#for others to take? like you have a muse who would be the front man of a band?? or the drummer?? lead guitarist??

[astoryisaloveaffair]

Fix You - Chapter 16 - Genesis

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Fem!Reader

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Read on A03

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Chapter Summary: 🤷‍♀️

Word Count: 4K

Rating: Explicit

Chapter Warnings: cussing, graphic violence, mentions of sex. I'm not giving more warnings than that, sorry.

A/N: Hey all. First I want to say I'm sorry. I literally had no time or motivation to write this. I'm gonna be honest, this is a really tough chapter, and it was hard to get in this headspace. Suffering a recent heartbreak, things in this chapter are things I have thought also, and so it was really hard for me to voluntarily want to address that. I also started working in veterinary medicine, i do not have the spare time that I used to. We also recently adopted a puppy who we named Bucky! And if you read my earlier posts, you know that I was SA'd last January. All that to say, sorry I couldn't do this faster.

Also want to wish a happy birthday to @musings-of-a-rose, my beloved, my bestie, and my constant support. This is for you. Sorry it's not a happier chapter....

* If a character is speaking fully in Spanish, I will put “[ ]” around the dialogue. I speak pretty decent Spanish but not good enough for this

Suggested Songs: "Exile" Taylor Swift feat. Bon Iver, "I Love You" Billie Eilish, "Vampire" and "Logical" by Olivia Rodrigo, "The Night We Met" by Lord Huron and Phoebe Bridgers, "Genesis" by Grimes

You didn’t even flinch at the landing, which was rough, so that’s saying a lot. When the janky cargo door (which looked like at any time during the flight would be ripped right off) opens, you barely even lift your eyes from the floor. You felt heavy and hollow, somewhere suspended in between shock and just not giving a fuck anymore. The only thing you could still fell was the pinching in your heart. It was still broken.

At some point during the journey, the co-pilot had taken pity on you and untied your arms from behind your back and bound them in front of you instead. You hadn’t struggled. There was no point. Where would you go? Jump in the ocean? You weren’t that great of a swimmer and you loved sharks and everything but the open ocean is not where you are supposed to be.

You have no sense of space and time, so you have no actual clue where you are other than not the mainland. You’re dehydrated as fuck, groggy, your vision’s blurry and you’d figured out the sticky moisture on your face was your own blood. 

Because when you had suddenly blacked out it was because they’d hit you, and had absolutely no hesitation doing so. They did not care about you, they did not see you as a human being, they didn’t even bother strapping you into a seat so you had been sliding around the cargo bay the entire flight, bumping into everything. You were in deep danger, any hope that you would have some ransom protection had pretty much disintegrated. You had hoped that the boys wouldn’t come for you at first. Then you had hoped that they would, because if you’re ransom, even if at the very least you’d be alive until then, right? But “alive” doesn’t mean unharmed.

A shadow looms over you and it finally makes you look up, squinting to adjust your eyes to something so close, as well as the brightness of the sun. It feels like it takes you 10 whole minutes to process that you were being spoken to in English.

“Eh!” The man leaning over you snips, and when you simply blink in confusion and don’t answer, he slaps you lightly on both cheeks. You’re stunned enough to finally look at him, his oval face, beady eyes and unique sideburns seeming so familiar to you but quite frankly you wouldn’t trust yourself with recognizing even your dad at the moment, so you push that thought aside.

He kneels down in front of you. “You listen to me. We don’t want you. We want the money. This means if you don’t fucking piss me off, I might be nice and not kill you, you understand? Be a smart little girl, eh?.”

You nod, you probably should be feeling some sort of panic setting in but you don’t. Whatever. Who even cares anymore.

He takes your silence as submission. “Bueno.” He whispers, leaning down and grabbing you by the arm, lifting you until you are back on your feet. He tilts his head and steps to the side, revealing 5 additional men with AKs pointed straight at you. From behind, you feel the sharp tip of another poking your back, urging you forward and down the precarious ramp. The pilots.

You didn’t trust that they wouldn’t hurt you, but you knew you had no other choice. Trying to fight was asking for it, and once you step out of the hold and realize you were in the fucking jungle, there would be no sensical place to go even if you did get away.

You step out of the plane onto a rickety steel ramp that bounces as the footpad of your sandals touches it and shuffle slowly down it. You feel suffocated sandwiched between four men, your hands chafe where they are tied and you have been in the same positions for so long your whole body is sore. Every touch and movement hurt.

You stumble as the ramp ends but one of the men grabs your arm and yanks you so you don’t fall. It wasn’t kindness. It was a way to hurt you that he could get away with. The tiny dirt landing strip is almost canopied completely by the jungle trees, leaving large patches here and there where the plane flew through, not noticeable from far above. It looks like you’re walking to nothing, just a dirt road that ends right into the thick middle of the jungle, but you don’t stop at the edge. You push through.

It’s hot as shit and you felt sweat buildup in every crevice of your body, your thighs are rubbing raw from your asinine decision to wear short shorts to the fair, and you could feel a heat rash growing under your tits that you couldn’t even scratch because your hands are bound.

You walk for forever. You walk until the friction rash on your inner thighs turn to lesions. You haven't drank water in almost 48 hours and it feels like 150 degrees out, with full humidity. You’ve had to stop twice already to vomit from heat exhaustion and you still occasionally gag even though there’s nothing in your stomach to come up anymore. All the years that you did not appeal to insects are making up for it now, they’re all over you and you can’t walk 3 steps without one getting in your eye.  The jungle gets tighter and you can’t breathe because it’s pushing in on you almost as tight as the hands on your shoulders pushing you forward..

You start crying. At least, that is what you tell yourself as you whimper and sob as quietly as you can. You know you’re strong, but this is just beyond reason that any normal person could take. And when you think about how this is probably what life was all the time in Delta for the boys, you cry even harder because you feel guilty, that you have no right to complain.

Finally, after what feels like forever, the tightness of the jungle seems to loosen. More open. You notice some of the trees look more oddly arranged than others. As you get closer you realize they aren’t trees at all, but tents and dilapidated buildings built into the shadows of the trees.  The huge roots and overhanging canopy of the jungle transformed a bustling camp into what looks like a little village. At the entrance, a line of guards in jungle fatigues that were impossible to detect until you got right up to them. You hear someone speak above you, alerting you to a man up in the trees on a platform tucked between the branches. There was another in the tree on the opposite side. He calls to the man with the sideburns, saying something in Spanish you can’t interpret fast enough, but it’s jovial and they laugh, and it makes you feel like you’re going to go mentally insane. 

It’s like it’s not even serious to them. And it’s so serious to you.

You are pushed through the camp quickly, but not quick enough that you don’t see the insane amount of cocaine packages piled up in the makeshift buildings, sheds, and tents toward the back. Men were milling about checking them, moving them and glaring at you as you walked past.

You continue past the main camp, crossing over a bustling creek whose bridge was literally just planks of wood, but you noticed there were tire marks across them so you felt at least safe it could handle a car’s weight. Across the creek, an old stonework manor stood. You can tell at one time it must have been glorious, but the white stone-worked walls were dirty and crumbling in many places, the fountains out front had dried crusty palm fronds and dirt in them and looked like they hadn’t sprayed water since the 1980s.

It was still oddly beautiful. You thought about how this house came to be, what it might have looked like when it had been first built. A beautiful Caribbean sea mansion. A jungle that hadn’t closed in on it yet. Fountains spraying and colorful birds resting on the rooftops. But then you  realize that this place has probably always been used for what it is now. Someone like Carl Lehder probably lived here and ran an entire cartel within this very jungle. Maybe it was the same one, just run by someone else.

There was a shabbily made shack to the left of the manor with padlocks, piles of debris piled next to the door. You assume that’s where you would be taken, but you were instead led up the stairs to the manor proper. And as your eyes focus in on the ground while you were being guided to the mansion instead, you realize the heap of matter by the shack that you thought was some dying plantation was actually a crumpled human body. A boy looking not much older than 17, shot execution style in the head and left to rot.

Then smell hits you, your knees buckle and you vomit on the stonework stairs, a scream of shock and realization pierces the jungle, making the nearby tropical birds explode from the treetops. When the sicarios pick you up and carry you through the mansion door, you’re still screaming.

Eventually whoever was carrying you became fed up, and simply dropped you at the bottom of the stairs and dragged you up backwards by the armpits instead. You didn’t even feel the step edges hitting the small of your back all the way up, but you would later. 

You were tossed stricken and shivering on a disgusting, top-sheeted mattress on the floor in the corner of a room, your feet still bound together and your rope-bound hands looped through a radiator that was long enough only for you to lie down or shuffle over to a bucket for your business. Everything stank and you still had vomit on your chin so you curled up in a ball and slammed your eyes closed, hoping that in time the voices and smells and fear would give way to just simple numbness. You didn’t hear a female voice speaking to you for several seconds.

Your eyes snap open, skin pulled taut from dried unwiped tears,and you jolt upright to look in the direction of the voice. A woman who wasn’t even tied up was propped up against the adjoining wall, and as you take in her condition you could understand why they hadn’t even bothered. She wouldn’t have been able to run.

Her legs look..wrong, splaying at angles that shouldn’t be possible. They look like they could be broken, but you can’t tell for sure because she was wearing jeans that cover up most of her skin. The jeans were ripped in some places and stained with dark blood spots, the color turning brighter wherever her skin shows through the tears in the fabric. She’s missing several fingers on her left hand that had been burnt at the ends to cauterize, and her face was black and blue, swollen and smeared with more blood that seemed to be coming from her scalp somewhere. Her lips are pale and cracking and her eyes are glazed over and barely open. When she speaks, she already sounds like she is dead. 

She swallows and winces slightly in pain, then licks her cracked pale lips.“Is…my…her–my brother. Did you see him? Out there?” 

Your face scrunches in confusion, which actually hurts a little and you’re not sure from what specifically. Perhaps you look just as bad as the other girl. “Your–I—I don’t understand.”

She’s too exhausted to even be annoyed with you. “My brother. They took him from me days ago. They do not talk to me anymore. They don’t—need me anymore.” A single tear falls down her swollen cheek and you suddenly feel so much connection with this woman and how  incredibly fucking strong she is. Her eyes roll over to you, meeting yours for the first time. There are burst blood vessels in them. 

“I think that they killed him.”

Your lips part and you utter a shuddering breath as you connect the dots. There’s no point in sugar-coating it. You nod slowly. “I think so. But it’s not…recent.” You look away as her eyes slowly close, the additional tears she was holding back finally spilling over and cascading down her cheeks. 

“Bueno.” She says. “Then at least he is not suffering like me.” 

You both fall quiet and you look over her again. Her pants aren’t completely done up and her t shirt is ripped at the neckline, exposing a gashed shoulder. Almost like…

You start crying again, and you feel even worse about it this time because you have in front of you a woman who has been through much worse and is somehow NOT crying. You curl tighter into yourself to try and hide. 

But she simply asks. “Who are you?”

You swallow, raising your head up off your arms, quickly wiping the access tears off on your sleeve. It’s incredible how adrenaline and fear can sometimes make you the most clear-headed you’ve ever been. Your thoughts are swirling but you knew one thing for damn sure, if they didn’t know your name yet, you weren’t going to say it now. 

If I look forward I am lost. Focus on right now. Nothing else. It’s my best chance.

You know enough about trauma that compartmentalizing this moment is your best chance. You can’t think what will happen if you don’t escape, if you aren’t found, if they never come for you. You need to stay focused. You need to keep hope alive. You need to stay coherent, because if a chance pops up, you need to be able to think quickly.

“I’m no one.” You mumble. “Just happened to be dating the wrong person.”

She sniffs and looks away, but it’s muffled because her nose sounds congested. You don’t miss her tone though. “Mmmm. His new one then.”

You blink. “What?”

Her glazed over, discolored eyes snap back to yours. “Pope.” She spits. “Your man. Santia—”

“NO!” You cut her off with a shout, you know there is a guy who is in the area and you still don’t know how much these men do or do not know. “Don’t. Don’t give them names if they don’t already know it.”

“I don’t give a shit about Agent Garcia, or his friends, or anyone else, it’s their fault I am here and it’s their fault my brother is dead and..” She finally, finally starts to cry. “I told him I didn’t want to do it. They said they would let us go if we gave them what they wanted.”

“It was you.” You exhale with a shuddering breath. “They found us cause of you. You told them.” You shake your head, and for some reason you feel betrayed by this woman even though you’ve never met her.  “How could you?” 

“Because all I care about is my brother, do you understand?! I wish I’d never met him, Garcia, we would have just snuck away and no one would never seen us, but no, instead we listened to him and helped them steal from fucking Lorea, and now they found us and I knew they would, and YES, I gave them EVERYTHING because they said they’d let us go so long as they found you and–”

“Eh!” A voice trails in with a watchman you knew was hanging out somewhere in the hallway beyond. He slips through the doorway, a smaller man you were not expecting from that voice, and leans against the deteriorating door frame. He crosses his arms and his legs and it makes the handgun on his hip jut out prominently from his skinny hips. “No talking to each other.” His voice is silky and the words all slide together so it sounds like ‘no talkintoeeachother.’

You shrink back into the dirty wall behind you as your associate spits a bloody phlegm ball in the man’s direction. “FUCK you!” She snarls, a tirade of cuss words in Spanish flying from her lips. 

A loud pop almost bursts your eardrums and your heart and you exclaim in terror as your associate is shot point blank in the head, her back slumping against the wall and her head hitting with a bang, pieces of blood and brain tissue spraying over the back wall with pieces flying in your direction.  

The man remains completely motionless with his arms still raised before huffing a laugh to himself, putting the gun back on his hip, and looking at you with the such an unaffected gaze it leaves you feeling dizzy and you scream and scream and scream yourself hoarse, crumpling onto your mattress in a terrified heap, arms over your head, sobbing hysterically.

A gentle but firm palm wraps around your forearm, yanking you back up to a seated position. You look away, but the man’s other hand takes you gently by the jaw and makes you look at him. And just behind him, the woman slumped in a pool of blood and brain matter. You try to wriggle out of his grip but he tightens ever so slightly, and you can’t help but notice how different it is when Frankie would grab you like that versus this man. Frankie held you the same, sometimes harder, but you had trusted his domination and his care of you and because of that, it made it arousing. That same motion with this man has you more scared than you ever have been in your life. 

“Bebita.��� He coos, thumb lightly caressing your jaw. He wipes at a small speck of blood you don’t know is even there. You can feel yourself shaking and breathing so fast you can see his half waxed back tousled locks that hang past his temples are blowing in its breeze. You can’t answer him. “Look at me.”

You do. His eyes are a dark, almost black chocolate brown, shape mismatched, a scruffy beard and goatee and thin lips. In another world you would find him devastatingly attractive and the fact that you do makes you feel absolutely violated and disgusted with yourself. 

“Do not cry.” He continues. “You have no reason to if you behave, si? You be good and you listen and I will keep you safe you understand? Well, at least for now.” He shifts closer to you, you can smell his breath. It smells like orange and cloves. “There are a lot of men here Bebita. I am sure you understand what this means, si? Answer me.”

“Yes.” A final fat tear spills from one of your eyes, and it stings as it mixes with your sweat and the raw skin around your eyes. 

He juts his head in the other woman’s direction. “This one, she fight the whole time. I like a easy job. Make my job easy, I make sure you always deal with me. Do not make me call in the other guys, they are not as nice. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He releases your chin and you scoot back quickly as he saunters over to the other woman’s bloody body, grabs it by the arm, and casually drags her as dismissively as possible out the door and out of your sight, leaving a bloody trail behind.

At first you just sit there in a slump staring at the opposite wall,, you don’t know for how long. Probably hours. Maybe days. The man, whose name you figured out from when he spoke to someone else in the hall, is Angel. Sometimes he would sit up and watch you, as if figuring you out, your body and the way you shift and switch positions when you are uncomfortable, what it looked like when you were crying and trying to keep quiet and unnoticed. But most of the time he ignored you. Occasionally others would come into the room and either speak to him or approach you, but upon noticing Angel watching them they would hiss or spit a curse and slink off.

The room reminded you of those old houses from the 70s that had those drafty unfinished basements that were simply concrete floors, painted stucco or white brick. To the sicarios, it served as an overflow area, there was a rotting desk along the side wall with a metal folding chair and piles of scattered papers and random household tools on them. Against the opposite side wall was a pretty nice tv, considering, which was always playing soccer. Angel seemed to make that his home base, his lithe frame sprawled across a grandma-fabric sofa, head resting on one of the puffy arm rests. He binge-smoked cigarettes and his right hand was always stretched over his head resting against his forehead in the direction of to an end table with an massive overflowing porcelain ashtray on it. You didn’t used to mind the smell of cigarettes too much but now it makes you feel sick.

You’re ashamed of how little you actually think about your current situation and like the hopeless romantic idiot you are, mostly all you can think about is Frankie. The things he said–you knew he said mean things when he was mad, or things he didn’t mean, but isn’t there always some truth to things that are said in the heat of the moment? That was enough for you to silently spiral. You thought about every memory you had of him and how it could be viewed through the lens that Frankie just wanted to fuck you. Your self confidence was low enough it was believable, and your mind races through every instance of an older man being in a relationship with someone much younger and how of course it was predatory, and how could you not see it, that you didn’t have anything in common? It’s a tale as old as time. He just wanted to fuck you, he wanted to fuck you and dominate you, his dark desires seducing you into feeling so wanted you can’t believe you thought he loved you and didn’t see right through it. 

And his friends, well, they were all in on it weren’t they, because why would they want to hang out with someone like you either? Why would men such as that actually want to be friends with you when you have never experienced half of what they have.

Fuck him. Fuck him and his lying ass, he was a fucking loser addict and you’re pissed at yourself for even considering him. Like how lonely were you?? To choose an old man with a kid who served in an institution that represented everything you hated about this country? To be so easily blinded by pretty words and love bombs to immediately take your clothes off. Because how, if he actually loved you or even like you, could he possibly have lied about something so big?! Or bought you something nice with all that fucking drug money he stole. Not that you’d want it or expected it, but why wouldn’t you want to treat someone you love as much as he claimed to? 

How could he sit there and make up what happened to Tom like that, when you were being so coddling and trying to be a caring ear. And Benny…Pope...if they were your friends they should have told you, that’s what real friends do…

But they weren’t your friends. They were never your friends. 

And if you went the other way, and considered that it was all true, that he did love you, that they were all your friends, and that he lied to you and threw stones to hurt you and push you away, how was that any better? You couldn't even think about a future not being with him, but obviously he could. He could watch you cry and question him and not even look at you, completely ignore you, then not even think about you again. No texts, no calls. No “I’m sorry, please come back.” Silence. 

How could it be so easy for him? How can he just go about his life like you never happened? Why did you still care?

Why did you still want him? 

Why did you still love him so so much. Part of you wishes they’d get on with it and just kill you. At least then you wouldn’t have to feel this excruciating pain. You wouldn’t have to see him show up to rescue you because he has to, to have to see his fucking face and every line, crinkle, scar, the bald patch in his beard and the tousled little curls that pop out of his hat…only for him to save you and then leave again, or die and then you have the guilt of killing a man who no longer loved you.

Yea. You think you’d rather die.

You feel like you’re going to throw up again. You’d let him force his cock in your mouth as far as it could go, let him tie you up and fuck you hard enough to leave bruises you had thought of as a badge of honor. You’d let him cum on your face. You’d let him fucking cum inside you! He’d gaslit you so you actually wanted him to tie you up with zip ties—-

Your heart almost stops. You can picture how his face looked exactly when he said it.

Sometimes rope can give over time.

That’s why we always used zip ties.

You look down at your bound hands.

They’re bound with rope.

#fix you fic #triple frontier fanfic #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie catfish morales x you #frankie catfish morales x reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic

[tvrningout]

i see or hear alternative/punk rock content and arata screams at the top of his lungs to let him out

#sorry to be talking about yet another muse but i won't lie!! arata pops into my brain kinda often!! #i'm in my creating/revamping oc's era rn i guess asdf #bc maybe i could just kinda?? scratch all his original stuff and maybe the original stuff for all his bandmates too #refocus him a bit somehow #i'll always be attached to stand out!!'s original dynamic but i also think it'd be nice if i maybe left some of those connections open #for others to take? like you have a muse who would be the front man of a band?? or the drummer?? lead guitarist?? #cool bc arata's a bassist!! play with him!! be his bandmate!! #also just thinking about him being the driving force behind the band -- he's the reason they get together #which was partially the concept before but not completely #i think this time i would want to focus more on the idea that arata pretty much loses stability at home once his parents divorce #his sister doesn't live with him anymore #so he's determined to build a new family even though he doesn't realize that's what he's doing #this band becomes his world not just bc he loves music but bc it's all that he feels he really has -- it keeps him sane #i dunno y'all asdfg i like the idea but should i bring our silly lil bassist back to bug everyone? am i doing too much :' ) #also i'm back!! gonna try to get some things done now that it's quiet <3 #get ready to ramble | ooc

[koolades-world]

Exclusive Mc Privileges: Side Character Edition

I don't know Raphael well enough to include him yet, so I'm sorry about that. To any Raphael fans out there, let me know how I can pay you back. I'm on lesson 41 right now lol

Diavolo

Sitting in his lap during important meetings and playing with his hair

Drawing on his arm and him displaying it proudly no matter what it is

Playing dress up in finery

Shopping sprees!

Becoming his royal hand holder <3

Cheering him on while he's doing paperwork and bringing him treats

Sneaking out together so he can show you his favorite spots in the Devildom

Having sleepovers weekly so he can learn more about "human culture"

Barbatos

Interrupting his castle duties with no consequences

Leaving you love notes for you to find throughout the day

Helping with your homework

Exchanging recipes

Brushing his hair!

Helping cook and getting as many tastes as you want

Freeing all the rats you find in the castle outside for him

Spending all his free time with you

Simeon

Helping him learn more about computers even if he's asked this question ten times already

Getting best massages in the three realms

Moonbathing

Helping him bake

Writing his scripts for him when his hands hurt

Getting to look at old concepts and manuscripts

Being his muse <3

Feeding him snacks

Solomon

Reorganizing his potions ingredients because it's always a mess

Dancing among the stars together

Attempting to teach him to cook (and failing)

Teaching him how to be hip and cool

Letting you admire his various pact marks and hearing the stories behind each one

Lets you style his hair differently just to see what he would look like

Forgiving you each and every time you set him on fire during lessons

Luke

Ruffling his hair

Tucking him into bed at night

Always being the first person to sample his desserts

Sharing concept ideas with you about new dessert ideas

Helping him deal with the brothers and their teasing

Ironing his clothes

Giving him piggy back rides and boosts to higher areas

Doing homework together that he's to afraid to ask a demon for help with

Thirteen

Braiding and styling her hair

Doing her makeup!

Throwing snacks and candy into each other's mouths

Getting sneak peaks into her latest pranks

Taking turns drawing on various sleeping people's faces to see who can do the most without waking them up

Having mini fashion shows that are mostly just her admiring you

Taking lots of pictures on your phone when you're not looking

Mephisto

Kidnapping and having free reign of his cane

Hitting him with the cane (lovingly)

Teasing him about Diavolo and Lucifer

Showing his affection for you in front of the brothers

Adding cute bows to his hair

Looking over drafts for the school paper

Learning how to horseback ride

Squishing his man titties

#obey me #obey me! #obey me x reader #obey me diavolo #obey me simeon #obey me luke #obey me thirteen #obey me mephistopheles #obey me side characters #obey me x mc #obey me x you #obey me barbatos #obey me solomon

[setsugekka]

❥of floral lace (m)

↳ Wedding planning is a stressful enough job as it is, without the added trouble of a handsome best man who can't seem to take his attention off of you.

But when it comes to 'meant to be,' maybe he knows something that you just don't quite know yet.

best man!bang chan x wedding planner!fem!reader — strangers to lovers, meet-cute, unrequited (?) pining, explicit sexual content. [11,2k wc] cws: alcohol consumption, protected penetrative sex, Chan wants it bad-bad, a lot of teasing and wanting and flirtatious banter.

In February, the weather is still cold. Bitter and icy, some days. Windy, with occasional snow, and it’s days like this that make it feel as though the warmth of spring and summer may never come. Sometimes, it’s the small reminders that life – the world itself – is ever changing. Spring will always come, winter will always end.

Such is life, isn’t it?

Walking up to the glass and platinum plated front doors of the expensive building, Chan muses the thoughts. Despite it not being for him – simply being an accomplice, of sorts – being involved in the wedding party tends to bring about the thoughts of ones own, personal love life. Life in general. Cycles of love and loss, all encompassing. A tall, white, building in a busy and upper class side of town – not where Chan is from, but where the bride-to-be was from. Completely foreign while simultaneously being familiar in proximity. Stepping forward and reaching for the door with his dominant hand, opening it for the couple and attempting to push his long, blonde hair out of his eyes with his other hand, the woman that his best friend would marry looks towards him kindly and chuckles – a comment about knowing the struggles of women with long hair versus the wind, and Chan smiles in response to her.

He likes her. Always had. Nothing romantic, but he was proud of the choice that his best friend of many years had made in a life partner. Chan often found himself hopeful that he, too, may one day make such a choice for himself.

The three enter the building as he continues the attempt of wrangling his hair – best friend in question, Lee Minho, laughing under his breath as to not disturb the quiet ambiance of the room they had just entered.

“Are you gonna cut it before the wedding?” he asks, lightly nudging Chan in the arm, and Chan looks at him in a slight state of shock, as if the thought had never even dawned on him for a second previously.

“Should I?”

“You don’t have to.”

Looking around, briefly at their surroundings: white furnishings, carpeting, walls – gold accenting mostly, with hints of forest green among the well-kept plants and coming together along the counter outline of the desk – he feels wholly out of place. It was much too expensive for him, and if he ever were to be planning a wedding in the future, it likely would not be here.

He brings himself back to the conversation, “does she want me to?” referring to the bride in question, and Minho only shakes his head. “No, she doesn’t mind.”

“I’ll be with you in just a second!”

A woman’s voice calls from another room – back behind the desk they stand before. Beige envelopes and paperwork lightly strewn across it; it’s somewhat messy, but nothing completely unmanageable, and the phone begins to ring at that moment.

Chan hears the same voice that had just called to them curse lightly under it’s breath. He cracks a smile at the break in character, as it were.

It’s in that moment that he finally lays eyes on you – beige pant-suit and hair in a ponytail, pen in mouth as you fly around the corner and attempt to answer the phone with the item still snug between your teeth before you realize that that simply will not do, hurriedly tugging it from your lips and lightly tossing it on the desk in front of you. You look up to the party of three in front of you, waiting patiently, and smile.

“Just a second.”

“No problem, take your time,” the bride insists.

Chan can only watch on in awe, though.

It’s a relatively quick phone call, confirming an appointment for flower arrangement the following week and then it’s all eyes on the individuals in front of you. You look at the bride, the groom, and then Chan – quite obviously not the one getting married. Messy, wind-swept golden hair and beady brown eyes – but in jeans and a hoodie with a small spot on it that looks akin to a child who had accidentally spilled some sauce on himself and forgot to clean it up.

A little charming, due to the fact that he’s good looking. Turns out that can get one pretty far in and of itself.

“Right so,” you begin, taking a deep breath before continuing, “what can I do for you?”

Minho and his soon-to-be wife begin the discussions that they had gone there for, Chan listening on and truly as if he were playing the part of the son that had been dragged along for the ride due to no childcare being available. Your eyes can’t help but creep towards him every now and then – watching the way that he looks around the room, almost as if in awe of the sights – not that the interior was anything to call home about. You found it charming, his simple appreciation for…white, you supposed.

Calling for them to come into the back with you, the group sit at a table filled with thick binders with numerous labels atop them. Things like “reception,” “flowers,” “lighting,” anything that you could think of and even many that you hadn’t lined the table, and Chan considers for a second that maybe he won’t get married, after all.

He brings his attention to Minho, who happily dives into one of the binders – evidently delighted by the prospect of wedding planning. A complete disintegration from the stereotypical male response – the response that had just immediately come to Chan, himself.

He figures that maybe you have to be there, then.

“These are the more basic, common options up at the front on these pages, they’re labeled with this color,” you point out towards one of the binders displayed in front of Minho’s fiancee, “the further back, the more expensive and intricate the options become. It’s good if you have a budget in mind so that we can plan accordingly, of course.”

And of course, Chan is listening. Of course he is. But he can’t help but get lost in his own thoughts, as well as he watches you work. Taking notice of your smile and how pretty it is, the few loose strands of hair that have fallen away from the rest that lie bundled up into a tie at the back of your head. Chan watches your eyelashes when you blink and notices their length, and how pretty the color of your eyes are. Your earrings – expensive looking, hopefully not expensive in price, he thinks to himself as he loses himself in wishful imaginative thought – because if the two of you were to date, he wouldn’t be affording anything of the sort, and Chances are, that if they were expensive, then you wouldn’t be interested in dating him, anyways.

Chan had a habit of romantically getting ahead of himself, that much was evident.

“Chan?”

A sudden, vocal intrusion once again pulling him back to earth, it’s the sound of his best friends voice calling towards him. “You okay?”

“Oh,” he says, clearing his throat and sitting himself up in his chair properly. “Yeah, sorry, was spacing out. What’s up?”

“What do you think of this color? We need an outside opinion, that’s what you’re here for.”

Chan leans himself forward and out of his chair to look over the shoulders of the couple. Napkins. They forced him to stop fantasizing about dating the cute wedding planner for napkins.

Because obviously what he had been doing was of much more importance.

“Um, I like the lavender.”

“See, I think I like the pink, actually,” the fiancee replies.

“Keep in mind you don’t have to commit to anything today,” you remind them, “this visit is really only to get an idea of where we want to go, we’re not setting anything in stone.”

“Says you, I’m planning our own wedding,” Chan thinks to himself in response.

