#AND I GOT TO TALK TO THE BAND THAT OPENED FOR HIM AND THEY WERE GIVING OUT FREE CDS

[flippinpancakes64]

The Wobbly Third Wheel

Summary: You and Steven have been going strong for a couple of months now. The only bump in the road is Marc, who for some reason, can't even seem to be cordial with you...

Marc Spector x Reader-centric, fluff and a lot of angst, mostly just a look at Marc's character

Note: I'm finally branching out past Twilight someone take a picture omg. But this is my first try writing for something different, so hopefully it goes well. I saw a Moon Knight edit on TikTok and now I'm back in my MK phase so... Anyways Enjoy!

In the beginning, you told yourself it was just him getting used to you.

Steven already told you all about Marc's past. His history with his mom which led to Steven's creation, the whole situation with Layla, Khonshu, being Moon Knight, basically everything.

So you weren't all that surprised when the grumpy American didn't exactly want to be your best friend. That's fair after all. You never asked to be best friends.

What you did ask, though, was for something like a mutual respect. A peaceful coexistence where you could both exist in your own spaces and interact in a kind way if you needed to.

Only, Marc seemed hellbent on, well, giving you hell.

He would go out of his way to order food for himself and not you, even if you were sitting on the couch right across from him. There have been a couple of times where you and Steven were out on a date, and Marc suddenly fronted. He would walk off, leaving you stranded and frantically searching for your boyfriend without any explanation or apology later on.

But the worst were the nights.

You had spent the night at Steven's place again, and it was currently the middle of the night. The moon was high in the sky, and London was quiet. You two were intertwined like vines, one of your legs between Steven's, his arms wrapped around your body in turn. It was hard to distinguish where you ended and he began.

It was nice, everything was peaceful.

Until Marc woke up.

He slowly blinked his eyes open, scanning their bedroom for anything that might have caused him to wake up. Finding none, he looked down at you.

And promptly got up.

That was always one of the worst things he did. Whenever you and Steven would be cuddling, or hanging out, or even just talking, if Marc fronted, he would always leave like there was a fire. Never an explanation, never a warning, just a complete tonal shift.

You know the boys can't necessarily control who comes forward, when they do, or how long they stay out. You know they have some level of control over it, but not a whole lot. And the way Marc looks at you when he suddenly fronts definitely leads you to believe that he's not the one behind the switch.

The surprise, followed by annoyance and slight disgust. His signature look whenever he saw you.

Marc roughly twisted out of your hold, not really paying any mind to if it woke you up or not. He sat up on the edge of the bed, running his fingers through his hair and sighing as if he just got off a long shift.

Truth be told, he doesn't really know why he pushes you away like he does. He thinks you're nice enough. And clearly you love Steven. But there's just something about it, about even entertaining the idea of holding someone else close just like how he used to hold Layla.

Steven sometimes catches him fidgeting with his bare ring finger, running his fingertips over the indent left by his wedding band from all those years ago.

Layla moved on a long time ago, so why can't he? He doesn't know, and he doesn't really want to look too far deep into himself to figure it out.

You moved on the bed, groaning softly as you reached out for him. No, not him- Steven. You were reaching out for Steven. And he doesn't really want to think about the way his heart clenched when he thought of that.

"Steven," you groaned, your eyes blinking open sleepily as you turned to face him on the bed. His back was to you, but you recognized the tense line of his shoulders. The way his head was perpetually hung low like he was always guilty. Always a poor puppy waiting for another kick to land.

"Not Steven," he responded, his voice low and quiet. He wanted to be gruffer, to make himself sound tougher than he really did in that moment. But his body betrayed him, something it's been doing for years now.

"Marc," you whispered. He could hear you shuffling around on the bed, and when he glanced over his shoulder, he saw that you were now sitting up. No closer to him than before, still giving him the space he needed. He appreciated that.

"Just... just go back to bed," he sighed, running his hand over his face tirelessly. It was too late for this bullshit. Too late to be having a late night conversation with his alternate personality's partner who he's slowly starting to develop feelings for too.

"Are you alright?" you asked, your voice infinitely caring. So caring and kind and understanding that it grated on him.

"I'm fine. Go back to bed," he grumbled, moving to stand up.

"Wait," you called, grabbing his arm before he could go too far. "Please, can we just talk?"

"We have nothing to talk about. I'm not your boyfriend," he gritted, his voice tight.

He could hear your tired sigh, and he felt his heart clench at being the source of your sadness.

"I know you're not, but you're a part of him. A big part of him. Please, can't we just talk for a little bit? I'm tired of this passive-aggressive act you've had going on for weeks now," you pleaded. When he turned back to look at you, he was met with those sincere, loving eyes. The same ones he's seen through Steven's. A patient, caring gaze that you save only for those you love most. And he's part of that.

He huffs, trying his best to play the part of the annoyed, grumpy man he's always portrayed himself to be. "Fine. Talk," he grits, sitting back down on the bed and facing you.

You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts. You realized this might be the only chance you have to change things, to at least convince Marc to be civil.

"Okay. Look, Marc, I'm not asking you to cuddle with me, or to kiss me or dote on me like Steven does. You're not him, we're not dating, I know that," you started, looking deep into his eyes. Marc hates to admit how his chest tightened at that, how he had to fight back the urge to do exactly that.

"All I'm asking is that we can coexist. I love Steven, and I want to be able to spend time with him without feeling like I'm intruding on your space," you continued.

"You are intruding on my space. This is my apartment, this is my bed, you're wearing my clothes," Marc grits before he can stop himself. The way you sigh and bow your head afterward makes him want to hurt someone. Mostly himself.

"I know... I'm... I'm sorry. I promise, I don't want to make you uncomfortable. That's what I'm trying to get at. But I can't work with you if you don't work with me," you pleaded.

He wants to scream. He wants to tell you that you're always welcome, that you don't need to work around him. But he can't. His pride is too fragile, his ego too small. To turn around now would be to wound himself.

"Well I don't know what you want me to do," he settled on instead. A non-answer he always gave Layla when they argued. It had the same effectiveness now as it did back then, which is not much.

"All I want is some communication. I'm not very good at picking up the differences between you two yet. And sometimes it happens so quickly I can't catch it. It's jarring, you know? To be cuddling your boyfriend one minute and then the next minute he just gets up and leaves with no explanation," you said, your voice dripping with worry and sorrow.

"So what do you want me to say?" he gritted. He needs to backpedal, he needs to go back, but he can't stop himself. "'Hey, it's not Steven anymore, so fuck off,'? Is that what you want me to say? 'Hey, it's Marc, get out of my goddamn apartment, I don't want you here and have never wanted you here'? Do you want me to tell you that you're a nuisance? That you take away from my limited alone time because you're always fucking here? That I can't get a moment's peace?"

The look on your face told him everything he needed to know. The lines between your brows, the slight purse of your lips, the wobble of your chin.

"If... if that's what you want to say, then go for it," you whispered, barely hiding the hurt in your voice. No, no, no. He doesn't want you to cry, he's never wanted you to cry.

But this is just who he is.

He's Marc Spector. Moon Knight. The guy who always manages to fuck up everything good that comes his way. The guy who ruined not only his life, but has managed to fuck up Steven's too. The one his broken brain made to be the good one, the one who was supposed to be happy and live a good life away from all of their trauma, he pulled him into it too. And now they're both broken. Everything he touches breaks, and clearly, you're no exception.

Your hand on his shoulder that pulled him back down into the bed, the one that urged him to keep talking, that was when fate was set. And the proof is right in front of him.

The love of his life, his second chance at happiness, crumbling to pieces in front of his eyes.

And yet all he could do was watch.

A tear slipped down your cheek, falling from those eyes that hold so much love, so much patience. He knows if he watched long enough, all the love that you held in there for him would disappear too, so he looked away.

He didn't say anything after that, he just got back up off the bed and stalked out to the kitchen. You were left to tremble silently, to reel and mull over what he just said.

The next day, Steven told you that he didn't mean it. He reassured you that Marc doesn't hate you, but you don't believe it. From your eyes, Marc has only ever pushed you away.

This is what always happens. Marc breaks your heart over and over again, constantly proving that he doesn't love you.

But when it's the dead of night, you don't notice your boyfriend's arms tightening around you. You don't hear the whispered confessions of love that slip from his mouth, missing that signature British accent. You don't feel the hesitant kisses he places on your cheeks and forehead, ghosts of affection that he believes aren't supposed to be there.

Marc thrives here, in the shroud of darkness where no one, not even Khonshu, can see the love in his eyes. No one can hear the vulnerability in his voice. No one sees the tremble of his hands or the reverence they hold. And no one, not even Steven, can feel the longing for love inside of him.

[glossdebut]

PRICE OF FAME | MYG ★ 04

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ SERIES SUMMARY: You were about ready to give up, your career nowhere near what you dreamed it’d be when you started at eighteen, bright-eyed and naive. Reality for you these past few years has consisted of pouting at a camera, ignoring whispers of your name at company events, and ensuring that the stupid, tiny designer purses they keep forcing on you can at least carry a flask. But now, you’re helping a friend in need. For the first time in a long time, it feels like you’re doing something worthwhile with your life. Too bad Min Yoongi, the newest thorn in your side, seems insistent on stopping you.

✧ SERIES TAGS: enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, smut, fake/pretend relationship (not main couple), rockstar!yoongi, model!reader, guitarist yoongi, singer jungkook, bassist taehyung, drummer jimin, manager namjoon, yoongi & maknae line are in a rock band, reader & seokjin are best friends, yoongi & hoseok are best friends (sope duo ftw), yoongi has a tongue piercing, reader is a brat

✧ CHAPTER TAGS/WARNINGS: flashback in italics, the first chapter all in MC pov!, The Truce, yoongi is insane about pens and notebooks again, communication via lipliner and water, yijeong cameo, park jimin strikes fear into yoongi’s heart, tangerine hats and heart-pocket pants, seokjin is unhelpful, idk most of this chapter is a bit silly to be completely honest with y’all, stuff happens but i don't want to give too much away (see series masterlist for series warnings)

✧ CHAPTER WORDCOUNT: 6.8k words

✧ AUTHOR’S NOTE: i told y’all this was a slow burn... but happy valentine’s day! thank you to tanni @yooniivrse and K @ktownshizzle for beta reading this chapter (and K again for literally writing a whole line for me when i got stuck)

CH. 04: E-X-P-L-O-D-E

There are worse places to be, you think, than sitting across from Yoo Kihyun.

He’s easy on the eyes, that’s for sure. Expensive clothes, perfect teeth, dark brown hair styled neatly away from his forehead. An endearing little divot at the curve of his sharp jawline. The kindest eyes you think you’ve ever seen.

The restaurant he’s picked is a bit hard to get into, a new trendy spot that’s had a line out the door every night since it opened. You’re honestly a little impressed that he managed to get a reservation. If the flush in his cheeks when you mention that is anything to go by, that was his intention.

You’re no good at first dates, but Kihyun doesn’t seem to mind carrying the conversation. He has plenty to talk about, riding high on his critically acclaimed debut. Well-earned acclaim, in your book—he has a beautiful voice, along with a charming personality that his growing fanbase is sure to love the more they get to know him.

You’re happy to listen, and even happier to keep the attention off of yourself for as long as you can. Kihyun’s relatively new to the industry, hasn’t been in the game for too long, and you’re starting to realize that the less he knows about you, the more you like him.

It’s been a long time since you’ve been in such an intimate setting with a man, and you’re surprised by how at ease you begin to feel as the night goes on. The tension in your body dissipates more and more with every sip of wine, every kind word. Kihyun hasn’t made any move to touch you, but by the time he pays the check, you’re starting to think you’d let him if he tried. 

You wait together, side by side, for the valet to pull his car around. Maybe it’s the wine, but in a moment of bravery, you allow your fingers to slide between his tentatively. Your heart skips a beat when his hand squeezes yours, interlacing your fingers all the way.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” Kihyun says, his voice soft. “I’m sure you get that all the time, being a model. But it’s true.”

His free hand comes up to brush your hair away from your face, and you turn to him. “It’s the first thing I noticed about you,” he adds.

It’s the first thing everyone notices about you now, with your new career path. More often than not, it’s the only thing people bother to notice, you think. You still haven’t learned how to respond to the compliments, not when you don’t even know how to feel about them.

You kiss him instead. Your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him to meet you. His lips firm against yours, frozen in surprise, before they yield into something softer. Tentative. Chaste. Gentle.

You were probably going to do it anyway. It feels better than saying ‘thank you’ when you’re not sure you’d really mean it.

★ ★ ★

A week has passed since you shook hands with the devil.

To his credit, Yoongi seems to be holding up his end of the deal—better than you are, even. It’s unsettling. You think you hate it.

It’s gone like this:

Day One

You wake up and choose violence. 

The memory of Yoongi using your ex-boyfriend against you is still fresh in your brain, and you decide to say fuck the truce until he pays suitably. It’s only fair.

Yoongi doesn’t leave the house often, unless dragged, but the universe seems to be on your side today. He’s out of cigarettes! Praise be. Surely his absence, however brief, will give you enough time to exact your revenge.

You tiptoe down the stairs just in time to watch the back of his stupid head disappear as the front door closes behind him. As soon as the lock clicks, you’re springing into action.

Careful not to tip off his bandmates, you slink around the house, stuffing your cardigan pockets with every single Uni-Ball Jetstream Premier pen you can get your sights on. 

Maybe it’s childish, stealing all of Yoongi’s pens, but fuck it. What else do you know about him? What else is there to take? Pens will have to do.

By the time you’ve scanned each room in the house, twice, your pockets are overflowing. More pens create indentations in your stomach, stashed in the elastic of your leggings like a belt. Like a trophy.

Fifty-six pens are dumped into the bathroom sink. An absolute mental patient amount of pens for one person to have, you think as you separate them into groups of seven. You bundle them with hair ties, stuff them into your emptied makeup bag, and hide your crime in plain sight—the bathroom counter.

Then you wait.

The payoff isn’t immediate. Once he gets back, it takes an hour or so for Yoongi to start patting his pockets. A little longer for drawers to be rifled through, for couch cushions to be overturned. You just watch, confident that he won’t find anything.

By the end of the night, the house looks like it’s been ransacked by a crazed fan, and your makeup bag remains untouched.

Day Two

You have sightseeing plans with Jeongguk today, a visit to the aquarium where photos are sure to be taken. You’re just about to leave the bedroom and head downstairs to meet him when you notice a piece of paper at your feet. 

When you pick it up, you’re faced with the scrawl of Yoongi’s handwriting, smudged in an eerily familiar shade of pink.

The name Yoo Kihyun will never come out of my mouth again if that’s what you want. Have mercy on my pens. They didn’t do anything wrong.

— The only person committed to this truce, apparently

P.S. Your lipliner is now a prisoner of war

You absolutely do not snort at Yoongi’s note. You don’t find him funny.

What is funny, however, is that when he swiped the lipliner from the bathroom you share with Jeongguk, he was less than three feet away from all fifty-six of his pens the whole time. Hilarious.

Later, when you’re watching a group of penguins waddle behind glass, you’re hit with a wave of genius.

“Jeongguk-ah.”

“Hm?”

“Can you give me Yoongi’s number? I don’t have it.”

Jeongguk seems more than happy to comply, instantly fishing his phone out from the inner pocket of his jacket.

“Wow, you two are really getting along now, huh?” he asks, sounding more than pleased as he taps on his phone screen a few times.

“What can I say?” you hum, retrieving your own phone as it buzzes in your purse. “You were right. We have more in common than we thought.”

You open your camera app and hit record, zooming in on one of the penguins for a few seconds. It’s the first thing you send to Yoongi.

You: has anyone ever told you that you walk like this?

Day Three

Yoongi has a new pack of pens delivered to the house. You decide to let him keep them, since your message was clearly received. No response to your penguin text yet.

Day Four

Jeongguk needs to learn to read the room, you decide.

It’s late as fuck. You’ve been out all night with him, on another sightseeing trip—following him around, holding his hand, resting your head on his shoulder. Everything that’s expected of you.

By the time you make it to the bedroom, the mask of ‘fake girlfriend’ feels too tight, too heavy. All you really want is to climb into bed and go to sleep.

Instead, you’re wide awake, idly scrolling on your phone in bed while Jeongguk talks to his real girlfriend over the phone. With all the fucking lights on.

Despite how hard you try to tune them out, you catch every single word. Jeongguk doesn’t seem to even notice that you’re in the room with him, that you’re trying to sleep, too busy cooing sweet nothings over the line. 

In this moment, you’re more aware of where you stand with Jeongguk than you’ve ever been. And for the first time since this whole charade began, you’re actually kind of grateful that you’re not really dating Jeongguk. As it turns out, Jeongguk in love is nauseating. Since you’re on your phone, you go ahead and tell Seokjin as much.

After toughing it out for nearly half an hour, you slip out of bed. You decide to go get yourself a glass of water or something, give Jeongguk time with his girlfriend. You’re sure he misses her.

You tiptoe to the door quietly, not wanting to draw any more attention than necessary to your presence or your departure. “Noona, I’ve been thinking about you all day,” Jeongguk whines, completely oblivious to you. 

Aw hell nah.

You book it down the stairs as fast as humanly possible, so fast that you’re out of breath by the time you make it to the bottom.

The living room is dark when you pass through it. You think, for a moment, that you and Jeongguk might be the only ones still awake at this hour. As you get closer to the kitchen, though, the smell of fresh coffee floods your senses.

There’s only one person in this house insane enough to make coffee this late at night.

“Hey.” 

The sound of your voice makes Yoongi freeze in his tracks, caught, but he shakes it off quickly. 

“Hey,” he replies in kind, looking you over. “You’re up late.”

Something in his tone makes you pause, confused, until you look down at yourself and realize what he must be thinking. You’re in sleep shorts and a tank top, barely covered despite the chill outside, sneaking downstairs late at night. From the room that you share with your supposed boyfriend. Out of breath and shaken up.

He probably thinks you just had sex.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you reply stiffly. “Thought I’d get some water.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything else, opting instead to stare at the coffee pot as it brews in front of him. Good. You don’t want to know what he’s thinking.

You grab a glass from one of the cabinets, filling it up at the sink. It hits you, as you take a sip, that you haven’t actually spoken to Yoongi since the truce began four days ago. Nothing beyond a note written in your lipliner and an unanswered text about penguins. You don’t know how to act around him now, unsure of how guarded you need to be.

Thankfully (you hope), he breaks the silence first.

“I’ll be out of your hair once this is done,” he says, gesturing towards the coffee. You can’t help but note that he still isn’t looking at you.

“Who drinks coffee this late, anyway?” It’s an attempt at a joke, something to cut through the awkwardness settling between you.

Right at that moment, the coffee pot beeps. Wordlessly, Yoongi fills his mug and shuffles past you like he’s in a hurry, hot coffee threatening to spill over.

“People with albums to write,” he mumbles once he reaches the doorway. Without another glance in your direction, he’s gone.

Day Five

Your day starts with a pounding in your head.

Despite both of you falling asleep around the same time (read: late as hell), the couch Jeongguk’s been sleeping on is desolate when you open your eyes. 

He does that, you’ve noticed. No matter how late he stays up, he’s always up at the asscrack of dawn, going for a run or whatever it is he feels so compelled to do during the devil’s hours.

