#HE WAS SUPPOSE TO HAVE A COAT/HAT

[mechawolfie]

anyway. here's a guy I'm drawing (he's a wizard)

[hurlingdown]

DISTRACTION — TOP MALE READER X DRACULE MIHAWK

synopsis. mihawk's having a shitty day, and frankly, he needs you to comfort him. perhaps you could give him a . . . distraction of some sort. wc. 2.3k

tags. needy! power bttm! mihawk, service top! reader, food play (concerning wine), fingering, anal sex, cumming untouched, slight praise kink

“I am not your father, nor will I ever be.” 

What had started as a simple joke had escalated into a topic of matter with a depth that none of them—Zoro or Perona—could fathom. After Mihawk spit out those damaging words and strode off to his private quarters, the two had sat in silence for the remainder of their dinnertime, before Zoro had gotten up and said he wanted to train some more, and Perona said she needed her beauty sleep. 

They were excuses. Distractions. Because it had hurt, and none of them could figure out why—the belated realisation that perhaps Mihawk did not associate them with familiarity, did not acknowledge their presence as a part of his life. They were strangers, still. Strangers who had spent every day for two years together in an abandoned castle. 

The sharp knocking on your door of your study had caught your attention, and you frowned. Your husband wasn’t one for such an impatient feat, and rarely would Perona or Zoro come to you for something. 

You unlocked the door. 

“Who is—oh.” A pleasant surprise, and you allowed yourself to relish in the slightly dishevelled appearance of Mihawk without his plumed hat, his piercing golden eyes a little more tired than usual. You grinned. “Hey.” 

“Y/n,” he said, rather stiffly. “I would… like a diversion tonight.” 

You stilled.

A diversion. Were you misinterpreting his words? Was this his way of propositioning you? Him, really? Dracule Mihawk? 

“Did you train too hard with Zoro today, love?” You laughed, but you didn’t miss the way his expression hardened at the mention of the other swordsman. 

“No. If that is too much to ask for, then I will take my leave.” 

“Wait.” You gently wrapped a hand around his wrist, tugging him back to you. “I’m sorry for laughing. And if… a diversion is what you want, then I suppose I can’t afford to disappoint my husband, mm?” 

Your hands slid to his waist, pulling him into the room before closing and locking the door behind you. You knew something was on his mind—the way he would suddenly seem distant, eyebrows furrowing, his grip on your shoulders turning rigid as you kissed him languidly, trying your best to distract him from whatever. 

Mihawk pulled back, somewhat breathless, and gave a single tug on your shirt. You bit back a smile at his casual display of need, taking the hint to undress yourself, but afterwards immediately surging back to continue the kiss, helping him remove his coat. He was way more touchy than usual today, one hand cupping the back of your neck to deepen the kiss while the other rested tenderly on your bicep, securing your hold on him. 

Before long, the two of you had ended up on the made bed with him sprawled beneath you, naked and pretty despite having solid strength embedded into his very being. As your hands slowly kneaded his thighs to get him to relax, his golden eyes scrutinised your every move, still unused to showing vulnerability after all those years. 

“I suppose you don’t want to talk about it.” 

“No. I do not.” 

“Does it concern the children?” 

“Do not speak of them as if they were your own.” 

Ah. So that was what it was about. 

You pressed a lubed finger to his entrance, easing one in. You decided you wanted to rile him up. “They’re not my children, naturally. But they might as well be yours.” 

Mihawk’s eyes had widened a fraction, almost in anger, but then you had pressed your finger directly into his prostate, and he had shuddered with a sharp hiss of your name, all words lost. You continued to lazily rub the spot you knew too well after years of practice, watching as he bit his lip to stop the small breathy moans from spilling out. 

“Y’know what, love? I have the perfect thing for this occasion.” You pulled out your finger, and his gaze had immediately snapped to yours with a deep frown, silently questioning why. 

“I do not wish to indulge in any of your shenanigans—” 

You reached into the cupboard to pull out a bottle of fine wine, one you had made yourself since your stay at Kuraigana Island. “You were saying?” 

Mihawk cleared his throat, looking away. “I will indulge you this once.” 

You grinned triumphantly, settling back between his spread thighs and shamelessly staring at his hard-on, which rested on his stomach with a pretty flush. You pressed one finger back into him carefully, adding one more for the stretch before popping open the cork, taking a swig of the wine as the smallest sip drenched your mouth with a taste so bitter and divine. 

Distracted, you hadn’t realised when Mihawk had begun rolling his hips back against your fingers, wanting to take it deeper, but his ego forbade him from asking. 

“Patience, darling,” you muttered, curling your fingers and enjoying the way his breath stuttered. 

“I’m ready. Put it in.” 

You chuckled at his stubbornness, knowing he was nowhere near ready before taking another drink and leaning down to capture his lips. Mihawk parted them without much thought—a result of conditioning over the years, maybe, and the wine trickled from your tongue into his mouth. 

He made a little noise of surprise before swallowing harshly, tongue lightly pressing against yours, subtly asking for more. You allowed it, letting him explore you as he wished, but keeping the pace slow and languorous as your fingers continued to scissor and stretch him open. 

Mihawk looked dazed when you finally parted, a light blush riding high on his cheekbones, his lips red and kiss-bitten. 

“How is it?” 

“Horrible,” he muttered, and his tongue briefly darted out to lick the corner of his mouth, as though he wanted to chase the aftertaste. 

“You seem to like it enough.” 

His bottom lip pressed up, and if you didn’t know your husband any better you would have thought he was sulking. You shared another wine-drenched kiss, adding a third finger before he started to get impatient, wrenching his mouth away from yours. 

He grabbed your wrist. “Put it in,” he demanded breathily.

“Aye, sir,” you teased, slathering your length with lube before lining up and pushing inside. 

Mihawk had made a noise between a gasp and a mewl, fingers fisting into the bed sheets as he looked up at you with half-lidded eyes. His hole stretched deliciously tight around your cock, warm and wet with the squelch of lube, and you stifled a groan, stopping to let him get adjusted to the size. 

What you didn’t expect was how strong legs suddenly locked around your waist, forcing you all the way in in one go. “Mihawk—!” White hot pleasure surged up your spine as your knees trembled from how hard you were trying not to hold back and not blindly thrust into him. 

“Be quiet,” he rasped, and you looked down to see him with his head thrown back to bare his pretty neck, body trembling in an arch, face flushed and heaving with breath. No matter how many times you had done this before, it was always a sight to see the Greatest Swordsman in the World being reduced to a debauched mess at your touch. 

You felt a smug grin creep onto your face. “Too much?” 

“No. Move.” 

“Fine with me.” Throwing his legs over your shoulder, you rammed back into tight heat, making him throw out his arms for balance with a yelp. 

“Reckless, hn, as ever—” 

“That’s why you married me, love.” The soles of his feet dug into your neck as you set a punishing pace, driving little noises out of him as you railed him into the mattress. "Playing safe is rather boring, don't you think?"

He narrowed his gaze with disapproval, but made no further comment, only able to suck in quiet shaky breaths to keep up with you.

And yes, this was good, but it wasn’t enough. Didn’t feel like real sex. You wanted to hear more. 

You stopped all of a sudden, and Mihawk let out a frustrated growl, his hips bucking back against your cock as though trying to fuck himself on it. Pressing a hand on his stomach to force him to stay put, you retrieved the wine bottle from the nightstand and poured it all over his chest, the liquid messily splashing onto skin. 

“What are you—!” 

You leaned down to take a nipple into your mouth, lips wrapping around it to suck hard while your tongue licked up the sweet, puckery wine. At the same time, you started to grind your hips against him, the blunt head of your cock massaging places inside him that sent stars clouding at the edges of his vision. Mihawk tightened around you, letting out a whine—an actual, unrestrained one. 

It was music to your ears. 

You continued to lick and suck at his chest until every single drop of wine had been cleaned from him, and he had fisted a hand into your hair, grasping at the strands painfully, whether trying to press harder or pull you away—you couldn’t tell. 

“Haah, that’s enough!” 

“So pretty,” you murmured, ignoring him as you bit into his chest, making him cry out. “No one’s seen you like this before.” 

“I’ll slit your throat, y/n.” 

You simply smirked. “Did I ever tell you that dishing out death threats in the middle of sex is a huge turn on for me?” 

“Not threats. They're promises if you keep this up.” 

“Alright, fine.” You reeled back only to start fucking your cock into him again, head turning to kiss at his sensitive inner thigh hooked over your shoulder. It started off with lazy grinding, until you started to angle your hips to hit a mouth-watering spot inside him, harder, faster, better. 

Mihawk glared at you weakly as he endured your thrusts, letting out breathy whines as you took and took and took from him, every piece of the wall he had built around himself slowly crumbling down to nothing. 

You started to pound into him even harder, arms wrapping around his thighs to thrust his hole back against you, the filthy, loud slapping of skin against skin echoing in the room. Mihawk had seized up with a choked whine all of a sudden, eyes wide as he realised that the kids might hear, but you ignored him, knowing far too well that Zoro and Perona were at the other side of the castle and in their respective rooms. 

“They won’t hear. Now louder.” 

Mihawk only shook his head weakly, knowing that only moans and other desperate noises would come out if he opened his mouth to answer. He was barely able to focus on you now, his eyes blinking half-open and closing, mind-blown with pleasure. 

“You asked for a diversion. I’m giving you one, but not without payment,” you mumbled. “So let me hear you, love.” 

This was enough to make his lips part, and you drove forward to nail directly into his prostate, making him whine your name, wrecked. 

“More,” you gasped, drinking in the noise. “I want more.”

“Touch—touch me.” 

“No. Want you to cum on my cock only. Can you do that? Please?” 

Mihawk only gritted his teeth together, otherwise too tired to fight your demands, and the alcohol—although only a few sips—was getting to his head, making him looser, less defiant. He was now panting openly into the air, almost drooling, too fucked out to stifle his moans or straighten his lewd expression, only able to lie there and take it, the distraction that he had asked for. 

You were getting close, and by the way his hole spasmed around you with every thrust, you knew he had already been a long time ago. 

Leaning forward to almost bend him in half, you mindlessly muttered praises into his ear, “So fucking good, gorgeous, you’re so strong, so good f’me—” 

That did the trick, and then he was cumming and falling apart in your arms, back pulled taut like a string and eyes rolling back with a rare shout of your name. His hole tightened around you like a vice, making your hips stutter to a sudden stop. You choked on a moan, pivoting your hips to drive against his prostate one last time before blinding white utterly consumed your vision. 

When you came to be, you had collapsed on top of him, no longer inside, and it took a hand carding through your hair to pull you back to reality. It was dirty, with ropes of cum smushed against your cheek and sweat clinging on to every inch of your bodies, but Mihawk was there, his heart beating warm and alive underneath you, and it felt so right. 

“Thank you,” you heard him whisper faintly. 

You stopped his hand, bringing it to your lips to press a kiss to the ring there. “You don’t have to thank me for anything. I didn’t do it out of obligation.” 

“I know.” 

You hummed. “And I understand that maybe you aren’t ready to recognise that you have become… some sort of parental figure to them,” you breathed, choosing your words carefully, “but I do wish that you could see how much they value and trust in you.” 

“I know,” he repeated. And then a more quiet, “They’re yours, too.” 

Oh. 

You raised your head to look at him in question, only to find him facing the side, pink dusted on his cheeks. 

“I… am inebriated. You are taking advantage of an inebriated man.” 

“I didn’t even say anything!” you protested. 

Laughing at his embarrassment, you leaned down to press a kiss to his lips, finding a taste not even the sweetest of wines could replicate seeping into your body, of finely-aged love.  masterlist! # getting his characterisation right was the hard part. @/anon who wanted a needy mihawk, hope this suffices <3

[dollfacefantasy]

WHICH ONE TO CHOOSE?

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader x chris redfield x carlos oliveira

summary: at a halloween party, you and your boyfriend play out a little fantasy with chris and carlos.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, anal, blowjobs, face fucking, foursome, cnc, praise/degradation, intoxication/alcohol, pre-planned roleplay scenario

wc: 4.2k

a/n: it's a little messy but i hope you guys like this one. it's set in an au where re characters are allowed to experience happiness <3 anyways comments, reblogs, and asks are always appreciated.

kinktober slot: day 26 - cnc

Holding Leon's hand tight in your own, you drag him along the cement pathway leading to Rebecca and Billy's front door. Their yard is decked out like it is every year you've been to one of these things. Cobwebs sprawl across the arch ways while purple and orange lights glow in each window. Skeletons hang by the doorway and loud music thumps from inside.

Pushing open the mahogany surface, you stretch your free arm above your head and announce your presence.

Rebecca who's standing near the entryway hears the call of your voice and turns to greet you. A smile spreads across her lips as she takes in you and Leon together.

"There you two are. I was starting to wonder if you couldn't make it this year," she says.

"Pfft. Please, the year we miss one of your parties is the year Leon's horrible driving has taken us out on the way here," you joke, earning chuckles from her and Billy who's come up from behind her.

Leon, in contrast to them, shakes his head before wrapping his arm around your neck and pulling you closer to him. 

"Don't encourage her," he tells them with a suppressed smile.

Rebecca playfully rolls her eyes and waves him off. The song switches in the background, going from something low and quick to the slower melody of Eyes Without a Face.

"Really though, it's great to see you both. You guys look great," she praises.

"Thank you," you beam at the compliment, smoothing out the blood-spattered, white dress that covered your figure. Glancing up at Leon, you pull his Jason mask down over his features so that the looks are complete. 

"You and Billy look super cute too," you continue as your eyes scan over their simple matching doctor and nurse outfits, Rebecca being the one in the doctor's white coat and the tall man behind her in the little hat with the red cross on it.

She thanks you in return, and the two of you chatter on while you migrate into the living room to join the rest of the party. The usual crowd spans across the main part of the house, from the couches near the fireplace to the bar set up in the kitchen. While you yourself are not a government employee, you'd become friends with almost everyone here who is over the course of your relationship with Leon.

You prance over to Claire and Jill sitting on the sofa first, giving the younger woman a big hug over her shoulders from behind before reaching for Jill and bringing her in too. Claire returns the embrace by covering your forearm with her palm while Jill pats your bicep in acknowledgement.

You take in their costumes too. Claire has ditched her red jacket for the night and instead dons a black sweater with bat wings attached to the back. Jill, on the other hand, looks like she just got off of work, but you suppose soldier could technically be a costume.

"How are you guys? Oh my gosh, Jill it's been so long since I last saw you," you gush.

They give the usual small talk responses, checking in on you as well. Their eyes flit to Leon a few feet behind you with brief waves.

"Have you been keeping him in line?" Claire teases with a smile.

You nod proudly and lean back, wrapping your hands around his arm. "You know it," you chirp.

The small group of you banter back and forth for a while, catching up, talking about plans for the future. Even though these are Leon's friends, you're often much more talkative with them than he is. It's an arrangement that works for you both. You never mind taking the weight of socialization off his shoulders.

After the conversation with Claire and Jill runs its course, the two of you head to the bar. Your hips sway to the pulsing of the music playing while Leon rests a hand on the curve of your side. You and him traverse through the gathering of less familiar faces, friends of friends or newbies you hadn't acquainted yourself with yet. When you reach a clear area on-looking the kitchen, you immediately spot Chris leaning against the wall with a drink in hand. A generic wolf mask sits next to him on the counter, the costume he'd already abandoned.

You dart over to him with a smile on your face, ready to hug him as soon as you're close enough. He startles a little from the sudden contact against his chest, but once he sees it's you, your happiness infects him and softens the look in his eyes. His large palm lands on your back, giving you a few small pats.

"Hey you," he says.

"Hey yourself," you respond and pull back.

He nods at Leon and looks between the two of you.

"Cute costume. You supposed to be Leon's helpless victim?" he teases.

"Mhm," you hum with a nod.

You're about to say something else, but the man in the kitchen who'd been making a drink with his back towards you turns around.

"Carlos?" you say when you catch sight of his face, your smile morphing into a grin.

He wears a similar expression and rounds the counter to be closer. You spring against him with more enthusiasm than you had for Chris, and he returns the sentiment with a crushing grip.

"Oh my god, I didn't know you were gonna be here!" you say.

You hadn't seen Carlos in a while, longer than you hadn't seen Jill. He only came to these things when he was in the area, which wasn't all too often these days. Leon wasn't the closest with him either, but you always thought he was so fun. He was outgoing and funny, charismatic with the perfect level of charm. Plus, it didn't hurt that he looked like a god. To put it in simple terms, you had a little crush on him. Nothing too serious but definitely enough to trigger involuntary butterflies in your stomach when you saw him.

"I think Leon wanted it to be a surprise," he says with a little smirk.

You glance at your boyfriend. He nods at you with a knowing look, still watching you in the other man's arms.

Even without words you know what it means. While your touchy behavior would have been an absolute no with any of your past partners, Leon didn't share that same possessive outlook on the matter. He enjoyed watching you be all over others only to be the one that got to take you home. He liked when his friends like Chris or Carlos lusted over you, trying to cop a feel during a hug or speaking as if you're available for the taking. It just prodded at some primal part of his brain that he didn't have control over. None of it ever upsets him. He doesn't get jealous, he gets horny.

That aspect of his personality was why Carlos's appearance was a surprise for you. Tonight after the party, you and your boyfriend had already made plans with Chris, but obviously now, Carlos was going to be involved too, and that was more than ok with you.

You press your cheek to his chest and tighten your arms that are already wrapped around him.

"You look so good. You totally need to visit more often," you say to the bulky man against you.

He chuckles, giving you another small squeeze in return. "For you, I would," he teases, his hand grazing over your ass as he lets you go.

A giggle trickles from your lips, and you follow him back around the counter to the main part of the kitchen. From here, you get a good look at his body. He's muscular as ever, his tight white shirt only accentuating that mass. In your excitement, you hadn't noticed his costume which was similar to yours. White fabric with red dye flicked across it. Only he had some face make up too. You guessed a zombie or something in that vein.

He catches your stare. "You really missed me, huh?" he asks teasingly.

"Of course I did," you say, "Now are you gonna pour me a drink, or do I have to do it myself?"

He laughs and grabs a few nearby bottles, pouring a mix into a black cup for you. Passing it into your hands, he watches you take the first drink.

Things would only get better from there.

Over the next few hours, you get yourself buzzed. You gulp down each drink you're handed with joy. The smile gracing your features grows hazy, your eyes become cloudy and your voice gets extra giggly.

Suddenly, you're super touchy. Your hand lands on the forearm of whoever you're speaking too. Sometimes it trails up a bit, teasing the bicep of the person. You bite your lip more and nod emphatically at points that probably don't deserve it. Leon keeps an eye on you, but so do Carlos and Chris.

After a while, you migrate over to the open area closer to the speakers. You dance to the blaring music, your body bobbing around to the pulsating beats. Even though Leon had never been one for dancing, he holds your hips and grinds up against you from behind. You feel his breaths on your neck and the tip of his nose brushing your jawline.

The song switches over to something with more guitar rather than synth, and a firm set of fingers wraps around your wrist. The mysterious force tugs you to them, but becomes a lot less confusing when you look up and see Carlos smiling down at you.

"Mind if I cut in for a second, Kennedy?" he asks.

Like he's supposed to, Leon stares him down before tersely shaking his head. This was all part of the game of course. Everyone had to play their part to earn the high score with you.

You giggle and lean into him, your head resting against the plush muscles in his chest. He starts swaying the two of you to the music. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Leon move to the wall where Chris is standing. Carlos keeps you focused though, grabbing your chin and turning you back towards him.

He guides your movements. His hips roll against yours in deep motions. One of his muscular arms is wrapped around your back while the other sits in the position to hold your ass. Both feel so good, like live wires resting against your skin.

You dance with him. Your arms rise up and drape around his neck. You follow his movements, letting him take you through the sequence with ease. it makes your head spin. Not only the thrill of being with someone else, but the feeling of your boyfriend watching on.

All the excitement swirling with the liquor leaves you feeling kind of dizzy as the song ends. You stumble back from Carlos. He reaches for you, trying to make sure you stay up right and don't go crashing down on your ass in front of everyone. That isn't part of the plan.

"'m fine," you say, "Just gotta go to the bathroom real quick."

Waltzing away, you snake around the furniture without any grace and make your way to the hall that leads to the rest of Billy and Rebecca's home. You find the door to the bathroom easily, but opening it doesn't come with the same lack of difficulty.

Before you can process what's happening, someone is right behind you. Your hand rests on the cool knob. A little shudder goes through you at the feeling of the weight against your back.

"Are you sure you're ok, princess? You look a little wobbly," rasps Carlos directly into your ear.

"I'm fine," you say again, this time with a little more whine in your voice.

"I don't know... you look like you're barely standing on your own," he murmurs in your ear, "I think your boyfriend would want me to look after you."

His hands slide around on your waist. They coast up over your ribs to cup your breasts through your dress. You pant at the touch, your skin breaking out into chills.

"No... I don't, 'm fine. I'll be right back..." you say. Your voice sounds airy and distant. The movement of your hands match as they fruitlessly try to push his hands down.

He chuckles, the deep timbre of his voice rumbling beside your head. Pulling you backwards, his back lands against the wall and your body presses into him. His arms close around you in a tighter circle.

"Cute girl like you... I just don't think you should be left alone," he teases.