With pinks and roses decided among numerous other items, it’s a couple of hours later that the four of you bid farewell. You shake the hand of Minho, and the bride-to-be hugs you – much to your surprise, but with Chan, it’s a bit more awkward of a goodbye – due to the necessity of his being there in any capacity being up for discussion. However, you smile, thank them all for coming, and wish them well on their day.

Little do you know, however, the plans that the airhead friend have already set into motion.

According to him, of course.

The sound of the doorbell rings through the room as you look up from your paperwork in the back office. Gently pushing things aside in an attempt to find your schedule book, you gaze on in confusion to find that you have nothing on the agenda for this hour – and with the firm not taking walk-ins, you fail to guess what it could possibly be.

It does, however, make more sense upon finding out what the wind had blown in today.

“Hey!”

You’re shocked to find Chan standing at the door. Less the shock of it being him, and more the shock of him looking just as disheveled as he had the few days prior when you had met him. How could an adult man be so not put together, and especially on this side of town? It’s something you contemplate but only for a moment, as you are forced to address him now that he is presented before you.

“Uh, hey, so we don’t take walk-ins—“

“Oh no, it’s not like, a thing, I was just asked to drop by to relay some information.”

“Why you?”

“Was in the area.”

“You were in—“ and you pause, trying to think of a polite way to carry on with the thought, “—the area.”

Chan sort of realizes that the gig is up at that moment, in his shorts and his hoodie in twelve degree weather, and smiles gently. “Yeah.”

You roll your eyes, but motion for him to follow you into the back office with you nonetheless in order to take notes about whatever it is that he had gone there for – chuckling to yourself about the fact that he showed up to a very expensive office in winter, wearing shorts.

You don’t even want to do the soul searching it would take to figure out why you find that endearing, perhaps best left for therapy.

Sitting down in your chair, you pull out the file for the bride and groom in question and pick up a pen. “Has the client changed their mind about something we had discussed the other day?”

“Yeah,” Chan begins, but it’s slow, as he looks around and takes in the sights of the somewhat chaotic back office space that you call your own. You gently, playfully, call out a “hey” towards him to bring him back to the topic at hand. “Oh uhh, yeah, so instead of the pink, they decided on the lavender after all.”

“Interesting, your choice,” you respond.

“You remembered?”

Realizing what you had done, that you had, in fact, remembered what his input had been, you feel a bit of the heat of embarrassment rush into your ears – but attempt to play it cool.

“Of course, you were a part of the planning.”

He doesn’t respond, and only smiles down at you, shoulder holding him upright against the wooden frame of the doorway.

“And they decided on lilies instead of roses, also.”

“Good choice,” you answer, scribbling onto the paper in front of you and quickly penning something over the mark to replace it. “I preferred the lilies, myself.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Chan answers, and it’s so smooth it sounds as if he never said anything unusual at all.

You know he’s flirting with you, you simply choose to ignore it.

“Is there anything else?”

“No, just those two things.”

You stop, furrowing your brows in confusion and taking a moment to truly consider the oddity of the scenario before you. “Why…didn’t they just call me, why did they send you in person? These sorts of matters can be dealt with over the phone.”

But Chan merely shrugs and continues smiling at you. “Dunno, didn’t ask.”

You don’t take yourself for much of a detective, but figure it’s pretty simple to see what’s going on here. It’s cute, but you’re not interested.

You stand, motioning out towards the main lobby of the building and walk ahead of the man.

Chan takes it upon himself to view all of the ways in which you exist before him. Your hair, your eyes, your clothes.

Perhaps a moment where most men would objectify you, Chan is merely finding all of the intricate details, all of the little things – tiny ways in which he can talk himself into falling in love with you.

And you’re just trying to get the work day over with.

“I think if it were my wedding,” Chan begins, elbows on the desk and chin placed into his palms as you sit at your swivel chair and gently look up towards him as if he’s somewhat of an inconvenience to you. “I think, forest green and gold, a bit like this,” he says, pointing towards the detailing of the marble just under him. “What about you?”

“You think about wedding planning?” you can’t help but ask, unusual for a presumably straight man. You consider for a moment that you had been picking up all of the wrong vibes from him. Maybe he wasn’t into you, after all.

“Yeah, well,” and he pauses, thinking again, “well, truthfully, I hadn’t until the first day we all came here. I have been since then.”

“That’s cute.”

“So what about you?”

“I have work to do, if we’re done here,” you respond, ignoring his question entirely and instead meeting him with a tonally cheeky reply, avoiding eye contact as to not laugh.

“Answer me and I’ll leave then!” Chan whines in response, and you really wish you didn’t find this sort of behavior endearing in any way.

But you sigh in defeat, putting the pen that you had just picked up back down in a huff and looking up at him in gentle irritation, “fine.”

“Burgundy,” you start, pushing papers around to find a tablet of color swatches beneath them, and you point to a color on it with a freshly manicured nail. “Similar to this, more blue-toned. and then—“ you pause, pushing the present swatches aside in favor of different ones that you had located in the meantime. “Gold accenting, like this. And yellow roses.”

“Why yellow?”

“I just like them.”

Chan knows that he responds to you, although if you asked him just after he had left what he had said, he wouldn’t have been able to tell you. Instead, the man loses himself immediately in thoughts of a quickly developing crush. He watches your fingers dig through papers and point to colors – watches the way that your lips move with the words that you speak and the way the corners of them pull up when you talk about the things that you like in particular. It’s all in the way that you so matter of a factly say that you “just like” yellow roses – no other thoughts, no other reasoning. Just because.

Chan wonders if this is love – an absolutely, mind-numbingly, all-encompassing smittenness for another person that you barely know anything about. Juvenile and reckless and for all of the wrong reasons. Love at first sight. The honeymoon period that hasn’t even begun yet, and Chan was full-swing all the same.

And you wish it had been different for yourself – a child-like innocence to him that you found so charming and disarming in so many ways. a cute crush that surely would never develop past the phase in which it had already reached – you found yourself daydreaming about cute dates and picking out colors with him regardless, before shaking yourself out of it and returning back to your work.

bad idea, dating the clientele – even if only tangentially related as such.

“Hey.”

The smile on his face carries through the simple, verbal notion and you manage to pick up on it, even with all of the hustle and bustle going on around you.

That doesn’t stop him from having scared the shit out of you, though.

You watch Chan grin in response to your sudden yell and turn, “Jesus Christ,” escaping through your lips in exasperation and he still only carries a hopeful, happy curl of his lips.

“Bad time?”

The irony of the question being, of course, that he is asking it all the while you pick up the numerous sheets of paper, spools of lace, and other such items from the floor – items that had been suddenly relinquished from your grasp at the ill-timed intrusion of a man, a man not even getting married.

“Yes, you could say that—“ you respond, an attempt not to sound rude but perhaps failing ever so slightly. He was being irritating, after all. “—if we’re going to talk, then we’ve got to talk and walk,” you say, finally pulling everything into your bag and swinging it over your shoulder just before hurriedly rushing out from behind the desk and past the man before you – nearly dumbfounded in appearance at the way you move about in the middle of the day – even if for work. “I’ve got places to be, so make it quick.”

Rushing down the sidewalk, heeled shoes clattering against it, Chan watches in amazement at his inability to keep up. He wonders how you muster up the strength and ability to do this day in and day out – and with a smile on your face, at that.

“You need to take this,” you finally say to him, stopping only briefly enough to push some of the things in your hands, into his own. “Make yourself useful.”

“Happy to,“ he begins to respond, but only to watch as your back turns towards him again – ponytail in full swing, rushing back towards where ever it had been that you had been roped into stumbling towards.

Chan stops to smell the flowers – literally. As a few of varying different types had been thrown into his arms – but it’s quickly off to the races again, as to not disappoint.

And he can’t help but watch in complete, smitten, awe of you as you dart in and out of shops and doorways as you go. He never goes in with you – waiting patiently out front of where ever it is that you end up in the next moment, but he finds that he is never waiting long – that you work quickly. And he knows that he doesn’t know the workings of your job, your career, really at all, so maybe this is normal, but he smiles to himself at the way that the details of the situation don’t even really matter to him. Chan makes sure to watch you in a sort of make-shift slow motion that he crafts himself from scratch in the moment – capturing you and your essence and all of the things that he finds himself oh so quickly becoming enamored with, even just the way the wind some times catches your coat, it feels like a movie to him…the way his heart seemingly gets swept away in the same gust.

You step out of a building, as Chan is mid-thought, watching your every movement as he does. You don’t even notice it. Notice him. Not really.

He knows that.

Smiling, you bid the client farewell and give a sigh of relief towards the man that had aided you in your short, but fast-paced journey. “Thank you, sorry to make you—“

“Go out with me.”

The question arrives as a shocking on, albeit looking back on the situation, perhaps it should not have. You actually do give it some thought, as well – which in and of itself comes as a bit of a surprise to you, as well.

And you’re almost disappointed when you have to turn him down.

“Tonight, let’s get a drink.”

“Chan, that’s nice of you but—“ pausing briefly, you consider how to word the dismissal delicately…and sort of in a way to not shut down the possibility of going out in the future. “I have too much work to do tonight, and tomorrow. I’m sorry.”

You don’t want to talk to him like a child. Like someone to pity, but the refusal always finds a way to come out that way anyways. You watch Chan smile at you all the same, nodding to himself and simply saying “okay” as a response.

“You have a good night then, alright?” he adds, turning to head towards where home would be, and you’re not sure which part it is that’s yelling – the head or the heart – but one of them certainly is not being quiet about it’s desire to change it’s mind about the drink matter.

But you stand strong. There’s always more men.

“I will, you do the same.”

“I will.”

Chan loves watching you work. Hell, suffice it to say Chan fell in love watching you work. And perhaps it’s too much, too quick — something he tells himself from the logical part of his brain. You don’t even know her, dude. Which is true and he knows it, but the truth is that Chan has sort of taken it upon himself to fill in all of the blanks in the most shining, beautiful ways that he can. A man that lives on the precipice of a romantic comedy at all times — he’s always only been waiting for this moment. for someone like you. Someone to come in and sweep him off of his feet, as it were.

Just a hopeless romantic, that Bang Chan.

“Now’s not really the best time—“ you manage out towards him, mouth full of safety pins and fingers attempting to fumble through loads of white, shimmering fabric.

Dress fittings, the best part of the whole getting married gig, to some.

He doesn’t reply, carefully discarding himself from the doorway as to not be an obstruction physically in the same way that his presence is in every other way. He does smile, though. Halfway. A sly curly of the lip that you catch before pressing more pins into the bodice of your client.

Chan watches the whirlwind before him — feeling like the exaggerated display of floral lace and shiny shoes being tossed up and around like in the cartoons one sees when growing up weren’t actually that far from the truth — he smiles all the same, because he’s charmed by it all.

He especially takes note of your tied back hair and the way your jacket had been discarded probably long before he had arrived. How it appeared as though your day had already been a long one, despite it only being the early afternoon.

It’s the first time that Chan thinks to himself that you might really be the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

But his attention is pulled back to reality, a woman gently leaning towards him and softly addressing him — as if she had known that his thoughts weren’t there with them at the time.

“Are you with the bride?”

Taken by surprise, Chan shakes his head — hands up in submission. “Oh, I’m with her!” he says, and points towards you as you continue diligently working on the fitting before you.

“Oh my God,” the client suddenly exclaims, turning towards him so suddenly that it sends you reeling. “You’re getting married, too!?”

Fuck sake.

“Wow, what a coincidence, huh?” the staff smiles towards Chan, before heading towards the small cooler behind the counter and pulling out a bottle of champagne. “We certainly have to celebrate this!”

It’s a roller coaster, for sure — and as hilariously charming the confusion is, Chan’s eyes can’t help but stay glued to your figure. Scanning your reaction. A chance you don’t hate this? A chance you might be willing to play along? Play pretend? Just for him, just for today?

The staff member comes back over to Chan without any time wasted, handing him a glass of bubbly gold liquid before sauntering over to you and handing you the same. Drinking is pretty strictly against the rules while on the job — except in situations where not drinking could cost you the job, of course. It’s up to your own discretion, case by case basis.

Suppose we’re pretending we’re getting married today. Just another check mark off of the list of completely insane things that the job every so often required of you.

Chan finally makes his way to the back and towards you, gently smiling — it says sorry that this happened, but it’s kind of fun, right? And you wish that you could deny him the pleasure of being right.

“So, have you started dress shopping yet?” the bride asks, eyes sparkling and excitement lacing her voice. You found it so lovable — the absolute delight that she seemed to receive from just the mere prospect that someone else might be just as happy as she was — who were you to ruin her day, then?

“N-no, not yet,” you stutter out, bashfully smiling towards Chan and then quickly away from him, because what the fuck? “I’m quite picky.”

You can see Chan trying to reign in the curl of the corners of his mouth at the response. He’s enjoying it way too much for your liking, possibly more than the client before you.

“You should try something on with me! Oh my God, please!” she gasps, grabbing at your free hand and shaking it gently. “Please! It would be so fun!”

“Oh, I—“ suddenly looking up towards Chan — full on smiling, now — and back at the client, you feel a bit outnumbered. “I shouldn’t, I’m working…”

“Yeah, for me!” she answers, hands on her hips in a playfully authoritative way, “so I think if I want you to try on a dress with me, that you should probably do it!”

It’s a mischievous threat, not backed by any actual ill-will, but you do have to consider any possible implications behind it — she is a big client, an expensive client.

You should probably just do what you’re told, right?

Running your hands down the front of the beaded bodice, it’s sort of an impulse to avoid your own reflection in the numerous, angled mirrors before you. Set up to show you every inch of yourself — you find irony in the fact that you wish to see none of it, because it feels wrong. It’s out of place, and not how you had dreamed your first dress try on to be — to appease a rich, pushy client and for a man that for all intents and purposes, you don’t even know. Playing dress up and pretend at your big age, it wasn’t the ideal outcome.

You hear the woman call out for you — indiscernible words that you know the meaning of all of the same. Hurry up, come out, become a spectacle. But you had already agreed, and the faster you begin, the faster it will end. You look up, finally making eye contact with yourself in the reflection, and your heart drops — but not for any of the aforementioned reasons you had expected. In a flash, all of your previous concerns simply melt away, just like that.

You looked beautiful. Ethereal.

And in the moment, you became painfully aware of all of the years that you had spent attending to the romantic wants and needs of everyone but yourself. Seeing yourself in the dress became an acutely stark reminder that maybe — just maybe — it was time to allow yourself to focus on you.

And despite barely knowing the man before you, watching the way his eyes lit up at the sight of you as you gently strolled into the room — as if he had never seen a sight more beautiful in his life — you think to yourself that if this guy can look at you this way, then imagine the way that someone who loved you would look at you.

Irony.

A few hours later into the evening, the sun setting and air cooling, the four of you say your goodbyes as the staff locks up the shop and the client joyfully heads off and on her way. When only the two of you are left — you and Chan — you let go a heavy sigh of relief, one that feels as though it had made a happy home in your chest, never to be evicted or removed in any way.

“What a horrifically stressful day,” you start, as to set the tone of the conversation and not let the man before you get any ideas that you may have actually enjoyed any part of the goings on of the day. “But she was happy, that’s all that matters.”

“Is that so?” Chan replies, a hint of doubt in his tone. “You really hated it that much? You looked pretty.”

The compliment sends heat rushing to your face. Since when was that a side effect of engaging with this gentleman?

“I guess it’s good that you played along,” you say, pulling your messy ponytail out and beginning to put it back up into a more well-maintained one. “It’ll be a really positive memory for her, and that’s my job, after all.”

Chan simply watches you, taking in every moment as if it’ll be the last because really, who knows.

“Anyways, since she was so happy, if you don’t have anything going on tonight—“

“Yes.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!” you respond in a playful-yell, slapping at his arm, but Chan only laughs.

“I do know what you were going to say! You were going to ask me out! I said yes!”

“I wasn’t going to ask you out!” you quip, slightly embarrassed by how transparent you had seemingly been. “I was going to agree to going out with you, since you had asked me before, they’re different things, actually.”

“Ah, I see,” Chan replies, only playing along with your asinine explanation but not willing to push it any further because in the end — he was getting precisely what it was that he had wanted all along. “Well in that case, I know just the place.”

Only a few blocks down the street and a quick right, Chan stops and holds his hand out as if you usher you ahead of him. Gray, stone steps trailing down into what appears to be a basement, hole in the wall type establishment — you’re almost a little concerned. This is an upper class area of the city, and this is where he takes you? And it’s as if the man just behind you is capable of reading your mind, chiming out “just trust me, you’ll like it.”

You open the door, holding it for him to follow, and the dimly lit atmosphere almost sweeps you just off your feet. A beautiful, antique adorned establishment, decorated as if to appeal to numerous generations before; but in the most swanky, high class, way. The type of surroundings that just about anyone from any walk of life could find charm in.

So shocked, you forget that you had stopped to take in the sights.

“Come on, let’s not linger in the doorway,” Chan says as he passes, cheeky-toned and knowing that he had caught you.

Shrugging your coat off, you hang it on the rack and take a seat next to him at the bar. Drinks are ordered and quickly served due to it not being a busy night, and Chan wastes no time getting into the nitty-gritty of what it was he was interested in: you. Everything about you. Where you’re from, where you live now, where you went to school and what you studied and your hobbies — it’s all things that he, of course, has a genuine interest in — but that doesn’t change the fact that they are but stepping stones to the meat and potatoes of what it was that he really wanted to know.

Your relationship status. Are you single. Are you looking. Are you open to the possibility of falling in love, and not just with anyone, but with him, specifically.

Although, perhaps he would not be one to lean so hard into the tail end of the obvious.

“Truth is,” you begin, shimmering glass of red wine pressed delicately to your already stained-red lips. “I’ve been single for a while. Sort of on purpose, I suppose. I wanted to focus on work and really get my career going for a while before I put time and effort into adding another person into my life.”

“Is that serving you?” Chan questions, his own glass mirroring yours against his mouth.

You pause for a moment to consider the answer — remembering how you felt in that fleeting moment back at the dress shop, seeing yourself in that dress. Was it serving you?

“Yeah, I think so,” you finally answer in an accompanying nod, “I think it’s important to be able to be happy by oneself before attempting cohabitation of some sort.”

And Chan chuckles in response, much to your surprise. “'Cohabitation’ makes it sound so clinical, like the concept of dating someone is a science experiment.”

“Isn’t it sort of?”

“Yeah, suppose it is, in ways.”

“What about you?”

And now he pauses, thinking himself through the slew of potential replies that bounce through his mind in an instant — some more insane than others, admittedly.

“Happily single, but always open to the possibility.”

“I think that’s a good way to look at it.”

Chan takes a slow sip from his glass and eyes you intently, as if trying to gauge your interest in his answers based purely off of a single, minute, change in facial expression. Hell, he wanted it so bad he was willing to make it up himself.

It’s the gentle curly of your lip at his reply that catches him off guard — burned into his memory forever and always — or at least until a moment were to come that the two of you would have made enough memories together that such an insignificant one need not be held onto for so long anymore.

Drink glasses emptied and coats slung back over shoulders, the two of you head back out and onto the chilled sidewalk to head your own separate ways. You can’t help but take notice of the way Chan looks at you — eyes shining in the florescence of the street lamp just behind you — the first time that you acknowledge to yourself that you think he is handsome, as well as the first time you acknowledge that feeling in your chest that you get when he happens to come around.

It’s a bad time.

“Look, I had a nice time but—“

Chan rolls his eyes in response already, and you haven’t even finished the sentence.

“What? You’re a client…kind of.”

“I’m not, and on top of that, I can assure you that they would not care at all! They’d probably think it was cute, actually. I’m sure Minho would already have so many stories to tell at our wedding from the first consultation.”

“Well that’s not reassuring,” you snort, “telling me I was already so memorably unprofessional from the beginning, huh?”

“Only in my eyes, don’t worry, they loved you.”

“Chan!”

“Come on, I’m kidding,” he replies again, “it’s not a big deal, they wouldn’t think anything of it. You’re making it into a bigger deal than it would be in your head.”

You know that that is likely the case. You also know that it’s just so easy to say one thing — like that one is ever so willing to look for love — and then construct the simplest walls given to you to avoid it at all costs.

The two of you still in silence for a moment, as if in a stand-off of sorts, but you more than capable of breaking the silence and constructing just one more wall — for good measure, of course.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” you say, with finality. “Thank you for tonight, I had a nice time.”

Chan thinks to himself as he watches you walk away, that if it were any other woman, in any other circumstance, he would have already live and let live. That even in watching the way you turn him down and walk away, that you’re still simply the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. Musing about every word that you said and the way in which you said it — how your glass of red wine stained your lips just the perfect amount that it made it nearly unbearable to not kiss them, how pretty your hands looked around the wine glass and how cute your smile was every time he said something that — purposefully, of course — you found mildly irritating.

Making his way to his empty apartment again, and standing just outside, Chan knows that there is progress made.

But what are you running from?

When you hear the jingling of the front door, and look down to your planner to find nothing having been scheduled for that time, you know that trouble is awaiting you in the lobby — trouble in the form of a kinda beefy, 171cm handsome gentleman by the name of Bang Chan.

Eh, suppose things could always be worse.

Lazily buttoning the deep maroon button of your vest as to look presentable, you look up and lock eyes with him as you come around the bend and into the front of the establishment. Chan — in all of his glory — a fitting pair of jeans for once and a shirt to match, you’re a little surprised. Had he made the effort all for you? Charming, if not for the fact that you told him you weren’t going to date him only a week prior to now.

Some men have a problem taking ‘no’ for an answer, unfortunately, sometimes it’s kind of charming when that’s the case, as well.

“Honey, I’m home!” Chan chimes, and you roll your eyes as you make your way to the front desk and seat yourself down.

“Yes Chan? Can I help you?”

“Always.”

“With something involving my job in some capacity.”

“Oh, right, that!” he answers. You know that he knows what you mean, he’s always just doing his utmost to be as much of a problem as possible. You’re not happy about how charming you find that, either.

“So, rehearsal dinner is in two weeks, on Thursday.”

“I know that, it’s my job to know that, I already talked to the bride two days ago.”

“Well I’m not here to tell you about it, I’m here to ask you to be my date to it.”

The brazen admission takes you off guard. It wasn’t really the first time Chan had ever asked you out, but this felt…different. Perhaps because of the night at the bar not too long prior.

You weren’t particularly fond of the way it made your stomach flip, either.

“I’ll be there, but for work, not for fun.”

“For pleasure, I think is how they call it,” he corrects, and you’re not proud of what the implications of that do to your mind.

You clear your throat, Chan watching all the while with a grin, and avoiding eye contact altogether, you stand again — pulling some items from the counter top into your arms and heading into the back from where you came.

“Right, well,” you say, attempting to play off how flustered you’ve now become in his incredibly flirtatious presence. “I have work to get back to, so, I will see you at the rehearsal — because it is my job and I suppose that you will also be there.”

With a smile on his face and eyes never leaving your form, before you’re able to scurry off to freedom, one last thing leaves his lips — because of course it does.

“Do a little something nice with your hair, it’s an occasion, isn’t it?”

You had never felt the need to keep a pillow to scream into in the back end of your office prior, but perhaps now were as good a time as any to invest.

On rehearsal night, catching your reflection in one of the mirrors of the wedding venue, you sort of wish that you had been a stronger person. You wonder how it was, exactly, that this man that you truly, barely knew, had managed to wear down your resolve in such a way that you were playing dress up for him. No, your attire not different than a typical work day — you were still on the clock, after all.

But your hair. And you can’t stand the way Chan looks to the floor with a smile when he first catches glance of you. Well, can’t stand it, and also sort of adore it.

“So, the brides mother, father, and sister we’re thinking of having here — but if there’s something that I’m missing, let me know so I can arrange it in a way that—“

“Hey there.”

Frozen in place, you don’t have to turn to check who it is anymore, and meeting eyes with the catering planner you had been speaking to, you smile gently before motioning that you need a moment, and turning towards Chan. “I’m working, can you give me a moment?”

“We need you to sit in for rehearsal, we’re missing someone.”

“Absolutely not, are you crazy?”

“Come on, you only have to pretend you have a crush on me, you don’t really have to have one.”

Turning back to the caterer in an instant, you insist that you’ll email the finalized plans over to him right away in the morning before finishing your conversation with Chan.

“If you keep interrupting me at work, I might not have a crush on you, real or make believe.”

“I think it’ll take more than that,” he replies with a cheeky grin, and nodding his head over towards the table, “now get over here and pretend you’re in love with me.”

It’s sort of sick, how easy it is for him to talk you into it. All of it. Any of it.

When the seating plan goes smoothly, and all of the wedding participants stand to take in slow views of the rest of the venue ahead of the big day, as you finish off some notes, Chan saunters over towards you with two glasses of wine in hand. “Come out with me?”

Stepping out and onto the large, white stoned balcony, you sigh in relief at how smooth the night had gone. You explain to Chan that — even in spite of having done the job for years, there’s always parts of every new client experience that feel brand new, that you feel as though you’ve never done before. Chan gazes on intently as he watches you speak with vigor, with self-respect, and with love and adoration for yourself. He thinks, in that moment, it might truly be the sexiest thing about you — at least, thus far.

When the gentle wind blows your lightly curled hair to one side and sends a shiver down your spine, Chan reaches out and pulls you towards him — into his warm embrace.

“It’s still chilly this time of year, yeah?” he says, and it’s almost a whisper. Perhaps the quietest you think you’ve ever heard him.

You opt out of responding verbally, and silently enjoy the warmth the man brings to you.

“Hey,” he says again, suddenly, and pulling you from him ever so slightly. Again, you choose not to reply, assuming that there were to be more words following up such a statement.

But you were soon to find that to not be the case — as Chan leans down and into you, plush lips gently pressing into your own.

The warmest you had felt all evening, you think to yourself — and perhaps interested in more where that came from, after all.

A short drive in Chan’s car lands the both of you in front of your apartment building — a gentleman, having offered his services of bringing you home in one piece — albeit, the thoughts of being torn apart by him figuratively becoming more and more of interest to you as the moments near him pass. Surely, one glass of wine wasn’t enough to throw all caution to the wind.

Unless…?

“Can I walk you up?”

Grabbing your belongings from the floor of the front seat, you chuckle. “Not much to walk, my building has an elevator.”

“Wow, fancy,” he replies smugly. “Didn’t know you had elevator-money in this sort of economy.”

“Go to Hell, yes you can walk me up, sheesh.”

His playfulness was what really had you, and you hated to see it. Broken down by the childlike innocence and joy of someone who was becoming more intriguing, more desirable, and more sexually attractive by the second. Truly, what had happened to your resolve?

Manicured finger pressed into the up arrow button, the elevator is silenced completely — no indication of it ever having registered the button being pressed at all. You press it again, and still nothing.

You sigh.

“Broken?” he says.

“Probably just asleep,” you quip back, “yes it’s broken. Have to take the stairs I suppose — you don’t have to come, I live on the fourth floor, I’m sure I can make it.”

“Better safe than sorry, really.”

Rolling your eyes, the both of you head towards the stairwell — all the while you hoping the slamming beating of your heart against your chest won’t reverberate through the echoing halls of the winding concrete cave that you are about to enter.

Floors two and three go without a hitch — well, mostly. It’s between three and four, that you realize there was never any Chance of you getting out of this stairwell unscathed. Or un-somethinged, at least.

He had plans all along.

“Hey,” Chan quietly calls towards you from behind, a hand reaching out and snatching your wrist from behind. It’s gentle, but enough to have you stumbling ever so slightly. He catches you — turning and pressing your back against the cold, white, wall — and them himself even harder against you.

Hot breath ghosting against the skin of your face, Chan’s lips fail to make contact with your own — instead opting to press into your jaw, and then your neck — and not without the direct contact of his hard thigh wedged into the apex of your own.

You’re a little ashamed of how little it took for him to pull from you a verbal response. It wasn’t much, but a breathy whine all the same — and you can feel the curling of his lips against you in affirmation that he had, in fact, heard it.

“I want you,” he whispers into your flesh, and the admission makes you dizzy with desire, pressing yourself down and against his leg for friction even more — as if to say that you felt the same way.

“Do you want me?” he follows up, mildly irritated at the fact that he’s asking, given the physical cues, but you still manage the breathy “yes” that he had been waiting oh so long for.

Chan thinks that it sounds so much better than he had ever even imagined it would. Unfortunate that this was not to be the time nor the place.

Pulling away, the loss of body against your own leaves you confused and frazzled — chest heaving and eyebrows furrowed, but you choose not to speak, because surely he would.

Because what the fuck?

And right on cue, “not now, I mean—“ he pauses, looking down at the tenting in his own pants and adjusting as for it to be not as obvious in the case of running into other people. “Not here, or now.”

“My apartment is right there—“

“I know,” he nods, “trust me, I want to — obviously — but I like you, so—“

“You can’t have sex with someone you like? Are you one of those Madonna-whore type guys? I knew there had to be something wrong with you.” You spiral off, adjusting your pants and trying to gather yourself properly. Chan merely laughs in response for a moment.

“No, it’s nothing like that, I’m perfectly capable of fucking you,” he answers clearly, and with decisiveness. “And I will, presumably. But let’s get to know each other a bit more first, yeah?”

“Oh my God,” you exclaim, a little annoyed at the games that Chan seemingly loves to play with you, and yet, willing to continue playing them on his terms all the same. “Fine, I guess I’ll get to know you or whatever.” Playful sarcasm dripping from the tail end of your response.

He laughs, gentle smile taking his features — and in his mind, all of the ways he plans to have you when the time is right.

When Chan shows up to your place of employment only three days later, it’s bad timing. The truth of the matter, is that it’s always bad timing, that’s the nature of a fast paced job such as your own, though. Shoving items into a bag and slinging it over your shoulder — followed by desperately trying to free your ponytail from the confines of the sling as you run towards the door, you only manage out with a “let’s go, move, move!” as you rush past the man in the doorway.

By now, Chan knows better than to ask very many questions. He’s quick on the uptake. He knows what he may sign up for upon arrival. Today? A handful of miscellaneous binders — sticky notes and fabrics sticking out of the tops, bottoms and sides of them.

