#He seemed to have good intentions at the start and then it swirled out of control

[treatmelikeasmut]

The Artist and the Engineer//Part 4 Base Coat

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Pairing: Viktor x Fem!Artist!Reader

Series Synopsis: Heimerdinger wants a commemorative painting done of Viktor, who is not fond of the idea.

Chapter Synopsis: A week has gone by, the artist has gotten all of the sketches she needs and they’ve decided on a pose. Now it's just a matter of figuring out what colors to use. However, their session is cut short when the artist gets unwelcomed guests.

Word Count: 2.6k

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~*~*~

The first week of portrait sessions passed swiftly. There and gone in nearly the blink of an eye. It surprised Viktor just how easily they’d gone. The two of you even had something of a routine. If it was nice out, you’d sit out in the courtyard and volley questions while you sketched. The two days it’d been raining were spent in doors with Viktor reading while you worked to prepare your canvas. Though he questioned to himself how much there was truly to prep, surely there couldn’t be much. You each asked of the other’s day, though it always seemed to Viktor he was giving more away than you were.

No matter what he tried, there remained a space between you both. Not that he was looking to make friends. But there was something you kept carefully walled away. He never seemed to know when his questions would be deflected and turned on him instead. Still, he found you to be good company.

While Viktor still hated the idea of his portrait being done, and still couldn’t understand the point to it, he found he was enjoying his time away from the lab. He even started looking forward to that two o’clock bell. The walls of the lab were drab and bleak. The sunlight that streamed in the single tall, thin window was always mute and dusty. The chair he worked in was uncomfortable and he swore he was able to hear Jayce’s breathing from across the room. He itched to escape from that oppressive cave.

Viktor was glad to discover his work was still keeping its momentum. Even with his continued absences. Jayce had done well to pick up the slack. He could only hope that it was going to be sustainable. He hated to admit that Heimerdinger was right - the breaks were doing his brain some good. New ideas flowed more easily. He often returned to his desk inspired and reinvigorated.

However, due to Jayce’s comments, Viktor found himself noticing you more. Memorizing the way your practiced hand curled around the pencil. How you chewed your lip when you concentrated. The highlights that the sun brought to life while you sat beneath its light. He’d been embarrassed when he caught himself staring - more than once. You never said anything if you noticed.

Viktor’s mind kept drifting back to your hands on his. The way the warm skin of your palms sent heat coursing through his hands and down his arms. And gods forbid he remembered the way you delicately held his chin between your fingers. Their ghosts still lingered there, if he thought hard enough. Your thumb pressed between his brows could still be felt, and each time his mind emptied as completely as the first. There was a desparate ache in his chest that cried to be held by someone, anyone. A cry that was subsequently ignored.

“It’s okay to find her attractive,” Jayce had told him. “It doesn’t mean you have to fall in love or anything.”

Viktor had no intentions of falling in love; not with you or anyone else. He quickly came to enjoy your company, especially now that the small talk was mostly over. He found that if he appeared comfortable and open, then so were you - to a point, at least. He just couldn’t think about his stomach and how it had begun to betray him. Clenching and swirling on his walk to the studio. Such an odd feeling, that he could find no root to. Nor the way his muscles seized under your studious gaze.

That afternoon, Viktor found himself making the trip across campus early. It started as a yawn, then a stretch, then an announcement to Jayce that he was going for a walk. He found himself outside the studio doors before he’d even realized this was his destination. You were already there when he popped his head in. The first thing he noticed was your hand. You’d abandoned the larger splint, instead taping your ring and pinky fingers together. That meant they were healing, at least, which gave him a strange feeling of relief.

You hadn’t mentioned the incident that lead to that further. Viktor, not wanting to push the delicate boundaries of this new acquaintanceship, didn’t push the issue. It hadn’t been hard to tell you were lying. But he found it strange that you did. Had someone broken them on purpose? A friend? An abusive spouse? The thought of anyone doing that to another made his stomach turn.

You didn’t look up as Viktor entered the room, completely engrossed in whatever you were doing. Today, the small table was set up by the chaise and topped with a variety of small tubes. There was a twinge of disappointment in his chest - the session wouldn’t be outside today. He wouldn’t get to enjoy the sunlight.

You jumped when Viktor cleared his throat, entire body pivoting on the stool. Recognition flickered over your face, then you laughed. And it did something in Viktor’s chest that he wasn’t sure he liked. A little flip, a small quickening of his heart.

“Hello there,” Viktor greeted, trying to be as casual as possible. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I know I’m a bit early.”

You shook your head, turning back to your work. “No, no, it’s fine. Come in. I might mind if you weren’t good company.”

There was the flip again. He strode to the chaise, trying to push down the heat building around the collar of his shirt. The book he had with him today was one he’d read many times over. With its cracked spine and loose pages, it was more like an old friend. Viktor didn’t know why he’d grabbed this particular one. It could be nearly recited from memory now. Still, he thumbed it open and began to skim over its contents.

You stayed focused on your task. Today, Viktor couldn’t take the quiet. He actually wanted to talk to you. But he had no idea what say.

“It seems as though you have your canvas fully prepared,” he observed. You hummed, half-occupied. Viktor felt a frown tug at his lips. Quickly fixing it, he tried again, “Are you going to begin the painting portion today?”

Now you glanced at him, though he pretended not to notice. Looking back at the wooden pallet in your hand, you scrubbed a brush against. “Only the base coat.”

Viktor’s brows pinched together. “How do you mean?”

“In oil painting, the golden rule is thin to thick. Start with a thin layer of paint for the base, and then build your values off of them. Thickening the layers as you go. - I just need to make sure that I have the colors I want to use. I need to make a supply run soon.”

A few of the tubes on the table beside the chaise, Viktor now saw, were mostly flat. The bottom curled all the way up to press out what little was left. Two of them were cut in half then looked to be pinched shut again.

“Should the need arise, I can accompany you.” The words were out of Viktor’s mouth before he could stop them.

It was evident the offer caught you by surprise. But you recovered swiftly, smiling at him. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think you’d want to. You’d probably find it boring.”

He shrugged. “Or very educational.”

“Well,” you chuckled, standing. “I guess we’ll just have to see when the time comes.”

You came to sit on the lounge with him. Unlike the first time, you sat close enough he could feel the heat radiating from your body. Your thighs nearly touched and your knees did if you moved too much. That little point of pressure sent sparks shooting up his thighs. From what he could see of the pallet, there were splotches of peachy tones and dull blues.

“Your skin should be much easier to mix than Heimerdinger’s fur was,” you said, holding your pallet next to his face. “Your hair too.”

It was interesting, watching you mix your paints. Observing as you added dollops to the pallet, then mixed them with a small, triangular instrument. Then you held it up and stared so intently at Viktor that he was sure he might dissolve. This must be how the hexcrystals feel, he thought.

Frustration grew evident on your face as you mixed. Pulling from the different piles of color, adding more paint occasionally. Only for dissatisfaction to creep in as you held the little tool beside his face again. Finally, you sighed, smirking to yourself as you shook your head.

“Those pretty eyes of yours,” you chuckled softly, “I knew they’d give me trouble.”

Viktor’s grip tightened on his book, and he found he couldn’t look at you. “I apologize.”

“Don’t be, they’re very nic-”

You paused midsentence, the teasing smile dropping. Your eyes cut to the door, the sharp look in them so different from anything Viktor had seen of you until now. He opened his mouth to speak, but you held a paint covered finger to your lips. Then you were across the room, an ear to the door. Viktor heard you mutter something under your breath.

Panic crumpled your features as you turned back to him. Tension palpable in the air. Your footsteps were silent as you crossed back to him. He didn’t know a person could be so quiet.

“Vik,” you rushed in a loud whisper. Admittedly, the casual nickname gave him a small tingle in his belly. “I need you to do me a favor, grab your things. - Hurry.”

He did as instructed, stuffing the book back in his bag - he hadn’t been reading it anyway. Wrapping your fingers around one of his wrists, he let himself be pulled to the side room by the mirror. You carefully eased shut the door until it nearly latched.

“What -” Viktor started.

You held a finger to his lips, the same one that had touched yours. The scent of the paint was sharp that close to his nose. Your gaze shifting frantically to the door.

“I need you to stay in here,” you stated softly, “wait ten minutes then leave out the side door. Go to the courtyard and take the entrance directly across.”

“Why? What is -”

Just then, the door to the studio slammed. You flinched, dropping your hand and angling towards the door. An arm crossed in front of Viktor like you were set to defend him. He could see your entire body trembling.

“We 'eard there was a lil burd in ‘ere,” came a gruff voice, booming in the cavernous space. “Guess we’ll just 'ave ta rip this place apart until we find ‘er.”

“I’m here, Kuegler,” you called, voice steady and cold. “I’ll be there a second.”

Viktor’s eyes shot to you. “Who -”

“I can’t explain. I don’t want you getting involved, so just stay put. Please? And Vik?” You looked up at him with glassy, pleading eyes. A knot formed in his throat. “I’m begging you, please don’t tell Heimerdinger. - Can we keep this just between us? Our little secret? I’ll owe you a favor.”

He hesitated. Keep this a secret from Heimerdinger? What was going on? Was he really about to just turn a blind eye to whatever this was? You spoke with such a hard kindness. Once again, he hit that wall between you. Still, he caved when your bottom lip poked into a pout.

A ghost of a smile crossed your lips, then you quickly pressed a kiss to his cheek. Heat blossoming at the point where your soft lips touched. Then you were gone. Reaching for the door handle, you looked over your shoulder. Pinning him under your gaze.

“I won’t forget this,” you told him softly, “And, whatever you hear, please don’t think any less of me.”

You were out the door, shutting it quietly before Viktor could say anything else. It was only a moment before he was pressing his ear to the door. He could hear your footsteps and the heavy sound of boots.

“You can’t be here,” you announced, a hard edge in your voice. It sent a chill through him.

“Oh yeah?” said the voice, Kuegler, he assumed. “Who said?”

“I’m sure you were seen coming in. I bet Silco will be thrilled to find you causing trouble around a prestigious Piltover establishment.”

“Boss is the one who sent us,” said another voice, deeper than the first but just as rough. “Gave us this for you.”

You laughed harshly, the sound a shard of ice. “I didn’t know you two could read.”

“Not fer us, song burd.”

There was the sound of paper tearing. Then a moment of quiet. “The fuck is this? This wasn’t part of the deal.”

“There’s interest, int there, love?” came Kuegler’s voice. It made Viktor’s stomach turn. “Shame really, I tried ta go easy on ya. Got beat pretty bad fer it too.”

“Let’s go talk about this somewhere more…private,” you urged.

“What’s wrong wiv right ‘ere?”

“Anyone can come in at anytime - including Heimerdinger.” Your voice dripped with venom. “Unless that’s a fight you want.”

There were two low grunts, then the second man said, “After you, then.”

Viktor heard the heavy boots leave, and then the door to the studio shut. Quieter this time. Through the wall, he could hear the tick of the clock. His heart pounded in time with it. He counted down ten agonizing minutes while his mind stewed.

Just what the fuck was going on? Why didn't you want to tell Heimerdinger that two thugs walked straight into the academy? Where did you know them from? Why? You were just an artist, weren’t you?

Just someone who makes pretty pictures.

The questions swirled around in circles with dizzying velocity. Viktor’s stomach sloshed with them. Suddenly the side room felt too hot, too stuffy, too cramped. Still, he did as you asked and waited before making his way to the courtyard.

The white stone glared in his eyes now. The sun a hot beam through his dark shirt. He went through the entrance you told him, then stumbled his way back to the lab. Viktor had to stop and collect himself before he faced Jayce. Should he tell him about what just happened? But then Jayce would want to go to Heimerdinger, wouldn’t he?

When Viktor finally entered the lab a few minutes later, he was calmer. The decision not to tell Jayce came with the tang of guilt. But it wasn’t like Jayce knew you. Hell, Viktor barely knew you - yet he was determined to keep this a secret. At least until he could figure out what was going on.

Jayce did a double take when Viktor came in. “You’re back early, something happen?”

Viktor shook his head. “No - she had a prior engagement to see to today.”

“Ah. - Well, since you’re back, I have a question…”

It was hard to concentrate on work with all the questions buzzing around in his mind. He didn’t like that hardness in your voice. That panic in your eyes. He’d only known you a week, and you had been nothing but pleasant. Even when he wasn’t. Every time he thought of telling Heimerdinger, your voice whispered, Our little secret in the back of his mind.

It was delicious.

It was tantalizing.

It was dangerous.

He just hoped you knew what you were doing and that he was doing the right thing.

~*~

TAG LIST

@starmansolar @motheroffae @vintagehellfire @seaweedbumblebee @21-princess @starriekaede @local-mr-frog @tspmovro @hexhoess @shushjayvik @green-haus @bill-nye-the-russianspy @crimsonlegend

[petvampire]

Jerejean: Jeans first blowjob👀

oh hell yeah!

I’ve sort of tackled the first time of Jean giving in my fic Bien Joué, so how’s about we take a different approach and go first time receiving?

(especially since we all know Jeremy’s tongue game is on point)

~

One thing has become very clear to Jean over the past months in California: when Jeremy Knox boasts about something, he is being entirely truthful. There’s no exaggeration or false bravado, because there’s no need for it.

He can’t exactly make a direct comparison to say whether or not Laila is as good with her tongue, but that is irrelevant. Jeremy is obscenely, mind-meltingly talented in a way that could drive the most sane man mad.

Jean had already thought he was going to lose his mind when the other had kissed his way down his chest, clever tongue tracing lightly over the edges of his scars, replacing remembered aches with pure pleasure. That isn’t reason enough for his brain to be as scrambled as it currently is, though. No, that had come when Jeremy had paused at his waistband, looking up at him with those beautiful brown eyes. “Can I blow you?” The question was blunt, sending a spike of hot arousal through him. Jeremy’s smile had been soft, though, one hand tangling with Jean’s, squeezing it. “No pressure, if you’re not comfortable. But I really want to taste you.”

How could he possibly say no to that? The idea alone of Jeremy’s mouth on him was almost enough to push him to the edge as it was. And the hungry gleam in his eyes was honest, proof that he wanted to do this.

So Jean had nodded, letting the other undo his pants, arching up off the bed a little so he could push them and his underwear down around his thighs.

And he’d immediately been treated to an intimate demonstration of just how good Jeremy really was with his tongue.

Now, he’s not sure how long the other has been working him over - minutes, hours, eons, time no longer seems to make any sense or hold any meaning. Jeremy is comfortably nestled between his legs, head bobbing lazily along the length of Jean’s cock. That too-talented tongue is teasing, swirling around the head, or dragging slowly along the thick vein on the underside. One hand is curled around the base of him, every so often taking over with slow, steady strokes while Jeremy ducks his head to lick and suck at Jean’s balls, lavishing attention on them. He’s carefully keeping him right on the edge, noticing every time Jean’s muscles start to tense as he nears orgasm and pulling back or varying his tactics.

It’s wonderful. It’s maddening.

One hand has found its way into Jeremy’s bleached hair, though he’s careful not to pull or grip too tightly. He does tug lightly at the strands, though, arching a little as that hot mouth wraps around him again. “Jeremy…” He doesn’t want to beg, but there’s desperation in his voice anyway, and the other absolutely hears it.

