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crystallinestars · 3 months

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If They Were Your Pet Cat

Happy Cat Day (22.02)! I was inspired to write a few headcanons about what the boys would be like as cats.

I wanted to include a few more boys, but my brain ran out of juice.

Parts 2 and 3 with Honkai Star Rail boys here and here.

Contains: Kaveh, Alhaitham, Itto, Scaramouche, Venti, and Dainsleif.

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Kaveh:

🍷 Is a Siberian breed.

🍷 When you first brought him home, Kaveh took a while to warm up to you. He was wary of your intentions and reluctant to let you touch him. With some patience and gentleness, you eventually melted the golden feline’s heart, and he became inseparable from you. Wherever you go in the house, he follows, or at the very least checks on you to know where you are.

🍷 Kaveh is very sensitive to your emotional state. If you’re feeling depressed, he likes to lay on your chest and purr until you feel better. When you cry, he’s always by your side, rubbing his cheeks against you and licking at your face as if trying to wipe them away. He doesn’t leave your side until he’s sure you’re alright.

🍷 Due to your work/school, Kaveh is used to you coming and going at certain times as a part of your daily routine. However, if you come home later than usual, expect to have a grumpy cat on your hands. He will angrily meow at you non-stop and flick his tail in annoyance. He doesn’t like being alone, and he lets you have a piece of his mind if you leave him alone for long periods of time. He’ll sulk unless you coax him with some treats and gentle pats. Spending some time grooming or playing with him usually calms him down afterward.

🍷 Is very good with having guests over. Kaveh is a sociable cat and always greets anyone that comes through the door and gives them a sniff to learn who they are. He’s open to being petted by others but prefers to sit on your lap as opposed to your friends or family.

🍷 He’s a gorgeous cat but his coat is high maintenance. Because it’s so thick and long, he doesn’t tolerate the heat well. He requires regular brushing and grooming to keep his coat healthy. It’s a good thing he enjoys being petted because it makes grooming much easier. He tends to lean into your touch or the hairbrush when you stroke his body and purrs a lot throughout the entire process. He loves being pampered.

🍷 Kaveh likes to sleep on your bed, pressed up against you or lying on your chest. You got him a cat bed, but Kaveh still prefers to sleep right next to you in your bed.

🍷 He’s generally very affectionate. He both loves to give you affection and receive it. You’re not sure how well Kaveh understands what you say, but he always looks very smug whenever you praise him and give him scritches. He’ll headbutt you, asking for more head pats and affection.

🍷 You often find him staring out the window with rapture. You’re not sure what captivates his attention so much—maybe the sunset, the rainbow after the rain, or perhaps the flowers that bloom right outside your window. He’s also strangely attracted to lightning. Rather than get scared and hide, he sits by the window and stares out at the stormy skies.

Alhaitham:

🎧 Is a Russian blue.

🎧 Alhaitham is the quietest cat you’ve ever met. Hearing him meow or make any kind of vocal sound is rare. He’s also very introverted and prefers to spend time alone, hidden in some cozy nook or cranny.

🎧 He’s also very stubborn and smart. If you want to put a silly little cat costume on him for laughs, you can forget it because Alhaitham will give you the slip every time without fail. Rather than try to chase and play hide-and-seek with him, it’s much easier to abandon the idea altogether. If he doesn’t want something done to him, you won’t be able to force him.

🎧 As mentioned earlier, he’s a very smart cat. Alhaitham figured out how to open doors on his own, and is even able to open the fridge all by himself. It’s a bit annoying because he sometimes uses his abilities to sneak a tasty little something from the fridge, but his intelligence is truly a marvel. When you speak to him, Alhaitham’s expressions and body language change in response to your words, almost as if he understands exactly what you’re saying and is reacting to it.

🎧 Most of your friends and family have only caught glimpses of him when they visit. That’s because Alhaitham dislikes having guests over, and tends to hide from them. He only comes out once they leave.

🎧 He’s not a social cat in general and likes to keep his distance even from you. He’s not a lap cat, and will jump off and leave if you try to force him to lay on your lap. When he does feel like being social, Alhaitham will lay beside you if you’re reading a book, or perch on your shoulder to observe what you’re doing.

🎧 Is a very lazy cat, so you frequently find him taking naps while lying in a warm spot of sunshine. If you disturb his nap by attempting to pet or poke him, he gives you a displeased look and flicks his tail in annoyance. He’s very grumpy when his sleep is ruined.

🎧 Alhaitham never listens to strangers but does listen to you. If you call him over, he will come to you. He also tolerates your touch, and lets you squeeze and pet him without biting or scratching you. He looks unhappy about it, but lets you do as you please. However, if you ruin his attempts to leave once he’s had enough of your affection, he will take his revenge. That cup that’s sitting near the edge of the table? Yeah, he’s gonna push that off and stare at you without remorse while it crashes to the ground.

Itto:

🐂 A Maine Coon.

🐂 Itto is not meant for a house cat lifestyle. Despite your best attempts to keep him indoors, the rascal always manages to slip out somehow and venture into the great outdoors. His yearning to explore the greater world is too strong for you to contain, so you have to make peace with the fact he’ll spend most of his time roaming outside. On the bright side, Itto always comes home to you without fail, looking happy to see you and bask in your affection again.

🐂 He made friends with some stray cats in the area, so you have a small group of them regularly come to your porch and meow until you give them some food. It’s a bit costly to feed so many mouths, but watching the cats play together or rub against your legs while purring affectionately convinces you it’s worth it.

🐂 Since Itto spends so much time outside, he tends to come home dirty and matted. He needs to be bathed to stay clean, but good luck getting him in the bath. He screams and yowls bloody murder every time you try to wash him, to the point that your neighbors knock on your door to ask what’s going on. Thankfully, they grow accustomed to Itto’s bathtime opera and stop pestering you about it.

🐂 Brushing Itto’s fur also proves a challenge because he just can’t sit still. The little guy has too much energy to keep contained, so he usually ends up looking disheveled.

🐂 Itto is also a giant glutton. He’s capable of eating a week’s worth of cat food in just 3-4 days, yet somehow doesn’t gain weight. It’s expensive to keep him fed. If you try to put him on a diet, he will be very vocal in his complaints and even steal food from your plate.

🐂 He’s a troublemaker, but he’s incredibly loyal to you. If you’re feeling down, he’ll get you to play with him to take your mind off your troubles. If that doesn’t work, he’ll become more affectionate and rub up against you to get you to pet him and relieve stress. He never abandons you if you’re not feeling your best.

Scaramouche:

☂️ Is a domestic shorthaired tuxedo cat.

☂️ Was very hostile and cold towards you when you first got him. He was averse to touch, and often hissed and glared at you for the first few months of your joint cohabitation. Over time, when he was sure you meant him no harm, Scaramouche relaxed in your presence and wasn’t so hostile towards you anymore. He still glares daggers at any guests you may have over, but with you, he’s calmer and more affectionate.

☂️ Scaramouche is a bit of a loner and tends to slink off on his own to whatever corner of the house he calls his own. When guests are over, he likes to sit in an elevated spot (top of the closet, fridge, or shelf) and observe everyone from above. He does this for two reasons: firstly to discourage people from touching him, and secondly to keep an eye on the people around you.

☂️ If there’s someone he doesn’t like, Scaramouche will make it very apparent. That unfortunate guest of yours will get a warning growl to stay away from you. If the guest doesn’t comply, Scaramouche could even go as far as scratching the person. It’s not good behaviour on his part, but Scaramouche has his reasons. You’ve come to learn that he’s very good at picking out individuals who have bad intentions towards you or are just overall not good people.

☂️ He's a bit of a grumpy cat. He’ll let out noises of discontent if you pick him up to cuddle him or groom him, but he’s just all bark and no bite (but only with you). As unhappy as he’ll look, he’ll tolerate whatever it is you want to do to him. Unless it’s dressing him in silly costumes. Then you’ll get a harmless swat to your face (he makes sure to keep his claws retracted) and won’t see him for the rest of the day. Scaramouche won’t come out even when you call for him. No silly costumes, please.

☂️ For all his grouchy attitude, he still loves you. He wakes you up on time if you sleep through your alarm, badgers you if you forget to take your meds, and purrs on your chest when you feel sad. He’s very intelligent for a cat.

☂️ Is very picky about food. He won’t eat just anything you give him. Unfortunately for you, the only cat food brand he’s willing to eat is very expensive. He’s a very spoiled cat.

☂️ Hates bathing. Scaramouche tolerates brushing and nail trimming, but God forbid you try to put him in the bath. He will meow angrily and try to run, so it’s always an ordeal to hold him still long enough to bathe him. Sends you a scathing look if you laugh at how skinny he looks once his fur is matted to his body, making him look several sizes smaller. If you laugh, he’ll give you the cold shoulder afterward, so you won’t see him for a few days.

☂️ Isn’t into playing with cat toys, but he does hunt in his spare time. He brought you birds and mice a few times as a ‘gift’. He genuinely meant well, so was a bit irritated that you threw his gifts away.

Venti:

🍃 A munchkin cat.

🍃 Venti is a cat that cannot be tamed. He clearly understands your commands because he sometimes complies with them when he feels like it, but most of the time he prefers to do his own thing. This includes venturing out into the great outdoors. Venti is not content staying cooped up at home, and you’ve long since learned to just let him go out when he wants. He’ll find a way to escape one way or the other. Besides, he still comes home, so it’s not like he doesn’t like living with you.

🍃 Venti seems to have an appreciation for music. He becomes energized whenever you play music, no matter what genre the song may be. He becomes more playful, so you often find yourself sidetracked playing with the cat instead of doing your work. If you can’t play with him, then Venti will zoom around the house like a cat on a sugar rush.

🍃 To your surprise, Venti also likes to sing. Or at least, you think the caterwauls he’s making are his attempts at singing along to some of the songs. It’s an amusing, albeit weird, sight.

🍃 Is generally not a lap cat, but he makes exceptions if he senses that you’re feeling down. During such moments, he becomes more subdued and nuzzles into your side, allowing you to pet him. His gentle purring and soft body usually help you feel better. If not, then he’ll stick to you like glue and follow you around the house to keep you company. It will be one of the few times when Venti sleeps next to you at night since he usually goes off on his own during that time. It’s obvious that he worries about your well-being.

🍃 Out of all the foods you let Venti try, you never expected him to like apples as much as he did. You swear he likes them more than the expensive cat treats you bought him. You trained him to do all kinds of tricks and even sit still for grooming in exchange for a few slices of apple (given as a treat).

🍃 He likes sleeping outside under the shade of the canopy, accompanied by a gentle breeze. You often catch him sleeping high up in a tree or a nook somewhere in the grass.

Dainsleif:

🌌 A Norwegian Forest cat.

🌌 You got Dainsleif from a shelter. He has a chronic illness that requires you to take him to the vet regularly for treatment, and some kind of scarring on his right side. The right side of his face and flank has matted, thinning fur, and you can only guess what happened to him before he ended up at the shelter. He was a very pitiful sight, which is why you brought him home. Under your care, Dainsleif lives the best life he can given his afflictions, and you’re even proud to say that aside from his mangled right side, the rest of his coat looks gorgeous.

🌌 Dainsleif is a relatively quiet and well-tempered cat. Though he’s shy and skittish around strangers, with you, he is more open. In private, his sweet temperament comes out. He often grooms you with his tongue as an act of affection and relishes in your gentle caresses when you pet or groom him in return. Watching his eyes close as he relaxes is a nice feeling since he usually has his guard up.

🌌 He’s not playful. Dainsleif is kind of serious for a cat. He dutifully waits for you at the door like a dog whenever you leave the house and greets you with a loud meow when you return. He doesn’t play with the toys you got him and prefers to spend most of his time sitting by the window and staring outside with an expression you can only describe as wistful.

🌌 Likes to sample whatever food you’re having. Dainsleif eats his cat food just fine, but you notice that he’s often curious about what you’re eating. He can’t help but want to sniff and taste human foods since the unique scents and flavors entice him. You share a little bit of your food with him after making sure it’s safe for cats, and Dainsleif couldn’t be more grateful for your generosity. However, this led to him expecting you to share a bit of your food with him during every meal. He’ll look dejected if you don’t.

🌌 When not weighed down by his illness, Dainsleif is very agile and has good stamina. He’s well suited for traveling outdoors with you if it’s something you want to try and will stay by your side like a loyal guard dog the entire time.

🌌 He’s very pliant with you. He tolerates bathing and grooming like a trooper despite not being fond of it since you’re the only one he trusts. If someone else attempted to groom him, then Dainsleif would simply run off and hide. However, he allows you to maneuver him in whatever way you need to complete the work well, and he doesn’t even complain about it. He becomes the sweetest cat in your presence.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #kaveh x reader #alhaitham x reader #arataki itto x reader #itto x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #venti x reader #dainsleif x reader #genshin fluff

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janaispunk · 2 months

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sun is going down

chapter 1 • series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: An injured Joel and Ellie stumble into your home in the middle of the night. Against your better judgement, you decide to help them.

word count: ~2.2k

tags/warnings: post outbreak, slow burn, found family, age gap (sorry not sorry), able-bodied reader, angst, reader has a sad sad backstory and ptsd, hurt/comfort, fluff, eventual smut, vague description of an injury, blood, guns, i think that’s it?

a/n: i’m ridiculously nervous about sharing this story, it has been on my mind for over a year and i’ve been too intimidated to start working on it for the longest time. i really hope that someone likes it haha

follow @janaispunknotifs for fic updates and find my full masterlist here :)

dividers as always by the lovely @saradika-graphics 🤍

The alarm goes off in the middle of the night. You shoot up, your body on high alert, your heart beating rapidly, before your mind is even fully awake.

Probably just a false one, you try telling yourself as you make your way to the office. You’ve never had a false alarm, but– one can hope, right?

The place is plunged into darkness, no windows for any moonlight to seep through. You turn on the camera feed, squinting at the grainy screen. There’s movement in the living room, two people, from what you can make out. Not infected, judging from the way they’re moving, but one of them seems to be injured. Please don’t be raiders. There isn’t much to loot in the house, but the anxiety is already settling in your chest, threatening to crawl up your throat.

You turn on the sound and a panicked girl’s voice rings through the room as if you were standing right next to her.

“Fuck, Joel, wake up. Joel, please–”

It’s eerily similar to words that you’ve said once, the memory still fresh, even now. You wonder if your voice was as thick with tears then as that girl’s is right now.

Not again. Not in this house, not while you’re watching, unable to do anything. Not again.

You still hear it, the echo in your mind clear as ever. Keep them safe. Promise me. The promise you failed to keep.

Unblinking, you stare at the screen, your mind running a mile a minute. This could be a trap. They could have been watching, could have somehow figured you out. Or, the tiny voice in the back of your head insists, or they really need help.

The girl is pleading for the man to hold on, to not fall asleep. The desperation in her tone is tearing at you, urging you into action. Fuck it, you have to do something.

You grab your gun from the wall and slowly make your way up the stairs, ignoring the anxious trembling in your hands. Maybe this is how you die.

Leaning your back against the wall, you take a deep breath, a fruitless attempt to calm yourself, and switch on the lamp outside. You can’t hear them anymore, but knowing that the living room is now bathed in light, you’re certain that they’re on high alert now. Shit shit shit. You steel yourself, undo the complicated lock and push the heavy door open.

Please don’t let it be a trap.

They’re both staring at you, a young girl standing in front of a man, lying on the ground, taking panting breaths. She’s pointing a gun straight at you, as if she’s trying to shield his larger body with hers. The weapon looks much too big in her hands.

The memory of a similar image tugs at the back of your mind, but you shove it away. Stay in the present, stay right here.

You clear your throat, raising your hands slightly. You don’t remember the last time you spoke to another living person. Your voice cracks.

“I– I don’t mean you any harm. I live here, I saw you on– on the cameras.”

The girl furrows her brow, her eyes flitting across the room.

“They’re hidden, you won’t– Listen, I just want to help, I promise.”

The sound of your voice wavers, almost unfamiliar to your own ears. The girl lowers her gun a fraction, but the distrust is written all over her face. You can’t blame her. You clear your throat again, willing your hands to stop shaking.

“Your dad, is he– has he been bitten?” Please say no, please say no, please say no.

She shakes her head quickly. An expression that you can’t place flies over her features. Thank god.

“He’s not my– no. He got– he got stabbed.”

You can tell that she tries to sound strong, brave, but you recognize the panic in her eyes. You see it often enough when you look into the mirror.

You take another steadying breath. You can do this.

“Okay. I can help with that, if– if you want. I have medicine, bandages…”

Hope flashes over her face, mixed with the obvious conflict of not trusting you.

“You can come downstairs, it’s safer there. I– I should turn the lights back off.”

You’re painfully aware of how bright the house must shine through the darkness, from how far away it’s probably visible right now. Your nerves are fluttering anxiously.

“I don’t mean to hurt you, I swear. Just– let me help you.”

She swallows, hard, and fixes you with a stare.

“It’s just you down there?”

You nod in silent confirmation, not trusting your voice on this. It’s the first time you’ve ever had to admit it to anyone but yourself.

The girl sighs, her head turning between you and the man behind her a few times, surely seeking guidance from him, but his eyes are halfway shut, his lips trembling. Your gaze falls on the dark red stain on his shirt.

Don’t look, don’t think- Just focus on this, right now, right here.

You tell her your name, promise again that it’s safe. Finally, she nods timidly.

“Okay.”

“Okay.” You nod back at her, give her a small smile that she doesn’t return. “I’ll come closer now, we’ll carry him, alright?”

The girl looks at the man again. Her body tenses when you near them, but together you manage to get him back on his feet and half walk, half carry him. You push the door open wider and heave him down the stairs.

In the back of your mind, you take note of the sound of multiple feet walking down the steps, and how long it’s been since… No. Stay in the present.

You prop him up on the couch, where the girl keeps hovering by his side while you rush up again to close and lock the door and turn off the lights. Next, you throw open the bathroom cabinet, gathering all the material that you might need.

You return and crouch down beside him, lying your things out on the table, and take a closer look, your fingers halting over him. He’s watching you through lidded eyes, a sheen of sweat on his pale face.

“What’s his name?” you ask, looking up at the girl.

“Joel,” she answers reluctantly. “I’m Ellie.”

“Hi, Ellie.” You hope your smile looks sincere, not betraying how nervous you are right now. How shaky the sight of his blood-soaked shirt makes you feel.

“Okay, Joel?” you address him directly. He only manages a tired hum in return. “I’m gonna clean this and try stitching you up. It’s gonna hurt, I have painkillers, if you–”

But he shakes his head, humming again.

“Alright,” you sigh, and get to work.

You explain what you’re doing with every step, to calm both their and your own nerves. You know how to do this, you’ve trained for this. The wound doesn’t look too deep and you pray that there’s no organ damage involved, because you don’t have the means to treat that properly, but it doesn’t look like it. There seems to be an infection spreading though, so you gather some antibiotics as well, hoping that they’ll still work the way they’re supposed to. Joel inhales sharply a few times, but seems to be out of it for most of the time, which you’re grateful for.

“How did this happen?” you ask, looking up at Ellie who’s still standing beside you, watching intently over what you’re doing.

“Raiders,” she mutters. “It was a broken baseball bat, I think.”

“Jesus,” you sigh. You wonder how they got out, your thoughts circling back to the gun in her hands, and you suppress a shudder. “Are you injured too?” you ask, deciding not to press her about the attack.

“No,” comes her quiet answer. You don’t catch the way she averts her eyes.

“Alright,” mumble eventually and straighten up. You’ve cleaned and bandaged the wound to the best of your ability and now you just have to hope that it will be enough.

“Do you want something to eat?” you ask the girl, who has taken to sit beside the couch on the ground, now that you’ve moved away from it. Her face lights up at the question and she nods eagerly.

You get two bowls of the soup that you’ve had for dinner for the both of you and she has already had a few spoonfuls before she eyes you warily.

“It’s not poisoned or something, is it?”

You huff a laugh and keep eating yours, holding her gaze with raised eyebrows. “Does it look like it?”

“Um, no…” she trails off, swallowing another spoonful and sighing at the taste. You wonder how long it’s been since they ate something. “You could have poisoned only mine though.”

“Well I didn’t,” you grin. It feels foreign, talking to another person, another child, but a warmth is slowly spreading through you that has nothing to do with the soup.

She wakes Joel and gets him to swallow a little soup as well as some water before he collapses back on the couch, his eyes closed and his breath evening out.

“Why do you… have all this?” she asks eventually, setting her bowl down on the table and looking around the room, the wood-covered walls and the multiple doors.

“My dad built it,” you reply, forcing your voice to stay neutral. “B–before.”

She hums in acknowledgement, her eyes still full of wonder.

“You’re welcome to stay,” you hear yourself say, “until he gets better, I mean.”

You don’t know if you’re being reckless, if this will be the thing that finally gets you killed, but it seems too elaborate to be a trap. And maybe, just maybe you like the idea of not being alone down here, even just for a short while, a little too much. She thanks you, her expression just as weary as you feel.

You offer that she can wash up if she wants, use the shower, that you could give her some clothes of yours. You’re still not sure if you’re doing the right thing, or if you’re just being incredibly stupid, but the sight of her worn down shirt and the way her hair is matted down with dirt makes your heart swell with the wish to care for her.

Her eyes flicker nervously between Joel and the bathroom door a few times, but eventually she agrees. While the shower runs, you settle down on the armchair across from the couch, sinking into the cushions, your knees pulled up to your chin, your eyes resting on the sleeping man. He’s huge, taking up the whole length of it, his feet dangling over the armrest, overwhelming even in his unconscious state.

You really hope that they’re good people. He could overpower you easily, there’s no doubt of that. You might not be a terrible fighter, but you don’t think that you’d be a match for him.

Your gaze lingers on his face, the strong shape of his nose, the pout of his lower lip, his brow furrowed even in his sleep. His fingers are twitching, one wrist adorned with a broken watch.

Ellie exits the bathroom again, clad in your old clothes, her damp hair dripping into the neckline of the t-shirt, like a younger version of you. It makes your heart ache.

Now that the adrenaline is rushing from your body, you realize how weird all this really is. You haven’t spoken to anybody in years and now there’s two people here, in your space. Maybe you’ve finally lost it for good.

You show her to the biggest of the four bedrooms, the only one that no one has ever slept in. It’s easier, opening this door, than the two other ones that you keep shut. You debate moving Joel from the couch to the bed, Ellie mumbling about his back, but ultimately you decide against it.

“Okay,” you hesitate, leaning against the doorframe. “I’m in the room right next to you, if you need anything… Just– please don’t murder me in my sleep, okay?”

She mirrors your wry smile. “I won’t if you won’t.”

You nod and leave the room, praying that you’re making the right call here. You’re doing something good, right? And no one would plan an ambush like this. Would they?

You heave a sigh and retreat to your own bedroom, your gun clutched tightly in your grasp. You doubt that it would save you, not against that man who’s currently softly snoring on your couch. Still, it makes you feel a little better. You turn the lock on your door too, just in case.

When you sink back under the covers, eyes still wide open and staring into the darkness, a small smile creeps onto your lips despite your worries.

It’s not the way it was, it will never be that way again. But not being the only soul down here fills you with the ghost of a warmth that you had thought you’d never feel again.

thank you for reading 🤍 if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending an ask, it truly makes my day every single time!

#janas fics #fic: safe and sound #joel miller #ellie williams #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedrostories

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astraystayyh · 3 months

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minho x reader. hurt/comfort. for my @rachalixie i love you 💓

you’ve never been scared of storms, never truly minded the wind rattling your windows or the bitter cold seeping through the hidden cracks of your home. you figured that the earth was allowed a moment of anger for all the burden it bears.

until tonight.

the earth was a bit angrier, the wind was more frantic, reaching inside your home and rattling your bones instead. the cold was biting, making shivers ripple through your skin no matter how tightly you pulled the cover over your body.

and then it was pitch black.

the storm suddenly felt more harmful, as if its anger was solely directed to you. and you were all alone, minho out to make sure the stray cats near your apartment were sheltered from the rain.

you freeze for a second, before turning on your phone’s flashlight and dialing minho’s number. the light is faint, flickering in and out of sight as thunder booms in your walls. you need minho.

“i’m coming upstairs,” he says upon picking up, “the power went out, right? the elevator isn’t working.”

“mm,” you hum, clutching your phone tighter, having little faith in which strangled sound your voice might conjure.

“are you scared?” he giggles, his laugh sounding like an airy bubble. you remain silent and you can hear him pause in his tracks, feel the softening of his voice before he speaks. “are you okay?” he asks again, tone much tender, making your heart ache for an entirely different reason. he always knows.

“minho, can you hurry, please?”

“i’m here,” his steps are quicker, climbing two stores at a time. you almost feel guilty if not for how badly you needed to see him, to hold his hand and to feel him close.

“i’m here,” he repeats as soon as he opens the door, voice getting lost in the booming of thunder, but you pick it up easily, shining light on the front door so he’d know where you are.

“you’re here,” you echo quietly as he crouches before you, taking your hands between his own. his lips are warm as they brush against your palm, kindling a fire right where they touch. “i didn’t know you were afraid of storms,” he speaks softly, his eyes seemingly gleaming more in the darkness.

“i’m not. it’s just the dark and the storm combined… it’s silly, right?”

“it’s okay, baby,” he coos, using the same doting tone he speaks to his cats in. “i’ll go light up some candles, okay?” he stands up and your hand wraps around his wrist instinctively, stopping him in place.

you don’t say anything, suddenly feeling embarrassed about your clinginess. you drop his wrist and he smiles softly, before scooping you up in his arms, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist.

“better?” he inquires, placing a chaste kiss on your cheek before walking to the kitchen. you nod, burying your head into his neck, inhaling his scent– your laundry detergent and jasmine, coupled with intoxicating woodsy tones that never leave him.

“be honest, you just wanted an excuse to cuddle me, right?” he chuckles as he opens the drawer, retrieving four candles from there. you bite his shoulder in response before planting a kiss on that same spot.

“i was actually scared.”

“i know, baby. i was too.” his voice is too gentle in contrast to the rage taking place outside. it makes you feel lucky to have softness embodied in your home.

“were you?”

“im hugging you to stay safe,” he smiles lightly and you feel the warmth spread through your entire being. you know he’s lying, the dark never fazed minho, but he’s doing it so you’d feel less alone in your fear.

“there,” he grins as the candles come to life, lighting up your place with a warm golden glow. its light reflects on minho’s honeyed skin, as he leans back a bit to look at you. “better, right?”

“yes,” you finally smile, untangling your legs from his waist and coming down. he places a lingering kiss on your forehead, his warm hands cradling your cheeks gently. “my scared baby,” a peck to your nose. “do you want us to go to bed?” a peck to your eyelid.

you nod, “can we cuddle?”

“of course, honey.”

“and can you sing to me?” you add quietly, as his hand intwines with your own.

“anything you want.”

#stray kids x reader #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #skz x reader #skz imagines #skz scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #lee minho x reader #minho x reader #minho fluff

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violet-butterflies · 8 months

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❥︎ yandere! Dilf Part 3

❥︎ Warnings ! ☞︎︎︎ stalking, delusional, homewrecking, mentions of cp being used to frame people ( male yandere! oc x female reader ) Click to see part 1 and Part 2 !

What used to be a sight Junho looks forward to seeing every time he wakes up turned into a harsh reminder that (y/n) is now engaged.

All this time, it turns out that (y/n)'s fiance had been overseas, volunteering to be a teacher in less privileged countries. But now, he's back and as soon as he came back to the country, he asked his girlfriend to marry him.

With a sharp glare to the window he used to see inside (y/n)'s house, Junho sipped in his black coffee; the bitterness in the coffee was nothing compared to how bitter he was feeling inside. The happy couple were chatting over breakfast before they go to work together.

He hates how it has been ever since the announcement. (y/n) used to be able to babysit his precious son every day but now she only is able to watch over his son on weekends. He never gets to see the sight of his love making him dinner and greeting him with a smile after a long day of work anymore since she leaves as soon as he gets home to take care of her fiance.

This also means that he is not able to cuddle with her in his bed anymore.

Junho knew that all of this had escalated to something creepy and he had tried to move on but he couldn't help but feel his blood boil when he saw (y/n)'s fiance work with her in the kindergarten now.

"Daddy... Why doesn't mommy take care of me anymore?" Junho's son, Yoon, asked one day as Junho was tucking his son into bed one night.

"It's... It's complicated, buddy... She'll come back soon I promise." Junho also said that to himself even though it was impossible.

"Oh... I hope she comes back soon... I miss her..." Yoon said before falling asleep, leaving a tired and heartbroken Junho to retreat back into his room.

He then picked up his phone to log into the software he uses to stalk (y/n) through the hidden camera he put inside a stuffed animal he gave to (y/n) one day. He knows he shouldn't do it since it'll only break his heart but he missed her too much.

The first thing he noticed was how the doll wasn't even on her bed anymore; put aside in the corner of her room to make space for the fiance. Then, he noticed a giggly (y/n) who was cuddling in her fiance's arms as the two looked at each other lovingly. It went on for a long while before the two eventually fell asleep in each other's arm and Junho was watching every second of it.

Junho wanted to look away. Watching the two all lovey dovey like that when it should've been him was like when he found out about the news that broke his beautiful fantasy; his heart breaking and set on fire over and over again. But watching them also made him realize how he couldn't let (y/n) go just like that.

Junho knew it was risky business breaking into the kindergarten both (y/n) and her fiance taught in in the middle of the night. It was also risky to somehow get his hands on some nsfw videos and pictures of children to plant in the fiance's work computer.

He figured out that the computers inside the kindergarten had no password from (y/n) due to the computers only being used to play children music, print coloring pages or making some worksheets for the kids. The teachers in the kindergarten don't really worry what's on hiding what's in their work computers since there's nothing really important on them anyway.

Junho had a plan all prepared. He was going to plant the evidence and call the police the next day. He was going to say that he saw one of the teachers working at his son's kindergarten was looking at some illegal media and then get the bastard that stole his beloved from him behind bars.

Plus, when it makes (y/n) react negatively he can swoop in and make her feel all better! In Junho's mind, he is killing two birds with one stone.

He knew that the plan would work and it did. The next day, the police took (y/n)'s fiance into custody when he was picking his son up from school. The other kindergarten teachers were looking at the whole arrest in shock while (y/n) was trying to understand what was going on. She was confused on why her fiance was getting arrested and she wanted to know what happened.

The next few days were hectic for (y/n). Her house had to be searched by the police for evidence since that's where her fiance had been staying ever since he came back to the country. It didn't help when the police began speculating that she was also in on it at some point before the idea was brushed off.

(y/n) felt as if she did not knew who her fiance really was. She thought there was nothing she didn't know about him since they were high school sweethearts and when the police told her that someone reported seeing her fiance having videos of children in a nsfw way, she felt her heart break.

As a teacher and his fiance, she felt disgusted at how her fiance for having those materials while teaching around children.

It was midnight when (y/n) was sitting in the middle of the kitchen as she drank a bottle of wine. Her eyes were puffy from crying since her emotions were still running wild and how betrayed she felt towards her fiance.

The house was dark and deathly silent other from the sobs coming out of (y/n). Where had it all gone wrong? When did her fiance started to watch these illegal videos? Had he engaged in abusing these children himself? (y/n) didn't know and she didn't really want to know since her heart will only break further thinking of how sorry she felt for any victims her fiance could have abused.

The doorbell then resonated throughout the empty house making (y/n) jump. She tiredly wiped her tears as she walked over to the front door, not noticing how she was still holding onto the bottle of wine.

When she opened the door, she saw a concerned looking Junho in front of the door.

"Junho..." (y/n) tried to greet before breaking into tears again and sinking into the ground. Her hand dropping the wine bottle and began covering her crying face.

In an instant, Junho sank down alongside her as he took the shaking into his muscular arms.

"shh... shh... don't worry... I'm here..." Junho tried to reassure as he rubbed circles on her back to try and calm her down.

Junho had to stop himself from taking a big sniff at when (y/n) began to nuzzle herself into his arms. He truly missed having (y/n) in his arms again after the mental turmoil he experienced looking at how happy she was with a man that wasn't him.

All of that won't matter anymore though since the fiance is now out of the picture and Junho will gladly play the role of (y/n)'s loving husband.

A/N HI IM BACK BUT NOT RLLY SINCE IM ACTUALLY STILL RLLY BUSY SO I DON'T KNOW WHEN I'LL UPLOAD AGAIN AAA.

#tw: stalking #tw: yandere #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #lovesick #male yandere #male yandere x reader #yandere dilf #yandere dilf x reader #obsession #obsessive love #yandere blog #obsessive yandere #yandere drabble #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #delusional

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phoneuserhana333 · 9 months

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.°˖✧ neighbor!doctor!abby / neighbor!producer!reader nsfw headcanons .°˖✧

tags: enemies to lovers, dom!abby, emotional sex, loser!abby tbh, perv!abby, voyerism, overstimulation, fingering (reader receiving).

PART1 — PART2 — PART3 — N(SFW)HC

• before you two even started dating, abby thought you were hot. too friendly, annoying and a menace, but hot.

• she spent countless bedtimes with her hand down her pajama pants, panting your name into the cold new york night. and when her release arrived, she would feel embarrassed, but that wouldn’t stop her from hugging her pillow and imagining it was you.

• you could say that abby was suffering from a severe case of i-can-fix-heritis. and you were the reason.

• one day, abby came back from work later than usual. her eyes, which instinctively lingered on your windows (she liked to know if you were home or if she had a few hours of peace and quiet), caught a glimpse of something interesting

• you. completely undressed, in the smallest pair of see through red underwear, semi-hidden by curtains. abby froze, her darkened eyes not leaving your body. it took her a second to realize that you were dancing, perhaps getting ready?

• her eyes tore away from your hips and found your breasts; one gently cupped by your hand as you fixed your hair and looked around your room. she stared at your nipples and god- why were they hard?!

• abby’s wakeup call was when you reached down for something, ass facing the window which revealed a rounded outline of your pussy lips. but what really caught her eye was a tiny wet patch, darkening the red fabric.

• it’s safe to say that abby ran inside, eager to shove her fingers into her cunt and thrust trust thrust as quickly as she could handle until she felt the heel of her palm bump her clit. why the fuck were you wet?!

• abby couldn’t look at you in the eyes for the next week.

• a few weeks after this incident, was the first time you fucked. december rolled around and most of your friends were celebrating the holidays, leaving you alone in the city, playing loud ballads all day to drown your sadness and the seasonal loneliness.

• abby came back from work late, noticing the lights were on and the music was loud. but when she noticed the lack of voices in your home, a feeling that something was wrong came over her.

• she couldn’t help but walk up to your door and knock.

• she was greeted by an equally tired, tear stained face. you turned the music down, apologizing quietly and trying to shut the door, which abby stopped with her palm.

“wait- do you… wanna come over? it’s christmas…”

“… to do what abby? we don’t really like each other.”

“we’ll figure it out.”

• and so you found yourself inside your enemy/hot neighbor’s home with a small overnight bag. abby made dinner, you opened a bottle of champagne.

• it felt… nice. domestic even. it made you emotional all over again. one and a half movie later, you felt tears stream down your face, and you unexpectedly hugged abby.

• this was the first time you two touched each other, and it set abby ablaze. you were soft and you smelled nice, your chest was pressed against her and the small of your back was perfect for holding on while-

“hey, um. thanks for inviting me over. i had a really shitty day.”

• abby nodded, pressed you closer and shushed your cries. she pondered, would she ruin the moment if she asked- was it too soon?

“i can make it better, if you want?”

• and so you ended up whimpering on her couch, legs pushed up into a mating press, with abby’s burning hot mouth on your clit, and two deliciously thick fingers pulsing against the most sensitive spot you didn’t even know you had.

“c’mon baby, thaaaat’s it. such a good girl when you wanna be”

• abby moved up to kiss you, shushing your whimpers and moans as her fingers still worked you open, now rougher than before.

“sound so pretty, sweetheart- fuck”

• in that moment, abby appreciated how angelic your voice was; she always thought you were a good singer, but you moaning her name desperately solidified that. she connected your foreheads, glancing down at your needy pussy as she sped up her pace, causing your back to arch.

“you wanna be good and cum for me, hm? you wanna be good for abby?”

• and with that you were sent over the edge, trembling legs closing involuntarily, only to be pushed open by abby’s firm hand- she wanted to see your pussy spasm around her fingers. her icy gaze was glued to your body, you were so tight when you came that it made her feel dizzy. her pace slowed down and she felt your body relax, pussy still twitching around her fingers. her eyes searched yours to see if you were okay, making you feel strangely fuzzy.

• just when you were about to grab abby’s arm and pull her down to meet your lips for a kiss, you felt her pace start up again, fast as ever, leaving you a wide-eyed choked up moaning mess. you were too sensitive and abby was smirking, one hand holding your legs open and while the other fucked you into overstimulation, thumb finding your puffy clit.

“not done with you yet. gotta pay me back for being a bad neighbor, don’t you princess?”

• abigail anderson whispers against your lips, kissing your moans away as she continued to finger fuck you. christmas isn’t bad at all, you think.

#abby the last of us #abby anderson #abby x fem!reader #abby tlou #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x y/n #abby anderson x you #tlou #ellie williams #wlw #wlw ns/fw

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sameschmidtdiffname · 4 months

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Sweet Delights

Peeta Mellark x AFAB!Reader

Summery: It's a slow work day in District 12. With rain pouring down outside, who can blame you for wanting to indulge a little? Everything's fine so long as no one walks in... right?

Tags: Pre-established relationship, no use of y/n, pet names, reader has AFAB body/female pronouns, switch!Peeta, switch!Reader, edging, female fingering, teasing, count down, orgasm denial, blow job, face fucking, public sex, someone walks in, dirty talk, Peeta's a freak but he's sweet about it, praise kink if you squint, mentions of eating out, cum swallowing, cursing, post-Mockingjay but that's not really relevant, no reader orgasm this time around. Once again, I'm probably forgetting something.

Notes: I have to say, I did not expect Peeta to win the poll! And not to worry for everyone else, I'll get to all those characters eventually. (Derek girlies, I see you and I love you.) Thank you for your support on the last one, I hope you like this one too! Bon ABBA teeth.