“Already comfortable with bossing me around, huh?” he says, a brisk stride catching him up to you on the sidewalk as the both of you hustle down the concrete path.

“You know how it is,” you say, “if you’re gonna be here then I’m gonna put you to work.”

“I kind of like it,” flirtation lacing his voice. “Being told what to do by a beautiful woman definitely isn’t the worst way to spend the day.”

“That’s what you like? I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Maybe, can’t give everything away on the first date, I’m not easy.”

“So I noticed.”

You take notice of how easy it is now to engage in these types of conversations with him. Cute, curly blonde hair flowing in the breeze as you both run-walk towards the destination a couple of blocks away — you’d be lying if you said that it wasn’t a charm point — his absolute willingness to go above and beyond already. Carry things. Help you at work. Hell, he had sort of already showed up for you better than a lot of the guys you had dated in the past.

And now the flirting — playfully toying with each other in tone and topic that borders, if not fully crosses, the line of appropriateness — especially with you being on the clock.

Not that anyone is with the two of you to monitor the conversation. Or know that he took you home the other night. Or any of the other misdoings of that particular evening.

“Place is up here, did you come by for a reason or do you have a sixth sense for when I need help carrying things?” you ask, finally slowing down when the time on your phone insists that you have perhaps a minute or two to spare extra.

“Yeah, actually—“ he starts, slowing down next to you and stopping to face. “I wanted to ask you to be my date to the wedding.”

And you’re floored. That’s your immediate, gut, response anyways, but the more you grant a second to it, the more unsurprising you become.

He either genuinely does not understand how your job works and what proper boundaries are, or he just truly does not care. You’re fairly certain you know which it is.

“Chan, I’m working the event—“

“No, I know!” he interrupts suddenly, and for the first time it appears as though he had actually put some thought into it, and the inappropriateness of such a situation. “It can be our little secret. Just between us two.”

Looking down at your phone to check the time, and following it with an exhausted sigh, you roll your eyes. “Then what’s even the point?”

One corner of Chan’s mouth pulls up, and now you know he put thought into this. Which may or may not be advised, after all.

“The real fun would be after the event, obviously.”

Visually, you give off no tells, that of which you’re sure, but inside? Screaming, at the top of your lungs.

You’re not entirely sure if he means sex, or a date, or sex and a date or what he means at all. A man with something sly constantly up his sleeve, you simply had to assume: all of the above.

And so, you agree.

Weeks pass, and you’re surprised by the fact that when the night of the wedding comes around, Chan is actually no where to be found all of the time prior. The man that could not resist the urge to bother you at work, suddenly ghosting you? Were you being ghosted? Did he lose interest? Perhaps the allure of sleeping with the cute wedding planner had worn off all just before the big night itself. Tragic, you think to yourself, you didn’t even get to sleep with him, after all.

But when he meets you for the first time at the reception near the open bar — a smooth hand brushing the small of your back — so brief that no one nearby would ever catch it, the glimmer in his eye is enough to let you know that the plan is, in fact, still on.

And through the sound of a private bathroom door slamming against the wall, and your back up against it — met once again with the enticingly crushing weight of him against you as his mouth meets your own in fervent, needy kisses — you forget why you thought it was ever off anyways.

“W-we have to go back out there, Chan—“ you manage out between mouths and gasps of breath, fingers curled into the white coat of his blazer. “You wore white? That’s so tacky.”

“Not my choice, bride wanted it,” he answers back in similar neediness and much more expressed disinterest in the topic. “I want you.”

“Last time you said that—“ and Chan kisses you on the mouth hard again. “—last time you said that you didn’t do anything about it.”

“And I can’t again, not yet anyways.”

“Not into exhibitionism?”

“I don’t perform well under pressure.”

You laugh as he pulls away from you, allowing you to straighten yourself up to go back out into the public eye. “You’d be terrible at my job.”

“I know, just the most soft-dicked wedding planner ever, it’d be humiliating,” Chan chuckles, leaning back to check himself in the mirror as well before reaching forward and placing his hand on the door knob. “Good?”

“Good.”

As the reception carries on, you stand back to watch from a distance — available when necessary but for the most part, out of the way. For all intents and purposes, the large portion of your job was finished. The clients were happy, and the night a beautiful one — dimly lit fairy lights and silver plating along white, linen tables. You watch as Minho and his bride share a dance together, smiling into one another's eyes. Truly and madly in love.

A moment later, you catch Chan’s from across the room — a look held in time longer than it would typically be held. You feel it in your chest more than anything, and more than that, you’re hopeful that he might be catching the same.

When the night festivities finally come to a close — shaking more hands than you remember ever having mingled with in all of your time working with the client, Chan finally makes his way over towards you as the crowd dissipates — two glasses of wine just as he had offered on the rehearsal night, and you grin at him knowingly.

“Remember what happened the last time I had a glass of wine on the terrace with you?”

“Nothing much, as far as my recollection goes.”

Following him out and looking out towards the view, a breeze passes by the both of you — warmer than the last time, inviting, almost. Your gaze pulls from the trees and the buildings before you and towards the man next to you — handsome and charming and seemingly full of love and passion.

Had he…all of the things that you were looking for in a man?

Feeling your piercing gaze, he turns towards you — ashamed at your gawking, you chuckle lightly and bring your wine glass to your lips, but Chan only smiles in adoration of you.

Inhaling, Chan begins to speak.

“I’m not going to sleep with you—“

It’s sudden, and sends Chan visibly reeling — so much so that you feel the need to amend the statement in earnest.

“What I mean is like, like a one night stand…hook-up sort of thing.“

Eyebrows gently furrowing, Chan remains silent as he watches you talk through your thoughts in real time, not wanting to interrupt where ever it was that you were intending on going with this.

“I— I have feelings, so,” you stutter out, avoiding direct eye contact and instead, choosing to speak to the golden liquid in your glass. “So I don’t think it’s a good idea, is all. Sorry.”

Silence takes the balcony briefly. Seconds that feel like years to you, but in real time, Chan responds quite immediately. To that, you are thankful.

“What? Of course I’m interested in you. I’ve always been interested in you,” he says, “I don’t carry around binders full of color swatches just for any ol’ woman I want to sleep with, are you kidding me?”

“Chan shut up! I’m being serious!”

“I know, I know—“ he giggles, avoiding your playful slap to his arm. “I am, too. I’m serious.”

And taking a step forward, Chan leans down into you once again. It’s not the first kiss that the two of you have shared, and hell, not even of the night.

But it was different. It was new in all of the ways that love is and can be. The blossoming feeling of being seen and held by the one person that you wish to perceive you.

Walking back inside as the catering staff begin cleaning up the remains of the evening, Chan turns to you and takes a deep breath, as if somewhat insecure about where to go now.

“So,” he begins, the word exhaled through his mouth as if attempting to mask it to be as unheard as possible. “Want to come back to my place, then?”

You look at him with feigned surprise before replying, “aww, look at you. You look so shy now. What happened to tough guy in the bathroom a few hours back?”

“Tough guy has to perform now, if you say yes. Remember what I said about pressure?” Chan laughs in response.

You lean in to whisper, as to not allow any passerby into your banter. “Are you warning me of something?”

“Doubtful, but imagine how good it’s going to be if you go in with low expectations.”

“You’re so annoying.”

Turning off his car, you take a deep breath before grabbing your bags and moving towards crawling out of the passenger side of the vehicle.

“Nervous?” he asks. It’s obvious, after all.

“A little, I guess? Kind of silly since I’m a grown woman.”

“Not really, pretty normal,” he says, opening the car door and ushering himself out as well. “On the bright side, you don’t have to climb any flights of stairs, my building elevator works.”

“Elevator? After everything you said about mine! Jerk.”

Finally stepping foot into the mans apartment, you realize in the moment that you had never given even an inkling of a thought to what it would look like prior.

Nice furnishings, a clean kitchen area, and a bed that’s made — despite a relatively small apartment, it was well kept, and if you didn’t know any better you would think that he weren’t a single man at all.

“Want anything to drink?” he asks from behind you, rustling around with keys and coats by the door. You hum in response that you don’t need anything.

The next thing you know, you’re being hauled off towards the bedroom, in a set of arms much more muscular than you ever remember them being.

Dropping you back first onto the mattress, Chan wastes no timing climbing up the length of your body and nestling himself between your legs — mouths making contact yet again, and more needy than ever before — Chan only stops long enough to pull his own shirt off and over his head, thrown across his bedroom before settling back down and against you.

It lasts only momentarily, however — the heat of the moment quickly over taking him as he becomes acutely aware of how much clothing you are wearing and how much he desperately does not want that to be the case. Ushering himself up and onto his knees, he begins fingering at the buttons of your blouse, and smiles as your own hands reach down towards the buttons of your slacks.

“Can I take this off?” Chan asks hurriedly, already gently pulling you up and off of the mattress as if he anticipates the affirmative response. He receives it, of course, and slings the fabric along with the previously discarded of his own.

“In a rush?” you giggle, lying back down and watching his hands work in a rush against all of the confines keeping the distance between his skin and your own intact.

“A little bit, should I slow down?”

“No, it’s okay, we have more time for slowing down in the future.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Chan responds, motioning himself in reverse to create space to pull your pants from your legs. “That reminds me though, be my girlfriend?”

“You’re asking me now?” you laugh, the only clothing remaining on your body a pair of panties.

“Should I wait until i’m in?”

“You should shut up.”

“I’ll take that as a 'yes’ then.”

Chan makes fast work of his own jeans, kicking them along with his boxer briefs off before climbing back onto the bed, and you realize that you’re staring.

And unfortunately, that he notices, too. A cheeky grin, followed by a bright redness to his ears. It’s not often that you see him shy, but you can’t help but enjoy the sight.

Well, both sights.

Reaching down and hooking fingers into the remaining fabric, he pulls them from you and wastes no time pressing two fingers against — and then into you. A dull stretch, relieving in a sense — the feeling that this is finally going to happen, and apparently you had desired it much more than you had thought going in.

Chan leans down, pressing his mouth against yours only to trail his lips down your jaw, up and over towards your ear. Gently pressing his hand into you, you exhale a whiny — and you can hear the way it makes his own breath hitch.

“I want you,” he whispers into you, and if not for the fact that you knew it would finally happen, you might be annoyed by the admission.

“Please,” is all you can groan out, but thankfully, it’s all that he needs.

Pulling back and off of you again, Chan leans over to his dresser, opening the small wooden drawer and fishing out a plastic packet before ripping it open with his teeth and gently motioning it along himself.

As Chan leans back down into you, you feel the beginning of his gentle intrusion — guided by his hand in the beginning, then by the sharp inhale of your breath at the stretch. Forearms flat against the mattress on either side of your head, biting into your lip and eyes screwed shut — Chan groans under his breath as he presses himself all of the way into you, fully buried in your warm, wetness.

“God—“ he exhales into your mouth, you swallow it down happily, his admission of submission to you. “You feel amazing.”

“You feel—“ you begin, feeling as though it necessary of you to meet him halfway in the discussion. After all, no one likes to be left hanging all alone. But it’s the slow, drag of his pull out, followed by another velvety push inside that catches the words in your throat and only allows them out in the form of a groaned out “fuck.”

Only a few more strokes before Chan is able to get his head screwed on properly again — enough to make use of himself at least — and settles into a slow, strong pace against you. Bringing a hand up, he finds your hair and wraps fingers into it — not pulling, but as if you keep you grounded, keep you in place for him — for the both of you, in a way.

“Ch-Chan, I—“ you whisper against his cheek, voice shaky and seemingly already fucked out. 

He snaps his attention to, albeit a bit surprised by the fact. “Already?”

You nod quickly. Followed by a sigh of relief from him.

“Oh thank God, I'm so cl-close—“

Digging your nails into his strong shoulders, you feel your abdomen tighten in impending release, and it’s only a few more strokes before he’s pulling it from you — teeth gritted hard, unsure about the potential of a noise complaint from any neighboring people and not wanting to risk it — you groan loudly into the flesh of his arm, only causing him to meet you the same — three, four especially hard, rough pounds against you before he’s clenching his eyes shut and emptying into the barrier between you.

Rolling off of you to lie in next, chests heaving even in spite of the short session, Chan tosses his arm across his face and chuckles to himself after only a minute or two of silence between you.

“I’ve been waiting to do that for weeks.”

You giggle, snuggling up towards him. “Yeah? I could tell.”

“Hey, hey, hey!” he snaps back, bringing his closest arm to you up and around you. “Give me time, it’s been a while, alright?”

Tying off the condom eventually and getting up for glasses of water, he hands you one as the both of you sit at the edge of the bed.

“Burgundy and gold, right?”

The sudden thought catches you off guard, because what does that have to do with anything?

“Wh-what—?”

“Your wedding colors, burgundy and gold, was it?”

And now you’re really caught off guard, because he…remembered that?

“Yes, how do you remember that?”

You watch him smile, looking down into his glass of water before turning back towards you with his grin never diminishing. Chan leans in and kisses you on the forehead delicately before answering the question.

“Gonna be important,” he begins, “can’t hire you to work your own event, now can I?”

♡ send me your thoughts and feelings in my ask.

—this is a oneshot, there will be no part 2.

#bang chan smut #bang chan x y/n #bang chan x reader #bang chan x you #bang chan imagines #bang chan scenarios #bang chan fanfic #stray kids smut #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x you #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids fanfic #skz smut #skz x y/n #skz x you #skz x reader #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz fanfic

[mysecretlittlelibrary]

Something New

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: SO many okay; sub Spencer, oral (m receiving), voyeurism & exhibitionism, fingering/masturbation, HEAVY breading kink, riding, choking, marking, they both got absolutely filthy mouths, a lil begging, cockwarming too- I think I got everything?? Mentions of alcohol as well

Genre: fluff & Smut

Summary: Meeting your boyfriend's friends leads to a few curious discoveries about him for both of you.

***

Your boyfriend is many things. A genius, a profiler, a professor- sometimes, a man with so much to say about pretty much everything, the love of your life- the list goes on. You've been dating Spencer Reid for about a year now and you really can't say you have anything to complain about. He's attentive and funny and thoughtful and kind, and even when work takes him away for days he still manages to make you feel just as loved from afar. Tonight Spencer's invited you out to meet all of his coworker friends. You've heard tons of stories but Spencer has been hesitant to introduce you to them. Not for any bad reasons- he's simply being greedy with your time. Well he was anyway, it seems the team has finally worn him down and you're joining everyone for drinks at a bar.

When you walk into the place, Spencer finds his friends quickly and pulls you close to him as he leads you to the group. Before anything can even be said by you or Spencer the table erupts into noise upon seeing you. There are compliments and whoops and it's hard to pick out any one thing that's being said by the group.

"Settle down guys." Spencer rolls his eyes. "This is my girlfriend y/n."

"It's nice to meet everyone! Spence talks about y'all all the time." You say.

"Well don't just stand there, sit, we have a million questions." One of the women at the table pulls you over to sit next to her.

"Garcia." Spencer sighs.

"Now we mostly use each other's last names, side effect of the job but I'm Penelope, that's Aaron Hotchner- but we all call him Hotch pretty much exclusively, Derek Morgan, JJ, Emily Prentiss, and David Rossi." She quickly intros the entirety of the table as Spencer slides into to booth across from you, next to Derek.

"It's so good to finally put names to faces. Considering how much time you spend together I thought he'd have more pictures of you guys but-"

"Interesting you say that because his desk at work is full of pictures of you." Derek muses.

"Dude." Spencer nudges him and you chuckle a bit as pink crawls up his neck slightly.

"His wallet has a photo of you as well." David muses.

"Rossi please." Spencer says.

"I keep lots of pictures of him at work too actually." You smile.

"You do?!" Spencer blinks at you.

"Of course I do. I take pictures all the time. Why does that surprise you?" You muse.

"Wait a minute do you have any pictures Spence would not want us to see?" Emily smirks.

"I'm absolutely positive I do." You nod.

"Oh I have got to see this." JJ says.

"Yeah y/n you have to share-"

"Y/n don't you dare." Spencer's eyes widen cutting Derek off.

"Oh come on Spencer you can't expect us not to want to know." Emily says.

"You can want whatever you'd like but you're not gonna get it." Spencer says.

"They aren't?" You tilt your head.

"Y/n, please." Spencer's eyes are pleading in a way that almost makes you want to tease him more. You of course have no intention of embarrassing him in front of his coworkers but the adorable look on his face tugs at your sadistic side. You hold his gaze for a moment before turning to the rest of the group with a smirk.

"Sorry guys, there are some things I like to keep to myself." You muse and everyone lets out playful sounds of frustration that you laugh at while Spencer settles in his seat.

"It's fine we'll simply separate them and get her to confess that way." Penelope stage whispers to the rest of the table.

"So, y/n, Spencer tells us you're a professor?" Aaron who apparently everyone calls Hotch says. He hasn't spoken much so far but he and Rossi watched the earlier chaos affectionately.

"I am, yes. We met when he was guest lecturing at the university where I work actually."

"Really? What subject do you teach?" JJ asks.

"Architecture and sometimes English."

"Sometimes English?" Derek quirks an eyebrow up at you.

"I'm primarily an architecture professor but I have an English degree as well so I'll teach an English class or two. Not every semester though, it really depends. I mostly fill in when an English professor is out." You shrug.

"That's so interesting. So how did you two actually meet? He refuses to tell us the story." Penelope asks.

"Really? Why Spence?" You look at him.

"I mean I'm not hiding it exactly-" Spencer mutters.

"You'll tell us won't you y/n?" Penelope nudges you.

"Well sure- I dunno how interesting you'll find the story but I'll tell it. He was leaving a lecture he was giving and I was conducting an- in class activity that sort of spilled into the hall as he was trying to leave. He's quite the curious boy so he asked what we were up to and then he left." You shrug.

"How did you manage to get her to go on a date with you if you didn't even try to get her attention?" Derek scoffs.

"This is why I didn't tell you the story." Spencer rolls his eyes.

"He sat in on one of my lectures the next week, at the end of which he spouted about 10 minutes' worth of information about the architecture of the building we were in." You chuckle.

"And that worked on you?" JJ muses.

"I'll admit it was strange- but I thought he was cute. I told him if he had any more obscure details about the university we could discuss it over coffee."

"So you made the first move." Derek says.

"Of course I did." You say.

"Alright! Can we please talk about something else?" Spencer grumbles.

"Come on Spence we're meeting your girlfriend for the first time you can't expect us to not have questions." Emily smiles.

"Do they have to be about the logistics of how we ended up together though?" Spencer rolls his eyes. You can't help but laugh watching him pout at his coworkers.

"I don't mind talking about it baby." You say.

"Yeah she doesn't mind baby." Derek chuckles. Spencer looks at you with a huff.

"Spence why don't you get something to drink for me hm?" You ask him.

"Anything specific?" Spencer stands at your request.

"You can pick just make it good." You say pulling him down to kiss him before he can walk to the bar. "If you wanna ask me questions Derek I'll answer them but my baby is off limits." You wink letting Spencer go get drinks.

"Fine, fine. Changing the subject." Derek smiles at you. By the time Spencer returns with drinks, you're in a completely different conversation with the rest of the table. You spend a couple of hours getting to know Spencer's friends and you'd like to think things go well. It seems like they like you, and you can say for sure that you like them. Of course, as the night goes on, the team lets alcohol loosen their lips. You, not being a big drinker have been nursing the one drink you had Spencer get you and Spencer doesn't drink more than you let him so you two are the most sober at the table, except Aaron who seems to be very mindful of his drinks. Somehow the table has gotten into making up outlandish things about other patrons of the busy bar you're in. A guy sipping whiskey is going through a breakup, a girl on the dancefloor is definitely going home with the guy she's dancing with, someone in a leather jacket 'definitely ties people up'. It seems like a game of who can make up the wildest story about strangers and you just chuckle as they play.

"I bet that lady has a man she puts on a leash." Penelope says of a woman sitting with a group of friends. That one makes you glance at Spencer to see him shift awkwardly.

"No way babygirl. That woman does not seem like the type." Derek shakes his head.

"I dunno I think it's possible. But like wouldn't she have him out with her?" Emily hums.

"Not necessarily. Even a mistress is allowed to have time without her-" Spencer's foot nudges yours before you can finish your thought. You don't think it's on purpose though, he seems to just be tense regarding the conversation.

"You speaking from experience there?" Derek asks you.

"Sorry Derek, that is classified." You smirk.

"Wait a minute what do y'all be getting up to?!" Derek's gaze turns to Spencer.

"Nothing." Spencer's response is sharp and you have to work hard not to giggle.

"Leave him alone Derek we haven't- there's no tales to tell there." You say. You doubt Spencer wants his friends to know those details of your relationship. Especially considering you haven't really explored that aspect of your relationship much. You've had a few conversations about it but you really haven't gone beyond making out and such.

"You're so sweet on our boy genius." JJ coos.

"Of course I am." You shrug.

"Wait what do you mean there's no tales to tell?" Penelope asks.

"I'm more interested in your knowledge of mistressing?" Emily shakes her head.

"Curious to get into that yourself Emily?" You ask.

"Maybe."

"Do you have tips y/n?" JJ asks.

"How did we get here?" You laugh. Drunk conversations are so funny.

"Well now you have to answer the question." Penelope says.

"Talk to your partner? I dunno everyone's different. You should find out what things they are comfortable with before you do anything really. Leashes are usually safe enough for beginners but a lot of the more interesting 'tips' would be- for more advanced stuff." You muse.

"Spencer you have got one interesting girl on your hands." Derek smirks smacking him lightly on the back.

"Please stop asking my girlfriend sex questions holy fuck." Spencer rubs his temple with a sigh.

"Aw but she seems like she knows so much." Penelope says.

"Another time ladies, I'll answer all your questions." You say.

"You will?"

"Absolutely. But I think you guys should maybe start sorting out your rides home. It's- getting pretty late and you've all been drinking." You say when you catch JJ yawning.

"Yeah I'd agree it's time to wind down, especially since this place closes soon and I hate to be the last one out." David hums.

"Do you all have rides home? Are you getting a cab or calling someone? Because you can't drive." You shake your head at the girls specifically.

"I'm fine to drive everyone home." Aaron tells you. "Will you and Spencer be good?" He asks.

"Oh yeah, we've each only had one drink. Either of us can drive." You shrug standing up. Spencer follows your lead and after him, everyone slides out of their seats. A few rounds of goodbyes later, you're on the way home, Spencer driving and both of you enjoying the quiet compared to the last few hours in a rowdy bar. Back at your apartment Spencer lets out a sigh as you both take off your shoes.

"Sorry about them." He mutters.

"What are you talking about? Your friends are great. Do you think it went badly?" You ask.

"No. No, I'm sure they love you. Maybe more than me now. I just meant- they can be a bit unpredictable when they get drunk so, sorry about the weird questions."

"Oh that? Spencer honey there are way worse things a group of profilers could ask me than if I'm a dominatrix." You scoff. "I'm pretty chill when it comes to discussing sex." You shrug walking further into your apartment. You wanna get out of this dress.

"Really?" Spencer follows after you,

"Yeah. Although- I take it you are way less comfortable with that sort of stuff?" You ask.

"What makes you say that?"

"Well- you seemed really tense earlier when they were asking me about the mistress stuff. I just figured." You say.

"Oh- that was nothing." He mutters.

"That- didn't seem like nothing. But we don't have to talk about it if you don't want to." You hum. There's a moment of quiet as you take off your jewelry.

"I don't think my imagination is that active." Spencer speaks again and you turn to look at him. "Not in like, a sad 'my creativity is dead' sort of way. I'm fairly creative. But having an eidetic memory just means my focus is on other things. You know, the information I've read or seen that I can use- usually for work. Of course, my imagination fairs pretty well too. I mean it works well enough that I can reconstruct crime scenes in my head and stuff so it does what I need it to do for work."

"Right." You nod with a frown. When Spencer doesn't continue after a minute you add, "I'm following you Spence but I have no idea where this is going." 

"You commented on me being tense earlier."

"Correct."

"It's because my imagination was entirely too active during that conversation." He mutters, almost like he doesn't want you to know.

"Are you- embarrassed because a sexual conversation made you think about your girlfriend sexually?" You try not to laugh because it's not that his embarrassment is funny to you it's just the circumstance of not wanting to admit he finds his partner hot.

"I had an erection at a table with all my friends because my girlfriend was talking about leashing people."

"Are you interested in wearing a leash Spence?" You smirk, leaning against your dresser.

"Don't- I'm not sure." He frowns.

"We can work our way up to it if you are baby. It's not like I'm planning to collar you tonight." You chuckle at his confused look.

"Do you like doing that?" He blinks at you.

"What? Putting collars on people? I mean only if they're into it." You shrug. Spencer takes a deep breath before he speaks again.

"This- is not helping." He says.

"Helping?" You look at him. His hands, which were balled up at his sides catch your attention when they instinctively cross in front of him.

"Wait a second-"

"Don't."

"Are you-"

"Y/n."

"You're still hard from earlier." You say.

"Of course I am. All I can think about is the image in my head of my girlfriend as a mistress." Spencer huffs out.

"Well, we can always replace that image in your head with the real thing." You offer.

"I- I don't- I've never had a mistress before. I don't know what to do." He frowns.

"We'll work our way up to more complex stuff. Tonight'll be simple, pick a safe word and let me do the thinking." You push off the dresser you'd been leaning against.

"A safe word? Uh- winter. Is that a good one?"

"As long as you can remember it, it's perfect baby." You pull him forward by his shirt to kiss him sweetly. Spencer melts against your lips, letting you guide him easily to sit on the bed. You straddle him as you deepen the kiss, your tongue slipping between his lips easily. Spencer seems content to let you have your way with him and you intend to take full advantage of that. Eventually, you pull away from him only to trail your lips to his neck. His mouth drops open with a soft moan as you cover his throat in red marks. You make quick work of the buttons on Spencer's shirt, kissing and marking your way across his chest as you strip him, enjoying the quiet whines he lets out.

"You look pretty covered in marks." You tell him, bringing your lips to his again with a hand at the back of his neck. You drag your nails down his abdomen until your fingers find his belt, undoing it and his pants before you stand up. Spencer's eyes are on you immediately with a confused look and a sound expressing his discontent. "Pants off baby." You tell him and he scrambles to tug them off quickly and settle himself back on the edge of the bed.

"Are you- do you plan to stay clothed?" He croaks uncertainly.

"For now, yes." You say kneeling in front of Spencer. His eyes widen as he watches you wrap your fingers around his erection. He hisses from the contact and gasps when you gently drag one finger along the length of him. Your tongue follows the path of your finger and his breath is coming out shaky by the time you fully put your lips around him. You slowly take as much of him into your mouth as you can fit relishing in the whimpers he fails to hold back. His hands grip the edge of the bed so tightly you think he may rip the sheets as you suck his dick greedily.

"Oh my- god." Spencer chokes out, body practically shaking from your ministrations. When his thighs start to tense you pull off of him entirely and he can't stop the frustrated whine that comes out.

"Sorry baby, but if you cum now you won't enjoy it as much when I ride you." You tell him as you stand up. You give Spencer a few moments to steady his harsh breathing before speaking again. "Undress me." You tell him, turning your back so he can unzip your dress. You hear him stand, feel one hand settle on your shoulder while the other tugs the zipper down, watch his hands slide the straps of your dress from your shoulders and once it hits the floor you step out of it and turn to face him. "Open your mouth." You tell him softly and when he does you slip two fingers between his lips that he immediately begins sucking on. You can feel the action in your abdomen and it takes a moment to get your next instruction out. "Panties off." You tell him. With your fingers still in his mouth his movements are a little awkward but he manages to get your panties off and only then do you pull your fingers out. You set yourself up on the bed pulling Spencer's attention, though he stays where he is. He follows directions very well you realize. Spencer watches intently as you take the fingers that were in his mouth and slide them between your folds. You make quite the show of touching yourself while he regards you, moaning and spreading your legs widely as you toy with your wet heat. You catch his hands open and close a number of times as your fingers disappear inside of you and you know he's dying to touch you.

"Y/n?" He forces out after several minutes of what must've been silent agony for him.

"Yes, Spencer?" You let your reply come out as whiny and breathy as you can muster, swimming in the pleasure you're bringing yourself.

"Am I- do you just want me to stand here?" He asks with a frown.

"What's the matter, baby? Not content just watching?" You ask somewhat tauntingly. "Did you want a taste?" You ask.

"Please." He breathes out. You pull your fingers from your center and hold them out to him. He comes to the edge of the bed, leaning down to take your fingers in his mouth. You allow him to lick the digits clean before you shove him down onto the bed on his back. He tries to sit up but you place a hand against his chest as you swing a leg over to straddle him.

"I'm going to ride you now, okay Spence?" You look down at him for any sign of hesitation but the look in his eyes gives no indication of it as he responds.

"Yes- please. Please ride me y/n." He says. You lift yourself enough to grab his dick and line it up with your entrance before sinking down onto him with a satisfied moan. You brace yourself with your hands on his chest and set a nice rhythm for yourself, bouncing on him relentlessly, spurred on by the endless string of sounds from his lips. A beautiful combination of whimpers and moans and expletives as he begs you not to stop.

"So, pretty. You look so pretty under me baby." You tell him placing fleeting kisses against his lips.

"God I love you. Fuck that feels amazing. Oh my- shit." You can practically see his brain malfunctioning as gets lost in the heat of your walls surrounding him. There's something so satisfying about reducing a genius who always has something to say to a collection of broken sentences and desperate moans.

"I love you too baby, love the feeling of you inside me. Letting me- letting me ride you like this, so good for me." You pant out.

"Y-Y/n I- oh fuck I'm close- I'm gonna cum. Wait you have to- please y/n s-slow down." Spencer's frantic attempt at warning you only makes you want to push him over more.

"I want you to cum Spencer." You tell him.

"W-what? L-like inside- inside you?"

