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sugawhaaa · 2 months

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!!Skz reaction!!

-Your embarrassed about how your body looks-

Warnings::smut!insecurities! Talk of body types!stretch marks!vulgar language!

Genre:: oral (fem/male rec) nipple play, marking, from behind, fingering, so much pinning 😭 comfort,

Pairing::OT8! X sub!Fem!reader!

A/N:: sorry some of them are shorter than others, I promise I'm not being biased at all it's just the way the story went ₍ᐢ. ̫.ᐢ₎

💋Bangchan 💋

He finally has you laid out on the bed on your back. He runs his hands up your stomach and you feel a wave of embarrassment rush over you. He softly laid on top of you with his elbows on the bed. He ran circles around your ribcage and stomach. You blushed before grabbing his hand. Chan looked up at you surprised.

"What's wrong?" He asked softly with an accent.

"My belly...why do you like it so much?" You asked with pink cheeks.

"It's so cute," he giggled with a smile before running his tongue across his lips. You blushed as you looked down at him.

"But it's... it's not very attractive," you shrugged your shoulders and bangchan frowned.

"I think otherwise," he smirked before licking the bottom of your tummy. "I love putting my cock so deep inside you it reaches all~the way~ to here~" he grinned as he inched his fingers from your clit to your stomach as he spoke. The sensation rang shivers down your spine. He left a hickey on your stomach. "Don't say anything bad about your body again. Your beautiful from head to toe," he grinned after looking at the hickey he left on your stomach.

🍒minho🍒

You loved the way the face off and cowgirl position felt in your body. The way Minhos dick would hit all the BEST places this way. So deep inside you but...there was one probably. You felt awkward when you'd bounce on him. Your body would jiggle in a way that made you feel weird and you didn't want your boyfriend seeing you like that so you stopped doing these positions.

That was until today when Minho was spoiling the shit out of you. Sexually speaking. Touching you wherever you want, no teasing, no edging, just doing whatever you please. He knew that you came a lot whenever the two of you did the face-off position so he propped you up on your knees and he prepped himself to go inside you. It took you a moment to realize what he was doing but when it clicked you knew you needed to say something.

"Ah, Minho?" You said softly and he looked up at you as sweat dripped from his forehead. "Could we uhm...not do this position?" You blushed as he sat you on his lap to talk to you.

"Why? I thought you loved this position?" He seemed concerned. He knew you loved this position almost more than anything but you suddenly didn't want to do it?

"I do-" you started and he instantly picked you back up by your waist again.

"Good then let's get you on my dick," he said as he positioned you but you shook your head. He set you back down on his thigh again and raised a brow at you. "Why?"

"Because it's embarrassing!" You admitted with red cheeks. He looked confused and wiped some sweat off his head.

"Why?" He asked again with a tilt of his head.

"It's just...when I like bounce," you tried to explain without making it awkward but Minho didn't seem to care either way. "The way my body moves is unappealing. I don't want you to see me like that," you explained, and Minho frowned. He shook his head with a tsk tsk before picking you up again.

"Just sit on me already," he growled and placed you on his cock. You jumped and covered your mouth, your body curling into his.

"B-But it's..." you tried to explain but you already wanted to cum at the feeling of his veins deep inside you. Hitting all the sweet spots.

"I don't care. All I care about is that this position makes you cum everywhere and moan like it's the only thing you know how to do," he said sternly and it made your heart flutter. His hands guided you up and down his length and you could feel your tits bouncing. You wanted to hide in embarrassment but it all felt so good. Minhos hand latched onto one of your tits and he grabbed it harshly. You whimpered softly. "Good girl~" he whispered in your ear.

💫Changbin💫

You knew how much Changbin loved receiving blow jobs but every time you finished you felt like you did a bad job of it. Due to your terrible gag reflex, you never got more than 3/4 of his cock into your mouth. Even then you still didn't do a "good job" despite Binnie telling you that.

You found yourself in the same position as usual. On your knees with Changbin a hard mess in front of you. You decided to finally address your feelings towards blow jobs.

"Changbin?" You said with glistening eyes as you looked up at him. You could see in his eyes that his heart skipped a beat in that moment.

"Y-Yeah?" He said with red cheeks.

"I know say you like it when I do this but...do you honestly like it?" You blushed as you rubbed his muscular thighs.

"Obviously why?" He seemed confused by your question.

"I just feel like I'm not good at giving oral..." you explained and he instantly shook his head.

"No of course not. Your mouth feels like heaven. I know you can't uhm fit it all in your mouth but that doesn't matter!" He said as he put his hands through your hair. "If anything it's better," he admits with a blush. You look confused.

"Better?" You ask.

"It's like your constantly edging me and god," he grinned as he put a hand over his eyes and threw his head back. You chuckled and finally agreed that he did like it when you gave him blow jobs.

"Okay fine, you've convinced me," you chuckled and Changbin smiled.

"Good!" He said happily before moaning at the feeling of your lips sliding up his length.

🥿Hyunjin🥿

You watched carefully as Hyunjin put his tip against your opening.

"You ready?" He asked softly but with a sense of anticipation. You nodded and waited eagerly. He pushed himself into you slowly. He groaned. "You're so fucking tight," he said in a raspy voice as he clenched his fists on the sheets and the words rang in your ears. He finally pushed all the way into your core and you couldn't help but ask him a simple question as he waited for you to adjust to his size.

"You think?" You said softly as you wrapped your hands around his neck.

"What?" He responded with a little confusion.

"You said I was tight...is that true?" You asked and Hyunjin chuckled and hung his head down.

"Yes...I was worried if I'd actually fit," he chuckled embarrassingly. Hyunjin let go of the sheets and ran his fingers through your hair.

"My ex used to complain that I wasn't tight..." you thought aloud. Hyunjin was taken aback.

"What?" He sounded surprised. "How is that even possible? I can hardly move you're so tight," Hyunjin groaned.

"I don't know but he'd say it a lot," you admitted and hyunjin gritted his teeth.

"He must've just had a small dick," he smirked before slamming his hips back into you. You jumped and grabbed his bare back. Your nails leaving marks.

💄Han💄

You were pinned against the wall by a hungry Han. His eyes burned with desire and eagerness. Han smirked and slid his hand down to your soaked cunt. He unbuttoned your jeans and you felt worried as he pulled down the zipper slowly. He rubbed his thumb on your panties through the small gap in your jeans. He pulled down your jeans to find a splotch of liquid on your panties. He chuckled.

"So wet," he grinned before hooking his finger on the waistband of your panties.

"Wait! Jisung I haven't..." you blurted and Han looked shocked. "I haven't shaved in a while," you admitted with pink cheeks as you held his wrist.

"Okay...and?" He said before continuing to undress you.

"Wait! You don't understand. It's really bad..." you said again hoping to convince him not to look.

"Baby...listen I don't care if you've shaved or not. My main concern right now is making you cum all over the floor and my hands and mouth. Relax baby," he said as he finally took off your panties. You nodded your head and let him do his thing. He slid two fingers into you out of nowhere and you jumped with a moan. "See, now that's not so bad is it~?"

🏁Felix🏁

You were changing in your room and deciding on an outfit. You had an outfit planned prior but turns out your bra strap was broken so you went to grab a new one. That's when Felix walked in your entire body on full display. You jumped and went to cover yourself, your cheeks felt like they were about to catch fire.

"Don't act so shy," Felix laughs "it's not like I haven't seen you naked before," he says as he shuts the door and lays on your bed, stomach down.

"I-I know but...it's different," you explain before throwing a shirt on.

"Different how?" He hummed as he watched you sit next to him, your baggy shirt barely covering your thighs. He watched your legs as you sat down.

"Well I feel like in the heat of the moment you don't...don't really care. All that's on your mind is uh feeling pleasure," you explain shyly, afraid of what he'll say next. He raises an eyebrow at you with an unamused look that secretly makes your stomach soar. "You know like you're not paying attention to how my body looks when in the moment but in situations like this you look at my body more attentively and notice all the...flaws," you continue. He stares at you like you are some kind of prey. His hand slides up your thigh.

"You think I don't stare at every inch of your body in pure adoration every time I see you?" He said as he got closer to you. "If I had it my way you'd be naked all the time just so I could see every inch of your body every time we meet," he said in his deep voice with his face only centimeters away from yours. "You understand baby~?" He asked seductively. You nodded your head slowly as you looked him in the eyes. "Use your words pretty girl," he teased as he rubbed your cheek softly.

"I understand," you croaked through your tight throat.

"Good girl," he smirked before kissing your jaw.

🪞SEUNGMIN🪞

"What do you think, black dress or red?" You ask as you hold up two dresses, rotating them on your body as you speak.

"I think the red one makes you look sexy but the black one makes you look professional," Seungmin replied as he sat on your bed watching you get ready.

"Okay, so...black," you decided as you gave seungmin the red one.

"Why did you have to think about that for so long hm?" Seungmin rose an eyebrow. "You trying to seduce your boss or something," he teased as he crossed his arms.

"What? No!" You said as you took off your shirt and put on the dress. You adjusted it accordingly before applying your makeup. Seungmin checked the time before sighing.

"I've been ready for like...half an hour. Are you almost done?" He asked as you applied more eyeliner.

"Yes, I just need-" you said before accidentally putting the eyeliner in your eye. It stung and you cursed. "Shit!" You said before setting down the eyeliner. Tears streamed down your cheek as the black liquid poured out of your eye. Seungmin rushed over and wiped the tears from your eyes.

"Keep blinking, just like that," he comforted you as you continued to blink, the eyeliner getting on the sleeve of his dress shirt. You finally got all of the eyeliner out of your eye and checked yourself in the mirror.

"Crap now I have to redo it!" You said as you panicked. You were already behind and now you had to restart. You were frustrated and stressed, more tears threatened to pour out of your eyes.

"Hey, hey, baby, listen. We don't have a ton of time left to get ready and you don't need all this make up baby," he said as he stroked your hair. "A little bit of makeup is okay. I know you're insecure about some of your facial features but this is a business party alright?" He explained before swinging behind you to look at you through the mirror. "Some lipstick maybe some eyeshadow and your beautiful smile is all you need," he smiled as he ran his hands through your hair.

🧋JEONGIN🧋

You had found Jeongin newest weakness. His nipples are super sensitive and you had been messing with him for a while. Toying and licking them while he just whimpers beneath you helplessly. Finally, he had enough of it and pinned you down to the bed. You looked up at him shocked. He pouted before going to unclip your bra.

"Wait-" you put a hand up on his chest. He paused and listened to you. "If your doing what I think you are uhm..." you blushed and looked away from him.

"I was going to give you some payback for teasing my nipples," he pouted before going to unclip your bra again.

"I'm just really shy about my...boobs," you explained and his face went from pouty to surprised.

"Why?" He said really confused. "Sorry- I didn't mean it like that," he chuckled awkwardly but you just laughed at him.

"They just have weird marks on them and they're kinda small," you shrugged and Jeongin looked at you unimpressed.

"Small? This is small?" He said as he grabbed one of your breasts in his hand. You moaned softly at the sudden action.

"W-Well," you stuttered, you really didn't have a good excuse. Jeongin shook his head.

"Baby, all I want is for you to feel good. I'm not going to judge your body at all. You know how much I love you and your body," he explained with a soft smile as he let go. He finally unclipped your bra and stared in awe. His hand crept up your chest and squeezed your breast lightly. "So soft..." he murmured like he was in a trance. Jeongin sat his head down on your chest. "Forget about payback, I may just take a nap here," he chuckled cheekily.

#Spotify #stray kids jeongin #stray kids hyunjin #stray kids seungmin #stray kids felix #stray kids reactions #stray kids fiction #stray kids smut #skz hyunjin #skz changbin #skz scenarios #skz imagines #skz fanfic #skz x reader #skz smut #skz #stray kids

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arminsumi · 4 months

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S. Geto ★ Brother's Best Friend

Breaking the bed with your brother's best friend!

★ Requested by anon

★ Pairings : fem reader / badboy!Geto

★ Synopsis : even though he made a promise to your brother, Suguru Geto just couldn't keep his hands off of you.

★ Warnings : 18+ content, secret sex, brother's best friend trope, toys, visiting adult store, mutual m*sturbation, solo male m*sturbation, fantasies, creampie, pillow riding, sexting, wall/standing sex, mentions f*ngering, mentions bl*wjob, +++

Your brother always made sure that you and his best friend weren't alone together for too long. He totally restricted you and him from becoming friends, because he knew that neither of you two would be able to stay just friends.

Whenever Suguru had your company, he got flirtier. His mannerisms. His word choices. Compliments just spilled from his lips. He'd undress you with his eyes.

The chemistry between you two always made you squeeze your thighs together tightly.

Suguru Geto was a sorely attractive and alluring man. How could you not be turned on by him?

He had that slim-fit physique. Tattoos. A natural sultriness. That mysterious "he could be a cult leader for all I know" feeling about him.

He was also honest and spoke his mind.

"No offence," he said to you once, "But all the men you've dated are losers. All they've done is leave you with a broken heart."

You replied exactly how he'd hoped you'd reply; "I know. Do you know any better man?" you said suggestively, inching closer to him.

"I wish..." he huffed with a smile.

You pawed at his chest, "Suguru, my brother doesn't have to know about us..."

His heart beat rapidly and he felt his neck tense up.

Gently, he grabbed your hands and pried them off of his t-shirt.

"No, I made a promise to him that I wouldn't mess around with you. Okay?" he said determinedly.

Your funny little pout hurt him, because even though you tried to be comedic about his rejection he could still sense your deep sadness and desperation for him.

****

So many times during sleepovers, you had to get off on your pillow after hugging Suguru goodnight.

He was definitely being a bad boy, taking risks like hugging you when your brother was around. It earned a tense response from your brother, but Suguru quickly scurried off to the guest bedroom and acted like he did nothing.

Your bedroom was situated right next to the guest bedroom.

The walls were thin.

You could vaguely hear him grunting and throatily groaning as he pounded his fleshlight in the middle of the night.

He was most definitely being verbal on purpose, because in reality he was one of those silent type guys during sex. Suguru knew what he was doing. He always knew what he was doing, even when he wore those thin-fabric sweatpants that showed the outline of his huge cock snuggling against his muscular thigh. And all those times you "accidentally" walked in on him changing his shirt, he made his abs twitch and flex a little for you.

Suguru was always doing things in consideration of your horniness. He knew you had a hard time holding back, so he tested you — he tested your determination to not fuck your brother's best friend.

It was difficult to refrain from sneaking into the guest bedroom and hopping on his dick, it really was.

You rutted against the pillow and tweaked and pinched your nipples, chasing your pleasure.

The sound of slapping balls and lubed up thrusting carried through the wall as Suguru gave his fleshlight a heavy, sloppy pounding.

Suguru spiced things up and called out your name in a soft murmur, hoping you were listening.

"Mmm." you hummed back. He just barely heard it, but it made him grin naughtily.

He stopped pounding away at his toy, and drew his forearm across his forehead to wipe his sweat. He pulled out his phone and texted you.

📨 1 NEW

Suguru: i heard that. someone's wide awake 👀 You: yeah :( ur fault!! Suguru: my fault? how? 😗 You: u hugged me too tight earlier n got me worked up Suguru: haha just hugging got you horny? that's adorable You: stfu i didn't say i'm horny 🤬 Suguru: yeah right. bet you're humping ur hand listening to me rn lol You: nope Suguru: i don't believe u 🤨 u were totally listening. my fleshlight told me. it was pussy to pussy communication You: lol You: yeahh i was listening You: and squeezing my tits with both hands and riding my pillow 😇 Suguru: fuck Suguru: come over You: haha no way i'd wake up the neighborhood Suguru: dw i have ways to shut you up 😉

If your brother knew that at 1 AM that night, you snuck out and let Suguru finger you to your orgasm and gave him a blowjob, then he would have grilled both of you like meat on a barbeque.

But he never found out. Suguru held his moans in and gritted his teeth, and he covered your mouth with his big hand to stifle any noise coming out of you.

Suguru was turned on that he had this little secret with you.

Sleepovers became more anticipated. Your brother was confused sometimes, because while he liked having his best friend staying the night, Suguru was often over-enthusiastic at the idea.

"Oh I can stay the night?" it was the way his eyes lit up and his tone raised like he'd just gotten a hint about his Christmas present.

It always played out the same.

Suguru would be jerking off to you, thumbing through his favorited pictures — you know, those panty pictures and swimsuit ones that you wanted his verdict on. Well his verdict was groaning and throwing his head back and having a full-body orgasm.

If you were still awake, you'd whimper through the wall for him. He'd press himself against the cold wall and stroke his cock hard and fast until his balls bounced.

It became a thing.

Come the morning, the two of you would pretend nothing happened. But that knowing glint was always in his eyes.

****

In time, Suguru started drooling and obsessing over the idea of having sex with you. The tension between you and him had been reaching a peak.

Risky touches. Hot glances. Flirty tones. Sneaky sexting. Lingering hugs.

He took you out to the adult store under the pretense that he was just taking you shopping. Your brother let it slide, since you threw a fake temper tantrum about it until you got your way.

"You're such a spoiled princess." Suguru flirted when he pulled out of the driveway.

You giggled behind him, holding on tight as he rode off down the street, motorcycle rumbling loud.

He slung an arm around you in public and gave you kisses, thriving on the jealous looks that the two of you received from passers-by.

In the adult store, he agreed to buy you anything your heart wanted as long as you gave him proof that it was being put to good use.

Of course, he was buying you a toy that was as similar to his own cock as possible.

"And angel, don't get too attached to silicone. Nothing beats the real thing." he said.

"Oh yeah?" you batted your lashes at him.

When you batted your lashes like that, he snapped right there — the invisible restraints that kept him from breaking his promise to your brother broke.

He took you home, saw that your brother texted him will be home at 5-ish and then wasted no time before fucking your brains out right there up against the wall.

Once wasn't enough for either of you, so Suguru slipped his cock out and carried you to the bedroom.

****

"Su-su—Suguru! Not so hard! Y-you'll break the bed!" you said.

You were caged under Suguru's muscular body as he relentlessly pounded his cock into you, hitting deep spots that your newly bought toy surely wouldn't ever read — good. You'd crawl back to him for more.

"I don't care, let it break." he grunted into your ear.

He tried new angles until his cock pressured against your G-spot. You gasped and your moans quickly developed into stuttering incoherence.

"Fuck fuck fuck Suguru! Suuuguru! I'm so close, I'm gonna cum!" you screamed.

"Yeah? I'm close too, baby." he groaned. "Rub your clit faster, cum with me."

"W-we really shouldn't be doing this, mmm!" you moaned.

He smirked, "Yeah yeah, I know that turns you on more. Fucking slut. Cum with me and keep your pretty mouth shut about this."

Suguru brought you to a long orgasm. He groaned and his jaw went slack as he creampied his best friend's sister's pussy.

When he rolled off and caught his breath, he felt a small guilt but it was quickly smothered when you rolled back on top to kiss him hard.

"I think we broke the bed..." he chuckled.

"... oh. Shit." you giggled.

I do not permit the copying/reposting/translation/plagiarism of my works. Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

This is fictional work.

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angelsrcute · 8 days

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SEX OBSESSION. 𝜗𝜚

(´∀｀*)ε｀　) ౨ৎ N–sfw content !! ; Dom!Fyodor and Nikolai + Angel!Sub!Fem!Reader ➜cws: unprotected sex, use of lube, crying, praising, biting, corruption, creampie, double penetration, multiple rounds, fingering, nipple play, blowjob, hair pulling. ᡴꪫ‎

‎ ꒰ † ੭‎ For the event! + Fyodor calls you MIlaya(darling) n Nikolai calls you Myla moya(my dear) ヽ(´▽`)ノ

Curious. You were a very curious angel, oblivious too probably, believing that the world is just so good. For some reason, you met them, Fyodor and Nikolai, apparently from some group called ‘Decay of Angels’, what's that? No clue, but they seem quite nice.

And what were you doing right now? no clue either but you know that whatever they do makes you feel all warm and fuzzy. A sensation you've never felt, it feels so good that you're ready to do it anytime, anywhere. They tell you that it's something very close friends do. Angelic mind all corrupted, well can you blame them? you're just so cute when you beg for them to fuck you stupid!

All you remember is that fyodor was pent up and wanted to get some relief, Nikolai nodded away while giggling. I mean you were living here free of cost so it's only fair that you help your best friend relieve some stress, right? Maybe a movie night, or a game night–

So here you were, sucking Fyodor off while Nikolai worked on your pussy, thrusting two fingers inside you as he whispered sweet praises to your ears, “Such a good angel you are, Myla moya!” Nikolai purred while he was twisting and pinching your nipples, taking them in his mouth as he bit on them gently. Giving each bud equal attention.

Soft muffled gasps and moans left your lips, causing Fyodor to chuckle as he wiped the tears from your eyes, looking prettily at him through your lashes.

“Really, how sinful are you myshka? Aren't you supposed to be a divine being, hm?” He cooed, “God would definitely punish you for such sinful acts.” Earning a whine from you, he knows how devoted you are to the so-called God. More fun to tease you.

You could feel you were close, making your tummy all weird and hot. Fyodor grabs your hair, making you take more of him as he chases his own high, eyes closed as he mumbled something you couldn't focus on. You feel his cock twitch as he climaxes in your mouth, cursing, your eyes rolling back.

“You did a good job, MIlaya, now it's only fair that we return the favour, right?”

Your pussy coming around Nikolai's fingers. He pulled them out, licking up your juices, you were laying your head on Fyodor's thighs, all tired.

You could feel yourself being carried by Fyodor as he put you on the bed. Nikolai in front of your legs while Fyodor was behind you.

“Wait n-no, m’ too tired–” You managed to breathe out.

Well how did it feel being fucked by two cocks? you were absolutely disheveled. Sweat glistening from your forehead, arms wrapped around Nikolai as you bit down on his shoulder. You were so sensitive at this point, you don't remember what round this was but the only thing you could focus on is how good their cocks feel. Shoulders littered with love bites, fyodor played with your hardened nipples.

