#I’m a lover and I give and give and give until I can’t

[tonycries]

Love Island - T.F.

Synopsis. Islanders, you’ve got a steamy date! An unfortunate recoupling leaves only you and one other participant unpaired - the mean, smug, hot Toji Fushiguro. Too bad you hate him, right? Right? 

Pairing. Toji Fushiguro x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, Love Island AU, enemies-to-Iovers, forced proximity, reality TV, recoupling, first dates, arguing during it, slight exhíbitíonism, oraI (fem rec.), he gets PÚSSYDRÚNK, running from it, manhandIing, use of “ma’am”, chokíng, spítting, p talking, competitiveness, making him fit, tummy buIges, p sIapping, he makes you count, DÚMBIFlCATION, slight marathon, squírting, the L word, Toji’s down bad, getting together, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 10.1k

A/N. My guilty pleasure tbh…

You could only stare in utter silence.

Because you knew- oh, you knew that if you dared open your mouth right now, it would let out a barrage of insults they couldn’t air on even the trashiest of reality TV. 

Right ahead of you, Naoya turns away with a scoff. Smirking down at the brand-new bombshell he’d just sauntered onto the island with. Hand-in-hand. 

Yours left empty.

You jolt at the tense announcement of your name, the glitzy host probing at you with pitiful eyes- “Tonight’s recoupling is now complete, you have not been chosen. As always, you must pack your bags and leave the villa-”

Fists clenched, you stand.

“…but our voters seem to think otherwise.”

What? You could almost hear the beat drop they’d edit in during production. And as every islander freezes in confusion, the camera greedily follows each expression. Each word.

“Because who doesn’t love a good enemies-to-lovers?” She waves her cue cards with flourish, honing in on one participant—

Toji Fushiguro.

Next to you, Utahime holds onto Shoko’s hand. You could hear a few of the men mutter. Most of the cameramen themselves fighting back gasps. Hell, even Naoya seems to raise an icy brow. 

And with his beefy arms crossed so tight that his button-up strains, dark brows furrowed - Toji seemed just as bewildered as you were. He lounges by the corner of the semicircle seat that surrounded the infamous Love Island bonfire. Jutting his chin in defiance, “No way.”

You never thought you’d see the day where you agree with him of all people, “This has to be a joke. I mean- him?”

“Charming as ever, doll.”

“See what I mean?”

“Oh, I’m looking.”

The numerous producers behind-the-scenes were near-salivating as they lean in closer, and you could practically count the dollar signs in their eyes. Each shot of your little argument was liquid gold, and it seemed the host knew just as much. “Islanders, as you know, the public has been watching- and voting! And this week we had them vote for two Islanders they would like to see go on a date.”

Oh, fuck.

It wasn’t just some brief coupling until you could snag someone else - this was a date. A date. 

You’re biting back a groan as she pauses for what stretches on like eons.

Letting the gossip and tension simmer like the crashing waves nearby; you swear the temperature heightens by at least ten humid degrees once the host finishes off - with your name-

“-and Toji–!”

It bursts - the whispers, the sounds of camera lenses peering ever-closer, the constant repetition of ‘but they can’t stand each other?’ And you couldn’t quite fault any of your fellow participants for pointing out something you knew yourself. 

Something that the host blissfully ignores as she rattles off from her cards, “You will be leaving the villa immediately to see if those sparks of difference can turn into sparks of something more.” Faintly, you register Shoko and Utahime pulling you into a hug, “We’ll be seeing if it really is true that you should keep your friends close, and your enemies even closer. Get ready. And good luck!”

Promptly, the two sides of the couch separate as per their groups.

And you couldn’t even give a single fuck about the way that Naoya was hovering awkwardly with his new beau. Forgotten already.

The only thing registering in your mind behind Utahime’s cooing–“Are you alright, sweetheart?” Soft tone still being picked up by the microphones, “Do you need some water? A breather?”

“I’m alright-” You’re waving off, “I don’t even care about that damn Naoya anymore, it’s just…” Throwing a look at Toji - who has the audacity to look over the manly hands thumping his shoulders. Twiddling his fingers in a mocking wave at you, “Him?”

“He’s better than that pig, to be fair.” Shoko unsubtly nods at Naoya, loud enough that he turns to her with a bristle. “At least he hasn’t been ogling every girl at the villa like Mr. Two-Tone.”

You’re wincing at the reminder of your first pick - Zenin Naoya. 

The man who’d paired up with you on the first week itself with his sweet, snaking words, and promised you the world. And even though you should’ve known better than to expect as much on a dating show, it was still a complete slap in the face tonight to have him be so ready to kick you off the Island tonight. “He hasn’t been ogling any girl.”

Utahime hums, “Imagine if you’re the first on the Island to turn his head.” Sputtering at your sharp stare- “I-I mean-”

And then there was him - Toji.

You’d hated each other on sight. 

Maybe it was that cunning glint in those jade eyes of his, the way he was too suave, too in control. Or maybe it was the way he’d spilled juice all down your best dress during your first meeting, and all but ran from you afterwards. No apologies. Nothing more but snark to match yours. 

But it was a shock that Toji had made it this far in the competition anyways - being brought in to stir drama halfway through the season, he’d been cruising by purely as a fan-favorite. 

And, sure, he was begrudgingly handsome; tall, chiselled, but he hadn’t set a single hand or pair of eyes upon any of the other women here. Not even any of the bombshells - as someone else oh-so-clearly had. 

There had to be something wrong with him.

“Why, how nice to know that’s what my hot date thinks of me~”

Fuck- you’d mused that out loud. 

And right as Toji had sidled up behind you, predatorily quiet. You fight to keep your tone even as you look over your shoulder to meet his burning gaze, “Honesty is the best policy, no?”

He plants a firm palm on the seat cushion, craning his head down low enough until his breath mingles with yours. “Any more honest observations before we kill each other on the date tonight?”

“You’ll find out as I dance on your grave.” You roll your eyes. 

“Aww, think about the show ratings–”

Nodding seriously, “Which will certainly improve after I kill you off.”

“Feisty.” Toji’s sharp canines glint in the light of the flickering bonfire as he grins. It’s pindrop silence as he nudges his head even closer, even more intimately. “Then be honest with me, doll, and tell me your favorite color.”

“Huh?”

“Color. Favorite.” He makes a face of faux concern, “Or s’that too tough for your pretty lil’-”

“Can’t blame me for being surprised you can understand the color spectrum.” You’re biting out - the date hadn’t started but it was already in ruins, you could already imagine how the rest of the evening would go. Ultimately spitting out your favorite shade-

“Hm, interesting.” Toji inclines his head down at you for a thick second, two- before turning his sculpted back in the direction of the assigned dorms. “Dress up f’me tonight, will you—”

You spit out a few more choice words, even as Utahime strokes your hair. “There there, it’s just for tonight.” You’re shivering as her lips brush your earlobe, whispering conspiratorially, “And if you ask me, I think the producers are actually onto something.”

“You’re joking.”

She insists, “Enemies-to-lovers.”

“Enemies-to-you’re-delusional, Uta.” Shoko deadpans- before cracking a meager smile once she’s catching her gaze. Hands intertwined with each other, whilst yours gripped emptily. “But I love you, anyway.”

You groan at the paired couple, already dreading whatever the studio had conjured up for you on the date. “They should’ve sent you two instead.” 

Utahime cackles, “You’re not getting out of your enemies-to-lovers that easily, girl.”

“At the very least, you’re on camera.” Shoko looks accomplished at your dual inquiring gazes, “So you won’t be able to actually kill each other.”

.

.

.

You were actually going to kill each other.

It was only a few minutes into this ‘romantic’ dinner date and one of you had already thrown a fork at your date. The other had thrown an impressive helping of mashed potatoes. 

You’re grimacing as the cameraman nearby smears off a creamy smudge of potatoes from his expensive lens, turning back to your date. He’d dressed…surprisingly well - in a button-up of your favorite color, raven bangs styled stylishly messy, smirking at you from the end of a candlelit table. “A true gentleman.” 

“And yer a true warrior.” Toji cackles, bending over to pick up your fork from the carpet of the restaurant. 

The producers had managed to rent out one of those painfully high-end ones in town. With deconstructed soups and a menu with dishes more expensive than your rent; all deep red decorations for couples, and soft waltzes playing out loud. 

And you didn’t know if you felt more out-of-place at this establishment or simply sitting opposite Toji.

“Oi. Oiii–” He’s teasingly snapping you out of your spinning thoughts, arms crossing as he leans over the table. “Finally fallen for my charms–?”

“Charms?” You furrow your brows, pushing the tiny portion of dinner ‘round with a spoon. It’d been long since the crew had given up trying to prompt you two into usual first date questions. Pretending to look around, “Where?”

Smile venomous, Toji’s closing the gap between you on the table- “Ah, forgot you can’t see them with your head stuck up your ass, doll.”

And you’re not far behind, but neither are the cameras. “Been staring at my ass a lot, have you?” All clustering around the chaos of the table, the sniping words breaking through the gentle atmosphere. 

“Why, I have.”

You gape, “Must be why I’ve been feeling sickly lately.”

“No, it’s just sickening to be such a grouch.”

“I’d rather be a grouch than a sleaze.”

And he’s leaning his head on one palm, long lashes narrowed- he has the audacity to flutter them at you. “Why, I thought that was your type?”

You have to fervently battle the hand itching to grip your porcelain plate, that goop of your appetizers still-untouched. Cocking your head, “And what if it is? What’re you gonna do about it?” 

You’re watching as something within Toji’s half-lidded eyes seems to flicker- something seems to twinkle. And, knowing Toji as much as you have these past few weeks, it doesn’t feel like anything that bodes well for you.

With a low, pointed sigh he’s slouching over the table - closer to you, close enough that the silky fabric of his dress pants bump against your knees and makes your skin sizzle with heat. And you have no doubt that the cameras manage to catch each second of this motion. “Well, unlucky for you, I’m no sleaze, darlin’.”

Tone deep. Almost husky. 

It’s enough to make your skin prickle with goosebumps, and something in your breath catches as you cross your arms. “Prove it.”

And it was a simple retort. It was something to leave your word last, and your mind thinking you won the ceaseless argument. 

Not something to make the cameramen gasp as Toji stands to his full, towering height. As he casually drifts a hand through his messy bangs, pushes his long sleeves upwards to bear veiny forearms, and reaches one out to you-

You stare at his open palm as if it was a snake waiting to strike, “Wh-what?”

“You said to prove it. Come on then, let’s get outta here.” He’s smugly rolling his eyes, “Unless you’re just as uptight as that Nao-”

You’re intertwining your fingers with his faster than you could blink.

And it registers that just as Toji was large - so were his hands. Thick, enveloping, he’s barely even trying to guide you breezily to your feet. A roughened thumb slowly dragging down the sides of your index, “So- since the madam wasn’t enjoying her time here, where might you suggest we g- oh.”

But you’re quicker.

And you’re dragging him through the line of fancy tables, well away from the cameras that hasten to keep up. “Away from that.”

“…yes, ma’am.”

Oh, you quite liked that coming out of his mouth - though, you’d never admit.

It takes two minutes for you to duck out of the overly-polished enterprise of the restaurant, and only one more to speed walk towards the first stall of street food you could find. 

Stuffing your faces into something fried and much more filling, you can’t even bring yourself to feel even a shred of self-consciousness as you notice that the cameras have caught up by now.

But what you didn’t notice was the look that Toji was shooting your way- half-pausing his own devouring, half-locked on the cute lil’ hums that you were letting off. Simply pondering. 

“Ah, I remember my husband looked at me on our first date.” A slightly-weathered, gigging voice speaks up- and both of you snap your heads towards the crouched old lady manning her stall. Nodding at the two of you, “Keep looking at her like that, young man. Even when you’re all old and wrinkly like me.”

You nearly choke on your food, “O-oh, actually, we’re-”

“Of course, I will, grandma.” Toji, ever-the-charmer (to everyone but you, it seems), throws his strong arms around your shoulder. Tugging you to his hardened front, “She’d been begging for ages to take me out.”

And you can only watch in pure horror as she’s lightly pinching the dimples by Toji’s grin, “Odd amount of cameras there are. Is this for- what the kid’s call ah- YouTube?”

Toji starts, “It’s for…”

“Our wedding footage, of course.” He shoots a look your way - oh? - which you only meet with one of your own. Two can play that game. Clutching onto the thin fabric of his button-up, you hold up your left hand with a mournful look. “He didn’t even get me a ring, though.”

Stammering for a lie, you swear you spot the tips of his ears burn rouge. “I-I said it’s in cleaning-”

“Oh- he got me a secondhand one, you see-” You smile, dig your own grave Toji Fushiguro. 

“It was vintage-”

“And now he’s lying-”

“Fucking hell-”

The stall owner bursts into peels of glee, clapping her wrinkly hands. “Ah, you young ‘uns really do remind me of my husband and I.” Before sternly wagging her finger, “I expect you to come back here soon with a few little ones running around one day–!”

You’re grinning, sickly sweet at Toji. “Of course, unless I snip it off.”

Him, right along with a few cameramen, can only shiver.

Though, perhaps that was because of something else entirely. 

Because as soon as you’re finishing up with the lovely stall owner, tipping her generously, the coastal wind picks something frosty in it.

Forcing nearby windows to slam, the flickering streetlights to dim. And for your newly-made friend to look up at the darkening sky and furrow her feathery brows, “Well, looks like I best be heading back- we’re in for a storm.” She rapidly starts furling in her stall, “You two better get going too- my home’s nearby but for the entire group…” She looks over your expansive team of cameras, “There’s an inn just down the street if you’d like?”

One of the producers, who’d been silently observing until now, jumps at the chance. Hastily jotting down the location as he makes a few calls to the studio-

You didn’t even want to know what that was about.

Good television, you presume.

“It’s just a little ways away.” Toji’s holding a palm over his line of sight, in the direction of where the old lady had said. A light drizzle was just starting to kiss down on your figures, “We should make it if we run.”

You’re looking down at the slick cobblestone, then at your heels, having been forced into one of your best pairs by Utahime. “Right…run.”

Toji looks at you for a second. Then at your heels. Back at the distance of the inn. A multitude of emotions before he closes his eyes and groans. 

“Get on.”

“Wha-”

You’re speechless, only staring onwards as the big, bad Toji Fushiguro crouches in front of you with his shoulders bared. Beefy arms braced behind him, gruff voice calling out- “Get on then, or m’leaving you here to be drenched.”

He was…offering to piggyback you?

Him? 

You huff, mouth opening to reject- when a particularly heavy splash of a raindrop makes you shudder. Fuck, the universe really wasn’t on your side today.

Bracing two hands on top of his deltoids, you could already feel the firmness of his muscles underneath. Legs bracing on either side of his kneeled figure, “Y-you just want me on you.” It’s the only thing you can get out before he’s standing up- and fuck, was it high from where your feet dangled, held up by his steady forearms.

Held up easily.

Toji turns his sharp side profile to you and grins, “Oh yeah? How’d you know, doll?” And you jolt once one of his rovering hands push down where the fabric of your dress was riding up your thighs. “Easy, easy. You’re not so bad when ya aren’t hurling insults my way - almost.” 

“Don’t act like you don’t love it.” It’s hard not to be distracted by the minty scent of his cologne, soft curls of Stygian hair tickling your nose. “You’re not so bad when you’re not a sleaze. This is almost…sweet.”

“Did it hurt ya to say that compliment?”

“Worse than passing a kidney stone.”

“Oh- oh, get a shot of this.” One of the numerous executives calls out once Toji’s bracing you carefully in his arms. “They’re going to eat this up–!”

A brilliant grin breaks across your date’s face, and you already know what he’s thinking. “Would be a lot sweeter if we didn’t have all these damn cameras, huh?” Soft breath striking your features, “Ready- set-”

“-go!”

The last things you’re hearing are the shutters of cameras, and the laughter of the stall owner in your ears. Mingled right with Toji’s rough chuckle- “See-” He’s panting out, legs moving faster, bumping you purposefully on his back so that you’re squealing. “Am your type now, doll?”

You wrap your arms tighter ‘round his flexing shoulders, and tell yourself that the way you burrow into the crook of his neck was because of the pouring rain. “Not at all–!”

And somewhere down your sprint, Toji’s heart stutters.

.

.

.

“Fuh-fuck–” Toji’s murky breath escapes in a pant, and you’re shoving him by his expensive shirt through the double doors of your suite. “You’re fucking feisty.”

“And you’re drenched.” You wrinkle your nose at the way the darkened fabric of his button-up glues to each ridge of his abs, his pecs. It was almost too much, you were almost too close. And you already knew that you’d be watching these episodes in particular once you’re out of this Island.

“Are you sure that you’re not the one-”

“You wish.”

As stars of the show you’d, expectably, been given the best room in the entire inn. Anything for that sweet, sweet juicy content that would have audiences frothing at the mouth - just as the cameramen were right now. 

Right behind you two.

Fighting over each other to get the best shot of Toji leaning over the mahogany woodwork of the entrance, disheveled. The first few buttons of his dress shirt unbuttoned. Slightly dazed. Slightly in disbelief.

“Tha’s about as far as you damn perverts can go.” He’s narrowing his eyes directly at the greedy lenses, palm steady on the doorknob. But those reality show cameras manage to catch the slight hint of a grin on his face. “Goodnight then.”

Taking one, long look at you.

“Because I certainly will be having a good night.”

It happens so fast that you don’t even have the chance to register it - Toji’s rough hand gripping onto one of your wrists. Before he jerks a bicep of his and tugs you inside, letting the door shut behind you two with a resounding slam!

Alone.

Finally alone.

No producers milking your arguments, and no cameras rolling for every single interaction. You’re stuck with only the two of you, and your labored breathing. 

Though, you’re never given the time for it to sink in - not before Toji has your back against the room’s wall, his arms caging your face, meaty thighs pinning down yours. Grin gleaming in the dim lighting, “Easy there, doll.”

“Mmm–” Leaning in, the plush curves of his mouth just lightly graze your own. His sinful scar scraping the outer edges of your lips ever-so-barely-

“Oh- oh, fuck.”

Toji’s feeling your mouth crash into his- and in a singular, split-second he’s addicted. Biting down on the soft insides of his cheek and still managing to let out a throaty groan of displeasure when you instantly break it off.

“No-” He’s gasping, one hand holding onto your throat. Chasing your mouth with a few sloppy kisses that leave your maw stinging, “Come back. Come back come back-”

But you have something else in mind. 

And - peering right up into Toji’s widened eyes - you’re falling to the velvety carpet with a dull thud!

Knees stinging with the friction, your eager fingers fumble with the zipper to his pants, “Don’t get- hah-” Steaming hot breath enough to make your date’s half-hard dick twitch, “-cocky about it-” 

“Pun intended?”

“What- no.” You’re murmuring, hazy pupils locked on the fat bulging outline you could make out between Toji’s legs. Each pulsing throb made the dark patch of precum on his dress pants grow, and you’re biting back a few wads of saliva from adding to it. 

He tuts, lips curling at the ends. “Cat got yer tongue?”

“Tch, no. You’re p-probably not even that…”

“Wanna bet?”

Grouchily, with a thumb pushin’ down the hem of his trousers, Toji tugs down his unbuckled pants. And he’s rendering you speechless. Stunned.

Layers of fabric unveiled just enough for the long, gleaming edge of his shaft to spring up and smack against his stomach. Smearing a wet line of pre that splurges from the end of his cock and all the way down to his balls. 

And he wasn’t just big - he was big.

With a plump, tannish mushroom tip that was trickling out sappy pre, making such a mess between your legs as you imagined what he’d feel like inside of you. The circumference was enough to make you quiver-

“O-oh.”

“What was that?” Toji’s cooing, knowing damn well just how big he really was. “What were ya saying? Something about me being…small, doll?”

And as if to prove his point, he’s holding the thick girth of his cock side-by-side to your face. Memorizing the pretty lil’ way your mouth drops at how much bigger the prolonged length of his shaft was, how he was just so thick.

Before you know it, you’re reaching up to measure him in your own hands. 

With a gulp, you find your palms cradling his bulky hilt n’ struggling to even close. “Fuck.” Squeezing your thighs together, you’re giving his cock an experimental tug. “Fuck, so this is why you’re such an asshole.”

Toji cracks one of his glassy eyelids open, “Wha’s- oh, just like that, doll- what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Because you’re so…big.” It almost tore at your pride to admit he was right. But how could you not when you now had both hands wrapped ‘round Toji’s swollen girth?

When he was polishing off your wrist with a gleaming sheen of his pre, the bulbous crown of his shaft twitching in the air. You’re whispering, purposefully so the gusts of your breath make Toji sensitively bite back whimpers. “Lets you get away with it- ngh-” Your lips pucker forward in a kittenish kiss, tongue gliding along the tender line of his slit. “Let’s you…fuck.” 

But whatever statement you wanted to make doesn’t leave the jumbled mess of your mind.

Because soon enough you’re sheathing Toji’s furious cocktip between your lips and sucking. Like a hot strawberry lollipop, his syrupy precum was coatin’ your mouth and just so thick.

Toji’s hands plastered onto your scalp, he’s holding your gorgeous face upright and thrusting. “Fuck- fuck fuck fuck.” Head throwing back until it hits the aged wallpaper of the room, “Heh- guess I found a new use for this mouth, darlin’- fuck!”

Moaning, your textured taste buds glissade down his throbbing veins and make Toji shiver. And for all that he was babbling away, he was just gone.

“Easy, easy there, girl. Was just hah- just joking.” Padded fingertips jittery on your head, scarred lips trembling as you’re bobbing your head methodically up n’ down, up n’ down, up n’ down. Each piston leaves him stretching out the softened insides of your mouth like he’s branding his rotund tip, “Yer gonna fucking milk me dry, y’know?”

You’re raising a brow as if to say that that was exactly what he wanted. 

Nails clawing down the surface of his pale thighs, “Mmmf- want-” Tongue slipping further down his plumpened shaft, your jaw grinds against the skin near his pelvis. “Want more- want to make you haaah- cum.”

“That fuckin’ eager?” Toji pants, tilting his head from above. Just so hot n’ big it’s like he was melting with every greedy swipe. “Y’know I’m gonna make you cum at least five times more than me, right?”

Rolling your eyes, you’re only tightening your grip on his muscular legs. Letting the bounces of his pistoning hips strike your mouth, thick cock swabbing the insides of your cheek. 

Toji curses as he feels you relax your throat n’ stuff his girth even deeper, length bulging from the sides of your throat with a squelch–! “What? Don’t think I can do it?” Without any warning, without any hesitation, he’s gripping onto the sides of your neck with a free hand and squeezing to feel the veiny cylindrical outline spearing open your maw. Feeling himself through your throat. “Don’t think I can make you cum?”

Slobber streams down the side of your lips and you whine at the zig-zagging pattern his veins were making at the back of your throat. 

“Wait-” His brow quirks up, eyeing your watery peripheries. “Has he ever made you cum, doll?”

You already knew what ‘he’ Toji was referring to. 

Naoya was all for the cameras, and no steamy date night spent between you two had actually ended up as something you might have wanted to brag to your friends. And so you could only dart your eyes away- for but a mere nanosecond before Toji firmly pulls you by your jaw up to stare at him.

To meet his eyes, probin’ for an answer until you could only shake your head.

He barks out in shocked laughter, “No? No?” Confirming, as you’re gesturing an affirmation once more before he’s planting a fat rut into the cushy back of your mouth. “Fuuuuck, never made you cum…”

With the loudest, filthiest noise Toji forces his ravaged, red cock out of your mouth no matter how much you huffed n’ puffed otherwise. 

“Never made you- you-” Constantly repeating, he’s watching as a dollop of precum glitters down the side of your chin and groans. Almost turning his head away, almost wanting to look away because it was just too fucking much. But he couldn’t - he was hypnotized as you’re drinking in the sap of pre he’d left inside your mouth. Breathless, sweating. “Seriously never fucking made a gal like you cum?”

Pouting, you’re shaking your head. “No- I already told you, Toji. Why-”

He leans his head back to look at you through dark lashes, “If it were up to me you’d be cumming until you couldn’t anymore, doll.”

Eyes shuttering, you shiver at the feeling of two calloused palms sliding down your shoulders, sensually. Toji lifts you up like you weigh nothing- and before you know it, he’s carrying you in a few strides across the bedroom to sprawl you out across the satin bedsheets.

Hovering over you, “So-” He breathes out, raspy. 

The corners of Toji’s scarred mouth twitch up into something primal once he’s taking in the sight of you with your back pressed against the bedsprings. Mouth-gaped, blinking. “-lemme show you how a real man fucks.”

“Oh- oh fuck.”

Your dress is torn off with a ruthless rip-rip-riiiip– and so are your flimsy undergarments. Toji’s hooded eyes widen as he’s taking in the translucent sight of your panties, soaked through until he’s making out the shape of your pussy.

Thumbing down the edge of your drivelling slit, “Open wider.” He taps your trembly thighs as you gasp n’ buck off of the creaky mattress. “Wider.”

Hands clasping the backs of your knees to smear yourself open like such a slut, “L-like this?‘

The bed sings in protest once Toji’s shifting himself further down, scrutinizing the precarious position you’re in. “Mm– wiiiider.” Tittering at the way you’re straining to, “C’mon now, no need to be shy.”

You’re mewling, body reacting to the utter shockwaves of Toji’s palm coming down to spank the outer edge of your pussy through your panties. “See?” Fuck- he’s just salivating at just how much wetter you’re growing, dripping straight through the cotton fabric. “She certainly ain’t shy.”

Wincing through a few tears, “Just- sh-shut up and ngh- make me cum then.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And in a split-second, Toji’s barely pulling aside your underwear with a sticky sluuuurp–! Pursing his plump lips to spit vertically between your puffy pussylips, your match can’t help but admire the cute, glistenin’ hole hidden between your folds. 

You’re hearing the last thing he murmurs—“Bon appétit.”

And then he’s pushing and pushing his face right between your legs until Toji damn near suffocates himself. Just a singular swipe of his lengthy tongue, gluing all the way till the rim of your entrance and he groans-

“Fuck.” Sounding out-of-breath, and it wasn’t even from a lack of respiration. He’s simply gaping open his ravenous maw and plastering himself to every inch of your cunt he could reach. “Fuck- fuuuuck.”

Slightly concerned, you’re tugging on the edges of his black bangs. “T-Toji?” Harder, when it doesn’t make him even budge. “Are you-”

“Don’t-” Toji cuts you off, and his thick eyebrows knit like he couldn’t spare the time to even respond. Only clinging onto the sides of your hips so that he can pull you halfway down the bed and stick his slimy mouth even deeper. “What the fuck- you’re so fucking-” Another wad of spit hits you like a bullet, “-sweet.”

And he was addicted.

Simply addicted, it’s almost animalistic the way that Toji’s ridged taste buds were poking n’ prodding between your bloated pussylips.

Honed in on squeezing between your sloppy hole, he’s feeling you clench your cute insides ‘round him and twitches. “Easy- easy now.” Softly, he strokes the side of your waist, “Let your dear Toji get in there-”

“Just shut up and eat me out-” Quivering, you’re pushing down on his head with all your might - and that seems to be the exact force that Toji wants.

To have your knees closing in on his clammy head, hips rutting off of the bedcoils with every wad of spittle that leaks from his lips. “Mmm- feisty.” And just as the curly edge of his tongue slithers between your cunt, Toji’s right thumb drifts upwards to sliiide over your clit. To make you shriiiill out. “C’mon tell me that again. Again.”

“Ngh, f-fuuuck-” You’re throwing your head back, pupils whirling in stupid circles again and again with every swipe of his tongue. “Just sh-shut up and eat me- hck! out.”

With a groan that breaks at the very end of his baritone, he’s bullying his mouth deeper. And you swear that you’re seeing Toji’s powerful hips come down to hump the plush end of the bed, “Shiiiit, yeah. Love it when you boss me ‘round, doll. Now how about telling me how good it feels.”

Good.

So, so good. 

Every stroke of his silvery mouth had you rendered near-speechless, and as a few more solid inches of his muscle eases past your folds you find yourself whining. “Well for that it has to- hah- feel good. Doesn’t it- oh, fuck!”

You’re regretting those words the instant they leave your mouth. 

Because just then Toji’s shattering your sentence with a thorough plunge of his thick tongue, again and again. He’s fucking your poor, dewy insides like he’s rubbin’ them raw, “Wha’s that?” Snickering straight into your cunt at the way your mouth falls open with moans. “Wha’s thaaaat?”