"Yes baby. I want to feel you cum for me." You tell him. Spencer's eyes go unfocused for a moment as if processing your words, then his hands snap up to your waist, the first time he's touched you without being explicitly instructed to.

"You mean that?" He rasps, his hold on your hips tightening.

"Yes Spencer, I mean it." You say drawing your hand up his chest to wrap a hand around his throat. "So don't stop now baby." You add. Spencer lets out a pained groan and shifts his grip on you.

"You can't- can't say those things." He grunts as he sits up and thrusts his hips up into you. 

"Oh? And why's that Spence? Don't you want to cum inside me?" You mutter kissing and nipping at his collarbone as if there aren't enough marks on his skin.

"S-so fucking badly. Wanna fill you up til you're leaking. Wanna- fuck wanna get you pregnant- you'd make such a good mother to my children and god you'd look so good all swollen 'cuz of me." Spencer's barely aware of his own rambling at this point, but your ears prick at the turn his words have taken.

"What a dirty mouth you've got all of a sudden." You muse, your body thrumming from his words. "That's what you want Spence? Wanna fuck a baby into me? Go ahead puppy, breed me if you can." If he hadn't lost it before those words seem to snap something in him and his thrusts get sloppy, they're harder and faster but messy as he chases that end you've teased. "That's it baby- fuck me like you want to put a baby in there. Fill my pussy like a good puppy." Your breathing is ragged and your sentence is broken up by loud moans as Spencer puts all his strength into railing you, but you have no intentions of giving up control of the situation.

"G-god, please. Please. I'm so close." Spencer whines out. Your fingers slip between your bodies and a few tight circles against your clit have you tumbling over the edge.

"Cum for me Spence, lemme feel you fill me up baby." You breathe out the command as you ride the waves of your own orgasm and he's spilling into you moments later.

"Holy fucking hell." He eventually huffs out and you gently kiss his heated skin as you allow him a few minutes to come down from his release.

"How we feelin?" You whisper.

"Like lead and hydrogen at the same time." He mutters and you glance up in time to catch the confused frown on his face.

"You did very well with your responsibilities for tonight Spencer." You tell him.

"Is it- is it always so... intense?"

"Well that was- more intense than I expected it to be. Had no idea you'd have such a breeding kink." You chuckle a little.

"I- I'm sorry that was-"

"No need to apologize. I liked it." You shrug.

"You did?"

"Oh yeah- you're so nasty about it. It's sexy, even if you're not in charge." You say. When you shift to stand up, Spencer's arm wraps around you lazily.

"Don't." He mutters.

"We gotta get cleaned up baby."

"It can wait." He groans.

"If you insist." You smile gently. You didn't expect to go down this road with your boyfriend tonight. But you can't say you're disappointed with the outcome. You learned something new about your boy genius.

***

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fluff

[whiskeyncoke-redux]

I’ve always thought it would be fun to be a seat-filler at award shows, and now I can’t stop thinking about sitting next to a flirty Pedro Pascal.. (especially since they say you aren’t supposed to talk to the actors!)

The idea of him introducing himself (as if he isn’t a famous actor), sharing candy he snuck in with you or trying to make you laugh while on air and having to shoo away the award show employees that try to intervene. Him just being smitten with reader the whole night.. okay, I’d *love* to hear your take if it interests you!

Hi Nonny dearest, sorry it took me so long to respond, I just had to get my thoughts together because I LOVED this idea so much!! So here we go, hope you like it.

The Seat Filler

Pedro Pascal x Reader

A/N: here's another one, hope you all like it. No hateful comments please. Again I gotta shout out @ziggyrocket for the support ❤️. It's 6:32 in the morning, apparently I don't sleep like a normal person, I'm on my second cup of coffee, so any typos or whatever are my bad... and Maxwell house coffee's.

Warnings: none (well, corny jokes I guess)

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

You had signed up for this gig half on a dare and half out of curiosity. Being a new sign-up, you hadn’t expected to be called in right away, but yet, here you were, in a borrowed gown, in a theater mixed with some of the biggest stars and regular people just like you: seat fillers. 

You remembered the main rules the director told you: 1) look like you’re enjoying yourself, always smile and 2) most importantly DO NOT talk to the actors, meaning the actual celebrities. You nodded and murmured your understanding along with everyone else who was there to work as fillers, not really thinking anything of it. What celebrity would want to talk to me anyway? You mused as you took your seat.

You looked around the theater, excitement flooding through you at the idea of being in such a place surrounded by people you had admired from afar, in magazines, and online. You took a deep breath to steady yourself; you didn’t want to make a fool of yourself. You glanced at the empty seat next to you on your left and wondered who’d be in it.  On your right was another filler and on their right was another empty seat.

The filler next to you leaned over slightly and whispered, “Who do you think they’re gonna put next to us?”

You shrugged. “No idea, hope it’s someone good.”

He nodded in agreement, then a look came over his face as he glanced over your shoulder.  You turned your head to look and you blinked hard as you recognized the man coming towards you, and taking the vacant seat next to you. While the man next to you was busy getting settled,  you glanced back over at your fellow seat filler, whose jaw had semi-dropped. You both exchanged excited looks, then you nudged him lightly with your elbow and he shook himself, cleared his throat lightly and sat up. You both faced forward, determined to be on your best behavior. 

Unfortunately for you, your newest seat mate had different ideas. Pedro knew the whole deal with seat fillers and how they were told not to speak to anyone. But he felt a mischievous streak go through him when he saw you glance at him briefly. 

“Hi,” he said, taking his seat. “I’m Pedro Pascal.”

“Hi,” you said back, nervously glancing around to make sure that no one saw you speaking to him. 

The two of you smiled at each other, before you turned back to face the front. He took a few seconds to study your profile as you sat there, determinedly facing the front, sitting as still as a statue. 

He glanced down and saw that your elbow was resting on the shared arm rest. With a small smirk, he placed his on the arm rest too, bumping yours. 

You looked over at him, smiled awkwardly and whispered a hurried, “Sorry,” before moving your arm and facing forward again.

After a few minutes, you placed your elbow back on the arm rest, and, noticing that, Pedro, bumped your elbow again with his. You moved your arm again. And then a few more minutes later, you placed it back again, only for him to bump you again. After the fourth time this happened, you looked over at him with a slightly raised eyebrow and he just smiled innocently at you.

A few minutes later you felt him shift next to you, you looked over and saw him pulling out a bag of Skittles. You tried to hide your smile, but he noticed and nudged you slightly and offered you some. You looked around, making sure that there was no one watching, and then you held open your palm and he shook some of the candies into it.

“Thanks,” you whispered and popped a few into your mouth. 

A little over an hour into the show, you could feel him getting restless next to you. You figured the sugar had gotten to him. After the Skittles, he had pulled out a candy bar, broke it in half and shared it with you. He fidgeted in his seat, tapping his fingers on his knee and the seat. You tried to ignore it, but you had to admit it was more than a little distracting.

“Are you okay?” you whispered hurriedly to him.

He turned to you and nodded. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Are you though?” you asked, gesturing to his jiggling knee.

He smiled. “Yeah.” But his knee kept jiggling, you had to suppress a laugh at that. 

He noticed you struggling to keep a straight face, and decided to aim the restless energy he had at you. He was going to make you laugh, really laugh, by the end of the show. His mind was made up.

He thought for a moment and then he leaned over to you, “Psst, hey.”

“Yeah?” you answered looking straight ahead.

“I have a question.”

“Mmhmm?”

“Why did the bicycle fall over?”

You were confused. “I’m sorry?”

“I said: why did the bicycle fall over?”

“Uhh, I don’t know. Why?”

“Because it was two tired.”

You turned to look at him after that, he laughed at the look on your face.

“That was corny,” you said, shaking your head, but pursing your lips to keep from laughing.

“Oh, that reminds me of another one,” he said, with a twinkle in his eye. He looked around,  cleared his throat, and then asked, “What does corn say when it gets a compliment?”

You shook your head and shrugged your shoulders, not wanting to say anything but wanting to hear the punchline, you turned to him.

Barely able to suppress his giggles, he answered,”Aw, shucks!”

You put your hand over your mouth, trying to stifle the laugh you felt escaping your lips.

“Okay, one more,” he announced. 

“Oh, lord,” you groaned.

“It’s a good one, I promise.”

You waved your hand slightly for him to go ahead, knowing he would anyway.

“Okay, why are pirates called pirates?”

You bit your lip trying not to laugh. “I don’t know why?”

He leaned closer. “They just arrrr!” he whispered the last word in a bad pirate accent. 

You couldn’t help it, you snorted, then quickly covered your mouth to stifle your giggles, but he’d heard it, and he smiled at that.

“Good one right?” he asked.

You shook your head. “No, oh my god, that was bad, but…” you couldn’t finish as a fresh wave of giggles overtook you. Your shoulders shook with your suppressed laughter.

He smiled and laughed along with you. For the rest of the ceremony, he would lean over and whisper comments about one person’s speech, or another’s outfit, nothing malicious or mean, just something to make you smile. And he always had a bad joke or two to whisper to you. 

By the end of the program, your cheeks were hurting from all the smiling and your stomach was sore from the laughing. You couldn’t help it, a few had escaped, luckily it was during the jokes the emcee told, so it looked as if you were enjoying the show. Truth be told, you couldn’t remember what had happened during the show, or who had won which award. If someone had quizzed you on it after, you surely would have failed; but you felt it was worth it because being seated next to Pedro had made it the best night of your life. You hadn’t laughed that hard, or enjoyed yourself that much in a long time.

After the show was over, you headed out with your fellow seat filler.

“You seemed to really be enjoying yourself,” he said as you filed out into the lobby.

You nodded with a huge grin on your face. “Yeah, I did.”

“I could tell,” he said, nodding, “what was he saying to you to make you laugh so much?”

You shrugged. “Oh, just a few jokes, and comments that’s all,” you said lightly.

He looked at you curiously, but when he realized you weren’t going to elaborate he commented, “Lucky you. The one they put next to me was on her phone the entire time.” He shook his head. “At least you got some entertainment.”

You two chatted for a little more, making plans to grab a late dinner with him and some of the rest of the seat fillers. Before you could leave, however, you felt someone tap you on your shoulder.

“Okay, I have another one,” you heard Pedro’s voice in your ear before you could turn around. “Just thought of it.”

You looked at him. “All right, go on.”

“Which bear is the most condescending?”

You started laughing then answered, “what?”

“A pan-duh!”

You burst out laughing along with him. “Where on earth did you even hear these?”

He shrugged. “Internet.”

“They are so bad,” you said, still chuckling.

“And yet, you laughed. Therefore they did their job,” he pointed out.

“True enough,” you agreed, “thanks though.”

“For what?”

“Making this event… well, eventful. I was prepared to be bored out of my mind, sitting there like a statue, smiling a fake smile the entire night.”

He smiled at you. “Well, I’m glad I could help. So, what are you planning on doing after this?”

You shrugged. “I was gonna grab something to eat with some of the rest of the seat fillers…”

“Oh, okay, I'm doing the same.” He nodded and looked away. You noticed that for a second he looked slightly nervous, but before you could get a good look, his face cleared and he turned back to look at you.

“I guess I should let you go then…” you said, turning to catch up with your friends.

“Wait, one more question.”

You stopped and looked back at him. “What's up?”

“Well, you know, I have a lot more jokes…”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, and, well, all my friends and family have heard them. But you haven’t, at least I’m pretty sure you haven’t….”

You nodded. “I haven’t, I don’t think.”

“Good, well, I shall have to inflict them upon you, you know, if you don’t mind. Maybe over dinner tomorrow?”

You thought for a second. “I don’t mind at all,” you answered with a huge grin.

#ask #answered #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fan fiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #ficlet #pedro pascal rpf #rpf #javier peña #din djarin #joel miller #frankie catfish morales #whiskey writes

[aureatchi]

⛇₊˚ .࿐₊˚✧ BUBBLES IN MY CHAMPAGNE, LET IT BE SOME JAZZ PLAYIN’ . . .OSAMU DAZAI

⟢ SYNOPSIS. the port-mafia was infamous for throwing glamorous holiday parties every year. not only were you attending this time, but you were also finally going to be introduced as the port-mafia boss’ pretty girlfriend! or…that was the plan.

of course, things never go according to plan.

a/n. merry christmas !! adding onto the xmas dazai fics jdjsjwn <3 this one’s vv chaotic.

info. fem!reader. pm boss!dazai. pm exec!reader. fluff, angst, pinch of sugg. there’s DRAMA. mentions of drinking. lil jealousy. dazai is a 💩. the pm is filthy rich lmao. pazenia is a made up country. wc. 3.4k

“Oh my.”

“How do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful.”

The brunette chuckled as he waltzed towards you. You saw him appear behind you through the sizeable full-body mirror, wrapping his arms around your waist as you finished applying your lipstick.

“It looks even better on you.” Dazai’s fingers wandered playfully, tracing the curves the red dress he gifted you hugged so well. The tailoring was so impressive—the dress could fit noone else but you. And indeed, it was made exclusively for you, for the largest and most luxe corporate event of the year.

It was the Port Mafia Christmas party. Everyone was required to attend, and plus-ones were allowed too, stirring even more chaos into the affair. You were a Port Mafia executive—of course you were going, but the night was going to be unique for another reason.

Tonight, the Port Mafia boss would confirm all the rumors…all the gossip circulating the past few months. He was finally making your relationship with him official in front of everyone.

As if everyone still doesn’t know.

Yet you were nervous. Keeping things an enigma actually worked in your favor—besides suspicious stares with muffled voices and jealous women, you didn’t have to worry about much. Dazai would take care of any problem. After all, you trusted him completely.

But now, everyone would know. You and Dazai had gone through all the downsides—you could become a potential target for any enemies, your name would rise even higher on the wanted list, and you could be stalked by frustrated, jealous men…honestly, you two were almost too hot for your own wellbeing.

Just almost, because “I’ll take care of it all. I’ll make sure nothing ever hurts you, darling.”

He whispered those words into your ear, sensing your anxiousness as you continued to look at your reflections.

“Please don’t worry.”

He did not speak in his usual teasing, playfully amorous voice. The brunette’s face matched the seriousness of the topic you had both gone over multiple times, making sure that the other wanted to still go through with it. You both didn’t want to force the decision of your relationship upon the other—though it was Dazai who had suggested the idea, the choice rested entirely on you. He ensured you knew you could change your mind anytime you wanted.

And Dazai wished you could see that he truly, would go to the ends of universes to make sure you were safe.

You gave him a reassuring smile. “I won’t,” you replied. “I’m only worried about you. I need to be by your side at all times to fight any bad guys that come for you.”

And girls. If you were being honest, you always felt a bit sick thinking about other women wanting him. Maybe this is why your nerves hadn’t backed you out yet…you wanted everyone to know their leader was indeed taken.

Dazai laughed more heartily than he intended to at the comment. He, the now Port Mafia superior commander, known even before as the Demon Prodigy, was being talked to in concern that he needed a sidekick to help him.

Though, he was also the same man whose mind was full of fervor for one girl. You giggled, seeing the apparent blush on Dazai’s face when you fixed his black tie. He was matching with you, of course—his red attire was the ruby scarf.

“Perfect,” you mused when you were done. “Wow, you’re handsome.“

“And you’re ethereal,” Dazai responded, putting on your coat. “Ready to go shock everyone?”

“As if half of the mafia doesn’t already suspect anything between us, Osamu,” you smiled.

“Hmm…you’re right.

“Of course they’d think I’d sought after the prettiest woman in the world.” A coy grin snuck back onto his lips.

…

It was evident your lover had good taste, not only in outfits. He chose to rent out one of the big hotels as the venue for the party—very fitting for the filthy-rich organization.

The first thing you noticed when you stepped out of the limo was the massive Christmas tree in the center of the hall.

“Woah.” There were at least fifty gifts under it already.

You noticed Dazai’s brows suddenly furrow as he, too, inspected the presents.

“Osamu?”

“Bella, remind me who this person is again.”

He picked up a present, showing you a familiar name.

“Oh!” He was the assistant under your wing. You two had worked together for years—you had built up a lot of trust and a friendship to have him in charge of some of your responsibilities.

“I see. Don’t mind that; I forget some of my men sometimes.”

You nodded, though you felt a bit unsure about his response. Regardless, you cast the thought aside.

What you didn’t notice was the way Dazai showed you the package. The present was from your assistant, but the name it was for was entirely covered by the brunette’s hand.

“Well, are you ready to go in?” Dazai asked, holding out a hand towards you.

“Yeah, I’m-”

“Dazai!”

It was Kouyou, another executive. She saw you and greeted you, too.

“My, you’re looking lovely today,” she chirped. “So you and the boss are dating.”

You smiled. “Yes.”

“Well, better tell everyone soon,” she told the both of you. “Dazai, a daughter of a very infamous organization in Europe, is at this party as a plus-one. She wants to discuss a business proposal…‘as soon as possible,’ she said. It’s confidential, too; she only wants you. Do you have a few moments to spare?”

Dazai immediately turned toward you, to which you nodded at him. “It seems important, especially if she’s from Europe.”

“You’re sure?” Dazai asked. You were supposed to walk into the dining hall together to introduce yourselves as the power couple of the evening. “What about…”

“Yeah, the mafia is the priority. I’ll find you soon.” You were an executive, after all. The mafia existed to protect Yokohama City, so work should be an urgency.

“Alright,” he replied. He took another look at you—a singular, amber eye softened once he met your gaze. The other was hidden behind bandages, and so were the emotions of his heart. You couldn’t tell what he was feeling at the moment.

“Let’s go, big sis.” He turned towards Kouyou, who led him out of the room.

Now alone, not counting the guards, you glanced at the presents again, picking up the one Dazai had previously questioned you about.

Oh! Your assistant gave you a present. You found it sweet; your assistant hadn’t gifted you anything until this year. Now Dazai’s reaction made sense—perhaps he had thought you had a secret admirer or something. You giggled at his assumed jealousy.

…

You walked inside the dining hall by yourself, a large crowd already entertaining themselves inside. Everyone who saw you stopped to greet you—their executive, and you wished them a merry Christmas back with a friendly smile.

“Huh? So she’s not dating him?”

You turned your head the slightest, pretending to grab a drink while you instead eavesdropped on two employees you hardly knew. Thank goodness they weren’t the ones going out on missions to spy—they were terrible at not being obvious.

“I’m not sure. But that underground aristocrat from Europe that everyone knows has a crush on the boss showed up to meet him. That huge Christmas tree by the staircases is actually a gift from her.”

“Really?! So…maybe she was the boss’ plus-one? Now that’s wild. Everyone really had me believing he was seeing the executive.”

“Yo!” Your attention was suddenly pulled from their conversation.

“You good? You’re overflowing your cup.” You had poured too much drink, so liquid was running all over the floor.

“Shoot, I think she heard us!” you faintly heard behind you as the employees moved away.

“Oh, yeah. I’m so sorry,” you responded to your assistant who had found you. He handed you a few napkins to clean your hands and dropped a few more to mop the floor with his shoe.

“You didn’t need to help, and thank you,” you said as you cleaned up, too, feeling bad.

“All good! Merry Christmas, by the way. How’s your evening going so far?”

“Good, thank you,” you responded, half-truthful. You needed to find somewhere to process what you had just heard. Even if they were only rumors…they bothered you.

“I saw you got me a gift in the lobby,” you added, recalling earlier. “I was surprised! You haven’t done that before, so I found it so sweet.”

“Oh yeah!” he replied, and you didn’t miss the pink that tinted his cheeks. “Who knows…I may have had a change of heart this year.”

You chuckled innocently. “Well, whatever the reason, thank you! I’m excited to see what you got.”

“Of course. I do hope you like it! Also, your dress. It looks good on you.” His voice sped up at his last comment.

“Oh, uh, thanks-”

That was really awkward. You gave him mercy, though…you hadn’t even told him you were in a relationship. So, you tried to say to him that it was your boyfriend, Dazai, who had the dress made for you, but you were cut off.

Dazai had finally entered the room, but he was accompanied by that noblewoman everyone was speaking about.

Wow, she was gorgeous. Her hair was in a perfect blowout, and she wore an emerald green dress that fit her like a glove.

And with each step Dazai and this new woman took into the hall to be regarded by everyone, your heart sank a bit more into your stomach.

What??

“You don’t look so well. Are you okay?” Your assistant paid no mind to the mafia boss’ new commotion. He was wholly concerned for you.

“Yeah. This drink tastes weird, but I can’t put my finger on what.” Yet, you took another sip. What was going on? You had never doubted Dazai’s love or loyalty toward you. Had you been so blind by your own to miss this?

Dazai didn’t even bother trying to search for you. And the way the lady’s arm touchingly clung around his infuriated you.

“He was seeing some foreign princess all along?”

“The boss always has to cause a scene with something new.”

“They’re kind of hot together, though.”

Now you really wanted to puke. You stared until the noblewoman’s eyes finally caught yours and dwelt on your figure briefly before turning toward Dazai and asking him something.

Dazai’s lips read, “Okay!” before a guard approached you.

“The boss is summoning all the executives to him,” he whispered in your ear, and you nodded, strolling over to him.

Fuck. You wanted to cry. Your heart was beating out of your chest.

You felt a bit better when the other executives—Kouyou and Chuuya showed up before you.

“Miss, these are the Port Mafia’s three executives.” He introduced you individually, not meeting your eye when he went to you.

You wanted to leave. There was no point in being here anymore. What you thought would be a cheery Christmas Eve turned out to be the worst night ever. It couldn’t have gotten any worse…

“And this is the Lady of Pazenia,” Dazai said, introducing the woman. “Our most important foreign guest tonight.”

“So, uh? I’m kinda confused,” Chuuya commented. “Mackerel boss, ya dating her or something?” He glanced at Dazai, the girl on him, and then you.

She responded for him. “We’re getting acquainted tonight, that’s all,” she replied smugly. Dazai chuckled. “Yes…we’ve communicated online a few times, but this is the first time we’re meeting face to face.”

What the fuck.

“Oh, uh, okay.” For once, Chuuya didn’t pester, didn’t tease anymore. Because he was just as startled as you. He, too, suspected that you were dating the boss.

“I’m sorry, will you please excuse me? It was nice meeting you, m’lady; I hope you enjoy your Christmas with the boss.” You didn’t even wait for a reply. You stormed off in the direction of your assistant. You were going to ask him to drive you home, and then you’d pack your things and then stay at a friend’s house for a few days to figure out what to do next.

Everything was crashing down like an avalanche.

But before you could get to him, the bastard’s subordinate stopped you.

“Akutagawa? Hi, Merry Christmas. Sorry, I’m in a rush-”

“Merry Christmas, miss,” he responded, moving in front of you again when you tried to shift over. “Aren’t you going to rescue the boss? Has your emotion clouded your rationality so much you can’t see things clearly anymore?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

You turned back towards the scene, and yeah—what you saw was your final straw. Akutagawa misjudged. Not even a glimmer of hope remained in you.

Somehow, they had ended up at the corner of the room. And lo and behold, Dazai and the Lady of Pazenia had ended up under the mistletoe, and many of the upper ranks surrounded them. There was even a Paparazzi.

You tried to push past Akutagawa, but he stopped you.

“Watch.”

Why? Did Dazai place him there to make sure you suffered through it all? This was so cruel. Tears welled up in your eyes as the room went quiet to watch.

“Oh! Silly me…how did I manage to get here?”

“I’m not sure…” the woman replied flirtatiously. “But you can’t break a tradition, boss of the Port Mafia.”

“I guess I can’t,” Dazai replied, leaning in. “But, can we make a deal, Miss?

“You can kiss me, but tell me where the real Lady of Pazenia is. The exact coordinates where you’re keeping her hostage. If there’s anyone kept in place to secure or torture her.”

And the crowd suddenly gasped. She did, too, and a hand flew to her mouth.

“Shit!”

About ten guards ran towards her, restraining her before she could do anything. Dazai calmly backed away, continuing to explain.

“The business proposal was crafty and would’ve led to our doom quite quickly. You’re trying to overthrow your own government. So, you devised a cover-up to get the mafia to help you, with a deal to help us on our end, but just like your original goal, you want our city’s government to fall into anarchy, too.

“An underground noblewoman. You are exactly that—quite literally.” Dazai sighed. “No, I’m not in a relationship with her, I…”

Dazai finally met your eye, and his heart immediately sunk seeing you cry.

“Oh my gosh,” he whispered, and he ran towards you, tightly embracing you.

You wanted to punch him, throw him away—something, but you were surrounded by half the corporate. There was already enough scandal tonight, you didn’t need to add any more.

“Hah, it’s okay,” you responded audibly, hastily wiping tears. “You’re a great actor, Osamu, really got me believing you were cheating on me for a second.” Words spurred out of your mouth—you hoped you wouldn’t regret it later.

Dazai’s grip on you tightened to silently show you gratitude before he turned to your audience. “Now that the problem is out of the way—Merry Christmas to you all.” A waiter handed him a glass of champagne, who had also gone around with multiple others to hand out drinks to everyone.

“And a special Merry Christmas to my girlfriend, right here.” He gave you a kind smile, and you tried your best to reciprocate your own. There were “awe”’s and “that’s so cute”’s about.

Dazai held his glass up towards everyone else’s before toasting with yours.

…

You stayed away from Dazai for the next hour. He respected your space for that long—in the meantime, you acted fine. You conversed with others, you laughed. Your assistant apologized for his comment on you earlier—“I was completely oblivious to you and the boss! I’m so sorry; I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.” You laughed it off, telling him it was okay.

“Hey, bella.”

Dazai had finally found you alone. You looked at him, facing the inevitable.

“I’m getting tired. Wanna sneak away with me?”

You hesitated. “Where would we go?”

“The drinks suck here, besides that champagne. I know Chuuya was definitely not in charge of this part.”

You had to agree with that one. You couldn’t even finish the glass you overfilled earlier.

…

Bar Lupin was surprisingly empty that night. The bar was Dazai’s safe place, his getaway. You were constantly reminded of his genuine, complete trust in you whenever he took you here.

“I’m sorry,” Dazai apologized as you waited for your drinks. “What I did was brutal.”

“It really fucking hurt,” you said, finally able to release your true feelings now that nobody else was around.

“I had to keep up the act to expose her. Her vulnerability was that…she had a crush on me? So, the most rapid way to gain her trust was to make her believe she had a chance. She didn’t know I was seeing someone.”

“You take acting too seriously. You’re the Port Mafia boss, not some goddamn movie actor. You couldn’t even…make eye contact with me? Give me a reassuring look or something?”

“You’re right. That’s no excuse.” He took a breath. He had actually messed something up. He could predict and do everything else flawlessly until it came to the people he loved.

He always screwed it up.

“I set aside our relationship for a mission. I’m really sorry, love. And I understand if it takes awhile for you to think through it all. The only thing I ask is for forgiveness.”

“I dunno…it kind of seems like you enjoyed it…”

That was a lie. You were just saying things out of spite now. You had rethought the previous events after recalling what Akutagawa had harshly told you without context—rescue the boss? Yeah, Dazai clearly didn’t enjoy it. He never touched the woman back in any way, and his word choice was very cautious. Except one line.

“Us communicating online? Yeah, I knew she’d just go along with it. I had to say that so Chuuya would stop pushing and blow my cover. Besides, you literally have my email login, darling. You see everything.”

“I really hate you sometimes, Osamu, you know?” you muttered as the bartender finally handed you two your drinks. You took a thirsty sip out of yours. You couldn’t even stay mad anymore.

“Is that your way of saying you forgive me?” he chuckled, knowing the mood was lightening.

“No. You’re just too…attractive. Like, why are you so hot? All the girls want you…I was actually quite relieved when you asked me if we should make things official so everyone could finally know that we belong to each other…”

Hah, if only you knew.

“You don’t assume I think the same? You almost pissed me off by hanging around your little assistant, too, belladonna. He clearly fancies you.”

You gulped, remembering his earlier compliment. “Don’t do anything to him—he didn’t know. He does now.”

“He better,” he simply replied. “And everyone else. There’s no excuse now—you’re the Port Mafia boss’ girlfriend.”

You felt like there were butterflies in your stomach. The protectiveness was attractive. You pulled on Dazai’s tie, reeling the rest of him towards you.

“And you’re my boyfriend,” you smiled.

To everyone else, Dazai was known as evil, suicidal, murderer, demon, saint. But to you, he was simply Osamu. Your boyfriend. And perhaps that’s what he loved most of all. Across universes, you would not fail him—not even Odasaku succeeded so highly.

“Are you going to kiss me, bella?” Dazai asked, the signature smile back on his face.

“No,” you teased, pushing him back. “I’m still mad at you. Nothing went according to plan.”

“Nothing did,” the brunette replied. “But isn’t that what’s so exciting about life? Life is unexpected, yet some good things can come out of it, such as…”

He revealed a piece of mistletoe in his hand, holding it above you two.

“Even if you’re mad, you can’t break a tradition,” Dazai spoke, swinging the plant back and forth.

You sighed before you both leaned in to kiss each other. Dazai pulled you onto his lap, and you kissed him even more feverishly. Your hands ran through his hair until the bandage around his head finally came undone, unveiling the rest of his pretty face.

You focused on his dilated, honey-colored eyes. Finally, they revealed what he was feeling. Comfort in having you in his arms again. In your warmth.

Everything felt too intense after that. He had started making out with you again, his hands were wandering you curiously, the dim lighting, the jazz instrumental, how tipsy you felt from the drinks…

“Let’s just go home.”

…

You were swaddled in Dazai’s arms under the bed's covers at home. So sleepy. Dazai promised that the next day would treat the both of you better—a peaceful Christmas gift.

“Let’s stop doing such large parties,” you said, looking up at the ceiling. “It just calls for trouble, to be honest.”

“Yeah…we’ll have a small houseparty next time. Everyone else can do what they want.”

You were gently kissed on the forehead before the brunette softly whispered to you. “Merry Christmas, belladonna. I love you.”

