#Laughing in a Cloudy Sky

[liamket]

this has been the most chill saturday since months im loving it

[heeluvv]

˗ˏˋ03. PAID SESSION

pairingᝰ.ᐟ park jongseong x fem reader ft. lee heeseung

warningsᝰ.ᐟ unprotected sex, oral (f), fingering, overstimulation, etc.

natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ 3/9 completed!

──

the sky outside jay’s apartment is dull and overcast, the kind of cloudy that makes the air feel thick and unsaid things feel heavier. heeseung doesn’t knock twice—just once, knuckles dragging off the wood like he’s already exhausted by the weight of walking through the door. jay looks up from the couch when it opens, expecting the usual lazy smirk and offhand banter, but heeseung’s face doesn’t match the energy. he looks… off—not angry, not annoyed, just quiet in a way that stretches under his skin, like something inside him didn’t settle right. “you look like hell,” jay mutters, pausing his music with a flick of the remote. “didn’t think she was the type to drain you like that.” heeseung doesn’t answer. just kicks off his shoes with one foot and sinks into the couch like gravity has doubled in strength, elbows resting on his knees, head down. silence hangs in the space between them, long and stiff.

jay waits a few beats, like maybe heeseung just needs a minute. maybe he’s tired. maybe it’s nothing. but heeseung exhales—long and hollow—and when he finally speaks, it’s without looking up. “she left.” the two words come out flat, but something behind them wavers, the kind of break you can only hear if you’re really paying attention. jay’s brow twitches, arms crossing loosely over his chest. “left?” he repeats, and heeseung nods, still not lifting his head. “as soon as it ended. pulled on her hoodie and walked out like it didn’t mean anything.” jay blinks slowly. “and… did it?”

heeseung’s jaw tightens, muscles shifting beneath his skin as he finally lifts his head and leans back into the couch cushions, eyes staring at a point above jay’s shoulder like he can’t look him straight in the face. “i didn’t even talk to her before we filmed,” he says, voice quiet but full. “not really. just… hello, a few lines about consent and angles, and then—” he stops, swallowing hard. “and then we started, and everything changed.” jay studies him now, frown deepening, the smug tease he’d usually fire off noticeably absent. “what changed?” heeseung licks his lips, slow and nervous. “i didn’t wanna stop. not even when the camera shut off. i didn’t wanna let her go.” the words hang there, heavier than anything he’s said.

jay leans forward slowly, resting his elbows on his knees as he studies heeseung with a calmness that feels a little too practiced. his voice is lighter than before, careful almost, as if he knows whatever thread he’s tugging on has the potential to unravel more than either of them wants to admit. “so,” he starts, tone smooth but softened now, “who is she?” he doesn’t say it like he’s prying. not yet. it’s quieter, more curious than anything—like he’s tiptoeing into something fragile, not wanting to break it before he understands what it is. heeseung doesn’t respond immediately. his eyes stay fixed on the floor, unfocused, and his fingers twitch once against the hem of his jeans, then again, like maybe the answer is buried there in the fabric if he presses hard enough.

jay watches him, head tilting slightly. “you said she posted recently, right?” he prompts, still gentle, still casual on the surface. “just drop the name. i won’t stalk.” it’s a light joke, but it lands with a dull thud in the silence that follows. heeseung doesn’t laugh. doesn’t smile. he doesn’t even look up. he just shakes his head—small, deliberate, a tiny movement that’s almost easy to miss if you’re not looking closely. jay is looking, though. he sees it. sees how stiff heeseung’s shoulders are, how still his hands go after that single shake of the head. the shift in the air is subtle, but unmistakable.

jay leans back a little, eyebrows pulling in. “what—you don’t wanna share?” he asks, the edge of something creeping into his voice now. it’s not judgment. not annoyance. just… confusion. curiosity. maybe even a hint of something else. but again, there’s no reply. heeseung’s jaw is tense now, his gaze still fixed somewhere across the room, anywhere but on jay. his silence feels thick. weighted. like there’s something he’s protecting and doesn’t want to admit to—not to jay, not to himself.

they sit like that for a moment, the quiet stretching long between them.

and jay doesn’t need him to say it.

because they’ve all had their moments. they’ve all talked about their collabs, laughed about awkward edits, swapped notes on lighting and pacing and what works. but they’ve never dropped usernames. it’s always been an unspoken rule—don’t ask, don’t check, don’t pry. the anonymity protects everyone, keeps it from getting personal. and if it’s not personal, it can stay simple. professional. clean.

but this? this silence?

this is not simple.

and jay knows—whatever happened between heeseung and that girl?

it’s not just content.

the realization creeps in slow. jay’s brows lift, lips parting as he exhales through his nose and lets the tension stretch between them. “wait…” he says, the edge of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “no fucking way.” heeseung doesn’t budge. “dude.” silence. “you’re not giving me the name because you’re into her?” still nothing. jay leans back in disbelief, blinking at him like he’s seeing him for the first time. “bro.” heeseung’s jaw flexes. “you caught feelings?”

and that’s it. no witty comeback. no scoff. no smirk. just stillness.

heeseung goes completely still.

jay lets out a low whistle, leaning back into the cushions with his arms spread across the top of the couch like he’s trying to fill the space with anything but the silence. “that’s crazy,” he laughs, shaking his head like he’s heard something ridiculous, even though the grin on his face doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “mr. freakshow himself, down bad for a girl he doesn’t even know much of?” he tries to keep it light, playful, the kind of jab he usually throws without thought, but this one lands weird. heeseung doesn’t flinch. doesn’t argue. doesn’t roll his eyes or laugh with him. he just sits there, unmoving, like the weight of the truth is too heavy to shift around anymore. jay glances at him again, this time longer, the humor starting to fade from his mouth. “you serious right now?” he asks, quieter now, the air settling. “like… actually serious?”

heeseung doesn’t answer. doesn’t need to. his silence says everything, thick and loud and final, and jay leans forward again, elbows on his knees, the playfulness draining from his posture. “you’re really not gonna tell me who she is?” he presses, and this time there’s something different in his voice—something caught between curiosity and disbelief. heeseung shifts slightly, finally dragging a hand over his face, and mutters, “no.” jay tilts his head, trying to get a read, but it’s hard to see through it—the silence, the distance, the weird swell of something he can’t name growing in the pit of his stomach. “you think she’s the only one who made you feel something?” he jokes half-heartedly, but there’s a bitter edge beneath it now. “there’s, like, dozens of new creators every week.” heeseung glances up at him then, and the look in his eyes is so bare, so unguarded, that jay has to look away.

he shrugs like it’s nothing, standing to stretch and move toward the kitchen, even though there’s nothing waiting for him there. “you’ll move on,” he calls over his shoulder, like it’s fact. “you always do.” the words echo a little, float into the stillness like he needed to hear them aloud to believe them. heeseung doesn’t reply, and jay opens the fridge, stares inside like he’s suddenly deeply interested in the half-empty energy drink shelf. the longer the silence lasts, the heavier it feels—off, unfamiliar, like the ground has shifted just a few inches under both of them. jay grabs a can, pops the tab, and leans against the counter without turning around. “she must’ve been really good,” he says after a moment, voice quieter again, like the thought is sticking more than he expected it to. “or maybe you were just overdue.”

jay’s apartment feels too still once the door clicks shut behind heeseung, the weight of his silence lingering long after he’s gone. the couch feels cold, the echo of that final look he gave still playing in jay’s head, and for some reason, jay can’t stop pacing. he walks into the kitchen. opens the fridge. closes it again. stands by the window like the answers might be written in the clouds outside. but they’re not—so he does what he always does when something gets under his skin. he sits down, boots up his account, and scrolls through the new creators tab with idle swipes of his thumb, trying to let the algorithm distract him. names flash by, previews blur together, but one stops him cold. @babydollxo.

the profile is nothing flashy—no thirst traps, no bio full of emojis or promises—just a clean layout, a single post, and a display name that’s more suggestion than scream. it’s the thumbnail that makes him click—low lighting, soft curves, a still shot of thighs parted just enough to tease but not enough to show. he doesn’t recognize her. not even close. but something about it feels… personal. the video opens quietly, and what hits him first isn’t the visuals—it’s the sound. her breathing. her pace. the soft, near-whispered moan like she’s trying not to be heard. “fuck,” jay mutters, leaning closer, one hand braced on his jaw as the video loops back to the beginning. “who are you?”

he taps through her page, skimming the stats—no verification, barely a few thousand followers, but the engagement is insane. comments already pouring in, tips stacking, new subscribers flashing in real time. jay scrolls again, watching the preview once more before his fingers move on instinct—hitting follow, and typing out a message without even hesitating. 

you’ve got good rhythm. ever thought about collabing? 

it’s casual, confident, and quick—sent before he even second-guesses it. he settles back in his chair, lets the video loop again, and lingers longer this time, eyes trailing down the curves of her body. he doesn’t know her. doesn’t need to. he just knows she moves like she’s got something worth chasing.

he lets the video loop again, slower this time, volume just a bit louder, thumb hovering over the play bar like he wants to rewind and memorize every second of the way her hand moves. there’s something about her pacing—unrushed, unbothered, like she’s not performing for anyone but herself—that makes it worse. hotter. more real. she doesn’t show her face, but the shape of her mouth is visible in the soft outline of the mirror behind her, parted, pink, whispering something too faint to hear. jay’s hand slips beneath his waistband before he even realizes it, fingertips brushing over his cock already half-hard from nothing but her rhythm and the sound of her moans. “shit,” he mutters under his breath, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he starts to stroke himself slow, eyes locked on the way her fingers dip between her thighs. he watches the tension in her body, the way her hips roll, the way her knees twitch just before the clip cuts. it’s barely 40 seconds long, and it has him already grinding into his palm like it’s been hours.

he strokes himself slow, thumb dragging over the head, using nothing but the weight of her movements to guide his pace, lazy and deliberate. he imagines her beneath him, same lighting, same breathless moans, but this time his hands are the ones between her thighs—his name the one falling off her tongue. his hips lift slightly off the chair, chasing friction, fucking into his fist in slow, tight rolls that match the rhythm she set on screen. his breath starts to fog the screen, but he doesn’t care. he leans in anyway, watching the arch of her back, the twitch of her thighs, every small tremble that gives her away. “who the fuck are you,” he whispers again, voice strained now, knuckles tightening with each stroke, precum leaking warm across his hand. he’s close, but not rushing—just breathing, just fucking into his hand like she’s watching him right back. and then it happens—just as his eyes start to flutter shut, just as his cock twitches against his grip—

buzz.

his phone lights up in the corner of the screen, and he blinks, chest still rising fast, fingers stilled mid-stroke as the name flashes clear.

────୨ৎ────

the car ride home is quiet, the soft hum of the engine the only thing keeping your mind from spinning completely out of control. you stare out the window the whole time, watching buildings blur into neighborhoods, storefronts into trees, your reflection ghosting back at you every time the light hits the glass just right. your body feels heavy in a way that isn’t just physical—like you left part of yourself back in that bed, wrapped in sheets and tangled in someone else’s breath. your thighs are still sticky, your hair still smells like his detergent, and your phone hasn’t stopped buzzing since he posted the video. you don’t check it. not yet. you know what’s waiting for you there. attention. validation. noise. and none of it feels like enough to quiet the ache still blooming beneath your ribs. you just want to be home. you just want your bed. you just want this night to stop echoing.

you thank the driver and climb out quietly, your fingers trembling as they grip the strap of your bag. the air hits different now—colder, clearer, like it’s trying to sober you up from whatever high your body’s still crashing down from. the building looms in front of you, too familiar, too grounding, and your feet feel too loud on the stairs as you climb. you don’t expect nari to still be awake. you don’t expect her to be sitting on the couch in her hoodie and shorts, blanket over her lap, hair tied up and a mug of tea forgotten on the table. her head lifts when she sees you, eyes widening, expression soft and sleepy but instantly alert. “hey,” she says gently, not like she’s prying—just like she knows. you blink once. twice. and then the tears start rising up too fast to swallow.

“i did it,” you say, voice cracking before you can catch it, dropping your bag to the floor like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. “i filmed with someone. like… all of it. everything.” your eyes sting as you move to sit beside her, pulling your legs up on the couch, hugging your knees to your chest like you’re trying to hold yourself together with your own arms. “it wasn’t supposed to feel like this,” you whisper, breath hitching as her hand comes down gently to rub your back, slow and reassuring. “it was supposed to just be money. content. like… a transaction. but then—he was…” you trail off, shaking your head. “he made me feel things i didn’t expect. he made me forget it was even being recorded.” nari doesn’t say anything yet. just keeps rubbing your back, waiting.

“he was sweet,” you continue, voice barely above a whisper now, “and careful. and so good—like, not just at the physical part, but… the way he looked at me. like he actually cared.” you laugh then, bitter and soft and full of disbelief. “and then i got dressed. and i left.” you press your palms to your face, shoulders trembling with the weight of everything crashing back down. “i told myself it was business. that’s what i kept saying in the car. it’s just business. but it didn’t feel like that. not for one second.” nari doesn’t rush you, doesn’t try to talk over your spiraling. she just pulls you in, arms wrapping around your shoulders as she rests her chin against the top of your head. “i didn’t want to admit it,” you breathe out, “but i think… i liked it too much.”

nari pulls back just enough to look at you, her brows drawn, voice soft and steady. “do you regret it?” she asks, and the question doesn’t come with judgment—just care. you pause, really thinking about it, your heart still aching, your body still buzzing from everything he touched, everything he said. you shake your head slowly, fingers tightening into the sleeves of your sweatshirt. “no,” you say. “i don’t regret it. i just don’t know what to do now.” the truth settles between you like steam—warm, fragile, lingering in the quiet space nari always creates for you. she nods once, like she understands. like she already knew. “then we figure it out,” she says. “together.”

you stay tucked into nari’s side for a while after that, the quiet between you comforting in a way that nothing else has been all night. her arm stays around your shoulders, warm and steady, thumb tracing small shapes against your arm like she’s grounding you with each pass. your breathing evens out eventually, and the ache in your chest settles—not gone, not even dulled, but wrapped in something that makes it easier to hold. the light from your phone catches your attention when it buzzes against the cushion beside you, and you glance down without thinking. the notification flashes once—

@jayafterhours replied to your message. 

your stomach flips. not from nerves, not from guilt, but something sharp and new and electric. you hesitate for half a second, then pick it up and unlock the screen.

the app opens instantly, and the message lights up clean beneath your own.

@jayafterhours: depends. how good are you at following directions?

it sits there like a dare. no emojis. no filler. just those words, sharp and smooth, wrapped in heat. you read it once. then again. and then a third time, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as something unfamiliar sparks low in your stomach. jay’s message isn’t careful or warm or soft. it’s cocky. bold. full of the kind of energy that doesn’t ask—it challenges. and it should be easy to ignore, should be nothing more than another opportunity—but after the way tonight left you exposed, this message feels like armor. like escape. like exactly what you need right now.

you’re still staring at jay’s message when your phone buzzes again—this time softer, quieter, like it knows it’s interrupting something private. nari’s still next to you, her hand resting gently on your arm, both of you folded into the silence after your confession. you don’t realize how tense your body has gotten until her thumb strokes over your sleeve, grounding you like she always does. “everything okay?” she asks softly, and you nod—too fast, too automatic. you glance down, thumb dragging over the edge of your screen, and your breath stalls when you see the name.

@heefreakshow: i’m outside

no punctuation. no lead-in. no warning. your stomach tightens. your chest tightens, breath catching hard as you blink at the message once, then twice, like it might go away if you look long enough. but it doesn’t. it just sits there—steady, waiting, pressing heavy against your ribs. “nari,” you say suddenly, voice softer now, “can you grab me that tea from earlier? i think it’s still on the counter.”

she nods easily, no questions, just kindness, slipping up from the couch and padding toward the kitchen in her socks. the second she’s out of sight, you grab your phone, the grip of it cold against your palm as you move toward the door on autopilot. your heart thuds unevenly as you reach for the handle, and for a moment, you hesitate—what are you even doing?—but your hand moves anyway. you open the door slowly, half-expecting to see no one there—to tell yourself you imagined it, that maybe the message wasn’t meant for you. but he’s there. standing just a few feet away in the hallway, hands in his jacket pockets, hood drawn halfway up like he’s trying to shrink into the shadows. his eyes meet yours instantly, and the world seems to stop moving. it’s the same face. the same mouth that kissed your shoulder, the same voice that whispered your name until you came undone. but it’s different now, too. softer. sadder. there’s something unreadable in his expression, something that pulls at you, something that says i’m not here just to see you—i’m here because i can’t stay away.

you step back without a word, letting him in with a tilt of your chin, your fingers tightening around the doorknob before you close it softly behind him. he’s still watching you—same mouth, same eyes, but something about him feels different now. more exposed. less in control. like the walls he held up on camera don’t follow him into your apartment. “i wasn’t gonna come,” he says after a second, voice quiet, husky at the edges, “but i couldn’t stop thinking about it. about you.” you freeze. not because of what he said—but how he said it. no teasing. no performative confidence. just the raw, stripped-down truth of a man standing in front of someone he wasn’t ready to lose.

“i don’t want to make this complicated,” he adds, eyes dipping away from yours for a heartbeat, “i know you’ve got your reasons. i know what this was supposed to be.” he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the envelope—thick, sealed, heavy with every cent the video made. “this is yours,” he says. “all of it.” your fingers curl instinctively, but you don’t reach for it. “i just…” he trails off, shaking his head like he hates himself for even being here. “i haven’t been able to stop thinking about how you sounded. how you felt. how you looked at me when the camera turned off.” his voice drops even lower, and when his eyes meet yours again, they’re raw. “you keep showing up in my head—and i don’t know how to turn it off.”

heeseung exhales like something inside him’s cracking open—like the silence you’re holding is slowly tearing through his chest. his fingers twitch at his side, still gripping the envelope he hasn’t let you take, like it’s the only anchor he has left. “i used to think people who said love at first sight were full of shit,” he says suddenly, voice low, almost ashamed of the words as they fall out. “like it was just something people told themselves when they were lonely. or desperate. or drunk.” his throat works around the lump sitting in it as his eyes flick back to yours, soft and vulnerable and scared. “but then i looked at you. and everything i thought i knew stopped making sense.” the envelope lowers. his hand opens. and now it’s not money between you—it’s him.

he steps forward slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid if he moves too fast you’ll vanish. you don’t breathe. don’t speak. your entire body’s frozen under the weight of what’s unfolding in front of you. his hand lifts, fingers brushing gently beneath your chin before tracing upward, knuckles grazing the line of your jaw. “you’re the most beautiful woman i’ve ever seen,” he murmurs, thumb pressing against your cheek like he’s trying to memorize the softness of your skin. “not just because of how you look. but the way you breathe. the way you speak. the way you left me speechless without even trying.” his forehead nearly touches yours now, his breath warm and unsteady between you. “i don’t want this to be about the fucking camera anymore.”

“let me in,” he whispers, and it’s so quiet, so desperate, that it barely holds itself together. “let me know you. i’m not asking for everything. i just want… something. something real.” your lips part, but no sound comes out—your chest rising hard, your pulse loud in your ears, your mind too full to form words. his eyes flick down to your mouth, then back up, searching you, waiting for permission you don’t know how to give. you could push him away. you could lie. you could tell him this is too much, too fast. but before you can speak—he leans in.

his mouth presses to yours with a softness that stuns you—nothing rushed, nothing demanding. just him. trembling, open, real. his hand cups the side of your face like he’s afraid you’ll break beneath him, his lips moving slowly against yours like he’s trying to tell you everything he doesn’t have the words for. your breath hitches. your lashes flutter. and for one suspended moment, there is no camera. no contract. no inbox. just him. and the way his mouth is kissing you like you’re the first thing that’s ever made sense

his lips move against yours with an aching kind of care, like he doesn’t want to rush it—like he wants to memorize every part of your mouth before the moment slips away. his hand tilts your chin just slightly, thumb brushing along the edge of your jaw as his other hand hovers at your waist, not pulling, not forcing—just holding, like you’re something he’s scared to lose. you lean into him before you can stop yourself, your fingers brushing lightly against his chest, catching in the fabric of his hoodie like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. the kiss deepens naturally, your mouths molding together with more weight, more heat, until his breath is tangled with yours. he exhales shakily into the kiss, lips parting just enough to let his tongue flick against yours, soft and slow and searching. you gasp quietly, your body pressing just a little closer, like the gravity between you both is impossible to resist. his thumb traces beneath your cheekbone, slow and reverent, like he still can’t believe you’re letting him do this. everything inside you is warm and light and crumbling.

the taste of him lingers sweet on your lips, heat blooming through your body in waves as the kiss stretches out longer than you mean it to—longer than it should. his tongue slides against yours again, a little deeper this time, a little more sure, like he’s just starting to believe this is real. your fingers clutch at the edge of his hoodie, pulling him closer without thinking, your chest pressing flush to his, your breath stuttering against his lips. you hear the softest, tiniest sound from him—almost a whimper, half-swallowed, too quiet to be on purpose. and it makes your stomach twist. makes your knees feel weak. his mouth moves lower, dragging to the corner of your lips, then kissing softly along the edge of your jaw like he can’t help himself. and it’s all too much. too good. too full of feeling you’ve been trying to deny since the second you walked out of his bed.

your hand lifts to his chest to ground yourself, fingers splayed over the beat of his heart that’s racing just as hard as yours. heeseung’s breath hitches, and he pulls back just enough to look at you—his mouth swollen, eyes dark, lips still parted. “i mean it,” he says again, voice rough and wrecked and so soft. “i want to know you.” your heart stutters. your mouth opens—but before either of you can speak again—

“y/n?”

the voice comes like a slap. bright. clear. and cutting straight through the warmth like a blade.

you freeze.

your body jerks back like a switch flipped under your skin, like your name being said aloud burned straight through the fantasy. you stumble out of his grip, lips still parted, breathing hard, your fingers releasing his hoodie so fast it feels like you just realized what you were holding. your eyes go wide as your mind scrambles to catch up, to remember where you are, who you are, who is in your apartment right now. “shit,” you whisper under your breath, heart hammering like it’s trying to punch through your ribs, like your pulse forgot how to settle. heeseung straightens a little, blinking, his expression shifting fast—from warmth to confusion to that same guarded tension you saw at the door. you turn quickly toward the hallway, barely able to process what you’re supposed to do next. “just a second!” you call back to nari, your voice thin and breathless, like you’re trying not to sound like you were just kissed like someone’s favorite memory.

she doesn’t answer right away, but her footsteps pad closer from the kitchen—slow, unaware, still far enough that you can breathe but not for long. you whip around to face him, panic laced in every inch of your movement. “you have to go,” you say, too fast, too tight, the words leaving your mouth before you can soften them. heeseung’s brows pull together, the smallest flicker of hurt in his eyes before he catches himself. “y/n,” he says gently, his hand half-lifted like he wants to reach for you again, but he doesn’t. “please. don’t shut me out again.” your throat tightens, your fingers clenching at your sides. you can’t do this right now. not with your roommate three steps away. not when your lips still taste like his name.

“this was a mistake,” you say, though your voice wavers at the end of it, and you hate how easily it betrays you. heeseung flinches—not dramatically, not with words, just the subtle shift of someone trying not to react to a wound they didn’t expect. “it didn’t feel like one,” he says, barely above a whisper, but there’s weight in it, something heavy that sticks in your chest. you open your mouth, but no words come out—just air, just panic, just silence. the warmth from his touch is still clinging to your skin, but it doesn’t feel soft anymore. it feels like a question you don’t have an answer to. you step back once, then again. and he takes the hint.

“i’ll go,” he says, voice dull now, and you hate it—you hate the way he sounds when he says it, like you’re undoing something that hadn’t even started yet. he moves toward the door without another word, his shoulders square, steps quiet like he doesn’t want to make it harder than it already is. your breath catches as he opens it, just wide enough to slip out, and for a second you almost call his name. almost. but then he’s gone.

and when the door clicks shut, it’s like your whole body deflates.

you don’t move at first—not even after the door clicks shut, not even after your heartbeat starts to slow. you’re frozen there, staring at the space he left behind, like the warmth of his presence is still lingering in the air, clinging to your skin. your lips are still parted. your hands are still shaking. and your thoughts feel like they’re spinning too fast to hold onto anything solid. you press your fingers to your mouth, just once, like you’re trying to erase the kiss from your skin—but all it does is make you remember how it felt. how soft he was. how much he meant it. and how badly you wanted to believe it.

