, but which would suit her best? 

You glance at her chest, obscured by the oversized shirt she’s wearing. Still, your memory serves you well. You’re able to make a decent guess of her cup size after taking the opportunity to thoroughly examine her figure when she first tried on clothes. You called it studying, she called it ogling, and maybe she was right. In your defense, it was hard to resist. You sat on the bed behind her, a clear view of her front and backside as she stood before a mirror. Occasionally, she’d glance at you through the reflection between slipping on shirts and bras, but you often didn’t meet her eyes.

Your attention was fixated elsewhere, memorizing her new yet temporary features for safekeeping. Her chest wasn’t exactly flat, but wouldn’t be considered big either. She was endowed with slight handfuls that fit her slender figure, complemented with the framing of an inked heart. Long legs led to the gentle curve of her hips and pert swell of her ass, faint dimples resting right above on either side of her lower back, indents that were perfect for thumbs. Her defined back line trailed towards another familiar tattoo, up to sharp shoulder blades and shaggy, short black hair. 

She didn’t stand at her usual 6’3 and a half, but she was still above average height. It was a combination of lankiness and toned athleticism. Muscle definition was apparent in the sculpted contours of her biceps, sinewy strength of her back and tightness of her stomach. Her proportions were long and lean, assets small and perky, movements fluid and poised. She always had an irresistible allure, captivating and mesmerizing, but in the form of something more feminine, you could only define her physicality as pure elegance. 

“You said we’d be quick,” Law mumbles under her breath. You’re only momentarily interrupted from your thoughts of her figure, eyes meeting hers before falling back down.

“I know,” you hum leisurely. This matter can’t be rushed. You look at the two bras in your hands, and up to her chest again. “But I can’t decide if you’d look better in black or red.”

“Does it really matter?” she asks, voice a mixture of exasperation and amusement. She seems to find something entertaining in how much consideration you’re putting into this. 

It takes just another thoughtful second before you come to a decision. “Well, if you insist,” you say, putting them in your hand held shopping basket, “we’ll just have to get both.” 

“I said no lace.” She looks down at the lingerie in mild disapproval. Still, she doesn’t make an effort to stop you. They’re good choices, if you do say so yourself. 

“Yeah, but you’d look really nice in—“

“Are you ladies finding everything okay?” An employee interjects with a friendly smile, all while Law promptly tugs at the brim of her hat, lowering it just enough to shroud her eyes. It’s a habitual gesture you’re familiar with, one she uses to shield herself when she feels too exposed, too vulnerable. You’ve seen it most when she smiles, but right now, it’s driven by embarrassment. She tries to deflect as much attention away from her as possible. You handle it.

“Just fine, thanks,” you respond. “Where are your dressing rooms?” 

The woman guides you both, and Law follows in silence just behind you. The moment the employee is out of hearing range, Law’s quick to mumble a question, looking around to make sure every other person in the store is out of hearing range too. “You’re coming in with me?” 

“Mmhm.” You don’t look up at her, taking a moment to organize the lingerie you’ve decided on. “Gotta make sure they fit, don’t I?”

“I think I’ll be able to tell.” She sees through your excuse, a thin veil poorly masking a desire to see her naked again.

“Well,” you say, not bothering to deny it. “It’s not every day I get to help you pick out lingerie. Better enjoy it while I can, hmm?” 

You give her a cheeky smile, and still, she’s unimpressed. Holding all of her new lingerie, you open the dressing room’s curtain with your free hand and gesture her inside with exaggerated politeness. 

“After you.” 

Law doesn’t like to put on bras correctly. You watched her try to reach back and connect the hooks when the two of you first tried on clothes, but she quickly found another way. She said it was easier, just raising it above her head and slipping it on like a shirt, and didn’t seem to care when you said that’ll stretch it out. She does the same this time, looking unsatisfied with the result. 

“It doesn’t fit.”

“Not when you put it on like that,” you say, looking up from her chest to meet her eyes through the mirror. “Remember what I told you?” 