You roll out of bed around ten. You don’t have anything to do today, and judging by the quiet, it seems like you might have an empty house on your hands. It’s for the best, you think, because your skull feels like it’s about to pop.

Coffee, then. That should help.

Almost as soon as you cross the threshold from bedroom into the hallway, you’re intercepted by an extremely perturbed Yoongi.

“Okay, the pen thing was cute and all, but this is a little different,” he says. No hi, hello, how are you? Great. Your temples are throbbing.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mumble, making an attempt to push past him so you can get to the stairs, but Yoongi stops you with a hand on your elbow. Again with that shit.

“YN,” he huffs, unimpressed. “Just give it back. I know you have it.”

“Have what? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you repeat, jerking your arm out of his grasp. “Will you stop fucking doing that, by the way?”

“My notebook,” Yoongi says, stepping in front of you again. “I can’t find it, and you stealing my shit seems to be a running theme this week.”

You blink at him, brows knitted together in confusion. His notebook? The fuck?

“What, you only had the one? But five dozen pens didn’t seem like overkill?”

“YN, I’m not fucking around,” he snaps. “There’s shit I need in there. Like all the songs for the album I’m here to write? An album I’d really like to finish as fast as possible.” 

He doesn’t say the ‘so I can get away from you’ part, but he doesn’t really have to. His tone says enough.

That doesn’t change the fact that you don’t have his shit.

“Should’ve kept better track of it, I guess. I don’t know what to tell you.”

At this, Yoongi laughs, sharp and bitter. “You are fucking ridiculous, you know that? You’re the one who wanted this stupid truce. I was perfectly fine with the way we were operating before, but you came to me, practically begging me to play nice. What the fuck have I been doing?”

He’s looking at you like he expects an answer. You clench your fists at your sides. “Playing nice,” you say through gritted teeth.

“Better than you,” he adds, arms crossed over his chest. “I know you’re used to everyone letting you get away with whatever, but I’m not Kihyun, and I’m not Jeongguk. I don’t gain anything by letting you act like a brat.”

That makes you bristle. “Fuck you. I don’t have your stupid notebook, Yoongi. It may come as a shock to you, but I’m not interested in reading any more shitty lyrics about how much of a cunt you think I am.”

With that, you shove him out of your way once and for all. Blood rushes through your ears as you hurry down the stairs, almost running face-first into a wide-eyed Jimin in your haste. 

Shit. You can only hope he didn’t hear any of that.

You run into Yoongi one more time, right before bed. Same as last night, you’re getting yourself a glass of water while he makes coffee. You move around each other in stony silence, both of you unwilling to acknowledge the other’s presence in the kitchen. 

This time, though, you’re the one that leaves first. It feels a little like getting the last word.

Day Six

You spend the whole day in Teams meetings. You packed your schedule on purpose this time, disinterested in dealing with anyone that isn’t paid to kiss your ass. 

You eat a power bar for lunch. At dinner, Jeongguk brings a plate upstairs for you. You claim that you’re too busy to come down, but really, you’re still licking your wounds after your run-in with Yoongi yesterday afternoon.

It seems stupid now, but you really thought things were getting a bit better between the two of you. Or, at least, you hoped so. You weren’t naive enough to think that Yoongi was starting to like you, but you did think that there was a mutual respect forming there.

Your mistake.

It’s late when you decide to venture downstairs. You’re restless, having spent the better part of an hour tossing and turning while Jeongguk snores from the other side of the room.

Late enough that you think, hope, that you’ll be able to avoid another run-in with Yoongi. Even if he’s still awake, there’s no way he’s making coffee at this hour. You held off for long enough.

When you reach the kitchen, you find that you’re half right. The coffee pot is nearly empty, but judging by the aroma, the pot wasn’t made all that long ago. Yoongi, however, is nowhere to be found.

On the kitchen counter sits a glass of water, and next to it, a scrap of paper. Blank, but unmistakably from Yoongi’s thought-to-be-missing notebook.

Huh. So he found it.

You take the glass upstairs with you, careful not to wake Jeongguk as you sneak back into the room. It’s only when you climb back into bed that your phone buzzes beside you. When you open it, you’re greeted by the sight of your still-unanswered penguin text, and a new message.

The Devil: 🏳️

Day Seven

When you venture into the living room in the morning, you’re surprised to find the whole band gathered around the seating area. 

For the most part, the house has remained pretty quiet during the time you’ve been here. Today, though, it’s rowdy. You quickly find out why when you spot an unfamiliar fifth face—a handsome stranger with his arm slung around Yoongi’s shoulders.

A new bombshell has entered the villa. 

The chattering stops as soon as you’re spotted. You don’t even get a chance to be properly introduced to the new houseguest before you’re intercepted by Jimin, who throws himself in front of you at the foot of the stairs. 

“The inappropriately dressed goddess in silk shorts is Jeonggukie’s girlfriend, YN.”

“You may recognize her face from every Olive Young in Seoul,” Taehyung adds with amusement. 

“YN, this is Yijeong.” Jimin turns around, pointing at you. You think you catch a twitch in his right eye. “Go get dressed. We have a busy day ahead of us.”

“Um… Okay,” you say, half-awake and confused. 

Once you’re dressed less than half an hour later, you’re all piling into the van outside. The busy day, you find out, consists of a trip to the Little Prince citrus orchard—the trip that the band takes every time they’re in Jeju. You guess it was fast tracked due to Yijeong’s arrival.

In any other circumstance, you’d be thrilled at the prospect of spending your day picking tangerines, but the vibe seems off. Jimin looks like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin, and the glances you catch him sending Yoongi’s way chill you to the bone. You don’t know what Yoongi did to piss him off, but it seems like Jimin has officially cracked, and you don’t really want to get on his bad side by asking.

Still, you suck it up. There will be plenty of photo opportunities, you reason. Plus, the hallabong smoothie this place offers looks really fucking good.

Upon entry, you’re handed a small wicker basket and gloves for tangerine picking. At the very least, the weather is suitable for what Jimin has in store. It’s the kind of winter day that feels fresh and crisp, more than comfortable to walk around in as long as you have a jacket.

At first, the group breaks off into twos—Jimin and Taehyung, Yoongi and Yijeong, you and Jeongguk. You’re not exactly mad about the pairing, considering it means you’ll get to take those pictures for Seoyeon to post on your Instagram. Jeongguk is more than willing to indulge you, immediately tugging you close and snapping a selca with his cheek smushed against yours.

As your basket fills, though, you end up rotating through the group. Taehyung, dressed all in warm tones, buys you one of those smoothies you’ve been eyeing. Jimin snickers at you as you spike it with the flask you’ve had stashed in your purse, stealing a sip. Even Yijeong makes a point to walk with you for a bit, re-introducing himself politely.

“Sorry I didn’t get a chance to greet you properly earlier,” he says, sheepish. “It’s hard to get a word in with this group, sometimes.”

“So I’m learning,” you quip back easily, eyes scanning over the hanging hallabongs surrounding your path. “So, you’re here for the weekend, then?”

“Seems like it. Yoongi-yah called me down earlier this week. He wants a fresh pair of eyes for a song he’s working on.”

You scoff at that, unable to help yourself. “Like he doesn’t have three other pairs already?”

Yijeong gives you a sidelong glance, although it isn’t unkind. “He can be kind of secretive,” he explains, careful. “I think he just wanted the opinion of someone without a vested interest.”

You hum, unsure of how to respond. It makes sense, you guess.

“Am I wrong in assuming there’s a little bit of… tension there?” Yijeong continues. “Between you two.”

“We’re working on it,” you mumble, taking a much-needed sip of your smoothie. “Really. Chalk it up to incompatible personalities.”

“Ah.” Yijeong chuckles knowingly. “I get it. Yoongi-yah can be a little…”

“Bitchy?”

“Guarded,” he snorts. “But bitchy, too. I thought the same, when we first met. I was signed to the label about a year after Burn the Stage was. It took us a while to become as close as we are now.”

“You’re a musician?” you ask, interest piqued. You’ve never heard his name before, but granted, you don’t really keep track of that side of the industry anymore.

“Soloist,” Yijeong confirms, seemingly unoffended by your lack of recognition. “Producer, sometimes. I helped master their last album. I guess I impressed Yoongi, back then.”

“Teach me your ways,” you joke, earning another laugh from him.

“He’s not as hard to figure out as he likes to come off. It’s getting him to trust you, that's the hard part.”

Ah. Well. You’re kind of fucked in that department.

“Just give it time,” Yijeong says reassuringly. “If you’ve won the rest of them over, Yoongi will follow. He likes to play the part of the overprotective hyung, but he really is a nice guy when it comes down to it.”

“So I keep hearing. You two must be close, then.”

“Yoongi doesn’t have a lot of people to talk about his problems with. He’s way more interested in being a problem solver for others. But… everybody needs somebody.”

You grimace, stomach dropping at the thought of what kind of things Yoongi might have said about you, to this virtual stranger. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Yijeong.

“If it helps, he hasn’t had anything bad to say about you since I showed up,” he adds reassuringly.

“Meaning he hasn’t said anything about me at all?” you ask, hopeful.

“Mm. Well, he said you’re pretty… passionate,” Yijeong says, lips quirking up at the corners in a soft smile. “I’ve learned that’s a good thing, in Yoongi’s book.”

Or it’s code for crazy bitch. But hey, you’ll take what you can get.

“Sure,” you hum, glancing in Yoongi’s direction. He’s a little further ahead on the path, deep in conversation with Jimin. His face is as pale as the white flag he sent you. Uh oh. “We’ll see.”

As the two of you gain on Yoongi and Jimin, it seems like whatever confrontation that was being had is over with. Good, because you still don’t really want to know what that was about.

“You need the Vitamin C, hyung,” you overhear Jimin say as you and Yijeong approach. He bumps Yoongi’s shoulder conspiratorially. “I bought something for you.”

“What?” Yoongi narrows his eyes.

From behind his back, Jimin procures a hat—a fuzzy, bright orange tangerine hat, complete with a tiny green leaf on top. He looks thrilled.

Yoongi, however, does not.

“Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely yes.” Jimin is already shoving the hat onto Yoongi’s head before he can fight back, dodging his weak attempts to resist. “Cute,” he coos, stepping back to admire his work.

Yoongi glares, but to your amusement, doesn’t make any move to take it off. 

Jimin, delighted, raises his phone. “Come on, let me get a picture—”

“No.”

“Just one! You’re already wearing the hat—”

“Park Jimin, do you want to die?”

Before you can register what’s happening, Jimin is full-on sprinting, chasing Yoongi around the orchard, phone camera wielded like a weapon. You can’t help but laugh. You’ve never seen Yoongi run, but just like his walk, there’s something penguin-esque there.

As Yoongi dashes past you, tangerine hat still firmly on his head, your gaze catches on something. His jeans—fitted just right, annoyingly so—have heart-shaped pockets.

You blink, looking away immediately. Definitely not something you needed to notice. Definitely not something you should be thinking about. But the image is burned into your mind, and unfortunately, Jimin notices the direction of your gaze and stops dead in his tracks.

“Wait,” he gasps, doubled over as he catches his breath. “Hyung, are those hearts on your back pockets?”

Shit.

Puzzled, Yoongi slows to a stop, frowning. “What? So what?”

Jimin, absolutely giddy, points. “Oh my god. Look at you, Mr. Soft and Romantic.”

“They’re just jeans,” Yoongi grumbles, but the slight pink at the tips of his ears says otherwise.

Jeongguk, watching the whole thing unfold, slides next to you where Yijeong had just stood. “You know, you’re going to give everyone the wrong idea, staring at Yoongi-hyung’s butt like that,” he murmurs, voice low so no one else can hear.

You shove him, hard, heat crawling up your neck despite yourself. “Yah, they’re cute jeans!” you hiss-whisper. “Maybe I want a pair for myself!”

He just grins, nudging your shoulder again. “Come on, pervert. We’re all going to dinner.” 

★ ★ ★

When you make it back to the house, you can’t break off from the group fast enough. You don’t mean to be rude, but fuck. You need a minute to process the events of the day.

In an ideal world, said processing would be done with the assistance of your best friend. That’s what Yoongi and Yijeong do, right?

Once you make it inside the house, you make a beeline for the swing out back, phone already tucked between your ear and your shoulder as you slide the patio door open. It rings once, twice, before the call is declined altogether.

SuckJin: You’re joking right?

Right.

Too bad your best friend is a traitorous snake who prioritizes his medical career over being at your constant beck and call.

You: i need to talk to you!!!!!!!!!!!

SuckJin: Are you dying

You: no?????

SuckJin: Great

SuckJin: Nothing I can’t help with over text then

You: in case i don’t tell you enough, you are the fucking worst

You: just so you know

With a groan, you plop onto the swing, thumbs tapping wildly at your phone screen as you try your best to put words to what exactly you’re feeling right now. A task that proves impossible, since you’re not really sure yourself.

You: your worst mistake as my best friend is sitting idly by and allowing me to remain celibate since kihyun and i broke up. what’s happening right now is all your fault actually

You: because now that my JK-related feelings are waning i’m convinced i would fuck absolutely anyone in my current state. that HAS to be what’s going on because there is NO other explanation for my behavior these past few days

You: I CHECKED OUT MIN YOONGI’S ASS!!!!!!!!

SuckJin: LOL

SuckJin: How was it

Why does the universe hate you so? What could you have possibly done in your past life to deserve a best friend so devoid of empathy? You should’ve listened to your gut back in middle school, when it told you to steer clear of the weird, egotistical theatre kid with the bowl cut.

You: NOT the point you freak

SuckJin: What is in the air in Jeju lol

SuckJin: Maybe u two just need to bang it out

What the fuck!

You feel the heat flood your cheeks in an instant, indignantly typing what is sure to be a complete disembowelment of your best friend, but the sound of the sliding glass door opening stops you in your tracks.

It’s Yoongi. Of course it is.

Cigarettes in hand, he crosses the garden until he reaches the swing. Instead of joining you, though, he leans against one of the supports, holding the opened pack out to you in offering.

“No, thanks,” you cheep, stuffing your phone in the pocket of your sweatshirt as you will the flush in your cheeks to die. Seokjin deserves to be left on read for his crimes.

Yoongi shrugs, patting his pockets in search of a lighter. When he finds it, you watch the warm glow illuminate his face as he brings it to the end of his cigarette and inhales deeply.

You feel so far out of your depth here. It’s Yoongi’s house, Yoongi’s garden—even if you’ve staked your claim on this swing since the night you arrived, everything you’ve helped yourself to here belongs to him. Jeongguk included.

Yoongi is well within his rights to have a cigarette wherever he pleases. You just didn’t think he’d prefer to have one here, with you.

“You looked like you had fun today,” Yoongi says, the low hum of his voice effectively breaking you out of your thoughts.

“I did…” You shift positions on the swing restlessly, unfolding your legs and wincing as you stretch them out in front of you. “You looked like you had fun, too,” you offer.

“Mm.”

Talkative as ever, this guy. You guess it’s up to you to keep the conversation going.

“You looked goofy in that hat, though,” you add, your lips quirking up at the corners faster than you can stop it.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow at that. “Yeah? Maybe I should give it to you, then, dollface. You’re the model, after all.”

Dollface.

He keeps calling you that, doesn’t he? He called you that the first night you met. He must mean it as an insult, an implication that your looks are all you have going for you. That’s how it felt the first few times, at least.

Still, you can’t help but notice that this is the longest conversation you and Yoongi have had since your fight last week. You’re both being so shockingly peaceable, you can’t help but comment on it.

“So… I had fun, you had fun,” you mumble, lazily kicking your feet to push the swing back and forth. “Crazy concept that you and I can have fun in the presence of each other.”

“Crazy.”

“You can admit the truce was a good idea. It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone you were wrong.”

Yoongi’s eyes meet yours. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, just takes a slow drag of his cigarette as he considers you. You shrink, pinned as his eyes scan over your face for so long it feels unbearable.

And then he’s moving, cigarette tumbling to the ground as his shoe stubs out the orange glow. Hands swiping ash off of denim. Your eyes track each movement against your will, until you shake yourself out of it and stare at your shoes instead.

“We’ll see.”

There’s the squeak of the sliding door, and then your only company is the smell of smoke and your phone buzzing in your pocket.

★ ★ ★

The finale to Yijeong’s impromptu weekend visit is a night of bar hopping. A night that ends at a local noraebang.

The room all of you inhabit is small but cozy, with plush seating surrounding a sleek table. Accent lighting on the walls glows neon, pulsing to the rhythm of the music. The large screen in the middle of the room is lit up with endless list of songs—some that you’re surprised to see in the repertoire.

Everyone picks off of a tray of drinks and snacks—crispy fries, fried chicken, soju shots, frothy beer—refueling after all of the alcohol you’ve downed tonight.

You’ve lost track of how many drinks you’ve had, but when Taehyung thrusts the microphone into your hands with a boxy grin, you don’t hesitate. It’s been a long time since you’ve been to a noraebang, but you can never go wrong with some Paramore.

The moment the opening chords of Ignorance blast through the speakers, something electric rushes through you. It’s instinct, really—the kind of song that demands to be sung like you mean it.

If I'm a bad person, you don't like me Well, I guess I'll make my own way It's a circle, a mean cycle I can't excite you anymore

Where's your gavel? Your jury? What's my offense this time? You're not a judge, but if you're gonna judge me Well, sentence me to another life

Like riding a fucking bike.

As soon as you open your mouth, Jimin and Taehyung immediately lose their minds, jumping onto the couch and headbanging along like he’s one of the fans at a concert for his own band. Jeongguk, beside him, stares in awe, boba eyes wider than you’ve ever seen them.

But it’s Yoongi you glance at between verses, though you’re not sure why. He’s leaning back against the couch, half-hidden in the dim lighting, watching. His expression is completely unreadable. You can’t look away.

This is the best thing that could have happened Any longer and I wouldn't have made it It's not a war, no, it's not a rapture I'm just a person, but you can't take it The same tricks that, that once fooled me They won't get you anywhere I'm not the same kid from your memory Well, now I can fend for myself

Don't wanna hear your sad songs I don't wanna feel your pain When you swear it's all my fault 'Cause you know we're not the same We're not the same Oh, we're not the same

By the time you hit the chorus, you’re all in—singing like you’ve got something to prove, like the song is a battle you refuse to lose. 

It’s cathartic. It’s messy. It’s more fun than you’ve had in a long fucking time.

As the last note fades out, you’re fighting for breath, buzzing from the energy. The room erupts into cheers, and Jimin all but tackles you in excitement.

“Holy shit, YN,” he howls. “That was amazing. Again, again!”

Before you can protest, Jeongguk takes the mic from your hands and spins through the song queue. “Nah, it’s my turn,” he declares. “Does this thing have Linkin Park?”

When you manage to peel Jimin off of you, Yoongi’s gone.

You know that it shouldn’t bother you. You know that you should say good riddance, let him go do whatever is so important that he had to bolt like that. But for some reason completely beyond you, you just can’t. 

Your feet start moving before your brain can catch up. 

“I’ll be right back,” you say, but it falls on deaf ears anyway. Everybody is wasted, attention already diverted to queueing up the next song, and you slip out entirely unnoticed.

The alley behind the noraebang is dimly lit, the cool air hitting your skin like a slap. And there he is, leaning against the wall, cigarette between his lips. He notices you immediately, his gaze flickering to you in that lazy way of his.

