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hitlikehammers · 1 day ago

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POV: when you overhear your boyfriend’s bandmates who ⛔️do not like you⛔️ talking to him—about YOU

“Be real though, Ed. Harrington? You can’t actually be serious, here.” Steve doesn’t like to eavesdrop, like, on principle. Which is to say he totally does it. He just doesn’t wholly approve of it, or think it’s a very good habit to have, while still doing it. “You got me,” Eddie sighs, longer and deeper than can be taken wholly seriously. “I’m running my longest successful con to date.”

rating: t ♥️ tags: post-s4, established relationship, corroded coffin, as in: the gang’s all here and being VERY JUDGEMENTAL of eddie’s taste in men, and maybe steve had to pick eddie up from practice today so he overhears it WHOLLY WITHOUT INTENDING TO OKAY?, no one ever REALLY want to hear what the people they love really think of them when said people don’t know who all’s actually listening, true love, declarations of feelings, it’s actually really fucking hard to stand up to your friends, happy ending♥️

for @steddielovemonth day ten: "We are all a little weird and life's a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love." —Dr. Seuss

also! Unnamed Freak is Doug for the purpose of this fic because the book can fuck itself I say so 🖤

“Be real though, Ed,” the voice that filters through, and holds Steve’s hand from pushing the car door shut loud enough to notice, is fairly reasonable, like trying to talk down a suggestion absurd enough to send someone to the ER—which means, of the subjects at hand? It’s gotta be Jeff.

“You can’t actually be serious, here.”

Steve doesn’t like to eavesdrop, like, on principle.

Which is to say he totally does it.

He just doesn’t wholly approve of it, or think it’s a very good habit to have, while still doing it.

“You got me,” Eddie deadpans, but it’s like, venom-laced. It stings just to hear and Steve’s struck with how much his life’s changed since Spring Break, and more still since…well.

Since Eddie.

Because Steve is well aware the man can cut glass with how sharp his tongue can get, they did go to high school together whether they ran in the same circles or not.

It’s just strikes Steve in the moment that not once since Vecna, has Eddie turns that tongue on him.

Now, other uses of his tongue—

“I’m running my longest successful con to date. Yep, totally pulled it over on all you bitches,” and where it could be playful, every single word is sharpened to stab, to pierce, to drag the wound out so it bleeds, like a shiv to remind someone where they fucked up, in perpetuity.

“Please applaud.”

And oh, even Steve flinches at that tone, and he’s not even the target. Hell, he’s still in the driveway—he doesn’t make a rule of crashing band practice, no matter whose parents’ garage they’re using; Eddie’s van is just regularly in the shop for one thing or another, so he’s gotta come get his man. But he doesn’t, like, push his way in. Sometimes doesn’t even get out of the driver’s seat. He knows Eddie would more than welcome him; has the handful of times he’s ventured to step in to apologize for interrupting but remind him they have to pick up the shitheads. But one: Eddie is alone in his welcome, and like, the polar opposite of the other three guys, who range from staring daggers at Steve to sneering so scrunched up to the nose that it’d give Carol Perkins at her snittiest a run for her money.

And Steve wouldn’t have made it this far if he didn’t know how to recognise where he’s not wanted, and learn how to make the calculated decision of whether to walk or push his way in. And much as he loves Eddie? Steve actually wants his friends to eventually come around from probably, like, muttering ancestral curses under their breaths at him or something.

Plus, from what Steve understands? Jam sessions are personal. Sacred. Eddie had blushes and stammered the first time he let Steve listen in on works in progress; and Steve had rewarded him for the gift of it liberally and with genuine gusto. It’s earned him repeat performances on the regular, but Steve gets it’s a private thing in general. And these guys don’t know him, don’t presently care to—don’t trust him.

He figures it’s like…masturbating in front of someone. The art thing, the depth of making music and stuff. Showing your soul a little bit, losing control for the betterment of the final product.

Now, he and Eddie definitely have masturbated together, it’s actually fantastic foreplay, or even just a deliciously sloppy go on its own. But that’s neither here nor there. And also totally fucking different.

Steve really doesn’t want Eddie masturbating in front of anyone other than him, ever again. Steve’s sure as shit not looking to on his end; definitely not with the other members of Corroded fucking Coffin.

The metaphor might have gotten away from him. But you get the picture.

“No, man,” and that’s, that’s Gareth’s voice, Steve’s almost sure. Sharper. Concerned but also caustic on the undertow. “It’s just,” he snorts, the disbelieving sort: “this can’t be real.”

Okay, yeah. Tone plus actual words add up.

“Yeah, just,” Doug laughs a little nervous, like of all of them, Eddie’s verbal attack had the most weight in tempering his response of the three of them; “blink twice if you’re being held against your will.”

They all chuckle, but it’s toned down the whole way around—even Steve can clock that. These guys are boisterous when left to their devices, Steve’s taken note of that. Mostly watching from the sidelines—almost exclusively when they don’t know he’s there to watch.

Again: does not condone eavesdropping.

Does not try at all to refrain from doing it.

“I mean, you don’t expect us to believe you’re actually fucking him,” and oh, yeah, okay: Steve was pretty sure he was the topic conversation here, and despite some of the setbacks of recent years, he’s not insecure when it comes to relationships especially.

He’s definitely the only one fucking Eddie. And Eddie’s the only one fucking him.

And while he doesn’t really hold it against these guys for being wary of him—he wasn’t really a perpetrator of their high school woes, but he definitely didn’t do anything to make them less…woeful—so he’s mostly bummed about it for Eddie’s sake, and on principle, but like, seriously.

Doubting Steve successfully scoring Eddie Munson? Like, Eddie’s a catch, Steve of ll people is well aware, but. Steve’s also been long past fishing the shallow end of the pond, y’know?

Give him some credit.

“Right,” Steve narrows back in on what’s happening in the garage that he’s definitely feeling less guilty bout, seeing as he’s definitely a subject of the debate unfolding, but Eddie sounds…angry. Pissed off in that way he gets when he’s fed the fuck up.

“I’m out,” Steve hears scraping of equipment, the guitar case flipped open; “can’t actually make it next week,” he adds like a footnote.

It’s clear within a second he’s the only one who takes it with that same…energy.

“But we have to practice before the open mic—” Jeff, ever the voice of reason, sounds baffled; on his way to ticked off but not quite there yet.

Eddie, however—as is his wont in this type of mood—could not give two shits where the people around him land on the anger-o-meter; he’s exceeded them, even if only in his own head, and they are all therefore irrelevant to his very responsible decision to put distance between himself and doing something stupid he can’t take back.

It’s not the nicest way to deal but, honestly? Steve’s mostly just proud of Eddie for sticking with a coping mechanism that, while not without consequences, generally works better than most.

“I’ll see you guys in two, then. Probably.” And the case clicks shut, definitive, and Steve’s proud of that too; that Eddie’s not digging a hole when the guys re trying to bait him, intentionally or not, over Steve.

Steve doesn’t need Eddie to complicate his band, his friendships, over what the two of them have. One, it’s not their fucking business. And two?

Steve doesn’t thing he’s being self-important in saying he and Eddie…are bigger, and more, than even the very beat high school band.

Not that Steve would ever ask Eddie to choose or some bullshit like that. And he really does believe Eddie’s going places, if that’s what he decides he wants. But…there’s that.

Then there is them.

Different, like, stratospheres.

“What the fuck came up that you can’t make it next week? When we’re staring down our first actual shot at Battle of the Bands this year,” and yeah, of course, if anyone’s gonna try to drag the whole thing out, it’s Gareth. Kid’s got a fucking temper.

“Something more important.”

Which yeah, that’s what was going through Steve’s mind, basically, but—

“The hell could be more—“

“I have plans,” Eddie hisses, viper-quick and fucking deadly, shuts them all right up for it, but then he spins a 180–preens so big Steve swears he can hear his shoulders go back and his chest puff out:

“It’s my anniversary.”

So…yeah. Just because it was where Steve’s head had just been at doesn’t mean his whole chest goes all gooey to hear it said out loud.

And in front of Eddie’s band, who…they aren’t hiding from, but they have discussed keeping kinda mum around. For the same kinds of reasons Steve’s been privy to just in the past couple minutes.

But then Eddie’s voice follows the feeling in Steve’s chest like they’re tethered there, and honestly, more times than not?

Steve thinks they just might actually be, and he’s not proven wrong with the way Eddie halfway coos:

“Our anniversary.”

“Your what?”

Jeff, again, is that middle ground: actually confused, laced with being angry that Eddie’s ducking out.

“Six months,” Eddie answers, soft-like, a little dreamy but in this way that’s rooted somehow still, and in being struck all over again by a level of shock Steve understands, sometimes feels in reverse, but still doesn’t understand being felt so deep as it sounds, now, when it’s applied to…him.

It’s wild y’know?

“I’m like,” Steve hears Eddie’s curls brush against something as he shakes his head—Steve’s money’s on him crouched by his case, or having it already slung over his shoulder:

“Never thought I’d get something to celebrate like that in the first place, but get to keep it, that long without fucking it up?”

Steve, again, wants to give up the pretense and walk the fuck in there and kiss the shit out of his boyfriend because one, same, but two?

Dumbass.

Steve goddamn adores him.

“You mean, with Harrington?” Gareth’s spitting and Steve just shakes his head, a little sad—he doesn’t know what’s crawled up that kid’s ass about him, man; he’s not so much younger that Steve never saw him or didn’t know of him but godDamn: the circles he ran in at the time weren’t the ones doing shit yet when they were in the same elementary school, Steve was barely popular in middle school, and come high school the worst anyone he knew did to the frosh was bang them into a locker—not great, but.

Not worth this shit. And the worst part is if he doesn’t know what’s crawled he did to really piss Gareth off this bad? He can’t even try to Harrington-charm his way back into the guy’s tolerable category. Like, even his best fucking not-pot brownie recipe didn’t sway the fucker.

“Yes,” Eddie is answering, the answer emphatic, like he’s brimming with feeling over it, but then clipped too, like demonstrating that he was brimming��and is now being forced to clip it all backis very much the intent: “of course I mean with Steve, who the fuck else?”

It’s not lost on Steve how Eddie says his name. Ever. All the name.

But right now, how he’s making a point to say it in that warm, kinda…beloved way, when anyone else uses his last name in a way that’s anything-but.

“You cannot be—” Gareth scoffs, Steve can imagine him throwing up his hands, that sort of deal, but then Eddie comes in, and it’s a tone Steve’s only ever hear when he’s about to run a campaign into the ground where the characters may never recover, and if somehow manage it, they’ll wish they hadn’t:

“Oh, I am deadly serious.”

Because it’s not Steve’s character, but in defense of Steve’s relationship, that tone trickles something molten through his veins and prickles up his spine and…he’s gone have to stick that one in his back pocket to explore at a later date, for sure.

“Six months?”

Jeff—and Steve kinda likes Jeff, and not for the reason his bandmates would like, that he kicks around Hawkins after graduation, too, but more because Steve knows why; that’s to make more money for a college outside Indiana, and Steve thinks that’s fucking cool—but it’s here where Jeff dips fully away from being angry to being stupefied. Steve lets himself smirk at nothing because fuck yes: him and Eddie.

Six whole goddamn months.

“I was actually gonna ask you guys to come over soon, introduce him properly and stuff,” Eddie says, the disappointment in his voice again; Steve’s niggling desire to go and hug him from behind, maybe kiss under his ear a little, back in full force.

“He picks you up from practice, we see him,” Doug pipes back up, likewise confused, but Steve just takes the useful confirmation that no one did catch on that he pulled up ages ago, now.

“We know who Steve Harrington is—” Gareth snaps, protests in the way that betrays his eye-rolling, his thin-wearing patience.

“No!”

And that comes out of Eddie fierce enough to echo down at least half the block they’re on—seems like Eddie’s patience was worn out a while ago.

“You don’t!”

And everyone is silent in that way Steve knows all too well: when shit’a gone down but now you’re waiting in the edge for the worse thing to hit.

Then it does:

“And it’s a good thing I didn’t bring it up because you dipshits aren’t ready,” Eddie snaps, says dipshitso different from how he does with the Party, theirParty, their kids; he says it here with something real fucking close to disgust.

“Asking hostage questions, fuck off,” he huffs, and Steve hears Eddie’s footsteps, can’t tell if he’s gonna leave it at that, come find Steve and know he’s been standing there but that’ll be fine, it’s not like Steve wasn’t going to let him know as soon as they left—but then:

“Look,” and Eddie sounds the way Steve sounds when he’s pinching the bridge of his nose to fight a growing migraine, the sting of tears for all sorts of pain behind his eyes, and that hurts to hear from his boyfriend, like, a lot.

It fucking hurts.

“I am not just fucking him,” Eddie growls through the bridge-pinching pain; “I mean, fuck yes, I am, but,” and Steve hears the way he swallows all the way down the drive:

“I’m in this for the long haul,” Eddie tells his bandmates like throwing down a gauntlet; “and if you can’t respect me enough, and my choices, that stings,” Steve knows Eddie shrugs then: “but I’ll live.”

Steve’s about a millisecond from saying fuck it, opening the door just to slam it to announce his approach, and then going to physically grab his boyfriend, drag him to the car, and park in the abandoned lot down from the Wheelers’ neighborhood to kiss him senseless because that’s the closest place he can think of and he doesn’t think he’ll make it to either of their homes before he can’t fucking handle himself.

“But if you are gonna disrespect the man I love, no. Absolutely not.”

Eddies voice is a deadly sort of whisper. Steve would cower at it, the way it washes through a person, if he hadn’t just…said.

That.

“You love him?”

And for what Steve thinks is the first time since he climbed out of the car and committed to listening where he wasn’t invited, Gareth sounds…muted. Genuinely asking a question.

Steve, for his own part, kinda expected that he’d be more breathless, heart racing and shit, to hear the answer but in reality?

“Of course I love him.”

Steve already knew that in his cells, in his bones.

In his steady, not all-that-fast but particularly-especially-happily beating heart.

“Have you guys, like, said it and stuff?”

And of course Steve already knows that answer, both the literal one and the one that matters more, but he does perk up a bit, curious to hear what—if anything of note—Eddie chooses to give away here.

“He has,” Eddie says, and now…now maybe Steve should stop listening because this part, the way Eddie says that as flat fact—Steve doesn’t knowthis part beyond speculation. But…

“I wanted to, like,” and eddies voice can’t hide the way he’s gotta have that soft smile, the one he used to hide behind his hair before Steve started pulling it back to see in full, so now he only brings his hair out just to tease, to okay.

“I don’t think I’ve wanted much in my whole life, but he’s,” and Steve thinks he hears how Eddie chews his bottom lip for a second, in the subtlest click of how it slips free before Eddie takes a deep breath and—

“He doesn’t know what he’s worth,” Eddie starts, a little mournful almost, even, and Steve is unexpectedly glued to the spot in his fucking Nikes.

“He doesn’t understand that I’d sell the sun and the moon just to keep him,” Eddie’s saying, and with passion. With whole-ass honesty. And here, maybe, is where Steve gets to have some of the heart:fluttery feeling after all:

“He comes out the gate with the whole you don’t have to say it back and I just,” Eddie sighs, sniffs a little before heaving another breath deep enough to stretch his shirt, which Steve’s not imagining or anything, at all;

“I couldn’t say it, not right then, and risk him everthinking it was something I’d done to like, match. Like that I didn’t mean it with everything I’ve got, when I mean it with everything I’ve got and then also everything else. Like, anywhere. Ever.”

Steve realized he’d stopped breathing at some point when the little dots start floating in front of his eyes and he sucks in a shaking breath because: he’s known Eddie loves him. Unshakeably.

But, but all this—

“I couldn’t say it and have him ever wondered if I wouldn’t rip my heart out of my chest just to keep his safe.”

And of-fucking-course Steve’s pulse is running fucking riot about how much he’s in love right now, make no goddamn mistake. Jesus, he—

“Fuck.”

And Steve has never heard Gareth Emerson pushed just this side of speechless but: that’s the best way Steve can describe the kind of breathless wonder he says it with, like watching a rare bird take flight.

“You mean it.”

And Steve can pick out Eddie’s huffs and categorize them, on demand at this point: he doesn’t need to see the eye-roll to know Eddie’s deemed the expression of pure shock to be so beneath him in this specific context that he’s deemed it unworthy of any more attention.

His heart’s not jumping that loud to have missed it. So.

Steve just kinda grins toward the blacktop under his shoes.

“Why didn’t you,” Doug starts, still—usually, really, in Steve’s limited experience at least—the peacekeeper, the one who’s most invested at the human level when he’s not getting swept up in whatever the rest of the gang has deemed the cool thing to laugh at or make fun of at any given moment.

The huff Eddie gives this time is his incredulous one, which allows for just the slightest bit more consideration:

“The fuck do you think?”

The slightest bit, being the operative point.

“I’d hoped you’d take it better but,” Eddie adds, and there’s less drama in it than Steve might have expected. He’s being serious with them, and he sounds…disappointed.

Steve kinda want to make some kind of noise, give away his position, and just…hug Eddie tight from behind, if nothing else. Be there. Solid against him, wrapped up around him. Never wavering. Always at his back as much as at his side.

But Eddie’s not done:

“I’m not even asking you to like him, just be decent,” and it sounds like it hurts him to say as much, and Steve knows why; he genuinely despises when anyone thinks Lea with a the very beat thing about Steve. Steve believes this to be n unreasonable standard, and has expressed as much to Eddie who nods and smiles and kisses Steve’s forehead and does absolutely nothing to change his stance, but deep down?

Steve fucking feels so…loved for it.

“And like I said,” Steve can hear the judgement in Eddie’s tone clear as day; “you’re not ready, and I’m not putting him in that kind of situation.”

Steve sucks on the inside of his cheek, lest his grin at the way Eddie is not just defending him, but…protecting him, not his honor but his heart��

No ones ever even tried that before. Steve may not need it, or maybe he just learned he couldn’t survive needing it.

Getting it now…now it’s just…

Wow.

“And I’m in this for keeps, like, this is a forever type thing, so long as he wants it,” Eddie saying, explaining the color of a sky to a small child like what these words are that fundamental, that unalterably true. “So—”

“We’ve known each other forever, man,” Gareth eventually mutters, sounds indignant, but mostly gutted.

Steve knows before it happens that it’s not gonna make a difference.

“And we can still know each other. Just not everything, anymore,” and Eddie does sound a little sad but he’s…he’s a monolith, unshakable. “I don’t trust you with the parts that revolve around him, yet,” and Steve feels more than hears the ways his friends deflate, maybe shrink for being deemed so…insufficient. In the eyes of their ostensible leader, no less.

“Eddie, we didn’t,” Jeff starts, slow, and he doesn’t sound remorseful but—Eddie has all those coping mechanisms for a reason, right?

Because he’s quick to feeling, good and bad, and sometimes neither is fit to the moment.

Steve can’t help but be kinda glad Eddie doesn’t bother with those mechanisms just now, though, if it means he gets to hear this part:

“I know you didn’t, that’s the fucking problem,” Eddie groans, Steve can see the way he lens, bends at the knees and throws his body around a little in sheer, undiluted exasperation. “

“Because I could tell you he’s changed since school, and that’d be true, but that’s not even it,” and there’s more of the frustrated stomping round, Steve can hear it, but he’s…he’s ready distracted by that thing in his chest that has to has to be tied up in Eddie’s, too, that thing tugging on him to pay the fuck attention.

And who is he to ignore it?

“he was never who we thought he was in school in the first place. He is,” Eddie licks his lips, just to snack them loud:

“He is kind and funny, and goofy, and such a fuckin’ nerd, and he’s smart in these incredible ways where he’s sees what everyone else misses, and he’s protective as fuck and he’s got a heart of gold,” and Eddie’s voice only gets more heartfelt in its own right that longer he goes and Steve just, he’s, it’s—

“And I would tear my skin off just so it doesn’t get so much as a scuff on it,” Eddie ends with the most scathing delivery imaginable: he fucking meansthis shit. And Steve is going o live and die next to this man, scuffed heart still kept safe to the fucking end, he will swear that shit to anyone who needs to hear it.

He is going to have a whole fucking life with Eddie Munson, and love him for every single breath of it.

“And I don’t trust you guys yet not to tempt me to tear off my skin,” Eddie says finally after enough silence to catch his breath, and temper his tone just enough to sound tired; a little dejected. “I don’t trust you with him, and until that changes, we’re still friends,” Eddie sniffs, breathes out long; “you just won’t get to know about that part of me.”

He says it so simple, like he’s not half-cutting off some of the longest, closest friendships he’s ever had, and for Steve.

Steve doesn’t know if it makes him a person, or a really selfish one or whatever, if he doesn’t feel any urge to talk Eddie down, to make him walk it back just a little.

He doesn’t think he cares, though, either way.

“Seems like a really big part of you,” Doug says, deflated entirely.

“It is,” Eddie answers, unapologetic in a way that swells and sparkles in Steve’s ribs. “He is.”

“You’d walk from the band?” Of course Gareth asks, but it’s the first time he sounds small in his words. Like he maybe knows the answer, and isn’t so okay with how he got around to it even before Eddie wishes all doubt:

“In half a fuckin’ heartbeat.” Boom. Done. No hesitation whatsoever.

Less than half-a-fuckin’-heartbeat.

“That’s not what I’m saying I’m doing right now, but,” Eddie laughs a little, and that probably cuts deeper than anything for the boys, Steve suspects, especially when Eddie makes it unquestionable:

“It’s not even a question.”

And…maybe that drives a knife deeper for the band, but for Steve?

Steve kinda wants to…giggle, or some shit. He hadn’t realized just how much he wanted someone who answered a question like that, exactly like that, who talked about Steve exactly like that, without anything to gain, just because they…believed it.

“Jesus,” Gareth mutters, sounds kinda blindsided, kinda thrown and then some.

“If we,” Jeff clears his throat after a long period of quiet; “if we do better, could we meet him someday?” And the way he says it, earnest and shit:, like he wants to at least think about, at least maybe try:

“Like, really meet him?”

Like Eddie means enough that he’ll try, and that sings sweet in Steve’s veins because goddamn straight, his Eddie deserves that from the people hecares about. No matter who or what Steve is, Eddiedeserves that much, and so much more.

But he sounds like even just this is something amazing, Steve can hear the smile in his voice:

“Yeah, man,” he answers Jeff, claps him audibly on the shoulder; “I look forward to it.”

And shit, y’know what?

So does Steve.

“See you in two weeks,” and Eddies footsteps follow, guitar slung over his back for the way his weight falls with each one, but then:

“Eddie!”

That’s Doug; the footsteps stop close to the edge of the garage door as another set rushes to catch up, where he’ll see Steve if he walks much farther, where Steve’s got his hand on the door handle of the car, slowly inching it open to push shut and look wholly-unsuspicious now that Eddie might be followed out to his ride:

“Get him flowers. For your anniversary,” Doug says, tone low like a secret; “I know, like, it might seem like guys wouldn’t want flowers, but,” and Steve actually has to strain to hear the next part:

“My mom gets my dad flowers on his birthday every year, and he lights up like the Fourth of July.”

Steve remembers the first time he ever got flowers. His favorites, even if he thinks he only knew it subconsciously because they were handed to him with the stammering explanation of I don’t even know if you like flowers, or like these ones, but you look at them when we’re out, like, just walking or something and your eyes linger, and these ones just remind me of you and—

Apparently, Steve loves hyacinths. And sunflowers make Eddie think of him.

Because of course Steve’s first gift of flowers came from Eddie.

“Thanks man,” Eddie sounds the lightest, most genuine Steve’s heard him since he pulled up and got out of the car; “they’re already ordered.”

And Doug chuckles, and Steve?

Steve bites down his smile to less exploding-star levels—if he’d just pulled up he doesn’t have a reason, save that Eddie is enough of a reason in Steve’s eyes, his mind, the way his chest expands just thinking on him—as he pulls the car door closed again, loud enough to be noticed.

For Eddie to walk out of the garage fast as anything and meet Steve with a smile of his own that justifies the fuck out of where Steve’s had started, anyway.

All star-bright and everything.