You were so sensitive, gasping at every movement. They both let out a grunt when they feels your gummy walls clench around them. You can't even let words out, just whimpers and moans.

“Shit, Myla moya, you're hurting me.” Nikolai whines, drawing slow circles on your puffy clit to soothe you. Your eyes all glossy, nail marks visible on Nikolai's shoulder alongside the bite marks you gave him to calm down.

After some time you feel both of them coming inside your holes, filling you up to the brim with their hot n sticky cum. Your stomach bulging a bit. The scent was so intoxicating as you three caught your breaths.

“MIlaya, let me run you a warm bath, you must be tired.” Fyodor let's out a chuckle at how sleepy you were, he caressed your cheeks.

He picked you up as he heard Nikolai pouting about how he also deserves to have that type of treatment too! “Not fairrr! Fedya, run me a bath too..”

Fyodor's lips curl into a smile as he nods and takes you to the bathroom, putting you in the bathtub, Nikolai joins soon after.

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dreamywriter143 · 1 year

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Scorching Heat

Paring: Neteyam x Y/n (Reader)

Status/Type: Oneshot

Summary: Y/n usually insures she is away from home for ‘training’ whenever her heat cycle starts. She hates feeling needy, and never wants to burden her mate, Neteyam. What will happen when Ewya decides to bring her heat early this time. How will Y/n react?

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI (Minors STAY AWAY!!), Public/Exhibition (Someone sees Y/n during her heat), Dirty talk, Breeding (mentioned once), Fingering (f-receiving), dumbification, tiny bit of possessiveness and Ao’nung being a pervert. All characters are AGED-UP (19-20’s years).

__________________________________________

“Neteyam” Y/n whines, nuzzling her face into the mat she slept upon, she clutches her lower abdomen in pain. It felt hot, way to hot for what it should have been.

Ever since Neteyam had left their shared Marui for a his regular morning hunt with his Jake and Lo’ak, Y/n has been in agony. Her stomach lurched with butterflies as a unfamiliar heat took over her entire being.

She was sweating profusely, her breaths coming out in pants as she curled up in a fetal position. She couldn’t seem to figure out what had lead to her feeling this…sick?

Was it the clams she shared with Tsireya last night? Was it the yovo fruit she ate immediately after? Did those two different type of food not complainant each other like she had thought it’s had?

Y/n lets out a groan, feeling her stomach flutter, her eyes squeezed shut as she didn’t bother wiping the sweat off her face, she even couldn’t think straight. Her thoughts were muddled together and all she would focus on was the biting heat between her legs.

“Y/n?” A tiny voice calls peeking into the Marui.

Y/n almost missed it, it sounded so distant to her. As if her head were to be submerged under water. She opens her eyes slowly, her vision blurry with tears. She tries to respond back but a another pained whine escapes her lips as she claws at her stomach.

Tsireya gasps, seeing her best friend in this state. She rushes to her side looking her over, her cool hand laying on top of Y/n’s forehead, as she hisses at the cool temperature.

“Y/n , can you hear me? You’re burning up!” She says alarmed again, feeling the heat radiate off her.

Assessing her sweaty skin and pants that racked her friends body she realizes this was severe. Y/n was shivering as if she were cold, but she was sweating from how hot she felt internally. Y/n groans in response unable to form words.

“Dear Eywa” Tsireya whispers realizing what this had to be.

It was her heat.

Tsireya counts the days mentally to the last time Y/N had excused herself for a couple days worth of ‘training’. The time Y/n would spend far away from the safety of the village to wait out her heat. Training was the excuse she used to hide herself away from everyone, even her mate during her heat cycles. It wasn’t an uncommon practice, many other Na’vi females who didn’t want to burden their mates did the same.

Y/n loved her independence. Spending her heats alone was something she had argued with Neteyam over plenty of times. She just didn’t see the appeal of sucking her mate dry for her cycles, every month. Neteyam only allowed it because he would do the same, going far and wide to wait out his ruts in fear of hurting Y/n.

Thus leading to Y/n meticulously tracking all of her heats, planning for her excursions to the T. Planning and prepping ahead of time so she wouldn’t have to rush anything as she slotted enough time alone, out in the wilderness.

But this heat, it came unexpectedly. According to Tsireya’s calculations, Y/n was one week early. Which has never happened before.

“I-I’ll call mother!” She says standing up. Y/n gasps, she didn’t need the Tsahik, she didn’t need her friend. She just wanted Neteyam, she needed her mate.

“Ne-t-” she whispers, her voice shaky. Tsireya pauses, her shoulders tense.

“But Y/n-”

“Neteyam!!!!” She hisses loudly, sounding like a struggled moan.

She didn’t have time to feel embarrassed. She felt a deep itch with him her, an itch she knew her mate could fix. Tsireya flushes red at her friends state nodding.

