#I just realized how much this is (this is now in the morning) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

p1astr81 · 2 days ago

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Could you do Oscar x Next door neighbor Reader where like he hears her moans through the wall all the time and gets off listening to her, they bump into each other outside one day she invites him over for dinner/coffee/something and eventually confess to him that she let him hear her on purpose then he fucks her brains out?!

Yes? Please?

Thanxx xoxo

Anon I’m sending you to horny jail cuz WHAT

uh anyway, warnings: smut (bye bye minors), everyone is so wrong in this I’m in tears, masterbation (f & m), mean!Oscar (at the end), degradation, sub space, dacryphilia

The first time it happened, he thought he was imagining it. Soft little gasps from the flat next door.

Must’ve been the air vents carrying the sound.

He tried to ignore it, he really did. Tried to go to sleep and pretend he wasn’t getting harder with every little sound. But then a pretty little moan reached is ears and he couldn’t ignore the throbbing pain.

Palming himself through his boxers hardly gave him any satisfaction. So he shed his underwear.

It was already slick with beads of precum. His hand wrapped around the base, and the moan he let out was loud and unrestrained.

It was fully immoral, getting himself off to the sounds his neighbor was making. He knew that. But he wouldn’t dare stop himself when it felt as good as it did.

And maybe all his senses were heightened because of the stimulation, but he could’ve sworn your sounds from next door were getting louder. Needier.

Every moan sounded like you were sat right next to him.

His hand pumped the length of his cock, fast, with a tight grip. He was too desperate to even pretend to tease himself.

Oh! Oh, yes!

The sounds you were making were sinful, and shamelessly loud.

Oscar’s breaths grew ragged, his head thrown back as the pleasure built in the core of his stomach. He was pumping himself without restraint, just chasing his release with no care to prolong the pleasure. He couldn’t stop the groans and curses that slipped past his lips.

Oh yes! Fuck yes!

He could tell you’d cum by the pitch of your moans and the slight knocking against his wall—probably due to your writhing. The thought of it threw him in to a blinding orgasm, groaning loudly, not a care for whether you heard him or not.

Morning runs were never his favorite. He was too tired and it sucked all the energy out of him before he’d even began the day.

He closed his apartment door as he stepped into the hallway, jumping when he realized he wasn’t the only person in the confined space.

“Oh, hi!” You greeted. Too sweet. Too innocent sounding. He knew that was far from the truth, and his face burned red at the reminder of how he’d been getting off to your sounds for the past two weeks. “I don’t see you around much. I guess you’re busy traveling the world, right?” You laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

You were acting normal. Not suspicious of him or avoiding him. Perhaps you couldn’t hear his moans through the wall as he had heard yours.

The thought eased him enough to converse with you like a regular person. “Yeah, I guess.” He laughed. “But I’m on break right now.”

“You know, since you’re home, are you up for coffee? I’d like to get to know my neighbor a bit more.” Your smile never faltered.

He didn’t have to think for long. Any excuse he had to not go run was a great one.

“So, I don’t keep up with the sport much. But I know the basics and whatnot. So, around here, how do you not hit the walls all the time? It’s such narrow streets and you’re going so fast.” You leaned forward, a mug of hot coffee cradled in your hands, eyes sparkling with interest.

He tried to find a happy medium between a confident and cocky response. “Well, we’ve done it for so long, and we have simulators that we can use to practice on. At that point, it’s more or less muscle memory.”

Still, you looked fascinated. “Wow.” You paused, then leaned in closer, lowering your voice. “Is it also muscle memory for you to get yourself off whenever you hear me?”

Oscar nearly spit out his hot chocolate at that. “Sorry, what?” He coughed, trying to play it cool despite looking guilty.

You breathed out a laugh. “If you can hear me, I can hear you.” The sparkle in your eyes was no longer one of interest, but of mischief. You recognized his guilty look. “Don’t worry.” You leaned back. “I wanted you to hear.” You grinned.

He stared, convinced his ears were deceiving him. “You… wanted me to hear you? Why?”

“You’re a smart guy, Oscar.” You tilted your head. “Handsome, too.” You bit your lip, eyes trailing down his body. “Why do you think?”

You gasped as he threw your naked body onto the mattress. “So this is where you’ve been driving me insane, huh?” He rasped, towering over you, caging you in with his muscled arms.

A little pink toy sat on your nightstand, catching his eye. He picked it up, holding in front of your face. “This what you’ve been using?”

You trembled, trying to close your legs but his own legs stopped you from being able to. “Mhm.” You nodded. The heat between your thighs was unbearable, more than ever before.

He turned it on to the lowest setting, placing it on your stomach and dragging it lower, lower, lower-

“Fuck!” You shouted when it made contact with your clit. Oscar smiled at that, and the way you whined when he shoved two fingers into your dripping cunt. Everything was so slow with him—the vibrations against your clit, the thrust of his fingers. He wanted to drive you insane, wanted to break you, reduce you to a needy, begging mess.

And he knew he had you right where he wanted you when you thrust into his hand. “Do that again, and I’ll leave right now.”

“No! I’m sorry- fuck!” He turned the vibrator to the next highest speed. Your moans spilled over like a boiling pot. One after the other echoed around the room. You were so close.

Oscar withdrew his hands, leaving you without a release. He licked his fingers clean, moaning dramatically at the taste.

“Oscar,” you mewled, reaching for his bicep. You looked so drunk on him already, and you hadn’t even cum once!

That sure went to his head.

He took both of your wrists in his hand, pinning them to the sheets. “You wanna cum?” You nodded desperately, receiving a devilish grin. “I don’t think you deserve it.”

The whine you let out almost made him feel bad. Almost. “Please! I need it so bad!”

He only laughed at your pleas. “I wanna hear you apologize first.”

“What?”

“Apologize for torturing me for weeks. Letting me hear your pretty little noises.” He placed hot, wet kisses along the length of your throat. “Apologize.” He demanded, unsatisfied with your lack of response.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry it was just so hot!” You rushed out, arching your back, trying to entice him.

“Such a slut.” A cruel grin spread across his lips, his fingers dancing across your tits. He gave one of your nipples an experimental squeeze, satisfaction filling him at how you gasped in response.

Handling you like a rag doll, he flipped you over. He pulled your ass into the air while pressing your head into the pillows. You let out a small moan at being handled in such a way. He scoffed.

“If you’re going to act like a slut, I think you deserve to be fucked like one, no?”

You wiggled your hips, shifting back on your knees. Trying anything to entice him. “Please, Oscar! Just please fuck me!” And when he didn’t do anything for a beat.

“Not so fun being tortured, is it?” His fingers circled your clit. Slowly. Teasing. Just enough pleasure to feel it but not get you anywhere.

“Please! I’ll never do it again! I’ll let you have me whenever you want!”

He eased the tip in, earning a high pitched moan out of you. His hands ran along the length of your back, running down your sides before he gripped onto your hips. “Of course you will.” He spat, yanking your hips to slam against his, successfully plunging his cock into your cunt in one thrust.

A loud moan was punched out of your lungs. “Fuck! yes!” You moaned. Oscar gave you no time to adjust, setting a brutal pace right away. He reached places inside of you the you didn’t even know someone could reach before. Each thrust forced another moan from your lips. It was like Oscar’s own personal concert, and his favorite song being played on repeat.

It felt incredible, so good you didn’t even notice the tears rolling down your cheeks. Oscars hand found your throat and he yanked you back so your back was flush with his chest. You moaned louder at the change of angle. Your head lulled back to rest on his shoulder, eyes rolled back in bliss.

“Aw, enough with those tears, this is what a slut like you wants, isn’t it?” He feigned remorse, he kissed the tears away, groaning when he felt you tighten around him. “You like being called a slut?”

You couldn’t answer, too fucked out already.

He pulled out of you, letting your body flop onto the bed. You let out a noise of protest, then gasped as he flipped your body over again. “I asked you a question.” His voice was level, seemingly unaffected by the loss of your cunt around his cock.

“Yes!” You moaned as he slammed back into you. Back arched off the bed, your fists tried to find purchase in the soaked sheets.

“Prettiest slut I’ve ever seen.” Oscars arms looped around your knees, pressing your legs to your chest, effectively folding you in half. The noise you let out walked the line between a scream and a moan.

You couldn’t even warn him before you were gushing all over his cock. Your cunt was sucking him in, begging for him to cum inside you. And he did with a shout of your name, fucking you through both of your orgasms.

He eased out of you, careful of your sensitive body.

“Should I run a bath or do you want a shower?” He asked, already standing in the en-suit.

You didn’t respond.

He came back out, concern etched on his features. You were blinking slowly, unfocused eyes staring at the wall. He smiled softly, taking your face in his hands. “You there, pretty girl?” His thumb stroked your cheek.

Still, no response.

He was conflicted between concern and letting his ego inflate. “C’mon baby.” He took you in his arms, stroking your hair.

When your eyes finally focused on his face, he smiled. “There you are.” You gave a weak laugh at that.

Bath it is then.

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 blurb #f1 fluff #op81 #f1 x you #f1 smut #oscar piastri x fem!reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri one shot #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri smut

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mywritersmind · 3 days ago

Text

ACROSS THE HALL - LN4

part one

summary : Lando Norris and Max Fewtrell have rented a nice apartment in miami for the week before the grand prix! They were promised a beautiful view, nice rooms, and a smart TV! What they didn’t know was included is a smart mouthed girl with an affinity for cow slippers.

or : In which Lando Norris has a crush on his neighbor.

listen up : lando x american diva! dual pov + third pov randomly bc i couldn’t decide! will hopefully be a series but i need some serious motivation. requests are open!

heard through the grapevine that lando and max rented an apartment in miami for this week and idc if it’s not true bc i wrote this!

words : 4001

⋆｡‧˚⋆

Lando doesn’t know when it started, but once he heard the incessant banging on the front door, it didn't stop. “Christ- Max, turn down the music!” He yells at his best friend, hurrying out of the kitchen, his socks sliding on the hardwood floors for him to finally reach the door.

The second the door swings open, she starts. “Let me ask you something. Have you ever had a neighbor before?” Lando blinks, looking down at the surprisingly attractive girl. She places her hands on her hips and just before she opens her mouth again, Lando gets a horrible feeling that he’s done something wrong. “I don’t know where you came from but every other person who rented this apartment has been kind and quiet and fucking normal! Why are you blasting club music at one in the morning!? How many people are even in here? To be honest, I don’t really care. I'm a very curious person though and would like to know if you were raised by a woman; because I guarantee, if you were, she would be disappointed.”

“Um…” He hesitantly says, scared of making her go off again, “who are you?” She's taken back by his accent for a moment but stands up straighter after a temporary lapse of insanity.

“The person who’s sharing this floor with you and can’t fucking sleep because a teenage boy is up-” she looks past Lando, “Baking and blasting music four hours before she has to be up!” She finally finishes then, huffing out a breath and dropping her arms to her side.

Lando narrows his eyes, “Did you just call me a teenage boy? And insult my mother-”

“I didn’t insult your mother, I insulted you.”

His brow quirks at this and she has the horrible realization that he’s enjoying this. “Why do you have to be up at five?”

She’s a bit shocked at his question, wishing the handsome man would just apologize and move on. “Please, just turn down the music.” She sighs, crossing her arms. Lando takes her in full now, eyeing her white pajama set and getting particularly interested in her slippers that look like plush cows on her feet.

He leans against the door as she notices his intrigue, pulling her arms tighter over her chest, “You know, you could have just said that. Though I did enjoy your little crash out, got the whole small but mighty thing going for you, huh?”

She doesn’t say anything, just stares. She’s still wondering why he’s playing such horrible music at this time. He’s attractive, sure. No girl has come around the corner half naked yet. So what is this then? Some sort of bachelor pad for the week?

A voice breaks their silence, “Lan, I think I burnt the pavlova!” Lando cringes at this, neither he or Max are great bakers but a quick tik tok from P about this dessert gave them both false confidence.

“Pavlova…?” Y/n mutters to herself, her eyes finding the suspicious man who looks disappointed now. He turns his head, looking down the hall and making Y/n’s eyes dart to his jaw.

After an hour of building up the audacity to come knock on the door across from hers, she was too filled with rage to see who she was yelling at.

He is, for a lack of better words, incredibly hot. He’s in grey sweats and a tight white shirt that moves with his muscles. He’s got dark curls that form a sort of messy mullet and compliment his tanned skin far too much, especially in the fluorescent lighting.

Y/n shakes her head as he turns back to her, ruling out the bachelor party in her mind.

“We’ll turn down the music.” Lando gives in, almost forgetting why this gorgeous girl is still in his doorway, “Promise.”

She nods, barely noting that he didn’t apologize. “Thanks.” She turns and hurries back to her apartment, disappearing behind the dark red door in a split second.

Lando shuts the door slowly, still a bit confused and making his way back into the kitchen. “Max…”

“Lando! What was that!? I burnt the whole thing!” His childhood friend is scurrying around the apartment, opening every window as Lando’s eyes land on the charcoal treat. Max stops when he sees Lando frozen, his mind clearly elsewhere, “Hello!? Did someone open the door and kiss you?”

“I just met our neighbor.” He looks up at his friend who scoops the contents of the tray into the trash.

“And?”

“For someone so angry, she was very pretty.”

⋆༺

Despite the rough night Y/n had, her morning went much smoother. Delivering a package that had completely taken over her life for the past two months felt like a weight was lifted off her shoulders.

She had spent so long on the painting that she feared the end result would be hindered by how often she looked at the large canvas. In a kind turn of events, the girl ended up loving it. And even luckier, the client did too.

She treated herself to an iced coffee the second she got back, finding herself at the small shop that is far out of her price range for a morning treat but too delicious to overlook.

Coffee in one hand, a bouquet of tulips in the other, she sighs and steps into the cool air of her elevator. Her quiet is disturbed by a voice, “Wait! Please!” Y/n stops the doors instinctively, looking up at a man with curly hair and round cheeks that are very red.

He lets out a huff of air before whipping his head around to the door, “I’m running from someone.” He practically jumps into the elevator, slamming his hand on the button Y/n had already pressed.

The doors shut just as he realizes they’re going to the same place. “Please tell me you’re our pretty neighbor and Lando didn’t invite a girl over on our lads holiday.”

Her brows move upward at the ‘pretty’ bit, understanding now that this must be the handsome man’s loud friend. “I’m your neighbor. Who are you running from?” Y/n says and before she knows it, she’s shaking the man’s hand.

“I’m Max! My idiot friend.” He says brightly, “Heard you were upset about last night- really sorry about that. Lan just flew from Bahrain and his sleep schedule is all fucked up and of course he made me stay up but I could only stay awake with the music-” The elevator dings and the doors open, revealing Lando standing with his arms crossed.

“How did you get in front of me!?” Max says, still out of breath and looking panicked at the sight of his friend.

“You fucking ditched me!” Lando grabs Max’s shoulder, hard.

“P called!”

“I had to avoid questions about ma-” He notices the girl with Max now, innocently sipping her drink and enjoying their animated conversation.

“Look who I found!” Max straightens, presenting Y/n as if he acquired her on the street. He goes to say her name but realizes that neither of them know it, “Oh. Um…”

“I'm Y/n.” She finally says, smiling at the two. “It’s nice to properly meet you.”

Lando looks down at this, “Right, uh… I’m Lando.”

“You didn’t introduce yourself last night!?” Max slaps Lando’s arm, “Your mum would be ashamed.”

At this, Y/n laughs out loud. Making Max look surprised and Lando groan inwardly. Of course he had to say that. “So… why were you running from him?”

They both look at the girl, Lando letting go of Max and sighing, “Long story.” She hums at this, still curious but understanding that he doesn’t want to share.

Max apparently does, “One where I almost died but sure-”

Lando rolls his eyes, “He did not almost die.”

“I did!” Max walks down the hall, “P saved me.”

Lando eyes the girl as Max walks in front of them, “His girlfriend.” he then raises his voice, “who, as much as I love her, cannot save you over the phone!”

Max flips Lando off and shoves the key into the locked door, “Sorry again about last night, Y/n. I’m more sorry that it was Lando who opened the door and not me. I really wish I saw you yell at him.”

Lando’s eyes go wide at this, Y/n now laughing at the thought of Lando explaining what she’d said. “I can recreate it if you’d like, he still hasn’t apologized anyway.” She turns fully to him as Max cracks up in the corner, his face now matching his partner in crime.

Lando feels bad now, scratching the back of his neck at the call out, “I’m very sorry.” He looks down at her, his eyes soft when they meet hers, “And I hope you got up at such an ungodly hour feeling refreshed.”

Y/n grins, “I did, thank you.”

“Maybe you should invest in some ear plugs though. Ever heard of Loop-”

Max groans, “Stop giving the woman more reasons to hate you!” Lando just grins at this, Y/n’s eyes narrowed at the look he gives as he walks away.

Lando nods at her slightly, Max gone already as he retreats down the hall, “Have a good day, pretty.” It takes her back, the sweet name and wink that flies her way. She doesn’t have the chance to respond, he’s back in the apartment too quick, the red door closing behind him.

⋆༺

lando

“Oh my god.” Max says the second the door clicks shut, “You flirted with her, didn’t you!”

I roll my eyes immediately, “I did not.”

“You did!” I sit on the couch, pulling out my phone which he snatches from me, “You’re insufferable.”

“What!?” I let out a laugh, trying to grab my phone back which he only holds up higher in the air.

“I’ve been trying to get you to go out with Vanessa for weeks-” I shake my head at the thought, “And you’ve all but fallen at our pretty neighbors knees!”

“Max.” I deadpan at his dramatics, “I apologized.”

“You said good day!” He sounds like he’s in a victorian novel, making me laugh and argue back.

“You told me to be nice!”

“You called her pretty.”

“So did you.” I stand, taking my phone back, “I’m telling P.”

“I called her pretty because you did. Something P would not be mad at because P isn’t just pretty, she’s beautiful.”

“Shut up with your lovey dovey shit.” I fill up a glass with water, “I’ll go out with Vanessa if it means that much.” He’s been pushing this girl on me for weeks and as much as I love women, a triple header is not a time for me to try something (or someone) new!

“No.” He huffs, “Maybe this is good. Maybe you should flirt your little player boy heart out.” Along with trying to set me up, he’s also been attempting to lighten my mood. Hence our little week getaway before Miami.

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose and choosing to ignore the part where he called me a player. “Can I go on the sim now?”

“You mean, Can your best friend Max Fewtrell beat you on the sim now? Yes!”

I watch him practically skip to the machine and when I go to join him, I have to stop myself from playing our music a little too loud.

⋆༺

you

There’s a knock on my door exactly one minute after I scream. I open it and am not surprised when I'm met with the face of my new neighbor. “Are you okay?” Lando says quickly, he looks more distressed than I am.

“Yeah!” I push my hair out of my face, regretting it immediately when I feel the catch of paint on my skin, “Are you?”

He doesn’t answer me. “We heard you scream- something fell?”

I nod, crossing my legs and dreading turning around because of the absolute mess I've made, “I put up a bookshelf last week… clearly not well.”

He smiles a bit at this, something ridiculously small and crazy attractive. I hear Max from the other side, swearing like a sailor as Lando groans, “Right, looks like we’ll be ordering in tonight.”

“Oh shit thanks for reminding me!” I pull my phone out of my jeans pocket and checking the time. “What’re you guys getting?”

“Uh I don’t know actually… You’re the local, what’s best?” He leans against my door frame so effortlessly that it makes me bite my lip.

“Uhm well I’m getting Thai from a place down the street, it’s insanely good!” I grab my keys from my catch all and shut the door behind me.

He looks at me up and down, “You’re going right now? Like that?”

I scoff, “Are you insulting my choice of shoe wear?”

He just laughs, shaking his head. He turns back to his door and just when I think I'm going to be alone again, he yells, “I’m going with Y/n to get food! Text me what you want.” I can hear Max’s quick protest before Lando shuts the door and his attention is back fully on me. He pauses for a second, his phone sliding into the back pocket of his jeans, “That’s okay… right?”

I just nod and get into the elevator that feels oddly cramped with him by my side. He’s staring at my feet still. When he notices that I'm staring at him, his face splits into a grin. “Why cows?”

I shrug, “I liked the flowers.”

“Why is there paint all over them?” I sigh at his words, the one part of my life I simply can’t hide because it’s on everything I own.

“I’m an artist.”

“You have paint on your face too.” He motions to his forehead. I sigh, already forgetting the fact and wiping mine with my sleeve. “Do you paint cows?” I step out of the elevator first and lead the way, letting him talk as he follows, “Or flowers?” His hands are in his pockets, the night air oddly cold tonight. “You don’t have a boyfriend.”

At this, I stop. Turning to face him and making his shoes skid against the ground.

“I mean- you put up bookshelves by yourself. Unless your boyfriend is just a dud finance guy. Sorry that was rude.” He goes back and forth with himself, barely keeping eye contact and making me laugh.

I pull my lips together, “No. It was funny.”

He meets my eyes, something that, until now, I couldn’t decipher the color of. “So you do have a boyfriend then?”

“Why do you want to know so badly?” At this, he only smiles. He really is cute.

I keep walking. I think he’s following me but when I turn around to check, there’s two guys talking to him.

I shake my head and continue to the shop.

⋆༺

lando

“Thank you so much!” one of the guys says to me as they walk away. “Good luck next weekend!”

“No problem!” I say, hurrying away and almost missing the shop that Y/n is in. I walk up next to her like nothing happened, “So, what should I get?”