♥️🎸♥️

✨also on ao3✨

btw this is either titled ‘halcyon shoegazing’ or ‘heart in your shoes’ so if you have an opinion you should maybe tell me or something, my brain’s tired and is resisting decisions rn

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @dreamy-jeans137 @estrellami-1 @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here

divider credit here and here and here

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #post s4 #established relationship #corroded coffin #as in: the boys are here #and they DO NOT APPROVE OF STEVE #and think it’s absolutely essential to confront eddie about what the hell he thinks he’s doing with HARRINGTON of all people #and yeah okay: maybe steve OVERHEARS IT ALL #it’s 100% accidental though #eddie’s van is just in the shop! he needs a ride from band practice!#fluff #romance #anniversary #eddie munson: COME DEFEND YOUR MAN #true love #declarations #love confessions #steve harrington gets to feel all warm and gooey about his boyfriend okay? he deserves that #stranger things #steddielovemonth #prompt: we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love #hitlikehammers v words #hitlikehammers writes

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slapmeshigaraki · 1 day ago

Text

: •̩̩͙ ໋ "let me take care of you, hm?" •̩̩͙ ໋:

Every bone in your body ached, throat stinging as you swallowed. Your eyes squinted, the brightness of the overhead light stinging them. It was too warm, your thighs sticking together underneath a thick blanket with a familiar scent. You shifted in place, willing your body to move slowly, but before you could sit up, a voice cut through the silence.

“No no no, be still.” The silver haired boy spoke at a volume slightly louder than usual. He wasted no time rushing over to where you laid on the couch, the fabric making indents in your skin from how long you’d been laying there.

“Xavier, I can’t feel my legs. I have to get up,” He shook his head.

“You’re weak. You need to eat before you try to move around too much.” You scrunched your nose as he sat on the coffee table beside me, a bowl of an ambiguous substance tucked in between his hands. He stirred it slowly, steam pooling off of the spoon. He blew on it once or twice before extending it for you to try.

“Xavier, who made that?”

“I did,” Your stomach turned at the thought. Xavier couldn’t boil an egg properly. The thought of a meal prepared by him had you feeling worse than before.

“I’m not hungry, really. I’m fine. I think I just need some water and-“

“Baby, please. I just want you to feel better. Try one bite for me, yeah?” His face softened, eyes wide as he stared at you, the spoon still pointed in your direction, taunting you, daring you to take it into your mouth. You took a deep breath, unable to deny him when he pleaded so sweetly, before leaning up and taking the metal spoon between your lips. You chewed it slowly, waiting for a foul flavor to attack your tastebuds, but it never came.

“Do you want some more?” You nodded hesitantly, curious to taste the flavor again.

“Is it good?” You took another bite, the warm broth of the soup soothing your throat and coating your insides. You nodded once more, leaning in.

“You know you don’t have to feed me, right? I can do it myself.”

“I know, but I want to. Is that okay?” His voice was soft, barely above a whisper as your eyes locked.

“Yes.” A faint smile crept across his face at the admission before he reached the spoon out again and you let the warm liquid caress your tongue.

“Sweet girl, always so strong. I love getting to be here for you like this. Taking care of you when you need me makes me so happy. You know that?” He said, picking the towel up from beside him and wiping it against the corner of your mouth, your lips almost touching from the close proximity. He put the bowl behind him, his soft fingers resting against your face, before lifting your back up slightly and sitting on the cushion beside you. You laid your head against his lap, finally closing the gap between your bodies.

“You worked so hard in the battle yesterday. I knew your body wouldn’t be able to handle all of that stress. Why didn’t you let me just do all of the work, hm?” he asked, as his skin made small, rhythmic circles against yours.

“I want to help you whenever I can. I don’t want to see you get hurt while trying to watch out for me.”

“Do you not think I can multitask?” There was a hint of laughter hidden in his tone.

“I do, but I just don’t want to burden you by making you do so.” The humor in his expression was gone as his gaze searched yours.

“Taking care of you is not a burden to me, in any capacity. You get that, right?”

“Yes…” His eyebrows scrunched together at the response before his palm found the back of your head. He slowly brought your faces closer together. Your heartbeat seemed to stop in your chest as your lips met his. You closed your eyes, melting against his touch before he pulled back without any warning.

“Let me take care of you, hm?” Suddenly, you felt a cool touch beneath the warmth of the blanket as his fingertips danced across your chest, making the hairs on your skin stand up as he trailed them from your collarbones and underneath the fabric of your shirt. His light eyes never left yours, studying every contortion of your face as he continued touching you.

“All you have to do is ask for help, pretty girl.” The words caught in your throat as his fingers tenderly massaged your nipple, twisting it softly back and forth between his fingers nonchalantly. The heat beneath the blanket only grew as you fought against the desire to rub your thighs together.

“I want you to help me, Xavier.” As the words left your mouth, his fingers moved to the other nipple, pinching lightly before continuing the same pattern.

“Aw, do you? You might have to be more specific. How will I know what you need from me unless you say it directly?” Your legs seemed to spread on their own at his words, knees falling apart as your pussy ached from his voice.

“Touch me,” You said, no, whined.

“I’m already touching you, silly girl. Do you not want me to touch you here?” His fingers stilled completely against your heaving chest before they found their way toward your face again.

“Open,” His tone was dark now as his index finger gently tapped against your bottom lip. You immediately let your jaw hang open, sticking your tongue out a little. He slid two of his fingers against your flesh, collecting your spit onto them until they glistened with the wetness as he pulled them back out.

“Tell me where you want my fingers.”

“On my pussy, please.”

“Aw, please?” he said, his tone mocking yours, “My sweet girl, you don’t have to beg. I’ll help you anytime you ask.” Without wasting another second, he slid his hand under the fabric once again, sliding beneath the waistband of your shorts.

“Poor baby, you’re so wet already. Were you too scared to ask for me to take care of you like this?” Your eyes rolled back as his slick fingers ran up and down between your lips.

“You don’t have to be nervous to ask for my help baby. I just want to take care of what belongs to me.” The pad of his thumb made slow small circles on your clit, the wetness causing it to slide around beneath his touch.

“Even this little clit is scared to ask for help, she keeps running away from me.” A low moan fell from your lips, your back arching as you tried to push your hips into his touch.

“Xavier…”

“What is it, princess?”

“I- I need you to make me cum.”

“Aw, what a big girl for me saying what she needs so directly, so cute,” he said before sliding his middle finger inside of you. His thumb continued its movements as he slowly pushed himself in and out, curving his finger slightly, causing even more whines to spill from your lips.

“Is that the spot? Is moving my fingers like that gonna make this tight little pussy cum?” His pace quickened.

“Answer me baby.”

“Yes, yes I’m going to cum.”

“Whose pussy is this?” Your thighs started to clamp together around his arm the faster he slammed into you. His slender digits curled inside of you deeper than you’d felt before.

“Yours Xavier. It’s your pussy.” Another finger forced its way into your hole.

“Aw, pretty girl. Don’t tense up, relax. Let me inside, c’mon princess. Thought you were gonna let me help you, hm?” He stalled his movements, giving your walls time to stretch around him.

“That’s it, calm down. Let that pussy open up a little for me, yeah?” You nodded slowly, lost in anything that he said, the heat between your legs the only things that you could focus on any longer. He began moving his fingers again, hitting that same sweet spot inside of you that made your eyes roll into the back of your head.

“Xavier, I’m gonna cum. Don’t stop.”

“Good girl, cum for me. Give it to me. I want you to let go all over my fingers, baby.” You moaned his name, hands reaching to stop his movements as his fingers continued to fuck you through your orgasm, every twitch of his digits overstimulating you.

“Xavier please, I can’t take it anymore.” He slid his other hand beneath the blanket, forcing your thighs apart.

“But I thought you needed me baby? This pussy is still drooling all over my fingers. I have to keep taking care of you until you aren’t scared to ask for my help anymore, hm?” he whispered. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as that same sinister smile stained his face.

♡ a/n: super busy week tragically, senior year of college is kicking my ass smhhhh. sooo since i won't have time to write anything fresh i thought i would post some of my older fics here :))) they are heavily unedited ngl. i'll probably do two others this week since valentine's day is coming up and i won't have anything better to do lmao,, there's one's for the meanie! series for caleb and sylus. anywayyy lotta yapping this time mb,, have a good day angels !!

#l&ds #l&ds x reader #love and deepspace #lnds #l&ds x you #lads smut #lnds smut #love and deepspace smut #love and deepspace fic #love and deepspace x reader #lads x you #lads x reader #lads xavier #xavier smut #lnds xavier #xavier love and deepspace #xavier x reader #love and deep space #smut

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beardedjoel · 2 days ago

Note

i cannot stress enough that prompt #15 on the first list is SOOOO smother coded, imagine on a hot summer night joel and blossom are up late and just yapping and looking up at the stars (blossom would def make a joke about how one of the constellations reminds her of joel) and then one thing after another he's fucking her raw and deep into the ground, when they're done blossom has grass stains on her dress or something (ALSO JULIE CONGRATS ON 5K YOU FUCKING DESERVE ILY)

thank you so much for sending this in and the kind words bby! beyond appreciate your patience from sending this in months ago 🤧 sorry for the delay! i had so so much fun writing this one though hehe because it really was very smother coded and it felt so natural for them. stargazing really does feel like something they'd do together often, especially after the way it goes for them here!

sea of stars — joel x f!reader

request: "stargazing that turns into sex". sent in as part of my 5k celebration! could be read as a standalone daddy joel if you really wanted to but it is rather smother-y and written with them in mind 😋

wc: 2.9k

warnings: dry (wet?) humping, piv, dirty talk, ddlg / daddy dom!joel + sub!reader

Sticky, thick air clings close to your skin, your hopes of beating the late night heat of summer by opening all the windows dashed as the house remains a stuffy, sweltering prison. You wished for air flow more than anything, a fan, and Joel promised he would do his best to find a working one for the two of you someday. You knew it was unlikely to ever materialize, but Joel would do his damndest to never give up on something that you’d so sweetly asked for.

“Can’t sleep, daddy,” you murmur, rubbing your burning, tired eyes and rolling over to face him. Despite the heat, your naked body gravitates towards him, your longing for him unable to be quelled by it and the layer of sweat that seems to permanently live on your skin. His arms find you, bringing you close, clammy limbs tangling together but neither of you caring, lethargic in your movements.

“I know, sweetheart. ‘M sorry,” he replies, stroking your hair soothingly. “It’s jus’ a heatwave, darlin’, these usually only last a few days. Should be out of it soon.”

You nod, still feeling pitiful, sighing and rolling onto your back as Joel’s arms retract, the both of you trying to cool off again. After a few silent beats, Joel sits up in bed, watching you blink listlessly at the ceiling.

“Alright, up. I’ve got an idea,” he says.

You clamber off the mattress half in a daze and he hands you a ball of thin fabric - your nightgown that had been discarded before you got in bed. Sheer and lovely and see through, you pull it over your head, the material thankfully feather light on your skin. Joel feels better knowing you’re covered up for what he has planned. It’s odd, how deep the possession runs, knowing that nobody else is within miles of this place, but still feeling that pull to keep you as only his to see. It didn’t hurt that you always looked almost too alluring in the clothing he picked out for you.

After tugging on a pair of briefs, Joel leads you outside, snatching a throw from the back of the couch as you pass. A sigh of relief leaves your lips as you step past the threshold, the cooler air sweeter than anything as it caresses your skin.

“Few degrees makes all the difference, don’t it?” Joel says, and you quickly agree with a happy little hum. His hand on the small of your back, he guides you away from the cabin, stopping where a clearing of trees reveals the night sky to you, the moon only a tiny sliver shimmering in the distance, hardly providing any light. You strain your eyes slightly, comforted by the warmth radiating off of Joel reminding you he’s right there.

“Lay down,” he tells you, and you pause, wondering if he can see your face scrunched up in confusion as both of your eyes still adjust to the darkness. “Jus’ trust me,” he adds on at your hesitation, kissing the side of your head.

You lay down on your back, the cool grass beneath you making you smile as goosebumps briefly prickle your skin. You’d started to lose hope that it was possible to find relief in heat like this. Folding your hands over your stomach, you see Joel kneeling down next to you, hear him groan quietly as his knees crack on the way.

“Now tell me what you see, honey,” Joel says, settling next to you.

The obvious answer is right above you, twinkling dots littering the black sky. Their serene beauty transfixes you as you simply mutter, “Stars.”

“Mhm,” Joel confirms, propped up on his elbow to face you. “Pretty, ain’t they?” His fingers tease along your scalp, brushing backwards in rhythmic, soothing strokes. Lulled by his touch, you simply nod, letting the sea of stars swim in front of your eyes.

“You know any constellations?” he asks, laying onto his back to gaze at the sky with you.

“Mm, not really. Can you teach me?”

“Don’t know very many myself.” He pauses, scanning the sky for a few quiet moments. “Well I know that one there. ‘S the big dipper, but everyone knows it. Y’see the handle? An’ the big spoon part too?”

Joel’s hand envelops yours, guiding it to point towards the constellation. You squint, focusing your eyes to try and see it, but shake your head, making a contemplative little noise. “Kind of,” you say, twisting your lips to the side. “Wait… yeah, I see it, daddy! Right there…” You move your hand with his in a line, showing that you see the handle.

“You got it, princess.”

Both of your hands fall to the side, staying interlinked as you quietly observe the beauty floating above you, suspended in the clear sky. You’ve completely forgotten about the heat, the restlessness that had plagued you these last few hours. The air stays cool enough to take the edge off, your skin finally free from that grimy layer of sweat it seemed to carry at all hours during this heat wave.

“What’s that one?” you ask, finger pointing high into the night sky.

“I- I don’t know if that is one, darlin’,” Joel replies amusedly, trying to follow your eyeline. “We’ll get you a book on it, maybe, you’ll be a pro in no time.”

You give a bright smile at his offer while trying to make out more shapes in the twinkling expanse above. “What about that one?” you ask impatiently, pointing again. “It kind of looks like a face, maybe. Maybe it’s you,” you turn your head, giving him a cheeky grin as you laugh.

“Silly girl,” Joel chides you with a chuckle, reaching over to pinch your cheek for the teasing. “You know that daddy doesn’t know everything, right? Despite what it may seem.”

You giggle quietly, shaking your head. “You do know everything, daddy. Isn’t that one of the rules?”

“Knowin’ best f’you and knowin’ everything are very different, blossom,” he says playfully. “An’ especially when it comes to this… constellation stuff, I ain’t ever thought to learn them before, really. Sometimes it’s nice to just… look at ‘em. Thas’ been my philosophy, at least.”

“It is nice…” you mutter dazedly, feeling lulled by the serenity of the sky, the quiet noises of the forest surrounding you, the rustle of a soft but gladly received breeze blowing by.

“Feelin’ better?” Joel asks, rubbing his thumb over your hand.

“Mhm. Much better,” you reply, sounding more subdued. The heat had made it harder to keep your composure throughout the last few days, leaving you on edge and worried you would inadvertently snap at Joel, resulting in a punishment. It had been a while since he’d had to dole one out, but the memories of them alone makes your body feel flush with need.

You did hate getting them, yet craved the heated attention from him that came with it. You curl a little closer to him at the thought, rubbing your thighs together.

“I can cuddle you again, daddy,” you tell him, making Joel’s chest vibrate with a tiny chuckle.

“You didn’t want to cuddle your old man before?” You can practically hear the daring raise of his brows in his voice.

“Too hot,” you insist innocently, tucking your face near Joel’s armpit and poking him in the side. He makes a noise of agreement as he playfully swats you away. You’d noticed the same from him during this heatwave - the way his body wanted to gravitate towards yours as usual, but even your insatiable Joel had found it too stiflingly hot to give you what you both desired as often as normal.

Now, however…

His energy shifts, hand slithering down your back, making goosebumps crop up as you shiver. Even less than a few days without his touch has your nerves frazzled the second his hands are on you again, greedily making their way down to your ass, squeezing hard at the plush skin there.

A needy growl pulls up from Joel’s throat, leaning forward to press his lips to your ear, wrapping them around your ear lobe and suckling. Another wave of goosebumps trails over your entire body, a helpless cry whimpered out.

“Ain’t had enough of you these last few days…” he murmurs into the shell of your ear, raspy and heated. Your breath catches and you clench between your legs, your core moving towards his without thought, throwing a leg over his. His hand tightens on your ass, yanking you closer until you can feel the hard shape of his cock press into you. The thin fabric of both of your clothing does little to hinder either of you, and you start rolling your hips against him, whining.

“Poor baby is needy without her daddy filling her up constantly, isn’t she?” Joel taunts, his other arm slipping underneath you to grab your other ass cheek, now starting a steady, faster rhythm against him.

“Daddy…” you manage to whine breathlessly, your mind only focused on the feeling between the two of you, brain going fuzzy with need. He seems to grow harder, his cock desperate to break the confines of his clothing, to wear down the fabric of your dress with the way he’s moving you in earnest now. You gush between your legs, built up tension from the last few days that hadn’t been sated well enough coming back in full force.

The fabric of your dress pressed further between your legs starts to grow damp, catching on your poor clit and sending little waves of pleasure buzzing through you. You moan quietly, only forlorn little breaths that Joel eats up, fueling him to keep forcing you to rut into him.

“I w-want -” you try to speak, but the bulge in Joel’s briefs reaches deeper between your thighs, your entire body twitching.

His lips find your earlobe again, biting gently before turning to your neck and nibbling there. “What does my blossom need, hm? Use your words…”

You whine in response, thrusting inward at the same time Joel urges your hips forward, moaning louder. You pant, angling yourself to get off even easier on him, feeling an obscene amount of moisture seeping onto your dress, soft squelches filling the air as it leaks onto Joel’s briefs, too.

“Christ, baby, my little girl is a needy fuckin’ thing isn’t she,” Joel punches out in disbelief, losing control, his hips twitching harder into yours, chasing his pleasure.

“I-Inside…” you manage to choke out.

Joel tsks. “Not ‘till you give me one,” he demands. You immediately double down on the rocking of your hips, letting yourself get lost in it until your body is burning, so close to reaching that bliss. His cock leaks for you, adding to the wetness sticking to the clothing between you, sweat forming on your brow and neck and everywhere else now, too.

The climax hits you in a hurried burst, leaving just as quickly, not the release you’d been hoping for. You groan in frustration as you come down, clinging to Joel’s sweaty chest.

“Pl-please, daddy. I’ll do anything…” You beg him, your skin prickling and hot with frustration, the heat slowly making you irritable again.

“Anythin’? Ain’t no different from any other day, princess.” He teases, mocking you with that drip of condescension he does so well. It only riles you up further, and you move to untangle yourself from him to move into the position you know will give you the relief you need from him. Before you can get on your hands and knees, Joel grabs you by the waist, pulling you into where he still lays, your body fumbling into his solid chest as it clunks back to the ground. His lips press to your ear, your body tight to his as one arm holds you by the torso, the other near your neck. “Nuh-uh. You know you don’t get to decide how I take you. That ain’t how this works,” he grits out, ruthless.

Whimpering, that odd mixture of excitement and fear coursing through your veins, you smirk, struggling slightly in his hold to egg him on, your ass wriggling into his crotch. Joel clocks it immediately, moving to reach between you and tug down his briefs and tear your dress off where it already barely covers your ass.

“Gonna make me crazy, bein’ a little brat like that, baby. We both know that ain’t you. She’s a good girl. Right?” He presses his cock between your thighs, forcing it through to your entrance, teasing you when you remain silent. “Right?! Say it, sweetheart. Tell daddy you aren’t a brat.”

“I-I’m not…” Just the tip of his cock presses inward and you grit your teeth, holding back the pathetic, desperate begging you really want to spit out. “I’m not a brat, daddy, I promise. I just -”

“You need daddy’s cock, I know.” He interrupts you with a press inward of his hips at his words, sinking the thick length of himself inside of you. You squeal, the noise turning to a moan of relief as he slides in easily, your slickness already coating everything, including the way it’s dripping down the inside of your thighs.

“What are you then, if you ain’t a brat?” Joel sits perfectly still, his well practiced restraint palpable between the two of you. You want him to move, you need him to move, to fill that void you’d been missing for the last few days.

“I’m a g-good girl. I am… I am… I-I’m good, see?” You keep perfectly still with Joel for a long beat, letting him make the final call on whether or not you’ve been good enough. One of your hands grasps tightly into the grass to pour out your pent up frustration, nails digging into the earth.

Joel cranes his neck to kiss the side of your head. “That’s right. Thank you, blossom. Good girls get a reward from their daddy, too.”

You nod eagerly, and in a flash Joel’s body is on top of yours, forcing his cock to plunge deeper inside of you as you lay belly down. He yanks on your hips, bringing them upwards and begins to thrust steadily and surely into you. Your g-spot immediately feels the change in angle as he starts to press on it, your pussy pulsing around him, still sensitive from the last climax.

“Y-yes, yes…” you groan out, the top half of your torso still pressed into the ground going deeper into the grass with each bounce of your body on Joel’s thrusts. He smacks your ass and you yelp happily, heat radiating from there into pleasure at your core when he does it again.

“S-shit… baby, come for me. Want to hear you, want to feel you. Daddy a-ain’t gonna last…”

Something about his desperation pulls your insides taut, makes you clench harder around him. His hand reaches to your clit, rubbing urgently as he pounds into you. “Come, f-fuck, come, blossom. Now.”

His command, always your bidding, follows that same pattern now, sending you toppling over the edge. You come hard, your legs trembling, sinking lower to the ground so that you’re almost flat, your knees unable to hold you up. The pure abyss of pleasure rocks through you for those few, perfect moments as Joel pants above you as he pistons his hips faster. He suddenly yanks himself out of you, leaving you empty and trembling. You hear the squelch of your slickness in his hand, pumping his cock a few times before the hot splattering of his cum hits your back, soaking through your dress.

Joel sighs, collapsing next to you on his back, tucking himself back inside his briefs. “S-sorry, baby. I needed that too, I guess,” he says, sounding more sheepish than usual.

“I liked it,” you tease him, genuine in your words. You roll to your side, sitting up slightly and glancing down at your dress with a frown. Through the dark, your eyes more well adjusted now, you can see the stain smeared across the front of it. It isn’t the first time that grass stains have invaded your wardrobe from a passionate moment like this, but you like your dresses pristine for Joel, always worried about him getting it out for you. “My dress…” you lament.

Joel’s lips pull up into a smirk. “Afraid the back ain’t any better.”

You giggle, flustered and still shy after all this time at the thought of what you and Joel do together after the moment passes. “You made a mess this time, daddy.”

His lips find yours, pressing a deep kiss to them. “Can’t help that it looks good on you. You want to go change?”

“Too tired now. Want to sleep.” You shake your head, blinking at the night sky again, studying the stars with heavier lids now. The cooler outside air, despite your recent activities making you sweat all over again, starts to dry it quickly, leaving you pleasantly comfortable and sated. Joel’s plan seemed to work wonders, this setup much better than it had been trying to fight for sleep inside the stuffy house. Your limbs feel lazy and heavy, body still humming from your climax, every part of you comforted when Joel moves to hold you.

He smiles softly, placated to see you so at ease now. Joel reaches for the throw blanket, unraveling it and setting it at the ready for when you inevitably start to get chilly in your sleep.

“You sleep then, sweetheart. Daddy’s got you.”

#julie's 5k celebration #julie's 5k celebration fic #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #x reader #fic: smother

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littelovelunette · 2 days ago

Note

reader begging sevika to put a baby in them...

Shimmer And Silence G!P

Contains smut, breeding, biting, nipple play, impregnation, mentions of drug and addiction, blowjob

Sevika has always been hard headed and never gave into your desires too quickly but she never understood if it was for the best or not.

Shimmer often made her cranky and violent from time to time and being her wife, you didn't like that she made herself get high on the drug so damn often due to her loyalty and work for Silco.

It hurt, because despite wanting to settle down badly you could barely even imagine bringing the topic up to her because what if she didn't approve of your needs and had a Shimmer crashout.

Sighing to yourself, you made the bed as usual and got to doing the chores. You were used to your housewife routine by now.

You'd work at home and ensure she had a clean and cozy place to come back and rest, by the time she's done fighting for Zaun for the day.

You'd approach the topic again today and try to get her to understand that you wanted to settle down.

It had been 5 years you both were married together after all and in all honesty, whether Zaun got free or not life wouldn't pause so you both could settle and find happiness within the battles.

You finished all your work and took a shower, it was evening by then. Sevika was probably gambling after work, she'd be back soon. Maybe drunk, maybe not.

You put on one of your lacy white panties and the matching bra you bought along with it, slipping on one oversized t-shirt over the underwear, you didn't feel like wearing anything else for now.

The door opened and Sevika walked inside, “I'm home,” she called lazily, she didn't go to Last Drop which was a little strange.

Maybe she was just tired.