“You left,” you say dumbly.

He lifts his cigarette in answer. “Need something?”

It’s a great question. Now that you’ve found him and you’re freezing your ass off, your lost sanity is quickly finding its way back to you. Why did you leave everybody inside to follow a person you hate?

“Just needed some air,” you lie, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Couldn’t breathe in there.”

Yoongi exhales slowly, smoke curling in the space between you, and you shift on your feet, shivering against the cold. If he notices, he doesn’t comment—just watches you with that unreadable expression, waiting.

You should go back inside. You should say something biting, roll your eyes, turn on your heel. But you don’t. Instead, you rub your hands along your arms, trying to warm yourself up, and Yoongi clicks his tongue.

“You’re shivering.”

Uh, yeah? It’s winter and you forgot your jacket inside. Of course you’re shivering.

“It’s freezing,” you mutter.

Yoongi sighs, long-suffering, then shrugs off his jacket. Before you can protest, he steps forward, draping it over your shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world. It smells like him—faint cologne and smoke, something a little sharp but not unpleasant.  

You clutch at the lapels before you can stop yourself, blinking up at him. “You didn’t have to—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he cuts in, waving a hand dismissively as he leans back against the wall. “Just don’t make it weird.”

Right. Because this is totally normal behavior.

You huff, rolling your eyes, but the warmth is welcome, and you make no move to give the jacket back.

Yoongi glances at you sideways, smirking. “See? You do like it.”

Suddenly, the cold is forgotten. Like somehow, the cramped noraebang felt less stifling than standing here, out in the cold with Yoongi.

“Why’d you follow me out here, dollface?”

There it is again.

“You need to stop calling me that,” you snap, annoyed.

“Nah,” he hums. Your eyes are drawn to the orange glow as he flicks his cigarette, crushing embers into the ground with the toe of his boot. “I think you like that, too.”

What the fuck.

“I—”

“Answer the question,” he interrupts.

“Why did you leave?” you counter.

“Needed a smoke. Told you that already.”

It’s a solid alibi, but something in his tone tells you he’s not being completely honest. So, you pry.

“Left in a pretty big hurry, for a cigarette,” you goad. 

Yoongi huffs, exasperated as he runs his fingers through his hair. “What do you want me to say? Clearly you have something in mind.”

All you do is glare at him in response. You’re out here, shivering to death instead of being inside with people that actually enjoy your company. The least he could do is not waste your time by being a fucking pussy.

It’s silent for a long moment, both of you waiting for the other to break. But then, Yoongi sighs.

“I didn’t know you could still sing like that,” he finally says, his voice a low murmur.

Wait.

“Still?” you ask, bewildered.

The corner of Yoongi’s mouth turns up in a lazy smirk. “What, you think I don’t know things about you? You should know better than that by now.”

“I was at your debut show,” he adds, his voice suddenly more earnest than you’ve ever heard it. “That voice was my first impression of you. Almost had me fooled.”

Infuriatingly, he doesn’t elaborate any further. “Fooled into what?” you ask, eyes narrowing. That wasn’t an attempt at a compliment, was it? There’s no way Min Yoongi is paying you a compliment right now.

“Into thinking you’re someone I might want to spend time with,” he replies, unwavering but still completely unclear.

You wish you could tell what he was thinking. What does he mean by that? That if you met under different circumstances…?

The tension is thick, suffocating. Your pulse thrums in your ears, drowning out everything else—the distant music, the buzz of electricity, the rational part of your brain telling you to walk away.

Yoongi just watches you, his expression unreadable, but there’s something different in his gaze now—something that makes your breath hitch. Eyes all pupil. 

Against your will, your gaze drops to his lips. You wonder if he notices. You hope he doesn’t. Or maybe you hope he does.

You don’t know who moves first.

One second, you’re standing there, glaring at him in the cold; the next, his mouth is on yours, and you’re backing him into the wall. It’s messy, urgent—like neither of you expected this, but now that it’s happening, neither of you want to stop.

His hands find your waist, pulling you closer as your fingers curl into the front of his shirt. You’re dizzy, drunk off the way he kisses you, how he tastes like smoke and whiskey, how his tongue slips into your mouth like he owns it, the sensation of smooth metal on the roof of your mouth making you whimper.

And then—

Reality crashes back like a cold slap to the face.

You pull away, breathless, hands shaking as you take a stumbling step back.

“What the fuck,” you pant, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, like that’ll erase what just happened.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, but he looks just as bewildered as you feel, his chest rising and falling just as fast as yours.

What the fuck. What the fuck did you just do?

Without another word, you turn on your heel and bolt, nearly tripping over yourself in your rush to get away. Your head is spinning, your heart hammering against your ribs and threatening to explode.

And Yoongi doesn’t make any move to stop you. 

You leave everything. You don’t stop. You run, catch a cab, operating completely on instinct until suddenly, you’re in the bedroom, door shut behind you, hands pressed to your face like that’ll somehow ground you.

When you finally lower them, your lips are still tingling, Yoongi’s jacket still draped over your trembling shoulders.

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[multiheadcanons]

A LITTLE EXTRA FOR THE DOLLS. HEAVY AND MEDIC GET MARRIED. HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY

heavy proposed in a very unconventional way. medic did not take it very well.

they were reading separate books, together in the hall leading to the infirmary, in silence. he slid a golden band on the side table that was between them. he didn’t speak, or make a grand statement of it, just made sure to angle it so the glint caught the doctor’s eye.

and the doctor did notice. he was not cool about it. “that’s not funny.” is all he could say. as heavy insisted, the doctor’s face notably scrunched up in a strange combination of emotions. he looked like he just got shot. but he was also bright red.

it was time to share some secrets.

medic opened up— very hesitantly— without removing his face from the book, about his prior marriage. a woman he called the love of his life. his childhood best friend, the woman who knew him better than he dares to ever know himself. genevieve. and the doctor isn’t paying any attention as heavy’s face pales.

and heavy isn’t thinking as the only thing that exits his mouth, as the doctor is genuinely baring his soul to him, talking about this brilliant woman who fundamentally shifted his view in love and marriage and life itself; the only thing heavy can think to say is “isn’t that… demo’s genevieve?”

the silence that fell in that room. the doctor stopped mid sentence and did not close his mouth. he turned, so controlled in the slow movement, to the heavy weapons guy. and stared at him, slack jawed. harder than he’s ever stared at the man before. an active craze brewed in the doctor’s eyes. heavy kept calm, hoping that if there was any time the doctor would follow suit it would be right now. and for a solid twenty seconds, he had confidence. nobody spoke, but they maintained eye contact and heavy felt he had a handle on the situation. he was so confident he was going to disarm this bomb.

he was confident until he saw the book snap shut. and they held eye contact. and then the doctor carelessly tossed the book up. that is where heavy made the mistake of breaking eye contact, and in a swift motion, medic grabbed the ring and stormed away.

heavy had officially lost control of the situation. before he moved to chase, he went for the medigun.

and the doctor was like a robot. it did not take him long to locate where the louder teammates were. he was honed in, ring grasped tightly in his hand. and him slamming the door to the common area caught their attention immediately.

he took stock of who was in the room.

scout. soldier. pyro. engineer. demo.

there’s the son of a bitch.

and frankly, demo could tell from the look in the doctor’s eyes exactly what was about to transpire and for exactly what reason. there was nothing he could do but brace for it, and maybe do him the favor of meeting him halfway. he didn’t have time for the second before the doctor had crossed the room.

maybe he could’ve told medic earlier and moved past this.

it didn’t matter, demo hit the floor before anyone had time to react. luckily, they were close enough to grab the doctor before he could really start to do damage. he didn’t fight them either, and everyone looked at demo for answers as he stumbled to his feet and shook his head.

“it’s alright; i’m alright… i had that coming. long time coming. alright, doc…” he cracked his neck, and stared at the doctor, notably sobered from the hit. “firstly: hell of an arm you got there. we need to have a chat.”

“you need to be rotting out in the desert. we do need to have a chat.” the doctor replied, calm for a man who literally walked in swinging.

“are you gonna hit me again?”

“yes.”

“…fair enough.”

and they left the room as heavy entered, medigun slung across his back.

“…am i too late?”

the team didn’t see much of demo, or the doctor for about a week, initially. and when they did, they were engaged in silent conversation, their faces set in grief. in anger. in regret and contempt and pity and ache and despair. the team watched as their faces shifted through the days to broken resignation. sometimes the team would walk by and see them both with their heads on the mess hall table, slumped against each other, the bags under their eyes evident as they caught precious seconds of sleep that they weren’t getting otherwise. they would see the men crumble out of their peripheries. their tear streaks would hit the light as they passed by and they would simply continue to walk. but cries echoed through the halls of the base for weeks. the doctor wouldn’t look at anyone, his hands remained balled into fists and his face twisted in snarls. demo wouldn’t speak to anyone, even if he was addressed first, just shook his head and continued on. it showed in battle as they caught their breath in alleyways, and as their enemies passed they would catch glimpses of them on their knees, head in their hands, and the wracked hoarse sobs were drowned by gunfire. it took months for them to begin to show signs of returning to normal. with each other. with the team.

it took a month still from normality returning on shaky legs for medic and heavy to resume their reading together. the first time was tense. talking was off the table. just the repeated tap of the doctor’s foot against the floor, getting louder and louder until it was just him slamming his foot against the ground.

“i can’t do this.”

at that point medic threw his book against the wall and stormed into the infirmary. heavy did not follow.

neither he nor that wedding band were seen again for a few days.

heavy had resigned himself to the fact that he would never see that ring again. and he had mostly resigned himself to the knowledge that if he didn’t permanently ruin his professional relationship with the doctor, they definitely weren’t together in the way that heavy wanted them to be.

he thought that until a glint caught his eye.

he gave a brief glance.

a single silver band sat on the table. large enough for his ring finger.

he closed his book. “that’s not funny. that’s not funny.”

“it’s not funny at all.” the doctor closed his book as well. “i made my decision.”

he set the book down and began to pull off his glove.

“misha. i loved genevieve. i loved her with everything i could give her. it haunted me. she haunted me, her willingness to put her life on pause to be with me and save myself from my own… shame of attraction. i couldn’t thank her enough for that. there was no display of devotion i could make, past giving her a child, to show my gratitude, and i couldn’t do that. to her, to myself, to a child.” he paused in the removal from his glove, before continuing, revealing a single golden band around his ring finger.

“then i find out she didn’t. her life never stopped. only mine did.” herbert stared at the ring around his finger, sparing a slight glance towards misha. “…i’m ready to move on. i held onto her for so long. and i’m ready to let her go.”

misha stayed quiet. he gingerly reached for the ring. he wasn’t sure it was real. but the cold metal confirmed he could believe what he was seeing. he held it in his hand. so small in comparison to his palm. so small in comparison to the scars they give each other. he stared past the ring to the scar slashed across of the life line of his palm.

he gave himself that. for his doctor.

they were already bound by blood for life.

a ring wasn’t needed, he had told himself. he’d been telling himself that for weeks now, in the certainty he had been rejected.

“i don’t want a wedding. i don’t want a honeymoon. just put it on, and we can continue to read. or give it back, and we can continue to read. either way, it’s… it’s okay. it’s alright. i’m alright. we’re alright.” misha couldn’t stop the breath of laughter. the smile that crept on his face. a ring. a ring. and he couldn’t stop a couple of tears from falling. he wiped them away quickly. it felt a little silly to cry because he got what he wanted. it took months, but he got exactly what he wanted.

“it’s… not what i expected from you. when have you ever done what i expect from you?” misha finally found words to say that made sense in his mind; sliding the ring onto his finger.

a perfect fit.

“…i want a honeymoon.”

“…we may have a honeymoon if you would like.”

misha laughed. he couldn’t help it. he looked at his hand, at its new adornment. rotated his hand. saw the glint from every angle. looked at herbert. looked back at his hand. his face felt hot, and a hand naturally reached to feel the heat. he couldn’t stop the smile from getting wider. he laughed again.

he patted the seat of the chair next to him, and held out his other hand.

“come sit next to me. properly.”

herbert’s eyes narrowed, if only slightly and for the moment. but he took a breath. he forced himself to relax. he made this decision. he needs to stick to the commitment he made.

it took many days of working, and thinking, and crying, and not sleeping to decide to say yes.

he didn’t know if he had it in him to do it again. he didn’t know if a commitment he had made, by all means at this point except traditionally, by all means felt traditionally was the right thing to do; was the best thing to do for either one of them at this point. herbert was getting older. he had held onto the ghost of a woman, held onto what he thought was love so tightly for so long, and it was shattered in less than five words. everything he thought he knew about his life was shattered in less than five words.

and herbert was no stranger to hurt. he was no stranger to misha hurting him. he was no stranger to hurting misha. physically and emotionally. they’ve fought. they argued. they’ve said things to each other they can never take back. that still hang in the air some tense days. but they’ve always made it through. come back stronger, held onto each other tighter in battle. learned each other better, maneuvered with and around each other smoother. every force against them has made them a stronger unit, closer friends, better partners.

misha completed him in undefinable ways. understood him enough to accept him fully, wholly. never asked for more than herbert said he could give. respected it. respected him. it’s obviously not a far throw to say misha loved him.

he owed the man a commitment to the grave.

he took misha’s hand and stood, closing the distance and taking his rightful place at misha’s side.

they sat, shoulder to shoulder.

hand in hand.

misha squeezed. herbert squeezed back.

they looked at each other.

spared each other uncertain smiles.

then they opened their books and continued to read.

[witchywithwhiskey]

For the Sweethearts game: Steve Rogers + All Mine 💘😌

more than chocolate

pairing: husband!steve rogers x wife!female reader

summary: after your valentine's day date with your husband, he takes you to a hotel room and you make good use of the bed—but end up heading home to sleep in your own home.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, possessive sex, creampie, breeding kink, daddy kink, choking, biting, rough sex, established bdsm dynamic, light bratting/brat taming, pussy spanking, dirty talk, praise kink, light degradation, husband/wife kink, orgasm control/delay, cockwarming, aftercare, marathon sex, happy ending

word count: 4.5k

a/n: thank you for sending in a prompt, Eva!!! i'm not even the least bit surprised that you chose Steve 🤭 i hope you love this feral, possessive husband version of him, because i had fun writing him. thank you for playing my sweethearts game, i hope you enjoy ♡♡

sweethearts game masterlist

Giddy laughter bubbled up in your chest, tasting like the champagne still lingering on your tongue, which was busy savoring the rich chocolate mousse from the depths of Steve Rogers’ mouth. You dragged his broad body closer, licking the groan from his lips while his arm banded around your waist tightened almost painfully. 

The back of his other arm brushed against the soft mounds of your tits while he fumbled for the key card to your hotel room that was stashed in the pocket inside his jacket, and you couldn’t help but moan into his mouth. Your body was suffused in heat and need that grew with every moment, and you finally broke from the kiss to urge Steve on.

“C’mon, captain, your wife’s pussy is feeling so empty and needy,” you purred in his ear, pressing hot kisses along his jaw. The big super soldier shuddered, and you grinned like a cat that got the cream against his cheek. “Don’t you wanna fill me up? Don’t you wanna put a baby in my belly?”

A rough sound wrenched free from Steve’s mouth, his arm tightening around your waist as he caught your lips in a fierce kiss that sent your mind scattering along the ugly rug of the hotel hallway. 

Distantly, you heard the rending of metal, but you didn’t pay it much mind since Steve was lifting you up into his arms and carrying you into the room. He kicked the door shut behind the two of you with another screech of metal that sounded wrong, though you couldn’t say why.

Before you could think to pull away and see what damage Steve had done or ask him about it, his hand was cupping the back of your head, holding you close as he kissed the breath from your lungs and strode deeper into the room. 

Your chest was burning for air and your body was throbbing with arousal by the time your husband tossed you down on the soft hotel bed. You took only a brief second to glance at the rose petals strewn across the blanket, arranged in the shape of a heart, before you turned back to the glory that was Steve Rogers.

The former Captain America stood at the foot of the bed, his blue eyes blazing with desire as he tore off his dinner jacket and tossed it somewhere in the room. One hand worked open the top buttons of his light blue dress shirt while the other wrapped around your ankle.

“Is this how it’s going to be tonight, wife?” Steve rumbled, a feral smirk on his face as he yanked you down the mattress, manhandling your body even as he took care not to use too much of his super-soldier strength so he didn’t hurt you.

You shrieked with dizzying laughter, your nice dress riding up to your hips as you spread your legs for your husband, giving him a perfect view of the lacy panties you wore beneath. Steve’s gaze dropped immediately to the juncture of your thighs, his big hands skimming up your legs and pushing them wide open so you were on full display for him.

“You think you can tease me into breeding this pretty little pussy?” he asked darkly, palming your hot cunt through the thin fabric of your panties, which were already damp with your desire. “You think you can bat those pretty eyes and kiss me with those pretty lips and I’ll rut you until you’re so full of my cum, there’s no way you’re not knocked up?”

His fingers pushed shallowly into your dripping hole, fucking you in a poor mimicry of what you actually needed. But your panties were still in the way, preventing him from slipping all the way inside your needy pussy, teasing you with the penetration you so desperately needed. 

Your head thrashed on the bedspread, rose petals feeling like silk against your skin, and you made the most pathetic sound, partway between a whimper and a whine. Your hips worked hard against Steve’s hand, grinding your greedy pussy against his palm as you tried to take his fingers deeper, to where you needed them.

“Yes, I do, captain,” you huffed, batting your eyes up at your husband, your hands wrapping around Steve’s strong forearm and trying to shove his hand deeper between your thighs. 

But Steve was having none of it. He pulled away from your pussy, gathering your wrists in his big hand and pinned them to the bed above your head. The move had his big body covering yours, but he held himself aloft, making sure you had nothing to grind against while his hips held your thighs open. 

“Are you sure about that, baby?” Steve asked in a dangerously calm tone. 

Despite the need pounding insistently in your bloodstream, you couldn’t help but rile up your husband even more. So you pursed your lips together and blew him a kiss. 

Steve’s blue eyes darkened until they were nearly the mean, murky color of the Atlantic Ocean, and he shifted to one side. 

That was all the warning you got before Steve’s big hand came down between your thighs, giving your pussy a sharp spank. 

The sting wrenched a shrill sound from your throat, but the pain quickly melted into a burning heat that had your hips squirming and your legs flailing. Your calves curled around Steve’s legs in an attempt to draw him back between your thighs. 

“Daddy, please,” you cried, a sob of pleasure falling from your lips while Steve rubbed your pussy, making a mess of your slit as you leaked through your panties and into his hand.

“What was that, baby?” Steve asked mockingly, watching you squirm beneath him with a glint in his eye that made it clear you’d pushed him to the point of no return. “Something about you thinking you could brat your way into getting a baby in your belly?” 

Steve pulled his hand away from your pussy and pressed down on your stomach, pinning you to the bed and leaving you to only writhe. He held you like that for a long moment, your legs twisting and hips humping the empty air, until you’d nearly worked yourself up to tears. 

“Daddy, daddy, please!” Your voice was a pathetic whine, and your eyes were misty as you stared up at your husband. “I’ll be good, I promise,” you begged, your lips pursed in a perfect pout. “Just fill me up—please, please, please, I need it!”