You whimper and squirm your hips, pushing them back against his pelvis. He lets out a soft groan at the sensation and keeps you right there.

"Look at you, just asking for someone to take advantage," he whispers.

You're about to turn your head to look up at him, but before you can, a new set of fingers nudges your chin upward in their owner's direction. Chris stares into your eyes, smirking at how helpless you look.

"He's right, sweetheart," he chides, "You're lucky you have us watching out for you."

His voice is husky as he leans closer. You can feel his breath fanning over your face.

"The way you were prancing around out there, showing yourself off in your little dress... anyone could've followed you back here. And who could blame them? Who wouldn't want a taste?" he continues.

His fingers skim your thighs and ghost over the space below the white hem. They toy with the fabric, teasing the idea that they'll peel it upwards to reveal the lacy panties you wear underneath.

Another pathetic noise trickles from your lips because you want him to. God, you want him to. You'd let them both ravish you right there in the middle of the hall. One holding you in his strong arms while the other pumped his dick in and out of your slick cunt.

Carlos noses at your jaw. His lips graze over your pulse point while his hands grope your breasts with more intent. There would be no mistaking his touches as accidental now. He grabs at them through your dress, pinching at your hardening nipples over the barrier.

You rock your ass back against him again. "Guys... we can't..." you babble as heat floods your body.

"Why not, princess?" Chris asks. He presses his front against your thigh, letting you feel his swelling bulge.

Your legs squirm and drift together. You try to squeeze your thighs for some friction, but he knocks them back apart with one of his knees.

"Leon... I'm with Leon," you breathe, doe eyes looking up at him with all the desire in the world.

"Oh, Leon, huh?" Carlos croons, "Would Leon have a problem with the way you’re rubbing up on me? With the way your pussy is dripping for Chris."

You whine and bite your lip before speaking. "It's not," you whimper.

"It is, baby," he says. One of his hands starts to slither South. "You're telling me that if I slipped my fingers under your dress and into those pretty panties, that I wouldn't feel you completely soaked for us? Is that what you're saying?"

Before you can defend yourself further, someone clears their throat from the end of the hall.

All of your heads snap in that direction to find Leon standing there, stiff as a board. He has his arms crossed; though, almost immediately they shift to rest on his hips. He looks like a disapproving parent staring at the three of you with disapproval all over his features.

Still, his harsh expression doesn't conceal the outline of his stiff cock in his pants.

"I don't think that's appropriate, guys," he says, "Feeling up on my girlfriend while she's telling you she has me?"

"It's not like that, Leon. We're watching out for her. Making sure she doesn't get into trouble. We're doing you a favor," Carlos grins. His hands drop from your breasts to your waist, but he makes sure to give the area a squeeze to let you know he's not done.

"Mhm. You know how she gets when she's been drinking," Chris says to him.

"I mean look. She may be saying no, but her body was just about begging for us," Carlos adds.

Your boyfriend hums in acknowledgement and watches with the same unyielding eyes. "Still don't think this is the place to deal with it," he says.

They both huff out laughs. "Probably not," Chris agrees.

"Some privacy would be best," Carlos continues.

You stand there, trying not to squirm as they talk like you're not even there. None of them look at you nor directly address you. The conversation is between them, deciding your fate. You just wait to be handed your sentence.

"Maybe we should head back to our place. Make sure the booze didn't get to her too much," Leon proposes, as if it was entirely his idea he thought of in the moment.

"Sounds good to me," Carlos says, patting your hip before boosting you forward.

"Same here," Chris grins.

You stumble over to your boyfriend who takes you under his arm. He looks down at you as if he's disappointed, though you can see the desire in his eyes. The two of you snake back through the hall and toward the front door.

"Were they bothering you, sweetheart?" he asks like he's truly concerned.

"Mhm," you hum and nod against his chest.

Your pair keeps walking, waving at Rebecca and Billy and giving them brief thank you's before walking back outside into the brisk October air.

Like you planned Chris and Carlos wait a little before following your path. None of you wanted to make it too obvious what you had planned for the rest of the night.

Each of you makes it back to your and Leon's house in record time it seems. He drives you and himself while the other two trail on their own. They enter through your front door only a few minutes after you and your boyfriend settle on the couch.

After that feels like a blur. There's hands all over you. They pass you around from one lap to the other. Your clothes fall to the floor piece by piece until you're left bare. They talk but rarely to you.  The voices and touches all swirl together in one big mess until the three of you land in a collective position.

Leon looms above you, his piercing eyes locked onto your face. His hips roll against your center. He pumps his cock deep between your soaked velvety walls with each precise thrust. His hands cradle the back of your thighs, keeping them spread apart so that you can't shut him out. He grins down at you.

"You might think it's too much, baby, but she clearly doesn't," he teases, "So, so wet."

"I'm not even in your pussy, and I can feel that. Such a messy girl," the voice behind you says.

Chris sits below you. His warm bulky thighs support the parts of you Leon's hands can't. Your back rests against his chest while his strong hands play with your nipples. His dick is buried snug inside your ass. He's not moving, thank god. The stretch is enough to nearly reduce you to tears.

"She's messy up top too," the man above you adds with a grin, his thumb swiping away some spit that had dribbled from the corner of your mouth.

Carlos had your head between his palms. He kept a firm grip on you as leverage to rock his hips, sliding his length into the plush wetness of your throat. Deep groans and sighs leak from his mouth as his head falls back.

You whine around the girth of his shaft, but you can't squirm. There's so much going on. Even though you're in a relatively simple position, it feels as though you're tangled up with the three men surrounding you.

"No backing out now, baby. This is what you wanted," Leon taunts as he thrusts.

"Such a little slut. Your boyfriend isn't enough for you, huh?" Chris teases, nipping at the shell of your ear.

You whine louder around Carlos as he fucks your face, but he takes no mercy. He doesn't slide out to let you defend yourself. He slides as deep as he can, nestling your nose against the thick dark hair that curls above the base of his cock.

"Sounds like a yeah to me," he chuckles.

A soft gagging noise echoes from your throat and your eyes water. He holds his position for a few seconds longer before pulling back to give you a few moments to breathe. You gasp in a few breaths. Your head spins with the return of sufficient oxygen. But you still feel hazy from the two cocks inside you, one unmoving and keeping you constantly full, the other rocking back and forth, striking every little spot inside you.

"Leon," you cry. Your head falls back on Chris's shoulder, "Too much."

He smirks at your repeated protest and keeps going. "Nope. You can handle it, babydoll. You wanted to play with other guys, so I'm letting you."

Chris's fingers rub at your clit, causing you to tighten up around Leon. He hisses from above, but it only makes him move faster. The harder thrusts rock you on Chris's length. He grunts from the added stimulation and keeps the rough pads of his digits twirling around your sensitive little nub.

"That's right, sweetheart. Just relax and take it," he mutters in your ear.

Carlos strokes your cheek while jerking his cock right in front of your face. You watch as precum pearls at the tip, dripping from the slit in sticky beads.

"Fuck... you're pretty, so fucking cute," he mumbles from above you.

You feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. The urge to squirm becomes more pronounced. Your clit throbs under Chris's tender fingers while your walls clamp down on your boyfriend.

"Wanna cum," you whimper desperately.

"What happened to too much? Thought you said no more?" Carlos mocks.

"Don't care. Just wanna cum now," you cry. Your lip juts out into a quivering pout as you feel the pleasure growing more intense and spreading from between your legs all throughout your body. Tears dew at your waterline, making your lashes shimmer.

"Again? So greedy," Chris tuts from behind.

But in front, Leon nods with self-satisfaction all across his face. "You can cum, angel. Go ahead. Just know it won't be the last one."

You whine at the idea. You wanted release so bad, but you were already so overstimulated. It's not like you had any control over it though. You were climbing to the peak fast, and there was no way of going back down. Watching Carlos stroke himself to the sight of you getting your insides rearranged had your tummy fluttering with the urge to let go.

You try to hold it. Try to prolong it a bit more so that they're closer and cum with you. But at a certain point, you can't hold back anymore. Your back arches off of Chris's chest, and your whines fill the air. You shudder in his arms, quivering between him and Leon. Release crashes over you, wave after wave. It feels like the euphoria will never end when Leon finally groans and bursts inside you.

His cum floods your insides, filling you up just how you need it. He tilts his head back and sighs as the feeling seeps into him. As you're feeling the added effects from his high, Carlos reaches his. He moans nice and loud before painting your face with white streaks. The warm sticky liquid lands on you in patternless blotches.

You whimper but not in protest. It was what you wanted. The only thing that would make it better is Chris filling up your other hole too, but he stays hard and still, not giving in just yet.

Your boyfriend comes to a halt with his thrusts and slowly pulls out. Some of his cum leaks out as his length leaves your cunt. You whine at the empty feeling.

"Hush," he murmurs as he steps back. He catches his breath from a distance, but he knows none of you are done. Even with him and Carlos temporarily spent, they'd get it back up soon enough. "So needy. You still got one of us inside you, and you're complaining."

"Easy thing to do is to just give her what she wants again," Carlos says, "You and I could switch since Redfield seems comfortable."

Your boyfriend nods, looking between you and the other man.

"Sound good, baby?" he asks as if you actually get a say, "Carlos will put another load in your pussy, and I'll let you actually swallow mine this time around."

Even though your cunt aches with all the pleasure it's endured and your jaw feels sore from taking a dick in your mouth for the last however long... you nod. Despite what you said, you hadn't had enough. You really didn't know if you ever would.

[writteninlunarlight-years]

How they react to you wearing their shirt/jacket/coat

Adam

He never viewed himself as possessive, yet seeing you wearing one of his band tees was a sight to behold.

You were supposed to be a one-night fling, a groupie obsessed with the first man.

You were so much more though, as you didn't see him for the titles or power but as Adam the angel, Adam the human, and Adam the Rock fanatic.

He never wanted to be tied down and committed to one woman, not after Eve, but you adorned in his clothes, now that did something to him.

Soon, his shirts became your shirts, and the label of best girl that was a friend became just girlfriend as he made you his permanently.

Nothing excited him more than watching you happily run around the other angels marked by him just from the cringy band tee.

Domestic life never struck him as a necessity until you came around, and soon, he went from a possessive boyfriend to a domestic husband.

Alastor

He would never let a lady be cold. It was just not right, and his momma raised him to be a good man, even if he was a cold-hearted killer.

You were nothing more than a colleague at the forsaken hotel, and you would remain that way as did every other person in his life. He was a transactional man, after all.

He was so confused when he saw you wrapped up in his coat as you two made your way to Rosie's to pick up meat for the hotel. Witnessing you bundled up gave him a warm feeling.

You were just the same old you that he grew fond of filling the hotel, yet you suddenly became so much more in that instant as you looked up at him smiling.

Soon, his jacket became a staple of your wardrobe, as he found every excuse to drape it over your shoulders and ensure your comfort.

His courting seemed to have some effect on you because he couldn't hold back the genuine grin as you asked him out on a date months later with that same red jacket wrapped tight around you.

Love was something he had never considered, yet looking at you and the way his presence so nicely wrapped around you, he figured he could give this thing called love a shot.

Lucifer

He wouldn't say he was possessive of his top hat, yet he did have a knack for not letting it get into the hands of others.

You were a trusted friend, though, and the thought of you playing with it or messing with it never bothered him, yet his reaction to you wearing it was not what he was expecting.

As he turned from his latest duck to see you happily wearing the white hat, a swell of pride overtook him. You were his just for a moment.

The thought scared and excited him all the same as he quickly realized the feelings he was having. He wasn't an idiot. He knew better than to question love like this.

However, he was scared and so worried you would turn him down and leave him like Lilith did all those years ago. Yet you always stole that stupid hat, and each time you smiled and wore it, he grew one step closer to just asking you to be his.

You beat him to the punch, though. Upon returning his prised head accessory one night, a note was attached to the red band around it that asked simply, 'Will you go out with me?'

He never said yes quicker in his life, and before he knew it, just like his hat became something he loved seeing on you, he also began to love seeing his hand wrapped warmly around yours.

Husk

His suspenders were a staple of his everyday life, and he never went a day without wearing them since his chains appeared around his neck.

However, watching you stroll out of his bathroom and wearing them made him laugh and be awe-struck.

Yeah, you looked dorky, but you were his dork, and in that moment, the world seemed to align just for the time being. No sad or depressed thoughts, just you right there pretending to be him and being so fucking happy about it.

Slowly the guilt and fears ate at him, though, due to him worried you would see just how fucked he was mentally and physically being chained to Alastor.

Yet you always grabbed those suspenders and put them on to cheer him up, and eventually, he couldn't help but buy you a matching pair of your own so you two could match.

He felt so close to you when you accepted him for all he was and would continue to be, and it was refreshing for once to know the world wasn't crashing down on him as long as your smiling face was around.

Although he never officially asked you out, it was clear to anyone with eyes that you two were reserved for one another. From the loving soft looks, to the matching suspenders, you two were everything to one another.

Vox

His watch was a timepiece, to say the least. He may have been the future this, that, and everything, yet his watch would forever be the classic fifties Rolex.

He never let it out of his sight or far from his person yet the day you unclasped it and asked to look it over he had no problems letting you.

He knew things were getting serious when it came to you. He was growing more attached and in love by the day, yet when you put on his watch and showed him how it swallowed your arm in size, he couldn't help but smile and laugh.

You were so fragile and too good to be stuck with someone like him and the Vees, yet you were always loyal and faithful, which he adored and needed in his life.

As you hung around him the watch became a fidget toy for you, he would quickly take it off as soon as he saw you and hand it over allowing you to paly with it and look over the intracacies.

He enjoyed how happy it made you and how he could practically feel your warmth radiating from the cold metal when you returned it to him.

The day he asked you to be his, he used no Voxtech or any equipment he normally sold; instead, he bestowed upon you a simple small Rolex to fit your wrist and match you to him.

Prompt assistance: @literallurker

[livelaughlovesubs]

I do NOT trust my reading comprehension especially when it's for requests like this buttt.... If you a are taking requests, this is for your anniversary event!! Prompts are: dressing then up in degrading outfits, and showing them off as a trophy to their coworkers. Guess who's character this is for... Drum roll please....! 🥁🥁 Of course it's Scaramouche 😁. Now Imagine him wearing those cat ears and like a tail that's actually a plug and black panties that barely covers anything and a matching bra... Making him wear that in front of the other fatui harbingers at a "party" reader hosted and fucking him in front of them, and instead of moans he's forced to meow instead...

(This might be one of the wildest asks I've sent buttt whatever 🥰)

-scaralover

OMG AKSUAKJAJAA I HAVE LITERALLY NO CLUE HOW TO WROTE THIS LOGICALLY BUT LETS GO

Dom!reader x sub!Scaramouche

Warning: cosplay (?) - degrading outfit, a tiny bit feminisation (cuz of the outfit), exhibition (a little), pet play, a tad manhandling

Anniversary event

All this misfortune that has befallen him, all this shame that was going to come in the near future, for all of this he’s got no one to blame but himself.

After all, it was his choice to be a brat, no?

That’s why he has to live with the consequences of his actions, accepting any punishment no matter how humiliating they’d be. And you had just the right one in mind. You’ve been planning this party for the harbingers for a while now, so why not grasp this opportunity to both put him in his place and to show off? Which is why you told him you’ll have to think it through, and will announce his punishment in a few days.

On the day of the event, you invited yourself into his room, holding a bag in your hand. A sense of horror flashed through him, he knew exactly why you were there, since he remembered what you told him. “…y/n, you can’t seriously be thinking of punishing me today, right? The party’s today as well.” He hesitated, hoping he didn’t just put ideas into your head. But knowing you, he doubts that’s the case, you obviously approached him with ulterior motives.

“How sharp of you~ that’s right, I’ve decided on your punishment.” You handed the bag to him, winking, then explaining, “wear this under your coat, yea?” He frowned at you, then looked down at the fabrics and blushed. Cheeks turning red as he furiously looked up, ready to yell into your face if not for the fact that you were already gone. “Y/n-!! You- fuck!” What was he supposed to do now? Never ever would he wear something like this, to a damn party! With his colleagues present!

Never, that’s what he thought, but disobeying your punishment was also not an option.

Fine, if it’s just under the coat, then… no one had to know, right? It’s a little risky, but it should be doable. So with lingering hesitation, he put on the little outfit you picked out for him. A pair of black lingerie alongside a set of cat ears and tail in the same colour. How lucky he was to have his hat, the tail could just go under the coat and the ears hidden beneath his hat. He put the costume on pretty quickly, and stared at his own reflection. Disgraceful and perverted, that’s how he looked, it reflected your taste.

A few hours later, the chattering of people echoed across the huge halls of the building, signalising the arrival of the guests as well as marking the start of the event— of his misery. Scara saw many people all circle around you, the harbingers separated in smaller groups and scattered around the hall. You were standing on top of the stairs, holding a glass in one hand while smiling brightly. He soon joined the crowd, inching closer to you, getting into the first row. You were just saying some welcoming speeches, greeting all of them and thanking them for their attendance.

What he didn’t expect was for you to invite him to the front once you were done. Most of the guests clapped when you told him to come closer, and he felt pressured to obey, clutching his thick coats with shaking hands. “Thanks for the applause everyone. As all of you know, this is Scaramouche, the Sixth of the harbingers, care to tell them something about yourself?” You grinned, as if you were showing him off to the crowd.

In return he scoffed, saying this was childish and about to get down from the stairs. “Wait a sec,” you said, holding onto his hat in an attempt to keep him from escaping, accidentally knocking it off. He couldn’t even yelp before surprised gasps erupted from the audience, and he didn’t need to guess to know why they all had that reaction. “Y/n! Look what—” before he could throw a punch at you, you wrapped a hand around his waist and pulled him close, stripping his coat from him, revealing the second part of the costume.

“You- shameless bastard! Fucking pervert!” He trashed around in your arms, blushing and shaking while trying his best to peel your arms off. Due to him moving around so much, you dislocated his bra, and you smirked to yourself knowing he out on the cute outfit you picked out for humanity. “Right, I also wanted to let ya’ll meet my new pet. He’s a little feisty and he bites-” someone from the background chuckled and laughed, you also caught a few of your other colleagues rolling their eyes.

“I’m not your fucking pet!” Scara yelled, and he almost immediately regretted it. “Doll, need me to bend you over and fuck you in front of all of them for you to remember your place?” You didn’t mind others hearing your loud whispering, and you were sure some heard. He gulped, and looked…. aroused? God, what the hell- how comes the thought of him getting messed up by you in front of all these people didnt even sound so bad? You gave him a second of cool off, then said, “so scara, the only thing I want to hear coming from your pretty little mouth is ‘meow’.”

He gritted his teeth, eyes widened when he realised just how humiliating that’d be. The puppet’s gaze flicked around the room for a second, taking in the silence and anticipation from the preying eyes. The other harbingers are watching, to do something like that, isn’t that too shameless? “You understood, scara?” After you basically demanded an answer from him, he fought with his own pride to battle what was more important.

In the end, he bit back his curses, glaring at you one last time, slumping forward before muttering an almost inaudible, “m-meow..”

You smirked, “so you can be a good kitten after all?”

[zeravmeta]

sometimes im normal and then sometimes i think about how robin had been on the run for 20 years starting at age fucking 8 and when we meet her she's actively aiding in the destabilization of a country and gets so many people killed but one of the first things luffy says about her is that she isnt a bad person. I particularly think about her first appearance and her interactions with crocodile, because crocodile is (much like other OP characters) kind of a ridiculous man in his dramatic overcoat and his giant pets he feeds people to and. do you think robin was emulating him in that way with her own personal giant dramatic coat and cowboy fit. on the run for 20 years ever since she was a child, having to make herself useful to people so that they wouldnt suddenly abandon her, emulating her boss not only to gain his favor but also to try and appear intimidating herself? how many times had she done something like this. robin is a character who presents herself in so many ways, always wrapping herself up in an air of mystery and intrigue but shes also so deeply childish, she constantly makes morbid jokes about her situation because the last lesson one of the only people who cared about her gave her was that what else is there to do but laugh. to never stop laughing. having lived on the run she knows that an assassin is most effective when their weapon is concealed and yet she freely shows off her powers just to gain their trust. to play with luffy and chopper and usopp. how gratifying do you think robin felt when nami called her a sister. in skypiea she's constantly providing tactical assistance in how to survive in the wilderness but she's afraid when luffy and usopp start laughing at her suggestions. lets make a bonfire, robin! we're out camping, this is what you're supposed to do! she freezes in the same way she did when the kids on ohara laughed at her but even when the straw hats happily invite her to party she still stands on the edge, sitting further from the rest. she doesn't know what to do there. she had no will to live after luffy had saved her but one of the truly happiest moments she has is when she's not even cheering, just sitting in awe seeing the ancient city in the sky. was she thinking of her friends then? she never had friends her own age, just scholars multiple times her age and yet they were still her friends, who would never get to see this sight. when aokiji reappears and nearly kills them, shes stonefaced upon waking up that the straw hats even considered having a sleepover in her room. because they were worried about her. she's never had a sleepover, and it's something so simple to the straw hats, that of course they wouldn't see their friend as someone to use. she's never escaped the headspace she was in when she had to run away from the mountains of corpses of a burning ohara. the first and last thing her mother ever said to her was that she didnt know her, no matter how much she wanted to embrace her daughter. she never had the chance to say goodbye. she never had the chance to grow up.

sometimes i think about how nico robin was in many ways raised by her friends in the straw hats with their love for her and hauve covid

[moomuzan]

— 𝖇𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖜𝖊𝖊𝖙

your wounds are critical! chuuya , akutagawa , dazai , two endings: no-comfort & comfort , requested

Unraveling, the night was a cacophony of chaos. The scent of blood lingered in the air, mingling with the acrid tang of gunpowder. The world around him was a haze of noise and movement, but Chuuya saw none of it. He was focused on you, lying on the cold pavement, your body still and fragile in the growing pool of your own blood.