•°《▪︎♡▪︎》°•

Peeta loves surprises.

Giving them, receiving them. If it's unexpected, Peeta is practically bouncing off his chair to figure out what to do with it.

It made everyday life sweeter. Slipping a note into his apron pocket when he wasn't looking for him to discover, finding a million more hidden in my apron. Little drawings hidden amongst everyday things, like the wildflowes Peeta likes to draw and place next to my powders and perfumes. But best of all surprises were the little pastries we would make when the days were slow and the other was watching the front of the bakery. Usually using scraps, because Peeta detests wasting food, but always delicious nonetheless.

The best innocent surprise, I should say.

Today was an especially slow day. Rain pounding down in District 12, making the roads thick with mud. It's a blessing for the hot ovens that fight against the cold seeping through the front windows. Although they're helping me more than Peeta, who's up front perched at the counter, insistent as always that someone needs to be watching the shop. "We won't hear the bell over the rain," he'd said.

I knew better than that. There were tells when Peeta wanted a surprise. He'd never just ask for something, always fearing rejection. Of course the minute I opened my mouth he was ready to do whatever I had even intrusively dreamed of so long as it meant love and praise. But to ask for himself? It's a whole different matter. So when he is insistent I work alone in the back, I understand that this is his own silent way of asking for some sort of surprise. And with the way his broad shoulders look in that pale yellow knit sweater, who am I to deny him?

I'm not one to deny him anything, quite frankly.

The best surprises of all are when we sneak up behind the other, always starting so innocently. Maybe while one of us is baking, maybe while one of us is simply dressing. With the quick slip of a hand, it doesn't take long before the other is panting and begging for release. Not that we always give it to each other.

Peeta liked sneaking up on me in private. Usually when I was in the back baking.

"What are you working on?" He'd usually ask.

"Custom order," I may answer with a smile. He liked my smiles, always said so.

"What are the details?" He'd ask. He'd put his hands on my lower back, rubbing soft enough to not disturb me while still working out some knots.

Then I'd prattle off details. This one is for so-and-so down on whatever-street-or-corner, they'd like a cake.

"For the Harvest Festival?" He'd ask. I'd nod, still focused on my task. "How many orders do we have for the Festival?"

"A good bit, it's our busiest time," I'd always say with a bright, soft tone to my voice. He'd chuckle, placing a small kiss on the back of my neck and pressing his hips against mine from behind, usually revealing his hard on.

"So, how many orders this year?" He'd ask. His hands would work at a knot, his breath hot on my neck, and his hips would roll ever so slowly against mine, taking his time to build both of us up.

"Ah, I think- I think 12?" I'd say, trying to focus on both him and whatever I was making. Cake. Right. Stir.

"12?" He'd ask. His cock would be deliciously hard, grinding against my clothed cunt just a bit harder as his hands would return to my hips, steadying me against him. "That's pretty good."

"Double digits," I'd say brightly, my voice breathy as I struggle more to focus. Cake. Stir. Hands, not hips.

But I'd always do hips instead, leaning back and tilting my head ever so slightly so he can see my enjoyment.

"You need to stir," Peeta would gently guide in my ear. My back would press against his front, his chin now resting on my shoulder.

"I know," I'd say softly. I didn't know shit.

He'd chuckle, one hand slipping to my front to cup one of my breasts.

"Need to get those orders out," he'd remind me. "You always seem so stressed about being on time."

"One of us has to be," I'd say. His hand on my hip would find the band of my pants, slipping past them and teasing me, sliding his fingers against my wet folds.

"Pick up the whisk," he'd instruct. My hands would shake as they obeyed, moving from being splayed across the marble counter to resume my task.

"Stir slowly," he'd say. His large fingers would slip over my entrance, coating himself in the thick lube now dripping from me. "You want to make sure the texture's correct."

It took such mental energy to balance the two things. Especially when he would finally sink in his middle finger, always going knuckle deep and twirling it around inside of me, making sure to leave no spot untouched. His other hand would pinch and pull at my breast, giving special care to make his fingers replicate the feeling of his soft lips wrapped around my sensitive nipples.

"What's the next order?" He'd ask. I could feel myself dripping down his hand, and I knew he loved this. Peeta would do whatever he could to make sure I was wet, even when he wouldn't go any further than simple teasing. I think he liked the idea of me always being ready. Not that he would assume. He always started out slow, and if I ever said no it was never a big deal. He'd simply continue talking to me and go on with his day perfectly fine. But if I was willing, he'd always massage or do whatever until he could feel my arousal himself. I think it's why he likes eating out best. Especially when I'd talk him through it, usually promising to cum down his throat while tugging his soft blond hair. His eyes would grow wide and soft at that, his whimpers increasing as he'd fuck me quicker with his tongue, grinding himself against whatever. It was a beautiful mess he'd turn himself into, desperate and begging silently as he clutched my hips.

"The what?" I'd ask breathlessly. I was tight around him, focused on how slow and sweet he was pumping in and out, twirling and wiggling his finger inside of me. His other hand slipping under my shirt, and his lips sucking gently at my neck, careful not to leave bruises.

"The orders, sweetheart," he'd gently remind me. "What's the next one?"

My lips would part, eyes fluttering shut as I tried to remember. His middle finger would pump out and then pump back in with the addition of his pointer finger, tearing a soft moan from my throat.

"Shh," he'd gently whisper. "We're at work."

He liked this little game. Ramping me up, forcing me to behave a certain way so to not tip off customers. If Peeta wouldn't immediately be arrested for it, something tells me he'd simply fuck me in the front room, bent over the register counter during business hours and just act like it's a normal thing. Such a sweet boy.

"I- ah- need to look at the book," I'd say. He'd roll my nipple between his two fingers, his other two fingers pumping slightly faster as his lips suck at the spot just under my ear.

"You have such a good memory though," he'd say. "You can remember. Just think."

That's a lie. I have a horrible memory and we both know it. But if I say I can't, he'll pull away. Sweet and gentle, he'll go get the book and place a million kisses on my cheek before leaving me to my work and dizziness.

Next order. Next order. That's easy. It's a tart with cream on top. Cream. God, I'd like his cock in my mouth right now.

"Next order. Come on, pretty girl. I know you know it," he'd softly encourage.

"I know it," I'd moan, my head tilted back and resting on his shoulder, fucking his fingers instead of working on the cake. He feels so good, so warm and protecting. Simply smelling the traces of dill and cinnamon baked into his skin made my mind shut off, my eyes growing tired from the feeling of safety.

"I know you know it," he'd say so sweetly. "You're smart, pretty. And you've got a delicious cunt I'd love to fuck over and over if I could," he'd say softly, placing warm kisses on my neck between each point. I was panting openly now, squeezing my eyes shut as I tried desperately to remember who ordered what.

His fingers curled inside of me, making rapid 'come hither' motions fast enough to steal a soft, sudden cry fron my lips. Peetas mouth found mine, swallowing my moans and giving me some of his own.

"I may have to count down, sweet girl," he'd warn me. His fingers had found my g spot, hitting and rubbing it at rapid speed. The cuff of his sweater is soaked from me, his hand sticky and coated. I shake my head quickly, moaning and gripping the counter as best I could to keep myself standing.

"I can remember," I whimpered. Peeta laughed softly.

"I know you can, sweet girl. But look at you, you're a total mess." His voice is sweet and kind, his eyes taking in my current state. "I can't have you all dumb back here during work hours."

He's sweet but he's cruel. God, he's cruel!

"I think there's berries in it," I stammered.

"Ten," he's start patiently, his teeth tugging at my earlobe.

"N-no, wait! There's- There's berries and there's..." I'm completely making this up. I have no clue what's next.

"Nine," he continued, knowing this.

"That's not fair, you started low on purpose!" I whined.

"Eight." He wouldn't argue. I was right.

"It's got- got cottage cheese frosting." I'm so close, so awfully close. I can feel myself clenching around him rapidly, my pussy swallowing his fingers quicker and quicker as I climbed closer towards the edge.

"Seven." Oh, God. This motherfucker.

"Six. Come on, good girl. You can do this," he'd encourage sweetly, kissing my cheek and trailing to my collarbone with said kisses.

"They wanted flowers on the top. Violets, I remember that!" That detail is actually true, surprisingly. The candy violets were always easy to remember because I loved them so much.

"Five." His other hand kneeded my breast, admiring the soft flesh and running his thumb over my stiff, aching nipple repeatedly. "Four."

"You're speeding up," I whined. "This isn't fair."

He let out a soft 'aw,' apologizing and speeding his hands to bring me closer to the edge.

"If you can come before one, I'll fuck you right here," he promised. "You can come before one, can't you?"

I nodded stupidly, moaning and panting as I sped up my hips, slamming down on his hand repeatedly. Cake details be damned, this is my mission now.

"Three." I'm so impossibly close.

"Two."

"Wait a minute, slow down-"

"One."

With one final, cruel, hard thrust of his hand he slips away, leaving me to almost crumple to the ground and opening my eyes to blink stupidly, trying to process what just happened.

"You okay?" He asked softly, his dry hand cupping my cheek and looking at me carefully with his sweet, hazel eyes.

A long, soft whine escaped me, batting my lashes as I lean against him and whisper as many 'please's as I can, pressing a dozen kisses all over him. He laughed softly, returning the kisses with whispered 'I love you's.

"Let me go get that book," he'd said. And that was that until that evening when he made up for it like he always did.

Now I was carefully removing a tiny apple pie made from leftovers meant specifically for Peeta. The rain was as bad as ever as I entered the front room, Peeta leaning on the palm of his hand while he struggled not to doze off. His long lashes flutter softly, his lips pressing against each other and his jaw a bit tight.

"Hi sleepyhead," I whisper, sneaking up behind him. He started a little, turning to look at me with the sweetest smile he has.

"Hi," he says cheerily, his voice just a touch gravely. His eyes glance down to the small treat in my hands, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Is that for me?"

"Of course it is," I say, placing it in front of him. "Figured you could use something to warm you up. It's freezing up here."

He chuckles. "It's not that cold," he says as he picks up the fork I'd placed next to the tiny pie and began scooping some up.

"Liar," I teased. "You're shivering."

He shifts in his seat slightly. "Not from that," he says, a small blush growing on his cheeks. He takes the first bite, then another, smiling and leaning his head against my shoulder.

"Thank you, dear," he says softly. He leans in for a kiss to which I happily oblige, cupping his jaw with my left hand. His lips taste sweet, the sticky apple and cinnamon tasting delicious on him. I swipe my tongue across his lips, stealing a soft moan from him as he allows my tongue access to his mouth, melting in my hands. His hand dropped the fork, accidently missing the pan and instead hitting the counter, but neither of us care. His hand comes up to the back of my neck, pulling me closer to silently ask me for more.

My other hand trails down to his lap, finding one of his hands already there, palming his stiff, clothed cock through his pants.

"Is this what you were doing when I came up?" I ask softly, pulling away from the kiss only a bit. He chases me, biting at my bottom lip to drag me back to him. That's a yes, then.

My tongue explores his warm mouth, tasting him while my hand traces the outline of his dick, pressing and flicking against the tip. He whines, bucking softly into my hand, desperate for more.

"Can you stay quiet?" I ask him, pulling away again. This time my hand on the back of his neck grabs his golden locks, holding him still as I look into his eyes. His cheeks are red as well as his lips, kiss swollen and damp. His breathing is heavy, his eyes blown out. Barely touched and already a beautiful mess.

"Huh?" He asks, his voice higher than usual as he tries to focus. His hand grasping my wrist, making sure to keep my hand where he can buck against it.

"If I asked you to, would you stay quiet?" I repeat gently, teasing him with kisses by leaning forward and pulling away. We both liked this.

"Yes," he said quickly. "Anything."

"Anything?" I ask, raising my brows.

"Anything."

Alright.

I press a quick, admittedly sloppy kiss to his lips once more before dropping to my knees and slipping under the counter. His brows furrow in confusion before he realizes what I'm doing.

"You can't!" He whispers frantically. "What if someone walks in?"

"That's why I asked if you could stay quiet," I say patiently. "Can you?"

He bites his lip, obviously unsure. His eyes dart between me and the shop door, thinking.

"We can wait," I offer genuinely. This seems to be the deciding factor.

"I'll be quiet," he promises eagerly. "I've got a pie I can shove in my mouth if I can't, right?" He jokes, his smile crooked and eager as his hands work quickly to begin freeing himself. He's excited alright.

"Right," I say, taking his hands away and undoing the buttons on his pants myself. "Just keep watch of the shop, alright sweet boy?" He nods, placing his arms on the counter and trying to resume his position.

I slip his cock from the confines of his clothes, pressing a soft wet kiss to the underside along a thick vein. A quiet whine escapes him, his hand covering his mouth. I'm not truly worried about him being quiet, no one is going to come in here during such bad weather. It's just an edge to help work him into a frenzy, knowing full well he never stays quiet. I'd thought I was vocal when we started our relationship, but Peeta easily takes the cake.

His cock is warm, half hard against my lips that trail his veins. My tongue slides from his tip to his base, barely any pressure on his skin. Grazing always works best to start out with. When I reach his base I lap at his skin, blowing soft, cold air against the wet spots to make him squirm in his chair. I focus on his base for a while, sucking, licking, blowing. Ever so gently I even bite just the tiniest bit, enough for him to notice the edges of my teeth along his red, pulsing cock. His voice is soft, panting quietly.

My tongue trails slowly up his cock, exploring different ridges and spots that make him whimper quietly, working my way back to his tip which is soaked with thick, warm precum. I wrap my lips around him, swiping the moisture away with my tongue in one round sweep. I relish in the cry it tears from his throat, the dozen little apologies he whimpers immediately after. His hand covers his mouth, and the other trails down to gently cup the back of my head. I smile around him, swirling my spit around his tip as I suck gently, pressing my tongue against the underside of his dick.

His fingers play with my hair, unintentionally tugging it and apologizing as he does. I simply squeeze his thighs and begin lowering myself, taking him until his tip hits the back of my throat, taking deep, even breaths to fight off the gags that threaten to escape me.

It's when my nose buries in his soft, curly hair at his base that the bell of the front door rings.

"Hi!" Peeta says a little too quickly, a little too brightly. "Welcome to Mellarks Bakery. How may we- I help you today?"

I'm frozen, his hand gripping my hair out of anxiety. If I pull away, we'll be done. If I stay here, Peeta may very well have to make good on his promise.

Although, acting has never been a challenge for him, has it?

The customer is describing a custom tart she wants made, then pulling out a long list and prattling about this, that, and the other thing. Her accent clearly shows her as a Capitol transfer, and these orders always take forever given that they still have a hard time releasing the concept of not over indulging. But this time I don't plan on complaining.

My tongue begins to move slowly, rubbing carefully along the bottom of his cock while I watch his face carefully. He's smiling at the woman who's still going down the list, his eyes glancing at me to confirm this is what we're doing. With a small nod from me, his hand casually covers his mouth once more and he resumes focus on the woman, his other hand now guiding my head slowly, carefully.

He pulls me to the tip of his dick, working me back and forth slowly on just that spot. My tongue works quickly, my lips wrapping around him tightly to help create proper suction around him while I suck.

"Do you have pumpkin?" The woman asks.

"W- what?" Peeta asks, clearing his throat. "Oh, pumpkin. I'll admit I'm running a little low, it's been a popular request since we don't grow them locally. I've requested more but I don't know if they'll be in in time, so if you want something that uses it you'll have to get it-" his voice cracks as I deepthroat him again, swallowing around him quickly before returning myself to his tip. He clears his throat. "You'll have to reserve it right now," he finishes. I can see him quickly scoop up some of the pie, shoving it in his mouth and trying to hide his blush. It's lucky for us how oblivious Capitol born citizens are.

His hand guides me faster, focusing on fucking his tip near the back of my throat since we both know full well how hitting the back of my throat isn't an option. We can't risk any noise gagging may cause since it may not be covered up by the soft music playing on the shop speakers, a gift from Beetee for the reopening.

His pace is fast, faster than it should be. He's close, smiling at the woman and acting as though everything is normal. His large vein throbs, precum spilling out of him with each new thrust into my mouth. My hand reaches to press two digits against the soft spot behind his balls, a sensitive spot that makes him cry and squirm.

His jaw tightens as I do this, his eyes darting down daggers quickly. I can hear coins on the counter, Peeta accepting the list and opening the register. With the loud 'clank' springing forth from the older device, he takes the chance to slam my face down fully on his cock, his fingers making the coins loudly shift around as he gives the customer her change. Tears spring to my eyes from the sudden force, swallowing around him as I focus on my breathing to recover. He promises the woman he'll do what he can and wishes her a good day, and she coos sweetly. She reaches across the counter, patting his cheek and calling him a sweet boy before turning and walking out of the bakery, the bell chiming at her exit.

Peeta looks down at me, smiling brightly. "Hi," he says with a newfound excitement.

I moan around his cock. He gets it.

"You okay?" He asks, his hands moving to cup my cheeks. I make an affirming noise, trying to smile. "I wasn't too rough, was I?" He asks, his thumbs swiping away the small tears dangling from my bottom lashes. I shake my head, swallowing around him. He moans softly, his grip tightening.

"Yeah, I kinda forgot you like it when I am, don't you?" He asks, beginning to slowly pump his dick in and out of the back of my throat. I moan happily, taking him as easily as I can.

"You know how hard it was not coming down your throat with that lady in here?" He asks. "I had to edge myself so that it wouldn't become known how much I like fucking your throat."

My cunt throbs at his words, his closeness making him willing to be more rough. He starts fucking my face in earnest, tearing noises from both of our throats as he loses himself.

"Can't do that again," he pants. "Next time I'm just taking you. I don't care who walks in." He's moaning openly now, his cock abusing me. I can feel him throbbing, twitching. There's enough precum it's all I can do to focus on swallowing and breathing.

"Show this whole District how much I love you," he babbles. "I'll eat you out on this fucking counter, I don't give a fuck."

I press my heel against my clit, grinding into it to relieve some friction as my hands steady my body against his thighs. The chair underneath of him creeks horribly. If anyone walked in now, I don't even think we'd have a small second to hide what we're doing.

"I love your fucking pussy," he rambles, his eyes beginning to flutter shut. "Love your fucking mouth. You take me so well. So eagerly."

I moan around him, spit dribbling from my mouth, hair stuck to my face. His balls slam against my chin, his wet curls pressing against my nose as he face fucks me like a rabid animal.

"I'm gonna cum down your throat," he announces. "Then you're gonna cum down mine. Again," thrust. "And again," thrust. "Until we don't even have to make dinner from how full we'll be." Goddamn, he's close.

His hands are rough, gripping my face. "Rub your tongue harder," he commands. I do, putting as much pressure as I can on his throbbing vein. He moans loudly, leaning forward and clutching my head.

"I'm coming," he pants, his voice high and tired. "Fuck, I'm coming-!"

His warm, thick load shoots down my throat, filling my mouth so much I cant breathe if I want to swallow it all.

"Such a sweet girl," he praises. "So sweet and good, eager to make me cum." His face is pressed against the cool counter, his chest heaving as he recovers his breath. His thumbs stroke my cheeks at different paces, small whimpers escaping him as I milk him dry with my mouth, making sure not a drop is left behind. When he's fully softened, I place a small kiss on his tip before tucking him back in, rebuttoning his clothes and patting his thighs one more time.

It takes a moment for me to rise, my joints stiff and my mind scrambled from the abuse it had just suffered. I stumble a little as I stand, Peeta's weak arms collecting my body and bringing me into a warm embrace.

"You're wonderful," he whispers, resting his head against my chest. I chuckle softly, placing a soft kiss on the top of his messy hair.

"So are you," I say.

He looks up at me, flushed and smiling at me with the most wonderful, lazy look on his face.

"Your turn," he says, finding a new wave of surprising strength and placing me on the counter.

"Peeta, we're still open," I giggle, batting his hands away.

"I know," he says. "Did you think I was joking?"

He stares at me, smiling and eager as he begins to part my legs.

This is going to be a long night.

•《♡》•

Whoever gets second place on the poll is who I'm writing next. Feel free to send in requests for characters/scenarios! See you next time, you degenerates <3

Masterlist

#josh hutcherson #peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark smut #the hunger games peeta #peeta mellark #thg peeta #peeta x reader #peeta x you #peeta x y/n #peeta smut #josh hutcherson fanfic #josh hutcherson x reader #jhutch

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lewisyellowhelmet · 6 months

Text

freefall (pt 2)

lewis hamilton x mercedes engineer!reader

read part 1 here !!

summary: You and Lewis have let this go on too far, and for too long. (You are an engineer for Mercedes on Lewis’ side of the garage).

content: 18+!!!! general m/f sex acts. coworker relationship. let me know if u want anything else flagged!

You wake cold. The hotel air conditioning has kicked on during the night, a familiar whir in the ceiling, and in your sleep you’ve pulled the covers up around your chin in an attempt to keep your body warmth in. It takes a few circulations of the room for you to find the off switch for the air-con.

After, you stand against the big window until your alarm goes off, warm breath making a condensation cloud against the glass. You’re in Baku. No. Budapest. Budapest. You’ve been in this hotel before, you’ve seen this view. You have to close your eyes when the surge of memories come. The sound of Lewis singing to himself in the shower. His warm arm over your belly while you slept. Leaning over graphs together to try and figure out how to be faster, how to be better. Your iPhone is ringing, vibrating, morning alarm. The room is still cold.

You get to the engineers room before Lewis does. It’s rained overnight, the track wet, the air brisk. Endless emails await you. The cars not right. Nothing is right. A headache is pulsing at your temples. Your coffee is cold before you remember to drink it. Others work around you. Recently, you’ve begun having this urge, strong and gripping, to stand up and be wild, to yell and scream. We were in love. We were in love and no one knew. I sacrificed that to give us another go at a championship and now you can’t even get the fucking car to work?

You have to close your eyes and practice box breathing until it passes. When you lift your head again, Lewis is moving around your desk to go into Toto’s office. He doesn’t look at you.

—

It has been a year. A hard year. You’d left the hotel room, left him, feeling on the verge of insanity. Lewis had let you go without much of a fight. It felt like his confession, his acceptance, had drained all his energy. Somewhere silent and hidden behind your heart, you wish he’d fought harder. Having to pretend nothing had happened in front of your co-workers was gut wrenching. Sleeping alone was worse. The break between seasons had helped, a forced separation, different cities, but now, in the thick of a new calendar, a new year, you were constantly turning corners and bumping into him. You couldn’t go back to the friendship you’d had before. And you couldn’t go forward into a new, adjusted working relationship. There was only a sense of coldness, of formality. No way forward, no way back. Only this compounding sense of dread, anticipating the next interaction.

Toto’s assistant sticks her head out of the office while you’re gazing unseeing at the screens in front of you, calling for you. Your bones feel stiff and unwilling as you unfold yourself, follow her into the small room. Lewis is sitting in front of the desk, one knee pulled up, gives you a polite smile upon your entrance. Toto is leaning back in his chair, fingers steepled, deep thinking. There are no chairs for you. You hover behind Lewis, and refuse to think about reaching out, touching the back of his neck, smoothing your fingers into his hair.

Generic meeting. A summary of free practice, and then qualifying from the day before. Plans for the day. Any new ideas? Any solutions? Your headache is getting stronger. No solutions.

Lewis holds the door open for you when the meeting is over, and you can smell him as you move past. Familiar cologne. He used to laugh when you buried his face in his neck, sniffed over-dramatically, pretending to be a curious dog. He’d wriggled from the sensation, your tickling mouth, pressing nose. Pretended he didn’t like it, but always made sure to wear your favourite smell everyday anyway.

You need paracetamol. Too late you realise he’s following you to hospitality, where the first aid kit is stored. He is a step behind, lagging, despite easily being able to match your pace. You feel the gap keenly, an open wound.

—

The over-ear headphones drown out the noise of the garage. This, at least, you can do. Go through the motions of race day, a familiar rhythm. Positioned on your stool in front of your screens, the microphone against your mouth, the final, tenuous connection between you and Lewis. A direct line between you and him. You go through the regular checks together, safety, engine, ensuring the connection is clear. The cars roar. The adrenaline pounds.

“Ready?” You ask.

“Ready.”

You chew on the inside of your mouth so you don’t say, be safe, be careful. The lights flash down. The engines rev. The job begins.

—

The air conditioning is on again in the hotel room. They’ve been in to change the sheets, the towels, vacuumed. You feel stupid with fatigue, with loneliness, with missing him. The after-race meetings had dragged. Lewis was tired. The atmosphere was tense. You want to sleep for ten years, but there is a plane to catch first thing tomorrow morning. There are spirits in the mini-fridge, ice clear and beckoning. You drink two in the shower, and another in front of BBC World News on the television. Are you dreaming? Is this real life? The gin gives everything a foggy haze. Your steps are unsteady. You sit in bed and scroll through yours and Lewis’ text threads. Room numbers. Memes. Inside jokes texted under the table during long meetings. You manage to convince yourself its a mistake when you tap through to his contact number, watch it dial, ring through. Listen to the connecting sound, hear him say, “hello?” before you realise what’s happened, what you’ve done, what rule you’ve broken. You hang up. Hot panic. The newsreader is talking about weather. Lewis is calling back, already, and you watch it ring out. You feel frozen by horror. The room is so cold, and the fridge is worse as you reach in, tiny bottles clinking together. Vodka this time. Forget, forget, forget.

There’s someone knocking on the door. You manage to get yourself into a hotel issued robe, pull it tight, before you get into the small hallway, fumble with the handle, get the door open. You swear, and Lewis has to reach out to stop you closing the door again.

“Are you alright?” He asks.

“Yes,” you insist.

“You called me.”

“Did I? It must have been a mistake.”

Your voice sounds fake, even to you, the laugh reedy and broken.

“Are you drunk?” Lewis asks.

“No,” you lie.

He drops his arm from where it was holding open the door. He’s wearing pyjama pants and a worn grey hoodie. One you used to wear to go make the coffee in the morning. You can tell from the softness of his expression he’s been recently asleep. You should shut the door now. Block him out again. Go to bed. Instead, you feel yourself start to cry, building in your chest, the tightness in your throat, burning in your eyes.

“Babe,” he says, so sad, so concerned, and the sob you emit is embarrassing and loud. You have to let go of the door to cover your face, feeling your back curve over. Lewis is gentle about coming inside, guiding you to the bed, tucking you in. He brings you a glass of water, makes you have three big sips. You’re still crying, childlike, red faced and snotty. He passes you tissues, strokes your hair.

“I’m sorry,” you start to say, even as he shushes you, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, “Everything’s okay.”

You feel as if the world is ending. Crying like this in front of him. Drunk and messy. And the room is so fucking cold.

“Can you,” you stumble, wriggling over in the bed, throwing open the covers, “I’m really cold.”

He says your name the way he used to say it, warm and intimate, a nickname. Like a lover. Like a partner.

“Are you sure?” He asks, even as you’re reaching out for him, dragging him in.

“Please,” you say, “I’m cold.”

He tastes salty when you kiss him, your own tears on his mouth. He makes a wounded sound, but then he’s wrapping his arms around you, pulling you to his chest, his leg over yours. You feel held, sheltered. He lets you kiss him again, deeper, better.

“I’m sorry,” you say again, when you need to breathe, and he’s smiling, warm eyes, smoothing you hair off your face.

“It’s okay,” he repeats, “Whatever you need.”

Your hands are fists in his hoodie, “I need you.”

“How do you need me?”

“Like this,” you whisper, lips brushing his, taking his hand to slip into your robe, over your breast. He sighs out a breath as his fingers touch your nipple, swipe over it again so you make a small, wanting noise.

It feels dreamlike, a long awaited thing. A rush, almost, to get out of your robe, Lewis out of his own clothes so you can sling a leg over his waist, face hidden in the crook of his neck as he pushes into you, his big hand tangled in your hair, holding you to him. Rasping breaths, the sudden heat of two bodies working together, the length of him inside you, pushing deep. It feels instinctual, animalistic, breathing him in, trying to remember everything, compartmentalise every second, every touch, every groan. Lewis rolls you onto your back, but stays close, his mouth finding yours, sharing breath as he grinds into you. You come quickly, nothing controlled, grasping at him and panting, shaking through it. Lewis holds himself there, lets you shudder and cry out, pulsing around him. His eyes are dark and liquid, but he keeps watching you, like he’s trying to remember as well, be present for everything. You don’t want this to ever end. When you can breathe again, he returns to his rythym, steady knocks of his hips into yours, the rush of his breath, of his body. His face drops into your neck when he finishes, hands gripping you like he will never let go again. You feel new, hot tears leak down your face as you hold him.

—

You wake warm, this time. You’re curled around yourself, a child, with Lewis aligned to your back, his face against your spine, his arm over you, protecting you. You’re facing the window, curtains left open, blinking at an apartment building, holding hundreds of different lives, different bedrooms, different people. Lewis is still asleep, you can tell from the steadiness of his breath, the sleep-weight of his body over yours. You place your hand over his, interlinking knuckles. The more you wake up, the more you feel embarrassed, shame curdling in your belly. He’s done this out of pity. How gross, to call him, drunk, drag him into bed with you, to beg. You feel overheated, suddenly, untangle yourself from him, slip out of the covers and into the bathroom, pulling the sliding door to encase yourself in the marble and glass. Your eyes are swollen from crying. You mouth is bruised pink from him. There are fingertip bruises on your waist from where he’s held you. You have to sit on the lip of the built in tub so you don’t throw up, or start crying again. You haven’t washed your hair in a few days, and it hangs limp around your fingers, head in your hands, again. Hiding. Wanting to disappear. Your hangover makes you tremble. You’ve failed. You failed years ago, when you looped your arms around his neck and kissed him for the first time. You failed again when you turned your back on him. And now, to be so weak, to force him to do this again, to look after you.

The bathroom door slides open. Lewis is in your robe, tight around his shoulders. You try to smile at him, but even without seeing you know it’s more of a grimace.

“I don’t know what to say,” you tell him, raking your hands through your hair, “I’m just so, so sorry.”

“You said that a lot last night.”

Lewis doesn’t move any further into the room. Stays in the doorway. Watches. Witnesses.

“I can’t believe I. I’m so embarrassed.”

He shakes his head, “Don’t be.”

“Lewis,” you’re speechless. What is there to say? How to apologise? To take back?

“Look,” he spreads his hands, surrender, “We don’t have to talk about it. It never happened.”

“Never happened,” you echo. Vomit threatens. Never happened.

“If that’s what you want,” Lewis says.

You’re nodding, looking down at your bare feet on the tiles, “Yeah, that sounds good.”

The silence makes you want to scream. Just to break it. You can hear your heartbeat in your head. A constant pound. You stay there, on the edge of the bathtub, while he gets dressed. He doesn’t look in on his way out. The door shuts with a finality.

—

You fly to Oxford. He flies to Monaco. You don’t speak.

—

It happens in the middle of the night. The off season. When you check your phone for the first time the next morning, waiting for the kettle to boil, you have so many missed calls your phone has stopped counting them. The photos are blurry, but it’s obvious if you know what you’re looking for. Through a small window in the door of your office. In the first one, you’re just laughing together, the second you are reaching for his hand, the final one you are in his lap, your mouth hidden by his, Lewis’ big hands in your hair. You’re still staring at them when he calls. He does’t say anything when you pick you. You just breathe, together, for a long moment.

“So it happened,” you finally say.

“It happened,” he agrees.

“I haven’t spoken to anyone else yet. I just woke up,” you say.

“Don’t,” he says, “I’m going to fly in this afternoon. We’ll have a meeting with the publicists. Toto wants HR there, as well.”

“Fuck.”

You hesitate, and then, “Was Toto mad?”

“He wasn’t happy. He reckons Susie knew and didn’t tell him.”

“Where did the photos come from?”

“Ex-employee, they think. Was waiting for the right time.”

“And now is the right time?” You can hear the edge of hysteria in your voice.

“I’m really sorry,” Lewis says.

“It’s not your fault.”

“I’m still sorry.”

You need to boil the kettle again, tea forgotten. You realise you're gripping the kitchen bench so hard your knuckles have gone white. You let go. You look out over the garden, crisp with morning frost. Christmas soon. You’ll have to explain to your family.

“Did Toto say anything about my job?” You ask, feeling sick at the thought.

“No. I said if he fired you, I would quit.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not.”

There’s quiet again. You flick the kettle on.

“I think it’s good if we come in together. We can plan what we want to say. I can pick you up from your house,” he says.

“Alright.”

“Don’t answer any numbers you don’t know, okay? Media might call.”

“Really? I was just gonna pick up strange numbers all day,” you say, a bite in your tone. Lewis laughs though, an amused huff.

“You’re right, sorry. I’m control-freaking.”

You hum an agreement.

"I’ll see you soon, then,” he says.

You suddenly have a fierce urge not to let him end the call, to let his voice anchor you.

“Alright,” you say, and hang up first.

—

The meeting is awful, of course. People are panicking. Toto scolds. You go silent. Lewis rages. In the end, the core group sits silent around a meeting table. The most promising solution is to paint it as star-crossed lovers, meant to be, soulmates. Refusing to be kept apart by jobs and contracts. This would be perfect, perhaps, if you were still together.

“Could you pretend? Until it died down,” Toto had said.

“No,” you’d snapped, speaking over Lewis’, “It depends what she wants.”

Now, the silence is stale, nothing left to say, but no agreement reached. Your eyes prick with fatigue.

—

Lewis drives you home. When he pulls into the driveway, you’re too tired to get out of the car. There is a light on inside. Your mum must be here, checking in on you. Has heard somehow, which must mean it's on the internet.

“How are you feeling?” Lewis asks, when you make no move to open the door.

“Tired,” you say, “You?”

“Sad.”

It’s unconscious, reaching to to touch his leg, an urge to comfort. He sighs. The muscle of him is warm through his jeans.

“If this had happened a year ago,” he starts, and stops, shaking his head, “Doesn’t matter.”

“If it happened a year ago, what?” You say. He shrugs.

“Everything might have turned out okay.”

You turn your face from him, look out the window into the dark street. It makes your heart throb painfully to see him. You can’t speak through a thick, swollen throat.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say it,” you finally manage to whisper. Your hand is still on his thigh.

“Didn’t say what?"

You close your eyes, lean to rest your forehead on the car window with a thunk.

“Didn’t say that I loved you back.”

“Did you?”

You laugh, exhausted from carrying it for so long, “Lewis. Of course. Of course I do. So much.”

“You do?”

Your eyes fly open, realising your mistake. You snatch your hand from his leg, turn to face him, “I did. I did then.”

“You don’t love me anymore,” he clarifies. He’s frowning, forehead creased. The night is pressing in on the car, dark and claustrophobic. You can’t speak.

“Because nothing has changed for me. I feel the same as I did then,” Lewis says, and you can see how he’s working to speak, jaw twitching, forcing the words out. Something private, and hidden, being pushed into the open. You’re pressing your hands together in your lap, painfully tight.

“Alright,” you say, hate yourself for it. He looks away. His eyes are gleaming.

“Alright.”

You get out of the car. Stiff and awkward. You get your key in the front door, hear him turn the engine back on. Fear is clawing at your chest. You turn around anyway, back down the steps, jump in front of the car so he has to slam on the breaks, a screech breaking the night air. He’s opening the drivers door at the same time you’re trying to open it, get to him. He’s half out of the car and you’re half in when you kiss him, cold air, warm mouths. He’s grasping your head, holding you steady.

"I’m sorry,” you’re panting, “I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologising,” Lewis says, “What’s done is done.”

You keep kissing him, his face, his nose, his jaw.

“I love you,” you press into his skin, you kiss into his mouth, “I love you.”

Lewis is pulling you into his lap, back into the car, pulling the door shut again, crammed in. Your hands under his shirt, feeling his skin, feeling him breathe.

“Do you?” He asks, holding your face in front of him. You feel your face hurt with how wide you are grinning, a release of something held inside for so long. Your hands mirror his on his face, precious in your fingers.

“I do. I do. I love you.”

Lewis half laughs, half sobs. His eyes are shining. The car horn beeps from a stray elbow. You keep kissing him anyway.

#lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton smut #f1 smut #f1 imagine #*

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moondirti · 8 months

Text

𝟏𝟒. WANT

CHAPTER FOURTEEN OF ANIMALIC | MIGUEL O'HARA X F!READER

↼ chapter thirteen / chapter fifteen ⇀

summary: miguel finally gives in to what you both want

explicit (18+) | 8.6k words warnings: SMUT, it's seriously just all smut, unprotected p-in-v, choking, light degradation, dirty talk, interrogation as foreplay, praise kink, mentorship with benefits, dirty talk, belly bulge, power play, bondage, dom/sub dynamics, teasing, angst, unrequited feelings, eye contact kink notes: figured i'd add in some fluff before shit gets rough

“Let me go.” Miguel growls. “Lest I change my mind about fucking you silly, you bold little thing.”

Enclasped in the yawning dark of night after twelve, you wonder how you must look to him. The lack of light, on your part, obscures his harsher lines – shadows smudging the sharp apex of his cheekbone, bleeding to his aquiline nose, where the feature dips into an ink-blot puddle with the rest of him. What you can deduce is based on what you can see; hardly anything, really, save for what’s highlighted by the window to your right. The mole by the corner of his mouth, bobbing upwards with the curl of his lips. The red, acute glint of an eye.

Are you as hidden as he is? Is his vision better adjusted to the murk?

You hope not. You pray he can’t pick apart the shock that flits across your face, the spate that washes you off your wit. It’s timidity. A stricken bashfulness you haven’t felt in a long while. Seafoam that froths and clogs the blood supplied to your lungs, draining all warmth to feed the stocks behind your cheeks. Your waterline stings, desiccated by the breeze that whistles in through the aperture left open – and out of everything that occurs to you, what manages to refine into clarity is the urge to high-tail and jump out of it as soon as possible.

Your fingers search for stability on his calf, clasping around its tense length as you clamber off him. Air syphons from you in rapid bursts – in, out, in – to sate a seemingly bottomless need for oxygen. He must be hogging it all, you reason, dismounting from his hips. Him – in all his grandeur, in all his broadness, stealing from you what precious left you can use to calm down. Everything he does feels purposeful in that way, curated with regards to both past and future, his contemplation on both. Like neglecting to mention that this was even a possibility, blindsiding you with the very thing you spend hours fantasising about.