Jeremy pulls off him for a moment, flashing a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I just… really enjoy doing this,” he admits, making Jean bite back a moan. “You okay?”

“You are making me crazy,” Jean breathes out in response, but the words are unmistakably fond.

A short laugh slips from Jeremy’s lips, a gleam in his eyes of mingled desire and satisfaction. “Can’t have that.” He dips down again, this time swallowing Jean’s cock to the root; the sound that move elicits is purely filthy, needy. Jean fights the urge to buck up into that hot, perfect mouth as Jeremy sucks him with a far less teasing intent, every slide of his lips and tongue pushing him closer to the edge.

He manages, barely, to stammer out a warning before he comes, and Jeremy just takes his cock as deep into his throat as he can, holding himself in place as Jean moans and curses in breathless French. He stays there even through the shuddery aftershocks of his orgasm, and licks him clean when he finally pulls back, dragging one more incoherent sound out of Jean.

When he slides back up to kiss him, Jean can taste himself on Jeremy’s too-clever tongue.

[imactuallysoup]

Oh dear, this poor girl

if only Alice didn't have a boyfriend, maybe it could have worked out

He genuinely seems like a sweet guy in the start, he had his heart in the wrong place though

/edit/ HELPPP IN REBLOGS ARE TELLING ME IT WOULDN'T'VE WORK OUT ANYWAYS LMFAO. I AGREE WITH YOU GUYS DONT WORRY- THE MAN HAS SOME SCREWS LOOSE IN HIS MIND, IT WOULDNT HAVE BEEN A GREAT RELATIONSHIP AT ALL WITH THE TYPA GUY HE IS AND HOW HE ACTS. BUT IMAGINE IF IT WAS.

I LOVE ALL THESE REBLOG MESSAGES ANYWAY <3 yall are so sweet

[heich0e]

"so... how's work?"

you accidentally click the edge of your wine glass against your teeth as you tip it back, jarred by the strange question from the man standing at your side. you swallow the tiny mouthful of wine you manage to sip, turning to look at suna in bewilderment.

"work?" you ask him incredulously. "why are you asking me about work?"

suna rintarou doesn't care about what you do for work. truthfully speaking, you're not sure he even knows what you do for work—you certainly don't remember ever telling him, and the memory would stand out quite starkly considering all you ever seem to do when you run into him is bicker with him uselessly.

suna is a friend of a friend. or a friend of some friend's ex. or something. all you know is that every so often the two of you end up at the same social event, and there's something about the guy's face that just... makes you want to pick a fight.

and he has yet to turn down your instigation.

your friends all think it's funny—like you're some kind of comedy duo, and this is your special bit—but you don't see the charm in the slightest. you suspect they've started inviting you both to events just to have some entertainment.

"what?" rintarou asks, fiddling with his cellphone in his hand—pinching it between his thumb and his ring finger while he twirls it with his index. "i'm not allowed to ask about work? isn't that normal small talk for a christmas party?"

you're a little taken aback by his words. first of all, because he's right (which you hate). second of all, because he seems strangely defensive about it.

"normal for other people, maybe," you mutter, more to yourself than anything, before taking another tiny sip of wine. you swallow it, but somehow it doesn't help the dry feeling in your mouth. you're not sure you like this particular wine, you think, as bitterness clings to your tongue. "work is... fine."

suna perks up beside you at that, and you feel his eyes on your profile like he's waiting for you to go on.

"things get, uh... things get slow this time of year, so I'm mostly just answering stupid emails and ordering gifts online while i sit at my desk." you swirl the glass of wine in your hand, watching the way that the light catches in the deep red surface. "my section chief has kids and loves the holidays, so she's been pretty checked-out lately, herself. makes it easy to get away with slacking off."

you risk a glance over at him, and are somewhat dismayed to find him listening intently.

"must be nice to get a little break," he offers.

"yeah, i guess," you reply. your words are in agreement with him, but still your brow furrows.

what the fuck is going on?

you look around the room, as though checking for a hidden camera, or some other sign that might give away what the hell this guy's motives are. but around you is simply a room of friends enjoying each other's company—sipping drinks; eating finger foods the hosts had been carefully set out to graze on; chatting amongst each other about their lives, their holiday sweaters, their work.

everything seems totally normal, other than what's transpiring in the quiet corner where you and suna rintarou find yourselves standing side by side.

"how is... your... work?" you manage to ask, though it sounds as though the question is pulled from you with considerable effort. stiff and strained in every way a question so innocuous doesn't have any right to be.

suna laughs a little under his breath, masks it with a clearly fake cough, and then rests his hand over his mouth. he's smirking. you know he is. he's revelling in every second of your discomfort like the twisted little freak he is.

you're about to tell him as much, but he cuts you off.

"it's good," he replies to your pained question with an unexpected sincerity. "we're coming up to the half-way point in the season, so training is still pretty intense. we do get a day off for the holiday though."

right, he's a volleyball player. you'd learned that upon your first meeting, before your opinion of him was quite so hostile. you remember thinking at the time that he looked like a volleyball player—tall, lean, with big hands that made the beer can he'd been holding look almost laughably small in comparison.

you glance down at those hands again, still idly fidgeting with his cellphone. he's not drinking a beer tonight, and you wonder if maybe it's because he's in the middle of his season.

you think about asking him.

but you don't.

suna seems to be waiting for you to say more, but when you don't, he continues on the conversation himself. "i thought about taking the train to hyogo for the day, but it wouldn't really make sense just to go visit for a few hours."

you take another sip of your wine. you decide that you do not in fact enjoy it.

you hum a bit, ditching your mostly full glass on the edge of a table that rests within reach. "tough to just make a day trip, especially since the weather's so..." you trail off, gesturing vaguely with your now empty hand in a way that's supposed to indicate the unreliability of the winter climate.

suna laughs.

you look at him in confusion.

"the weather?" he asks you, rubbing at his mouth again like he trying to hide the expression underneath his fingertips. it might work if his eyes didn't crinkle at the corner when he smiles. "we're talking about the weather now?"

your lips part indignantly at his jibe. he's the one who'd initiated this hellscape of small talk, and now he had the nerve to chide you for it?

"oh, i'm sorry," you guffaw, feigning remorse, "is there some pressing matter you'd rather discuss?"

rintarou dips closer to you from his greater height, and the fact that he's so much taller than you are only irritates you more.

"there is actually," he says with a nod.

"oh, yeah?" you roll your eyes, gearing up for a fight. you turn to face him properly, tilting your chin up to meet him eye to eye without wavering. "and what's that?"

"are you aware that we've been standing under mistletoe for the entirety of this conversation?"

you slowly look overhead.

like something out of a horror film, you find that for once in his life (or at least the few months you've known him) suna's chosen to say something factual. overhead, a little bundle of mistletoe has been affixed to the ceiling with a piece of tape that seems to barely be hanging on—the decoration at risk of falling at any moment.

you feel sick.

"so what?" you ask him, swallowing down that feeling of dread and maintaining (what you hope is) an air of indifference.

"so that means we're supposed to kiss," he tells you matter-of-factly, almost a bit pointedly, like he can't believe you didn't know.

"i'm aware of that," you hiss. "i don't, however, bend to the whims of plants, as a general rule."

"weird rule," he remarks, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

you feel a throb of irritation behind your eyes.

"you're the one who came over here to bother me," you point out. "if you knew there was mistletoe hanging up there, that means this is your fault."

suna shrugs a bit.

you keep going, your pulse thrumming beneath your tongue and fanning the flames of irritation churning in the pit of your stomach.

"if anything, that makes you the weird one for coming up with some scheme to trick me. we're not children. if you wanted to kiss me so bad you could have just aske—"

"can i kiss you?"

what?

"i asked if i can kiss you," rintarou says, and you're not sure if that means you voiced your thought aloud or it was just plainly written across your face. he inches closer to you, and though you would usually shift away to accommodate for the intrusion, the table where you'd discarded your glass of wine keeps you mostly trapped in place. pinned. cornered. "you said that if i wanted to kiss you, i should ask. so, i'm asking if i can kiss you."

why?

suna sighs after a moment of contemplating the look of abject shock on your features, slumping forward and resting his forehead on the wall beside your head, caging you against the wall with his lanky frame. you can't breathe with him this close—too startled by the proximity and the warmth radiating from him to even think about drawing air into your lungs. too confused by this entire situation to meet your basic human needs.

"you really don't get it, do you?" he asks quietly. he's so near that you feel his words more than you hear them—especially since they were spoken so quietly just next to your ear.

"get what?" your own voice sounds distant—sounds strange—to you when you finally manage to speak.

suna pulls back just far enough to meet your gaze, and you're shocked to see just how pink his face is. he looks mortified—and desperate—as his eyes find yours. he tilts his face towards you, and when he speaks again you feel the warmth of his breath break against your lips.

"you're the only person in this room who i'd enjoy listening to talk about the weather."

and it's not until much later, when the lingering bitterness from the wine has been replaced by something much sweeter (though entirely unexpected) on your tongue, that you realize rintarou was the only person in the room tall enough to reach the ceiling.

a/n: for nana, who forced me to write this entirely against my will but whom i love dearly in spite of it

[rafeovermorals]

thinking about having family dinner with dbf!joel.

it started out innocent, or so it seemed.

he held casual conversation as the two of you sat in the dining room while your father finished cooking in the kitchen.

the usual small talk, “how was school today?” “good.” “learn anything new?” “not really.” nothing out of the ordinary.. until halfway through dinner he felt your foot tap against his leg.

he brushed it off, thinking it was an accident at first. but then you did it again, more deliberate. intentional.

he was wearing his uniform wrangler jeans and a pair of carhartt boots, still layered in saw dust from a long days work. you had on a pair of thigh high socks and a skirt, one that was probably too short to be wearing around guests, but joel wasn’t just anyone— he was like family.

his eyes narrowed at you across the table, speaking to you with his eyes as he chewed on a piece of meat. really, kid?

you looked back at him, a smile tugging across your lips. you scooped a spoon full of mashed potatoes, bringing it to your mouth and letting out a soft hum as the taste buds filled your mouth.

your tongue swirled around the utensil, your gaze not leaving him. joel’s jaw ticked in frustration, watching you. you knew exactly what you were doing, and your dad was fucking oblivious, rambling on about something neither of you cared about.

but you weren’t done there. your foot inched up his leg, running past his calf and knee until you settled it between his spread thighs.

his eyes flickered down, seeing your sock covered foot propped on the chair as it rested against the inside of his thigh.

“it’s really good tonight, daddy.”

joel nearly choked. you were talking to your father, but the teasing tone in your voice let him know your words had another meaning— one that was meant solely for him.

he wasn’t a man to get flustered easily, or really at all, but you were fucking killing him.

you were rubbing into his crotch, continuing to eat like this was just a normal thing to do. he was frustrated now, tongue pressed in his cheek while he held himself back. he could feel the warmth radiating from you even through the thick denim of his pants, which were now straining his cock as it twitched beneath your sole.

you smirked, feeling his length grow and harden under you by the minute. you snuck a glance back at him, meeting his stern expression that spoke to you once more. stop it, now.

you didn’t listen, of course not. damn troublemaker.

the friction of the fabric on his erection was overwhelming. he gripped his beer, knuckles white as he took a swig in attempts to suppress his desire. it didn’t work, not even close.

he had become sensitive with his old age, easily turned on and difficult to restrain his arousals. it was like he was a teenager all over again, minutes away from cumming in his boxers at your touch alone.

he pushed back in his chair, enough for your foot to fall down to the floor since your legs weren’t long enough to stretch. you gave him a pout, which he didn’t bother to entertain.

“lil’ minx.” he grumbled under his breath, turning away from you.

you didn’t like that one bit.

on cue, you dropped the fork you were holding out of your hand, it hitting your plate with a clank to catch joel’s attention before it bounced to the ground.

“mr. miller, can you get that for me please?” you asked, voice sweet and masked of any guilt as you batted your lashes.

he glared at you, letting out a grunt at your faux act. you were playing with fire, too brave for her own good. what girl in her right mind would fuck around with a man— who was her fathers best friend— right next to him?

he bent down and ducked his head under the table to pick it up, only for the sight in front of him to make him freeze.

there you were, legs parted with a perfect view of a thong so thin it was hardly covering your cunt. you were spilling out in front of him— glistening, needy, so pink and pretty.

you were shuffling around in your chair, the material further riding up and pressing into your clit.

as you lifted your bottom off of the seat, he hooked his fingers around your panties and pulled them with a tug, pocketing them into his jeans faster than you could blink.

he returned up from his knees, handing you the tool with a smug.

“so, how about dessert?”

happy birthday pedro <3

[cloudyluun]

Polished in Love

Summary: When Y/N, a passionate nail artist, first paints her boyfriend Harry Styles’ nails, she doesn’t expect it to become their thing. But Harry, ever the devoted and supportive boyfriend, falls in love with the ritual, and with her talent. Soon, he’s booking actual appointments at her salon, showing off her designs to the world, and, in classic Harry fashion, scheming something in secret. When he finally reveals his surprise—a nail polish collection inspired entirely by her, Y/N realizes that love, much like a good manicure, is all about the little details.

A/N: If you’ve ever dreamed of being in a soft, fluffy relationship where your partner is your biggest fan (and also happens to be Harry Styles), then welcome! This little story is my love letter to all things cozy, romantic, and slightly ridiculous—because let’s be honest, Harry being obsessed with getting his nails done is peak adorable. Expect lots of heart-eyes, some happy tears, and a man who is completely and utterly whipped. Hope it makes you smile! Based on this request!

Word Count: 4,3k

Warnings: 

Extreme levels of fluff (proceed with caution if you're allergic to sweetness)

Harry Styles being the softest, most supportive boyfriend ever

Excessive nail polish talk (you might leave wanting to paint your nails)

Emotional tears caused by overwhelming cuteness

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

It starts on a slow Sunday afternoon, the kind where the sun filters through the curtains in soft golden streaks, dust motes swirling lazily in the warm glow. Y/N is perched on the couch, her legs folded beneath her, a tiny brush held delicately between her fingers as she finishes the last touches of a new design on her own nails. The scent of fresh polish lingers in the air, mingling with the faint traces of Harry’s cologne as he lounges beside her, his head tipped against the back of the couch, scrolling absentmindedly on his phone.

She catches him watching her out of the corner of her eye—curious, maybe even a little intrigued. It’s not the first time she’s caught him looking like that when she works. There’s something in the way she loses herself in her craft, how steady and precise her hands are, that seems to mesmerize him.

Y/N grins, setting her polish bottle down with a little clink. “You wanna try?”

Harry blinks, his gaze flickering up to meet hers. “Try what?”

“Nail polish.” She wiggles her fingers, flashing the delicate design she just finished. “I think you’d look great with some color.”

He scoffs, but there’s a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “D’you now?”

“Uh-huh.” She leans forward, playful and enticing. “Let me do your nails.”

There’s a beat of silence. Harry tips his head to the side, eyeing her like he’s trying to decipher her true intentions. He’s not against it—he’s worn rings, pearls, mesh tops, even feather boas—but this? Letting her sit and paint his nails like they’re at some childhood sleepover? He exhales a quiet chuckle, rubbing his thumb along the inside of his palm.

