#do you ever have those days when you can't stop daydreaming??? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

haechansdoll · 11 months

Text

my little doll - ml x reader

Pairing : Boxer!Lee Mark x f!Reader

Description : Humans have hormones, you understand that much. But does that explain why you can't stop the filthy daydreams that fill your head whenever you see a specific redhead? Does it excuse you for getting turned on by him simply breathing in your direction? And to make matters worse, he is off-limits, if your father found out you were messing with his prized boxer? You would be chained to a tower and your red-haired crush would be used as mincemeat.

Warnings : Bloody Nose, Perversion, Dom/Sub, Power Play, Panties, Caught Having Sex, Overstimulation

Wordcount : 20k

Hormones.

You dearly hate them, you hate how your chest does somersaults at the mere sight of him, or the fact you have to cross your legs when his voice tickles your ear, let alone the mocking sensation of arousal that forever plagues your core at the sweet little pet names he sure loves giving you. From the crimson red hair that falls over his shoulders, typically pulled back with a loose-fitting clip, a matching pair of eyes that have this undeniable sultry and charming glint to them, or the scars from broken bones or other mishaps he has yet to give you a story about that stick to his powerful arms and mesmerizing torso.

If anyone were to find out about the things that run through your head, the lewd imagery, the erotic scenarios... you would never be able to show your face again. It's normal to have less-than-pure thoughts, right? You're no less human than the next person, everyone has desires and fantasies!

But does that excuse the fact you've desperately been waiting for any chance you can get to go and relieve yourself? That the more you stare at him, the more you think about how good he may be in bed? His muscles flexing with each thrust, imagining the length and girth of his cock, would his voice be gruff or husky?

The recollection of your inner desires has you aching, it is humiliating, to say the least. Especially when the man who is the center of these very thoughts just so happens to be standing behind you, one hand on your shoulder, the other guiding your wrist. The close proximity has you feeling sick, between his voice right beside your ear and his hands on your arm.

To be honest, aren't you sick? Pretty sick in the head to be lewding Mark without his knowledge, what would he think of you if he were to learn of these sinful scenarios you let consume you? You simply cannot help it, any woman in your position would probably be the same, right? Thinking of all the things those hands can do, how his rough fingertips would feel between your legs, his tongue against your...

It isn't like anyone knows either, after all, it would spread like a wildfire if anyone were to find out about your less than an innocent crush. In your opinion, you do quite a good job at masking it, not too clingy to him but also not completely avoiding him. After all, he is your father's "student" if you could say that, often training under the watchful gaze of your dad.

Sometimes it still feels like just the other day when you two first interacted, him introducing himself, saying how he works under your dad. You heard of him from your father often boasting about this guy he is training. You figure it would be another older guy, rough around the edges, not good enough to be eye candy. You couldn't have been any more wrong, completely in shock to learn that this "guy" was not only a lot younger than you expected but looked like those Greek statues.

You can never quite focus when he speaks to you, eyes wandering ever so discreetly, ears deafening when you catch sight of a bead of sweat dripping down his neck, how the lump in his throat bobs while he talks or drinks water.

Even now, as you throw another punch per his instruction, your focus is entirely elsewhere. Not on the way he tells you to twist your wrist when launching your fist from your body, but rather how good it feels when he speaks right next to your shoulder, each word making your eardrums vibrate. If only he knew that you weren't very focused on his self-defense lesson, but rather how good it would feel to have those big hands wrapped around your neck or your thigh... anywhere is fine by you.

Most nights you find yourself fantasizing about Mark…Mark, all the filthy scenarios possible flooding your already corrupted mind the whole time you feel yourself up. Gripping your sheets and pretending it's his hair, breathing into your pillow to try and mask the sounds of pleasure you just can't keep in. You feel awful every time you finish, though. Hastily fixing yourself and going to shower, hoping the water will wash away sin.

Alas, you know that any level you go to repent would never erase the tainted marks of lust from your body. You're trapped in this, like a stalkerish fan swooning over her celebrity crush. Again, thanking whomever it concerns that mind-reading is not a thing.

A hand comes down onto the top of your head, drawing you from your deeper workings, "That time was really good," Mark praised with a grin, fingers dripping from your skin, much to your dismay, "Try it again without me guiding you, put your all into it!" If you had any less self-control, a moan would have passed your lips from his perfect voice, each word rolling off his tongue like honey from a spoon.

Times like now you wish you had a deeper relationship than what is now accessed, that way you could just grab at his arms and give him the prettiest bats of your lashes all for the sake of begging him to take you somewhere private. That's all you want right now, to feel his soft lips on yours, to taste his tongue that probably will feel minty from the gum he is currently chewing. The simple privilege of being able to kiss him would surely kill you.

You throw another punch and really start to feel that ache in your shoulder, but Mark calls it a "good burn", something you remember even your father saying back when you were little. Your eyes glance to the clock hung on the wall, usually, you are hoping time will fly by, but right now? You hope it goes painfully slow, who knows when the next time will be when you have him so close with his hands all over you.

"I think you've mastered how to punch someone, I'm a little scared by how quick you are..." The playfulness in his voice does more than make you smile, it also contributes to the arousal that continues to soak into your panties, which you can probably assume are ruined at this point, "Let's practice a kick for if you're being restrained by two people."

The last thing you expect is to feel him come up from behind and wrap his arms around your torso, restraining your arms and keeping you firmly pressed to his solid front. You would have cum right there if it wasn't for how focused you were on the veins in his arms or his flushed knuckles, "So if someone comes from behind, they'll most likely grab you in a way to trap your arms." His voice vibrates in his chest, which in turn vibrates against your back.

Mark gives you a bit of a squeeze, a soft gasp fluttering from your lips not because of the restriction on your lungs but rather how if you arch your back just enough... you would probably feel the one thing you daydream about. The one thing you imagine fucking you every night when you touched yourself.

"It'll be hard to elbow them, and depending on how tall they are you may not be able to head-butt them... so you can take one of your legs and then jab your heel into the arch of their foot, the point is to fracture or break those bones because then it'll either make them immobile or they won't be able to run after you when you get away." You nod your head along to his words, "Or, some people say to put as much as you can to lean forward because attackers expect you to thrash in their arms or try to hit them."

Mark lightly nudges you as a means to lean forward, you almost think not to, afraid of the hormones that are already driving you up the wall. But you do it anyway, leaning forward, despite the fact he is pressed into every inch of your backside, "Take both of your hands and grab at one of my legs, whichever you think is easier, and then you're gonna pull as hard as you can to try and knock me off."

You almost feel bad, but you assume that since he is giving you this lesson, he expects to get roughed up a little. So despite your inner conflict not to, you lean forward as much as it takes to grab the leg closest to you, that being his right leg, and firmly gripping his calf and pulling his leg towards you. You're almost surprised by how easy it was, one second he is holding onto you, his breath wafting against the back of your neck, and now he is flat on his back.

"That caught me off guard," He says in disbelief, without your knowledge his crimson eyes watch how you slowly stand up straight after successfully breaking free of his grasp, "I shouldn't underestimate you considering how intense your father is with training." He notices your panties peeking through the fabric of your yoga leggings, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lip, and staring until the red fabric is no longer peaking through.

"When I was little he taught me some basic things," You turn around to offer him a hand, which he gratefully takes, "But I don't think the moves I learned when I was little will be much assistance now." You help him up with a smile, for a moment you forget the tension that had previously been eating you, "Thank you for helping me, you make it more fun than it should be."

The crimson-haired boxer offers you one of his signature smiles, flashing those pearly white teeth you always think of dragging your tongue over, "You're adorable," His fingers playfully give your cheeks a pinch just to see you pout, "Let's do one more move before you gotta close up, I think you have it in you to give it a try." Who are you to argue? After all, it means more time to ogle over him, to feel his hands, to dream up filthy scenarios that have your pussy throbbing.

What you don't expect is to feel one of his hands fall on the dip of your waist to stabilize you, the other coming down to hook under your knee and slowly lift your leg, "You're pretty flexible, I expected that... naturally everyone's legs are stronger than their arms. So sometimes if you see an opening, go for a nice high kick right into either their chin or nose." So that's why he is holding you like this.

His words, just for a moment, blur as you look at his hands on your body. The position is oddly provocative, it is easy to just picture you both nude, his cock driving in and out of you just like this. His hands holding your soft thighs wide open for him, one leg hooked over his arm as those very fingers tease your clit, his other hand snaking up your front to tweak your nipples and torturously squeeze your tits.

It's disgusting, filthy that all he is doing is holding you like this to guide you and you're imagining him fucking you just like this. It's horribly wrong, sickening - but oh, it would probably feel so good like this. His tip would rub against that sweet stop your fingers can barely reach, his breath against the very shoulder he would mark with hickeys...

"There we go," His voice sounds so close it nearly makes you flinch, "Okay, you want to aim with your heel and not the tip of your shoe because it can strain your ankle or even hurt the arch of your foot. So lock your leg as you swing it up and pretend like you're jabbing someone with your heel." You wish his cock was jabbing your insides, but nonetheless, you strike your heel into the air effortlessly.

Mark whistles at the power in your leg, what he would give to see you beat the shit out of someone. He is sure you could probably even take him out if you tried, which is another reason he hopes he never gets on your bad side. The first reason being that your dad would kill him.

"Maybe I should start practicing with you," He muses when you smoothly bring your leg back down, "I bet you'd be able to break me down, especially with a kick like that." What you would give to simply watch him train with your father, you've seen it a handful of times. How he drives his fists into the punching bag, or the muscles in his thighs stiffening when he tries to knock his sparring partner down. He always leaves you drooling, hoping to feel those very hands wrapped around your throat or to ride his thighs while he teases you for being such a slut.

As much as you would love to spend the time with him, you know you wouldn't be able to handle all the touching, to see him sweating and his muscles showing through his less-than-covering tank top. Sometimes he even goes shirtless, which is ten times worse and even more hormone-inducing. If only there was a way to confidently tell him, "I've wanted to have sex with you since I first saw you, so please do whatever you want with me."

"I think you'd probably break me..." The words weren't meant to come out sounding so sexual, leaving a pinkish blush on his cheeks and at the tip of his ears, "But we can always practice like this whenever you want." You miss how he shuffles in place, trying to knock your first sentence from his head. Break you? He knows what you meant... but even he has some not-so-innocent thoughts.

With it being time to close, regulars gradually leave the gym, bidding you a farewell per usual, the machines slowly becoming empty. Though the only person who patiently remains, discreetly watching passing figures as they leave the building, is the redhead you have been eyeing all day. It is rather exciting, watching the final person pack up their things and leave, finally granting you the privacy you've desired all day.

You begin the process of locking up the gym, working the locks on the alternate entrance, as well as pulling the drop-down fence that cages the windows. You two often leave through the back door, so you always lock up the front earlier than you both intend to depart. Whenever he stays a little later than usual, he often waits for you to close and you will leave together.

Being so focused on closing the main entrances and front of the gym, you don't notice the figure approaching you from behind, not until a shadow casts over you and you notice the lighting change. Not until a hand falls onto your shoulder, to which you peer behind you to see Markall packed up, "Did you bring a sweater? It's supposed to be cold out."

"I didn't, but it's fine because my car is right there." He knows it is, but he also knows that you tend to park quite a bit away from the apartment you share with your father because it didn't have a parking garage, "I'll be fine! Worst case scenario I catch a cold and can't come to work tomorrow." That's when you remember an important detail about tomorrow, one that you've been looking forward to all week.

"You have a match tomorrow, right?" Comes your voice amid his needless thinking, "Dad is making the plans, he's been running around all day... I think he may be more excited than you." You try to change the subject, knowing he will be persistent regarding you taking his sweater.

"Yeah, and that's another reason you should take my hoodie... that way you don't get sick and you can be there to cheer me on." His words make you feel so warm and fuzzy inside, is he really that worried? Does he really want you there to see him? It's too much, you may just pass out knowing he wants you to cheer for him in the crowd!

You heard rumors of professionals possibly attending, managers of some sort. It all sounds a little too good to be true, but knowing your father he is always pulling strings. To locals, it's considered a big deal because of the chance to gamble bets, entertainment... The matches are memorable. Mark likes the attention, to hear people chant his name and praise him, that adrenaline he gets when he is so close to winning. It is a drug, an addiction he just cannot shake. He needs support.

Finally, you take the hoodie from his hand, pulling the thick fabric over your head and covering yourself, "Thank you, Mark." He is so sweet, it makes you feel guilty for letting these thoughts ravage your brain. For allowing yourself to lewd him constantly, he has been nothing but respectful with you and all you can think about is how fucking good it would feel to sit on his face right now.

"Are you gonna be there to give me some good luck?" His words catch you off guard, give him some good luck? you never really see him before his matches, usually, only after will you congratulate him and offer to take him out for something to eat, per request from your father. It is a tradition to celebrate after a successful fight. Most of the night you will ogle over him, how good he looks with a slightly swollen lip, or how you would kill to lick the little bit of blood sticking to the fresh wound on his brow.

What could you possibly do to give him good luck? You will have to think of something, you can't disappoint him, "Since tomorrow is a big deal, I guess I have to make sure you have as much luck as possible, right?" Your words bring a grin to his face, you've always been so kind yet carefree. He likes that a lot about you, how you don't take everything so seriously, and never feels like he has to walk on eggshells around you.

Whatever it may be, he likes getting some sort of recognition from you before he fights, you leave this positive and sweet taste in his chest. He finds that he tries harder with you around, whether it be to impress you or earn plenty of praises and compliments when the match is over. He doesn't care what you come up with, so long as it's from you.

Mark Remembers that you're off the clock and should get home before it's too dark, "A-Anway," He clears his throat and adjusts his gym bag over his shoulder, "Let's get out of here, I think we both could use a shower..." Despite his words, he is eyeing how exhausted you look, sweaty and your eyes a little swollen from overworking yourself. It reminds him of the time you went on a run with him, an innocent invitation he gave you since he never really sees you outside of the gym.

To his surprise, you weren't at all a bad runner, but unfortunately, your stamina does not nearly match his and he can still remember how cute you looked, tripping over your feet and waving your hand for him to slow down. The sweat that stuck to your face, neck, chest... how you were shivering all the while scraping to regain some oxygen in your lungs. Your fingers holding onto his arm, leaning into him with your eyes closed.

You had looked so pretty that day, but all he could think about was whether or not you'd look the same if he were to have sex with you. Would the sweet bead up the same? Would your eyes get heavy once it was over? Would you pant and cling to him like now, doing your best to keep up and not collapse from exhaustion? That was the first time he ever thought of you other than as a friend, and ever since it feels like the daydreams have gotten a little worse.

Not nearly as explicit as yours, though.

God, you want to fuck him so bad. You want to ride him until your thighs burn, to feel his teeth marking your skin with every push of his hips, to open your mouth just so he can spit in it... reminding you that you're nothing but a perverted, disgusting, awful whore. That's exactly what you are. A brainless, hormonal...

Right, you're supposed to be leaving. With a final adjustment to the sweater he had kindly given you, you lead the way to the back door of the gym. You wish you didn't have to depart so soon, just before he had his hands all over you! Touching your legs, holding your waist... can't you turn back time just enough to go through that all over again? Even if it's just him guiding you to a proper punch.

What you would give to feel those hands on your tits, or cupping the apex of your thighs. Would it feel different from when you touch yourself? Probably. His fingers are bigger, thicker, rough... you can only imagine the way they would curl to rub that special spot inside of your walls. You bet he would be able to make you squirt, you can only imagine it... if only.

"Make sure you sleep early," He chimes from beside you, "That way I can see you early before I have to go prepare for tomorrow night." It is bizarre how insistent he is on seeing you before the fight, did you do something different to yourself? Deep down, you're praying he may just have a little crush on you, but you doubt it. He could like anyone, he would never choose you... right?

Nonetheless, you don't let your selfish thinking distract you from the handsome man beside you. What doe sit matter whether he likes you or not? At least he talks with you. But every human has selfish desires, yours just happens to be wanting the crimson-haired boxer beside you to be yours, "I wouldn't miss a chance to see you," The words come out faster than you could bite your tongue, but with the cat out of the bag you roll with it, "Maybe I could bring you something to eat?"

The suggestions noticeably brighten him, the two of you coming out of the back door which you begin to lock for the night, "That would be nice, remember those grape leaves you had made that one time? I'd kill for those..." Neither of you misses how his voice noticeably quiets, as if he only wants you to hear that, for the huskiness in his tone to catch your ears.

To say it doesn't cause a million and one butterflies to waltz in from your stomach into your chest, would be a lie. It would be a lie to deny how the most minuscule quirks he has always leave you in a state of your own temporary bliss. You wish you could hear him whisper over and over, to come up behind you like in those cliche romance films from the 60s. For his arms to encase your midsection, lips meeting the shell of your ear, telling you how his day is better now that he is home with you.

Oh, what you would give to live out a shitty romance film from however many decades ago with Mark. To be that mindless trophy wife even if for a day, to forget all responsibility and for him safely coming home to you to be your only worry. To spend your hours cooking and cleaning, making yourself look your prettiest if it means letting him use you to destress.

You just want to make him happy, is that so wrong? Maybe.

"I'll be sure to make you some," You say back, eyes falling from his to instead look at your sneakers, "W-Well, I'll see you early tomorrow... I'll be sure to bring your sweater back." You miss the subtle smile due to your eyes being elsewhere, a smile that lasts until you look back up to him, "Drive home safe, I can't wait to see the fight tomorrow."

The two of you bid your farewell, Mark keeping his eye on you up until you safely enter the comfort of your car, and only then does he get into his own. You always miss those gentlemanly gestures he does, how he never leaves until he sees you're safely in your car, always keeping an eye out for you whenever you go off to the bathroom. He gets so worried over you being just a minute too long, and part of him excuses it for a "need to protect" urge in him.

But a very small part of him has already learned to accept he may or may not have feelings for you, whether they are romantic or platonic, he cannot pinpoint; especially because he hasn't even fully accepted the fact he has potential feelings for you.

Regardless, you drive away, unaware of how he waited for you to leave first. The entire ride home, all you could focus on was the cologne that stuck to the hoodie he let you borrow. How the masculine odor filled not only your nose but the car. It felt mocking like the hoodie knew how down bad you are forMark, but you try not to let it get to you. You try not to imagine how it would feel to bury your face into his shoulder and smell the cologne stuck to his skin.

That familiar heat floods between your legs, reminding you of how awful you are. Even with him gone, you can't stop the dirty thoughts. Maybe you just need to get laid? Maybe it's less that you like him, and just you being horny and deprived of intimacy.

You know that isn't the case, but it's nice to pretend it is.

What would his favorite position be? Would he prefer you on top? Bent over? If you had to decide, you'd want to be able to see his face, to watch how good you can make him feel. No amount of brainstorming could probably compare to how sexy he would look engulfed in pleasure, nor how he would sound. You take him for someone who tries to hold back their moans, not wanting you to know you're being good for him.

"Oh, god..." You whisper under your breath as you continue to drive, knuckles bulging from gripping the steering wheel so hard, not to mention the ache in your lower back from how far you've arched yourself to try and ignore the throbbing in your clit. It's ridiculous, here you are driving home on an empty street, your apartment building isn't even that far away...

And yet you find yourself pulled over on the side of the road.

The entire time, you mentally scold yourself, eyes frantically looking about all the while you sick back into your seat. Your nose is buried into the collar of the sweater, the familiar scent comforting you while your hand moves under the waistband of your leggings and then under your soaked panties. Were you really this wet? Usually, you would be riddled with shame, but now? You can only thank yourself, knowing it will make it all the easier for your fingers to snake themselves inside of you.

You know that your fingers will never compare to the real thing, and most of the time you don't even get much pleasure from them being inside of you, but that minor sense of fullness somehow is just relaxing. Between your index and middle fingers being knuckle deep inside of your pulsating entrance, your walls clenching around what little space your fingers take up, and your palm grinding into your clit.

"M-Mark..." His name is always falling from your tongue, every time you find yourself viciously rubbing your clit in desperation, or grinding into the soft fabric of your pillow. Whatever you may be doing to pleasure yourself, his name is the only thing that you manage to utter during the entire process. Praising him for making you feel so good and whimpering how it's too much for you.

If only he could see you now, curled up in your car and humping at your hand, panting and whining for the only man you've thought about for however long you've known him. If only he were here, to witness how filthy you are, that you're anything but sugar and honey - you're not sweet at all, you're just a needy nymphomaniac.

You spread your thighs just a little more, fingers dipping in and out of your entrance only to then come out and give your neglected clit circular rubs before seeping back inside of your pussy, "I wanna cum,Mark~" Imagining it is his fingers pumping in and out of you, that it's his palm that continues to grind into your poor clit.

With the fabric of his sweater pressed firmly to your nose, it helps to muffle your pathetic sounds; strings of his name and pleas floating within the air of your car. the only other noise being the wet squelching sound of your fingers inside of you. It all feels so lewd, to be touching yourself like this in your car. If anyone were to find out, surely you would be not only shunned, but you'd never hear the end of it.

But god his hands felt so good on your thighs and waist when he was training you earlier, they were so warm, so big... his palms rough when they dragged over the skin of your arms. You wish he would've gone just a little higher

"F-Fuck... ah~ fuck me,Mark-" You squeak when your fingers nudge at your walls a little too roughly, further hiding your face in his sweater as it gradually becomes harder to contain your whimpers. The thought of him praising you, calling you his good girl, and saying you take it so well - would he pepper your teary face with kisses? Slow down to make sure he doesn't completely ruin you?

Your insides feel hot, tortuously hot. Every grind of your clit into your palm gradually brings you closer to the anticipated climax. Are you catching a fever? You know it is just your body readying itself for the oncoming bliss, the buildup in your stomach that feels like electricity, "I-I'm cumming," You breathe out a strained whine, "F-Fuck, I'm cumming... I'm cumming~!" You lose your voice as your fingers focus on your clit, rubbing back and forth against the poor nerve.

"M-Mark~ fuck, fuck, fuck- nngh~!" It all happens so quick, the squirting of your climax soaking into your panties and leggings, tainting the skin of your hand and pruning fingers, luckily not too much getting on the seat of your car. But it isn't the mess, it's the pulse you feel in your clit, a neverending throb that has your walls clenching and unclenching.

You must look wrecked, between how you've managed to bizarrely sink into your seat, your leggings and panties slightly pulled down and your fingers covered in a mess of your cum and slick. You feel ridiculous more than you look it, having just touched yourself in your car to the thought of someone who most likely sees you as nothing but a friend.

Once again you feel like you're taking a walk of shame; pulling your panties and leggings back up despite the uncomfortable and icky sensation of how wet the fabric is, adjusting yourself in your seat, and looking around for any ongoing or incoming cars. Only when you deem it safe, pulling out of the spot you had parked to continue your trek home, all in silence as a means to reflect on yet again letting your lust get the best of you.

All you can do is hope that when you get home and take a nice warm shower and make those grape leaves poor Mark asked for, that it will somehow erase this awful encounter with yourself from your head. Hopefully, tomorrow will be a better day. Though, you doubt it will take eight hours of sleep to cure you of the hormonal devil on your shoulder.

To make matters worse, the familiar chime of your phone interrupts your mental meditation on what just happened. Though, it isn't your phone that makes things worse, but rather the fact that the very name you see in the notifications bar is the one person you were hoping to get out of your head. You almost think not to answer, let alone look at it, but you could never do that to him.

Upon opening the message, you nearly cry with guilt - how can he be so sweet? Why do you have to be so awful?

Remember that time we went for a run? I forgot I took this pic of u when we finished... after u started to vomit because u pushed urself 2 much. U looked cute tho (:

Scrolling up you hold back the urge to get on your knees before some religious statue and beg for forgiveness. There he is smiling at the camera, holding it high enough to catch himself but also you in the back, to your surprise you don't look awful. Sure, you may be on the verge of death from running so much, and even sweatier than him, but the sunset somehow brought it all together.

And did he just say you looked cute?

You bite back the urge to squeal and get into a car accident, but mostly not to verbally freak out. Does he really think you're cute? Really? You almost don't want to believe it, why would he think you're cute? You don't dwell on it too much, happily accepting the compliment and rereading the message over and over again until another one comes through.

We should do it again, I had fun <3 see u 2morrow, don't forget the grape leaves!

Why does he have to be so perfect? It's always the nice guys who are barely out of your reach. Not that you deserve Mark, someone as obsessive as you doesn't deserve that sort of happiness - not when you focus more on wanting to have sex with him every day, rather than building up the courage to just ask him out.

Maybe tomorrow you will try.

The following morning comes all too quickly, but you give yourself credit for having not had a wet dream - something that shamefully occurs often - and waking up to the sound of your early set alarm without trouble. You're never usually up at this time, but keeping your promise to the crimson-haired man you think about more than you do yourself is your top priority. It would be awful to say you will be there with breakfast, only to diss him.

And surely he would end up not liking you at all, he has mentioned being prejudice against people who do not stay true to their words.

You like to think that you got ready so quickly, so haphazardly due to your stress over possibly being late... but you know it's because of how excited you are to see Mark and the fact he told you he wanted to see you before he would have to go and prepare for his fight.

Before you leave, you make sure to grab his sweater which you left neatly folded at your desk. When you got home after your shower, the first thing you did was throw it in the wash and put it as far away from you as possible - that damned sweater, you should have never accepted it because look what it made you do! Nonetheless, you are grateful he thought of you and your health and that is the reason you washed it, to cleanse it of any and all evidence of the sin you committed in your car last night. It is still humiliating that you allowed yourself to lose that self-control, but at least you're not in denial.

If your father were to have seen you with that hoodie, you are almost certain he would have recognized it and interrogated you. Luckily, that didn't happen, because if it had you aren't sure you would be able to explain without the flooding images of last night filling your head and driving you up the wall.

But none of that is your concern, not when you have to make it to the gym in time for him, you're certain he should be there at this time, as well as your father who is preparing the back building where all boxing training, practice, and matches go on. Your only hope is neither of you bumps into your old man, but with how analytical he is, he practically smells when and where he needs to stick his nose into business that isn't his.

As you pull your car into the lot of the gym, noticing the familiar vehicles that belong to both the man you are excited to see, but also the one you hope you don't bump into, the butterflies begin to catch up. He wanted to see you, even to now you still replay those very words, asking you to come by earlier so he could see you before he had to go and prepare himself for the night.

The nerves are beginning to start, you never quite got over that feeling that you were stepping into unfamiliar territory. You've known Mark for quite some time by now, can't you just get over it and walk in there? It isn't even him that you're fearful of, more so the eyes that may follow you the moment you step into the gym. What will others think? You're never so early, and walking up to the redhead with a bento box? You can only imagine the rumors this will start.

Yet, you suck it up. Your father didn't raise you to run away from things, worst-case scenario is he can't talk right now and you end up looking like a fool. You doubt it, but there are a hundred and one possibilities you are anything but prepared for. But isn't that what makes it exciting? The unknown.

Not really, you hate the unknown. The entire walk to the front door of the gym, as well as entering it to see not many people you are familiar with there, which isn't surprising since you work from the afternoon until it gets dark. Nowhere in sight do you see the redhead you have been waiting to see since you last saw him yesterday evening, and you aren't even sure where he could be.

Part of you worries you may be too late, but you figure if he were to be anywhere he must be in the back building. The only issue is you would have to possibly come face-to-face with your father, not only to hand back Mark's sweater but also breakfast you prepared for him. You almost think to just bail, claim there is a ridiculous amount of traffic and you're still on the road, but he isn't stupid.

And you're also not gonna hurt his feelings.

You carry yourself towards the back doors of the building to find the separate structure where all the boxers practice and train, it is rather run down in comparison to the main gym, but it makes sense since most of the fights that go on here go on without the knowledge of authority. You aren't even sure if your father has a proper permit for this building, but he's gotten away with it before, and you're sure you've seen local officers in their casual attire attending the matches.

But all of that is beside the point, not when you enter the building and come face to face with chaos. Between people moving chairs and tables around, cleaners mopping at the floor, boxers gathered to the far end of the building where you see your father. Unfortunately, there is noMark-

Before the figure behind you can even speak, this weird tingle down your spine alerted you to an approaching figure, which you quickly look back only to be met with long red hair and a bare, sweat-tainted torso. Had he always been so tall? So big? You have no clue where to even look, your eyes jumping from his chest to his shoulder, raking over his long hair, and finally locking with the familiar crimson eyes you are used to. You feel silly for staring at him, but you just can't help it.

"You made it," Comes his voice, a grin plastered onto his face at the sight of you holding his sweater and the bento box, "I see you brought me some gifts, is this what I think it is?" The tip of his finger points at the box of grape leaves, to which you hold them out for him to take, your words trapped in your throat at the sight of him completely shirtless in front of you.

Mark opens the box and whistles at the plentiful amount of grape leaves you had prepared for him, "You spoil me~" He hums while bringing one to his lips, taking it all in his mouth in one bite. Your eyes lock on a droplet of oil that is stuck to the corner of his mouth, how his jaw looks when he chews, the bob of his adam's apple whenever he swallows. You can only imagine how much better he would look swallowing your cum, if only he was there last night to catch your juices in his mouth when you made yourself cum like that.

"How is everything coming along?" You finally find your voice, even if to just ask a question, from what you can tell most of the necessary tasks are just about done - which would leave Mark with an hour or so to get ready for the match later this afternoon - and most are just focusing on creating space to accommodate the customers coming to watch.