“hey,” nari’s voice calls gently from behind, her steps slow and light like she’s trying not to startle you. “who was that?” her question isn’t sharp, not suspicious—just curious, just concerned. you inhale too fast, turning toward her with a smile you have to force into place, swallowing down the lump in your throat. “no one,” you say, and the words sound brittle even to your own ears. nari tilts her head slightly, stopping just a few feet away, her gaze soft but a little puzzled. “it sounded like someone was here. you okay?” she asks, her eyes searching your face like she already knows the answer isn’t yes.

you nod too quickly. lie too easily. “yeah,” you say, waving it off like it’s nothing, like your hands aren’t trembling from the ghost of a kiss that’s still burning through you. “just… someone dropping something off.” nari hums, unconvinced but not pushing, and moves past you toward the living room again. your shoulders fall the second she turns her back, the pressure of pretending scraping down your spine like sandpaper. you follow her slowly, your feet heavy, your mind louder than it’s ever been. part of you wants to tell her everything—to let it spill out in messy pieces like you did before—but the rest of you can’t. not yet. not when it’s still sitting in your chest like it means something more than it should.

you sink back onto the couch, your hands folding in your lap, trying not to feel the way your heart’s still pulling in opposite directions. “you want me to warm your tea again?” nari asks from the kitchen, casual, kind, unaware of how badly you need something—anything—to anchor you right now. “yeah,” you manage, your voice hoarse. “please.” she hums again, and the clinking of the mug hitting the counter fills the silence while you reach for your phone like a reflex, screen lighting up again with the last message you received.

@jayafterhours: depends. how good are you at following directions?

your thumb hovers over it for a second. just long enough to wonder what would happen if you said yes.

────୨ৎ────

jay could hear your footsteps before the knock even came—soft, steady, unhurried as you walked up the steps to his door. he didn’t move right away. just stood there, watching the blur of your shadow shift beneath the crack, listening to the quiet rhythm of your shoes against the concrete. when your knuckles finally tapped against the wood—quick, confident, not too firm—it echoed straight through his chest. and for some reason, his breath caught. he hadn’t even seen you yet, but something in the way you approached already had him standing a little straighter.

he opened the door slowly, not expecting much—just a girl, a creator, someone behind a screen turned in front of a lens. but then you were there. standing in front of him like you’d always belonged in his doorway. and for a second, jay couldn’t fucking breathe. it wasn’t just the way you looked, though that was enough to throw him off—lips bare, lashes soft, skin kissed with the kind of natural glow that didn't need lighting. it was the way you carried it. cool, calm, but not cocky. like you knew he’d be staring—and you didn’t mind one bit.

he had no idea what to say at first, and that wasn’t like him. so instead, he stepped back. made room. let you walk into his space while he held the door and tried not to think about the way your hoodie rode up just enough when you passed. “glad you came,” he said finally, voice lower than intended, the heat behind it already showing. and still, you didn’t say much—just nodded, eyes flicking over his apartment like you were already deciding if you liked being here.

and jay? yeah, he was already fucked.

he invites you to sit, his tone smooth and unbothered, like this is all routine. your eyes drift over the table—neat dishes laid out already, plates warm, silverware set clean and deliberate, like he’d done this more than once in his head before you actually showed up. the chairs are tucked in, a folded napkin on each side, and it’s not fancy, not showy—just thoughtful. the kind of quiet preparation that says he was expecting you. he gestures toward the one closest to the corner, letting you choose your seat, and only after you lower yourself does he finally move to the opposite side. the room smells like something savory—spiced, warm, familiar—but you’re too focused on the way he looks across the table. like he’s already unwrapping you with his eyes and hasn’t even touched you yet.

“i wasn’t sure what you’d like,” he says, sliding one of the plates toward you, “so i made something safe.” he says it with a shrug, casual, but the corners of his mouth twitch like he knows it still matters. you glance down at the dish—pasta, something seasoned and steaming lightly, nothing too heavy but just enough to show he gave a shit. the table feels too quiet for a second, but jay fills it easily, leaning forward with one forearm against the wood like he’s settling into something easy. “before we get into the rest,” he says, tone steady, “i just wanna know a few things about you.” you blink, not expecting that—not after the texts, not after the message that brought you here.

“what should i call you?” he asks, voice low but not demanding, like he wants to give you space to answer how you want. “real name, nickname, something else?” he waits. doesn’t press. just watches you with those sharp, dark eyes like he’s already cataloging every answer for later. you tell him your name—and he nods once, storing it somewhere behind the calm set of his mouth. then he asks another. “what’s your favorite ice cream?” and when you raise a brow, he shrugs again. “everybody’s got one. mine’s pistachio. but i don’t expect you to take me seriously after saying that out loud.”

the edge of a smile touches your mouth before you can stop it, and you hate the way it catches his attention immediately—like he notices everything, even the small shifts. he asks more. not deep things. just enough to make you talk. favorite time of day. worst habit. music you only listen to when you’re alone. it’s disarming. gentle. like he’s peeling you open slowly without ever putting his hands on you. and it throws you off balance, because none of it feels like an act. he’s not trying to seduce you. he’s just trying to see you. and somehow, that’s worse.

he doesn’t look at your chest. doesn’t stare at your legs. his eyes stay on your face like he wants to memorize it before the lighting and the angles and the camera strip it down. “i like knowing things,” he says after your third answer, voice quieter now, like it’s a secret he’s only saying once. “makes what happens later feel less like performance. more like chemistry.” your breath catches slightly, the implication not subtle but not crude. and he knows it. his mouth curves slowly around his next word. “boundaries,” he says, leaning back finally, like he’s shifting gears. “let’s talk about them.”

you sit a little straighter at the word—boundaries—as if the reminder helps you find your footing again. it feels like the only thing you can control in a space where everything else is already moving faster than you expected. jay watches you with that same measured gaze, not pushing, not crowding, just waiting. and somehow, that’s what makes it harder to speak. you inhale slowly, letting the words settle in your mouth before you release them. “i’m okay with most things,” you say carefully, voice quiet but steady. “just… not my face. i don’t want it shown.” your fingers curl slightly around the edge of your seat as the words leave you, like saying them out loud solidifies them in a way that’s permanent.

jay doesn’t blink. doesn’t shift. doesn’t even flinch. he just nods once, slow and certain. “easy,” he says simply. “i’ve worked around that before.” you blink, a little surprised at how quickly he agreed. “you can stay cropped, blurred, or angled out. whatever you’re comfortable with.” his tone doesn’t falter—there’s no question in it, no teasing, no hint of disbelief. just clean acceptance. and that, somehow, makes your chest tighten. “i don’t do spit,” you add suddenly, a little sharper now, like you need to draw one more line just to see if he’ll cross it. “noted,” he replies, just as calm.

“what about contact?” he asks after a beat, fingers tapping lightly against the table, not impatient—just thoughtful. “hands? mouths? toys? giving, receiving?” it’s the first time the words sound even remotely intimate, and it sends a ripple down your spine, but you don’t let it show. you answer carefully, listing what you’re okay with, what you’d rather avoid, and he takes it all in without interrupting. not once does he smirk. not once does he turn it into something dirtier than it needs to be. he just listens. and somehow that makes your pulse pick up more than anything he could’ve said.

“do you have a safeword?” he asks next, voice low but clear, no edge to it—just importance. you hesitate for a second, your teeth pressing gently into your bottom lip as your mind flips through words that feel right. something simple. something soft. something you’ll remember even when your thoughts are a mess. “peach,” you say finally, your voice barely above a breath. “if i say peach, we stop.” you don’t expect the way his eyes soften at that, like he wasn’t just listening—he heard you. he nods once, firm and sure. “peach it is,” he replies, voice quiet but absolute. “say it once, and everything ends. no questions asked.”

he leans back, letting the quiet settle. “anything else?” he asks, tone a little lighter now, like he’s giving you space to say no. your fingers twitch against the edge of your thigh. your heart’s still racing, your head still loud. but you shake your head slowly. “not right now,” you murmur. jay gives you a long look. not unreadable—but quiet. measured. like he’s still trying to piece you together without rushing it. and when he speaks again, his voice is lower, gentler. “i don’t want you to just feel safe,” he says. “i want you to feel seen.”

jay stands from the table slowly, pushing his chair in with one hand and tilting his head toward the hallway. “come with me,” he says simply, his tone softer now—less like a command, more like an invitation. you follow without speaking, your footsteps quieter this time as you trail behind him, your body still warm from the way he looked at you. the deeper you move into his apartment, the more the quiet hum of something personal settles in. the space is open but not cold—walls painted a cool gray, dark wood floors that soften each step, and framed black-and-white prints spaced carefully along the hall. everything feels… intentional. not staged, not overly curated—just clean, calm, and lived-in, like he only keeps what matters.

there’s a faint scent lingering in the air, something earthy and expensive—maybe sandalwood, maybe cedar, something low and smooth that fits him perfectly. the hallway passes a spare room, its door cracked open just enough for you to see a neat workspace with a monitor, ring light, and perfectly wound cords—no mess, no clutter. he’s the kind of guy who wipes surfaces even if they’re already clean. who arranges things by size without realizing it. and now that you’re walking through it, it makes sense. he feels like someone who controls the chaos before it ever starts. someone who doesn’t just direct scenes, but knows how to curate them down to the last breath.

when he opens the door to his room, he doesn’t say anything—just steps inside and waits for you to follow. and you do. slow, careful, your eyes scanning the space as you enter. the room is warm in tone, dimly lit by a lamp in the corner with amber-tinted light that makes the shadows look softer. the bedding is dark navy, sheets smooth and taut, a throw blanket folded at the edge with precision. there’s a small table near the wall with a speaker, a single coaster, and a lighter next to an unused candle. everything is exactly where it should be—but not in a clinical way. more like someone who lives in silence and pays attention to what it tells him.

the tripod is already set up across the room, angled down slightly toward the bed, lens cap off but nothing recording yet. it doesn’t feel threatening. just… real. you were expecting something more dramatic. lights. backdrops. fake velvet. but this is something else. this feels personal. honest. quiet. and maybe that’s what makes your pulse start to rise in your throat again. jay walks past you slowly, crossing the room to the dresser, and opens the top drawer without saying a word. you watch him carefully, still trying to piece together what kind of man sets a camera like that and still remembers to cook you lunch.

when he turns around, he’s holding something small and black, the shimmer of silk catching the light as he walks back toward you. the bag in his hand is delicate—drawstring ribbon, gold threading, and you already know what it is before he offers it out. “for you,” he says, holding it between you like it’s something important. “to wear.” you blink up at him, but his gaze doesn’t waver, doesn’t falter. “i saw it in a shop the day after i found your profile,” he adds quietly. “wasn’t looking for anything. just… saw it. and thought it would suit you.”

you give him a slight smile before you speak, “give me a minute?” you say, voice quiet but sure. jay’s eyes meet yours again, and this time he smiles without speaking. just a small tilt of his head, an unspoken take your time. you close the bathroom door quietly behind you, the soft click echoing louder than it should in your ears. the small silk bag is still clutched in your hand, your palm warm and damp against the fabric like you’re holding something much more dangerous. the light in here is brighter—clean, warm-toned, flattering—but it only makes your nerves feel sharper. the mirror reflects back a version of yourself that looks steady, calm, composed… but your chest is tight. your skin buzzes beneath your clothes. and as you lay the bag down on the counter, you realize this moment feels familiar. too familiar.

your breath slows as your fingers reach for the hem of your hoodie, pulling it up and over your head with a slow drag, your tank top following right after. you fold them both neatly beside the sink, more out of nervous habit than care. and for a second, you’re standing there in just your underwear, heart thrumming low in your stomach, staring at your reflection like it’s someone else’s body. you’ve been here before. not in this room, not with these lights—but in the feeling. the anticipation. the tight pull in your gut. the sting of wanting to impress someone who shouldn’t mean anything.

you think of heeseung. how it felt when you changed for him. how you stood in your room, under dim lighting, slipping on something you picked while he waited for you just down the hall. how it wasn’t supposed to feel like it did. how you thought it would just be performance. and it wasn’t. it was heat. it was vulnerability. it was dangerous. and now here you are again—different place, different man, but the same twisting ache curling around your spine. why does it feel the same? why does your body keep falling into this rhythm like it wants to be seen?

you open the silk bag slowly, the lingerie soft and light in your hands as you lift it out. black lace, just like he said. a deep plunge neckline, sheer mesh sides, satin ribbon at the center. the fabric is cool against your fingertips, delicate enough to feel like it might tear if you don’t handle it carefully. it’s beautiful. subtle. nothing flashy—but undeniably seductive. you step into it slowly, one leg at a time, pulling the straps over your shoulders, adjusting the fit around your waist. and as it settles against your skin, molding to your body like it was meant for you, you feel something crack open behind your ribs.

you shouldn’t like this. not the way you do. not the way your thighs press together, not the way your breath comes shallower, not the way you want to step out there and watch jay’s face when he sees you in this. you shouldn’t want to impress him—not after how confused you still feel about the last time. about heeseung. about what it meant, and what it didn’t. but your skin burns all the same. your hands tremble slightly as you fix your hair, as you smooth the hem, as you give yourself one last look in the mirror. “just business,” you whisper to your reflection. and even you don’t believe it.

you open the door slowly, just enough to slip through, your hands brushing down your sides one last time as you step back into the low light of his bedroom. the air feels thicker out here—warmer, heavier, like it’s been waiting for you. the door clicks gently behind you, and your bare feet make the softest sound against the floor as you move forward, your breath caught somewhere between your throat and your chest. you don’t look at him right away. not yet. you don’t want to see his face until you’re standing still, until your heart isn’t racing so fast it might show on your skin. but you feel it the moment his eyes land on you.

jay goes completely still—like the sight of you knocks the air out of him. he was sitting at the edge of the bed, adjusting the tripod when the door opened, but now he’s frozen, hands resting loosely on his thighs, lips parted just slightly as his gaze drags up your body. he doesn’t speak. doesn’t smile. he just looks—like you’re something he’s only seen in his head before this. something better in person. his eyes move slowly, taking in every line of lace, every sheer inch of skin, every soft curve the lingerie hugs like it was tailored just for you. and when your gaze finally lifts to meet his, he looks like he’s trying not to say something reckless.

“fuck,” he murmurs under his breath, the word falling out like it escaped before he could hold it back. he shifts forward just slightly, elbows resting on his knees now, fingers loosely laced like he needs to stay grounded. “you really wore it.” there’s something in his voice—something tight, restrained, too controlled to be casual. his eyes keep flicking between your mouth and your hips like he can’t pick which part of you he wants to touch first. “looks better than i imagined,” he adds, and it doesn’t sound like a compliment—it sounds like a confession. low, almost reverent.

you try to stay still under the weight of his stare, but your skin feels too hot, too bare, too sensitive. his gaze alone feels like it’s dragging fingers down your sides, smoothing over the lace, sinking into places he hasn’t even touched yet. he straightens a little, breath deeper now, like he’s forcing himself to remember why you’re both here. “can i fix the straps?” he asks suddenly, voice softer now, eyes flicking toward your shoulder where the delicate black lace has slipped just slightly out of place. “just the straps.” his tone is calm, careful—asking not assuming.

you nod once, and he rises without another word, his steps slow and deliberate as he closes the space between you. he moves behind you, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body at your back but not close enough to touch—not yet. his fingers reach up gently, grazing your skin as he slides the strap higher, smoothing it back into place with practiced ease. then the other. slow. patient. like he’s putting something sacred back where it belongs. “perfect,” he murmurs once, voice brushing warm against your neck, and then he steps back, keeping his hands to himself.

you can still feel him, even after he’s gone.

“lie down for me,” he says again, a little softer this time, like he’s coaxing the words past your skin. you move slowly, climbing up onto the bed with steady breaths, the lace hugging your body shifting with every motion. the sheets are smooth and cool beneath your palms, your body sinking slightly into the mattress as you stretch out along the center. jay watches from the edge of the room, his movements calm, practiced, but not rushed. nothing about this is rushed. he moves like he has all the time in the world to break you open piece by piece.

he disappears for a second, and you hear the soft click of a switch. the lighting shifts immediately—warmer, dimmer, all shadows and low gold. intimate. like candlelight caught in motion. and then, music. something slow, rich, vibrating low through the walls. it starts with a soft hum, something sensual and aching underneath, followed by a voice thick with emotion, sliding across the beat like a secret. the melody winds around your body before he even touches you. it’s moody, seductive, dangerous. like desire in the form of a song. like something you shouldn’t be listening to unless you’re ready to fall apart.

you don’t realize you’re holding your breath until the mattress dips beside you. jay’s back now, his body lowering beside yours, his hand brushing along your forearm with quiet intention. in his hand—black leather cuffs, soft-lined and already adjusted to your size. he doesn’t speak, doesn’t explain. he just takes your wrist, gently, lifting it with the kind of care that makes your breath catch, and buckles the first strap around you. the second follows. secure. firm. not uncomfortable—just enough to remind you that your hands aren’t yours anymore.

“you good?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. you nod again. “say it,” he murmurs, pausing just before the fabric meets your eyes. “i’m good,” you breathe. then the blindfold. satin, black, impossibly soft. he holds it above your eyes for a moment, his voice barely above the hum of the song when he speaks. “say it again,” he murmurs. “i’m good,” you whisper, lips parted, chest rising. and with that, the world goes dark. the music swells. your body buzzes.

you feel everything more sharply now—the way the sheet slides against your thighs, the soft brush of air across your stomach, the subtle shift of the mattress as he stands and steps away. the music pulses like a heartbeat, slow and full of heat, the vocals dragging out in a way that makes your lungs feel tight. and then, the faint sound of glass. a bottle being unstoppered. something being warmed. your body tenses, even as your breath grows slower, heavier. you're not afraid. but you are open. waiting.

the first drop lands just below your collarbone. warm. sharp. a sting that spreads and melts as fast as it came. your mouth parts in a silent gasp, your back arching as the sensation ripples across your chest. it’s followed by another—slower this time, deeper. your body jerks slightly against the cuffs, your breath catching as heat coils low in your stomach. and then, his voice—quiet, close, wrecked in the best way. “too much?” he asks, his breath ghosting over your shoulder. you shake your head, pulse thudding wildly beneath your skin. “good girl,” he murmurs, and the next drop comes before you’re ready.

his fingers hover just above your ribs, tracing the fresh trail of wax he’s left behind, not touching—not quite—just following the shape of the cooling heat like he’s painting with his breath. your back arches slightly, hips pressing deeper into the mattress as your bound wrists tug gently against the cuffs. the blindfold robs you of sight, but it sharpens everything else—the sound of the song still melting through the speakers, the rhythm low and slow, the singer’s voice drawn out in pure seduction. the room smells like warmth, like candle wax and skin, like want. your skin tingles in every direction, but he hasn’t even touched you where it aches the most. not once.

“you’re so sensitive,” jay says quietly, voice curved with something dark, something proud. he lets one fingertip finally graze over a spot where the wax has cooled—a slow, deliberate line that drags across your sternum, up the swell of your chest. your stomach clenches, a whimper caught in your throat as he drags it downward again, pausing just above your navel. “you feel everything, don’t you?” he murmurs, like he’s marveling, like he’s falling in love with the way your body moves beneath his. “but i haven’t even touched you.” his voice is warm honey over ice, and it makes your thighs twitch.

another pour. hotter this time. it hits just beside your hip, then crawls inward, a path of liquid fire that fades into a cruel, pulsing throb. your toes curl, breath catching hard in your throat as your back arches again, body fully open and helpless to the rhythm he’s set. “please—” you breathe, voice thin and unsure, but you don’t know what you’re asking for yet. “please what?” jay’s mouth is near your ear now, close enough that you can feel his smile. “you don’t even know what you want, baby.” he laughs, soft and low, and you swear the sound is almost worse than the heat.

his hands return—not between your legs, not to your breasts—just to your waist, where he spreads his fingers slowly along your sides like he’s claiming you inch by inch. the pads of his thumbs rub light circles into the bone beneath your skin, grounding you, teasing you, keeping you right where he wants you. “you take pain so well,” he murmurs, and then another line of wax pours across the top of your thigh—too close. too close, but not close enough. your whole body trembles, wrists straining against the cuffs as you gasp out his name. not loud. not sharp. just needy.

you feel it before you realize what it is—his breath on your inner thigh, his hands pressing your legs gently open farther, farther, like he’s worshipping the space between them. but still, he doesn’t touch. “i could make you come with just my voice,” he says, not cocky—confident. capable. and you believe him. because your body is already falling apart, already pulsing around nothing, already begging him without the words. “but i want you to ask me.” his lips brush the inside of your leg, not a kiss—just air. “i want you to beg me.”

your pride tries to hold on. it claws at your throat, tries to press your mouth shut. but your body betrays you. your hips lift without permission, your moan slipping free like it’s been waiting for this moment. “jay—please,” you gasp, voice raw now. “please, fuck, please touch me.” it’s broken. breathless. real. and it’s everything he was waiting for.

he doesn’t give you a warning. doesn’t make a show of it. he just moves—fluid and silent, settling between your thighs like he’s done it before in a dream he’s finally gotten to touch. your skin is slick with heat, glowing with wax and want, and he breathes you in like your scent alone is enough to wreck him. his hands slide beneath your thighs, palms warm, strong, tilting your hips upward just slightly so you’re perfectly open, perfectly framed, perfectly his. the first brush of his mouth is featherlight, almost nothing—just lips grazing over your inner thigh, barely touching your cunt, just enough to make you sob through gritted teeth. “so fucking pretty,” he murmurs against your skin.

his hands return to your waist without a sound, no command or question leaving his lips—just touch, warm and steady as his fingers slide over the edge of the lace that still clings to your body. you twitch slightly beneath him, the blindfold making every brush of his fingertips feel sharper, more exposed, and when his thumbs dip beneath the fabric, you realize what he’s doing—but you don’t stop him. he moves slowly, deliberately, not yanking or rushing, but peeling the lingerie off your skin like it’s something delicate, something earned. the lace folds away from your hips, dragged down inch by inch, baring more of your skin to the air, and your chest rises involuntarily when he shifts the straps off your shoulders. he eases the piece down your body, taking the time to trace every inch that’s revealed—his knuckles grazing your ribs, the curve of your waist, the crease of your thighs. when it finally slips free from your ankles, you feel more naked than you’ve ever been.

his hands return just as slowly, palms spreading up the backs of your thighs before gliding to your hips, like he’s reacquainting himself with skin he’d already claimed. he doesn’t speak. he doesn’t rush. he just takes in the sight of you—bare, breathless, bound beneath him, blind to everything but the beat of your own heart and the sound of his breathing. the song continues behind him, velvet-rich and dangerous, the lyrics curling through the shadows of the room like temptation: “bring your body, baby…” your lips part, your legs twitch, but he doesn’t move to fill the space between them—not yet. he just touches. lets the pads of his fingers skim the edges of your thighs, your stomach, the sides of your breasts, without truly settling anywhere. just to feel you.

the air is thick now, heavy with unspoken tension, and your body is buzzing, aching, completely at his mercy. you don’t know what’s coming next—his mouth, his fingers, another pour of wax—but you know that whatever it is, he’ll give it to you slowly. your skin still remembers the sting of the heat from earlier, the way your body pulsed with every drop, and now—now—without anything between you, it feels like every inch of your body is begging to be touched. your wrists flex against the cuffs, more reflex than restraint, and your breath comes out in a shaky exhale you hadn’t meant to release. his hands settle on your thighs again, fingers curling gently as he pushes them wider.

he licks a long, slow stripe through your folds that has your back arching off the bed. it’s not just the contact—it’s the way he does it, the reverence in his pace, the softness in his grip, like he’s worshipping something he thought he’d never be allowed to touch.

he doesn’t rush. he doesn’t groan. he doesn’t perform for the camera. he just devours. his tongue works in long, controlled strokes, collecting slick like it’s the only thing he needs to breathe, licking deep and purposeful like he’s trying to memorize how you taste. your head spins beneath the blindfold, your hands tugging uselessly against the cuffs as your body trembles beneath the weight of everything. you can’t see him, but you can feel the way he watches every twitch, every gasp, every time your thighs clench in his hands. he hums against you, not loud, not obnoxious—just pleased, like he’s satisfied with how quickly you’re unraveling under him. and when his lips wrap around your clit, sucking slow and tight, you cry out so loud it barely sounds like your voice.

you’re so close so fast, too fast, and he knows it. knows because he slows down again—easing the pressure, dragging his tongue in lazy circles that make your hips jerk in frustration. “not yet,” he breathes into your skin, and it doesn’t even sound like a tease. it sounds like a rule. like a command you’re meant to obey without argument. the music is still playing behind him—“just let me motherfucking love you…”—but it’s all a blur now, a background heartbeat to the way he laps you back up like he missed you between each breath. his fingers trail up your thigh slowly, slick with the wax he laid earlier, and it’s not until one dips between your folds that your breath stutters in your chest.