“You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.” Y/N raises a brow, then reaches for his hand without waiting for permission. His fingers are warm beneath hers, calloused in places from years of playing guitar, strong yet gentle. She brushes her thumb over the back of his hand, noting the contrast between his larger fingers and her smaller ones.

Harry watches, amused but not resisting, as she starts rifling through her collection, muttering to herself about what color would suit him best. He lets her have her fun, stretching his arm across the couch cushions, and before long, she’s settled in, fully focused as she uncaps a bottle of deep navy blue polish.

“Alright, superstar,” she murmurs, dipping the brush into the bottle. “Try not to move.”

He scoffs again, but there’s something in his expression—fondness, amusement, maybe even the tiniest bit of anticipation. He lets her guide his hand onto her thigh for stability, and the first stroke of polish glides smoothly across his thumbnail.

Harry is quiet as she works. The soft strokes of the brush, the way her fingers gently adjust his own, the faint smell of acetone and floral-scented cuticle oil—it all lulls him into something warm and comfortable. He watches her intently, observing the slight furrow in her brow as she focuses, the way she occasionally chews her bottom lip when she’s being extra careful.

“This is kind of nice,” he admits after a moment.

Y/N looks up, a teasing smile pulling at her lips. “Told you.”

By the time she finishes the last coat, Harry is fully relaxed against the couch, his fingers resting easily in hers as she blows gently on them to help them dry faster. He wiggles his fingers experimentally, his lips pursed in thought.

“Alright,” he says finally, lifting his hand to inspect her work. “This is actually pretty sick.”

Y/N beams. “See? You were meant to be my favorite client.”

Harry laughs, low and warm, before pulling her in for a quick, lazy kiss. His lips are soft, slightly chapped, but they mold perfectly against hers.

That night, when he leaves her apartment, he doesn’t remove the polish.

The habit sneaks up on them quietly, unintentionally. At first, it’s just a joke—something lighthearted and fun, a cute little activity that makes Y/N laugh and lets Harry indulge in something he never really considered before. But then, it turns into more.

After long days at the studio or on the road, he finds himself gravitating toward her little salon space, dropping into his usual seat with a sigh.

“Rough day?” she asks, tilting her head as she starts gathering supplies.

He nods, closing his eyes briefly. “Yeah.”

And that’s that.

She doesn’t need to say much—just gets to work, painting his nails while he rests his head against the couch cushions, humming softly to whatever playlist she has on in the background. Sometimes, they chat; other times, they sit in comfortable silence, just enjoying each other’s presence.

One evening, after she finishes painting a delicate celestial design on his nails, Harry glances down at his hands with a lazy smile.

“I’m keepin’ these on.”

Y/N looks up from putting away her polishes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, running his thumb over the dried design. “Gonna show ‘em off.”

She doesn’t think much of it until the next day, when Twitter explodes with pictures of him at an event, hands adorned in her handiwork. The designs are small but intricate—tiny constellations, a few scattered stars, all meticulously painted in gold against a dark blue base. Fans go absolutely feral over it.

“Okay, but who did his nails???” one tweet reads, with thousands of likes beneath it.

It doesn’t take long for someone to find the answer.

“My girlfriend did them,” Harry says nonchalantly in an interview a few days later, flexing his fingers slightly as the interviewer compliments the look. “Aren’t they gorgeous?”

And just like that, the world takes notice.

Y/N doesn’t even realize it at first. She’s busy at work, carefully painting a client’s nails when her phone starts buzzing insistently in her pocket. She ignores it, assuming it’s just her group chat blowing up over some drama. But when she finally takes a break and checks her notifications, her screen is flooded.

Harry’s latest interview clip has gone viral.

The video is everywhere—Twitter, Instagram, TikTok. Fans are gushing over his nails, zooming in on the intricate details she’d painstakingly painted just days ago. The internet is obsessed, not just with Harry’s latest look, but with the fact that she did them.

Her DMs are a mess. There are requests for appointments, compliments from strangers, and even a few messages from beauty influencers asking where she gets her inspiration. Y/N stares at her phone, overwhelmed, before calling the only person who could’ve caused this.

“Harry,” she says the moment he picks up, voice caught between exasperation and amusement. “What did you do?”

He chuckles softly. “I just told the truth, love.”

Y/N can practically hear the grin in his voice.

From that moment on, painting his nails isn’t just something they do in the privacy of her apartment. It becomes their thing, a little ritual of care and closeness.

Harry, ever the extra and devoted boyfriend, takes it one step further.

At first, he still lets her do his nails at home—lounging on her couch, feet propped up on her coffee table, stealing kisses between coats. But then he starts showing up at her studio. Unannounced. Like he’s just another client.

The first time, it’s almost comical.

Y/N is midway through buffing a regular client’s nails when the bell over her studio door chimes. She barely glances up—until she hears an unmistakable voice greeting her receptionist.

“Afternoon, love. I believe I have an appointment?”

She snaps her head up so fast she nearly knocks over her polish display.

Harry stands there, casually dressed in a loose jumper and beanie, dimples on full display as he flashes her an innocent smile.

He waves his fingers at her. “Figured it’s about time I booked a proper session, don’t you think?”

Her client, wide-eyed, looks between them. “Wait. Is that—?”

Y/N groans, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Harry, you don’t need an appointment. You could’ve just come over.”

“And deprive you of a paying customer?” he teases. “Absolutely not.”

That’s how it starts.

Harry starts officially booking nail appointments—never mind that Y/N refuses to charge him. He insists on getting the full salon experience.

And of course, he never comes empty-handed.

Sometimes, he brings her favorite coffee, balancing two cups with practiced ease. Other times, it’s a fresh bouquet of flowers, a new shade of nail polish he found, or pastries he claims he baked himself (though she’s convinced his private chef helped).

One time, he walks in carrying a ridiculous heart-shaped box of chocolates, looking so smug about it that she can’t even pretend to be annoyed.

She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling as she plucks a chocolate from the box. “You really don’t have to bribe me to do your nails, y’know.”

He hums, settling into her chair. “Can’t a man spoil his favorite nail tech?”

Y/N huffs out a laugh, shaking her head. “You’re the only client who gets this treatment.”

Harry just grins, completely unbothered.

At some point, he starts referring to a specific chair in her studio as his.

“Oi!” he calls out one day when he walks in and finds another client sitting in it. “That’s my chair.”

Y/N chokes on her laughter.

Her client, startled, looks up. “Wait—what?”

Harry gestures toward the seat with mock seriousness. “That’s Harry’s Throne. Reserved for me.”

Y/N groans, facepalming. “Harry, stop.”

But it’s too late. The nickname sticks.

From that day forward, whenever he comes in for an appointment, her staff jokingly refers to it as his throne. He leans into it shamelessly, draping himself dramatically over the chair whenever he sits down.

“Ready for your royal treatment, your highness?” Y/N teases one day as she sets up her tools.

Harry smirks. “Always.”

And honestly? He loves it.

Not just the pampering, but the way she focuses when she works—her brow furrowing in concentration, the way she tilts his hands just so, the gentle touch of her fingers against his skin.

Sometimes, he hums softly while she paints, some unfinished melody floating in the air. Sometimes, he watches her intently, admiration clear in his gaze.

Other times, he just reaches out, squeezing her hand for no reason at all.

“You’re staring again,” Y/N murmurs one day, not looking up from where she’s carefully adding tiny details to his nails.

Harry doesn’t even try to deny it. “Can’t help it. My girl’s an artist.”

Y/N’s cheeks heat, but she hides her smile.

Harry is, without a doubt, her most dramatic—and devoted—client.

And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

It starts off subtly.

At first, Y/N doesn’t think much of it—Harry’s always been the curious type. He asks random questions all the time, sometimes just to hear her talk, sometimes because he’s genuinely interested in whatever she’s passionate about.

But then the questions start getting oddly… specific.

They’re all about nails.

“What’s your favorite nail polish finish?”

Y/N pauses mid-brushstroke, glancing up at him. “What?”

Harry shrugs, looking down at the glossy black polish she’s carefully applying to his nails. “Just wondering. Do you like matte? Glossy? Maybe something with a little shimmer?”

She narrows her eyes at him suspiciously. “I mean… it depends on the vibe. But I usually go for a high-shine finish. Why?”

He grins. “No reason.”

The next time, it’s even weirder.

“What ingredients should a really good polish have?”

Y/N stops filing his nails, giving him a long, unimpressed stare. “Are you planning to start making your own, or…?”

Harry just laughs, but he doesn’t answer.

And then, a few days later:

“If you could design your own collection, what colors would you pick?”

Y/N puts her tools down.

“Okay. What is going on?” she demands, crossing her arms.

Harry looks up at her with wide, innocent eyes. Too innocent. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been asking so many questions about nail polish,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “And not just casual questions—like, very specific, detailed ones.” She tilts her head. “Are you planning on opening a rival salon? Should I be worried?”

Harry smirks, leaning back in his chair—Harry’s Throne, as he insists on calling it. “Maybe I just want to be well-informed about my girlfriend’s industry.”

Y/N scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

“Can’t a man ask questions without being interrogated?”

“No, Harry. No, he cannot.”

Harry just grins, clearly enjoying himself.

Y/N studies him, trying to piece it together. She knows him too well. He’s up to something—she can tell from the way his dimples keep threatening to show, the way he’s biting his lip like he’s holding back a secret.

But no matter how much she pries, he won’t crack.

He just sits there, letting her work, humming under his breath like he doesn’t have some mystery scheme in the works.

And Y/N, for all her determination, has no choice but to let it slide.

For now.

Y/N doesn’t realize it at first.

Sure, she notices when Harry starts posting more pictures of his nails. Sometimes it’s a casual Instagram story—his hand resting against the steering wheel, rings gleaming, nails freshly painted. Other times, it’s a candid shot of him mid-performance, microphone in one hand, the other adorned with intricate designs that Y/N had carefully painted herself.

But it’s not until a week after she finishes a particularly detailed set—deep emerald green with delicate gold accents—that she wakes up to something different.

Her phone is blowing up.

It’s not just the usual notifications. It’s thousands of them. Tags, mentions, DMs flooding in faster than she can process.

Her stomach flips as she clicks into Twitter (or whatever the app is calling itself these days).

And there it is.

A tweet—no, several tweets—from popular beauty bloggers, fashion accounts, and actual magazines, all talking about her.

“Harry Styles’ latest manicure is an art piece. The woman behind it? The insanely talented Y/N, who runs a small studio in London. We need to talk about her work.”

She blinks. Scrolls down.

Another tweet:

“Y/N’s nail artistry is insane. Look at the details on this design. Someone get this woman a brand deal IMMEDIATELY.”

And then, a TikTok—one of many—where a beauty influencer is attempting to recreate the very design Y/N had painted on Harry’s nails just days ago.

“Alright, so today we’re trying to do THE Harry Styles nails—yes, the ones by Y/N. No promises mine will be as good as hers because, like, have you seen her work??”

Y/N’s jaw drops.

It’s not just one person. It’s everywhere. People attempting to recreate her designs, tagging her, gushing over her work.

And just like that, her little nail studio—the cozy, quiet place she’s built with so much love—is suddenly the hottest spot in the industry.

Her phone rings, startling her out of her daze.

Harry.

She answers immediately. “Did you see this?”

“I did.” He sounds entirely too smug, and she can hear the smile in his voice. “Kinda amazing, innit?”

Y/N lets out a shaky laugh. “I—I don’t even know what to say. It’s… overwhelming.”

“Yeah?” His voice softens. “Good overwhelming or bad overwhelming?”

She swallows, looking at the endless flood of notifications. “I mean… good, I think? Just… a lot.”

There’s a beat of silence, then:

“See, love? You’re brilliant.”

Her heart clenches.

It’s such a simple statement, yet the way he says it—so full of quiet certainty, like it’s the most obvious truth in the world—makes her throat tighten.

She bites her lip. “You really think so?”

Harry scoffs. “I know so.”

And, okay. Maybe the attention is a lot to process. But with Harry in her corner, she feels like she can handle anything.

And she’s going to have to—because things are about to get even bigger.

Her studio is fully booked within days.

Appointments she would have normally spaced out over months are now being snatched up in seconds. Celebrities—actual A-listers—start reaching out to her, inquiring about appointments, collaborations, anything to get a piece of her work.

And through it all, Harry remains her most loyal, most devoted client.

“Hope you’re still making time for me, love,” he teases one night, winking as he drops off her favorite coffee.

Y/N laughs, squeezing his hand. “You’ll always have a spot in my chair.”

Harry grins, his fingers curling around hers, warm and steady. “Good. Would hate to think fame’s gotten to your head.”

She rolls her eyes, nudging his arm. “Oh, please.”

But she doesn’t miss the way he’s looking at her. Fond. Proud. Like he’s known all along that this moment—her success, her recognition—was inevitable. And somehow, that’s even more overwhelming than the notifications still buzzing in her pocket.

--

A few days later, Harry texts her out of nowhere.

H: Pick you up at 7. Wear something nice.

Y/N frowns at the message, a small smirk tugging at her lips. 

Y/N: Excuse me? Am I normally walking around looking like a gremlin?

H: No, you always look perfect. But tonight is special.

That makes her pause. Special?

Harry isn’t the type to get cryptic—not unless he’s planning something.

And judging by the way he shows up at her place that evening, hair perfectly styled, rings glinting in the golden glow of the setting sun, dimples fully engaged, he’s definitely planning something.

“Okay,” she says slowly, sliding into the passenger seat of his car. “What’s going on?”

Harry just smirks, shifting gears as he pulls onto the road. “Patience, love.”

Y/N groans, throwing her head back against the seat dramatically. “You know I have none of that.”

He laughs, reaching over to squeeze her knee. “It’s worth the wait.”

She grumbles but lets it go, letting the warm hum of the radio fill the space between them as they drive.

He takes her to one of their favorite little restaurants—small, cozy, the kind of place where no one bothers them. It’s tucked away from the chaos of London, all dim lighting and soft music, the scent of fresh bread and wine hanging in the air.

And yet… he’s nervous.

Harry never gets nervous.

But she can tell—by the way his knee bounces slightly under the table, by how he keeps fiddling with his rings, by the way he’s not eating, which is the biggest red flag of all.

Y/N raises an eyebrow. “Okay, now I’m worried. Are you dying? Did you commit a crime? Blink twice if you need me to hide a body.”

Harry lets out a startled laugh, shaking his head. “Bloody hell, love.”

“What?” she says innocently. “You’re acting weird.”

He exhales, rolling his lips together before finally—finally—meeting her eyes.

And then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box, sliding it across the table.

Y/N stares at it.

Then at him.

Then back at the box.

“…I swear to God if this is an engagement ring and you’re proposing to me in the middle of a risotto course—”

“It’s not that,” Harry interrupts, laughing, cheeks pink. “Just—open it.”

She eyes him warily, then flips open the lid.

Inside, nestled against the black velvet lining, are three bottles of nail polish.

Not just any nail polish.

Her colors.

She recognizes them instantly. The deep emerald green, the soft blush pink, the inky midnight blue—all shades she’s used on him before, all shades that have become his favorites.