“Hi, baby,” you smiled and helped her take her poncho off, she walked to the bedroom after giving you a brief kiss, getting out of her clothes.

She laid down and you went over to her, sitting down beside her, “Baby, there was something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Sevika gave you a little nod to acknowledge your words and gesture that she was listening.

“I think we should start trying for kids.”

The silence sunk in the air around both of you. “Did you just say what I think you just said? Or am I mishearing things already?” Sevika asked, her tone a little condescending.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and responded, “I just feel that if we don't, y'know, I'm not getting any younger… I might not be able to even have children. We don't know what the future holds for us,” you placed one hand over her bigger one, rubbing your thumb over the calloused skin, “The battle won't pause so we can have children, please, this is the one thing I really want.”

Sevika stared at you for a while before sighing, shaking her head. “I don't think this is a good idea.”

Exasperated, you shifted so you were now on her lap, “Baby, please,” you said, cupping her face in both your hands as you sighed a little feeling her bulge against your clothed heat.

“You're a tease, y'know that?” Sevika slapped your ass, grabbing the lump of flesh and squeezing, “Fine, I'll give it some thought.”

“No, you always say that and then your mind changes,” you moved a little so her growing bulge could rub against the soaked spot on your panties.

“Just say it, you get off on the thought of me breeding you,” Sevika whispered in your ear, instantly catching you off guard. She grabbed you by your frame and shoved you down on the bed.

“Look, you even dressed up all pretty tonight,” Sevika smirked, raising the hem of the shirt to check out the underwear you had on.

“I just, I thought maybe there'd be a possibility,” you said, face growing hotter with the second.

Sevika tsked, “Bullshit, I bet you're so wet by the thought of me filling you up, filthy little whore having semen dripping from your holes because you can't even hold all of my load inside.”

Sevika's rough, thick fingers rubbed over your pussy, as if readying it for her massive cock. She pulled her pants down just enough for her cock to slap up against her stomach, precum dripping from the tip of her impressively massive shaft.

“Oh my…” you couldn't help reaching forward and grabbing her shaft carefully in your hands.

Sevika placed a hand over her hip, the mechanical arm holding you in place as you started sucking on the tip of her cock.

“Want me to suck you off?” You asked, looking up at her with those pretty puppy eyes and she nodded, guiding your head as you deepthroated her cock with years of experience.

Sevika gasped, fingers entangling themselves in your hair as you sucked her harder. You had to hold on to each side of her muscular thighs to steady yourself as you bobbed your head, the head of her cock slamming into the back of your throat every now and then making you gag and saliva messily ran down your chin giving you a further lewd expression.

Sevika, on the other hand, was having the time of her life. She used your head roughly to get herself off, shooting ropes of cum in your throat, forcing you to swallow it down.

Sevika smirked down at you as you pulled back, catching your breath from the ordeal and then she gestured to you to get on the bed. As you laid down, she undressed you, taking your shirt off, unhooking your bra and lastly pulling your panties down your legs. Sevika was being extra slow just for the sole reason of riling you up and getting you even more wet.

“Sevika, please, put a baby in me,” you began, “I need you to impregnate me, please, I need it.”

“Mhm? Do you need it?” Sevika mocked cock already aligning against your hole and going in with a single thrust.

Your eyes rolled back as she bottomed out and pulled right back out before slamming it back in, hitting that on sweet spot that back you scratch on her back and bite her shoulder.

Sevika loved it when you bit her shoulder like that, it made you wilder and she loved rough sex. Sevika started slamming her huge shaft into you, grunting from the strain of her muscles every now and then, “Gonna fill you up, gonna fill you up to the brim,” she mumbled under her breath, the headboard of the bed slammed against the wall and you were sure the neighbours would likely come down with a noise complaint.

You buried the thought down, crying as Sevika bit your nipple, pulling it with her teeth, “C-C-cumming!” You stuttered and a gush of liquid went over her length, making her eyes close in bliss but she didn't stop there.

She continued ramming into your pussy, her dick throbbing, “Gonna fill you up, take it, slut.” You gasped as you felt the warm semen fill you up, moaning loudly, legs and hands falling back onto the mattress.

You were gonna be a mother soon.

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snowysosturn · 3 days ago

Text

Fire & Desire - Matt Sturniolo Part 15

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15

Pairing: Y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Summary: Y/n has always clashed with Matt. Despite working for Chris’s clothing brand and being close with Nick, her relationship with Matt has always been tense at best. While being forced to be around each other more, their animosity turns into something deeper. Can they overcome their differences, or will their fiery emotions tear them apart?

Warnings: angst, tension

Matt finishes up his shots, handing the jacket off to Chris before running a hand through his hair.

I take that as my cue, slipping my own jacket on. Just as I’m adjusting the sleeves, Matt starts walking toward me. My pulse skips slightly, but I force myself to act normal.

"Nice jacket" I say, my voice light, playful. I tug at the sleeve for emphasis. "We’re twinning."

He follows my motion, then looks back at his own. For a moment, there’s a flicker of something in his expression, something almost unreadable, before he smirks. "Yeah, guess so."

I tilt my head, raising a brow. "Trying to be me now?"

Matt huffs a short laugh, shaking his head. "Nah, this was all Chris. Maybe he wanted to show it was unisex or something, I don’t know." His tone is easygoing, dismissive, like the whole thing didn’t really matter.

Something in me sinks slightly. I don’t know what I was expecting, maybe some kind of confirmation that there was a meaning behind it. That it wasn’t just a coincidence. That he had chosen it intentionally. But I nod, forcing myself to brush it off, not wanting to read too much into it.

Before I can say anything else, Nick, who had clearly been listening, steps in. "Okay, well, since you two are basically in matching outfits, you should get some pictures together."

I blink, glancing at Matt, who looks just as thrown off by the suggestion. He hesitates for a split second, then shrugs. "Yeah, sure. Why not?"

Chris, already looking back at photos, gives an approving nod. "Yeah, that could be cool. Matt stand behind Y/n."

I swallow, suddenly more aware of the way my jacket feels against my skin, the way Matt's standing just close enough for our sleeves to almost touch. I nod, stepping forward, trying to ignore the way my heart is beating.

We start taking photos, the fading sun casting a golden hour glow over everything. We take turns, everyone gets their solo shots, duo shots in turns between the boys then some of just Chris, Matt and Nick together. There’s small moments, genuine laughter caught between shots.

At one point, Chris calls me over, gesturing for me to stand beside him. "Let’s get some together" he says, adjusting his hoodie. It would be nice for both of us to have photos together, considering how hard we've worked on this.

By the time we’re done, the sky is a deep navy blue. We huddle around, flicking through the photos. The excitement is evident, everyone’s happy with how they turned out.

Chris straightens up, stretching his arms over his head. "Alright" he announces, a grin stretching across his face. "I say we celebrate."

Nick smirks. "You just want an excuse to go drinking."

Chris shrugs. "Yeah, and?"

We all laugh, the energy still buzzing in the air as we gather our things. The beach is still calm and quiet with the sounds of distant music playing from the bars lining the shore. We make our way up to the strip and walk into a lively sports bar.

Chris makes his way over to the bar and orders a round of drinks, effortlessly charming the bartender as he waits. Meanwhile, the rest of us find a table near the open air area, where there's a light breeze.

I decide to make my way to the bar, stepping up beside Chris. “I’ll help you carry them” I offer, reaching for a couple of glasses.

He flashes me a grateful smile. “Thanks” he says, passing two drinks to me. “Man, I’m so happy with how everything turned out. The photos, the jackets, everything.”

I smirk, nudging him playfully. “Even Matt’s jacket?”

Chris raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

I roll my eyes. “Come on, don’t act clueless. His is basically identical to mine, my initial, my favorite number. You trying to make us twins or something?” I tease, though there’s an edge of curiosity in my tone.

Chris looks at me for a moment, confused. Then, with a slow shake of his head, he says, “I didn’t do that.”

My head snaps towards Chris. “What?”

“I didn’t pick Matt’s design” Chris explains, grabbing the last drink. “He sat with me when I was placing the order back in Vegas. I had already filled in everyone else’s details, but he got to choose his own.”

The words hit me like a slow motion realization, the pieces falling into place one by one.

Matt chose it himself.

The same initial. The same number. On purpose. And he played it off.

I swallow, my fingers tightening slightly around the glasses in my hand. My heart thumping in my chest. Chris is still talking, but his voice fades into the background as my mind races. I don’t even know how to feel, shocked? Conflicted? Something deeper?

Chris finally glances over at me, noticing the shift in my expression. “You good?”

I snap back to reality, forcing a small smile. “Yeah,” I lie. “Just.. taking the whole night in.”

Chris doesn’t question it, just shrugs before nodding toward the table. “Come on, let’s bring these over.”

I follow, but my mind is elsewhere.

Matt did it on purpose.

And I have no idea what that means.

As we set the drinks down on our table, I sneak a glance across at Matt. He’s leaned back in his chair, talking to Nate about something. My His jacket rests against the chair beside him, the initial and number staring back at me like some kind of silent confession.

I try my best to brush it off and we fall into easy conversation within the group. Chris and Nate get another round of drinks, sliding them across the table. The energy between us is nice, everyone is buzzing after a successful shoot and the anticipation of whatever the night might bring.

Chris grins as he leans back in his chair. “I mean, tell me that wasn’t one of the cleanest shoots we’ve ever done. No arguments, no disasters.. kinda feels wrong.”

Nate laughs. “It’s because I was there. Everything runs smoother when I’m around.”

Matt snorts, taking a sip of his drink. “Yeah, okay, let’s not rewrite history. Weren’t you the one who knocked over a whole light stand last time and blamed it on the wind?”

Nate places a hand on his chest, replying in defense. “It was the wind. A strong gust. Nature conspired against me.”

Chris shakes his head. “The only thing working against you is your own coordination.”

I laugh, settling back in my chair as the teasing continues. It’s easy like this, the kind of comfort that only comes from knowing each other for so long.

Nick pulled up some of the photos on his phone. He slides it across the table, and everyone leans in to look.

“Oh, this one’s sick” Matt says, tapping the screen. “But I feel like Y/n should’ve gotten the solo shot standing on the rocks instead of me.”

I raise an eyebrow. “So you’re admitting I would’ve done it better?”

He tilts his head, pretending to think. “Mmm, not exactly. Just saying your balance is probably better, considering I nearly fell to my death up there.”

“You tripped once.”

“And it was a near death experience.”

Nick laughs. “Guy swayed a little and saw his life flash before his eyes.”

“I felt myself falling, kid” Matt insists, shaking his head. “Wouldn’t expect you guys to understand.”

I roll my eyes, reaching over to take the phone from him. “Anyway, let’s look at other pictures before this turns into the Matt Survival Story.”

The night continues like that, joking and teasing. The drinks kept coming, round after round, and at some point, I stopped keeping track. The buzz in my head was fun, my limbs loose, and the laughter around the table made me feel nice.

Chris, clearly feeling it too, leaned forward suddenly, eyes wide with a drunken revelation. “You know what sounds unreal right now?”

Nate raised an eyebrow. “Enlighten us.”

“Churro’s.” Chris declared, as if he’d just discovered the meaning of life. “Like, really good, proper churros. There’s gotta be a spot somewhere on this strip.”

Nick laughed, swirling the last bit of his drink in his glass before setting it down with a clink. “That actually doesn’t sound like the worst idea. Wanna walk and see what’s around?”

Chris nodded enthusiastically. “Hell yeah.”

Nate stretched, already pushing himself up from his chair. “Might as well. I could go for something sweet.”

I expected Matt to get up too, but he stayed seated, nursing his drink with an unreadable expression.

Nick glanced between us before shrugging. “You guys staying?”

Matt barely looked up. “Yeah, we’re good here.”

Chris wiggled his eyebrows at us like he knew something we didn’t before nudging Nate to move. “Alright, suit yourselves. Don’t get too bored without us.”

With that, the three of them wandered off, their voices carrying over the music and street noise before fading into the night.

I leaned back in my chair, exhaling as I swirled my straw in my drink. The silence between Matt and I stretched, but for once, it wasn’t awkward. It was.. easy.

“You’re holding up well” he commented, nodding toward my glass. “Thought you’d be slurring by now.”

I smirked, tilting my head. “So you underestimated me?”

“Never” he said smoothly, a small grin forming on his lips. “I just figured you’d be the responsible one tonight.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “I’m on vacation. Responsibility is not in my vocabulary right now.”

Matt raised his glass slightly, as if to toast to that. “Fair enough.��

We both took a sip, the air between us charged with this weird tension, a different tension to normal, something neither of us seemed in a rush to address.

Matt set his drink down, leaning forward slightly, his elbow resting on the table. His eyes, a little lazy from the alcohol, flickered with something unreadable.

“So, if responsibility isn’t in your vocabulary right now” he smirked, “what is?”

I smirked, continuing to swirl my straw in my glass. “Recklessness, maybe. Spontaneity.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Spontaneity, huh? That’s a dangerous game.”

I tilted my head, meeting his gaze. “Maybe I like a little danger.”

A slow grin spread across his face. “Yeah?” He leaned in slightly. “You’re full of surprises, you know that?”

I took a sip of my drink, letting the ice clink together. “And here I was, thinking I was predictable.”

He shook his head, studying me like he was trying to figure me out. “Not even close.”

Before I could respond, Nick’s voice cut through the moment, his energy a stark contrast to our quiet exchange.

“Guys!” he said, slightly breathless, plopping down into a chair, “we just found something way better than this place.”

Chris and Nate sat down beside him, both grinning.

“Oh?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Better how?”

Nick leaned forward, excitement clear in his face. “There’s a bar at the end of the street with a full on drag show happening. It looks insane.”

Chris nodded enthusiastically. “We’re talking full performances, outfits, the whole thing. You guys down?”

I glanced at Matt, whose lips twitched into an amused smirk.

“Well” he said, looking at me, “since you’re in your spontaneity era…”

I laughed, shaking my head. “You don’t even like using the term era”

Nick grinned, slapping the table. “That’s the spirit. Let’s get out of here.”

Matt lingered at my side, as we stumbled down the strip and into bar. The place is alive, bright neon lights, a shimmering backdrop behind the stage, and a drag queen in a sequined bodysuit commanding the crowd. She’s scanning the room, mic in hand, looking for her next victims to drag onstage.

Before I even have a chance to process what’s happening, Nick’s hand clasps around mine.

“Oh no” I start, shaking my head, but it’s too late.

“You know we have to do this.” he grins, practically dragging me toward the stage.

Chris, Nate, and Matt cheer from the table, egging us on like we have a choice in the matter. I laugh, half in protest, but I already know what’s about to happen.

Nick’s been dying to perform Alter Ego ever since we watched Crystal Envy and Lexi Love lip sync to it on Drag Race. And now, here we are, center stage, spotlights on us.

The beat drops, and suddenly, Nick transforms. He throws himself into the performance, rapping along flawlessly, hyping up the crowd, while I do my best to keep up, dancing and laughing through the whole thing. The drag queen is eating it up, hyping us both as if we were seasoned performers.

By the time the song ends, we’re completely breathless, and for once I’m not embarrassed by all of the attention. The drag queen dramatically bows to us, then gestures to the bartender.

“Now that is how you commit to the bit” she says into the mic. “Drinks are on the house for these two.”

We walk back to our table, joining back with the others when a tray of free shots is handed to us.

Chris whistles from the table. “I mean, if free drinks are involved, I might have to hit the stage next.”

Matt shakes his head, chuckling as I sit down.

“You really went for it” he says, impressed.

I grab a shot from the tray, still catching my breath. “What can I say? Spontaneity, remember?”

He raises his glass, smirking. “Guess you weren’t lying.”

I clink my glass against his before throwing back the shot, the burn of alcohol mixing with the rush of the night so far.

The warmth of the alcohol spreads through my body all at once, a delayed hit that makes my head spin slightly. The mix of adrenaline from the performance and the lingering buzz leaves me feeling lightheaded. My skin is still damp with sweat, a mix from dancing under the lights and the Hawaiian heat.

I set my empty shot glass down and push back from the table. “I need some air” I mumble, mostly to myself, but Matt’s eyes flick toward me for a second before I turn away.

Stepping outside, the slight breeze feels cool against my overheated skin. I exhale, running a hand through my hair, trying to steady the rush in my head. So much has happened in just the past 24 hours. Getting my locket back, the jacket, the way he looked at me earlier, the teasing, the tension.

It was a very different side of Matt that I wasn’t used to.

I lean against the side of the building, staring down at my heels, my thoughts spinning faster than they should. Maybe I’ve been looking at this all wrong. Maybe Matt isn’t just Matt, the frustrating, teasing, sometimes unbearable guy in our group.

Maybe he’s the guy who went out of his way to do something meaningful for me. The guy who gets jealous when I give someone else my attention. The guy who’s been watching me just as much as I’ve been watching him.

And maybe he likes me. And maybe I like him too.

I heard the sound of the side door to the bar swinging open behind me, catching my attention. I turn to see Matt walking toward me.

“You good?” His voice is softer than usual, lacking its usual teasing edge.

I glance at him standing there with his hands in his pockets, watching me. The concern in his eyes is subtle, but it’s there.

“Yeah” I say, offering a small smile. “Just a bit warm. And very drunk.”

He chuckles, stepping closer. “Yeah, no shit. You and Nick just put on a whole damn concert in there.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “He’s been waiting for that moment.”

Matt smirks but then tilts his head slightly, considering me. “You wanna go for a walk on the beach or something? Might make you feel better.”

I hesitate for a second, but something about the way he’s looking at me makes it impossible to say no.

“Yeah” I say. “That sounds nice.”

We head down toward the sand, the noise from the strip fading as the waves take over and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

Matt walks beside me, hands tucked into his pockets, but there’s an ease to his posture. “So” he starts, a teasing lilt creeping back into his voice, “you gonna add karaoke connoisseur to your resume after that performance?”

I roll my eyes but laugh. “Oh, absolutely. Gonna start touring next week.”

He grins. “I’d buy tickets.”

I nudge him playfully. “You’d probably take the piss out of me the whole time.”

“Maybe.” He shrugs, biting back a smirk. “Or maybe I’d just sit front row and admire the view.”

I feel my stomach flip at his words, and suddenly the air between us feels differen again. Even more intense. My steps slow just slightly, and he matches my pace.

“You’re such a flirt” I say, narrowing my eyes at him.

Matt smirks. “And yet, you’re still walking with me.”

I shake my head, trying not to smile, but I know he sees right through me. The alcohol has made me bold, but maybe it’s not just the drinks. Maybe it’s him.

We keep walking, the conversation flowing like we never hated each other. Playful. Teasing.

I laugh at something he says, shaking my head. “You’re ridiculous.”

He grins, nudging me lightly with his shoulder. “And yet, you love it.”

I roll my eyes but don’t deny it. Before I can think of a comeback, my heel suddenly sinks too deep into the sand, throwing me off balance. I stumble to the side, my hands instinctively reaching out.

Matt reacts fast, catching me before I fall to the ground. One arm wraps firmly around my waist, steadying me, while the other grips my hand. The warmth of his touch against me sends a jolt through me, and I realize just how close we are, his face only inches from mine, his breath grazing over my cheek.

“Damn” he laughs, holding me upright. “You good?”

I grip his forearm, steadying myself. “Yeah, just, heels and sand? Not a great mix" I say, trying to play it cool. "And to think you were suggesting that I should’ve been up on the rocks earlier.”

Matt smirks, but instead of saying anything witty back, he suddenly crouches down in front of me.

I blink. “What are you-”

“Relax” he murmurs, fingers already working at the straps of my heels. “You’re gonna break an ankle trying to walk in these out here We don't need any more ankle problems.”

I open my mouth to argue, but the way he carefully unbuckles each strap, sliding the shoes off my feet like it’s the most natural thing in the world, has my brain rewiring itself.

Once he’s done, he stands, holding my heels in one hand. “There. Now you won’t have an excuse to fall into my arms again.”

I cross my arms, scoffing at him. “I didn’t mean to fall into your arms.”

Matt tilts his head, that signature smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah? Could’ve fooled me.”

I narrow my eyes. “You’re so full of yourself.”

He grins. “And yet, you’re still walking with me.”

I bite my lip to keep from smiling too much, but I know he sees it. He always does. I bump my shoulder against his playfully. “You know, you don’t have to carry my shoes. I am capable of holding things.”

He smirks. “Yeah, but then what excuse would I have to be a gentleman?”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Oh, so you’re a gentleman now?”

Matt raises an eyebrow, stopping in his tracks.

“I mean” he says, looking down at me, “I did just save you from eating sand. That’s got to count for something.”

I glance up at him, my heart racing, but I play it cool. “Hmm, I don’t know. Maybe I let myself fall on purpose.” I say sarcastically.

His lips curve into a slow, knowing smirk. “Oh yeah? You wanted me to catch you?”

I roll my eyes dramatically. “Don’t flatter yourself, Sturniolo.”

“Oh, so we’re using last names now?” He steps closer to me. “Careful, that’s dangerously close to flirting.”

“Please, if I was flirting, you’d know it.”

“Would I?”

I exhale, feeling my stomach flip. He’s so damn cocky, but I can’t even pretend I don’t love it.

I tilt my chin up defiantly, a slow grin spreading across my lips. “Mhm.”

My heart is racing. I can feel the alcohol in my veins, but this, this moment, is all me. No liquid courage, no overthinking. Just me and him.

I step closer, tilting my head slightly, my body moving on instinct. My mind is made up. I want to close the distance. I want him.

I lean in.

But just as my lips are about to brush his, Matt turns his head.

“We should head back.” His voice is quiet, almost strained.

I freeze.

The rejection slaps me across the face. I pull back quickly, my face heating in a way that has nothing to do with the alcohol.

I swallow hard, forcing a nod. “Yeah.. yeah, okay.”

Matt shifts awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. His usual cocky demeanor is gone, replaced by something I can’t quite read. Guilt? Hesitation?

I don’t wait to figure it out. I turn on my heel and start walking back toward the bar, my arms crossed tightly over my chest.

My stomach twists uncomfortably. How did I get it so wrong? The way he looked at me, the way he held my waist, the way he played into everything, was it just in my head?

I don’t know.

But what I do know is that I just made a move.. and Matt Sturniolo didn’t want me back.

a/n : i would run into the ocean and never return if i got rejected like that

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#snowy speaks #fire & desire #snowys sturniolo series #snowys series #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #nicolas sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #enemies to lovers #matt sturniolo fanfic

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sugarwarachan · 2 days ago

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pairing: shigaraki x afab!reader

based on this prompt list: ²⁾ “you’re telling me you really have nowhere better to be than here today?”

cws: FLUFF THIS IS SO FLUFFY WHO AM I, shigaraki is a pining mess, no quirks au, I know nothing about actual corporate offices except that I hate them lol

wc: 600 (a wee babe)

Shigaraki Tomura is not doing well.

For starters, he’s staring down the barrel at a year-long, cry-into-your-pillow-every-night kind of crush, and the object of his affection is literally standing outside of his house in the rain, asking to come in.

On Valentine’s Day.

He’s pretty sure his brain is visibly leaking out of his ears.

“Tomu, are you all right?”

You’d think after months of working in an office together, he’d have a handle on being normal around you, but apparently that’s not the case today. The nickname makes his heart hammer so loudly he can barely hear himself answer.

“You’re telling me you have nowhere better to be today than here?”

Thunder claps overhead. Rain starts pouring down in earnest, pounding the pavement behind you. He ushers you into the entryway, trying to keep his cool when you steady yourself on his forearm to toe off your shoes. Your shirt clings to the curve of your waist in a way he does not trust himself to look at too closely.

“What’s that supposed to mean? I like hanging out with you.”

You can’t be serious. It's you. The last person in the world he expected to be alone on today.

"You know what day it is."

You level him a look. "I do, actually. I have this thing called a calendar. I think you also have one installed on your phone?"

"Ha ha, marketing monkey."

You poke your tongue out at him. "Whatever, creepy IT guy."

He’s happy to sink into this routine, actually. It’s familiar. Touya calls it flirting; Tomura tries not to call it anything.

"I did get you something, though," you say. "For Valentine’s Day."

You hand him a simple red box tied off with a silver bow.

"Don’t laugh too hard at it, okay? I tried."

You’re never uncertain. He noticed that about you right away, assumed you’d be standoffish and rude because of it just like all of his other coworkers.

But you hadn’t been. You’d been kind in the way that made his teeth hurt.

He opens the box slowly, almost reverently. Inside are small, homemade chocolates, all molded in a somewhat clumsy likeness of his dog Mon.