We end up sitting at a little table in the back, Y/n sips her diet coke and watches a family or five near us. “You shouldn’t have paid.”

I ignore this, “Did you grow up in miami?” I ask, to which she hesitates before shaking her head.

“Moved here for college and just never left.” She has both of her hands on her soda, tapping a finger against the lid. “Where did you grow up?”

I tell her. I tell her as little as possible without trying to make myself sound like a serial killer. I don’t really want her to know anything about me. Is that bad when I want to know everything about her?

“You’re an artist.” I bring the straw of my water to my lips, “You give that energy.”

She laughs out loud at this. “How so?”

“Well besides the fact that you have paint everywhere, you’re very…” I can’t really explain it, and I'm doing a horrible job by moving my hands in the air, “Artsy?”

She nods but I can tell she wants to laugh again but she leans back in her chair and I swear, she checks me out. “You’re an athlete.” She says, catching me off guard and making me raise a brow.

The corner of my lips tug upward, “Am I just that jacked or…?”

She rolls her eyes at the same time the worker hands us our food. There’s three bags that she simply glances at. “I don’t have a boyfriend but while I have a man at my disposal… I might as well use you.” And then she shrugs and walks out.

I’ve never grabbed something so fast.

“Hey so- our food is all mixed in the bags.” I mention when we get into the elevator.

“Because you had to pay for mine.” She bites back.

“So we don’t know what is whose, so why don’t you just come over and have dinner with us?” She just stares at me. “Max is driving me crazy already and I promise we’re not crazy or criminals.”

She hums, “Yeah, okay.”

“Really?” I say a bit too enthusiastically, I hadn’t expected her to actually say yes but it’s a very pleasant surprise.

“Sure. I mean, if I get murdered at least I'll be well fed.” she walks out of the elevator with her hair swinging behind her like it’s nothing.

“At this point, you’re more likely to kill us.” I unlock the door and let her in.

We all end up around the kitchen table, it’s absolutely covered in different plates that are being picked at by each of us. Turns out, Y/n fits in great. She's ridiculously funny and keeps saying shit about Max that flies right over his head.

We tell her about how we grew up, “I still can’t get rid of him.” I say as Max flips me off, “Somehow I've just collected his family and girlfriend too.”

“I want to meet this girlfriend.” Y/n says sweetly before raising a sudden brow at Max, “You sure she’s real?”

Max scoffs and shows her his phone background, “Very much so!”

“Max!” She grabs the phone, dropping her fork into her noodles, “She’s gorgeous! I’m impressed.” He looks all proud and nods as he takes his phone back. Y/n looks at me now, “So what’s wrong with you then?”

I look around, confused on how this subject got turned on me, “Nothing!”

Her eyes narrow, turning to Max and pointing at me, “What’s wrong with him?”

“His lifestyle doesn’t… allow him to date.” Max has a shit eating grin on his face, something I'll be sure to remind him of later when he’s bragging on the sim.

“That’s a lie!” I argue, “I get women!”

Max laughs, throwing his head back, “Oh buddy, we know.” He says it as if I've been with tons over the past months. I want to yell that I haven’t even had sex since february but I think that’ll make things worse and more embarrassing for me. “Y/n, he’s not emotionally available.”

She grins, holding her cup in her hand still. She moves it as she talks, all I can hear is ice. “You sound like a male escort.”

I'm growing more horrified by the second, “I am not a male escort! I just… I don't want to date right now. Is that so bad?”

“No but it makes me think you’re either a slut or just got your heart broken.” Okay so Y/n is just as straightforward as she was last night.

My jaw drops, “What’s your excuse then?”

She breaks eye contact then, “I wouldn’t say heartbroken… more like, I did the breaking.” She shrugs, taking a bite of a spring roll.

Max whistles, “Tell us everything then.”

“There’s not much to tell. I broke up with him and he can’t seem to grasp that fact…” She stabs at her plate, “I sorta wish he would understand though because it’s getting really annoying. He keeps making burner accounts to stalk my instagram.”

Max claps his hands together, “Easy fix! Post a guy.”

She shakes her head, “No way… then everyone else would see it too. Plus, me telling him I don’t love him should be enough.”

I practically choke on my food, laughing so hard as Max starts clapping again, “Y/n, I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship.” He stands, moving into the kitchen with his cup.

“Finance bro?” I ask, her nose scrunching at the thought.

“Worse… indie artist.” I laugh even harder at this, “We met in a sculpture class.”

“Oh no…” I shake my head.

She puts her hands on her cheeks, “He was cute!”

“Lemme see, then.” She begrudgingly pulls up a photo of him, of them. They’re dressed up and the first thing I notice is that her hair is a different color. I then remember why I'm looking at this and zero in on him. “Nope. Ugly.”

She laughs and puts her phone away, “Ugh! Enough about him. I’ll have nightmares.”

“After seeing that, so will I.” I shiver, going back to my food and debating saying something in my head. “Can I ask you something?”

She nods, “Sure.”

“You didn’t seem that shocked.” I say hesitantly, “When those guys stopped me outside.”

She shrugs, “Only mildly.”

“You know why, then?” I twirl my fork in my hand, hating this conversation already.

“I know you.” She blinks, making my stomach literally drop.

I try to hide my absolute disappointment, knowing I should know better than letting a random girl into my space- “You do?” Max walks back in, sitting down.

“Sort of. I googled you.” Oh.

“Oh?” Max joins in.

“Both of you.” She explains, “I was curious and still had to make sure you weren’t actually serial killers… Now I just know you’re actually best friends and you’re a- streamer?” She looks at Max, then me, “You too? F1 a side gig or…?”

I smile, actually smile at her. I don’t think I've ever been so relieved in my life. “I can’t believe you didn’t know me.”

“Okay, cocky!” Max says before I flick a piece of rice at him.

“I just mean- How? You live so close to the grand prix! There’s ads everywhere.”

“And I hate sports. I’m am only interested if it’s creative usually and whatever the fuck you guys wear- and drive, are not.”

I frown, “My car was shiny once.”

“Shiny and orange.” she points out, “Although you guys are pretty hot.” She says it like it’s nothing so I have to pretend my heart's still beating at a normal pace. “Last year I actually rented out my apartment for the week… made a shit ton of money, so thank you.”

Y/n ends up leaving right before Max and I start watching some movie she recommended, “What are you doing tomorrow?” I ask, in what’s becoming my favorite doorway ever.

“Sitting in my studio.” She sighs, “Gotta finish painting something. How about you guys?”

“Beach day!” Max yells, making popcorn in the kitchen.

“Beach, gym, streaming… knock on our door and I'll drop everything to pretend to be your boyfriend, though.” I add on as she looks down, smiling. “Anything else we have to do? I mean, we are going to be here for four more days but still.”

She thinks for a moment, twirling her hair around her finger like a princess. “Before you leave you have to go to brickell at night. I’m not sure if two guys will enjoy it as much as me but, check it out.”

“Y/n!” Max pokes his head out the door, “What is ‘how to lose a guy in ten days’ about?” She smiles and walks backwards into the hall.

“That’s the point of a movie, Max. You get to find out.”

#fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #lando norris fanfic #lando norris #lando x reader #lando imagine

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linoxpudding · 1 day ago

Text

Intern (Pt 5)- Lee Know

summary: as the final month of your internship begins, keeping your emotions separate from your professional role becomes harder than ever, with the collaborative concert drawing near, tensions rise—not only on stage but between you and minho, who’s desperate to salvage what's slipping away

pairing: lee know x fem!reader

genre: angst, fluff, humor

word count: 5261 words

a/n: thank you so much for loving this series! I think this might be my most popular one and it honestly means the world, I really hope the wait was worth it! Love you always, my puddings ♡

Intern Series - Part Four

~°~

Your shoes echoed softly against the polished wood floor as you slipped into the staff room. Thankfully, it was empty. The moment the door shut behind you, you exhaled like you’d been holding your breath for hours. You stood there in the middle of the room, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself, as if you were trying to physically hold all your emotions in. You didn’t even know how your legs even carried you there. Your heart was still hammering in your chest, your pulse deafening in your ears.

What just happened?

Your chest burned. Not with sadness but with fury. You were angry. No, scratch that, you were livid.

How dare he say those words—so easily, so suddenly—like he hadn’t spent weeks pushing you away. Like he hadn’t left you in that gray zone, hovering between hope and heartbreak, constantly questioning if you were the problem. You’d convinced yourself to move on. To detach. To protect your own heart. And now, after all of it, he wanted to say I love you? Just like that?

After everything. After making you feel like you were the fool for reading too much into the way his eyes lingered, the way he looked at you like you were everything—and then turned cold the moment you stepped a little too close, dismissed you like you were the problem, the one who “flirted too much.” You’d swallowed that hurt. You moved on. You forced yourself to. And now, suddenly, he loves you?

You let out a bitter laugh, pacing the room.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. Slowly, with trembling hands, you grabbed your bag from the shelf where you’d left it earlier that morning. You needed to leave. Now.

*******************

Minho didn’t even realize how long he’d been standing there, his fingers tangled in his hair, his heart hammering in his chest like it wanted to escape his ribs. His breath came in shallow, ragged gasps, and every moment since you’d walked away played on repeat in his head, like a broken record.

I lost her.

The thought echoed in his mind, louder with each passing second.

He didn’t hear the footsteps at first. It wasn’t until Hyunjin’s voice cut through the thick silence that Minho finally snapped back to reality.

“Hyung?”

Minho didn’t respond. His eyes were fixed on the ground, his body hunched in on itself, trying to hold himself together when everything inside him was falling apart.

“Hyung, what’s going on?” Hyunjin asked again, softer this time, stepping closer. He bent down beside Minho, concern furrowing his brow.

Minho shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. “I lost her, Hyunjin... I don’t know what to do.”

Hyunjin’s heart twisted at the sight of his hyung like this, a shell of the confident, playful Minho he’d always known. The way his hyung’s hands gripped his hair tighter as he let out a pained groan, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. It was raw—painful.

“You didn’t lose her yet,” Hyunjin said, his voice firm but gentle as he put a hand on Minho’s shoulder. “I know it feels like you did. But you can still fix this.”

Minho’s face twisted in anguish, his lips trembling as he let out a breathless laugh, but it was hollow, empty. “I don’t know if I can. I... I hurt her, Jinnie. I pushed her away when all I had to do was be honest. And now... now she’s gone. She walked away from me.”

Hyunjin stayed quiet for a moment, taking in Minho’s words. He could see it now—the weight of regret, the desperation in his eyes.

“I don’t think she’s gone,” Hyunjin said carefully. “You’re both stubborn, hyung. You’ve been dancing around each other for so long. You didn’t want to admit it, and neither did she. But I don’t think it’s over. Not yet.”

Minho looked up at Hyunjin then, his eyes searching, hoping, desperate for any kind of reassurance. “But what if it is? What if I ruined it beyond repair? What if she doesn’t want me anymore?”

Hyunjin paused for a moment, then spoke quietly, “You’re not the only one who’s scared, hyung. She’s scared, too. But you’re the one who has to be brave now. Not only for her— but for yourself too. Because if you don’t try, you’ll regret it forever. You know that.”

Minho let out a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging. Hyunjin’s words hit harder than he expected. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe there was still a chance, but only if he had the courage to act.

Hyunjin stood up, offering his hand to Minho. “You’re going to fix this, hyung. But you have to start with telling her the truth. About everything. And you’ve got to be ready for whatever comes after. Don’t let her slip away without fighting for her.”

Minho’s hand trembled as he took Hyunjin’s, pulling himself up to his feet. His heart still ached, but the words hit something deep inside of him. Maybe it wasn’t too late.

*******************

You barely remembered how you got home. The keys slipped from your fingers twice before you finally managed to unlock the door. The moment you stepped inside, your knees gave out and you slid down against the wall, feeling the weight of everything crash over you.

Your phone wouldn't stop buzzing. Hyunjin kept calling again and again. You pressed your forehead against your knees, willing yourself not to break down, willing yourself not to hope. And when your phone buzzed for the tenth time, you simply reached over, turned it off, and tossed it into a corner.

You couldn't do this. Not right now. Maybe not ever.

The next morning, your body moved on autopilot. You typed a message to your supervisor with trembling fingers, lying easily.

“I have a bad migraine. Won’t be able to work on fittings today. I’ll continue working on the designs remotely.”

A polite response came back almost immediately—“Take care. Focus on feeling better.”

You needed space—space from him, from the suffocating weight of everything. It was already the final month of your internship. Just a few more weeks, and you wouldn’t have to see him again.

You told yourself that over and over like a mantra as you buried yourself in sketches, swatches, sewing patterns. The living room became your sanctuary. You stayed hunched over your work for hours, sketching until your fingers cramped, trying to come up with excuses to tell your supervisor so that you do not have to step anywhere near their dressing rooms. Anywhere near him for the remaining internship period.

One step at a time—you just had to get through this.

The major stage collaboration was coming up, the biggest project of your internship, the one that could launch your career if you gave it your all.

Let the countdown begin.

*******************

48 Hours Before the Concert

You returned to work with your heart armored in ice.

The company was in chaos. The stylists were rushing, the managers were running, the boys from both groups were rehearsing endlessly. No one had time to notice that you’d disappeared from their orbit—well except for Minho and Hyunjin.

You avoided their practice room like it was a battlefield. Instead, you locked yourself away in the design room, sketching out costumes, adjusting stitching details—anything to keep your hands busy, anything to keep your mind from wandering.

Minho tried to talk to you. At first, you heard his footsteps. You caught glimpses of him hovering by the door. Once, when you dared to glance up, you saw him standing just outside the window, his face tense, uncertain. But you dropped your head back down before he could gather the courage to step inside. You didn’t give him a chance.

Hyunjin also tried texting, looking for you after rehearsals, even poking his head into the design room but couldn’t find you since every time, you made yourself smaller, quieter, easier to miss.

You weren’t ready to face Minho. You weren’t sure if you ever would be.

At some point, even Hyunjin gave up trying, swept away into the madness of final rehearsals, concept checks, and the insane pressure of the collaboration stage they were preparing.

You thought you were safe. You thought you could make it to the end.

24 Hours Before the Concert

Minho was unraveling. He didn’t even bother pretending anymore. He was searching for you like a man possessed. Between rehearsals, between fittings, between breaks—his eyes flicked around desperately, always hoping to catch a glimpse.

He sent messages—one after another.

Minho: "Can we please talk?" Minho: "Just for a minute. You don’t even have to say anything. Please." Minho: "I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Y/N."

You stared at the notifications, feeling your chest clench painfully.

You left them unanswered.

Because you were afraid. Because you didn’t know if you could survive hearing more empty words. Because some wounds weren’t meant to be picked open again.

That night, Minho sat in the darkened practice room, back against the mirror. The others had gone home. He stayed. The blue glow of his phone lit up his face, your unread messages staring back at him like ghosts.

He typed. Deleted. Typed again.

His thumb hovered over the send button for a long time before he finally pressed it.

Minho: "I miss you."

Short. Honest. Bare. You never replied.

12 Hours Before the Concert

The final rehearsal was a whirlwind of noise and energy.

Seventeen and Stray Kids crisscrossed the stage, voices overlapping, last-minute notes flying as everyone tried to perfect every second. Everyone was running around doing their assigned tasks– sound engineers hovered by the sides of the stage, tweaking mic volumes and running emergency checks, stage managers paced with clipboards, calling out timing cues and adjusting placements, stylists were doing last-minute fittings.

You stayed hidden behind the racks of costumes, keeping yourself busy threading last-minute repairs on stage outfits, sketching alterations for the collaboration stages. Minho saw you once—just a glimpse—and started towards you immediately.

You ducked behind a different aisle and disappeared before he could even call your name.

He slumped against the wall, dragging a hand through his hair. His heart ached. He was trying. God, he was trying. But you wouldn’t even look at him. And he knew he deserved it.

That night, he sat alone again. Hyunjin found him there, in the same spot, legs pulled up, forehead resting on his arms.

"Hyung…" Hyunjin said softly.

Minho didn't look up.

"I don’t think she hates you," Hyunjin added after a while, voice low. "She’s hurt. But she doesn’t hate you."

"I hate myself enough for the both of us," Minho murmured.

*******************

Day of the Concert

You were up before sunrise and rushed to the company, it was going to be a long day. You began helping the senior stylists prepare everything. You kept your head down, blending into the background.

Minho tried to find you again, between makeup, between fittings.

Once, you walked right past him. You felt his eyes—burning, aching—trailing you, but you didn’t turn around.

He watched your retreating figure with a helpless kind of yearning, his heart feeling like it was being squeezed dry.

He typed one last message.

Minho: "If you don’t want to forgive me... I understand. But I love you. I love you, Y/N."

He didn’t expect a reply. He just wanted you to know.

You read his message, but your fingers stayed frozen above the screen. You couldn't trust yourself to reply. Not yet.

Soon after, it was time to leave for the concert venue.

Everyone from your company piled into multiple vans, buzzing with pre-show nerves and excitement. Seventeen would meet you all there, coming straight from their own company.

You slipped into one of the vans early, picking a seat at the very back. You tucked your bag close, phone clutched tightly in your hands. Minho hurried behind you, heart hammering in his chest.

There was a small opening beside you. He didn't even think—he moved to sit there.

He was about to slide into the seat beside you but at the very last second, you shifted, scooting away from the aisle, pressing yourself impossibly closer to the window. Pretending like you needed more space.

Minho froze mid-motion.

He stood there, awkward, shattered, the empty space where you had been just a second ago feeling colder than anything he'd ever known.

His hand tightened around the back of the seat for a second, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. Without a word, he dropped into a seat several rows in front instead, boxed in between Jisung and Seungmin.

The van door slammed shut, the engine rumbled to life—but Minho barely noticed. He barely heard the others laughing, hyping each other up. He barely felt the road vibrating under the tires. All he could feel was you—silent, turned away from him, just a few feet out of reach.

When they finally pulled up behind the venue, staff started piling out. You were the first one to slip off the van, blending into the chaos of bodies and equipment and flashing lights.

Minho lingered for a second in the seat, swallowing thickly as he watched you disappear into the crowd.

He had the urge to call out your name. He almost did. But he bit it back, lowering his head, heart cracking silently in his chest.

*******************

The air backstage crackled with adrenaline—stylists rushing, cords tangling, outfits getting last-minute steamed.

You were helping your supervisor adjust Felix’s jacket, smoothing the sleeves, checking the fit one last time. Your hands worked automatically, your mind floating somewhere far away.

Across the crowded room, Minho kept staring at you longingly. For a second—just a second—he thought maybe you’d let him. Maybe you’d glance at him. But when you shifted away, without even looking at him, it felt like a punch to the gut. Like watching a door slowly, painfully close in his face.

He sat down numbly at the makeup table, the bustling room fading into the background and all he could think was:

"I don’t blame you... but please, just once—look back at me."

Meanwhile, Hyunjin, sitting a few chairs away, was locked in the makeup artist’s grip, a brush sweeping across his cheekbones. But he still tried. He still tried to catch your eyes, frantic and desperate, needing you to see him. You lifted your head, sensing the weight of his stare and all you could offer him was a small, polite smile. Nothing more.

You could tell Hyunjin wanted to call out to you, to jump out of his chair, to explain everything he hadn’t been able to. But the makeup artist was sternly holding his chin still, murmuring warnings about smudging his foundation. He couldn’t move.

And so he watched you quietly, heartbreak pooling in his chest, as you finished adjusting Felix’s jacket...and turned away without another glance.

*******************

1 Hour Before the Concert

You had just grabbed a coffee from the catering area backstage, trying to escape the buzz of frantic preparations. The area was buzzing with energy, crew members darting from one spot to another, but you found a small moment of calm amidst it all. The food table was lined with snacks, coffee, and drinks, where you’d managed to find a brief respite. You were leaning against the counter, sipping your drink slowly, when the door to the room burst open with a loud bang.

Hyunjin stormed inside, his eyes wild and intense, looking like he had been running through the entire venue. His hair was slightly tousled, chest heaving with quick breaths as if he was on a mission.

Before you could even react, he reached for your wrist, gripping it firmly and pulling you out of the room.

“Come with me,” he commanded, urgency lacing his voice.

"Hyunjin—!" you gasped, stumbling after him. "What the hell are you doing?!"

"You’re done hiding!" he snapped, not even slowing down.

He pulled you into an empty band room backstage, and shoved the door shut behind you, trapping you inside. You barely caught your balance, turning to glare at him—but the look on Hyunjin’s face made your heart falter.

He looked furious. And desperate.

"You need to stop running, Y/N," he said, voice sharp, shaking slightly with emotion. "You think you’re protecting yourself? You’re just hurting both of you."

You crossed your arms, biting the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from crying. "It’s not that simple, Hyunjin—"

"YES, it is!" he cut you off, voice cracking, "You’re mad. You’re hurt. I get it. But Minho hyung—"

His voice broke again and he punched the wall lightly with the side of his fist, breathing hard.

"He’s dying," Hyunjin said, lower now, almost broken. "He’s breaking in front of us. He can't sleep. He can't eat. Every time he sees you, it's like someone rips another piece out of him."

You squeezed your eyes shut, fighting the tears threatening to spill.

"You think you’re the only one hurting?" Hyunjin asked, stepping closer, so close you could feel the sadness vibrating off him. "He’s been tearing himself apart for days, trying to find a way to fix this, and you won’t even LOOK at him."