Nights like this your father makes the most money, charging for entry and snacks. You call him a shark for how he robs these people with his ridiculous fees, but what business is it to you? If it's what the people want, you're sure they would pay any amount just to watch some men beat each up other up. You weren't a fan of boxing until you first seen Mark, only ever wasting your time to see him in the ring.

When he swallows his third grape leaf, much to your shock, his eyes scan the room with an unsure shrug, "I'd say it looks fine, I've been trying to help out but your father refuses... keeps saying I should just go and warm up in the gym." You would figure as much, your father has favorites and those favorites tend to get the better end of the stick.

You smile seeing how happy he is with the bento box you prepared for him, nothing makes you happier than when someone enjoys your cooking. Especially the person you like, a lot. It feels good to just be able to look at him and feel nothing but that giddy crush feeling bubbling inside of you, without the added turn-off of your anything but pure imagery that infests your less than perfect brain.

"There aren't too many people in the gym... maybe it will do you some good to stretch or something before you gotta get ready." Mark knows you're right, and he doesn't particularly enjoy doing absolutely nothing when everyone around him is up to some sort of agenda, "I don't plan on going anywhere now that I'm here, it wouldn't make sense... did you need help with anything in particular."

Of course, part of you is hoping to hear something like 'yeah, can you suck my dick?' but you know that won't happen. It is quite humiliating to even think that, how nice his thighs would feel in your palms, his cock shoved balls deep in your throat, tearing up and choking from the size. You bet he tastes just as good as he looks, and he looks like he tastes really good.

Mark closes the bento box, "Actually, yeah..." The three fingers the were covered in the thick oil that the grape leaves are cast in are one by one popped into his mouth, and oh is a sight to admire. His tongue dragging over the single-digit before dragging it out from his mouth with a light pop, "You mind wrapping my hands for me? I never do it tight enough."

You've seen him struggle plenty of times with that hair of his, thick and down to his lower back. You aren't sure how he manages to take care of it, after all, it always looks so silky and voluminous. The women in those shampoo commercials could never compare, you're sure if Mark ever got into doing commercials he would have shelves empty within the first two seconds of the ad.

Who wouldn't want to sit there and stare at him? His voice shaking every bone in your body, the way his muscles flex with the slightest movement, his pretty white teeth, not to mention thick lashes, and the way they frame his sharp eyes. Anyone would be happy to hear him talk, let alone drag their eyes over every dip and curve of his powerhouse of a body.

Before you are quiet for too long you come back to your senses, "Of course!" It comes out rather too enthusiastic, but Mark either doesn't notice or care. Especially not when you walk past him in that pretty little skirt of yours, you look so delicious clutching his sweater to your chest, your hips swaying in the most hypnotizing way. God forbid anyone, let alone your father catches his eyes checking you out from behind.

He follows you like a lost puppy, drooling over your legs and how soft they must be, how your thighs would feel amazing to just lay his head down on them. He's always found you attractive, and your sweet personality makes it ten times better. Whenever you wear those yoga leggings, he finds himself staring too long at you, watching you walk until you disappear somewhere.

What he would give to see you in cute little stockings, holding that skirt of yours up for him to admire the adorable panties you have on. Would you be into that? Letting him stare down at you, memorize every inch of your body, rub you through your panties, and push your shirt up and over your soft tits. The things he would do to you if you gave him the chance, and today he hopes he can coax you into paying more attention to him.

The two of you enter the gym, seeing that only a few other regulars have joined the same faces from when you came. The only sound being of the equipment and the cheesy music playing through the loudspeakers. Onlookers glance for a moment, watching the two of you as you both settle at one of the benches. You know they only look because they're interested in Mark and what he could possibly be doing with you. But who cares? You get to have an excuse to hold his hand!

"Did you sleep well?" He asks while fishing into the pocket of his shorts to pull out the hand wraps, "To be honest, I was a little worried about you since it was so cold... that's why I texted you, to make sure you were okay." Every word leaves you more and more in a state of speechlessness, he truly did care. All night that's all you could wonder if he genuinely cared and it turns out he did.

You contain your excitement, not wanting it to show how happy that made you, "Really?" You squeak out, "I-I was fine... your sweater kept me warm." You hide the flustered look by focusing down at the gauze in your hands, unwrapping the elastic material, "I made sure to wash it before I brought it back, I was pretty sweaty last night."

He finds you adorable, how your pretty hands hesitantly grab one of his and hold it in your lap. Your skin is so soft, so warm, he has to hold himself back from just squeezing or dragging his palm over the exposed skin. You're so careful with how you bring the gauze over his knuckles and between his thumb and index finger, making sure it is neither too tight nor too loose.

"Too bad, you always smell really good..." He watches your expression with a smirk, not missing how you tense up, "You never answered my question about whether or not you slept..." He loses his train of words as he watches your fingers trace over his knuckles. You're gentle, treating his hand like it's the most fragile thing you ever held, between the way you've fastened the gauze just right and are now just adjusting the wrap to better cover his abused knuckles.

The only thing on your mind is whether he takes proper care of his hands or not, does he make sure to clean them up and put ice? To massage all the kinks and knots out? You worry too much for him, not that he could ever tell. The tips of your fingers trace what scars aren't being covered, admiring how much he has probably been through to get this far. You've seen the way he trains, hours without a break, and always pushing himself, that's how stars are made.

Would it be so bad...? You feel conflicted, despite your hand already gradually bringing his closer to you, has anyone ever made sure he took care of himself? You try to do so, but sometimes your selfishness gets in the way. Is there anyone he lives with that pampers him? What you would give to be that person; rubbing his aching shoulders, kissing the bruises and cuts he has, washing his hair and back for him...

"y/n-" Your name leaves his mouth with a stutter, crimson eyes caught on your lips pressing delicate kisses to his knuckles. Your lips are soft, shimmering slightly from the lip-balm you have on, not to mention the warmth of your breath wafting against his hand. He doesn't protest, more so in awe at how pretty you look, how you don't even seem to be aware of what you're doing.

To say he hasn't pictured this exact scenario a hundred times or more, you wrapping his hands before a match, kissing each finger with one of your beautiful smiles. All he can do now is soak in this mini victory, a dream come true if you will. Your eyes peering through your lashes when your lips pull away from his hand, the cutest look of shame flashing on your pretty face, "Sorry, it just looks like it hurts..."

Mark stays silent as you hold his wrapped hand, reminiscing on how your lips felt on him, wondering if they would feel even better elsewhere. He doesn't respond right away, placing his unwrapped hand in your lap with a smile, "I liked it..." He says while you start to wrap his other hand, "Y-You should do it more often."

You never expected him to say something like that, not that you expected him to be upset with you. To be honest, you weren't entirely sure what you were expecting his response to being when you pulled away. Part of you thought the atmosphere would grow awkward, unwanted even. Yet, here you are repeating the process with his other hand, the entire time you can't keep yourself from glancing up, only for your eyes to lock with his and his lips to curl into a smug smirk.

Just as you had with his other hand, you sheepishly bring the newly wrapped knuckles to your lips. Of course, this time you aren't as confident, but he finds it just as pleasurable. Your pretty eyes locked with his, kissing at the scarred flesh and trying to sit still. He can tell you're embarrassed simply by your body language, which you shouldn't be, he likes this show you're putting on for him.

Only when you finish, lowering his hand from your face and sitting up straight on the bench opposite to him, does Mark get a good look at your face. You would look good with a swollen bottom lip, irritated from his teeth nipping and tugging at it, and he wouldn't mind giving your cheek a playful bite, too. He realizes he doesn't quite want you to move away just yet, the simple act of you wrapping his hands already leaving him craving more of your attention.

"Could you help me with my hair, too?" You are only a little surprised by the question, especially since you've seen him put up his hair - despite it looking rather rough around the edges and a bit too low - and be perfectly fine with it. But you wouldn't turn down the opportunity to be close with him for a little longer. Did he ask that because he wants the same thing? You want to believe it.

Mark hands you the tie around his wrist, watching you come to a stand and circle around to stand behind him. His hair looks shiny, like layers of red silk on his head, "You have nice hair," You shyly state, putting the tie around your wrist as you start to gather his long and thick hair in your hands, "I bet you'd look nice with a half-up half-down style, but keeping it all up is probably for the best so it doesn't obstruct your vision, right?"

He wanted to answer you, but your voice sends such a chill through his spine, your warm breath hitting the back of his neck as you work to make sure not a single hair has fallen astray. Your fingers are like heaven, rubbing against his scalp, combing through the heavy bundle of red hair, "The last time I wore my hair down for a fight," He holds his tongue when you lean forward, the softness of your tummy pressing into him as you lean over his body to make sure you gather the hair in front, "I-It kept getting the way and stuck on things..."

You hum softly, not even really aware that the fact you're practically laying over his back to pull back the loose strands have him swelling in his briefs. Fuck, he would do anything to fill you up right here, let everyone watch him do it too. Pretty little y/n get her pussy stuffed for being a teasing little whore, panties around your ankle, barely fitting him inside of you.

"You'll do great tonight," You say loud enough for only him to hear, "And um... maybe after we can go out for dinner?" Mark almost laughs at the predicament, it seems you beat him to it, "I-I mean, only if you're up for it, I just know this place with really good western dishes and I wanted-"

"Would you believe me if I said I was gonna ask you the same question after the match?" Your heart lodges in your throat, he is serious... right? Of course, why else would he say that? But it feels too good to be true! Would he really ask you out for dinner? It feels like everything is just falling together with the more the day goes by; wanting to see you before the match, wanting to ask you out for dinner, kissing his knuckles, touching his hair... it feels too perfect.

Technically it is because it seems your fifteen minutes of heaven is up when the familiar face of your father approaches you both, your fingers fall from the red hair you had been playing with, "I've been looking everywhere for you, kid... and you've been here the whole time!" His hands go up in the air, urgingMark to stand up, "Turns out we are actually behind schedule, the guys who came for the match are here an hour early so we gotta get you changed and ready to go in thirty minutes. Understood?"

PoorMark looks like a deer caught in headlights, "H-Huh? I thought the matches weren't until later...?" Even you are a tad confused by the situation, the matches are always held later in the day, wouldn't it be inconvenient to start now when there aren't even any customers?

But it turns out everything happens for a reason, "That was the impression I was under, but it turns out the new kid I hired to put up posters and shit put in the wrong damn time. So not only are people expecting a match in the next thirty minutes, but I haven't even finished getting the beer and shit out." Your father seems to be off the walls, between the anger in his tone and the way his brows are knitted close together, you don't think now is the time to upset him.

"You, go get changed and ready." Your father pushes Mark in the direction to the dressing rooms, "And you," He smiles while taking your face in his palms, "If I see that redhead getting too friendly with you I will kick his ass, now go and get yourself something to eat from the back you look half-awake." That's your father for you, even protective when the nice guys are around.

Alas, you do not argue, now is probably not the best time to tell him you wanted to go to dinner with Mark later tonight. You follow his orders to go and help with the food and beverages, you're sure he wouldn't want you working, but you figured with all the stress of the times being wrong you could help even just a little bit.

This is the most chaotic you have seen the gym, people coming with nowhere to go just yet, workers running around with chairs and tables and mops, carrying cases of whiskey and soda and things alike. If you weren't used to such disorder, for sure you would have cracked under the pressure of everything. Working a gym that also happens to have a "secret" boxing system in itself is just a mess.

Deep down, you feel bad for everyone and seeing the boxers rush in and out half-dressed in their uniforms and still trying to help, but at the same time, the fact that everything has been pushed earlier simply means you not only get to go out with Mark sooner but most likely stay out with him longer. You only hope that the stress of this mishap and the fight doesn't ruin those chances and he forgets, or even worse, just doesn't want to go out anymore.

As usual, you know that is just your overactive imagination and the pessimistic side of you, always questioning your worth and whether or not an opportunity is real or not. A lot of nights you spend laughing at yourself, how silly you were for holding so much doubt and worry over nothing; now is one of those moments.

When you should be focusing on helping to carry this case of water to the back building, you're wondering how Mark is coming along. He looked a little under pressure the last time you saw him, what if he might need help? Probably not...

But he did say he needed a little good luck before the match.

Maybe visiting him will somehow ease his nerves, despite him being a big guy with a lot of confidence, you are sure even men like him can be on edge for something like a boxing match. It's like football in high school minus being in high school and the football, right? Before game adrenaline, eyeing up the enemy, mentally and physically preparing yourself for the fight of your life. Everyone wants to win.

The only difference is that you know Markwill come out on top, you've never had as much faith in anyone as you do with him... which is why your feed deters from the back door to the second building in favor of finding which room Mark may be holed up in. Every dressing room has a name on it, and there are only five being used tonight because most of the boxers being trainees.

Your father is a big perfectionist, and if he doesn't have one hundred percent faith in you, then there is no way he will have you representing him. You learned that a lot growing up, but you think that's one of the reasons you crave perfection over minuscule things like how the gym equipment is set up, and where the towels and waters out, how things are accessible. They do say the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

As you make your way down the hall of vacant and occupied doors, your eyes finally catch sight of the familiar name done in the familiar striking handwriting you have seen thousand times over. Mark has this little within quirk that you can easily identify, always sharpening his letters and irregular capitalization. You've always liked coming to work to see his name on the sign-in sheet, always so bold and pop from the rest of the list of names.

For a moment you almost hesitate to knock on his door, but it is either now or never that you speak to him. You bring your knuckles to the door, knocking three times before stepping back and waiting. You don't hear anything on the other side of the door, could he have already left? It is a possibility, out of everyone his costume has always been the most... let's just say revealing. Mark is meant to be the eye-catcher, he is young, has bold red hair, is big and intimidating all the while looking soft.

All the boxers have their teams, and Mark's just so happens to be a nice, scary piece of eye candy. Not that you mind at all, more for you to look at! But when the door doesn't open, you come to the conclusion he isn't there, turning on your heel to head back out and see if anyone needs help. You're disappointed to say the truth, having wanted to talk with him for a second before the match, but not everything can just fall into place.

You get about ten feet from the door before you hear the sound of a door handle turning and the squeak of its opening, "y/n?" The familiar voice stops you in place, you had thought the door belonged to someone else but turning to look into the crimson eyes of the person you had been hoping to see, "Hey, what's up?" He is only a little shocked to see you there, to be truthful he was hoping it was you on the other end of the door when he hurried to get to it.

But you standing there, he almost didn't believe it for a second, not until you scurried your pretty little self back the way you came to meet him at his door, "N-No! I just thought you could use a little help, you looked distressed when you had to rush out of there before." Your words sink in for a moment, you were worried. He finds it rather cute, you worrying your head over him and wanting to be a good helper.

"Is that so...?" He hums, smiling when you slowly crack under his gaze, "Can you help me get this shitty top on? Your father forgot to order a bigger size so we are trying to compromise." You're a little flustered to help him with his costume of all things, you'll be alone in a room with him and his uniform barely covers anything. Between the fact, his entire torso is revealed aside from the signature black arm sleeves, and you'll be dangerously close to him? You are melting and you aren't even entirely in his room yet.

No matter what, you refuse to turn him down, not now. You look both ways down the hall before quietly entering his room, the door shutting behind you both, "I'll be sure to order a resizing for you," You say and examine the rest of what should be a part of the top of his costume, "He must have gotten you mixed up with the new guy, but that's okay people aren't here to judge you for what you're wearing!"

Mark sits down for you, letting you adjust the arm sleeves on his arm, due to the collar and shoulder pieces not fitting him, they won't have anything to be held up with, "I find it kinda funny how big your dad is about image and impression, considering he has men beating on each other for like four hours straight." Your fingers feel hot against his skin, apply a makeshift tape to the inside of the hem of the sleeves so that it has a better grip on his biceps.

"I was thinking... maybe instead of staying for everything to finish, we could just go out as soon as my match is over?" Your heart leaps at the suggestion, you're starting to think that he can read your thoughts, that the entire time you were freaking out over that dinner date not working he heard it all and was now making sure you could rest assured. Again, once again your imagination going over the top, but it doesn't kill a girl to dream!

With nothing more to modify regarding his costume - which you realized he never needed help with it to start and he was giving an excuse for you to stick around - you circle to look him in the face, "I would like that, I don't really... I kinda only go to these matches to watch you." He knew that but you don't know that he knows, so he pretends he is shocked, "A-And because the matches are earlier than they were supposed to, maybe we have time before or after dinner to do something else?"

His mind wandered, he won't deny it, what could pretty y/n possibly have in mind for before or after dinner? He'd love for it to be you bouncing in his lap with your tits spilling out that top of yours, you'd probably love that, wouldn't you? Mark can just imagine how good you would look, squealing and gasping, doing your best to take his big cock, even crying a little because you don't wanna mess up and not be good enough for him.

Fuck, you look so tantalizing standing there, your fingers messing with one another in front of you as you wait for a response, "What did you have in mind?" Mark wants to know what sort of ideas you have brewing in your head. Here is he wanting to fuck you whenever he gets the chance, and poor you have no clue. Part of him wouldn't be surprised if you have fantasies of your own, it's always the one who acts all sweet and sugary that ends up being sour and spicy.

"I-I'm not sure... but we could figure it out later, right?" He is a little disappointed you didn't have anything specific you wanted to do, but he figured as much since everything is so last minute. Nonetheless, he can't wait to see what happens later, he knows you'll make it work just like you always do.

The silence that falls for a few brief seconds doesn't last long when a knock comes at the door, to which you look over in horror. You don't need someone walking in and seeing you here, especially if that is your father. But Mark has it under control, going over to the door and peeking out. You can't see who it is, but you can hear their conversation from start to finish.

"You're on in five, so get that uniform finished and get out there, 'kay?" You figured it was your father with how strict he is when it comes to time, "Also, have you seen y/n?" You freeze up at the mention of your name, you'll be dead if he so much as smells you in this room, which is the reason you sink further into the corner and as far away from the door as possible.

"I haven't, but I'll be done in a minute, don't worry." Less is more with your father, and thankfully you can hear the sound of him going on with whatever it was he was doing before checking on Mark. The door clicks shut and only then do you let out the breath you had been holding, "Shit, that was close..."

If only he knew how badly your heart was racing, and you wish you could say it was out of fear, but all you feel is hot, that adrenaline of your father finding his sweet little girl in the room of one of his scary boxers. What would he think? Sure he would tie you up in the tallest tower, but he would for sure hasMark's head on a pike in the gym. You almost miss that he is beginning to gather his things and ready himself to go out to the ring.

You still haven't given him any sort of good luck; no pep talk, no awkward friendship bracelet, no bouquet of cheap flowers. Why were you even here then? You wonder if he is disappointed, he did specifically say 'are you going to give me some good luck?' yesterday and here you show up empty-handed. But the last thing you want is to leave him with no sort of confirmation that you wish him the best.

Before he can leave, you are quick to make a move, "Mark-" You stop him with a grab to his wrist, crimson orbs look over broad shoulders to meet your own, "You said you needed good luck before the game..." What are you doing? You have nothing to give or show...

Markwaits in suspense, he had entirely forgotten the very words he said yesterday. He didn't mean it he was just teasing you a little like he always does. But the fact you remembered? He is flattered, albeit confused because he doesn't see anything in your hands and you don't have a bag or pockets on you... his head wanders, maybe a kiss? He would be more than just happy with that, through the roof even!

But as he watches you, tense where you stand and caught in some sort of conflict, the last thing he expects is to see you bend forward. He isn't quite sure what it is you're doing at first, but then your hands shimmy up and under your skirt.

What makes it even more of a smack to his face is when he sees something pink and lacy being slipped down your legs. Maybe it was how dumbfounded he was, but until you slipped your pretty legs out from the fabric and hold it out for him, does he realize that little pink lace is your panties, "A-A good luck charm for Red Riot from his... from his number one fan."

The two of you stand there for what seems like forever, did you kill him? He looks almost dead where he stands, his eyes wide, and locked on the bundle of fabric in your hand. You almost worry you did too much, "Kick some ass." You quickly take his hand and shove your panties in them, hurrying out the room with the most flustered yet satisfied grin on your face. You did it, sure it may have been a bit much, but your feelings are out there and the ball is in his field. Now it's his job to decide whether he accepts it or not.

You hurry out to the back building, knowing your father is most likely being driven up the wall by not knowing where you are. You concoct an excuse in your head, you were just in the bathroom because something you ate didn't sit right. He would believe that, right? He's always doting after you like you're still his little princess dressing up and walking around in sequins and glitter.

The building is a lot more crowded than you expected, but it is easy to find your father after shimmying through the crowd, "Where the hell were you, y/n? I was asking everyone and running around like crazy, I thought some psycho had-" You stop him with a gentle pat to his back, oh if only daddy knew what exactly it was you were doing, "Whatever, it doesn't matter, right? You're here, and you better be making sure you leeches don't go over and try to steal snacks."

Almost directly after, your father is surfing through the crowd to try and sell gym merch, memberships, popcorn, and peanuts. He has always been a businessman at heart, and you are anything but shocked to see him with his bag of random foods and trinkets to sell to customers.

The chaos doesn't last long, the familiar ring of the bell that calls attention to the crowd has the room quieting. You are familiar with the process of hyping up the crowd, when you were little and watching boxing matches on television with your father, you would imitate the spokesperson to make him laugh. You always wanted to do something like that, have all eyes on you as you do nothing but talk.

But you grew out of it inevitably, though it doesn't mean watching someone else do it makes it any less enjoyable, "Anyway, let me stop boring you all with meaningless conversation... let me welcome the man representing this very ring, Red Riot!" Everything else was a blur, Mark happily coming out, but if anyone could tell something was off it was you. The way his eyes wolfishly searched the crowds, as if he is expecting something or someone to be there...

Only after the spokesperson finishes introducing the redhead to the crowd of wild and returning fans, does he return to that strange behavior of looking around, he doesn't even pay attention to his opponent who is trying to antagonize and rile him up. What you least expect is for him to walk straight across the ring to where you are and lean down so you can get a good look at his face, "You're crazy," He whispers with one of the scariest smiles you've ever seen, "I think I figured out what we could do before dinner, you better be in that dressing room when this is over."

If anything could describe the things you felt right then, it would be both fear and excitement. Especially when he shamelessly reaches through the ring, knowing your father is completely distracted and grabs you by the collar of your shirt, and pulls you forward. You trip over your own feet, holding down your skirt when you remember you gave your panties to the crimson-haired man that has you in the palm of his hand.

Mark presses the sweetest kiss to your cheek, and if it weren't for the fact you both were in public, you would have grabbed his face and smashed your lips right onto his. But you take what you can get and flash him your prettiest smile before he has to let you go and return his attention to the man he is supposed to fight.

Everything feels surreal, your fingers constantly reaching up to touch the exact spot his soft lips had found your skin. God, if you were to die you would be totally fine with it after having that kiss, the match feels like a blur. Usually, you are ready to cheer him on, but now? All you can manage to do is watch and wait for it to be over, and with the way, the fight is going? You're certain the poor guy he is against is going to fall any second.

Mark dodges the third punch the guy has thrown, you're starting to think he is growing desperate and exhausted. Why else is he just throwing random and uncoordinated punches? You've seen it a thousand times before, they always start going wild when they are tired and desperate. And you know Mark well, he isn't a fan of a sloppy opponent. This is why, although you flinched, you're also not surprised by the force he puts into his punch to humble the man in front of him. You hate how messy things can get, the sweat on them, blood... it's like watching two wild bears claw at one another's throats.

"Ouch! Looks like you're gonna pass out there, buddy... thinking of calling it quits and handing the win to Red?" You wish he would say yes, that he would just give up and let Mark have it for the night. You can barely find it in you to worry over some boxing match when he demanded you to meet him in his room. All of these scenarios are burning through your head, and even if it isn't what you want, you would be more than happy with another kiss.

Between the punches and swings, the blood you just noticed was dripping from Mark's nose and onto the lips he had kissed you with, it is all so overwhelming in addition to your hormones going crazy. You have never wished for a boxing match withMark to be over so badly, and it isn't even that you don't want to see him fight! You just want to see him elsewhere, specifically in private... specifically where he is undressed.

But when you see the man get Mark in a headlock, your heart drops for a second, he has this, right? You know he does, but you hate how long it's taking him to get out of that. You always get nervous for him when he takes a few seconds too long to take the advantage back, "Oh, do we have a possible turn around?" You can't stand him being stuck like that.

The only thing you know that could possibly give him the energy he needs to get out of that headlock is someone cheering for him. And sure the whole room is cheering from him, but he specifically told you, 'hearing you cheer is different from hearing everyone else, so use your voice!'

With all you have, you take a deep breath and cup your mouth to amplify your voice, "You got this,Mark!" And if anyone can pick your name from the crowd, it is him. It's like watching someone suddenly going through a drug boost, the way his arms coming up and tug himself free of the grasp around his head, all you can do is continue to cheer for him until he finally lands a good enough punch stun the guy. Red eyes find you in the crowd, and although he looks scary with the swollen lip and blood from his nose, you still get butterflies when he gives you that charming smile and a wink.

"Never mind, Red Riot has once again held his ground! Don't forget to place your bets in the back on who will win and possibly receive a free gym membership for two months!" It feels like you have been standing there for a million years, the snack table isn't even at the top of your priority list right now, you couldn't care less if they stole everything including the table!

The fight is already in the hands of the very man you have been cheering for this whole time, you didn't doubt it for a second. It is only a matter of either that man tapping out or Mark knocking him out and you don't care which it is. You are on the tips of your toes with how things are looking, Mark has insane stamina but you can tell he is getting a little fed up and tired, "Knock him out, Mark!"

He lands a punch to the abdomen, the man curling over to armor his stomach, which anyone knows is the worst thing you can do. Right then and there, you knew it was over, especially when right after Mark knocks him directly in the nose and the guy goes falling back. He may not be unconscious, but his body language, the wooziness to his movements... you know he is finished.

"Aaaand~" Everyone counts down from three, "We have checkmate! But are we surprised with who is the winner? No!" You don't even listen to what the man has to say, not when the referee climbs the ring to hold Red Riot's fist in the air, a formal symbol that he has taken this week's fight.

And when he looks right at you with that goofy smile of his, you can't help but to practically jumping in place with your biggest smile, blowing him a kiss. Of course, you didn't forget his demand for you to meet him in the dressing room. The moment you see him climbing out of the ring, you are high tailing out of that building. Could your father be calling for you? Maybe. Do you care? Absolutely not.

Not when you are holding down your skirt and running double-time right out of that humid building to get to where you need to be. Every muscle in your body is aching, every nerve aflame. If you could describe what it was you were feeling, it's like teetering over the edge right before you cum. To feel everything in your body working, like a thousand electric shocks straight to your core.

You're so focused on getting down that hallway and into that room, your ears are deaf to the oncoming footsteps rapidly approaching behind you, "Gotcha!" A scream catches in your throat when you recognize the arms that wrap around your midsection and pick you up, no one else wears black arm sleeves like this, "C'mere." His hand grips your jaw, forcing you to look back at him just so his lips could finally meet yours.

And you should be disgusted by the blood from his nose rubbing off on your upper lip, or how you can taste the iron on your tongue. But you have waited so long to kiss him like this, even if it wasn't you imagined a hundred times over, it feels better than you could ever concoct in your imaginative brain. His lips are not at all chapped, they are soft and plush and perfectly mold with yours.

Only when his tongue playfully swipes at your bottom teeth do the two of you break apart for air, eyes locked together in a moment of silence. You've never felt like this, as if you have a million and one little feathers moving around all inside of you, "I don't what I'm gonna do to you first." His voice is like a growl against your nape, the vibrations deep and rumbling into your sensitive skin.

He doesn't let you go yet, his arms remain tight around your torso as he carries you in front of him the rest of the way to the room with your toes barely touching the ground, "What are you going to- ah~!" Your eyes tear up when he sinks his teeth into your neck, slamming the door behind him with his heel, "M-Mark... mm~" He doesn't let up on your neck, sucking at the already darkening bite mark he has created. If someone were to tell you that you would be in this situation, with Mark Markholding you snug against his front and forcing you to bend over the vanity in his dressing room, you wouldn't believe them.

"Fuck, I was so close to grabbing you and dragging you right back in here when you gave me these," He digs your panties from his pocket, "You thought that was cute, huh? Tugging these off right in front of me like that?" You know he isn't expecting an answer, but you can't expect but to give him the smuggest nod you can while looking at him in the mirror, "You think you're so cute, don't you?"

The way he speaks with you, it's almost on the dot with every fantasy you have had. To feel like the perfect bittersweet brat just for him, if this is the reaction you will get then you plan to push his buttons more often. Every word that leaves him has you further hooked on his line and you will do anything just for him to keep whispering those things in your ear, for him to grab your face and make you meet his eyes.

"I wanna kiss again..." You give him your sweetest pout, doing your best to peer over your shoulder and trying to reach behind you to bring him closer, but he is having none of your little needinesses. Your hands are gathered easily in one of his big palms, pinned in front of you at the desk, "Mark, please~"

He gives you a shake of his head, his free hand coming up to grab your chin and keep you still for him, "Nuh-uh, look at you..." His thumb swipes at your upper lip, "Got blood all over you, babe..." You felt it and tasted it the moment you kissed him, but you couldn't care less, your tongue dragging over your upper lip to clean it up. And you didn't miss the wolfish look in his eyes, watching your tongue drag over that blood and smear it even more.