Fuck.

He stares into the box, dumbfounded.

Sure, you play League with him on the weekends, and yes, he’s gone over the days you have coffee with him so many times they're seared into his brain, but that doesn’t mean you like him.

Except—

This is a lovely, hand-crafted gift that makes him feel so wanted he could actually drown in the feeling. It has to mean something. Right?

“Tomu?”

He snaps himself out of it.

"This is, umm." Shit, he actually has no idea what to say. He looks at you, which is a bad idea, because now all he can think about is how fucking pretty you look in his house, next to his things, bending down to greet Mon as he flies from downstairs to greet you.

"That bad, huh?" You pretend to joke, ruffling Mon's ears.

"No!" he all but shouts, wincing mentally before crouching down beside you. Mon rolls over to show off his belly.

"It's the best gift I've ever gotten," he tells you. "No one's ever made me something like this."

And because no one has ever made him something like this, Tomura takes a chance.

"Do you want to stay? You can run a bath while I grab some food and we can make a day of it?"

You grab his hand and thread your fingers through his, beaming.

"I'd love nothing more."

#SOMEONE LOVE HIM #LET THE POOR BOY FEEL WARMTH ONCE IN HIS LIFE #sugarwarachanwrites #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #valentines day event #bnha fluff #shigaraki tomura #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki fluff #tenko shimura #tenko x reader #tenko shimura x reader #shigaraki imagine #tomura x reader #tomura imagine

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blackswan0613 · 2 days ago

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Of Salt & Shadow | myg

yoongi has always been the embodiment of salt and shadow—a creature of the deep, shaped by the weight of tides and secrets, masking his wounds behind icy detachment and a stoic facade. But then there’s you, a flicker of warmth in his endless gray. You stay when others drift away, your words like whispers of sunlight breaking through his storm. Slowly, you unravel the delicate threads of his pain, exposing the fragile heart beneath his hardened exterior. Yet, the question lingers like a distant tide: can he rise above the currents of his past, or is he destined to drown in the cycle of his own making?

→ Pairing: yoongi x reader (female) → AUs: mermaid!au, fantasy!au, magical!au → Trope: strangers to lovers → Genres: fluff, smut, ANGST, drama → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 9.6k → Warnings (general) + triggers: mention of childhood trauma, FEELINGS, ANGST, brokenness, love, hope, healing, yoongi has a fuckboy attitude, and he really just needs a hug, insecurities, abandonment issues, mention of past suicide (it’s a very minor characher, not one of the tannies), emotions. → Warnings (explicit): unprotected sex, mention of multiple orgasms, oral, creampie, it’s just very light, poetic and sweet. → Read on AO3? [link] → Author’s note: 🫣🫣🫣 Yes, it’s me—Lissa (formerly known as kingofbodyrolls, may it rest in peace 😭). This story is for all of you I had to leave behind, not because I wanted to, but because I needed to. To every one of you who reached out, checking in on me, making sure I was still breathing and dreaming—I’m doing okay. Not amazing, not terrible—just somewhere in between, like a song stuck on a bittersweet chord. I’ve been on a break from Tumblr (RIP again, kingofbodyrolls) and writing fanfiction, but then it happened—one ordinary day at work, inspiration hit me like lightning. The final piece of this story clicked into place, and I knew exactly how to make it ache. Sad and raw, angsty enough to sting, but with the kind of happy ending you’ve all been hoping for. This one’s for you—for caring, for asking, for being such breathtakingly kind humans. I love you. I adore you. I hope this story brings you something—a spark, a feeling, a tear, or maybe even a little healing. Fair warning: it’ll probably make you cry, but I promise, it’s beautiful. The smut? Oh, it’s feather-light, soft and poetic, just what my heart wanted to write right now. And please, when you meet this Yoongi in the story, wrap him in the biggest, warmest hug you’ve got, okay? He needs it 🥹

[s.masterlist] → this is part of a collection of series that are stand-alone one-shots, but all of them are set in the same universe. They are slightly connected though 🤭

Life feels like a washed-out canvas, smeared with ash and shadow, even as the bass thrums through his veins, loud enough to shatter silence but not the emptiness. The cup in his hand is an elixir of forgetting, filled with fire meant to scorch his senses and cauterize the wounds of what he’s about to do tonight. Again.

He exhales, the weight of the world dragging him down like chains, his shoulders curving inward as he sinks against the cold, indifferent embrace of the bar stool. His eyes sweep the crowd—a kaleidoscope of strangers: glittering, laughing, unknowing. The usual suspects. Painted lips, swaying bodies, secrets exchanged between half-hidden smiles. But then there’s you.

He sees you. And then he doesn’t. He forces himself to look past you as if you’re a ghost, a memory he refuses to resurrect. But your presence has a gravity of its own, pulling at him like the moon calls the tide. Against his better judgment, his gaze drifts back, and when it lands on you, he feels the punch of it, sharp and breathless.

Your eyes—damn them—look so raw, so fractured, as if you’ve been waiting for him to glue the pieces together. Don’t look at me like that, he thinks, biting down on his bottom lip until the metallic tang of blood blooms on his tongue. The taste is grounding. It reminds him of who he is, of the rules he’s made for himself.

He takes another slow drag of his drink, the burn a welcome distraction from the ache clawing at his chest. He tells himself not to care, not to notice how you linger, how your fingers tighten around your glass like it’s the only thing tethering you to the room.

Why can’t you see it? The warning etched into every move he makes? He’s a tempest—beautiful to watch, but fatal if you step too close.

No. He can’t do this. Not again.

The decision is made before the thought fully forms. He drains the rest of his drink in one defiant gulp, the liquid fire smothering whatever ember of guilt still glows within him. His eyes catch a flash of gold in the crowd—a blonde, smiling, unaware—and he latches onto her like a lifeline.

He moves to her with practiced ease, whispers into her ear words he doesn’t mean, words that make her laugh as if they’re true. Her hand slips into his, and together they disappear through the pulsing haze of neon light.

He doesn’t look back. He doesn’t have to. He knows you’re still there, still watching. He knows your expression, the same way he knows the sting of regret that waits for him in the quiet hours of the night. But regret is a demon he’s learned to live with, and tonight, it won’t be you who haunts him.

“Hyung!” Jimin’s voice cuts through the shimmering expanse of water, desperate and unyielding as he surges forward, his limbs slicing through the waves with frantic determination. The ocean is a mirror of emotions—ripples distorting the light above, casting fleeting patterns over the seafloor.

Yoongi slows, his movements fluid and effortless, a predator at ease in his domain. He doesn’t turn, doesn’t speak, simply lets his younger friend close the gap between them. Silence is his armor, but it also leaves room for the currents to carry truths neither of them want to face.

“I’m sorry for what Tae said,” Jimin gasps, his voice heavy with guilt as he treads water beside him. His eyes glisten—not with the saltwater, but with something far more fragile.

Yoongi huffs, the sound rough, like the grind of a stone against the seabed. “Don’t apologize for someone else,” he mutters, the words carrying the sharp tang of dismissal.

Jimin’s lips curve into a wry smile, but there’s no humor behind it. “Fine,” he says, exhaling. “But you’ve got to see it from his point of view too.” His tone is coaxing, like someone trying to tame a storm, but Yoongi doesn’t want to be tamed. He doesn’t want to see anything. Not now.

The accusation still clings to him, stinging like brine in an open wound. Fuckboy. The word slithers into his thoughts, unwanted and cruel. Yes, he sleeps around—he won’t deny that. But somehow, hearing it aloud, weaponized, leaves him hollow.

“I don’t want to explain myself,” Yoongi says, his voice dropping into something quieter, something broken. “I don’t need to.”

“I know,” Jimin says softly, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. “He didn’t mean it.”

But as if summoned by the apology, Taehyung swims into view, his silhouette framed by the flickering sunlight above. His arms are crossed, his expression thunderous.

“Oh, I meant it,” he spits, his voice cutting through the water like a blade. “Yoongi just likes to get his dick wet and doesn’t give a damn about the girls he leaves behind. It’s pathetic.”

The words hit their mark. Yoongi flinches, his composure faltering for a fraction of a second before he tightens it again, a coil wound too tight. Anger blooms like ink in water, dark and suffocating.

Jimin, ever the peacekeeper, senses the shift. He moves quickly, placing himself between them, his hands raised as if to hold back a brewing storm. “Tae, stop—”

But Taehyung isn’t done. “Hobi told me everything,” he presses, his voice relentless. “How every night it’s a new girl. Don’t you ever feel it? The emptiness? The loneliness?”

Yoongi’s blood surges hot, his patience snapping like a frayed rope. He surges forward, his presence suddenly immense, like a shadow swallowing the light. Their faces are inches apart now, the tension crackling like lightning.

“Listen to me,” Yoongi growls, his voice a deadly whisper, his teeth bared. “I don’t owe you, or anyone, an explanation. We’re friends, Tae, but if you don’t shut the fuck up, I swear—” He gestures sharply toward a jagged underwater cave in the distance, its dark maw gaping like a warning. “I’ll make you regret it.”

The threat lingers, cold and sharp. Taehyung swallows hard, his bravado crumbling under the weight of Yoongi’s glare. “Fine,” he mutters, backpedaling. “I’ll go. Whatever.” He turns and swims away, his retreat quick and graceless.

The silence that follows is heavy, the ocean itself seeming to hold its breath. Yoongi exhales, his chest tight with anger, frustration, and something he can’t name.

“Yoongi…” Jimin’s voice is quiet now, careful, as if speaking too loudly might shatter what remains of his friend’s resolve. He stays close, his presence a tether to reality. Yoongi wishes he wouldn’t—wishes Jimin would let him drown in his own anger, his own choices.

“We just want you to be happy,” Jimin says, his hand finding Yoongi’s shoulder. His touch is grounding, warm.

Yoongi laughs, but it’s a hollow, bitter sound that leaves a sour taste in the air. “Sleeping around makes me happy,” he says, trying to sound convincing. But the words betray him, falling flat, stripped of all conviction. Even he doesn’t believe them.

Jimin doesn’t push. He simply pulls Yoongi into a brief hug, a silent reassurance, before swimming back toward the others.

Alone, Yoongi sinks lower, his tail brushing the sand. The seafloor stretches endlessly before him, littered with clams, kelp, and scattered stones. Tiny crabs scuttle past, fish darting in pairs—happy, connected, alive.

He stares at them, his chest tight with the crushing weight of solitude. He is surrounded by life, by warmth and light, yet it all feels so distant. He is an island, untouchable, unreachable. And though he tells himself it’s by choice, deep down, he knows the truth:

He has nothing. And no one.

You’re back at the bar again, the air thick with smoke and music that throbs like a heartbeat, and there he is—Yoongi. The man with skin pale as moonlight and hair dark as obsidian, a creature carved from the night itself. His presence is magnetic, an otherworldly pull you can’t resist. Yoongi. His name echoes in your mind, a soft whisper that lingers like a spell cast two weeks ago, when you let him into your bed and, briefly, your soul. He told you then that he doesn’t do relationships, his voice cold, his eyes distant.

And yet, here you are, back at the club every night, hoping for a fleeting glance, a flicker of acknowledgment. But Yoongi doesn’t see you—not anymore. He lets other women take him home instead, their faces blurring together in the low, shifting lights of the club. His detachment should disgust you, but instead, it hurts. Not because you love him—you don’t. Or at least you tell yourself you don’t. But there’s something about him, an unspoken ache that calls to you, as if you were meant to carry part of his burden.

He seems so lonely. So unbearably sad. His face, stoic and cold, masks something deeper—a raw, unhealed wound buried beneath layers of indifference. It makes your heart ache, not because of his beauty or the ghost of his touch, but because he looks like a kicked puppy, or a man drowning in an ocean of his own making. You see through the cracks in his armor. You feel it in the way he avoids your gaze, in the heaviness of his sighs when he thinks no one’s watching.

There’s more to Yoongi; you know it as surely as you know your own name. And you’ve made up your mind—you’re going to find out what lies beneath. It doesn’t matter how many girls he lets lead him away into the night. This isn’t about jealousy. It’s about the way his sadness haunts you, the way you can’t help but want to see him smile, even just once.

A few days later, you’re back at the club. The air feels heavier tonight, almost electric, and your eyes immediately find him—Yoongi. But this time, he’s not alone. A man with fiery red hair sits beside him, his smile warm and radiant, a stark contrast to Yoongi’s storm-cloud demeanor. If Yoongi is the night, this man is the sun, shining unapologetically.

For weeks, Yoongi hasn’t looked at you, hasn’t acknowledged your presence. But tonight, you’re done waiting. With determination in your step, you weave through the crowd, your heart pounding with every beat of the bass, until you’re standing at his table. Without hesitation, you pull out the chair across from him and sit down.

Yoongi’s eyes snap to yours, startled and—yes—a little annoyed. His lips press into a thin line, while his friend looks at you with an amused grin.

“Hi, Yoongi,” you say softly, offering a smile that doesn’t waver under his glare.

He grunts in response, his gaze flicking away from you.

The red-haired man leans forward, his grin widening. “Hi, I’m Hoseok,” he says, his voice bright and inviting.

“Yoongi told me about you,” Hoseok adds, laughter dancing in his tone when Yoongi rolls his eyes dramatically.

You blink, surprise coloring your expression. “He did?”

“Not in detail, or many words,” Hoseok chuckles. “But yeah.”

Your lips curve into a small, almost shy smile. “I know Yoongi’s a man of few words,” you tease, leaning forward slightly. “You’re more the listening type, right?”

For a fraction of a second, Yoongi flinches—barely noticeable—but you catch it. He recovers quickly, his expression hardening. Another grunt escapes him, which only makes you and Hoseok laugh.

“It’s okay. I don’t mind,” you say lightly, though your voice softens as you add, “But I’d love to hear more about you.”

“There’s nothing to learn,” Yoongi replies, his tone flat and unyielding. “I told you before—I don’t do relationships.”

The words sting, but you push the feeling aside. You lift your chin, meeting his cold gaze with calm resolve. “Who said I wanted a relationship?”

Yoongi scoffs, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t sleep with the same person more than once.”

“Who said I wanted sex?” you counter, your smile unwavering. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Hoseok hiding a laugh behind his hand.

Yoongi freezes, his expression momentarily slipping into something vulnerable, like a crack in ice. He looks at you as if he can’t decide whether to be insulted or intrigued.

Taking your chance, you lean closer, your voice lowering just enough to draw him in. “Listen, I won’t deny that you were amazing in bed. But this isn’t about that.” You pause, your gaze softening. “You seem… broken.”

The word lingers in the air between you, heavy and raw. Yoongi’s reaction is immediate—he stiffens, his eyes widening like a cornered animal. For a moment, you think he might run. You reach out, gently placing your hand over his, grounding him.

“I know it’s not my business,” you say softly, “but you can tell me. I can be your friend.”

His hand retreats from yours, his movements abrupt, his walls slamming back into place. “It’s not your business,” he says, his voice colder than ever. Then he stands, turning away from you without another word.

You watch his shadow retreat, your heart sinking as you lean back in your chair with a sigh. Beside you, Hoseok lets out a chuckle, his eyes sparkling with something between pity and admiration.

“If it’s any consolation,” Hoseok says, “that’s exactly how he treats his friends.”

You huff a quiet laugh, shaking your head.

“But,” Hoseok continues, his voice more serious, “you should try again. Yoongi’s got a hard shell, but sometimes, the ones who seem the most unreachable are the ones who need someone the most.”

He slides a drink toward you, his smile kind, and you take it with a grateful nod. As you sip, your thoughts linger on Yoongi, on the mystery of him, and on the ways you might find the cracks in his walls.

Yoongi is trying to fill the void again—just like every day. The club, with its pulsing music and flickering neon lights, has always been his preferred poison, a place where the noise drowns out the silence inside him. But lately, it’s been harder. Harder to find someone, harder to slip into his usual rhythm.

Because of you.

You’re always there now, sliding into the booth across from him with a brightness that’s almost jarring in the shadowy haze of his world. You talk—about everything. Your life, your friends, your work, your family. At first, it was all surface-level chatter, the kind of words people throw out to fill silence. But over the days that stretched into weeks, the conversation deepened. You’ve started sharing your dreams, your struggles, your quiet hopes for the future. And still, Yoongi listens in silence.

He doesn’t mind. In fact, he hears every word, even if his eyes occasionally drift to the dancefloor, to the swirl of bodies moving to the beat. But something has changed—his heart feels heavier, more unsettled, every time you speak. It’s as if your words are planting seeds he doesn’t know how to nurture. And he doesn’t understand.

Why do you keep talking to him, when he offers you nothing in return? When every night ends the same, with him slipping away, letting someone else take him home? He can see the flicker of hurt in your eyes, the way you mask it with a soft smile, as if you’ve already accepted his nature. But Yoongi isn’t blind—he knows he’s hurting you.

And yet, you stay.

You should run, he thinks to himself, over and over. But you don’t.

And he doesn’t understand.

He’s not special. He’s nobody. Just a hollow shell drifting through life, alone.

“Yoongi?” your voice cuts through his thoughts like a bell, and he blinks, realizing he’s blanked out again. The sound of his name on your lips pulls him back into the present, and he takes a sip of his drink, stalling for time.

“That’s why you’re like this, right?” you ask softly, your eyes searching his face with an intensity that unnerves him. Yoongi stares at you, his mind scrambling to piece together what you said before. He feels his pulse quicken, feels the weight of your question pressing on him like a heavy stone.

“Someone hurt you?” you ask again, your tone quieter this time, sadder.

He huffs a laugh, low and bitter. “Nah, darling. No one hurt me,” he lies, his voice rough and strained, as if the words have clawed their way out of his throat.

You tilt your head, your gaze piercing, and he feels like you can see straight through the facade he’s spent years perfecting. “You and I both know that’s a big, fat lie,” you say with a knowing smile, taking a sip of your drink. “But okay.”

Yoongi blinks, caught off guard. How do you know? How can you see the pieces of him he thought he’d hidden so well?

As if reading his mind, you add with a grin, “Don’t worry, I can’t read your thoughts. I’m just trying to figure out why you’re so… cold.”

He opens his mouth to respond, but you cut him off, leaning across the table with a gentleness that takes his breath away.

“It’s okay,” you murmur. “You don’t have to tell me. Not until you’re ready. I don’t want to force you.” And then, without hesitation, you reach across the table and take his hand.

The touch is soft, grounding, and yet it sends something blazing through his veins—something foreign and unnameable.

Since that moment, things have shifted. Yoongi still shows up at the club every night, but now, he doesn’t leave with someone else. He stays. He lingers. He sits with you, and for the first time, he talks.

At first, the words come slow, halting. But as the nights go on, he finds himself sharing bits and pieces of himself, fragments of the person he’s hidden away.

“My friends wouldn’t believe me if I told them I’m actually talking to you,” he says one night, a faint chuckle escaping his lips.

“Why?” you ask, leaning closer, as if the world beyond the booth has faded away.

“Because,” he replies, his voice tinged with self-deprecation, “like you said all those weeks ago, I’m more the listening type. Actually, I’m not really a ‘people’ type of guy.”

You stare at him for a moment, your gaze steady and understanding, before nodding.

After a beat of silence, you speak again, your voice softer now. “Do you want to meet me at the pier tomorrow?” you ask, a shy smile gracing your lips. “Maybe we could hang out somewhere else for a change. Somewhere… quieter?”

Yoongi leans back, his lips curving into a small smirk. You’re right—the club is loud, chaotic. How the two of you have managed to hold any kind of conversation here is a mystery. “Sure,” he says, the word slipping out before he can overthink it.

The smile that lights up your face sends something bubbling in his chest, something he doesn’t have a name for yet. And though he tries to push it down, to keep the walls around his heart intact, he can feel them beginning to crack.

Yoongi awakens to yet another day, the soft, golden sunlight filtering through the water, its gentle rays cascading down to the room he shares with his younger brother, Jimin. The light dances across the rippling surface above, a delicate ballet that makes their underwater world shimmer like a dream. Yoongi stretches, his body arching fluidly like the waves outside their window.

Beside him, Jimin stirs, his sleepy voice breaking the tranquil silence. “Do you have that date thingy today? With that human girl you’ve been talking to for weeks?”

Yoongi freezes for a moment, the question catching him off guard. He almost blushes—how ridiculous. Him, blushing? And in front of Jimin of all people? There’s no point in trying to look tough. Jimin sees through him anyway.

“Yeah,” he stammers, his voice barely audible. He feels his skin grow warm—uncomfortably so, like the temperature in their room had suddenly risen.

Jimin’s lips curl into a soft, knowing smile. “I hope it goes well.”

Yoongi just grunts in response, his tail flicking in irritation. He doesn’t want to say he hopes so too—doesn’t want to jinx it. But Jimin already knows. He always knows.

With a slow sway of his tail, Yoongi swims to prepare himself. He’s never put this much effort into anything before—not like this. He’s never even had a date before, if this can even be called that. You didn’t call it a date, after all, but to Yoongi, it feels like one. Just the two of you, meeting under the open sky in the middle of the day. Why, then, is his heart pounding like this? The unfamiliar sensation makes him clench his fists, trying to will it away.

Languidly, Yoongi swims toward the surface, the sunlight growing brighter and warmer as he ascends. When he reaches the shore, he finds a hidden spot, the transformation from tail to legs smooth and practiced. Behind an ancient tree, he retrieves the clothes he’d stashed away: simple sneakers, faded jeans, and a hoodie to ward off the sea breeze.

The pier stretches out before him like a bridge to another world. Small boats bob gently in the water, seagulls wheel lazily above, their cries sharp yet soothing. Yoongi sits on a weathered bench, his gaze tilting upward to the endless expanse of sky.

How free they are, he thinks, watching the gulls soar effortlessly. Free to roam wherever the wind takes them. Are they happy? He wonders. He is as free as they are—free to swim the vast, sprawling kingdom of Naraeum. Yet, for all its beauty, it cannot take him to the place he truly craves.

His throat tightens as unwelcome memories rise like shadows from the depths. He tries to push them back, clenching his hands against the swell of emotions threatening to drown him. Not now. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about them. About what they did. About what you lost.

“Yoongi… Are you crying?”

The soft voice pulls him back to the present, and his head snaps down from the clouds. There you are, standing before him, radiant in a summer dress that flutters gently in the breeze. The sunlight catches in your hair, and for a fleeting moment, you look like something out of a dream. Your smile is warm, but your eyes are filled with concern as you step closer.

Before he can respond, you sit beside him, your arms wrapping around him in a gentle, unexpected hug. He stiffens, caught off guard, but doesn’t pull away. He can’t. He doesn’t know how.

He says nothing. He doesn’t think he can.

The tears he tried so desperately to hold back slip free, falling silently onto the strap of your dress. And still, you hold him, your voice soft and steady. “It’s okay, Yoongi. Crying isn’t bad.”

He scoffs, a bitter, self-deprecating sound. “I don’t like to cry,” he murmurs, his voice so quiet it’s almost lost to the wind.

You hear him anyway. “I think it’s a sign of strength,” you say thoughtfully. Then, after a pause, you add, “Or maybe… maybe you’ve been strong for so long, you’re finally breaking.”

The words hit him like a tidal wave. Time seems to freeze. How? How can you see him so clearly when everyone else only ever looked through him?

You smile, a little awkwardly, and say, “Or, you know, maybe the wind just hit your face too hard.” You laugh softly, but Yoongi doesn’t. As much as it stings, he prefers the moments when you’re real, when you say the things that cut to the core.

“Maybe I am breaking…” he whispers, the words so soft they feel like a secret shared only with the breeze.

Without warning, you shift the conversation, your voice light and curious. “Have you slept with anyone lately?”

The abruptness catches him off guard, his head snapping toward you. “No,” he says, his brows furrowing. What does that have to do with anything?

But when he sees the way your lips curve into a gentle smile, he realizes. He hasn’t sought out anyone else’s touch since he started spending time with you. He hasn’t tried to fill the emptiness with fleeting nights and hollow embraces. He hasn’t needed to.

You rest your hand on his knee, your touch grounding him. “Maybe you’re healing,” you say simply.

Healing. The word lodges itself in his chest, unfamiliar yet strangely comforting. Could it be true? Could you—you—be the reason he’s beginning to feel something other than the ache of emptiness?

He wants to tell you this, to share the storm of thoughts swirling in his mind, but before he can, you speak again, your tone soft and hesitant. “I actually wanted to tell you something.”

He turns to you fully now, his eyes locking onto yours. “What is it?”