She quickly leaves Y/n’s Marui heading to her own. She had a device that Lo’ak had given both her and Y/n in case of emergencies. She intended on calling Neteyam using her device.

~~~~

Ao’nung, who was walking towards Y/n’s Marui to pull her out for a swim stops the moment a scent fills his nostrils. He feels his irises dilate as he deeply inhaled the scent greedily.

He realized the scent was too delicious to ignore, he had to find out where it was coming from. He needed a taste. Coincidentally the scent leads him to Y/n’s Marui. The very girl he was looking for.

He walks in, holding back the growl that threatens to break through. The scent was so thick in the marui it drove him insane.

“Y/-Y/n?” he croaks, clutching the tiny bit of sanity he had in him. He looks her over, his best friend who he loved so dearly. He saw how she was face first into her mat, her bottom in the air as her back arches. She whines loudly hearing a voice, a voice that made her believe it was her mate.

“Neteyam” she breaths out lowly. The burning sensation seemed to intensify with arousal as she realized Neteyam had arrived to help her with her heat. Gasping she slowly rubs herself whist humping into the mat, moans leaving her mouth shamelessly.

She was beyond herself, she had lost herself to her heat. All she wanted now was a release, and to be taken care of. Ao’nung covers his nose, effectively muffling his whines of excitement. The position itself along with her grinding seem to send her scent off in waves, each wave getting stronger and stronger.

He felt his own erection painfully press against his loincloth. He wouldn’t be surprised if he came right then and there watching his friend hump herself to a climax she couldn’t reach. His other free hand reaches down to grab his thick hard cock through his loincloth, squeezing his member in attempt to relief himself of the pain.

“It’s Ao’nung” he says, loudly, still palming his cock to her moans. Each time her voice reaches a high note, he felt himself get that much closer to his own climax. He groans at the sight.

Y/N pants wildly, a part of her wondering why her mate hadn’t mounted her yet. She was in the perfect position to be taken advantage of, she presented herself in such way so Neteyam could fuck her to oblivion. She gently reaches behind in her hunched state, tugging her already soaked loincloth to the side. Exposing her treasure to the cool, but humid air.

The sight of her soaked pussy sent Ao’nung for a loop. His eyes roll back, his breathing is laboured as all he can see is how wet she is. How ready her pussy is for a cock. He saw how it glistened, how it twitched around nothing. Ao’nung groans loudly, biting his lips to contain his growls.

“F-fuckkk-”

Hearing him say something she is again clouded. She couldn’t seem to grasp Ao’nungs desperate attempt to tell her he was not Neteyam. Feeling his limit come closer and closer Ao’nung finally uncovers his nose. He begins to walk deeper into the marui, towards Y/n when he hears yells in the distance.

His ears twitch at the sound of Neteyam’s voice, which seem to snap him out of his trance. Taking one last deep inhale of her scent, Ao’nung takes a careful step back to create some distance. He lets go of his cock just as Neteyam bursts in through the entrance.

His eyes immediately land on his mate, who was still face first into the mat, revealing her glistening folds between her legs. Her essence ran down her legs, adding more delicious aroma into the air. Neteyam feels her need, smells her need. He was able to smell it a good few feet from the marui. His pupils dilated, his nose inhaling deeply to memorize the scent.

Realizing he’s not alone he turns to Ao’nung, his glare deadly. He bares his fangs and hisses harshly. Neteyam takes a step forward, pure rage overcoming his body. Ao’nung looks down, his ears flattening against his head.

“Ao’nung. Out, NOW!!” he says sternly, his chest rumbling with a threatening growl.

He tried his best to stay composed, for his sake as well as his mate. He was also aware that his father and Lo’ak were close behind him when he had rushed home. He didn’t want to create a bigger scene.

Y/n on the other hand, let out an unintentional mewl at the rough sound of his voice, still not being able to figure out who stood by the entrance.

Her tears of frustration clouded her vision, but she was able to pick up Neteyam’s scent. Her mates scent, which only caused her to moan pathetically. Desperately trying to gain his attention.

Ao’nung didn’t need to be told twice, he quickly ducks out of the Marui, his hands covering his still prominent bulge. He would have to deal with that privately, as he marches towards his marui. As soon as he is out, Neteyam rushes to Y/n’s side.

Her scent alone drove him insane, he felt his inner self want to drill into her at that very moment as his eyes lingered over her sopping pussy. Waiting to be filled. She looked to be so wet that he could have easily mounted her right away if her wanted to. But the logical part of him took over, at least for now.

“Yawne, shhhh, shhhhh. Are you alright? Should I fetch you some water?” He whispers, couching down beside her.

He gently brushes the hair from her face which caused her body to jolt wildly upon contact. The entire time Y/n had been edging herself, the mere touch of Neteyam’s fingers on her body sent over over the edge as her body trembled under his touch.

“Fu- I’m-“ Y/n couldn’t finish her sentence as her whole body convulsed under her much needed orgasm. Neteyam’s eyes widen, admiring the way her pussy twitched and clenched with the delicious aftershocks of the orgasm. Neteyam pulls her into his arms cooing softly, he cups her face into his palm.

“Oh babygirl, do you want me to help you with your heat baby? It must feel so painful….”

After the initial orgasm, Y/n had a few moments of clarity, registering Neteyam’s face. She noticed how dilated his irises were, how his breaths hitched and how his fingers danced around her hips enticingly. As if waiting for her to give him permission.

“Neteyam” Y/n whispers, her eyes still watery from the many tears she had already shed.

“I never want to bother you with my heat-“ Neteyam visibly frowns “-which is why I disappear from time to time…..but now-“ Y/n starts feeling the itch deep within her flare up again. More intense than before.

“-It’s….so painful……I need you to fuck me.” Y/n gasps. Neteyam smirks, his free hand trailing down. His fingers working on untying the soaked, useless lioncloth and tossing it aside. Neteyam leans his face closer to her, relishing the look of pure lust clouding her eyes.

“Oh baby girl, I’ll fuck you alright. I’ll make you feel so good you won’t forget the shape of my cock deep in your pussy” Neteyam growls, his fangs grazing over her neck sending shivers down her spine. His fingers spread her swollen wet folds, growling at the feeling of her slickness.

“So wet baby, all for me?” He murmurs quietly, taking in her scent.

“Hmmm”

Y/n’s eyes roll back, feeling two digits enter her pussy gently. The sting and stretch of the two fingers caused her body to twitch out of pleasure. It felt so good, so right.

“You let Ao’nung see this. See the pussy that belongs to me” Neteyam growls, his fingers pumping out of her slowly, but forcefully. Y/n moans in response. She hadn’t known if Ao’nung was here, she also didn’t know what Neteyam was talking about. But she opted to agree with him, to ensure he didn’t stop his movements by any means.

“I’ll fuck you just right baby, I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll be filled with my cum. I want Ao’nung to watch as MY cum drips down your legs” Neteyam whispers, curling his fingers just right.

Y/n whimpers at the sensation.

“Then do it—“ she chokes out.

“-Breed me until I’m plump with your child” Y/n mumbles deliriously.

She tries catching her breath, her heart beating wildly at the thought. Neteyam smirks wide at her plea. Feeling whatever logical part of him shatter at her words, he allowed her heat to fully engulf all of his senses. He was ready to give it his all, no holding back. He was going to fuck her till she forgot her name, he’d make sure of that.

“Anything for my baby girl”

__________________________________________

Note: This is my first ever smut! I’ve always wanted to write smut but I’m worried I’ll be horrible at it! This was a request from my friend so please let me know how you guys think! Was it good? Bad? Should I continue writing smut? Let me know!!

Also while I’m working on my main series: Nga Yawne Lu Oer , I’ll also be doing Prompts, Incorrect Quotes and Oneshots in between. Let me know if you have an requests!

Ps: Pt.2 is OUT. Please check it out!!

#romance #avatar #avatar fanfiction #avatar fic #avatar twow #avatar x reader #neteyam x reader #neteyam #neteyam x y/n #neteyam fanfiction #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #avatar x reader smut #avatar smut #neteyam x reader smut #neteyam smut

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i-love-ptv · 3 months

Text

You can’t remember how many drinks you’ve had tonight. Everything started getting blurry after the third.

You and your boyfriend had been invited to a get-together at the local pub. Whose idea was it? Farleigh’s? No, he had just thrown a party the other day. Maybe it was Oliver’s suggestion. After all, he was eyeing that brunette the other day. Maybe he was looking for a hook-up.

You don’t know how or when you were in his arms and taken back to his dorm; But what you do know is that your feet hurt from your heels, and that your boyfriend’s bed was calling your name.

The thought of wiping the smudged makeup off of your face flew out the window as soon as your warm head hit the pillow.

But don’t worry, because as soon as he steps through the door, Felix is already rushing to find the makeup remover and cotton pads that he had stored away somewhere on his desk.

He flips you over and begins the process of removing your makeup. He can’t help but smile to himself.

He finds this situation so domestic; despite the deep snores escaping your body.

Felix gently changes you out of your outfit; trying his very hardest not to jolt you awake. You had looked so sleepy before the two of you left.

After putting you in one of his shirts, and cooing you back to sleep after you deliriously called out to him once you had woke up, he quickly strips himself down to his boxers and scoots himself under the covers with you.

He holds you close and coddles your head. He giggles softly at the sight of your small puddle of drool dripping down your face and onto your pillow. He presses a feathery-light kiss to your forehead, and grimaces a bit when he feels a light layer of sweat coating you.

But he grins, knowing that no amount of sweat, dirt, or grime could pull him away from his angel; that he swore, was ‘sent down to earth from heaven, just for him.’

Felix thought that this type of love was only something that one would find in the movies, and god is he so glad that he was wrong.

An: Made this blurb in 20 minutes for you lovelies!

Feedback always appreciated. <333

#divider by florietas #dividers by pommecita #other fic coming soon yall dw #i just need to figure out how to continue it #lee’s ted talks #felix catton #felix catton x reader #felix catton imagine #felix catton x you #jacob elordi #jacob elordi x reader #oliver quick #oliver quick x reader #farleigh start x reader #saltburn

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doe-eyed-fool · 22 days

Note

First of, I love ur writing second I'd like to ask for a lucifer morningstar x reader request where lucifer is sick and the reader cares for him but somehow ends up getting sick too so they just both are sick now?

Can be fem reader or gender neutral I don't mind either way. It would be very nice if you would do that if u have time for it and of course if u feel like u want to write it. If u don't want to that is fine too, either way I'm gonna wait for any new story u write.

Hope u have a great day

Sick Day

Lucifer x gn!Reader

Warning(s): None

Thx I hope you have a great day too! Enjoy~

"I tried to warn you."

Lucifer lays in bed, groaning as he hugs one pillow close to him. He had recently kicked the covers off himself after getting too hot, but now, he felt a terrible chill run through him.

The king was unfortunately sick, and he felt like garbage.

"I told you that overworking and not taking proper care of yourself would lead to this." You sigh as you sit in the empty spot next to him. "Ready for the next dose?"

Lucifer would have made a break for it after hearing that question. However his body betrayed him, feeling as if someone had tied boulders to his arms and legs.

He groaned again and hid his face in the pillow. "I'd rather suffer." You roll your eyes at his childish behavior. But you couldn't blame him. The medicine tasted god awful, and it was thick too, making it harder to down in one shot.

"Well, I don't want you to suffer." You say, placing a hand to his head. "You'll feel so much better if you take it, Luci." Lucifer looked up at you with a pitiful gaze. "I promise." You add.

Lucifer sighed. "I can't believe I got this sick. I also can't believe how much it's wearing me down. My body hasn't ached this much since I fell from Heaven." He sits up, wincing as he does so.

"Yeah, getting sick is a bitch." You chuckle. "It's a good thing you have special doctors just for you. I don't think I'd trust just anyone here giving you any type of medicine. Now, please." You hold the small cup of dark purple liquid to him.

Lucifer inhales deeply. "Ok." He takes it and actually manages to get it all down in one go. He holds back the urge to gag, a shiver runs up his spine. "How can something so disgusting help you feel better?"

You shrug. "I don't know, but it does." You place your hand on his. "And it will. Trust me."

Lucifer cracks a small smile. "I do trust you. But, you really should get going don't you think? I don't want you to get sick because of me."

"Luci. I'm not leaving, until I know you're better." You say with a smile. "I don't care if I get sick."

Lucifer blushes a bit. "Y-You should!" You chuckle before handing Lucifer a glass of water. "Shh, just relax. I got you."

Lucifer takes a sip, grateful that the awful taste was fading from his tongue. "You're too good to me." He mutters, blush still present on his face. You smile before taking a cold rag and wiping the sweat from his forehead. "Only the best for you." You say softly.

...

"I tried to warn you."

You frown at Lucifer's words before a string of coughs left you. "Shut it." You say with a scratchy voice. Lucifer hands you that terrible medicine.

"Don't worry, love. Just relax, I got you." Lucifer tells you. You couldn't help but smile. "Thank you Luci. And sorry, I should have listened."

Lucifer shrugs. "Eh, it's not so bad. Now we get to spend all day in bed, watching terrible sitcoms. What could be better than that?" He snuggles up next to you.

You lean into him and sigh softly. "Maybe if we weren't sick." You joked. Lucifer rolls his eyes. "I guess so. But then we would have to make up an excuse to be lazy in bed."

"Any excuse to spend more time with you is a good excuse." You grin.

Lucifer's face heated up, he cleared his throat and tried to change the subject. "Man this show is awful isn't it? How do people watch this?"

"You're blushing." You say teasingly. "I-I am not! My face is just hot!" Lucifer huffs.

You laugh lightly. "Whatever you say, Luci."

#hazbin hotel #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer #lucifer morningstar #lucifer magne #hazbin lucifer x reader

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macfrog · 6 months

Text

2003: a dbf odyssey

a @chloeangelic x @macfrog fic

greetings greetings one and all. welcome to the fucking circus. chloe cupcake and i have a gift for you. we put our heads together, took turns writing a classic dbf fic, and here is the hellscape we created. please enjoy. [this is entirely satirical and just for funsies. no harm intended. no tw discourse required. love u]

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

summary: your dad's best friend, in your childhood bedroom, with his hard cock out. and that's all we have to say on that

warnings: unspecified age gap, tale set in 2003, female masturbation, creepy joel, praise kink, size kink, fingering, unprotected piv, degradation, angst!

word count: 4.6k

chloe's masterlist | max's masterlist

The sun shines through the window of your childhood bedroom. You’re still reeling from an argument you just had with your mom, over the degree you just spent four years and fifteen grand on. She doesn't understand your passion for fossils, she never has, and during every family function, only one person asks you how school is going.

Joel Miller, your dad's best friend.

He’s tall. Broad. He’s built like a Dorito. Flamin’ Hot Cool Ranch. He drives a truck and he listens to dad rock. One time you saw him in a Led Zeppelin t-shirt. You asked what that was, and he said it was a band from “before your time, darlin’”. You swooned at the pet name.

He’s quiet and unassuming. Lingers on the outskirts of every gathering your parents throw. He likes to talk about construction, and wood carving, and little else. At least, that’s what you thought, before you came back home after graduating.

Suddenly, he started glancing in your direction every time you came into the room wearing a tight little top with significant cleavage. He would clear his throat at dinner and wipe a bead of his sweat from his forehead at BBQs.

You always called him Mr Miller, and ever since graduation, that name made him blush. Last Thanksgiving, when his family was over for dinner at your parents’ house, you started asking him about old movies, and he grumbled, then told you about 2001: A Space Odyssey.

He said he couldn’t believe that a girl with a paleontology degree had never seen A Space Odyssey before. Promised he’d show you it sometime. ”Smart girl like you will love it,” he said.

You had opened your mouth to respond, to lend him the quirkiest retort you could think of, when your dad had bumbled into the room, shoving you out of the way. He brought up the latest Austin Ice Bats game, took Joel up in a conversation you couldn’t be a part of - you knew nothing about minor league ice hockey.

Your mom called you through to the kitchen and asked you to help her with dinner. When you came into the kitchen, she started asking you if you’d gone on any dates recently, if there were any cute guys in your college classes.

You rolled your eyes, “No, mom, none of them are my type.”

She huffed while handing you a pot of mashed potatoes, “What’s your type then?”

You didn’t want to tell her that your type was older men. Really old, in their fifties. Your type was Joel, but you couldn’t tell her that. Instead, you described what you thought Joel might’ve looked like when he was younger. “Brown hair, beards maybe,” you said, and turned on your heel before walking into the dining room and setting the pot on the table.

You glanced over the place settings. Your mom had already put down everyone’s drinks. Yours and Sarah’s - a glass of water each. She says water helps with clear skin. Her own - a white Russian cocktail. And your dad and Joel’s, side by side - two beers, dripping with condensation. You paced around the table, formulating a plan.

As your mom’s voice drew nearer down the hallway, you quickly switched Joel’s beer for Sarah’s water, sitting him next to you.

When he came into the dining room with your father, you noticed that Joel was looking at you with dark, sultry eyes. He gave you a tight lipped smile as he sat down in his chair, then turned to your mother, “Looks great.” You felt his knee knock into yours under the table, but he didn’t move away. Heat pooled in your stomach. Your chest tightened, threatening to burst from the confines of your tight t-shirt.

The same t-shirt you’re wearing right now - sat at the end of your bed. Remembering the way his denim jeans felt on your bare leg. You lie back on your sheets and stare at the ceiling, thinking of his swollen muscles under his flannel shirt. The tuft of chest hair sprouting from over the collar. The veins in his hands as he passed you the salt.

You were holding a pair of jeans in your hands, about to slide them over your legs when you looked down to see a wet spot in your panties, and now you can’t ignore the throbbing in your core at the thought of seeing him again.

You carefully trace your fingers over your panties, grazing the wet spot, feeling your cheeks burning from the awareness that it’s your dad’s best friend making you wet.

You lift the skirt of your barleycorn sundress and open your legs, knees wide on your springy mattress. You hope that it doesn’t make a sound as you push the fabric aside, dragging your fingers over your most sensitive spot.”Joel,” you whimper when your fingertip brushes your wet opening, but you’re startled when you hear the doorbell ringing.

You pull your hand out quickly and your eyes flare open, chest heaving. You sit up, throw your legs over the side and slip on your jeans, button them up and turn to look at yourself in the mirror before heading downstairs, feeling the low throb deep inside of you as you carefully walk out into the hallway and hear your father greeting Joel as he comes in the door.

“Howdy,” he says when he spots you descending the staircase.

You hold tight onto the handrail, afraid you might topple over from the sight of him and the fluttering between your legs. “Hi.”

Joel’s eyes travel from your face down your body, ending up on your legs. You suddenly feel self-conscious, but all the same, secretly thrilled that he’s staring at you in this way. You stare back, eyeing him up and down from his scruffy beard to his dusty lace-up boots. Your eyes meet again as you reach the bottom step.

Joel sniffs once. “The hell are you wearing a dress and jeans for?” he asks.

“It’s called fashion,” you sass, and he grunts in response. “Ready to watch the movie?”

“I’m readier than a fried egg on the San Antonio Boulevard sidewalk, darlin’.” There’s that pet name again. You bite your lip and walk into the living room, trying to regulate your breathing. Your dad is already on the couch, remote control in hand, saying he has rewinded the DVD and that the two of you are being slowpokes.

“The old man’s got jokes,” Joel grumbles, motioning for you to sit down in between him and your dad.

The three of you put your feet up on the coffee table in front of you. You angle your feet towards Joel’s, your pinkie toe nudging against the sole of his boot. He crosses his ankles and settles back into the couch, folding his arms and prodding your side with his elbow.

“It’s a classic,” he mutters, and you giggle.

Your dad’s head whips around to face you from your peripheral like he is watching a tennis match. “What’s so funny?” he bleats.

“Nothing,” you and Joel chime, focusing hard on the screen. You smile smugly at the fact that you have an inside joke with him, something just between the two of you.

You can’t focus on the movie when your dad turns it on, and you suspect that Joel can’t either by the way he shifts around in his seat. “Got ants in your butt, buddy?”, your dad snorts, and Joel waves dismissively while you stifle your laughter.

“Just feel like I’m sinkin’ into the couch here,” Joel says, “‘S too soft.”

Soft, you replay the way he says it, over and over in your mind. You wonder if he’ll think you’re soft if he touches you with his rough hands.

“This movie sucks,” you announce, halfway through. “I can’t believe I had never heard of it. I thought it only came out two years ago?”

Joel snorts. “It came out in 1968 and was directed by Stanley Kubrick, dingus. 2001 is just the title of the film.”

Your face flushes fifty shades of fuchsia. Your dad guffaws on your left side, clapping his hands together like an annoying seal. His laughter is so loud that he almost doesn’t hear his cell phone ringing until you point it out to him.

“Yellow,” he says as he answers, and chuckles at his own joke, then holds up his finger and turns to the side, mumbling something into his phone. “Be there in twenty,” he says, then hangs up, and turns to you and Joel, “Gotta go pick up your mom but I should only be about forty five minutes as long as she doesn’t drag me into a conversation with her girlfriends. Y’all gonna be okay here?”

You both nod and sit still as your dad groans and gets up from the couch, listening as he disappears into the hallway to put on his shoes and jacket, then the door shutting.

You go to grab the remote control to keep playing the movie, and accidentally spill some of the Coke from the can you’re holding. Joel is looking at the screen while you look at the dark stain on the couch cushion, and instead of getting up to get a paper towel to clean it with, you scoot a little closer to Joel.

He clears his throat and puts his hand on the back of the couch, right behind your shoulders, not saying a word. You could cut the tension in the room with a knife and you glance down at his crotch to see the bulge in his jeans, then look up at him.

He looks at you for a second, then furrows his brows, “What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?”

“Thinkin’ about bones.”

“Bones?”

“Specifically the one in your pants, Mr. Miller,” you say and bat your eyelashes, and then, “Just kidding.” You turn your head back to the TV but you can see that he’s still looking at you. “I was actually thinking about the Micropachycephalosaurus.”

“What did you say ‘bout my pants, darlin’? Could swear you said somethin’”

“Nothing, I promise,” you giggle and look away.

Then his hand comes to your thigh, long fingers splayed over your jeans, thumb tracing back and forth, igniting a flame inside of you.

“W-what are you doing, Mr. Miller?”, you ask nervously, feeling the heat pooling in your panties again, and this time, it’s not because of your imagination.

“Lookin’ real pretty tonight,” he says, and his other hand comes to your shoulder. You whimper at his touch. “Can just call me Joel, you know that,” he scolds with a wink.

“Th-thanks, Joel.”

You feel his hand come up under your chin with a featherlight touch, turning your face up to meet his eyes. He brushes his thumb over your cheek and your face feels hot, your heart beating fast.

He looks at you through big brown eyes. You blink softly back, trying to transmit a code to him to clue him in on the ache making your thighs clench. You wonder if he knows Morse.

Joel grips your jaw and leans in, his smoldering eyes flashing between yours and your lips. He purses his own and before you know it, his warm mouth is flush against yours, his tongue pushing inside. He licks along the rim of your teeth and you open your jaw, letting him explore your wet gums.

In an instant, you pull yourself on top of him and remove his flannel, ripping the buttons apart and scattering the cloth to the couch. Joel’s hands curve around your round tits, he rolls your pebbled nipples between his thumbs like fiddling with a console controller. You roll your hips forward with a moan.

He's so hard. You look at him with wide eyes and a pout, “You're so hard.”

“Are you wet f’me, pretty girl?”, he asks. You know it's wrong, your dad could be home any moment, but you frantically nod.

“Good girl,” he says, and traces his fingers along the edge of your jeans, barely making contact with your skin.

He stands from the couch in one fluid motion, and you squeal at the sudden way in which you’re lifted in the safe grasp of his arms. It’s astounding how strong he is. How able he is to sweep you into the air, carry you out of the living room. How his biceps bulge as his boots thud up the stairs one by one.

He reaches the landing and pauses, eyes scanning the four closed doors. He steps forward and kicks open the one closest to your bodies, before realizing it is the bathroom and reversing out again.

“Pardon me,” he mumbles an apology, and you giggle again.

“It’s the one on the right,” you instruct, and he shuffles down the hall carpet before bumping your door open. He pauses for a moment when he enters the room - your childhood bedroom.

“Haven't been in here in years,” he says, and you know he's referring to when he helped your dad take out the old closets and replace them with new ones. You still have the same closets. Maybe he's admiring his work. You look at the posters on the wall and your floral bedspread.

Then he lays you down on the bed and sighs. “These old knees,” he grumbles, “And my fuckin’ back.”

You giggle.

“Mind if I take this off, darlin’?”, he asks, gently tugging at the bottom of your barleycorn sundress. You nod again, feeling your face getting hot and your panties sticking to your pussy.

Your back arches as he slips the thin fabric from your body, your breasts spilling out of their polyester prison. Joel straightens up, admires the view and hums to himself.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” he muses, then bends again to press his body against yours. His fingers tussle with the waist of your jeans, the petite buttons only women's clothing seems to have, and you growl at the effort it takes for him to derobe you.

“I know,” he says, lips close to your ear, “‘S these big ol’ hands. They get in the way of everythin’, baby.”

You whimper pathetically, wanting nothing more than those big hands to get in the way of you. You shove your fists beneath the denim when he finally undoes the zipper, and help him drag them from your legs. As soon as the heavy fabric hits your floor, Joel’s removing his own jeans. Now, only your underwear and his separate you.

There's a wet spot on his boxers already and you whimper when you place your fingertip on it, biting your lip when he growls at the sensation. “M-Mr. Miller,” you whine, “Can I see your cock? It looks really big.”