“It’s- hck! it’s just-”

“I-i-it-” Toji guffaws, mockingly. That mean thumb of his pressing down on your clit like a button, just the pressure is enough to make you see stars. Lurching wildly with a yelp as he’s taking the opportunity to swat down where you were the most tender. “Stop runnin’ and put it on my face, dammit.”

“You don’t need to- fuuuck- breathe?” You’re asking, almost incredulously. 

“Not. At. All. Ma’am.”

And he couldn’t get enough - would never be able to get enough when you were so sensitive and reactive like this. 

So it’s with such a sleazy chuckle that Toji’s coiling his second hand around your leg, letting the knobbled tips of his index and middle poke against your wet slope. “But I want you to breathe- to scream, to tell me how hah- fucking good it feels.”

His fingers are just so thick that they can easily pry apart your filthy folds n’ stuff your leaky orifice. The circumferences poking your insides sooo deliciously wide open, the utter stretch is enough to make your eyes roll to the back of your head. 

Letting off a talkative squeeelch that he’s drunkenly nodding along to, “Mhm– yeah. S’good, huh?” Toji’s doubly spreading you wiiiide open with both his tongue n’ his digits, “C’mon, girl, tell me with those other ngh- lips, too. Not just these pretty ones—”

Hiccuping, “You’re so- you’re just so- fuck!”

“That’s it.” Repeating like a mantra, every pump of his barreling fingertips leaves your mind spinning. Your mouth agape, your pussy bein’ spanked constantly. 

Gasping, the crowned edges of Toji’s fingertips curve up into the roof of your cunt. Feeling all over your slimy walls to scour for your g-spot, “That’s it that’s it that’s it-” With a sudden, slamming thrust of his rugged fingers he’s burrowing deeply into your sweetest spot n’ holding it there. “And who’s making you feel this good- who?”

“Y-you- ngh-” Gnawing down on your lower lip like bubblegum, you have to fight to keep your wits about yourself. Riding his handsome face in sloppy drags, “Can you even- handle it, Toji?”

Because you could barely even hear him breathe, hear him pant. Only feeling the lavish velvety of his tongue salivate allll over your snug hole, jackhammering away in bursts in n’ out. “Oh, I don’t need to handle it.”

And in a sultry split-second, your weakened thighs are thrown over his shoulder and used as leverage to drag you down. Manhandling your cunt to smack against his mouth-

“You’re the one fucking falling apart.”

“And y-you’re pussydrunk–!”

“Fuck yeah, I am.” Spitting. Glossing over your swollen pussylips with his drool, he sticks a third digit inside your rubbery entrance and watches as you squirm. 

Toji was pussydrunk all the way to his brain, oversaturated with the sweet heat of your core. Big fingers swabbing along your tenderest spots, his third fingerpad easily latches onto your g-spot. “Fuck yes- yeah, and I wanna hear juuuust how good I make m’girl feel.”

His girl?

“Yeah, my girl.” Shit- did you say that out loud? With heady eyes, he nods - and the vision is sensual enough that it almost has you cumming. “Got a problem with that?”

“N-no- fuck! It feels too good…”

With another three swats coming down on your pussy—smack! smack! smack! Toji has his tongue glued to your clit now, swirlin’ over a tiny ‘T’, then an ‘O’, ‘J’, and finally an ‘I’. Making you sound out every syllable-

If your mouth couldn’t formulate his name, at least your cunt was letting it out in the cutest gushes n’ wads of slick. Dripping down each side of his gluttonous mouth, “Out loud now, can barely even hear you over this pretty pussy.”

“Toj-”

Squeeeelch- “Theeere she goes.” Toji smirks, “See what I mean? You hafta be louder, doll. Say my name.” And he could feel every clench, every zap of tremors running down your spine. “Say my name n’ I’ll let you cum.”

Fuck- he knew you were oh-so-close to your orgasm before even you were.

“I-I’m gonna…” You’re gulping, feeling that familiar twist at the very bottom of your tummy. It was something hot and prickly which set your very teeth on edge, “I think m’close, Toji…”

“Ya think?” His tongue continues all those lewd ministrations, and no matter how much you were rutting and curvin’ your spine - it wouldn’t make him even budge. Not even an inch. “Let me hear it. Who’s making you feel this good?” 

Again and again, he’s spelling out your name until you’re defeated. Until all you can do it speechlessly mouth those very syllables on your own tongue, dappled with a flood of saliva at his twirlin’ patterns. “T-Toji-”

“Louder.”

Faster. Harder.

“Toji-”

Thump thump thump his digits scrape your g-spot, the end of your cervix. He’s leaving a few battered bruises that have you quaking all the way down to your bones, tongue flickering just to tease you out of your mind.

It’s almost like he wants to cut you off. 

And there’s another slap on your pussy, another snicker. “Now how about a-” Fuck- he barely even had the patience, the sanity to pull his glistening features back far enough to speak. “-a ‘Toji, pleeeease—?’”

“F-fuck you.”

Smack!

Just as he punctuates with his relentless tongue, “T, O, J, I- what’s that speeell?”

And suddenly you’re keening, hips lurching off the bed to let his tongue ruin you further than you thought possible. No one had ever bruised your most favorite spots to this extent, made you ever repeat something like a broken- “Toji- ple- oh.”

“Mm– not good enough, how about ‘Toji, pretty please?’”

Soon enough, you swear you’re registering a fourth of his fat fingers reach for the bruised spot of your bundle of nerves. Thumping away like he didn’t care no matter how much his wrist ached, how much his sharp jawline was grinding against your slope. Lips swollen by now- “C’mon now. C’mon- let the fuckin’ cameras hear for all I care.”

You’re shattering, “Toj- ngh- Toji, p-pretty please—!”

And it’s the only thing you can manage, like a constant broken mantra.

Like a prayer again and again in your wailing breathy tone whilst Toji fucked you through your explosive high. And he had his entire face plastered to your gushing cunt like it was stuck with adhesive, tongue swabbin’ all over.

The sizzling ridges of his taste buds were so scalding against the tip-top of your clit. Letting his extensive muscle repeat that T-O-J-I just so you mewl. “Toji- cum—ing- ngh, m’cumming m’cumming.”

“I know.” Rough fingertips strike the side of your pussy’s slope, mouth rovering leisurely between your legs to fuck you with everything he had. With everything he wishes was his long, aching cock. “Mmm, use me. Ride my face with that fuck- pussy like you own it, why don’tcha?”

With a mewl, you’re trying to despite the limpness of your limbs. Hips raising off of the sticky sheets with no rhythm or rhyme, you’re getting yourself off to the nuzzle of Toji’s straight nose bridge against your clit. “I-I am.”

He grumbles, “Not hard enough- where’s my feisty girl?”

“Well- fuuuuck- how do you expect me to- oh.” And you can’t even finish your train of thought before a particularly hard thrash of Toji’s fingers leave you cross-eyed and babbling stupidly. 

Again and again. 

Cumming on his tongue - honestly, if he were any lesser man then he’d be creaming himself just from the sight of you all pretty and shaking like this. 

A pathetic sob escapes your throat as your walls registering the pure stretch of his pummeling digits. Four long fingers tautly pulling your channel to the maximum, precisely ruinin’ your g-spot - it’s like he was trying to make you cry. “Is it- nghh really necessary to have four?”

“Heh-” Purposefully, he’s scissoring two of his rude digits until your pitch reaches a fever point. The pangs of your high leaving you wrung and dry. “Gonna hafta stretch you even wider if you’re gonna even think of taking all of me, darlin’.”

You’re marrying your brows with a stubborn pout, “But I could take all of you.”

“Oh?” Toji perks up in interest, and the grin that stretches his scarred lips is almost feral in nature. “Wanna bet?”

The words sound familiar - but right now you’re way too far gone in your melty mind to even think about recalling from when and where. The only thing you can do is to nod-

“Bet.”

And Toji - oh, mean, mean Toji Fushiguro - dares to swirl out a soppy final swipe of his name on your fluttering hole. Snagging just the end of your pretty entrance in a sweet goodbye, before he puts your soaked panties back in place with a sharp snap!

Grinning—“Anything for you, ma’am.”

It’s just then that Toji takes off his snug shirt of your favorite color - pop! pop! pop! 

And you could feel your mouth unfastening further n’ further with each button tugged free, because oh- you’d seen Toji lounging shirtless ‘round the villa. Fighting against yourself to not look too close lest he caught you staring. 

But seeing him like this was what made your heart race.

Because he was oh-so-naturally chiselled, with such curvaceous pecs that heaved with each pant. Washboard abs glistening with a thin sheen of perspiration, a bead of sweat drips down his temple and down, down, down to his navel. 

Disappearing into the curly black happy trail that decorated his hilt. 

Toji wraps a rough hand around his base and gives a good pump, peeling off the rest of his trousers. Slapping down the tender, veiny underside, “Then I better hear you takin’ it ngh- all like a good fuckin’ girl, yeah?”

“Tch-” You’re leaning up on your elbows to take a better look, watching in awe at how big his girth looked pulsing between your pussylips. “S’not even th-that big- oh, fuck!”

‘Not that big’ your ass.

Toji fits in the large, pinkish circumference of his cock, and it’s just so easy to plug up your tight fuckin’ hole. Just a single taste of that sinful streeeetch and you were babbling with no sound–

“Oh- oh, my-”

“Ngh- f-fuck.”

Your eyes snap wide open, “D-did you just stutter, Toji?” You find yourself exhilarated, and in response Toji’s snapping his hips deeper with such a guttural groaaan. But it’s still not enough to make you forget- “No- ngh, I swear you did.”

“So what?” 

You’d just made the infamous Toji Fushiguro stutter. 

And you swear that Toji’s husky bass had turned strained, had turned broken. “S-so fucking what?” The first few inches of his swollen cock pumps in a few inches and he’s finding himself thrusting- just bare, rapid half-thrusts like he was out of control. “Let’s see how- ngh- articulate you are then, huh?”

“Wh-what do you-”

He slaps a hand down on your crowned scalp, “I said what I said.” Using the force to hold your restless body still and push—“Count.”

There’s another menacing probe of Toji’s swole, reddened tip and you find yourself gasping for air. He was just so thick inside that every tiny buck made you go wild at the feeling of his veins. 

Toes curled, you just looked so cute being fucked dumb underneath him like this. And he can’t help but let out something that sounded like an airy bout of laughter as Toji plows on- “Count. Fucking count f’me, doll.”

You didn’t need to ask what.

“One-” Because he was already filling you up with the winding lines of his veiny cock, with every thorough inch that made you whimper. “Th-three?”

“Awww, s’it really feel that ngh- good?” Toji coos out at your poor answer, hiking up one of his meaty, pale thighs. The change in angle leaves his split-ended tip crashing against the roof of your walls, “M’flattered. We’re only two inches in, darlin’.”

“Two?” You gape.

If this was two then you might as well never see the light of day before you take all of Toji’s proud inches.

At least, that’s what you thought.

Toji himself was rutting away- sloppily, sensually. Every split-second his cock wasn’t fully stuffed inside your heated cunt made him ache, and he’s thumbin’ apart your tight folds to stretch out your hole. “C’moooon— keep counting. D’you need any help?” With false concern, he takes such laaaanguid glides of beating girth. “You could like this oooooone, twooooo, threee, f-” 

“I-I know how to fucking count-”

The scarred edges of his lips curl upwards, “Oh yeah? Then where’s the feisty gal that said she could take it- a- fuuuuck.”

Ruthlessly, you claw your nails down Toji’s broad back, feeling the shifting of his muscles underneath. “What was that?”

He narrows his verdant irises, “Take it all- fuck, stop squeezin’ like that-” It fucking felt like heaven to have his pre-glazed tip mazing in so deep, the very top of his blushing shaft acting like a spotlight that was spearing your walls open. 

Again and again and again. 

The slick-leaking orifice of Toji’s cock stuck near your poor g-spot and left you mewling. Batting your teary lashes up at him in a way you knew would make him twitch deep inside, “But you said you wanted me to take it- all.”

Your moans were pitched so prettily, like his favorite song. And every syllable spilling out of your mouth left Toji grabbing onto your throat and pulling you down like a glorified ragdoll. 

You’re grinning, “And I want it allll, Toji-” Babbling away stupidly- shit, you were so cockdrunk right now. Addicted to the sheer size of him molding your clingy walls, “Can’t help but s-suck it all up.”

“Gonna be the fuckin’ death of me.” Your date groans, utterly wrecked. With a thumb squeezing past your puffy core, he gnaws down on his lip and watches at the sultry way your saccharine cunt was milking his inches. Glistening. Winking as you squeezed for more, more, more. 

And before you can revel in your victory of breaking him, Toji spanks his gleaming palm down on your drivelling slope. Thwack! “Don’t think that e-excuses you from havin’ ta count, sneaky girl.”

Huffing out a whine—“F-fine. Ngh- Five?”

“Six now.”

And he was still going. 

Still mercilessly gliding a few thumping veins down your walls, “Seven-” You’re failing to catch your breath, the stretch was just incredible. Almost as if you could feel the globular mushroom top of him poke into your very lungs. “Eight- nine-”

“Fucking—” There’s a loud, sappy sluuuuurp on the very last mindless rut that Toji’s gifting you with. All the way from the probin’ curve of his tip, to the unruly hair soaked on his base. “-ten.”

Bottoming out.

You weakly mutter, “I t-told you I could take it all.”

It was so much- so much that Toji could easily hover his free hand down on your stomach and feel the cute lil’ tummy bulge he was fucking into you.

The tummy bulge that he was clashing against your cervix with; wet, thudding kisses of his cock on your cervix. “So you did.” He wafts a few digits down on that bump and salivates, “Heh, wanna bet that I can make you squirt, doll?”

“Prove it.”

“S’that a challenge?”

“A threat if you don’t.”

“Ohhh, I’m so scared.” Rudely, Toji’s right hand tightens on your throat to make the top of your head feel all heady. And his slithering left hand roams down to pinch your neglected clit, “Are you scared?”

“I-” The confused response is barely formulating in your throat, before your glazed eyes follow his line of sight n’ find Toji locked in contact with your over-stuffed pussy. 

He was talking to her instead.

And immediately, all the breath vanishes from your lungs just as soon as he’s giving your cervix a good drilling. Pounding you into the bedsprings like he was furious, like he was trying to get your core to squelch out the loudest sexual noises. “Yeah? Yeah, you are?” The fingertips tuggin’ on your clit move down your slit, “S’that why you’re shivering this much?”

You were just trembling- “Just sh-shut up and fuck m- oh.”

“What’s that?” Both you and the experienced bedsprings were shrilling out in unison, and every slip of Toji’s vein-covered shaft made you lose your damn mind. “Care to repeat that for your Toji?”

You gasp, “Fuh-fuck you.”

“I’m fucking you.”

And it’s just so hot, so hypnotic how your velvety walls kept clenching ‘round him. Toji’s spine arches as he’s carving out heart-shaped lil’ bruises all the way at the bottom of your pussy, pump after pump.

He can’t stop himself from sliding his tongue between his teeth n’ trying desperately to stop the thin trail of pussydrunken drool leaving him. “You- you know- s’funny…” From trying to stop those exact words from escaping him. “S’funny I-”

You blink your teary lids and look up at him in a way that makes him shiver- “Toji–?”

And when you say his name like that-

“…I wanted to do this-” It’s all that Toji can get out before the rational part of his brain left forces his right hand to leave off your neck and clap his prattling mouth shut. To fight the way you’re trying to tug it off - unsuccessfully. 

Oh-so-embarrassed right down to the blushing with the tips of his ears that you’re finding him weakened. That you’re finding yourself able to push his muscular body down with a firm shove, flipping you two over.

You arch your ready hips and start riding your date at a frantic pace, slapping the cheeks of your ass down on his pelvis until his skin scorches rouge. “What’s that, Toji–?”

“I’ve always wanted to- fuck-” He swears, eyes drooping down nearly shut as you keep riding him angrily. 

Before you can stop it, one of Toji’s beefy hands shoots out to find purchase back on your neck. Squeezing. Manhandling you to grind down harder on his furiously aching cock, “I’ve always wanted to fuck you. A-always. Ever since I hah- first saw you in the villa, in that pretty lil’ dress.”

You’re reeling with his confession - and by the massage of his abs plastering against your front. Toji was built just perfectly for your body, and every figure-eight of your hips makes his happy trail scratch your clit. “So- so then why did you just- spill a drink and run away-”

“Didn’t know how ta talk to the woman of my dreams.” He admits, dopey smile smearing across his spit-glued lips. “Messed up- accidentally spilled a drink n’ ran out of ngh- mortification. How pathetic is that?”

And through it all, you’re seeing the way the flush at his ears extends to his high cheekbones. 

How…cute. 

Pre slips down in creamy dollops between your thighs and sticks them with each other, Toji’s left hand resting on your hips to guide you. Pussydrunken. Out of control. 

“How I wanted to t-talk to you- to haaaah- feel you-” And then he wasn’t just taking your sloppy pace, he was adding to it. With loooong, slurping strikes of his throbbing cock that meet your cadence, “Wanted to see how you’d moan. How you’d clench- fuck-”

He sounded absolutely crazed.

Mouth falling open with gasps, darkened eyes locked on the pattern of your hips. That very familiar pattern. “Are you-” Tone higher. Baritone shattered. “Are you writing your fucking name?”

“Well, we have been paired up now—” You’re admitting, coyly. “S’mine.”

And the only thing you’re getting is a firm planting of his hand on your ass, letting the slap ring across the room. “Write mine.” If you didn’t know any better, then you’d have said that Toji was pleading. Whimpering. “C’mon- c’mon, my darlin’- write mine?”

Pretending to think, “Only if you ask nicely.”

And just then Toji cracks a smirk-

Barely letting your eyes adjust to the attractive expression on his face before he’s mazing his long cock between your walls. Hitting your g-spot dead-on- “S’this nice enough?” He’s slobbering, feral enough that his candied brain only wants to bash n’ bash his pulpy mushroom tip against your favorite spot. “Fucking- fuck, c’mon now.”

“Toji—” You can only whine his name, struggling to match his needy tempo. 

“That all ya got, girl?”

There’s a heat near your clit where Toji’s scalding fingertips are starting to squeeze once more, urgin’ you onwards. Grunting, “Seriously- c’mon c’mon c’mon-” Faster. Sloppier, the palm stuck to restraining your throat is all he needs to move your body ‘round. 

To have your jerky hips drawing a lecherous ‘T’ - just how he likes it. 

“Oh, fuck!” You’re yelping, feeling those familiar sparks of electricity start to build up down your spine. “Don’t think m’gonna last-” 

Toji’s nodding in satisfaction, “There we go there- now my favorite-” The ‘O’ has his vein-decorated shaft stirrin’ inside of you, every puffy ridge filling up your nooks and crannies. Then comes the ‘J’-

“Toji- Toji, mmm, please.”

Stretching you out so widely agape that your vision splotches with white as soon as he’s finishing off - a pointed, thorough ‘I’ that directly thrashes against the door to your womb. Knocking you around from the inside, carnally. Primally. “Heh- spelt my name, my doll.”

You’re cumming - you’re cumming then, and it hits you so hard that you’re doubling over his swole front. Mouth gawking in awe- “Cum-cumming- ngh- fuck-” 

Drowning in your wave of bliss, your cunt emanates the most sloppy squelches as you fuck back n’ forth. Dragging out each peak of your high down his throbbing length, Toji can only watch in pure hypnotization. 

Mossy eyes shining, mouth parted. 

Mind static, you barely even realize what you’re doing when one of your hands leap forward to clasp Toji’s neck the same way he was holding onto yours. Nails digging into his clammy skin with each crash of his probing cockhead - you purse your pretty lips and spit between his pretty lips.

Toji gasps, maw hanging widely.

And it’s enough to make him cum.

Just from that. 

“You- you made me- fuck!” He slurs out, head dropping back into the pillows once he’s pumping you with stringy wads of cum. 

Thump-thump-thumping all the way to drench the back of your womb, each slip n’ slide of his leaking shaft makes you keen. He’s fucking you through your high just as much as he was pumping you till you were overspilling.

With a whine, you’re resting your head on top of his heaving pecs, letting spit puddle out of you like a hose. 

And at this point, you didn’t know who was more gone - you or Toji. 

Who was splashing his dewy wet sap into you until your pussy formed a cute lil’ ring surrounding his base, feeling the treacly cum drip down his shaft like syrup. “Swear you’re gonna be the death of me-” He’s chanting, beefy arms looping around your waist to crush you to his abs. “Gonna be the- the- oh.”

And it takes Toji only one bat of your teary lashes – one split-second - to flip the two of your exhausted bodies over. Going for a second round. He’s rutting the drenched tufts of his happy trail down on your clit, he’s throwing your legs over your shoulders to bend you down into the sloppiest mating press possible. 

A mating press.

A mating press that has him honing his ivory knots of cum deeper inside you, pinpointing the door to your womb. Again and again until you can only throw your head back and take it- 

“Sh-shit-” You manage out through bawling whimpers, fists tightening on the silken sheets.

Something that Toji doesn’t fail to notice - he quickly intertwines his much-bigger hands with yours. Pinning you down in a way that made your heart race- “M’paired with you now.” He softly huffs, burrowed cock probing with each syllable. “You. Me. So let me- haaaah- let me start over, my darlin’?”

Scarred lips tickle the sides of your temples, and he makes you whine with a thumb poking between your puffy folds. Pushin’ back each stubborn, leaking ounce of cum- 

“So stop wastin’ yer time on bastards who don’t deserve it. Let me choose you. Let me- ngh- romance you. Let me make you happy- oh, fuck, I’d give you the whole entire universe, just say the word.” Toji babbles on, and he doesn’t know whether it’s the heat of your cunt or simply you that’s made him so honest tonight. “Let me be yours?”

“Yes-” Your arms find their way around his neck, pulling him close for a lingering kiss. And the hulking man can’t help but feel his heart skip a beat at the way you two fit - two puzzle pieces, thought long lost. “Toji I- oh.”

Your mouth’s dropping into a perfect, sultry ‘oh!’ exactly as he’s pulling your second high out of you.

Sploshing out in thick, palpable waves of your glistening sap- Toji feels the way your cunt floods his pelvis and grins. “Told you I’d make you squirt.”

But you’re barely even registering that right now, barely even feeling anything but the rapid-fire zaps of pleasure invading your lower half. Peaking with pump after pump of Toji’s swollen cock, pushing you through your euphoria.

Departing slick waves of wispy white cum, he was damn near cumming dry just from the sight of you squirting all over his girth.

Drifting a thumb over to collect the wadded-up froth of white, he’s sloooowly pushing the excess back in.

Your mouth drops open as Toji starts up a lazy, loving pace just to watch his buttery mess of cum seep in n’ out of you.  “I th-think I remember something about you saying I’ll cum five times as much as you.” Toji gapes, and you feel the fatness of his tip twitch. “We’re still on number two, Toji…”

Oh, fuck.

And that makes rough, tough Toji Fushiguro blush. “Fuck.”

With such pliable ease, he leans over and bends you in half - all the way until your capped knees hit your tits, all the way until you burn with the delicious stretch. Full both inside and out, with his weight positioned over you. 

Toji’s mouth humming into your own—“Is it too soon to say the L word already, my doll?”

.

.

.

“They don’t even like each other.”

“I hear production’s been running wild since last night.”

“No, but seriously- I wonder if they made it out alive.”

The restless gossip in the villa had been a constant since you and Toji had left for your impromptu date last night, setting everyone at least slightly on edge for what was to become with the explosive pair.

Even Utahime’s looking at Shoko as the whirlwind of whispers rage on- to which she holds the other’s hand. “It’s okay, no one killed each other. Or got injured. Or argued.”  She pauses, “Scratch that last one. And maybe that second last one, too.”

“Not helping, Sho.”

Hell, even snobby, recently-recoupled Naoya looked displeased. And so was the gorgeous new girl who’d left his sulking self to explore her connections - something about ‘being hung up’ over you.

Who’d have thought?

And it certainly was a morning of surprises, it seems - even for a show like this.

Because whilst your two friends ponder over how they should bug the camera crew for details, and Naoya knocks himself back to his senses, saunters in the center of drama themselves.

You and Toji. Hand-in-hand.

And from your breezy pace on the walkway to the villa, you can hear Utahime squeal— Shoko’s fond eyeroll following not long after. 

“Is it that obvious?” You’re worrying over at Toji, who only raises an amused brow. 

It’d been utter chaos this morning trying to gather your wits while your legs were still sore, and every producer had been gawking as the two of you not-so-guiltily waddled out of your suite.

“My darling, yer covered in bruises, your walk’s more of a limp, your lips are still swollen- and fuckin’ pretty.” He raises your sweetly looped hands, pressing a soft kiss on the back of your palm - just for you, but caught by cameras in every direction that’s meant to leave fans rabid. And a particular unpaired Naoya sour-faced, of course. “And then there’s this.”

Begrudgingly, “Your fault, by the way.” 

“I take full responsibility.” Toji shrugs, faux-nonchalance with the blush dusting his ears. “S’long as you’re mine, my doll.”

“Corny.”

“Cold-hearted.”

“Idiot.”

“Still yours.”

You could take that - you’d both be taking this season’s winning prize, anyways.

A/N. Couldn’t stop thinking of how I’d only go on one of these shows if there was a man like Toji there and here we are-

Plagiarism not authorized.

[himasgod]

Hello!!! If I can make a request..can you do how twst characters preferably Idia, Cater, Azul, and Ace react to reader who has insomnia?

If you can’t then please ignore and have a lovely day!

IDIA, CATER, AZUL AND ACE X READER

Where you, their lover, has insomnia

This has easily been one of my favorite things I've written in a long time. I've taken a couple of days off, and I'm back with the energy to continue with the requests ❤️‍🩹

It’s late. Like, way past any normal person’s bedtime. But your boyfriend, Cater, has a sixth sense.

And tonight, it’s going off.

You’re curled on your bed staring at the ceiling. Your body is tired, but your brain? A swirl of overthinking, static unfinished thoughts that won’t quit.

So when your phone buzzes with a message from Cater, you’re not even surprised.

[Cater]: u up? [Cater]: wait that was dumb, ofc ur up [Cater ]: lemme in 💅

You drag yourself to the door and open it just as Cater’s raising his hand to knock. He grins, already in his comfy white and pastel brown hoodie.

“Hellooo my sleepless babe~” he sing-songs "Is it the stress again? The brain-noise?”

“It just won’t stop.”

He hums sympathetically and climbs onto your bed, tugging you to lie against him. One of his arms wraps around your waist, the other starts gently scratching your scalp.

“Okay, time for the Cater Diamond bedtime treatment. Step one: boyfriend cuddles. Step two: slow breathing. Step three: I scroll soothing TikToks and you rate them until your brain gives up and lets you sleep.”

You giggle softly, already starting to melt. “Is that really gonna work?”

“Duh,” he smirks. “I’m amazing, babe. Have you met me?”

You settle against him, feeling his heartbeat under your cheek. As the jelly video loops, you feel yourself finally relaxing, muscles softening like honey.

“Hey, Cay?” you murmur, half-asleep already. “You don’t have to do all this.”

“I want to,” he whispers, brushing a kiss to your temple. “If my baby can’t sleep, then we’re in it together. Ride or die, remember?”

You don’t reply.

You’re asleep before the next jelly dessert video even starts.

It starts with a knock. One of those tap-tap-tap-tap-tap rhythms that can only mean Ace.

You open the door in your pajamas, rubbing your eyes. “Ace? What are you doing here at—?” You glance at the clock. “—3:17 in the morning?”

He raises a brow, hair messy, arms crossed. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? You’ve been online for like… hours. What’s going on?”

“…Couldn’t sleep,” you admit, stepping aside to let him in the bed with you. “Again.”

“Tch. I knew it,” he mutters, dragging his arm over his face before rolling toward you. “Is it another insomnia night?”

I’m trying. I just can’t shut it off.”

He yawns, then throws the blanket off with exaggerated drama and scoots over to you. “C’mere.”

“What are you doing?”

“Helping, duh.” He settles behind you and wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you snug against his chest. “If your brain won’t shut up, mine’s dumb enough to be immune to overthinking, so I volunteer as tribute”

You snort with a smile as you cuddle with him.

“…Want me to talk to you? I can tell you all the ways Professor Trein is secretly a vampire or list the most annoying things Deuce did today.”

You smile, warmth bubbling in your chest. “Go ahead. Talk.”

He does. About nothing and everything. About school, lunch, dumb card games, how he totally did not almost blow something up in alchemy class.