You look up to the sky, your eyes tracing the same infinite blue Yoongi gazed at just moments before. The breeze tugs at your hair, a playful reminder of the world’s ceaseless motion. You inhale deeply, as though trying to draw courage from the air itself, and then your gaze lowers, heavy with hesitation.

Yoongi’s sharp eyes catch the way your fingers curl around the hem of your dress, twisting the fabric like you’re wringing out your thoughts. He wonders what storm you’re holding back, what truth is weighing you down, and if he’s ready to hear it.

“I don’t have many friends,” you begin, your voice quiet, fragile—like a single note trembling in a vast, empty room. You turn to face him fully now, and Yoongi watches the weight of the words settle in your expression. “Actually… I don’t have any friends,” you continue, your voice cracking under the strain. “Not since my best friend… took his own life.”

Yoongi feels the breath hitch in his chest. He doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t move. He knows what it’s like to tread these waters, the ones that pull you under no matter how hard you swim.

“I guess…” you pause, looking down at your hands as you push a strand of hair behind your ear, “maybe I saw some sadness in you, and it scared me. I wanted to be there for you, even though I didn’t really know you. Maybe I still don’t.” Your voice dips into something softer, more uncertain. “But…” you trail off, running a hand through your hair in frustration. Yoongi notices the way your cheeks flush slightly, and somehow, he finds it endearing. You’re endearing.

You exhale shakily. “I’m sorry. I’m a mess.”

He surprises himself by laughing—low and soft at first, then louder as he fails to hold it back. You stare at him, bewildered, your expression a mix of confusion and irritation.

“Sorry,” he says, trying to smother the sound with a cough. “But if anyone’s a mess here, darling, it’s me.”

You blink at him, and your lips curve into a tentative smile. “I just wanted to tell you… you matter to me. Since that day we—” You hesitate, the memory flickering in your eyes before you look away. “Since that day we slept together. I know it didn’t mean the same to you, and that’s okay.” You shrug, but Yoongi sees through it. The slight tremble in your shoulders, the way you avert your gaze—it’s all there, laid bare for him to see.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice quieter now. “But you shouldn’t care about me so much.” His words are a shield, one he raises instinctively, though he knows it won’t stop you. “I don’t deserve it.”

“Why?” you press, leaning forward, the intensity of your gaze almost unbearable.

“I just don’t,” he says flatly, crossing his arms over his chest like a child refusing to admit they’re wrong.

“But why don’t you think you deserve friendship, or love?” you ask again, your voice softer now, the sadness in your eyes like a dagger to his heart.

Yoongi says nothing. He stares at the ground, his jaw tightening as memories rise unbidden to the surface—memories he’s spent years burying beneath layers of denial and indifference.

“I just don’t,” he repeats, his voice weaker this time, like the weight of his words is dragging him down.

You take a deep breath, your next question as gentle as a whisper. “Because you lost someone?”

His body stiffens, his tailbone aching with the ghost of a movement—the urge to run, to dive back into the water and escape.

“A sibling?” you ask. “A friend?”

The ice in his chest spreads, freezing him in place. The world feels too bright, too loud, and too heavy all at once. But for some reason, he doesn’t run.

“My parents,” he says finally, the words breaking free like stones tumbling off a cliff. His hands are trembling now, damp with sweat—or are they wet from something else?

“Oh, Yoongi,” you breathe, and before he can react, your arms are around him. He freezes at first, but then he feels the warmth of your embrace, the way it softens the edges of his pain.

The tears come without warning, spilling down his cheeks and onto your shoulder. “They left me to die,” he chokes out, the words raw and jagged. “They didn’t want me. They didn’t love me.”

Your hand moves in slow circles across his back, and though you don’t say anything at first, your presence speaks volumes. For the first time, he lets himself feel the depth of his loss.

“I’m so sorry, Yoongi,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. And that’s when he realizes—you’re crying too.

“Please don’t cry,” he says softly, the sound barely audible over his own sobs.

“It’s okay,” you reply, dabbing at your tears with the back of your hand. “I feel sad for you. And it’s just feelings. It’s okay.”

He nods slowly, his tears ebbing like a tide retreating from the shore.

“Thank you for telling me, Yoongi,” you say, your voice steady now, though your eyes still glisten.

He looks at you, his heart aching with something unfamiliar—gratitude? Hope? “I’ve never told anyone before,” he admits. Then, after a pause, he adds softly, “And… I’m sorry about your friend.”

You smile, though it’s bittersweet. “I always feel like I didn’t do enough for him…”

Yoongi shakes his head gently. “I’m sure you did everything you could. You’re doing it now—for me. And you don’t even have to.”

You huff, crossing your arms in frustration. “Will you stop thinking so low of yourself? I do care about you, and before you try to argue, let me just say this: You are a lovable person, okay? Got it?”

The sheer conviction in your voice startles him, and he can’t help but smile. It grows into laughter, and soon, you’re both laughing—soft, genuine, and unrestrained.

“Do you want to come back to my place?” you ask through your laughter. “To hang out, nothing else,” you quickly clarify, your cheeks turning pink.

Yoongi feels his own face warm at the memory of the last time he was there, but he pushes it aside, shoving his hands into his pockets to hide his sweaty palms.

“Sure,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant, though his heart is racing again.

It’s been weeks, and Yoongi feels it—feels the shift in his chest every time he looks at you. It’s in the way his breath hitches when you laugh, how his heart steadies when you sit close, and the way his walls crumble entirely when he’s tangled with you in the quiet sanctuary of your bed. You both promised this wasn’t what your friendship was about—something deeper, something purer—but somewhere along the way, it happened. Your body became his solace, your presence a balm to wounds he thought would never heal.

He wonders if this is what love feels like: to be seen—not for what he can give, not for his strength or his silence—but for the person beneath it all. The boy who’s carried too much for too long. With you, he’s slowly unraveling the stoic mask he built to shield himself. You’ve coaxed out the softness he buried long ago, showing him that vulnerability isn’t weakness—it’s courage.

You’re the good kind of different, the kind he never believed could exist. His friends tease him mercilessly for it, saying he’s “whipped,” calling him “domestic,” but he doesn’t care. Not when being with you feels like this—like the world could break apart, but so long as you’re with him, he’d survive it.

He’s always treated intimacy like a bandage for his fractured soul, a fleeting comfort to dull the ache. But with you, he’s learned it’s more than that. You’ve shown him that the most profound intimacy doesn’t lie in physical connection alone but in baring the parts of himself he once kept hidden—the pain, the doubt, the fragile hope. You let him shatter in your arms without judgment, kiss the tears from his face, and remind him, again and again, that he’s strong. Strong for carrying his burdens for so long, but stronger still for letting them go.

And to Yoongi, there’s nothing sexier than the way you cradle his fragility, whispering that it’s okay to break, to be human. It’s a new kind of addiction, this trust you’ve built together, and one he never wants to let go of.

On a warm summer morning, the world outside hums with life—birds singing, the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze—but Yoongi’s world is here, with you. The sunlight filters through your window, casting golden streaks across your skin, and he’s utterly mesmerized. His lips trail down your body, worshiping every curve, every scar, every piece of you, until he’s between your legs, breathing in your scent like it’s air itself.

“Yoongi, oh—right there,” you gasp, your voice raw and unrestrained, fingers threading through his hair like you’re anchoring yourself to him. He grips your thighs, spreading you open as his tongue moves with deliberate purpose, savoring every sweet taste of you. The way your body arches, the sounds spilling from your lips—it’s a symphony, one he never tires of hearing.

“I’m close,” you pant, your voice trembling, and Yoongi hums against you, the vibration making your whole body shudder. He doesn’t stop. His tongue traces the places he knows will drive you over the edge, lapping and sucking with a devotion that borders on reverence. He’s not in a rush. This is about you, about giving you the pleasure he’s memorized in his mind like scripture.

When you finally shatter, your body trembling, a soft cry slipping past your lips, Yoongi feels the heat of your release like a wildfire burning through him. He watches as your chest rises and falls, your face glowing with the aftershock of bliss. It’s beautiful, and it’s enough to make his own need surge to the forefront. But he holds back, his focus still entirely on you.

He doesn’t say it—not yet—but in the quiet moments after, as he rests his head against your thigh and listens to the rhythm of your breathing, he knows the truth: he’s falling for you. He’s already fallen. And for the first time in years, he doesn’t feel afraid of what that might mean.

“Yoongi…” You moan his name like a hymn, your trembling hands caressing his cheeks, now slick with your essence. His dark eyes meet yours, and in their depths, you see something raw, something reverent. Your own gaze is weary yet soft, radiating warmth, like the flicker of a hearthfire on a cold night. He licks his lips, leaning in to taste you once more, but you halt him, your thighs squeezing gently around his head, urging him to pause. You sit up, your skin glowing with a sheen of sweat, and the words that leave your lips are unguarded, crystalline in their sincerity.

“You’re incredible with that tongue of yours,” you murmur, voice tinged with a teasing smile, “but I want you inside me. You must be so hard, Yoongi. Why don’t you fuck me real good?”

A low chuckle rumbles from his chest, and he sits up, pulling his sweatpants down with one swift motion. His cock springs free, thick and aching, slapping against his abdomen, and for a moment, his breath stutters as he strokes himself, a groan spilling from his lips like honey. You recline again, spreading your legs, inviting him in, and he aligns himself with your entrance. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he pushes inside, your walls clenching around him, drawing a strangled moan from his throat.

“Shit,” he breathes, his hands gripping your hips as if to anchor himself. Your moans spill into the air like a prayer, and the tightness of you has his mind spiraling, clouded with a pleasure so consuming it feels otherworldly. He begins to move, his thrusts growing deeper, harder, until your bodies find a rhythm, a harmony that feels eternal.

Yoongi has never been one for positions like this—too vulnerable, too raw—but with you, it’s different. Everything about you makes him different. Your chest heaves, your breasts bounce with every snap of his hips, and you’re radiant, glowing in a way that makes his heart ache. You’re unafraid, unapologetic, giving him all of yourself, and he doesn’t know if he’s ever felt more alive.

“Shit,” he gasps, his pace faltering. “I’m not gonna last long.”

You chuckle, even as your breaths come short. “Come inside me, Yoon,” you whisper, your voice like velvet, and it’s all he needs. His thrusts grow erratic, and with a deep, guttural moan of your name, he spills into you, his entire body trembling as he finds his release.

“You didn’t come,” Yoongi pants, his forehead resting against yours as he catches his breath.

You smile, stroking his flushed cheek. “I don’t have to. You already made me come three times. And feeling you come inside me is the best feeling ever.”

His cheeks flush a deep crimson, and he averts his gaze, embarrassed but touched. Slowly, he pulls out, his softened cock glistening, and a mixture of your shared pleasure trails down your thighs.

“Maybe we should take a shower,” he murmurs, chuckling softly as he admires the beautiful mess you’ve become.

Flustered, you laugh. “You go fill the tub. Add some bath salts if you want.”

“And you?” He leans down, stealing a soft kiss, his lips lingering against yours.

“I’m cleaning up. The sheets are a disaster,” you tease, shoving him lightly toward the bathroom.

He grumbles in mock protest but obeys, making his way to the bathroom. Inside, he turns the faucet, steam curling up as water fills the tub. He finds a jar of lavender and chamomile salts, sprinkling some into the water. The scent fills the air, calming and warm, and for a moment, Yoongi pauses, catching sight of his reflection in the mirror.

He looks… happy. Happier than he’s ever seen himself. There’s no trace of the shadows that once haunted him, no lingering ghost of his past. Just him—content, smiling. He enters the tub and soaks in the water that wraps around him like a familiar blanket, warm and soft, and he sighs, relaxing into it. But his smile falters as a familiar, unsettling sensation ripples through him.

“Babe!” he shouts suddenly, splashing water as panic creeps into his voice.

“Yeah? What’s wrong?” Your voice comes from the bedroom, growing closer.

“Nothing!” His voice cracks, betraying his discomfort. “But… uh… was there sea salt in those bath salts?”

“Yeah, why? Don’t you like it?”

Before he can respond, you enter the bathroom, naked and holding fresh clothes that tumble to the floor as your gaze locks onto him. Your mouth falls open, and your eyes widen, taking in the sight of him in his true form.

“Yoongi…” You say his name softly, stepping closer to the tub. Your gaze is transfixed on his tail—glossy black scales that shimmer like obsidian, the translucent fins catching the light. It’s otherworldly, beautiful.

He flicks his tail nervously, water spilling over the edge of the tub. “I… I should’ve told you sooner,” he murmurs, his voice thick with uncertainty.

“Can I touch it?” you ask, your voice quiet but filled with wonder.

He nods hesitantly, watching as you kneel by the tub and run your fingers along the smooth, cool scales. His eyes flutter closed at the gentle touch, and for the first time, he lets himself relax.

“Aren’t you afraid?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Why would I be?” You meet his gaze, smiling. “You’re still Yoongi. That’s all that matters.”

Your words make his chest ache in the best way. When you tell him to scoot over and climb into the tub beside him, he’s stunned. No one has ever stayed—not like this. Not when they’ve seen the truth of what he is. Not that a human has ever seen his true form, but as soon as he’d shown how fragile he really is, people tend to leave.

“So, you’re… a merman?” you ask, your voice soft, curious, like a whisper carried by the tide.

He nods, a faint smile curling at the edges of his lips, though his eyes glimmer with something unspoken, a secret weighed down by the ocean’s depths.

“And your parents… they’re merpeople?” you venture cautiously. But the flicker of pain in his gaze stills you, and your words falter. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to talk about them if it hurts.”

He exhales a sigh, long and heavy, like the pull of a distant current. “It’s okay,” he says quietly, his voice tinged with bittersweet acceptance. “Yes, they are merpeople.”

Silence stretches between you, a pause as vast as the open sea. You hesitate, unsure if you should ask the question weighing on your mind, but finally, you gather your courage.

“Are they still alive?”

Another sigh escapes him, deeper this time, carrying the ache of a wound long scabbed over but never truly healed. “I think so,” he murmurs. “I don’t really know. They left me when I was three years old.”

The words fall like stones into the still waters of your heart, rippling outward. He takes a steadying breath, his gaze drifting as if he can see it all again, playing out before him like a dream fading into a nightmare.

“They told me we were going on a trip to another city. I was so happy, so excited—I’d never been away from Naraeum before. That’s the name of the city I’m from,” he adds softly, a faint smile flickering for a moment before it’s swallowed by the tide of his memory. “We swam for hours, far from the coral spires and glowing reefs I knew as home. Eventually, we stopped at this cave to rest, to sleep. But when I woke up, they were gone.”

His voice wavers, and you see the boy he once was—small, scared, alone. “I waited for them. Days turned into nights, and I tried to search, but I wasn’t strong then. I was tired, hungry, terrified. I didn’t eat. I didn’t sleep. I just… waited.”

You feel your chest tighten as he pauses, swallowing hard. “One day,” he continues, his voice quieter now, “I heard something outside the cave. I thought it was them, finally coming back for me. I swam out, desperate to see them again, but… it wasn’t them. It was someone else—another pair of merpeople from our cove. They had a baby with them, Jimin.” His lips curl into a faint, bittersweet smile. “They took me in, made me their son. Jimin became my brother. And that’s… that’s how I survived.”

You reach out, your hand trembling as it finds his chest, resting over his heart. Beneath your palm, you feel the steady, strong rhythm of his heartbeat—proof that he’s here, that he endured.

“You’ve been through so much,” you whisper, your voice breaking with emotion. “And yet, you’re still here. You’re so kind, so gentle, despite everything you’ve suffered. I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

Your words are a balm to his aching soul, and as you move closer, your arms wrapping around him, he feels something shift inside him—something that feels a little like hope. Your skin presses against his, warm and tender, your embrace like the tide itself—gentle, enveloping, unyielding.

The softness of your chest against his makes his breath hitch, not with desire but with something deeper; a feeling that he is no longer alone, that for the first time in his life, he doesn’t have to tread water to stay afloat. Your warmth seeps into him, filling the cracks he thought could never be healed, and he closes his eyes, letting himself be wrapped in the sanctuary of your love.

“I told you he’s head over fins for this human,” Taehyung says, rolling his eyes in dramatic flair, his tail flicking against the current.

“He’s in love,” Jimin retorts with a huff, crossing his arms. “Don’t judge him.”

Yoongi wonders—not for the first time—why he bothers letting his friends meddle in his life. Don’t they have better things to do than dissect his feelings like fish in a net?

“I think it’s great, hyung,” Namjoon says, his voice warm, his smile kind. “She’s good for you. And now that she knows you’re a merman… maybe it’s time you show her Naraeum? Show her your world.”

The idea lingers in Yoongi’s mind like a whispered tide. Show you Naraeum. The city of his origins, a place of glowing coral spires, shimmering schools of fish, and seas that held as many memories as wounds. It makes sense, doesn’t it? To take you to the other half of his heart—the one that doesn’t belong entirely to you yet. But how? How can he merge these two pieces of his life, these two homes, when they feel as distant as the stars above the waves?

Mark’s voice cuts through his thoughts like a jagged reef. “Don’t you think you’re just going to hurt her? Do what you’ve always done?” His tone is sharp, indifferent, like a hook slicing through flesh.

The words hit Yoongi harder than he expects, making him flinch. His chest tightens, his mind spiraling. Hurt you? Leave you? The thought feels foreign—and yet, uncomfortably familiar. Because once, that was who he was. He’d flee at the first sign of intimacy, drowning in his fear of vulnerability. And if he’s honest with himself, a small part of him is still scared. Scared of you leaving him. Scared of not being enough.

His heart pounds like a storm-tossed sea. The doubt, planted by Mark’s careless remark, takes root. It twists through him, a dark, creeping thing.

“Don’t say that, Mark,” Jimin snaps, his voice sharp as breaking waves. He pushes Mark back with an annoyed flick of his tail.

“Yeah, how can you be so inconsiderate?” Taehyung chimes in, his glare cutting through the water like sunlight through the shallows. Namjoon nods, his silent support steady as a reef.

But their words can’t reach Yoongi, not when his mind is a whirlpool of insecurities. His throat feels tight, like the ocean itself is pressing against him. He wants to believe you love him—you stayed when you found out he wasn’t human. You didn’t run. But what if you’re just tolerating him? What if you think he’s too broken? Too weak? Too… unlovable?

“Hyung,” Jimin says gently, trying to pull him back to shore. “Calm down. Don’t listen to him.”

But Yoongi shakes his head, the weight of his fears pulling him under. “What if he’s right?” he whispers, his voice cracking like fragile glass. “What if she doesn’t really love me? What if she’s going to leave me?” He pauses, his words trembling with raw vulnerability. “I don’t deserve her.”

Jimin’s face twists with frustration. “You’re not making sense, hyung. Of course, you deserve her.”

But Yoongi’s voice drops to a hollow murmur, barely audible over the rushing tide. “I don’t deserve to be happy.”

And with that, he turns, his tail flicking once, twice, before he swims away, leaving his friends behind. Jimin calls after him, but the sound fades as Yoongi dives deeper into the sea.

He doesn’t stop swimming until he reaches the cave—the place where his pain began. It’s here, in the shadows of jagged rocks and the soft hum of the ocean’s lullaby, that he lets himself break.

He screams, the sound raw and guttural, muffled by the water. He cries, tears lost to the sea that surrounds him. The words Mark said play on an endless loop in his mind, each one carving a deeper wound. Is it only a matter of time before he hurts you? Or worse—before you hurt him? Everyone else has. Why would you be any different?

Days pass, and Yoongi is a shadow of himself, a ghost haunting the waters of Naraeum. He avoids you, thinking it’s for the best. But as the days stretch into lonely nights, a part of him stirs. You deserve closure, he thinks. You deserve an explanation. Even if it’s the hardest thing he’s ever done.

That’s how he finds himself at your door, long after the world has fallen silent. His hand trembles as he knocks, the sound soft but resolute.

When you answer the door, your emotions collide—a tempest of fear and relief swirling in your chest. You step aside, letting him in, though his presence feels heavier than the crashing waves of an approaching storm. He enters with a sigh, already cloaked in guilt. Guilt for being away, for the words he’s about to deliver, words that taste bitter even before they leave his lips.

You greet him with a soft, trembling smile, one that doesn’t reach your eyes. Both of you settle onto the couch, the silence between you taut as an unstruck harp string.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, your voice gentle but laced with unease. He flinches, your concern cutting through him like shards of glass.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he says, the words escaping him in a broken whisper. He can’t meet your gaze—if he does, he knows the dam will break, and the flood of his own emotions will drown him.

Your breath catches, fear rising like a tide threatening to pull you under. “What do you mean?” you ask, voice quiet and fragile, as though afraid the answer might shatter you.

“I can’t be with you anymore,” he says, his hands clenching tightly, his lip trembling as he bites down on it. He tells himself this is the right thing to do—leave before you have the chance to hurt him.

Tears spill down your cheeks, glistening like liquid starlight. “Why?” you choke out.

“I wasn’t looking for love,” he lies, each word a dagger he twists deeper into both your hearts. “I was just looking for some fun. I told you I don’t do relationships.” His voice is sharp, cold as the abyss, but you both know it’s a mask. He clings to it, his last line of defense, because if he lets the truth slip through, he’ll unravel.

“How can you say that?” you cry, your voice raw, your tears falling faster now.

“I don’t love you,” he says, the words tasting like poison.

Your sobs grow louder, shaking your frame, but you press on, your voice breaking with desperation. “How can you say you don’t love me? After everything we’ve been through? After everything we’ve shared?”

His resolve falters for a moment, your words piercing through his armor. Damn it, he does love you. He loves you so much it terrifies him. But he’s too afraid—afraid of the pain you might bring, afraid of the inevitable heartbreak he’s convinced himself will come. To survive, he has to end this now, even if it means destroying himself in the process.

“You were just a good fuck, that’s all,” he says, forcing himself to look up. The moment he sees the agony on your face, he feels his heart crack, fissures spreading deep within him. You believe him now, and it’s killing him.

You’re crying so hard it’s difficult to breathe. “I’m not crying because you don’t love me,” you manage to gasp, your voice trembling with pain. “I’m crying because I still love you, even though you don’t love me.”

The weight of your words crushes him. He feels like a monster, a wretched creature unworthy of the love you so freely offer. He can’t take the words back now. He’s too far gone. He feels hollow, a shell of himself, and every beat of his heart screams that he’s made the worst mistake of his life.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice breaking under the weight of his regret. “I told you I wasn’t good for you.”

You sob into your hands, and he watches, helpless, broken. Slowly, he rises from the couch. He knows he can’t stay, can’t bear to see the pain he’s caused you. He’s fractured, and now he’s fractured you, and he tells himself it’s for the best.

Through your tears, you cry out, “Why do I always fall in love with people who want nothing to do with me?”

He freezes, your words slicing through him like a harpoon. He knew you carried your own wounds, scars you never fully revealed, and now he’s only deepened them. He feels like the worst kind of coward. He thought he was protecting himself, but he’s only destroyed something beautiful.

Still, he runs. It’s what he does best. The sound of your cries follows him, haunting him, but his heart is a storm, drowning out everything else. He doesn’t turn back. He doesn’t dare.

When he finally returns home, his body trembling, Jimin wraps him in a firm embrace, whispering, “You’re so stupid, hyung, but you’re loved. You’re loved even when you don’t think you deserve it.”

Seokjin, ever the voice of reason, glares at him. “Go back to her. Apologize. Tell her you were wrong and scared.” His words are sharp, biting, but laced with truth. Yoongi knows he’s right.

But he can’t. Not yet. Not when he feels like he’s drowned in his own guilt. He’s afraid—afraid that you’ll never look at him the same way again. And that fear keeps him paralyzed, even as the longing for you claws at his heart.

It’s been almost a year since Yoongi disappeared—since he ran not only from you but from himself. You’ve replayed those moments endlessly, searching for clarity, clinging to the truth you both felt: what you had was real. It thrummed between you like a shared heartbeat, too raw, too wild to ignore. But fear has a way of stealing even the purest things. You’re certain he left before you could leave him—though you never would.

Not a day has passed without you searching for him. You’ve wandered to the edge of the sea, his home, calling his name to the waves. The ocean, vast and unyielding, has given no answers. It feels cruel, as though it conspires to keep him hidden from you. And now, summer has returned, and with it, the town’s festival.

The streets are alive with lantern light, laughter, and music that spills into the air like the hum of magic. You move through the crowd like a ghost, drifting past merchants hawking trinkets and sweets, their cheerful cries fading to a dull hum in your ears. You don’t belong here—not without him.

