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[colouredbyd]

The Boy Is Mine

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader

Summary: you’re quiet by nature, content in the background—until someone pushes too far. When a girl flirts with Remus, something shifts. With one kiss and a quiet claim, you remind everyone exactly who he ( and Sirius) belong to.

Warnings: possessiveness, jealousy, strong language, suggestive content, heated kiss, and public displays of affection.

Word count: 3.4k

Authors note: i need both Remus and Sirius at the same damn time.

masterlist

You’ve never been the loudest in the room.

You don’t need to be. Not when Sirius is tossing his head back laughing beside you, all glittering chaos and charm, or when Remus leans in close, voice low and deliberate, like every word he says is meant only for you.

They fill the space so effortlessly—Sirius with his magnetic presence, Remus with his quiet gravity—and you find yourself fitting between them like a breath between heartbeats. Steady, constant and soft.

You like watching more than speaking. Not out of shyness exactly, but because you enjoy observing—feeling everything. It’s the way Remus’s thumb circles over your knee under the table without him even realizing. The way Sirius always saves you the last bite, even when he swears he won’t. You don’t need to be loud to be loved here.

They know you. They’ve always known you.

Sirius, who pulls you into the middle of the common room and spins you in dizzy circles until you’re breathless with laughter. Remus, who presses his nose into your hair when the world feels too sharp and mumbles poetry against your skin. 

Between the two of them, you’ve never had to shout to be heard. They listen in the silence. They love you in the quiet.

But sometimes, even the quiet hums with something fierce.

And today, it’s starting to burn.

The loud music thumps through the walls, pulsing in your veins, but all you can hear is Remus’s voice rising above the chatter of the party. He’s talking to a girl, one whose name doesn’t matter.

because you’re already irritated.

Sirius is speaking beside you—his voice low and animated, probably bantering with James about something as thrillingly idiotic as who cheated in the last round of Exploding Snap—but the words barely register. They fade into the background like the bass of the music humming through the party, the way laughter spills and drips from every corner of the Gryffindor common room like syrup.

You’re curled up beside him on the leather couch, soft and familiar, half draped across his lap like you belong there, because you do. His palm is warm against your skin, fingers lazy as they trace circles over your thigh, an unconscious kind of touch that says mine without needing the word.

But your attention isn’t on Sirius.

It’s fixed—razor sharp and unblinking—on the girl across the room.

She’s all lip gloss and bright laughter, the kind of girl who doesn’t walk into a room so much as glitter through it. Her blouse is buttoned just low enough to draw the eye, her skirt just short enough to be a statement. She leans in closer to Remus like she’s in a slow-motion daydream, twirling a strand of hair around her finger as she giggles at something he said.

Except Remus isn’t laughing.

He’s smiling, but you know that smile. It’s the strained one. The tight-lipped, please-don’t-make-this-weird smile he gives when someone crosses the line and he’s too damn kind to push them away.

And she—well. She’s not backing off.

Your fingers tighten around the stem of your glass. Not enough to shatter it, but enough to feel it, to ground yourself before the rising tide inside you gets too high. The jealousy doesn’t burn. No, it doesn’t scream or sputter like some childish tantrum. It’s quiet. Sharp. Ice in your veins, snow behind your ribs. It’s precise.

You watch her touch his arm, watch her eyes flutter and her voice pitch just so. You watch Remus stand there with all that quiet discomfort in his shoulders and all that unnecessary politeness keeping him rooted in place.

And something inside you shifts.

You’re not the loud one at these parties. You’re not the girl who shouts or struts or demands. You’re the one who stays curled up in the lap of a boy with stardust in his smile, sipping your drink while the chaos unfurls around you. You’re the calm in their storm, the softness they return to.

But not tonight.

Because tonight, someone is trying to touch what’s yours.

And whether Remus knows it yet or not, whether that girl ever figures out just how royally she’s miscalculated, one thing is already certain.

You are about to stop being the quiet one.

“Moony’s got his fan club going tonight, huh?” Sirius says, his tone casual, his fingers playing with a loose thread on the hem of your sleeve. “I swear, every time he talks to a girl, she looks like she’s ready to devour him.”

You hum, an absent sound, not really acknowledging him. Your gaze stays fixed on Remus and that damn girl, the way she’s tossing her hair back and laughing too loudly.

“You okay, dove?” His voice drops a little, his fingers tracing the line of your spine with a slow, deliberate motion.

You want to lie. You want to say it’s fine, that you’re just tired or distracted, but the words get stuck in your throat. Instead, you give a small shake of your head, the fluttering in your chest too strong to ignore.

“I’m fine,” you mutter, a little too quickly. “Just… thinking.”

Sirius’s eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t push. He knows you well enough to sense when you need space, but tonight, there’s something different. The energy in the room feels electric, like it’s just waiting for a spark.

Remus laughs again from across the room, and this time, the girl reaches up to touch his arm, her fingers trailing lightly along his sleeve. The sight, the sound, the way her body leans just a little too close to his, sends a pang of something sharp through you. Your breath catches in your throat as you watch her lean in, her lips too close to his ear as she whispers something.

Your fingers grip the edge of the couch, your nails digging into the fabric. You feel like you’re going to snap at any moment, and you’re so sick of it.

Sirius seems to notice the shift in the air. His hand halts on your back, and he turns his head toward Remus and the girl, then back to you. His expression softens, understanding settling in. He leans forward, his voice low as he speaks, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

“Love, I think we’ve reached a new level here,” he says, voice laced with something almost teasing. “You’ve been staring at him for ages now.”

You swallow hard, trying to keep the fluttering in your chest under control. “I’m not staring,” you say, but even you can hear the edge in your voice.

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh? ‘Cause I think you’ve definitely been staring. You want me to go over there and break it up?”

“No,” you snap, a little too quickly, and then you freeze, realizing just how harsh you sound. You soften your tone, but the words still feel like they’re cutting you open. “I… I don’t know.”

Sirius doesn’t push you, but he watches you carefully, his lips curling into a small, knowing smile.

You shift uncomfortably, your gaze returning to Remus and the girl. It’s like a magnet pulling you in, the way she laughs again, her hand resting on his shoulder now, fingers tracing the outline of his collarbone.

The thought makes you want to scream.

You watch the girl lean in closer, her breath light against his ear as she says something you can’t hear, but you can see it in the way her lashes flutter and her lips curl. It’s an obvious flirtation, the kind of thing that would make anyone else swoon, but you just feel your stomach twist in knots. Remus gives a tight, polite smile, the one he always does when he’s too kind to be rude, but you know that smile too well. It’s a mask, a shield, and you can see right through it. He’s uncomfortable, but he doesn’t stop her.

The touch lingers. And Remus—sweet, gentle, infuriating Remus—doesn’t stop her.

He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t step back. He doesn’t even glance in your direction.

And maybe that’s the worst part.

Maybe he’s just being polite. Maybe he’s too soft-spoken for his own good. Maybe he thinks you don’t mind, that you’re tucked up on the couch beside Sirius, warm and safe and unbothered. Maybe he’s forgotten that while you may be quiet, you’re not blind.

But oh, you care.

You care enough that your drink is forgotten in your hand, the condensation sliding over your fingers like cold sweat. You care enough that your jaw clenches tight, the muscle ticking with a quiet fury that pulses behind your ribs. There’s a pressure building in your chest, a weight that has nothing to do with insecurity and everything to do with possession.

You’ve always known what’s yours.

And Remus?

He is yours.

The room around you begins to blur, voices fading into background noise, like someone’s turned the volume down on the rest of the party. The flickering firelight, the chatter of students, the low buzz of magical music—all of it dulls. All you can see is the way she’s looking at him, lips parted in a practiced little smile, eyes batting as if she’s never had to work hard for attention in her life.

You hear her laugh—sharp and high and entirely insincere—and it cuts through you like a blade. Remus chuckles along with her, and it’s that sound, that soft little sound of his, that makes something in your spine snap straight. His eyes catch the light just right, that familiar glint of mischief and charm you’ve seen a thousand times when he’s teasing you softly beneath the covers, and it stings more than you’d like to admit.

And suddenly, you are no longer the quiet girl curled in the corner.

You are no longer the soft one who waits patiently for your boys to come home to you.

You are standing up, not with a shout or a dramatic flourish, but with a kind of cold certainty, like the sea deciding to rise. Sirius shifts beside you instinctively, his hand brushing your back as he senses the change in the air, his voice dipping with curiosity.

“Love?” he says quietly, brows raising. “Everything alright?”

You don’t answer. Not yet.

Because your eyes are still locked on the girl in the too-tight blouse and the too-pretty smile and the entirely wrong assumption that she has any right to touch your Remus like she belongs there.

She doesn’t.

And she’s about to learn exactly why.

It never felt like you needed to compete for Remus’s attention. He had always been yours in that quiet, unspoken way—his careful gestures, the soft smiles he gave you when no one was looking, the way he always made sure you were okay, even when you didn’t ask. You had a bond, something deeper than words. But now, watching him allow her to invade that space, something inside you snaps.

She’s leaning into him like he’s already hers, one manicured hand lingering on his forearm, like she doesn’t see the slight pullback in his posture. Like she doesn’t notice the way his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Sirius’s hand slips off your thigh, stunned. “Where’re you going?”

“To get what’s mine.” you say, and your voice is soft, sultry, but it slices through the noise like a blade.

James chokes on his drink. Lily turns, eyebrows lifting as she watches you stalk forward, hips swaying, jumper slouching off one bare shoulder. You hear someone mutter, “Bloody hell.” and you don’t even need to look to know Marlene is probably grinning like a wolf.

The girl is still touching Remus. Still laughing.

You don’t give her the chance to speak. You don’t give him a moment to explain, or to blink, or to pretend he doesn’t feel the air shift as you close the distance between you like a storm cloaked in silk.

Your fingers slip beneath the hem of his jumper, curl tightly into the soft wool, and tug. Hard. Hard enough that he stumbles forward, just one step, just enough to crash into your gravity.

His eyes find yours, startled and wide, and for a heartbeat he forgets where he is. The party, the music, the girl whose perfume is still clinging to the air around him—all of it vanishes the moment your lips catch his.

It is not a kiss built from politeness or affection. It is not the kind of thing meant for privacy or delicacy.

This kiss is war.

It’s bruising and slow and devastating, like a spell whispered in the middle of a battlefield. Your hand tangles in his curls and tugs, just enough to make him gasp into your mouth. Your other hand slides down to his belt, fingers brushing over the buckle, teasing with the lightest hint of promise. You tilt your head to deepen it, your lips parting just slightly, just enough to taste him.

He groans, low and helpless, the sound caught between your mouths, and you smile against him, smug and sinful.

When you finally pull away, his lips are pink and glistening and parted like he’s about to say something but hasn’t figured out what language he speaks anymore. His hands are still hovering at your hips, and his chest is rising with uneven breath, eyes clouded with something that’s definitely not confusion.

You turn to the girl, and she looks like she’s just witnessed something religious and blasphemous at the same time. Her mouth is hanging open. Her expression is frozen in that awkward no-man’s-land between horror and disbelief.

“Oh,” you say sweetly, voice thick with honey and venom, “were you still talking? Only he seems a bit busy now.”

She blinks. Opens her mouth. Closes it. You don’t give her time to think. You trail your fingers down the front of Remus’s chest, slowly, like you’re remembering the way his body feels under your hands and enjoying every second of it. You play with the collar of his shirt, letting your nails drag across the fabric, soft and sure.

Your eyes never leave hers.

“I mean,” you go on, voice quieter now, conversational in a way that is somehow even more intimidating, “I don’t blame you. Honestly. Look at him. He’s got that whole clever boy thing going on, right? The kind of boy who knows all the answers in class and still somehow makes you want to climb into his lap and ruin his concentration. And don’t even get me started on that body—tall and lean and unfair, and the scars…” you let your fingers trail over his chest again, nails teasing the fabric, “Body built like a sin under those clothes, too bad only me and Sirius get to see it though.” 

A grin spreads across your face, wide and wicked like a cheshire cat.

Remus lets out a sound that’s definitely not family friendly and buries his face in your neck for a second, either to breathe you in or to hide the fact that he might actually combust.

James lets out a strangled sound from across the room. “What the actual hell is going on?”

Lily is watching with wide, fascinated eyes, looking between you and the girl like she’s witnessing a lioness dismantle a bunny in slow motion. Marlene, from her spot near the fireplace, raises her drink in silent toast and mutters, “Finally.”

You lean in close to Remus, pressing your lips to the shell of his ear. “But here’s the thing,” you whisper, just loud enough for the girl to still hear. 

“He’s mine.”

Then you pull back and look her dead in the eye, your gaze soft but lethal.

“And I don’t share.”

The girl blinks once. Twice. Then turns with all the grace of someone trying not to run.

Remus just stares at you for a long moment, breathless, hands still planted on your waist like he’s afraid to let go in case the earth tilts and he floats away.

“What the hell just happened?” he asks, voice low, rough, and wrecked.

Sirius appears beside you like smoke, sliding his arm around your waist as he grins like you’ve hung the bloody stars for him.

The girl’s mouth parts, clearly searching for a clever retort, something sharp or self-righteous or maybe even pathetic to claw her dignity back from the floor where you left it. But the words never come. Her lips tremble like she’s buffering. You don’t give her the chance to reboot.

Instead, with calm that borders on cruelty, you turn back to Remus and brush your lips against the corner of his mouth. Not a full kiss this time, but something quieter, more dangerous. A period at the end of a sentence she was never invited to read. 

You feel the way he freezes for just a moment, breath hitching as your fingers slide up to rest at the base of his throat, just enough pressure to remind him—and everyone watching—exactly who he belongs to.

The common room is stunned into silence. Even the portrait hole seems to creak softer, like the whole castle is holding its breath.

And then James, bless his nosy little soul, practically falls off the arm of the couch. He stares at you with something like religious awe, eyes as wide as Galleons, hand clutching his drink like a lifeline.

“That,” he says reverently, voice cracking with disbelief, “was the hottest thing I have ever witnessed. And I saw Sirius in a crop top once.”

Sirius doesn’t even bother to pretend he’s unaffected. He slumps back against the couch, one hand dragging through his hair like he’s trying to keep his brain from melting. His grin is crooked and wild, like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again.

“Merlin’s tits,” he says, almost reverent. “I think I’m in love. Again.”

Lily, sitting upright with her legs crossed like she’s hosting a panel discussion, blinks slowly. Her jaw is slightly ajar, her drink forgotten on the floor.

“Did she just… flirt and threaten simultaneously?” she asks, clearly reevaluating everything she thought she knew about you.

Marlene doesn’t even bother to hide her grin. She claps once, loud and delighted, and leans forward with sparkling eyes.

“Oh, I love her,” she announces with glee. “Someone give that girl a crown and a throne and maybe a leather corset. She just out-Slytherined the entire House.”

You don’t look away from Remus. He’s still breathless, a little dazed, his lips parted like he’s forgotten how to speak. His hands are at your waist now, gripping softly like he needs to touch you just to make sure you’re real.

You lean in, voice velvet-sweet, and say, “Now Remmy, were you going to let her keep touching you or should I start hexing?”

Sirius, meanwhile, is leaning back like a man thoroughly entertained, one arm draped across Remus’ shoulder with a love-sick gaze in his eyes.

Remus just blinks for a moment, his mouth parted, completely undone. Then a sound escapes him, surprised and delighted, something between a laugh and a groan, like you’ve just knocked the wind out of him in the best way.

“I think I’m in love with you all over again,” he says, a little dazed.

And then Sirius leans over, as if conjured by the heat of the moment, slipping in behind you like gravity itself gave him no choice. His hands slide over your hips, warm and certain, like they’ve always belonged there. He leans in until his mouth brushes your neck, breath hot and voice lower than sin.

“That,” he murmurs, lips grazing your skin, “was art. You’ve officially ruined me. I’ll never recover.”

You shrug, casual as anything, but your pulse is thundering and your eyes are glowing and the adrenaline is still singing in your bones like an aria. “Good,” you say simply, and it lands like a spell.

The common room hasn’t even recovered. Conversations haven’t resumed. Heads are still tilted in your direction like they’re not quite sure what just happened, if they witnessed a declaration or a detonation. And maybe it was both. You were the quiet girl. The sweet one. The one with gentle touches and soft smiles who moved like a secret in a room full of noise.

But tonight? Tonight, they watched you stand like you were carved from something divine, watched you kiss Remus like he was yours and always had been, watched you claim your place not as an afterthought, but as a force of nature wrapped in wool and confidence.

And Remus? He’s still holding your waist like he might never let go. Sirius looks like he’d fight anyone who even breathes in your direction the wrong way.

Together, they look ready to tear the world apart if it means keeping you. And somehow, the quiet girl has become the storm they’d die for

[camerahaterlittle]

We're from the same pack but from rivaling herds | Alexia Putellas

Summary: Alexia has never been a good mother to you and finally you snap and she finally realizes her mistake as a mother

Warnings: Bad writing grammer and mentions of purposeful self harm Alexia's a bad guy here yall if this seems like something that you wouldn't enjoy please don't read

Ever since Alexia was pregnant with you, she never really thought about the future and whether you'd take on her legacy and continue to play football with your name of the back of the jersey even when you were born she never felt that connection that her mother told her she would feel with you she was just numb she didn't necessarily like you but she loved you.

Whether that was because she felt like she had to or because she actually did was always unclear to her and only her because she never told anyone how she actually felt about having you but deep down she knew that she didn't want you by any means in her kind she was young in love and free.

You always thought that's why you always sat alone at the dinner table eating dinner with one of Alexia's old jerseys on one of the chairs stretched out so it'd fit there pretending it was her when you were only 5 years old with whatever interview you could find of her playing in the background while Alba slept on the couch.

Ever since those days you swore, you wouldn't let your mother hurt you any longer, yet it didn't work all that well since you always bit back your words every time you were talking to her (it was really arguments) and those talks always left you in tears at a random gym taking your pain out on a punching back was your form correct no not at all your fists always hurt in the first ten minutes because you didn't wrap your hands right but in some way you enjoyed the pain since it took your mind off everything else.

Boxing was your thing it let you relieve whatever emotions you were feeling without any form of consequence if you didn't count the fact your knuckles would be killing you after the session with barely any breaks boxing was more of your thing than football ever was and maybe that's why you and your mother got pushed further away there wasn't anything you could bond over since your hate for football from when you were 5 stayed all the way until now.

And that was why to your self adopted coach, said you were the best fighter in Spain, at least that's what he told you that you could be if you let him help you and get you to that point you only nodded barely listening to the guy only 'agreeing' because you wanted to get back to hitting the bag like it offended you in some way.

Did Alexia know about your fighting? No, she didn't. No one really knew if you didn't count Ingrid and Mapi in that statement because they knew everything, yet you made them promise not to say anything or do anything when you broke down in front of them spilling everything that's been happening.

The couple had become your anchor through everything they were the only thing holding you above the crashing water, keeping you a float helping you swim through everything you knew you could always count on them no matter the situation they were always there and that was something you'd never take for granted since you never got that much growing up.

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

You looked around, trying to spot Mapi and Ingrid in the small crowd of people. After your fight, you ended up winning, which wasn't a surprise to your coach or any of the small number of fans you had since you normally won every fight of yours with barely any struggle.

But to your surprise, when you finally found the couple, you saw Alexia standing right next to them, a small frown on her face with her arms crossed against her chest. Your expression hardened immediately. Your jaw clenched as you took off your gloves so you could finally wipe the sweat and blood off your face.

You were zoned out the entire conversation with your coach, only humming or mumbling a small okay in response to whatever he was saying the moment he was finished talking to you, you were out of the ring walking over to Mapi, Ingrid, and Alexia the couple pulling you into their arms like they were trying to shield you away from Alexia's gaze.

"You did amazing out there cariño best fight I ever saw." Mapi murmured in your ear as she held you closer to her as Ingrid started a somewhat friendly conversation with Alexia, trying to get her attention off of you and Mapi.

You had the smallest smile on your face from her praise as your arms slightly tightened around her, enjoying the warmth and love you got from the fellow Spaniard. "Thank you, Maps," you said quietly, a small shiver going down your spine when her hand started to scratch at your scalp, ignoring the way the slightly wet strands felt against her fingertips.

Mapi looked up and away from you when Alexia cleared her throat, rolling her eyes at the sight of you and her best friend together. Mapi slowly pulled you out of her arms so you could actually see your mother, yet you stayed close to one of your favorite people, not like the arm Mapi still had around you was gonna let you go anywhere at all.

"Why didn't you tell me that you were boxing now, huh?" Alexia spoke her tone sharp and calculated just like it always was when she spoke to you. Mapi, in response to Alexia's words, pulled you a bit closer to you, offering you a silent comfort from Alexia's coldness.

"I didn't think it was such a big deal it's just a hobby." Your words came out quiet less harsh than Alexia's the somewhat happiness you felt from before vanishing as she continued. You knew she wouldn't drop this topic even if you just wished she would.

"Just a hobby, then explain why you've been doing this for the past year. If it's just a hobby, why are you continuing this Y/n." Alexia stepped closer to you, her frame towering over yours the moment the Norwegian who was standing on the side saw this she came between the two of you immediately something that surprised Alexia since Ingrid wasn't one for getting in between things often.

"Why don't you leave Alexia she will be home later on in the night. I think you need to cool down some, and then you guys can talk." Ingrid's words were sharp and calculated as she chose her words wisely, stopping whatever possible fight that could've been caused because of this.

You let out a sigh of relief Ingrid's words acting as a life jacket in the horrible waves of the sea keeping you above the water. Mapi pressed a soft kiss to your forehead as she walked away with you, leaving the Norwegian to deal with whatever Alexia could possibly say in response to things.

"She needs to come home now. Engen, there's conversations that we have to have." Alexia's expression hardened as she stared at her teammate, wondering why she was stopping her from getting her child and bringing her home to have a conversation.

"And that's not happening, not right now, Alexia she's not coming home until she's ready to talk to you, and until then, she will be staying with me and Mapi she is safe with us for the time being" Ingrid responded her own expression hardening the longer she stayed with Alexia she knew no conversation would be had it would be one sided the Spaniard in front of her being the only one who spoke while you sat in silence.

Alexia scoffed, shaking her head she had a feeling no matter what she said. Ingrid wouldn't let her take you home, so she left it at that, muttering something in Spainsh that the Norwegian couldn't quite catch in the moment.

Ingrid watched Alexia walk away, making sure she actually left before going to find you and Mapi finding the two of you in the back room of this gym you ended up fighting in a soft smile appearing on hee face as she saw you and Mapi messing around while talking she partly knew that her girlfriend was only doing this to distract you from what had just happened and it was clearly working.

The midfielder eventually walked over to the two of you, interrupting the mini fight/conversation you two were having "Alright you two, we've got to go home and get some food in our stomachs." Both you and Mapi turned, hearing the Ingrid's words pouting a bit since what you two were planning was interrupted but compiled anyways."Yes, mom." "Aye Aye, captain." Came from the both of you, Ingrid chuckling in response as the three of you left ready to get home.

All three of you hopped into the car, buckling yourselves in the car windows immediately being put down some the drive to your favorite restaurant being made while you got the aux cord and you took full control over that playing every Frozen song since in your words "It's not my fault it has one of the best soundtracks" which only resulted in groans.

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

By the time you walked into the house, you saw Alexia on the couch it had only been a couple hours since you last saw her, and you felt your heart clench at the sight of her sitting there zoned out to the point she didn't even notice walking inside the house.

You sighed, walking into the kitchen, grabbing an energy drink, cracking it open, taking a long sip from it. You heard Alexia getting up, making out the sounds of her clothes russling as she made her way into the kitchen after her gaze felt weird like she was staring straight through you or something and you most definitely didn't like that at all.

"Y/n, we need to talk about things." Alexia's tone was for once surprisingly softer than it normally was when she was talking to you, and that threw you off guard.