It wouldn’t surprise you if he knew this whole time. If he had somehow read your guilty conscience as fluently as an open book, saw where your fingers gravitated to in your free time. The way he says it – filthy language dripping in promise, so unlike the clinical ways with which he’s approached this before – makes you suspect one of two things. Either he truly recognises what the prospect does to you, and is therefore employing it to petition for his release, or–

Or. He means it.

The rumble in his voice, charred and ready to snap into ashes, supports the latter. And try as you might, you can’t begin to understand it. His desire, if real, has come completely out of left field.

“Well?”

“I–” You swallow the rock lodged in your throat, patting your hips like a solution will materialise in your pockets if you pray hard enough. You can’t help but baulk at your poor planning. “I don’t have anything to undo you with.”

Miguel releases a sharp breath from his nose, tipping his chin back. You glance anywhere but at the skin stretching along the column of his throat, contoured by taut sinew.

“If you point me to the kitchen, I can get a knife?”

“No.” The dismissal comes perhaps a little too quick. He doesn’t seem to consider the possibility, and it does little for your hope. His proposition – fucking you silly – feels like it exists on condition of a time limit. Like the longer you put it off, the more opportunity he’s given to retcon his lapse of judgement. This lust born from adrenaline. You’re familiar, and therefore appreciate how short it can last. “Just let them dissolve.”

Ducking your head, you take the acquiesce to observe the artificial webbing that binds him. It sparkles under indirect moonlight, dull white and wet-like, resembling the morning dew that would bud on blades of grass. Thin slivers branch out from the main line to wrap about his more complicated curves. With a more competent solution, it would prove almost impossible to get out of. You reason that only then would you have remained proud of the handiwork.

“They will dissolve?” He stresses.

“Yea– yes! Give it fifteen minutes.” You squeak, shaking out of your stupor to see him eyeing you incredulously. “What?”

“You expect to get anything done when your webs last fifteen minutes?”

“Hey, it’s not like I’ll be regularly apprehending bad guys back home.” Offence batters you back to your regular snark, conversation swaying until it clicks back into a comfortable tone. “Besides, it’s a prototype.” You shrug, turning on your heel to wander the room you lept into. It’s a clumsy segway away from the point, awkwardness rolling off your tongue in ugly chunks. “So… this is your place huh.”

He doesn’t fall for it. “Tell me how you got in.”

“It’s nice. Big. Of course when you own the building, the penthouse is kinda yours by default.” There’s not much you can see in the dark, the colours and aesthetics of his interior remaining lost on you. But it’s hard to ignore how high the ceilings rise, or the wide sweep of his tiled floors.

“Did you phase through the door?” He attempts to reel you in.

You dodge the line. “Wish you told me you were rich though. I could’ve really milked those rewards. A dog for ten push ups. A motorcycle for a hundred.”

“I wouldn’t get you a motorcycle if you stitched the multiverse back together yourself.” It’s amusing that, out of all baits, he should bite on the most ludicrous. You throw a small smile over your shoulder, forgetting yourself for a minute.

“So a dog’s still on the table?” Yet the sight of him fettered, immobilised on the ground, forces you to face your circumstance once more. His words, those parasitic words that’ve been gnawing on the supple tissue of your brain, worm their way back to the forefront. Bold little thing. Fuck. If he knew. If you recounted for him the events of the past half-day, how you’ve been following him since lunch – would he be more or less inclined to spread you out underneath him? “I jumped through the window.” You add, tentatively, toeing unsteady grounds.

His jaw flutters, tensing, though he doesn’t give much else. You traipse over to said window, winding the casement shut with the crank at its edge. It seals smoothly, expunging the ambient street noise until the room buzzes in its own, overwhelming silence. Given the sudden contrast, you puzzle about how he forgot to close it in the first place.

“You really ought to worry about security.” You continue your blind tour of his home, skimming the wall that guides your path. It’s harder to change the subject now that it’s been spoken out loud, your confession filling the gaps left by the outside tumult. Car horns and traffic, construction and wind – all substituted with a tension that drips like a leaky faucet, adding to a pool bound to drown you.

“How’d you do it?” He asks, hoarse and hedging a more dangerous accentuation.

“Dunno.” You trace the doorway he’d come out of, letting the coated stone frame cool the pads of your fingers. “What’s in here?”

When he doesn’t answer, you take a peek. Based on the rough shapes you make out, it could be an office. Had he been working before you arrived? It’s so late you can scarcely imagine it, especially after the already packed day you observed him to have.

The thought is suffocating enough that you back away, rounding the corner of the living room instead to find yourself in a galley kitchen.

“Fancy!” You shout, echo bouncing around the cavernous space. Counters and other facilities line either side of the spacious hall, one side breaking off into an L-shape by an attached island, which functions to divide the kitchen from the dining room at its end. Floor-to-ceiling terrace doors take up the wall directly opposite you, backing the table with views of the Hudson river. It’s gorgeous enough that you think about revisiting during the day – when the sky pulses cerulean blue and the sun butters the sight with warmth, painting a picture you’ve only read about in architectural digest or seen in film.

One where the title sequence jumps to upbeat music, dancing credits cutting onto screen. The genre that calls for a place like this is doubtfully a sombre one. Perhaps a musical, then, or a comedy. Something where you’re introduced as the main character while sitting out on the balcony, cradling a mug of steaming coffee. You’re stressed about work, or the date that hasn’t texted back, but none of your issues will summit at death. Not when your next meal is always guaranteed, or a shower whenever you’re down. When this is home; not just the house, but the world itself. Clean and functional and packed with life. Slated in shades of green, of life – so different from the red and grey hues of antimatter fallout. How grateful you’d be.

But then you remember where you are, why you’re here. The reality spurs you to move again, stumbling stupidly out of the kitchen to where Miguel is likely fuming at your unwelcome exploration.

(On your way back, though, you take notice of an abandoned object by the fridge. It’s rubber, oddly moulded. Bright pink in a similar shade to Lyla’s glasses. Condensation beads and drips upon its surface, the insides certainly filled with ice, and it takes you a short bout of confusion to realise that it’s a teething toy.

When you imagined Miguel as a father, it was to a child burgeoning school-age. Now, your imagery morphs to accommodate this new information. A baby girl, no more than seven months old. One who might live with her mother given his busy schedule, but visits constantly because he would make the time for her. That is, if the toy is any indication.

You can take comfort in the fact that, if not you, someone else leads that imagined life. Someone more deserving.)

“You hanging on in there?” You call out, checking up on the man whose presence you’d temporarily forgotten. He doesn’t respond. It isn’t as worrying a development until you re-enter the living room and notice it looks bigger, emptier now. A nest of snapped webs cushion where he once lay. “Hello?”

That’s what you get for taking your eye off him. It certainly hasn’t felt like fifteen minutes – maybe ten, at best – but he’s escaped irregardless, shedding the disadvantage as you remained entirely oblivious. Trepidation blossoms like a mushroom cloud in your gut, billowing smoke and the migraine-inducing smell of petrol. He can be anywhere. Judging you from a secret alcove or on his way out, already regretting the salacity he’d resorted to. Each possibility is a shot to your flesh. You hadn’t realised how much you’d been counting on it; to be pinned down the instant he breaks free, fucked until you forget your name. And now, that’s been flipped on its head when he’s…

He’s–

Where the fuck is he?

Trailing the perimeter of the room with cautious scrutiny, you watch the ceilings, the pockets between couches in which he might be hiding. He isn’t in his office when you check, nor had he snuck up behind you into the kitchen. There are a few more doors – a laundry room, a toilet – that remain steadfast and shut. He isn’t in any, though you sense his presence as you always do. This universal force of attraction that draws you in, bound to his centre of gravity, negligent of all things physical. You track it – the direction in which your arm hairs spike, spider-sense tickling – until you reach the bottom of a spiral staircase.

“If I hadn’t made it clear before, you’re a dick!” You hope he internalises it too. The second floor to his penthouse was the first thing you’d noticed on your self-guided tour, yet ascending it felt like trespassing beyond the degree you already have. Based on the amenities you’d counted, there’s only one left that could be stationed up there. His bedroom. A space that is wholly, privately his.

And while you don’t know where you stand on Miguel’s hierarchy of interpersonal relationships, something tells you it’s not at that level.

(Then again, you’ve experienced him in deeper ways. More intimate. And now–

He’s gonna fuck you. That’s what he said, at least. And of course you have half a mind to take it with a grain of salt. Though the credulous part of you poses – a little recklessly – what the harm could be in indulging him.

In indulging yourself.)

“O’Hara.” You warn, tension gnarling in your chest. There’s only one way this’ll end for you. Anticipation makes it pretty clear. So, perhaps you bark his name rough and short for decorum’s sake. To prelude your concurrence, the foot you slot up on the first step. Then, the second – marching gradually upwards, clasping the railing all the while. It’s frigid and bites your goose bumped skin, licking up the heated flesh.

Eventually, the loft sinks below your eye line. Forehead looming slightly over the landing, you try to piece together his whereabouts. It’s no easy feat – his bedroom is trapped in the same tenebrosity as the rest of his place. You have to strain to separate hazy forms; lamps from his towering frame, a dresser and not his crouched self. Through increasing efforts, you find yourself standing in the midst of it all, the trench-parallel staircase long since abandoned for a more preferable angle.

Despite it, you can’t locate him.

Hope wheezes, deflates, shrinks until it inhabits only the pinched area between your ribs. Whatever – you whisper to yourself. It doesn’t matter, even if the gaping hole it leaves behind pulses, devastating to everything on its horizon line. He probably had something to attend to, a commitment more important than this game of yours. You won, anyway. You hadn’t been promised anything but your own satisfaction, and while that’s been long diminished, swapped with notions of his body pressed against yours, you still won. Pinned him down in a plan entirely of your own creation, counter to all odds, when all you’d been given was a corrupt method and told to make do.

That should be enough.

(A lie you have to tell yourself to dissuade from the disappointment of his lacking praise. The need itches violently within you, marring your insides with crimson dissatisfaction. It’ll be your ruin, you think)

“Have it your way.” You say. It’s a last proffer of your will, extended to ears that might not even be listening. You wait a beat, riding the anticlimactic wave, before giving up and heading towards the staircase again.

Until hands pluck your waist.

They’re big, enveloping, heavy clutch seizing the sides of your abdomen. The fabric of your shirt glues to your skin where they radiate steady warmth, and your heart chokes with how high it soars, skyrocketing to pump thundering bursts of blood. The sequence of events that follows is tumultuous, a rapid execution away from the expected, of which you have a hard time understanding yourself. You try to break it down – have to, actually, to abate the erratic flutter of your chest when all of a sudden, you find yourself shoved on a plush surface. Wrists pinned behind your back, face half-smooshed down.

In short, this is how it goes–

You’d been unobservant. Too quick after his absenteeism, your guard had lowered enough that your spider-sense had dimmed with it.

It allowed him to grab you. That much was clear the instant you felt it. Grabbed and hauled you to his bed, across which you’re currently bent. Your terrified shriek still rings in the gagged lull that follows.

So now, it’s his crotch pressing flush to your rear, closely mimicking the position you’d found yourself in that morning in his office. Relentless hold, tungsten wrought around your limbs. Hips curved over the edge, toes barely reaching the ground as the mattress bolsters you upwards. This time, though, he fits his chest to your back so he’s folded above you, mouth caressing the shell of your ear. Your temples bloat with pressure and your tongue wrings dry. On the opposite end, your panties slip over the wettening slit between your thighs. It’s erotic, delicious in the manner that makes it hard to focus on anything else.

Hot air wades through the piqued hairs on your neck when he speaks again. You jerk away from it, face shrilling like a kettle kept over flame. It’s almost impossible to shift under the heavy moor of his body on yours

“That’s how you sneak up on someone.” He whispers, nudging the locks that fall between you away with his nose. The attention is too much too fast, flaying you alive until your innards and secret mortification spill, exposed to the elements. “It’s not so good, is it? Being ignored.”

All you can do is whimper, lower half wriggling for a friction that could abate the ache waxing in your core. It drums to the rhythm of his breaths, expectantly tensing everytime his chest swells. The act is desperate, much like the worm that still cleaves your brain apart. Rumbling promises, blasphemy, about leaps of faith into your mentor’s apartment. Or revelations like being fucked silly.

His voice takes on the same quality when he presses for a reply, canting forward to eject the burden from your lungs. The hard line of his erection stamps onto your ass, roughly illustrating an example for what’s to come. “Hm?”

“N-No.” You stammer, nails grazing the calloused layer on the heel of his hand. His grip readjusts around your crossed arms, momentarily affected by the gentle brush.

“No.” And if you’d been a stranger to the nuances of his expression, you would have assumed he’s unaffected. But you’ve honed an ability to read between the complexities of Miguel O’Hara. (Majorly for self-preservation, however it’s proving useful now.) The mock is hummed in a husky, dulcet note, whipped somewhere in the back of his throat that turns the simple reiteration into a taunt. He’s teasing you.

Fuck, why is that hot? You have to be a special grade of messed up to find his derision sexy.

(You’re convinced anything could be in this moment, though. Reality warped through rose-coloured glasses; except it’s your own, debauched lens.)

“Here’s how this is going to go. Are you listening?” Words gather on your tongue like clods of parched soil, too weak to build or nurture anything. They fall, crumbling in great flakes, until you have to recourse to nodding wildly, face stuffed into his sheets. They smell like him. Softer, sure, but woven with the same cedar-spiked musk, patchouli in diluted volumes. Your pupils roll to the back of your head – and even if you could reign your senses, you can’t stop your bottom from bucking for release at the aphrodisiacal scent. He continues. “You’re going to answer every one of my questions. I want total honesty. That means don’t sell yourself short.”

The squirming must bother him. His free hand dips to your back, smoothing along its subtle arch. He applies just the correct amount of pressure to tame the feral movement of your hips.

It lingers afterwards, warning you to hasten your reaction time. You can’t manage anything other than:

“Ok–Okay…”

But he takes to it.

“Good.”

Shit. It almost feels fucking purposeful. He has to taste the potent head of your desire, the shameful state curling in your marrow. It sucks the soft tissue and imbues the calcium with diffidence instead, until all that’s left is a dependency on approval. Admiration. And he has to recognise it, because how else does he strike exactly what you search for? Good. Gruff and terse but still directed at something you’ve done that’s pleased him. Good. Planting a spot of heaven in your mind, forcing you to spend forevermore chasing a similar rapture. Your consequential whine is high-pitched and needy, muffled on the canyons of his wrinkled duvet.

His palm treks lower, kneading the plump of your ass. It threatens to permanently configure to the valleys of his fingers, the hard press pad of his thumb.

“How did you get in?” He tests. You give him the same explanation you did last, albeit broken with hoarse yearning.

“T-the wind… window.” You cock your head to the side to be better heard, but find yourself face-to-face with him. The sudden eye contact burns a straight hole through you, snapping your skull into a million little fragments. You flinch, synapses firing at you to turn away, scalded as if you’d touched a piping stove. But Miguel catches on faster than you, left hand unwinding from your arms to instead hold your head down in place. Everything is automatic. Instinctual. The both of you resort to whatever path brings the most pleasure. For him, that must mean maintaining mutual gaze. You certainly feel him, harder now, rubbing on the back of your thigh.

And you–

The second you’re released, you shoot to grab his right wrist behind you, rummaging for purchase against the determined path of his fingers. Lower, they skim the cliff where your cheeks meet. You think, if it wasn’t for your leggings keeping them together, he would’ve spread open like a packaged feast already.

But he stops. Doesn’t work to shuck off your pants, or to rip them off entirely (of which you’d be willing, maybe overly enthusiastic about.) He just…

Stops. Then, sweeps the wisps away from your hairline so your face is fully unsheathed to his scrutiny. His handle is familiar in a way that’s crept up on you – successively learnt, like resilience or courage, over the course of your tutelage. You’ve come to anticipate the dry scrape of his palm, the overwhelming warmth of it. Even so, you shiver against him, biting your lip when he asks again.

Stricter this time. “How?”

A small part of you understands what he’s digging for. The complete picture, colours mixed and painted exactly how it’d happened. Yet a haar of delirium creeps up around your memory, obscuring details you’ve no mercy to exclude. And if you could wrap your mouth around them, you wouldn’t be able to choke it out with how close he veers. His nose brushes yours and his lips fold in that tantalising way they do when he’s pushing patience. A little closer and you’d be kissing him.

You don’t, of course. Instead:

“You left it– ah!” His caress picks up again, gliding over to your inner thighs. “Open… You left it open a-and I vaulted over. F-from the hall outside.”

“And how’d you know to find me here?” He probes, tapping the firm plate of your crotch, teasing a descent to where you need him most. Encouragement, you realise. He’s rewarding your compliance in the medium that’s proved successful in the past.

That’s why, when you finally register his request, you blanch.

“I–” The truth flutters on your tongue like a cornered bug, frantically evading every attempt to pin it down for dissection. You’re reminded of the rather extreme lengths you went to to execute your plan, and its aftertaste is foul. You do the only thing you have the strength for, then. Dodge his severe stare and lie. “I guessed.”

No sooner after it exits your mouth does he call you out on it. In a cruel play on irony, he finally reaches your cunt, swirling over the clothed centre. For a blissful, naive moment, you actually believe he buys it. He can’t read your mind, after all, and your eye-contact avoidance can be misconstrued as bashfulness. It seems so when he touches you in the way you’ve been praying for, delicately tracing up and down. All’s well and good. Yeah–

And then he pinches you through the fabric.

Pinches. Gathers your puffy lips between forefinger and thumb, made simple by the thin material, and nips them together until your clit is sandwiched in the smarting hold. Your jaw unhinges for what’s either a silent moan or scream. It’s hard to infer, your body oscillating between various conditions under his command. What feels like a bruise – dull, a gradual onrush of heat that laps at your limbs like water on a sun-drenched shore – melts on your nerves. It blooms and wears down to the colour of ripe plums, deliciously tender in the way all contusions are. Press on the pain enough and you get used to it, start salivating at the thought of doing it again.

(Penance, you muse, then shake it off. This delight is no holy thing. Nothing can fool you to think you’re doing it for a greater reason than yourself.)

Your skin prickles – glitches, more like, body flickering back and forth from materiality in different sections. Its consecutive order is the only factor preventing you from falling through the bed.

Then, when Miguel eventually lets go, you find yourself wishing he’d do it again. Do more. Spank you until you relive the memory every time you sit. Come loose, like when he’d grabbed your face and fucked it within an inch of asphyxiation. You couldn’t speak for the day afterward, and for some reason, it’d please you to carry a similar mark now.

He pulls you from your thoughts by directing your gape to his, locking you onto those carmine irises once more. Vaguely, lined up at the back of your concerns, there’s the throb of your scalp as he uses your hair to steer you around. Tears smudge the bottom of your vision, blurring his already shadowed expression.

“Try again.” He mutters. A thickness accompanies it; molasses poured onto an open bonfire, popping as it hardens. You have no choice but to listen, intoxicated by his perpetual presence. It properly hits you, perhaps all too late, that this is his room. You’re being defiled on his bed, on sheets he wraps himself with every night. And they smell like him, but soon enough, they’ll smell like you too. The very concept – that you might have as much of an impact on him as he does you – could make even the strongest of spider-heroes keel.

“I followed you.” You groan, blinking through the milky glaze that spools over your lashes and douses the world in a layer of euphoria. Though he keeps your gaze on his, you’re unfocused. Delirious. “Since lunch, I’ve… I’ve been f-following you. To catch you at th– what I supposed would-d be the perfect time.”

“Why?”

You expect he knows why, has known why. That he surmised all the answers himself the moment you pinned him down to gloat your victory, and that this whole thing is just an elaborate ploy to squander your ego.

“I w–” You hiccup over the word, unable to voice it. It strikes a primal fear in you, subconsciously altered by the several instances where it went wrong. Want. Though he mouths it, hovering right over you. Want. Guides you into the house haunted by the enormity of your desire. You purse your lips around the letters; the round start and harsh end, teeth clicking before you ever make a proper sound. He circles where your pussy dampens the layers separating you, chest bearing down on your shoulder blades, forcing you to surrender your panting to his more consistent pattern.

And, as you breathe in tandem, air ultimately supplies power to the verb.

(Or, he does.)

“I wan–wanted to win.” You relent, echoing the confession when he flattens two fingers over your clit, winding it in firm circles. “I wanted to win.” Then again, over and over, coherency petering out until you’re left blabbering in splintered heaves. “I… wanind. W–” Miguel works you through it, contrasting the catharsis with a sort of gentle pleasure. Not enough to make you cum, not yet. Just peeling back petals to expose a bud in early development. Making you aware of it, of yourself.

“There we go.” Beyond the hazy realm of your current cognizance, you hear clicks coming from where his fingers rub you. You’re wet enough now that it’s soaked through your panties and leggings alike, and that’s him having barely done anything. He notices it too – or otherwise enjoys the way your clutch tenses around his wrist, humiliated – because his thumb soon wedges itself into the divet between your folds, teasing your hole. “And what do you want now?”

Why ask? Your body has been begging for it, striking fervent flashes of light, rolling between his arms as you disperse all your energy into convulsing flesh. What do you want? Everything. Everything he has to offer you – more praise, more nicknames born of success and not strife. For him to rip a hole at your crotch and slip his cock in until you’re stretched over it. A ripple of universes, each plea and possibility greater than the last. Seaweed lashes around your ankles and you find yourself tripping into the wave, skull inundating with so much seawater that all you can yell out is: “More!”

Miguel’s thumb creeps away, objecting to your answer. Too simple. Not the type he was looking for. You whine, nails digging into skin to keep his hand where it is, and drive forth.

“This! More of- of…”

His fingers follow soon after. It’s a noiseless deterrent, but an effective one nonetheless. If you didn’t catch the hint, he throws the gruff addition. “No.”

“Shit. Shit, I jus’… W-want more– Please please…” Drivelling until you can find the magic plea that’ll get him to yield. It ends up finding you; thrashing up your gut, possessing every muscle to bid a madcap decree. You squeeze your eyes shut and twist away from his face, screaming into the sheets until you can’t stall any longer. “Want you! Miguel, please! Fuck me, fuck me. Fuck…”

It doesn’t hit you when he orders you to bring your knees up and arch your back for him. Or as you crawl to the centre of the bed, thrusting your haunches up to present your ass. Not when you extend your arms in front of your bowed head, and he peels your shirt off to your wrists, twisting it so both are forced together, keeping you bound and in one position. You’re too lost in the woes of titillation – manna sliding down your gullet – to process what you said. Food to feed a thousand. Forever sustained. Godsent. The evidence of it smeared over your chin in drool, over the swollen mound of your sex as he pares off your pants. There’s no space for it as cool air hits you, or when he grabs either ass cheek and pulls them apart to inspect your readiness. No space for anything apart from the thrill blistering down your spine.

So–

No. It doesn’t hit you (for all that it should) that this is the first time you say his name out loud. Not when it feels so right. A perfect seal, trim to the edges of this molten encounter.

(Much, much later though, you’ll wake up in a cold sweat with it still flaming on your tongue. Miguel. Miguel. And when you sober up, turn the memory over in your mind, you’ll clasp your chest while it flops rebelliously, betraying the fact that – despite your mortification – you’ll want to say it again.

And again. And again.)

Given the makeshift handcuffs, there’s not much you can do besides knot your knuckles into his sheets, clinging on against heavenly ascension. There’s a shuffle, the sound of fabric rustling as his one hand remains on your rear, kneading the tacky softness of it as if to say hold on. You moan in spite of it, wiggling your hips impatiently. You’ve waited enough. Evidence to your arousal coats your inner thighs, dribbling from your clenching hole and carving a line down the already damp-with-sweat skin. He, better than even you, should be able to see that.

A hazy picture refines in your mind’s eye in the meanwhile. This scene, reimagined through his perspective. It’s tinged with the liberties of your own ignorance – the extent of your vision ending where your forehead nuzzles into his comforter – but succeeds in that it builds itself off barebone facts. Where night still rages on, dousing everything in parallel values. Navy, black, grey – broken up only by the lurid blue light that would highlight your edges, streaming from the sloped windows on your right. It’d offer a vague suggestion of your form; curves folded in a pose resembling a cat’s stretch, rounding where your glutes plummet to anchored knees. They spread obscenely wide, affording him your unobstructed cunt.

“M- Mmf, pmfeeease. J-jutht… just fuck me already, you b-bastard. Need it so bad.” You wail. The scent of patchouli that had swamped his bed has since been watered down by brine – tears and saliva that mottle your face, glossing it with a sort of wetness that has you sniffing, heaving through the suffocating layer. You’re thankful he stays crouched behind you. If he has to witness your desperation, then let it retain a modicum of attractiveness, in contrast to the pathetic display up front.

“Need it?” He taunts, tapping his cock on your clit. It’s done lightly, the heft of it controlled in his grip. Nevermind, you lapse. You wish you were laying on your back instead, neck propped on a pillow as you crane to watch the gorgeous thing sway between his legs. You haven’t seen it since you’d sucked him off. It’s always been about you; your pleasure, your satisfaction – not that you haven’t tried to return the favour. Several occasions had you reaching for the bulge in his pants, glowing in a post-orgasm high, only to get swatted away to continue whatever the two of you were working on that day.

“Shhh-Shut up! Oh my God, I–” Your temper wanes, a crack splitting its centre, threatening to expand with every hit he aims at it. His length glides between your folds now, absorbing the searing heat like he has any reason to stall further. If you’d been closer to your inhibitions, you’d think he’s hesitant to do it with you – but lust isn’t always an inebriating force. You’re honed in on other matters; the leaden heaviness he grinds on you, fully stiff and about to burst. The way it slips, up and down and back up again, veins catching on every crevice. It’s plenty of indication that he’s as far gone. “Keep t-t-teasing and I’ll… I’ll le-eave.”

“Mhm.” He huffs, but tugs on one side of your ass to pry it further apart. You don’t understand why until he repositions his tip to catch onto the brim of your hole. “I don’t think you will.”

And then he bottoms out.

In one, swift move. Wholly plunges in, groyne slamming your behind with a force that strikes the air straight from your throat. Your jaw falls open, meant for a scream that becomes a wheeze instead, energy diverting to better serve the effort of taking him in. You were under no illusion to his size, his cock searing bright in your memory. Long, thrumming, thicker than what you can wrap your hand around. But it’s almost like he’s gotten larger, somehow – nourished by your walls that squelch and suck him in deeper. The skin around your opening aches like a taut elastic, stinging with the stretch, and in a completely contradictory condition, you wish he should’ve gone slower. Allowed you the time to adapt.

As though he senses your affliction, he returns to your clit, easing things by flicking the swollen bud while he steadily draws back out. Your pussy sheathes every ridge, every vein that adorns his ample muscle, rippling until just his head plugs you shut.

“Solid?” He checks. And it’s so unlike the croons he’s used thus far, so much more like him, that it polishes you up to a clearer state. Sniffing, you count the sensations battering you from all angles. The tension headache. The pressure at your core. The undefinable pleasure buzzing from where his cock continues to stuff you.

It’s better than you could’ve imagined. Intense, yes, but in varying multitudes. None of your begging had taken that into account. You’re no virgin, yet all the people you’d slept with before had been strangers. Back then, it had seemed absurd that things could feel any different when sex sprouted from rich history. (Pleasure is pleasure.) Or more satisfying when, at each thrust, you’re preoccupied with the person behind them and not your own, selfish desires. (Because what could matter more than your next fix?)

It startles you that Miguel is the first non-stranger you’ll get to know in that way. In different ways. With every wave of pleasure, he proves your previous experiences wrong. Cups the foundations of your worldview and slips them over one another; breaks the ground and crust in magnitudes. Rolls an electric ruin on the valley of your legs.

Though, you suppose, that’s always been his role.

(Non-stranger because there isn’t any other word for what you mean to each other. Not friends. Nor lovers. Dancing the wary line between all plights, concurrently. Foolishly. One trip and you’ll find yourself barrelling down onto a term you’re not ready for.

But for now–)

For now.

You shake the tangent off and harrow out a playfulness that got lost in the mix. It flips and curls like a ribbon, bouncing around in your gut, generating the courage necessary for you to push your hips back on him. As you do, you note that it’s just as much of an adjustment the second time. Swifter, smoother now that he’s lubed with your natural slick, but he bulges thicker midway, and it takes force to push past that on your own. Once you manage though, your eager cunt engulfs the rest with ease, seating you on the base. You make sure he has no room to pull out, wiggling onto his crotch until he’s nestled right against your cervix.

Dragging your arms back until you’re situated on your elbows, your neck twists to the side, a wry smile winding across your cheeks. His eyes are closed, fluttering, grappling with your tight clutch. You speak anyway. “You plan on warming your dick forever? Or are you gonna fu–ungh.”

He’s quick. You’re barely able to perceive the furrowing of his brows before he dives to wrap his arms around your midriff. Chest slotting neatly onto your back, hand grinding onto your lower belly, feeling for where his cock dents as he snaps his pelvis back and thrusts into you. Or– doesn’t thrust so much as he manhandles, slamming you back and forth onto the ample breadth. Brutally done, rough in all the right ways. It spurs him, you realise. This back and forth. Snatching the power from him like a bone from a dog, throwing it out for him to fetch. It makes it all the more rewarding, perhaps, when you bend and break and become the dog yourself, snarling under his heavy pet. He’d take greater satisfaction that way, boiling you down to a keening mess.

Which he does, in record time. Nose mashing onto your shoulder blade and fangs extended to skim the flesh there. He kneads your clit and targets a very specific part of you – that patch of spongy tissue on the flipside of your mound – pounding until it memorises the mushroomed shape of his tip. It should hurt. The sounds spilling from you are those of a wounded animal, snivelling like every inhale is your last. The expanse where your bodies meet should rub abrasively, but you’re both sweaty enough that it’s a frictionless process. And you’re both sweaty – both, because he’s affected by this too. Up from his pelvis, to his palms, to his pecs. Bare pecs.

He’s shirtless.

You don’t know how you missed it. Like a shot of espresso as warm as the naked muscle that cradles you; he’s shirtless. Your moans escalate, cranking to a higher octave. They fluctuate, thumping in your lungs to the sharp beat of his pumps. There was no reason for him to strip. Your shirt was used to keep your wrists fastened, and your bra still cups each breast. Your nudity is a given, as it’s always been, but there could be no purpose behind his. Not if what you assumed is true, about power play and how it turns him on. If anything, this only knocks him down to an equal peg. You’re on level ground.

Not that you’re complaining, of course. As it stands, you can feel every part of him. His body is a furnace, rolling coals onto your own, enveloping you all around. Forearm barring your tits, pure brawn keeping you from peeling your frame off his. Abs grate across your back, happy trail chafing the small of it, the vale running along the centre. He noses your shoulder, doesn’t kiss. Just runs his chin and teeth along the curve of it, groaning inaudible phrases in both English and Spanish, of which you strain to pick up on. You want to hear it. To be closer, to be privy to what he has to say about you. About this. To crack open his mind and pick his complicated psyche for the tasting.

And–

And maybe he wants that, too. Maybe he took his top off to feel closer in the most material sense. You won’t fool yourself into thinking he holds similar admiration, but your body has gained definition in the past weeks. Physically, you’re more spider-hero than you’ve ever been. It wouldn’t surprise you if that’s what’s got him going. The fruits of his labour. Your progress. With the way he takes in your form, all the questions, his demeanour cleans up to seem vaguely… proud.

Proud.

Is that it? Did he ask you to recount your achievements because he’s pleased with you? Don’t sell yourself short. That’s what he said when forwarding his interrogation. It would make sense – for all that it settles at the forefront of your brain, refusing to dissolve.

But God, you think, it doesn’t even need to be true. The mere notion lights your nerves until they whistle like soaring fireworks. You watch as pyrotechnics burst behind your eyes, lashes drooping with tears, jaw strained as you clench your teeth. Miguel fucks in short, hard pegs, forgoing pulling out all the way to instead beat your g-spot in rapid succession. His breath bursts hot and heavy, lips – those perfect, full lips – pressed to the shell of your ear. He’s stroking your sore clit with three fingers now.

“Ay, mierda. Shit.” He curses. “I-Is this it, huh? Is this what… all I had to do to shut you up, you needy little thing? A good fucking. Just a little attention and you-you’re happy.”

“Nnnngh. M-Mi… Puh-ple–”

“No. I want to hear it.” He squishes your cheeks together, squeezing with one large hand. When you try to speak again, your words come out slurred. “Use your words.” The grip guides your head back until you can catch his gaze in your peripheral. He’s already looking at you.

“G-Gon…”

“Hm.”

“C-cuuuu… mmuh uh uh–”

“All together now.” He picks up pace, practically battering your insides. It’s enough to threaten your enhanced healing, bruising your walls at a quicker rate than it can work. You’ll hurt in the morning, you’re sure.

(At least, you hope you do.)

“Gon’ugh cum. Gonna– Mig… Please.”

Your spine goes rigid. Blood rushes to your head.

“Do it, then. Go on. Fuck.” His middle and forefinger push past your mouth, hooking behind your teeth to hold it open. “Cum. Cum on my cock, p-pretty.”

The world burns white-hot and bright. You can’t see, can hardly feel him anymore. Just that word, branded onto your skull where it’ll stay forevermore. Pretty. He thinks you’re pretty; or is otherwise too wrapped up in the moment to dispute the intrusive conviction. It should be concerning that you don’t care either way. That, in any reality, it still bestrews a kaleidoscope of butterflies in your gut. Your insides flutter with them, frantic and galvanised at the deluge of dopamine, flooding through every synapse until everything, everything, becomes about the high.

Your orgasm finds you a ragdoll in his arms. Bones liquid, riding the wave that continues to scroll over. He doesn’t stop jackhammering into your spent pussy, still seeking his and draining you of all the evidence of your devastation in the process. You’ve no doubt soaked his lap. That’s if the noises are any indication, downright sloppy from where you’re attached. Schlicks and slaps and low grunts that tell you he’s close.

Before that happens, though, you’re flipped over on your back. He holds your legs together and pushes them high so your ankles sway mid-air. You’re tighter like this – something even you can feel when he re-enters you, cock cleaving you apart. Another, weaker orgasm pulses in your core. You’ve no energy to voice it, let alone moan. It’s all you can do to take him in. The striking sight he’s allowed you access to.

Not as bronzed in this lighting, but fit just the same. Grainy shadows stretch around the canyons formed by sinew, delineating the anatomy of his torso as though it senses your ogling. He’s huge. Bigger, brawnier when not constricted in a tight top. With arms that curve and cut perfectly into his broad chest, bridged by shoulders that seem to have a life of their own. They provide a golden ratio to the trim angle of his waist, partially hidden behind your thighs.

A curl falls over his forehead. It’s heavy with sweat. His palm crushes into your flesh.

“Inside.” You croak, exercising the title that started this all. Bold.

“No me haga eso.” He shakes his head, pinching his eyes shut. “I–”

“Y-You sca…scared?”

“Fuck– Fuck!”

It’s misleading. You’d think – with how his voice breaks, winded and tight – that he’s about to accede. Burst and pipe you full of his seed. But he pulls out, dropping your legs to scramble on top of them. A trade off, you reason. It’s hard to rue with disappointment when his cock finally makes an appearance, fat and heavy in his hand. Your palate immediately salivates with the thought of sucking him clean after this is all over, putting your talents to good use. Maybe, if you do good, he’ll soften enough to call you pretty once more.

That’s getting ahead of yourself, though.

Miguel cups your neck, pinching either side to cut your oxygen supply. Your vision dots with stars – black holes and supernovas, dying suns blazing on your eyelids. It’s the combination of everything; the victory, the suffocation, the weight and magnitude of his presence. The sheets you lay on, the room you occupy, the heights you leapt across. They weave to create a shroud that slowly descends on your consciousness.

You don’t pass out, but you’re barely lucid when he spurts out onto your stomach. Dense, searing fluid coats your skin, pooling into your belly button and reaching the ravine between your breasts.

“I’m–” Voice hoarse, you cough to rid of its scratch. “You c-coulda done, y’know. I can’t… The spider radiation–”

“I know.” He says, then scoops some cum onto his finger. You automatically open your mouth when he reaches over to smear it on your tongue. “Good.”

It’s a peculiar scar, you dwell. Buttressed on his deltoid. Geometrically circular in a way vaccine marks aren’t, with marks like teeth equidistant around its circumference. Blinking heavily, you try to deduce its origins on his otherwise unmarred body, only to give up as you draw blanks, unable to think at all. Sleep looms, a heady fog lurching up your neck.

Miguel sits, picking apart the complicated knots of your shirt. It still circles your arms, looser with his effort thus far. When you flick your study over to his worn face, you find that his attention is centred onto your own blemish. Situated above your wrist – four discoloured punctures in the same size of his claws.

“If you think that’s bad, you should’ve seen the other guy.” You quip, smiling minutely. The man just shakes his head, pretending to reoccupy himself with his self-assigned task.

What do you say in this situation? When you can’t separate guilt from the fraught expression he dons. It’s not okay that it happened. It’s not fair that you have to bear that memory for the rest of your life. But… you don’t mind. Your self-respect is nonexistent and you don’t mind the fact that he’d resorted to whatever he could when desperate. You've done the same. Worse, even.

You’re about to speak up when a crackle on your left fills the silence for you. A radio he keeps on his bedside shelf, to connect him to all emergency personnel, blares a hurried alert.

“Possible superhuman event. Downtown city hall. Suspect is–”

He sighs, rising to a stand to shut it off. Your shirt slips off your limbs.

“It’s late.” You pose before you can stop yourself. The protest is instinctual – even you don’t know where you’re going with it – and no sooner does it leave your mouth do you cringe. It’s too big now to stuff back into your throat, spoken out loud and stupid. You’re free now, aren’t you? Unbound, literally. There’s no reason to stick around.

“So?” Miguel calls you out on it.

“You�� um. Just, good luck.” Is all you come up with, curling into a foetus position to dissuade the embarrassment blooming behind your ribs. Now that his body isn’t on top of yours, his room seems that much colder.