Then you see him.

Or you think you do.

A man with raven-black hair stands in the distance, his profile soft beneath the golden glow of festival lights. Your heart stirs to life, pounding wildly against your ribs. Could it be?

Your feet move before your mind catches up, weaving through the crush of people, breath hitching as you near him. You’re running now, every step a prayer whispered into the night. And then, finally, you’re there. Your hand reaches out, trembling, and taps his shoulder.

He turns.

Wide, startled eyes meet yours, and the world stills. Time seems to ripple, folding in on itself, carrying you back to the moment he left, the hollow ache he carved into your soul. But now he’s here, flesh and bone, and you feel as though the universe has just exhaled.

It’s him.

The regret in his gaze hits you like a tidal wave, his anguish laid bare in the depths of his dark, glassy eyes. Your breath catches as you bite your lip. What were you thinking? He left. He doesn’t want you.

This was a mistake.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, his voice cracking under the weight of unshed tears. His hands curl into fists at his sides as if bracing to run again, and your heart splinters all over. But just as you’re preparing for the inevitable—the shattering of hope—he moves.

He collides with you, his arms wrapping around you with an urgency that takes your breath away. The softness of your summer dress flutters around you both as his body presses into yours. You feel his heartbeat thundering against your chest, frantic and raw, as if trying to prove he’s real, that this moment is real.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, his voice breaking as he buries his face into your shoulder. His tears warm your skin as his body trembles against yours. You wrap your arms around him instinctively, pulling him closer, your fingers tangling in the soft strands of his black hair.

He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his own eyes shimmering with vulnerability. “I won’t run anymore,” he says, his voice like a solemn vow, a plea carried on trembling lips. “Do you still want me?”

And in his words, you hear the echo of every moment you spent missing him, every wish cast into the sea for his return. You press your forehead against his, the answer trembling on your lips, carried by the truth you never stopped feeling.

→ Permanent taglist: @nora12379 @jeonsbabygirlsworld @fancypeacepersona @ktownshizzle @pjmxxjm @ajoonniice @kookiewithluv @mikrokookiex @rapmonjoon94 @parkitrighthere

→ Taglist: @allie-in-the-moon @jeonsbabygirlsworld @bangtannie7 @suker4angst

→ Author’s endnote: I don’t really know what I think—just that I’m proud I wrote it, that I finished it. One less mermaid tale to tell, with just one more left swimming in my mind. And yes, I’m going to write that one too—because I owe it to you. I’m sorry for the way I disappeared, like a ghost slipping through a locked door. I’m not back—not really—but something sparked in me, and it felt like a crime to let it fizzle out. So here we are. There are still three stories waiting in the wings, three restless works-in-progress that will meet the page when inspiration decides to knock. Will they be any good? Who knows. My writing feels like a mess, like a tangled net that catches doubt instead of stars. Maybe that’s why I wrote Yoongi this way—because, surprise, I’m Yoongi in this one. Hahaha, the plot twist no one asked for! Trauma makes excellent fuel for fiction, doesn’t it? (For the record, no, my parents didn’t abandon me—this story has truth, but not all of it belongs to me). Anyway, this little corner of Tumblr is my new blog, but I won’t use it much. I’ll post the final mermaid story when it’s done (+ the rest I mentioned above), and after that, the curtain falls. If you’re looking for my old work or want to dive into the rest of the mermaid tales, you’ll find them tucked safely on my AO3. Thank you for reading—for caring enough to stay, even when I didn’t. And hey, in case no one has told you today: you’re extraordinary, you’re seen, and you matter to me🫂

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whatifitis · 19 hours ago

Text

♡ Pack It Up - CL 16 ♡

Summary: You're so irrevocably in love with Charles Leclerc and enjoying life when all of a sudden, you hear this agitating noise (your ex who is an actor and probably mentally deranged or SOMETHING).

Author's Note: Hi my lovlies! This is my first attempt at an SMAU so PLEASE BE NICE 😭 this is based off this request! also this can be seen as a pt. 2 to good luck charlie, but can also be read as a stand alone 😋 also the part 2 link is here and at the bottom cause fuck ass tumblr can suck my dick

CW: SMAU, uhhhh, fluff? angst? girl idk 😭use of the word hoe/whore in portuguese

y/n_l/n

Liked by charlesleclerc, yourbestie, 745,372 others

y/n_l/n in your eyes, i get lost, i get washed away

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charlesleclerc mon amoureuse, the most beautiful person in the world and the one i get to belong to ❤️

User67 ohhh our girl is so in love 🤭

User32 does this mean the next album will solely be a love album? 👀

jade_distinguinn ✨🌘

alex_albon i just know the next album is gonna eat!

↳ lilymhe who tf taught you that?!

↳ alex_albon you?!

↳ lilymhe mhm 🤨 im watching you, Alexander Albon Ansusinha

↳ User22 yall… its been 3 hrs since albon was last seen, do you think lily got him?

↳ lilymhe 🤫

↳ User22 😨

-=+=-

charles_leclerc

Liked by y/n_l/n, francisca.cgomes, and 1,549,948

charles_leclerc i wanna teach you how forever feels, ma déesse

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y/n_l/n je t’aime tellement, mon amour. I can’t believe that this incredible man is all mine 🥰

User89 wait he’s using her song lyrics about him 😭😭😭😭

User56 yall ever think about how on y/n’s posts, the first pic is of charles but charles never puts her in the first pic?

↳ User44 it’s not that serious dude

↳ User79 hmmm i never thought of that, it is a bit weird, like he doesn’t want people to see her that much?

↳ User10 yall are crazy, this post has 4 pictures and 3 of them have y/n in it

↳ User05 tom never hid her tho 🙃 just saying

User23 ugh they’re literally couple GOALS 😍

-=+=-

tomblyth

Liked by rachelzegler, kit.connor, and 379,941 others

tomblythe some photos from christmas break, ready to come back to work happy and healthy 👍

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User51 ugh, could he be any hotter 😫

User33 ehm, who dat?

User00 cringing at the 2nd pic

↳ User99 okay and? U didn’t have to voice it

↳ User12 but yet i did

User0 is that rachel?

↳ User9 NO IT’S Y/N

↳ User34 yall need to let that go, they broke up so long ago

↳ User9 no im being so fr, y/n posted that exact picture when they were together

↳ User56 omg?! You might be right, i recognize that pic

↳ User12 YALL ITS LEGIT HER, ITS MY PFP AND I GRABBED IT WHEN IT WAS FIRST POSTED WHEN THEY WERE TOGETHER OMFG

↳ User66 wait, so what does this mean? I thought y/n was dating that one french guy

↳ User45 that guy is not french, hes monegasque ☝️ and yes they are dating

↳ User3 maybe they broke up?

↳ User72 no way, they just posted pics of each other, my money is tom is playing dirty to get her back

-=+=-

y/n_l/n posted a story

-=+=-

y/n_l/n posted a story

-=+=-

tomblyth posted a story

Replies:

User99 oh sir…

User34 it was clearly an accident, you don’t have to apologize

User76 so are u guys not getting back together? 😔

User89 but why did u have it? It’s been years

-=+=-

tomblyth posted a story

Replies:

User32 OMG ARE YOU AND Y/N BACK TOGETHER?! PLS STOP WITH THE GAMES AND TELL US

User45 bruh this is so fucking weird, using your ex’s song to soft launch your new girl?

User96 ooooh this tea is piping HOT

User62 Oh hell no 😭

User05 so you’re not single anymore? 🥺

francisca.cgomes VAI P’A PUTA QUE TU PARIU

-=+=-

f1gossippofficial

169,452 Likes

F1gossippofficial seems like y/n l/n’s ex, Tom Blythe, wants her back? Tom has not only posted an old picture of y/n but has also used her song, which she wrote about him, to soft launch a new girl… or should i say someone he’s knows ‘all too well’

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User96 I can’t be the only one who thinks this is crazy, right?

↳ User55 Def not, idk what’s going on but holy fuck they either need to stay together or get over eachother

↳ User87 i think y/n has been over Tom for quite some time now. She seems happy with charles

↳ User34 but is she really? Tom was the one to end things so she might’ve “moved on” but is wasting time with charles

↳ User66 no way, those two are so in love and you can see it in the way they look at eachother and talk about eachother. I mean just listen the song she just put out ‘ease my mind’

↳ User29 if you’re gonna bring that up, then let's also bring up ‘we can’t be friends’ i mean it’s all about how she’s waiting for Tom “wait until you love me again”

User10 Tom needs to leave Y/n ALONE

↳ User98 AGREED

Use09 she’s probably just another bitch using charles for fame and money, she should just leave him already cause he deserves so much better

↳ User77 not to mention she’s not as pretty as his exes 🤭

-=+=-

tomblyth

Liked by rachelzegler, bensonboone, 90,342 others

tomblythe the smell of you hair reminds me of her feet

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User40 wtf is that caption

↳ User55 OH GIRL LEMME TELL YOU. so this song is called ‘be my mistake’ and it’s essentially this guy telling the girl he’s fucking with that she will never be the girl he loves. Like “you’re great but shes amazing and beautiful” type of stuff

↳ User40 nah that’s sickening 😭

User76 i lowkey feel bad for his new girl, he’s obvs using her to get y/n back

↳ User56 yall not everything is about y/n

↳ User78 but it clearly is?! All the evidence points to it being about y/n and getting her back

User66 omg couples goals 😍

User90 that girl is so lucky to have tom like UGH i wish

-=+=-

f1gossippofficial

130,593 Likes

F1gossippofficial Breaking: Charles Leclerc was recently spotted attending a brand event… without y/n? Rumor has it the two have separated 😱

Thoughts? 👀

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User49 OMG DID HE FINALLY DUMP THAT GOLD DIGGING BITCH 🤩

User12 nooo, mi parents 🙁

User56 honestly about time

↳ User44 wdym about time?

↳ User56 i feel like it’s been obvious that they’ve been unhappy together for a while. Tom is also a better match for y/n

↳ User44 uhm, they literally posted pics of eachother not long ago in a loving photo dump? Also tom was a manipulative person towards y/n and he drained the fuck out of her and made her miserable

↳ User56 instagram posts dont mean shit in the real world. And all this stuff against tom is alleged

User32 now’s my chance 😍

User66 orrrr maybe they dont have to be together 24/7?

↳ User94 they always go to events together tho…

↳ User21 well y/n also has a job so maybe she was busy

↳ User50 idk man, doesn't look good for charles atm

-=+=-

y/n_l/n

Liked by francisca.cgomes, oliviarodrigo, and 784,483 others

y/n_l/n working on things 👍

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User77 NOW LOOK WHAT YALL DID! YOU TOOK HER SPARKLE

oliviarodrigo omg so excited bestie 🤭

User93 omg new music? 👀

↳ User33 breakup music? ☹️

↳ User10 do NOT put that into the universe ☝️

User65 yall i dont wanna be a bummer but… charles isnt in the likes…

↳ User80 why is this a big deal?! Maybe he’s busy

↳ User34 charles is ALWAYS the first to like her posts, he’s never missed a post or been late

↳ User78 omg did they actually breakup?!

User89 FUCK YOU TOM BLYTH! YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID

francisca.cgomes my beautiful girl, love you so much ❤️

↳ y/n_l/n love you too 🩷

↳ User42 YALL SHE ISN’T USING THE RED HEART, ITS OVER 😭😫

Part 2

#f1 smau #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 au #f1 x reader #charles leclerc smau #cl16 smau #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x yn #cl16 fanfic #formula 1 smau #formula 1 x reader #charles leclerc au #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc fic #cl16 imagine #cl16 x reader

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supernotnatural2005 · 2 days ago

Text

The Arrangement - Part Two

Pairing: Dean x reader

Summary: It's the morning after, you and Dean are both reeling, respectively, from the previous night. Can you both overcome the incident, or is more trouble awaiting?

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings/Tags: SMUT!!! (18+ONLY!!!) The usual angsty thoughts, will these two ever get it? Swearing

AN: Happy hump day! 🐫 We're still only just brushing the surface with these two, but I hope you enjoy ☺️.

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist < Catch up here!

The next morning, you woke with a painful groan, the pounding in your skull like a jackhammer. Even with your eyes still shut, you could feel the dull, relentless ache radiating through your entire head. When you finally pried them open, you grimaced at the sticky sensation of last night’s makeup clinging to your lashes.

Rolling onto your back, you immediately regretted it—your stomach lurched in protest, reminding you exactly why you were never drinking again. Not this time. Not after this hangover. The night felt like a blur, fragments slipping through your fingers as you struggled to piece them together.

The first thing that came back was your awful date. Monday was going to be awkward as hell at work, but you didn’t regret a damn thing. The look on his face after you ruined his expensive white dress shirt with that tasteless glass of rosé— the one he ordered for you—was worth it. A smirk tugged at your lips at the memory.

Then you remembered heading to the bar to see Jo and Ellen. Like always, you and Jo went one drink too far.

Something nudged at the back of your mind, a strange pulse in your chest as you reached for the rest of the night. The fog lifted slightly as your phone buzzed on your nightstand, but it wasn’t the screen that caught your attention. It was the bottle of Tylenol and the glass of water sitting beside it.

And just like that, everything came crashing back.

Oh God.

You kissed Dean.

Your headache surged as if your body was punishing you for your stupidity. You kissed your best friend. Were you really that desperate? That starved for affection that you had to go and make a move on Dean of all people?

But then—amidst the spiral of regret and sheer mortification—another thought surfaced.

Dean had kissed you back.

And not in some startled, accidental way. No, he kissed you like he meant it. Like one of those cocky heroes in the guilty pleasure romance novels you kept hidden on your bookshelf. Hands gripping you like he couldn’t bear to let go. Like he wanted to devour you.

Your stomach flipped. For a second—just a second—you let yourself remember the way his lips had felt, the roughness of his stubble, the way he had pulled you closer, like—

Nope. Absolutely not.

You shook your head, pushing the thought away. It wasn’t a big deal. It couldn’t be.

You’d had too much to drink. You were disappointed, frustrated, and let’s be real—desperately overdue for a good lay. And Dean? Well, he was there. Familiar. Safe. Willing.

That was all.

It wasn’t some deep, long-suppressed thing. It wasn’t because you’d been secretly wondering about him for years, how the way he touched you, kissed you, made every single rumour you’d heard about him feel a hell of a lot more believable.

The whispers. Those hushed conversations in the school hallways. The restroom stalls where Karen Jones once gushed about your best friend’s talented mouth and fingers.

How on the rare occasion Dean had brought someone home, well… you weren’t proud to admit that the muffled sounds through the walls had left you pressing your thighs together, wondering just what he was doing in there to make them moan like that.

No. Nope. Dean was your best friend. That was sacred.

The idea of being anything more? Terrifying.

And besides, he’d been drinking, too.

That’s all it could be.

Dean didn’t look at you like that. Not really. He would’ve done the same with any other girl, right? It wasn’t special. It didn’t mean anything.

And the best thing to do now? Pretend it never happened. If Dean brought it up, you had the perfect excuse—"I was drunk, I had no idea what I was doing."

Yeah. That would work.

You sighed, scrubbing a hand over your face before reaching for the Tylenol. The mirror across the room reflected the mess you’d become—wrinkled dress, tangled hair, smudged makeup making you look half-raccoon.

First things first. A hot shower.

Then, you’d figure out how to face Dean without losing your goddamn mind.

Stepping out of the shower, you felt marginally more human—though your headache still throbbed behind your eyes, and the exhaustion clung to your bones. You wrapped yourself in a towel, rubbing at your damp hair with another as you padded into your room. Every movement felt sluggish, like you were wading through molasses.

Maybe coffee would help.

You threw on a pair of sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, too drained to care about much else. The smell of freshly brewed coffee drifted into your room as you cracked open the door, coaxing you toward the kitchen like a siren’s call.

Dean was already there, leaning against the counter with a mug in hand, his gaze unfocused. The sunlight filtering through the blinds cast a soft glow on his face, highlighting the faint crease between his brows. He looked deep in thought, his fingers curled around the ceramic like he needed something to hold onto.

Then he spotted you, and just like that, the quiet weight in the air lifted. A slow smile tugged at his lips, easy, familiar—but there was something behind it. Something you couldn’t quite place. Uncertainty? Hesitation?

"She’s alive," he teased, breaking the silence.

You rolled your eyes, the tension in your shoulders easing just a little. See? This is fine. It’s normal. We can handle this.

"Barely," you muttered, shuffling toward the kitchen island.

Dean pushed off the counter, already reaching for another mug. "Figured you’d need this."

He poured you a cup and slid it toward you as you climbed onto one of the barstools, elbows resting on the counter, head in your hands. You let out a low groan, still feeling like death warmed over.

"I swear to God, I’m gonna kill Jo for encouraging my alcoholism," you grumbled.

Dean huffed out a chuckle. "Yeah, good luck with that. She’d take you down first.”

"That’s fair," you sighed dramatically, taking a careful sip of coffee. The warmth seeped through you, dulling the sharpest edges of your hangover.

Dean leaned his hip against the counter, watching you over the rim of his mug. “Sam messaged me this morning, reminding me. Is Ellen still making her famous stuffing for Christmas next week?"

You perked up slightly, grateful for the normalcy of the conversation. Okay, good. This is good. Normal.

"Yeah, of course. She said she’s already prepping. Swore up and down she’s gonna outdo last year."

Dean smirked. "Doubt it. That was peak stuffing."

"You say that every year."

"And I mean it every year." He took another sip of coffee before tilting his head. "Bobby still threatening to deep-fry the turkey?"

You snorted. "Always. But Ellen put her foot down after the ‘grease fire incident of 1999.’"

Dean laughed, shaking his head. "Man, that was a hell of a year."

"It was a hell of a mess," you corrected. "We were still finding soot in the kitchen in February."

"Yeah, but it was worth it. Best damn turkey I ever had."

"You say that every year, too."

"And I mean it every year," he shot back, grinning.

For as long as you and Dean had been friends, your families had celebrated Christmas together. It started when you were kids, when Bobby and Ellen realised how much easier it was to combine everything into one big gathering.

Every year, you’d alternate whose house hosted—one year at the Winchesters’, the next at your place. It became tradition, something that felt as much a part of the holiday as presents under the tree.

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched. The back-and-forth was easy, natural—like it always was. The conversation wrapped around you like a familiar blanket, momentarily pushing away the lingering awkwardness from last night.

See? This is fine. It’s fine.

Then the silence settled.

And suddenly, you were aware of everything.

The space between you—too small, too charged. The way his fingers curled around his coffee mug, his knuckles flexing just slightly. The way his shirt stretched over his shoulders, like you hadn’t already memorised the broad shape of him years ago.

Your eyes met his, and the second they did, your stomach twisted.

Dean didn’t look away.

And neither did you.

Your breath hitched, but you forced yourself to stay still. No sudden movements, no giving anything away. But then your gaze betrayed you—just for a second, barely a flicker—dipping down to his mouth.

Shit.

Because now you could feel it again.

The way he kissed you, rough but deliberate, like he had wanted it. The taste of whiskey, the heat of his hands, the way his fingers had curled into your hips like he was holding on for dear life.

Dean cleared his throat. Stepped back.

"I’m gonna head to the store," he said, too casual.

It took a second for the words to register. "Oh. Yeah, okay."

He hesitated—like he might ask you to come with him—but then he smirked instead, lips twitching. "Would’ve invited you, but, uh… You kinda look like the walking dead. Don’t want you cramping my style.”

Your head shot up, glare locked and loaded. "Ass."

Dean just grinned. "Try not to die while I’m gone."

Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Your fingers tightened around the coffee mug as you exhaled, long and slow, staring at the door like it might offer some kind of answer.

Yeah. You were so screwed.

By the time Dean strolled back in through the front door, the afternoon sun was already dipping beyond the horizon, casting the sky in deep hues of amber and violet—a telltale sign of the short winter days.

In his absence, you'd done your best not to dwell on the events of last night. Dean hadn’t brought it up, and you figured it was best you didn’t either. Did that stop your mind from running through every why, how, and what if on repeat? No. But for now, distraction would do.

So here you were, sprawled on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, watching reruns of Friends while feeling sorry for yourself in more ways than one.

“Hey,” Dean greeted, kicking the door shut behind him, hands full with grocery bags. He dropped them on the island, his keys clinking against the counter. “Sorry I took so long. Had to deal with a work emergency before I could hit the store.”

You peered over the back of the couch, blinking sluggishly. “S’all good. I crashed for a bit after you left anyway.” You stretched, groaning. “I am starving, though.”

After Dean had left, for a much-needed grocery run - as you too discovered the disastrously emptiness of your fridge, all you’d eaten were two pop tarts you’d found in the back of the cupboard.

“Well, if you’re up for it, how about I whip us up some burgers?” Dean smirked, already putting things away. Your stomach growled at the suggestion. You practically salivated at the thought. Dean could grill a mean burger, and he damn well knew it.

“Oh My God, yes.” You practically moaned. Dean chuckled as you hopped up and shuffled to the kitchen, immediately snooping through the bags. Your eyes lit up when you pulled out a tub of rocky road ice cream.

“Ohh, heck yes!” Dean turned just in time to see you clutch it to your chest like treasure. Rubbing the back of his neck, he shrugged it off.

“Yeah, well… figured you’d want it. Hangover ritual and all.”

It was such a simple thing—something so Dean. But it made your chest squeeze a little tighter. Maybe it was in light of recent events, but for some reason it touched you more than it should have. And in that moment, you realised just how much Dean had always taken care of you.

Whether it was remembering your favourite ice cream, patching up your scraped knee when you fell off your bike as a kid, or offering you a shoulder when you needed one.

You swallowed past the lump in your throat. “Thank you,” you murmured, and you meant it.

Dean just smiled.

You cleared your throat, shaking off the sudden wave of emotions. “Need any help? I may be half a step into the land of the dead, but I am still good with my hands.” You wiggled your fingers in his face, only for Dean to swat them away with a laugh.

“Nah, I got it. But in exchange, you could give me a scoop of that.” He nodded toward the ice cream.

Your grip on the tub tightened. “But—”

Dean arched an amused brow.

And just then, as if on cue, the TV blared Joey Tribbiani’s infamous line: "Joey doesn’t share food!"

You pointed blindly in the direction of the TV. “What he said.”

For a second, there was silence—then both of you burst into laughter.

“Alright, alright,” you relented, wiping at your eyes. “You can have one tiny scoop.” You winked and left him to it.

Dean rolled his eyes, but his grin never faded as he got to work on dinner.

“Seriously, dude, you should open your own burger bar or something,” you groaned, sinking into the couch as you took another blissful bite.

Dean snorted around his own large mouthful, shaking his head. He watched as you practically melted into your seat, eyes fluttering shut, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk. It was equally parts disgusting and endearing.

You had no shame when it came to food. Talking with your mouth full, letting sauce smear your chin, completely oblivious to how you looked to others. It warmed him at how comfortable you must be in his presence to not care about such things.

Like right now, you sat cross legged on the couch, your hair thrown up in a messy bun, a worn-out, oversized t-shirt, that looked vaguely familiar, hung off your figure, and you had on a pair of sweats one size too big. Your face was makeup less but even so, you were beautiful.

After devouring your burgers, you moved on to dessert, despite claiming minutes earlier that you were “way too full.”

“Theres always extra room for something sweet.” You’d claimed, giving Dean a proper bowl of ice cream instead of the pathetic spoonful you'd originally offered.

You sat side by side watching some comedy, he didn’t remember the name of. But it was all the same, a storyline he’d seen a million times but, even so, there was the odd chuckle-worthy moment.

Not long after, you reached over, setting your now-empty bowl down beside his on the coffee table and as you sat back, he noticed it.

“Hey, you got a little—” He gestured to the corner of his mouth.

“Hm?” You wiped at the wrong side.

“No, here.” He pointed again. You missed it.

Dean huffed before leaning in, swiping his thumb against the chocolate smudge himself.

You stilled.

Your wide eyes flicked up to meet his, and suddenly, he realised just how close he was. His hand still cupped your cheek, thumb lingering at the corner of your lips.

The air thickened. Your breath mingled with his.

Dean’s tongue darted out, wetting his lips out of habit. Your gaze flickered down to the motion, and his stomach clenched.

And then—he wasn’t sure who leaned in first but suddenly, your lips were pressed to his, soft and warm, more confident than last time.

Dean didn’t think—he just reacted.

One of his arms wrapped around your back, the other tilting your chin as he deepened the kiss. You melted into him, fingers threading through his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp.