"You mean you're gonna talk, and I have to listen." Your tone was sharp just like hers was earlier at your fight, and yet instead of you being caught off guard, it was Alexia she never heard you take that tone with her once in her life.

"And quite frankly, I'm tired of listening to you talk and you expecting me to just take it and listen." You continued not giving her a chance to speak you were tired of listening and that was clear.

You took another swig from your drink, not daring to face her because you knew if you did, you'd crumble and wouldn't get everything you felt off of your chest nothing you were thinking in this moment was making sense and that meant everything came out oddly not making much sense but you knew Alexia was smart enough to get the point.

"I know i wasn't ever your baby and that I was only a maybe to you, and it took me forever to accept that hell I don't think I've even accepted it now I think I'm just okay with it now even if it hurts because my own mother doesn't care unless it affects her and even then you couldn't care less." You wiped the tears that were already falling. You expected that you wouldn't be able to hold yourself together during this. What made you say all of this to her was unknown. Maybe it was the softness in her tone, or maybe you were done with everything.

"I only wanted to feel loved by you, but you didn't even give me that all I got was you talking and ignoring what I had to say I got your jerseys on chairs in the kitchen because you were too busy to come home I sat alone pretending you were there with an interview of you playing wishing you'd care or love me just as much as you love football no five year old should have to do that." You could hear your words coming out shaky as you spoke, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. You glanced at Alexia seeing her standing there tears in her eyes but you didn't care not when she was your first heartbreak.

"I just want you to love me as much as you love Pina or Vicky. I'm your actual daughter, and yet they somehow get more love and attention from you. I tried everything to get your attention, and yet I still couldn't get it. I wanted your attention good or bad." You took a shaky deep breath, putting your drink down on the counter rubbing your face, trying to get rid of the tears that were freely falling.

"But I didn't ever get that from you. I got it from Mapi and Ingrid. I got it from Alba and Jenni, but never you, the one person's love and attention i wanted i didn't get ever and I don't think you know how much that shaped me as a person." You turned around facing her. You could see she was going through every emotion possible as you continued.

"I don't need it now anymore, but she needed it she needed it more than me. I've grown to accept what you've done, but she hasn't she's still wondering what made you not love her as much as you loved everyone else." Alexia felt her heart break at your words she knew exactly what you meant by she without you even saying it, and it hurt her more than she ever thought.

You picked up your can once again, downing the rest of it before setting it back on the counter just staring into her eyes. Both of your eyes were red, tears staining your cheeks, and in that moment, it really felt like you were looking into a mirror staring back at yourself when, in all reality, it was just two hurt people one hurting more than the other.

You stood there like there for a few more moments, looking away from her as your lip trembled a bit. You just wanted Alexia to answer one question, and one only but you knew the answer would probably break you even more. "Did you ever actually love me? Did you ever even want me?".

You waited for her to respond, and it took her minutes to respond, but when she finally did, your heart broke even more just like you expected. "I don't know. I wish I had a better answer." Alexia was ashamed of herself for the way everything turned out for the way she treated her own daughter.

You nodded, walking over to the door and leaving the house without another word for once it was pouring outside. You wanted to turn around and go back inside the house, but you didn't. You kept walking without a set place in your mind on where to go.

Alexia watched you leave her heartbreaking even more. If that was even possible, she walked over to the couch sitting down head in her hands as she cried, wondering what had happened to make this turn out this way even if she knew the answer deep down.

It had been more than an hour since you left, and Alexia was still crying over everything, her heart aching in a way she didn't know was possible she picked up her phone when it started to ring answering it waiting to see who it was.

"Hello, is this Alexia Putellas" A man's voice spoke his voice ringing through Alexia's ears.

"Yes, this is her. What's this call for." Alexia thought this was just another photoshot guy or anything of that sort but she couldn't have been anymore wrong.

"I'm sorry to inform you, but your daughter Y/n is currently in the hospital in critical condition." The man responded, but he didn't get a response. The call ended immediately as Alexia jumped up, grabbing her keys and leaving her phone behind as she ran out the door, getting in her car driving to the nearest hospital breaking all kinds of laws just to get there.

Okay, I feel like this is incredibly short, but enjoy this while I work on other requests

[hyunniesamericano]

Waist and Want

Pairing : Han Jisung x fem!Reader

Genre: smut

Word count:2.2k

Warning: dry humping, teasing,dirty talk,orgasm,slight degradation,teasing.

Summary: You and Jisung are still new to this whole relationship thing—sweet, shy, and a little unsure. But one teasing moment with his tiny waist turns into something hot, messy, and unforgettable.

A/n: Still obsessed with rat challenge minsung ahhh .Update: I uploaded a new fic for hyunjin u can check that out here. ♡´･ᴗ･`♡

You never meant to make it a thing.

It started with one innocent glance. Maybe two. Okay, maybe three. But that’s hardly obsession, right? Everyone looks at their boyfriend—especially when said boyfriend has a tiny, unfairly attractive waist that makes oversized hoodies and low-hanging joggers a lethal combo.

You didn’t choose this life. His waist chose you.And now here you are, four and a half months into your relationship, lying beside him on the couch while some anime plays in the background—one you’re supposed to be watching but haven’t absorbed a single scene of. Your attention is elsewhere. Specifically, on the soft rise and fall of Jisung’s exposed waist where his hoodie has ridden up, revealing a delicious strip of skin. His joggers hang loose on his hips like gravity’s doing you a personal favor. And to top it all off, he’s got one arm thrown lazily behind his head, stretching slightly, which just makes everything worse.

You swallow. Hard.

“You’re staring,” Jisung says suddenly, without looking away from the screen.

You jerk your head up like a guilty kid caught stealing snacks. “What? No, I’m not.”

He finally turns to look at you—wide brown eyes, flushed cheeks, the softest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Mhm,” he hums, tilting his head. “You totally are.”

You scramble for an excuse. “I was… admiring your… anime collection?”

He snorts. “Nice try. But you’ve been burning holes into my waist for the past twenty minutes.”

You blink. “You— You noticed?”

Jisung grins, teeth showing this time, proud and cocky like he’s just won something. “I always notice. You do it all the time. Especially when I’m shirtless. Or stretching. Or reaching for the top shelf.”

Heat floods your face, and you cover it with your hands. “Oh my god.”

“Wait,” he laughs, sitting up a bit. “Are you seriously embarrassed right now?”

“I didn’t mean to be that obvious!”

“Oh, baby,” he chuckles, tugging your hands away from your face. “You’re adorable. And a little bit of a perv, huh?”

You groan, falling back against the cushion. “You make it hard not to be. That stupid tiny waist of yours…”

Jisung’s brows rise, clearly enjoying this. “So it is the waist, huh? That’s what gets you all flustered?”

You make a noise of protest, but it’s already too late. The truth’s out.

He slides closer, gaze locked on yours, and you swear his smirk gets just a little darker. “Show me.”

You blink. “What?”

“If you like it that much…” he shrugs, fingers curling under the hem of his hoodie and lifting it slightly, “go ahead.”

You sit frozen, heart pounding.

He’s teasing. He has to be.

But then he lifts his hoodie a little higher—just enough to reveal more of that soft, toned skin, the faint line that dips down beneath his waistband—and smirks like he knows he’s winning.

“Don’t act shy now,” he murmurs. “You’ve already been undressing me with your eyes all evening.”

Your brain short circuits.You swallow thickly. “You’re evil.”

He grins, leaning in until his face is just inches from yours. “Nah. I’m just finally giving you what you clearly want.”

Your gaze drops to his waist again—how could it not? The smooth skin, the dip of his hip bones, the soft curve just above the waistband of those dangerously low joggers. It’s like a siren call and you’re helpless to resist.

When your fingers twitch toward him, he catches your wrist mid-air, eyes gleaming. “Ask nicely.”

You look up at him, breath catching at the way he’s watching you—like you’re something he wants to devour slowly, one teasing bite at a time.

“Can I…” You swallow again, voice softer this time. “Can I touch you?”

His smile softens, and something warmer flickers behind his gaze. “Yeah, baby,” he says gently, “you can touch.”

You hesitate only a moment before letting your fingers trace along the curve of his waist, slow and reverent. His skin is warm, smooth, and tight over lean muscle, and it feels exactly as good as you imagined—maybe even better. You let your touch drift lower, just above the waistband of his joggers, and you hear his breath hitch slightly.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, eyes fluttering shut for a second. “You’re really into this, huh?”

You nod, too focused to answer properly. “You have no idea.”

Your hands move around to his sides, thumbs brushing the sensitive spot just above his hipbones. His body tenses under your touch, but he doesn’t stop you—if anything, he arches into it, teasing himself into your hands like he wants you to worship him.And you do.

You press a kiss to his waist. Then another. And another, slower this time, letting your lips linger just long enough for him to feel the warmth of your breath. You feel his fingers slide into your hair, not guiding, just feeling you, letting you do whatever the hell you want.

“You’re insane,” he whispers, voice ragged. “Fucking crazy for my waist…”

You bite him. Just a soft nip at first, right over the line of his hip, and his grip in your hair tightens.

“Shit—” he gasps, looking down at you with wide, dazed eyes. “Okay. That was… dangerous.”

You smirk against his skin, pressing another kiss to the same spot. “Thought you liked dangerous.”

“Not when it’s turning me on this fast,” he mutters.

You pull back slightly, hands resting on either side of his waist. “You always talk this much when you’re turned on?”

“Only when my girlfriend’s being a goddamn menace,” he fires back, breathless. “Seriously, who obsesses over waists?”

You roll your eyes and mutter, “I could ride this waist like a fuckin’ pony.”

The words slip out before you can stop them.

And the moment they do, silence falls. Thick. Heavy. Jisung stares at you, eyes wide, mouth parted.

You freeze.

“I— That came out wrong,” you blurt, horrified. “I mean—no, I mean I meant it but I didn’t mean to say it out loud—”

He’s already laughing—choking on it, actually. His whole body shaking, his face buried in his hands as he wheezes, “Oh my god, I’m gonna die.”

“Don’t laugh!” you whine, slapping his arm. “I was trying to be sexy!”

He grins at you through laughter, eyes crinkled with joy. “Baby, that was the sexiest shit I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“You’re such a little shit.”

“And you’re obsessed with my waist. I think we’re even.”

He leans in again, this time with a kiss—soft, deep, lingering. When he pulls back, his voice drops low and rough.

“Go on then,” he whispers, sliding your hand down his waist. “Ride it.”

You straddle him before your brain can catch up, knees sinking into the couch on either side of his hips. His hoodie is bunched halfway up his stomach, putting that sinful waist on full display. And it’s everything — tight, narrow, warm under your hands, moving slightly with every breath he takes like he knows exactly what it’s doing to you.

“God, your waist,” you whisper, dragging your hands over it. “It’s so perfect, Jisung—fuck.”

You lower yourself just enough to feel the line of it press between your legs, right above his bulge. Your clothed pussy meets firm muscle, and you roll your hips slowly—rubbing yourself against his bare skin through your panties, breath catching at the friction.

He watches you, stunned, as if he doesn’t quite believe what you’re doing.

“You’re humping my waist,” he murmurs, eyes wide, lips parted.

You nod, biting your lip. “I fantasize about this all the time. Clinging to it. Grinding on it. Feeling every muscle tighten when you moan.”

He lets out a breathless laugh, but it dies in his throat the moment you start moving again—slow, deliberate rolls of your hips, soaking his skin through the lace of your panties. You moan softly, letting it slip out, high and needy.

“Shit,” he mutters, hands gripping the couch cushions. “Fuck, baby, keep talking.”

“I wanna come like this,” you pant. “Just using your waist. Wanna ruin it. Leave marks. I’ll ride it like it’s the only thing that gets me off—”

That’s the breaking point.

A low growl tears from his throat, and suddenly his hands are on your hips, dragging you down his body until your soaked panties land right on top of his bulge. He bucks his hips once, grinding into you hard.

“You’re gonna come,” he grits out, “but not on my fucking waist.”

You gasp, thighs shaking. “Jisung—”

“You’re gonna come on me,” he growls, already rolling his hips up, grinding his hard length right against your clit through the fabric. “You wanna be filthy? Then be filthy.”

You whimper, body jerking with every grind. The pressure is insane — hot, hard, relentless.

“You feel that?” he breathes, voice ragged. “That’s my cock. And you’re grinding on it like you can’t get enough.”

You moan, forehead pressed to his as you move harder, chasing every ounce of friction between your soaked panties and his thick bulge. Your nails dig into his hoodie, your thighs quivering from how sensitive you already feel. And he just lies there—soaking it in, eyes burning, hands glued to your hips, guiding you over him like he’s fucking you through his clothes.

“Look at you,” he huffs, teeth grazing your jaw. “Wrecking yourself just from this.”

“You started it,” you whisper, lips brushing his. “Lying there in your stupid hoodie… your tiny anime waist… fuck, I couldn’t help it.”

He groans like he’s about to explode.

“You’re such a problem,” he growls, tilting his hips up again, grinding slow and deep until you cry out. “You’ve been fantasizing about this? Rubbing all over me while I just let you use me like some fucking toy?”

You whimper, nodding frantically. “Yes—yes, fuck—”

“Then do it,” he says, breath hot against your ear. “Get off on me.”

His words push you closer to the edge. You’re dripping, panties sticking to you, the only thing separating your swollen clit from the thick heat of his cock is one pathetic layer of cotton. He keeps moving, keeps bucking up into you, grinding deeper with every shift.

You can barely breathe. “I’m gonna—fuck, Jisung, I’m gonna—”

“Come on,” he whispers, voice so tender and rough all at once it nearly breaks you. “Make a mess, baby. Right here, just like this.”

It hits you hard. You tense up, legs shaking, hips stuttering as the orgasm rushes through you—loud, gasping, twitching on top of him as you cry out his name and fall into his chest.

He holds you close, letting you ride it out. His hands stroke your back, soft and grounding.

You’re still gasping for air, body trembling from the aftershocks as your orgasm fades slowly. You’re draped over him, weak and spent, and his hands move soothingly across your back, but there’s a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice rough, but still teasing. “Coming apart just from grinding me .That’s all it took? You’re so fucking sensitive.”

His fingers trail over your skin, brushing softly as his chest rises and falls beneath you, and you feel that familiar knot of frustration building deep inside again.

“You really lost control,” he adds, his breath hot in your ear. “All because of this.” His hands slide down, pressing against his own waist, feeling the muscle beneath. “Is it really this easy for you? Just to come undone from me?”

You groan, biting your lip, desperate for more. “Shut up,” you whisper, but it’s weak. “You know it’s not like that…”

But his voice is a teasing growl now. “Oh, I think I do. You were practically begging to grind on me, to feel me. I could’ve just laid here, and you would’ve come again.”

You lift your head, a mix of embarrassment and arousal heating your face. “I didn’t beg.”

“Hmm.” He chuckles low, a teasing glint in his eyes as he pulls you back against him. “You might not have said it, but you showed me. You don’t even need to say the words, baby. You’re already giving it all away just by touching me.”

He pauses for a second, studying your flushed face with a half-amused smirk.

“Next time, I’m making you beg,” he whispers.

You can feel the heat of your face, the pulsing need between your legs still lingering as he holds you close. He doesn’t let go, his teasing grin never fading .

“Jisung, stop,” you whisper, voice soft amd shy but desperate.

He chuckles softly, brushing your hair from your face gently. “You’re perfect,” he murmurs, his words a low caress. “But for now, well will take a break.... Let you rest… maybe later I’ll let you really beg.”

You shiver at the thought, knowing full well that, despite the teasing, you wouldn’t have it any other way and that u have entered a new territory in your relationship.

[smileysuh]

no face

🌙 starring. Jeon Wonwoo x afab!Reader 

🔮 preview. Wonwoo is even more gorgeous than you’d ever imagined the anonymous No Face being, and this time, when you close your eyes to listen to the cam boy moan, you imagine your history partner above you, his hand down your pants as he rubs you closer and closer to the edge. 

tw/cw. Unprotected sex, mutual masterbation, mention of cam shows/watching cam shows, extreme dirty talk, alter ago dom cam boy Wonwoo, pussy eating oral, multiple reader orgasms, overstimulation, praise, encouragement, multiple sex scenes, fingering, body/breast worship, etc… I pet names: (hers) baby.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 7.6k 

🍭 aus. Svt cam boy au, frat au, university au, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. This is part 1 of a 3 part cam boy svt au. Each story can be read as a stand alone, but exists within the same universe :) Wonwoo is April, Seungcheol is May, and Mingyu will be in June. As soon as all 3 are up, a masterlist will be created, which will then be linked here. 

Prologue:

You never thought you’d be the type of girl to enjoy watching men get off through a computer. But then someone had recommended a cam boy to you, and one video had hooked you unlike anything else.

Being in university isn’t easy. It’s stress on stress on more stress and then a little bit extra stress just to round things out- and sometimes, a girl just has to get her rocks off without worries.

To you, cam boy No Face is the perfect distraction.

This faceless man, who usually films from the shoulders down. There’s something so specific and endearing about him. His pretty veiny hands, forearms showed off by black compression shirts with the sleeves rolled up-

His sounds are also like heaven, and sometimes you close your eyes and just listen to him, imagining he’s the one getting you off.

People talk about the dangers of porn, but fuck it, being a tad addicted to No Face is your own kind of dark chocolate and red wine, and no one is going to make you feel bad about needing an outlet for your pent up sexual energy.

He’s a gamer too, a faceless one the likes of Corpse Husband and Dream (before the face reveal of course), and you love the fact that he’s multidimensional.

When you’re studying, his gaming streams are in the background, and when you’re done studying and ready to reward yourself, it’s straight to his OnlyFans.

Recently, he’s taken to wearing a neon blue accented purge face mask, and you love the way his dark curls obscure around the plastic.

He’s a handsome man, you can just feel it in your bones, and you can feel your orgasm roll through every inch of your entire body every time you cum with the help of No Face.

One:

History classes can be a bit of a bore at times, and as someone of a recluse, you don’t get the joy of friendly chats with other girlies. No, history is your solitary work load, which is why you’re dreading the group project that’s being set up today.

The teacher gives students the benefit of choosing their own partners. This isn’t high school, and your professor knows most people already have connections that work well for this sort of thing… most people. 

You look around as people pair up, and you feel like there’s a frog in your throat. You don’t have it within you to make that leap, to ask someone to be your partner-

Which is when you notice the other antisocial person who sits at the back of the class. He’s handsome, with an angular bone structure. You’ve never once seen him smile, and that mirrored recluse nature throws you off a bit. 

To make matters worse, he has dark curly hair, just like your No Face, and everytime you look at him, your mind conjures up whispered words of encouragement to throw you over the edge, and your panties get wet in history, which is a very inopportune time to be getting horny if you’re honest with yourself.

His eyes meet yours, and you immediately look away, but you can sense him standing up to talk to you.

“Do you have a partner?” he asks.

“Uh… not really.”

“Me neither.”

There’s an xawkward silence for a moment, and then you release a sigh, looking up at him. “So… should we do the project together.”

“Guess that makes sense.” He nods.

You tell him your name, and he introduces himself as Jeon Wonwoo. You exchange details and as he speaks, there’s something even more familiar about him, but you brush it off. 

“So… when are you free?” Wonwoo asks, pulling you out of your daze.

“I could do the library after my last class ends, let’s say four oclock?”

“I’ll see you there.” 

Two:

Wonwoo is easy enough to work with. He’s not very opinionated, and he has let you choose what topic you wanted to work on for your project. Now, the two of you are getting preliminary readings out of the way, looking into the online research that would provide the backbone of your argument for the essay portion.

You find yourself looking at him very frequently, after all, he’s a striking man, and you’re a horny girl who has been so busy doing university courses that you haven’t had the time to get laid in forever.

Your gaze dips, and you stare at his hands as he toys with his pencil. It must be some sort of anxiety calming repetitive behaviour, the way he flicks it, traces his thumb and pointer down the wood, then flicks it again.

As you’re looking at him, you notice the details of his fingers.

Although No Face’s cock is significantly - significantly - bigger than this tiny pencil, the phalic shape is the same. You’ve watched so many No Face videos, and Wonwoo’s fingers are undeniably the same as your favourite cam boy’s. 

You feel like you’ve choked on air, and you look up at Wonwoo, imagining him with that neon blue purge mask.

He’s got the dark hair, the curls- he’s even wearing a black compression shirt today.

“Holy shit,” you whisper, drawing his attention immediately.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing, fuck, uh-” You look away, feeling your skin heat with embarrassment. “It’s just hot in here.”

Wonwoo simply gazes at you, and you find yourself standing up. 

“I’m just going to pop outside for some air,” you tell him, not even waiting for a response as you grab your phone and dart away.

It’s only once you’re under the blue sky, feeling the cool air against your skin, that you’re able to take a moment.

You’re in a group project with your favourite gamer boy OnlyFans model, and you’re going to have to pretend as if you haven’t cum to his videos countless times.

If this is how you’re going to react every time he’s around - skin heating, heart racing, hands getting clammy - well, you’re in deep shit. 

Three:

“No, I swear to God, Tina, my history project partner is No Face!”

Your friend is silent for a moment, simply watching you. “But like… how sure?”

“Tina!” You narrow your eyes at her with exasperation. “You know I watch him religiously!”

Tina nods. “I mean… there are rumours that some of the Sigma Veta Tau frat guys are into the whole cam thing, some of the sororities too.”

“Rumours?”

“Nothing confirmed, obviously, if any of them are in on that whole OnlyFans world, they’re smart enough to not show their faces.” Tina releases a sigh. “There’s a frat party tomorrow at SVT actually, maybe… we should go and I can see Wonwoo for myself.”

“Okay, but! Tina, I’m calling dibs.”

“You can’t call dibs! I showed him to you!” Tina argues.

“This isn’t time for girl code or anything else, I know you watch multiple streamers- No Face is the only one I watch, no one else has ever interested me. And I’m the one who made the connection! Tina, for real. Please.”

She releases a deep groan. “Fuck it. Fine. I guess. But if he hits on me, I’m going for it.”

“I guess you’re wearing a full sweater and showing no skin at the party tomorrow then.”

Four: 

Wonwoo’s shocked to see you at his frat for a party. From being in classes with you for the first part of term, he’s pegged you as a shy and quiet type, much like himself. All month, he’s never seen you speak to anyone. You show up, take your seat at the very back of the room, and don’t open your mouth for anything.

Luckily for Wonwoo, he’s into the shy and quiet type. While his best friends are loud and boisterous, he could never see himself with a party girl, which is why he doesn’t have much of a social battery for being at his frat parties for longer than absolutely necessary. 

Mingyu - the aforementioned loud and boisterous best friend - is next to Wonwoo, and Wonwoo can feel his gaze.

“Are you checking out that girl?” Mingyu asks.

“I have a class project with her,” Wonwoo responds casually, sipping his beer.

“She’s cute.”

Wonwoo simply shrugs, not wanting to divulge too deeply into his interest of you just yet. He’s a careful type, and with his scandalous online alter ego, he has to be.

“You should go get her a drink,” Mingyu continues.

“She’ll be fine.”

“If you don’t get her one, I will.”

Now Wonwoo turns to look at his friend, and the challenging gaze he receives in return makes him sigh. “Fine.”

“That’s my boy!” Mingyu grins, clapping Wonwoo on the back.

Despite Wonwoo’s confident persona online, he doesn’t have much experience with women. He’d gotten into the gaming scene first, learned how to be social and how to talk to followers of all types. Somehow that had translated to making an OnlyFans.

Choi Seungcheol, frat president, had seen his follower number on Twitch, and had suggested the creation of OnlyFans. Sex sells, and the business major had run the numbers. Cheol had broken down that if even one percent of Wonwoo’s following made the transfer to OnlyFans, Wonwoo could be making serious bank every month.

Both men were shocked to find a whopping five percent of Wonwoo’s followers had initially made the move with him to OnlyFans, and since then, that number has only grown.