She blinks. Her heart stutters. “Harry, what…?”

He leans forward, hands clasped together on the table. “I’ve been working on something,” he says softly. “For a while now.”

She looks up at him, wide-eyed. “What do you mean?”

He takes a breath, like he’s really nervous now, like the words are heavy in his mouth.

“I’m launching a brand, called Pleasing.” he finally says. “Beauty, lifestyle, all of it. And the first collection?” He nods toward the box, a small, almost shy smile on his lips. “Nail polishes. Inspired by you.”

Y/N’s breath catches.

She looks at the bottles again, hands slightly unsteady as she picks one up.

It’s not just the colors. It’s the details—the names on the labels.

💚 Green like your eyes 💖 Blush when I call you mine 💙 Midnight Hums

Her throat tightens.

She flicks her gaze back to him. “Harry…”

He reaches for her hand, thumb stroking over her knuckles. “Because you love nails,” he says, voice low, steady. “And I love you.”

Y/N’s heart shatters.

Not in a bad way. In the best way. In the I-don’t-know-how-to-handle-this-level-of-love way.

Because he did this. For her.

Her vision blurs slightly. “You—you made these for me?”

Harry chuckles softly, squeezing her fingers. “’Course I did, love. Everything about them—the colors, the branding, even the formulas—I made sure they were exactly how you’d want them.”

Y/N stares at him, completely overwhelmed.

She blinks rapidly, trying to process everything—how he’s been working on this in secret, how every little detail screams her, how this isn’t just some business move for him, but something deeply, intimately thoughtful.

And then her vision blurs again.

“Oh,” she breathes, voice trembling. “Oh, no.”

Harry’s brows lift in alarm. “No?”

She lets out a watery laugh, swiping at her eyes. “No as in—God, I’m gonna cry.”

And she does.

Right there in the middle of their cozy little dinner, with candles flickering around them, with the soft murmur of other diners in the background, she completely breaks down.

Happy tears, grateful tears—tears that carry all the emotions she can’t quite put into words.

Harry doesn’t hesitate. He reaches across the table, thumb brushing gently under her eyes, wiping away the warm, glistening trails down her cheeks. “Didn’t mean to make you cry, angel,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

She sniffles, smiling weakly. “You always make me cry. You’re disgustingly sweet, it’s offensive.”

He grins, dimples deep and warm. “That’s a bit rude, considering I just launched an entire line of nail polish inspired by you.”

Y/N lets out a half-laugh, half-sob, shaking her head. “Exactly.”

Harry chuckles, leaning back, then suddenly reaches into his pocket again. “Well, since I’ve already got you crying—” He pulls out a single bottle of polish, holding it up with a boyish glint in his eyes. “So, love, what color are you painting my nails tonight?”

Y/N sniffs, still laughing through the last of her tears. “You—you brought a bottle?”

He shrugs. “Was hopeful.”

And God, she loves him so much she aches with it.

Without thinking, she grabs the bottle from his hand, twisting it open. “Give me your hand.”

Harry’s grin widens, and he immediately obeys, stretching his fingers out across the table.

They’re surrounded by warm candlelight, by the soft hum of quiet conversations, by the smallest flicker of fairy lights strung along the restaurant’s windows. It’s intimate, private, theirs.

She works with slow, careful strokes, the same way she always does. Harry watches her, his gaze unwavering, soft as ever.

And when she glances up, meeting his eyes—she swears he’s looking at her like she’s the only person in the world.

From that night on, Y/N isn’t just Harry’s favorite nail tech—she’s his muse.

She becomes part of the Pleasing process, helping him pick new colors, testing formulas, brainstorming ideas over coffee and late-night chats.

Her little studio, once a quiet hidden gem, now has a months-long waitlist. But no matter how busy things get, she never gives up her chair—never stops doing what she loves.

And Harry?

Harry never lets anyone else touch his nails.

It becomes their thing, a quiet tradition.

Before every event, every launch, every moment—she’s there, polish brush in hand, fingers steady as she paints his nails, grounding him the way she always has.

Even when life gets chaotic, when they’re traveling, when he’s on tour and she’s juggling her own work, they find moments for it.

Sitting cross-legged on a hotel bed, half-dressed for the next show. Curled up on a couch after a long day, with Netflix playing in the background. Backstage before a performance, where the only thing keeping him still is her touch.

And it’s not just about the polish.

It’s about love. About care. About the way it all started, with one perfect manicure.

And, if Harry has it his way, it’ll never end.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

taglist:

@oscahpastry @mema10 @angelbabyyy99 @iloveharrystyles04 @cinemharry @drwho06 @donutsandpalmtrees @panini @mads3502 @imgonnadreamaboutthewayyoutaaaa @one-sweet-gubler @rizosrizos26 @ciriceimpera @everyscarisahealingplace @hello-heyhi @sexymfharriet @lizsogolden @hannah9921 @chicabonitasblog @huhidontknowstuff @berrywoods1245 @jennovaaa @angeldavis777 @prettygurl-2009 @almostcontentcreator @run-for-the-hills @maudie-duan @dipmeinhoneyh @harrrrystylesslut @georgiarose94 @stylestarkey @watarmelon212 @hopefullimaginer123, @fangirl509east @bethiegurl19 @adoredeanna @secretisme4 @harry2121 @hopefullimaginer123 @fangirl509east @uncassettodiricordi @2601-london @zbaby @harryscherries28

[ttsukiimi]

───〃★ SHE SEE MONEY ALL AROUND ME .ᐟ

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩. ⎯ Satoru Gojo is cocky. And he’s made a promise to you—he has enough money to fúck you on. Tonight he gets to prove that statement.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬. ⎯ sugar daddy!gojo x sugar baby!reader, overstimulating, orgasm denial, unprotected s⍣x, dom!satoru, slight rough s⍣x, slight tít play, pússy slapping?, mean!satoru, cúnnilingus, slight fing⍣ring, heavy degrading , reader referred to as (baby, sweetheart, slút)

𝐚/𝐧 ⎯ inspired frm this one fic i read a while ago but i can’t find ittt :( enjoy rough n mean sugardaddy gojo tho luvs <3 ty for 3k!

“Satoru…” a breathless whimper of his name fell from your lips—desperate, pleading, for anything, really. Your mind felt hazy, overstimulated, with the incessant licks lapping at your cunt, the big, veiny hands palming at your tits, the money crinkled under your sweaty bodies—everything was too much.

Your body begged for a release, a break, even, but Satoru’s pace only began to quicken, tongue swirling around your puffy clit as his thick fingers entered—slowly. Agonizingly slow.

Satoru smiled against your cunt, lips and chin deliciously drenched in your essence, eyes delirious. “C’mon baby.”

His fingers pummeled deeper, only to begin pumping in and out of you. “Don’t tell me you’re tired already?”

You shook your head, no.

“Good. Cause ‘m just getting started.”

And you took in a deep breath—because in the moment, that seemed like a threat.

Satoru Gojo had just begun and you’re already on the verge of tears.

Your pussy quivered around his tongue, the tell-tale sign of your oncoming orgasm Satoru was waiting for.

And with that, Satoru removed himself from in between your legs, grinning as he loomed over you. Satisfied by how desperate you seemed, hips bucking towards him so pitifully.

“N-no, was so close, ‘toru!” you sobbed, craving the release pent up in your lower stomach, peering into his eyes.

“No?” his grin widened, and his hand came up to cup your face, forcing you to keep your gaze locked into his. “Don’t remember you having permission to tell me what to do, sweetheart.”

He released his grip on your face, and the all too familiar sound of him unbuckling his Cartier Santos embroidered belt filled the space. He’d made you remember the brand—all with countless, harsh spanks to your ass with it, of course.

Tears welled in your eyes from both anticipation and anxiety; because with the look on his face, you were sure you’d be getting it hard tonight.

“It’d be a shame if I wasn’t here to put you in your place, hm?”

Silence.

“Answer me.”

“Y-yes. Put me in my place, ‘toru.”

Satoru’s lips were on yours before you knew it, kissing you, firm. “Good girl.”

You watched him, timidly, free his cock from its confines, the shaft jumping, angry tip leaking pre-cum, and he’s rock hard.

He grabbed his pulsing cock, stroking himself languidly, using his spit as lube as his rough hand made its way up and down it. His gaze flickered up to you and Satoru chuckled—practically laughed at how intently and desperately your eyes fixed to his dick.

“Y’want it, baby?”

You nodded quickly, yes.

“Words.”

Oh, god—he’d truly be the death of you.

“Mhm-hm! Wan’ it so b—“

A swift thrust! and Satoru had somehow managed to sheath himself fully inside you, giving no time to adjust before he was drilling in and out of your sweet cunt.

Pleasure seeped into your bones and you sighed, back arching off the money covered sheets underneath you. The paper crumbled and stuck to your skin—the feeling only serving to overwhelm your mind even more.

Each ram felt better than the last, thick, filling you to the hilt, the stretch so delicious it had you crying out for more.

“Lil’ Fuckin’ slut.” Satoru spit, grip tightening on your thighs, spreading them apart further, hissing at the sight of your cunny struggling to take him whole.

A smirk bloomed on his lips, and an audible slap landed on your puffy clit. Satoru’s fingers moved around the sensitive nub of nerves, rubbing in maddening little circles as he fucked you senseless.

And your body jerked towards his touch—his thrusts, desperately nearing that static high you’ve been desiring.

“Yeah? You like that?” he purred, teasing, breathing down your neck, fingers moving faster now. He knew you were too fucked out to speak but—oh, how he loved when you were like this.

All crying and creaming on his cock, all the while choking on your own moans, pitifully letting him have his way with you.

“Feels s’ good..”

Satoru rammed into your G-spot over and over again, making sure you felt him pulsing inside you, and with the way you were contracting around him, he was sure you did.

With each thrust the hairs at his base tickled your clit, the feeling chipping at your resolve—fueling that heat within you that threatened to burst any moment now.

“Close? Can feel you pulsin’ around me.”

“Y-yeah..”

He hummed, his hands snaking up to your chest, your tits bouncing so lewdly, so entrancingly he simply had to cop a squeeze.

You moaned from the added stimulation, back arching further, further until an ear piercing cry left your lips—and you came.

Satoru was quick to hold you down, sighing, sure that you took the last rams of thick cock he drove into you before he came, too.

“Shit. Look at that..”

He whistled, a cocky smirk growing on his lips. As Satoru pulled out, a mixture of your cum and his seeped out of your weeping sex, drenching the sheets and the cash beneath you in translucent white.

And, well—he’d done it.

Satoru had proved his statement to you—he does have enough money to fuck you on.

[azrielbrainrot]

In the Face of Your Love

Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader

Description: A love confession wasn't in Azriel's plans for the day.

Warnings: a tiny bit of angst

Word Count: 1,3k

Notes: In the face of writer's block I bring you another quick little story (that actually took me entirely too long to write). Hope you enjoy!

No matter how hard he tried Azriel couldn't remember the last time he had been in this situation. That's not to say he had never been confessed to before of course, that was far from the truth, but he didn't quite remember what to do in such a situation.

It didn't help that you were his friend, and because of it, someone he hadn't ever considered as anything more. If it were anyone else, he would probably be searching for the words to let them down as gently as possible, but looking into your expectant eyes, he can't help but wonder why exactly he had never thought about it before.

You were exceedingly beautiful and kind, remarkably intelligent and hard-working. You took care of your friends and helped them to the best of your abilities, always offering them a shoulder to cry on. Even though you weren't a fighter, Azriel was time and time again reminded of just how strong and fearless you were. You were perfect in his eyes, one of the best people he had ever gotten the pleasure of meeting in his centuries of life. He knew all of this as your friend, so how come he never looked deeper into the connection you shared?

Azriel knew it was partly, or mostly really, because of his lack of luck when it came to such things. Spending centuries in love with the same person, out of habit more than anything, pushing away everyone that threatened to make him feel anything of consequence gave him a long list of detachment issues unsurprisingly, and when he thought he could have something special with the middle Archeron sister after finally moving on from Mor only for it to blow up in his face before it even started, he was forced to take a good look at himself and his actions, and upon realizing that he was in no way ready for a relationship even though he felt desperate for it, Azriel came to conclusion that it was best to focus on his work and his friends, and leave such glittering dreams behind him.

That had been almost a decade ago, before he even met you. For the first time since then, he finds himself thinking of what it would be like to wake up next to someone, share his thoughts and dreams with that person, have someone to hold him through the hard times and take care of them in kind. For the first time in years, Azriel wonders if he could deserve someone's love after all.

His hesitation seems to start weighing on your excitement, pretty eyes moving to watch the ground as a heavy breath escapes you, not bearing the sight of his wide hazel eyes anymore. When you look up at him again a bitter smile is etched on your face, one that makes Azriel’s chest feel heavy and constricted.

“You don't have to say anything. I just wanted you to know, it felt like it was eating me alive keeping it to myself.” The humorless laugh you let out brings a furrow to his brows, but you keep going before he finds the right words. “I hope I'm not making things weird between us, nothing really has to change-”

“Wait,” Azriel finds himself calling out when he notices you taking a step back, away from him.

Unfortunately he stays quiet a second too long after and you end up taking yet another step back, your next words even more heartbreaking than before. “It's okay, Az. You really don't have to comfort me.”

“I don't want to comfort you.”

“Oh.”

He grabs onto your arm gently when you go to turn around, intent on walking to the door this time, cursing himself when he notices the wetness gathering in your eyelids.

“Please don't go,” he begs, staring into your eyes, hoping his will show you a glimpse at all the emotions swirling around in his heart, maybe you could make better sense of them than him. “I'm not good with words and I'm even worse with my feelings, but I can try to explain myself if you just give me a moment. Please.”

“Alright.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, your body letting go of most of the tension as you watch him. He drops his hold on you and offers you a small, grateful smile.

“You caught me off guard, I never noticed your feelings for me weren't entirely platonic,” he starts carefully, eyes flickering down towards your hand, wondering for a moment if holding it in his would be too much, too unfair to you.

“Some Spymaster,” you tease him back, a breathy chuckle escaping him and releasing the tension from his body, his hand reaching down to hold yours.

“I gave up on love a long time ago, long before I met you. Things have never worked out for me, partly for my own faults, making me think I just wasn't meant for these things.” The frown that settles over your face makes his heart skip a beat. Cute, it was cute, adorable even. Gods, how had he been so blind? “So, you see, I never stopped to wonder if we could have a relationship beyond our friendship even though I cherish your presence in my life immensely.”

“And now?”

“Now I'm thinking back on all our time spent together, the times we laughed and cried together, the times you cared for me and I cared for you.” This time he's the one to move, except he's taking a step closer to you, the distance feeling too big now. “I'm wondering what it would be like to come home to you every day, to hold you in my arms at night, to take you to every restaurant and bakery shop you talked about, to hold your hand in mine whenever I want.” Azriel squeezes your hand softly, your smile widening at the gesture. His other hand reaches for your cheek, cupping it delicately before continuing in a hushed tone, “Now I'm thinking I really want to know what your lips taste like.”

“Az,” you breathe out, eyes falling on his lips. He leans down and pecks your cheek softly, taking a step back to look into your eyes.

