#Just been thinking about this and having feelings lately. Wanted to voice them instead of getting in the shower like a responsible person.

[reiding-writing]

Maybe a fic where Cold! Reader has been letting her softer side show around Spencer, and one day when she lets a smile slip he tries to tell her that he likes her smile??

THE SMILE THAT SLIPPED — SPENCER REID!

you don’t feel things like this. you don’t. ever. except maybe you actually do.

spencer reid x cold!reader | 2.4k | fluff | cold!reader masterlist.

main masterlist.

a/n— this came out to exactly 2400 words and it’s so satisfying

The bullpen is quieter than usual.

The exhaustion of a closed case hangs in the air, making the usual rustling of paperwork and distant hum of conversation feel almost comforting. You sit at your desk, the last few reports in front of you, fingers idly toying with your pen as you force yourself to focus.

It’s late, but no one’s rushing to leave. The team lingers, unwinding in the way they always do after a case—half-finished conversations, shared glances, a collective sense of relief.

Across from you, Spencer is flipping through a file at an alarming speed, his knee bouncing beneath the desk. It’s a familiar sight, one you’ve grown used to. You don’t realize you’re watching until his voice breaks through the background noise.

*"*You know, statistically speaking, people who work late tend to make more errors in their reports. Fatigue impairs cognitive function—kind of like being drunk, actually. So, technically…” He looks up, eyes bright with something innocently fascinating. “We’re all just sleep-deprived, paper-pushing drunks right now,”

It’s not the words themselves. It’s the way he says it—earnest and slightly amused, like he didn’t mean for it to sound like a joke but realised it as he was saying it.

Before you can stop it, a small smile tugs at your lips. It’s brief, barely there, but it happens.

And Spencer sees it.

He stills mid-page turn, hazel eyes widening just slightly. His lips part, like he’s about to say something and then thinks better of it. But after a beat, his voice comes, softer this time.

“I like your smile,”

The words hit like a misfired shot, straight to the chest. Your breath catches.

You freeze.

For a moment, the bullpen fades—the low murmur of voices, the shuffle of papers, the distant ringing of a phone. All of it disappears beneath the weight of his words.

People have complimented you before. You know how to brush them off, how to let them roll off your back like they mean nothing. But this? This is different.

Because Spencer isn’t saying it in passing. He isn’t trying to flatter you or win you over. He’s just saying it, like a quiet observation. Like a fact.

And that unsettles you more than anything.

Your expression shutters in an instant. The walls go up before you can think, instinctual and sharp-edged. You look away, shaking your head slightly, as if dismissing the moment entirely.

“Get back to your report, Reid.”

You don’t wait for his reaction. You don’t want to see it. Instead, you focus on the papers in front of you, grip tightening around your pen.

But even as you force your attention elsewhere, his words linger. Nestle into the corners of your mind.

And that brief, impossible warmth in your chest?

You don’t want to think about what it means.

You don’t look at him again.

Not when he shifts slightly in his seat, the rustle of paper between his fingers halting for a fraction of a second. Not when he exhales softly, as if debating whether to say something more.

You just keep your eyes fixed on your report, willing the moment to disappear.

Your voice had been even, detached—just the way you intended. But there had been something else underneath. Too quiet for him to catch, you hope.

Spencer doesn’t say anything, but you feel the weight of his stare. A hesitation. A question he doesn’t voice. Then, slowly, the sound of him turning a page resumes, though less fluid than before.

Still, you don’t look up.

You can’t.

—

For the rest of the day, you keep your distance.

It’s not unusual for you to be reserved—stoic, even. No one questions it when you opt out of lingering conversations, when you choose solitude over small talk. But today, you’re avoiding Spencer in a way that’s painfully deliberate.

Every time he moves near, you find a reason to move elsewhere.

When he passes your desk to grab a file, you suddenly decide you need something from the break room.

When he glances your way during a briefing, you keep your gaze firmly on the case notes in front of you.

When he lingers near the coffee pot, shifting as if working up the nerve to speak, you bypass him entirely, opting for a bottle of water instead.

And Spencer notices.

At first, he thinks it’s a coincidence. Maybe you’re just having an off day. Maybe you’re distracted.

But by the fifth time it happens, the crease between his brows deepens.

Did he overstep?

He replays the moment in his mind, trying to pinpoint where he went wrong. He hadn’t meant anything by it—at least, not in a way that should’ve pushed you away.

He had just… liked your smile.

And maybe he shouldn’t have said it out loud, but it had slipped past his lips before he could stop it. Before he could remind himself that you don’t do things like this.

That you don’t let people in.

So why had you smiled in the first place?

And why does it bother him so much that you won’t even look at him now?

—

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter.

That the tension in your chest is nothing. That his words had been just that—words.

But as much as you try to shake them, they follow you.

“I like your smile,”

It had been soft. Unassuming. No expectation, no ulterior motive. Just an observation, spoken like a truth he hadn’t realised he was sharing.

And that’s what unsettles you the most.

You’ve spent so long keeping people at arm’s length, making sure no one sees too much, knows too much. And yet, for one fleeting second, he’d seen something.

A crack in the armour.

And he hadn’t ridiculed it. Hadn’t pointed it out with some smug remark.

He had simply liked it.

And you don’t know what to do with that.

—

The injury isn’t bad.

It’s inconvenient, sure—annoying—but it’s nothing you can’t handle. A twisted ankle, a sharp jolt of pain when you put too much weight on it, but nothing that warrants the level of concern the team is throwing your way.

"You should ice that," Emily had said after the case wrapped, nodding toward your ankle as you leaned against the SUV.

“You should get it checked out,” Morgan added when you limped your way back into the precinct after your foiled foot chase.

“You should at least sit down,” JJ had pointed out, exasperated, when you waved off Morgan’s concern and started organising the paperwork.

And Spencer?

He hadn’t said anything.

He had looked—of course, he had. You could feel his eyes on you in the way that made your skin prickle, in the way that made you want to disappear under the scrutiny. But he never commented, never pushed.

It should’ve been a relief.

So why does it bother you?

—

You avoid going to the coffee shop down the street for obvious reasons. The last thing you need is for someone to make a fuss over you limping back to the office, and you refuse to ask anyone to go for you.

You tell yourself you don’t care. That the shitty break room coffee machine is fine. That it doesn’t bother you.

But when you come back from a meeting and sit at your desk, a familiar cup is waiting for you.

The logo. The exact order. The slight hint of caramel in the air.

You blink, staring at it like it might disappear.

You glance around the bullpen instinctively, but no one is paying you any mind. No one except Spencer, who doesn’t look away fast enough when your eyes find him.

The second you make eye contact, he drops his gaze back to his book, fingers twitching like he hadn’t meant to get caught.

You should ignore it. Pretend you didn’t notice. Pretend the warmth curling in your chest doesn’t exist.

Instead, your fingers tighten around the cup, a quiet acknowledgment only for yourself.

Then, you notice the note.

A small yellow sticky note, left beside your keyboard.

—Caffeine may slow the healing process, but I figured you’d rather risk it. Your ankle should improve in stages: swelling will peak in 48 hours, and mobility should return within a week. Try not to push it. :)

It’s simple. Factual. Exactly what you’d expect from him.

And yet, you feel something catch in your throat.

Not because of the words themselves, but because of what they mean.

Because despite the fact that you’ve been avoiding him for days, despite the fact that you shut down the last time he got too close, Spencer still noticed.

And he didn’t push. Didn’t demand a thank you. Didn’t hover or ask if you were okay.

He just… did this.

And you don’t realize how much it means until you’re alone.

—

You stare at the coffee.

It’s lukewarm now, condensation beading against the cup, but you haven’t taken a sip. You just keep staring, fingers curled around the cardboard sleeve, chest tight with something you don’t want to name.

It shouldn’t mean anything.

It’s just coffee. A stupid, simple gesture.

And yet.

The fact that you have it at all. The note. The way Spencer had looked away when you caught him watching—like he looking at you just because he wanted to.

You swallow hard.

This isn’t the first time he’s done something like this. Not really. You replay the moments in your head—the subtle ways he’s always noticed things about you before you even noticed them yourself.

The way he hands you a pen without you asking, just as yours runs out of ink.

The way he subtly shifts so you have an easier exit from a crowded room.

The way he remembers your order at every coffee shop, even when you don’t go to the same one twice.

The way he never pushes, never demands, never asks for more than you’re willing to give.

The way he just… sees you.

And that terrifies you.

Because you’ve spent so long keeping people at arm’s length, building walls high enough that no one could ever slip through. You don’t let people close. You can’t.

But Spencer?

He’s already there.

And somehow, you hadn’t even noticed until now.

Your pulse stutters, something sharp and unfamiliar twisting in your stomach.

Oh no.

—

The next day, you wake up with a sense of urgency you don’t understand.

You can’t stop thinking about him—about Spencer. About everything. About how he’s seen you. And how that thought makes you want to hide.

You have half the mind to bury yourself in the earth and never look at him again. To pack up and leave the BAU and disappear into the anonymity of a new job, new city, new life. Somewhere no one could care enough to notice if you smiled or if you were limping or if you were secretly falling apart inside.

But you don’t.

You don’t run. Not this time.

Instead, you get to work early, before the team trickles in, before Spencer arrives and fills the room with that quietly intense energy he always carries with him.

You don’t know why you’re doing this. But the thought of avoiding him again, of pretending like nothing matters, feels too heavy to bear.

—

You don’t say anything.

You just do it.

You make his coffee—exactly the way he likes it. Not too much sugar, swirled black, in that old worn out starfish mug he should’ve thrown out years ago.

You’re silent in the break room, the hum of the coffee machine filling the space between you and the mug you slide carefully onto the counter. It feels like the most normal thing in the world to do, and yet, your heart is pounding like you’re stepping into a completely foreign territory.

You can already hear the steady click of footsteps approaching, but you don’t look up. Not until the moment is right.

He’s here.

Spencer doesn’t say anything at first. His eyes flick to the coffee on the counter, then to you, and then back to the coffee as if trying to make sense of it. It’s the same as always, and yet it’s different.

He looks up at you, caught off guard, blinking a few times.

You turn away quickly, suddenly aware of the heat in your face, as if somehow your actions were a betrayal of everything you’d been trying to keep locked away.

It’s nothing, you tell yourself. Nothing at all.

But then, before you can retreat into the familiar coldness, he smiles.

It’s soft. Quiet. Like he’s known all along what this was.

There’s no teasing in his eyes, no attempt to make light of the situation. Just understanding. And something else—something gentler than you’ve ever seen from him before.

His smile is everything you didn’t realize you needed.

And for once, you don’t run.

You let the moment sit.

You let the warmth settle between you.

You breathe in deeply, not pushing him away, not hiding behind your walls. Just standing in the same space with him, finally acknowledging what’s been there for far too long.

It’s not much. But it’s enough.

[bbdeongi]

Blurry Words, Clear Feelings

☆PAIRING: Childhood Bsf! San x Fem! Reader

☆WARNINGS: Angst, fluff, fake friends, Y/N is drunk, pet names (Angel, Precious, Darling.), Suggestive at the end but not too much, friends to lovers au.

☆SUMMARY: your trust is shattered after discovering your so-called "friends have been using you. Drunk and upset, you turn to your best friend, San, who is there to comfort you.

☆WORD COUNT: 8.9k

☆A/N: AHH I'm so happy I finally completed this!! this is a request from @/atzlov-r. Thank you so much for waiting!! And this is the longest fic I've made.. jsjs

The night had started out innocently enough. You had gone out with your “friends,” hoping to have a good time and maybe forget the weight of everything you had been dealing with lately. It was supposed to be a fun night—laughter, drinks, music, and maybe some dancing. But as the night wore on, things started to feel... wrong. You couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it happened, but it became undeniable. Your friends weren’t really friends. They were just people who took advantage of your kindness, of your willingness to buy drinks and keep everyone entertained.

When you overheard their conversation outside the restroom, you felt the sharp sting of betrayal. The truth hit you like a ton of bricks. “We can get her to buy us more drinks. Why not?” “She’s just so easy to manipulate. I mean, who else is going to pay for it?”

It hurt more than you expected, a mix of anger, embarrassment, and confusion. You had spent so long trying to make them happy, trying to fit in and be liked. But they didn’t care about you—not at all.

Without thinking, you stormed back to the group, your chest tight with emotion. You wanted to scream at them, to make them feel what you were feeling, but all you could do was yell, your voice breaking as you confronted them.

“Why are you using me?!” you shouted, not caring who heard. “I’m not your personal ATM! You don’t even care about me!”

The group froze for a moment, clearly startled and shocked by your outburst. A few of them exchanged uncomfortable glances with each other, but none of them seemed to truly understand the weight of your words. One girl, the one who had been laughing the loudest earlier, rolled her eyes as if your outburst were just a minor inconvenience.

“You’re being dramatic, Y/N,” she said dismissively. “We’re just having fun, okay? Stop being so sensitive.”

“Sensitive?” You couldn’t help it. You scoff, Your voice grew louder, slurred from the alcohol but full of hurt. “You’ve been using me this whole fucking time! I’ve been buying drinks for all of you, running around, making sure everyone’s having a good time, and this is what I get in return? Being laughed at behind my back!?”

A couple of them shifted uncomfortably, their faces a mix of guilt and annoyance. But no one spoke up. No one apologized. They didn’t even try to make things right. The girl who had dismissed you earlier just shrugged and rolled her eyes once more.

“Look, it’s not a big deal. You’re overreacting,” she muttered, before turning away to chat with someone else. “You're acting childish, it's annoying, Y/N..”

That was it. That was the moment you knew you were done. You couldn’t stay here, not with these people. They weren’t worth your time, your energy, or your trust. With a shaky breath, you turned on your heel and walked away from the group, feeling the familiar sting of humiliation in your chest. You felt a tear roll down the side of your face. You didn’t care if they were watching. You didn’t care about them at all.

You made your way to the bar, pushing through the crowd. Your legs felt wobbly under you, but the anger and sadness kept you moving. You couldn’t stop now. You couldn’t go back to those people who you called your "friends". Instead, you just needed to drink. Forget about them. Forget about everything.

As you reached the bar counter, you barely noticed the bartender behind it. She was busy talking to another customer, her back turned for a moment. But you didn’t care. You were too focused on your own thoughts, and your own emotions. You needed another drink. You needed to drown the pain.

When the female finally turned to you, her eyes scanning your face, you gave her a small, tired smile. It felt forced, but you hoped she wouldn’t notice.

“Can I get a... double whiskey?” you slurred as you wiped the tear off of your cheek, your voice thick with alcohol.

The bartender raised an eyebrow, looking you up and down. She hesitated for a moment, clearly weighing whether or not she should serve you more alcohol. But then she shrugged and started to pour your drink.

“Here you go,” she said, sliding the glass toward you. You picked it up and took a long gulp, the burn of the whiskey doing little to dull the ache in your chest. It was numbing, but not nearly enough.

Your hands trembled as you reached for your drink again, ignoring the way your vision blurred. Maybe if you drowned yourself in enough alcohol, the pain would fade, the ache in your chest would disappear, and you wouldn’t have to think about it anymore. You could just disappear in your own mind. Get away from the real world and the problems that come with it.

So you took another sip.

And another.

And another.

You didn’t know how much time had passed before you ordered your next drink. But it felt like everything was moving in slow motion. One drink after another, until the female worker seemed to just be going through the motions. You didn’t even know how many drinks you had by then—five, six, seven? The alcohol was starting to take hold of you completely, your mind fuzzy and clouded, but you didn't give a shit. Your anger had turned into a numb, empty feeling, a void that seemed to swallow everything around you.

Every time you looked up, the same faces from your “friends” were still there, laughing and chatting. But none of them cared. They were just focused on themselves. You could feel their eyes on you, but you didn’t care. You didn’t care about anything except getting more drunk. "fucking selfish" you thought to yourself. that's what they were. Selfish assholes..

At this point, you barely noticed the bartender behind the counter. She had been watching you for a while, and as she made her way over, she seemed more concerned and worried than before. She stopped in front of you, a frown pulling at the corners of her mouth.

"Hey, sweetheart," she said, her voice gentler than before. "I think you’ve had enough."

You blinked up at her, trying to steady yourself. "M'fine," you slurred, though the way your body swayed slightly said otherwise.

“That’s enough drinks for now,” she said again, firmly, her tone almost maternal.

You blinked up at her, confused. “What?”

“I said, that’s enough,” she repeated, shaking her head. “You’ve had more than enough drinks for tonight.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words got stuck. You didn’t want to listen to her. You didn’t want to hear anything right now. You just wanted to keep drinking, to forget everything that had happened, to forget how badly you had been used.

But the woman didn’t back down. She placed a hand on the counter and leaned in a little closer, her expression softer now, though still firm. A sigh fell from her lips as she looked at you with serious eyes..

“Listen,” she said, her voice gentle but serious. “I don’t usually do this, but you’ve had too much. I know you’re upset, but drinking more isn’t going to help you. It’s just going to make things way worse.”

You looked up at her, eyes blurry and unfocused. You didn’t want to admit it, but she was right. The alcohol wasn’t helping. It was only making everything feel more intense, more painful. But still, you didn’t know what else to do. You couldn’t handle everything that had happened. You didn’t know how to fix it.

“Do you have someone who cares about you?” she asked softly, her eyes locking with yours. “Someone you trust? Someone who’s there for you?”

You thought about it for a moment, the haze of alcohol clouding your thoughts. But then the name came to you, like it always did.

“San,” you whispered, your voice barely a breath. “San...”

Her eyes softened. “That your boyfriend?”

You snorted, though it was weak. “No. My best friend.”

The bartender studied you for a long moment before exhaling through her nose. “Good. Because you need a real friend right now.” Then, before you could protest, she pulled out her phone. “Tell me his number.”

You frowned, the alcohol making your brain hazy. “Why?”

“Because, sweetheart, you’re drunk off your ass, and I’m not letting you go home with people who don’t give a damn about you.” The bartender gave you a soft, knowing look. “I think it’s time to call him. Let him help you.”

You nodded weakly, your heart sinking. You hadn’t wanted to rely on San, but now, it seemed like the only thing you could do. He had always been there for you, always been your rock. You just hoped he would be there for you now, after everything.

The bartender took your phone from your hand, giving you a reassuring smile. “I’m going to call him for you, okay?”

You didn’t have the strength to argue. You just sat there, letting her take the phone from your unsteady and shaking hands. She quickly found San’s name in your contacts and dialed the number, bringing the phone to her ear. You could barely make out the words when the phone picked up, but you could hear the familiar sound of San’s voice on the other end.

“Hello?” he asked, his voice sounding worried.

“Hi,” the bartender said. “This is a bartender at the club. Your friend is here, and she’s had a little too much to drink. She’s upset, and I think she could really use you right now. Can you come pick her up?”

There was a brief pause before San’s voice returned, sounding much more alert. “Y/N?.. Is she okay?”

“She’s fine, but she’s drunk and needs you. I’m not letting her stay here like this. Can you come get her?”

“Yeah. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

The bartender smiled softly and nodded at you. “He’s on his way.”

You felt a strange sense of relief wash over you, like a weight lifting off your chest. San was coming. He would be there to help you. Everything would be okay. Everything will be just fine...

“Thank you,” you whispered to the bartender, your voice barely audible.

She gave you a warm smile. “It’s no problem. Just hang in there, okay, dear? He’ll be here soon.”

You nodded again, feeling your eyes grow heavy. It felt like everything was finally starting to calm down like the storm inside you was slowly fading. You just needed to wait a little longer. San would be here soon. And everything would be okay.

San was already halfway out the door before the bartender could even finish explaining.

“She’s drunk,” she had said through the phone, her voice low and concerned. “And those people she’s with? They don’t have her best interests in mind.”

That was all San needed to hear.

His chest tightened as the words echoed in his mind. He’d told you, warned you about those people before. But you hadn’t listened. You’d always been too trusting, too kind. You’d thought they were your friends—good friends. But now, he was seeing just how wrong you had been.

His grip tightened on the steering wheel as he navigated the busy streets, the city lights flashing by in a blur. He knew you were strong. He knew you didn’t need anyone to protect you. But this—this was different. You were vulnerable. You were upset. You weren't in your normal headspace. And right now, you are alone in a crowded bar with people who don’t care about you.

The thought made his stomach churn.

San pushed open the heavy doors of the bar, the sound of music and laughter spilling into the night air. He scanned the room quickly, the crowd of people barely registering in his mind. His eyes locked onto you almost immediately.

There you were, slouched over the bar counter, your cheek resting against your folded arms, tears slowly rolling down your flushed face. Your fingers still loosely wrapped around the glass in front of you, the remnants of your drink barely visible. You looked so small, so fragile in that moment. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of you, the weight of the situation finally hitting him. You were hurting, and it killed him to see you like this.

His jaw tightened in frustration, and his fingers flexed at his sides, itching to do something. How could they have done this to you? he thought. How could they use you like that?

The bartender, noticing him standing there, waved him over. She was a tall woman, her demeanor calm but concerned. “You must be San,” she said, her tone even but with a hint of understanding.

San nodded quickly, his eyes never leaving you. “How bad is she?” His voice was tight, almost urgent. He was worried about you.

“She’s had too much,” the bartender replied, her gaze flickering to you before landing back on him. “And from what I overheard, she just found out those friends of hers aren’t really her friends. They’ve been using her, taking advantage of her.”

San’s heart sank at her words. He knew, deep down, that this was what had been happening all along. But hearing it out loud made it real in a way that hurt him more than he expected.

Shaking his head, San forced his emotions down. There wasn’t time to dwell on it now. He needed to focus on you. He crouched down next to you, his warm palm gently landing on your shoulder. His fingers brushed the fabric of your top as he tried to rouse you.

“Hey, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice softer than he intended. “Let’s get you home, yeah?”

At the sound of his voice, you stirred slightly, your head lifting just enough to blink at him through bleary eyes. Your gaze seemed unfocused for a moment, as if trying to make sense of the world around you. Then, recognition flickered in your eyes, and you managed to lift your hand, reaching out to touch his arm.

“S- sannie?” Your voice was small, barely above a whisper.

San’s breath caught in his throat at the sound of his name slipping from your lips, but he didn’t let it show. He forced a smile, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Yeah, it’s me,” he replied softly, fighting the wave of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. “I’m here, angel. Let’s get you out of here.”

You let out a small hum of relief, your lips curling up in a small smile that made his heart ache. “I- I knew you’d come...” you mumbled, your voice thick with alcohol and sleepiness.

San’s heart clenched painfully in his chest at the words. Of course he would come. He’d always come. But hearing you say it like that—so vulnerable, so trusting—made him want to protect you more than ever.