Before your tongue can retract back into your mouth, he is quick to lean forward and press his lips to yours so his tongue can pry its way into your mouth. You don't fight it either, this is exactly what you had wanted and you are getting it. His tongue tastes like mint and a hint of iron from his busted bottom lip, but it is all good to you, if you could you would dance your tongue with his until you were on the brink of asphyxiation.

But you know that isn't possible, not when he is already pulling away from the kiss in favor of leaving a trail of them down your tender neck. It tickles, but you take it like you're supposed to, only somewhat flinching when he finds the bruise he had already left. It feels like needles, burning under the playful tracing of his tongue over the bite marks in your flesh.

"Jerk..." You're silenced with a sharp spank, and you should be whining over it, but you've wanted this time and time again. You have no room to complain that it left your poor ass burning, not when it has you craving another. He likes your little resistance, how you give him something to dance around. As much as he enjoys the idea of you being his submissive little lamb, this little game you have going on is all the more interesting.

Without warning the bottom of your skirt is tugged up, your bare and wet pussy coming right into view, "Look at you, walking around with nothing under this... I bet you enjoyed that, look at how wet you are." Mark's hand is so hot on your ass, tugging it to pull your pussy nice and open for him to look at. You look so soft, so sweet, if he could he would take a nice bite out of you right now.

"Fuck, you think you can fit it?" You try to answer, you really do, but you can't stop focusing on his hand mocking you. The way it slowly circles your ass, the pad of his thumb barely grazing at your slit, "You want it, don't you?" You nod slowly while watching him through the mirror, how his abdominal muscles flex with every movement of his body, the sweat that sticks to his skin, not to mention the evident strain in his pants.

Everything feels hot, from the tip of your nose down to your toes, it's like you've been engulfed in hellfire... in a good way. Everything he does to you feels good, even if it's just locking eyes with you in the mirror, or readjusting your hips to take in every dip, curve, and roll on your pretty self. It doesn't matter what he does, and you know that the reason he has you so worked up is simply that it is him.

You are aware that the two of you are strapped for time, being here and like this is as unconventional as it can get. You know you can't be too loud, and you both can't take as long as you want, but you plan to make the most of it. If anything, you still have time to possibly exchange that dinner date for something else and you're sureMark wouldn't mind that, not with how you can feel his breath down your spine.

As much as you dreamed of your first encounter with him to be romantic, the moment you slipped off your panties and put them in his hand drew the line between a romantic night out and the potential that night you both won't be able to keep your hands to yourselves, "You're gonna watch me fuck you," He points at the mirror for you to look, not that you haven't been staring at yourselves through it this whole time, "I want you to see the slutty faces you make."

For a moment, you actually believed that he would finally fuck you, as foolish as that is, but rather than pulling off his own pants he is guiding you to sit on the vanity desk with your front showing in the mirror. The awkward position forces your pretty thighs open, giving you a look at just how ruined your pretty little cunny is, how your slick sticks to it and dribbles just a little onto the vanity you are sat on.

No words are exchanged between the both of you, his eyes are locked on your changing expression while yours are locked on his wandering hands. His fingers snake their way from your waist, gradually moving upward and under your shirt. His palms are rough and calloused, still wrapped in the gauze you had done prior to the fight, pulling at the sensitive skin of your torso. The fabric has the hairs on your neck standing up and when his large hands grope your tits through your bra you feel a familiar electric shock goes straight to your core.

"What're you making that face for?" You hadn't realized the way your face scrunched up in response to his hands, and the cocky smirk on his face only makes you all the more embarrassed, "Are you sensitive here...?" To test his intuition, his fingers push under your bra to feel at your bare tits, grinning at how soft they are and the way they fit so nicely in his palms.

You hate how it makes you feel, how every swipe of his thumb over your nipple has your hips bucking just a little, "M-Mark... mm- ah!" You're caught off guard by the mean pinch he gives your pert nipples, giving the sensitive buds an observant twist, watching your every reaction and every little twitch of those soft thighs. You look perfect, completely at his mercy and leaning back into him as his hands do what they please under your shirt, "Hah... y-you don't have to be so harsh..."

"No?" You shake your head in response, a cute little pout pulling at your bottom lip, "But I like how you react and look," One of his hands pull from beneath your shirt in favor of hiking up the bottom of your skirt to reveal your swollen and dripping pussy, "You seem to like it, too... making a mess all over yourself." He isn't wrong, you love it. You love the burn of your nipples with every painful twist, how your tits feel sore from his tight squeezes.

But simply touching them aren't enough for him, he wants to see them. You're already a pretty little thing, he doesn't doubt for a second your tits will only add to the list of things he likes about it. As well as to the list of things that turn him on, you being at the very top of that list.

You peer over your shoulder expectantly, eyes flicking from his down to his lips, you give him the only hint he needs to lean forward and slot his lips with yours. His tongue tastes just as good in your mouth as it did before, dancing teasingly and brush under your tongue. It's a wet, icky feeling but also one you wouldn't want to share with anyone but him. And with you so distracted by his tongue dancing with yours and tracing over your teeth, it gives him the perfect chance to do as he pleases.

One hand is swift with guiding your shirt up and over your tits, and it doesn't take much effort for his two fingers to get the clasp behind your back to snap open. The only obstacle being the straps that prevent him from completely taking the article of clothing off, but you're already on it, all without breaking the kiss you are sharing with him. While you work your arms out of the straps but also keeping your shirt on just in case you two have to make a run for it, Mark focuses his attention on your spread legs.

Opening just one of his eyes allows him to see the arousal that sticks to your cunny shimmers against the light of the room, all he has done was kiss you and play with your tits... you're a perverted girl, getting this wet over nothing, he bets you were thinking things that would leave even him a little shocked. Maybe later he will make it his mission to drag those fantasies out of you.

With the way you're situated on the vanity, feet planted on the desk as to give him the best view of your entire body in the mirror, it is easy for you to spread your legs impossibly wider for his hand that continues to slowly travel down your navel. The kiss breaks, only for you to little his jaw and neck with kisses, stopping right under his ear to begin sucking your own hickey into the sensitive skin.

Nothing could have prepared you for when his fingers finally met your throbbing clit, dragging over the neglected nerve, barely applying pressure with how he circles your clit and smears your arousal over your pussy, "You're a messy little thing, aren't you?" A pathetic hum of agreement passes your lips at his question, one you know he didn't expect you to answer. But he doesn't pay too much attention to that, not when he is dragging his fingers down between your folds to spread you open, "Fuck, you're so tight..."

Mark prods his middle finger at your not-yet-prepped entrance, watching how your walls suck his finger inside in desperation for some sort of relief. All this teasing and beating around the bush has your poor insides churning from the suspense. It's only one finger, but just as you expected that one finger feels a million times better than your two fingers. He knows how to curl them, to rub at the spongy patches inside of you, "Mm~! I-It feels good there..."

"Where?" He coos at your relaxed expression, "Here?" His finger rudely jabs at the spot he knows is making every muscle in your body go lax, to which you flash him a less than pleasant glare, "I'm just playing with you." His index finger is careful with how it slowly eases itself inside, pushing in with your middle fingers and getting you used to the stretch. It feels good, no discomfort in the slightest, and you can assume it's because of the way he continues to mess with that single spot that had your knees buckling.

His fingers push in as far as they can go just to mess with your walls, grinding and curling at the sensitive patches of nerves, only to remove both fingers entirely just to give your poor clit a few wet pats, "Ngh-Markiii, stop teasing it hurts..." He knows it does, he can see it in your twisted expression with every tap your clit receives, how you go from relaxing in his arms to flinching at the abuse.

But he can't help himself, not with how adorable you look bucking into his hand when he circles your clit, or your thighs twitching at the intrusion of his fingers. You look stunning, grabbing at his wrist when he is too rough, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. If it means seeing you continue to make such soft noises and to continue to breathe out his name like that, he'll keep doing what he has to do.

"If you don't want me teasing you, what do you want?" Oh, he can tell you weren't ready for that. It reads entirely in your flustered expression, and his fingers continuing to pump inside of you aren't doing anything to help... especially with the lewd squelching sounds your cunny just can't seem to stop making. It's humiliating, to say the least, how your pussy sucks his fingers inside desperately, the eroticism of watching his fingers disappear inside of you.

"M-Mark...: You don't even want to say all the things you want him to do to you, how do you tell him you've always wanted this? That night and night again you have touched yourself to the thought of him doing just about everything to you, from bouncing you in his lap, riding his face, bending you over, and having his way with you. You don't know where to start.

Mark can read it in your eyes that you have your words lodged in your throat, "If you don't tell me, this is all you're gonna get," He emphasizes his words with the pats of his fingers against your clit, "So be a good girl and speak up." You know he won't let you go until you give him exactly what he wants, the words are right on the tip of your tongue!

Your breath gets caught in your throat when his fingers slip out from your cunny, only to begin rubbing your clit back and forth, "I-I..." You squeak as he only seems to be rougher with you, purposely making you trip over your own words, "Mark~ fuck, fuck fuck-" Your fingers dig into his wrist, "I-I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna-" A strangled breath gets caught in your throat when he quickly pulls his fingers from your clit, "W-Wait, I was close,Mark!"

"Answer me and I'll let you cum."

His lips on your throat make it all the more difficult, but without the added pressure of his fingers abusing your poor cunny, you finally muster up the words to tell him, "I want you..." He gives you that look, the one that shows he expects more, "I want you inside me-"

"What do you want inside?" He coos, fingers brushing under your chin to bring your focus to him, "My fingers?" You shake your head with a subtle smile, "Hm... this?" He sticks out his tongue at you, only to earn himself another shake of your head. He feigns ignorance, pretending he has no idea what you could be possibly talking about.

Your sneaky fingers reach behind you, Mark didn't even notice because of how absorbed he was with your cute tits, cupping at the bulge in his pants, "This..." He didn't expect you to be so bold, not after how stubborn you were just being, but he likes the playful squeeze you give him, "Does that answer your question?" Your snooty little comment earns a sharp pinch to your clit.

"Yeah, it does," Through the mirror you can see him undoing the belt that holds up his pants, watching the cargo material fall around his thighs and revealing just how strained his aroused cock is against his briefs, "C'mon, get down and bend over the desk." You didn't expect him to be so quick to give you what you want, but deep down you think he still has something up his sleeve.

Without arguing, you climb down from the vanity as you were told, watching Mark in the mirror as you lean forward and put your weight on the desk. As much as you were watching him, he was also watching you. His eyes dragging down the curve of your back to your soaked pussy peaking from under the hem of your shirt, he has imagined this very scenario time and time again, and here you are right in front of him.

Somehow the real thing requires so much more thought than if it were only in his head, knowing whether you're okay, making sure you're not uncomfortable. No longer is it all just him and his dirty thoughts, he has to worry about your feelings too. And he is fine with that, but he never expected himself to feel like he has two tons on his shoulders by simply looking at you. It's one thing for you to be in his head bent over, but for you to be bent over actually in front of him? Well, let's just say his nerves aren't cooperating.

Maybe you noticed this, enough that briefly stand up from your previous position to meet his gaze, "I'm kinda nervous..." If he knows it isn't just him that's a little fearful of the unknown, there is a possibility it could bring back his confidence, "We can start slow and find our flow, right? that's how it's supposed to be." You're right, and he knows you are, maybe it was the thought that you had these high expectations that were making him nervous.

Little does he realize, as much as you want to be pretty enough and good enough for him, he wants to be just the same for you. But seeing the way you look at him, no sort of judgment or expectancy behind your eyes, giving him your signature smile, helps to melt all of that frustration and uncertainty away. You've always been good at doing that.

He isn't sure what came over him to cup your cheeks like that and pull you into a kiss, and sure the two of you knocked teeth from how urgent the kiss was at first, but the passion behind the kiss seemed to cast every sliver of doubt and second-guessing aside. All of your focus is on him, and his focus is on you in that very moment.

The electricity that surges through you with every push of your lips against his, tugging at his lip only for him to bite back and do the same to you. It's like you two found a middle ground, the kiss connecting you both in a way nothing else could, blindly guiding you two in the position you both need to feel comfortable. Somehow you finding yourself seated on the vanity desk and his hips between your spread thighs.

You break the kiss, lungs burning from holding your breath for as long as you could, eyes falling down between your spread legs, "Ah..." Your breath catches at the sight of him beginning to push inside, you didn't get a well enough look at how big he is, but the feeling alone is a little unnerving. You aren't even sure how much is in, but it feels like more than you truly think it is.

"Don't pay attention to that," His voice is hushed, grabbing your attention and making you pick your head back up, "Does it hurt?" To be honest, it doesn't, it's more like this full stretch that is only slightly discomforting. Something you weren't prepared for but believe you can handle. You shake your head, not wanting him to think he is doing something wrong, which he isn't.

His hair looks so soft, albeit messy because of the fight, but nonetheless still silky and you can't keep your fingers from combing into it, "I want another kiss," Your fingers tug the tie from his hair and watch the red locks fall to lay over his broad shoulders, "Unless you're too nervous to kiss me, hm?"

Your challenge ignites a fire within his chest, you sure know what things to say and when to get him riled up. And what you just said about him being too nervous? Oh, he isn't having it. Mark doesn't even need to speak for you to see the "game on" look in his eyes, and it doesn't make you any more shocked when his hand finds your throat and uses it to pull you forward.

The air is knocked from your lungs at the jerk of your body forward to meet him halfway, but you don't complain for a second, not when he gives you the confidence you had thought disappeared. It feels good to have that authoritative role back in him, for him to be taking back control with how he wants you and what he wants to do to you. Through the sloppy kiss that he has you locked in, you can feel your body being laid back on the vanity.

To your surprise, you have enough room to properly lay back, and with that Mark takes advantage of it. The desk perfectly supports your weight, allowing him the chance to grab your right leg and hoist it over his shoulder to create a more open angle for him to have you in. Immediately you can tell the difference in the feeling with this position, it pushes deeper at your walls rather than just rubbing past those spongy patches.

"Ngh... fuck, th-there it..." You can't form the right words to tell him how good it feels, even with the slow and controlled pace he has set for you, "Mark, I can take more. Please." You don't even try to hide the need in your tone, how it comes out as almost a whine rather than a polite little request. And he doesn't mind the demand, if you need more he is going to give it to you. After all, you're used to being daddy's little princess.

"You really think you can take more?" You nod your head, your hum of affirmation coming out as a moan, "Yeah? I don't think you can." His words contradict his actions, his back arching forward as he picks up the pace. No longer is the room echoing with nothing but moans and the obnoxiously wet sounds of your overwhelmed cunny, but the added volume of skin slapping skin makes what you both are doing here all the riskier.

His cock is ruthless, no matter the pace he uses you can feel every vein and the slight curve of his member, it feels too much even if he isn't giving you enough. The size itself is a problem, and he likes to use that to tease you; you're too small, you can't take it... it doesn't matter. If he finds a way to make you feel little and weak in comparison to him? He goes for it.

And you don't mind, you like the dominance, how he keeps you pinned down with one hand on your throat and the other pinning your left thigh down. You feel completely at his mercy where you lay, unable to do anything but take it, "Mark, fuck, fuck-"

"Shh," He warns you, "Don't forget where we are." And you haven't, the whole time you two have been doing this all you could do was worry over someone walking in or by or something, "Don't need your father finding out his little girl is getting her sloppy pussy stretched open... and it'll make it worse if he finds out I'm the one doing it." You know that, but you're a big girl, you don't need your father's permission to get laid!

Unfortunately, you keep that attitude too. Why should you have to keep quiet? You're having fun, that's no one's business but yours and Mark's. "B-But... but I like it-" You gasp when your right leg is brought down from your shoulder in favor of both knees being pinned to your shoulders, "Ah- too much, too much, too much~!"

Mark, as much as he loves your sexy moans and cutesy whimpers, he doesn't love the idea of either of you getting caught like this, and what better way to fix the noise problem than shoving the panties you kindly give him right in your mouth? And it's only better that the pink of your panties looks nice hanging from your glossy lips.

"That's what you get, babe..." He pants out each word and adds salt to the wound by flashing a cocky grin, "Bad girls who can't keep quiet when they're told get dirty panties in their mouth." If only he knew the things he was doing to you, the strikes to your core his cock cause, how his intimidating dominance over you has your insides turning, "But you don't need your voice to make you feel good, right? Look at you..."

It's ironic that he asks you to take a look at yourself, a mirror is just behind you and you can't see yourself from this angle. Luckily for you, your redhead is one step ahead to make sure you can really see how slutty you look right now with those panties shoved in your mouth. Mark takes your hips, wordlessly guiding you to turn around onto your stomach and plant your feet back on the ground.

You are forced to look yourself in the eyes, to see the little tears pricking the corners of your eyes, look at your swollen lips and your panties, and to make it all the more humiliating, Mark is standing right behind you. He is staring right at you, making sure you know he is there and watching you, and if that doesn't make you nervous... you aren't sure what does.

A hand comes down to grip your chin, fixing your head to look straight at the mirror and more specifically yourself, "Don't look away from that mirror, understood?" His voice is at least two octaves lower than before, rumbling in the pit of his chest and vibrating against your back. It shakes your core, but in the best way possible, tingles running up your spine and back down.

It isn't long before the warmth and fullness of his cock is sinking back inside of your gummy walls, making itself comfortable deep inside of you to the point his tip kisses gently at your cervix, "It's all the way in, y/n..." He whispers into your ear, "You ready? You think you can take all of it?" The only right answer is to nod your head, humming desperately and letting him know you're ready, you want it. And who is he to deny that? His pretty girl wants her cunny stretched, why shouldn't he give in and let her have it just how she wants?

Unlike before he doesn't let you prepare yourself, oh no, the pace went from zero all the way to one hundred in exactly one second. It was like being plowed into, the force of his hips bouncing you off and into the desk. And if you looked horrible and worn out before, you looked twice as bad now. Your sparkly eyes rolling back to make way for the oncoming flow of tears, your entire body trembling with his thrusts.

"Mmph~! Nngh-" Even through the panties he can hear you, muffled and incoherent but still like music to his ears. You take him so well, struggling maybe, but you don't complain for a second about him being too big... and it probably is because your panties are down your throat. But if you really did need him to stop, he is sure you would find another way.

"Feels good, right?" He can't tell if you're nodding or that's just your head moving in sync with his forceful jerks, "Having this little pussy nice and filled... bet you couldn't wait for this the entire match, right?" If you were able to answer, you would be screaming yes from the hills! But instead, you can only stare him in the eyes through the mirror, tears and all, and he can see just how drunk you are on his cock. A pretty whore for him to fuck.

If he had known you were such a perverted slut, so needy to have a dick train you, he would have grabbed you by your cheeky yoga leggings and made you ride his dick while he did bench presses. And seeing you like this? You would have done it without question.

"You're getting all tense, y/n..." His eyes trail down to watch himself disappearing inside of you, and the ripple of your ass smacking his hips, "You gonna cum? This pretty cunt gonna make a mess for me?" You're more than just close to cumming, it's like a fire in the pits of your core, and every pass of his member inside of you has your thighs jumping and twitching, "Yeah, that's it, babe."

Oh, you wish he wouldn't call you that, the things it does to you... and the overwhelming pleasure of his tip plunging into your poor cervix? You feel like you're on the verge of passing out, "Don't look away," He keeps your head straight and makes you look straight ahead at yourself, "Watch yourself cum." You aren't even sure if you have it in you to hold it in long enough to properly look at yourself, let alone the energy to keep your head up.

Your eyes are locked on the mirror, your breath fogging it up with the forceful pants your lungs push out. If you were wearing makeup, you're sure it would be leaving streaks down your cheeks from the tears. They aren't tears of pain, not even close, but rather ones of overstimulation. You aren't sure how much longer you can last, but you don't have time to dwell over it, not when you watch the hand not pinning your waist to the vanity snakes down between your legs.

If the panties weren't in your mouth, you would be protesting and begging him not to. You aren't sure you could handle it! His cock is already tearing your poor cunny in half, his fingers will surely break you. But you can only watch in fear, and anxiously wait for his fingers to meet your throbbing pearl between your legs.

"Mmph~! Mm-" Your nails dig into the desk and back arches to try and get away from his fingers, but Mark doesn't give up, "Mm! Mmm~!" He knows you're protesting, he knows it's too much for your sensitive little cunny. But he wants to see you come undone, to see more of your pretty tears and those sparkly eyes roll back in absolute bliss. And with the vicious pace his fingers inflict on your burning clit, you aren't far from that edge.

"That's it, babe... that's it, I wanna taste this pussy when finish. I bet you taste so sweet, just as sweet as you look right now..." And he isn't lying, you've never looked as stunning as you do right now. No angel could compare to you, nothing. The sweat coating your skin and your juices tainting the apex of your thighs, "I got you, baby-"

He doesn't have the chance to finish his pep talk before he feels you come undone beneath him, your squeals and whimpers completely muffled by your stuffed mouth. Your poor nerves going off of the wall, thighs jumping and nails digging at the wood of the vanity, and your pussy squirting all over his cock and onto your thighs. You're embarrassed by the mess, but to Mark? It is the biggest ego stroker he could have encountered... he got you to squirt.

"Fuck, good girl, good fucking girl..." Mark slows the thrusts, as much as he wants to cum he can see how worn out you are, "Take a deep breath, princess. Just like that," You try your best to do as he asks, but it's so difficult with how quick your climax comes and the panties being in your mouth. You put all of your weight on the vanity, fingers clawing at it as if it could help ease the electricity shooting through every inch of you.

Mark sees you and he thinks he may have been too rough, "Shh, c'mere." The panties are taken from your mouth, saliva soaked into the thin fabric and sticking to your chin, "You okay?" Fingers, although rough and calloused, gently brush over your cheek to gather your tears, he worries he may have forgotten himself somewhere and been too hard on you.

And your expression, weak and twisted, for a moment makes him feel horrible. What had he done? This was his first time having sex with you, something he has wanted for so long, and he just screwed it up. His eyes watched your every move, lips opening to say something and hesitating for a minute, you were probably pissed at him.

"Y-You..." Little tears prick at your eyes and he panics, "You didn't even cum inside of me, was I not doing enough?" For a moment, silence befalls the both of you other than your pathetic little sniffles. Were you really... that worried over him finishing? Is that really what has you on the verge of crying? If he could, he would eat you up right where you stand in front of him, you're too cute.

Two hands cup your swollen cheeks and bring your face close, "You want me to cum inside of you? That's what you worked up?" You nod your head all while leaning into his hands, "You're so cute, but I think you need to take a break, babe. You're shaking." He can tell you're teetering right at the edge of too much, he fears if he does anymore he may actually hurt you.

"But I want..." He shakes his head and kisses the tip of your nose, "Then... Then I'll suck it off." You won't let up so easily, he just gave you the best climax of your life, and if he thinks you'll let him walk out of this room with blue balls he is more than just wrong.

Mark wants to argue, he knows you should clean yourself up and you both should get out of here. He isn't even sure what time it is or how long it has been, the fights could very well be over and neither of you has any clue. But what harm can you getting on your knees do? Maybe give you a sore throat, but he is sure with how loud you were, muffled or not, you are already on the train to a strained voice.

"Make it quick, I still wanna take you to dinner." Even after all of this, somehow taking you to dinner may just be the highlight of the night. Sex is great, but for Mark Markit is the intimate, quiet moments that mean the world to him. All those times you would open early or stay late with him, he cherished those memories. Unlike him, you could not care less about dinner or memorable moments or anything, you're far more focused on what his cum might taste like. You've thought of it a million times, and finally, you will be able to know.

You ease yourself onto your knees in front of him, Mark fixing his pants out of your way and leaning back against the desk as he watches you make yourself comfortable. If he thought you looked beautiful lying underneath him with your knees by your ears, he isn't sure what to call you on your knees. Your gorgeous eyes looking at him through those lashes of yours, tongue dragging out and over your lips.

"Don't hurt yourself, pretty girl... I saw you struggling before when I started picking up the pace." You don't like being talked down to, but you know that's just him trying to get you worked up and you won't let him have that satisfaction.

All of your weight is put onto your knees as you lean forward, the tip of your warm tongue licking your own cum from his cock, "Be nice to me or I'll use my teeth." He can't argue with that, and he knows you will do it. Your tongue drags over the veins, tracing them carefully, breath hot and fanning over his ready-to-burst member. If he had it his way, he would grab your pretty face and fuck this squishy mouth of yours, but he already pushed it and he wants you to go at your pace now.

"Fuck, that's good... tap it on your tongue for me," You stick out your tongue and do as he says, "Shiiiit, you look so hot right now." You know you do, if anyone could see the hearts in Mark's eyes, it's you... and those hearts are practically jumping out while he watches you rubbing your tongue over his messy dick, doing everything but putting it in your mouth, "C'mon, y/n... please."

"You want me to put it in my mouth?" You feign innocence while looking up at him, giving him puppy eyes and suckling at his tip. Mark nods breathlessly, even so much as adding an extra, needy please to really show you how much he wants it. He was so kind to give you exactly what you want, it would mean not to do the same for him!

Making yourself comfortable, you open your mouth wide enough to fit his tip inside, tasting that sweetness of your juices on your tongue. Is this what heaven feels like? For him to be guiding your mouth on his dick, cooing words of praise every time you successfully ease the tip in your throat without hurting yourself or choking too much.

The two of you see, hear, and know nothing but each other at this moment. Eyes locked together and no sound other than him breathing shakily and the rare pass of your name on his tongue, mixed in with the disgusting wet sounds of your throat stretching over him. You two wouldn't have been able to pick up on the footsteps coming down the hall, or the call of two very familiar names who just so happen to be missing at the same time.

And neither of you would have been prepared for the door to open, let alone, for the one person both of you feared catching you to be standing in the doorway in shock, horror... and Mark locked eyes for just a second, a second that allowed to see the seven layers of hell in your father's eyes, before the door slammed shut and feet moved down the hall faster than you could pull off of Mark's cock.

"I... I think we should get out of here before he comes back."

#nct dream #kpop smut #nct #nct haechan #haechan hard hours #nct imagines #kpop #haechan #nct dream smut #nct smut #mark lee smut #mark lee #mark smut #mark lee hard hours #nct dream masterlist #nct masterlist #nct 127 #czennie

2K notes · View notes

holdmytesseract · 7 months

Note

Hello sweetie!!!

Good to know that you've opened requests because do I have A WONDERFUL request for YOU!

Okay okay, of course for me I'm going to request Loki so here goes...

Loki and Reader are arranged to marry and have never met before (either Reader is a princess or just a lady). The day of the wedding, reader suggests a first touch with her fiance - how could Frigga deny that? So they do it. Then, when they see each other at the altar, it's as if the world stops for them both.

I left it a bit vague so you can expand but I am so excited to see what you make of it! I love you so much and please do DM me if you need something 🫂🥰❤️

~LRM

Marrying a Stranger

Loki Odinson x fem!Princess!Reader

Summary: You are arranged to marry Prince Loki of Asgard. Fear and pre-wedding nerves get the better of you and you can't help but ask Frigga for help. Of course is the good-hearted Queen more than willing to help out...

Warnings: arranged marriage? angst, fluff, sweet Loki

Word Count: 2,5k

a/n: I actually wanted to post a new chapter of 'Through the Years' today, BUT the birthday of my wonderful friend @lady-rose-moon is definitely more important. 🥰 Therefore, I'd like to post this lil' oneshot as a gift. 😊 Again, happy (belated) birthday, friend!

Ps. I'm also incredibly sorry that his took me so long to write... I hope you like it nevertheless! I love you, too! 💚

Tags: @lady-rose-moon @huntress-artemiss @muddyorbsblr @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @chennqingg @smolvenger @alexakeyloveloki @theaudacitytowrite @jennyggggrrr @asgards-princess-of-mischief @eleniblue @vanilla-daydreaming @loz-3 @valencia-rou @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @fictive-sl0th @bunny24sstuff @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @lovingchoices14 @linaax @mochie85 @goblingirlsarah @glitchquake @lokidbadguy @icytrickster17 @gruftiela @lulubelle814 @mandywholock1980 @november-rayne @chantsdemarins @simping-for-marvel @lou12346789 @aagn360 @lokiforever @anukulee @multifandom-worlds (Continuing in the comments!)

Masterlist °☆• Loki Masterlist

The day had arrived. The day you looked forward to in excitement and anticipation, but also with fear and nervousness. Your wedding. Your arranged wedding, to be precisely.

You were a princess. Only daughter of the king and queen of Vanaheim. And due to the royal blood pumping through your veins, you were not allowed to choose the man you'd marry. The man would be chosen for you. At first, you didn't approve of this and were literally appalled by the mere imagination of marrying a strange man you had never seen before, but your mother and all your tutors had quickly put you in your place.

There was no way out of this - and you had to accept that. It was your fate. Your destiny. The destined path for a princess.

This is not of importance, sweetheart. You don't have to meet your future husband, in order to marry him.

A few centuries ago, when you had reached womanhood, your marriage was arranged and announced within the kingdom. You were bespoken to king Odin's and queen Frigga's youngest son... Prince Loki of Asgard.

Throughout all the years you had never met your betrothed.

That is the man I shall marry?

That was what your mother had answered to your question if you could meet the prince you were going to marry.

So, the topic was off the table. You had been taught to obey your mother, so why would you dare to ever ask her again? The decision was made. No meant no. You only ever heard stories of your future husband... That he was quite special - and not in the good way. Most people spoke of his mischievous and cunning nature. Some even said villainous, brute and rebellious. To hear those words scared you.