“Ah, there she is,” Steve rumbled, his voice switching to a deep, pleased tone instantly. “My sweet wife, begging so pretty like such a good girl for daddy.” He ducked down and brushed a kiss to your cheek, catching the single tear that had fallen from your eye. “That’s how pretty girls get what they want—by asking nicely.”

You grumbled a little, but couldn’t help but preen under his sweet kisses and sweeter praise, making Steve chuckle against your skin. He pressed one last kiss to your lips and then he was standing up, grabbing your hips and flipping you onto your stomach with ease. 

Carefully, he pulled down the zipper of your dress, his fingers skimming along your spine and making you shiver as you pressed your face into the rose petals on the bedspread, inhaling their sweet scent as your husband undressed you. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Steve lay the dress carefully over the chair in the corner, then he was back, ripping your panties down over your ass and thighs, shoving them in the pocket of his slacks while his other hand curled around your hip. 

“On your hands and knees, wife,” Steve ordered in a gruff voice, helping to lift you up into position. His hands made quick work of his belt and fly while you arranged yourself on your hands and knees on the edge of the bed.

Turning your head, you caught Steve’s eye over your shoulder, shooting him a smile while you arched your back and wiggled your hips for him. His blue eyes sparkled with love as he smiled back, but then his gaze dropped to your ass and he bit back a groan. 

Your husband ran his hands appreciatively up your thighs, then down your sides, reaching around to your front to grope your tits while he pressed kisses along your spine. You arched into his touch, letting out a needy whine when he plucked and pinched your nipples in just the way you liked.

“You’re so fucking pretty, baby,” Steve murmured into your skin, making you shiver at the depth of emotion in his tone. “Looked so gorgeous dolled up for our Valentine’s date tonight,” he said, sinking his teeth carefully into the curve of your shoulder, making you moan and melt further beneath his talented mouth. “But I’ll always love seeing you naked and begging for my cock.”

“Thank you, daddy,” you said sweetly, pushing your hips back into Steve’s lap and feeling his cock slip between your thighs. Your legs were already a mess with your arousal and you could feel your dripping heat coating the hard length of him as he thrust lazily between your thighs. “May I have your cock now—pretty please?”

The sweetness in your tone made Steve chuckle against your shoulder blade. But he grabbed his cock and rubbed the tip up and down your wet slit, teasing your tight little hole with everything you wanted. 

“Look at you,” he cooed teasingly, and you could hear the self-satisfied smirk in his tone. “Such a good, sweet girl when you ask nicely.” He pushed the crown of his cock into your hole before pulling out, making your whole body shiver with need as a whine worked its way up your throat. “Tell daddy how bad you want my cock, baby.”

“Sooo bad, daddy,” you wailed, trying to push back on Steve’s hard length. But he held your hip in a tight grip, making sure you only got the tip of his cock. “I want it so bad—more than chocolate, more than champagne, more than anything, daddy, please!”

“Good girl, such a good girl for your husband,” Steve purred, sliding inside your dripping cunt and filling you up with one firm stroke.

The feeling of him filling you up after teasing you for so long, his thick cock stretching you out so perfectly, wrung a delighted sob from your lips. You buried your face in the rose petals and blankets as you cried at the pleasure rolling through your body in waves. 

Steve gave you a long moment to adjust to his cock, and then his hand was wrapping around the front of your neck and he was lifting your body until your back was to his chest. The position forced his cock even deeper inside your pussy and you moaned loudly, your hands grabbing Steve’s thick thighs for something to hold onto.

“Open your eyes, pretty baby,” Steve cooed in your ear.

As soon as you did, your eyes were met with the sight of your body framed by your husband’s larger form and you realized there was a mirror hanging over the head of the bed. It gave you a perfect view of your pussy impaled on your husband’s cock, your tits bouncing as you breathed heavily.

Your entire, naked body was on display, and behind you stood Steve. He still wore the light blue shirt he’d donned for dinner, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and his dark slacks were pushed down his thighs only far enough to free his cock. His strong, golden arms were holding you pinned to his chest, one hand curving possessively around your throat while the other banded around your middle beneath your tits.

Your husband’s blue eyes were sparkling with a possessive hunger as he caught your gaze in the mirror. 

“All mine.”

Steve’s voice was little more than a growl in your ear, the possessiveness trickling down your spine and settling in your belly only adding to the heat in your core. In the mirror, you could see the place where his cock split you open, where his hand was holding your throat in a dominating grip, and your pussy gushed with even more arousal. 

“You’re all mine, wife,” Steve said again, catching your eye in the mirror and letting you see the depth of the devotion burning in his gaze. “Now and forever.”

His words made you sink deeper into his grip, a pleased smile curling your lips as your hands reached for him. One gripped his strong thigh, nails digging into his golden skin hard enough to make his hips stutter with an instinctive thrust. The fingers of your other hand slid into the blond hair at the back of Steve’s head, curling in the strands and yanking on them just enough to make your husband’s eyes flash in the mirror.

“And you’re all mine, husband, now and forever,” you purred in return, echoing his words and enjoying the way Steve’s cock twitched deep in your cunt at the depth of the possessiveness in your tone. It was enough to make you smirk, the brattiness you’d felt earlier in the evening coming back to the surface. “Now, be a good husband and put a baby in your wife’s belly, captain.”

You barely had the chance to shoot your husband a playful wink before his eyes darkened, his pupils blowing wide and blotting out the blue of his irises. Steve let out a furious growl, his face contorting with determination as he started bouncing you on his cock, using his firm grip on your throat and body to lift you up and slam you down on his hard length.

“You’re going to regret that, wife,” he snarled in your ear, his fingers digging into the sides of your throat while he fucked you. “I’m going to use your body like my own personal fucktoy, and then maybe you’ll get my cum—if you can show me you can be a good girl and take my cock.”

Your husband looked so fierce in the mirror over the bed, fucking you hard and fast and giving you every inch of his cock over and over and over again. Still, you couldn’t help but be a little menace, torturing both of you so you could get everything you wanted.

“Harder, daddy,” you whined, your nails digging deeper into Steve’s thigh, feeling his muscles working beneath your fingertips as he thrust into you hard enough that the sound of his skin slapping against yours met your ears. “Choke me harder.”

“Bratty, perfect girl,” Steve muttered, choking you harder as he fucked you, his fingers digging into the sides of your neck and making pleasure swim across your vision.

It wasn’t long before you were close to the edge of your release, moans and pleading whimpers spilling freely from your lips. You clung to Steve desperately, your hips pushing back to meet his thrusts, but the closer you got, the more he slowed.

Just when you were about to tip over the edge, Steve stopped entirely. He yanked you down on his cock until you were impaled so thoroughly, you swore you could feel him in your guts. Then he dropped the hand not wrapped around your throat to your pussy.

“If you want my seed, baby, you’re gonna cum from getting your clit spanked, d’you hear me?” Steve growled in your ear, his blue eyes glittering and dark in the mirror as you caught his eye.

A whining sound of protest fell from your lips, and Steve waited a beat, but you didn’t voice your safe word. You knew your husband would stop immediately if you said the word you’d established years ago, but you didn’t really want him to stop.

Steve chuckled against your cheek, swatting your clit with the flat of his fingers, making you cry out and squirm in his hold. He adjusted his grip, his hand around your throat pinning you to his chest while he tapped teasingly against your clit. 

“You’ll be a good girl for daddy, won’t you, baby?” he cooed mockingly, smacking your clit a little harder and chuckling when your whole body jerked in his hold. But you were no match for his super-soldier strength, so all you could do was sit on his cock and take it, whimpers and moans falling mindlessly from your lips. “Of course you will,” he murmured darkly in your ear. “Because you want daddy to knock you up, don’t you, baby?”

A feral little kitten snarl tore from your mouth at the condescension in his tone, but still you didn’t stop him. Steve was stubborn and you knew you were going to cum from him spanking your pussy simply because he had the sheer determination to make it happen—and because he knew exactly how to work your body, how to walk the line of pleasure and pain until you were seeing stars.

Steve rocked into you with his hips, grinding his cock deep into your cunt, and spanked your clit sharply, making you cry out and convulse in his arms. But that damn super-soldier strength meant you weren’t going anywhere.

After five spanks, you lost count, but thankfully, you came not long after. 

Your release rushed over you suddenly, dragging you over the edge kicking and screaming, the stinging pain of Steve’s spanking hand washed away in a deluge of burning, all-consuming pleasure. It was the most intense orgasm of your life, and you screamed your release into the hotel room, your body tightening and your nails digging so hard into Steve’s forearm, you thought you might draw blood.

While you were in the throes of pleasure, you heard Steve grunt and groan behind you. His arms tightened around your body and his hips pressed flush to your ass as he buried himself as deep in you as possible. Then you felt the telltale twitching of his cock, and knew he was spilling his seed deep in your cunt, flooding your womb with his cum.

The two of you rode out your releases together, gasping and clinging to each other as you eked out every ounce of pleasure from your bodies. Before you collapse into a puddle among the rose petals, Steve gathered you up in his arms and climbed into the bed, laying you down in the center with his body behind you, holding you close. 

He managed to make sure his cock didn’t pull out of your still fluttering channel and you sighed in relief—you didn’t want him slipping out of you for the rest of the night. You wanted him plugging you full and making sure his seed would take in your womb.

“That was fun,” you murmured, reaching back and tugging on Steve’s hair until your mouth found his for a kiss. It was a little clumsy, but you could feel Steve’s smile against your lips, so it was perfect. “I love it when you get all mean with me,” you whispered against his mouth, unable to stop yourself from grinning.

Steve’s cheeks pinked and he kissed you more tenderly. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asked softly, his fingers smoothing gently down either side of your neck, watching your face carefully for any flinches of pain. 

“No, I’m ok,” you assured him, waiting patiently while he insisted on kissing every spot where his fingers had dug into your neck when he’d choked you. 

“Good,” he said on a relieved sigh, burying his face in your neck. His hand slid down your front, laying possessively over your belly. “Because you’re going to need to take more of my cum if we’re going to make sure you’re knocked up tonight, wife.”

A giggle slipped from your lips and you wiggled your ass back into Steve’s lap, feeling him growing hard again inside you. “Gimme all ya got, captain,” you shot back over your shoulder, catching Steve’s eye and giving him a playful smirk.

For the rest of the evening, you and Steve stayed in that hotel room bed, mussing the blankets and sending rose petals flying as you made love over and over again like you couldn’t get enough of each other—which you couldn’t. You’d never get enough of the feeling of Steve’s cock pumping you full of cum, and he’d never get enough of your sweet sounds while your pussy clenched down greedily on his hard length.

By the time you were too exhausted to move, you’d lost count of how many loads of cum Steve had filled you with, but you were hopeful that his seed would take and your belly would grow with his child. You were cooing deliriously to your cum-filled stomach while Steve carried you to the bathroom and cleaned you up. 

When the two of you made it back to the bed, slipping beneath the sheets and not caring when you found some rose petals had made it into the bed, you were half asleep. You curled up into Steve’s side and tried to drift off…

But, even though you’d had enough orgasms that it should’ve been easy to fall asleep, you couldn’t seem to get comfortable in the hotel room bed. The pillows were too lumpy and the sheets were too scratchy, and even with your nose pressed into Steve’s bare skin, the room smelled too different from home. 

After a few minutes of your restless body squirming against his, Steve chuckled and brushed a kiss to your forehead. 

“Do you wanna go home, baby?” he asked softly, humor and affection thick in his tone. “Sleep in our own bed?”

“Yeah,” you said on a sigh, giving up the fight to fall asleep and lifting your head to look at your husband. Even in the dark of the hotel room, you could see his eyes glittering with love and you felt suddenly guilty, hiding your face in his chest. “I’m sorry—you got us this nice hotel room for the whole night, but I can’t sleep here.”

“That’s alright, baby,” Steve assured you, running his hand soothingly up and down your spine. “We got plenty of use out of it,” he said, laughing softly to himself. Then he wrapped his arms around you and lifted you from the bed, placing you carefully on your feet. “Don’t you think?” he asked playfully. 

Steve turned on the light and you looked around at the completely destroyed room. There were rose petals everywhere and the blankets on the bed were mussed beyond recognition, the pillows strewn haphazardly up and down the mattress. It gave you a small flicker of pride to see how thoroughly you’d used the bed with your husband and you grinned at him.

“Yeah, I think we did.”

As quickly as you could manage, you and Steve dressed and made your way to the door. There, Steve had to wrench it open, confirming your suspicions that he’d broken the lock earlier when he couldn’t get the key card out of his jacket pocket. 

At the front desk, Steve reported the damage and told the clerk to charge his card for the repairs while you tried to muffle your giggles in the back of his suit jacket. 

When he was done checking out, Steve laced his fingers with yours and pulled you toward the parking garage, both of you trying—and failing—to stifle your laughter. 

It was late when you leaned against Steve’s side as he unlocked the front door of the brownstone the two of you called home. You toed out of your shoes as soon as you were inside, leaving them by the door as you followed the low, warm light filtering out of the living room.

You padded around to the front of the couch, grabbing the remote for the TV and flicking it off before stopping and taking in the sight in front of you. Steve walked up behind you and slid his arms around your waist, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder as the two of you stared down at the couch.

“Your friends are terrible babysitters,” you whispered, cutting a look at Steve out of the corner of your eye, which only made him snort softly. The sound tickled your skin and sent a small shiver racing down your spine.

“What can I say, our little sweet pea has them wrapped around her fingers,” he responded easily, brushing a kiss to your cheek before unraveling himself from around your body and moving toward the couch.

Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson were both asleep on the couch, their heads lolling against the back and loud snores spilling from their mouths. Between them, your daughter was snuggled in her favorite blanket, which would’ve been adorable if it wasn’t so many hours past her bedtime.

“Papa?” your daughter murmured sleepily as Steve gathered her up in his arms, blanket and all, tucking her in close to his chest while her little arms wound around his neck. “Wan sleep wif you and mama,” she whispered before burying her little face in your husband’s collarbone.

“She refused to go to bed until you got home,” Sam said gruffly from the couch, where he was waking. He covered his mouth with a fist while he yawned, his other hand pushing at Bucky’s shoulder, but the super-soldier ducked out of the way with a grumpy grunt. 

“We all know where she gets that stubbornness from, don’t we?” he grumbled, shooting you a wink and cutting his head toward Steve, who was heading in the direction of the stairs leading up to the second floor of the brownstone. 

You muffled a snort into your palm and Steve cut you a look over his shoulder that only made you laugh louder. 

“Oh, she definitely gets it from me,” you said innocently, shooting your husband a wink as you turned back to his friends, who were standing and gathering their things. “Thanks for watching her.”

“Anytime,” Sam said, giving you a hug. Bucky echoed his sentiment and hugged you as well before the two of them saw themselves out.

You turned off the lights on the lower level, then followed Steve upstairs to your bedroom. He’d already tucked your daughter into the middle of your bed and was in the closet changing into his pajamas. The two of you shared a few sleepy kisses as you changed, then you slipped into bed, snuggling your daughter together. 

Before the three of you fell asleep, Steve whispered sleepily, “How do you feel about having a little brother or sister, sweet pea?”

“Want it, papa,” she huffed softly, and you couldn’t help but kiss her little head as affection and love surged in your heart. 

Steve caught your eye over your daughter’s head and he shot you a wink. “More than chocolate?” he asked, but his only answer was your daughter’s light snoring. 

You and your husband giggled silently and you reached for his hand, your fingers tangling together as your eyelids drooped. You fell asleep within seconds, a smile on your face as you were surrounded by love, delighted by the idea of adding another person to your little family. 

You wanted it more the chocolate, more than champagne, more than anything, to grow your family with your husband, Steve Rogers—and you’d get exactly that. Nine months after Valentine’s Day. 

sweethearts game masterlist

[melancholyswayafterdark]

Omg omg could you write 2007!leo having to go training or whatever and he gets pent up from not doing it for a whole month so when he sees y/n he just goes feral and needs to top y/n so bad

TMNT 2007!Leonardo x Reader: Absence and its Effects on the Heart (NSFW 18+)

NOTE: this is my after dark blog, and you're going to find smut here. 2007 is a more mature version of the turtles, and they are around their early/mid 20s. MINORS DNI. WARNINGS : dirty talk, slight daddy kink? and missionary

happy late v day??? lol, I'm also a little rusty from writing NSFW, pls bear with me lol

Okay okay

Imagine Leonardo coming back from his training, and the first thing he does (after saying hello to his family, of course) is come to visit you.

His heart is beating so fast, and his sex drive is through the roof.

He makes his way to your apartment, flipping and sprinting on every rooftop his feet touch; he absolutely cannot wait to get a taste of you.

Leo's feral right now. I'm talking about eating nuts and berries in the forest feral (which he was during his training, but you know what I mean.)

He knew it would be difficult without seeing you for the duration of his training, and when April found him in the jungle one day, she convinced him to come back home.

(rather than Leo staying for an extra year of training, for the sake of the plot here, he's been gone an extra three months instead.)

His mind ran miles and miles faster as your apartment building came into view through the dark night. He needed to see you. Now. 

He doesn't bother texting you or calling; he'd rather keep his entrance a surprise. 

So when you hear the familiar sequence of knocks at your window, you could almost fall out of your chair from your laptop. 

"L-Leo?" You were unsure, and it had to be a dream. Maybe you were up so late from pulling an all-nighter from this assignment that you were hearing things. 

But, it wasn't until you heard the knocks again, only this time, a voice calling your name that sounded strikingly like your lover's. 

College homework could wait. Right now, Leonardo was at your full attention. 

You scramble to open the window, revealing exactly who you thought would be behind it. It's Leonardo, and his broad smile matches your own. He finally came back, and it wasn't a dream. You weren't seeing things. 

"Hey." Your eyes widened. The last time you saw Leo, he was telling you how much he loved you and that this training would be the hardest thing he's ever done. Leaving you would be the most challenging part of this whole overseas training thing. 

"H-Hey, Leo." Your voice is quiet from shock, yet your body instinctively runs toward the blue-banded turtle, his arms wide open for you to jump into them. 

It was like nothing changed. The only thing had been his love for you. It grew much stronger since the last time he saw your pretty face. 

"I missed you so much." Your voice is buried into his plastron, and you feel his heartbeat quickly. He was so excited to see you, truly. 

Leonardo enters your room as he was so accustomed to doing, sitting on the edge of the bed with you still in his arms. 

He wasted no time getting his first kiss since he returned. Your lips haven't met his since the last time you saw him a long while ago. You had been waiting for this moment. 

Leo had been waiting as well, his member immediately twitching in excitement as soon as he sat onto the bed with you on top. He was ready to make you his again. 

"I….I missed you so much, love." Leo's deep voice went to your neck, leaving butterfly kisses down to your sternum. It felt so good, Leo's touch. You couldn't imagine how hard it was for Leo out there all alone. But he was strong. By his looks, he handled himself very well overseas. 

"M-Me too, Leo. I…” Your sentence is interrupted as you feel teeth bite onto your neck, latching on and sucking in the spot that Leo knew got you going. Your breathy moan escaped your lips and into the air, Leo's ears capturing it and motivating him to continue. Your eyes closed, taking in the electric feeling of your boyfriend's hands gripping your waist, squeezing your bottom as his hands explored. Though a well-known terrain for the turtle, he wanted to feel all of you. He wanted to feel your skin on his, and that pesky pair of shorts you had been wearing were about to come off. He continued kissing your neck as your hands gripped his shoulders for support. 