“Hey,” he rasped, his voice breaking as he dropped to his knees beside you, his hands trembling as they hovered over the wound in your abdomen. “Stay with me. Don’t you dare give up on me now.”

You blinked up at him, your vision hazy and unfocused. The corners of your lips quirked in a weak attempt at a smile, the kind you always gave him when you were trying to reassure him—even now, when you were the one who needed reassurance.

“Ch-Chuuya… I’m fine…” Your words were a whisper, barely audible over the pounding in his ears.

“No, you’re not!” he snapped, his voice raw and desperate. “Don’t say that. You’re not fine—you’re bleeding out!” His gloved hands pressed down on the wound, trying to stem the relentless flow of crimson that spilled between his fingers.

It was everywhere, staining his hands, soaking into his coat, dripping onto the ground—The sight of your blood shattered something inside him. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You were supposed to be untouchable, invincible, his equal in every way. You were his partner, the one person he trusted to have his back.

And now you were slipping away.

He threw his hat aside, his fiery hair clinging to his forehead, damp with sweat. His eyes glistened, but no tears fell—not yet. Instead, his fury burned hotter than ever.

“They’ll pay for this,” he growled under his breath, his voice low and venomous. “Every single one of them. I’ll make them regret the day they thought they could touch you.”

But his anger was hollow, a desperate attempt to distract himself from the reality unfolding in front of him. Every breath you took was shallower than the last, and he couldn’t stop the dread creeping into his heart.

happy ending

Chuuya didn’t leave your side—not for a second. He carried you in his arms, running through the streets with a single-minded determination that bordered on madness. The people who dared to get in his way didn’t live long enough to regret it.

When he finally reached an empty building, he laid you down on a makeshift bed, his hands working with frantic precision to tend to your wounds. He tore off his gloves, his fingers shaking as he cleaned and dressed the injury, his mind screaming at him to stay calm.

“Don’t you dare die on me,” he muttered under his breath, his voice cracking. “You hear me? I’m not letting you go. Not like this.”

As the hours passed in agonizing silence, broken only by the sound of your labored breathing, Chuuya sat beside you, his hand wrapped around yours, his thumb brushing against your knuckles. He spoke to you—soft, quiet words filled with guilt and love, his usually sharp tone now trembling with vulnerability.

When your eyes finally fluttered open, your voice was faint but steady. “Chuuya…”

Relief flooded his face, and he leaned closer, his forehead resting against yours. “You scared the hell out of me,” he whispered. “Don’t ever do that again, you hear me?”

You smiled weakly, squeezing his hand. “I’ll try.”

Chuuya didn’t let go of you, not that night or the nights that followed. He stayed by your side, caring for you with a tenderness that only you ever got to see, his usual brash demeanor softened by the sheer relief of having you alive.

sad ending

Chuuya’s fury burned like a wildfire, consuming everything in its path. He carried you to the nearest safe house, his movements quick and precise, but his heart was a storm of fear and guilt.

Once inside, he worked tirelessly to tend to your wounds, his hands steady but his mind fractured. He talked to you, begged you to stay awake, to fight, but your responses grew weaker and weaker.

When he finally finished patching you up, he collapsed into a chair beside the bed, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. The room was too quiet, the sound of your breathing too faint.

“You’ve got to pull through,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “I can’t do this without you. I need you.”

Hours passed, and Chuuya didn’t move. His eyes were fixed on you, on the shallow rise and fall of your chest, on the pale color of your skin. He wanted to believe you would wake up, that you would pull through like you always did.

But doubt gnawed at him, an unrelenting reminder of the fragility of life. The memory of your blood on his hands, of the way your body had gone limp in his arms, haunted him like a ghost.

When dawn broke, the faint light spilling through the window did nothing to ease his torment. He sat there, still as stone, waiting, hoping, praying for a sign that you would come back to him.

But you didn’t wake—not yet. And Chuuya was left in the agonizing limbo of uncertainty, caught between the hope that you would survive and the crushing guilt that he had failed to protect you.

For the first time in his life, Chuuya Nakahara felt truly powerless. And it was a feeling he would never forgive himself for.

,

As a mentor Akutagawa had always been unrelenting, cold, and merciless. The way he barked orders and pushed you beyond your limits was suffocating at times, but you knew it stemmed from something deeper—a warped belief in perfection, in power, in survival. He demanded nothing less than absolute excellence, and you worked tirelessly to meet his expectations, even when they left you bruised and battered.

However, this mission was different. It was dangerous, even by his standards, and the risk was glaringly obvious. He had chosen you for it anyway, confident in your ability to deliver. Confidence that now felt like arrogance as he scoured the desolate streets, his coat whipping around him in the wind, his sharp eyes darting in search of any sign of you.

You were late—far too late. And by the time these hours turned to days, dread began to sink its claws into him, deeper and deeper with every second of silence. He replayed the last time he’d seen you, the way you’d nodded with quiet determination when he gave you your orders. You had trusted him, relied on him to prepare you. And now, the thought that you might be gone, that he had sent you to your death, was a weight he couldn't bear.

When he finally found you, collapsed in a heap in the shadows of a back alley, his breath caught in his throat. Blood soaked your clothes, dripping onto the cracked pavement below. Your skin was pallid, your chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. You looked like a ghost of yourself, barely clinging to life.

Akutagawa stood frozen for a moment, his mind racing with emotions he didn’t know how to process. Anger, guilt, and something else—a foreign ache that felt far too close to grief. He approached you slowly, his usual sharp, deliberate movements replaced by something hesitant, almost tender.

“Fool,” he hissed under his breath, though his voice wavered. “Why didn’t you retreat when it became too much? Why didn’t you come back to me?”

Stirring slightly at the sound of his voice, your eyes fluttered open just enough to meet his gaze. “I… I thought I could handle it,” you whispered, your voice so faint it was almost swallowed by the wind.

Akutagawa clenched his jaw, kneeling beside you. His hands hovered over you, unsure of where to start. He had always been so sure of himself, so in control, but now? Now, he felt powerless.

happy ending

Akutagawa wasted no time. He lifted you into his arms, his expression hardening into a mask of determination. He wasn’t going to lose you—not like this.

Instinctively, he brought you to the Mafia hideout, ignoring the startled glances of the other members as he stormed through the corridors. His focus was singular, his steps purposeful as he gathered everything he needed to tend to your wounds.

For hours, he worked in silence, his sharp, precise movements betraying the storm brewing inside him. He cleaned and bandaged your wounds with care that seemed almost out of character, his hands steady despite the turmoil in his chest.

When you finally regained consciousness, your voice was weak but steady. “Why are you… doing this?”

Not looking at you, his focus was hyper-fixed on tightening the last bandage around your arm. “Because you’re still my responsibility,” he muttered, though the words carried an undercurrent of something deeper.

Over the next few weeks, he rarely left your side. He ensured you had everything you needed to recover, from medical supplies to food, though he never lingered long enough for the conversations to grow soft. He kept his distance emotionally, even as his actions betrayed his concern.

On the day you were finally strong enough to stand on your own, you thanked him quietly, and for a brief moment, something unspoken passed between you. His gaze lingered on you a second too long before he turned away, his coat billowing as he walked toward the door.

“Don’t fail me again,” he said, though his voice lacked its usual bite. And when you joined him on the battlefield once more, it was as though nothing had changed—except for the silent understanding that he would never let you fall again.

sad ending

Lost in motion, Akutagawa carried you to a secluded place, far from the chaos of the city, where the air was still and heavy with the scent of earth and rain. He laid you down gently, his hands trembling as he tried to stop the bleeding, to keep you alive. But the wound was too deep, the damage too severe.

“You’re going to be fine,” he said, though his voice lacked its usual conviction. It sounded more like a plea than a statement, a desperate attempt to will the universe into giving him more time.

Smiling faintly—your lips pale and cracked. “You don’t… have to lie,” you whispered, your words slurred with exhaustion.

“Stop talking,” he snapped, though his tone was more broken than angry. “Save your strength.”

Of course, you didn’t stop. “I… wanted to prove myself to you,” you murmured, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment before you forced them open again. “I wanted… to be someone you could rely on.”

As Akutagawa’s chest tightened, he surely didn’t know what to say. He had always believed in power, in strength, in the cold, unfeeling logic of survival. But now, as he watched you slip away, he realized how hollow those beliefs felt without you by his side.

“Don’t go,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. His hand hovered over yours, hesitating before he finally took it, his grip firm but trembling. “You don’t get to leave me like this. Not after everything.”

Your breathing grew slower, more labored, until it finally stopped altogether. Akutagawa didn’t move, didn’t speak. He sat there, his hand still clutching yours, his usually cold, emotionless expression shattered by a grief he couldn’t contain.

When the sun rose, casting its golden light over the world, he was still there, silent and still, watching over your lifeless body as though he could bring you back to life through sheer force of will. But no matter how much he wanted to, you were gone. And he was left with nothing but the ghost of your presence and the crushing weight of his own failure.

,

Dazai Osamu had always been an artist of detachment, a master of keeping the world at arm’s length, of slipping between roles and masks until even he could no longer remember where the performance ended and the truth began. But with you, he’d let himself forget the artifice, if only for fleeting moments. You, the civilian who had somehow carved your way into the abyss of his existence, had become an unwelcome but intoxicating anomaly.

Though he never admitted it—not even to himself, you were his sanctuary. The weight of his sins seemed lighter when he lay beside you, your warmth an anchor against the ever-present pull of the void. You were the only piece of his life untainted by blood, betrayal, and violence, and that was why he kept you far away from the shadows that clung to him like a second skin.

But no matter how hard Dazai tried to shield you, the world he belonged to always found a way to destroy everything good.

The hitmen weren’t looking for you. They wanted him—Dazai Osamu, the man who had walked out of hell and left corpses in his wake. But when they didn’t find him, they found you instead. And they made you their message.

He came home to silence—a silence that wasn’t the kind you filled with soft conversation or lazy laughter. This silence was heavier, darker, and it hit him in the chest like the memory of a long-forgotten betrayal.

Dazai knew before he even saw the blood.

The sight of you lying there, your body broken and barely clinging to life, stole the air from his lungs. For a moment, he stood frozen, his mind blank as the weight of it all came crashing down. And then something primal snapped inside him.

His voice was low as he called out your name, trembling, barely audible. He dropped to his knees beside you, his fingers shaking as he touched your blood-streaked face, as if he were afraid you’d shatter beneath his touch.

You were still breathing, but it was faint, so faint that he felt like every second could be your last.

“Why—why did this have to happen?” he whispered, his words more to himself than to you. He pressed his forehead to yours, his eyes burning with unshed tears. “I kept you away from all of this, didn’t I? I thought I did...”

And yet, even in this, he couldn’t escape the guilt, the bitter irony of how his world devoured anything it touched.

happy ending

Against all odds, you survived. Dazai, his hands unsteady but precise, tended to your wounds in those first crucial hours, working with a focus born of desperation. He called in favors, used every connection he had to ensure you lived.

When you finally opened your eyes, weak and disoriented, he was there. His face betrayed nothing, but his hands—gentle as they brushed the hair from your face—told a different story.

“You’re safe now,” he murmured, though the words felt hollow even to him.

In the days that followed, he didn’t leave your side. He cared for you with a devotion so intense it bordered on obsession. He bought you whatever you needed, whatever you might want, as if material things could erase the pain, as if spoiling you could atone for his failure.

But no matter how much he gave, the guilt never left. Every time he looked at you, he saw the scars—both the ones on your skin and the ones buried deeper, in places he could never reach.

Dazai, the man who had once thought himself untouchable, now found himself tethered to a new kind of torment: the knowledge that he had been the one to bring ruin to the one thing he loved.

sad ending

But fate wasn’t kind, and this time, the genius himself couldn’t outsmart the universe.

You didn’t make it.

Holding you as the life drained from your body, his voice was soft and trembling as he whispered words meant to soothe, to distract you from the pain.

“Just stay with me a little longer,” he pleaded, his tone almost casual, as if he could trick you into staying by pretending this wasn’t goodbye. “We’ll laugh about this later, won’t we? You’ll make fun of me for being so dramatic, and I’ll tell you how ridiculous you are for worrying me like this.”

Still, even as he spoke, he felt your breaths grow weaker, your body heavier in his arms. And when you finally stilled, when the silence became absolute, Dazai didn’t cry.

Instead, he sat there, holding you, his mind a maelstrom of thoughts too fractured to form words. He replayed every moment he’d spent with you, every smile, every laugh, every time you had looked at him like he was more than the sum of his sins.

And now you were gone.

The hitmen who had done this would pay—of that, he was certain. But even vengeance felt hollow, meaningless, because no amount of bloodshed could bring you back.

As he laid your body down and stepped away, he thought of all the times he had tried to leave the darkness behind, all the times he had thought you might be the one to pull him out of it.

In the end, Dazai was a man who destroyed everything he touched. And now, as he walked away from the life you would never return to, he realized that perhaps he had always known this would end in ruin.

Because that’s what he was: ruin, wrapped in charm and wit and hollow smiles. And this—losing you—was the cost of pretending he could be anything else.

thx for reading <3

[jamminvroomvroom]

helping hand.

ln x fem!reader

in which you’re getting ready for a date and lando knows it’s a waste of time

back with more lando brainrot :D obsessed with best friend!lando atm, on a bit of a roll with the writing so send me your ideas! lemme know what you think! 🫶

songs to set the mood: kiss me more by doja cat, moth to a flame by the weeknd, i think by tyler, the creator, all of the girls you loved before by taylor swift

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! porn with plot, smut, fluff, angst if you squint? choking, biting like once, best friend!lando

2.9k words

a key turning in the lock made you jump, groaning when you realised who it was. lando had been home for a few days now, it was about time he showed up. he’d had a key since you moved in.

you know, for emergencies.

he’d already called you a few times that day, and you’d let it ring out each time. talking to lando while you were supposed to be getting ready for a date was never a good idea. it would be end up being his face you’d imagine sipping wine on the other side of the table, his face you’d picture when you fell messily into bed while someone else’s hands roamed your body, his face you would hope to see when your eyes fluttered open the next morning.

so, yeah. answering the phone was a recipe for disaster.

you scurried across the floor in the heels you were trying to break in, scavenging for your robe to cover your bare skin. by the time the door swung open, you’d managed to disappear into your bedroom, bare skin somewhat covered.

“why don’t you answer your phone?” you heard lando whinging down the hallway.

“i’m getting ready to go out, didn’t see your call.” you called back. it was a blatant lie but he didn’t need to know that.

“oooh, girls night out?” you could hear his footsteps getting closer and then he appeared in the doorway.

he looked cosy, bundled up in a thick jacket layered over a hoodie. a beanie covered most of his curls, a few hanging loose over his eyes. the cold weather had left him flushed, rubbing his hands together for warmth. you, on the other hand, were wearing much less, a silky robe covering soft pink lingerie. your makeup was half done, an outfit strewn together on your bed.

“nope. got a date.” you replied, grabbing your eyeshadow brush. you tried not to look at him too much, otherwise you’d never get out the door.

you couldn’t see the way he was looking at you, eyes half bulging out of his head. this was too much skin, too much much everything, the lingerie that was covering not a lot telling him information that made his stomach twist. he pulled it together, clearing his throat.

“not that finance guy again, surely.” lando teased, shedding his coat and hat at the end of your bed. your sigh confirmed that, yes, it was that finance guy again.

“i’m just trying to see where it goes. he’s not that bad.” you reasoned, dropping the brush back onto your vanity. your eyelids were shimmering under the light, but all you could focus on was the image of your best friend sprawled out on your bed, watching you watch him.

“trust me, sweetie, he seems it.” lando quipped, sarcastic sympathy spilling from his quirked up lips. “so are you going out like that?” he laughed, eyeing your half dressed body. in all your years of friendship, he’d seen a lot more of you, and that’s why you hadn’t kicked him out screaming, or shied away. you ignored the sick and twisted feeling that you wanted* him to see you like this

“no,” you drew the word out, slow, as if you were making fun of him. “actually, you’re laying all over my outfit.” you raised an eyebrow, still holding eye contact with him through the mirror.

“damn,” he breathed through his teeth. “someones tryna get laid.” lando picked up the sheer top in one hand, the mini skirt in the other, a knowing look on his smug, beautiful, evil face.

“shut up!” you threw an eye pencil at him, but he ducked successfully. “listen, some of us have needs, okay? we can’t all be super famous formula 1 drivers.”

“well, i’m just saying. you don’t need to waste your time on stock bro steve if all you need is a shag.” lando was smirking now, and you were blushing redder than a ferrari.

“be quiet, you.” you scoffed.

you tried to shake off his words, but you couldn’t quite help the way your thighs clenched at what he was implying.

“i mean it. you have other options.” lando was sat up now, resting against your headboard, intently watching the way you were fumbling through your makeup bag.

“if i had other options, lando, i would have explored them by now. trust me.” you sounded frustrated, and lando was beyond intrigued.

“that bad, huh? how longs it been?” he was looking at you intently, craving an answer. the dim lighting couldn’t disguise the blush on your face and he was loving it.

“piss off.” you mumbled.

“you can tell me, sweetie. i don’t bite. unless you’re into that.”

another eyebrow pencil went flying in his direction.

“fuck you.”

“is that what you wanna do? i don’t have anywhere to be.” he was killing himself laughing at you, watching you squirm.

“a couple months.” you muttered.

“oh, honey.” lando cooed.

“why do you even care about this?” you whined, shaky hands fighting to unscrew your mascara.

“because i don’t like the idea of that dickhead touching you.” he said it so nonchalantly, as if it was the most casual thing in the world.

“lando-“

“am i reading this wrong? because something tells me that he’s not the one you want touching you.”

you watched, bewildered, as he pushed himself off your mattress, stalking towards you. he shrugged his hoodie off, adding it to his pile of garments at the end of the bed.

“what are you doing?” you questioned, dropping the mascara onto the table, sitting up straighter in anticipation.

“tell me now that it’s him you want.” he was getting closer and closer.

“i- i dont-“

“c’mon, sweetheart, tell me, and i’ll let you get ready in peace.”

he was right behind you now, body heat radiating against your back, goose bumps littering your bare shoulder where your robe had slipped.

“i don’t want him.” you whispered.

“who do you want? did you miss me as much as i missed you?”

“i always miss you.” you whispered.

“and yet, you’re getting ready for another man to fuck you, honey, when i’m right here.”

“what do you- lando, what are you doing?” you rambled, hands flat on your vanity, as if you were trying to ground yourself. you were shaking.

“helping you. is that okay, honey? do you want me to help you?” he spoke so softly, you could feel your legs quivering.

“yes.” you breathed and the way his eyes darkened made your thighs clench even harder.

lando leaned over you, until his head rested in the crook of your neck, hands finding your waist. he pulled you up from your stool, kicking it along the floor so that nothing separated you. you were flush against him, his nose nuzzling against your cheek. and then he was kissing your skin, your neck exposed to his assault. he trailed his lips over the taut flesh, teeth scraping that spot just below your ear.

all you could do was stare, disbelief in your eyes as you watched him touch you, hands pulling your hips into his. you’d wondered, now and then, if this would ever happen, and now here you were, falling into his touch like it was made to be all over your body.

lando turned you around, dropping you on the vanity. he crouched down in front you, pulling your ankle into his hands. nimble fingers worked over the clasp, fiddling with the buckle while he kissed over the sensitive skin of your thighs. one shoe dropped to the floor, and he made quick work of the other, lips trailing further and further up your legs. the bastard had the nerve to keep eye contact the entire time, and you keened at his touch, jolting when he moved under the hem of your robe.

lando pulled away, despite your groan of protest. he tugged you off the dresser, spinning you back to face the mirror, one of his hands slipping down your legs and finding your knee, picking you up and planting it on the dresser. you were spread out for him, now, sprawled out in front of the mirror.

“let’s get this off, yeah?” he whispered, hands smoothing over the silky material of your robe. it slipped off easily, one tug at the tie and it was on the floor, leaving you clad in your set. “all for me, right?”

“do something.” you gasped out, one of your hands thrown back to thread through his curls.

“all for me, right?” he repeated, biting down on your neck.

“yes, god, please.” you whimpered, needier for him than the guy you’d spent all afternoon getting ready for, yet you couldn’t spare him a thought when lando was toying with you like this.

“‘m gonna fuck you like this, make you watch so that you learn your lesson.”

“what lesson?” you choked out.

“that i’m the only one that can satisfy you like this.” he mumbled, so matter of fact.

“prove it.”

he liked the challenge, it seemed, because his hand was inside your panties before you could breathe. you could see his fingers working over you, the skimpy lace doing nothing to hide his movements. you arched into him the second he found your clit, your fingers tightening in his hair. your eyes fluttered shut, the pleasure eating away at you and your ability to control yourself.