“I love you too, Osamu.”

dazai told me he’d kiss u if u rb this. rbs are cherished; they are ur christmas gift to me! <3

tags: @kissesmellow21 @osaemu @ruanais + @lovedazai @chuuyrr @anqelically (i think u guys would like this <3)

© AUREATCHI 2023. no reposts or translations. do not steal. support banner + animated divider by cafekitsune. heart lights divider by benkeibear. manga header made by me - DO NOT save/use.

#₊ ⊹˚✉︎𑁤 with love; reverie #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu x you #dazai osamu #dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai x y/n #dazai fluff #bsd dazai #dazai scenarios #dazai fanfic #bsd fluff #bsd drabbles #bsd scenarios #bsd imagines #bsd x reader #port mafia dazai #bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x reader #aureatchi

[yunholuvrr]

muse

summary: Your friend Hongjoong just held a show for his new fashion line and invited you to photograph the event, but one model catches your eye more than any of the clothes on the runway.

pairing: yunho x fem!reader

word count: 4.1k

genre: smut, model!yunho, fashion designer!hongjoong, photographer!reader

warnings: explicit smut minors dni, petnames (baby, love, princess), big dick yunho, semi-public sex???? pretty tame i think, lmk if i should add anything

note: taking a break from we all need love to indulge in my feelings for cosmopolitan yunho oh my GAWD he's so fine.... & i did not proofread sorry for any typos

You've worn many hats since you graduated. Interning at various clothing companies, freelance photography picking up gigs from friends and classmates, and a brief stunt as a journalist. It only makes sense that all your jobs have led to you standing in front of a glowing runway, camera propped and ready for the first model to walk out, people rushing by as they settle into their front row seats.

Not every classmate of yours was doing well in the fashion industry, but one in particular was making waves, if this event was anything to go by. Kim Hongjoong, the designer that came out of nowhere.

You chuckle at the marketing of your old friend. Anyone who knew him would know he was born to design clothes, hell, if you didn't know him you'd only have to take one look at his closet. But in the grand scheme of things, a man's gender inclusive line going viral after only 2 years in the industry is pretty unheard of.

The lights dim and you focus on your camera's digital screen, quadruple checking all your settings. Hongjoong was your biggest client during your freelancing days, and your gig tonight was to capture his show for press. Usually you'd just be doing personal events like weddings or birthdays, but these would be seen be anyone and everyone in the industry. To say you were nervous would be an understatement.

One model after another appears on stage, making their rounds in all types of bold, complex outfits. His work wasn't really your style, you preferred to keep it simple and comfortable, but it's hard to deny its appeal. The models he invited showed the pieces off amazingly, too. They worked on all body types and proportions, which you made sure to capture in every photo.

One man in particular stood out to you as you took every shot you could. He looked more like a traditional model, tall and thin, lean and muscular in all the right places. He could get a job anywhere he tried. The charisma oozing from his face was infectious. A few dark strands of hair fell in front of his rhinestone speckled eyes, which seemed to make eye contact with every single person in the room. His cupid's bow was sharp, and the smirk he sent to your lens in particular had you nearly forgetting to press the shutter release.

"That's a wrap!" A man calls from behind you. The stage lights finally fade and the crowd dissipates, leaving you and a handful of other staff to pack up. You sit on a nearby stool, squinting at the small screen and clicking through your photos. Before you can get very far through your collection, someone taps you on the shoulder.

"After party in an hour babes," Hongjoong chirps next to you, "you're invited. Thanks for the excellent photos tonight."

"You haven't even seen them yet," you chuckle and finish packing up, resolving to get ready for the party despite the exhaustion you feel at the back of your mind.

He smacks your arm playfully before insisting that every photo you've ever taken has been perfect. "By the way, did any of the models catch your eye?"

"Is there a correct answer or do you want my honest thoughts?" You pierce right through your friend's shenanigans. Hongjoong has always been quite the matchmaker among your friends, although you wouldn't call it his most successful hobby. It's almost like he just picks two names out of a hat and decides they would look good together.

He only shakes his head, "I really wanna know! They're all really nice."

You only squint before responding, "Tall guy, dark hair. He was towards the end but he really walked his ass off."

His face lights up immediately and you know you chose the right answer, "Yunho!"

"Yunho," you repeat, "yeah he's nice to look at. I suppose that's his job."

"He's the newest model I've worked with," Hongjoong looks at the runway fondly, "I didn't know if he'd bring anything special to the table at first, but he's truly irresistible."

"And you invited him to the after party and you want us to meet because we'd be such a perfect couple," you stand up, eye to eye with him now, and giggle at the little game he's playing.

"Maybe so... but listen!" You both start walking towards the exit, "I don't want you to fuck him on the first night or anything. Just get to know him, at the very least you'll get a new client. His portfolio is bare bones."

You don't even have time to process what he said before he's slipping away backstage with a quick goodbye. If you were being honest, this Yunho guy probably wouldn't be a bad hookup. You weren't really looking for anything, but he's pretty. And you can't deny good work connections.

You arrive 20 minutes after Hongjoong told you to, fashionably late. You planned to have a drink or two and stick close to him since the small buds of exhaustion have already bloomed into a fullblown headache. No one should have any questions for a random photographer anyway.

"Speak of the devil, there's my right hand woman now!" Your thoughts were immediately proven wrong when you walk in and a small group of models you recognize from the runway stare fondly in your direction. Yunho is one of them, of course, but you try not to think about the words spoken about him just an hour earlier.

"Hi! I'm y/n, we went to school together," you manage a convincing smile as Hongjoong passes you a drink.

"I can't wait to see your photos," one lady gushed, "Hongjoong showed us some of your work and your style is just lovely."

You a manage a small thanks before taking a small sip. The conversation flows into a new topic with ease and you're left in the background to quietly enjoy the party. That is, until you feel a light tap on your shoulder.

"Excuse me," a shy, deep voice floats above you, "you don't seem like you're in a talkative mood, but I had a question for you?"

You look up and Yunho smiles down at you. He looks nothing like he did on stage before; his piercing eyes have morphed into soft, welcoming ones and his charming smirk is replaced by a nervous grin. You nod and take another sip, letting him continue.

"Hongjoong has just mentioned you so much I thought I'd ask if you could take some headshots for me?" He fiddles with his fingers and when your eyes widen he looks away.

"What has he said about me?" You try not to sound accusatory, but it doesn't come across as nicely as you'd like.

"Oh nothing bad! Nothing bad at all," Yunho chuckles, and it might be the nicest sound you've heard at this party so far, "he just wouldn't stop talking about how great you are. I figured I'd take the hint and ask."

You shift from one foot to the other, considering his request before deciding it wouldn't hurt to get to know him more. "Is this your first modeling gig?"

"Just about," there's that chuckle again, and it's contagious, "I've done a few small things here and there, but this was the biggest scale by far."

"You know I won't lower my rates just because you're new," you tease, "or because Hongjoong wants me to."

He just shakes his head profusely, "oh absolutely not! If anything I was gonna offer you more..." you see Yunho think through his sentence as he says it, trailing off after realizing what exactly he said.

"You flatter me, but I'm not in the mood to talk business right now," you swear a slight pout comes across his face before you even get to finish.

He doesn't skip a beat, pulling his phone out of his back pocket and offering it to you, "then why don't we talk later?"

You can only mutter a "smooth" while tapping your number into his contacts. You hand it back to him and watch him type something before feeling a buzz in your own pocket.

"I'll send you some info when I have a moment this week," you try not to stare at his now mischievous smirk, continuing to sip from your empty cup.

"I'll be waiting," he bends down to your height, and his voice lowers to barely above a whisper, "talk to you soon."

He's gone before you know it, disappearing into the crowd, and the brief proximity makes your insides turn in ways you don't want to admit. You have to find Hongjoong.

His bright blue hair stands out near the food bar and you quickly make your way over. The words fly out of your mouth before you even get to him, "what exactly did you say to Yunho?"

He gives you a small huh, clearly tipsier than you are, before a look of recognition washes over his face. "Oh hi love! I didn't say anything, why?"

"He said you kept mentioning me to him?" You would laugh at the state of your friend if it weren't for the sudden desire to know everything Yunho thinks of you already.

"Hm, I only said you're a great at taking photos!" He clings onto your shoulder and laughs, "and that he stood out to you on the runway tonight! He smiled ear to ear when I said that, isn't he so cute?"

"Hongjoong you did not," you grab both of his shoulders and shake him a bit, "does he think I like him or something?"

"Do you?" When you don't respond he just laughs again, "I guess my job is already done."

"I don't even know him!" You wish you could sincerely be mad at the man in front of you, but he's been correct all night so far.

"Don't you want to though?"

"I hate you, seriously," you glare at him, but he only laughs again before returning to his previous conversation. You don't know what he's gotten you into, but you don't think you mind it.

Your workdays have been packed ever since the night of the show. Being Hongjoong's right hand photographer had its perks, like the dozens of offers you've received since the articles went out, but that doesn't mean it isn't the most stressed you've been in weeks. You all but collapse by the time your lunch break rolls around.

Forget about me already?

The light buzz of your phone disrupts your thoughts about scheduling. No one usually texts you, at least not during the day. No one except Yunho.

Sorry! I've been swamped. Let me send you the form my other clients are using to schedule with me.

Aw, no special treatment for your favorite model?

You make a mental note to beat the shit outta Hongjoong for doing this the next time you see him.

Maybe if you give me a good enough offer I'll put you at the top of my list

Not even 10 minutes later, a scheduling request dings on your phone and you see the payment is three times your normal rate for headshots. You mentally curse Joong for putting you in this situation, but you're willing to play the game if it means good dick and good pay.

Am I at the top of your list now? I can't wait to see you

You can't help the way your thighs squeeze together for a moment, now eager to fit him in your schedule (and elsewhere). You wrap up your short lunch with a newfound motivation to get through your emails, making sure to leave a 2 hour slot open for him. You wonder how long you can hold off on getting back to him before he starts begging you. That would have to be a game you play another time.

The studio is empty when you show up, allowing you to quietly set up just the way you want to. Your movements are quick and practiced, dozens of headshot appointments under your belt at this point. These were supposed to be simple and straightforward, so you didn't have much to prepare besides rolling down the white backdrop and setting up your lights. There were a few other props on the side if he wanted to take more shots. You asked a couple people to help out with equipment during the shoot, but you came in early just to have some peace and quiet. Your coworkers arrive a few minutes after you do, exchanging pleasantries before finishing the job you started.

Then he walks in. You're double checking your camera settings when you hear the front door open and his honey-like voice greeting the other staff. You feel his attention shift to you, and when you turn around a playful smirk is plastered on his face. His makeup isn't as dark as it was on the runway, but he looks clean and undoubtedly handsome. His styled hair falls just past his eyes, moving with his lashes every time he blinks. He's pretty, there's no way around it, a type of face that you can't help but stare at.

"Why don't you take a photo, it lasts longer," he snickers, snapping you out of whatever daze he put you in.

"That's my job after all," you motion to a stool in front of the camera, "do you want any props? We can do more than simple headshots if you'd like."

He nods and sits down, long legs crossing each other at the ankle. "I'd love that, miss photographer."

You narrow your eyes at the comment before signaling to the crew you're ready to go. One lady is on standby near the lights, another guy has a handful of reflectors ready. You try to ignore the tension between your model and focus on your craft.

"Can we try the gold?" You call out to your team, closely monitoring Yunho's face in the warmer light. After a moment of thought, you ask him to tilt his head. He's well behaved in front of the camera, following your every suggestion. You wonder if the crew can feel the heavy energy between you two.

After a half hour of posing, shooting, monitoring, retouching, and shooting again, you call for a break and everyone agrees. The couch in the corner of the studio looks so inviting you nearly run to sit down, oblivious to the way Yunho follows.

"You're really good at this," you jump at his voice next to you.

"I went to school for it so I would hope so," you mumble, getting comfortable. You open your phone, hoping to mindlessly scroll before you all come back, but he just plops down next to you.

"Have you ever gotten your own headshots taken?" You shake your head, trying to ignore the way his leg is pressed against yours. "You're so pretty behind that camera, maybe we can switch one day."

You almost bump into his face from how quickly you look up at him, "I'd never let you touch my equipment."

He hums in disapproval before pulling out his own phone and leaning back into the cushions. "Fine, maybe not me. But I don't see why Joong's never put you on the runway. You're stunning."

He expects a reaction from you, but you control yourself, leaning forward to get as much distance as you can. The two of you sit in innocent silence for a while, but the tension only grows thicker. There's five minutes before you shoot for at least another half hour, and when your job is to stare at his face you're not sure you can go much longer.

"What exactly did Hongjoong tell you about me?" You sit up straight, taking a leap of faith.

"About how in love you are with me, why?" You swiftly kick his leg next to you and he chuckles, "he just said I caught your eye. He wasn't lying was he?"

"No, definitely not," you sigh, "but what I don't understand is why you like me?"

"Who said I like you? You just happen to be very pretty and talented and fun to tease."

"So you do like me," you huff in disbelief. Something in you stirs with every word he says and you have to cross your legs for some relief from the building pressure.

"If wanting to take you right now in the middle of your studio means I like you, then sure," his slender fingers trace the back of your shoulders, wrapping a secure arm around you.

"We still have all the props to play with," you scan the studio, but your team is nowhere to be found during the break.

"What if I want to play with you instead?" His breath softly blows across your ear now, voice just barely above a whisper. It takes everything in you to not kiss him right then and there.

"You're the one paying for this timeblock," you pull up your crew group chat on your phone, already making a decision.

"If we could wrap up here that'd be lovely, miss photographer," there goes that stupid nickname again.

"You can't call me anything else?"

"Would you prefer baby? Maybe princess? Or do you like meaner things?" His hand moves again to rest between your shoulder blades as he watches you type out a quick message.

"I would prefer if you shut up honestly," you press send. As far as your team knows, the client is satisfied and wants to end the shoot here for today. No one complains, you're still being paid for two hours thanks to Yunho's generous payment.

"Will you make me?" He traces a small circle with his thumb on your back, and the comment sounds more inviting than teasing. Your body reacts before your mind does, practically throwing yourself onto him out of annoyance and need. His lips are warm and soft and mold perfectly to yours.

He takes a sharp inhale as your tongue swipes past his bottom lip, his hand travelling up to hold the back of your neck. The other abandons his phone to take purchase on your hip, pulling you further on top of him. Yunho groans at the contact, resisting the urge to buck his hips up into you already. His flirting was almost as hard on him as it was on you.

"So needy," you mumble, propping yourself up on his chest to take in the view. His eyes are already blown out from lust, raking your body and letting his hands follow. His long fingers brush over your hardening nipples and you can't help the sigh that escapes.

He chuckles, "you're one to talk." He rolls his hips ever so slightly and you whine, head falling into his shoulder. He feels bigger than average below you and you wonder what you've gotten yourself into. You slowly rock your hips above him with his hands guiding you, whimpering into his skin.

"Can I taste you?" You freeze, head shooting up to stare at him in confusion. He wraps two fingers around your belt loops and tugs you forward again. "Please baby?" You nod and he sighs with relief as if his life depended on eating you out. Maybe it does.

He lays you on your back on a couch far too small for both of you like this, but you don't care. His lips are back on yours, warm and tender, as you feel both your jeans and panties slide down your legs. The cold air makes you flinch.

"Did I make you this wet while I was on the runway, love?" You feel one slender finger slide through your folds, but it's not enough. "Staring at me behind that camera all day must be so hard. I'll make it up to you," is the last thing he says before tucks his head snugly between your thighs.

Whatever snarky reply you came up escapes you with a moan just a bit too loud, his tongue flattening up against your slit. He wastes no time, too desperate to hear you above him. One hand holding you down just below your stomach, another teasing your entrance while his mouth makes quick work of your clit. You hope to the universe none of your crew left anything in the studio because your whines and wetness echoed through the room.

Before you know it he pushes one, then two, fingers into you, filling you up deliciously, and you buck your hips into him. His pace is slow and deep, opening you up to his liking. Some combination of his tongue and fingers nearly makes you scream, hands shooting straight to pull his hair. He groans into your flesh, vibrations sending sparks straight to your core, before looking up at you. His chin is glossy and a line of spit still connects you both and you nearly come at the sight alone.

"You're fucking delicious, darling," he pumps into you one last time before taking them in his mouth, sucking with a pop, "next time you should ride my face for me."

"Next time?" You watch as he unzips his own pants, shoving them down far enough for his dick to escape. It rebounds off his stomach, bigger than anything you've taken before.

"By the way you're staring," he grips himself at the base, "I think you want a next time." The way you lick your lips is involuntary.

He chuckles, quickly unbuttoning his shirt and throwing it on the floor nearby. You continue to stare shamelessly, boosting his ego as you etch his large, toned body into your mind. "Like what you see?"

"If you don't come here and fuck me right now Yunho I swear to god," and you swear you can see his dick twitch, but he simply tuts a finger at you.

"Ah ah ah, safety first princess," he slides a condom out of his pant pocket, ripping it open and handing it to you. You tilt your head and take it reluctantly, but he only smirks, "I know you want to touch me."

"Fuck you," you roll your eyes, sitting up and coming face to face (face to tip?) with his member. You never thought you'd see a dick that you'd describe as pretty, but his is long and thick and flushed a pretty shade of pink. You wrap your free hand around the base and pump a few times to tease him.

"Not now, love," you hear a shaky breath above you and you smirk. He pulls your other hand up and you comply, unravelling the condom smoothly down him. As soon as you're done he pushes you back down, not risking the chance of you testing him again.

"Let me know if it's too much for you baby," he whispers before finally pushing in. The stretch only stings for a second before turning into delight as he fills you up completely.

You sigh out in relief, mumbling a soft "keep going" and wrapping your hands around his neck. He listens immediately, pulling back almost all the way before thrusting back in. He keeps his slow pace until he's completely sure you're comfortable.

He looks down at where you connect before finally losing his composure. "You take me so fucking well," he moans, dropping his head into the crook of your neck, leaving sloppy open mouthed kisses all over you. His pace quickens relentlessly, the sound of skin on skin filling the studio.

You scream at one particularly rough snap of his hips, but he only barely slows down. "You okay, princess?"

"So fucking good," you pant above him, his mouth still ravishing your neck. He groans at your response, fucking you harder than before. You didn't even know it was possible. You snake a hand down to your throbbing clit, so close to coming undone.

"Please come on my dick baby," he all but growls, and the way his hips falter tells you he's close too. His words, on top of everything else, are enough to finally unravel you. You shutter and jerk up into him, moaning some string of fuck's and Yunho's until your mind goes completely blank. He comes shortly after, pumping into you sporadically until he finally flops down on top of you.

You both take a few moments to come back to your senses, nothing but a mess of sweaty limbs on this cramped couch. "Next time I'll take you home so I'll have room to cuddle you after," he chuckles, picking himself up.

"I would like that," you smile softly, legs aching too much to even attempt sitting up. He cleans you both up quietly before plopping back down, letting you stretch your legs across his lap.

"So," his hand traces up your frame to cup your cheek, "can I take you out to dinner sometime, miss photographer?"

#yunho smut #yunho x reader #ateez smut #ateez scenarios #yunho oneshot #ateez oneshot #yunho scenarios #i need him carnally

[slutforln4]

EMAILS I CAN’T SEND

🖇️ in which your ex-boyfriend is the perfect muse

🖇️ faceclaim: sabrina carpenter

🖇️ not a request, just an idea i've had for a bit

🖇️ oscar piastri x singer!reader

oscarpiastri uploaded a story

[caption: late night talking]

replies

landonorris we have a race tomorrow 

oscarpiastri i’m aware

landonorris you need to sleep 

oscarpiastri i can risk a few hours of sleep for her 

yourusername 🩷🩷

oscarpiastri pretty girl 

gracieabrams

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, landonorris and 984,347 others

gracieabrams there’s gotta be some sorta compensation for thirdwheelers

tagged | yourusername

comments

user1 is that y/n

user2 that’s y/n omg 

user3 who’s she with tho….

user4 the f1 girlies know

yourusername i wonder who that is…

gracieabrams only the most disgustingly cute couple i’ve seen

oscarpiastri not a couple

yourusername yeah, we’re strictly business partners

oscarpiastri 

liked by yourusername, gracieabrams, landonorris and 2,892,927 others

oscarpiasti Race weekend + other things

comments

user5 other things = y/n

user6 business partners are surely partnering

yourusername you slayed that race tbh

oscarpiastri all thanks to you :)

gracieabrams that's disgusting

danielricciardo i agree

landonorris me too

yourusername stay mad 

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, gracieabrams and 679,638 others

yourusername sooo is t-posing a necessity to win or is that just an oscar thing?

comments 

landonorris long story short, george russell happened

yourusername ah, that explains it.

oscarpiastri did you have to post that specific image?

yourusername would you rather i post the one where your cheeks are so full you look like a squirrel?

oscarpiastri no ma’am

user7 “ma’am” she’s got him wrapped around her finger good lord

gracieabrams the taylor swift lyrics. you’re so down bad it’s sickening

yourusername it’s just a nice song 😇

yourusername

liked by gracieabrams, danielricciardo, charles_leclerc and 749,937 others

yourusername sad girls write sad music

comments 

user8 awe :( 

user9 someone zoom in and decipher what that says PLEASE 

user10 methinks an album is coming

user11 new heartbreak anthem, can’t wait 

danielricciardo is taylor swift finally featured in it

yourusername she didn’t reply to my email (i forgot to send it) 

user12 😭

gracieabrams sad girls unite 

yourusername i love u more than he ever could’ve <3

gracieabrams shade but true (love you too) 

yourusername 

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris, gracieabrams and 983,837 others

yourusername same time here next weekend? 

comments 

user13 paris was blessed with her presence 

gracieabrams girl wyd in paris 

yourusername hunting for french boys ❤️

gracieabrams find one for me ty  

user14 next weekend is french gp GUYSSSS 

user15 is she hinting at smth…

user16 i hope not, because she deserves better 

charles_leclerc can’t wait to see you on the paddock! 

yourusername and at your house, obviously 

charles_leclerc silly me, how could i forget

used17 ??? WHAT 

user18 girlie is moving on fast huh

user19 no bc this is insane

oscarpiastri 

liked by landonorris, gracieabrams, danielricciardo and 3,837,837 others

oscarpiastri Tiny victories :)

comments

user20 oh! okay! 

user21 why’s he smiling as if he didn’t cheat on his girl… uhm

landonorris tiny victories + huge losses

oscarpiastri you win some, you lose some

landonorris and you lost, big time

user22 uh. What

user23 HELLO???????///

user24 idk if this is y/n or lando’s homie hopper era, but i support it

gracieabrams boo no one cheered

oscarpiastri yawns

user25 gracie babes…

user26 taking her bestie’s man right in front of her 💀

user27 y/n’s bestie isn’t gracie but! good riddance!

yourusername 

liked by gracieabrams, landonorris, charles_leclerc and 1,928,508 others

yourusername what it was and what it wasn’t

comments

user28 is this her official statement of them breaking up? 

yourusername yes

user29 mother confirmed they were never together 💔

user30 brb crying

user31 love isn’t and never was real

oscarpiastri and what was it?

yourusername you giving too much and then getting scared

user32 OH???

user33 are they about to settle their argument in an instagram comment section…

user34 mmm no… this is sus. y/n wouldn’t do that in her own insta comment section

user35 no fr like she’s not as immature as other celebs to just handle her private love life in public 💀

user35 but then again, what do we know about her to assume this? cause she did it even when we assumed she wouldn’t

gracieabrams something is brewing

yourusername something’s cooking mhm mhm 

gracieabrams someone lock this girl in the kitchen, she’s cookin up bangers 

gracieabrams 

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, landonorris and 2,928,937 others

gracieabrams so incredibly proud of my girl y/n 🩷 second slide is probably one of her best moments as a songwriter. who could’ve thought he used a fork? or that forks are everywhere? genius stuff, i tell you. no but honestly, she’s worked so hard for so long and “email’s i can’t send” is finally out. everyone go listen or else third slide y/n will stab you with a fork.

tagged | yourusername

comments

user36 the subtle bullying 😭 i love them

user37 the best friendships are like this

yourusername you’re such a loser ily 🤍

yourusername thank you for the help with the fork lyrics! It was all gracie’s idea guys, don’t listen to what she has to say

gracieabrams i knew you’d somehow put the blame on me

yourusername 

liked by oscarpiastri, gracieabrams, charles_leclerc and 3,384,038 others

yourusername “emails i can’t send” is out and i couldn’t be happier. not only because it’s released, but also because i can finally stop getting oscar into trouble haha 🤍 i’m just a girl in the world, sorry os. this lovely boy continued supporting me even when i suggested such a crazy idea, so that just proves he’s the right one for me (seriously, who would cook pasta for a girl that asked if they could fake a breakup?) last slide is oscar’s actual reaction to seeing me be silly on the gram. listen to my new album and stay delusional, my loves. 💌

tagged | oscarpiastri, gracieabrams

comments

oscarpiastri i can’t even be mad about the last slide cause it’s true…

oscarpiastri i love you princess, couldn’t imagine my life without you.

yourusername os :( i love you so bad

user38 wait huh

user39 IT WASNT REAL????

user40 LOVE DOES EXIST GUYS AND ITS THEM ❤️

gracieabrams my bestfriend is batshit crazy, and i’m all here for it

yourusername love you always

user41 so all of that… was all a marketing strategy…

user41 honestly, y/n is a mastermind

landonorris finally, oscar will stop asking me if you were serious about the breakup or not

danielricciardo the grid shall know peace once more

charles_leclerc i can’t deny that it was kind of funny seeing oscar walk around the paddock with his tail between his legs

oscarpiastri okay guys haha the bit’s over, shut up

landonorris @/yourusername break up with him again, he’s being mean 

oscarpiastri no please don’t 

user42 i’m crying 😭 why’s this kinda funny

user43 y/n messing with oscar’s reputation is funny to you? She could’ve fucked up his career lmao

oscarpiastri she didn’t mess with anything, i agreed to joke around and fake a breakup. I asked my pr team and they thought it was as funny as we did, so we did it. and it ended up putting my girl on the top of the charts, so :) stay mad, i guess liked by yourusername

user44 HE SAID STAY MAD IM YELLING

charles_leclerc 

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, gracieabrams and 4,974,093 others

charles_leclerc thank you so much to my *friend* y/n for letting me feature on her new album. and to oscar, thank you for not murdering me when the dating rumours happened. wishing you two all the best.

tagged | yourusername, oscarpiastri

comments

user45 aw wait this is so sweet :(

user46 y/n is besties with all of the grid this is adorable

user47 him having to clarify that they’re friends HAHAHA

yourusername love u charlie <3 was lovely working with you. (all the piano bits you hear in the album are charlie’s work, round of applause everyone)

user48 clapping so loud

oscarpiastri cheers mate, thanks for keeping her busy and me sane

yourusername such a liar, you were at home weeping for me to stay 

oscarpiastri no i wasn’t (yes i was)

oscarpiastri

liked by yourusername, landonorris, gracieabrams and 5,937,938 others

oscarpiastri So proud of this crazy girl, for more than just her new album’s release. She’s been so strong and so hard-working, and so loving. Peep the second slide to see her crying selfie that she sent to me immediately after commenting “yes” and confirming our pretend break-up. The third slide is of my girl and her best friend, because they’ve kept me on my toes for the past two months. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love you to the moon and to saturn, y/n.

tagged | yourusername, gracieabrams

comments

user49 i love my virtual parents 🫶

user50 love is real and they’re proving that everyday

user51 HE QUOTED TAYLOR SWIFT TO HER IM SOBBING ON THR FLOOR

yourusername me too bff, i love this boy so much

landonorris is gracie single

yourusername no

gracieabrams yes i am?

yourusername you don’t want lando, trust me

landonorris okay what the fuck

yourusername i’m breaking up with you for reals this time

oscarpiastri what the fuck :( 

yourusername was the crying selfie really necessary 💔

oscarpiastri you look cute 

yourusername don’t even.

yourusername i love you so much, thank you for being my muse

oscarpiastri i hope i’m your muse for happy love songs too? (pls say yes)

yourusername next album is called “oscar is the love of my life”, so i’d say yes

oscarpiastri fuck yes 

🖇️ just a silly little story. hope you enjoyed <3

#formula one fanart #formula one #formula 1 #f1 #formula one imagine #formula one fanfic #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #formula one smau #oscar piastri smau

[biblio-smia]

humbly requesting dad!mike,,, like literally anything. this man is so tired but he’s such a dad type of tired if you get what i mean

OH MAN,,,, YEAH! i hope this was what you were looking for!!

the sun beats down on mike through the thick glass of his windshield, forcing him to pull the sun visor down. he inches forward in the car line - he really should just put the car into park. he's half-distracted as someone behind him honks and it takes a few seconds for mike to realize it's at him, mumbling an apology that will never be heard as he pulls up.

mike needs a recharge. he's surprised himself over the years, watching as he has become the type of person that gets energized from being around others instead of from being alone like he had been for years.

although, this seems to only apply to family - mike still can't stand being around strangers for too long but can feel his battery be replenished the minute he's home.

mike watches as a teacher helps a smaller kid into the car in front of his, watching the parent turn back and make sure the child was buckled up before driving away. mike finds himself smiling and it's his turn now. he can feel his demeanor softening, the anticipation to see a piece that would make him feel a little more whole again rising in his throat. mike smiles at the teacher who leans close to his car, examining the numbers on the tag that dangles from the rear view mirror, quietly memorizing them while she goes back inside to find the child with the matching number.

but she comes back empty-handed. mike tries not to frown but his heart is beginning to race as he rolls down the window, only faintly aware that he is holding up the line.

there's a brief conversation between mike and the helpful teacher who tells mike his child has already been picked up, eyes glancing to the car behind him. mike gets the message, though he'd like to ask for her to just double-check, pulling into a parking spot out of the way of others. his teeth catch the inside of his cheek as he thinks, thousands of thoughts milling around his head.

his nokia begins to ring and mike answers it haphazardly. he blinks quickly once he hears your voice on the other end.