“You’re right.” His briefs slide back up his legs, fitting snug around burly thighs and snapping low on his hips. “It’s late. You can sleep here tonight. I have to go deal with–” He gives a vague gesture to your left, referring to the dispatch call.

“Right.”

He offers nothing else, oscillating between attached rooms in the quiet that follows. A bathroom and closet, you assume; confirmed when he walks out in full spider garb. The sight of his suit knocks you back into place. The fact that it’s more familiar than the bare skin you were only just getting used to is a sobering enough fact.

And you watch as he moves to leave, shucking a window frame open to allow him access to Nueva York’s skyline. Perhaps it’s his back – turned to face you, at a guarded distance once more – that spurs you to ask. A distressed attempt for any tenderness he might have left.

(That wounded animal, raking for solace before death.)

“You opened it, didn’t you?” You ask, pitching the suspicion you’ve been ruminating over for a while.

He stops, turns his head to indicate he’s listening.

“You opened the window. You knew I’d been following.”

You wish the mask didn’t obstruct his reaction. What a small blink, or smile, could do to dissuade the charged pace of your heart. Eventually, though, he nods.

“Why?”

And there’s really one answer you’re hoping to hear. A comfort, along the lines of for you. But Miguel is funny in that way. Sometimes – as seen by the cum that glazes your abdomen, or the soreness between your legs – he gives you what you want. Readily. Seems to want the same thing too, if you’re lucky enough.

And then, there the other times.

“To see what you would do.”

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bunnybubae · 29 days

Text

(M)🚦Red Light: The Allure | Ch3 [JJK]

👉🏻[Series Masterpost]

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader (GymOwner!JK/MotoRacer!JK/Biker!JK-TattoArtist!OC)

Genre: S2L - Smut - Fluff - Angst

Summary: Jeon Jungkook never lets any distraction take him away from his motorcycle or his gym for more than one night. He just wants to speed around the track and feel the adrenaline rushing through his veins, the sex he gets thanks to his charm, is just a side dish to his life. A tough past brought him on that Ducati that he learned to love, a past you’ll uncover, as you slowly seep in under his skin. It’s a hell of a ride, in all senses, as you try to escape your own hell in the meanwhile. Where will this ride bring you? Will it be worth it in the end?

Chapter Warnings: mention of the toxic ex (again, unfortunately), still a lot of teasing and heavy flirting, JK in black CK undies yes, it is a warning, brief mention of weed, alcohol consumption, brief thigh riding, rubbing in public environment, dry humping, oral sex (M/F receiving), praise kink, protected sex, one (1) slap on the ass, rough sex.

Wc: 11.7k

A/N: Hello there! I hope you guys still want to read this story, cause CH3 is finally out! As always, I'm sorry if there are some grammatical mistakes, english isn't my first language and I don't have a beta, so pls bear with me! 🫶🏻 Let me know what are your thoughts about the story, my box is always open! - Joy 🐰

December 8th, Friday

You're glad it didn't pour down all day.

The night sky is clear and the smell of rain permeates in the air. You look through the car window covered in droplets as Hani chats with the driver.

You're too busy looking at scattered puddles on the asphalt reflecting the surrounding lights to pay attention to whatever the uber driver is saying.

The only thing troubling your mind right now is the last message you received. You had already blocked Ray's number a long time ago, but no one else would ever dream of sending you a similar message. The scumbag must have changed it.

You check your phone screen once again, almost hopeful that the content of the message is now different or even better, gone.

Unknown Number:- Have fun tn.

You tighten the coat you're wearing around your figure, as if that would be enough to make you feel safe.

Three words were enough to disgust you to the core. Well done Ray.

His intent is clear: he hopes to ruin your evening with this message, he wants you to feel out of place and you know pretty well that behind those seemingly innocent words there is much more hidden. His passive aggressive stalking exudes from every pixel of the screen.

You wonder how he knows your plans for the evening, you hoped he had finally stopped spying on you, but clearly, this dude is unweary.

A hand suddenly rests on your shoulder, drawing your attention and making you flinch at the unexpected contact. Your thoughts must have poisoned your features judging by Hani's tone of voice, gentle and concerned.

“Y/N, are you okay?”

You mechanically put your phone back in your pocket and look at her with a hint of a smile, hoping that she doesn't notice the tornado of thoughts that swirl behind your eyes.

You don't want your worries to ruin your evening, that's exactly what that asshole would want.

Much less, you want Hani to decide it's best to take you home. It would be a defeat on all fronts.

You're going to go to this damn party and have fun. Ray has no power over you, not anymore. To let this message get under your skin would mean allowing him to manipulate you once again. You have to use it instead to do the exact opposite, to free yourself tonight and allow your wounded soul to dance.

Your face softens a little more as you manage to regain control of your thoughts.

"Yeah, it's all good. How long will it take to get there?"

Hani tells you that you'll arrive in a few minutes. She doesn't seem entirely convinced by your attempt to reassure her but you're glad she doesn't ask anything more when you start a barrage of questions about this kind of parties and the moto races.

Tae and Jungkook are waiting for you inside, she says, apparently they had to deal with some organizational issues related to tomorrow's qualifications, that's why they went earlier.

Hani is particularly thrilled, you can tell by the way she describes in as much detail as possible all the competitions and parties she's already attended. A little of her enthusiasm makes its way through you and you find yourself smiling genuinely as you listen to her.

A few minutes later, your driver parks next to the curb and once you get out of the car, you are amazed to notice the huge group of motorbikes parked in the lot next to the venue.

They're all well parked, resting under the light of the street lamps which highlights all their beautiful colors and shapes.

You reach the entrance guarded by a guy who looks like he could fold a motorbike in two. His menacing presence actually calms you further. You sigh without realizing it as your chest feels a little lighter.

Hani greets the big boy, who reciprocates, while maintaining a serious demeanor. He lets you in without even asking for documents or such, Hani is really well known by now.

The interior of the place has been well decorated for the occasion and the music is not excessively loud, the atmosphere is pleasant. You were expecting something more frenetic considering the adrenaline that motorcyclists are used to, everyone seems to be having fun but with ease instead. Which doesn't bother you at all.

Hani leads you to a small room filled with some sort of lockers to take off your coat before you could finally start your night.

It doesn't take long to find Tae, sitting at the bar, right next to the dance floor.

As you get closer, you notice that he's with a dark-haired guy and that they both seem deep in conversation.

"Here you are finally! Hoseok, Y/N, Y/N, Hoseok"

Tae gestures with his hands between you and the guy next to him.

"You can call me Hobi!"

He says with a beautiful smile and holding out his hand.

The handshake was a bit embarrassing for you, you're no longer used to this type of introduction. Usually, the customers who come to the shop know you through Instagram or through friends, and it is easier to establish relationships which, in that circumstance, are limited to work.

"Nice to meet you, Hobi."

Tae offers everyone a round and the alcohol seems to loosen your nerves a little more.

Despite the initial awkwardness, the conversation between the four of you continues smoothly. You laugh out loud when Hobi tells an anecdote about Tae and Jungkook, you find him funny, both his way of storytelling and the emphasis he puts on details. He is definitely a sunny and extroverted guy who is able to drag anyone into conversation and put a smile on their face with his energetic ways.

Speaking of Jungkook, you wonder where he could be, considering he was not here with them when you arrived.

Hobi continues his tell tales while Hani chuckles and Tae intervenes every now and then

"That guy over there," Hobi points behind you, "That one over there has been the champion for two years in a row!"

You turn to see where his finger is pointing only to realize that the champion he's talking about is Jungkook himself.

Tae laughs mockingly, determined to annoy you today as well, clearly. "Oh, they know each other very well!" and he exaggerates a wink.

Luckily enough, Hani seems to be on your side tonight. She elbows him on the side to shut him up but that only elicits a half-laugh from Tae.

"Yes, because I joined his gym." You respond casually, purposely ignoring Tae's innuendos.

Hobi starts waving his arm in the air trying to get Jungkook's attention from across the room.

Jungkook is talking to a couple of people, you look at him as he smiles and nods at something his interlocutors said, then he notices Hobi's attempts to call him.

He waves back and seems to want to return to the conversation with whoever is in front of him, when he notices you next to his friends.

A small smile forms on his face and his gaze remains fixed on you, almost as if he were challenging you to a staring contest.

You decide to playfully stick your tongue out at him to which he, in response, reacts with a damn wink.

You turn around and try to douse the heat you feel by taking a large sip of your drink. The alcohol helps, but the warmth in your cheeks becomes noticeable.

Your friends continue to chat peacefully, you're relieved to see that no one has noticed this little exchange with Jungkook, with the exception of Hani of course, her smile speaks clearly.

You try to focus on Tae and Hobi's talk, but they're talking about some modifications their mechanics made to their bikes for the race, details too mechanical for your alcohol-clouded mind.

Hani's smile is different now when you look at her, and the tilt of her head confuses you further.

"Here he is, the champion graces us with his presence!"

Hobi says all of a sudden.

You realize that Hani was trying to let you know that Jungkook was on his way.

He stops next to you and it's strange to meet him in a context other than the gym. You felt more or less the same feeling when he gave you that lift that evening, but now you have the opportunity to see another aspect of his person and the way he is dressed is proof of that.

Jungkook seems like an outgoing and sociable guy when it comes to training his members at the gym. As you watch him now though, he seems slightly embarrassed, keeping his hands inside the pockets of his baggy jeans.

Tae takes Jungkook's arm as he responds to Hobi's statement "Technically, I'm not the champion yet."

“Will you let us win any races this year?” Tae asks in a teasing tone.

Jungkook tries to free himself from Tae's grip by pinching his side. "Ouch." Tae chuckles, placing a hand on the pinched spot, while Jungkook rearranges his hair, moving it away from his face.

"It's not my fault that Ducky is the fastest bike on the track."

"Ducky?"

You ask out of curiosity, before you even realize.

Tae and Hobi start giggling in the background as Jungkook's gaze falls on you. He appears surprised by the question, as if he thought you knew. Then, he seems to remember that he never spoke about his bike nor his races with you and his expression changes.

"My Ducati." he replies, playing with his piercing, a habit you think comes when he's pondering or embarrassed.

"Did you give your bike a name?"

Jungkook tells you that many people give their bikes a nickname, explaining that the reason he chose Ducky it's due to the similar sound with Ducati.

You smile in recognition that Jungkook definitely looks like an intimidating and strong guy, but that you became aware of a more thoughtful and playful part of him starting from the night he brought you home on his motorbike. Even this small detail about the moto's name fits perfectly with the Jungkook that you got to know till now.

An interesting mix that is also reflected in the ducati he rides.

“It's cute, I think it suits her!” You chuckle softly.

You notice something in Jungkook's eyes, but it doesn't last long due to Tae's comment.

"No please, don't tell me that you also think it's a suitable name for a motorbike!"

Tae babbles distraught, while Hobi laughs loudly, shaking his head.

"Look who's talkin, the one who called his bike Sonic!"

Jungkook huffs mockingly, rolling his eyes.

The bickering that takes place in front of you makes you laugh lightly, Hani and Hobi join you as Tae fiercely retorts.

"At least it's related! And it's blue like Sonic! Your bike is not even yellow!"

“Wow bro, so original!”

Jungkook pretends to be overly impressed by his friend's explanation. Tae gulps down the last sip of beer while he wraps his arm around Hani.

"And by the way, have you ever seen a duck run? Those tiny little things are pretty fast!" Jungkook concludes.

At this, even Tae bursts out laughing, almost spitting out the beer from his nose. Everyone has seen at least once in their lifetime a video about little ducks chasing their mother or caregiver. Jungkook evidently emerges victorious from the argument, he chuckles along with all of you and the moment couldn't be more wholesome than this, you think.

The evening unfolds like this, next to the bar, with laughter and some small bickering between the three guys. You notice from time to time that Jungkook's eyes wander towards you while he speaks and he catches you looking at him sometimes as well.

The alcohol in your system definitely doesn't help make it any less evident.

"Another round? It's on me this time." Hobi shakes his empty beer, starting to move towards the bar when Jungkook stops him by placing a hand on his shoulder

"Just a coke for me, please."

Hobi nods as he appears to reply something like, "I know" before smiling tight-lipped at him.

You watch Jungkook's profile the entire time as he smiles back at Hobi before letting him walk towards the bar.

He looks like one of those smiles that takes over his lips when you catch his mind wandering, back at the gym.

A light smile that seems to hide something more.

When Jungkook turns back to bring his attention back to the conversation in progress, your eyes meet for the umpteenth time and his weak smile widens into a smirk.

He leans towards you slightly, while Tae and Hani continue to discuss something you don't quite listen to and his face gets dangerously close to yours.

“Are you going to keep looking at me all night?”

Jungkook speaks close to your ear, he doesn't whisper but he still makes sure you're the only one to hear him.

The sudden closeness of his body allows your nostrils to immediately capture his scent, the one you've had on you thanks to his motorcycle jacket and as the memory of that evening returns to your slightly alcohol-influenced mind, you smile mischievously.

“How can you say I'm looking at you all the time?”

Jungkook shifts his head slightly so he can look at you better as he says

"Because every time I look at you your eyes are already looking at me,"

You sigh, his voice far too calm to cause such turmoil within you. You try to ignore his usual attempt to make you blush, failing miserably when he continues, “You look like you want something.”

This man right here, damn. He knows, you know he knows the effect he has on you. It's clear.

You feel hotter but you manage to retort.

"And what about you? Why are you looking at me so often?"

The liquid courage you have in your body is enough to make you ask straight away, basking in the feeling of his body so close to yours.

Jungkook's eyes watch you intently and a gleam of amusement adorns his deep irises.

He moistens his lips and the movement of his tongue doesn't escape your gaze, but right as he is about to answer your question, Hobi returns, but empty-handed.

“Sorry guys,” Hobi interjects, his face darkened with worry compared to earlier. "Some problem came up with the registration documents and they asked me to help check." He says hastily as he apologizes once again.

Tae offers to go with him and solve the problem at hand but Hobi shakes his head,

"There is no need, I don't want you to ruin your night with bureaucratic bullshit. See you on the track tomorrow! It was nice meeting you Y/N!

"Pleasure is mine Hobi!"

You reply, giving him a smile.

As you watch him go, you realize that you have just met this boy, and yet you feel that you have made the acquaintance of a genuinely beautiful person.

It's so rare nowadays.

“So guys,” Hani exclaims loudly, catching everyone's attention.

"Tae and I are planning a relaxing ride next Sunday."

Jungkook nods.

"Where were you guys thinking of going?"

You watch your friends discuss the details of the itinerary and realize that you're actually considered part of the trip only when you notice that at the idea of the four of you going on a ride together, Jungkook seems relaxed, almost as if it were obvious to take you around on his beloved Ducky. Maybe your mind is wandering a little too much, but it makes you blush a little.

“It can be done, as long as Y/N agrees.”

The pronunciation of your name draws your attention, refocusing you on the group.

"Mh?

"I said if you feel like getting the necessary moto gear, we can go."

Jungkook repeats, Hani and Tae are looking at you as you try to seriously focus on organizing the aforementioned ride.

"Yes, no problem, but I don't know where to buy what I need."

"I'll take you to the store where I bought mine!"

Hani exclaims with a smile.

“I can get you some gloves but as far as helmet and jacket, make sure you get stuff that's the right size for you.”

You shake your head, saying that you will take care of getting everything you need with Hani.

"Oh, yeah I forgot how small your hands are, it's definitely better if you try them on at the store."

Jungkook evidently can never stop himself from teasing you.

His comment causes a mischievous smile on Tae's face and a very satisfied one on Jungkook's.

Hani purses her lips, trying to hold back a laugh, or whatever she was about to say.

Your eyes roll in mock annoyance as you playfully push Jungkook.

"Okay, it's decided then!"

States Hani, who sports a satisfied smile as she continues, “Oh, I forgot something in the car! Come on Tae.”

She grabs Tae's hand and before you can even point it out, he anticipates you by saying, "But you came in an Uber!"

Hani glares at him, "Just come."

Jungkook laughs, shaking his head at the obvious attempt to leave you two alone, while you watch them go in disbelief and slight embarrassment. You want to curse her, but you know it's what you really want too. You want time alone with him, you want to take advantage of the courage you feel inside this evening to understand a little more this tattooed and lip-pierced mystery.

The dance floor is full and you can no longer see the bartender behind the bar due to how many people are waiting to receive their drinks.

You don't even remember the last time you attended a party like this, the only thing that comes to mind when you think about it is Ray almost causing a fight with a guy who mistook you for his friend, the fight that came of it once you left the party and the tears you shed because of his sharp words, is the only memory of that last party you attended.

You return your gaze to Jungkook as anger and sadness from past events threaten to make their way onto your face.

There is no need to dwell on the past, past parties are in the past, Ray is not here and nothing stops you from enjoying the evening and putting off your worries about your ex and his passive aggressive messages until tomorrow.

Jungkook watches the dancing crowd, moving his head to the beat of the music as he's leaning against the wall.

You admire him so much, he always seems to have everything under control, no matter the shadow that darkens his face every now and then, he seems to always manage to return to reality and enjoy the little things.

"Want to dance?" You don't give your shyness time to reconsider the invitation that the words have already left your mouth. You hold out your hand as you invite him to join you.

He looks at your hand briefly before replying with a soft smile, “Why not.” and join his hand to yours.

You clasp your hand around his and lead him through the crowd.

You feel boldness fill you, you hadn't even considered the possibility that he might refuse and happy that he didn't, you reach a spot that isn't too crowded, the volume of the music is louder here and you feel the effect on your skin as your heart follows its own rhythm.

Thanks to what you drank and the need to let yourself go at least for tonight, you let your body feel the music.

His movements are loose and yours adapt to his almost immediately. Jungkook watches you the entire time, paying attention to every movement of your body, as if he wants to imprint them in his mind for later.

When you look up and meet his gaze, this time you hold it, smiling mischievously before turning your back on him.

You continue to dance filled with a wave of audacity, your every movement is seductive for him, who can't take his eyes off of you.

The line of your back is far too attractive to keep at a distance so, all of a sudden, you feel Jungkook's body move closer to yours.

The closeness causes a leap in your chest, but what he says is the cause of the heightened blush on your face.

You feel like your cheeks are perpetually burning because of him.

"What happened to the super shy girl who showed up at the gym a while ago?"

His voice is almost a whisper as you feel his face close to your ear.

You tilt your head back, resting it on his shoulder before answering confidently.

"She has learned to dare more." and with that, you decide to lean against his body completely.

Fuck shyness, fuck fears and comfort zones. If tomorrow you have to deal with the consequences of Ray's reappearance, you want to enjoy this one night to the fullest.

You hear Jungkook chuckle softly as a tentative hand finds its place on your hip.

He caresses you flat and softly from your hip up, his palm just grazing the edge of your bra as you wonder what it might be like without your clothes in between.

"It's clear that you're not that shy tonight, either."

You retort as you roll your hips against his. You feel his hand get slightly heavier on your hip as he presses you gently until your body is completely attached to his.

His other hand reaches for your shoulder and brushes your hair away to reveal your neck.

The gesture causes heat in your lower abdomen, you swallow unconsciously at the unexpected reaction of your body. Maybe it's been too long since someone touched you like this or maybe it's the power that Jeon Jungkook has over your body now, but you feel that at this rate you run the risk of melting in his arms.

“What makes you say that, princess?”

His breath tickles you as he whispers the words directly into your skin. His lips don't even touch you once and you wish they would.

You push your hips against his a little more as you continue to move languidly. His fingers mindlessly caress the curve of your neck and you close your eyes as you enjoy the feeling.

“The way you're touching me now.”

You reply in a small voice as your hand reaches for the one resting on your hip,

you hold it as if it might disappear if you don't.

You shiver slightly when his hot breath teases the thin skin of your exposed neck again and the grip of his hand under yours grows more and more.

“I can do more and better, wouldn't you like that?”

You feel the effect of your movements directly against your butt and it gives you even more confidence.

You feel completely intoxicated by his touch, nothing to do with the alcohol that undoubtedly contributed to you finding yourself in this situation, everything you are feeling now is the work of his touch, of his body against yours and of his words.

You're dying to fuck him, to feel his hands all over your naked body as he whispers dirty things in your ear. But at the same time you don't want this to ruin your friendship, you don't want there to be misunderstandings between you. You can always enjoy the pleasures of sex without unnecessary feelings being involved, right?

You don't feel ready yet and you hope Jungkook is of the same opinion as you, that he also wants to have sex with you without strings attached.

You spin around and your hands rest on his broad shoulders. You look at him for a moment, his eyes dark and full of longing as you whisper in his ear, "As long as it's the only thing you want too."

When you look back at him to decipher his reaction, you notice that Jungkook initially seems surprised by your statement, then a pleased smile forms on his plump lips and his hands suddenly become bolder, moving down from your hips to the small of your back. You barely hold back a moan when you feel the hardness of his member and the firmness of his hands on you.

Jungkook holds you close and you don't know when exactly your bodies stopped following the rhythm of the music. He firmly squeezes one of your buttock while you caress the locks of his nape.

You watch him move closer to your neck once again and this time, you feel his wet lips brush against you just below your ear.

"Are you really the first girl I don't have to give the usual speech to? Am I dreaming?"

His deep voice reaches the parts of your body that you never thought would be affected by a simple voice.

"What speech?" You sigh when you feel his hands move up your back.

"The one that makes my intentions clear."

Jungkook looks back at you, as if wanting to make sure he hasn't misunderstood anything.

"It seems we want the same thing, then."

You state in a rush, feeling the places he touches completely on fire.

"Do we?"

Jungkook tilts his head slightly as he holds you impossibly tighter. You feel completely enveloped by the warmth of his body when his thigh slides and finds its place between your legs.

A soft moan escapes your lips and it seems to trigger something in him, you hear him breathe deeply before asking in a low voice.

“What do you want, Y/N?”

From the tone of his voice it is clear that he knows what you want, he simply wants you to confess it freely.

His thigh twitches between your legs, rubbing just right against the place you want it the most.

You follow its movements, completely enraptured by the sensations you are experiencing.

There is no room for shame right now in your mind clouded by the burning desire for him.

The only thing you can think about is his leg repeatedly teasing your clit and the caresses of his hands along your back.

Your hands tremble slightly with pleasure as they involuntarily grasp the strands falling at the nape of his neck.

Jungkook hisses through his teeth but doesn't resist, in fact he seems to like this little gesture from you.

You look at him for a moment and his adam's apple is so inviting that you can't resist the temptation.

You move his head to the side to get more access and lick the surface up to his jaw.

You would continue to enjoy this lewd moment as long as it lasted.

You thought you would tease each other for a while and then go back to your friends, but no.

Jungkook is just as involved as you are.

The groan that vibrates in his throat reached a part of your brain that is now completely short-circuited.

"I want to fuck you."

The words come out with frightening ease and are enough to make Jungkook look back at you through lidded eyes.

“And I don't want anything more than that.”

You know you're not ready to take that leap, but the uncertainty hidden in your voice reaches somewhere in your chest.

It hurts something when you watch him smile widely at your latest statement.

A fleeting pain, overtaken by the strong desire caused by the hardness of his member, throbbing against your thigh.

“Yeah, we definitely want the exact same thing.”

It was already quite clear, but hearing you say it is something else.

Jungkook moves away from you, leaving your body to the cold void his hands left.

Then, he grabs your hand, leading you past the crowd and towards the other side of the place.

You look around, convinced he wants to take you to the bathrooms, but you realize that with every step you take, you are getting closer to the locker's room.

"Where are we going?"

You ask loudly, as Jungkook continues his zig zag through the people holding your hand.

"At my place." he answers.

“I thought you wanted to do it in the bathroom, haven't you been drinking?”

You know that driving under the influence of alcohol is a terrible idea.

Jungkook stops in his tracks for a moment noticing your hesitation in continuing and you hear him chuckle before answering.

"I shared a joint before," he looks into your eyes, as you inspect them, "And then, you saw me drinking a cola, I don't drink alcohol."

Jungkook continues to look at you, though his eyes avoid yours now, lingering on your lips.

You want to ask him more but before you can, he leans in close to you to whisper, making your legs tremble in anticipation.

“Besides, why would I take you to a public bathroom when I can make you scream in the comfort of my own bed?”

He knows all too well that he has the upper hand and is taking advantage of it.

Damn Jeon Jungkook and the effect he has on you.

The heat spreads again in your belly and when you look at him you just want to bite that plump lip, tease his piercing and let that mocking smile get lost in moans of pleasure.

“Or maybe you feel more comfortable doing it at yours?”

His tone of voice lacks malice this time, after all, you have now understood that Jungkook is a caring person and therefore he wants to avoid making you feel uncomfortable.

You nod and smile at his consideration.

"At mine."

Jungkook tightens his hand around yours again, smirking.

You quickly reach the exit after collecting your things from the lockers.

And there she is, Ducky.

You will climb on her for the second time, soon there will even be a third, you can't help but smile at the thought.

Strange how different reasons are leading you to get on a motorbike so often, not that this is a complaint, far from it.

You tremble at the thought of experiencing certain sensations once again, this time even, with the prospect of sleeping with Jungkook.

He invites you to wear his gear once again, but you strenuously refuse to deprive him of his jacket this time. Even though he was annoyed at first, Jungkook had to give in to your determination.

December cold is unforgiving.

In order to compromise, you wear his helmet, unable to argue with its importance.

You reach your apartment complex after a while, Jungkook was driving the entire time at a speed well under the legal limit, allowing you to hug his body to shield yourself from the cold as much as possible.

Once you reach the building's underground parking lot, you get off Ducky and take off the helmet to hand it to him. You smile brightly and hear Jungkook chuckle to himself as he shakes his head.

"You really like to ride, huh?"

You look at him while he's fixing his disheveled hair and it's a vision that you didn't think could affect you so much.

You think Jungkook would look sexy even wearing a battered potato sack, but seeing him in these clothes, you think, will always turn you on.

“Oh trust me, I love riding Ducky, but I can't wait to ride you.”

You haven't felt this lustful for someone in a while.

Surely the drinks you had before are not supporting you to keep certain thoughts to yourself.

Jungkook sighs visibly impressed by your bluntness and you could swear you heard him curse.

"Can't wait for you to show me."

Seeing Jungkook now, in the flesh, inside your apartment is something.

You watch as he places his helmet near the entrance door and places his jacket on top of it before taking off his shoes.

As you do the same, taking off your coat and shoes to put them away, he looks around, taking in the appearance of your apartment.

The foyer is small but well arranged, with a large mirror and a shoe rack right beside it.

You lead the way to reach your couch in the living room and as you walk, his eyes land on some of your latest sketches scattered around on a counter, one of it appears to be a pair of boxing gloves and he finds himself chuckling like an idiot.

As you do the same, taking off your coat and shoes to put them away, he looks around, taking in the appearance of your apartment.

The foyer is small but well arranged, with a large mirror and a shoe rack right beside it and the little hallway that connects your entrance to your living area is decorated with pictures, plants and some of your favorite sketches.

You lead the way to reach your couch in the living room and as he walks behind you, his eyes land on some of your latest sketches scattered around on the counter of your kitchen, one of it appears to be a pair of boxing gloves and he finds himself chuckling like an idiot.

"Why are you laughing?"

You're puzzled by his sudden reaction.

"I like your apartment, it fits your vibe."

He answers quietly and you smile shyly in appreciation, suggesting him to make himself comfortable on the couch.

"Want something to drink?

You ask him, walking behind the counter to reach your fridge.

"Just water, thanks."

He replies as he sits comfortably. You get some fresh water and when you get back you offer him the glass.

Jungkook sips from it and you join him on the couch.

Your heart always beats so fast in his presence that by now you're almost getting used to the constant hustle and bustle in your chest.

"You really don't like alcohol."

You say lightheartedly as you gather your legs up on the couch and turn to face him.

You curse your damn mouth when you realize that your comment made Jungkook tense up.

You just wanted to make him feel comfortable but before you can think of something to recover, Jungkook takes another sip of water before replying in a low voice.

"Yeah. I prefer weed, even though I rarely smoke anymore."

His eyes look at you for a brief moment, dark as pitch or a moonless sky.

They then move to the coffee table in front of you to put the glass down.

"I'd say you don't need it anyway. You don't need it to boost your confidence, like me."

Something moves in his eyes when you say this. His hand on your thigh pulls your attention away.

You watch it as it lays on your thigh softly.

The tone of his voice, his firm aversion to alcohol and his troubled eyes makes you ponder, but you can't formulate any sentence that doesn't risk making him even more gloomy.

Jungkook taught you many things in the gym, undoubtedly to throw good punches, but also to have courage in general, to dare and not to let fears stop you.

He was able to free that part of you that you have always adored, the one that made you achieve your most ambitious goals, despite having to sacrifice a healthy relationship with your family.

And he was able to get you there, easily, without even having to tell you openly what to do.

Despite his tacit support helped you regain a little confidence, you feel like he doesn't need the same. Like he needs you to voice your thoughts with him, even if it's not always as easy as after a few drinks on your system.

You've always sensed that something keeps him anchored to a remote island in the back of his mind and you don't want him to take refuge there right now.

"You are right,"

Your voice is sweet, it matches his from earlier and with one movement you lift yourself, moving one leg to take it beyond his.

You sit on his thighs and place your hands gently on his shoulders.

Jungkook looks at you smugly and pleasantly surprised and you're happy to notice that island receding in the mirror of his eyes.

They slowly fill with lust for you, as they observe your body so close to his.

“Even though I drank a little, I'm sober enough to say that everything I did tonight, I've always wanted to do.”

Jungkook feels the weight of your body and the weight of your words right on his.

You're sitting directly on his growing member and his hands find their place on your hips as he pulls you closer.

“Wait until you see what I've always wanted to do to you.”

With that, his mouth takes over your neck.

He tastes your skin like he's finally testing a drop of water after a walk in the desert and you're the only source he wants to put his mouth on.

You moan as you tilt your head to let him taste you as he pleases.

Jungkook takes the opportunity to bite you a little, leaving a small blush on your skin and licking it to soothe the stinging spot.

You try to control yourself as his hands venture up your back.

“You have a condom on you?” You whisper all of a sudden.

Jungkook keeps kissing your neck, hesitantly moving one hand from your body only to pull a condom out of his back pocket.

He hands it to you and then grabs the hem of your sweater, stopping his assault to help you take it off. A shiver runs up your spine, realizing you're now in your bra in front of him, the cool air of the room brushes against your hot skin and his hands promptly return to your hips and back.

You squeeze the little silver package between your fingers as he pulls your body against him, your hips move almost automatically as you feel his member getting harder and harder. And in return you get wetter and wetter.

You're a complete mess in his arms as you buck your hips, panting slightly at every movement.

When his hands press you more against him, a loud moan leaves your lips and with it, the last bit of restraint you had.

You grab the hem of his sweatshirt, urgently undressing him.

"Someone is impatient." He chuckles breathlessly as he lets you undress him.

"Your fault." You reply as you move to undo his jeans.

"Yeah? And what are you gonna do about it?"

The aroused expression on your face is something he hopes to keep in mind for as long as possible.

You drop down to help him take off his jeans completely and Jungkook remains in his black Calvin Klein briefs. The outline of his hard member held with difficulty in the confines of the fabric, making you salivate at its sight.

You stand up and take the opportunity to remove your pants in front of him, while his gaze is glued to you.

If his eyes could touch, you would feel their stroke everywhere right now, like a dry brush on a virgin canvas.

They eagerly study every single curve, every movement you do is carefully followed as you reveal your panties and legs to him.

“You're so hot Y/N…”

You hear him breathing heavily and only after adding your pants to the pile of clothes do you turn back to look him in the eyes.

He's touching himself through his underwear at the sight of your body and despite everything that already happened, you're still blushing.

You are engulfed in the flames of pleasure, yet the blush on your cheeks is caused by something deeper.

You ignore this thought immediately, setting aside that thing that tries to push to make itself some space and focus on the need that screams between your legs instead.

You climb on top of him again, leaning on his shoulders.

"Jungkook,"

You whisper in his ear, looking him in the eyes right now would mean exposing yourself too much, paradoxically.

What a strange contradiction though.

You're already almost completely naked in front of him, but the idea of letting him look you in the eyes while you say the next words makes you feel too vulnerable.

"If we do this, I want us to agree on a few things."

As you try to regain your courage, you lick his neck, moving down towards his collarbone to reach his pectorals.

"I'm listening."

He sighs as he lets his head go back, as if wanting to give you total access to him, basking in the feelings your tongue is giving.

Jungkook is completely engrossed, he seems to enjoy every little thing without thinking too much while you're struggling to let yourself go completely.

The friendship that has developed between you over these months is something you care about and you wouldn't want to ruin it for simple sex.

Even if you're dying to enjoy these moments you've been craving, you're afraid of ruining everything.

"We're just friends who are going to fuck, right?"

You ask tentatively as you continue to leave a trail of saliva with your tongue and lips across his toned chest.

"No awkwardness after."

You're not sure why you're saying this when you can't even look him in the eyes right now, but at the same time you're saying it precisely to not let your fear stop you.

Maybe you're just trying to convince yourself that nothing will change and that you can let yourself go, or just to make sure you both are still on the same page, but Jungkook doesn't seem to notice your inner conflict right now, too distracted by your ministrations probably.

"This is not going to ruin our friendship if that's what you're worried about."

He states between breaths as he wraps a hand in the middle of your hair.

“The fact that we both know what we want from each other and what we don't, won't cause any problems, don't you think?”

He pulls your hair slightly to expose your neck, and you close your eyes unconsciously when you feel his lips on your skin once again.

"No awkwardness after."

His whisper makes you shiver with pleasure and almost as if you needed to have this confirmation from him, you open your eyes and move to finally be able to lower his underwear.

His penis rises free from the confines and you are a little surprised at the size. He throbs in front of you with the tip red and moist as you observe the succulent veins adorning its surface.

"So we're gonna be ride buddies and friends who fucked once."

Jungkook holds his legs open as you get on your knees in front of him to pull his briefs completely off.

"Let's see if you still want it to be once after I fuck you just right."

You smile sensing Jungkook's usual way of doing things, his classic way of provoking you while he smiles with confidence.

"Bold are we?"

You snicker as you pump your little fist around his shaft a couple of times.

He hisses.

"You've got the lead for now, wait and see when it's my turn."

He says through gritted teeth as he clearly tries not to give in to your touch too shamefully.

"We'll see."

You move closer, gently placing your lips on the side of his cock as you continue to move your hand slowly.

The intense teasing served to make him super responsive.

Jungkook squirms a little when you carefully spread his precum on the sensitive tip.

You hear as he tries to limit his sounds.

You look up momentarily when your mouth finally settles around his moistened tip, only to see his reaction.

Jungkook instinctively brings his head back and his mouth opens in a silent moan of pleasure.

He sighs heavily as his hands grip the fabric of the couch he's sitting on.

The vision of his naked body exposed to your will causes a shiver down your spine and with your free hand you move down until you reach the most sensitive part of your body.

You give yourself pleasure as you move your mouth and hand finding a rhythm that could be pleasant for him.

You listen carefully for any reaction that might let you know that you are doing the right thing as you keep your eyes closed, completely letting yourself go to the small sounds he makes.

When you twist your wrist slightly and let go of his cock with a pop to catch your breath, Jungkook lets out a throaty moan and he is breathing noticeably faster now.

You're so wet now that you think he could fit inside you without too much effort, you continue to tease your clit while jerking him off at the same speed.

You leave a trail of little kisses along his member, from the tip to the balls.

You look at him again and unexpectedly meet his gaze.

You feel your confidence waver for the briefest of moments when you notice his eyes looking at you intently.

His pierced lip is caught between his teeth as he breathes deeply through his nose.

He's trying in every way possible to block any sound that might come from his mouth and it's almost annoying to notice the effort he puts into it.

"Let me hear."

You say softly between small kisses.

“I want to know if I'm doing well or not.”

You tickle with your wet tongue from bottom to top, once again reaching the sensitive tip.

His cock throbs in your hand and you smirk satisfied.

You don't need to hear his moans to know that he's completely into it, but you still want to hear them because of you, it's almost a visceral need at this point.

"You're doing great,"

He responds in a deep voice.

He moves the hair that has fallen in front of your eyes with a finger as he tries to steady his breathing.

A soft gesture that makes your heart skip a beat, but you keep your focus on your movements.

Your hands continue to move in unison as you moan, kissing and licking his cock. You purposely avoid taking him fully into your mouth, teasing him every now and then when you feel the sounds getting stuck in his throat.

You feel pervaded by the power that these circumstances can give.

Jungkook watches you the whole time as you work on him and yourself.

He evidently noticed the effect his words had on you, his little praise gave you more confidence, allowing you to let go a little more.

Jungkook suddenly stops you by placing a hand on your shoulder just when you thought he was enjoying it a lot, or at least it seemed like that from his persistent and muffled groaning.

“Y/N, let me taste you please..”

You hear the desperation in his voice and you can see it in his face when you lean up to look at him, a little bit of saliva wetting your chin.

His eyes are completely dark, full of the longing that you know he can see in your eyes too.

He moves to stand up, forcing you back onto your feet before picking you up.

You yelp at the sudden motion, holding onto his neck for support as he helps you wrap your legs around his hips.

“Where is your bedroom?”

Jungkook asks as he latches onto your already battered neck.

"Down the hallway, second door on the right."

In no time, Jungkook transports you following your directions. He pushes the door open with his foot before entering and letting you lie on your soft bed.

He watches you bounce once on it, then looks you up and down with an unreadable look.

Being in your apartment, on your bed, almost completely naked in front of him, definitely makes you bolder, feeling more comfortable.

You just realized how far you've gone with him, that you can't go back now.

Not that you want to, honestly.

You observe him, majestic in front of you, the faint glow of the moon that leaks into the room illuminates his skin deliciously, accentuating every muscle of his toned body.

Your eyes do their best to capture every detail and imprint it in your memory.

Jungkook bends over you, caging your legs with his powerful arms.

You remain propped up on your forearms as your breathing becomes increasingly labored.

His hands rest at your sides and with a firm but delicate movement, he pulls you towards him.

He bends down to let his tongue leave a wet trail across your belly, to the edge of your panties.