Law sighs, but listens. She seems to find something embarrassing in cupping her breasts and adjusting them into place, insisting it wasn’t necessary when you first told her it’s the only way to fit into a bra comfortably. Despite her stubbornness, it didn’t take long for her to learn you were right. With a slight forward lean, she scoops her breasts in better accordance with the bra cups, just the way you taught her. 

“There you go.” You smile at the snug fit, giving full coverage and support. Even she seems a bit impressed with the cleavage it creates. “You fill it out nicely.” 

She huffs at the compliment like it didn’t just make her blush, the color of her cheeks a growing tinge of red as she quickly averts her gaze from the mirror. With deft fingers, she starts pulling the bra off. Up and over her head, of course, not bothering with the hooks.

“Are we done here?” Law asks, masking bashfulness with impatience. 

You nod towards the remaining lingerie hanging on the wall. “Try on the rest, hun.”

“Why? They’re all the same size.”

“Yeah, sizing is a scam. Every bra fits differently,” you tell her, taking your seat on a bench in the cramped dressing room. Eyes on her, you lean back. 

“Go ahead.”

And she does. Law looks at the assortment of lingerie, hesitating for a moment before making a skeptical choice. She begins with the less intricate, going from boy shorts and sports bras before gradually making her way to the few matching sets of lace and pushups you convince her to at least try.

You evaluate each one, fully appreciating the array of colors and clothing you've never seen her in before. Each piece brings out something different in her—deep tones of scarlet and midnight blue intensifying the richness of her aura, simple yet bold black aligning with the harder side of her personality, delicate pastels tenderizing her usual toughness as the gentle hues bring out a subtle yet inherent softness. All harmonize with the ink of her tattoos, all compliment her figure, and all, in some sense, are distinctly and uniquely Law. 

It’s hard for you to say no to a lot of them. She makes the decision easier by saying no herself, most options not appealing to her the same way they do to you. Still, she takes some of your input into consideration and entertains a few pieces she doesn’t directly admit she likes. Her choices, coupled with two of your own, sit to the side waiting to be bought. 

“Don’t get used to this,” she makes sure to warn you when she slips on the last bra. “Once I’m back to normal, we’re burning these.” 

“You say that.” Coming to a stand, your arms loosely wrap around her from behind. Wandering fingers draw attention to the set of lingerie she wears, and the two of you watch through the mirror as your nails trace along the lace in a mixture of examination and admiration. “…but they look nice, don’t they?” 

She doesn’t deny it. Instead, she almost agrees, the low mumble unenthusiastic like she doesn’t want to admit you’re right.

“…They’re not terrible.”

“Nothing ever is.” Your touch moves downward, fingertips grazing her tight stomach in a way that makes her suppress a shiver. You settle with placing your hands on her hips, your thumbs slowly caressing the silk lining of her panties. “Not on you.” 

“You’re persistent.” The words may be muttered, exasperated, but as she leans back into your touch, you feel the appreciation and affection behind them. You give her a light squeeze before pulling away.

“I’m right,” you correct her. Picking up her clothes, you hand them to her and gather your things to leave. “I’ll show you. We’re not done.” 

More casual clothes are next on the list—shoes and shirts and jeans that Law isn’t too excited to shop for. Not that she was thrilled with the lingerie either, but you like to think she ended up finding some enjoyment, at least as much as she could. A familiar, soft smile became increasingly apparent with each genuine compliment and playful comment you gave. There’s a subtle yet gradual shift, her initial reluctance giving way to something more comfortable.

It’s progress, but more still needs to be made. 

Outside the privacy of the dressing room, Law’s demeanor tightens just as before. She grows quiet, walking alongside you throughout the shopping center with her gaze lingering on the displays of stores you pass by. It’s not the natural, easy silence that sometimes characterizes the space between you two, but rather something more reserved, more restrained. Through polished glass windows, she watches her feminine figure in the reflection. 