“‘S real big, sweetie, are you sure you can handle it?”

“Y-yes, Joel, I'm a big girl.”

“‘F you say so,” he grumbles, then takes off his boxers, and you admire the sight of his manhood. You've never seen a big cock like that, a real thick and long one. You don't think it'll fit inside and you gasp, eyes flashing open while you start to creep backwards on the sheets.

“Keep the panties on,” Joel orders, following between your legs. His hairy knees push deep into the plush cushion of your mattress, his fist jerks slowly up and down his dick, which seems to only grow larger the closer he gets.

You nod obediently, biting your bottom lip. Your eyes stick on the dribble of precum he swipes with his thumb. You fall back, head sinking into your pillows, and Joel hovers over you, one hand by your head.

You peel your underwear to the side, now positively soaked. Joel’s hand leaves his member to cup you, feeling your dripping mess. “So wet f’me,” he whispers, and you moan, long and ragged.

Then he touches the tip of his finger to your opening and watches you squirm while he starts to push it in, entering you with one thick finger. You take all of it in stride, and you frown when he retracts it.

“So eager,” he says triumphantly, then adds another, and you feel the coil inside you start to tighten. You can't reach as deep as he does, nobody can except for him. Your dad's best friend, in your childhood bedroom, with his hard cock out. Tears start pricking your eyes as you get closer.

You whine, “I’m gonna come, Mr. Miller.”

He clicks his tongue, “Just Joel,” and then he picks up the pace of his fingers, pushing them inside you until you gush all over your sheets and his hand, feeling the tears sliding down your temples and your fists gripping the sheets tightly. He made you come, it's like a wet dream.

You gasp when you see the mess you made and he chuckles. “Sorry Just Joel - I mean,” you shake your head, clearing the hazy fog of sex your orgasm left behind, “Joel.” Your cheeks heat with embarrassment.

“No need to apologize, sweet girl,” he whispers, pinching your cheek with his soaked fingers. Your own cum stains your skin, somehow cooling against the stifling hot air in your room. The air filled with lust and sex.

He draws his hand back, wraps it back around his cock, rubs your gleaming slick up and down his thickness. He groans as you coat him, head tilting back to the ceiling. For a second, you wonder if he will actually fuck you, or if he’s just here to jerk off using your cum, kneeling over you.

Your query is answered when he returns his gaze to yours and leans over you again, running the tip between your folds. Your body jolts at the contact, overstimulated and spent already. But Joel doesn’t care. The man gives no fucks.

“Fuckin’ tight,” he groans as he makes space for himself inside you, pushing the head in and impaling you on his fat girth. You feel so full.

He bottoms out and moans. You watch a drop of sweat gliding from his hairline and down his temple, then crane your neck up to kiss it. His tip kisses your cervix on every thrust and you grip his broad shoulders, hanging onto him while he pounds you.

“Good girl, takin’ this big fat cock,” he praises, panting into the crook of your neck.

“Oh, fuck,” you feel the band inside of you tightening, about to snap, but then he pulls out of you and wraps his fingers around his cock again, stroking himself and snarling when he tells you to turn around.

You’re spent, limbs wrung out like a rag, but you force yourself up while you look at his cock dumbly, seeing his precum dripping out and onto your sheets. Suddenly, you hear him, “What’re you waitin’ for, sweetheart?”, and you immediately turn around and onto your hands and knees, seeing a photo of your parents on your window sill.

You screw your eyes shut so you don’t think about them, and try to focus on Joel penetrating you from behind in one motion, going full hog, filling you to the brim with cock. “F-feels so good, Joel,” you squirm and moan while he slips his large hands onto your hips, fingers splaying out over the curve of your asscheeks, pulling you back so he can fill you relentlessly.

His skin slaps against yours, the air in the room quickly filling with nothing but the sounds of his moans and yours, his wet and yours, his body and yours. Your eyes squeeze tight until you see stars, raining down over the darkness behind your eyelids. Your whole bed shakes vigorously with the rate Joel pounds into you, mattress knocking against your nightstand and sending the objects on it tumbling to the floor.

Joel notices as one in particular - your Satisfyer Pro 2 Gen 2 Air Pulse Stimulator, which you find good but really intense with its sucking power - rolls across the wooden floor. His grip tightens on your hips and he chuckles. “‘S a good girl like you doin’ with a thing like that in her room, huh?”

Your back curls. You moan in response. “Umm,” you mumble nervously, trying to think of a response when you see his lips curve into a smirk, “I- I was trying to come, last night.”

“Oh yeah? Thinkin’ bout what, young lady?”

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment. You were thinking about him. He can tell - he brushes his thumb over your cheek. “Were you thinkin’ about me, darlin’?”, he asks, and you don’t respond. You look at him with wide eyes. “‘S alright, I’ve been thinkin’ about this tight little pussy, blowin’ my load in the shower. I ain’t ashamed to admit it, you’re a real pretty girl.”

Your pussy gets wetter when you think about him touching himself and you wonder how it looks. Your dad would kill him if he knew, and you’re surprised Joel would tell you something like that, but it makes you so wet.

The image in your mind forces you to arch your back, your body curving before Joel into the mattress. He grunts each time his hips come into contact with the plushy meat of your ass, telling you good girl and squeezing you just right as his cock hits you so deep you feel him in your chest.

“I’m - gonna - cum - again,” you pant, words muffled by the floral pattern your lips are smushed into. “Joel - I’m -”

“I hear ya, baby,” he says, hips snapping. His voice is rough, hoarse. He sounds like he needs some NyQuil. You make a mental note to offer him a refreshing glass once you’re done. “Cum for me, go on. Know you need it.”

Your walls close around him as you do as he says, tightening around the intrusion in your pussy.

His cock begins to twitch deep inside you and he shoves you by the ass off of him. You tumble to the bed and roll over just in time to be drowned by his cum, thick white ropes spraying all over your tummy and tits. You worry with the ferocity of his release that it might reach the photo of your parents, but you’re too caught up in the pleasure of the moment, your own spend spilling out of your tight little hole.

“Fuck yeah,” he groans, “Take that cum.” Then, all of a sudden, his face drops and he freezes in place. He looks at you, covered in his semen, then runs his hand over his face and tucks himself back in his pants. He looks stressed as it dawns on him that he just came all over his best friend’s daughter.

“Joel,” you say carefully.

“Yes, darlin’”. He winces when the word leaves his mouth.

“W-what if my dad finds out?”

He runs his hand over his beard. “I don’t know,” he says, “I gotta go.”

“But w-wait, Joel!”

He’s already shuffling out of your room, hopping as he tugs his jeans back over his hips. “M’sorry, baby, I have to-”

“Wait!” you yelp, tearing your underwear from your body. You almost trip over the fabric as you hop down from your bed. “Take these!”

You throw the panties across your room and Joel catches them against his chest, scrunching them into a ball. You sit back on your heels, totally naked in front of him, smirking at the thought of him crossing paths with your dad in the hallway and knowing the secret he holds in his jeans pocket. Knowing that he just fucked his best friend’s daughter, in her childhood bedroom.

His cheeks heat with shock. Your panties are dripping wet. He nods and tucks them into his back pocket and adjusts the crotch of his pants over his still hard cock.

Suddenly, you hear the front door opening.

Your parents are home.

You gasp and fumble with your jeans, trying to put them on with shaky hands while you hear Joel step onto the first floor, just leaving the staircase as the door shuts behind your parents as they come in.

“Hey, buddy,” your dad calls, and you hover at the top of the stairs. “What- whatcha doin’ with your shirt off?”

Joel stammers, scratching the back of his neck. Your mom stares at him, eyes raking up and down his hairy torso. You feel a hot pang of jealousy at her wandering eyes on the man you just fucked.

“She, uh,” he motions up to you, now stepping slowly down the stairs, “She spilled her drink down my shirt.” He reaches for the crumpled flannel, whipping it in his hands and throwing it over his shoulders.

Your mom tsks. “So clumsy,” she says, shaking her head. “Did you get it cleaned alright?”

Joel nods, jumping a little when you arrive at the bottom of the stairs by his side. He’s still buttoning the shirt. “Yeah, all cleaned up. Thank you, ma’am.”

You feel a surge of excitement shoot through your veins, feeling your wet leaking out onto your jeans and knowing what lives in Joel’s pocket. You sway back and forth, hands clasped behind your back, smiling innocently.

“Sweetie,” your mom calls over, “Why don’t you go walk Joel to his truck?”

“Y-yes, mom,” you stutter, and motion for Joel to walk ahead of you.

“Have a good night,” he says and pats your dad on the back on his way out.

You watch every one of his heavy footsteps down the hall and out of the house, slipping on your Crocs before you follow him out, closing the door behind you.

The two of you linger outside of his truck for a moment. He looks over your shoulder, squinting in the Texas sun as he looks towards the house. You look at the gray in his beard, the curve of his nose and his salt and pepper hair.

Part of you hopes he’ll ask to see you again, but he’s your dad’s best friend, it could never work. He kicks a small rock with the toe of his boot, arms folded. He leans against the truck and looks up at the sky.

Your stomach flutters at the sight of him and the feeling of his sticky cum on your stomach, gradually absorbing into your skin.

“Guess I’ll see you ‘round,” he says and straightens up. He purses his lips while he looks away, then at you.

You giggle and tuck your hair behind your ear, “Um, yeah.”

“Then I’ll teach you a lesson ‘bout not payin’ attention while watchin’ a movie,” he says, and his voice is sultry and raspy. His fingers are around your chin, tilting your face up to him. “You’ve been a bad girl, lettin’ your dad’s buddy fuck you like a little slut.”

Your lips smush between his finger and thumb. “Yesh, Mr. Miller,” you push between your teeth.

“The hell’d I tell you? It’s Joel.”

You nod fervently. “Yesh, Jool.”

He releases you and opens the truck door, eyeing you constantly as he gets in.

You pick at your nails nervously as you watch him start the truck, and then drive away.

You lean against your parents’ Honda Civic and look up at the sky, closing your eyes and sighing. Your teeth come to bite your lower lip into your mouth, tasting him on your tongue. Your dad’s best friend.

He promised he would teach you a lesson. You wonder what the lesson is.

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel

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mod-kyoko · 9 months

Note

Hello! Hope you’re having a good day/night. Could I please request Nagito x gn reader that was helping take care of him during the whole despair disease outbreak, and whenever Nagito said ‘I hate you’ the reader would just respond with something along the lines of “Love you too, Komaeda.” Could be headcanons, oneshot, or whatever. Whichever you’d prefer.

Sorry if this sounds weird, I don’t usually make requests lol. Thanks in advance!!

taking care of despair diseased nagito

type: in killing game, hc format, established relationship

a/n: anon it's so crazy i was literally just playing chapter 3 of dra2 and was at the part when they get the disease

♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧

you noticed right away that something was wrong with nagito

every word that came out of his mouth was a lie

it was almost like he couldn't speak the truth at all

when hajime felt his forehead and noticed that nagito was burning up, you knew that was the reason behind his behavior

monokuma popped up soon after, confirming that nagito was indeed afflicted by the lying disease

still, you didn't understand why some disease would cause nagito to say things like nothing is real, everyone is fake, and everyone is out to get him

but it was impossible to reason with him, especially because not long after he passed out, crumpling to the floor

you lunged forward, grabbing onto him to soften his fall, and pulled him onto your lap

"mikan! we need to get him to the hospital!" you yelled, while everyone else stood by in shock

the nurse helped you carry nagito all the way to the hospital on the third island, where you laid him in a bed

"u- um, we need to get him out of his clothes and into a gown," mikan said

"i got it, go help ibuki and akane," you replied, so she left it to you

nagito regained consciousness while you were slipping his shirt over his head

"ah! what are you doing to me? ah, are you planning to abduct me and take me to your home planet?"

you would have laughed at the silliness of the question if he wasn't in such dire condition. instead, you replied patiently

"i'm not an alien, nagito" you reached for his pants to slide them down his legs, but he swats your hand away

"i don't... want..." he was struggling to finish his sentence without panting from the fever

"i know, i'm sorry. but i need to get you into a gown. would you rather have mikan do it?"

"yes, i would much prefer mikan do it," he rambled, staring at the wall

your heart fluttered a little bit, knowing he meant the opposite of what he said. but this wasn't the time to be flustered

after wrestling with your boyfriend a little bit, you finally got his pants off, and draped the gown around his shoulders

once you tied it, you let him lay back down on the bed, and he closed his eyes

at this point there wasn't anything else you can do, with no medic knowledge, so you decided to just comfort him through it

you reached out to pat his head, smoothing down his hair

he reacted weakly, shaking his head as if to shoo away your hand

"get your filthy hand off me," he snarled

by now you were starting to translate his words in your head

"go away (please stay)"

"stop touching me (don't stop)"

with one hand running through his hair, your other laced your fingers in his, watching as he shifted between a state of being awake and being unconscious

"i... hate you" he spat, beads of sweat collecting at his temple

"i love you too, nagito" you smiled, gently squeezing his hand

"i seriously... hate you... go away."

"i'm here, you're okay. i won't leave you."

"i don't want you here! go away!"

his eyes were watering, and you didn't know if he was crying because he was in pain or angry, so you reached out and wiped the tears away

"i want to be here, i won't leave you, i promise."

you could have sworn you felt him squeeze your hand back once before he slipped back into sleep

♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧

#mod kyoko #danganronpa #danganronpa headcanons #danganronpa imagines #danganronpa x reader #goodbye despair #nagito komaeda #nagito x reader

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konigsblog · 1 year

Text

calling tf141 + könig "babygirl" and slapping/grabbing their ass(their reactions)

masterlist

warnings: brief mention of smut; spanking with a belt, spanking,

also LMAOO the gif, i had to use it it's fits so well with this, if you have any submissions please send them in! :)

simon ghost riley

you saw it. he was inthe kitchen, wearing the tightest looking trousers you'd seen him in ever. as he bent over you reached out and slapped his ass, hard.

he froze immediately. slowly, his head turned towards yours. the look in his eyes revealed anger, "love, what was that?" he questioned, you'd be lying if you said that you weren't slightly intimidated.

"your ass looked good... what can i say?" you smirked, throwing in a playful wink before running off, just as you took off he dropped whatever he was doing and chased after you.

as you landed on your shared bed, he straddled your thighs, "seriously? slapping my ass?" the look in his eyes revealed lust, as he flipped you onto your stomach before bending you over his knee.

it's safe to say that the bruises on your ass tought you a lesson.

captain john price

you could hear him typing away on his keyboard and scratching his pen on paper, he insisted that he had a lot of emails and phone calls to be made, and that he would come out later.

little did he know that you took this time to plan, you planned your own mission. the same way he would. you would go up there and speak to him, distract him by asking; "what do you want for dinner?" or "are you thirsty, im going to go downstairs for a drink?" and whilst he was distracted you'd drop his pen onto the floor, far enough away were he'd have to get up and bend over to get it, and then you'd pounce, grab his ass. the same way he did to you last n-

you made it clear that you were coming by knocking on his door, "come in!" he announced out to you. "hey baby, i was wondering what you wanted for dinner? i can't make up my mind." a smirk grew on your face, he wasn't facing you yet though. he turned, "why don't we order a takeaway? chinese sound good?" you came closer to his desk, pretending to wipe something off his face while your other hand was throwing his pencil off the desk. "sounds good!"

it had worked, so far. you hid behind the door frame, watching as he looked for his pencil before noticing it on the floor next to his bookshelf.

just as he bent over, you grabbed his ass. something came into your mind halfway through and you decided to fake-thrust into him.

his eyes shot towards your laughing face. "the fuck was that, love?" his deep voice could send shivers down your spine but you were too busy laughing your ass off.

before you knew it he bent you over and playfully dry humped you. "hey!" you laughed out. fair play.

john soap mactavish

he was working out in your small home gym, it wasn't anything big or luxury just a spare room you both didn't know what to do with.

his muslces tensed as he lifted weights, sweat visible dripping from his forehead. you saw a trend on tiktok about slapping your partners ass and recording their reaction. you took his phone, preparing to send it to his friends for the laugh of it.

as he placed down his weights he stayed there bent over, trying to get some composure before he moved onto his next set. you quickly but quietly sped over, slapping a handful of his juicy ass. he squeaked in fear as you doubled over in laughter. running out of his room so you could send it.

he chased after you, yet not quick enough before you sent it. realizing what you did he ran over, trying to get his phone of you but you squirmed out his arms. regardless, it was too late. they all saw it and he got laughed at because of his girlishly squeal.

kyle gaz garrick

you knew he would be home late today, he was going out with his friends to drink a bit before heading back.

however little did he know what was coming for him. you heard the doors open, a sigh from kyle that sounded relieved to be back with you in your shared house.

as your were lying down you pretend to be asleep, you kept one eye open on the lookout for kyle, as then you saw him. he was humming a song, just as he looked at you, you quickly shut your eyes. he played with your hair before making his way over to your dresser, bending down to get some pajamas.

he removed his shirt leaving him shirtless. quietly you got up, his humming blocked out all noise coming from you. as he stood back up he felt a hand slap his clothed ass, he let out a high-pitched squeak and scream as he jamp backwards nearly falling on you.

"[name] what the hell?! oh my god!!" you hunched over in laughter not able to contain whatever noises came out of you. he flipped you over his shoulders throwing you onto the bed, "let's see how funny it is now, hm?" as he discarded his belt, making a loud snapping noise with it.

you still couldn't contain whatever noises came out of you, but this time they were lustful.

könig

könig was sat on the couch, watching some romcom that wss on tv, he seemed to get bored rather quickly. you knew this because you had been watching him for 15 minutes. that would sound creepy to someone who didn't know your was cheeky plan.

he rose to his feet, stretching his back. he had knocked the remote on the floor and kicked it away accidentally when he stood up. he muttered some german curse words.

you sprinted over, but because of his fast reflexes he jumped around, grabbing and pinning you to the couch. "maus, what are you running for? i didn't know it was you." he laughed, you sighed in defeat, huffing and trying to get yourself free from his embrace.

"ugh, i was gonna do this tiktok trend, noo!" you groaned out, seemingly frustrated. he always had quick reflexes from his training in the military. "yeah? what trend?" he smirked at you, laughing at your noticeably annoyed face. "basically you slap your partnes ass..." his eyes widened and you smirked, "really now?" he flipped you onto you stomach holding your hips up and pining your hands above your head. "let's see how funny this is." as he removed his belt and pulled down your pajama shorts.

it hurt to sit down for the next few days, not only from his belt.

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all444miles · 9 months

Note

can you please do 42!miles with a baddie like a Megan type vibe? SHE HAS A PINK JEEP

💗💗💗💗

— SHE A BADDIE

— pairing: e42!miles x fem!black!reader — genre: fluff — summary: what its like for 42 miles to date a reader with a "baddie like megan" vibe. — a/n : i felt like i was a lil lazy writing this, sorry ! can yall tell i got excited abt the jeep n the attitude part.. its litch what kept me writing this whole thing 😭 also, a car creeper is those lil things u slide under to fix the underside of ur car — a/n 2: changed the way i start writin a jus a lil, petition for head over heels 42 miles supremacy !! + this was so fun.. like i was writing this n i was like "lemme be this when i grow up" LMAOOO so ty for the request anonnn, mwah and enjoy !!

MILES FALLS IN LOVE with you every second. like, honestly, just do anything, he's wrapped around your finger.

maybe he'll try and hide it, but you make him fold 24/7. you dont even have to do nothing.

it's just something about your energy, the way you dont give a damn about nothing, he just loves it. y'all are like beast boy and raven.

"mama, you killin' me right now." "hm? did i do somethin'?" "i love you so, so much. i swear, you make me weak." "aww, hun, I love you more." "yeah, keep dreamin'. now, lemme love on you."

hype man, hype man, HYPE MANN

when I say if you want to do anything he's here for it, he's here for it.

you wanna get your hair done? he's at your service.

you wanna go to the mall? he's already throwing you the keys to your jeep.

you wanna get your nails done? show him your options (he always likes the french tips, esp this.)

"Y'know Miles, i think this set ain't looking too good no more.." "You wanna get new nails?" "Mhm, wanna help me pick?" "'Course I do, let's see em."

does not care what you wear, he's always gonna say you look gorgeous. plus, he can fight. but, he's always got his hands on your waist. always.

you're your own girl, he knows that. he spoils you, yes, but he'll always let you do your own thing.

he can't explain it, but when you refer to him as "my man", or your anything, really, it does something to his heart.

yk when latto goes "ty to my man"? yeah, that's you.

"My nails? Yeah, my man helped me pick 'em."

you have attitude. Miles doesn't mind, he's a "yes ma'am" kind of guy, but if it's to him, hes gonna shut you down.

a lot of the times, you won't care, and it won't end in an argument, becuase he's still shutting you down regardless.

"Miles, you lost your shit or sum." "Amor, drop that tone f'me, aight?"

you are a party animal, and Miles? He'll just be in the back, watching you do your thing with your friends. If you ask him to dance with you though, he will for sure.

Will he throw money on you? Yes, yes he will. (Not sexual btw !)

Your jeep. He has his own car, but he honestly loves yours the best.

He helped you decorate it, all pretty and pink

He will happily get in your jeep while you blast Megan or Rihanna because c'mon now, who wouldnt?

I'm insistent he's good with mechanics, so he'll tune your car whenever you need him to, bryson tiller or tory lanez playing while he does so. (i'm losing my shit rn.)

"Cariño, ¿puedes pasarme esa llave inglesa? It's to ya left." (Baby, can you pass me that wrench?)

he'd say, sliding out from the car creeper under the hood of your pink jeep, sliding back in after you passed him the tool.

and after about 15 minutes, he'd come back out, putting a dirty cloth over his shoulder, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

its a sight to see: white tank top, slightly stained with grime from fixing your car; his favorite gold chain glistened in the sun, adorned with beaded glints of sweat from his neck.

"Aight, i think she's good, you can start her up if you wanna." "Yay! thank you for fixing my car, baby, I love youu."

you'd squeal, wrapping your arms around his neck to plant a kiss on his cheek, your pink tinted lip gloss staining his face.

"Ain't no problem princesa, I love you too."

likes, reblogs, comments and asks are always appreciated !

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zoluowo · 6 months

Text

Striker × Assassin Reader Headcanons

What to expect: fluff, cursing, harm, injuries, violent themes, enemies to lovers and aggression

1. You and Striker were unknowingly after the same bounty. Right when you both were going in for the kill, you rammed into each other; both of your assassination plans screwed up.

Striker immediately had a distaste for you because you messed up his job and of course you felt the same way with him because he messed up YOUR job.

After a truckload of bickering, you two went your separate ways:

Striker stumbled to the ground with a THUD, as you did. Almost immediately, he reached for his musket as you reached for your dagger -- then within seconds, you had your weaponry aimed at his jugular while his was pressed into your temple. without lowering your weapons you both glance to the side to see that you're bounty was scrambling away in fear.

Striker looked at you as if you were nothing more than a piece of scrap to be tossed away. "Are you kidding me? You ain't got no business being here, shit bag! This is MY bounty to claim!"

You snarled back at him, pressing your dagger further into his flesh. He immediately forced the musket further against you. "You reek of an overbearing simpleton! Let the fuckin professional handle this." You fired back.

2. In about two weeks you attempt to go after that same bounty without any worries of bumping into striker again. As fate would have it, you both ran into each other AGAIN. Of course, your interaction didn't go well but a different outcome occurred this time; you and striker both managed to take down the bounty in unison without any verbal indication ( it was sort of like an instinct for you both to work together )

Being impressed with your skills, Striker had a much more respectable demeanor with you:

"holy shit--" Striker grimaced, a slight hiss to his tone. "You--" his gaze flickered from the fallen body to you, it's almost as if he was failing to comprehend what had just happened. "You-- we...we did that?!"

You eyed Striker from hat to boots and looked as if you were judging him, he curled his lip back at you to reveal his sharp pointed teeth. "Yeah. We did." You pstated blankly.

Striker took a moment or two to compose himself before removing his hat to wipe the sweat from his forehead. "Huh. Not bad for damsel." He chuckled, his tone now exceptionally soft.

You staggered and turned to face him with all of your fury, though your gaze immediately softened after seeing a gleam of respect within his hues. "R-Really?" You internally curse yourself for stammering.

Striker skillfully tossed his hat upon his head. He then placed his hands upon his hips and arched a brow, an eat shitting grin was clearly plastered upon his face. ”you heard me." His grin immediately vanished. "Don't think too much of it though. You strike me as the type who's cocky when they fuckin shouldn't be." The cowboy zipped past you, a rattle could be heard as he flicked his tail. "You could learn a thing or two from me."

You watched him hop onto his horse and crossed your arms, unsure if you should be offended or relieved that he wasn't looking to bite your head off like the first time you met. "Alright, old man. You seem pretty cocky yourself. Don't be a fuckin hypocrite."

You could've sworn you saw a light smile from Striker.

"yeah yeah, whatever, damsel."

"I'm no damsel."

Striker hesitated. "Yeah- you're not just that." He gestured to the body that laid limp before you two. "The bounty's yours."

Before you could so much as blink, Striker's horse galloped away, leaving you alone with yourself and your thoughts. Plus the dead bounty.

3. You just couldn't settle with this - you had all this money and yet you weren't satisfied. Much to your surprise, you got off your ass and searched for Striker throughout the ring of wrath.