“eyes open.”

you tried your hardest, but it was near impossible when he was working over your pussy like he’d done it a million times, like he already knew the ins and outs of your body, what made you tick. you cried out when he slipped a finger in you, the action simultaneous with his free hand finding a home at the base of your throat.

“no wonder you can’t find someone to get you off, no one’s ever fucked some manners into you.” he growled into your ear, and your eyes shot open. his grip tightened, a second finger sliding through your wetness. “you’re gonna listen to me from now on, baby, or you get nothing.”

“‘m trying.” you breathed, slurring your words already. if only you’d done this sooner.

“not hard enough, clearly.” he was grinding his fingers in harder, deeper, palm flat against your clit. you were panting out moans, heart beating so hard you could hear it in your ears, and now that you’d obeyed, eyes as wide as they could be, you couldn’t take them off his. he looked so smug, so pretty as he had his way with you, and you loved it, the way he was watching you sending an extra shot of heat to the pleasure pooling in your belly.

“is this what you needed, honey? do you think he could have done better? bet he couldn’t even make you come.” lando spat, fucking you even faster somehow. you felt drunk.

“no, lando. you’re so good.” you whined, pushing your ass back into him again.

you could feel how hard he was, taken aback at how filthy he was being, how dominant he was. you never could have imagined this, and honestly, you’d tried.

“you gonna come for me, sweetie? i can feel how bad you want it.” lando coaxed your orgasm out of you, your soft tummy tightening as you clamped down on his fingers. his thumb found your clit, circles left on the glistening flesh and all you could do was pray the hand wrapped around your neck would keep you upright.

one last flick of the wrist had you screaming, gushing all over his fingers. you could feel yourself dripping, your slick painting your inner thighs as you came, and he helped your through it. slow strokes brought you down from your high, and you slumped backwards into his arms.

“i’m not done yet.” he groaned, fingers dragged out of your panties and into his mouth. you watched the way his tongue licked over the digits, stomach fluttering at the sinful sight.

“good.” you replied, reaching behind you to search for the button of his jeans. he laughed lowly, batting your hands away.

“i’ll do the work, you deserve it.” his hand cupped your cheek, turning your head so that you were facing him, your body still facing the mirror.

you looked between his eyes and his lips, and he did the same, taking in your tired features, the lazy smile on your lips. you wanted him to kiss you, wanted to see if that drove you as crazy as everything else he’d done. you were quickly proved right. he slotted his lips over yours, your nose bumping his. a quiet moan sounded from the back of his throat and you shivered, deepening the kiss. his tongue moved with yours deliciously, sweet mint lingering in his mouth.

“need you.” you muttered against his lips, your words swallowed by the lingering kiss. he hummed in agreement, prying himself away from your swollen lips, his lack of self control making it harder than necessary. the faint trace of his lips made you delirious, and you feared you’d always crave more now that you’d had a taste.

“i’ve got you, honey. hands flat for me.”

you positioned yourself how he wanted, your palms flat against the vanity. he pushed your knee across the surface, makeup that you couldn’t care less about clattering to the ground. one of his hands snaked around your body, toying with the lace of your bra as he grabbed a handful of your breast. you watched the way his strong grip held you in place, breathing shakily when his free hand dipped between your thighs. you could see how wet you were when he tugged the flimsy lace aside, cupping your cunt one last time to spread your wetness around.

you heard the zip of his jeans, the rustle of clothing, your eyes rolling back as he kissed behind your ear. he slid into your slowly, feeling every part of him as he went deeper and deeper. the stretch made your tear up, the way he was filling you up scratching a itch that you hadn’t been able to satisfy in far too long.

“oh.” you gasped, clenching around him. he hissed at the sensation, grip tightening on your chest.

“that is the tightest fucking thing.” he moaned, thick neck on display as he bottomed out. “no one’s fucked you properly, have they, baby?”

“need it, lando.” you tried to push your hips back, tried to feel him even deeper somehow, but he held you down.

he moved slow, feeling you out, looking for a rhythm. you couldn’t breathe, watching the way he could barely keep his eyes open. you were obsessed, never so thankful for him barging into your apartment uninvited.

as fucking good as it felt, you needed more, just a bit more, desperate to not be able to walk after. you grabbed his hand, guiding it up your body, meeting his eyes in the mirror as you placed it at the base of your throat. a look was exchanged, one of pleading, and trust, and maybe even a little bit of something else, and everything in him changed.

your back collided with his front, the pressure on your neck and the power of his thrust making you dizzy. the pace was rapid, hips hitting yours with a point to prove. you mouth hung open, unable to take your eyes off the way his body rolled against yours. this was addictive, so far clear of any sex you’d ever had, maybe even of any you’d have again.

“so good for me. not gonna be able to forget those pretty eyes watching me.” he slurred, breathing heavily into your ear.

you nodded frantically, begs for more, please, more tumbling from your lips.

“no more dates. no more of these little boys trying to get you off. it’s gonna be me from now on.”

“better be.” you choked out, your head falling into the crook of his neck.

“that’s right, baby. gonna watch me make you come?” he crooned into your ear.

and you did, eyes locked with his once again as he finished you off. you were slick with sweat, trying to catch your breath.

“good?” he pressed a kiss to your hairline, slowly untangling himself from you.

“very.”

“let’s get you cleaned up, honey.”

lando helped you off the vanity, carrying you back over to your bed and placing you on the end. you watched him look around for some clothes, but you stole his hoodie, the one he’d left on the end of the bed. his scent surrounded you as you slipped it over your head, spicy and sweet.

you heard your phone buzzing, reaching around for it blindly but lando got to it first. the shit eating grin he wore made you sweat, eyes widening in horror when it dawned on you.

“stock market steve’s wondering where you are. think i should set him straight.” he teased.

“lando, don’t-“ you couldn’t even stop him, your body aching too much.

“hello?” lando sing songed down the line and you hid your face in your hands. “as much as i just know she’d love to hear you talk about how many watches you have and then finish in six seconds, she’s occupied.” and with that, he put the phone down.

“you are so lucky i can’t walk right now.” you threatened, flopping back onto your bed. he was quickly hovering over you, resting above you on his forearms.

“care to make it worse?” he grinned mischievously, and you knew that you were well and truly done for, ruined for anybody else.

“do your best.”

lord knows, he did.

-

hehe

-

taglist

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removed any tags that weren’t working! lemme know if you wanna be added or removed 🫶

[paceprompting]

on vacation

written for ‘vacation’ and ‘sweater’ | wc: 959 # | steddie | rated: g | cw: no archive warnings apply | tags: no upside down au, alternate meeting, vacationing steve, coat boy eddie, meet cute

@steddieholidaydrabbles & @steddiemas

Eddie despised skiing.

More specifically, the skiers.

Rich kids whose parents paid thousands for lessons and equipment. For the spots at Paoli Peaks Resort that cost more than Eddie and Wayne could make in a year, combined. And for the puffy jackets they tossed lazily in Eddie’s direction for him to keep track of until they’d drunk enough from the bar to replace their chilled blood with alcohol.

He was just the invisible coat check boy to them. Scrounging up enough extra from their rarely-given tips to make the slightly less shitty paycheck worth the six weeks in winter stuck at the resort.

Well, and one other thing.

One other boy.

Eddie had worked three straight winters since he was seventeen at Paoli Peaks, and he knew of the Harringtons. Richard and Dianna. They weren’t particularly rude—they’d have to give more than a few seconds attention for that—but they traveled primarily as a pair except when Richard went on the slopes and Dianna sipped martinis with the other socialite wives.

He’d had no idea they had a son.

Either it was the first time they’d brought him along, or Eddie had zoned out a lot harder than he thought over the years.

And maybe he was just starving for attention when everyone else ignored him.

Maybe he was just particularly annoyed and bitter when the younger Harrington’s group of friends trampled into the lodge and piled their coats into his waiting arms. One of the regulars, Tommy Hagan, made sure to push down on the weight and put Eddie off-kilter.

Eddie swore at his back as the asshole sauntered off, turning to offload the coats onto a waiting bench beside the coat closet before sorting them. He sighed and turned back.

To find the newcomer Harrington standing there, still wearing his coat.

“Uh,” Eddie stalled, any of the begrudgingly ingrained spiel vacating his brain with prejudice.

The guy was unfairly pretty.

He had this kind of swoopy hair, speckled with melting snow since he apparently refused to wear a hat. It looked shiny and soft to the touch, as if Eddie would ever dare. Eddie had long hair himself, but he knew shit about haircare, so for all he knew, the guy’s hair could defy gravity like that without hairspray.

His fingers reached up toward the zipper of his navy blue winter coat, sliding it down. As he slid his arms out, Eddie realized the guy wasn’t just standing there because he was bored.

Eddie was supposed to be doing his job.

“Sorry. Let me take your coat,” he mumbled, reaching his arms out for the coat. Few people actually wanted Eddie to touch them, so he’d long ago learned to wait on the resort-goers.

The Harrington guy was pleasant as he handed over the coat. Even folded it so it laid nicely across Eddie’s arms.

He was wearing a white, knit sweater underneath the coat. Fitted nicely enough to his body that Eddie could tell he was probably athletic. Especially when he pushed up the heavy sleeves of the sweater and showed off the toned muscles of his forearms.

And he had these…moles on his throat that peeked out over the collar of the sweater. One on his cheek, too.

Eddie was developing a problem. Fast.

“Steve!” a voice shouted, and Eddie flinched. But Harrington had turned toward Tommy calling for him, and hopefully hadn’t seen it.

He raised his brows at his friends waiting by the bar.

“What are you doin’!”

Steve gave no answer other than a hard roll of his eyes. It was enough to shut Tommy up for the moment.

“Thanks,” the guy—Steve, apparently—said. His voice wasn’t as deep as Eddie expected.

He hovered still, reaching into his back pocket to pull out a sleek brown leather wallet. He stared down at it, rubbing his thumb along the seam.

 “Uh, how much do people usually tip?” he asked, biting at his lower lip.

Eddie thought about lying. But Steve being a decent human being unlike most everyone else had thrown him for a loop, and he found himself telling the truth before he could think twice.

“Five. Maybe ten.”

Eddie was still holding this Steve’s coat. He deserved anything but a tip.

It didn’t seem to bother Steve much. He flipped open his wallet and pulled out several bills, which Eddie though was going to be a cruel trick to show him exactly what he wasn’t going to get.

Then, Steve counted out five bills—five dollars each—and handed them over.

Eddie stared at them, eyes wide. “That’s too much.”

Steve shrugged, sliding his wallet back into his pocket. Silently advertising that he was not going to be putting the money back in.

“Well, my…friends definitely didn’t give you anything. And I’d be bored out of my skull having to stand here all day, every day.”

Eddie glanced down at the bills. Steve urged Eddie to take them, slightly pushing the bills toward Eddie.

He grabbed them before Steve could change his mind.

“Don’t even think about giving me that much every time I take your jacket,” he said, stuffing the bills into his uniform vest pocket. “I’m not a charity case.”

“Didn’t think you were,” Steve said, slowly starting to make his way toward the correct people he should be associating with. “But I guess I’ll be seeing you around, then?”

“I—”

Eddie realized he’d been caught in his own words. For as long as Steve’s family vacationed at Paoli Peaks, Eddie would probably be the one to take his coat.

“Maybe,” he admitted, but Steve would get nothing more out of him.

No matter how charmingly he smiled at Eddie as he walked away.

Or how nicely his shoulders filled out that sweater.

[gyuuberryy]

vanilla coconut !

pairing: sunshine!sunoo x grumpy!reader

genre: one sided enemies to lovers, sunshine x grumpy trope, barista au, christmas au

synopsis: it's winter break and instead of exploring switzerland with your friends, you're unwillingly working in your mom's cafe. to make matters worse, the new hire is a little too clingy and hyper, always adamant on getting you excited for the holiday season, much to your dismay. as you're forced to be around him for more than half of the day, every single day, you learn a thing or two from each other. he smiles for the both of you, whatever you do is enough for him and whatever he does is too much for you. maybe just maybe you could be friends, or perhaps something more?

warnings: kissing, jealousy, flirty!sunoo, family issues, argument, reader is kinda mean, crying,

note: i finally got to write for my biggest crush—sunoo!(I'M SO IN LOVE WITH HIM) this has a slight hallmark movie vibe because i lovee them. merry christmas!

word count: 10.1k

i love reading your comments and reblogs, so please do so if you liked reading this<3

the plan had been perfect.

switzerland in winter, cozy chalets, the sparkle of snowflakes in the alps, and hot chocolate that was more melted dessert than drink. your friends had already started posting pictures: selfies by frosted windows, snow-covered towns that looked ripped out of postcards, and captions so carefree they stung.

but no. you weren’t in switzerland. you were here, in the cramped kitchen of your mom’s café, drowning in holiday specials and watching other people live out the joy you were supposed to be having.

“do you have to look so miserable?” your mom asked that morning as you trudged downstairs. “you’ll scare away the customers.”

“it’s not my fault i’m stuck here,” you muttered, your words muffled by the scarf you were wrapping around your neck.

your mom sighed but didn’t argue. she didn’t have to. the weight of responsibility—the oldest sibling’s eternal curse—hung heavily between you. when your mom had insisted you stay behind to help with the café’s holiday rush, the conversation hadn’t exactly been open for debate.

“it’s your responsibility,” your mom had said, her voice as unwavering as ever. “you’re the oldest. you understand that, don’t you?”

she’d said it like it was obvious, like it didn’t matter that you’d saved for months or that this was your last winter break before finishing university. your siblings had been conveniently absolved of all obligations, leaving you to pick up the slack.

and now here you were, staring out the café window at holiday shoppers bustling about their merry little lives.

it wasn’t just the lost trip that soured your mood. normally, you liked the holiday season—the warm lights, the scent of cinnamon in the air, the general buzz of joy. but this year, it felt impossible to muster up even a hint of cheer. maybe it was the bitterness of being left behind. or maybe it was the feeling that everyone else got to celebrate while you were stuck doing the thankless work.

whatever it was, you wanted no part of it. no twinkling lights, no jingly music, no forced smiles. if it were up to you, you’d fast-forward straight to january.

suddenly, the bell above the door jingled, snapping you out of your brooding. you straightened up, putting on your polite customer-service face as you prepared to take their order. but the sight that greeted you stopped you cold.

the man standing in the doorway looked like he’d lost a fight with a christmas clearance bin—and lost spectacularly. his coat was a patchwork of red and green, his scarf glittering with snowflake designs, and atop his head sat a ridiculous pom-pom hat that looked like it came straight from santa’s workshop, bouncing with every step.

you squinted at him, wondering how anyone could walk around looking like a walking holiday advertisement and not feel the slightest bit self-conscious. he practically radiated cheer, and you were already bracing yourself for the headache that would inevitably follow when you took his order. 

his curious eyes stopped their surveillance once they stopped at you. he lit up and waved at you enthusiastically(his mittens made a soft fwip-fwip sound against the air as he did that, making him look even more adorable ridiculous in your opinion).

“sunoo!” your mom’s delighted voice rang out, cutting through your internal judgment. she emerged from the back, her face lighting up as if he were her long lost son. “you’re early! perfect timing.”

“always early for christmas,” he replied, his voice as bright as his outfit.

you raised an eyebrow, trying to piece together what was happening as your mom motioned for him to come closer.

“sunoo’s going to be helping us out during the holiday rush,” she explained, turning to you with an expectant smile. “isn’t that wonderful?”

wonderful was not the word you would have chosen.

before you could object, sunoo turned his attention to you, his smile widening like he’d just found the best present under the tree.

“hi!” he said, thrusting out a hand. “i’m sunoo. it’s so great to meet you! your mom’s told me all about you.”

“uh.. hi,” you managed, shaking his hand hesitantly.

“she also said you’re going to be showing me the ropes!” he added, his enthusiasm not faltering for even a second.

your mom patted his shoulder approvingly before disappearing back into the kitchen, leaving you alone with who could only be described as christmas incarnate himself.

“where should we start?” sunoo asked, looking around the café with sparkling eyes. “drinks? decorations? oh, wait—do i get an apron?”

you blinked at him, trying to process how someone could have this much energy so early in the day. “uh, yeah. apron’s over there,” you muttered, pointing toward the storage cabinet.

as he darted off to grab one, you couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that this holiday season was about to get a lot more...complicated.

the next few days were nothing short of exhausting and it wasn’t because of the café rush.

it was him.

day one with sunoo was a test of patience.

he wasn’t just enthusiastic—he was relentless. he greeted every customer like an old friend, remembered their names and favorite drinks, and even started a suggestion box for “holiday improvements,” which was quickly overflowing with ideas.

on his second day, came the first incident. while you were preparing an espresso, sunoo decided to take matters into his own hands and “spread holiday cheer.” which apparently meant hanging garlands around the counter while you worked.

"could you not?" you finally snapped as a strand of tinsel landed on your shoulder.

"it’s festive!" he countered, grinning as he perched a tiny santa hat on the espresso machine. "doesn’t it make you feel jollier?"

you glared at him. "i’m plenty jolly."

he blinked innocently. "are you sure? because you’ve been frowning for…well, since i got here."

but it wasn’t just the decorations. sunoo had an uncanny ability to be everywhere at once. whether it was bringing you hot cocoa during your break (“it has marshmallows!”) or attempting to teach you his rendition of “jingle bells” while you prepped the next batch of cookies, he was always there.

“smile more!” he said one afternoon as you handed a cappuccino to a customer.

“i am smiling,” you replied through gritted teeth.

“that’s not a smile. that’s...a grimace,” he teased, leaning in with mock seriousness. “here, watch me.”

he turned to the next customer, flashing a grin so radiant it could have melted an iceberg. “welcome! isn’t it just a great day to treat yourself?”

the customer chuckled, clearly charmed. you, on the other hand, wanted to crawl under the counter and hide.

well yes, you begrudgingly had to admit that his presence had improved the café’s working tremendously. the customers loved him. he remembered names, guessed favorite drinks, and made people laugh. tips flowed into the jar like magic.  but he was trying to ruin your plan of not appreciating the holiday season! and you were not going to let that happen.

but, by the end of the week, something shifted.

slowly—very slowly—you had started to tolerate him.

it wasn’t that he stopped being annoying. if anything, his energy seemed to double with each passing day. but somewhere between his absurd carol remixes and the way he handed out extra cookies to kids who looked like they’d been dragged to the café against their will, you found yourself less irritated.

not impressed. definitely not charmed(lies!). just...less annoyed.

but one question lingered at the back of your mind: why? why was he so happy? what made him light up like a human christmas tree every day?

you weren’t sure you wanted to know the answer. but as you caught him grinning at a regular customer who’d just handed him a homemade ornament, you couldn’t help but wonder.

the café was quiet as you flipped the sign to "closed" and started tidying up for the night. it had been a long day, and you couldn’t wait to finally go home.

just as you locked the register and reached for your coat, the bell above the door jingled. you turned, irritation already bubbling up.

“we’re closed,” you started, but your words faltered when you recognized the man standing there.

“y/n,” your ex-boyfriend said, his smirk as familiar as it was grating. he stepped inside, dressed in a tailored coat that screamed money and arrogance. god, you can’t believe you fell for someone like him as a teenager.

beside him stood a woman teetering on heels that seemed entirely impractical for the icy streets outside. her outfit was bold, to say the least, a mishmash of sequins and faux fur that seemed more suited for a nightclub than a quiet evening in a café.

“oh my gosh,” the girlfriend squealed, twirling a strand of platinum-blonde hair. “babe, is this the little place you were talking about? it’s, like, so...cute!”

your ex casually leaned against the counter you had just wiped, trying to look cool. “i told her about this café. thought we’d stop by, see if you were still here.”

still here? the condescension in his tone made your jaw clench.

“it’s nice to see you’re keeping busy,” he added, his eyes sweeping over you like he was assessing your worth.

you plastered on a polite smile, one you reserved for particularly rude customers. “we’re closed, actually. maybe come back tomorrow.”

“aw, don’t be like that,” he said smoothly, ignoring your words entirely. “i was just telling tiffany here about how we used to hang out all the time. she couldn’t believe it. right, tiff?”

tiffany nodded enthusiastically, chewing gum as she looked around the café. “totally. i mean, you’re, like, so brave for working here. i could never do customer service—ugh, people are just the worst, you know?”

you stared at her, unsure if she was trying to insult you or if she genuinely had no self-awareness.

“i’ve been doing amazing, in case you were wondering. just opened my own tech startup. big investors, huge growth potential. you know how it is—some of us were always meant to do big things.”

he gave you a pointed look, and you felt your jaw tighten.

“and of course, i’ve got tiffany now.” he draped an arm over his girlfriend’s shoulders, and she giggled, resting her manicured hand on his chest.

“uh-huh,” you said, folding your arms. “well, congrats. i need to finish closing, so if you don’t mind—”

“oh, don’t rush us,” tiffany said with a pout. “we’re just, like, so fascinated by this little place. did you decorate it yourself? it’s so quaint!”

before you could respond, the door opened again, and in walked sunoo, bundled up in his bright scarf, carrying a bag of cookies.

“there you are!” he said cheerfully, making a beeline for you. he barely glanced at your ex before sliding an arm around your shoulders, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “sorry i’m late, babe. got caught up picking these up for you.”

your ex straightened, his brows knitting together. “babe?”

sunoo turned to him, his smile wide. “oh, sorry, i didn’t realize you were talking to my girlfriend.”

the word “girlfriend” sent a jolt through you, but sunoo didn’t give you time to react. he extended a hand towards your ex. “i’m sunoo. and you are?”