Your eyes drift closed to the sound of his voice.

Eventually, Ace notices the change in your breathing.

You smile into the pillow, half asleep. “Thanks, Ace.”

“Yeah yeah,” he grumbles, kissing your shoulder real quick like he’s trying to play it cool. “Just remember this when I forget our anniversary or whatever.”

Azul wakes with a start.

His side of the bed is warm. Yours is not.

He blinks blearily into Ramshackle where he slept tonight, where you’re sitting on the couch curled in a blanket, staring out the window.

“…Darling?” his voice is rough with sleep.

You glance back guiltily. “Did I wake you?”

“No,” he lies immediately, pushing his glasses on and padding over to you. “But it is 3:30 in the morning. What’s wrong?”

“I just… couldn’t sleep. Again.”

Azul sits beside you without a word and gently pulls you into his side. His arms are warm. “Was it something specific? Nightmares? Anxiety? Overthinking?”

“All of it, I guess. Or maybe nothing.”

Azul hums thoughtfully. Then he reaches over, picks up your hand, and kisses your knuckles.

“I should’ve noticed, you’ve looked tired for days.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Maybe not, but I am your partner. Which means if something’s stealing your rest, I want to fight it.”

You manage a tired smile. “What, gonna duel my insomnia with a contract?”

He chuckles, soft. “Tempting.”

Then he reaches into his robe pocket (of course he has this ) and pulls out a small glass bottle.

“I knew this could happen… chamomile elixir. No magic—just herbs. Jade swears by it. Drink?”

You accept it and take a sip. Floral, comforting.

“I’ve read that consistency helps with insomnia,” Azul adds as he strokes your back. “Would you… like me to sit with you every night until it passes?”

Your throat tightens.

“…Yeah. I’d really like that.”

He presses a kiss to your temple and settles you against his chest, letting the rhythm of his heartbeat lull you as the night sky glimmers outside.

Your room is dark except for the blue glow of your phone screen. Again.

The time reads 4:08 and sleep is still nowhere to be found. You sigh, burying your face in your pillow.

Then, your phone lights up with a message from Idia.

[Idia ]: you okay? [Idia]: wait wait I know that pause. you’re not sleeping rn, right? [Idia]: brb. incoming nerd bf

You blink, barely having time to sit up before there’s a soft knock on your door. It opens an inch. A pair of glowing hair flames peek in.

“...Hey. Permission to enter the lair of the insomniac princess?”

You crack a small smile. “Granted.”

He creeps in wearing his hoodie, slippers, and carrying a pillow. He kneels by your bed.

“I brought comfort items. And myself. Which is debatable, but I’m here.”

You scoot over and he slides in beside you, awkward for all of two seconds before his arms wrap gently around your shoulders.

He doesn’t say anything more at first. Just holds you. Breathes with you. Lets you melt into the calm stillness.

“Can I… ramble for you?” he asks suddenly. “About useless game lore or my latest coding? I read somewhere that listening to a familiar voice helps people fall asleep.”

You nod silently.

So he talks. Quietly. Just for you. About dungeon boss drops. AI pathing errors. The time Ortho got stuck in a vending machine. He speaks like a soft stream of words, no pressure to respond. Just something to fill the silence.

You’re almost out when he whispers, “I know it’s hard. When your brain won’t let you sleep. But I’m here, okay? Even if I don’t say the right thing.”

You barely manage a “mmhmm” and a hand squeeze.

He holds you tighter.

“...Goodnight, my love.”

[norwayromanoff]

You Were Are Hers pt. 2

NR x lover-turned-enemy!r

Summary: Four months later.

Word count: 1k

Author’s note: I fixed it (I’m physically incapable of ending things badly for Natasha… like give that woman a break. She’s been through enough)

You can read part 1 here

FOUR MONTHS AGO

You pull the trigger and the shot rings out, loud, deafening in a way that isn’t just due to the gunpowder’s ignition. Somehow you managed to take the shot even though your eyes were blurry with tears and devastation, with heartbreak you shouldn’t be feeling.

The bullet burns past Natasha, grazing her cheek, minor blood, no mess. She’s quick to turn in the direction it came from, eyes scanning the horizon. She can’t see you, but she feels you.

You missed. You don’t miss.

Natasha knows what that means. It was a warning, a ‘don’t come after me’. It was a plea.

She never was good at not following her heart when it came to you.

ONE DAY AGO

It takes days, months, of more research, more data analyses, more late nights, but finally, there it is. Mistakes—plural—and they’re not subtle. You’re getting sloppy. Something's wrong.

A security camera picked you up in Lisbon, just a fleeting image but enough. Facial recognition scans were able to match your faceprint as you walked along the street. It looks as though you hadn’t even noticed the camera. Mistake. Camera tracing followed you, showed you getting into a vehicle, not unmarked, license plate in full view, trackable. Mistake.

Hope, tentative and perhaps foolish, flutters in her chest. She doesn’t push it down.

PRESENT DAY

Natasha finds you easily, detects you easily even within the crowd. She can already see the change in you. You’re shaky and on edge, not collected or composed anymore. You look human again. Her breath stutters.

She got on a Quinjet only minutes after locking onto your location, stole a Quinjet, actually. She may be in for a lecture later, but you take precedence, you always have. It would be a seven-hour flight to Lisbon by commercial airplane. Too long. She needs you back, now.

She moves forward, steps cautious, still just watching, taking in your unusual behavior as she begins to tail you. You don’t even notice her following. Mistake, mistake, mistake.

At her call of your name, you stop, stiffening, but you don’t turn around. Not yet. Both her voice and the fact that she caught you off guard make you wary. Your name again, closer this time. When you finally glance at her, she can see your fear at your own negligence, and she’s met with a guarded expression on your face. She never wants you to look at her that way, to view her as a threat, to believe she holds anything other than love. She needs you to understand that she’s nurtured it, even with the distance, more so with the distance, allowed it to grow each day, only ever wanting it to expand and swell and spread within her until she found and could give it to you again.

“Natasha, I’m slipping.” Your voice is trembling. You’re acting skittish. You’re unsure if you should be letting her in, and she can see it in your eyes that you’re debating fleeing. She won’t let you.

One hand reaches out, coming to gently grasp at your wrist, not just as a precaution preventing you from bolting but also securing, trying to offer solace when you need it. You don't have to be alone anymore. Her hand trails up your arm and then pulls you into her by your elbow, firm—it’s decided, you’re coming closer. Her other hand then settles on the small of your back, pushing you forward, pressing you against her body. It’s been so long since she’s really held you.

“What happened?” she asks softly.

“You happened. I couldn’t take the shot. I’ve never hesitated before, but pointing the gun at you just-” you break off, “I’m compromised.”

She hears the critical way you’re talking about yourself, almost derogatory, as if mercy isn’t something to embrace.

“You’re strong. Compassion doesn’t make you weak,” she murmurs.

“No, but sentiment does.”

“You’ve always had emotions when it’s come to me.”

“I don’t know how to turn them off.”

EIGHT YEARS AGO

“I love you, you know.”

It’s spoken into the air. Tranquility around you, and your arm around Natasha. Her head is on your chest, listening to the rhythmic and comforting sound of your heart while your free hand traces patternless shapes on her hip. She thinks she could stay like this forever. It’s hard to want anything else when you’re holding her so delicately, as though her skin, scarred over and roughened, able to withstand bullets, knives, and arrows, can’t handle a little weight from your fingertips.

You didn’t hesitate to say it, to admit that the steady beat she’s listening to is hers.

The room goes still, no tension, no discomfort, but no words follow. There are none. Anything, everything, will fall short. Natasha’s whole world goes still.

You said it first.

You know she feels the same.

PRESENT DAY

You collapse against her.

The sound that comes out of you can only be described as a whimper as you finally, truly give yourself to the woman you love but never let yourself have.

And she holds you like she’s determined to shelter you from the world that has been much too unkind. She touches you like you aren’t tainted by every kill you’ve carried out, and she kisses your temple like you’re worthy of softness despite them all. She murmurs that you’re still a person, and you don’t deserve a permanent target on your back, or to be buried six feet under. She doesn’t just forgive you for all of your wrongdoings, she understands them.

“What do you need from me?”

A teary-eyed smile. “You, just you… and I could use some water.”

“Yeah? I’ll be the one getting it for you from now on.”

[solivagant-1]

⋆˙⟡ Let the Light In ⟡˙ ⋆

Ch 2: Suspicion

Characters: Rumi x fem!reader

A/N: Happy to see so many people interested in the fic thus far!! Have some oblivious Rumi & Zoemira crumbs, as a treat. This one’s longer than the last and that’s starting to become a pattern for future chapters lol. Been trying to change canon to make Rumi & Jinu more BroTP than lovers, which means plenty of new scenes (some my own idea, some inspired by concept art) will be coming soon as well. Enjoy!

Y/N must be a demon.

Rumi mentally pats herself on the back for coming to that conclusion.

“Oh, I brought you a gift as well.” You reach into your purse and fish out a small organza bag filled to the brim with tea packets. “Bobby told me about your voice. These teas have worked wonders for mine when I was sick, I imagine they’ll work the same for you,” you smile innocently. The sight makes Rumi’s stomach do a backflip. Maybe two backflips, even worse. “I’ll be sure to bring you some more during practices so you don’t strain your voice.”

She accepts the bag and studies the packets silently. Chances are they’re better than the “tonics” Dr. Han prescribed to her. Your hands brush from the contact and Rumi fails to suppress a shiver that runs through her. 

“Thank you…” Rumi’s voice trails off when she sees very faint lines poking out under the collar of your fitted shirt. She’s close enough to really see your features, and there’s no denying that it must be your demon patterns. Her eyes narrow, startling you with the sudden change. “Or–or I can take them back! I’m sure I have the receipt somewhere.” 

“That won’t be necessary.” Rumi stated, her voice lacking her usual friendliness. Mira notices the change but doesn’t comment on it. Rumi knows she can’t do anything until she’s sure. And even if she is, there’s nothing she can do with Bobby still here.

Throughout the dinner, she just stares at you. Rumi perked up with every anxious tug on your collar. You tried to ignore it, but her gaze was hard to avoid. The staff needed to refill your water repeatedly because your excessive drinking was doing very little to calm your nerves. You were probably the only person on earth who could upset her in less than 5 minutes of meeting without doing a single thing.

Rumi can’t shake the feeling that she’s seen you before. In battle, no doubt. She can only imagine what grotesque form you have hidden underneath that insanely beautiful human disguise.

You were the first to offer to pay once the check came. Even though Bobby initially wanted to, and all the Huntr/x members were richer than god, a small part of you hoped that doing at least this one thing would help get you off Rumi's shit list for the night. You insisted on leaving with Bobby the second he announced his departure. Rumi gives you one last subtle glare before you leave. Fuck, I’m getting fired for sure. 

Once the two are out of earshot, Rumi turns to the group. “I don’t trust her.”

“But she seems so nice! Bobby was right, she seems perfect.”

Mira raises a brow, “You don’t think she’s good enough?” “I think she’s a demon.” That causes all of them to pause. “Don’t you guys think the timing is weird? A demon boy band shows up out of the blue, and now we have new staff.”

“Well to be fair, Bobby said he really needs some extra hands because of them. She doesn’t seem like a demon…” 

“But look at the Saja Boys! They all appear human, but we know the truth! Underneath their so-called hotness they’re just the same disgusting demons underneath. Y/N is probably the same! She’s like, impossibly pretty.”

Zoey and Mira exchange glances. “I didn’t see any marks…but, we trust your judgement. If she’s really up to something, we’ll get to the bottom of it.” Zoey frowns, “I’ll be so sad if she is. Me and Bobby really like her.”

Rather than working on a new song, the trio began tailing you for a whole half day after practice. Peering around corners with binoculars, dodging behind bystanders whenever you glanced their way. Zoey leaped into a bush. And yet, you seemed completely normal. Not one demon-like quality about you. The whole ordeal left them all tired (and Zoey pulling leaves out of her hair) and one less day spent working on the song. 

“This is hopeless” Mira groans as she flops back onto the couch. “Rumi, are you sure she’s really a demon?”

“She’s too attentive.” Rumi argues, “Y/N seemed so suspicious at rehearsal. She was always writing on her tablet or making secret phone calls. She could be a spy, leaking our choreo and lyrics to the Saja Boys!”

“She's our assistant manager. That's…kind of like her job?” Zoey shrugs, snapping off a twig that had dug its way through the holes in her knit sweater. 

“Now I know I can read people pretty well, but Rumi, you’re a whole different story. How much of the session did you spend looking at Y/N instead of memorizing the routine?”

Okay, maybe she spent a little extra time studying you, but she couldn’t help it. It was in the name of research. She noticed how the back of your tablet is filled with stickers of different aquatic life; ranging from sea lions to orcas to whales and many more. Meaning, you have to be a water demon. In Rumi’s mind, she was just connecting the dots!

Rumi deflects the question. “Then what were those marks I saw…”

“Rumi, don’t you think you’re overthinking this?” Mira asks. “Whatever it was you saw on her could’ve been anything. Maybe a scratch or a medical scar. I’m all for killing demons, but in all fairness, you’ve really never given her a chance.” 

“Maybe she isn’t working with the Saja Boys at all and is just trying to support us?” Zoey adds. “I mean, they may be strong, but even they couldn’t hide their patterns for very long.” Rumi looks pensively between the two. “I’ll…I’ll think about it,” she relents as she retires to her room.

Once she leaves, Mira turns to Zoey. “You think she’s gay panicking?” 

“I’ve never seen a gay more panicked.”

“Right…should we, like, do something?”

“I think it’s best we let her figure it out…”

Rumi closes the door behind her, leaning back against it. She could be wrong. But at the same time, she doesn't want to risk the safety of the group. She sighs disheartenedly, looking out her window for an answer. Instead, she sees…a crow with a hat? 

She tilts her head as she steps onto the balcony. “Is that a bird? Wearing a tiny hat?” The bird shrieks, revealing 2 extra sets of yellow eyes right under the first. 

“What?” The bird walks along the railing in an unbothered fashion towards the end of the balcony. Rumi follows with a gleam of curiosity in her eyes.

From the shadows, a set of bright glowing eyes appear behind her, followed by a low rumbling growl. Rumi gasps, materializing her saingeom to point it at the creature. The feline slowly emerges from the darkness, and Rumi needs a moment to comprehend the sheer size of it. It stalks closer and closer until it knocks down a flowerpot. The tiger brings its massive paw down to position it back up. It fails once. Then twice. On the third attempt, Rumi turns to the bird for an explanation, who only squawks the equivalent of a sigh. Rumi bends down to fix the pot upright. The tiger’s pupils dilate, stepping forward, only to knock it over again. She laughs, the bird tilts its head up and caws once more.

“No. No really, it's okay. Just leave it.” The tiger sits up. “What are you?” Rumi asks in awe. The tiger’s mouth opens and an object spills out from its tongue. Rumi picks up the slimy card. 

“Hello, friend.” It reads on the cover. She opens it to reveal a note written in Korean, “Jinu? Ji–Jinu? Oh, meet you? Ugh,” she scoffs, “I’m not gonna meet you. Who do you think you–” she yelps as the crow flies past her and settles on the tiger’s head. The tiger sinks into the swirling blue pool forming under its body. Its eyes don’t stray from the flowerpot as it vanishes past the Honmoon’s seal. Rumi leans over the railing and sees the tiger re-appear in the streets below. It only casts a brief glance at Rumi before it sets off, no doubt leading her to wherever Jinu is waiting. Rumi smirks, crumbling the note in her hand. “Okay, Jinu. Let’s meet.”

The tiger leads her to an empty shopping district with tiered eaves and stone statues. The area was lit by the soft glow of a few scattered lanterns. Rumi peers around the corner just in time to see the tiger jump into a building, disappearing completely. On the top of a roof, a figure stands with his back towards her. Jinu.

She parkours onto walls and roofs, twirling and spinning mid air until she reaches the top, drawing her blade. Rumi lunges. Her blade slices through his body with a deep battle cry. Its head rolls to the edge, turning out to be only a mannequin with a wig. “What?”

“Wow. I wasn’t expecting a hug, but–” Rumi yells angrily, pointing the tip of her blade to his neck. Jinu backs away with his palms held out, “Jeeze, okay, okay.” He jumps backwards onto the next building, Rumi still swinging. “Calm down, I thought the mannequin was gonna be a fun icebreaker,” he squats down, trying and failing to explain himself to Rumi. “But I see I was wrong.”

They jump onto another building because of Rumi’s relentless swinging. “Hey! I just wanna talk.” “Talk?”

“About your patterns? But first, I wanna talk about those pants,” he points down. “Teddy bears and Choo Choo trains? Really?” Rumi looks at him in disbelief. Jinu whispers a train sound that only serves to piss her off even more. She slams her saingeom down, “You were supposed to be dead!”

“Woah, hey! I could’ve told your friends what you are.” He holds his hands out in defense. Jinu vanishes in a purple mist, appearing on the other side of the roof. “But I didn’t, did I? Because they don’t know.”

Rumi gasps, giving it away. “Ah, I did guess right. A demon girl, also hunter. Hiding, walking around free in the human world.”

“Just hunter, not demon.” “Then how’d you get the patterns?” he points out. “Thats none of your business.” 

“Huh…I know what it feels like to have them.”

“Feel? You’re a demon. Demons don’t feel anything.”

“Is that what you think? That’s all demons do. Feel. Feel our shame, our misery. It’s how Gwi-ma controls us. Do you not hear him in your ear?” Rumi narrows her eyes at the new information. “What are you talking about?”

“Huh, you’re lucky. I’ll never forget the first time I heard him. That was 400 years ago.” He tells his story of his poor family, how Gwi-ma called out to him, gave him his voice, only to be condemned to the demon realm. “Every day since, I’ve been haunted by the memory of failing them. These,” Jinu holds out his glowing hands, “are a constant reminder of my shame. A shame I can never escape.” 

He looks down at Rumi, “Yours are a reminder too, of a shame of your own.”

Rumi’s gaze hardens, “You don’t know me.”

“You know you can tell me. I’ll understand. I’m the only one who can.” Rumi raises her sword to his chest, a signal for him to back off. “I’m nothing like you.”

“Denial, I get it.” Jinu walks backwards to the edge of the roof. “I was there once too. I’ll be here when you’re done pretending. Until next time.”

“There won’t be a next time!” Rumi grits out, raising her sword. Jinu disappears into mist before she can land a strike. She yells at the empty spot in defeat.

When Rumi arrives back home, she tosses her pajamas into a hamper and gets into bed. Now is not the time to think about him, but the fans. The signing event tomorrow will be the perfect distraction. No Saja, no Jinu, just Huntrix and their fans.

—

“The saja boys will sit with us!” 

Maybe it's not too late to pick a better career.

You were assigned mundane tasks before the event. Arranging all the signing materials, ensuring the limo would arrive on time, all simple things to ease Bobby’s workload. You thought you’d be able to just sit back in the sidelines and let Bobby handle the rest. After all, there wouldn’t be much else to do once the event started. But now that the Saja Boys are here, sitting between each idol no less, you’re forced to anxiously mend the chaos unfolding between the two groups. 

First, by finding a way to mask Mira’s reddening face from her growing annoyance as she sits between the pink haired Saja Boys, glaring fiercely at the two, and also at Mystery for whatever reason. You figured you’d start there.

Across the way, Jinu turns to Rumi. “I didn’t think you liked sharing.” “I love sharing.”

“Oh, so you shared your secret to your friends? Should I tell them?”

“No, I’m going to tell them, eventually.” Rumi glances down at the table, seeing you approach Mira from the side. Then looks at Zoey, whose grinning ear to ear while speaking to another fan. 

“Heyy Mira, want some water?” You hold out a bottle. She mutters a small “No thank you” while staring daggers at the back of Mystery’s head. If looks could kill…

“Well, if Mira isn’t thirsty…” Abby’s hand encircles your wrist, trailing it down until he grasps the bottle, “I’m parched, mind if I take this?” He asks with a smug grin.

A few fangirls scream and faint in the crowd which draw the attention of both Zoey and Rumi. Zoey brushes it off, seeing how repulsed you looked at the action and laughing when you snapped your hand back from Abby. But Rumi’s eyes remain fixated on the scene, feeling strangely uneasy at the sight.

“If you’re so confident about stealing our fans,” she whispers to Jinu, “why infiltrate our staff in the first place, then?” His brows furrowed. Rumi cocked her head to your direction, then he finally got the hint, His mouth twisted into a smile. “She is not one of ours, though I wish I thought of that.” Jinu admits, pleased at the way Rumi’s expression shifts into disbelief.

Could she actually be innocent? “And how do I know you’re not lying to me?”

He simply shrugs. The next fan who steals his attention gives Rumi the chance to mull over this revelation. Rumi casts her gaze back to your direction. When your eyes meet, she turns back to the stack of posters in front of her, face flushed a light shade of pink from being caught staring.

“Does she know?” Jinu asks. “Or is she just another person you’re hiding your true self from?”

“Are you whispering?” A fan, a girl with glasses and a bob, smiles between the two. Rumi and Jinu sign the poster quickly before handing it back. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.” She points at her cotton shirt with the words “Rujinu” painted on, along with a very interesting drawing. The two awkwardly laugh as the fan walks towards the other members.

“Thanks for coming~ No! Bad Saja Boy!” Zoey reprimands Mystery with an exasperated sigh after barking at yet another fan. “Y/N?” she calls out. You rush over, “Yeah, Zoey?”

“Do you happen to have a spray bottle?” You blink. What a perfectly reasonable item to have on hand. “...I can find one?” 

“Fantastic–Hey! No more barking.” Zoey swats Mystery’s head with her pen. Dear god these boys.

Rumi signs another poster. “I’m not going to talk to someone who's helping Gwi-ma.”

“I’m helping myself. Look, if I help him, he’s promised he’d erase my memories. And those voices in my head will be gone.” “Pathetic.” “I’m pathetic? You can’t even talk about your patterns.” Rumi crushes his foot with the heel of her boot. 

“Excuse me Mr. Jinu? I made this for you.” A young fan hands him a drawing. “Uh, for me?” He gently takes the drawing from the fan. Rumi looks over to see it, smiling at the image.

“Maybe, listen to those voices, instead of the ones in your head.”

Jinu stares at the drawing for a moment too long. He stands abruptly, gaining the attention of everyone in the room just by the simple action, “Unfortunately the Saja Boys have to run. Thank you everyone.” The fans chant their names, tossing bouquets of roses to each of the Saja Boys before they depart. 

As the event winds down, the group huddles around Bobby, whose eyes are glued to his phone. “The internet loves this, and the internet is never wrong!” 

Mira grabs the phone as Bobby speaks, “Rujinu! That’s genius…Zoeystery, where did they come up with that?”

“Mi-ro-mabby? Ugh.” Zoey’s smile dims for a split second. “You guys look cute together…” Mira clenches the phone tighter.

“Even Y/N is getting attention.” Zoey snatches the phone holds it out towards Rumi.

Rumi stared at the screen. “…what exactly am I looking at?” 

“Everyone’s arguing over what you and Y/N’s ship name would be. But no one knows what to call it since they have no idea what her name is. They must’ve loved how attentive she was. She’s the best!” Rumi silently wonders how all this is even possible. Until she remembers her fanbase—They see a second of eye contact and run with it. She’s pretty sure that’s how the Zoey and Mira allegations started a year ago.

As if on cue, Zoey jogs to the other end of the room to hand you back the spray bottle you lent her. Rumi’s eyes follow. 

Maybe she is wrong. She really hopes she isn’t. Because if she is, Rumi’s got a lot of making up to do.

Taglist: @blazemaster4014 , @ang3lz-lov3 , @rainbowmess823 , @honney-bonny

[zerosixfiveone]

First stream (together)

pairing : Yoo Joonghyuk x Kim Dokja

genre : fluff

Yoo Joonhyuk and his boyfriend stream together for the first time and play games.

Yoo Joonghyuk or better known online as Supreme king has 3.2 million followers on Twitch.

He’s infamous for his cold persona, god-tier skills, and ridiculously good looks. He rarely talks on stream, and when he first did a face reveal, his views exploded. He also has never shown his lover on camera.

When asked, he once confirmed, “Yes, I have a partner,” before adding bluntly,

“They’re mine. Respect our privacy.”

Surprisingly, his fandom listened.

Until today.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Joonhyuk asks from behind the camera.

“No,” Kim dokja says flatly. “But I want to show the world that you belong to me” KIm Dokja stated as he munched on a snack.

The camera clicks on. The chat explodes.

Supremeking is now ONLINE 

[skingkefttoe]: who’s beside him?.?

[demnjudglkfir]:  IS THAT HIS BF???

[usernm234]: IS THIS A DATING STREAM?

Kim Dokja waves at the camera with the lazy confidence of someone who’s used to chaos. “Hi. I’m Kim Dokja. I exist. Sorry”

Joonghyuk’s lips twitch. “No one said you had to talk.”

“Your fans deserve to know how much you sigh in real life.”

——

They start with a casual co-op game. Or rather, Joonghyuk tries to play casually and Dokja spends most of the match throwing grenades at the floor “accidentally.”

“I swear that was a misclick,” Dokja says for the fifth time.

“You threw it. Looked directly at me. And shouted ‘surprise’.”

“Okay, emotionally, it was a misclick.”

[ilovetoeatcereal]: I love u Dokja pls don’t explode

[mod_supreme_mom]: I’ve never seen him talk this much omg

[spkimg]: this is better than a K-drama

——

Thirty minutes in, the stream has broken its viewer record.

At fifty minutes, “#JoongDok” is trending on Twitter.

At the one-hour mark, Joonghyuk is leaning into the mic, calmly saying: “I will ban every single one of you if you clip that.”

The clip in question was Kim Dokja leaning his head on Joonghyuk’s shoulder while munching snacks and whispering “I love you even when you kill me.”

It’s already on TikTok.

——

“We are never streaming together again.”

Kim Dokja grins, curling into his side and kisses his cheek, and says, “I think your fans love me.”

[lostinthenuage]: they’re gross and I need more of them immediately  

[Phaidei]: WHEN’S THE COUPLE COOKING STREAM COMING ?!?

[joongdok_worshipper]: this stream saved my life

After finishing an other round of a game.

Kim Dokja, sitting next to him, lazily drapes an arm over Joonghyuk’s shoulder, his face inching closer.

Without warning, Joonghyuk’s hand slides around Dokja’s waist, pulling him firmly into his lap.

“Eek”

The chat instantly bursts into a wild frenzy

[supremeking_fan1]: OH MY GOD THEY’RE SO CLOSE 

[ieppwo]: NO WAY HE JUST PICKED HIM UP WHAT??

[fluffy_cat]: IS THIS A K-DRAMA OR REAL LIFE?

[mod_supreme_mom]: clears throat The ‘no streaming together again’ threat is clearly a lie.

[spkimg]: I can’t breathe. Send help.

——

Somehow, somehow, Dokja convinces him to do a second game. 

(“Just one game, Hyuk-ah” He can’t say no to his boyfriend, loser)

They play Overcooked 2 while arguing like a married couple.

“Why are you chopping onions when I said we needed tomatoes?”

“I’m manifesting new ingredients,… and I don’t like tomatoes”

“You set the kitchen on fire.”

“I’m passionate.”

“You’re banned from the stove.”

The chat is howling.

[ilovetoeatcereal]: I can’t tell if this is love or a hate crime

[mod_supreme_mom]: They’re fighting and I’ve never been more fed

[livluvzbread]: Dokja is the chaos.

——

In the middle of the stream, their cat, Biyoo, jumps onto Joonghyuk’s lap. He automatically starts petting her without missing a beat in-game.

Dokja watches, then deadpans at the camera. “This is the most affection I’ve seen him give anyone on stream. Including me.”

Joonghyuk replies coolly, “Biyoo doesn’t throw grenades at me.”

“She would if she had thumbs.”

[catwhisperer88]: I STAN BIYOO. GIVE HER A CAM TOO

[blink_gone]: they’re a family. it’s over for me.

[sasanrioo]: we are being FED

——

At the end, as they’re wrapping up, Joonghyuk suddenly turns to Dokja and says into the mic:

“…You’re not bad at games.”

Dokja blinks. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“I take it back.”

“Nope. Too late. Clip that, my dear fans.”

[spkimg]: I CAUGHT THAT IN 1080p BABYYYY

[mod_supreme_mom]: He likes him. He really ikes him.

[sasanrioo]: if this isn’t love, I don’t know what is

——

The stream ends with Dokja blowing a kiss to the chat.