You found his hideout thanks to some singing fools and you searched for him. Unaware that it was you at first, Striker fired his musket - the bullet grazed the side of your cheek and you stumbled back, instinctively tossing your dagger out to catch his clothing and bound him against a large boulder. He was, of course, stunned once again by your remarkable skill and then pulled the dagger from him and demanded to know what you were doing there.

You explained that you couldn't have the money all to yourself, so you tossed half of the portion to him and he was touched to say the least.

3. Your relationship kind of expands from here. You technically start working together, but avoid saying that you two are a team to soothe both of your egos I guess. Despite "working together" you two do go off on lone missions.

( ep 6 s2 ) after Striker lost to blitzo and fizz, he stumbled back into his hideout, wounded from burns he had received. You reluctantly tended to his wounds and tried to get him to talk about what happened but he refused. After you were done helping him out, he walked off and grumbled a snarky "thanks"

4. You two often train together. Whenever one of you has the upper hand you deliver a snarky remark and gloat.

5. You eventually loosen up around striker and occasionally tease him. He mostly has aggressive responses but he's secretly amused by your banter.

6. It takes a long while for Striker to loosen up to you. When he does, he likes to ramble to you about his victories and how awesome he is. He also allows you to feed his horse

7. Striker decided to give you horse riding lessons. You both were on the horse and he was sitting behind you, instructing you on what to do. He immediately regretted ever teaching you because you ended up having a field day with galloping all over wrath.

8. You noticed that it's a bit of a routine for Striker to avoid you at all costs whenever he comes back with injuries from a mission of his.

One day, you decided you had enough of his avoidance when he came back with incredibly severe injuries. It took a lot of convincing, but you managed to tend to his wounds. He was complaining and talking down on you the whole time. But you decided to shut him up by saying "next time. Ask for fucking help." - your stern tone made him stagger and vulnerably utter "yes ma'am/sir"

9. You two pretty much go on with your lives being fully aware that you love eachother but never fully admitting it aloud.

10. There are rare occasions where Striker just approaches you from behind and gives you a back hug. ( he usually does it when he's very sleepy )

11. Whenever you do an excelling job during a mission -- afterwards striker places his hat on your head and jokingly justifies your skills with "PFFT that was just pure shitting luck."

That's pretty much all I got! Hope you enjoyed this first ever post of mineee

#helluva boss #helluva boss striker #striker x reader #helluva boss fanfiction #helluva boss striker x reader #helluva boss x reader #beginner artist

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stylesloveclub · 2 years

Text

Pleasing

In which y/n is a broke waitress, and Harry thinks she’s cuter than a puppy. (part 1)

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Y/n didn’t really want to be a waitress.

She doesn’t suppose anyone does, really. It certainly wasn’t the most flattering title― having to wait on other people, or deal with the nasty attitudes of the entitled celebrities and CEO’s that chose to eat at Pleasing― the high class restaurant that she worked at. But, it was what she had to do. College wasn’t cheap, and y/n needed some form of income to help pay her way through.

She’d worked a lot of jobs to support herself before she ended up at Pleasing― she’d been a barista at the campus coffee shop, a receptionist at the bookstore, and had even tried becoming a tour guide for the little high schoolers that came for campus tours! But... the managers on campus expected far too much from their full-time student employees. Y/n swears they purposefully gave her the shifts that ended 10 minutes before her classes started so that she’d have to run all the way from one end of campus to the other. And, they didn’t even pay well! With the amount she was paying for tuition, she expected that her school would’ve at least been able to pay their employees more than just minimum wage!

That’s why, after quitting her last attempt at a campus job, y/n decided to go job hunting in the nice part of town. Sure, it was a bit far from the one bedroom college apartment she lived in… but in her opinion, the 30 minute walk was entirely worth it.

The buildings downtown were a completely different world from the university buildings she had initially limited herself to. All the venues were high class, with chandeliers and marble floors and air conditioning. 20 floor tall corporate buildings painted the sky, bustling with men wearing $50,000 watches and women in pantsuits that probably cost more than y/n’s entire wardrobe. Across the street from those skyscrapers were shopping centers with department stores that had that same high-class, expensive look to them. They were the kind of designer stores that served their shoppers champagne while they looked at luxury bags and expensive shoes― the kind of stores that laughed at y/n when she stumbled in with her tote bag and tattered shoes, asking for job openings.

She knew that she wasn’t the type of person who belonged in that area. She was a broke college student― the most expensive thing she had in her closet was a pair of boots that she’d splurged on after she soaked her only pair of sneakers while walking to class in the rain. But her brokenness was the precise reason that she needed a job in the part of the city where it was a social norm to tip more than 20%.

She considers herself superbly lucky that she’d mustered up the courage to go into Pleasing after an entire day of being laughed out of stores due to her “lack of elegance and sophistication” or whatever the fuck they managed to criticize her for. Somehow, she’d stumbled into the restaurant on the very same night that one of the other waitresses had been fired! (If she thinks hard enough, she vaguely remembers a girl wearing an apron running out of the restaurant crying, but she hadn’t paid any mind to it at the time as she was too distracted by the glittering chandelier that hung from the sitting room ceiling.)

Pleasing’s staff manager (an older, balding man named Alfredo, who had a mustache that twisted up at the ends and carried a handkerchief to wipe the sweat off of his forehead every five minutes), had been so frantic at the fact that they were yet another waitress short, that y/n had nearly been hired on the spot. She only received a brief interview that consisted of a few questions about her past experience in the service industry and a quick briefing on the importance of maintaining a high class appearance and treating their customers with the utmost respect. Y/n blindly agreed to all of this, and even hummed her agreement a few times just to butter Alfredo up, figuring that it wouldn’t be too hard to maintain a classy facade while dealing with these high-class customers. If it paid the bills, then she could pretend to be anything.

Her job offer was a quick, “You’re cute enough. Be here tomorrow at 6, your uniform will be provided― hair must be up, shoes must be black, and smile must always be on!” …and that was how she started.

She had somewhat of an idea of how expensive a restaurant Pleasing actually was from the general atmosphere of the place― but when she saw the menu… that’s when she truly realized that she was in the world of the upper-class. Each plate was $70, at minimum, and there was always a bottle of $200 wine to accompany the meal. The food was served on the most expensive fine china y/n had ever seen, with the kind of silver cutlery that she thinks you could only find in Buckingham Palace. The patrons had an unspoken dress code, with the men dressed in well pressed suits and button downs, and the ladies in cocktail dresses and sparkling diamonds. There was no sign of children anywhere, and she wondered if that was just because the rich people who ate at Pleasing were too busy making money to make babies… or if it was just a child-free restaurant.

When she showed up for her first day (with her hair twisted into a bun, a pair of black ballet flats that she got in the clearance bins of one of the department stores nearby, and an anxious smile plastered on her face!) Alfredo assigned her to spend the entire shift shadowing one of the other waitresses (Grace) to ensure that she knew exactly what kind of hospitality was expected towards the people they served. As they walked from table to table, she gave y/n the rundown of how Pleasing worked. Apparently, the restaurant was owned by this millionaire chef who rarely ever actually cooked at the restaurant. He had four Michelin stars (y/n doesn’t really know what that means but she guesses it means he’s a good cook) and usually was traveling around the world, cooking for royals and politicians and all sorts of important people.

Occasionally, he would have special nights where he would come back for “In-Chef Nights” as they called it, nights where people were willing to pay nearly a thousand dollars just to have their food cooked by Chef Styles― the world-renowned, multi-millionaire, gourmet chef. Those were the busiest nights of the year at Pleasing, according to Grace, but they only happened maybe once a month. Even on the nights Chef Styles wasn’t there, however, having the Styles name tied to the restaurant was enough for people to want a table at the restaurant to try his famous recipes and quality service.

“He’s kind of a big deal,” Grace had whispered to y/n while grabbing a saffron and lobster Risotto from the counter to take out to a couple seated on the restaurant balcony. “I’ve never met him, but I’ve heard he’s super intimidating. Kinda mean too, he fires people all the time if they aren’t up to his standards.”

From that night when she was hired, all the way into about a month of working at Pleasing, y/n had never had an encounter with Mr. Styles either. She’d been allowed to start waiting on tables by herself starting her second night there, and quickly came to learn that the customers that she served were… not ordinary.

Simply put, the people who ate at Pleasing were all… pompous, rich assholes with no decency or basic manners. They barely acknowledged y/n when she was serving them, gave her nasty side-eyes when she smiled at them, and made her feel downright awful from the way they looked down on her.

There was always some douchebag who would try to sweet talk y/n in exchange for a free cocktail, or a middle-aged woman who would complain about everything and demand that her food be sent back to the kitchen. They’d make up some bullshit about how they had asked for no sesame seeds on their curry, when y/n knew damn well that they hadn’t mentioned anything about any sort of seeds when she had taken their order. Old men would blatantly stare at her chest, while their younger, model dates would make snarky comments about how y/n’s ballet flats were so last season while she walked away from their tables. She didn’t even know that there was a season for shoes, but it still hurt her feelings!

Now normally, y/n was able to put up a strong front and just ignore the rude customers. She’d force a smile and a polite “I’m sorry to hear that miss, let me get you a new plate right away,” and just imagine punching those people in the face to help herself calm down.

But tonight… it all just got to be too much. She’d already had a shitty day at school― she’d slept through her alarm and was late to her morning class, had a physics midterm that she’s pretty sure she failed, and accidentally left her calculus notebook at her apartment, which meant she had to take her calculus notes in her physics notebook instead (and she really hates when her notes get mixed up because she honestly has no idea what's going on in either class anyway so it just becomes extra confusing!!!).

So when one of her customers with graying hair and obvious anger issues threw his drink on y/n and called her an ‘incompetent, stupid girl’ after he decided that his merlot hadn’t been chilled properly… well y/n really couldn’t hold back the tears for much longer.

She managed to politely tell the man that she’d send someone to clean up and help him resolve the issues with his meal, before scurrying to the kitchen to find Grace.

“Oh, what’s wrong sweetheart!” Grace coos as soon as she sees y/n’s tear glazed eyes and stained shirt.

“H-he threw his drink on me,” she blubbers out, her hands rubbing furiously at her eyes as if she could just erase the tears threatening to spill.

Grace gasps, “He didn’t! Oh, I’ll go out there n’give him a piece of my mind right now, bubbles. You need a second to get yourself together?”

Y/n nods, sniffling harshly and letting out a shaky breath.

“M’kay,” Grace pulls her in for a hug, “you go and sit outside for however long y’need, ‘n I’ll cover the rest of your tables until you’re ready, ‘kay? I’ll try n’find you a shirt too sweetie, don’t worry about anything, just go n’get some fresh air.”

Y/n bleats out a small (but gracious) thank you, before running out of the back entrance to the employee parking lot behind the restaurant. She just needs a little bit of time for herself, a second to let all the tears out and to cry her troubles away. A moment to just privately recollect herself so that she could go back to work with a fresh mind.

She’s startled when she finds that the parking lot isn't empty the way she’d expected. Instead, she steps out and sees two guys. One of them she recognizes as Kevin – an assistant chef who works in the kitchen― but the other one is facing away from her, just an intimidating figure in the dark. The mystery man stands a few inches taller than Kevin, dressed in a dark, well-pressed suit that seems as though it’s been tailored to fit him perfectly. The jacket compliments his broad shoulders and lean waist, cutting off right above his hips to show the way his pants hug his thighs. They flare out at the bottom elegantly to reveal a pair of sleek, black boots with a small heel on them.

Y/n is so intrigued by the mystery man, that she doesn’t even realize that she’s walked in on a heated discussion between the two of them. “You could’ve fuckin’ killed a customer!” the man yells at Kevin, “Cos’ your head was up y’fuckin ass! You’re lucky they noticed there were peanuts in the lady’s meal or else we would’ve had to call a fucking ambulance n’ it would’ve been on your ass!”

Y/n thinks they might be talking about the one customer that came in tonight with a severe nut allergy, but she’s not entirely sure.

Kevin holds his poofy little chef hat in his hands as he pipes up, “I was just―”

“You were what? Too busy texting y’pals to pay attention to the notes on the order? There’s a fucking rule against having your phone in the kitchen for a reason you idiot!” The man shakes his head exasperatedly and lets out a disbelieving sigh, “Get out of here, you’re fired. Don’t even think about puttin’ this restaurant on your references because m’not gonna say anything nice.”

As Kevin stomps away angrily, the man turns on his heel and heads back towards the restaurant, finally allowing y/n to see his face. He’s not someone she’s ever seen around the restaurant before, but considering how he just fired someone, she assumes he must be important. Despite the way his green eyes glimmer prettily in the outdoor lighting, the man is terribly intimidating, with furrowed eyebrows and a hard glare. When those hard eyes flicker up to look at y/n, who’s still standing in the doorway, she feels her heart skip a beat.

“What are you doing out here?” the man asks her, a harsh bite to his tone. Y/n flinches, not ready to face yet another dickhead that might make her cry.

“Um,” she sniffles, wiping away her tears and stuttering out in the most put-together voice she can muster, “A-a customer spilled their wine on me so I’m just, um, quickly cleaning up.”

He steps closer to her, now standing directly in front of her and looking down. He’s a head taller than her, his heeled boots giving him an extra inch that just adds to his intimidating demeanor.

He had immediately recognized the waitressing uniform that she was wearing, and had been incredibly irritated at the thought of another one of his employees slacking off on such a busy night. But when he hears her shaky voice and sees her tear-stained cheeks… he lets a little bit of the sternness in his voice fade away, eyes softening just the slightest bit. Not too much (he couldn’t have one of his employees thinking he was a big softie…), but just enough so that he maybe wouldn’t make her feel worse than she already seemed to.

“Come with me,” he orders, brushing past her and trusting that she’d follow behind him. Knowing that this guy must be important, she doesn’t hesitate one bit, her head down as she trails after him like a lost puppy, trying to hide her puffy eyes and sniffly nose from the rest of the staff. He leads her into a room that she’s never been in, some sort of office with plaques hanging on the walls and a big, professional desk covered in paperwork.

He pulls out a chair and gestures towards it. “Sit.”

She plops down obediently, and a soft smirk dimples his cheek.

“Good,” he says. “Now stay.”

She nods.

With that, he steps out of his office and closes the door behind him. He hadn’t expected to be cooking at all tonight, but with the hurt little puppy sitting in his office, he really felt as though he had no choice!

“Evening Mr. Styles,” one of the chefs in the kitchen greets him, “Everything alright?”

“Yes, thank you Teddy,” Harry responds pleasantly, Teddy being one of his first and favorite chefs to come work for him at Pleasing, “Can y’get one of the stove tops ready for me? Need to make something really quickly.”

“Of course, sir,” Teddy wipes his hands dry, “I’m assuming Kevin won’t be coming back?”

Harry shakes his head in confirmation, the furrow in his brow returning at the thought of the ignorant chef. He’d need to have a talk with Alfredo about the recent hires – his business was better than someone as careless as Kevin.

“Y’can take his station then,” Teddy offers. “S’still hot, pots all cleaned too.”

Taking off his suit and rolling up the sleeves of his button down, he decides to make her a little bit of mac n cheese― a classic comfort food, right? Except, because he’s Harry Styles (aka one of the best chefs in the nation), he takes it to the next level. The pasta is fresh and handmade in their kitchen, parmesan grated from a gigantic sphere that was imported from France, with truffle oil and Italian basil to top it all off. He doesn’t even bother trying it; if he made it, then he knows it’s good.

Plating the dish is second nature to him, easily displaying the pasta and putting decorative herbs and dollops of Béchamel sauce around the main meal. With a single fork in hand, he grabs the plate and takes it back to his office.

The waitress jumps up in her seat when Harry pushes the door open, startled by his entrance and generally just intimidated by his sharp jawline and gorgeous face. Her eyes widen at the sight of the food in his hand, glimmering with excitement that she fails to conceal. It’s cute, Harry admits to himself, the way she perks up like an excited little puppy at the sight of a gourmet meal. He puts the plate in front of her and sticks the fork in her hand.

She looks up at him with wide eyes, and doesn’t make a move to start eating until Harry tells her to “try it,” as if she had been waiting for his permission to dig in. “Mm!” her eyes flutter shut as she chews the creamy pasta, “I didn’t even know we had this on the menu, it’s so good!”

It actually wasn’t on the menu, but he wasn’t going to ruin her fun.

“Have you tried some of this? S’so yummy, you have to try some!” she tells him, sticking a forkful out for him to try. He wants to tell her that he already knows it’s good because he made it, but– just to humor her– he wraps his lips around the fork and eats it straight from her hand. He tries not to visibly show how pleased he is with the reaction he gets from her― her mouth falls slightly ajar and her eyes stare at his plump, pink lips as they pull off of the fork.

“Mm,” Harry hums, a slight teasing lilt to his words, “oh yeah, that is really good.” He lets her praise the food a little bit more before casually asking, “I put a little truffle oil on there, could you tell?”

She pauses mid-chew and asks slowly, “Y-you made this?” He nods smugly, a smirk plastered on his face.

She had assumed a chef in the kitchen had just randomly put this together… not for this man to go out in his fancy clothes to make her a plate of the best mac n cheese she’s ever had. “Oh my gosh, I didn’t realize you were one of the chefs here,” she stutters out. “m’kind of new at the restaurant… the pasta was really good, I like the kind of earthy, garlic-y taste, is that the truffle oil― “

She’s cut off by a knock on the door and a concerned looking Grace stumbling in saying, “Y/n, are you in here― oh!” Grace’s eyes widen and her jaw drops a bit before she splutters, “Oh, I’m so sorry for interrupting Mr. Styles.”

“What is it?” he asks, not so nicely.

Grace’s eyes flicker to y/n, “I― um, just brought an extra shirt for y/n, sir. Since her other uniform got ruined.” She places the shirt on the table right next to the door, “I’ll just leave it right here, excuse me sir.”

With a nod, Harry gives Grace permission to leave the room and shut the door behind her, the blonde waitresses scurrying out of the room as quickly as she can. When his head turns back to y/n, her eyes are wide and surprised.

This was Mr. Styles? As in, the world famous, Michelin star chef? As in the owner of this multi-million dollar restaurant? As in her literal boss?

She was just casually sitting here, eating a plate of gourmet mac-n-cheese with a guy who just so happened to be her boss, when she was supposed to be out there working?

Her demeanor immediately changes, and Harry can see that y/n is finally connecting all the dots in her head. That smug smirk of his spreads on his lips once more, an amused dimple in his cheek as he props his chin in his hand and watches the way y/n puts the fork down and sits up straighter.

“Um― thank you for the meal Mr. Styles,” she stammers, slowly rising from her seat, “I suppose I should get back to work now…”

“Nonsense,” he says. She sits back down immediately. “You’ll stay here and finish your food. Someone else will cover your tables for you.”

“Yes sir,” she squeaks politely. Harry’s beyond amused by how she suddenly turned into this polite little girl as soon as she realized who he was, and thinks he could get used to the words sir and Mr. Styles falling from her heart shaped lips.

He asks her a bunch of questions while she’s eating, and y/n briefly worries if that’s his way of trying to decide if he should fire her or not. She’s really trying to be on her best behavior, using her most polite voice and etiquette when talking to him ― but things are kind of slipping because Harry’s eyes are flickering all over her face and he’s so put together and intimidating and hot and it’s making her nervous!!! She’s stumbling over her words and forgetting the answers to simple questions because she’s so distracted by his sharp jawline, and honestly… Harry loves it. He loves how shy and polite she is, and loves seeing the way he can get her all flustered. That’s honestly the only reason he keeps interrogating her ― just to hear her cute little yes sir and no sir and to see how she nervously bites her lips between each question.

When she’s finished with her food and the redness of her eyes has died down, Harry cleans up her plate for her and throws her the shirt that Grace had brought. “Take the rest of the night off,” he says, opening his office door to step out and give her a bit of privacy so she can change. “Next time I won’t be so easy on you, okay?”

She stands up, alert and still buzzing with nerves and peeps out a final “Yes sir!” before Harry closes the door, shaking his head with a small chuckle.

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Grace really wasn’t kidding when she warned y/n about how busy Pleasing could get when Chef Styles was cooking.

From the moment she arrived to the moment the very last table finished dining, y/n was on her feet. She’d barely managed to put her stuff down in the staff room before Alfredo was pushing her out into the dining hall, muttering something about “Chef Styles” and “is going to kill me.” They had back to back reservations, a waitlist with nearly a three hour delay, and a bustling kitchen packed with chefs. The waiters were buzzing between tables like little bees, constantly checking on customers and rushing to the back counter to pick up meals and deliver them to tables. Laughter and conversation rang throughout the entire restaurant, echoing on the high ceilings and glass chandeliers, chaotically harmonizing with the sizzling of vegetables and clatter of pots that came from the kitchen.

Mr. Styles worked gracefully despite all the chaos ensuing around him. He always made sure that everyone knew what they were supposed to be doing before any customers arrived to ensure that there would be no screw ups or accidents, and nobody dared stray away from the job Chef Styles assigned them. Dressed in his white chef’s suit with the sleeves pushed up his forearms, he prepped each meal in the blink of an eye and moved on to the next dish immediately – quick, efficient, and absolutely delicious.

By the end of the night, his feet are pounding from standing up for seven hours straight and his fingers (which are normally quite nimble and flexible) feel stiff and just about ready to fall off. He supervises the staff as they close the restaurant for the night, helping them do the dishes and wrap cutlery in preparation for opening tomorrow, and waits in his office until he’s the last one in the restaurant. Sometime between the time the last customer left and the time that he’s about to leave the restaurant it starts to rain outside. So, before shutting off the lights, he grabs an umbrella, and finally leaves his office at about 2:30 in the morning.

The sound of his boots clicking against the polished tile floor is all that can be heard as he walks through the foyer, his head down as he types out a message on his phone – that is, until he hears a tiny, kitten-like sneeze.

He stops in his tracks, looking up, and stares hard into the darkness. He takes a few, cautious steps closer towards the door, until he can make out a faint silhouette. It’s y/n – bundled up in a cute little hoodie with what he presumes is her university’s logo embroidered on the front, and her bag clutched tightly to her chest.

“Y/n,” he calls out. “What are you still doing here?”

She jumps at the sound of his voice, her shoulders tense as she timidly walks out of the corner she’d seemingly been hiding in. “Oh, I’m just waiting for the rain to lighten up a little bit before I walk home, Mr. Styles. Promise I’ll leave soon!”

His eyes nearly pop out of his head – walk home? At this time of night? He strides over to where she’s standing, “Have y’not got a car? Or a metro pass, at least?”

“No, no car…” she explains with a small frown on her face, “N’the metro near my school doesn’t come up towards downtown. S’too fancy around here for a sketchy little metro.”

He looks down at the way she’s hugging herself tightly, her hands tucked into the sleeves of her sweatshirt in an effort to keep warm. She’ll freeze to death if she tries to walk home, he thinks to himself. Even wrapped in his expensive Burberry coat, the thought of walking in that rainy weather sends a chill down his spine.

He sighs. “Come on,” he says, “M’not letting you walk home in the rain.”

He opens the restaurant doors and sticks his umbrella out first, opening it and stepping under seamlessly so that not even a drop of rain stains his suit. She blinks at him dumbfounded. Still holding the door, he gestures for y/n to follow him, “Come on pup, haven’t got all day.”

She scurries under the umbrella with him, standing close as he locks the door behind them. The rain is pounding down hard and his umbrella isn’t very large, so he wraps an arm around her waist and hastily guides her to his car.

Now, y/n’s no expert on cars, but the large, black range rover that her boss unlocks the doors to seems like a pretty fancy car! She struggles to climb into the passengers side when Mr. Styles opens the door for her, so he holds a hand out to help her up into the seat and shuts the door behind her. As she buckles herself in, he quickly runs over to the driver’s seat, shaking his umbrella off outside and carelessly throwing it in the backseats.

He notices that y/n’s arms are still wrapped around herself super tightly, trying to hide that her whole body is shivering from the cold, so as soon as he turns the car on, he leans over to her side and turns the heat up for her. That – along with the press of a few more buttons on the center console that turns on the heated seating – has y/n sighing blissfully as she sinks back into the comfy leather seats.

“Thank you so much Mr. Styles,” she says, wiggling her fingers happily in front of the blasting hot air.

“You would’ve frozen to death if you walked home in this weather,” he grumbles, pulling out his phone and handing it to her. “Put in y’address.”

She does as he says obediently, her numb fingers making her fumble a little bit when she tries to type on his phone – the latest iphone, she notices from the extra two cameras on the back.

He glances briefly at the location she’s typed in, before flicking on his windshield wipers and reversing out of his reserved parking spot.