Wonwoo tries to channel that confidence as he approaches you, and he kind of likes the way you jump when he gently touches your elbow to gain your attention.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you respond, eyes wide. You look like a frozen deer, caught in headlights, and Wonwoo’s not sure if he wants to swerve, or hit this whole thing with full force.

“Want a drink?”

You nod, and Wonwoo leads you to the kitchen, where he finds you a beer.

“I’ve never seen you at one of these things,” he notes, stepping closer to you so you can hear each other over the loud music.

“I’ve never been to one,” you admit. 

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Wonwoo asks next, although, he suspects he already knows the answer.

“Uh… it’s loud.”

“Do you want to move somewhere quieter?”

He notes the way you swallow thickly, the way your pupils blow- but you nod, and Wonwoo once again grabs your arm to gently lead you to a different destination in the house.

His room is on the third floor, and he’s one of the lucky few that doesn’t have a roommate. The sound dies down significantly as soon as the door is shut behind the both of you, and Wonwoo welcomes the reprieve.

“I like your set up,” you tell him, looking around at all the neon blue and the PC set up.

“Yeah, I’m a bit of a gaming fan.”

“I can see that.” You’re quiet for a moment, and then you ask, “What are your favourite games to play?”

“Call of Duty is fun, League of Legends, Fortnite, all the usual ones,” he responds, moving toward his bed, where he takes a seat.

“Ah, right.” You nod, taking a sip of your beer.

“Do you game?”

“I watch gamers more than I play, you know, something to have on in the background while I study.” Your eyes meet, and you quickly look away.

There’s something in your body language that is throwing Wonwoo off, and the fact that you’ve just mentioned you watch streamers is a bit of an indicator that things might not be all that they seem with you.

Could you know who he is?

Was bringing you up here a mistake?

If you’ve ever seen one of his Twitch streams, will you be able to make the connection between him and the room?

It’s not like his streams show a lot of the room, but they show enough- and neon blue is a bit of a signature colour of his. 

Neither of you say anything, and then you take a quick breath. “Anyways, I’m here with my friend Tina, and she’s probably wondering where I am-”

“You should get back to it then,” Wonwoo tells you.

“Yeah. But uh… we’re still on for our library study thing on Monday, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” 

Five:

When No Face puts up a new video on his OnlyFans, you take the opportunity to get a better look at his bedroom.

Two seconds into the video you’re convinced that your quiet history partner is, in fact, the notorious faceless gamer turned cam boy, and it makes your stomach turn into knots.

Is it bad to keep watching this, knowing what you now know?

Is it… disrespectful to Wonwoo to be watching him? To have your hand slowly snaking into your pants as your pussy gets wetter by the second? 

Do you have any chance with him?

Is this whole thing a dream?

You’ve been obsessed with one gamer/cam boy in your life, and suddenly he’s your history partner?

You thank whatever God is out there for this coincidental and miraculous turn of events, and you let out a breath as you begin to toy with your clit, relaxing against your pillows.

No Face has such a pretty cock. It’s the perfect size, and it looks even better with his long, slender fingers wrapped around it.

You listen to his quiet moans, and they urge you to echo them as you masturbate in your room.

Wonwoo’s only ever filmed himself. He’s a strictly solo man… there’s a possibility you have a chance with him romantically - or maybe even just sexually. If he gives you any chance at all, you’ll take it, everything else be damned.

Wonwoo is even more gorgeous than you’d ever imagined the anonymous No Face being, and this time, when you close your eyes to listen to the cam boy moan, you imagine your history partner above you, his hand down your pants as he rubs you closer and closer to the edge. 

Six:

You need at least one citation from a physical book for your report, so today, you and Wonwoo are perusing amongst the shelves, searching for a few titles you have identified for possible quotes.

Your heart is racing just from being near Wonwoo, and you sense his gaze more often than not.

“You okay?” Wonwoo asks.

“Hmm?”

“You’re quiet today.”

“I’m always quiet,” you retort… quietly. 

Wonwoo releases a chuckle, and you think it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him smile. The sight of his pretty pearly whites, the sharp canines, the way his eyes crinkle- it has your stomach erupting with butterflies.

“More quiet than usual,” Wonwoo corrects himself.

“I think you’re more talkative than usual,” you point out.

“Maybe.” 

You take a breath, wondering if you should tell him that you know who he is. 

If you tell him, it’s an admission that you’ve seen his Twitch or his OnlyFans- and you wonder if that will make him uncomfortable.

The two of you are quiet for another couple of minutes, but finally, you can’t take it anymore.

“I’m just going to say it,” you blurt out, drawing his eyes. “I know who you are.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re No Face, aren’t you?”

Wonwoo is quiet.

A groan escapes you. “Fuck, this whole thing is so uncomfortable, I shouldn’t have said anything, because now it’s going to make you uncomfortable-”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” he interjects.

“You’re not?”

Wonwoo shakes his head. “Just wondering which platform you’ve watched me on.”

Your heart lurches violently in your chest, and your throat all but closes up again. You choke a little on your response. “I, uh- I-”

“I’m guessing both,” Wonwoo concludes.

You’re gaze moves down the floor immediately, that familiar heat blooming through your skin, a sign of the embarrassment that surges through you.

“It’s kind of hot that you’ve watched me before,” Wonwoo sighs. “How could you tell it was me?”

“Your hands,” you say meekly.

“My hands?” You can hear the shock in his voice. “Wow, you must watch me a lot.”

“I do,” another half whimpered response, an embarrassed admittance of your cam boy loving ways.

“Don’t be shy about it,” Wonwoo tells you, and he steps closer. You instinctively move back, only for your shoulders to bump into the shelves behind you. It’s interesting how suddenly your history partner has changed from shy boy Wonwoo, to confident cam boy No Face, and you can feel your core getting wetter with each tension fueled moment. “I appreciate you being transparent with me.”

You finally look up at him, and you catch Wonwoo’s gaze dip to your lips.

Before you can even register what’s happening, Wonwoo is leaning in, and your body reacts on it’s own accord.

Your arms throw themselves around the back of his neck, and you press your lips to his. Your chests meet as Wonwoo wraps you in his embrace, his mouth hot as it moves on your own. He pushes you back against the shelves and you can’t even find it within yourself to care that you’re making out with him in a library.

There’s no shame as you make out with Wonwoo, accepting his tongue into your mouth with a delighted groan, there’s only intense pleasure, and an ecstasy like feeling of absolute elatedness that you’ve never experienced in your whole life.

Then- a sound in the periphery of your surroundings makes you jump, and you pull away from Wonwoo, looking around wildly.

“Shit,” you whisper, tearing yourself out of his embrace. “This was- uh, that was- um… I have to go!”

You find yourself running away, and you’re not even sure why. All you know is that you’re completely overwhelmed, and once again, being in the presence of the notorious No Face has you needing air like a fish out of water needs H2O.

Seven:

You shouldn’t be shocked when Wonwoo sits next to you in history class. He doesn’t say anything, but half way through the seminar, his hand moves to your knee.

Your heart is racing in your chest, a mix of anxiety and excitement. He hasn’t reached out to you since you ran away from him in the library, and you have no idea where you stand with him, so instead, you just stare at his hand.

There’s this general sense that you both deeply want each other, and it distracts you all the way until class is over. 

As students stand up around you, hurrying to their next engagements, you turn to look at Wonwoo.

“What are we doing?”

“A project.”

“You know what I mean,” you sigh.

“We’re doing whatever you want.”

“Okay,” you take a breath. “But I’m shy, I don’t normally do hookups, and-”

“I don’t do hookups either.” 

“You don’t?”

“There’s a reason I do solos,” Wonwoo points out.

“I guess that’s true.”

“Does the whole No Face thing bug you?” he enquires.

“Not really,” you admit. “I mean, in this day and age, most people have done it. Not me, but, you know, most people.”

Wonwoo lets out a chuckle, then it dies down. “So… do you want to be there for my next stream? You know, sitting behind the camera, watching?”

You swear it’s as if there’s a flood in your panties, and your heart leaps like a professional olympic high jumper.

“Yes,” you squeak.

Wonwoo smiles broadly. “This will be fun.”

Eight:

You’re sitting on Wonwoo’s bed, body tense with anticipation.

His camera is set up, and it’s the only thing between the two of you as he lounges in his gaming chair.

The neon blue purge mask is obscuring his features, but you can feel his eyes on you. He’s hit the record button, and you’re committed to being a silent watcher as Wonwoo visibly slips into his No Face alter ego.

There’s something about the way his shoulders drop, the way he tilts his head back, exposing his pretty throat as he gets comfortable in the chair.

Wonwoo’s hand drops down to the front of his pants, and he palms himself gently, releasing a sigh.

“Feels good,” he muses, voice deeper than it usually is in every day life. “Wish it was your hands touching me though.” 

Your body tingles with the realization he’s talking to you. Sure, he dirty talks for his shows all the time, but today, it’s different.

Today, No Face is literally talking directly to you, but all his words will be eaten up by his subscribers too. It’s your very own personal cam show, and no one else ever has to know.

“Are you going to get started too, baby?” Wonwoo asks. “I can’t be the only one getting off, and we both know you’re here watching this because you want something in return. So don’t be shy.”

You swallow thickly, heart racing in your chest.

“How about this, I strip tease for you, and in return, you get yourself ready for me?” he suggests.

It’s almost hard to breathe now, but you nod, staring directly at Wonwoo. You know his eyes are on you. At this point, it’s clear he’s ignoring the camera completely, but with his face obscured by the mask, his subscribers will be none the wiser to the true event taking place.

Wonwoo starts by gently lifting up his shirt, exposing hard abs and a lean muscled body that has your core already throbbing with need.

Compression shirts are part of his brand, so Wonwoo stops the teasing there, hands instead dropping to the belt of his black jeans. He’s slow with undoing it, slow with the way his long fingers toy with his button and zipper.

He releases a sigh as he lifts his hips, pushing his pants down to his knees. His thighs bulge where they press against the black leather of his gaming chair, but the bulge in his underwear is even bigger, and it makes you unconsciously lick your lips as your eyes stay glued to every motion.

“Come on, baby, be good for me,” Wonwoo tells you, and it snaps you out of your trance.

You realize you need to be doing something too- that’s the whole intrigue of this. Wonwoo gets off on camera, and you get off behind it. Mutual masturbation, in the sexiest possible form.

Truly no hands on, just self gratification while watching the other pleasure themself.

You remove your shirt, and Wonwoo lets out a groan. “That’s it.”

Deciding to keep your bra on for now, your hands slip to your own pants, and you carefully take them off. 

“Want to see you,” Wonwoo says, palming himself through his underwear.

Your hands are shaking as you remove your panties, body alight with energy. It’s not shyness per se- more like shock that you’re even in this situation.

You want it, so fucking bad, but it’s a truly difficult thing to wrap your head around. This situation is unlike anything you could have imagined in your wildest dreams, and you’ve never been more turned on in your entire life.

You’re now bare on your lower half, and you relax against the bed, lifting your legs so your feet are on the mattress, your pussy spread for Wonwoo.

He releases another deep groan, shifting his own underwear down.

His beautiful cock slaps up against his stomach, and he immediately wraps a hand around it. 

There’s a bottle of lube next to him, and you watch him spurt some onto his palm, when he brings it to his cock again, you begin to touch your pussy.

You start with your clit, drawing slow cirlces while Wonwoo strokes himself, matching your pace.

“Mmm, that’s good,” Wonwoo muses, relaxing back against his gaming chair. His head lolls back, but you know his eyes are still entirely focused on you. “I know you’re feeling good too, aren’t you, baby?”

Since he’s on camera, you know you can’t make a sound, but you nod aggressively, swallowing the lump in your throat as you apply more pressure to your clit.

“That’s it, rub harder,” Wonwoo encourages you. “Bet you’re all nice and wet for me already, huh?”

It’s hard to hold in the moan that threatens to escape you, but you nod again, biting your lip to force yourself not to make a sound.

“I can just imagine your mouth on my cock, sucking me so good,” Wonwoo says. “How I’d grab your hair and help you find a rhythm. Bet you’d kind of love choking on it, love the way tears roll down your cheeks as I use you.”

Your toes curl at his words, and you rub your clit even harder, the knots in your stomach tightening deliciously.

“When you got me to the edge, I’d switch things up. I’d lay you down on the bed, eating you out until you cum on my tongue, until your thighs are shaking around my head. I’d hold you down too, because I know you’d like that. Something tells me you want to be dominated, and I could show you what that’s like.”

It’s as if he’s read your mind, as if he knows you better than you know yourself.

“Once you’re good and ready, I’d finally give you my cock,” Wonwoo groans, increasing the pace of his strokes along his length. “Bet you’d love that, wouldn’t you? Love to have me spreading open your insides and fucking you stupid.”

Your breathing is shaky as you rub your clit, your heart racing in your chest. Your eyes close a little as you focus on the overwhelming sensation of pleasure that’s beginning to blossom inside of you.

“I think you should slip a finger in, baby, imagine it’s mine.”

Your eyes snap open again as you stare at him.

“Come on, do as I say.”

With a shaky hand, you bring your fingers to your core, slipping one into your obscenely wet hole.

“Hmm, that’s it,” Wonwoo groans. “Bet you wish it was bigger though, huh?”

You nod, biting your lip even harder in an effort to control yourself.

“Add another finger then. They’re still not as big as mine, but you can dream, right?”

God, you were not mentally prepared for this.

To be the sole focus of No Face is the most sinfully wonderful thing you could ever experience, and the way your body reacts to his commands- following through without your mind even registering it now-

Wonwoo has you in a daze, and you kind of love it.

“Fuck that pussy with those tiny fingers, baby,” Wonwoo encourages you. “I wanna hear it.”

You’re so wet you’re almost afraid his camera will be able to pick up the sound of your squelching pussy, but fuck it- he’s given you a command so you’ll follow through.

“That’s it, feels good, huh?”

You can see he’s stroking his cock harder, and it makes your mouth begin to salivate as you watch.

“Do you think you’re close, baby?” Wonwoo asks. 

You nod.

“I’m close too, something about this has me hornier than usual. Thinking about tasting you, about fucking you with my fingers then railing you with my cock- you’re doing something to me, baby, and I know I’m doing something to you too.”

You nod again, more enthusiastically this time.

“Rub your clit again, want to watch you cum for me.”

You do as he says, and you bite hard on your lip again, throwing your head back, eyes closing as you focus on the feeling.

Wonwoo begins to moan as he watches you, and you’ve seen enough videos of his to know that this is a sign he’s near the edge too.

You can hear the wet slapping of his lubed hand now, and you know he’s beating himself off hard and fast- you bet he wishes it was your pussy on his cock right now, and it makes your toes curl again as you get closer and closer to your own high.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Wonwoo moans. “Come on, you can cum for me.”

You nod, muscles tightening to an impossible limit-

“That’s it, that’s it-”

Wonwoo’s encouragement throws you over the edge and you fall backward onto his bed, grabbing a pillow to put over your face, muffling your moans as your orgasm washes through you.

Your whole body is throbbing with sexual energy, thighs already shaking as you continue to rub yourself through it- having not received a command that you could stop.

You pray to God that the pillow is enough to muffle your sounds, because the whimpers escaping you are no longer something you can keep in- especially when Wonwoo releases a grunt of his own, a sign that he’s cum too.

A shiver of tingles errupts through you at the notion that he’s tipped over the edge, that the two of you have cum together in a situation like this.

Your mind is practically blank except for this moment, and as your orgasm dies down, you can’t ignore the racing of your heart in your chest.

“That’s a good girl,” Wonwoo groans, voice drawing you back to reality.

You move the pillow away, pulling your hand from your core as you sit up again, blinking at Wonwoo.

He’s cum all over his chest, and it’s a big load too- fuck, part of you wants to just lick it up.

“You were a good girl for me tonight,” Wonwoo says. “Such a good girl.”

He’s gently toying with his cock still, but finally he stops, and after a deep sigh, he turns off the camera.

The two of you sit there in silence for a moment, and once Wonwoo has the cap back on his camera’s lens, he pulls off his mask.

His skin is flushed, and he looks absolutely beautiful. There’s nothing like a post orgasmic glow to bring light to someone’s eyes.

“You good?” he asks, voice returning to its normal tone.

“That was amazing,” you whisper.

“I can’t believe you’re seriously okay with all of this,” Wonwoo admits with a sigh, running a hand through his unruly curls before reaching for some tissue to begin wiping up his mess.

“I am.”

He chuckles. “I can tell you’re overwhelmed though.”

“Maybe a little,” you admit, anticipation bubbling through you.

“I think it’s best if we call it a night.” Wonwoo says, and something sinks within your chest at his words. “I want to fuck you, I do, but… I want to give you time to think about all of this.”

“I have thought about all of this,” you counter.

“You’ve thought about fucking No Face, but off camera, I’m just Wonwoo, and I don’t want you to be disappointed with… the reality of me. No Face is a persona, and I need to know you understand that.”

You consider his words, and nod. “I’ll spend some time thinking about all of this.”

“But we’re still on for studying in a couple of days, right?”

“Regardless of us, we have a project to finish,” you nod. 

Wonwoo smiles. “Thanks for coming today, it made a difference.”

Nine:

The two of you are studying in Wonwoo’s room, and as hours pass by, it’s getting harder and harder for you to focus.

There’s a tension in the space that you could cut with a knife, and your panties have been wet since you arrived.

In the past couple of days, you’ve given the whole situation a lot of thought… and you may have rewatched the camshow you did with him about a hundred times too.

“Wonwoo?” you ask, putting your laptop to the side.

“Hmm?”

“I wanted to talk to you about us.” 

He gives you space to continue and you take a breath. 

“I know that the whole No Face thing is a persona, and while he’s not you, he’s still part of you. Despite that, I like who you are too. You’re calm, and smart, and level-headed- and respectful too. Most men wouldn’t have done what we did and let me go home to process the situation. You could tell I was overwhelmed and you didn’t take advantage of me, which shows you’re respectful too. I think… you and I are kindred souls, and I’d like the opportunity to get to know you better, the real you, not No Face.” 

Wonwoo nods, and you can tell he’s thinking about what you’ve just said. “I want to know you better too. I never thought I’d find a cute, shy girl who would be okay with the whole OnlyFans thing. You’re quiet, but you’re kinky, like me, and I really like that.”

Your skin heats at his words, and a smile works its way onto your lips.

“Doing this project has been great,” Wonwoo continues. “We work well together, and yeah… I like you a lot. I want to give it a try too.”

“Good.” You take a breath, sitting up to move closer to him. “So… I think we’ve done enough studying, don’t you?”

Wonwoo chuckles. “Feeling needy, huh?”

“You’ve got a half chub already, so don’t talk to me about feeling needy,” you tease with a grin.

“Talking back, are you?”

“You said it yourself, you’re not No Face, you’re Wonwoo. No Face is a dominant, but Wonwoo… I’m getting vibes from you that you’re something else.”

He cocks his head to the side, looking at you with a smile. “I guess you know the real me better than I realized.”

“You talk a big game about being a dominant on cam, but… my guess is you’re softer in person, softer like this.” You reach out to stroke his face, and Wonwoo leans into your palm.

“Are you okay with soft?”

“I’m okay with a mixture,” you tell him. “Whatever feels right in the moment.”

“Part of me wants to fuck the shit out of you,” Wonwoo notes. “But… as a first time, another part of me wants to just be nice.”

“Then be nice, you can be rough later, I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

“You better.”

You move his laptop out of the way, swinging your leg over his hips so you can mount him where he’s seated on the bed.

His hands find your waist, and he looks up at you. God, he truly is so beautiful. 

You’ve kissed him before in the library, but that had been all fire, all passion, all pent up tension- as you lean down to press your lips to his now, you get the sense that everything about this interaction will be softer.

He’s not playing off as his alter ego, he knows you accept the real him, that you want to experience Wonwoo tonight, not No Face. 

As amazing as No Face was, you don’t want him to think that’s all you’re here for.

He kisses you gently, one hand moving up to cup your cheek. His tongue is tentative as it runs along your bottom lip, asking for entry instead of demanding it.

You tilt your head a little to make things easier as the kiss deepens, his fingers digging into your hip.

You begin to grind down against him, enjoying the pressure on your clit. He’s already hard, and you know he wants this as badly as you do, which lights a fire in the pit of your stomach.

With one movement, Wonwoo has you both rolling, and you end up with your back pressed to the bed, Wonwoo on top of you.

Now it’s his turn to grind down against you, and you kiss him harder, whimpering against his lips.

One of his hands snakes up to your breast, and he squeezes you through your shirt, groaning at the way you fit in his palm.

“Can I take care of you?” he asks.

“You can do anything you want,” you assure him, heart beating rapidly in your chest.

Wonwoo’s lips move to your throat, and then the swell of your cleavage. You throw your head back, closing your eyes and enjoying the sensation.

He’s gentle when he removes your shirt, followed quickly by your bra, and then his mouth is on your chest again. His lips are soft as they suck on your nipple, his tongue flicking the sensitive bud.

Your hands find their way to his hair, tangling in his curls as you enjoy the worship he’s providing you. Wonwoo takes his time with your breasts, and you can feel your pussy throbbing- you wonder if this is what blue balls feels like for men- this insatiable need to have attention on your core instead of the erogenous zone he’s currently enjoying.

Soon, Wonwoo’s mouth is moving down your body, and he slips onto the floor next to the bed. He takes off your pants and panties, moving slowly as if to give you time to change your mind.

But you’re not going to change your mind.

You want this more than you’ve ever wanted everything, and as he drags you to the edge of the bed, intent on eating your pussy like he’d talked about on cam, you give yourself over to him fully.

His hands massage your legs, and he peppers kisses up your calf, tickling your knee as he moves to your thighs.

Your legs adjust over his shoulders, and his hands grab at your hips as he leans in for his first lick of your pussy.

The contact of his tongue on your clit has you releasing a squeal of delight, your entire boy tingling with pleasure.

You can feel Wonwoo’s eyes on you as he begins to eat you out, his tongue pushing into your wet pussy before flicking back up to your sensitive bud again.

“Feels good!” you tell him, muscles already beginning to tighten with pleasure.

His fingers get a better grip on you, one hand moving to your thigh to hold you in place as he devours you.

He sucks your clit into his mouth and it’s a sensation that has your entire body reacting, the cord in your stomach tightening even more-

No one has eaten you out in practically forever, and to be having a man worship you like this- it’s getting you closer to the edge, faster than anyone else before.

“Shit,” you whimper, tangling your fingers in his hair again, back arching as the pleasure begins to build.

Wonwoo doesn’t relent, he eats you out like a starved man, his eagerness only growing with each second-

Your whimpers are getting louder, the sensation building more and more-

“I’m gonna cum!” you announce, eyes clenching shut as you teeter on the edge-

Suddenly two fingers are slipping into your pussy, crooking up so his digits can touch your sweet spot, at the same time, he sucks roughly on your clit and that’s all it takes to make you cum.

You gasp, your orgasm exploding inside of you unlike any other.

It’s all consuming in the best possible way, your body throbbing with unknown pleasure.

Wonwoo continues to finger fuck you, working you through it as wave after wave of ecstasy consumes you.

Your clit is almost too sensitive now, your thighs shaking, muscles beginning to hurt from the power of your high.

“Fuck, Wonwoo-” you whimper, pushing at his head.

He pulls away from your clit, his fingers slowing inside of you, and you can feel his eyes.

“You good?” he asks.

“Fuck, that was so good-” you groan, another shiver erupting through you when he strokes your inner walls again. “Need more.”

“Need what?”

“Your cock,” you tell him. “Need it so bad.”

“I’ll grab a condom,” Wonwoo muses, pulling his fingers out of your pussy only to plop them into his mouth.

As he stands, you freeze. “Wait! I’m on birth control!”

He stops, looking down at you. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure I’m on birth control, yes.”

“No, I mean, are you sure about unprotected sex?”

“Well… I’m clean,” you point out. “I haven’t had sex in forever-”

“Me neither,” he admits. “Other than, you know, sex with my own hand.”