Joonghyuk groans, pulling him off-camera by the hoodie.

The stream has ENDED

here’s a continuation :)

[ayyy-pee]

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 3 - 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒞𝑜𝓃𝓉𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉

Discord 18+ - Twitter - Series Masterlist - Previous Chapter

Pairing: Hotel Heir Satoru Gojo x Club Heiress Female Reader

Genre: Fake Dating/Arranged Marriage AU/Rivals to Lovers

WC: 5.2k

Summary: You meet Satoru for dinner to hear what he has to say. Will you strike a deal with the man you hate the most?

Story Warning: Forced Proximity, Fake Dating, Arranged Marriage, Profantity DUH, Gojo and Reader being fucking bratty and annoying, Slow Burn, Jealousy, Possessive Behavior, Smut Maybe?, No Y/N usage here

Art by: nameissiyo on X

Never in a million years would you have expected you’d be sitting across the dinner table from Satoru Gojo, of all people, but here you are. 

Satoru’s lips are curled in the same cocky smile he’s always had since he was a teenager wreaking havoc at whatever event was thrown and it irritates you the same way it always has. The only difference now is that he’s not wearing it while avoiding business talk, he’s the one initiating it. You’re curious about what exactly he could want to speak to you about. You’re fairly certain it’s about this stupid marriage the two of you are meant to be entering.

You shiver at the unpleasant thought.

“Well?” You question, voice sharper than you meant it to be, but you’re pissed again! You don’t want to marry him. You really can’t stress that enough, but your father isn’t giving you a say in the matter. And the thought that you’ll probably end up sitting across the table from him every night for the rest of your life is so…

There really are no words.

Satoru leans back in his seat and you hate that you can see even more of his perfectly white teeth as his smile widens. “Put the claws away, Princess. I come in peace this time.”

This time…

Because every other time, he’s only ever been a pain in your ass. But if he’s willing to play nice right now, you suppose you can, too.

“I’m sure you’ve spoken with your father.” He begins, shaking his head with annoyance. “I know I’ve spoken to mine.”

“I have…”

“Good…good. Let's talk about this marriage, then.” He lifts two fingers, gesturing air quotes around the word marriage.

Still, your body responds with an eye twitch whenever that word leaves his lips. You wish it didn’t, but it’s almost like an automatic response at this point. You don’t think you could help it even if you tried. But you school your features anyway - like you’ve been trained to do - and nod in agreement.

Satoru laughs, loud and obnoxious, because he absolutely sees through you. You’re just grateful to be alone on the rooftop at this moment so that you can avoid grabbing any unnecessary attention from prying eyes. 

As far as the press knows, you have no public interactions and no relationship with Satoru Gojo. And as much as you’d like to keep it that way, you know it’s only a matter of time before you’re plastered across the front page of every gossip blog. So you’re grateful for the little bit of time alone until the two of you, and your families are able to figure out the next steps in this awkward and uncomfortable situation.

It’s a depressing thought, the union that’s awaiting you. You can’t picture a life tied to Satoru. You don’t want to picture a life by his side. The image of looping your arm with your father’s while Satoru is waiting at the end of a rose petal covered aisle as a harpist plucks the strings of their instrument beautifully gives you a throbbing migraine and makes you nauseous.

To spend the rest of your life tethered to this man means you’ll be stuck in a loveless marriage for the rest of your days.

You’re going to throw up.

The waiter returns - just in time - and sets down an expensive glass of wine which you quickly grab and take a large gulp of. Your finger taps rapidly against the glass, nodding as you set your drink down on the table. “Mmm, this is great. Can I actually get a bottle of this? Please?”

“Of course, ma’am.”

The smug look on Satoru’s face makes your stomach churn again, and you down another mouthful.

“Should I be concerned about all the drinking?” He asks teasingly, head tilting to the side. “Dad didn’t mention you being an alcoholic.”

You sputter into your glass, coughing on the liquid, and you set down your wine with more force than necessary. “E-excuse me? I’m not!”

The nerve of this guy!

Satoru’s eyes narrow, as if he doesn’t believe you, but he doesn’t tease you any further. He simply huffs a tiny laugh before he leans over to the side of his chair. He reaches down, ruffling through what you presume is a bag beside his seat, then slams a stack of papers down on the table.

You feel the crease settle between your brows as you eye at the mountain in front of him. “What’s all this?”

“Ah, we’ll get to that in a second.” He waves his hand in the air, leaning forward to set his elbows on the table, and it takes more effort than you’d like to admit to keep yourself from making a snide comment at the complete lack of table manners.

“Let me ask you something,” Satoru begins. “I’m sure by now you’ve spoken with your dad and know what our families are expecting from us.”

You nod.

“And I’m assuming you feel the exact same way I do about the entire thing?”

“Hmm…Not interested?”

“Exactly.”

This may be the only thing the two of you agree on. For some reason, that gives you just a bit of relief. Very little, but it’s something. 

“Look, I’m not any happier about this arrangement than you are.” There’s no joking tone behind Satoru’s words now. No teasing lilt. No pun to follow. This is the most serious you’ve ever seen him. “I don’t wanna be married to you any more than I’m sure you wanna be married to me…” He trails off for a second, pausing to assess your reaction. And he’s met with a deadpan look, the confirmation he needed to be sure that you are truly not interested loud and clear in your eyes. He proceeds. “I really couldn’t give a shit about the whole merger if I’m being honest. But dad will kill me if I fuck this up for him, and this time I believe he’ll actually kill me. I think this whole thing will be beneficial to us both in the long run, though. So, I think I have a proposition that may work here. ”

So this is business. You get it. Satoru is meant to take over his family’s entire company one day. You imagine he’s under immense pressure every day of his life because of this. Which is all the more reason why you find Satoru so insufferable. His father is practically handing him the role of owner and CEO of a company started by and kept within his family for over a century. And yet, he has gone out of his way time and time again to try and ruin that.

You? Up until now, your dad had never tried to pressure you too much to do anything for the company aside from show up to events and be the pretty face to represent him in his absence. There are no decisions coming from you, no input taken from you. You’re simply a warm body that may as well have Club Echo stamped on the center of your forehead. 

The moment you’re spotted at an event in place of your dad, you’re immediately swarmed by smarmy businessmen who only see you as some sort of gateway to your father. 

It never works out for them because you were raised for this, and despite the short skirts and high heels that make those sexist old pigs think you’re some sort of easy bimbo, you’re a lot smarter than you look. You can’t really blame them, you suppose. The tabloids don’t help with the way they make you out to be some party girl with no goals or actual aspirations in life, and maybe that’s what your father believes to an extent as well. You don’t put your brains to work, opting for partying rather than board meetings. But why would you subject yourself to that when you have the freedom of seeing things firsthand? 

Besides, a little more digging, and maybe a little more interest in you in general, and your father would know that you’re far more interested in the business side of things than you let on.

Your father hasn’t stepped foot in a Club Echo location since you were a child. You, however…You’re in these clubs almost nightly seeing what works and what doesn’t. 

The promotional bottle not selling the night you’re there? Of course you’d advise to swap it out for something much better, and maybe even go take a round of shots with whoever orders one. Tables not booked for the night? It’s no problem for you to invite one of your celebrity friends out - with the promise of free drinks - and have the official social media account for the location post photos of them showing up. The place is packed, and the problem is solved.

You actually do plenty behind the scenes, and you enjoy it. But, your father doesn’t know any of this. And it’s likely he wouldn’t believe you if you told him.

If things were up to you, your father would have given you the opportunity to show that you could do more, bring more to the table, show him what you’re made of many years ago. He would have trusted you to be more than his substitute secretary. All those years of sitting in on company meetings, being brought up and trained to eat, sleep and breathe corporate talk only for your father to never ask you to do anything that mattered. Only for him to shut you down when you asked to do more.

Maybe it’s your own fault, actually. You didn’t exactly leave a good impression with those in the upper class after your mishap with Satoru all those years ago. That definitely contributed to your father’s lack of trust in you. Not to mention, you’ve done and still do a lot of stupid things, make a lot of impulsive and dumb decisions. 

And perhaps all of those decisions were your own way of punishing your father. And now he’s turning the tables and punishing you, making you actually prove yourself to show him that you deserve a seat at the table.

You should be ecstatic. Isn’t this what you wanted? The chance to prove yourself, to be trusted enough to do more?

Well, not in this way, but it may be the only chance you’re given. So you decide to hear Satoru out.

“Okay?” Your voice comes out quietly, hesitantly. And Satoru pushes the pile of pages over to you. Your eyes scan the top of the paper, brows rising in surprise.

Marriage Contract

The fat letters stand out, and you glance back up at Satoru to find the corners of his lips curled upwards. His stupid grin sends shivers down your spine, so you avert your gaze back to the paper, reading the first sentence aloud.

“This Marriage Contract is made this (month) day of (day), (year), between Gojo Satoru ("First Party") and ____ ("Second Party").”

Your eyes find Satoru’s again when you meet his steady gaze.

“A marriage contract?” You muse. “Like…a prenup?” You thumb through the pages, skimming.

Satoru shakes his head. “Nope, not at all. That’ll be a separate thing between us and our lawyers.” He grimaces when he adds on with a dramatic eye roll, “And probably our fathers.”

You mirror the gesture, because you already know that conversation will be as annoying as your current one. “A contract between just us.” The words feel heavy on your tongue. You’re striking a business deal here, all on your own. It’s an intimidating feeling.

“Right. Listen,” Satoru leans back in his seat, running his fingers through his hair. “No offense, but I have no interest in you being my wife. Not seriously, at least.”

You scoff. “Likewise.”

“Well, yeah. I don’t want to be your wife either,” Satoru jokes, but again, he’s met with a deadpan stare from you when it lands flat. “Anywayyyy”, he sings. “I like my freedom. I don’t really love the idea of someone tying me down so I can’t enjoy the fruits of my family's labor.”

“Agreed.”

“Great. Then, I think this contract will be a good way to set some ground rules, make our parents happy and still allow us to actually enjoy married life.”

Your whole face contorts in a way that Satoru’s eyes widen. “Wait, I mean – not enjoying married life together! Just in general!” He stammers, lifting his hands and waving them a little frantically in front of him. “Basically, we’ll be married only for show. We show up to the big parties together as a united front, hold hands and smile, flash our wedding rings and go. The moment we’re behind closed doors, you’re free to do your own thing and I’m free to do mine.”

It’s hard to keep your lips from twisting into a frown as understanding settles in. A lifetime of maintaining a facade essentially. That’s what he’s proposing to you, all that he can offer that will make this arrangement somewhat enjoyable. Not that you’re particularly interested in loving Satoru, but the notion of spending your life pretending to love the person you’re married to is so depressing.

Your fingers dig into your temples, rubbing tight circles. “This is annoying. I can’t believe this is going to be the rest of my life.”

Satoru chuckles. “If all goes according to plan, it’ll just be for a year. Two max.”

You pause your motions, glancing across the table where the corners of your new potential business partner’s mouth quirks up. “Huh?”

“It’s simple,” Satoru claims. “We play along with our father’s plan and go through with all this. The first year will probably be wedding planning or whatever. I’ll leave that to you.” He points in your direction lazily, because he couldn’t give a shit about any of that. “We’ll have the big lavish wedding, the white gown and honeymoon. We’ll let them invite every media outlet too…really play up the happy husband and wife schtick until the merger goes through.”

You’re following him so far.

“That’s probably year one,” Satoru continues. “Year two, we’ll start dropping little hints that we’re not happy. Maybe make a couple of appearances solo, then announce that it just…didn’t work out between us.” He shrugs as though it really is that simple. 

You guess if you had to admire one thing - and you truly mean one thing - about Satoru, it was how little he cared about things. You wish you didn’t care so much about what others thought about you. Maybe then you wouldn’t be in this predicament. Maybe it really would be as simple as Satoru makes it seem.

“You and I both get off without a scratch on us. Everything works out for us both in the end. My parents are off my back. Your dad is off yours, and they both get what they want. It’s a win-win to me! What do you think?” Satoru completes his proposal, leaning back in his seat, confident as ever as he picks at his fingernails.

Disgusting. 

Your head throbs again. You can’t trust this guy as far as you can throw him, and you know that’s not far. The man’s like ten feet taller than you even with your highest heels on! But what choice do you have in the matter? You have to do this. 

“Okay? So the contract –”

“More like a set of rules between us,” Satoru elaborates. “Just to make sure we don’t step on each other’s toes.”

A dry chuckle pushes past your lips. “Yeah because you’re so good at not stepping on my toes,” you grumble under your breath. 

Across the table, Satoru bursts into a fit of giggles. “Are we still on this? You know…my hair still doesn’t grow back right in that spot.” He pouts, fluttering his snowy white lashes in your direction like that has any effect on you.

“Good.” 

Your eyes travel back down to the stack of papers, fingers grazing over the ink. You don’t know what’s in here, but it may be what makes this arrangement just a bit more bearable for you. Might as well look it over.

“Feel free to go through it. Make amendments. Whatever you want,” Satoru offers.

It’s perfect timing that the waiter returns with your bottle of wine. They pop it open, filling your glass again before setting the bottle down. You both thank them, letting them know that no food would be ordered, and that you’d like to be left alone for the next hour.

“No funny business,” you demand, eyes narrowed at Satoru when the waiter takes their leave again. You mean it to come out more as a question, but the rise of your partner’s brows lets you know he’s aware you’re not fucking around with this. 

And then his head falls back, a loud laugh bursting from his chest. He’s enjoying this far too much for someone who has everything on the line here, just like you.

“None at all, Princess.” You ignore the pet name he’s used to address you since you were teens, rolling your eyes. It’s a promise that you’re not sure he’ll be able to keep. But again, you just have to trust him.

“You have a deal,” you finally agree. 

He leans forward, his elbows resting on the table, and you can’t help but to sneer in disgust at his clear lack of manners. How could someone raised in high society, the same as you, act in such a way? You wish you could wipe that cheshire cat-like smirk off of his face, but you keep it cordial. You can’t enter into this with bad blood already on your hands. This arrangement will benefit you both at the end of the day. You just have to remember that.

‘One year,’ you tell yourself. ‘Two tops, and you never have to see this man again. This will be easy.’

He reaches into his shirt pocket, pulling out an obnoxiously expensive pen, the signature Gojo Hospitality name written in a fancy gold font along the body. He sets it down in front of you, on top of the stack of papers you’ve spent the last two hours tearing apart meticulously, marking out anything you don’t agree with. He’d nagged endlessly about how long this was taking, like he had anywhere more important to get to. 

You’re sure he took you for some bimbo ready to jump at the chance to marry the only son and heir to the Gojo fortune. But you’re not an idiot. You’re an heiress yourself, so he doesn’t impress you. And your father raised you to know that when entering a contract, it’s important to read the fine print. It’s important to find any loopholes, anything that can screw you in the end, anything that can make your life hell on the off chance things don’t work out. Make sure you’ve crossed all your t’s and dotted all your i’s.

But you don’t see any here, you don’t think. So you reach forward, taking his pen in hand.

“On the dotted line, then,” he instructs. “Sign away…future Mrs. Gojo.”

“...Let's go through the contract first.” You take Satoru’s pen, flipping the page. 

- - - - - - - - -

Recitals:

The Parties, intending to enter into a lawful union under no choice of their own, wish to define and govern their rights and duties both during and potentially after their marriage. Neither party intends to define this marriage as true. This contract is made to ensure clarity, fairness, and mutual respect across all aspects of their shared life.

Agreement:

1. Introduction and Purpose

This document sets forth an agreement that reflects our commitment, understanding, and intentions towards our faux marriage and each other, laying the groundwork for our shared life and how we choose to manage it, both publicly and privately.

Okay. Simple enough.

2. Mutual Respect 

Both Parties agree that in order to maintain the image of a peaceful and happy union to the outside world, they will treat each other with mutual respect and support throughout the course of this faux marriage. This includes the following:

Prioritizing family and business events over personal activities.

Providing emotional support for one another.

Maintaining complete and total honesty with each other.

Respecting the other party’s need for time either alone, with partner(s) or time spent pursuing personal interests and hobbies.

This section ensures that both parties are committed to maintaining a positive and supportive relationship based on mutual respect.Your gaze hovers on that last line.

“Hold on. With partners? Plural?” You question, dragging your pen along the second point and scratching it out dramatically. There’s no need for either you or Satoru to be providing emotional support to one another. That’s what friends – and your therapists – are for, and you are neither. Satoru hums, leaning forward to see where you’ve paused. “Hmm? Oh. Well, I mean. Like I said…you’ll have your own life and I’ll have mine. If you want to see someone, or you’re already seeing someone–” he trails off, eyes assessing you, and you raise a questioning brow. If he’s waiting for you to confirm whether or not you have someone else you may be romantically involved with, he’s out of luck. That’s none of his business.

He sighs, squeezing his eyes shut before he presses his thumb hard to the crease forming between his eyebrows and massaging. “Listen. It’s what? Point three?” He opens one eye and peeks down at the paper, bringing a finger down to the line he’s referring to. 

Maintaining complete and total honesty with each other.

“If you’re seeing someone else, I’ll need to know. It doesn’t have to be today, but definitely before we proceed with anything. Not because I’m the jealous type or whatever, but because we’ll need to make this marriage work around all that.”

“And you?”

“Same for me. If I’m seeing someone, you’ll know. Just make sure not to get pissed about it.” Satoru winks, and you try not to gag.

But, this makes sense to you. The two of you won’t actually be romantically or physically involved, which means you’ll be free to do whatever with whoever.

So you nod, understanding.

3. Relocation Agreement

Both parties agree to cohabitate in the same home until the completion of the merger between Gojo Hospitality and Club Echo and all marital obligations are fulfilled.

This one makes your head hurt, but you unfortunately can’t do anything about it.

“I have a high rise apartment in the city with plenty of space,” Satoru boasts, as if you don’t have one yourself. “It’s huge. We’ll probably never even see each other.”

It does little to quell the pain, but it’s something. You move forward.

4. Management of Financial ResourcesBoth Parties agree to share financial responsibilities in a manner that reflects their mutual understanding and financial stability. This includes:

Joint Expenses: Both parties will contribute to household expenses such as rent/mortgage, utilities, groceries, and other shared financial obligations.

You eye Satoru at this point. “Joint expenses?” He waves his hand, like it doesn’t matter. “Our lawyers will set that up, but it’s for show. You know…united front and all that shit. I don’t need your money, but I do need your bank on that account as Mrs. Gojo.” That makes sense to you, you suppose. As fucked up as it is, your fathers are businessmen. They want to see where their money is going and likely keep track of both of your finances. It would be a little suspicious to both of your fathers if you paid separate bills in a home you share.

5. Fidelity and Trust (Not Finance Related)

‘Seriously?’ He’s really talking about fidelity right after saying you both were free to see other people? The Parties commit to understanding that both parties are free to maintain extramarital relationships with others throughout the duration of their faux marriage. They understand that trust is the foundation of their relationship and agree to maintain honesty and transparency in all aspects of their lives.

The Parties agree to be honest and transparent of their whereabouts and who they are with at all times. 

Extramarital partners are not to attend events where The Parties are expected to attend as a union.

Extramarital partners are not under any circumstances allowed to sleep over in the unit shared by the married party.

The Parties agree to not let personal feelings interfere with this agreement (i.e. jealousy)

6. Physical Intimacy

You might throw up.

The Parties agree that any and all physical intimacy will be restricted to public appearances. No physical intimacy may take place outside of this.

Physical intimacy includes the following:

Hand holding

Kisses to the cheeks, hands (knuckles), lips (only when required)

A hand to the waist, small of back, arms

The thought of Satoru’s hands on you makes you recoil. You hear him snickering loudly when you set your pen down and reach for your drink. You swallow a large swig of your wine, then scribble in an addition to the list.

Hugging

His laughs stop just then. He squints, reading your chicken scratch that you’d hurriedly written in. “Hugs?”

His eyes are practically glowing with amusement, and you hide your burning cheeks behind another rather large sip of your beverage.

“Didn’t take you for the loving embrace type.” He’s beaming like he’s excited because just discovered something completely new about you. And you suppose that to him, it is new.

You set your glass down, ignoring the way Satoru is watching you a little more intently now and opting to resume your review of the rules. “I only hug people I like.” It’s supposed to come out pointed, but there’s an embarrassing tremble to your voice now. You feel like an idiot telling Satoru this. “And my dad would be suspicious if I didn’t hug you. I’m…” you swallow the bitter taste forming on your tongue. “I’m pretty affectionate when I’m in a relationship.”

His slender fingers skim along his jawline, eyes watching you as though you’ve grown an extra head.

“Noted,” is thankfully all he says.

7. Public Appearances

The Parties agree to attend any and all necessary events that could contribute to maintain the appearance of a happy marriage.

8. Employment and Career Support

Each party commits to supporting the other's employment and career aspirations, understanding that sacrifices and compromises may be necessary for mutual growth and long-term future.

9. Child Rearing

‘Child what?!’ Your eyes nearly pop out of your head. You read on.

The Party agrees to avoid becoming impregnated by their extramarital partner for the duration of the faux marriage.

He can’t be referring to you. 

You tap your pen on the first point, a rhythmic drumming of annoyance filling the space between you and Satoru. Your nose crinkles when you speak, “Why exactly am I the only one referenced here?”

Satoru eyes where your pen points. Then he shrugs after reading. “I’m always careful. I don’t know about you, though.”

Your mouth falls open with a scandalized squeak. “Excuse you! I’m not just going around spreading my legs without protection. If anything, with the way you get around, this should be directed towards you and you alone!”

This amuses Satoru, his already brightly bright eyes filling to the brim with mirth. “Aww, Princess. You’re already keeping tabs on me? And acting like a jealous wife?” He smacks his lips disapprovingly. “Already breaking rule number 5.”

“As if I’d ever be jealous of anyone who hates themself enough to sleep with you.” You quickly cross out the old point, replacing it with a revised version.

The Party agrees to avoid becoming impregnated by their extramarital partner for the duration of the faux marriage.

The Party agrees to avoid conceiving children with their extramarital partner(s) for the duration of this faux marriage.

In the event that a pregnancy occurs through either party, this contract is null and void.

“Feel better now?” Satoru breathes. His arm is propped on the table again, chin resting in his palm as he studies you.

You ignore him, moving on to the rest of the contract.

10. Conflict Resolution

The Parties commit to resolving disagreements through constructive communication, counseling, or other resolutions.

The Parties will not resort to hair-pulling to get their point across.

This makes you giggle. That bald spot must haunt Satoru in his sleep. That brings you so much joy.

11. Amendment Process

This contract can be amended only if there is mutual agreement from both parties. 

12. Provisions for Marriage Dissolution

If any of these rules are broken or violated by either party, the non-offending party has the right to end this contract at any point in time.

This contract ends once the post-marriage merger and any business pertaining to the merger has been completed.

This Contract represents a full and complete understanding between the Parties regarding their faux marriage.

First Party Signature: Gojo Satoru

Second Party Signature: _____________________________

Satoru’s name is already scribbled on the dotted line in the messiest form of cursive you’ve ever seen. Maybe it should worry you that he’s fully committed to whatever was in this contract both before and after your review and amendments, but you’re not. He seems open to working with you on this, because this contract benefits him as well.

In the end, outside of legally being a Gojo and maybe becoming more involved with the business, nothing will change for you. And that is what is most important.

It’s just an outline. A little set of rules meant for you both to follow so you don’t piss each other off. You think with this in place, things will go a lot more smoothly for you.

Your future has already been decided, but it doesn’t mean that it has to be the future you choose to stick with. This marriage…it’s just a means to an end for the two of you. In a year or two, you’ll be sitting across from Satoru very similarly to how you are now. Except you’ll be going over the divorce papers that you two had always planned on signing.

This contract Satoru has thrown together reads as honest and open. There are no ulterior motives, no outlandish requests. It’s truly just Satoru being honest about what this marriage will mean to him. Open about what he’s needing from you, what he’s willing to give you and where this is going. And when you find Satoru’s gaze already fixed on you, a carefree grin sitting on his lips, you think he looks like he will be very much the same in this marriage. 

You don’t know what your future will hold once you and Satoru are wed. Hell, you don’t know what your future holds tomorrow once word gets back to your families that you’ve both agreed on the union.

And despite the rapid hammering of your heart behind your ribcage, the clamminess forming in your palms that makes your grip on the pen slip, the way your brain is screaming for you not to do this…

You sign on the dotted line.

[mwphisto]

LaDs: You have a High Libido

~ inspired by an anon’s ask!

~ all love interests included

Warning, this post contains: smut, 18+ content, mentions of sex, sweat, cum, bodily fluids, you get the idea.

Xavier

⭐️He is thrilled actually, because so does he

⭐️Don’t let the sleepy tendencies fool you, Xavier is ready to go whenever (and wherever) you are

⭐️You can push him past his limits, even out do him in the horny department, and he’ll still attempt to keep up

“Again?” You’re both breathless, cheeks red and bodies sweaty. The room reeks of sex and sweat, with the comforting mix of your perfume and his cologne. The sheets are damp with your combined fluids, a variety of them for that matter. Sweat, drool, cum… definitely a wash day tomorrow! “Yes, please. I still need you Xavier.” You’ve cum so many times you’ve lost count, poor cunt so puffy that it’s a miracle you can even feel anything down there. Still, it’s aching, throbbing with need, you need him again. “Sure, baby.” And he’s on you, a worn out smile on his lips as he showers your heated skin in wet kisses. You can — and will — go until sunrise

Rafayel

🎨Rafayel’s libido on a normal day is pretty decent, he’s down whenever you are and that’s… often

🎨It takes him some time to build his stamina… unless it’s ebb day. Lemurian heat cycles are something else.

🎨He breaks before you do, but all it takes is the off hand comment of “I’ll finish myself” and he’s ready to go

“You’re tired, Raf. I’ll just go take care of—“ tired be damned, he’s hauling his sweat slicked body up and pushing you down again. “I won’t stop until you’re satisfied.” His cheeks are a permanent crimson, pupils blown wide. Even if he is exhausted, his cock is still twitching at the sight of your ruined cunt. So much cum, arousal, all just leaking down your thighs. You’ve been going at it for two hours at this point, nonstop, barely a break between each round. Even if you didn’t mean too, you’re slowly training your lover to have a libido as high as yours. “It’s okay, re-really I can—shit!” He stops all complaints by shoving himself inside, one easy, slipper go. “I’m. Not. Stopping. Until you are satisfied, cutie.”

Zayne

🩺Zayne doesn’t quite know what to do with himself at first. He’s a tad bit overwhelmed by your high libido.

🩺Give him a little time, he’ll get used to it, and slowly realize his libido is pretty high up there too… just takes a couple weeks of separation and he’s ravenous

🩺Zayne controls the situation by edging you both, keeping the game going until you’re both exhausted

“Can’t cum yet, darling. Gotta hold it in.” It’s been an hour… maybe two? Possibly three. You’re not sure, nor do you care. You have Zayne wrapped around your finger… well maybe he had you wrapped around his finger but still. “P-please, Zayne! You’ve ruined it like…shit I can’t remember… seven times? Probably more…” what’s worse than being completely denied is having your orgasm ruined. He’s brought you to the edge, pushed you over, and then stood back and watched it fizzle out. Completely unsatisfying, your poor cunt twitching for more, a real one at that. “You’re doing so good for me though, the reward will be so good if you just…” a gentle motion with his fingers and you’re jerking into him. “…wait.”

Sylus

🍒He didn’t realize that your… eagerness could rub off on him so easily… or maybe he’s always been this way.

🍒Your high libido is damn near torture, considering you’re in Linkon and he’s in the N109 Zone… you’re always tied up with work, he’s always away for business…

🍒Even then, Sylus does try and make it so your time together isn’t entirely… sex. Doesn’t it always work? No.

“I swear all we do is fuck when we see eachother…” you’re giggling as you say it, laying on top of him, chest to chest. His slowly softening cock is begin to slip out of you, the copious amounts of release following. “Because it is all we do… you’re insatiable.” Sweaty and flushed, but still smug, Sylus is twirling your hair around his fingers. “Hey!” A smack lands on his sweaty shoulder and he’s laughing. “You’re one to talk, mister.” But Sylus isn’t letting you live it down that easily. “You made me this way… nothing but a greedy soul.” And just like that, you can feel him hardening again. He studies your expression, tear stained cheeks and flushed skin. So beautiful, even as your lips part in a little “o” as he fills you up.