he slides in with ease, your body more than ready, and his tongue doesn’t stop. his mouth stays on your clit, soft and sucking, drawing it between his lips while he curls his finger just right, just enough to make your vision flash white behind the blindfold. “fuck—jay—” you gasp, thighs shaking now, unable to stay still under the rhythm of his mouth and hand. “please, I’m gonna—I need to—” your words dissolve into moans, into nonsense, because he doesn’t let up. he keeps going, steady and cruel, another finger joining the first with a wet slide that makes you whimper like a fucking prayer. he groans low when he feels you clench, not for show, but from hunger—he likes how tightly your body reacts to him. he lives for it.

you’re falling apart now. your hips are bucking, your legs twitching, your fingers digging into empty air as you gasp through another moan that cracks at the edges. “please let me—please let me cum,” you beg, your voice wrecked and wet and half-sobbing. and only then—only then—does jay lift his head. his fingers stay inside you, slow and curling, keeping you trembling just at the edge while his mouth ghosts over your thigh. “you want to cum?” he asks, voice low, ragged, almost teasing—but not cruel. “then beg louder, babydoll. i want the camera to hear how fucking desperate you are.”

his mouth returns without a word, settling between your thighs like he belongs there, like there’s nowhere else in the world he wants to be. you feel the soft exhale of his breath fan across your soaked folds, the warmth of it a cruel tease before the first drag of his tongue lands—slow, deliberate, curling through you like he’s savoring the very first taste. your entire body jolts against the cuffs, your mouth falling open in a choked moan as he licks again—longer this time, deeper. he just devours, each stroke of his tongue more intentional than the last, like he’s studying you. like he wants to memorize what makes your thighs twitch, what makes your breath skip, what makes you gasp his name with that tiny shake in your voice.

your legs are trembling already, wide open and held there by his firm grip, and when his lips wrap around your clit—sucking slow, tight, deep—you feel your whole body lurch off the bed. the blindfold only makes it worse—makes it better—because you can’t see it coming, can’t predict how fast or how gentle he’ll be, can’t do anything but feel everything all at once. “fuck—jay—” you cry, and he only hums in response, the vibration shooting straight through your core. his tongue works circles around your clit, soft and teasing, then firmer, faster, until your hips are grinding helplessly into his mouth, searching for more friction, more pressure, more anything. he pulls back just enough to slide a finger into you—then two—slow and curling, the stretch perfect, unbearable, perfect.

you’re right there. right fucking there. your walls pulsing around his fingers, your moans growing louder, messier, no longer soft or shy but wrecked, raw, real. your hips rock into him without grace, your body flushed and burning, but just as your orgasm starts to crest—he pulls away. completely. his mouth, his fingers, his heat—all gone. and you sob. a real, desperate sob that breaks out of your throat without warning, your back arching as your hands pull helplessly against the cuffs. “no—please—please,” you gasp, voice shaking. “i was so close—don’t stop—please don’t stop—”

he gives you no mercy. not yet. he returns to you slowly, his mouth brushing your clit with a soft kiss before his tongue drags over it again—firm this time, relentless. his fingers reenter you with no hesitation, curling with perfect rhythm, and now he doesn’t let up. he fucks you with his mouth like it’s what he was made to do, devouring every sound you make, every clench, every broken cry that escapes you. “you gonna cum for me now, babydoll?” he breathes against your skin. “gonna give it to me this time?” your only answer is a gasp—then a moan—then your whole body snaps, orgasm crashing over you so hard you cry out his name, thighs shaking violently, breath punching out of your lungs like it’s been ripped from your core.

he doesn’t stop. not when you cum. not when you beg. not when your voice breaks. he slows only slightly, mouth and fingers still working you through it—drawing it out, dragging wave after wave from your twitching body until it becomes too much, too sharp, too deep. tears are slipping from beneath the blindfold now, your voice hoarse as you sob through your second orgasm, overstimulated, unable to breathe without moaning. your cunt clenches around his fingers again, your cries turning into pleas as your thighs try to close, but he doesn’t let you. he holds you open. makes you take it. makes you fall apart again and again and again.

when he finally lets up, his fingers slip from you with a wet drag, and you collapse into the sheets—limp, slick, ruined. your chest rises in shaky pulls of air, your skin still twitching in places you didn’t know could feel, your wrists tugging instinctively against the cuffs even though you’re not trying to move. he doesn’t speak, not right away. you feel the bed shift beneath you as he moves, crawling up your body with a slowness that makes you ache in a different way. he’s not touching you—not yet—but his presence hovers, warm and close and overwhelming. then, you feel it. his breath against your mouth. the faintest graze of lips against yours. not a kiss. not quite.

your breath catches like a sob. you lean up the smallest amount, chasing the touch you can’t see, but his mouth barely brushes yours again and then pulls away. it’s cruel. gentle, but cruel. “please,” you whisper, voice so hoarse it barely comes out. your lips part again, desperate, trembling. “kiss me… please…” and finally, finally, he gives you what you ask for.

his lips press into yours, slow and full, his hand cradling the side of your face like you’re something breakable, like he wants to hold you still while he kisses the breath right out of you. there’s nothing rushed in it—no heat, no show. just intimacy. just need. he kisses you like he’s been thinking about it since the moment he opened the door. your legs fall open again, welcoming the weight of him, your body leaning into every inch of contact like you’ve been starving for it. his kiss deepens, tongue slipping slow and warm into your mouth, and you whimper under the blindfold, too fucked-out to hide how much you want it.

when he pulls away, you feel cold for only a second before you hear it—the low rustle of clothing, the quiet unbuckle of a belt, the unmistakable slide of denim down long, toned legs. your body tenses with anticipation, still aching in the best way, still sensitive and exposed and so ready for whatever comes next. you don’t need to see to know he’s watching you—all of you—the flush of your skin, the tremble in your thighs, the slick between your legs that’s already waiting for him. you hear the shift of fabric, then silence. and then, the weight of him between your legs again.

thick, warm, heavy against your thigh.

the mattress dips beneath his knees as he moves in closer, and your breath catches when you feel it—him, thick and heavy, dragging slowly along your inner thigh. he doesn’t push forward, doesn’t press in. just lets the head of his cock rest there, warm and slick against your oversensitive skin. the moment it brushes your folds—barely catching—you cry out, hips jolting up in instinct. but he doesn’t move. just stays right there, not giving you anything more.

he watches the way you strain beneath him, every inch of you open and ready, your wrists twitching against the cuffs like you’d reach for him if you could. your blindfold is soaked now, a tear trail drying on your cheek, your mouth parted in silent desperation. he slides the tip down slowly, catching just slightly at your entrance, then pulls back—barely there, not enough, and yet you whimper like it’s breaking you. he repeats the motion again, slower this time, teasing over your clit and down, dragging himself through your slick folds with lazy precision. and all the while? he says nothing. doesn’t praise you. doesn’t mock you. just lets you feel every aching inch without giving in.

your body bucks, hips rolling, trying to take more than he’s giving, but his hands move to your waist—firm, steady, holding you still. “please,” you gasp, voice cracked and wrecked. “please, jay, just—” but he hushes you with a kiss to your collarbone, soft and featherlight, and keeps grinding the thick head of his cock right where you want it most. never pushing in. just letting you suffer with the knowledge that he could—he just won’t.

he brings the tip back to your entrance again and pauses. and you feel it so clearly now—the pressure, the fullness that isn’t there yet but could be, the stretch you’re aching for. you try to speak, but your words come out as a sob, a moan, a broken little sound that barely qualifies as language. and then he does it again—rolls his hips just right so the head of his cock nudges your hole, teasing a shallow push that makes your breath stop entirely. your back arches, your thighs clamp instinctively around his waist, and your voice breaks. “fuck— please let me feel you. please… i want it, i want you inside—i need it so bad, jay—please.”

he hums, low and deep in his throat, like that’s the sound he’s been waiting for.

he doesn’t say anything—not when you beg, not when your hips buck up again in desperation—but his hands shift on your waist, grip tightening slightly like he’s finally giving in. you feel it in your gut first—the silence, the way the moment holds its breath, and then… the pressure. a slow, steady push, the thick head of his cock stretching your entrance open, and your breath leaves you in a single, shattered moan. he eases in with unbearable control, the kind that feels like his entire body is tense with restraint, letting you feel every inch as he sinks deeper, deeper, until your walls pulse and flutter helplessly around him. your mouth falls open. your thighs shake. your fingers flex in the cuffs above your head like you need something to hold onto—but all you have is him.

he moves slowly—so slowly it feels like time is breaking apart—his cock dragging along your inner walls in a stretch that’s equal parts bliss and pain, every inch carved into your body like it belongs there. “fuck,” he finally breathes, voice wrecked now, low and strained as he bottoms out completely, hips pressing flush against yours. “you feel—fuck—you feel unreal.” but you can’t respond. can’t speak. all you can do is feel, the thick weight of him buried inside you making it impossible to think, impossible to breathe. your body clenches tight, and he groans again, low and broken, like he’s losing himself just trying to stay still.

you’re soaked—beyond soaked, your slick coating his cock, dripping down your thighs, the sounds between you filthy and wet every time he moves. and still, he doesn’t fuck you. not yet. he holds there, deep and unmoving, letting you adjust, letting you fall apart around the stretch, like he knows this moment means something more than just release. and you feel it—god, you feel it everywhere. your chest is heaving, your toes curled, your head tossed back against the pillow even though you can’t see anything. you’re pinned, cuffed, blindfolded, full—and for the first time tonight, you feel the beginning of surrender settle into your bones.

“you still with me?” he murmurs, lips brushing your jaw, his voice a tether to reality. you nod quickly, but that’s not enough. “words,” he whispers again, kissing the corner of your mouth. “i’m with you,” you breathe, voice hoarse. “i’m so with you. please don’t stop.”

he kisses you one more time—slow, tender, like a thank-you—and then he starts to move.

he moves inside you like he’s savoring it—like you’re the first person he’s ever touched, and he doesn’t want to miss a single second of what your body feels like wrapped around him. his hips roll slow, deliberate, dragging his cock out until only the head remains before sliding back in with a pressure that makes your eyes roll beneath the blindfold. it’s not hard. it’s not fast. but it’s devastating. every thrust lands deep, slow and punishing in the best way, the kind of rhythm that makes your chest ache and your breath shake in your lungs. your wrists strain above your head, but there’s no fight in it—only the overwhelming need to hold onto something as he pushes in again, and again, and again. he doesn’t say a word. doesn’t rush. just groans softly under his breath, like you’re pulling the sounds out of him without trying. like he’s been quiet for so long he forgot what it’s like to feel this way.

his hands hold your hips like he’s afraid to let go, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh above your thighs as he thrusts into you with the kind of care that feels dangerous. his cock fills you perfectly, stretching you out slow and deep, the drag of him along your inner walls making you feel every inch, every pulse, every tremble that ripples through your core. your body sings with it—raw and sensitive, already pushed past its limit, but craving more now that he’s giving it to you like this. like you matter. like you’re not just a girl cuffed to his bed, but something more—something precious. the air between you is thick with heat and the soft sound of your moans, your slick, the soft catch of breath each time he presses deeper. the music hums in the background, nearly forgotten—but the weight of the moment sits heavy in the rhythm of his body against yours.

he leans over you as he moves, chest brushing yours, his breath warm on your cheek, and it makes you feel consumed. like he’s not just inside you, but around you. wrapped into the cuffs. buried in the heat. woven between the gasps you can’t hold in. he presses a kiss to your jaw, then your temple, his pace never faltering as he sinks in deeper, grinding at the bottom like he wants to stay inside you forever. and the worst part—the best part—is how your body welcomes it. how you open more. cling more. beg silently for all of him. you whisper his name like it’s the only word left in your mouth, like you need him to know that you’re here—ruined, wrecked, and still desperate for more.

“you’re doing so good,” he finally says, voice so low it barely registers past the haze of pleasure blooming behind your ribs. “so good for me.” and that alone almost breaks you. it’s not praise for the camera. not some performative moan. it’s real, soft and meant only for you, and it hits something raw and deep beneath your skin. you whimper, body trembling beneath him, and his hand slides up your ribs, smoothing over the side of your breast before cupping your jaw with a tenderness that feels like it could kill you. he kisses your cheek and pushes in deep—slow, grinding, perfect—and you cry out again, your orgasm building back like you never even came the first time.

you don’t know how much more you can take—but his body never stops. his hips roll in that same rhythm, slow and deliberate, dragging his cock deep with every thrust like he’s trying to press into the parts of you untouched by anything before him. you’re trembling everywhere, your thighs slick and sticky, your wrists limp in the cuffs above you. and somehow, with his chest against yours, his mouth pressed to your temple, and his cock pulsing deep inside you—you feel safe. he kisses you again. not your lips this time, but your jaw. your cheek. your neck. each one softer than the last, like he’s pouring warmth into your skin. “you’re doing so good,” he whispers again, and you feel your chest tighten with it.

he adjusts his angle slightly, and the next thrust hits something sharp, something soft—something that makes your back arch and a moan claw its way from your throat. he feels it too. you feel his groan against your neck as he holds you tighter, keeps his pace just the same, grinding deeper instead of faster. and it ruins you. your whole body clenches around him, walls fluttering with every drag of his cock, and you whimper his name again, voice barely there. “you can let go,” he murmurs, breath heavy against your ear. “come for me, baby. just like that. let me feel it.” and you do. your body gives up everything.

your orgasm rolls through you like it’s weeping—a slow, full-bodied release that shakes your legs, curls your toes, makes your chest rise in stuttering waves as heat floods your veins. you cry out, not loud, but broken—soft and wet and trembling as your cunt clenches tight around him, milking every inch with desperate pulses you can’t stop. you feel like you’re floating, your body no longer your own, every nerve lit and raw and alive. tears slip from under the blindfold again, but it’s not pain. it’s everything—the stretch, the tenderness, the way his hand slides up to cradle the back of your head as he kisses your forehead through it.

“that’s it,” he whispers, still deep inside you, his thrusts slowing but not stopping. “just like that. you’re so good for me.” and god, it shatters you. your hips twitch helplessly, aftershocks trembling through your core, and you can’t even speak anymore—you just whimper, letting him keep you full, letting him rock into you with every ounce of patience he has left. his hand strokes over your jaw, your cheek, his lips brushing over the sweat-slicked skin above your blindfold like he wants to kiss every single place he can’t see.

he pulls out slow, one last deep roll of his hips before his cock slips from your body with a slick sound that makes your whole body twitch. you whine at the sudden emptiness, at the cool air brushing over your soaked thighs, at the way your cunt clenches around nothing now. but he’s already shifting, already rising onto his knees beside you. you can’t see him—but you can feel the heat rolling off his skin, hear the way his breath shudders in his chest, how his hand wraps tight around the base of his cock with a slick grip that makes your mouth fall open on instinct. he strokes himself slow at first, his breath thick with restraint, and you can tell—he’s been holding back for so long. for you.

he leans over you slightly, one hand braced beside your shoulder while the other works himself in long, steady strokes, each movement dragging a low groan from deep in his chest. “fuck,” he hisses, voice rough now, shaking, “you’re so fucking perfect.” your cheeks are flushed, blindfold still in place, mouth parted and waiting like it’s instinct—and when he sees you like that, spread and ruined and still needing, something cracks in him. “open your mouth, baby,” he breathes. “wanna see it. wanna come all over that pretty face.��� and your lips part wider, a soft whimper slipping out as you tilt your chin up in obedience, wrists still tied above you, body too wrecked to move but so ready to take more.

his rhythm speeds up—rougher now, needier, the slick sound of him pumping into his own hand echoing through the room as he kneels beside your face. his breath breaks. his hips stutter. and then—he spills. hot, thick ropes across your cheek, your jaw, your lips, groaning your name like a confession as he fucks into his fist with one last desperate pull. “fuckfuckfuck—look at you,” he gasps, watching the way your skin glows under it, the way your mouth stays open, waiting. he leans closer as the last of it drips from his tip onto your bottom lip, and his thumb catches your chin, tilts it gently. “don’t close it yet,” he murmurs, breathing heavy. “just stay like that. fuck—just like that.”

he strokes the last bit out slowly, watching his cum drip down your face, catching in the curve of your mouth, the heat of your skin, and he breathes like he’s never seen anything more beautiful. his free hand brushes down your jaw, catching some of the mess with his thumb before swiping it gently over your bottom lip. “so fucking good for me,” he whispers again, and then he leans in, presses a kiss to your forehead without hesitation, soft and reverent.

he stays above you for a moment, chest still rising fast, eyes lingering on your face with something that doesn’t quite feel like control anymore. his hand brushes your cheek, knuckles grazing your jaw, and for the first time since it started, he looks like he doesn’t know what to say. not because he’s unsure—but because he’s overwhelmed. he reaches out slowly, hitting the button on the camera without looking, the soft click of it powering down echoing through the quiet like the world’s finally breathing again. then he moves for your blindfold, untying it with careful fingers, his breath brushing your skin as he leans in close. the light hits your eyes again, warm and low, and when you blink up at him—he’s already watching. not with lust. not with pride. just something softer. something that feels like wonder.

he doesn’t speak as he undoes the cuffs, just slides your arms down gently and brings your wrists to his lips one at a time, pressing soft kisses to the reddened skin there like he’s saying thank you without the words. your hands are too weak to hold him, but you lean into the contact anyway, body limp, breath shallow, held together by the warmth of his hands alone. and when he finally speaks, his voice is quiet—almost hoarse. “you okay?” he asks, barely more than a breath. and you nod, a soft sound leaving your lips. it’s not enough. he leans in and kisses your forehead like a reflex. then your temple. then the space just beneath your eye, where your skin is still damp from tears. “i got you,” he says softly. “you did perfect.”

he doesn’t make you move. he doesn’t ask. he just gathers you—an arm beneath your knees, the other cradling your back—and lifts you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. the walk to the bathroom is silent, but not cold. just full. the steam from the shower has already started to cloud the mirrors, warm air kissing your skin as he sets you gently on the edge of the tub and turns the water on, testing it with his wrist before letting it run. he moves slow—every step deliberate, every glance careful, like he’s still in that headspace where everything is about you. when the water’s warm, he comes back to you and crouches down. he doesn’t ask. he just touches your thigh, kisses your knee, and lifts you into the shower with him.

he stands behind you, arms wrapping around your waist, your body resting against his chest as the water rushes down your skin. his breath is steady now, slower, his lips brushing your shoulder as his hands begin to move. not sexually. not even intimately. just gently. like he’s piecing you back together with soap and fingers and quiet worship. he lets the water rinse between your legs, across your stomach, down your spine, holding you still like you might float away. when you shiver, he holds you tighter. when you sigh, he presses his mouth to the side of your neck and breathes you in like he needs the scent of you to stay grounded. “thank you,” he whispers once, and it’s so soft, you almost think you imagined it.

he helps you wash. helps you rinse. helps you breathe again. and when it’s over, he wraps a towel around your body, dries your hair with gentle pats, and leads you back to the bedroom with nothing but quiet touches. the room is darker now. still warm. still full of the echoes from earlier. he brings you to the bed, lifts the sheets, and tucks you in slowly—like it means something. and then he slides in beside you, shirtless, still a little damp, his arm wrapping around your waist like he was made to fit against you. no pressure. no words. just the soft, steady rhythm of him being there, his hand rubbing slow circles into your back while your head presses into his chest.

your body melts into his without resistance, legs tangled beneath the sheets, your face pressed into the dip of his chest like that’s where it was always meant to be. he smells like clean skin and leftover warmth—something earthy and faintly sweet, something him. his arm curls tighter around your waist, his fingers dragging soft, lazy circles across your back, and it makes your whole body settle. like gravity’s gentler now. like the world outside doesn’t exist. his breaths are deep and even beneath your ear, steady like a heartbeat you didn’t realize you’d been syncing to all along. and every now and then, his lips graze your hairline, quiet and constant, like he can’t stop kissing you without saying anything out loud.

you don’t try to speak. you don’t need to. your limbs are too heavy, your throat too sore, and the silence between you feels so much better than any sound. he shifts just a little, resting his chin on top of your head, and you feel his fingers still. not because he’s stopped. but because he’s watching. you can’t see it, but you know—he’s looking at you like you’re still glowing. like the room didn’t get dark. like his eyes are only made to find you.

and then—soft. breathless. almost too quiet to catch.

“you didn’t just do something to my body.”

he says it like a secret. like a confession. like something he wasn’t supposed to let slip.

“you did something to me.”

but you’re already falling. your lashes flutter. your body goes limp. and the last thing you feel is the warmth of his chest, the press of his palm on your spine, and the faint, dizzy ache of your lips curling into a smile you don’t even remember making.

────୨ৎ──── 

you lie there for a second too long. eyes wide open, pulse ticking in your throat like a warning, the weight of his arm draped over your waist like a secret you’re not supposed to keep. the sun’s fully risen now, the light clearer, sharper. the room doesn’t feel like it did last night. it’s too quiet. too still. and your heart? too loud. the memory of his hands, his mouth, the way he whispered against your skin—it all presses into you at once, suffocating in its gentleness. this wasn’t supposed to happen. it was supposed to be work. a collab. content. but everything about the way he held you said otherwise.

you shift gently, slow enough not to wake him, slipping his arm off your waist and sitting up with a breath you don’t remember holding. your legs feel shaky. your body still aches in places he touched like you were something worth worshipping. and that’s the problem. you weren’t ready for that. not the way he looked at you. not the way he made it feel like more than just a shoot. your phone buzzes again on the nightstand and it’s like ice through your spine—because this is what you wanted, right? the money. the exposure. the success. not the way he kissed your forehead in the shower. not the way he whispered thank you like you gave him something he didn’t deserve.

you climb out of the bed, quiet and careful, your feet cold on the floor. his shirt is still draped over the chair. your lingerie—wrinkled and damp—folded on the dresser like he couldn’t bear to toss it aside. you ignore the lump rising in your throat as you pull your clothes on, smoothing them over your skin like armor. everything feels wrong. tight. too small. your hands are shaking when you reach for your bag. you don’t look back at him—not even once—because if you do, you’ll change your mind. and this? this was just business.

you slip out of the room like a shadow, easing the door shut behind you as if you were never there. the hallway is silent. the apartment too still. and every step you take toward the door feels heavier than the last. your phone buzzes again, and you swipe it up with trembling fingers, ignoring the unread message glowing at the top of your inbox. you don’t even let yourself breathe until you’re outside, the morning air hitting your face like clarity. like guilt. you blink up at the sky, trying to will the sting in your eyes away, whispering to yourself the only line that feels safe right now—“it’s just content. nothing more.”

and you hope that if you say it enough… you’ll believe it.

the ride home is silent. too silent. your driver doesn’t say a word, and neither do you—just sit back with your bag clutched tight to your chest, your body aching in a way that doesn’t feel physical. your thighs are still sore. your lips still tingling. your wrists marked faintly from the cuffs. but it’s not the pain that lingers—it’s the warmth. the look in jay’s eyes when he washed your face. the way he held you after. the way his heartbeat steadied yours. your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag. you don’t want to remember that. you don’t want to feel this way. so you focus on the window, on the blur of early morning light cutting through city streets. and you keep your breathing even. one scene doesn’t mean anything. not if you don’t let it.

you don’t even say thank you when the car stops. you just slip out onto the curb, into your apartment building, through your front door, and straight into your room like muscle memory. your roommate isn’t home. thank god. the silence hits you harder now. you toss your phone on the bed and fall right after it, face down in the sheets, letting the last twelve hours replay in flickers behind your eyes. his voice. his hands. his weight pressed so carefully against yours. your mouth trembles, but no sound comes out. your chest rises, then falls. and you stay like that for what feels like forever—until your phone dings again. and again. and again.

you flip it over, eyes bleary. new notifications flood your screen—tips, subscribers, messages—and they keep coming. you stare at them blankly, your thumb flicking through without reading until one catches your eye: 

@jakeoncam liked your video. @jakeoncam has followed you.

your heart stutters. your gaze sharpens. and then the messages from followers come into focus.

@yourbabygirl: you should collab with @jakeoncam 👀

 @whoreforjake: pls do something with @jakeoncam!