The passage of his mouth so close to your core, feeds the fire in your belly.

"Can I?"

He asks softly as his thumbs hook your panties on both sides.

He looks at you, patiently waiting for your permission.

Or your refusal.

You see a hint of hesitation in his gaze, as if he doesn't want to go any further against your will.

You can feel this small detail slowly infiltrating under your skin. You feel it brings to the light something that you would have preferred to remain in the dark, especially in this moment.

Ray.

Why did he always assumed he could take everything without ever asking?

Why doesn't Jungkook take without asking?

These are questions you can't answer. Deep down you know you don't want them, that answers would only cause you more pain.

You swallow, trying to shut off the bitter taste of the past.

"Please…"

You can't say anything else, you whisper this simple word that encompasses everything you're feeling right now.

Please do it.

Please make me forget all the bad things for tonight.

Please take me.

His eyes light up and his skilled hands easily remove the fabric that covered your most intimate part.

Only now you do realize how uncomfortable and annoying the wet fabric you were wearing was.

You feel the cool air hit the moist and hot skin of your pussy and you sigh when his hands return to you after leaving the newly removed garment somewhere on the floor.

He gently places his hands on your thighs, spreading them just enough so he can observe your dripping wet pussy.

Seeing the glisten of your juices makes his blood burn in his veins.

You gasp when his soft lips lay on your clit.

Jungkook is humming delightedly, then he starts to kiss it with delicacy, allowing you to adapt to the stimulus while he lets his tongue tease you slowly.

You close your eyes and try to relax your legs.

His lips are more insistent, until he ends up making out with your soft wet pussy.

You can't hold back your moans and you lie down completely on the bed as you let him eat you out.

Just as you had done earlier, he maintains a slow but precise pace, as if he wants to take revenge for all the teasing and savor your flavor at the same time.

Unlike his, your moans follow one another and you can't stop yourself.

They gradually become stronger and more intense as Jungkook continues to make out with your pussy.

He holds your hips, soothing the skin right beneath his thumbs with circular motions.

It's a sensation you've never felt before, you feel your orgasm building slowly, so slowly that you almost think you'll lose it at any moment, only to change your mind when with precise movements you feel the pleasure accumulating, like waves that add to each other. One after another, before reaching the coast in one large, powerful wave.

He moves his tongue with a constant rhythm and when with a faint voice you warn him that you are about to come, surprisingly enough, Jungkook maintains the same rhythm, he doesn't speed up, he doesn't press his tongue more forcefully against your already very sensitive clit.

With pleasant surprise, you notice that he keeps this pace and it is clear that he knows what he is doing.

He doesn't go crazy trying to catch it, when he already knows where and how to find it.

The only difference is the intensity with which he makes out with your pussy, kissing and licking it passionately, drunk on your juices.

You moan louder as your body tenses more and more like a violin string, until with a delicate but firm movement of his tongue, your orgasm hits you violently.

With his gentle and precise gestures, you didn't expect such an intense and violent orgasm, your body writhes in ecstasy while a string of profanities and panting breaths leave your lips.

Your legs try to close as they tremble from the stimulation, but Jungkook firmly separates them again, enjoying the taste of you for a little longer. You hear him groan and at a quick glance you notice his frowning expression.

You whine from the overstimulation and it's the only signal that seems to stop him.

He pulls off while still remaining in front of your throbbing and swollen pussy and his labored breathing tickles you gently.

“Sorry,” he states, licking his shiny lips for a moment. “You taste so sweet I couldn't stop.”

You look at him while you feel a constant pounding in your chest and your breathing doesn't want to calm down.

His hair is disheveled, his cheeks are flushed and his eyebrows are still a little furrowed.

You prop yourself up on your elbows again, one hand reaching for his hair, letting it sink into its messy locks, as if wanting to tidy them up a bit.

"I wanna ride you now."

You state decisively and perhaps a little too pretentious, you add,

"Can I?"

Jungkook looks at you as he stands up, offers you a hand while you observe him in all his beauty, naked and with his erect member that you can't wait to welcome inside you.

Tonight you got to immortalize every detail of his body in your memory.

His totally tattooed arm, his sculpted body and his face, at times so sweet that you couldn't believe it is capable of contorting into those expressions of pleasure that you saw earlier.

You accept his hand and let him pull you onto him while he says "How can I say no when you ask it so nicely."

You smile mischievously and take the opportunity to accompany him, pushing him by the shoulders onto your bed.

Jungkook takes place where you were laying, he sinks into your sheets as he settles in.

You reach him with your legs still shaking and climb up until you're almost sitting on his thighs.

You pick up the condom that you had previously abandoned on the bed next to you, but before you can open it to let him put it on, you can't resist the temptation to put your mouth back on his inviting cock.

You give a provocative lick, spreading your saliva all over the surface you trace and you understand how much he too wants to finally be able to feel you when his hips suddenly move upwards.

"Fuck-"

You continue to lick slowly for a few moments while you stimulate him a little with your hand.

When you look at him, he's already looking at you and it doesn't surprise you, his mouth is slightly open as he tries to regulate his breathing.

He looks so sexy right now, you can see in his expression the immense heat burning in his irises. The need he feels to possess you.

"Stop teasing me."

His voice is strained and his face speaks clearly: if you continue like this he won't resist much longer, he can't wait to see you jump on his cock.

The mere look in his eyes makes you clench your walls in anticipation and with a little effort you finally get him to wear the condom.

You move to finally be able to position yourself on his erect member and begin to lower yourself. A shiver runs through your limbs, the small tingling you feel as he penetrates you is almost immediately replaced by pleasure.

Jungkook is big, but you're so wet that he can slide inside you with ease.

You support yourself with your hands on his chest as you close your eyes to fully enjoy the sensations you're feeling. You continue to move down until you are completely seated on him. You feel full, his hands resting on your hips and squeezing you lightly.

When you reopen your eyes, you look at him and get lost for an infinite moment in front of what you see.

Jungkook looks at you through eyes half closed in pleasure, he's been looking at you the entire time, as if the scene in front of him is the key to understanding the entire movie.

If memory had any capacity, this moment would take up most of the space in Jungkook's mind for a long time to come.

After a few moments, you feel like you've gotten used to his girth and can finally move up and down.

Despite your legs still shaking from your previous orgasm, you manage to move at an increasing pace.

You moan without caring about the sounds you make, music to Jungkook's ears as he lets you do what you want with him, accompanying your movements with his hands.

You move messily as your legs start losing strength. You alternate your motions by rubbing your clit on him, moaning loudly when you feel your little sensitive nub stimulated like this and the squelching sound of your pussy fills the room.

Jungkook hastily moves his hands behind your back, pulling at your bra to unclasp it. He doesn't take it off of you completely though, finding it more sexy the way he jumps up and down following your movements.

"Fuck yes.."

He groans as he watches hypnotized your breasts bouncing out of your bra.

Then he tilts his head back onto your pillow as his arms flex with the motions of your body.

You bounce on his cock the best you can, tracing the side of his throat with your thumb, right above a little red spot you sucked on his skin.

The vision is enchanting.

The sounds he makes, addicting.

You're breathless, the muscles of your legs are burning from the effort but you keep bouncing and humping as you feel you're close to the second orgasm of the night.

"I-I'm clo-"

You're so close to the point of no return but suddenly, your legs are failing you and just like that, you tiredly collapse on his body.

Jungkook is quick to react, grabbing your hips tight enough to support you and adjust his position under you as he starts to thrust up.

Your moans are broken by every thrust as he diligently hammers your pussy up just right.

"You're so hot Y/N. So fucking hot."

He groans softly, pulling you impossibly closer.

You feel strange, like you're burning alive and flying at the same time.

You comfortably lay on his body as you let him lead you to the peak of your pleasure, licking and kissing his neck and ear lobe in the meantime.

"Fuck yes- yes!"

You moan his name as the fire explodes all of a sudden and the extreme pleasure you've built till now, crushes hard on you. And just like that, you feel your legs shake and your head light like a leaf blown by a gentle breeze.

Jungkook's thrusts slow down a little, milking your orgasm slowly till the very end. He only stops when you start whimpering, knowing you're probably super sensitive right now.

He pulls out and you whine to the feeling of emptiness, your walls slightly pulsing as you already miss the sensation of his cock deep inside of you.

"Are you ok?"

He asks you as he tries to stabilize his breathing.

Your body is still glued to his, your breathing is as ragged as his and you let the beating sound of his heart soothe you for a moment longer before you nod.

You slowly get up hissing a little and you look at him.

"Cum on me."

There's no longer space for filters and your brain is so fucked out that it doesn't even care how needy you sound right now. Even after your two orgasms.

You're craving his touch, his sinful sounds, and you wanna know what it feels like to have his cum on your skin.

He smiles amused, chuckling a little.

"Yeah? And where do you want me to cum?"

His voice is husky and you feel your body reacting to that.

You buck your hips on his cock, blocking it between you and his stomach.

Are you even sane right now? Did he fuck you out of your own brain?

"On my ass."

Yes, you're totally gone.

You're totally gone for this man.

You watch him as you keep moving on him, you see he swallows a moan as your wet pussy keeps rubbing on his member.

"Aren't you sensitive right now?"

He asks lowly.

"I can handle it."

You sit up, your battered pussy is still recovering from two orgasms but you know you can take it and you just want to show him how badly you still want him inside of you.

He laughs mischievously, looking at your fucked out beautiful face with pride.

"Lie on your belly for me, then."

You willingly obey, throwing your bra out of the way completely and resting your figure on your belly, just as he asked.

You can't see him from this position, you only feel his hand reach for your leg, bending it so that you're able to turn a little to the side.

He now has the possibility to keep looking at your body from this perspective. He has your ass, the side of your breast and your face at his mercy and he can't wait to enjoy your every expression from here.

"Stop me if it's too much."

You feel the weight of his firm body lay on you as he whispers, and when you turn your head to nod you meet his face, dangerously close to yours that you can feel his hot breath caressing you.

You're spread under him, fresh out from the two orgasms he just gave you and totally naked, yet there it is, the look you wanted to avoid earlier, the one you knew would make you feel really, really vulnerable.

The mixture of his cares, his soft voice and his piercing dark eyes are sending danger signals to your brain as it feeds something deep in your chest.

You try to escape, diverting your eyes from the magnetism of his by nodding.

Jungkook pulls a little away, positioning himself right at your entrance.

You can hear him spit and the next thing you feel is his lubricated cock slowly pushing in.

You never felt like this, never had multiple orgasms and still wanted to fuck. The sensitivity is still there, you feel the heat spreading to your nerves as he slowly but surely bottoms up.

It's only when he starts moving that you feel a peak in your pleasure, like he is able to touch all the right spots at once.

He finds a rhythm, grabbing the flesh of your ass and pulling you to meet his hips.

Your breath is irregular, just like his, and you start pushing your palm on the sheets as every thrust is pushing you up the bed.

Jungkook has a better idea though.

He lets go of your ass completely as he swiftly grabs your arm and blocks it behind your back.

Feeling restrained like this by him causes a moan to escape your throat, followed by another one when he uses your arm as a grip instead of your ass to keep you in place.

"You like that huh"

He says through gritted teeth, the angle allows him to see the profile of your face as he fucks you hard and steady.

Your sweet innocent face, contorted in pleasure is an ethereal vision to his eyes.

And the fact that it's him causing you to feel this good, makes him feral.

You say yes a couple of times between your moans and heavy breaths.

He speeds up his pace a little more, always cautious of your reactions, not wanting you to feel any discomfort.

But what he hears from you next is what makes his balls tighten dangerously.

"Slap my ass, please-"

Your voice is broken but firm as you say it and something about it makes him go completely insane.

Perhaps the "please" part, or the way in which you're voicing your desire right now, mixed with your sweet moans and submissiveness.

He slaps his free hand onto your buttock hard enough to sting, and listens to the smacking sound and the throaty moan you let out resonate in his ears.

"Oh fuck-"

He lets out, pure ecstasy laced in his raspy voice as he soothes your skin.

His thrusts are becoming sloppier, more erratic, and he's louder than before as he's chasing his own orgasm now.

You're addicted to the sounds he makes during sex, that's clear by now. Every time a throaty moan escapes his lips, you wish you could record it and use it when you'll be alone.

Suddenly, he frees your arm and pulls out. You assume he's taking off the condom as you try to regain some strength to push your hair away and look at him over your shoulder.

You watch him pumping fast his cock as his free hand strokes the reddened skin of your ass.

His eyes are shut tightly and you keep watching him moan loudly as spurs of his hot cum land on your ass.

He keeps pumping till the last drop then he slaps his cock on your cum covered skin and you've never seen something hotter than what just happened.

When he comes down from his orgasm, he smirks at you, tired and satisfied.

You chuckle softly, covering your face with your arm without even noticing.

“Fuck, that was-”

"Amazing. Yes"

It was, it was indeed amazing.

He finishes your sentence in a small voice as he tries to steady his ragged breathing, still remaining where he is.

You feel his hot seed slowly dripping down your skin and when your breath is stable enough you move to the side of the bed to get up.

“I'm gonna take a quick shower, if you don't mind.”

you say, moving to get to your bathroom.

“Not at all, go ahead.”

When your shower is over and you feel refreshed and relaxed, you return to your room with only a robe covering you, your skin still a little damp under the fabric of the robe.

Surprisingly you find him fully dressed, you sure didn't expect him to stay longer but you at least wanted him to take a shower before leaving.

"Are you sure you don't wanna take a shower too?"

You ask him as you approach.

"Yeah don't worry." you watch him as he brushes his hair out of his face and fixes his clothes.

You remain silent after that, it feels strange and a little heavy.

Should you ask him to stay?

Will it be awkward from now on?

Was it a mistake from the beginning?

You don't want him to think you're kind of kicking him out. The unhealthy overthinking starts pestering you and you don't even notice you've walked with him to the door of your apartment.

He gathers his helmet and jacket from the floor and turns to you with a little smile.

"I better go. Don't want Ducky to get jealous."

It makes you laugh lightly and you can't keep yourself from playfully rolling your eyes at him.

It's still him, the Jungkook that loves to tease you and makes silly jokes.

You probably needed this to get back on earth and realize that you should stop overthinking.

"Oh! Of course we don't want that!"

You emphasize and your fake concern makes him chuckle.

It won't be awkward from now on after all.

You open the door for him and when he comes out he zips up his jacket, ready to leave.

"Let me know when you're going to the shop to get your gear."

He smiles, one of those smiles that make the drums go crazy in your chest.

"I will. Drive safe."

And for a moment you smile at each other, probably knowing that from this exact moment, it won't be easy to keep your hands away from each other.

Tonight marked an important step for you, not only the boost of confidence that you sported, but you can tell with certainty that your past is still bothering you, from time to time, but it doesn't have your present in its claws.

The decisions you made tonight could bring you to another disappointment, to another loss. Especially when this sensation on your chest keeps going off almost as a reminder, telling you 'Hey, in case you didn't notice, I'm right here!'

It will probably pass if you just ignore it…

It will go away as fast as it came… Right?

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beom-pyu · 1 year

Text

lust for life ☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ kang taehyun

kang taehyun x fem!reader (choi yeonjun x fem!reader) , tags: non idol au , friends to lovers , one-sided crushes , pining , fluff , nsfw , angst , friend!taehyun , bff!yeonjun , roommate!yeonjun , college au , one-sided crushes , angst , pink-haired taehyun because why not, reader is a little ditzy but you mean well!! , pwp

warnings: smut (minors dni) , cursing , fingering , drinking , service top!taehyun (i need to spread this agenda please hear me out) , unprotected sex (reader is on the pill) , sane and consensual! , car sex (i have an obsession) , reader is going thru it

"in these stolen moments, the world is mine. there's nobody here—just us together. keepin' me hot like july forever."

a/n: hiii it's been a while! i've had this in the drafts for a little bit and i finally finished it yayyyy!! also happy 520+ in just a little over a month??? ily guys with all of my heart :,,,) i hope u enjoy!!! (this has only been proofread once so plz excuse any mistakes!)

wc: 8.17k

you’ve never been a fan of pancakes. in fact, you had even won an online debate about how waffles are the better breakfast food back in middle school on some weird forum site. pancakes are just too starchy, too flimsy, and way too bland. you’d rather eat sand than willingly go out of your way to devour a plate of pancakes.

but as yeonjun hand feeds you a bite of the blueberry pancakes he made for your “friendiversary” (the friendship anniversary that you guys celebrate every year), you decide right then and there that you have become a pancake connoisseur—a devotee… a fanatic, if you will.

you hum in delight, clapping your hands in appreciation as you chew the slice of doughy goodness. yeonjun watches your reaction with hopeful eyes—those fox-like eyes, shining as the daylight from the kitchen window hits his irises, a chocolate brown ring hidden in the center. you think you can get lost in them forever: the way they bunch up when he smiles widely, the way his eyelashes frame them beautifully, the way they seem to display any and every emotion he feels. those captivating, enchanting eyes.

“does it taste okay?” yeonjun asks, his soft voice snapping you back into reality. you’re nodding quickly before you even realize it, giving him two thumbs up as you swallow the food.

“i didn’t know you were a pancake expert,” you joke, picking up your own fork to grab a strawberry off of your plate. yeonjun shakes his head with a faint smile, pushing around the food on his plate as he watches you eat.

“i just threw some things together. guess i’m just a natural, huh?” his voice is filled with feign cockiness and you find yourself giggling at the way he leans back in his seat with his arms behind his head like some 90s chick-flick jock.

he looks especially good today—you don’t know if it’s just the warm feelings surrounding your friendiversary, or if it’s the way the sun rays frame his figure, creating a halo effect around his body. he’s perfect in your eyes; his black hair falls beautifully around his face, and his cheeks are naturally flushed pink from the warm air of your shared apartment. his lips are glossy with some syrup residue and you wish for nothing more than to kiss it off of him, tasting the sweetness of his mouth as your hands find their way to his—

“—ift today, so i have to go in. i’m really sorry, y/n.”

you blink, tilting your head a bit as you rip your attention from his lips. “sorry, what did you say?”

yeonjun sighs with a small, apologetic smile, bouncing his fork in his hands. “there was no one who could cover my shift for our friendiversary, so i still have to work today.”

his voice is filled with so much guilt, and despite the deep disappointment you feel in your chest, you don’t want to make him feel any worse. he doesn’t deserve to feel that way. you guys have celebrated your friendiversary every single year for the past decade and a half. from visiting the aquarium in sixth grade, to go-karting in ninth, to climbing onto the rooftop of your apartment complex to stargaze last year; you guys have done it all. there’s nothing wrong with cutting one short, right?

“oh, that’s okay! i… i still have some cramming i need to do, so that’ll definitely keep me busy.” you wave your hand to dismiss him with a small smile before quickly spooning another strawberry into your mouth to cover up the falter of your lips. yeonjun’s shoulders untense with relief, nudging your foot under the table—the action is quick to summon butterflies in your stomach, a small warmth rising to your face from the short contact.

“i promise i’ll make it up to you, okay?” and any hint of dismay in your body dissipates with the lopsided smile he sends your way, too distracted by the fluttery stuttering of your heart and the way those eyes glimmer in the morning sunlight.

“i’m going to die.”

“you’re not going to die.”

“yes, i am. i’m going to die and it’ll be all your fault.”

taehyun deadpans you as you dramatically drape yourself across the library table, whining with your cheek pressed against the cool wood. today was supposed to be your friendiversary, and now here you are, face to face with your friend (and calculus tutor) in your stuffy campus library.

you mentally curse the current recession—yeonjun could’ve had the day off to cuddle and watch movies with you, but now he’s holed up in a dumb, understaffed clothing store.

on top of it all, calculus seems to always have the ability to literally melt your brain through your ears, feeling yourself growing more and more delirious with every number and formula you write down. there’s a reason why you’re an english major.

taehyun simply watches you throw your contained fit, his demeanor blank with the slightest hint of amusement—he’s definitely used to it by now. with one final huff, you lift your head up, grabbing your pencil with vigor as you straighten your back.

“okay, let’s do this.”

a tiny puff of laughter fills the space around you as taehyun’s lips quirk up at your immediate change of pace, his eyebrows raised with entertainment.

“you sure you don’t need another minute?” he teases you with a sly smile and you give him a tiny glare in return.

“not everyone is a mathematical nerd like you, kang,” you retort, but the words are light and airy—it’s easy to banter with taehyun. you’ve known him since your freshman year, meeting him by chance at this exact library during exam season. you approached him first—he had on a t-shirt of a band you like a little too much and with your extroverted nature, you cracked through his shell quickly.

you two would be complete opposites if it weren’t for the fact that you have so much in common with each other. he’s like the less talkative, “critically thinking”’version of you—he balances you out perfectly and you’re incredibly thankful to have a friend like him. he’s always open to listen to your rambling, help you out when you’re struggling in one of your classes, and provide silent company when you don’t want to be alone.

you’re especially grateful that he willingly offered to help you prepare for your upcoming exams, knowing how scatterbrained you get when it comes to studying—and by the time it hits 5 p.m, you’re officially burnt out, unable to intake any more explanations of radians and whatnot.

taehyun notices your attention drifting as you chew on the end of your pen, a tiny and fond smile falling onto his face.

“how about we call it a day?” taehyun asks as he closes his textbook. you immediately brighten up, nodding aggressively—taehyun quietly laughs at your enthusiasm.

“wanna get something to eat? i think i’m actually going to die after all of this now.” you motion to the mess of paper and notes in front of you, hearing taehyun hum in agreement. you pack up quickly as you randomly stuff your papers into their proper (see: random) folders, ready to get some food in your stomach as you tell taehyun about this new show you’ve started watching. he listens intently, nodding along to your breakdown of the plot—you speak way too fast for anything to be even the slightest bit comprehensible, but your eagerness makes up for any lost translations.

the air is warm on your skin when you exit the library, soaking up the heat as you fall into step with taehyun next to you. as brutal as finals season is on you, it does leave one positive in your mind—summer is coming.

you had planned a trip with yeonjun to your hometown for the first few weeks of summer—just the two of you with no distractions of work and assignments. alone. together. you were going to confess during this trip; you had promised yourself that you wouldn’t chicken out this time. you have liked yeonjun for years, ever since middle school, but you’ve been too afraid of losing him to actually tell him the truth about your feelings—but this is it. this will be the summer you tell him everything. you beam at the thought, already feeling giddy at just the idea.

“watcha thinking about?”

taehyun’s inquisitive voice enters your ears and you turn your head to look over at him. he’s already watching you, his big eyes focused on the goofy smile on your face. your neck heats up with embarrassment at the prospect of being caught daydreaming about your best friend, shaking your head.

“nothing, really. i just love when the sun’s out,” you speak, looking up to the clear sky as you silently applaud yourself for that on-the-spot excuse. you can still feel taehyun’s eyes on your face, but you brush it off as your phone rings in your hand.

you look down at the caller i.d., your heart jumping at the giant display of letters that spell out “junnie bug”. his contact photo takes up your entire screen and you’re sure taehyun sees it as well—it’s a selfie yeonjun took when he used one of your hello kitty headbands to wash his face, his lips puckered up in a kissy face with a v by his eyes, winking at the camera. god, he’s so cute.

quick to answer the phone, you press the device to your ear with a small smile on your lips, muttering out a quiet hello.

“hey, where are you right now?”

you scan the area, realizing you’re closing in on one of the campus restaurants, one you and yeonjun frequent weekly.

“i’m about to grab dinner. why?” the line is quiet for a beat as you hear some shuffling and jingling before yeonjun finally responds.

“i got off early! come eat with me. i brought your favorite~” yeonjun sing-songs through the speaker of your phone. you pout a bit, glancing up at taehyun whose hands are shoved in his pocket as he looks off into the distance, giving you privacy to speak.

“i’m actually with taehyun right now…”

yeonjun makes a small, whiny sound, quick to intervene. “but it’s our friendiversary! plus, i have something i’ve been waiting to tell you.”

your heart stops in your chest for a moment as the words reach your ears, feeling the world around you slow down.

yeonjun has something to tell you.

he has something he's been waiting to tell you.

you try not to overthink it, but you can’t stop the conclusion from jumping into your head.

he’s going to confess. he’s going to confess!

you bite back a small squeal as you gain your composure, your eyes flickering over to taehyun once again. he’s a few steps behind you and you already feel bad for what you’re about to do—but yeonjun has something to tell you and your best friend always comes first.

(especially when he’s going to confess to you!)

“okay, i’ll be there soon! love you, junnie.”

“love you too. see you in a bit.”

and then the line goes silent. you try to hide your wide grin as you turn on your heel towards taehyun who stops in his tracks, his head cocking to the side at your excited demeanor.

“hey, can we make a reign check? i’m really sorry,” you pout as you speak, but taehyun doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest, nodding his head.

“yea, that’s okay. seems like you have somewhere important to be.” the small smile he gives you seems a little forced, but you’re too blinded by the excitement pooling in your gut to linger on it. you make a small happy noise, reaching out to pat taehyun’s arm softly.

“i’ll pay for dinner next time—pinky promise.” you hold out your pinky and taehyun’s eyes follow your hand, smiling a bit at the action.

“what, are we twelve?” he teases and you huff, gently jabbing your pinky into his arm.

“pinky promises are the ultimate form of trust and commitment!” you declare with a self-assured nod. taehyun hesitates for a moment as he gives you an unreadable look before his warm pinky hooks onto yours, your thumbs pressing together in a silent seal.

“thank you, kind sir,” you say in a horrible british accent and the corners of taehyun’s eyes crinkle in that darling way they do when he smiles. “i’ll see you tomorrow. bye, bye!”

if taehyun watches your figure retreat until you’ve disappeared around the corner of the communications building, and a short while after you’re already gone—well, that’s for only him to know.

you’re nervous, you realize as you wipe your sweaty palms on your skirt, taking in a deep breath as you stand outside of your apartment. one would think you’d be prepared for this, considering how many sleepless nights you’ve tossed and turned imagining this exact moment. the exact moment when yeonjun tells you, to your face, that he has been in love with you for years—and you would confirm that you feel the same way, and all would be well and dandy and you’d finally be able to breathe.

but your breath gets caught in your lungs the moment you see yeonjun sitting on the couch with a movie paused on the screen, all of your favored dishes from your favorite takeout place laid out in an array on the glass coffee table in the middle of the living room. time moves in slow motion when his head turns towards you as you walk through the front door, those butterflies making their way back to your belly the moment his eyes lock onto yours.

he’s always so gorgeous—even after being on his feet for hours due to his long shift, he still manages to look positively effortless. his plush lips are slightly parted in a wide smile as he beckons you over, his hair bouncing on his forehead at the movement. he’s shining, the sunset casting a wonderful glow over the living room, making his pristine skin look even more angelic than it usually does.

you’re in love. you’re absolutely, absolutely enamored with the man in front of you.

it’s like a scene in a movie as you take a seat on the couch next to him, his arm coming to rest over your shoulders, pulling you into a tight side hug and… oh goodness, he smells so amazing. he’s had the same signature scent for years—a sweet grapefruit with hints of cedar and black currant. intoxicating, alluring. you subtly inhale as you bury your face in his shoulder, letting yourself bask in his warmth. his comfort.

you feel his body rumble with quiet laughter at the way you cling to him, his free hand coming up to pinch your cheek fondly.

“hello to you too,” he speaks and you pop your head up to smile at him.

“i missed you. i think i lost half of my sanity after that study session,” you mumble as you pull your knees up to your chest, pressing yourself closer to yeonjun’s side.

“wasn’t taehyun there to help, though?” yeonjun questions as he massages the back of your neck. you hum in response, your eyes slipping shut as your body relaxes.

“he’s the only reason i didn’t actually go insane,” you groan and yeonjun laughs a bit at your theatrics. “but enough of that. it’s friendiversary time!”

you try to ignore the anticipation bubbling in your chest as the night goes on. yeonjun seems to have pushed the “something” he’s been “waiting” to tell you to the back burner of his mind, laughing and joking around as per usual as some corny 2000s chick flick plays on the t.v. screen. you’re painfully aware though, your eyes glancing over at him during every bout of prolonged silence, trying to egg him on with subtle words—and by the time the movie finally ends, you think he’s forgotten completely.

but then he turns his body towards you, and if you weren’t already hyperfocused on his entire presence, you would’ve missed the way he takes a subtle deep breath, silently preparing himself for whatever he’s about to tell you. naturally, your body faces him as well, your hands in your lap as you dismiss the rapid pounding of your heart in your chest.

it’s finally happening.

yeonjun cracks a small smile to break the growing tension in the room and you swoon at the way his cheeks bunch up in that adorable way they do.

“soooo,” he starts and you can’t help but to smile a bit at his unusually awkward demeanor—choi yeonjun, you’re choi yeonjun, is actually nervous right now. something about it makes you feel a little fluttery; just the sight of his face reddening makes your stomach flip. he’s so cute.

“soooo…?” you echo, nudging his knee with yours. he chuckles a bit, one of his hands coming up to rub the back of his neck.

“remember how i said there’s something i’ve been waiting to tell you?” he speaks slowly as if he’s thinking of every word he says before they exit his mouth. you nod, trying to hide your growing grin. “so, um…”

this is it. this is it. your days of pining are finally over. you’ll be able to kiss, hug, and love yeonjun all you want, as loudly as you want. you’ll finally be his.

“i think i’m going to throw up from the suspense,” you blurt out and your words help to lighten the mood, yeonjun laughing again as his hand drops back down to his lap.

“i guess i’ll just say it then,” he inhales once before his next sentence tumbles off of his lips like an avalanche, destroying your world with every passing millisecond. you’re dunked underwater as your breath hitches in your throat, your hearing muffled as you watch yeonjun’s lips move, but none of it reaches your ears.

you can’t think. you don’t want to think. it’s all too sudden and you feel your hands tremble slightly in your lap as yeonjun’s eyes fill with adoration as he talks about the girl from his fashion department.

“we’re official. me and eunbin… we’re dating.”

he’s so happy as he lulls on about the exact moment everything happened; the way her eyes lit up, the way she jumped into his arms, the way she kissed him on the lips. how she’s so smart and mature. how she’s beautiful and confident and charming in every way. how she’s exactly what he needs at this point in his life.

how she isn’t you.

you have always kind of been aware of the fact that the girl had a crush on yeonjun. she’d always be by his side walking through campus, hanging off his arm like a koala, overly affectionate with skinship. but yeonjun was friendly too, and he’s touchy with all of his friends—it’s his love language. you’ve never thought too much of it seeing as yeonjun always returns home to you. cuddling you at night when you can’t sleep. cooking you breakfast and dinner almost every day. matching outfits with you. staying up late to talk with you.

you were just too stupid—too naive… too blinded by your own infatuation with the man to realize that his eyes weren’t set on you this entire time. you were just his comfort. his roommate. his best friend. and nothing more.

you aren’t sure if you’re still present in your body—it feels as if you’re watching the entire scene from afar, somewhere high up in the clouds. away from yeonjun. away from yourself.

you want to cry, already feeling a lump form in your throat as your waterline burns with tears, but yeonjun’s smile is the widest you’ve seen it be in a while, and those eyes… those same eyes you’ve found yourself getting lost in one too many times… they’re so big and bright tonight as he rambles on about this girl. this girl who is everything you’re not.

it feels as if your heart shrivels up and falls into your stomach right then, fighting to make a smile form on your trembling lips. you want to be joyful for your best friend—you really do—but it just hurts so, so much and you’re about to break at any second.

“i’m so happy for you, junnie,” you mumble out quietly, positive that if you speak any louder, your voice will crack and give it all away. yeonjun directs that endearing smile your way and you feel your heart break even more.

“thank you, y/n. you’re… you’re the first person i’ve told so i was a little nervous. thank you, really.” yeonjun lets out a sigh of relief as he pulls you into a hug. it should’ve been warm and cherished, filling you with nothing but precious feelings—but you can’t help that ice-cold feeling that washes over you as you inhale his citrusy cologne, patting his back with a shaky hand. when he pulls away, he has this little dazed smile on his face—he’s definitely thinking about her—and your gut churns with the ickiest feeling you’ve ever felt.

“you know it’s hard for me to open up to people,” he continues, and you aren’t sure how much longer you can sit here while holding in your tears. “but with her, it’s just like… it’s so natural and easy. she reminds me of you, actually. she always understands me in the way that you do.”

no, she doesn’t.

“i’m glad,” you mutter out and he doesn’t even process your short response, too busy lost in thought as he smiles down at his lap.

you can’t. you can’t.

“‘m gonna go to the bathroom,” you speak, standing before he even acknowledges your words. your tears are already falling down your cheeks as soon as you turn your back to him, your legs moving quicker than the speed of light as you shut the bathroom door behind you, letting it all rush out.

you muffle your quick breathing with the sleeve of your sweater so yeonjun can’t hear—you don’t want to ruin this moment for him. he’s still your best friend, and he deserves all of the happiness in the world. but you’re selfish and your heart hurts a little too much; all of those years of pining and chasing…

this truly sucks.

you don’t know how long you sit in there, but it must’ve been long enough for yeonjun to become worried seeing as a knock soon sounds from the door.

“y/n, you okay?”

you quickly pat your cheeks dry with your palm, nodding your head before remembering he can’t see you from the other side of the wall.

“yeah, ‘m just getting ready for bed!” you call out, cringing slightly at your hoarse voice. hearing an affirmative hum from yeonjun in the hallway, you turn on the sink to wash the tear tracks from your face.

now this is definitely a friendiversary to remember.

taehyun has always had a knack for being incredibly perceptive—you like to call it his “kitty senses”, the way his nose twitches cutely when he spots something in the distance, or the way he perks up when he hears something interesting. he always seems to be aware of the space and those around him, noticing the little things, and paying close attention to detail. maybe that’s the reason why he blinks so little; he’s always keeping an eye out for the minuscule things people usually overlook.

so when your laugh isn’t quite as full as it usually is, and your smile doesn’t fully reach your eyes, and your fingers keep fidgeting with the zipper of your jacket—taehyun knows something is up.

it’s not like you’re not trying to hide it. you had made sure to put on extra concealer that morning to hide your sleepy eyes from your lack of sleep, which is useless because already sure you’ll be crying it off by the end of the day. you try to joke around with taehyun as usual, but you can’t seem to stop your mind from drifting.

it hurts—it hurts so bad, and as much as you wish to just accept reality and move on, some part of you still wants to believe that this is all a dream. some horrible, horrible joke the universe decided to play on you. you just want it to all be over.

taehyun’s over at your place today. yeonjun has work until 6 and you really don’t think you can bring yourself to leave the dark, brooding coven that has become your bedroom, so you came up with a flimsy excuse of the library being too hot to study in today.

“let’s take a break,” taehyun’s voice sounds from your desk, successfully making you look up from where you’re laid stomach down on your bed. in all honesty, you’ve been repeatedly reading the same sentence for the past ten minutes, drawing the conclusion that you’re definitely not going to get anything done today.

you sigh with a small nod, moving to sit crisscross as you shut your laptop, feeling your shoulders slump. taehyun’s watching you—you can feel his eyes follow your movement as you move your laptop to your bedside table, your lips adorning a permanent frown.

you don’t even bother to check your phone as you flop backward onto your bed; it’s not yeonjun’s fault that you feel this way—you know that. he’s not responsible for the way your stomach swoops when he smiles, or the way your skin tingles when his hand lingers on your face for a little too long. it’s your fault for jumping to conclusions, for seeing everything through rose-tinted glasses.

it’s your fault for falling for him so hard.

and here comes that feeling again; that lump in your throat, the churning of your insides, the sting behind your eyes. too caught up in your own thoughts, you don’t process the dip in your bed as taehyun takes a seat next to you.

“are you alright?”

his voice is oh so soft as you turn your head to look at him—those big eyes scan over your body as he tries to read what’s wrong, seeing his kitty senses working a thousand miles a second. you catch the way his fingers twitch as if he wants to touch you, but his body is stiff with uncertainty.

you almost want to cry simply at the way he so obviously cares, his brows knit together, eyes searching yours for an answer you aren’t giving him. he’s lovely, you render, as you scoot over to give him some space to slip in next to you as you curl up to his side. it’s nothing new; you’re used to sharing a bed with taehyun to get in quick power naps during cramming, or to scroll through your phones in silence, just enjoying each other’s company.

but something feels different this time as he wraps his arm around you, his fingers tickling your arm. your head rests on his shoulder while your index finger draws random patterns on his chest, his black t-shirt bunching and scrunching up with the movement. it’s quiet as he strokes your arm, the pads of his fingers making goosebumps rise to your sensitive skin. you don’t realize how bad you need this—the warmth of his body is so nice and you can already feel your walls coming down as you sniffle, a few tears escaping your eyes.

“‘m gonna get your shirt all wet,” you mumble, and taehyun just laughs a bit, resting his head on top of yours.