His speakers automatically started playing some soft classical music, creating a gentle atmosphere in the otherwise silent car. As he’s driving, he can see her fidgeting around nervously in her seat. Her fingers twist anxiously in her lap, the inside of her cheek being assaulted by her nervous chewing, and she keeps looking over at Harry, burning holes in the side of his head.

“Have I got something on my face?” he asks abruptly.

“W-what?”

“Y’keep staring,” he explains, glancing over at her when they stop at a red light. To no surprise, he catches her… staring at him. She quickly turns away, opting to stare at her hands instead.

“Sorry,” she says, “I was just… watching you drive.”

He snorts. “Watching me drive?”

She fumbles over her words, struggling to explain herself. “Yeah, you’re just– like you… you just drive really cool.” She only realizes how stupid she sounds once the words come out of her mouth.

“I drive cool?”

She grimaces and turns to him slowly, “M’sorry, that probably doesn’t make any sense.”

His expression is entirely amused, a smirk on his face that he’s trying to cover with his hand. “Please, explain it to me then,” he begs with a teasing tone.

“You’re just like, driving with one hand on the wheel and listening to this fancy music in your fancy car… it just looks like you’re from a movie or something.” Not to mention how sharp his jawline looked from the side. Or how attractive the furrow in his brow was. Or how his white dress shirt was rolled up at the sleeves to reveal his strong, tattooed forearms. But she wasn’t about to say all that to him. She needs to stop talking before she embarrasses herself any further! “It’s stupid, I’m sorry. I’ll stop staring.”

“Didn’t say I minded it,” he says simply. With a teasing smirk still planted on his face, he pulls up in front of y/n’s apartment complex. Despite the fact that it’s pouring outside, Harry still offers to walk her up to her door.

“Oh no, I couldn’t make you do that!” He’d already gone out of his way to drive her home, she thinks making him get out of his car just to walk her up would be asking way too much of her boss.

“At least take the umbrella then,” he says, grabbing it from the back and giving it to her. She opens her mouth to protest, but he gives her this look that makes her just shut up and take it.

“Thanks, Mr. Styles. I really appreciate it.”

He rolls his eyes, “Just don’t forget it next time it’s scheduled to rain.”

He watches as she opens the apartment door, and only pulls away after she’s turned back, waved at him, and closes the door behind her.

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When y/n walks to the restaurant the next day, it’s raining once again. She takes Mr. Styles’ umbrella with her to shield her from the drizzle, and arrives at the restaurant a bit breathless, but nonetheless dry.

As she’s clocking in, Harry happens to walk past. He sees his umbrella in her hand, droplets dripping onto the floor, and smiles to himself.

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Harry’s grown some sort of… fondness towards y/n.

How could he not? The first time he’d met her she’d been crying, looking up at him with her puppy dog eyes and tear stained cheeks. She’d complimented his cooking, and been all sweet and polite while he talked to her, calling him sir and Mr. Styles with her pouty lips.

And then when he’d driven her home… she looked so pretty sitting in the front seat of his car, rambling on and on about his cool driving and fancy car. It made him soft! She was young and innocent and just the cutest little thing. He loves how flustered she gets when he teases her, how she fumbles over her words when she doesn’t know what to say. So you really can’t blame him for keeping his eye on her.

Whenever he’s in his office, he’ll keep his ears open in hopes of hearing her pretty voice ringing through the halls, escorting guests or calling out orders to the chefs. He loves listening to her chat with the cooks, and finds himself laughing silently at some of her silly remarks. (“Guys help!!! Where are the oysters from? Like are they local? I know it’s a stupid question but one of the customers wants to know! Should I lie and say they’re imported from the Caribbean? Like… how would they know that I’m lying? Okay, fine whatever I’ll just say they’re caught locally every morning! Thanks bye!!!”)

With this newfound fondness, he’s also grown quite… protective of her. He often talks with Alfredo to see if y/n’s been getting along with the other waiters, and discretely checks that she hasn’t encountered any other rude or disrespectful customers. He figures that he’d prefer to kick some snobby lady out of his restaurant rather than see y/n all teary eyed again.

These smushy feelings are all new to Harry, and he doesn’t really know what they meant just yet… all he knows is that he had a soft spot for y/n. And he’ll be damned if he didn’t show a bit of favoritism towards her.

Sitting in his office, working on some paperwork for the building, he hears her shuffling down towards the kitchen. (Yes, with how attentive he’s been recently, he’s learned to distinguish the sounds of her footsteps from the rest of the waiters.)

“‘Scuse me Edgar!” she calls out to one of the cooks, “Y’know the cod that you’re working on for table 67? She just asked for the romesco to be put on the side instead. D’ya think you could change that real quick?”

“Man, are you kidding me y/n! I already put it on there!”

“I know, I know I’m sorry!” she whines embarrassedly, cheeks heating at the bite in Edgar’s voice, “she just stopped me right now and asked for it!”

Edgar gives y/n an exasperated sigh, “Great, m’gonna have to make a new one! And we’re so fuckin’ busy tonight, this is fuckin’ brilliant–”

“Hey!” Harry’s assertive voice booms through the kitchen, cutting Edgar off mid-rant. “S’not her fault that the lady changed her order, is it?” His stern gaze is burning on Edgar, making his cheeks turn red.

“No sir,” the chef responds apologetically.

“Apologize to y/n.”

Edgar turns to her, “Sorry y/n. Wasn’t your fault, m’just being hot headed for no reason.”

“S’okay, I get it. It’s frustrating,” she says softly, shocked at the fact that Mr. Styles was making one of the chefs apologize to her! She’s just a silly little waitress! She was used to being belittled by the older, more established staff.

“Good. Don’t want t’hear any complaining from anyone, or else you’re getting fired. Understood?”

A chorus of “yes sir” echoes around the kitchen.

Y/n stands there, speechless at the fact that Mr. Styles had made such a bold move to defend her. When he catches her staring, he simply winks, giving her that cocky smirk of his and turning on his heel, back into his office as if nothing had happened.

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During her 15 minute break, y/n tiptoes to Mr. Styles’ office and quietly knocks at the door, entering cautiously when she hears him grunt out a less than welcoming “come in.”

“Um, Mr. Styles?” she announces nervously. The furrow in his brow immediately disappears when he recognizes that it’s y/n. “I-I just wanted to say thanks for, um, sticking up for me today? Or- I mean… just thanks for getting the chefs to go easier on me, I guess.” Her fingers twist nervously behind her back, and it’s taking everything in her to look Mr. Styles in the eye when she’s talking to him. His gaze is just so intense, and she has no idea what he’s thinking… it makes her nervous!

He’s quiet for a second, deliberating what she’s just said, before cracking a smile and shaking his head. “You don’t have t’thank me, pet. M’not gonna let the chefs be dicks to m’favorite waitress.”

Her heart jumps out of her chest at that, cheeks flushing in a way that she really hopes Mr. Styles can’t see. With this flattery, she can’t help but drop her gaze to her feet, contemplating the floor as she mumbles out, “I– well, still. Thanks.”

Harry laughs to himself, dragging a hand down his face. She’s so… cute when she’s all flustered like this! It makes him want to tease her all the time. “Yeah, yeah,” he brushes it off playfully, “now get back t’work.”

She twirls on her heels, ready to run out of the room and freak out about this encounter in the privacy of the employee bathroom.

“Oh, y/n?” Harry calls out just before she walks out the door. She looks back at him with those eager puppy eyes. “M’gonna drive you home tonight as well. Come to my office when you’ve finished your shift and we’ll leave together.”

The smile that lights up her face is one of a giddy school girl with a playground crush.

“M’kay,” she says casually. But on the inside, she is Freaking. The Fuck. Out.

Yay!!!!

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This time, once the restaurant closes and all the employees and staff have left, y/n doesn’t head out into the darkness for her usual 30 minute walk home.

No, this time she heads towards Mr. Styles’ office, clutching her trusty tote bag to her chest to try and mute the feeling of the butterflies swarming her entire body. She has no idea why Mr. Styles might’ve offered her another ride home. Perhaps he felt bad that she’d been scolded in front of the kitchen today by Edgar, or maybe he just pitied her.

Whatever the case was, she wasn’t going to question it too much. She’d developed an itty bitty crush on Mr. Styles, so even if he was just giving her a ride home because he felt bad… well, then at least it meant she got to spend some more time with him!

She knocks on his door and waits for his muffled “come in” before she walks in. A pair of reading glasses are perched on the tip of his nose, reflecting the light of the laptop screen he’s staring at intently. He doesn’t look away from his laptop as he says, “m’almost done.” He gestures mindlessly at the seats in front of his desk when she hovers awkwardly in front of the door. “Sit.”

Her quiet obedience makes him smile as he finishes the last of the emails he wanted to send that night, and with a final press of a button he shuts his laptop. He takes the reading glasses off and stands up, and y/n tries to stare discreetly at his thighs (which are being hugged deliciously by his slacks) as he packs up his things.

She’s not as discreet as she thinks she is, because Harry has to call her name three times before she snaps out of her daydreams. “Where’s your head at, puppy?” he taunts, a knowing smile pulling at his lips. Her cheeks turn warm, and she’s thankful that she doesn’t have to explain herself as she follows him to his car.

This was gonna be a long ride.

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Y/n doesn’t know how it happened, but she and Mr. Styles have created some sort of arrangement.

Anytime he’s been in the office for the past two weeks, he’s given her a ride home. She’s tried to tell him that he really doesn’t have to and that the walk home really isn’t that bad (she feels bad for making him drive all the way to her apartment!), but for some reason, he insists!

Secretly, she’s really happy that he’s always offering to drive her home. She gets to spend an extra 15 minutes with him every night, talking to him, looking at him, and getting teased by him. Yes, he has a knack for embarrassing her… but in a way, she actually kind of enjoys it.

Like all the other nights, she meets him in his office and they walk out together. He holds all the doors open for her, his hand lightly placed on the small of her back as they walk outside. And again, like all the other nights, he opens the passenger’s side door for her and holds a hand out to help her into his car.

There is one thing that happens differently tonight though. When Harry gets behind the wheel, her stomach lets out the loudest grumble she’s ever heard.

She shuts her eyes in embarrassment. Of course this would happen. She can only hope that Mr. Styles didn’t hear it.

Unfortunately for her, he chuckles softly, “Are you hungry?”

“A bit,” she replies sheepishly.

“When’s the last time you ate?”

She hesitates, “Um… I had a granola bar right before my physics lecture.”

He pauses. “And when was this lecture?”

“At 1.”

“So you’re telling me,” Harry glances at the time in disbelief, which reads 10:47 PM, “That you haven’t eaten since 1 in the afternoon?”

“Well… I mean, usually I have some food before coming to work! But I went to a study session after class and I lost track of time, so I didn’t have time to eat anything.”

“Tha’s not enough, puppy. You need to bring something to eat during your break or else you’ll pass out.” He puts his hand on the back of her seat and looks behind him to back out of his parking spot. “And, if you don’t have time to eat anything, then I’ll cook something for you.”

“You don’t have to do that Mr. Styles,” she politely refuses. “M’not even that hungry right now.”

The growl her stomach lets out says otherwise. “Not hungry?” he taunts.

“Okay, maybe a little bit… m’too tired to cook anything though so I’ll probably just have a pop tart or something and call it a night.”

He scoffs, “a pop tart?”

“Yeah, you know those little pastry things? They usually come in that foil packaging and have–”

“I know what a pop-tart is.” A bunch of processed sugars and artificial jam stuffed in a horribly dry crust that spills crumbs everywhere? The thought of eating one absolutely repulses him. “They’re disgusting.”

“Hey, they’re not that bad!” y/n whines defensively. “M’on a student budget! And I’m not that good at cooking, not all of us are gourmet chefs like you.”

He thinks for a second then says, “Well then…how about I take you to mine and cook you a gourmet dinner?”

“What– like, right now?” she bleats. When he nods, she asks, “you would cook me dinner right now?”

“Why s’that so hard to believe?”

Well, first of all he’s her hot boss who is notoriously known for being a hot asshole. Second of all, she has a stupid crush on her hot boss, and can’t actually believe that he’d invite her over to his home. And third of all, and the one she settles for, “Isn’t it a bit late?”

He looks over at her. “Is it past your bedtime?” he asks playfully. She shakes her head no bashfully, face heating at his teasing as he continues, “If it’s not late for you, then it’s not late for me.”

She sits there and thinks. Obviously she wants to go over to his apartment and spend more time with him! But… gosh, she feels bad! Making him not only drive her home, but also cook her dinner was just asking for too much!

“Y/n,” he interrupts, as if he could read her mind, “stop overthinking it. I want to cook for you, I wouldn’t offer it if I didn’t. Will y’let me?”

“I’d really like that,” she admits shyly.

He smiles at her, “My house it is, then.”

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Mr. Styles is rich. Like… super rich.

His luxury car was only a preview to his luxurious lifestyle. He drives them not far from the restaurant, to a tall, shiny building. He parks his car in the garage and takes y/n through the lobby, his heeled boots clicking against the shiny tiled floors. An elevator takes them up to the 16th floor, and opens to a dark penthouse. Floor to ceiling windows provide a view of the city, the lights of downtown flashing up in a kaleidoscope of colors. The floors are wooden with a cool undertone that complimented the grey walls, and the furniture is all sleek and dark. He leads them to his luxury kitchen and tells her to sit at the highchairs in front of the island.

“What shall I make you?” he asks.

“Um… a grilled cheese?”

He quirks his eyebrow. “You’ve got one of the world’s best chefs in front of you, and you want me to make you a grilled cheese?”

She shrugs, “That’s what I would’ve made myself if I wasn’t so lazy.”

“How about I surprise you with something… a little more special.”

“I feel bad making you cook this late when you’re not even supposed to be working,” she admits as Harry ruffles through his fridge.

“Darling,” he scoffs, “making you a meal is nothing for me. I could do this in my sleep.”

“I dunno, cooking is always such a hassle for me. Y’gotta get all the ingredients right, and make sure nothing burns, and then all the dishes… s’too much work.”

“But finding all the right ingredients and watching over y’food is exactly why I love cooking,” he explains passionately. “S’like… even the slightest thing could change the flavor of your dish, and take it to the next level. It’s so much fun.” He pulls out a pot and fills it with water. “The dishes are a headache though,” he adds teasingly.

As he waits for the water to boil, he goes to his wine cooler and pulls a bottle out. “Do you like this wine? It’s Chianti 1982, from Montespertoli.”

“Um…” she looks at him helplessly. “I don’t really know much about wine.”

He hums, and pours himself a glass. Then he sits on the stool next to hers. He hooks his foot into the leg of her chair and pulls her stool to him, close enough so that their knees were touching and that she could see the stubble right above his lips.

He holds up the wine glass as if he were offering a sip, but as soon as her hands come up to steady the glass to her lips, he pulls it away. “Ah ah,” he tuts, “You’ve gotta smell it first.”

He swirls the wine around under her nose. “What do you smell?” he murmurs.

She takes a deep breath and contemplates it deeply. “...grapes?”

He snickers, “nice try.” He pulls the wine under his own nose and says, “It smells fruity… notes of cherry… plum… oak…” He takes a sip of it. “Mm… it’s light. Smooth.”

Y/n watches him with wide eyes as he swirls the wine around in the glass and brings it up to his mouth, hyper fixating on his lips. His thick fingers, decorated with a multitude of sparkly rings, delicately wrap around the stem of the glass. And his lips, plump and pink, pucker softly against the rim as he takes another sip.

His wine-stained tongue peaks out to lick his lips, and her own lips part open with want.

He takes another enticing sip. “You want some, puppy?” he asks.

She nods her head, looking up at him with her round eyes and parted mouth. He gives her a taste, opting to hold the glass up to her lips as she drinks instead of having her take it from his hands and do it herself. When he feels that she’s had enough, he pulls it away. “What do y’think?”

“S’good,” she says, the tart taste of the wine drying out her tongue. It makes her want more. She looks at Harry with her eager eyes, and he feeds her another sip. This time though, she’s a bit too excited. When he pulls the glass away from her, a little bit of it dribbles down her chin.

He tsks. “Messy girl,” he murmurs. His thumb comes up to swipe at the mess, collecting it and teasing at her bottom lip. He lingers there for a second, before he pushes in, her supple lips parting easily as he slides his finger into her mouth. It rests heavily on her tongue, the acidic flavor of the wine lingering on his finger. She sucks, and his eyes darken.

“Good girl.” His voice is low and gruff, eyes focused on her lips wrapped around his thumb. He pulls it out slowly, her bottom lip tugging downwards as he does it, and he watches it bounce back into place.

He drags his eyes away from her lips and back up to her eyes, which are looking at him, wide and curious. Unlike Harry, who can’t stop his eyes from flickering down to her lips, her eyes are glued on him, frozen and waiting for his next move. When he moves the slightest bit closer, her breath catches in her throat. She’s not well versed in all this stuff, but she supposes if he keeps looking at her lips and leaning in, that probably means he wants to kiss her, right? She inches forward to test her theory. He reciprocates. Both of their eyes flutter shut.

His nose brushes against hers ever so lightly, nudging it to the side, and she lets out a shaky breath when his lips graze hers. With one final tilt of her head, their lips slot together, as if they were two opposite charges connected by a magnetic force. He encases her lips in a soft kiss, her supple bottom lip trapped between his for a second, and his hand comes up to cup her jaw. He doesn’t do anything more than gently kiss her lips – no hot tongue in her mouth, no heavy breathing, nothing that he thinks might overwhelm her. Just a simple kiss, that he pulls away with a soft click.

Her eyelashes flutter open to reveal her moony eyes, looking up at him like an eager puppy. They flicker between his eyes with a mixture of want, confusion, and excitement hidden in her irises.

He grins down at her. “Let me go check on the water.”

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Part 2 is already up on my patreon!!!! PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT U THINK!!!! LOVE U GUYS

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fayeriess · 3 months

Text

⋆｡‧₊°♱༺ DIRTY LAUNDRY ༻♱༉‧₊˚.

abby anderson x fem!reader

summary: bitter about having to drag your laundry basket down the street for your weekly wash, you have a not-so-nice first encounter with the girl who's wearing the same band tee as you. the good news? she's the type of girl you only see in your dreams. the bad? she's your roommate's girlfriend.

warnings: modern!au, implied cheating, cheating, alcohol usage, mentions of guilt, slight angst, not proof-read

a/n: a republish of a small little unfinished series from last year. before anyone gets on my head, i promise superheaven was not as viral early last year as it is now lolll ( its one of my favorite bands ) anywho, enjoy almost 8k words of tea.... lmk what you think, i love getting feedback!

You were precisely three hundred steps away from your destination; a small, collapsing laundromat a couple of blocks from your lackluster apartment. If you widen your short strides just a bit then maybe you’d be able to cut the distance by a few seconds — maybe, five or ten just to escape the intense rays of the summer sun that beamed down on you.

It was hot enough that the cartilage of your ears were warm to the touch, practically torched by the heat as your fingers ached, feeling as if they were to lock in place at any second from the continuous minutes of strain they had endured. Dirty clothing sat piled in a white, plastic laundry basket, stuffed without care, and unmatched in terms of colors; heavy on the muscles of your arms as you attempted to lift it once more.

The action caused the muscles in your upper back to flex, an ache to accompany the dull throb in protest of the weight that you had tried to pull. A sheen of sweat formed on your forehead; thin enough for you to wipe away with the back of your hand as you puff your cheeks out, letting out a dramatic huff of air.

After you had straightened your back from being hunched over, the heat seemed to creep through you in the form of a dry throat and sticky skin, bare skin trapped under molecules of heat, and clothing damp from the unrelenting ball of fire in the sky. You couldn’t help but let your lips press into a thin line at the feeling of embarrassment starting to burn up on your bare neck, spreading but unseen to the eyes. The band tee you wore did little to shield your self-consciousness, your tension-filled aura seemingly spreading a transparent mist as you resorted to dragging the basket across the uneven concrete of the sidewalk.

Twenty more steps and you’d be able to melt away under the cool blast of the dusty air conditioner. It was better than nothing.

“Do you need some help?”

The voice was one laced with curiosity, a certain playfulness entwined within it as you kept your gaze locked on the tips of your worn shoes.

A second passed by — two seconds, before you shook your head in refusal, pushing wisps of hair out of your face and behind your ear with a finger on your right hand. “No, I think I can manage.”

A dry chuckle reached your ears and that’s what finally caused you to glance at the stranger who had so kindly offered you a helping hand.

She was tall. Her shoulders were broad, and her arms bulky but sculpted so perfectly, the thought that she had to be a bodybuilder had crossed the expanse of your brain. Hell, she had ‘athlete’ written all over here as she towered over you, shielding your frame from the sun, giving you a much-needed break from its unintentional abuse.

In one of her large hands, she held a small bag, a half-eaten empanada taking refuge within the greasy paper staining her fingers in an orange hue that could only be from blotches of oil that littered it.

Her blonde hair cascaded down her back in a fishtail braid, tendrils of it framing her sun-kissed, freckled face as her blue eyes scanned across the expression you tried to mask with confidence; albeit the very lame effort to do so.

You watched as she raised a brow, eying your clammy palms that circled one of the short, white handles of the basket that was filled to the brim with clothing. She couldn’t help but assume that you were someone who waited last minute to do things due to your frazzled state, although she internally slapped herself for criticizing someone when she knew for a fact that she wasn’t in any position to do so. She was way worse.

That’s why she was here too, was it not?

“Doesn’t seem like you’re doing such a good job.”

Immediately after those words were pushed past her lips, she pulled them back in a grimace; realizing just how rude it sounded even though it was unintentional.

With your eyebrows furrowed at the jab, you scoffed with a not-so-nice murmur under your breath before pulling on the basket once more, rushing to move away from the rude stranger awkwardly as her gaze burned into your already heated skin.

Why had that comment bothered you so much? You didn’t know.

But your sour mood was rubbing off on her, you noticed, as she had rolled her eyes before cocking her neck to the left, then to the right to a row of parked cars before her eyes locked on a trash can a couple of feet behind you. She had retreated out of your line of vision, a shuffle of noise being picked up by your ears before a whoosh of air had weaved itself between your now empty hands.

It was only then when you had blinked your dry eyes that you noticed the basket was missing, having been scooped up in her broad arms with ease as she held it in one hand and pulled on the rusting, metal handle of the laundromat glass door with the other, the bell above it ringing loudly as she turned to look at your awkwardly stiff frame stood in the middle of the sidewalk.

“Are you comin’?”

It didn’t take a genius to sense the hesitance that was harbored within you as you continued to stand there, the sun illuminating you in a light glow before you started to move your feet toward her.

Moving past her, you inhaled the faint scent of her — earthy yet comforting; with a hint of cinnamon mixed with sandalwood and clean soap. Turning your head, you found yourself in dimmer lighting and a cooler atmosphere, glad to finally be out of the scorching sun.

“So first you insult my strength and then you find yourself wanting to help me?”

Surveying the empty laundromat, you could hear the small echo of your voice as you questioned her with curiosity, inhaling the scent of different detergents and fabric softeners. If you squint your eyes hard enough, you could spot the small remnants of chewed gum smoothed into the scuffed flooring as it had practically blended in with it from the lack of maintenance the place had received.

Seriously, who was running this place?

Turning on the balls of your feet in a means to face her, you watched as she set your laundry basket down in front of a washer with a small thud. “My goal from the beginning was to help you but I didn’t get my point across in a very polite way, did I?”

“Hm,” You hummed slowly, pretending to think for a second before lifting your shoulders into a shrug. “No, I guess you didn’t.”

Her lips had lifted into a smirk at your snarky response before she jutted her chin outward, nodding in your direction. “Cool shirt by the way.”

With lips open and ready to respond to the sudden compliment, your eyes quickly scanned across her attire. Throughout the small interaction, you had seemingly failed to notice the dark muscle shirt she wore.

Five blue mushrooms with pink stems decorated the front, along with a mint-green snake wrapped around the mushroom in the middle. The words ‘Superheaven’ took all the attention in big, bold lettering in a shade similar to Indigo Blue — but not quite the exact color.

Looking down at your own, you realized that you were wearing the same shirt, and a twinge of interest sparked up in you.

“You listen to Superheaven?”

The girl raised an eyebrow, “Asking me personal questions already and I don’t even know your name.”

Rolling your eyes for what was the hundredth time today, you leaned down to pull the washer door open, shoving a handful of clothes in the small circle hastily before slamming it shut, pushing until you heard the small ‘clink’ of the latch as it was now secure. “It wasn’t a personal question.”

Digging your right hand into one of your back pockets, you retrieved a chipping, neon orange card, inspecting both the front and back side, shrugging in satisfaction at the state of it.

You silently prayed it worked; as you had found it in the depths of your drawer. It had almost faded into the abyss of all the junk in the dusty area as you stared it down. The contemplation on whether or not to save yourself a couple of dollars for half of the bills of your cracking apartment and risk it not working and being fucked — or — spending the money on a good wash and clean but regret it in the hours of the night where you’d find yourself staring at the ceiling in the darkness of your room, mentally beating yourself up for the path you had taken resulting in your financial choices.

Thus, here you were, sliding it into the beat-up machine that provided small packets of powdered detergent, inconspicuously crossing your fingers in the hope that there was just enough money in there for you to wash your clothes. “Just one someone else would’ve asked you eventually if they haven’t already.” You continued.