@ruinmeeee: @jakeoncam x @babydollxo WHEN??

you don’t even think. your thumb taps over to his profile automatically.

and there he is.

verified. 5.5M subscribers.

that same preview still pinned at the top.

you remember him now. you remember the way he moaned, the way his hips rolled in tight, fluid motions. how he whined, “i'm gonna cum....fuck, baby...” and you remember what it did to you.

your thumb hovers over the message button. your reflection stares back at you in the dark screen. and you type without thinking:

@babydollxo: hey. wanna collab?

natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ hoped you all enjoyed!!

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[kitasuno]

with you, i'm first | miya osamu x reader

in which miya osamu is used to coming second to his brother. but with you, he's always first.

wc: 1113 | gn!reader | fluff

Miya Osamu is used to coming second. 

It starts with Atsumu, like most things do. October is cold and gray and Atsumu comes first, a small body with a large presence that fills the warm hospital room. His cries are loud and he’s a little underweight, but with him comes the sun. 

Atsumu is born under a partly cloudy sky but the nurses swear he was shrouded in sunlight. 

Osamu comes twelve minutes later. His parents are crying and his Ma is close to passing out. If he thinks really hard he can almost feel her warmth, Atsumu’s sobs, and a mumble of prayers that October has safely brought Atsumu and then Osamu.

He asks Grandma one day what the weather was like when he was born. She says, with confidence, it was foggy.

Atsumu doesn’t get along with his classmates. He is too loud and too rash and lacks social cues, and Osamu is angry because Stupid ‘Tsumu cares too little: and he wants everyone to know Atsumu like he knows Atsumu.

They fight and they yell and they argue until Atsumu says, 

‘Samu, I don’t care about ‘em. Why do ya care so much? 

And Osamu throws him across the room. The argument ends there, he says sorry, and Osamu lies awake that night thinking about his brother. Atsumu is hotheaded. And an idiot. A loud snorer, too. But he turns on his side and curls into a ball because he knows it was sunny when Atsumu was born and all of a sudden he really wants to be his brother. 

Atsumu dyes his hair first: it’s a shitty box dye from the pharmacy down the street, and it looks terrible. It’s a little yellow and a little neon, and Osamu laughs until his sides hurt when Atsumu shows him. 

But Atsumu is proud, and he is confident, and he goes to school with a hundred watt smile and a group of girls trailing after him. 

Osamu goes to the pharmacy that night and buys a box of gray, cloudy dye. Atsumu helps him bleach his hair under their bathroom sink with the faulty tap and tells him he looks like the moon.

His Ma says that Atsu is hot and Samu is cold after the two have a particularly bad fight. Atsumu is gleeful and smug as he gloats that he was born to be hotter and warmer and better, and Osamu punches him. 

He remembers his Ma sitting on the porch, an arm around his shoulders as he pouts. 

“‘S not fair,” Osamu had said, his chin in his palm. “Why’d ya name Tsumu that?” 

His Ma had laughed, quietly, leaning her weight into his side. And she had held his cheeks between her palms and told him with a fire in her eyes that Osamu means To Rule. 

He meets you for the first time in February. 

You were standing in front of him, a little sheepish, with a box of chocolates in your extended palms. He remembers feeling something heavy in his chest. Because, yeah, Atsumu was definitely going to accept your confession. 

You had said, IReallyLikeYou, and Here’sSomeChocolates, and Please Accept Them. 

You were shorter than him, and your hair was done nicely, and you were blushing and nervous. And you were really fucking cute. But Osamu is used to coming second, so the only thing that comes out of his mouth is, Why? And then, Tsumu’s in tha next classroom ov���r. 

He doesn’t remember what happened next, only Atsumu’s laugh and the slap echoing through the halls. You leave with his cheeks stinging and hot. And Atsumu had teased him the next day, behind his mountain of chocolates and confessions, because Osamu’s face was still red twelve hours later. 

He sees you a lot the year after. 

You’re in the same class as him and ‘Tsumu, and you smile every time you see him. You sit two rows in front of him and you’re not very good at tying your uniform. Every lunch, Osamu watches you pull out the same gray bento with a wrapped onigiri on the side. He tells you one day that he really likes onigiri. And then, Osamu watches as every lunch, you pull out the same gray bento with two wrapped onigiris on the side. 

With you, it’s always Hi Osamu, first, and then, Hullo Atsumu. With you, it’s an onigiri dropped on his desk when the lunch bell rings. With you, Osamu thinks back to a conversation with his Ma on a porch. 

Osamu means To Rule.

The menu is this: Tuna mayo on Mondays and Thursdays, Ume on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. Friday is plain. You don’t ever bring onigiri for his brother. 

He asks you, on a hot night in June, what your favorite type of weather is. You had your knees tucked to your chest, a sparkler in hand, and then told him cloudy. Cold. Foggy. Winter. Snow is nice, too. You say it all with no hesitation. 

Osamu kisses you for the first time that night. 

It’s New Years and you’re cooking Ozoni on the stove. The curtains are open, it’s snowing outside, and Osamu wakes to the smell of miso and the sound of carrots on a chopping board. He gets out of bed, padding to the kitchen with half-lidded eyes and a stifled yawn, and then he thinks his heart stops when he sees you. 

Because what Miya Osamu is not used to is this: coming first and having something unequivocally his. 

But you’re bent over the counter, fiddling with the oven as you read the instructions on the back of the packaged Yakimochi you bought the other day. And you’re wearing his shirt, it falls right below your thighs, your hair is still messy from using his chest as a pillow, and you look beautiful. 

“Mornin’ ‘Samu, come help me with this.” You say, looking back at him with a smile, pointing to the fresh pot of rice on the counter. “You’re in charge of onigiri.”

He hugs you instead, his arms around your stomach with your back to him. 

“But I like yer onigiri,” He says, his chin on your head. His eyes are watering and it must be from the steam of your boiling dashi. 

“‘Samu,” You complain, giggling as he presses kisses into the crown of your head. “I made enough for ya in high school.” 

It’s cold outside and snowing, and Osamu knows he’s going to make the onigiri. 

He also knows that if his name means To Rule, he’s okay with coming second if it means you’re by his side.

[simplylov3ly]

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader

summary: oscar applies sunscreen on you, while taking advantage of the bug of massaging your boobs.

warnings: smut, dirty talk, soft language, flirting, sexual massage, nipple squeezing, boob and nipple sucking, consent given, couple.

words: 1.1k

You decided to force Oscar to leave the house to go to the beautiful beach that lay nearby. Although it had been cloudy in the morning, by midday it was incredibly sunny, and knowing that, they couldn't pass up the opportunity to soak up some sun for a while.

The beach was deserted, in fact, it seemed like it was just the two of you.

Oscar watched the sea, how the waves crashed against the shore and how the wind made its presence known. He has an idea in mind, but he doesn't know if you would accept it.

"Baby, i feel like doing something, but I don't think you're up for it." Oscar says, leaning on his elbows above the towel.

You looked at him, still putting aside the book you were reading.

"Why do you think i wouldn't accept? You always come up with great ideas" You said, sitting down while crossing your legs.

He stopped looking at you to look straight ahead and then lowered his head so you wouldn't see his blushing cheeks.

You laughed softly, cupping Oscar's face in your hands. You looked at him tenderly, then smiled with tight lips.

"Hey, don't hide from me. Besides, you look like a tomato." You pointed out, making him laugh a little.

"It's just that we're literally alone on this beach and maybe..." He hesitated to finish that sentence.

"Maybe...?" You encouraged him to continue.

"I don't know, i..." Oscar stutters a little. "Maybe you want me to put some sunscreen on you. I don't want your skin to get damaged by the sun's rays."

"Ow, Oscar! Of course i'd let you." You exclaimed with amusement and tenderness.

You rolled onto your stomach as you untied the knot on your bikini top, leaving your back bare so Oscar could apply the sunscreen.

On the other hand, Oscar knelt down beside you, placing a small kiss on the upper left side of your back, making you shudder a little.

He applied sunscreen to his hand, setting the container aside, and began applying the cream to his back.

You could feel the coolness of the liquid melting into your skin like a melted candy.

"Do you like the massage, your majesty?" Oscar asked with a mocking smile, seeing how relaxed you were under the touch of his hands and massage.

"You have magical hands, my love," You murmured, feeling the tickles on the sides of your body. He was brushing his fingertips along them. "And you're definitely good at tickling me."

"It's part of the job, baby," Oscar says.

After a few minutes, you rolled over so you were chest-up. Your bikini top was still covering your beautiful tits, so you decided to be a little dirty and take it off to expose them.

Oscar's mouth fell open, but his eyes shone with a pleasant glow. He closes his mouth and then licks his lips and smiles, fascinated by the best views before his eyes.

"Playing dirty, aren't you?" Oscar asked in a husky tone.

"I don't know what you're talking about." You pretended not to understand.

"Keep pretending you don't know anything, you'll end up asking me not to stop when i have my mouth on your breasts," Oscar murmured.

Your eyes widened, realizing this was the first time Oscar had ever warned you about something.

A faint blush rose on your cheeks, and you noticed out of the corner of your eye how Oscar smiled triumphantly, knowing his words had had an effect on you.

He put sunscreen back on his hand, leaving the container still on his side as before, and this time, he applied the cream to her stomach, causing certain small tickles that gave tremendous satisfaction.

"Stop shaking, i'm not doing anything to you yet," Oscar informed her in the dirtiest way possible.

He seemed to be making some kind of promise.

"Stop saying that," You said, looking up at the sky so you wouldn't see him.

"Why? Does it turn you on when i promise you things you don't know if i'll keep or not?" Oscar asked in a mocking tone; damn, it was the first time you'd seen him in that flirtatious mood.

"Oscar..." You murmured, causing thousands of sensations in him.

"What, huh? You like it when i talk to you like that?" Oscar whispers, making you a little horny.

Without thinking, he took his hands off your body, wiping himself with the towel to toss it to the side and get on top of you in a gentle but promising way.

"Oh god, Oscar," You sighed.

"Look at me, baby," he says in that honeyed voice.

You wanted to challenge him, to push his limits.

"And if i don't, what will you do to me?" You asked playfully.

"You don't want to know," Oscar replied, smirking.

Suddenly, Oscar's mouth captures one of your nipples, licking it in circles, causing you thousands of pleasurable sensations.

You let out several moans, arching your back as one of your hands squeezed Oscar's brown hair, causing him to let out a satisfying noise.

"Oscar, i've never seen you like this," you managed to say amidst the pleasure generated by the grip circulating on your nipple.

"Maybe because i didn't find the right moment or maybe because i wanted to show my other side" He says as he releases your nipple. Now he uses his hands to massage them and make you feel like you're in fucking heaven.

Because that's what Oscar Piastri was, a beautiful and fucked up paradise.

"Honestly, i think we can continue this at home, my love," You said between gasps.

"Oh no, baby. Don't believe that," Oscar whispers against your ear. "Because i plan to fuck you right here, right now."

Hello everyone! This is my first fic published here on Tumblr. It might be a little short for what you're reading, but i promise i put my all into it.

I hope you like it, and follow me to turn on notifications so you don't miss anything! ୨ৎ

[rinhaler]

𝐀𝐌 𝐈 (𝟐𝟓𝐅) 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 (𝟐𝟖𝐌)

i know it sounds bad but we got high and he's hot!!

✧˖*°࿐: 18+ only, no minors.    ✧. ┊ plug!ryomen sukuna x f!reader

Genre: porn with a plot Notes: thank u 2 @chososdoll for beta reading for me!! this is part of @ohkento's reddit-inspired collab! (ps this isnt a true form fic i just think he looks SEXY IN THAT PIC HNNNNGN) Warnings: 18+, dubcon, mean dom!sukuna, sub!reader, cheating, hate sex ♡, drug taking, weed smoking, blowbacks/shotgunning, heavy degradation, slight praise, fingering ♡, vaginal sex, sixty-nineing ♡, face sitting, squirting ♡, pussy spanking, noncon filming, coercion, manipulation, daddy!kink, creampie, cervix fucking. Words: 10.6k

“I’ve heard about you.” Yuuji starts, turning his head from looking up at the stars to facing you. Your mind feels cloudy, but you return his stare. He thinks your pearly smile belongs in the sky; a permanent constellation to remind him of this moment. “How come this is my first time meeting you?”

You sigh, reaching over as he hands a lit spliff to you. The bonfire rages in front of you both, the smoke burning your eyes until they fill with water.

At least you have the perfect cover if you burst into tears.

“Things got… hard.” you tell him, not really wanting to elaborate. But golden-brown puppy dog eyes will you to continue. It’s stupid, really, how cliché people become when they smoke. You’re no exception. The intoxication and the setting make you feel as though you’re in an indie movie, longing to share your scars and become closer to the one attractive boy giving you his attention. “My ex, he cheated on me. I was with him for two years so it hurt.” you confess, taking a thick drag before passing it back to him, he tuts as he takes it from you.

“I’m really sorry,” he expresses, holding eye contact while he smokes. The feeling rushes straight to his head and through his blood. He laughs a little as he gets comfortable in his seat. “Sorry… I’m not laughing at you.” he clarifies, laughing again.

You start to laugh too, leaning over to grab the spliff from his hand before he sets the back garden on fire with it. Both of your attention is pulled from each other as you hear a scream from inside. The party is still going on indoors, and the scream soon turns into a girly laugh.

No doubt one of your friends flirting with one of the other guys.

“It’s okay.” you assure him, getting just as comfortable in your own seat as you smoke the remainder of the joint. You wrap yourself in the blanket you brought outside and turn your body slightly to face him. “It was with my best friend, too.” you continue, your deepest wound not seeming so scarring as you allow the high to expose your secrets on your behalf.

“Shit.” he shakes his head.

“I’ve been doing therapy and stuff so I’m better. I just wasn’t in the mood to see people…” you explain, jolting upright a little as you realise you’re oversharing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get so deep and make you feel uncomfortable.” you tell him.

“I’m fine, I’m the one who asked.” he chuckles, getting comfier under his own blanket as he turns to look at you.

His warm eyes make you feel relaxed, safe. And you hate it. You hate how much of a cliché you really are becoming and you hate that you can’t help it. This moment feels so much bigger than anything, but deep down, you’re paranoid, because you’re sure it’s the drugs talking.

You’ve heard about Yuuji, too.

You’ve heard about how sweet he is and how he doesn’t have a bad bone in his body. He has a sports scholarship of some kind, and after a quick stalk of his socials you noted how reflected this is in the form of his chiseled body. Could he really be so nice? He seems, perfect.

And apparently he, gives the best head.

“I have a secret.” he tells you, quietly. His voice almost drowned out by the crackling bonfire beside you. You aren’t sure what makes you heat up so quickly. The implication of his words or the way he said them. A lustful look in his eyes as the fire dances wildly beside you both.

“Yeah?” you tell him, cheeks fill with warmth as you try to ignore how fucking hot it is in pursuit of looking cool. And that makes you giggle, for some reason. Yuuji isn’t the one making you flush with heat, it’s the fire, idiot. “T-Tell me.” you encourage him, throwing off your blanket and fanning yourself dramatically.

So much for looking cool.

He grins, almost coyly, as he leans across the arm of his chair. And for some reason, you instinctively mirror him. Is it so secret that you need to be close? He might whisper it to you.

He tilts his head, smirking. His eyes flit from your eyes to your lips a few times. Enough times that you make a note of it. And your heart is fucking racing with each flicker of his gaze. You think you know what’s coming. But you stay still, watching him, waiting for him to make the first move.

“… I really wanna kiss you.” he admits. And if you weren’t hot before, you certainly are now. You try, and likely fail, to keep it cool. A wide grin spreads across your face and you burst into giggles. But your eyes meet his again, and you see a smile just as wide as yours on his face as he observes you.

“Yeah?” you ask, dumbly.

“Yeah.” he nods.

You gulp, shallowly, leaning in closer to him and letting your eyes fall closed. He smirks, again, leaning in until your lips meet. It’s sweet and passionate, until he pulls away. It surprises you a little. Worries you, even. Are you a bad kisser? Maybe you are when you’re high. But worry turns to astonishment as he pulls your chair closer to until the arms of both of your seats touch. He smirks, again, wrapping his arm around your neck as he leans in to kiss you.

And now, you really do hate yourself.

You moan into it.

You aren’t even sure where it came from. Was that really you? He grins, nonetheless, a feeling of pride swelling in his chest as his tongue meets yours in a more than welcome manner. You pull away, a string of spit connecting you both. A kiss infused daze covers your features as you look at him under heavy eyelids, and you pant, deeply.

“I have another secret.” he whispers, stealing another sweet kiss from your raw lips. Gloss smeared over your lip line and a dewiness transferred to his.

“Is it as good as the first?” you tease, giggling as his hand cups your face. You mewl, melting into his touch as his thumb strokes your cheek delicately. Your eyes widen. A look of curiosity replaces the majority of the lust, though you both know it’s still lurking.

“Well,” he starts, his eyes begin to wander. You observe him as his vision roams from the sky to the flames beside you. He takes his time, the anticipation of his words runs rampant through your bloodstream. Until, finally, he blesses you with his gaze once more. “I want to stay with you until the sun comes up. I want you to sit on my lap, with my cock inside you, under our blankets. All night.”

You’d hoped once he told you that your anxiety would have diminished. Though you’re sure with the way his eyes are fixated on your lips, your heart is surely surveying an escape route from your slack-jawed mouth as it pumps hard and violently through you. He doesn’t seem worried that you haven’t said a word, and his gaze doesn’t falter.

“Okay.” you nod.

It excites you. You haven’t been with anyone since your ex. And it might be a bad idea, but it doesn’t stop you. It’s not like you’re rushing into being with someone. It’s been months since things ended with your cheating ex-boyfriend. You stand up, bringing your blanket as you stand over Yuuji, and he holds your hips gently.

He feels under your skirt, smiling when he feels how soaked your panties are but he doesn’t comment. He moves them into the crease of your thigh and encourages you to straddle him.

You do.

Hovering slightly as he pulls down his joggers and his semi springs free. It’s big and pretty, like him. You kiss him as he jerks himself until he’s aching. He’s desperate to bury it inside of your gummy walls, his cock catches against your eager hole with every purposeful stroke.

He throws his head back as you sink down on him, and your hips stutter slightly from the stretch. You’re trying to focus on concealing your bodies with the fuzzy blanket wrapped around you, but your lips fly to his in a bid to silence yourself as he sheaths himself fully.

“Fuck, you’re tight… so wet, too.” he mumbles, hips rolling ever so slightly as he enjoys the feeling of being inside of you raw.

You jolt, panicked, as you hear a knock from the kitchen window. Both of your attention is stolen to see the origin, and you spot a group of partygoers hollering from inside. Two of his friends and one of yours, they all cheer and whoop as they can only assume what’s going on under the blanket.

Yuuji smiles, shaking his head before turning back to capture your lips in another soft kiss. You’re too distracted to notice him flip them off until they disappear.

“Do I remember the night the most perfect woman in the world let me hit her raw after a few minutes of talking under the stars? Yes, baby, I remember the best night of my life, why?” Yuuji asks after you recall that first night you met. “Very cool of you, by the way. I didn’t think you were gonna say yes.”

You giggle, punching his arm softly as you curl into his side in bed. And you sigh, dreamily, thinking about it again. It’s been over a year since that night and you feel just as hazy around him as you did then. You were worried about him thinking of you as a one night stand. Worried that you’d just given in to this stranger for no real reason only to get your feelings hurt again.

But as the sun began to rise and wake you both up in that horrendously uncomfortable chair, he kissed your forehead and held you tightly against his chest. He stroked your hair until you managed to blink the blurriness from your eyes and see his in a new light. The crackle of the orange and white flames had gone from them. Instead, they were honeyed and soft. The kindest eyes you’d ever seen.

“The McDonald’s breakfast in the carpark was better than the sex in the garden, by the way.” you tease him, earning a tickle attack into your sides.

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s why you were begging me to fuck you in the backseat afterwards.” he laughs, stopping his assault as you begin to scream. You cuddle into him again, his fingers tracing over the flesh of your upper arm. “It was good though, really good. Should we order hash browns?”

“Yes.” you nod, excitedly.

He sits up and reaches over to his bedside cabinet to grab his phone. He sighs as he checks his notifications. You sigh, too, watching him as he gets out of your warm bed in search of his clothes.

So much for hash browns.

“Yuuji…” you start.

“Don’t start, please, I don’t wanna leave in a bad mood.” he tells you. He smirks when he realises you’re checking out his abs, only focusing on him again as he pulls his t-shirt over his head. “I don’t want to rush moving in just because you feel sorry for me.”

“I’m not rushing you, and I don’t feel sorry for you!” you tell him, shuffling onto your knees and crawling across the bed until you’re kneeling beside the edge of the mattress. “I hate your brother. He’s a creep and he treats you like shit. I have plenty of room here… you can move in here and have your own space and—”

“I know he’s a dick.” he agrees, pulling on his socks and slipping his feet into his sneakers. “But he’s my only family. I’m not just gonna ditch him. Why don’t you move in with me?” he wonders.

“Um… I live in a townhouse instead of an apartment and it’s better, it’s in a better neighbourhood and your brother isn’t here.” you smile, smugly, and it earns a chuckle from him.

“Okay, you’re right about that. Speaking of which though I can’t stay tonight but you can come over if you want. I’ll order those hash browns for you tomorrow when I’m on my to the gym. I’m booked with PT sessions my entire shift.”

“I’m not waking up at 6am to eat hash browns alone, Yuuji.” you roll your eyes.

“You can text me when you wake up and I’ll order them for you. Pleeeeease?” he flutters his eyelashes dramatically before kissing your forehead. “Good girl.”

“I didn’t say yes?” you respond, flabbergasted. “Is Sukuna gonna be there?”

“Well, yeah. He lives there.” Yuuji tells you, earning an eye roll from you. He is in complete agreement on how much his older brother sucks. He understands why you hate him. He’s irritating, he’s crass and seems to have no concept of personal space or privacy. Yuuji doesn’t care for his brother in the least, and he has no doubt the feeling is mutual. There is love there, of course, but only out of necessity. “You don’t seem to mind him when the family discount applies for weed, though. Interesting.” he says with faux suspicion.

“Okay, that is literally the only thing he’s good for.” you remind him. He laughs, agreeing.

He kisses your lips chastely, hurrying to grab his backpack to hurry home to his expectant brother. The only two reasons he ever leaves you in haste are for work, or for Sukuna. Today was meant to be a day you could spend together since you both have the day off.

But of course, Sukuna ruins everything.

YUUJI: FORGOT TO ASK YUUJI: ARE WE SMOKING TONIGHT? YOU: DUH! YUUJI: BETTER BE NICE TO SUKUNA FOR THAT FAMILY DISCOUNT THEN 😉

You stand outside of your boyfriends apartment complex, shivering, waiting for somebody to answer the door. He ordered a taxi for you since he knows you always worry about your car getting broken into when you visit, his own car suffering numerous break-ins in the span of your relationship.

And really, you don’t want somebody to answer the door. You want it to be Yuuji, specifically, the thought of Sukuna answering the door and tormenting you until you get to the safety of Yuuji’s room is entirely too much to handle. Your nerves are already shredded by being here, the thought of having a battle of words with Sukuna will surely tip you over the edge.

“Oh, hey, I didn’t think you’d get here so quickly.” you hear a voice from behind you. You turn around to see Yuuji. Fuck. You see the hallway light flicker on from under the crack of the front door to his apartment and you realise too late that a demon has been summoned. “I went and got cookie ingredients, I thought we could bake some before we smoke later.”

“Sounds fun.” you smile, his sweet idea assuages the tension you feel, albeit briefly, before his elder brother swings open the front door. Yuuji pulls his lips into a thin line when you can barely contain the scoff that scratches through your throat. Sukuna rolls his eyes, moving aside to let you both in. He peaks inside the bag Yuuji is holding before his little brother smacks his hand away. “Do not touch or I will kill you.” Yuuji warns him, carrying the ingredients to the kitchen before putting them away.

You decide to help, hoping it will go quicker if you pitch in and you can escape his brother’s intimidating stare faster. Sukuna approaches, leaning over a counter as he watches you both.

“Nice of you to grace us with your presence, princess. It’s been a while.” Sukuna taunts, but you ignore him. He clacks his fingernails against the countertop, and the sound is jarring. He smirks when you shoot him a pointedly aggravated stare, giving him reason to do it more. “What do we owe the pleasure?”

You sigh, nostrils flaring as you put two bars of chocolate in the fridge.

“We’re just hanging out, gonna bake these cookies and smoke.” Yuuji answers for you. So you smile, falsely, and rest your back against the wall once you’re done. “Oh, speaking of which… family discount?”

“I’m busy now.” Sukuna looks at you and then back at his brother. “Ask me later.” he expresses, red eyes fixed on you for a moment before he turns to leave.