You had dreamed of true love and romance. Of being courted and wooed. You dreamed of a sweet, kind man who would treat you like you deserved - and not of a brute who would treat you like his maid. You spent endless sleepless nights within your chambers, thinking about your future with Loki. What if he truly was just a harsh, mischievous scamp? What if your dreams were about to shatter?

And now, suddenly the moment had come...

But then you started to hear other stories of Loki Odinson as well. About how charming and witty he is. How gentlemanly and eloquent. And how utterly handsome he shall look.

You were torn. Torn by every story they told you - and the worst part was that you never got to find out what the truth was and which talk was cheap. At least not until the day you would marry him. It left you a mess.

You were standing in a huge chamber in the royal palace of Asgard. The room bustled with maids, who were preparing everything to get you ready for the wedding ceremony. You nervously fumbled your fingers; constantly tugging at the soft fabric of your wine red dress. Your mother had just left the room along with your father; leaving you and your troubled mind alone.

From the first encounter with Frigga, you could tell that she had a heart of gold. She was so kind and lovely. Perhaps the most good-hearted person you ever met. You got along with your future mother-in-law instantly. She had welcomed you with open arms. And right in that moment, you couldn't picture another way out.

You couldn't deny the anxiety any longer. It hit you full force; realisation dawning on you like the sun... I can't marry a man I never saw in my life.

So, you decided to order a maid to fetch the only person you hoped would be kind enough to help you. Queen Frigga. The Allmother. You and your family had arrived about a week ago and even in that week you never got to see Loki. Only the king and queen. Not the princes.

Frigga gently took your hands in hers and led you over to the bed; sitting down with you. "What is the matter, dear? The fear within you is stronger than your nervousity. I can feel it." You swallowed hard, "I- It's... It's just..." and had to take a deep breath. "I'm afraid of marrying a man I never saw in my life. I-I know that this is not of importance and probably even forbidden, but-" A radiant smile forming on the queen's lips interrupted you. You furrowed your brows; were confused. Even more when she started to chuckle.

Only a few moments passed, before the young maid returned to your chambers; following the queen.

"Y/N, my dear..." She immediately walked up to you. "You called for me?" You just nodded; anxious eyes meeting Frigga's beautiful blue ones. "I-I did. Could we... Could we talk in private?" "Of course!" She reassured you, then clapped her hands twice. "Would you all please leave and give us some privacy?" All the maids stopped in their tasks and immediately rushed to leave your chambers.

"My son requested the exact same. Barely before you called me to your chambers, I sat with Loki and spoke about this with him as well. I guess you are quite similar in that case." She chuckled again and reached for your hand again. You just stared at her; not quite believing what she just said. "I understand you, dear. I couldn't do such a thing either. Back when I had to wed my husband, I demanded to at least see him and share a few sentences with him beforehand as well. It helped me to adapt to the situation I was in. Therefore, I can't deny yours, neither my son's wish." Frigga stood up and offered you her arm. "Come on."

You swallowed hard; feeling your heart beat rapidly against your chest, as you approached the little pavilion.

You blinked; were utterly speechless. You knew Frigga would understand you, but that... That wasn't something you anticipated to happen. Still a bit stunned, you stood up and took her offer. She led you out of your chambers, down several hallways you had never seen before, until you were outside the palace and had reached a beautiful garden. She stopped, nodding towards a small pavilion quite a few meters away, which was surrounded by rose bushes and cherry trees.

"My son is waiting for you in the pavilion." Frigga let go of your arm and gave you a smile. "You have about an hour before the maids will return to get you both ready for the ceremony. Make sure to be back at your chambers by that time." With a wink and a soft pad on your arm, she turned around and left.

Your heart skipped a beat.

Carefully - almost shyly, you peeked around the corner.

A man was standing in the middle of the small pavilion, with his back towards you; hands clasped behind his lower back. You could see that he was wearing a green tunic and black leather boots. Gold accents highlighted his whole outfit.

He had long hair - as black as the feathers of a raven. It fell in soft curls over his shoulders. Your gaze climbed up and down his body. He was tall. Norns, he was so tall - and his hands were big. You could tell. They would swallow yours whole.

"H-Hello?" A dark, smooth and slightly high-pitched voice spoke. "A-Are... Are you Princess Y/N?" You could tell by his voice that he was nervous, too. Probably even afraid - just like you.

You didn't even notice how your mouth fell agape. Or how you made another small step forwards; totally enhanced by the God you saw standing in front of you.

Barely after you set one foot in front of the other, a small twig snapped underneath the weight of your body. You flinched - and the man quickly turned to face you; flinching the slightest bit as well. The gust which was created by Loki's quick spin was sent directly into your direction and no second later, his scent hit you; invaded your nostrils... Leather, something dark and musky, charred wood and a slight hint of mint and something fruity. It smelled so rich, so divine, but also so addictive and cosy. You almost fainted.

You needed a moment to get yourself together. "Y-Yes, I-" Your words faded into a gasp as your eyes met his for the first time ever. He had the most beautiful eyes you had ever seen. Blue like water and as deep as the oceans. They held so many emotions. Nervousity and fear, but also curiosity and excitement. But above all kindness - the same kindness which sparkled within his mother's eyes.

Loki smiled and took a few cautious steps towards you. "It is my utmost pleasure to meet you, my princess." He gathered a bit of his bravery and hesitatingly reached for your hand, taking it gently in his. With a soft bow, he bestowed a small kiss upon your knuckles; soft, smooth lips brushing against your cold skin. A shudder rippled through you.

"The- The pleasure is a-all mine, my prince." You more or less stammered out, now utterly distracted by his chiselled facial features. High cheekbones, sharp jawline and a perfectly shaped nose. Norns, you thought. He looks like carved out of marble.

Loki gave you a smile. "Thank you for agreeing to this little... secret meeting. I-I just had to see you before the ceremony, I-" You gave his hand - which still enveloped yours a soft squeeze. "I know. I felt the same way." A nervous chuckle left his lips, followed by an even bigger smile. "That makes this situation so much easier..." You reciprocated his smile. "Indeed, my prince."

You took a seat on the small, cosy bench and decided to use the time you had left to talk and get to know each other at least a little bit, before you'd become husband and wife. It was exactly what you - and Loki needed. But especially, it calmed your fears of marrying a brute, despiteful man. They had been wrong... Oh so wrong. Loki was not like that. He was like you hoped he'd be. Kind, gentlemanly, sweet - and utterly romantic. His heart may be battered and bruised, but you could feel that this man would do everything to be a good, loving husband for you.

The hour flew by way too fast; within the blink of an eye and soon it was time to part ways - for now.

"Thank you, my pri-" "Loki. Please... It's Loki for you." That made you blush even more - if that was even possible. "Thank you, Loki." You smiled. "I can't believe I'm going to be wed to such a handsome, polite and sweet man either."

"Again... Thank you for agreeing to this." Loki said; voice soft. You shook your head. "No need to thank me. I wanted this, too, you know..."

Silence settled over the both of you, until he let out a soft, breathy chuckle. "I can't believe I'm marrying such a beautiful, kind-hearted woman in barely a few hours." You blushed in the darkest shades of crimson at his words; suppressing a girlish giggle to slip past your lips.

That caused Loki to blush.

A nervous chuckle bubbled from deep within his chest. "Thank you-" "Y/N." You interrupted him. "Y/N." The way he rolled his name off your tongue almost send you into another dimension - you were sure of it.

His words hit you straight into your heart. You could swear it was aflame by now, burning for this man you knew so little, but were going to wed in a few hours.

"Are you still nervous?" Loki asked then; eyes soft. You nodded. "Y-Yes, I- I'm afraid it's going to get worse..." You giggled nervously; desperately trying to play it cool, but failing.

He took your hand in his again; gently caressing the back of your hand with his thumb. "I know this is normal. I-I am nervous, too, but... Please don't worry. You are not alone in this. I'll be there - and I won't ever let go of you."

You took deep breaths; smiling brightly. Now you could say that you were really looking forward towards your wedding. For the first time in centuries.

"T-Thank you. That is really reassuring to know. I-I won't let go either." Loki smiled, "That's good to know, my darling." and leaned in for a delicate, small peck on your lips. It was gentle and barely lasting - but it felt so right. So good.

Before you were able to answer something, his hand slipped from yours as he was passing you by; stepping out of the pavilion and out of your sight.

"You look beautiful, sweetheart." Your mother said with tears in her eyes. She placed her pointer finger underneath your chin. "It's time for you to enter the next chapter of your life. A lot is going to change, I know - but your whole life was spent preparing you for exactly that moment. You're a strong woman, Y/N. Never doubt that. And Loki is going to be a wonderful husband. He's the perfect match."

By now, you had to fight off the tears as well.

Your mother leaned in and placed a lingering kiss on your forehead. "I'm so proud of you, just like your father. I love you." You smiled; swallowing hard to get rid of the lump in your throat. "Thank you, mama. I love you, too." She gave you a loving, motherly smile and left to sit with the other wedding attendants.

You took a deep breath and with the sounds of the fanfare, you stepped through the golden doors and slowly walked down the red carpet towards Loki - who stood at the altar; dressed in his ceremonial armour, waiting for your arrival.

All eyes were on you, but you only had eyes for your prince.

When his eyes landed on you, they widened immediately; his mouth falling agape. He watched how your wedding dress swayed softly with each step you took.

She looks absolutely beautiful, he thought; feeling his heart beating rapidly against his chest.

It was all you needed in that moment.

You walked slowly, gracefully - like you've been taught. It felt like an eternity, until you finally reached him.

Loki immediately stretched out his hands for you to lay yours in his - and you did. The moment you touched, it felt like you could finally breathe normal again. His skin was so soft and warm; giving you the feeling of warmth and comfort. For you, his touch was a safe haven. He was anchoring you; preventing you to get lost in the sea of no-man's-land.

You looked up. His endless blue eyes met yours for the second time - and time seems to stand still around you. In that moment, it was only you and him.

You smiled and finally weren’t afraid anymore of the future. Not if it involved the man right in front of you.

#loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki x female reader #loki #loki x you #loki fanfiction #tom hiddleston x reader #loki fluff #loki x y/n #loki laufeyson x reader #loki odinson

697 notes · View notes

444takeomi · 8 months

Text

WHEN HE HAS A CRUSH ON YOU

: ̗̀➛ summary: how 1st gen bd act when they like you

character(s): shinichiro sano, wakasa imaushi, takeomi akashi, keizo arashi

warnings: female reader

wc: 2.0k

a/n: i wrote most of this after having worked a 70+ hour week. apologies if it doesn't make a lot of sense, i was very tired as you can imagine💀

: ̗̀➛ shinichiro

- shin is very open about his feelings, to the point where it's not even really a secret that he likes you — especially if you're close friends with him, there's a good chance you know already ahaha

- i think he's the type to get flustered whenever you initiate physical touch, even if it's accidental

- one time at the bike shop you unknowingly brushed your hand against his when you passed one of his tools to him and he literally thought about it for the rest of the day

- he's so touch starved </3

- his friends constantly make fun of him for the way he acts around you, while his siblings tell him you're way too pretty for him and out of his league

- he really can't catch a break💀

- shin gets upset if he finds out another guy likes you too, and he can't help but feel jealous whenever you laugh or smile more around the other guy than you do with him </3

- he really wants to impress you, he likes telling you stories from his black dragon days and goes into detail about all the fights he got into — he definitely over-exaggerates them a lot though and leaves out the parts where he got his ass handed to him💀

- if at any point he overheard you say you hated smokers he would literally try to quit just for you, or at the very least put out his cigarettes and avoid smoking when you're around him

- he’s such a cutie, he secretly watches those youtube videos titled ‘how to be a good boyfriend’ and ‘how to get your crush to like you back’ </3

- whenever shin notices you're nearby he subconsciously starts fixing his appearance — he’ll straighten his posture and run his fingers through his hair, he always wants to look his best in front of you

- if you ever compliment his cologne he makes sure to wear extra when he knows he's going to see you that day, he also likes to spray it on his hoodies and jackets and offers them to you when it's cold

- speaking of which, his heart literally skips a beat whenever he sees you wearing his clothes, it makes him feel like you're already dating and he can't help but start daydreaming about what it might be like being yours </3

- shin really wants to ask you out, but after being rejected so many times before he can't help but worry that you'll reject him too — however he eventually decides to take the chance and tell you how he feels, it's not as if you haven't already caught on anyway

- if you reject him he'll obviously be super upset, way more upset than he was after any of his previous rejections, but to be honest he was probably expecting it </3

- on the other hand, if you accept his confession he’ll be very caught off guard after being turned down so much in the past, but he'll be super happy nonetheless and won't be able to stop bragging to his friends and siblings that he finally has a girlfriend, and how he's so lucky that he gets to be dating someone as amazing as you <3

: ̗̀➛ wakasa

- waka isn't very vocal about his feelings towards you, and therefore he’s pretty good at hiding it to the point where almost no one would suspect that he liked you — but that's not to say his friends haven't picked up on it by now

- they constantly catch him staring at you, and he's really not as subtle as he thinks he is, half the time he's not even paying attention to them when they're talking to him because he's too distracted by how pretty you are

- if you end up noticing him staring he likes holding eye contact with you until you get shy and look away, he thinks it's adorable and it makes his heart flutter seeing you all bashful <3

- he usually has the same deadpan expression and rarely shows any emotion, but when you're around he's like a completely different person — he's noticeably more expressive and talkative and he smiles more often when he's with you

- he’s so in love </3

- waka is also considerably more touchy and clingy with you — it doesn't seem like anything out of the ordinary to most people, but if you pay close attention you’ll start to notice that he's always looking for the opportunity to sit next to you and be close to you wherever he can <3

- his love language is definitely physical touch, and he likes brushing his fingers against your skin and leaving fleeting touches whenever possible — he’ll feign innocence and pretend it was an accident but in reality he's totally doing it on purpose

- as much as waka likes physical contact, he always makes sure to respect your personal boundaries as he'd never want to make you uncomfortable

- he's the type to notice small differences about your appearance, like if you've changed your hair or done your makeup differently

- he pays a lot of attention to you, more than you probably realise <3

- i don't think waka would make a huge deal out of confessing to you, he'd probably either just come up to you one day and tell you straight up or alternatively he might drunkenly blurt it out to you by accident

- if it was the latter you most likely wouldn't take him seriously at first, and so he'd make sure to tell you again once he was sober, as he wouldn't want you to think he was just messing with you because he was drunk

- if you rejected him he'd definitely be humbled, as i don't think he's someone that’s used to being turned down, but he’ll respect your decision of course and hopes that you can still be friends

- now that he's finally struck out with a girl he knows that shin will have something to make fun of him for after years of being teased for his 20 rejections💀

- however if you accept his confession you’ll finally get to see the real waka, he stops holding back and becomes especially clingy and needy for your attention, a side of him that only you get to see <3

: ̗̀➛ takeomi

- omi isn't the best at handling his emotions, especially when it comes to you — at first he was in complete denial about liking you, hoping that if he ignored his feelings towards you that they would eventually go away

- if his friends ever mentioned you or implied that he had a thing for you he would insist that you were annoying and would tell them he couldn't stand you💀

- little did he know they saw right through him, it was pretty obvious how fond of you he was just from the way he looked at you

- i feel like it got to the point where he was so stubborn about it that waka had to go as far as to pretend he was going to ask you out just to get omi to finally admit that he had feelings for you

- omi is the embodiment of being mean to you because he likes you — he's always teasing you and loves to push your buttons to try and get a reaction out of you, he thinks you’re cute when you get mad

- however if you tease him back it catches him completely off guard, he gets all flustered and starts stumbling over his words </3

- you always catch him looking at you from across the room, he tries so hard to play it off as if he wasn't just checking you out but he does it all the time to the point where it's obvious💀

- while omi may struggle with being affectionate towards you, the way he shows you he cares is through doing favours for you, for example by offering to take you home on his motorcycle

- beware of riding with him though because he likes to randomly speed up out of nowhere, you just assume it's because he's a bad driver but little do you know he only does it because he’s hoping you’ll get scared and wrap your arms around his waist

- if you do end up clinging to him he’ll more than likely make fun of you for it, but his heart will be racing the entire time — he’s just glad that you can't see his face because he can feel his cheeks getting warm </3

- similar to waka, if he was going to confess to you he wouldn't really make a big deal out of it either, i think he'd just casually mention that he liked you in the middle of a conversation and it would catch you completely off guard

- if you reject omi he’ll actually be so embarrassed, i feel like he'll immediately change the subject and act like nothing happened because he doesn't know how else to handle the rejection </3

- if you tell him you feel the same he might get a little cocky about it initially, but deep down he's just so relieved you didn't reject him — despite the confident front he puts up he was actually really nervous to tell you

- he probably tries to give dating advice to shin as if you two haven't only been going out for a few days💀

: ̗̀➛ keizo

- benkei is such a sweetheart, but even more so when he has feelings for you

- i feel like he's the kind of person who just admires you from afar when he likes you — especially if you're close friends, he definitely doesn't have any plans to tell you as he wouldn't want to risk ruining the relationship you two already have </3

- although he doesn't want to outright tell you how he feels that doesn't mean he won't drop small hints here and there

- for example, he always offers to walk you home even if it's completely out of his way, and if you’ve forgotten your jacket when it's cold out he’ll drape his own over your shoulders as soon as he notices you shivering <3

- he’s also very protective over you, especially when you go out to places like bars or clubs — he watches over you throughout the evening just to make sure that no one is harassing you, and if someone does end up making you uncomfortable or puts their hands on you without permission he won't hesitate to beat the living shit out of them

- considering how strong he is, benkei is surprisingly very gentle with you

- he always seems to know exactly how you're feeling, and whenever you're sad he’ll engulf you in a big hug, holding you in his arms so delicately like you're made from the most fragile glass </3

- he also remembers a lot of small details about you that you've mentioned in previous conversations, such as your go-to orders from different restaurants or your favourite songs — he claims that he just has a good memory but in reality it's because he loves listening to what you have to say <3

- benkei cares a lot about your safety, whenever the two of you are out together he always walks on the outer part of the sidewalk so that he's closest to the cars, and if you go somewhere by yourself he’ll ask you to text him when you get there so that he knows you're okay

- he loves giving you head pats, especially if you're a lot shorter than him — he thinks the height difference between the two of you is really cute <3

- if you're into working out then he’ll invite you to train with him at the gym and will offer to spot you

- senju always makes fun of him for his crush on you, sometimes she deliberately teases him when you're around to the point where it's pretty clear that he likes you </3

- as i've mentioned, benkei will hint at the fact he likes you but i don't think he'd directly tell you, to be honest if you want to date him you’d probably have to be the one to ask him out yourself

- if you did end up telling him you liked him he'd be very taken aback by your confession, but after the initial shock wore off he'd of course tell you he felt the same way, unable to wipe the grin off his face <3

please do not translate, repost, or share my writing on any other platforms eg. tiktok

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #shinichiro sano #shinichiro x reader #shinichiro x you #wakasa imaushi #wakasa x reader #wakasa x you #takeomi akashi #takeomi x reader #takeomi x you #keizo arashi #keizo x reader #keizo x you #benkei x reader #benkei x you #✩444.writings #✩444.headcanons

1K notes · View notes

onlyjaeyun · 8 months

Text

𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍 – 𝟓𝟎

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐘: 𝐚 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬

⤲ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

⤲ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞!𝐀𝐔, 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝!𝐀𝐔, 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭

⤲ 𝐰𝐜: 𝟑.𝟑𝐤 (not proofread)

⤲ 𝐜𝐰: 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲

← 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 →

"How is it going boys?"

Heeseung's voice is shaky and a lot hoarser than just a few moments ago, as the thought of finally doing what he's been daydreaming of for the past decade is actually about to become reality.

His eyes nervously roam the now fully decorated rooftop, the warm june breeze making everything a lot more bearable and for the first time in about twentyfour hour he feels like his lungs are actually filling with oxygen.

He knows you're not going to say no, it's something you've both discussed way too many times for people who have only been officially together for less than a year, yet the excitement, anxiety and feeling of being overwhelmed has definitely taken over his whole body in a way he's barely able to handle.

The thought of actually wifing you up, the way he's been joking around with it for all these months, is becoming way too real and for a short moment he can't help but wonder if it's really the right time.

But with your new apartment's keys in his bag and the contract signed, his new job as the department manager for one of Seoul's biggest companies secured and you both being so sure about it, he simply doesn't see the point in waiting any longer.

In fact, he's never been as sure about basically anything as he is about proposing to you.

"We're all set, Seung", Soobin, one of his coworkers and closer friends responds calmly, "just send us the message and we'll blow this place up."

"Stop saying it like that or we're going to get arrestedd,you stupid bitch", Yeonjun, the team's former number seven responds and for the first time in about thirty minutes Heeseung actually bursts into laughter.

As soon as those two hang up, the soon to be fiancé' turns around to look at his childhood friends who have decided to celebrate the evening with a beer, both of them meeting their best friend's gaze and shooting him two big smiles, reminding him just how grateful he is to have a found family like them.

And as your boyfriend is currently busy with something you have absolutely no suspicion of, you're thanking the people from the catering service for their hard work as you send them home with all the leftovers, trying your very best not to gag at combined smell of fish and beef.

Jungwon hasn't left your side all night, no matter how many times you've tried to get rid of him to avoid anybody's suspicions or just questions, your best friend has simply refused to do just that.

"When are you going to tell him?"

He says and looks at you with his pretty eyes, cheeks slightly flushed from the few glasses of wine he's had already and as your brain processes his question, you can't stop your lips from stretching into a big smile.

When you first realised just how much time it had been since you had last gotten your period, you didn't think much of it. Mostly because you've been used to the irregularity ever since you had started taking the pill a few months back and even before that your body was prone to skip a week or two whenever life got a little too stressful.

If it wasn't for the morning sickness you'd been feeling these past few days, you would have never thought of a possible pregnancy for another two months.

The walk to the pharmacy and back home as well as the whole process of taking the test had quickly become the longest hour of your life and as soon as the second line on your first test had appeared, your whole life changed in an instant.

By the time the third one came back positive as well you were already a sobbing mess as happiness, excitement, anticipation but also fear, worry and shock slowly took over your body.

For a really short moment you even let your anxiety take the best of your thoughts, yet as soon as you remembered your most recent conversation about the future, life after graduation as well as marriage and children, you managed to get rid of everything that wasn't joy or excitement.

You never once worried about your boyfriend's reaction because despite skillfully hiding it behind jokes and dirty talk, you know how badly Heeseung's been wanting to become a father from the very beginning. He never even tried to be subtle about it, all he did was wait for you to feel ready and even if you hadn't actually planned for it to happen until your own graduation, you're still just as excited and subconsciously ready for it as you would have been if it happened two or three years later.

Lee Heeseung is the love of your life, the man you you dreamed about ever since you actually understood the concept of love and there's absolutely nobody in this world you could ever imagine as the father of your children other than him.

And after a night of celebrating him and his best friends like this, you're pretty sure it's the perfect time to let him know about your upcoming addition to your little family.

"Hoonie said everyone's going to go up to the rooftop because the boys are setting up some blankets and stuff and I thought maybe I could make Seungie stay here with me for a bit and tell him when you're all upstairs."

Jungwon attentively listens to your plan, his smile as big as ever and you can't help but tear up at the sight of pride in his bright eyes. You've never seen him this happy and to think that he's actually going to move to Seoul and therefore be here throughout your whole pregnancy instead of having to wait three years until he finishes his degree makes it a lot more difficult to hold yourself back from crying.

Never in a million years would you have ever expected your first year away from your old life to be so perfect, yet despite all these years of abuse and agony, you've finally reached a point where life feels good and every day you wake up grateful and happy. The patience and hard work has definitely paid off.

"That sounds great", Jungwon says and pulls you into a tight hug, knowing you both will actually burst into tears if you look at him any longer, "but you should join us first and then take him downstairs. Wait for everyone to settle down or it'll be too obvious."

With a sharp nod you agree with your best friend, placing a quick kiss on his cheek before you let everyone know that you'll be with them in a bit, taking absolute advantage of your empty apartment as you finally pull out the little onesie in Heeseung's favorite color and the little #01 on its back as well as one of the positive pregnancy tests from your closet and allowing yourself to take a few deep breaths.

However, it doesn't take long for you to feel slightly overwhelmed because despite having realised it all already, you know telling your boyfriend about it is going to make it even realer than it currently feels, which is why you decide to try and distract yourself just a little longer by joining everyone upstairs.

You don't exactly know what to expect as you breathlessly and slowly climb the stairs to stop yourself from passing out, yet the last thing you expect is for the floor to be covered in rose petals as a road of little candles lights the way for you.

"What the–", but you don't get to finish as your favorite love song suddenly starts playing and all of your friends start cheering loudly.

It takes you a good minute to spot your boyfriend at the end of said candle way, holding onto a bouquet of your favorite flowers for dear life, his perfect lips stretched into a wide smile, eyes glossy and cheeks slightly flushed.

You don't even realise what the hell is going on and that you haven't moved an inch yet, until your best friend tells you to and with a thick veil of tears blurring your vision you finally start approaching the man of your dreams.

And as you slowly walk towards him, Heeseung can feel his heart thrumming in his throat, the blood rushing through his ears to the point where every single noise seems to ne way further sway than it is until you come to dtand right in front of him.

With a shaky hand he reaches for you and guides you to stand in front of your friends, your brother watching you with excited and proud eyes and if it wasn't for all the emotions you're currently feeling, you definitely would have noticed a single tear finding its way down his cheek.

"Park Y/N", Heeseung says calmly once the volume of the music slowly goes down, his voice shaky and everything about his demeanor gives away just how nervous he is, "my first and only love."

And as soon as those words hit you straight in the face, you physically can't stop a tiny sob bubbling up from your throat, genuine happiness and adrenaline making its way through your system at the realisation of what this actually is.

"Over a decade ago I fell in love with you, your warm heart and kind soul, those perfect eyes and your sweet smile. There has never been a day I didn't think of you and holding your hand right now still feels like a dream", your boyfriend's words are genuine and honest, something you've gotten used to yet still can't really process no matter how much time passes.

You try to calm yourself down once you notice the nervousness in your boyfriend's facial expressions, holding onto his hand just a little tighter before he hands you the bouqet and slowly moves his hand to reach for something in his back pocket.

"I've thought about this exact moment ever since I really understood what love meant and not a single time in my life have I associated it with anyone but you." With his smile still as big and bright, you attentively watch the love of your life pull out a little jewelry and just when your hands find their eay to your mouth, Heeseung slowly steps back to finally get on one knee.

A sight so beautiful you're genuinely afraid you might be dreaming.

"You're my childhood, my youth and my whole life. You're my home. Everything I have, everything I am belongs to you, including my heart and I want to spend the entirety of the rest of my life to become a man you can love and be proud of, who's worthy of your presence in his life."

At this point nobody among you and your friends can actually hold back their tears and for a short moment your gaze shifts to your older brother, who has been trying his best to keep it together but decided to finally give in at the sight of his two favorite people loving each other so dearly.

"Will you please make one of my biggest dreams come true and become my wife?"

Heeseung has lost count on how many times he's changed his lines and how many times he's practiced different versions of this exact speech in his head, in front of the mirror and under the shower. At one point he even started practicing it in front of the two elderly ladies at the company's cafeteria, yet at the end he still decided to just go with what his heart has to say.

Something he's never had problems with when it comes to you.

And as you slowly start nodding your head with tears streaming down your cheeks, he swears the whole world starts spinning in slow motion.

One of his biggest dream has finally become reality, a realisation hitting him so hard he actually forgets to move.

But there's no need for him to because by the time his mind catches up on what just happened, you've already thrown your arms around his shoulders with a soft sob multiple "Yes"s, quite literally pulling him back into reality.

The following minute is filled with nothing but silence from the both of you as you hold each other and take in the warmth of the happiness oozing from your shared moment.

Heeseung, who's basically overwhelmed with joy, drops on both of his knees as he's holding you in his arms and tries his best to keep his cries at bay.

And once you pull away to let him put the ring on your finger, the sudden sound of fireworks going off startles you in the best way possible, yet also elicits another soft cry from your lips.

"I told you I'm going to wife you up", Heeseung chuckles and places a soft kiss on your lips, his big hands holding your face like you're a piece of glass, so fragile he's afraid you'll break if he's too rough.

"And I told you I'm always ready for it."

Those words earn you a literal standing ovation from all of your friends, cheering and hollering from all of them exceot your brother, who's still as quiet as ever, yet never once stops to smile.

Heeseung doesn't hesitate to back away from you as soon as he spots Sunghoon approaching the two of you from the corner of his eyes and before either one of you can say something, you're pulled into another tight hug.

A hug which holds so many emotions, so many memories and so much love, you actually feel yourself drowning in it all in the best way possible.

"Congratulations", Hoonie whispers softly, too afraid of the possibility his voice might break if he spoke too loudly, "I'm so happy for you, little one. You deserve this and so much more."

At this point your pregnancy hormones and all those pent up emotions from the past few years have decided to team up, so you basically stand no chance in forming a coherent sentence which actually makes sense. All you can do is cry in your brother's arms as the realisation of you both finally living a life of peace and harmony has become true.

After a round of hugs, even more tears, from both the boys and the girls, as well as a fit of loud laughter because of Jongseong's random comment, you spend the following ten minutes in the arms of your new fiancé, your eyes either fixated on his face or the ring on your finger.