You shook your head helplessly, voice cracking, "He’s the one who—"

"He knows," Hyunjin cut you off desperately, "He knows he fucked up. He hates himself for it. You think it’s easy for him to stand there and watch you pretend like he doesn’t exist?"

You stared at him, heart pounding, breath shaking.

Hyunjin whispered, “He loves you, Y/N.”

“No, he doesn’t.” you shot back. “He saw Mingyu and got territorial. That’s not the same thing as love.”

Hyunjin’s voice softened a little, but the intensity stayed, "Listen to me. Minho hyung…he’s dying inside. He’s been trying to talk to you for days. He's not playing games. He’s not saying those things because he's jealous of Mingyu or whatever else you think."

You bit your lip, hard. "Then why, Hyunjin? Why now? After everything?"

"Because he’s an idiot who thought he didn’t deserve you," Hyunjin said, voice raw. "He pushed you away because he was scared he’d ruin you. Because he thought you’d be better off without him."

Your heart stuttered painfully.

"And seeing you laugh with Mingyu made him realize exactly what he was about to lose," Hyunjin continued. "Not because of jealousy. Because he saw you happy and he wasn’t the one making you happy anymore."

The lump in your throat grew unbearable.

"He really loves you, Y/N," Hyunjin said simply. "He’s loved you this whole time. He just didn’t know how to believe he was worthy of it."

Your vision blurred.

Then, Hyunjin went on to explain everything — how Minho had been in love with you all along, how he had been miserable every time you avoided him backstage, how he stayed up at night overthinking every glance you refused to give him. How he regretted what he said at that freaking party every single day, hated himself for it, how the weight of it had been crushing him more and more every time you turned away.

Hearing it laid out like that shattered something inside you. It wasn’t just regret in Minho’s lingering stares. It was love — raw, desperate, aching love. And it had always been there, even when you were too hurt to see it.

You felt suffocated.

"Don’t do this," Hyunjin whispered, almost pleading now, "don’t walk away without hearing him out. If you ever loved him…even a little, give him the chance to explain."

You felt your walls crumbling under the weight of it all. Without another word, you tore past Hyunjin, sprinting down the hall.

You didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop. Not until you found him. You tore down the hall, nearly tripping over your own feet, chest heaving, heart racing so hard it hurt.

You didn’t know where you were going—you just knew you had to find him.

*******************

The greenroom was quiet—eerily so. Everyone else was getting hair and makeup in other room, doing last checks, hyping each other up. Minho sat there alone, away from everyone, for a moment.

Meanwhile, you kept running— the backstage corridors blurred as you rushed past, heart hammering, breath coming in short gasps. Somewhere, you could hear the muffled sounds of last-minute chaos—stylists calling for touch-ups, managers barking out directions, the low hum of excitement—but it all felt far away, like you were underwater.

Finally, after checking room after room, your footsteps faltered in front of a greenroom tucked away from the rest. The door was slightly ajar, and you prayed he was inside. You pushed it open with trembling fingers, and your breath caught painfully in your throat.

There he was. Minho.

Sitting alone on the bench, fully dressed in his final concert outfit, the dark, sleek fabric molding perfectly to his figure. His mic was already clipped to his collar, earpieces in place, as if he were ready to go onstage any second. But he wasn’t moving.

He was hunched forward, elbows resting heavily on his knees, staring blankly at the floor like the world had already ended and he was the only one left to mourn it.

The second he heard the door creak wider, his head snapped up.

He whispered your name, "Y/N..."

So soft. So broken. Like he didn’t believe you were real. It shattered you.

Before you even knew what you were doing, you rushed across the room, and before he could even speak, your hands were cupping his jaw and your lips crashed into his.

Minho stiffened for half a second, completely shocked and then his arms were around you, pulling you flush against him, kissing you back with everything he had. Your fingers tangled in his hair, your lips trembling against his with everything you hadn’t said, hadn’t dared to feel until now.

When you finally pulled back, panting, you pressed your forehead to his and whispered, “I hate you.”

He laughed, hoarse and teary-eyed. “I know.”

“I hate how long it took you.”

“I hate me too.”

“But I love you.”

Minho stilled.

And then his arms wrapped around you tighter than they ever had. “I love you more,” he murmured. “And I swear I’ll prove it every day from now on.”

You smiled, your eyes full of tears and joy and relief. “You better.”

Minho’s voice was rough, barely a whisper as he spoke. “I’m sorry... I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

You blinked, your chest tightening with all the emotions that had built up. "I know, Minho. Just... show me. Show me you're not going to run away again."

His hand gently cupped your face again, his thumb brushing over your lips softly. “I won’t run. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Slowly, he leaned in again, this time more carefully, his lips brushing against yours with a softer, more deliberate motion, like he was savoring the moment, as if this was the first time.

The door slammed open.

"AHHHHHH! MY EYES!" Jisung screamed, dramatically throwing himself against the door frame like he was shielding himself from radiation.

You jolted apart, both of you wide-eyed and breathless.

Felix appeared behind Jisung, peeking into the room with wide, curious eyes.

"Hyung," Felix said, "We need to be on stage in like twenty five minutes." Then he glanced between you two and grinned brightly. "Also, um, HOW did this happen?"

Jisung gasped, "Like LIKE… you were literally at war yesterday! HOW are you kissing now? I need DETAILS!"

"Was it a secret make-up plan?? Did someone blackmail someone? TELL ME EVERYTHING—"

"Channie hyung’s gonna kill us if we’re late!" Felix laughed, tugging on Jisung’s sleeve, but he was also bouncing on his toes, eager for gossip.

"And Y/N, you have to explain later, okay? Like every single detail. Every single one."

Somewhere down the hall, you heard Chan’s voice yelling, "WHERE THE HELL IS EVERYONE?"

Minho groaned under his breath, leaning down to quickly kiss your forehead—just one soft second—and then he grabbed his mic pack and jogged toward the door.

But as he passed you, he whispered under his breath, only for you to hear, "Don’t go anywhere. I’m not letting you slip away again."

You stood there, heart pounding, lips still tingling, while Jisung whined the whole way down the hallway, “Yah! I’m serious! I'm coming for answers after the show!”

And you just laughed, happier than you had been in days.

*******************

The final performance was just moments away. Ten minutes give or take. You stood backstage, heart racing—not from nerves, but from everything that had happened.

Minho adjusted his mic, glancing at you with a silent question in his eyes. You stepped closer, pulling him aside for a moment, fingers gently brushing against his as you whispered, “Earlier, when Mingyu and I were talking… he wasn’t flirting.”

Minho blinked, caught off guard.

“He said he could see something going on between you and me. That he’d back off. And… that maybe I hadn’t noticed it myself yet.”

Minho let out a breathy laugh, hand raking through his hair. “God. I really need to control my damn jealousy.”

You smiled softly, Minho flushed slightly before saying, “He wasn’t wrong, though. About the heart eyes.”

You blushed then gently nudged his arm. “Come on, make peace with him. You two are too handsome to be fighting in the middle of rehearsals.”

Minho rolled his eyes but smiled, nodding. He walked over to Mingyu, who was talking with Joshua by the corner while adjusting his blazer, and you watched from afar as Minho gave a sincere apology. Mingyu accepted it with a grin and a clap on Minho’s shoulder, flashing you a wink behind him. Everything just… settled.

And then, the concert. The adrenaline. The stage lights. The roars of the crowd.

Both the collaboration stages and the groups' individual performances were breathtaking— hours of relentless energy, passion, and magic spilling out onto that stage. The entire venue was electric, a sea of waving lightsticks and screaming fans, every second more exhilarating than the last.

You danced and moved like nothing else mattered. But every time your eyes found Minho’s on stage, there was a knowing smile—one only meant for you.

After the final bow, the cheers still ringing in your ears, you were barely backstage for a minute when Minho grabbed your wrist gently and whispered, “Come with me.”

"Minho," you giggled breathlessly, "where are we even going?!"

"Somewhere no one will find us," he muttered determinedly, glancing around until he spotted a half-open door.

Without warning, he pulled you inside.

“I’ve been waiting all night,” he said, breathless.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t shy. It wasn’t careful.

It was urgent, desperate, his hands cupping your face as if he’d been starving for your lips. Your back hit the wall lightly as you gasped against his mouth, hands sliding under his jacket and gripping his shirt.

His lips moved feverishly over yours, like he was trying to pour every emotion he’d buried into this moment. When he finally pulled back just enough to breathe, he whispered against your lips, “You have no idea how crazy I’ve been going… not being able to do this.”

You let out a breathless laugh, tugging him back in. “Then don’t stop.”

He didn’t.

That kiss was everything—the apology, the promise, the confession, and the beginning. All in one.

*******************

The concert had ended, the cheers still echoing faintly in the corridors as everyone bustled around, packing up, high-fiving, celebrating.

Mingyu leaned against the wall near the dressing room door, sipping water and scrolling through his phone when a voice interrupted him.

"You were amazing up there," she said, her tone warm and teasing.

He looked up to see one of the stage crew members—someone he’d briefly chatted with before—smiling at him, her hands tucked behind her back, eyes bright.

Mingyu blinked, a little surprised. “Oh thank you. You too, the transitions were super smooth today.”

She giggled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I did my best. But I was watching you the whole time.”

Mingyu raised a brow, a lopsided smile tugging at his lips. “Oh yeah?”

She stepped a little closer, playfully nudging his arm. “You always smile so much when you perform. It’s contagious.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess that’s a good thing.”

She tilted her head. “You doing anything after this?”

For a second, Mingyu glanced toward the dressing room, where laughter echoed—where his bandmates were chattering.

Then he looked back at her, his smile softening. “Not yet,” he said. “But I could be.”

Her grin widened.

And just like that, maybe Mingyu’s heart started to heal too.

*******************

Minho’s lips trailed kisses along your jaw, his hands framing your face as if he still couldn’t believe this was real. Your arms were wrapped around his neck, breath mingling as you leaned into him, every inch of space between you practically non-existent.

The air was hot, your heart pounding louder than any concert speaker. His forehead rested against yours, breathless as he whispered, “I’m not letting go of you again. Ever.”

You smiled, pulling him back into another kiss — slower this time, but no less intense. The kind that made your knees weak and your brain fuzzy, the kind that left no question about how badly he wanted you — and how badly you wanted him.

Your hands tangled in his hair, his arms locked tightly around your waist, pressing you against the wall.

It was messy and breathless, both of you still slightly shaking from the adrenaline of the concert.

"Missed you," he murmured against your mouth between kisses, voice hoarse.

You were just about to mumble "me too" when a loud knock rattled the door.

Minho froze mid-kiss, groaning against your lips. You stifled a laugh.

“Hyung?” Han’s voice called, too amused for your liking. “Minho hyung, will this continue all night or should we leave snacks outside the door?”

You buried your face in Minho’s chest as he exhaled sharply through his nose.

“Minho hyung is seriously down bad,” Hyunjin chimed in, voice loud and dramatic.

“Excuse you,” Han called out, raising an eyebrow. “Your bestie Y/N is equally down bad.”

You playfully smacked Minho's chest, laughing into his shirt. “Did your wife just out me like that?”

Minho groaned, forehead dropping against your shoulder in defeat, "Kill me," he muttered. "Right now. Just kill me."

You both heard Han and Hyunjin start bickering again — something about who was more down bad between you and Minho — and you couldn't help but giggle quietly against Minho, your heart feeling so full you thought it might burst.

“YAH!” Minho finally shouted, voice filled with exasperated affection. “You want to die? Leave us alone!”

A pause.

Then shuffling footsteps and exaggerated gagging noises as they walked off. You and Minho looked at each other and were shaking with laughter, tangled in each other and unwilling to part.

You sighed happily, still held close. “We really are that bad, huh?”

Minho leaned in, brushing his nose against yours. “Maybe. But I’m not sorry.”

Minho tightened his arms around you, swaying you both lazily, “I love you, you know,” he murmured, so gently it melted into your skin.

A big smile broke across your face.

“I love you too, Minho,” you whispered back, like it was the easiest thing in the world — because with him finally, it was.

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

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wayward-haze · 2 days ago

Text

This gave me feelings I wasn't expecting to have this morning.

My life with fandom turns 30 this year, too. The first gasps of my first novel turned 21. A local theater company (not mine) is doing a production of my first online fandom (Hunchback of Notre Dame, if you're curious) and my 2nd just released a comics omnibus.

All of that full circle stuff pales in comparison to the fact that I would not be alive right now if I hadn't found communities around the things I loved. I would never have realized how much I was hiding, denying, or holding back about who I am. I would never have felt so empowered to pursue my passions. I would have let various circumstances make me small and miserable and would not have been strong enough to live.

None of those first fandom people are part of my life anymore, either because we grew apart or some of them were, unfortunately, really toxic people.

But I still owe them their due. So, especially to that first gaggle of Court of Miracles Sues: Irina, Mirage, Tealin, and Opal? Thank you. Cay is still around. She has a son, and he grew up to lead a secret magical protectorate. I'll never name his uncle on the page, but you and I will know. God help the outcasts, indeed.

Tomorrow I will have been in fandom for thirty years.

I can mark the anniversary very precisely because I know the name of the first fanfic I ever read, which is fortunately archived online along with the date it was posted, the same day I read it. I don't believe Usenet exists anymore and I've been here too long to believe that nothing ever disappears off the internet, so I know that archives are truly a gift to history.

I posted my first fanfic not that long after. It wasn't well-written but reading it today I can see that the narrative was sound. People said they liked it, which was kind given how extremely bad my grammar was. I was an awkward teenager with undiagnosed ADHD and praise was rare for me, but when I wrote fanfic someone always said something kind about it. Eventually a few of them took me under their wing and explained things like "where quotation marks go" and "paragraph breaks". Commas, I fear, are a lost cause even today, but they tried, bless them.

I thought about doing something big to commemorate the anniversary, but I couldn't really think what I might do and the world right now is pretty exhausting. I'm forty five and I'm tired. But imagine how much more exhausting the world would be without fandom -- how much emptier my life would be without my friends, this community, the writing I do, the art and beauty fandom exposes me to. So for now I'm just meditating on that a bit -- the richness of the experience, the gifts I've been fortunate to receive, the lessons I've been fortunate (if sometimes reluctant) to learn.

In another thirty years I'll be seventy five, if I live so long. Thirty years ago we didn't in any meaningful sense have digital cameras, let alone cellphones or smartphones, social media, streaming television, GPS. I did a report on the science of cloning for my high school biology class (on the suggestion of a fellow fan) a year before Dolly was cloned. I wrote my first fanfic using a computer running Windows version 3.1. I wrote it in Notepad, still a constant companion.

I hope I live to seventy five. As tired as I am, I'm looking forward to seeing where the next thirty years will take us.

I hope Notepad will still be there.

#no tags only feels

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moondustbaby · 2 days ago

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Too Much, Never You

Bsf!Rafe x Bsf!Reader Angst to fluff

a/n: based on this request! 💌

Summary: When you overhear Rafe calling you clingy at a party, the words stick like splinters, unraveling something fragile between them. But when the truth finally comes out, you learn maybe you were never too much—just exactly where you belonged.

⸻

You weren’t eavesdropping.

You really weren’t.

It was just bad timing—walking back into the kitchen at the exact moment Rafe said, “She’s just so clingy sometimes, man.”

You froze, fingers tightening around the red solo cup in your hand, breath catching in your throat before you could even think to hide it. The words hit like a slap, sinking into your chest and pulling the air from your lungs.

Topper laughed, but it sounded far away now. “Yeah, but that’s just her, right?”

And Rafe—your best friend since diapers, since scraped knees and late-night sleepovers—just shrugged. Didn’t defend you. Didn’t correct him.

You backed out of the room like a ghost, slipping through the hall and out onto the porch, blinking hard as the warm summer night pressed in around you.

Clingy. That’s what he thought. That’s what he said.

It shouldn’t have hurt so much. But it did.

You barely remember the ride home—just that you didn’t say goodbye, didn’t answer his texts. And by the next morning, he was on your porch.

He knocked once before pushing the door open like he always did. “Okay, seriously—what’s going on with you?”

You didn’t answer, just stayed curled on the couch in his hoodie, arms wrapped tight around your knees. He sighed, walking over until he was standing in front of you, hands on his hips like he was gearing up for a lecture.

But when you finally looked up at him—eyes glassy and tired—his whole face changed.

“What happened?” he asked, voice soft now. “Did someone say something to you?”

“You did,” you whispered.

Rafe’s brows furrowed, crouching down in front of you. “What are you talking about?”

You swallowed thickly. “I heard you last night. In the kitchen. With Topper. You said I was clingy.”

His eyes widened like the puzzle pieces just snapped into place. “Fuck. That’s not—God, no. That’s not what I meant.”

You blinked at him, unsure whether to believe it.

He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated but desperate. “Topper was talking about that girl he hooked up with—how she kept showing up everywhere after one night. I said you’re different. I said—she’s clingy in a weird way, but you—I don’t even know how to explain it. You’re not clingy. You’re mine. It’s like… you being around isn’t something I get tired of. It’s something I need.”

Your breath hitched. “Then why didn’t you say that?”

“Because I’m an idiot,” he said instantly. “And I didn’t know I hurt you.”

You sniffled, biting your lip. “You didn’t even correct him.”

“I didn’t think I had to,” he said softly. “You’re my best friend. I thought… I thought you knew how much you mean to me.”

You stared at him, heart still aching—but something softer started to push through the cracks.

“Don’t ever say that about yourself again,” he added, brushing your knee. “Clingy? You could call me at 3AM needing to be held like a damn teddy bear and I’d thank you for it.”

A small laugh escaped your lips despite yourself. “You’re such a sap.”

He smiled, eyes warm. “Only for you.”

And when you finally leaned into his arms, burying your face in his chest, you realized it didn’t really matter what anyone else thought.

You weren’t too much for him.

You never had been.

༶⋆｡ﾟ☽✿⋆˚✧✿☾ﾟ｡⋆༶

a/n: ahhh this broke my heart a bit, but also fun to write! especially since i posted my clingy bsf!rafe headcanons it was fun to see it from this perspective!

♥️ lani

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pomelace · 2 days ago

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more than a sip

pairing: jack abbot x afab!resident reader

content warnings: fluff, no physical desciptors used for reader, reader is a resident and has a brother, implied age gap, doesn't take place during the shows timeline, let me know if I missed anything!

magui speaks! : dedicated to @multifandom-2091, thank you for the request, I hope you like it! I struggled a bit as I fell into a small writers slump halfway through, but here it is! writing this made me want to write more for jack, so stay tuned for that. as always, I hope you enjoy and requests are open!

word count: 1473

The rain drums steady on the pavement as you step out into the ambulance bay, the hospital doors hissing shut behind you. The air is thick with the smell of wet dirt and concrete, cool against your skin. You lean back against the wall just beside the doors, eyes half-closed, phone glowing in your hand.

Your fingers tap out a quick message:

Did you eat?? I left pasta in the fridge. Please don’t just eat cereal again. Love you. Be home by 8.

You don’t expect a reply—it’s three in the morning, and no one in their right mind should be awake. But your brother is. Either passed out on the couch with a controller still in his hand, or ignoring your text the same way he ignored you this morning—right after the fight, right before you left for another fifteen-hour shift.

It was a stupid argument—one he started, because he’s a teenager and teenagers are always angry about something. You know the type of anger; you used to wear it like armor too.

You put your parents through the same storm of slammed doors and sharp words. The difference is, they were still around to weather it. You’re all he’s got now.

So you take it—the harsh words, the door slams, the silence that lingers like smoke. You don’t hold it against him. You never do.

Instead, you text him like clockwork, always checking in even when he expects you not to. Especially when he expects you not to.

There’s peace in just standing there, tucked beneath the small overhang by the doors, the rain kept at bay by a strip of shelter overhead. Each drop falls with a soft, steady rhythm, a quiet lullaby against the metal.

As you wait for a response you know isn’t coming, you start to count the droplets you hear.

One, two, three...

“Should I be concerned you’ve taken up loitering?” a voice calls from behind you, low and rough around the edges.

You glance over your shoulder and catch sight of Dr. Abbott stepping out into the damp night, two coffee cups in hand. His dark scrubs are hidden beneath the black hoodie he always wears, hood down.

The lights from inside spill across his face, catching the salt-and-pepper in his hair, making him look tired than usual—almost distant, like he’s not entirely here.

“Loitering implies I’m not on shift,” you murmur, tucking your phone into your scrub pocket.

“I’m just… pretending the air inside doesn’t taste like bleach.”

He hums, taking a sip from his cup before handing you the other one. For you.

“Almond milk and honey,” he says gently, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“How did you—” you start to ask, but he cuts you off before you can thank him.

“You talk out loud when you think no one’s listening.”

Jack notices the little things: how you stir your coffee just so, the gentle, rhythmic motion; how you always avoid sweeteners, opting for just the almond milk and honey; how you don't like dairy, even though it’s practically everywhere.

He watches you for a moment, the corners of his lips turning up slightly as if he’s cataloging every small detail you don’t even realize you’re giving away.

“Careful,” he says, his voice low but teasing, “You’re going to burn your tongue.”

You look up at him, surprised by the sudden attention, but there's something comforting in the way he’s paying so much attention to the smallest things.

You roll your eyes playfully, though it’s hard to keep up the facade when you feel his gaze.

“I’m fine,” you reply, but there's warmth in your voice, a subtle acknowledgment that the smallest things—like this moment, this cup of coffee—mean more than you want to admit.

He shrugs, taking a sip from his own cup, his eyes never leaving you.

“I’m just saying, you might want to take it slow with the ‘hot’ part.”