It’s like you can finally breathe again when you hear him go to his room and close the door. You kick yourself away from the wall and into Yuuji’s open arms. He smooths his heavy hand over your hair, hoping you’ll relax a little. He spends some time figuring out what you can do to pass some time, knowing you’ll need a distraction.

“Let’s just bake the cookies.” you speak, words muffled as you talk into his shirt. You pull away as he looks down at you so that you can speak to him clearly. “I just wanna stay in your room all night…”

“Sure, baby, whatever you want.” he nods. “Okay, lets get all of the ingredients out again.”

He takes his time trying to remember where everything is. You, on the other hand, are rushing to gather them all. Sukuna has a way of making your anxiety spike. He’s too… commandeering. He has a way of forcing everyone’s attention to remain solely on him whether you try to ignore him or not.

You’re intimidated by him, he’s more muscular than your boyfriend and he’s a drug dealer for fuck sake.

It brings shame to you when Yuuji has to snap his fingers to get you out of your trance as you think about his brother. You start cutting up the chocolate bars while he puts ingredients in the stand mixer.

And your mind wanders, again. It’s not like you’re scared of Sukuna. Well, you are, terrified would be more apt. But you know he wouldn’t do anything to you. He’d risk losing Yuuji. And as much as they don’t really get along, they’re extremely co-dependent. Especially Sukuna. He likes the presence of his little sibling and has a slight superiority complex due to being older.

The reality is, you think Sukuna would be lost without Yuuji. Lonely, even. And having Yuuji’s steady income is a nice sense of security for him. He makes plenty of money being a dealer, of course, but he knows it’s a fools game. It’s not reliable and it’s risky.

You put the chocolate chunks into the mixer and watch him as he masterfully fills the ingredients into the bowl. Your thoughts calm for a moment as you can do nought but watch the whisk whir.

“You know I wanna move in with you eventually, right?” Yuuji tells you, and it fully breaks you from your train of thought. You look at him, staying silent so that he can feel free to continue speaking. He leans against the counter as the ingredients continue to mix. “I wanna live with you… marry you… all that.”

His talk of marriage makes your cheeks fill with heat, though you’ve gotten better at playing things cool since your first encounter. You just smile, and nod, as you drink in the delicious information.

“I’m just worried about him.” he tilts his head, indicating he is referring to his elder brother. You nod in understanding, though you don’t have much sympathy for your future brother-in-law. The thought sends a shiver down your spine. “We aren’t like you, we don’t have a big family. It’s just us.”

“Well my family isn’t that—” you stop yourself, looking into Yuuji’s disappointed eyes. It’s foolish to pretend you aren’t blessed with an adoring family. You’re your parents only child, though. You can’t imagine what it’s like to have a sibling. And, of course, you’re spoilt rotten. The reality is that if you didn’t come from privilege, you and Yuuji could have been neighbours. But your parents weren’t about to let you live in a dangerous neighbourhood when they can easily afford to subsidise you. “It must be tough, baby. I know you feel guilty for wanting to leave him.” you rub your hand up and down his arm as a show of comfort.

“Yeah…”

“But…” you start, his eyes locking with yours again. “He’s a grown man, Yuuji. You’ve lived the same life and look at you now… You’re nothing like him.”

You’re right. He knows you are, that’s why you’re standing in silence until the timer goes off and he checks the ingredient bowl. It’s sticky. He scoops a little on his finger and dots it on your nose. The kitchen fills with laughter as you try to retaliate. He’s too fast for you, though.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry…” he tells you as the situation calms. He licks the chocolatey dough from your nose and presses a gentle kiss onto the tip. And dammit you can’t help but smile.

You begin rolling the dough into balls on a tray. The silence has dissipated, but your thoughts still run rampant. Should Sukuna really be Yuuji’s responsibility? No, of course not. But Yuuji won’t see it that way. He’s sensitive and caring. God, he cares so much.

It makes you dizzy as you watch him smile and walk with the cookies to the oven. They smell so great already, you could have eaten them raw. But they’ll be even better when they’re baked to perfection.

You’ve made these cookies so many times now. The pair of you have process committed to memory. They’re so good. Especially with a tall glass of milk. You always tease Yuuji when you do this since he’s always left with a milk moustache after devouring his plate of cookies.

The sound of the timer rings through the kitchen again. You clap excitedly as Yuuji covers his hands with some oven mitts. The chocolatey smell hits you both like a train, the pair of you moaning involuntarily as you inhale it. He brings them over to the countertop, setting them down to cool.

Sukuna smells it, too. He loves it when you bake cookies because he knows neither of you will deny him one. He’s been smoking and playing video games since he retreated to his room. He’s thoroughly stoned and would very much enjoy a sweet treat right about now. He pauses his game, and the sound of his door opening and closing brings back all of the tension to your body.

“Here.” Sukuna speaks as he enters the kitchen. He tosses a baggie onto the counter and looks at his brother expectantly. Yuuji nods, reaching into his pocket for his wallet so he can pay him. Sukuna’s eyes are fixed on you in the meantime. And as you go to grab the weed, he places his hand over it and pulls it back towards himself.

“Thanks, man.” Yuuji smiles, handing the cash to his brother who pockets it without even checking it’s right. Though Sukuna’s stare doesn’t waver, you find yourself looking down at his hand covering the weed and then turning away completely. He internally beams with pride at that, thrilled to know it’s still so easy to intimidate you. But on the outside it’s simply portrayed as a slight curve of the corner of his mouth. “Is something wrong?” Yuuji wonders.

“Yeah, actually,” Sukuna speaks, finding your eyes again before he looks into Yuuji’s. “I want a cookie, call it family tax.”

“Take two.” you tell him, sternly, a new ferocity in your eyes he hasn’t seen before. You walk over to them and place two cookies on a little plate for him. You go to hand it to him, but as he reaches out to grab them you place them down on the counter. “Let them cool.” you smile, sarcastically.

“Aren’t you sweet.” Sukuna snarls, teeth bared as he slides the plate towards himself. “Sweet enough for your turn. Pay up, you know what I want.” he chuckles. He turns his head and taps his finger against his cheek.

“C’mon, dude…” Yuuji tries to interject. You know Yuuji is furious, deep down. But he won’t call him out on it. Last time he did he wouldn’t give either of you any weed for two weeks. It wouldn’t be a problem if you knew anyone else you could buy from. And the shit Sukuna gets is good. Yuuji has given up on trying to be a dominating presence when it comes to living with his brother. Sukuna is always one step ahead and Yuuji can’t quite keep up.

You go to him, reluctantly, and plant a soft kiss to his cheek. It makes your skin crawl. He makes your skin crawl. And despite your sense of urgency to flee the scene, you can’t. His hand grabs your wrist, and Yuuji is ready to spring to action. Sukuna’s face is unbearably close to yours. His red eyes piercing your own as he does all he can to make you feel small and pathetic.

“That’s a good girl.” he sneers, placing the baggie on the top of your hand after releasing your wrist. He chuckles, darkly, as he walks away with his plate of cookies, taking a bite out of one before he disappears. He kicks his bedroom door shut behind himself, the sound of laughter and guns shooting loudly from his TV are the only thing either of you can hear.

“I’ll bring the cookies and clean up.” Yuuji sighs as he ventures to the sink. “Go and get comfy and pick a movie.”

You don’t say anything, leaving your boyfriend to tidy up in silence. You’re seething with rage. This isn’t right. He does this every single time you’re here and you buy a deal from him. And Yuuji just lets him. You know you neither of you have much choice if you want the access and ability to smoke. But it’s getting to you, badly.

Around fifteen minutes pass after you left the kitchen. You’ve since gotten into your sweatpants and comfortable vest. Shorts would have been preferable, since there’s still an uncomfortable sizzle to the November air, but you’ve learnt your lesson about what you wear when you visit the Itadori household. You’ve had Sukuna leer at your thighs more times than you can count. And it’s never subtle, his eyes lingering for a moment too long to have it potentially be an accident. It’s always so lecherous and purposeful.

You decide to watch Clueless, again. You’re sure Yuuji will be defeated when he sees your choice, he’s lost count of how many times you’ve watched it recently. It’s been a comfort movie to you, for some reason, since Halloween.

“Hey.” Yuuji smiles as he enters the room, somehow managing to carry two glasses of milk and two plates of cookies. “What are we watching?” he asks, looking at the TV. You rush to grab a plate and a glass from his hands to ease his load, putting them on your bedside cabinet as he does the same with his own.

“Clueless.” you smile, happily. “Her step-brother has been hitting really different for me, lately.”

He closes his eyes and stifles a sigh. You can see a laugh desperate to break free as his mouth shakes through a smile. But to his credit, he manages to compose himself, eyes opening again once the reality has set in. Clueless. Again!

“Sounds great baby.”

It’s been a week since you last got to spent time with Yuuji. Your work schedules have been clashing, it feels like a lifetime since you got to spend any time together.

You enjoyed your hash browns in bed after he ordered them for you when you stayed over at his place. Though he ended up ordering Sukuna breakfast, too, leading to uncomfortable extended time with him that you prefer to avoid at all costs. He tried to make conversation with you, he often does, but you took it upon yourself to go back to bed with your hash browns. You tried to enjoy them. You tried to relax. But it’s near impossible when you’re under the same roof as someone you loathe. You watched a Youtube video on your phone while you ate, and then quickly got ready and booked a taxi home.

You’d hoped next time you got to see your boyfriend it would be at your house and away from Sukuna. But, alas, that was not the case. You received a text from him at 10am asking you to come over ASAP.

YOU: is something wrong??

YUUJI: no

YUUJI: just stressed

YUUJI: pls can u come? I’m working tomorrow so I cant stay over ☹️

YOU: okay ☹️ omw 💖

You’ve never had a text like this from him before, and it scared you. Something was telling you that he was downplaying how he was feeling. It took you barely any time to get ready. Forgoing makeup and making an effort in favour of rushing to your boyfriend’s side. Maybe something had happened at work.

Maybe he cheated on you.

He could be dying!

“Shut up…” you whisper to yourself as you pack your toothbrush into its travel case and throw it into your overnight bag. You pick up your car keys, not wanting to waste time waiting for a taxi.

You throw your bag on the passenger seat and speedily drive off. Your anxiety and the adrenaline was getting to you, you knew you’d have to calm down or you’d end up getting into an accident. As you focused on getting to your destination in one piece, you took several deep, slow breaths.

You’re safe.

You park up your car and lock it up. With your bag in tow, you rush to your boyfriend’s apartment. Your left foot taps impatiently after you knock on the door.

No answer.

You knock a little louder.

No answer.

And then you find yourself knocking louder, repeatedly, while you wait for your boyfriend to answer the door. He knew you were coming. He said it was urgent. So why are you waiting here, freezing, for him to answer the door? You’re filled with relief when you see his figure obscuring the light trickling through the cracks of the door. Your teeth chatter, and you begin stepping from foot to foot in a bid to warm through.

But your blood runs cold as the wrong Itadori opens the door.

“Heh. What do you want?” he asks, a cocky grin permeating his features.

“Move.” you demand, barging past him with your bag so that you can hurry to Yuuji’s side. Maybe something is wrong. He could be sick and resting in bed.

“He’s not here.” Sukuna informs you, halting you in your tracks. You turn to face him, a scowl that could kill adorning your face. Did he do something to him? All fear you’ve ever felt from him dies as you approach him, setting down your bag so that you can hit or punch or scratch him if needs be. “Relax.” he tells you.

“Where is he?”

“At work. I thought you had your entire relationship on a Google calendar, you didn’t know?” he laughs, angling his body so that he can bypass you in the skinny hallway. You huff a little, picking up your bag again so that you can follow him.

“But he asked me to come over, he said it was urgent.” you explain, though he doesn’t stop walking. You hurry after him, grabbing his arm until he stops. And he does, his eyes slowly dart down to where your hand holds onto his bicep until you awkwardly let go. “S-Sorry. I’m just confused. Why would he text me if he’s not even here?”

“Sweetheart, I’m not his PA. I don’t fucking know.” he turns away from you again, opening his bedroom door. You huff, again, utterly defeated as you try and decide what to do. You look towards his bedroom door and then to the entrance. You suppose you could go home until he finishes work. Or you could go to the gym he works at and find out what’s happening. You head towards the front door, thinking you’ll decide once you start driving. Sukuna hasn’t fully retreated into his room yet, leaning against his door frame as he calls out to you. “I’m making a bucket, want one?”

Your eyebrows knot as you turn to face him, another involuntary scoff turning to laughter as you look at him in disbelief. He’s got some nerve. You don’t even want to respond, opting to carry on your journey towards the entrance before you look at him again.

“Are you out of your fucking mind? I don’t want to smoke with you.” you roll your eyes.

“Awe, why not, princess? I won’t even add any tax.” he smirks, already heading towards the kitchen as if you’ve given him the answer he clearly wants to hear. And you hate him with your whole heart, because fuck, if you aren’t intrigued. It’s been a while since you’ve had a gravity bong. “Excellent choice, good girl.” he winks as he sees you out of the corner of his eye, as he grabs an empty one litre water bottle from beneath the sink.

You don’t say anything, leaning over the island counter as he prepares the bong for you both. It’s embarrassing, after some time, that you find yourself having to avert your gaze as realise you’ve been staring at his defined back muscles. He’d decided to forgo any form of clothing to cover his torso, only wearing a low riding pair of grey sweatpants, though they’re a darker grey than yours.

It isn’t much better as he whistles, tilting his head for you to join him by the sink. You’d close your eyes if it didn’t make you look like a complete freak, only to hide them from his flexing abs and his juicy pecs. The tattoos aren’t helping, either. It only serves as a reminder that you’re hopelessly trying not to ogle your boyfriends, older, larger, and scarier brother. He’s behaving interestingly, though. He’s never been like this before. He’s dismissive and almost uninterested in you.

“C’mere.” he orders you, dragging you closer to him as he lights the weed in the bowl. You gulp, a little intimidated. Gravity bongs are something you don’t partake in often, you can’t even remember the last time you did one. He moves his finger from the hole he’d poked into the bottle and the water begins to drain from it. Smoke fills the bottle in it’s wake, and when empty, he screws the lid off for you. “Quickly.”

You begin to inhale everything. Not caring how fucked up you feel in the least. You show no signs of stopping, and it impresses him. Your fingers hook around the kitchen counter as you finish, knowing when your bones feel like jelly that you’ve had too much.

“Atta girl,” he comments before repeating the process for himself. He pays you no mind as you wander towards the corner counter space, lifting yourself up like you’re the queen of the kitchen taking her throne.

He continues to ignore your presence as he smokes, inhaling and entirely draining the smoke that had filled the bottle. He tosses it into the sink, walking by you to grab a bag of ice from the freezer, filling two glasses to the brim with the frozen cubes. He fills them with water, sliding one to you.

“Drink.” he commands, and you do, not realising how thirsty you’d become. Your throat burning and eyes flooded with red veins. You drink the water and immediately need to refill. He shows you a kindness, though, handing you his glass to drink before filling your own again. “You’re a real lightweight, huh?”

“Oh shut up. I’m just gonna go.” you tell him, jumping down from the counter and going to collect your bag again.

“You can’t, you’re high.” he reminds you, and in your stoned state the sentence makes you burst into laughter. “You’ll end up crashing your car. Fool.” he gives you another glass of water, refilling his own for a second time before turning to leave the kitchen.

“Great, so I’m stuck here with you and nothing to do?” you pout, opening the fridge to see if there’s anything to eat. “Why did we not make cookies?” you mumble to yourself.

“I have snacks in my room.” Sukuna looks over his shoulder at you, like a snake offering an apple in the garden of Eden. You’re tempted. God, you’re tempted. What else are you going to do until Yuuji gets home? He grins, widely, as he hears your feet follow after him as he walks into his bedroom.

You’ve never been in here before. It’s quite tidy, all things considered. It’s very tidy, actually. You’d expected it to be some dimly lit shit hole. It smells nice, save for the weed, the windows are open wide and the sheets smell fresh as you sit on his bed.

He throws a sleeve of Oreos at you and you turn into a giddy child. The two of you kick off your shoes, not caring for where they land as you both get comfortable on his bed. You’re above the duvet, sitting adjacent to him but angled away with your legs crossed. He gets under the covers, though, picking up his Xbox controller as he mindlessly plays GTA V.

You spend far too much time licking the cream of your first Oreo, utterly entranced by the characters, the plot and the violence of the game he’s playing. He doesn’t seem to mind when you ask him a million questions about it, either. He’s more amused that you’re so clueless.

“Here,” he tosses the controller at you. “Go for a drive, it’s fun when you’re stoned.” he tells you.

You’ve played video games before, you aren’t a total idiot. Though he had expected you to ask for more help when he gave you the controller. He thinks it’s cute that you try to obey the speed limits and stop at every red light.

He reaches into his bedside cabinet, pulling out a joint. It’s ignited quickly, his eyes squinting as he inhales and watches the screen to make sure you’re not getting him into trouble on his game.

“You’re not bad when you’re high.” you tell him, passing the controller back to him. He takes it from you, saving his progress before reaching out to smoke again. He sits upright, and you barely react when he pulls you away from where you were sitting until you're facing him. “U-Um…”

He’s giving you a look. That look. The look Yuuji gave you when he told you he had a secret. God, they could be fucking twins if Sukuna wasn’t covered in tattoos, it’s scary. But he doesn’t say he has a secret; he doesn’t say a word. He simply watches you with a pondering stare, but an aim behind his eyes nonetheless.

Your own eyes shift when you see him bring the spliff from his ashtray to his lips. The cherry end of it igniting holds your focus before your eyes are on his again, enraptured by the moment and what he’s thinking. He sucks the smoke deep down into his lungs, and you can’t help but watch the way his chest moves from his heavy breath.

You gasp, softly, as he snatches your stare once again. His thumb and forefinger grasp your chin and tug downwards until your jaw is lowered. His face is barely a centimetre from yours, you know he’s going to kiss you. But why are you about to let him? His lips ghost yours, and you’re taken aback as you feel a plume of smoke invade your mouth. He’s impressed when you breathe it in, though, but smirks wildly as you begin to cough it up.

“You taste like cookies and cream.” he whispers into your ear, the sensation of his words rushes straight to your heat. But your sense comes back, pushing him away from you as you look sternly into his eyes.

“I didn’t say you could do that.” you remind him, preparing to move back to where you were sitting prior. But he stops you, easily, pushing your body down until your head is in his lap but over the duvet cover. “Sukuna…” you sigh, your head and your limbs feel too heavy to move on their own anymore.

“Mm?”

“I’m wi- I’m with Yuuji… I’m with your brother.” you remind him, you move your head a little so that you can look up at him. He doesn’t look at you, though, still focused on his game. You can hear dialogue again, and guns, you’re not as exciting in comparison to that, you suppose.

“I know.” he speaks, his jawline bulging as he swallows and clenches his teeth slightly. “Don’t tell me you thought I was gonna kiss you. Silly girl.” he speaks, still not bothering to grant you with the eye contact you’re so desperately craving for some reason.

But your body betrays you as a whimper escapes from your throat. And that does get his attention. His game pauses, and he looks down at you. But you hide your face, scrunching your eyes shut so he can’t read your expression. But your shy little display tells him all he needs to know.

“Oh? You minx,” he torments you further, and you want to scream. You can’t hide your face anymore, your cheeks becoming too warm and your entire body sizzling with heat. You’re panting, uncomfortably as you try and cool down. “You wanted me to kiss you. You’re with Yuuji, remember?”

“I didn’t! I- I- would never. I love Yuuji, I’m in love with him! I’d never kiss you. Yuck.” you fib, if you weren’t high, you know you’d never be in this predicament. You know you’d never have agreed to hang out with him. But really, it’s a lie. You weren’t high when he asked if you wanted to do buckets. He intrigued you, and you’re a fool, because you fell for it. Hook, line and sinker.

“Hm…” he hums, his spliff resting between his lips as his eyes linger on your cleavage before roaming down your body to your sweatpants. He places the blunt back in the ashtray, his eyes setting their sights on your hands. He moves one with ease above your head, though you instinctively pull it back. But it’s too late, the other one joins, a singular hand of his pin both of your wrists down above your head. You wriggle against him, but you don’t pose a challenge in the least.

“S-Sukuna?” you question as his fingers breach the waistline of your sweatpants. A sadistic smirk sprawls across his face as he realises in your haste to be here you’d not bothered putting on panties. You mewl, desperately, as his fingers find your petalled flesh. He doesn’t do much, simply feeling your slick and teasing your folds as he examines your facial expressions.

“You didn’t want me to kiss you?” he asks again. He drags two fingers up your slippery slit until he finds your clit, rubbing targeted circles around it slowly. The tension makes your hips buck, but his face is stern as he watches you keen for him. “Then why is this cunt soaked?”

His words almost bring you to tears, and he can tell. The way they fill with water so rapidly and your face becomes sweaty. You’re ashamed. You’re embarrassed. He’s humiliating you, but you’re too turned on to tell him to stop. You don’t want him to stop.

“I hate you!” you tell him, and there is certainly venom behind it. Because you mean it, you really fucking mean it. He’s the absolute worst. You’re so in love with Yuuji, but he’s ruined everything, now. You should have known this would happen. He’s been flirting and teasing and bothering you throughout your entire relationship with Yuuji. But you never thought it would come to this, ever. Especially after what you’ve been through, you’d never want to inflict that same agonising betrayal onto Yuuji.

“I know. You think I’m so beneath you, yeah?” he grins, and your mouth falls open in surprise, though his circling touch doesn’t stop. “I’m a drug dealer, I’m a bastard, I’m a piece of shit. But, sweetheart, me ‘n Yuuji didn’t grow up with daddy’s bank account like you. But look at you, princess. You hate me and you’re still letting me play with your sloppy cunt.”

“Fuck you.”

“You can, I know you want that. You’re drenched. My fuckin’ fingers are pruning.” he laughs, you want nothing more than to cover your face in shame, but you can’t while Sukuna’s heavy hand trap your wrists. “Awe, you’re cute when you’re embarrassed. Much cuter than when you’re trying to be tough f’me.” his rubbing halts, though the sense of abandonment is short lived as he plunges two thick fingers into you tight hole, his thumb rubbing circles into your clit again.

“O-Oh, fuck, hnng—” you groan, eyes meeting his as he pleasures you. And he drinks in the sight. Your tongue lolled from your mouth as you accommodate his touch, the pads of his fingers batter your g-spot again and again until your back arches. “Sukuna, s-stop, we can’t.” you warn him.

He smirks, ignoring you, opting to do the opposite. He increases the pace in which his fingers torment you, his cock leaks when he sees a few tears spill from your eyes. He’s that good, huh? Maybe his little brother isn’t as talented.

“You’re fucking tight. You’re gonna cum, aren’tcha?” he taunts you, you attempt to clamp your thighs around his hand, but it only spurs him on more. His fingers sink deeper. Your mind and rationale become lost to him. “You’re gonna cum for a bastard like me? Your boyfriends brother, too. Gonna cum in your pants like a virgin just for me? Pathetic little girl.”

“Oh FUCK, GOD!” you cry out, thighs trembling around his hand as you orgasm. Your chest heaves, and he doesn’t fail to notice how your nipples have began to poke through your vest. “C-Christ, okay, lets just forget—”

“I’m not done with you.” he speaks, it cuts through you as he lets your hands go. You massage them quickly, before he pushes his full weight on top of you as you lie flat against the mattress atop the sheets. He holds your jaw, roughly, and kisses you.

He humps his clothed, hard cock against your soaked sweatpants, your slick dampening them with each roll of his hips. He breathes heavily as you kiss. An exchange of saliva and clashing teeth as you moan and break away before licking at each other’s tongues again and again.

You shudder when you feel him put his hands down your pants again, collecting the dewiness at the apex of your thighs before forcing it onto your tongue. And you suck, gratefully, replacing the loss of his lips with his monstrously thick fingers. You can hardly believe he fingered you so easily.

Your lips wrap around his digits beautifully. He moans as he watches your little hands in comparison to his own hold it in place so you can bob your head up and down the length, your tongue licks and laves until there isn’t a trace of your dewiness left.

So he kisses you, again, tongues tangling as he dry fucks his cock into your clothed core. His hands roam and pinch and squeeze every inch of your body that he can grab. He yanks your sweatpants down, tossing them aside with little care to where they might land. And he surprises you, again, when he manoeuvres you seamlessly so that you’re straddling him.

He thinks it’s cute as you look around, unsure of how you got into this position. But he brings you back to him when he humps up into you so that you fall forwards. You kiss him again, but he breaks it to speak.

