#am I way too invested in this pairing? maybe

[scuderiahoney]

Someone Sane

Max Verstappen x reader // Strawberry Wine Pt II

Strawberry Wine Series // Masterlist

Part Two to Always Walk Me Home (would recommend reading AWMH first)

Summary: You and Max have a shared love for strawberry wine. The rest of your friends think you’ve got bad taste. Or: @vetteltea read Always Walk Me Home and asked for more about the strawberry wine, and then I ran with it. So this is also a bit of a prequel, really 🍓

Warnings: alcohol/intoxication

You walk through the front door of the apartment, shucking off your coat and slipping off your shoes. Max Verstappen’s apartment is a shoes off household. You’ve learned that in the two and a half months you’ve known him. You can hear your friends in the kitchen, laughing loudly about something. One of Max’s cats- Jimmy or Sassy, you can’t tell them apart- is sitting in the hall, watching you curiously.

You’re the last one to arrive. You’d had to work late, had told them to get started without you. You bend to pat the cat on the head on your way past. Everyone is gathered in the kitchen, standing around the island. Someone yells your name enthusiastically when you walk in. Your friend Louise, the one who’d introduced you to this friend group, shoves a wine glass in front of you. It’s not full, just a half glass of something pink.

“Try it,” she says.

Her eyes are wide. Everyone is staring at you. This feels like some sort of initiation. You smell the cup- you’d have assumed it was a rosé, but there’s a hint of something else there. Trusting your friends to not have spiked it with something, you take a cautious sip. Strawberries. It’s strawberry wine. Sweet and sugary. Next to you, Louise laughs. You furrow your brows and stare at her.

“What?” You ask.

“The wine,” she says through a giggle. “It’s awful, isn’t it?”

You take another sip. She raises her brows.

“No?” You say, before you down the rest of the glass. “No, that’s good. I love strawberries.”

Her jaw drops open. The rest of the group erupts into chaos. Someone calls you batshit insane. You look around in bewilderment.

“Thank god,” Max says, taking your glass from your hand. “Someone sane is finally here.”

He’s holding the bottle of wine in his hand. You don’t know Max very well- he’d been a friend of a friend up until a few months ago, when Louise invited you to a party and then kept inviting you to events. You’re… friendly. He intimidates you a bit. He’s smiling at you now, though, as he pours you a full glass of the wine.

“They all think it’s awful,” he says, shaking his head in disappointment. “I was going to drink the whole thing by myself. It would’ve been sad.”

You blink and laugh, taking the glass back from him. “Cheers, then, I guess?”

He picks his glass up from the counter and clinks it against yours.

…..

“Does anyone want wine?” You call out from your kitchen into the living room.

It’s a quiet night. Not everyone was able to make it, so you’re at your apartment. There’s a football match playing on the TV that nobody’s really paying attention to. There’s a few people playing some sort of game of cards that you didn’t even try to understand. Everyone else is just sitting around and chatting.

“What kind?” Louise calls back.

You open the fridge and laugh. “Never mind.”

“S’that fucking strawberry shit, isn’t it?”

“Maybe,” you say in a singsongy tone.

You turn around, reaching for your corkscrew. At the very least, it means you won’t have to share with everyone. Just-

Max calls out. “Bring me a glass? And maybe just bring the bottle in here?”

Someone is making fun of him for it, you can hear it from the other room. You do as he said, though. You hand him the glass, having already poured the wine into it. Then you turn to head back to your original seat. Max reaches up with his free hand and tugs on your wrist.

He pats the open spot on the couch next to him. “Sit here? So we can share the wine.”

Your face grows hot, but you nod and come around to sit next to him. He’s potentially the only one watching the football match- you think his favorite team is one of the ones playing. You feel a bit out of alignment for a moment. You’re in your own apartment, on your own couch, but something about him asking you to sit next to him has thrown you off kilter. You take a breath and try to relax. He doesn’t mean anything by it. You’re overthinking it.

You settle back into the couch by your second glass. By Max’s second, he throws his arm over the back of the sofa, his fingers just barely brushing your neck in the process. It’s nothing, but it makes you shiver anyways.

…..

Max is out of the country on your birthday. He’s in Spain for the Grand Prix. He’ll be back soon after, though, and then the next race is in Monaco. You’re already buzzing with excitement, chatting with your friends about outfits and plans and events throughout the weekend.

The night of your birthday your friends take you out to dinner. It’s a Monday night, so it won’t be anything too crazy, but it’s nice to know they’re thinking about you. You have good food, better wine, and then Louise invites everyone back to her apartment to hang out for the rest of the night. You’re in her kitchen when you hear the front door open. It strikes you as odd- you’d all walked here together. Though you suppose someone could be leaving, or popping out to get some air. You’re reaching into the fridge when someone clears their throat. You turn over your shoulder and find Max.

“Hi, birthday girl,” he says, voice soft and scratchy. He holds up a bag. “Brought you a present.”

You stare at him for a few seconds, because you swear his plane didn’t land until 8:00, and it’s only 8:30. You sort of want to hug him, but he’s not a very touchy person, and you’re not sure you know him well enough yet. You cross the kitchen anyway.

“What are you doing here?” You ask. “You were in Spain.”

He laughs. “It’s not that long of a flight.”

“Yeah, but…” you blink up at him. “You had a busy weekend. I didn’t expect you to come over.”

He tilts his head at you. “It’s your birthday.”

He says it like that’s enough explanation. To him, maybe it is. He may not be a touchy person, but he is the type to show up for his friends. You’ve seen examples of it everywhere- he’s the first to respond in a group chat, the first to show up to every party. It’s a side of him that you don’t think the rest of the world gets to see very often. You’re honored to somehow be a part of it.

He holds the gift bag out to you. “I don’t think I’m going to stay long,” he admits, scrubbing at his scruff with his free hand. “I’m exhausted. But I wanted to at least stop by.”

You take the bag. “You didn’t have to get me anything, you know.”

He shrugs. “I wanted to.”

Inside the bag you find a soft, light scarf, similar to the one Louise wore the last time you saw Max. You’d complimented it, asked where she got it- she’d answered a boutique in Spain. You gasp, running the fabric through your fingers. It’s cream colored, and you wrap it around your neck happily. Then you realize the bag still feels heavy. You reach inside again and your fingers wrap around the neck of a wine bottle. You know what it’s going to be before you even pull it out.

You hold the bottle to your chest and smile up at him. “My favorite.”

He’s smiling a bright smile, has been since you took the bag from him. It makes his cheeks squish and his eyes crinkle. The look he’s giving you is warm and soft. Your heart thuds wildly in your chest. It’s just him being friendly. That’s enough, really, isn’t it? Max picks his friends carefully. The fact that he’s here, that he made such an effort to be here with you for your birthday, is enough.

You uncork the bottle and pour two glasses- one for you and one for him.

It’s not until the next morning that you notice the embroidery on the end of the scarf- a tiny pink strawberry, hidden in the corner.

…..

Your apartment is packed to the brim with people. Your friends are here, your friend’s friends are here, people’s siblings and cousins. What started as a small Grand Prix afterparty has turned into a bit of an overwhelming event. The guest of honor isn’t even here, and likely won’t be. He may have showed, had told you he was planning on it, but then he went and won the race, and now you’re sure he’s busy. You’re sure Red Bull has roped him into some sort of sponsored event.

You’d texted him to tell him congratulations, but so far he hasn’t answered. You can’t say you blame him. You’d seen the celebrations at the podium ceremony- there’s no way he’s had a moment alone.

You and your friends had opted to go back to your apartment since it was closest. However, with this many friends all in town to watch him race, your home has become a bit of a landing pad. You can barely make it through your own kitchen without stepping on somebody’s toes. You’re running dangerously low on alcohol, though you wonder if that may be a good thing. Maybe it’s time to move this party to a club or a restaurant or anywhere other than your tiny apartment.

You squeeze your way through to the front hallway, trying to find anywhere that has any sort of space. You can see from here that your balcony is nearly dangerously packed with people. You reach into the hall cupboard, where you know you keep a couple bottles of wine-

The front door swings open. You groan at the idea of another person in your apartment, resting your head on the edge of a shelf in the cupboard. You don’t even bother looking to see who it is, because everyone you know is already here.

“Holy shit,” you hear. “I didn’t know you could fit this many people in here.”

You peer around the cupboard door. Max is standing there, a wide grin on his face. He smells like champagne and Red Bull. Someone makes their way through the hallway, and he steps back to stay hidden behind the open door.

“We figured you were out with the team,” you say, eyes wide.

“I’m going,” he says, jerking his head towards the hallway. “I came to get you guys. Who are all of these people?”

“Friends of friends, people’s families, I don’t know,” you say, still peering around the door at him. “I think someone’s grandma is here. We’re almost out of alcohol. I’m grabbing wine.”

You pull the bottle from the cupboard and hold it up to him. He grins impossibly wider at the label. Strawberry wine.

“Nobody else will drink that,” he says. “You’re going to have a mutiny on your hands.”

“Yeah, well, I got it as a gift for you, to celebrate the race, but now I’m thinking about chugging it and then locking myself in the bedroom.”

Max raises his brows. You stare back at him. Then it hits you. You step around the cupboard door and without thinking, you throw your arms around him.

“Congrats, by the way. On the race.”

You remember mid hug that this is Max, and that Max doesn’t really like hugs. Before you can pull away, though, he’s wrapping his arms around you. He squeezes you tight to his chest for a moment. You feel him rest his chin on top of your head.

“Thank you,” he says, quietly. “I’m glad you were there to see it. And thank you for the wine.”

You know he’s talking generally, about your friend group. But for a moment, you let yourself think he’s talking just about you.

“I have a better plan,” he says, keeping you held against his chest. “You and I take that bottle. We sneak it into the club with us.”

“And all the people in my apartment?” You ask, flinching as you hear something that sounds an awful lot like broken glass.

He sighs. “We bring them with us. It’s better than them destroying your place.”

“Even the grandma?”

“Grandmas love nightclubs.”

You laugh into his chest. “You should go. If someone sees you they’ll go crazy.”

He pulls away and grabs your shoulders. “We should go. We’ll call Louise on the way, tell her where to meet us.”

Really, who are you to say no? He’s Max Verstappen, he’s just won the Monaco Grand Prix. So you slip on a pair of shoes and follow him out the front door before anyone can catch sight of him. Then you’re walking down the streets of Monaco, side by side with him. He takes the bottle of wine from your hands and stops at a crowd of people partying in someone’s front lawn.

“Has anyone got a corkscrew?” He calls out. Someone throws one to him. He opens the bottle, then calls, “and maybe a couple cups?”

Two plastic cups are handed through the crowd to him. They ask him to sign the corkscrew. He hands it back afterwards and shoves the cork in his pocket. Then he pours two glasses and hands one to you. Strawberry wine on a sidewalk in Monaco, in step with the man who won the Grand Prix. You’ve never had a stranger or better day.

He calls Louise when the club is in sight. “Yeah, just down the road. Uh-huh. No, bring everyone.” You hear Louise say something. “Well I don’t know, does the grandma want to come to the party?” He asks, quirking a brow at you. “Then bring her. Okay. See you soon, then. Oh- no, wait, Louise- she’s with me.” He reaches out and squeezes your upper arm lightly. The touch sends sparks shivering up your spine. “Yeah. Long story. Just meet us there, yeah?”

…..

It’s nearly Christmas, and you’re stressed. That might be an understatement, actually. The holidays are always stressful, plus a project at work that’s gone haywire, leaving you picking up the pieces. You wouldn’t even be at the party, too exhausted and so tired of people, if it wasn’t your last chance to see most of your friends before the holidays kick off. You’re leaving to spend time with your family soon. It’s one of the few things you’re looking forward to.

You wander through the party feeling a bit like a zombie. It’s Max’s apartment, with more people in attendance than your usual group. You bounce from friend to friend, always clinging to someone’s side, trying to avoid talking to anyone you don’t know, or anyone at all, really. You’re just socially exhausted.

Max finds you in the kitchen. He sweeps you under his arm into a quick side hug, and you force a smile when you look up at him. He sees right through it, frowning down at you.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, poking your cheek lightly.

You try harder to make the smile genuine. “Nothing! Why?”

He stares at you, tilts his head. “You’re lying.”

You shrug. “M’just tired.”

You can tell he doesn’t believe you. But someone asks him a question, and the friend you’ve glued yourself to is leaving the room, so you follow. You don’t see Max for a while. In fact, it’s been a suspiciously long amount of time. Somebody else has noticed and brings it up, asking where he’s gone off to.

“Oh, he ran to the store, I think. Didn’t say why.”

Someone suggests a drinking game. You make a break for the balcony. Jimmy is standing in front of the door, staring up at you.

“Jim,” you mutter, bending to pet him. “I know you’re gonna make a run for it the second I open the door.”

He meows at you, like he understands. You try to usher him towards Max’s bedroom, but he stays put. You sigh in frustration. In the living room, the noise kicks up another notch. When Max steps into the hallway, there are tears in your eyes.

“Did he scratch you?” Max asks.

You pinch the bridge of your nose and squeeze your eyes shut. “No. M’fine.”

Max clicks his tongue at you. You sigh, again. There’s a shuffling noise, and then you hear the sliding door open. Cool air hits your face. Max’s hands land on your shoulders and he leads you outside. You’re in socks, and the concrete is cold on your feet. You open your eyes and sit down on the patio couch. Max closes the door behind him and sits down next to you. It’s then that you notice the bottle of wine in his hand. Strawberry wine. You’d checked the fridge earlier- that bottle wasn’t there. So either he’s been hiding it, or… he ran to the store. Didn’t say why. Your throat feels tight.

He hands you the bottle carefully. He’s already opened it, but he neglected to bring any glasses. You shrug and tip the bottle to your lips. Sweet, sugary, room temperature wine washes over your tongue and you sigh.

“What’s going on?” He asks, gesturing for the bottle. He waits patiently as he takes a sip, too.

You huff and rub your cheeks with your empty hands. “Nothing, Max. I’m fine. There’s a whole party inside, I’m sure they’d love to play drinking games with you, so-“

“But I’m here with you,” he says patiently, voice soft. Your heart is cracking wide open in your chest. “Because I want to be. So tell me what’s going on.”

There’s so much to tell him that you don’t know where to start. It’s your family, it’s the traveling you’re about to do. It’s work, so stressful you wish you could just quit. It’s this awful feeling you can’t shake that maybe none of your friends really want you here. It’s Max, and the way your heart skips a beat when he looks at you. The way your stomach fills with butterflies when he touches you. The way he could have any girl in the whole world, and you’re just his friend. You curl your knees close to your chest and wrap your arms around them.

“I’m just stressed,” you admit, figuring that’s the easiest answer. “Work, and the holidays, and… just , everything. You know?”

He nods, passes the bottle of wine back to you. You take another drink. You study the label of it to try and keep yourself from crying in front of him. That would be embarrassing. That would scare him off. You rest your chin on your knee. Then you feel it.

Max’s arm, draping over your shoulders. The weight of him is heavy and steady and warm. He’s going to throw you into a tailspin with just that one motion. Then- like he doesn’t know how much he’s already affecting you- he presses his hand to your shoulder and pulls you against his side. Fuck. You’re not going to cry in front of him. You won’t do it. But Max doesn’t do hugs and cuddling, he’s not a touchy person, and yet he’s wrapping himself around you to hold you close.

You rest your head against his shoulder and take another drink of wine. He takes the bottle back and does the same. His hand sweeps up and down your upper back in a soothing motion, over and over again.

You’re not going to cry. You won’t. You close your eyes instead. You feel Max’s cheek against the top of your head. You won’t cry.

“Maybe after the holidays we should all go somewhere warm and relaxing,” he says. You let out a noise somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “I think we could all use a bit of a break, no?”

You nod against his chest. He squeezes your shoulder. If you keep your eyes squeezed shut, he won’t see the tears. You can’t cry in front of him. So you sit, blind to the world around you, your head pressed to his chest.

Later, you blink your eyes open to the sound of voices, feeling disoriented. Someone is saying something to Max, saying your name. And Max, his voice rumbling beneath your chest-

“-walk her home, or she can stay here,” he says. “I’ve got her, mate.”

The sliding door closes. You realize you’d fallen asleep. Your face heats up, unsure of if you should pretend you’re not awake or if you should pull away immediately. You’re still trying to decide when Max’s hand starts brushing up and down your back again. Your eyes slip closed. You can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest with each breath. No wonder you fell asleep.

Max shifts, squeezing your shoulder. “Schatje, time to wake up,” he whispers, close to your ear.

You sigh and pull away, sitting up to look at him. He keeps an arm wrapped around your shoulders. You rub your eyes, trying to clear the sleep from them. You’re too exhausted to find it in yourself to be embarrassed about falling asleep on him. Besides, he could’ve woken you up if he wanted to. He’s being a good friend.

“It’s late,” he says. You swear you’re imagining it when his hand comes up and his fingers brush against your cheek. “Do you want to sleep in the guest room?”

You nod.

In the morning, when you drag yourself out of bed, Max is gone. There’s a note on the counter. He had early morning training, and then a padel game. Didn’t want to wake you. Next to the note, there’s a bowl of strawberries. Sassy winds herself around your ankles. You smile and try to slow the beating of your heart.

…..

Max is standing in your empty apartment one night, the last of your friends to leave. You’re wandering through the living room, picking up cups and trying to pretend he isn’t watching you. When you try to walk by him and head for the kitchen, he grabs your hip.

You stop and stare. His eyes are boring into yours, wide and blue and soft. There’s a smile on his lips. You haven’t asked him yet why he’s still here, mostly because you don’t really want him to go. His hand is burning a hole in the fabric of your shirt where he’s holding onto you. You think if you look down, you’ll find flames licking up your side. But you can’t tear your eyes away from him.

His other hand sneaks up, and his fingers brush against the side of your face. It reminds you of the moment on his balcony, weeks ago now. You’re caught between wanting to let your eyes slip closed and never wanting to break his gaze.

You realize moments later he’s looking for some sort of confirmation from you. He’s waiting, though you’re not sure exactly what he’s looking for. In an act of blind, foolish courage, you take a step towards him and wind one of your arms around the back of his neck. Max sighs. You twist your fingers into the hair on the nape of his neck.

Max is your friend. This could ruin everything. If this goes badly…

You take another step closer. You can hear his soft breaths. His fingers brush against your cheek- you swear you feel him tremble, just slightly, just enough for you to know. He wants this, but he’s scared, too. His heart is beating just as fast. His mind is racing just as fast.

When he kisses you, his lips taste like strawberry wine.

…..

Max is holding your hand on the sidewalk. He’s walking you home from a club you’d been at with your friends. You love him, but you haven’t told him yet. You’ve only just realized it that night, seeing yourself laugh in the bathroom mirror and then seeing the smile on his face when he looked at you.

Next to you, though you don’t know it, Max is having the exact same realization.

…..

“Can you grab my watch?” Max calls out from the kitchen. “In the bedside table, top drawer?”

You’re trying to resist the urge to tell him to find it himself. You’re horribly late to a dinner, this stupidly fancy dinner that has you second guessing every piece of clothing you put on. Max was no help, telling you that everything you tried on was perfect and beautiful and would look even better on his floor. You love him, but today, he’s driving you insane.

You stomp over to the bedside table and open the drawer. The box with his watch is sitting there, nestled in with other odds and ends. You pick up the box and almost close the drawer without even noticing. But something makes you pause and stare.

In the drawer there’s a little plastic tray, and it’s full of wine corks. You recognize the logo. Max is calling your name in the other room, something about hurrying up, but suddenly you don’t care about the stupid dinner. You’re thinking of that sidewalk stroll you took so long ago, the corkscrew he borrowed, the way he put the cork in his pocket. You’d thought it was to throw it away later.

He calls your name again, from the doorway. You reach into the drawer without turning around, running your fingers over the corks. He makes a noise and walks across the room to you, wraps his arms around your waist and tucks his chin over your shoulder.

“Did you save the all corks?” You ask, voice breathy.

Max nods, presses his lips to your bare shoulder. “All except the very first one. By the time I… when I went to grab it, it was gone.”

You laugh. You can’t help it. You turn around and press yourself into his arms and laugh. He’s staring down at you in bewilderment. He’s been driving you crazy all afternoon, he must think you’ve finally snapped.

“The first cork is in my jewelry box,” you tell him, and a laugh bubbles up between his lips, too. “I took it off the counter. I didn’t know why, at the time. Just felt like I should.”

You’re late to the dinner. Max makes an excuse. Nobody believes it, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

…..

Some time later, there will be a moment. It won’t matter where you are, or what you’re doing. It will be you and Max, and you will look at him and the whole world will melt away. And the strangest thought will pop into your head.

Our friends are going to send us strawberry wine when we get engaged, you’ll think. And they will bring it to the wedding.

He’ll turn to you, like he’s heard your thoughts. He’ll smile, cheeks pink as the strawberry wine. At that same moment, he’ll be wondering if strawberry shortcake is an acceptable wedding dessert. Every time you taste strawberries, you’ll think back to the kitchen in his apartment. The wine you were supposed to hate. And Max, a smile on his face, glad to not be alone.

Someone sane is finally here, he’d said.

And then everything had changed.

Read part 3, Empty Space

p.s.: am I way too invested in this pairing? Probably. Have I already decided what their wedding song would be? Definitely.

p.s. again: ironically, it turns out both @vetteltea and I hate strawberry wine 🍓

Taglist: @4-mula1 @celestialams @struggling-with-delia @lovekt

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen fic #formula 1 fluff #formula 1 x reader #f1 fic #formula 1 fic #am I way too invested in this pairing? maybe #have I already figured out what their wedding song would be? definitely #honeywrites #mv33 #AWMH #strawberry wine verse

[cherrymoonvol6]

.

#k so i started watching the shera show just to see if catradora is as bad as people say it is #(because seeing that people hate a ship makes me 200% more invested fyi) #and like. i do Not see it girlies #i do think the show is as shallow as they come and maybe the whole catradora backstory is too much for it #currently on ep 4? 5? of s2 and i'm pretty comfy with the fact that catradora will be endgame #because their dynamic is easily the most interesting one in the show #although crab lady (what was her name....) and catra scratch an itch of mine too #mainly bc i am really into one sided pining #and i like that (oh it's scorpia i remembered) scorpia is the easy option for catra #someone who idealizes her and is already invested in the idea of getting together with her #and catra having this realization of the nature of scorpia's feelings in that episode (4? 5?) like UGH that's some good shit right there #but what stood up to me about the show was how uhhhh like there's so much ship bait everywhere #not in a malicious way. just in the way that there's ship teases for a lot of pairings in the show #like glimmer and adora and bow with uhh everyone (disaster bisexual characters my beloved) #like it just feels very queer positive and casual. i really like that #but yeah. so far i'm not head over heels with catradora but i definitely think it has a lot of potentiak #and the fact that they are the endgame couple is pleasing to me #like IMAGINE identifying the couple with the most potential and making it canon. some other shows could've learned that lesson #oh well! (lumity why are you so fucking boring it pains me)

[lixie-phoria]

ੈ✩‧ ➛ lee know thinks he's subtle as he pines over you

pairing : lee know x gn reader ; genre : fluff | warnings : none ; word count : 0.7k words

summary : a good way to confess to someone? tell them about it! but does lee know ever do anything conventionally? of course not. so here he was, trying to see you anytime he gets, and what better excuse than saying his cats miss you? you would never find he was the one missing you, right?

chan's ver. | hyunjin's ver. | jeongin's version | felix's ver. | changbin's version | han's ver.

"hey, the cats miss you. you mind if i bring them over?"

lee know's tone is soft as he speaks over the phone with you, but his cold warning gaze settled upon hyunjin and changbin, who were trying their best to hold in their laughter, told a different story.

it does help, however, when he hears you eagerly agree and immediately relaxes, promising to be there soon. but of course he should've been more careful about where he was making the call because he certainly would not have picked a place where any of the other 7 could hear him. they would never let him rest in peace.

"so."

changbin valued his life slightly lesser than hyunjin did, so the first remark came from him.

"the cats miss y/n that much, huh?" hyunjin picked up from where changbin left.

"both of you, drop it."

"no no, do you plan on telling y/n that the cats have been asleep for the past two hours?"

lee know wished there was a box of tissues somewhere close by so he could shove it right down the younger members throats because he could not stand being teased over his crush on you anymore.

"the cats do miss y/n. that's why they were so irritable when they went to sleep."

"so that had nothing to do with you forgetting to give them water because you'd been talking to y/n for an hour?"

lee know was fighting a losing battle, and he knew it. he could deny all he wanted, but even he was aware that he really wasn't subtle about the not-so-small crush he harbored for you. his members knew about it, your members knew about it. heck, even his manager could see his feelings. it was that obvious. lee know could only hope you hadn't caught on because he'd be damned if you realized his way of spending time with you was making excuses that his cats wanted to see you.

lee know, the supposedly cool and nonchalant lee know his fans are so used to seeing on camera, was reduced to a nervous blushing mess whenever you were involved. how on earth was he supposed to confess to you when he could barely ask you to hang out with him?

"wear that green hoodie y/n really likes when you go." hyunjin adds, way too invested in whatever was unfolding.

"why does that matter?"

"because it gives them an excuse to compliment you, obviously."

the older boy huffed, hoping the other two could not see the red creeping up the tips of his years.

"and make sure to not mention that the cats were too busy sleeping to miss them."

"yah! i'm not stupid, i know."

"maybe mention that you were the one missing them."

changbin and hyunjin cackled as lee know's eye twitched in annoyance. they really were testing his patience today.

"just because the air fryer isn't in this room doesn't mean you're both safe."

this line was usually effective under normal circumstances. but not today.