A low, guttural groan rumbled from his chest at the sensation. You tasted like chocolate and marshmallows, sweet and sinful, and fuck—he was already addicted.

Then, as if kissing you wasn’t enough, you shifted, climbing into his lap, pressing yourself against him like you had no idea what you were doing to him. Had he died? Was this some fever dream?

Before he could fully process what was happening, before he could stop you, before he could stop himself, you settled in his lap completely. And there was no hiding what you’d stirred beneath his jeans.

But you didn’t pull away.

Instead, a soft moan escaped your lips, vibrating against his own, and fuck.

He was done for.

His arms tightened around you, pulling you impossibly close, and then you moved. A slow, testing rock of your hips, then another, then a third—more confident, more deliberate. Dean groaned, eyes dark and hazy with lust.

Alarm bells blared in his head, warning him to stop, to think—to rationalise what was happening, why it was happening again. But how the hell was he supposed to think straight when you were rubbing against him like that?

Fuck.

His hands slid down your back, gripping your hips like he was holding onto his last thread of restraint. And then you did it again. A shudder ran through him at the friction, his head tipping back against the couch as he looked up at you. His expression was raw, wrecked—like you had all the answers, and he was desperate for them.

Your movements slowed as you leaned in, your lips grazing his jaw, then his ear.

“Are you down for some fun, Winchester?” you husked, your voice dripping with temptation. You nipped at his earlobe, making his eyes snap shut, his grip tightening on your hips.

“What kind of fun?” he asked, playing dumb, but mostly because he needed to hear you say it.

“The naked kind.”

Dean exhaled sharply, fingers flexing against your hips, his cock aching beneath you.

“I’ve always been curious about you,” you murmured, your lips trailing back to his, teasing, just brushing.

“You have?” His voice was rough, uneven. His heart pounded, not just with lust but something deeper—something dangerously close to hope.

“I grew up with the rumours,” you admitted, pressing a slow, torturous kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I’ve heard the women you’ve brought home… wondered.” Another kiss. “I’m curious.”

Dean nearly groaned. The idea of you—you—wondering about him that way, thinking about what it would be like between you… Jesus.

And then you kissed him, slow and deep, and Dean was gone.

“I don’t want to think about politics right now,” you confessed breathlessly against his lips. “I don’t want to think about consequences, or what’s right or wrong. I just want you—right now. If you want me too?”

Dean knew there should be a pause, a moment to reconsider, but the second the words left your lips—combined with the way you were looking at him like he was something to be devoured—every logical thought went out the window.

Fuck it.

Instead of answering, he kissed you—hard. And when you moaned appreciatively against his mouth, all bets were off. This wasn’t about feelings or what-ifs. This was heat and need, two people chasing a high neither of them was willing to resist.

With a firm arm around your back and the other gripping your thigh, Dean stood effortlessly, lifting you as if you weighed nothing. You gasped, clinging to him, arms around his neck, legs wrapped tight around his waist. He felt everything—every inch of you pressed against him, driving him insane.

Your lips never broke apart as he carried you toward your room—the closest out of the two.

And maybe, deep down, there was a nagging voice whispering about consequences. About what this meant. But right now?

Right now, he wasn’t listening.

And neither were you.

Your mind was screaming at you.

What are you doing?

This is Dean.

But you couldn’t stop. You didn’t want to stop. You were too wound up, too sexually deprived, too drawn to the way he looked at you—like you were something sacred, something he had to taste, to touch, to have. And he was right here. Willing. Eager. His hands gripping you tight as he carried you into your bedroom, lips never leaving yours.

The door barely clicked shut before he was lowering you onto the bed, his weight settling between your legs, pressing you down into the mattress. His mouth moved over yours with aching precision, slow but deep, savouring, like he had all the time in the world. Like he wanted to take his time.

It was intoxicating.

Dean groaned as you arched up into him, his hands skimming down your sides, exploring, memorising. His lips broke from yours just long enough to kiss a trail down your jaw, your throat, sucking lightly where your pulse pounded against your skin. It made your head spin.

And then lower.

He lifted your shirt inch by inch, his calloused fingers dragging over your heated skin as he peeled it up and over your head. His breath hitched.

“Jesus.”

Dean’s eyes darkened as he took you in—bare from the waist up, nipples hardened from both the cool air and the sheer intensity of his gaze.

“Fuckin’ knew you’d be perfect,” he murmured, running his hands over your stomach, thumbs grazing just beneath your ribs.

Then his mouth was on you again.

Soft, open-mouthed kisses along your stomach, a flick of his tongue just above the waistband of your sweatpants, then back up. Slow, torturous. His lips followed the curve of your ribs, his nose brushing against the underside of your breast.

Your pussy throbbed, desperate and aching, as he finally took one of your breasts into his mouth, sucking lightly, swirling his tongue around your hardened peak. Your back arched, a needy sound escaping you. He took his time, learning every sensitive spot, making you squirm, making you need.

And then he was moving again.

Dean took his time undressing you completely, peeling away your sweatpants, your panties, his hands exploring each new inch of bare skin like he was memorising a damn map.

He wanted to remember this, wanted to carve the image of you into his mind—the way your body responded to him, the way you trembled under his touch.

He shoved down any nagging thoughts, anything that whispered about how this might mean something. Not tonight. Tonight, all he cared about was this.

You.

Dean settled between your legs, kissing his way down again, teasing at your hip bone, the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You gasped as he nipped at the sensitive flesh, as he breathed against your aching core, so close yet so cruelly far.

“Dean,” you whimpered, hands threading through his hair, nails scraping lightly at his scalp.

He groaned at that, and then—

His mouth was on you.

Your whole body jerked as his tongue flicked against your clit, hot and wet and perfect. He took his time, using slow, deliberate strokes before sucking you into his mouth, making your thighs twitch, your fingers tightening in his hair.

You had never felt anything like this.

But now you understood.

Now you knew exactly what all those women had meant, why they couldn’t stop coming back for more.

Dean Winchester could ruin a girl.

And right now, you were happy to be wrecked.

Your thighs threatened to squeeze around his head, but his hands gripped your hips, keeping you open, keeping you at his mercy. He worked you relentlessly, alternating between slow, teasing licks and firm, dizzying pressure. The coil in your stomach tightened, higher, hotter—

“Dean—”

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he muttered, voice husky against your slick folds. “Let me taste it.”

That was all it took.

Pleasure crashed over you in waves, stealing the air from your lungs. You cried out, arching off the bed as your climax ripped through you, your entire body shaking. Dean groaned against you, drinking in every last bit, licking and sucking you through the aftershocks until you were trembling beneath him, completely undone.

When he finally pulled away, his lips were slick, his pupils blown wide.

And then he was kissing you again, deep and desperate, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as he pressed you back into the mattress.

All too soon he pulled back, shifting onto his knees. You blinked up at him, dazed, still trembling from your release, but your breath hitched when he removed his t-shirt in one fluid, over the head motion. And then you watched in anticipation as his hands move to his belt.

He made quick work of it, the metal clinking softly in the quiet room before he popped the button of his jeans, dragging the zipper down. He didn’t look away from you as he shoved them down his hips, along with his boxers.

Your mouth went dry.

Dean Winchester was beautiful.

Broad shoulders, toned stomach, strong arms lined with freckles and old scars. And lower—your thighs instinctively pressed together at the sight of him, long and thick, already so hard, flushed, the tip glistening.

Heat surged through your body, desire burning anew.

Your hands moved on their own, reaching for him, fingers wrapping around his length, feeling the weight of him in your palm.

“Jesus,” you breathed, stroking him experimentally, watching how his abs tensed, how his jaw clenched.

Dean groaned, low and guttural, but his hand shot out, gripping your wrist and stilling your movements.

“Don’t,” he gritted, his eyes almost wild as they locked onto yours. “Not now. I—” He swallowed thickly, exhaling a shaky breath. “I won’t last.”

The admission sent a fresh wave of arousal through you, and the way he was looking at you—so desperate, so wrecked—made you dizzy.

Dean inhaled sharply, trying to compose himself, then rasped, “You got a condom?”

You nodded, reaching for the drawer in your nightstand. Your hands fumbled slightly as you pulled one out, but before you could tear it open, Dean’s fingers brushed yours.

“Let me,” he murmured, his voice like gravel.

You swallowed hard, watching as he ripped the foil, rolling the condom down over his length with practiced ease.

The sight alone had you clenching around nothing.

And then he was over you again, bracing himself on his forearms, his lips hovering just above yours. His eyes searched your face, softer now, less frantic.

“You sure?” he asked, his voice quieter, rough with restraint.

Your heart thundered.

But there wasn’t a single doubt in your mind.

“Yeah,” you whispered, brushing your lips against his.

Dean didn’t hesitate.

The first push was slow, stretching, filling, overwhelming. A deep, strangled groan rumbled from his chest as he sank into you completely, his forehead pressing against yours, his arms trembling as he held himself still.

“Fuck,” he rasped. “You feel so good.”

You clung to him, breathless, nails digging into his back.

He gave you a moment, then started to move—slow, steady rolls of his hips, pulling out just to push back in, his cock dragging against all the right places. The pleasure was immediate, sharp and electric.

Dean’s lips ghosted over yours, his hands gripping your hips, his movements deepening.

You could feel everything.

Every inch of him, every shuddered breath, every lingering trace of restraint slipping away with every thrust.

Your body arched into his, overwhelmed by the way he filled you, stretched you. The heat coiling in your stomach wound tighter and tighter, your nails digging into his shoulders as he drove into you at just the right angle.

“Oh, God—” you gasped, head tipping back against the pillow, eyes screwing shut.

Dean groaned, dipping his head to press his lips to your throat, sucking at the sensitive skin.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he rasped, his breath ragged against your neck. “You feel so fucking good. You—” His sentence cut off with a sharp inhale when you clenched around him.

Your whole body was alight, buzzing, your mind a mess of sensation as he thrust deep, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Dean—” His name tumbled from your lips, needy, desperate, and that was all it took.

Like a snapped tether, pleasure crashed over you, stealing the air from your lungs. You clenched around him, back arching, hands fisting the sheets as wave after wave of ecstasy ripped through you.

Dean groaned at the feel of you squeezing him so tightly, his rhythm faltering.

And then he was right behind you.

His movements turned erratic, rough, as he buried himself deep with a strangled curse, his muscles going rigid. His breath stuttered, and then he was gone, undone, spilling into the condom with a deep, shuddering groan.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were your heavy breaths, your hammering hearts.

Then, Dean collapsed on top of you, panting hard, his body heavy and warm, his face buried against your neck.

You felt like you were floating. Like something inside you had fundamentally changed, but you shoved the thought away, fingers absently trailing through his damp hair as you both struggled to come back down to earth.

Dean let out a breath, his lips ghosting over your collarbone. After a moment, he shifted, bracing a hand on the mattress and rolling onto his back beside you.

A beat of silence.

And then you exhaled a breathless laugh.

“Wow.”

Dean chuckled, running a hand down his face. “Yeah.”

You turned your head to look at him, still gloriously naked, his chest rising and falling steadily, his skin flushed, his hair thoroughly mussed.

There was a something beginning to bubble in your chest, something unwanted, as you looked at him and so you forced yourself to push it down. And then a thought came to mind, a very reckless, possibly disastrous, thought, but you went with it.

“So…” you started, rolling onto your side, propping yourself up on an elbow.

Dean turned his head toward you, his expression unreadable. His hair was still a mess from your fingers, his skin warm where it brushed against yours. Too close. Too easy to want more.

“What now?” he asked, his voice rough, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

You swallowed. Don’t think about how it made you feel. Don’t think about what it meant.

“Well,” you said carefully, forcing a smirk, “that was… really fucking good.”

Dean huffed a quiet laugh, mirroring your smirk. “Not gonna argue there.”

You hesitated, fingers tracing idle patterns against the sheet beneath you. Then, before you could lose your nerve, you pushed forward.

“I have a thought,” you murmured, glancing at him from beneath your lashes. “A proposition, if you will.”

Dean’s expression didn’t shift, but he hummed in acknowledgment, silently urging you to continue.

You bit your lip, playing it off like it was nothing. “We’re obviously… good at this,” you said, your voice light, teasing—though the weight in your chest begged to be acknowledged. “And we’re friends. We trust each other, right?”

Dean frowned slightly, tilting his head. “Yeah?” he drawled, curiosity flickering in his gaze.

You shrugged, forcing yourself to sound casual. “I was thinking… maybe we don’t have to stop.”

His brows lifted in surprise. That was not what he was expecting. Hell, what was he expecting? This whole situation was... He didn’t even know at this point.

Dean didn’t say anything at first, and the silence made your stomach twist. You felt the need to fill it—to justify.

“The way I see it, neither of us wants the hassle of a relationship,” you continued, keeping your tone light, matter-of-fact. “I mean, you’ve said it yourself—you don’t do relationships. And I’ve kind of… given up on the idea.” You gestured vaguely between you. “So why not just—enjoy this? No strings, no expectations. Just… fun.”

The words felt wrong in your mouth, but you ignored it.

Dean’s fingers flexed where they rested against the mattress. His gaze stayed on you, unreadable, and for a second, you thought he might laugh in your face. Call you crazy. Tell you this was a terrible idea.

Instead, he exhaled softly, nodding.

“Yeah. Okay.”

You let out a breath, relieved. Ignoring the tiny voice in your head screaming this is a mistake.

Dean didn’t want more.

And if you pretended you didn’t either, you could have some part of him, at least.

Better than nothing.

You had no idea he was thinking the same damn thing.

AN: I hoped you guys enjoyed this part, things are really stating to get moving 😅, there is a lot more of this story to come, more of these two idiots not realising what is so obvious! 🥲 As always I'd love to hear what you all think? ❤️

Side note: The scene I had in mind 😂 👇🏻

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

Dean Winchester/series Tag List:

@bettystonewell , @nancymcl , @happyfxckinghorrors , @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2 @deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown @jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom @fangirlingfromdownunder @cevansbaby-dove @star-yawnznn @piptoost @shadysoulangel @deansimpalababy @megara0224

Next time...

Slowly, you padded across the floor, stopping just outside the shower door. With one last exhale of doubt, you pulled it open and stepped inside. Dean startled, his head whipping toward you, eyes wide with a mixture of alarm and surprise. “What the—” Before he could finish, his expression twisted in pain, and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Shit.” He hissed, rubbing furiously at them as soap trickled down into his lashes. Biting back a laugh, you reached for his arm and guided him under the spray, watching as the water rinsed the suds away. Okay, maybe this wasn’t quite as sexy as you had planned. When he finally blinked his eyes open, he turned to you, first in disbelief—then in something far more dangerous. His gaze darkened, sweeping over you from head to toe, and fuck. He could never get used to this. To you. Perfect. “Well, this is somethin’,” he smirked...

#the arrangement series #supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester au #dean winchester smut #dean x reader smut #dean x you #spn fanfic #spn imagine #spnfamily #dean x y/n #jensen ackles #spn #spn fanfiction #abbalina writes

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ihavetoomanyocsdealwithit · 2 days ago

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You break down into tears and tell them: "It’s been so long since I’ve felt this happy, I think I just got overwhelmed. You make me happy.”

Heartslabyul dorm; Savanaclaw dorm; Octavinelle dorm; Scarabia dorm; Pomefiore Dorm (here); Ignihyde Dorm; Diasomnia Dorm

Rook Hunt – He delights in seeing your reactions. You, of course, never grew up with any of their classic stories or theater shows. You get to experience all of them for the first time! That’s basically how you became Rook’s theater buddy, going with his to small local shows to bigger productions with him and Vil.

Tonight was no different, the two of you going to a show in the park and talking about it with a walk around. It's not the first time he has jumped into playing out his favorite parts, complete with belting into song and changing characters left and right.

When your laughter hick ups into something different, he twists around, seeing the diamonds drop from your eyes. As you explain, he feels so many things. Protective. Joyous. Angry. Overwhelmed?

He collects you in his arms, kissing your cheeks and forehead.

“Thank you for allowing me to feel something so beautiful,” he whispers. “And thank you, for allowing me into your heart. I promise to not abuse it.”

Vil Schoenheit – Surrounded by stone cold walls, the warmth of the fire underneath the cauldron, and a handful of experimental ingredients for his next batch. This is where Vil gets to thrive, calling out different measurements for you to write done, explaining purpose and mixtures, this is where he gets to dive into his intellect and science.

As he cleans up from the last batch, his question about packaging goes unanswered. He looks at you to see you trying to quietly staunch the tears.

The explanation only seems to make them flow faster, and he removes his gloves before wiping them away.

“How are you going to handle the rest of our lives together if something so domestic can shake you?”

He huffs with a smile, kissing your forehead and cheeks. It’s break time, clearly, with some tea for you both.

Epel Felheimer – Spelldrive isn’t normally played on the ground, but he enjoys that he gets to play with you at least, and it still works on his reflexes!

When you slide into his goal, he tackles you to the ground, the laughter echoing off the tombstones as you tussle on the ground with him.

When he pins you to the ground and sees the tears in your eyes, he thinks he hurt you something awful. Once you explain though, his smile goes soft before he shakes himself, that boyish charm turning into a cocky grin.

“Of course I do!” He declares, helping you up before yanking you into a hug before he can second guess himself. "One day though, you’ll see, it’s 10 times better out there, and I want to be the one to show it all to you!”

#twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #twst #Vil Schoenheit #Rook Hunt #epel felmier #twst Vil #twst Rook #twst Epel #twst Yuu #twst x reader #twst x Yuu

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lets-try-some-writing · 2 days ago

Note

I am hungry and I require more oplita. Any oplita. Please, i need to feed my kids we need more oplita!!!!!

Coming right up! Your ship material, lovely asker!

Vaguely affiliated with my fic Action! but not canon to it.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

Golden spools of cloth carefully draped over her form, covering and yet accentuating every aspect Orion adored when it came to his Conjunx. The outfit was loosely hung around his beloved's frame, tight around her chassis to show off her waist, but free flowing around her legs to give her total freedom of movement. It was traditional, but Orion couldn't help but think she looked like the Primes of old. Perhaps it was heretical, but he could only compare her to Solus Prime in grandeur.

"They are going to love you, Ariel. You shine most wonderfully." Orion murmured as he began clasping her audial attachments into place. The little tear drop shaped crystals shone in the light, glittering a brilliant blue like the morning sky when Cybertron came near to it's sister star.

"I know they will. You are making me into quite the sight." A smile settled on his beloved's fair features, her antennae perking up at the praise. For all her outward stoicism, his love still adored compliments when they were given genuinely.

"You do not need my assistance to light up the room, oh mighty Elita-One." A teasing smirk played on Orion's lips, a fact that did not go unnoticed by Elita as she turned in her chair, an optical ridge raised in silent amusement.

"You say that as if you are not just as note worthy, my Prime." Orion shrugged in response, waving away the statement with a gentle hum as if he hadn't considered the concept before. Then, with his smile maintained, he gathered up the necklace he'd purchased for Elita deca-cycles before. A gift he hoped she'd appreciate.

Long and nimble digits worked quickly to clasp the bejeweled piece in place around his beloved's neck, resting comfortably just above where he knew her spark chamber to be. It gleamed a soft deep aqua, just like her optics. As cliche as it was, when he saw it, all he could think of was her.

Seeing her expression shift from amusement to awe as she touched his gift tenderly was enough to make Orion's every trial over the past few cycles worth it. Anything to see her happy.

''You did not have to." Elita murmured gently as she ran her digits over the center jewel. Orion simply hummed, leaning down to rest his helm against hers. Not a word was exchanged between them for a blessed moment. Instead, everything was conveyed through a bond forged through struggle and adoration shared in equal measure between them. While their union was not as ancient and hardened as Chromia and Ironhide, Orion liked to think it was just as strong.

"I wanted to. You've brought so much joy into my life, I simply could not help but want to return the favor." Pressing a soft chaste kiss to her audial, Orion watched Elita's expression in the mirror in front of her. Truly, she was crafted as if Primus himself had overseen every plate and seam upon her form.

"Jewels and gifts are not the way to my spark, Orion Pax. I think you of all mecha know that better than most." Elita smiled coyly, her servo reaching up to caress his cheek. It was a familiar gesture, one Orion reacted to by pressing a kiss to her palm. He knew this song and dance.

"Then perhaps I ought to show my affections more openly." Orion met her gaze, and in that moment, all was right with the world. There were no trials that could tear them apart, not when their very sparks cried out in perfect symphony.

For all the problems their world faced, when he was with Elita, none of it mattered. So long as they were together, the universe was theirs to mold as needed.

"I think you should." With her quiet confirmation, Orion gently tilted her chin up with a digit. Then, with a quick press of their helm crests, her brought their derma together, soft and unhurried. There was no rush.

The rest of reality could wait. For the moment, all that mattered was the two of them and their quiet connection.

#transformers #maccadam #optimus prime #elita one #orion pax #ariel #alternate universe #short fanfic #optimus x elita #oplita

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epicbuddieficrecs · 3 days ago

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Weekly Recap | February 3rd-9th 2025

Less than a month until 9-1-1 is back on our screens babyyyyy! how's everyone doing after that kiss hug in the rain scene???

Complete

You And I Walk A Fragile Line (I Have Known It All This Time) by pinkpeachtea (Hug In The Rain Spec | 1,3K | Teen): "Eddie?" Buck asked, voice breaking on the name as he noticed the car door opening again, staying open– probably getting the entire interior wet. And it was hard to see- especially through the rain- but if Buck wasn't just hallucinating, it'd actually look like… He was walking right towards him. Careful at first, slowly, until his steps got quicker– jogging that turned into running. Buck could feel his feet again, though he had no control over them as he found himself walking towards Eddie, meeting him not quite halfway when he came to a halt and– "Why did you stop?"

lull of you by brewrosemilk/ @gayhoediaz (Getting Together | 1,7K | Teen): For as long as Buck can remember, Eddie’s ability to express himself has left him in awe—the way that, although it sometimes takes a minute for him to get there, whenever he’s ready, he’ll rip his heart out of his own chest and present it on a silver platter. With a thumb pressed to Buck’s pulse point—or both—and deep, warm, earnest eyes. Buck has never been like that—he goes all out before he’s even sure what he feels; he’s dramatic and emotional, and clingy, and his emotions often run his actions miles ahead of his brain. (Not that he hasn’t come to terms with that by now—he is who he is, and he’s learned to appreciate it.) The interesting thing is, though—despite his regular habit of rushing things to beat his tendency to overthink in a lap around the racetrack—for once, tonight, his brain feels… quiet. Calm.

& such by colonoscopys/ @colonoscopys (87K | Teen): prompts and spec fics and codas and all the works jumbled mumbled into one place.

22. reunions (Eddie back from Texas | 2K): Buck kind of—avoids Eddie when he gets back. He knows he shouldn’t. The thing is, his heart still feels so bruised. It still feels like it’s lying there on the road, soaking up the gravel and the cement and the area just under Eddie’s tires, and he’s—tired. He’s tired. He just wants a second, to recuperate, before he goes back out there and pretends like everything is okay.

No Take Backs by Maximoff_Wanda (Friends to Fiances | 2K | Not Rated): “Marry me,” he blurted out, causing the other man to freeze and turn to stare at him. “What?” Eddie slowly lowered himself down on one knee, keeping eye contact with Buck, his blue eyes widening as he watched Eddie sink to the ground. Somewhere in the background, he hears a woman squealing as she notices what’s happening. Eddie clears his throat, grabbing one of Buck’s hands as a crowd starts to form around them. “Buck... Evan. There is nothing more that I want than to spend the rest of my life getting pretzels with you at the zoo listening to your endless fun animal facts while you buy our son sugary confections that he doesn’t need just because it makes him happy... So will you please marry me?”

When I see you again by Maximoff_Wanda (Hug In The Rain Spec | 2K | General): Buck sighed as the sky opened up and a drizzle of rain began to pour over them as they walked out of the Diaz house toward Eddie’s truck. Of course, it had to rain the day the love of his life left for Texas. Now that he’s thinking about it, Buck realized it was always raining when Buck and Eddie lose each other.

i knew it when you looked my way (that i'd be begging you to stay) by teaspoonmoon/ @young-waverer (Hug In The Rain Spec | 2K | General): When Eddie pulls Buck in, Buck melts, wrapping one arm over his shoulder and the other under his arm, palms wide to cling to as much of Eddie as he can hold. Buck’s chin settles in the crook of Eddie’s neck and he breathes in deeply, trying to commit to memory the blurred together scent of Eddie’s deodorant and shampoo and the petrichor hanging in the air. “I miss you already,” Eddie says into Buck’s ear, stubble scraping against Buck’s cheek as his mouth moves. With one last squeeze Eddie pulls away, clapping Buck just a little too hard on the shoulder. “I should probably get on the road,” Eddie says, stepping away. “Drive safe,” Buck replies, stepping after him. Eddie slides into the driver’s seat and shuts the door, drops the bag of scones into the seat next to him. He resolutely doesn’t look into the rearview mirror as he adjusts it.