You smile, the kind that tugs at your heart just a little too much. You know exactly what he’s doing.

He’s not just watching you sip your coffee. He’s seeing you, in all the quiet ways that no one else does.

“Thanks for the coffee,” you say again, this time with more meaning, the weight of the simple gesture settling between you like a shared secret.

“It's nice of you to finally grace the outside world,” you mutter, eyeing him with a smile from the rim of your coffee cup.

“I thought you were glued to the nurse’s station, brooding over charting mistakes and bad coffee.”

“I was,” he says, voice dry.

“Then I realized I hadn’t heard you complain in twenty minutes. Figured something might be wrong.”

You raise an eyebrow, leaning against the wall.

“I was going for some peaceful silence, actually.”

He snorts, a small chuckle escaping him.

“That doesn’t suit you.”

A comfortable silence settles between you. Outside, the rain falls in silver sheets, soft and steady. You both sip your coffee, letting the warmth seep into your fingers.

He glances between you, the rain, and the rim of his cup. He doesn’t say anything—just clears his throat, like he wants to speak but hasn’t found the words yet.

You raise an eyebrow, curious. “What?”

He shrugs, eyes still fixed on the window.

“You’ve been quiet lately.”

You start to respond, a wry smile tugging at your lips.

“Don’t you prefer it that way?”

But he doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t even crack a smile. Instead, he turns to you—really turns to you—and something in his expression shifts. His eyes soften. The teasing falls away.

“I mean it. You’ve been off today. Not talking much, not—”

“Not complaining enough?” you interrupt with a light chuckle, trying to deflect.

But he just shakes his head again, gently.

“No. Seriously. Are you okay?”

You contiplate whether to tell him the truth or not on how you're doing. You look between him and the rim of your steaming cup. You know you can tell him, confide in him, but when is it too much to say?

"You can tell me," he whispers, like he can see straight through you.

A small smile tugs at your lips as you meet his gaze, giving a soft nod.

"I'm okay," you say lightly, almost too casually, like you're brushing it off.

"Just dealing with a lot, like always."

But he doesn't look convinced. He shakes his head, his eyes locking onto yours, unwavering and determined to get through to you.

"I mean it," he insists, his voice low and serious.

"Are you really okay?"

You hesitate for a moment, then offer him a smile — the kind that doesn’t quite reach your eyes but is enough to soften the moment.

"Really, I'm good, Jack," you say, and this time, the smile feels a little more genuine. It’s enough for him to let it go, but he’s still watching you closely.

"Fine," he says, his tone easing but still laced with concern.

"If you say so."

You chuckle softly, the weight of the conversation lifting just a little.

"I’ll come to you when I’m near losing my mind," you tease, half-serious, half-joking. He raises an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"I’ll be waiting," he says, his voice warm, a promise hidden beneath the words.

You take a deep breath, feeling just a little lighter now. You shift closer to him, your shoulder brushing against his as you both stand in quiet solidarity against the wall, side by side.

"Are you okay?" you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper.

You don’t look at him, keeping your gaze fixed on the rain as it falls from the sky. The question hangs between you two, and you wait, the silence stretching just long enough to make the moment feel heavier than it really is.

From the corner of your eye, you notice him shift, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Yes," he replies softly, his voice steady but gentle.

"Right now, I am," he continues, turning his head just enough to watch you.

Right now, here with you, I am.

The thought catches him off guard, as if it’s been there all along, hiding just beneath the surface.

He doesn’t say it aloud, but something about the weight of the moment shifts, settling into him in a way that makes him feel like he’s been missing something obvious.

He watches you—how your fingers curl around your coffee, how the tip of your nose turns pink from the cold breeze, how your laughter feels like the kind of music that makes everything else fade away.

He drinks in the small details of you, trying to tell himself it’s just casual, just the way things are.

But it doesn’t feel like that anymore, or maybe it never did.

©pomelace 2025

#the pitt #the pitt x reader #x reader #request #jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #dr abbot #shawn hatosy #the pitt hbo

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shuenkio · 3 days ago

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⾕ Warming me love - 심재윤

Paring: Older!Jake X M!reader

Synopsis: He can't even forgive himself for not giving you a goodbye kiss in the morning, now he beg for your forgiveness by something else.

Genre: Smut. Cw: cock warming, dirty talk, smau, 18+, big dick Jàke ;)

This is a work of fanfiction, do not throw unnecessary tantrums on this nsfw/sfw blog. ©Shuenkio

It’s probably just you who thought getting an older boyfriend would fix every issue in your life. You’re not exactly the romantic type, easily overwhelmed by noise, moody like the eldest sibling of a big family, and prone to withdrawing when things feel too much. So you figured—why not find someone who could handle you at your most difficult?

And then, like something out of a cheesy miracle, you met Jake.

He was everything you were quietly searching for. Older, patient, grounded. He had the kind of life you never imagined being part of—cars, a house, money, fame, and a job that most would kill for. It was obvious from the start: this wasn’t a casual thing. This was ride or die. Date to marry.

But all of that—the polished image—was only for the outside world.

Behind closed doors, Jake was a different person. Someone who needed to be cared for. Someone who craved affection like air, needy in the way toddlers are—but worse. As soon as he stepped through the door, stress from work still clinging to him like a second skin, he would come find you. He needed cuddles to fall asleep, soft touches in his hair, someone to baby him through the exhaustion. Most of the time, it wasn’t even about the gestures. Your presence alone was everything to him. You were his calm. His home. The reason he remembered how to breathe.

Even if you didn’t speak, just holding him against your chest, letting his cheek rest against your skin, was enough to make him melt. To satisfy that part of him that no amount of success ever could.

That night, the sky was still cloudy from the day’s overcast, now turning into a quiet, rainy evening. You stayed home, waiting, kind of worried he’d be soaked by the time he got in.

Eventually, the front door clicked open.

And there he was—Jake.

As usual, you greeted him. Asked about his day. Whether he’d eaten. But he didn’t answer. Your brow furrowed immediately. Was something wrong at work? Did you say something? You tried again, but he just stared, silent.

You were about to ask one more time—until he cut you off.

“Do you know how insanely crazy I went today when I realized I forgot to give you a goodbye kiss this morning?”

“…I beg your pardon?” That… didn’t sound right.

“I’m sorry, my love. I wasn’t a good boy today. But can I still have your cuddle? Please? Pwes?”

And just like that, the illusion shattered. It wasn’t about age—it never was. It was about energy, mental space. You sighed in disbelief, eyeing your boyfriend with a flat look as he stood there looking like a guilty puppy.

“Please, baby? Tell me yes,” he whined softly, pulling you closer. “I’ll be a good boy for you. I’ll let you use my cock however you want—just let me touch you. Let me hear your voice.”

“But babe, you touch me every single day. Like… seven days a week, 24 hours a day. Aren’t you ever tired?” you asked, arms folded as you sat together on the couch-bed hybrid, unimpressed.

“Well, yes…” he mumbled. “But who can resist a boyfriend like you? If I could ruin you for anyone else—” He suddenly cut himself off, slapping a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. The shame hit him instantly. His lips had gotten ahead of his brain again.

You didn’t flinch. You just stared, unimpressed by his dramatics. Still, he pushed on.

“I swear, please, trust me—I'm gonna be a good boy this time. You want something back? My cock is yours. Toy with it, abuse it, play with it—I don’t care. Just let me touch you, pwease, M/N.”

And there he went again. Dramatic. Desperate. Fake tears and everything. He grabbed your hand and pressed it to his chest, then trailed it downward to where his cock strained under his sweats—rock hard and twitching with need. He kept shifting, unable to bear the pressure.

You sighed again, zoning out for a second, thinking if there was any compromise that didn’t involve you being dragged into his chaotic energy entirely.

That’s when Jake—impatient, fidgety, and horny—suddenly came up with an idea.

“How about this… love… just cockwarming?” he asked hopefully. “I know I don’t deserve to fuck you today, but cockwarming? Say yes, M/N. It’s the only thing I’ll ask for tonight.”

It was an unusual dynamic. The “top” begging the “bottom” for mercy. But here you were. Jake’s hands clapped together in prayer, face desperate, looking more golden retriever than grown man.

You considered for a moment, then sighed, nodding.

Jake didn’t waste a second. His lips crashed against yours, tender and grateful, while his hands roamed your body, peeling away layers with eager urgency. He stripped himself next, yanking off his pants and underwear in one swift move. His cock sprang out—thick, veiny, flushed pink and twitching. The musky scent filled the air, heavy with need, and you could tell how badly he wanted it just by the way it curved, desperate and leaking.

Nine solid inches, crying for you.

“That’s what you do to me, love,” he whispered, voice breathy. “My dick hurts so much… Can I do it?”

You nodded, a small smile on your lips. He pulled you closer again and lay down, the rain falling softly against the window outside. Jake held his cock in one hand, spreading your cheeks with the other before slowly pushing inside. Inch by inch, the warmth of your tightness swallowed him up. He let out a broken moan.

“God, this hole…” he choked, voice shaking. “I fucking love you, M/N. You don’t get it—”

Tears welled in his eyes—not real ones, probably, but the feeling was raw. His cock twitched, nestled deep inside, unmoving, just like you’d agreed. The heat, the pressure, the overwhelming feeling of being one—it made him delirious.

You stared out the window, biting down a quiet moan, the cozy light of the room wrapping around you like a blanket. A visible bulge marked where he sat inside you, unmoving but entirely present.

“I know I don’t say it enough,” Jake whispered, breath shaky, “but… I’m dying without you. I need to feel you. I need to hear your moans—fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Cockwarming… hmm,” you said thoughtfully. “Feels kinda nice. We should do this more.”

“Love, do you hear yourself? Fuck—stop, that’s my kink—please, I love you so much—”

“Oh, shut up. You’re being ridiculous,” you mumbled, cheeks hot. “I love you. And your… cock.”

“Yes. Yes. That’s all I ask. Love me. And love my cock.”

Jake chuckled against your ear, his lips grazing your skin. He nuzzled into your neck, planting a soft kiss on your cheek before wrapping his arms tighter around you. His cock nestled deeper, hitting a sweet curve inside you without thrusting, and he sighed like it was the first deep breath he’d had all day.

“All mine. My love. Mine.”

A/n: I just randomly added Jake was 9 inches— anyway happy 1 year anniversary to this Tumblr account, I didn't even know until Tumblr remind me just today (even tho I started to posted on 1st May 2024) and happy 837 followers to all m!reader enthusiastic y'all are my motivation 😝 shout out to my ride or die mutual, you're my everything A. and sorry for being busy these week🫠

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asteropewpew · 2 days ago

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dearest shooting star 🌠

loving anaxagoras felt similar to the momentary awe whenever you spot a shooting star. that quick, brilliant flash of light streaking across the midnight sky, so vivid and arrogantly defiant against the moon.

i shine brighter than you, it would say to the soft glow of the moonlight illuminating the late night. this shooting star was so bright that it seemingly cut a large swathe across like very definite sword strike, all the while burning up the rest of itself during the end of their cosmic journey. so look only at me.

"Your students looked quite... apoplectic." You look observed, tone filled with knowing amusement as you watched his students amble their way out of his classroom with varying expressions of frustration. Or in some cases, with a look of absolute vengeance. "A lively morning earlier then, yes?"

Anaxagoras doesn't quite chuckle, but the small, involuntary huff as his lips curved slightly in smug glee gives away his current sentiment regarding his students. His form tilted slightly forward as he turned to face you, a pair of vivid seafoam eyes gleaming brightly with all the knowledge and intellect that captivated your attention like a treacherous lure.

It's both fortunate and unfortunate (for your heart), that your own class ends at just around the time that his class ends—with the bell tolling overhead to signal the students to do a self-study session (or exchange shared moments of misery) at numerous amphitheaters or at the central library of the Grove.

"As always, our class ended with another debate."

"About the gods, Professor?"

"Naturally." Given his rather vocal stance as a blasphemer, it was no surprise that his students had seen fit to challenge him to yet another debate. More likely in hopes to humble him rather than commit to any intellectual exchange, you mused. "And as always, they are infuriated whenever I poke out the holes in their arguments."

"Their collective spite would end up with you getting killed one day, you know?" A lie. For as notorious as Anaxagoras had been in criticizing the actions of the Flame-Chase Journey right alongside, his students had somehow decided that he was deserving of their gifts and...other knick knacks that you were most definitely sure were priceless antiques.

Poor Hyacine who's been given more work by the rising mess around his office, no doubt. Although Anaxagoras' new student named Phainon had been mentioned as some sort of precious antique collector and appraiser, which made organizing things much easier, if any.

"If they commit as much dedication to verbally eviscerate me on court trials and debates, they should focus it on their thesis proposals." The sneer in his face made your lips quirk into a smile.

"You should really stop goading your cute little students, Professor Anaxagoras."

He opened his mouth, likely retorting his favorite correction before realization caught his would-be misstep. The small "tch" made your smile widen even as he shot you a warning glare, not missing your clear attempt at throwing him off despite following his numerous insistence regarding the matter with his name. "Telling me how to handle my students now, Professor?"

It should feel criminal how your name comes out of his mouth in a slow, lilting drawl. Almost indulging, if you were to entertain your own fanciful whispers.

"Just a word of advice as a fellow lecturer." But his unimpressed look told you as much about just how convincing your excuse is.

loving anaxagoras felt like loving a shooting star. there is joy in catching that moment of fleeting beauty across the sky, knowing that it would forever be different from any other shooting stars in the world. but like all things, even shooting stars are unforgiving towards their admirers.

they were utterly beautiful in their destruction, the broken fragments carrying with it such a devastating power that perhaps a part of you would break in return; echoing the shatter of a brilliant celestial body with your own hapless heart.

"What did you do?" You rushed to ask, voice trembling ever so slightly as you looked at the ragged exhaustion across Anaxagoras' face.

"Merely created something that puts us in equal standing with the gods." He sounded victorious, as if the price of his triumph wasn't riddled with blood and pain. Anaxagoras looked inappropriately disheveled, clothes rumpled and singed at some of the hems—pale blue hair clinging to his face that was full of grime and sweat and a few cuts here and there. "And I have succeeded in finally making it useable."

There are tremors in his hands, visible ones and you couldn't take your eyes away from the inflamed skin where the bright red of the Philosopher's stone adorned his right hand. Instantly, you feel the impossibly heavy weight of his trust in allowing you inside his personal alchemical laboratory.

There's a myriad of things that you could say to him, and yet all of it would make you nothing more than a hypocrite who allowed the one that you cherished most to completely ruin himself in pursuit of knowledge. All those years that had you faithfully shadowing him in his unquenchable thirst for answers, barely managing to reel him back just in time before he truly hurtled towards the deep end.

All those years of endless exasperation and countless debates as you hurried to catch up to him, all of it cultivated into biting back down a few choices of words directed at his dangerous recklessness. "Really? Treating yourself so poorly while you're in an experimental binge doesn't quite count as a logical course of action."

You hurriedly knelt down beside him as you brought out a roll of fresh bandages from your satchel, and he was mindful enough to not give you much grief as he obediently placed his trembling hands in your hands.

"Am I ever in danger with my own experiments?" His retort made you purse your lips as you carefully started tending to his wounds, a deep frown crossing your face for all that your hands remained gentle in treating his injuries.

The silence that followed, was a little stifled. Even with you, as immersed in your irritation and worries, didn't fail to notice the tension lining over his shoulders.

"This won't be the last." In the end, it was Anaxagoras who broke the silence, sounding a little gruff as he ducked his head to avoid your gaze. "I still need to find the answers to my new questions... far too many thing—"

"Be that as it may," you interrupted his halfhearted reasons with a pointed glare, "you are still expected to teach your own students instead of passing all them off to me every time you get possessed in doing your experiments!"

He tilted his head in consideration, as if only belatedly recalling that he had spent longer in his laboratory than he had expected.

"The brats should know better than compare you with me." The stupid, foolish, heretic scholar with one of the sharpest minds of today, missed your very non-subtle show of concern. Amazing. Truly a mind of the ages indeed. "And besides, you're the only one that wouldn't revise my lesson plan without consulting me first. Or make those impressionable students learn something that they shouldn't waste their time."

"No, I just want to get them off me because I'm tired of grading forty students every week on two different subjects."

"..." The foolish professor didn't even try to object, knowing better than to test your limits.

You also refrained from pointing out that his students have this weird tendency to debate with any professors that even dared to make them stray off his meticulous curriculum, for all that they are keen to put him through the wringer for at least once before they could graduate. "No personal laboratory time for at least a while."

"You can't possibly demand that of me."

The smile on your face dared him to argue any further than this. "I believe Hyacine would appreciate being notified of your... occupational injuries."

There's another beat of silence, but it was a little easier this time. Familiar.

Although your worries still made your chest grow tight, his disgruntled look soothed something within you as he obediently tilted his head up for you to dab at the small cuts and abrasions across his face.

Even more, the victory was sweeter when Anaxagoras eventually grumbled in defeat.

loving anaxagoras felt a little like condemning yourself to watching the fleeting destruction of a shooting star. you, a criminal who was sentenced to chase and watch the one that you loved the most, meet his own end with the most joyous laugh that you've heard from him.

anaxagoras who would completely burn up himself upon reaching the zenith of his journey, content in defying the tranquility of the evening night in a blaze of brilliant light. the false sky, as he had claimed, with eyes sparkling like the simulated constellations in the astronomy laboratory where alchemy fabricates a sky without the threat of aquila's temperamental gaze.

how you wanted, to valiantly preserve that shine without losing the brilliance that belonged to anaxagoras and his endless curiosity. except he was the kind of person who was never meant to be caged, confined and conforming to conventional ideas.

because he was always and foremost, meant to be free.

(and you could only hope that he can come back to you from time to time, if his time permits it; which was a factor that was slowly getting dwindling with each passing day.)

...Perhaps you'd have known it then, that he wouldn't simply just stop at embedding a Philosopher's stone in his right hand. That nothing could truly ever satiate his thirst in finding out the intricacies wrapped around Amphoreus and the ever-enduring Flame-Chase journey.

That he would embody your most favorite celestial body in all its vivid, and gut-wrenching beauty like this.

"Anaxa—are you crazy?!"

You saw him, slumped over the pillars of the central table while the contents in his personal laboratory which looked as if a veritable storm had swept upon it. Potions and vials lay shattered all over the ground, his alchemical gun lying innocuously beside him while numerous papers full of almost unrecognizable scrawls were scattered on the floor.

For a brief, frightening moment, you feared the worst.

"My name...is Anaxa...goras," he rasped after a moment, lone eye a little dull and unfocused as he struggled to recollect his thoughts when you rushed over to him. "Do not...call me Anaxa."

"And very soon, those words will be your last words if you don't get to the Courtyard as fast you can!" Panic was laced in your voice as you tried to check whether he had any debilitating injuries that require a mad dash to the Courtyard.

(Thin. He's thinner again.)

"This is a...culmination of my life's research and a milestone...regarding my capabilities," he argued, wheezing as he bared his teeth in an attempt to hide his pain when he tried to shift his position as you carefully prodded at his form.

"Which would be utterly useless if you don't make a patent of it while you're still alive," you snapped, finally letting out a breath when your preliminary search yielded nothing but a couple of bruises and symptoms of dehydration alongside exhaustion. "Have you truly decided to throw your life away like the foolish blasphemer that you are?"

Ever since he came back from that one conversation with Empedocles after he'd lost his eye, you know that he was a little different.

Sharper perhaps, much more intense as he had been before. Yet he looked perpetually weary, for all that his back stood tall and unwavering while handing out criticisms and advice for his students and fellow scholars.

As if he was always desperately running towards something that remained just out of reach.

"Why...do you care anyway? You're always so...meddlesome." The question made your heart grow still. It felt like being in the middle of Aidonia's harshest snowstorm, the wind howling at your foolishness for daring to even hope. "Don't you understand...why I must...do this?"

He is so thoughtlessly cruel at times, your dearest shooting star.

"I can't accept that what you're doing is so important that you would throw away your entire life for it." You didn't beg, but all of your emotions saturated each and every word. "Please, just take a break, Anaxagoras. There is time. You have time."

"Nothing is more important than seeing the Truth...of the false sky." His voice was hoarse, yet unwavering with the weight of his own conviction and obsessive desire. "And proving that...the Flame-Chase journey is not so linear in its approach. Everything else...was just an afterthought."

"Perhaps I had thought too highly of our time spent together." It hurt, when you could sense nothing but the genuine truth laced in his words. He's definitely suffered some sort of altered mental status right now, but it did little to lessen the sting. "And that my effort towards a dear colleague and companion, was nothing more than a show of charity in your eyes."

Anaxagoras didn't speak, nor did he even need to, as he had finally passed out in abject exhaustion and pain-filled sleep.

(Perhaps it was the best, that he couldn't hear the bitter disappointment in your voice.)

You allowed yourself a look, a last glance, feeling like you've swallowed knives with each indication of self-neglect over his form. His clothes were bigger than it should be on him, not to the point of fright but enough just to indicate how much he's foregone sustenance at least multiple times. Likewise, there's a clear expression of exhaustion in his face. His clothes were disheveled, likely from his latest stunt more than an unconscious habit—but he looked utterly... small in that moment.

It would be easy to hate him. To rage and hate his foolishness, the ease in how he discarded his own present in favor of crafting a future that he had decided that was not his to see. The sheer hypocrisy by how passionate he was in insisting the sanctity of life and autonomy over "misguided notions" of honor and obligation, when each of his choices had contributed to his eventual ruin.