“If you still mean what you said…”

“Of course I do.” It's your turn to squeeze his hand, tugging on it to pull him back closer to you, he finds it extremely hard to resist you, but he wants to do things right.

“Then I want to invite you for dinner tonight,” he says, a weight he didn't realize was there before lifting off his chest when you nod immediately. “I think we should take things slow, for both of our sakes, and I don't want to promise you anything, the last thing I want to do is hurt you, but I want to try. I want to know what it's like to feel loved and give it back in kind.”

Your face lights up, smiling up at him with an intensity that threatens to blind him. Familiar dark thoughts start swirling in his mind, telling him how he would only snuff it out of you, but he does his best to tamper them down.

Azriel knew he loved you, that much was never up for discussion, and when comparing the love he had for you to the love he held for his brothers or the rest of his family, he can only feel disbelief that he had never questioned it. He would never do anything to hurt you, he would give his life for you without question, and was ready to face his fears and faults head-on if it would make him worthy of being by your side.

“It's a date then?”

He smiles even wider, his face hurting with the unfamiliarity of it, bringing your interlocked hands up to his face and dropping a kiss on the back of your hand, heart fluttering in his chest.

“It's a date.”

[lilacxquartz]

Can you PLEASE write a Mr crawling pegging fanfic, maybe the Mc has a biting kink too🙏🙏 I don't really have anything too specific in mind, I just want him to get pegged🙏

-👻 anon

such a needy thing;

mr. crawling x f!reader

plot: mr. crawling was often on his knees but tonight he was arching his back for you — themes: pegging, needy/clingy mr. crawling, limited dialogue, dominant!reader, anal (giving) — a/n: finished this up late night, hope this is okay! i couldn’t work biting into the position, but this might be revisited again! — w.c: ~ 1.3k • masterlist • ao3

From the moment you had both discovered each other’s bodies, Mr. Crawling had been awoken with a different sort of hunger that only you could feed. Over and over, he desperately craved the touch of your skin on his, along with all of the soft feelings that came after.

For the most part though? All he wanted to do was to be as close as possible to you, no matter what it took. Perhaps it was natural for your mind to react in such a particular way then, for you to adopt an almost dominant streak when it come to him.

And when such a time arrived, after a long while of explaining (or attempting to), he seemed excited at the prospect, trembling at the thought in anticipation. You tried to explain to him that this was through an object, not through you, but he didn’t care nor have a single protest. He seemed to be happy that you were exploring with him—with only him—ready to melt beneath you in all sorts of ways.

Mr. Crawling’s body quivered as you approached him, goosebumps forming alongside his ashen skin. His lips hinted at excitement, just barely visible behind his cascading long black hair. As you bridged the distance between you both, he whimpered at the thought of what was soon to come.

“Need… you,” he said, branching out his hand to touch against yours. Need. That was a word you had both come to understand; always repeated like a swirling mantra in the back of your head. He needed you always—constantly—just as you needed him too.

You nodded to confirm that this was in fact happening, murmuring out a faint “need you,” back, letting the implication linger in the air, watching as his skin grew somehow clammy and rosy as a flustered state overwhelmed him, his arousal becoming very apparent in between his legs.

Taking the strap from a drawer nearby, you fitted the belt around your hips, adjusting the toy to ensure that it could be secured around you perfectly well. You made sure to find one in a size similar to his own so that the feeling that you gave him could be equal to the one he similar to the one he gave you back.

“I… feel… good?” he asked, taking note of the contraption. How he saw without eyes was an eternal mystery to you.

You nodded again, guiding him over to the bed, gently pushing his body down to the mattress, all the while he regarded you with an almost awestruck stare; his cheeks bleeding crimson as his breath shuddered in jagged gasps.

Letting your eyes wander over to his throbbing need, you snaked down a hand just beneath the fabric he wore, letting his sensitive length fill out your palm. His own hands in turn, balled into fists from the sensation of your skin on his, feeling his cock grow almost impossibly hard. Slowly, you broke through the tension by stroking up and down the shaft, feeling rightfully powerful as he trembled and whined the entire time—completely under your mercy—like melting putty in your hands.

“Do you like this?” you asked, tilting your head off to the side as you studied his reaction intently.

Mr. Crawling nodded eagerly, his voice sounding excited as he replied to you, “I like! I like!”

Seeming pleased with him, you then took a step back, gently turning him over so that the front of his body kissed against the mattress. His palms pressed up against the soft fabric, clawing at the material. He was already so excited and you hadn’t even started yet. How endearing.

Steadily, you lifted his hips closer to your own, lining up the lubricated tip of the strap-on against his tight, awaiting ask. You rubbed the head of the toy against his entrance, enjoying the sounds of his needy whimpers, involuntarily begging for you to enter.

Slowly, you began to push forward, not quite feeling the tightness of his insides swallow around the thick girth, but feeling the resistance of his core as you settled deep into him. Mr. Crawling’s body tensed and trembled, but he didn’t seem to be in pain. You were careful, after all. You wanted him to feel good.

And just as you thought that, he confirmed it for you. “Feel good. Feel good.”

Continuing, you eased the strap fully into him, watching with building delight as his back arched inwards in a display of pleasure, all the while you sank the toy as deep as you could go before letting it sit in him, allowing him to memorise the feel of it for a beat before pulling out ever so slightly—slowly fucking him into an impatient, flustered mess.

As you got into the rhythm, you maintained something initially slow for his sake, leaning ever so slightly forward and reaching your hand to meet with his arousal once more. In the heat of the moment, you wrapped your fingers clean around his cock, taking note of just how desperately he bucked into your touch and soon moving his body to milk at the pleasure however much he could.

Soon enough, he descended into a building crescendo of fluttering murmurs that were barely uttered with just how breathless he was. His hips worked to push back against the strap, inviting you to take him even deeper—feeling so loved yet overwhelmed from the sensation of you slamming into the hilt of his ass. He panted heavily with his hair parting with the sweat that clung against it and as he lost himself, he found himself drooling onto the sheets.

Of course, you kept it up for him as you felt around his body, feeling with your own two hands with how he quickly came undone, just barely containing the burning—almost scalding need for his pent-up release. Rutting at a brisker pace that time, you slid in again into his form, hitting all of the right spots all the while his cock began to leak in combination with the act of you dominating him as well as the stroking touch.

His end was close—you could feel it.

As such, you couldn’t help but smile, doubling your efforts in the process and pounding into him with such force that it almost left you feeling just as breathless as he was. Soon enough, his vocalisations became all the less coherent, muttering out a whole slurry of words that you couldn’t understand until finally, he couldn’t take it anymore.

Mr. Crawling gasped—or rather—choked out a desperate moan, seizing up his body as his orgasm had finally taken him over, possessing him for a moment. His cock pulsed and twitched in your hand, spurting thick, white ropes out and ruining the sheets, before finally collapsing face down into the bed.

Seeming perfectly pleased, you slowly pulled out of him and took the belt off after a moment of silence, watching him surrender beneath you. Feeling your heart melt at the sight, too, you couldn’t help but lay down next to him, pulling him in as close as you possibly could.

Now, Mr. Crawling was a lot taller than you and usually, this sort of experienced would be flipped, but you could feel just how vulnerable felt in your arms for a change. He fit against your cuddling form perfectly with his slightly damp hair sticking against your skin, not that you minded at all.

And as he recovered within your shadow, you stroked along his body with a delicate hand as a familiar word emerged between you both. Something that you had both come to learn and appreciate—something a little more tender than love.

“Yours,” he whispered out right before falling silent, completely and utterly spent and in need of recovery. Your hand rested on his heart as you felt him drift off, before settling even further into the back crook of his neck, feeling so lucky to have someone like him, forever eternally close.

You whispered it back after a moment, feeling yourself follow him off to sleep, “Yours.”

[obsidianbaby]

FUCKING BROWNIES

synopsis - you've been good friends with the triplets for the past few years and are visiting them in LA. You and the guys decide you want to bake some brownies but you're missing some key ingredients, Matt and Nick go out to pick them up leaving you and Chris alone.

warnings & notes - dom! chris x reader, oral (fem receiving), choking and a lil bit rough, angst, slight degradation, overstimulation, praise (let me know if I've missed something)

a/n - this is my first time writing smut in fucking yearssssss so pls be kind<3 also tried my best not to use y/n cause i hate that shit okok enjoy mwah

- I also despise writing dialogue so bare with me

____________________________________

"alright be back soon!!" Nick shouts as him and Matt walk down the stairs to the garage door.

Chris and I stand alone in the kitchen now, Chris hovering over the mixing bowl at the counter, his back to me, and me sitting at the table reading the back of the brownie mix box.

"Don't know why you guys decided to buy brownie mix that requires so many ingredients you don't have" I say putting the box down and sighing.

"Dude I think you can wait like 20 minutes for them to get back" Chris says laughing turning around to face me.

"Mmmm yeah but then we have to wait for them to bake so really it's going to be closer to an hour" I say back jokingly looking up at Chris who's now leaning with both hands across the table in front of me.

"Damn a whole hour, are you gonna parish before then?" He says sarcastically squishing my cheeks with his hand. I playfully swat his hand away and stick my tongue out at him.

"Yeah actually I might," I say while pushing my chair out getting ready to stand up, "I might just need a quick taste test..." I say as I stand up to begin my journey to the mixing bowl on the counter. 

Just as I make my way around the table Chris moves to stand in front of me placing his hands on my shoulders to stop me in place.

"Uh uh uh no way I'm letting you stick your grimy little fingers in the brownie mix" he says shaking his head at me.

"Hmm seems like a challenge" I say daringly before darting around the other side of the table towards the mixing bowl. 

"For fucks sake" he says sprinting after me. He pulls my wrist and yanks me towards him just as I stick my fingers into the bowl.

"Hahahaha too late bitch" I say pleased with the chocolate brownie mix spread all over my fingers. He watches me intently as I begin to lick the mix off of my fingers. I close my eyes with delight, "yummmm you should have some" I say as I pick up the bowl and shove it in his direction.

"Yeah okay" he says hesitantly as he dips a couple fingers into the bowl and licks some of the mix off while looking at me. "Mmmm" he walks over to grab some paper towel but I interrupt him.

"Wait what are you doing?"

"Wiping my hands off??" He looks at me puzzled.

"Noooo you can't waist that shit" I say as I grab his wrist and bring his fingers to my mouth. I begin to lick and suck on his fingers, swirling my tongue around them trying to savor every last drop of the brownie mix. Chris stares at me intensely, his pupils dilating with desire as he bites his bottom lip.

After I think I've gotten all the mix off I take out his fingers from my mouth slowly. I look down at the tent growing in his gray sweats in front of me.

"Shit... Sorry" I say smiling shyly as I slowly release my grip on his wrist, knowing that this is crossing the normal boundaries of our friendship.

He looks down at his growing hardness and back into my eyes, licking his lips. "No you're not" 

"Yeah you're right I'm not" I say smirking at up at him. Fuck me it'd be a lie to say I didn't want him to take me right then and there having been attracted to him since we met.

"Hmmm" chris ponders for a second as he looks my body up and down. The wetness my legs starting to soak through my panties.

"What...?" I ask looking at him with a raised brow trying to hide my growing smirk.

"I don't think you got all the mix off so I think you'll have to try again" he says bringing his fingers back up towards my mouth, grazing his thumb over my lips for permission and I gladly part my lips open and he slips his two fingers back in my mouth. 

I stare up at him as he slowly guides his fingers pumping them in and out of my mouth, my tongue swirling around them. He watches me licking his lips in satisfaction. I grab his hand and force his fingers as far as I can down my throat causing me to gag, saliva dripping down my chin.

Chris lets out a groan, "oh fuck" he says as I continue to guide his fingers down my throat, choking on his digits.

I then take them out of my mouth and inspect them "yep they look clean to me, here you are" I say smirking as I push his hand back towards him gently, enjoying the sexual frustration growing in Chris's pants, hoping he takes the bait of my seduction.

"I don't think im done though" he says stepping forward, closing the gap completely between us, his hard cock poking me through his pants. My thighs clentch at the heat growing between my legs.

"Oh?" I say sensually, tilting my head at him.

"Yeah see, you got a taste but I don't think I'm finished with mine yet" he says, firmly grabbing onto my jawline tilting my head to the side exposing my neck.

"But you haven't got anymore brownie mix to-" I begin but I gasp mid sentence as Chris's lips attach to my neck, kissing my sensitive skin. He picks me up by the waist and places me on the counter top, his legs spreading mine open for him to stand in-between.

With his hands firmly holding onto my waist he continues to kiss down my neck and across my collar bone before lifting his head up at me smiling cheekily. I grab his face with my two hands guiding his lips to mine needing to know what it feels like to kiss him.

We start moving our lips together at a lightning pace, his tongue grazing over mine asking to be let in and I immediately grant him access, our tongues fighting for dominance.

I stop the kiss by biting and sucking on his bottom lip which causes him to let out a husky moan. I smile with satisfaction at this, which causes Chris to shake his head as he places his hand around my neck squeezing firmly, causing me to let out a moan. 

He then smiles with pride from my escaped moan and I roll my eyes at him. He uses his grip on my neck to push my head back a little forcefully against the cabinet and I moan again. 

"Hmm didn't think you were the type to like it rough" he says smirking devilishly at me, his eyes almost black with desire.

The arousal dripping through my panties has me needing to clentch my thighs together but they're being held open by his waist. He instantly looks down at my legs tightening around his waist and he places another quick sloppy kiss to my lips before moving his hands onto my bare thighs, slowly guiding his hands further and further up and under my shorts until they sit resting at my pantie line, his fingers trailing teasingly under the hem. He looks up at me for permission and I nod instantly at him. 

With this he slips one of his hands under my panties and runs a finger up and down my slick, swirling his fingers in my wetness, his other hand gripping tightly around my thigh and I gasp.

Staring hungrily into my eyes, he lifts his hand from my thigh to my neck and roughly choke slams my head against the cabinets as he plunges two fingers into my hole and begins to pump them. My body jolts from the sudden tightness in my core and a few moans escape my mouth, "Oh fuck chris" 

"Fuck you're so wet already, sucking my fingers really got you off huh? Fucking slut" he spits as he curls his fingers up hitting my sweet spot with every pump, his other hand wrapped around my neck.

My legs start to shake and my breathing intensifies, the knot that's been building dramatically since I sucked on his fingers moments ago aching in my stomach begging to be released.

"Fuck chris I'm getting close i" at those words he retracts his fingers from my cunt and brings them to his mouth, his one hand still gripping my neck as he stares at me while slowly licking my arousal until his fingers are clean.

 My walls ache from the emptiness craving the need to tighten around something. "Fuck chris please" I beg trying to grab his hand to guide it back to my slick where I need him but he swats my hand away.

"You taste so fucking good" he says with a devilish smile, pushing my head back against the cabinets.

"Fuck chris please continue I was so close" I whine through suppressed breathes, pulling a face at him and he just smiles at my neediness.

"I don't think this was enough to satisfy me though" he says as he waves his two fingers that he just licked clean in front of my face before releasing the hold on my neck and gripping my thighs with his hands.  He aggressively digs his hands into my thighs and pulls me to the edge of the counter. He kneels down in front of me placing my legs over his shoulders and I bite my lip in anticipation.