By the time you hug your brother one last time, it's way past two am and you can feel the exhaustion and tiredness taking over every bit of your body, yet know there's still a very important thing left to do for you.

After a nice long shower, the two of you quietly get ready for bed, Heeseung's hand always somehow touching you, a habit he's picked up along the way and you still giggle whenever you remember the reason being his mind not comprehending that you're actually here and his, so he had to make up for it with skinship.

"I actually wanted to fuck you to sleep just like you deserve but I'm afraid we're both too tired, hm?", Heeseung whispers into your ear as he wraps his arms around your waist and presses his strong chest into your back.

"Mhm", is all you can say as your heart slams brutally against your rib cage at the thought of the upcoming few minutes.

You don't even notice the way Heeseung's hand has found its way up your chest to your neck and as soon as he feels your rapid heartbeat, you find yourself being turned around to face your slightly worried fiancé.

"What's wrong?"

The question is the first one to come to his mind, something he's yet to get rid of since it's more of a trauma response than an actual question.

"I have to tell you something, Seungie."

"We've been engaged for less than two hours, please don't tell me you wanna call it off", he breathes and throws his head back, leaving you absolutely flabbergasted.

"Oh, my God", he suddenly says a little louder than you expected and with big eyes you watch him fall to his knees, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing his head against your belly with a faux cry.

"Please, don't leave me, I'd be nothing but the shell of a man." And those words basically give you the rest. With a loud, ugly chuckle you push your hands into his hair and start shaking your head, knowing he's not serious but still reassuring him.

"Give me a second, will you?"

With curious eyes Heeseung slowly pulls away and watches the way you walk to your side of the bed and slowly oulling out a little box, bigger than the one for your ring he carried in his pants the whole night, before you make your way back to him with your grip way too tight.

"Open it", you say softly and try to drown out the loud beating of your heart in your throat, the feeling of having to throw suddenly overwhelming you and with a soft sigh you try to calm yourself down.

Seungie doesn't say anything as he takes the box from your hand and does as he's told, lifting the lid and revealing your little present to his big, glossy bambi eyes.

"What..."

A beat of silence follows the single word before he reaches for the pregnancy test and stares at it for way longer than necessary.

You have no idea what's going on inside of his head and for the first time ever since you've found out about your pregnancy you're actually anxious about his reaction.

What you're not awarenof is the way Heeseung's brain has yet to process what the fuck he's looking at, meanwhile his chest has filled with a warmth so comforting and calming, it actually feels dizzying.

You're pregnant.

You, the one woman he's loved all of his life, his now fiancé, are pregnant with his child.

The realisation feels like an actual dream and without giving it another thought, Heeseung lands a harsh slap against his own cheek to see if he's awake.

As the sting of his sweet attempt spreads in his face, the tears have already blurred his vision and with a single one finding it's way down his cheek he looks up at you.

"Oh, my God", a breathy chuckle of disbelief leaves his lips just before he gets up to be on eye level with you, his big hands reaching for your face to press your forehead against his and you still feel unsure until a row of soft sobs start filling the tension in your shared bedroom.

"We're actually going to be parents?"

All you can do is nod, choking on your own tears making it eay too difficult to respond verbally.

You've never seen this particular expression on Heeseung's face and as it reaches his pretty eyes you realise it's nothing but oure joy and excitement, maybe even a hint of relief.

"We're actually going to be fucking parents."

And as he gently wraps his around your body, Heeseung feels a wound in his heart slowly healing, a wound so deep he had managed to suppress it's pain all these years.

"This is the best day of my life", he whispers and inhales your sweet scent, his hand subconsciously moving to rub over your belly, "thank you so much. Thank you for healing me. Thank you for seeing me worthy of your love. Just – Thank you."

Heeseung doesn't give you the opportunity to respond as he pulls you into a passionate kiss, knowing everything he failed to voice out is going to reach your heart through this one kiss.

Not many words are exchanged between the two of you until you're burying your face in his neck, your eyes heavy from the exhaustion of the day, yet Heeseung makes sure to be the last one to speak just before you fall asleep.

"I love you so much. My first and only love."

(A/N: i'm not going to say much bc ive cried so much already and gotta save it for the epilogue injust hope you guys enjoyed this one and know how much i love and appreciate all of you. thank you for making this journey unforgettable and so, so special.)

TAGLIST CLOSED: @soonigiri @thvhannie @enhaz1 @kpoprhia @abrazosolorcereza @deobitifull @mixtape-racha @certifiedmoa @jungwon-xo @hoonieluv @enhamysunshines @jaehoonii @pussyslayerhd @ineedsomezzz @neocockthotology @heerinnie @onionzzzs @hee-pster @3amstarlight @xxxxrvexxxx @primroselover @mimikittysblog @iea-tsand @lhspeachie @xiaoderrrr @viagumi @smg-valeria @kells5595 @heeseunghee7 @xrvrqs @ddazed-lhs @heebrry @fakeuwus @dammit-jjk @ivyannemarie @thekinkpopstandsforkrackheads @s00buwu

#enhypen social media au #enhypen smau #enhypen x reader #enhypen writers #enhypen fluff #enhypen smut #enhypen angst #lee heeseung x you #lee heeseung x reader #lee heeseung social media au #heeseung smut

425 notes · View notes

robinsno1lesbian · 1 year

Note

Okay, I LOVE me some bold, confident Robin...

...but what about shy, blushy, I-live-in-a-small-town-so getting-it-on-with-another-girl-is-impossible-I'm-still-amazed-this-is-happening Robin's first time with an equally excited and inexperienced reader? It's sweet and cute and awkward, but then holy shit you get to be each other's first experience getting touched by someone other than yourself 🫣🫣🫣 I'm WEAK

𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒, 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒, 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒 - 𝐑.𝐁.

robin buckley x fem!reader 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4730

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ mature content (MDNI), maybe a bit of internalized as well as period typical homophobia, is soft smut a thing?, first time, virginity loss, inexperienced!robin x inexperienced!reader, thigh riding, fingering (fem!receiving obviously), let me know if i missed anything <3

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: no because you're so right anon! here's my take on that, i hope you like it! also thank you so much for 300 followers!! i'm so thankful for your support on here so have a 4k word robin x reader smut in return lmao

you can't help yourself but watch her from the corner of your eye. her bangs are falling into her eyes, it is something that has caught your attention a lot lately: the way she always tries to get them out of her face and the way her hair is way too stubborn with her. there are a lot of things that have caught your attention lately, especially when it comes to robin buckley. you do those silly little things: catch yourself daydreaming about her in class or sketching her features on the side of your worksheet rather than working on them. hell, you've been counting her freckles the other day and only stopped because she had snapped you out of it herself. if you didn't know any better, you'd say you're hopelessly in love with her. except that can't be...right? because she's a woman and you can't be in love with a woman. you're not supposed to be in love with a woman. and yet this is what it is supposed to feel like, from what you've heard: the way your stomach twists in a way that tickles through your whole body whenever she looks at you or is already staring whenever you turn back during your shared shifts simply can't be anything other than that. regardless of what you've heard, the things you feel whenever she is around are allconsuming. you try to think of the things people on TV claim. you really try to get yourself together, to keep your eyes glued on a bunch of boys that walk by in the hallway just like all of your friends do. but all of this is forgotten the minute you lay eyes on her. love, you sometimes (in rare moments of clarity) find yourself thinking, isn't supposed to be what oppresses you or chains you down. it's supposed to be free and you've only ever felt free, truly free, around robin. maybe that's why you can't stop watching her now. summer has chosen to come early this year and the heat is already on the verge of being unbearable in late may. she's sitting on your bed, legs crossed and back bent over a book that's open on her leg. she's using a bright yellow marker to highlight important paragraphs, her lip tugged between her front teeth as she works in concentration.

yet again, you can't stop yourself from watching, admiring her from afar like you always do.

she is in a pair of shorts and a tank top she has taken from your closet. it's not her style, white and lacy, and yet it still looks great on her. usual, maybe, but breathtaking nonetheless, emphasizing the curves of her body that are normally hidden from the view underneath a layer of baggy clothing. you're grateful that you get to see her like this. "you're doing it again" her raspy voice snaps you back to reality and she speaks without even looking up from the text. "huh?" you raise a brow and tilt your head "what?" robin looks up from her book and drums the pen against her thigh a couple of times before she answers. "you're staring" she doesn't say it as if it was something that bothers her. she sounds so...sweet, maybe? "oh uhm-" your mind is racing with possible things to answer in return. you always have plenty to say, but right now, your normally busy and loud brain fails you when you need it the most. "i was just thinking" you mumble eventually. robin thinks about this for a second, shrugs, and focuses on her book again. "you do that a lot lately, don't you?" "there's a lot to think about" you say and she grins. "like what?" "dunno..." you shake your head and laugh softly "i guess my mind has been really full of thoughts lately" that catches robin's attention. she closes the book and turns so that she's facing you. her leg almost brushes yours. almost. you find yourself longing for that brief brush of skin, wishing she would lean in just a tiny bit more, just enough for that. "you know you can talk to me, right y/n?" as if she's been reading your mind, robin reaches out and puts a palm to your knee. your breath hitches in your throat and you fake a cough to cover it. you don't know what has gotten into you or why you choose to do what you do. but something in you finally gives you the strength to speak.

"robin have you ever...felt like, i don't know, genuinely, fundamentally different?" a smirk creeps up her cheeks. "all the time" she says.

"no but- i mean- not just in a way that you don't...i don't know..." you do know. what you really want to ask her is if she has ever felt the way you do every single day. if she ever wanted to kiss another woman, if she ever wanted to do more than just that too. "hey" she traces circles over your damp skin "is there something you want to talk about y/n?" you look up and her eyes meet yours. it almost seems like her pupils blow just a little bit wider at the sudden eye contact. you've never seen the ocean, have lived your whole life in this tiny town of hawkins, but you're certain that that's the colors of the waves that meet the shore.

perhaps another time you would've looked away and blushed. but robin is tilting her head sideways and has this sweet look on her entire face that has made you want to kiss her a hundred times before. only this time it is different. you know you're running out of time; it is only a matter of time until you will go separate ways, robin to europe and you to some god-forsaken college your parents have picked out for you. you know that if you don't do it now, you won't ever. and so you do it, against all odds. slowly, you reach out and place a strand of hair -one that's been bothering her all this time- behind her ear. her skin feels so soft under your touch that you can't help yourself but exhale slowly. just when you want to withdraw your hand, your touch already lingering for a bit too long, robin grabs your wrist and holds it there. "don't" she whispers. your palm meets her cheek and suddenly you're holding her face and she's leaning into your hand.

robin turns her face in your palm in a way that allows her lips to brush over it. your heartbeat picks up its pace when she starts kissing the heel of your hand, leaving you completely breathless. you watch her in complete awe and bite your lip at the sight in front of you. "robin..." you murmur and gently pull her a little bit closer, not enough for her to actually move forward, but just enough for her to feel your suggestive movement. she follows suit immediately and starts leaning in closer. closer and closer until her lips are almost touching yours. her breath meets your skin in short, hot puffs that send shivers down your spine. robin's eyes are fixated on your lips and you let all fear fall away. instead, you say "can i kiss you?". robin doesn't answer. instead, she grabs your face in a desperate manner and closes the little bit of distance that is left between you. her lips feel soft, that's the first thing you notice. and then your other senses start picking up on it too: she smells like summer; of the layer of sunscreen she must've applied in the morning and of the hawkins summer air that surrounds you. she tastes like chapstick and shared lemonade. robin leans back faster than you want her too, doesn't stay for more than one quick kiss. "h-holy shit y/n i'm- did you- i mean- was that okay?" you smile. "more than okay robin but...can we...can we do that again?" the excitement practically sparks in her eyes when you ask that but she nods immediately. "i would love nothing more" she scrambles up and bumps into you in the process of getting closer so that she's pressing you further into the pillows on your bed. you gasp but it turns into laughter against her lips when she pretends it never happens and puts her lips on yours again. she misses your lips though, kissing your front teeth due to your laughing. "stop laughing" she chuckles against your mouth "i'm trying to kiss you" "my bad" you grin and wrap your arms around her, caging her in like that "try again". this time she doesn't miss and you're not a giddy mess either. this time, she really kisses you. one arm remains around her shoulder while your other hand holds her cheek and robin kisses you deeper. you stay like this for a while. she tilts her head experimentally every now and then and moves your face with her index too. it's much more than an awkward peck; you can feel the length of her body on yours, your legs dangling together on your bed despite the heat, and just when you think it couldn't possibly get any better, robin parts her lips and licks along your bottom lip, waiting for you to let her in. you gasp, slightly surprised but thrilled to see where this might go. you gladly allow her to lick into your mouth, parting your lips like she has done before. it's a new sensation, one that neither of you is really used to. the velvet of her tongue against your own tickles past your lips and into your mouth. that's when you feel it for the very first time: the tingling sensation that starts somewhere in your lower belly and pools between your thighs. hungry for more, you arch your back up and try to press her further against you. robin groans and the noise has the exact same effect on you as your current makeout session. "robin" you manage when she leans back to take a breath in. her brows narrow and she looks down at you. "are you okay? is this okay? do you want to stop?" "no!" you exclaim, maybe a bit too fast but robin just grins at that. "i mean- no. i just...touch me, please" "touch you?" she raises a brow "are you sure? i mean are you sure that you want this? i've never-" you shake your head gently "i haven't either robin...but i am sure. i want this. i want you" she gives you the sweetest smile and nods slowly. "but, just so we're clear" she runs a hand through her hair, giving you time to admire just how pretty she looks like this: slightly golden in the sunlight and lips plump from the previous kisses. "we can stop anytime, okay?"

"i won't want to stop" you whisper and she looks down at you in what looks like slight surprise but also amazement. "well we don't have to" she shrugs and earns a giggle from you. "just come here and kiss me already" that she'll gladly do. she leans down again and kisses your lips. this time, she slips her tongue past your lips immediately, but it is soft and passionate nonetheless. she kisses you slowly, just like you need it right now and her fingers link with yours so that she is holding both of your hands with her own while she is kissing you. you smile against her and you can feel her returning the gesture, you don't even have to open your eyes to know. "take off my clothes" you breathe into her open mouth. so her fingers run up your body until they reach the collar of your shirt, where she starts fumbling with the buttons. her kisses grow uncoordinated and you lean back. "damn it" she curses, struggling to undo the very first button. "hey" you reach out and wrap your fingers around her wrists "hey it's okay, let me help" robin looks into your eyes as you help her and open the shirt for her. she sits up slowly, eyes filled with disbelief that this sight is really revealing to her. she runs a hand through her hair once more and her jaw drops when you finish the final button. "like what you see?" you chuckle and watch robin through heavy lashes.

"god you could say that" she groans and shifts her weight back onto your thighs.

you sit up against your many pillows and push the fabric off of your shoulder, leaving you in nothing but a soft, lacy bra. you blush under her watchful eye and fight back to urge to hide from her. she must notice the way you look away from her because she gently brushes a finger over your cheek and down to your chin, lifting your gaze upon her. "you're so beautiful, y/n" she murmurs. "so beautiful"

you bring your own hands to her waist, squeezing the dip just above her hips slightly before you tug on the top that belongs to you. "can i...?" robin bites her lips and reaches out herself, pulls it over her head and then throws it over her shoulder carelessly. she is wearing a black bra and her chest is covered in freckles. you've always wondered whether the thin layer of freckles would continue below the collar of each of her shirts but you would've never expected that you would actually get to see it. you lean your head back and she gets the sign. robin leans down and kisses you softly, her hands roaming your sides. you start exploring her body too, shily at first. you move your palms over the swell of her breasts, just the ghost of a touch before you let them wander lower. she shudders when you touch her there and you gasp softly in return. your hands run up her back again and stumble upon the clasp of her bra. you look up from her chest and she is nodding already, giving you an answer to the unspoken questions. you unclasp it slowly, making sure she has time to comprehend it, before you pull it off of her entirely. and, god, she is beautiful. your breath hitches in your throat and you shamelessly gape at her chest. "like what you see?" robin grins, stealing the line you've used on her before. "oh shut up robin, you're- you're gorgeous" you keep looking at her and take your own bra off as well, getting you into an equal state of undressing. she inhales sharply and strokes over your bare shoulders, her thumbs pressing into your skin softly. "can i touch you?" when you nod, she brings both of her hands up to hold your breasts. you exhale shakily, feeling this new kind of touch on yourself. this is all so new, so sweet. a mix of shy touches and soft noises of approval. you're so happy that you get this with robin. that she is the one out of all people that does this for you. with you. her thumbs brush over your nipples and you arch your back forward involuntarily, a quiet moan drawn from your lips by her. "oh you like that?" your eyes fall shut and you nod, your lips forming a silent 'o'. she repeats the motion applying just the right amount of pressure that it feels even better than before. "j-just like that robin" you moan. robin smiles, obviously pleased with the reaction she got out of you. she leans forward again, her hips jerking against your leg as she moves. "fuck-" "what?" your eyes snap open, slightly alarmed. but robin's expression doesn't look like one to be alarmed about. her eyes have fallen shut and her mouth is agape. that is when you realize that your thigh sits right against her center. "oh" you breathe out and she opens a single eye to look at you. she looks absolutely heavenly like this and, to test something, you flex the muscles in your thigh against her, eager to get a reaction out of her. robin's lashes flutter and her lips part at the same time as her head drops back in pleasure. "oh my god" she rasps "oh my god" "does that- feel good?" you ask her and put both of your hands on her hips. she nods to confirm it and gives her hips a couple of experimentally rolls forward, dragging them over the length of your leg. you watch in awe when the first actual moans fall from her lips. her normally low and raspy voice has this new, high-pitched tone to it that you've never heard before but from which you know that you need more of it. after some time, robin leans her forehead down against yours. she brings a hand to the back of your head to keep you close to her and her open mouth is brushing over your own, parted lips. her hot breathing and the quiet, shy moans that occasionally erupt from her send the same tingling sensation down your body. this is great already, better than you would've ever imagined, but you know you need more. and robin does too. "robin" you whisper and she stops her movements immediately. "yeah?" she breathes "are you okay?" you smile at how considerate she is with you, how attentive.

"more than okay i just- i wanna see you" "oh" "yeah, oh" you bite your lip "is that okay?" robin grins and shifts backward, away from your legs so that she can get herself out of the shorts she's wearing. you laugh softly when she struggles with the zipper and tries to kick them off her long legs. eventually, she gets out of them and throws them down the bed to kneel in front of you. "can we- uh- try something?" she asks, a shy blush on her cheeks. when you nod, she takes your hand in hers and pulls you up so that you're both kneeling in front of each other. you don't miss the way her eyes fall upon your chest, as if she still can't fully believe that all of this is really happening. her hand is still locked with yours when she holds it against the valley between her breasts. you gasp when you feel her heartbeat against your palm. "i want you to touch me" she speaks carefully and tilts her head to search your eyes for any doubts. "and i want to touch you too" you bite your lip at the thought of this and nod your head. "please" her fingers find the hem of your skirt and, while her eyes are still on yours, she pushes it down your legs so that it is pooling around your knees. she leaves it there before her fingers trace up your thighs slowly. you involuntarily spread your legs wider for her, which robin can only smile about. when her index reaches your clothed center, you watch her attentively: her mouth falls open when she feels the patch of arousal that has formed on your panties from her previous actions. "fuck, you're wet" she gasps. at those words, you feel yourself clenching around nothing and your facial expression because a reflection of robin's own: lips parting and eyes heavy with a kind of lust you've never felt before. judging by the look on her face, she has felt it against her fingertips. "touch me" she says and you do as you're told. you try to copy robin's movements, a hand between her thighs when you cup her through the fabric. that is when you get what she has meant by that: you can feel her wetness, damp through the underwear. you can also feel her against each of your fingers that are firmly pressing against her.

"y/n" robin moans softly and her head falls back slightly. you feel her pushing your panties aside slowly and you do the exact same for her, removing the last bits of clothing out of the way that is separating you from touching her the way you desperately want to. the moan she draws from your lips when she starts circling your clit is something you should probably feel embarrassed about, but robin's eyes are beaming at the noise. she doesn't want you to hide, she wants to hear you. robin tilts her head again, as if she's asking something from you, and then presses down against your clit slightly harder. "god, robin" you moan and your head falls forward against her shoulder. "it's okay" she whispers and runs her free hand into your hair "it's o- oh" regardless of how turned on your are, you can't help but grin when she moans at the sudden touch of your index and middle finger on either side of her clit, rubbing over it how you would do it if you were touching yourself. it seems to be working for her too. she starts picking up the pace of her own fingers in sync with your movements, rubbing gentle, clockwise circles around your clit. your legs are shaking already and you keep your head against robin's shoulder, muffling the soft moans in her hair and neck. you can feel how wet she is against your digits, proof that you really are making her feel good like this. occasionally, you dip your fingers down lower, where all of her wetness if pooling. you consider taking it one step further, but you find yourself being too shy to ask. instead, you gather her slick on your fingers and draw it back up to her clit. at one particular good stroke, robin reaches for your chin and moves your head away from its hiding spot so that you're looking at her. she's taller than you, even like this, and you have to look up slightly. she looks gorgeous, even more than she normally does: her eyelids are heavy, mouth agape and her chest is rising and falling rapidly. "y/n..." "hm?" her fingers wander lower and you gasp. "can...can i?" you smile softly and copy her motions, a singular finger toying at her entrance. her eyes widen slightly and somewhat of a whine comes past her lips. "please" you're both staring into the other's eye when she pushes her middle finger into you at the same time as you do the same for her. the moans that fall from your lips mix with hers, creating a sweet noise that echoes through the room. thank god you're home alone. "oh fuck, robin...robin..." you babble, your hips jerking forward over and over to chase the delicious feeling "more". robin withdraws her finger slowly, until only the very tip of it is still inside of your aching cunt and then pushes it right back inside you, adding a second one along. "oh my god" you cry out. you've never made such a noise when you were touching yourself. this is s much better than anything you have ever felt. robin's own walls seem to somehow tighten around your finger, which reminds you that you have that same effect on her. you curl your middle finger forward slightly and robin's eyes roll back in her head. "please" she whimpers "god- just like that- feels so so good fuck-" you thrust into her a couple of times until you add a second finger as well. robin, regardless of the fact that she is getting fucked this good by you, never stops the movements of her own fingers inside of your cunt. her fingers are longer than yours, just slightly but enough for you to feel the difference; she is reaching depths that you were never able to reach on your own. when she mirrors your motion and curls them up against that certain spot, you moan out her name loudly. the thrusts alone feel incredible but when she begins hitting your g-spot, it takes things to a whole new level of pleasure.

"k-kiss me" you mutter between moan and whimpers caused by her fingers. robin does as you asked her to, pulls you in so that your chests are bumping together and smashes her mouth of yours. the shyness from earlier is gone, replaced by want and lust for you. soon enough, your tongues are moving together in sync, lips meeting over and over again until they feel almost sore.

the combination of all of these things causes a knot to form in your lower abdomen. you know exactly what'll happen once this knot snaps and, truth be told, you can't wait to cum all over robin's fingers. but you also know it'll take just the slightest bit more for you to actually cum. "r-robin" you shudder when she leans back slightly. there's a string of saliva connecting your lips. part of you wants to be disgusted, but instead, it only turns you on. "can you- oh god, fuck-" it feels so good, you can hardly get the words out. "can you...rub my clit? please? i think- ah- i think i'm close" she listens to everything with a half-curious, half-lustfilled expression and nods. robin doesn't stop with the wonders, that her fingers are working inside of you though. she uses her thumb to find your clit, all while she is pumping her index- and middle finger into you, and rubs it gently, just like you asked her to. "holy shit- right there! right there!" you manage and your head falls back. your breathing becomes high-pitched and rapid and every muscle in your body is focused on what she is doing, on moving against her to chase your orgasm. robin seems to understand and starts rubbing your clit faster, adding pressure at the right points too. with that and the fact that she pulls you in again to squeeze your breast, robin pushes you closer and closer to the edge. you manage to find robin's clit with your thumb too, though it takes you slightly longer to do so but robin doesn't seem to mind, way too caught up in the way your digits curl up inside of her. "robin...fuck i- oh-" you can't even finish what you were gonna say, your whole body tenses up in pleasure and you feel your orgasm in each and every nerve. you sob out a moan that dies in your throat when everything becomes hot and you see stars from the pleasure. robin reaches her height shortly after and her body tenses up against yours, her eyes roll back and her fingers tighten in your skin. both of your thighs shake around the other's hand and you cum around her fingers, coating them in your release. when the wave of pleasure slowly fades, you open your eyes. robin is still recovering herself, but she has come down enough to watch you. a smile is toying along her lips. "holy shit" she breathes eventually. "yeah" you say with a lighthearted laugh. "did you- i mean- was that okay?" and you can hardly believe your own eyes but she blushes as if she hasn't just made you cum better and harder than ever. "that was more than okay robin, fuck" regardless of that fact, she sighs as if in relief. "would you- would you mind if- i- would you like to go out...? sometime?" despite your situation, you can't help yourself but laugh breathlessly. "robin buckley" you exclaim "are you asking me out on a date while you're still inside of me?" her eyes widen slightly, as if that part has already been forgotten and you laugh a little bit more. once you have both fully recovered, you lay her down on your bed and put your head on her shoulder and she links your fingers together. somehow, it is not odd at all. it's almost like it was always supposed to be like this. "so" she says after some time. "so" you repeat. "about earlier...i would really, really like to take you out on a date" you smile and tilt your head so you can look at her properly. "i would really, really like that too"

#robin buckley #robin buckley x reader #robin buckley x you #robin buckley x female reader #robin buckley x fem!reader #robin buckley x y/n #robin buckley x yn #robin buckley fanfic #robin buckley imagine #robin buckley smut #robin buckley x fem!reader smut #stranger things #stranger things x reader

540 notes · View notes

soracities · 1 month

Note

How to stop fearing love? When i think about me falling for someone it's always here with the shadow of grief and loss what if i loved so much that it might end and hurt more? I experienced grief and since then i fear losing anyone i love even tho i know no one can run away from death but it's not only death what if there is no place for me in the heart of those i adore? I never allowed myself to confess or be honest about my feelings for someone i love, i keep it as an idea i keep just daydreaming about it.

Love that you allow only to breathe as a fantasy, that you keep as a daydream to get lost in, that you put in a glass jar on the highest shelf for fear of what might happen if it's too close cannot--no matter how much you may hope for it, and no matter how much the love itself aspires to it--become Love. You can't hold love on a leash and expect it to grow; grief and loss are your entry tickets because for your love to be real it has to be honest. And honest love is a confrontation with the fact that it may not last. Love that is only there under a precondition cannot ever be free, and something that cannot exist freely cannot exist honestly. And what's a love worth--any kind of love--that isn't honest?

We hope that the people we love value us and care for us. We hope that they do so as much as we care for and value them. But I think the spectre of loss, terrifying as it is, does not necessarily have to become a noose around your neck: the difference between being confronted with sudden hurt and closing yourself away is that at least the hurt is real--it came from a real choice that you made, to be awake and present in the world with another person. The alternative is spending your whole life wondering "what if?": right now, it's what if I get hurt? But eventually, as time goes on, it becomes what if I'd been braver? What if I'd taken a leap? What if I'd tried with xyz? What would my life look like if I had? The difference between these, and get your heartbroken, is that heartbreak will, one day, find a place in your life, and you will be able to move on. Regret, however, has a far, far longer shelf life; it's almost impossibly to move on from a question you will never get an answer to.

All your fears and worries, anon, are natural and I think everyon has them, at some point or another. But when you lead your life with this fear--"What if there is no place for me in the heart of those i adore?"-- you're already guaranteeing that there can be no place because you are not allowing yourself the freedom to find that place. It's like saying "what if I never see the ocean?" but avoiding every trip to the beach that comes your way. And not only are you depriving yourself of genuine loving connections with other people, you're depriving them of the opportunity to give you those connections too (and hence your fear becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy).

I think at the end of the day, fear of love ending, fear of the hurt that follows, fear of what will happen to us as a result of that hurt is not down to whether or not you can trust that the love will last or fear of love at all to begin with; I think it's down to whether or not you trust yourself to be okay if it doesn't. And I think the prospect of falling in love, and then falling out of it, becomes far less terrifying when you look at it from that point of view. It's not can I trust you not to hurt me? It's can I trust myself to still love me if you do? Can I trust myself to still believe I deserve love and good things, even if you do? Can I trust myself to be okay for myself?

Because ultimately, it's not about other people having a place for you or not, it's not about knowing in advance that someone will never hurt you--you can't predict this about anyone, about any situation. But what you can rely on, what you can control is however you respond to it. Love is a dialogue, I think--it's a collaborative mode of being: there are two (or more) people in it working in tandem on something, towards something, but you don't cease to be two individuals in that process either. You still stand if the other isn't there: you must simply learn to navigate the space they leave behind and fill it up differently. You said you experienced grief once already--my question is: have you honoured that grief? More importantly, have you honoured the love that this grief came from and that you lost? Do you believe that you're honouring the importance & your memory of that love in your life by closing yourself off from the opportunity to ever experience it again, in different forms?