"hyung, do you really thing you can threaten us? when you're the one in the vulnerable position?"

"i am not."

"oh so i can text y/n about all the times you've lied just to meet them?"

"he has an entire list, by the way," changbin manages in between his laughter.

"you're both jobless."

"says the one who's about to make a 30 minutes drive just so he can see his crush."

the two dissolved into another fit of laughter as the older member stormed out of the room and to where his three cats were resting in a peaceful slumber.

he felt guilty shaking them awake, but it would be worth it, right? he would get to meet you and you hopefully wouldn't even realize that they were just an excuse for him to see you, to hear your voice, to make you smile, to stare into your eyes just a little bit longer. hopefully you wouldn't catch on despite him using this very same excuse for what seemed like the thousandth time.

minho couldn't believe himself as he reluctantly put on the green hoodie hyunjin had advised him to wear.

he really wished the two would not see him in it. he would never make it out of the dorms if they found out he had listened to them. it was a pain, really, but for you lee know would do anything.

©lixie-phoria, 2023

tags : @lethallyprotected @dreamingaboutjisung @selcayuri @bangchansbae @aak2 @foxinnie8 @hamburgers101 @starlostlaiba (send an ask to be added/removed!)

#skz #skz fluff #stray kids #stray kids fluff #lee know fluff #skz comfort #lee know #writing #skz imagines #skz soft hours #skz fic #skz fanfic #skz scenarios #stray kids soft thoughts #stray kids fic #stray kids fanfic #stray kids scenario #lee know x reader #skz x reader #lee know x you #lee know x y/n #stray kids x reader

[sunrizef1]

Jackie and Wilson

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!reader

Warnings: mostly fluff, angst depending on how invested you get

Word count: 2.3k

Authors note: Jackie and Wilson by hozier btw, not proofread, also written at like 2 am

Charles wasn't having a great time. He'd just DNF’d out of his home race and now he was drowning his sorrows in alcohol at some random bar. He had to pretend to be happy though, considering he was surrounded by friends and coworkers who actually were having a great time.

However by this point, most of them were too drunk to even remember he was there. He was busy nursing a beer slowly, simply surveying the crowded bar.

He's moving to leave the place when suddenly his attentions caught by a loud laugh of someone entering the bar. He glances up, his eyes catching on you and his breath might actually stop for a moment.

You were beautiful. Your loud laugh echoed across the room toward him, entrancing him and pulling him in. You're smiling at the friend next to you and he's feeling the strange need to be the one you're smiling at.

He follows your figure as you make your way toward the bartop he's sat at, your friend walking away to talk to someone else. You come to a stop stood next to him and all he can do is stare like an idiot. Your attentions stuck on the bartender as you order and he waits impatiently for the moment you'll turn your gaze to him.

You order a martini and sit down at the stool next to him and Charles finally shakes himself out of his trance to stop the bartender before he can walk too far away, “Here, for her drink.”

The bartender takes the cash out of Charles’ hand and slides your card back over to you, knowing enough not to argue with Charles over this. You raise your eyebrows at the man next to you, tilting your head slightly at his confidence.

“You buy a lot of girls drinks?” you ask him, a slight laugh lacing your words.

Charles smiles in response, shaking his head lightly, “Not really, just had to do it for you.”

You blush, looking down at the floor abashedly. You look back up as the bartender hands you your drink and you take a sip in hopes of hiding your embarrassed expression.

“Do you live around here?” Charles asks, noting the abscense of his native accent.

“No, just visiting a friend,” you shake your head, taking a large sip of your drink, “Are you from here? Sounds like you might be.”

Charles quickly realizes you have no idea who he is and he leans toward slightly to keep the conversation going, “Yeah, born and raised here.”

You hum, taking yet another sip of your drink before setting it down with a clink. You turn even farther to your side to face him, “Is being incredibly hot a common trait in Monaco? Or is that just a you thing?”

He laughs, caught off guard at your boldness. His eyes trace your lips as you take another drink, almost reaching the bottom of your glass, “Do you wanna get out of here and find out?”

You bite your lip with a smile, glancing over to your friend before looking back at him, “I’d love to…”

He realizes your prompting for his name and quickly fills in the blank, “Charles.”

You perk up and stand from your chair, downing the last dredges of your drink, “I’d love to, Charles.”

Charles thinks he could listen to the sound of his name leaving your lips on repeat for forever.

“What’s your biggest fear?” Your melodic voice rings out in the silence of Charles’ room. He turns over in the bed to face you, eyes searching through the darkness of the room to try and find your eyes.

“I don’t like spiders, really,” He responds after a few moments of thinking. He watches as you glance toward the ceiling, thinking about his answer, “What about you?”

You look back toward him again, searching for a response, “Commitment, maybe.”

It’s not a particularly funny response but Charles still huffs a laugh, turning to pull you to his chest. You shift closer, eyes fluttering closed and head lying still against his skin.

Sleep comes easy for the both of you that night.

Charles’ eyes search his living room frantically, searching each surface thoroughly. He can hear the sound of your footsteps approaching as he moves the pillows around on the couch, tossing them toward the floor carelessly.

“What are you looking for?” You ask him, pulling on one of the many hoodies you had left at his house over your head from its position on the couch.

“My phone, can’t find it,” he replies absently, eyes not leaving the couch cushions. He can hear you approach him and suddenly your comforting hand is on his back. He looks up to see you stood quietly, holding his phone up in one hand.

He smiles down at you, grasping the phone from your fingers and pulling it away gently. But with the way you’re looking at him he seems to forget whatever important thing he had to do on his phone in the first place.

“Where was it?” He hums, eyes locked down on yours below him as he tosses the phone on the couch next to him.

“Left in in bed this morning,” you respond, smile curling up on your lips as you bring both of your hands between the two of you.

You push him back onto the couch and he wraps his hands around your waist to pull you with him. You wraps your arms around his shoulders, pressing a kiss to his head.

“Glad you found it,” he doesn’t seem particularly glad about it now, more interested in you on top of him.

“You’re welcome, baby,” you respond and he takes a deep breath at the pet name, fingers rubbing small circles on your waist from their position on your hips.

You reach a hand up and run your hand through his messy hair, leaving Charles to admire your face as you focus on his hair.

The sun filters through the window, hitting your profile just right and Charles can’t help the large grin forming on his face.

He didn’t know a better feeling than your hands carding through his hair, soothing the previous craziness he had started to feel.

“Oh my god I think I saw him!” Charles snaps his head toward your outstretched hand, finger pointing toward a man walking suspiciously down the sidewalk.

Charles eases his foot off the gas pedal of your Lexus, letting the car roll down the road slowly.

“Are you sure that’s him?” Charles asks, narrowing his eyes in an attempt to see your friends boyfriend better.

Your friend had told you that she thought her boyfriend was cheating on her so here you and Charles were, riding around picking up clues. You had taken your Lexus since Charles’ car was way too identifiable.

“It’s definitely him, he’s got that giant stupid tattoo on his arm,” you reply, pulling out your phone to snap a few pictures of the man, “Can you follow him?”

Charles nods, turning the car slowly as the man turns a corner, making an attempt to move inconspicuously so the man doesn’t notice.

You start typing rapidly in your phone from the passengers seat, no doubt texting your friend who’s boyfriend you were currently following.

The two of you trail the man for a few blocks, watching as he suddenly walks into a restaurant on the corner.

“Park somewhere,” you call out, turning your head to watch him walk out to an outside table. Charles follows your order and parks the car strategically to where you can see his table through the front window of the car.

The man is alone when he sits down, not ordering anything and pulling out his phone to seemingly text someone.

It gets boring pretty quickly so you lean forward to connect your phone to the aux, deciding on some music to at least pass the time.

The opening notes of a Jackie Wilson song cut through the silence of the car and Charles glances toward the radio, completely unfamiliar with the song.

“What is this?” Charles asks over the sound of the American singers melodic voice. You look away from the man for a moment, a grin big on your face.

“Blues,” you laugh, bobbing along to the song. Charles laughs at your movements, watching as you dance happily, reveling in your joy.

The two of you let a few more songs play through, dancing around and laughing for the better part of an hour. Your attentions only diverted when you glance up and see a woman arriving at the man’s table.

You gasp, eyes widening as you pull your phone out of your pocket to snap a few pictures of the man and the woman at dinner in front of you.

“That dickhead!” you exclaim, turning down the volume of the radio in order to express your point.

Charles hums, eyes locked on the man and woman ahead, “He might not actually be cheating-”

Charles is interrupted by the couple sharing a kiss as the woman sits down and you and Charles lock eyes before bursting into laughter.

“I take it back,” Charles says as his laugh calms down, watching you pull your phone out for pictures once again. This time you catch a kiss and quickly send the picture off to your friend before sliding your phone away.

You seem content with your findings, choosing instead to turn your body and complain about the man you and Charles had been… stalking?

Charles smiles at the passionate look on your face as you defend your friend, putting the car in reverse to pull out of the parking lot.

As you drive home, Jackie Wilson blasts through the speakers, eventually causing the end to your rant as you start to sing along once again. Charles doesn’t know the music or even any of the lyrics but he does know that this is how he wishes to see you all the time, this happy.

When he envisioned your future together, a ring on your finger and two kids running around your house, he imagined you’d want to name them Jackie and Wilson and raise them on this music, rhythm and blues.

He might not be attached to the music or anything but watching how at peace you were made him think he’d grow attached to it pretty soon.

Charles loved racing, of course. But it was nice to escape sometimes. Escape from the stress and the pressures and the fears. Escape from the persistent fans and the expectant team. These days, that escape was you. You and your home in the middle of a field, black irises growing around the outside. Sunshine that shone perfectly down on the two of you as you lay side-by-side, hands intertwined between you.

“It’s so beautiful here,” Charles says, barely above a whisper as if he thought speaking too loud would make it all go away.

You hum, your free hand coming up to shield your eyes from the sun as you turn your gaze toward him, a smile drifting onto your perfect features.

“I love you,” you state, proudly, as if it was a simple fact that everyone would know, not an ounce of doubt in your words.

Charles grins, head rolling to the side to lock eyes with you. You blush under his eyes and a small laugh escapes your lips, lips that he so badly wanted to kiss in that moment.

“I love you too,” He eventually responds, his free hand creeping through the grass beside him, fingers wrapping around an iris before gently pulling the flower out of the ground.

Your cheeks heat even hotter as he says the words, your hand moving to cover your face. Charles pulls your hand away, moving your face toward him as he does. He slides the flower over your ear, brushing away a lone strand of grass as he does. His hand doesn’t stray from your face though. Instead, it rests against your cheek, pulling you in gently for a kiss.

You let him pull you, free hand flowing up his arm and over his shoulder to run through the hair at the nape of his neck.

Charles doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to love someone the way he loves you in this moment.

Images of your future flash through his mind once again, every milestone being pictures with you by his side. Kids, marriage, hopefully a championship. He only wanted it if you were by his side.

Charles’ eyes snap open at the sound of his door opening, watching as you slip through it before closing it gently behind you. No doubt off to go back to that friend you had mentioned you were visiting earlier that night at the bar.

He rubs the sleep out of his eyes that stay trained on his ceiling, thoughts running rampant through his sleep-addled brain. He slips out of the bed, moving to walk out on his balcony, hoping the fresh air will cool his heated face. He watches as your car moves away from the apartment, getting smaller and smaller as it moves down the road.

He doesn’t understand the sick feeling in his stomach as he watches you leave. He’d only known you for a few hours, the only thing he knew about you was your name and the fact you were leaving Monaco the next day. But he still felt like throwing up at the thought of a future between you that didn’t exist.

He eventually moves back into his room, trying his best to forget the random hook-up and fall back asleep. But as he moves to plug his phone in, he can’t help as he moves to play some music lowly through the device.

He finally gets his eyes to drift close, a Jackie Wilson song echoing quietly around the room.

—————————

Tags: @casperlikej @evie-119

#f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x female reader #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #charles leclerc x female reader #scheduled #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #Charles Leclerc x fem!reader #leclerc x reader

[empress-simps]

Line That Leads To You

Pairing: Sirius Black x Fem! Reader AU: Soulmate AU CW: Language, Genre: Angst with a happy ending (don't worry guys) Summary: You make Sirius realize that having a soulmate isn’t all that bad— that he too, will have his happily ever after.

Note: One of my favorite tropes to write, soulmate AUs! Sirius just needs love and affirmation. I love writing for this! Enjoy! Picture is from pinterest, credits to the owner!

You know, Sirius never really believed in those pesky soulmates stuff. It irks him to no end, and makes his head hurt.

The topic makes him snappy, bitter, and it leaves him feeling angry. To whom? The world— the one who’s responsible for everything that has to do with soulmates. He thinks it is a bunch of bollocks. It’s a pathetic little concept that everyone seems to be too invested in.

Sirius would be very much happy to tell you it doesn’t really end with a happily-ever-after.

“I’m telling you, Prongs. It’s just a bunch of crap.” Sirius tells James one time at the drawing room in the Potter Manor. James shakes his head, disagreeing with his best mate.

“It isn’t always like Walburga and Orion, Pads.” James gently tells him, eyes swimming with empathy for Sirius. “Just look at me, Lily and I are together, finally.” Sirius can’t help but scoff, shaking his head in a disagreeing manner.

“That’s because you were already pathetically in love with her before you even knew she was the one, Prongs. Same thing for Lily, but she was quite stubborn trying to deny what she felt about you. You guys are actually made for each other.” James lets out a laugh, the memories resurfacing making a love-struck smile appear on his face (Sirius gave him a disgusted look)

“That’s what soulmates are, Pads. You’re supposed to complete each other, balance the other person out” He pursed his lips and sighed, there’s no way Prongs could understand his opinion on the matter.

Complete each other, huh?

Then can someone give him a reasonable excuse on why his parents broke each other? One descended into madness; the other doesn’t really seem to care as long as the noble house of Black lineage will continue.

Sirius bites his bottom lip, deep in thought as he stares at his pinky, willing the connection to be seen; a red string that was tied into a bow that leads to Merlin-knows-where. It serves as a connection; the string that he and only his soulmate can see whenever they want. He tugs on it curiously, awaiting any reaction with bated breath. He almost scrambled away when he felt the other end also tug it. Sirius was utterly terrified, a shiver crawled up to his system, it’s foreign feeling for the Black’s eldest son. It made everything feel too real. A fact that he desperately tries to deny.

That night, before they returned to Hogwarts as sixth year students was the last time he ever willed to see the annoying little string in his pinky, not caring if his supposed other half was finding him or already found him.

Maybe it had to do with his twisted upbringing. He saw how his father cut the string tying him to their mother, the purple string that bound them together turning gray and withering away.

He saw how Regulus flinched, no one should’ve seen a scene like that, but they did. Someone severing their connection to someone who should’ve been with them through better or for worse, the one that fate intended for them. Their life got worse just after that, forcing him to flee and leave his younger brother behind at the deranged hands of Walburga Black.

“You should eat more, Reggie.” You turned towards the quiet and reserved Slytherin, pushing his plate closer to him, which made him wince. “I am quite full.” You raised a brow “None sense, all you did was sip pumpkin juice so you better do as I say or I’ll tell Evan and Junior.”

“Do you know that you boss people around quite well?” He grumbles, shoving a few spoonsful of dinner in his mouth as you hummed in approval, cracking a small smile. “I was told.” Your eyes flickered to the Gryffindor table, it seemed to gravitate you, pulling you in.

Looking down at your pinky, you willed the string to be visible to you. Seeing the red string attached to Sirius Black made your stomach churn; was it butterflies? Unease? You don’t particularly know, having mixed reactions to the string that leads to your other half.

You’ve known for over a year now, keeping it to yourself as you quickly figured out that he wants nothing to do with his soulmate.

“Reggie! Reggie!”

You exclaimed, slapping the poor boy’s arm as he was currently staying in the L/n Manor. He looked in your direction, quite annoyed, he was interrupted reading his book. “I’m reading, Y/n. You know, you should too. It’ll do you some good.” He sassed, trying to find which part he stopped reading. “My soulmate! They tugged the string!” You gushed, “They must be looking for me too, right?” You asked no one in particular, you can still feel the tingles you felt, how your heartbeat picked up, and how you felt like you were in could nine.

Quite the opposite from what Sirius felt, huh?

You never told him, never planned to. It was quite clear what his views are on the concept of soulmates when you saw him snogging different girls every week. It wrecked you; you swore you felt your heart stop beating every time you see him loving a girl other than you even just for a week. It sounds stupid and all, but you would give up everything just to know what it feels like; how he will look at you with love and adoration in his eyes, how his touch and kisses would linger on your body, and how his voice would sound like as his breath fans in your ear, whispering promises of love.

You looked at him from the Slytherin table; so close yet so far.

Regulus noticed, the all too familiar broken look in your face. His heart hurts for you, even if you do not tell him, he already knows. Seeing his brother’s indifference, Regulus’s gaze hardened. How could he have the guts to do this to his soulmate?

The memory of their mother's despair, the way she withered away after their father severed the bond, was etched into his mind. Regulus does not wish for anyone to feel that way, he does not wish upon it even in his worst enemies.

It was a pain no one should endure, a lesson that should have been learned.

Yet there sat his brother, laughing with his friends and willfully ignoring the pulls of his heart. The person who held the other end of this unseen tether, was beside Regulus. Your soul ached as you watched your soulmate. It was a betrayal of the heart's deepest connection, and it stirred a tempest of fury within Regulus that he struggled to contain.

“My brother is foolish. Eat.” He states, pushing your food and placing the cornbread on his plate to yours. She cracks a smile, chuckling. “Alright, Reggie. You’re lucky I love you.” You pat his curls, proceeding to eat the bread, smiling a little. Reggie never really shares his food with anyone, except for you. You’re the only exception.

“Padfoot.” Remus starts, looking out of the window as Sirius lays down lazily in his bed, looking at nothing.

“What, Moons?”

“If I say that I have an inkling on who your soulmate is, would you… look for them?” Remus asked cautiously. Peter and James perked up, eyes wide with shock. How could Remus possibly guess who his soulmate is? Unless… They’re also in Hogwarts?

“Don’t start with that crap, Moony.” Sirius sat up; a scowl displayed in his features as his grey eyes turned stormy.

“Don’t you even feel the slightest amount of guilt in your system as you snog other girls?” Remus frowned.

Sirius’s scowl deepened, his hands clenching into fists. “Guilt? For what, Moony? For not wanting to be chained down by some ancient magic?” His voice was a low growl, barely containing the emotions that surged within him. “I won’t be dictated by fate. I make my own choices, and I refuse to be bound by a bond I never asked for.”

Remus’s expression softened, the lines of concern etching deeper into his face. “It’s not about being chained, Pads. It’s about finding someone who complements you, who understands you in ways no one else can.” He paused, his gaze steady and piercing. “You’ve seen what happens when that bond is severed. You’ve seen the pain it causes. Is that what you want for yourself? For your soulmate who’s probably hurting somewhere?”

Sirius looks down, biting his lip and playing with the rings on his fingers. “I don’t plan on severing our bond, Moons- “

“Then what the fuck are you doing?” Remus spat, Sirius flinched, looking at anything but them. He knew deep down that Remus was right. He can’t deny he also wants to look for his soulmate. The only thing that was holding him back is that he’s scared. What if your story would end similarly like how Walburga and Orion’s did? Dread fills his system as he reflects on how he slowly realized he’s becoming like his father. Peter and James exchanged a glance, the weight of the conversation settling heavily upon them.

“I’m scared,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Scared of finding her… Scared of repeating the same mistakes.” He paused, his gaze lifting to meet Remus’s. “But you’re right. I can’t keep running from this. It’s not fair to them, and it’s not fair to me.”

James offered a supportive smile, feeling happy for his friend. Sirius stood up, his posture straightening as if shedding the weight of his fears. “I’ll do it. I’ll find her,” he declared, his voice steady. “I owe it to both of us to at least try.”

“That’s our Padfoot.” Remus breathes a sigh of relief as Peter nods encouragingly at Sirius.

The next daylight soon came. Sirius gulps, looking around the great hall, feeling quite overwhelmed at the number of students entering for breakfast, eating, or chatting amongst themselves. For the first time in a long time, he willed the red string of fate to reappear within his vision.

Ah, there it was. The red string connected to someone from the Slytherin table. Sirius felt his heart drop, seeing the end of the string connected to your pinky. “Y/n?” The name left his lips in a hushed awe, his heart skipping a beat as he saw the string connected to your pinky. You, who laughed with such ease beside Regulus, were the missing piece.

Whether it was some brotherly instinct, Regulus looked at him, shooting him a warning stare as if to say: ‘If you hurt her, you’ll never see the light of day ever again.’

Remus raised his eyebrows in surprise, knowing eyes set on his friend. “Found her, Pads?”

“Yeah. Found her, Moony.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” James chimed in, a grin spreading across his face as Peter silently cheers him on. “Go on, before you lose your nerve.”

Sirius took a deep breath, trying to shake off the weight of Regulus’s protective stare. It was a silent challenge, a vow to keep your heart safe from his brother. With a nod of acknowledgment, Sirius stepped forward, crossing the small distance between the Gryffindor table and Slytherin.

“Y/n,” he said, standing before you, the red string pulsing with a life of its own.

You stilled, slowly looking in his direction. Eyes wide with surprise, searched his for a moment before softening. “I was wondering when you’d come around,” you teared up, making Sirius’ heart ache.

Sirius extended his hand, the red string wrapping around both your destinies. “Let’s talk, yeah?”

And in that moment, as your fingers intertwined, Sirius knew that whatever the future held, he had made the right choice. For in finding you, he had found a new path that began to unravel, one filled with hope and courage. The buzz of Great Hall continued, but both of them felt time still, feeling the bond weave into their souls deeper.

Sirius’s and Y/n’s story had its flaws, but it was theirs, uniquely woven by the red strings of fate.

#sirius black x reader #sirius x reader #marauders fanfiction #marauders era #soulmate au #sirius black #james potter #remus lupin #moony wormtail padfoot and prongs #harry potter #angst with a happy ending #sirius orion black #regulus black

[bloompompom]

Always the Quiet Ones

eren mistakenly took his new lab partner for being quiet, only to discover she was so much more than that.

content: eren jaeger x female reader, mutual pining, rough(-ish?) sex, praise, spanking, fluff, explicit sexual content, explicit language, alcohol, reader discretion advised. word count: ~13.2k i am so sorry i just really like emotional investment ok

It was the honest-to-God truth when Eren said he wasn’t looking to catch feelings for anyone. But then you came along.

You were harmless enough—nothing more than his quiet lab partner in anatomy. Truthfully, he didn’t know what to think of you, other than you had a tendency to keep to yourself. When you did speak up, you kept your words brief, always pertinent to whatever assignment was at hand. But more days than not, you would only address Eren with a cursory nod, just when he’d take his seat beside you. Sometimes you couldn’t even bother to let your eyes flicker up from your textbook to acknowledge him properly.

So, Eren treated you the same, only bringing the bare minimum to your conversations. One-word answers. A specific grunt for yes, a different one for no—each you had to learn. The class dragged on long enough as it was, and there were many times when Eren found himself wishing he had a friendlier lab partner to spend his hours with. Or, at the very least, he wished he had one that could talk to him.

When Eren was exceptionally bored, his mind would wander to thoughts of you, why you were—for lack of better words—like that. Quiet. Standoff-ish. Withdrawn. He had a few ideas in mind, the most probable theory was that you were merely shy. That would make the most sense, wouldn’t it?

Or maybe you were the type of student that took her classes way too seriously. You were in your third year, after all. Maybe you were trying to get into a good graduate program. Or you just really liked anatomy. That’d make sense, too, because Eren would catch you reading with your face far too close to your book, sort of like a nerd. But other times, it seemed like you were just avoiding looking him in the eye.

Then there were the days—usually when Eren was particularly disgruntled—that your quietness irked him to no end. He knew it was irrational, but damn it, why were you like that? And all the time, too. Those were the times when he’d assume you were stuck up. What other reason could there be for you to ignore him so purposefully? He’d feel a little bad for it later, but sometimes he’d think you were just a bitch—simple as that.

Eren’s theories could go on and on, but none of them were true. At least, you didn’t think of yourself as a bitch. No, the reason behind your reserved attitude was much more straightforward than that.

You had a stupid crush on Eren.

A girlish, middle school, twirling-your-hair-around-your-finger crush. The kind of crush that made your stomach feel hollow and full, somehow at the same time, and had you gushing to your roommate even though you knew you’d never do anything about it.

You felt this way since last semester. But of course, Eren didn’t know that. You weren’t even sure he knew of your existence until Professor Hange partnered up the two of you.

Oh, God. Just thinking about that day made you sick with anxiety. When it happened, you swore you were going to die. Like, actually keel over from a heart attack in the middle of class and die.

Maybe there was another universe out there in which you would’ve been thrilled to have this forced time with your crush. Perhaps he’d even give you his number to text him about homework, and in that other universe, you’d be giddy over it.

But that was not the case because, in this universe, anatomy was far from your strongest subject. Very, very far.

When you were paired with Eren, all you could think about was the ways you would inevitably embarrass yourself in front of him, lab after lab. It terrified you, even to the point where you wouldn’t dare to ask him a question out of fear of sounding dumb. You’d go without having him repeat himself when you couldn’t make out what he had said, only managing to scribble down what little you could.

It was despicable. It was despicable, and you knew it, and you still couldn’t help it because it was much easier to pretend like Eren wasn’t there to begin with. Even if it meant you were starting to see your grade slip. You hoped to keep that—and your crush—a secret from him, but one day, he got too nosy for your liking.