You stare at him for a moment, and from the way he cracks a smile, you know he’s making a joke. So you begin to laugh too.

“How have we both not gotten laid in a while?” you ask.

He shrugs. “Guess we’re both pretty shy.”

“And school is busy,” you point out.

“School, gaming and OnlyFans is definitely a lot,” he agrees, pulling off his shirt then kicking down his pants. “Move up to the pillows for me, want you to be comfortable.”

You do as he says, watching eagerly as he gets fully naked for you. 

God, his cock is even prettier up close, and you bite your tongue as he gets onto the bed with you. Your legs wrap around his hips instinctively, and you pull him in for a passionate kiss.

He begins to grind down against you, stimulating your oversensitive clit in a way that has you squealing with delight.

“I like your sounds,” Wonwoo muses, lips moving to your throat and ear, where he gently bites your lobe. “Was a shame I didn’t get to hear them during the cam show.”

“I tried to be good and quiet for you.”

“You were very good for me,” Wonwoo groans, voice dropping into the No Face cadence, which has your stomach flip flopping, pussy getting even wetter.

Wonwoo reaches between your bodies, adjusting the tip of his cock to your pussy. “You said you haven’t been fucked in a while,” he muses, “so if this hurts, or you need me to go slow, or stop-”

“I’ll be fine,” you assure him, cupping his face. “Just fuck me, please.”

Wonwoo kisses you then, slowly pushing his rock hard cock into you as you whimper and claw at his shoulders.

He fills you so well- your inner walls finally receiving attention from a real sized cock after way too long.

Your fingers - hell, even his fingers - don’t do his full length justice, and it feels like heaven once he’s fully bottomed out.

You both release a low groan, your toes curling with pleasure.

“I’m good,” you tell him, pressing kisses to his throat as your fingers explore his broad shoulders. “Feels good.” 

“You feel good,” he counters, beginning to move.

The drag of his cock along your core has you groaning, eyes closing as pleasure consumes you.

“Shit,” you whimper, holding him tighter.

“Shit,” Wonwoo echos again, picking up his pace.

You lay there, enjoying everything he’s giving you. As himself, Wonwoo’s not much of a talker, but you’re okay with that. The two of you simply gasp and moan as conversation, and you enjoy the feral aspect of sex, the part where you’re both overcome by the feeling of each other, so overcome that words aren’t even necessary.

Wonwoo presses his lips to yours again, kissing you fiercely as he fucks you harder and harder, until his bed is rocking and you’re scared people outside his door will be able to hear you moaning. 

But part of you doesn’t even care, you don’t want to hold yourself back with Wonwoo anymore, not like you did when he was on cam. No, you want him to hear every whimper, every groan, every squeal of pleasure as he fucks you better than anyone else ever has.

There’s a connection here, a spark, and it lights a fire inside you as Wonwoo fucks you for the very first time.

It’s passionate as you remain lip locked, your hands grabbing at his strong shoulders.

You don’t even care that it’s clear this will be a one position fuck session. Missionary has always been one of the more boring ways to fuck, but with Wonwoo- it’s downright magical. There’s nothing like it, being pressed chest to chest- as close as you can be as you do this.

Wonwoo’s groans are magic too, and they have your pussy throbbing depserately around him-

Then he slips his hand between your bodies, rubbing your clit-

Your pussy clamps down on him, a gasp escaping you as you break the kiss to look up at him.

“Want you to cum with me,” Wonwoo groans. “Please.”

You can’t respond, all you can do is focus on the building sensation- and in no time at all, you’re tipping over the edge with a loud moan.

Wonwoo returns your sound with a grunt, burying his face against your throat as he cums with you.

Your pussy throbs around him, milking Wonwoo of all he’s worth as he moans in your ear, fucking you through it all.

His hair is tickling your cheek, but you can’t even care as the orgasm swells through you like the waves of a warm summer ocean.

Your chests are still pressed together, and you can feel the beating of his heart. It’s almost dizzying, feeling this connected to another person, and it leaves your mind blank as you enjoy it.

Your arms are wrapped around him, cuddling Wonwoo close as his motions come to a stop, and then you just pant together, doing your best to catch your breaths.

You stroke his hair, releasing a deep sigh.

Wonwoo presses one last kiss to your throat before pulling away. “How do you feel?” he asks.

“Perfect.”

Wonwoo grins. “Me too.” 

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! This was so fun to write, I can't wait to explore this au more in other chapters!

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below! 

🔮 preview. You know there will be no more rough housing, no more use of the paddle, because No Face might be somewhat of a sadist, but Wonwoo is a pussy whipped softie, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, foreplay, dirty talk, blow job, pussy eating, hand job, commanding/dominant alter ago Wonwoo, use of paddle, impact play, pain kink, fingering, slight sadism Wonwoo, multiple reader orgasms, mentions of sex toys, creampie, etc…   I petnames. (hers) baby.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 3k I teaser wc. 110

🌙 starring. Jeon Wonwoo x afab!Reader

bonus

You love Wonwoo. You love him for all that he is, No Face and all, and you also love that despite his online alter ego, he’s very soft and giving in bed. However… sometimes, you just want to be man handled and dirty talked until your head spins, and your lovely boyfriend is more than willing to provide that for you on special occasions.

Today is your birthday, and after you’re done classes, you go back to your apartment to shower and get ready.

You’ve bought a very sexy outfit. Garter connected fishnets, a black push-up bra, a corset, sexy high heels, and a thong to complete the whole look.

☀️ to read the full fic AND 3k bonus NOW, subscribe to my Patreon, then click here

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[bjlipss]

— until the quiet finds you;

༉‧₊˚. synopsis: you’re 24, a single mom just trying to survive off of temporary jobs—until a chance elevator ride with gojo satoru, the too-charming ceo of gojo industries, shifts everything. what starts as coffee and kindness slowly turns into something real. but when you’ve spent the last 2 years in survival mode, learning to trust might be the hardest thing of all.

contents: ceo!gojo x single mom!reader, slow burn-ish, slice of life maybe? fluff, some angst, trust issues ig, very exhausted reader, eventual smut, office setting, i will add warnings as the story goes on! current word count: 9,6k. header art: @_3aem on X.

miyan’s notes: i’m so sorry for the long wait!!! i hope you guys enjoy this :))

chapter 1 <- chapter 2 -> chapter 3

mornings start early.

too early, if you’re being honest.

tomo wakes up around five-thirty these days—grumpy, half-hungry, and somehow full of energy despite not sleeping through the night. it’s a cruel magic, the way babies defy exhaustion with wide eyes and flailing limbs, like they’re immune to the laws of physics.

you’ve mastered the art of one-handed bottle prepping and diaper changes in the dark. your body moves on autopilot now: shuffle to the kitchenette, warm the bottle while bouncing tomo on your hip, whisper soothing nonsense into his ear even though your eyes are barely open. the floorboards creak like they’re complaining. the fridge hums. the radiator clicks. it’s a tired symphony you’ve come to know by heart.

by six, you’re both on the floor, surrounded by plastic stacking rings, a half-eaten teething cracker, and the giraffe tomo loves chewing on more than any pacifier you’ve ever bought. the news plays low in the background, not that you’re listening. it’s just noise—something to fill the quiet and keep your mind from spiraling.

your apartment is small. one room that serves as bedroom, nursery, and living space all at once. the kitchenette is barely a step away from the foot of your mattress. the bathroom door doesn’t close all the way unless you jiggle it just right. there’s a crack in the ceiling you’ve learned to stop noticing, and the window sticks if you try to open it too fast. the wallpaper near the radiator is peeling like sunburn.

but it’s yours. it’s warm. it’s safe.

barely paid for, held together with goodwill and duct tape, but clean enough that you can pretend. pretend this isn’t the furthest you’ve ever felt from the version of yourself you used to be.

tomo babbles through most of his morning bottle, half-asleep in your lap, his tiny fingers tangled in the fabric of your stretched-out cardigan. sometimes you just sit there like that, still and quiet, the two of you curled up on the thin rug, watching the light crawl through the blinds while the rest of the world wakes up without you.

this morning is no different.

except it is.

because today marks a week since your temporary shift at gojo industries.

a week since the elevator. the accidental coffee date. the skyline office. him.

you’ve stared at that business card more times than you’d like to admit. it lives on the windowsill now, right beside the sad little basil plant that’s somehow hanging on by a thread—much like you. you water it out of habit, even though the leaves are already curling. something about it makes you feel less like you’re failing. like maybe hope is still salvageable.

his number is written on the card in looping, swooping handwriting. only if you say yes, he’d said.

you’re not.

you don’t think you are.

but every day, that little white card weighs heavier in your chest. the possibility of something better. something different. terrifying and fragile and real.

gojo satoru offering you a job felt like something out of someone else’s story. not yours. someone with options. someone with time. someone without a baby strapped to their chest and formula stains on their shirt and a bank account that makes your stomach hurt to look at.

and yet his voice keeps echoing in your mind.

you shouldn’t have to choose between your kid and your career.

you wish that didn’t make you want to cry.

you think about the day everything changed.

you were sitting in your old boss’s office, clutching a printout of your blood test results with fingers that wouldn’t stop shaking. the numbers were clear. the double lines were real. and in that moment, the version of you that had worked late nights, prepped pitch decks, graduated with honors, mapped out five-year plans—she disappeared.

your ex didn’t stick around long. he panicked. said all the right wrong things. “it’s not the right time.” “we’re too young.” “you’ll ruin your future.” then he ghosted, like a bad memory you still dream about.

your mother didn’t react much better.

she stared at you like you were an alien. like she didn’t know the girl sitting in front of her. you can still hear her voice—tight, cold, disappointed.

“you had potential.”

“you could’ve done something with your life.”

“don’t expect me to clean up after your mess.”

you chose tomo anyway.

and that choice cost you nearly everything.

she stopped calling. stopped asking. months passed in silence. and when the silence finally broke, her voice was always clipped, edged with guilt and bitterness. she never apologized. never asked if you were okay. just called occasionally, like she wanted to check if you were still struggling.

today, the phone buzzes on the counter like it knows.

you glance at the screen. mom.

you hesitate. but you answer.

“hello?”

“so,” she says, immediately, “did you find another temp job yet?”

no hello. no warmth. no curiosity about her grandson.

just judgment in the shape of a question.

your jaw tightens. “i’m figuring it out.”

a pause.

“you know, if you’d just moved back in with us when i asked, you wouldn’t be scraping by in a shoebox. but no, you always have to be so independent.”

tomo stirs in your lap, sensing the shift in your energy. you press a hand to his back, trying to stay calm.

“i’m doing the best i can.”

“well, your best clearly isn’t good enough if you’re still struggling. maybe if you’d listened to me before getting involved with that deadbeat—”

you hang up.

not intentionally. not dramatically. just… automatically.

your hand moves faster than your brain.

the silence afterward is deafening. it fills your ears, your chest, your throat. you press your lips together. hard. try to blink the heat out of your eyes.

tomo reaches up. his hand brushes your cheek.

and you break.

quietly. completely.

because this isn’t just about a phone call. it’s about every time you’ve felt like a disappointment. every time someone looked at you and only saw a mistake. every time you told yourself this is enough, even when it wasn’t.

you hold tomo close. breathe him in. he smells like oatmeal and baby soap and home. he looks up at you with those big, blinking eyes like you are his whole world.

and maybe that’s what makes your hand move.

you reach for your phone. pull the business card off the sill. trace your thumb across his name.

gojo satoru.

you open your messages.

type. delete. type again.

your fingers are trembling.

then, finally, you hit send:

hi. it’s me.

i’ve been thinking.

can we talk?

you stare at the message. the little “delivered” icon pops up. the screen goes still.

tomo gurgles softly, gnawing on his fingers like he knows something’s shifted.

you exhale slowly. your heart is pounding.

you don’t know if this is the right decision. you also don’t expect an immediate reply.

gojo satoru strikes you as the kind of man who’s constantly busy—meetings and contracts and boardrooms with floor-to-ceiling windows. the kind of man who probably has three phones, all managed by assistants in suits sharper than your best kitchen knife. the kind of man who silences his personal messages after a certain hour because nothing is ever that urgent. who leaves people on read because he can. because that’s what powerful people do.

and you’re not anyone important. you’re a temp who spilled coffee on her blouse and once cried in the break room over an expired granola bar.

so when your phone buzzes—less than two minutes after you hit send—your breath stutters.

come by the office tomorrow.

10 a.m.

i’ll be waiting.

no emoji. no fluff. no awkward exclamation point to soften the impact.

just quiet, grounded certainty.

like he already knew you’d say yes.

like this was never a gamble to begin with.

you stare at the message, rereading it so many times it starts to blur. your thumb hovers over the screen, like you might reply. like you might ask, are you sure? but your heart is already racing, too fast, too loud. you can hear it in your ears.

tomo babbles beside you, kicking his chubby legs on the couch cushions and patting your knee like he’s trying to get your attention. like he can feel the shift in the air. the electric current in your chest.

“baby,” you whisper, eyes still on the screen, “what are we doing?”

he offers you a gummy, two-toothed smile in response. utterly unbothered. utterly safe.

ten a.m.

you don’t even have clean dress pants.

panic clicks in like a switch.

you check the time—already past seven—and scramble to your feet. tomo lets out a squawk of protest as you scoop him up and carry him to the bouncer, apologizing softly as you buckle him in. he’s tired, cranky, but mercifully distracted by the blinking toy lights and the soft jingle of the hanging elephant.

you dart to your closet—a shallow thing wedged into the wall, the sliding door forever off-track—and rifle through hangers with increasing despair.

you pull out your nicest blouse. cream-colored, once. now vaguely off-white, with a few suspicious stains near the cuff and a hem that’s coming undone. still, it’s the only one without a cartoon character or formula spit-up on it, so it wins by default. you toss it onto the bed. dig out the one pair of black pants you haven’t worn to death, and hold them up with a silent prayer. they might still fit.

your stomach clenches.

you turn on the iron—cheap, secondhand, missing the water cap—and lay the blouse flat on a towel. the fabric hisses under the heat. it smells faintly of lavender detergent and old stress. you imagine walking into that skyscraper tomorrow, the doors opening with a soft chime, gojo standing there in his tailored suit, smiling like this is all perfectly normal.

and you—creased blouse, worn shoes, baby bag slung over one shoulder—walking toward him like you belong.

you don’t. not really. but maybe you want to.

and that want is dangerous.

you glance over at the business card on your windowsill again, resting beneath your sad little basil plant that’s more stem than leaves. it’s been there all week—untouched, waiting, like it knew you’d cave eventually.

you didn’t text him because you were ready.

you texted him because you were tired.

tired of shrinking. of pretending. of feeling like the world is slipping through your fingers while you juggle formula prices and unpaid bills and the lingering voice of your mother in your head.

you smooth the blouse down with your palm and stare at the makeshift outfit on your mattress.

it’s not perfect. it’s not polished or expensive or anything that screams “CEO material.” but it’s yours and it’s important.

your chest tightens in a way that’s hard to explain. not panic. not dread. just the slow, aching stretch of something you haven’t let yourself feel in a long time:

hope.

not the glittery, unrealistic kind.

but the quiet, stubborn version. the kind that crawls into your lungs when you let your guard down for half a second. the kind that whispers, maybe this time it’s different.

maybe this time, someone actually means it.

you scoop tomo into your arms. press a kiss to his soft, downy hair.

“we’ve got somewhere to be tomorrow,” you murmur.

he yawns, already half-asleep.

you sit on the edge of the bed, phone in hand, blouse cooling behind you, and stare at gojo’s message again.

10 a.m.

you don’t know what’s waiting on the other side of that elevator.

but you’ll be there.

and for the first time in what feels like forever—

you don’t feel alone walking toward it.

you step into the lobby of gojo industries at 9:56.

the security guard waves you through this time without a second glance. someone must’ve cleared your name.

you glance down at yourself once more. sweater neat. hair in place. tomo fast asleep in his carrier, his little nose pressed against your collarbone. you adjust the strap on your shoulder and exhale.

the elevator ride feels faster than last time.

you keep one hand against the cool metal of the wall and the other cradled under tomo’s bottom, grounding yourself with his soft, rhythmic breathing. you’re not sure what to expect when the doors open.

but you don’t expect him to be standing right there.

no assistant. no buffer. just gojo, leaning casually against the frame of his office doorway in a dark slate suit and a crisp white shirt, no tie, sleeves rolled up. he’s looking at his phone until the soft ding draws his eyes up—and when he sees you, he smiles.

not the cocky grin you’ve seen before.

something gentler.

welcoming.

“you came,” he says simply.

you nod, a little breathless. “i said i would.”

“yeah, but people say a lot of things.” his gaze drops briefly to tomo, then back up. “you look good.”

you huff a laugh. “i feel like a walking spit-up rag.”

he steps aside, gesturing for you to come in. “then you wear it well.”

you follow him into the office.

the space is just as pristine as you remember—sunlight spilling through the windows, soft leather couches, a faint scent of something expensive and citrusy hanging in the air. it should feel intimidating.

but it doesn’t.

maybe because he doesn’t make it feel that way.

“sit wherever you want,” he says. “can i get you anything? water? tea? another overpriced pastry?”

you blink. “…you remembered.”

“how could i forget? you were seconds away from stabbing me with a plastic fork.”

you snort, easing down onto the couch and shifting tomo slightly. he stirs but doesn’t wake. gojo sits across from you, legs crossed, that same calm expression on his face.

“i’m glad you texted,” he says.

you nod slowly. “i wasn’t sure if i should.”

“you should’ve.” he leans forward, elbows on his knees. “and i’m not just saying that to be polite.”

you study him. his tone, his posture, his eyes.

he’s serious.

“i’m not just saying that to be polite,” he says again, gaze steady.

you believe him. and that’s maybe the strangest part of all this—how easy it is to believe him. you’re used to sugarcoated pity, to people who speak in soft tones and wide eyes, offering hollow compliments as if they’re handing out charity. but with gojo, there’s none of that. just… honesty.

you look down at tomo, curled safe against you, and then back at him.

“so,” you say cautiously, “what exactly does ‘come by the office’ mean?”

he grins, leans back into the couch. “well, that depends. are you here because you’re curious, or are you here because you’re ready?”

you frown a little. “i’m here because i’m desperate.”

“wrong answer,” he replies, shaking his head. “try again.”

you blink. “excuse me?”

“you’re not here because you’re desperate. you’re here because you’re smart. because you’ve done the math. because you know you’re capable and tired of pretending that barely scraping by is some noble sacrifice.” he tilts his head. “desperation didn’t get you here. you did.”

you sit there, stunned.

“…that was weirdly motivational.”

“i’ll take that as a compliment.” he claps his hands once, like he’s shifting into business mode. “okay. here’s what i’m offering.”

your breath catches.

“there’s an open position in operations. mid-level, but room to grow. salary’s decent. benefits are better. part of your contract would include an in-office childcare stipend—either on-site or third-party, depending on what makes you more comfortable. i don’t want you worrying about coverage. i want you here.”

“what would i… be doing?”

“project tracking. internal comms. streamlining client onboarding. we’ve got systems in place, but they’re clunky. we need someone who can translate chaos into clarity. from what i’ve read about you—and what i’ve seen—you’re built for that.”

you stare at him.

he says it so matter-of-factly. like this isn’t some massive life change. like he’s not throwing you a rope in the middle of the ocean.

“gojo—”

“satoru,” he corrects gently. “you can call me satoru.”

“okay, satoru…” you exhale slowly. “i haven’t done this in a long time. i’m… rusty.”

“so oil the hinges,” he says. “you’re allowed to learn. you’re allowed to be human. hell, i’m winging half of what i do on any given day. we all are.”

your lips twitch into the smallest smile.

“i haven’t even updated my resume in years.”

“don’t care. i’ve already seen it.”

“…i don’t have a suit.”

“neither do half the engineers here. you’ll be fine.”

you look down, suddenly blinking back tears. you don’t even know why—nothing he’s said is new. he offered this before. said all of it, more or less. but hearing it again, spoken so clearly, with no condescension, no caveats—it hits different.

because he doesn’t just believe in your potential.

he treats it like a fact.

“you okay?” he asks, voice softer now.

you nod, throat tight. “yeah. just… processing.”

“that’s fair.”

a long pause stretches between you.

outside, the city glows gold and glass, the skyline catching every shard of morning sun.

“you don’t have to decide today,” he says gently. “you don’t owe me anything. this offer doesn’t expire.”

you nod again. then, after a beat: “you always this generous with your temps?”

he shrugs. “only the ones who make me laugh and threaten me with forks.”

you laugh, watery and real.

“okay,” you whisper. “okay. i’ll think about it.”

he smiles.

and something in you—something small and scared—starts to breathe again.

“can i ask you something?” you say quietly, after the laughter fades.

gojo’s still watching you—relaxed, open, sleeves rolled up, tie askew like he’s not the ceo of anything. like he’s just… someone. someone who happened to be in the elevator at the right time.

he nods. “sure.”

“why me?”

he doesn’t look surprised by the question. if anything, it seems like he’s been waiting for it.

“because you didn’t flinch,” he says simply.

you frown. “what do you mean?”

“the elevator. the first day. tomo crying. the phones blowing up. half the execs acting like you didn’t exist—and you just handled it. no panic, no fake smiles. just you, doing what needed to be done.” he leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “most people would’ve crumbled. you didn’t.”

you look down at your lap, cheeks hot.

“i didn’t really have a choice.”

“you still could’ve walked away.”

“yeah, well.” you adjust tomo gently in your arms. “he deserves better.”

gojo smiles, slow and thoughtful. “so do you.”

those three words settle heavy in your chest—simple, but seismic.

“i think you’ve been underestimated your whole life,” he continues. “and now you’re doing the same to yourself. i’m not offering you a favor. i’m offering you a damn seat at the table. because you’ve earned it. even if no one ever told you that before.”

you blink fast, because now your eyes are stinging.

you’re so tired of fighting for space. so tired of squeezing yourself smaller, of pretending you don’t want more than survival. you forgot what it even felt like to have someone see you.

and now—this.

him.

“i don’t know if i’ll be good at it,” you say honestly.

gojo tilts his head, then grins. “so what? that’s what training is for. you’re not a robot. you’re not supposed to be perfect.”

“i just… i’m scared,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “what if i mess it up?”

he doesn’t even hesitate. “then you try again.”

a beat.

“i’ll make mistakes.”

“great. so does everyone.”

“i might cry in the bathroom.”

“we’ve got tissues. very soft ones.”

you huff a laugh, wiping at your eyes.

“you’re really not letting me talk myself out of this, huh?”

“nope,” he says, popping the p. “not a chance.”

you breathe, deep and slow. then again.

tomo stirs in your arms, his little face smushing into your chest, a soft snuffle escaping him. instinctively, you run a soothing hand along his back, and the motion calms you, too.

“okay,” you say, finally. “i’ll take the job.”

gojo doesn’t cheer. doesn’t fist-pump or throw confetti. he just smiles—warm, genuine, and full of something you can’t quite name.

“good,” he says, voice softer now. “i was hoping you’d say that.”

another silence settles between you. this one gentler. easier.

you feel it now—that strange, tentative hope curling inside your ribs.

“i’ll email you the contract this afternoon,” gojo says as he stands. “start date’s flexible, but i’d love to get you onboard by next week. sound good?”

“yeah,” you breathe. “that sounds… really good.”

you shift tomo and rise slowly, adjusting the strap across your shoulder. he walks you to the door, hands in his pockets.

“i mean it,” he says one last time. “whatever you need—childcare, flexibility, mentorship—ask. you’re not doing this alone.”

you nod, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from crying again.

“thank you,” you whisper.

he holds your gaze a moment longer, then smiles, just a little crooked.

“you’re welcome.”