Something’s on her mind. Something has been on her mind. You noticed a shift since the transformation, and at first, attributed what seemed to be unease to the adjustment period. While that may play a part, it’s apparent there’s something deeper beneath the surface. And though you like to think you’re attuned with your partner, always recognizing changes in behavior and always familiar with subtle cues, you can’t quite grasp the full extent of Law’s thoughts right now. 

You don’t ask. You look towards her, her mind seemingly stuck somewhere else, and even as impulse urges you to, you don’t reach out to hold her hand. Knowing what does and doesn’t make her comfortable, you move at her pace, allowing room for Law to initiate if she feels to. 

Still, indirectly, you do what you can to guide her back to the present with you. 

Upon your suggestion, you both stop to eat after walking past a shop that’s closest to her favorite food you’re able to find. It’s a small gesture, but still helps—sitting together and sharing a meal, taking a break from the constant movement of shoppers in every direction, tuning out the chatter of voices atop voices… In environments and situations she doesn’t enjoy, Law adapts. She always does. Even so, you offer a moment of stillness. It’s simple enough to ease some tension in her shoulders.

A bit looser, the two of you continue throughout the shopping center. 

“Let’s make this quick,” Law tells you upon entering the next store, keeping her insistence on getting this over with. 

You pause almost immediately. Drawn to a display of mannequins, your eyes trail over their cardigans, down to skirts with matching tights and complimentary boots. Your gaze shifts onto Law, then back, and onto Law again, just to visualize her in the outfit. If she notices, she doesn’t seem to pay it much mind. Or, perhaps, she just doesn’t want to entertain it, walking past and expecting you to follow.

“I’ll try,” you say, and hope not to get too distracted. 

Though just as with the lingerie, you can’t help but muse, spending a bit more time than strictly needed looking at potential options. You have suggestions, but you don’t give them. You already know what she’ll say no to, noticing the way she seems avoidant of the more revealing and feminine options.

Instead, Law focuses on simplicity. The casual clothes are tentative choices, her demeanor even more so when it comes time to try them on. Despite any doubt or hesitation, each piece proves to be flattering. You knew they would. With a body like that, every outfit is practically made for her—a slender waist sculpted to flaunt in form fitting shirts, her defined collarbones and slight cleavage meant for low necklines, her long legs perfect for a good pair of jeans.

You approve, but Law has her own thoughts. 

“They’re too tight,” she grouses, looking in the dressing room’s full body mirror with skinny jeans practically painted onto her thighs.

“They’re supposed to be.” You watch her from behind, and step closer to lift her top just enough to adjust the low waistband. “As long as it’s not tight around the waist, it fits.” 

“Doesn’t feel like it.” She shifts, turning slightly to assess the fit. 

“Does it really matter when they look that good?” you ask. Law stays quiet, not seeming to have any complaints about their appearance. You take it as slight satisfaction. Only subtly, you test her. “I can go get you a different size.” 

“It’s fine,” Law tells you, suspiciously quick. When she meets your gaze, giving her a knowing smile that’s well aware of her fondness for the outfit, she defends herself. “I don’t want to wear it,” she clarifies, “but I’m not staying here longer than we have to.”

“Whatever you say, hun,” you tease lightly. Still, her words are half the truth—hours into the shopping trip with just a few more clothes to try on, Law seems eager to leave. There’s no need to draw it out by experimenting with different sizes. You sense her impatience, prompting you to hand her the next set of jeans to continue. 

The checkout process doesn’t take long. As the two of you purchase a week’s worth of clothes, a persistent thought tugs at your mind. Though you know you shouldn’t, and though you know it’s unfair to her, you feel a slight bit of disappointment as the stubborn desire to see her in different styles shifts into longing. 

It’s not that the choices she made were unsatisfying; far from it. Everything looks good on her. That’s exactly why there’s such an allure to more tempting options, skirts and fishnets and crop tops that are certain to enhance her features even more, but are a territory she’s not quite comfortable with. You try not to push it, letting your eyes linger on the earlier display of mannequins before looking away. 