“i don’t mind,” he replies quietly and you immediately break, the dam collapsing as your tears soak into his shirt, accepting all of the untamed emotions running wild inside of your body. taehyun holds you silently and gently, his thumb brushing over your skin in an attempt at solace.

heartbreak is a weird, weird thing. it feels like you’re yearning for something that you know you’ll never have. craving the touch of someone you’ll never be able to hug and kiss and love in the way you want to. you don’t believe you’ve ever felt anything like this before.

so you let yourself cry, and cry, and cry as taehyun nuzzles his cheek into your hair—a silent reminder that he’s still right here next to you.

he doesn’t ask any questions, and in a way, you’re thankful for that. what would you even say? your bestfriend broke your heart even though you guys were never together in the first place? it sounds ridiculous in any way you can think of wording it, so you bask in the silence as you let everything out.

by the time your tears slow down, your fingers are clenching the front of taehyun’s shirt like a lifeline… and he lets you hold onto him for as long as you need. you don’t know what you have ever done to deserve a friend like him. always ready to catch you when you fall, giving reassurance when you need it, and always prepared to lend a helping hand.

you find yourself lifting your head to find taehyun’s eyes already on you, his hand slipping from your arm to your waist at your movement. his eyes are clouded with apprehension, and you’re sure you look an absolute mess right now with your swollen eyes and tear-stained skin. but there is something left unsaid in the air as your eyes trail down to his pink lips; his hand grips your waist a little tighter, his big eyes flickering quickly between yours.

his eyes are different than yeonjun’s—while yeonjun’s are filled with memories of home and familiarity, taehyun’s are present and swirling with unadulterated want. he wants to be here with you.

everything is muted save for your air conditioning, the quiet hum from the fan of taehyun’s laptop sitting on your desk, and the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears.

you shouldn’t do it. you know this is a bad, bad, bad idea. you’re still not over yeonjun—you’re not ready to move on yet. but that feeling of heartbreak and pure longing wraps around your brain and you just need something, someone to make it all pause. the feeling of taehyun’s hand on your waist is grounding as his thumb brushes over your your clothed skin, his dark brown irises still fixated on you, waiting. and waiting. and waiting.

your lips are on his before you can give anything another thought.

he kisses you as delicately as he holds you, giving you the lead, and allowing you to take whatever you want from him. his lips are incredibly soft—you taste his vanilla and peppermint chapstick on your tongue, getting lost in the slightly tingly sensation. your mind is hazy as your hand trails up from his chest to the side of his neck, feeling his pulse under the pads of your fingers, pressing closer to him to deepen the kiss.

his tongue swipes across your bottom lip in silent permission and you gladly give in, parting your lips for him. a quiet moan slips out as his free hand tugs your thigh over his waist, moving you to straddle him. his body is firm and sturdy underneath you, your hands falling to his shoulders as you steady yourself.

it should end here… it really should—but then taehyun tilts his head and takes your bottom lip in between his teeth and his hands are so heavy and pleasant on your waist and you’re reminded of citrus and home and…

he pulls away slowly, his chest rising and falling quickly as he stares up at your figure.

“y/n…”

his breathy voice quickly makes you come to your senses.

guilt overrides your body as you realize—you just took advantage of your friend’s kindness and company, all because of your own stupid feelings. a grave emotion washes over you as you shake your head, quickly moving off of his body as taehyun sits up.

because only then does it dawn on you that you were pretending taehyun’s lips were yeonjun’s.

“hey, hey, it’s okay—”

“no, i can’t—fuck, i’m so sorry, taehyun,” you spill out as you climb off of him, creating distance between the two of you, unable to meet his hurt eyes. you don’t want to cry again, but the stinging behind your eyes comes back in full force. the shame is too much; taehyun is so kind and you just—you used him for temporary validation. “you should… you should go.”

taehyun is silent and you see him nod in the peripheral of your vision, lingering for a second before he slips off of your bed. he’s quiet and quick as he collects his things, and your eyes only watch his figure once his back is turned toward you. you try to pretend you don’t notice the weighted gaze he gives you before leaving.

it’ll give you one less thing to cry about tonight.

you need another drink.

the slight buzz in your body is not enough to blur out the sight in front of you as you lean against the wall holding a plastic cup tightly in your hand. you’ve never really had a problem with pda—if couples want to show their admiration for each other in public, then so be it. it isn’t any of your business, truly.

but now, your stomach seems to lurch as you watch eunbin kiss up yeonjun’s neck, sitting prettily in his lap on the living room couch as yeonjun smiles that perfect smile at something she whispers in his ear. theoretically, you can simply look away, or walk away, even—but your feet stay planted where they are as your hands shake slightly.

you aren’t sure how long heartbreak is supposed to linger, or how long it should take before you stop thinking about how that could’ve been you… should’ve been you. jealousy is one hell of an emotion, and you try your absolute best to keep it at bay; yeonjun owes you nothing, but the spite eats away at you as you bring your nearly empty drink back up to your lips.

a body shuffles up next to you, but you don’t pay them any mind, your ears ringing with the pulse of the music reverberating through the walls. you’re definitely not drunk enough to enjoy the atmosphere, too hyperfocused on the way yeonjun’s head tips back in a hearty laugh as eunbin swats at his chest playfully.

“you look like you need some air.”

your head whips to the side at the words, coming face-to-face with taehyun, his eyes holding a type of intensity you’ve never seen before. a dejected laugh leaves your lips as you tilt your head back, nodding slightly in response.

“yeah, i probably do.”

taehyun’s hand is slipping into yours before you can even process his grip, tugging you towards the front door of the house. there aren’t too many people in the front yard—just a small group passing a blunt on the porch, someone in an intense argument on the phone, and a few people loitering by their cars.

you follow taehyun to the steps of the porch, taking a seat on the cement. it’s dark out, but the air is still slightly humid, making your skin feel sticky and warm. taehyun’s hand is still in yours as you scoot closer to him to allow some people to walk up the other half of the steps, your thigh pressing against his.

he’s silent as he looks ahead, and you can feel tension filling in the space around you both. it’s been a couple of weeks since you two have spoken—you’ve felt too guilty to face him after that kiss, but now you find yourself looking over at his figure. maybe the alcohol is working better than you thought.

his brows are slightly furrowed, one of his legs bouncing up and down incessantly. the low glow of the porch light illuminates him in a way that makes it impossible to look away, your eyes trailing from his cat-like eyes, to the slope of his nose, to his soft lips.

his soft lips.

you rip your eyes away from them. you aren’t going to make the same mistake twice.

“y/n, did i do something wrong?” taehyun questions quietly, his eyes finally landing on your face. there’s something cloudy and uncertain behind them, something that you can’t quite put a name to.

“no, taehyun, you didn’t—it’s not your fault. i’m just…” you sigh, your gaze focusing on the way his thumb brushes over the back of your hand. “there’s a lot on my mind right now.”

taehyun nods slowly, turning his head away from you again.

“is there anything i can do to help?”

he doesn’t mention the kiss. he doesn’t mention the way you’ve practically been avoiding his existence.

you don’t know if it’s your tipsy state, or if it’s the way his body heat radiates onto you or the way his eyes flicker back up to yours when you’re quiet for a second—but then you catch the way they travel down to your lips and you’re in the backseat of his car in the blink of an eye.

it’s warm, too warm, as you straddle his lap, your hands tangled into his hair as he kisses down your neck, hands on your hips to steady you. you don’t want to think anymore—you don’t want to hang onto something you’ll never have.

so you let taehyun distract you at this moment.

“you can use me however you’d like,” he breathes out heavily as your hands come to rest on his chest. “use me to get over him.”

your body stiffens as the words slip out of his mouth, meeting his eyes in the darkness of the car.

“how… how did you…?” your voice is breathless as you trail off, the corners of his lips quirking up into a sad smile.

“i’ve always noticed the way you look at him, y/n.”

your eyes are unfocused in the low light as you gaze at taehyun’s state, his pupils blown wide in the darkness of the car, only a side of his face lit up golden from the street lights outside. his lips are bright pink and bitten raw, his fading pink hair messy and falling onto his forehead in fluffy waves. he’s always been gorgeous, a fact you could never deny, but in this moment, he looks absolutely unreal.

sudden guilt fills your chest at the thought, shaking your head quickly.

“i can’t do that to you, taehyun,” you replied weakly. he’s shaking his head now, his big hand coming up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing your soft skin delicately.

“i want you to. i hate seeing you like this,” his hand drops down to cover one of yours, feeling his chest rise and fall under your palm. “i’ll do anything you want me to, y/n. you just have to say the words.”

his voice is low and faint, gazing at you with his pretty brown eyes. they flicker in between yours, trying to read the emotions on your face in the limited light. you nibble on your lip as you feel his rapid heartbeat through his shirt, your mind scattered and dizzy.

“please. let me help you.”

a hot flash courses through your body at the pure desperation in his voice—and something in you snaps at that exact moment, your lips crashing onto his vanilla and peppermint ones. the kiss is messy and feverish as your hands run up and down his torso, teeth clashing with the vehemence of it all. you feel his hands drop to your hips, holding you down onto him as his tongue explores your mouth, running across your teeth, swiping across your lips. he tastes like cheap liquor, and you’re sure you do too, but it doesn’t matter at this moment.

you press down on him, your hands running over his toned stomach, up to his pecs, over his shoulders; anything you can reach. you shut your mind off, not letting yourself focus on anything other than taehyun taehyun taehyun taehyun.

he’s moving you, you realize as your back presses against the cool leather of his back seat. he doesn’t break the kiss once as he hovers over you, hiking your skirt up to run his hand up your leg, running his nails over the sensitive skin of your thigh. you allow your legs to fall open so he can comfortably slot himself in between them, feeling his bulge press against your pulsing core just right.

a faint gasp leaves your lips as he grinds against your clothed cunt, already feeling yourself leaking through the thin fabric. one of your legs wraps around him to pull him even closer to you, drowning out all of your senses with the scent of his cologne, his hair tickling your cheek as he kisses down your neck. his hand leaves your thigh to slip under your top before his fingers dance over your stomach, brushing over your bra—admiring every inch of you as you arch up into his touch.

“tell me what you want, baby,” he pants against your neck, nipping the flesh there. you stifle a moan as his fingers brush over the wet spot on your panties. “come on, use your words.”

“i want… fuck—i want your fingers in me.”

he’s quick to obey, pushing your panties to the side to rub his middle finger up and down your dripping slit, a low groan leaving his lips as your hand finds its way to his hair, tugging at the pink strands to hurry him up.

you moan softly as he slips his first finger in, curling it upwards as he pumps in and out of your clenching hole. the car is filled with the sounds of your soaked cunt, his heavy pants, and your moans as he finger fucks you, slipping in another two easily with how wet you are. his fingers are incredibly long and slender, reaching parts of you that you’ve never been able to hit by yourself.

when his lips find yours again, it’s much slower, his fingers matching the restrained pace as he kisses you deeply, devouring all of your little noises. your hips buck up as his thumb rubs circles onto your swollen clit, your fingers tightening in his hair.

he seems to be in no rush as he takes you apart slowly, hitting that spot inside of you perfectly as you leak onto his seat, body shaking with pleasure. there’s a small smile resting on his lips when he pulls back to peer down at you, taking in the way your lips part and your brows furrow as he speeds up, pressing down on your clit just right.

you can’t control the noises leaving your lips as you grind onto his hand, chasing your high as he pumps into you. his actions don’t slow down when he moves up to capture your lips again, curling his fingers inside of you as his thumb rubs your clit. you grab his biceps, needing something to ground you as you feel your impending orgasm rushing upon you.

“taehyun—fuck, ‘m cumming…”

he swallows all of your moans as you tip over the edge, your back arching up into his hold as white fills your vision. you can hear the gentle praise leaving his lips through the ringing of your ears, your body left feeling fuzzy and warm as his fingers slow before gradually pulling out of your sensitive hole.

“so good for me,” he mutters against your lips, his own traveling down your jaw. you feel dizzy as you catch your breath, leaning into his touch.

“i need you,” you mumble as he lifts his head to catch your gaze. he looks completely enamored, his big eyes glossy, reflecting the light from the street lamps outside. “i need you in me. fuck me, taehyun.”

he smiles before sitting back to undo his pants. “anything you want, baby.”

it’s all a blur as he’s back on top of you again, his length hard and throbbing against his stomach as he captures your lips again. his hands roam every piece of your skin he can touch, sucking marks onto your collarbone. claiming you.

you reach down to grab his heavy dick in your hand, stroking him a few times. he sighs lowly in your ear, whispering praise and encouragement that just turns you on even more. it’s hard to be patient when taehyun is bucking up into your hand, your mind clouding up by his hot tongue trailing over your skin. he seems to sense your urgency, placing one last kiss on your lips before lining up with your entrance.

“i’ve got you,” he whispers as if his voice was only made for you to hear. you nod quickly, wrapping your arms around his neck as he presses his forehead against yours. the heat radiating from his body manages to make your clothed, scorching skin even warmer, moaning out softly once you feel him push into you. his eyes flutter shut as you clench around him. “fuck—you feel so good.”

you bite your lip to keep quiet as he slowly thrusts into you, wrapping your other leg around his waist as if it would bring you impossibly closer to him. your fingers tangle gently in his hair, tugging slightly in a way that drives him absolutely crazy.

soft grunts leave his lips once he speeds up, the sound of skin on skin drowning out the muffled music in the distance. your eyes are half-lidded as you strain to keep them open, wanting to watch the way his jaw clenches and his brows furrow. it’s all too much as you take in the fluttery tickles of his lips on your cheek and jaw, the way he stretches you out with his thick cock, the way his hands tightly grip onto your waist as if you could disappear at any moment.

every thrust into your heat makes your stomach flip with pleasure, getting lost in the feeling of his hips snapping against yours perfectly. he kisses you once more before he leans back, hands slipping down your hips to fuck you even harder, the car rocking with his strokes. you can’t control your sounds anymore, getting closer and closer to the edge with every move. you can tell he’s getting close too by the way his rhythm falters — his grip on you is tight, and you know there would be marks to cover up by the morning.

“‘m so close,” you squeak out as he intertwines one of your hands, his other forearm resting by your head to lean down to kiss your lips again.

“me too, baby,” he speaks against your lips, his hips stuttering. “you’re so perfect, y/n, fuck.”

you can already feel your high crashing upon you with one last stroke, your own whimpers falling deaf to your ears as his words tip you over the edge. your body buzzes with electricity as you clench around him, feeling him pump his thick ropes of cum into you at the action, his moans high and breathy in your ear as you cum together.

it takes you a second to come back to your surroundings, blinking your eyes open to see taehyun watching you, silently stroking your hair. he’s still nestled inside of you, but you don’t really mind. he leans down to capture your lips again—it’s passionate and unrushed as he tries to convey every single emotion he’s feeling, his hands coming up to cradle your face.

you can’t think of anything other than the way your heart flutters as he breaks the kiss to rest his forehead against yours, his breathing still uneven as his eyes open to gaze into yours.

“thank you,” you whisper, your stomach swooping as he smiles, that dimple on his right cheek peeking out in the darkness.

“don’t thank me,” and his voice is dripping with so much sincerity, you find yourself unable to look away from his eyes, your hand coming up to rest on top of his. with a small giggle, you glance down at your intertwined bodies.

“i think we should clean up,” you speak light-heartedly as your nose brushes taehyun’s, and he lets out a small puff of laughter, nodding in agreement.

you don’t know what any of this means anymore—how your heart flutters at the way taehyun gently cleans you up before pulling you back in his lap to kiss you silly, how he drives you home, walking you up to your door with your fingers interlaced with his. how you linger for a moment, not wanting to leave his side so soon even though you can barely keep your eyes open long enough to unlock the front door.

but all you know is that yeonjun doesn’t cross your mind again for the rest of the night.

reblogs are very much appreciated!

masterlist

©️BEOM-PYU

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vagabond-umlaut · 10 months

Text

gray cashmere

Solitude makes many a tough decision too easy to make.

However, is one truly ever 'one'? Or are they 'one' from a collection of many such 'one's' — guaranteed to be affected by the actions of one another?

Strictly isolated systems are mere hypotheses, anyways.

[Alternatively: Amanai Riko's life overlaps with that of three young students from Tokyo Jujutsu High for only fifty-five hours, yet the effects they leave on her and the effects she leaves on them– they can be felt even after a period of one-hundred-and-fifty-five months.]

▸ student! gojo satoru x student! fem! reader; 4400 words of me trying my best to forget the horror of the 'Hidden Inventory Arc' by writing THE CANON-DIVERGENT FIC I DESPERATELY NEEDED TO FUNCTION ATP; riko is the little sister yours truly the reader never had; kuroi is the gentle sunshine on a winter afternoon; THE sweet romance between satoru & reader; suguru is the most awesome best friend and/or brother figure ever; FUSHIGURO TOJI IS HIS OWN WARNING; Hidden Inventory Arc Spoilers with Canon-Level Violence; Angst with a Happy Ending.

▸ notes: The reader's CT was to read others' thoughts freely without them knowing, but after a binding vow she undertook when young [disgusted with the way the old geezers governing the jujutsu society misused it for their personal gains], she lost it, gaining the ability to instantaneously kill an entity the moment she opts to read their mind in place. Not even a special-grade can stop her attack. Aniki = older brother in Japanese.

▸ belongs to series we're the summer to our winter rain but you can read this as a stand-alone if you wanna!

▸ the gif, divider and characters used ain't mine. please don't plagiarize, translate or repost this. enjoy reading! ❤️

DAY 1; 11:44

Yours is a beautiful, awful life when it's the one chosen for the sake of all.

Everyone everywhere will remain smiling, crying, speaking, yelling, moving – living, if put in a word– yet you'll be nothing more than a name and, if lucky, a fading face filed away in a mind. Yet, yet, yet– everyone everywhere will remain smiling, crying, speaking, yelling, moving— and one young Amanai Riko thinks that's what makes her fate so bearable.

Too bad one of her three bodyguards doesn't think along such lines.

"She's too young to die. Why is she even agreeing to this merger?"

Your quiet voice breaks Riko's scuttling from one room to another, in search of the things she needs for school.

Craning her neck, she peeks into the room, only to find you standing by the windows, holding a cup of tea delicately as you look intently at your companions. Geto's shoulders rise and fall in a short sigh. Gojo gets up from his slouch on the couch to drape an arm round you.

The girl thinks it's the softest she has seen the goggles-wearing boy appear in the time you all have been here.

(Honestly, this is the first time she is seeing Gojo act so careful and you, so disquietened, in the three hours the three of you have been here—

A jarring contrast to the way the boy introduced you as 'the coolest and hottest jujutsu sorcerer ever' who also happens to be his 'better half' while you greeted them with a beam (which did not reach your eyes) and turned away, focus switching to your beeping mobile.)

(Geto looked like an old grandpa then, when he whispered to Kuroi, a wide smile on his face as he looked at you, how difficult it was for the two of you to get together as a couple – and how happy and relieved he and your other friends are now, watching the two of you be so very in love with each other. Kuroi let out only a tiny quiet sigh with a small gentle smile at his words.)

Your boyfriend's voice pulls her away from her mind.

"You heard the brat, didn't you? She is Tengen-sama; Tengen-sama is her. So she isn't really going to die; she's going to live forever and ever and eve–"

"I thought I was the one who couldn't read between lines well in this relationship, 'Toru," you interrupt him, frowning. Riko finds it too hard to stifle the giggle that threatens to follow – albeit, the threat doesn't stay strong for long, vanishing away at your next words. Thrown into the room, a mix of visible anger and despair.

"The kid was obviously spouting all that nonsense, more as a means to convince herself than to convince us," you say; the young student considers bursting into the room, exclaiming she ain't a little kid, yet a voice in her urges her to stay put outside the door. Begrudgingly, she listens to it. You continue, tone the same as before.

"There's some part in Riko-chan which doesn't really want to merge with Master Tengen, but a burden once dumped on one's shoulders has to be carried, and Riko-chan has no option left but to choke that wily voice in her head until it quietens forever."

Gojo's eyes drift over to the door once. A bit startled and a lot scared, Riko shrinks into herself, yet budges not an inch from her spot. Focus returning to your puckered features, the junior high schooler watches him croon softly into your ears, "Babe, how about we discuss–"

"I don't think there'll be a later, Satoru," you say, then exhale air out in a burst of clear frustration, "And I seriously cannot understand how in this world you and Geto senpai can be so relaxed about this? Y'all are answering Yaga's calls as if Riko's an important but lifeless mail, while we three are some FedEx employees and not three sorcerers leading a girl a few years younger than us to her death, grinning and singing."

The cup in your grasp looks dangerously close to shattering; not to mention the way your cursed energy swells and swells until it comes too close to suffocating the hell out of her — it ebbs away faster than it came.

Face morphing into an easy smile, the girl watches you slip out from under your boyfriend's arm and walk over to her. She wishes the grin she shoots back is half as bright as she hopes it is.

"Hey, Riko-chan," you greet, voice shifting into a soothing melody, "Ready to go to school? Geto senpai's already called the driver. He must be waiting downstairs."

"Oh, I see," Riko responds, a bit lost as her gaze rakes over your face, then darts over to the two still in the room. The weird-bangs-sorcerer offers a small smile while he cuts an apple into slices. The other boy's eyes remain trained on the back of your head, upbeat nature nowhere to be seen.

She looks back at you. Kuroi asks her to hurry via a frantic yell of her name. The girl sighs and slowly moves into the direct line of sight of everyone.

"Have any of you seen a thin blue notebook anywhere? I can't find my music no– OH MY GOD, ONEE-CHAN!!! YOUR STUPID AS HECK BOYFRIEND DID NOT JUST MAKE PAPER PLANES OUT OF MY NOTES, DID HE!?!?"

———

DAY 2; 19:55

"Satoru is not really bad, y'know?"

Your comment arrives few hours and many adventures later – though Riko wonders how much of an adventure they were for you or the two upperclassmen of yours, given the way you three were kicking ass for the entirety of the time, both before and after Kuroi was captured.

Lips curving into a teasing smile – one which the woman, taking care of her since the latter's childhood, shares – the teenager returns her attention to you.

You blink back, a tiny smile playing with the corner of your lips before it widens, digging into your cheeks and crinkling your eyes.

"What?" you ask with a giggle, "Is there something on my face? Or is suggesting my boyfriend to be kind of good really that outlandish of a concept?"

"Hmm, do you want the nice answer or the honest answer?" Riko asks back, plopping a spoonful of the ice cream you bought, then breaking into a shiver as her brain freezes from how insanely cold it is. Neither you nor Kuroi bothering to hide your chuckles, you hum. "I'm not sure which I will find honest and which, nice; why don't you shoot both my way, Riko-chan?" you suggest then add, mirth gleaming in your voice, "Of course, when you're okay again, only then."

The girl thinks of retorting to you with a silent glare but opts to think better of it. Couple of minutes pass in almost silence, Kuroi and you chit-chatting about Okinawa in general while the three of you amble down the sidewalk lining the inky-black sea, casting eerie shadows in the sparse lights dotting the streets — when she decides to reply to your suggestion from before.

"I don't really think Gojo-san is a bad person," She says, stopping and offering you a smile over her shoulder. You too stop and accept it with a bright smile of your own.

Riko continues, "I mean, yeah, he's very, very annoying all the time – making fun of me and calling me a kid or brat – but if you chose him to be your boyfriend, I guess he's kind of fine. Maybe. Plus, you don't really seem to have a bad taste," she adds with an appreciative once-over at the sundress you're wearing.

You crack an amused grin. Riko turns to her caretaker. "C'mon, Kuroi. Tell onee-chan. She has a pretty nice taste in outfits, doesn't she?"

"Yeah, you do," the other woman is quick to agree with a kind grin, "I suppose Riko-sama is correct in saying this; although, Riko-sama..." trailing off, Kuroi smiles at the addressed girl the way she used to in her childhood, whenever the latter used to babble the stuff children always do, and gently rebukes.

"Having a good taste in outfits is not the best indicator of someone's taste in men. You must never view a person from an angle as shallow as that."

"Kuroi-san is right, Riko-chan," you pitch in your two cents an instant later, then cast the woman beside you a sly glance, "Though I wonder if that was an indirect criticism of 'Toru... I hope it wasn't – was it?"

"No, of course not," Kuroi denies with a small laugh. Riko watches you crack a freer smile at her words, which slowly softens when you move your gaze back to her. The ice cream in her hand seems four seconds away from melting; still the girl decides to ignore it in favour of giving you her undivided attention.

(Ever since she met you three, you've always struck the young girl as someone a bit... different.

From the way you train your focus on your opponents during a fight; to the way you speak, neither too loud nor too quiet, just the perfect loudness and pitch required to snatch everyone's attention and keep them for yourself; to the way you carry yourself, neither as pompous arrogant akin Gojo nor as discreet smug as Geto, but as a girl who is aware of her worth and won't hesitate to show another their place, if the need so arises.

Riko thinks if she lived a little longer, she might have wanted to make you her role model. Not that it matters now, though.)

Your musing voice break through her thoughts.

"Satoru was the one who suggested this trip," you say, sharing a half-smile with Kuroi, "The best option would have been to take you back to the school as soon as possible, where you and Kuroi-san would be safe and sound. Plus, our mission too would have been complete. An extra feather to our cap, given we delivered the Star Plasma Vessel to Tengen-sama and secured the foundations the entire Japan is based on. Yet he argu–"

You abruptly fall silent, the loving look on your face withering to one of helplessness and profound sadness when the ticking hands of the wrist watch you wear catches your eye; and you shove your emotions beneath a forced chuckle.

"Oh no, it's almost eight," you say, a faux buoyancy to your words, "Do you wanna go back to the hotel and have dinner there, Riko? Or some place outside, maybe? Our schedule's packed tomorrow – our littlest Riko-chan needs some good sleep tonight to not be fussy tomorrow, doesn't she?"

Glancing at Kuroi, only to find her with the same tense cheerfulness, Riko stifles a sigh and parts her lips into a mirthful beam she doesn't feel at all.

"I really wanna try the soki soba and the yashigani. Do you know any good restaurants nearby?"

You nod exaggeratedly, lips thinning into a solemn line though the faint ray of fun can still be made through the grey clouds cast over your irises. "Don't you worry, Riko sama. Your two faithful servants will certainly find a place to dine to your liking. You just keep being the cute little princess that you are."

The girl opens her mouth to snap back at being called a little girl yet again – you aren't very different from your boyfriend, after all – then shuts it, then opens it again, a teasing giggle wanting to bubble out.

"Y'know, onee-chan," she says, skipping over to you and smiling in an innocent fashion, "I answered your second question, but I never gave a reply to the first one – you wanna know it?"

You take a second before shrugging. "Um, yeah, why not?"

Throwing a mischievous glance to Kuroi, who hides her mouth with a palm and looks away, shoulders shaking a little, Riko returns her eyes to your expectant smile. And beckoning you to come near, whispers.

"There isn't anything on your face. But the foundation's on your neck and shoulders is kind of off, I guess. Were you bitten by a bug, onee–"

An obnoxiously cheery ringtone cuts the girl off. Your face burning a deep hue of coyness, she watches you pluck your phone out of your bag, then walk a few steps away, voice dropping to a hushed murmur – which takes a minute before growing shrill then silent. Your cheeks and ears sport the deepest shade of red Riko's ever seen.

Asking them for a little more time, grin so sheepish and flustered, you whirl on your heels and walk a couple of feet away, your hand fiddling with the Okinawa keychain your boyfriend bought you today at noon.

Lips quirking in a fond smile, Riko looks away from your shy giggling figure to the chuckling Kuroi, to the big ocean waves crashing on the sands below.

Yeah, it might've been good to have a chance at a bit longer life.

———

DAY 3; 15:08

This is not good.

Oh heavens no. This is so not good.

Tears springing forth and streaming down her cheeks, Riko moves to take a step towards you. Then, stills when you put up a bloodied hand asking her to stop. Face scrunched into a smile which, the little vessel knows, conveys nothing of the agony tearing at your insides; you cast a glance at the gaping hole in your palm, then drift your gaze back to her.

Something acidic and pungent surges to the girl's mouth — though not at you, never at you – but at herself, the sole reason why you're clutching your profusely bleeding wound, left by the bullet originally meant for her; why Geto stands shocked and numb, with a hundred curses looming round the room, ready to attack at the slightest hint of an order; why Gojo's probably lying near the torii gates, dead and swarmed by cursed maggots – if what she heard less than a minute back, isn't a lie, that is.

Judging from the sharp gasp of air you drew in then — it isn't, Riko thinks.

Your smile stays as pathetically serene as ever; the only traitor now being those rivulets of grief carving their courses on your face. You part your lips in a heart-wrenching plea.

"Run, Riko-chan. Run to a place far from here. Somewhere none can find you. And don't ever come back. Please."

Shaking her head a 'No!' as fiercely as she can, the girl bites back her sobs. A cold hand pulls her by the shoulder towards the entrance; she keeps her feet firmly planted to the ground.

Everything was going so, so well– why then did this abominable man have to appear out of nowhere and upend everything in her life? Only when she realized she did not want to be the sacrifice for the sake of everyone else, and that, she too could afford an ounce of selfishness — why then did this man have to appear and extinguish that singular flame of hope lit in her world? Why, why, why—

A harsh bark of a laughter barges into her thoughts.

Your eyes develop a pinch of panic as they travel from the man you froze in the entrance to them, then back to him. The victim of your cursed technique sneers.

"You're that girl with the psychic powers, aren't ya? Thought you can only use your power to kill a person; since when can you freeze them like a statue, eh— can see, hear and feel everything, but can't move a single muscle, except to speak, huh? Or, no, wait–" A second raucous laugh rings through the halls and corridors; you clench your wounded hand into a fist so tight, she thinks she too can feel the pain weighing on your senses right now.

The assassin jeers, "You must be so, so tired to not be able to kill this poor cursed energy-less bastard, hm? And on top of all that, you also must not have refined the technique enough to shut me up, yeah?" A vein throbs in your temple; the man speaks, more gleeful than ever.

"And given how I'm slowly losing the numbness in my arms and legs... your technique is so fucking weak, girl. And the jujutsu society called you their messiah, eh? Fucking fools, the whole lot. Their six eyes in a pool of his blood outside while their other trump card's soon to meet a similar miserable end at this monkey's hands. How funny, ain't it?"

Giving no semblance of a reply to him, you turn your eyes back to her – no, to Geto who's standing behind her – and urge him, so desperate and desolate, every breath you take a short jerky heave of your chest, "Take Riko somewhere safe, senpai. And don't return till you've gotten help. Now, go. Quick."

Craning her neck upwards, the teenager catches a glimpse of the boy grasping her shoulder firmly — hoping he'll refuse to listen to you and stay right there, fighting the monster right beside you — but finds no fragment of dissent on his face.

Extreme reluctance? Yes.

Profound melancholy? Yes.

Stifling resignation? Yes, yes, yes.

But dissent? No.

It makes an appearance, now and then, but never persists for long.

She makes yet another attempt to get closer to you.

"Onee-chan, no," Riko begs, snarling and thrashing from under Geto's unyielding hold on her arm now, "please don't do this. I wanna live my life to the fullest, but I cannot if I don't have y'all beside me. So, you–"

"Riko-chan, no–"

"–ask me to go away like an escapist coward–"

"Riko-chan, listen–"

"–staying right over here, next to–"

"RIKO!"

The harsh call of her name makes the girl stumble and stutter. It isn't you who called her so; it's Geto, peering down at her with moisture in his eyes. An ugly sob crawls out her throat. He mumbles, "You're way too young to understand all this, but know that, if you're out there in the world– safe, free and happy– the Star Plasma Vessel mission can be marked successful only then. Whatever sacrifices all of us made or are going to make today," a glance at you shows the bittersweet smile you're wearing; Riko's wails worsen, "they won't make any sense if, at the end of the day, you're harmed. So, please listen to us and escape with Kuroi-san, yeah?"

The man to her not-so-distant left flexes his fingers a bit. The three of you look at him before looking at one another. You look a few minutes away from passing out, skin paling and breaths growing labored with every second that elapses.

Eyes screwn shut, Riko lets go of the fight she was harbouring in her body. Geto's voice breaks with unshed moisture. "Try not to die, kid. I already lost a best friend today, don't wanna lose a sister too."

Riko doesn't need to open her eyes to know your reaction; the heart-rending sob paired with the "No promises, aniki," you let out tells her enough – before your cursed energy expands yet again, and a chilled palm pulls her by the hand into a swift run, the hit of her shoes on the floor echoing in the stuffy underground air.

Air which soon switches from the suffocation of ancience to that of blood and death — the teenager takes but a moment to realize who the person is. Biting down harshly on her lower lip, she swallows the raw anguish tearing her sinews apart, and keeps her eyes shut firm.

Willing the darkness reigning behind her eyelids to overtake every part of her body – especially her mind, being hurtled one memory after another, and another – Kuroi making her lunch for school; Kuroi teaching her to tie her braids; Kuroi congratulating for every success of hers and supporting her after every failure, be it big or small; Kuroi being the family she once thought she had lost in a car crash–

The sharp ding of the lift and the crackling warmth of the sun on her tear-stained cheeks are the last two things Riko registers, before the world round her fades away into a noiseless black — finally.

———

DAY 4718; 16:02

"Anableps can see both above and below the water at the same time, y'know?"

The statement and the awed "Woo!" that follows it rouses Riko from the siesta she was teetering on the brink of. She yawns and rubs her eyes. Then yawns again, a bit more subdued this time, considering a family walks past her.

Uni's been very stressful of late, and to top it all off, the woman who's supposed to handle this shift has called in sick – so, as fucking same as before, the manager is gonna call in some newbie to work instead.

The newbie being none other than Riko – very unfortunately – on a tiring Friday afternoon as today.

At least, the job pays well and she gets to spend time explaining fish and their world to excited kids, plus the occasional one or two adults who look a touch different from their usual bored indifference.

But, of course, there's always a group of friends who come bounding in.

Worse than a class of kindergarten children fighting for the single toy of a dinosaur their teacher has brought — Riko avoids such crowds of like the plague. Storming past them, turning down their query, asking a coworker to fill in for her – the young grad student applies all tricks and methods known to her to escape the situation.

To escape the familiar buzz of cheer and enthusiasm.

To escape the familiar weight of nostalgia and gloom.

To escape the—

"Um, miss, where can we find the whale sharks' tank? Heard it's the main attraction here... And, uh, we're also a little lost, actually."

Trains of thought thrown off-track, the young woman squeezes her eyes shut, then opens them again, a customer service smile flitting onto her lips as she turns back. And holds back a very exasperated groan. Why the fuck did Mio had to leave for a snacks break now of the innumerable times she could have gone before? And why does this crowd have to be the very thing she hates dealing with? Ugh... Never mind–

"Just turn to your left, go down the corridor, then to your right. You'll find the whale sharks there."

The pink-haired boy accepts the reply with a nod and a bright thanks, before the black-haired boy places a hand on his shoulder and he falls quiet. The latter looks strangely familiar, Riko thinks... ignoring it, she shoots the boys a quizzical smile. "Is there anything else you would to like to ask or—"

"You're my mom's friend. I've seen your pictures at home," he cuts her off, brows furrowing. His friend looks at him, so perplexed, not much unlike how Riko's feeling. He pays no mind, continuing, "You attended a Catholic school, love music and aquatic life, and have an obsession with coconut crab meat and soba, don't you?"

"Megumi..." A slightly older girl standing behind them with two girls donning identical t-shirts, begins in a lightly chastising tone, but the tour guide feels she's miles away from them. Catholic school, music lessons, aquariums, soki soba, yashigani, Okinawa... it simply cannot be you—

"Tsumiki! Mimiko!" A voice, Riko once was under the impression she'll never be hearing again, except in nightmares, rings through the near-empty hall of the aquarium, soon followed by the appearing of a face she thought she'll never see again, except in the sole photograph left with her on the phone Geto gave her, besides 5000 円 and contacts he asked her to get in touch with, as soon as possible, that evening a good twelve years ago in Osaka.

You reach a stop before the group, a young brown-haired girl trailing you with a worried scowl on her face. Dumbstruck, Riko watches you sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose.

"I can understand Nana-chan's phone is busy being used in clicking photos but the same excuse cannot be extended to you, can it? No. So, why on earth can't any of you four pick your mobile up when I'm calling you, hm? Or please don't tell me the batteries are dead. Again."

The blonde girl, presumably Nana-chan, smiles smugly while three out of the addressed four kids shoot a sheepish smile your way. Your frown slowly gives way to a fond grin and you huff a chuckle, shaking your head – which only grows in intensity when the girl following you lets out an annoyed hmph! and launches into a tirade how extremely worried the two of you were and how much dumb and careless them five are.

Eyes welling over with emotions percolated over the course of many, many years, Riko watches you grin so freely — only for it to still and fade when the spiky-haired boy says he has met your friend from the photograph, and you look from him to her standing inconspicuously, half-hidden in the shadows.

A painfully slow second passes.

The entire gaggle of kids falls quiet at the disbelieving watery chuckle you let out. Taking two steps forwards, she offers you a mirror image of your expression.

"Told you the aquarium's fun, didn't I?"

A call of your name bounces off the grey walls in a saccharine tone: Riko knows instinctively, can be no one's except one blue-eyed and white-haired bastard's. You cast a glance at the tall man rushing to you, then return your gaze to her, with the same radiant beam you gave on that day twelve years back, when Riko first expressed her real thoughts out in the air.

The young woman wastes no moment before running to you and engulfing you in the tightest hug she can possibly manage, tears rushing down her face. Your gentle voice shushes her, the way an elder sister would do to a younger sister.

Riko's lips stretch in the widest and freest grin she has felt in forever.

Joyful and thankful her onee-chan is finally back in her life, giving the added length it received some much-needed hues — 'cause a longer life is obviously good but it's the best when your life is long and spent with your near and dear ones.

▸ notes: The reader was in the process of developing and perfecting a new CT, hence her CE was so unstable – spiking and ebbing – besides the fact it drained her energy like hell. Toji was a smart man, he figured it out pretty quickly and easily. [And for the ppl who're wondering how the reader was able to stop the attack on Riko: she used a tendril of thoughts emanating from a person's mind to detect their presence, instead of their cursed energy remains.] [She can't read those thoughts, though.]

▸ masterlist

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dearsnow · 11 months

Text

NO PROMISES

- just as you’re settling down, hobie takes you out for the night. (hobie brown x gn!reader, fluff)

word count: 1129

a/n - this is for my very good friend @literally-hobie as part of a trade we did :) go give them all my love!!

The night is a relaxing one. You have your music playing as you relax on your bed, inhaling the crisp midnight air. The gentle rhythm of your breathing matches the song’s saccharine melody and the plushies next to you smile kindly at your figure. You are completely embraced by your calm sheets, until a sudden noise causes you to shoot up.

It’s a fast rapping at your window, like knuckles covered in fabric. You move to open it, staring directly into the eyes of your official-but-not boyfriend.

“Hobie!” You hiss. “You can’t be here. My parents are asleep in the next room over, and I seriously can’t be caught with you at,” you check your phone, “12:32 AM.” Your voice is rapt with hushed concern. “What do you need?”

He tilts his head lazily, like sticking to your windowsill is the easiest thing in the world. “I jus’ thought it would be cool to have some fun tonight. Hidden concert and all that. It starts in like ten minutes, but we don’t gotta be early.” Oh, it is so like him to do this sort of thing. You bite the inside of your cheek as you weigh your options. Though it’s not the safest idea, there’s nothing that you and him can’t handle. You don’t really have anything better to do anyways, and despite the late hour, this could be the opportunity of a lifetime.