“Let me taste you, baby. Sit on my face.” he tells you. You’re nervous, but you move yourself so that you’re hovering above him. He pushes a finger into your hole and you throw your head back in satisfaction. “I said sit. I wanna know what a slutty princess cunt tastes like, so fucking sit.” he orders, his arms hooking around your thighs and forcing you down until you smother him with your heat.

“FUCK,” you moan, loudly, as his nose nudges against your throbbing clit. You aren’t sure what to do with so much freedom to move. The way he slurps and feasts on your dripping flesh sends wave after wave of embarrassment through you. And he’s loud he’s so fucking noisy as he moans into your heat and drinks every drop that your heavenly cunt has to offer. “J-Jesus… ah—!” you yelp, feeling his palm come down hard to strike your behind.

You begin to roll your hips, rubbing your pussy up and down over his face and stimulating your clit with his nose. He reaches under your vest, tweaking your nipple as you hump his face. He spanks you again, quickly, as you stop moving. You’re too gone, completely lost in the moment as you use him for your pleasure. You’d never have expected this from him.

He relinquishes your nipple to free his cock from it’s material prison. You heard the sticky sound of it ring through the room as he jerks himself off. His moaning becomes louder. The divine taste of your cunt and the ability to stroke himself goes straight to his head. You’re gone, you’re fucking gone. But he’s right behind you. The way you’re smothering him makes him lightheaded, but he’s not letting you go until he’s ready.

You see the pink silhouette of his cock as you look over your shoulder, but you’re desperate to get a better view. He groans, so loudly that you think he might have came, as you tug on his pink hair. Using it to your advantage as you ride his face into your next toe-curling orgasm. And at that, you do collapse. Practically singing his name as you cum in his mouth, only when you’ve reached your high does he let up on you.

He admires the view of your tits as you back up to look down at him, throwing your vest over your head as carelessly as he’s discarded your pants. His face is shimmering with your juices, and you feel another searing tidal wave of embarrassment as the reality sets in that you’ve done this to him. And you’re still cheating on your boyfriend. But you’re past the point of no return, you think. Yuuji is barely on your mind, all of your attention is on his brother, now.

And he’s still not through with you yet.

“Do you need some cock?” he asks.

“Y-Yes.” you nod, pathetically.

“Look at it, then. Look at my cock and beg for it.” he tells you.

You adjust your position so that you’re hovering above his face again but facing his cock perfectly. It’s beautiful, you think. More defined than Yuuji’s but around the same size and width. His cockhead is more prominent and the veins are unmissable. You’d have begged without even being asked if you’d gotten the chance to see it earlier.

“Go on,” he starts. You feel his hands between your shoulder blades and he pushes you down roughly. “Beg for my cock, whore.”

“Please, please Sukuna. I need you to fuck me.” you start, completely reduced to tears as you look at it as your mouth waters. You hold him with both hands, and you’re still unable to hold the entire length of it. “Wanna cum on you. W-Want you to b-bruise my cervix. Need to feel you inside, please, please please.” you’re practically sobbing as you continue.

“Kiss it.” he demands. “Worship my cock, and I’ll decide if your slutty cunt is worthy.” he tells you. Your eyes widen, but you kiss his tip without question. It’s so sweet and affectionate despite how sordid and lewd it is. But you can’t help it. It’s worthy of worship. You’re sure it’ll hurt, but you’ll take it. You don’t mind in the least.

You lick your tongue across his slit, poking your tongue into it slightly and relishing in how he hisses from the sensation. He buries his face in your cunt again, moaning into your soaking folds as you please him.

His length is freed from one of your hands, making the decision to cup his balls as your kiss down his shaft towards his pubis. His head is thrown back as you make contact with his balls, the grunt he releases is ethereal, you’d never have known such beautiful sounds could from him.

You scream, slightly, as he spanks your ass. It encourages you to take him down your throat and ignore your gag reflex and you bob and suck and run your tongue along each vein it can detect. He can barely focus on eating you out, too bewildered with your near pornographic performance.

“Such a good little cocksucker. No wonder Yuuji likes you.” he spanks you again. “Think he’d still like you if I told him I’ve been balls deep down your throat, slut? I’m not so sure. But I like you, a lot more now.”

“S-Shut up.” you tell him, defiantly. You silence him as you lower your pussy to his lips again, distracting him momentarily with your sweet taste.

You feel his cock flexing in your hand, like he’s ready to blow his load right down your willing throat. Even though you don’t want him to cum like this, you wouldn’t mind. You’ll swallow every last drop for him.

He stops you, though, shoving you away from him so that he doesn’t cum prematurely.

“Hands and knees, now.” he speaks coldly. He admires your face quickly before you get into the position he wants you in. It’s glistening with sweat, tears, spit, and his precum. “Good fucking girl.” he spanks you as you arch your back and wait patiently for him. Your legs spread apart and your cunt pulses in anticipation for him to slot himself inside.

He doesn’t though, not right away. Instead, he leans over to his beside table and pulls his phone off charge. He kneels behind you as he pulls up the camera app and swiping to video mode. His sweatpants are shoved down his thighs and rest at his knees. He takes a few photos of your glittering, pulsating cunt, spreading it open as his fingers dig into one of your ass cheeks.

“Pretty fuckin’ princess pussy…” he moans, and you mirror him, following it with a giggle. You feel a sense of pride at his praise, arching your back deeper. “Ohhh there she is, good girl, good little slut.”

He drags his cockhead through your shimmering folds, gasping each time it catches against your hole.

“P-Please fuck me, daddy, n-eed it.” you whine, earning another hard slap against your ass. He’s happy, of course. He didn’t expect you to be such a slut, he’d never have expected you to utter such a filthy title for him of all people. He’s certainly never heard you refer to Yuuji as daddy whenever he hears you fucking through the thin walls.

“You’ve got good manners, for a whore.” he speaks, your hole flutters with each word, but he sees how hard you clench as he degrades you. A new understanding of what your body likes. He’d only been doing it for his benefit, but now, he knows you like it too. “Do you like being a whore for daddy, hm?”

“Y-Yes,” you pant, “Love bein’ a whore for you, daddy…”

“Cute. I’ll give you my cock, then.” he pushes the tip in before pulling out completely again, chuckling at how whiny you are from the loss. “But you know, princess, good whores like to be cummed in. You’ll let me, won’t you?”

“Please… please cum inside. W-Want you to fill me up!” you tell him, and it’s enough. It’s more than enough to have him bullying his cock into your desperate cunt. You moan, boisterously from the stretch. You’re sure their neighbours won’t be happy if they’re home, the whole complex probably heard you. But you don’t care, and neither does he.

He’s glad that you said he could cum inside.

It’s not like you had a choice, though.

“Do you still want me to bruise your cervix?” he asks, angling the phone in his hand to capture how fucking deep he is inside of you. Your ass pressed flush against him as you swallow his cock hungrily. You nod, dumbly, yelping again when you feel a stinging slap against your cushioned ass. “Words.”

“Want you to br-uuise my c-cervix, daddy.” you wince.

“You’re such a good fuck toy, aren’t you?” he laughs.

He begins to pound into you, his brute strength and weight behind every aggressive pummel of his hips. It hurts, God, it fucking hurts as his tip nudges against your cervix. But you don’t care, you’re sure you will when you’re sober and your logical train of thought returns.

But now, in this moment, you truly are Sukuna’s fuck toy.

And it feels fucking sublime.

He captures on film the way that you moan and gasp and plead for something you aren’t even aware of. The way your hands grip into his pristine white sheets. But is favourite part is watching how your pussy stretches open as you swallow his coke can cock. And the way your ass ripples with each pulverizing thrust into you.

“F-Fuck,” he moans, “You’re fucking suffocating me.” he speaks, barely able to contain himself as he feels heady with lust. He doesn’t stop, though, he doesn’t care if you cum anymore. He’ll finger you again to finish you off if needs be, but for now, he needs to be selfish. Thoughts of filling you up and flooding your unprotected womb make him feral.

“Sukuna! S-Stop!” you warn him.

“Huh?” he responds, showing no intention of stopping or slowing as he rams his cock into you repeatedly. The only thing on his mind is finishing, he couldn’t care less about your change of heart or guilty conscience.

“F-Feels funny, I- I can’t! Hnnng—!” you finish, cunt squirting and gushing like a fountain all over him. “Oh my god…” you pant, burying your face in the pillows as you hide your shame from him.

“Holy fuck,” he responds, thrilled that he’d captured the moment on film. You show no signs of stopping either. You squirt as much as a backed-up teenager getting his first handjob. He spanks your pussy and rubs his hand all over it, making a complete mess of the two of you and the sheets below. “Dirty little squirter, hah? Fuck, you’re like a pornstar.” he tells you, chuckling again.

You don’t dare show your face, but you mewl into the pillows as you ride out the rest of your high as he shoves his cock back into you.

“Do it again, on my cock.” he demands.

“C-Can’t, can’t cum anymore.” you tell him, utterly spent and defeated as you allow him to use your body for his own benefit.

“Brat. You’ll cum on daddy’s cock and be grateful that I’ve been so good to you.” he explains. And true to his word, he manages to build it up in you again, somehow, as he continuously batters his length into your g-spot until your vision turns white.

He’s not doing much better, either, still enraptured by the sight of your dripping wet pussy and soiled sheets. It’s something he needs to see again, a sight he will treasure ‘til the day he fucking dies.

“Cum, slut. Make a fucking mess.” he speaks through gritted teeth.

“Mmmnf, hah, aaaah—!” you moan, granting his wish. The sight helps him topple over into his own bliss. His cum flooding your ruined walls, he fucks it further into you, but pulls out eventually to see his sperm dripping from your filthy cunt.

“Are you embarrassed, brat? You sprayed yourself again.” he snickers, spreading your pussy open with two fingers to see the mixture of his cum and your release spill from your twitching hole. “Has Yuuji ever made you do that? No… I’m sure he doesn’t know you’re this much of a dirty whore. But I do, I know now.”

The mere mention of the man you’ve betrayed has you bursting into tears. The sex was mind-blowing, yes, but at what cost? You’ve been begging him to move in. Hell, he was talking about marrying you. But you can’t have that with him, now, not after this.

You sobered up a little after a shower, making sure to keep the door locked as you washed yourself of your indiscretion. You even waited in there until you dried off to get changed, not wanting to risk Sukuna seeing you naked again. The damage is done, of course, but you at least want to be able to proudly say it was a mistake that will never happen again.

Maybe Yuuji will forgive you.

There’s no way you can keep it from him. Not after what you went through. It’ll break his heart, of course it will. But you can’t hide it, it’ll just get worse over time when it eventually comes out, because it will. Whether you tell him or Sukuna does through a weed induced stupor, the truth will come out.

You’ve been checking the time on your phone repeatedly to see if Yuuji has finished work yet. Eager and filled with fear and anxiety so that you can tell him, honestly, what happened. He’s going to hate you. There’s no way he won’t hate you after this. But you owe it to him and you owe it to yourself to be truthful.

You tense up as you hear a knock at the door. Yuuji wouldn’t knock, so you know who it is.

“Go away.” you warn him, but it doesn’t deter him.

“Aw, don’t talk to daddy like that.” he smiles, a shit eating grin that you want to smash against concrete.

“You’ve ruined my life, get out of here.” you tell him, crossing your legs as you check the time on your phone again. You sigh, throwing it further down the bed so that it’s out of reach. You’d missed how he shrugged his shoulders with a laugh as he turned to leave. But you stop him. “Don’t tell Yuuji, please. I want to be the one to tell him.”

“Tell him… what?”

You look at him, bewildered, unable to process if he’s being serious or not.

“That we fucked.” you remind him, deciding you aren’t about to spend all day trying to decipher his tone. “I need to be the one to tell him, so don’t say anything.”

“Oh, tell him that?” he questions, laughing again as he realises he knows something you don’t know.

“It’s not fucking funny, Sukuna!”

“Yeah, it is, you’re a little slow on the uptake.” he laughs some more, sitting on the edge of the bed. His ruby red eyes piercing into yours intimidatingly despite the smile on his face. “You don’t need to tell Yuuji anything.”

“Yeah, I d—”

“Yuuji knows.” he laughs, louder, almost bursting into hysterics as he sees the astonished look on your face.

“W-What?” you sigh, looking around the room in horror.

“Yeah… I mean, c’mon.” he smirks. “Why else would he text you to come over, when he wasn’t even home?”

© 2023 rinitxshi

[invincibledc]

ᝰ.ᐟ𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐁𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍?

────୨ৎ────

𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐍 (𝐎𝐂) 𝐗 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐈𝐒!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

── .✦ Summary: obsessed clown boy versus girl boss who walks him like a dog? Wait, is that the female Robin?

── .✦ Genre: crack fic(?) idk but I wrote this

── .✦ Info: this OC is an OC I’m written for my own amusement. He’s the son of Harley Quinn and joker. Full name, Jacklyn Oswald Quinn. Jack and reader are in their mid teens, 15-17. Jack is considered canonically handsome. Reader is the twin sister of Damian Wayne.

── .✦ Word count: 1,039

Being a duo, especially another Robin with your twin brother. You were patrolling Gotham in the east, sighing as you looked over the busy streets. It’s boring, but this is what you do now for a living since your mother dropped you and Damian here to meet your father.

Leaning back with a sigh, your vision was soon taken over by gloved hands. “Guess who~,” a deep raspy voice said into your ear.

Shivers ran down your spine, you pulled the hands from you, twisting the arms of the person and forcing them onto their back.

Eyes narrowed, you see the boy joker. Son of Joker and Harley Quinn. “Jack.” “Birdy~” he purrs as he pulls his arms forward. You couldn’t help but yelp, leaning forward. You were soon on the ground as well of the roof of this building.

“Isn’t it nice to just, relax with me puddin'?” Jack says gently, wrapping his arms around your waist. You stared at the boy who gave you soft puppy eyes. You.. hated him. Is what you repeat in your head despite your fingers combing through his dyed hair.

Jack knew you couldn’t resist him, and he couldn’t be with you. “Is the big bat patrolling, or did you come out to see me, sweetheart.” You hum, facing the night sky that has cloudy skies.

“The whole gang is patrolling. And if they see me cuddling up with the son of the most crazed man ever. This might not end well.” You pull your hands from his hair, Jack has already relaxed against you. He frowned at the absence of your fingers through his hair.

“Well, fuck 'em. Keep spoiling me with all your attention birdy.” Couldn’t help but laugh, you rolled your eyes as you moved from Jack. Sitting up til you fully stand.

“I love to entertain you clown boy, but I got things to do.” You said lastly before jumping off the roof. Jack grins, looking over the roof to not see you anymore.

“Damn, she’s good.”

✦

It was another night, you were defeating some goons. A tall goon came behind you, grabbing you in their big arms. Grumbling, you gritted your teeth. “Got you, you little bitch!” The male exclaims as if his favorite football team won.

But as you go to release your arms, a king card hits the goon’s left arm. The card was sharp, apparently so sharp as the male’s arm started to bleed.

“Agh!” The goon lets you go, just to try and take the card out. But you didn’t give him as much chance as you did a spinning roundhouse kick to his face. The man was then knocked out, you picked up the card that had impaled the male’s arm.

“I think that belongs to me, babe.” Feeling arms wrapped around your waist. His heavy hands gripped your hips. You jolted, turning to face Jack who had a soft grin. “You could’ve at least told me you were fighting bad guys. Then I would’ve protected what’s mine.”

Your face felt heated up as he gave your hips another squeeze. “Get off me you clown!” flaying your arms around, Jack had gotten elbowed by you. But he didn't care, he loved it.

You could have easily stabbed him, pinned him down, hurt him, or maybe even arrested him.

But you haven't.

And he loves it.

“Calm down puddin`, let me take care of you.” effortlessly, he lifts over your shoulder. Eyes widen, shocked, you look at Jack’s back, and at the knocked-out man.

“Wait! I need to tie that guy up, so Officer Gordon can get him.” pointing to the slight bleeding man. Jack sighed annoyed, his eyes relaxed and narrowed. There's one thing he hated about you, which is your empathy. He loves it, but damn was it annoying.

“Why should we, he’s just gonna try and mug someone again.” soon Jack felt a smack at his head.

“Do it now.” your voice lowered with authority. “Yes ma’am,” Jack said lastly, complying to you. He never denies his girl, if there’s one thing his mom taught him, was to always give your hardest to get what you want. And it's you.

✦

Jason and Damian hate the boy joker, mostly Jason. Jason wants to strangle Jack. Jack could try and hide, taking off his painted face and looking normally like an average boy. His blonde hair and blue eyes stared into yours as you looked completely over him.

The ‘normal’ looking boy had equipped a rose, smiling as Jason was behind you. Glaring at Jack like a protective and angry older brother.

“Get lost kid,” Jason says pointing out more. “And If I see you close to the manor, I'm shooting you.” “Jason?!” you blurted shocked at how Jason said that. Jack rolled his eyes, “whatever old man.” Jason raised a brow. “Old man?” Jack gave you the rose simply, walking off as he waved at you.

Jason slammed the door, taking the rose from you. “Of course, you get a villain’s son to fall in love with you. I can't believe this.” you chased after Jason as he ripped the flower up. “You are Bruce’s kid.” the tanned male with scars all over his body said lastly.

Scoffing, you kicked the back of his knees, having him fall onto his face. “Shut the hell up, don't try and say that shit to my face when you’re single and miserable.” you walked past his fallen body before he got up and grabbed your ankle. Leading you to scream. “AHH!! Let go!!” you screamed for the whole manor to hear.

Damian came rushing down with a katana, “Sister! I'm here, what's the problem?” “Jason’s the problem!” you exclaimed, trying to pull your leg from Jason’s tight grip. “This little shit is dating the Joker’s son!” he shouted.

“No I'm not!” you shouted at Jason with a shocked expression, your heart racing, you turned towards your twin brother who dropped his katana in shock. His jaw was wide open before he grabbed his sword and walked past you and Jason.

“Where are you doing?” you questioned Damian who went to the front door.

“I'm out to get the head of a clown.”

“DAMIAN NO!”

[osamucide]

WHAT THEIR LOVE FEELS LIKE . . .

. . . ft. BSD men

⊹ ATSUSHI NAKAJIMA . . . freshly steamed rice, sherpa blankets, the moon in the sky during the day, well-loved dirt paths, comfortable sweatpants, clean kitchens, perfectly made lemonade, finding a dollar in your pocket, gentle cat paws, scratching a lover's back.

⊹ OSAMU DAZAI . . . used books with vigilant annotations in them, jazz music, charm bracelets, quiet and steady streams, lined leather journals, light rain, flickering flourescent light, cracking the spine of a new novel, knowing looks, linking pinkies while walking, caramel drizzle.

⊹ CHUUYA NAKAHARA . . . boozy chocolate-covered cherries, leather car interior, red sangria, gold jewelry, peeled clementines, extinguished matches, the peaceful room next door to a party, counting a lover's freckles, cupping your hands around a flame, divine geometry.

⊹ AKUTAGAWA RYUUNOSUKE . . . star anise, black lace, fig jam, perfect puddles of rainwater, vanilla ice cream, soft distant thunder, silver jewelry, blackberry-stained lips and fingertips, tracing sweet words into a lover's palm, the moment of silence and peace when you pass beneath a bridge while it rains.

⊹ RANPO EDOGAWA . . . shortbread cookies, wool socks, poppies, stray eyelashes, strawberry jam, argyle and pastels, candied fruit, chess matches, foil-wrapped chocolates with sweet sayings inside, when a dog at a party likes you best, collections of old keys, shooting stars.

⊹ DOPPO KUNIKIDA . . . peonies, perfectly pulled shots of espresso, letters with broken wax seals, comfortable routines, toffee and brown sugar, freshly ironed clothes, finding something that's been lost, completed to-do lists, cats sleeping atop stacks of books.

⊹ YUKICHI FUKUZAWA . . . photo albums hidden in plain sight, flickering candles, the breeze on a cloudy beach, stars on a clear night, perfectly steeped tea, crackling fireplaces, a safety net, clean sheets and pillowcases, crisp mountain air, packing a lover's lunch in the morning.

⊹ SAKUNOSUKE ODA . . . steam from a bath, soft and implacable floral scents, typewriter font, concentric tree circles, fallen bird feathers, uplifting newspaper headlines, children's laughter, protective hugs from behind, stratus clouds like blankets over the sky, dreams that make you want to sleep longer.

⊹ ANGO SAKAGUCHI . . . brown italian leather, vintage cameras, subtle gemstone details, warm french bread, fancy bookmarks, polaroids in your wallet, tying a lover's shoes, laughing at everything when you've drank a bit too much, dried rosemary and blood orange and pomegranate.

⊹ FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY . . . frost-covered cranberries, string music, coffee table books on classical art, accidental halos of light, perfectly toasted marshmallows, the crunch of fresh snow beneath your boot, coconut and dark chocolate, a stray cat trusting you to pet it.

⊹ NIKOLAI GOGOL . . . pistachio ice cream, mourning doves on a wire, strands of pearls, opalescence, sitting side by side at a piano, salt water taffy, blowing a perfect bubble with your gum, the television flickering as you sleep, cradling a lover's face, banana pudding trifle.

⊹ SIGMA . . . fresh linen smell, rose gardens, pressed flowers, sleek dress shoes, swan necks in the shape of a heart, satin and silk, bouquets in translucent cellophane, sleeves wide enough to fit someone else's arms in, lace folding fans, white chocolate truffles.

[baeshijima]

mr reca fic where he’s suffering a creative slump due to the lack of good scripts (by his standards) from various screenwriters. he feels himself going positively insane with every script he’s given.

it’s too dull. it’s too predictable. this one has no creative flair whatsoever!! that one just doesn’t spark enough imagination!!!

it’s troublesome, really. some think he’s really going through it, while others believe the scripts he’s been given won’t bring him enough money. but really, who cares about monetary value when it is he who cannot even begin to picture himself enjoying the process that comes with each script?

and so that is how he finds himself wandering around aimlessly. sometimes the outdoors is necessary for the mind, and who knows? perhaps he really will find something that will give him a spark. hmm, those trees are looking a little dull. the sky overhead is too cloudy. hm? did he just hear thunder—

something collides into his chest, a choked “oof!” following soon after. he stumbles backwards a little, papers flying through the air around him. he blinks once, twice, at the sight of you on the ground, muttering something under your breath before a sharp gasp escapes you, hastily scrambling to gather the papers fluttering and strewn around.

one such paper falls into his hands. he glances over its contents, skimming through it as he goes to pass it over to you with an apology at the tip of his tongue, only to freeze.

this… this is genius! this is absolutely the pinnacle of writing!! while a little rough around the edges (as drafts usually tend to be), his once clouded mind is now clear, giving way to a blank canvas which slowly depicts the imagery your writing induces. idea after idea pours into his brain as he can visualise exactly what he wants, his body trembling and heart pounding as he insantly fixates on your panicked form still collecting all the fallen papers.

“yes… yes! this is what i was looking for! everything about this is pure artistry! the possibilities are endless, the sky is the limit!!”

this is possibly the happiest and freest he has felt in what seems like eons! seriously, compared to those other mind-numbing scripts this truly is the pinnacle of writing itself.

a laugh full of pure, unadulterated glee escapes him, careful not to crinkle the god-sent paper cradled in his palms. “you! you’re a genius!”

“i’m a wha…?”

he whirls in the direction of the source of the voice, further praises and a proposal for a collaboration on the tip of his tongue, only for his breath to catch in his throat.

you… you’re so radiant! even with that disheveled appearance and absolutely adorable confused expression you’re giving him, he never realised such beauty existed! not only does your writing fill him with endless creativity, but his pounding heart, parched throat and warming skin tells him you’re definitely the main character!

but wait! if you were to be the main character, then would that make him the main character’s love interest? surely he wouldn’t have had such a cliché meet-cute like bumping into each other if he wasn’t the love interest! but what if there is a second love interest? no, no, he can oust them…

you, on the other hand, believe you’re about to get whiplash instead of the man, baffled at how he instantly switched from a maniac to stark silence to muttering senselessly with a dreamy expression.

well, each to their own. you have more pressing matters, and that’s to quickly return home and continue fantasising before you forget the idea! but first, you have to get the last piece of paper back…

“um… sir? can i have my paper back, please?”

in an instant, he kneels in front of you. now that you’re at eye level, he certainly is very handsome. if you didn’t know any better, you would have thought this was some movie or drama plot with him as the main lead! oh, but why is he holding your hands—

“yes, i will spend the rest of my life with you.”