Caleb

🪐You thought your libido was high… till Caleb finally stopped holding his feelings back

🪐He is on cloud nine when he finds out you’re just as horny as he is 24/7

🪐He’ll travel to and from Linkon if it means getting that pussy for the night. You have zero complaints either, other than maybe the fact that you wished he didn’t live so far

“You’re going to miss… miss…. Caleb!” His hips pound into you, every time you attempt to remind him about missing his train back to Skyhaven he just thrusts harder. “Such a weird way to say that I’m fucking you so damn good, I think a thank you is in order.” He’s nearly in your stomach and he has the audacity to be sassy. You give up on trying to remind him, as if you wouldn’t call off work the next day just to keep him tied down to your bed, balls deep like you had been so boldly begging him for over text a few hours earlier. You’re going to get a noise complaint, maybe even a notice from the city since you have your windows open. The room reeked of sex after all, you needed something to clear your fogged up heads.

[dotpointping]

I think we all agree sex with Phainon would just be feral as hell. He is an awful combination of down bad and emotionally repressed. Give him an inch and he’ll go a mile. The moment you let him into your bed, you are NOT leaving until he’s filled you with his spend. But the best worst part is that every time you think he’s finished, he gets himself going again by watching all his cum leak out of your used hole.

“Just one more,” he tells his, ignoring your whines and pulling your hips back, “one more, I promise.”

Phainon is a liar. One more means one more hour. One more means one more day. He has more than enough stamina and if you so much as indicate you want to be fucked stupid… well, who is he to deny your wishes? That is what he lives for, no?

Against the wall, your personal bath, your dresser, even the balcony is not safe. Speaking of which, you’re starting to think Phainon gets off on doing it outside. One of his hands is always gagged around your mouth, hushing you and telling you you’re being too loud and to quiet down, unless you want to be caught. He says all this, all the while his other hand is ruthlessly pressed against your clit, rubbing small firm circles around your sensitive bud, ramming his hips against yours and angling himself against that soft, spongy spot deep inside that he knows makes your head feel light and stars dangle in your eyes.

Phainon is the type to pull strings and use everything in his power to clear his schedule if it means he can spend a whole day just fucking you. Whether or not you’re conscious for that entire session is entirely dependent on how well prepared you are for him. He’ll coo at you during sex, ask if you’re too tired and if you want to rest. It’s so condescending and he laughs when you nod yes, just to keep going like you aren’t about to pass out underneath him.

“Come on, love, I’m almost done… just keep it up, you’re doing so, so well for me…”

Phainon would go until he shoots blanks. You may think you’re safe by then, but you aren’t. He nestles his head around your legs, kissing your sensitive thighs and nipping the skin lightly, coaxing you down from your last high. It’s the first kiss to your overstimulated cunt that you realize what he intends to do. You can push him away all you like, but he intends to feast on you while he still can.

Mydei, on the other hand, I feel you have to coax into bed. You can drop all the hints in the world, trail your hand up and down his chest, tease the hem of his pants, tell him your dirtiest fucking desires for him and he’ll still tell you no (but you can best bet you’re the reason he starts praying to every god in Amphoreus. Cerces, bless him to keep sound of mind and withstand the urges of pouncing you. He is reason, he is reason, he is reason—) The only real effective way to get him to fuck you the first time is by inviting him to your room and then stripping yourself bare. Even then, you STILL have to talk him into it.

Mydei is a gentle lover. He’s aware of his size and stature and how easily he can hurt you. His hands have committed more atrocities than he can count. They have torn the heads of his enemies, crushed bone and flesh, and spilled blood countless times. He doesn’t want to hurt you. Goodness no. He’d never forgive himself if he did.

Hence why you have to sweet talk him, practically beg him have to have his way with you. You have to tell him you won’t be satisfied until you’re fucked within an inch of your life and your guts have been rearranged. Taunting also works. He may be afraid to hurt you, but above all else he can’t stand the idea of you being with anyone else. You are one of a few good things in his life and god forbid he fumbles this one.

“Fine. I guess I’ll just go find that Deliverer—”

There’s nothing more effective than that. Is it cheap? Yes. It is. But, it gets the job done.

In his hands, you’re going to be stretched and bent in ways you never thought possible. Poking a sleep lion is never a good idea, especially when you don’t have the energy to keep up with him. But, you’ve been teasing him for months on end, so it’s only fair he gets his fill of you.

Sex with Mydei can be quite slow, with three fingers stretching you wide and his tongue lapping your cunt. You have to cum at least three times before he even thinks about slipping his cock inside. If you aren’t delirious by then, then you’re absolutely gone when his cock sinks inside. We all know this man is packing, it’s a struggle no matter how well prepped you are. You’re creaming around him just from the stretch alone, and you have a moment of panic where you aren’t sure he’s going to fit. But, ever the attentive lover, he’ll hush your worries away and press soft circles against your clit, massage your breasts, pinch your sensitive nipples, distract you until he finally bottoms out.

“Please, please, please, Mydei…” you can whine, wrap your arms tight around him and pull him close, kiss him sloppy and messy until you’re reaching another high from him simply grinding into you.

He’s hypnotized, hooked on the feeling of you, taste of you, everything about you. He fulfills your every wish of being pummeled deep inside, massaging your walls with every thrust, the head of his cock pressed against the most sensitive spots, with your every breath becoming nothing more than short punched out gasps.

Unfortunately, however, while Phainon is more than eager to fuck his cum inside you, getting Mydei to cum inside is an entirely different matter. He’s so afraid of continuing his lineage in such unstable times, not to mention, he doesn’t want to burden you with his child. But, once you DO convince him that it’s fine, something in his head gets rewired and the idea of ‘gentle’ gets tossed out when he spills inside you for the first time and sees just how excited it makes you. He then has an existential crisis because now he can’t imagine sex any other way and he’s aching to do it again.

Sex with Phainon is easy because he wants to please you and fulfill every dirty dream he’s ever had of you.

Sex with Mydei is a mind game, where you have to ease him in at first, then assure him three-hundred different times that: yes, you want him and yes, you know what you are doing.

[daxisyzz]

Hey there i hope you’re having a great day!

I was thinking about a version of Bucky in which he is absolutely head over heels smitten with his girl that he melts over her simply sweet talking him to get something she wants, he can’t even help it he thinks she is the cutest thing ever.

I feel like no one can do smitten Bucky Barnes justice other than you

Or maybe I’m being biased lol.

Thank you!

Hope you're having a great day too. And thank you for the compliment, it made my day 🫠

Here's your fluffy bucky story. Hope its how you wanted <3

Pretty please

Pairings: Bucky Barnes × Reader (established relationship)

Summary: Bucky Barnes is hopelessly in love with you. He gives you everything you ask for—until you stop asking. That’s when he decides to give you the one thing you never say aloud.

Word count: 1.3k+

Warnings and tags: Smitten Bucky, a duck?, reader feels slight guilt only for a second, lover boy barnes.

Bucky Barnes had faced down entire armies. He’d survived missions no man should’ve made it out of, stood toe-to-toe with monsters, and walked through fire more times than he could count. But none of that compared to this—to you. To your soft smiles, your gentle laughter, and your very specific brand of mischief. You didn’t need weapons or war to bring a super soldier to his knees.

You just needed one look.

That head tilt. That spark in your eyes. The way your lips would part in that little smile as you leaned in and said in the sweetest voice imaginable—

“Pretty please? With puppy dog eyes?”

He never stood a chance.

You didn’t abuse it. That was the most dangerous part. You only asked for little things. Cute things. Things that could never be considered a burden. And Bucky, well… he’d give you the moon if you asked. Hell, he was halfway to building a rocket when you offhandedly said once, “I wonder what sunrise looks like from space.”

It was a joke. A passing thought.

But Bucky remembered. Bucky always remembered.

The duck was his personal favorite.

It had started on a rainy afternoon, one of those slow, sleepy days where time seemed to stretch. You were in his hoodie, feet tucked into his lap on the couch, scrolling through videos on your phone while the sound of the storm tapped softly against the windows.

You gasped. “Oh my God.”

Bucky looked over, amused. “What?”

You turned the screen to him, pointing wildly. “LOOK at this duck. He’s wearing a sweater vest. This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. James. Look at his feet.”

Bucky squinted. “Huh. He’s fancy.”

“Fancy?!” you cried, clutching the phone. “He’s a whole gentleman. I would DIE for him.”

He chuckled, fingers drumming lightly along your shin. “Would you die for him… or want one of your own?”

You bit your lip. “Bucky, I am not asking you for a duck.”

He leaned back. “But you want one.”

You hesitated. Then…You folded your hands under your chin, your eyes impossibly wide and filled with longing. “Pretty please? With puppy dog eyes?”

He groaned, one hand dragging down his face as a grin crept in. “Not fair. That’s cheating.”

You beamed. “You love it.”

“I do,” he muttered, fully doomed.

Two days later, you opened the back door to the sight of a small, waddling creature in a tiny hand-crocheted sweater vest approaching the porch.

You blinked. “Is that—”

Bucky stood behind the duck, arms folded and entirely too pleased with himself. “His name is Sir Quacksalot. He likes strawberries. And cuddles.”

You gasped. “YOU GOT ME A DUCK?!”

He shrugged. “You said pretty please.”

Your squeal nearly shattered glass. You scooped the duck into your arms and spun around like you’d just won the lottery. “This is the best day of my LIFE.”

Bucky leaned against the railing, watching you coo over your new feathery friend. His chest felt warm—like some part of him had been waiting his whole life to see you this happy.

There was nothing he wouldn’t give you. No wish too silly. No ask too big.

At least, that’s what he thought—until you stopped asking.

It started subtly.

You still smiled at him, still kissed his cheek while he made coffee in the morning, still called him your “Bucky bear” when you wanted to make him blush (which always worked). But you weren’t asking anymore. Not for little things. Not even for something as simple as “can we make pancakes for dinner?” or “let’s take the long way home.”

At first, Bucky didn’t notice. Life got busy. He assumed it was just a lull, something fleeting. But after a week, then two, his chest began to tighten with something like worry.

You still looked happy. But it was quieter. Softer. More... reserved.

He started paying more attention. How your “thank yous” came with a hesitance. How you’d say, “You didn’t have to do all this,” a little too often. How your smile would falter sometimes when he gave you something, even as you hugged him and said you loved it.

And then one night, while you were asleep curled up in his arms, Bucky got up to grab a blanket—and his eyes landed on your notebook.

He wasn’t looking to snoop. He’d seen you scribble in it before—little doodles, grocery lists, the occasional poem or recipe. But this time, a page had slipped out slightly, catching his eye.

He picked it up.

And his heart stopped.

A sketch. A rough pencil drawing of a cabin. Trees. A porch swing. Notes scribbled in the margins.

String lights here?

Big fireplace with that armchair I love.

Waking up to snow. Coffee in mismatched mugs. Just us.

Then, the words that made his breath catch:

“Somewhere far enough to breathe. Somewhere I can wake up with him and feel like the world is still.”

You hadn’t shown this to him.

You hadn’t asked.

And he knew—instantly, gut-deep—that you’d wanted this more than anything. But you’d stopped asking because you didn’t want to seem like you were asking for too much. As if he hadn’t already given you his heart, his home, his soul.

Bucky closed the notebook gently.

And called in a few favors.

You were already suspicious when he drove you out of the city and wouldn’t tell you why. The trees grew thicker, the air cooler, and your eyes narrowed with every passing mile.

“Bucky,” you said slowly. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

“You’re being weird.”

“I’m always weird.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “If this is a murder cabin, I swear—”

He snorted. “Trust me. You’re gonna like it.”

When he pulled off onto a narrow gravel path, your heart began to thud. And then you saw it.

The porch swing. The twinkling lights. The tall trees surrounding the cabin in quiet serenity, the kind of calm you only ever dreamed of.

Your hand flew to your mouth. “No way,” you whispered.

Bucky stepped out of the car and rounded to your door, pulling it open gently. “Come on, sweetheart.”

You stepped out, staring at the cabin like it might vanish if you blinked. “How did you—?”

“I found your notebook.” You froze.

“I wasn’t snooping. Just saw the page,” he said softly. “And I thought… if you won’t ask for it, I’m just gonna make it happen anyway.”

Your throat tightened. “I didn’t ask because it felt… like too much. You already do so much for me.”

He cupped your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin like he was touching something precious. “There’s no such thing as ‘too much’ when it comes to you. You want it? It’s already yours.”

Tears stung your eyes.

He pulled you into his chest and held you there for a long time, his chin resting against your head, his heart thundering against your ear.

“I love you,” you whispered.

“I know,” he murmured. “And I love you more than I’ve ever known how to say.”

That night, you sat on the porch with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders, Bucky behind you, his arms around your waist as you sipped hot cocoa in one of your mismatched mugs.The stars were clear. The world was still.

Sir Quacksalot waddled across the porch in another ridiculous sweater (Bucky had packed a whole duffel bag of duck outfits, because of course he had).

And you leaned back into the arms of a man who would burn down the world just to see you smile.

He kissed your shoulder, then whispered against your skin, “You never have to ask, doll. If it matters to you… it already matters to me.”

And in that moment, with his love wrapped around you like a second skin, you finally believed it.

[jinusajas]

06/21/25; 12:22am

{ 18+ drabbles / headcanons }

[ they make you ride their thighs ]

featuring: sylus, zayne, xavier, rafayel, caleb

[ minors don’t interact; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings. ]

you were trapped against the bed, feeling sylus’s hot breath against your ear when he gently bites down on the shell of it. his large hands were already tracing at your sides, admiring every dip and curve before telling you, “i can smell you from here, sweetie…”

he trails off, already flattening his hand against your abdomen before trailing further down the expanse of your body, not stopping until he was practically cupping your drenched center. with a subtle flick of his fingertips, he manages to shred the flimsy material of your panties, freeing you from the damp fabric as he inserts a finger within your heat.

by now, you were left panting with need for him, nails gripping at the sheets below you as the onychinus leader worked on stretching out your walls. when he feels the way you clench oh so beautifully around him, he knew that he was a goner-

practically obsessed with the way you felt like silk against his calloused hands.

with a low groan of your name, he removes his fingers from your slick walls, licking them clean before picking you up. the movement was so sudden that you had to brace yourself on his broad shoulders. a smug expression was seen on your lover’s face the moment he brings you down on his thighs, clenching the muscles as you felt them create an almost hedonistic friction against you.

“ride me.” his command comes out as a low growl, already gripping at your waist as he set the perfect pace for you. your lips were parted as a series of soft mewls were heard as you tighten your hold on his shoulders while dragging your aching cunt across his thighs.

you felt as though you were slowly losing your mind, the sensation of your swollen clit rubbing against his muscled thigh causing your pleasure to reach even further heights as you cried out to him-

only to be torn away from your impending release the moment sylus removed you from his thigh. tears dot your vision at the sudden loss of him, yet when he places your writhing form back on the bed, his devilish expression doesn’t go unnoticed.

“sorry sweetie, but the only thing i’ll ever let you cum on is this cock.”

admittedly, you were being a tad bit whiny when it came to gaining zayne’s attention.

here he was, back at home where you desperately wanted him to be-

yet instead of spending time with you, he was cooped up in his office!

wishing to voice your disdain for how he was still working, you enter the room to see zayne pouring over some documents with his glasses on. he meets your gaze while giving you a kind smile.

“what is it, honey?”

“hmph, when you told me you were able to take some time off, i was really happy and excited! but now, seeing you doing work leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. why can’t you take a break and spend some time with me?”

zayne sighs, leaning back in his chair while patting at his lap. “i’m sorry, you’re absolutely right. why don’t you keep me company as i finish off a few things?”

all too eager to just be with him, you happily skip towards him, settling yourself on his lap as he returned his attention back to the paperwork at hand.

minutes were spent in silence, and admittedly, you were getting bored. adjusting yourself so that both of your legs were on either side of his lap, you heard zayne sharply inhale for a brief second (was he trembling as well?) before turning his attention back to the papers.

upon feeling his thighs grazing at your clothed center, a wicked grin was painted on your face when you braced yourself on his desk before dragging your hips forward. your sudden grinding on his thighs makes the akso surgeon drop the papers, your name coming out in a low hiss as you worked on riding him.

you had no idea such friction could feel so good, and with zayne clenching his muscles ever so slightly, you felt as though you were slowly losing your mind-

the paperwork already forgotten as he relished in the sensation of you using him for your own pleasure.

it starts out innocently enough, with you deciding to read together while sitting on your boyfriend’s lap. admittedly, when your friends recommended that you read a particularly spicy book, you didn’t think it would make you feel anything-

only to be proven wrong just a few chapters later.

the love interest described had blond hair and blue eyes, just like your xavier. and he was practically a god between the sheets, worshipping the main heroine with a fervor that made you clench your legs together.

and when their respective release occurred, you were unconsciously grinding your hips back and forth on xavier’s lap.

your sudden movements earns a grunt from him, yet he doesn’t say nor does anything to stop you. with his own book forgotten, the young hunter tosses the novel to the side, opting to help with your release when he grips at your hips with both of his hands.

you gasp when you felt xavier move you even faster against him, making your clothed center catch his knee each time he forces you to rut against him. with your own novel forgotten, you brace yourself on top of his legs, chasing your high as you kept grinding with a desperation above him.

yet it all came crashing down on you when xavier places a hand down your shorts and panties, giving your swollen bundle of nerves a pinch that sent you over the edge within seconds. spilling yourself onto his hand, you shiver when xavier pushes a finger within your pulsating heat, helping you ride out your release before whispering in your ear.

“think you can do the same thing for me, but this time on my cock?”

when rafayel asked if you could pose for a personal sketch, you saw no reason to deny him.

however, you weren’t expecting to be in this situation.

for starters, you were left utterly bare for him, your naked breasts heaving with every move you made. secondly, the lemurian had demanded that you use his thighs for your own pleasure-

and he meant every word of it.

as the artist was laid back comfortably against the bed with his sketchpad in hand, you were settled on his lap, dragging your naked sex over the silk material of his clothes. with each grind, you left a shiny sheen of your arousal against his pants, yet was unable to show even a modicum of decency when it all just felt too good for you.

“you’re such a gorgeous princess… my beloved who can do no wrong in my eyes.”

rafayel clenches his thighs while the sounds of charcoal scratching against the pages of his book becomes more prominent. the artist doesn’t tear his eyes away from you, taking in the expression of your teary eyes and how you kept biting down at your bottom lip.

“r-rafe, please…! it’s t’much for me…”

he gently coos at you, relishing in your soft whines of his name when he places his sketchbook off to the side along with the charcoal.

“you’ve been such a good girl for me as well, so i guess this calls for a reward.” rafayel tells you with a sweet smile, adjusting his pants so that his cock was freed before bringing your silken heat down on him.

and when you were finally impaled by his cock, you became an incoherent mess of moans as you rode him with a desperation.

“i’m gonna make you so damn wet f’me. gonna make you cum so much that you’ll forget your own name.”

caleb’s words serve as a promise to what was to come when he takes your bare body and settles you on top of his lap. spreading your legs so that you could straddle him, the colonel lays back against the couch while snapping his fingers.

“go on. get to work and show me just how much you want me.”

letting out a whimper, you brace yourself on his broad shoulders before grinding on him, allowing your juices to stain at his skin. he lets out a hiss upon feeling how wet you were, his cock already poking at your thighs each time you ground yourself against him.

“that’s it, babygirl. such a good girl f’me.” caleb’s praises were making the heat rush to your head, causing you to become even bolder when you end up stroking his cock with the underside of your cunt instead. this effectively causes his hisses to morph into a guttural groan of your name.

unable to take it much longer, caleb places both hands against your hips, keeping you still before thrusting his cock fully inside of you. both of you toss your heads back in response to such a hedonistic sensation, with caleb setting a brutal pace when he fucks himself into your heat over and over again. the red hot pleasure came to a boiling point, with your mind drunk on it all as you allow caleb to use you as his personal toy.

with a smirk, caleb places wet kisses down your throat, continuing to impale you with his cock while telling you,

“this is what you get for playing with fire, pips.”

end notes: i lowkey missed writing so much, so i set my status to a semi-hiatus instead 🥹 have this unedited thirst post in celebration ♡

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[landopoet]

to you, always.

pairing brother's best friend lando x fewtrell!reader

synopsis in which you call lando. and he comes.

warnings 14.8k words of angst, secrecy and brother max.

author’s note heyhey, sorry that i've been gone for a while, life gets a bit hectic and busy at times but i've finally gotten around to finishing this wonderful fic! and i have more fics coming your way soon. hope you enjoy <3

You’re not sure why you’re at this party to begin with. 

Actually, screw that, you knew exactly why— your older brother, Max, made it abundantly clear that he didn’t want you hanging around this specific crowd of people, and you had something to prove. You wanted to show him that you’re no longer the little sister he could push around, you wanted to finally be seen as grown, despite being younger than him.

It was cold outside Mason’s house. Your heels were off, your makeup’s smudged, the girl you came with ran off with some random guy neither of you knew, and you were left stranded in the cold night, somewhere with shitty connection. You tried to call an Uber, but the app won’t work without WiFi and you couldn’t be bothered to go back inside the party to ask for the password. 

Instead, you choose to flick through your contacts, maybe your drunk mind could find someone to drive you home. Mom? No, she’s most likely asleep. Max is an obvious no. You scroll past the random aunts, uncles, cousins, who all live scattered across the world. Then, something sets off in your mind and you find yourself reading Lando’s contact like it was the morning news.

You shut your phone off, sitting down on the curb. Lando. He told you once that he wasn’t your babysitter— like you were too loud, too much, always wanting to tag along with whatever he and your brother were doing. Still, your fingers put in your password and you click his contact again, this time not overthinking calling him.

Maybe it’s because you know he doesn’t care, maybe it’s because you know he’ll come.

The phone rings a few times before he picks up, raspy and tired. “Hello?”

“Lando,” you say, cautiously. 

You give him time to yell at you, to hang up, but he just stays in the silence, waiting for you to speak. “Hello? What’s wrong?”

You sigh. “I’m at Mason’s,” Lando scoffs on the other end. “Can you come get me?” 

Silence. You imagine him sitting on the edge of his bed, jaw tense, chest bare, those goddamn Jack & Jones boxers adorning his hips. Then, there’s movement. “It’s past one in the morning,” he grumbles.

“Yeah, I can still read the time, thanks.” You roll your eyes annoyed. “I knew it’d be stupid to call you, you’re nothing but an arrogant—”

Lando cuts you off, a sharp order coming from his end of the call. “Text me the address.”

“Fuck, I can’t remember,” you drag a hand across your face, ignoring how the cold of the curb slowly seeps in past your short dress and branches out through your skin. “It’s the house in Cherry Hill, the one with the stupid flamingo statue in the front yard.”

“I know it,” he nods, though you can’t see it. “Wait there, don’t go back inside.”

Lando hung up the phone call and pushed a hand through his curls, agitated that he didn’t even hesitate to come get you. He should’ve told you to call someone else, let you sit in the mess you made, but he also knew Mason and parties like that. And how everyone’s eyes naturally gravitated towards you, like you owned every room you walked into. 

He knew what that type of confidence could do, he had seen it happen to you before. And he knows Max would have his head on the front of the Fewtrell residence if he knew Lando refused to help you when you were in need. Or maybe it was just because that irritating warmth in his chest made him crumble every time he was near you. 

It takes half an hour until Lando’s headlights beam on your face. The car slows right next to you. It’s matte black with a booming engine, the one your brother kept hyping up like it was God’s gift to car lovers. Lando leans over the center console to shove the door open. 

The door clicks behind you and seals you in. The cabin is dim, except for the soft glow of the dashboard that casts blue shadows over Lando’s face. His jaw is clenched with every chew of gum he takes as he backs out of Mason’s driveway with one hand on the back of your seat. You can feel the tension in the small space between you two and you feel it even more when Lando finally grazes his eyes over you.

“You’re barefoot.”

His voice is flat, emotionless. 

You look down at your legs, the only thing adding any sort of warmth to them were your thin stockings. “Heels hurt.” 

Lando noticed the way you curled up in the seat, trying your best to keep yourself warm. He rolls his eyes, reaches behind you to the backseat and drops a hoodie in your lap. “Put it on,” he mutters.

You should say something, maybe a snarky remark, but instead you slip it over your head. It smells like him— a mix of lavender detergent, gasoline and Lando’s cologne. It’s big enough that the sleeves fall past the palms of your hands and you curl your fingers in them. “Thanks.”

The car falls quiet for a long while, Lando’s fingers so tightly curled around the steering wheel that it looks like it’s about to snap under the force. You can tell he wants to say something, to yell at you about waking him up, that you’re just some stupid girl who doesn’t know when to stop.

Instead, he sighs and asks, “what the hell were you thinking?”

You roll your eyes even though he can’t see. “Oh, here we go.”

“I’m serious,” his voice is sharp, irritated. “There’s a reason Max didn’t want you at that party.”

“I can handle myself, Lando. It’s just a party.”

Lando lets out a humorless laugh. “Sitting on the curb, alone, with no ride home. You call that handling yourself?”

You don’t answer him anymore, instead continuing to look out the passenger seat window at the streetlights and houses blurring past. You’re not sure what it is, but something feels different about him— he’s not bantering as much, it’s almost like he’s actually worried. 

A few minutes pass before Lando briefly glances at you. “What happened?”

Your eyes glance at his green ones, blinking once before you turn your gaze back outside. You’ve just driven out of the neighbourhoods, so the stars became more evident due to the lack of houses and streetlights. 

“Did someone touch you?” He presses, voice edged with frustration. He continues to chew his gum, his jaw tensing with every bite. 

“Not really.”

Lando exhales through his nose, tilting his head slightly like he’s debating whether to push. He doesn’t. Instead, he mutters, “you’re an idiot.”

You furrow your eyebrows and turn to him. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he shrugs. “Going to some fucker’s party just to prove something to Max. You think he’ll see you as grown just because you disobeyed him?”

You ball your hands into fists. “That’s not what I–”

“Oh, cut the bullshit, yes it is.” He cuts you off, agitated, annoyed, tired. “I’ve known you for years and you’ve been trying to prove yourself to Max since you were, like, twelve.”

You turn your whole body back towards the door, choosing to ignore Lando’s lecture. It’s almost two in the morning, the sky is at its darkest and you’re feeling too tired to argue with him. Still, he continues.

“News flash, acting reckless doesn’t make people respect you. It makes them worried.”

You stare at him, a tiny smirk on your face. “Are you saying… You were worried?”

Lando’s fingers tighten around the steering wheel. “I didn’t say that.”

“No, you totally did.” You let that tiny smirk turn into a full one, still looking at him. “This is huge. Lando Norris—”

He turns to face the driver's door window, biting back a small smile. “Don’t.”

“—worried about me?” 

He exhales through his nose again, running a hand through his curls, eyes still stuck on the road. “I knew I should’ve left you on the curb.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t.” Lando’s eyes look at yours for a second. He can’t handle looking at you for longer, afraid his facade would fade under the weight of your gaze.

“Why’d you come? If I’m such an inconvenience.” 

His car comes to a silent stop in front of your house. His engine is still running, just so the heat would still circulate and warm your feet. “Because you called.” 

There’s no mocking tone to his voice, no bite. Just the raw truth, like a confession.

You glance at his lips, then back up at his eyes. “I thought you hated me.”

“I never hated you.” He says it like it was obvious.

“You act like it.”

His eyebrows furrow. “I don’t hate you.”

You’re not sure what happened, why you suddenly felt so brave. You bite your bottom lip, leaning over the center console, softly grasping his chin so he looks at you. “Prove it.”

Lando’s breath stutters, just for a second. 

“Fuck it,” he mumbles into your mouth, already having pulled you in for a kiss. 

It’s not careful, it’s definitely not gentle— it’s like a flood. Like it’s something he’s been holding back for too long, something he can’t fight anymore. He kisses you urgently, lips warm and insistent, until your lips part just enough for his tongue to brush against yours, tentative at first, then deeper��� demanding.

His hand comes up to cup your jaw, fingers pushing past your hair, angling your face the way he wants it. His other hand is still on the wheel, white-knuckled and tense, like he needs something to hold onto before he loses himself completely. 

Your hands slide up his chest, fingers curling around his collar, pulling him closer and closer, but it’s not enough.

Lando groans into your mouth, a low and frustrated sound, and then he’s undoing his seatbelt, undoing yours. The tension snaps, and next thing you know, he’s pulling you over the centre console and into his lap. His hands trail up your thighs, nesting right at the top of your hips as he continues to kiss you. 