Your lab report was handed back to you, face down, just like always. You knew professors did that for everyone, no matter the grade, but you couldn’t help but think it was specifically for you.

You didn’t want to, but you picked up the assignment—albeit, not as carefully as you should have for someone wanting to hide their score—and peeked in the corner. You, unsurprisingly, were met with a lousy grade. Again.

Eren leaned back in his seat, just far enough to steal a glimpse from over your shoulder. He shouldn’t have done it, but he was curious as to why you always hid your papers. He figured you must have been good at the subject. That would fit well with your stuck-up attitude, wouldn't it?

But what he saw surprised him, especially when he thought of his own grade. He wasn’t thinking when he chuckled, “Wow. Are you even writing anything down?”

You startled, clutching the papers against your chest. “Huh?”

You couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. He was, but it didn’t come off as tactfully as he had hoped. Eren often let his thoughts haphazardly turn to words. But you didn’t know about that nasty habit of his. All you were thinking was, shit, because he had finally figured out you had no idea what you were doing.

Eren saw the panic as it ran across your face. Feeling a bit bad about it, he cracked a small smile at you, maybe for the first time. Still, his eyebrows wore a look of pity that he couldn’t hold back.

“The lab,” Eren said, pointing to the paper crumpling in your grasp. Embarrassment washed over you when you realized how dramatic you were being, and you quickly folded the assignment in half to store away in your bag. “We do them together every week. How are you screwing them up that badly?”

You gave him a hard frown and regretted thinking he’d be anything more than curt with you. Even with the pity brows, you weren’t feeling much sympathy from him.

You didn’t say anything back because what kind of question was that? You could only stare past him blankly, imagining how this horrible moment would torment you as you tried to fall asleep that night.

You only looked at him again when you heard his chair drag against the tile. He sighed—a little too loudly to be considered natural—and started to put his things into his book bag.

“Look,” Eren started to say. He glanced up at you once he had zipped his bag shut. It made you flighty. “You don’t have to get stuck with a shitty grade. I bet I can help.”

His voice was flat and you didn’t like his delivery much, but underneath it, there was a glint of kindness. You didn’t know where it was coming from, and frankly, neither did Eren. Maybe he was feeling guilty for being so thoughtless. It was hard not to, what with the way your face—always so stoic he’d think you were made of marble—turned sullen. He didn’t like how it made him feel. Or perhaps it was more like he disliked knowing you could pull such a reaction out of him.

“You still have my number, yeah?” Eren asked you.

You nodded. You did, in fact, still have his phone number. It was in the top corner of the front of your notebook—the very first thing you wrote down. Well, he wrote it down after your first class together, just like you hoped he would. You decided not to save it in your phone; you were too worried about the possibility of drunk texting him.

“Good,” he said. “We can meet up sometime to study together.”

“Okay, yeah. Thanks,” you said, quietly at first, but your confidence grew with each word when you realized that this might not have to go down as one of your top ten most embarrassing memories.

“Sure.” Eren stood up and swung his bag over his shoulder. He smiled at you again. It was real this time—big enough to make your stomach flop. “I can’t let my lab partner flunk out on me.”

So that was where it began. ‘It’ being that you and Eren would study together—occasionally. Nothing more.

By studying, you did not mean the fun stuff. You know, like having him study your anatomy rather than the pictures in his textbook. Oh, well. You could still dream.

It took about two study dates (you preferred to call them that but only to yourself) before didn’t sit on the edge of your seat around him. As lame as it sounded, he made you incredibly nervous—maybe even more nervous than you felt around him in class.

And just like in class, you tried your hardest to keep your eyes on your text. You knew if you looked at him, you’d turn into a pile of goo before you could even look away.

It was shameful to admit, but you’d find yourself stealing a glimpse of him, but only when you were certain he wouldn’t notice. You’d catch him when he was jotting something down because you liked when he was pensive. His dark brows would sit low over his eyes and his bottom lip would jut out ever so slightly. And sometimes, only when he was stumped, he’d run his fingers through his hair while he thought. You liked that, too.

By the time midterms had come and gone, you were seeing Eren more and more often—at least twice a week. Once during lab, then another when you’d meet up to study. Maybe a third time if you had a lab report due. By then, it was impossible to allow your heart to flutter every time you looked at him, otherwise it was bound to give out.

What you wanted to be study dates started to feel more like you were getting tutoring lessons from him. Once you were convinced Eren’s willingness to help was genuine, you didn’t worry as much about sounding dumb. He never seemed bothered when explaining a topic to you, even if you went overboard with the questions. Once you started talking to him, it was hard to get you to stop.

It was nice when you didn’t have to think as much when you were around him. He’d poke fun at you because you always mixed up dorsal and ventral, and you never let him live down spelling ‘brain’ as ‘brian.’ ‘It was one time,’ he’d always complain back to you.

After being snarked at one too many times in the library for goofing off, you tried to get one of those private study rooms. They were only available by reservation and since those were hard to come by, other spots around campus had to do. Sometimes you’d go over to Eren’s place, no further than a five-minute walk from campus.

Eren lived in a house with three other boys. Jean, Connie, and Armin. You found Jean and Connie to be nice enough based on the handful of conversations you had with them. But Eren blamed them for the reason you didn’t study at the house often, accusing them of being too distracting to think straight.

Eren wouldn’t ever tell you this—hell, he couldn’t think of anyone he’d admit this to—but the real reason he didn’t like to study at his place was Armin.

Armin. Eren’s blonde best friend for the last ten years. His roommate that you found to be as cute as a button. Armin knew much more about anatomy than you and Eren, maybe even combined. When he was bored, Armin would join you on the couch and answer your questions that Eren didn’t know.

Eren couldn’t pinpoint why it bothered him so much. He always knew Armin was smarter than him; it was never a problem before. It irked him endlessly, but instead of trying to figure it out, he decided he’d start going to your apartment to study instead. Your roommate, Hitch, was more tolerable to be around, anyway.

It was around finals when you were smacked in the face with the not-so-subtle reminder that you still had a crush on Eren. It happened when your study dates became less of a one-on-one thing and more like a group hangout.

You were friendly with a few of the classmates that sat near you. The girl, Mina, told you that she, Thomas, and Samuel were getting together to prepare for the upcoming final exam. She said you and Eren should join.

You didn’t respond right away, but you felt that sick churning in your stomach when Eren did. ‘She needs all the help she can get,’ Eren replied, giving you a playful pat on the shoulder. He was only joking, of course, but you wished he didn’t sound so eager. You especially wished his hand, innocently placed on your back, didn’t make your face burn.

You got over it quickly. It was hard to stay bitter at people you got along well with, so much so that you’d accomplish more chatting than studying. Luckily for the rest of you, Eren and Thomas knew enough to help you skate by.

But when Eren started to text in the new group chat more than he’d text you, you couldn’t help but feel a sting. It felt like you had let your chances with him slip by because, next semester, you wouldn’t be his lab partner anymore.

You left the final feeling okay at best. You walked out with your head down, not paying attention as Mina caught up behind you. She invited you to come by her place that Friday—said some of your classmates were coming to celebrate the end of Professor Hange’s pop quizzes. You didn’t think much about it when you said yes.

You were at the get-together for maybe an hour, maybe longer, when someone was drunk enough to start a game of Never Have I Ever. You had just thrown away your second beer and felt just adventurous enough to play.

Mina’s living room was a bit small for hosting, but it was nice enough. She had it decorated in string lights for the holiday season, casting a colorful but warm glow over the room.

She had everyone crowd around, sitting where they could whether it was on the couch or on the floor. In the center of that ragged circle was an old beer. According to Samuel, it had been left out for a few hours and chugging it would serve as punishment for putting the last of your fingers down. And while you were tipsy, you certainly hadn’t drunk enough to be down for that.

You didn’t know it then, but you were about to be the loser of this game.

You sat on the floor, legs folded to your chest, with your hand growing tired in the air. Only your index finger was left standing when Mina shouted that it was her turn.

“Never have I ever had a body count higher than five,” she said.

A few people put a finger down, but it didn’t matter. You dropped your forehead to your knees in defeat and let your hand slump to your side.

Everyone was laughing, hounding you to drink the beer, when you asked, “Do I have to?”

You were too busy cracking open that lukewarm can, frowning as you went, to look past the heckling. If you did, you would have seen that Eren went quiet. No one seemed to notice the shift in him, even as a firm crease formed just between his unsettled brows.

He didn’t know what he was feeling, but it reminded him of how he felt seeing you laugh with Armin. It made him not want to look at you because the sight made something burn uncomfortably deep in his stomach.

It wasn’t that your body count offended him. After all, he had to put a finger down for the same reason. Though he would say he was surprised—it was always the quiet ones, wasn’t it? He didn’t know what was wrong with him or why he couldn’t kick the feeling—whatever it was.

Eren studied you from across the room. Your nose crinkled, giggles spilling from you as you tried, for the second time, to finish the rest of the beer. He’d seen you laugh—many times, actually—but its chime never ceased to captivate him, absorbing every last bit of his attention.

His thoughts wandered further, wondering if you’d crinkle your nose for him just the same if he made you come.

Right then, Eren saw you, underneath him. Your brows would pinch together cutely as your teeth dipped into your swollen bottom lip. He could feel your thighs under his hands, soft and giving under his palms as he pulled down your—

It was so wrong of him. Wrong to be in a room full of people and pretend as if you were the only two people there—the only two people to exist.

The swarming in his gut burned hotter, and he tried to dull it with another sip of his drink.

He started doubting himself, casting a downward spiral—what was so wrong with him that you weren’t interested?

Perhaps the sick feeling was more than just insecurity; he was also caught off guard by how wildly possessive he felt over you. So quickly, too, like a turn of the tides.

No, Eren knew what the feeling was; he just wasn’t ready to name it. He was sick with jealousy. Jealous of people that he didn’t even know, and for no other reason than they had the chance to be with you in all the ways he craved.

Eren didn’t stay at the party long after that. You left Mina’s just before midnight and didn’t think of much of that night, or Eren, for the rest of the weekend. And on Monday, you checked your final grade for anatomy. By some miracle, you passed the class.

* * *

It was well into winter break when you saw Eren again. You bumped into him at a party. There was about a week left until classes started again, and everyone was trickling back to campus to celebrate the new year.

You didn’t expect to see him again this soon, but then again, you weren’t so sure you’d ever see him again. Anatomy was the only glue that held you together. You wished you could say you had more confidence in the friendship—in him—but he hadn’t talked to you since Mina’s party. You thought he would at least have been curious to see how you did in the class.

It was probably better off this way, considering you nearly failed your lab because of him. Well, you technically passed because of him too, but you wouldn’t have worried about it in the first place if he wasn’t your lab partner.

All of that for a silly crush.

You stumbled into Eren toward the end of the night—you know, when parties start to feel more like the Twilight Zone. The limbo that lived between night and day. A few lights were on now, and whoever was in charge of the music had clearly given up long ago. It was all a not-so-subtle hint to get out.

Believe it, you wanted nothing more than to go home. You would have been out of there thirty minutes ago if it weren’t for Hitch. Your loveable, yet self-admittedly ditzy, roommate had disappeared from thin air.

By the time you thought to search for her, you had already drunk well past your limit. You were left dizzy, starving, and having poked your head in every room and around every corner. All you managed to find was a lot of dry humping.

The last time you saw her, she was one of those dry humpers. She was all over some guy—you guessed him to be the reason she even wanted to come to this party. Anyway, you were sure you’d catch his name tomorrow morning.

You were too distracted and still bubbly from all the leftover New Year’s champagne to see what was in front of you—even if he was rather tall, broad, and hard to miss. You didn’t even look twice as you walked past him, ready to declare Hitch as MIA. Your attention was only grabbed once you heard your name called out, and you were disappointed the voice was too deep to belong to Hitch.

You didn’t realize how drunk you were until you spun around and the floor tilted beneath you. It took you a step or two to straighten back out. When you did, your vision settled onto Eren.

He gave you a lop-sided smile, serving as nothing more than a hesitant greeting. He only made it more awkward by throwing in a cheeky, “Long time, no see.”

You returned the favor by offering a chuckle that was only half-forced; the other half was genuine simply because it was easy to impress anyone after a night spent drinking.

And since you had spent the night drinking, you felt all weird when you looked at Eren. It wasn’t that you were upset at him—maybe disappointed, but it wasn’t exactly with him. Eren never owed you his kindness, and going out of his way to help you study was more than you could have asked.

But now that he was here, getting shoved even closer to you with every passerby, you didn’t know what to think other than you should have skipped out on that last drink. You hoped you’d have yourself more put together the next time you saw Eren so you wouldn’t get tangled up in him again. You weren’t confident you’d be able to unravel yourself for a second time.

Eren took a willing pace forward and recognized the distant haze of booze over your irises. He realized you weren’t going to say anything, so he asked, “Were you looking for someone?”

“Hitch.” There was a pause, and you weren’t sure if he remembered that he knew her. “My roommate.”

“I know.”

“We were supposed to go get food, but I think she took a guy home,” you told him, for no reason in particular. “Last time this happened, I walked in on them doing it on the counter.”

Eren laughed, a bit harder once your face winced at the memory. “You should really consider finding a new roommate.”

“And in the meantime?”

“You come back to my place,” he said, so casually that you weren’t sure you heard him right. The look on your face must have given it away because he shrugged. “What’s the big deal? You’ve slept on my couch before.”

He was right. You had fallen asleep on his couch while studying once. He teased you about it—said you got drool everywhere.

“That’s different. That was an accident,” you sheepishly said.

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have fallen asleep in the first place,” he pestered.

“Maybe you shouldn’t make your flashcards so boring!”

Eren liked his simple flashcards; he actually preferred them. Not everyone needed to spend more time highlighting flashcards than actually studying them.

He tilted his head and gave you a look, one that said, stop being so stubborn for once. “Fine, then how about you tell me how to make them look nicer on the way to my place? I was just about to leave anyway.”

He took a daring step backward, and then another, until he turned on one of his feet and headed toward the front door. He knew you’d follow him, and thoughtlessly, you did. You were just behind him as you meandered through the house and out the door.

You told him, “You don’t really need them now, do you? The class is over.”

“I just thought you might need ‘em.” Eren was bounding down the porch steps when he tossed a glance over his shoulder, just to catch the look on your face when he said, “Figured you’d have to retake the class.”

You wished you had shoved him down the steps, but he was already across the lawn, you trailing him. He walked with longer strides than you and didn’t worry about slowing down.

“Thanks for that,” you replied begrudgingly.

“Anytime.”

It didn’t take long before the two of you were close to campus. You walked along the main drag, lined with all sorts of businesses that thrived in the college town nightlife. It made it difficult to tell the time, with every bar still playing music loud enough to thrum in your chest, the beat perfectly in tempo with each of your steps—those of which were still fighting to keep up with Eren.

He didn’t even bother to look back at you when he asked, “Did you still want to get food?”

“Hm?” You couldn’t hear him over your shuffling against the sidewalk. Your feet had already started hurting hours ago, and this certainly wasn’t making it better. You really shouldn’t have worn the new shoes you were gifted over the holidays without breaking them in.

“You never listen, do you?” Eren didn’t say it with annoyance but with an unsurprised laugh. “I’m surprised you’ve made it this far.”

“No, you just mumble a lot,” you defended. “And for your information, I am not retaking anatomy. I passed with a C.”

“C+ or C-?”

“Plus,” you said with inflated and drunken confidence.

“I’ll alert the media,” he replied. You stuck your tongue out at him even though he wouldn’t see it. “Now tell me, did you still want to get food or not?”

“I didn’t think it was still an option.”

“‘Course it is.” He finally glanced over his shoulder to look at you, nearly skipping to keep up with him now, just in time to catch you stumbling over a crack in the sidewalk. “I think you could use something to eat anyway.”

When you were about to round the corner onto his street, Eren stopped short just a few doors down. A 24-hour breakfast spot. You weren’t expecting to sit down, more so thinking you’d flag down a street vendor. But you had to admit, breakfast sounded wonderful.

Eren took the booth in the back of the diner after you were instructed to seat yourselves, not that there were many options. The place was small and smelt of pancake batter and stale coffee—just as any diner should at this hour. And stale or not, you knew you had to drink it to start sobering up.

The waiter flipped your ceramic mug over and filled it to the brim. If it were nine in the morning, maybe steam would pour out, like it did in the movies. But you didn’t want to know how long this coffee had sat out.

You took it with cream, then dumped some sugar in, too. You reached for a second packet. You caught Eren staring as you tore it open, his hands folded around his mug.

“What is it?” you questioned.

“Want any coffee with your sugar?”

“Ha-ha.” You added the sugar, now out of spite, and mixed it in. When you took your first sip, it tasted as bitter as you had imagined.

Now that you were off your feet, they were nagging for you to kick off your shoes. You wiggled them around at first, just enough for your heels to slip from the backs. When you felt a sting, you couldn’t bear to keep them on another second—the diner was empty anyway. Once they were off, your feet throbbed as if they had their own pulse.

The waiter took your order and then disappeared again, only making rounds to offer a warm-up here or there, one of which you accepted. Eren didn’t say anything when you added another packet of sugar this time. You kept your head down and fiddled with the loose scraps of paper. You didn’t even remember what thought you were having when his voice eventually snapped you from it.

“You know—” he started to say. You peered up from the wad of paper you had been rolling between your thumb and index finger. He sat back into the booth and looked out the window with a quiet chuckle. “I thought you hated me when we first met.”

You matched his laugh, yours more disbelieving. “Hated you? I don’t think I knew you enough to hate you.”

“You were always so quiet.”

“Being quiet doesn’t mean you hate someone.”

His eyes flickered from the window to you. “Then what does it mean?”

It was easier to talk to him when he wasn’t looking at you. You felt smothered by his gaze and started to twirl your spoon around your mug. It banging against the ceramic was the only sound between you and Eren because you still didn’t know how to answer him.

“I don’t know,” you said, thinking you would have come up with a more profound answer by now. “It just means you’re quiet, I guess.”

Eren was interrupted by your short stack of pancakes, sliding right between you and decorated with a gooey scoop of butter. He didn’t order anything other than coffee, even after you said you’d pay. And once the waiter dropped off the syrup and scurried off again, Eren was quick to jump back into the conversation, much to your dismay.

“But you’re not quiet, and you’re not shy either,” he said, like he had caught you in a lie. You urged him to continue with a raised brow. “Don’t give me that. I know that’s not you. I saw you dancing tonight.”

Your hand stalled in mid-reach for the syrup. “You watched me dance?”

He played it off when he said, “Well, yeah. My so-called quiet lab partner actually knows how to dance? It just surprised me, that’s all.”

“If you saw me earlier, why didn’t you say ‘hi?’”

Strike that—Eren almost played it off. He couldn’t mask his eyes flitting around, or how long it took him to excuse it away with, “Oh, I think someone grabbed me for a game of beer pong or something. I don’t remember.”

That never happened. Eren knew it, and it looked like you knew it, too. The truth was that Eren didn’t go up and talk to you because he had spent the last two weeks convincing himself he wasn’t into you.

He even went as far as reinstalling his dating apps, all of which he had long sworn off. He assumed if he just went on a date—maybe even brought a girl home—then he wouldn’t think about you anymore. But by the time dinner was over, Eren could hardly remember a single thing she said. He was too busy comparing her to you, finding himself disappointed every time she laughed because it didn’t sound like yours.

Then he saw you tonight. Of course, he had to see you tonight. And of all the things you could have been doing, you were dancing. He favored you like that—when you were carefree. You were nothing like the girl he first met in lab.

And when Eren heard your laugh—more remarkable than all the others, like he had gone deaf to anything but you—he couldn’t even remember why he tried to stay away from you.

But here you were, seated just across the booth from him, cheeks stuffed with pancakes, and he had no idea what he was supposed to do next. He had spent the entire walk wrangling with himself, scared that if he had you, even in the most innocent of ways, he wouldn’t be able to get enough. He knew he shouldn’t be thinking like this because—fuck, what if you didn’t want him back?

Eren only lied about beer pong because he couldn’t outrightly admit he needed another drink before approaching you. He was so close to getting away with it, too. If you had just glanced down at your plate a second earlier, or if he was faster about sipping his coffee to hide his face, you wouldn’t have caught the flushed bridge of his nose; so subtle but just telling enough that you had to bite your inner lip to prevent a smile.

You poked around your pancakes. You held your fork to your face, inspecting the bite as syrup dripped onto the plate. You were rather flippant about it when you finally told Eren, “It’s because I had a crush on you.”

“Huh?”

You plopped the pancake into your mouth, chewing so thoughtfully that it nearly killed Eren. When you swallowed, you said, “I had a crush on you. That’s why I was so quiet.”

He didn’t say anything back, even with you staring him square in the face. He was obviously flustered. You chuckled lightly, just through your nose, and said, “That, and you always got better grades than me. I didn’t want you to think I was dumb.”

Eren didn’t even hear the second half of what you said; he was too fixed on the first. “Do you still?”

You knew what he was asking, but you played dumb to it. “Still what?”

“Have a crush on me.”

You thought on it while you went for another bite, your eyes on him like he had the answer already. He did. You both did. But you let the question hang heavy between you, just for another second. You weren’t quite ready to lay your cards on the table yet.

You tossed him a flick of a smile when you answered, “To be determined.”

He nodded his head once, lips folded together in a similar sort of smile. “Got it.”

You were satisfied by that, but he wasn’t. He watched you while you took another sip of coffee, then immediately reached for another pack of sugar. Before you could pour it in, he shielded the mug with his hand. “But you better figure out an answer before all that sugar kills you.”

You swatted him away. “Yeah, it’ll definitely be the sugar that kills me tonight and not the keg stand I did.”

“You did a keg stand?”

You laughed at how his jaw nearly hit the table. “Only because Hitch talked me into it.”

Eren laughed with you despite the shake of his head. “See, what did I say? You surprise me.”

You had only taken a few hobbles out of the diner and onto the sidewalk before your heels started acting up again. You sucked your teeth at the pain, only made worse by another step. You had noted your fresh blisters when you first slid your shoes back on, but you hoped they wouldn’t be a hassle since the walk to Eren’s was short. Now, all you wanted was to be drunk enough to not feel them.

“Everything okay back there?” Eren asked.

You were behind him again. Not because he was speeding but because your toes were more tightly packed together than a can of sardines.

“Yeah,” you said. Eren thought it sounded unconvincing, and his hunch was only confirmed when he caught you stumble from the corner of his eye. “It’s my shoes. I’m sorry.”

Eren stopped walking and turned to you. “Why are you apologizing?”

“I don’t know.”

“Just take ‘em off.”

“I’m not just going to walk barefoot.”

“Didn’t say you had to.” You didn’t seem to understand what he was implying, even less when he gave you his back again, bending lightly at the knee.

He couldn’t be serious right now.

“My house is just a few more blocks away. I’ll carry you.”

Okay. He was actually serious. He was about to give you a piggyback ride.

Your laugh wasn’t intentional but when Eren heard it, he looked playfully offended.

“What? You think I can’t carry you?” He straightened out, shoved his hands into his pockets, and started to walk again. “Fine then. Suit yourself.”

He was about to start walking again when you called, “Wait!”

You wanted to blame it on your feet or that you didn’t want to slow him down, but you had to be honest with yourself—were you really going to pass up this opportunity?

He flashed you a smile over his shoulder. “That’s what I thought.”

You ignored his boasting and began slipping off your shoes. He took them from you in one hand, then let you hop onto his back. His body didn’t give like you’d expect, and his arms were sturdy as they looped around your thighs.

You hadn’t had a piggyback ride since you were probably eleven years old, but you didn’t remember it feeling like this. Eren’s neck felt warm against your arms even in the crisp night air, and his hands were even hotter, like they could sear into the backs of your thighs.

He jostled you forward, higher onto his back. “Hold on tighter or else you’re gonna fall off.”

You hugged him, your chest pressing into his back. You had never been this close to him before. His hair, only loosely tied back now, brushed against your face. His cologne was faint—warm like amber, but there was something refreshing about it that tickled your nose. You drew closer to him, inhaling the scent.

Eren worried that you felt the roll of his throat when your breath hit the nape of his neck. It was embarrassing that something as pure as a piggyback ride could have his heart racing. Suddenly, he was back in junior high and it was his first time holding a girl’s hand all over again.

If this was all he’d have of you tonight, he'd be happy with just that, even if it ended with waking up with a sore back. He wanted to earn your crush because he wasn’t so sure it had ever gone away.

Eren set you down on his porch and fished for his keys in his back pocket. Once inside, the house is too dark to make out anything. You stilled in the entryway, entirely unaware of your surroundings, but listened as Eren walked ahead.

Not even a second later, Eren flipped on a light from the other room. It was bright; enough to hurt your eyes at first, but you could at least see the floor now.

Eren stood in the doorway to the kitchen. He wore a look of trepidation, staring at you like you were a scared little puppy.

He asked, “Can I get you some water?”

“Sure. Thank you.”

He waved his hand toward the sofa before he disappeared around the corner. “Make yourself at home.”

You took a seat to ease the throbbing in your feet and sat with your arms folded across your chest. Now that you had a moment to yourself, you could suck in a deep breath. You forced it out on a lengthy and trembling exhale.

It wasn’t anxiety that you were feeling—it was more like anticipation. You weren’t naive; you knew how this would play out, and it had you clenching your thighs together impatiently.

You didn’t notice how rigid your arms were until you uncrossed them when Eren handed you a bottle of water.

He collapsed beside you on the other side of the couch, and it squeaked under his weight. He took a few swigs from his water bottle and then glanced at you.

“I imagine you wouldn’t want to sleep on the couch in a house full of guys,” he said. He laid his head back onto the cushion, like he planned to be there for a while. “If you want, take my room. I can sleep out here.”