“Of course I came,” he said, his tone low, almost tender. He brushed another strand of hair from your face, his hand lingering there for a moment longer than necessary. “You think I’d leave you like this?”

You pouted, your brows furrowing in that adorable way that always made him laugh. “No…” You sighed, your voice sleepy as your eyelids fluttered closed momentarily. “But I didn’t w- wanna bother you…”

San scoffed, though there was no real bite to it. He couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. “You’re never a bother to me.” His voice softened at the end, his words laced with an unspoken truth. He would never see you as a burden, never in a million years.

Before he could coax you to your feet, your body swayed slightly, and you slumped forward in a way that made his stomach lurch. His reflexes kicked in just in time as he reached out and steadied you, his arms catching your waist before you could fall off the stool.

“Alright, that’s it,” he muttered under his breath. His voice had a resigned tone to it, but he didn’t hesitate. He bent down, his strong arms sliding under your legs as he effortlessly lifted you up onto his back. “You’re not walking like this.”

A little squeak left your lips, and San couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh as your arms instinctively wrapped around his shoulders. Your body felt light against his back, but the sensation was strangely comforting. It felt... right, in a way.

“Ohhh… piggyback ride!” you giggled, your voice slurring slightly as you rested your head against his shoulder.

San shook his head with a quiet laugh, securing his grip under your thighs. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, though his tone was fond, “Just hold on tight, alright?”

You hummed happily, your arms tightening slightly around his neck as you buried your face into the curve of his shoulder. “Y- yay! Piggggyybackk..!” San could feel the warmth of your breath against his skin, making his heart race just a little bit faster. He tried not to focus on it, on how perfect it felt to have you so close, so vulnerable in his arms.

He thanked the bartender, and she waved back. He was glad that a trustworthy person found you, and stayed by your side. Who knows what could've happened if you just stayed alone.

He adjusted his grip on you and started walking toward the exit, his pace steady and sure, despite the weight of you on his back. The whole situation felt surreal, it felt like a dream he never wanted to wake up from. But as much as he wanted to stay in that moment, he knew there was still one more thing to deal with.

That’s when the rambling started.

“I’ve.. always thought you were sooo perfect,” you mumbled, your voice muffled against his shoulder. “Like.., San, you’re jus- so... so... pretty... And hot. God, you're so hot.”

San’s entire body froze, his eyes slightly widened, his breath catching in his throat. The words tumbled out of you, slurred and slow, but they hit him like a freight train. His heart skipped a beat as the weight of your drunken confession sunk in.

Did you just say that?

You didn’t seem to notice the effect your words were having on him. You just kept going, completely unaware of how much he was trying to keep himself together. He ignored you and continued walking. Maybe you didn't mean it. But you continued..

“You’re a- alwayyysss there for me.. Y'know? Always. And you’re so kind... and you’re strong... but like, in a... in a way tha's not too much, y'know?”

San’s chest tightened, and he let out a shaky breath. He didn’t know how to respond to that, didn’t know what to say. Part of him wanted to laugh it off, to tell you that you were just drunk and didn’t mean it. But another part of him—the part that had always cared for you, the part that had always been there for you—was starting to feel something he wasn’t sure he was ready to face.

You continued your rambling and yapping, completely unaware of the emotions racing through him. San’s thoughts were a whirlwind, his heart hammering in his chest as he focused on getting you to the car. The last thing he wanted was for you to see him like this—dazed, uncertain, and maybe even a little afraid of what all of this meant.

But one thing was for sure: He would never let you go. Not now. Not ever...

You eventually reached his car. He opened the passenger's side and carefully set you down on the seat.. you groaned softly as you leaned back against the cushion. He reached over you and buckled your seatbelt in. He gently shut the door and walked over to the driver's side. He got in and buckled his seatbelt.. A sigh left his lips as he started the car, looking at you making sure you were okay.

San sighed as he maneuvered the car onto the road, one hand gripping the wheel, the other resting on the gear shift. The neon streetlights cast long shadows on your face, highlighting the way your head wobbled slightly as you tried to sit upright. You stared out the window, your eyes following each pink and blue light.

The drive back home was quiet, except for the soft hum of the car's engine and the occasional hiccup that escaped your lips. San's grip on the steering wheel tightened as he focused on the road, his gaze flickering over to you every now and then. You were still resting against his shoulder, your face still flushed from the alcohol.

Every time you hiccupped, a small giggle followed, making San's heartache in a way he didn’t expect. Your giggles were cute and carefree, but there was an edge to them—a tenderness that made him feel both protective and… something more.

You hiccupped suddenly, your whole body jolting from the force of it, and a sleepy giggle followed immediately after. “whoopsies,” you murmured, swaying a little as you leaned your head against the cool window. “’M’drunk…”

San huffed out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah, angel, I know.”

You turned your head to him, blinking a few times like it was hard to keep your eyes open. Your lips pushed into a small pout, and you let out a dramatic sigh. “But… but Sannie, just ’cause I’m drunk… doesn’t mean I’m lyin’,” you slurred, dragging out the last word as if it took effort to say.

San's grip on the wheel tightened, his knuckles whitening slightly. He could already tell where this was going. Though you didn't drink much and tried to avoid it, you always got like this when you were wasted—overly affectionate, a little too honest, and completely unaware of how much your words affected him.

"Y/N," he warned, glancing over at you, but you weren’t paying attention to his hesitance.

You suddenly gasped, sitting up straighter—though the movement made you wobble slightly. “Ohhh my God,” you drawled, eyes wide as if you had just come to some life-altering realization.

San arched a brow. “…What?”

“You’re jus’—” You hiccupped again, a giggle bubbling past your lips. “You’re jus’ so… perfect, Sannie.”

San inhaled sharply, his knuckles going white against the steering wheel.

Oh no.

He really needed to get you home before you started saying things he wouldn't be able to forget.

"You always take care of me," you mumbled, your head rolling slightly as you stared at him with big, unfocused eyes. "You're so… so nice. Like… sooo nice. The nicest person ever. Like, for real. I dunno what I’d do without you…”

San swallowed, keeping his gaze locked on the road. “Y/N, you’re drunk,” he repeated, his voice lower now, more controlled.

You ignored him completely, waving a hand in the air as if dismissing his words. "An’ you—" Another hiccup. "You have the best shoulders.”

San blinked.

His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. He turned to you for a brief second, only to see you staring at him—your expression deadly serious.

“…What?”

“Your shoulders," you repeated, slurring slightly. "They're sooo big. Like… stupid big.” You reached out clumsily, your fingers poking at his upper arm before sliding up to pat his shoulder as if testing its size.

San clenched his jaw. “Precious, keep your hands to yourself,” he muttered. He secretly liked how clingy and touchy you were, but he had to keep you grounded at this moment.

But you only pouted, retracting your hand with an exaggerated sigh. “Jus’ sayin’,” you mumbled under your breath, slumping back against the seat. “S’not my fault you got shoulders like a… like a…” You trailed off, blinking in thought. Then your face lit up.

"Like a mountain!" you announced loudly with a stupid smile on your face.

San let out a long, exhausted sigh. “A mountain..?”

"Yeahhh," you giggled, wiggling a bit in your seat. "Like, if I ever got lost, I think I’d be able to find you, ‘cause your shoulders are like… like a landmark.”

San pressed his lips together, fighting back his blush, but he couldn't help it. You were a mess. A completely ridiculous, drunk mess. And you had no idea how close he was to losing his mind over you.

You hiccupped again and let out a dramatic groan. “Ugh, why’re you so pretty, Sannie?”

San stiffened.

Oh, no. He was not having this conversation with you right now.

"You’re jus’ so pretty," you slurred, batting your eyelashes, blinking at him in awe. "Like, it’s not fair… your face is so—so nice, and your eyes—Sannie, your eyes—" You turned to him with an exaggerated, pouty frown. “They're so brown.”

San let out a strangled noise. “I mean… yeah? That’s kinda how eyes work, Y/N.”

You huffed, clearly unsatisfied with his response. “Nooo, but your eyes are like, warm brown. Like… melted chocolate. Or… or a sunset, if a sunset was brown—wait, no, that doesn’t make sense…”

San squeezed his eyes shut briefly, inhaling deeply before forcing himself to focus on the road.

"You really need to sleep," he muttered, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel.

"But I’m not tired!" you protested, even as your head wobbled dangerously close to the window.

San scoffed. “Yeah? Then why are you slurring all your words?”

You blinked lazily at him before shrugging. “M’just… relaxed…”

San shook his head, letting out a quiet chuckle. "Precious," he said, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. "You're really drunk. You don’t even know what you’re saying. You’re not sober, Y/N."

You furrowed your brows, shaking your head—though the movement made you wobble even more. “Well…” You hiccupped again, pressing your palm against your face as if trying to steady yourself. “I’m sober ’nuff to know I mean it.”

San’s breath hitched, his heart stalling for just a second.

He knew you were drunk. He knew that. But there was something in the way you said it—something that made it feel too real.

You smiled, clearly pleased with his response. But then, a moment later, your face softened, and you sighed, resting your cheek against the window. “Sannie…”

San hummed in acknowledgment.

"You’re my favorite person," you murmured, your voice softer now, sleepier.

San's fingers twitched against the wheel.

His throat felt tight. He knew you were drunk, knew you probably wouldn’t even remember this conversation in the morning. But damn it… it still made his chest ache in a way he didn’t know how to deal with.

“…You’re mine too, angel,” he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

You made a content little noise, eyes fluttering shut. “Good,” you mumbled. “M’glad.”

San swallowed thickly, stealing one last glance at you before refocusing on the road.

Yeah, he thought, me too.

San exhaled as he pulled into the parking lot of his apartment complex, the tension in his shoulders finally easing just a little.

The entire ride had been filled with your drunken rambling, your words a mixture of heartfelt confessions and ridiculous observations about his mountain-like shoulders. He had tried his best to ignore the way his face heated every time you sighed about how “safe” and “solid” he felt, but it wasn’t easy when your voice was so soft and full of admiration.

But now, as he parked the car and glanced over at you, he noticed you had sobered up—just a little. Your eyelids were still heavy, and you swayed slightly when you moved, but your words weren’t as slurred anymore. The giggles had quieted, and instead of the drunken daze from before, there was something else lingering in your gaze—something softer.

San sighed and stepped out of the car before making his way to your side, opening the door and crouching down slightly.

“Alright, darling,” he murmured, his voice gentler now. “Up we go.”

Before you could even process what was happening, he slid an arm under your legs and lifted you onto his back again.

A small gasp left your lips at the sudden movement, but you didn’t resist. If anything, you melted against him, your arms draping lazily over his shoulders, your cheek pressing against the back of his neck.

“You do this too much,” you murmured, voice still laced with exhaustion.

San huffed a quiet laugh, adjusting his hold under your thighs. “You keep getting yourself into situations where I have to.”

You made a tiny noise—a whine in protest, but the warmth of his back was too comforting for you to argue. Instead, you relaxed, letting him carry you toward the building.

The moment he stepped into his apartment, a familiar sense of calm washed over him. The dim lighting cast soft shadows across the walls, and the faint scent of vanilla from his candles still lingered in the air. He didn't have time to blow them out since he was so focused on getting to you and bringing you back here.

He walked straight to his bedroom, the lamp on the nightstand cast a dimly lit glow, the curtains covering the night sky.. He gently set you down on his bed before stepping back and looking at your tiny self. He couldn't deny how cute you looked.

“You need to change,” he said, already moving toward his dresser. “I’ll grab something comfortable—”

“San.” Your voice stopped him in his tracks.

His fingers froze just before touching the drawer handle, and he turned to look at you, expecting to see your usual sleepy, drunken expression.

But you weren’t just drunk anymore. You were looking at him with clarity.

“I mean it when I say I like you.”

San felt the air leave his lungs.

His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. He just stood there, his entire body frozen as your words echoed in his mind.

You weren’t laughing. You weren’t teasing. You were serious.

“I’ve meant it for a long time,” you continued, your fingers gripping the blanket beneath you. “And I know you think I don’t know what I’m saying because I had too much to drink tonight, but San, I swear, I know.”

San swallowed hard, trying to keep his heart from completely spiraling out of control.

“Darling…” His voice was careful, hesitant. “You’re still a little drunk.”

You frowned, frustration flickering in your eyes. “I know that,” you muttered. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t mean it.”

San inhaled sharply, his grip tightening at his sides. He could feel how much you meant it. He could see it in the way you were looking at him.

And that terrified him. Because for years, he had told himself this would never happen.

For years, he had buried everything, convinced that his feelings for you were one-sided, that you only saw him as a friend, that he had no right to want more.

And now here you were, sitting on his bed, looking at him like he was your entire world.

“I don’t want you to wake up tomorrow and regret saying this,” he admitted, his voice quiet but firm.

Your brows furrowed, and you pushed yourself up slightly, propping yourself on your hands. “Why do you always do that?”

San blinked. “Do what?”

“Doubt yourself,” you said, shaking your head. “Doubt me.”

San’s chest ached at the frustration in your voice.

“It’s not that,” he murmured. “I just don’t want you to—”

“Regret it?” you finished for him. “San, I won’t.”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

Because if he did—if he let himself believe you—he wasn’t sure if he could hold himself back anymore.

You stared at him for a long moment, your breath uneven. Then, suddenly, your jaw clenched, and before he could react, you reached forward, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him toward you.

And then you kissed him.

San froze.

Your lips were warm, soft, and desperate—like you were trying to prove something to him. His brain short-circuited.

For years, he had imagined this. Wanted this.

But nothing could have prepared him for what it actually felt like.

Your hands gripped his shirt tightly, as if you were afraid he’d pull away. But God, he had no intention of doing that. Not when you were kissing him like this.

His hesitation cracked.

San exhaled sharply through his nose before he finally—finally—moved.

His hands found your waist, pulling you impossibly close as he kissed you back, his movements slow but deep. He could taste the faint remnants of alcohol on your lips, but beneath that, he could taste you. And it was intoxicating.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, tugging him closer, and San let out a quiet groan against your lips. His head was spinning, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure you could hear it.

This wasn’t just some drunken mistake. This was everything.

When you finally pulled back, your breath was uneven, your lips slightly swollen. Your eyes met his, and there it was again—that look. The one that made his entire world shift.

“Still don’t believe me?” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

San swallowed hard, his hands still resting on your waist.

“I believe you,” he admitted, his voice rough.

Your lips curled into a small, knowing smile.

And just like that, he was done for.

Your breath was still uneven when you leaned back slightly, eyes searching his face. San was still so close, his hands resting on your waist, his lips barely parted as if he was still trying to process what had just happened.

And maybe you should have stopped there—let the moment settle, let him breathe.

But you didn’t want to. Because for years, you had wanted this.

And now that you had him here, looking at you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded, you weren’t about to let him run away from this.

So you kissed him again. This time, there was no hesitation.

Your fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt, pulling him in as your lips pressed firmly against his.

San inhaled sharply through his nose, his entire body going rigid. But he didn’t pull away.

No—he kissed you back.

And this time, there was no careful restraint.

His grip on your waist tightened, his fingers pressing into your skin just enough to make you shiver. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that sent heat rushing down your spine. It was slow but deep, each movement drawing you closer, making your head spin.

His warmth, his scent, the way his hands held you like he was afraid to let go—it was all consuming.

You felt weightless. Dizzy. Desperate.

A soft, needy sound escaped your lips, and that was when it happened—San froze.

His lips stilled against yours, his entire body stiffening before he abruptly pulled away, breath heavy.

Your brows furrowed. “San—?”

His hands were still on you, but his grip had loosened, as if he was forcing himself to let go. His jaw was clenched, his eyes dark, but beneath that, there was something else—a storm of emotions he was clearly struggling to keep under control.

His gaze dropped to your lips for half a second before he quickly looked away, exhaling sharply.

“Angel,” he murmured, voice low but strained. “You’re still a little drunk.”

You pouted at that, lips still tingling from the way he had kissed you just moments ago. “I told you—I know what I’m saying.”

San shook his head, his hands slipping from your waist, though it looked like it physically pained him to do so. “I don’t wanna lose control.”

You swallowed, heart pounding. Lose control.

You weren’t naive. You could feel what that kiss had done to him. You could see it in the way his chest rose and fell, in the way his fingers curled slightly like he was restraining himself from pulling you back in.

And it thrilled you.

Because you had done that to him.

You had never seen him like this before—so close to unraveling, yet still fighting to hold himself back for your sake.

Your frustration grew. “San,” you whispered, reaching for his hand. “I want this.”

His breath hitched, but he didn’t move.

“I want you.”

His fingers twitched under yours. God, he was fighting so hard. And you were determined to break him.

San barely had a second to react before you grabbed the front of his shirt and tugged him down onto the bed with you. He let out a startled grunt as his back hit the mattress, his hands instinctively finding your waist to steady you as you climbed onto his lap.

“Angel—”

You cut him off with another kiss, this one messier, more desperate. Your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging lightly as you deepened the kiss, pouring every bit of emotion you had into it.

San groaned against your lips, his grip on your waist tightening as his self-control slipped further. You could feel the way his heart pounded beneath your touch, the way his breath hitched every time your hips shifted against his.

You knew he wanted you just as badly as you wanted him.

And you were determined to make him lose that last shred of restraint.

You trailed your lips away from his, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along his jaw, then down his neck. San sucked in a sharp breath, his fingers digging into your hips.

“Y/N…” His voice was a warning, but it was weak—shaky.

You smirked against his skin. “What is it, Sannie?”

A curse slipped from his lips as your teeth grazed against his pulse point, followed by a sharp inhale when you sucked gently, leaving a mark behind.

You felt him tense beneath you, his grip on you almost bruising now.

“Precious, you’re playing with fire,” he muttered, his voice rough, strained.

You hummed against his skin, trailing another kiss lower. “Maybe I want to get burned.”

San’s breath stuttered, and for a second, you thought he might finally give in.

His hands slid up your thighs, his fingers brushing beneath the hem of your shirt. His nails scraped lightly against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

But then—he exhaled sharply, squeezing his eyes shut before gripping your waist and flipping you onto your back in one swift motion.

A gasp left your lips as he hovered over you, his breath coming in uneven pants. His dark eyes were locked onto yours, a mix of frustration and want swirling in them.

“Angel,” he said, voice lower than before, “I swear to God…”

You swallowed hard, your chest rising and falling rapidly. “Swear what?”

San clenched his jaw. His thumb traced slow circles against your hip, his other hand braced beside your head, keeping himself from completely pressing against you.

“That if you weren’t still a little drunk, I’d show you exactly how much I want you.” His words were a low murmur, his lips just inches from yours.

But you didn’t stop. Instead, you pressed another kiss just below his jaw, your tongue flicking out to taste his skin before you sucked lightly, determined to leave a mark. A quiet groan rumbled in his chest, and you smirked against his skin, feeling victorious.

“You don’t fight fair,” he muttered, his hands sliding up your thighs, fingers teasing the hem of the shirt you wore.

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your eyes heavy with desire. “Then stop fighting.”

Something in San snapped.

His grip on you tightened, and in the next second, he flipped you onto your back, his body pressing firmly against yours. His lips crashed onto yours, no longer gentle—this was different, raw and filled with need.

A gasp escaped you as he deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping past your lips to taste you. His hands roamed your body, mapping out every curve, every inch of you that he had wanted for so long.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough.

You grinned, breathless. “Good.”

He let out a low chuckle, but it was cut off when you tugged him down by the collar of his shirt, kissing him harder, more desperately. His weight pressed you into the mattress, and you arched against him, wanting to be impossibly closer.

San’s lips trailed down your jaw, then your neck, his teeth grazing over the marks you had left on him just moments before. “You like marking me up, huh?” he muttered against your skin.

You hummed, threading your fingers through his hair. “You look good like this.”

His lips curled into a smirk, and then, without warning, he nipped at your pulse point, drawing a gasp from your lips.

Your fingers tightened in his hair as he continued his assault on your neck, pressing kisses, sucking lightly, then soothing each mark with his tongue. Your skin burned under his touch, your whole body alive with electricity.

“Sannie…” You whimpered, rolling your hips against him.

San groaned, his hands gripping your thighs to still your movements. His forehead dropped to your shoulder as he breathed heavily, trying to steady himself.

“You’re dangerous,” he whispered, voice thick with want.

You grinned against his temple, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Then what are you gonna do about it?”

San lifted his head, his dark eyes locking onto yours. For a moment, he just stared at you, his expression unreadable.

Then, in one swift motion, he pinned your wrists above your head, his smirk widening when you let out a surprised gasp.

“I guess,” he murmured, lips brushing against yours, “I’ll just have to teach you a lesson.”

And then he kissed you again—deeper, hungrier—no more hesitation. No more holding back.

But just as you thought you were about to get what you wanted, San exhaled a heavy breath, his lips brushing against yours in a brief, teasing kiss. His hands still hovered at the edge of your dress, not yet moving, as though trying to find the strength to hold back.

You heard him murmur, barely above a whisper, “Tomorrow.” He said. He was serious this time. He wasn't about to let you win this battle, nor his mind.

You froze for a moment, your eyes searching his face. The words hit you harder than you expected, like a punch to the chest. You couldn’t believe it. After everything that had built up, after the heat between you both, he was pulling away.

"Tomorrow?" you repeated, voice tinged with disbelief and frustration. You pouted a bit, but it didn't work on him.

San’s lips curled into a soft, apologetic smile, though there was something gentle in his expression, a softness that you didn’t expect. “Yeah, tomorrow,” he repeated, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “You’ve had enough for tonight.”

“But San…” you whined, a hint of desperation in your voice. “I don’t want to wait… I want this now.” You tried giving him those puppy eyes, and as much as they always worked, not this time...

His hands moved to cup your face, his thumbs gently brushing over your skin. “I know you do, love,” he murmured, his voice low but firm. “But tonight isn’t the night. You’re still a little drunk, and I’m not gonna take advantage of you. Not like this.”

You pouted, feeling a mix of frustration and disappointment flood through you. You had wanted him so badly, wanted to feel the warmth of his touch without hesitation. But even as you felt that desire stir within you, there was something in his gaze that made you pause.

San wasn’t doing this out of indifference. He was doing it because he cared, because he wanted to make sure that when this moment came, it would be right for both of you. And for that reason, you could almost forgive him.

“I’m not that drunk,” you muttered trying to convince him once more, your voice still soft, though the pout on your lips remained.

San chuckled lightly, shaking his head as he leaned in closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I know, darling. But tomorrow, when you’re sober, it’ll mean more.”

A whimper escaped you, and you looked up at him, eyes pleading. “But I want you now… please, San…”

He smiled, a mixture of tenderness and determination in his gaze. “Patience, baby. Tomorrow, I promise. But tonight, let’s just be here together. No rushing. Just… us.”