“…what?”

tldr; you’re just a silly writer who daydreams far too much for their own good, and somehow managed to bag top-tier director mr reca with the power of said daydreams. (his ever-growing obsession with you is concerning to say the least but, hey! what genius isn’t at least a little insane?)

[giannaln4]

GIANNA'S KINKTOBER '24 SEASON

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Kinktober day thirdteen.

Ass or Tits? (1.4k words)

summary: Who would’ve thought? Lando Norris is a tits guy.

warnings: NSFW, +18, smut, MDNI, unprotected sex.

You wouldn’t say it was a known fact that Lando was an ass guy, but some people knew this about him for some reason. That’s also what you thought when you first started dating, or the first few times you had sex, he would always pay special attention to your ass. 

That was until one hot summer day you were wearing a dress that left very little to the imagination, resting so low on your cleavage that it nearly showed everything you had. You didn’t think it was doing your boobs a favour, but you had to admit they looked great, and your boyfriend agreed.

Since you came out of your room that morning wearing that dress, you caught him slightly eying your chest, which led him to be way more interested in your boobs, not only for the rest of the day, but any time he had a chance; nothing too obvious, but you could tell he was constantly thinking about it. You didn’t want to acknowledge it, wanting to save him from embarrassment, but you decided to tease him one day, “Hey, my eyes are up here.”

His eyes widened and his face turned red right away “I wasn’t looking." He said, shaking his head and making you laugh.

But you now knew how much he loved them, since it became a common occurrence that any time you had sex, his hands would constantly land there. Now, instead of grabbing and squeezing your ass, he would give all his attention to your boobs; staring when they bounced on top of him, playing with one as the other one had a mouth wrapped around it; it was anything, really, so from that moment you decided to take it further, not in an evident way but just enough for him to notice. 

It started with tank tops when it was too hot outside, and you would purposefully lean over in front of him or cross your arms to show a little more. At first he didn’t know what you were doing; he was honestly enjoying the view, but as soon as the weather started to change and you were still wearing low-cut shirts and dresses, he started to get suspicious.

He kept it to himself though, not wanting to make an accusation like that until he was completely sure. Until one day his suspicions were confirmed when, while you were cuddling in his hotel room, you pulled him closer to you, making him rest closer to where your chest was.

He smirked and finally said, “I know what you’re doing." He sat up and turned to look at you with accusatory eyes.

“What do you mean?” You replied innocently, shrugging your shoulders and looking at him expectantly.

“You don’t know what I’m talking about?” He asked in a lower voice, weirdly making you get a little excited.

You shook your head and kept your innocent gaze, but you knew exactly where this was going.

“Why don’t you tell me how cold it’s outside?" Lando pulled you up and guided your body to his lap, hands caressing your thighs once you were comfortably sitting on him. “Mhm?” He hummed when he got no response.

You looked out of the window and were met with a cloudy sky. The sun was long gone, and the dark day threatened with rain instead. “It looks warm to me.” 

“Really? Cause I think it’s too cold for you to be wearing these tiny dresses, and yet here you  are." His hands were running up and down your body, squeezing your sides every now and then. “Wanna tell me why?”

“I’m not cold,” you responded, not giving in. His smirk grew bigger at the game you were playing. It was only a matter of time until he caught up to your intentions. Usually, you would be wearing many layers at the smallest hint of a cold day, which hasn’t been the case since your little discovery.

He looked down at your breasts and quickly looked back at you. “So these have nothing to do with your outfit choices?” You shook your head once again, this time biting your lip as you waited for him to do something.

“Why? Are you getting distracted?” 

“Do you want me to? Is that what you have been trying to do all this time?” He questioned, his hands travelling closer and closer to your heat. “Is this what you want?”

You let out a shaky breath, grabbing a handful of his shirt. He repeated the question, and this time, you were quick to nod, growing a little desperate.

“Turn around,” he demanded. You happily complied, quickly getting up from his lap and collapsing back on it, with your back now pressing against his strong chest, giving him full access to your boobs. “Poor baby, putting up with the cold weather just to show off your boobs.”

He was whispering next to your ear, his hands now finding your desperate breasts. He slowly started to take off your dress, your hot skin making him hard by the second. You allowed him to undress you and slightly started to move your hips, creating a little friction, but he made you stop.

“Not so fast." He was taking his time, kissing your shoulder while one of his hands played with your boobs and the other with your clothed clit. At this point, you were a whimpering mess, but God, you needed more, so when Lando finally lifted you up a little to pull down his own pants and underwear, you let out an excited but desperate moan.

He didn’t even bother to get rid of your panties, just moving them to the side enough to slide his cock into you. You both let out a loud moan, not even considering keeping it down so the people next to your room wouldn’t hear you.

You quickly set the perfect pace; you were sinking into him while he grabbed both of your boobs, slightly squeezing them as his fingers played with your nipples from time to time, and you loved it. “Is this what you wanted?” He asked, his voice low and raspy from the pleasure he was feeling, and you frantically nodded.

One of your hands was holding onto his forearm for dear life as your other one travelled down your body to rub soft circles on your clit; you knew you wouldn’t last long, suddenly feeling hyperaware of where his hands were resting.

You tried to chase your orgasm by increasing the pace, but your legs were getting so tired that you were struggling. He noticed this, so he decided to help you; his hips stated thrusting up in you to meet you half way as his hands used his hold on your boobs to guide your movements, the added pressure making you moan.

“I didn’t know your boobs enjoyed the attention this much, my love. Do you like it when I hold you like this?” He asked, biting your shoulder. You nodded in response, your moans becoming louder the closer you got. “Come on, sweetheart. I know you are close.”

Your bouncing became sloppier as you felt your orgasm coming, walls squeezing him with every snap of your skin. “I’m- so close.” You mumbled, making him thrust into you harder.

It only took a flicker of your nipple to push you over the edge, your body shaking in pleasure against him as he chased his own orgasm. Both your hands were now holding onto him as your head fell on his shoulder, feeling his cock hit your g-spot over and over again; it felt like too much.

After a few more thrusts, you could feel the hot liquid spill inside your pussy, his head falling back in pure ecstasy as his movements came to a stop.

Lando collapsed back on the bed, pulling you with him so you relaxed against his chest. Both of you stayed there trying to catch your breath, his now softening cock still buried in you as his hands carresed your naked torso.

“Who would’ve thought? Lando Norris is a tits guy.” You whispered after a few minutes of silence.

He couldn’t contain his laugh, your words making him go back to get a hold of your boobs again. “Can’t help it, baby. Have you seen these?” He said as he gave them a squeeze, your lips setting into a subtle smirk. “Now, why don’t you ride me so I can get a full view of your pretty tits? Mhm?”

↺ back to navigation — Kinktober masterlist

[uncuredturkeybacon]

𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚝 || 𝚗𝚒𝚔𝚊 𝚖ü𝚑𝚕 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which nika grows fond of two people that become more

the seattle sky was it’s usual cloudy gray when you zipped up ellie’s jacket and handed her the basketball game ticket she’s been clutching since last night.

“this is gonna be the best day ever,” she said, vibrating with excitement. “d’you think i’m gonna get to meet anyone?”

you smiled, brushing a loose curl on her head, “i don’t know, baby. guess we just gotta wait and see.”

but she was already ten steps ahead of you, babbling about the players she idolized. especially one. “and nika mühl is, like, so cool. i watched her highlights when she was in uconn and she was insane. mama did you know they call her the secretary of defense? i wanna be just like her!”

you didn’t know much about basketball, but ellie’s passion pulled you in. you were more of a coffee-and-books type than a court side-screaming type, but today wasn’t about you. it was about showing up for Ellie.

and maybe… giving yourself a break from everything else around you.

the stadium buzzed with energy. ellie’s tiny hand was clutched in yours, her eyes were everywhere, scanning the court, the crowd, the big screens. you were just trying to figure out where your seats were when she tugged on your arm hard enough to make you stumble.

“mama! that’s her! that’s her!”

she pointed. there she was. nika was warming up, hair pulled into the perfect ponytail, swaying as she crossed the court with practiced rhythm, laughing at something one of her teammates said.

you looked—and okay, yes. she was striking. intense but playful. focused but free.

you couldn’t explain the flutter in your chest, so you ignored it.

“pretty cool, huh?” you said to ellie.

“i’m gonna meet her,” she declared, as if it was already a fact.

you laughed, brushing her bangs away. “dream big, baby.”

the seattle storm won. ellie was over the moon and you were proud of yourself for surviving a game without even checking your phone once.

afterward, you lingered by the barriers near the tunnel, ellie hopeful. you weren’t expecting much—there were dozens of fans doing the same—but sometimes luck is on your side.

or fate.

nika walked up last. a towel slung around her neck, sneakers squeaking a bit as she jogged toward the crowd. she took a few selfies, signed a couple of basketballs then as she stated to walk passed all the fans, she saw a little girl clutching the bars that separated the two of them.

“hey there,” she crouched to where ellie stood, voice warm and lightly accented. “did you enjoy the game?”

ellie froze. “i—yes—i mean—it was the best. you’re my favorite player ever.”

you watched your daughter as she beamed like the sun and something soft unraveled in your chest.

“she’s been watching all your college highlights since i told her about taking her to a game,” you said, offering a smile. 

nika looked up at you. really looked. like the kind of look you didn’t realize you’d miss until it was happening. “that’s some serious dedication.”

“don’t get her started,” you said with a light laugh. “shell challenge you to a on-on-one.”

nika looked back at ellie, giving her a wink. “name a time and place.”

you exchanged names and a quick photo. you figured that was it. but as you turned to leave, nika’s voice called after you.

“hey.”

you turned.

“theres something about you,” she started. “if you ever come to another game, i hope i get to see you again.”

you nodded, caught off guard. “we’ll see.”

you did go to another game. and more after that. it became a routine. you and ellie cheering from the stands and then a brief chat with nika afterward. small things at first—compliments, playful teasing, casual warmth.

she started remembering things. asking how ellie’s science fair went. mentioning the book you said you were reading.

you started to notice things too. how she really listened. the way she made ellie feel important, not just as another fan, but as a person. and how, when she looked at you, it felt… different.

not rushed. not transactional. just present.

still, you told yourself that it was nothing. she was a rising star. you were a single mom with a million things on your plate. what could this even lead to?

but your heart had already started to wonder.

after night and another win, you were both waiting by the tunnel as usual. she signed autographs and took pictures like usual. coming up to where you stood, she gave you both a hug, surprising you with her statement.

“i’m grabbing food after this. you two hungry?”

you blinked. “are you asking us out?”

nika raised an eyebrow, one side of her mouth twitching up. “technically, i asked if you’re hungry.”

ellie whispered loudly, “say yes, mama.”

that’s all it took for you to give in.

the three of you squeeze into a booth at a little diner near the arena. nika let ellie ramble about anything and everything. from dinosaurs to basketball. you watched her from across the table—her laugh, the way she corrected ellie’s pronunciation, how she glanced at you when she thought you weren’t looking. 

it was late by the time you left finished your meal. ellie managed to fall asleep in your arms during dinner as you wait for the waiter to come back with nika’s card. you stood up with ellie still asleep in your arms, having some trouble carrying her comfortably. little things like this keep reminding you how fast ellie is growing, but she will always be your little baby.

“i can carry her,” nika offered, already holding her arms out.

“no, no. it’s okay. you already paid for dinner.”

“i don’t mind,” she says, taking ellie out of your arms. 

she stirs, but still asleep, tucking her face into nika’s neck.

“thank you,” you give her a small smile. “you didn’t have to.”

“i wanted to.”

the walk to the car was filled with comfortable silence. reaching your car, you open the back passenger door. nika tries to place ellie in her car seat, but she had a tight grip to the front of nika’s hoodie. you help out, carefully prying her hoodie out of ellie’s hand. buckling her in, you close the door, walking around to get into the driver’s seat. you give her a smile, putting the car in reverse, bout to drive off when you heard a knock.

putting the car back in park, you roll down your window. nika’s leans in, resting her arms against the door.

before you could say a word, nika starts. “you know,” she said, “ you’re kind of incredible.”

you swallowed hard. “i’m just trying my best.”

“you are. but you make it look like art.”

over the months, your connection simmered. texts here and there. more post-game meals. a rain soaked walk around the city. she asked you questions people are afraid to ask.she makes you feel seen.

still, you hesitated. you had ellie. you had your guard. you’ve been done wrong before. and you couldn’t risk that.

but nika never pushed.

instead, she waited. she showed up.

until one night, after ellie had fallen asleep and nika was sitting on your couch with her knees brushing against yours, you finally said it.

“i’m scared.”

“i know,” she replied. “me too.”

and that was enough—for now.

it had been a week since that conversation with nika. you were afraid that it would change your relationship, but fortunately it hasn’t.

you were both still talking. still texting. still the same.

the strange part was how natural it felt now to expect her. to make enough food for three instead of two. to glance at your phone and smile when her name popped up. ellie had fully adopted her, calling her ‘coach nika’ half of the time and ‘niki’ the other.

but your heart was still cautious.

that night, while ellie was at a sleep over, your were launching in your living room, watching a cheesy rom-com while eating ice cream when your doorbell rang. opening the door, you’re met with a tired looking nika, takeout in her hand.

“i figured we could take advantage of the kid-free window,” she said. “unless you were planning on, i don’t know, reorganizing your spice cabinet.”

you laughed. “wild night over here.”

she flopped onto your couch, you following. “you’re lucky you’ve got a home.”

you raised an eyebrow, “you have one too.”

“no,” she started taking a bite of her food. “i’ve got an apartment, but here, it’s calm. safe.”

you shuffled closer to her, heat creeping into your throat. “you don’t feel safe in other paces?”

she didn’t answer immediately. just leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “sometimes, i feel like i’m always playing a part. cool, confident, always serious nika. but here… with you, it’s different.”

you didn’t say anything. just let the quiet fill the cracks between you.

two days later, nika stood in her apartment, pacing in her living room, phone pressed to her ear.

“i don’t know what i’m doing,” she said into the phone.

her best friend, paige, laughed on the other end. “spire spiraling. again.”

“don’t mock me. this is serious.”

“i am being serious. nika, it sound like you actually really like this girl.”

“i do. i really do. and her kid? god, i’m completely gone for that little storm trooper.”

“okay, that’s adorable.”

nika flopped onto the couch. “but what if i’m not cut out for this? i’m 23. a rookie.i can’t cook. i still lose my keys twice a week. and she’s got this whole life—this real life—with responsibilities and a mortgage and bedtime stories.”

“and she still let’s you in,” paige said gently. “that should tell you something.”

“yeah?”

“yeah. look—love doesn’t always show up wrapped in perfect timing. sometimes it’s messy. but if you feel safe with her and she feels seen with you… that’s the good stuff.”

nika closed her eyes. “so what do i do?”

“start by telling her how you feel. no plays. no cool moves. just… say it.”

nika exhaled, “you’re really wise for someone who still can’t do her own laundry.”

“shut up and go get your milf.”

“paige madison bueckers!”

later that week, nika offered to pick up ellie from school. you hesitated for a moment—was it too much? too soon? was it crossing a line?

but ellie was thrilled. and you…you realized watching your daughter run into nika’s arms  was a feeling you couldn’t describe. not fully.

they came home—wait, what?

nika dropped her off at your apartment, her coming inside as well. they were laughing. covered in chalk dust and slurping on slushies.

that night, you tucked ellie into bed and lingered in the doorway, watching her breathe, thinking about the life you’d built—carefully, painfully, quietly. and how nika had slipped into it like she belonged.

when you went back to the living room, nika was sitting with a mug of tea and that same nervous energy you’d seen a few times before the game.

“what’s up?” you asked, curling up on the other side of the couch.

she set the mug down. “okay. i’m just going to say it.”

you blinked, “okay…”

“i like you,” she said, eyes locked on yours. “not in a flirty, ‘this is fun’ way. i like you in a scary, i-think-about-you-during-practice, want-to-cook-you-breakfast, carry-your-kid’s-backpack kind of way.”

your throat tightened.

she went on. “i know you’re careful. i get it. i do. but i’m not going anywhere. and i don’t want to be just the fun storm player your daughter likes. i want to be yours. if you’ll have me.”

you stared at her for a long second.

and then—finally—you crossed the space between you.

not rushed. not loud.

just a kiss, soft and slow, like turning the first page of a long, beautifully written story.

the days didn’t change overnight. life was less busy. ellie still lost her shoes on school mornings. you still had laundry to do and nika still had road games and aching muscles and pressure on her shoulders.

but now, there was this.

a toothbrush in your bathroom.

text messages with three names in the group.

a couch with two cups of tea and one long-limbed basketball player who called your apartment her favorite place on earth.

ellie made nika a friendship bracelet that spelled out ‘family.’

and nika wore it under her wrist tape every game.

some time has passed and your routine never changed. nika was in the kitchen, cooking up some breakfast—nothing difficult, just some eggs, bacon and toast, she was still learning—when her phone chimed. it was a text from her best friend.

“ya’ll need to come out to connecticut. bring your girls. geno wants to meet the fam.”

nika read it out loud with a little grin, then turned to you and ellie.

“wanna go to connecticut?”

ellie gasps, eyes widened like saucers. “like…uconn connecticut?!”

you laughed, sipping your coffee. “is there another connecticut i should know about?”

nika leaned back against the counter. “paige is serious. i haven’t been back in a while. it could be fun—catch a game, meet the team. ellie would love it.”

“i already love it,” ellie exclaimed, practically vibrating.

you glanced at nika, your stomach fluttering in that way it still did every time she looked at you like this was real. like it wasn’t temporary. like you were already her future.

“let’s do it.”

the campus was colder than you expected, all bare trees and wind-chilled paths, but in was beautiful in that northeastern kind of way—like history lived in the bricks.

nika was grinning like a kid the whole way from the airport. ellie had on a mini huskies hoodie, gifted by paige when she first heard about you and ellie from her best friend.

“this place made me,” nika said quietly as she drove to a parking spot. “it broke me too, a little. but i wouldn’t be who i am without it.”

you reacher for her hand that was resting on the center console, a silent reply. ellie was in the back, face glued to the window, already practicing her future commitment speech in her head, probably.

when paige opened the door to the players' lounge, it was like watching two halves of one should reconnect. she and nika hugged like sisters who hadn’t been in the same room in too long. 

next was azzi. she squeezed the girl tight, making up for the time they lost being away from one another. teammate after teammate went to greet nika while you and ellie stood off to the side, letting nika reconnect with her family, a smile on both your faces.

“and this must be the ellie,” paige said, crouching to ellie’s level with a mock-serious tone. “you ready to coach from the stands?”

ellie nodded hard. “i already drew up plays on the plane.”

“she’s not lying,” you added. “she used the barf bag as a whiteboard.”

paige turned to you next, offering her hand, but then pulling you into a hug instead. “any girl who gets nika this soft? they got my respect.

before you could answer, a familiar gruff voice filled the room.

“well, well. the prodigal daughter returns.”

geno auriemma walked in, arms folded, a knowing smile under his salt-and-pepper beard. “and she brought reinforcements.”

nika smiled, a little sheepish. ��hey, coach.”

he pulled her into a hug. “you look good, kid.”

then he turned to you. “and you must be the one who’s keeping her grounded.”

you nodded. “trying my best.”

his eyes softened a little. “good. she always needed someone who saw through all the noise.”

that night, the three of you sat court side at gampel. ellie wore a huskies cap so big it drooped over her ears, and you had nika’s storm jacket draped across your lap.

tt was electric.

ellie cheered for every three-pointer like it was the finals. paige dropped 20 points and blew kisses at you all in the stands. nika watched like a proud big sister, shouting encouragement, coaching under her breath.

at halftime, they brought nika out to wave to the crowd, and the ovation was thunderous. she looked back at you and ellie as she walked onto the court, her eyes shining in a way you hadn’t seen before.

she was home. but now, her home included you.

after the game, the locker room buzzed with energy. ellie sat on nika’s lap, surrounded by laughing players asking about seattle, about her school, her “scouting report.”

“y’all better watch out,” nika said, smoothing ellie’s curls. “she’s got a wicked step-back. she’s basically six years away from being your competition.”

you leaned against the doorway, watching the scene unfold like something from a dream.

paige came over, nudging you with her elbow. “she’s different with you.”

“she’s still nika,” you said.

“she’s more nika,” paige corrected. “like she finally took a breath.”

you smiled. “that makes two of us.”

later that night, ellie passed out in the hotel bed, still clutching a signed ball. you stepped onto the balcony with nika, wrapped in a hoodie and a blanket she’d pulled from the end of the bed.

the air was cold, but she was warm next to you.

“i didn’t know how much i needed this,” she said softly. “to come back. to have you here for it.”

you looked out at the quiet campus lights.

“i didn’t know i could have this,” you replied. “a life where i’m not just surviving. where someone sees me too.”

nika took your hand.

“paige was right,” she said.

“about what?”

“this is the good stuff.”

you looked at her, eyes soft. “yeah. it really is.”

[ce1estiall]

flash forward

summary uconn!paige x reader asking your girlfriend, “do you ever wish you were an athletic person?” masterlist.

warnings fluff, one sexual thought at the end :p

celestial notes back at it with the tiktok trends. also two fics in one day?? what!!! also tysm for 200 followers!!

“i want everything about you to fall out for good

talking about you, talking about us

and talking about you and i.” flash forward - le sserafim

summer slowly started to enter at uconn, as the cloudy skies faded away and the temperature rising by the day. however basketball was something that was not going to leave for paige until the day she graduated.

paige had a practice earlier that saturday morning, but it was more conditioning than actual hoops. it didn’t help that the weather was 80° also when she stepped outside, practically drenched in sweat.

you were at your dorm, doom scrolling on social media in your bed. you were procrastinating an essay that was due tomorrow, when you get a text from paige.

p💗🏀: baby

p💗🏀: r u busy rn?

you click the notification confused. your fingers start typing

r: paige don’t u have practice rn?

p💗🏀: it just ended

p💗🏀: wanna grab some chipotle w me?

r: dont gotta tell me twice im getting ready

p💗🏀: i’ll be there in 10, love you

you flew out of bed and went straight to the bathroom, putting your hair in a slick back. easy, but simple hairstyle for any occasion. plus, you wanted the sun to shine on your curls. you grabbed one of paige’s hoodies that smelt like cologne and some baggy jeans. you paired it with some jordans and added your favorite necklace. it was a purple hawaiian flower, with 5 purple diamonds on the outside and a silver one representing the inside. paige has the same one, but in pink, representing your favorite colors. no wonder why it was your favorite.

you placed some pink lipgloss on when you heard knocking on your door. you opened the door with no surprise once you saw the 6ft blonde standing in front of you. her pin straight hair was down with a white essentials hoodie and some grey sweats. she wore some off-white air forces, and your matching pink necklace which glistened in the light. “you ready?” paige said, admiring you from head to toe while leaning on the door frame.

you nod, “yeah, let’s go.”

the drive was sweet, feeling the fresh air as your window was down, singing your heart out to your summer playlist as the blue sky spoke for itself. paige was attempting to not pay attention and only focus on driving, but failed when her favorite song came on, automatically turning up the volume.

paige parked the car, getting out and opening your door, treating you like a princess no matter the occasion. “why thank you!” you smiled, attempting to act all royalty. you held paige’s hand as you walked inside. “go find a table, i already know what you want.”

“aww, you know me so well.” you placed a hand across your chest, acting dramatic.

paige glared in a playful tone. “bro, you literally order the same thing every time.” you sent her a playful wink as you walked down to the table. you scrolled on tiktok and noticed a trend going around, where they asked their athletic significant other if they wished if they were ever an athletic person. you laughed, immediately pressing the “+” to start recording. just in time, paige came with 2 chipotle bowls, 2 cups, and a large bag of tortilla chips.

you secretly hit record, propping your phone on your drink when you decide to ask paige. “baby, do you ever wish you were an athletic person?”

paige was scooping her food onto a tortilla chip when she stared at you like you were insane. “is this a serious question? or is this a prank.”

you laughed. “yes p, just answer.”

she stopped touching her food and leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. she noticed the camera, knowing she was gonna have fun with this one. “i am an athletic person already, why do i have to wish for what i already am?”

you took a bite from your bowl. “i don’t know, i was just curious. i just thought you wanted more athlete. you can always improve in some area.”

paige glared with her icy blue eyes that could freeze anyone. “babe, they don’t call me paige buckets for no reason.”

you laughed silently to yourself. “what?” paige spoke, pretending to act clueless.

“paige, i’m fucking with you.” paige stared at the camera. “you know, you’re not very slick babe. i noticed that as i was about to eat.” paige leaned towards the table. “if my food is cold, i’m gonna be pissed.”

she took a bite of her food and nodded in satisfaction. “you’re lucky.”