Only when you’re about to leave do you let some selfishness show. 

“Law.”

You call for her attention, her name wrapped up in a wistful breath. You’re sure she’s already able to tell you’re not up to any good. From the corner of your eye, you see her turn towards you, watching with what must be a frown as you look at yet another piece of clothing. She speaks firmly.

“I’m not trying on more—“

She stops mid-sentence when you hold it out for her to see. It’s a dress, certainly nothing you can expect her to wear, but it still catches her attention. While Law may not be big on fashion, she has a sense of style. From the subtle intricacies of her earrings to the bold statements etched onto her skin as tattoos, it’s her way of expression. Even a tailored wardrobe captures her story, each piece a deliberate choice reflecting her crew, her past, and everything she values.

The dress isn’t custom made, no, but it might as well be. Slender, black and sleek, Law’s gaze lingers on the heart-shaped cutout adorning the front. It’s positioned on the center of the chest, aligned almost perfectly with her jolly roger tattooed in the same area. 

There's a pause. The silent question of if she’ll entertain it lingers in the air, and for only a moment, she lets herself consider. As you watch her expectantly, you can see the contemplation in her eyes, a slight flicker of possibility. Her comfort zone has her quick to push it down. Tearing her focus away from the dress, Law forces an answer. 

“No.”

But you know her better than that. That subtle softening in her gaze, you recognize it as openness. The dress may seem too feminine for her usual preference, but there’s something to it that appeals to her, embedded in both personal significance and aesthetic allure. It’s not that she dislikes it. Law’s receptive, but reluctant. All she needs is a bit of encouragement. 

“Hun, this shit is practically made for you.” She already knows it, but you want her to hear it. You want her to see it, too. Lifting the dress just enough to outline her figure, you invite her to visualize it on herself. “It’s your size too. Should be long enough…” 

As Law looks down at herself and the dress, another moment of uncertain consideration passes. Surely, she can see the appeal, but hesitance lingers. “We don’t have to buy it,” you reassure. “Just try it on, see how it looks.” 

She’s wavering. There’s a slight shift in her expression, lines of reluctance turning inward. The furrow of her brows shows a tinge of irritation, but only because she knows she’s caving. When her eyes meet yours again, you give a gentle push that you know will tip the scales. 

“For me?”

Law’s quick to snatch the dress from your hands. In a mixture of both frustration and determination, fueled by the stubborn desire to please you, she struts past and into the direction of the changing area. She doesn’t need to turn to know you’re following. 

“We’re leaving after this,” Law tells you, disappearing into the confines of the fitting room before she can change her mind.

You wait. There’s a rustling of fabric behind the curtain, and the passing minutes make you wonder if you should’ve gone in with her to help zip up the back. She seems to manage, but not without apparent difficulty. Once her complicated movements settle, Law stands quiet for a few moments. You decide to speak up.

“You done in there?”

Another beat of silence passes before she responds. “…Yeah.”

“Come on out, then,” you encourage. 

She’s slow to open the curtain. Law looks off to the side as she reveals herself, exposing curves she still seems to be adjusting to. They’re accentuated, the sleek dress hugging every dip and contour of her body, from slender hips to a pinched waist and up to the soft swell of her chest. You can see the sculpt of her muscles through the thin material, faintly outlining her tight stomach with wrist-long sleeves snug around her lean arms. 

Only subtly, skin shows. There’s a slit opening extending from the bottom of the dress up to her lower right hip. It’s cheeky, alluring, offering a hint of her toned, shapely thighs, all while the heart-shaped cutout on the chest perfectly frames her jolly roger tattoo—just as you expected. 

Law moves in the silence. Her fingers instinctively reach up to fidget with the short strands of her hair, an absentminded motion of subtle nervousness. She's quick to stop once she looks down and realizes what she’s doing, tucking the strands behind her ear in self-composure before lowering her hand. Lost in your own thoughts, you watch her, not noticing how quiet you are until she speaks.