You huffed, exasperated, but the soft affection in his voice settled the rest of your emotions. You weren’t quite ready to let go of the heat between you, but you knew—deep down—that San was right. This wasn’t about just tonight. It was about something more, something deeper than the rush of desire.

“Fine,” you sighed, leaning back against the headboard as you looked up at him. “Tomorrow, then.” You knew you couldn't fight back anymore.

San gave you a satisfied smile, brushing his thumb gently over your cheek. “Good girl,” he whispered, his voice quiet and soothing. “Get some sleep now. We’ll take our time tomorrow, I promise.

You huffed again, but there was no real bite to it. Despite your disappointment, you knew he was right.

San stood, his expression softening as he looked down at you, still lying in his bed, a little dejected and pouty from the earlier conversation. He pressed a quick kiss to your forehead before heading toward the closet to grab a change of clothes for you.

He returned with his favorite oversized hoodie and a pair of his boxers, the fabric soft and worn from the many times he’d worn them. As he approached the bed, you sat up slowly, still in your dress, feeling the weight of the night beginning to sink in. You had tried so hard to push the thoughts from your mind, but they kept resurfacing, like waves crashing relentlessly against the shore. The truth of what had happened—how your "friends" had used you, manipulated your kindness—seemed so much more painful now that the haze of alcohol was starting to lift.

You tried to keep your composure, but the sting in your chest was undeniable. Your fingers twisted in the fabric of your dress as you glanced up at San, who was kneeling beside you, his face soft with concern. He gently placed the clothes in your lap, but before you could respond, the emotions you’d been holding back all night began to swell up again. You swallowed thickly, trying to hold back the tears, but they were already threatening to spill over. You let out a tiny whimper.

“Hey,” San said, his voice soft but steady. He reached out to touch your shoulder, his fingers warm against your skin. “It’s okay. You don’t have to hide it.”

You shook your head, fighting to keep it together. “I just… I don’t know why they’d do that to me,” you muttered, the words feeling heavy in your throat. “I thought they were my friends, but it turns out they only wanted me around for drinks, for the fun. They didn’t care about me at all.”

San’s expression hardened, his jaw tightening. But he didn’t say anything right away. Instead, he took a deep breath and slowly helped you out of your dress, his hands gentle, as if trying to keep you from falling apart. You were gorgeous he thought. You were so beautiful. Sometimes he thought why didn't you have a boyfriend.. But now he had a chance. You loved him and he loved you.

Every movement, every brush of his fingers against your skin felt like an anchor, pulling you back from the storm swirling inside your chest. But the hurt was still there, gnawing at you, and the tears couldn’t be stopped.

Once you were dressed in his oversized hoodie and a pair of boxers, you climbed into his bed, curling up beneath the covers. The warmth of the fabric, the scent of him all around you, should’ve made you feel better—but it didn’t. Not yet.

San followed you into the bed, slipping under the covers and wrapping his arms around you. You nestled against his chest, trying to find solace in his warmth, but your mind refused to let go of the images from earlier. How your "friends" had abandoned you, laughed about you behind your back, and used you when it suited them. You had trusted them. You had believed in them. But it had all been a lie.

“I don’t get it, San,” you whispered, the tears falling freely now. “I don’t get why they’d do that. Why didn’t they just tell me? Why didn’t they treat me like I mattered?” You felt a tear run down your face.

San’s chest tightened at the sound of your voice cracking, and he pulled you in even closer as if trying to shield you from the world and everything that had hurt you. He didn’t speak right away, allowing you the space to cry, to release the pain that had built up in you for so long. It wasn’t about the drinks, the party—it was about the betrayal. It was about realizing that the people you had opened your heart to had never truly cared.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” San finally spoke, his voice low but firm. “You cared. You trusted. That’s not a mistake.”

“But they… they used me, San,” you choked out, your words shaking. "They were never my friends.”

“They never deserved your friendship,” he said quietly, his voice full of conviction. “You were always just too good to them. You didn’t deserve that, Y/N. Not from anyone.”

You sniffed, wiping your eyes, but the hurt wasn’t going away. It felt like a weight on your chest that was too heavy to bear. You felt exposed—vulnerable. You had always tried so hard to be there for people, but in the end, they had all just taken what they could get and left you empty.

“But why did I have to find out this way?” you asked, your voice soft and broken. “Why couldn’t they just be honest with me from the start?”

San’s arms tightened around you again, his hand running soothingly up and down your back. “Because people who don’t know how to appreciate what they have, they always take. And when they take everything, they leave you with nothing.”

You nodded slowly, the weight of his words sinking in. The anger was still there, but it wasn’t as sharp as it had been before. It was more of a dull ache now. The betrayal was fresh, and it still hurt—but somehow, with San holding you, with him comforting you, it didn’t seem as insurmountable. He made you feel like maybe things could be okay again, eventually.

“You don’t have to be alone in this,” San whispered, his voice full of a tenderness you weren’t used to hearing. “Not anymore. You’ve got me, Y/N. You’ve always had me.”

You pulled away just enough to look up at him, your teary eyes meeting his. There was so much unspoken in the air, so many things left unsaid, but somehow, the silence between you both felt like an unbreakable bond. The pain, the rawness—it was still there, but there was also something else.

Something deeper.

“You’re the only one who’s ever really been there for me,” you whispered, your voice breaking as you met his gaze. “I don’t want to lose you, San. Please don’t let me go. I… I need you.” You whimper out.

San’s hand cupped your cheek gently, his thumb brushing away the fresh tear that had fallen. His gaze softened, but there was a hint of hesitation in his eyes. He took a slow, steady breath, his expression unreadable for a moment, before he spoke.

“Y/N, you don’t ever have to worry about that. I’m not going anywhere.”

You felt a little comforted by his words, but the storm inside of you wasn’t quite over yet. As you closed your eyes and leaned into him once more, the weight of everything that had happened—the hurt, the betrayal, the anger—still lingered like an invisible cloud. It wasn’t gone. And as you drifted off to sleep in his arms, it was hard not to wonder…

San’s hand stroked your hair as you leaned into him, your head resting against his chest. “Let’s go to bed,” he murmured. “I’ll be here with you. No matter what happens, I’ll be right here.”

You nodded, feeling the exhaustion beginning to catch up with you. It wasn’t just physical fatigue—it was emotional, the weight of everything you had experienced tonight. And yet, despite it all, you felt a sense of peace settle over you as you allowed yourself to let go of the fear, just for a moment.

“I love you, Choi San..”

“I love you too, my perfect angel...”

As San tucked you into his side, he gave you a kiss on your forehead and then a peck on your lips., your mind wandered back to earlier—to the betrayal, to the hurt, to the people who had never deserved your trust. But now, lying next to him, feeling his warmth and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear.

you realized that maybe, just maybe, you could let yourself trust again...

[blondemrk]

I SAW U WERE ASKING FOR RECO IDEAS FOR JAEM... Bff to lovers? roommates to lovers? study buddy to lovers????

MOVIE NIGHTS

wc 521 jaemin x fem!reader genre bff to loves

it started with a movie night, like it always did.

jaemin and y/n had been best friends for as long as either of them could remember, and their friday night tradition was sacred—blankets piled high, takeout containers scattered across the coffee table, and a movie playing in the background that neither of them really paid attention to.

tonight was no different. except, it was.

because y/n was hyper-aware of how close jaemin was sitting, how his knee kept brushing against hers, how his stupidly soft hoodie smelled like fresh laundry and something undeniably him. she had spent years convincing herself that her feelings were just friendship, but lately, it felt impossible to ignore the way her heart sped up whenever he looked at her.

“you’re staring,” jaemin mused, eyes still locked on the screen.

she immediately looked away, cheeks heating. “i am not.”

he smirked, finally turning to face her. “you totally were.”

“you have something on your face,” she lied, hoping he wouldn’t notice how flustered she was.

jaemin leaned closer, resting his cheek on his palm. “oh? then wipe it off for me.”

she shot him a look. “you have hands, idiot.”

“but i want your hands on me.”

her heart did an embarrassing little flip at that, and she cursed herself for how easily he affected her. huffing, she reached up, swiping her thumb across his cheek in a way that was probably more tender than necessary.

“there,” she murmured, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way her hand lingered.

but of course, jaemin noticed everything.

his gaze softened, and suddenly, the teasing air between them melted into something quieter, something that made y/n’s breath hitch. the movie was still playing in the background, but the only thing she could focus on was the way jaemin was looking at her—like she was something worth holding onto.

“you know,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, “i think about this a lot.”

her throat went dry. “think about what?”

he reached for her hand, lacing his fingers through hers like it was the most natural thing in the world. “what it would be like if we stopped pretending.

y/n’s heart stuttered. “jaemin…”

he squeezed her hand gently. “you don’t have to say anything. but if you feel the same way—even just a little—i’d really like to kiss you right now.”

time seemed to slow as she stared at him, at the boy who had been her best friend for years, who knew all her quirks, who had been by her side through everything. and in that moment, she realized she didn’t want to pretend anymore either

so, instead of answering, she leaned in, closing the small distance between them.

jaemin met her halfway, his lips soft and warm against hers, like he had been waiting for this moment just as long as she had. the kiss was slow, sweet, and filled with years of unspoken feelings finally spilling over.

when they pulled away, jaemin rested his forehead against hers, grinning like an idiot.

“best movie night ever,” he murmured.

y/n laughed, squeezing his hand. “yeah. it kinda is.”

hi! cute little jaem fic for today

taglist @chenlezip @mrkified @polarisjisung @injvns

[wendichester]

Can I please request a bf!Sam x reader where

At first, Dean and Sam are very worried, bc reader is gone since the morning and by now it's late afternoon and she hasn't returned yet

And when they go looking for her, they notice, hey, the GPS on the phone is on

And Sam goes to get reader, and finds her at a grave in the graveyard thats practically abandoned

And he finds out its the death anniversary of a close family member of hers, and she's been there all day to "talk" and take care of the grave

And he just comforts her on the shitty day, taking care of reader?

I have a death anniversary coming up in a few days of someone from my family I was close with, and it'd mean a lot if you could write this as a bit of comfort <3

𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ where you are,

summary. sam finds you where you always go on this day—grief lingering, him standing by your side.

pairing. sam winchester x reader

wordcount. 424

warnings. dealing with grief and being alone ; angsty

notes. apologies if this one is coming a little too late. i honestly didn't notice it between the other requests. hope this brings you a little bit of comfort (despite late) and know my dms are open if you need 🤍

Sam’s heart is pounding as he follows the GPS, boots crunching against dry leaves as he moves through the graveyard. The place is nearly abandoned, the air thick with late afternoon stillness, and he finally spots you, sitting cross-legged in front of a weathered headstone.

His breath leaves him in a rush.

You’re okay. You’re here.

He slows as he approaches, not wanting to startle you. He sees the small bouquet of flowers beside the grave, the way your fingers absently trace the carved name. He watches the rise and fall of your shoulders, the weight you’re carrying alone.

"You weren’t answering your phone," he says softly, finally breaking the silence.

You flinch, head snapping up, but when you see him, some of the tension in your body eases. “Oh.” Your voice is small, almost sheepish. “I—I didn’t think to check it.”

Sam exhales, closing the distance, crouching beside you. "Dean and I were worried. You were gone all day." His voice is gentle, no anger, just concern.

You nod, looking back at the grave. “I just… I had to come. It’s their death anniversary.”

Understanding washes over him in an instant. He doesn’t ask why you didn’t tell him, doesn’t push. Instead, he reaches out, his warm hand covering yours where it rests against the cold stone.

"I should’ve told you," you admit quietly. "I just—I didn’t want to make a big deal about it."

Sam frowns. “You being here all day, alone? That’s a big deal." His thumb strokes over your knuckles. "You don’t have to do this by yourself.”

Your throat tightens. "I just… I wanted to talk to them. Take care of the grave, make sure it’s not forgotten." You sniff, looking down. “It feels like if I stop coming, no one else will.”

Sam swallows hard. He understands that feeling too well. He shifts, settling beside you, one arm sliding around your shoulders, pulling you against his chest.

“They’re not forgotten,” he murmurs against your hair. “Not as long as you remember them.”

You let out a shaky breath, curling into his warmth, letting the exhaustion of the day press into him. He holds you tighter, rubbing slow, soothing circles against your back.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble.

"Don't be." He presses a soft kiss to your temple. "Just… next time, let me be here with you, okay?”

You nod against him. “Okay.”

For a while, you just sit there, wrapped in his arms, letting the world go quiet.

And for the first time today, you don’t feel so alone.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @taurus0queenie33 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @whereiwakewarm ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystems ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @s0urw00lf ⋆ @mrs-pondwater19 ⋆ @myceliumsunshine ⋆ @idk6505 ⋆ @giggles1026 ⋆ @idontwannabehere7

[rik0shii]

Part 2: Love in the Aftermath

this is a part 2 of this

The days following the concert were suffocating.

You thought you had mastered the art of pretending, of shoving your past so deep inside that it could never crawl its way back out. But Jiyong’s presence, that single glance during his performance, had shattered everything you had built to protect yourself.

You hadn’t spoken to him in years. No messages, no late-night calls, not even an accidental run-in at the YG building. The world had built walls between you two, and you had let them stand. But now? Now it felt like those walls had been made of paper, burning at the edges from the briefest of sparks.

And then he texted you.

“Can we talk?”

The message sat there on your screen, glowing in the dimly lit studio where you were still winding down from practice. Your group was still together—2NE1 was still standing, still making music—but you had ventured into solo activities too. It wasn’t a departure, just another part of your journey. Music was in your blood, just as it was in his. You had moved on, built something new, something that didn’t revolve around him.

So why did it feel like his words could unravel all of it?

You should’ve ignored it. You should’ve deleted it, let the past stay buried. But instead, before you could second-guess yourself, you found yourself typing:

“Where?”

His answer came quickly.

“The old place.”

Your breath hitched. The café. Your café. A quiet little corner of Seoul where, years ago, love had been simple, untouched by the pressures of the industry. A place that had once been yours and his alone.

You knew going was a mistake. But you went anyway.

Familiar Faces, Unfamiliar Silence

The café was exactly as you remembered it, down to the way the warm scent of coffee clung to the air. It was quieter now, a slow afternoon, only a few people scattered across the room.

And there he was.

Jiyong sat at the corner booth, the one you used to share, his fingers lightly tracing the rim of a coffee cup. His mint-green hair fell slightly over his eyes, a soft contrast to his usual bold colors. It suited him—ethereal yet striking, like he had stepped out of a dream. And though he looked nearly the same, there was something different about him. The exhaustion in his features was new. The way his shoulders seemed to carry a weight heavier than before.

For a moment, you hesitated. You could turn around, pretend you never saw him, pretend you never answered his message. But you had come all this way, and a part of you—one you hated—wanted to hear what he had to say.

Taking a deep breath, you walked over and slid into the seat across from him.

“Hey,” you said softly.

His gaze snapped up to meet yours, and for a second, his carefully crafted mask of indifference cracked. His eyes softened, something unreadable flickering behind them. “Hey.”

Silence stretched between you, thick with years of unspoken words. You had expected him to speak first, to have some kind of prepared speech about why he had called you here. Instead, he just… stared. As if he couldn’t believe you were real, sitting in front of him again.

Finally, he exhaled, setting his cup down. “I didn’t know how to reach out before.” His voice was quieter than you remembered, lacking the effortless confidence he once carried. “But I can’t keep pretending like everything’s fine. Like we’re fine. Because we’re not, are we?”

You swallowed hard, his words hitting deeper than they should have.

“No,” you admitted. “We’re not.”

Jiyong sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’ve been thinking about us. About everything. And I—” He hesitated, then leaned forward slightly, voice lowering as if afraid of being overheard. “I regret how things ended.”

A bitter laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “Do you?”

His jaw tensed. “Yeah. I do.”

You looked away, your fingers clenching into the fabric of your jeans. “You left first, Jiyong. You were the one who walked away.”

“I know.” His voice was raw, and when you looked back at him, you saw it—the regret, the self-loathing. The years had changed him, and maybe, just maybe, he had spent them regretting the same things you had.

“I wasn’t ready,” he admitted. “I thought I was protecting us. The pressure, the rumors, YG breathing down our necks—I thought if we walked away, it would be easier. That it would hurt less.”

A sharp pain stabbed at your chest. “Did it?”

Jiyong let out a breath, his lips pressing into a thin line. “No.”

That single word felt heavier than any apology he could have given.

“I don’t know if we can fix this,” you admitted.

Jiyong nodded, as if he had already prepared himself for that answer. “I don’t either. But I’d like to try.”

You looked at him for a long time. At the man who had once been your entire world. The man who had left you in ruins. The man who was now sitting in front of you, asking for a chance to put those ruins back together.

For now, you weren’t ready to say yes.

But you weren’t ready to say no, either.

Maybe that was enough.

For now.

The Stage That Brought Us Back Together

You weren’t sure how it happened. Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was just the universe playing another cruel joke.

But somehow, a month after that café meeting, Jiyong was standing backstage at your solo concert.

The idea had started as a joke—CL had offhandedly mentioned it one night when you were brainstorming surprises for your setlist. “What if you bring out a guest? Something huge?”

You had laughed it off, but later that night, as you stared at your phone, the idea wouldn’t leave your mind.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you had texted him.

“Want to surprise the world?”

His response came minutes later.

“Always.”

And now, standing behind the curtain, hearing the deafening screams of the crowd, you could feel your heart pounding. The intro to your song—the one you had written with him years ago—was playing. The audience had no idea what was about to happen.

Then, as the beat dropped, you stepped forward. And right behind you, stepping into the spotlight for the first time in years, was G-Dragon.

The crowd exploded.

Jiyong smirked slightly, his familiar stage presence slipping over him like second skin. He raised his mic, and the second his voice rang through the stadium, you felt it—this was meant to happen.

The performance was electric. Every verse, every note, every glance between you and him felt like the past and present colliding.

And then, as the final note faded, Jiyong stepped closer. His hand found your waist, and before you could even process it, his lips were on yours.

The stadium erupted.

Cameras flashed. The internet would break. But in that moment, nothing else mattered.

The Interview That Confirmed It All

Days after the performance that shook the entire industry, you and Jiyong sat side by side in an exclusive interview. The air buzzed with anticipation, cameras rolling, lights bright, and the interviewer practically beaming with excitement.

“So, let’s address the question on everyone’s mind,” she said, leaning forward with a playful grin. “The IT couple of YG—are you officially back together?”

Jiyong didn’t hesitate. He glanced at you with a smirk before turning to the interviewer. “What do you think?”

The interviewer laughed as the studio audience—handpicked VIP fans—erupted in cheers. You shook your head, suppressing a smile, but before you could say anything, Jiyong continued.

“I mean,” he shrugged, squeezing your hand where it rested on your lap, “I don’t think we ever really stopped belonging to each other. We just took a long… very long break.”

You glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

Jiyong smirked, leaning back in his seat. “Sounds better than ‘years of painful separation and stolen glances,’ doesn’t it?”

The interviewer gasped dramatically. “So you were keeping an eye on each other all these years?”

Your lips pressed together as heat crept up your neck. “I mean…” you hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “You don’t just forget someone like him.”

Jiyong turned to look at you, something softer in his gaze now, his thumb rubbing slow circles against the back of your hand. “I never forgot you either,” he said, voice just above a whisper, but the mic still caught it.

The interviewer sighed dramatically, clutching her chest. “I swear, this is like a K-drama playing out in real life.”

The audience laughed, but the energy in the room shifted—this wasn’t just a reunion for fan service. It was real.

“So tell us,” the interviewer continued, “how did this comeback performance even happen? Did you two plan it from the beginning?”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Not at all. It started as a joke. CL suggested bringing out a huge guest, and I don’t know, I guess a part of me wanted to see if he’d say yes.”

Jiyong shot you a playful glare. “You didn’t think I would?”

You smirked. “Well, you haven’t exactly been easy to reach these past few years.”

The crowd let out an “Ooooh,” and Jiyong chuckled, rubbing his neck. “Okay, I deserved that.” Then he turned serious, his grip on your hand tightening. “But when you texted me? I didn’t even have to think about it. The answer was always yes.”

The interviewer clapped her hands together, clearly enjoying every second of this. “So what was that moment like? On stage together again, after everything?”

Jiyong exhaled, leaning back in his seat. “It was… surreal. Like nothing had changed, and yet everything had.” He turned to you again. “The moment we started performing, it felt like home.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Yeah,” you whispered. “It did.”

“And that kiss?” The interviewer gasped. “That wasn’t scripted, was it?”

You laughed, hiding your face in your hands, while Jiyong chuckled beside you. “Definitely not planned,” you admitted.

Jiyong smirked. “It just felt right. And judging by the reaction…” he gestured toward the screaming audience, “I don’t think anyone minded.”

The interviewer shook her head with a teasing smile. “Oh, trust me, no one’s complaining.” Then she leaned forward, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret. “So… what happens now?”

You and Jiyong exchanged glances. It wasn’t like everything was suddenly fixed. There were still conversations to be had, wounds that time hadn’t fully healed. But for now, you knew one thing for sure.

Jiyong turned back to the interviewer, a soft smile playing at his lips. “We take it one step at a time. But this time…” he looked at you, his gaze full of quiet promises, “we take it together.”

The audience erupted into cheers, and just like that, the IT couple of YG was officially back.

You were his again, and he was also yours.

[penumbra-mayhem]

The Answer - Sam/Darlin’ fic

Darlin’ gives Sam their answer on whether or not they want to be a vampire.

(I hc Darlin’ with a stutter, more on that here)

—————————————————

Sam had woken in the late evening, bed empty next to him from when Darlin’ had left for a gig hours before. Having no work that night, he carried through his “morning” routine in languor, record playing, windows open, coffee brewing.

He filled the time waiting for Darlin’s return researching new places to live. The new position Gabriela had offered him paid well, but certainly less than he made now. Once he officially left the Solaire House, they’d have to downsize considerably and possibly (he shuddered at the thought) move closer to the city.

Just after 1 am, Sam heard the rumble of Darlin’s bike as they pulled up to the house. Rising from his desk, he headed to the front door to greet them. They beat him to it, rushing inside as they yanked their gloves from their hands and shucked their jacket off.

“Hey,” Sam started, his voice quickly dying in his throat, “How was…work…”

Darlin’ was fumbling with the strap of their helmet, a weak whine leaking from their throat as they struggled. Sam closed the distance between them and grasped their hands, drawing them away from the strap and replacing them with his own.

He unclasped it and slid the helmet off, taking care to not catch it on any of their piercings, before placing it on the coat rack.