I think Vuong said somewhere that grief is the final translation of love and I believe that's true--but I also believe it does this love a profound disservice to measure it, value it, form a legacy from it purely from that grief alone. The love was there. Then grief came, yes. But the love was there. All hurt, all grief, all shattering sense of loss is a testament to the enormity of that love to begin with. It hurts as much as its worth, as they say. The grief isn't a punishment; it's to remind you of that worth. And the lesson from that grief, if we decide it's better to not open ourselves up to love and connection again, is, in my view at least, a diminishing of that worth.

I used to do rollerblading and ice skating, and possibly the only useful thing I can say on this is that fearing love is a lot like learning to balance on skates: you cannot go anywhere on those things as long as you are utterly petrified of falling to the ground. And you will keep being petrified until you do fall--but after that, you learn: you learn how to fall, and get back up, and you learn that the fall itself and what comes after is not nearly as terrifying or impossible as the anticipation of pain and inching along in terror for the rest of your life because of it. A few falls in, you slowly learn to trust yourself. There's no harrowing what if? anymore because you have something now you can work with (the fall hurts and it sucks and it is embarrassing but you're here, still) and use and learn from and become a braver version of yourself.

I don't know if any of this helps you, anon, but I sincerely hope it does and I'm sending you all my love through this 🤍

#ask #Anonymous #notes from elsewhere

118 notes · View notes

babybluebex · 3 months

Note

ughhhh boyf dom is my fav!! I know I mentioned this in the vacay ask but he will always take pics of you!! Candids always, all day every day, but also if you ever want to take pictures for instagram or anything like that he’ll double as your photographer and number one hype man. And those cute couple TikTok fit checks omg just imagine everyone going crazy over the two of you like not even fans but just everyone hyping you up in the comments (she’s everything, he’s just Ken vibes lmao) anyway this is going to be my daydream for forever and a half now (also I hope you have a great time at your show tonight!!!)

ugh i love the thought of hype man boyf dominic, he loves awards season bc you're always dressed up and look so stunning, he can't stop himself from snapping pics of you at all times, no matter what you're doing

and if you ask for posed pictures to post, he's being serious about it, telling you how to turn your head and where to place your hand, and if the lighting isn't good in the place you chose, he'll move you to the side until you reach the good lighting, and he's doing that dorky Thing "work it, girl! yes ma'am, you're slaying it!" and it makes you laugh so hard

and as far as the tiktok fit checks go, he'll crash yours all the time, you're just trying to show off the sundress you thrifted and he stands in the back of the frame eating a sandwich and sweetly heckling you the whole time "who's this smokeshow here? damn girl, you look fire" and omg the whole meme about like "pookie's looking incredible today", dom EATS THAT UP and jokes about it all the time, you're doing a fit check for the baftas and he comes into the video "pookie looks amazing as usual, wearing... balenciaga, right?" and you nod "i like this on you... a quintessential pookie outfit"

i can see like for halloween, you and dom went to one of your friend's parties as western barbie and ken, and back when you posted the video of you two lipsyncing the "take a walk or something!" scene, nobody really knew who dom was, and people find the video after ryan does "I'm Just Ken" at the oscars and you make dom reenact it on the street in philly and the comments are all "IS THAT DOMINIC SESSA???!!!" and your friends comment "100k views on tiktok, she's an influencer"

#bex answers #anon ask #dominic sessa x reader

76 notes · View notes

gavisuntiedboot · 1 year

Text

Just Pretend (Gavi x reader)

Part 1

Tinder is not a great place to look for boyfriends, but neither is the workplace.

Gavi x Physiotherapist! reader. Slow burn. I can't make things fast he's gotta work for it. Smut? Not in this part but maybe eventually.

A/N: Hi everyone! Not super new on Tumblr but I have never been brave enough to post a fic despite my constant maladaptive daydreaming about imaginary scenarios. The stress of being sick and not wanting to write my personal statement have lead me to actually write this and post it online. Please be nice, hope you enjoy!

Song inspo: Just Pretend - Bad omens

Writing inspo: Plot inspired by @zeegaazeegaah and their amazing Gavi x physiotherapist imagine. Other inspirational accounts will be tagged at the end.

TW: None

Word count: 4.8K

"So what do you do?"

y/n hated this question. Even being asked for nudes might be preferable to being asked about her job. y/n had been on 12 first dates since moving back to Barcelona, and without fail every one of them had been ruined by this simple question. She considered lying - she could pass as a student or a waitress or even a model (ok maybe not a model): there were literally thousands of jobs she could pretend to have. But, being the idiot hopeless romantic that she was, she decided to be honest with the man across from her. What if Thiago from Tinder was her soulmate? She didn't want to ruin it by lying.

"I'm finishing my sports medicine and physiotherapy certification, so I am working with one of the football clubs here to do practical training and gain experience."

"Oh that's cool! Which club? You can tell me, I know most of the 3rd and 4th tier Catalan clubs, so I'll probably know it even if it's really small."

Wow. Thiago from Tinder was an overachiever: he messed up before she even said which club she worked for, which was faster than every other man she had been out with in the last four months. y/n took a deep breath and resisted the urge to leave before confessing where she worked.

"I actually work at a pretty well known club... F.C Barca. I think you might of heard of it?" y/n watched this man's jaw visibly drop. His eyes got wide and lit up, like someone had told him he had just won a brand new car.

"You're a physio at Barca?? No way! That's my team! I think I would actually commit manslaughter if Pedri asked me to. So you get to see all the players every day? And Xavi! Have you ever spoken to Xavi? Do you know he won Spain their first world cup? You might be too young to remember. That's so amazing!"

y/n felt all the muscles in her head tense as she focused all her energy on not rolling her eyes. A fanboy. Typical. This was the most common response she got when she said her place of work out loud. 6 of the last 12 first dates had been major fanboys for the club, talking endlessly about how they would steal and kill and get on their knees for Barca. One had even been so bold as to ask if she had ever seen Lewandosky naked, to confirm if some measurements he had seen online were true. While the fans were annoying, the haters were even worse. 4 different dates had said they felt bad that she worked at a "dying club", throwing up football statistics, and going red in the face when she said she could not possibly care less about who had more Champion's League wins.

Then there were those that went out of their way to offend her. You would think that a man trying to get laid would have some more common sense. But that didn't stop one of her tinder matches from calling her a liar in the middle of a restaurant. He was still on his first glass of wine, leaning back cockily in his chair when he said that La Liga would never allow female physios to work with the first team because women couldn't "handle the intensity of football injuries." She should have gotten up and left when he said that, but he was 6'3 with a brand new Porsche, so she let him buy her dinner and drive her home before telling him that she genuinely hoped he never interacted with a female doctor ever again, even if it was to save his life.

The worst had been when she went out with Jose. He had invited her to a pretty expensive spot in central Barcelona. They were having an amazing conversation until the fated job question. She had downed a good amount of wine at that point, and wasn't as cynical about the reaction as she usually would be, so she spoke about her role with pride. Big mistake. He perked up, then threw his head back and laughed. He laughed so loudly it startled the waiter clearing plates from the nearby table. "21 years old and working as a physio for F.C Barca... Who did you have to sleep with to get that job, hm? Xavi? La Porte himself? Or maybe someone at the university? Regardless, you must fuck like a pornstar to have landed a job like that. Can't wait to try it first hand." y/n said some choice words about Jose and his micropenis, and promptly left, seeking to avoid assault charges that night.

The truth was that y/n was extremely talented at what she did. She grew up watching football with her father and brother, developing an interest in working in sports professionally. She worked herself half to death during high school to be accepted into a sports science program in the U.S. She interned with the college teams there, learning about sports injuries and treating them. She finished her program in three years, and despite programs across Europe fighting for her, she came back to Barcelona to finish her physiotherapy certification. She would be lying if she said it was just for her family and friends. The program in Barcelona advertised opportunities to work with F.C. Barca, her favorite football club since birth. It was a love she inherited from her father, as shown by all her childhood pictures in the Blaugrana uniform.

The program was harder than expected. She was one of 7 female first year students, and the only girl in her year that wanted to work with the first team. y/n was made aware that this might work to her advantage now that professional football was pushing for more female representation (in referees, coaching staff, and now on the medical team). The guys in her class either hated her guts or wanted to sleep with her (sometimes both) - it really was like legally blonde without the law.

In the middle of August, close to the beginning of the new season, all the applicants for the Barca placement were called into the university on a Sunday. Their professor introduced Dr. Gonzales, the head physiotherapist for the club. y/n started to sweat despite the air conditioning hitting her directly. She was terrified to even breathe wrong in the presence of this man.

"It's a pleasure to be here with you all today. Thank you for your hard work in submitting to fill the assistant physiotherapist position at F.C. Barcelona. Now, there have been rumors that we are hiring a student to fil this position because it is cheaper and we are broke, but I would like to assure you all now that it's not true."

The two boys in front of her snickered quietly, one whispering a "yeah right" to the other. Dr. Gonzalez looked up at the boys. "You two giggling in the back. You don't seem like the type we need at Camp Nou. You can leave now." Everyone in the room sat up straighter after that. Everyone was on military behavior, not wanting a wrong look or a chair squeak to blow their chance. "As many of you know, one of our strikers, Ousmane Dembélé, presents with consistent right hamstring tightness, leading to frequent injuries."

As Dr. Gonzalez turned to face the screen, y/n found enough bravery to pull out a pen and paper to take notes. The doctor continued to describe the player's condition, his playing style, and the current course of treatment being used. After speaking for 25 minutes (while facing the screen instead of the students), he turned around and addressed them. "Your project is to develop a continuous muscular therapy treatment for Dembélé in the next two days. The best and most cost effective method gets the job placement. You at the back," he pointed at y/n, "Smart choice to take notes. I advise you not to share."

Y/n drove home that evening checking her rear-view mirror every few seconds. The possibility of being followed by one of her classmates so they could steal her notes was low, but never zero, and so she did both of the locks tightly on the door. She sat at her computer and got to work right away. Truth be told, she felt like the whole assignment was kind of a trick. Dr. Gonzalez had told them the current treatment plan for Dembélé, which had obviously been working seeing as they kept using it. She made a few adjustments based on leg dominance and the anticipated excess strain of playing more minutes each game, and then she decided to facetime her friend Angelika while she made the PowerPoint look pretty.

"Good evening Dr. y/l/n, finally ready to ask for my hand in marriage? My parents always wanted me to marry into medicine." y/n rolled her eyes and smirked. She had met Angelika when she was living in the US through a Facebook group for Spanish students studying abroad. Ever since then, not a day had gone by where they hadn't spoken (except once when Angelika had dropped her phone into a pint of beer and couldn't get it fixed for three days).

"You know I'm ready when you are gorgeous, just send your ring size. What're you up to?"

"Nothing much, just scrolling on the internet trying to find clubs that are no cover for ladies tomorrow. You're still coming out with us right?" y/n looked away from her computer and looked at Angelika with the "I'm about to bail on plans look" that was all too familiar. "Y/n!! You cannot be cancelling plans with us again! You haven't been anywhere except your house and the university in like six weeks! People will start to think you're with child and in hiding."

"I didn't know I was the new virgin Mary." y/n quipped, trying to make her presentation equally professional and cute. "You're not, because that would require you being a virgin. I know it feels like it's growing back because you haven't looked in the direction of a man in centuries." y/n could only shake her head. It was not a lack of trying. "Well, I'm presenting to the Barca head physio Wednesday morning, so if you ever want a chance at seeing the inside of that locker room, you need to let me skip out on tomorrow."

Angelika sighed and threw herself on the bed dramatically. "Fine, but you need to be our DD and come pick us up after. Shockingly, it's really hard to order an Uber while drunk." y/n agreed to pick the girls up from the club at the end of the night, an spent the rest of the evening chatting idlily with her friend, living vicariously through the stories she told.

The following day, y/n spent all morning refining her presentation. She spent over an hour watching videos about the Barca training facility to see if there was any equipment she had overlooked in creating her treatment plan. The day progressed as normal - cleaning, cooking, practicing her presentation, watching TV on the couch. As 1am rolled around, she still hadn't received any communication from Angelika. While she was not an inconsiderate person, Angelika did have her moments where she would completely forget about the world around her: that was when she met a man who showed interest in her. Despite being gorgeous and intelligent, Angelika, like most girls in their early twenties, suffered from a condition known as "Nothing is true about me unless an attractive man says it". y/n also suffered (mildly) from this affliction, but being surrounded by weirdos all day in university had helped substantially. She knew that if she did not leave then, she would never get any sleep, and so she grabbed her car keys and headed to the address of the club that she had been sent earlier on.

She parked several blocks away from the club, and called Angelika for a record 41st time. y/n knew she wasn't going to receive an answer, so she changed into a tight satin top and a pair of heels that she always left in her car in case of emergencies (What if Joao Felix decided to take a random trip to Barcelona and she was unprepared?). She could feel the street practically vibrating beneath her as she walked towards the club. She was let in easily - it was a Tuesday night and the establishment needed female patrons. She kept close to the bar, and asked the girls working there if they had seen her friend. Once y/n pulled up a picture of Angelika, the girls laughed to one another.

"Oh yeah, she's up in the VIP section. They've dropped like 6k on bottle service already."

y/n felt the vein in her forehead start to pop out. Of course Angelika had found herself a man that would take her to the part of the club that was the hardest to get into. Especially on the night when y/n really needed to get home. Because why wouldn't that happen? She made her way over to the VIP section, where she was promptly stopped by two large bouncers, who obviously didn't believe that she just wanted to grab her friend. While standing there deciding whether she should just make Angelika order an Uber (or have this new lover order one for her), she was tapped on the shoulder. She turned around and was met by a very attractive man (boy? His age was hard to determine in the dark).

"Hey, do you need to get into VIP? Are you here alone? " "That's a really creepy question to ask a girl in a club." y/n yelled back over the thumping music. What were all these people doing out on a Tuesday? "No not like that. I can help you get in if you want." "I don't really want to get in, I just want to get my friend and leave." The man (boy?)'s eyes lit up. "Perfect! My tea- friend. My friend that I'm with is pretty drunk and the person that drove us is in VIP. I can't leave him by himself because he's kind of rowdy even when sober. Could you watch him while I go grab them?"

y/n didn't want to look too deeply into a good thing, but the offer felt suspicious. She scanned the boy (she had decided that he was young), looking for any indication that he could live up to his end of the bargain. She looked down at his feet, noticing the white Alexander McQueen sneakers. She decided that she could trust him, and if not, she was still in a public place, and someone would notice if she was being dragged out of a club kicking and screaming. She walked over to where the friend was and had to stifle a laugh. Another boy was sprawled across two high bar chairs, legs up and head rolled back. He was wearing a pair of Louis Vuitton sunglasses despite it being the middle of the night and them being indoors. His white button up had the first two undone and the collar popped, like he was Pitbull in 2011. He was in a pair skinny jeans (because, as y/n discovered quickly, everyone in the world had moved on from skinny jeans except for Spanish men) and some white Dolce and Gabanna sneakers. Where were these kids getting all this money?

"Pablo! Look who I brought you! This is..." The first boy looked back at you expectantly. "y/n". "y/n! She's really great and going to take care of you while I go get Pepi so we can go home." The drunk one (now Identified as Pablo) lifted his head, and tilted the sunglasses just enough to get a good look at the girl. "Wow Angel, nice job." The first one (Angel apparently) apologized to y/n, explaining that Pablo was a "really flirty drunk" but that he was never like this sober. y/n showed Angel a picture of Angelika, and off he went back into the beast that was the club. y/n stood awkwardly by Pablo, who appeared to have fallen asleep. Suddenly, he sprung up and asked her, "so what is a pretty girl like you doing in the club by herself?"

"I'm not here to go clubbing, just picking up a friend." "You're dressed like you're going clubbing." "Right, because they wouldn't let me into the club in my scrubs." "Scrubs? You look too young to be a doctor." The music was starting to take a toll on y/n, the thumping rhythm giving her a splitting headache. "You don't look old enough to be let into the club, but everyone is full of surprises." Pablo did not take this comment well. He stood up, feeling all the blood rush to his head as he rested his weight against the bar. He pushed his glasses up his head, and looked straight at her.

This was the first opportunity y/n had to admire how gorgeous Pablo was. The glasses pushed his hair back on his head, showing off his striking eyebrows and cheekbones. His eyes were wide and glassy, making him look like a teenager who had gotten drunk for the first time. For all y/n knew, that could be the case. His nose slopped downward, a subtle bump in the bridge like it had been broken before and reset. His discontent made his bottom lip poke out, and y/n suddenly was overwhelmed by the urge to treat him like a child: make him feel better with a kiss. "I'm 18, and this isn't even my first time in a club. You want to see my ID?" Pablo had gotten much closer to her than she had expected. In her 4 inch heels, y/n was looking him straight in the eyes. He was mere inches away from her face, cheeks flushed from the alcohol and the anger of being called a child. She couldn't stop her gaze from flipping between his eyes to his pouting lips. 'This is normal,' she thought to herself. 'I'm overwhelmed because no man has been this close to me in a while. Even if my scumbag cheating ex was standing this close I would want to kiss him. I am simply in desperate need of affection.'

This internal monologue ended just as another club patron bumped into Pablo, causing him to lose balance. He put his arms around y/n and rested weight against her, head pressed into her shoulder. "I feel like dying. I shouldn't have drank that much." He muttered. She just held him there, scared that he would hit the floor if she shifted. "Then why did you keep drinking?" She asked. It couldn't hurt - in the state he was in, she would be surprised if he even remembered his name in the morning. "So my brain would be a little quieter." y/n's heart ached at the statement. However old the boy in her arms was, he was being burdened by something far beyond his age.

Before she could ask anything else, she was tapped on the shoulder by Angel, who signaled for her to follow out of the club. She put one of Pablo's arms around her neck and began shuffling through the crowd. Once they left the club, Pablo quickly separated from her to throw up on the side of the street. "At least he waited until he was off of you to do that," a male voice echoed from behind her. y/n turned around to see Angelika clinging to a tall brunet. "Thank you so much for carrying her out. I think I can take it from here." y/n said, trying to get Angelika to remove herself from the nice man. "It's ok, I can walk her to your car. It might be easier than you carrying her." y/n smiled apologetically, and turned around to the sound of Pablo continuing to wretch his guts out. She ran over to make sure he wasn't puking blood and didn't need medical attention. "Come on Pablo let's go." Angel said from the curb. "No no, don't rush him. Let him get it all out before he gets into my car. Otherwise he'll have to start taking the city bus to matches." y/n looked up at the new voice. He walked up and stood by Angel, glancing at his phone before looking up at his friend and the girl making sure he didn't die. "Thanks for looking after him. I hope he wasn't too bad, he's a tag aggressive." y/n stood there speechless. The man thanking her for taking care of his drunk friend was none other than Pedri Gonzalez, one of the young stars of F.C. Barca. He was an absolute magician with the ball, and quickly becoming a favorite in y/n's household. She wanted to let out a scream: jump up and down and tell him that she was a huge fan and ask for a picture. But she had her presentation tomorrow. The last thing she needed was to make a bad impression on the player by causing a scene. So she took a deep breath and insisted that it was no problem.

Pablo had finished puking out his guts by that point and stood up straight, gripping his head from the dizziness. "Alright hermano, time to go." Pedri said, turning his back to y/n, Angelika, and the main carrying her. "Wait." Pablo said rummaging through his pocket. He pulled out his wallet, and clumsily pulled a card from it. He turned to y/n and grabbed her shoulder, pulling her close to him. There were shouts from his friends to stop whatever he was doing, but nothing was registering in his liquor-filled brain. "y/n think's I'm a little kid, so I just wanted to show her my ID." y/n shifted her gaze from his deep eyes to the card in his hand. She didn't look at the age. She didn't have to. Her eyes landed on the name: Pablo Martín Páez Gavira. One of the best young football players in the world had just used her as a banister. "Now that you know I'm not a kid, next time, you should let me buy you a drink." Pablo said, pushing a strand of hair from y/n's face before walking (wobbling) back to his friends.

y/n could not process everything going on in her head at that moment. She turned around and faced the man holding a half-asleep Angelika. "You don't play for Barca do you?" She asked, half joking and half fearful. "No. I play for Real Sociedad. I'm Martin." "Zubimendi??" "Yeah." This was too much. y/n, 7 hours before the most important presentation of her life, was surrounded by so much football royalty it made her dizzy. Martin looked like he was going to say something else, but y/n put her finger to her lips and shushed him. "Please, not another word. Just bring her to the car."

They walked silently to y/n's tiny car, Martin helping to carefully place Angelika in the back seat. "So are you the guy she was with while ignoring my calls?" "Oh no, that was my teammate Ander. He was also kind of out of it so I offered to help her out." "Why is everyone getting drunk out of their minds on a random Tuesday in August?" y/n said in frustration, causing a laugh to erupt from Martin. "It's the last week before training for the new season starts. Not a lot of opportunities to black out after this. People like to take advantage." y/n thanked Martin and got into the driver's seat. He stopped her before she drove off. "Do you think I could maybe get your number? Just to make sure you get home safe?" y/n rolled her eyes at the lame excuse for a pick-up tactic, but surrendered her phone number anyway. She drove back to her apartment with her head reeling, as she tried to rehearse her speech in her head instead of thinking of the events of the night.

The next day, y/n looked perfect. She had work her best school-approved scrubs and coat. and slicked her hair back to make her look more professional. She was in her business attire Nikes. Her note cards were neatly written and organized. She sat in the lecture hall waiting to be called on. The students would be presenting in random order. As all the student filled in to present, the tension was palpable. Everyone side-eyed each other, trying to intimidate the "competition". The door swung open and in walked the professor, as well as Dr. Gonzalez. He stood at the front podium, stern as ever, and began to speak.

"Good morning students. Thank you all for the effort you have put into the presentations you will share today. We look forward to all you assessments and insights. As the new season quickly approaches, we want the new assistant to become acclimated to the workplace quickly. Therefore, the decision about the position will be made today following the presentation." The entire room stopped breathing. "In order to do so efficiently, please welcome our other guests and evaluators, Mr. Xavi Hernandez and Mr. Ousmane Dembélé." The pair walked in, and the room engaged in the most "I wish I was dead" sounding clapping known to man. y/n started sweating profusely. If she had known that Xavi and Dembélé were going to be watching her presentation, she would have made Angelika take the Uber. Hell, she would have made her ride a Donkey back home and gotten a full night's sleep.

Dr. Gonzalez drew names for the order, and because y/n has the worst luck, she was presenting last. She did what she does best: panicked immediately. She tried to think of ways to present the information differently than the 6 students before her had. As she listened to the presentations, the more nervous she got. None of the other students had treatment plans remotely similar to hers. Antonio, one of the smartest in their batch and the presenter right before her, even suggested he get surgery.

It was time. y/n stood up at the front of the room and pulled out her slides. "Good morning everyone. Today I will be presenting my comprehensive treatment plan for player Ousmane Dembélé's right hamstring." She got through the whole thing without stuttering or having her knees give out. As she finished her last slide, she let out a sigh of relief. The hard part was over. She asked if their were questions and Xavi's hand went up. "So Miss y/n, the treatment plan presented is very similar to the one we have currently implemented, with a couple changes in training and every day life. What is the anticipated recovery time for this treatment?" Everyone else in the class had said 8-12 months. But no - of course y/n had to be differently. "6 weeks sir." "6 weeks? No one else has given a suggestion that would take less than half a year." "Yes sir, however, if you take into account the availability of daily therapy, cryotherapy, and the current play style and strain distribution, he can be on the field in 6 weeks. He might not be comfortable playing all 90 minutes each game, but that's not the same as being completely out for injury." Xavi nodded and said nothing more. That was the end of the questioning.

It took them 8 minutes exactly to decide who go the job. Dr. Gonzalez, Xavi, and Dembélé came back into the room, thanking everyone again for their hard work. "We are please to announce," Xavi started, "that we will be offering the assistant physiotherapist position for the 2022/2023 season to," he turned to Dembélé, who finished the thought, "Miss y/n y/l/n." All the men in the room turned to face y/n at once as she struggled to breathe from the shock. "We look forward to having you this season."

And that's how it happened. y/n was now the assistant physiotherapist for the first team at F.C. Barcelona during the day, and entertainment for the absolute worst men in Spain in the evenings. She left her disappointing first date with a headache and leftovers, and drove home listening to her "Maybe Love is a Social Construct" playlist. As she walked into her apartment, her phone chimed with a text notification. She let her hair down and grabbed her phone, preparing to update Angelika about the latest in the tragedy that was her love life. Instead, she had two separate text notifications.

[Unknown number]: Hey, is this still y/n's number?

[Gavi]: I need to see you urgently. Tomorrow morning 6:30 am. I'll be waiting outside your office.

To be continued...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you got this far, thanks for reading! I have had this idea for a long time and have been writing snippets of it down. I will continue to update whenever I can, as this really is a passion project for me (so it's ok if no one reads it).

GIF credit to @gavidaily

Huge thanks to the following for heavily inspiring me to start writing this on the internet: @missgavi @kyiiansmbappe @julianalvarez9 @milawritesstuff @leeamorgan (there are a couple others I'm forgetting)

#pablo gavi x reader #gavi x reader #pablo gavi #gavi #fc barca #footballer #imagine #barca #gavi x you #footballer imagine

739 notes · View notes

secondjulia · 6 months

Text

Necessary but Stupid -> The StarvingArtist!Dream/Plasma AU You Didn't Request

UM. So. This was definitely just a weird little AU idea I had... definitely not while hooked up at csl daydreaming about Dream & Hob... that I was just going to dump in @gabessquishytum's Ask, as one does with weird little AU ideas. And then it kind of exploded. Into an actual story.

---Rated: G. Logistics in the tags. Ao3 link ---

There's no stopping the dark cloud that passes over Hob's head the moment he opens the door to the plasma center. But now he can smile brightly through it and let the storm blow quietly away. The dark memories this place holds still surface every time he walks in, but he's never once considered not going. Even though it's been ten years since Eleanor and the babe died of some rare blood condition that triggered childbirth complications, Hob's still there twice a week, every week, rain or shine.

He waves to the clerk at the desk. The security guard greets him with a comment about the latest football match, and Hob makes an appropriately pained, commiserating expression. He asks the technician taking his blood pressure how his honeymoon went — Côte d'Albâtre, right? — and Hob reminisces cheerily about his own trips to France.

Nobody’s ever exactly happy at the plasma center, but the sunny professor’s relentlessly friendly chatter brightens everyone’s day. All the staff know him by name, his surprisingly colorful stories can help pass the time on those long-line days, and his smile always lights up the room.

Sure, Hob can be kind of opinionated — like whenever he declares that death is stupid and nobody should have to die of preventable diseases! Everyone just goes along with it, and it’s so cruel! (Nobody actually disagrees, but he is very vocal about it.) The first time he said this — sitting hunched with downcast eyes, just weeks after his wife’s death — his voice was soft with hopelessness, and it cracked as he held back tears. But ten years later, when people ask him why he’s still doing this when he’s a tenured professor with a summer cottage and a retirement plan, Hob declares jovially that death is stupid! Nobody has to die when he can give them something they need from his own arms — it’s a renewable resource!

Hob, it cannot be said enough, brightens everyone's day — usually.

But not today. Not everyone's.

Dream cannot believe the insufferable words coming out of this man’s mouth. It's the first day Dream’s set foot in this particular center, and he already wants to go home.

But home is the problem. Dream's new apartment is much cheaper than the building that just evicted him, but this latest series of paintings are taking far longer to complete than he'd hoped. And also, the art world just fucking sucks. Dream can't fool himself. Even when the paintings are ready, it's unlikely they'll sell well enough or soon enough to plug the gaps in his income.

For years, Dream played the whole shitty-jobs roulette to support his art, but ever since he was kidnapped and spent years in a glass cage in a basement, he can’t even manage that. Seriously, try explaining that kind of resumé gap to a job interviewer. When he does manage to get work, it always goes bad fast. Dream wasn’t exactly totally undamaged before, but now he feels like he's all scars.

Dream is not here by choice. He cannot imagine who would be.

He'd gone to his old plasma center for years — till he was forced to move — in order to make ends meet. Today, he's here to fill in the glaring gap between the meager payment he got for a small watercolor last January, his savings, and a near-maxed-out credit card. (Nearly maxed out in the hasty scramble to get to a cheaper place to live. Moving was expensive. Funny how that works.) The plasma center is, in some ways, far preferable to many of the jobs he's had in the past, and it allows Dream to spend more time on his art. But it is absolutely unfathomable how anybody could pursue an eternity of this if they didn’t have to.

Dream keeps his head down avoiding the attention of the chatty professor. He stays quiet. His cold, bony hands are tucked into his long cardigan sleeves except for when he's chugging water, nearly by the gallon. He's about 2kg from the next weight class. Unfortunately, he's lost weight since his eviction, but if he could bump the scale a little higher, it would mean a higher draw — and a slightly higher payment. He's always cold these days, so the heavy sweater isn't a hardship, and the water fills up his stomach and supplements his inadequate lunch of oatmeal and stolen sugar packets.

The first time Dream meets Professor Hob’s eyes is when they’re sliding the needle into his arm and Dream has to turn his head away sharply. Dream was never afraid of needles — not until that night when someone (he later learned it was a twisted old cult leader named Burgess) stuck him with… something that knocked him out cold and he woke up in the basement. These days, although he's done this many times before, when the metal pricks his skin, Dream still lays frozen like an ice sculpture as his heart pounds against his chest.