The feeling of Leo's tongue swirling on your sweet spot satisfied you like no other. Leonardo was skilled with his tongue, and he knew it. You could feel his lips' smirk on your skin as your quivering voice asked him to continue. He wasn't stopping; he was just getting started. 

As you snap out of your euphoric trance and look down, your eyes meet the turtle's honey-brown ones. His half-lidded eyes, paired with his heavy breaths, had made you come to this doting realization: Leonardo was starving. He needed a taste of you and bad. 

You hadn't seen that look on his face since mating season, where he fucked you so silly on every piece of furniture you owned, leaving you a fucked-out mess just the way he liked it. 

You were in for a wild ride, and Leo's smug smirk had only enhanced the warm feeling pooling in between your legs. 

"Love, I…need you, bad." Tiny beads of sweat littered Leonardo's olive skin- he was so needy that he didn't know how much longer he could last before he absolutely devoured you. But, his visit was so unexpected that-

"I need you, too." Your lips moved toward his own neck, kissing and nipping in every place. Leonardo needed love, and he was about to get it. Suddenly, you felt yourself lifted, your legs wrapping around Leo's waist for support. He has that same hungry look in his eyes and throws you onto the bed as he undoes his belts. Your chest was heaving in anticipation, watching the leader take off his gear with urgency, throwing it to the corner of your room as if it were a nuisance. The terrapin stretched his limbs like he was about to work out. 

Well, technically, he was about to burn some calories. Lord knows how much. Sex-driven Leonardo is a little different than he usually is, and it took you mating season to see it. He was afraid it would drive you away, how rough and needy he was, but it only drove you closer to him. 

"Take this off for me?" You could hear low churrs come from your boyfriend's throat as he spoke, his raspy voice sending tingles down your body right to your sex. You did as you were told, unclipping your bra while Leo's hands went toward the hem of your shorts and panties, ripping them both off simultaneously. You felt the cool air hit your nipples and cunt, and your cheeks heated up as you watched Leo's eyes look all over your body. "You look so good, Y/n." His green hands moved toward your thighs, spreading them open as far as they could go without hurting you. He dropped to his knees and pulled your pussy closer to his face, his cocky grin and lust-filled eyes looking up at you as he put his nose right onto your clit. Inhaling, the turtle's instincts caused him to salivate slightly, the sweet smell of your sex shooting through his body. He couldn't wait to get a taste. 

"Fuck, Y/n. All for me?" You were dripping wet, and Leonardo didn't even get down to business yet.

Before you knew it, Leonardo's face was buried in your sex, and you felt his index finger tease your entrance before quickly slipping in, thanks to your natural lubrication. 

Leo's finger wasted no time pumping in and out of you, his tongue moving toward your bud, swirling around it as you sucked your teeth in satisfaction.

While Leo was thirsty for you, he was also longing to get this overdue orgasm out of his system. 

His free hand went down to his own sex, stroking his erect member as he ate you out. He didn't want a blowjob; he just wanted to be inside you.

Leonardo talking through eating you out was truly the cherry on top of this whole thing. 

He wasn't about to have you finish just yet, though. He wanted you to finish on his cock, not on his fingers. 

You felt just how hungry the turtle was with how he ate you out as if it was the last thing he would do. Mouth gaped slightly open and head thrown back from the feeling of Leonardo's tongue, you were in a sexual trance that was about to intensify.

However, it was placed on pause when you soon felt Leo's lips on yours, his tongue finding yours and dancing with it. The taste of your juices had littered his mouth, and his breath was hot from how intense he was just licking your pussy. 

"You don't know how long I waited to do this," He purred, "How I thought about this moment every single day since I left…I just…" Before you knew it, Leo had gripped your thighs, and you watched as his throbbing green cock had teased your entrance. His hand guided it up and down your folds; the familiar feeling of Leonardo's member being inches from your entrance did nothing but excite you further. 

"I couldn't help myself…I need you." Leo's usual raspy voice had turned into a possessive low churr; the thought of him about to stretch you out had caused your mouth to move on its own. 

"Yeah?" You teased, "I thought about you every single time I…" Leo's member was poking at your slippery cunt, only for it to slide right in like a missing puzzle piece when you revealed he was always on your mind, especially those times you had played with yourself when you missed his touch. It was enough for him to insert himself without warning, and a loud moan rang into his ears.  

His mouth had dived down to attack your breasts, sucking roughly on your left nipple while he toyed with the right with his fingers. With a few slow thrusts in and tongue flicks on your sensitive buds, he lifts his body up to look at you, brown eyes filled with desire looked back at your own, that twinkle you haven't seen for ages finally making itself known.

"May I, Hana?" You could tell Leo was holding himself back. He cared about your well-being, ensuring you really wanted this as much as he did before he went feral. 

He continued to slide in and out of you at an agonizingly slow speed. Though slow, you felt yourself being stretched out with each thrust Leo made. 

"Yeah, God, of course, you can, Leona-mmph!" Strap yourselves in, folks, and get ready for a wild ride. 

As soon as you granted him permission, he was ready to get to work. 

He didn't think twice before slamming himself into you, his girth almost having you drooling from how big he was inside you.

"Tell me how much you missed me, Hana." 

Leo used "Hana" in the bedroom only; it was his name for you. 

After all, you were his pretty, delicate flower. 

"I missed you so…fucking…fuck!" How did Leo expect you to spew out coherent sentences with how hard he was fucking you? 

"Mmm, shit, I…!" "Come on, Y/n, tell me," His smooth, honeyed voice masked his sinful words,

"Tell Daddy how much you missed him." 

Yes, sir! 

"I missed you so fucking much, Leo!" He continued slamming into you, quickening his pace as he went down and attacked your neck. Leo was love drunk, and his libido was the highest it's ever been. 

"Yeah? You like me fucking you, don't you?" Leo's sweet yet sexy voice rang through your ears, a knot forming in your stomach that was soon to come undone.

"You missed me inside you?" Grunts encapsulated your room that came from Leonardo, his sweat-ridden forehead connecting with your own as he made intense eye contact with you. He wanted you to look into his eyes while he fucked you senseless. 

You then felt yourself being picked up off the bed, your lover's cock still deep inside your walls. 

"I love this view, don't you, princess?" 

Yes, yes, you do. 

It was the perfect view. Light brown eyes with a fire of lust looked right at you. You loved this view: Leo under you while he thrusts up into you, hitting spots that missionaries couldn't reach. No time was lost with this position change. You felt your ass be held up by a pair of strong hands, feeling your walls tighten in anticipation for your orgasm as the leader's cock thrust itself into you from the bottom. Despite being under you, Leonardo still found a way to the top. 

"Dammit, Hana, I'm gonna- hah~...cum soon," You watched as Leo's mouth came slightly open, chest going up and down as his long green member inserted itself into you rhythmically, melodically even.

The view Leonardo had was enough to get him to finish, and he knew it. He got front-row seats to your tits bouncing, your wanton moans motivating him to not stop. He needed this, and oh- he needed to cum inside you- bad.

But not before switching it up one more time. His strong arms lift you up again, placing you back in missionary. He needed to see all of you, and he instantly put his thumb on your clit, flicking it as he watched himself enter and exit you both rough and fast. 

"Oh, fuck, Leo! Don't stop!" He wasn't going to, and you knew that. The brown-eyed turtle continued to fuck you silly, just like he did during mating season. This newfound feeling of clit stimulation caused you to tighten even more around Leo, and the smug yet breathless look on his face told you everything you needed to know: He was fucking loving it.

"Come on, Y/n, show me how much you missed me," Through gritted teeth, you heard Leo's request, which was enough to undo the knot in your stomach. With a few deep thrusts and a quicker thumb motion, you finally felt a wave of pleasure surge through your body. 

"Mmm! Fuck Leo, I'm…._" "Yeah? All for me?" The turtle's smile was plastered as he helped you ride out your orgasm; he kissed your forehead, sticky from sweat. 

"My turn." With one last kiss on your temple, he rode out his own orgasm, his grunts and moans sending shivers all down your spine. You felt warm ropes shoot from your entrance up through your wet cavern and felt all the extra pooled onto your bedsheets and onto your lower back. Leo didn't dare pull out; he wanted to fill you up to the brim, to show you just how much he had been waiting for this. He knew he came a lot, but to see your flushed face so focused on his twitching member as it pulsed the last drops of cum at an irregular tempo. As the final moments of his orgasm had finished, he collapsed onto you, his head laying on your chest for a soft makeshift pillow.

As you both lay tired, your mind couldn't help but wander into what position Leo was going to fuck you in after this rest break.

// Taglist: @fjfjdjd @fictionalhubbydreamer @definitely-canon @jasminarts01 @chil-aglia Want to be added to my taglist? Comment a “💛” to be added to the melancholysway blog Comment a “💚” to be added to the melancholyswayafterdark blog Masterlist (COMING SOON) Join my TMNT Discord! Join the TMNT Community! Join the 2007 TMNT Community!

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

going too a concert with dave and going in the moshpit, AND LIKE HIS ARMS AROUND YOU SO YOURE NOT GETTING HIT

A/n: OH MY GOD I CANT he’d be so protective and cute and just agagaghsjdjskdkskkdkfkdks

Warnings: fighting, Dave gets grinded on by some guy and punches him, there’s nothing really but if you think I missed something let me know otherwise enjoy!

“Come on, Dave, I’ll be fine.” You said, leading him down the bustling street, groups of bedazzled drunks marching this way and that to get to the clubs. “I’ve been to concerts before.”

Dave stared off behind you, making sure you weren’t about to run into anything. “Not like this you haven’t.” He sighed, letting you guide him along to some punk place.

You opened the door, a band was playing but there weren’t many people there and the band wasn’t very good, didn’t help they didn’t fit the vibe, not even just of the club but the whole damn strip. They looked like Elvis or The Beatles, their secret love child coming a few years too late at the wrong place.

You went straight to the stage, getting right up close and watching with big eyes. Being sheltered a lot by your parents you never got to experience live bands like Dave did, luckily he was there to show you what you’d been missing. Although, Dave was hesitant to let you run free on the strip.

Dave let out a heavy sigh as you went off, going to the bar and ordering you some drinks. He didn’t stay seated for long, the band noticed your excitement, in particular the singer, and started talking directly to you, reaching for your hands, wiggling his hips at you. Dave was having none of it so he came to stand with you.

The singer backed off and soon their set was over, that’s when the room started filling, groups filing in like a parade.

Dave held onto you, keeping his arm over your shoulders and holding you to his side. When the band came on it only got worse, everyone pushing and shoving.

Dave’s arms went around your waist and he moved you to be in front of him, keeping himself between you and the moshing crowd.

You were completely entranced by the band, a twinkle in your eyes while Dave was busy trying to keep you standing.

People were pushing and shoving him but he didn’t care, elbowing people off left and right so you could peacefully enjoy your night. Someone spilled a drink right down his back and felt it trickling under the waistband of his jeans and into his boxers, he cringed but just kissed the top of your head.

Occasionally he’d say something in your ear, having to yell just for you to hear him over the music, or he’d rub your side, squeeze your hip, anything to let you know he was still there between fighting people off.

He built a cage around you, preferring to snap his wrist trying to catch himself than let you get bruised, he’d come pretty damn close to it a few times.

His breaking point was a guy thinking he was some tall chick, his long hair masking the chiseled jawline on the other side. The guy saw what he thought was a woman and started grinding on him, what he didn’t expect was the fist to his jaw he got in return, a fuming Dave towering over him when he tumbled to the sticky ground.

Dave didn’t waste a second after that, wrapping an arm around your waist and lifting you onto his hip to carry you out of the bar, despite your protests.

“Davie-Davie!” You yelled once you got out of the bar, after Dave finally let you back onto your feet. He kept a hold on your wrist, gripping it tightly so he could drag you back to his car. “Davie, come on, it wasn’t that bad!”

“For you it wasn’t!” He snapped, shooting you a look. You opened your mouth to say something but nothing came out and you followed him silently.

Dave opened the passenger side door for you and waited for you to get in before going over to the drivers side, ripping his shirt off and tossing it into the back with a huff.

He inhaled deeply and looked back at you, rolling his eyes when he found you eyeing his now bare torso, the ginger peach fuzz on his chest and trailing up from under his belt. “Hey, look at me.” He said, taking your chin in his hand and tilting your head up. “That was hell.” He stated.

You chewed your cheek. “I would’ve survived without you needing to be right there.” You grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest and slumping in your seat.

Dave scoffed and started the car. “Next time I’m bringing you to the Cat House, see how long you last there with people getting off in the corners.” He grumbled as he pulled out of the parking spot.

Your brows raised at that, the idea of being with Dave in the corner where everyone could see.

Dave swatted your chest to get your attention. “No fucking ideas, you owe me enough as it is.”

[nowayimbored]

Same As It Ever Was

Summary: You had tagged along with the Winchester brothers for a few years at this point, and had yet to take a vacation. With a break in between cases, it seems like the perfect time. However, the vacation turns into anything but a break when you go missing.

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader, platonic!Dean Winchester x Reader

WC: 6,100

Notes: This idea has been gnawing at me for DAYS a reasonable amount of time. Pardon the length, I have a lot to yap about. I was inspired by the song 'Once in a Lifetime' by the Talking Heads. :) Enjoy!

TW: Angst! Fluff! Brief moment of "suicide" & mentions of death.

It seemed like you and the Winchesters never got a break. Everything was always heavy on your shoulders, your communal burden to bear. However, there was a break in between cases, a rare phenomenon these days. You were in desperate need of a mini vacation. Pitching it to Dean, however, might have proved to be the hardest part.

“Please Dean! We deserve a break, something nice for a change. Don’t you agree, Sam?” you looked over to the taller brother. He nodded, but put his arms up in defense. “I’m staying out of this. But she does have a good point…” Sam trailed off, a certain tone in his voice. Dean rolled his eyes and threw up his hands in exasperation, “Fine.” 

Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard convincing him. 

You knew everything was taking a toll on him too, but he was always so stoic on the outside. You could only imagine what was going on behind his emerald green eyes.

“Where to?” Dean asked as you slid into the front seat of the Impala, trying to flee the Texas heat. Sam slipped into the backseat, yawning. “Don’t care, but preferably somewhere with smooth highways.” You chuckled, looking back to see Sam propping himself up against the door already, cozying himself enough to take a nap. “I could use some sun and water. Fishing, swimming, suntanning, the whole nine yards!” you replied excitedly. “Good enough for me,” Dean responded, smiling over at you. 

And with that, you were off, headed towards the nearest lake. Sam’s soft snores could barely be heard over the music Dean had put on, a band you were unfamiliar with. Every once in a while, you would sneak glances at Sam, reveling in his peaceful, sleeping frame. He almost seemed too big for the backseat in the position he was in, but you knew it had always been his comfort spot, right behind the passenger seat where Dean used to sit.

You had a small crush on Sam for a little while now, but you knew it would be foolish to act upon. You were sure he didn’t see you more than a best friend or little sister, just as Dean had. After the third or fourth glance of yours toward Sam, Dean piped up, “You know, you should tell him.” You flushed, looking out the window at the passing of shrubs and blurry road lines to hide your face. “Tell who what?” You tried to deny, putting as much cluelessness in your voice as possible. 

Dean scoffed and let out a chuckle, “That’s some great acting. Almost like Rooney Mara in A Nightmare on Elm Street.” You sneered and rolled your eyes. “Dean, there’s nothing to tell him,” you dismissed, shaking your head. “I see the way you two look at each other, like two beat puppies. It’s a little gross and sappy, even for me,” he quipped. You opened your mouth to reply, but settled on a playful middle finger shot his way. He smiled, a chuckle his only response.

You had never noticed Sam looking your way, was Dean right or just egging you on? That question had you pondering for the rest of the ride to Canyon Lake, a little way outside of San Antonio. Dean had pulled into a shabby motel on the outskirts of town. It looked slightly run down, but you couldn’t complain. At least it was a room to yourself and a mattress to sprawl out on. 

Dean went inside to reserve two rooms, one for you and one for them. Sometimes, to save on costs, you three would share a room if they had a pull-out couch or cot available. You always insisted on taking the latter, but Sam would never let you win the argument. One time, he went as far as to move you to his bed while you slept, while he took your spot on the couch. 

Sam was awake now, thanks to Dean slamming the door on his way out of the car. “Mornin’ sunshine,” you greeted in a thick, terrible Texas drawl. “Morning,” he croaked, sleep still heavy in his voice. “Where are we?” You opened up the passenger side door and swung your legs out, “Canyon Lake, Texas. Dean’s grabbing us a couple of rooms.” You made your way to the trunk, closing the Impala’s door lightly. 

Sam exited the car as well, joining you to grab his duffel. “How’d you sleep?” you asked as you grabbed your bag from the car. Before he had a chance to respond, Dean walked up. He handed you a key, “Number 27, we’re right next to you in 28.” “Thanks,” you said, wrapping the keychain around your finger. You found your room quickly, there wasn’t very many to pick from. 

The motel room wasn’t anything to write home about. It was small, outdated, and the paint was faded. There was a queen size bed in the middle of the room, covered in threadbare sheets that look like something that came out of your grandma’s house. The air was stale and dusty, making you sneeze as you walked in and shut the door behind you. You opened the single window the room had and turned on the AC to get the air circulating. 

You laid on the bed, lost in your thoughts, still focusing on what Dean said earlier. Did his words hold any truth or was this just a play to try to get his brother laid again? The air conditioner struggled, whirring and squeaking, the only noise besides your quiet breathing. 

It was almost like meditation, getting lost in your thoughts of Sam. 

Your stomach gurgled, breaking your concentration. You sat up, looking out the window. The soft breeze rustled the sagebrush in front of the motel. The sun was lower now, nearing its end of service for the day. You slid off of the bed, combing your fingers through your hair prior to making your way out the door. You knocked on Sam & Dean’s door before entering, not waiting for them to answer. 

“Hey, I’m hungry, who wants pizza?” You asked as you walked in, closing the door behind you. “I’m in,” the brothers said in unison. “Jinx, you owe me some pie!” Dean called out with a huge smirk. Sam smiled and shook his head, hair ruffling with the movement. You googled the nearest pizza place and placed an order for delivery, you didn’t need to ask what they wanted after spending as much time with them as you had. 

“Anybody in the mood for a movie?” Dean asked. Sam looked up from his book towards you, seemingly trying to read your mind. “Depends, what movie?” you ask, shooting Sam an inquisitive look. Dean scrolled through the TV guide mindlessly, naming off each movie. “…The Truman Show, Forrest Gump, Click, Groundhog Day… c’mon make up your mind! I’m running out of movies,” Dean complained, eyes flicking between you and the screen. “Forrest Gump, I haven’t seen that in a while,” you decided, only half interested in the movie. “Finally,” Dean muttered under his breath, selecting the option on the screen. 

The pizza was delivered shortly into the movie. You made yourself comfortable on Sam’s bed, laying on your stomach with your arms propping you up to get a better angle of the TV. You swore you felt Sam’s eyes rake over your body several times, but decided it was your overactive imagination. After all, you were wearing an oversized shirt and athletic shorts, not exactly your definition of eye-grabbing or sexy.

After Forrest Gump was over, Dean insisted on watching Se7en for what seemed to be the umpteenth time. By then, the sun had set and the pizza was gone, only some crusts of Sam’s and crumbs left. Your eyes grew heavier as the night went on, parts of the movie skipping as you came in and out of consciousness.