He knows he shouldn’t be doing this, you’re his best friend’s little sister, but god has he been waiting for this. Every time he looked at you for too long, he felt a burning heat in his chest that he couldn’t shake no matter how hard he tried. Right now, he’s getting back all the times he wished he could kiss you, but knew he couldn’t. His hands grip you like he’s trying to memorise the feel of your skin under his fingertips.

Your hips softly grind against him as your hands come up to gently cup his jaw and you pull him in closer. Lando kisses you with hunger, chasing your lips as you pull away to catch your breath. You lean back against the steering wheel, careful as to not make a sound. Lando pushes himself up to kiss you again, but he fails to notice his foot on the gas and revs the engine as soon as his lips crash into yours again. 

Both of you freeze, eyes wide like deer caught in headlights. The streetlight casts a soft, golden glow on Lando as you study his face. And then both of you break out into laughter. 

“You think he heard that?” Lando asks when both of you finally calm down and you rest against his chest. 

You shake your head. “No, he’s a heavy sleeper. But I should probably go.”

Lando nods and helps you climb over the center console, eyes never leaving you. You turn back towards him, placing a gentle kiss to his lips, before reaching for the handle and opening the door. Lando stays parked on the side of the road, just until you’re safely inside your house, and when he sees the door close behind you, his engine revs again as his car pulls away. 

You walk downstairs only to be met by the sound of slamming cupboards, you don’t even have to step into the kitchen to know Max is letting out whatever pent up rage he has on the poor wooden furniture. 

Max, as if he could feel your presence, turns around. His eyebrows are set low, eyes studying your face like he’s never seen it before. You just awkwardly weave past him to rummage through the fridge.

He leans back against the kitchen island, arms crossed and voice calm when he asks, “so how was the party you weren’t supposed to go to?”

You softly slam your forehead on one of the shelves in the fridge. “Fuck.” You rub the hurt skin as you turn around to face your brother. “It was fine.”

“Mhm,” he looks down at the ground briefly, before he looks back at you again. Max tries so hard to look intimidating every time he does this, but he just looks like a sad dad and it takes everything in you not to laugh. “And how’d you get home?”

“Well, nowadays we have these awesome things called cars, right?” You motion turning a wheel with your hands, sarcastically. “You kinda just sit in them and then turn the wheel to go different directions, it’s pretty cool.”

“I’m serious,” he says, stone-faced and frustrated. 

“Why does that matter? I’m home safely, aren’t I?” You turn back to the fridge and take out ingredients for a sandwich.

“It matters because I explicitly told you not to go and because I know you, and because I woke up to Lando’s car outside my window at two in the morning.”

You freeze. Shit.

Max narrowed his eyes. “So? Wanna explain that one?”

“I called him for a ride, that’s all.” You’re not even hungry but you’re making a sandwich anyway, just to give yourself something to do and just so you don’t break underneath the weight of your older brother’s intense gaze. 

Max stares at you, jaw clenched.  “Why him?”

You shrug, spreading the mayonnaise on a slice of bread. “I obviously couldn’t call you and everyone I trust was asleep. And because he actually came.”

“He’s not—” He cuts himself off and starts pacing like he needs to burn the frustration from his limbs. “He’s not the guy you call for help. He isn’t good for this sort of thing, for you.”

You pause your movement, raising a brow at him. “You think I can’t handle Lando?”

“I know you can,” he pinches the bridge of his nose. “That’s not the point. The point’s that he’s not a guy who gives a shit unless it benefits him in some way. He’s cocky, selfish, he was a dickhead to you for, like, as long as I’ve known him.”

You sigh, looking back to your sandwich. 

Max narrows his eyes at your hesitation. “Don’t tell me there’s something going on.”

“There’s not,” You say it fast, too fast, and you’re gripping the butterknife so hard that your knuckles turn white. 

He tilts his head to the side, eyebrows still drawn together as he connects the dots. “You like him?”

“No.” Lie.

Max shakes his head, running a hand along his jaw as he scoffs like the mere idea of you having feelings for his best friend was some sort of betrayal. “For fucks sake. This is exactly what he does, he gets into your head.”

“People change.” You mumble, not daring to look up at your brother.

Max lets out a humorless chuckle. “Not Lando.” 

You don’t say anything, you can’t. Deep down you know he’s right— Lando’s not the type to do relationships. He doesn’t stick to just one girl, you’ve heard him talk to Max about at least four different girls within the same week. You knew it was so wrong, but last night felt so right.

“I swear to God if—” He takes a deep breath and calms his voice, though it’s still laced with aggression when he says, “if he touches you, if he so much as thinks you’re someone to be played with—”

“Max, nothing happened,” the lie slips past your lips so easily that it scares you. “He drove me home. That’s it.”

He gives you one last glance before picking up his car keys from the basket on the kitchen island and walking towards the front door. He opens it, and just before he leaves, he pokes his head out to look at you again. “I’ll be back late, there’s money on my desk for dinner. Make sure to eat and, for fucks sake, take off that fucking hoodie.”

The door slams shut and you pull the sleeves of Lando’s hoodie into your palms, rubbing them together as if it’ll bring you any sort of comfort. Instead it just makes you more worried— an angry Max is a force to be reckoned with and you pray to whoever’s above that Lando can handle it.

Lando can feel Max’s eyes burning into him, despite being under a car.

They’re in the garage, the scent of motor oil and gasoline lingering in the warm air. Max leans back against a workbench, energy drink in hand, while Lando lays on a mechanic creeper and keeps his hands busy or else he’d be fiddling with his fingers and that’s something Max always notices.

He pulls himself from under the car just enough to reach a hand out. “Wrench.”

Max drops it into his hand with added force. “So, you wanna tell me about last night?”

Lando pulls himself fully from under the car, but just as he tries to get up, he bumps his forehead against the undercarriage. “Fuck,” he rubs the hurt skin as he sits up. “What about it?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Lando.” Max’s jaw tightens. “My sister came home at two in the morning and I woke up to your car outside my house.” 

Lando exhales, getting up from the ground as he wipes his hands on the fabric hanging from his hips. He always worked shirtless with only a flannel tied around his waist and his work jeans on. “She called me for a ride, I picked her up.”

Max tilts his head, accusatory, before taking a sip of his drink. “That’s it?” 

“That’s it.” Lando shrugs, trying his best to hide what he truly feels. He’s fucking terrified of Max, because he knows one wrong word could mean Max socking Lando right in the jaw, no hesitation. 

“She came home in your hoodie,” Max points out. 

Lando lays back down on the mechanic creeper after getting what he needed and goes back under the car. “She was cold,” he says, casually.

“You don’t just give people your hoodie.” 

Lando peeks his head out with a raised brow and a teasing smirk on his face. “What, you jealous or something?”

“You’re not funny.” Max glares at him, unamused.

The curly-haired man disappeared again, working on the suspension system of his older car. “You used to think I was hilarious.”

“Yeah, well, I used to think you weren’t a fucking problem, too.” Max hisses, again pacing the small space of Lando’s garage. “What are you doing, man?”

“What does it look like?” Lando pokes his head out again, confused, wrench in hand.

“It looks like you’re getting too close to my sister.”

Lando clenches his jaw, pulling himself back up from under the car, this time making sure not to hit his head. “I’m not.”

“I don’t buy it.” Max shrugs simply, anger, frustration and betrayal still radiating off of him.

Lando decides he’s done for the day and picks up his tools from the ground, walking over to his workbench. “She needed a ride home, so I drove her home. That’s all.”

Max studies him for a few seconds, trying to find something, anything, beneath the nonchalance that Lando was trying so hard to upkeep. Lando made sure there was nothing at surface level for Max to find.

Because if Max—if anyone— knew that something shifted in Lando that night, that something’s been shifting for way longer than Lando’s willing to admit, Max wouldn’t be standing here making civil conversation— he’d be throwing punches.

“It better fucking be all.” Max hisses again. “You keep your distance. She’s not some random girl you can mess with whenever you please.”

Lando’s stomach twists, like he didn’t already know you were more than just a girl. Lando couldn’t bring himself to say anything other than, “don’t worry, mate. She’s not my type.”

Max doesn’t say anything for a while, just stares at Lando with a look that makes something inside Lando’s chest feel heavy, and walks away.

You’re peacefully scrolling on your phone, watching the newest internet drama, when you hear two knocks on your door, and then another one a few seconds later. You recognised it to be Lando’s knock, the same one he’d do on Max’s door to let him know it was him and not you at his door, back when Max did everything in his power not to spend time with you.

You get up from your bed, feeling how Lando’s hoodie falls down to your mid-thighs when you stand, and open the door. Your eyes widen when it is, in fact, Lando that’s knocking. You grab him by the collar of his shirt and pull him inside your room, peeking your head out to check if anyone saw him. Thankfully, the coast is clear. 

“Are you crazy?” You shut the door behind yourself and turn to look at the curly-haired brunette in your room. “You could’ve got caught.”

Lando steps closer, hands finding their place on your waist while his lips make home at the cusp of your shoulder and neck. “Had to see you,” he mumbles between sloppy kisses to your skin.

Your breath shudders. “Max is downstairs.”

“He’s on a call, ordering food. I have maybe five minutes.”

You push him away, a questioning look on your face. “And you thought the best use of those five minutes was to sneak into my room?” 

Lando grins. “Obviously.”

You shake your head, trying to fight the smile as Lando leans in. “You’re insane,” you mumble against his lips. 

“I’m starting to think you like that about me.”

His hands trail up your thighs, under the hoodie—his hoodie—and up your bare belly. He’s trying to not rush you, to take time and explore this with you. It’s new, for the both of you, and Lando would hate himself if he ruined it just because he’s so eager to have you.

Your back is pressed against the door and you’re softly mumbling sweet nothings into Lando’s mouth when you hear footsteps nearing up the stairs. Both of you freeze, unsure of what to do. Your eyes quickly scan over your room and you immediately shove Lando towards your closet door when you land your gaze on it. Once he’s all hidden, you quickly jump onto your bed, cover yourself with your blanket and try to act as casual as possible.

There’s a knock at your door and then Max peeks his head inside. “You good?”

“Yeah?” You lift your head, resting it against your palm as you lean on your elbow. “Why?”

Max does a quick once-over of your room. “Thought I heard voices.”

“Oh, it’s probably just my phone,” you pick it up from underneath you and wave it in the air. “Do you remember that one super annoying couple?”

Max leans against your doorframe, curious. “Yeah?” He studied the look on your face as you typed something into your phone. “Wait, no way. Did they break up?”

He’s now stepping into your room, sitting down at the foot of your bed as he patiently waits for you to show him. “Fucking finally,” Max laughs when the video ends. “I gotta tell Lando, we made a bet on how long they’ll last, and he lost.”

“Aw, Lando had faith in those two?” You tilt your head to the side, briefly glancing at the closet as you fail at holding back your giggle. “That’s unusual.”

“I know right? That guy barely has faith in anything.” Max gets back up and starts walking out of your room. “Oh, by the way, have you seen him?”

“Hm?” You glance back up from your phone. “Oh, Lando? Is he over?”

“Yeah, we’re watching the race downstairs.” 

“I didn’t know,” you shrug. “Haven’t seen him.”

Max looks at you with narrowed eyes, like he wants to ask something but doesn’t bother. “Alright. We ordered food, come down in 10 if you want some.”

“Cool, thanks.” You shout to him as he closes the door behind himself. You wait another ten seconds before quietly making your way to the closet.

Lando stood in the corner of it, arms folded, scowling. “You owe me for this,” he mutters.

You snort. “Apparently you owe Max, too.”

“Hey, in my defence, the guy talked to me about marrying her and I was rooting for him.” He steps out of the closet, hands immediately on you again.

You giggle, feeling him kiss your neck. “Next time, let’s not make out with my brother ten feet away.

Lando leans in, lips brushing your ear. “Next time, I’m locking the door.”

It’s been a long day at university and you were feeling tired.

What’s worse is that you had to go study for an upcoming test and couldn’t afford to skip another day, so you lazily stepped down the stairs at the front of the facility and heaved a sigh, looking down at your phone. Suddenly, it buzzed with a notification from someone you didn’t expect to hear from.

Lando: Look up.

You lift your eyes, confused, and that’s when you see his sleek, black car, him leaning against the side of it with a soft smile on his face when you see him. He opens his arms and you carefully run across the street to envelop him in a hug. “What are you doing here?”

“Thought I could drive you home.” He pressed his lips to your forehead. “Unless, of course, you’d prefer to walk.”

You playfully slap his arm and place your head back on his chest. “Thank you,” you mutter. 

The drive to your house is quiet, but not awkward. Lando can tell you’re tired from school and he softly places his hand on your thigh, kneading the skin to try and comfort you in the only way he knew how. You could tell he was trying his best to show his affection to you in ways he wasn’t used to– the other day, he called you late at night and asked how your day went, intently listening to every detail you told him. He memorised your coffee order from that time and bought you coffee, that’s now peacefully sitting on your desk, in your room, as you and Lando make out on your bed.

“When does Max get home?” Lando asks, hastily, between kisses to your exposed chest. 

Your fingers are palming the curls at the base of his neck as Lando leaves faint hickeys along your breast. “He said later tonight.”

Lando continues to trail kisses down your torso, pausing at the waistband of your sweatpants. He looks up at you without a word, but as if to ask if it’s okay for him to go further, to not hold back in fear of breaking you. You reach down and untie the drawstring of your pants, watching as Lando’s fingers gently hook underneath the waistband and pull your sweatpants down, fully off of your body. 

You feel bare, exposed, but it’s not intimidating like you thought it’d be. Lando was gentle with you, placing soft bites followed by tender kisses to your thighs, inching closer to where you needed him the most. Your hips buckled upwards, urging Lando to do something to help the ache between your legs.

Just as he’s hooking his fingers under the waistband of your pink underwear, you hear the front door open. Lando immediately rises to his feet and bolts across the hall to Max’s room, pretending that he was waiting for him there to begin with. You lift your head confused and hear Max climbing up the stairs. You manage to shut the door before he reaches it and you rest with your back against it. 

“You in there?” Max knocks once on your door and you hold your breath.

You quickly pick up whatever clothes you can find on your floor and tug them on before opening your bedroom door, face flushed. “Yeah? What’s up?”

“What’s Lando’s car doing in the driveway?” He crosses his arms over his chest, looking at you with suspicion riddled across his features. 

“Oh,” you swallow, harshly. “Uh, I don’t know. He’s in your room if you want to ask him yourself.”

Max gives you a narrow-eyed look, trying to notice anything odd about your appearance. He peeks his head into the crevice of your door and looks around your room, before walking away and you finally let out the breath you were holding, shutting the door behind yourself.

Meanwhile, Lando was sprawled out onto the couch in Max’s room, scrolling through his phone. When Max walked in, Lando sat up. “Hey, you ready to go?”

“Go where?” Max furrows his brows and when Lando mimics a drinking action, Max remembers. “Fuck, the party.”

A few hours later, Lando found himself nursing a glass bottle of non-alcoholic beer on the couch in Lauren’s home.

Lauren was a mutual friend of yours too, so when Max offered you to join him and Lando, you happily agreed. Although, you didn’t account for how hard it’d be not to blab to Lauren about you and Lando’s newly found feelings. She’s telling you something about her current boyfriend, who you failed to find in the crowd, but pretended like you did. In reality, you were looking at Lando. You were admiring the way his black t-shirt hugged his skin tighter around his biceps, the way his curls poked out of his maroon cap and the way the lights from the other rooms cast a perfect shadow on his side-profile.

Meanwhile, he tried his best not to look at you, because Max was right across from him and turning his head would mean Max would follow suit. Instead, Lando watches the other people in the room. He makes the grave mistake of looking at this one girl, Madeline, twice within a few minutes and she took it as a sign to seat herself next to him.

“Hey,” she bites her bottom lip, holding back a smile. “Don’t think we’ve officially met, I’m Madeline.” 

“Nice to meet you,” Lando gives her a faux smile and turns back to reading the label on his beer bottle. It seemed to be much more interesting to look at than the girl touching his arm. 

Madeline tilts her head with a laugh. “I won’t get to hear your name?” 

Lando briefly looks up at Max, who’s standing across the room and urging Lando to smoothly talk his way into Madeline’s pants. He rolls his eyes and looks away, again. “Lando,” he grumbles.

“Lando,” she repeats, seductive. “Nice name.” 

Lando gives her a side-eyed look. “…thanks?” 

She bites her bottom lip again, trying to lure him in, throwing the bait but Lando isn’t biting. He’s uninterested, because each time he looks at Madeline, his eyes drift to the girl standing in the room behind her— you. You’re talking to Lauren, laughing at something she said as you nurse your red solo cup. 

When Madeline leans in, so close to Lando’s ear that her breath fanning against his skin makes it erupt in goosebumps, he feels nauseous. “Wanna go upstairs? There’s a condom in the drawer with your name on it.”

By this point, Max has come close enough to hear the conversation and nudges Lando’s shoulder when he notices the hesitation. Lando looks up at his friend with a confused look. Max’s eyes flicker between Lando and Madeline when he says, “I’ll save your seat for you.”

Madeline smiles at Max’s attempt to help before softly hooking her finger under Lando’s chin and turning him to face her. “So?”

Lando snorts at the thought that just flashed in his mind. “Y’know, Max’s name is also on most condoms, why don’t you take him upstairs instead?”

Lando watches as Madeline grimaces, looking at the two guys before mumbling something incoherent and walking away. The curly-haired man’s eyes immediately fall to you, leaving Max under the impression that Lando’s watching Madeline walk away. 

When Lando looks back at Max, he’s met with a scowl. “What?” He shrugs his shoulders and raises his hands, ready to defend himself against Max’s judgement.

Max sits down on the coffee table in front of Lando, quoting something Lando had said months ago. “Oh, I’d tap that.” He puts on an accent that mimics Lando’s one, but in a way that’s clearly mocking his best friend’s words. 

Lando pinches the bridge of his nose, not sure how to get himself out of this one. “That was ages ago.”

“Isn’t she, like, the epitome of your type?” Max recalls another thing Lando had said late at night in his garage. Lando had, in fact, said that Madeline was exactly his type, but that was back before he tapped into his feelings for you. 

Lando shrugs before he takes another swig of his beer. “Not anymore.”

Max gives him one last look, clearly confused by how Lando could reject Madeline, of all people. “You’re fucking weird, dude,” he says over the neck of his beer bottle and walks away to find something else to drink. 

It’s a few minutes before Lando decides that it’s safe to move from his seat, making a beeline to where he last saw you. The kitchen is empty of your presence, only the faint smell of your perfume lingering in the air. He pulls out his phone to text you and just as he clicks on your contact, he hears familiar laughter coming from the next room. 

He finds you leaning against the doorframe to the dining room, still talking to the girl from before. Lauren locks eyes with Lando and nudges towards him with her chin while looking at you. “I’ll see you later,” she squeezes your elbow and walks away. 

You feel Lando’s touch on your skin before he even gets the chance to talk. It’s darker in this room, less people, higher chances of getting caught— but that’s what makes it more exciting. 

You turn around, back to the nearest wall as Lando leans against the doorframe, mimicking you just moments ago. He crosses his arms over his chest, biceps bulging and drawing your attention. “Smooth move earlier,” you mutter with a little teasing glint in your eye. 

He huffed a laugh. “She was being persistent.”

“Thought she was your type?” You ask, trying to sound casual but it comes out more desperate than intended. Lando gave you a look, small smile and raised eyebrows, as he took a swig of his drink.

After a moment of him checking you out, he mutters, “not anymore.”

“Yeah?” You looked at him with a raised brow. “What’s your type then?”

Lando steps closer to you, hand immediately cupped against your jaw, fingers between your hair as he pulls you in. “I think we both know.” 

His breath fans over your face as he leans in to kiss you, his free hand placing the empty beer bottle on the fireplace next to you. Just as his lips are about to touch yours, someone slams the bathroom door and both of you jump at the sound. 

Both of you turn to look at the direction of the sound, only to be met with a guy stumbling out of the room. Lando drops his head as a laugh of relief leaves his lips. 

He looks around again, cautious, alert. Then, when his green eyes focus on your face again, his pupils dilate just the smallest bit, but you notice it. Lando nudges his head behind him, “meet me out back in ten?”

You nod, biting your bottom lip and he walks off, disappearing somewhere between the drunk crowd of people. 

The ten minutes before you sneak out to see Lando go by slower than anticipated. To pass the time, you decided to tour the house, as if you’ve never been there before— you loiter around the hallways, admiring everything picture and painting on the wall. 

“Oh, hey,” Max’s voice startles you just as you start looking for where the door to the backyard is. “Have you seen Lando?” 

“No?” You furrow your brows, trying to act as confused and offended as possible. “Why would I have seen him?” 

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Anyway, if you see him, tell him to check his damn phone.” 

You watch your brother storm off, heading upstairs and when he’s out of your line of sight, you bolt towards the living room. You squeeze past the numerous people in your way and try your best to find the door to the backyard. 

When you finally step out into the night, the cold air hitting your arms as soon as you do, Lando’s leaning against the wall by the door, in the shadow. 

“You sure no one followed you?” Lando reaches out his hand and you take it, following him behind the side of the house. 

You scoff, “you think I don’t know how to sneak around by now?”

He presses you against the wall, lips immediately on your neck. “Touche.”

The night envelops you two in a blanket of darkness, coolth and risk. Lando kisses down your neck to your shoulder, leaving mild hickeys that’ll go away in a few hours. When his lips find home on yours again, you let your fingers get lost in the curls at the nape of his neck and he pulls you in closer with a gentle hand on your jaw. 

There’s a rustling at the door to the backyard but neither of you are bothered enough to pause and check what it is. It’s only when Max’s voice cuts through the night that both of you halt your movements. “Oh, there you are.”

Lando turns to face Max, using his body to shield you from your brother while they talk. “Yeah? Kinda busy here, mate.”

“I was just gonna ask if you could get my sister home later, I’m going out with Mason for a few hours.” Max spins his house keys on his finger before throwing them towards Lando, and the curly-haired man in front of you catches it with no problem. “You can crash on the couch in my room if you want.”

“Alright, see you.” Lando says with an urgency in his voice that Max takes as a sign. Your brother winks at Lando before disappearing back inside the house. “Christ,” Lando rests his head on your shoulder as he takes a few breaths, adrenaline pumping through his veins at what could’ve gone so wrong so quickly.

“Did he see?” You ask, cautiously glaring over the corner of the house to check if Max was truly gone.

Lando pulled away, his face perfectly illuminated from the left side by the glowing porch light and fairy-lights that adorned the fence behind him. “I hope not or else I’m a dead man.”

“If it makes you feel better, you’d be a handsome corpse.” 

The walk back to your home is short, the cold night enveloping you in a secure sense of calm. 

Lando’s warm hand in yours kept you grounded, meanwhile the stars in the sky built your hope up. Your house comes into view and Lando swings the keys in his hand, whistling a tune only he knew the melody of. 

He unlocked the door and as soon as you heard it click shut, his lips were on yours. You barely made it up the stairs and into your bedroom, tumbling over each other and giggling at the mumbled curse words falling from his lips. 

Once in your room, Lando doesn’t bother to close the door. He’s too focused on how good his hands feel on your hips, how your soft whimpers vibrate in your throat before escaping through the space in your kiss and how long he’s been waiting for this moment. 

It all happens in a blur— one second you’re at your bedroom door, the next you’re laying with your back pressed against your mattress, Lando hovering above you, trailing kisses down your shoulder as he unzips the jacket he gave you and pulls it off your body. 

You’re exposed, nervous and unable to speak when Lando suckles on the skin atop your ribs. His lips burn into each crevice of your flesh, hands heating your hips as they envelop the skin, eyelids closed shut with fluttering eyelashes on his cheeks. 

Lando kisses you like he’s worshipping you— he’s gentle, cautious, exploring your body like it’s a temple and he’s blessed to be allowed to even look at you. 

His tongue runs along the space between your breasts, peppering kisses as he wraps them around your neck, trails them along your jaw until he reaches your lips. Lando kisses you with urgency, with hunger and deep-seated yearning that etched itself into your bones. 

You felt how badly he needed you, how large his hunger had grown, how intensely his craving for you radiated off of his tan skin. 

He’s sloppily kissing your lips, fingers inching closer to the waistband of your panties when he pulls away. “Tell me to stop and I will.” 

“Don’t stop,” you breathe against his lips, barely managing to get a word out before he’s tugging them off of you. 

Both of you are so enveloped in each other, so caught up in the moment, that neither of you notice him in the doorway. 

“What the actual fuck are you doing?” Max’s voice trembles through the room. Lando pulls away from you, eyes wide and glossy, lips parted in a gasp. The hands you had tangled in his curls were desperately trying to find something to cover your body with. You landed on the jacket Lando pulled off of you earlier. 

You’re too focused on not breaking into tears that you don’t notice how close Lando and Max are standing. 

“Tell me this isn’t happening. Tell me you weren’t fucking my sister.” Max’s rageful tone lumbers a fire in his chest that’s only growing bigger with each second he watches the scene in front of him— you, pulling the jacket closer to yourself as you try to get decent and Lando standing shirtless in front of Max, lips puffy from kissing you. It makes Max’s blood boil. 

Lando runs a hand through his hair, taking a breath like he’s trying to come up with something to say— like there’s anything he could say that would make this better. “Max—“

“No, don’t say my fucking name like you haven’t crossed every boundary I’ve set.” Max pushes Lando’s chest.

You watch the fight unfold— Max’s eyes burning into Lando’s, betrayal, anger and hurt painted all over his face. Lando was standing calmly, alarmed but he kept it at bay. 

Lando doesn’t hold back. “I love her.”

The breath in your throat catches and tears prick your eyes as soon as the words leave his lips. Max freezes for a second, long enough for the words to land, hard and heavy. And then—

He swings. Hard.

The punch lands square on Lando’s jaw with a sickening crack. You gasp, standing to your feet almost immediately, but Lando barely stumbles— he wipes the blood from the corner from his mouth and stands upright, rolling his shoulders. 

“You think that makes it better?” Max says. “You think loving her gives you the right to sneak around like this? And you couldn’t come to me? Not a single fucking word.” 

“You wouldn’t have understood,” Lando’s breath is steady, voice sharp. “You never would’ve let me. I was trying to protect what we have.” 

“We?” Max huffs out a humorless laugh. “What about her? You think she needs some arrogant asshole sneaking her around like a fucking coward?” 

“I’m not a coward.” Lando exhales through his nose. “And I’d take a hundred more punches from you than hide this for another day.” 

Max’s fist twitches, like he’s going to hit Lando again, but he doesn’t. His eyes snap to you. “And you just let him? Him, of all fucking peop—“

“She didn’t let me do anything.” Lando cuts in, his tone harsher now that the blame shifted to you. “She chose me just like I chose her. So if you’re going to hate someone, hate me, but leave her out of this.” 

The silence that follows is deafening. 

You’re standing, tears falling down your cheeks. Lando’s still bleeding down his chin, but he doesn’t care— all he cares about now is that Max doesn’t lash out on you for no reason. 

Max’s eyes flicker between the two of you. They’re filled with fury, betrayal, hurt. But mostly confusion. 

Lando reaches his hand out to you as he speaks again, “I didn’t come here to hurt you. But I won’t apologise for loving her.” 

His heart is pounding. He didn’t expect to confess to both the Fewtrell siblings in one night. 

Max just stares at him, jaw clenched so hard like it might snap. “Get out,” he finally said. Not shouting, not loud, just final.

Lando glances at you for permission, fear flashing across his face as if he was asking if this was it. You nod slowly, squeezing his hand three times— one for each word of i love you. “Just give me a moment, okay?” 

He nods, muttering a quiet okay and watches as you lead Max out of your room into the hallway.

 

And now it’s just the two of you. The Max Storm isn’t over, but it hangs above you like a calm thundercloud now. You knew he couldn’t be as upset with you as he pretended to be. 

You saw past his furrowed brows and deep inside, somewhere between his ribcage, was the same boy you grew alongside with, collecting rocks and sticks to make a mud cake. 

Max doesn’t say anything for a while. He just stands there, eyes closed, head resting against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. 

“Do you remember the treehouse?” You test the waters, standing across from him with your back against the wall. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. 

Max sighs. “What about it?” 

“I used to hide out there when you were upset with me.” You admit. “All the heart carvings were me. But the stars on the floor of it were Lando.”

Max’s head snaps up, eyes reading your face. “What?” 

“Yeah,” you laugh a little. “He found me there when looking for you and I was crying. I was like, I dunno, thirteen or fourteen. He climbed up without a word, sat down next to me and started carving.” 

“Why is this relevant?” 

You sigh. “He’s not an arrogant asshole to me when we’re alone.”