But you couldn't.

Despite all your frustrations and concerns, you never would be able to hate him for as much as you cherish him.

You know you were not so important as to be able to anchor his feet, but you can't help but wish you were.

loving anaxa meant suffering from daring to attempt that you could handle the intensity of a shooting star. it's like being a moth drawn to his vibrant flame, helplessly oblivious to the eventual agony of being burned alive.

you loved still loved your shooting star who had captivated your attention so tightly, before he spirited your heart away from your hands without any intention of returning it. nor even trying to take care of it.

anaxagoras was a great many things, but he was also utterly oblivious at the best of times. you should have created a boundary with him early on, to rein in your feelings as soon as your traitorous heart thundered at the sight of his bright, satisfied smile.

(but you didn't. and equally hurt and filled you with humility for every time you could see a part of anaxa that perhaps few or rather, none had ever been privy to see it.)

your blasphemer was always meant for great things, regardless if he would be scorned or admired for his actions.

and you could only watch and try to help him when he has burned himself too early in his journey towards searching for the truth of this world.

the astronomy laboratory was one of your favorite ventures, and you keep to your silence even as the door opened to welcome the familiar clack of footsteps coming towards the center of the laboratory.

"...I didn't know that there's someone using the astronomy laboratory."

"It's occupied." your voice was clipped, sparing only the barest words as you didn't bother to turn around and acknowledge the illustrious anaxagoras. there was a brief pause, before you heard a rustling sound as he carefully sat down beside you.

ever since that day, when you had rushed anaxagoras into the courtyard after he had collapsed, you decided to keep your distance. a futile attempt at drawing a boundary when you've already reached a point in no return, but you held strong even when hyacine had cautiously asked if you would like to visit him even just once.

it was more for your sake than his, and you were confident that he wouldn't even notice—for all that he's dedicated his focus and attention to his dogged pursuit of the truth.

"You weren't present to the general meeting with all the Professors." it took everything in you not to flinch when you felt the weight of his gaze on the side of your face.

"I was busy." you were very much grateful that the darkness hid much of your expression as you drew your knees close to yourself.

"Busy with what?" he probed, because he never did have a sense of self-restraint when it comes to satiating his curiosity. "Hyacine told me that you asked to be relieved of another class to handle. And that you also applied for a...sabbatical leave."

the latter sentence echoed his mystified confusion, the notion of a vacation apparently being a foreign one to the foolish scholar.

"I'm accompanying Hyacine and Phainon on their usual visit back to Okhema." there, that should be enough to get him off your back and leave.

except it doesn't.

"You've never shown any interest in leaving the Grove for that holy city." it was evident how poorly he had regarded the capital with the eternal light, and you've heard his sentiments regarding a certain chrysos heir residing in the city often enough to understand his position.

but you didn't care much for that.

what pricked at your still smarting heart was—

"I don't need to report to you nor justify any of my actions to you for anything, Professor Anaxagoras." you replied, voice chillingly cold and void of your hurt as much as you can. "As you have made yourself quite clear on my interference to your pursuit of knowledge."

There was another pause, the fabric of his coat rustling as he abruptly moved closer to you.

"That day when you rushed me into the courtyard," his voice was faintly urgent, promptly you to finally give a glance at his pinched expression with a carefully distant look. except the faint unease within his piercing eyes made your traitorous heart flutter once again. "Did I say anything?"

this close, you could see that hyacine's work had lessened the exhaustion and overall gauntness of the scholar's face. despite you still childishly holding on to your anger, you felt a tension within you finally relax.

"Nothing but the truth, Professor." it was maddening, how your anger was quietly doused by seeing just how much he had recovered (even if you could still sense an air of weariness around him).

"That's not—" anaxagoras tsked, ever astute in deducing a hint from your response. "I said something."

you kept silent, because you refuse to be considered a puzzle where he would look for clues to satisfy his own questions. no, it would hurt you far too much if he treated what had happened as nothing more than a logical problem to be straightened out.

(it would be like holding out your still mending heart for him to destroy.)

"Whatever it was, it was enough for you to refuse a visit to me at the ward." the intensity in his gaze proved too much, and you ducked your head to look away from him. you saw his hand make an aborted move towards you, before it stopped and curled into a tight fist. "It happened when you caught me in my personal laboratory, and I was cognizant enough to respond but not enough to retain the memories of our brief interaction before you brought me to the Courtyard. You're angry. And I hurt you."

your foolish scholar had known nothing but the thorny path that would lead to his goals, and it was your own foolish decision to chase after him like a persistent shadow. in the end, everything can be traced back to your own decision to accompany him for so long—like that hapless moth who was drawn to the raging inferno that was anaxagoras the blasphemer.

you knew that he would change the world, at any and at all costs. even if the damning price was to ruin himself in the process.

"What did I say?" he asked again and... abruptly, you felt very tired.

forget it.

"It's alright," you murmured, finally looking up to give him a lopsided smile. don't worry, went unheard. "It was...my fault more than yours."

there was another pause again, before he spoke again.

"I am in need of a...companion for Hyacine to finally relinquish her watch on me." he said, stumbling over a particular word while you gave an inquiring hum.

you like to think that you know the undertone of his statement. don't go.

but you never truly left him, even in the height of your anger and hurt. hyacine would never fail to give you updates regarding his wellbeing and any additional expenses quietly paid for by you (under the guise of an anonymous benefactor), and combined with her stubbornness and the threat of making ika sit on his chest was enough for him to veer off from going back to his laboratory far too soon.

"...I can do that." it would be another story if you saw his main table and be reminded of how you initially saw him, but that was a thing for the future.

his shoulders slumping over slightly made a smile finally crack across your face, and he swiftly closed the remaining distance to rest his weight against yours.

"Good." and he sounded like he meant it.

you know that anaxagoras doesn't apologize for his actions, not because of pride but because he would not regret any of the actions that he had made. that each of his actions were driven with a purpose that would ultimately bring him closer to his goals.

when his hand carefully rested above yours after a while, the warmth spoke more than his clumsy attempts at making it for his apparent misstep. you gazed back upon the twinkling constellations, with the weight of anaxagoras' presence sitting close to your side.

your shooting star, if only for a moment, paused in his relentless pursuit to accompany you for the night.

it wasn't quite an apology, but it was more than enough.

(p.s. first time trying to do this so please tell me your thoughts? would you also want an anaxa pov to compliment this hehe)

#anaxa x reader #hsr x reader #hsr x gender neutral reader #hsr x you #anaxa honkai star rail #hsr anaxa #anaxagoras #more on introspection #also i feel like anaxa would be the type to not really notice how much he's interested in you #like his tone may look bored or distant but his body language definitely tells you everything that you should #he's a little emotionally constipated and that's okay #self indulgent #can be read as platonic or romantic ngl #pining #yearning #requited love #anaxa as anaxagoras #fluff #angst with a happy ending

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lazysoulwriter · 14 hours ago

Text

standing tall. - pedro pascal.

requested! thank you for sending. tall girls supremacy!!!!! (not a tall girl, just find them hot)

---

It started with one photo. Just one.

You and Pedro Pascal at an afterparty — him in a perfectly tailored suit, you towering over him in stilettos and a silk gown, laughing at something he whispered against your ear.

The internet lost its mind. “Tall girl supremacy!!” “Pedro with his goddess? I’m crying??” “He’s so real for this.”

And honestly? You loved every second of it.

You met Pedro on set — a supporting role in his new prestige series. From the very first table read, he made you feel seen. Literally seen.

While most people awkwardly commented on your height or made jokes, Pedro had simply looked up at you, grinned wide, and said, "Finally, someone who doesn’t make me feel like a giant."

It was easy after that. Late-night conversations on set. Inside jokes. Flirty glances over coffee cups. You tried to ignore the way your heart skipped when he laughed. Tried to pretend you didn’t notice the way he always found a reason to stand just a little closer to you.

Of course, Pedro made the first move. (Because you're gorgeous, and he’s not stupid.)

Dating Pedro was a whirlwind of soft affection and quiet understanding.

He loved how you wore heels without hesitation. He loved how you never apologized for taking up space — in a room, in a conversation, in his life.

"You’re statuesque, hermosa," he told you one night, tracing the line of your jaw with reverent fingers. "Like you were carved out of marble just to drive me crazy."

The only thing he didn’t love? Seeing you hesitate when the cameras were around.

Because no matter how confident you were, there was always that tiny voice in your head: Too tall. Too loud. Too much.

Pedro saw it. And he wasn’t having it.

The night of the afterparty, it all came to a head.

You hesitated before stepping onto the red carpet with him, shifting on your towering heels. Pedro caught your hand immediately, pulling you back into his chest.

"Hey," he said, voice low and sure. "You’re not dimming yourself for anyone tonight. You hear me?"

You smiled nervously. "I’m like... two inches taller than you right now."

Pedro chuckled, squeezing your hand. "And you look like a fucking queen. If anything, I should be wearing taller shoes to keep up with you."

You laughed, the tension breaking. He pressed a kiss to your temple, completely ignoring the flashing cameras.

"Let them talk," he murmured. "I’ve got the most beautiful woman in the room on my arm. I'm winning."

And just like that, you stood a little taller.

The next morning, you woke up to thousands of tweets, edits, and fan posts celebrating you both.

Pedro had even reposted one — a photoset of the two of you looking every bit like Hollywood royalty — with the caption: "Love when she looks at me like I hung the moon 🖤"

Cue the internet absolutely combusting.

Later that week, curled up on his couch in sweats and no makeup, you teased him, "You're really not bothered that I’m taller than you sometimes?"

Pedro set down his coffee, turning to you with that fond, devastating smile. "Sweetheart," he said, "I’m old enough to know when I'm blessed. You could be six feet tall or sixty feet tall — I'd still look at you like you're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

You hid your burning face in his chest, laughing. He wrapped his arms around you tighter.

"Besides," he added with a wink, "I like having to look up at you. Keeps me humble."

You giggled, feeling weightless in a way you hadn't in a long time. And as he kissed the top of your head, murmuring sweet nothings into your hair, you realized —

Yeah. This was the real win. Not just for the tall girls. But for you. For the love you had found when you finally stopped shrinking yourself.

----

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal imagines #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfics #pp #x reader #pedro pascal fics #pedro pascal one shot #pedro pascal oneshot #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal blurb #pedro pascal x tall!reader #ficreq

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yamysunmoon · 3 days ago

Text

Give it to me

Pairing: jenna ortega x fem!reader

Summary: Jenna has a secret desire she's never told anyone. She knows it's not that big of a deal, but still scares and fascinates her by equal parts. She'd only trust her deepest wish to you, her dom, of course.

Word count: 9.1k

Warnings: dom!reader, sub!jenna, use of a plug, strap-on!reader, rimmering, masturbation, ass fingering, oral (J receiving), spitting, sextape, rough(?) sex, referring to the strap as "cock", begging, praise, overstimulation (a lot), both J's and R's first time doing anal.

Part 2- "Gentle"

a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts since January. It's finally yours <3

MASTERLIST

The gentle sunlight of a new day slips through the cortains of Jenna's bedroom, making you blink and stir in her arms.

Fluttering your eyes open, you find Jenna's peaceful asleep expression in front of you. One of her arms is drapped across your waist and she's using the other as a pillow, cupping her neck.

She looks so serene like this, when the stress of her busy life isn't bothering her. Yesterday was her last day on set for the next three days, and she invited you over and asked you to spend this days off work with her.

You smile, remembering her flirty yet shy voice over the phone when she gave you the news, dropping in the information as if you were supposed to suggest the three days date instead of her.

You graze the side of her face with the back of your fingers, her eyes flutter and squeeze as soon as your touch is on her.

She opens her eyes, offering you a drowsy, glassy gaze. "Hi" she murmurs with that husky, sleepy voice.

You smile sideways. "Morning..." you lean in to kiss her forehead. "Slept well?" you look down at her as you ask, leaning back, and she stares back at you, her look thoughtful.

"I want to tell you something" she announces softly, withdrawing her arm from your wais and sitting up.

You frown, worried by her tone and shift in her demeanor. "What is it?" you sit up too, putting your hands on your thighs as you cross your legs and settle in front of her. You slide one hand closer to her, but then you stop yourself, hesitant.

She notices the doubt in your moves, and smiles sheepishly. "Oh don't worry, it's nothing bad. I'm just a bit nervous" she explains, reaching out to hold your hand.

She holds it with both hands, fondling the back with one hand and the palm with the other. Her fingers grazing yours, intertwining with them and caressing you so tenderly immediately calms you down.

"Okay" you whisper. You clean your throat, realizing how nervous you've got all of a sudden. "Just say it, love."

She takes a deep breath in, steeling her nerves. She looks down at your hands together as she speaks, "Lately I've been thinking a lot about something."

You tilt your head down slightly, looking at her intently even if she's not looking at you. "About what?"

You witness her cheeks flush a pale pink. "About... A fantasy of mine" she offers, warily. She glances up very briefly, her cheeks go a little darker when her eyes meet yours.

You scoot up your eyebrows in amused surprise. You were taking the situation in a very different way. "Oh" you let out, still very much oblivious to say something else, "well, what's it about?"

She ducks her head, her bangs hiding her eyes. You wait patiently, but she stays silent for some long seconds, playing with your hand between hers. You decide to give her some reassurance.

"You know I'm not gonna judge you, right?" you pause, gauging her reaction. She doesn't move much, but you know she's listening.

"We've done some pretty freaky stuff already, and I absolutely love to try new things with you. I think it helps us bound more, and it's definitely fun and hot as fuck. You don't have to worry."

You pause again and bend forward a little. Your hand was meek between hers, but now you move it a bit to caress her forearm.

She sighs and whimpers quietly, her shoulders scoot up a bit when she inhales deeply. "Okay" she breathes out, emptying her lungs.

She finally looks at you and you offer a soft, encouraging gaze. "There goes nothing, then" she murmurs and then winces, immediately regretting her words.

You smile gently and nod, supportive. She tries to keep eye contact, but her gaze ends up drifting nervously between your eyes and the features of your face as she explains.

"I've been... Picturing you— inside me."

You tilt your head, curious. "Okay...?"

"But not where you usually... Are."

She looks at you intently, hoping you get the hint.

Understanding dawns on your face, but your eyes narrow with suspicion and you smile mischievously.

"What do you mean?"

She observes you, then realizes you're just playing. She blushes violently now and looks away. "Don't" she grumbles, flush spreading down her neck and up to her ears.

Her adorable reaction makes you chuckle lightly. "Oh, come on" you tease, "all this mystery and you can't at least say it?"

She pouts, stubborn. You scoot closer to her, your knees graze and your voice comes out softer now. "We can't even attempt to do it if we can't talk about it openly."

Her pout deepens for a moment, but then her expression relaxes as your words sink in. She sighs once again, knowing you're right.

"Okay" she concedes, looking at you. Her eyebrows were still frowned, but your gentle body language and attentive attitude move her.

"Okay" she repeats, lighter. "I'd like us to try pegging."

You smirk, satisfied. "I thought it was called that way only when a woman does it to a man."

"Oh, shut up" she rolls her eyes and waves her hand, but you both chuckle a little, the goofy joke easing the atmosphere.

She taps at your thighs, scooting closer and looking down at your lap. "Okay, so..."

You engage in a playful yet honest conversation about how you'd approach this fantasy of hers. She explains how she's pictured it and her concerns about it, given its fame of being painful and uncomfortable.

You soothe her, pretty confident about it all because of the endless conversations you've had in this regard with your male gay friends, who have given you plenty information about it.

You suggest a specific sex toy to try on before moving to the strap.

"Plugs are small and smooth. Their characteristic shape helps accomodate to it gradually, and I've heard they bring a one-off feeling once it's inside."

Jenna takes in your words, considering your suggestion with thoughtful nods.

"OK, so... Since I have a couple days off..." her hands slide up and down your thighs as she looks at you with a glint in her eyes, much comfortable now. "What if we try it... Today?"

You smile as she leans closer, her eyes on you and her breath mingling with yours.

"That's perfect by me" you mutter.

Her lips curl up in a shy smile, and she gives you a peck. "I'm gonna make an order then. I know a very discreet sex shop that can make the deliver for us to have it in the evening." She kisses you again, making you feel a bit dizzy. "Also, I'm gonna douche as well, I don't wanna feel all self-concious mid scene" she adds in a whisper.

Her honesty makes you grin. "Whatever, okay. I don't mind that much..."

"You've said you wanna try rimmering" she interrupts you, poking your nose, "I ain't letting you do that without the douche situation happening."

You laugh out loud, your eyes crinkling at the corners, causing her to smile fondly.

"Okay, okay" you concede, blushing slightly and waving your hands in dismiss. "Deal."

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

You're wearing nothing but your underwear -boxers for women- and a bra. She's wearing sport shorts and a loose shirt

The box is resting on the table in front of you two. Jenna steals glances at you, yet her eyes remain mostly fixed on the object.

"Should we open it already?" she mutters anxiously.

You look at her, exhaling air you weren't aware of holding. Emptying your lungs, you nod.

"Yeah. Let's open it."

Jenna doesn't hesitate and opens the box, revealing several plugs of different sizes and two bottles of lubricant. She opens one of them, of neutral taste and smell.

"I prefer this one" she whispers, handing it to you. Your eyes flicker between her and the bottle, realizing how breathy her voice already has become.

Jenna is so excited, with no need of you doing anything in particular.

Just the thought, the reality, of doing this with you; of finally experiencing this fantasy that's been in her head for way too long; has her bothered enough to be already trembling just at the sight of you holding that bottle.

You inspect the bottle, sniffing. You pour some of it on your index finger, then brush it against your thumb.

Distracted as you are testing the product, takes you some seconds to glance at Jenna, feeling her strong, needy stare.

When you finally look at her, you find her intense, longing stare fixed on your fingers, then snap up to your face. The sparkle in her eyes, the gleam that lights up her entire face with a hint of deep yearning, almost pulls a moan out of you.

She doesn't prevent that same reaction from happening within her, and so she does moan. A ver weak, quiet whimper reverbing against her lips, right before her jaw relaxes dropping slightly, her tongue sticking out slightly to sweep her bottom lip in a wet gesture.

The tension could be cut with a knife. She's standing there, silent, waiting for your orders in a freezed yet more than available stillness. She's waiting for the gun shot, she's expecting the signal.

You lick your lips yourself, in a deliberate way that makes her frown her eyebrows slightly, clearly doing a big effort not to complain. But she looks too adorable waiting for your instructions like this, so you decide to be benevolent and give her some sort of direction.

"Bend over, princess. Over the table."

Your voice is almost soft, almost polite. It drives her insane when you use that tone on her, as if your words were a suggestion, an idea. As if she was gonna consider not doing what you ask her to do, even for a second.

Also, the nickname gives her the mark she needed. When you call her princess, you both know it's all started. The game begins.

She obviously complies, presenting herself to you. Her hands fumble on her sides, she hesitates about where to put them. And so you give her a hint, how helpful of you.

Settling the bottle on the desk, you run your fingers along the length of her arms, finally reaching her hands. You cover the back of her hands and curl her fingers with a gentle caress, molding her body as if she was clay.

Her hands end up holding the edge of the table, over her head. This position allows her to arch her back and stretch her body, presenting herself even further.

"Hmm, that's right... You look so sexy, princess" you coo in a husky murmur as you gently grind your hips against her backside.

She stifles a high-pitched whimper, and turns her head to rest her right cheek on the table. You notice how blushed she's become, how the rosy flush is taining her cheeks.

She's nervous, you can tell. She wants it, you can also tell.

She pulls her hips back, pressing herself against you boldly. Then she nods, eyes fixed on the wall. She's too shy to glance at you for now, but her body language and head gently tilting tells you everything you need to know.

Hooking your fingers on the waistband of her shorts and panties underneath, you pull it all down.

Grazing her smooth skin on the way down, you squat between her legs, facing her ass.

She kicks off the clothes ragged on her ankles, throughing them away in a fervid movement. This makes you smirk.

Splaying out your fingers, your hands easily envelop her buttocks, You give her two playful, testing squeezes. She whines again, this time you catch her looking at you over her shoulder.

You two share a stare. Your is joyful, shinning with excitement and the unquestionable pleasure of control. Hers is pleading yet patient, the vivid image of trust.

That look in her eye is what makes you slip you digits lower, sliding between her folds to spread her already gathering wetness all over her slit.

She breaks eye contact, rolling her eyes as she turns to look to the front, but it doesn't take her long to throw her head back, blessing you with her always sultry, tempting pants.

You've decided to start by something she knows, a sensation she's used to. However, it always feels like the first time with Jenna.

Doesn't matter how many times you've masturbated her in the past months, doesn't matter how many times she's felt your fingertips circling her clit, the length of your fingers covering her slit, gently warmed by her pussy lips.

Doesn't matter to her, doesn't matter to you, because she's never failed to throw her head like that, to squirm wiggling her hips invitingly, to whisper silent pleas for more. Each and every time.

And so you get your wrist to work, touching her in that side-to-side motion that causes her arousal to soak your fingers, spreading it all over her core, keeping her nice and wet for you.

Her breath is labored as she grinds against your fingers, and you can feel her weight, her body relaxing under your touch.

Your other hand has never stopped gropping her ass, experimenting with the patterns and pressure. But then something shifts. Guessing she's ready, you use your fingers to spread her cheeks.

She inhales sharply, pausing her grinding for a moment. She squints at you, then her eyes wide as she realizes what's about to happen. You look at her intently, seeking any sign of discomfort or withdraw.