“her ex-boyfriend,” he replied stiffly, clearly caught off guard.

“oh!” sunoo said, feigning surprise. “well, nice to meet you. guess you’re the one who didn’t see how amazing she is, huh?”

you blinked, your cheeks warming as sunoo turned to tiffany, giving her a polite nod before focusing back on your ex.

“you know, y/n’s been working so hard lately,” sunoo continued, his voice light but deliberate. “between helping out here and pursuing her corporate law degree, she’s just incredible. i mean, it’s not every day you meet someone with brains, ambition, and kindness all rolled into one.”

your ex’s confident smirk faltered, and tiffany’s chewing slowed as she looked at you with newfound confusion.

“she’s studying law?” tiffany asked, wide-eyed.

sunoo nodded, his smile unwavering. “yep. top of her class, too. honestly, i don’t know how she does it. i feel lucky just to be a part of her life.”

your ex opened his mouth, likely to retaliate, but sunoo wasn’t done.

“and she’s so good with people,” sunoo added, looking at you with a softness that made your heart skip a beat. “customers just adore her. i see it every day—her kindness and how much she cares about others. it’s inspiring, really.”

your ex looked like he’d swallowed a lemon, his girlfriend now staring at him with something akin to disappointment.

“and now,” sunoo said, turning back to you, “i think it’s time we head home, don’t you, sweetheart?”

before you could process what was happening, sunoo leaned in and kissed you. it wasn’t a quick peck, nor was it overly dramatic. it was soft, lingering just enough to leave your heart racing and your mind spinning.

when he pulled back, he smiled at you, completely unfazed. “let’s go.”

you nodded, your voice seemingly lost, and allowed him to guide you toward the back.

as soon as you were out of earshot, you whispered, “what the hell was that?”

“that,” he said, grinning, “was me helping you. you’re welcome.”

you wanted to argue, to scold him for his audacity, but instead, all you could do was feel the butterflies in your stomach.

sunoo, ever the cheerful enigma, simply winked at you before heading to the kitchen, leaving you wondering why you couldn’t stop smiling.

the next day at the café began like any other, the morning rush fading into a calm lull as the afternoon light filtered through the frosted windows. you stood behind the counter, idly wiping it down, the hum of soft café music mixing with the faint clinking of dishes being cleaned.

across from you, sunoo was in his usual element, drying a tray of mugs with an ease that felt almost theatrical. he hummed a festive tune under his breath, the kind of annoyingly catchy holiday song you couldn’t escape this time of year. unlike most people, though, he wasn’t out of tune—his voice was smooth, each note light and cheerful.

despite yourself, your eyes drifted toward him. it was hard not to watch the way he worked, his every movement quick yet deliberate. but what caught you the most wasn’t his efficiency—it was his smile.

sunoo had this way of smiling that was entirely his own. it wasn’t just polite or perfunctory; it was warm, genuine, and impossibly bright. whether it was an elderly regular ordering tea or the grumpiest customer throwing a tantrum over a latte, he treated everyone with the same sunny energy, as if he’d been waiting all day just to see them.

you barely noticed your cloth stalling on the counter as your gaze lingered on him. his lips curved up, eyes crinkling at the corners, his entire face lighting up in a way that could rival the café’s twinkling christmas lights.

“earth to y/n!”

his voice jolted you from your thoughts, and your head snapped up to see him standing there, a mug still in one hand, the other waving dramatically in front of your face.

“you’re staring,” he said with a knowing grin, leaning casually against the counter. his apron hung slightly askew, a splash of frothy milk smudged near the edge, but he didn’t seem to care.

“i was not staring,” you shot back, too quickly for your own good. the heat rushing to your cheeks betrayed you, though, as you fumbled to sound indifferent. “i was zoning out.”

“sure you were,” he teased, his grin widening into something playful, yet somehow unbearably charming. “let me guess—you were thinking about me, huh?”

before you could even process a retort, sunoo moved. he stepped closer, his easy grin never wavering. instinctively, you leaned back, only for your spine to hit the counter behind you. the realization that you were cornered sent your heart into overdrive.

“w-what are you doing?” you stammered, your eyes darting up to meet his.

he was close now, too close. his arm came up, his hand braced against the counter next to your head, the air around you enveloping you in his mouthwatering scent of vanilla and coconut. his other hand still held the mug, but that didn’t stop your thoughts from spiraling. the way he leaned over you, his face mere inches from yours—it made your breath hitch. for one wild, utterly ridiculous moment, you thought he was about to kiss you(again?).

but then, with a smooth, almost nonchalant motion, he reached past you and grabbed a washcloth from the counter behind your shoulder.

“got it!” he announced cheerfully, pulling back and holding up the cloth like it was a prize.

you blinked, stunned into silence as your brain scrambled to catch up with reality.

sunoo tilted his head, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “what? did you think i was gonna—” he paused, letting the suggestion hang in the air, a devilish smirk tugging at his lips.

“no!” you snapped, your voice cracking as you shoved past him to put space between you. “as if!”

his laugh was light, melodic, and thoroughly maddening as he turned back to the mugs, completely unbothered.

you busied yourself with refilling the napkin dispensers, determined to ignore the way your heart was still racing. yet as much as you wanted to brush the whole thing off, you couldn’t help the small, traitorous smile tugging at your lips. and you hated that somewhere in the back of your mind, you wondered if sunoo had caught it.

later that evening, you found yourself at the door, keys in hand, ready to lock up. the café was quiet, the streets outside eerily calm. the cold had settled in deeper now, a biting wind nipping at your fingers even through your gloves.

as you pulled the door shut and turned the key in the lock, a figure caught your eye. sunoo was leaning casually against the lamppost just outside, his breath visible in small puffs of condensation.

“what are you still doing here?” you asked, wrapping your arms around yourself to stave off the chill.

he straightened, brushing some snow off his coat. “wanted to make sure you got home safe,” he said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

you froze for a moment, caught completely off guard. “you didn’t have to do that,” you said, though your voice was softer than usual, your usual bite missing.

“i know,” he replied with a shrug, his tone light, almost nonchalant. “but i wanted to.”

the words hung in the air between you, heavier than they should have been. his sincerity was disarming, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him. the light from the streetlamp cast a faint golden glow on his face, catching the warmth in his eyes and the faint pink dusting his cheeks from the cold.

your chest tightened, the realization of how kind he was settling in. it wasn’t a grand gesture, but it felt significant. genuine.

you wondered if he could hear the pounding of your heart in the quiet night, loud and insistent as it was.

“thanks,” you mumbled after a beat, unable to meet his gaze for too long.

he smiled at you, soft and easy. “anytime.”

as you both started walking toward your respective homes, you couldn’t help but glance at him out of the corner of your eye. there was something about sunoo that you couldn’t quite put your finger on—a warmth that you hadn’t noticed before but suddenly seemed impossible to ignore.

the nightly walks home had become a routine you hadn’t quite agreed to but couldn’t seem to stop either. sunoo, had decided somewhere along the line that you needed a chaperone to make it home safely through the wintry streets. you’d grumbled about it at first, muttering under your breath about his unnecessary chivalry, but over time, you’d grown to expect the sight of him waiting outside the café after closing.

of course, you hadn’t told him that. no, you preferred to keep up your facade of mild annoyance, pretending not to notice how his presence made the cold nights feel a little less lonely.

sunoo, naturally, was undeterred by your grumpiness. if anything, it seemed to fuel his determination to get you into the holiday spirit. one evening, as he walked beside you, humming yet another cheerful christmas tune, he turned to you with a sudden burst of excitement.

“y/n, i just had the best idea!”

you glanced at him warily, already regretting whatever was about to come out of his mouth. “do i even want to know?”

“yes, you do!” he insisted, his grin as bright as the fairy lights strung across the street. “i’m going to teach you my famous christmas cookie recipe!”

you stopped in your tracks, giving him an incredulous look. “your famous christmas cookie recipe? who exactly considers it famous?”

“everyone who’s ever tasted them,” he replied, puffing out his chest dramatically. “they’re a holiday masterpiece.”

you couldn’t stop the amused huff that escaped you, though you quickly masked it with a roll of your eyes. “and why, exactly, do i need to learn this ‘masterpiece’ recipe?”

“because,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, “you need some christmas cheer in your life, and nothing says cheer like baking cookies with me.”

you groaned, already feeling your resolve weakening under his hopeful gaze. “fine,” you muttered, trying to sound begrudging. “but only because i’m curious if they’re actually as good as you claim.”

his cheer was instantaneous. “you won’t regret it!”

the next day, sunoo dragged you to the grocery store and. you trailed behind him, half-heartedly protesting whenever he added something to the cart that wasn’t on the list.

“you’re buying way too much butter,” you pointed out as he tossed another block into the cart.

“you can never have too much butter when it comes to cookies,” he said with a sage nod.

he practically bounced beside you, a walking ball of excitement, clutching a carefully curated shopping list for his "famous" christmas cookies.

“y/n, we need to decide on the chocolate chips,” he said, holding up two bags like they were precious artifacts. “semi-sweet or dark? this is critical.”

you shrugged nonchalantly, feigning disinterest. “it’s your recipe, gordon ramsay. pick whatever.”

he pouted dramatically, clutching his chest. “gordon ramsay? that’s a little harsh. i’m more of a... what’s the name of that really cheerful baker on tv? you know, the one who smiles a lot?”

“sounds like your spirit animal,” you muttered under your breath, though a faint smirk tugged at your lips.

while he deliberated between chocolate options with the intensity of someone defusing a bomb, you wandered off to grab some sugar. as you made your way back toward the cart, a voice called your name.

“y/n? is that really you?”

you turned to find yourself face-to-face with an old high school friend. their warm smile was familiar, even if their fashion choices now had taken a complete 180.

“oh my god, it’s been forever!” they said, pulling you into a quick hug. “how have you been?”

you exchanged pleasantries, updating each other on work and uni life. it was nice, catching up after so long, until their eyes flicked past you.

“wait, who’s that?” they asked, nodding toward sunoo, who was now examining a bottle of vanilla extract like it held the secrets of the universe.

“oh, him?” you said casually, glancing over your shoulder. “that’s just sunoo.”

they raised an eyebrow, their smirk teasing. “just sunoo? he looks like he’s your boyfriend or something.”

“what? no, no,” you said quickly, a little too loudly. “sunoo’s not my boyfriend. god, no. he’s just my coworker. we work at my mom’s café. that’s all.”

your friend gave you a knowing look, the kind that made your cheeks heat. “coworker, huh? he’s got major boyfriend energy. seems sweet.”

“sweet?” you scoffed, crossing your arms. “he’s more like a hyperactive puppy. always smiling, always humming, always doing something. it’s exhausting.”

your friend chuckled, clearly enjoying your exasperation.

“and don’t even get me started on his christmas obsession,” you continued, rolling your eyes for effect. “he’s like a walking hallmark movie. i swear, if he could marry a christmas tree, he’d probably do it and throw a wedding with carolers.”

your friend burst out laughing, egging you on. “does he sing christmas songs all the time too?”

“constantly,” you replied with mock suffering. “if i hear ‘jingle bells’ one more time, i’m going to lose it. it’s like he’s got a jukebox in his head that’s stuck on holiday mode.”

the two of you laughed, exchanging more exaggerated and judgmental quips about sunoo’s overly cheerful demeanor. but then, as your laughter faded, you caught sight of something—or rather, someone—out of the corner of your eye.

sunoo was standing there, a bag of flour in one arm and a bottle of vanilla extract in the other. his bright smile, the one you’d always teased him for, was gone. in its place was an expression you’d never seen on him before—hurt, raw and unguarded.

“sunoo,” you started, your voice weak and unsure.

he blinked, his eyes darting between you and your friend, as though piecing together everything he’d just overheard. then, without a word, he turned on his heel and walked away, his steps brisk and unsteady.

“wait, sunoo—” you took a step toward him, but he didn’t stop, his figure disappearing around the corner.

your friend shifted awkwardly beside you. “uh... i think i’ll let you handle that. good luck.” they offered an apologetic smile before retreating, leaving you alone with your racing thoughts.

the guilt hit you like a freight train. you replayed every word you’d said, each one now twisting like a knife. you hadn’t meant to be cruel, not really, but hearing it all in retrospect made you wince.

you stood there in the middle of the aisle, the festive chaos of the store blurring around you, and all you could think about was the devastated look on sunoo’s face. for someone who always wore his heart on his sleeve, you’d just managed to break it without even trying.

and now, you had no idea how to fix it.

the café felt colder than usual, and it had nothing to do with the weather. sunoo, the walking ray of sunshine who once filled every corner with warmth and holiday cheer, had dimmed entirely. it started the day after the grocery store incident. he no longer greeted you with his annoyingly bright smile or playfully nudged you when you were grumbling about the customers. instead, he was polite—frigidly so.

“good morning,” you said tentatively as you walked in for your shift.

“morning,” he replied without looking up from the espresso machine, his tone flat.

no teasing. no humming. not even a sarcastic remark about you being late again. just a curt acknowledgment, followed by silence.

you couldn’t deny it—it stung. you thought back to the way he used to coax reluctant smiles from customers, how he would hum festive tunes so loudly you’d complain, and how his energy made the café feel like a holiday movie set. now, he did his job mechanically, avoiding unnecessary conversation with you and barely engaging with anyone else.

the decorations he had painstakingly hung felt like they belonged to a different world. they no longer carried the magic they once did.

at first, you told yourself this was what you wanted—a quiet, sunoo-free workspace where you could brood in peace. but it wasn’t peace you felt. it was guilt. crushing, suffocating guilt.

even though sunoo seemed hellbent on giving you the cold shoulder, he still made sure you reached home safely. your evening walks were not the same anymore, with him trailing a few metres behind you instead of him usually sticking right to your side. you couldn’t help but feel even worse. even after you had been inconsiderate about his feelings, he still cared.

one day, during a rare lull, you approached him, the desire to fix things clawing at your chest. you were generally awkward with apologies but you had to try your best. he was wiping down the counter with that same forced nonchalance, eyes focused on the towel, not sparing you even a glance.

“sunoo,” you started, your voice small, breaking the silence between you. “i… i wanted to say sorry about what happened. i didn’t mean—”

“it’s fine,” he interrupted, finally looking up with an expression that was almost unreadable. “don’t worry about it.”

but you could tell it wasn’t fine. it wasn’t fine at all. the tension in his jaw, the lack of the usual warmth in his eyes—it was all proof that you had hurt him more than you realised.

that afternoon, a customer—a girl around your age—came in and ordered a latte. she was attractive, dressed in trendy winter clothes, her hair a perfect cascade of curls despite the weather. you barely registered her order, too preoccupied with the way sunoo’s demeanor had shifted as soon as she walked up. he leaned over the counter with a smile that was just a touch more dazzling than usual, his eyes bright with that cheerful, carefree light you hadn’t seen in days.

“oh, you’re so good at making latte art!” she said with a little laugh, eyes wide as she watched him.

sunoo chuckled, a sound that came so easily, so naturally, it made something sour twist in your stomach. “thanks. i’ve had a lot of practice. what’s your favorite design?”

“oh, anything cute! maybe a heart?”

you clenched your jaw. the way he laughed, the way he looked at her, it was like the last few days had never happened. he was back to being the sunoo who had brightened every corner of the café, the same sunoo you’d ignored and pushed away. a storm of irritation and something deeper bubbled inside you.

you couldn’t help yourself. marching over, you interrupted their conversation, “sunoo, the tables need wiping. i’ll finish this order,” you said, your voice sharper than intended.

he looked at you, his smile fading as quickly as it had come. for a moment, you thought he might argue, but instead, he stepped back and handed you the steaming cup. “sure,” he said quietly, walking away without another word.

the customer looked at you, slightly startled, but you avoided her gaze, focusing on finishing the latte art. your hand trembled slightly as you poured the milk, frustrated at yourself for the way your emotions had spiraled out of control.

this wasn’t like you. you weren’t the type to get jealous, especially not over someone like sunoo, who you’d spent weeks convincing yourself was nothing more than a coworker.

the silence that followed felt deafening, and the rest of the shift passed in a haze. every time you looked at him, he looked away. every time you spoke to him, he responded with clipped, polite words, his voice void of warmth. he was now a shadow of the sunoo you had known, and it was your fault.

and the worst part? you missed it. you missed him.

every day, the weight of your guilt grew heavier, and with it, the realization that you hadn’t just been cruel—you’d hurt someone who had only ever tried to brighten your world.

you wanted to fix things, but you didn’t know how. every attempt to reach out was met with silence, and every smile he gave someone else felt like another nail in the coffin of what you had ruined.

the festive tunes in the café continued to play, but now, they felt hollow, much like the ache in your chest.

that night, you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the ache of regret clawing at your chest. the guilt was like an icy chain around your ribs, squeezing tighter with every passing minute. you could still picture the smile he had given the girl, so carefree, so genuine, and the way he had walked away from you, a hint of defeat in his posture.

the next day, he was back to avoiding you, treating you like a stranger he’d once known. you watched, helpless, as he poured that same energy into talking to customers, chatting with people as if he hadn’t lost himself in the process. it hurt more than you thought it could.

the coldness extended past the café. sunoo’s laughter seemed to be reserved for everyone but you, and you watched as the cheerful light he carried dimmed even further. it made you wonder if you had lost something you didn’t even know you wanted.

the day had been relentless. the café buzzed from the early hours with orders flying in and customers bustling through, each interaction adding another layer to your growing frustration. by mid-afternoon, you were running on fumes, barely holding it together as the weight of responsibility pressed down on you.

it wasn’t just today. it had been like this for weeks. ever since your mom insisted you stay back during winter break to help with the café, it felt like you’d been drowning in expectations. and somehow, the family seemed perfectly content to let you struggle.

you caught sight of your younger siblings in the corner booth, lounging with their phones in hand, sharing quiet laughs. the image stung. while you juggled orders, cleaned counters, and played the perfect hostess, they enjoyed carefree moments, untouched by the demands that seemed to fall squarely on your shoulders.

by the time you escaped to the back room, your patience was hanging by a thread. you slammed a tray of used mugs onto the counter harder than you meant to, and the sharp clang echoed in the small space.

“do you have to make such a racket?” your mom’s voice came from behind you. she stepped into the room, her hands busy with a clipboard, completely unfazed by your obvious distress.

your control snapped. “maybe if someone else around here actually helped me, i wouldn’t have to,” you retorted, spinning around to face her.

she paused, her eyes narrowing. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“it means i’m exhausted, mom,” you shot back, the words tumbling out in a rush. “i’m doing everything—running the counter, cleaning up, dealing with customers—and for what? so everyone else can just sit back and relax?”

“don’t be dramatic,” she said, her tone clipped. “i’ve been working just as much as you.”

you let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “are you serious right now? i haven’t seen you take a single order all day. and don’t even get me started on them,” you gestured toward the café, where your siblings were still parked, oblivious to the world around them. “they get to sit around doing nothing while i’m running myself into the ground.”

“they’re younger,” your mom said flatly. “you’re the oldest. you should know better by now.”

the words cut deep, sharper than you expected. “so what? that means i don’t get to have a life? i don’t get to enjoy a break like everyone else?” your voice wavered, anger and hurt intertwining. “you expect me to just give and give, and no one cares about what i need.”

“stop being so ungrateful and selfish all the time,” she snapped, her eyes hardening. “this is your family. you do what’s necessary.”

her words hit like a physical blow, and you staggered back a step, the air knocked out of you. selfish? after everything you’d done? 

she didn’t wait for a response, brushing past you and leaving the room without a backward glance.

the silence that followed was suffocating. you stood frozen, your chest heaving as the tears burned behind your eyes. you tried to fight them, but the weight of her words, of everything, was too much.

your legs gave out, and you sank to the cold floor, pulling your knees to your chest as the first sob broke free. it came in waves, uncontrollable and raw, until you buried your face in your arms, muffling the sound.

you weren’t sure how long you stayed like that. time seemed to blur, your thoughts spiraling in the same vicious cycle of frustration and hurt. the ache in your chest felt unbearable, like a storm raging inside with no signs of clearing.

then, faintly, you heard footsteps. they stopped near you, hesitating, before a familiar voice called softly, “y/n?”

you didn’t look up. you couldn’t. but then you felt it—a warm, steady hand on your shoulder, grounding you in a way you didn’t realize you needed.

when you finally lifted your head, your tear-filled eyes met sunoo’s. his usual brightness was dimmed, replaced with an expression so soft and concerned that it made your chest tighten all over again.

he didn’t say anything at first, just crouched down beside you. then, without a word, he pulled you into his arms. the action was gentle, almost hesitant, but as soon as you felt the warmth of his embrace, you broke all over again.

your fingers clutched at the fabric of his shirt, desperate for something solid as the tears came harder. “i’m so tired,” you whispered against his chest, your voice cracking.

“i know,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “i know.”

his hand moved to your back, rubbing slow circles that seemed to ease the ache just a little. he smelled his signature scent of vanilla and coconut, a scent so comforting it made you lean into him further, seeking out the solace he offered.

sunoo didn’t let go. not when your tears soaked into his shirt, not when your breath hitched as you tried to form words between sobs. he stayed there, holding you, his warmth anchoring you in a way you hadn’t realized you craved.

eventually, the tears slowed, leaving you shuddering against him. he didn’t rush you or ask questions, just kept his hand moving in those soothing circles on your back, his presence steady and unwavering. it was only when your breathing evened out that he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

“do you want to talk about it?”

for a moment, you hesitated. but then, the weight of everything—the years of bottled-up frustration, resentment, and heartache—came spilling out.