──────────────────────

you wake before your alarm.

not because tomo stirs—miraculously, he’s still asleep—but because your body is brimming with something close to anticipation. not quite excitement. not quite dread. somewhere in the middle. like standing at the edge of a cold pool, toes skimming the surface, heart hammering.

you watch him for a few seconds—your son, curled like a little comma under his blanket, his mouth slack with sleep. it’s rare to catch him this still. your phone says 5:38 a.m., but you already know you won’t fall back asleep.

today’s your first day.

you don’t let yourself overthink it. you can’t.

you just move through the motions—bottle, diaper, quiet lullabies hummed through trembling lips. you pull on the outfit you ironed last night (twice, just to be sure). hair pinned, blouse tucked. cheap drugstore concealer dabbed under tired eyes. you look… okay. passable. maybe even competent, if no one looks too close.

you drop tomo off with the woman from down the hall—mrs. suzuki, kind-eyed and no-nonsense, who agreed to help watch him for a few hours while you figure out the new schedule. she pats your shoulder and tells you to “go get ‘em, tiger,” which is strange coming from someone old enough to be your grandmother. but you smile anyway.

your bus is late, of course.

and then it’s crowded.

and then a man steps on your foot and doesn’t apologize.

by the time you reach gojo industries, your nerves are twisted tight in your chest, coiled like piano wire.

you recognize the lobby immediately—same pristine floors, same enormous glass windows spilling light in from every direction. same elevator.

you press the button with a shaky breath.

this time, it opens right away.

no crying babies. no spilled coffee. just the quiet whir of movement and your reflection in the mirrored walls, staring back at you like she’s still not sure this is real.

the 27th floor is sleek and intimidating. desks arranged in polished rows, computer monitors blinking to life. the sound of typing, soft chatter, the smell of fresh espresso. people move with purpose, confident and dressed like they know what they’re doing.

you do not feel like you know what you’re doing.

but you walk forward anyway.

“you must be our new admin,” a voice says cheerfully from a nearby desk.

you glance over. a woman—probably mid-thirties, stylish, smart eyes—rises and offers you a smile and a handshake.

“i’m rika. i work in project development. gojo told me to expect you.”

you nod, fumbling briefly before managing a proper handshake. “nice to meet you.”

“he’s in his office,” she says. “go on in. don’t worry—he’s actually on time today, which is a miracle.”

you give a nervous laugh and thank her, crossing the floor with stiff steps. the glass door bears his name in gold letters—GOJO SATORU, CEO—and your reflection wavers as you lift a hand to knock.

“come in,” he calls, already grinning as you open the door.

he’s standing by the window, suit jacket draped over the back of his chair, shirt sleeves rolled up, hands in his pockets. casual. like he’s been waiting.

“you came,” he says, like he didn’t expect anything else.

you nod, closing the door behind you.

“i did.”

“and you’re still standing. impressive.”

“barely,” you admit, and that earns a warm chuckle.

“well,” he gestures to the empty seat across from his desk. “welcome to your first day. let’s make it a good one.”

—

he starts simple.

“i’m not throwing you into the deep end,” he says, sliding a stack of neatly printed documents across the desk. “no terrifying spreadsheets. no corporate jargon. not yet, anyway.”

you glance down at them. a list of contacts. an office map. a gentle breakdown of your responsibilities in plain, human language.

“you’ll be assisting rika mostly,” he explains, leaning back in his chair with a lazy sort of ease. “she runs project development and needs someone organized, fast-thinking, and impossible to intimidate.” he grins. “you’ve survived parenthood and public transit—i think you qualify.”

you huff a breath of laughter, nerves dissolving just a little. “what exactly does assisting her involve?”

“scheduling, emails, helping prepare reports, making sure our more chaotic team members don’t miss deadlines.” he pauses. “also, making sure i remember to eat lunch.”

you blink.

“i’m serious,” he says, holding up a hand. “rika tried. she gave up after a month.”

you shake your head, smiling despite yourself. “so i’m… part-time executive babysitter?”

“exactly.” he flashes you a thumbs-up. “you’re gonna be great.”

—

the first hour is mostly learning names. faces. passwords. where the emergency coffee stash is kept. your desk is tucked near the back corner—small, but sunlit, with a decent chair and a drawer that doesn’t stick. someone left a little sticky note on the monitor that says “welcome!” in loopy handwriting. you suspect rika.

it’s… quiet. peaceful. structured.

your fingers move cautiously over the keyboard as you set up your email. every so often, someone walks by with a nod or a friendly smile, but no one overwhelms you. rika checks in once with a smooth, “doing okay?” and offers you half a croissant from the breakroom.

by noon, you’ve sent your first batch of confirmation emails and helped organize a messy meeting schedule. nothing exploded. no one yelled. no one looked at you like you didn’t belong.

that alone feels monumental.

you eat lunch by the window—just a sad little sandwich from home, but it tastes better than usual. there’s a sense of calm in your chest you haven’t felt in… months.

and just as you’re finishing, someone taps on your desk.

“you didn’t remind me to eat,” gojo says, holding up his own sad little bento with an exaggerated pout. “you’re already failing me.”

you give him a flat look. “you’ve been in meetings since nine.”

“excuses, excuses.”

but he’s teasing, light and warm, and you find yourself rolling your eyes in a way you haven’t in a long time.

“how’s day one?” he asks after a beat.

you hesitate, then tell the truth. “better than i expected.”

he nods. “you’ll settle in fast. just don’t be afraid to ask questions. or tell me if someone gives you trouble. or if you need time for tomo. that’s not negotiable.”

the mention of your son tugs something deep in your chest.

“…thank you.”

“don’t mention it.” his voice drops, just a touch.

and then he walks off, humming to himself, leaving you blinking at the space he left behind.

—

by late afternoon, your fingers ache a little, but it’s the good kind of tired—earned and real. you check your phone. mrs. suzuki sent a picture of tomo gnawing on a rattle, cheeks flushed and eyes wide. your heart stutters.

you text her a thank-you. linger on the photo for a few seconds. then gently set the phone aside and return to your screen.

you’re not just surviving today.

you’re working.

you’re rebuilding.

you’re here.

──────────────────────

you make it to five o’clock without breaking anything. without crying, freezing up, or doubting your right to be here.

that, in itself, feels like a small miracle.

you pack up slowly—careful, quiet, your hands moving on autopilot as your brain replays the day like a reel. names and notes and little victories. no disasters. no one looking at you like you’re fragile or temporary.

just… steady, real work.

you’re slipping your bag over your shoulder when you hear his voice.

“heading out?”

you glance up, startled. gojo’s leaning against the nearest cubicle wall, jacket slung over one shoulder, tie loose around his neck. the office has mostly cleared, the usual hum of chatter and clacking keys now faded into evening stillness.

“yeah,” you say, adjusting your strap. “just—finishing up.”

he nods, eyes skimming over you—sharp, but not in a way that makes you nervous. just observant. curious.

“you taking the train?”

you blink. “um. yeah.”

a pause.

then, casually: “let me give you a ride.”

you stare at him. “what?”

he shrugs. “i’ve got my car downstairs. you’ve had a long first day. let me drive you.”

“you really don’t have to—”

“i know.” he smiles, boyish and light, like it’s no big deal. “but i want to.”

you hesitate. not because you don’t trust him—surprisingly, impossibly, you are more inclined to do rather than not—but because it’s been so long since someone offered without expecting something in return.

you grip your bag a little tighter. “it’s kind of out of the way…”

“lucky for you,” he says, already turning toward the elevator, “i’m rich and have no concept of time or fuel efficiency.”

you snort and something in his expression softens, like he’s glad he made you laugh.

“you sure?” you ask again.

“deadly.”

so you follow him.

his car is sleek, smooth, dark inside and out. it smells like leather and mint gum and something expensive you can’t name. the stereo’s turned down low—some mellow instrumental track pulsing like background noise.

he drives like he talks. relaxed. confident. one hand on the wheel, the other draped across his knee.

for a while, it’s quiet. the good kind. you watch the city roll by, neon signs blurring past. he doesn’t fill the silence, doesn’t ask questions he knows you’re too tired to answer. he just lets it be.

after a while, he glances over. “you hungry?”

“a little,” you admit. “but i’ve got leftovers at home.”

“hm.” he taps the wheel. “well, if you ever want something better than sad fridge rice, i know a great takeout place.”

“is this part of the job?”

“mandatory,” he says solemnly. “nobody works well when they’re underfed and miserable.”

you smile again—smaller this time, but real. “noted.”

he pulls up in front of your building without asking for directions. you don’t know why that doesn’t surprise you.

you glance up at your window. the light is still on.

“thanks,” you say softly. “for the ride. for… everything.”

he meets your eyes, one arm still slung over the back of his seat. “you’re welcome.”

you open the door, step out. the air is cooler now. crisper.

before you shut the door, he says—like it’s nothing, like it’s everything—“text me when you get inside.”

your breath catches.

you nod.

and upstairs, with tomo curled against your chest and the world finally quiet again, you stare at your phone for a long moment before texting back:

home. thank you again.

the reply comes seconds later.

anytime.

taglist: @nina-from-317 @theanaoevre @poopooindamouf @asxprse @satorusinfinityy @lost-but-done-for-you @changbinsalonsblog @satorupied @laaalaaaloooppppsiiieeeee @kanekisheart @ssetsuka @auroras-pleasures @bexxli (comment or dm me if ya wanna be added)

[kikidoul]

── BEACH WEATHER.

ヾ(´︶`♡)ﾉ 박종성 x fem! reader content strangers to lust trope ᥫ᭡ warning explicit sexual content usage of petnames open ending used jay being a green flag protected sex fingering pussy eating aftercare both reader and jay have experience lmk if i didn't tagged anything else. . .!? 2420— mlist. req

note. second time writing jay and i think i did a decent job writing for him! also would like to share that i kinda cringed when i was writing him and reader's interaction. i hope this meets your expectations hehe. can i count this as a happy belated birthday to jay though... taglist. @tfwbluu @hoonstqr @riqomi

This is a horrible idea. 

You sighed for the unknown time after rejecting a stranger’s offer of him buying you a drink. You knew the implication behind his seemingly innocent, friendly offer and you didn’t want to take the chance. You leaned back in your seat, crossing your arms with a scowl on your face as you scanned the sea of people before you. But it was futile. You couldn’t find your friends, the very same group of friends who promised they will stick with you and won’t leave you alone. 

You were at a beach party, having decided to go on a much-needed vacation to the beach with your friends to celebrate the start of your holidays. When you were told there will be a party happening at night, your friends begged for you to join them. At first, you declined because you weren’t a party person and you wanted to spend your night under the sheets to read your favorite book. But your friends were persistent, which brings you to your current dilemma.

Unlike a regular nightclub, the beach party is open-air with loud, edm music playing in the background. Thankfully, there was a bar that allows you to sit back, have a drink while you enjoy the fresh air. Well, that was the plan until three guys approached you, back to back with the intention of doing something more than just having a drink. 

“Hello, you look annoyed.” 

Ugh great. 

Rolling your eyes, you prepared yourself as you looked to your side, only to pause when a handsome man appeared before you. He has honey-toned skin, messy pitch-black hair from the wind blowing past and a sharp jawline that you might cut your finger with a simple graze and his features were something crafted from the hands of Gods and Goddesses. To put it simply; he was really attractive, enough to make you feel flustered when you realised you had piqued his interest. 

“Was that a question or an observation?” You asked, maintaining your politeness while keeping your guard up. 

The stranger chuckled, his eyes crinkling as he stood beside you while keeping some distance. The small, kind and thoughtful act made your heart skip a beat. “That was an observation. I’ve been looking at you for a while now and I have to say, you’re really beautiful. I don’t think words are enough to do you justice.”

You could only pray that he won’t notice your reddened ears and cheeks at his honesty and sincerity. “Why thank you. You sure have a way with words, don’t you? Do you talk like this to other women too? Or is it just me?” 

You weren’t sure where you got the confidence, but you were pleased with his reaction: eyes widening slightly at your response before he composed himself, eyes gleaming in mischief and amusement. 

He leaned in slightly, a movement so small but you caught it anyways, a sly and suggestive grin stretching across his face. “What if I were to say it’s just you? Would you accept my offer?”

You decide to play along and copy his expression. “And what would your offer be?” 

“How about you and I get a drink later? My treat.” 

You arched an eyebrow, impressed with his bold move. Both of you knew there won’t be any drinking done, considering how he was undressing you with his lust-filled eyes. 

“Sure, that sounds lovely.”

~

As expected, you found yourself in his room. Clothes were hurriedly removed and tossed to the carpeted floor without a care in the world. Unlike the previous hook-ups you have done, he was gentle. The way he treated you was as if you were a fragile piece of glass that could shatter at any moment, if he wasn’t careful enough. You could tell he has plenty of experience with how he ate you out. 

“F-Fuck, don’t stop, please,” you whined, eyelids fluttering shut as he plunged his tongue deeper and at the same time, pushing two fingers in until he was knuckles-deep. 

He groaned at how tight you felt, your velvety, gummy walls clinging onto his fingers without any intention of letting him go. He crooked his fingers, grinning at how you physically flinched and he knew he had hit bullseye. He audibly moaned against your pussy when you grabbed a fistful of his hair, your thighs locking him in place. He didn’t care if you were choking him to death. If this was how he goes out, he wouldn’t mind it at all. 

He alternated between giving sweet, quick kitten licks and harsh, long swipes of his tongue, giving you whiplash. To Jay, your sounds are the sweetest sounds he has heard, like music to his ears and he wants to hear more. He wants to see you falling apart under him. He wants you to remember him when you do this with someone else, someone else that isn’t him. 

He lets you grind yourself on his nose, causing you to gasp when you find the perfect angle. Your back arched off the bed when you felt your orgasm coming. You tried to say something, anything but your mind turned to mush when he gave a harsh suck to the sensitive bud peeking out. And that was enough to tip you over the edge. You tried to pull him away but it was futile. His strength easily overwhelmed yours and it’s like he wants to be buried deep in your pussy.

You let out a high-pitched cry as he greedily slurps away, like he was a famished kitten drinking from a plate of warm milk. Your limbs felt boneless the moment it was over, your thighs slumping on his shoulders and your grip loosened on his hair. Jay finally moved away and seeing how his face was drenched in your slick, his lips glistening under the lights and some had even landed on his forehead made your cheeks flushed red. 

Jay wiped them away with the back of his hand, tongue darting out—the very same tongue that made you feel like you were floating, to clean his damp lips. Your throat felt dry, nervously swallowing as your hands laid by your sides. He shifted backwards so he could get off the bed but you stopped by, grabbing his wrist and he gave you a questioning look.

“Wait, what about you?” You asked, eyes glancing down to the bulge in his pants.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “It’s fine, don’t worry about me. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” 

You light-heartedly rolled your eyes. “I’m fine with you fucking me, but with a condom of course.” 

“Oh.” 

You laughed at how he stared at you, taken aback with your consent and words. You motioned for him to come over with two fingers, a coy grin on your face as you spread your legs, snickering at how his eyes trailed down, lingering in the spot between your legs. “What’re you waiting for, pretty boy? Get to it or I’ll leave.” 

He didn’t need to think twice, fumbling through the bedside drawer and pulling out a small box of condoms. The sight made you raise an eyebrow. 

“Do you always bring that with you?” You questioned, pushing yourself further up on the bed and repositioned the pillow as you laid your head on it, along with sliding another pillow underneath your hips for support. 

“Uh, my friends bought it as a birthday gift to me. It’s stupid—I mean, they’re stupid,” he stuttered, hands managing to tear the transparent packaging. He got to his knees and that was when you saw it. 

Your mouth moved before your mind could process the words. “I don’t think that’s going to fit.” 

He paused in the midst of sliding the condom over his hardened, standing upright cock that stood proudly as it rested against his stomach. “I’ll make sure it fits, princess. Just lay back and look pretty, can you do that for me?” 

You nodded, feeling shy at the sudden usage of the pet name. You watched as he moved with confidence, like he knows what he’s doing. He positioned himself in between your legs, gently gripping onto your upper left thigh and aligned himself with your entrance. Your breath hitched at the feeling of his tip gliding against your still puffy folds, gathering the remaining slick. His eyes softened at the sight of your hesitation, rubbing circles on your skin. 

“Hey, it’s fine. Just calm down and relax for me,” he assures you. “I won’t put it in until you allow me to. I’ll wait for you, princess.” 

Biting down onto your lip, you nodded, nails digging into the soft sheets beneath you. “...Go ahead.” 

Instead of slamming in in one go, he slowly pushes in inch by inch. It felt like decades when he finally bottomed out, eliciting pleased sounds from both of you. Your head spins at how full you feel just from his cock alone. He didn’t move, eyes focused on your face while searching for any signs of discomfort. He was patient and that was something rare in the hook-ups you have done. 

“You can move,” you gave him the greenlight and he hummed, adjusting himself. 

The slight movement caused his cock to rub against your walls, drawing a blissed-out sigh from you. He pulled out until his tip was still inside before pushing back in and repeated the movement, keeping a steady pace but it was enough to draw soft “ah-ah-ah” from you. You tilted your head back, raising your left leg and he got the hint—slinging it over his left shoulder. The small change of angle allows him to slide and hit deeper. He was practically kissing your cervix, with how deep he could go. 

Lewd sounds of skin against skin combined with your moans and his groans echoed amongst the four walls of the hotel room. You were sure whoever walked past would know what you’re doing. The thought of the chances of people hearing you made you clenched down on his cock, drawing a hiss from him. 

“Fuck, you sure you’ve done this before? You’re so tight like a virgin,” he gasped, voice hoarse. He already sounds ragged, his previous calm and collected composure slowly fading away. 

“Ngh, m-more,” you whined, eyes rolling to the back of your head when his cock hit the spot that made your legs spasm. 

“Yeah? You want more? Your greedy pussy is not satisfied with what I’m giving?” He sneers, the sudden change of his personality leaves you speechless. 

But you were too far gone to think straight, getting drunk on the intoxicating, addictive and heavenly feeling of him thrusting into you. You could only let out a whimper, the sound making him smirked. He readjusted his hands, moving from your thighs to your hips and with new found strength, he increased his pace, fucking into you without mercy. 

“Oh god, s-so good, hah,” you cried out, words borderline slurring as you succumbed to it. 

You knew you were reaching your climax when your muscles tightened, like a rubber band stretched to its limit and how your legs were already shaking. All it took was one final sharp thrust and you came with a cry. He, on the other hand, showed no signs of slowing down and continued snapping his hips against yours as he fucks you through your orgasm. All you could do was to lay there, allowing him to use you to reach his climax. 

You shuddered when he spilled into the condom, able to feel the warmth of his cum through the thin fabric of the condom. He slowly pulled out, making you wince at the sudden uncomfortable feeling of emptiness, quickly tying the condom and tossed it into the bin with terrifying accuracy. He ran a hand through his hair, pulling back some of the strands that were stuck onto his forehead. 

“Wait here, I’ll be back,” he said, not waiting for your response before going to the bathroom. His words made you snort, as you couldn’t move an inch, not after what he did. 

He returned a few seconds later, holding a damp towel and took his care in wiping you clean. When he was done, he passed you a plastic bottle of water, even going the extra mile by helping you in drinking it by supporting the back of your neck, like how a mother would do to her newborn baby. He then removed the stained sheets, tossing them to the floor, which will be a problem for the housekeeper tomorrow. Once you were properly hydrated, he moved to where his luggage was, dug through his clothes and handed you a set of his own. 

“Uh, I’m not sure if you’d prefer wearing your own clothes or if you don’t mind, you could wear mine for the night. No pressure or anything,” he said, looking everywhere else but you. 

“Sure, I don’t mind,” you shrugged your shoulders, accepting the clothes and putting them on after slipping back into your underwear, looking down to see his shirt reaching your thighs. Still, you wore the shorts, which acted more like pants for you. 

“You can stay here for the night if you want,” he said, eyes searching your face, afraid he might be taking it too far. 

Your eyes softened as you nodded in silence and his shoulders sagged with relief. He quickly wore his clothes and the two of you made yourselves comfortable on the bed, pulling the covers up until it reached your chins. It didn’t took you long to fall asleep, sharing the bed with someone who you had just fucked. 

The very next morning, you woke up to an empty room. His luggage was gone too. You looked to your side, surprised to see that your clothes were neatly folded and placed on the bed. But what caught your attention was a note placed on the bedside drawer. Reaching over, you opened it and read the handwritten message. 

Hey, 

I realised that I didn’t get your name and that’s very rude of me. Sorry that I didn’t wake you up as I had to leave for the airport. But if you’d like, perhaps we can get to know one another more? You can text me if you want. I’ve left my number below. Oh and, you can keep my clothes. They look better on you ;)

Regards,  Park Jongseong (Jay) xx-xxxx-xxxx

[especially-obsessed]

Still the One

Summary: Birthday dance in the kitchen <3

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Warnings: fluff, fluff, fluff <3

Word count: 1.1k

Masterlist | Dean's Playlist

A/n: it’s my birthday! And I’ve been obsessed with this song lately, so enjoy this happy little moment <3

It’s late afternoon at Bobby Singer’s place; summer in South Dakota, warm and still. The windows are cracked open just enough to let in the sound of cicadas and the occasional creak of a passing car on the gravel road. The air smells like motor oil, old books, and something sweet you threw together from whatever Bobby had in the pantry.

The little kitchen is cluttered but cozy. Mismatched mugs, half-read papers, jars of screws and bolts that no one’s touched in years. It feels lived-in. Safe.

You’ve got your phone propped up on the windowsill, playing music through a tiny, beat-up speaker. The playlist is old-school—yours, not Dean’s. But he’s never once asked you to turn it off. “Still The One” by Orleans starts up, soft and familiar, and your body moves before your mind even catches up. Barefoot, lazy dancing across the scuffed linoleum, hips swaying as the light pools across the floor in gold streaks.

Dean walks in from the garage, wiping grease off his hands with a rag. He stops in the doorway, arms crossed, leaning against the frame like he has all the time in the world.

“You seriously listening to this?” he asks, a lopsided grin tugging at his mouth.

You don’t turn around. Just keep dancing, singing under your breath as you stir something in a pot on the stove. “You seriously pretending you don’t know every word?”

Dean chuckles. “I’m more of a Zeppelin guy.”

You finally glance back at him, giving him that look, the one that says don’t even try me right now. “Liar,” you say. “You’ve got this song in your bones.”

He watches you a moment longer, then drops the rag on the table. “You’re outta your mind.”

But he’s already moving, crossing the kitchen in slow steps. He doesn’t ask. Just slips one arm around your waist, the other catching your hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You let him spin you gently, your socked feet sliding on the floor. He hums along, deliberately off-key, pulling a laugh out of you.

By the chorus, you’re fully dancing, awkward, clumsy, and perfect. Pots forgotten, windows glowing, the air thick with warmth and summer.

“We’re still having fun,” he sings, pointing at you dramatically, “and you’re still the one…”

You laugh harder, grabbing the front of his flannel and tugging him close. “You’re still the one.”

He dips you like you’re in a ballroom and nearly drops you. Both of you burst out laughing, clinging to each other as the song plays on. When it softens into the bridge, you don’t say anything. Neither does he.

Dean just pulls you in, his forehead against yours, swaying slowly. The room hums around you—the creak of the old fridge, the rustle of a breeze outside, Bobby’s TV faintly playing some black-and-white western in the background.

Then, almost like an afterthought, he says, “By the way, happy birthday.”

You smile against him. “You remembered.”

“I always do.” His thumb brushes the small of your back. “Figured you wouldn’t want a big thing, so… this felt right.”

“It is,” you say, barely above a whisper. “This is perfect.”

You’re still for a while. His hand stays on you like it’s meant to be there, like he’d fight the world to keep it that way.

Then, in classic Dean fashion, he tilts his head and adds, “You gonna finish cooking or just seduce me with ‘70s soft rock all night?”

You snort. “Can’t it be both?

He grins. “God, I love you.”

And just like that, without a single plan or reason, the kitchen at Bobby Singer’s becomes one of your favorite places in the world

Masterlist

a/n: <3

Taglist:

Let me know if you would like to be added to a taglist < 3

[duckcrumbs]

Leo had anticipated a lot of different problems coming up when he accepted this mission.