You didn’t miss a beat when you shook your head. The thought alone had you unwittingly flustered. You hadn’t ever seen his bedroom before. “I’m not going to take your bed. You didn’t even need to go through the trouble of letting me stay the night.”

“Out of all the favors I’ve done,” Eren started to say. “You staying the night is the least of my troubles.”

You smiled at him. You smiled at him, and you had no clue how it pulled at Eren’s heart. A smile so shy, no greater than just a curl of the corner of your mouth, yet he wanted nothing more than to feel its shape underneath his lips and memorize the taste.

“Okay,” you finally said. “But I’m sleeping on the couch.” You could have stopped talking there, and you probably should have, but his unreadable gaze had you rambling, “But, really, if it’s too much—if you want me to go, I can call a—”

“I don’t want you to go.”

You stammered even though you didn’t know what you’d say next. The room felt suffocating, the air thick enough to make your throat go as dry as chalk. Something had changed. You didn’t know if it was the glint in his eye, just barely caught in the light, or that look on his face that made you shudder at the base of your spine.

Maybe it was more accurate to say everything had changed.

You didn’t have much of your voice back when you confessed, “I don’t want to go either.”

It was barely a whisper. So delicate and saccharine that Eren wasn’t sure you even intended to speak. Your eyes were big and genuine, like you had revealed your secret to him without saying much at all. He couldn’t look away despite barely clinging to what little composure you hadn’t stolen from him yet.

You liked seeing him like that—seeing such an unguarded look on a face that was normally hardened. Soft and electric, all at once. You never thought he’d look at you in such a way, and you didn’t want it to end.

Now or never.

“Eren?”

His voice was just as taken as yours. “Yeah?”

Eren knew you as anything but bold, but right then, you were. You stretched your leg across the couch. Slowly. Your foot, then your calf next—until you had your thigh dragged over his lap. You kept your eyes on him the whole time. The light from the kitchen cast shadows along the angles of his jaw, showing you how it tensed.

You purred the words when you asked, “Why are you so nice to me?”

You were feeling courageous now, but you knew you’d come to regret it the next time you saw Eren on campus. You could see him now—the smug smile he’d give you from across the hall, or on the far side of the green, or wherever you’d inevitably see him again. You would turn into a puddle right on the spot.

But that didn’t matter; you heard him stifle the groan at the back of his throat, and you wanted to hear it again. So for now, you’d let yourself play the role for the night, and you’d play it well.

“Am I?” Eren asked, his voice acquiring a new rasp. You nodded. “How so?”

“You know,” you said. You retracted your leg from him to sit on your knees, bumping them against his thigh. “You walk me home when I’m drunk. Carry me when my feet hurt. You let me spend the night and offer me your bed.” You leaned forward and rested your hand on his thigh, like you might kiss him, but you giggled instead. “Not to mention, you tutored me in anatomy for an entire semester and didn’t complain once.”

“I think I might’ve complained once,” he said with a smile in his voice. His hand cupped your cheek and you tried not to melt into him. “But I can’t help myself.” His thumb traced over your skin. “You’re very cute when you’re drunk and when you pass a quiz… and when you hold your book too close to your face when you read.”

“I don’t do that.”

“Yes, you do.”

You didn’t argue with him further because you were so close that your noses were almost brushing. He was still holding your face when his thumb swiped along your bottom lip. You wetted them, wanting a taste. His eyes flickered down to your tongue, then to your eyes again. Neither of you wanted to be the first to crumble the wall, the one you had spent a semester building together. One so tall that there were times you couldn’t see over it.

He gently caressed your face as you pressed your forehead to his. You felt his breath on your lips when you told him, “I still have a crush on you.”

“Yeah, I know.” Eren wasn’t cocky about it but soft. He sounded relieved.

Your hand left his thigh and splayed over his stomach. His muscles twitched under your touch. He couldn’t help but wonder if you knew what you were doing to him. You had to.

“So,” you said, long and drawn-out. Your fingers trickled lower until you palmed over the front of his jeans. He was hard. Much harder than you’d expect from harmless flirting. “Are you going to do something about it?”

He nearly gulped. “Fuck—C’mere.”

With the hand he had kept on your face, he pulled you to him. What you thought would be a crash of lips was much more affectionate. Instead of kissing as if you could make up for lost time, he kissed you slowly, his lips plush as they moved with yours. He was better at this than you had expected, taking his time with no destination in mind.

You parted your lips slightly, his tongue sliding in, hot and licking your own. He felt victorious when you gifted him with a moan, one he could swallow up before it met the air.

“Eren,” you whispered against his mouth. It came out more like a gasp. His hand curled around the back of your neck and tilted your head to the side, giving him room to explore your neck. He kissed the hollow below your ear, and when you gasped again, he grazed his teeth lower.

“Eren,” you reapeated, more breathily than the last but louder.

“Hm?”

“That’s why you didn’t want me to leave, right?” you asked, eyes fluttering shut as you felt him start to leave a bruise. You massaged over his length a few times before working on the button of his jeans. “Because you can’t help yourself?”

He didn’t answer before you had undone his zipper and snuck your hand inside his boxers. You wrapped your fingers around his cock, your grasp light and teasing as you slipped around him, base to tip.

“Yes,” Eren groaned—so wonderful to your ears. He would have tried to hold it back, but he was already too busy fighting the urge to rut into your hand.

He pinned you to the couch when he couldn’t take it any longer. Your back hit the cushion with another squeak from the springs, louder and more obnoxious than the one before it.

When Eren kissed you again, he didn’t want to take his time anymore. Because you were right, he couldn’t help himself. Not around you, at least. Not after you just told him you wanted him in all the ways he wanted you.

The couch was suddenly too cramped for your liking, limbs slipping and spilling until you were about to fall to the floor.

Your kiss broke when your head dangled off the couch. You each took a moment to breathe—or at least try your best to.

“We should probably go to my room,” Eren said.

“Yeah. We should.”

Eren took the back of your head into his hand and placed you back on the couch. You awkwardly fumbled around one another until you were climbing up the stairs in a hurry, clumsily tripping over your feet because you couldn’t imagine keeping your hands off each other. You trailed just behind him, your hand in his, as he led you to his bedroom.

But once you were in his room, Eren’s touch wasn’t as innocent as only a handhold. His hands were reckless—pawing over your body and gripping at your ass—yet so firm and sure that it had you moaning. Each tiny sound encouraged him further until he shoved you against the door, slamming it shut until it shuddered in its frame.

His forearms rested on either side of your head. He caged you in place, but you would have stayed right there and made out with him forever. His mouth was commanding but gentle enough that he could take you wherever he pleased.

Eren made you so damn needy. You took his loose, unzipped jeans between your fingers and tugged him close until you felt his cock pressed against you, your leg hooking around his waist. You ground against him helplessly because if you didn’t, you thought you might actually explode.

And, God, Eren wanted to give you what you wanted—everything that he had. There was a part of him that wanted to make you wait for it, maybe even beg for it, but he was only human.

His arms dropped to his side and he took a step back from you. Then, all he said was, “Bed.”

He sounded shallow when he said it, all breathless like his lungs were running on empty. You figured he intended it to be more demanding, but you liked this version better—when he was needy for you.

Your first step faltered, like you were high off him or something. You were about to lay in his bed when you heard him say, “Take your clothes off for me, too.”

Now that was demanding, his voice so gruff that it was still ringing between your ears.

Eren turned on the lamp on his bedside table. It was dim, casting an almost orange glow that was nothing more than a splash of watercolor paint over the room. Eren wanted to watch you undress, and he needed just enough light to show you off.

You were very aware of his gaze as you took your shirt between your fingers. It slipped and bunched over your skin as you peeled it up the length of your body. You were considerate of every move. How your fingers danced over your navel. How slowly and tightly you tugged the slinky fabric over your chest, revealing your bra with a bounce of your tits. It was so shamefully sexy. Eren couldn’t get enough.

He knew he told you to undress for him, but he couldn’t hold out any longer. You held your breath when you felt him behind you as you began to take off your jeans. His hands closed over yours, telling you, let me do it.

Eren’s hands curved over your hip bones, then met at the button of your jeans. He undid it, along with the zipper, expertly. All the while, he was kissing down the crook of your neck, the spot he had just learned you liked, especially when he sucked on it.

He did it without your asking, yanking a sharp exhale from you. He helped you shimmy out of the fitted denim, still leaving hot and open-mouthed kisses on your throat. When you felt your jeans pool around your ankles, you kicked them aside.

You turned to face him before sinking back into the bed. You laid down with the stretch of your back. It felt so good to sprawl along the billowy comforter, to finally be off your feet. If it weren’t for Eren and that ravening way he was eyeing you, you could have lulled off right then. You nestled around, relaxing your muscles that ached from the day.

It pulled a sound from you. A sweet, little moan that you didn’t even realize you had let slip. One so delicious that Eren felt his cock twitch before he could even take off your underwear. He couldn’t keep his gaze steady because he didn’t know where to look—he didn’t even know where to start. The sight of you, ready and beneath him, had him overwhelmed.

His fingertips, though lightly calloused, felt exceedingly gentle as he trailed them over your bare skin. So softly that if you shut your eyes, you wouldn’t have known he was there. He started just below the underwire of your bra, then down the length of your stomach. He tickled at your hip, and you squirmed cutely. He chuckled inaudibly through his nose, his head feeling a bit spacey as you stirred below him.

Eren’s hand stopped short of dipping beneath your underwear. He blinked a few times, hard, like it would clear some of the fogginess. He looked at you quizzically, as if he had reason to be suspicious.

He only asked, “How are you?”

You felt your brows knit together, mirroring his suspicion. “I’m good. Um, how are you?”

His face scrunched up, like he was about to say, ‘not good,’ and it made you nervous. You sat up on your elbows, interested, waiting for him. He ran his fingers through his hair, like he always did when he was trying to concentrate.

“We’re a little past exchanging pleasantries now, don’t you think?” you joked, mainly because you didn’t know what else to say right then.

“No, that’s not what I meant.” Eren brought his hand to his forehead as if he could capture his thoughts before they slipped away. “Like, I mean—” Coherency was far out of his reach, what with how you had sweetly angled your head in thought, staring up at him through heavy lashes. Had they always been that long?

Eren shook his head like it was an Etch A Sketch before he finally got out, “Are you still drunk?”

You were relieved that something hadn’t gone wrong. You thought about your answer, taking inventory of every feeling in your body, all of which only wanted him.

“Not really,” you said with a slight shrug. “Those pancakes were a real lifesaver.”

You weren’t sure why, but he still looked hesitant. You took his hand and gave it a squeeze, smiling up at him. “I want this. Like really, really want this.”

Eren let out a short laugh that softened you up even more. When his fingers started to move again, dancing along your hot skin, he pulled lightly at the band of your underwear. He was toying with it, his once-boyish expression turning more brazen when he asked, “Then is it okay if I touch you here?”

“Yes,” you whispered, your eyes fixed on him—on his fingers—until they slipped beneath the band, though you were hoping he’d take them off.

That single, breathy word was all Eren needed before he crawled over you, his free hand planted against the mattress beside your head. You were still propped up on your elbows, close enough to Eren that with just the tilt of your head, you were kissing him again.

When Eren’s fingers ventured even lower, gliding between you teasingly, he groaned—almost whimpered—into your mouth.

“You’re so wet,” he said, still playing with you. He’d circle your clit, just long enough to have your jaw go slack, then remove the pressure and tease your entrance. “All for me?”

“Mhm,” you murmured, feeling his fingers return to your clit. He rubbed languidly, having you twitch beneath him. When you lifted your hips, searching for more, his circles became tighter and quicker. Your elbows wobbled until you finally let them fall, tossing your head back against the mattress.

Your mind was consumed with him—Eren, Eren, Eren. Consumed with how good he was making you feel and every place you wanted him.

And when you cried out, “Ah—all for you,” you certainly weren’t thinking about how desperate you sounded for a guy who was nothing more than your lab partner.

That did it for him. Whether it was how pathetic you sounded or the neediness that was written all over your face, something in Eren snapped. In one impulsive motion, Eren stood up straight, hooked his fingers around your underwear, and pulled them down your legs with ease. Once they were tossed to the side, lost with your other garments, his hand was back between your legs.

He pushed his middle finger inside you at first, your back arching at that alone. He curled it just the right way that had your breath already hitching in your throat.

You’d think he’d be arrogant about it—how he already has you bending to his will—but he was entirely lost in you, every bit of you. Your tiny gasps slipped past your swollen lips. Your bra and the way its straps had started to fall down your shoulder, exposing the delicate skin. How pretty you looked taking his finger.

Eren quickened his pace and had you shuddering, but as that familiar feeling started to burn low in your stomach, it was stolen from you just as fast.

You let out a frustrated sob and darted your head to see why he had rudely edged you like that.

He yanked his shirt over his head and threw it aside. Yet another article of clothing to search through later. “I wanna go down on you.”

Your face suddenly felt hot. You weren’t sure if it was from the sight of his deceivingly-toned stomach or how his voice didn’t waver as he spoke so freely to you. But before you could decide what it was, Eren was stripping from his jeans. And if you were still unsure as to why you had clammed up, the tent in his boxers—large and threatening to undo you—was most certainly it.

You were trying your best to look at his face when you asked, “Don’t you think we should be fast? All of your roommates are here.”

Eren didn’t want to be fast, not in the slightest. He wanted to have you, all to himself, for as long as you’d allow him. But it was easy for him to say that now; his willpower was beginning to wane the longer he looked at you.

“They’re sleeping. Don’t worry about them.” Eren’s thumb was making small circles against your inner thigh. It was making it difficult to say no to him, at least until he cracked a small smile. “I thought you said you were quiet.”

The look on your face told Eren you were about to quip something back at him. Just before you could, he leaned over you again. He held himself up with his forearms this time, much closer than before, encasing you in his warmth.

His mouth was even warmer when it met your neck. You felt his lips—his tongue—as he ran along the silky skin he wanted to suck.

Eren nibbled at your ear, and you let out an airy giggle that traveled straight to his cock. When he was at your collarbone, your hips wantonly rutted against him. Then, once he tugged down the cups of your bra, his hot breath fanning over your perked nipples, you rewarded him with a moan—even louder once he took one into his mouth.

You were so, so sensitive. All for him. Eren wanted to discover every nook on your body that he could kiss and every sound that you’d make along with it. He wanted to learn every last part of you, especially the parts that would have you wrecked.

His kisses continued down your stomach, with him lowering to his knees on the ground. He took your legs, one in each hand, and tugged you until his shoulders were snug between your thighs, your bottom half hanging off the side of the bed.

Eren palmed over the tops of your thighs, the flesh molding to his hands. He left kisses there, too. His lips were open and warm and so close to where you wanted them the most. Just the thought had goosebumps scattering across your skin.

“Let me taste you.” His voice was a quiet plead. He placed another kiss on your thigh, then another, with his eyes fluttering shut like he was savoring you. “Please.”

Your voice was lost somewhere in your throat, so you bobbed your head, perhaps a bit too eagerly. Eren gleamed up at you like he wanted to smirk, but he was smart enough to not risk his opportunity to have you.

At first, you only felt his breath on you, and it quelled the chill bedroom air. Next, it was the tip of his tongue. It ran through you, painfully slow but still enough for your voice to return in nothing more than airless gasps.

“Spread your legs wider for me.” You did as you were told. He must have been pleased by it because you swore you felt him grin as he praised, “Good girl.”

You made an embarrassing sound at that—one that you didn’t expect and Eren surely didn’t either. But it excited him, knowing that you were weak to his words, to his voice, to him.

With you, now open and on display for him, Eren couldn’t resist burying into you, even if he had fully intended on teasing you for longer. His tongue flicked at your clit, sending pulses of electricity shooting up your spine.

You shifted your hips, raising them to meet him. His tongue was steady, never slowing once he learned the rhythm you liked—the one that had you lacing your fingers through his hair and undoing his bun.

And when you angled your hips just a little more, guiding his tongue to just the right spot, it was like you saw sparks behind your eyelids.

“Eren—ah—right there,” you said on a frantic exhale.

He had the flat of his tongue against your clit, letting his tongue lap at you in tandem with the rocking of your hips. But when your thighs began to quiver and shake, he hooked his arms around them, locking you in place for him.

He continued having you feverishly, filling the bedroom with a mix of your wispy cries and his own groans. It was like he was just as desperate for you to come as you were, worshipping every squeak and squirm he could get from you.

“I—I’m—”

Eren looked up to read your face. You looked breathless, your mouth only slightly opened in a vain attempt to pull in tattered breaths. He released his hold on your legs and they weakly fell on his shoulders.

He replaced his tongue with his thumb, not breaking his pace, and asked, “Do you want more?”

“Y—yes.”

“You want my fingers?” His thumb left your clit and you mourned the loss, only for him to trace a finger down your entrance, barely dipping inside of you.

“Oh, fuck,” you writhed. “Yes.”

Eren let his middle finger slip through you again before pushing it inside. He curled it, sliding in and out as he rushed to return his mouth to your clit. He gave you a few kitten licks before picking up right where he left off.

You were getting close—so close—and if time could allow for it, you would have stayed like that forever, just shy of becoming entirely undone.

Admittedly, there were many times when you imagined Eren having his way with you—imagined what it’d feel like for him to finger and fuck you. But never did you think he’d beg to have you this way. You decided to risk a glance at him to know what he looked like between your thighs. When you propped yourself back onto your elbows, that was when you knew you were done for.

Eren’s face was flushed, a blossomy pink spanning his nose and cheeks. You were so wet, he was so wet—soaked, actually, in a lewd mix of both his saliva and your slick. His finger pumped in and out of you, working with his licks at your clit to have you ruined for him.

His green eyes, now shameless and darkened like you hadn’t seen them before, found yours and a gravelly moan escaped him. He felt a bit pathetic for it, but what had him feeling even more pathetic was how he couldn’t stop his free hand from working his boxers down his thighs. He took hold of himself in desperate need of something—anything—because you were possibly the hottest thing he had ever seen. He only knew you would look even better once he had you coming on his tongue.

You whimpered when you saw him fisting his cock, nice and fast. He was so hard for you, and you weren’t shy about staring. You couldn’t even pretend to be. You wanted to see how he liked it, watching him jerk himself with only quick breaks to give extra attention to his tip. You thought about how he’d fuck you, wondering how he’d like it then, and it sent you over the edge.

Your moans came out choppy and strained until your voice cut out entirely, your breath getting caught up in your throat. You sobbed silently, carelessly rolling your hips over Eren's tongue, helping his finger dip against that spot again. You wanted to drag the feeling out as long as you could. By the end of it, you were trembling, panting, and couldn’t hold your eyes open.

Eren had to stop pumping himself or he would have come from that alone. He sat back on his knees, one of his hands palming over your thigh while the other rubbed at your clit, his touch nothing more than a feather and just to ease you back down. You looked like you needed it—you were absolutely wrecked, with your legs limply pulled apart for him, just like he hoped for.

God, he annoyed himself for pretending that he never wanted you because you—you were a dream.

The only thing that could wake him from that dream was your voice.

“Eren?”

He loved when you said his name.

You sat up to look at him. It was harder this time because it felt as if a ton of bricks sat on your chest as you struggled to find your breath. Eren was quite the opposite, looking entirely unbothered. He had his cheek resting against your thigh, his eyes fixed on his finger as he lazily pushed it back inside you. You jolted lightly at the intrusion. You were still coming down, and he could tell by the way your muscles spasmed around his finger.

He was mesmerized by the feeling—you sucking him in for more—and didn’t even look up at you when he replied, “Hm?”

You would have normally found it embarrassing, how he started at you so unabashedly, but you were already so sensitive from your orgasm that the winding feeling in your stomach had already returned. It begged to snap again.

“I want you to fuck me.”

He loved hearing that even more.

Eren finally looked at you then, and if he were a dog, his ears would have perked up like you said the magic words.

“What was that?” he said, more playfully than you expected. You didn’t like it, especially not with his smug grin to match. “I couldn’t hear you. You were mumbling.”

“You heard me the first time.”

He slipped his finger from you, running it teasingly up the crease of your thigh. “Say it again.”

It tickled. You fussed, “Eren, come on—”

“No, I don’t think that was it. I think you said something else.”

“Just—” You sighed grudgingly before finally giving in. “I want you to fuck me. Fuck me, please.”

He beamed at you, proud of both you and himself, and started to take off his boxers that still hung at his mid-thigh. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Eren stood up and didn’t let you respond before taking hold of your waist and flipping you onto your stomach. You bounced against the mattress when you landed, it squeaking conspicuously beneath you.

You felt his hand on your shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. He then trailed his fingers lower, down to your bra, and quickly undid the clasp. You pushed yourself onto your elbows and felt your bra fall, its straps loosely hanging around your arms. He took you by the hips, just where they met your thighs, and helped raise you to your knees.

“You look so pretty like this,” he told you, giving himself a few more pumps with one hand and smacking your ass with the other.

You yelped, “Eren! Roommates!”

“I thought I told you not to worry about them,” he said, with another smack.

The print of his hand still stung when you heard rustling behind you. You peeked over your shoulder to find Eren tearing open a condom. He rolled it onto himself, all the while, his eyes stayed pinned on you—naked and with your ass in the air for him.

He flattened a hand against your lower back, having you arch it for him. With his other, he gripped his cock by the base and lined it up perfectly with you.

He guided himself in more slowly than he wanted to, letting you adjust as he listened to you suck in a sharp breath. It was a bit of a stretch, but it was easy enough for him to push inside having already prepped you with his fingers, only to leave you aching to be filled with more.

When his pelvis was flush against your ass, he felt you flutter around him, squeezing his cock so perfectly he’d think you were made for him. A groan bubbled up in his throat, low enough that it was nearly a growl. The sound made your heart skip—right between your lungs—so you clenched again to encourage another.

“You’re gonna make me come if you keep doing that,” Eren hissed hedonistically.

“Doing what?” you asked innocently. Then you did it again.

Despite his warning, he didn’t protest it. Instead, he started thrusting into you leisurely. He was self-indulgent about it, too, spreading you with his hands so he could admire how well you took his cock.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” he muttered, quiet enough that it was like he was talking to himself. “So fucking good.”

“Eren.” The whine in your voice drove him crazy.

His hands, large and demanding, curved over the fat of your hips. His fingers gripped down as he pulled you against him, dragging you back to meet every snap of his hips. The indecent sound of smacking bounced off the bedroom walls. You didn’t complain this time. Your head dropped between your shoulders, eyes screwed shut, as you became lost in the throws of pleasure all over again.

“Eren,” you cried again.

He didn’t stop fucking you to ask, “What is it?”

He leaned over you, his hand snaking up your neck and cupping your chin. He angled your face to look at him—so he could see what you wanted. But you couldn’t form anything other than wimpy chants of ah, ah, ah, coming out mangled as he squished your cheeks between his fingers.

“Tell me how you want it.”

His words alone caused you to bite back a moan.

You finally managed to tell him, “Harder.”

Eren smiled, all slack-jawed and toothy, and you would have found it irresistible and totally ill-fitting for the situation if you saw it. But how else was he supposed to react after hearing what he thought only existed in his dreams?

He placed a kiss at the base of your neck, then on your shoulder. It was unexpectedly doting, but then you felt his fingers curve up and around your throat. Though you anticipated what was coming next, you still squealed as he hoisted you upright until your back was flush with his chest.

Eren held you there, fucking up into you—harder—like you asked of him. Your flimsy bra barely hung from you, just around your elbows, and flopped with each of his thrusts. He groped at your breast, taking your nipple between his fingers, rolling and squeezing at it until you were mewling.

He continued to take you as if you were his, and you let him have you. You let him use you like you were nothing more than a plaything for his pleasure, with your head feeling heavy as it lolled back against him.

But you were so much more than just that, and Eren was determined to have you coming again. This time, on his cock. He wanted to feel it.

“Touch yourself,” Eren demanded, right into your ear. It made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. “I wanna hear you when you come this time.”

Your hand slithered down between your legs. The very tips of your fingers bumped into Eren’s cock as you got yourself off. Your legs wavered at the added pressure, and you were practically vibrating when you came, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

It was hard to stay upright. You fell from Eren’s hold and landed on the bed forcefully, him toppling right over you. You struggled to rub your clit as he fucked you into the mattress. You were still riding out the aftershocks, and it had you squeezing your thighs together so nicely for him.

“I’m—ah, fuck—I’m close,” Eren grunted.

It surprised you when he pulled out since he was wearing a condom. But when you felt his hands fly to your sides, you realized he was rolling you onto your back. Your arms, like jelly, were tossed carelessly above your head. He pinned them in place with a single hand around your wrists as he pushed inside back inside you.

“I need to see you.”

Your stomach flipped at his words like they were poetry. Fuck. He had you so irrevocably wrapped around his finger. He had all of you. And maybe you were just lovelorn and looking for something that wasn’t there, but you swore he looked like he was just as ensnared as you.

You wanted to touch him, squirming your wrists around until he released his hold. You took his face, sticky under your fingertips, between your hands. You wanted to see him, even more unguarded than before. His eyes were moony and heavy-lidded and had you swooning.

“Fuck, Eren—I want you to come,” you gasped.

Easy enough.

He came hard. As perverted as it sounded, you wished you had a camera. You wanted to remember how his eyes snapped shut and record every sound. He buried his face into your neck with a few stutters of his hips, grinding against you like he could go deeper.

His breath was hot and panting against your already sweltering skin. It was a bit hard to breathe, especially under his weight, but you wanted to hold onto him longer.

You didn’t realize you were gracing your fingers up and down the back of his neck until he lifted himself up. He let his face linger above yours, like he wanted one last look, nudging his nose against yours.