You were awoken by a blanket being draped over you. You sucked in a breath and stretched, rolling over to your back to see Sam, a slight smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Sorry, you looked cold,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “No, thank you. I should probably get back to my room, though,” you said in a sleep-laced tone. “No, if you’re comfortable here, I can take your room,” he replied.

You thought on it a second, before Dean’s snores interrupted you. “No thanks, you can tune out Dean better than I can,” you chuckled, slowly sitting up and stretching your arms above your head before gracefully bringing them down on either side of you. Sam smiled and let out a soft, breathy laugh in response. You stood, joints cracking and groaning, silently making your way towards the door. Sam followed, opening the door for you, “Sweet dreams.” “Goodnight Sam,” you replied as you brushed a hand against his shoulder. 

A blush grew in your cheeks, but you ducked into your room before he had the chance to notice. You locked the door behind you, tiredly plodding over to your rented bed. You flopped down, your head barely hitting the pillow before falling asleep. One of your many talents.

The next morning, you awoke to a knock on your door. “Rise and shine, sleeping beauty! Let’s get some grub,” Dean’s voice called from the other side of the thin wood. Leave it to Dean to always be thinking of food. “Be there in a minute!” you called through the door, already on your way out of bed. You ruffled through your bag, trying to decide what to wear. You didn’t have many choices to pick from, so deciding on a shorter sundress came quickly. 

You didn’t have many clothes, let alone nice clothes, so this was a treat. You scrounged up your bathing suit from the bottom of your bag, slipping it on underneath your dress. You struggled for a moment to tie the top of your bikini, but finally managed after contorting yourself around in the mirror. You opened your door to Sam, standing right in the doorway. “Hey, uh, Dean asked me to come get you, said you were taking too long,” he mumbled, looking down at you. 

“Here I am!” you smiled playfully. “Did you grab your swimsuit?” He shook his head no, then quickly dipped back inside his room. He reemerged a few moments later, Dean and swim trunks in tow. The three of you started off towards the Impala, the sun already almost unbearable. ‘The perfect kind of day for a swim’, you thought to yourself as you loaded into the car.

Dean drove to a grocery store just a few blocks from the motel. You picked up sunscreen and food for lunch, you planned to have a picnic on the sandy shore of the lake. Dean grabbed a donut for breakfast, while Sam grabbed a protein bar. You were never much of a breakfast person, but you grabbed a smoothie from the premade section as something to tide you over.

You checked out and headed over to the Impala, the sun blaring down. The drive to the lake was short, or perhaps you were just very excited. It had been a while since you’ve taken a break and even longer since you went swimming. Dean parked his baby in a shady parking spot, toward the end of the lot. You hopped out of the car, towel and cooler in hand, and eagerly headed towards the water. 

Sam and Dean headed toward the changing area as you searched for a spot to claim for the day. Finally, you found a nice area close to the water with a bit of shade and soft sand. You gently laid your towel down, placing the cooler next to it. Sam and Dean had caught sight of you and headed over as you opened the cooler, grabbing a beer for everyone. It was five o’clock somewhere! 

When they had reached you, Dean grabbed a beer with a soft “Thanks,” as he popped the top and took a swig. You tried not to stare at Sam, but he was shirtless and the sun was hitting his frame perfectly. He looked sublime, like an angel sent from above. Sam smiled, “Starting a little early, are we?” You returned his smile, breaking your gaze off of his toned chest and teased, “When in Rome, Samuel,” He scoffed and rolled his eyes, grabbing a beer from you, “It’s Sam.”

Dean laid his towel a few feet away from yours, taking a seat in the shade. You popped the top off of your beer, taking a swig before setting the bottle in a cupholder on top on the cooler. The breeze carried the smell of lake water, earthy and inviting. You took a deep breath, inhaling in the refreshing smell before sliding your dress off, revealing your bikini underneath. 

“I’m gonna hit the water,” you called out behind you, towards the boys as you skipped across the hot sand towards the water. You couldn’t look at Sam, getting lost in his muscular build was too tempting. You could feel his eyes, though, staring at you from his vantage point by the cooler. 

You slowly waded into the semi-clear water, its small waves lapping at your ankles, then your shins, thighs, all the way until you were finally submerged at the chest. You turned around, looking towards the shore at the brothers. Dean had already invited himself to your neighbor’s spot, chatting up a cute girl. Sam was sitting in the shade, next to the cooler, watching you. You waved at him before turning around, pushing off from the last spot you could touch on the lake’s bottom. 

You swam further out, a few hundred yards from shore. You could see Sam still, but he looked like a little blurb on the horizon, Dean was nowhere in sight. You dove underneath the calm surface, looking to get your hair wet so it was out of your face. Something brushed against your leg, almost tangling against you. Your heart skipped a beat, even though you told yourself it was probably a fish or some sort of plant. 

You quickly reemerged from the lake’s murky drink, treading water and wiping the hair away from your face. You looked around, but your surroundings seemed…off. Was there this much foliage? You started swimming towards shore, which seemed closer than before, but with each stroke of your arm your worries faded further away. After all, you needed to relax, that’s what your mini-vacation was all about. 

As you got closer to shore, you stood up, walking up to the bank. A corgi bounded up to you, clearly very excited. You smiled, bending down to pet it, “Hi pup, where’s your family?” The dog barked happily in response, running around your legs. “Eve! Let your mom get out of the water,” a familiar voice called out. You head swiveled around to see Sam, shirtless and gleaming in the soft sunlight. 

You smiled at him, a soft blush creeping up in your cheeks. “Hey honey, here’s your towel,” he said, offering you a neatly folded beach towel. You gladly accepted, covering your frame with the oversized cloth. You looked around the recreation area, it didn’t feel nearly as hot as it did before you got into the water and it wasn’t as crowded. You told yourself it was just the chill from the lake, but something seemed off. 

Sam bowed down to kiss your lips, too surprised to move or reciprocate, you stood there, eyes open as he brushed his lips against yours. “Woah, that…” you managed to squeak out. “After all this time I still take your breath away, huh, Mrs. Winchester,” he chuckled, brushing a stray wet strand of hair behind your ear.

When did you two get married? Hell, when did you start dating? “What are you talking about?” you questioned, backing a few steps away from Sam, or what seemed to be him. “Honey, are you okay?” he asked, concern laced in his deep voice. You paused, trying to take everything in. The water lapped at the shore, quietly crashing into the bank. A wave of calm washed over you, quelching any worry you had.

“I think I’m just tired,” you dismissed your feelings, placing your head on his muscular shoulder. He wrapped his arms around you protectively and kissed your forehead. “Let’s go home then, sweetie,” he cooed into your ear, kissing the top of your head once again before breaking his embrace. 

He called the dog – Eve, that was her name, right? – and she came bounding over, small legs working overtime. “Let’s load up, pup,” he said, walking over to a white Chevy Silverado. He opened the door before grabbing the dog and placing her in the vehicle. He closed the door, walking around back to close the tailgate before opening up the passenger door. You had stood in the same spot he left you in, a slight headache starting to form.

Something was off, but you couldn’t put your finger on it.

You slowly walked over to the truck, barefoot and still wrapped in the beach towel. Sam stood, still waiting by the passenger door, a smile plastered on his face. “Hop in, pretty lady.” You picked up your pace a bit, quickly closing the gap between the two of you. Holding the towel with one hand, you used the other to hoist yourself into the tall truck. Sam shut the door after you, making sure you were fully inside before doing so. 

Sam walked around the front of the truck, opened the door and gracefully slid into the driver’s seat. With one push of a button, the truck roared to life, and you started on your way down the road. The first part was bumpy, but quickly smoothed out as the gravel transitioned into pavement. You spent the entire ride looking out of the window, semi-familiar surroundings passing you by. 

‘Eve, I’ve a feeling I’m not in Texas anymore,’ you thought to yourself as you pulled up in the driveway of a sturdy two-story residence designed without the least bit of personality, a white picket fence spanning the perimeter.

Again, you heard water lapping around you, just faintly enough that it seemed like a memory. Your head throbbed for a moment, before another wave of calmness washed over you, curing your headache. Everything was going to be okay.

Sam cut the engine and looked over at you, seemingly studying your face. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he observed, reaching a large hand towards you. You nodded, trying to ease his worry, “Yeah, I think the sun sucked out all of my energy.”

He chuckled, placing his hand over yours, fully engulfing it. His hands were soft, not at all hardened by scars and calloused like you remember. You made a mental note to ask him about his moisturizer routine. He gave it a reassuring squeeze, shutting the truck off with his other hand. He removed his palm from yours to undo his seatbelt buckle from the lock, with a click he was free.

He opened up his door, swinging his legs out, feet hitting the pavement with a soft thud. You unbuckled your seatbelt, head still fuzzy, in the same motion opening the truck door. “Woah, almost got me there!” Sam called out, dodging the opening door. “Shit! Sorry,” you apologized, reaching out to grab the door, but missing as it swung further open. “Don’t worry about it, honey,” he soothed, offering his hand to help you down.

You accepted, taking his hand in yours and slid out of the truck. Eve hopped into the passenger seat, taking your place, tail stub wagging. She leaped at you and you quickly caught her, loosening the towel you still had wrapped around your body. “Woah, be careful,” you told her, scratching her neck with the hand closest to her head. Sam closed the truck door behind you, fiddling with the fob in his hand to lock it. 

You slowly walked up the driveway, ditching the towel along the way, Eve still in your arms, Sam just behind you. He stopped to pick up your fallen cover, gently draping it over his arm. The porch creaked as you climbed up the steps towards the front door. Sam fiddled with his keys, metal on metal softly clanking, until he found the right one and opened the lock. He pushed open the door and gestured for you to go first. “Thank you,” you smiled to him, setting your dog down before entering the house. Eve disappeared around the corner as Sam closed the door behind you two.

The entryway was cozy, perfectly designed to your standards. Looking towards the living room, the stylistic choices carried, inviting a certain warmth and cohesiveness to the space. “Wow, this place is beautiful,” you whispered to yourself. “I know, you did such a great job. It’s not as beautiful as you, though,” he replied, slipping off his shoes. You blushed at his compliment, before mumbling a quick “Thank you.” 

You didn’t remember designing a house. Hell, you didn’t remember buying a house. Thinking back to seeing Sam at the lake, you didn’t remember seeing any of his scars across his body, or his tattoo on his chest. What the hell was happening? How did you get here, in this bizzarro world?

The sound of waves breaking against shore suddenly slammed back into your head, sending you reeling. You tried to steady yourself against the wall, but reached out to nothing. Sam had caught you instead, steading your frame against his. The sound of waves ebbed away slowly, replaced by a massive headache and a wave of tranquility. 

“Honey, are you okay? Do you need to lie down?” Sam asked, his voice distressed. “Yeah…maybe that would be good,” you agree, steadying yourself. “Hold on tight,” Sam commanded before quickly lifting you up, bridal style. He gave you no time to react, typically you would protest but with everything going on, being in his arms made you feel safe. 

Sam carried you up the stairs and down a short hallway into a bedroom, you assumed it was the one the two of you shared. Pictures of your wedding day, Eve, and family dotted the walls. The bed was soft, molding to fit the shape of you. “Can I get anything for you? A glass of water? Tylenol?” Sam offered, brushing his hand softly against your cheek. You nodded, head pounding with each movement. 

Sam disappeared out of the room; you could hear his footsteps quickly descending down the stairs. You climbed under the flannel bedsheets, the warmth making you feel a smidgen better. Your husband quickly returned with a glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol, setting both on the nightstand closest to you. You propped yourself up on one elbow to grab the Tylenol. You popped two into your mouth, then took a swig of water to wash them down. 

The water felt good on your parched tongue, you didn’t realize how thirsty you were. You finished off the glass of water in a few loud gulps, Sam watching your every move as if you would break with the slightest touch. “Can I get you anything else?” he offered. You shook your head, laying back down, cozying yourself into the covers. “Okay, just let me know, I’ll be downstairs,” he cooed, placing a kiss on your forehead. 

You smiled up at him, everything was perfect. 

You slept until the morning, soft rays of sunlight illuminating the room. You stretched, your body faintly aching. You looked over to the other side of the bed, but it was empty, except for Eve. She greeted you happily, licking your face. You ran your fingers through her soft fur, scratching under her collar. Her tags jingled, catching your attention.

You grabbed onto her nametag out of curiosity, it was a simple red tag in the shape of a heart. Her name was on the front in a typewriter-esque font. On the back, your and Sam’s phone number with an address: 817 Pleasant Street, Miles City, Montana. An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of your stomach, but you couldn’t place why. Something just felt…off.

The feeling quickly faded, replaced by something softer, seeing Sam emerge from the walk-in closet in a suit and tie. Hot was the only word that came to mind. “Good morning, sleeping beauty,” he greeted you with a soft smile. “How do you feel?” “Better,” you replied, sleep making your voice scratchy and deeper than normal.

“Good, I was starting to worry about you,” he admitted, making his way over to the side of your bed. You smiled up at him, stretching, your creaking bones thanking you. “I’m sorry, but I won’t be home for lunch today. I have court and I have a feeling it’s going to be a long day,” he sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed. You heart beat harder in your chest, “What did you do?” you asked, worry creeping into your tone. 

He chuckled, “Very funny. It’s for the Mills case.” “Right, the Mills case…” you confirmed, unsure of what he was talking about. “I love you so much,” he murmured against your ear before giving you a sweet peck on the lips, just short enough to leave you wanting more. He stood, raking his eyes over you before turning towards the bedroom door. He picked up a briefcase from beside the door and with that, he was off, bounding down the stairs and out the door. 

You slowly climbed out of bed, making your way to the attached bathroom. You came face to face with yourself as you flipped the light switch, a warm glow illuminating your frame. You decided to take a shower. The warm droplets pounded against your skin, which made you feel a bit better. Even the bathroom was decorated beautifully, black with golden accents shining through. 

The rest of your day was spent with Eve around the house, a welcome distraction in this slightly off world. Maybe the world wasn’t off, you started to think. 

Maybe you were. 

You quickly cleared the notion from your head, it was probably your migraine from yesterday lingering in your brain, jumbling things around. 

Sam arrived home a bit after 5:30, but you were prepared. Dinner was set out on the table, tonight you were having chicken and broccoli alfredo. The two of you sat at the table in the dining room, chatting back and forth about your days. This is how you figured out your husband was a criminal defense lawyer. “How was work?” Sam inquired, piercing a broccoli floret with his fork. “Work? Uh, work was…” you trailed off, trying to find some words to fill the space. “Are the Issacs’ still giving you trouble? Why can’t they pick out a tile color?”  Sam playfully jested, rolling his eyes. 

The perfectly curated house made sense now, you were an interior designer. You let a breathy laugh escape your lips, trying to mask the confusion. Your headache slowly snaked back, lapping at your temples. You thought your ears picked up on water purling again but instead you pushed the annoyance to the side, deciding to spend the evening winding down with your husband and dog. As the moon started to rise, the both of you decided to hit the hay before it got too late.

The pattern continued for a few weeks, then weeks bled into months. Your headaches slowly diminished over time, by now you rarely even got a whisper of pain. 

~

It was a Saturday, your favorite. It meant that Sam was all yours, no work for either of you, just an endless day of relaxation and fun. Fall was coming to a start, so you had decided to spend the weekend deep cleaning instead of out on an adventure like you typically would do. Dusting was first on your list, admittedly it had been a while. You started in the entryway, running the Swiffer over the pictures that hung on the walls. Actually, you never stopped to look at them on your way out the door. 

A face stuck out to you, but who it was seemed fuzzy around the edges. You just couldn’t place him. You shook the feeling, continuing on your dusting journey, which took up most of the morning. You met Sam in the kitchen around noon, his back was turned as he prepared a salad for the two of you, a quick and easy lunch. “Hey, who’s picture is in the entryway? He’s got short tousled brown hair, green eyes…” you trailed off on your description, noticing his shoulders tense. “Babe, that’s Dean…remember?” he said, turning around. 

It rung a faint bell, but you weren’t quite sure where to place him. “Yeah, right, sorry,” you apologized, deciding to drop the subject to save him from discomfort. He let out a small, sad sigh, “I miss him every day.” You walked up, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, hoping it would say what words couldn’t.

The rest of the afternoon continued like normal, the both of you caught up in books, Eve between you, cuddled tightly into a ball. Afternoon dripped into evening and the two of you started getting ready for bed. Tonight, however, sleep evaded you. Sam’s soft snores echoed throughout the bedroom, but that had never bothered you before. You tossed and turned, hoping for sleep to overcome you.

Finally, it occurred to you.

Dean was Sam’s brother. Dean wasn’t dead. He was alive, you had just seen him a few months ago in Texas. You shot up, body drenched in a cold sweat.

This was not your house.

Sam was not your husband.

What was going on?

Before you could think deeper into the conundrum that you faced, the sounds of water violently slapping against shore, churning, angry, made your head pound. It felt like you were right next to the sea as a bad storm rolled in, pounding the coast, only the coast was your head. Your hands flew up to your ears in a desperate attempt to block out the noise, but to no avail. 

You stumbled out of bed, disoriented by the pounding in between your temples. Bleary-eyed, you staggered down the stairs, eyes scanning over the key holder before you found what you were looking for: the truck keys. You hastily made your way out of the door, leaving the door open to not risk waking Sam. 

Or whatever was pretending to be him.

You gripped the side of the house tightly, the sounds of water growing into a symphony of a tsunami, a loud roaring, hissing, terrible noise. The siding was rough under your fingertips, paint chipping off as you dug your fingernails in. This confused you even more, the house seemed real. However, you knew deep down that it wasn’t.

None of this was real, it had to be a dream. 

Right?

You pulled yourself together just enough to clamber into the truck, pushing the button to start it. It roared to life and you spent no time to let it idle before throwing it into reverse and high tailing it out of the driveway. You sped off into the night, head pounding and vision burring. ‘Thank god it’s the middle of the night’, you thought, ‘Nobody is out on the roads.’

You followed the highway to where it began, the lake you and ‘Sam’ had visited months prior. It was empty, of course, except for a few frogs that called the water their home. You could have heard their calls if your head wasn’t still reeling, the water turbulence getting impossibly louder, despite the calm lake.

Tears fell down your face, you didn’t know what to believe anymore. This life was perfect, was all you ever wanted…almost. You battled with yourself, head throbbing through it all, clouding your judgement, were you right? Were you wrong? What was going on? Deep, steady breaths did nothing to calm you. 

Staring out at the lake from the driver’s seat of the truck, nothing was clicking, the pieces still impossibly jig-sawed. Then it dawned upon you, an old wives’ tale.

If you’re about to die in a dream, you’ll wake up.  

The idea was half-cocked at best, but you had nothing else to go off of. If nothing else, it would make the throbbing stop. You buckled your seatbelt and made sure it was secure before rolling down all of the windows in the vehicle. The pounding was causing spots to blur your vision, your head feeling on the verge of exploding.

You took another deep breath, exhaled until your lungs were empty, then floored the gas pedal, heading straight for the lake.

The truck crashed into the water, sinking impossibly fast. Water poured in through the open windows, icy cold. You tried to take a deep breath, but inhaled nothing but the murky waters.

‘My God, what have I done?’ you thought to yourself, silently choking, lungs burning. 