Sam could feel Darlin’s core whirring. “Rough gig?” he asked, wincing when Darlin’ actively avoided his gaze.

They gave a half-shrug, their voice feeble, “Something l-l-l-like tha-that.”

Then they were retreating towards the door, muttering before Sam could speak, “I-I-I’m going for-for a run.”

—————————————————

The next few hours were…tense. Sam tried to keep up the house hunt, but found himself staring at an empty search bar until his eyes were strained and his head was buzzing.

He finished his coffee, refilled his mug, then downed it again. He cranked the volume up on his record player and kept the front door open so he could hear the music from the porch.

Nothing could calm his nerves. Not the music. Not the crickets and frogs. Not even the coffee. He sat on the top porch step, resigned to wait for Darlin’, unable to focus on anything else until he knew they were okay.

—————————————————

Sam could smell them before he could see them; the wind carried their sharp, smoky scent through the trees. That alone helped to ease his anxiety a bit.

Soon after, Darlin’ stalked out of the surrounding forest, still in their shifted form. Tongue hanging from their open jaw, their breath came out in heavy pants as they made their way to the house.

He said nothing as they approached. Instead, he placed his mug down beside him and scanned their body from afar for any injuries they might have sustained on their run.

Claws clicked against wood as Darlin’ climbed the porch steps and heaved their head onto Sam’s lap. His hands untangled the wind from their fur with delicate fingers and careful strokes; the two stayed that way for a long time before Darlin’ shifted back.

They kept their head in Sam’s lap. They didn’t move at all.

Sam was about to break the silence when they finally found their voice.

“I-I can’t d-do it-it.”

Sam’s hands only halted in their hair for a moment before continuing. After they didn’t elaborate, he asked, “Do what?”

Darlin’ didn’t respond. Tracing his fingertips down their left arm, he brought their clenched fist to his lips before asking again, “Darlin’, what can’t you do?”

Darlin’ slowly pulled their hand out of Sam’s grasp, then raised their head from his lap. Making themself into a ball on the step, they continued to avoid Sam’s gaze, looking down at the steps before them instead. They took a trembling breath.

Then it came out, all at once, their voice thick with guilt:

“I-I’ve b-b-b-been thinking since y-you asked mmmme—and-and then t-t-t-today sssomeone mmmade a-a joke at-at wwwork about mmme t-turning. They d-didn’t even knnnnow you asked b-but it-it just…I…I-I can’t t-t-turn. I’m sorry.”

Sam’s stomach turned.

“It’s nnnot b-b-because I-I don’t wwwant t-to b-be wwwwith you. I-I p-p-promise. I’ve just wwworked so-so hard to get wwwwwhere I-I am wwwith the p-pack and wwwith mmmy own wwwwolf, and I-I don’t wwwant to l-lose that—b-but I-I don’t wwwant to l-lose you either…I-I’m ssso sorry.”

There it was again, that apology. It made Sam’s stomach sour.

Darlin’ looked scared shitless. They stayed completely still as Sam scooted closer to them and wrapped his arms around their tightened frame. Even when he pulled them into his chest, even when he kissed the top of their head and ran his fingers through their hair, they didn’t move. All their movement was centered in their chest, their heart a flurry of palpitations.

“You have nothin’ to apologize for, love. Absolutely nothin’,” he promised, kissing their head once again, “I’m so glad you told me. I’m so…” He took a moment to steady himself as the tears pooling in his eyes threatened to crack his voice. “I’m so proud of you.”

Darlin’ pulled back in confusion, asking, “P-Proud?” They blanched at the sight of Sam’s glassy eyes. “Y-You’re crying.”

“Happy tears, darlin’,” he assured them as said tears began to slide down his cheeks. Despite the fear and uncertainty of how Sam really felt lodged in their chest, Darlin’ couldn’t help but reach out to brush the tears away. Sam leaned into their touch instinctively, pressing his cheek and then his lips into their palm.

“I’m proud that you told me,” he explained, his voice muffled by their hand. As he moved closer, they dropped their hand. Sam let them, holding their gaze whenever their flitting eyes met his.

“I know that must have been scary—terrifyin’, really, if it felt anythin’ like it did for me when I asked you about turnin’. So yes, I’m proud that you told me.”

He grasped Darlin’s hands. As more tears appeared, their paths were pulled into the lines of his beaming smile. “I’m proud that you made the choice you wanted, not what you thought I wanted. And I’m so happy you get to make that choice. That you get to decide whether you turn or not. That’s why I asked in the first place. To let you know that it was your decision. No one else’s.”

“You’re nnnot disap-p-pointed?”

Sam pulled them into his arms once more, kissing their lips before answering, “Never. I’m not disappointed. I don’t feel betrayed. There is only pride and love in my heart for you.”

“I-I’m gonna grow old,” they admitted, their arms tight around his torso.

“Yes. And what a beautiful thing.”

“…b-but you wwwon’t.”

Sam frowned. “Maybe not physically. But in spirit? In the ways that matter? We’ll grow old together.”

Darlin’ kissed his shoulder before pulling their head back and meeting Sam’s gaze, a delicate smile on their lips.

“I-I’d l-l-like that.”

[loganbcrnes]

Blooming Embarrassment

Logan Howlett x fem!reader x Victor Creed

no warnings. just fluff

The Xavier Institute was a place of peace and healing, or at least that’s what everyone kept telling you. The walls were sturdy, the beds comfortable, the food edible—most of the time. It was supposed to be a refuge for mutants like yourself, a safe haven after the nightmare endured at the hands of an anti-mutant organization. Yet, for all the safety it promised, it had presented an entirely new problem: Victor Creed and Logan Howlett. It wasn’t fair for two men to look that good. Victor was tall, broad, with a sharp grin that promised nothing but trouble. Logan, the same height, carried the same raw presence. The way they moved, all lethal confidence, had your heart beating wildly every time you caught sight of them. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only thing happening. Flowers. From your feet. Your powers were mostly useful—controlling animals, growing plants—but when flustered, they took on a life of their own. The moment nervousness, shyness, or embarrassment struck, flowers sprouted beneath you like a fairytale curse. Which was why speaking to either of them had been successfully avoided. Until today.

————————-

Heading to the kitchen for a late-night snack, you see him. Victor Creed, standing in the hallway, arms crossed, watching your approach with something that resembled mild interest. Shit. Turning back would make it obvious you were avoiding him. Instead, you take a deep breath and keep walking. Maybe if you just keep your head down— “Hey.” Oh no. Glancing up, you meet his amused golden eyes. “Uh. Hi.” Victor tilts his head, examining you like a puzzle he’s trying to solve. “You’re new.” “Been here a while,” you mumble. “Just… quiet.” “That so?” He takes a lazy step toward you, predatory by nature, even when he isn’t trying to be. “Figured you were a ghost or somethin’. Always see ya walkin’ by, but never hear a peep.” The size difference feels overwhelming. “I just… keep to myself.” He smirks, about to say something else—when it happens. Flowers. Right at your feet. Bright pink peonies bloom in an instant, curling around your ankles, vibrant against the dull hallway floor. Victor’s smirk falters as he glances down, then back up at your face. “What the hell?” “Nothing!” you squeak, before promptly turning and fleeing in the opposite direction.

————————

An afternoon in the mansion’s living room should be relaxing. Ororo sits beside you on the couch, flipping through a book, while Kurt lounges in a chair across from you, happily munching on a chocolate bar. The quiet hum of conversation fills the air, a rare moment of peace in a house full of chaos. It’s nice. Comfortable. Then Logan walks in. You don’t notice at first, but Ororo does. She glances up from her book, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Here comes trouble.” Kurt chuckles, following her gaze. “Ah, ja. Our dear friend is about to have a moment.” You frown, confused, until a familiar voice speaks up. “Didn’t expect to find ya here, sweetheart.” Your stomach flips. Logan strides in, casual as ever, a towel draped over his shoulders from what was likely an intense training session. He smells faintly of sweat and soap, his damp hair curling slightly at the ends. The sight alone is enough to make your face burn. Stay calm. Stay calm. Stay— Flowers. Dainty white lilies and tiny purple violets burst from the floor beneath you, creeping around your ankles like they were always meant to be there. Logan pauses mid-step, eyebrows raising. His lips twitch, eyes darting from the flowers to your mortified expression. “Huh.” Ororo elegantly places a bookmark in her novel, watching with open amusement. “Fascinating.” Kurt barely suppresses a laugh. “A most unique reaction.” You want the earth to swallow you whole. Logan takes a slow step forward, deliberately closing the distance. “So, what kinda flowers ya think I’ll get if I—” He reaches out, nudging your chin up with a single finger. Sunflowers. Bright, golden, utterly betraying you. Kurt actually snorts. Ororo hides her grin behind her hand. “Oh, this is delightful.” Logan chuckles, stepping back. “Gotta say, darlin’, you’re makin’ this real fun for me.” You bury your face in your hands. “I hate this.” “No, you don’t,” Ororo teases. You do. (You really don’t.)

—————————

A few days later, Victor approaches with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Got somethin’ for ya,” he drawls, holding out a bouquet of wildflowers. The gesture alone is shocking enough to leave you speechless. “Figured if you’re gonna be sprouting these things, might as well bring my own.” You stare at the flowers, then at him. “You’re messing with me.” “Always.” He grins. “But I do wanna take ya out. Walk in the woods, just us. What do ya say?” Despite yourself, warmth spreads through your chest. “Fine.” The next evening, you walk together through the dense forest, the cool evening breeze rustling the leaves. Victor is surprisingly quiet at first, the usual smugness replaced by something more contemplative. Occasionally, his arm brushes against yours, and every time it does, your heartbeat picks up. You brought carrots for the deer, and when a small herd appears in the clearing, you both watch them with quiet appreciation. Victor chuckles as one nudges your hand for more food. “They like you.” “They’re animals,” you point out. “Of course they do.” He watches you carefully, something unreadable in his gaze. Then, his smirk returns. “Bet if I tried real hard, I could make ya bloom right now.” You scoff. “Not happening.” “Oh yeah?” He steps closer, his voice dropping an octave. “What if I—” “You wouldn’t.” “I would.” You jab him lightly in the ribs, laughing—until you suddenly find yourself pinned against a tree, Victor’s large hands gripping your wrists. His sharp grin fades just a little, his gaze darkening as he studies your face. “Y’know, you really are somethin’ else.” The teasing drops away for just a moment, leaving something more raw, more real. You barely have time to react before he crashes his lips against yours, rough and consuming. His grip tightens, the heat of his body pressing against yours, overwhelming in the best way. Your breath hitches, and just as expected—flowers bloom wildly at your feet, spiraling up the bark of the tree behind you. Wild roses, soft petals brushing against your ankles, betraying every emotion swirling inside you. Victor pulls back just enough to see the display, then smirks against your lips. “Knew it.”

———————

Logan’s low growl echoed across the room as he leaned against the door frame, arms crossed, a smug grin plastered across his face. “So, you’ve been avoiding me. What’s the deal, sweetheart? You’ve been making flowers grow like it’s your job every time we talk.” You shifted uncomfortably, your cheeks blazing with heat, and, as always, you felt the telltale tingling in your feet. Sure enough, delicate white blossoms began to bloom at the edges of your shoes. You swore you could hear him chuckle under his breath. “I—I’m not avoiding you,” you stammered, trying to hide your embarrassment. "It just happens." “Oh, I know. You’re trying to keep your cool, huh?” Logan’s voice dropped a little, teasing. “But these flowers sure are a giveaway.” Your feet were now covered in a carpet of white petals, the bright flowers seeming to mock your every move. You wanted to disappear, but at the same time, you couldn’t help but feel drawn to his attention. “You know, I think I’d like to see what happens if we keep talking,” Logan continued, stepping closer, his eyes twinkling with mischief. He leaned down slightly, taking in the sight of your feet, the flowers blossoming like a spring garden in full bloom. “I’m warning you,” you mumbled, but you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. The situation was too ridiculous, and yet, Logan’s presence was somehow reassuring. “If you keep teasing me, you’re going to be covered in flowers too.” Logan raised an eyebrow, his lips curling upward. “You think I’m scared of a few flowers, sweetheart? I’ve fought in wars, but nothing scares me more than a shy, flustered woman with flowers growing at her feet.” You rolled your eyes, trying not to let the heat creep up to your ears, but it was useless. The teasing was working, and you were getting more and more embarrassed by the second. “Fine,” Logan said suddenly, reaching behind him and pulling out a small bouquet of vibrant, wildflowers. “I figured I’d bring you some of your own kind.” He grinned like a cat who had just caught a mouse. You stared at him, wide-eyed. “You—brought me flowers?” “Yeah, figured it might get me some points,” he replied, his teasing tone softening just enough to show he was being sincere. “I might have teased you about these flowers, but I kind of like the way you make them grow.” He handed you the bouquet, his fingers brushing yours as he did, sending a spark of warmth through your chest. You took the flowers, your heart pounding, and glanced at Logan. “You’re really persistent, huh?” “I am,” he agreed with a wink. “But I like the challenge.” His smile widened as he stepped a little closer, his presence intoxicating. “So, how about we get away from this garden of yours and go grab dinner? Maybe you can show me what happens when we’re not standing around all awkward.” Your breath caught, and you almost wanted to say no, but the way his eyes were fixed on you made it impossible. “Are you asking me out?” He chuckled, low and rich, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Wouldn’t be much of a date if I didn’t.” “I don’t know, Logan…” You feigned hesitation, despite the butterflies swirling in your stomach. “I might get nervous again. And you might have to put up with more flowers.” “Then I’ll make sure we’re sitting somewhere with plenty of room for your garden to grow,” Logan teased back, his voice turning softer as his hand brushed against your cheek. “Just say yes, and I promise we’ll make it worth your while.” With a deep breath, you smiled, the air between you both thick with anticipation. “Alright, fine. Dinner sounds good.” Logan’s grin widened, and as he leaned in closer, you felt your heart race.

[m4iya]

Short fuse

Matsukawa Issei, Tendo Satori and Hoshiumi Korai with an mc who’s lost their temper.

Anon

✮ - Matsukawa Issei

“Hey, you okay?” Matsukawa placed a hand on your shoulder only for it to immediately be shrugged off.

“I’m fine.”

He knew how stressed you’d been over exams and studies lately, and after the ‘assessment graded’ notification popped up on your phone as you were showing him something in a cafe earlier, he hadn’t even thought of asking after seeing your reaction to it. If anything, it didn’t seem as though he paid much attention to your workload anyways, rarely asking questions about what you’re doing. He’d instead ask you to tag along with him so much, to the point where you weren’t able to find time to study properly.

You knew he wasn’t trying to be annoying or rude, but still..

You removed your seatbelt as he entered the driveway before he was able to shift the gear to ‘Park’, preparing to immediately leave.

As he parked, you prepared to grab the handle and leave the car, when a hand suddenly reached out to yours, grasping it.

“Wait, please.” Remorse glazed his tone as he spoke.

You decided to give in for the time being, placing your belongings back in your lap as he shifted the car into ‘park’ before removing the keys from the ignition. You heard him shift in his seat, facing you as your head faced the window, arms crossed.

“Come on, it can’t be that interesting to look outside.” He snickered, attempting to break the ice.

Giving in, you turned albeit hesitant; you still refused to meet his eyes, facing the windshield instead.

He sighed, falling silent for a few moments.

“I saw it you know. The grade.” He said matter of factly. “I just didn’t think you’d want me to mention it. I thought it’d make you angry.”

Sometimes you wondered if he was dense, or just really dumb.

“And that’s why you waited the whole day to ask me about it?” You muttered, still refusing to meet his eyes.

He clicked his tongue, voice elevating in defence. “Look, I..” After a sigh, he resumed speaking, his tone much calmer than before.

“I’ve probably been a pain lately, so I know you’re probably really tired of it.” He reached out, placing his hand on your thigh, fingers twiddling with the fabric of your dress.

“..But I’m only trying to see a smile on your face. I had no idea you were so stressed.”

You turned your head back to the window, hiding your face as warmth crept up on your cheeks.

“…Then ask next time.” You said, the strain in your voice dropping.

“Will do.”

✮ - Tendo Satori

“You’re pretty harsh on them sometimes, Tendo.” You commented as he explained what he and his team did during practice today while the two of you walked home.

“Nope, they’re just lazy.” He shrugged, “I’m not gonna sweet talk them into practicing.” He stifled a giggle.

Raising an eyebrow, you began to feel irritated by his way of dealing with younger team members who weren’t as experienced or skilled as the regulars.

“You can’t expect them to know how to play like professionals instantly. It takes time.”

“Well I’m not their coach, am I?”

You had been friends with him for a while, having met eachother due to a seating arrangement in class. But after speaking to him for all this time, you began to notice his uncooperative attitude when it came to helping others on his team, especially when they weren’t as experienced as him.

You had been meaning to say something for a while, growing increasingly irritated each time he spoke ill of his inexperienced teammates.

“I don’t know how others can even stand to be on the same team with someone like you.” You spoke the words bluntly as the two of you stood at a stoplight. “You’re so discouraging. You’ve had help in the past, haven’t you?” Clenching the handle of your backpack tightly, your body tensed up in anticipation of his response.

“Uh, yeah from my coaches?” He replied, feigning offence. His tone hadn’t changed; still joking around and not being serious.

The stoplight clicked in the background, the remaining cars passing through. You weren’t about to deal with his attitude; he was already frustrating you enough as it was. His typical upbeat attitude wasn’t translating well into this situation, annoying you even more.

If that’s how he was going to be, then hanging out with him wasn’t something you’d continue doing.

After the remaining cars had passed through, the pedestrian light lit up. “Maybe you’ve chosen not to help them.” You took a few steps forward onto the crossing. “But you don’t have to be so insufferable about it.”

You didn’t look behind you, nor did you wonder whether he heard you or not. His steps didn’t follow, and your phone remained silent for the rest of the night.

Waking up the next day, it did cross your mind that perhaps you were a little.. harsh. And maybe it was pretty anticlimactic for you to be scolding him for essentially not being kind when you weren’t too kind to him either.

But how could you approach him about it after you absolutely thrashed him just the day before? The same thought rang throughout your head as you got ready for school, thinking about how awkward it was going to be sitting next to him. After all, it was the first real argument you’d had with him since becoming friends all those months ago.

Though, it looked like he’d also done some thinking himself. Opening the front door to leave, you found him leaning against the gate enclosing the front of your house. The closing of the door seemed to catch his attention as you heard his voice call out to you.

“Good morning!” You noticed that apart from his school bag, he was holding something else.

Walking up to the gate, you ran a few practice greetings in your head; ones that would lead up to an acknowledgment of your attitude towards him from the day before. Though before you could say anything, as soon as you closed the gate and began walking, he handed you a gift bag.

“These are for you.” He smiled. “I made them.”

Glancing inside, you made out what looked like a small box of sweets. You had no idea he was into baking. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he dramatically sighed. “And yeah, I guess i’ll try to help that bunch.”

So many things ran through your head as you thought of something to say. Do you just come outright and say it, or do you ask about the gift first? Or maybe you take the ‘Oh, you didn’t have to do this..!’ approach in terms of the gift?

“You gonna say something?” He quipped.

Though, it seemed that in that moment, you forgot how he was as a person, not being the type to sweat the details.

“Sorry about yesterday Tendo.. I didn’t mean to-”

“No worries!” He immediately snapped, a laugh treading along with his words.

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips as he spoke. With as much as you knew at this point, there was still tons that you didn’t know about him.

✮ - Hoshiumi Korai

“So tomorrow? At 5?” His voice rang throughout your room as you lay on your bed with your phone on speaker.

“Yeah.”

“Alright, but I cant go for too long. I have to wake up early for practice.”

Recently, he’d been really busy, unable to find time to even walk home with you from school as you used to. So it had become a habit for you both to keep up with each other through a phone call before heading to bed.

You knew he was busy with club and all, but was it really that hard for him to make time for you?

Saying goodbye, you slumped your head onto the pillow, wondering what you’d wear as you drifted asleep.

You awoke to your alarm with a headache, already putting you in a less than happy mood. Throughout the day, you lounged around the house and completed chores as you waited for the clock to hit 4:00pm - the time you’d get ready.

It really had been so long since you’d spoken to him in person other than saying ‘good morning’ and ‘see you later’ in class. Slipping into a dress, you recalled how he’d always look out for you, glaring at anyone who’d look at you with bad intentions. When on the sidewalk, he’d make sure to swap sides with you, putting himself closer to the road. He’d also never let you pay when you both ate out.

Sure, he hadn’t been there much recently, but that doesn’t mean he’d never been there.

As you applied a light blush onto your cheeks, your phone sounded with a notification. The time was 4:50, so you expected the notification to be a message from him letting you know he was waiting outside for you. Instead of checking your phone immediately, you peeked outside your window, looking around for where he’d be standing, but he wasn’t there. Confused, you checked the notification on your phone.

“Sorry, I can’t make it today. Something came up.”

Was he serious? A text? and not even a call? And why did he wait until now to tell you? Multiple questions ran through your head as you entered your phone password, immediately calling him.

“Hello-”

“Seriously Hoshiumi? Are you kidding me?” You interrupted. You had waited so long, never mentioning anything to him because you knew how busy he was. But this time was different.

“Hey hey wait, let me tell you what-!”

“No! You do this every time! You’re so busy that you can’t even see me for an hour? So busy that you had to cancel ten minutes before we were supposed to meet up?!”

The other end of the line fell silent. It was out of character him to not respond when the two of you had a falling out. He was as much as a hothead as you were, so this silence wasn’t like him.

“Whatever. Don’t even bother rescheduling it. Bye.”

Lifting the phone off your ear, you could hear his voice as he attempted to retain your attention. But it was too late, seeing as you’d ended the call and thrown your phone onto your bed. You felt so stupid, dressed up and wearing makeup for nothing. You headed into the living room and dropped onto the couch with a sigh. Still dressed and now lying down, your body shook with every sob, lulling you asleep.

Hours later, you awoke to firm knocking on the door. Your family had been out for a few hours visiting some relatives so you figured they had returned. As you walked to the door, you caught a glimpse of the time on the microwave; 11:37pm. That whole ordeal had really knocked you out.

Twisting the doorknob, the person on the other side wasn’t your Dad, nor your Mom, but was instead Hoshiumi. He was dressed lightly, panting, his skin glistening with sweat. Your eyes widened for a moment, not having seen him this closely for a long time. Just as you were about to say something, the events that unfolded hours ago replayed through your head, prompting you to attempt to slide the door back closed.

Though before you were able to, he placed his foot in the doorway.

“Wait.” His voice was steady; serious. He grabbed the door, opening it wide.