You laid still, watching while Eren straightened out and disposed of the condom. Your legs felt too soft and lazy to move, so you only rolled your head to the side to follow him as he stepped into a pair of sweatpants.

“The invitation to stay the night still stands, right?” you asked, admittedly, with some sass.

“No, I was actually going to call you an Uber home.” Eren rolled his eyes. “Of course it does. What kind of guy do you think I am?”

You giggled as you pushed yourself upright. “Where’s your bathroom?”

“Down the hall, last door on the right.” Eren took one look at you, then started digging around in his dresser. He tossed something at you, aiming it at your head by the looks of it. You caught it just in time. It was a t-shirt. “You can wear that.”

You held it up by the arms to inspect it, then peered over it to ask, “Is that weird?”

“It wasn’t until you asked that.”

You pulled the tee over your head and stood up to adjust it. You put your underwear on next but felt a bit more hesitant about the jeans.

“They’re sleeping, I promise,” Eren told you as he put on a shirt of his own. “Just be quick.”

“Okay,” you said hesitantly. You started to leave the room but poked your head back in. “I’m leaving the door cracked so I know which room is yours.”

He laughed, “Alright.”

You followed his instructions. The last door on the right. You even tried to be quick about it, too. You peed, washed your hands, splashed some water on your face, and only stared at your bruising collarbone for ten seconds before rushing back down the hall.

Eren was in bed when he saw the door swing open. “Look at you, Ms. C+, not getting lost.”

You made a face at him. “Whatever, Brian.”

Right on cue, he said, “It was one time!”

For whatever reason, you didn’t crawl into bed with him right away. You felt a bit like a deer in headlights, blinking at Eren, sleepy and with his hair still unkempt from your fingers. Seeing him like this, dressed in his shirt, and about to curl up under his sheets—were you supposed to just go along with it like it was normal?

You tried to think of something to say, but when you did, Eren cut in. “You can’t seriously try to take the couch after that.”

That was exactly what you were about to do. The purse of your lips had him chuckling because he knew he was right. He lifted the blanket up for you—once again, like this was entirely normal for you—and said, “Get over here already. I’m cold.”

Eren was extremely difficult to say no to, but you already knew that. You got into his bed and let him lay the comforter over you. Either his pillows were really soft or you were just exhausted, but your eyes went heavy almost immediately. Eren reached over you to turn out the light, and you felt his arm fall on top of you. He hugged around your waist and didn’t hesitate to pull you into him.

He nuzzled into the back of your neck and in your hair, pulling a giggle from you. “Are you always this clingy after sex?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, tickling you again.

Eren most definitely was never clingy after sex. But there was no way he could keep his hands to himself, not with how good you looked in his shirt, just barely long enough to cover anything. Maybe his intentions in lending you his shirt weren't as pure as merely helping you get comfortable—so sue him. You wearing his clothes like you were his was definitely a sight Eren could get used to, and one he had a feeling he’d see much more often.

#eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren smut

[devilmademewriteit]

Drabble request for dbf!joel getting blown under the table or something while he's having a convo with reader's dad?!?! IDK I just love your dbf!joel!!

You Can Be the Boss

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!afab!reader

warnings: rough oral (m receiving); petnames (angel, baby, sweetheart); age gap; choking; hair pulling; (yall this is pure pure daddy issues FILTH, I warned you. I warned you hard).

Hi y’all ty for sending me all ur requests. ummm you guys are insane ! and so am I ! maybe more because I’m actually the one writing these ! this one is so dirty ! don’t say I didn’t warn you !

more to come hehehe. I don’t tag ppl for my smaller drabbles / fics so turn on notifs or whatevs ;)

-em<3

—

“As close as I’ll get to the darkness, he tells me to, ‘Shut up, I got this.’”

- You Can Be the Boss

—

It was still a secret, after all.

Sneaking into his apartment, late nights in alleys, abandoned cars lining the streets of the QZ… you’d managed to keep your joint intoxication with one another under wraps.

Today… today was risky. You usually waited until the wee hours of the morning to even walk by his place, let alone enter, but you’d needed to drop off a sweater that Tess had leant you the previous week, intending to leave it folded up on the doormat before bolting down the hall. Your footsteps were nervous and heavy, which led to the door swinging wide open on its hinges, a gruff “where you runnin’ off to, Angel?” and a set of rough hands pulling you through the doorway.

Then you were spread open against the tattered table cloth of his (busy) kitchen table, underwear shoved to the side, watching a hunched over Joel Fucking Miller spit on his hand and run it up down his heavy, hard length.

“Shouldn’t come here during the day,” as he’d lined himself up, “Can’t fuckin’ help myself.”

That’s when you heard the definite sound of a key twisting inside a lock. Joel’s head shot up — your eyes barely had time to widen before he was shoving you under the table, panties still twisted around your ankles.

A quick zip, then footsteps.

“Oh, sorry man—”

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“—Tess said you wouldn’t be home.”

It’s your father.

You thank God for your his poor observation skills (and the tablecloth) as Joel responds, “ah, no worries,” frustratingly non-chalant as ever.

“While you’re here though,” and your heart sinks, identifying your dad’s intention to stay, “Was wondering if we could go over the plans for our new routes. FEDRA assholes blocked off another south-east one today.”

Your blood turns to ice inside your veins as both men pull out their chairs, settling into a purely-business conversation. Joel barely hesitates, cool as ice.

Not fair that he gets to be so calm while you’re so… not.

Not fair.

If only there was a way to even out the playing field.

Crunched into yourself, you scoot closer to Joel’s calves, clinging onto his denim and doing your best to make as little noise as possible. When it’s clear, however, that your father’s far too invested in the practicalities of the conversation to suspect or inquire into or even notice anything else, your eyes wander towards the slowly softening bulge, still visible underneath Joel’s belt.

And you get an idea.

The man always tortured you, and you were well aware that what made your arrangement especially enticing — for the both of you — was the taboo-ness, the wrongness of it all.

So your pussy drips just thinking about it.

Slowly, delicately, you slide your hands up Joel’s thighs, feeling his every muscle respond, tensing, turning to stone, or jolting with electricity beneath your playful touches.

It’s hard, quietly pulling down his fly. Still, metal tooth by metal tooth, you eventually succeed, unable to hold back a smile of vindication when his cock springs up, swelling and hardening between your fingertips. Joel covers his choke with a cough.

Just as you duck down to lick a fat stripe up his cock’s dark underside, noticing how the lungs above you constrict — freezing — the conversation changes.

“You been seeing a lot of my daughter?”

Joel takes an uncharacteristically long time to grunt out a “here n’ there.”

You hold in a laugh, both at your dad’s timely question and the reaction it causes. Placing a hand at the base of him, you consider this the perfect moment to start teasing his tip with patient, innocent little kitten-licks.

“Been acting weird,” your old man continues, unphased and unassuming, “Worried she’s been gettin’ herself into trouble.”

Trouble? You’re looking at him.

Your dad’s whole “fatherly concern” (not like he’d ever shown any before) angle makes you bold. You want to make it harder for Joel to deny your father’s suspicion.

You want to make him lie through his teeth.

You part your lips, wrapping them adoringly around the entire head of his cock before gliding down, using your hand to assist you as you please every inch of him.

While he mostly manages to keep it together, his legs don’t, gently parting with desire to allow you better access.

“She-she’s a good girl, man,” Joel manages, and while his delivery borders a groan, he stays surprisingly level (your body doesn’t forget to note his praise, either, aching cunt growing wetter and wetter at his every word). “‘Bit juvenile sometimes, and reckless—” he pauses, and it’s very clear he’s not speaking to your father, “—but good—” you work every inch of him with your hands, throat, and mouth, savouring the feel of his ridges and veins, the taste of his salt on your tastebuds, “—so good.”

You freeze, scanning the room for tension as both you and Joel try to figure out if his desire-stricken tone’s given you away.

It hasn’t.

Of course it hasn’t.

Your dad continues on as if everything were normal, as if Joel’s tip wasn’t kissing the back of your throat. “Just not sure if I’m raising her right—or… or if I was much of a father at all.”

Yeah, probably not. You know, given that I’m under the table sucking your best friend’s dick.

You watch, head still slowly bobbing up and down his length, a hand carving a careful path down his leg. Joel’s fingertips breach your shoulder, his palm slowly graduates to cupping the back of your head.

And he shoves you forward, forcing every punishing inch of himself down your little, gasping throat.

“Just needs a little discipline,” your torturer responds, raising his gravelly voice to mask the definite sound of choking.

“A heavy hand.”

You huff against his abdomen. Just like that, Joel’s taken the reins of your little operation.

Like he always did. Like he always does.

“You’re probably right,” your father responds, sighing with concession. Tears begin to well in the corners of your eyes while your lungs burn for oxygen, mouth stuffed and nose pressed into Joel’s skin. He chuckles, slapping the table. “Give ‘em an inch and they take a mile, huh?”

“That’s right,” Joel responds, a soft coo, tightening his grasp in your hair and somehow forcing more of himself between your lips.

Making his point.

You hold back a whimper, nails hopelessly clawing at his jeans.

Your dad raps his knuckles against the wood, pushing his chair back to leave. Unfortunately for you, Joel doesn’t move, holding you there like a prisoner — suffocating you.

He clears his throat. “I’d walk you out, but, you know—” your eyelids grow heavy, little stars beginning to dance in your vision “—been goin’ hard recently. Wearin’ myself out.”

A huff of understanding and concurrence from the other side of the room.

Eventually, after what seems like an eternity, hinges squeak, goodbyes are uttered, and your father’s left you alone with his buddy again.

Joel’s chair scrapes back — he pulls you along with him, attached to him, out from underneath the table.

Finally, finally, he releases his grasp.

You jump off of him, strings of saliva trailing from your lips, gasping for air as if you were seconds from drowning.

You aim to collapse against his knees, but he quickly grabs you by the throat, presses his big thumb under your chin, and forces your wet, tear-lined eyes up to meet his.

They’re filled with a lust so dark, you wonder if just that look might swallow you whole.

“Prouda yourself?” He speaks, voice low.

Dangerous.

And you just smile, dazed, nodding. Nodding because you know where it’ll get you. Nodding because you just know how much it’ll entice him.

“‘Course you are,” he continues, softer, “Shoulda been honest — shoulda told your old man he raised a fuckin’ slut.”

Joel lifts you up, indelicately shoving you down on the table, right back in the position you’d originally started the visit in.

His eyes darken to black when he sees how wet you are, how fucked-out, needy, and unapologetic you are.

“And you know what, baby?” A deceiving coo as he lines himself up at your entrance, using his other hand to squeeze your jaw — tight.

You look at him with big, begging doe eyes, eyebrows already knitting together from the tantalizing contact.

“I’m really fuckin’ glad he did.”

And as Joel Miller roughly sheathes his cock inside your young, tight cunt, you find yourself agreeing with him.

—

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST

AO3

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x y/n #Joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller tlou #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel #Pedro pascal smut #Pedro pascal x reader #the last of us #tlou #request for em’s answering machine: answered<3

[littlejuicebox]

Handmade

Pairing: Spawn Astarion x F!Reader/Tav Summary/Setting: Nine years post BG3 / You and Astarion are married; you now work as a Counsellor, Astarion handles your business investments. After a lot of hard work, the two of you have established quite a wealthy, wholesome life for yourselves. / If you're looking for more backstory and HCs for this version of AstarionxTav, check out my Highharvestide fics. Rating/Warnings: PG-13 / Holiday fluff / Sexual references / Maybe some mild in game spoilers Word Count: Notes: This is 4/5 "Days of Star-mas!"

I'm also entering this into the #BG3HolidayFluffle23 challenge under the prompt "gifts."

Click here to see my master list.

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Gift giving was, without a doubt, Astarion’s love language. He truly adored spoiling you with the most opulent things money could buy. A plethora of rare night blooming plants, ridiculously ornate gowns, a cabinet full of gem-encrusted jewelry, first editions of your favorite books (more than a few signed by the authors)… in truth, you’d been given it all. 

But well before this year’s Midwinter Banquet, just as the summer turned to autumn and the leaves in your back orchard were beginning to drop and kiss the earth, you explicitly told your husband you wanted something handmade this year. Something from the heart.

The vampire groaned at this stipulation. “Darling, I’ve got so many wonderful ideas. I’ve seen some beautiful dresses in the shops that would look wonderful on you. And a pair of earrings that would go beautifully with your eyes; just this morning I was in discussions with a horse breeder about purchasing you your very own riding horse since you seem to abhor the carriage… you just can’t be serious about this, my sweet.” 

“I am.” You’d responded, tone matter-of-fact, arms crossed, brow furrowed as you address your husband, “My love, we have everything. Everything we could possibly want and money to buy anything else we want or need, too. I’ve been given the most luxurious gifts for nine years straight… but I want something from the heart. I want something from my rogue. From the man that used to leave me flowers on my pillow at camp and steal me sweet rolls from the merchants. I know he’s in there, somewhere.” 

You step closer to your husband, peering deeply into his eyes like you’re searching for something lost deep within the pupil. Then you place your ear to Astarion’s chest and bring your hand up to knock on it. “Hellllooo? Rogue Astarion? Can you hear me in there?” 

Your love chuckles at your antics and grabs your hand, squeezing it tightly before planting a kiss on the knuckle. “Very well darling, have it your way. How could I say no?” 

You beam, overjoyed to have won this little debate. Then, for the next few months, the two of you sneak off to prepare your individual gifts for one another whenever you have a spare moment.

More than once in those few months, Astarion had rattled the door to your bedroom, threatening to pick the lock if you didn’t let him in that instant. You’d groan in frustration every time, quickly stow away your gift, and then rip open the door to roll your eyes at the pale elf. 

“It’s only been a few hours, Astarion. You interrupted me right when I was actually getting somewhere, do you know that?” You’d scolded, more than once. 

“Darling, it’s been several hours, not just a few. Why is it not possible for you work on your gift somewhere else? I need use of this room, too, you know. Unless this is somehow your way of telling me you’d like to sleep in separate rooms from now on, my sweet?” He’d challenged more than once, quirking his white eyebrow at you with a rakish smirk. Then he'd sweep into the room with a brief kiss to your temple and ready himself for bed or a bath.

“If I could work on it elsewhere, I would! But I can’t. You’ll see why.” You would always huff in response, wrinkling your nose impatiently at your husband. “And don’t pretend you’d be able to sleep a wink if you were made to lay in the guest chambers, Lord Ancunin. Don’t tempt me with any ideas.”

Astarion would sigh and dramatically roll his eyes at you, but continue to oblige your long stints alone in the bedchamber, nonetheless. He never mentioned that he only ever interrupted you when you exceeded more than six hours holed up in the bedchamber alone; even a vampire had to bathe and sleep at some point, after all. 

As for Astarion? He was regularly in the middle of meetings or reviewing contracts when you were working on your project, so his time had been allocated a bit differently. He would often prepare his gift while you slept… you’d always needed more sleep than he did. The vampire would slip out of bed and down into the parlor, where he would spend a few hours curled up in the sofa at work before cozying back up to you before you woke. 

Soon enough, it was time for the Midwinter Banquet. It was the Ancunin’s turn to host a dinner party; the Ravengards had just done Highharvestide, the Dekarioses had hosted Midwinter the year prior, and Lae’zel and Shadowheart lived a rather nomadic lifestyle that didn’t allow hosting parties. Technically, it should have been Karlach and Dammon’s first year to host, but as they were fresh newlyweds that had barely purchased a property that same month, you’d kindly offered them a pass.

As was typical for an Ancunin dinner party, the dining hall had been completely decked out by the staff. No surface was left untouched from the beautiful combination of candles, pine trimmings, and bunting you’d roped a reluctant Astarion into helping you string. You were quite proud of the bunting, which was handmade with dried oranges, cranberries, and touches of greenery. 

You were, as always, meandering about the dining room, far too fixated on the most minute details of the table settings. Astarion made his way over to you, as he did every time you hosted a party, to force you from your nervous habit of hyperfixation.

This year you were saddened to immediately notice the absence of Scratch as your husband entered the large wooden doors of the dining hall; the dog had passed that summer. Astarion, out of habit, flexed his fingers downward to make contact with the dog’s scruff, only to drag his fingers through the empty air. You’d seen this maneuver from your husband more than once, and as you watched him enter the dining hall, you made a mental note to find another furry companion soon. He’d never admit he was taking the loss quite hard. 

“Darling, it’s time for you to dress. And, it’s time for us to exchange presents before everyone arrives.” The vampire murmurs, taking your hand and pulling you from the dining hall and into the adjacent parlor, where your presents are sat underneath a tree adorned with baubles and more of that fruit-filled bunting you two spent an entire day crafting. 

You grab the small red and gold package sitting under the pine tree and grin, handing it to your husband. “Here, open mine first.” 

Astarion raises his eyebrow as he examines the package, giving it a little shake as he holds it to his ear. The package doesn’t make a sound, and he hums in idle curiosity as he undoes the red ribbon tied around the gift. You’re practically bouncing with excitement and anticipation as you watch him carefully undo the wrapping. 

“Just tear it!” You exclaim impatiently, and the pale elf chuckles at you and rolls his eyes before obeying your command and tearing the paper off the gift. 

Astarion is speechless as he stares down at the labor of your love. It’s a small painting, roughly the length and width of a book. The painting depicts you and… well, it must be him, cuddled in bed together. His arm is wrapped around your shoulder, and your hand is gripping the fingers dangling from that same arm. The two of you are laughing underneath the familiar maroon and gold bedspread always located on your four-poster bed. He’s in awe of the details: the little fangs in his mouth, his scarlet eyes and the glint within them, the pinprick scars on your neck, and the freckles along your arm. 

“Turn it over.” You whisper, watching as the vampire obliges with wet eyes.

On the back you’ve written: “My Favorite Place” in your delicate, flowing script. And as his scarlet eyes read the words, your husband loses his barely held composure, cold lower lip trembling as salty tears fall over his waterline. He tugs you into a crushing hug, placing repeated kisses in your hair, and you’re beaming because for once you’ve rendered the loquacious vampire speechless.

You’re teary eyed as well when you sniffle and pull away from Astarion. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve tried to get it right. It’s taken me years, my love. I even snuck in lessons on my trips further into the city to meet with the other Counsellors or Wyll. But I hope you can see us how I see us, now.” 

Astarion nods slowly before placing the gift down on the end table, still overcome with sentimentality. He gives a soft chuckle as he wipes his own eyes and then yours. “Well, darling… now I’m quite worried my gift will pale in comparison, to be honest.” 

“Nonsense!” You promise, as you sit down on the sofa and hold your hands out expectantly. You’re bearing a child-like grin as you wiggle your fingers, bidding the vampire to continue on.

Astarion is nervous. You can see it in his crimson eyes and the twitching of his hands as he grabs the silvery package and gives it to you. His ears are flushed in that subtle way that only appears when he’s extremely embarrassed or aroused… though in this case, you’re quite sure it’s embarrassed. 

As you’re unwrapping the gift with much less care than your husband had unwrapped his, the elf in the midst of explaining himself away, “Darling if you end up not liking it, I’m more than happy to—“ 

But he’s interrupted by a thrilled gasp and ecstatic squeals as you lift a heavily embroidered blanket out of the plain wrapping box. 

“Astarion, how could I not love this? This is beautiful!” You exclaim, quickly opening the blanket and draping it over the couch to admire your husband’s stitch work, “I knew you were talented, my love… but I am blown away.” 

Astarion is beaming now, his ears completely red with some combination of embarrassment and excitement at your praise. He comes to your side and places a hand on your waist as the other one points to the bottom corner of the blanket before tracing up the width and then down the length in a repeated clockwise motion. 

“It’s… it’s symbolism, my darling. Of our love story.” He explains in a still-nervous whisper. 

You move closer to examine the piece and your eyes pick out bits of embroidered details between the floral filigree; you notice you recognize many of the plants from your own night blooming garden. As you move in the direction Astarion pointed, you note several obvious points of symbolism: a dagger, stars and a campfire, glasses of wine, that familiar forest clearing lit up by the moon, his old hand mirror, Lathander’s Mace (he’d conveniently left out the fallen crèche he’d saved you from), Moonrise Towers, the Warding Bond rings you two now kept in a jewelry box upstairs… on and on and on.

You follow the story all the way to the center, where there is a beautiful design of the sun, moon, and stars. At first, you think this is in reference to his proposal, but then you realize it would be in the wrong order. You can't quite figure out the meaning.

Your fingers stroke those center celestial stitches, the only pieces done in shimmering gold and silver thread. “And what does this symbolize, my love?” 

Astarion shifts slightly on his feet, fingers still flexing with anxiety. Your brows furrow as you look from the piece to your husband, wondering why he’s still so nervous when you clearly love the gift. He inhales sharply and bends down, putting his hand in the forgotten gift box that you’d all but tossed aside in your excitement. He pulls out a smaller piece of fabric. It's an infant’s blanket. 

You feel your heart stop in your chest as the vampire slowly unfolds the tiny blanket to reveal a beautiful scene of the sun, moon, and stars all done in that same gorgeous, shimmery thread. 

“My love, I… well, I think it might be time that we consider expanding the family. And Gale seems to be making great strides with the Wish Spell preparations and it seems that might be a real possibility soon and—“

You interrupt your husband’s explanation, crashing your warm lips into his cold ones, and he’s knocked off balance, forced to collapse into the sofa by the weight of your body careening into his. When you pull away from him, both of you are grinning like idiots and slightly flushed at the mere thought of such an impossible possibility. You simply give the vampire a little nod, and then break into delighted laughter, soon joined by him. 

Your husband kisses you softly, and then leans towards your ear, voice dropping into that devilish murmur. “How much time do we have before the party, darling? Perhaps we’ll do a test round before we dress. I would like the two of us to be well practiced when the time comes.” 

You smirk at the vampire when he pulls away from you, his face wearing that irresistible cocked eyebrow and a glimmer of playfulness in his scarlet eyes. You press a finger to your lips and feign humming as if in thought. “I think we might have time for one practice round… if you can catch me, that is.” 

“Why you little—” 

You don’t hear the rest of Astarion’s scolding, but you feel his fingers narrowly miss the curve of your hip as he tries and fails to grasp you. You’re off like a bow shot from an arrow, speeding out of the parlor and down the hall toward your bedchamber, swerving around the poor maid with a shouted apology. You’re grinning as you run down the hallway, thinking that for once you won this little game you liked to play with your love. But then Astarion is snapping his arms around your waist just as your hand reaches for the bedroom doorknob, and you’re laughing boisterously as the two of you crash into the bedroom and onto the bed. 

It isn’t until the maid is knocking on the door roughly thirty minutes later, announcing the arrival of the ever-timely Duke Ravengard, that the two of you hurriedly dress and rush out to greet your guests. Your friends would have been none the wiser, too, if it hadn’t been for the little love bites slowly blooming across your chest throughout dinner. Astarion brimmed with hedonistic delight, and perhaps a bit of subtle pride, as everyone slowly realized what you two had been doing moments before the party and tried with all their might to politely avert their eyes.

Sure, you two had been a bit naughty just before everyone arrived… but hells, if it hadn’t been exceptionally nice.  

#astarion fanfic #astarion fic #astarion x tav #baulders gate 3 #baulders gate astarion #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic idea #bg3holidayfluffle23 #5daysofstarmas #astarion x f!reader #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x female reader #astarion x female tav #astarion x f!tav

[genderlessdude92]

PRECIOUS

SMALL LIL’ ANGST—>FLUFF FIC

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PAIRINGS: Alastor x Reader

SUMMARY: You and Alastor get into a fight because you’re just worried he got hurt after a fight with Vox. He snaps at you and…well, you isolate yourself. whoopsies!

WARNINGS: Emotional abuse, Toxic relationship dynamics (but they both love each other dw), Intense emotional distress, Language, Potential Triggers, Donestic conflict. (MAJOR FLUFF AT THE END THOUGH!!! ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP!!!) They were a couple alive too if you don’t mind idk i suck at writing- USAGE OF Y/N I ALMOST FORGOT AHHH- Lmk if i missed anything :3

NOTICE: please don't steal/copy/translate my work. But thanks for liking it, though!! ^^

WORDS: 1.7k

Enjoy!!~

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“Alastor, are you serious?!” You yelled as Alastor started to walk away from you, mid conversation.

Alastor had just gotten into a big fight with Vox, luckily survived, though. The frustrating part is, he won’t even let you heal him. Or know what the battle was even about?!

Which made you really, really paranoid.

“Alastor, don’t walk away from me, that’s rude.” You caught up with him and began to match his pace and he walked to the halls of the hotel to lucifer knows where. “We need to talk about this.” You say firmly. “I’m going to find out one way or another.” You add, raising your voice slightly.

Alastor stopped walking and turned around to face you. He was looking down at you, which always made you feel so small. Even if he wasn’t actually looking at you, you could still feel it.

“Well, then.” His voice was calm, but a hint of annoyance was there. “Aren’t you just invested in my little public hiccup.”He crossed his arms, waiting for your response.

“Yes I am. And I think we should talk about it, instead of you getting defensive.” You looked him dead in the eye and kept talking. “And why you didn’t tell me.” Your voice went quieter again.

Alastor hid a chuckle, “I thought you would care more about me surviving, than knowing how many lives I took today.” He raised his eyebrow, mocking you. “Or maybe, I don’t want to share this kind of information with someone who will judge me for it.” He was now fully annoyed by you.

You stepped closer to him, trying to keep him from leaving again. “Alastor, please stop. I’m just trying to help. I don’t…” You trailed off nervously. “I don’t want us fighting.”