The sound of beeping surrounded you now, slow and steady. One of your hands felt heavy and warm, while the other was cold. “Please, please, wake up. I need you, dear God, I need you. I love you, okay? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, I’m sorry,” you faintly heard a familiar voice beg, your arm raised up by an unseen force, hand placed against something scratchy. Your eyelids felt impossibly heavy, but you managed to squint, the bright lights blinding you. Weakly, you turned your head, trying to get away from it.

Was this the bright white light everyone talked about?

“Hey, are you with me? Please,” the voice sounded clearer now. “I’m here, it’s okay, I’m never going to let anything hurt you again,” the voice, now recognizable as Sam’s, promised. You managed to open both of your eyes to half mast, sneaking a peek from under your eyelashes. 

He looked worse for wear. His face looked older, deep purple bags under his tired, sunken eyes, beard scruffier than a five ‘o’clock shadow. He breathed a sigh of relief, “Thank God, you’re awake.” You took a shaky breath and slowly exhaled, forcing your eyes open all of the way. It took a moment for your eyes to adjust to the light, but when they did, you could see you were in a bleak hospital room. “What happened?” you tried to muster out, but all that fell from your lips was a weak, “What…” 

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” the tired man reassured you, gently patting your hand. “It was a djinn; it swept you under the water. Turns out, there’s an underwater cave he was using for his lair. You were there for a few days, we thought we had lost you forever.” You exhaled a short breath from your nose, turning your head to face away from him. 

“Hey, look at me,” he pleaded. You slowly turned your head back over, obliging his request. “I need to tell you something, and I know this probably isn’t the best time, but I need to get it off my chest.” Sam stated, his grip tightening on your hand. Before you could say anything, you meekly cooed, “I love you too.” in a scratchy voice. Sam smiled and wiped away a tear that was forming in the corner of his eye, “I love you so much more.” 

~

It was a rough week of recovery, but you were finally ready to ditch the hospital gown for your regular loose-fitting flannel and jeans. Doctor’s orders were to take it easy, and between the two brothers, especially Sam, you knew it would happen. Sam threw your bag into the trunk of the Impala, slamming it shut. “Ready to hit the road?” he asked, placing a hand on the small of your back. “Moreso than ever,” you replied, placing a kiss on his cheek. “C’mon lovebirds, daylight’s a wasting!” Dean called out, dipping into the driver’s side of the car. 

You chuckled, smiling from ear to ear as you made your way to the passenger seat. Sam raced in front of you to open the door, shutting it behind you after you slipped in, sliding on the leather seat. Sam took the seat behind yours, squeezing your shoulder as Dean turned up the radio, classic rock blaring.

Everything was the same as it ever was, maybe even better.

[born-to-lose]

Hot guitarist who flirted with me and put single as his Facebook status despite being in a relationship for 8 years sent me an invitation to a gig in the middle of Lower Bavarian nowhere 💀

[camscendants]

Addison Grace :)

[frostbite-the-bat]

remembering old fandoms and rps and aus i had and im realizing this isnt the first time an au version of frostbite interacted a lot with someone who at least in text had a quirk that does something to the letter s which is ironic considering their name

[screampied]

✧ ⁺˳ cw. fem! reader, husband nanami, fıngering, praise, talking you through it, squırting, dirty talk, mdni.

“don’t be shy, sweetheart. get it wet, atta girl,”

nanami would murmur right up against your ear, warm breath fanning against the shell of your earlobe. it tickles, and as you’re laid flat back against him with a few fawn strands of his chest hair brushing up near you, you whine. your legs were unapologetically spread wide open with a bundle of your toes curling up exquisitely. the back of your head rubs and rubs against his bare chest, and he’s got the softest smile. “ah ah,” he whispers, watching as your own crumped up finger buries itself into your cunt and lazily moves around. “remember the method i taught you. circle it around, yeah,” and your breathing hitches the moment the tip of your digit encircle a slippery swab of your sheeny slick. “here, let me take it from here for a bit.”

with your laced panties pulled back near the crevices of your thigh, you collapse flat against his chest. his warmth, a single moan escapes from your lips at how close he was to you. his scent, nanami’s cologne engulfs in your nostrils and it’s such a rich, citrusy aroma. “o- okay.” was all you could manage to whimper out, feeling the cold band of his g-shock ghost against your thigh.

“it’s gonna get messy, my love,” he warns you, a bit of humor in his tone — you throb, two fingers of his smear against your drooling heat and your mouth slowly dangles open. “ooh, my oh my. she’s quite the talker today huh,” he hums at the sounds of your weeping cunt - sloshing and creating various laments of squelches from his consistent rubbing before you whine. “let’s hear what she’s got to say, hm?”

“f- fuuuck.” you’d mewl out, feeling him slowly ease a finger inside of your slit. by this point, he’d taken out your finger and replaced it with his own. nanami’s pointed chin rests against your shoulder as he watches intently.

even your colorful swears sounded angelic. behind you, you could feel his dick twitch in his boxers at just the sound of your voice. already, you were soaked heavily. nanami felt like being a bit of a tease tonight though.

with one hand focusing its attention between your thighs - another creates a tantalizingly slow, trail up and down your body. his fingertips dance against your skin as he glances at you jerking and shuddering. all from his touch, he wanted to make sure to savor your body.

in a way, you were like art to him, a breathtaking canvas that was forevermore priceless.

“gimme your hand, my love,” he requests, lukewarm plush lips pressing a chaste kiss near the inside of your neck. a breeze of his minty fresh breath sets against your sinuses before you comply. as he takes ahold of your wrist, nanami makes you start a trail of your own. gradually, he’s dragging your arm further down your body, making sure your fingers get a feel of every single part of you. “nice ‘n slow, good. doin’ so good.”

a breathy pant starts to rip out of you, hauling out of your lungs abruptly and you’re panting like a dog - he’s so gentle, his words only added more fuel to the fire before you feel the brief pangs of heat between your legs intensify.

nanami’s thick finger turns into two and you let off a melodic whimper as he’s stretching your pussy open. “open for me baby, focus on those breaths,” and as you’re just sluggishly pressed up against his chest, he gives your you another kiss. this time, it’s near the top of your head. “my good girl.” he purrs, voice raspy and filthy—pouring with nothing but admirable love and affection.

it was as if a feverish, fire was bristling against your skin. it was subtle, real subtle. you sigh deeply at his two fingers leisurely prod their way inside of your accepting, gummy walls. “k- ken,” you whine out, hearing the lewd sloshing sounds of your own arousal. it’s wet, you’re wet. nanami’s still guiding you to touch yourself in a way that makes your perked nipples throb. a gentle hand firmly but sweetly grabs your wrist, having you feel right near your heaving chest. your breaths were shallow, short brief inhales coming out of you before your eyes start to roll and flicker back. “your fingers, ‘s long, ken.”

“oh, are they now?” he utters, a tender grip compressing against his pink glossed lips. “i’d hope so, they’re just the right size for my wife, are they not?”

by the second, you could feel yourself coming close. you could feel yourself reaching your inevitable, destined peak. “c’mon, big girl words. talk to me,” he shushes your sweet, babbling moans. you were speaking a good sentence of gibberish—inaudible whimpers mewling out your throat at each millisecond that passes. you’re squirming a bit in pleasure, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, creating a bite. nanami then slides his slender fingers out so you could do the rest. you whine, trying to copy his method. your digits slickly coat and drip against the outer part of your cunt before sliding your fingers in. huffing, you feel a pulsating pulse near your aching labia. “how’s it make you feel, sweetheart. feel good?”

“feels good, ‘ken,” you puff out a single exhale in dry, irregular breaths. you felt your own slick stick against your pried open legs like glue. it was a mess indeed, and before you knew it, you were right there. “kento, finish for me, please p-pleaseee.”

“but my love,” he hums a dulcet tune against your ear, your thigh tapping and tapping in anticipation. it’s a salty taste pouring into your mouth but as the seconds progress, it’s turns sweet,

bittersweet.

the filthy, moist squelches became so loud that it starts to echo through the thin walls of your cozy, homey residence. “you’re supposed to be doin’ this, not me. ‘m just showing you how.”

letting off a near pornographic moan—you were cut off the minute your fingers thrash against your g-spot. your noises made him hard, so whiny and pleasing to the human ear. once you feel the twitching muscle, it’s soft and hollow with a squishy surface, scratching such an orgasmic itch in your brain. you could barely even form words with how dumb you were right now. “right there ‘ken. i feel something.”

“keep feeling there, baby. ‘s okay,” he holds you from behind, feeling your body continue to slump back against his chest. your legs vigorously shake like an earthquake - its intensity was jittering you to your wits end. with two eager fingers swirling around the insides of your needy cunt, your jaw drops. a pocket seed of ecstasy welts and surges all through you. as he grabs your wrist again, nanami’s helping you finger yourself with your entire wrist — helping you do a bowling ball grip with two fingers. two stuffed inside, the others just being idle. it felt so good, you weren’t gonna last a second longer by this point. “you’re so close, sweetheart. use those pretty fingers, mhm. so close, make a mess on me, make a mess on your husband so i can clear you right up.”

a pitched ringing sound goes in your ears and right back out. as you’re zealously twitching from the touch, the stimulation, you let off yet another long, pitched moan. it’s a lengthy moan, nowhere near short.

you elongate a single syllable and lasts it for a good four seconds until you realize you’re cumming. one wave comes, then two, then three until everything’s all crashing down on you.

“k- kento,” you whimper, feeling your digits tangle up inside and get soaked from top to bottom with your honeyed slick. but it doesn’t stop there, in fact, once you look down, not only were you coming undone but you were also gushing out. it sprays, a translucent splashing tint dampens against the satin ruby sheets and nanami simpers. “oh my g- goddd.”

he feels your soddened rapture pouring all out, electricity like currents traversing all throughout your body and you grow limp. “aw,” he speaks first, seeing how your climax took everything out of you. nanami brings a hand down between your legs, a thumb swiping against your swollen cunt before he smears your juices right on your entrance. “my messy girl, did you just squirt on me?”

you don’t reply—your breathy, shaky moans being your answer and a hand of yours squeezes his wrist. it’s so many nerves, a bundle of them being touched and convulsed strike right within you before he kisses the top of your head. “seems like my wifey’s a little squirter after all,” he purrs once more, his voice as smooth as silk. as nanami slowly makes you pull out your filth covered fingers, a cobwebby string of lustrous gloss runs off from the tips of your fingers. “look at this,” he grabs your wrist, holding it up in front of you before he does what you’d last expect.

nanami gingerly wraps a hand around your wrist, inching it toward his face before he pops two of your slippery slick digits into his mouth. he groans at your cherry sweet taste - making sure to savor and relish the toothsome flavor before his tongue curls around your fingers.

“mhm,” and as he’s sucking on your digits to clean them just like he said, you could feel yourself throbbing again. once nanami finally removes his mouth from your two wet fingers, he lowly chuckles against your ear. “such a good girl,” he praises you one last time before getting his own fingers wet, wiping them both near your sopping clit. “let’s do that again. now spread these gorgeous legs wide again for me, my love. gotta get my wife just a little bit wetter.”

[femboyishcharm]

a t shirt that says "i saw god on the red tour and all i got was this stupid t-shirt"

[connorsui]

Marked in Metal

Caleb... loves ... buying you rings.

It wasn’t something you directly questioned—at least, not seriously. He had always been like that, always finding little things to slip into your life as a form of joy. Bracelets, necklaces, little earrings here and there.

But ...rings?

Oh, those were his favorite.

— Princess cut, Briolette, Trilliant, Radiant.

Oval and round. The entire catalog.

And it wasn’t just about the aesthetic. No, it was something else entirely—something unspoken in the way he always lingered just a second longer when slipping the ring onto your finger, something in the way his eyes darkened with quiet satisfaction whenever you lifted your hand, light catching on whatever new piece he had picked out for you.

Like now for instances.

"Here," he said one afternoon, handing you a small velvet box. His voice was casual, but his fingers brushed yours when you took it from him. "Saw this new piece on my way home and thought of you."

You barely glanced up from your work before popping the box open, the soft click of the latch followed by a quiet inhale as you took in the ring nestled inside. A smooth sterling silver band, sleek and polished, with fluted rose gold prongs holding a citrine gem. The cut was extravagant, the kind of thing that should have been reserved for engagement rings, but you had long stopped questioning Caleb’s taste.

"Caleb," you groaned, rolling your eyes but still sliding it onto your finger. It fit perfectly, as they always did. "You have to stop doing this."

"And why should I?" He smirked, leaning back against the couch, arm thrown over the backrest as he watched you admire the ring despite your protests. "Looks good on you."

You twisted your fingers, letting the metal catch the light. He could see it in your face—the way your lips curved slightly, the way your brows relaxed—that moment of pure, genuine appreciation. He memorized that expression every time.

Because no matter how much you insisted it was too much, you never turned them down.

And he never had to worry about you asking how much they cost.

But it wasn’t about the price anyway. It was about the way you wore them, the way your hands danced through the air when you talked, your fingers adorned with pieces he had chosen. It was about the quiet thrill of watching everyone else notice, of knowing that every time someone asked where you got them, your answer was always the same.

"Caleb, obviously. He’s the reason I have half my jewelry box."

That was enough for him.

But this one was different.

"Wait, Caleb?" Your voice broke through his thoughts, amused and lilting. "Did you know this was engraved?"

You held up the ring between your fingers, tilting it just enough for the small inscription inside to catch the light.

.C.

Delicate, subtle, almost invisible unless you were looking for it.

He raised a brow, feigning nonchalance. "Oh? …I don't actually remember seeing that anywhere?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. "You seriously didn't notice?"

"Guess not." He shrugged, and you huffed out a laugh, shaking your head.

"I don’t think I believe you."

He didn’t respond, only watching as you lifted your phone, snapping a picture. Within minutes, your messages flooded with the usual teasing.

"Another one? Does Caleb just collect rings for you now?"

"That’s basically a proposal, babe!"

"Correction. This is the one billionth proposal"

And, as always, your reply was the same.

"Of course it’s Caleb. Who else spoils me like this constantly?"

He loved that. Loved knowing that when others have noticed the rings on your fingers, they knew exactly who put them there.

But even when he adorned your hands, his own ring was different.

It never sat on his finger. It had its own place, strung securely onto the same chain as his tags, resting against his chest beneath the layers of his uniform.

Same material, same weight.

But the chain never left his body. It was there in the dead of night, cold against his skin. There in the thick of the day, clinking softly against metal. It was there when the world was loud and chaotic, when exhaustion pulled at his bones, grounding him with the quiet weight of something real.

Something that brought him back to you.

And when he returned home?

when he was finally home, the chain came off—but the ring never stayed in some forgotten drawer.

No, it belonged in the same place it always did.

Right where you were—pressed close against his heart.

[yuutryingtowrite]

Yandere!Barista who is the “poster boy”of the coffee shop he works at. It is honestly deserved: he has a pretty face, a charming smile and a playful yet sweet attitude. He is especially popular among the girls…who he keeps rejecting. He is just not looking for something casual, you know? He dates to marry, not to be someone’s eye-candy.

Yandere!Barista who, one day, sees you walk into the store. Is that a Corroded Coffin shirt you have on ? He loves that band! This is what he tells you when it is your turn to order. What do you mean he looks too much like a goody two-shoes to be a fan? Alright, Miss “I am so dark and edgy”, what do you want to order? Black coffee? The banter goes on until he has to shoo you away, with an amused smile, as the other people in line are starting to get impatient.

Yandere!Barista who glances your way every chance he gets. Not only are you fun to talk to, but you also look really cute. Sometimes, between orders, he gets to converse with you. He eagerly returns your small wave when it is time for you to leave. As he goes to your table to collect the receipt, he finds your cup still there. On it, there is a small doodle of him along with your number. A pink hue dusts his cheeks as he brings a hand to cover the side of his face. He is definitely keeping that cup.

Yandere!Barista who saved your number under “Cutie <3”. The more you text each other, the more you hang out together, the more he becomes obsessed. It is honestly starting to scare him. The other night, he had your cup in his hands to look at the doodle. Next thing he knew, he had his lips where yours had been when you were drinking from it. It flustered him so much, he threw the cup in the trash bin afterwards…only to go get it back five minutes later…He is asking you out on a date for sure next time he sees you.

Yandere!Barista who does your coffee with trembling hands. He really doesn’t want to do this, but you didn’t leave him a choice. Today, on your usual table, you are sitting with a man other than him. He can’t possibly lose the only person who took the time to get to know him beyond his looks. The drug should work in about fifteen minutes, five minutes after closing time. This should be perfect, you always wait for him to close the shop and walk home together. He can do this, he can do this, he can do this…You will be happy at his house, you will be happy with him. It is with a heavy mind and painful heart that he gives you your order.

Yandere!Barista who you got pinned against the wall of the storage room, one hand beside his head and the other one holding your cup. He is as white as a ghost. He keeps looking around. He is sweating all over. This couldn’t be. You couldn’t possibly know- You firmly grab his jaw and turn his face towards you. “Drink”, you say coldly. What are you gonna do to him after he becomes unconscious? Will you report him to the police? Will you hurt him? He closes his eyes tightly as you bring the cup to his lips. The moment it reaches them, you drop it on the floor and replace it with your lips. His eyes open in shock as you give him a small, tender kiss. “That was my cousin, idiot”, you tell him affectionately. You look at him for a couple more seconds before putting on your bag. He is still frozen in place as you add: “Tomorrow, 6pm, at my house. Alright?”. You leave before he can answer.

Yandere!Barista who slides down the wall until he is sitting on the floor. All that is left of him is a blushing, quivering mess. With shaky fingers, he touches his lips; a small whimper involuntarily comes out his mouth. He is about to combust. He feels so weak, he can’t get up. You scared the shit out of him, but that was so hot ahh…He didn’t know you could be this assertive. And that kiss…he buries his face in his hands and groans. Kissing you is all he has ever dreamed of, yet he stayed still like a dumbass when it finally happened. He is so lame-you make him so lame. Guess tomorrow would be his chance to redeem himself.

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

Dave being brutal with reader while eating her out and fingering her until she squirts🥵

Warnings: Smut, fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving), squirting, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

Music meant a lot to Dave, he always came to you to talk about his bands and his playing, always showing off to you. When he got the Metallica gig he wouldn't shut up about it, and you were the first person he told after they fired him.

He asked if he could stay with you for a bit, you had a good job and an apartment to yourself. It was just one bedroom but Dave was fine on the couch, anything was better than the streets.

You hadn't quite factored in how he'd be feeling -you did to a point, he'd be angry, frustrated, sad, what you didn't think about was how that would be expressed.

You could barely get a word in before he was guiding, more like pushing you to your room. His lips were on yours in an instant, his hands on your hips, leg pushing between yours and grinding you against him.

Your hands went to his shoulders, gently pushing him off. "Davie-Davie, wait, what-what are you doing?" You asked, he was going through a lot and you didn't want to take advantage of him.

He was breathless and panting when he replied, eyes dark and desperate, glassy but he wouldn't let you see him cry if it killed him. "I need a win today." He said. "Please, just-just give me that." You couldn't say you wanted him to stop, Dave was big and hot, it wouldn't be your first time together, he was definitely better than other guys you'd been with.

With no consequences you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him down again, his lips crashing against yours once more.