Glancing at her from behind your shoulder, a challenging look crossed your features once you had gotten her attention. “Unless you respond to everyone in the same manner you talked to me in and they were put off by that?”

Turning your head toward the machine again, you pressed the dust-covered buttons for your desired laundry soap, watching the price flash in red on the small screen above the keypad as it dispensed.

From behind you, she cleared whatever blockage was in her throat, the muscle behind her closed lips clicking against the roof of her mouth as she thought of a retort.

“No, just you.” She confirmed, moving her azure eyes from your frame to focus on the task of shoving all of her clean laundry from the large dryer in a white, plastic garbage bag; the material of it ripping as she tried to stuff every article of clothing she brought with her inside.

You hummed, nodding your head despite knowing that she wasn’t staring at you. “I still didn’t get your name though.”

She wiped the layer of sweat forming on her forehead, swiping at it with the back of her hand before dusting the perspiration on the denim of the loose jeans covering her thighs. “Abby.”

It was a curt reply to your statement. A simple — but sweet and short answer that caused the corners of your plump lips to quirk up in a lop-sided smile as you bent down, outstretching your arm to grab the small packet of laundry detergent before retreating to your clothing.

“Okay Abby,” A satisfied look crossed over your features as you decided that you liked the way it sounded after it rolled off the tip of your tongue. It suited her just a tad, even though it wasn’t the first guess you would’ve made if she had asked you to play that sort of guessing game with her. “So, judging by the shirt, I’m assuming you listen to Superheaven?”

Opening the small, built-in compartment in the washer for the soap, you poured half of the packet, figuring it was just enough to get the job done before closing it. A couple of feet away from you, you could hear the taller girl shuffle around before she sat on one of the chipping wooden chairs; the object creaking with a small groan under all of her weight.

Watching as she shrugged, you noticed how her tongue broke through her once-closed lips, moisturizing them before she cocked her head to the side. “Kind of? I mean, my girlfriend does. She was the one who got me into them.”

Your finger stopped above the button to start up the machine only for a fraction of a second before you pushed inward, a small beeping noise filling the tension-filled silence before a rush of water signaled the start of your cycle.

Settling for a lame, “Oh, nice!” you awkwardly leaned against the dusty metal of the vibrating machine, looking at her freckled face, flushed and shiny with sweat as she focused all her attention on tying the second knot of the bag.

The old, rusty air conditioning did little to cool the temperature of your body as you glanced around the stuffy area, sniffing lightly from the particles of dust floating in front of you, disturbed from the palm of your hand slapping onto the surface of cool metal behind you.

Abby kept her eyes locked on the torn trash bag as she stood from her position, back cracking slightly as she stretched her limbs, letting the blood flow regularly through her veins once more. “What’s your favorite song by them?”

“Uh,” You paused, biting on your lower lip, scanning your brain for the songs you remembered from their discography which was only about two albums long. “ it’s gotta be their most known one, I'm not gonna lie.”

Abby hitched the bag over her shoulder without struggle, biceps flexing as she snapped her fingers before holding her other hand out to stop you from uttering your next sentence. “Wait, don’t tell me. Is it, uhh…” She thought for a couple of seconds, pushing wisps of blonde hair that had fallen in front of her eyes behind her ear; opting to angle her mouth to blow them away when that temporary solution didn’t work. “... ‘Youngest Daughter?’”

“Close, ‘Life in a Jar’.”

“I was on the right track, though.”

You scoffed playfully, craning your neck in the direction of the impending darkness that awaited you outside, the sun low on the horizon and casting a warm glow of gentle light into the dim, dreary, place.

“By all means, don’t let me hold you up either.” You expressed, gesturing to the bag over her shoulder which she seemed to momentarily forget about with parted lips, raising both brows in surprise that there was even something in her hand.

It came as a shock to you when she had set it down with a small ‘thud’ once more, pulling her phone out of her back pocket a minute after as it had quietly buzzed in the space of her jeans, warm on both sides from being trapped against two heat sources. You watched with bated breath as she sat again, thumbs furiously typing away on the screen, her lips all but pressed together into a thin line.

Turning back to your clothing being tossed about in the wash, you focused on the suds of soap sloshing around the hazy water, clusters of bubbles forming before they’d be ripped apart by the force of the splattering water.

“I was gonna stay here and chat a little longer, but I’m needed elsewhere.” Her words pulled you out of your spinning thoughts, your bottom eyelashes fluttering against your skin as you blinked, clearing your throat.

Before you could speak, the bell above the door rang, and she was out the door with a small ‘it was nice meeting you’ left in her wake as slammed shut behind her, leaving her scent and the previous conversation lingering.

And then you were alone.

━━━━ ◦: ✧✲✧ :◦━━━━

Standing behind the kitchen island, you squeezed the damp, wet rag between nimble fingers, the muscles in your bicep straining to scrub at a particularly stubborn stain on the counter that refused to leave.

Over these past couple of days, an overwhelming sense of guilt has consumed you. Guilt for thinking about Abby.

Whenever her face flashed as if it were a film on the reel of your mind, you thought about the short, meaningless interaction you had to remind yourself that she was just a stranger being nice.

Nothing more, nothing less.

So, why exactly did her name bounce in the space of your brain in big lettering, screaming for attention?

You had no idea.

Sighing dramatically, you grasped one of the sharp edges of the cool, marble counter with your left hand, scrubbing at the same spot with your right furiously.

“Are you okay?”

Freezing in your tracks, you titled your head up to come face-to-face with your roommate, Lorelai, observing how the once relaxed muscles under her smooth skin contorted into that a worried expression as her bare feet padded against the wood flooring. Her eyes never left yours even when she lifted a hand to pull the refrigerator door open, curling her fingers around the handle as she turned her torso to face you.

You nodded, darting your eyes from side to side as you dropped the rag onto the island, discarding it before leaning your lower back against the edge to fully show your interest in the arising conversation.

“Yeah. Why?”

Lorelai shrugged nonchalantly, bending down to get a better look at all the drink choices available in your limited supply of groceries; some of which were close to being unusable due to upcoming expiration dates. “I figured I’d ask 'cause you’ve been a little spaced out these last couple of days.”

Pulling out a half gallon of Orange Juice, she closed the fridge door before making her way to one of the many cupboards in the kitchen, grabbing a glass, and rinsing it with faucet water.

Tapping your short fingers against the polished marble, you spoke. “I just have a couple of things on my mind, but really, I’m good.”

You had met Lorelai in your senior year of high school; having sat next to each other in chemistry class unwillingly as you were given assigned seats for the semester. While others sulked with their seating partners, you and the brunette hit it off as soon as her butt touched the chair. She was an extrovert; a bit on the chatty side, wanting to cover any and every ground possible in terms of socializing without crossing any boundaries. As sweet as she was, the girl who only stood at a mere five foot three deemed herself to be just as scholarly, graduating top of her class and valedictorian.

From then on, you two were stuck at the hip. Spending all three months of summer after graduation vacationing to wherever your near-empty wallets, and even emptier bank accounts allowed.

She was your best friend; so much so that after your sophomore year in college, you made the big decision to move in together.

She scoffed, rolling her eyes playfully before gulping a large sip of her extra pulp-filled orange juice. “Yeah, okay.”

She resolved to put her short glass in the sink once she got to it, “So, you know how I uh,”

Her lips pressed into a thin line as if she was debating on letting her next words slide past them.

After a couple of seconds of her silence, you slowly raised a brow, cocking your neck to the side as tendrils of hair tickled the skin of your shoulder through the material of your shirt; an involuntary shiver being sent down your spine at the movement.

The gasp that left you when she quickly whipped around was low, reverberating in the back of your throat when she stared at you with wide eyes.

“I have a girlfriend and she’ll be here in like five minutes. I didn’t wanna tell you 'cause I know how you go into mom mode making sure the apartment is clean and I didn’t want you to feel stressed, especially since it’s just her.”

Parted lips turned into a slack, achy jaw as you took in the rush of words she threw at you in the form of a confession. The cogs in your brain turned a little too painstakingly slowly, your eyes narrowing into slits as her rant hit you right across your face. “Oh, my god.” You chuckled. The noise develops into a maniacal laugh, then you gasped dramatically, “Oh my god!”

This was her very first relationship. Ever. And you were freaking the fuck out.

For as long as you had known Lorelai; she kept the possibility of meeting someone in a romantic aspect within arms reach; coming to the conclusion that it was something she’d commit herself to once she was ready to make that big of a leap — you guessed this would be the point in her life where that leap was being taken.

For that, curiosity gnawed at you greedily as you found yourself desperately wanting to know who exactly had her on her high horse; apples of her cheeks rosy with admiration, an equally love-drunk smile and a few extra skips in her already peppy step.

But as you went to speak, to let your questions flow out of you as the metaphorical dams had been picked up from your mind, letting you gather yourself; there were three, sharp knocks at the front door.

With a giddy smile on her face, Lorelai ran in place for a couple of seconds, ridding herself of the burst of energy as she looked from you, to the door, then back to you again. “She’s here,”

Looking down at your attire, you decided that short shorts and a crop top wasn’t suitable enough to be meeting a girlfriend — let alone your best friends, so you pointed a thumb back to your room, heart beating erratically against your ribcage.

“I’m gonna go change. Open the door.” You whispered, scurrying back to the confines of your bedroom and closing the door behind you. Looking around, you blew out a breath, eying the pink dresser to your right, a couple of feet away from the foot of your bed before shuffling toward it to yank open the third drawer down.

Ransacking for a pair of sweats seemed to be a hard task on this night out of all nights as you grew increasingly annoyed at the lack of pants you had stumbled upon. The pressure of presenting yourself for Lorelai’s sake in a timely manner compacting tightly, as if to signal that you were treading on thin ice. Loud muffled laughter could be heard, a sound that was slightly foreign to your ears as you shook your head, rifling deeper into your drawer as if it were a bottomless pit.

Seriously, you just fucking washed laundry too.

Your hands ghosted across the waistband of your blue shorts, fingers yanking the material down as to rid yourself of the article of clothing. Sighing to yourself, you bent down to step out of the thin cotton material, throwing it somewhere in your room for you to find later before adjusting the lace of your thong.

It was one of your favorites; all white with small, red cherries patterned across with a lace waistband. You had gotten it on a self-care day, something that you had spoiled yourself with once in a blue moon for all the hard studying you do. Plus, there was a sale at the local mall in Victoria's Secret; Lorelai had all but dragged you right into it as soon as her brown eyes fell on the sale sign.

Shimmying on your sweats, you were able to pull them up to your ankles before a sudden rush of air hit your ass, goosebumps rising on the once smooth, blemished skin there as you grew stiff, the hairs on your arms raising, tickling the flesh covering your body in a taunting manner as you sighed, preparing to turn yourself around.

“Lorelai - I said-“

Only it wasn’t your best friend who you were standing half naked in front of; nipples perked through a thin spaghetti strap, lace thong leaving little to the imagination — it was her girlfriend.

The girlfriend who you saw less than a week ago in the laundromat in all her muscular, blonde-haired glory.

God, you were fucking mortified.

“Well this isn’t the bathroom.”

“Obviously not.”

What.

The.

Fuck.

━━━━ ◦: ✧✲✧ :◦━━━━

“She can’t know.”

“Jaime, I can’t kick her out of the apartment for two hours. She lives here too, just a reminder.” With the heat of your cell phone against the tissue of your ear, you maneuvered yourself around the island counter. Bare feet padded against the hardwood of the freshly mopped floors as you opened the freezer door with a free hand, eyes darting across the small space in search of your dinner for tonight. “She’s also not stupid so she’ll know something’s up.”

From the other end of the line, crackling static was all your ears could pick up before she sighed loudly, breaking the beat of silence. “Well, I have to decorate the apartment for her birthday. What kind of friend would I be if I didn't set up a celebration? Can’t you just ask her girlfriend to take her to do shit? Unless she’s one of those whacko types of people. God, I hate buzzkills.”

Rolling your eyes, you outstretched an arm into the coolness of the frosted freezer, digging out a pint of unbranded mint chocolate chip ice cream. “I’m pretty sure she has a couple of things planned. From what I’ve seen so far she’s in good hands.”

“Okay, so what I’m hearing is that the girlfriend’s cool, and there isn’t an issue with her keeping Lorelai out of the way.” Her chirpy voice held a hint of a smile as she shuffled about. You assumed she was gathering her things; keys, purse, charger, and the decorations she had hoarded up in a brown, cardboard box for the past two weeks for this occasion.

Jaime was a good friend. That was evident from the numerous times she’s run to your side, consoling you in the instances that you’ve cried due to personal happenings… and the group of individuals she’d hang out with. Truthfully, the capacity of your brain couldn’t comprehend the exact reason as to why she rubbed shoulders with who she did, mostly because they had money; something Jaime was practically swimming neck-deep in.

You shrugged, an action accompanied by the edges of your lips which turned into a frown as you focused your attention on the plastic lid of the container, peeling it off with your right hand, the phone still sandwiched between your ear and shoulder blade. “Yeah, Abby’s cool. Bestie approved.”

Abby.

Three weeks. Three weeks and two days had passed since that bathroom mix-up fiasco, and to say things were tense was putting it lightly, to say the least. After you frantically shooed her away, bent forward and pants mid-thigh, the uncomfortable silence that hung in the air after the door closed had your heart palpitating. It was embarrassing to the point where the blood flowed to your cheeks, causing them to be warm to the touch. When the door had closed after the short exchange of words, you had sat in the corner of your bed, pants still halfway on, and eyes as wide as could be.

At the time, you had no idea how much time passed when you sat there before finally taking a deep, burning inhalation of breath and pulling the rest of your sweats up your thighs. Wiping your warm, clammy hands on the fabric of them afterward as a means to rid any nervousness and tension that had weaved itself between your muscles.

Looking back at your past decisions, hiding behind the chipping, wooden door frame that lead to the living room area wasn’t the best idea, as it only made things just a tiny bit more awkward when Lorelai coaxed you from your shell, leaping for you to reveal the look of embarrassment that clouded over your features. The thick fog that compressed your lungs had nearly sent you into cardiac arrest as the three of you stood there in silence, and it had been Lorelai who had been the one to ask if you two knew each other, taking notice of your body language.

It was Abby who had nonchalantly shrugged and said that the both of you had met a week prior at the laundromat, leaning against one of the countertops, muscles bulging from underneath the t-shirt she wore.

This was truly a revelation to you and an unexpected one at that.

Out of all people. It had to be her. It had to be Abby.

Shaking your head, you rolled your eyes at how peppy you sounded, setting down your phone on the marble of the island counter. Twisting your body around to pull open one of the many drawers, your fingers flexed, plucking a silver, metal spoon from the small bin, twirling it in your grasp.

Jaime clapped her hands together, mumbling something incoherent to who you assumed was her cat judging from the low, crackled meows that followed. “Nice, I’ll be there in an hour.”

Opening your mouth to interject, you huffed at the beeping that signaled the end of the call, and your very short conversation with Jaime.

Puffing out your cheeks, you sighed to yourself dramatically, scanning your eyes around the expanse of your shared, empty apartment before stabbing the tip of your spoon in the lush green of the cream, scooping up an extra chocolate chip or two along the way.

It was just you and your thoughts.

On any other day, you would’ve enjoyed it, sitting in silence; listening to the muffled chirps of the birds outside hidden in green shrubs, the whoosh of wind ruffling trees, and the constant honk of horns at the end of the street. It was a thinking period, a time when you’d plan out your day without having to worry about anything — or anyone.

Clearing certain things from your consciousness was a talent, and you pride yourself in your ability to tune out things. It was something Lorelai had learned to live with these past couple of years, even though it still annoyed her to no end.

Practically throwing yourself onto one of the three wooden stools lined up against the outer end of the island. It creaked beneath you when you leaned back, causing the skin of your lips to pull back into a grimace as you continued to sulk in the presence of nobody else but yourself.

Shoveling the cold spoon in the warmness of your mouth, the mint flavor seeped onto your tastebuds, melting as you swallowed. The enamels of your teeth were cold from the contact they had with the dairy, a slight throb forming near your gums when you took another bite.

You had no choice but to text Abby, even though you were deciding against it. After all, you didn’t want Lorelai’s surprise to be ruined and Jaime to hit you upside the head for neglecting the only task you’d been assigned.

So, with the slightest bit of hesitance, you left your spoon in the container and picked up your phone from the counter, typing in your six-digit password and scrolling through your messages to find her name.

Her number had been given to you last weekend by Abby herself, who had awkwardly pulled you aside and silently passed you her phone, the contact info option already open, as well as the keypad. Just as you should’ve been — you were confused, very confused.

In every crevice and dark corner of your mind, there should’ve been a reason as to why exactly she wanted your number, but that question quickly left your mind when you looked at her freckled face, and long, fluttering lashes.

Fuck.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you let your fingers hover over the keyboard as you organized the right words to text in your brain, the sentence a jumbled mess.

“ decorating the house for lorelai :) keep her occupied for an hour or so, please!”

“ for sure. what time do I bring her back? “

“ four?? I don’t know, around there. “

Receiving a thumbs up back in response, you pressed one of the side buttons, clicking off the screen.

━━━━ ◦: ✧✲✧ :◦━━━━

“Happy Birthday!” The numerous voices shouted with you, all facing toward the front door where Lorelai stood, Abby in tow.

It had been three hours since Jaime burst through the door, the box of decorations in hand, giddy with excitement at the opportunity to execute her vision. She had shoved the brown box into your hand, asking you to set it down on the coffee table in the living room as she spun on her heel to start, babbling about where things should go.

The decoration process went more smoothly than anticipated, and it was because you had just stood in the corner the entire time, watching curiously as she set the house up for the occasion.

Once Jaime started something, you just had to leave all the work to her, or else it wouldn’t turn out how she envisioned.

“What the fuck? Oh, my god!” Lorelai’s face morphed into one of surprise, a smile overtaking her lips as she clasped her hands together in front of her. “You guys did this all for me?”

From beside you, Jaime raised her hand, “No, just me. C’mere you big goober.”

The space she once occupied was empty as she met Lorelai in the kitchen area, embracing her in a tight hug before letting her go.

You watched from your spot near the arm of the couch, as Lorelai’s eyes darted from every party guest and straight to you, a big, lop-sided smile gracing her face as she made her way over to you.

Your lips curled upward in response, arms outstretched to hold her in your arms. She smelled like freesia and cotton candy perfume, something comforting to you, but not to the point where you could feel all the guilt melting away.

It was hot on your skin, burning you alive and tainting your very existence, starting from the outside.

You were a bad friend. A fucking horrible one for thinking about her girlfriend, who looked at you from behind Lorelai’s shoulder with a toothy grin, her irises practically boring into yours.

“Happy Birthday, Lai.” You muttered quietly into her ear, cheeks warming once she pulled away to look you in the eyes. They were swimming with adoration — something you didn’t deserve.

“Thank you.” She expressed over the chatter, hands interlaced with yours as she swung them from side to side. “This year’s birthday is tied with last year's so far.”

At that, you snorted. “So indoor drinking is better than the carnival I took you to?”

Her brown hair fell over her shoulder as she cocked her head to the side, and just as she opened her mouth to answer, Abby appeared next to her, guiding a hand to the small of Lorelai’s back.

“This looks nice,” Tilting her head to look at the colorful eyesore of streamers, she pressed her tongue against the inside of her cheek, letting her eyes travel from the ceiling to the walls that were littered with pink balloons. A large “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” sign hung across the width of the wall-mounted flat screen tv, decorated with heart stickers to, in Jaime’s words, ‘make it more noticeable.’ although you doubted anyone beside you, her, Lorelai, and Abby had taken the time to look at.

Nodding your head, you fiddled with a loose string at the end of the blouse you had changed into, something a little more modest than you’d usually go for, but cute nonetheless. “Yeah, Jaime did a good job.”

The fast-paced clicking of heels had you turning your head in the direction of the sound. Jaime stood with four wine coolers in her hands, dangling them in the air from the necks as she outstretched one of her arms.

“I heard my name, so I came with drinks.”

You narrowed your eyes, the gears in your head turning as you tried to decipher what brand rested in her shaky hands, smiling widely once you realized what they were. “I can never say no to Mike’s Hard.”

Abby nudged you playfully, nodding her head to agree with you as she took the two glass bottles from Jaime’s left hand. “In my top five.”

Snorting, you turned to her, jaw agape. “Top five? You have horrible taste. Top three at least.”

She shook her head, tendrils of hair falling from her usual fish braid. “My top three spaces are reserved for the hard shit only.”

Rolling your eyes, you shooed her off, watching as she handed Lorelai one of the bottles, leaning down to whisper something in her ear, which earned her a giggle from the brunette as she slapped her bicep.

Averting your gaze from the pair, you sighed, grabbing one of the bottles Jaime held out to you, and popping the cap open with your shirt. Wasting no time, you chugged half of it down, the cool liquid soothing the dryness in your throat before removing it from your lips, licking the saccharine sweetness that lingered.

“Why the fuck are we all standing in a circle? I have a game of beer pong set up in the kitchen, let’s go birthday girl.” Taking her hand, Jaime dragged your best friend to the island counter, initiating a conversation with two other kids from campus for what you assumed was the game.

You weren’t sure who connected their phone to the portable speaker, but you were grateful that it was no longer silent, especially with the building tension between you and the muscular girl next to you.

“So,” Abby began, leaning against the wall, leg crossed over the other, “I kind of wanted to talk to you about something.”

Taking another swig from your bottle, you pulled your eyes away from the crowd sitting on the couches, a very intense match of uno taking place.

It took everything in you to stare at her straight-faced, despite your curiosity. What could she possibly want to talk to you about?

“Yeah?”

You watched cautiously as she focused on the miniature opening of her alcohol bottle, index finger tracing the rim once — twice — three times before she puffed out her cheeks, sighing. “Did I do something?”

“What?”

She lifted her shoulders in a shrug, “I don’t know. I’m trying to be friends with you and it seems like that’s not what you want from me. If it’s about what happened a couple of weeks ago, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

Turning your body to face her, you noticed the rosy tint that consumed the apples of her cheeks, beet red and burning. “What common interests do we have other than Lorelai that calls for us to be more than just acquaintances? And I wasn’t embarrassed, I was mortified.”

A dry, airy laugh made its way past her lips. “You and me both.”

“Didn’t seem like you were.”

“Oh, I was.”

You downed the rest of your ‘Mike’s Hard’, lifting it to your face to observe the label. It was something to keep yourself busy to not stare at her again. Because, fuck, if you stared at her again, you were sure you’d go into cardiac arrest.

“Besides that, as I said, there isn’t a reason for us to be friends.”

Abby raised an eyebrow, staring at you with a hint of curiosity swimming in her eyes. “You said we don’t have any other common interests besides Lorelai, I don’t think that’s the case. What about Superheaven?”

You were surprised, even if your face didn’t show it. She hadn’t forgotten that meaningless three-week-old conversation? Interesting.

“See, the only common interest we have.”

“No, we still have Mike’s Hard to talk about.” She pressed, eliciting a low laugh from you.

“What? You want us to discuss our favorite flavors?”

Abby clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, “That depends on if you want me to get you another drink or not.”

If this was her attempt at trying to pry a conversation out of you, she succeeded.

“...Okay, surprise me.”

━━━━ ◦: ✧✲✧ :◦━━━━

As seconds turned into minutes, and minutes turned into hours, your crowd of friends retired home for the night.

That left you, Lorelai, and Abby alone in the apartment, separated by walls and your figure hunched over the toilet.

Mentally, you were slapping yourself at the excessive amount of drinks you consumed throughout the night on an empty stomach. And the cold sweat you were in made it all the more worse for you.

Lorelai had gotten violently drunk, stumbling all over the place, words slurred and incomprehensible, the world slowly spinning. She was always a clingy drunk. That was evident from the multiple times she had hugged you and Abby throughout the night, drunkenly expressing how much she cared for the both of you, switching between holding both of your faces in the palm of her hands.

Her actions pierced your soul. She had been nothing but kind to you, showering you with positive affirmations and listening to your rants about things that bothered you, because she cared, she always did.

You did too, but not in the way she did for you.

Unlike you, she considered people’s feelings. Especially when it came to relationships, and unbeknownst to her, you were slowly weaseling your way into hers.

It wasn’t like you wanted to. As the days turned into nights and the process repeated itself, you tried damn near everything you could to get her girlfriend out of your mind. You failed — miserably.