Alastor smirked at you, “Oh, don’t worry love. We aren’t fighting. Yet.” His tone was harsh and he leaned down to look you in the eyes. “But I will if you continue to harass me about this.”

You felt yourself start to panic, but tried your best to hide it. “I’m sorry Alastor, I just…” You couldn’t finish your sentence, as he interrupted you.

“No. Don’t ‘just’ anything. You know I hate that word.” He said with a cold smile. “Now leave me alone before I get upset with you.”

“…You know,” You began, standing in your place as Alastor walked away, “You should at least act like you care about my opinion, maybe act like a husband, as well.” You snapped back, but in a more calm, collected tone. (minus the shakiness in your voice.)

“That’s rich coming from you.” Alastor snapped back, turning around to face you again. “What did I ever do to deserve such a self-righteous wife?” He raised his voice a bit, but not enough for others to hear. “How dare you assume things about me without even asking. How dare you come here and make demands of me. How dare you try to control me.” He continued yelling, walking towards you. “You have no right to tell me what to do! I don’t have to explain myself to you!”

“I’m not trying to control you. I’m just saying, maybe you could at least consider what I have to say sometimes…” You tried to say bravely, but failed at the end. You felt so small. So insignificant.

You felt like nothing.

Alastor was now right in front of you, towering above you. His height and stature were intimidating, but his voice was worse. It was rough and demanding, making you feel like you weren’t worth anything. “You are nothing, nothing compared to me.” He sneered. “I don’t give a damn about what you think. What you say. What you do. You’re just a pathetic little sinner who has no idea what real power feels like. You’re not worthy of my time. You’re not worthy of my attention. You’re not worthy of my love.” He spat out the last word like it tasted sour in his mouth.

His words were cutting through your heart, and you couldn’t take it anymore.

You dashed away to the nearest staircase, needing to get to your office. Your only safe space.

***

It has been about a week now since the fight you and Alastor had.

It had also been a week since you came out of your office.

You didn’t really leave your office because, one, it had a fridge of food and other things. Two, you had a makeshift bed with the couch. And three, why would you even go out there?

Only problem is, you’ve cried everyday, and that made you feel like complete imp-shit.

You really wanted to see Alastor, but you knew it wouldn’t end well.

You also didn’t want to be around anyone else, either.

***

Alastor was a gentleman to all women who deserved so.

An example he would give you is Rosie. He’s a gentleman to her because she’s nice to him and has manners. She deserves it.

But, if he was near Velvette, he would call her cruel names and shred all her ‘designer masterpieces’.

But, now he was confused.

What happened with Y/N?

He had never fought like that with her before no, usually she would be next to him in bed right now.

He was starting to miss her.

…he needed to give her an apology.

But he knew he wasn’t good with words.

So, he brainstormed.

“I could probably give her a heart…” He thought, stepping out of bed and pondering for a moment, “…no, no….maybe…some flowers?…” he looked over to his bayou. “…Allergies.”

He slumped onto his armchair and looked around his room for any ideas at all.

“…maybe some candy? No.” He thought, “She doesn’t eat much sweets.”

He sat there for a while longer, thinking.

Then it hit him.

***

You heard footsteps outside your door, and immediately froze. You looked around your room for any escape route, and found none. You decided to sit back down on your couch, and began to wait for whoever was there to leave.

The footsteps stopped outside your door, and a knock sounded out. “Y/N, open the door.” Alastor’s voice was stern and commanding. “I know you’re in there.” He added.

You opened the door slowly, and peeked out to see who it was.

“Hello, darling.” Alastor said with a warm smile. “Can I come in?”

You just stared at him, saying nothing

‘fuck’, he thought, ‘i caused this.”

“Y/N, I just want to apologize.” He finally said, breaking the silence. “I shouldn’t have said those things to you. I was wrong.”

“…you don’t mean that.” You replied, still not moving.

“I do mean it, darling. Please jsut…let me in.” Alastor said sincerely, taking a step forward.

You hesitated for a moment, then moved aside to let him in. He closed the door behind him and stood there awkwardly for a few seconds, unsure of what to do or say next.

Then, your eyes wandered to the large picture album he was holding to his side.

“Alastor…what’s that?” You asked, taking a step back cautiously.

“…it’s our picture album.” He looked at you, remaining calm. “…from…when we were alive. You know, with all those crappy photos.” He smiled softly.

You looked up at him, “…I’m scared.”

Alastor knew exactly why, as well.

He sighed, “I promise…I will keep myself contained if i ever, ever lash out like that… ever again.” He claimed, tears building up in his eyes.

“What i said back there was not true at all. You are everything to me, you are worth so much, and most of all, I love you.” He dropped the book to the floor and held out his arms to hug you.

You didn’t move, “…I don’t want to be here…” You said, letting a tear fall.

He nodded, “That’s okay, dear, let’s go to our room, okay?” He reassured, picking the book back up and holding you tight to his waist as the shadows consumed you both, talking you to his room.

***

You and Alastor missed this.

Limbs tangled together in bed, holding each other close, breathing in each other’s scents, you wish you had this sooner.

Alastor flipped a page of the album, “Oh look,” He noticed, pointing his claws to the first picture in the album, “It’s our cat, oh, what was his name again?” He asked, looking at you.

You were still crying.

He took a deep breath, “Y/n,” he exhaled, “It’s okay, dear…please don’t think about it.”

You looked at him, “w-what?” you said, wiping your cheek.

He ran a claw through your hair, “Nothing.” He said, smiling softly.

You put your head on his shoulder, “Okay,” you mumbled into his chest, closing your eyes and enjoying his scent.

He stroked your hair, “Do you remember our wedding day?” He asked.

You shook your head, “…no, I don’t…it was too long ago…” you said, sniffling.

He kissed the top of your head, “That’s alright, sweetheart, we have plenty of time to talk about it.” He assured you, pulling you closer to him.

You closed your eyes, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. You felt safe in his arms. Safe and loved.

Alastor flipped the pages until he found the wedding pictures, “Oh, here we are. Look, see how my mother walked you through the aisle?” He rubbed the picture with his thumb, rethinking back the memory.

“…yeah…I remember now…” You snuggled closer into him, trying to control your ragged breathing.

“…just breathe daring.” He reminded you, “Look here, you see how much you’ve changed?” He laughed softly, flipping another page, “See here? Here you are at our anniversary dinner, you wore that beautiful dress that made your legs look amazing.” He blushed lightly, “I remember you told me I was the only one allowed to see it.”

You giggled, “…that was a joke, silly.” You said, opening your eyes and smiling up at him.

“Ah, yes, I know.” He smiled back,

“…You’re so precious to me, y’know that?” He said, leaning down and kissing your forehead.

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NOTES: Idk what i was thinking when i made this fic erm…! Idk I’ve been going thru some shit rn but I’ve gotta impress the community because the notes/likes/comments/reblogs on my posts aren’t doing to good rn!! Oh no!!! (that is a sign from my greedy ass) And i just started a multi-chapter fic so like idk why i’m typing this- support is appreciated. BAI!!![![![11!

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MASTERLIST LINK

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#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x wife reader #alastor #hazbin alastor x reader #alastor x you

[enhafilthandfiction]

Enhypen Hyungline when you cockblock them :(

Jake panicking in photo (>_<) ------⤴

A/N : Hellooo I am writing this after most of you picked it from the poll :) Hope you enjoy! I'm accepting emoji Anons! (I'm making a list!)

Pairing : Bf!Hyungline X Fem!Reader

Warnings : Suggestive, boners, just hyungline tryna get their dick wet.

Word Count : 1,026 Words (about 250 words each)

Masterlist

» Lee Heeseung «

His eyes shot open, his breathing ragged as sweat beaded his forehead. Fuck. He just had a wet dream. A dream a little to realistic. "Heeseung! Ahh" he could still hear your sweet moans ringing in his ears as you fucked yourself on his cock in his dream.

He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, trying too ignore the aching between his legs. He already knew it; He was hard. He tried to ignore his erection, but the more he tried the more painful it felt.

He couldn't get off without you, even if he tried. He rolled around, gratefully finding you next to him, rolled on your side. His hands found your waist almost out of instinct, pushing you closer to his crotch.

The second your ass made contact with his clothed cock, he shamelessly started rocking his hips against you desperately for relief. "Y-Y/n" he whimpered out, hesitant but also wishing you just woke up and took care of him. "Y/n" he called out again, a little guilty for waking you up this late.

"Hee?" you asked softly, trying to turn around and face him.

"Yeah, baby it's me" he replies, biting his lips at your innocence.

"Everything oka-" you felt it.

"Y-yeah, I just need you" he admits, voice raspy with sleep.

"At 2:46 Am in the morning?" you asked, rubbing your eyes "No" you firmly added, unwrapping his hands from your hips and shutting down your eyes again.

He physically whines out and pouts "P-please baby, it hurts" he begs, though keeping his hands to himself.

"Nope, I don't feel like it tonight" you explain "stop being a horn dog and control your erections" you said, smiling to yourself and going back to sleep.

"You're so mean" he sighs to himself, accepting the fact that he got blue balled. :(

» Park Jay «

Jay knew he had a busy schedule. Lately he's been coming home late and very horny. But, being the thoughtful person he was, even if he had a raging boner, he wouldn't want to wake you up very late at night just to relieve himself.

But today, he came home fairly early. Well, even if it was half past ten at night, he found you in the kitchen, still washing the plates from dinner. This was his chance.

He makes his way over to the counter, wrapping his hands around your waist - just to back-hug you.

"Hi baby~" he greets happy to be with you after a long day of work. You greet him back, turning your head around to give him a short kiss.

"How was work?" you ask him, your hands still busy with the dishes.

"It was okay" he starts off sighing "I was thinking about you most of the time" he admitted.

"Is that why you're trying to get your dick wet?" you ask bluntly, referring to the not-so-subtle movements of his hips against you.

"I- uhh, maybe?" he feels his cheeks heat up.

"Too bad, I'm on my period" and with that you dry up your hands, lay a kiss on his flushed cheeks and go get ready for bed, leaving him staring blankly in disbelief.

Sigh, guess he's gonna have to rub one out in the shower.

» Sim Jake «

It was a lazy Friday and you and your sweet boyfriend Jake were one the couch, binge watching a random Netflix show. He was on one end of the couch, you were on another.

As the show went on, he felt himself getting more and more bored when he could be fucking you right then and there. You however, were very invested in the show, laughing at every little joke that Jake missed or paying close attention when he was just yawning and rubbing his eyes.

"Y/n, don't you think this is a little boring?" he asks all of a sudden, making you pout.

"You could've told me you weren't enjoying the show" you pouted.

"Yeah, I'd enjoy you much more" he smirked, flicking his eyebrows up and down.

"Oh" you simply say, shrugging your shoulders and resuming your show.

He stares at you in shock, expecting you to at least do something, but when you don't he makes his way to your end of the couch, burying his face in your tummy and holding your waist.

"Y/nnnn pleaseee" he begged, squeezing you harder, making you giggle "Need you"

"Nah uh, I'm not in the mood Jakey, sorry" you confirm, nevertheless stroking his hair.

He puffed out, getting up "I have to go to the bathroom" He announced, kissing your forehead and making his way to the bathroom.

At one point you turned off the television and decided to listen to his exaggerated moans as he jerked himself off, secretly laughing to yourself.

» Park Sunghoon «

You jumped in shock when Sunghoon slid the shower curtain open, sliding in behind you.

"Hoon! Jesus you scared me" you sigh, sucking a breath in.

"Jesus, am I that scary" He jokes, tickling your sides, "Booooo!"

"Shut up dummy" you laugh, turning around to face him, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. His hands rubbed all over your back, before landing on your ass, giving it a squeeze. "Perv" you roll your eyes playfully.

"You have a nice ass babe" he admits, giving it another squeeze to emphasize his point.

"So do you" you say, reaching for his ass and giving it a light slap.

"Heyyyy" he whines, swatting your hands away. You giggle at his blushing cheeks, pinching them. It's only when you realise why he's blushing after feeling his tip nudge your belly.

"Extra perv" you giggle, watching as he tries to defend himself.

"It's not my fault your ass is so soft" he blames you ass of growing him an erection, making you shrug your shoulders.

"Unlucky for you, I'm not a fan of shower sex" you say, sliding the curtain open and getting out, leaving him hanging with a raging boner. "B-but" he sighed when you he realised you were already out of the room.

He better have a good mental image of your nice ass cause he's gonna need it to get himself off.

Hi, thanks for reading till the end! I hope you enjoyed this post! Have a good day/night and remember that ily <333

If you enjoyed this post, you could support this blog by tipping me here! Anything it greatly appreciated.

#enhypen #enha #enhypen masterlist #enhypen smut #jake enhypen #jay enhypen #enhypen jake #lee heeseung #jungwon #yang jungwon #sunghoon #park sunghoon #sunghoon smut #jay park #jay smut #sim jake smut #jake smut #enha smut #jungwon smut #enhypen ff #enhypen hyung line #enha hyungline #heeseung smut #heeseung hard hours #enhypen hard hours #enha heeseung #heeseung fanfic #enha hard hours #enha hard thoughts #nat writes : enha

[wheeboo]

lucky | lee jihoon

SYNOPSIS. in which jihoon realises just how lucky he is to have you. PAIRING. lee jihoon x gn!reader GENRE. fluff, established relationship WARNINGS. none, jihoon is just deeply whipped and falling hard for reader (🫵) WORD COUNT. 1.3k

notes: ive been addicted to a new song recently called lucky by crying city n wanted to write it abt w someone. i havent written for jihoon in a while so enjoy some domestic jihoon brainrot :')

Jihoon had always told himself to be patient when it comes to being with you. He likes it this way𑁋the steady and slow incline of his feelings towards you. It's like a delicate flower in bloom, or watching a sunrise over the horizon, each day bringing a bit more light and warmth to his heart.

You like it this way too. Because when time seems to be going by fast around you, it only seems to slow down when you're with him.

He likes the way he seems to discover something new about you every time you went out on a date. It can be a distant memory from the past that you remember that reminds you of him, or something miniscule like a quirk when your eyes grow big when you're amused or when you reach for the nearest object to grab when you're excited. In most of these cases these days, it's the sleeve of his shirt or his wrist. Jihoon really likes it when you do that.

And amidst the things he notices about you, he doesn't dare to realise the subtle shifts of himself. Like the way he now anticipates your laughter before it even escapes your lips, or the way his smile grows just a little bigger each time he gets to walk you home with your arm comfortably wrapped around his. Or maybe when his gaze seems to linger a little longer when looking at you as if trying to imprint every detail of your face into his mind, or when the thought of your absence becomes an ache in his heart that he can't ignore.

Just like right now.

Jihoon recognises that he's no longer just patient; he's become truly invested in your life, your happiness, just you. You're the first person he's ever truly liked, and he ponders whether this feels right or not𑁋to miss you this much it feels merely incomplete to be home alone right now, because he'd much rather be with you. The thought scares him a little. He's never imagined himself to feel this way.

It isn't due to uncertainty about his feelings; it's more about the vulnerability that comes with caring so deeply for someone. The idea that his happiness has become so entwined with yours is both thrilling and overwhelming that even his members seem to notice a particular glow to him lately. But then he remembers just how easy it is to be Lee Jihoon around you. Not just Jihoon. Lee Jihoon. Himself, and nothing more.

What he feels isn't just fleeting𑁋it's real, it's profound, and it's worth embracing.

Jihoon trudges to his bedroom, placing himself down at the edge of his bed with his thumb hovering over your contact. He contemplates sending you a goodnight text, but it feels lackluster to send such a simple message when there's so much more to be told. He could also send you a paragraph for you to read, but that also doesn't feel enough.

He wants to see you instead.

With a determined yet slightly nervous exhale, Jihoon taps on your contact and selects the video call option. His heart quickens in an instant as the call connects after a few rings, and he's quickly greeted by your surprised face.

"Hoonie?" You call to him, and Jihoon swears his heart melts into goo each time you call him that.

"Hey," he greets you warmly, noticing how you were scrambling to prop up your phone properly. "I'm... not interrupting anything, am I?"

You shake your head, offering a soft smile. "No, not at all. Are you okay? You usually don't call."

Jihoon bites his bottom lip nervously because you're right. He's always been more comfortable texting than calling, but there's just something about this moment right now that makes him want to change that fact, especially if he gets to see a glimpse of your face for one second.

"Yeah, I'm okay. I just... wanted to see you," he admits, a shy smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You lift an amused brow, finding the smile to your lips hard to resist. "Shouldn't you be asleep by now? You have work in the morning with the guys."

Jihoon runs a hand through his hair sheepishly. "I know, I know. But I... I wanted to see your face."

Your face softens. "Well, I'm glad that you're here. You can get ready for bed with me."

Jihoon's smile grows, and he shifts slightly on his bed, propping himself up against the pillows. The warmth in your voice is enough to make his heart flutter, and the idea of sharing this domestic moment with you, even through a screen, feels comforting. It makes him imagine himself unwinding for bed with you without a phone call separating the two of you.

"I'd like that," he replies, gaze fixed on you bringing your phone into the bathroom. "It's been a long day."

He listens to the sounds of running water as you wash your face, and seeing your pretty bare face gives him all the more reason to hope that one day, he'll be able to cherish it in person. It's as if he's there with you, a silent presence in your room, a part of your everyday life.

He stands up as well, bringing you along into his own bathroom. Jihoon sets his phone on the counter, giving you a view of his bathroom as he goes about washing his face as well. You shake your head with a smile as you watch him dry his face, already standing with your toothbrush and toothpaste in hand, silently gesturing to him once he catches sight of you.

Jihoon chuckles softly and he picks up on your unspoken cue. He reaches for his own toothbrush and toothpaste, mirroring your actions as you both start brushing your teeth together, occasionally exchanging shy glances here and there and letting the domesticity of the moment take over.

Once you're both done, you watch as Jihoon rinses his toothbrush and puts it back in its place. He dries his hands and faces the phone's camera with a soft smile, seeing that you were already walking back to presumably your bedroom. He does the same as well, collapsing onto his bed and settling under his duvet, the soft glow of his bedside lamp casting a warm light on his face. You've also settled back into bed on your end, the dim lighting in your room making you appear extra cozy under the covers.

As you both settle into bed, he can't help but imagine a world where he's right there with you. It's a thought he often entertains: a dream of being able to hold you close, to feel your warmth against his for the first time. He imagines being able to live that quiet life with you.

One day, I'll hold you like this for real, he thinks.

There's a yawn that leaves your lips that Jihoon overhears through the phone, and it tugs at his heartstrings in the sweetest way. It's a small, ordinary sound, but to him, it's a reminder of the most mundane and heartfelt moments you've shared. As he continues to watch you, he notices the telltale signs of weariness in your eyes, and he can't help but feel a twinge of protectiveness.

"You should rest," Jihoon suggests, voice carrying the same warmth he feels.

You give a small pout. "I don't really want to sleep just yet."

"I'll fall asleep better knowing you're getting rest too," Jihoon insists gently.

Your pout turns into a contemplative look at his words. "You've... got a point."

There's a few moments of silence that passes, and Jihoon takes it as an opportunity to watch the way your features gradually soften before finally relaxing.

"Okay." You let out a sigh, reaching out to readjust your covers before giving Jihoon one final look through the phone. "Promise me you'll get some rest too?"

Jihoon only nods. "I promise."

You grin sleepily. "Sweet dreams, Hoonie."

"Sweet dreams, Y/N." I hope you dream of something beautiful tonight.

The call stays connected for a few moments before Jihoon finally gives in and ends the call. He lets out a breath he feels he's been holding in for a while as he lays there. The glow of his phone's screen slowly fades away, leaving his room in peaceful darkness. He shifts under the covers, getting comfortable and closing his eyes.

And in that moment, it hits him just how lucky he is have you.

taglist (open) ʚɞ @enhazen @haowrld @ylliris-hanniehae @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @lockburn-castle @vrnism @weird-bookworm @mhlsymlysn @ryuwonieebae

#kflixnet #k-labels #seventeen imagines #seventeen fluff #seventeen x reader #woozi imagines #woozi fluff #woozi x reader #lee jihoon imagines #lee jihoon fluff #lee jihoon x reader #svt imagines #svt fluff #svt x reader #svt

[thatfanficstuff]

For the writing ask _

😀😝 xo

Oh, I love this gif. Thanks for sending it!

***

Angry

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x Reader

When you broke up with Elijah Mikaelson you'd expected many things from him. Disappointment, irritation or maybe even indifference. What you hadn't expected was his anger.

He didn't yell or argue, he simply narrowed his eyes and walked away. Every time he saw you after that he stared with a clenched jaw and sharp gaze. No words had been spoken between you since that night three weeks ago.

Now you were spending the evening with his siblings at Nik's request. After an hour or two, Elijah disappeared. Once you noticed, you rolled your eyes. Really. The man was a thousand years old and was acting like a toddler. Frankly you were tired of it.

"I'll be back," you told the hybrid.

He smirked and took a sip of his drink. "Take all the time in the world, love. None of us are going anywhere anytime soon."

You shook your head and left the room to head to Elijah's personal library. It was technically his study but there were far too many books for it to be anything other than a library.

You stepped into the room without knocking and shut the door behind you.

Elijah stood at one of the windows with a drink in his hand and his back turned toward you. "Why are you here?" he asked after a long beat of silence.

"Why are you so angry?"

His head snapped in your direction with a look of confusion on his face. "You can't be serious."

You arched a brow and shrugged.

His long strides ate up the space between you until he was standing right in front of you. "Perhaps you recall the ending of our relationship."

"Of course, but I don't see why you are upset about it. It's not as if you were invested in the relationship. I needed more. I told you that." What you didn't say is that you were head over heels in love with the man in front of you. That you had cried for weeks before finally ending the relationship.

Sure, he called you his girlfriend. He bought you trinkets and spent time with you when he could be bothered. And that was the problem. You were an afterthought. A woman that filled a role and the space by his side when he needed to keep up appearances. And it wasn't enough for you. Not anymore.

He pointed at you with the hand holding his glass. "Not invested? You think I wasn't invested?"

You just looked at him, uncertain what answer he was looking for.

He sighed and set his glass down on the table beside him. "This. This is why I am angry." He studied the floor for a moment before looking back up at you. "I am angry with myself for ever making you feel that way."

You sucked in a little breath, surprised at his words. He gave a sad smile and stepped forward, closing the distance between you. His hands cupped your face as he looked you over.

"You are the center of my universe. My entire being revolves around you and I am devastated for ever letting you believe that it doesn't." He licked his lips as his eyes darted down to yours before looking back up. "Please, please, come back to me and let me love you the way you deserve."

You saw nothing but sincerity in his eyes. "I love you so much, Elijah. But I can't do this if you don't love me the same. No more pushing me away. I won't survive the heartbreak a second time."

His lips pressed against yours in a hungry, desperate kiss. After a long moment, he pulled back only to lay his forehead against yours. "I swear to you, I will never give you reason to doubt me again."

A/N: so this turned out way longer than expected.

#kat answers stuff #elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikaelson fanfiction #the originals fanfiction #vampire diaries fanfiction #gif drabble

[oconswrld]

! Merry (late) Christmas !

Your secret santa XoXo - Kimi Raikonnen x Reader

summary: Y/n is Kimi's favorite santa.

warnings: age gap, romance, too cute🫶, Not retired Kimi!! rawdogging(not proofread)

author's 🗒️'s: i haven't had much time for writing so i did a bit of a cutesy christmas fic for the part 2 hope its good w u guyss <33 enjoy loves!!

( Seb nd Kimi arent retired, reader is at AM with Lance!!)

part 1, part 2, ...

______

It's Christmas. Secret santa with the grid and snow. Well not snow because all of us are still in Abu Dhabi. Knowing glances exchanged after the secret santa pulling. If i remember correctly i was pulled by i think Lance. Im not sure if it really was Lance, but the canadian is a pleasure to know and is just perfect at gifts.

I pulled Kimi, the legend, and my best friend. Maybe my best friend. Knowing how he and Seb are. Obviously it's not only platonic feelings with the way he acts around me.

Thinking about presents for Kimi is rather hard, seeing he doesn't really have a thing he likes but doesn't have. I'd say alcohol but do i wanna heed into his alcoholism? A bit, but only if it means i get a gift for him.

-

The tea in front of me was cold, but the weather kept me warm. Sebastian sat opposite of me, asking for advice on what he should get for Oscar.

"What about i buy him, his gift and you buy Kimi's for me." I suggest a deal thinking of all the things i could give Oscar.

"Don't know what to buy your little boyfriend, eh Y/n?" Teasing smirk pulling on his mouth, the german dared me for an answer.

Eyes rolling into the depths of the back of my head, showing clear annoyance yet he still kept talking.

"Maybe you could finally confess to him, he's all over you whenever you're near him anyway" Sassy tone pulling out his german accent, the sentence making my jaw drop lower with every word. Catching my jaw, i shook my head. Trying to act unbothered, sipping from the lemon tea in my hand.

"Are you really this bored, that you're invested in your two best friend's love life ? Old man." I look away as i hear Kimi's voice in the distance. My head turned to see him talking to Mark Webber, possibly an interview with all those cameras around. The signature straight smile from Kimi appeared. Uncomfortable aura around him.

I nodded back to Seb only to see him already looking at me. 'What?' I silently asked him, only getting a knowing look back.

"Let's just buy those gifts before i regret even sitting here."

-

Giddy feeling in my stomach affecting my hold on the wrapped object. Looking at the usual secret santa interviewer making small talk, handing over the gift.

The wrapping contained a letter and an object Seb helped me pick. I feel kind of weird, specifically the fact that i don't know if he will like it is weird.