“That’s not-“ Max drops his hands, his shoulders sinking. “You’re my sister. I’m supposed to protect you.” 

Your bottom lip quivers as you try your best to keep your composure and to not crack under the weight of your brother’s anger. “I didn’t need you to protect me from him. He listens to me, he– he waits. He’s different, Max, and you just refuse to see it.”

Max runs both his hands down his face, turning his eyes towards the hallway— he can’t get himself to look at you. “Do you love him?”

You inhale sharply, the question catching you off guard. And then, softly, as if you’d crumble as soon as you said it: “Yes.”

That’s what breaks him. Not the intimacy, not the secrecy, but the quiet, unshakeable truth in your affirmation of the one thing he was always most scared of.

He nods once, not shaking the intimidating older brother demeanor, even though he knows you see right through it. “You’re serious about him.”

“I am.” You bite the inside of your cheek, anxiety coursing through your veins faster than the adrenaline of being caught by your brother, in bed with his best friend.

“And him?” Max nods his head towards the door, clenching his jaw at the indirect mention of Lando. “He better be serious about you, too, or else I swear to–”

“He is,” you finish before he can even start threatening Lando. “He’s more serious than I imagined. Maybe even more serious than me. You just– You have to give him a chance, Max.”

Your brother just stands there, a shell of himself compared to how excited he was earlier this evening, at Mason’s party. You worry this will affect your relationship, both with Lando and with Max, and you can’t help but break into a quiet cry. 

You use the sleeve to wipe away a tear off your jaw. “Do you… Do you hate me?”

Max’s shoulders immediately drop, his voice softer. “I could never hate you.”

You swallow hard, nodding your head. “I’m sorry it happened this way.”

He lets out a sad laugh. “Yeah, didn’t expect to lose my best friend tonight.”

You immediately reach out to touch Max’s arm, about to open your mouth to try and better the situation between them, but before you can even mumble a word, Max is pulling away and walking down the stairs. “I need time. I’ll be at Mason’s.” He says as he steps down the last stair, and you stand at the top of them, listening.

The front door closes shut. There’s no slam, just a quiet close of the red, wooden door. It somehow breaks you more than if he had slammed it shut.

Lando waits patiently on your bed, using his T-shirt as a wipe, trying his best to get the drying blood off of his chin. When the door to your bedroom opens, his eyes immediately flash to you and he can tell it didn’t go well. 

Lando closes the distance between you two almost immediately, discarding his bloody shirt to the floor as his arms wrap around you, warm, like home. “Are you okay?” He murmurs against your hair.

You nod with your face still pressed against his chest, fingers curling around him and settling on being lazily draped on his waist. “I will be. Are you?”

His chest rises underneath you, the events of that night hanging heavy in the air around you. “Took a punch to the jaw from my best friend, so… Not exactly my best night. But you’re here with me, that’s all I need.” 

You pull away enough to look up at him, enough to notice the purpling bruise on his jaw and the split in his lip. Guilt coils itself deep inside your stomach. “I’m so sorry,” you whisper, tears pricking your eyes again. 

“Don’t,” he cups your jaw, thumb softly caressing your skin before he pulls you close again, his cheek resting against the crown of your head. “You don’t have to apologise, not for any of it.”

After a few deep breaths and another two minutes of just standing there, holding each other, you pull away. Lando’s heart breaks at the tear stains on your cheeks, but you ignore his sad expression and mutter, “let me clean you up.” 

Lando stands in front of you as you sit on the cupboard, next to the sink, his hands on either side of your spread legs as he stands between them. 

You’re dabbing a cotton pad soaked in antiseptic onto the cut on his lip. “Hold still,” you order him and he raises a brow. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

You give him a look. “Not the time.”

“Okay,” you dab the cotton against his lip again and he winces in pain, but stays still. “Fuck, it stings.”

“Well, you did get punched.” You point out the obvious, shaking your head with disappointment. “You’re such an idiot.”

The irony of your words doesn’t get lost on Lando— he said the same thing to you months ago, when he drove you home from the party. 

“I know,” he shrugs. “Worth it though.” 

“Yeah?” You ask, a little bit in disbelief. “Getting punched by my brother is worth it?”

Lando puts his hands on your waist, sending shivers up your spine. “If it meant I get to be with you, I’d let him punch me a million times more.”

You roll your eyes, biting back a smile as you continue working on cleaning him up. “You’re lucky I haven’t punched you myself.” 

“Fair,” he grins and tries his best to hold as still as he can. His fingers dig into your skin as a way to keep himself at bay, and with the weight of his touch, you weren’t sure if he was holding back just because of the pain anymore. 

A moment passes— one in which Lando can’t stop looking at your focused face and you try your best not to get too flustered because of it. Your brain has been running a mile a minute since Max caught you and it only now had time to process what actually happened.

“You said you loved me.” You say, cautiously, like you’re scared he’ll tell you he didn’t mean it. That was your biggest worry at that moment— Lando just saying things, not knowing if he meant it. 

“Yeah,” he says it so casually, like his words were weightless. “I did.” 

You halt your movements, dropping your hands into your lap as you look anywhere but at him. “Did you mean it or was it something you said to calm Max down?” 

Lando laughs a little. “If I wanted to calm him down, I wouldn’t have said that.” 

You bite your bottom lip with anxiety and nod, “right.” 

He narrows his eyes, pushing his palms onto the counter as his head dips a bit to see you better. “I meant it,” he says after a moment. “It might’ve not been the ideal way to tell you, but it’s true.”

You place your head on his shoulder, still not looking up at him. The drawstring of his sweatpants gets pulled into your grasp as you fidget with it, not sure if you should ask this, but you do. “How long have you known?”

“I don’t know,” his voice is soft, as if he was afraid of being heard. “It just kinda snuck up on me one day and hasn’t left me ever since.”

You nod, pulling yourself up to continue working on his lip. “Okay.”

“That’s all you’re gonna say?” Lando tilts his head to the side, much like a small, confused puppy would. 

“It’s a lot to process,” you shrug, eyes so focused on his lips that you don’t notice his eyes so glued on your face. “I need a minute.”

“That’s okay.” He smiles, hands finding their place on your hips again. “Take your time, I’m not going anywhere.”

“And you should probably not say that around Max anymore.”

Lando licks his lips with a laugh. “Duly noted. You gonna kiss me or keep playing nurse?”

You raise a brow, finally looking at him— his green eyes are no longer hinting at the sadness of the fight he had with Max and rather a glint of something brighter shines in them, something you’ve noticed only happens when he’s looking at you. 

“Let the lip heal first.” You kiss his cheek but Lando won’t settle for that. 

He cups your chin, softly yet firmly turning you to look at him. “Fuck the lip, I want to kiss my girl.” 

That’s when it comes. 

The moment you two had been dreaming of, yet every time it got close, something got in the way. Lando’s hands traveled from your hips to your jacket, unzipping it to reveal your bare body again. 

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he mumbled against your lips, ignoring the stinging of the cut on his bottom one. No amount of injury would keep him away from you. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck, drawing him in closer. The way he kissed you was addicting— with every passing second it felt like his lips became more of a lifeline for you, like if he were to pull away right now, you’d feel a part of you go missing. 

Your nails softly traced formless shapes in his scalp, sending shivers down his spine as his lips left hickeys beside the ones he had decorated you with earlier. 

His hands settle on your thighs, slowly inching closer and when he triggers a spot on your skin that was particularly sensitive to his touch, your knees try to close but hit his hips instead. He pulled you closer to the edge of the sink, his hold on you so careful like he might break you. 

His lips are still on your neck when he mutters, “wrap your legs around me.” 

You do as told, wrapping your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck as he picks you up, carrying you across the hall to your bedroom. He lays you on the bed again— the door shut this time— wasting no time as he unties his sweatpants. 

You don’t notice him reach over to the drawer of your nightstand, taking out the condom he slipped in from his jacket right when Max came into your room. All hell would’ve broken loose if it had somehow fallen out of the jacket when you wore it. 

You feel him pressing against you and another second passes before you’re gasping at him pushing into you, filling you up. “I know,” he coos, lips softly peppering kisses down your jaw. “You can take it.”

Lando stills his hips for a second, not moving as you take time to adjust. The excitement and anticipation grows so big in your belly that it jolts your hips slightly upwards, making Lando groan at the feeling. 

“I’ll move a bit, yeah?” He looks into your eyes, pushing away the hair that fell messily onto your forehead. 

You nod your head and he pulls out. Immediately, you feel the need for more, for him. When Lando pushes his tip past your folds again, setting a slow rhythm, you whimper softly against his mouth. Lando can’t help but moan quietly, the feeling of your walls around his cock being better than he ever imagined. 

Those nights of his hand wrapped around his length, your name spilling from his lips as he came undone on his own chest were nothing like having you— a whimpering mess— underneath him. 

He speeds up just the smallest bit, adding more force to his thrusts, and rolls his hips anytime they make contact with yours. The sound of skin-on-skin contact and shy moans fills the room. 

Lando’s necklace dangles in your face and, for some odd reason, it turns you on even more. Your hips jut against his and you mutter, “faster.”

The sound of your voice when he’s thrusting into you made Lando come closer to the edge. He speeds up again, fingers digging so deeply into your hips that he was sure would leave a mark. 

You gasp at the feeling of him pulling your hips up towards him with every thrust, your eyes squeezed shut as your mouth parted, loud moans bouncing off the walls of the room. 

“You look so pretty like this,” he kissed your jaw, softly biting down on the skin to earn more pretty sounds from you.

Every word you try to say gets drowned out by your moans or muted by Lando kissing you, and then you feel the pleasure build up so quickly that you’re unable to tell him when you come undone. Lando felt your walls pulse around him tighter and knew to keep the pace, thrusting into you as deeply as he could. 

“Look at me,” he ordered, eyes already looking at your closed ones. When your pupils meet his, you feel him reach down between your bodies and gently rub your clit. “Y’gonna cum on my cock, baby? Hm?”

Tears prick your eyes as Lando speeds up the tiniest amount, drilling into you with all he’s got as his right middle finger draws circles on your aching bud. And then, with a breathy moan, Lando feels you come undone. 

He thrusts a little more, reaching for his high with his lips pressed to your shoulder. You feel a warmth inside you before Lando stills. 

The next few minutes are of you two just laying in each other's embrace, not moving— aside from your fingers in Lando’s hair and his fingers drawing circles on your hips— and simply soaking in the calm after the storm.

It’s been two days since Max’s knuckles made friends with Lando’s jaw.

Mason found it quite funny— he never really liked Lando to begin with, so hearing that he fucked up in Max’s eyes made him that much more motivated to add fuel to the fire. He sat on the couch in his living room, watching as Max played some video game on the playstation. 

Another twenty minutes of uninterrupted gameplay passes before Max’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He’s so focused on the game that he doesn’t even check who’s calling, assumes it’s you, and presses the green button before putting the device up to his ear. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Lando’s voice cuts through Max’s focus on the game. He immediately pauses it, rage building in his chest. 

Max takes a breath, trying to calm down before answering. “What do you want?” 

“I’m thinking of breaking up with her.” 

Max feels his heart drop to his heels. He’s what? 

On the other end of the call, Lando’s got his head in his hands as his phone lays atop his knee. He’s in his car, the already small space getting even smaller as his shallow exhales fill the air. 

He’s parked outside your house where, just five minutes ago, he left you peacefully sleeping.  

Over the last two days he had spent with you— all the slow dancing in the kitchen, the breaths bouncing off each other’s faces from being so close in the morning, the moments where his hands traversed your body like it was land unknown to anyone else but him— Lando realised that maybe he could do this forever. 

And that scared him. 

He’s always been a free man— going wherever he pleases whenever he wants, having no responsibility for anyone else other than himself— but now there’s you. 

Lando’s life feels like it’s split into two parts. The part before you seems free, fun, inviting yet gloomy. Like there’s an essential element of it that’s just missing, thus making his existence in that time seem like exactly that— existing. 

The part after you, though, that part is what’s so new yet scary to him. Rather than existing through his days, he lives them because of you. 

It’s a lot more domestic, this life— waking up in tangled sheets, making and burning pancakes in the morning as soft music spills from the speakers, sitting tangled on the couch as you read a book and Lando played a game on Max’s console. He’s not sure what happened for it to feel so wrong when everything was going so well. 

This morning, Lando watched you sleep. So serene, solemn and still. Your bare chest rose and fell with steady breaths, soft snores lingering at the back of your throat every once in a while. 

He stayed like that— propped up on his elbow, eyes tracing over every inch of your face— until the weight in his chest felt like his ribs were breaking. 

As he was getting dressed, he questioned it. He loves you— hell, he’s loved you for years, but he was too stupid to realise it sooner— and he knows you’re the girl he wants, so why is he running?

He’s quietly making his way down the stairs when he realises that maybe Max was right. Max made it clear that Lando wasn’t the guy for you, that you deserve much better, and while Lando disagreed with it before, he feels like it’s true.

He spent the majority of his later teens and early adulthood with more women than he could count on one hand, not a single one of them made him question his feelings, because there weren’t any. 

But now, with you sleeping soundly upstairs and him standing by the open front door, Lando realises that maybe somewhere in the middle of your blooming relationship, he got too caught up in the delusion to face reality— you deserve someone who won’t walk out on you while you’re asleep. 

For the past five minutes, Lando sat in the driver's seat, clutching the wheel so hard that his knuckles turned white. He didn’t want to call Max about this, but he was the only person in the world that Lando trusted and it was worth a shot. 

“You what?” Max’s voice rang in Lando’s ears. “Are you out of your fucking mind?” 

“You were right, I– I’m not the guy for her.” Lando’s voice sounded so flat that it made Max worried, just the tiniest bit. “She deserves better.”

“Mate, if it’s about what I said, I’ll fucking get over it eventually.” Max is now pacing around Mason’s living room while the blond man just watches him, a glimmer of hope in his eye that Max failed to catch. “But her? She’ll never get over you, Lando.”

“You don’t know that, Max.”

Max inhales sharply, as if he was just about to spew a string of insults at Lando but chose to take the calmer approach. “I do know that, she’s so fucking in love with you that it makes me sick. Do you realise how much you walking out will fuck her up?”

“I thought that’s what you wanted,” Lando’s starting his car now, still hesitant to turn the key. “It’s what’s best for her.”

“Since when do you decide that?” Max huffs a humorless laugh. “At least just talk to her, dude. I’ll get over you two dating but what I won’t forgive you for is walking out on both of us.” 

“Bye, Max.” Lando inhales a deep breath and before his best friend can speak again, he’s ending the call.

The smell of cinnamon, bananas and something burning hits Max’s nose the second he opens the front door to his house. He steps into the kitchen slowly, eyes scanning the mess— flour dusted across the countertops like snow, dishes cluttering the sink, you aggressively mixing something in a big, blue bowl. 

“What are you doing?” 

You halt your movements, turning around to Max with the fakest smile he’s ever seen from you. “Baking. Banana bread, you want some?” 

Max watches as you pull out the banana bread— that looks more like a chunk of coal— out of the oven. “Nah, I’ll pass.” 

He knew not to push, not to ask because, in reality, he shouldn’t even care. You betrayed him as much as Lando did, but you’re his little sister and Max would be damned if he let you set the house on fire with your baking. 

Max took a seat at one of the stools, eyes intently watching you. You never baked, not unless you were trying to occupy your mind by occupying your hands. 

“I talked to Lando,” he says casually, like he didn’t hate the guy. 

He notices the halt in your movements, the knife stilling in the burnt loaf. “Cool,” you shrug. 

“He said he’s ending things with you.” 

“And why do you think that is, Max?” You slam the knife down onto the counter with enough force to make Max jolt. “You got into his head.”

“I didn’t mean for him to take that shit seriously.” Your brother runs a hand down his face. “I was angry, yeah, but that doesn’t mean I wanted him to leave you.” 

“You punched him, that’s not something to take lightly.” You say, a little quieter this time, a little more hurt. 

Max notices the silent glimmer of a plea in your eyes, like you’re asking him what you should do. “You should talk to him.” 

“And say what?” Your voice breaks as tears begin to roll down your cheeks, shoulders dropping. “He left me, Max, he le-“ 

A loud sob echoes in the kitchen and Max’s arms are around you immediately. He caresses your back, softly kissing your head as his arms squeeze you tighter. 

“He’s at the garage, probably hasn’t left all day.” He mutters. “I’m not telling you to go fix it, but if you want answers, that’s where you’ll get them.” 

Max watches your face as you pull away and wipe your tears with your sleeve. “Okay.” 

“Go, I’ll clean up your mess.” Max gives your shoulders a soft squeeze and turns to the lump of coal you called banana bread. 

Lando’s garage had always been his hideout. 

The lights were always on too late and, even from across the street, you could see a sliver of fluorescent glow bleeding out through the cracked garage door. 

You were parked at the end of his driveway. The air, thick and way too warm, smelled like motor oil and rubber, and it reminded you of simpler days— your legs dangling off the workbench while your boyfriend tinkered with something, grease smudging his fingers and face. 

The door was already cracked open, your favourite song quietly playing from the bluetooth speaker at the corner of the room. 

Lando was bent over the engine of one of the cars, back towards you, elbow deep in whatever he was messing with. He didn’t need to turn to know it was you who came in. 

“You left while I was sleeping.” Your voice shook the calmness of his garage— his sanctuary— and he felt it in his bones. “You left and didn’t say anything. You talked to Max instead of me.” 

Lando pulls his hands out of the engine bay and reaches for a nearby rag, wiping his fingers slowly and methodically, giving himself something to focus on before he breaks. 

“I didn’t know what to say.” He finally turns to face you, though his eyes stay glued to the ground. He catches a glimpse of your pink crocs and it makes him smile, just barely. 

“You knew what to say to the guy that punched you and not your girlfriend?” Your voice cracked with a quiet sob. “Do you know what it felt like to hear from my brother that you wanted to end things with me?”

“Listen, I’m sorry,” he draws in a deep breath before continuing. “I’m sorry I disappeared, okay? I just- I didn’t know how to handle it. I needed space to think.” 

“About what?” You bit your bottom lip to stop it from shaking. “About whether or not I’m worth staying for?”

“No,” the word left his lips with urgency, eyes finally looking up at yours. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. 

The silence stretched, the music still playing from the corner of the room like it didn’t care that hearts broke in this room. 

Lando exhaled slowly. “I’m scared.” He didn’t wait for you to ask why. “I’ve never had a good thing like this, I’m scared I’ll fuck it up and ruin it.” 

“You won’t.”

He huffs a sigh of frustration. “You don’t know that.” 

You step a little closer, inching towards the wall Lando built up around himself,  a frail attempt to hide his feelings. Lando raises his eyes from the ground to— finally— look at your face. 

“I know that you’re trying,” your voice cuts through the sharp silence. “I know that I noticed all the things you did for me.”

“What?” Lando blinked. 

“I noticed,” you repeated. “You probably thought I didn’t, but I never mentioned it because I thought you’d stop doing them.” 

You reach out to take his hand, rough and warm, in yours. He didn’t pull away, just looked at you— sad, scared, waiting.

“I noticed how you remembered stupid details about me. I noticed how you’d text me when you couldn’t sleep and pretend it was about something random, when you were trying to subtly let me in. I noticed how you got quieter when overwhelmed, how you’d hold back things you wanted to say. I saw all of that. I see you, Lando.” 

Lando’s grasp on your hand tightened, like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered. He looked up at you. Like your words were light he didn’t know he could stand in. 

“I tried,” he whispered, voice gentle and soft in the way he’d never spoken before— like every word he says drops to the ground with added weight. 

“I know you did,” you nod, eyes teary and locked into his face. “And I loved every bit of it. All the good and the bad. I wasn’t waiting for some perfect version of you, I just want you. The scared and the happy.” 

A silence stretched in the air. Then, he exhaled shakily and spoke again. 

“It’s like… The more I care, the worse I get at this. Like I’m holding something fragile and don’t know how to stop myself from dropping it.” 

“You’re not going to drop me. You don’t have to protect me from you. I choose you and I choose this.” 

He pulled his hand away gently, eyes focusing on anything  other than your face. His jaw clenched, voice low when he mumbled, “I think I need a break.” 

“A break?” 

“Not because I don’t love you,” he quickly added, looking at you with wide eyes before dropping his shoulders. “I do, God, I love you. I love you so much I don’t know what to do with it.” 

You don’t say anything— not a sound— tears falling from your eyes as you gave him a small, bittersweet smile.

Lando watched as you stepped closer, bringing your hands up to his cheeks. You pulled him in close enough to press your lips against the sweaty surface of his forehead, giving a gentle see you later, neither of you sure of when the later is. 

Then, you turned on your heel and stepped out into the night, leaving Lando in his sanctuary of motor oil and gasoline.

The next few weeks feel like they’re moving in slow motion. It’s cruel how grief stretches time.

You kept expecting to wake up one day and feel fine, but it didn’t work like that.

You still reached for your phone some mornings, typing out something before remembering you weren’t talking. The playlist he made for you kept playing on repeat in your earbuds, his hoodie adorned your torso, sleeves pulled over your hands so at least some part of him was still holding you.

You caught yourself looking for him in the small things— when you’d walk out of university, eyes flickering to see if his car was there; when you’d walk downstairs and half-hope he was playing a game with Max; when you’d hear a word or phrase he’d often use and whip your head around to catch a glimpse of him, but he was never there.

It’s like living with a phantom limb– he wasn’t there, yet everything still remembered him.

Your best friends didn't push, Max didn’t mention him. But the silence— the kind that only fills the room after something’s broken and no one knows how to sweep it up— spoke for you.

In the meanwhile, Lando was coping in the only way he knew how.

He skipped hang outs with friends, ditched parties, just to work longer hours in his garage. Stayed until the heater shut off on its own and his hands were numb from the cold. He didn’t talk to anyone for those weeks. He just drowned himself in tasks— changing oil, fixing brakes, changing tires— anything that kept his hands busy and allowed his mind to work on autopilot. 

His phone remained quiet. Once or twice, he clicked on your contact just to see the photo of you two. Thought about sending a voice memo or a meme— something friendly, something you’d tease him for— but he always backed out at the last minute. 

Lando could hide in the garage all he wanted, but one thing remained true: he missed you like hell.

He missed the way you’d talk to him, like he wasn’t something broken. Missed how you’d be his escape from reality, much more than his garage ever was. Missed how easy it had started to feel, until he complicated it.

He kept seeing you everywhere or maybe he was just finding any excuse to take a moment to stop and think of you. He’d catch himself standing in the cereal aisle, staring at the brand you liked most. Or outside a bakery, reading the chalkboard sign that said banana bread in funky script, thinking of how he’d come downstairs in the morning to find you baking it.

Lando tried his best not to feel it— the regret, the grief, the overwhelming love.

Yet, despite his best efforts, he found himself staring at his lockscreen, a picture of the two of you on it. You were asleep tucked into his side, so serene and peaceful that he couldn’t help but snap a picture. He did this on nights he couldn’t sleep.

It was already two in the morning and his mind was running wild, he could’ve sworn he hallucinated a message from you. He checked his phone again, seeing the message and just as he’s about to click on it, your contact pops up on his screen.

Lando doesn’t hesitate to answer, pressing the green button immediately. “Hello?”

On the other end, you’re locked in a bathroom at Mason’s house, mascara running down your cheeks, dress hitched way too high up your thighs. You didn’t anticipate this night to go so wrong when all you were trying to do is move on from wallowing at home.

The party, at some point, became too much. Too many people, too much noise, too many bodies brushing past you like you didn’t exist— except for the one who did notice you and in all the wrong ways. 

Mason caught you in the hallway, snaking an arm around your waist as he led you upstairs to his bedroom. You thought he was being nice, like he had been for the past few weeks. It was only when he started softly caressing your thighs, face inching closer to yours, that you realised his intentions. He didn’t stop, even when you were pushing and screaming at him to go away. 

You found a pause in his movements, kicked him somewhere that distracted him long enough for you to run out of the room and lock yourself in the nearest bathroom. Your fingers trembled when you opened your phone.

There were people you could’ve called. People who would answer and help. But you didn’t want people, only him.

When the phone rang once, then twice, you started doubting your choice of calling him. But then, his voice cuts through the chaos in your mind and silences it all with just one word. 

His voice was rough with surprise, tired, laced with something so familiar yet so distant. 

You didn’t mean to cry again, but it spilled out of you without warning. “I— fuck, sorry. I shouldn’t have called.”

“Wait— hey, no— what’s wrong?” Lando sat up in his bed, alarmed by the trembling of your voice. “Where are you?”

“At a party,” you mumbled, wiping your tears uselessly. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

“I’m glad you called me,” he answered, no hesitation. “I’m coming to get you, text me the address?”

“No, I shouldn’t have called. I— I’m sorry.”

“Give me the address.” Lando says more sternly. You read it out and he repeated it back, like he was memorising it. “Stay there. You don’t have to explain a thing to me, just stay in that room and don’t open the door unless it’s me, okay?”

Then the line went dead.

You sunk to the floor, phone in your lap, arms around your knees. The minutes stretched painfully. Music blared, people walked by, someone knocked once but you told them to fuck off without even glancing at the door.

Then, barely ten minutes since the call ended, you hear a knock. Softer, rhythmic, familiar.

“It’s me,” he yelled over the music. You opened the door and there he was— messy haired, hoodie half-zipped, cheeks flushed like he ran the whole way there.

Lando saw your mascara-streaked face and something in him cracked open. He didn’t ask, not immediately. He just shut the door behind himself, reaching a hand out as if to ask for permission to touch you. And when he pulled you into him, arms shielding you, you let yourself break. 

“I’m so fucking sorry,” you mumbled into his, now tear and mascara stained, hoodie. “I shouldn’t have called you, it’s too soon, I’m–”

“Stop,” his voice was quiet, but firm. He took your face into his hands, guiding your eyes towards him. “You called, I came. I always will.”

“I didn’t wanna be a burden.”

He placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. “You’re not. Not ever.”

Lando tucked you back into his chest again, hand on the back of your head like he’s anchoring you there. “Don’t worry about too soon or too late, I’m here for you. Doesn’t matter when or where.”

You nodded, inhaling shaky breaths until the ache in your chest became small enough to handle. Lando’s eyes traced your face when you pulled away, thumbs softly wiping the mascara from under your eyes. “Who did this to you?”

You bit your lip, not wanting to say anything. But Lando knew you. He knew how to read you, how to understand what you wanted to say even without words. “Mason?” A nod from you was all it took for Lando to mumble for you to stay there as he burst out the door.

The kitchen was buzzing— music hummed low, drinks were being poured, someone laughed too loudly over the sound of ice cracking in the glass. 

Lando stormed in like a force of nature, his shoulders tense and jaw clenched, a fury in his eyes no one had ever seen before, not even Max. 

Lando didn’t look around at the people in the small space. He moved straight to the kitchen counter, like a bloodhound drawn to the scent of something rotten. 

Mason was there, laughing, surrounded by people too excited for the shots being poured to notice the storm. But Max did. The second he saw Lando, he knew something was up. 

“Lando—“ Max’s callout was too late. Lando had already grabbed Mason by the collar and slammed him face-first into the marble. 

The music abruptly stopped, Mason’s yell echoing in the still air. “What the fuck?”

Lando pulled him back and threw him against the fridge with a bone-rattling bang, the bottle of vodka from Mason’s hands clattering to the ground and breaking at their feet. 

“You sick son of a bitch,” Lando snarled, pressing his forearm against Mason’s throat. “You don’t fucking know when to stop, do you?” 

Mason coughed, struggling. “What the fuck are you on about?”

By now, Max had shoved forward and tried to pry Lando off. “Hey, man—“

“You know exactly what,” Lando spat, eyes not once leaving Mason’s face. “You wanna tell Max what you did to his sister? Why she called me crying and couldn’t even say your name without breaking into a sob?”

Max froze. “What?” 

“She didn’t say no,” Mason tried to defend himself, wide eyed and panicked. “She didn’t say anything— She didn’t stop me.”

Lando punched him. Knuckles to cheekbone, sharp and brutal. Mason’s head whipped to the side with a force strong enough to bring him to the ground, blood already blooming from his lip. 

The whole room stood frozen. Lando hovered over the recovering Mason, before shoving him to the ground with his knee between Mason’s shoulder blades. 

“If I hear that you touched her again or even looked her way, you won’t be just bleeding.” Lando promises. 

Then he leaves, as quickly and quietly as he arrived. Mason’s left on the floor with a fuming Max while Lando finds his way back to you, knuckles bleeding and heart racing triple. 