You weren’t able to meet his gaze. Part of you was still mad, but the other part knew there was definitely another way you could’ve dealt with it.

He began to explain what happened, why he couldn’t call to tell you, and why he was dressed so lightly. He’d left home immediately once he had finished what had came up, running to your house instead of taking public transport. Your home wasn’t too far from his, but it’d take almost twenty minutes in walking distance.

You remained silent the entire time, eyes welling up with tears as you came to terms with your attitude towards this entire situation.

He tilted his head, squinting his eyes at you. “Are you crying?”

You turned your face in response, attempting to hide the tears which were already streaming down your cheeks. He clicked his tongue, sighing as he wrapped his arms tightly around you.

“Don’t cry anymore. I’m here now, aren’t I?” His tone was gentler than before, something you didn’t expect. One hand held the back of your head as the other wrapped tightly around your back.

You nodded, locking your arms around him in an embrace.

[esra-ulusoy]

Her head tilted slightly, a spark of curiosity igniting within her as his question pierced through the air and captured her attention. She felt that he hadn’t meant to evoke guilt; instead, it was the unexpectedness of his words that left her momentarily stunned. Though they were ostensibly strangers, a deep connection had formed between them, making it feel too late to flee. The initial wave of panic that surged within her soon gave way to a bold urge to be discovered, to face the consequences of her choices with courage.

They were home now—she was home now. For three long months, Esra had expertly kept her presence hidden from her friends back home, tucked away in her metaphorical tower. Yet, a nagging awareness lingered in her mind; it was only a matter of time before Rahmi’s behavior at home would start to unravel, peeling away the facade that their haven had carefully constructed. Perhaps this moment was the tipping point she had sensed lurking in the air all along—a delicate balance ready to shift.

Esra managed a delicate smile, a flicker of warmth in her expression that lingered even as he confessed to not knowing her name. "I don’t think I ever introduced myself back then," she said softly, her gaze drifting up as she rummaged through her memories, trying to pinpoint a moment when she found the courage to speak to anyone in that house aside from Holly. "I only cared about her," she added, her eyes finding him again, revealing a tenderness that wrapped around her words like a fragile thread. There was a vulnerability in her voice that Esra couldn’t ignore. She cleared her throat, the moment stretching slightly as she looked away.

"But no, not the whole time," she added, wanting to clarify her earlier statement in response to his question. Bringing the glass to her lips, she paused to take a sip, the cool liquid refreshing but unable to wash away her unease. "If I had known who you were from the beginning…" she trailed off, shaking her head with her lips pressed in a thin line, struggling to conjure a believable response. The truth hung in the air: she had no idea how she would have reacted.

Esra lets a heavy silence hang in the air for just a few moments before she turns back to him, an intense seriousness replacing her usual demeanor. "Don't tell Holly," she says, her voice wavering between a question and a command. It had been far too long since she last spoke to or saw her childhood best friend. The mere thought of Holly discovering her circumstances through what her brother saw pained her with unbearable shame. Her expression softens, and she discreetly tilts her head toward the doors behind them as if to shield the weight of the secret. "About him."

Her laughter caught him off guard — not just the sound of it, but the way it completely shifted the air between them. The way it completely contrasted just a few minutes prior when the air felt more strained, given what he'd just watched her endure. No, her laugh was genuine, unrestrained, unlike the polite, measured reactions he'd grown used to from strangers trying to keep the conversation moving. But then she said it. I know you're Holly's brother. He blinked, his grip tightening slightly around his glass as realisation settled in. He hadn't even considered that she knew who he was — not until now. His gaze flickered over her, something unreadable crossing his face as he pieced it together. "Huh." He let out a small, almost incredulous breath, shaking his head slightly. He almost felt kinda exposed. "You knew who I was this whole time?" There wasn’t any real accusation in his voice, just a sort of quiet surprise, maybe even a little amusement at his own obliviousness. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees as he studied her with renewed curiosity. "And here I was thinking I was just some guy making bad rodeo jokes. I think I remember you. I just.. don't remember your name, I'm sorry."

[youareinacomawakeup]

Do you guys ever think about the

and also

BECAUSE I DO

[lxnarphase]

𓇼 FUCK HER, FLIP HER, BEND HER BACKWARDS !

❤︎₊‧⁺...synopsis : the church always says sex for pleasure is a sin, and nanami kento is a man of the lord. but fuck, if his wife isn't worth sinning for. wc: 4.3k

❤₊‧⁺...cw : n. kento x fem!reader, religious themes, traditionalist views on sex and marriage, loss of virginity, missionary to mating press, breeding kink, overstimulation, unprotected sex, nanami loses himself in your pussy, slight cum play, dirty talk

❤₊‧⁺...lunar's note : am i unintentionally coping with religious trauma? possibly but it is fun :33 anyways based of this! forgive me if my writing is a bit rusty, it's been a while but enjoy !!

the two of you have spoken about eventually having children many times, but knowing the steps it took...it kept you both pushing it back, knowing eventually you'd both be ready.

after speaking with doctors, asking for advice from the church, and having you grumble about the neighbors who welcomed a cute baby girl, the two of you figured it was time.

you did your best to act normal all dayl, trying not to seem to nervous or too excited as you went about your chores for the day.

it may just be an act to procreate, but...it's still your first time with nanami. you want it to at least feel special.

there was nothing in the bible that went against that, right?

well, you have plenty of time to overthink since it seems that your dear husband will be at work late. to pass the time, you wait upstairs in your shared bedroom, the TV on as a distraction.

you're so stuck in your own world that you don't even notice him in the doorway before he clears his throat, leaning in the doorway. "oh! hi, honey, welcome home!" you go to stand up, but he holds up a hand, making you stop before you can get up from the bed.

it's silent, aside from the noise from the TV, and you can feel your stomach flip in anticipation.

has...has he always looked that handsome?

he continues to stand by the door, still not making eye contact. "you said it...starts today, correct," nanami questions, focused on undoing the straps of his watch. it shouldn't be attractive, it's such a simple task...yet it has your stomach doing flips as you nod.

"mhm, my, uh...ovulation starts today." it's such a weird thing to say, it just makes everything feel so...clinical. but that's how it's supposed to be, right? those who use sex for pleasure instead of procreation are sinners, or whatever the reverend at the church says.

"mm."

slowly pulling it off, he sets the watch on the dresser before shutting the bedroom door

"good."

dear god in heaven, you think to yourself, struggling to swallow the saliva pooling inside your mouth as he starts to undress. please forgive me for such inappropriate thoughts about my husband.

he removes his suit jacket—black today, it seems—placing it carefully on his desk chair, followed by his cufflinks and tie. his shirt is next, each button popping to reveal his strong, well-maintained physique.

you have to stop yourself from pumping your fist in the air for getting so lucky with such an attractive man as your husband. too busy ogling him like a horny teenager, you miss him undoing his belt before tugging them down and stepping out of his boxers.

once you do realize he's fully undress, you blush hard once he approaches the end of the bed—it took everything out of you not to stare at that...monster hanging between his legs, dear lord—and climbs onto it, making his way to hover over you.

his eyes roam up and down your body, taking in the pretty silky night dress you had on. It’s a soft blue with lacy white trim with little intricate flower designs.

modest, yet sensual.

"this is new," he comments, voice low and sultry. you can't help but wonder if he meant to sound so...so...

you don't find the correct word for it, but this new tone lights a fire in your stomach that has your r thighs squeezing together just a little bit.

"well, i figured it was an important night...you know, finally popping our cherries a-and starting a family?"

it's a weak attempt at humor, your voice clearly giving away your nervousness. you just pray that he ignores it.

a soft hum leaves him, his fingers playing with the intricately designed lace trim. the idea that you want to make this whole ordeal special, that you want to give yourself to him wholly, and that you want to swell with his child...

it pleases him greatly, a small smile touching his lips.

"well, aren't you sweet, my dearest?"

such simple words, yet they relieve so much tension from your shoulders. you can't help but smile back before a little gasp falls from your lips when his hands start to lift the dress up. his hands, they're so big, so hot on your skin.

It's a struggle to remember that this is for the purpose of producing offspring and nothing else, but you try, you try so hard.

but when you hear the hitch in his breath at the realization you didn't have anything else underneath the dress after he pulls it over your head, it's hard to remember.

the thought just about completely leaves your mind at the way nanami, your usually put-together husband, looks so hungrily down at you, a look you've never seen before in those pretty hazel eyes.

his gaze lingers on your body for a moment, mouth opening before shutting instantly, preventing himself from saying something he'd likely regret.

calm down, kento, he reminds himself, taking a second to clear his mind. this is for the purpose of family, not sinful and carnal desires.

even so, he's drinking in the sight of you, unable to stop his hands from rubbing up and down your sides, the soft skin of you, his wife, warming his palms. all his.

"gorgeous," he mumbles, unaware he even said it.

the moment you feel his leaking cock brush against your leg, a thought occurs to you.

neither one of you has a single idea of how to do this.

sure, you both know enough about putting it inside and moving, but that was about it. is there something else you should do? things you should say, places you should touch to aid in the process?

they never explained the actual process of sex in church, and lord knows your mother and father would've keeled over and died instantly if you were to ask them.

'it comes naturally when god deems it your time' the reverend stated once during a sermon. you fight back a frown, realizing that man probably had even less of an idea of how to do it.

however, the feeling of his tip nudging against your slit rips a gasp out of you, bringing you back into the present.

"are you alright? you left me for a bit there," nanami asks, his brow furrowed in worry. if you weren't ready, he was willing to back off. he may want to fulfill this important aspect of marriage, but...not if you don't want it.

"n-no, i'm okay! just...wondering how all of this is going to work out," you softly reassure, giving a weak giggle.

he can't blame you, he isn't very sure either. but as the man of the house and as your husband, he didn't plan on letting you worry. he would do all the work, you just needed to lay there looking so pretty, so soft, so...he realizes he's doing it again, letting his mind wander to places it shouldn't.

"just...j-just relax, we will figure it out as we go along."

with your silent nod, nanami starts to push his hips forward, hissing silently when he realizes the wetness that greets him.

you were this aroused just from...talking?

the thought of scolding you for letting your mind wander crossed his own, but...it would be hypocritical when his cockhead is dribbling precum all over your soft mound.

you choke out a noise of pain when his cock finally notches onto you and starts to push inside. sure, your wetness helped get the tip and the few inches after it inside, but just that is already too much for you, and you're expected to take all of it?!

you do your best not to move, not really sure what you should be doing. you'd be a good wife and bear with the pain if you had to, your nails digging into the pillow under your head as you braced yourself for the rest of his cock.

but this is absolutely unbearable, how do other women bear with this and have 6 or more children?!

a flicker of concern flashes through nanami's eyes at the sound you made, and he stops moving forward. he may be a bit mean sometimes, but he wasn't cruel.

if you both are going to go through with this, he is not going to make you suffer and nor is he going to force you to endure a painful experience.

no true man of god would do such a thing.

"breathe, don't hold it in," he instructs, his voice somehow calm and collected. one of his hands laces with yours, hoping to provide some sort of comfort as his lips brush against your forehead. "i've got you, darling, the pain will pass, just...tell me to stop if it gets too bad. don't hold it in."

giving a soft nod, you try to match his breathing, your body relaxing and making it easier for nanami to slip the rest of himself inside, a near silent sigh escaping him. the tightness and initial resistance that greeted him nearly made him moan, his cock twitching violently inside of you.

something about the physical feeling and knowledge that you saved yourself for him like you promised years before you both got married sent a surge of possession and pride, knowing he has such a loving and faithful wife who is so willing to give herself up to him like this...he can only hope you feel the same knowing he saved himself for you and only you.

so, as a 'reward'—and totally not because he fears you'll strangle his cock off with how tight you are—he's so gracious to you, not moving to let you get used to the stretch and feel of him inside, the room silent except for your matching breathing.

a few moments go by, and you should feel embarrassed when you feel slick drip out of you and down your ass. the realization that your dearest husband, one of the most faithful men of the church, is letting his cock soak inside of your hot cunt makes you whine a little, slick walls fluttering around him.

he's so fucked.

"a-ah...i'm going to move now," he warns, taking your sudden noise as a good sign. nanami shifts his legs just a bit before giving an experimental thrust, his brow furrowing as he slowly finds a rhythm.

the feeling of your hot and gummy walls is absolutely intoxicating, divine, nothing he's ever felt before.

this is what it felt like?

this is what he waited for?

fuck, it felt...it felt so good.

too good.

for you, the pain completely melts away, and you silently thank god and the angels above for giving you a merciful husband who is so kind as to wait for you to loosen up around him.

little do you know, he would rather kill himself than start moving when you're still adjusting to the pain and stretch.

his gentle movements make you all but melt under him, your eyes fluttering at the unbelievable pleasure coursing through your veins.

no wonder your parents preached about saving yourself until marriage, and thank the heavens you listened.

the very thought of feeling this way with anyone but your kento puts a bad taste in your mouth.

meanwhile, nanami chants prayers in his head over and over again as he tries his best to focus on the 'true' purpose for this.

the sticky, wet, and gooey sensation of your plump cunt sucking him, practically weeping each time he pulls out is just unfair.

the poor man, he's fighting so hard to maintain his composure, to not succumb to the base instincts that those soft moans of yours are beginning to stir within him.

"s-shush, darling," he grits out, hips still following his slow, deep pace. "don't...don't make such noises," he all but pleads, voice tinged with a huskiness that betrayed his growing need for you.

“i-i’m sorry! just, it...feels good, y-you feel good, feels s-so good,” you whisper, hands coming up to cover your mouth and stifle those sickeningly sweet noises.

but of course, that isn’t enough because each push and pull of his cock stirs your drooling cunt, filling the room with wet, filthy squelching sounds.

nothing about this is holy, nanami thinks as he grits his teeth, hands fisting in the sheets next to your head.

look at her.

those soft, muffled noises are truly music to his ears, his pace morphing from the slow, deep grind into a faster pace as your soft body gives into the pleasure.

so wet, so damn tight around my cock., like she never wants to let me pull out.

"k-kento, y-you're goin' too deep, i-i can't be quiet, s'too much!"

messy little pussy, 's beggin' for cum, needs it, needs to feel my tip kissin' her cervix as i pump load after load into her womb.

he knows what that little voice is, and no matter how much he wants to claim that it’s the sound of demons pouring their sinful words into his mind, he knows that it's his thoughts, fueled by those dirty little noises that she can't hold back.

how pitiful, how sinful, doesn't she know she's going against all the teachings they've heard preached every weekend in their church?

doesn't she know she's giving into lust?

doesn't she know her pretty sounds are making his dick throb, painting her insides with his hot, gooey precum?

"hush, 'm not going to t-tell you again, you...you need to be quiet," he growls, the command lacking its earlier authority.

nanami also knows lying is a sin, and he's doing a damned lot of it right now as he tries to convince himself that you need to stay silent. after all, this—this is just a process of giving you both a child, just like you wanted, and nothing else.

but he's lying to himself.

he needs you to be quiet or else he'll lose it.

the poor man is barely holding onto his restraint, and these sweet noises pouring from your mouth aren't helping at all.

"y-you make this so difficult sometimes, my dear..." his voice is rough with need and desire, a stark contrast to his usual composed demeanor. "but, by god, you're...you're. absolutely. exquisite."

he punctuates his words with a particularly hard thrust, grinding his hips into you in a way that has the coarse hair on his crotch to rub against your clit. the pleasure it gives you is electric, your legs coming up to squeeze his hips as you try to grind with him.

his words, his simple praise only makes you hiccup his name, crying out louder as your watery eyes roll back as your needy cunt squeezed down on his fat cock.

you're such a sweet thing, trying oh-so hard to mute your sounds. each snap of his hips is all but driving you insane.

“i-i can’t, ken, y-you don’t understand, i-it feels so good, i-i’m so full! you’re pressing against all the good spots, kentoo, i-i love you s' much, b-but i can't!”

be a good fucking husband and do what you were made to, nanami kento.

his teeth dig into his bottom lip, trying to hard to ignore that temptation purring in the back of his mind.

the voice is so much louder now, echoing throughout his mind and muting any prayers or pleads to be mindful of the sanctity of this whole process.

fuck her. give her what she needs, what she deserves.

but it's too fucking hard, he can't his hips are speeding up, his strong hands moving to grip your thighs, unaware of how they start to anchor behind your knees.

breed your pretty little wife and give her a baby like she deserves.

with a deep groan, nanami finally loses all control, fingers digging into your supple thighs to push them to your chest and practically folding you in half.

this new angle has him openly moaning like a dirty whore, allowing him to plunge even deeper into your tight, gummy walls, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with each and every deep thrust.

"k-ken, kenny, k-ken," you sob, tears catching onto your lashes as your entire being is assaulted by the endless pleasure your husband is giving you. he doesn't even look like your kento anymore, his pupils blown so wide that you can barely see the ring of greens and brown of his iris.

"f-fuck. 's all your fault, you know that," he hisses, eyes narrowing as he weakly glares down at you. but you can see the hearts in his eyes as he gives in to the pleasure.

his dark eyes bore down into yours, the wet plap plap plap plap of his hips slamming into yours almost overpowering his voice. "if y-you just stayed quiet like i asked, w-we wouldn't be here."

a little spurt of wet gushes out of you, making his fall forward into the juncture of your neck with a groan at the dirty noise it makes,

"god, i-i can feel it, y'know? can feel this sticky pussy—such a dirty little pussy—makin' such a mess. saved it jus' for me, didn't you, baby? mmhm—fuckin' hell, 's tight—thank you god f' giving me such an angel of a wife." nanami is huffing nonsense against your neck, pounding into you with a force that has the bed creaking loudly.

if you weren't being fucked stupid, you would be worried he was about to break the bed.

"you can keep that pretty mouth of yours shut, b-but you jus' had to have the noisiest little cunt."

he's so mean, but it only serves to make you gush even more, the way juices pour out of you and only make the already filthy noises even nastier.

"she's talkin' to me, baby, y'hear it? i'm...i-i'm gonna breed you," he manages to whine into your ear, pulling away to press his sweaty forehead against yours.

his tongue, so pink and pretty—you want it in your mouth, want to taste it want to feel it against yours—runs over his top lip as he watches drool drip down the corner of your mouth while you nod brainlessly.

nanami's never felt so dirty, so unhinged, but it feels so right, feels so fucking good. he never wants to leave your pussy, never wants to pull out, this is where he belongs, buried deep inside you as his cock pumps load after load right into your tummy, giving you what you need, what you deserve.

"yeah? you want that? i'll give it to you, baby, promise, 'm gonna be a good husband a-and knock you up, gonna make you a mommy."

that has you keening, tears pouring down your cheeks at the pleasure it shoots up your spine. you know you're close, but it's different.

it feels different, feels too much, there's pressure you've never felt before from the few times you'd cave in and play with your puffy, swollen clit in the shower when you waited for nanami to get home from work to kiss you to sleep.

no, you feel like you are about to fucking explode. "ken, i-i can't, 'm gonna—s-something's coming," you try to warn, your hands fisting in his hair as you tug and tug and tug.

the pull of his hair makes him moan like a slut, it sounds so fucking good. his eyes are rolling back before he rushes to comfort you, pressing soft little open-mouthed kisses against your lips.

you don't need to fight it, you just need to give it to him, give him what he needs.

"shh, shh, don' cry, y' look t'pretty, honey. l-let it happen, cum for me, i've got you, angel, cum for me s-so i can fill you up," he coos, his hips growing erratic as he feels your silky walls starting to fluttering around him, feeling you teeter on the edge of release.

he shifts, just barely, just enough to better position himself to fuck deeper into you. but that slight movement has his cock smushing against something soft and spongy that makes you sob, growing softer and more pliant under him, and you know you are done for as all you can do is wail his name.

"please, pretty girl, cum for me, show me how good 'm making you feel, soak my cock, c'mon, you can do it."

with a loud mewl that nearly has nanami soaking your walls in cum, you dig your nails into his biceps as you finally, finally cum. and you're right, it is different, your cute pussy squirting and creaming all over his dick.

the poor man is choking back a whine, eyes wide in shock as your cunt just gushes slick everywhere, clenching around him like a vice as you cum.

your juices are soaking his cock and balls, splattering against his lower abdomen obscenely. the thought of making you do that again crosses his mind for a split moment before the need to fill you up for being so good overpowers any other thought.

not giving you a break, he continues his unforgiving fucking, ignoring your cries and pleads for him to slow down.

"nonono, shh, shh, shush, you can take it," he coos against your lips, no longer caring if this was sinning or not. all he could think about was the constant squeezing and spasming of your poor overstimulated slit that was milking him toward his orgasm.

you try to squirm away, but the way he has you folded in half has you unable to do anything but accept his stupidly deep thrusts that make you swear you can taste his cock in the back of your throat.

"t-tha's it." he's panting, slurring his words, his fingers digging into the fat of your thighs. it’s so wet, so messy now, but he can't find it in himself to care.

no, all he can think about as he looks down at you is how you'll have that angelic glow as you grow round with his baby, and everyone will know you're his, that he knocked you up, he pumped you full of his cum, that you're his you're his you're all fucking his—

"f-fuck, honey, i-i can't..." his hips stutter as he does his best to maintain his rhythm, but his own release is barreling down on him. his heavy balls are drawing up tight as they slap against your ass, your juices still pouring out and soaking all of him.

"'m gonna fill you up, 'm gonna pump this—this sinful little cunt f-full of m'cum, angel, gonna knock you up, gonna have you drippin' with me, g-gonna give you a fuckin' baby, shit—"

with a deep, guttural groan, nanami hisses your name as he buries himself as deep as possible, his hot tip kissing your cervix as thick, hot ropes of his potent cum pour right into your womb, hips grinding into you and giving little thrusts as you milk his cock weakly despite your overstimulation.

it's—it's so much, he's still cumming, how was all of this inside of him? you can practically feel it sloshing around inside of you, and you whimper when you feel it gush out around his now softening cock, dripping down your ass onto the bed.

a moment or two passes, and he sits up, pushing his sweaty hair out of his face and looking down at you.

oh.

you sweet thing, you're an absolute mess. you have tear streaks down your cheeks, your lips swollen from him unknowingly biting them between the little kisses he was giving you, a pretty sheen of sweat on you, and...

his eyes trail lower to where his dick is still nestled inside of you, and it takes everything in him to not accidentally thrust his hips a little bit.

it's a creamy, sticky mess, a mixture of his and your cum seeping out your poor, abused pussy.