He has sold his vintage leather jacket, his treasured collection of elegant handmade cloaks (there was a theatrical phase, it’s complicated), and most of his books (the shelves of his sparse apartment now hold only a few cheap volumes of blank paper for his sketches). But it wasn’t enough.

Burgess was years ago, but Dream's life still lies in ruins.

He does not like being here. But it seems that this — his body's materials, his very essence — is the only thing of value he has to offer the world. This most basic biological function, the blood pumping through his veins, is all anyone wants of him now.

So despite his fear, he lets them bleed him.

Hob is usually quiet when he’s hooked up to the machine. He'll chat in the line and in the lobby and at the vitals check, but on the donation floor, he politely minds his own business. Here, everyone retreats into their own world, usually scrolling on their phone or staring at the clock. People don't usually feel like talking when they’ve got a needle in their arm. And Hob’s an extrovert, not an asshole.

But today, the man beside him looks over, and Hob can’t wrench his eyes away. The man is thin and sheet white and his eyes are huge and watery over jutting cheekbones. His lips might be trembling.

“Alright there?” Hob asks kindly.

The man’s head twitches. It might be a nod.

Hob has seen people pass out here before. With the way this guy looks, Hob’s mildly shocked that anyone thought it was a good idea to drain him of vital fluids. But the people here know their business. His numbers must be under control, or else he wouldn’t’ve been allowed in.

Still, under control doesn’t necessarily mean ok.

So Hob gently keeps the conversation going with the man. Dream, he learns and his heart flutters at the name. He weirdly doesn’t seem bothered by Hob’s donation floor chatter (maybe because he's too bothered by the needle in his arm to notice anything else). Dream doesn’t even pull out a phone. He seems to hang on Hob’s every word of small talk.

“I can shut up if you’d life,” Hob offers when he realizes with a shock that he’s babbled through the entire first draw. “It just seemed like you needed some distraction.”

“Please.” Dream blushes slightly. Well, at least his skin is getting some blood. “Tell me about… your experiences. What… have you been doing?”

Huh?

What has he been doing? That’s vague.

But if anyone can find a way to fill a vague prompt, it’s Hob. So he chatters some more about the union organizing at his university and a ridiculous new scheduling system for the adjuncts — it’s like they’ve taken all the worst aspects of on-demand scheduling from the fast food industry and applied it to higher education for some incomprehensible reason. One of his colleagues had a class — and £2000 of pay — cancelled two days before term started. But not everything’s bad. Hob knows the students are planning a walkout next week, which he fully supports and has already adjusted his lessons to compensate for the lost time. Also, there’s a new pizza place on campus which is rather decent.

He really is just rambling.

But Dream seems to need it. He hasn’t looked down at his arm once, and Hob’s certain that’s for the best.

Dream has to admit that the insufferable professor has made the time go by a lot quicker. He’s shocked when they’re sliding the needle out of his arm, then wrapping his elbow up, and he’s free to go. He mumbles what he hopes is a polite goodbye to Hob, who is also finishing up, and then practically stumbles out into the rain.

He clutches his cardigan around him and pulls up his hood and plods away from the center. This place is closer to the new apartment than his previous plasma center, but it’s still a half hour hike home. The buses take even longer — his crappy apartment isn't exactly on a convenient route. But at least walking saves him a few quid.

“Hey!”

The voice makes Dream flinch. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a car slow down beside him, and his heart ratchets up in his chest. He doesn’t look over, only hunches deeper into his wet cardigan and walks faster.

“Hey, Dream!”

Oh.

Belatedly, Dream recognizes Hob’s voice. He finally looks up to see Hob looking out his car window and smiling despite the rain streaming onto his face.

“Looks like you could use a ride!” Hob jerks his head toward the passenger’s seat. “Hop in!”

Dream stares at the kindly professor. Who offers a stranger a ride in their car? Sure, Dream spent the last forty five minutes listening to every mundane detail of this guy's super normie professional life, but they still barely know each other! And if Hob actually knew Dream — a failed starving artist and all around fuckup, consistently two minutes away from homelessness — there’s no way he’d want to associate with him outside of the polite minimum of chatter at the center.

So what the fuck is Hob playing at?

“Come on, you’ll get soaked!” Hob prods.

Fear strikes Dream, and he recoils, stumbling away from the vehicle.

“Dream? You alright there?”

But Dream is already running, tearing off through the rain. He cuts through a shitty neglected park, climbs a fence and gets chased by a rottweiler through a closed off parking lot, and dashes across a highway — almost getting hit twice. He doesn’t stop running until he’s home.

Or, well, what passes for his home now.

Dream dries off, makes some tea, and grabs a sketchbook. His hand shakes as he doodles, but the process calms him and grounds his mind.

Then, as usual, after his fear begins to ebb, he feels stupid.

His mind replays the afternoon's events. Hob’s smile is brilliant in his memory. Though the initial snatches of overheard conversation were insufferable — not to mention incomprehensible — his recitation of the mundane details of life had been oddly calming. And, though Dream had perhaps not appreciated it in the moment, Hob had seemed genuinely concerned.

The more Dream thinks about it, the stupider he feels. Worse, he feels ashamed. How rude to run from Hob, who’d only wanted to help!

The scar tissue that has proliferated over Dream’s heart has truly damaged his ability to function among decent people. That night, he lays awake for a long time thinking about this. He should probably just never go back to the plasma center. He can’t imagine facing Hob after reacting so poorly to his kindness.

But the next day, after he scribbles up the month’s expenses and tries to make the math work, Dream realizes he has no choice.

The day after that, he’s plodding back to the plasma center.

The feelings of shame are almost overwhelming, and Dream slouches in with his head lowered, shoulders hunched, and eyes averted from everyone.

“Dream!” Hob’s voice is like a warm bubble bath. “Hope you got home alright.”

Dream can barely look at him, but Hob's smile is like a ray of sun on Dream’s face. There’s a cloud of concern shadowing his eyes, but he’s otherwise as cheery as ever.

“Forgive me. I…” Dream cannot explain.

“Look, I’m sorry. I totally overstepped,” Hob says. “I know I can be a bit much, and I shouldn’t’ve pushed.”

Dream cannot believe that Hob is apologizing to him.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Hob said gingerly, “was that your first time? It’s just you didn’t seem particularly pleased with the whole process. I thought I’d likely never see you in here again.”

“It was not. I have done this…” Too many times to count. “…frequently.” Dream finds the prospect of explaining the complexity of his situation too daunting. But he is touched by Hob’s concern. “I do not enjoy the process.”

Hob makes a sympathetic noise.

“But I did enjoy…” Dream pauses. What the fuck is he doing? Hob’s been kind enough to overlook his rudeness; Dream should just shut up and leave him alone. But maybe Dream has been alone too long, been too long without a sympathetic ear, because he keeps on mumbling, “I enjoyed hearing about your university. With the union… and the pizza… and everything.”

Impossibly, Hob brightens even further. “I could take you! The pizza really is delicious—Oh, shit, sorry, I’m doing it again, aren’t I?” The cloud of concern is back as he takes in Dream’s downcast gaze. “I’m being too much. Sorry, I didn't mean to push!”

“No, not at all. It sounds lovely. I just…” Dream shifts awkwardly. “They don’t exactly pay us enough here for going out.”

“Oh, I’ll get it!" Hob says with a wave of his hand. "It’s no problem. I’d love to take you out. You looked like you could’ve used a good meal after that last one. Have you at least eaten something so far today?” Hob tries to keep the worry out of his voice so he doesn’t sound like a mother hen. All the instructional materials are very explicit about not donating on an empty stomach, but he knows that people do what they have to.

“I have,” Dream says honestly. His lips twitch as he takes in Hob’s worried look. But Hob's smile, even suppressed, is a beautiful thing. “Really,” Dream stresses. “Oatmeal is cheap. I've had enough to be getting on with things. But later…”

“Great!” Hob’s heart flutters, but he stamps down the feeling. The memory of Dream running from him twists at his heart. He never wants to make him afraid again.

On the donation floor, they're next to each other again. And again Hob chatters happily about whatever he can think of to keep Dream distracted. It all seems to go well until they emerge together into the parking lot and Hob notices Dream tense as he glances at Hob’s car.

“We can hop on the bus, if you prefer,” Hob says. “The campus is just down the main line, and I've got extra passes.”

Dream blushes, and his shoulders hunch like he's ashamed. “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”

“It’s nothing of the sort! It saves on gas and it's good for the planet!”

At the bus stop, Hob notices the way Dream’s gaze constantly flicks around his surroundings. Even when he looks down and hunches in on himself, his eyes remain alert, as if he's still hyperaware of every movement on his periphery. Hob wants so badly to reach out and comfort him and wipe away whatever has caused him to move through life with such fear, but he doesn't dare overstep.

Hob is glad that the pizza place is in the bustling, well-lit central food court. Dream's body relaxes somewhat, and that specific tension which Hob had notice in the parking lot doesn't return. Hob buys him a giant slice of spinach, mushroom, and feta and a sealed bottle of water, and Dream even cracks a smile.

“I apologize for my behavior,” Dream says as they find seats at a plastic table in the middle of the food court.

“No need," Hob says. "I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“You were being kind, and I reacted… extremely.” Dream takes a deep breath and then a long sip of water.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Hob hastens to assure him, "about… whatever happened… if you don't want to."

Dream nods. He knows. Despite his annoyingly resurgent fear, he feels safe around Hob. So slowly, hesitantly, he begins to explain.

It’s an abbreviated form of the story. Dream avoids the details of how Burgess thought he could siphon the life force from vibrant young adults. How he'd drawn a whole following into his delusion, even though he'd ultimately kept Dream for himself. How (Dream had learned later) Burgess had boasted about having a fresh young man, the font of youth, trapped in his basement — and no one had done anything, whether because he was just a rich eccentric who could get away with a "joke" like that or because he'd paid enough people off. He didn't tell Hob how the elder Burgess hadn't ever been held accountable because he'd died before any of it had come to light, and the younger Burgess had fallen into a coma. A care worker had ultimately taken a wrong turn, stumbled into the basement, and that was how the police were finally called to Fawney Rig. But since no one was alive (or conscious) for a big, thrilling trial, the entire ordeal just fizzled quietly into the background.

It’s not the whole story. But it's enough.

Hob’s face grows progressively more horrified. He's abandoned his half-eaten pesto and prosciutto slice. It sits cold in front of him now. He feels sick.

“I make art,” Dream says into the silence. “It is not lucrative, but I can work when and how I wish. I have not… had a great deal of luck with traditional employment. Especially not since… those events.”

“Right. Of course." Hob's voice cracks over his words. For once, he's struggling to extract his usual chatter. "Can’t imagine anything’s easy after that.”

Hob doesn't touch the remainder of his pizza, but Dream polishes his off. He looks oddly relaxed now, as if, in the telling, some of the weight of the horrifying story has slid from his body.

“I’d love to see your art,” Hob says on the bus back to the plasma center parking lot. Belatedly, he cringes at the presumption, wondering if it's too much, knowing now that he really ought not to push his interest onto a bloody kidnap victim.

“I have a website,” Dream says, bringing it up on his phone and showing the address to Hob. Then he stands, though they're only about halfway back to the center. “This stop is closer to my home. I… Thank you. For the meal. And the kind ear. Perhaps… I will see you next Tuesday?”

“Of course,” Hob says, and a little bubble of happiness rises in his chest. “It’s Tuesday and Thursday for me until the schedule changes next term.”

Over the next few weeks, Hob isn’t always next to Dream on the donation floor. But he asks Dream to tell him about his latest project afterwards, so Dream has something to think about during the donation. And also so that it's not just Hob chattering away at their post-donation dinners. Which are happening regularly now. Sometimes they go for pizza, sometimes a good curry or a hefty shawarma; Hob introduces Dream to the pubs with the best (and biggest) burgers. He knows all the places to get a solid, filling dinner, not because he's concerned about getting his money's worth but because Hob just enjoys a good meal and he's more than happy to help put some meat on Dream's bones.

And get the artist to open up.

Slowly, Dream begins to do just that.

It starts to seem like Dream feels safe with Hob. When they're out, he stands close to Hob, as if comforted by his presence. His shoulders begin to straighten out, and he hunches less when they're together. Dream's gaze is still alert, but it rarely sinks to the floor now, and his eyes don't flick fearfully around so much when he's with Hob.

Three weeks after they meet, Dream lets Hob drive him home.

Two weeks after that, he invites Hob inside to see his current projects.

Hob knew Dream was a good artist from the first glimpse at his website, but seeing the bright canvases in person is just stunning. The glistening abstractions echo the swirling galaxies and deep, black voids of the universe. The colors blend in fantastic points of light or unearthly flames or brilliant streaks across the sky. The textures — flattened out in the photos — give an impression of looking into entire worlds. The brushstrokes are mountain ranges and deep ocean trenches and shaded valleys where, somehow, Hob can imagine entire populations living and thriving within the fibers of the canvas.

"The, erm… the university has spaces for community exhibits," Hob says, struggling to bring himself out of the captivating images as if wading out of a dream. How appropriate. "I could look into that, see if you could do a show. Maybe the Art Department could have you in for a lecture, too — you could talk about the real-life challenges of being an artist, the actual work involved, the practical—" Oh no. He's being too much again. "I mean, of course, you don't have to! I won't say anything without—"

Dream's arms are around Hob's shoulders before Hob can even turn away from the canvas. His wild, dark hair is tucked against Hob's cheek as Dream tightens his grip.

Hob's hands slowly move to Dream's back. He can't speak for a long moment. Instead, his hands gently rub against the thin material of Dream's shirt. Hob can feel the edges of his spine and ribcage, but Dream also feels softer than Hob would've imagined the first time he saw him, pale and shaking, weeks ago.

"Thank you," Dream murmurs. He steps back, and his gaze lowers, but now it's not filled with fear and sadness. He's smiling shyly. "If you could do that, I-I… would be grateful."

Hob can do that!

He's in Medieval History himself, but he's friends with half the Art History department due to overlapping lectures, the occasional historical consultation or spontaneous debate, and just being a friendly guy. And the Art History people know a few of the more curious, historically-aware Art people due to various collaborations and consultations on the evolution of modern styles and techniques and the socio-political contexts of artistic development.

Hob, with his talent for striking up conversation, takes less than a week to find several interested parties. And once he shows them Dream's work, everyone is extremely eager to invite the talented local artist to campus!

The next time Hob walks into the plasma center, Dream is already beaming. His smile is bright enough to singlehandedly banish the residual storm cloud that always follows Hob over the threshold.

"I hit the next weight class," Dream says. He leans subtly into Hob's side.

"Good on you!" Hob says, beaming right back. When he tells Dream about the interest in his work, Dream's arm snakes around his waist for a subtle but firm half-hug.

At Dream's first show (he's already scheduled in with both the Art and Art History Departments — the latter wants to address the reality of artist's lives across time — and, hell, Hob's even lobbying his own History Department to get Dream in as part of a series on creative work throughout history), Hob is enamored with one canvas he hasn't seen before. From a distance it's a dark oil-slick abstraction with iridescent slashes of green and blue, but up close, Hob can see the feathery edges of wings.

He cannot explain the sudden, confusing wave of sorrow-joy-awe it provokes deep in his chest.

"Departed souls," Dream says softly, coming up behind Hob, "come back as ravens. Or so it is believed by some."

Hob sniffs and tries to control the itch in his eyes as he turns toward Dream. "Oh?"

"I painted this one soon after I regained my freedom. It felt like a part of me had not survived the imprisonment. It was… necessary, perhaps, to lose something in order to regain my life, but it hurt nonetheless."

"Oh." Hob doesn't know what else to say, but he reaches out, gingerly wrapping an arm around Dream, waiting for any hint of refusal, but Dream turns into him and clutches him tight, and Hob's arms tighten around him in turn. "It's beautiful," he finally says, his words muffled against Dream's hair.

"I think now… maybe… some part of me that had not survived… has come back. In some form."

And Hob is gone. Tears leak down into Dream's hair. Hob clutches at him for support, but he can feel himself shaking, and now it's Dream rubbing soothing patterns into his back and tightening the embrace.

When they finally pull back, Dream wipes Hob's cheeks with his palm. He tilts his head in a silent question.

"Just… death," Hob says. "It's bloody stupid, isn't it? In all its forms. Necessary, maybe but stupid. I don't want any part of it."

Hob laughs at himself, as if the brash declaration itself is stupid.

But Dream only nods; he can see that there are deep forces moving beneath Hob's usually cheery exterior.

On the way home, he listens as Hob finally opens up about his wife and the unborn babe. After a decade, Hob says, the wound has closed up, he has "moved on" in all the ways one is supposed to move on, he has a new — and rather wonderful — life. But the scar will remain forever. It still hurts, but he's grateful for the life he had and the new one he's grown into.

"Shit," Hob says suddenly.

Dream looks around and realizes they haven't driven back to his own crappy apartment building.

"Sorry." Hob wipes his eyes. "I've blabbered so much, I wasn't paying attention. Driven myself right home."

"It's alright," Dream says. He peeks over at Hob shyly. "I've never seen your place."

Hob blinks at him for a moment — Dream's heart thuds against his throat — and then, despite the tear tracks still drying on his cheeks, Hob's face breaks into a brilliant smile.

"Are you hungry?" Hob asks. "I can actually cook quite well. It's not always pub food and pizza."

With perfect timing, Dream's stomach gives an almost painful rumble. "I'm starving."

Inside, Hob cooks a delectable dinner. Dream watches Hob move about the kitchen, chattering happily — he's already inviting Dream back over for brunch and maybe a Netflix marathon and Christmas. And Dream's mind is blossoming with new paintings, these ones bright with twining paths and colliding galaxies and shared dreams.

Hob is vaguely aware that he might be babbling into too much territory again, but when he sees Dream watching him with that dreamy sparkly in his eyes, his heart is just too full to care. As they eat together, he lets himself just be excited and not worry about reining himself in. Truly, he might not mind an eternity of this.

And Dream is thinking much the same thing.

#Apparently paid plasma donation is illegal in the UK & you can't donate 2x/week SO...#This is also the Dystopian AU where all the regulations have been axed sorry #+I don't know how buses work in the UK. This is how they work in my city :)#the sandman #hob gadling #dream of the endless #fanfic #dreamling #my fanfic

112 notes · View notes

shibainu2006 · 1 year

Note

Hey, Shiba!! Been a while, buuuut I’m back to bother you with a request! How about Leona, Ace, and Ruggie with an S/O who copes with their shit mental health via energy drinks, coffee and escapism?

They’re always reading and listening to music and daydreaming almost 24/7. They drink water, like, once every 2 weeks (if they feel like self-care) and they rarely ever actually eat or sleep because they feel like they actually have control for once in their life. They also have periods where they drop everyone and it’s near impossible to get ahold of them unless you into their room.

Author's note: If you don't fucking take care of yourself, I'm gonna burn this entire planet into a crisp with you on it. GO DRINK SOME GODDAMN WATER!

Leona Kingscholar

Herbivore... why..?

He doesn't understand why it's so hard for you to take care of yourself, but he has no qualms with either forcing you, doing it himself, or making Ruggie do it.

He let you have coffee in the morning, but after that, you're done.

You're forced to drink water for the rest of the day.

No, you cannot have an energy drink. You abused that privilege.

When you read, he likes to recommend books to you, and he'll even try to find books with uplifting messages to try and make you feel better.

He's not too good with emotions, but he does try his hardest to make sure you're alright.

He'll even cuddle you while you listen to music, and allow you to relax and daydream.

You've been forced to eat and sleep, by the way.

No late nights.

No skipping meals...

You take care of yourself properly, even if he has to make you.

He'll have Ruggie bring in a nice meal for you.

And definitely bring melatonin or sleepy time tea to make sure you get proper rest.

He'll steal you from your class for a nap, too, if he finds that you didn't sleep the night before.

The second you cut the world off, he'll give you time, but eventually he WILL come see you.

Leona knows how hard it is to actually get a hold of you, so he'll just go to you himself.

You only get a solid day to yourself before he shows up to make sure you're healthy.

Leona cares very deeply for you, so don't ever go thinking you can just stop caring for yourself.

Ace Trappola

Dude, you cannot be serious!

Ace is so done.

The second he found out, he was right at your door with a hot meal and water.

Ace will literally hold you down to make you sleep. He will not allow you to go without for even a second!

He even goes as far as to do your school work for you so you can rest.

He'll let you have your music and books.

He'll take you out to the library to read there, too, so you can't cut the world off.

Ace don't play those games.

He'll pester you about your caffeine intake, and if that doesn't work, then he'll just hide it all from you.

No more coffee

No more redbull

Only water and tea.

He'll search up actual good coping skills and give you a horribly written list of things that are far better than what you're doing.

He even offers you a listening ear.

He'll listen to your rant for as long as needed if it'll help you out.

He just wants to make sure you're okay

Ruggie Bucchi

Oh hell no.

The minute he hears about this, you're fucked.

You come back to a nice dinner with WATER as a drink.

A nice bath was waiting for you, too.

There's smooth jazz playing to relax you as well.

The second you ask for coffee or anything caffeinated, he'll shoot you the dirtiest look known to man and tell you no.

He'll have your favorite books set out for you and even bought some scented candles for you.

Bro abandoned Leona to make sure you'd take care of yourself.

That's how bad this is.

The second you even TRY to cut everyone off, he won't let you.

He'll take you to a nice secluded area, and you'll both take a walk there.

Ruggie wants what's best for you, and disassociating is not it.

Ruggie always has a book on hand for you, and he makes sure it's one that's to your taste, so you'll enjoy it.

You can daydream for a certain amount of time before it's time to come back to reality.

Overall, Ruggie is just caring to you.

He becomes a mother hen when you get like that.

404 notes · View notes

queen-of-scissors · 1 year

Note

Hello there 💧anon

I don’t know if you celebrate Christmas but if you feel comfortable with it could you write something post imposter au where the reader is forgiving and all and the reader wants to celebrate but is walking on eggshells and is scared to introduce anything new as to not anger the acolytes and lots of comfort

Merry Christmas or whatever you celebrate

İ. Must. Finish. This. Before. New year!!!!

Also i don't celebrate Christmas but i think i have a good understanding of the things thats done in it, so ill try my best ^^

İf i wrote something that sounds rude in anyway to any culture i apologise, feel free to correct me in the comments i love learning more about cultures :)

Happy Christmas or New year or Yule or whichever you celebrate :D ☃️❄️

masterlist

WARNİNGS: no specific gender, mentions of alcohol, angst with comfort, the reader is physically hurt in the flashback

___________________________________

Memories of the snow.

________________________________________

The warm weather of Dragonspine slowly caresses your face.

İt wasn't supposed to be warm, but then again, a lot of the thing that you lived through wasn't supposed to happen at all. Maybe it's because it's supposed to be codes, You had to start to get used to that.

İt hurt to walk, but you can't stop yet. İf you don't find something edible soon you might pass out from exhaustion, which could make you an easy target for your... Hunters.

Just as you think about food, you realize a sweet aroma filling the air.

Ever since you got here, you have been unbelievably lucky, maybe whichever god that's up there pitied you, or maybe this is a trap.

Either way, you slowly walk up the path, hoping to find a hilichurl camp and not fatui ones as the nice smell is getting stronger.

You couldn't help but daydream about the food you might eat, it doesn't smell like regular Hilichurl meat, which doesn't even smell at all. Maybe it's 'goulash'? The food for Dragonspine that helps you to survive longer in the harsh wind. Though you don't really need it in this condition.

Maybe it's not red meat, it smells less strong for it, is it 'sweet Madame'? You always wanted to eat some ever since you fell here. You tried to recreate it but all you could do was eat chicken that tasted like grass.

As the smell is getting closer, you slowly begin to wake up.

---------------------------------------------

"Your highness? Are you still resting?"

You opened your eyes, and your golden abode greets you once again.

The nightmare, no, the flashback felt so real. You could still feel the hunger in your stomach and the warmth of the food you were about to eat in the dream.

... Also the Sharp pain piercing through your right shoulder before you could even get your first bite.

"I apologize for disturbing you," the voice from the back of the door spoke up. "However we need to start your Schedule immediately, it is a busy day today"

Their voice was apologetic, kind even, but it still made your blood run cold by how assertive it felt over you.

"I'm up. İ will be out soon" you got up from the bed immediately as the voice started telling you what needs to be done today.

Your clothes were so uncomfortably comfortable. it was light and it wraps your body perfectly, which was the same exact reason why it felt like it got stuck on your skin. Which is why you didn't feel bad that you had to take them out.

You threw your clothes on your work table and your eyes got stuck on the calendar on it.

...oh it was New year already?

İt might not be in your own world, since time works differently between them. You wonder if it's snowing there? Perhaps it just started, or maybe the snow is thick enough to have a snowball fight.

You missed Earth. You really did. Even the times when it felt suffocating to live in sometimes. Even the times you were forced to have family dinners on occasion, well, those weren't that bad. You usually sat somewhere playing genshin when your family members scolded you for being on your phone.

Back then, you would kill for meeting your characters under the mistletoe.

... But now, maybe it's better not to meet them at all.

İts not that you are angry at them, you even forgive them after all that! They didn't know who you were after all, but you still feel like you are walking on a landmine every time you talk to them.

What if you say something or ask something that you are not supposed to, what then? They say that they have no reason to hurt you, but you learned that all of your current power is depending on your people the moment you set foot here.

You are nothing without your followers.

Your thoughts get cut off by the door opening once you finish getting dressed.

You are greeted by Tartaglia, who was smiling at you warmly, however, it looked so fake to you. You could almost picture him practicing in front of the mirror just so it looks friendly and approachable to you. You still appreciated the thought.

"Good morning, your Grace! Please excuse my sudden visit, I just needed to speak with you for a moment."

"...Of course," you decide to avert your eyes to the furniture, suddenly the numbers on the calendar seemed so interesting than whatever repent prayer he has for you.

He gets to his one knee, "oh, the all-loving and forgiving god of all gods, we are but merely weaklings under your strength, perhaps I ask too much, however... Err..." He stops and then continues.

"However i-"

"That..." You cut in a soft voice, you averted your eyes once you realized what you've done. "sorry I didn't mean to stop you I just..." you looked at him again "this doesn't sound like you at all."

You let go of the breath you didn't realize you were holding when Ajax laughs "Hahaha, is it that obvious that I practiced?"

His friendly voice eases your tension a bit. He continues with a more relaxed tone.

"İ didn't want to anger you more than I already have, and what I'm about to ask for might sound a bit selfish, so I asked Mr. Zhongli on how can I speak properly, without disrespecting you in any way." İt was his turn to avert his eyes now.

"...Why?"

Ajax looks back at you, confused "What do you mean, your Grace?"

"I already said I forgive all, what makes you think İ'm still angry?"

"...Well" Ajax gets up from where he was and attempts to fix his posture before continuing, "Forgive me if it's rude in any way, your holiness, however..."

"Your smile seems fake."

You freeze.

When he sees your expression, he turns back to Tartaglia again. The only-business part of himself. The cold one.

"İ know what we've done is unforgivable. You are truly the most kind to not even want us to witness your wrath. but please, no need to fake it to make us feel better."

They think that you are still mad, while you are just afraid.

You want to tell them. You want to explain and talk about it, but you can't even bring yourself to open your mouth.

Why are you still afraid? War is already over. They need to know that too!

So be it. İf you can't bring yourself to talk about that. Maybe you can prove to them you are not mad by showing them.

"...let's talk about that later. What did you need from me?"

He looks at you "ok then, uh... its almost time for the festival in Shneznaya, we do that at every start of the year to celebrate- uhh, you might already know,

İ won't be personally attending, of course! Someone needs to protect you~" he winks "But, my siblings are a bit hard to convince. They want to spend time with me and well..."

"Do you want to go?"

Tartaglia laughs again "I won't lie and say that I don't miss my homeland. But that's not why I'm here."

He smiles a bit, you swore you could see his eyes light up a little, but it's gone as soon as you saw it, it might just be the sun playing tricks on you.

"My siblings want to spend the holiday with me. İ know it's selfish of me to ask to bring children to such a holy place-"

"You can bring them."

He turns his head towards you as soon as you let those words get past your lips, "Realy?"

You think about it. They are just children, they can't really harm you. Plus it might be even nice hearing about the holidays.

"Yeah! İt would be nice to have children at the dinner table. İt might even help release tension caused by my presence." You thought out loud.

He catches up on that.

"You would be pretty anxious too if you were at a table with your god~" he teased.

You smiled, and Ajax could suddenly feel his numb heart all over again.

"Maybe you are right, thank you. Ajax"

Ajax didn't answer. You called for him but he looks at you like how a reindeer would look at the car flash.

"OH SHİ- AJAX BREATH!!!!"

________________________________________

You were wrong.

Now that you feel less scared of the things around you, you can finally see that your acolytes feel somewhat worse.

Your grand dinner table was decorated with the customs of the Shneznayan festival. İt was a beautiful combination of white, red, green, and Gold. İt was almost the same as Christmas in your own world, the only difference was instead of the big decorated tree, there was a statue of you.

That, and your acolytes looking at their plate in shame, as if seeing even a piece of your hair is sacrilege.

Even with their close proximity, Archons were still the least close to you in terms of emotions. Their usual chattiness from in-game voice lines was long gone, you were sure you could even make Zhongli eat seafood in this state of his mind.

The gods were, of course, sitting closest to you. Usually, no one else joins you on your meals but on occasion, some people are invited over just because of formalities. Even then, your guests sit at another table, which is far away from you but in a place where you can still see their faces.