He kisses the inside of my thighs teasingly, slowly moving his soft lips closer to my clothed heat. He places a gentle kiss over my clothed wetness before shifting my panties to the side exposing my cunt to the cool kitchen air causing me to gasp. He stares up at me as he licks a line from my hole up to my clit before pressing a soft kiss to it. 

"Fuck chris please" I beg, bucking my hips up to try and create friction against his face but he holds my legs firmly in place.

"Please what? Use your words sweetheart" 

"Fuck please Chris I need you I need your mouth on me"

"Good girl" he smirks as he places his lips around my clit and begins to suck. He snakes his hand around my leg and puts his fingers in me, curling them up into my spongy walls.

I instinctively buck my hips against his face starting to grind against his fingers inside me and he lets out a gutteral moan causing his mouth to vibrate around my throbbing clit sending waves of pleasure throughout my body.

He removes his fingers and replaces them with his tongue and starts to draw tight circles around my clit with his thumb and I moan, gripping his hair to help guide his tongue further inside me.

"Fuck you're so fucking good for me" he says against my slick before diving his tongue back inside. 

The knot in my stomach snaps and my legs shake around his shoulders as he continues to tongue fuck me through my high. He retracts his tongue from my slick once my walls stop convulsing around his tongue and he wipes my waves of arousal off his face on his hoodie sleeve. 

He helps me move my legs from his shoulders and he stands up bringing his lips back to mine once again so I can taste the mess I made all over his tongue. 

Our lips moving against each other instinctively, tongues swirling around, teeth clashing. And he continues to rub my clit gently with his thumb, the overstimulation burning causing me to moan loudly in his mouth.

"Fuck chris too much" I say between moans as I try to continue to kiss him through the pressure that starts to rebuild in my stomach.

But the moment gets interrupted by the sound of the garage door shutting downstairs. We both look at each other eyes wide in shock.

"Fuck" we both say in unison as I stumble off of the counter and Chris tucks his rock hard dick up in the waistband of his sweats. 

We both eradically pace around the kitchen trying to find something to do that looks normal as Matt and nicks voices get closer and closer by the second. 

I quickly hop into the chair I was sitting in when they left fixing my underwear and shorts as best I can and Chris stands awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen trying to shake out his messed up hair as Nick and Matt turn the corner and continue their walk into the kitchen.

Matt places the grocery bags on the counter and him and Nick continue their conversation, oblivious to the sexual tension flooding the air.

Suddenly they stop and hesitate as they both shoot questioning glances between me and Chris. 

"Everything okay in here?" Matt asks looking directly at me as he starts to unload the items from the grocery bag onto the counter.

"Yeah what's with the awkward silence, usually you two don't ever shut the fuck up." Nick adds as he picks up the brownie box to double check the instructions before heating up the oven.

Chris and I look at each other and smile in unison, our ridiculous laughs breaking the awkward tension.

"Yeah yeah we're good" Chris says patting Nick on the back.

I stand up to help Matt with the missing brownie ingredients, "yeah it's all good guys let's make some fucking brownies" I say picking up the eggs.

MATT'S POV 

Nick and I park in the garage and as I'm grabbing the bags from the back seat I can hear muffled moans coming from inside. I snap my attention to Nick standing in front of the car to see if he heard what I did but he's still yapping about the sweet cashier from cvs who checked us out. 

Nick opens the door and I make a note to close it as hard as I can so they know we've made it back home, hopefully interrupting whatever it is they've gotten up to while we've been gone. 

Nick shoots me a questioning look, "okay calm down what did the door do to you?" He jokes poking at my clear annoyance which for nicks sake, doesn't know the direct source, that being Chris hooking up with our best friend.

We make our way up the stairs and as soon as we turn the corner into the kitchen the smell of her arousal fills my nose and I inhale deeply trying to take it what I can, my mouth beginning to water.

I place the bags gently on the counter and start to unload the items trying hard to focus on my conversation with Nick and not the annoying smirk that paints Chris's face, the glow of her arousal still shimmering over his lips. Fuck.

Nick sensing my annoyance and the awkward silence between my brother and best friend, stops mid sentence and shoots me a questioning glare which I return with my own glare and shrug my shoulders, turning my attention to my best friend sitting awkwardly at the table. 

"Everything okay in here?" I ask staring intensely into her eyes as I continue to empty the items from the bags. She looks back at me and her cheeks instantly flush before breaking our stare and looking towards Chris. 

Nick adds, "Yeah what's with the awkward silence, usually you two don't ever shut the fuck up." I chuckle to myself as I watch him turn the oven on. 

I noticed her and Chris exchange a knowing glance before they burst out laughing. I grit my teeth at their reaction, Chris annoyingly saying "yeah yeah we're good" patting Nick on the back and thankfully it's Nick who stands closer to him cause i would have swung on him right then and there for sticking his face between the legs of my girl.

She gets up and walks over to me a smile planted on her perfect and fucked out face. She stands beside me the heat of her body pressing against my side as she helps me gather the ingredients.

"Yeah it's all good guys let's make some fucking brownies" she says as she picks up the egg carton. I let out a heavy sigh and she shoots me a quick side glance with a raised brow. I decide to suffocate my jealousy with a hard swallow and smile back at her.

As we start mixing the missing ingredients in all I can think about is how much I regret wanting these fucking brownies.

a/n - let me know what ya guys thinkkkkkk <3

updated a/n - part 2 posted below MWAH xx

[bloodfiendarling]

𝓫𝓪𝓭 𝓽𝓮𝓪𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓪 𝓫𝓪𝓭 𝓼𝓽𝓾𝓭𝓮𝓷𝓽

pair — rich student!reader x lecturer!ratio

wc — ~600

contains — dom reader, sub character, cock can be seen as a strap, written with mtf reader in mind, porn with little plot, college au, blowjobs (reader receiving), teacher x student (both adults), blackmailing, dubcon, power imbalance, picture taking

i cant get him out of my head all week .. oh my god . i need a hot lecturer to suck me off bad .. euhg ... gomen ... ive been staring at pics of him .. and now i cant sleep because of him . ratiosama , youre so pretty .. please let me hit . pleas eplease please please plea

you flip through the pages lazily, looking bored out of your mind. the book you were reading.. agh, how boring. you couldn’t understand why ratio found it so interesting. and ah — seems like you found the page he left himself off on.

“so,” you used your leg to push against your professor’s head, making him choke a little before adjusting. as soon as your leg relaxed ratio finally slipped your cock out of his mouth, coughing — you made sure he didn’t move an inch. “what’s so interesting about this book, anyway?”

he stayed quiet at the question. not a talker, huh?

well, you understood his reasons. he’s been failing you for so-called incompetence. purposely screwing you over just because he didn’t like you.. well — at least you managed to get him into his position. choking on your cock in your dorm of all places. maybe not having roommates was a good idea.

all because you had some suggestive pictures of him you got.. with your own ways. not like it mattered how. “sooo, ratio..” placing the book down beside you on the couch, you lean down and grab onto his face, forcing those reddish-pink eyes into a death glare. “you gonna improve my grades or what?”

he just looked at you with that same, pissed off face. the one you’d see whenever you passed him by the hallways. yeah, he really wasn’t a talker. hah.

you sighed, waving your phone at him — showing off those pictures again. you swore you saw his eye twitch. “you want me to spread this, or, like —”

you turned your phone around, adjusting it onto his face — making sure the position was clear as day. dr. veritas ratio, between someone’s, no, his student’s legs to take cock like a good boy. it was almost amusing.

“what are y—” he almost wanted to lash out. but he knew better — not only was his entire career in your hands with just a few pictures, but you had daddy’s influence. you could most definitely ruin his life even more. only blackmailing him was probably a relief with what you could be doing to him. “you gonna comply or not?”

he nods — rather reluctantly. it felt horrible to obey. he wanted to do at least something to somehow defend himself, but it’s not like he can. “so be a good boy, will you, veritas?” prying open his mouth with one hand, the other was tangled onto his dark, purple hair, positioning it better so he could suck you off.

“you pissed me off, you m’gonna make you do more, yeah?”

with those words, you forced him to bottom out on your cock. he choked and coughed — but god did his throat feel good. you could see those pretty eyes rolling back with his brows furrowed, both hands on your thighs to push himself off only for you to get rougher.

you guided his head, bobbing it up and down your dick. even if you could tell he was inexperienced with his mouth — damn it still felt nice. that soft tongue of his swirling around your cock, messily coating it with his saliva. after you’ve gotten a good pace on him, he started doing it on his own accord. it felt kinda nice to be forcing him down your length, but this is fine.

finally — he was able to spit out your cock — coughing again. “aghck– hnnng..♡” suddenly, he looked like he was the one trying to seduce you. looking up with those eyes, drool running down his chin with his tongue lolled out like a pathetic little doggy. you didn’t know — nor care, if it was intentional or not — you could not just pass this opportunity and not snap a pic. was this a prestigious lecturer or a slut? you almost couldn’t tell.

oh you’re sure you’ll be seeing him like this more often.

hsr masterlist ♥︎

[hoshiros]

—✯ R U MINE?

AM Masterlist

cw. 18+ mdni. gen "just the tip" narumi, afab!reader. no condoms, lap sitting, dry humping, biting/marking, creampie, teasing, p→v sex, lots of swearing, attempts at humour lol...

NARUMI GEN has been ignoring you for six hours and thirty-four minutes.

In the time since you've arrived to his room, you've taken a nap, had some yakisoba, brushed your teeth, went on a nice doom scroll, and gotten back into bed.

And Gen... has barely looked in your direction, let alone spoken to you.

Had you known that buying him the DLC for his all-time favourite title would lead to you being abandoned, you would have gotten him something more practical—a new comforter, or multivitamins, or condoms, for goodness sake.

But here you are, dangling off the edge of his futon with blood rushing to your head. In your haziness, you can just make out his body filtering the light of his console. The soft sounds of the game fill the room, driving you to the brink of insanity.

"Gen," you whine quietly from the bed, watching him shuffle in his spot on the floor to crack his stiff back. "Come to bed."

"A couple more minutes," he huffs, turning around on his knees so you can see his chest. "Almost done."

Even with his promise, his attention never leaves the screen, the blue light cast onto his face making the circles under his eyes all the more evident. You pout, leering at his console, then him.

The noise that leaves you is indignant, irritation rising into your throat until it wills you to slip off the futon. Gen's eyes briefly flicker up to scrutinize you when you thud unceremoniously onto the floor, but then he pays you no mind while you shuffle over to him on your hands and knees.

"You're a jerk," you murmur, ducking under his arms to snake your way against his body. He grunts but lets you wiggle your way into his arms anyway, holding the console up high so you can't obstruct it.

"And you're clingy," he jabs back, though his words are devoid of malice.

He adjusts you carefully so that he can wrap his arms around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder to see his screen. Your arms wrap around his neck until you're snug against him, finally warm and comfortable in his lap.

Your satisfaction lasts about three minutes. Again, he's ignoring you even though you're cradled against him.

You resort to desperate measures.

It starts with an adjustment that makes his eyes narrow. At first, it's subtle—the slightest roll of your hips and the faintest of friction as you settle deeper into his lap.

Gen can't tell if it's on purpose, the way you're so perfectly grinding against his dick that's getting hard at an alarming rate for what could be no reason.

Then, it's clear as day what your intention is when you release your hug around his neck to favour raking your nails down his chest with a sultry look.

His hand flies from his joycon to your waist, lip wobbling to give away his weak conviction as he scolds you. "Quit that," he hisses quietly.

The pads of his fingers roughly squeeze at your flesh, trying to force your body into submissive immobility. Still, you double down, gently sinking into the divot of his lap and keening into him.

"I'm lonely," you say, words so breathless that he can hardly hear them over his game. He shivers, and the expression he gives you sends a lick of heat down your spine.

You can't decipher whether he wants to be stern or if he wants to beg for just one more delicious swirl of your hips—perhaps both, though the words seem stuck in his throat either way. You smile sweetly knowing how easy he is to have.

Despite everything, Gen loves the simplicity of being yours.

He doesn't need to think twice. In fact, he'd rather be mauled to pieces by a Kaiju than do anything but be yours. That's why he gives in so easily—setting down the console so fast that he doesn't even save his progress.

Gen barely gets halfway through his complaint, muttering about how you'll be the death of him, when your lips find the front of his throat. "Shit," he curses, both hands roaming up your sides. He stops at your ribs, giving you a look of disapproval.

"Play fair," he warns.

"I am playing fair," you argue, then proceed to nudge his jaw with your nose. He sucks in a sharp breath as you pepper kisses up his jaw to the space just below his ear, not missing even a centimetre of his skin.

Gritting his teeth, he does everything he can to not give in to you right away. It would be totally lame for him to fall for your little ploy.

"Gen... Gen," you chant his name softly between pants, kisses littered down his neck until you reach his Adam's apple. It bobs violently as you linger there, silently considering how you should torment him next.

His warm hands dip down to where your thighs meld into your hips, unfurling the bottom of your shirt so he can feel the expanse of skin beneath the pads of his fingers.

Gen wastes no time tracing over your sides up to your chest. He's shameless in his grabbing and pinching, making sure to remember every inch of your body as if that would give him control of the situation back.

You draw in a slow breath, curling into his touch until he can feel the rise and fall of your chest against his. He reaches for the console, the screen dim now that he's been inactive.

"Need to save," he grumbles.

He feels the smooth plastic of his joycon for only a millisecond before his hand flies back to your hip. The reason? He's about to do something as humiliating as cum in his pants because of a little dry humping.

"Did you get it?" You ask breathlessly, feeling the hardness in his sweats pressed firmly against you. 

"Yup," he lies, rutting into you like a teenager who can't control himself. "Totally."

Gen is going to lose it, actually. He can feel every bit of self-control slipping. (Though, he's never been good at it in the first place.)

“I want you.”

Each word is interrupted by another press of your lips against his warm skin up to his tight jaw.

"Ran out of condoms, you know that. You try’na kill me?" Gen asks with a dry swallow, patience wearing thin as you kiss the corner of his lips.

“I want you,” you say once more into his mouth as if it were a spell being cast. “Need you. Please? Just a bit? You can pull out, baby.” You wiggle your hips side to side, gently coaxing him into giving you just an inch.

Fuck. How could he say no to that?

It's embarrassing how fast he frees his dick from the constraints of his pants and boxers, as if he were just waiting for you to ask politely. If you didn't look as riled up as he did, you probably would have called him out on it.

Thank god you're too busy panting into his mouth as he clumsily helps you out of your shorts to leave your bottom bare in his lap.

The tip of his dick kisses your hole and he groans, eyes glued to the way you wet him with so much slick. He runs his length up and down your folds, thumb pressed against the vein so nicely that the friction is electrifying.

Even so, he feels bad not making you cum at least once first. You watch in surprise as he spits into his palm and fists himself a few times, coating his member in the hopes that you'll take him easier.

The noise you make when he first pushes the head past your entrance is addicting.

You curse in sync, soft whimpers matching as he sinks shallowly into you. Gen tries to speak but words fail him, so he opts to nip at your throat instead—a silent apology for not helping you cum first.

It takes a minute for you to adjust to the stretch. He leaves a trail of gentle kisses up and down the side of your neck, relishing in the tiny gasps and moans that escape you in the process.