Clutching the sides of the ceramic toilet, your stomach empties its contents, causing your mouth to taste sour and the saliva to pool at the surface of your tongue, bringing you to swallow back the bile.

You gasped at the unforeseen knock at the bathroom door, brushing a hand through the knots in your hair.

“Yeah?” Clearing your throat at how hoarse you sounded, you could hear Abby’s muffled laced with concern as she spoke.

“Are you okay? I heard you throwing up so I brought you some water.”

Setting your butt down on the tile flooring once again, you brought your knees up to your chest, closing your eyes to see if that would make you feel any better. “I’m fine. You can come in.”

Her broad figure stood in the doorway, a bottle of water swallowed by her right hand as she pursed her lips, closing the door quietly behind her. She stared at you for a couple of seconds, ocean-blue eyes searching your face for any sign of discomfort.

“Don’t look at me like that.” You snapped.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re judging me for not knowing my limits.”

Her face scrunched up, the skin there creasing, as if she ate something sour. “What? I wasn’t looking at you like that. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” Bending her knees, she leaned down until she was face to face with you.

You swallowed thickly, “Where’s Lorelai?”

Abby lifted a hand to scratch the back of her neck, biceps flexing as she did so. “She’s sleeping. I got her changed and put her to bed.”

You opened your mouth, “Oh.”

“Yeah, you should probably lie down, too.”

Waving a hand in her direction, you lazily shooed her off. “No, I-”

There it was. You making an embarrassment of yourself, vomiting for the third time in the toilet bowl, spitting, and pressing down on the handle to flush.

“See, I told you.” She chuckled, amused at your stubbornness and the fact that your face had turned an unappealing shade of green.

The blonde took the initiative to hold your hair back as you threw up again, liquid this time as you had filled yourself with nothing but alcohol and ice cream earlier on in the day.

She didn’t know why she was sitting in here with you, you were fine, you could take care of yourself. She should be with her girlfriend, already tucked beneath a thick, warm comforter, drifting off into sleep.

But here she was instead, with you — someone who she assumed harbored some sort of dislike for her.

To her, that was unfortunate because after she had left the laundromat the day you two met, you were all she could think about. She was filled to the brim with guilt, even without knowing who you were, and when she found out — hell, it made the battle in her mind ten times worse.

She watched as you lifted your head, tilting your head back against the coolness of the wall, hoping to at least lessen your sickness slightly to eventually pick yourself up from the floor and drag yourself to the confines of your bedroom.

This was enough for today.

Uncapping the cold, plastic bottle, you let the stream of water slide down your throat, gulping mouthful after mouthful until you were satisfied.

“Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

Abby didn’t know why, but she found her limbs moving without her mind catching up to match her actions, hands on either side of her cheeks, thumb brushing over her cheekbones, feeling the heat of your flushed skin against her own.

She was full of surprises today, and you weren’t prepared for the last one of the night.

It concluded with the flesh of her warm, chapped lips against your cold, wet ones, despite the numerous times you dipped your head in the toilet.

And just like the bad friend you are, you kissed her back, hard enough to knock her off the tips of her toes and onto her bottom as it came in contact with the tile of the bathroom floor.

She pulled away, looking you straight in your eyes without a hint of guilt giving away how she felt right now, but the hammering of her heart against her ribcage gave you the answer you needed.

“What’re you doing to me?”

#abby tlou #abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby the last of us #abby anderson smut #abby anderson x you #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson x y/n #tlou part 2 #tlou2 #abby anderson angst #abby anderson fluff #tlou abby

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palajae · 1 year

Text

i like you.

PAIRING ▸ dancer! niki x dancer! reader

GENRE ▸ dancer! au, a2ls, romance, fluff, humor

WORD COUNT ▸ 4.5k

SUMMARY ▸ a collab with one of the best dancers at your studio might not sound too bad. it would’ve been amazing, except for the fact that in the ten years you’ve known nishimura riki, you’ve only spoken a total of two words to your beloved dance partner.

AKA a try not to be awkward challenge.

NOTES ▸ like one kiss? not proofread, if i missed anything please let me know! // a merry merry christmas to anyone who celebrates it:)))

PLAYING ▸ i like you by post malone (ft doja cat). | series masterlist.

AS THE MUSIC ENDS, THE SOUND OF YOUR HEAVY BREATHING FILLS THE AIR.

Another day of practice, another day of exhaustion and a lot of sweating. Unbeknownst to you as you wipe your forehead with your shirt, a small group stands outside the door to your practice room, peeking in through the tiny window.

They whisper in awe after experiencing your performance, just separated by a mere door from a few feet away. Your fluidity, attention to even the tiniest details, the look in your eyes, it was all different.

No wonder it seemed like you were on another level, separated from the others since the beginning by an invisible barrier known as raw talent and skill.

The only other ‘one’ like you was Nishimura Riki, or more commonly referred to as Niki. Between all the trainees at your dance company, you two were different. You just stood out the minute you walked into a room.

If you were being honest, you’ve only interacted with Niki before at the company studio like... once. A total of five minutes in each other’s presence that consisted of bowing politely and greetings before he was called away by his sister. You forgot but probably said something along the lines of “good morning,” or literally anything else that couldn’t have made it any more awkward than it already was.

That was your first impression of Niki. Before that, you only heard of his impressive skill when you first joined over ten years ago, especially since he was the studio founder’s son. You heard all about how he started dancing when he was three and had kept going since.

Besides that, most of your time was spent practicing alone and occasionally with friends or instructors. And when competition season came around, it was even worse.

That was when more than half your day was spent in one of the practice rooms, going over your multiple routines and rehearsing until you physically couldn’t anymore.

Today was no different. The first competition was in about a week and everyone had been on edge. That meant no time to waste on trivial matters like- in your case- watching others dance.

Your friends understood how seriously you took dancing, because they were the same. Maybe they didn’t have as much passion as you, meaning they weren’t willing to sacrifice as much of their normal lives, but again that was what separated you from the rest.

There were plenty of events and sections that your studio entered in, and you yourself were no different, having entered in numerous ones already. All trainees were busy preparing for competition day, countless routines performed simultaneously.

A figure coldly pushes past the small crowd of dancers, knocking only once on the door before entering the room you occupied. They whisper in alarm and shock at how urgently he entered.

You gulp down water, head turning towards the sound from the entrance. You tilt your head in acknowledgment, “Instructor Woo. What’s up?”

The serious expression on his face sends alarms ringing through your body, but you try to keep calm. Maybe you were reading too much into it. Your teacher was always known as the cold and strict type when you first met, but after years your relationship had melted into a respectable junior-senior one.

“Follow me.”

Confused, heart rate beginning to pick up, you grab your stuff and follow him, ignoring the fellow bystanders waiting outside the door.

Once you’ve reached the safety and privacy of his office, you falter. Mainly because you weren’t alone- it wasn’t just the two of you.

Niki stands there with unreadable look as he spots you the same time you spot him. Recognition flickers in his eyes for split second before he glances away.

You cross your arms, barely addressing him. “What’s going on?”

You give your instructor a purposeful stare as if to say, why in the world were you alone in a room with him and Nishimura Riki?

He sighs, clasping his hands together. “Two dancers who entered in a couple performance just got into a minor accident. They’re on bed rest for at least a week.”

It was just like him to go straight to the point. You know exactly what he means, but you don’t understand why he’s letting you know.

You frown. “I’m sorry to hear that… but why are you telling us that?”

Niki side-eyes you, mumbling something along the lines of, “isn’t it obvious?”

You glance at him for a second before returning your attention to Instructor Woo.

“I apologize for bringing this upon you so late, but we need you two to sub in.”

No. No one does that. No one is given an event with less than a week to prepare. Especially not, your eyes slide to the boy next to you again, especially not if you had to work with someone who was essentially a stranger to you.

It’s like your instructor already knew what you were about to say before you opened your mouth, holding up a hand to stop you in your tracks.

“I know we’re asking for a lot, but you two are the best dancers at the company. That’s a fact. We decided on you two for a reason- because we all know you can pull it off together.”

You’re speechless while Niki just stands there. With no reaction, Instructor Woo sighs and pulls out his phone. He taps the screen before turning it to show you and Niki.

Two people, you’re guessing the two that got in the accident, dancing to…

Havana?

Immediately, you shake your head. “No. I’m not doing that.”

He sits up straighter, “You don’t get to make a decision-“

You turn to Niki, “No offense, but I barely know you, and there’s no way we’re dancing to that song together.”

He shrugs, “None taken.”

“Y/n y/l/n.” At that, you almost shrink.��

“What happened to your professionalism? You have less than a week to learn a new dance, what other choice do you have?”

Perhaps you should’ve taken the time before to watch Niki dance- even seeing him perform once would’ve helped and provided some familiarity.

Regardless, the stubbornness in you just tells you that it doesn’t fit your own style, and you don’t want to- you just can’t do a dance if it won’t be executed up to your standards. You won’t ever be satisfied.

You clench your hands into fists, “I’m sorry but I know I can’t possibly perform that dance as well as I want to in less than a week. Perhaps if I had more time to work on it, then I would agree but I don’t have the luxury, so I can’t. There’s only one other option we have and I’d rather take that risk for a better performance. I’m fully willing to take responsibility if it doesn’t work out.”

For the first time, Niki agrees with you, nodding along to your words.

Your dance instructor grumbles and you look at Niki before speaking up again.

“We’ll choose a song and choreograph it ourselves,” your voice sounded much more confident than how much confidence you actually had in yourself.

He drops his phone on his desk, eyes widen and mouth set in a firm line. “Do you know what you’re saying? A whole new dance in six- technically, five days?”

And you nod.

By the end, Instructor Woo has given up and left it to you two to figure things out. You feel grateful for the immense trust he has in you because honestly, you don’t have even close to enough trust in yourself.

The walk out of his office is silent. In all the times you’ve seen Niki around the company, this is the first time you’ve been so close to him. It’s strange seeing him up close, he was much more defined (and taller) than you thought.

“Hey, uh,” you say hesitantly, “I just wanted to apologize for saying all that without discussing with you first.”

Niki recognizes your words with a tiny nod and you bite your lip, unsure if you’re about to regret your next words.

“If you really want, we can just do the previous dance.”

But to your surprise, Niki frowns. “No, I’d rather make a new choreography that fits us better too.”

And he sees you smile for the first time.

You were grateful for the fact that you spent the previous month practicing and getting the hang of your other routines. Only because originally, your plan was to spend the last week leading up to competition day just finalizing moves and reviewing until after the bombshell that Instructor Woo dropped on you and Niki and your plans were mostly scrapped.

You supposed Niki’s plan was the same, due to one night that you walked into your planned meetings and caught the end of one of his performances. Judging by the slight shine off his skin and heavy breathing, he must’ve been dancing for a while.

“Hey,” you reply meekly. He gives a short greeting back before focusing back on a certain part of the choreo. As you get your things settled and start warming up, you realize you can’t stand the silence.

“Are you, uh, ready for competition? Besides our performance together?”

“Yeah. Maybe not as much as I would like but as Woo said, we don’t have a choice.”

You nod silently. “Then… should we decide on a song?”

“Okay.”

So far so great, you think internally with a grimace. You knew close to nothing about Niki and now you have to work with him for almost a week straight. Not to forget the fact that you’re almost always the first to speak to him. The long silence was starting to get to your head.

“Since this is a couple performance…” you inhale, “what kind of song would you rather do?”

Obviously his preference wasn’t the sensual and slower type, and if it was, it obviously wasn’t a dance he would want to do with a stranger like you (and neither would you). Even so, you could just tell that wasn’t a song he would pick.

He drums his fingers on the wooden floor, seemingly in deep thought. You forgot he also knew close to nothing about you as well and was probably taking your impression into account.

“How about Hip hop? RnB?” He looks at you questioningly, and you’re a bit shocked. Was that a lucky guess or did you just have similar styles?

Niki must’ve noted the look on your face because he scratches the back of his head sheepishly. “Do you not like that?”

You’re quick to shake your head, “No no, that’s not it at all! Actually, I’d prefer to do those.”

“Oh. Cool.” He smiles thoughtfully to himself, although you miss it.

You hum, “I like you?”

Niki suddenly shoots up, mouth gaping as he blinks at you. “E-Excuse me? I’m sorry, but I barely know-”

You roll your eyes, becoming a little flustered as you realize the double meaning behind your words. “I-I meant the song, you idiot. Who would suddenly confess like that..” your voice ends in a grumble.

“It’s i like you by post malone,” your words come out unintentionally louder to get your point across.

“Ah.” He pauses for a moment before agreeing, ears reddening. “Sure. I like his music.”

Then came the real challenge. Creating a whole new dance from scratch.

Actually, you wanted to use that song for your own dance but seeing a bit of Niki’s dancing, you realized it would be a good fit for him too. You even brainstormed some moves but thinking about Niki’s reaction made you unsure.

It’s fine, you reassure yourself. You’ll come up with something, no matter what. The instructors chose you two for a reason. You needed to trust yourself and your partner.

You suddenly clap your hands. “Let’s get to it.”

You prided yourself on making others, especially strangers, comfortable with you. Even if it didn’t seem like it with your usual blank expression and valued independence. Yes you prioritized dance, but time with others was something you enjoyed. Niki wasn’t an exception, except that he was pretty shy by himself.

It surprised you a little, as from what you’ve heard from others he wasn’t like that at all. Then again, people said he was scary and like an annoying little kid at the same time so you couldn’t form an opinion right off the bat.

As you mapped out ideas, pieces began to fall into place. That was one of the things you enjoyed most about choreographing your own performance. The satisfaction as parts began to connect and your hard work began to show its efforts, it was the best feeling for you.

It helped that you two had a lot of experience under your belt- but that didn’t mean it was easy.

You both fall to the floor, drained. After more than 12 hours spent on experimenting new moves, you check the time. 4am.

You were used to it but adding on the burden of knowing you had about four and a half days left, your body felt heavier.

“How far did we get?” You breathe out, eyes closing.

“Almost one minute.” The sound of his husky voice makes you shiver and your eyes open. He must be tired.

You sit up, trying to lighten the mood. “Hey, that’s more progress than I thought. We’re almost a third done,” you remind.

“You’re right.” He groans while sitting up and your forehead creases in concern.

“Niki, here.”

You toss him water and he thanks you with surprise evident on his face. “Thanks.”

“How much sleep did you get?” Although your actions seemed like they were out of concern, you simply didn’t want your partner passing out on the dance floor. Not when you had several more runs to get through.

Niki runs a hand through his hair, “Three hours, maybe? I was practicing and didn’t realize the time…”

His words strike you in gut. Real hard, because you were the exact same. You don’t know the amount of times you had answered in almost the exact same way when others asked you.

You huff, “Go home and get some sleep, Niki. I want us both to be in our best condition since we have such limited time.”

He lets out a half scoff and half laugh. “You sound just like Instructor Woo. Why should I listen to you?”

“Okay,” you hold out your hand, “I want the water back. I bought it with my own money since the water here tastes like the sewers.”

He pauses mid gulp and you can’t hold back your laugh. Swallowing, he stares at you indignantly.

“Hey, take that back. Our company water is perfectly fine.”

You forgot he was the son of the CEO, but that still didn’t change your opinion. You make a sound of disapproval, “I don’t ever see you drinking it.”

Okay, so you got him there. He makes an expression like he’s been caught before breaking out in laughter and you can’t help but join in.

The song you chose, you think it really united your styles together. That could’ve played a factor in why you and Niki got along quickly. Or the shared pressure that you both felt in order to get this dance executed as close as you could to perfect.

It had only been a few days spent with Niki and yet you could (and would) already consider yourself friends. After 10 years of passing each other in the halls silently, it was suddenly like you knew him all that time.

Practicing was fun with Niki. He got you. Your humor matched, and the fact that you both learned the choreo quickly lightened a bit of the heavy load off your shoulders and made you less pressured. Countless hours of working hard paid off, making your miniature breaks with him even more worth it.

To the point you would go out for a treat to reward yourself for the hard work.

When he suggested ice cream, you gladly agreed. You paid for the both of you as Niki protested, leading to hours of bickering that didn’t stop during your practices. It only ended with a promise of next time, he would get it.

“I said it was fine, Niki.”

Your hands are on your hips, lips blowing out exasperated air as you shake your head again.

You knew he was stubborn but not this stubborn. He rolls over to lay on his stomach, eyes peeking up you. Even when half of his face was covered by his arms, you could see the displeasure written all over his face.

“You didn’t even let me pay you back!” He childishly objects, kicking his feet off the ground. You bite back a smile, fingers hovering over the play button.

“Are you done? So we can continue practicing?”

You hear a muffled no as he gets up, warming up his body.

“I’m not gonna give up,” he reminds as you approach him, getting into position. “Sure,” you agree with a grin, waiting for the countdown.

“Next time. I’m getting it.”

Next time? Taken by surprise, you start a second too late, glaring as Niki watches you with an amused yet fond look. You didn’t mean to get flustered but the longer Niki gives you that sly smirk, the harder it is for you to continue going on. When the section ends, you shove him and he snickers. You’re both breathing heavily but with matching smiles on your faces.

“Why were you looking at me like that?” You try your best to seem annoyed.

“What do you mean?” The fake clueless shrug makes you narrow your eyes at him.

“Oh, so now you’re playing innocent?”

“Who was the one that couldn’t focus again?”

It’s because of you, you think silently.

You weren’t sure if you were the only one that looked forward to working with Niki all day, seeing his face light up and laughing for hours on end until your stomach hurt.

You really enjoyed seeing the side of him that many others couldn’t see, because it meant you had reached a deeper level.

It meant Niki trusted you- he trusted you to be a little more vulnerable and show more of himself to you.

You weren’t sure if you were the only one that felt it.

With about two days left, you two had been over the routine countless times. As much as you enjoyed the song, you were starting to get sick of hearing it again and again.

Everyone else at the studio recognized it too. They saw your dedication and time spent together, the younger trainees whispering a lot in awe.

Even at home in your bed quite late at night, while you were up texting your friends, they noticed it all too.

Don’t you think you’re spending a lot of time with Niki?

I’ve never seen you around hang someone so much..

him neither-

You frown while reading the messages, fingers already flying across the screen to type out a response. Your reasoning?

You both had an insane drive to win, and if that meant practicing 15 hours a day together, so be it.

Your friends didn’t believe it.

hmmmm nah

We keep hearing that niki never spends this much time with someone else

like, not even with his friends

You frown. You don’t even know what they’re getting at. With that, you leave their questions on read.

But those messages stay in the back of your head leading up to the performance. You don’t think it’s a good idea to dwell, all your time and energy needed to be on this final performance and your other ones, and you didn’t want to break the groove. So you hold back. At least, you try to the night before competition day.

The song ends and you don’t realize how much you’re ready to never listen to this song again. As much as you liked i like you (ironic, you know), the stress and trauma of the whole situation kinda ruined it.

At least you had Niki to share it with.

Satisfied with your performance, you look over at him and laugh, holding out a hand for a high five. He easily high-fives you back, grinning in content.

“Good luck, partner.”

Your smile unconsciously grows. “Good luck to you tomorrow, too.”

“Don’t sleep too late and stress about it, okay? We got this.” He must see through you and into the anxiety settled in your system since he was the one reassuring you, not the other way around.

“Yes sir,” you joke. “You too, though,” you add warmly and he nods, almost shy? to the point where you can notice the sudden shift in the air. You cock your head-

“I just wanted to say thank you… and I’m glad that you’re my partner.”

Your eyes widen at his confession, wandering around before deciding to settle on his shoes. You felt your heart pounding as the texts your friends sent echo in your head.

“Me too,” you reply softly.

The day of competition, you feel the familiar jitters in the pit of your stomach. Your duo with Niki came at the end after your solo performances, so you had some time to prepare yourself.

With all the chaos of calling performers and getting hair and makeup done, you hadn’t seen him at all. But you knew he was going to ace it. You only hoped you would too.

Your name is called and you exhale. It’s time.

By the end of your solo performances, you’re exhausted. But you can’t stop now. Ten minutes until you’re supposed to be called for your duo performance and you don’t know where Niki is. You were already dressed and waiting for your partner.

You asked several people if they saw him but to no avail. Just for a second, you decide to sit down somewhere with free space to rest your tired legs. Competition day was high energy and constantly draining, but that’s what you loved about it.

“Y/n!”

Your head whips up, glancing around to find the owner of the voice. Niki pushes past a few people, getting over to you while panting.

“Niki!” You call out, surprised.

He stops in his tracks. You say his name again, slightly concerned this time.

“You look really good.”

You cough, trying to hide your embarrassment at his sudden compliment.

“You do too.”

He fiddles with his hands, biting back a smile. “Thanks. Sorry I was late, my event ended 15 minutes later because of someone who didn’t show.”

You roll your eyes, “That’s sucks- I get it, don’t worry.” Eyes shining, Niki takes a step closer and your mouth falls shut.

It felt like he was about to say something, probably something important, but you hear your names getting called. You give him a look as if to say, go ahead and say it quickly, but he shakes his head.

Instead of words, Niki offers a hand and you gladly squeeze it, heart feeling like it was going to burst as you made your way to the stage.

Showtime.

Needless to say, you aced it. The cheering crowd and endless compliments from your fellow friends and dancers made it even more obvious. You didn’t get much alone time with Niki after the performance, but it was okay because you knew you would see him at the award ceremony.

Even Instructor Woo approached you both, clapping with an impressed look. “No wonder you two are the best, you did not disappoint me. I’m proud of you guys, keep it up.”

You share amused looks with Niki, having already joked and laughed to the point of tears from Woo’s cold persona.

The hardest part was the time for awards.

As they called out different categories and sections, you zoned out in your seat. How could you not? After a long week of practice, practice, and more practice, your mind flew through the past couple of days.

Meeting Niki again, getting to know him, adjusting your dancing together, having fun together, stressing together- all in the span of a week. Yet as he sat a few chairs from from you, you realized you didn’t want it to end.

You wanted to keep doing all those things with him. It felt like you had known each other for years, and besides the fact that most of those years were spent as strangers, you realize your time together was precious- it had just started. Regardless of if you won or not, you didn’t want Niki and you to be strangers again.

You didn’t want to lose him.

Just as that realization hits you, you hear the announcer call out your and Niki’s section. Your breath hitches as your hands grow clammy. Unbeknownst to you, Niki’s eyes flick over to you.

“And the first place is…”

You can hear your heart pounding, blood rushing. In that second, your eyes meet his. Everything without any words, you understand with that single glance.

You don’t, or do, expect your name to be called, followed by Niki’s.

Without even thinking about it, you rise up from your seat, fellow trainees and dancers cheering so loud the sound echoed in your head for days after, and even through all of that you can only focus on Niki.

People get out of the way as your body moves on its own, directing you towards him as he gets closer. Suddenly, you’re engulfed by Niki, his scent filling your nose as he picks you up and spins you around. That’s when you break out of it.

He’s laughing, you’re smiling.

“Congrats, partner.”

You laugh brightly, reaching to tussle his hair. “Congrats too. I’m proud of you.”

His gaze sucks you in- it’s like you can’t even force yourself to look away. You could care less about the surrounding people.

“Maybe after,” he starts carefully, and you swallow, “after the competition is over- do you wanna like, get out of here?”

A huge wave of relief washes over you. Maybe it’s the relieved pressure of finishing this performance or the way that Niki’s staring at you while biting his lips in what you think is nervousness.

“I would very much like that,” you pause and Niki looks visibly happier at that compared to just seconds earlier when you two were just announced as the winners. You shyly cough,

“-and I very much like you.”

Niki freezes at you abrupt confession. You avoid his stare, swiftly regretting your heat of the moment decision.

Without realizing it in your embarrassment, Niki swoops down to give you a quick peck. Very much in front of your whole company. Gasps and squeals fill the air, unless you just imagined it.

Now you’re the one taken aback.

“Me too,” he smirks while murmuring,

“I like you.”

Those three words you thought you were sick of didn’t sound too bad coming out of Niki’s mouth.

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