“it’s just… it’s so much,” you began, your voice hoarse from crying. “being the oldest, it’s like… it’s like my life stopped being mine the moment dad left.”

sunoo’s hand stilled for a second, then resumed its comforting rhythm, encouraging you to continue.

you sniffled, swiping at your damp cheeks. “he just—he ran off with some rich woman when i was sixteen, like we didn’t matter to him at all. mom was devastated, and suddenly, it felt like i had to grow up overnight. taking care of my siblings, helping with the café, picking up the pieces he left behind…” your voice cracked, and you bit your lip, trying to hold it together.

“and now it’s like nothing’s changed,” you went on, your words tumbling out faster. “mom still leans on me for everything. the café, the house, the family—it’s always me. i can’t even remember the last time i did something just for myself.”

sunoo didn’t interrupt, didn’t try to fill the silence with empty reassurances. he just listened, his gaze fixed on you with such unwavering focus that it made your chest ache in a different way.

“and today—today was just the last straw,” you admitted, wiping at your nose with the back of your hand. “i feel like i’m suffocating, sunoo. like no matter how much i give, it’s never enough. and it’s so… so lonely.”

you looked away, ashamed of your outburst, but his arms tightened around you. “you’re not alone,” he said softly, his voice steady. “not anymore.”

that simple promise unraveled something inside you, and before you could stop yourself, you blurted out, “and i’m sorry. for everything. for being so mean to you, for judging you when i didn’t even know you, for acting like a total brat.”

sunoo blinked, his expression softening even further, but you didn’t let him speak yet. “i know i’ve been awful,” you continued, your words spilling over each other in a frantic rush. “and you’ve been nothing but kind, and here i am, all snotty and messy and—”

“y/n,” he interrupted gently, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“and i probably look terrible right now,” you rambled on, ignoring his soft chuckle. “like, who wants to deal with this?” you gestured vaguely to your tear-streaked face and disheveled appearance.

“y/n,” he said again, a little firmer this time, his hand brushing against your cheek.

you froze, finally meeting his eyes. they were impossibly warm, filled with something you couldn’t quite name but that made your breath catch all the same.

“you’re perfect,” he said simply, his thumb gently wiping away a stray tear.

and then, before you could process his words, he leaned in and kissed you.

it was soft at first, hesitant, like he was giving you a chance to pull away. but when you didn’t—when you found yourself leaning into him instead—it deepened, his lips moving against yours with a warmth that chased away every lingering shadow of doubt and hurt.

you melted into him, your hands clutching the front of his shirt as if he were the only solid thing in a world that had felt so unsteady. the kiss was everything you didn’t know you needed—comforting, electrifying, and completely disarming all at once.

when he finally pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours, his breath mingling with your own in the quiet of the room.

“i’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” he admitted, a shy smile tugging at his lips.

you stared at him, still dazed, your fingers brushing your lips as if trying to hold onto the feeling. “you… you kissed me,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“i did,” he said, his smile growing. “and if i had known it would shut you up, i might’ve done it sooner.”

a laugh bubbled up in your chest despite yourself, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the heaviness inside you lifted.

“i don’t think i deserve you, sunoo,” you said softly, your gaze dropping to the floor.

he tilted your chin up gently, his expression earnest. “then it’s a good thing i get to decide that, isn’t it?”

and just like that, with sunoo’s arms still wrapped around you and the lingering warmth of his kiss, it felt like everything had finally fallen into place.

the next morning, you found yourself standing outside the café, shivering in the early chill. snow blanketed the ground, sparkling under the soft glow of the streetlights. the café wasn’t open yet, and you were earlier than usual, clutching a small box in your hands. the carefully wrapped gift felt heavier than it should, the weight of nerves pressing down on you.

inside the box was a collection of little things that reminded you of sunoo: a cheerful snowman mug, a candle that smelled like warm sugar cookies, and a pair of bright green fuzzy mittens. they weren’t much, but they were chosen with care—a way to apologise properly, to show him you understood now just how much he meant to you.

the quiet street stretched around you, peaceful but lonely. you rocked back and forth on your heels, trying to shake off the morning cold and the knot of anxiety twisting in your stomach. what if he didn’t accept the gift? what if he was still upset?

before you could spiral further, you heard footsteps crunching in the snow. turning, you saw him walking toward you, his breath visible in the frosty air. he wasn’t wearing his usual bright smile, but the sight of him was enough to make your chest ache.

“y/n?” he called out, stopping a few steps away. “what are you doing here so early?”

“i, uh…” you hesitated, holding the box tighter. “i wanted to see you.”

his eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise. “really?”

wordlessly, you held the gift out to him, your breath hitching as he stared at it. slowly, he reached out and took it, his fingers brushing yours.

“what’s this?” he asked, his tone soft.

“an apology,” you said, your voice quieter than you intended. “for everything. for being mean to you, for not appreciating you sooner, for—just open it.”

sunoo glanced at you, then down at the box. he tugged the ribbon loose and carefully peeled back the paper, his movements deliberate. when he saw the contents, his expression shifted, his eyes widening as a genuine smile began to spread across his face.

“you got me mittens?” he exclaimed, holding them up like they were a treasure. “and this mug—it’s so cute! and a candle?” he brought it to his nose and sniffed, his grin widening even more. “it smells amazing!”

the brightness in his reaction melted the last of your nerves, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

“i thought they’d suit you,” you said quietly, feeling a little silly now but also oddly proud.

“suit me?” he repeated, his tone playful. “y/n, this is the most thoughtful gift anyone’s given me in a long time.”

before you could react, he closed the distance between you in one swift motion.

“wait—sunoo!”

but he didn’t wait. he scooped you up effortlessly, spinning you around in the snow. the world blurred for a moment, the sound of your surprised laugh ringing out as he twirled you like you weighed nothing at all.

“put me down!” you cried, though your laughter betrayed any real protest.

“not until you promise you’ll stop being so hard on yourself,” he said, his voice full of warmth and mischief.

“okay, okay! i promise!”

he set you down at last, but your balance wavered, and the two of you tumbled into the snow together, a heap of giggles and cold breaths.

“you’re impossible,” you muttered, brushing snow off your coat.

“impossible to stay mad at, right?” he teased, propping himself up on one elbow beside you. his grin was as dazzling as ever, and it was contagious.

you rolled your eyes, but your heart felt lighter than it had in days. “yeah, yeah. don’t let it go to your head, sunoo.”

“too late,” he quipped, tossing a handful of snow at you.

what followed was an impromptu snowball fight that left both of you breathless, your cheeks pink from the cold and the laughter. by the time the café was ready to open, you’d built a lopsided snowman and shared stories over hot cocoa.

as you sat across from him, watching the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, you realized something else had thawed—your carefully guarded heart. sunoo had done more than bring holiday cheer into your life; he’d brought a warmth you hadn’t known you were missing.

over the next few days, things between you and sunoo took on a rhythm you hadn’t expected. there was no big moment when it all changed, no grand confessions. it just sort of happened. in the middle of the busy café, amidst the noise of espresso machines and the chatter of customers, the two of you found your own little world, filled with unspoken understanding and a quiet kind of comfort.

despite your shy nature, sunoo was anything but reserved. he was touchy, cuddly, and so unapologetically confident in his affection that it left you flustered at least twice an hour.

one morning, you were at the counter, meticulously preparing an intricate coffee order for a regular. concentrating on the froth, you didn’t even hear him approach.

suddenly, his arms slipped around your waist, pulling you into his chest. the warmth of his body against your back startled you, and you nearly dropped the milk frother.

“good morning to you, too,” he murmured softly near your ear, his voice low and teasing.

“sunoo,” you hissed, your cheeks burning as you glanced around the café. thankfully, it was mostly empty, save for the regular who seemed too engrossed in their phone to notice. “what are you doing?”

“giving my girlfriend some love,” he said matter-of-factly, resting his chin on your shoulder. his hold on you was secure but gentle, and you couldn’t ignore how solid he felt.

your brain scrambled as you became hyper-aware of every point of contact—the way his hands fit around your waist, the way his sweater couldn’t completely hide the firmness of his chest and arms.

you tried to maintain your composure, focusing on pouring the steamed milk into the cup. “you’re distracting me,” you mumbled, your voice shakier than you’d intended.

“oh?” his tone was pure mischief now, and you could practically hear the grin on his face. “didn’t know i had that kind of effect on you, y/n.”

“stop,” you groaned, half-horrified and half-flustered, trying to wriggle free from his hold.

but he just tightened his arms slightly, chuckling. “not a chance. you’re cute when you’re flustered.”

your heart pounded in your chest as you finished the order, sunoo still clinging to you like a human koala. when you finally handed the coffee to the customer, you turned to him with an exasperated glare.

“happy now?” you said, trying to sound annoyed but failing miserably.

“very,” he replied, his bright smile disarming you completely.

moments like these became a regular occurrence. sunoo had no concept of personal space, especially when it came to you, and he seemed to revel in how easily he could fluster you. whether it was sneaking up behind you to steal a kiss on your cheek while you were stocking shelves, lacing your fingers together under the table during your lunch break, or leaning in close just to whisper something playful and teasing—he was unabashedly, wholeheartedly himself.

at first, you didn’t know how to handle it. the warmth of his attention made you feel vulnerable, exposed in a way you hadn’t expected. but it also made you feel… cherished, like you were the only person in his world.

one afternoon, you were wiping down tables when he plopped down in a chair nearby, resting his chin in his hands as he watched you.

“what are you staring at now?” you asked, glancing at him over your shoulder.

“my beautiful girlfriend,” he said with a grin so sincere it made your chest ache.

you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face. “you’re impossible.”

“and yet, you’re still with me.”

despite your best efforts to stay composed, sunoo always managed to draw out the softer, shyer side of you. and though it terrified you to be so open, so seen, it also filled you with a kind of warmth you’d never known before—like stepping into the sunlight after a long winter.

the warm light of sunoo’s home bathed the living room in a soft glow, creating a sense of comfort that seemed almost too perfect. the scent of cinnamon and roasted vegetables filled the air, mingling with the gentle hum of christmas carols playing in the background. laughter and the sound of clinking glasses bubbled up around you, and it was hard to believe you were even there, in this place that felt so full of warmth and life.

sunoo had invited you and your mother to an early christmas dinner at his house a few days ago. you had come alone, expecting your mom to stay home after the fight you’d had earlier that week. she’d been sharp with her words, and you’d spent the past few days wrapped in the solitude of your thoughts, wondering if things would ever be the same between you two. but now, as you glanced around at the smiling faces, the feel of this home settled into your chest in a way that was almost foreign, yet achingly familiar.

sunoo’s family, full of kindness and easygoing laughter, was everything that you’d never had. being the youngest child had given sunoo a softness that showed in everything he did—the way he laughed too loudly, the way he clapped his hands when he was excited, the way he instinctively reached for your hand when he wanted to share a joke. it was clear that love had been poured into him without question, without the burden of responsibility or guilt.

the warmth of that realisation grew inside you as dinner was served. sunoo’s father sat at the head of the table, telling stories that made everyone chuckle, while his mother bustled around, her hands full of serving spoons and platters. the room was a symphony of family, love, and shared history. it made you long for that kind of life, for that kind of belonging.

just as you were helping pass a dish of mashed potatoes, the doorbell chimed. sunoo, who had been sitting next to you, turned to look at you with a smile. “can you get that, y/n?”

you nodded, a little confused, and stood up, making your way to the front door. when you opened it, your eyes widened in surprise. there, standing in the cool night air with a basket of homemade goodies balanced in her arms, was your mom.

“mom?” you said, voice catching. she looked as surprised to see you as you were to see her, eyes wide and a little uncertain. but then she took a deep breath, stepping into the house with an air of resolve.

“hello, y/n,” she said, offering a soft smile that reached her eyes. she turned to the room beyond, where sunoo’s family was looking at her with curiosity. “merry christmas, everyone,” she said warmly, her voice more steady than you’d expected.

sunoo’s mother, surprised at the unexpected guest, beamed as she ushered her in. “merry christmas! we’re so glad you came.”

you stood there, feeling a flutter of hope. your mom walked past you, her eyes meeting yours for a brief moment as if to say, can we talk? you nodded, your heart pounding as she led you away from the bustling room.

she took you to a corner by the window, where the soft light from outside fell on both of you, mingling with the glow of the christmas tree. for a moment, neither of you spoke. you heard the sounds of laughter in the other room—the clinking of glasses, sunoo’s voice as he said something that made everyone laugh.

finally, your mom broke the silence. “y/n, i’ve been thinking a lot about us, and how i’ve let you down. when your dad left, i was lost, and i leaned on you for strength when you were just a kid yourself. i didn’t see how it affected you; i only saw my own pain. i’m so sorry for making you feel like you had to carry everything alone.”

her voice cracked, and she reached out, pulling you into a hug. you let yourself melt into her embrace, the weight of years of resentment and unspoken words finally falling away. a tear escaped, then another, as you let yourself feel everything you hadn’t allowed yourself to before—the hurt, the longing, and the relief.

“i’m sorry too, mom,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “i didn’t know how to say it, but i needed you to know i was scared. i was so scared of turning out like… like everything i didn’t want.”

she pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes glistening. “you’re not like that, y/n. you’re everything i could have hoped for, and more. i love you.”

“i love you too,” you said, your voice finally steady, the words feeling right and true. the basket of treats she’d brought had slipped from her grasp, forgotten as you both shared this moment that seemed to heal everything at once.

there was a noise from behind you—a soft cough. sunoo stood at the end of the hallway, a warm smile on his face. his eyes met yours and then shifted to your mom, who was still holding you close.

“everything okay?” he asked, voice soft.

you nodded, a tiny smile breaking through your tears. “yeah, everything’s perfect.”

sunoo stepped forward, pulling you into a hug that felt like the last piece of the puzzle falling into place. it felt like everything was right, and the past had been forgiven, making way for something better.

as the sound of laughter swelled behind you, you knew that this was a new beginning. and in that moment, you felt loved, not just by sunoo but by the family you had always dreamed of, and by the one that was learning to be there for you, piece by piece.

BONUS SCENE!

it’s christmas morning, and for once, the café is closed. you wake up to a rare, quiet morning, the kind that feels like it could stretch on forever. snow blankets the world outside, muffling every sound and adding a serene glow to the sky.

just as you’re about to head downstairs, you hear the faint sound of shuffling outside your front door. curiosity piqued, you open it to find a very familiar figure standing there, bundled up in a bright scarf and holding a giant thermos. sunoo grins up at you, cheeks pink from the cold, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“merry christmas!” he chirps, holding up the thermos. 

you stare at him, confused but already smiling. “sunoo, what are you doing here? shouldn’t you be with your family?”

he shrugs, his grin never faltering. “already had breakfast with them. besides, i wanted to see you.”

your heart does a little flip at his words, and before you can respond, he’s nudging past you, making his way into the living room like he’s lived here his whole life.

“wait,” you say, following him. “what’s in the thermos?”

“patience,” he says, wagging a finger at you. he sets the thermos down on the coffee table, pulling out two mugs he somehow managed to balance in his coat pocket. “sit.”

you reluctantly sink into the couch, watching as he pours steaming hot chocolate into both mugs. he even pulls out a tiny bag of marshmallows, which makes you laugh. “you’re ridiculous,” you mutter.

“and you love it,” he retorts, passing you a mug before plopping down next to you, so close that your knees bump.

the two of you sit in comfortable silence for a while, sipping the hot chocolate as the snow falls outside. you catch yourself stealing glances at him—at the way his lashes frame his eyes, the way his nose scrunches up when he takes a particularly hot sip.

as you’re lost in thought, sunoo suddenly turns to you, catching you mid-stare. “what?” he asks, his tone playful but soft.

“nothing,” you say quickly, your cheeks warming.

he leans closer, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “were you admiring me?”

“don’t flatter yourself,” you say, but the smile tugging at your lips betrays you.

sunoo laughs, setting his mug down before reaching out to tug the edge of the blanket draped over your shoulders. “come here,” he says, pulling you closer until you’re tucked against his side.

“you’re so bossy,” you mumble, but you don’t resist, letting your head rest on his shoulder.

“only for you,” he replies, pressing a light kiss to your hair.

you look up at him, something warm and fluttery building in your chest. his gaze drops to your lips for just a second, and your breath catches. before you can overthink it, sunoo leans in, brushing his lips against yours in a kiss so sweet and gentle it feels like a snowflake melting on your skin.

when he pulls back, his eyes search yours, a soft smile spreading across his face. “merry christmas, y/n,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

“merry christmas,” you reply, your voice shaky but your heart steady.

he grins and presses his forehead to yours, his fingers playing with the hem of the blanket. “so, do i get a thank you for the hot chocolate and the kiss, or…?”

you laugh, swatting his arm lightly. “don’t push your luck.”

but when he leans back and pulls you closer, you know you wouldn’t have it any other way.

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

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perm taglist: @soobnuuy @senascoooop @moafloribunda @lunalovesstories

@firstclassjaylee @levandright @fancypeacepersona @mirouie

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[harryssyndrome]

Snow on the Beach | h.s

summery: the day Harry found the inspiration for his debut album.

Word count: 1.1k || Masterlist 🌊❄️🩵

Posted on: November 16th, 2024

A small cutesy one-shot with pre-hs1 era from my draft🤭 so many more are coming out soon! REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

The beach stretched out before Harry Styles, quiet and blanketed in snow. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this kind of stillness, this freedom. For years, his life had been a whirlwind of cities, stages, and sleepless nights. The demands of One Direction had consumed every moment, leaving little room for simple pleasures—like a walk on a winter beach.

But now, with the band on hiatus and the relentless pace of tours and interviews behind him, Harry had finally allowed himself to breathe. He had driven for hours, away from the chaos of the city, to find this hidden stretch of coastline. Snow on the beach was a rare sight, and something about it felt like poetry waiting to be written.

Clutching a cookie in one hand, Harry wandered along the shore, his boots crunching against the icy sand. He needed this—needed the quiet, the solitude, and maybe, just maybe, a spark of inspiration. His debut album was looming, the weight of it pressing on his chest. It was meant to set the tone for his solo career, the foundation for who he would become beyond the boy band. And yet, the words and melodies refused to come.

Harry trudged along the beach, his coat buttoned up tight, the cold biting at his cheeks. In his hand, he held a half-eaten cookie, savoring its sweetness as he gazed out at the frozen horizon.

He didn’t see the seagull coming.

With a flurry of wings and an indignant squawk, the bird swooped down, snatching the cookie right out of his hand. Harry jumped back with a startled yelp, the audacity of the bird leaving him wide-eyed and breathless.

“Oi!” he shouted, stepping back in surprise as the bird soared off with its prize. He stood there for a moment, wide-eyed and a little shaken, before a burst of laughter reached his ears.

Not far away, a girl sat on a rock, bundled in a scarf and hat. Her laughter rang out, light and melodic, the kind that warmed the coldest winter air. Harry turned to her, his initial indignation fading into something softer as he took her in. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, her eyes sparkling with mirth, and he couldn’t help but feel a pull in his chest.

She tried to stifle it, raising a gloved hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she called out, her voice still tinged with amusement. “I know I shouldn’t laugh, but that was—” She broke off, laughing again.

Harry couldn’t help the grin that tugged at his lips. “Yeah, laugh it up,” he called back, brushing the crumbs off his hands. “Clearly, the seagulls here have impeccable taste.”

She tilted her head, feigning seriousness. “You think they prefer cookies to chips?”

“Apparently,” Harry said, walking toward her. “And they have no concept of personal boundaries.”

He reached the rock and hesitated for a moment before sitting down beside her. The cold surface seeped through his coat, but he didn’t mind. Up close, he noticed her cheeks were pink from the cold, her eyes bright and curious.

“I’m Harry,” he offered, holding out his hand.

“YN,” she replied, shaking it. Her gloves were thick, but her grip was firm.

“So, YN,” Harry began, tilting his head with a smirk. “Do you always make a habit of laughing at strangers, or was I just particularly entertaining today?”

She smiled, her eyes sparkling. “It’s not every day you see a man lose a cookie to a seagull. You’ve got to admit, it was kind of funny.”

Harry chuckled, leaning back on his hands. “I suppose it’s one of those ‘laugh so you don’t cry’ moments.”

For a while, they sat in companionable silence, the waves lapping softly against the shore. Harry glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, noting the way she seemed perfectly at ease, as if she belonged here.

“What brings you to a snowy beach?” she asked suddenly, her voice curious but gentle.

Harry hesitated, unsure how much to say. “I haven’t been to a beach like this in years,” he admitted. “Life’s been… busy. But now I’ve got some time off, and I figured I’d see what I’ve been missing.”

YN nodded, sensing there was more he wasn’t saying. “And? What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful,” he said simply, his gaze drifting to the horizon. “Kind of surreal, though. Snow on the beach—it’s not something you see every day.”

“No, it’s not,” she agreed, her voice soft. “It’s like the world is trying to remind us that even the unexpected can be beautiful.”

Her words struck a chord, and Harry found himself wondering if this moment, this chance encounter, was the kind of inspiration he’d been searching for.