"o-oh. sorry, my love. i'm...not quiet sure what happened there. i apologize for such...foul language," he mumurs, his hand stroking your hip. "'s okay," you softly coo back to him, your eyes fluttering shut as you try to catch your breath. "i-i liked it..."

but you quickly learn you've married both a man of god and a curious, insatiable bastard who can't help but drag his cum all over your pussy, quickly finding your clit. and the reaction you give him is one he decides he likes, your hips canting up as your soft, oversensitive walls squeeze around his cock again.

"k-kento, that's nasty!"

all you get in response is a grumbling noise in his chest as it takes you weakly slapping your hands against his chest to get his eyes to snap away from your gooey, creamy pussy.

clearing his throat, he looks down at you, that heated look slowly creeping back onto his face. "perhaps we...we should try once more. just to ensure it takes," he states, doing his best to show some semblance of dominance.

but it's impossible when his hair is sticking to his sweaty forehead, his pupils blown as he gazes down at your panting form like he's about to devour you whole.

"after all, a...a big family is what god wants from man and woman, right? so we...shouldn't delay and keep trying." his hand trails up your side before finding its way to your breast, squeezing the soft flesh.

his thumb experimentally rolled your nipple, and the way your body reacted, a soft gasp of his name...how is he supposed to explain the feeling he's getting in the confessional booth?

"y-yeah," he gulps, leaning his head down. you can feel his hot breath against your tit, and you swear you feel drool drip onto your breast. "w-we'll keep trying. jus' to make sure w-we do what the scripture asks."

may god forgive him for being such a fucking liar and a damned bad one at that.

all rights reserved © lxnarphase | do not repost, copy, translate, or alter my work

[nottsangel]

shared spaces — t.n. & m.r. & l.b.

pairing: fem!reader x theo nott x mattheo riddle x enzo berkshire. new girl au — in which you live together.

warnings: smut 18+, foursome, threeway kiss, oral sex (m. receiving), double penetration (unprotected vaginal and anal sex), fingering, bad italian probably (sorry!), creampie, praise, choking

word count: 4.6k

summary: a night of drinking with your roommates takes an unexpected turn when innocent teasing escalates into a foursome you’ll never forget.

moodboard. nav. more content.

Roommates. That’s all you, Theodore, Mattheo and Lorenzo were. Not friends, fuck no. Just… roommates. Nothing more, nothing less. Roommates you could kill with your bare hands at times, that is— especially when you were lying in bed late at night, headphones turned up to max volume, while all three boys were busy slamming their cock into whatever random girl was foolish enough to go home with them that day. Or when you came back to the cramped apartment, swung open the freezer, and discovered that they’ve eaten all the ice cream you’d been looking forward to eating all day.

Oh, how you desperately wished you were living somewhere else in those moments— anywhere, really. But unfortunately, you didn’t have a choice. You urgently needed a place after breaking up with your cheating ex-boyfriend, and this was the best you could find at that time.

But it was fine. Not great, but fine. You lived your own life, and so did they. You didn’t talk to them much—only when necessary—and avoided them as much as you could. It might sound unfriendly and hostile, you were fully aware of that, but they were too busy bragging to each other about the girls they hooked up with anyway, and you had no desire to be part of that conversation. And it was whatever. You were content like this, minding your own business. And you were planning to continue living exactly like this until you found a better place to live… But was that still what you really wanted?

After a few chaotic months of living together, everything began to change dramatically. As much as you despised these same boys not too long ago—well, you still very much do—the dynamics between the three of you had completely shifted. You weren’t just roommates anymore, no, you were… a little more than that.

What exactly, you might ask? Well, Lorenzo liked to call it RWB (roommates with benefits), which resulted in a slap to the head each time he brought it up. You flat-out refused to ever call it that. And besides, whatever the hell it was, you didn’t even want to label it.

Anyway, to cut straight to the point without beating around the bush any longer— you were having sex with your roommates. Yes, each one of them. All fucking three. The three boys that you used to fight with over the most minuscule things you could possibly think of, are now the same boys pinning you down onto your mattress until you’re drooling all over the sheets ‘cause of how good they were fucking you. It all strangely unfolded so naturally and so gradually, as if the lines between friendship and desire were slowly fading away without anyone noticing. Still, it felt wrong, it felt dirty, but god, it felt so fucking good too.

To go back to the beginning and provide some much-needed context, it all started with them sharing you, actually. But not at the same time— no, that felt far too weird and awkward. Instead, they took turns sleeping with you separately, with each one of them fucking you whenever the mood struck, which happened a lot. Just casually brushing past them in the kitchen and feeling your ass press against their crotch was enough to drag you into their rooms. And it was fucking amazing— each one of them had their own unique qualities, fucking you in ways the others couldn’t.

Theo, for instance, was great at dirty talk and foreplay. He’d shamelessly whisper filthy words to you in Italian with that low, seductive voice of his as his fingers were buried deep inside of you, curling up so perfectly— he never failed to get you dripping wet in an instant.

Mattheo was a fucking god at eating you out— he could make you cum within seconds, the way his tongue skilfully sucked on your clit had you gripping his brown locks tightly.

And Lorenzo? He could put you into positions you never knew were possible, hitting spots so incredibly deep inside of you that your legs trembled uncontrollably each time you found yourself in his bed.

But still, it had its downsides. Fucking each one of them individually meant a lot of sex and left you sore and limping around, which eventually began to exhaust you, pushing you past your limits physically. It was simply too much for you to handle. All three of their sex drives were sky-high, and you, being just one girl in a house with three boys, just couldn’t fulfil their needs all the time. 

So that’s when threesomes began to happen. And ohhh, a new world opened up to you. It was exhilarating, it was experimental, it was even better than the sex before, and with all the attention on you, you couldn’t get enough. So far, you’ve explored every possible threesome combination, and their skills combined were absolutely mind-blowing. You were hornier than ever—more needy, more aroused—and so were they.

But was that really the limit? threesomes? well, you thought it was— until tonight happened. It was just another drunken night with the boys, gathered in the cosy living room, playing whatever random board games you had dug out from the back of your closet, stacked away and long forgotten since you moved in. 

The evening began so innocently, filled with laughter and lighthearted chatter as you drank some leftover alcohol from a party the week prior— until you unconsciously started inching closer to them, the chilly night breeze sneaking through the windows causing you to seek more warmth. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, though. You always became touchy and clingy whenever you were drunk— everyone knew that.

But with them being intoxicated as well, they found it increasingly difficult to control themselves around you, eyeing you with hungry, lustful gazes, especially as your lace bra temptingly peeked out from under your tight-fitting top and your short skirt inched higher with every movement you made. 

Usually, after one of these nights, you’d end up going to bed with one of them—maybe two if the night called for it—but there was always one of them who was too tired or had some other girl come over anyway. Tonight was undeniably different, though, and you could feel it— they all wanted you.

Lorenzo and Mattheo sat on either side of you, with Lorenzo’s wandering hand slowly trailing over your bare, goosebumps-covered thigh, sending shivers cursing through your body, while Mattheo’s hand rested around your waist under your shirt, rubbing gentle circles on your soft skin with his thumb. Their warm hands felt nice on your cold body, but you couldn’t deny the ache building between your legs at both their irresistible touches.

The scent of their musky, aromatic colognes mingled with the smell of all kinds of alcohol, filling your nostrils, as their warm bodies pressed closely against yours, causing a small, amused smile to form on your lips at the sudden realisation that there was more than enough room on the couch for both of them. But no, they wanted to sit as close as possible to you, eagerly craving the feeling of your skin against theirs, even though a barrier of fabric still separated you from them. You didn’t have to read their minds to know how badly they wanted to rip it off your body.

Meanwhile, Theo sat across from you, watching the scene before him unfold with a cocky, lopsided smirk and dark eyes, fully aware that both drunken enzo and mattheo lacked any ounce of self-control strong enough to resist you, so he lazily let them do all the work of getting you aroused and horny before joining. Occasionally, he took a slow sip from his drink, but his intense gaze never left yours, absorbing the way you reacted to their touches and he knew— under your tiny skirt, your panties were soaked already.

And god, he was right. Just the slightest, teasing touch had you dripping wet already, as their firm hands continued to roam over your body, growing more hungrily and desperately with each passing second, both of them breathing heavily on either side of you.

For a fleeting moment, you lock eyes with Theo through your drowsy gaze, his own intense eyes fixated on you as your roommates explored your body, only making you more desperate and turned on.

“Sei così calda.” Theo murmured in a low, husky voice, his eyes glued to your body, eliciting an irritated groan from Mattheo as he rolled his eyes in annoyance.

“Oh, shut up mate, no one can understand you.” he retorted, frustration lacing his tone. Theo simply chuckled in response, completely unfazed by him, fully aware of the underlying reasons for his annoyance. Mattheo hated it whenever Theo spoke Italian because he knew it gave him an undeniable advantage with girls, who swooned all over Theo the moment seductive Italian words flowed from his lips.

“Be nice, Matt” you warned, trying to appear stern but the alcohol cursing through your system made you uncontrollably let out a small giggle, causing Mattheo’s expression to soften too.

“I am nice. Is having my hands all over your body not me being nice, princess?” he teased with a cheeky smirk, his hand trailing down your bare back under your shirt toward your ass as his eyes hungrily gazed right at you through half-lidded eyes, a combination of lust and intoxication evident in their depths, his warm body merely inches away from yours. Your hazy, drunken state, their warm hands gliding all over your chilled skin, theo’s piercing eyes staring right at you— your head felt like it was spinning.

Suddenly, as if reading each other’s minds, both boys gently yet eagerly brushed your hair from your neck to expose it, then attached their soft lips to the sensitive skin at the same time, sloppily sucking dark hickeys into your neck from both angles. You couldn’t help but let out a breathy moan, helplessly pressing your thighs together to create some friction as Mattheo and Lorenzo breathed heavily right into your ear, sending electric shivers down your spine.

They were both becoming more and more desperate, frantically sucking on your skin, the alcohol coursing through their bodies and intense desire to have you blurring their minds and causing them to lose all inhibitions. Mattheo groaned in pleasure, taking a not-so-subtle sniff as licked your neck like a popsicle, leaving a slick trail of saliva in his wake. He felt lightheaded, completely entranced by your sweet scent and the softness of your skin, his hand greedily squeezing your waist.

“Mmm, I can, like, taste your perfume… so sweet and… a bit… alcoholic, like a— like a pornstar martini.” 

“What the—” Lorenzo instantly pulled away from your neck, glaring at Mattheo with a disgusted look on his face, his top lip curling in distaste and his brows furrowed in disbelief.

“Mattheo, shut the fuck up, will you?” 

“What did I do now?!”

“You’re ruining the mood, saying weird shit like that.” 

“Oh, fuck off—”

Before they could bicker any further, you abruptly grasped both their jaws at the same time and gently guided their heads towards yours into a sudden kiss, your soft lips pressing against theirs as their eyes reluctantly fluttered shut.

You could tell they were hesitant at first, both of them unwilling to touch each other in any way, but the drinks they had earlier were working its magic as you quickly felt their tongues eagerly moving against yours, their hesitation disappearing in a split second.

Soon, all three of you were completely entangled in the kiss, with one of their hands on the back of your head, drawing you in, while another firmly squeezed your bare thigh, as though trying to steady himself. The world around you seemed to fade for a moment as you pulled them closer and closer, spit mixing between you three, and the usually noisy living room was unusually quiet for once, except for the sounds of heavy breathing, soft moans, and wet lips smacking together.

The tension was only rising more, all of you growing more eager with each passing second, your tongues moving in perfect harmony with each other, as though you’d done this a thousand times before. And you were yearning for even more, all of you were, your body trembling with need as your arousal slicked your thighs, dripping onto the couch beneath you. The initial hesitation to touch each other had long faded by now, desire consuming you all, thickening the air with an overwhelming mix of lust and anticipation, until—

“Alright. that’s enough.” Theo broke the silence as he suddenly stood in front of the couch, casting a dark shadow over the three of you. He assertively took your wrist and forcefully pulled you up from your seat, while both boys stared up through drowsy eyes, their swollen, spit-covered lips glistening, and your lipstick messily smudged across their flushed faces, wearing dazed and slightly bewildered expressions that hinted at their drunken state.

In one swift, fluid movement, Theo effortlessly threw you over his shoulder, eliciting a surprised squeal from you followed by a drunken giggle, as he playfully slapped your ass with an amused, mischievous smirk dancing on his lips.

The moment Theo walked into your room, he roughly threw you onto your bed, your body bouncing slightly with the impact as you gazed up at him. In contrast to the chilly living room, the temperature here was more pleasant, with the lingering scent of flowery candles you lit earlier still filling the room.

Theo approached you with a dominant air, each long step creaking on the wooden floor, sending your heartbeat racing. When he finally stood before you, he traced his thumb gently over your burning cheek, before slipping it into your mouth, making you suck on it and he groaned at the sight, his eyes darkening. “So fuckin’ pretty.” 

Heat flooded your core at the sudden praise, your lace panties now uncomfortably soaked with arousal. Drool trickled from the corners of your swollen lips, his thumb still deep in your mouth as you gazed up at him with half-open, dazed eyes. His tall, imposing figure loomed over you, casting a shadow as he tilted his head in approval, drinking in the sight of you beneath him. 

He slowly pulled his thumb out of your mouth, a thin trail of spit still connecting your lips to his finger before he made his way to your bed, lowering himself onto it and motioning with his hand for you to come closer. His demeanour was power-driven, cocky, and lustful, as he leaned back against the headboard, his legs spread wide, his eyes devouring you. You crawled toward him on all fours, giving him a perfect view of your cleavage, your tits nearly spilling out of your shirt as you moved. 

“You look so sexy right now, I might just keep you all to myself tonight.” he growled, his voice low and commanding. He didn’t waste much time before gripping the back of your head and eagerly pulling you into a fierce, hungry kiss, his tongue dominantly entering your mouth, not wanting to waste any of the little time he had alone with you. 

In the background, you could faintly hear Mattheo and Lorenzo still in the living room, their voices muffled through the thin walls as they bickered once again, but you could make out a sharp “don’t you fucking dare tell anyone about this!” and frustrated “you really can’t kiss, you know that? we’re never doing this shit again!”, followed by an exaggerated sound of gagging, causing you to giggle into the kiss. 

Theo's warm hand slowly traced from your waist down to your ass, relishing the way you melted under his touch, while his other hand guided yours to his crotch, placing it over his already throbbing erection before he finally pulled away from the kiss.

“Feel how hard I am for you?” theo whispered in a low, sultry voice, the words sending a rush of heat through your body as you palmed him through his tight pants. “All this is for you, amore.”

Just then, you heard Mattheo and Lorenzo stumble down the hallway, their footsteps heavy and unsteady as they sprinted towards your room, clumsily knocking over whatever was in their way, too eager to even care, before finally stepping inside and hastily slamming the door shut.

The first view that met their eyes was your ass raised high in the air, angled perfectly towards them, your skirt having ridden up all the way over your waist, giving them a perfect view of your drenched underwear as you were bent over, hungrily kissing theo. 

“Holy… fuck…” 

“So— uhm, yeah, we’re— we’re here” they stammered, staring at the scene in front of them with their mouths half open and painfully hard boners visible through their pants, forming noticeable wet patches on the fabric.

Theo's hand on your ass then travelled to the waistband of your panties, teasingly sliding it down and tossing it carelessly to the floor, revealing your glistening cunt with your arousal dripping down the insides of your thighs. Both Mattheo and Lorenzo felt as if they were about to explode and could cum at the sight alone already, but were quickly snapped back to reality when you pulled away from Theo's lips and broke the silence. 

“So? You’re gonna help me out or what?” you taunted impatiently with a teasing grin, feeling painfully empty as you squeezed around nothing. They both blinked erratically as they were pulled out of their trance and nodded their heads, eagerness evident in their expressions.

You soon felt both their roaming hands on your body, exploring every inch eagerly with fervent curiosity as they hastily undressed you until you were completely naked, making you more aroused with each tantalising second. You felt their hands everywhere— squeezing your ass, pinching your sensitive nipples, teasingly brushing against your aching cunt. It was driving you wild as you simultaneously unbuckled theo’s belt, staring up at him while he gazed back down at you with that smug, cocky smile that made your heart race.

“You think you can handle all of us at the same time, bella?” you nodded without a second thought, your mind completely consumed by the desperate need for all three of them as you freed Theo’s throbbing cock from his pants, instantly jumping against his stomach as precum leaked from the swollen tip.

“Good fuckin’ girl.” you parted your lips, letting a glistening trail of spit land on his cock as he intently watched you with hungry, lust-filled eyes, biting his lip in anticipation, before your mouth finally met the swollen tip. You gently swirled your tongue over the most sensitive part, causing him to let out a deep, guttural moan, meanwhile behind you, you felt a pair of fingers—you weren’t even sure whose—rubbing your clit in slow circles as you simultaneously heard the frantic unbuckling of belts. 

“Just like that, baby, fuck!” Theo’s hand moved to your head, fingers threading through your hair before taking a fistful of it and pulling your hair back into a loose ponytail, ensuring it was out of your way. Your head slowly sank down, taking him all the way into your mouth until you felt the tip brush against the back of your throat and your lips pressed against his balls, causing Theo to throw his head back in pure bliss.

When you felt two fingers suddenly enter you, you moaned loudly around Theo, the sound vibrating against him as the fingers curled up perfectly against your sensitive g-spot. Feeling desperate for more, you pushed your ass back with the movements, instinctively trying to create more friction as the slick, lewd sounds of their digits pumping deep inside of your wet cunt filled the room, mixing with your soft whimpers of pleasure.

“Fuck, she’s so wet” you heard Mattheo groan from behind you as if you weren’t even in the room, his voice thick with desire as he quickly rubbed circles on your aching clit and watched Lorenzo finger you at the same time, causing your legs to shake uncontrollably, your arousal dripping all over their quick hands. 

“She’s squeezing me so fuckin’ tight— I can tell she wants more.” They were bringing you closer and closer to the edge, your release building with each passing second, but he was right— you wanted, no, needed more. You were craving to feel them, both of them.

“Yeah? You want more, baby? You want us to fuck you at the same time, hm?” Mattheo questioned, and you instantly pulled your lips from Theo with a soft plop, panting as soft ‘please’s desperately slipped from your spit-covered lips.

“Alright. But, uh, let me fuck her ass this time, yeah?” Lorenzo demanded at mattheo as he aggressively shoved him out of the way with his shoulder, causing mattheo to stumble to the side before retaliating with both hands pushing against his chest.

“Nah, it’s my fucking turn.” 

“What the fuck do you mean?” 

“What do you mean, what do I mean? I'm telling you mate, it’s my tu— alright. rock, paper, scissors to settle this, yeah?”

“Hm, fine… ready? rock…pa—“

“Oh my god, you fucking idiots. Enzo, get under me now before I lose my patience!” you snapped, drunk exasperation lacing your voice while Theo lifted himself from beneath you, shaking his head in a mix of disapproval and amusement, a grin spreading across his face.

“Whatever.” Lorenzo sighed defeatedly as he replaced Theo’s position, pulling you on top of him, his aching cock already nudging at your entrance. Theo settled beside you on the bed, swiftly passing the lube from the nightstand to Mattheo, all while amusingly watching Lorenzo make an even bigger fool of himself. 

“What? You don’t want to fuck me? ‘Cause you can go jerk off in the fucking corner if that’s what you’d rather do.” You hissed at Lorenzo, glaring down at him. His eyes momentarily widened in surprise, before he shook his head in playful defiance and let out a low chuckle. Abruptly, he gripped your jaw, pulling your face close to his, and kissed you hungrily as if apologising. “Oh, c’mon baby, you know I love your pussy.”

A small, satisfied smile uncontrollably tugged at the corners of your lips as he rubbed his cock along your folds, teasing you while gazing up at you with that mischievous, sly smirk of his. He then firmly gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your skin, and slowly pushed into your dripping cunt, hissing at the feeling of being swallowed by your warmth. You quickly steadied yourself with your hands resting on his bare chest, feeling him deep inside of you and completely stretching you out, yet still craving more. 

“You ready baby?” Mattheo asked from behind you as he spread your cheeks, gazing down with hungry, lustful eyes. “Mhm, please.” You begged, your voice a breathless whisper as you heard him pop the cap of the lube off before hastily rubbing himself with it and slowly pushing into you.

Holy. Fucking. Shit. The feeling of being stretched out by both of their cocks at the same time was so intoxicating, it left you breathless and made your heart race. It was simply indescribable how good it really felt. The sensation caused you to instinctively arch your back as you clutched the sheets tightly, consumed by sheer pleasure, every nerve ending in your body tingling with electric intensity. Mattheo was now fully inside you as well and patiently waited for you to adjust to the intense feeling.

Theo then firmly gripped your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze as you stared up at him through barely open eyes and furrowed brows. “Does that feel good, hm? Having two dicks inside of you?” you nodded with your lips slightly parted in ecstasy, unable to form any coherent sentences. 

“C’mon bella, use your words.” 

“Feels— feels so fucking good, fuck!” 

“Hm, that’s more like it. Open up baby, ‘cause we aren’t done yet.” 

You obediently parted your lips wider to let Theo enter your mouth, his hand pressing against the back of your head guiding you deeper as he let out an almost primal groan, throwing his head back at the sensation of your warm mouth. At the same time, both Lorenzo and Mattheo began to move at a slow, deliberate pace, and your eyes rolled to the back of your head at the heavenly feeling of them stretching you out completely from both holes. 

Strings of muffled curse words slipped from your lips as Theo mercilessly fucked your face, his piercing eyes staring down at you as he bit his lip, a low growl of pleasure escaping him. The other two boys quickly began to increase their pace, causing you to see stars as they could feel each other move against one another through the thin flesh that separated them, only intensifying the immense pleasure they were already feeling.

“Look at her— she can barely handle it, having three dicks inside of her.” Mattheo taunted, his hands tightly gripping the soft flesh of your ass as he relentlessly slammed into your tight hole at a brutal pace, causing you to moan loudly around Theo's throbbing erection. Your vision blurred as Lorenzo's hand moved to your throat, wrapping his fingers around it possessively, choking you just enough to make you feel lightheaded.

“You’re taking us so well, pretty girl. Doing so good for us.” Lorenzo growled as he gazed deep into your hazy eyes. Your head felt like it was spinning from the intense sensation, both of them pounding into you at a merciless pace, filling both your holes so deliciously while theo thrust into your mouth, making you gag on his thick cock.

The pornographic sounds of heavy breathing, lewd moans, and loud skin smacking completely filled the room, and you were certain you’d hear complaints from your nagging neighbours the next day, but right now, your mind was too clouded by the pleasure to even care. The feeling was beyond words and you couldn’t get enough. 