You give his hips one firm squeeze with your thighs to tell him you're ready to move, and—

"Oh, shit," he moans, your walls squeezing him when you sink down and ride back up like you have dozens of times before. It never gets old.

He wants to move his hips, too. He wants to fuck you until you're a puddle in his lap. Then he gets the urge to cum humiliatingly early again and bites the inside of his cheek to push the thought away.

If he didn't know any better, he would think that unsatisfied look twisting in your face was nothing. However, he knows you have even less self-control than he does.

And what do you know? Gen chokes on his spit when you sink down noticeably further.

“Hah…” He laughs humourlessly, breath ghosting in your ear. “You fuckin’ asshole.”

“I slipped,” you argue weakly, dragging your hips upward until his aching tip is just about to spill out of you. Then you glide back down, and the way your pussy swallows up the extra length once again nearly makes him cry out.

“You said just the tip,” Gen warns, but the way he buries himself yet another inch deeper says it all.

“I’m not the only one who needs that reminder,” you tease, jaw falling slack as he shallowly humps into you. 

The way he fucks you is sloppy, hips rolling into yours with no real rhythm. Heat boils in his stomach, and by the time the fog clears from his heady mind, he realizes far too late that he's filled you with another inch.

Gen chokes again, groaning into your skin while he sinks his fangs into your shoulder. It's so good—too good, he can't fucking help himself.

"You're so annoying, y'know that?" He mutters. You whine high and needy in response, hands wandering up his shoulders to wrap around his neck and tangle in his hair.

Screw words. He'll just tell you the only other way he knows how. Screw you and the temptation he can never resist. Screw just fucking you a little bit.

Gen loves doing things halfway, but never this. Never you.

He nudges his way up to your ear, nipping gently at the lobe. "You're in for it now."

And suddenly his hand is trailing down your stomach and between your thighs. You sputter when the pad of his thumb squeezes against your clit.

"Gen?" You squeak in surprise. He kisses his way to your cheek, lips lingering there for a moment before his thumb starts circling around the sensitive bundle of nerves.

"Shut up," he murmurs, relishing in the way his deliberate movements draw breathy pants from your throat. Your walls squeeze him deliciously, nearly milking his poor, leaky cock.

Gen was always so mean to you—it's because he could never get tired of the soft sounds spilling from your swollen lips. There was no boss fight, no new console unboxing; nothing could ever feel as good as the way your walls hug him.

He finally rolls up into your warmth, pushing and filling you up until his hips are flush against yours. The wet smack is deafening. He's so fucked. There's no way he'll be coherent enough to pull out in time.

"Look what you did," he laughs, but it comes short. Groaning instead, he buries his face against you to kiss down the valley of your chest and back up to your shoulder where he stops to bite. "How 'm I supposed to pull out now?"

Painting a picture of flooding you with his cum until you're full and leaking makes his cock throb inside of you, earning him a pleased noise. You bounce with pathetic effort, hip stopped in place with one hand while the other works you undone between your thighs.

"Don't know what I'm gonna do with you."

"Just be quiet and cum inside of me, Gen," you huff, conviction finally thrown out the window in favour of having your cunt stuffed with his spend.

"Nuh-uh. You said to pull out. You'd kick my ass later."

"I won't—" you gasp, his dick abusing a soft, spongy spot that makes your eyes roll back. "I will not!"

"Nah. You asked for this."

You open your mouth to protest again, only for it to snap shut when he thrusts into you so roughly that your voice leaves you.

"Cat got your tongue?"

You glare at your boyfriend, though you look to be on the verge of tears. The sight makes him all the needier, chasing the high he knows is coming.

"Just kiddin', babe," he snickers. "I'll give you what you want."

And he does. He always does.

Gen finally releases your hip, allowing you to ride him properly. He matches your rhythm, the depth he reaches causing your knees to shake against the floor.

He fixates on the glistening ring of white at the base of his cock where your pussy swallows him up. It's too much. He loves this so much. He loves you so much.

There's only about ten things in the entire world that could make Gen put down a good game. Half of them are Kaiju related. The other half all have your name attached to them.

He gives you a look, knowing and sly as he rolls your clit gently between his fingers. That's all it takes for you to topple into his chest, shivering and squirming while you cum on his dick.

Gen only lasts another few rolls of his hips until he's spilling inside of you, shoving his face into the space between your shoulder and neck to hide his pathetic strain.

Your pulse races against his cheek. There's a sharpness in your breath as you catch it, body still trembling in his lap with every minute shift of his hips. 

His switch makes a noise to tell him his battery is low. Gen pulls away from the crook of your neck just enough to look at the blinking notification. He's just about to reach over to save when—

"More," you rasp into his ear.

His hand falters in the air, and the twitch of his cock is telling enough.

"I gotcha," he grunts, fist clenched tight as he draws it back to wrap around your back and pull you flush into his chest.

If his console dies, he has no qualms making up that six hours and thirty-four minutes of gameplay again. An easy price to pay as long as he gets to be yours.

[kawhh]

could we have more baby trapping jack?

I go a bit feral for baby trapping Jack. I mean, let's face it, I go feral over most things lmao.

Warnings: He's fucking with the condom, unprotected sex. Ignoring your panic, manhandling you. Distracting you from thinking about what he's doing. Saliva talk.

He wouldn't be that medically sneaky unless he has help. Wouldn't have the patience to mess with your birth control. Wouldn't have the patience to track cycles, to sneak you anything.

He always wants to rely on brute strength to get the job done. He wants to be the one to knock you up himself. Wants control over the situation, wants it to be his cum. His cock. His arms restraining your legs around his body as you panic.

He knows you can't escape him. Can't do anything. You were just whining like a good girl, why'd you stop? Was it because he pulled back? Is it because you can seem him playing with the condom around his cock?

He just wants to get comfortable. Faking noises of pain like the condom is too tight on him, trying to soothe you. The more you move, the more you struggle, the harder it'll be for him to make sure you're fully flooded with him.

If you won't calm down, he's leaning down towards you, smothering the panic with his tongue in your mouth. His casual strokes against your own, sliding against the roof of your mouth, filling every last inch of you. He wants your brain numb.

Pumping saliva into your mouth with his tongue, swirling it around so it coats every nerve, every taste bud.

He can see the haze creeping over you, the way your panic fades. Edging the condom further down his cock with every little pathetic noise that leaves you. Inch by inch, nice and slow.

He can't resist thrusting back into you, needing you to take it off yourself. You're clenching around him, unknowingly yanking off the condom yourself. Your desperate grip around his cock tight enough to force it.

He's fully focused on it. Watching it slide further up his cock with every thrust. It's taunting him, teasing him. Sliding up but not coming off. Will you just fucking let him cum inside you already? He doesn't care if none of this is your fault. That you have no clue about his intentions, too focused on trying to swallow everything he's forcing on you.

He's cumming the second the condom finally comes off, his eyes widening as he forces himself as deep as he can go inside your cunt. He wasn't prepared. If he spilled a fucking drop, he's doing this again tonight. It wasn't supposed to happen like this.

Hooking your legs further around his waist as you start to claw at him, feeling him cum inside you snapping you out of your haze. He needs you to stay here. His assault on your mouth ongoing.

You need to stay there until it takes. Until he knows you're his forever.

[keij0h]

⌗ COME RIGHT BACK ┆ jeonghan

After a tiring session of working, your boyfriend is more than willing to ease you down, in a very certain way.

CAUTION : profanities. smut warning. afab reader. oral f receiving. self indulgent.

tap to listen !

02:14

Your eyes threatened to shut as you glanced at the time, blowing a sigh before slumping deeper into your chair. The silence was sickening, along with the pile of paperwork placed shabbily on your table that hadn't been untouched since the last few hours.

A small thud sound echoed as you laid your head down the table surface, closing his eyes for a brief moment.

Delays aren't really your thing, hence the desiring need to finish everything in one go. Though with your drowsy state, that seemed like the toughest thing to do, considering you put yourself in this whole loop anyway.

Though perhaps you were a bit too weary to even hear the door behind you creaking open. A shiver ran up your spine as you suddenly felt your shoulders being grabbed gently, making you perk up at the sudden warmth.

“Hannie?” you groggily called out, barely making out the familiar figure of your boyfriend behind you through half lidded eyes.

“Yeah, lovey?” he hummed with a vague smile, swiftly turning your swivel chair around to face him as he kneeled down, gently placing both his hands on your face to get a good look at your exhausted state.

He examined you with so much intent, his lashes subtly fluttering as he shifted from your eyes to your lips, leaning in to place a quick peck on them. “You can't sleep here, you'll hurt your back.”

A tired smile crept up your mouth, fighting the urge to yawn. “I have to finish this though. Just go to bed without me, I'll be done soon.”

“You know I can't sleep without you,” Jeonghan argued, nuzzling his cheek against yours. “Missed you.”

It wasn't all the time where you'd see him be this desperate, though you also kept in mind that he wasn't one to hold back with what he wanted. And besides, there was no way he was letting the love of his love spend the whole night slouched on the table.

“I don't think I'll be able to sleep anyway,” you breathed out a chuckle, letting your fingers fondle around his hair as he littered soft kisses in your jaw.

“Then I'll give you company..” he mumbled through your neck, not missing the way his voice lowered deftly as you exhaled — a slight idea on where this could be going.

“Baby, I'm tired─”

“Which gives me enough reason to take care of you.” he interrupts, lifting his head to face you again, his hooded eyes showing that hint of lust as you nipped on your lip.

“Please, baby?” he pleaded softly, running a hand through your exposed thighs, his thumb playing with the fabric of your shorts. “You trust me, right?”

“With my whole life.” you added firmly, nodding in emphasization. The sides of Jeonghan’s mouth tugging into a smile, taking it as a clear answer to get started.

“Just relax, alright?” he mumbled while placing a kiss on your temple, gently pushing you back to let you lean further in your seat as he remained in his kneeling position. “Gonna make you feel good.”

You softly flinched as you felt his hand slightly lift your thigh, leaning down to place chaste kisses on the soft flesh as he reached up to pull down on your silk shorts until it reached the heel of your foot, letting it fall on the floor.

Your breath heaved in anticipation, watching as he busied himself between your legs, taking his delicate time on placing open-mouth kisses in your inner thighs, the heat on your core intensifying.

Your hand found its way on the top of his head, biting back a mewl as the pad of his fingers caressed your clothed; damp pussy, gently dragging in circles, making you squirm under his touch.

“Han..” you sigh out, an amused glint present in Jeonghan’s eyes as he swirled his fingers around, his free hand tugging down on the material of your panties, pulling it off in one go.

“Always so pretty for me.” he coos, taking in the sight of your glistening cunt. You sucked in a breath as you felt his thumb drag over your folds, tenderly spreading it with his ring and middle finger before leaning down to run his tongue right in the middle.

“Shit.” you whined, subconsciously grinding your hips up for more friction, Jeonghan’s grip getting firm to steady you as his tongue pushed a bit further in you. “Oh— fuck, yes..”

He hummed against your cunt, the vibrations of his voice sending a wave of a similar shaky sensation in you. You watched through half lidded eyes as he lapped you up. He looked so pretty. Your legs were over his shoulders while his eyes were closed, leaving his mouth agape and tongue out, the sloppy; wet sounds adding more to the lasciviousness of the sight.

“S-so good.” you managed to stutter out, his wet muscle flicking against your clit, forcefully pushing his head down, your lewd juices now starting to drip down to his chin. “More, baby, please..”

All the tense agony you had earlier had now seemingly disappeared, now replaced with a feeling of bliss as all you could muster are soft moans and whines of his name.

“I.. y-you’re gonna─”

“Mhm? ‘m gonna make you cum?” he panted, rubbing his fingers rapidly over your bundle of nerves as you cried out, his hot breath making you perk up. “Right on my face, lovey.”

“Oh, god—”

Your eyes rolled back in delight, simultaneously pulling on the strands of Jeonghan’s hair, earning a groan from him. “Just like that.. ah, fuck.”

You could barely hear the small babbles you gave, finding it hard to even open your eyes as his tongue did wonders, making you feel so full despite clenching at nothing. He indeed kept his word, he’d make you feel so good.

“Han— shit, ‘m so close.” you practically begged, almost suffocating him between your thighs as you got closer and closer to your release.

Another hum emitted from him, that being your last straw as he picked up the pace of his tongue, shuddering as you moaned out, the knot on your stomach faltering while you released right on his mouth. With the amount of pleasure, you barely noticed Jeonghan lapping everything up, leaving nothing but the glistening sight of your swollen clit.

“God, I love you..” you breathlessly say, almost incoherently as you throw your head back, earning a soft chuckle from Jeonghan. He stood up from his kneeling position, wiping the excess liquids on his chin with the back of his hand before leaning over you, wasting no time in pressing a deep kiss over your lips.

It was all the truth though. You love him, and this whole image taking place was a great explanation on why. He can be a little shit at times, but honestly, he’d do everything for the sake of your pleasure. And you were in no place to complain.

“Baby,” you pull away, laughing. “I can literally taste myself.”

Meanwhile, a smirk went up to his face, not missing the way he bit his bottom lip — that was still a bit swollen from all the meddling he did.

“Uhuh?” he hummed, kissing the corner of your lips. “Heavenly, right?”

a/n : I’m feeling major homesickness rn so I just needed the excuse to write the comfort I need as of now 👊🏻 hope this does the same to whoever’s reading. <3

and apparently, I’ve reached 1k+ likes?? that’s insane and thank you thank you thank YOUUU to everyone who helped me gain that. 😽

[lvstrucks]

i still miss the smoke

lando norris x reader

warnings: smut (minors do not interact!)

You hadn’t returned to the bar in months. Since breaking up with Lando you’d avoided it like the plague, knowing how that one bar had been such a staple in your relationship. The two of you had spent countless nights in the hazy atmosphere, drinking pints either with a group of mutual friends or just the two of you. It was the first place Lando had told you he loved you a few years ago, reaching to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear and leaning in close to whisper those three words. 

Now, it mocked you each time you had to walk past. The location app on your phone clearly still hadn’t got the message about the breakup, and as much as you hated yourself for it, you couldn’t help but feel a pang in your stomach each time you saw Lando’s little green location dot hovering there. Did he not miss you at all? Was he not reminded of you; your scent, your hair, your real laugh when you’d tip your head all the way back each time he stepped in through the doors and sat at your regular table, that one seat left barren since you’d left him?

After the breakup, you’d distanced yourself from the friend group. You’d told yourself the only way to move on was to start a completely clean slate, but it clearly hadn’t worked. The only outcome seemed now you had no one to ask for updates on how Lando was doing, only that glowing green dot. Was he out having a good time, or was he waiting for you there? As you slipped on a black dress and swiped lipstick on, you realized there was only one way to find out. 

Lando stared down into the bottom of his glass, watching the way the amber liquid swirled endlessly with his gentle movement. He tried to force a smile, crack a joke, but his efforts fell flat as he caught a glance of the perpetually empty seat next to him. 

“Uh, Lando.” coughed a friend from across the table. 