“...Alright, just don’t get me killed on the way over.” He grins, and the sight makes your heart skip a beat.

“I can’t promise you anything. Nothing is ever certain.” He says, eyes sparkling and motioning for you to follow him.

You climb out your window carefully, helped by Hobie’s rough hands and gentle touch. He keeps a secure hold on your waist, sending butterflies flitting through your stomach. He always manages to fluster you, no matter the situation.

He pulls you up, slinging a web up to your roof and setting you down upon the shingles. The view atop the world is the sweetest thing you’ve seen in a long while- excluding Hobie, of course. Stars twinkle overhead, fully visible and bright. You take a deep breath, smelling the hints of wet leaves and a touch of smoke.

“Shall we?” Hobie asks. As you nod, he swiftly picks you up and swings away without even a hint of effort.

Your heart flutters at the sudden weightless feeling, causing you to release a breathy laugh. You’ll never get used to flying through the air, no matter how many times he takes you swinging. Utter exhilaration courses through your veins as Hobie takes you from building to building until you finally reach the concert venue.

It’s set in a run-down old building that looks like it hasn’t had a roof for centuries. It must’ve been an office building or something, judging by the size of the ground floor. The walls are blown through, with many entrances and exits for quick escapes. Dozens of people are milling around the area, and all of them look extremely pumped. There are zero security guards, just how Hobie likes it.

As soon as he sets you down, right in front of the unstable looking makeshift stage, a drum beat starts. It’s followed by a guitar riff and the screaming of fans. Hobie slides an arm through yours and peers at your face, illuminated by the flashing stage lights. He’s never seen anything as amazing in his life.

The music gets your heart pumping as the band appears on stage, the melodies familiar yet nothing you have ever heard before. In every way, this night reminds you of Hobie.

“Like what you hear?” He all-but shouts into your ear, trying to be heard over the screams and rhythm. You smile wider than you’ve smiled in a long, long time as you nod. He seems satisfied as he pulls you impossibly closer to him.

The music lasts about an hour, which is way too short in your opinion. Everyone else seems to agree, but it seems the band members have other places to be. Hobie pulls you aside as you walk out of the building, buzzing with excitement.

“Pretty nice, huh? I dig their commentary on the corruption of our current political system.” His voice is raspy as he stares at you. He always maintains eye contact, something you’ve noticed as you spend more time with him. He has a smile on his face, seeming to be genuinely happy. You’re so, so glad you went on this little adventure with him. Even if it was the worst experience of your life (which it definitely wasn’t), just seeing his smile would make everything worth it.

You smile back. “I loved it. You should take me out more often,” You tease, grabbing his arm. He lets out a quiet laugh, tipping his head back and staring the night dead in its eyes.

“We havta do this again. I follow the punk scene, so there’ll prolly be another show here in a few days. Would ya want to go with me?” His breath forms clouds in the cold night air, and you shiver a little bit.

“Of course, Hobie. Just warn me in advance.” You quip.

“Again, no promises.” He grins. “C’mon, there’s still night left. Let’s chill.”

He leads you away from the venue and down a street, making a game out of kicking pebbles and twigs. A laugh bubbles up from your chest as he kicks a rock so hard it dents an abandoned metal trash can. Damn, being Spider-Man really has its perks. When you finally reach the end of the road, you see a little set up of pillows and lights between two buildings and an overhang.

You take a step forward hesitantly. “Did you set this up?”

“Yeah, I figured it might be nice to have a place to ourselves.” He shrugs. There’s a sparkle of excitement flitting around in his eyes.

“Cool.” You breathe. He motions for you to sit down, and you comply.

Before you know it, he’s hanging from the overhand, face-to-face with you upside down. You laugh as his breath tickles your face. You know exactly what he’s asking for.

Your touch ghosts over his face, and you press your lips to his. You’ve kissed him before, but this is something new and exciting, something straight out of a comic book. It feels electric. His lips are a brushstroke of warmth against a soft canvas.

When you finally pull away, he is breathless like he just finally figured out how to be alive.

“We should do that again.” Hobie smirks, eyes gently peering into yours. The string lights overhead shimmer with a newfound glory.

“I would love to,” You whisper, smiling, “but no promises.”

#solar eclipse.#hobie brown atsv #hobie brown x reader #hobie headcanons #hobie spiderverse #hobie x reader #hobie brown #hobie x you #atsv hobie #hobart brown #hobie brown x y/n #hobie brown x you #atsv #across the spiderverse #spider man across the spider verse #atsv x reader #atsv fanfiction #atsv fic

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seeingivy · 10 months

Text

new year's day

actor eren x f!reader

**part of my method acting fic, masterlist here

content: reader mentions insecurity, connie and reiner teasing you, smooching, levi being a dad for ten minutes straight, sukuna cameo

an: I MISSED YOU POOKIES SO MUCH. SO SO MUCH. war (my 9-5) is over. this ended up at 9k, I hope it can compensate for the wait. ALSO VERY IMPORTANT WE'VE REACHED OUR FIRST TAYLOR SONG OF THE FIC. you can listen to new year's day from reputation before reading - it'll make the end part make more sense <3 (me furthering my turning people into swifties agenda, I saw her last night and my brain chemistry changed)

previous part linked here

“Go outside and look at the moon.”

“No. I’m really comfortable in my bed.”

“Oh, come on Y/N. Just go outside.”

You grumble some nice profanities at Eren over the phone as you shuffle out of your sheets, pushing open your window to stick your head out. The breeze in the air is cold, the frigid atmosphere invading your already freezing room.

Erwin won’t justify turning on the heater. There are only four people in the townhouse right now - you, Levi, Hange, and Erwin (which is totally not your worst nightmare) - and apparently, that doesn’t justify heater use at all. Luckily enough, Eren and his very convincing angry face will arrive tomorrow to save you from your eternal winter.

“S’cold, Jaeger.”

“Yeah, yeah. Do you see the moon?”

You crane your head up, twisting back in the window to look at it. A small crescent pressed against the sky, just slightly hidden beneath the clouds.

“Yes, Eren. I see the moon.”

“Okay. Now look to your right.”

“Are we playing Simon Says?”

“STOP SASSING ME AND JUST DO IT.”

You’re thrown off by the irritation in his voice, and you turn over, peeking your head entirely out to look to the right.

“Very exciting views, Eren. It’s literally pitch black.”

You don’t see much, just the tandem bike you set out for tomorrow - when Eren would be here and not berating you through the phone - and the small patch of flowers that are by the front door.

“I meant your other right, Y/N.”

You shift your head to the left and see Eren standing there, his green hoodie pulled over his head and a cheeky smile pressed into his face.

You drop your phone flat on the floor, running (falling) down the steps out into the cold air, your socks against the cold pavement as you run out to greet him.

He’s already holding his arms open, which you run into, as you burrow your face into his shoulder, his warm arms squeezing around your frame and his laugh in your ears.

“You were supposed to come tomorrow, Eren.”

“And yet I’m here today, Y/N.”

“Shut up. You know what I meant.”

“Flight got moved up. And maybe I just wanted some time in the house where it’s just you and me - you know, without Mikasa interrupting us every two seconds.”

You laugh as you and Eren sling your arms around each other’s shoulders, trudging out of the cold and into the kitchen.

Before you can even mention it, Eren’s pulling out two bowls, and you’re grabbing the ramen packets, the two of you leaning against the counter as you watch the water boil. As excited as you are to see him and actually to be near him, there isn’t really much to talk about.

You guys literally talk every single day.

“How’s the song coming?”

You groan, leaning into his shoulder as he laughs, his hand coming around your shoulder to rest in your hair. But it’s better. Because you can see him with your own eyes, hear him with your own ears, feel him with your own hands.

“Bad. I’m never going to finish it.”

“You’ll finish it. Plus, Armin’s coming soon, and he knows how to rhyme and stuff.”

“That’s not the problem. I feel like the lyrics work when I can figure out the backing tracks and the music. But I keep getting tangled up because I can’t figure out the piano.”

He reaches forward, opening the packets of noodles and dipping them into the water as you start chopping up the vegetables on the side.

“I play piano, Y/N. I can help you if you want.”

“No. That would just be more embarrassing. I get super frustrated when I’m writing. It would be infinitely worse if you were there watching me fail.”

He rolls his eyes as he takes the knife from your hand, lightly pushing you to the side to watch the noodles.

“You’re not going to fail. Let me help you. No one gets a hit on the first try, stupid.”

“Don’t call me stupid, idiot.”

“My bad, dumbass.”

“Language, Eren,” Levi says from behind you two.

You watch a smile spread across Eren’s face as he moves, running past the side of the counter to give Erwin, Hange, and a now-annoyed Levi a hug. Hange and Erwin are ruffling his hair, Hange cooing about how their little stars are back together again.

Eren joins you again at your side as you're dishing out the food, Erwin pulling out a stack of papers as you and Eren start eating at the counter.

“Business.”

“Go ahead, Erwin.” Eren says, handing you the hot sauce before you can even reach for it.

“So. Final scripts. As you’ll see, there aren't too many big scenes for you this season. It’s mostly focusing on this whole Utgard Castle arc, which you’re both not in.” Erwin explains.

“Okay, that’s-” you say.

“That doesn’t mean you both can slack off. There are more scenes for the rest of them because we need you two to nail the scenes you are in. Eren - this whole Colossal Titan reveal, you need to put everything you’ve got into it. If you think I’ve pushed you hard before, you’re in for a whole different playing field this season.” Levi says, glaring at Eren.

You watch Eren roll his eyes, grumbling under his breath as he agrees and starts flipping through the script.

“And you too, Y/N. This whole “Thank You” scene at the end - the majority of the dialogue falls on you. But you need to deliver in all ways. You better be acting with your eyes, your mind, your entire being. This is the type of scene you both could get nominated for as awards that’ll get you more roles. Take it seriously.” Levi continues.

At the mention of awards, you and Eren both perk your ears up, flipping to the end of the script to the scenes tabbed at the ends with your name on it. You quickly run your eyes through the scene and the staging and feel your throat constrict at the staging lines right in the middle, bolded.

Y/N leans forward, grabs Eren by the collar, and presses the softest kiss to his lips. It’s not overly passionate or sensational, but to the two of them, it’s a simple message. One they’ve known all along, maybe since they first met - in that cabin all those years ago.

I know how you feel. You don’t have to say it.

You feel your eyes widen as you look up at Hange and Levi, the words spilling out of your mouth.

“You want us to kiss?”

“Huh?”

At your words, Eren’s leaning over into your space, reading the line marked, and suddenly your cheeks are both burning pink. You both give each other a glance, which only makes it more awkward, as you shuffle as far away from each other as possible.

“Yeah. It’ll fit the scene. It’s just one kiss, maybe two if we don’t get it on the first take.” Hange says nonchalantly as they start flipping through the rest of the highlighted script.

As Erwin, Hange, and Levi start milling through their own conversations - discussing sets, costumes, that scene - you squeak out something that stops them in their tracks.

“I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

Hange’s eyes light up as they nearly jump to your side, taking your cheeks into their hands and teasing you. They flip you around so you’re facing Eren, which you’ve been avoiding this entire time, and start whispering into your ear.

“Aw, isn’t he so sweet? It’ll be so nice to have your first kiss with your best friend, someone you trust.”

“Uh, I-”

“Cmon. Eren won’t bite now, will he?”

Eren awkwardly pads to the other side of the room, shoving his face into his script, as Levi comes over and yanks Hange by the hair, muttering something about how they need to stop teasing you.

“Another thing. While they’re filming the Utgard Castle scenes, you’re both not really in, you’re both going on a press junket. We’ll all be there as well.”

“The rest of the cast too?”

“No, just you two, Eren. They’re all going to finish filming so we can maximize time and all that. You’ll return on New Year’s Day to film that last scene.”

“Can we come back earlier? Y/N’s birthday is on New Year’s Eve. She should be here to celebrate with everyone and not on a stuffy plane.”

“Fine. You’ll come back that day. And then the scene is the day after.”

Hange, Erwin, and Levi give the two of you a curt nod as they pad back upstairs, leaving you, Eren, and your two bowls of ramen in the kitchen. You and Eren take the bowls and place them on the table, eating silently.

It’s still hanging in your mind. In a little less than a month, you’re going to be kissing Eren.

“Y/N.”

“Yeah, Eren?”

“I haven’t kissed anyone either.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“I just mean, it doesn’t have to be awkward. We’ll just…figure it out together. And it’s you and me, so it won’t be weird.”

You smile, watching the last of your noodles swirl around the bowl as his words seep into your head. Right. It is just you and Eren. You’re best friends. It’s just one kiss. Or maybe two. It’s not a big deal.

“Yeah. You and me, Eren.”

He smiles in response, the awkwardness lifting off of you as you both finish eating.

The second Connie, Reiner, and Ymir make it back on set, their incessant teasing starts. They read the scripts. Kissy faces, smooching sounds, purposely pushing you and Eren into corners together just so they can tease you.

“Eren. Are you excited to kiss, Y/N?”

“Shut up, Connie.”

“Is this your first kiss together? You must be sooo excited, Y/N.”

“Okay, Reiner. Are you excited for your weird pervert lines about Historia?”

The entire room laughs, Historia and Mikasa coming over to yank you out of the corner and sit at the table with them as you all catch up. Armin’s going around - taking pictures of everyone for our first day of filming with his Polaroid - as he starts labeling them all.

There’s one of Reiner and Bertholdt - in their iconic fists to each other’s back poses - labeled “pervert and giraffe” by Connie.

Another one of Sasha sleeping face first on the table from her jet lag while Connie and Jean are spraying whipped cream into her hair, labeled “connie springer, ultimate menace”

And another one of you and Eren, fist-bumping each other, labeled “l/n-jaegers, season two”

Connie films his first incriminating video ten minutes after that. It's Eren tucking your hair behind your ear.

You yank your earphones out as you crunch the pebbles under your feet, rubbing the sleepiness from your eyes. When Armin walks up next to you, he’s immediately leaning his head on your shoulder, his eyes sleepily shut as you wait for everyone else to join.

It’s five in the morning. And you really, really hate Hange for this.

You’re all supposed to be filming a scene two hours away, in the snowcaps. It’s meant to be a flashback scene, primarily for Ymir and Historia, which is why you’re pissed that you had to wake up this early anyways. The light is barely peeking into the sky, the hues still a dark navy as everyone strolls out of the townhouse.

Jean’s grumbling profanities, Mikasa’s dragging Connie out, and Sasha's the only one who’s really awake. Erwin slides open the bus door, and you trudge in, sliding into the first seat.

You're leaning your head against the glass, ice cold, as you try to flutter your eyes closed again to rest a little bit on the drive over. You feel a shifting in the seat next to you and two hands on your head, moving you through space.

You peek your eyes open to find Eren, placing your forehead against his shoulder instead of the glass.

“Huh, what-”

“Sorry, Y/N. Didn’t mean to wake you. Just figured it would be more comfortable this way.” he whispers, lightly pulling the hood of your jacket back over your head.

You nestle more into his shoulder, letting the weight of your head fall entirely onto his shoulder as he readjusts under you, his arm splayed across your back. You feel his head resting on top of yours, your breaths in tandem as you both shut your eyes and drift off to a very unrestful and bumpy sleep.

You wake up two hours later to the flash of a camera. And when you open your eyes, Armin and Connie are smirking at you, holding up the Polaroid of you and Eren sleeping in front of your face and then running out the bus.

You frown as you rub your eye sockets with your knuckles, readjusting your hair and cracking out your neck.

"Fuck Erwin for getting Armin that camera."

“I really hope they’re not there when we have to kiss each other, Eren. They’re never going to let us hear the end of it.”

“You and me both.”

He holds his hand out, helping you up from the chair as you both pull on your jackets and join everyone else in the snow.

“Sleep well?”

You and Eren turn your heads to find Marco standing beside you, a shy smile on his face. You and Eren both reach forward, pulling your arms around him as you start talking at the same time, shocked at his presence.

“Marco. What the fuck? What are you doing-”

“You didn’t even tell us you were coming! That’s so messed up. You bitch.”

He pulls back, a hand resting on both of your shoulders as he smiles, the look soft.

“Sorry, guys. I wanted it to be a surprise. I’ll be here after you’re back from the press junket, too, Y/N. For your birthday.”

You smile at him, giving him one more hug as he ruffles your hair, the two of you linking arms as you wait to film the scene at hand. After you film the aforementioned extremely short scene - which just makes you more aggravated at Levi and Hange because why the hell did you have to come out here for that - the lot of you head into the cabin, peeling off your snow coats and settling into the seats.

Armin and Eren settle at the window, the two of them teaching each other card tricks while Bertholdt follows Sasha to rummage for snacks. Mikasa and Reiner run off to explore the upper level of the cabin as you and Marco sit flat against the wall, watching everyone walk around.

“How are you, Y/N?”

“Okay, Marco. How are you?”

“I meant. Regarding everything we talked about last time and all that.”

“Oh. Right.”

The last time you saw Marco was when he came to visit you and stay with your family for a week. It was an impromptu trip after you mentioned to him that things weren’t going so great. Granted, he was only an hour away from filming a short film and had the time to spare, but it still meant the world.

He places a hand on the top of your knee as you look over at Eren, his eyebrows scrunched in concentration as he starts talking.

“You doing okay? Seriously?” he asks.

“It feels better when I’m here. With you guys. Especially you, now that you’re here. I feel most normal here and wildly out of place when I’m home.”

He sighs, squeezing your knee as you watch Eren place his card down, a victorious screech leaving his mouth as Armin rolls his eyes.

“I can’t say I understand. We all went to the SHWA when we were so little, and I guess there was always some understanding that we’d be…in the spotlight. Scrutinized. No grocery stores or going to the beach, or any of that. Those things wouldn’t be normal. There was really no…normal to go back to.”

You reach down, holding his hand, as you tilt your head back on the wall.

“I don’t know. It’s weird. Sometimes it feels like I can’t even be normal without people picking apart everything I do. I knew this was something I wanted badly but never figured it would be like this.”

“Yeah. I know the feeling.” he responds.

Eren looks over from his spot on the windowsill, eyebrows scrunched together in frustration now as he mouths the words.

You okay?

You nod, albeit halfheartedly, as Marco pulls you up, the two of you scooting into the kitchen.

“Did you tell him about any of this?”

“No.” “Don’t be silly, Y/N. The first thing they say at the SHWA is to rely on the people around you. The ones who understand.”

“I do rely on the people around me. I’m talking to you right now.”

He reaches forward to flick your forehead, the spot stinging.

“Ouch, asshole.”

“I’m not a series regular anymore. And he’s the person you should tell. He’d want to know.”

You roll your eyes at him as Sasha comes up, splitting half of her chocolate bar with you. Armin and Eren amble in a little while later, the lot of you all standing in the kitchen, watching Connie shove as many marshmallows as he can into Reiner’s mouth.

Armin takes a picture. Labels it “chubby bunny gone wrong” when Reiner’s choking over the sink.

The press junket is insane. You and Eren are spending three days, all at the same convention, doing panels together. All while trying to memorize the lines for your kiss scene. Levi and Erwin said to meet as many people as the two of you could socialize as much as you can. Answer questions about the show for fans without letting Eren spoil the show.

The first interview was a get-to-know-the-actors test. You and Eren are tasked with asking each other simple questions and talking about them. It should be easy. As the camera beeps red for recording, Eren turns to the side and starts.

“My name is Eren Jaeger, and I’m one of the cast members of Attack on Titan.”

“And I’m Y/N L/N, and I’m also from the cast of Attack on Titan. We’re going to be doing an interview today for you to get to know us better!”

Eren leans forward, giving you a warm smile as you talk. He reaches forward, reading off the question on the first card.

“Y/N. Did you take anything home from the set?”

You turn to the side, making a fake warning face into the camera.

“Levi, if you’re watching, stop.”

Eren laughs as you turn back to him, trying to ignore the lights blaring in your eyes.

“Um. I totally accidentally took one of the scarves home. But that was an accident. Did you take anything?”

“I stole one of Armin’s polaroids from the wall. I keep it in my wallet. And I totally stole one of the ODM gear swords.”

“Huh? What do you even do with that?”

“Threaten my brother.”

“Oh my god, Eren. Jesus. Which polaroid did you take?”

“I have it, actually.”

Eren smiles at you as he yanks his wallet out of his pocket, handing the shiny white Polaroid over. You smile as you remember the day, the picture being of you and Eren with your ramen bowls. Armin’s inscription says, “sosuke and ponyo.” You hold it up to the camera before handing it back to Eren, making a mental note to steal one of Armin’s Polaroids too.

“Okay, Eren. Your question is…who is the first person you call when you get good news?”

His cheeks turn pink as he pinches the bridge of his nose, rolling his eyes at the camera.

“This is kind of cheesy.”

“Huh, Eren?”

“The person I call is you.”

You smile, twiddling with the end of your braids as you respond.

“My answer is you too.”

He smiles back, the two of you getting through the rest of the questions and thanking the crew team in the filming room. As you and Eren swing out of the door, he pulls the tiny little sheet Levi had made for the two of you out of his pocket, looking where to go next. You’re leaning so close into his space to read the little sheet that you can smell his minty gum, the smell filling your nose.

You’re going to the networking event.

You and Eren slide into the hallway, a big expensive conference room filled with people milling around. Almost everyone is nursing a glass of red wine in their hands, all adults talking over and around you as you both awkwardly stand at the front. You instinctively reach down for Eren’s hand, the two of you locking fingers as you move forward.

You both naturally lean against the wall, watching everyone walk around as you enter the room. All men. Well, almost all men. But from what you can tell, the only other women in the room are actresses - the producers, directors, screenwriters - they’re all men.

“Does it feel weird to you here, Eren?”

“Kind of. I can’t really place what it is, but it doesn’t really feel like we’re allowed to be here.”

You’re both significantly younger than almost everyone in this room. And they’re all drinking. Talking about god knows what. You try to scan the room - looking for Erwin, Hange, or Levi but come out dry from your search. Eren must be sensing your unease because he’s leading you toward the doors, ready to yank the two of you out of the situation.

But before he can, a man stops him, tapping him on the shoulder to talk to him. You both stop in your tracks, half turning around to look at him. He’s extremely tall, looming over the two of you, and you feel infinitely small in front of him. He looks at Eren, a self-assured smile pressed on his face as he introduces himself.

“Scott Clarkson. I’m a producer for Stone Studios.”

“I’m Eren Jaeger. This is-”

“I know who you are, Eren. I was invited to see one of the first cuts of the latest movie you just filmed and-”

Before you can even understand what’s happening, he has his hand on Eren’s shoulder, and they’re walking down the length of the hall, the end of their conversation lost to you. Eren looks back, and you give him a halfhearted smile as he tries to turn back before getting stuck in a larger group of people.

You make your way back against the wall, sliding into one of the farthest chairs and swirling a cup of lemonade in your hands. You watch the pulp of the lemon dissolve into your cup as you aggressively swirl, the drops landing on the black of your skirt.

It’s moments like this where you feel like you don’t belong. Marco’s words swirl through your mind, that this type of stuff is normal for them because they have no normal to return to, but you can’t help but feel other to them even if they are where you feel most comfortable.

Eren’s on the other side of the room, now stuck in a big group and laughing with producers and casting directors and talking about movies he’s filming and what he has lined up next. You’re on the other side of the room, sulking against the wall - you’d be shocked if they even knew who you were.

You’re not jealous of him. If anything, it’s everything Eren deserves and more. He’s always been phenomenal. But that’s just the thing, he’s everything and you’re not even on the same playing field.

Sometimes, it feels like Eren’s too good to be your friend. Your co-star. Someone you’re around. You can feel your knuckles turning white against the plastic of the cup, crushing against your hand.

“You know, if you do that any harder, you’re going to spill it all over yourself. Then I’ll have to take my pants off so you don’t look like an idiot.”

You look up to find Sukuna smiling at you, with Nobara and Maki rolling their eyes at him. You hop up, crushing Nobara and him in a hug and physically feeling the unease untangle in your chest.

“Hi. I’m really glad you’re here I-”

“This shit always sucks. I have no idea why we’re forced to come to these things.” Maki says, sliding into the seat on your left. Sukuna sits to your right, his arm resting across the back of your chair as the four of you whisper, well, more like the three of them explaining who all the producers in the room are, as you sit there.

“Hey Sukuna.”

“Hm, doll?”

“That guy. The one talking to Eren. Who is he?”

He squints his eyes as he cranes around the room, trying to find where you’re pointing at Eren. And when he does, you watch his eyes widen before he talks again.

“Ah. That’s Clarkson. He’s kind of an asshat.”

“What? Why?”

“No, he’s just a dick. A really great producer makes super cool movies, but he’s…not the best. All that shit you hear about the industry running people dry, taking advantage of people. They’re talking about him. And his lot.” Nobara explains, glaring daggers at him.

“Not his entire lot, Nobara. His daughter is fine.” Sukuna says, reaching over to you and Maki to flick her cheek.

“She’s a bitch. You’re just saying that because you’re dating her.” Nobara responds, flicking him back.

“Who's a bitch?”

The four of you break apart, still leaning over each other, to find Eren, Levi, and a short girl with brown hair staring at you.

“No one, Hyla.” Nobara says, grumbling as she and Maki stand up. Levi gets side-swiped into a conversation. He looks like he’d rather be five feet under than whatever he was talking about as the six of you stand up. You hold your hand out, introducing yourself to Hyla.

“Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Hyla Clarkson. Your dad was the one who acted in Interstellar, right?”

“No. That’s Historia’s dad, but I get the confusion. We’re just from the same show.”

You watch her eyebrows pinch up in confusion as she crosses her hands around her chest.

“Oh! Was your mom the one in Moonrise Kingdom?” she asks.

“Nope. I-”

“So what film were they-”

“My parents are dentists. They’re not really in the industry like that.” you ramble out, trying to spare yourself from any more embarrassment.

She smiles, the expression not meeting her eyes, as she reaches down and links her hand with Sukunas.

“That’s really sweet, actually. Humble beginnings and all that,” she says.

“I think it’s pretty cool. Like yeah, we all land roles because our parents kind of help us get them in some way. But, Y/N worked her way to the lead of the show, sans famous parents. It’s a testament to true talent. ” Eren says, his voice firm.

“I agree. L/N has always been badass, especially on the screen.” Maki says, glaring at Hyla altogether.

She rolls her eyes as she reaches into the pocket of her dress, taking out a shiny silver card and handing it to Eren.

“Eren. This is my dad’s card. He wanted me to give you another one unless you lost it.” Hyla says, giving Eren a hug before she walks away.

You both wait outside for Levi to join you, quietly standing against the wall. You watch Eren turn over the card in his hands before ripping it up, slashing right through Scott Clarkson’s shiny name in the middle.

“That’s a bit harsh, Eren. He’s a really good producer from what I’ve heard,” you say.

“Don’t care. We’ll get there on our own - we don’t need leg-ups from guys like that.”

You smile as you lean your head on Eren’s shoulder, the anxious feeling still tingling in your chest. Levi makes his way out, giving you two a smile as you both get dragged to your next panel, individual interviews.

You go first. The interviewer is a pale blonde girl with a stack of cards in her hand.

“Y/N. Who's your favorite male co-star on set?”

“Oh, um. That’s a hard question to ask, we’re all friends.”

You can tell she’s not satisfied with your answer by her uptight posture, the irritation rolling out of her mouth.

“Oh, don’t pick a cop-out answer. Who's your favorite male co-star? Is it Eren?”

“Um, sure? He’s my best friend on set. But I like everyone.”

She smiles, switching to her next card.

“Fans have picked up on matching bracelets you and Eren have been wearing during this press tour. Can you comment on the story behind them?”

“Oh, sure! It was last year, at the Savant Awards TV show awards. A pair of sweet fans gifted them to us.”

She doesn’t comment any further on the story, switching to the next card as you swirl the bracelet around on your wrist, concealing Eren’s name on the beads against the inner part of your wrist. You have a feeling that what you just said will already get twisted into something it’s not, which in the worst way, distorts the entire thing for you together.

“Okay, well, that’s all I have for you.”

You give her a smile as you switch seats, taking Eren’s previous seat. Hange places a hand on your head, and you watch them share a look with Levi as Eren takes the seat.

“You’re a phenomenal actor, Eren. What gets you in the zone on set?”

“Thank you so much! I usually have to take a second before I start filming a scene just to get in the right headspace. Especially for scenes that I film with Y/N, I usually need her to be right there next to me just so I can…feel the scene before we film it.”

The interviewer smiles, sliding to the next card as she asks Eren the questions. She couldn’t be this cheery and enthusiastic for you?

“Do you have any pre-filming rituals before you get on set and start filming?” she asks.

“I need to eat a bowl of ramen with Y/N before we start. It’s not like a good luck thing or anything, but we’ve just always started our day like that and now we just have to do it before we go on and film.” Eren responds, looking over to give you a smile.

You give him a thumbs up as he keeps going, trying not to pay too much attention to the fact that all of Eren’s questions are about his upcoming roles, his acting techniques, his favorite parts of acting, and how yours were all about him. Granted, Eren somehow brings you up in almost every question he answers - even if it’s not explicitly related to you - which only makes the entire thing fester in your mind more.

What are people going to say about it? This would just make what everyone says about you guys worse.

Not that it’s bad, but they just…say things. Granted, everyone had been saying things since the start, but you’ve always chalked that up to the fact that you and Eren are closer than everyone else is. And you know how the two of you are, but everyone else seems to have their own opinions about it. And maybe you should try to stop it? But if that’s how you are, who are you to change and-

“You okay?”

Eren’s taken the seat next to you, leaving Erwin to get interviewed next. You’re both slumped into the chairs at the back, Levi and Hange whispering in hushed voices in front of you. You can’t help but wonder if they felt this way when they were filming La La Land, but then again, they had no reason to deny anything that anyone said. They were actually together.

“Yeah. Just want to go home.”

He frowns as he brings a hand to the top of your head, leaning it to rest on his shoulder again. His cold fingers are in your scalp, pressing against the pulsating headache you’d been ignoring for the past hour, soothing the feeling.

Should you guys really be sitting like this if there are cameras five feet away? And what if-

“Do you want to take a walk? We can go look for lemonade or something.”

You nod as you both stand up, giving Hange and Levi a wave as you walk off. You’re slowly ambling behind Eren as he looks around for the drinks, the entire day replaying in your mind.

You just want to go back to set. Have Mikasa tell you goodnight, eat breakfast with Sasha, play cards with Armin. None of this press junket, stupid interviewers, uncomfortable producers business.

You feel a tugging on your arm, and you look back to find two girls looking at you. They can’t be much older than you, maybe eighteen or nineteen, with matching Attack on Titan shirts. With your face on it.

“Hi. We’re Sarah and Sofia. We’re really, really big fans of the show. We were wondering if we could get a picture with you?”

“Oh! Yeah, of course. I’d love to.” you respond.

You take a few pictures with them before handing them their phones back.

“Are you guys enjoying the panels?”

“Yes! We’ve gone to every single one of yours, you’ve been doing really well.”

You can feel your cheeks burning at their praise, reaching forward to hold both of their hands as you talk.

“You guys are too kind. And I really, really love the shirts. Did you make them yourselves?”

“Yeah! We also drove down two hours just to come watch, it’s been such a good weekend. We really, really admire you for what you’ve done. It seems like we hardly ever see “normal” people in the media. But every time we watch you do an interview, you always bring up our favorite songs and slang that we use, it just…makes it feel like there’s someone like us on the screen.”

You squeeze their hands, the tears welling in your eyes as you fight them down while responding.

“I promise, I’m a thousand times more like you than any of them, in more ways than you’d think. And…you could do it too. It’s like you said, we’re one and the same.”

They’re smiling so brightly at you that it’s making your heart squish in your chest, the feeling all warm and gooey and self-soothing. Right. You can do it. Who gives a fuck if a stupid reporter or these people think you’re lame - the people who watch your show are the ones that matter.

“We love you so much. You’re so, so sweet. You’re literally the nicest celebrity we’ve ever met. I’m sure you have to run soon - I can see Eren back there staring bullets at us - but we hope you have a really good birthday tomorrow, and we can’t wait to meet you again.” they say.

You wrap your arms around both of them as they both run off, excitedly talking, as you see Eren coming up to join you. He has a cup of lemonade in his right hand, the left hand reaching forward to wipe away the one tear that escaped your eyes.

“Sure you’re okay?”

You look over at him, green eyes looking into yours, and reach down to take his hand.

“Yeah. I’m okay.”

“Let’s go home, yeah?”

You nod, the two of you shuffling off to where you came from.

When you get on the plane, your impending panic of the “Thank You” scene comes back. You’re both landing on set on New Year’s Day - which is your birthday, so you won’t be filming. Levi and Hange granted you the night off, and Eren says the two of you can go get slushies when you land. But then you’re filming the scene the next morning. You’re both still stuck on the plane for another seven hours running through the lines.

“Listen, you’ve always been at my side...thank you.”

You drop the script onto the table and groan loudly, to which Eren laughs in response.

“It-it’s falling flat. This scene is too serious, I-we’re going to have to do a million takes.”

“It’s fine- we’ll just practice a lot.”

You switch seats so you’re right next to Eren, the two of you looking down at your scripts and switching. You read each other’s stage notes - you both have a habit of writing notes to help remember lines and blocking - which you’ve found helps reading each other's notes helps you stay in line. Like you’re in each other’s head.

You read through his little scribbles - keep eye contact, start crying here, practice this.

“Eren.”

“Hm?”

“When you say practice this, you mean…”

He leans over, eyes going wide as he snatches his own script back, face burning. The arrow saying “practice this” was pointing to the line referring to the two of you kissing.

“Were you going to practice kissing in the mirror?”

“Shut up.”

“I think a pillow would be more sanitary. Maybe you could find a video of it on the internet or-”

“I was going to ask if you wanted to practice with me,” Eren responds angrily.

You can feel your throat drying, eyes met with Eren’s burning stare.

“Um.”

“I just thought it-it would be worse if we did it wrong. And had to keep trying, and you know that everyone’s going to come to watch us and-”

“I guess, but-”

“You don’t have to, Y/N. I was just thinking about it, and I was going to ask. Just so we don’t…have to do it for the first time in front of cameras.” he mumbles, turning his head away to look out the window.

You sit there for a second and think about it. Eren does have a point. Having Ymir and Reiner stand there while you kiss Eren, or anyone, for the first time would be horribly embarrassing if they were actually standing there. And it would be weird to have your first kiss for the first time in front of someone, maybe it would be a better memory if it was more isolated and someone else.

“Okay, Eren. That actually makes sense.”

He turns back, a shocked expression spreading across his face.

“Really?”

“Yeah, just…don’t be weird or something if it’s bad. I’ve like never really done this before, Eren and-”

“It’ll be fine. We can figure it out together. It’s just…kissing. Can’t be rocket science.”

You nod, albeit apprehensively, as Levi and Hange join you and Eren in the seats across from you.

“You guys doing okay?” Levi asks, pushing bottles of water toward the two of you.

You both nod as you take in their expressions, the two of them more stern or serious than normal. Well, Hange being more stern - Levi has resting serious face.

“We wanted to talk to you about something,” Hange says.

“Okay. Is everything okay?” you ask.

“The press junket. You both were exposed to many different things you really haven’t been to before and we just…want to give you our own advice before we let you go on and about in your careers.” Hange says.

“We care about you both, and there are just some things you should know. We don’t care what you do because you’re your own people, but we just want you to be warned about things you…might see.” Levi continues.

You and Eren give each other a weary look, halfheartedly nodding at the two of them.

“There are some producers in the industry that don’t have your best interest. I’m sure you guys have heard rumors before of what the industry is really like and what it can do to someone - we’re trusting you both to keep your heads when dealing with situations like that.” Hange says.

“I don’t give a shit if it ruins your reputation. You don’t let them ruin you, control you, whatever. Your safety and what you’re comfortable with comes first.” Levi says.

“Have you guys ever been....near stuff like that?” Eren asks

Levi and Hange give each other a weary look before nodding.

“Yes. That’s why we’re telling you because no one ever told us. They’ll make you do things you don’t want to, make it feel like they control you, and take away the things important to you so they’ll know you’ll stay. Some of them are also very deep in some very, very illegal shit, so again. If you value where you are, you won’t interact with them.” Levi says.

You both nod, reaching for each other's hands as Levi and Hange study you with their eyes.

“Eren. Y/N. Did you notice anything weird about the press junkets we did today? Or what the media says?”

“Not really,” Eren responds.

You look down at your hands, focusing on the way your knuckles look when they’re flexed, from clenching so hard, as they all wait for your response. But you guess your silence is enough of an answer because Hange takes that as their sign to start talking.

“I had a feeling. What have you been thinking?” Hange asks.

You can feel your voice getting tangled in your throat and the tears coming to fill your eyes when it comes time to explain, to tell the three of them something they might entirely reject. Or just not understand.

“I just-the press junket was weird. It seemed like the interviewers were all asking me questions about Eren or Connie, or my other co-stars while they were asking Eren questions about his acting and what he does to get ready on set. It just feels like-that’s the only thing they care about when it comes to me. How I interact with other people.”

Eren’s squeezing your hand - three times - as the tears are freely spilling out of your eyes. Right with the words because now that you’ve opened this can of worms, it seems like you won’t stop until they’re all out on the floor.

“And. At the networking event, everyone wanted to talk to Eren and not to me. And it’s not that I’m jealous of him because I want Eren’s dreams to come true just as much as mine, but it…just feels like I’m less than. Like I’m stupid for even trying because my parents are just dentists in a small town, and the only acting I’ve done before this was in a very shitty small-scale production of Hamilton at my middle school.”

Hange and Levi scoot into the seats at your sides, Hange’s arms around you on your left and Eren’s around you on your right. Hange and Eren are squeezing your hands, Levi’s hand softly running through the strands of your hair as you sniffle through all the tears.

“I’m sorry, kid, but this part doesn’t go away. Especially because you’re a girl, something about that makes people think they have the right to the most heinous things about you. They’ll criticize anything and everything you do. You’ll learn to roll with the punches because, at the end of the day, you’re here to make art. Let that do the talking for you.” Hange says.