You find none.

Instead, she pushes her hips back again, then rolls forward, brushing herself against your hand bluntly.

Her cautious restlessness has always been your weak spot.

Leaning forward, you start by spreading kisses all over her buttcheeks. She whines louder, encouraging you. And so, you use your teeth.

Nipping gently, you map out her entire roundness, deliberately ignoring her hole for now.

She grasping onto the edges of the table lively, and although she doesn't complain for your languid teasing approach, her adorable whines let you know she's getting impatient.

But here's the thing, there's nothing you desire more than to push Jenna's buttons; than to drive her to a mindset where she'll do anything in exhange of the vigorous, wrecking touch she knows she can get from you.

After leaving her buttcheeks with faint reddish marks, you finally dart out your tongue.

Trailing a spiral drawing of open-mouthed kisses that gradually gets smaller, you finally reach the tight hole.

At this point she's distracted by your attention and she grinds against your hand absentmindedly. She can get like this sometimes during a scene; where her mind is focused in too many things, too many sensations, and this can lead her to feel overwhelmed and anxious at the end.

That's why you withdraw your hand in a tender, thoughtful touch.

"Thanks" she says in sotto voce, letting go a soft sigh.

Now, both of you are utterly focused in the stimulation at task.

Now that you have both of your hands at your disposal, you grab her fullness and spread her cheeks purposefully, revealing her pink tightness.

You are able to notice her pleasure dripping down her outer lips, but quickly drift your gaze to her hole. You've got other things to care about right now.

Leaning forward, you make contact with her most intimate part for the first time.

She lets out a curious noise, something between awe and doubt as you press your lips against her. But she gasps the moment your tongue makes its appearance; swirling around the area.

Reaching for the lube, you lean back slightly and pour a generous amount there, quickly being spread by your skillfull tongue.

With soft bobs of your head, you flutter your eyes shut and focus on the sensation of her cheeks against your face, your nose gently brushing her coccyx, your hands fondling her round cheeks.

She's tilting her head, uneasy, trying to get comfortable in her contained eagerness. She follows the bobbing of your head and rolls her hips backwards, pressing herself against you in a languid, sultry dance.

Her fingers clutch the table, she starts to bounce deeper, moving her body back and forth in a way that makes you moan against her flesh.

Your tongue swirls and laps slowly and determined, and you can feel her twitch against your touch, gently giving in to your attention.

You're curling your fingers rhythmically, squeezing her buttcheeks, pushing them against the sides of your mouth or spreading them wide.

Your game makes her squirm more, rolling her hips back and forth and to the sides, unruly. She's slowly losing control, the smoldering desire taking control of her body and thoughts.

When you handle her like this, you have a very clear purpose- to make her lose it. To use her trust in your advantage up to a point where her mind is blank, completely yielding to your wishes; utterly giving herself, body, mind and soul; to you.

She's jerking, pushing her hips against your face, shamessly grinding her backside against your lips, your tongue, your hands. So when you lean back she whines miserably, obviously disagreeing with your choice of actions.

"Why...?" she moans, looking at you over her shoulder.

But the question gets trapped in her throat when she takes in the sight of you looking at her as your index finger presses against her hole.

A shuddering sigh leaves her lips and she arches her back. Like a work of magic, her hole cedes to you, her muscles gently stretching around your digit.

With the lube having soaked your hand completely -task you took care of while she was busy complaining about your mouth no longer on her-, you have enough confidence in yourself and in her body to push your finger a little deeper.

A couple of inches slide in, and she frowns in a mixture of faint pain and a hint of pleasure.

You pause, awaiting for feedback.

"Go... On" she gasps out, hesitating.

You slide a little further, then pull out only to bump those couple inches over and over again, slowly.

She flutters her eyes shut and squeezes her eyes, sweaty creases on her forehead as she gets used to the fresh intrusion and gets to know the new pleasurable sensation.

Gradually, her hips start to move again, her body bouncing gently as she parts her lips to exhale soft gasps.

"Yeah? Feels good?" you breath out, transfixed by the intimacy and the sensuality of it all.

Locks of hair fall gracefully over the sides of her face, and they wiggle gently with each bounce. They tremble even more when she nods fervently.

"Yes..." She moans quietly, her cheeks painted with a fresh new wave of flush, "So fucking good, baby..."

You can see in her face that she's lost in the pleasure. She's pushing back at your finger as if she'd been doing it for years, her muscles twitching and pulsing around you.

You pound into her more firmly, curling your digit experimentally with each thrust, exploring her. Eventually, you find the perfect angle that makes her quiver and whisper urgent pleas.

"More... Please, baby, more..."

Before you know, you're fingering her knuckle-deep, sliding your finger in and out so comfortably it's obscene.

The strong smell of her arousal hits your nose, she wiggles uncontrollably, desperately seeking more, and her aching neglected pussy pulses insistent.

You almost feel sorry, but this new phase of her pleasure gives you free pass to the next step you're eagerly willing to discover.

In a swift move, you reach the smaller plug. She looks at you askance, a hint of defiance in her eye.

"I can take more" she murmurs in a husky voice, and purposefully impales herself on your finger.

You chuckle darkly, shaking your head in amusement.

"I'll be the judge of that, don't you think?" you coo.

She hoffs, but immediately inhales deeply as you withdraw your finger, using both hands to spread lube on the toy, preparing it for her.

She doesn't retort, secretly relishing on the bliss of the mocking way you always take care of her.

The way she inhales sharply when you insert the object urges you to plant a soft kiss on the small of her back.

"You're doing so good, princess..." you murmur, slowly sliding it in.

As you anticipated, her inner muscles relax in its wake, her body not betraying her at all. Instead, she starts grinding shortly after.

"God..." she exhales in a dry, low moan.

"Ain't no god implicated here, sweetheart" you quip, stading up behind her once the toy is comfortably inserted in her.

"Just me" you add feidging modesty, and that's when she feels your thighs caging her ass, hips rolling to increase the sensations of the toy inside her.

She gasps in surprise and agreement, pulling back against your thrusts, the toy shifting inside her.

"Oh my oh my oh my" she chants in a trembling whisper, feeling herself getting closer and closer.

You reach for her mound again, your fingers easily finding her bundle of nerves, and you gasp when you feel it swollen and damp.

She jolts urgently, her whole body at your disposal, violently grinding against both your hand and your hips pullings the toy inside her with the delicious rolling of her hips.

Your free hand explores her back, fingers trailing up her spine till you reach the back of her neck, which you hold in a firm, tender grip, wrapping your fingers on either sides.

She lets out bated breaths and breathy whimpers, and she shifts giving you better access to her neck.

She's pliant yet incredibly restless, her wetness coats your fingers letting you know how close she is.

"Can I... Can I please..." she moans desperately, bucking harshly against your hand and hips.

You rock your hips against her mercilessly, the flat base of the toy slamming deliciously against the fabric of your underwear, gratting you with a pleasant friction.

"Can you what, princess?" you coo, sliding your fingers into her hair, gently scratching her scalp.

This makes her shiver and throw her head back toward your touch.

"Come on, speak your mind... Tell me what you need..." you encourage her, your tender voice a deep contrast to your firm shoves and circling on her clit.

She lurches vigorously, rubbing her cunt against your fingers and swings her hips towards you, the toy shifting inside her.

"Can I... Can I come, please?" she coos at last in a husky, whimpering voice. "Please, let me come... I need it so bad..."

Her thin hoarse pleading voice does something to you. You can feel your heart slamming in your chest and your stomach twisting.

The way she asks for it, the way she begs for it, sinks you into the urgent wish of meeting her needs.

"Oh course, beautiful" you say out of breath, "show me what you've got."

Her movements turn more erratic, frenzied, and she cries out your name as she pulls back and forth, desperately rubbing herself against your fingers on her puffy clit.

You press your hand against it, granting her with more pressure than what she can reach for herself.

She inhales sharply and her body goes stiff, arching her back beautifully. This causes her ass you rise up, and you move your hips in circular motions, the toy provoking undescriptable sensations inside her.

With a final, air-piercing wail, she lets go. She grinds avidly as she comes undone, her body jolting and writhling with overstimulation, but she still shoves relentlessly against your hand, milking it for all it's worth.

You watch her in awe. Her hair falls down her back like a courtain, your hand slips down to her lower back, which you pamper soothingly.

She finally snaps her head forward, her forehead softly hitting the table. Jenna lets out trembling sighs, trying to gain some sort of control.

"Don't worry about it" you whisper, your hand caressing her slower, in a shallow touch, your hips slowing down, "I've got you, princess. You don't have to think at all."

She whines, plunging her hips against your touch. But she jolts involuntary, her body trying to tell her it's too much. She rolls her hips again, stubborn.

"Shhh..." you reach for her hair, stroking it lovingly. "You need a moment, sweetie... Don't be hard on yourself..."

She whines louder, in complain. She turns her head, resting her right cheek on the table. "But... I want more..." she whimpers in a husky, vulnerable thin voice.

"Oh... Don't worry about that, pretty girl. I'm not done with you, not at all" you say in a smug yet soft tone, causing her to shudder visibly.

"Not even remotely."

Your hand roams from her hair to her blades. You splay out your fingers and apply a little of pressure, while you gently withdraw your hand from her core and pull your hips back.

As your hand trails down her spine, she stands up and looks at you over her shoulder, following your movements like a puppet.

Her lips part releasing soft pants, and she looks at you through a hazy expectant gaze.

Your hands meet her hips, you hold her securely as she leans back, her back pressing against your chest. However, you make sure she doesn't press her backside against your mound.

The deep trust in her eyes moves you, and you lean in to press a soft kiss to her lips, which she welcomes placing her hands over yours.

You attempt to lean back, but she brings up one hand and cups your cheek, parting her lips to deepen the kiss, tracing your bottom lip with her tempting tongue.

You realize she needs this. She needs the comfort, the tenderness, after the good care you've taken of her and her body.

You tilt your head and part your lips as well, giving her access to your mouth. You both groan quietly as your tongues meet, displaying an erotic, languid dance.

She melts into the kiss, blessing you with soft whines that die in your mouth, her hand sliding to trace your jawline and cup your neck.

After a long minute, you break the kiss tenderly, leaning back. She whimpers pathetically, earning a wry smile from your behalf. Her gaze finds your eyes, and she frowns in adorable confusion.

Smiling fondly, you grab the hem of her shirt and pull it up. She helps you, and once the fabric hits the floor, you need a second to take in the sight of her fully naked before you.

Without taking your eyes off her, you point at the bed with a swing of your head. "Lie down." Your voice gets back its usual something, that mix between gentle suggestion and hoarse command.

Something in her eyes shift, and she returns to her subspace in a matter of seconds.

She wobbles her way to the bed, you watch her as she struggles yet complies eagerly, stifling soft whines her way there.

It`s just a couple of steps, and once her thighs touch the edge of the bed, she turns around facing you, and sits down. Keeping eye contact and with her lips parted with soft pants leaving them, she leans back and props herself up on her elbows, ogling at you.

You reach her and walk your hands along her legs, making her gasp and hold her breath. You grin.

"It's okay, princess, breathe."

Your hands catch her knees, and you cup them from the back and make her bend them up, so that her feet rest on the bed and she's more spread.

Your gaze goes down, relishing an unobstructed view of her puffy drenched folds, swollen clit and plug buried in her.

You glance briefly at her, finding her cheeks flushed in deep crimson, grossy eyes looking down at you.

Usually she'd complain when you get like this, all snoopy and nonchalant, just staring at her body like that. She gets shy and self-concious when you look at her with such attention, squirming and urging you to touch her already.

Nonetheless, this time she doesn't say a word. She just leers at you, awaiting. At first you assume she's just being more obedient today, but as you gape down at her, mesmerized, the answer is before your eyes.

She's sensitive as hell. One squirm and the toy will shift inside her. Her previous release is dripping down her outer lips onto her inner thighs, and judging by her bated breathing you can tell she's still worked up.

And eventhough you know she isn't ready yet, her stare and restless body language let you know how bad she needs it anyway.

And so, you deliver.

First comes the sharp inhale. Then, she squeezes her eyes shut, frowning in bliss and a glimpse of pain. She squirms, adjusting to the sensation. She's barely registering the feeling of your tongue on her cunt when she starts bucking.

You grin against her flesh, because even if her legs are trembling as you hold them firmly, even if she can't find a rhythm because her body is unwilling to cooperate, she still bucks eagerly against your mouth.

As she rolls her hips, the toy obviously shifts inside her, causing her thighs to tense against your temples, her instincs telling her to close her legs.

However, her fingers are lost in your hair, tangled, scratching your scalp and urging you deeper.

She's so avid, you think to yourself.

It doesn't even take you that long. She tries to delay it, because she loves it when you put your tongue on her, but not even her deep breaths in and steady sighs spare her from losing control.

She jerks and rocks her hips greedily, and her legs stutter, her weak moans coming out in shuddered gasps. With a final loud moan, her back arches off the bed and she comes hard in your mouth.

You lap at her eagerly, not giving her even a moment to catch her breath, earning weak whines seeking mercy.

"P-please..."

Once you're satisfied with your performance, you give her one last long lick from her entrance to below her swollen clit, chosing to be benevolent with the manhadled bundle of nerves.

"T-t-thanks" she stammers beautifully, barely above a whisper.

You climb up, leaving feather-touch kisses on her mound, lower stomach, midriff. She quivers each and every time.

"Oh you're being so good this evening, princess. I wonder how far we can take it, huh? How far you're willing to take it."

Your soft coos hiding a sultry threat always get into her. She's far gone in the real life fantasy you're both creating, in the risky yet safe mindspace you get her in.

"Much more" she breathes out, visibly trembling as you level her, pressing your breasts against hers ever so slightly. She inhales.

"I can take more."

Looking directly into her eyes, you find nothing but raw trust and deep desire. It bathes you in an intense feeling of affection and pride.

You both gasp quietly as you grab the base of the toy and carefully withdraw it from her. She lifts her hips, helping you, and she grasps onto your shoulders for anchor.

"There you go" you purr in a whisper, "you're precious."

She blushes again, her lips parted and plump. Your gaze drifts down to them, and she does the same, staring bluntly at your mouth.

Throwing the toy somewhere onto the lower bed, you lean in and kiss her passionately, feeling her arms wrapping around your shoulders, pulling you down.

She finds comfort in the kiss, and lets out a contented sigh as she feels you gently grinding against her, keeping some sort of contact between you and her aching, intimate parts.

After a heavy make-out session, she is the one that leans back this time, her head gently hitting the pillows. She gives you a hazy half-lidded glance, her chest heavy as she tries to catch her breath.

You smirk. Leaning in again, you avoid her lips and instead go for her neck.

Choosing a particular sensitive spot, you wrap your lips around it and suck firmly, gradually harder, hearing her whine and her throat vibrating until you release the flesh, watching proud as a more than visible hickey forms on her skin.

She slides one hand into your hair and strokes it lovingly. "You can mark me all you want" she murmurs with that vulnerable, sexy voice of hers.

You stare at your handiwork, brushing your thumb across it wiping off the saliva. You sit up, catching her off guard. "I'm gonna take a picture" you say as you fumble for Jenna's phone on the nighstand.

Kneeling between her spread legs, you hold the phone with one hand and you put your other hand on her cheek, gently pulling down to make her turn her head the other way. The tendons tense on her neck, making the hickey stand out.

"Gorgeous" you mutter, earning a soft lids fluttering from her. You smirk as you take the picture— seems like she'd do anything for a praise.

After taking several pictures, you put the phone down but your smile fades as you look at her, your expression turns thoughtful.

No longer feeling your hand on her cheek, she turns her head and looks up at you, curious. "What?" she asks breathier than intended, already sensing you've come up with a new way to ruin her.

You swallow, wondering if you're about to overstep. This is not something you two have ever discussed, and for a moment you fear the faith she's put in you will vanish.

But she looks up at you with such adoration, that you can't back down.

"Can I record you?"

Her eyebrows scoot up, and she sits up against the headboard. She looks at you with curiosity, rather than judgement.

"Doing what?"

Obviously, she's used to having cameras on her, but this is different. It's all different with you.

Now that's where the trick hangs. You swallow hard this time, and then dare to continue.

"I'd like not to tell you."

She frowns, confused, and for a moment you think she's gonna say the safeword.

"It's nothing that crazy" you rush to clarify as she was taking a breather. She halts, willing to listen.

"It's just, uh... It's..."

"Okay" she interrupts.

You stop mumbling and look down at her, hopeful. You find her smirking. Your slightly nervous behavior and need to reassure her is all she needs to know.

"Go ahead."

You hit record before you can think it through. Angling the lense towards her, your gaze moves from the screen to her. And you hope the camera is catching the vulnerable, tantalazing smile she's giving you.

Reaching for her chin, you make her tilt her head slightly. Her smile remains, giving you a perfect view of her profile side and the big hickey on her neck.

"You like it?" you coo, brushing your thumb over the mark again.

"Yeah" she purrs, "it's a bit sore and you make it tickle" she teases squinting at you.

You let go of her face, instead you trace her jawline with the back of your fingers. She turns her head slowly and glances at you, she bites her lip.

Her eyes are glinting with mischief, obviously enjoying the banter. She's looking at you, but her eyes flicker to the camera from time to time, making sure it catches the perfect frame of her seductive expression.

Her lip is still trapped between her teeth, she's got a smugly stupid smile on her face, and so you brush your thumb along the hidden bottom lip, and you press and pull down the skin. You watch the pale white skin turn rose as she releases her lip, coming out red.

You slide your thumb along the swollen lip, and she doesn't hesitate even for a second before slowly throwing her head forward, sucking on your digit.

With a skillful suction, she sucks your thumb up to the knuckle, then leans back, peeking up at you. A thin thread connects your thumb to her lips, and she gives you a knowing smirk before taking in your thumb again.

She bobs her head, naughty, and glances at you occasionally as your finger disappears and reappears, over and over again.

She's giving you a show.

Her cheeks hallow with the suction, and she raises her eyebrows each time she looks up, making you feel light-headed.

You can't take your eyes off her. Mouth ajar, you let her play with your digit as if she was giving you head, feeling her stretched lips around your thumb, her saliva soaking you, she's even drooling a little.

After a minute or so, you pull your thumb out, catching her off guard. She was with her eyes shut in bliss and so she looks up at you whining in protest.

Even in your stunned state, you smirk. There it is, that eagerness.

But as she looks up, she notices what you're doing. She sees your cheeks hollowing a bit as well, your jaw moving, your lips pressed together.

Realization dawns on her face as she finally gets why you wanted to record.

"Yes" she hisses, enthused about it. "Do it, please" she whispers, "spit in my mouth."

She relaxes her jaw letting it drop, pliant, and sticks out her tongue. She throws her head back a little, the perfect angle. She looks at you with hooded. yearning eyes. She's already panting heavily.

The whimpering, beautiful little mess she is.

You cradle her chin, pressing your fingers against her jawline, with your other hand firmly holding the phone.

Then, she closes her eyes, and you feel her hot breath against your fingers.

Bending your body a little as you do it, you spit directly in her mouth. A trikle drips down from your lips to her tongue.

The camera catches the view of her side, her inviting mouth and warm tongue, her eyes shut and the tiny whimper she exhales, the tip of her tongue curling up just enough.

She gasps when she feels it, and she opens her eyes ever so slightly, looking at you with heavy eyelids as she closes her mouth instinctively and swallows it without further question.

She makes you whimper in longing when she behaves like this. So willingly, so mischievous, reading your mind and doing what you want her to do even before you know it.

There's no need to ask.

She looks at you relishing on your expression of astonishment with a pleased smirk on her face, licking her lips.

A sudden rush runs through you.

The insatiable need to own her.

You stop the recording and block her phone, putting it on the nighstand with an anxious move. She goes rigid, holding her breath, watching your every move.

You scoot back on the bed, giving her some room. Then your voice comes up dry, not leaving any room for argument.

"On your knees. Now. Facing the headboard."

She complies eagerly, sinking her kness on the matress and giving you her back, clutching the edge of the headboard to steady herself.

"What are you gonna...?" she mutters, incapable of finishing her sentence as she hears the creak of a drawer opening.

She inhales sharply, her body tensing in expectation as she awaits your next move.

"You'll have to be a little patient, princess."

Her fingers curl slightly, holding the wood as she feels the bed sinking slightly with your weight when you climb onto it.

"So... How are you planning on behaving, sweetheart?" you murmur, adjusting the strands around your hips.

Her breath hitches, instantly recognizing the tickling of the belts being tied.

"Good," she retorts anxiously, "really good. I promise."

You can see her fidgeting, pacing her weight from one knee to the other, restless. She moves her head a little, but prevents from looking over her shoulder. She knows it's not allowed.

"Oh yeah?" you tease in a breathy, low tone. That specific voice she'd do anything for. "Are you certain about that?"

You watch her head moving, she nods fervently. "Hundred percent sure" she hisses, rubbing her thighs together.

"Well I hope you keep your sweet promise, because we're about to have so much fun, princess. But I'll need you to trust me and be good for me, can you do that?"

You're spreading lube along the shaft of your toy, and she's about to answer when she hears it. The wet, squelching sound of fingers wrapped around your cock, stroking it.

"Oh my..." she whines miserably, throwing her head forward for a moment, resting her forehead against the headboard.

You notice her hips moving, bucking against nothing, her butt tensing and relaxing with each move.

You stroke yourself vigorously, shamelessly showing off, provoking her with an image she can only enjoy in her imagination while you solely give her the chance to hear.