"hi," you start, sweet as ever. "are you almost home?" there's a natural curiously in your voice, the end of your sentence dipping up in question. mike glances at the time - yes, he'd usually be home by now.

"uh," mike starts, a warm feeling settling over his cheeks, suddenly seriously considering that maybe today wasn't mike's turn to pick up his kid. "yeah, i'm almost there."

there's a bit of silence as you hesitate, waiting for an explanation from mike that doesn't come.

but then you pipe up again and mike can hear the smile in your voice. "10 minutes?"

"less," mike promises, saying goodbye with a kiss he wishes he could be placing on your lips rather than against the speaker of his tiny phone.

mike seeks you out quickly, stopping you from pulling out plates for dinner with his strong hold around your body. he presses his lips lazily against your jaw, tickling your skin, voice low as he greets you a little tiredly.

you don't have the chance to ask where he's been before a small body coming racing over, wrapping around mike's legs and asking him for you.

"what took you so long?" a muffled voice whines and mike has to crouch down and wrap his warm arms around his child to begin soothing that tiny frown. "you're usually here early on tuesdays."

"tuesday," mike muses quietly, picking up his kid as he rises. "today's tuesday..."

you can't stifle your laugh, pressing kisses to both heads and placing two different hands on two different backs

"i think daddy got confused about what day it is," you grin and mike tries to frown.

"you need a calendar," the small voice chimes again, this time muffled from against mike's shoulder.

a laugh bursts out of mike and he moves to move the little body from his arms to a seat at the dining table. "yeah, i think i do," he admits with a smile, walking back over to the kitchen to help with the task he'd interrupted.

mike listens intently about a fight that had happened on the playground, another in the cafeteria, and about spilled paint in art class, stories told through bites of food and details clarified by questions thrown in by you and mike.

it's mike's turn to clean up while it's up to you to wrangle the little one into the shower.

mike loses himself in his thoughts again, mindlessly wiping bits of food off the counter, not realizing you were calling his name until he feels his back-and-forth motion of his hand come to a halt.

"hey," you call, voice as affectionate as ever. "where's your head?"

mike looks into your eyes and blinks for a few moments, before sighing and burying his face in the crook of your neck, seeking the comfort of your familiar scent. "i don't know," he groans and you quietly try not to laugh.

your apologetic hands come up to soothe him, touch against his back soothing his muscles. he picks up his head and looks at you, at your eyes and the curve of your nose and how it comes in to become your mouth. he stares at your lips quietly before pressing his own against them, feeling his body fully relax at the connection.

"ewwww!" a familiar voice shrieks but mike, at this point, is immune. he lingers in his spot for a few seconds, not quite wanting to let go but unable to continue without oxygen.

there's soft laughter from you and mike, reminders that it's time for bed making the smallest person in the room even smaller. then an idea strikes.

"can i sleep with you guys tonight?" the quiet voice pleads hopefully, hands clasped and eyes wide.

you and mike exchange a glance and small smiles. mike scoops the child up, nodding. a deal is struck and small cheers are made.

your kid jumps onto bed enthusiastically and you're worried the energy won't wear off by the time you all need to sleep. you and mike are careful climbing into bed, cautious of the small limbs that lay sprawled out. mike smiles as he feels his arm get pulled by a smaller one, feeling your hand and grinning when he looks over to see you've gotten the same treatment.

there's pleading for a bedtime story and you and mike take turns, adding in new bits and twists - though you have to take over as mike's words begin to turn into incoherent mumbles.

"keep going," mike manages to get out, half-asleep, shifted in his position so his arm is protectively thrown around the two other bodies with him, the tiniest one humming in agreement. your words are soothingly sweet, lulling not only your child to sleep but mike, too.

you comply, continuing to tell the now nonsensical story to a partially unconscious audience, purposefully leaving long bits of silence between each of your sentences. mike's fingers will tap against your waist occasionally, signaling to you that his brain has not fully drifted off just yet.

it only takes a few more lines. you pause your words again, lie still to wait if there's a tap, listen closely to the sounds of quiet breathing. your eyes are adjusted to the darkness and see two pairs of eyes closed, two sets of chests rising and falling.

you're careful not to move too much, pulling the blanket up higher.

"goodnight," you whisper softly, hoping maybe your message will make its way to them in their dreams.

the warmth of two bodies next to yours and the gentle rhythm of breathing take you out quickly, dragging you into the same state as those around you.

throughout the night, the three of you entangle yourselves even more, arms wrapped around torsos and small hands clutching onto the soft fabric of pajamas.

there's really nothing quite like it.

requests for mike schmidt are open!

#mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt fluff #five nights at freddy's #fnaf x reader #fnaf movie #fnaf #try not to write about mike falling asleep challenge FAILED #v + mike #v writes

[glasseffynity]

HANDS-ON LEARNER ft. SPENCER REID, READER

Warnings: Fingering, masturbation (somewhat), praise (so much), sex in front of a mirror, mentions of insecurities + poor body image (reader), implied Afab reader, Dom!Spencer x Sub!Reader

Wc: 1,386

In all your years of living, you've never experienced humiliation quite as stark as this.

Fully exposed, legs spread wide, giving Spencer complete, unobstructed access to your core. Your legs are draped over his, allowing him to keep you from altering your position as his hand glides in and out of your center, thumb languidly tracing circles into your clit.

Your humiliation isn't derived from your albeit compromising position, no; Nor is it derived from the uncharacteristically lewd words softly tumbling from Spencer's lips, worming their way through your ear and into your brain; It isn't even the fact that you're spread out for him, completely bare, losing more of your composure by the second while he remains fully clothed and unbothered, save for the bulge growing in his pants. The source of your embarrassment, what makes you want to dig yourself into a hole and never come out, is the giant mirror placed in front of the both of you, forcing you to watch your own debauchment.

It isn't as though Spencer's intentions were at all sadistic; He holds a wealth of knowledge, not excluding that of the human anatomy, and what kind of a man would he be if he didn't extend his intelligence to his other half?

The work the two of you do leaves little time to unwind, to cope with the stress that inherently comes with tracking down some of the worst minds humanity had to offer. What little time you have away from work is usually spent sleeping, and even that's become a challenge. But you should've known your boyfriend wouldn't let you fall victim to the cruel grasps of insomnia, so he'd kindly taken it upon himself to assist you in your conquest to de-stress after a particularly tough case.

"It's honestly no surprise that studies have shown that approximately 21 percent of all Americans use masturbation as a way to de-stress," Spencer murmurs, his lithe fingers continuing to invade your cunt, eliciting yet another strained whimper from your lips as you observe his ministrations in the mirror. "Orgasms cause the brain to release Dopamine, which is primarily viewed as a "pleasure chemical", and Oxycotin, which brings on feelings of love and affection towards others." What you would normally consider irritating from anyone else will always be endearing in your eyes when coming from Spencer ; You've always known his rambles and statistics have come from a place of affection, to share all that he knows with the people that he cares so deeply about. And providing a more logical perspective to the mess gradually building between your thighs ebbs away a tad of the embarrassment, slightly dissipating your urge to bury your face in Spencer's chest and never come out.

Deciding it's time for you to aid in your own release, Spencer gently takes your hand, previously clenching onto his bicep, and drags it down to your clit, lightly rubbing circled into your center. The jolt it sends through you doesn't go unnoticed by Spencer, who merely chuckles and continues on as casually as he would if he was turning the page of his favorite book.

"What aids the most in de-stressing during an orgasm is the gradual shutdown of the Lateral Orbiofrontal Cortex, the part of the brain responsible for logic and decision-making; Deactivation of this part of the brain is also commonly associated with reductions in fear and anxiety," Spencer muses, continuing to drag your hand further down to the source of your wetness, pushing it deep into your hole. Your smaller hands don't quite reach as deep as Spencer's do, but with the right technique, he's confident they'll have the same effect. Pressing on your knuckles to get you to curl your fingers, Spencer continues to observe you in the mirror. "Beautiful." He doesn't mean to say it, likely doesn't even notice it, but the words send a pang straight to your core, and you involuntarily clench, which he does notice. Spencer doesn't bother asking if you liked that; He already knows what the answer would be, and you hardly seem coherent enough to answer. "What you're currently touching, judging by your expression, is your G-spot; formally known as the Grafenberg Spot, it's partially responsible for about 82 percent of orgasms in women, or any orgasms caused by something other than regular penetration." It's no wonder Spencer could so easily tell you'd reached your G-spot; You'd elicited a shaky gasp as you found it, your brows furrowing as your eyes rolled back. Any witty comments you might have made died on your tongue as Spencer resumed massaging you clit, adding to the already overwhelming stimulation.

Refusing to ease up on you, Spencer gently rests his head on your shoulder as he continues to observe the way you fall apart so stunningly; Amber eyes reflect nothing but admiration and adoration for you. This may be the first time you've aided in doing so, but Spencer has made you finish around his fingers enough times to know when you're nearing orgasm.

Admittedly becoming more lax on his original goal for you to watch the entirety of his actions, Spencer gently grips your chin with his free hand, turning your face to look at the mirror. Noticing you still advert your eyes from your reflection, he nuzzles his head further into your shoulder, hand dropping down to hug your waist. "I want you to watch," he asks softly, honeyed eyes pleading with you in the mirror. "I want you to see yourself the way I do, the way I always have." Any hesitance you have eases away as Spencer rubs circles into your waist, encouraging you to reach your end. Forcing yourself to meet your gaze in the mirror, you hold eye contact, even when what you see staring back at you makes you want to cringe, makes you want to look away, makes you want to hide yourself from the beautiful man who's sitting behind you, coaxing you ever so gently to finish. Even with insecurity looming at the back of your mind, you continue to massage your abused clit and prod at the spongey, raised lump within your core; Spencer remains ever-so-loyal by your side, softly encouraging you with murmurs of, "That's it," "'Atta girl," "Doing so good for me."

He's fully aware of your hesitancy when it comes to being accepting of yourself, always has been, and Spencer has always been more than willing to do whatever it takes to get you to become even slightly less adverse towards yourself, whether it be by sitting in between your legs for hours, lapping at your clit until you have to physically push him away, or pounding himself into you until you can barely remember your own name, much less any insecurity you may possess. And yet, his current method, despite the overwhelming amount of stimulation received by you, seems much more gentle, much more personal. Instead of a sole effort on his part to change your perception of yourself, he's given you an active role in it as well, allowing you to face your insecurities head-on while doing so.

Spencer may be determined in his pursuit of adjusting your attitude towards yourself, but he's still merciful; When your hand begins to tire, he gladly takes over, his long fingers picking up where you left off. Feeling your muscles begin to tense, his pace quickens, leaving no chance for your orgasm to fade. As you finally reach your peak, Spencer renews his grip on your chin, forcing you to watch yourself as you finish. He could watch you cum a thousand times and it would never be any less breath-taking: Your brow furrowed, plush lips forming an O, eyes fluttering back into your head; You're truly a work of art in Spencer's eyes.

As the euphoria fades and your mind becomes clear again, your muscles give out; Thankfully, Spencer, ever the gentleman, is there to catch you. "Don't give out on me just yet, Sweetheart," he jokes, eyeing your lips as he holds your hips, keeping you sitting up. "Wasn't planning on it," You respond, reaching up for a quick peck to his lips. Spencer has other plans though, deepening the kiss as his arms wrap around your waist.

"Good, because I have plenty more to teach you."

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #spencer reid x you #This gif will always hold a special place in my heart he just looks so soft

[blueberryarchive]

The One Were Jungkook;

more slasher!jk

𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙨; slasher, 80s, psychological horror

𝙩𝙬; non-con, somnophilia, horror, violence, blood

(thank you to @hoseokshobagi for helping me with this big mess, I love u, shut up)

NY, 1985

The little ol' Brew House wasn't like the bar you went to with Jimin. It was so small that you could feel the sweat running down your back, the ghost of a hand or a glance behind you with every step. There was a sour smell of old, dried beer on the rustic green furniture and freshly disinfected vomit in the corner where Jungkook motioned for you to sit.

"Sit down, don't move."

You climbed onto the cracked brown leather stool, your bare thighs sticking to it like Velcro. A band was playing Iron Man on the other side and it was so uncoordinated that it matched the people sitting there: middle-aged men in blue-collar jobs, women in black leather skirts and foreign students with little money, underworld poets and their upper class girlfriends living the fantasy of muses sitting one their boyfriend's thighs while they discussed Bob Dylan and Williams Burroughs. A green and brown amalgam of sweaty skin drinking warm beer and watered down whiskey.

You couldn't help but compare both places.

Sweaty Joe's was a bar just two corners from the university, it was bathed in colored lights and posters as old as the owners of the place themselves. Red leather sofas were distributed in the corners and those, for years, have belonged to the Maroon Knights players.

This is where you met Jimin, it was your first week and you and Bobby Joe decided to have a beer, you two were new, smiled candidly at each gentleman who offered you another drink. You had never done that in the small town where you came from.

Jimin was celebrating his first winter tournament, his crimson cheekbones and his elegant smile conquered your heart, he let you sleep in his room in the trailer where he lived with his four brothers. His hands never took yours without first asking you, never looked away. You fell asleep so quickly in that bed while the little snores of the quaterback kept you stable, safe.

At dawn, you couldn't even see his face, you spent a week avoiding the hallways where he frequented until you did what your mother did to apologize to people: you baked some cookies. Unfortunately, he was on a diet but he still accepted them, his younger brother would eat them all with pleasure, you offered him a kiss and he let himself go.

That afternoon you lost your virginity behind his secong-hand orange Pontiac, white cotton panties crumpled and drooled between your teeth as Jimin held your calves. You cried so much that he forgot to moan, but your boyfriend wiped away each tear with his wet tongue and his thumbs until his cum fell thickly onto your skirt and his uniform.

The second time was different. What you don't know is that you cooking for him lit a spark, a simple breeze in a dry forest and you were the summer sun. You were going to be his wife, he promised you, with drooping eyelids and your pelvis on top of a pillow, his hands guiding your ass until they collided with his waist.

“I'm going to make you mine, I'm going to buy you a house and a huge ring. Fuck—you’re going to have to stop me at some point because I’m going to get you pregnant every time you smile at me, love. Doesn't Ms. Park have a ring to it?" He growled grabbing your hair to pull you closer to his sweaty chest.

“What is that pretty head of yours thinking about, huh?” Jungkook snapped his fingers at you, placing a long mug of beer in front of you. The second cigarette of the afternoon dangled between his fingers as he waited for you to take a drink, his eyes darting from your chest to your hair. “I saw you look at the ring on your finger.”

“My boyfriend gave it to me a month ago.” You said fixing the thin silver ring, a promise desperate to be fulfilled.

“How very” The boy laughed, choking on the smoke, you held the beer and took a long drink.

You realized that men when they exist in a cloud of promises and anonymity are more fuckable, because now seeing the metalhead in front of you, you just wanted to hit him.

“I don't understand why you keep yapping when you're not here to hear me speak.”

“I didn't want us to move on to fucking so quickly, but if you can't wait, then we'll make a little something in the alley.” Seeing your face blush he laughed again. “I'm kidding, doll. Don’t be so rigid.”

With a whistle, Jeon effortlessly caught the eye of a man nearby. His muscles were noticeably defined, and he sported a pair of square glasses that added a touch of charm. Dressed in a casual plaid shirt, his hair styled like a military man. Spotting Jeon, his face lit up with recognition, and he quickly closed the distance between you.

“Kim, I thought you weren't coming to the meeting.” Out of the corner of your eye you caught a glimpse of the man's slight tensing as his friend spoke, but without skipping a beat, his hand gently landed on his friend's shoulder.

"What do you mean?"

"You literally said-"

"No, I didn't. Gosh, give me a break."

Hoseok looked in your direction with a hint of distrust, the creases on his face sharpening with each step you took. You walked closer, his eyes traced your body from head to toe, his initial skepticism fading away the moment he reached your side. Your little shorts and Wham! t-shirt hugged your curves tightly, clinging to your tits like a sculpture of marble.

"What's this?" Hoseok pointed at you and moved his fingers up and down.

"Come, I want to introduce you to my friend. We met in…" Jungkook's smile widened as he tilted his hand. “Well, it doesn't matter. What does matter is that you have to make a place for her in the club, wouldn't you gladly have one of the sweetest pieces of meat of the whole faculty on the team, eh?”

Jungkook looked in your direction again, he knew that the way he spoke caused tremendous disgust in you and he enjoyed it. “This is Hoseok, the president of the archery club. Greet him before he hates you for some reason.”

"Shut up." Hoseok's voice cut through the air as he extended his arm to shake yours, his calloused hand brushing against your skin. His sharp eyes studied your hands intently, examining every detail. "You got weird fingers."

"Is that how you give compliments to pretty girls?"

Hoseok let out a sigh, nonchalantly plucking the cigarette from Jungkook's mouth. With a subtle gesture, he motioned for his friend to approach while bringing the cigarette to his own lips.

“If you want to fuck one of the cheerleaders, find another way, I'm not going to put her in the club, dude.” His failed attempt at whispering, which was clearly intentional, didn't escape your ears.

“Do you think I have to fuck one of you to be part of your Disney Heroe theatre team?”

Hoseok's eyebrow arched, while leaning back against the bar stool. With a confident yet subtle sway, he adjusted his posture, his pelvis shifting ever so slightly, but still managing to catch your eye. A mischievous grin formed on one side of his lips, knowing full well of the effect he had on you. “And why the hell are you looking for me if you don't need me, Barbie?"

"I'm here to let you know that I'll be waiting for you in the green area on Monday at 3, expecting you to hand me a bow and arrow," You declared, a sweet smile playing on your lips like a precious jewel shimmering beneath a cloak of innocence as you deftly snatched the cigarette from between his parted lips. "And I hope you show up with a smile that could outshine the sun and a more decent cologne."

Hoseok scoffed with raised eyebrows, clearly unimpressed by your little rebel talk as you took a drag from his stolen cigarette.

"You do realize you'll be the only woman in the group, right? The guys ain't going to like you, they tend to be very…"

"Terrified of women," Jeon chimed in, leaning against your shoulder.

"Exclusive," Hoseok added.

"They'll probably do a jerk-off circle if they see me in a skirt." You quipped, a sly smile playing on your lips.

The three of you looked at the cubicle where the a few memebers sat, all upper class kids who couldn't get into anything in their lives without Mommy opening the door for them first.

“Whatever, you're not even that hot, they'll live.”

You smiled, turning around on your stool to continue drinking your beer. “See you on Monday, four eyes.”

“Bye, Hobi-Bobby.” Jungkook rested his arm on the bar, his eyes positioned on your profile.

“Do you want to fuck now? I love women who know how to silence men, i'm already hard.”

"Why are you so fucking disgusting?"

"You're the one sitting next to me, you can go now." And he waited. You stayed there, speechless and waiting, too.

"Kim?"

"Who?"

“The dickhead called you Kim.”

“I don't know who that is, sweetheart.”

“Mm.” You nodded. You weren't too sure now. “Are you sure you're the one I talked to that night?”

"I promise you." Jungkook dragged his stool closer to your ear, the smell of nicotine and shaving cream was pleasant, manly. "Are those sugar tits as sweet as that voice of yours?"

“What time did I call you?” You ignored his nutty breath.

“Are you questioning me now?”

"Yeah."

His jaw tensed, biting the inside of his cheeks.

“I'm going to give you some advice, doll. If you want things to go well today, don't question me.”

You felt a rush cover your back, the beer felt colder on your fingers and you were more aware of his proximity. You were in his territory, you didn't know anyone there, you were screwed.

“Can you answer me just one thing and that's it?”

Jungkook moved closer and nodded, his pupils stabbing at your lips waiting for you to say something out of line so he would have an excuse to destroy you with.

“Why do people think you are weird?”

His sigh collided with your neck, a smile woven little by little; you could see stars in his eyes when he moved back. The raw desire to show you why.

He leaned close to your ear and whispered slowly, the urge to laugh drowned out by his words. Both his hands hiding his lips like a child. You swallowed as you finished listening, a long drink to finish the remaining beer.

He pulled out a new cigarette before your eyes met his again.

“So, in your room or mine?” He mumbled before lightning the tip.

“I'm- I think I'm going home.”

"Isn't your home in the middle of nowhere in Pennsylvania, you silly little bun'?"

The man in front of you pouted, nodding with a dejected face when he saw you stand up, the large mug of beer hitting your trembling anatomy. You wanted to vomit, to shed your own skin to pieces, to vanish, to crawl along the road back home like a mass of nerves and to sleep in your bed until you forgot what this psychopath had just hummed in your ear in the middle of the crowd.

But what did you expect? Wasn't this what you were looking for?

That's why curiosity ends up being the cruelest animal feeling. It takes you to the cheese on top of the trap, it makes you look at the sun and go blind, it makes you run through the grass until you fall at the bottom of nowhere. Voices like Jungkook's end up taking you to a seedy bar, at the mercy of God if he is even allowed in these parts.

“Come on, I'll take the bike down for you, then.”

You grabbed your backpack and walked in front of Jeon, stares like needles digging into your shorts.

Outside, his arms stretched out to take the bicycle, as light as a feather.

“I would've take you to college but-”

“I think this is where our journey ends, Jungkook.” Your voice was firm, elegant. You knew when to say goodbye.

He remained silent, one last smile as a gift. "If you say so." His hands opened dramatically to show you the road.

You raised your leg until you sat down and accelerated down the street, the sun hiding on the horizon. You didn't know if it was the wind hitting your cheeks and eyes, but you felt the cold stream go down to your neck. You wanted the road to get shorter in front of you and suddenly you were crying like a lost child, the sharp exhale stinging your lungs, you took all the alleys you recognized and the ones you didn't and you looked around at the desolate sides of New York.

Hiding from the sun your skin grew cold and the sobs turned to murmurs praying that you would return alive to the arms of Steph or Bobby Joe.

But oh, how angelic you looked with the halo of Jungkook's car headlights on your back. A honk chilled your blood until you couldn't do anything but grip the handlebars until your knuckles turned white.

“I changed my mind, I'll take you.” His breathing was jagged, he was sweating deeply, swallowing hard to hide the psychosis.

“It won't be long now and my boyfriend is waiting for me.”

“Don't worry, just load the bike and I'll drop you off at his house.”

'No' was not an answer and you knew that, no one ever said no to her and if they did no woman managed to keep her tongue to say it.

"Roger that. Thank you, Jungkook, you are a gentleman.”

“Of course, get off the bike now.” "She muttered as she snatched the iron from your hands and threw it behind her vehicle.

The trip was lethargic, the music faltered in the car with each curve until you reached a neighborhood of white houses and yellowish lights, the crickets chirped in the safe silence of a suburb. You thought about getting out when the car stopped and screaming until your lungs vomited.

But of course when you arrived the garage door was open, the car slid across the smooth concrete without a sound.

“Do you mind if I look for a few things before I take you home?” His voice sounded so carefree that you almost believed you were going back to your dorm room. You shook your head as he went down to close the garage door, the darkness consuming your hope.

Your heart began to beat blood so fast that your hands began to try to open your door, Jungkook tilted his head at the noise until he saw your reflection in the side mirror.

"Why you do that? God, you’re so stupid.” Jungkook took your hair in his hands and without much effort dragged you out of the vehicle and onto the garage floor. His hand covered your mouth, his calloused and sweaty fingers undoing the button on your Levi's until they stuck to your ankles.

“It's only once, you have to reward me for the beer you had.” His voice burned in your ear along with the beating of your heart, a light hum of your soul trying to get away from your dirty body.

“Mm-” You groaned as you felt the fabric of his jeans mold between your ass. Moving was in vain, fighting a mere fantasy.

“Just a quickie and then I'll drop you off, don't be so rigid.”

Your body was puppeteered to the living room with dim lights, curved and modern furniture that someone paid great attention to match with the upholstery and the carpet that decorated the floor.

And your body was thrown to the edge of the pink couch, the metal underneath the cloth digging into your stomach, your ass in the air as you felt cold hands remove your underwear. Why weren't you moving? Why did you let this happen to you? What was your mom doing right now? You thought of her chubby body moving around her room while organizing her dresses.

Warm spit fell onto your pussy and you closed your eyes, the last tear creating a shadow on the corrugated carpet as Jungkook slid his cock around the entrance to wet the entire area. The phone rang five, six, ten times next to you. Beep.

Hello, you are calling the sweet home of Bee, Dr. Kim and Taehyung. We are on vacation in Florida, but when we arrive we will take your message. Bye bye!

Who were the animated voices humming on the phone and why was Jungkook's voice there? You looked at the stranger loosening his grip on the sudden crackling laughter coming from the small speaker on the phone.

"Fuck." The now stranger mumbled, holding your neck with his forearm.

"You got the wrong kid, callgirl." And your eyes opened like a full moon, you looked at the closed windows of the room. “Taehyung, you have ten to hide.”

"Shit." Taehyung whimpered behind you pushing your body to the ground, instinctively you grabbed his leg causing his body to fall to the ground next to yours.

If you were going to die today, you wouldn't do it alone.

"Five, six…"

“What the fuck are you doing, you fucking whore?! I will die if he finds me.” His reddened face dragged trying to take your sudden weight and strength off of him. It was useless. Black Sabbath began to play above the house, reverberating, like thousands of wasps between the walls. “I'm sorry, I won't do it again, please. Let me go."

Taehyung's head reached the kitchen when a worn military boot stopped his movements. The muddy sole of the boot collided with Taehyung's head, making it bounce again and again and again against the wood of the kitchen. It was a hollow, wet sound, more forceful with each blow.

You leaned your body back until you collided with the sofa, your nails anchored in the carpet.

"Sorry. I'm sorry, ple-” Taehyung tried to speak until the boot took the last hit and his jaw hung from his mouth like a toy. His eyes looked back with mercy. Run, he shouted to you with his bleeding eyes, run until you die but run. A broomstick passed through his mouth until his body bounced once more.

So still.

Drool was falling from the corners from having your mouth open for so long. Why didn't you run? Is it that the boot you were looking for so long? Was the cruelty of being curious true?

An excessively tall figure passed through the kitchen frame, avoiding Taehyung's lifeless body. Black was the first thing you saw, the dirty jeans, the leather jacket tied around his waist, the Motley Crue tank top pressing against his chest and shoulders. Sweat dripped from his mullet to his tattoos.

His face, soft and covered in red. His oval nose and thin lips, eyes like a dead deer. Metal surrounding the room like the choir of fallen angels.

It was him, it was Jungkook.

“Poor little thing.” He licked his lips as he held your chin so you were looking at him. “Look at you, so afraid of that fucking-” he growled under his breath, getting down to your level.

"Please do not kill me." You cried, the air was thick, like sulfur around him.

“I didn't promise you that in the call, baby. Did you forget already?"

His hands were delicate under your armpits until he lifted you up and took your body to the furniture sitting you on top of his wide thighs. Your body looking at the turned off television, the curved reflection showed the difference in size. You were a doll on top of that beast.

“Put your foot up.” He ordered as he grabbed your knee to help you put on your Levi's with the softness of a creature in feather hands. "Stop crying."

“I can't, I'm too scared, I want to go home.”

"Pity." Jungkook sighed, taking your underwear from his jeans, wet with some chemical. His tattooed fingers took the flimsy cotton to your nose. Bitter at first and then it burned in your lungs. “Don't try to fight it, it'll be worse for you, baby. Atta girl, just let go, inhale.” His voice was serious, unharmed, like an anesthetic just like the clorophorm. There was no harm in closing your eyes if you were in the great hands of a beast, a mammoth.

"I like you girls manageable, stupid." Was the last thing you heard, a smile grazing your neck.

Your body rose without permission, abrupt. The pain was immeasurable.

“Jimin, she's up!” You heard a small voice in the corner of a familiar room, the sheets rough and thick.

The silhouette of Jimin's younger brother ran to the kitchen. The other two brothers approached the door, their blond heads peeking out. Jimin pushed them until he reached you.

“Hyung-”

“Shut the door, JP. I’m sick of you, just eat your fucking breakfast and get out of the house.” Jimin shouted, looking at his brothers out of the corner of his eye.

The slow footsteps receded and Jimin turned his attention to you.

“Love, no, don't cry. I'm here.”

His name fell from your lips desperately as you squeezed his face, consuming every detail so your body knew it was real and wouldn't squirm like a worm.

“Breathe with me, come on.”

You closed your eyes hugging your boyfriend's neck.

“Come on, I've prepared a hot bath for you in the twins' room.” You shook your head frantically without breaking away. “It's just to get the mud off your body, then we'll go back to bed.”

"Mud?"

“Minjun found you outside this morning, do you know where you were last night, who did this to you?”

You grabbed the sheets and uncovered your body, bruises covering your legs and stomach. The dried mud covering the sheets of Jimin's bed. A scream choked in your throat.

“Its okay, I can change the sheets. Don’t worry about that. Let's go champ, up.” Jimin patted your injured thigh so you would chain your legs around his abdomen. With a grunt, Jimin lifted you up and carried you to a makeshift tub of hot water.

The little beds were together on one side of the small room, a metal tub emanating sweet steam covering the walls of the room in a thin web of drops.

“Raise your arms.” Jimin kissed your neck gently, the nausea returning little by little but you just let your body melt in the arms of the only person who mattered. His eyes shone with the concern of a father, he undressed you as quickly as possible so that the bruises didn't have time to hurt. Reaching your shorts, he knelt in front of you and stared at your tired face.

“I shouldn't have gone to the bar last night.” He wavered his speech for a second as he slowly lowered the zipper.

“Shh.” Your hand fell into his messy hair, he was still wearing his pajamas, what time did Jungkook throw you in front of Jimin's trailer?

The silence became strange, different. You didn't understand Jimin's sudden furrowed eyebrows when he took off your Levi's.

“Minnie?”

“Motherf-” Jimin stood up and hit the wall hard. His body turned around until he was looking at the jeans on the floor again. “That's it, I'm calling Yoongi.”

"What? Yoongi, what for? Minnie, don't leave, please."