He pulled and tugged at your clothes until they were scattered across the room, leaving you in nothing but your pretty pink panties. They weren't lace or silk, nothing fancy, it was laundry day after all, but Dave had plans.

He planted open mouth kisses on your clothed clit once you were on your back, your hands knotted in his hair, hips bucking up into him. He pushed your panties to the side and pushed a finger into your sopping entrance, easily finding what made your back arch and not hesitated to abuse your hole right out the gate.

He was using you to get out all his anger, all his emotions, he just needed something. He needed a win and you were easy when you were whining and crying just from a few kisses and his fingers.

Two fingers pistoned in and out of you, curling and stretching you out. Your back arched away from the mattress, if you tried to move, to roll over, Dave stopped you with a harsh smack to your ass -or hip, whatever was closer. He'd use his free hand to keep you in place, swatting and slapping, holding you in place while he ruined you.

His lips latched onto your clit, sucking while his tongue swirled around the sensitive nub, flicking it and pulling you closer to the edge. Dave had never done this with you before, never used his hands like this, it was always just straight to fucking because it didn't count unless he got his dick wet.

"Davie! Davie it-it feels weird!" You whined, pulling at his hair to get his attention, all it did was pull a low groan from him that went straight to your clit. Your eyes rolled back, jaw dropping as Dave's name flooded past your lips what must have been a thousand times.

Dave kept fucking you with his fingers as gushes left you, making your legs shake uncontrollably. The sheets were drenched, so was his shirt so when you calmed down he pulled it off and climbed over you.

Your eyes didn't quite focus on him but a tired smile found its way to your face. "There's my pretty baby." He mused, kissing your cheek sweetly. "Now, you're gonna show me every way I can make you do that again and again." He said, voice taking on a much darker tone now. "You don't have work tomorrow do you?"

You gave a small nod. "Five-five till closing." You mumbled, checking the clock on your nightstand.

Dave sucked his teeth. "Oh, well, guess you better hope you can get your legs working before then."

[tonycries]

Brooklyn Baby - G.S.

Synopsis. Everybody wanted to fuck Suguru Geto, lead bassist of Tokyo Special Grades. Said Suguru doesn’t want to fuck anyone else but you. He couldn’t give less of a fuck if anyone walked in right now. In fact, a small part of him wishes someone would.

Pairing. Geto Suguru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, rock star! AU, fwb-to-lovers, unprotected sex, oral sex (male receiving), fingering (female receiving), Suguru is sinfully sexy and in l*ve with you, Satoru is a menace, pet names (darling, my girl), Suguru has tattoos and piercings, swearing.

Word count. 3.2k (DAMN I got carried away)

A/N. Happy Valentine’s day! *throws somewhat-fluffy smut at you and leaves* 

Art by @_3aem on X.

Also, wild west! AU longfic with someone dropping on Sunday night (EST), keep your eyes peeled yeehaw.

Everybody wanted to fuck Suguru Geto, lead bassist of Tokyo Special Grades.

You did. Your fans did. Hell, you’ve even caught your overworked band manager sneaking a few too many glances. 

And, you conclude, the groupies currently batting their lashes at him definitely did. 

You watch as they swarm to him during open rehearsal, giggling at his pretty smiles. 

Whatever, part of the job anyway.

It’s not like you two were dating. Yeah, a few fucks here and there throughout the years - but what’s one to do when on the road and in such close proximity with a guy that’s practically walking sex? 

Trying not to scowl, you turn away from the commotion, continuing to tune the strings of your trusty Fender. You’ve had your fair share of die-hard fans, so lately why did it bother you so much when Suguru entertained their thinly-veiled advances? 

“Ohoho~ Quite a look on your face there, why don’t you go and caress his biceps too?~” you hear idiot brigade member #1, Gojo Satoru, cackle from beside you. 

If looks could kill, Satoru would’ve been 6 feet under and rotting already. “I thought you stopped writing band fanfiction, Satoru.” you raise a brow. 

“THAT WAS ONE TIME.” he whines dramatically, clinging onto you and shaking you back and forth as if to knock the memory of his Wattpad tendencies out of you. “WHY ATTACK ME JUST CUZ YOU’RE JEALOUS? C’MOOON ADMIT IT.”

You were not jealous. 

Suguru knew you were jealous.

Sneaking a glance, he had to fight the urge to coo at the adorable little furrow of your brows. How unprofessional would it be if he walked off mid-conversation to kiss that pout off your lips?

He knows it’s just sex for you. But - foolishly - every time he held you he could only hope that he ran through your mind as often as you did through his. It elated Suguru to know you were getting that worked up over him. 

That is until, out of the corner of his eye, he spots Satoru draping himself all over you, whispering god-knows-what into your ears. 

The rational part of Suguru knows Satoru is a very touchy person, but why was he so…close? And why weren’t you pushing him off?

Smile tightening into something a little more artificial, he turns to the girls fawning over him. “Well, ladies, I’m sorry to say I’ve gotta go practice before Shoko yells at me again. I’ll see you all in the front row, yeah?” he lies smoothly, disappointed whines following him as he makes a beeline for your figure.

“Well! What have we here, Satoru, are you done tuning?” Suguru pops a head between yours and Satoru’s overly close ones, interrupting whatever conversation you were heatedly whispering. What was so important that you two needed to be that close to talk anyway?

He narrows his eyes at Satoru’s surprised ones, an invisible conversation taking place between them before Satoru cracks a smug grin. “Alright alright. I’ll go tune my guitar.” he rolls his eyes, heading for his electric blue Gibson. 

Your confused gaze meets the twinkling eyes now boring down at you. “Done with the meet-n-greet already?” you question, eyes darting to the group now watching you two like hawks.

The smile on Suguru’s face grows, “Yeah, remembered I didn’t do my pre-concert rituals right.”

“Oh?”

“Wanna help me with it?”

He doesn’t give you time to answer. Quickly setting down your guitar, he drags you out into the corridor - hand tightly in yours and pointedly ignoring Satoru’s wolf-whistles. 

Hallway sex is overrated, Suguru believes - which is why he heads for the dressing room. 

“Pre-concert rituals” his ass, Suguru just thinks he might pass away if he doesn’t get his hands on you right now. Make you feel like his.

It’s not long before the door is locked and he has you bent over the vanity, knuckle-deep in your dripping cunt. 

“S-Sugu! Why now? The concert- Hah-” You gasp in pleasure as two long fingers probe inside of you, ruthlessly searching for the spot that Suguru knows would have your toes curling and eyes watering deliciously. 

“Fuck the concert, darling. Barely even started and already so wet f’me.” he drawls out over your whimpers. “Wanted you to come over y’know? And save me from those groupies trying to get in my pants.” 

In your lust-hazed mind, you find the words to respond to him, “You s-seemed to - hah - be enjoying that.”

“Of course not.” he leaves a trail of kisses down your back, “Wasn’t my favorite girl.” he whispers into your heated skin.

He’s being rougher than usual, he knows. In the back of his mind he wonders what it was that he was so pissed at. But all thoughts of that are thrown out the window once he presses into that plushy spot inside your wet core, drawing a sinful whine from your mouth. There.

Pulling back to tease your folds with your own slick, he plunges into your swollen pussy once more, easily hitting that spot over and over. 

“Hngh- Suguru, more!” you grind your hips to meet his merciless rhythm, clenching around his fingers. 

You feel as if you’re losing your sanity when he adds in another finger, walls burning as your cunt stretches around his thick rings. 

Suguru was definitely losing his sanity. 

Anyone could walk by. The concert was about to start any second now. But he couldn’t give less of a fuck, too focused on how his fingers were being sucked back in every time he pulls out, your pretty pussy dripping all over his numerous bracelets.

He has to hold back a moan at the way your ass jiggled every time your hips buck to meet his fingers. 

Leaning down over you, he hums lowly into your ear “So desperate for me, hm?”. Pressing the erection straining against his trousers against you, he huffs out “I’m the same, darling. You drive me absolutely mad.”

He feels the way you squirm in impatience at the large outline of his dick, raising your ass in an attempt to get more friction. Eyes crinkling in satisfaction, he pushes down on his girl’s slutty hips, cold rings digging into the small of your waist. 

“Now now…not yet.” he tuts mockingly. 

“Please, Suguru. Please let me cum.”

Increasing his pace, abusing your g-spot relentlessly, Suguru knew by your breathy moans of his name that you were getting close. 

His hand moves from your waist, leaving behind purple marks to remember him by. They wander the expanse of your body - groping your curves, and pinching your nipples through your thin top - delighting in your mewls.

God, you were perfect. He really needed to take his time with you later.

Suguru’s hands, nail polish chipped and fingers calloused from years of playing, finally rest on your face. He pushes your cheeks together, drool pooling at the corner of your mouth and forcing you to look at him through the vanity mirror in front of you. Your dazed eyes meet his darkened ones. 

Suguru was so feral. The man that was usually the personification of grace and poise was falling apart at the seams. His eyes wild and grin spread devilishly as his fingers abuse your cunt never-endingly.

“Look at me when you cum.” he murmurs raspily into your neck, teeth ghosting over your rapid pulse.

You don’t know what it is that sends you over the edge - maybe it was his lustful words, or the way his fingers quirked just right inside of you. All you know is you’re cumming all over Suguru’s fingers, hands clutching the vanity table and eyes locked with Suguru’s in the mirror, mouth dropping into a gasp.

“Fuck! Suguru- Suguru!” you whimper.

Suguru watches in wonder as you ride out your orgasm, using him. He couldn’t give less of a fuck if anyone walked in right now. In fact, a small part of him wishes someone would.

Let them see how beautifully you fall apart because of him.

Finally pulling out, Suguru inspects his fingers. “Now now. That won’t do.” he purrs. 

His tongue erotically licks up your juices covering his rings, still holding eye contact with you through the mirror. He catches the way your thighs press together at his lewd act. ‘Oh? Want some?“ he teases. 

Before you can retort, he’s bullying his fingers into your mouth, making you taste yourself. 

The way you moan around him sends blood rushing straight to his cock. Fuck, he has to steel himself from cumming in his pants right then and there - that wouldn’t be very “sex icon” of him. 

You have no idea what you do to him.

Not willing to wait any longer, he leisurely takes a seat on the spacious vanity sofa. You whine at the loss of contact before catching the predatory look in his eyes. Suguru was going to eat you alive. 

“Come on, darling. Show me how badly you want me.” he grins, legs spreading and prominent bulge on display. 

You take a second to admire the view. Tousled black hair falling enticingly along Suguru’s muscled shoulders, tattooed dragon peeking through where his shirt was messed up. His eyes lustful, and locked on you. 

He was devastatingly handsome. Your mouth waters at the chance to get what so many people would kill for.

Suguru chuckles as you struggle to unbuckle his belt - did rock stars have to always wear such complicated trousers? 

Finally, you pull them down along with his boxers to expose his creamy thighs. Suguru’s throbbing erection lays on his abs, flushed a delicate pale pink.

Your pussy quivers with excitement as you press wet kisses to Suguru’s leaking head, precum dripping down his length to where you’d gently grasped him. A strangled hiss leaves his mouth as you swirl your tongue around the slit. You find yourself lost in his heady taste - he tastes so good.

“Having fun, darling? C’mon now, use me the way you want.” he murmurs, need laced into his voice.

You’ve never gotten used to how big Suguru is. Soft groans leave his mouth as you flatten your tongue and take him in inch by inch, eyes locked with his blown-out ones.

Suguru’s back arches as the heat of your mouth envelops him, hands bunching your hair into a messy ponytail. His pornographic groans echo across the dressing room as you suck on his cock, tongue swirling in just the way you knew he liked.

He can’t even catch his breath with the way you bob your head so heavenly, sucking the soul out of him. It drives him wild to think about how he’s got his lead guitarist on her knees, choking on his cock as your fans wait outside. 

Suguru’s eyes roll to the back of his head as you pop off his cock to take his heavy balls into your mouth, moaning around them as you suck on both erotically.

Shit, he was really feeling it today. 

Through the bangs now sticking to his forehead, he makes out the way your thighs grind against each other for relief. 

You were, too.

If this keeps up he really will lose his sanity.

“As much as I’d love to paint your pretty face with my cum, I think we both prefer it inside, no?” he grits out, cock twitching at the strings of spit and precum connecting you to him as he pulls you off. 

“Need you inside me so badly.” you nod, brain foggy and filled with only Suguru.

He’s quick to lift you into his lap, resting your ass against his pulsing cock, sly grin spreading at the way you’re already so fucked out. 

Suguru feels like he could cum just from the sensation of your juices smearing all over his length, pussy dripping and aching for his throbbing cock. 

“Oh yeah? How bad?” he purrs, eyes half-lidded and already knowing the answer.

“Please. I want you to fuck me so badly, Suguru.” 

“Badly enough that you’d fuck me out there - where everyone is? Show ‘em who I belong to?”

“Yes.” 

At your whimper, Suguru thrusts fully inside you, a moan of relief leaving you both as you finally get what you’ve been craving for. 

“Shit, so tight. Always so good for me, darling.”

Once you start, it’s hard to stop, Suguru finds. 

It happened when he first fucked you in high school - in his car after your first show, running on adrenaline and teenage hormones. And, years later, it’s happening now as he sheathes himself in your wet cunt. 

He just can’t get enough.

He fucks you animalistically, cock ramming in and out of your hole in a way that makes it feel like you’re missing something without him. Nothing in the world other than your two connected bodies. He feels you clamping down on him deliciously, ego growing at you struggling to accommodate his size. 

“F-fuck, darling. Hah- It’s s’tight. Take it like my good girl.”

“Hngh- Suguru, faster!” you groan, fingers delicately playing with the nipple piercings peeking out of his barely-buttoned shirt, euphoric at his drawn-out moans. 

Unlike Satoru - who takes off his shirt every chance he gets onstage - Suguru was one to shy away from showing skin, slutty piercings and tattoos hidden to the world. It just makes it all the more satisfying as you lick a long stripe along the dragon on his shoulder. 

Feels like your little secret. You wanted to be the only one to see this ethereal sight.

“Ah- So good, darling.” Suguru leans back, allowing you more room to play with him as you please. Cock twitching - so close - as you bore into his eyes, sucking his flashy piercings. 

He ramps up his pace, bouncing you on his cock in a way that was carnal. It was so feral, the way his balls sting as they smack your ass, a ring of spit and precum forming around his base. 

His cock aches for release, but he wants to see you cum first. His pretty girl, cumming all over his throbbing cock.

You pull yourself off his swollen nipples and attach your mouth with his, tongues swirling sensually as he kisses you like he needed you to breathe. 

He’s almost as unforgiving with his mouth as he is with his cock. Almost.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

“YOOO I don’t know if ‘pre-concert rituals’ was a code-word for something else but we’re on in twenty minutes.” the unmistakable voice of Suguru’s best friend - and occasional bane-of-his-existence - made you two jump apart. 

“The ultimate cockblock.” Suguru sighs out - his pace, however, does not slow down. Each harsh thrust makes it difficult to muffle your yelps of pleasure from Satoru, who was still calling for you two from outside.

Noticing your predicament, Suguru grins dangerously. “Oh? My poor girl finds it hard to stop her moans? Aww, better try harder unless you want dear Satoru finding out.” he mocks in your ear. 

Both humiliated and turned on by his words, your dripping pussy clenches around his cock. He lets out a choked-up groan, biting hard into the crook of your neck to stop it.

A satisfied smile spreads across your face, “Who should try harder now, Suguru?”

Ah, perfect. You were perfect, perfect for him.

As Satoru’s yells about “cutting a chunk out of Suguru’s pay” disappear across the hallway, both of you let out exhales of relief.

“Dangerous game you played there, mister.” you raise a brow, teasingly.

He chuckles out, before pulling you to him closer by the waist. Lips ghosting over your own, he whispers “Only with you, my darling.” 

Slightly more clear-headed but still dripping with lust, you meet the bounce of Suguru’s hips with your own. Eyes still locked with yours, he stuffs you with every inch - tip kissing your cervix so painfully good. 

The steady slapping of skin and synchronized moans fill the room, blocking out the cheering of the audience awaiting your band. 

Yet, the air crackled with something different this time. For the first time, it didn’t just feel like just mindless fucking.

Bite mark on your neck stinging, you could feel Sugurus heartbeat thundering under your touch - synchronized with your own.

In this moment it felt like just you two in this world. 

You wanted to be the only one in his world. Not his fangirls, not some manager, not anyone else. 

Maybe that was the reason for your courage, feeling like everything has finally come to a boiling point. 

“S-Suguru.” you breathe out as you feel yourself getting closer. 

“Mhm?” brows furrowed, he looks up at you with a tenderness in his eyes that does not translate to the merciless cadence of his hips. 

“Be mine.”

And that’s all Suguru ever wanted. 

With a final hard thrust of his cock, he pulls you into a searing kiss that sends you both over the edge. He cums in hot spurts, thick ropes of seed filling your quivering cunt. It was feral - and it made you feel like his. 

Suguru’s seed drips down the side of his length, forming a white ring at his base as he fucks it deeper into you, letting you ride out your highs together.

As your climaxes bate, he buries his face in your neck, kissing softly over the mark from before. “To be yours is everything I could ever want, darling.” he breathes out, hugging you closer as if to hide this vulnerable moment. But you feel the heat of his cheeks on your skin.

Embracing him, you gather his beautiful black locks in your hand, fingers deftly taking the hair tie around your wrist to tie his long hair into a messy ponytail. 

Pulling back, you admire Suguru’s angelic features. Face flushed, lips swollen, and dark eyes half-lidded as he stares up at you in surprise.

“Wanted to see your pretty face.” you huff out a low laugh.

The expression on Suguru’s face is indescribable, such pure adoration in his eyes. 

Voice low, he murmurs words meant only for you, “I…I’m in lov-” 

“HEYYY I’m serious, stop doing the devil’s tango and GET THE FUCK OUT.” Satoru’s voice bellows once again through the door, shattering the little bubble you and Suguru had found refuge in.

“Ah- um-”

“You-”

Both of you stammer out at once, chuckling at how shy you were acting with one another even after all that had transpired in this room.

“We should probably go, before Satoru and Shoko pop a blood vessel.” Suguru jokes. You laugh out in agreement as he carries you tenderly to the washroom, his interrupted words weighing heavily on both your minds. It’s okay, you have time. 

Rapidly cleaned up and dressed, Suguru stops, a hand on the dressing room doorknob. “”Hey..” he starts almost-hesitantly, “After the concert, would you maybe want to-”

“Yes.” you interrupt, excitement lacing your voice. 

Chuckling in pure euphoria as you both exit, your smiles turn more sheepish as you’re faced with a bored-looking Shoko and an impatient Satoru tapping his foot. “You horny lil’ fuckers almost missed the show, think of my poor fans~” he exclaims, though the glee in his eyes at your intertwined hands was very evident.

“Hope the sex was good at least.” Shoko drones out, eyes flitting over your guilty flushed faces. 

‘Oh yeah, and Suguru - next time you dump your fangirls on me, I chop your balls off.“ she chirps out, pointing her drumsticks threateningly at his neck as you all head back.

Blinding lights. 

Deafening screams.

Hair pulled into a messy ponytail, he was fatally beautiful onstage.

Everybody wanted to fuck Suguru Geto, lead bassist of Tokyo Special Grades. 

But he only wanted to fuck you.

A/N. MMMMM long-haired men.

Plagiarism not authorized.