After half an hour, the interviewer approached me again, cameramen following close by. Small talk exchanged as she got ready for the video.

"Okay! One, two, and three, it's on!" A smiley voice came from her notifying me.

I was handed a gift box and the santa hat. Placing the hat on my head i examined the box, wrapped in pink wrapping paper which had hearts written all over it. All i gathered is that it must be one of my friends. I brought it up to my ears to shake and maybe smell.

The shaking part was unsuccessful since the box made nearly no noise, however the smell was gentle yet slightly familiar. Kimi's cologne. Versace eros eau de toilette. The one you recommended to him, because you liked it. Mint and lemon are dominant over the smell of paper.

"That's Kimi." I looked up knowingly, smiling a bit.

"Smells like him. Unless it's Seb and he's again interested in my business." Rolling my eyes, earning a snicker from the woman handling the microphone.

I start opening the paper gently, since i wanna save the heart on it. As soon as i take the top off, i see what i got. Caramel chocolate and snacks from my home country, paired with a bottle of jägermeister. Underneath these items there's a hoodie, unfolding it i see the embroidery on it.

'No. 7'

Holding it close to my nose, i smell it. Versace.

___

author's 🗒️'s: I kind of left it on a cliffhanger but im traveling 4 hours tomorrow im gonna do the end tomorrowww :PPPPP anyways cuties i hope my writing isnt a disaster im so sleepy rn its an actual nightmare...

taglist: @i-wish-this-was-me , @keii134 , @littlesatanicassholebitch <3

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #formula 1 imagine #formula one fanfiction #kimi raikkonen #kimi raikkonen x you #kimi raikkonen x reader #kimi raikkonen imagine #kimi räikkönen

[from-the-clouds]

lost in the fire - kendall roy x f!reader

| masterlist | succession sideblog: @kendollroyco | my kendall playlist

chapter summary: your boyfriend works too much. a oneshot, but if we're being real, i was thinking about kendall and the reader from thinking of a place, because i miss them. pairing: kendall roy x f!reader words: 4.6k warnings: SMUT (18+ only). soft dom Kendall. Somewhat unhealthy/jealous/co-dependent relationship but this is a Succession fic so like…what do we expect? Alcohol consumption - I don't know what Kendall's definition of sobriety is but he drinks a cocktail in this. a/n: i'll get back to tlou but i've had this partially written for like a year at this point. It started out as more of a manic Ken on a power trip type of fic but then it got really soft and fluffy because I am feeling touch-deprived lately so I’m sorry if I didn’t deliver enough evil ken for ya’ll. :/ OOPS!

**ALSO! I got rid of my taglist. Please follow @ftcwriting and turn on notifs if you would like to be notified when I update my works :) **

"We're like the Lewis and Clark of fucking." - Kendall Roy

Teetering down the hallway, you attempt to quell the outrageously loud click, click, click of your stilettos against the marble floor by shifting most of your weight into the ball of your feet and shuffling forward. It only makes it harder for you to balance while you attempt to put on the flashy gold hoop earrings your friend had insisted you’d wear. Of course, being quiet didn’t really matter, because you were the only person inhabiting the Hudson Yards penthouse. 

As usual, you are running late. Famously, you always underestimate how long it will take to get ready for social events – your friends could attest to that. It is a bad habit that, despite years of trying to correct, you can never quite shake. 

Beelining for the double doors of the multi-million dollar home, you are interrupted by your name being called out in a sing-songy voice. There is a blur of movement out of the corner of your eye, and you turn towards the familiar sound to find your boyfriend rounding the corner, a drink in hand.

The sight of him at home is rare these days, that for a second, you aren’t even sure if it’s really him. Maybe the place is being  haunted by an eerily similar lookalike, or it could be some new ridiculous billionaire technology that he’d invested in– holographic messaging, or something similarly dystopian that you’d roll your eyes at when he tries to explain it to you. It’s fuckin’ next level, I’m telling you. I’m a fucking tech pioneer. You can practically hear him trying to sell you on it despite your distaste.

“Ken?” you cling to the clutch under your arm, unable to stop the shit-eating grin that works its way onto your face. “Hey. When did you get home?”

“Hey yourself,” he answers, poorly hiding a bemused smirk behind Baccarat crystal. “I just got in.”

That much was clear, even though his briefcase and coat had already been cleared away from the table in the entranceway, and his suit jacket draped over the back of a barstool. “Are you going out?” He lowers the tumbler and leans against the counter, but still keeps it close, one finger sliding along the rim. 

“Yeah,” you approach Kendall cautiously. “...did you get my text? I thought I’d get ready here, we’re going to that place around the corner.”

He’d given you a key to his flat, even though the relationship was still pretty new – but decidedly not that new, given your history. Things were still moving quickly though, if you compare him to your past flings.

Kendall’s eyes close briefly in recognition, his brows pulling together as though he is scolding himself. “Oh, uh-huh, yeah….right.” It’s then, and in closing the space between you, that his haggard appearance becomes clear. You’re one of few who would probably even notice it. To the untrained eye his white dress shirt is impeccable, crisp and stark as usual – save for the lack of cufflinks, which you notice he’s discarded on the counter alongside his drink. His tie is still fastened tightly around his neck in a perfect half-Windsor. But salt and pepper stubble is sprinkled across his jawline, faint red hazy in the whites of his amber eyes. 

Work has consumed him in the last few weeks. It’s been nonstop. And he is still home earlier than you have expected, even though the sun had gone down long ago.

Kendall’s hand wraps around your waist and you lean against him, accepting his affectionate peck on the cheek. “Hey, honey.” The cedar notes of his cologne, the acidity of the vodka on his breath, and the weight of his arm around you makes your stomach flip, even as he draws back, releasing you so he can sit on a barstool. It’s probably for the better, as the impulse to throw yourself into his arms and abandon your plans will become impossible to resist if you don’t leave soon.

It would be a lie to say his career hasn’t put a strain on things lately. Business trips, dinner meetings, weekend conventions all seem determined to keep him away from you. For the past few weeks, you’ve been deprived of him, forced to accept only minutes of his time – mostly sweet nothings and apologies whispered as falls into bed beside you, then presses of his lips on your cheek, still half-asleep in the early hours of the morning as he leaves the next day. You have been forced to savor those moments, even though they are hardly substantial. But you know yourself, you aren’t better off with someone else. He has always been what you wanted.

Still, lately you have been thinking about all his failed past relationships. There is certainly a…pattern. You’ve seen enough, and sometimes it feels like you are purposely ignoring the signs – Watch Your Step!, before falling into a pit of daggers. 

He needed a break or he’d burn out, but you’ve learned when to bite your tongue and save those suggestions for when you are sure they won’t erupt. And you both aren’t always good at keeping arguments good-natured. 

Kendall shifts in his chair so he can look you up and down – this time up close. “Is this what you’re wearing out?”

“Uhhhh, yeah,” you answer hesitantly, feeling your face heat up. 

“Turn around,” his resting facial expression is already kind of indignant, but you can tell right now that he’s definitely frowning. 

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he says. “I want to see.”

You shrug, but obey, unable to hide the way your lips quirk when you are back facing him again, hands on your hips. All you have to do is read the look on Kendall’s face to know that he doesn’t approve. And even though there is no way in hell you are going to change, the slight blaze in his narrowed eyes makes you think this is about to become a controversy. 

“Do you have a problem?” you ask, feigning innocence, glancing down at the getup. The red dress barely covers your ass – is far more revealing than anything you’d normally wear, accompanied by stiletto heels that lace up your calves. Sure, it’s a lot, but you look good, and you’re going out. 

“You’ll definitely be getting a lot of attention,” he conveniently doesn’t answer your question.

If you weren’t wearing lipstick, you would’ve bit your lower lip to keep your composure. Instead, you tilt your head and give him a coy smile. “You should come with me.” 

Kendall glances down at the countertop and shakes his head, the comment causing him to drop the subject of your attire entirely. “I can’t. I’ve got a meeting first thing.” To be fair, he avoids the club scene most of the time, so it’s not a well-thought-out offer. Too much temptation. “But you look good,” he concedes. 

“A work meeting on a Saturday?” you ask, ignoring the compliment. “Fuck,” you reach to take a sip from his tumbler. The vodka he keeps here is always chilled to perfection, so smooth it tastes like it’s melting off a glacier. “It’s that bad?”

He takes the beverage from your hand when you return it, shrugging before throwing the rest back, then standing to pour another. “Just the usual, la-dee-fuckin-dah….corporate bullshit.”

You frown and stare at your shoes, flexing your foot and inspecting its soles.

“Those heels don’t look very comfortable,” he remarks as he passes you.

“They aren’t.”

“Well then I’ll guess I’ll have to take you shopping to replace them.”

You feel yourself flush. “Let me know when you can fit me in your schedule.” 

“Uh-huh,” Kendall ignores your jab, changes the subject. “How’s your job?”

“Same as yours. La-dee-fuckin’-dah corporate bullshit,” you repeat his words from earlier, lowering your voice slightly to mimic his cadence of speaking. 

The sound of his warm chuckle makes your stomach flip again. “You want me to, uh, pour you one?”

“No, I should probably get going.” You sigh, pulling out your phone to text your friends that you are running behind, and you hear the clink of ice against crystal.

Then, his voice, deep and husky, directly against your ear. “Who’re you texting?”

You jolt in surprise at his sudden proximity.  “Fuck! Sorry,” you clear your throat. “Uh….the group chat.”

Kendall’s arm reaches past you to place his drink on the counter, and you feel his fingertips brush the hair away from the nape of your neck. Then, his lips follow, pressing there gently, his thumb trailing down your arm and then back up again. You shiver at the contact, and it dawns on you how touch-deprived you are.

“Pretty girl,” he murmurs against sensitive skin. His hands land on your shoulders and begin to knead at the taut muscles there. You try to keep yourself tense, even as you feel your phone slipping out of your hands, the drafted text all-but forgotten.

But instinctually, you shift backwards to feel the weight of his chest pressed against you.“You’re all wound up,” Almost chastising. Every part of your body below your bellybutton clenches. It’s those hands, his hands. Hands that used to wrap around your throat, thread into your hair, hold your wrists in place. Pin you down, spread you open…. While you think about them, you let him work at the tension that he is partially responsible for, nodding and letting out a long exhale.

“Just a little.”

“When are you gonna quit that job?” he asks you.

You first, you want to say, but let the retort die before it could leave your mouth. “Hmmmmm,” you pretend to mull it over, but you’re only half-aware of things he’s saying to you. “I don’t know.” 

“What kind of uh, feminist would I be if I let a girl as hot as fucking you have to worry about a job?”

You can’t help but snort, turning your head so his forehead bumps against your own. “Is that how feminism works?” 

“Uh-huh,” he chides, breath tickling the shell of your ear. “Fucking whatever. I wish you’d just let me look after you.”

You are unable to find your voice to answer, because you remember through your needy haze that you are running late, and when he says things like that, it certainly doesn’t help you regain composure. It’s only after you straighten, trying to pull yourself out of the trance he’s worked you into, that you discover how close he has pinned you to the countertop.

“Ken-” you try to protest, but the way it comes out sounds more like you’re pleading.

“What is it?” Kendall asks, returning his lips once more to your neck, beginning to work them tenderly up the column of your throat, which makes it impossible for you to finish the rest of the objection. “I’ve missed you so much,” he pulls you back against him by your waist.

“Me too,” you sigh. “But I-,” you’re cut off when he grinds against you, already half-hard, and your pelvis hits the granite lip of the countertop. It hurts, just for a second, but the pain is quickly replaced by warmth. Kendall pulls his hands away and you’re only held in place by his hips, the metal of his belt buckle cool against your sacrum. The dress you’re wearing is so thin it feels like there’s nothing separating him from your bare skin. 

“You what?” he prompts when you remain silent. You know him well enough to hear the self-satisfied smirk on his face, and his nails rake up and down your arms.

It’s a little petty, but you are hesitant to give yourself over so easily to him. To abandon your evening, just because he’s finally decided to see you at a reasonable hour. Of course, if your friends knew you were late because you were with him, they wouldn’t care. Kendall had been a well-kept secret until it was impossible to deny his existence in your life. But they were all a little too supportive of the relationship, since it meant they suddenly had guaranteed access to any club VIP section - and you perpetually pick up the bill. Not to mention the first-class, luxury accommodations they get on girls trips. 

There was more to it than just being late, though. You had always been willing to do anything for him, even before you were dating. He told you to jump, you asked how far? He gave you one pleading look from underneath those thick lashes – and you folded. And Kendall is very aware that he’s your weakness. So you constantly try to convince him otherwise, lest he get too comfortable. And really, after his neglectful behavior, did he really deserve you without any opposition?

“Kendall,” you manage to turn slightly. “I’m going to be late.” Wriggling some more in his grip, but it’s only enough to bring you face-to-face, looking up into his stormy eyes. 

He studies you carefully, like he might let you leave if he senses enough conviction. “I don’t care.”

You might’ve laughed, if it weren’t for how stern he sounds. It almost scares you. Almost. Hoping to soften him, you fit your thumb into the dimpled fabric of his tie, and use it to drag him forward, offering a tender kiss on his cheek. Returning the embrace, his stubble scratches your face as he smiles against you. He reaches behind you for another sip of his drink and his unoccupied hand slides down your back, squeezing your ass through the silky fabric. 

You are burning, fire licking up your arms, your neck, your face. It’s too much, to have him so close and not be able to have him. All the tension building with nowhere for it to go. When he pulls back, you lean forward.

It’s a little rough at first, because you are so desperate, tasting the vodka, drawing his bottom lip between your teeth. Kendall is the one who softens you, cradles your jaw to draw you closer, opens his mouth and deepens the kiss, so deliberate and practiced that you’re unable to speak when he pulls away. 

“Tell me something,” full lips so close to yours that they brush your own when he speaks, your eyes fluttering shut. His touch coasts up your sides, up your arms, landing on your shoulders. “Who are you showing off for in this?” Kendall hooks his pointed finger around a spaghetti strap of your dress, and lets the elastic snap back against your skin. You savor the sting it leaves behind.

Admittedly, there’s a third reason why you’re being so withholding. He’s so spoiled, so used to getting what he wants, whenever he wants it. Not just from you. And when he doesn’t get it, he becomes petulant, fiery. You’ve learned that if you piss him off just enough, you don’t have to ask him to fuck you within an inch of your life. He just does. 

So, you decide to poke the sleeping bear, shrugging and crossing your arms like it’s nothing, giving him a demure smile. “You wouldn’t know him.”

Kendall’s nostrils flare as his hand rises to grip your jaw – tightly. “Uh-huh.” Even if you’re only joking, the very idea of you dressing up at all – let alone like that –  for anyone except himself, pisses him off.  “Fuck you.”

“You’d like to, wouldn’t you?” you try to keep your voice even, but it sort of loses the steadiness you were hoping for when he hooks a finger behind your knee, dragging it up across the expensive, soft wool of his slacks to peg around his hip.

The bruising kiss that answers is clearly intended to erase the smug look on your face, and it works – your breath hitching, the hand on his tie tugging him closer. Kendall seems to speak without saying anything at all, grabbing your opposite thigh and lifting until you are perched on the edge of the countertop.

It’s getting real, but you still haven’t decided if you are actually going to stick around. The way he looks right now, however, swings the pendulum farther into the side of staying in – red lipstick left behind on his cheek, shirt wrinkled, tie hanging loosely around his neck. You wanted to make him look even more wrecked. 

Kissing him again, his hands begin to roam, tugging the dress off your shoulders and freeing your tits. “Shit,” He dips his head to sloppily mouthing at the newly exposed skin. “Knew you weren’t wearing a fuckin’ bra.”

“Ken,” you squirm when he latches onto one of your nipples, pinching the other between two fingers. “I really need to get going.”

“Not yet,” he hums, the vibration of his voice against your skin makes the space between your legs ache. “If you’re going to go out in this fucking dress,  I don’t want you to forget who you belong to.”

You squirm in his grip – not because you want to get away from him – but because you want to see if he’ll pin you in place, be even rougher. He does. He is. “Stop that. This isn’t a fucking negotiation.”

Well, okay.

He kneads into your thighs now, one of his hands dipping beneath the skirt of your dress that’s already so short he’s only an inch or so away from your already-soaked panties. 

“Fuck,” You tilt your head back to look at the ceiling, like you might find some self-control there, some will to resist him, but it’s about as cold and uninspiring as the rest of the apartment. “Please.”

Kendall lets out a dark chuckle,  pushing aside your thong and brushing his knuckles against your damp cunt. He loves to tease, and right now is no exception. His touch isn’t enough to satisfy, so you press yourself forward to seek it out yourself. You don’t dare meet his eyes, which you can feel are watching you intently, admiring how you keen and arch and whimper in frustration. Still, you aren’t quite ready to beg. 

Thankfully, you don’t have to. Without warning, he pushes two fingers inside you, groaning as he does, his thumb finding your clit.

“Yes, Kendall, that’s–” you don’t finish the thought because you aren’t entirely sure what you actually have to say. His digits curl, attentive, practiced – tuned in to  exactly what you like, what you need.  You grip at the fabric of his shirt that’s bunched around his elbows. Despite how intense meeting his gaze right now will be, you turn to look at him anyway, surprised by the affection and warmth you find in his eyes. 

“You try so hard not to be,” he says while he continues to stare you down. “But you’re always so fucking good for me.”

Your stomach flips, partly in shame, partly because of how good it’s always felt to be seen by him. Throbbing around him, feeling your pleasure build, but he withdraws his fingers from you before it can crest. An embarrassing noise leaves you, squeezing your eyes shut. 

The clink of his belt unbuckling immediately snaps you back to reality, and you hike your dress further up your hips, shimmying out of your thong. It’s pitiful, the way you don’t want to delay any longer the feeling of him inside you. 

He strokes himself in his hand, lines his cock up, and pushes a piece of hair off your face. 

“You want me?” he asks, and you bob your head enthusiastically. “Tell me, then.”

“I want you, Kendall. Please, I want you so bad.” 

“Yeah you do,” he mutters, and wastes no time jerking forward to enter you. 

Though you’d had him plenty of times you never could quite get used to the feeling – he’s big, of course, and it’s always electric, the blood in your veins buzzing, your hands tightening on his shoulders. 

“Relax, honey,” Kendall says, feeling the way your body tenses at the intrusion, placing a hand on your sacrum, one between your shoulder blades to steady you.

He presses his hips forward until they are flush against your own, bottoming out inside you, pausing. It’s welcome at first, a chance to catch your breath, to let out a shuddery exhale - temporarily appeased by the way your cunt stretches to accommodate him, and he’s so close to you after so much time spent away. You’re embarrassed at how badly you’ve needed this, how reliant on him you’ve become, but he always feels so good. 

Kendall stays still for long enough that you grow frustrated, and you use his tie to pull him closer, loosening the knot and rutting against him until he presses his thumb into the crease of your hip and thigh so hard you are forced to stop. Once you do, he starts to move, thrusts slow but deep, lips pressing hastily between panting breaths. 

“Fuck, it’s been too long,” he laments.

Despite everything, you can’t help but talk back. “You don’t say?”

Kendall doesn’t like that at all, his hips snapping at a punishing pace, which seems more like a reward than anything else, his hand clasping your jaw roughly, forcing you to look at him. 

“Don’t speak to me like that,’ he warns.

An involuntary, low moan leaves you. It’s overwhelming – always is. You aren’t used to sex with someone you feel so connected to, or with a lover who is so attentive to your needs, who effortlessly strikes a perfect balance between rough, passionate, and tender. 

You wrap your legs around his waist, fingers fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, anxious to run your hands through the smattering of hair on his chest, feel the warmth of his skin under your palms. Even if it’s not possible, you want to be closer to him. Needy. So needy. You’ve heard it from him before, and would probably hear it again. He is right, and in moments like this, you can never bring yourself to care. You like it.

He’s watching you so intently, and the rest of the city might as well be too. He basically lives in a fishbowl, you’re surrounded by windows that offer panoramic views of the glittering lights of the city. The only reason you have any privacy at all is because of just how high up you are, no one else can actually see you right now. Even if they did, what could possibly happen? Kendall loves to take advantage of this – he’s taken you up against the cold glass windows, has let you sink to your knees in front of him out on his balcony. 

“What are you gonna tell your friends when they ask why you were so late tonight?” he asks. “Gonna tell them you were letting me spread you open on the fucking counter?”

“God,” you stutter out, always shocked by the things that come out of his mouth when takes you like this, voice deep and firm, enunciating each syllable like he’s giving a speech – frustratingly collected. It makes you ache that much more. “I missed you,” you whimper, pulling his shirt off his shoulders. As much as you want it fully off, not just hanging loose around his elbows, you don’t want him to release you from the bruising hold he’s got you in. This would have to do. 

“Uh-huh,” Kendall answers by fucking into you even harder, his pelvic bone kissing your clit with every thrust, and your nails etching crescents into his biceps. “I know. I’m sorry.” 

His head falls to your shoulder in a brief moment of humility, lips working on your neck, and you feel your release fast approaching. In moments like these, you don’t doubt how he really feels. He gives it all away, tries his best to make it up to you, and it’s so easy to forgive him.  Kendall’s fist wraps around one of the stiletto heels of your shoes, lifting your leg to hook over his shoulder and drive his cock deeper into you. He’s perfect, feels perfect, there’s no one else who makes you feel the way he does. When his thumb begins to rub delicate circles around your clit, you’re gone.

Your body tenses up for so long, you actually think you might’ve psyched yourself out. And then everything releases. Kendall coaxes you through your orgasm, deep voice muttering things that are either unintelligible or that you wouldn’t dare to repeat out loud, and you cling to him while your cunt pulses in waves. It lasts for a long time, or at least it feels like it does, he slows just to fuck you through it, so you can both savor how good it feels. That’s it. That’s my good fucking girl. When he tries to kiss you, you oblige, but it’s open-mouthed and sloppy since you’re struggling to breathe and can’t stop whispering his name. 

“Ken, you’re so good, it’s so good–”

You know he likes to be praised just as much as you do. He cuts you off with a deep kiss, moaning into your mouth and vibrating every nerve in your body as he follows you over the edge, spurred on by your own release. He buries his cock inside you as deep as he can, you feel warm and full and complete. 

For what feels like a few minutes, you remain tangled with one another, his face buried in the crook of your neck. You can feel the soft puffs of his breathing against your skin, which is now damp.

Eventually, he draws back, kisses your cheek and tucks himself back into his underwear. You pull the straps of your dress back into place and when you push yourself off the counter, realize your legs are trembling and you wobble.

Kendall reaches to steady you. “Go sit down,” he squeezes your arm and you barely manage to stumble to his couch before you’re slumping against the cushions and struggling to unlace the strappy heels you’ve still got on. 

He joins you a moment later, placing a glass of cold water on the coffee table and kneeling to help you out of your shoes. You can only imagine what you must look like, because he looks disheveled, shirt still hanging open, pants unbuttoned, your lipstick still smudged on his cheek. Exhausted as you are, it makes you want him all over again. 

He settles next to you, pulls you to his chest, and you wrap your arms around his waist, leaning up to whisper softly in his ear. “Ken,” he turns his head slightly, cheek pressed against your forehead. “I love you.” 

From this angle you can only see the corner of his eyes, the way they crinkle as he looks down bashfully, eyelashes nearly touching his cheeks at your admission, words he so rarely has heard before. Words you have vowed to repeat until he believes you – because sometimes you think he doesn’t. Still, he answers. “I love you, too.” You close your eyes a moment, your heart rate returning to normal, and take in one final deep breath. Content. 

“I don’t want to keep you from your friends,” Kendall says eventually, hands in your hair, tugging gently so you’ll look up at him. 

“Right,” you nod. “Honestly, I don’t know if I even want to go out anymore.”

“But you got all dressed up,” he smirks.

“Look where it got me.”

He laughs. “Uh-huh. You knew what you were doing what you fucking put that shit on.”

You don’t deny it, feeling your cheeks grow warm. It’d be too easy to stay with him, to slide across his lap and kiss him until he takes you again. But your phone dings on the counter, and you know you can’t abandon your friends entirely. You sigh, pulling away from Kendall and looking him in the eyes. 

“Don’t worry,” he encourages. “I’ll wait up for you.”

#succession #succession writing #kendall roy #kendall roy x reader #kendall roy imagine #kendall roy smut #kendall x reader alliance please rise!!!!

[milla984]

A Million Reasons

Summary: after a phone call from Penelope, Reader teases Spencer about a potential love interest and things don’t go exactly as planned.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!reader

Category: fluff with a little angst

TW/CW: a little bit of angst, brief mentions of food, self-doubt, mentions of anxiety, kissing

Word Count: 1.2k

Thank you @drgenius-reid for taking the time to beta-read this!

The following work is my entry for @andiebeaword's 3,000 Follower Celebration Writing Challenge (prompt n. 12) and is also part of the series Spencer Reid, my beloved

Spencer scooped out of the paper cup what was left of his ice cream before he finished recounting the events leading to the arrest of the unsub the entire BAU team had been successfully tracking down in Seattle during the past few days. 

“He’ll be charged with ten counts of murder, one attempted murder, and unlawful possession of multiple weapons. He’s facing ten life sentences without parole.”

“Way to go, Justice League!” you cheered, enthusiastic. 

He tucked his hair behind his ear with a cute chuckle. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow so you caught a glimpse of his wristwatch reflecting the light of a lamp post standing along the edge of the walking path; from the bench you were both sitting on you could see the illuminated dome of the US Capitol rising up against the dark mid-summer sky. 

Despite being within walking distance of a major street in the southwest quadrant of Washington, the park was quiet and uncrowded and the nearby gelato shop was one of Spencer’s favorites. 