"Don't move!"

Your boyfriend disappeared from the room before you asked him what was happening. You sighed with a heavy heart as you walked in pain to the shots on the floor: a wide, slimy stain extended from front to back. The pants fell to the floor and you went to the mirror on the wall.

Your trembling finger curved until you felt the hole between your legs, the whitish and salty cum thread stretched from your entrance to your shocked face.

You don't remember Taehyung penetrating you. Was Jungkook such an animal that he came inside while you were passed out? How could he?

Tears gathered in your eyes as you laughed silently, the pain was unbearable around your waist and legs, pussy still numb and you could only remember the patterns on the carpet.

Cruel curiosity.

#❗slasher! jk thoughts #bts imagines #bts #bts fanfic #bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook imagine #jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts dark fic

[letsgetrowdy43]

Wedding bells—

Quinn Hughes x reader

Request: 🌼 Quinn - he’s drunk and you have you take care of him, I feel like he’d be a cute cuddly drunk

Captain Huggy Celly

Brady's wedding was beautiful, in every sense of the word. Every detail felt so intimate and romantic, from the ceremony and reception, even down to the colour of the tablecloth. The moment the Hughes family stepped foot on the venue, Y/n knew it would be an amazing day, and she was right.

That same sense of love seeped into the night as the sunset and the drinking started. Quinn was the centre of Y/n's attention all day, looking as handsome as ever in his groomsman suit, with a fresh haircut for the big day, and a wide-lopsided grin.

He watched as his best friend, his brother more or less, became a husband. The realization that they were adults was heavy as Brady kissed his bride. Nostalgia filled his senses as he looked down at the crowd to look at Y/n watching him, tears in her eyes at the love in the air as he smirked at her.

As the night rolled in so did the party, everyone found themselves inside the reception hall, live music playing as the drinks poured and the dancing started.

A wide smile found its way onto Quinn's face as Ellen pulled him out to the dance floor. Luke looked at her with a grin and extended his hand, "my mom stole your man," he joked as she took his hand and let him lead her to the dance floor. "He is her son," the girl shrugged as Luke and she kept a friendly distance as they danced around the floor, giggling at Jack who was stuck dancing with the flower girl, a face full of what seemed embarrassment and adoration as the little girl made him twirl around.

She loved this family, she thought to herself as Luke spun her around and Jim took pictures from the sidelines.

"Your wedding will be nicer than this," Luke mused as she looked at him with an amused look. "It'll be pretty hard to beat this," she shrugged. Luke shook his head, "I don't think so, no one loves like you and Quinn love each other," the boy said sweetly making the woman's face soften.

Y/n smiled softly at the thought of her wedding day. She would be happy just eloping if that's what Quinn wanted, but the fuss would be nice, the intimacy, the romanticism of it all was something she had dreamed of since she was a little girl. Marriage wasn't a foreign subject to her mind, Quinn and her had discussed the subject frequently, both agreeing on a small wedding on some vineyard in Kelowna, wanting the homey feeling of summer to surround them on their special day, very Quinn and Y/n-esque.

Her brows furrowed as she pulled away from her thoughts, searching the crowd for Quinn. Ellen was now sat at a table with Jim and the Tkachuk parents, and Quinn was nowhere to be found.

"Do you see Q?" the girl mumbled to Luke who was quietly laughing at the scene unfolding in front of his eyes. Brady, Josh, and Quinn were going shot for shot at the bar as the band started to play some more upbeat songs. "Oh god," Y/n laughed as she and Luke approached the bar. "Have fun with that," he patted his sister-in-law on the back and left in search of his other brother.

Quinn grinned shyly at his girlfriend as she approached the bar, "Looks like you three are reliving the university days," her brows raised as Josh laughed. "Learn to live a little Y/n/n," Brady joked as he set off to look for his wife. The woman's jaw dropped as Josh mumbled his agreeance with Brady, "your friends love to hate me Q." "Fuck 'em Dove, they suck," he said with a sickeningly sweet smile as his arm found its way around her torso, hugging her closely to his side as she looked at Josh and stuck her tongue out at him.

The girl turned to look up at her boyfriend, a hazy drunk look taking over his face as he dipped down and kissed her on the cheek, something he'd practically been dying to do all day, missing her touch, her warmth.

His hands squeezed her hips as she grinned at the attention, "you look a little drunk my love," he grinned and nodded. "Drunk on your love," he whispered smoothly into her ear before kissing her on the neck, her face heated up as she melted into his hold, "Sorry, that was cheesy," he admitted. "I liked it," she grinned and took one of the hands on her hip and kissed his knuckle, the two of them swayed to the music as they watched the newlyweds family come together to dance.

"I want our wedding to be like this," she mumbled as he grinned into her shoulder. "With fewer people?" he asked, smiling as she nodded, "we should get married soon," he suggested followed by a hiccup, her eyes widening at his nonchalant idea. "You need to propose first my love," she said cooly, her fingers intertwining with his. Quinn chuckled and placed another kiss on the sweet spot on her neck, "I'm working on it Dove, promise," The smell of whiskey hit her senses as she spun around and captured his lips with hers.

Perfect, her life was perfect in every sense of the word.

-

-

-

I steered away from the prompt I'm sorry!! but I just started writing and lost sense of my original plan :)

#captain huggy celly #quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes blurb #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes x y/n

[hollyseb]

BARTENDER (PART 3)

Warnings; blood, mild violence, swearing, MINORS DNI,

No permission to copy my work :)

Part 2 here! https://www.tumblr.com/hollyseb/737991483216494592/bartender-part-2

AN; thank you SO much for all the love. This is the first time i have ever written a fanfic and im so glad you all like it

Mob! Bucky x reader

Bucky pummeled the men in the basement of his club. Repeatedly. Brutally. He allowed himself to let go of everything, his mind only focusing on the scene unfolding in front of him. It was psychotic, really, the way his eyes darkened, his nostrils flaring. He licked his lips at the sight of Rumlows split jaw. He was enjoying this.

They were so close. So close. To hurting you. He would make sure that they would never get the chance to again.

Typically, Bucky was controlled, each punch having a meaning, a perfect place to land with an intended goal. But tonight, he was an animal. Sam and Steve found one another sending concerned looks, through furrowed eyebrows and folded arms. They knew something was different. That Bucky was truly furious.

When he was finally satisfied with the beating, he walked out of the club, thoughts trailing back to you. What would you have thought if you had seen him like that? He shook the thoughts from his head, deciding not to answer them.

On the other hand, you had spent the night curled up in bed. Stripping off your clothes and grabbing your phone, you rang Nat. When she picked up, you felt a weight lift from your thoughts. She’s okay.

“Nat, can I ask you something?” You mused, avoiding her eyes over the video call. She hummed in response, you continued, “why did those men attack the club?”

You weren’t stupid. They didn’t reach for the cash register. They didn’t take anyone. They were there for Bucky and his associates. Why? He owned a club, maybe even multiple clubs, and an office building. Who is this man and what does he do?

You weren’t expecting Nat to act so uncomfortable, her eyes shifting around her room, “listen okay… I don’t know exactly what Bucky does, or his friends, but they’re powerful, okay? They have the police force wrapped around their fingers. They practically own the city”, she was speaking in rushed whispers, as if sharing this information could damage her.

Your eyes widened as she continued, “Why do you think the club pays so well? You don’t get that rich and powerful without stepping on people, making a few enemies”

You were hanging on every word she was saying, desperate to find out more. How rich? What enemies? Doing what?

You exhaled, realising Nat had explained all she knew. You were conflicted. Bucky seemed to like you, protect you and the job had given you the ability to pay your bills without working your entire life away. But Bucky, was he dangerous? Vindictive? What if you did something that he didn’t approve of?

Your thoughts were racing, Nat caught you in the process of reeling, “but, I think he has taken a shining to you, really. When the bar was attacked, the only thing he was looking for was you”

What did this big, powerful man want to do with you?

You tried to deny the way your heart flipped when you told Nat about your meeting tomorrow. You were nervous, but god you were thrilled. Nobody like this has ever taken a liking to you before. You’d never been pursued in such a way. He was frightening, nerve-inducing, dangerous even, but he wasn’t that way with you. The way he held your face in your bathroom, dabbing gauze onto your chin, the way he shielded your body from the attackers, whispering that you’ll be okay. Even the way he looked at you when you served him, like you’d knocked the breath out of his lungs.

You told Nat about what Bucky had suggested to you, the way he desperately wanted you to visit his office. You told her how nervous you were, and that you were ashamed you also couldn't wait. The comfort he offered you after the attack, the softness of his hands on your face. He was addicting.

“Go to sleep, your emotions are heightened”, you snorted when Nat said that, rolling your eyes, “oh shush, plus you’ll want to be on top form tomorrow, seeing him in daylight and all”

“Damn it.” You hadn’t thought of that.

You told Nat to pick an outfit for you, your only intention now was to roll over and go to sleep, with thoughts of a certain boss cradling your face.

You woke up the next day, disgruntled, the gauze on your chin half falling off. You had an ache in your shoulder, from where you had been knocked to the ground. You picked your phone up from your bedside table and finding a text from Nat telling you what to wear.

You got yourself reading, pulling on a simple satin pink maxi skirt, and a knitted white turtleneck jumper over the top. Is this too much? Or is it sophisticated. God, he’s only ever seen me in skimpy dresses. You decided that this was fine. Smart, but cute.-

Rushing out the door and exiting your apartment block, there was already a car waiting outside for you. White and sleek, a Mercedes. It was funny, really, how used you were becoming to being chaperoned around.

Bucky was pacing his office, anticipating your arrival. His receptionist had informed in of your arrival to the office.

You were nervous, arriving at his office with the receptionist sending you in the direction of the lift, telling you to go to the top floor. Okay, just breathe. It felt like the elevator was taking forever. You looked in the mirror, smoothing down your skirt. It felt like you were meeting him for the first time. This was unchartered territory.

The lift opened, directly into his office. Lavish, exquisite, overindulgent. His office was huge, high ceilings, surrounded by windows revealing the skyline of the city.

Bucky stood from his chair and made his way over to you as you stepped out the lift. He found it adorable, the way you were amazed by his office. He could see the awe on your face.

Your eyes met his, god he looked amazing. Hair slicked back, black tailored suit, perfectly molded to his body. An earnest smile took over his face, you spoke first.

“Hi”, you smiled innocently, your cheeks heating, matching the colour of your skirt.

“Hi honey. You look beautiful”, Bucky stalked towards you, “how’s your chin?” He raised your face, his forefinger on your jaw.

Your blush deepend. He could hear your breath become quicker. “It’s fine, thank you Bucky… and thank you for looking after me last night”

He smiled at your gratitude, running his thumb over your jaw. You’re practically putty in his hands. He loved it. He wanted to swallow you whole. He reminded himself that you were gentle, small, innocent. You’d run in the other direction if he let himself act on his impulses.

You could tell he was hungry. You interrupted the silence that had fallen between the two of you, “B-Bucky I wanted to ask you abou-“

“About the club, I know honey”, Bucky continued for you, releasing your face. He walked you to the chair opposite to his desk with a hand on the small of your back. He let his eyes travel down your back, to your long legs. He was itching to run his fingers over your ass. He restrained. You felt a shiver run up your spine. You wanted to lean into his touch. What was this man doing to you?

He sat in the large desk chair, his body dwarfing the desk. He is just so big. He clasped his hands in front of him, and suddenly you were aware of how big he was. You shied back a little.

He informed you that he won't ever let that happen again, that you could be safe with him, that he’d protect you. You believed every word he said.

“I never want you to feel that scared again”, you smiled at that, “plus, I can’t lose my favourite bartender”, his foot nudged yours underneath the desk.

“Is it the whiskey cokes I make?” you asked, nonchalantly. You knew what he was getting at, but you wanted to hear him say it explicitly.

He laughed at that, his eyes creasing, “no, I think it might just be you”

This man was making you feel things you hadn’t felt in a long time.

Bucky’s cock hardened at the way you leaned forward as you laughed, your breasts pressing together as you giggled. Such a sweet moment, but he can’t help himself. You were addicting. Your smile, your body. He wanted to drag you over the table.

Your trance was disrupted by the sound of the elevator opening. It was Steve.

“Bucky. We need to go. It’s urgent”

Bucky could’ve killed Steve for interrupting his precious time with you. Instead, he clenched his fists and sighed.

“Wait for me in your office, give me 5 minutes”

He turned back to you, “I’m so sorry honey. I really didn’t want to cut this short”

“I-it’s okay Bucky, honestly”, you suddenly felt out of place. Not important enough to be in the room which such serious business occurring.

Bucky stood from his chair, taking your hand to help you up from yours, guiding you to the elevator the same way he did before.

You couldn’t help the sigh that escaped your lips. You loved this time with Bucky. You were disappointed.

“Honey.” Bucky spun you around before you stepped into the elevator, one hand pressed on your back, pulling you into him, and the other on your left cheek.

“Bucky?” The air mingling between the two of you. Your breath was caught in your throat. He was so so close, his pupils blackened with lust, his eyes flicking down to your lips.

He was obsessed with the way you were staring at him, wide eyes, completely shocked, your breathing coming out in gasps.

His hand moved to the nape of your neck, he pulled you in. When your lips met, he was gentle at first, dominating you but with care. Guiding you to where you needed him to go.

He felt you relax, you sighed into his mouth, he swallowed it up. You needed this just as much as he did.

Your hands fell to his big arms, kneading the muscles as your knees went weak. He was wrapped around you, god he was everywhere.

He deepened the kiss, his hands trailing down your spine. Fuck. You moaned into his mouth, his tongue running over your bottom lip. You tasted like strawberries. So, so sweet, he thought.

He could feel himself becoming desperate. He wanted you. Bent over his desk. He shook the thoughts, reminding himself that this was enough for now. You could feel his hard cock pressing against your stomach. Fuck me. He was kissing you like his life depended on it.

You released him first, trying to catch your breath. He rested his forehead on yours, taking in your fucked-out eyes, puffy lips and the way you were holding onto him. You laughed, trying to hide the flush that had creeped into your cheeks.

He leaned back in, pecking your lips softly, and then your cheeks, and then your forehead.

“Do you treat all of your favourite bartenders like this?” You whispered.

“Only the ones who make me really nice whiskey cokes”

You tried to hide the way you snorted at that as he guided you into the elevator. He bid you goodbye, a cheesy smile on the tall mans face.

He spun on his heel when the elevator shut, what the fuck could Steve want? It must’ve been serious. Steve knew better than to enter his office without warning. He knew something had happened. Fuck.

Next part here; https://www.tumblr.com/hollyseb/738343739506999296/bartender-part-4

TAGLIST:

@melsunshine @scott-loki-barnes @differenttyphoonwerewolf @mrsevans90 @kandis-mom @blairbibi @pattiemac1

#mob bucky #mob bucky x reader #bucky x reader #marvel #bucky barnes #mafia bucky x reader #mob bucky au #sebastian stan

[ageingfangirl2]

You Can't Hurt Me! Haruchiyo Sanzu (Tokyo Revengers)

You work in a coffee shop, another day of being bored and fake smiling at customers, until a pink-haired man comes crashing through the window and meets his match. Sanzu x Reader (Bonten Timeline)

'Only two more hours until I can close this place,' you mutter under your breath, leaning on the counter with your hands on your face.

Your eyes roam lazily over the scattered handful of customers in the coffee shop. A loved-up couple in the corner huddled together whispering and blushing, a few businessmen and women tapping away at their phones, and a wannabe writer who practically lives here. All day everyday just like you, you think gloomily.

Still leaning on one hand, you tap your fingers on your other hand impatiently on the counter, musing over ways you could close the shop early for the day. You had three options that sprung to mind; one, you could make up an excuse about a gas leak since the building down the road had one a month ago, two, act crazy so everyone leaves and you potentially get fired, or three, bide your time patiently so you earn every dime of your paycheck.

You decide on option three, blowing out a loud sigh. You needed the money, you couldn't afford to lose this job in the current economy. Making coffee wasn't your ideal life, the job wasn't that hard, it just got boring in the late afternoon when the crowds thinned and you were left to your own devices.

You pick up the rag over your shoulder, deciding to wipe the counter down one more time when a loud crash startles you and snaps you out of your thoughts.

A man quite literally comes flying through the window, sending glass shards across the room, luckily there were no customers in those window seats. Customers scream in terror, as the man, bloodied and bruised rises to his feet, but unlike everyone else, you weren't terrified because things just got interesting.

As if he knew you were watching him, his eyes snap in your direction, his gaze fierce and piercing. You could see why people would be scared of him because he had interesting scars around his mouth and screamed 'mafia' vibes. But right now all you could think about was how you had another mess to clean up and your boss wasn't going to be happy.

'Will you stop dripping blood all over my clean floors?' you ask, voice monotone as you meet his gaze.

He growls, his voice dark and dripping with menace, 'Excuse me?'

'I just mopped,' you reply, and stand up straight, stretching to work out some kinks in your back from leaning over.

He reaches around his back, pulls a gun from the waistband of his trousers and points it directly at you, a wicked grin creeping onto his lips. At this point what few customers had stayed to gawk flee from the shop leaving the two of you alone.

You stare him down as he chuckles, 'It's just the two of us now.'

You nod, 'Great, I was looking for an excuse to close early.'

His grin wavers. He tries to take a step towards you but staggers backwards, wincing. Whatever fight he'd been in, it was catching up to him, 'quick. Help dress my wounds.'

He waves his gun at you with shaky hands, 'or I'll shoot you dead.'

You clear your throat and raise a single eyebrow, 'only if you ask me nicely sir.'

His eyes widen in shock, probably not used to being spoken back to, 'What did you say?'

You sigh loudly again, imagining being anywhere but here right now, 'did your hearing get damaged when you came crashing through the window?'

'NO!' He snaps.

You motion behind him towards the front door, 'Come on, then. Walk outside, and enter with a better attitude. I'll treat your wounds, but you have to be respectful.'

Confusion, anger and something else flash across his face while you watch him with disinterest.

'Who do you think you are? Telling me what to do,' he waves his gun at you again as he speaks.

Your tiredness turns into anger, 'and who the hell do you think you are? If you don't want to bleed out, you need to...ask...me...nicely.'

He stares at you, his mouth agape, speechless. Then he grits his teeth, 'Fine. Will you please kindly help me with my wounds?'

You smile a little, 'there, was that so hard?'

You pull out the first aid kit from under the counter and walk around the counter holding it in front of you as you carefully approach him. You reach out to pull off his suit jacket, but he flinches away.

'What are you doing?' he gasps.

You roll your eyes, 'I need to be able to see the wounds to treat them.'

He blinks a couple of times, realisation dawning on his face, 'Oh, right...go ahead...'

You extend your hand again slowly as if he were a dangerous animal that might bite. This time he lets you help him out of his jacket which you place over the back of a nearby chair, while he winces.

You let him remove his waistcoat, tie and shirt which was bloodied. It was a lot to take in coming face to face with his bare chest, he was in good physical shape. You'd think he was carved out of stone if it wasn't for the warmth that came off his body reminding you he was human. You quickly tell your brain to get out of the gutter with dirty thoughts, seeing the amount of blood on his chest, there was a lot of it.

The main wound was on his right ribcage, and looked like someone had stabbed him, but he had other cuts and gashes across his arms, and even his face, but some of those could have been from being thrown through a glass window.

You take a deep breath, 'let me guess, I'd hate to see the other guy?'

'Other guys,' he grumbles

You pull out a disinfectant wipe and dab at the cut on his face just to the left of one of his scars.

'FUCK YOU! OW!!!' he shouts.

You pull the wipe back in surrender, 'sorry, sorry,' you mumble, 'I should have warned you that this might sting a little.'

He grunts, and you move back in to dab the cut with a much more gentle touch, 'do you have to?'

You bite your lip, trying to hold back your laughter, he's awfully scared for a tough guy, 'if it gets infected, it's going to hurt a whole lot more.'

You try to quickly clean the smaller cuts and gashes not wanting him to lash out at you because he couldn't handle a little pain. After throwing out the bloody wipes, you unroll the bandage and start to tackle the deeper wound on his ribcage. He grunts and grimaces as you wrap the bandage tighter and tighter around his body.

'You really should go to the hospital, looks like this might need stitches,' you observe, as you wrap, noticing some blood seeping through.

He huffs, 'I couldn't care less about how I look.'

You stop your work and pull back looking at him with your own grin. His perfectly styled pink hair and smart clothes, all screamed I care, 'sure you don't.'

You cut the excess bandage and tape it down, 'how did you get into this mess if you don't mind me asking.'

He eyes you suspiciously, 'what do you care?'

You shrug your shoulders, 'Call me curious. Maybe I'd like to avoid ending up in a similar situation if it isn't safe around here anymore.'

He scoffs, trust me, I don't think you need to worry about that.'

You match his scoff, 'why not?'

He eyes you up and down smirking, 'You don't seem the type to get into trouble.'

You chew your lip, weighing up his words, 'Is that a compliment or an insult?'

He shrugs, 'You decide.'

You smile and puff out your chest proudly, 'compliment then.'

You watch him put his shirt back on along with the waistcoat which he leaves open, before slowly and carefully putting his jacket back on with the tie now in the pocket. When he's done you take a step back and finally take in the messy scene around you, 'now you can help me clean this place up.'

His mouth hangs open, 'you want me to what?'

You motion around you at the broken glass and blood, 'Clean up. Look at the mess you made. I've had a long day...a long week... and an even longer year.'

You slump down into a nearby chair, suddenly feeling the full weight of your exhaustion after the small adrenaline rush.

He shakes his head, 'do you think I care?'

You click your tongue, 'I don't know. I don't care.'

His brows furrow together, 'why aren't you afraid of me?'

You shrug a shoulder, 'I'm too tired to be afraid of you right now.'

He squints at you, curiosity in his eyes, 'You should be terrified of me. You should be begging me to spare your life.'

He prowls towards you, wearing a menacing grin, 'Don't you know who I am? Don't you know who I work for?'

'Enlighten me then,' you reply, back in your monotone voice from before.

His eyes narrow to snake-like slits as he takes in your bored expression, 'I'm one the most powerful and dangerous men you'll ever meet. I'm Haruchiyo Sanzu.'

You blink a couple of times, you couldn't care less who he thought he was, you hadn't heard his name before or even seen him around his area before.

He fingers the gun which was back in his waistband, 'I could hurt you so bad. You'd wish you were dead.'

You roll your eyes which you'd done a lot during this encounter, 'Sanzu, is it? I work in customer service. You can't hurt me in any way that matters.'

He looks frozen, almost like a deer in headlights. You manage to make yourself stand up and take off your apron which had his blood on and fling it on the table ready to call it a night.

'You--You don't--' he stammers, and this time when he eyes you up and down there's something different in his eyes, like he's seeing you for the first time.

You put your hands on your hips, ready to hand back any crap he decided to throw your way, 'What?'

He looks flustered, and he can't stop staring at you so you continue speaking, 'What? Spit it out. I don't have all night.'

As you step around him he manages to speak, 'You look better than this place, that's all. You don't belong here.'

You look down at your feet, suddenly very aware of yourself. You try to keep the heat from showing on your cheeks at his genuine words. He was the first person other than yourself who'd told you that you were better than this place.

'What do you mean by that?' you ask.

'It was meant as a compliment, geeze you're annoying,' he snaps back.

You pout, 'didn't sound like one with your tone is all.'

You flip the sign on the door from 'OPEN' to 'CLOSED' before heading back behind the counter to retrieve the brush and pan along with the mop bucket, ignoring Sanzu, though you could feel his eyes on you.

'Well, uh...I guess I'll be going then,' he says.

You glance over your shoulder at him to see he is checking out the name tag on your apron, '...nice name.'

You slap your hand down on the counter, at least pay for a coffee, you've done enough damage.'

He continues to stare at you with the same shocked expression, that seems to have a begrudging respect undertone, you guess he'd never come across somebody quite like you.

'Okay, fine,' he says calmly, and approaches the counter taking his wallet out of his back pocket instead of the gun.'

'Err...wh-what do you want?' you stutter, not expecting him to take up your offer or even pay.

'Surprise me,' he replies, a lazy smirk on his lips.

He knew he was affecting you, maybe getting the upper hand on you after your attitude towards him earlier. So you decide to make him the simplest drink, not just because you are lazy, but because you think it suits him.

'Double espresso, black,' you call out, putting the drink in front of him.

He picks it up and sips it, his eyes sparkling at you over the cup's rim. He doesn't make any noise of approval or disapproval. Instead, he passes a crisp one hundred across the counter towards you, 'Keep the change.'

You gape at him, staring at the money, as he swiftly finishes the drink and throws the takeaway cup in the bin next to the counter. Wordlessly, he struts out of the shop with his head held high, leaving you with the mess he'd made.

#anime blog #anime fanfiction #anime imagines #tokyo revengers fanfiction #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo revengers imagines #tokyo rev #tokyo rev imagines #tokyo rev fanfiction #tokyo revengers sanzu #tokyo rev sanzu #sanzu x reader #sanzu haruchiyo #sanzu x you #tokyo revengers bonten #tokyo rev bonten #bonten #sanzu bonten #sanzu haruchiyo x reader #tokyo revengers

[tremendum]

fever

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader (afab, use of she/her)   rating: explicit.  (18+. mdni.)   word count: 7.5k summary: but at the timbre of your voice, a cold shiver runs down his spine. his eyes widen in acceptance. there must have been some sort of- poison, or aphrodisiac in that damn plant that you'd both been struck with.  warnings: SMUT. dubcon (sex pollen), age gap (not specified), use of the word ‘girl’, friends(ish) to lovers, canon-typical mentions of violence, needles/getting pricked by a plant, descriptions of canon-typical injuries, unprotected PiV sex, kinda rough, creampie, light cumplay, oral (f and m recieving), a fair amount of begging, dacryphilia, size kink, overstimulation, voyeur Joel if you squint just for a sec, facefucking, mutual masturbation, multiple orgasms, some spanking, choking, reader gets slapped on the cheek like once, dom!joel miller, spit kink, fingering, dirty talk/slight degradation if you squint, light praise, this is just basically porn with no plot, they’ve got feelings for each other but they’re in denial, ellie is in this in the beginning but doesn’t hear them thank GOD,  notes: this is my first work for Joel and though I never finished the first game, the release of the TV series inspired me bc i am a SLU T for pedro lmao. this is terribly unedited because I just forgot i took edibles after i smoked and cranked this out in an hour and a half so sorry if it’s choppy or a bit ooc for joel. ALSO IF IM MISSING WARNINGS PLS MESSAGE ME 

★  

"whose brilliant idea was this?"

you say it from behind Joel, the echo of your boots splashing through the tunnel as you look around you, your eyes sneaking to observe the width of his shoulders, the stretch of his shirt over the muscles. 

Joel can't stop the twist of his lips as he grumbles back at you, "yours." he mutters, rolling his eyes. 

his flashlight cuts through the darkness in front of you two, scaling over the walls that grow slimy with repeated dew and rainwater, algae sprawling over the pipes and reaching its fingers down towards your shoes. he doesn't like being down here, it's too quiet, damp, dark. perfect for cordyceps to grow. 

you let out a soft, amused hum at his words that coaxes a bubble of irritation through Joel - you'd always been stubborn, from the day he'd first laid eyes on you; a young thing at the time, baring teeth you thought were sharp but really just looked like a little doe snapping its jaw at him. 

it's been long enough with you around now that Joel knows you better than he's willing to admit, and maybe also knows himself than he would ever say out loud - because you're still that stubborn fireball of a woman and he's still the tired old man who you find amusing to tease. and he likes it, deep deep down. 

"yeah, maybe just letting it go was the better option." you muse from behind him, voice still somehow dripping like honey though the sloshing of the sewer provided nothing but unpleasantries for the group of you. he turns to spare a glare at you; you were already smirking at him. setting him up, then lying in wait. 

a damn minx. 

he sighs, looking away: sure, he wants you, of course he does - you were spry, beautiful, intelligent, and resourceful. but you were stubborn, and butted heads with him more than rams did in mating season. still, there'd been too many lingering glances, suggestive phrases, and gentle caresses for it to be a coincidence. he could tell that when you watched him split wood or help teach you to shoot a gun that you were probably soaked through your panties, and that made him hard as a rock when he allowed himself to think about it once in a blue moon. 

 but that doesn't matter, because in a world that wasn't like this one - without the danger, pain, the necessities to survive - a girl like you would never bat a fucking eye at a man like him. 

and he's got more important things to think about than how tight you'd feel around his cock, how well you'd take his orders with his hand around your throat. 

but your words not only fall to his ears - from where Ellie hangs upside down from the storm drain, she snorts, "you spent that whole time back there arguing with him just to decide he was right?" she boasts. at this, you grab her arm, pretending to pull her down from above your head and into the storm drain with you and Joel. a splashing noise and a squeal echoes through the tunnel as your boots slosh; Joel turns back with irritation, about to snap at the two to keep quiet. 

but you're grinning, eyes reaching his from where you stand, covered in storm drain water. Ellie's flipped upside-down, hanging from the ceiling with a grin of amusement, her arm slack in your grip. 

your shirt is wet, slick against your plush skin around your stomach and breasts, your hair stuck to your cheeks and forehead and neck. slowly, you bend down to pick the axe out of the murky water, a satisfied sigh leaving your lips as you shake the water from its hilt. he has to tear his eyes away from the flash of the lacy underwear that peeks from the waistline of your jeans. 

Joel's breathing is almost stutters - you’re a goddamn sight right now, and if the tightening in Joel's jeans meant anything, it's that he needed to look away. 