“I know. I just have to ignore them. Plus, there are nice people out there who really care about the show and what I do so-” you respond.

“More than just care about it, Y/N. People love you. The ones around you and people out there.” Eren says.

“Another thing. Eren, the type of scrutiny you’ll face is nothing compared to what she’s going to face, just on principle. It’s your job to not be the asshole who turns a blind eye to that and it’s your job to defend her if it calls for it. And if anything, it should infuriate you enough anyways that-” Levi mentions, looking over the tops of your heads to look at Eren.

“It already does infuriate me. Who gives the people the right to say anything about her when she’s one of the best ones on the show?” Eren responds, the anger spilling out of his mouth.

Levi and Hange give your hands one last squeeze before walking away, muttering something about how you should just focus on enjoying your birthday tomorrow and the scenes, leaving you and Eren in the seats again.

“What were we talking about before?” you ask.

“Everyone is stupid. You know that, right?”

You sigh, leaning against the chair so you’re looking up at the top of the airplane, the white lights shining on the two of you.

“I know that logically. But sometimes, it just kind of sits in my head. Repeating, and I try to convince myself it’s not true, but-”

“I’ll convince you.”

“What?”

“Just tell me. I’ll convince you. You could have told me before too and whenever you want. I’ll drop whatever it is I’m doing for you if this is what you need me to do.”

You nod, thinking of the best response. Because how do you tell him that he’s the best person you’ve ever met, and this only furthers the fact that he’s just too good for you. Because you’ve never had someone defend you or be so ready to come to your aid before that you don’t know what to do with it?

“I know how you feel. You don’t have to say it, Y/N.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes at him.

“Are you quoting the stage directions from our kiss scene?”

“Maybe. But it’s true. And also, that’s what we were talking about before. Practicing kissing.”

“Maybe after we go to get slushies for my birthday later?”

“Yeah.”

You both smile as you dig your noses back into your scripts, waiting for the plane to reach back to set.

You guys land on set the next day, around three pm. Eren and Levi woke you up on the plane with a little mini-cupcake and a candle to surprise you. Hange then smashed almost all of the frosting onto your face, which just earned them a good amount of scolding from both Eren and Hange. When you land, you and Eren head to the townhouse together, to change before getting slushies.

“Why do you have your phone out, Eren?”

“What? I always have my phone out.”

“Not when you’re like…walking somewhere. And there isn’t even any wifi outside the townhouse, so I don’t even know what you’re doing on that.”

“Can you just walk into the house, please? Do you have to question everything I do?”

You pretend to scratch your temples, like you’re pondering his questions, as Eren rolls his eyes and lightly pushes your head, gesturing you into the house. And when you walk inside, they’re all waiting for you - the foyer of the townhouse decorated for your birthday and little party hats on all of their stupid little heads.

They’re all singing Happy Birthday off cue - Reiner singing opera again, Connie screaming cha-cha-cha off cue, and Historia singing like she’s the next contestant of America’s Got Talent. Mikasa and Sasha bring over a cake with seventeen green candles, each of them giving you a tight hug as you blow out the candles.

“Surprise!” Armin says, flashing the camera in your face.

“This is so sweet, you guys. Thank you,” you say.

“We have gifts. Come on, let’s open them.” Jean says, grabbing you by the hand and leading you to the center room.

They each hand you their gifts, excitedly watching you rip off the wrapping paper. And you get why because it seems like everyone put so much thought into their gifts that it makes your heart squeeze. Mikasa gives you a nice, leatherbound notebook so you can stop writing song lyrics on napkins, and Armin compliments her gift by buying you a nice set of green guitar picks.

You take the time to squeeze everyone in a hug and press a kiss to Ymir’s cheek, much to her dismay, because she writes you the sweetest little birthday note that makes you cry, and Reiner buys you a vinyl player to use for when you make your own record. And when you go all around the circle, you end up back at Eren, who is seemingly empty-handed.

“Did you get me something? You don’t have to, I just-”

“Shut up. Of course, I had to. I just can’t really wrap my gift.” Eren responds, grabbing you by the hand and leading you to the closet near the front door.

The rest of them all follow suit, watching you guys from a little distance.

“Wow, Eren. I love it. I’ve always wanted my own closet.”

“Shut up and open it.”

You reach forward for the handle and swing it open, only to be met with your brothers - Colt and Falco - springing out of the closet and wrapping their arms around you. You’re squeezing the both of them so hard, so excited you’re crying because it’s literally been months on end since you’ve seen them, and you never dreamed they could even be here.

“What are you doing here? Coco, you literally have class in like two days, and Colt so do you and-”

“Eren flew us out for your birthday. We’re leaving at the end of the day tomorrow.”

You turn around, and you know you’re all teary-eyed and pink in the face, but you reach forward and squish Eren into the tightest hug known to man, eliciting cheering from the rest of them still watching you - that you entirely forgot about.

“Eren. I love you so much. Thank you. I’ll pay you back for the plane tickets, but this really means the world to me, and I-”

“You don’t have to pay me back. This was a gift for you, birthday girl,” he says, pinching the side of your cheek.

Nine hours later and the whole new year in the flesh, you’re scribbling lyrics into the little book Mikasa bought you. The party they threw you - fully set with games, karaoke, and a pinata that Bertholdt procured out of thin air - turned out to be so tiring that they all passed out in the foyer, sleeping on top of each other on the couch and the floor.

“Writing a song?”

“Yeah. I think it’s done, actually, I just need to go play it now,” you say.

“Want me to come? I can help with the piano.” Eren asks.

“It’s three in the morning. Aren’t you tired? And I don’t even know where the key to set is where we can access the piano.”

Eren reaches for the closest drawer, pulling out a shiny black key and dragging you out by the hand. You both pull on jackets and run out into the dark to the tandem bike, pushing towards set while shivering in the cold air.

And when Eren opens the set door and turns on the lights, you immediately scream and duck behind him.

“What the fuck is that?”

“Ymir’s prosthetic titan.”

“God. Do they need to leave it at the front door? That literally scared the shit out of me.”

He laughs, locking his hand in yours as he drags you to the piano near the back of the set. You yank your hoodie off your head, placing the lyrics on the front of the piano.

“Okay, so. Sing it. I’ll see what chords make the most sense after.”

You nod, going through the first verse.

There’s glitter on the floor after the party Girls carrying their shoes down in the lobby Candle wax and Polaroids on the hardwood floor You and me from the night before, but

Eren starts playing the piano around the chorus, a light piano tune filling the air. And he’s watching you so intently as you sing the lyrics, change words around with your messy handwriting, and he thinks at this moment, with your forehead all scrunched up in concentration and your sweet voice in the air that you might be his favorite person to be around.

Don’t read the last page But I stay, when it’s hard, or it’s wrong, or we’re making mistakes I want your midnights But I’ll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year’s Day

And when you finish, he’s wrapping his arms around you, his voice so soft when he whispers in your ear that it makes the hair on your skin stand up.

“You are…amazing. You know that?”

“Eren. You’re so-”

He cups your cheek in his hand, his thumb rubbing back and forth as he looks into your eyes, the look so warm, so sincere that it makes your chest tingle and your heart pound. Any denial of the fact will be met with pushback, so you drop it.

“Thank you, Eren.”

He smiles, dropping his hand to play the chords again and write them in the book.

“Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“Is this song about me, Y/N?”

“What?”

“Well, the line. You squeeze my hand three times in the back of a taxi? Isn’t that kind of our thing? Squeezing hands three times.”

You can feel your cheeks burning as you focus on the lyrics. And god, maybe the song is about Eren. You didn’t intend to write it that way, but he’s right. The candle wax, and the polaroids are mentioned in the song.

Those are all things you associate with him.

“I guess so. I mean, I didn’t mean to really write it that way, but I guess that’s how it came out.”

He smiles, a smirk on his face as he starts teasing you.

“Am I your muse?”

“Shut up. You’re so fucking stupid, Eren.”

“You and me, forevermore huh?”

“Eren. Stop.”

“I’m teasing, Y/N. I like the sound of that. And the entire song, it’s really good. You should submit it to perform for the Savants.”

“No. I could never do that.”

He rolls his eyes as he shuts the book, swinging on the other side of the piano bench to lean against the now-closed piano. You’re both sitting silently, taking in the set when it’s so empty. Everyone’s ODM gear is labeled in the closet with their names, Eren’s prosthetic titan arms lying nearby, and Levi’s cleaning supplies.

Eren clears his throat, breaking the silence.

“We-um. Were supposed to get slushies yesterday.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, I just got so distracted.”

“Yeah. And.”

“And?”

“Weweresupposedtopracticethekiss.” he mumbles out, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck.

You feel your eyes widen as the recognition hits you. You’re supposed to kiss Eren tomorrow morning.

“Oh, shit. That’s literally tomorrow.”

“Yeah.”

The silence hangs between the two of you as the pit in your stomach starts burning.

“Do you want to practice now? Just so we’re good for tomorrow morning?”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess.”

You both awkwardly shuffle on the piano bench facing, splitting your legs between each side so you can both scoot closer to each other. And you can feel your heart beating really fast at being this close to him, all alone.

He must sense it, because he puts his hand in yours, squeezing three times, before talking.

“You okay? We don’t have to.”

“No. We should. I-I want to.”

He nods, lifting his hands in the air as confusion spreads across his face.

“You can put your hands wherever. It’s okay.” you say

“O-okay. Right, Y/N. Sorry I-”

“Don’t worry. I’ve never done this before either.”

He settles for cupping the side of your face with his right hand and leaving his left hand resting against the side of your waist. You place your hands against his hoodie, crumpling the fabric in your hands as you try to limit the sweat gathering on your palms.

“Okay.”

“Okay, Y/N. You ready?”

“Yeah.”

He leans forward and presses his lips to yours, the sensation so strange that you forget to move your lips and freeze up against your face. You both stay there for three seconds - but it feels like an eternity. And when he pulls away, you can feel the embarrassment rushing to your face when you realize what just happened.

You just kissed him wrong. You forgot to kiss him back.

“Oh my god, Eren. Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I was so thrown off by it, and I just made your first kiss wrong, and I-”

“Y/N.”

“Oh god. We’re going to fuck this up so badly tomorrow. I’m going to fuck this up so badly tomorrow. And we’re going to-”

“Y/N.”

“Ymir is never going to stop making fun of me. And then I’ll probably-”

He drops his hands and reaches for your wrists, squeezing hard as he talks.

“Y/N. Stop.” he says, his voice so soft, so earnest that it stops you in your tracks.

“It’s okay. You didn’t mess anything up. I think you’re just…thinking about it too hard. This isn’t the kiss we’re doing for tomorrow or the show. This is just you and me, kissing here and now. So just…relax. It’s just us.”

You groan as you put your hands on your face, murmuring through your fingers.

“How do you always say the right thing like that? It pisses me off.”

He laughs, grabbing your wrists and placing them back on his shoulders where they were before. And when he secures his hand around your cheek and your waist again, his green eyes are shining in the set light and you think he might be your favorite person to be around.

“Ready, Y/N?”

“Ready.”

And when he leans forward this time, you move your lips too, taking notice of how soft, how warm his lips feel against yours. How the sensation tingles all the way down to your stomach, makes your cheeks burn and your brain prickle. You instinctively lift your hands off his shoulders, feeling the softness of his hair between your fingertips and how his hand is only guiding your mouth closer to his like he’s pushing your lips together more than they already are.

And when you both pull away, you’re both staring at each other - dilated eyes and swollen, pink lips. Your hands in his hair and his hands around your waist, breathless.

When he cracks a smile, you can feel your entire resolve shattering. You make no effort to stop beaming at him the way you are, because you know you couldn’t even if you tried.

“Hi Y/N.” he whispers.

“Hi Eren.” you whisper back.

And you both laugh so hard that it makes your chest hurt.

“Listen, Y/N.”

“Yeah?”

“You know. We’re practicing. And doing it one time doesn’t mean it’s perfect, so-so we should try again. You know, for method acting purposes and-and.”

You smirk, reaching forward to pinch his cheek.

“You want to kiss me so bad.”

“Shut up. We don’t have to, I just want to make-”

“We can.”

He smiles, leaning forward to press his lips against yours again, his breath tickling the tip of your nose and his lips pressing against yours again, this kiss better than the last. You’ve committed it to memory - how his lips fit perfectly against yours, where his hands feel the best.

For acting purposes, of course.

You and Eren are ready bright and early to film the scene. Seconds before you start, Levi comes over and drops a key piece of information that leaves you and Eren pink in the face.

They’re cutting the kiss from the script.

next part linked here

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writing-havoc · 1 year

Note

HEY! HOW ARE YOU? would you be willing to make a kaz brekker x reader? if possible a soulmate au? I'm obsessed with this trope! maybe name on the wrist or the one where with just a touch of skin you see the colors? I imagine one where r is not part of the dregs but is quite indifferent/receptive to the fact that kaz is the leader of a gang. r is a seamstress, using her skills to hide that she is a fabrikator, and she (can be gn if you want!) and kaz know they are soulmates, though they never talk about it. they can even be a 'thing' secretly, and it would be adorable if they were both childhood friends. maybe before the events of SoC kaz decided to make their relationship official (with a request for courtship alá brekker or even a marriage on paper) and after CK he is even more desperate for this, wanting to protect r at all costs. oh, it would be very interesting if r had a younger sister aged 8/9 who loves kaz and vice versa since she is very quiet and obedient and loves to listen to kaz's stories. even better if he secretly called her little crow. bonus if the girl's name is astra and she is also a hidden grisha, an inferni or another etherealki i would love to see this from your point of view and with her writing it would be amazing but feel free to decline if you don't want to. Did I already say that you write very well? well then know. YOU ARE INCREDIBLY TALENTED!!!!!!

Silent tears

♡ Summary: Before the events of the ice court, Kaz feels relatively content with his feelings and relationship with you. After? Not so much.

♡ Pairing: Kaz Brekker x fem!reader

♡ Fandom: Six of Crows, Grishaverse

♡ Warning(s): Mentions vomit a few times, Gun, Death, uses yn twice

♡ WC: 5.4k

Aaaa thank you sm for this request!! Loved all the little details I had to include. It was interesting writing for a reader that wasn't part of the dregs.

Thank you for your kind words <3

I made Astra a Squallor here. And it's up to your interpretation if the reader and Kaz are dating or otherwise before the ending.

As always, please excuse any grammar and spelling mistakes

∘₊✧──────────────────✧₊∘

The sound of a sewing machine filled the small shop. It was loud, punching the table he knows it's rested on and creating a rumbling in the floor.

Gowns and suits and vests filled the racks around the store, some on display on fake bodices. They wore outfits, tantalizing window shoppers to enter and run their fingers along the fabrics.

The velveteen looked high quality, mixed with some sort of spandex fabric around the waist to hug its wearer. Pearls and lace flow across shoulders and down the side of gowns, some even including embroidery.

As he moved along, suits and gowns turns into vests and petticoats. The walls were decorated with hats of various function, most made for looks and flare rather than functionality. Behind the desk even existed a rack of long coats and various sweaters, more than likely just to fill up space than to be sold.

The sound ceased, and he rung the bell at the desk.

"Coming!" Called a voice. He stopped himself from smoothing out his own coat, in turn adjusting his gloves.

Heavy footsteps presented him with your kind figure, heels unconsciously stomping against the wood floor compared to the concrete of the backroom.

You smiled at him, picking off little strings of thread the fell into your lap and stuffing them into a pouch at your side.

"I've just finished your order." He felt just as much as he seen you change from business to something more lax, shoulders drooping and the lines between your brows disappearing. "Gimme one moment to put everything in the box- oh, would you turn the sign around, please?"

"A bit all over the place, are we?" He turned around, hearing you release a big sigh.

"Just about, it seems."

The people walking outside turned to look at the store, smiles on their faces. It was mildly amusing to watch them fall as he turned the sign, giving him a glare as he continued to stare them down. He didn't turn until they left, everyone else's eyes only flashing to the window for a moment before diverting elsewhere the second the closed sign came into view.

Window shopping is pointless when the building is closed.

"You wanted... two suits, one the shade of coal and the other a light purple, a wine red gown, a mask, and a pair of gloves?"

He turned his attention back to you, holding a rather large, yet flat, wooden crate. The inside was filled with the colors you just mentioned, a pair of leather gloves on top acting as paperweights for his order.

You set the crate down for him to look through. He removes the paper, taking the gloves into his hands and holding them out to examine.

And admire.

You aren't a leatherworker. You're a seamstress. And yet, you make the finest pair of leather gloves he has ever seen. Sometimes he'll even catch little designs marked into the gloves, the integrity of the material somehow unfazed.

"Make the slits bigger. Just two millimeters." He hands them to you.

You raise a brow, knowing that you made everything to his usual specifications.

But you take them back, entertaining him. You look at the locked door, and then raise your hand over the gloves.

Grisha power isnt super fascinating to him anymore. When he was little he would beg you to demonstrate your power, handing you pieces of worn fabric to do as you pleased with.

He would watch the thin threads thickened and the material became warped around the edges. Jordie would stand next to him, watching you solely because Kaz dragged him over every single time. You would hold out the newly mended piece of cloth, and he and his brother would clap ans rejoice.

But he still likes to watch you work. To see as your mouth opens and your tongue folds over your canines as you focused.

You give them back to him, and he inspects them once more.

"These will do." He ends up saying, appreciation left for the darker hours in the night.

You roll your eyes and rustle around with the paper held underneath your arm, fingers quickly calculating the math of the order.

Usually he doesn't do a batch of this size while he's still figuring out a job, but the way he sees it there's no way he can't have just about everybody present. Which these days is incredibly rare.

A pin is taken from the cushion on your wrist, planting itself into the red gown. But as you take out two pieces of paper, writing probably a total and your name, he can't help but stare at the ink peeking out from beneath it.

He knows what it says, just as well as he knows the name on his own.

He's seen it once as you pulled up your sleeve during the summer, the fine etching displaying his name, his old name, clear as day before you hurriedly slipped the pin cushion back onto it. He looked away that day, pretending he didn't see.

It feels so much harder to pretend now.

"This is your total. And I will need your signature on both of them, Mr. Brekker."

Your smile is playful, then. As he takes the pen from your outstretched hand.

"As I've told you before, yn, Kaz is fine."

"Oh, but how could I be so informal, Mr. Brekker?" You put your hand on your chest, face twisted into a poor impression of someone who has just been scandalized. "We are business partners, after all."

And just like in those books you always read, he feels his eyes soften, if only a bit as his brows and jaw relax. "Business partners doesn't cover the surface."

You take the confession and relax with it, rubbing the center of your chest. "You're right."

He thinks back to a time when you were both little, each staring at your blank wrist with solemn eyes. He would look at you as you rubbed the soft skin, fingertips and dirty nails gently tracing lines into it.

He would sit next to you, shoulders knocking together, and you would look up at him, expression changing as you grabbed his wrist and squeezed it.

At the time, he would never say it, the thought turning his ears pink and quickening his adolescent heart, but he would hope that your wrists would match, displaying the others name. He would hope that one day that sad and far off face would cease to exist, and instead would be full of complete and utter joy as you looked at him and exclaim that you knew it. Because you wanted him, too.

But now that he knows, he still wouldn't say anything. You never said anything, and he wasn't in any position or state of mind to say anything to you when he eventually saw his, ash sticky and cold flesh tainting the memory, your scream as you watched him swim to the harbor on Jordie's corpse, and his own as you went to grab him.

It stays locked away, with the rest of the things that feel too hard to touch.

He signs a fake name on both of them, taking one and handing the other to you for your personal records, and then takes out the kruge and hands it to you.

"Is Dirix out back to handle these or do you want a bag for them?"

He sighs. "Dirix is down at the Harbour. A bag will have to do."

"Can I pick the bag?" A new voice calls from the backroom.

He holds back a smile, but fails to stop the corner of his lips from turning up temporarily. He averts his eyes to the doorway where a little girl peeks around the corner, a wide smile on her face as she looks right at him.

"Of course, Astra." You say, and immediately she scurried up to the counter to take a look at the load she has to find a bag for.

Your younger sister, Astra, was moved up here a few years after you were, your parents having passed from the flu and grandparents too old to take on the task of raising a six year old. Much less a six year old who could summon the wind at any time she wants.

Thankfully, you had started your seamstress business a year before that, and had this store with your living space up above to take her in with.

Business was always booming here, your talent for fabrics and all things fashion put on display and loved by the masses. You spent pretty much your entire life studying the trends that wormed their way here, even getting ahead of the train numerous times and working into the darkest hours to make your profit.

Now you can afford the more pricey fabrics, and get the attention of the richer folk over in the Geldstraat.

He helps, of course, with his dirty work.

"I know the perfect one." Astra scurries away.

You chuckle, hearing a small "wow!" and a flurry of footsteps. "She's going to pick the most obnoxious bag, I hope you know."

He takes a breath then, and looks down at the gloves still in his hand. "I wouldn't expect anything less from her."

There's a moment of silence, watching you from his peripheral as you stare at the gloves too.

"I didnt like the last pair." You admit. "So I made the design more low-key. The last one was too flashy for your aesthetic."

He's wearing those gloves now, and they aren't even flashy. The design is just slightly more pronounced.

The way you measure how flashy something is has a much smaller threshold than most. Even by his standards, it's very small, and he's far from the most colorful being in Ketterdam.

Astra comes back with, of course, a large bright pink fabric bag, twine tied in the shape of a flower tied around the handles.

"Good choice!" You praise, taking the clothes out of the crate and laying them neatly in the bag while she beams at him.

"Do you like the bag?"

And normally, he'd say something incredibly passive aggressive.

But he actually likes Astra, and knows how easy it is to stamp out a child's heart, that level of emotional regulation and individuality not yet found in them.

"Its wonderful, little crow."

"Alright, give this to him, like I showed you." You pushed her along, and she rounded the counter, holding the sides of the bag, leaving the handles free for him to grab.

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't just a little moved by that.

Astra wasn't allowed to help you until a few months ago, when she basically got on her hands and knees and begged to be of some help. You claim that you didn't give in right away, but he knows you better than that.

You have told her that he doesn't like to be touched, and it was a little hard for such a touch reliant girl to wrap her mind around that. After a few close calls, she got the general idea down.

"Pleasure doing business with you." He tips his hat, and watches as her little cheeks become pink as she curtsies.

"Ill be making stew like my mom made if you want to stop by later." You suggest.

Astra grins from ear to ear. "But not too later, if you can help it. I want to hear another story."

"At this rate I won't have any stories left to tell you."

She thinks about that for a moment, lips pursing and looking around the room. "Oh!" She shouts, face lighting up. "Can you tell me that one story again? About you and my sister getting lost in the woods down south?"

He pretends to think about it, looking around the room as if in search for the memory. "I think I can do that. You and your sister might have to fill in on some of the details, though."

She grins, pride welling up in her chest that she puffs out, holding out her hand. "The deal is the deal."

He takes her hand into his, giving it a firm shake. "The deal is the deal."

Kaz takes a moment to look back up at you, and his heart nearly leaps out his chest when he sees the way you're looking at him, a small smile he doesn't think he's seen before and eyes filled with so /much/ that he's surprised your whole eye isn't black. Your head rests into your fingers, arm wrapped around your waist. It's an expression he's seen rarely, but it always seems to catch him off guard.

It looks a lot like yearning, he thinks.

But he puts it away for later.

When you catch that he's looking, you take a deep breath, schooling your expression and wiping off imaginary dust from your clothes.

"Alright Astra, Kaz has important business to attend to."

Astra pouts from beside him, but gives him her goodbyes and walks into the backroom again.

He straightens. It's oddly difficult to keep eye contact with you, but he does anyway, flicking between the both of them.

"If I have time, I'll stop by." He gives in.

You're happy with that. "Ill even add extra broth for you."

"Sweetening the offer I see."

You put your hands on your hips, shrugging. "A girl's got to do what she's got to do."

The implications of that are hefty, too hefty with a cane in one hand and a bright pink bag of clothes in the other.

So he ignores it, and nods, taking his leave out the front door and back to the Slat.

-----

He stares at the plan before him in his mind, going over each and every way this can and probably will go sideways.

Breaking into the most secure prison in probably the whole world with nothing more than the scrapings of a plan, one of the essential persons in a different prison, and your presense completely plaguing his mind.

The third one isn't exactly new, but he can't help but think about you when his survival rate went from low on the daily average to basically zero with one handshake.

But thirty million kruge...

Thirty million kruge could go a long way. That's four million for him, most of which he could put towards the crow club and expanding his empire, taking down Pekka, and securing his place as one of the top bosses in Ketterdam.

He could secure his place in the food chain, and maybe, maybe then he...

Maybe.

He entertains the thought of a marriage certificate. Having something that ties you and him together both eternally and in the eyes of everyone else. Being able to hold that slip of paper when he can't hold your hand and feeling like it matters.

It's hard to keep the thought away, now that he's alone with a glass of kvas and death staring him in the eyes.

He doesn't plan on dying soon. Not for a long time. He has vengeance to exact and many more dinners to join you for.

But it's a very real possibility, and he must debate with himself going to you and telling you all this before he leaves.

If it was any other job, Kaz would send Inej to tell you that he would be gone for a few days and to not expect him. If it was literally any other job, he wouldn't even consider getting up from his chair, marching down those stairs and up yours, and discussing the undiscussable to at least satisfy the gnawing in his stomach.

Because he knows that if you find out he died and he knew that he was basically guaranteed to do so and he didn't bother to tell you himself, you would never forgive him.

Granted, he would be dead, so in theory it doesn't matter.

He picks up his cane and gloves, shoving them over his hands and throwing on his long coat. He doesn't even have to look at the coat rack to find his hat, putting it on and making his way out of the Slat and to your address without a word to anyone else.

The theories mean nothing, in the face of reality.

You're making stew with extra broth, he might die in a few days, and he doesn't want you to think ill of him when he can't look you in the eye and try to convince you to feel otherwise.

As the cold bites his nose, he thinks back to that look you were giving him when he made that deal with your sister.

It's nearly enough to make him turn around, muscles tingling and a shiver rolling down his back that's unrelated to the cold. He feels sick. Warm and a feeling in his stomach he only feels late in the night in the comfort of his own bed.

He can't do this.

He picks the lock on your door.

He can't tell you.

He opens the door, locking it behind him.

He can't think of you like that.

He walks up the stairs, the smell of stew just barely reaching his senses as he enters the kitchen.

He can't.

You're sitting at the table, two empty bowls on the table and fabric thrown over your legs, threading them together. Your finger is bleeding, and he wants to wipe it away.

"You're late." You smile, eyelids heavy.

He takes off his hat, putting it on the hook you installed when he started coming over. "Or I'm just in time."

You laugh quietly, sticking the needle in the fabric and pulling it off your lap. "Just in time about sums it up."

He's a monster.

You turn your back to him and enter your room, draping the project on your desk.

The pot is still steaming, and his throat feels clogged.

"Ill be gone for a while."

You turn around, and he can't watch you anymore. He takes off his coat and drapes it over the chair.

"How long?" Your voice is soft, approaching him.

"Few weeks."

He's a coward.

You hum, setting down a bowl of stew with extra broth in front of him. "Thats a long time, even for you."

He clenched his jaw, heart pounding in his ears. The light catches the stew, making rainbows in the broth. Chunks of lamb, potatoes, pieces of ham, carrots, and greens he can't see dance in the soup as he stirs it.

"Bigger reward for the troubles." Is all he says.

The troubles, he thinks, that he can't get past the lump in his throat. The trouble that you of all people deserve to know.

He glances up at you, and he recognizes the look on your face all too well.

You're very aware of his gang affiliation.

He actually attempted to cut ties with you after he got associated with the Dregs. You threw a crate at him and called him mad for suggesting as such. He only risked to bring it up one other time, and you had yelled at him and about cried when he turned to leave, throwing a rock at his freshly poorly healed leg.

He swiveled around at glared at you, but you didn't flinch in the face of Dirtyhands. Just glared at him, told him you're not going anywhere, and then left /him/ before he could protest.

It took him a week to figure out that, despite you not wanting to cut ties with him, you didn't completely agree either. You didn't bother trying to convince him to leave, but you have on numerous occasions begged him to be careful, adorning this exhausted look.

You don't say a lot anymore, but the expression has stayed relatively the same, if a bit rounder on the edges.

"How bad?" You asked.

He abhors the way his heart squeezes, like it has a mind of its own while his brain yells at him to keep you out of it.

He wants to throw up.

How does he tell you there's a greater chance than not he'll die, now matter how much he wants to make it back to you?

How does he tell you you might never get to see him again? Or see Jesper or Inej?

He swallowed some broth, licking his lips.

"Pretty bad."

He's such a fucking coward.

"Ynnn." He hears a hoarse voice call. He looks up, seeing Astra stroll in and rest her chin on the kitchen table. "You didnt tell me Kaz finally came."

When he looks at you to see your response, its to his absolute horror that he catches you wiping your eyes, then pull your little sister to your side.

"You were sleeping. I didn't want to wake you."

"M'you should've."

You glance up at him, and smile against Astra's hair.

"You're right. I should've."

-----

'Damn it all,' he thought in a panic. 'Damn everything. Go find them.'

It was a dangerous, recurring thought that he had when he went anywhere near the Zelver District, whenever he had to go through the canals that run along its edge and connect to nearly every other canal.

Even now as he puts everything in place to send Kuwei off on a fake bodyboat. It only half surprises him that the sight doesn't make him all that uncomfortable. He's exhausted, lovesick, and has had the experience of several lifetimes within just a few weeks.

He wanted to send word to you to stay put during the alarms. But Pekka's crew strolled through your storefront not a few days ago, asking about your wares and probing for information. Inej had seen as such when she finally had the opportunity to check on you.

There was no guarantee that this plan would work. Pekka would have been dealt with regardless but the auction with Kuwei could have gone differently. No matter the confidence with which he laid out facts or with Wylan's newfound acting skills, there were too many variables that relied heavily on the actions of people outside his control.

It worked out, though. But now he has to worry about being unable to find you. It makes him nauseous. He actually feels his mouth begin to fill with saliva, but he keeps it down. Right now, he just has to get rid of Kuwei, and send off Colm, Nina, and Matthias to the boats that will take them to their respective countries.

A small part of his conscious nags at him. Of course he feels grief for his fallen Crow, incomparable to the grief Nina will have to face for the rest of her life.

But there's that much larger part of him that can't feel anything except the itching for your eyes on him.

Kaz makes a snarky comment about Kuwei's dead position, and leaves everyone to fill in the silence around him. There isn't much talking, aside from Jesper and his father, and then they're hugging and parting.

He hardly has it in him to stay while they leave, and eventually, before they even disappear from his eyesight, he's turning and marching up the Van Eck lawn towards the Zelver District.

He feels like he's going insane. Energy is surging through him like there's a heartrender pumping his system. When everything becomes familiar, that coffee shop you like with the Stroopwafel's coming into view, he can't help but break out into a run.

His leg feels like it may splinter.

But he's 4 million kruge richer, and he has something to ask you.

He's learned a lot, quite a bit of it against his will, since he left for Fjerda.

He will not let you become another life lesson.

Your door comes into view, and he nearly slams into it when his legs can't seem to stop and one of them is straining against his own body weight.

The lock picks nearly fell to the floor before he manages to unlock the store. He didn't even let the door close behind him before he rocketed up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

You were at the top, rifle in hand, pointing it at him with a fierceness in your eyes.

It all but crumbled when you seen who he was.

"Kaz?" You called, disbelief choking your words.

It takes a moment for him to catch his breath, most of his gasping done before he unlocked the door. But again, hes exhausted and lovesick, so air isnt really a luxury he seems to be able to afford. "The bruises don't make me that unrecognizable." He stands straighter, favoring his left leg.

You had half the mind to put the rifle on your kitchen table before you completely broke down in tears. Your arms hug your sides while your eyes boil over with tears and hot rage.

"You're such an asshole!" You yelled. "Getting put on the Stadwatch and the entire barrels shitlist? What the fuck kind of job did you take?"

He stepped forward, setting his cane next to your rifle and dropping into the chair next to you.

It still made his skin crawl. It still made his lungs burn with freezing cold water. It still made deadly blue hands grip at his legs and pull him under.

But he reached out, pulled you between his legs, and hugged your body to his, his cheek resting against your stomach.

You were warm. So very warm from working yourself up. And stiff. He could feel it under his arms as your thighs stuck together and the muscles surrounding your spine tightened into stone.

"Ka-Kaz?"

He ignored you in favor of ignoring his own body, tightening you into him as the waters punched his stomach and licked up his back.

You were warm, and as you relaxed, his face further sinking into your stomach, the water began to still. Still crushing against his organs, but not going any further.

Tears pushed on the back of his eyes. He squeezed them shut, taking in a shakey breath.

He was doing it. He was holding you, touching you, and it only made half his mind scream to be yanked away.

"I fought." He whispered. "I fought to come back." He swallows. "To you."

Tears thumped against the crown of his skull. He could hear your heart pounding despite its location.

"You left-" Your voice cut off in a squeak. Clearing your throat, he could feel, felt like a chore. "You left. And then you didn't come back. Your face was all over Ketterdam, and I didn't know what to do. I couldn't eat I couldn't sleep- I couldn't answer Astra's questions because I didn't know anything-"

"I was tricked." He gritted his teeth, loosening his grip on you just as you reached down and dragged your fingers over his shoulder, fixing a loose thread. "Deceived, and made a complete fool out of. I couldn't come back because they would have got you too."

Your fingers stopped. "Who did they get?"

A few tears leaked out the side of his eyes. The only tears, he decided, he was going to allow through. He was not a crier. And he had no intention of becoming one.

"Inej." You gasped, hand flying away from his head to cover your mouth, he would presume. "Which is why I couldn't get word to you. Why you had to remain in the dark."

He pulled back, looking up at your tear stained face. You wiped them away, sniffing up any snot that remained in your nose and cleared your throat.

For a while you didn't speak. You just stared at him. His hands had fallen to his knees, fingers barely touching your leg while your own held your elbows.

You were deep in thought. Occasionally a silent tear would work it's way down your cheek and tick against the floor. He remained still, watching as you worked your way through your thoughts.

Whatever you had to say, you were fighting for a better way to word it.

Eventually you reached out, swallowing as you searched for any indication he would retreat.

Instead he stared you head on, sweat building on brow. He was all touched out at the moment, but you wanted this. And he thinks it's the least you deserved after the complete emotional shipwreck he just put you through.

Your thumb brushed over his bruises, watching him wince when you accidentally pushed on them.

Scabs had begun to form over some of the wounds he refused to be healed. Two thin lines on his lips, one on his cheek, and one to his brow. You went over all of them, touching his lips last.

He thinks you meant to do that.

"If I had known this would be my fate when I saw my name on your wrist when we were children," you whispered, "I'd have slapped you stupid."

That makes his lips twitch. "And now?"

You swallow again, carefully brushing his hair away from his forehead so that your nails barely scratched the surface. "Now, I just want to look at you." You smiled, taking your hand back. "Somebody's already slapped you stupid for me."

"Believe me, there was no slapping."

The words make your smile disappear. He regrets saying them.

Somethings missing though, and he realizes it a lot later than he likes.

"Where's Astra?"

You smile, an airy breath escaping your nose. "She went down about half an hour before you stormed in here."

"You didn't send her off to your grandparents when the sirens went off?"

You scoffed. "And go where you couldn't find us?" You looked down, scuffing the floor with your sock covered feet. "You'd have lost your mind."

And that, you knowing him so intrinsically, is what he's going to use as an excuse for what he says next.

"Marry me."

It's so unlike him. He should have been less forward about it. Presented it to you like a business offer instead of demanding it of you.

Your head snaps up. Eyes wide as they stare at him.

"What?"

He scoots back, chair scraping across the floor as he stands.

"I do not present this to you lightly. After the events that have taken place, there will only be more people willing to tear me down. People who will want to use you to get to me."

The thought almost makes him want to back out. But if Kaz Brekker is anything, he is not someone who back tracks.

"It would be done in private. No one would know but the Dregs, or only the Crows, and your family. But if anybody does any digging and finds that certificate, you and Astra would be in danger."

You continue to stare, eyes still wide and mouth agape.

Sweat beads down his back, not helped by the long coat he neglected to take off. He also realizes that he's lost his hat somewhere on the way here, probably flown off in his rush to get here.

You close your mouth, clearing your throat. "I will marry you, Kaz, on one condition."

He shifts on his feet, leg still horribly sore. "That is?"

You cant help but smile. "I won't have to wear white."

And a giddy, childish sort of glee bubbles in his chest. There isn't anything, he thinks, that could have stopped the smile forming in his face, growing so wide as to show teeth. "You could wear the muckiest yellow the nation as to offer if you so wished."

Your nose scrunches, and one day he thinks he could kiss it.

"Astra will want to hear about your adventure." He could see your exhaustion from just thinking about that, your gaze averting once again to her door. "She'll be so excited to hear about your proposal too."

He follows your gaze, seeing the little drawing nailed to surface of her door.

One of them shows you and him with smiling faces, a little heart above your heads. You're holding hands, Kaz's gloves a distinct part of the portrait, with Astra above, clouds and a sun at the top of the page.

"Little crow will blow the entire building apart." He grimaces, thinking of a way to cover that up if the neighboring businesses hear it.

You sigh. "I have no idea what to do with her."

He turns back to you and leans forward, arms clasped behind his back as he presses his lips to your temple.

It didn't feel real, the way he could initiate touch despite his body screaming at him to stop. Your hair stuck to his lips as he pulled away, but it was worth it to see the way your face fell open, eyes boaring into his.

Silently, he tells you he'll get better. With time, a long time, he'll be able to hold your hand, kiss your lips, stand shoulder to shoulder and lay with you. He tells you that fleeting kisses and barriers will be a thing reserved for bad days only, and even on those bad days he'll still love you in other ways.

He thinks you understand.

∘₊✧──────────────────✧₊∘

Tags:

@b3kk3r-by-br3kk3r @a-candle-maker

#ask #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x y/n #kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker fanfic #kaz brekker imagine #six of crows x reader #six of crows x y/n #six of crows x you #six of crows fanfic #fanfic #morrigan-crowmwell

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