“Such a dirty fuckin’ slut. One dick just wasn’t enough for you, huh? Sei tutta nostra.” Theo taunted as he slid his hand beneath you to your core, rubbing fast circles on your swollen clit while maintaining his brutal pace.

It was becoming too much as both Lorenzo and Mattheo continuously hit your most sensitive spots, quickly sending you spiralling over the edge, your orgasm crashing over you like a wave. You moaned loudly, your eyes squeezing shut in ecstasy while your nails dug deep into Lorenzo’s chest. You nearly collapsed on top of him, but theo quickly caught you, holding you up by your jaw with a gentle yet firm grip.

Not much later, Theo and Lorenzo reached their orgasms as well, both emptying themselves deep inside your cunt and mouth while Mattheo pulled out and came on your ass, feeling his warm sperm on your skin in thick spurts, painting you white.

The four of you froze for a moment, trying to catch your breath, chests heaving up and down as if the room was spinning around you from both the aftermath of the orgasm combined with the intoxicated state you were all still very much in. Theo gently wiped the excess sperm from the corner of your mouth with his thumb, hazily smiling down at you. 

Lorenzo was the first to break the silence, much to your annoyance, a lazy smile stretching across his face as he leaned back against the headboard. “So, uhm… roommates with benefits, huh?” 

“NO! Stop trying to make that a thing!” 

“Nice way to instantly ruin the mood, mate.” 

“No offense but I’d rather cut off my own dick than refer to any of you as that.” 

reminder: reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated and keep me motivated. ty! ♡

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[wriokitty]

content includes: female reader, drunk reader + mentions of alcohol, modern + non curse au sukuna, established relationship, unnamed friends, reader makes one (1) dick sucking joke, reader dips fries into shakes because she’s elite like that, he carries reader

It’s half past midnight when he comes to pick you up. Your face sours as soon as you see him, taking an instinctive step back.

“Nuh uh,” you say, wagging a finger back and forth in his face as he scowls. “It’s girl’s night. No men allowed—we’ve been over this!”

“As if I wanna join your stupid girl’s night,” he scoffs. Sukuna is tired. (Of you). It’s too late at night to be worrying about what ditch you’re going to end yourself up in after lord knows how many drinks, so regrettably, he takes matters into his own hands.

It’s a good thing he does, too, he thinks with a flare of his nostril as he eyes the drunk, mess of a woman that’s supposed to be your ride home. Designated driver my ass, he all but grumbles under his breath.

“Hey—” he looks over to the side with an irritated flick of his eyes as a hand smacks his shoulder. Your friend (in not better condition than you) levels him with a snarky look before she hisses, “You heard her! It’s girl’s night. Go away.”

Sukuna ignores her—because, well, that’s what he always does anyway. She talks far too much to be considered a normal amount, and he doesn’t like the shrill sound of her voice. Instead, he turns to you, gives you a firm, scolding look before he grunts, “We are going home. Now.”

You seem to catch onto the stern tone of his voice because within seconds, you’re slumping against him as you whine, “Fine,” with a pout. “Mean.”

“Yeah?” He snorts, “You know what’s meaner? Nasty men who find girls passed out in the middle of the streets. Now let’s go. We’re going home—all of you.”

A chorus of whines and petty insults makes him want to grab a drink himself—being inebriated seems like the only way your friends are tolerable, but as annoying as they are, he refuses to leave them here wasted.

So he does the noble thing, and sacrifices his ear drums as they play whatever stupid pop song is trending on the radio at full volume down the streets, heads sticking out of the windows and screaming the lyrics out to innocent passerby’s.

Sukuna is just a guy. Not the best, most chivalrous or charitable guy, maybe—but just a guy, all the same. He’s not done anything wrong to deserve this torture. He’s been nothing but a kind (usually) boyfriend that loves you unconditionally (most of the time), supports you wholeheartedly (when it suits him), listens to your problems (if he’s in the mood), and makes you feel special (as long as it doesn’t inconvenience him).

Still, he’s stuck basically being an uber driver—for free, no less—to your ungrateful, bratty, obnoxious friends that aren’t pretty enough to enjoy your company in the first place. They don’t even thank him when they get out as he drops them off one by one to their homes, opting to say goodbye to you as if you’re the one who pays for the gas in his car.

Finally, the last of your friends (who he likes to consider nuisances) leaves, freeing him of anymore radio pop songs and unnaturally loud giggles.

He grumbles as you ask, “Can we get milkshakes?”

“No.”

“Please?” You whine, “I want strawberry.”

“That’s great,” he says sarcastically, “The answer’s still no.”

“Please, please, please, Kuna? I’ll suck your dick on the drive there—”

“Jesus, what’s the matter with you?” He hisses, fighting back flushed cheeks as he glares at you once the car rolls to a stop at a red light.

Usually, he’s the one making such lewd comments and getting under your skin—but lacking in sobriety is seriously forcing the two of you to switch roles. He’s starting to wonder if maybe he should be nicer to you—you deal with a lot. (Not that he’s mean. He considers himself a pretty generous boyfriend).

“I’ll even pay,” you offer.

“You didn’t bring a wallet, so it looks like I’ll have to pay,” he says blandly.

You grin, giving him an innocent smile as you excitedly ask, “So that’s a yes?”

“Are you going to be quiet if I say yes?” He clicks his teeth in thinly-veiled irritation.

You grin, nodding enthusiastically.

Well, he thinks bitterly, so much for no more pit stops.

It’s not long until he’s pulling into the drive-thru of the nearest fast food joint, rolling his window down to order your stupid, late night request.

“We’ll take one strawberry milkshake, please,” he says gruffly.

“Anything else?” Comes the tired reply of whoever is taking his order.

“No—”

“And large fries, please!” You lean over him to shout out the window and make sure the poor worker hears you. Sukuna glares, (gently) pushing you back into your seat as he hisses, “Put your seatbelt on! And you asked for a milkshake, not a damn meal.”

“Fries aren’t a meal,” you huff, “And they’re good dipped in the shake. You can’t have one without the other.”

“No—”

“I’ll scream that I’m being kidnapped,” you warn, “I want my fries.”

“Fucking fine,” he throws his hands up, exasperatedly caving to your request because, yeah, having some drunk, half-conscious woman in his front seat screaming bloody murder about being abducted at two a.m. is not a good look to a stranger that doesn’t know any better. “One strawberry milkshake and large fucking fries and that’s it,” he growls to the other person through the drive-thru speaker.

It’s not the poor employee’s fault, and he knows it, but he’s too tired and sleep-deprived to care about his snarky attitude.

“It’ll be ready at the window,” the man speaks tiredly, completely unphased.

“Yay!” You squeal.

It’s a pretty bothersome task to have to stop the car five minutes after receiving the food just to open the lid of your cup for you so that you can dip your fries into your milkshake easier, but he figures it’s better than a tiring drive home. Or worse, a spill all over his car seats at your own attempt.

He glances over at you wearily as he finally (hopefully) starts to drive home, watching as you dip your french fries into your frozen drink and happily eat away. He crinkles his eyes at the combination.

He’ll never understand people’s unnatural obsession with pairing anything remotely salty and sweet together.

“My friends think you’re weird,” you hum, taking a handful of fries to your mouth as you say between chewing, “They say you’re intense. Like, scary intense. But I told them, that’s just his face.”

Finally, a small smile cracks on his face, breaking through the grumpy, tired exterior. He snorts, shaking his head. “Drunk you has way too much to say.”

“Drunk me is honest,” you retort, clutching your fries to your chest as you huff, “Now I’m not sharing my fries anymore.”

“You weren’t going to anyway,” he rolls his eyes.

Finally, his car pulls into a familiar parking spot, just outside of your shared home as he parks and turns to you. You giggle at him before humming, “How’d you know?”

“Because you never do,” he rolls his eyes.

“That’s because this relationship is 50/50! You buy the food, and I eat it.”

“Yeah?” He snorts, shaking his head—still, there’s something endearing about the way you clutch your fries close to your chest, as if guarding them with your life. He leans over, snatching one easily anyway, smirking in amusement when you gasp and pout at the gesture.

“Hey! That’s mine!”

“Yeah, whatever,” he grunts, fighting back a fond grin before he asks, “Let’s go. We’re going in.”

With that, he comes around to your side of the car, pulling you out and hoisting you up to carry you bridal style as he marches over to the front door. Sighing happily, you admire his face as he walks.

“Thanks,” you murmur.

He raises a brow, mildly shocked. “For?”

“For bringing me home. Same time next week?”

He chuckles, pressing a soft, affectionate kiss to your forehead. “Absolutely not. No more girl’s nights with those shit shows.”

[flowersforbucky]

devil's in the backseat

bucky barnes x reader

word count: 3.7k

summary/prompt: a night at coney island with your friends turns out much differently than expected.

or getting fucked in front of a mirror

author's note: this is my first halloween fic!! this was so much fun to write. if you've read haunting adeline, then you know exactly what inspired the mirror maze scene! also disclaimer i have never been to coney island so if any of this is inaccurate then just pretend ok it's fiction :))

warnings/tags: smut, 18+ only content, sex in a public setting, mirror sex, oral (female receiving), unprotected p in v, friends to lovers, romanogers makes an appearance! kind of grumpy!reader, protective bucky, random men being creepy, language, reader is afab, she/her pronouns, reader pov, no use of y/n, porn with a little plot, fluff

my masterlist

“I can't fucking believe I let you talk me into wearing this.”

You tug the tight, cherry red colored velvet fabric of the babydoll dress in place for the dozenth time since arriving at Coney Island.

“What? You look hot. Plus, our costumes go great together.”

Natasha's costume mirrors your own - except hers is a pearlescent white and instead of a pitchfork and horns, she dons angel wings and a halo.

“I don't feel hot. I feel cold. It's fifty degrees and the sun hasn't even set yet.” If it wasn't for the black thigh high boots that cover the majority of your legs, you'd be shivering in the chilly late October weather.

“It's not my fault that you put off getting a costume until the last minute and had to pick through what little was left at Spirit Halloween,” she mumbles, passing you one of the cups of apple cider that the cashier hands to her. You gladly accept, sucking down the hot liquid in hopes that it will warm you from the inside.

Her phone dings as the two of you walk towards the rides. “It's Steve,” she informs you as she reads the text message. “They just got here,” she looks back up at you with a smirk on her face and a mischievous gleam in her eye. “Bucky decided to come with them.”

You roll your eyes, suddenly hating your borderline provocative costume even more.

“I thought he was leaving for a job in Denver this evening?”

It's not that you didn't want to see Bucky. It's that you didn't want to see Bucky dressed like this. As if you don't already get flustered around him when you're dressed in normal, everyday clothing. The hem of your dress barely conceals the curve of your ass and your tits are practically spilling over the low neckline.

“Guess it's been postponed,” she shrugs, nudging you with her shoulder.

The two of you turn to look in the opposite direction when a familiar voice calls your names. You see Steve, Sam, and Bucky walking towards you. Steve is dressed as a pirate, eyepatch and all. Sam wears a cowboy costume with an oversized hat, concealing the upper half of his face entirely.

And Bucky? Bucky wears jeans and a navy blue Henley.

Yeah, you're regretting any of your life choices that lead up to this moment.

“Well, well, well,” Sam drawls as he tips his hat back enough to take in yours and Natasha’s outfits. “Look what we have here. An angel and a devil. Have you two already entered the costume contest for best duo or should I go add your names?”

“You wouldn't dare,” you scold him. Natasha just laughs, falling into Steve’s embrace as he plants a kiss to her forehead.

“We should, you know,” Natasha agrees. “I think we'd have a pretty good shot at winning.”

“Yeah, right,” you retort, looking around at some of the more elaborate, creative costumes that many of the strangers around you are sporting. You notice a man and woman dressed as Beetlejuice and Lydia Deetz and know that you and Nat wouldn't stand a chance in a costume contest. “And what about you?” You acknowledge Bucky, your eyes skimming up and down his civilian clothes. “Didn't have time to pull together a costume?”

He smirks, his eyes trailing up your figure for a heated moment before he responds. “I'll have you know that I am in costume, actually.”

Steve and Sam both snort in laughter.

“Oh yeah? And what are you supposed to be, exactly?”

He tugs up the sleeve of his shirt, showing off the shiny vibranium that is his left arm.

“I'm the Winter Soldier,” he says with a smug grin. “Obviously.”

“How creative,” you praise sarcastically.

“Cut me some slack,” he feigns insult. “I was supposed to be halfway to Colorado right now. I didn't have time to pull together anything too cute.” His eyes flicker to your dress and boots at the word cute. If anyone else notices, they say nothing.

“What are we doing just standing around here?” Natasha exclaims, tugging Steve in the direction of the rides and games. “I want to ride every ride and eat funnel cake.”

They race ahead of the rest of you, with Sam close behind, leaving you and Bucky to fall into step beside each other.

“So, why did your mission get postponed?” You ask casually, trying to fight down the nerves that threaten to bubble over every time you're alone with him.

“Beats me,” he shrugs. “Fury didn't give much of an explanation. I got the text as I was loading my bags into the car to head out.”

“That's annoying,” you mumble, swallowing the remnants of your hot apple cider. “I'm sorry,” you tell him with a glance in his direction. “I'm sure it was for a good reason.”

He shrugs. “I'm here, so I can't be too mad about it.”

Before you can overthink exactly what he means by that, you're both brought to a halt when a jolly looking man in a Ghostbusters costume steps directly in front of you, blocking your path.

“This little devil looks like she needs a giant sloth!” He exclaims, gesturing towards the prizes hanging above the balloon darts station next to you.

“Oh, no,” you start. “That’s okay–”

“Come on!” The red-faced vendor insists, looking at Bucky. “Don't you want to win your girl a giant sloth? Perhaps a giant giraffe? If she was mine, I'd be winning her any prize she wants. I'll give you five throws for ten doll–”

“Fine, fine,” Bucky relents, digging into his back pocket for his wallet. You notice a faint hint of pink blooms along the apples of his cheeks, but he doesn't correct the man when he calls you his girl. “You've worn me down,” he sighs as he shoves a crumpled ten dollar bill into the man's hand.

The man accepts the money with a satisfied, toothy grin and hands Bucky five darts.

“If you get three out of the five throws, you can choose a prize from here,” the man gestures towards a section of smaller prizes. “And if you get all five throws, you can choose–”

The man is cut off by the sharp popping sound of a balloon, and then a second, and a third, until all five darts have been impaled on the board in a consecutive line in a matter of seconds.

“She'll take the bunny,” Bucky tells him before he can erase the stunned look off of his face. He points to a large, flop-eared purple bunny hanging from the upper row of prizes.

Unlike the vendor, you aren't shocked by his perfect aim at all. Anyone who knows Bucky would have known that he wouldn't miss a single shot. You are shocked, however, that he chose the bunny without even asking which prize you want.

The man in the Ghostbusters costume grabs the bunny and hands it to you, surprise still etched on his face. He mumbles a quick goodnight before he's moving onto the next people approaching the stand.

“How did you know I'd want the bunny?” You ask Bucky, trying to juggle the stuffed animal, your empty cup of cider, and your pitchfork all in your arms.

“You like bunnies, right? It was an educated guess.” He shrugs, moving through a thick crowd of people away from the game stations. “Here, let me carry it for you,” he offers when he notices the large stuffed animal is obstructing your vision. You hand it over to him and he tucks it underneath his metal arm.

“Thank you,” you tell him, your cheeks heating at the realization that he'd remembered such an inconsequential piece of information about you. You do like bunnies. The cold night air suddenly feels a lot more balmy.

“I'm - uh - I'm going to find a trash can real quick,” you say as you wiggle the empty cup in your hand. Truthfully, you just need a moment to collect yourself.

You begin walking in the opposite direction before he can reply, your eyes scanning the throng of people for a garbage can.

So what if he knows that you like bunnies? It's a pretty trivial fact that probably means nothing. You know that Natasha’s favorite animal is flamingos - because she's your friend. It's normal for friends to know things that their friends like.

Right? Right.

“I like that outfit a whole lot, baby. But I think you'd look even cuter in just the boots and those horns.”

You're so lost in your internal monologue that you don't even notice two men closing in on you as you toss the empty cup into a trash can. Unlike most of the people here tonight, neither of them are in costumes. They stand so close to you that you can smell booze on their breath.

“Oh, fuck off,” you groan as you attempt to walk away, but they've effectively blocked you between their bodies and the large garbage can behind you. Wicked grins grow on their faces as you realize that you can't get by them.

“Look, I don’t have the patience for this tonight. Get out of my fucking way.”

“Or what?” One of them taunts. “You'll use that little pitchfork on us? Jokes on you, because we're into that.”

“What if I used it on you?” A familiar voice comes from behind them. “Would you still like that?”

Before they can even turn around to identify the voice, Bucky is pulling him back by the hood of his sweatshirt and throwing him on the ground with little to no effort. The other one attempts to stumble away as Bucky turns his attention to him.

He still has your bunny clutched in his flesh hand - despite the seriousness of the situation, you have to bite your lip to keep from smirking at the sight. You don't know of anyone who could be quite as intimidating while holding a stuffed purple bunny.

“What about you?” Bucky asks, towering over the guy by half a foot. “You got anything you wanna say?”

“I - no - we didn't know she was with someone,” he half slurs, half stutters out. His gaze flickers to Bucky's vibranium hand. The man on the ground manages to stand back up, following after his friend.

“Now you know,” Bucky calls after them as they quickly hobble away.

“I had that handled, you know,” you tell Bucky with a nod towards your pitchfork. “But thank you, anyway. Really.”

He places a gentle but firm grasp on the top of your arms and begins to tug you in the opposite direction, guiding you through the small crowd that had stopped to witness the altercation.

“I have no doubt about that,” he sighs, releasing his grip on you when the two of you are a reasonable distance away. “But I also don't doubt that you handling it would have drawn even more attention.”

He's right. If he hadn't stepped in, your method of handling it would have been even more dramatic.

“They would have deserved it,” you mumble. “I knew I shouldn't have worn this stupid costume.”

“They definitely would have deserved it,” he agrees. “And your costume isn't stupid. You should be able to wear any costume you like without getting harassed by drunk assholes.”

The two of you approach the ferris wheel as it comes to a slow stop, a couple getting out of one of the cars. You and Bucky flash your wristbands to the operator, who offers to hold your pitchfork for you while you’re on the ride.

“Besides,” he continues as you sit down next to each other in the car, the operator locking the gate in place. “I happen to like your costume. A lot.” He turns his head to you, his gaze trailing from the tops of your thigh high boots and up to the felt horns that adorn your head.

There's a shift in energy as the ferris wheel suddenly comes to life, sending you sliding across the limited space of the metal bench seat and right up against him.

“Oh, yeah?” You tease with your face a few inches from his. Close enough to see your reflection in his irises. “Is that why two different people have implied that I'm yours tonight and you haven't corrected either of them?”

“Your costume had nothing to do with that. I wouldn't have corrected them even if you were dressed as a giant banana,” he says, his tone and face both serious. “Does it bother you that I didn't correct them?”

“No,” you answer automatically - eagerly. You should feel embarrassed, but with the way he's looking at you, and how good it feels to be pressed so snug against him, you can't find it within yourself to care. “I didn't correct them either,” you point out.

The ferris wheel comes to a stop to let new people get on when your cart reaches the peak.

“And why is that?” he asks lowly. If you weren't sitting so close to him, you wouldn't have been able to hear him over the obnoxiously loud carnival music that pours from speakers in between the ferris wheel's carts.

He wraps his metal arm around your shoulders, pulling you further into him.

“Because I liked the sound of it,” you answer honestly. Your voice quivers - from nerves, or from a gust of wind that sways the pod still perching at the top of the wheel.

“Is that right?” he murmurs. He places his flesh hand on the exposed skin of your thigh - just above the top of your boot and just under the hem of your dress. His fingertips rest near the crack between your thighs. Instinctively, you spread your legs apart - not much, but enough for him to smirk at your body's automatic response to his touch.

“You like the sound of being my girl?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “I do. Is that okay with you?”

He chuckles, his fingers inching further up your thigh. You spread your legs open further, giving him the go ahead to go as high as he wants. He stops when he reaches the apex of your thighs, just an inch away from the cloth of your panties. He applies pressure with his fingertips, his short nails digging into the sensitive flesh and making you clench your legs around his hand.

“That depends,” he contemplates. “Are you my girl?”

You open your mouth to answer when the sensation of his index finger grazing the fabric that covers your cunt makes you forget how to speak. You sit there with your mouth agape as he hooks a finger into the cotton panties.

He eases a finger through your folds, lubricating it in your slick before adding a second finger and massaging the pads of them over your sensitive clit.

“Feels like you're my girl.”

You become vaguely aware of the fact that the ride is now in motion once more, heading back down to the ground, when Bucky places the stuffed bunny on your lap in an effort to conceal what is happening in the cart that you and him share.

He alternates between slow, languid circles and quick strokes against your clit as the ferris wheel makes its way down and then back up again. You can feel yourself soaking your underwear as the world dizzies around you. You hide your face in Bucky's neck to conceal the pleasure written across your face.

You're seconds away from coming against his fingers, the pressure in your belly building to a climax, when he pulls away and tugs your dress into place. Your gaze snaps up to his, shooting daggers, as the ride comes to a slow stop. He looks back at you with an amused smirk as the operator approaches the cart to unlock the gate.

“Sorry about that, sweetheart,” he tells you in a strained voice as he snatches the bunny back from you. “After you,” he motions with his head as the operator holds the gate open for you.

Stunned and speechless at what just happened, you stumble out of the cart and down the stairs to the ride's exit with Bucky behind you - both of you completely forgetting about your pitchfork. You can't help but snort a laugh at the position of the large stuffed animal - directly over Bucky’s crotch.

“Real discreet,” you tell him, glancing down at the bunny and then back up to the semi-pained expression on his face.

“I have to admit, right now this thing is worth every penny that I spent on it,” he sighs, and then removes one hand from the bunny to place it on your lower back. “Follow me,” he instructs with a smirk.

He guides you through the crowd and you follow him without question, just trying to ignore the wet ache between your legs.

You shoot him a quizzical look when you arrive at the house of mirrors. You haven't been in a mirror maze since you'd gotten lost in one at ten years old.

There's an attendant sitting in a chair outside of the entrance who unenthusiastically greets the two of you. Bucky reaches into his pocket, digging out his wallet for the second time that evening. He pulls out a hundred dollar bill and flashes it at the elderly man smoking a Pall Mall.

“Take this and don't let anyone else in until we come out,” Bucky tells him before dragging you into the attraction. You and the gray haired man both go wide eyed.

“What was that?” you cackle as the door slams to a close behind you. Bucky doesn't answer, just grabs one of your hands in his and begins guiding you through the maze of mirrors as if he's been here a hundred times.