You took the last sip of your drink, acting very casual. “And that’s all that happened?” 

He shrugged, unsure about which crucial information could have been missing from his story since he was under strict instructions not to fill you in on the most gruesome details of the cases he’d worked.

“Uhm, graphic descriptions of tortures and mutilations are not—”

“I’m talking about a certain homicide detective… the one you gave your number to…?” you explained and his jaw dropped instantly.

“What?!”

You nudged at him with your elbow. “Garcia called me from the Original Starbucks in Pike Place. I couldn’t tell if the hype was about your new admirer or being there.”

“I don't understand how this is such a big deal!” he blurted out in a high-pitched voice. “She showed an interest in what we do so I gave her my card.”

No profiling skills were required to detect his firm intention to avoid discussing the matter, yet the words came out of your mouth like a river in spate. 

“Any chance it wasn’t only a professional interest?”

The way Spencer looked at you, disappointed and hurt, hit you worse than a punch in the liver. 

“What’s with you, guys?! Are– are you all so invested in my personal life because you’re convinced I’m chronically unable to have one without your help?” he snapped, something you’d never seen him do. 

“I’m s—” you tried to reply, even though he was still too angry to let you apologize and cut you off again.

“Or maybe it’s just that I’m no Derek Morgan, so the idea of someone noticing I exist is pathetic or funny to you?”

“Seriously?! An IQ of 187 and this is the best inference you can come up with?” you snorted, upset by the subtle insult he’d thrown at you - even if you had to admit you deserved it.

His brows furrowed. “Then why did you bring this up?” 

“I didn’t mean to pry, I’m sorry. I truly am,” you admitted, “but I would never ever think that people hitting on you is pathetic, give me some credit!”

He remained silent for a while, quite aware that Penelope’s inability to keep her mouth shut generated from genuine excitement about what she perceived as good news; sharing such personal information with you meant you had been put to the test over and over and, in the end, deemed worthy of her trust. 

The peaceful atmosphere around you served as an amplifier for the sound of splashing water and Spencer indicated the fountain at the center of the large, round basin in front of you with a jerk of his head. 

“I read a book about the architectural history of D.C. on the way back. This piece was created for the 1876 Centennial International Exhibition in Philadelphia, the US Congress acquired it in 1877 and placed it at the base of Capitol Hill. It was dismantled in 1926, then it remained in storage until 1932 when they moved it here.”

The pedestal held three twin iron-casted sea nymphs wearing wet tunics, with their arms raised above their heads to support a shallow vasque; on top was a group of kneeling child tritons, and the base was decorated with turtle-like aquatic creatures.

“It’s beautiful,” you mumbled.

The fact he’d for sure started and finished said book in less than fifteen minutes was among the 999.999 entries in your list of reasons to crush over SSA Reid.  And so were his three PhDs, his crooked ties, his passion for Star Wars, chess and Halloween.

“I don’t talk much about my private life. Especially outside of work,” he confessed after a pause. “A lot of times I have a hard time discussing personal issues—”

“Spencer… you know you don’t owe me an explanation, right?” you rushed to clarify.

He nodded and you did the same in response, to confirm you had no intention of pressuring him into opening up if he felt uncomfortable but were also ready to listen to anything he had to say; even in dim light, you could see the sadness veiling his beautiful hazel eyes.   

“I’m sorry I overreacted. Garcia was being Garcia, with her ‘look at the world through rose-colored glasses’ scenarios. Except, in this case giving my card to a homicide detective to discuss behavioral sciences was just what it sounds like. I understand where she’s coming from, I never told her…”

Your whole body tensed up, courtesy of a rush of anxiety triggered by the possibility of him being already involved with someone he had never mentioned, not even to his closest friends; you wondered if he could hear the butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

Luckily for you, Spencer didn’t seem to notice.

“I’m trying to come to terms with something I’ve been feeling, for weeks now. And I’m worried, because of what happened in the past and I can’t let go of…” his voice broke a little, so he swallowed. “Deep down I’m afraid I'm not the type of person who gets to live out happily ever after.” 

Refraining from hugging him on the spot and holding him close to your heart had gotten increasingly difficult lately, so you settled for a peck on his temple in a clumsy attempt at a comforting gesture.

Spencer jolted, befuddled, and for a moment you feared for the worst; you certainly didn’t expect him to lean forward to cup your face in his hands - big hands.  With slender, elegant fingers he tenderly brushed over your cheeks.

You both held your breath, waiting for the distance between you to vanish until your foreheads touched and the tips of your noses rubbed together. 

“... are we really doing this?!” he whispered, sending shivers down your spine.

You smiled. “Don’t make me wait for another six months.”

Spencer squinted, an indication he was browsing countless data and events stored in his memory; when he eventually pinpointed the exact moment you fell for him he squeaked in surprise. 

“Christm—”

You pressed your palm on the nape of his neck, guiding his lips over yours for the kiss you both had been longing for. 

Reason number 1.000.000: Dr. Reid had a crush on you, too.

@thisiscalmanditsdoctorreid, @pretty-boys-book-club, @spookydrreid, @f-me-reid, @foxy-eva, @scorpiofangirl1109, @a-potato-wearing-plaid, @cynbx, @reidsbookclub, @nagemasstuff, @hotchsdharma, @reidmainbitch, @lizzylynch1, @will-grahams-eyes, @padawancat97

»»»— read pinned post for taglist info —«««

#spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x gn!reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fic #dr spencer reid x reader #friends to lovers #mutual pining #idiots in love #my gifs #milla writes stuff #andies3kwritingcelebration #for the first time i don't hate the title! #fun fact: the setting for this one is a real place in d.c.

[rinhaler]

Think Slow, 'Cause I Move Fast

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Since your recent attack, all Yuuji wants to do is keep you safe at home. But a letter from your parents makes that a little difficult...

boyfriend!yuuji itadori x f!reader x bully!megumi fushiguro

WARNINGS : 18+, exhibitionism, semi public, fingering, bullying, drugging mentions, bladder failure mention, vomiting mention, praise kink, brief fainting (ish).

WORDS : 4.5k

notes : the way i am SO invested in this all over again LMAO i sorta ate huh

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You’ve never taken so many days off from your studies in your whole life. It couldn’t be helped, but you couldn’t stop yourself from feeling guilty for taking the Tuesday off. Maybe if you went to class, your punishment from Megumi would have been a lot less severe. With what little time you’ve had to yourself since you awoke from your two-day long slumber, you’ve done nothing but think and overthink. He invited those two girls out from your class and planned the whole thing, knowing they’d do anything he asked. You’re even willing to bet one of those girls was who he was fingering upstairs outside of the toilets. Your memory is choppy, but you remember what they said to you clear as day.

That pill Megumi told us to slip in her drink was really strong, huh?

Every time those words play in your mind you couldn’t stop yourself from crying. How could someone be so evil? You don’t know what you did to warrant this, any of this. It was extreme, it was heartless, and you felt stabbing pangs in your heart as you thought this might be happening until you graduate.

Maybe you should transfer.

Maybe you should leave him, Yuuji, your studies, everything behind.

You finally woke up on Friday, and didn’t know a minute of peace. The police interviewed you, telling you the girls could face up to a maximum of ten years for drugging you. It was sick, however, that it wouldn’t be the case. You were an unreliable source because of your intoxication, and nobody else had witnessed them spiking you.

Of course Megumi got off scot-free since he didn’t actually do it and there was no way you could prove he masterminded the whole thing. The authorities were sympathetic, but it was out of their hands.

Yuuji has barely spoken since the incident. He knows you're too frightened and upset to talk about it for now, but he's at least thankful you were being honest with the police. Even though it came to nothing. He wants to murder Megumi with his bare hands. That is why he didn’t speak. Because all of his energy needed to go into taking care of you, making you feel better. And if he starts talking, if he starts asking questions, he’ll lose all rationale.

He won’t be responsible for his actions or what he would do to his former best friend.

Your insides are raw, you can’t eat, all you can do is sleep. Fragile is the only way to describe your body; each and every movement you make feels like a gargantuan task. Yuuji is running around after you; he's everything in his power to help you through this.

Although he was slightly intoxicated himself when you returned from the club, he managed to sit you in the bathtub while he showered you. He did his best to remove the paint from your body, but his priority was clearing you of vomit and urine, and the vile word that had been smeared across your skin in lipstick. He immediately put your clothes (save for the t shirt that he threw in the bin) in the washing machine and dressed you in loose comfy pyjamas before carrying you to bed. He made sure to keep you on your side with a sick bucket on the floor next to your bedside table.

Gojo stayed for a while, wanting to make sure you were okay, and he wanted to keep an eye on Yuuji . He had no idea what to tell him since he didn’t know what had happened. He managed to keep it together while the pair of them speculated. All he could see in his mind was your frail body being carried by those wonderful women who chose to help you. Your shirt had been cut open with precision, telling him it was a premeditated attack. Somebody brought scissors into a nightclub, they knew they were going to do this to you. He had a niggling sensation that it was Megumi, but he wasn’t sure since he hadn’t seen him at the club. So, the only other people he could think of were those girls, the girls who claimed to be your friend.

He tortured himself for leaving you. He didn’t want to fucking leave you, but he did, because he’s an idiot. He knew he should have stayed with you, something was nagging at him to protect you, but he didn’t. Itadori couldn’t possibly feel any worse, because he should have known better. He did know better, but he ignored his instincts anyway.

He did feel worse again, though, when he woke up the next morning and you were still fast asleep. He didn’t notice the previous night, but in the glittering morning sun peeking through the blinds he saw your neck. He saw the blushing blue blooms, unmistakable finger marks etched into your poor throat. Not only had you been publicly humiliated, but you’d also been outright attacked.

Yuuji encouraged you to tell the police about the attack too, you were sober then, you remembered that Megumi did it to you. But again, it was your word against his. They couldn’t find anyone to corroborate your story. As far as they were concerned there was nothing more they could do.

Everything was hopeless. The system had failed you. You wanted to escape, to leave and never look back. Forget about this whole incident, the worst few days of your entire life and it was all his fault.

It was all Megumi Fushiguro’s fault.

The minute you found some energy, you got yourself out of bed to discover your boyfriend in the front room. He immediately jumps to his feet and to the kitchen so that he could make you a drink. You sit down in the armchair, bringing your legs up and crossing them over one another.

He’s never seen you like this. You’re normally so happy and full of energy, and you're the most glamorous girl he’s ever met. Priding yourself on your fashion and appearance has always been important to you. But Yuuji barely recognises the girl in front of him today. Despite him washing your hair, it was wiry and almost greasy looking. You were paler than pale, he wouldn’t dare say it, but he thought you looked like you’d just been dug up. Your eyes are so bloodshot, he could barely stomach looking at them. There isn’t a patch of white in either of them. The bags under your eyes were so black, he asked you a few times if you remember anyone punching you. You shook your head insistently; you're just so damn tired.

He sets two drinks down in front of you. A green tea and a glass of ice-cold water. He isn’t sure what you’d be in the mood for, so he decided to give you options.

“How are you feeling?” he asks stupidly, knowing the answer.

How were you feeling isn’t a stupid question, because even you didn’t have an answer.

You're happy, happy it seems like you were finally getting over the worst of the drug you’d been spiked with.

You're sad, sad that this had happened to you, and you aren’t sure how much worse things could get.

You're terrified, terrified that despite doing the right thing, despite telling the police what had happened so they could deliver justice to the perpetrators, they’d gotten away with everything and were free to continue making your life hell.

“I’m tired, Yuuji… so fucking tired.” you sigh, resting your forehead in one hand and rubbing your temples.

He knows you're tired, of course he fucking knows.

But your boyfriend feels helpless, he wants to lash out, to yell, to scream even. But he can’t, he can’t because he knows you wouldn’t want any of that. You wouldn’t want him taking the law into his own hands and getting in trouble.

The whole situation is a fucking nightmare.

As your eyes remain shut while you cradle your aching head, a memory pops into your mind. Not about the night, you're sick of remembering that night. But you lift your gaze to find Yuuji’s, and he looks back at you inquisitively.

“Yuuji could you—” and before you’ve even finished talking, he's on his feet, ready and waiting for your instructions, “could you get the letter my parents sent… I forgot to open it.” you request.

Yuuji rushes back with the fancily sealed envelope in record time. He placed it delicately in your hands before returning to his spot on the couch. It feels like a punishment to hold it in your hands. Albeit impossible, you considered whether Megumi had been behind this too. Had he somehow managed to find out who your parents are and mastermind another situation to make your life hell?

Deep down you knew it could only be one of two things.

A cheque, or an invitation. There were two conditions your parents gave you if they were to let you attend a public university rather than a prestigious (pretentious) academy.

You were forbidden from living on campus. They didn’t want to run the risk of anything happening to you in your dorm room or dealing with uncouth roommates. You weren’t sure what concerned them so much about living with other students, but you wonder if they were concerned they’d get you hooked on drugs or perform premarital sex.

At least you’ve never willingly indulged in the former.

But the second condition was they got to choose your place of residence. So that is how you are an unemployed student who can afford to live in a house of her own.

Your rich parents pay for it.

They weren’t too pleased to discover you almost immediately let Yuuji move in with you too, but they didn’t really have a say in the matter. And as far as your sex life was concerned, if they wanted to believe you were still a virgin and weren’t fucking your boyfriend, that was on them.

Peeling off the pretty pink seal seems to take an eternity. You don’t want to know what's inside, Yuuji looks like he's about to burst any minute if you don’t open it quicker. He's on tenterhooks, practically hanging off the edge of the sofa as he waits for you to open it. Once the seal is removed, you look into Yuuji’s eyes. You take a massive gulp as your fingers begin to convulse with fear.

“Do you want me to open it?” He asks, you shake your head.

You softly move the envelope flap upwards, frightened fingers poke inside to grab whatever it contains. Your eyes are screwed shut as you pull it out. You can feel your heartbeat in your ears, your brain is pulsing against your skull in anticipation. The dread you feel at the thought of what was on the piece of paper is too much. But before Yuuji can intervene and read it for you, you find the courage to look.

You exhale disappointedly flipping the paper over for Yuuji to see and read.

An invitation.

“So, your folks finally bought a second manor home huh? Must be nice…” he trails off.

“I should have read it sooner, we’re going to have to start packing so we can set off early tomorrow.” you explain as you stand to your feet. But before you can retreat upstairs to your bedroom to begin packing the essentials, Yuuji grabs the flesh of your upper arm and stops you.

“We aren’t going.” he tells you. You look at him curiously, unsure of how he came to that conclusion. It isn’t optional, you would never avoid attending a family event no matter what and he knows that. “You’re still recovering, you get that right? There’s no way we are going.” he adds, earning a smile from you.

“It’ll be fine Yuuji, it’s only for the weekend.” you attempt to alleviate any tension or concerns from him, but he simply shrugs you off and brings your body closer to his so he can stare down into your eyes.

“We aren’t going. I’m saying this for you. It’s too soon, I’m sure if you explain what happened they’ll understand.” he tries to reason with you, to make you see sense. But all you could offer in return to his words is a cruel scoff.

“You’re not serious? If I tell them, they’ll enrol me into a different school, they just need one excuse. I don’t want anyone to know, I’m embarrassed enough. I don’t want this, want him to rule my life Yuuji. I want to go to my parents’ housewarming party and forget the whole thing.” you tell him sternly, freeing yourself from his hold and continue your journey to the bedroom.

“But—”

“I mean it Yuuji. We are going whether you like it or not,” you spit as you turn to face him once again, “I’d appreciate your support right now. I just want to feel normal, so please, come and help me pack.”

You look at him as his face droops. He looks devastated and you truly feel for him. He's beating himself up over what happened, and you couldn’t do or say anything that would ease his guilt. He's doing everything he can to make it up to you, to make up for his own self-appointed shame, all he wants to do is protect you, but it seems he can’t do anything right. So, he relents.

“Okay."

The car ride to your parents’ new address is painful. You set off ridiculously early so that you’d be there on time. And by on time, you mean early. Because being on time would in fact be being late.

The biggest reason Yuuji doesn’t want to attend is to protect you after your attack. But it certainly didn’t help matters that he hates going to see your parents. He’s only met them a handful of times, and they are nice enough, but he knows they look down their noses at him and don’t think he's good enough for you. It shouldn’t matter that he isn’t from a wealthy family, he loves you and would do anything for you.

He’d probably die for you.

And that should be enough to prove that he’s worthy of your love.

It’s enough for you, and that’s all you care about.

You opt to wear a black and white pinstripe pantsuit. You know no matter what you wear your mother will have something to say about it, so you do your best to dress comfortably yet sophisticated.

Yuuji is dressed nicely too, he thought the comfy, yet sophisticated look was the right move too, and since he knows your parents disapprove of him it wouldn’t matter what he wore.

He's dreading the snide comments all weekend, it would never cease, but as long as he has you by his side, he knows you can both get through it.

He has one hand on the wheel and one on your thigh, he's gripping awfully tight. You suspect a combination of nerves and an overwhelming desire to protect you. When you’re right around the corner of the entrance of your parents’ house, you decide to apply a fresh layer of gloss. You don’t expect Yuuji’s fingers to begin wandering their way towards your sex, so you yelp at the feeling of his pinkie finger slowly tracing over your clothed clit.

“Take em off,” he demands.

Your heart is racing, you aren’t sure what you should do. You want it, you want him. You love his touch, you love him, you want to be with him and feel normal. But you’re right outside of your parents’ house. You don’t have time and it isn’t wise. But before you can answer him, he’s delved his fingers down your pants and is awkwardly rubbing your clit with the irritating obstruction in the way.

“Off.” he tells you again. You ask him to pull over, so he does. It isn’t anywhere hidden, but he doesn’t have time for that. He just wants to make you feel good before you go inside.

You lower your trousers and underwear just enough to give him access. You do your best to keep the volume down, but he feels so good. These few days have been the longest you’ve gone without being intimate with Yuuji. And you’re tense, fuck you’re so tense. He can feel it in the way you’re holding back, the way you don’t want to let yourself go. Because all he’s doing is lightly tracing your sensitive bundle of nerves and you’re already dying to cum.

“Yuuji…” you half gasp half moan at him, screwing your eyes closed as one of your hands grips the arm he’s using to pleasure you and the other is digging nails into the back of your head rest.

“You wanna cum? ‘m not stoppin’ you baby. Cum for me.” he instructs.

And it’s humiliating, really, how submissive your cunt is to its owner. You’re gushing around his gentle fingers as more and more slick pumps out of you. Your chest is heaving, but he leans over to you to kiss your cheek.

He demands that you face him so he can kiss you through your orgasm.

He wants to swallow your moans and remember what a good girl you are for him.

When you finally relax, you’re almost furious. Furious that you’re dripping wet and you’re going to have to ruin your panties and probably your trousers too. Furious that you won’t be able to clean up instantly because you’ll have to socialise for a while with your family, and furious that Yuuji was stupid enough to think any of this was a good idea.

But when you see him sensually lick his fingers clean, you can’t deny the way your pussy jumps at the sight. He’s so fucking perfect. His innocent face performing such a lewd act excites you. You’re so lucky to have him. Because after he finishes cleaning his fingers, he opens the glove compartment on the passenger side and reveals a packet of baby wipes for you to clean yourself up with. He cups the crown of your head and brings you closer to him, leaving a simultaneously hard yet soft kiss on your forehead, and whispering sweet nothings into your hair.

“Such a good girl f’me baby. Y’look so pretty when you cum for me. ‘m so fuckin’ proud of you.” he murmurs into your scalp.

It takes everything inside of you to not unzip his trousers and suck him off to show him just how much you fucking love him. But instead, you hurriedly clean the slick from your folds and Yuuji finally turns into the driveway of your parents’ new estate.

And holy shit.

You didn’t think a house could possibly be bigger than the first.

They deemed the previous butler worthy of staying, apparently. He's a nice man who shows you and Yuuji to where everyone is located. The house is baron, which seems ridiculous to you. What’s the point of having a housewarming party if no one is going to be in the house?

Instead, everyone is situated in the garden. You can’t spot your parents immediately. But there are a lot of familiar faces. Not family friends, although that’s what your mother and father will claim they are.

No, they were nothing but names.

Big names to spread the word about what a beautiful new home your parents have. There is no point in having a new manor house unless your parents can brag about it.

But you do eventually spot them. And a man who you could only see the back of. He's tall, likely around 6’4” in height. He's moving his arms while your parents look at him with an intense gaze, he's story telling. He's well built, extremely large and muscular. It's unusual to you that he's dressed so casually.

You're curious as to how your parents know him, he doesn’t look like the type of person they would allow into their social circle.

And you didn’t recognise him at all.

They all reposition themselves onto a nearby table, Yuuji stands with you as you watch the conversation unfold. You're totally enraptured by the way they converse with each other. And then the stranger sits down. He sits down and gives you the perfect view of the right side of his face.

When you see his profile you just about fainted. Yuuji catches you in his arms as other party goers look concerned. Your parents have finally noticed you, now, and rush over to see you, the man follows, and there's no mistaking him.

While your parents approach with a hastened pace, he almost dawdles behind them. Yuuji lowered you to the ground while everyone fusses around you, asking what was wrong and if you need some water. But you have a clear view of him as he carries on coming towards you.

His hair is black as the night sky in a small country town. It isn’t awfully long, but longer than any other respectable guest who is here today. It looks soft and shiny, but it knew to settle and not move around too much. His green eyes glisten in the sparkling sunshine, and you can see another set of green eyes so vividly in your mind. A pair of green eyes that made your heart race and send sheer terror through your entire being. But what gives it away, what really gives it away, iss the scar.

That fucking scar on the right side of his mouth. It looks old, like he’d had it for years. It's so striking, and that is how you knew there was no mistaking.

It was him.

It was the man from Megumi’s sketchbook.

It takes you a while to calm down after everyone had been fussing over you. But Yuuji had hooked his arms underneath you so he could carry you to a nearby chair.

Your mother snaps her fingers and demands a member of staff instantly get you a drink. Your father dismisses everyone and tells them to continue enjoying the function, he towers over you while your mother crouches on the balls of her feet and strokes your hands.

Yuuji is behind you, circling your shoulders with his thumbs in an attempt to soothe you.

And then there's him.

He's sitting on the same table as you, not paying too much attention to you but wanting to stick around to see that you were okay.

When you have a glass of water in your hand, you down it in just a few seconds and request another. Water dribbles down the sides of your mouth which your mother quickly dabs with a handkerchief.

You were breathe so heavily and so gravelly.

Your mother looks furious at your lack of manners but didn’t want to make a scene in front of the guests. Your gaze is fixed on the man you’d only seen in drawings, he put his phone into his pocket as he decides to give you all his full attention.

“Nice to see ya again kid,” he smiles, the little scar on his lips pulling so deliciously.

You’re certain you’ve never met him, so you were dumbfounded that he claimed to remember you. You didn’t have the energy to speak, it was like something had robbed you of your words.

Your lips open wide enough to speak, but whatever words you’d planned on forming died dead in your mouth when you heard words coming from behind you instead.

“Yeah it’s been a while Mr. Fushiguro, didn’t expect to see you here, sir.” Yuuji replies.

Of course.

Of course Yuuji would know who the mystery man is in the drawings. He’s Megumi’s best friend after all, or he was. Mr. Fushiguro, the name alone made your skin crawl.

Another one of him.

Your mouth is agape, your eyes finding the unknown relative of Megumi’s. He waves his hand around, totally brushing Yuuji off.

“Cut that crap out now kid,” he begins, “call me Toji.” he tells him. Yuuji nods, acquiescing to his request. And then Toji’s eyes find yours. You felt so small under his gaze. “And I haven’t seen you since you were… Four, maybe?” he tells you.

“I- uh…” you clear your throat, “I don’t know you.” you admit.

He laughs, really laughs. You guess he appreciates your honesty. He crosses one leg over the other as he begins to swing back in his chair.

“Don’t sweat it. I’m not one to remember someone’s name either.” he confesses, studying you. He does know you; he really knows you. He’s so comfortable to stare at you and examine you. You want to know how he knows you; you want to inquire as to what relation he is to Megumi, but before you can speak Yuuji talks from behind you once again.

“Are the rest of the Zen’in clan here?” he wonders, his grip of your shoulders tightening.

“Unfortunately,” he responds, your father jostles his elbow into him playfully which makes Toji grin. “They’re around somewhere, more are probably on their way.” he explains. Yuuji nods before leaning down to you, his mouth close enough to your ear that his breath alone forces goosebumps to pinch and form across your whole body,

“We have to go, now.” he buzzes to you.

He doesn’t wait for you to answer before he grabs your hand and drags you away from the table. You both say your polite goodbyes before heading through the manor again. Your parents are dumbfounded, and worse, disgusted at Yuuji’s abrupt rudeness.

“What’s going on Yuuji?” you ask. But he ignores you, pulling you in the direction of the front door.

He swings it open, and you’re both as still as statues. Of all the places, of all the places in the fucking world…

You’re both staring out of the door, and now that you’ve seen Toji in person, the resemblance is striking.

Megumi’s finger is rested on the doorbell he’s holding in. When the three of you break out of your trances, the raven-haired man in front of you clears his throat.

His face doesn’t change. He looks bored, and you hate him for it. It’s that same static facial expression he always has. It’s the way he somehow manages to keep getting away with murder. Because no one would ever believe that this quiet, almost silent person keeps making your life unbearable. His vision rolls between staring at you and then staring at Yuuji. But finally, he’s settled on you.

His eyes are almost as intense as the other Fushiguro’s out in the garden. His lip’s part, and his words make your skin crawl.

“Well well. What do we have here?”

© 2021 fuwushiguro | © 2023 rinhaler

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