“What about you?” he asked. “What brings you here?”

YN shrugged. “I come here when I need to think. Something about the snow and the sea—it clears my head.”

Harry nodded, understanding more than he could say.

They talked for hours, their conversation flowing effortlessly. They joked about seagulls, shared stories of places they’d been, and speculated on what kind of music snow would make if it could sing. By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the beach in hues of gold and pink, Harry felt lighter, as if a weight he hadn’t realized he was carrying had lifted.

As the first stars blinked into the evening sky, YN pulled out her phone, glancing at the time. “I should probably head back,” she said reluctantly, standing and brushing the snow from her coat.

Harry stood too, not quite ready to let the moment end. “Wait—let’s exchange numbers,” he said, pulling out his own phone. “You still owe me a cookie, remember?”

YN grinned. “I did say I’d consider it, didn’t I?” But she handed him her number anyway.

He typed it in, then held his phone up. “I’ll text you, just to make sure you didn’t give me a fake one.”

She laughed. “And I’ll respond, just to make sure you’re not a seagull in disguise.”

As they said their goodbyes, Harry felt a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with the weather.

“Promise me we’ll see each other again?” he asked, his voice softer now.

YN smiled, her gaze steady. “I promise.”

And as she walked away, her figure disappearing into the snowy twilight, Harry knew this wasn’t the last time their paths would cross.

Sometimes, inspiration came from the most unexpected places. And sometimes, it came with a seagull, a stolen cookie, and a girl named YN.

[bacchusbasil]

Ficlet- Stan Loses his Memory (Shapes and Pines AU)

“Oh my gosh, Grunkle Stan you did it!” Mabel excitedly exclaimed as she placed the fez upon the kneeling man’s head.

Ford, Dipper, and Tad lingered behind, sober looks on their faces. Ford rubs his arm as a tear wells up in Tad’s eye.

“Oh uh... Hey there… Kiddo,” Stan hesitantly greets, gently removing Mabel’s arms from his shoulders. “What’s your name?”

Mabel laughs nervously. “Uh, Grunkle Stan?”

Dipper covers his mouth silently, joining next to his sister.

The man in the trench coat touched the back of his neck with an awkward chuckle and looked around. “Heh… who ya talkin’ to?” 

Tad floats up to Stan’s face, reaching for his chin. “C’mon, Mack! You know us! Don’t ya remember me? Your husband-for-tax-purposes?”

The blue being’s supposed husband just stares blankly. Tad grabs him by the collar. “You can’t just forget our anniversary that easily! C’mon, does twenty years of commitment mean nothing to you?!”

Stan backs away from the two, who now have tears flowing over their faces, and Dipper grabs each by the shoulders to pull them away.

Ford leans over to comfort Mabel. “We had to erase his mind to defeat Bill. It’s all gone.”

The older man glances up at his brother. “Stan has no idea, but he did it. He saved the world.”

Ford moves closer to Stan, placing his arms on either shoulder. “He saved me.”

The amnesiac blinked unrecognizingly as Ford teared up. “You’re our hero, Stanley.” His voice cracks. He embraces his brother for the first time in forty years.

Tad reaches for Mabel’s hand, who takes it and pulls him close like a teddy bear. The square cries into her sweater sleeve and she cries into his bowler hat, Dipper putting a hand on her shoulder and lowering his cap.

The family took a solemn moment to mourn.

(Shapes and Pines belongs to @void-dude )

[dumbification]

PONYBOY ft. boothill

( synopsis ) it's pretty unprofessional to mess around with your work partner on the job—but a single ride, just for fun, wouldn't hurt.. ..right? (｡•̀ᴗ-)

( tags ) boothill x fem!reader, nsfw, co-workers, alcohol, oral sex ( m receiving ) cowgirl position, tit play, spanking, clothed sex, photography of said sex, under the influence

( wc ) 2.2k

( toni's note ) i literally wrote this at night on a cup of matcha and a benadryl pill to help me sleep. but anyway AAA!! sorry for being suuuper inactive, since my life is pretty much active!! i hope my friends are still here.. .·°՞(¯□¯)՞°·.

“you can’t just boss me around!” he cackles. “then can you do me one last favor, pumpkin?” 

“fine.”

you step outside to leave the cockpit, in search of something boothill had assigned you to look for. it was said to be inside a red crate, so it must have been inside the storage room, right? you eventually find the said crate after about ten minutes running around looking for it. the phrase ‘special supplies’ is plastered all around it. After taking a look at what’s inside, you find nothing but a flimsy looking camera. well, you thought it was flimsy. you boot it up, introduced to a high quality opening animation on the screen. not knowing how to navigate the camera, you press and play around the countless buttons on it, and one of them initiates a flash. a small film prints out the image you just took. this must be what boothill was looking for, so you take it back to him.

“perfect, we’ll be using this for the.. documentation of our mission.” he smiles as he gently handles the camera, careful not to break it. “we’re not gonna.. fight anyone?” boothill shakes his head. “come on. I was prepared.” “better luck next time! hah!” he cackles. “well, look at that,” you look through the window. “we’re here.” brushing the dust off of your pants as the gates of the ship open, a ramp slowly settles into the ground. “alright, where to?” “nowhere but forward.”

so you may have gotten lost in the middle of nowhere. it felt like days on end, days of you and boothill searching for the town you were supposed to look after. the eternal scorching heat of the sun pricked at your skin, covered in a thin coat of sweat. you looked like you’ve seen the end of it all, while boothill barely broke a single sweat, he looked untouched–unscathed. “don’t you have some GPS device installed inside of you?” your brows furrow and eyes squint. “I’m a cyborg, not some multifunctional home device.” you groaned, but momentarily let out a small gasp. “i can see it.” your hand grasped at what seemed to be nothing as you collapsed to the ground in victory. “see what, the light?” you wheeze a simple no, he turns to see whatever your hand could possibly be pointing to. “holy shirt. we’re actually here.” a cluster of buildings could be seen in the distance. “finally!” you almost sobbed.

“that feels amazing..” your parched throat cleared up after a few desperate gulps of water. “just what i needed.” boothill heaved, placing a now empty whiskey glass back on the bar’s counter. “boothill,” he looked in your direction. “we should be settled in a hotel by now.” you yawned. “come on! let’s have a little fun. you drink, don’t you?” he said, handing over a glass of whiskey. you hesitatingly took his offer, taking the shot. you eventually loosen up and get into it,

It was hours and hours of talking, full of random conversations, and small talk. you would mention whatever crazy thing you thought of, paying no mind to what your sober self would say about these decisions. It was until you acted out one of these crazy thoughts of yours. “and then i–hey, sugar, what are you doin’?” his eyes were open wide in genuine curiosity and shock, at what you were doing right now, and what he knew you were about to do. you leaned forward to feel around his chest, one hand tugging at the zipper of his jacket, and the other leading up to take his hat. you slowly take the hat and place it on your head–all while keeping your eyes on the cowboy. “sugar, i don’t think you know what you’re doin’. you know what this means, right?” he looked eager himself to grant what you wanted–but now and here was definitely not the time and place to do it. “oh, trust me,” you bring your face closer to his. “i know. please.” boothill’s eyes soften, bringing himself to whisper in your ear. “not here. come with me.” your eyes widen as he sweeps you off of your seat with a single arm, carrying you bridal style. “here’s the money, sir. keep the change, thank you kindly.” 

he grabbed your things with his free hand, and took you to a small, local inn in the town. you grew impatient at boothill, who did his best to be as quick as possible–practically throwing money at people instead of paying them properly, like the bartender or hotel concierge, without a care in the world. he had one thing in mind, and it was to get the two of you some privacy–for what was to come. the door behind boothill–who was still carrying you–had closed shut. “boothill–” you yelped as he dropped you on the bed. “eager, aren’t we?” your words slur. he turns to you with a dark look in his eyes. “you made the move, don’t you want this more than i do?” well, he was right. the two of you have been waiting for this for a while, but it was mostly you who subtly pushed the idea onto him. he always played around it, but now was truly the moment for him to take action on it. 

his eyes flicker down to your lips, giving you a hint of what he’d do next. he hesitates for a moment, but soon gets into the sensation of kissing you. It was slow and sensual, tongue massaging the other as lips crash into one another. you break away to catch your breath.

despite being so eager and hungry like some dog moments ago, he surprisingly took things slowly. he kneeled down and folded his body to meet yours. feeling around your clothed body, his hands patiently explored the planes of your abdomen. little shivers would send down your spine when his fingers would brush against the more ticklish parts of you–particularly near your already wet heat. he’d bring his hand to play with one of your tits, as he kissed around where he pleased, palms kneading the flesh and fingers toying with your hardened nipples. they were sensitive, and you knew that. but you didnt know they could get this sensitive–especially when they’re not even bare. “i need more..” you bite your lip, rubbing your thighs together to compensate for the lack of friction between them. 

while he mindlessly grinds the mattress beside you, he slips his hand underneath your blouse, to have his cold metal thumb to play with your stiffening bud. boothill’s eyes blow wise after a moan slips out of you. wanting to hear more, he climbs on top of you to rut into you instead.“may i?” you nod, and he slips his other hand to play with your other, neglected breast. as you pant and mewl, he nudges you to the edge, grinding his hips into yours fervently, brushing his fingers against your nipples with a steadily quick pace, and lips travelling down from your mouth to suckle at the crook of your neck. 

you whine as he sucks harder and harder, leaving small, dark bruises. “h-hey.. stop. it hurts.” and he does. he pulls away and licks his lips, thumb brushing them right after. “sorry, sugarplum.” his words start to slur as well, his southern drawl thickening. “wait, did you really–”

“i did. because i care, hon.” your heart pounds and melts into mush at his small but meaningful words. but well, now you didn’t want to stop. you pull him up by the collar of his jacket to turn him around and push him back down. “may i?” he pleads a yes, and you then hurriedly unbuckle his belt to slip it out, and pull his tight leather pants down to reveal the very evident tent in his boxers. It was soaked in his arousal, which you knew was synthetic–but it still amazed you, knowing how detailed his anatomy was constructed to be. you slip his boxers away to see his erection spring up. you felt a wave of fear crash through you. how is this thing gonna fit? you shake away those useless thoughts and test the waters.

you experiment things you’ve thought about on him, starting by lightly stroking his dick. he brought his palm to cover his mouth, and squeezed his eyes shut–to prepare himself for whatever you had in store for him. “what, do you not like it?” you ask with genuineness. “n-no. i love it..” his face flares up in arousal, a deep blue appearing on his cheeks. his sensitivity settings must be high. your tongue flicks at his tip, then swirling your tongue around it.  you attempt to take him in his entirety in your mouth, just to further lubricate him. but to be honest, it was pretty difficult to take more than half of his cock inside. 

his dick reached the back of your throat by now. your head sloppily bobbed up and down, wrapping everything around him until you reached the base. he groaned and covered his mouth again, to suppress his whimpers and moans. “oh fork me.” you pull away with a pop, and start to unbuckle your own pants. 

“whatever you say.” hearts practically carved into your eyes, your face showing a newfound kind of love for him. your trousers are pulled down, with your panties pulled to the side. you drag his cold and hard tip along your folds, teasing boothill. “do you like it like this?” you ask, continuing to rub your pussy along his tip. “as long as it’s you.” he would always sweet talk you just for the sake of sweet talk, but now it feels full of love and genuine care, it was like sugar. “stay still, sugarplum.” he fixes his hat on your head as it threatened to fall off.

“now, i think you should stay still.” you drop your hips without warning and snuggly wrap his dick with your warm walls. you groan in unison holding onto each other for dear life. his hands reach to grab your ass, smacking it firmly seconds later. you squeak. “ride like there’s no tomorrow, baby.” boothill glares with lust and love in his eyes, staring you down. you slowly move around his cock, grinding against his hips to get into motion. slowly but surely, you began to bounce on it, a wet smacking sound filling the room. with each thrust after trust of yours, he bucks up his hips to hit that spongy spot inside you. your arousal squirts everywhere as you  squeal and scream his name endlessly. “that’s it, babygirl. keep going.” he spanks your ass again, having you squeak and throw your head back.

he pulls the camera from earlier out to take a shot. “smile!” the camera’s flash lights up the dimly lit room for a second, and reflects on your skin–which was coated in a thin sheen of sweat. boothill took a few more pictures, of your fucked out expressions, or crazy angles of you bouncing on his cock.

“i’m–i’m gonna come.” tears roll down your face, which are soon wiped away by boothill’s thumb. he hums lowly, telling you to go ahead. you yell out his name as you cream all over his dick, cum slowly dribbling out. his own climax follows after yours, and babbles your name drunkly. as you both come down from your highs, he comforts you as you sob and cry through it, waves and bolts of pleasure crashing and striking through you. all this tension between you two had finally been broken, and this might have been your best orgasm yet.

you languidly grind your hips against his, riding out your high. “ready for round two?” his hand rakes through your hair. your eyes light up. “hell yeah..” you were ready for another go, but your body said otherwise. you plop down on top of him in defeat. he lets out a soft laugh. “It’s alright, sugar. don’t sweat it.” 

you raise your hips up for his still hard cock to pop out. boothill turns you around to pepper you–and especially your neck, in small pecks and kisses. you pull the hat on your head to cover your flushed face, but he pushes it back up to see you again. “I might just give this to you, you look good with it on.”

“you know,” he says in between kisses. “i’ve been waiting to do this with you for a while.” “really?” you coo. he hums in response, continuing to adorn your neck in loving marks. “i’ve just been.. waiting for you. I want to respect you and your decisions as much as i can.” “are you serious?” he paused to look at you, waiting for what else you had to say. “I’ve been hinting this at you for months..” nonetheless, your heart practically melted at those sweet words of his. he chuckles softly. “well, we both get want we want now.” “yeah.” you gently cup his cheeks as your forehead touches his. you both giggle. 

“by the way, can i see the photos?” you’re curious about the shots he took.

@ dumbification . do not plagiarize or modify my work.

[hxltic]

𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐓… 𝑴𝑰𝒀𝑨 𝑨𝑻𝑺𝑼𝑴𝑼

Genre: smut

Warning: car sex, mild alcohol mention, fem reader, degradation + praise, pet names: sugar, sweetheart, etc, creampie, birth control

Synopsis: You have been on Atsumu’s ass about he and his brother’s country accent for the longest, so when it comes back around to bite you back on Halloween, you are not ready for it.

A Halloween party!! You’re not sure how it came up in conversation when picking couples’ costumes: police, a Princess and Prince, a scary movie duo; all you know is that ‘Tsumu roared his engine from outside to inform you of his presence while you were rushingly retrieving your perfume.

You had an idea of what he was wearing since you two were supposed to be matching, but he bought you a (super cute) pair of embroidered boots and guided your outfit from afar. Like a personal designer. The shoes with a slight heel on them clacked down your front door steps in the cold night, the brisk air bit at your skin, your breasts rebounded in the low-buttoned flannel, and a holster connected to your ripped jean shorts. The only correct way to style your hair was braided pigtails (even though you are positive this isn’t how someone who actually handles animals would dress) and owning a huge belt to compliment your gorgeous figure even more.

Once you reach the car, ‘Tsumu came around from his side to open your door for you.

Your jaw went slack.

The blonde’s own button down was opened almost farther than yours to reveal his carved chest but a thick belt cut it off. A brown coat to match was being removed from the outfit, one that paired with the folded hat atop his head that left some of his hair to peek out. The dark jeans heavily covered his boots—with an exception for the ends— and were even slightly tainted. The shoes look worn. Has he always had this? Was your boyfriend a country American hottie with an accent and you had no idea? After pulling his long arms out of the garment, he slung it over your shoulders.

“Pick yer jaw up ‘n keep those pretty feet movin’ sweetheart, I know it’s cold.”

He patted your ass twice as if you were a fucking horse instructed to trot, and the worst part was, you obliged and sat in the car with no complaint.

Your eyes trailed his body and face the whole ride. The battery on your phone was slowly rising with it being on the charger, so with nothing to do, it was easy to adore the man to your side before a large, gentle hand was placed on your thigh.

He keeps his eyes on the road before speaking, “There somethin’ on my face?”

You shook your head, “No,” and gazed outside the window until your destination was reached. The last thing you’d do is fuel his ego.

————•————

The liquor in your hand led you around the party, half conscious. You knew it was dangerous—not only drinking—but splitting with Tsumu to get it. Though, you wouldn’t quite say you were in danger, you knew everyone here at least a little bit and was able to pinpoint who was who; but there was a specifically familiar face that caught your attention.

Osamu curled around a stumbling woman once he caught your eye and wrapped an arm around your shoulder, the other hand occupied by a drink as well.

“There y’are, what’s the famous _____ up to? Where’s ma brother?”

You took a sip as he mindlessly walked you around to catch up; you hadn’t been doing anything much, and you had no idea where your boyfriend was.

Speak of the devil, the two of you hit a corner and Tsumu was atop the marble kitchen counter conversing with Sakusa. He reverted his gaze to you, to Osamu, back to you, and cringed a little. It was like a face of disgust with a fake laugh at the end. You were sober enough to see it, but drunk enough for it to piss you off for the rest of the night.

————•————

You turn the knob to the radio up. Whether you were trying to distract yourself from the irritation bubbling in your throat or just ease your mind in general, Atsumu picked up on it. “Fake it till you make it” they’d say, except that you could only hide your emotions to an extent that the liquor would allow.

Having not payed attention to your surroundings, when Atsumu pulled into a scarce parking lot it caught you off guard. His large hand rotated along the leather until he shifted the stick to park, and with a click he locks the doors. If it wasn’t him you’d have assumed you were being kidnapped.

He twists to you, “Kay, what’s the problem?”

“Nuthin partner,” you exclaim with sarcasm dripping off your words. Even if it was a minor look that shouldn’t have bothered you, it did because of the alcohol. And him asking that (with no type of attitude or invalidating tone as if he had no idea) irritated you even more.

His gaze slides back to the windshield while he attempts to hide a growing smirk. It darts back to you in amusement.

“Ya wanna play that way? Alright sweetness.”

He presses down on a glowing button connected to his door that reclines his seat. You only look at him intently as he mimics you with crossed arms, shuffling a bit to flaunt himself getting comfortable before his eyes close.

You stare angrily at him. As angry as you could get when he rests the large cowboy hat over his face. Fuck, he was hot with the thick belt on display and the manspread he boasted.

“What the hell are you doing?” You deadpan anyway.

“Waitin ‘till ya decide to drop the attitude ‘n tell me what’s the matter,” he sighs back.

“Fine, whatever.”

You fall back harshly to the seat and revert your attention to nothing in the windshield. Out of pure spite you’d sit here and count the blades of grass. Which this Atsumu knew, but he’d rather have this than drive you home angry at him.

About five minutes of your hiatus pass. You’ve calmed a bit but not by much, and one of you has to give in. You turn to Atsumu’s resting figure and take a deep breath, asking, “Why did you look at me like that?” You were unsure if he was asleep or not.

“Like what? When?” He inquires. His voice is slightly muffled by the hat atop his face.

“I don’t know. You like, cringed at me or something.” Your shoulders hunched up in emphasis, “At the party when I walked in.”

It was silence, then he removed the hat from his face to reposition it on his head and sit upright. He turns to you over the console.

“You know I’d never look at ya like that.”

You just gazed at him incredulously. He came in closer. “If anything, you looked too damn good for ma brother’s grubby hands all on ya.”

Ohhh.

You were too stricken to realize how his arm being thrown over you looked having just split apart at the party. Or a slightly tipsy Osamu leading you around, the twin of your boyfriend.

“That’s what it was? You were jealous?” You quipped. This caught his attention.

His jaw ticked, and even though he knows the answer to the question, he’ll refuse to admit it. He hates that word.

Jealous. Jealous of what? He’s the recognized setter. He’s the one with fans in his dm’s (because Osamu ignores his). And he’s the one with you. “What is there to be jealous of?” he’d question himself and his sanity all the time. Hell, he was even born first.

And he wishes to believe that all the time, except that only one of the twins has dyed blonde hair. It sells him out. The urge to be separated— different, is a drive he’s had since he was a child.

Seeing someone with such importance to him in too close of presence to that one person he wanted to be different from fucked him up.

“Sure, but I wouldn’t say jealous.”

You nibbled the inside of your lip and raised a brow, “What would you say?”

“Hmm… irritated, maybe? I know how ya feel about me. It’s sure as hell not how you feel about him.”

“Do you really?” You teased him. “Do you know how I really feel about him?”

“Do I?” He parrots as a grunt. The atmosphere switches to sexual tension in the second it takes for his big brown eyes to scan you as if he was searching for any hint of truth in your words, eventually not finding any but the thought alone shoving him over the edge.

You’re not sure if you were feeling it before, or if it’s the liquor, but that’s how you climbed over the console and into his seat.

His hands were large enough to cover the span of your bottom, large enough to cup whatever he saw fit in those embedded bootcut jeans you’d been wearing all night, and strong enough to guide your hips onto him roughly.

He couldn’t even take his eyes from them. It was so bad that he felt like a 13 year-old again. But he couldn’t help it; not when you filled out the jeans better than the lady on the website and your ass practically waved goodbye at him each time you would turn. A deep groan falls from him at the memory.

His pinkish lips attach to the supple skin at your neck and redden until he sees fit. You tilt as he kisses the spot like he was relaxing it, then more wet ones trail downwards to the swell of your breasts. You arch upwards and away from him.