But What A Ghostly Scene by icewhisper (S4, Coma Dream | 3K | Teen): Eddie had always thought if he came close to death, it’d be Shannon or his abuelo he saw who pushed him to go home – to go back to Christopher – but when a sniper nearly killed him, it was a little boy he dreamed of instead. Nearly two years later, he realizes who that little boy was.

with a little water and a little bit of sunlight by teaspoonmoon/ @young-waverer (S8E8: Wannabes | 4K | Teen): “You flipped the tablet.” “Did I?” Lord only knows how he carried out an emotional affair as long as he did if this is how good he is at lying. Buck clearly has come to some—wrong—conclusion, given the way he smirks and cocks his head. “What're you looking at, Eddie?” His tone is a little flirty, a little suggestive, and if Eddie were any less close to a panic attack he'd probably think the gulf between what Buck assumes he'd been doing and what he was actually looking at was very funny. — The one where it's not Homes.com but it's also not porn on the iPad.

let's go get the shit kicked out of us by love by teaspoonmoon/ @young-waverer (Post-S8E8: Wannabes, Getting Together | 4K | Teen): “Are you Love Actuallying me?” Eddie looks about as surprised that those are the words coming out of his mouth as Buck is to hear them. “Oh my god, what?” “Love Actually. That freaky kid who’s like thirty now but still looks like a ten year old. Runs through an airport, gets himself put on a no-fly list for love? Are you Love Actuallying me?” “For fuck’s sake, has everyone seen that movie but me?” Buck has to laugh, it’s absurd. This whole thing is absurd. He wants to rip his hair out. He also, as of thirty minutes or maybe six years ago, wants to rip Eddie’s shirt off, but that’s not his main focus at the moment.

Will you still be with me (when the magic’s all run out?) by scarmaddiewrites (Witch Buck AU | 5K | Not Rated): Buck is a witch and in love with Eddie…that really it.

Cupid, Q-Words, and Cursed Shifts by JJK/ @trenchcoatsandtimetravel (Post-S8A, Valentine's Day | 5K | Teen): A slow shift at the firehouse gets derailed when someone accidentally says the Q-word, Eddie pines over Buck, and the new Probie panics about Valentine's Day.

I’ll tell them put me back in it (and I would do it again) by paleredheadinascifi (Getting Together | 5K | Teen): Eddiaz is listening to the slowburn friends to lovers playlist. Eddiaz listened to the POV you’re falling in love with your best friend playlist. Eddiaz listened to the sad gay yearning hours playlist. Eddiaz listened to the he was my best friend and that was the worst part playlist. Or, Eddie doesn't know how to make his listening history private. Buck doesn't know what to do with the words in front of his eyes. Chris cannot believe he has to deal with either of them.

Eddie Diaz's Emotional Support Group Chat by scarmaddiewrites (Chat fic, Post-S8E8: Wannabes | 6K | Teen): Eddie makes a group chat to help him with his plan to woo Buck… It goes about as well as you think it would.

promise what you will, something good for me by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Fake Relationship, Getting Together | 6K | Teen): Eddie forms a one-sided beef with a woman claiming to be psychic and ropes Buck into a fake dating scheme to try and prove all her predictions wrong.

your slightest look easily will unclose me by teaspoonmoon/ @young-waverer (S8E6: Confessions, PWP | 7K | Explicit): Eddie takes in a deep breath and reaches out and sets his hand on Buck’s knee, fingers wrapping around his lower thigh, pinky brushing his inseam. “Hey. If you were my first, you’d be my last.” The air is still between them and feels charged in a way it wasn’t a moment ago. Careful not to dislodge Eddie’s hand, Buck stretches his arm out to grab the tequila. Watching Eddie out of the corner of his eye, he knocks back another half shot. Eddie doesn’t retract his hand, and the heat of it is starting to seep through the denim of Buck’s jeans. “Sure.” Buck sounds weary. “That’s easy for you to say, when it’s—when it’s just hypothetical.” “What if…” Eddie’s grip on Buck tightens marginally. “What if it wasn’t a hypothetical?”

We're Overdue for a Revival by BespectacledBunny (Post-S8E8: Wannabes, Chris coming back from Texas, Marriage of Convenience | 60K | Mature): “If I had,” Chris lingers on the words, watching Eddie intently through the screen, “If I had conditions?” Eddie feels his stomach knot up. It’s the first time Chris has ever alluded to a willingness to come home. Usually he just shoots Eddie down with a flat “I know” before hurrying off the call. Eddie Diaz will be damned before he lets this chance slip through his hands. “Anything,” his voice rings with desperation in his own ears, “Whatever you need to feel ready to come home. If I can make it happen, I will.” Chris eyes him, young face serious as a judge presiding over trial. Finally, Chris opens his mouth and says something so earth shattering as to crack the foundations of his father’s mind. “Marry Buck,” Chris says firmly.

WIP

🔥 there is no roadby littleghost/ @ghostlandtoo (Post-S8A, Eddie moves to Texas | 5/6 | 77K | Explicit): Years ago, almost a full decade, Shannon had asked him to move and Eddie refused because he was trying to build a life for himself again. Eddie knows if he asks Buck, he’ll get that same refusal. Worse, Buck could say yes and Eddie would be uprooting Buck from the very life he built for himself. He doesn’t ask, and Buck doesn’t offer, and they pack up Eddie Diaz’s life in Los Angeles into cardboard boxes. Or: Eddie moves to Texas. Buck buys his house. There’s a love story somewhere in here.

🔥 how come everybody's dancing but you?by showedupatyourparty (Post-S7 Spec, Eddie Sexuality Crisis | 4/6 | 45K | Mature): Buck feels guilty. Everyone he loves is going through something painful, difficult, or unexpected right now. And Buck is just…bisexual. It’s great that he’s figured it out, and it’s great that everyone has been so supportive, and Tommy is—Tommy is fine. The sex is good, at least. Consistent. When Buck gets a call from Eddie’s phone late on a Tuesday night in June, it’s cause for concern. * Buck unpacks his own feelings about his recently-discovered bisexuality. Eddie gets adopted by drag queens. They're both just trying their best to be happy.

disappearing into the distance by bucksclipboard/ @endofthedaymp3 (Eddie Comes Back From Texas, Getting Together | 2/4 | 6K | Teen): Eddie wasn’t sure why he and Maddie weren’t close. It was strange, considering her little brother was the most important person in his life. Still, when the door opened, tight hugs were exchanged and cheerful welcome homes rang in his ears. “Does Bobby know? I gotta call Bobby!”, Chimney yelled. “Could you wait a minute?”, Eddie interjected. His eyes darted between them for a moment and landed on Chim, deciding he was his best bet. “Maybe first explain to me why I went to see Buck and his loft was empty. Am I missing something? Did he move?” or: eddie comes back from texas – only to find that buck has left los angeles

🔥 Gentle On My Mind by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon Divergent, Shannon Lives, Buck/Eddie/Shannon | 13/? | 81K | Explicit): In which Shannon lives, tells a lie, and sends hers, Eddie's, and Buck's lives down a very different path.

🔥 Doe & a Drop of Golden Sun by ohstars/ @oh-stars (Canon Divergent, Dad Buck | 12/? | 54K | Teen): Buck doesn't mean to keep secrets from everyone, but he also can't talk about the pain he experiences on a day to day basis. With his nine-year-old living across the country and his custody limited to one monthly visit, Buck doesn't know how to share this part of himself. How does he tell his team of six years that he's had a kid this whole time? How does he tell his sister? How does he tell his Edd-- best friend? It's fine. The universe isn't going to give him a choice in the matter when the worst thing imaginable becomes his reality.

Podfic

🔥 Cowboy With a One Track Mind by Daisies_and_Briars [Podfic] by Rhea314 (Rhea)/ @rhea314 // fic by @cal-daisies-and-briars (Alternate Universe, Different First Meeting | 2.5h-3h | Mature): Spin-off Sequel to Evan Buckley & the Coma-Verse of Madness - Chapter 7 (Land): Grieving and tortured, Evan Buckley has been living alone in Montana in a remote cabin for nearly a decade. After an incident that leaves him missing six months of his life, and suddenly in connection with a group of strangers from Los Angeles, Evan must decide whether to remain in his self-imposed exile, or take a chance at life again.

🔥 [podfic] braver than you believe (loved more than you know) by be_brave13/ @djemsowhat (S8E6: Confessions Spec | 20-30min | Teen): “There's things,” Eddie chokes out, getting the closest he can in a Catholic church to saying what he means to say, words that he’s never said before unable to make an appearance even now. “There's… people… feelings that I— I want to experience differently than I have before, or maybe even for the first time.” “Something… different than what you had with Anna and Marisol?” The priest hedges. “Something, even, different than what you and your wife had?” The words feel insinuating, but the tone stays light and unchallenging. The priest in Eddie’s mind has big hands and curious, soulful eyes and a chunky watch on his wrist, like he could be anyone. A blond man at a bar that Eddie’s eyes keep coming back to, for no reason at all. “Yeah,” Eddie confesses. “Yeah, I’m just starting to think that… maybe there’s more to it all than I thought. Maybe, I can ask for what I thought wasn’t allowed. And I can choose what I want instead of what everyone else thinks I should have.”

🔥[Podfic] Promising Light by cottagepodfics @cottagepodfics / fic by @cal-daisies-and-briars (Post-S8E8: Wannabes, Time Travel | 2-2.5h | Mature): Buck and Eddie fall asleep drunk and in separate rooms after the night of Buck and Tommy's breakup. They wake up seven years later, in an unfamiliar future, only to find out that they're married.

#epic buddie fic rec #buddie fanfiction #buddie fic rec #buddie fic #buddie fanfic #buddie

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babybearnation · 2 days ago

Note

hopefully i worded this well 😖🤞

landoscar plan anonymous valentines gifts for reader thinking he would recognize their handwritings and overall the vibes of the gifts but reader always oblivious when someone likes him thinks the gifts are from someone else then lando and oscar desperately drop hints reader still adorably clueless

don't worry this is well worded! plus i really love this idea!

established!landoscar x gn!reader

lando and oscar are obsessed with you even more than they are obsessed with each other

they got together after silverstone 2023, and even though they're really happy together, they can't help but feel like a you-shaped void exists

you've worked at mclaren since 2020, so you're really close with lando, but when oscar arrived, you found yourself falling for him as well

but unfortunately for lando & oscar, you're really oblivious and didn't even know that they were a couple until they told you directly

you're happy for them, obviously, but you do feel a littte bit upset and/or jealous and you have to walk away and go calm down the second you can do so without it being weird

with valentine's day occurring during the middle of pre-season testing and preparations, lando and oscar set about making a plan on how to seduce you

lando buys you 10 gifts

oscar buys you 10 gifts

they buy you 5 gifts together

hell, oscar even convinces lando to work together on writing a love letter in case the gifts dont work (altho they are stupidly optimistic that they will)

they start planting the gifts around for you

you receive jewellery you've wanted for ages and stylish clothes that you mentioned ideally owning one day from lando

from oscar, you get hard to find sweets/snacks and things that pertain to whatever your hobby is

overall you're really starting to feel doted and loved upon

and you know the gifts are from two different people - the handwriting tells you as much - but you don't know who

even though the handwriting feels familiar, you don't investigate into it

you do excitedly tell lando and oscar all about it though which makes both of them suffer on the inside

when they realise you truly are that oblivious, they decide to start dropping hints

mentioning the next gift mere minutes before you'll find it

well, oscar is doing that. lando is telling you what the gift is as you find it

and yet, you still remain confused and oblivious as to who could be giving you all these gifts

lando snaps first, obviously, and marches over to you with the last present (a box of chocolates because valentine's day!!!) and the love letter he wrote with oscar

he hands them both to you with an insistent huff

"these are from me and oscar. just like everything else was."

he then storms off, leaving you alone with the final gift & the letter

you open the gift before reading the letter and you feel so guilty that you didn't recognise their handwriting and didn't notice all the signs they were trying to send

you read the letter two to three times before you start crying and you run from your work space to go and find them, tears streaming down your face

when you find them, you apologise for being oblivious and stupid and you confess your feelings and ask them to be your boyfriends

oscar doesn't give a fuck about the confession tbh, he just wants you to a) stop crying and b) never call yourself stupid ever again

lando meanwhile is not so patiently waiting for oscar to move the fuck out of the way so he can kiss you

yeah, you go home that day absolutely loved up and smothered in kisses from lando & oscar!

#ᵔᴥᵔ fics #sir bear's sweetheart special #bear's inbox #bear's anons #lando norris #lando norris x reader #ln4 #ln4 x reader #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #op81 #op81 x reader #landoscar #landoscar x reader #481 #481 x reader #babybearnation

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atinystaypixie · 14 hours ago

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A Husband's Present

Summary: It's Kento's birthday and your husband deserves his presents. WC: 2.5k+ CW: 18+, MDNI, Smut, (brief) biting, creampie (with intent of pregnancy)

Kento was the best husband one could ask for. Attentive, understanding, patient. He was a natural provider and made it easy for you to always be in a state of ease. Even when you first started dating, you never had to ask, he would always do. The sink was broken? He was fixing it without a second thought. Tires looking flat? Pumping air in them and going to take you for replacements.

He was romantic as well. Dates were well thought out and never boring. Why go to an expensive restaurant when he knows you prefer picnics with a movie projector? Just because you were a homebody didn’t stop him from showing up with your favorite snacks and making pillow forts. He also loved being in the kitchen with baking. It’s how he proposed to you when he presented you with a cupcake topped with a ring. You still don’t know how he managed to put it on there without you seeing when you both were decorating at the same time.

You never would have thought such an amazing man would be in your life. It’s why you are planning on creating life with him tonight. You’ve seen the way he’s looked at families lately whenever you two have been out. Along with him being amazing, he was respectful of your body and never wanted to push the topic unless you were ready. You’ve been married for four years now and dated for three. Your biological clock was ticking too and you are more than willing to give him kids.

It’s why your acrylics were done in his favorite color with his initials, your hair styled in a high ponytail that he loved pulling, and your plump lips glossed to perfect. He would be home soon. Sadly work pulled him away for the day due to his birthday falling on a weekday this year. Awaiting him was his favorite hot meal, go to item from the local bakery, and of course, you wrapped up pretty for him. There was just something about how delicious you looked when dressed for his eyes only. A sacred, precious being crafted just for his touch.

His hands made sure to never leave an inch of you untouched. Gripping at your hips, smoothing over your thighs, fingers pressing into your back. Pink lips pecking at the skin of your neck, molding to your own lips, and whispering endless sweet vows to you. Your mind started to slip off into thought as you stood in the middle of the kitchen thinking of the love your husband never fails to give you.

The timer on your phone pulls you out of thought with a jump. You tighten your robe and make your way to the stove pulling out the last of the food. It’s getting close to time for him to be getting home so you start setting the plates. It should all be finished as soon as he walks through the door.

Well, it should, but why do you hear the front door opening already?

“Baby,” the man of the hour comes around the corner, loosening his tie, “I’m home.” He says making his way towards you.

“Kennie, you’re home early. Everything okay?” You ask, kissing his cheek. You’re more than happy to see him, but you weren’t expecting him so soon.

“Mm. I missed my wife, didn’t want to be there anymore.” He says while pulling you closer, arms wrapping around your waist, and lips pressing kisses to your jaw. His hands slide down to the fat of your ass, gripping them. “What’s under here?” A smirk etching itself on his face.

“That’s for you to find out after we eat,” you emphasize the after and slip out of his hold.

It doesn’t take long for you both to settle in and enjoy the food you made. He tells you about his day and you do the same. It’s obvious he is distracted throughout dinner though. His eyes lingering on your lips as you speak, scanning down to the cleavage peeking from the slight opening of your robe, and some responses are just mere hums and nods. Kento doesn’t care how long you have been together, he will never not be attracted to you.

Once finished eating, you clean up while he goes to shower. It took convincing since he hates not helping you, but you finally got him to go. You needed him to go so you could set up in the bedroom. After all the neverending spoiling he gives you, you at least want to attempt to take control for one night.

Your tall, blonde man finally emerges from his shower with a towel around his waist. The candlelit room and soft music playing makes him smile. If there is anything he loves, it’s the scents that come from you. Whether they are on you or filling the house.

“What’s all this, love?”

“I wanna take care of you tonight, Kennie. It’s your birthday. Let me show my husband how much I appreciate him.” How can he resist when you are looking at him with those eyes? Your voice causes his heart rate to quicken.

You have Kento feeling like it’s his first time again. He knew you were his peace and place of relaxation, but you were really working a number on him. Your soft hands worked all the knots out his muscles, leaving occasional kisses in their wake. It wasn’t helping that you now had him on his back and was straddling him. His stomach clenching as you teasingly raked your nails low, close to his hardened dick.

“Kennie, open your eyes. Look at me, baby.” Your voice was soft, seductive. All the touching and teasing alone you have been doing was about to send him over the edge.

“Love, stop teasing me please.” His voice was raspy and eyes were low. You loved when your husband got like this for you. That was all it took for you to hook your fingers in the towel and loosen it exposing his member. It was pretty and long, a darker shade from need, and a strong stance as it laid against his stomach.

You ran a hand up and down it, making him do a sharp inhale. It didn’t take you long to maneuver yourself down with your face in front of it. Kento pried his eyes open in time to see you peppering the underside with kisses. Every touch makes him twitch in your hand causing a seductive giggle to come from you. One thing about Kento is that he would always flip a switch in your brain. You thrived off of his sexual needs, eager to please.

“Fuck, love, are those my initals?”

“Mhm, you like?” He tried, he really did, but he can’t sit back any longer when he’s married to a vixen.

He sits up, his veiny hand wraps in your ponytail tilting your head back while the other runs a thumb over the designs. “You really know how to mess with me,” his eyes locked on yours, “open.” A simple command that leads to him tapping his tip on your tongue, slowly feeding you his cock. “Good girl - fucckk- good girl,” he breathes out as he guides you down, pushing him to the back of your throat. Your tongue massages him as he finds relief in the wetness. You’ve made it a habit over the years to cockwarm him with your throat and it pays off with how easily you can keep him there. Your mouth is always warm and the moans you release around his length only add to the pleasure.

Kento loves stuffing your throat, the sight always making his balls tighten. It’s a slow, repeated process of pushing in and dragging himself out after a few seconds. He goes in all the way to the base and almost pulls completely out, stopping at the mushroom tip. One hand in your hair and the other cupping your chin, catching the stray tears that fall from your pretty eyes. It’s a beautiful sight having the woman he would die for trust him with her body in such ways.

He pulls out of your mouth tracing his tip over your lips thoroughly running whatever gloss you have left on them. “Let me unwrap you now, doll.” He guides you back up into his lap and undoes the belt to your robe.

Exposed. You’re so exposed for him. Your perky breast sitting out pretty with the lace accentuating them, your stomach only covered by thin patches of the lace, and your pussy. Your pussy was completely uncovered sitting between the material. It’s easy access, perfection. He knew just how to play your body like a string on a guitar.

“Is this all for me, my love? Hm? Dressing up all pretty for me?” You would answer straightly, but it’s hard when his thumb is swirling your clit just right. “Answer me, doll. Did all this so I could fuck you real good?” It’s just something about the way he looks in your eyes and speaks with that tone that has you attempting to close your legs around his hand. You would be successful if he didn’t have you straddling him still. “Haven’t even done anything to you yet. It’s okay, love, I’ll take care of you.” He pushes the remainder of the robe off your body, throwing it off to the side somewhere.

“Wait,” you whine, “Kennie, I was supposed to be taking care of you.”

“Shh, shh. You know there's nothing I love more than loving on my beautiful wife. Let me enjoy my present thoroughly, yea?” He knew he had you when your eyes glazed completely back over. He laid you down and littered kisses across your face, down your jaw, and stopped at your belly.

“Baby,” you mumbled.

“I know, I got you.”

“No. I want…I want you to put a baby in there.” You spoke a little louder, but timid making the man pause for a moment. Did you know he had been wanting to have a child with you? Since when did you want kids? Was he hearing things? His brain was trying to process the words. “Kennie, did you hear me? I want to have a baby with you-,” He cut you off with a deep, slow kiss. His tongue is swirling with yours and claiming your mouth as his for the second time tonight.

“I’ll give you one, don’t worry.” It was all he said before you felt him lower himself again. This man is magic with his tongue and fingers, both were working open your sopping hole. His lips latch onto your clit while his fingers curl deep inside of you. In the process of working him up earlier, you made yourself needy too. You didn’t even need the extra foreplay, but Kento knew just how much your body reacted when his mouth connected to your pussy.

“Cum on my tongue and then I’ll give you everything you want.” His voice was so soothing, it was supportive almost, encouraging you to coat his taste buds in your juices. A few more sucks and curl of his fingers was all it took to have your back arching off the bed and pussy releasing.

He groans out a collage of curses before sitting up and dragging you closer to him by your thighs. “My pretty wife,” he says while spreading your pussy lips. This is a present he will forever be happy to open. Your folds are all shiny as evidence of your activities, ready to indulge in more. While using his thumbs to hold you open and taking his time to admire you, your soft hand wraps around his length stroking it.

“I love you.” Another smile blossoms on his face. How did he get so lucky?

He thrusts forward into your hold a couple of times before removing your hand and interlocking your fingers. “I love you more.” His free hand guides his cock through your folds, the tip pressing against your clit with each one. He doesn’t stop until you whine at him again. He loves when you need him. Both of you are in love with one another needing each other.

He finally lines himself up to you and pushes in. You would think he hasn’t fucked you in months with the way your pussy squelches as it drags him in. “Shit, you’re taking me in so well, baby.” Once he bottoms out, he brings his chest yours, dragging your hands above your head. Both of you are panting as you hold eye contact, a silent conversation between lovers.

Your legs wrap around his waist and he doesn’t hold back from plunging into you. The sloppy musical happening between your bodies is enough to know he’s fucking you with purpose. Knowing he’s working to impregnate his wife gives him a new drive. He’s so deep in you and only pulling his length halfway out with each stroke leaving little breaks between each rush of pleasure you feel. You two are so close that your bodies are almost one. Layers of sweat covering you both as you moan out his name.

There’s a knot forming in your lower belly already making your insides slipperier. “Kennie,” your breath out.

“Let go, baby. I got you.” He feels your fingers grip at his harder, the squint of your eyes and raise of your voice almost push him over the edge. Your gummy walls pulse around his member letting him feel every second of your release. He slows his thrusts working you through it while muttering sweet words into your ears.

When he sees you coming back down some, he raises up from you and puts both of your legs over his shoulders. “Saw that this was a good position to ensure pregnancy.” Your fuzzy brain barely has time to think about what he said before he is speeding up his thrusts again. He looks down to see his cock coated in white as he moves in and out of you. His hands have found home on your hips, his head turning to the side to kiss at your calf. Kento is getting close and you can tell from the way he brings your leg closer and sinks his teeth into the skin trying to hold on.

“I’m so close, baby. So close.” He rasps out feeling his balls tighten. Your pussy working to milk him.

“Come on, Kennie. Fill me all up.” That’s all it takes for him to explode, hips stuttering and broken moans falling past his lips. You lower the leg he isn’t holding and sit up some to reach at his dick. Your fingers massage the amount that isn’t stuffed in your cunt making him rock back and forth from sensitivity.

When he finally calms down, his eyes land on you. He places your leg to his side and pulls you up by the neck for a sloppy kiss.

“Happy Birthday, Kennie.”

“Thank you, baby,” he smiles and kisses you again, “but I’m not done enjoying my present yet.” Kento was going to keep you here all night until he felt you were stuffed enough with his cum.

✨

Pixie’s Flying 🧚🏽‍♀️

This a repost! I posted this back in July but it never showed up in tags! Hopefully it shows up this time and you can read and enjoy it🥹

ENJOY! Reblog, like, and comment💜!

Pixie’s Masterlist

#jjk smut #nanami kento smut #nanami smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #nanami x reader smut #jjk x reader smut

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