“Well?” she huffs. In a frustrated search of your response, her gaze finally shifts towards you. You make an effort to snap yourself out of your enamored daze. 

“Well,” you repeat. The right words are hard to find, but you suppose Law’s never been one for dramatics. You settle for a simple way to express her indescribable beauty. “You’re stunning.” 

It’s straightforward, blunt, honest. Just the way she likes it. She’s flattered, you can tell, but she shouldn’t just take it from you. Walking towards her, you place your hands on her shoulders and turn her towards a nearby mirror to see for herself.

“What did I tell you?” you hum, a glint of pride in your eyes as Law’s gaze trails up and down her body. “You make everything look good.” 

She knows. She has to—her demeanor may still be a bit tentative, but there’s a growing approval, rooted in satisfaction upon seeing how objectively flattering the dress is. For the first time since the change, she sees herself through your eyes, a vision of beauty and strength staring back at her. You hadn’t expected her to embrace the dress, or to fully grow accustomed to her new figure, and she doesn’t. But she’s beginning to tolerate it. 

That’s good enough for you. 

The moment is somewhat short lived. You’d admire her for hours if you could, but people around you seem to think similarly. Enthralled glances from onlookers become apparent, unwanted attention that Law promptly avoids. She tugs her hat down accordingly and turns away from prying eyes, redirecting her focus to the dressing room. 

“We’re leaving now.” 

That was the deal, after all. You don’t prolong it any more. Law changes back into her regular clothes, and the two of you soon find yourselves walking throughout the shopping center, straight into the direction of the island’s rocky ports. Home isn’t too far, the Polar Tang docked nearby. Despite Law’s eagerness to return, something catches her eye along the way. 

An antique shop lies just ahead. Law’s gaze lingers, surely trying to peek through the glass windows for a glimpse of what the shop could offer. Her collection of commemorative coins is something you’re fond of, something endearing, a hobby she could spend hours rambling about if she let herself. Whenever the topic comes up, you always indulge her, but you feel encouraging her interests isn’t enough. She needs to be spoiled. 

“I’ll buy you something,” you offer, already knowing she’ll want to see if there'd be anything to add to her collection. 

“You’ve bought me everything.” Law glances at the bags of clothes you insisted on holding for her. 

“I’ll buy you more.” Your assurance carries a subtle playfulness as you head towards the entrance, coaxing her to follow with the soft chime of the door’s bell. 

Above all else, you want Law to enjoy herself. It’s only natural as her partner, prioritizing her happiness and comfort like it’s second nature. Still, you know she never wanted to spend her day clothes shopping. You feel as if this could help, inviting her to shop for something she wants to buy rather than has to.

Yet despite your continuous efforts to help her enjoy herself, and to perhaps ease her into the unfamiliarity of her changed body, there’s still an apparent weight lingering on her mind.

Even as Law becomes engrossed in an intricately crafted coin display, her focus soon shifts back to you. You can feel it. Pausing from across the shop, you meet her eyes with a questioning look. She simply blinks, breaking the momentary connection to redirect her attention back to the coins as if nothing is wrong. 

You’d believe it and chalk her silent stare down to her usual introspective awkwardness, if not for the touch of vulnerability in the depth of her eyes. It was like an unsaid question, a stubborn thought part of her wants to voice, but can’t quite find the words to do so.

You hope to give her the opportunity. When the two of you continue back to the submarine, distancing yourselves from the island’s townscape and the eyes of its people, your affection turns more physical. The way your hand lingers on the small of her back offers a subtle sense of security. It expresses openness, reassures support, softly reminding her that you’re here.

She stays quiet throughout the walk, and you don’t mind. She doesn’t need to force it. Aware of how difficult it can be for her to express complicated emotions, you’re patient, staying by her side to listen when she’s ready. It’s unconditional, nonjudgmental, tender and genuine and devoted. All you want is for her to know that. 

Maybe tonight, you can remind her exactly how much you love her.