Your soft moans mixed with his deep ones cloud your vision. He admires you, copying your movements and leaning back to slowly grind you against himself. There was a tent growing in his jeans at the slot located beneath you.

The loud sound of a honk causes you to physically jolt on top of him and his eyes to find yours. Your back was pressed against the wheel.

It didn’t deter the rush of adrenaline flowing through your bloodstream, so you throw the hand that isn’t pressed against the cool window to your chest in shock.

“Holy shit,” you breathe— half a moan and half surprise. He just chuckles. No slick comment, no anything. You were going to say something else comedic about what happened and how badly of timing it was, but that darkness was already in his eyes and it seemed that he’d forgotten about the situation completely. Or if he hadn’t, he had priorities.

You come forward onto him and rotate your hips along the erection below you to the rhythm he set. You catch the sound that falls from his lips and notice the way his eyebrows deepen and eyes close.

Skipping the softness and diving into territory you knew like the back of your hand, it was so passionate, and everything was so sultry. You could feel the moment heating when you begin to feel his tongue on yours, his head leaning to accommodate for the space lost in your mouth, and his position shifting with you on top because it was more than he could handle to have you sitting directly on top of his strained length.

You pull off, mainly for air, but also to taunt him: “Sometimes, I imagine you with a different hair color. A warm grey, maybe?”

Instead of what you thought he’d say, something about how your anger earlier stemmed from sexual frustration, or an insult about how wet your pussy was for him instead of his brother, his eyes don’t even open. The only confirmation that he heard it was the furrow of his brows and the deep groan. He leans in again immediately to feel you on him and it seems he has dismissed the comment completely.

His breathlessness shows itself to you, asking for you to give him strength, oxygen, or whatever else it was that he needed to live. His lips are puffy and his eyelashes are long.

You intake his bottom lip between your teeth while your fingertips graze his fallen hair, and you cherish the sound he makes when it plops back into place. Your hands rotate to his jaw so your head can turn comfortably into his mouth.

You feel yourself slowly falling forward, but it’s just Atsumu descending to lay flat on his back. The hat ultimately proves this difficult so you take it upon yourself to remove it and rest it on the console.

Then you crawl off him, turn to face the steering wheel, and begin to unbuckle the large accessory and shimmy your small shorts down. The tight space complicates things, but Tsumu doesn’t mind.

When you attempt to twist back to your lover, he grabs your hips firmly, forcing you to stay with your back to him. You glance over your shoulder confused.

He stares back with a smug expression, eyes low and amused at what he’s about to say next.

“Don’t think I’ll forget about yer little comment.”

You think for a moment to pinpoint which one. “Keep yer back to me so you can imagine him all ya want. Maybe you’d prefer it if you were bouncing on his cock instead.”

Your eyes blow wide.

Never in a million years did he think he would become comfortable enough with the topic of jealousy to use it against you like this. But maybe, just maybe, you’ll come to your senses and beg for who’s right in front of (behind) you. There’s no way to lose here, considering he’s 100% secure with your love for him.

“Tsumu you know I didn’t-”

“Ah ah, you’ve made yer choice.”

As punishment, he crosses his arms, making it clear he wouldn’t be touching you. He was essentially allowing you to use him to imagine your supposed attraction to someone else. His twin.

Slowly, you reach behind yourself and feel around for the zipper of his jeans. The cool metal reaches your fingers.

He does lift his hips to push the jeans to his mid-thigh once you get it down, efficaciously leaving his length thick and tall between your fingers. The pads of your fingertips soothe up and down his skin when you begin to stroke him.

He makes it a point to ensure his sounds of pleasure are low. Since you teased him about Osamu, you can’t back out now, and it’s his job to make sure it never happens again.

If you were imagining anything, it was Atsumu’s twisted up face of pleasure. So, instead of going through the trouble of completely removing them, you push your panties to the side and hover above his red tip. And then you’re sinking, sucking him in, bringing him to lean on his elbows for support so he can see. You manage, “that feels good, Tsumu.”

“Osamu,” he rectifies sternly.

He knows what you’re doing. You can’t butter him up. With nothing but your own wetness, it is a long journey to reach the bottom; once you are, despite being filled all the same, the emotions aren’t right.

The words should have never left your mouth in the first place. Little did you know, his twin brother’s name grinded through Atsumu’s teeth when even he himself said it, triggering a train reaction that tightens his fists at his sides. There’s a distant frown on his face, a far contrast to what you’re imagining it is.

Hopefully helping to reverse your damage, your palms stretch around his knees, aiding to push you to drag your walls all the way up until your thighs clench. It erupts a curse out of him, but that’s all you get.

“Please touch me, Tsumu,” and your hands go back to search for his, and you find them, to place around your hips. You’re slightly breathless. “I was just messing around.”

The muscles tense before retracting back to where they were previously, earning a grunt from you. The newfound irritation drops you back down thigh-to-thigh. There was a slight burn, but nothing you couldn’t handle and nothing compared to the one in your chest.

“You know it’s always been you—” back up you go, “—There hasn’t been a situation where I even, fuck, accidentally picked him.” And down again. The slap of skin only gets louder and louder each time. He’s listening, you think.

“Please, I miss f-feeling you. You’re the only one I want.” Your ass jiggles with impact now that you’ve set a pace for yourself. But even then he ignores you and just watches the scene unfolding in front of him, calculating when you’d get tired.

He knows you’ll go until you can’t move and he doesn’t think you’ve ever gone this consistent pace before. You’ll run out of gas in due time.

Meanwhile, it takes a lot to maintain his composure when you’re bouncing in front of him. The pigtails practically ask for his hands to be wrapped around the ends, the length of your back is on display, and your thighs are more defined with your “exercise.” There’s a line of translucent white that connects you and thickens every time you come down. He can only imagine your tits if they were let from the confines of your top.

He’s trying to get you to crack, and you’re trying him, but only one can come out victorious. He concludes it’s him when a long grunt carries in the car and you start to slow right as the heat gathers in your tummy.

“Ugh, Atsumu…” you halt momentarily to correct your hands on his knees, “P-Please, I can’t do this. I’m sorry.” And he can hear the pout in your voice. He doesn’t even want to think about your upturned eyebrows. Frankly, if he does, he may explode on the spot.

“Are ya really?” He tests. You’re happy just to hear his response.

“Yes.”

You drop your head forward, catching your breath and resulting to gyrating your hips along his waist. None of it matters in the end because you finally feel him rip your pigtail back.

In no more than a few seconds you’re bouncing again, both of his hands around your waist to help navigate your vertical movements. A fresh circuit brings power to your legs especially now that you’re doing less than half the work.

The moans and grunts are music to his ears. He can feel the car shift below him even more when he slams you down onto his thighs creating a red tint to the skin there, and it worsens when he gets to thrusting upwards, cutting you off halfway and finding deeper. His tip prods at your g-spot, right up against your front walls.

You don’t get to tell him. Releasing an animalistic noise and tightening up in the span of a second, the suddenness hits you hard. You squeeze his shaft as if milking him dry and your skin glistens with sweat. He loves watching you chase your high like he isn’t even there, but not more than when he drills into your cunt until you can’t take it. Maybe he should turn the air on in here.

When you’re done and come back to earth, you see a mix of your wetness dribbling down the side of him as your breaths feel like ten pound weights. You try again to turn around. He lets you, guiding the shift of your spin around on his tip and the process of finding somewhere to put your feet. You straddle him completely with them to the side of his hips.

You’re shocked when he kisses you, not gently but not as rough, bringing a hard hand down to your ass. Like he forgave you, but not quite.

“Think you can ride one more out f’me?” He caresses your legs.

You think about it. Honestly, your first reply is no, but there’s no better feeling than watching his facial expressions as you do it, and you didn’t get that luxury the last time. Your body may begin to run on its lactic acid because your legs are still trembling from the last orgasm; however, if it meant the sight, then you’d go until you collapsed. “Yes,” you breathe out.

And then you rise up to your toes with the little space you have, determined. With a slow drop and the slide back up, you moan together. “Good fuckin’ girl.” He sends another harsh slap to your cheek just to soothe it out when he’s done.

You watch his eyes flicker closed. His face is red with arousal and his chest was trying to contain the air about to pop out of his lungs. He was cursing under his breath some more.

You keep bouncing and lean forward over him, placing both hands on his cheeks while trying to keep your balance. At the feeling of your soft touch, his eyes blink open, eyebrows still sunken and the darkness clouding his vision.

“Look at me,” you command, hitting his balls every time you come down.

And he does just that, searching either eye above him, a toothy smile spreading across his face with his tired eyes. He laughs almost like it hurts (it does. One wrong move and there’ll be white painting your insides).

You laugh breathlessly too when his hand starts to move. Shifting your focus and following it, he grasps the folded top of the discarded cowboy hat to reach it up over your head. He presses down so it fits snugly.

Over the slapping, you hear him grunt: “Wear the hat, ride the cowboy. Now yer my real cowgirl, yeah?”

Your head drops into his neck, as far as the hat would let you go. “You’re so annoying.” And despite the seemingly cruel words, you suddenly feel the twist in your tummy, tightening around him from trying to stop it coming so fast. A non-convincing, pathetic whimper falls from your lips.

“Yer still fuckin’ yerself on my cock though, aren’t you sugar?”

It may sound strained, but it’s still the aggravating, cocky Atsumu you knew underneath. “Sit up,” he demands.

You do, feeling no self-consciousness as your entire body and spread legs are on display for him with the exception of your chest. On that note, he undoes the buttons faster than you’ve ever seen. Your hands propel you since being placed on your knees when the flannel falls past your shoulders, leaving the regular black bra underneath for him to push past.

He loved it. You’re like a painting, ruined for him, but that’s what makes it art right? The emotion behind it?

“Tsumu, ’m g-gonna come.”

There’s a million things going through his head: that he’s about to as well; that when you get home, he’s coming in right behind you; that your breasts look so pretty bouncing in front of him like the rest of you; but in your head, there’s one thing only. The pressure built that is almost at its peak. “Ya think Osamu knows how to play witcha like this? How to fuck ya like this?”

You shake your head no. He looks so determined watching you, it doesn’t shock you when he hastily raises upright and wraps a hand around your breast. His thumb continuously rolls over your nipple. “My name is the only one you’ll scream, ever. Ain’t that right?”

You don’t see the other that has crept up between your open legs, now pinching and prodding at your clit. Weakly, you nod yes.

“What was that?”

“Yes! F-Fuck yes.”

He looks up at you in your eyes, like he’s trying to reach the deepest part of you with his next words. “Let me see you.”

Your hands relocate to his neck desperately. One thing you can say about Atsumu during sex, he’s extremely vocal. And isn’t afraid to say anything. “I’m—”

“—Come all over me, baby, ya earned it. I’ll fuck this pretty pussy just how ya like when we get home.”

The crazy part is, it wasn’t even the encouragement that sent you over the edge. No, it was when both his hands locked around your hips, dragged you all the way down until you were against his pelvis, then rocked you back and forth, rubbing right into your sensitive nerves with the depth you couldn’t reach before and right along your clit. You threw your head back, crying his name.

It’s a chain reaction because all of his muscles tighten simultaneously, as well as his balls, and his cock twitches strong inside of you. You moan again at the feeling of his cum spreading through you. “Fuck.”

He’s still in a state of bliss when you sink into him, spurting out more than you think he ever has. It fills you up full, but you don’t move. You both stay there for a moment, catching your breaths.

The window is fully fogged over so you draw a little heart.

“Don’t move,” he pleads. “It’s worse fer you than it is fer me.”

You wiggle a bit, feeling everything else move inside. You see what he means. “We have to get up set some point before we fall asleep,” you return. There’s just a groan back.

Reaching over into the glove department, you retrieve some takeout napkins that have piled up over the months. You mentally prepare yourself to move.

It’s not enough because you both moan loudly when you raise up, only waiting a moment before white comes falling out of you in heaps onto his angry red, engorged cock. “Shit,” he grins tiredly. “That’s a lot.”

You only look at him. “You’re gonna override my birth control, dipshit.”

He adds languidly, “Oh well. Take 2 to cancel it out this time? Maybe?”

That’s not how it works.

©️ hxltic

[ultravioletbrit]

“decide / cold” - Jegulus microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - 449 words

I wasn’t able to do a fic yesterday so doubled up with yesterday’s and today’s prompt. shhh, don’t tell anyone. 🤫  

“James!” Regulus yells from the porch. “Can I please go inside? I’m freezing!” Regulus shoves his hands in his pockets trying to decide if he’s angry or just annoyed.  

“I know! I know!” James calls back. He’s facing away from Regulus, adjusting something Regulus can’t see. “I’m sorry. I swear I was ready and then it just—” James grunts as he moves something. “—and I just need to—” He huffs with frustration at something else “—but I swear I’m almost—” Regulus sees something topple over. James’ shoulders slump forward, and he drops his head with a sigh.

“Never mind.” James tells him, turning to face Regulus, looking like the saddest kicked puppy. He walks up to the porch, eyes on the ground. “I’m really sorry, it’s not ready yet. Go inside and I’ll try to fix it and come get you when I’m sure it’s ready.”

“What is it?” Regulus tries to peer around James, but there’s not much to look at.

James takes an exasperated breath. “It was supposed to be snowmen.” He pouts, and Regulus raises a curious eyebrow. James sighs, “My dad and I used to make showmen of ourselves every year at our house and it was my favorite tradition. So I thought since it’s our first year in our own house, I wanted to make snowmen of you and me, but—” James steps to the side revealing two piles of snow. “—it’s not really working.”

Just when Regulus thought he was angry and annoyed, James has to go and be the most adorable human on the planet. And honestly, it’s taking significant effort for Regulus not to cry right now.

“James…” Regulus starts.

“It’s okay.” James kisses him. “I know you’re cold. Go inside and get warm and I promise they’ll be great the next time I call you.” James tells him and it’s tinged with sadness and frustration.

Regulus takes another look at the snow piles then looks back at James. “Okay.” Regulus tells him.

“Okay.” James says feigning determination.

James walks back to the snow piles and Regulus walks inside.

---------

James isn’t sure what he’s doing wrong or why these stupid snowmen just won’t stay together. He’s about to give up when he hears footsteps in the snow behind him.

Regulus is walking towards him wearing a heavy coat, a hat and scarf and pulling on his gloves.

“What are you doing?” James asks.

“I’m helping.”

“Reg, you don’t have to—” James gets cut off when Regulus kisses him.

“Now, I’ve never actually made a snowman before, but you can teach me, right?” Regulus asks and it’s taking significant effort for James not to cry right now.

“Yeah.” James says. “Yeah, I can teach you.”   

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

.⋆｡In the Blood｡⋆.

Alfie Solomons x plus size reader

The youngest Shelby sister was supposed to be the good one, the innocent one, but apparently she’s got some secrets of her own

Warnings: shelby!reader (unspecified as to whether she was adopted or not), nudity, protective Tommy, getting caught in the act (sex, sex is the act), mentions of unplanned pregnancies and castration WC: 1.3k

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

Ada knew something was wrong with her little sister- she was skittish, hiding her eyes beneath caps and behind her hair, and most telling of all, she stopped coming to family meetings. The final straw came when the elder Shelby sister sat at the kitchen table, sipping on a cold cup of tea as Karl slept in a small bassinet by her chair. He had been a pain all night so Ada had resorted to staying up, gently rocking him with her foot.

Dawn was just starting to break when the front door opened. Ada was perfectly positioned at the kitchen table to see her little sister, who had just turned 21, walk into the house dressed in a coat that was far too big to be hers with her shoes in her hands. The grin on her face was wide and dazed- Ada knew that look well. She smiled and went back to her tea.

When Y/N finally did stumble down the stairs, 10 minutes past noon, Ada and Pol lay in wait. “Good morning princess.” She groaned in reply as she took the offered painkillers from her aunt. “Have a good night?” Ada teased.

“Was fine, just had some drinks with the girls.” Pol raised a dark eyebrow at her niece. 

“Oh really. And I suppose it was one of your ‘girls’ that gave you that bruise on your neck.” Y/N’s eyes widened comically and her hand flew to her throat in an attempt to hide where her skin was discoloured. But after a moment, she sagged into one of the kitchen chairs, knowing that she was caught.

“You won’t tell Tommy will you?”

Pol patted her hand lovingly. “Tommy won’t know until you’re ready to tell him but he will find out eventually. I think you’re old enough to have a couple secrets of your own.”

“It won’t be a secret for long if you get pregnant.” Ada murmured under her breath. Y/N’s head whipped around. Her eyes had that same dangerous gleam that Tommy’s got when he was planning something big.

“I actually know how to pull out Ada.” Pol choked on her tea, giving a very undignified snort that made her youngest niece beam. 

Ada rolled her eyes with a scoff. “Accidents happen.” Y/N’s smile grew wider, her eyes scrunching with its size.

“Speaking of, where is your little accident?” Her chair clattered to the floor as Ada shot up and dashed to her little sister. Anticipating this, Y/N darted away at the last second. She bounced on her toes like she was contemplating some big decision and, flipped off her sister. 

——————

One of the few freedoms that Y/N was given in her adulthood was her own apartment, though until recently, she had not spent much time there, favouring the family home on Watery Lane. But whenever she was at her own place, there was the tiny little condition that her siblings and her aunt each had their own key, for emergencies as John and Arthur claimed. Yet they respected their sister enough not to make use of these keys, until today that is.

Tommy shuffled up to the front door, hat low on his head as the freezing rain pelted him. It had been a stupid idea, a walk to calm the storm in his mind as black clouds descended over Birmingham. So he found himself here, at the door of his youngest and arguably favourite sister. 

He jammed his finger into the doorbell, distantly hearing it ring from the partially open window above him. Yet, there was no movement inside. Tommy sighed and glanced over his shoulder, it was at least another hour to walk back to the Garrison, there was no way he was going home to face Pol without at least one drink. The cold metal of his keys stung his palm as he fished them from his pocket; Y/N wouldn’t mind the intrusion, in fact she’d probably feed him before sending him on his way.

His cheeks burned with the change in temperature as he stepped into the hallway. A heavy thump and then a loud groan of pain came from somewhere above his head. “Y/N?” He called out, but received no reply. 

Tommy didn’t even bother to hang up his coat, taking the stairs two at a time he reached the landing in no time and with no hesitation, he threw open the front door, hand on the butt of his gun, fully prepared to deal with whatever situation his little sister had been thrust into.

But maybe not this.

His sweet baby sister was kneeling on the floor, stark naked, her back facing him (thankfully) with an equally naked man laying between her legs, hands on her hips and an obviously broken couch behind them.

“Tommy!” She yelped, her arms darting up to cover her chest as he instinctively spun around and faced the wall. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s raining. Who’s the man?” A deep chuckle soaked into the wallpaper, its familiarity almost mocking the gangster as his mood turned even more sour than it had been only minutes before. A soft slap followed, then the man’s heavy footsteps vanished into the bedroom.

“No one Tommy, just a boyfriend. You can turn around.” A greatly oversized men’s shirt concealed her body, the horrified expression on her face almost tugged at his heart strings, almost.

Tommy glared at her. “A boyfriend?” His words came out as more of a growl, his anger mounting. It was one thing for Y/N to have picked up a boy from the Garrison or at the market, as much as he hated the thought of anyone even looking at her, but to have hidden a boyfriend from the family? From him? 

She fought back the urge to roll her eyes at her older brother. “Yes. A boyfriend. You know, like most girls my age have.” 

“Not without my permission.” Her gaze hardened.

“I’m a grown woman Thomas.”

“Not when you keep secrets from me.” 

“Now that’s rich coming from you.” She scoffed. Tommy’s eye twitched. “I think more than half of the things you have said to me my entire life have been you lying to keep some secret or another. Why am I not allowed to have some of my own?” Her arms crossed over her chest, unwavering in her determination.

Tommy reached for his cigarettes but thought better of it. “That was business.”

Y/N opened her mouth to undoubtedly hit back at him with something clever that he would blame Polly for but before even a single sound had passed her lips, another voice rumbled through the small apartment, making his blood freeze. 

“Well it’s a damn good thing this was a business meetin, wasn’t it darling?” And suddenly, in his little sister’s living room, wearing only trousers and with a cigarette hanging from his lips, was Alfie Solomons. 

Tommy’s head whipped over to Y/N who now had her head in her hands. “Him?” Was all he could manage around the bubbling anger building in his throat. Alfie laughed and as if to add insult to the injury, wrapped a large arm around her waist, tugging her into his side. She refused to look at her brother, fixing her eyes firmly to the floor like she used to do when caught doing something she shouldn’t.

Alfie was practically beaming, gloating. “She’s done a very good job at keeping me secret from you. Even got me to hide in a fucking supply cubbord once.” A vein in Tommy’s head throbbed as he laid a palm over the butt of his gun.. “But ey, you must be proud, passing on those strong genes. She’ll be runnin circles around you in no time.”

“Alfie, I will fucking kill you.” She pleaded.

“It’s in the blood ain’t it? Can’t even imagine how sneaky our kids are gonna be considering our tendency to tell a little fib.”

“I’ll castrate you before that ever happens.” Tommy growled and finally pulled his gun clear of the holster but Alfie didn’t even flinch. In fact the man’s eyes sparkled with vindication.

“See, all in the blood.”

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