The cold marble of your kitchen islands spreads coolth along your thighs, grounding you to the present, although your thoughts are elsewhere entirely. The kitchen light buzzing above you doesn’t help with the lingering headache from the party or the ghost of Mason’s hands still roaming your body.

You got home ten minutes ago. 

Lando stands beside you, the heat from his body bleeding into the silence like wildfire, even as he zones out into nothing. His eyes seem so far away, jaw clenched with uncontrollable fury.

“Your knuckles are bleeding,” you murmur, barely a whisper. He doesn’t answer, simply stretches out and closes his fist again, before tucking it into his pocket, like he can hide the violence and anger of tonight. 

He looked wrecked, not just from the fight, but from feeling— jaw clenched, lips tight, eyes narrowed in on the wooden floor. 

“I shouldn’t have called you,” you whispered. “It was selfish and too soon, and I didn’t know what else to do.” 

“Stop,” he said immediately, voice too gentle for how rough and broken he looked. He closed the distance between you, and like testing the waters, he placed a hand on the counter beside you. “Don’t ever apologise for needing me. I’ll always come when you call.”

The dam broke a little at that, tears pricking your eyes. Lando’s finger twitched like he wanted to reach for you, but didn’t know if he could. So you reached for him first— fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie as you pressed your forehead into his shoulder. 

Lando melted around you instantly, arms winding around your waist, pulling you in, holding you against him like you were fragile and precious, and his. 

Neither of you moved for a long time. The house was silent, apart from your quiet gasps for air once in a while. Your heartbeat matched the steady thrum of his and you finally felt like everything was slowly becoming okay again. 

Eventually, Lando pulled away just enough to see your face, but kept you close enough for his fingers to still steadily warm your waist. “Can I clean this up?” He lifted his right hand, nudging his chin towards his knuckles. You nodded. 

He led you to the bathroom and sat against the bathtub’s edge, watching as you hastily looked for the first aid kit. You knelt in front of him, gently cleaning the dried up blood from his knuckles and skin. He hissed once the antiseptic touched an open wound. You didn’t apologise, just looked up and met his eyes, already watching you. “Why?”

Lando turned his head to the side with a questioning hum, “what?”

“You didn’t have to go that far,” you mutter, lowering your eyes to his hand again. “We could’ve just gone home.”

“I did have to,” he shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“You didn’t even think twice, you just went there and…” your voice was quiet, like you’re ashamed. 

“No,” he speaks again, “because it’s you.”

The quiet that settled in didn’t feel heavy anymore— it felt like home again. In the words Lando spoke and the tenderness of your fingers on his wounds, gentle and careful, both of you found your place again. Like two halves of one whole. You were the better half of him and he— of you.

The sun rose outside your bedroom window as Lando lay against your chest and you held him close, with a tight yet tender grip, like he’d disappear if you let go of him again.

“I’m glad you called me tonight,” Lando muttered, lips pressed to your bare chest. “I’m not sure how much longer I would have waited before talking to you again.”

“It was eating me alive,” you admit. “The not knowing whether this was it, whether you’d still want me whenever I saw you next. But I’m glad you do.”

“I always will,” the certainty in his voice, spoken like he knew what he’d feel for the rest of his life, made your heart skip a beat. “Thank you for calling me, again.”

You look down at him, your smile soft and bittersweet.

“Thank you for coming, again.” 

“To you, always.”

[beloveds-embrace]

can we get Duchess reader yearning for a baby of her own 🥺 imagine there was a Ball in the neighboring kingdom and Duchess!Reader and Duke!Price was invited, celebrating the birth of the Kingdom’s new heir, a baby boy on her fellow Duchess’s arms.

And reader coos at the baby while masking the deep ache in her heart thinking that it’ll be so impossible to have a baby with her husband due to him and his lovers 😢

cue to Duchess!Reader having a heavy heart through out the entire event and even the days after that, until one of our boys asks her what wrong.

(And John having to hold Johnny back bc that nasty dog has been waiting to get his paws on her since forever)

Oh my god yes??? Anon i could smooch your brain right now yes??? This is so good i love it. Sorry for the abrupt ending though, had no idea how to finish it off 😔

Original Post

“Such an adorable little one,” you coo softly, the newborn held delicately and carefully in your arms, swaddled in the baby blue blankets you and John had bought among your other gifts for your fellow Duke and Duchess. “He looks so much like you, I’m in awe.”

Your friend laughs lightly, sipping on her drink. With a soft sigh, she leans closer towards you. The party is in full swing, so many other nobles mingling and networking, but thankfully you and your friend have your own little corner for now and everyone has already congratulated her and her husband.

“So,” she begins, her eyes flickering towards where both of you two’s husbands are speaking. The smiles on their faces are clearly happy, though you aren’t surprised; John had mentioned that he’s already friends with the Duke during the carriage ride. “So. What about you and Duke Price, hm? Any surprises we should prepare for?”

Ah. You had been dreading this.

You sigh, shaking your head. Though the smile returns as you gaze at the napping baby, so small and precious in your arms. With you friend’s permission, you gently kiss his tiny little fists. “Not at all. We are happy as we are.”

And it’s not as if you are lying by any means, oh no. You are happy. Life as Duchess was far, far much better than you had expected it’d be, a lot less restrictive than you had prepared for it to be.

But…

You can’t lie to yourself. You’ve been feeling a sense of discontent from the very second you stepped into the gala venue. Perhaps for even longer, though it hadn’t been especially felt until this moment. Not until you held this baby in your arms.

You want a baby, too, you had realized. Motherhood. A child all yours, calling you momma and toddling into your arms. You had been unable to stop yourself from feeling the little bud of jealousy towards your friend, because you knew you’d likely never experience such a thing due to your unique situation.

John has his own partners whom he loves. You weren’t among that list, and you didn’t particularly enjoy the idea of having sex with another man with the potential risk of your parents, or anyone else, asking for a paternity test because you know someone would ask. Your mother, probably; she was always warning you not to whore yourself out, and your father didn’t even need to say anything-

“My dear?”

John’s concerned voice pulls you out of your thoughts, his hand gentle on your elbow, and it’s only then you realize you had been staring down at the baby with such sadness, so not befitting of such a beautiful gala. So you shake your head, clearing your thoughts, and turn to him and your friend's husband.

When the baby squirms, you coo softly and hand him back to your friends, gentle and careful. That's when you turn to John, giving him a simple smile. "Yes, Your Grace?"

The worry remains on his face, less visible however, and his eyes look over you carefully. Your friends are too busy with their son and showing him off to care about what you two are saying in the corner he’s led you to. "Are you alright?”

As if you’d ever tell him what the issue is. You don’t want to make John feel pressured into this, of all things. You’d rather be divorced than do so, and that should speak volumes on its own.

It’s a silly want, anyways. You have everything you could possible need right now, married and stable. You aren’t about to ruin it with your own two hands.

So you nod your head, and brush away all thoughts of a little baby cradled in your arms. “Yes, I am. I was just lost in thought. Shall we return to the party?”

John observes you for a few seconds more, and then he sighs and nods. “Very well. Would you do me the honor of this dance, my dear Duchess?”

Between the dazzling lights and John’s arms, you can almost forget the lingering desire.

But over the next few days after the gala, it becomes clear to John- to all your the men that something is terribly bothering you. There is a lingering sadness around you so profound even your maids have sensed it, wondering if perhaps you and the Duke have finally had your first fight… but he looks even more more worried and confused than them. You weren’t mad at anyone, that much he could tell, but he didn’t understand the heartache plaguing you.

“…are you sick, my lady?” Kyle asks you one day, placing down a tray of fresh desserts. Your favorites, all made by Johnny himself, yet you barely flick a look towards it.

“Not at all. Thank you, Kyle, but I’m afraid I can’t eat anything at the moment.” Your reply is soft, patient, as it always is, but the furrow in your brows remain and your frown deepens. Kyle hates it. He hates it so, so much. You’ve even stopped taking your usual break-walks, staying inside your room and asking for nothing in particular.

“My lady,” he presses on, voice softer. Comes to stand close to you, and holds his elbow out. “Maybe a walk, then? You look tired. Some sun might do you good- or a picnic? I can pack the desserts and-”

You avoid his eyes and look away, shaking your head. “Thank you, but my answer’s the same, Kyle. I’d just… like to be left alone, please. Could I trouble you to also inform John I won’t be joining him for dinner tonight?”

You are simply glad you managed to hide the little paper you’d been writing on before he came in. Baby names, for the babies you’d never have. It certainly didn’t help make your mood better, but you couldn’t help yourself. Looking at John, or any of them, also made you feel guilty anew.

“…not a problem, my lady. I’ll leave the desserts here for you just in case.”

Several days later, it’s Johnny who comes to you. You are alone in the conservatory, trying hard to get over this stupid, lingering feeling. It’s silly, you know it is, but… ugh.

Johnny says nothing even when you call his name out with a questioning tone, and much to your shock, he kneels down to take your hands in his. It’s so wholly inappropriate, and you look around in fear of anyone seeing.

“No one’s around, m’lady,” Johnny shakes his head, not letting your hands go yet.

“Johnny-“

“No one’s around.” He repeats, firmly, and his eyes gaze at you. “M’lady. Have we made ye angry? Has anyone made you upset? Is my food not to your liking?”

“Johnny…” you sigh, shaking your head. Inwardly, you scold yourself for bothering everyone like this. This should have been your issue alone to solve and hide. “No, no. Nothing like that. I just need some time alone, in general.”

“But why-“

“No particular reason.” You quickly cut him off, gently pulling your hands away. “Please, Johnny. I’ll get better soon, promise. But I just… need time.”

But the desire, the longing, still remains. You can’t even confide in anyone, so you also feel painfully lonely on top of everything else. John is still searching, still trying to find what or who’s made you like this, but not even your closest maids are of help.

Still, while you wished to wallow your misery away in your rooms and office, you didn’t have much choice when you’d received an invitation to the opera troupe funded by the Price duchy; making an appearance was a must, and unfortunately John had a very important meeting that day so Simon is the one to accompany you.

“You’ve been sad lately.” Simon doesn’t beat around the bush, all the lights focused on the stage so you are both draped in shadows, hidden from sight.

You turn to him, a refusal on your lips already-

“No.” He shakes his head. “You aren’t just tired, Duchess. You are sad. Everyone can see it, and it’s making us worried. All of us.” He adds, not letting you latch onto your usual excuse. Performance ignored, his entire attention is on you.

And you are just- too tired. Ashamed of yourself, you sigh.

“It’s awful of me…” your whisper, bottom lip quivering. “I-… I want a baby, Simon.” You admit, so softly and quietly you don’t look at his reaction to see if he’d even heard you in the first place. You shouldn’t be telling him of all people your issues, but- you can’t help yourself. “A child. I want to experience motherhood, but- I don’t, I refuse to put such a burden on John, or get in the way between all of you again-“

You ramble on, not meeting his eyes. Your hands are tembling around the mask you’d taken off, holding it in your lap.

Simon?

Simon can’t take his eyes off your stomach. You. You, pregnant; swollen and glowing with a child. Maybe children, even. Their children. His. He can’t believe this is what has had you so upset for so long; did you think they- John- would say no to you?

“Darling, ” The nickname slips out; he couldn’t help himself. He is glad the no one is paying attention to them, in the higher rows. Simon laces your pinkies together, raising your hand to kiss your knuckles, silencing your worried rambling. “Darling. Let us return home. Staying here isn’t doing you any good. Tonight, I want you to let Kyle spoil you with a warm bath, and for you to eat and then sleep. Rest. Tomorrow, we’ll speak. I’ll inform the troupe leader you weren’t feeling too well.”

“I- I… speak about what? What?”

Simon simply ushers you out, to the awaiting carriage. He doesn’t answer any of your questions, even when you pout and the it makes your lipstick glisten to prettily, though if you can feel that his hands are inappropriately tight around your waist, you simply blame it on your tightened corset.

At home, you are still confused. Simon is acting off, staring at you with a look that makes you all flustered, but you don’t protest when Kyle gently leads you away.

You’ll get your answers tomorrow, you are sure. But in the meantime…

“She wants a baby, John,” Simon groans, repeating the words again. His jacket is thrown off to the side, sleeves rolled up his elbows. Even from here, he can see how John eyes them appreciatively. “A baby, John. Seeing her pregnant-“

Another groan, but the one comes from between John’s thighs. Johnny, hands tied behind his back with Simon’s belt because the second he found out what the issue he was so, so ready to go and beg you to let him fix it. A bairn is what you want, a bairn is what he’ll give you- chunky, adorable, and hopefully looking like you.

John had to hold him back, though. He wants nothing more than to do the same, kiss you breathless and promise he’ll give you as many as you want, but he also knows you need a clear, rested head before he speaks with you.

The thought of seeing your pregnant, though, has his fist tightening in Johnny’s hair.

“I know. Fuck, I know, Si. Tomorrow, I’ll speak to her.”

[serenity-loves-red]

Note: Y’all is shirtless Phainon the new trend now not that i’m complaining? Hoyoverse pls stop giving me ideas😩

Phainon likes you, very much so that it became a common knowledge in Okhema. He even thought he was so lowkey and excellent in keeping it a secret until Mydei asked him if you already got together when he saw Phainon looks to happy.

That was when he finally knew that his so-called secret isn’t actually a secret. He got really embarrassed when Mydei pointed it out how he was so obvious yet somehow, you weren’t able to catch on.

Idiots, some people calls you both. Others would say cute slowburn soon-to-be lovers who just need a bit of push.

For Phainon? He just thinks how embarrassing everything is.

Some groups even started placing bets on when Phainon can finally has his courage to ask you out. Not just those mixed signal moves that you always interpreted as platonic.

You, the one who made the Deliverer of Amphoreus weak on his knees just look so clueless and slow. You keep explaining that how Phainon acted with you was just like how you both normally do.

“Phainon doesn’t like me like that.” You laughed when someone pointed it out. “We’re just friends.” You always reasoned out.

A bit of oblivious to his advances that makes people who sees you two together just wants to bash your faces together to make you kiss.

Phainon somehow felt relieved hearing that and just let you believe what you wanted to. He knows now is not the right time and when it is, he will surely show you how determined and serious he is pursuing you.

And that right time came faster than he could say Amen to Kephale.

Phainon’s decision on wooing you slowly was put on a challenge when you met Mydei.

Phainon had accompanied you to Marmoreal Market when you wanted to check for some fruits. On your way, you met Mydei who Phainon enthusiastically introduced.

You already knew the man named Mydei but never actually met him. So when you did, you can’t stop ogling him.

And Phainon? Oh Kephale, he never felt this regretful when introducing Mydei to anyone before. And you– can you stop ogling over his rival? You never even looked at him that way!

He nudged at you but you just gave him a brief side eye and gestured your eyes at Mydei.

Why did it took you so long to introduce this man to me huh? I thought we were friends. He somehow managed to understand you.

Forget all those fruits! You keep looking at Mydei’s exposed chest, complete forgetting about him.

Phainon couldn’t let you do that. So without thinking straight. He pulled your arm to stop you from walking.

“Wha-“ you managed to stutter out before being boggled by the sight before you.

Phainon just lit himself on fire until his upper body was bare.

“Can you look at me now?” He said, eyes completely focused on you. “Do I really have to took off my clothes for you to just look at me?”

He looks so serious that for a second you didn’t know what to say. It was until he felt the eyes and whistles from the crowd that was slowly forming that he let go of your arm, but kept you close.

He even has the audacity to look embarrassed when he was the one who started stripping!

“Don’t mind us!” Someone quipped from the crowd. “Go Lord Phainon! You can do it!” They cheered.

Red faced, Phainon mustered all his remaining sanity and confessed. “…I love you. I’ve always did but don’t know what to say. I wanted to wait until the time is right but…”

“You don’t have to explain anything but to tell you, I already have an inkling. I just didn’t want to assume anything and make it weird for us so I waited for you confess.” You replied feeling happy despite the bizarre situation.

“And I love you too.” You smiled, holding his hand and gave a quick peck to his cheek.

“But do you really have to take off your shirt?”

Ps. It was Aglaea’s idea in making Phainon jealous by having Mydei to show up. And it worked she won the bet

[monstersflashlight]

Human woman deep thraoating her werewolf lover as a warmup when he unexpectedly pops his knot in her mouth. They are stuck there, her cockwarming him in her mouth until it goes down.

A/N: It’s not the first time I think about this concept, ngl. I’ve read a few good fanfics with this trope and it’s always so fucking hot… Anyway, enjoy!

Chipmunk cheeks

Werewolf x fem!reader || (accidental) cockwarming, oral sex, knotting, dub-con, free use (kinda?), (light) praise kink, (light) dirty talk

Sucking your werewolf boyfriend off is one of your favorite activities. The fact that you can bring a big werewolf to his knees just with your mouth gives you such a power high that you do it every time you can. Which is why you should have been expecting what happened.

“Fuck, fuck, baby I’m gonna… Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!” You don’t have time to pull back before you feel his knot expanding inside your mouth to the point of near pain.

You’re pretty sure he can feel your teeth against his knot, but that only seems to make him come harder. You swallow frantically around it, making him moan and spill more of his seed. You glare at him, and he smiles, his face flushed and embarrassed, but his dick so hard in your mouth that you can feel every twitch.

You think he’s about to apologize as you glare up at him, but instead of that, he says: "I know this isn't what you want to hear right now honey, but you look super cute with the whole chipmunk cheeks thing going on," he jokes and you feel another shoot of come down your throat, making both of you moan.

You want to be mad, you want to be angry at him, you’re even tempted to close your jaw a little to make him feel more of your teeth. Except the whole situation is oddly… arousing. The fact that you can’t move, the fact that he’s buried in your mouth without being able to move and you’re just there… taking it all as a good little whore for him.

Fuck, you’re getting aroused again. He sniffs, looking down at you with a renewed interest. “You like this, baby? You like having my knot in your sweet mouth?” You moan around him, and he grunts, rolling his hips and releasing down your throat again. “Fuck, that’s so good. You are so good.”

You moan around him, and without thinking, you start sucking around him slowly. The moan that leaves his mouth is nothing but whorish and it makes your pussy clench. You reach down and start rubbing your clit over your panties, probably making a mess but not caring about it. You can’t do much, you can’t move, and he can’t do anything aside from moan and hold on tightly to your hair. Fuck… this is the most erotic experience of your life.

You rub harder and he praises you, your brain short-circuiting as you start to roll your hips on your hand. “Fuck that pretty pussy for me, get it wet and ready for me. Once I’m done with your mouth I’m going to knot your pussy, and you’re going to take it like a good whore, right, baby?”

You can’t nod, but you suck around him, pulling your panties to the side and pushing two fingers inside yourself. You ride your hand as best as you can as he pulls at your hair, still coming down your throat. Your jaw hurts, and your knees start to ache, but fuck, you’re so close…

“Come for me, baby. Come with my knot in your mouth like a good little whore,” he whispers. Fuck if it doesn’t make your brain go completely fuzzy as you do exactly that. You can’t scream, but you moan around him, sucking absently as you ride your orgasm out.

You can see his tail wagging behind him as he moans again, another shot of his come spurting down your throat as his dick throbs inside your mouth. You know what that means, that means it feels so good his knot’s going to stay big for a while longer. You sit back on your heels and try to get comfortable, feeling sleepy after your own orgasm.

So you stay like that, accidentally cock-warming him and his big knot as he keeps filling your tummy with shot after shot of come. Your brain starts to turn fuzzy, your eyes half closed as he caresses your hair. You enter such a trance of a state that when he pulls out you barely know where you are.

He helps you to your feet, kissing your swollen lips and massaging your jaw softly as he says: “Next time we’ll be prepared.” You just nod, brain still fuzzy and thinking of all the possibilities.

[hoshifighting]

hi can i request svt's reaction to their s/o being cockdrunk and using their cock as a toy bc she's ovulating 👹👹

warnings: smut, overstimulation, ovulation, teasing, dirty talk, clit stimulations, hair pulling, ass spanking.

seungcheol: dying inside, but god, he loves it. he’s gritting his teeth, trying to hold on as you ride him like it’s the only thing you need. “shit, baby, you really gonna use me like this?” he’d growl, hands gripping your hips to guide you. he’s sensitive as hell, but he’ll take it, no matter how much it wrecks him, whispering in your ear about how he’ll fuck you until you can’t walk. (also would love how fast you get wet)

jeonghan: whining at this point, but still so into it. he’s teasing you the whole time, even though he’s losing his mind. “so desperate, huh?” he’d smirk, cock twitching with every thrust. he’d make you grind on him slow, pulling you down by the neck to whisper filthy shit in your ear, making you need him even more.

joshua: fucked out and blushing, but he’s doing everything to make sure you’re satisfied. “you’re ovulating, huh? can’t get enough of me?” he’d pant, voice shaky as you bounce on him. even though he’s close to overstimulation, he’d still talk sweetly, whispering how he’ll give you everything you need, no matter how sensitive he gets. (best bf ever award)

junhui: loves how wild you get when you’re ovulating. “damn, is it day one?” he’d grin, even though he’s groaning from the sensitivity. he’d slap your ass, leaning in to bite at your neck, knowing it drives you crazy, making sure you’re completely ruined.

hoshi: he’s whining from how hard you’re going, but he’s not stopping you. “fuck, babe, I’m so—ahh, fuck, I’m so sensitive.” he’d gasp, hips bucking into you. he’d grab your thighs, spreading them wider, and mutter, “holy shit, you’re gonna milk me dry…” he pushes deeper.

wonwoo: would be groaning under his breath, but still letting you use him however you want, because he's thebest boyfriend ever :( <33. “shit, babe, I can’t—fuck.” he’s biting his lip, trying to hold it together as you grind down on him, overstimulating him to the max, hands on your waist to pull you closer. he’d stroke your clit softly, just to see you completely lose control.

woozi: he’d try to keep it together, but his voice is cracking with every moan. “you’re fucking crazy when you’re ovulating,” he’d mutter, barely able to keep up with how desperate you are. he’s thrusting up into you harder, just to make sure you get exactly what you want, because oyu're his princess and his body is completely yours—yeah, the muscles, everything, all for you.

minghao: he’s into how wild you get during ovulation. moaning louder than usual, but still somehow keeping it together. “you’re really not gonna stop, huh?” he’d pant, smirking even though his cock is twitching from overstimulation. he’d press his thumb into your clit, watching you go absolutely feral, all while whispering about how you can take as much of him as you want. all of this with his head’s thrown back 😩.

mingyu: he’s destroyed at some point, but the second he understands why you're that horny, he’s doing everything to keep you going. “you’re using me like a fucking toy,” he’d gasp, voice shaking from how sensitive he is, but he’s still guiding your hips, making sure you get every inch. he’d talk filthy in your ear, knowing it makes you even hornier.

seokmin: overstimulated as fuck, but he’s still moaning your name, hips bucking into you. “you need me that bad, baby? oh fuck— then use me, use me all you want..” he’d whimper, fingers digging into your hips as you ride him like you’re in heat. he’d rub your clit, even though his hands are shaking, just to make you cum again and again.

seungkwan: he’d be a whimpering mess, but he’s loving how wild you get. “you’re gonna fuckin’ kill me,” he’d groan. seungkwan as an ass lover, he’d grab your ass, slapping it lightly, moaning when you grind harder, telling you he’ll let you use him however you want.

vernon: almost dehydrated, and fucked, but he’s letting you take control. “you really can’t get enough, huh?” he’d murmur, voice shaky as you ride him like you’re desperate. he’d bite his lip, but he’s still grabbing your thighs, pulling you closer, muttering how he’ll give you everything. because you're his everything.

chan: thinks that his cock will fall at some point, but he’s letting you fuck him senseless. “y-you are so wet that it keeps slipping out babe.” he’d pant, his hands gripping your waist as you ride him. he’d rub your clit, pull your hair, kiss you sloppier & slowly, whispering how fucking hot you are when you’re this needy.

[nikiluv]

vibes

or in which what turns riki on

you in his clothes

PROVIDER MINDSET RIKIII RAHHHH, he’s a big guy okay, tall, broad, and muscular, his clothes would definitely be big on you no doubt ( see what I did there 😉), he loves making sure that everything is comfortable and easy for you and what would be better than his oversized clothes also I think he’s somewhat possesive ?? in like a really subtle way, like it really and I mean really turns him on when there are subtle signs that you are his, since he can’t really show it off being an idol you know, so like you in his clothes gets him going because it’s a sure sign for him that, you are his and I’m just saying but the first time he saw you wearing his clothes….. boner alert ‼️

playing with his hair

he loves you so much that even a slight touch sends shivers down his spine in a good way, I think the area from his neck to his scalp is somewhat sensitive and like it can be really and I mean REALLY, stimulating and enjoyable if done correctly, and the feeling of your hands running through his hair and massaging his scalp, his blood just runs hot and rushes south

feeling loved

I know this seems dumb but HEY HES A LOVER BOY THROUGH AND THROUGH…. so like I mentioned earlier, he gets this really warm and fuzzy feeling when he can “feel” your love like through acts of service etc etc and like somehow that blood just flows all the way down south, like when you help him pick out his clothes, or like when you give him massage after long day, whew his hormones goes into overdrive

making out

cmon who doesn’t love a good make out session, I think riki loves the tension, the build up, the noises, the breathy whimpers and most of all your lips, he loves the feeling of your lips on him (he feels so seduced by your lips), he just loves the game of dominance with you, like the slight tugging of his hair, little nips here and there, sucking, the taste of you, it just gets him going, like a makeout session never fails to make him horny, and also have u seen his lips, SO KISSABLE and suckable (I’m tweaking, I need him so bad)

messed up make up

i think for him it’s just something about the smudged mascara and lip tint from the heated make out session that gets him going and main point is that he was the one that caused this, he was the one that made you look so delicious that he couldn’t help but devour you (in more ways than one if u get my hint 😏😏😏)

hickies

LIKE I MENTIONED !!! Possesive riki 🤤🤤🤤 like he wants to mark you UPPPP like he’s yours and you’re his, simple as that he also LOVES the process of giving you hickies, especially the sounds you make when he sucks on that one spot, when he sees the red and purple blooming on your skin, it feels like he “tainted” you with him

Thighs

My man’s a artiste and your thighs are his blank canvas, he just thinks that you are so soft and fluffy compared to him and the contrast is SO YUMMY to him, and like I mentioned earlier how hickies turns him on, this is related because he’s marking you up with bites, hickies and kisses on your thighs, ALSO thigh grabbing OH MY GAWDD he loves loves loves your thighs, like he’ll always be touching your thighs or caressing them always

Boobies

what can I say, he’s a straightforward guy, and which guy doesn’t like tits? Also LIKE I SAID, the contrast, it’s just so soft and like it doesn’t help his case that you make the most beautiful sound to him, he also loves to play with your boobs, it’s his emotional support toy, talking about playing with your boobs, never let him watch you bra-less it’s over for you when he does, he’ll immediately put his face into your tits and start playing with your nips until you are turned on, what can I say, those nips poking out turns him on

Whimpers

HE LOVES YOUR VOICE, he thinks it’s so soothing and when you stretch you make that lil sound, OO LALA, blood just rushes south for him, he thinks you make so much beautiful sounds and especially when you make those whimpers or nngh sound U GET IT (he doesn’t like exaggerated moans tho… who does…)

SIZE KINK SIZE KINKKK

I feel very passionate about this, HES A BIG GUY OKAY, I know I keep repeating this but it’s not because you are exactly small, just smaller than him and he feels this need to protect you and to use it to his advantage, and use it to his advantage he does, he manhandles you in the bedroom, but GENTLE MANHANDLING, that make you giggle, and maybe it’s a ego thing but when he’s like hovering over you and you seem so small in his eyes and just so precious he feels the need to protect you, also LIKE I SAID, he’s pretty big which brings me to my next point

Overstimulation / Dacryphillia

BEFORE ANYONE SAYS ANYTHING … HEAR ME OUT, I feel like I’ve said this before, but he gets really turned on with the sole fact that he is pleasuring you to the point of tears, LIKE DAMM HE’S THAT GOOD ??!!? There’s also the factor of him providing for you and meeting your needs which he is really proud of you, he HATES seeing you cry, but when you are crying out of pleasure, that’s a different situation altogether, especially when he’s overstimulating you and making sure you feel so much pleasure that the tears just come

Thank you for coming to my ted talk

A/n: sorry gang, I know I said I was gonna cook smth then dipped but it’s here LOL🙏, I honestly don’t know if ate…. I’m lowk lost towards the end but lmk how I did in my inbox 😏