Getting lost in space, offed by a harsh alien environment, or knowing his brother, eaten by some extraterrestrial creature that Mikey tried to adopt.

Turtle luck was unforgiving to the Mad Dogs and Leo had stressed a ton and a half, leading up to this trip, on the many ways they would attract trouble.

What he did not anticipate was the absolute anxiety he’d feel once immersed in the silent inky black sea.

He remembers when he used to spend hours talking about what’d be like to explore the starry seas like Jupiter Jim, with Don.

How they would save galactic princesses and fight alien baddies then enjoy some pizza on their super cool rocket ship. And if it weren’t for recent events Leo thinks that this experience would probably be the best thing to ever happen to him.

But this was too close. Too similar to that place.

Leo had felt the growing panic when he first set his eyes on the celestial void from within the safety of the genius built ship.

The glass barrier being the only thing between him and the deadly cold of space.

Now here he was, dragged along by his excited brothers to take their first excursion outside the ship none of them the wiser to Leo’s hesitance, not that he’d share his thoughts with them.

Who knows! Maybe its just the anticipation of the unknown putting him on edge and once he’s metaphorically ripped off the bandaid he’ll actually enjoy it. Maybe he was just being silly, This was something he dreamed about all his life after all. Maybe it would be fine.

Maybe.

He stepped out of the bay door, feet landing on nothing. At first all he felt was the recognizable strain of trying to gain a centre of balance like when he was first learning how to ride his skate board. Arms flailing out and legs kicking to propel himself in any direction.

He looked over and noticed that the youngest turtle with his natural acrobatic talent had already figured out the technique and was summersaulting through the open real-estate giggling to himself with unrestrained glee.

Donnie, being the smarty he was, had the advantage of his battle shell, using the jets to propel himself towards Raph who couldn’t stop his nauseating spin cycle and seemed to be suffering from motion sickness. The techy turtle proffered his Bo for the snapper to grab onto for stability.

Turning his eyes back to the endless stretch of nothing, Leo let his body relax into a starfish position. ‘This is different’ he thought to himself.

The twinkling of dying stars reminded him of their absence in the Prison Dimension.

Turning his head back slightly gave him a glimpse of their ship in the background. The LoggerHead. Not the Technodrome.

And if he listened outside of the static in his ears, he could hear his brothers voices over their shared comms.

He wasn’t there.

But the cold clung to him.

Despite the Thermal layer provided by Donnie’s tech allowing them to survive the atmosphere without wearing those clunky space suits, Leo still felt the frigidness deep in his bones. His body, unable to properly move the way he’d like, was slowly turning to ice.

This, Was exactly like the Prison Dimension. It was the same arctic nothingness. It penetrated Leo’s entire being.

His lungs constricted at the comparison. Taking a deep breath and holding it, Leo willed himself to not start spiralling.

He had to stay present. This mission would end up a bust if he can’t overcome something like a lack of solid ground and floating in zero gravity.

Just like in the Prison Dim- ‘Stop it!’.

He shook his head in an attempt at getting rid of the thoughts plaguing him. He felt a hopelessness invade his heart.

Before he could continue down that slippery mental slope, his view of the eerie darkness was blocked by Mikey gliding overtop of him in swim like strokes.

The Orange themed turtle was a stark contrast against the desaturated environment and brought a gentle smile to the sliders face.

Anata wa Hitorijanai.

With the Hamato Clan’s motto firmly situating itself in his core he looked into himself and felt for his family’s signature Ninpo. The familiar warmth of red, purple and orange began chasing away the the cold of his memories.

He wasn’t there. He had his family with him and though he didn’t feel like that instantly removed the problem, it eased the tension he carried on his shell just a bit.

And that would be enough.

So in a wave of courage, the blue leader moved. Turning his body away from the vulnerable open expanse at his back and facing his brothers, he kicked his legs and clumsily reached for his family.

He had a team to lead and a mission to accomplish.

[utilitycaster]

re: production values for Thresher and actually liking the choices made, I think my thought processes are as follows:

The filming of standard gameplay isn't terribly different from how D20 is often filmed, which I've never minded. I think why I don't like the CR split screen is that it doesn't add anything and indeed subtracts deliberately and without any real end except Making Faces Bigger/ removing people from between two actors. Which, if the notes on my post about Caleb and Fjord's wild interactions are any indication, isn't even something the audience cares about and indeed seeing other players' reactions is fun (see also: everyone tracking Aabria and Travis in EXU Calamity). But if you're filming a table without the Two Rows method that is CR's mainstay, then sure, frame your shots.

Obviously no complaints about costuming/fun set stuff; I don't find that disruptive and I enjoy it. Same goes for credits or intro.

The interlude as they descend works because it was a pure RP moment and a transitional scene. Same with the introductory video and the recordings; diagetic information is great! In C1, C2, and a little even in early C3 Matt was quite good at giving the players physical letters when relevant, and a recording in a setting that offers that is also great.

The music was pretty subtle but present and non-intrusive. I actually like a little more noticeable music personally, but I think there's been a trend away from it in filmed AP lately, and what they had was setting-appropriate and while I don't know if it really deeply enhanced the vibe, it certainly didn't disrupt it.

The background was very cool and again I think scrims/cool backdrops are great.

Radio voice effects also good and I think they did a good job of making it still sound very listenable (plus it was released with closed captioning).

Pop-ups with descriptions are great, especially in actual play, and these were very unobtrusive in my opinion. D20 does this sometimes as well.

I think what I don't care for, particularly, are extensive VFX in-game. The ones in Downfall were ultimately ok because they were brief and added to the idea of this being otherworldly/outside of time as we understand it, once we understood the vibe of the actual show. If they'd continued I'd have been annoyed, but fine for just the Tengar scenes to show how the gods were once very different. But I don't care for, as discussed, the split screens; the Jaysohn edit from Burrows End and some of the jittery effects in Neverafter; or whatever the hell Kollok is doing.

It's also, ultimately, a matter of production prioritization. If the story isn't strong and production values are, then I'm going to be a lot more harsh than if the reverse is true - once CR fixed their sound equipment issues in their debut, the story was still stellar despite filming in what the cast has joked looks like a child's bedroom. Late Campaign 2 is still excellent despite the demands of social distancing putting everyone in front of a backdrop reminiscent of 1990s school pictures. A bare bones podcast with a good story is going to be better than a heavily produced show with a bad one. Thresher thus far has delivered, with great acting and an intriguing premise, and so I'd be enjoying it even if the production was much simpler. It doesn't feel like the core was neglected in order to provide a glitzy exterior.

[chaoticdreamersthings]

Summervibes

WARNING explicit RPF CONTENT! Read at your own risk, mdni

Pairing: Joost x reader

description: You and Joost meet at the festival and decide to spend the evening and the night together.

warning: smut, 18+, unprotected piv, fingering

Word count: 6,5 k

author's note: my baby is yours... english is not my first language so i apologize if there are any grammatical errors.

You sit on the grass dry from the burning sun, with three of your friends. The music in the background is tempting you to rejoin the crowd in front of the stage, but you need a break after the last concert. The heat is suffocating, and realistically, you should probably be hydrating with water instead of sipping beer - but who cares? You’re at a festival.

“We are going to be so hungover tomorrow” you say, finishing the beer and lazily crushing the plastic cup between your hands. “Not saying that it wasn’t worth it, though” 

You’ve always loved the festival season for the beautiful chaos it brings. Dancing barefoot, drinking until sunset changes into night, and forming instant bonds with strangers who feel like lifelong friends. it was a chance to release all the anxiety and just be happy, without all the worries connected to work and day-to-day life. For once you can just be messy and happy. 

“So, what is the next concert on our schedule?” Your friend asks, wiping away the sweat from her forehead. 

You take a look on a schedule you created months ago on your phone to know which stage you should go to. 

“It’s Yeat” you say, frowning as you squint at your phone screen. “Do we even listen to Yeat?” You shake your head. You can’t remember even one song of his.

Your friends laugh.

“No, but isn’t it the point of a festival? Getting to know new artists?” One of them says.

“You’re right” you reply with a smirk. „we can go, but I think we have to make a stop for water on our way. This heat is killing me.” 

“I think you meant beer.” She corrects.

And they are right - the line for water is so long that you decide to just go with another beer. Hydration can wait.

Even though the stages aren’t far from each other, the heat outside makes anything feel much more exhausting, and a short walk feels like it takes forever. You know you should be drinking water instead of beer, but the vibe of being just a little drunk at the festival is not incomparable. 

When you finally reach the stage, it is finally getting dark and a little colder, which was very needed after the heat of the day. You’re pretty sure your forehead is already sunburned - you can feel it every time you touch it - but that’s a problem for tomorrow. For now, the alcohol is your painkiller.

You glance around the crowd and can’t help but notice - most of them are young men. Everywhere you look it’s tank tops and backward caps. 

“This is better than Tinder” you joke, raising your eyebrows at your friends. It might just be the alcohol talking, but you’re more than open to the idea of a little festival romance. You’ve never done that before, and something about this chaotic day makes it feel like a perfect time.

As the concert starts you come to the realization that maybe being in a group of men wasn’t the ideal setup. The number of shirtless sweaty boys is a little overwhelming, and the empty cups after beer are constantly being thrown in the air. 

Then, without warning, you’re dragged into a mosh pit.

To your surprise - you are actually enjoying it. Jumping around, bumping into people, screaming random words, even though you don’t even know the song, but it doesn’t matter. Your mind is blissfully blank, letting the music carry you wherever it wants.

Until someone crashes into you hard.

It’s a heavy hit from someone who is definitely taller. No one notices. The crowd keeps dancing, shouting. Panic tightens your chest. Your heart is pounding with sudden fear that someone’s going to crush your hand or step on your ribs. Before you can figure out how to get up, you notice someone reaching out a hand to you.

You look up and notice a guy shouting something, but you can’t hear him. You grab his hand and let him pull you to his feet. He leans in, trying to say something again:

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to knock you” he says, a little breathless.

You shake your head, laughing softly as you brush the sand and dirt from your skirt. “Don’t worry about it.” You say.

You glance up at him, and notice he is actually… kind of cute. Blonde hair, bleached and a little messy, an honest smile. And those eyes - crystal blue, like a clear sky on a summer day. There’s something familiar about him, like you’ve seen his face before. He’s tall - no wonder he managed to completely knock you over. 

He’s still standing there, his eyes locked on you. Maybe he’s just checking to make sure you’re okay. Or maybe he’s looking for a reason to stay. 

Your brain searches for something - anything - to say. Something to keep this moment from drifting away. 

“You will buy me a beer and we’ll be even” you say, your lips curling into a smile.

He returns the smile - he definitely likes the idea. You can see it in his eyes. He’d knock you over again if it meant getting to buy you that beer.

“All right, we have a deal then! But let’s stay here until the end of this set? As you could see, I was really enjoying myself. Maybe a little too much” he adds with a chuckle.

You nod in agreement, but your thoughts are drifting almost immediately. You spend the rest of the concert trying to focus on the music and the artist on the stage, but your attention keeps sliding toward the boy next to you. He seems so effortlessly cool, and you want to watch him vibing to the music, swaying gently. There’s something magnetic about him. You want to watch him but you don’t want to seem like a creep, so you dance a little, trying to look as casual as possible, even though your thoughts are far from calm.

But he wants to keep his promise - you can see it. He could easily disappear in the crowd, dive back into the mosh pit, But he doesn’t. He lingers by your side, like he’s afraid if he lets you out of sight now, the moment might slip away for good.

“So… i didn’t catch your name” he says, just as the music dies down.

“Y/N” you answer, glancing up at him  “And you are…?” 

He is so tall he has to lean down to speak into your ear.

“Joost. So, want to go get that beer?” 

“Yeah um… just let me find my friends first. Are you alone here?” 

Your eyes scan the crowd. In the low light, it’s impossible to tell one person from another. You already know it’s going to be nearly impossible to find them now, but you try anyway -half hoping they’re nearby, half hoping they’re not. 

“Yeah. I usually go to concerts alone,” he says with a shrug. „There’s always a good chance I’ll meet someone new. Like you.” 

You keep looking around - your friends couldn’t find a worse moment to vanish. You give it a minute or two, then reach for your phone. The signal is almost nonexistent, but you send a message anyway.

“We can catch them later - unless you’re afraid of hanging out with just me.” He says, looking around.

You feel his hand gently press against your back. It’s barely a touch, but it shoots a chill through your spine. 

You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol rushing through your veins, or the fact that it’s been ages since someone new made you feel this kind of way. Or maybe it’s just the magic of the festival: the lights, the music, the breeze of the night. There’s something about this guy you’re drawn to. His presence is exciting, yet somehow comforting all at once. You could follow him through a crowd of strangers and somehow still feel grounded.

You send off a quick message to your friends to check where they went and the reply makes you smile - “Go enjoy your moment with the tall, hot guy! We’ll catch you later… or tomorrow!”. It’s exactly the push you didn’t know you needed, and now you feel more than encouraged to see where this goes. You already know tomorrow they’ll be dying to hear every detail.

You join Joost in the line for a beer. 

“So, any particular shows you want to see?” he says, leaning slightly toward you.

“Mmm… i want to see Lady Gaga, but there’s still some time left, so we can go anywhere” 

It’s not exactly the truth. You had a whole schedule planned, but none of that matters anymore, as you prefer to spend more time with him. 

You take your beers and, not long after, you find yourselves at one of the DJ sets of the night. With the next beer you feel the alcohol buzzing more deeply through your system. You exchange a few playful sentences, and then - without a word - he takes your hand and you start dancing together. He makes you feel completely at ease. That wide grin on your face is not leaving, even for a second. 

“You’re a good dancer” you shout to him, but you’re pretty sure he doesn’t catch a single word.

He steps in closer, the kind of closeness that feels intentional - too close for just conversation. His fingers wrap gently around your waist, and he leans in until his lips are almost brushing your ear. 

“Sorry, what? I didn’t hear you.” 

You don’t know if he really missed what you said, or if he’s just using the noise as an excuse. Either way, you’re not complaining. 

He’s dangerously close now, you feel his breath against your skin, it tickles your cheek. The scent of cigarettes mixed with something clean and alluring - probably cologne - wraps around you. It’s intoxicating in the best possible way. Your fingers drift to the back of his neck, and bring him just a bit closer, closing the last bit of space and whisper into his ear:

“You’re a good dancer.”

He pulls back just enough to catch your eyes, before leaning in again, close enough that you can feel his warm breath.

"Of course. I’m a musician” he says, his voice low and confident. 

“Oh, really?” You say, intrigued. "You’ll have to play me some of your music.” 

He looks at you for a moment longer, and his other hand slides gently to your hip, drawing you even closer. For a moment everything spins - the music, the lights, the crowd. Your heart pounds against your ribs at the warmth of his body close to yours.

“I can show you later.” He says, his gaze is fixed on your face, drifting from your eyes to your lips. You nod silently. 

The meaning is clear - you are not just agreeing to hear a song.

A smile spreads across his face, as he takes in your reply. Your silent answer has been received loud and clear - and the energy between you shifts, charged with unspoken possibilities. Whatever the night brings, you’re ready for it.

You continue dancing together like the music was written just for this moment, and he keeps getting closer, his movements growing bolder with every beat. The music in your ears is deafening, the crowd around you seems to disappear, when his hand finds the curve of your lower back pulling you into him. 

The beat drops and everyone around you is having the time of their lives - but your world is narrowed to the space between your lips and his. You can feel his breath against your mouth. You lick your lips, the anticipation is almost too much to bear. You barely notice the fireworks on stage, or the artist screaming into the mic. All that matters is when his lips finally meet yours, right there in the middle of the crowd. He kisses you with urgency - like he’s been waiting all night. One hand slides to your cheek, then up into your hair. The other one is still on your lower back. Your hands wrap around his back as you part your lips, letting his tongue meet yours.

He’d probably want more - somewhere quieter. But right now, this moment is everything. The fireworks over your heads, the crowd, the music - this is the kind of scene you only see in the romantic movies. This is more than enough.

At least for now.

He deepens the kiss and you feel his hand slide down to your ass and giving it a small squeeze. When the two of you finally part, it’s only to meet each other’s eyes. You’re both breathless and smiling. You chuckle, biting your lip, a little overwhelmed by what just happened, but he doesn’t say anything. His hand remains on your face, his thumb brushing slowly your cheekbone in a gentle gesture.

“What a great kisser you are. Wish I could do a lot more than just that” he finally says.

„Then do it.” 

“I will. If you let me” he grins. 

You smile, fingers brushing as you take his hand. You have to move to another stage, but you feel so torn between enjoying the concerts you came to see and just spending time goofing around, flirting and kissing with him. You can’t miss Lady Gaga, but after that kiss the idea of waiting for the next step feels almost unbearable. You want more - and you feel it in every inch of your body.

Just walking from stage to stage becomes a challenge. You pause every few minutes to steal another kiss or to share a spontaneous laugh. It feels as you’ve known each other for years, but in the back of your mind you know that tomorrow - when the alcohol was worn off and reality settles back in - you’ll return to your usual, more reserved self. 

As you make your way from one stage to the next, you pass a cotton candy stand, and the scent of sugar hits you with a rush of nostalgia, you haven’t had cotton candy since you were a kid. You decide to share one. The sweetness of the sugar only adds to already intoxicating atmosphere, the kisses are becoming even more delicious. You laugh when some of the cotton candy sticks to your nose, and he’s quick to lean in and kiss it off. 

You make it to the crowd for the Lady Gaga concert right before it starts. Through the show, he never let’s you forget he’s there - his arms occasionally wrap around you from behind, or he leans in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. He sings along with you to some of the choruses, and even though you are a little upset that you didn’t get to experience it with your friends, you are more than happy to have him by your side. 

The concert is a spectacular show - lights, choreography, incredible vocals. The two of you chat about it on your way to the taxi area, sharing your favorite moments and talking about what you want to see in the next days of the festival. Before you reach the parking lot, you stop for one last beer, which you drink almost all at once. You’ve probably had more beer today than in the whole past year. At this point, it feels like beer might actually be flowing through your veins.

When you get to the taxi area, there’s no need for discussion. The decision has already been made in the subtle way that the night unfolded. You just end up in a backseat of one of the cars, side by side.

The car starts, and you lean back against the seat, your head sinking into the headrest. The leather is cool against your skin, a nice contrast to the lingering warmth of the night. You turn a glance at Joost again. After an entire day spent in the sun and dirt, and after countless beers, he still looks ridiculously good.

“Tired?” He asked, with a lazy smile.

“A little.” You say, though it’s more than a little. You’re absolutely exhausted. Every inch of your body aches from the dancing, walking and from that damn sun. But none of this matters. Sleep can wait, but this moment can’t. What if you never see each other again? 

He rests his head beside yours.

“You know…” he says softly, his hand brushing along your thigh. „The traffic is insane. It’s going to take forever to get there.” 

“I know” you say, turning your head to look at him with a small pout. You wish you could be alone with this man, but the presence of the driver is impossible to ignore - especially with his occasional coughs from the front sit. 

You feel his lips almost brush your ear when he whispers: 

“I don’t want to wait…” 

A shiver runs down your spine as his fingers curl more firmly around your thigh. You shift just enough to meet your eyes. He’s so close, noses nearly touching, breath shared in the quiet car. Your heart begins to beat faster.

You’ve kissed him more times that you can count tonight, but this one feels different. - Maybe it’s the enclosed intimacy of the backseat, or maybe the quiet certainty that this is only the beginning.

His other hand finds the back of your neck, fingers touching your hair, and he pulls you toward him, and your lips meet again. He tastes like beer and cigarettes, but it doesn’t matter - you probably do too. What matters is the hunger in his kiss. Each one more desperate than the last, each time he presses closer, deepening it. It feels addictive.  

His hand tightens at the back of your neck, pulling you closer, like even skin to skin isn’t close enough. Like he’s not just kissing you - he’s claiming the moment and you with it.

You feel his hand moving up your thigh and a familiar sensation stirs in your stomach. You wanted it just as much as he did. And you definitely didn’t want to wait either. His lips trail toward your ear, and you almost close your eyes from how good it feels. You’d give him everything he asked for - everything - if you were somewhere else - but when his hand reaches for the button of your skirt, you shake your head, bringing yourself back to reality.

“Not here” you say, your voice low but firm. 

As your eyes flick to the rearview mirror, you meet the driver’s gaze. He looks away quickly, but your cheeks flush red - you’re almost certain he knows exactly what was about to happen. Maybe he’s seen it all before - drunken hookups, bold couples, wild nights - but still the idea of being the girl fucking in the car makes you feel deeply embarrassed. 

Joost pauses and presses a tender kiss to your temple. You can feel how much he wants more - how easily he’d ignore the driver if it was up to him - but he respects your boundaries. His hand shifts from the back of your neck to wrap warmly around your waist.

The traffic is unbearable, making you wish you could just get out and walk to the apartment. You told him to wait  but every inch of you aches for the same craving he has. And you aren’t sure how long you could hold back. 

You lift his hand to your lips and press a kiss to it, eyes closing. Your lips trace gently over the lines of his tattoos. God, what those fingers could do…

“Y/N” he says, nudging you slightly - pulling you from the mess of your thoughts.

“Hmm… sorry what?” You are a little embarrassed, that just thinking about his fingers got you completely lost in thoughts.

“Don’t fall asleep.” He says, a little concerned.

“I’m not.” You quickly reply.

And you aren’t - not even close. The car is barely moving and it’s getting harder to stay calm. You could already be at the apartment by now, your mouths meeting again, your hands exploring, making the most of the night instead of wasting time in the back of a slow cab.

"How much longer is this gonna take?” Joost asks. The impatience in his voice is obvious.

“Like… twenty, maybe thirty minutes” the driver replies.

You let out an annoyed groan and glance over at him. There’s no way you’re waiting that long. 

“is your apartment in the New York City or what?”

He laughs. 

“It’s way too far from the festival for what I paid for it.” 

You try to keep yourself composed, and not even look at him, afraid of falling for that flirtatious stare. But the second you feel his lips near your ear, you know you are done waiting. Home or not, you are going to let this guy touch you wherever he pleases. 

He whispers that he can’t wait to be alone with you, and you feel your breath speed up. You turn to him, your mouth finding his in another kiss - slow at first, then hungry. Your hands slide across his back as his fingers press into your hip, pulling toward him until the seat touches your body beneath his weight. 

He breaks the kiss only to brush your hair from your face, his eyes burning through the low light. Then he brings a finger to his lips, letting you know to be quiet. You bite your own lip in response as his hand trails up your thigh, heat blooming through your body. 

You know you shouldn’t let it happen - not here, with the driver so close. But after tonight, the idea of holding back feels impossible. And more than anything, you don’t want to say no.

And yet… you don’t care.

You don’t care if the driver hears it, or sees it. You don’t care if someone catches you - the desire for him is too strong. All logical thoughts disappear with his touch. With each soft stroke of his fingers on your skin, the hesitation falls away.

He’s so close now. Close enough to touch you in ways you’ve been imagining since the moment your eyes met.

You feel his hand sliding a little higher up your thigh again, his fingertips gently exploring the soft skin there.

“Can I?” He finally whispers, right into your mouth.

You nod, as your breath is becoming quicker. His touch finds you, soft and deliberate through the fabric of your panties. You’re suddenly grateful you chose a skirt instead of shorts - this would be a lot harder to manage in the backseat otherwise.

He presses his fingers your crotch, and a soft sigh escapes your lips before you can stop it. You don’t know how much longer you’ll be able to control yourself if he keeps going. 

As if he can hear your thoughts, he moves his hand to your mouth, gently placing his fingers there. He shakes his head slightly, silently telling you to keep quiet. 

And though you’re almost certain he’d love to hear every sound he pulls from you, that part of the night can wait - just a little longer.