"Hmm..." you groan, enjoying yourself, rubbing yourself against the base through your underwear.

She stifles a moan. How she loves hearing you make those noises... She's already feeling dizzy, intoxicated. And utterly at your mercy.

"Well?" you purr, deliberately jerking in a way that makes the squelching noise even louder.

She nods effusively, locks of hair gently swaying over her beautiful back.

"Yes" she whispers, grasping onto the headboard for dear life, her thighs rubbing together, "Yes, my love. I trust you. I'll be so good, I promise" she keeps whispering, a deep longing tainting her words.

You crawl closer to her, and you hear her breath stucking in her throat as she notices your closeness, the warmth of your body enveloping her, your energy all over her.

She loves it so dearly, she's obsessed with it. She turns her head ever so slightly, but at the last moment she closes her eyes, giving you a perfect view of her insane profile, with her eyes shut and eyebrows frowned.

You stroke yourself harder, just at the sight of her. Her jaw drops slightly, letting go sweet gasps as she realizes she is the cause of your now faster speed.

"Touch yourself, gorgeous" you whisper, and she jolts a little when she realizes how close you are, your warm voice puffing at her shoulder.

She nods firmly and turns her head to be looking at the wall.

"As you please" she mutters in that husky, shy voice of hers; the one she uses when you command her to do something she desperately wants to do, yet she wouldn't if it wasn't because you told her to.

You watch her hips roll as she starts to fuck her hand slowly, dry pants leaving her lips. "Like this?" She breathes out, desperate to earn your approval.

You tilt your head, grinning. "A little faster" you tease, stroking yourself in a exaggerated motion just so that she can keep hearing it very clearly.

She whimpers, squirming slightly. You know her and her body enough to know that she wished she could do it slower, because she's already close and she knows she has to hold it back until you tell her to let go.

Touching herself faster is risky, which also turns her on even more.

She nods weakly, and you see her arm moving faster, her hips bucking following that rhythm.

You chuckle quietly, now you stroke your toy slower but very firmly, hitting the base with your fingers, creating a splashy thud each time.

She whines, turning her head a bit. She wants to follow your own pace, touch herself imagining you're inside of her.

But instead, you've got her ignoring her own instincts in favour of your desires.

"Slow down..." Your low voice interrupts her desperate thoughts, and she lets out a whine of relief as she pulls her hips down slower.

She grasps onto the headboard with her free hand, her fingers curling in helpless need.

You crawl a little closer and graze her lower back with the tip of your wet toy.

"Ah...." She whimpers very quietly, jolting at first but then pushing her ass up, arching her back.

"Faster"

She follows your lead, circling her clit vigorously, releasing hoarse, high-pitched moans.

Her whole body is glowing in a thin layer of sweat, she's writhling and her legs tremble, she's struggling to hold herself, both physically and mentally.

If it was for her, she'd be leaning against your chest, letting you use her as you please, relaxing completely onto you, not bothering to use her hands on herself.

But instead, you torture her beautifully. You force her to listen to her body and ignore it at the same time, she touches herself not like she'd like to, but as you tell her to.

"Slower"

You reach her wrist and shift it a little, making her stimulate her folds too, not just her clit. Her fingertips also graze her entrance, teasing herself.

Watching her from behind, you can see the muscles in her ass tense as she rocks her hips.

You give her forearm a soft caress, a deep contrast to how you're handling her.

"More pressure, princess. And fast."

You wonder how long will it take for her to loose it completely, for her to either plead you to pound into her or to come undone on her own fingers.

You decide to test her even further.

"Are you close, doll? Is my princess feeling needy for something else?" You coo, your arm moving fiercely, stroking your toy faster, finally meeting her own pace.

She nods, her bottom lip trembling as she whispers, "I'm... I am. I'm trying for you."

Her voice is so breathy, the words coming out quivering, barely above a whisper.

You arch one eyebrow, and for a moment you feel sorry for her. Not enough, though.

You pull your hips forward, tracing iddle patterns on her back with the tip of your cock.

"Trying what, gorgeous? I can't understand you when you whisper like that."

She stifles a moan, and even if she's visibly trembling, she still manages to push herself against your toy. "T-trying... not to..."

She mumbles and chokes a whimper when you slide your toy a little lower, walking it across her cheeks.

Her stammering makes you laugh softly, and she blushes and turns her head with her eyes closed. You look up, and by her expression you can tell she's both embarassed and excited by the way you're kinda mocking her.

"Oh, yeah? That close you are?" You purr, trailing lower.

She whimpers pathetically when she realizes you're not gonna slide the toy inside her stretched ass. Her reaction makes you bite your lip harshly, a primal need flooding in your veins.

She nods again.

"P-please... What do you need me to do? I can do it" she blurts out in a rushed whisper, her fingers moving frantically.

"N-need you s-so bad..." She hisses, "I'll do anything..."

You tilt your head, releasing a sharp gasp.

Oh, even in her current state, she knows how to push your buttons. She knows how to get what she wants.

She turns her head a bit more, the tendons in her neck tensing tantalazingly, and her parted plump lips let go tempting promises in hot whispers.

"Anything you want...."

"Haven't I been good...?"

"Whatever you need..."

"I wanna please you..."

Finally, you loose your patience.

"You're such a greedy girl, you know that?" You breath out, grabbing her hips firmly.

She gasps, her eyelids fluttering, wishing to open her eyes but still deliciously obedient to your orders.

"You just can't wait, can you? It has to be your way" you reach down to grab the base of the roy, your hand trembling as you place it on her entrance.

She arches her back immediately, giving you the perfect view of her ass up and pink folds spread and dripping. She's been ready for a while now.

She nods fervently. You didn't expect that. "Yes" she hisses, leaning against your chest a little, but still not touching you. "I'm so needy for you. I'm so sorry, I just can't bear it anymore."

You clench your jaw, your gaze hiding a smoldering raw desire.

You love this game. The back and forth, the tempting, the way you blame her as if it was her fault, as if you're about to use it because oh, look what she made you do, as if it was a way to show her who's in charge.

She's obsessed with it. She's addicted to following your orders like a docile, perfect patient girl, until her movements and words became so needy, so desperate, that she starts whispering these words to you, knowing that if she gently asks you to move forward, to hurry up a bit, she'll wake up the sleepy beast in you.

She's a sucker for the un-rushed, built up tension. She's grown really experienced in handling your commands that well, to follow your rhythm.

But she's also addicted to manipulate you with her husky, sexy voice; to suck a bit of your power and throw it back at you in the shape of her irresistible proposals.

"Open your eyes" you murmur.

She flutters her eyes open and looks at you over her shoulder. The mere sight of you makes her move her hand faster between her thighs. This makes her jolt, her body sensitive and needy.

Your gaze darts down, "and stop that" you say in a dry whisper.

She gasps and stops at the moment. Her lips are parted in awe, her eyebrows frown in pleasure and bliss, knowing something has shifted within you.

You clench your jaw, your gaze darkened and hard. Her eyes flicker between yours, the silent exchange being an unspoken question.

"You can do ir" she mutters before you can even formulate what you're trying to say.

She can see the deep, crude wish in your eyes. She can tell you're dying to ruin her. But she also can feel your brief doubt.

To highlight her words, she pushes her backside further, and whimpers hoarsly when the tip of your toy brushes her entrance more purposefully.

"Do it" she murmurs again, looking deep into your eyes. "Give it to me."

Her whisper turns into a sharp whine when you roughly shove the toy inside her, filling her completely.

"F—" she doesn't even have time to accomodate you before you start thrusting deep, thoroughful.

She reaches back one hand tangling it in your hair while the other squeezes your waist, and she pushes her hips back, meeting each of your thrusts.

You dig your nails into her flesh, dragging them along her skin, leaving red marks leading to her stomach.

You grope her midriff, breasts and back. You slide one hand to hold her by her neck, her moans vibrating against your fingertips as you bottom out, merciless.

Your other hand trails down until you reach her swollen, manhadled bundle of nerves, and you circle at it insistently.

She squirms, "Mmmph—" she mumbles, unable to even complain.

You can tell she's drowning in overstimulation, you can feel her body surrounding to every plunge of your hips, her inner walls clenching and unclenching around your cock, you can feel their tension when you push your pelvis against her cheeks.

She tilts her head back, resting it on your shoulder, and her body bounces and her breasts jiggle with each move, her lips parted and eyes half-lidded, taking you beautifully.

She glances at you through her eyelashes, deep trust and adoration glazing the watery deep brown stare.

The sight of her looking at you like this, wearing your hand around her neck like a collar, with her hands all over you, pulling you against her even more, with her body bouncing and writhling, dying from overstimulation but still craving more, drives you to the edge.

You slide your hand from her neck to the back of her head and push her forward, her forehead rests against the headboard and she arches her back, her hands clutching the edge of the headboard desperately.

Grabbing the back of her neck and with your other hand circling her clit, you rock your hips faster, harder, rougher.

"Mmph— ah— ah—!"

She moans and whines desperately, pleading, her mind foggy, eyes rolling back and eyebrows frowning.

She turns her head, pressing her cheek agaisnt the wood giving you a perfect view of her ravished state, thin drool coming out from the side of her lips, dripping down her chin.

You can't take it anymore. "Show off for me, princess" you groan between heavy breathing and sharp pants.

With her puffy lips twitching and swallowing your toy with eager willingness, her entire body convulses and she releases deep groans and high pitched wails as she finally lets go, coming hard.

With the dual stimulation of your hand on her clit and your cock insistently rubbing against her G-spot, she squirts profusely, her cum gushing out and coating the entire length of your toy while you continue sliding in and out of her, drawning out her orgasm.

"jesus fucking christ..." She whines with her voice trembling weakly as you finish against the toy, rolling your hips and using her just a little more to get off.

"ugh, fuck!" You groan and moan, releasing a final sigh before you crumble on her.

You both stay there for a moment, just panting heavily. She turns her head and meets your lips weakly, whimpering quietly against your mouth.

You let out a breathy chuckle, kissing her back. Even now, she stills needs you all over her.

She whines in return and wiggles her hips, silently reminding you to pull out.

"Oh, yeah" you murmur in a giggle, gently pulling back.

She nods and offers you a sated smole, and her eyelids flutter as she feels every inch coming out of her.

She loves it when your demeanor shifts after a scene and suddenly you turn into an almost shy, panting dom who treats her with care and love.

You lean back and look down, watching the toy come out of her.

Is in that moment when you notice her state.

Her cheeks are swollen and red, random marks all over them. You've left red lines all over her ass and back, and probably on her stomach.

She's literally dripping, a damp big spot tainting the sheets right below her.

You gasp, too much emotions mow you down like a tidal wave. You need a second to catch your breath.

Jenna was smiling, but she turns slightly to you, frowning as she tries to gauge your mindset.

"Baby...?" She murmurs warily.

You snap your eyes back at her, concerned. "Jenna" you breath out.

Her eyes drift across your face, now concerned. You calling her by her name instead of 'princess' lets her know that the scene is over, and your specific tone also lets her know something's off.

"What is it?"

But you feel your knees crumbling, your chest aching with a mix of emotions you can't quite comprehend.

Without saying a word, you let yourself fall on your knees onto the mattress, defeated.

She turns around completely, facing you. She puts her hand on your shoulder.

"Baby? What's wrong?"

Taglist: @ijustlovemaths @babyhumanoidpsychicnerd @ortegalvr @2thamax @oxt3n @aroooheartzzz @lailathegayqueeeen @freestarfishdinosaur @lightningirlz @bellward3456 @avaseye @christinaliner69 @dequiem @bbygrl008 @red1culous @bella423 @jennassamoanwife

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x you #d/s #d/s dynamic #lesbian #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega imagine #jenna marie ortega #jenna ortega x reader

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rillils · 1 day ago

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thinking about how bucky always says steve’s name like it comes right from his soul.

thinking about the innocence of that one sweet syllable leaving his lips in kreischberg, when he’s strapped to a table and barely keeping his grasp on reality, and how he smiles when he says it,

“steve”,

tender on his breath, and how he sighs it again while steve gathers him up into his arms, like it’s a balm, like it’s all the solace he needed, like this is all it took to make his pain go away for a blissful moment.

thinking about how cautiously he keeps his distance from steve in his apartment in bucharest; how he tries to protect himself, protect them both, by acting like he doesn’t remember – and still he slips up and says,

“you’re steve,” soft and a little hoarse and all too intimate, like it was only yesterday that he last called steve’s name out loud. and then he tries to fix that by attaching “i read about you in a museum” at the end, but it’s too late, his heart has already spoken before his mouth could stop it, the cat’s out of the bag now and there’s no shoving it back in.

thinking about how he wakes up later, finally in charge of his own body again, sore and exhausted and confused, and steve’s name is the first word on his lips, again, always,

and it’s so raw and vulnerable and it sounds so much like “i’m sorry”, sorry i lied to you, sorry i’ve been away for so long, sorry i’m still a weapon they can use against you, and it sounds a little bit like surrender too, like he’s done denying how he feels, and you can see the relief in his smile when he finally admits that of course, of course he knows steve, he’s in the marrow of bucky’s bones, a hundred years of torture couldn’t sap him out of bucky’s system – and bucky knows that because they’ve tried, they’ve already tried and it didn’t stick.

how many times do you think he curled up in a corner of his cell, back when hydra was first breaking him, and whispered steve’s name over and over in the ice-cold silence, reaching for any feeble memory of steve’s face, his voice, before it slipped between his fingers again?

how many times do you think they dragged him out of his cryo chamber, soaked and trembling, and heard him murmur steve’s name before he was even fully awake?

bucky didn’t even realize he’d said it, or what the word even meant. all he knew was the sudden sting of a slap across his face, and vicious hands pushing him into the chair more brusquely than usual, and not even knowing why.

how many times do you think he rolled over on his lumpy mattress in bucharest, only half-awake, and mumbled steve’s name, hand seeking the warm body that was supposed to be there next to him, chasing the dream-like memory of blond hair tickling his nose in the morning, of cold toes pressed against his shins and a slim arm slung over his waist – just to wake up in the gray light of dawn and find that he was still alone?

how many nights did he spend in wakanda, lying alone in his bed, warmed only by steve’s voice on the phone promising him “soon”, “just a couple more weeks”, telling bucky how much he missed him? how much did his chest ache every time he murmured that final “goodnight, steve,” before they hung up, just so steve’s name would be the last word he said before he fell asleep?

but i like to think that there comes one morning, eventually, when bucky wakes up to an arm wrapped protectively around his waist, and two cold feet tucked between his ankles, and the inviting warmth of a body pressed snugly at his back.

he calls the name softly,

“steve?”

and the man curled around him stirs, snuffles against the meat of bucky’s shoulder, pressing a drowsy “mmmm?” into bucky’s skin.

bucky only realizes he’s smiling when he goes to turn his face into the pillow, happiness flowing fire-bright and golden in his veins.

“shh, sorry, sorry,” he shushes steve quietly, burrowing back into his embrace, as far as steve will let him. “go back to sleep, doll.”

#stucky #stevebucky #I KNOW I GOTTA STOP DOING THIS BUT *SCREAMS INTO THE NEAREST ABYSS*#i just have many many emotions about these boys #and also i want to see them happy #and also the way bucky says steve's name always gets to me in a way that i can't explain #because IT'S SO SOFT AND AND dammit he just LOVES that boy and that boy loves HIM and i'm just doomed to yearn because of them forever #hashtag fml #rillers has feels

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fluffiematcha · 2 days ago

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EYES LIKE JEWELS [drabble]

“jewel-like eyes, love like a galaxy”

yoon jeonghan × afab* reader | fluff , est. relationship , slice of life | warnings: my english is rusty

* i say afab but can be read as g.n reader

“Look, aren't the stars beautiful?” eyes gazing up at the starry sky, you admire with wonder the work of Mother Nature.

“Uh-huh,” Jeonghan nods absent-mindedly, his gaze fixed on something else.

He thanked his mind for deciding to get out of bed and suggested a night walk, even though his body wanted to slumber until tomorrow morning the moment he touched the bedsheets.

The look of adoration, of pure enchantment in your eyes is something worth sacrificing a few hours of rest for, he decides.

He feels warm and serene deep inside, reassured that you have managed to keep your pure side in this world that never has a minute to breathe.

You suddenly can't sit still, jumping up and down excitedly. “Look look, a shooting star! Did you see it?!” you exclaim joyfully, turning your gaze towards Jeonghan while pointing to the direction the star took.

He hums the same way he did earlier. You look at him impassively before letting out a chuckle of amusement at his reaction, seemingly unbothered by the fact that he was caught red-handed.

“You don't even look at the sky!” You playfully hit his shoulder, letting out a laugh. Jeonghan simply smiles at the melodious sound of your laughter and lets out a contented sigh.

You avert your gaze at the sky once more, this time a happy smile dancing on your lips. “Thanks for taking me out. I think I really needed it.”

His brain just short-circuited. ‘Thank you God and all the deities on earth and heaven for giving me this idea.’ he thinks to himself.

Fingers intertwined with yours, he continues his contemplation of your features. And that's when he notices that your eyes...

Your eyes reflect the twinkling of the stars.

In your eyes, he sees a whole veil of stars. In your eyes, he sees the lights of the night. In your eyes, he sees a form of Nature's jewels.

Slowly, gently, without knowing how to stop, his hands come to cup your face. He turns your face towards him, meeting his gaze. “What is it?” you ask, curious about his sudden gesture. Your hands come to envelop his, gently squeezing them.

Jeonghan presses his forehead against yours, gazing into your eyes. He realizes that even though the stars no longer illuminate your gaze, your eyes keep this light in them.

This warm, cozy glow of love. This love that warms his heart with every smile, every laugh, every little gesture from you. “Your eyes shine brighter than the stars,” he says, not at all embarrassed that he's just said one of those corny tv lines.

Because that's what he really thinks. That's what's filling his mind right now.

You look at him, flabbergasted. “What was that for?!” you exclaim after a moment of silence. Your ears feel hot, almost as if they're boiling. Your face feels hot too. You tighten your grip on his hands a little more.

Jeonghan lets out a breathless chuckle. “You're adorable.” he coos, rubbing his nose against yours.

“I love you.” the confession suddenly comed, whispered in a low, honeyed voice. His voice is so tender that you want to look away. But you can't. Because you are just as imprisoned by his charm as he is with you.

So instead, you smile at him tenderly, nuzzling in his touch as you say “I love you too” to Jeonghan, the man who holds your heart in the palm of his hand.

“jewel-like eyes, love like a galaxy”

✎ a.n. hi hi! it's been a while since the last time i wrote something. again, i don't know what to think about this, i just wanted to get it out of my head.

for those who reached the end, thank you so much for reading ✿

#𖹭 . fluffiematcha #seventeen #seventeen fluff #seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #jeonghan fluff #svt #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan #yoon jeonghan

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eevzz · 2 days ago

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a toymaker's desire o(≧▽≦)o

brief sum: not one but two yan toymakers!!

notice! semi-based off of @yanderenightmare's post about yan captors !! its perfectly written (as all of their stuff)!!! btw this might be a bit long i realize. i spent sm words on the coming to life part :,)

There was something so intimate about constructing your face. Your head, the curve of your nose, your eye shape. It felt so personal. From this moment he knew you were gonna be the favorite out of all the dolls they've had.

After being fully made there was never a day that went by where you weren't dolled up. Even though you weren't alive they dressed you for every occasion. For example when it's bed time they choose from various types of pretty pajamas to put you in, one might even read a bedtime story for you. When it's morning hours you're put in frilly dresses or if they want to go for something more casual they'd put you in a baby doll dress. If they have to attend a gala or something fancy and punctual they'd dress you in a long dress adorned with intricate details with satin bows and silk gloves and lace. You obviously never end up going with them. If we're being honest though, if it weren't for societal norms and the stares and looks they'd get, you'd definitely end up going.

They love you so much, it's weird. You don't show signs of life but they feel strangely attached to you. They feel as if you all were meant to be. If we're being honest, it took a while for one of them to understand the obsession with you, he thought it was creepy if anything. However, over time he started to understand, their love for you transcended words and life altogether. No one's quite sure what had happened, they say that is was fate, it was destiny, etc. But your vitalization was truly something unexplainable.

It was a silent night in the manor today. The boys had already put you to bed and read you a story. Born staring, all you could look at was the pink bed canopy curtains that decorated the sides of the bed. You're not sure what had happened but suddenly you could blink. Hm, that's weird—You're a ball jointed doll, ball jointed dolls don't have joints in their eyelids. Even if they did they probably would still need someone to help them blink. Before you had the chance to think about it more you could move your eyes too! Your eyes usually are just straight across you couldn't move them before. This makes you wonder actually, if you can move your eyes and eyelids, you can move other body parts, right?

Almost instantaneously after thinking about it you could move your head. Honestly, it hurt like hell, now you're starting to understand why humans complain about the pain they feel. You decided to take another chance and just try try to sit up, that's is easy enough, right? When you hoisted your back up to sit in an up-right position it felt like a huge stab of pain in your lower back. You wanted to scream, you almost did actually, but you wouldn't want to wake up the boys, would you? They do so much for you that they don't have to. At the very least you owe them uninterrupted sleep.