Not in this situation though. You especially requested that they dine with you at the same table. Making Tartaglia the Target of the glares tonight.

This heavy atmosphere makes you feel like you made a mistake. Maybe you shouldn't talk about it and treat it as a normal dinner, hearing about your world might make them feel worse, and if it gets worse-

"Your highness!!! Look what I drew!"

You look at Teucer. He is holding a drawing he made of you.

You feel everyone holding their breath as you gently take the drawing from his hands. Will you think of it as blasphemy?

İn the drawing, you hold his hand and someone else's hand while all three of you fly through, what seems to be, Shneznaya's City... İn the arms of a ruin guard.

"This is so nice Teucer! Thank you so much!"

Teucer lets out an excited gasp, "You know my name?!"

"Of course! İ know a lot of things" you smiled warmly and looked at his other siblings "I also know about Tonia and Anthon!"

As the kids look at each other all excitedly, the room suddenly seems a little bit lighter.

"Yes, the Creator knows everything indeed!" Ajax tells them. "They also know when you don't eat your greens and that makes them sad you know~"

"You guys don't eat your vegetables?" You play along "but I created them for you"

Tonia stutters "b-but... They don't taste good!"

Anthon joins in "But you ALSO created fish! So we can eat those!"

You laugh, they are pretty smart, huh!

"Well, I have nothing to say to that! Please eat as much as you like from whatever you like today!"

The children go back to their meals as the table falls silent once more,

Until you hear a mouse squeak in the crowd.

"Your highness did you just laugh?!" Venti partially screams, with that voice, you understand that the mouse was him all along.

"Barbatos, have some manners!" Zhongli suddenly speaks "Did you forget where you might be, or shall I remind you?"

"your laugh sounds so refreshing, your Grace! Like pure water in the middle of a desert!" Sais Nahida, clearly happy for you!

"AHEM, might I remind you all that this sudden outburst can scare them?" Tsaritsa states politely.

"But we never heard them laugh! I think this deserves a celebration!" Venti says while getting up "İM GETTİNG THE VİNE!!!"

"Stop! There are children here!" Childe gets up to stop him.

"İ- uhm, it's really not that big of a deal?" You say softly.

"Please don't mind those idiots, your grace." Tsaritsa shoots a glare across the table. "They simply can't control their emotions, however, I must say, even though it is rare for me to actually agree with that drunkard, I also believe that this calls for a celebration."

Nahida continues before you could say anything "I also agree! İt's been a while since we heard your laugh again. A celebration for the bird, that has found its voice once again!"

"Speaking of the Celebration, is anything particular about this festival that made you want to open up to us again?" Falcuar asked.

"Oh yeah! Why is this cooolldd festival but not a better one? Like the wind-"

Venti was silenced by two very angry gods, and forced to sit down on his chair again.

"Well? Tell us!" The god of Pyro beamed.

And at that moment, after months and months of convincing, you finally felt safe enough to show emotions. Which made you feel all of them at the same time and...

"YOUR HOLİNESS-"

"İt's ok," Nahida smiled gently "please let it all out, you don't need to stop yourself from feeling anymore."

"I swear if you make a reference to pooping about it I will-"

"Hehehe, as you wish!"

-----------------------------------------------

You finally let go of -most- of your fears and told them more about the traditions in your world.

They finally understand your point of view. They approach you gently now.

Nahida suggested babyproof your abode so you don't feel any accidental physical pain that reminds you of those times. İt's up to you to accept or not.

The bubbly types try not to do sudden things that May scare you (Yoimiya even tries to find a way to make soundless fireworks (failed))

And most of all, people don't beg for forgiveness every time they see you now!

However, you couldn't stop them from celebrating this day as the day of your smile. They give presents to each other as a way to bring a smile to their, and your, face. They also stole some of the traditions in your world just so it makes you feel more at home.

They hope that you will smile and be happy the next year as well :)

❄️🎉Happy New year, creator!!!🎉❄️

845 notes · View notes

doumachi · 5 months

Note

Our cutie Mey mey, let me tell you about Prince Soobin falling in love with the girl who keeps the fires lit in the palace.

He catches glimpses of her throughout the day as he goes about his duties, sees her rushing through halls and corridors to each room that needs tending. At night, when he's finally got the time to himself to be in his room, her tentative knock at the door allows him a smile. She's supposed to have had the fire seen to before he's returned from dinner, but she was held up somewhere or other.

Apologising profusely, bumbling shyly and sweetly, Prince Soobin finds it hard to keep his dimples at bay. He stands from the moment she enters the room, a gesture usually reserved for nobles and royals, not servants, and this makes her more bashful and hurried.

He finds it adorable when she turns from the fireplace, which is now aglow and ready to keep him warm for the night, with smudges of charcoal from her hand on her face. She tries to refuse when he offers her his handkerchief, but he insists. He tells her she knows where to find him if she feels the need to return it later, but he doesn't really mind if he doesn't get it back.

Inspired by your Prince Yeonjun drabble and the term "charwoman" which I first came across yesterday in the blurb of a book af the library >3<

oh my gosh ceecee this is so cute stop 🥹 i love this sm :((

ur cuter!

prince soobin's heart skipped a beat whenever he caught a glimpse of you. the way you moved with grace, tending to the fires, fascinated him. he found himself stealing glances, hoping you wouldn't notice his growing affection.

soon, he found himself seeking any opportunity to spend time with you. he would offer to carry firewood, just to be near you. and as they worked side by side, he discovered your kindness, your wit, and your warm heart.

with each passing day, his crush grew stronger. soobin found himself daydreaming about your smile, your laughter, and the way your eyes lit up when she talked about her dreams. he couldn't deny the fluttering feeling in his chest whenever he was near you.

he discovered the little things that made his heart flutter.

he adored the way your cheeks turned rosy whenever you would sit in-front of the fire too long, and how your eyes sparkled like embers in the firelight. your gentle touch as she handed him a warm cup of tea sent shivers down his spine.

soobin found himself seeking solace in your presence, finding comfort in the way you listened to his worries and confided in him with your own. you two would often sit by the fireside, talking for hours about everything and nothing, conversations filled with laughter and genuine connection.

prince soobin cant help but notice the way you carried yourself with strength and grace.

he admired your dedication to your craft, the way you tended to the fires with such care and precision. it was in those moments that he realized how much he respected you.

every time your hands accidentally brushed or your eyes met, soobin's heart raced. he longed to hold your hand, to feel the warmth of your touch, and to tell you how you had become the light in his life.

as the fire crackles and the flames dance, soobin watches you with awe. he can't help but find you even more enchanting with those smudges of charcoal on your face. its a testament to your dedication and hard work in tending to the fire, making sure it keeps him warm and cozy for the night.

with a gentle smile, he offers you his handkerchief to wipe away the charcoal marks. at first, you try to refuse his kind gesture, but he insists. He wants to take care of you, even in the smallest ways.

as he hands you the handkerchief, he playfully teases you, saying that you know where to find him if you ever feels the need to return it. but deep down, he doesn't really mind if he doesn't get it back. it's his way of showing you that he's there for you, that he's willing to give without expecting anything in return.

but at the same time he hopes you do return it, just so he gets to see you again :))

#meys inbox #mey:cee!#txt soft hours #soft hours: soobie #soobin x reader #soobin fluff #meywrites;)

61 notes · View notes

gabessquishytum · 6 months

Note

Can't stop thinking about this and have to share: Internalized homophobia Hob getting his denial fucked right out of him by Dream.

It starts with dreams, of course. Hob tells himself they're nightmares, of course he doesn't want to be pinned down and fucked hard, left dripping with come, but he always wakes up soaked with his own come. That doesn't mean anything, right? He can't help it! But then he starts daydreaming about those 'nightmares', and *then* he's making up his own daydreams.

Dream, of course, has been patiently leading him towards this moment, when Hob is perfectly primed and all it will take is one good real world fuck to break Hob and turn him into the real world cockslut Dream knows he can be.

Oh yes I kind of love this???

Imagine Dream being all sympathetic about what Hob is going through!! "Oh Hob I am so sorry, I simply cannot explain the intricacies of the dreaming and why you may be going through this..... have you considered the fact that you may actually want a 10 inch cock inside your arse?"

Hob is at breaking point because it's been going on for months and he ends up grabbing Dream by the shoulders with the most terrified look on his face "oh my god am I gay?? Dream am I GAY?? DO I LIKE MEN??" And Dream is just like

And then they have wild incredible sex. And Hob goes to therapy. And he doesn't want to go a day without Dream’s cock inside him ever again.

#the sandman #dreamling #nsft

77 notes · View notes

ahgasegotarmy116 · 4 months

Text

Still With You | A Jeon Jungkook Series Chapter 1

Summary: A stranger turns up at the store that catches your eye Pairing: Luna (reader) x Jungkook and Jimin, f2l love triangle Word Count: 4.7k~ Warnings: Explicit language but that's about it lol Start from the beginning

Two years prior

I stir awake to the sound of the birds chirping outside my window as they always do. "Fuck" I say under my breath, stretching and wiping the sleep out of my eyes. I roll over and check the notifications on my phone and widen my eyes in panic realizing I didn't set an alarm and was bombarded by texts from my boss and coworker two hours ago.

"Shit!" I say jumping out of bed and rushing around my apartment trying to get ready. I throw on my shoes and jacket and run out the door making my way to the subway station as quickly as I possibly can. My job is only three stops away from my place but those stops seem to take twice if not three times as long as they usually do in my mind.

Bolting out of the station I make my way over to the convenience store I work at. "Fuck me, what took you so long? Your shift started 3 hours ago" my coworker says stating the obvious. "I know shut up I forgot to set an alarm last night" I say rushing past them and into the break room to throw my stuff into a locker.

I tiptoe past my bosses office but he can't help but hear my lame attempt at being undetected. "y/n" I hear being said from inside, (he only ever calls me that when he's mad at me). I'm in trouble.

"Yes?" I say rolling my eyes before taking another step. "Get in here. Now!" he says in a tone I can no longer ignore.

"Hi" I say dragging out the last letter as I make my way in until I see his face become even more furious. "Sit" he barks. "Yes sir" I say under my breath just loud enough to be heard but not enough to merit a second glance.

"Three times, three times this month have you been late and we're barely past the second week" he spits at me "And let's not forget the amount of times you've been late since you started working here" he says taking a deep breath at the end and leaning back in his chair pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation.

"What am I gonna do with you?" he says rhetorically. "I-" I start. "I've had enough of your excuses y/n, I can't keep letting you break the rules like this. I've got a business to run and you working here hasn't made my job any easier" he breathes out.

"I know I really do but I-" "Can you please just listen and stop trying to wiggle your way out of being held accountable. I would've fired your ass a long time ago if your father and I weren't brothers. I'm doing this not only for you but for the sake of your parents. Try to understand how your irresponsibility affects not only me but everyone around you. I'm not sure how much longer I can put up with your antics". "Please no! Uncle you know how much I need this job! If you were to cut me off then I know for a fact that I'm not gonna be able to make it in this city" I implore.

"Maybe you weren't cut out to live in this city. There are a lot of hard workers out there, people who would kill to live here and you're just spitting in their face by wasting the days away sleeping in and daydreaming. You're not taking advantage of the opportunities that you could have if you worked a bit harder and just grew up" he says raising his voice and getting out of his chair to tower over me.

I cower back inside myself taking my much deserved verbal beating and just be thankful that he isn't a violent person.

He takes a deep breath and goes back to his seat and calms himself down. "Just please" he says in a softer tone "Start to get your shit together kid. You've got your whole life ahead of you and I would hate to see you end up like me, running a convenience store in the wrong part of town.

"But I thought you loved your job?" I question. "Ha! Yeah right, that's just what I tell people so I don't have to deal with their pity. Are there good days? Sure, but there sure as hell are more days that go to absolute shit that outweighs those good days". I nod my head in silent agreement, having a few stories of my own in my back pocket.

"Listen up! You've got one more chance girl you hear me? One. More. I really shouldn't be doing this but I want to see if you can turn things around with this last push" he finishes. "Really? Thank you so much uncle I won't let you down!" I say going up to shake his hand furiously.

"I'm pretty sure you will but hey, I've always been a gambling man" he says with a smile on his face. I go to tell him how bad that habit has become, but under the circumstances, I decide to let it go this time. After bowing to him a few times I quickly rush out of his office before he can change his mind and get to work.

I pass by my friend and coworker Grey at the counter on my way out and prepare myself for yet another lecture. "Old man gave you another chance huh?" she says blowing a bubble in her Polar Ice gum. It's one of her habits that annoys me the most but hey, she's a pretty good friend besides that so I can't really complain.

Good friends are hard to come by these days so when I find one I tend to let them stick around. "Yeah thankfully, it pays to have connections sometimes" I say shrugging my shoulders as I put on the hideous green vest with the store's logo adorned on the top left side along with my name tag placed right below.

I grab a box full of candy and head over to their designated spot in the store to get started. Straightening up the area before restocking the shelves I start from the bottom and make my way towards the top. I shake my head at the amount of open wrappers and half eaten candy bars I come across left by the many delinquents who occupy the store on a daily basis.

"I'm surprised there are any left at this rate" I say under my breath. "I know right? Kids these days just aren't taught right from wrong anymore" I hear someone say in agreement. "The adults aren't any better" I retort hearing the voice laugh at my off the cuff comment.

I widen my eyes realizing I have no idea who I've spoken to and quickly stand up while keeping my face to the ground as I apologize to the unknown voice. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to- What I meant to say was- I'm sorry" I say tripping over my words in apology. I hear him let out a short scoff laughing at my attempt to repent for my honest criticism.

"Hey it's okay. I appreciate your honesty. It's refreshing to say the least" he says, easing my nerves a bit. Feeling a little bit more comfortable I slowly stand up straight but as I do I realize I've been speaking to the most attractive man I have ever laid my eyes on. Pouty lips curved into a crooked smile, skin the color of sunlight, sharp catlike eyes that seem to see through my entire existence, and hair the darkest shade of midnight black I've ever seen.

I freeze, mesmerized by his beauty balancing an air of androgyny with an adorable boyish charm. "Hey" he says while extending his hand towards me in greeting. "I'm Jimin" he finishes with a slight smile, giving me butterflies.

"H-hey" I say taking his hand "I'm Luna" I say nervously in response."Luna? Huh, but your name tag says y/n though" he replies. "Oh well my real name is y/n but I go by Luna most of the time" I admit."Luna is a really pretty name. Did you grow up in Seoul?" he asks tilting his head a bit."Well I was born here but I grew up in America and came back when I was about 8 so yeah pretty much" I say, answering his question as calmly as I can.

"Oh wow that really cool! Was it hard for you to learn Korean at that age?"he inquires in pure curiosity."Well we always spoke Korean in the house so it was pretty easy for me to transition here. Although it did take a while to get rid of my American accent" I laugh. He smiles a bit at my openness which makes my heart flutter "I'm sure it was adorable". "I-" I start but am soon cut off by Grey.

"Hey Luna can I get your help with something?" she questions. "Um yeah just a second. Sorry but I've really got to get back to work" I say picking up the box full of candy I have yet to put away and turn towards the front of the store. "Yeah sure no worries. Hey Luna" he says making me look back at him after turning to walk away.

He comes towards me and reaches into the box to grab a chocolate bar. "Sorry I just wanted to grab one of these before you go" he says teasingly when there's clearly a whole shelf of that exact one right next to him. "Oh okay, um bye" I say and quickly scurry down the aisle towards Grey.

"You okay?" she says raising a brow at me. "I thought he might be bothering you since you guys had been talking for a while so I wanted to give you an escape just in case" she says, concern clearly her motive, none of which is written on her face or in her voice. She almost sounds uninterested if you didn't know better. "

Yeah no I'm fine don't worry. He was nice" I say clearly blushing. "He's cute huh?" she says looking me up and down, reading my body language. "What do you mean?" I ask, trying to play coy but I can't help but smile at the thought of our interaction. "Obviously he is if you're acting like that. What's his name?" she asks, intentionally getting louder and louder. Meanwhile looking around the store to gauge his distance, doing it loud enough to embarrass me but soft enough not to gain his attention.

"Is he single?" she asks, finally bringing her wandering gaze back to me but can't help but give me a slight smirk. "Shhhh" I say covering her mouth in an effort to keep our conversation away from him.

"Okay yes, he's cute but can you save the teasing for later, or never? He's still in the store and I'm pretty sure I've already made a big enough fool of myself for the day as is" I say in a hushed tone keeping the conversation hopefully between the two of us this time.

"Alright I'll be quiet. Did you finish up over there?" she questions trying to mark off the various tasks on the nightly checklist. "No, not yet. I started to clean it up but then he started talking to me until you called me over" I admit. "Okay well once he leaves get back on it okay? Why don't you take a turn minding the counter while I start sweeping?" she suggests.

"Yeah I can do that" I say getting nervous for the next interaction I have with him. "You'll be fine" she says dryly observing the way I start to fidget with hands. "You set me up didn't you?" I say coming to the realization of the predicament she's put me in. "Yup" she's says with a devious smile as she scurries off to the cleaning closet taking away my last hope of escaping. Well I guess in the meantime I'll take a second to calm down before he-

"Luna?" I hear Jimin say. "Yes" I reply whipping my head around towards the direction I heard him speaking from realizing he's just a few feet behind me. "Oh I just wanted to let you know that I'm ready to check out" he says smiling down at me. "Oh right yeah let me ring you up" I say while rushing over to the counter. He follows close behind me and meets me on the other side.

"Okay that'll be $4.03" he nods and hands me a 10 dollar bill. I take it and can't help but feel a spark between us when his hand bushes against mine. I jerk back slightly and busy myself with finishing the transaction. "$5.97 is your change" I say going to give it back to him again making our hands touch yet again.

"Thanks Luna" he says sliding his hand away from mine slower than necessary prolonging our touch. "See you later?" he says with a slight questioning tone behind it while turning to leave. "Yeah sure, see you later" I say while nervously reciprocating his goodbye. I hear the bells on the door jingling solidifying his departure and I can't help but let out a sigh of relief.

"Okay that was adorable" Grey says sneaking up on me, another smirk accompanying her teasing tone. There are very few things that Grey takes pleasure in and one of those, unfortunately is teasing me mercilessly when it comes to guys.

"Don't do that!" I say, clutching my chest in surprise, slapping her shoulder right after. "What? Come on dude don't act like you wouldn't do the same if the roles were reversed" she says laughing at my surprise.

"Whatever" I pout. "That guy is pretty hot though not gonna lie, no wonder you're blushing" she says continuing to tease me. "Yeah he was" I say starting to daydream. "Oh girl you got it bad!" she says scoffing and shaking her head. "I do not! He was just really cute okay. Leave me alone" I whine starting to get fed up with her teasing.

"Whatever you say dude. So what was his name again? Jaemin? Minji?" she questions, listing off names that she obviously knows are incorrect. "Jimin" I say glancing out the window.

"Wait why?" I ask, whipping my face back to her in a panic. "I'm just gonna try to see if I can find him on sns or something. I wanna see if he's single before you start falling for him" she says switching between apps doing her best to find him. "I'm trying to protect you okay?" she explains while patting my head. "Are you sure you aren't just doing it because you're nosy?" I question, crossing my arms. "Same thing" she says waving me off as she continues to scourer the internet for our resident hottie of the week.

"Okay found him! Park Jimin, 21. Oooo he's younger than you" she teases. "Yeah yeah what else does it say?" I question leaning in closer to see what she's found. It's really true what they say about girls being FBI agents when it comes to social media. "Mmmm not much, he's into dancing and fashion, huh, that's interesting" she says looking puzzled. "What? What is it?" I ask, getting even closer feeling a bit anxious.

"Oh nothing, there's a picture of a girl on here though but you can't see her face. He didn't tag her either" she says still preoccupied with finding more information. "So he has a girlfriend?" I conclude, feeling a bit dejected. "Well that's the interesting part. That picture was from a year ago but that's the only picture of her. In fact that's the only picture he has of any girl on his entire profile." she says.

"So ex girlfriend? But why keep the picture up if she's his ex?" I question. "I don't know dude I think unfortunately the results come up as inconclusive" she lets out feeling deflated. "Oh well, I guess if he comes back we'll find out eventually" I say.

"If who comes back?" a voice says behind us. I turn around and immediately smile at the owner of the voice "Kook!" I say getting up and rushing over to give him a hug. "Oh just this hottie that was here earlier" Grey says. "Ooo scandalous! But aren't you guys supposed to be working and not stalking cute boys on the internet?" he says with a knowing smirk.

"It's called multitasking" I say while he gives me a kiss on the crown of my head. "Ew gross please stop I don't want to have to bleach my eyes again" Grey whines, shielding her eyes with her hands, hiding us from her vision. "Don't hate just because you're not a fan of friendly affection" Jungkook says teasing.

"More like any affection at all. Especially PDA. Come on guys get a room" she says in disgust. "How many times do I have to tell you Grey, we're just friends" I say, shaking my head at her and pulling away from Jungkook's embrace. Grey glances up at him with a knowing look and sees him shaking his head prompting her to change the subject.

"Anyways, Jungkook what are you doing here this time?" she asks sounding uninterested as always. "Damn Grey can't I stop in to see my favorite girls every once in a while?" he says, draping his arm around my shoulders. "Don't call me that" she says with a deadpan expression.

"Okay fine. My favorite girl and her tagalong?" he corrects with a cheeky smile. "You know what? Why don't you just call me by my name okay?" she argues. "Not a fan of the pet names? Okay okay I get it" he chuckles.

"Luna" he says in an effort to gain my attention. "Yeah?" I acknowledge, turning to face him. "What are you doing this weekend?" he asks with anticipation written all over his face.

"Um nothing to my knowledge" I reply and quickly hear someone start to talk over us before anyone can speak again. "Good, because you're working two ten hour shifts this weekend" my uncle says while bringing out another box of assorted products to stock.

"Uncle please" I say with painful annoyance. "No I don't wanna hear anything. You need to make up for the hours that you missed and Sunghoon has the weekend off so I need you to pick up the slack" "But sir I was just-" Jungkook starts trying to come to my aid but is cut off yet again.

"Jungkook I don't need any lip from you either" he says authoritatively while walking away to busy himself with a task in another part of the store. "Yes sir" he mumbles, bringing his head down and slightly pouting. I swear if he was a bunny I would see his floppy little ears start to droop.

"Sorry Kook, but what was it you wanted to ask me? Maybe we can still do it after I get off?" I offer, giving him a soft smile. He looks at me, still a little sad but I can see a little glimmer of hope coming back. "Well I wanted to see if you wanted to have a picnic or something since our friendship anniversary is coming up" he says returning the soft smile I'm giving him.

"Has it really been another year? How many does that make now?" I say in surprise. "Fifteen!" he answers, satisfied with the answer and feeling proud of how long we've known each other. "I can't believe it's been that long!" I say starting to reminisce about all the memories of our many adventures together.

"Yeah but I guess having a picnic late at night isn't as fun as it would be during the day" he mumbles, drooping again. "I've got an idea!" I say with a mischievous smile. "Really? What is it?" he questions, interest peaked. "Don't you worry your pretty little head about any of it. I'll take care of everything! The only thing you need to make sure of is to bring a car. You think your brother would let you borrow his?" I question. "I think I could make that happen" he says with an inquisitive smile clearly suspicious of what I'm planning.

"Don't give me that look!" I say, hitting him on the shoulder. "It'll be fun!" I say excitedly. "I'm sure it will be but usually when you get this excited about things they tend to be illegal" I widen my eyes at his sudden call out. "Shhhh pipe down. I don't need my uncle to catch onto the things I do in my free time" I say slightly panicked.

"I heard that!" my uncle says from the other side of the store. "Plus you're not slick Luna. I've known about your delinquent activities for a while now but it's never gotten serious enough to bring up. Just don't get caught, I'm not about to bail your ass out of jail. Got it?" he warns while coming over to talk to us again.

"Yep got it" I say nodding my head in agreement. "And that goes for you as well" He says pointing at Grey. "Hey what did I do" she asks, slightly offended. "Don't play innocent with me. I know you're the mastermind behind these schemes half the time" he says nodding towards her. "How do you know that?" she says, crossing her arms over her chest trying to act cool but still visibly surprised at his knowledge of our delinquency.

"You do realize that most of the time you're hatching your plans in my store? I know everything that goes on in here" he says mirroring her posture, crossing his arms over his chest. "Fair enough" she mumbles, admitting to her part in it.

"Why aren't you giving Jungkook a lecture about all of this too?" she pouts motioning towards him. "Because I know he's smart enough not to get caught and he's also the reason you guys don't get caught 95% of the time" he says clapping him on the shoulder.

"He's got a point there" Jungkook admits. "Okay okay whatever. The point of this lecture is don't get caught and don't do anything too crazy. We got it. Anything else?" I say clearly ready for this conversation to be over.

"Yeah, you get back to work! He says pointing a finger at me. "And Grey start paying for the gum you chew or I'm gonna start taking it out of your paycheck." he threatens pointing towards her as well.

"Don't you already take it out of my paycheck?" she questions clearly done as well, grabbing another box of products to start restocking. "Ya! Don't get smart with me young lady!" he says following after her. "Yeah yeah" is the last thing we hear as they head further into the store.

"Sorry Kook I guess it's time for you to head out" I say giving him a shrug. "That's alright I should probably get going anyways. I've gotta get to class" he says while giving me another kiss on my head. "That's right, Mr. College Man can't be late to art class" I say smirking at him. He rolls his eyes "Love you loser" he yells as he towards the exit. "Love you too weirdo" I respond waving him off. I watch him leave but I can't help but feel disappointed by his departure.

Jungkook is going to the best Visual Arts school in Seoul and I'm so proud of him! He could've left us behind after high school and made friends with the rich kids in his classes but instead he still comes in and hangs out with us as often as he can. We all grew up together and I honestly don't know what I would do without these two.

Grey on the other hand is trying her hand at producing music. It hasn't been taking off but she's gotten a few jobs here and there working for smaller artists that are just getting started as well. She's been building a portfolio and honestly she's really good! She just lacks the confidence to take the next step. I've been pushing her to try to apply at different schools to get proper training but she doesn't think she's good enough yet and needs to make sure she stands out so she can land a scholarship. Otherwise even if she did get accepted she wouldn't be able to afford it.

Me on the other hand? Well honestly I have no clue what I want to do. I've worked just about every part time job you could imagine just trying to stay afloat. I don't have time for dreams. At this point I feel like I'm just existing, which is a sucky way to live out your 20s but unfortunately that's the life I'm living.

Growing up I had many different dream jobs that I had thought about. Fashion designer, Makeup artist, Dancer, but at the end of the day like Grey, I've gotta build up my portfolio to really stand out and I just haven't had the time to do any of that.

Just like I've been encouraging her to take that next step, Jungkook has been the one in my corner. The one who's always had so much hope and confidence in me and my dreams. Whenever I needed someone he was always there for me. He even spent the night in the hallway outside of my apartment just because he still wanted to be there for me even though I didn't want him to.

Jungkook is one of the only people in this world I know I can trust. Without him I don't think I'd be here today.

I've gone through so much and when it got to the point where I felt like I didn't want to exist anymore he was the one that brought me back, nursed me back to health and made sure that I was never left alone. He is my safe place and he always will be.

I don't know what I ever did to deserve someone as pure and loving as him. He's my best friend and my rock. Life wouldn't be as bright and colorful without him.

"Hey lady are you gonna ring me up or what?" I hear an old man say breaking me out of my daydream. "Sorry sir I didn't mean to make you wait, my apologies" I say while giving him a shallow bow. "Yeah whatever just get on with it" he grumbles, clearly not phased by my apology. I ring up his various items which include a couple bottles of soju, a few bags of snacks, a cup of ramen- "Oh and a pack of cigarets" he slurs.

"Of course sir" I respond while turning my back to grab the ones he selected. "That'll be $20.35" he tosses the money onto the counter while I place all of his items into a bag. "Thank you sir have a good day" I say while he stumbles his way out of the store.

"Are people always that rude?" the next woman in line says while placing her items on the counter, glaring daggers into the man's back. "Yeah but I'm used to it at this point. As long as they don't get nasty or angry it doesn't really bother me. It's to be expected working in this part of town" I finish off while scanning all of her items.

"That doesn't make it right" she say counters, clearly upset for me. "It's alright, for the most part I kind of ignore it" I say before telling her her the total. She swipe her card and I hand her the bag with her items once the transaction goes through. "Well for your sake I hope they cut you some slack" she say before walking away from the counter and saying goodbye. "Thank you, have a nice day" I say to her, genuinely meaning it this time around.

"You too kiddo" she says before walking into the outside world. 'Why can't all customers be like that?' I think, having a warm feeling after the interaction. "Yah! Quit Ignoring me. I'm ready to leave" the next customer says sneaking up on me. This is gonna be a long day.

prev / next Series Masterlist

Taglist: @jkslipppiercing @trina864 @kaitieskidmore97 @goddesofimortality @coolbluedude @00frenchfries00 @bangtans-momma @coralmusicblaze @pastelpinkjoon @joonwater @marvelbun @j3nni-rs @evidive @beomieboi @forevrglow @jesssssmaybankk @teugiie @chaconnelatte @whoa-jo @snehal @xumyboo @mindurbuzznezz @diorh0seokie

Join my Taglist!

Feel free to fill out the form or just comment on any of my fics to be added :)

51 notes · View notes