His fingers trace slow, deliberate lines over the fabric of your panties, and you try to control your breathing as each movement is stoking the fire already burning in you. Oh, he will be the death of you. He smiles, looking at you - he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Your pupils go wider and wider with the lust for him growing stronger with each touch. 

You take a glance at the driver to check if he’s aware of what’s happening in the back of his car. You’re sure he’s seen worse, but you are still not convinced that being fucked in front of a stranger is the kind of memory you want - especially once the beer wears off.

“He can’t see that…” Joost whispers right into your ear. „And even if he can, so what? Just enjoy the ride, baby.”

You look at him, the weight of his body is on you, you are completely at his mercy now. You feel him pulling your panties to the side, and you know you’re lost in the moment - you’re too drawn to him to say no. The sweet touch of his soft fingers, going up your slit, moving the soft fabric of the underwear to the side. You find yourself lost in the sensation, trying to stay grounded, not wanting to rush it, yet craving more with every passing second.

“Did the thought of being caught make you this wet?” He whispers softly, his breath brushing against your ear. The heat in your cheeks rises, and you can’t help but wonder if it’s the risk or just the connection between you that makes everything feel so intense. He collects the slick, and moves the fingers up, drawing small circles on your clit. You feel your pulse quicken, heart racing and you would have let out your first moan, if it weren’t for the hand over your mouth.

He pulls his face away a little to look at you, his eyes locking onto yours as he watches  your every reaction. He knows he can’t let you make a sound, he instead focuses on the way your eyes roll back, clouded with pleasure. Just as he’s about to slide a finger inside, the car makes a sharp turn and comes to a sudden stop in front of a white building.

“We’re here” you hear the driver’s voice, flat and emotionless. It’s hard to tell if he was aware of what was happening in the backseat - maybe he just assumed you were kissing. 

Joost pays the driver, and you quickly fix your hair before exiting the car. You feel the pulsing between your legs, but you do your best to remain composed, though it’s hard to hide your rapid breathing, and your flushed cheeks from mix of desire and embarrassment. You catch the driver’s gaze in the rearview mirror once more, and you are almost certain he knew. What happened in the backseat wasn’t exactly subtle, but somehow, it felt like he didn’t care.

You close the door behind you and let Joost guide you to the appartment. The sun is slowly rising, which means the ride must have taken longer than you’d expected, but you’re relieved to finally be at his place. 

Well, almost at his place. Before you get there, you feel him press you against the wall. He couldn’t wait for it either. 

“Where did I stop, hm?” His tone his playful and low, as he places one hand above your head and the other between your legs. „Oh right.” 

You feel him play with your panties a little bit, before he slides one finger inside you, and moves it inside and out, first slowly, then speeding up a little.

“Joost…” you breath out, feeling the pleasure building up in your lower belly. It feels like everything fades away, leaving only the intensity of his gaze and the rhythm of his fingers moving in and out of you. You moan his name, as he adds another finger,.but before you can let yourself adjust to his pace, he pulls them out and looks straight in your eyes, as he licks them, closing his eyes as if it was the sweetest thing.

You clench around nothing, and feel your knees weak from desire. He finally takes out the keys to the apartment. You hold on to the wall behind you, rubbing your legs together to feel some friction as his fingers disappeared at the worst possible time. Your heartbeat thunders in your chest, louder than the sound of the key turning in the lock.

He opens the door and steps aside, but you don’t need an invitation. As soon as the door closes, there’s no coming back. The moment you’re inside you’re on him, pulling him into a desperate kiss. You pull his shirt up, and help him take it off. 

“Come on.” You say, your voice low and eager.  “Take me to bed.”

He smiles, pleased at how horny he’s made you.

“Your wish is my command.” He says with a smirk, taking your hand and leading you to the bedroom. He sits on the bed, pulling you gently onto his lap. His hand reaches under your skirt, pulling the delicate material of the panties down. He has no intention of wasting any more time either. The tension between you is building with every touch. 

“Let’s get rid of those.” He murmurs. 

The panties land on the floor, and he lifts your skirt higher to have better access to your crotch. His fingers go back to their place, and you allow yourself to open your legs a little more, making him give you a bold smile - oh he’s so proud of how needy he made you. The sensation of his fingers thrusting inside you sends you into madness, your breath is quickening with the realization that you are getting closer and closer to an orgasm.

You lick your lips as he gently guides you to sit on top of him, your legs fall to either side of his, your body hovering over his, his face inches away from yours. His fingers move quickly in and out of you. Every thrust is sending jolts of electricity through you. Your head involuntarily tilts back in pleasure, giving him more access to your neck. He licks a long stripe from your collarbone to your chin. 

You moan loudly as he adds another finger, stretching you out, and making you arch, trying to maximize the pleasure. He’s hitting all the right spots, making your body feel like it’s on fire. Just when you think it can’t get any better, his thumb goes to your clit, sending another shiver down your spine. You feel the orgasm coming, and he reaches out to grip your arm, helping you stay steady. You’re losing your mind, completely surrendering to him as he drives you to the edge. Your body is shaking with pleasure, your mind is completely empty, there’s only this intense wave of fulfillment while his strong hand holds  you in place. He lets you ride your high and you lose count of how many times you cry out his name, your fingers digging into his arm with each movement of his fingers.

“Oh God…” you moan, your hands balling into fists as you struggle to come back to your senses.

“You think I’m done with you?” He whispers, his lips brushing your ear. The confidence in his voice is unmistakeable - this man knows what he’s doing.

You know it - he’s far from done. And you are more than ready for more.

He takes off your t-shirt, and your bra effortlessly, his lips never leaving yours. Your fingers trace the lines of his tattoos. He’s even more stunning than you had imagined, just the sight of him leaves you breathless.

He shifts your position, your back now pressed against the mattress, as he leans over you, one hand resting on your inner thigh. You reach up to gently cup his cheek. The heat between you is undeniable, but in that moment, you take a pause to admire him. His light blue eyes lock with yours, burning with intensity, his cheeks flush red, his hair is messy and you realize with a hint of amusement that you’ve been pulling on them when you were riding your high. Everything about him seems to be just perfect.

You’ve only just met, yet everything between you feels like it has been unfolding for years, like you’re not strangers but two lovers who’ve known each other’s bodies perfectly. As he leans in, his lips are hovering just above yours, he kisses you slow and deep, adding to the electric connection between the two of you. 

He positions himself between your legs. He unbuckles his belt and takes of his pants, never taking his eyes off your face. He slides down his boxers in a swift motion. You can’t help but admire how stunning he looks in the soft glow of the sunlight. He slides your skirt down your legs and admires how good you look at his bed, completely naked and ready for him. Your eyes are fixed on his bdy, your hair spread across the pillow, with soft rays of sunlight filtering through the blinds, softly illuminating your body. He thinks you look absolutely stunning, and he wants nothing more than to be inside you, kiss you, and hold you - even if it’s just this one night, though he would gladly do it every night if he could. The sight before him is captivating - your beautiful body, fully exposed for him. He wishes he could hold on to this moment forever.

You feel him slowly sliding inside of you, as you close your eyes and breathe out. He is is big and you need a moment to adjust to his size. He knows it, and he is as gentle as possible despite the great desire you feel for each other. You lift up your hips a little to help him reach deeper. His hands rest on your hips as you feel him fill you deeper and deeper with every move.

You feel his grip on your hips tighten, as he speeds up the pace. He gently lifts your leg, placing it on his shoulder, and presses a soft kiss to your calf. You can’t keep your eyes off him, mesmerized with the way he looks, the way his muscles flex, the way the drops of sweat are shining on his forehead, the way he exhales slowly, eyes closing as he loses himself in the moment.

You take one of his hands from your hip and place it on one of your tits, and he starts circling his thumb against your nipple, and then pulling and twisting it, making you lick and bite your lips completely lost in the moment. You close your eyes again, and feel his hand moving from your tits to your neck and giving it a squeeze.

“Hey. Look at me.” He says. He wants you to remember - remember that it’s HIM doing all that to you.

You slowly open your eyes again and look at him, as he is thrusting deep inside of you, reaching the depths you didn’t even know existed. His other hand moves from your calf to your clit, but before he even starts drawing circles again, he says:

„Wait… Turn around.” 

He helps you to flip over. You arch your back exposing your entrance for him again and he slides in once again and returns to previous pace. The sound of skin hitting is filling out the room now, as he takes a firm grip on your hips. You bury your face in the pillow, arching your back as much as possible to let him reach the deepest parts of you. Your face doesn’t stay on the pillow for too long, as you feel him taking a handful of your hair and pull it back, forcing you to get on all fours. You feel him pick up the pace, tugging your hair, making you moan again and again and repeating his name, while single teardrops run down your cheeks. You enjoyed it to no end, and the grip he had on your hair is just a sign of how much he is enjoying himself.

You feel his hand reaching to your clit again, tapping his finger on it, and then absolutely abusing your sweet spot, not wasting time for gentle touches and calm movements. It makes your legs shake, your moans getting louder, you completely lose the control of the sounds coming from your mouth. He loves to hear it. Its’s all him - he makes you lose your mind, he makes you scream and squirm below him. Your desperate screams while you’re having the most intense orgasm you could imagine fill out the room. Your face hits the pillow again, as you close your eyes enjoying the high that he brought you to. 

Your moans and cries only drive him to the edge, he is now pounding into you, throwing his head back, his hands back on your hips. If you looked at him, you’d see the veins in his neck popping out, his mouth open, and quiet „Fucks” coming out of his mouth. 

He finishes deep inside of you while holding your hips so tightly you’re sure his hands will leave bruises. But you don’t mind, he drove you to the edge, he made you scream louder than ever, and you are sure that the first thing you will do after waking up, will be to repeat this. There was something mesmerizing about the way you communicated without words, how effortlessly your bodies seemed to align.

He lies down right next to you, his chest rising and falling with the heavy breaths he takes,. He’s wiping the sweat from his forehead. You want to say something, but you’re still trying to catch your breath, so you need a minute to come back to your senses. 

“That was…” you try to find the right words, but the only thing you can do is shake your head, overwhelmed of what just happened. Nothing you could say would ever explain the way he completely surpassed everything you had imagine.

“Yeah” he whispers, his voice barely a breath.

You feel the urge to wrap your hands around him, but the heat is suffocating, and the only thing you truly crave now is a cold glass of water.

“Tired?” He asks softly, his fingers searching for yours. He already knows the answer but he wants to hear it from you.

“Yeah. You had me out of breath” you laugh softly.

He stands up, and you can’t help but admire how incredible he looks: naked, his body covered in tattoos, the sunlight casting a soft glow on his skin. And that look of pride on his face. You wish you could look at him every day, especially when he’s like this.

He goes to the kitchen, returning with a glass of water, which you drink down quickly. He smiles, pulling you into his arms.

“Let’s get some sleep. You have to be ready for the next day of the festival.” 

“Are you going to spend it with me too?”  You ask, your voice hopeful.

"Of course. And the night after too. At least, I hope so.”

You can’t help but smile at his words. None of this unfolded how you expected. You thought it would just be a reckless one-night stand in the backseat, something you’d leave behind without looking back. But his arms felt so welcoming, his lips on your skin so comforting, you couldn’t stop yourself from falling asleep beside him and waking up to the smell of coffee he’d made. 

Festivals always made you wish time would stop - but this year you had a whole new reason for that wish.

[bouquetface]

Synastry Observations 10

Accuracy is influenced by ENTIRE chart.

Sun opposite Saturn

The negative: Sun person may find Saturn person’s attitude to be limiting and negative. Sun may think Saturn is at times controlling.

Saturn may find Sun to be arrogant as Sun may refuse to listen to Saturn on certain things.

This can cause the two feel stuck in the connection. They can progress in life without clashing with one another.

The positive: The two can learn from one another. If accompanied by positive synastry, this can indicate small bumps in the road. If the relationship is professional or not very close, this aspect may rarely be felt.

Sun conjunct Pluto

If negative, Sun may feel Pluto is forceful trying to control and change them. This can lead to clashing and power struggles.

If positive, Pluto can be a trigger for Sun to evolve.

Usually, this synastry can indicate a difference in power and status between two people. One may have the power to change the other’s life in some way.

Mars trine Venus

This indicates attraction - physical and/or personality. You may simply mesh well. You easily get into the flow with one another. A lot is simply understood btw you two.

The potential negative Venus person may feel Mars is sometimes insensitive, impatient or impulsive. Mars can learn to be more gentle through Venus. And Venus can feel motivated to take initiative in the connection.

Sun sextile Neptune 

Sun may admire Neptune - depending on the entire chart, this can be admiration for Neptune’s sensitivity, creativity or intrigued by Neptune’s mystery.

This is usually a subtle and soft synastry energy. There can often be a quiet harmony in one another’s presence. 

Venus trine Venus

You enjoy one another’s presence. You may have a lot in common. You may value similar things. You may easily understand one another’s needs to feel loved and supported. 

This is very positive synastry as it indicates mutual consideration and like (or love) for one another. It can help overcome problems encountered in the connection.

Venus square Jupiter

This can indicate a different in culture, background or mindset. As a result, you may think differently when it comes to matters such as  finances or religious views.

At worst, this can show an insincere connection. One may have ulterior motives. One can simply desire some form of pleasure - ex: relationship out of boredom, relationship for physical intimacy, knowing you don’t want a future with this person.

Venus trine Uranus

Venus aspect Uranus can indicate the meeting was significant. You may have had a strong reaction to other other - instant attraction. The person can stay at the back of your mind after meeting. Most likely Venus is intrigued but it could be Uranus too.

Venus square Neptune

This can be difficult. It can indicate a disappointing or insincere connection. Ex: No mutual attraction, one acts as a muse to the other, one loses a bit of interest after getting the other.

Neptune could feel Venus lacks interest in their creative pursuits. 

Venus could find Neptune’s behaviour confusing at some point. 

Jupiter trine Pluto

You can be very good friends. You may share a lot of memorable adventures and experiences. You contribute to one another’s growth and life path.

Pluto can benefit from Jupiter’s optimism and world view. It can allow Pluto the freedom and/or grounding to evolve.

Saturn sextile Mercury

This can make you two good at problem solving. Saturn can ground Mercury’s ideas but if negative Saturn can repress Mercury’s ideas.

Mercury may be able to verbalize Saturn’s situations which can make Saturn feel understood.

Neptune Opposite Jupiter

Be cautious of making promises you can’t keep. It can be fun to imagine a future together but there can be something fleeting about your time together. 

[h1biscvst3at1m3]

Imagining Big bro having me on his lap, spreading my legs just showing me how even without having surgery yet m’partscare still boy parts, like big brothers, and teasing my chest and letting me grind against you 😵‍💫😵‍💫

-🍓

i'm only showing you what you have, of course lil bro.

big bro will let you get nice and comfy in his lap as he puts on one of his background playlists on the tv in his bedroom. he's still dressed from coming home from work, only later due to some pushback, tough thick jeans and spare shirt on.

you came into his room all upset, worried that you were describing yourself wrong from reading online and friends. he asks if you can show him what you're confused about and lets you straddle his lap. he shakes his head as you incorrectly call your dick a clit and reaches his hand down to jerk you off slowly.

"this is your dick, bro, or your cock.." he mumbles as he rolls it between fingers, enjoying how needy you seemed to become under his touch. he moves his hand as he holds your hips and tells you that he has the same anatomy as you for now, and that he very much uses them like a man would.

so i'll teach you how to hump and grind like a man does, okay? just like that, lil bro, feel how hard you've gotten from that?

after a while i'll even play with your chest like you've seen on gay porn, mumbling how boys play rough with them so is it okay if i graze my teeth a little? oh, you like that feeling? good boy, lil bro <3

[kayakima]

How the 104th cadet corps gets their exercise routine

(Plus bonus Porco and Pieck)

Eren: Jumped around on different types of exercise until Tae Kwon Do really resonated with him. It ended up being a great outlet for his energy and temper and once he started doing it regularly, everyone noticed he mellowed out a lot in his personal life. He’s a probationary black belt currently and once he earns his black belt he wants to make a display for all of his previous belts to hang up in his living room.

Mikasa: Hosts her own workout class once a week. Runs a fitness blog that focuses more on balance rather than pushing yourself continuously. Heavily cautions against eating disorders (especially towards men) and ends all her videos with “you are a warrior. Know this. You have the power to slay all the obstacles in your path, even if you have to do it alone.” Can bench 300 but doesn’t really talk about it. Is 100% that ultra-feminine girl that Eren loses his mind over when she randomly flexes and he calls her “muscle mommy” as a joke

Armin: Jogs casually in the mornings but he had a discount on ClassPass and eventually found a yoga studio he fell in love with. Wears traditional salwar pants and got embarrassed when Eren said he was wearing “MC Hammer pants”. Yoga is his time to decompress and he can probably fold his body into a pretzel. Goes to the meditation studio next door right after for an hour. Takes Annie to goat yoga for her birthday

Annie: Saw a run club online and thought that was cost-effective and easy to commit to. Sasha heard her mention it and got super excited. She still jogs with her headphones on and doesn’t talk while actually running but she enjoys Sasha’s company regardless. Does the color run every year with Sasha and Connie. Armin always writes a silly sign for her and sneaks a picture of her covered in rainbow cornstarch with a huge smile on her face and sets it as his phone background

Bertholdt: He’s tall and kind of lanky so you wouldn’t really think much of him working out, but he’s really into longboarding and is REALLY good at snowboarding. He’s casually doing Olympic-level stunts and is like “dude it’s really not hard you just have to lean into the movements and let the board go where it wants to go” if anyone asks him about it. His longboard is COVERED with OddFuture stickers he got at Zumiez

Reiner: Lives and dies by lifting. Has whey protein with every meal and curates everything he eats by its macros and nutrient density. It took Mikasa everything she had to convince him to stop paying attention to all of that and to just eat whatever he wants when he’s hungry because at the end of the day he’s still in great shape even if he eats some cookies. He still fell for the Bloom superfood powder hype though but at least it’s not creatine or alpha male podcasts.

Ymir: Doesn’t really think about working out but can hike from sunrise to sunset without so much as panting. Has a matching owala with Historia’s and could probably climb Mount Everest without assistance or gear if you left her to her own devices. When she’s in the vicinity of one she will scale a rock wall in ten seconds.

Historia: Works out more for the aesthetic than for the health benefits because she’s already hiking with Ymir pretty often. A stairmaster HATES to see her walking into the girls-only gym with her Owala that’s clattering with charms. Only wears matching sets from gymshark and does no upper body at all. Not because she “doesn’t want to look bulky,” but because she doesn’t know how to properly do any upper body and doesn’t really care to learn since Ymir is already physically strong.

Marco: Casually works out but he’s a swimmer through and through. Freestyle is his stroke but Jean keeps telling him he has the wingspan to compete professionally in a 200m butterfly. Goes to the local public pool on his own time but prefers when Jean is free so he can use his guest pass to swim in a private gym instead. His favorite pair of racing trunks are the ones Jean gave him for his birthday that look like Patrick Star’s

Sasha: Isn’t super devoted to working out but when Annie mentioned the run club she got SUPER excited and signed the both of them and Connie up. Took Annie to get matching running shorts and shoes and posts her stats on her Instagram stories. After running a 5k and the city’s annual half-marathon she celebrates by absolutely pigging out at Applebee’s

Connie: After joining the run club he unintentionally picks up a TON of girls on a regular basis. He doesn’t even notice they’re fawning over him and just thinks they want his number to get updates on official events. Gets really passionate about Hokas and all of his running shorts have some ridiculous pattern on them. Qualifies for the half-marathon every year and dumps a bottle of water on his face five seconds after crossing the finish line

Jean: ABSOLUTELY has an Equinox membership that his mom pays for (she knows someone in corporate who gets her a 75% discount). Brings travel bottles to fill with Aēsop soap every time. Does not have Equinox merch because he’s self-aware enough to know that it’s douchey. You’d think he lifts but he’s actually a great swimmer and invites Marco on his guest pass to race every week (he lets Marco win because he likes seeing him get so excited)

Pieck: Pilates Queen. Mooches off Jean’s guest pass at Equinox but he doesn’t mind because she always likes to take “gym couple” photos. Outside of that she goes to a local Pilates studio and gets the staff holiday gift baskets every year because they’re tight like that now. Has matching sets to work out in with the girlies but prefers to work out in biker shorts and one of Jean’s tshirts when she’s on her own

Porco: was originally a CrossFit fiend until he pulled a muscle and realized CrossFit does NOT prioritize form and you’re actually just destroying your body. Bought an Equinox membership at Jean’s behest but does wear the merch because he thinks it’s comfortable and doesn’t care if it’s douchey. Says Pilates is for girls and doesn’t want to be the weird straight man in a Pilates studio but is secretly very interested in it.

[bowsandsturniolos]

"𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘣𝘰𝘺."

pairing: just sub!matt :)

warnings: smut, male masturbation, pet name, edging, whimpering if you care about that shit.

in which: matt cums to the thought of your silly little pet name.

"Meddle About" by chase atlantic plays quietly in the background as matt fucks himself with his fist. his mouth drops open as he pumps his cock, thin fingers running over his not-so-thin erection.

his mouth drops open as his head falls back. he rubs his tip with his thumb, smearing the beads of precum that collect on the pink skin. his eyes roll back as he imagines it's your hand.

he swallows thickly, a disgusting whimper ripping out from the back of his throat without permission. he covers his own mouth, imagining you're the one silencing him.

this action accidentally brings him back to one of his favore memories. you covering his mouth while you whisper into his ear, nipping at his jawline. "be quiet for me, pretty boy."

his stomach tightens and he cries out, fucking up into his fist rapidly. his orgasm swirls low in his gut, looking for a way out. just then, he lets go of his cock, whining and whimpering as if he's not doing it to himself.

"pl-please mama i- i need to c- i.." he babbles, as if you're there to hear it. he catches his breath and then takes his cock into his hand again, spitting on it for lube, imagining it's your spit he's using to jerk off.

he groans as he begins to jerk off with the warm liquid. his tip is practically purple, as this is about the third time he's edged himself. his hand speeds up, the sticky sounds of his hand sliding on his length almost deafening.

the squelches fill his ears, causing heat to crawl up his neck at the lewd and dirty reality of the situation. how sick it is of him to be jerking off without you. how much trouble he's gonna be in if you find out.

he begins to run his thumb over his tip again, feeling the way more precum rolls down his shaft from his slit. his stomach tightens again. but it's different this time. it's a knot. a taught band of pleasure.

and it's ready to snap.

he jerks off at an ungodly pace, his hand becoming a blur on his dick. his moans and groans turn into gasps and whimpers, the mere thought of you on his right now, your lips on his neck, sends him flying over that peak he's been trying to stay away from.

his stomach caves in and his hips buck, bands of white shooting from his tip and onto his belly. his eyes roll back, fucking himself through his orgasm just like you do to him. he's so good for you.

even when you're not there.

he's your pretty boy.

a/n: ayyy new layout. do we like it? i think this is much cleaner than what i had goin on before. anyways i hope yall enjoyed this even though it was ass. i threw somethin tg real quick so i could try out this new layout. pegging fic is coming soon. promise. that's kinda it, so yeah i love yall. with love, bows, and sturniolos. 💗🎀

taglist: @whore4mattsturniolo @evie-sturns @silenceb3tweensongs @sweetshuga @slut4christopherr @joanakaulitz @emely9274 @sturnshood @sturnioz @bernardsbendystraws @strnlslut @mattscoquette

[pinkaditty]

A New Day (Alan Mido x Reader; Tokyo Debunker)

i wrote alan sfw angst on his birthday. i think i owe him an apology.

a/n: writing this hurt and idk if there’ll be a part 2 lol nvm i have an idea 4 part 2 BUT it will not be a happy ending! i fear i am an angst lover… this is heavily inspired by a breakup i went through about 6 months ago that put a very abrupt end to a 5-going-on-6 year relationship. it was a lot 2 process but please none of the “im sorry 4 ur loss :(“ bc it absolutely was not a loss lmfao. every day im just glad i decided that i don’t wanna put myself through that anymore. he’s a good guy and i wish him well but that’s the last time i date a straight man ever. yippee!

disclaimer that i like alan lmfao he’s not one of my favs but i do feel a little guilty abt posting angst of him on his bday. sorry alan. ill make it up 2 u i promise ٩(´∀`)۶

sorry in advance!

summary: you and alan are falling apart. you have one month left.

cw: THIS IS 100% SFW BUT MINORS STILL DNI im not writing porn rn. idrk if there's anything 2 warn 4 besides angst and yelling. okay enjoy!! not proofread

You storm out of Vagastrom house again, pretending none of this affects you again, only to cry when you get home and bury your face in your pillow again. 