Now that you're finally sitting up-right how about giving walking a go? You flung your legs over the side of the bed and decided to stand up. Honestly, this isn't that far off from being unable to move. You just have a lot more feeling in your feet. You decide to try walking! Though, this one is probably the hardest of all. You've never walked before, not even when you were a solid doll. You just try to copy what you see humans do! Uhh, one foot forward and uhh another one forward? You try to put another foot forward but you end up wobbling a lot. Oh my—You never realized how much balance that goes into walking! You end up falling, thank god it didn't make much of a sound though. That whole night though, you were fixated on getting walking right. It took you up until almost the break of dawn to get it right, once you finally walked good enough for your satisfaction you just passed out sleeping on the floor.

It was finally morning and the boys had the most perfect sleep! One of them went downstairs to make food and some coffee, the other went to go get you dressed for the day. As soon as he opened the door he was met with shock, you're on the floor and not on the bed as he left you.. Huh, weird. It's okay, as long as you're here he's fine! As he was about to pick you up he realized you're a bit heavier than usual, that's unusual but that's fine. Maybe he's just now noticing how heavy you are, you are a doll after all! As he picked you up, he realized, you're very not stiff? Your joints are much more limp and more prone to moving. Maybe he's just tired and his brain is just messing with him. Upon putting you on the bed he realizes, why is your chest rising and falling—Oh my god, are you breathing? This can't be right! You're a doll, is his brain playing games with him? He starts to put his hand on your chest. What the hell! Why does he feel a heartbeat?! Are you even the same doll he's loved? He looks at your face and body, I mean, you do look relatively the same.. He lifts up your sleeves and realizes your doll joints are gone..

Upon feeling all of this commotion along your body, your eyes start to carefully open. "What the hell.." You hear a masculine voice say, huh, he sounds just like one of your owners. As your eyes start to focus and make of what you're seeing, oh, it is him! He looks scared, and suddenly he pushes you off of him and backs away from the you. He starts to yell for your other owner. "You have to come see this, I don't know what happened!" He sounds so panicked, he looks terrified of you. Seeing this makes you a bit self conscious if anything, you're still the doll they know and love. You're not any different. You finally open your mouth to say something, "You still love me, right?" Moments go by and no response. The silence being so loud between you guys, you almost thought it was the end of the road for you until you see his face get less and less tense and his eyes start to soften. He walks towards you and gives a warm, deep embrace. "How could I not, my baby?"

౨ৎ

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loovser · 12 hours ago

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the guy she was interested in wasn’t a guy at all - chapter 3

synopsis turns out the cute guy from the cd store is actually… a girl.

wc: 4,2k

cw: ellie is a total loser omg i need her, fluff, get rid of miller already ellie is better, overthinking, these bitches are gay asf, slow burn, flirting and um.. angst. also fuck you lila!!!!

the strawberries were now completely gone. they were sweet, so sweet you barely registered eating the whole thing in less than 30 minutes. but that also may be due to the fact that you were… busy in the meantime.

you were making a playlist. for ellie. well, miller — we’ve been through that already. you just really appreciated her gesture of giving you your favorite fruit. that’s all! it’s not like you are actually falling for her or something. cause that would be crazy! right…?

shaking your thoughts away, you look through the playlist again. there were a lot of songs she mentioned she liked. some that you thought she would like. this is kinda nerve-wracking. you wanted it to be the perfect thing for her to listen to anytime. and all the time.

because she was consuming your mind all the damn time. you kept thinking about the day you spent together. the tension that was always there, almost too much to bear. it could snap at any moment, really. you haven’t even known her for a week yet — technically you’ve been sharing classes with her for 4 months now, but who’s counting?

she is. because you are all she can think about as well. everything about you is just perfect for her. she is mesmerized by everything you do. everything you say. the way your hair frames your face so prettily. the way your eyes sparkle when you talk about the things you like. the way your cheeks get slightly pink when she flirts with you.

it’s almost infuriating how much you affect her without realizing. and it makes her sick to her stomach when she thinks about telling you the truth. the truth that is now running away from her and from you, more and more, as you get tangled on each other. she can’t stop feeling like shit whenever you are not around. physically, because mentally?

you are always there.

she sighs, still thinking about the message you sent her once you opened the gift.

you (7:45) omg. you’re actually the fucking best.

that was hours ago. three hours ago and she couldn’t stop herself from smiling. she literally kicked her feet and giggled when she read it the first time. im actually the fucking loser. she should be asleep. first thing she has tomorrow morning at school?

VFX class. why the hell do they have to schedule this class twice during the week? yes, there are a lot of complicated and extensive things to be taught… and it was one of her favorite classes… but just thinking about seeing you again and not being able to talk to you was killing her.

she wonders how much more she can handle without totally blowing this all up. without making a mistake or saying the wrong thing and making you find out about the truth. her phone buzzing takes her out of her thoughts.

it’s a message from you. her heart races.

you (11:52) https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4pcARou6l7BtoiGSlAfjEp?si=OAzV49VjS46eY88uJWG_xw&pi=j9HJeil2TTmH7

she made me a playlist?! ellie nearly drops her phone. she clicks it. it reads ‘for miller’. there’s a picture of a starry night. the description says ‘yes, that’s my window.’ you took the picture for it? of a sky full of stars?

she sighs, trying to contain herself. you just keep getting sweeter. she keeps on drowning in you, losing herself in the vastness of you that lives in her mind — and in her heart. seeing that, somehow, you associated her with stars made her nerdy brain short-circuit.

if there’s something ellie loves more than music, it’s the space. and everything that’s in it. from galaxies, to planets, to stars. it fascinates her. ever since she was little she has been in love with it. she dreamed of being an astronaut, traveling through celestial bodies. it’s not really how it works, she knows that now.

but it will always be a part of her. a big one. something she could talk about for hours, days even. and you managed to see it in her, somehow. you, without realizing, put both of her biggest passions in the same place. something that you made for her. the three things she’s always thinking about: music, astronomy and you.

she tried not to read too much into it. it was hard. she was trying to decypher all the lyrics, wondering if you meant something else from some of the songs. maybe she was going crazy. what should she answer? there wasn’t enough words to tell you how much she loved it.

she knew exactly what would, though. so she made you a playlist too. but she didn’t send you, not yet. she wanted to see your reaction, your face, when she sends you the link. guess this will have to wait till tomorrow.

in the darkness of her childhood bedroom, she falls asleep. between her sick habit and savage starlight posters, the solitude she doesn’t have in her college dorm, and in the loud beats of the playlist you made her, she finds peace. hoping she won’t have sleep paralysis from listening to these songs until she sleeps.

you plop down on your seat. the classroom is still empty, there’s just you and a few people seating on the front rows. apparently, miller left you on read. you wanted to just not care about it cause maybe he just fell asleep? or he was busy?

but you do, already thinking of all the possibilities of what could’ve happened. was it too much? did you overstep? you see someone approaching the seat next to yours. looking up, you see her. ellie.

you haven’t seen her since last friday, when she was kind enough to get your earbud for you. there is something about her that makes you nervous. your gaze meets hers and you smile softly at her.

she almost panicks. she smiles back at you but she’s sure she must look ridiculous, trying hard not to blush or look flustered in your presence. it looks more like a flat smile. but you find it cute anyway.

now what’s up with that? why do i find her cute? you nearly groan in frustration. lately things are… weird. you don’t even know anymore what you are into or not. it’s been consuming you, all this miller and ellie situation. there’s no denying that you are attracted to both of them. but that’s all. surely!

and why does it matter, anyway? just let things happen. thinking like this eases your anxieties a little and you relax in your seat. you check your phone. it’s 8:06 a.m. class is getting full.

taking advantage of the fact that you are on your phone, ellie quickly opens her chat with you and sends you the link of the playlist she made you, shoving her phone back on her bag right away.

she bites down a smile when she hears your gasp.

you can’t believe it. that’s what took him so long to reply? you smile widely, opening it. the title is your name. simple, but it says a lot. there are lots of sick habit. ‘i was made for loving you’ by kiss catches your attention. not as much as ‘wonderwall’ by oasis. you don’t want to make assumptions, but some songs really… speak for themselves.

as you are immersed into the playlist, ellie keeps watching you. she tries to be smooth with it but some students almost laugh at how she’s straight staring at you. the way you can’t stop smiling is enough for her to not give a fuck if anyone sees her like this right now.

but Mr. Barbosa arrives, forcing her — and you, unfortunately — to finally pay attention to class. you steal a few glances at ellie, as time passes. she looks pretty today, too. wearing a forest green long sleeved shirt and skinny jeans. how does she look so good in those?

then, you remember the paper you have yet to finish. turns out it will be part of a bigger project, so you didn’t really have to turn it in last week. but you have to find a partner for it and it can’t be your friends, since they are also majoring in film.

without thinking too much about it, you turn to ellie.

“hey, um… are you doing that project with someone already?”

for a moment, she thought she was dreaming. hearing your voice again, so close to her. your eyes on her. shit, gotta answer.

“no. not yet, are you?” she tries her best to seem nonchalant about it and not act like her heart is about to explode. even if it is.

“no, i was thinking… maybe we could do it together?”

ellie blinks. it hits her like a train. the way you asked it so sweetly, almost like you were shy. she is sure she’s blushing now. this gay shit is so hard. she exhales, lips slightly parted as she manages to get the words out “yeah, sure. cool.”

you chuckle, finding her cute. again. the flat words that came out of her mouth almost too quickly, her pink-tinted cheeks. the way her freckles look when she blushes and how her green eyes widened a bit when you asked her to be your partner.

ellie forces herself to look away from you when you chuckle. or she would drool. her arm accidentally pushes her savage starlight comic to the floor, next to you, which catched your attention.

it happens so fast. when you lean down and touch it, she does it too, at the same time. her fingers brush against yours as you reach for it together. you look up and she is already looking at you. you’ve never been so close to her before. am i stuck in a sapphic tumblr fanfiction or what?

you grab the comic, clearing your throat as you hand it to her. “oh, isn’t it that space comic thing?”

she composes herself, getting it from your hand, murmuring a ‘thank you’. she looks at it, preparing herself to be called a nerd and whatever you might think of people who read these stuff. “yeah, um, it’s really cool.”

“i bet it is… i read one, once. there was this dr. daniela something? she’s badass” you point out.

“dr. daniela star?” she asks, dumbfounded “she is one of my favorite characters!”

“you have great taste then” you chuckle at her enthusiasm and she smiles.

“oh, you haven’t seen anything yet.” did i say that out loud? you always make her feel so comfortable to be herself that she doesn’t realize what is actually coming out of her mouth.

“you could show me, then.” ellie’s not even sure what you are talking about anymore. her brain’s half-melted from the sound of your voice alone. “while we do the project, i would like to hear more about it.”

oh, righttttt. savage starlight. she nods, grinning. “just let me know if i get too carried away.”

you chuckle “i don’t think i would mind. but sure! when are you free to meet up and start it?”

“i’m free after class. i think my roomate won’t be around, so, if it’s okay with you, we can do it there.”

“sounds good, ellie” you smile. and she nearly passes out at her name leaving your lips. “can you give me your number? so we can talk about the details”

shit. shitshitshit. “umm… my number?” she chuckles, nervously. you nod, unaware that you already have it. “i d-don’t have it” she blurts out.

“you don’t have… a phone?” you frown, confused.

oh god kill me now. “yeah! i mean- no! i mean, i do, i just broke it so… it’s broken! very broken.”

“oh… makes sense now” you laugh.

it echoes in her head over and over. what a beautiful sound.

“yeah… but you can go there, like, around 3? i’ll be waiting for you.“

“sure! i’ll be there.”

she smiles at yours words. “great. my dorm’s number is 333.”

tidying up her part of the room was hard. not that she wasn’t organized… well that’s actually the case. don’t get her wrong: ellie hates dirty things. she’s very clean. but when it comes to organizing? it gets messy.

there were a lot of comics spread on her desk, her bed… even one lost in the bathroom. her action figures? everywhere. her roomate, lila, would complain about it all the time. but really, what wouldn’t she complain about?

there were even some papers on the other bed that she just throw into her roomie’s drawer, making sure to put everything in its place. she also made sure that things were clean.

she put the dirty clothes basket into the closet, just to make sure you wouldn’t see it and organized her shelves full of books, comics and action figures.

and you? well, there you are. dorm 333. at 3 p.m. you take a deep breath, watching the wooden door, like it’s going to knock on itself. you don’t even know why you are so nervous. you are just going to start your project. relax, damn.

taking a deep breath, you knock. from the other side of the door, ellie murmurs a rushed ‘shit’ and tries to compose herself. when she opens it, you take in her figure. her auburn mullet is half up, she is wearing a black tight long sleeved top and grey sweatpants. minecraft socks on her feet.

she looks so good you have to stop yourself from staring and looking like a creep. her toned arms can be noticed due to the tight fabric of the shirt, hugging them perfectly, and you feel dizzy. gladly, you snap out of it “hi! nice socks”

ellie laughs, cheeks blushing slightly. crap, i forgot those were on. “yeah, well, i am very stylish. as you can see.” she gives you some space, gesturing for you to come in.

“of course. you gotta remember me when you become the it girl on new york’s fashion week.” you tease.

she scoffs, playfully. like i could ever forget about you. you just stare at each other for a second and she rubs the back of her neck, nervous. “i’d lose my mind with all that attention.”

like she’s almost doing right now, alone with you. your attention is all on her. “you don’t like attention, huh?” you chuckle, looking around her dorm.

it’s so easy to say which half is hers. the wall is full of posters, from nirvana to savage starlight ones. her bed is kind of messy, the fuzzy spider-man blanket all wrinkled.

“depends on who’s attention i’m getting.” her tone is… silky, but it hits you hard and you look at her face. there’s a hint of a smirk on her lips. a shiver runs down your spine. is she flirting with me?

did i just flirt with her?! she facepalms herself mentally, plopping down on her bed while she holds your gaze, trying to look nonchalant. but she is not. her brain is almost turning off. she’s fidgeting her fingers.

“only selected people have the honour of you liking their attention, then?” you chuckle, seating next to her. your thighs brush and ellie swears she might pass out.

her knee bounces once before she catches herself. stop it. act normal. you are warm and she can feel it even with your clothes’s fabric in the way. “you could say that.” she grabs her laptop, putting it on her lap.

“am i one of them?” you ask, teasingly. her heart nearly stops. she didn’t expect you to be so bold. but she likes it. a lot. her grip on the electronic device tightens, but you don’t notice.

what you notice is how her already pink-tinted cheeks darken even more. you like the effect you have on her. isn’t it funny how miller didn’t even cross your mind, not even once? well, that is until you spot a sick habit cd on her desk.

“oh my god!” you say as you get up and she thanks the universe for not having to answer to your question. she would stutter so hard. “you like them too?”

she watched you, smiling at your enthusiasm. after all, she is the one who recommended them to you. “i love them. they are my favorite band.”

“you are really… something else, ellie.” your words are genuine. you just think she is so cool. and cute. and pretty. and just… not afraid to be herself? like, using minecraft socks or reading comic books during class. telling you how the song you were listening to was good.

if ellie knew you perceived her that way, she would go crazy. how can you see herself for what she truly is when all she does is try to stay low and not catch anyone’s attention in college? how can you understand her when you know how she is outside of that place too?

“have you met you?” is all she manages to say. from admiring you from her seat since she saw you for the first time in class, to really getting to know you, she couldn’t help herself. she was really falling for you, deeper and deeper. im fucked.

you smile widely at her. like you did earlier in class, when she sent you the playlist. her heart aches on her chest. you put the cd on the player, and ‘of two minds’ by sick habit starts to play.

“it’ll be more fun if we do it listening to them, don’t you think?” you tilt your head slightly, asking her. you sit next to her on her bed again.

she couldn’t say no to you. not when you were right there, next to her. not when she could feel your thigh against hers. not when she could sense the smell of your shampoo. “definitely.“

“i told you i wanted you to show me how great your taste is. didn’t i?”

the innuendo in your sentence makes her shiver. the tension in the room is palpable. almost too much to bare. you smirk. when you do, her breath hitches in her throat. “ain’t i showing you enough?” she murmurs, hoping that you would say no.

it lingers between you. this feeling, this moment. your closeness. which seems to be increasing by each second. you get lost into her green eyes. they are so… familiar.

she moves her hand towards your face, hesitantly. when it cups you cheek, you lean into her touch. her fingers are calloused, but the way they caress your skin is soft. there isn’t a second where your eyes leave hers, or hers leave yours.

her heart is racing so fast. she wanted to do that for so long. to feel your skin, to touch you. to have you this close. to see your eyes sparkling at her, the way it does now. at her, truly. not at her in the cd shop where you think she’s a guy. it feels surreal.

until her dorm’s door is yanked open and her roomate barges in, startling both of you. as you get away from each other, lila doesn’t even look at you, apparently looking for something on her bed.

hiding your frustration, you just keep quiet. you almost kissed ellie. should you feel bad? because you really don’t. yes you’ve been talking to someone… flirting with him. exchanging playlists. but it’s nothing serious yet. right?

ellie sighs “what the fuck, lila?” she puts her laptop down on the bed, a hand in her heart as she recovers from it. from you.

“i forgot my essay. shit, where is it? did you touch what was on my bed, ellie?” her rude tone made you frown.

“yeah, it’s in your drawer.” she gets up to open the drawer she referred to, but the other girl rushes in and opens it herself.

“don’t ever touch my things again.” lila says, grabbing her papers and slamming the door when she leaves.

there’s a beat of silence.

“she’s so lovely.” you say, breaking the ice. ellie laughs, coming back to her bed, next to you. she’s so pretty when she laughs.

“yeah, um, i didn’t think she would show up. sorry about that…”

you squeeze her shoulder gently, as if to comfort her. “it’s not your fault. don’t worry.”

her anxieties crumble when you do that. she takes a deep breath, trying not to focus on your touch so much. she smiles at you. “right. for the project, um, have you made the first part?”

as you started talking about the project and what you had in mind for it, both of you tried ignoring the tension that never seemed to fade away. every excuse you had for touching each other was being taking advantage of.

like when you showed her some references of what you thought would be good, leaning closer to her to show it on the laptop’s screen. or when she asked you for one of your colorful markers to sketch something in her journal and her touch on your finger lingered for a little longer.

not to mention the way you were staring at each other, the eye contact almost making you go insane. the little shy chuckles that left your mouths. ellie needed to breathe or else she would do something stupid.

every second she spent next to you, every glance you threw her way, every accidental brush of your hands. it was like something was being carved into her, slowly, softly, permanently.

and when you laughed at one of her dumb jokes about how the main character in savage starlight would be a terrible film director, she couldn’t help but smile like an idiot.

you made her feel like she was in orbit, like everything else was just distant starlight, and you were the only thing real and glowing.

at some point, the work stopped being the focus. pages sat open, notes abandoned mid-sentence. the music played on, faintly into the background, the sound of your heartbeats louder to your ears.

you caught her staring again and she looked away quickly, biting her lip. "you are really bad at pretending you're not staring" you teased softly.

ellie choked on a laugh "says you."

you grinned, leaning back on your hands, your thigh still pressed to hers. “fair enough.”

another silence. not a bad one. just a moment where you both are too lost on each other and at the growing feeling that makes your stomaches twist. in the dim light of her dorm, she aches at the way you shine at her.

“hey, um, i am gonna go to the bathroom real quick.” she announces. you nod, briefly looking up at her and flashing her a smile.

her sleeves were pushed up slightly and you could see something on her right arm. her inked skin. you were not sure what the drawing was, but it was definitely a tattoo. sometimes you thought about how many similarities she has with… no. stop, you are being crazy.

you rest against the wall, still sitting on the same spot of her bed. you run your hand through the fuzzy blanket to ground yourself. but it accidentaly touches something hard under her pillow. you frown.

deciding to see what it is, you lift the pillow and you see it. her phone. the broken one? doesn’t seem broken at all. what if im not being crazy? is the question that keeps popping in your head.

those were just… coincidences. right? you didn’t even see ellie’s full tattoo. many people gets tattoos on their right arm! that’s normal. and her eyes… well miller is not the only person allowed to have green eyes. obviously.

you shouldn’t be checking her phone. it’s her personal stuff. but you do. you click the button on its right side and the screen lits up. there’s a song already halfway through. it’s paused. you recognize it, ‘californication’ by red hot chili peppers.

it’s a banger. everybody listen to it, don’t they? so what if you put that into the playlist you made for miller? it doesn’t mean anything.

until it does. when you skip to the next song, it’s ‘pour some sugar on me’ by def leppard. the next one? ‘cherry waves’ by deftones. no…

you are on the verge of breaking down. you open your spotify, searching for the playlist. your fingers tremble as you click on it. you check the order. it’s the same. it can’t be.

you skip again. ‘even flow’ by pearl jam. the first tear falls. you go backwards, seeing if the song before californication is what you think it is. you check it on your phone first.

then, you touch the button to the previous song on her phone. ‘heart-shaped box’ by nirvana. that’s all the confirmation you need.

so many feelings rush through your body. it’s overwhelming. embarassment, betrayal, humiliation… it’s too much. the tension snapped and took you with it.

as ellie finishes cleaning her face and taking deep breaths, she hears some noises. she can’t identify what they are. so she opens the door to her room.

you are not there anymore. what is, though? her phone. what is this doing here? i though i hid-

that’s when she knows. you found out.

taglist!

thank you for the support babes, hope you like it 💘

@vahnilla @liztreez @hyperbabes @lybbay @coeurcanelle @desiretolive @b1uecatt @moonystoes @eriiwaiii2 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @uraesthete @machetegirl109 @snuffphiliaa @robinphobia @na0koz @ellies-real-wife @vivzzi @wtvm0m0 @lesoulew @violetszn

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