Lando looked up, startled from his thoughts. He gave the friend a quizzical look, following his line of sight and his heart caught in his chest as he saw you walking in. You were all alone, looking slightly unsure of your surroundings. Lando swallowed thickly, watching intently as  you chattered lightly to the bartender, ordering your drink. When it was handed to you and you brought it to your lips, another friend from Lando’s table decided to take the initiative and called you over, gesturing to your usual seat. 

“Hey, guys.” you said quietly, setting down your drink and uncertainly sitting down next to Lando. 

You were met with a chorus of hello and how are you? from your old friends. It was slightly awkward, but the air felt charged with a static hope. 

As you caught up with the group, Lando kept quiet, looking down at the table. The only acknowledgement of you he allowed himself was letting his knee knock gently sideways, resting against yours and he had to focus on breathing manually as he felt the electric charge running from your leg to his. 

“Lando?” you say quietly while your friends are busy chatting amongst themselves. “Can we- Can I talk to you? Alone?”

Lando forces himself to swallow his excitement, determined not to get his hopes up. He nods, standing quickly from the table and leading you outside. He leans against the brick wall outside the bar, the moon and streetlights illuminating the slight frizz on top of his unruly curls. 

“Yeah?” he speaks up finally. 

You blink for a moment, taking in his features. 

“I miss you.” you say simply. 

Lando looks up at you faster than he should have. 

“Yeah?” he repeats himself dumbly. 

“Yeah.” you nod. Lando simply looks at you, so you decide you might have to take initiative. It’s only fair really: you were the one who ended it - you would have to be the one to take the lead now. 

“Do you miss me? Just a little bit?” you ask, taking his hand gently. 

He doesn’t pull away, just nods slowly. 

“Yeah,” he says, a third time. “More than a little bit.” He seems to break out of his trance at his own admission, taking a step closer and wrapping his strong arms around you. All you can do is mirror his actions, burying your face in his shoulder and breathing in the scent of him. He feels like coming home. 

Lando squeezes you tighter, throwing caution to the wind with the feeling of having you back in his arms. 

“Wanna come back to mine?” he asks, grinning a big toothy grin that no one has seen in months when you nod and tuck yourself into his side. 

Lando doesn’t take his hands off you once as you enter his dark apartment. He doesn’t even bother letting go to switch on the lights, just leading you through the hallway to his bedroom. You don’t mind at all. You’re sure you could find your way around his apartment with your eyes closed still. 

He lays you down on the bed gently, leaning over you and playing with a strand of your loose hair. When he kisses you again, it’s the softest thing you’ve ever felt. 

“Gotta tell me what you want, pretty.” he murmurs while kissing down the column of your throat. 

“You, Lan. I want you.” you all but cry out. Lando’s stomach tightens at the nickname. God, he’d missed that. 

He pulls of his shirt and unbuckles his pants while you wriggle out of your dress. There’s no time for formalities. 

“I’m gonna make you feel good, yeah?” Lando assures you as he scooches down the beg, tracing lines on your thighs as he kisses your legs open. He breathes deeply at the sight of you, trying desperately to control himself. 

“So so pretty.” he mumbles into you as he presses kisses to your folds. “All for me.”

Lando looks up, watching your face carefully for any signs of discomfort as he slips one finger into you, just up to his first knuckle. You whine, arching your back slightly in search of more. He pushes his finger into you fully, pulling it out slightly before pushing in another as well. 

“You like, baby?” he hums, breaking the intense eye contact as he lowers his mouth over you. Gently brushing over your clit, he giggles as you throw your head back, the sensation unbearably good. He presses his open mouth onto your clit, beginning to lick and suck while he pumped his fingers in and out of you. 

“Lan, baby,” you gasp, one hand coming down to grab onto the back of his head to ground yourself. Your fingers brush against the fade at the back of his head, reaching only stubble and feeling his neck flex as he works on you. “I’m so close..”

Lando hums into your clit, not stopping for a second as he mumbles reassurances. “I got you baby.” 

You turn your head, sighing into the pillow as you come undone over his face. He chuckles as he pulls out his fingers once you’ve stillled. 

“That any good for you, babygirl?” he asks cheekily, licking off his fingers. 

All you can do is giggle breathlessly as he scooches himself up the bed, high enough to sit back on his heels and line himself up with your clenching entrance. 

He sighs in relief as he presses into you, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead as your bodies meld together. 

“Ow,” you whisper at the stretch. “I forgot..I forgot how big you were.” Lando immediately stills, reaching to give your hand a squeeze as you get used to the burn. 

“‘M sorry baby,” he whispers as he presses kisses to your chin, watching with concern at the pain on your face. 

“‘s it ok for me to move now?” he asks as your face relaxes and you nod, tapping at his lower back to spur him on. 

“Please.” you breathe. 

Lando snaps his hips into yours, resting his head in the crook of your shoulder, a place he’s missed dearly. You wrap your legs around his hips, wanting him impossibly closer as he rocks you into the plush bedsheets. 

“You’re so warm and wet for me,” Lando gasps. “I won’t last long.” “That’s ok,” you encourage him, pressing a quick kiss to the side of his head. 

Lando groans and pushes himself up onto his knees as he lifts your legs up, throwing them on each shoulder as he leans down closer to you again, and the new angle is so good you don’t even mind being practically folded in half. 

“You gonna come for me again?” he asks, face screwing up into an expression you know all too well. He brings one hand between your bodies to press on your clit while the other still grips onto your hand for dear life. 

“Yeah,” you whine, feeling the familiar knot in your stomach tighten and your toes begin to curl. 

“Lando-” you try to warn him, but he’s already grunting and biting his lower lip, forehead resting on yours. 

“Fuck- I love- I love you” he cries out accidentally as his hips stutter into the back of your thighs, filling you quickly. 

The room is filled by a comfortable silence, broken only by the pants and deep breaths of both you and Lando as you come back down. He lays behind you, stroking a pattern into your hip as he nuzzles into your neck, on the brink of sleep. You know you’ve only got a minute or two before he’s asleep, but you can’t help but open the can of worms. 

“Do you?”

Lando hums into your ear, not understanding your question. 

“Do you still love me?” you question. “Can you still?” 

Lando barely hesitates before he nods, glad his blushing cheeks are hidden behind your hair. 

“Yeah.” he confirms. “I do. I couldn’t- I can’t stop.”

You turn in his arms, bringing one hand to stroke his burning cheek. 

“I’m sorry.” you whisper quietly. “I’m so, so sorry for leaving you. I just couldn’t deal with everything- but it was so much worse without you.”

“I know, baby,” Lando murmurs, pressing a light kiss to your forehead as you curl into his arms. “It’s you and me, yeah?”

thank you for reading! feedback or reblogs are always appreciated <3

[justpeaxchy]

Warnings(?): none. Fluff and more fluff. Hiccup gets flustered, so does reader, so win-win.

Hiccup's hands fiddled with the charcoal pencil he had carefully sharpened as the dragon beside him gently gazed at his rider with curiosity. The new island they had discovered was covered with shades of orange from the trees that spiked up at a height bigger than he could ever imagine of climbing on. He had muttered the idea that they could, just maybe, find another night fury. He knew it was a far-fetched idea, making him feel a small pang of guilt.

"I know, bud. You never know though..." His eyes swirled with a deep green that matched the grass around them as he gently rubbed the dragon's chin, not yet noticing the approaching figure behind them.

It was only when Toothless had tilted his head up to glance behind them that Hiccup looked back to see you slowly making your way over to them, a delicate smile crossing your lips. "So, you've come to run away again?" You found your place next to Hiccup as he lightly scoffed, reaching out his hand for yours as you made yourself comfortable next to him while Toothless ran off to play with your dragon.

"Good afternoon to you as well, Milady." He guided your hands next to the charcoal pen he had put down, wanting you to continue the drawings on the map so he would have an excuse to gaze at you without being questioned. "And, no - not really. I mean, I guess you could say that." He muttered hesitantly, not fully paying attention to his words as you began to trace out more lines onto the paper.

You hummed, ignoring the fact that you started to feel his eyes on your form as you tried to push away the flutter in your chest. "Then, what? Going on another adventure with Toothless?" You felt your hand brush against his as you drew to the best of your abilities while he merely sighed, glancing at the trees that stood out brightly before them.

"Something like that.." Hiccup swept any remaining unruly hair out of his face as he absentmindedly leaned his head against your shoulder, causing you to questioningly gaze at him before going back to the map. He usually wasn't so... casual with the affection he showed you, despite being together for a couple of years. He has gotten more used to it, yes, but even simple actions like holding your hand for a longer amount of time or gently kissing your forehead took some time for him to regularly do. Not that you minded of course, as you yourself were new to it.

"Well, I'm not angry if that's what you're thinking." You mumbled, placing down the pencil and peeked at his face, which seemed calm and ethereal at the moment. Hiccup slightly lifted himself up from leaning on you, narrowing his eyes at your statement.

"I didn't take you to be-" he paused as if reconsidering what he would say, "- well, that angry at least." The young chief -to-be smiled as you rolled your eyes, your hands lifting up to his face as you gently brushed away any loose hairs, fighting off the urge to braid another piece of it.

"Trust me, I'm not angry. I just.." Your hands continued to wander around his face, stopping at his cheeks as he watched you intently. "..I was just thinking of why you wouldn't be at the dragon race today." You finished, managing to see both of the dragons fight over a large tree branch. You had a habit of worrying for Hiccup whenever he ran off like this, so when he would return he was usually met with crossed arms and a small smirk waiting for an explanation. He always assumed you'd be angry at him for it, but after a while he had realized you only cared for his safety and, if anything, wanted to go with him.

"Just know, Hiccup - you're probably the smartest person I've ever met, and I know when you're out here with Toothless, you're most likely discovering something new like.. this-" you gestured to the new land that surrounded the both of you, grinning at the color of the trees, "and after that you're probably off to create some new invention that'll help us a bunch." You thought over the many things Hiccup had done for Berk, despite how they treated him at one point. You never participated in what they said, instead feeling pity for him as a young girl and wishing that he would show them that he is capable of something.

Hiccup found himself avoiding your gaze, choosing instead to watch the dragon's roll around in the dirt as they continued to fight over the tree branch. "Where is this coming from all of a sudden..?" He thought for a moment that you wouldn't catch what he said but, nonetheless, you had most definitely heard the small grumble and you grinned once more as you went back to the map to see if there was anything else you could add.

"What? Can I not compliment my own future husband?" Your grin grew as you heard a struggled gasp from Hiccup, as if he had chocked on water at the unexpected statement. He still couldn't wrap his head around the fact that you were really his and would soon be his only wife. A sudden idea filled your mind as you heard him shuffle closer to you and the map, waiting for his further reaction.

"Well, no. I just - I just wasn't expecting that. Uhm.." Hiccup twiddled with the straps on his arms, unknowingly wanting to hear more of these 'compliments' from you. "S-so what are you drawing there?" He stated, as if completely forgetting it was the map he willingly allowed you to draw on.

"Ah, avoiding it, I see?" Your hand stopped sketching as you stole a glance at the taller figure beside you, noticing a slight shade of red dusting his cheeks. "Well, you can't escape my compliments, sir." Hiccup watched as you turned to fully face him, eyes glistening with mischief.

"What? W-who said I was avoiding it? " He went to pick up the charcoal pencil you placed back on the ground as you tried to make him look at you once more but he wouldn't budge. Your grin turned into a smirk as you casually leaned back on your arms, still taking him in.

"Hiccup, has anyone ever told you how pretty your eyes are by the way?" You watched as his movement became more rigid than they were before while he tried keeping his composure. "Y'know.. they really stand out every time I look at you. They match the forest in a way.." You hummed nonchalantly as if you were talking about the weather, watching Hiccup struggle against the blush that threatened to cover most of his face.

"Alright, yeah, I get it. Now-" He was interrupted as you swiftly stopped his hand from continuing to sketch, instead taking it from him rather gently and fix the rough edges he accidentally made. "Oh, my bad. I, uh-" He fumbled over his words, his brain not working with him at the moment and he questioned himself as to why he was acting in such a way. This wasn't the first time you did this but at the peak of his emotions from the earlier conversation with his father about becoming chief and then suddenly hearing your sweet talk did something to him that had him stop right in his tracks to hear every word you said, even if he was hesitant to accept some.

"I noticed you've gotten even better with riding Toothless. How's the wing suit coming along?" You playfully glanced at him as he stuttered over the right answer. "Nevermind, I know it's already great." You gently kissed Hiccup's nose as he sat there dumbfounded at your actions. Your eyes scanned his face as you told yourself to remember where all the freckles were located. "I like your freckles too.." you muttered, seeing him shake his head as he thought the grass was suddenly more interesting to look at.

You smiled as he said nothing, basking in the shade of red that was now visible from where you sat before watching the leaves on the trees around you both being gently swayed to the rhythm of the wind. "But in all seriousness, Hiccup. You're a great person. I just want you to see that. I'm not just complimenting you on your physical looks - although that is a huge bonus on my part-" you smirked back at him for a quick second as he cleared his throat to try and not choke on air, "I fell in love with you for who you are, Hiccup. Not because you're the chief's son, or because you were the first one to introduce dragons to us in this way, although that part is really awesome." You heard the two creatures behind you playfully growl as Toothless managed to win the branch before continuing, "I love you and all of your flaws. Even the ones that you think are flaws but are not. I want you to see yourself as someone that's not useless, Hiccup."

You were met with more shuffling as he turned to face you, his eyes holding something you couldn't pinpoint in words. "Nothing can make me change the fact that I love you, Hiccup. Even if I may get worried or a little upset with you sometimes.." You found yourself shuffling closer to the map, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed that he wasn't saying anything. "Anyway, you're too pretty to be mad at for a while-"

Your words never finished as you were lightly pulled away from the map to find Hiccup's lips on yours, startling you in every way possible while his other hand cupped your face to pull you even more closer to him than you already were. Time seemed to slow down, much to your delight, as he continued to take the lead; again, much to your surprise. His kiss was passionate, almost rough, as he gently caressed your face in his hand and you found yourself growing weak by the unspoken words his actions gave you; "I love you too, now shut up."

Hiccup would've continued but he had to breathe too, so he found himself begrudgingly pulling away from you, as his eyes were only slightly opened to find you stammering, face red with shock and yet, chasing his lips for more. He gently shook his head, smiling to himself as he caught his breath. "You really need to learn when to be quiet."

He watched as you barely registered his words, your eyes piercing into his until they went to his lips once more. "Uh-huh.. yeah.." you leaned in until your nose's were touching and he had to look away with a small chuckle as he placed his hands on your shoulders, giving you a quick kiss before turning back to the map, leaving you dumbfounded.

"So, where to next?" Hiccup pointed to the map, expecting you to play along as if nothing happened, making you stare at him wide-eyed. He tried to hide the smirk making its way on his lips as he rubbed his face as if trying to brush off a fly. "Something the matter, milady?"

He held back a chuckle as you cleared your throat, shifting closer to him as you held your chin high as if to regain your "dignity." "N-nope. Nothing at all." You cringed at the stuttering in your words, hoping he wouldn't notice:much to your dismay, he did, but did nothing to show it. You calmed yourself down as he started to ramble on the recent island they discovered, not yet seeing your gaze on him as admiration filled your eyes for the man you fell in love with - even his flaws.