When tasked with undoing a very large, heavy, and thick knot, how do you start? Both parties know it would be far easier to cut into the knot and separate the string into two with scissors, sharp objects and sharper words, ignoring the regret and the soured feelings and anything they can’t take back, all to untie the knot. But when you love someone, you want to take the time to undo it with them and put genuine effort into it. You want to undo it gently rather than harshly, finding the source of the knot and carefully pulling at it, unraveling it, ensuring that the string stays together and intact.

But sometimes patience runs thin. Sometimes time is short. Sometimes frustrations run high. Sometimes the promises you made to each other to keep trying fade to the background as you both get caught up, irritation growing at how long and how thick and how imposing the knot is. You start thinking that maybe the both of you just need an out, the easy way. But you don’t want to let go without reason. So you put up with it. Both of you do.

During this last argument with Alan, you reveled in the way his hands curled into fists at your words, hoping that for once he would give you a justifiable reason to leave. The depths of his anger terrified you, but you can’t decide if it’s love or fear that keeps you from becoming a victim of it. At first, you were sure it was love, but when your faith began to waver in your relationship, so did your faith in him. You were sure he felt the same, as you were getting annoyed with the doubtful glances he’d send your way when he next saw you after another mission ran late and you had to cancel yet another date. You didn’t like canceling the dates, but after you finally finished a mission early, and found time, the date you went on was disastrous. You found yourself the subject of probing questions, lackluster conversation, and an overall depressing atmosphere. It was not what you were hoping for after doing your best to free up your schedule for once. This ruined any motivation you had to free up your schedule again, and in turn, dates became sparse. Even the question to spend time together felt more like a desperate plea rather than a casual request, on both ends. You couldn’t read his mind, so you had no way of knowing if he was equally as displeased, was trying, or just didn’t care, but the more time passed, the more you found yourself not really caring what his thoughts were. You began to revert inside yourself, focusing on yourself. Maybe this would be fixed if you could make sure you were alright before pouring any more of yourself into this relationship. You had too much to worry about, after all: the curse, you dying in a very short time now if a cure wasn’t found, juggling the ghouls, running errands for Jin and Tohma, racing back and forth between classes and missions, and finding crumbs of time between it all and painstakingly separating it between spending time with friends and spending time with Alan. You were sure he also had a lot of things on his plate as well, but with how clouded your mind was with anger right now, you couldn’t be bothered to try and see things from his point of view. 

When you think you’ve bawled enough into your pillow about literally everything happening all at once, you pick yourself up from the bed, allowing your body to sag in a seated position at the edge, looking out the window. It looked like it was due to rain soon, the clouds covering the sun from peeking through at all. You wondered if Alan was looking out a window at a similar view, just a brisk walk away, before scoffing to yourself. No, not likely. After a fight like that, he’d want to blow off steam, so he's probably sparring with Sho or working on another car. Funny how you could still know him, even if he felt like a completely different person now. Some parts of him were exactly the same as they had been when you’d fallen in love with him.

You’d had a crush on him for a while at first, watching meekly from afar, too spooked to confidently approach him directly. You’d always been fond of the gentle giant types, and that was essentially him, if you put aside his haunted past and violent tendencies towards anomalies. He knew how to control his anger at least, and always made an attempt to be kind to you. He was quiet, but welcoming and warm. When he opened up to you, he even began to smile when you were around. He took the time to teach you about car parts, not that you were really paying attention and more so looking for an excuse to hear him ramble about something he liked. He’d even listen to your endless drivel, whether it was about missing home, other ghouls, stressful missions, or just needing to sort all your thoughts out. He was always there to listen. Maybe he wasn’t the best at offering advice, and would refuse a hug if he was covered in sweat or motor oil, but his gentle smile oftentimes felt like enough. And it was enough, for you. You knew you were completely head over heels when he took you for a drive once, surprising you with an R&R permit for no particular reason other than just on a whim. Of course, you agreed. Why not spend some time away from Darkwick with your favorite ghoul? It was just a simple drive, but it turned into something else when you stopped for burgers and shakes at his favorite fast food place. Then you stopped at an arcade and he beat you at every game, except the crane game, though you were sure that was totally dumb luck. Then he took you back to Darkwick and you talked in the car for hours about everything and nothing, with the windows rolled down and your seats reclined, until he fell asleep. You remembered watching his eyelids flutter shut, still responding to your questions with his eyes closed, until his responses stopped. You remembered looking over, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, the slight part of his lips in a soft snore, the moonlight pouring through the window of the Vagastrom garage and illuminating his every minute detail. You sat there for a while, studying him, feeling a cheesy smile grow on your face and your heart thrum with telling emotion. Yea. That was when you fell in love with him. 

You only realize you’re crying when a sob racks through your body, forcing you back into reality. Your eyes readjust from the imagined memory of sleeping Alan to the peaceful rain outside. Something about those two scenes didn’t feel all that different. Even the context wasn’t all that different, either. Falling in love, and falling out of love… was that what was happening? A sickening pit falls in your stomach, and you find your expression turning into a frown before you know it. The thought doesn’t go away. It sticks. And it’s been sticking for months now. 

It was when you’d noticed that the two of you had been growing apart for a while. You’d been swamped with missions and classwork and the ghouls themselves, and he’d been busy with sorting out cases and classwork and his other duties as a Captain. Before you knew it, it’d been longer than you could count on all your fingers since you’d last seen him, if not in passing. It bothered you that not seeing him didn’t bother you. It bothered you that you’d been so focused on work that you hadn’t had much time to donate to him. It bothered you that he’d been so focused on work that he hadn’t had much time to donate to you. It was to be expected, living on this hellish campus, but still. You two had made it work before. When you’d approached him about it, he’d been working on a car, laying on the car roller underneath it. The students hanging around in the garage pointed you in his direction, not that you’d needed their help. You knew where he would be. You knocked twice on the car door, and he stopped his work, rolling himself out from underneath the car. He blinked at you for a moment before offering you a nod and a tiny smile. “Honor Roll.” Even after months of dating, he still hadn’t stopped calling you that. Not that you minded. 

“Hey, Alan.” You sat down next to the car roller and leaned back against the car. He sat up and mimicked your position. 

“What are you here for?” Alan asked, spinning a wrench between his fingers. He was nervous.

“To see you.” You clasped your hands together to keep yourself from wringing them nervously, though you were sure he already knew that was a habit of yours. 

“Mm.” He hummed in response, closing his eyes as he leaned his head against the car door. To most, this reply would seem lackluster, but you knew he was giving you the floor to speak. 

“...I haven’t seen you in a while.” You looked away from him as you said this, instead choosing to fixate your gaze on the garage floor beneath you, covered in dust and grime and motor oil. 

“Me neither.” From the shifting noise you hear, you could assume he’s turned his gaze to you, but you weren’t ready to look at him yet. 

“I’m sorry. About being so absent all the time.” You forced the words out before you could think about them, drawing patterns into the dust-covered floor. 

A heavy sigh. “It’s hardly your fault.” Another shift and he’s looked away from you again. “I’ve been absent, too.”

He was right, he had been. “I don’t wanna be absent anymore, Alan.” You turned to him, wiping your finger free of dust and folding your hands in your lap again. 

He turned back towards you, a soft smile on his face, far truer than the small one he’d offered you in greeting. “Me neither, Honor Roll.”

Your heart felt warm all over again. “Well?” He wasn’t one to always let you take initiative, you knew that. 

He stood up from his car roller and tossed his wrench to the side. He was covered in sweat and motor oil, but for once, it didn’t seem like he cared. He held a hand out to you, smiling. “Let’s go.”

You didn’t care where you were going. You just knew he was gonna take you somewhere. And that was all you needed. It was silent, but between you both, a promise had been made. You would keep trying. You would keep pushing forward. You knew you still loved him in the way you eagerly broke out into a run after him, his sweaty, rough palms struggling to keep a solid grip on yours. He smiled brightly back at you and continued on his way, pulling you along. It didn’t matter where you were going, so long as it was together. 

You bury your forehead in your hands, breaking the temporary spell of that memory. It was darker outside now, the rain still gently pattering on your window. There were things you had to do tonight, like get dressed for bed, eat something, maybe distract your spinning brain with a good book or a movie on your laptop. But strangely, as those things came to your mind, each one seemed more boring than the last. You didn’t have the energy to change. You didn’t have the appetite for food. Your laptop was too far away and you didn’t feel like leaving your bed. You plop right back down on your side, trying to resist the tears that threatened to spill. Even when the two of you had started growing apart, there was still hope. You’d started off strong and made such an effort. What happened? It was like that love you’d tried so hard to cultivate, revive, and strengthen had just fallen apart further than it had before, crumpled and dry and lonely. You’d tried so hard. The knot that had been growing between you had been a daunting task to rid yourselves of, but you’d managed. Why was it bigger now, worser now? Did you even have the energy to put yourself through this again? It had fallen apart so quickly, like the promise had just been forgotten. 

You wish you could bring yourself to not think about this anymore, but your brain keeps coming back to it. You stay curled up in bed, periodically checking your phone, staring at WickChat, wishing with all your might that Alan would send a message. You knew it probably wasn’t going to happen, not after all you’d said a few hours ago, but some part of you still hoped it was salvageable. 

The fight had been just waiting to happen, when you think about it. The two of you, for whatever reason, had been finding reasons to disagree with and avoid each other more often than not. The relationship hadn’t felt like a relationship anymore. You knew you’d been too emotional to handle things properly, but you didn’t care. When you’d stormed into Vagastrom, you were just grateful nobody was around to see you so high-strung. Alan doesn’t even come out from underneath the car he’s working on, probably too peeved to care much. You already can’t even remember what it is you’re angry about. All you know is your frustration with him has piled up and reached an all-time high.

“Alan.” You almost end up barking his name out, too frustrated to focus on the tone of your voice. His heavy sigh just peeved you further. 

He’d sat up from underneath the car and stood to face you, his expression flat and exasperated. “Yes, Honor Roll?” He’d been twirling that same wrench around his fingers. The action you’d found endearing before had just turned annoying. 

You’d huffed out a sigh in response, having heard the tone of his voice in response to yours. Responding with bitterness would be childish, but that’s what you had done. “We need to talk.”

“About?” Alan grunted and turned away from you. He’d been trying to show he was disinterested. And you weren’t going to let that slide. 

“Us, clearly!” You couldn’t help but raise your voice. You’d felt all the old frustration bubble up all at once. 

“Mm.” 

“And there you go again!” At this point, you had stopped trying to keep quiet out of decency. It didn’t matter anymore. You found yourself almost yelling out of frustration. “All you do when it comes to conversations like this is hum at me or sigh!”

That had used to be so endearing. Why was it so annoying now?

He’d muttered something that you couldn’t hear, but you hadn’t cared.

“I keep telling you, I’m trying!” You’d smacked your hands together to put emphasis on the words, at a loss for how else to get the importance of this across. “I keep trying to make this work, I keep trying to get off of missions early, but I don’t always have the time! It’s just as frustrating for me as it is for you!”

Alan knew you weren’t done, so he hadn’t responded, turning away from you and busying his hands by organizing a nearby toolbox.

 “And not getting to see you sucks, you know?” You had swallowed as you’d said that. The words tasted too close to a lie. You had then faltered, trying to find something else to say. 

Alan sighed again. Your anger spiked again.

“And could you stop sighing like that, and give me an actual, genuine response?!” You’d watched his hand tighten into a fist as you’d said that, and you’d flinched away, feeling your stomach rumble with terror. 

He breathed a steady breath, as though he were cooling himself off. “You want a genuine response?” He’d asked, though you knew it was rhetorical. “Fine.”

He turned towards you, his eyes blazing with anger. His free hand was still curled in a fist, his other hand had been closing the toolbox. His voice was a low rumble, the angriest and most threatening you’d ever heard it. “Go home, Honor Roll,” He’d said. 

And go home, to the chapel, you had.

You’d kicked rocks all the way there, and now here you were in your bed, with sore toes and not enough energy to go and kick rocks in the rain. 

Alan was justified in feeling neglected. You were justified in feeling frustrated. Neither of you was justified in taking your anger out on the other person. That hadn’t even been your first big fight about that subject. It must’ve been the third one in two weeks. Sometimes he said more, sometimes you said more, sometimes you both did little more than glare and huff at each other.

You turn over in your bed, opening your phone again and checking WickChat. Nothing, like you’d expected. You try not to let it disappoint you, knowing you probably wouldn’t want to hear from him anyway. You flip open your calendar. 

Five months. It’d been a little over five months of this. And you’d started dating him around three months after you got here. You still weren’t cured. You had maybe a month left, give or take. 

One month. 

You roll on your back this time, staring up at your ceiling. The shock that you were going to die had long since passed. You were resigned to it now, used to the pitying looks the ghouls gave you, even hearing the sobs some of them tried to keep quiet. You had tried to remain cheery through it all, but this relationship with Alan was weighing on you, becoming more of a burden than a blessing. The failing relationship, the depressed mood on campus, the pitying looks, the rushed work, everyone suddenly desperate to find a cure - it’d all become too much. Tears spill from your eyes yet again, but you don’t stop them this time. You continue to lay starfished on your bed, staring up at the ceiling. 

You idly think of the flowers on your back that had started out sparse and have since become an overwhelming garden. You think of the memory of the eye of the Kyklos. You think of the ghouls. You think of home. You think of the sage ring, still on your right ring finger. You think of the chancellor. You think of the professors. You think of rainy days at Hotarubi and wild weather at Jabberwock. You think of the frosty chill of Frostheim and the blazing heat of Sinostra. You think of the cool nights at Obscuary and the humidity of Vagastrom. You think of the weird chill at Mortkranken that you were sure was more closely associated with fear than the temperature. You think of everything at Darkwick. All of the anomalies you’d captured (and promptly destroyed), all of the adventures you’d had, all of the friends you’d made.

And then you think of Alan. Your heart weighs heaviest when your mind turns to him. The tears seem to spill faster, not that you could really tell. Thinking of all that you were going to miss had already blurred your vision enough. 

You had one month left. Did you want to spend it trying to fix something that was failing? Would one month be enough time to fix it? Would you die trying to? Would you die, bitter and unhappy? Would things be fixed by then?

Were you willing to bet your final four weeks on a simple “what if things get better”?

The sobs finally come, racking your body. It was over. 

Tomorrow, you’d have to face that.

And tomorrow, you did. 

You make your way over to Vagastrom in the early morning, your steps timid and slow. You knew he’d be awake, probably skipping out on sleeping the previous night, spending hours fixing his car instead to throw his mind into other things. 

And sure enough, you find him, sitting on the hood of his car, dark bags under his eyes. The dorm is practically silent this early in the morning. He’s twirling a wrench in his hands again, lost in thought. The habit is neutral to you now. Not endearing, not annoying… just, neutral. 

Your heart sinks. This really was it.

Your footsteps clack on the floor, finally catching his attention. He fixes you with a gaze you can’t quite read, and one you probably don’t need to. You were sure your expression looked similar. 

He shifted over on the car hood, making space for you and patting the empty space next to him. You hoist yourself up and plop right next to him, listening as the rest of the world wakes up. The birds start chirping with the rising sun, and the nighttime crickets finally silence their song. Your throat feels dry. But you push on anyway.

“...This isn’t working.” 

He shakes his head in response, not looking at you. You don’t look at him either. “...It’s broken.”

“Yeah.” You respond, feeling tears return to your already puffy eyes. You don’t bother wiping them away. “We tried to fix it.”

“We did.” His response is as terse as ever, and you can’t tell if you want to cry or laugh. You’re closer to crying, really, but a familiar, rueful smile pulls at your lips, just a little bit. You’re about to respond when he speaks up again. “Sometimes things are… too broken to repair.”

You don’t miss the way he nearly chokes on his words. His voice sounds almost hoarse with how weak it is. Your heart clenches. You blink rapidly, feeling your eyes burn. 

You turn to him, looking up at him with a melancholy expression. “...And, what do you do with things that are too broken… to repair?” You almost choke on your words yourself, but hold it in, turning away as you finish. 

“You break it apart. Sell it for parts. Look for something new.” Alan’s voice wavered as he nodded to himself, pursing his lips. You could tell his eyes were watering. He was still spinning the wrench in his hand. 

“...Yeah.” You look towards the sunrise through the window, watching the dawn of a new day. 

You sniffle, unable to control your tears anymore. They spill forward. You don’t know how many times you’ve cried in the last 24 hours. It’s almost funny to know that this won’t be the last time. Your sobs are quiet, but still make some noise. Alan does not reach out to comfort you. You are thankful he doesn’t. 

“I’m sorry.” Your broken voice is hardly above a whisper. The tears don’t seem to stop flowing. You don’t reach up to wipe them away. 

When you hear Alan sniffle, you almost startle, turning towards him, surprised. You had only seen Alan cry on rare occasions. But, you don’t let yourself be surprised for long. The tears are small and quick, cutting through the overnight dirt and grime on his cheeks. “I’m sorry, too.” His voice cracks and his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, letting his head hand forward. 

Only a few tears slip through before his sobs stop, his breathing returning to steady and normal. Your sobs weren’t done, but they were clearing up, slowly. You take note of his free hand, placed on the hood of the car between the two of you. 

Whether it’s poor judgement or a final goodbye, you’re not sure, but you place your hand over his, squeezing it lightly. Almost immediately, he lifts his hand and holds yours, gripping it tight one last time. He doesn’t look at you, and you don’t look at him. 

You hold hands for a minute before your grip starts slipping, and his does as well. You pull your hand away and boost yourself off of the car hood, returning your feet to solid ground. You turn around to look at him, hunched over, morning sunlight gently caressing his form and dipping him in gold. 

You inhale deeply, before exhaling harshly, blowing the air out of your lungs. “See you around, Alan.” You summon your widest smile, tears still spilling down your cheeks. 

He cannot return one as wide, but he smiles anyway, dried tear tracks on his cheeks. “See you around, Honor Roll.”

And with that, everything was back to the way it was again. 

When you exit the Vagastrom dorm, the rising sun is peeking far above the horizon. The sky was slowly turning from dawn red to turquoise blue, bringing on the full form of a new day. You look up at the sky, dotted with clouds, and let the sun warm your skin just a little. You had one month left to enjoy it. And now, you would do it freely, with nothing weighing you down.

happy birthday alan!!!!!!!!!

i wrote this in one sitting. cheers. clearly my autism knows no bounds.

ik nobody wants 2 read alan angst on his birthday so im sure this won't get much, but usual note that i appreciate likes, but especially tagged reblogs, comments and asks detailing how much you enjoyed my work!!! please enjoy!

songs i listened 2 while writing this:

honestly - thorns ft. kasane teto (had this on loop for hours after i finished my shift at work. insane. "honestly, i don't know if i'll ever change, and honestly, i don't know if you feel the same, and honestly, there is nobody here to blame for all the things i want, and all that i don't! but honestly, i don't care that you went away, and honestly, i don't care that you didn't stay, and honestly, i don't know if i'll ever say that none of this was true, i'm not being honest at all!" straight heat and directly related 2 the plot.)

taglist: @cupcakesmoothie @aayakashii @sunskosh @despairingy-obsessed @glamorousspoon @mmy-meow @dailyvahine @diluxama @obscuarysghoulnextdoor @disassociationdive @andy-solo1 @luna-v-roiya

want 2 join or be removed from the tkdb taglist? let me know!

[itzy-bitsy-spidey]

"The purple man (pt.10)"

or "Something made a hole in my backyard (pt.10)"

Shadow the hedgehog x reader (platonic)

Notes: Kind of short, it feels as if I was kind of stuck in this current scenario, anyways, I am now avaible for comission, if you wanted an one shot or something...

Remember to comment if you like the chapter! Enjoy!

Part 9

The second time you woke up your eyes were no longer blurry.

And, even though it took you a little while to adjust your sight, you could finally see what your surroundings looked like. The room you were in had no windows, it was lit up by a bunch of neon purple lights that were installed in long lines across the walls. And the walls, those were made of metal and shaped to make the room appear spherical.

It kind of looked what you thought the inside of a cyber punk style bedroom would look like.

And in front of you, five meters away, was a metal door.

You decided to test your body and sit up, thankfully your body responded. There was no pain, no headache or painfull throb in any zone, you were still wearing the same clothes that you were wearing the night before, but there was a blanket covering you.

You decided to get off the bed, the cold floor freezing your feet, but nonetheless you aproached the metal door slowly, as if it would attack you out of nowhere.

The hiss of the door sliding open truly did nothing to ease the knot in your stomach, a wave of cold washing all over you and making your hairs stand in end.

But nothing came through the door.

On the other side was a hallway, the style very similar to the room you were just in, with purple lights everywhere. It kind of reminded you of a night club, only without music, and without people. Not that it helped calming you down.

Walking down the corridor you chastised yourself for the null instinct of self-preservation you posessed, you had decided to go towards the right, no real thought behind the choice, only a deep desired to get the fuck out of wherever it was you were.

What had you done in order to end up in this situation? There was really nothing coming to mind, besides, who could have kidnaped you? And why?

I mean, you did take in an alien hedgehog at your home, but you were sure that the goverment currently had bigger things to worry about, like... the moon being only half of what it used to be.

Finally the hallway was coming to an end, with yet another metal door waiting for you. When that one didn´t open like the previous on you pushed yourself against it, trying to make it budge.

You couldn´t help but think about Shadow, was he at home? was he safe? Or had whoever had taken you taken him as well? Coul he possibly be scared?

Oh god, would you ever see him again?

And your uncle Tom, you had never apologised, not to him neither to your aunt Maddie. Were your parents worried about you? you hadn´t talked with them in the last few days.

There was people out there waiting for you, you could not stay here forever.

Before your thought got the best of you the door slided open with a hiss.

You didn´t have time to react and fell to the ground instead.

A pair of combat boots appeared right in your field of vision. Looking up you found that the boots were attached to a man, his coat almost blending into the background, given it was a similar purple color, vintage red round glasses decorated his face, along with a well trimmed beard, and a slightly unsettling smile.

"Well, hello there"

Tom felt bad. Well, maybe "bad" was an understatement, he felt terrible.

That morning he had been preparing everything in order to go camping with Sonic, Tails and Knuckles, Maddie was also going along after much convincing. Truth was, she felt terrible as well.

They had not heard a single word from you since the day you had argued. They had called, but you never answered, it had almost gotten to the point in which Maddie tried to go to your house to make sure Shadow hadn´t attacked you.

But Tom had stopped her before she did anything that could make you any more angry at her.

And so the idea of going camping had came up, as a way of relaxing and forgetting everythyng stressful from the last week.

Your aunt had refused, and it had taken a lot of talking about what Sonic had told him about Shadow to prove that he was probably not going to try to harm you.

The wet puppy faces from the alien children had also helped a lot in convincing her.

But anyways, there he was, driving his truck to the woods to set up a camping spot with his family, and even though his gut wrenched and his heart beated way to fast for his liking there was nothing he was going to do about you.

You were a responsible adult, he trusted you to take care of yourself.

Taglist:@boogiemansbitch@vxllys@whoisgami@baby-bloos@sapphireravensworld@mothmanperson@4rm-the-mf-concrete@eliknowsnothing@pooplyface1423@kyouzki@moon-trash1507@shadowforlive@multifandom-501