"it doesn't matter. you got your axe, now we need to get out of here." he mutters, tired of letting you convince him to do asinine decisions like try and crawl into a storm drain to fetch the axe you'd accidentally dropped. your lips pull into a tight line and he ignores the twist of fire in his stomach at your gaze, the smirk as you try to conceal your laughter. it just irritates him even more. 

he watches with sharp eyes as Ellie starts to pull you up and out of the drain; he's trained with a flashlight and his rifle pointed towards the depths beyond you, into the unknown area of the drain. your head is almost out of his sight when it happens: you twitch suddenly and let out a yelp, "fuck!" you hiss. Joel's rushing towards you, calling your name. 

you groan, pulling yourself up with the aid of Ellie as you mutter, "'m fine Joel, something stung me." 

stung you?  he looks around, flashlight searching the area for any animal or insect or other threat - nothing. but when you're clear of the drain, obscured by the dilapidated road above his head, Joel hears Ellie let out an interested but disgusted noise. his gun goes first, then the flashlight. he pulls himself up and as he nearly breaches the light of the Earth, a sharp sting attaches to his thigh, coaxing a grunt of shock from his lips as he pulls himself fully out. 

you're laying, soaked on the hot pavement, Ellie staring at you with wide eyes as you inspect your calf. there's a barb on it with spikes that look almost like a cactus of sorts, bright purple and speckled with yellow. Joel doesn't have to look down to see his own thigh impaled with the spokes of the same plant. he tilts his head back, hand scrubbing his face with a deep sigh. damn it. 

"what is that?" Ellie asks, eyes wide as Joel quickly pulls out the plant from his flesh with the flannel he'd tied around his pack. "don't!" he chastises as your bare hands move towards the spoked on your calf, and your eyes soon shoot up to him. "did y'touch a plant down there? or anything?" he asks, trying to ensure this wasn't anything toxic or lethal, or god forbid, a mutation of the cordyceps. 

but if it had been, there'd have been signs of it. pulsing, infecteds even - but this was a plant Joel has never seen before.

"obviously" you grunt, shooting him a glare, "I wouldn't fucking touch something growing if I didn't know it was safe." you snark. he knows you hate it when he treats you like a child - you've said as much to him before, and loudly - but he can't help the protectiveness he feels for you. your skin is covered in a sheen of sweat, "but it shot out barbs towards me. I wasn't even close to it, you saw me." you defend. 

Joel's throat clenches, his chest swimming with a warm feeling as the tingling sensation on his thigh lingers far after he'd pulled the barb from his jeans. he needed to get that thing out of you, too. you watch him as he pulls it out of your leg swiftly, Ellie sitting back on her haunches as she watches. 

"we should clean these out." Joel decides, standing up and grabbing his gun and discarded flashlight, sending a glare down to the axe that sits glinting in the sun. just what he needs, another thorn in his side. literally. 

--

the walk back to the house was much less exciting for you as it had been before the little romp with Joel in the sewer. the sun is hot beating down on your backs, and your dampness just exacerbates the mustiness of the storm drain's water soaking into your skin.

 your calf is starting to vibrate, almost - although your heart twists with worry, you eye Joel's back and he seems fairly normal. so, you keep going, ignoring the heat that starts to consume you. your head aches by the time you round your last corner to get back.

Ellie's in her own world, kicking a rock as the house nears your sights: you'd landed here early this morning, some people who knew Joel before had lived here: they were gone now. 

but it had beds, water that could be heated, and a collection of weapons and supplies stocked higher than your head. 

so as you settle your things into the living room, you smile, digging into your pack to fish out the scraps of soap you'd saved, enough for several washes each of you were liberal with it. "so, who gets it first?" you say with a grin, unable to contain the excitement in your voice at the prospect of getting clean. Ellie jumps up, grinning with glee. 

"dibs on going last!" she whistles, pulling a dry stare from both Joel and you. she shrugs, "what, don't want to be yelled at for takin' my time." she grumbles, flopping down on the couch, sofa releasing a plume of dust. 

you lift a brow, "there's a second tub down here, isn't there?" you ask. Joel nods, eyes flickering to Ellie, "then you can take the tub down here. but only use a bit of hot water." he chides. 

she rolls her eyes as he points a stern finger her way, swiping a piece of the soap you'd held out to her as she hauls her bag behind her, "relax, old man." she mutters, shaking her head as she disappears, "I'll let it run cold before I get out." 

your eyes fall on to Joel, who sighs, nodding to the upstairs bathroom. "you go." he says dismissively. you chew on your lip, trying to figure a way out of taking the first bath: you needed to inspect this sting first. "no, i can wait. 's fine." you shrug, the feverish heat on your body not helping yourself to focus. 

his hands run to the back of his neck, massaging a spot; your eyes are glued to the muscles that ripple from the movement, the long fingers thick and rough from a lifetime of hard work. you shudder, arousal pooling at the apex of your thighs easily. you swallow, embarrassed - why were you having such an odd reaction to this plant? it was making you feel fuzzy, feverish; the only thing you can focus on is Joel. 

he shakes his head, "nonsense. ladies first." he insists, not meeting your eyes. you feel yourself clench around nothing at his words, his abnormal attempt at chivalry - you laugh a bit. he glares at you, but there's no heat. 

"since when have you been one for chivalry, Joel?" you ask, shaking your head with a smirk. it's sweet, because despite the horror of reality, there were still times when that charming Southern Man that Joel probably once was peeks through the cold, hard exterior. 

rare but not unheard of were the times he'd hold a door open, or say ma'am - but it seems that all that remains of his past is that damn smooth accent and the broken watch he keeps on his wrist at all times. 

he rolls his eyes but says nothing. his face looks red, and you almost bring up the pulsing at the site of that plant's needle; instead, you bite your tongue. you need a moment to analyze it, alone - and to get your thoughts straight, to - to not think about him.   

"you can take first, Joel. I prefer my baths lukewarm, anyways." you joke, a fleeting touch on his arm. 

your hand burns when you pull away and his eyes catch yours as if he felt it too. he must decide to not protest anymore as he nearly stumbles his way upstairs, disappearing into the master bathroom, his hands shaky as they take your soap from your grasp on the way. 

--

Joel knew something was wrong immediately. the more he'd stood there, debating with you about who gets to fucking clean themselves first, the more he saw you, in a tub, fingers caressing yourself; the more real it felt, to see you touch your hardened buds, play with your tits, to hear you moan his name gently.

but his body was hot. he felt a fever like nothing he'd ever felt before, his mind going fuzzy as he'd stumbled into the bathroom, scrubbing his whole body from head to toe vigorously, as though whatever was happening would fade away if he'd just get clean. 

the bath couldn't have been longer than seven minutes. 

by the end of it, he was grunting into his shoulder to muffle the noise, his fist squeeing his cock tight as he fucks himself into it, the hot spurs of wanton need curling around his body, choking him. that god damned soap. it smelled like you. 

he'd thrown it across the room, its pieces splintered across the ground as Joel bites back a groan of your name, the images of you, soft hands pumping him, slick mouth opening to take him inside- he cums over his chest in hot spurts, the guilt red and hot across his cheeks as the feeling snaps from his chest. 

but the fever is still there when he blinks away the pleasured cloud of his orgasm. 

and it's still there, burning hot like a snake of revenge in his body when he slams the door open, body still damp and quick to react to the fresh air of the upstairs bedroom. 

he doesn't go back downstairs, not like this. not when the girl is down there, probably still in her own bath; he's still not sure what he's come down with, or if it could spread. 

now, it’s your turn in the bathroom in the master bedroom - he'd beelined it for the office upstairs before calling for you and telling you it was your turn; he knew that something in him would snap if he were to see you while he was in this state. 

but he should've gone back downstairs, because the moment he hears it, it's too late for him. 

you're moaning. 

it's almost clear as day; muffled through doors as you'd shut yourself from the rest of the house in the master bedroom, and Joel can't fucking unhear it. 

he became painfully hard again mere minutes after his first orgasm and has been restraining himself for what can only have been the ten minutes you'd been bathing, but at the timbre of your voice, a cold shiver runs down his spine. 

his eyes widen in acceptance. there must have been some sort of- poison, or aphrodisiac in that damn plant that you'd both been struck with. 

"fuck." he groans, surprised as it comes out much more breathy than intended, his whole body shuddering as his brain gets even more swarmed with thoughts - you, spread for him, or on your knees, or laying on the table, his cock shoved down your throat-

he hits the wall, hard. his fist stings but it's nothing in comparison to the burning need he feels swirling in his gut and his legs carry him until he's knocking on the door to the master bedroom frantically. 

he calls your name, and a weak gasp is the only response. he tries again, and then your muffled voice calls, "fuck, Joel, that plant-" you cut yourself off with what Joel can only imagine is a moan of pain and pleasure. his cock twitches and he thinks he may pass out. staggering over to the bannister, Joel calls out for Ellie. she stomps over to peak her head up towards him expectantly. 

he's shaking, sweat already sheening over his whole body. he's sure he looks like hell as he grips the landing under white knuckles, "Ellie, we're sick." he groans, "stay downstairs." 

she calls back up, joking that she’s going to leave the house; but she doesn't sound sincere. he barely registers her laughter before she shuts the door, closing herself off to explore the downstairs house without Joel or you to protect her. he's momentarily glad she's not suspicious, instead is relieved to have her own time to herself. 

but his cock is so hard he thinks he may pass out again, and he can hear you gasping out his name from behind the door to the bedroom and bathroom. 

the door to the bedroom shuts and echoes through the empty upstairs as he tears through, chest heaving. you're still in the bathroom, gasping as your moans echo through the chamber. 

he calls your name as he slumps against the door frame to the bathroom, the desire coursing through his body as he shakes with the feverous affects from the plant's venom. 

he can't think straight, "I can't come in." he says, shaking his head as his forehead rests against the cool wood. you wail from inside, "Joel, please, I need- I need you, please I need help." you whimper. he can practically see you, the pleading look on your face pathetic as your brows tangle together, eyes shut in frustration. he knows you're touching yourself, and it makes his cock twitch. 

"I can't." he says sternly, knowing that if he is to come through that door, there may be no stopping himself. he can't let that happen, not like this. "I'll- I'll be good, just- I can't, nothing's working." you whimper. 

"not like this, darlin'." he's grunting through his teeth, but he feels so much desire that it's painful, like he'll die. anger courses through his chest as you let out a drawn out moan, low and full of need even through the wall that separates you. 

"fuck you." you groan, "I hate you, Joel, never let me fuckin' have anything," your voice is strangled, a shuddering moan leaving your lips that sends jolts of electricity throughout his entire being. his hand finds his aching cock, slowly trying to relieve the painful desire that shoots through him with need. 

he glares through the wall, "yeah, well, fuck you too." he spits back, anger coursing through him at your bratty exclaim of irritation for him - the one who kept you safe, who let you do what you wanted - who followed you into goddamn sewer drains to find the shit that you’d lost. 

"walking around, flaunting that fuckin' ass at me." his words fall from his lips before he can stop himself, the desire and haze pulling it out of him as he twists his wrist around himself. "do you know what you do to me?" he nearly growls, "every time you open that mouth it's some shit. always gotta have somethin' to say to me, huh? make me wanna shut you up." 

your moan is nearly a sob this time; it's raw, full of desire, and Joel could just about cum from that noise alone. his neck heats up with the knowledge that his words pushed you even further; he always knew you'd be a dirty little thing. 

but he nearly falls over as the door to the bathroom rips open, catching himself with one arm on the doorframe, his cock still in his fist. his eyes find you on the ground, fully naked, on your goddamn hands and knees for him.  

his eyes nearly roll to the back of his head when you gasp, "Joel, we need to-" you swallow as though you were salivating at the sight of him above you, cock angry and flushed, "you have to fuck me, now." 

he stares down at you, his whole entire body tremoring at the sight of you; your bare chest, nipples peaked at you suck in breaths, face flushed with desire and sweat, your own legs shaking terribly. your hands are glistening with your own juices. he lets out a moan. 

"please," you try to get his attention again, squirming as though you're in just as much pain as he is, "please, just use me, I don't care, I want to taste you." 

he shakes his head, "we-we aren't thinking straight... can't do this." he gasps, even his own words starting to sound absurd to himself. you shake your head actual tears welling up in your eyes, "I think about this all the time, Joel-" you moan, your hand slipping between your legs, the wet sounds sending streaks of desire through his body. “it’s not just the fucking plant, Joel, I need you.” you hum. his wrist hasn't stopped moving, he realizes, chasing that sweet fucking high as you stare at his cock with a wide, hungry glance, begging him to fuck you. he wonders if he’s just dreaming again.  

"you know that I want this." you gasp out, tears nearly slipping from your lashline, "don't you?" 

does he? how could you dare to ask that? 

he groans, nodding, "shit, baby, shut the fuck up." 

"you're a fucking asshole, Joel." you whine, "it hurts." you mutter, biting your lip with a ghost of a smile. that makes him snap. it hurts, and you're fucking enjoying it? 

he grabs you roughly. the minute his skin touches yours it burns deliciously; he can't believe he had the control to not touch you this whole time. his moan is tandem with yours as his fingers thread through your hair, intending on lifting you to take you to the bed; your hands grip his thighs, though, and soon your hot, wet mouth finds the angry head of his cock. 

you take him about halfway before you gag slightly and he slams his hand hard on the wall just above you; your eyes are fluttered shut, a tear squeezing out as your throat opens for him. he groans at the pleasure that courses through him, reaches his fingers, the nape of his neck. you're pulling on him desperately, and it makes him smirk down at you. 

"what, you wan' me to fuck that pretty little mouth?" he mutters, heart thundering in his chest as his fingers shake with desire. you pull off him, gasping slightly for breath, your finger still touching yourself as you nod, a string of spit still connecting him to your lips, "yes." you say with a nod, falling back against the wall as he crowds over you. 

he's not patient, not right now. he knows he could fuck your mouth until he was shooting his seed down your throat and you'd sit through it all with that pretty hair and grin and hell, you’d probably even thank him afterwards; but he doesn't have the time for that. he needs to be deep inside you, needs to be drowning in your cunt, needs to fuck you down into the mattress so hard you scream. 

and you're desperate, clearly: you're two fingers deep, fucking yourself on your fingers as another tear trails down your cheek, breathless as you shift in near pain from need. he resists the urge to coo down at you, his thumb still swiping the tear from your cheek before he grabs you again, this time pulling you up and tugging you onto the bed. 

you let out a moan of his name, your face flush with arousal as you spread your thighs open for him, watching with a pained expression as he pulls off his shirt and jeans, discarding his boxers as he goes. your eyes rake over him and you whimper, still not touching him until he gives you permission.

 it makes him smirk, "for such a brat it's a wonder you're so obedient like this." he mutters, pulling your legs further open as he quickly stands with his legs against the edge of the bed, running his cock against your soaked, velvety cunt. 

you whimper, jolting in pleasure as his head catches your sensitive, neglected nub and he smears his precum there, enthralled in the shapes your nails carve into his biceps as you gasp. 

he can't pull his eyes away from your glistening center - how many times had you cum before he'd heard you? he swallows, the flames licking his belly as he pushes his head against your tight hole. 

he grunts, you were so goddamn tight; your eyes widen as you try to move your hips, try to slide yourself onto his cock, but he stops you with a rough hand around your shoulder, pinning you down. "stop." he orders, leaning so he can spit down, the slick trailing down to settle right onto where his cock nestles against your entrance. you let out a strangled gasp at his actions, throat dry from your noises. 

he doesn't give you time to beg, though, as he's slowly easing himself into you; you let out a yelp at the feeling, loud enough that Joel's hand clamps over your lips roughly, his breath hitting your face, "shut your damn mouth, girl." 

you feel like you're splitting open as he inches in and it's barely just his head but you have never felt such excruciating bliss as now, your breath falling from your nostrils harshly as he eases himself into you. 

you wonder how much he is restraining against just fucking hard into you - but you're tight after the orgasms you'd given yourself in the bath trying to satiate the feelings you'd figured out were from that fucking plant venom. 

you don't even know if he'll fit all the way into you as he inches slowly in, taking a few grunting breaths before fully sheathing himself inside your hot pussy. you clamp around him, feeling full as he bites his lip, chest heaving, slick with sweat. his hand, still clamped over your mouth, tightens against you as he slowly starts to thrust; he reaches a part so deep in you that you nearly scream. 

he's hitting your spot nearly immediately as he starts to quicken his pace, hips hitting against yours deeply. you moan his name, "Joel, fuck, 's so fucking deep." you gasp it, unable to think of anything but chasing the high that's been building since the second the plant's venom entered your system. 

he doesn't seem to like when you start to move your hips, chasing his when he pulls away; his hand comes to your cheek in a quick smack, grabbing your attention immediately. you can't prevent the moan at the sensation, nor the way you clench tight around his cock. 

the moan he lets out is half-way between your name and fuck, as he slides into you deeper, hand wrapped around your cheeks, training your eyes on his. there's a glint of something animal in his eyes: you're sure he sees the same thing in you, the venom of that plant coursing through the two of you, nearly palpable in the air of skin slapping skin. 

your cunt flutters at the eye contact, the desire bringing you closer to the edge; his hands shoot to your shins, pulling them up to his chest and then he leans forward with a deep thrust, coaxing tears of pleasure from your eyes. "that's it, take it." he grunts into your hear, hips punctuating each thrust as his tip nudges that spongy spot inside you that curls your toes. 

then one hand catches yours as you fist the sheets; he pulls your arm roughly down towards where he enters you as he bites the lobe of your ear. "you're going to cum." he tells you breathlessly, directing your hand towards your clit, pressing the pads of your fingers against it. you yelp in pleasure, more tears squeezing from ecstasy as you nod against his forehead, "yes, fuck, I'm gonna-gonna cum." 

"that's right." he's deeper, "cum for me." he nearly whispers it, almost desperate. it's just what you need to push you over the edge: his hips angling in a way that has hot, searing pleasure coursing through you. you nearly go blind when you cum with a gasp of his name. his hips don't even stutter as he fucks you through your orgasm, the relief washing over you in waves of pleasure. you can't open your eyes, your chest heaving, arms locked on his biceps, hips quivering with the intensity of the feeling. 

he keeps the roll of his hips as he slides easily through your ruined pussy, his brows pinched in pleasure. 

"y'feel so good," you nearly go limp, your fourth orgasm drawn out by the touch of the man you couldn't ever stop thinking about. he's so deep inside you, you're surprised you can't feel him in your throat as he thrusts. "pretty girl," he mutters, pinching one of your nipples and sending shockwaves through you; the relief you'd felt from your orgasm, just like the previous ones, is soon washed away by the newly replaced desire, back again and somehow even more hungry. 

you nearly cry at the thought, but something in you still yearns for it and you allow your ankles to cross around his hips. "never wanna leave this cunt." he mutters against your collarbone. you flutter again at his words, arousal slicking you, him, the sheets below you; the squelch of your juices fill the room as he chases his own high. 

a particularly loud cry of pleasure lands you with his hand yet again over your mouth, but this time, you waste no time in pulling his fingers to your lips, sucking two of them in eagerly as your hand tries to wrap around his thick wrist. 

his eyes meet yours and his jaw clenches as his hips stutter, nearing his own high. his fingers work quick; thrusting into your mouth, slick with your spit, gagging you as he bottoms out particularly roughly. your nails scrape down his back and you'd be more shocked if there weren't marks later. 

a few more thrusts and you can tell he's close, so you pull his fingers out of your mouth to gasp, "please, cum in me, Joel," you whimper into his neck, biting down hard as he groans your name. his hand suddenly clasps around your throat, pushing you down against the mattress as he fucks into you deep, his eyes screwed shut, "don' say shit like that to me, darlin'."

but his thrusts are getting sloppier as you squeeze around him, luring him in, the intoxicating scent of soap and him and his musk surrounding your head. "please, I'll do anything." you whine, hand crawling up his neck to cradle his jaw. his dark eyes meet yours and he moans at how earnest you look, his hand tightening his grip around your throat and squeezing slightly, your airway constricted for a slight moment, causing you to gasp for air when he leans back. 

your desire has you cloudily begging, pulling at his hair, his arms, his back, keeping him in, and finally he growls, "shut up." he snaps, "'m gonna cum in you, and you better be fuckin' good." he barely looks at you as he lightly slaps one of your tits, grabbing the other and pinching your hardened nipple as he watches your whole body bounce from the force of his thrusts. "god, you feel so good." he mutters to himself. you preen at the praise, your own high creeping near. 

your lips are clamped shut, his hand holding your head down from your throat as you nearly scream, his thrusts slowing and sloppy. he lets out a delicious moan as he hits his high. "that's right, take me." he mutters, his chest shaking as he cums; he's moaning loud as he thrusts one last time, his seed coating your walls. 

"fuck." he eases, his thumb falling to soothe over your hairline gently as he releases into you. "so good for me, aren't you?" 

you swallow, the burning fire of desire still smoldering in your core, your tear trails long since dried, your body exhausted but full of energy. you nod, unable to trust your words. 

he pumps into you slowly once more before pulling all the way out, the noise of your slick and his cum slippery as you feel empty without him filling you. 

but he's already distracted, his eyes hazy as he watches a bit of his cum spill from your weeping hole, his thumb dropping to slide it back up and into you, pressing against your entrance, your breath catching. 

"is it- is it gone for you?" he asks, his voice strained. you don't need to look down to see that the venom hasn't yet run its course through his system yet; his eyes are still alight with the same animalistic desire that you feel pounding in your heart. your feverish sweating, the headache - most of it's gone, replaced with an intense, destructive desire that has you keening into his hand as it cups your used pussy, his eyes teasing. 

"no," you moan, "you?" 

he's already dropping to his knees as he breathes out, "no."  

your eyes widen. in your haze, you're searching for any relief for this growing arousal, the feelings you have for Joel driving you to beg endlessly for him, yet you hadn't expected him to do this. immediately, his hands wrap around your shaking thighs, his breath hitting your bare, throbbing pussy. you can't even think as you card your fingers back through his hair, hips jerking up away from his face as he licks a small stripe over her swollen clit. 

you're so worked up that you can't help the tightening coil as he soon dives his tongue into you, cleaning up the mess you'd made between your thighs, swirling around your clit. 

you tug hard at his hair's roots, hard enough he's sending a groan into you that reverberates through you, vibrating your chest as you clamp one hand over your lips.

fiery pleasure snakes through your body, your ankles falling over his shoulder onto his back as he eats you out like a staved man. you see his arm moving through your clouded vision and you let out a pathetic whimper as you realize the wet noises aren't just from his mouth on you: he's fucking his fist. his movements make your legs shake hard, eyes rolling back as he sucks lightly before releasing to swirl his tongue.

“Joel,” you mutter, his name the only thing that can come out of your mouth as you can’t help but grind down slightly. Joel's hands are hard on your hips; you know tomorrow as you pull on your jeans, you'll have ten fingerprints marked into you.

 it sends a delicious swirl of pride through you as he moans into you, "you taste so good, darlin'.” he mutters lowly before slowly reattaching himself to your heat. your eyes roll back again as one of his hands reaches up to grasp your tit, thumb and finger pinching and rolling as he fucks his tongue into you. one of his hands snakes up to your ass, gripping it tightly and then slapping it, the stinging pleasure making you buck your hips against him.

“Joel, i-” you cut yourself off with a sharp gasp, the overstimulating pressure making it increasingly harder to speak. your toes curl and  head tilts back as his teeth graze over your clit, your thighs clenching shut as your orgasm nears violently quick. 

"you gonna cum again?" he mutters, barely breaking away from you, his own hand moving fast as he fucks his fist; you yearn to feel him in your mouth, to taste him. “please, please.” you mutter, your hips rocking on him as his tongue swirls, nipping softly at your clit and making you cry out. “please, make me cum, Joel.” you plead, tugging his head closer, his hand slapping your ass again.

and then you're clenching your thighs on either side of him and grinding down as you hit your peak, shaking in pleasure. you grind yourself onto his tongue as he drinks you in, cleaning you of every last drop, his thumb soothing over your hip. he rides you through your high, lapping at you and only pulling away when you go lax on the mattress, legs twitching, gasps ragged and scarce. 

you'd have probably passed out right then and there if it hadn't been for his own strangled grunt, your eyes snapping back to him, to where his hand wraps around his own dick, slick with your cum and his own spit. 

"Joel," you mumble, cheeks feeling hot as your mind starts to lift, desire yet again pooling between your thighs as you slide down, off the bed until your back hits it, hands caressing over his thighs, "let me taste you." you ask, cheek hot as it lays on his thigh, your eyes begging up at him.

he moans deeply as one had slides behind your neck, steadying you as his other grips himself, "stick out your tongue." his pupils are blown so wide you can only see black. you follow his order, sticking out your tongue as you eagerly lean towards his cock, his brows furrowing as he slaps your tongue with himself. 

his hands tug you towards him, your lips tugging over him as you take him into your mouth, trying your best to look up at him. you gag around him as he thrusts his hips forward, your hands flying up to grip his thighs. "fuck, look at you," he moans, his grip tight against your head, slowly starting to fuck your throat, your eyes tearing up. "so eager for me, bet you'd let me fuck you anywhere, hm?" 

your face heats up as you hum, unable to say anything as he slides into you, tip pushing against your throat, your eyes rolling back. "yeah, you would. i know you think about it, darlin'. think about it all the time." 

you should be embarrassed to learn that Joel had, under more sober circumstances, noticed how you acted around him. but instead you let the trail of spit slide down your chin and onto your bare breasts, your fingers pushing it over your hardened nipples as he pulls off your mouth. 

you gasp for air, looking up at him with wet eyes. "get on the bed." he orders and you scramble with weak legs onto the mattress, staring at him, the familiarly torturous desire in you throbbing. his hands push you around until you're on your elbows and knees, his hand swatting your ass. "gonna cum on that pretty ass." he mutters, hand grabbing a handful of the plush skin as he spreads you open, "okay?" 

"yes, yes, please." you mutter, face sweaty and stuck with your wet hair as he leans down, spitting onto your glistening, puffy cunt. you're nearly sobbing into the sheets as he slides into your wet, warm hole, his groans just as wrecked as you. 

"jesus christ, girl." he mutters to himself as he starts to thrust into you, the new angle setting your whole body alight with the coiled pleasure. it builds fast until you feel like you're on fire, his hands rough against your hips, swatting your ass every time your hips pulled away from the overstimulation. 

"you need to come." his breath is hot as it hits your cheek, his chest pressing to your back. he's deep into you, tip hitting your sweet spot with every rolling thrust of his hips. then slipping one hand onto the back of your neck, the other snaking to toy with your sensitive clit. 

your legs nearly give out as your back arches, the orgasm crashing over you before you can even register it. 

you can't see, blind with the bliss of pleasure; your thighs shake as he mutters dirty words into your ear, Joel's hips stuttering as you clamp and flutter around him, slickening yourself and his pubic hair, skin wet with your arousal. you're so sensitive you can't do anything but take his cock as he fucks you, deeper and slower as though he's coming down with the mind fog just as you. 

when he hits his own mind-numbing orgasm, he's pulling out of you fast and finishing in hot spurts onto your ass, streaking up your lower back and sliding down into your quivering core. 

your name is the only thing on his lips as he slowly slumps down onto the mattress next to you. 

you both wait; it's silent besides your sniffling from the overstimulation and the soreness of your throat and Joel's labored breaths. you both wait to see if that torturous feeling comes back to your groins, suffocating and clouding your judgement. 

but instead, the fog clears, and within five minutes of silence and stoicism, you're sure that whatever the venom was, it'd passed through your system. "Joel?" you whisper it, cracking slightly. you hear his head shift; he'd not looked at you at all. you're not sure you blame him, embarrassment creeping through your face. but not regret. definitely not regret. 

he whispers your name back, and there's a vulnerability in it that has your eyes snapping to his, searching for the dilation of his pupils, any sign to show the venom was still in his system. you can't find any. "do you- is it gone? for you?" 

he blinks at you once before nodding his head, "yes. n'you?" you nod at him, muttering a small, "yeah." 

he knows he should go get a cloth to clean you up. he'd possibly have to help you up, help you dress... his throat dries as his now less foggy brain recovers the memories of moments ago; the size of your pupils blown out with lust. he looks over you; he'd ruined you. 

another wave of self-doubt runs through him; you were not like him, you weren't bad like him. you deserve better. 

but the way you stare at him now, as though you want nothing more than to do what you'd both just done every day with him... 

he opens an arm, accepting you as you slide your limp, exhausted body against his own naked form, his arm squeezing you to his chest as he sighs deeply. you nuzzle your face into his neck, your own heart racing just as fast as his. 

he feels like a damn fool - it'd been far too long for him, he's not sure how to approach these feelings he harbors for you, so he'd hidden them down with anger and irritation and eye rolls; but now he's gone and fucked you like you were just some other whore. 

his lips press to your forehead. he doesn't think he can say anything, not right now. he still feels like he's got a fever, and by the looks of you, you feel it too. 

so he hopes the kiss he tenderly lays on your hairline says what he can't: he's sorry he was rough with you. he hopes you're okay. he hopes you don't regret it. he hopes you know... he hopes you know it wasn't just about that damn plant’s venom. 

he pulls away from you after just a moment, rising to tug on his boxers. but as he crosses the threshold into the bathroom to gather a washcloth for you, your soft voice stops him. 

"Joel." you mutter, eyes nervous, exhausted. he stops, looking at you.

you're just as nervous as he looks; you're unsure how to interact with him now, the man you trust with your life, the one who acts like he hates you, the one you know probably loves you; and then you'd fucked him like he was just a dick, though you wish you could tell him: he's so much to you.

"that wasn't-" you're unsure how to convey it, "it wasn't just about the-whatever that plant was. I don't regret it. and I hope you don't either." you're glad it sounds as genuine as you feel when you say it. you want him to know he didn't hurt you. and you hope you didn't hurt him. 

his face flashes with relief, with adoration. "I don't." he says, turning from you quickly. 

and if his lips ghost over your knees and leave goosebumps on their wake, if his hands soothe gently over every budding bruise of his handprint on your hip; you don't mention it now.

if he gently and devotedly wipes you both clean, if your hands fold together as he settles back down against you, if your hearts beat together as you settle into the fever nap that claims you both; you just smile gently at his bashful grin.

and if your lips brush against each other just before the sleep takes you both; well, then you'll talk about it all later. 

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