The entire place is lit by bright, neon red lights that only aid in further confusing your sense of direction. Bucky doesn’t seem phased in the slightest, finally coming to a stop after a few minutes of maneuvering through the endless mirrors.

“You never answered me, you know,” he says as he drops your bunny to the floor. “When I asked if you're my girl.” He smirks at you, stepping closer to you and backing you against the mirror behind you.

“You just paid that man a hundred dollars to get me alone,” you jab as you pull him to you by the front of his Henley. “I think it's safe to say that I am.”

He smiles as you pull him down to you, crushing your lips to his. His hands trail down your back until they land where your thighs meet the curve of your ass cheeks. You release months worth of tension into the kiss, sweeping your tongue along the swell of his bottom lip before slipping it into his mouth the second that he parts his lips for you. He groans into the kiss, kneading the globes of your ass with his fingers. You can feel a prominent bulge through his jeans against your stomach.

Adrenaline begins to kick in when he pulls away, looking down at you with lust blown pupils. He sinks to the floor below you, kneeling in front of your cunt as he raises your dress around your waist and tugs your panties down your legs and over your boots. He slips them into his back pocket before hiking one of your legs across his shoulder.

You can already feel your juices leaking down your inner thighs before his mouth makes contact with you. When he does, you lean your head back against the glass behind you in pleasure.

He sucks your clit between his kiss-swollen lips with an obscene pop before running his tongue down your folds. He plunges his tongue inside you and you grind yourself against his face, chasing the release that you were seconds away from on the ferris wheel.

He moans at the taste of you and the vibration has your walls clenching around his tongue. You ride out your orgasm on his face, the neon red lights blurring and spinning around you.

Despite the fact that your legs feel like jelly, you pull him up to you as soon as you're able to form a coherent thought. You clumsily paw at the button of his pants and his zipper, and he shoves both his jeans and boxers down over his ass, just far enough to free his cock.

He places both of his hands just under your armpits and lifts you as you instinctively lock your legs around his hips.

The head of his cock nudges your wet folds, your juices coating his length before he nudges it inside you.

You feel full before he's even halfway in you. Your walls constrict around him and he digs his teeth into his bottom lip as he adjusts to the sensation of you.

“Fuck, that's tight. You're perfect,” he grunts as he sheaths the rest of his length into you. You let out a sound somewhere between a whimper and a gasp.

He has total control as he cradles you between his body and the cold, hard mirror behind you. He sets a harsh pace, his head ramming against your cervix at the sweetest angle from his position beneath you.

He manages to support you with the strength of only his vibranium arm as he brings his flesh hand between your bodies, once again massaging your clit in rapid circles as he fucks up into you.

You cum around his length in a shockingly short amount of time, digging your teeth into the flesh of his neck as he follows after you, filling you up with hot ropes of his cum.

You stay in the same position after you've both reached your climax, panting against one another in the claustrophobic feeling space.

“We should probably go find our friends,” you say breathlessly with a kiss to the side of his face. “Sam's probably getting sick of being a third wheel.”

He pulls out of you, his cum running down your thighs and ass cheeks. He gently lowers you back down to the ground as he begins to tuck himself back into his pants.

He laughs, cupping your face in his hands as he pulls your lips to his once again.

“If he hates being a third wheel, just imagine how much he's going to hate being a fifth wheel.”

[moonlightwritingf1]

Unspoken Desires | LN4

🌙 summary ━━━━━━━ Lando and Y/N have been dating for a few weeks but haven't been intimate yet. As they're getting ready to go out one night, Lando suddenly confesses his intense desire.

🌙 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

🌙 word count ━━━━━━━ 3.1k

🌙 warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content

"I’ve never wanted to fuck someone as badly as I want to fuck you right now," Lando said, his voice low and rough, cutting through the silence like a knife. His words hit her like a punch to the gut, leaving her breathless and hot all over.

She glanced up at him, her heart racing, and saw the intensity in his eyes—a raw, unfiltered need that made her own body respond in kind. He wasn’t hiding it, not even trying to play it cool. The way he looked at her, it was like he was seeing straight through to her core, like he knew exactly how much she wanted this too. And maybe he did. Maybe he’d been picking up on the little cues, the way her breath hitched when he got too close, the way her thighs pressed together when he leaned in to kiss her neck.

He had always been good at reading her.

---

It started about three weeks ago, during one of those late-night encounters that seemed harmless at first but quickly spiraled into something much more. They had been hanging out at his place, just talking, laughing, the kind of easy chemistry that makes time disappear. But then his hand brushed against hers, just a fleeting touch, and suddenly the air between them felt charged, electric.

"What are we doing?" she asked, unable to keep the nervous edge out of her voice.

Lando had leaned back in his chair, studying her for a long moment before answering. "I don’t know," he admitted, his tone measured but his eyes telling a different story. There was something there, something simmering just below the surface, and it wasn’t hard to guess what it was. Desire. Pure, unadulterated desire.

And yet, neither of them made a move. Not then, anyway. Instead, they fell into a rhythm, a dance that involved lingering glances, stolen touches, and endless teasing. It was intoxicating, thrilling, and frustrating all at once. Every time they got close, something held them back—a fear of ruining what they had, perhaps, or maybe just the uncertainty of where things were headed.

But tonight? Tonight feelt different.

---

The two of them were standing by the door, coats draped over their arms, ready to head out for the night. Or at least, she had been ready. Now, with Lando’s words still ringing in her ears, she could barely think straight. Her pulse pounded in her temples, and her skin felt overly sensitive, like it was buzzing with anticipation.

"Lando," she managed to say, her voice trembling slightly. "What… what are you saying?"

He stepped closer, crowding her space until there was only an inch or two between them. His hands found her hips, fingers gripping lightly but firmly, anchoring her in place. "I’m saying," he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear, "that I want you. Like I’ve never wanted anyone else. And yeah, maybe we’d only been dating a few weeks, but fuck it. I don’t care about playing it cool anymore."

His confession sent a shiver down her spine, and she felt her resolve starting to crumble. He wanted her. No games, no pretense—just raw, undeniable desire. It was overwhelming, but in the best possible way.

"Are you serious?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lando pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his expression fierce and unapologetic. "Dead serious."

The weight of his words settled over her, heavy and irresistible. She could feel the heat radiating off his body, smell the faint scent of his cologne mingling with whatever he had for dinner earlier. It was intoxicating, drawing her in like a moth to a flame. And honestly? She didn’t want to resist.

"Then what are we waiting for?" she challenged, lifting her chin slightly.

A slow, wicked grin spread across his face, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, without warning, he grabbed her wrist and yanked her toward him, pressing his lips to hers in a kiss that was equal parts demanding and desperate.

Her bag slipped from her shoulder, hitting the floor with a dull thud as her free hand clutched at his shirt, pulling him closer. His tongue swept into her mouth, urgent and insistent, and she could taste the sharpness of his mint gum, mingled with a hint of something darker, wilder.

Lando’s hand slid up her side, tracing the curve of her waist until his fingers dipped beneath the hem of her top, brushing against the warm expanse of her skin. A soft gasp escaped her lips, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, devouring her mouth like he couldn’t get enough of her.

"God, you feel so fucking good," he muttered against her lips, his voice rough and strained.

She tugged on the collar of his shirt, urging him closer, and he responded by lifting her effortlessly, setting her down on the nearby table. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, pulling him flush against her. The sudden intimacy of the position made her breath hitch, and she could feel the evidence of his arousal pressing against her center, a delicious reminder of just how badly he wanted her.

"You feel so good," he murmured against her mouth, his voice low and gravelly, almost possessive. His fingers traced the curve of her hip, skimming over the fabric of her jeans before dipping beneath the hem. The touch was electric, sending shivers down her spine. "I can’t stop thinking about how perfect you are."

Perfect. The word made her heart stutter. She was far from perfect, but in this moment, with Lando looking at her like she was the only thing that existed, it didn’t seem to matter. His green/blue eyes bore into hers, stripping away any doubt, any insecurity. All she could see was the intensity in his gaze, the way it flickered with need.

"Lando…" she breathed, her voice shaky. Her hands found his shoulders, gripping him tightly as if he might disappear if she let go.

He responded by pressing her harder against the table, his hips aligning with hers. The friction sent a jolt of pleasure through her, unrelenting and undeniable. His lips left hers, trailing down her jawline, nipping at the sensitive skin just below her ear. "Tell me you want this," he whispered, his breath hot against her skin. "Tell me you want me."

Want. The word hung heavy in the air, a demand disguised as a plea. She did want him. God, she did. But there was still a part of her holding back, questioning whether this was what she really wanted or if it was just the heat of the moment talking. Lando seemed to sense her hesitation because he pulled back slightly, his eyes searching hers for an answer.

"I want you," she said, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her. "I’d never wanted anyone like this before, but..."

"What’s wrong?" he asked, his voice softer now, almost vulnerable. It was such a stark contrast to the dominance she had felt moments ago that it caught her off guard. "Do you not feel it too?"

She shook her head quickly, feeling guilty for making him question himself. "No, it’s not that. I do feel it. I just—" She paused, unsure of how to explain the tangle of emotions swirling inside her.  "I’ve never been this close to someone before. Not like this."

His expression softened, the corners of his mouth lifting into a small, reassuring smile. "I have," he admitted, his voice steady. "But none of it ever felt like this. This is different. It’s real, y/n. Can’t you feel it?"

She nodded, unable to deny the truth in his words. There was something different about this, something that felt raw and unfiltered. It wasn’t just about the physical attraction—though that was undeniable—it was about the connection, the way their hearts seemed to beat in sync.

"Then stop overthinking," Lando said, his tone playful but firm. "Just feel."

And with that, he kissed her again, deeper this time. His tongue parted her lips, exploring every inch of her mouth with an urgency that left no room for doubt. One hand traveled up her side, slipping beneath her shirt to press against the bare skin of her lower back. The other slid around to the front, palming her breast through her bra.

The sensation was overwhelming, her body arching involuntarily into his touch. A moan escaped her lips, swallowed by his as he continued to kiss her with a fervor that set her blood ablaze. The world around them faded away, leaving only the two of them in that moment, lost in each other.

"You’re so beautiful," Lando breathed, his voice ragged. His thumb brushed over her nipple, already hard with arousal, and she gasped against his mouth. "Every part of you."

His words sent a thrill of pleasure through her, her mind spinning with the implications. She’d never felt this desired, this wanted. And it was intoxicating. “Lando…” she whispered, her voice barely above a murmur. “Don’t stop.”

His response was immediate. He broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. “I won’t,” he promised, his voice thick with intent. “Not unless you tell me to.”

The weight of his words settled over her, leaving no room for uncertainty. This was happening. Right here, right now, with Lando looking at her like she was everything he’d ever wanted. She nodded, her decision made without a single doubt.

“Then don’t,” she said, her voice steady despite the pounding of her heart. “Take me.”

His pupils dilated at her words, the hunger in his eyes unmistakable. Without another word, he reached for the button of her jeans, his movements quick but careful. The sound of the zipper sliding down echoed in the quiet space, a reminder of the intimacy unfolding between them.

“Spread your legs for me,” he commanded, his voice deep and gravelly. The tone sent a shiver down her spine, the mix of dominance and tenderness overwhelming.

She obeyed, shifting her hips until her legs were parted, allowing him access. His hands moved with purpose, slipping beneath the elastic of her panties to gently cup her warmth. The contact was sudden, his fingers brushing against her clit with a precision that made her gasp.

“You’re so wet for me,” he murmured, his voice laced with satisfaction. “Did you know that?”

She shook her head, too overwhelmed to speak. All she could do was watch as he dipped a finger inside her, his touch sending shockwaves through her body. The sensation was unlike anything she’d ever felt, the way he filled her completely, tilting his finger just right to stroke her walls.

“So tight,” he groaned, his voice strained. “God, I can’t wait to be inside you.”

His words ignited a fire within her, her hips bucking against his hand as she chased the pleasure. Lando obliged, adding a second finger and curling them in just the right way to make her knees tremble.

“Fuck, Lando…” she moaned, her voice breaking. “Please…”

“Please what?” he growled, his eyes dark with desire. “Tell me what you want.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat. How could she even begin to articulate the craving building inside her, the desperate need to have him fully, completely?

Before she could form the words, Lando took matters into his own hands—literally. He withdrew his fingers, replacing them with his tongue. The sensation was overwhelming, the warmth and pressure of his mouth sending her spiraling into sensory overload.

“Oh my god…” she gasped, her hands flying to his hair as she tried to anchor herself. Lando didn’t hesitate, his tongue flicking against her clit with relentless precision. Every movement was deliberate, calculated to bring her closer to the edge.

“You taste so fucking good,” he muttered, his voice muffled against her core. “I can’t get enough of you.”

His dirty talk only added fuel to the fire, her hips rocking against his face as she struggled to hold on. But Lando wasn’t done yet. He pulled back, positioning himself between her legs before guiding his cock to her entrance.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice trembling with restraint. His eyes met hers, and for a moment, it was just the two of them, locked in a silent exchange of trust and desire.

She nodded, biting her lip to keep from begging. “Yes. Please.”

With one swift motion, he pushed inside her, filling her completely. The sensation was almost too much, her body stretching to accommodate him. She gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders as she adjusted to the feeling.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Lando whispered, his forehead resting against hers. “I don’t think I’ll last.”

But then he started to move, slow and steady at first, giving her time to adjust. Each thrust was measured, his hips meeting hers with a rhythm that sent sparks of pleasure shooting through her veins.

“Lando,” she moaned, unable to hold back any longer. “Harder. Please.”

He listened, picking up the pace until the sound of their bodies connecting filled the air. The pleasure built with every thrust, consuming them both until all that was left was the raw, primal need to reach the peak together.

“Come for me,” Lando growled, his voice commanding. “Let me feel you come apart.”

He didn’t stop moving, not even for a second. His arms tightened around her as he carried her down the hallway, her legs still wrapped securely around his waist, his cock still buried deep inside her. Her breath hitched with every step, the sensation of him twitching within her only heightening the anticipation that built with each passing moment.

“You feel so good,” Lando murmured into her ear, his voice low and gravelly, sending shivers down her spine. He nuzzled her neck, peppering soft kisses along her skin, making her shudder. “I can’t wait to have you like this, completely at my mercy.”

Mercy. The word sent a rush of heat through her body, pooling between her legs. She bit her lip, trying to steady her breathing, but it was no use. She was already lost in the haze of desire that Lando had created.

He kicked open the door to his bedroom with one swift motion, and then he was laying her down on the bed, his weight pressing her into the mattress. His hands were everywhere—in her hair, on her hips, sliding up her thighs—as if he couldn’t get enough of her. And maybe he couldn’t. She certainly couldn’t get enough of him.

“Lando,” she whispered, her voice trembling with need. “Please,  move… don’t make me wait.”

His lips curved into a wicked smile, and he leaned down to kiss her again, deep and possessive, his tongue dominating hers. He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, those piercing green/blue  eyes that seemed to see straight through to her soul. “I won’t,” he said, his voice a promise. “Not tonight. Not ever.”

Before she could respond, he spread her legs apart, repositioning himself between them. He looked down at her, his gaze intense, almost primal. “Are you sure?” he asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.

She nodded, unable to speak, her heart pounding in her chest. Yes, she thought. Always yes.

With one quick, deliberate motion, he made an in-and-out motion and sank into her again, filling her completely. She gasped, her body arching up to meet his, desperate for more. His name escaped her lips in a breathless moan, and he groaned in response, his forehead resting against hers.

“Fuck, y/n,” he muttered, his voice ragged. “You feel so damn good.”

He began to move, slow and steady at first, giving her body time to adjust again. His thrusts were measured, deliberate, each one hitting her in just the right spot. She clutched at his shoulders, digging her nails into his skin, as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her.

“Lando,” she cried out, her voice breaking. “Please… harder.”

He listened, picking up the pace until the room was filled with the sound of their bodies coming together. His thrusts grew deeper, harder, each one sending jolts of electricity through her veins. She could feel the orgasm building inside her, closer and closer, threatening to consume her.

“Come for me,” Lando demanded, his voice commanding. “Let me feel you come apart.”

His words pushed her over the edge, and she did exactly as he said. Her body convulsed around him, her walls clenching tight as the orgasm ripped through her. She screamed his name, lost in the throes of pleasure, as he continued to thrust into her, chasing his own release.

“I’m close,” he gritted out, his voice strained. “God, I’m so close.”

She reached up to touch him, her fingers brushing against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath her palm. “Don’t stop,”she breathed, her voice barely audible. 

He didn’t. With one final, powerful thrust, he came. He let out a guttural growl, his body going rigid as he spilled inside her, his warmth mingling with hers.

For a few moments, neither of them moved, caught in the aftermath of what had just happened. Lando collapsed onto the bed beside her, pulling her into his arms. She lay there, her heart still racing, her body buzzing with the remnants of pleasure.

“That was…” she trailed off, unable to find the words to describe what had just happened.

“Incredible,” Lando finished for her, his voice soft but filled with conviction. He kissed her forehead, then her cheek, before finally capturing her lips in a gentle, lingering kiss. “And it’s only the beginning.”

She smiled against his lips, feeling a sense of contentment wash over her. But before she could fully bask in the moment, Lando pulled away slightly, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Ready for round two?” he asked, his voice teasing.

As the night drew to a close, Lando and Y/N lay tangled in the sheets, breathless and content. Lando's fingers traced small circles on her skin, a soft and soothing contrast to the intensity of earlier. His lips pressed a gentle kiss to her temple, and she smiled, feeling completely at ease in his embrace.

"You know," Lando murmured, his voice playful yet tender, "I think we just set a new standard for our dates."

She laughed softly, turning to meet his gaze. "Is that so?" she teased, her fingers gently caressing his chest.

"Yeah," he grinned, his eyes sparkling. "But no pressure. I think we can take it slow from here on out... unless you're ready to break some more records."

She chuckled, snuggling closer, feeling his warmth surrounding her. "Maybe we should just enjoy the moment, Lando."

He nodded, his expression softening as he held her tighter. "You're right. This... us... it feels real. And that's all that matters."

She rested her head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Just the quiet, simple certainty that something beautiful had begun between the two of them.

[thinkinonsense]

call me if you're lonely⟡

old man!logan howlett x phone sex hotline worker!reader

cw: dirty talk, mutual masturbation

author's note: very short. just an idea that came to mind.

masterlist

this is so desperate, logan thought to himself as he dialed the number written on the fourth page in the second column. in pretty cursive words it read, call me if you're lonely!

your number had been living in the back of his head for almost a month now but he never got this close to calling it. in the column, it's written that you are a college student working on your masters degree and that you are very popular within your profession as a phone sex hotline worker. honestly, logan didn't care if you just started yesterday. he's been so stressed and overworked lately that he needs a release soon. logan waited as the phone rang after entering his card information. he's sat up on the old mattress under him, waiting patiently to see if anyone answers.

on the third ring, someone picks up.

"thanks for calling, hush hotline." you say, giving him the typical welcome speech before jumping straight in. "what would ya' like me to call you tonight, sugar?"

the sweet tone in your voice made logan's boxers feel tighter. resting his hand on top of his heavy cock, squeezing lightly and slowly stroking himself over the thin material.

"james is fine, honey." logan mutters.

"i like the way you call me, honey." you purr, getting relaxed in bed.

you had a long day; woke up late, missed class, messed up during important meeting at work and needed to blow off some steam. normally, the people you talk to over the phone don't have an effect on you, instead opting to fake it and offer phony pornstar like moans but something made you want to give it another shot.

"is that so?"

the stranger's voice was rough around the edges. deep, cold, straight to the point. it sent a shiver up your spine. usually, your customers were weak. willing to give into your every word and fully submit to you.

"mhm," you hum, lightly running your fingers up and down your thigh. "so, what's gotcha call in tonight, james? rough day at work or you just wanna hear me touch myself for you?"

"bit of both." he was already lost in this little world between the two of you.

“aw, can’t wait to make you feel good." you tell him, playing with the lace of your underwear. "wanna hear what i'm wearing right now?"

"mhm." he grunts.

"a white t-shirt and lacy blue underwear. wish you were here to take them off of me." you sigh, slipping your hand under the waistband.

"what would you do if i was there right now?"

"hmm, think i'd start by kissing you, making sure you get nice and hard for me then i would beg you to fuck my tight throat for hours. are you hard for me right now?"

"y-yes." logan sighs, trying to slow down a bit.

"that's sweet, james. got me blushing just thinkin' about it." you run your middle finger through your folds, gathering the slick and circling your button a couple times.

"just blushing?" he teases, catching you off guard.

"not 'just blushing'." you giggle softly. "you also got me r-really–ah, fuck! really soaked."

logan could hear the obscene squeak of you dipping your fingers inside of yourself. his chest moves up and down at the same rhythm as his strokes. your pretty little gasps made it difficult for him not to release right away.

"s-shit, honey." he groans, listening to the small wet slaps of you fucking yourself. "wanna taste that pussy of yours. i'm sure it's as sweet as that fuckin' mouth you got on you, honey."

never have you actually gotten wet from the men that call you. most of them let you do all the talking, only offering moans and whimpers. you couldn't quite place a finger on it but something about james was doing it for you.

"w-wish it was you inside of me instead of my fingers." you whine, tickling the spot that makes your vision blur.

"bet you would look so pretty wrapped around my cock, honey."

"i would look even prettier with you dripping out of me." faintly, you can hear him shuffling around, trying to stifle his groans. "don't hide yourself, baby. wanna hear you."

like a rubber band, something snapped inside of logan. unable to control his noises anymore, he's fucking his fist faster than before, chasing after every little moan you let out.

you move to rubbing your button switching occasionally, picturing the man that you believe james to be. a little older and rugged. maybe even someone your father would be friends with. someone you would definitely have a secret crush on.

logan's hips thrusted with need. the louder you got, the faster his orgasm was approaching. he had to hold off, he thought to himself. hear you cum first. by the broken whines and little hiccups you let out, he could tell you were only moments away from your release.

"f-fuck, i'm so close." you squeal, legs shaking a little as you near your high.

"me too, honey."

within seconds, your head is thrown back against the silky pillow case. the sheets under you were drenched but you were too full of bliss to care. logan finally allowed himself to let go as well, pearly white spurts coating his lower stomach and even some landing on his tank top. it's quiet for a minute or so before your little giggles can be heard on the other end of the line.

"something funny?" he asks, confused.

"no, no, it's just..." you giggle again with a sigh. "ever since i started this job, no one's ever made me orgasm. at least not like that."

"hm.." logan couldn't fight off the smile creeping on his face. "might need to call more often then."

"i'll be looking forward to it."