“you know i love you, paige.” you smiled, eating some tortilla chips. you hit her hand playfully, which ended up with her pouting in protest.

you both finished eating and headed back to paige’s car. during the drive back to campus, you grabbed her hand, tracing small circle with your thumb. “you want dessert? my apology treat.”

paige looked up at you at the stop light with one idea in mind, as she gave a mischievous smile. “no, absolutely not.” you said sternly “my offers off the table now.”

[st7rnioioss]

𓂅 ♥︎ SKATER!CHRIS x GIRLY!READER

⋆ ˚ .ೃ ࿔ * pairing... skater!chris x girly!reader

𓂃 ֹ ᮫ in which... skater!chris and girly!reader kiss!! for the first time!!!

warnings... fluff, kissing, swearing, sooo freaking tooth achingly sweet

♡ ˖ ࣪ ◟ “the stars look really bright tonight,” you said softly, leaning into chris’s side. the gentle breeze pinched your skin, but not to the point of goosebumps—just a nice, fresh breeze.

chris nodded, awkwardly trying to keep his arm from reaching around you to hold you closer, managing to hold himself back. “yeah, they are. i think it’s less cloudy tonight,” he whispered back, watching the moon, round and bright in the sky.

you smile to yourself, turning to look at chris. he seemed.. off. you had no idea whether to blame it on the wind or jump to conclusions and say he looked nervous. either way, you shift a little closer to him.

chris looks at you too, the only noise besides cars in the distance being his friends in the back, still skating, and the creaky bench beneath you. he’d managed to pull you along once again, not that you were really complaining much about it anymore…

noticing his gaze, your eyes flicker between him and the moon, before you decide to settle on him and his slightly pink cheeks.

“what’s up?” you squeak, smiling gently at him while keeping eye contact. he shuffles a little, looking like he’s unsure what to do with his hands—or himself in general. “nothing, just.. a little cold. that’s all,” he smiled back at you.

your heart is thumping in your chest, hard enough that you were sure he could tell by how you were slightly shaky on your hand, your cheeks flushed red. nothing is said, just taking each other in, way too intimate for anyone to perceive it as a friendly look, his friends noisy in the back, yet you filter it out.

chris feels exactly the same—heart racing, thoughts too loud, and eyes searching yours. slowly, he leans a little closer to you, testing the waters—your eyes widen a little, and the second his eyes drop to your lips, for just a split second, you know exactly what he’s trying to do.

you don’t move, just keep your eyes on his that were stuck on your lips. carefully, he leans in closer, so close that you feel his warm breath fan over your cold skin, a nice contrast.

gently, chris pressed his lips to yours, keeping his hands to himself in case he’d ruin anything—he hadn’t exactly announced that he wanted to kiss you.

you stiffen, eyes still wide open, not moving an inch while he kissed you. not that you didn’t want to, you just had zero clue how to react. a second passes, and he pulls back, enough to lock eyes with you again, his whole body close to a nervous breakdown.

until you lose control, a small smile creeping onto your lips, your cheeks starting to feel hot. chris sighs in relief, hesitantly reaching a hand out to place beneath your chin, the pad of his thumb running across your lower lip before he pulls you in for another kiss.

the kiss is different—less awkward, less testing, and way more passionate, like you’d both been waiting forever for this to happen.. which you had.

when you pull back, you both realize just how quiet it’d become, traffic still coherent, but otherwise completely silent. you both look over your shoulders after giving each other a shy smile, just to see chris’s friends staring at you both, one of them with a phone in hand.

“that’s right! i said you could fuckin’ do it, man!” a guy laughs, holding up a thumbs-up to chris, another guy doing the same motion at you.

“oh my god, that’s so fucking weird,” chris chuckled, and you immediately go completely shy, unaware of the fact that they’d been looking, quickly going to cover your face with your palms. chris is just as embarrassed, his whole face going red as he flips off his friends who are still laughing, finally wrapping his arm around you.

“thank you,” he whispers after a minute of giggles, finally getting to look at your face again. you whine in embarrassment, hiding your face in his shoulder while he laughs, leaving a kiss on your cheek. “thank you, too,” you murmur, blindly reaching for his hand, which he happily takes with a big grin on his face.

more skater!chris x girly!reader here!

˚𝜗𝜚 notes... one more freaking exam and im done. yay!!!

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❛❛ © ST7RNIOIOSS est. 2023 ❜❜

[pearlcigs]

⋆ waking up on christmas morning ft. ellie, abby, and vi — tlou discord server

the air is cold, snow sticking to the cloudy window. the sky outside was pure, the wind sneaking into the cracks of the window. ELLIE kept you close, hands wrapped around your waist with your back pressed against her chest. the blanket wrapped around both of your frames to shield you from the barren cold. you both know there's presents to be opened but neither of you really find it in you to care. they'll still be there later. you stay there for an hour or so, with her soft kisses along the back of your neck and her stupid christmas puns.

"hey babe," she snickers before she can even start the joke. "what do you call people who have a fear of santa?" she grins widely, laughing to herself knowing she had been planning on telling you this joke for weeks now. you laugh at her silliness, shaking your head, imagining the stupid grin she had on her face. "what?" you inquire. "claustrophobic." she tells eagerly, waiting for your reaction. "god, that's— that's stupid." your laughs beginning to mix with hers.

small snowflakes fell down from the sky, painting the ground white. the sun had just barely rose when you stirred awake, excitement immediately flowing through your veins. the covers are thrown off you by your own accord, the chilly air nipping at your skin. you couldn't help yourself, pulling the blankets off ABBY just as you had done to yourself. she groaned, pulling you against her in an attempt to keep herself warm with no blanket. you giggled in her ear, kissing her cheek with too much energy for her liking.

"wake up, wake up." you kiss her cheek between each word. "what time is it?" she questions, face still pressed against her pillow. "who cares, it's christmas!" you exclaim, pulling on her arm to get her up. "it's time for presents— ooh! i know exactly which one i want you to open first." you continue to pull on her. "alright, alright, i'm coming..." she lets out a small 'oomph' as she sits up, pulling you into her lap. "merry christmas, my love." she gets sweet and sappy for a moment, kissing your forehead. "we're making coffee first." she demands and you just roll your eyes.

the fire crackles, blankets askew on the floor, barely covering both of your bodies. you slept in front of the fire place, VI insisting she just had to stay up all night to catch santa. you couldn't recall when you both fell asleep, only knowing you felt safe in her arms the night before. vi was the first to wake, eyes wondering to the tree that she was just sleeping 10 feet from. presents littered the skirt of the tree, a smile forming on her face as her eyes flickered between your sleeping form and the presents.

"santa came!" she shook you awake, eliciting a groan from your sleep deprived lips. she wore a toothy smile on her face, knowing it wasn't really santa who put those presents under the tree, but you. "come onnnn. these presents better be opened by 7 am on the dot." she threatened emptily. she leaned down, kissing your face, your shoulders, your stomach, anywhere she could. with each kiss, the grogginess vanished just a little. you had to admit, seeing her this excited made your heart warmer than hot cocoa.

finished this at 10:53pm 😅 better late than never i suppose..

[arminsumi]

❀ 𝐈 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮 | 𝟐 Gojo Satoru / Geto Suguru

Falling in love despite a language barrier.

𝐂𝐡. 𝟐 | 𝐖𝐜. 𝟐.𝟗𝐤 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱 | 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Satoru blinks awake to see your face. His heart beats harder.

結局昨日は夢ではなかったのか？ Yesterday was not a dream after all?

He's not an early bird at all, but from the first day of your visit he magically woke up early as if his soul was too excited to sleep when it knew you were right there, in the flesh. No screen. Just you.

When the first day starts, it feels like you've always been together. Was there ever a screen separating the two of you? And were you really going to disappear behind one again in just a month?

今のところ、彼女はここに留まるように感じています。彼女が訪問を終えて出発するとき、私は空港で赤ん坊のように泣くことになると思います。 For now, she feels like she's here to stay. I think I'm going to cry like a baby at the airport when she leaves after her visit.

Morning routines are carried out. The sky is cloudy at first, threatening rain, and by the time you three cluster into the kitchen to make breakfast together, it starts raining.

You and Satoru banter like two cats. Suguru's morning rasp is very strong.

"Satoru... uh... sugar?" you ask, preparing to make yourself a second one and automatically making Satoru another one, since he looks still very bleary-eyed even after spending an hour freshening up in the bathroom.

"...? Yes?" he tilts his head, then you raise the sugar cube jar. "Yes. Uh... four. Thank you."

Suguru's blushing because of the cute tension between you and his best friend. It fills the whole kitchen, which already felt full with their two bodies and a third one now. Everyone keeps bumping elbows and yet not complaining about it, in fact it's enjoyable to be squished together. Maybe because you three waited so long to be together in person, you don't mind it.

There's a silent, ever-present comedy in the air about the tight proximity.

You hum happily, tossing in one, two, three... four? That's a lot of sugar. "Suguru, tell Satoru he mustn't have so much sugar all the time. It's not good for his health."

Suguru laughs. "I try to tell him that every day. But his sweet tooth is incurable."

"His dentist must hate him." you smirk at Satoru, who's been looking at you blushingly after hearing his name mentioned.

彼女の声が今では一番好きな音だと思います。 I think her voice is my favorite sound now.

もう一度私の名前を言ってください。 Please say my name again.

"Satoru? Coffee?" you interrupt his lovey-dovey thoughts and he suddenly reanimates himself, because for a moment there he zoned out and just stared at you with those pretty eyes.

"Mmm... thanks." he takes the coffee from you with a noticeable timidness that you can't quite explain. There's a lot about him that's indescribable, you're having a small internal crisis; aren't you supposed to be fluent in English? And yet you can't even begin to describe just how sweet and gentle Satoru behaves. The most you can do is use metaphors that barely justify him.

"Suguru, tell her... her voice is nice, and also sorry for cuddling you in my sleep (and that she can definitely kick me away at night if it bothers her.) Also!" (the three of you head into the living room, and Suguru habitually trips over the cat who stalks under his feet too quietly to notice) "Also tell her... if it rains today, does she still want to go out? Because if we go out in the rain, she might get sick. And I don't want her to get sick on her trip. Not that I'd mind taking care of you, Y/n, of course."

Suguru lets out a long sigh and pulls a funny face. You smile amusedly.

"...It's too early to be a translator..." he grumbles in English after Satoru overloads him.

"What? C'mon tell her everything I said!"

"Let me have my coffee first. How about the two of you write to each other?" he suggests, putting the rim of the cup to his lips and sipping languidly.

"Eh, fine." Satoru pouts, and stalks off into his bedroom to get his phone.

Then, when he's in his bedroom, his chest flutters for some reason when he sees your suitcase standing there opened and emptied into the free cupboard space. He takes his phone, smiles at the homely feeling of seeing your belongings in his room, and leaves.

"Oh..." he has a sudden idea, and remembers the magnetic drawing board that's hanging in the kitchen. He and Suguru usually use it for writing reminders to each other, like get milk or you're an idiot or sometimes it has doodles of Mint the cat with sunglasses on.

So he returns to you with this magnetic drawing board, and points at it meaningfully, then holds one finger up and bows his head as he begins writing very slowly.

Suguru's checking the weather forecast and muttering sour complaints under his breath to you. "Of course it would rain for three days just when you arrive... at least by the weekend it will be clear and sunny..."

"Mmm... it's alright. A little rain never hurt nobody." you respond.

"I like your optimism." Suguru compliments flippantly at first, but then continues; "It's really uplifting. I think Satoru said something about you being a joy once, he said it really poetically but I can't recall it now."

"Aw..." you dip your head beneath your coffee cup, hiding the bashful expression on your face, which Suguru chuckles at.

And then, for a long moment, you just stare and watch Satoru writing on the board. You're completely captured in this moment, completely captivated in his enveloping presence as he sits next to you. He has slow, meticulous wrist movements. His knees press together, like he's worried that he'll invade your personal space if he sits too comfortably close to you. Funny, considering he cuddled you all night and you had no complaints about it.

He's writing very simply and neatly, just like how he texts you. You're a bit baffled by the characters he's using, though he's trying his best to avoid using any kanji knowing that you don't know a lot of it. He's sure you can figure things out by slowly pronouncing each hiragana character, or at least he hopes.

"Here." he hands you the magnetic drawing board, and then raises from the couch to go feed the cat.

"Minto-Minto... " he calls after the cat and makes a small cute sound to lure her out.

You're trying to read each hiragana character, eyes squinting a bit.

Suguru leans in close to you. He just takes a look, but the proximity for some reason gives both of you butterflies.

"Ooh... that's cute." Suguru comments after reading what Satoru wrote. His voice reaches deep in your tummy.

"Hm... I'll spell it out and... figure it out... anyways, why did you name your cat Mint?"

"Oh... well. There's two reasons. So the first..." he sets down his coffee, like he's about to tell you a great story, "Is because Satoru watched this show called Tokyo Mew Mew growing up, and he liked the character Minto. So he calls her Minto. And then I agreed on calling her that, but I call her Mint, because I hate mint the herb."

"You — haha, wait what? You call her Mint because you hate mint?"

"Yes. I hate mint, both the herb and the cat. She hates me too, clearly." Suguru raises his hand to remind you of how the cat scratched him the night before.

"Such a cute Hello Kitty sticker..." you tease.

"Thank you. Only the manliest men wear Hello Kitty Bandaids."

"How did she scratch you anyways...?"

"Oh, she likes to hang out in the washing machine if Satoru accidentally leaves it open. And when I try take her out of her comfy spot, she scratches me."

You sympathize, "Poor thing."

"What, the cat or me?" Suguru laughs.

"The cat." you lie teasingly.

"Wow! And here I thought you were being sympathetic!" he raises his brows.

You giggle and look at him, eyes finally making contact — ooh no that's bad bad bad, better break it immediately. So the two of you look away like you've both just indulged in a taboo intimacy. His stomach flips.

"Minto has been fed. She gave me cuddles." Satoru comes back into the room, and you admire the feeling he brings with him.

"No scratches?" Suguru asks.

"No, obviously, she loves me more than you." Satoru cheeks.

"Fuck you, haha."

Satoru makes his voice lower and leans to Suguru, "(Did she figure out what I wrote yet?)"

"Y/n did you figure out what he wrote?" Suguru asks.

"I'm trying so hard. What does this part mean...?"

Suguru shakes his head and puts his hands up. "Like I said, I'm not Mr Translator in the mornings."

"But you've had your coffee! Please, just this part..." you beg, and he can't deny that sweet begging. He easily folds for it, just like when Satoru begs for anything.

"Okay, where — this? Uh... Satoru your handwriting isn't usually this neat, is it...? That part means... 'voice'."

"Oh... ohhh!" you suddenly realize, and then the boys swoon over you when you pronounce the characters out loud to yourself.

"Uh... I think I know what it means..." you feel your cheeks warm up from the crown to your jawline.

あなたのこえがすき。 a-na-ta-no-ko-e-ga-su-ki.

"I like your voice, too." you respond to Satoru, and he half-gets it and gives you a thumbs up.

"Thanks."

You look at each other and then promptly look away with shy smiles.

"You two are cute." Suguru comments.

"Ahah... ahah shut up... hey, the sky has cleared up." you point out.

"Ooh... it cleared up 'cuz Satoru walked back into the room."

You awe at what he said.

"?"

"Nothing."

"Hey, Translator — (stop talking about me behind my back!)"

Suguru chuckles, "I wasn't! I was just — never mind. Let's get ready to head out."

And so you head into Satoru's bedroom to get ready, and Suguru heads into his bedroom, and Satoru himself goes into the cramped bathroom. Poor boy. He's really too tall for that archway, he bumped his head again.

彼女に花を買ってあげるべきでしょうか？それともちょっと多すぎますか？ Should I buy her flowers? Or is it a bit too much?

（なんてことだ）、なぜこのシャツには穴が開いているのでしょう？ (Oh my god), why does this shirt have holes?

The door slides open, he steps out of the bathroom half-dressed, and intends to quickly slip into Suguru's bedroom to borrow a shirt instead of awkwardly knocking on his bedroom door and disturbing you.

But oh, you know what? The cheesiest possible thing happens instead. The universe likes making Satoru's life a little more fun in odd times. So the two of you encounter each other in the hallway; you're fully clothed and he's got just pants and socks on.

He stutters once, swallows awkwardly, and even more awkwardly places his hand on your head as if to say sorry for this inconvenience.

But you laugh in response to the funny situation.

ああ、またあの美しい笑い声。 Ah, that beautiful laugh again.

"Sorry." he mutters, and disappears to go get a shirt from Suguru.

"It's okay." you reply.

The image of your pretty smile is burned in his head.

You can hear him telling Suguru something in the other room, and then you hear Suguru's muffled laugh as a response.

"(Don't laugh! I'm embarrassed! She's seen me shirtless now! No one's seen me shirtless except you!)"

"(You're such a virgin.)"

"(Say that again, I dare you.)"

"(Sorry, I don't understand you. I don't speak virgin, only English and Japanese.)"

You're wondering why Satoru sounds so embarrassed and annoyed, and then he groans down the hallway. It feels like you're their roommate, it's funny.

"Hi."

"Hi."

The two of you encounter each other in the hall again. This time he has a shirt, yes. And this time Suguru is there, too, and he's holding back an amused smile. He fluffs Satoru's hair as a way of embarrassing him more.

So Satoru leaves, and he leaves in such a way that it's super comedic, making you and Suguru laugh. Ooh, what a laugh that boy has; his Addam's apple shifts up and down deliciously.

"Ah... Suguru? I need help with the washing machine..."

"Yes...?"

"...this kid on the plane who sat next to me, he spilled strawberry juice all over my shirt and now it's sticky."

"But at least it smells like strawberries, right?" he jokes. "You can put it in the washing machine, I'll be doing the laundry in a second anyways..." there is a small moment of eye contact shared, then Suguru looks down, and frowns at something he sees, "(SATORU YOU LEFT YOUR SOCK ON THE FLOOR AGAIN!)"

"(Haha, sorry.)" you hear Satoru half-heartedly apologize from the other room.

So Suguru picks up the sock like an annoyed mother and goes to lecture Satoru.

"(You're embarrassing me in front of our guest. For the love of god, don't leave your goofy ass socks on the floor. What if she slips on them?)"

"(You're such a mother, Suguru.)"

You're calmly and casually going to put your juice-stained shirt in the washing machine like Suguru said, but then...

(the boys are talking and there's just this hilariously dramatic scream from the laundry room)

"DID THE CAT SCRATCH YOU?"

"(Did the cat scratch her?)"

"Ow, y-yeah!" you whine.

Suguru's the first one at the crime scene, and he picks up the cat and proceeds to lecture the cat as if it understands Japanese. It licks its lips and nubby nose and has an evil stare. You giggle.

"I'm so sorry... come, uh — (Suguru, we still have Hello Kitty adhesives somewhere, right?)" Satoru instinctually holds your hand that got scratched.

And he holds it so tenderly and caringly that it makes your whole chest quake for him.

彼女の手の傷はとて���小さなものですが、それでも私は心臓がチクチクするのを感じました。 Although the wound on her hand was very small, I still felt my heart tingle.

He leads you to his bedroom, picking up some adhesives and antiseptic on the way, and sits with you on the unmade beds. You watch his fingers nimbly peeling the plastic off the adhesive, admiring how swiftly and perfectly he does even the littlest things. He has such a great attention to detail, it makes you self-conscious; is he thinking of you with the same attention to detail as everything else? Yes... he is.

He dabs some antiseptic on your small scratch, and then gently wraps and pats the Hello Kitty adhesive around it. You're pretty sure he's the one who bought them. Oh, if only you could ask him, but where even is your phone? Lost in a void somewhere, probably.

"Thank you, Satoru."

His eyes light up. His heart thumps. Why did those small, simple words have such a great effect on him?

"Mhm." he hums in acknowledgement. "You're welcome."

あなたの傷がもっと良くなるようにキスしたいです。 I want to kiss your wounds to make them better.

A second after thinking this and looking at your hand, he brings it to his lips and presses a very delicate kiss to the edge of your wrist, where the small cut spanned up to the base of your palm. Can you even call it a kiss? It's more like his lips graze your skin, hovering timidly.

And for some reason... the atmosphere becomes very intimate. Is it because of the place where he kissed you? The inner wrist has never occurred to you to be an intimate spot, and yet you're feeling as if he just kissed you on the lips.

You hear him audibly swallow, like he's conscious of this, too. The both of you become very aware of the tension in the atmosphere.

And then he looks apologetic, as if he overstepped a boundary. So you mutter a small, whispery "thanks..." which lifts his heart up into his throat and reassures him that you don't mind the intimacy.

"Mmm..." he blinks at you, pursing his lips.

His eyes linger on your lips for a moment, and it feels like he's about to... well you know his body just wants to... he sort of...

"Hey, how's the wounded patient?" Suguru interrupts, and you and Satoru spring apart like you're elastic bands that just got released after being stretched.

"Ahah, I'm okay. It's not a bad scratch." you lift your hand, "I'll cherish this Hello Kitty Bandaid forever, thank you."

"Yeah, Satoru bought 'em so you can thank him."

"I knewww he bought them, haha! So expected... cutiepie." you admire Satoru, and he's pretty sure that the last thing you said is some cute nickname, so he smirks.

"Okay, well... anyways, let's head out before the sun rises too high and it gets too hot to walk."

© arminsumi

Do not plagiarize / repost / translate / copy layouts / etc.

Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

[withmyloveasyourgarden]

NINE YEARS LATE

EDDIE MUNSON x F!READER

A yearly Halloween tradition, zombie films and best friends who touch too much for it to not mean anything. 4K of fluff. [Re-uploaded from my old blog]

When you met Eddie Munson at eleven years old, he pointed at your exorcist t-shirt and asked what your favourite horror movie was.

To anyone else it might have been strange, the way the boy's eyes were so bright, his expression caught between nervous and excited like nothing else at that time was more important than the answer you were about to give.

But you gave it with a shy grin and without hesitation, watching a little stunned as the boy brightened and his lips stretched wide into a beaming smile that, even then, left your heart warm and you completely powerless to resist the hand that circled your wrist and yanked you down onto the grass beside him.

He took a cookie from his lunchbox and pressed it into your hand, skin smudged with chocolate and pride in his voice when he told you how he had sneakily watched Night of the Living Dead when his uncle wasn't home and that was now his favourite.

You wrinkled your nose a little as you ate, unable to help the reaction because you didn't understand the zombie appeal, cheeks flushing when Eddie caught it too and threw both hands to his chest, his back hitting the ground with a thud as he flung himself down, like you'd personally betrayed everything he held dear.

"Don't tell me you don't like zombies!" He'd gasped in horror, struggling not to grin when he lifted himself up on his elbows and noticed, far too pleased, that despite the way you had hid your face in your hands, there was a telltale smile in your voice at his theatrics.

"I don't not like them exactly." You countered, eyes appearing above your fingers to watch the way the boy snorted and quirked a disbelieving brow in your direction before you allowed your hands to fall away, huffing. "I mean it! It's not that I hate them or anything, they just give me creeps."

He nodded at your shirt. "And demonic possession doesn't?"

"No?"

'Weirdo." He mumbled, voice soft, and then almost immediately winced, his eyes darting worriedly to yours because what if you didn't catch the way his tone turned fond as he said it? He didn't want you to think he was being mean like so many other kids were in Hawkins when someone wasn't like them.

But then you laughed, the sound clear and sweet, and there was relief in Eddie's chest mixed with a little awe, something innocently adoring because even though he would never admit it, he was pretty sure that was his new favourite sound in the whole world.

'Says the boy who thinks a zombie movie is the best horror." You teased, tongue poking out at him when he shook his head and aimed a playful little kick to your leg, scuffed trainers nudging at your thigh.

There was a moment of easy silence that followed, a few beats where the two of you shared soft, toothy grins before the boy ducked his head and you tipped yours back to gaze at the cloudy autumn sky, fingers twisting in the grass whilst joy swirled in your chests at this new found friendship.

It was impossible to miss the exact second he had the idea, the way he scrambled to sit upright, all long arms and gangly legs because even back then Eddie had been tall for his age. The grin that stretched his cheeks was wild, excitement crackling from him as he scooted closer until he was sat directly in front of you, knees brushing against yours.

"There's only one way to settle this." He blurted suddenly, pleased when your startled gaze turned instantly curious, body leaning forward to signal he had your full attention. "We have a movie marathon. You can come to mine and we can watch both of our favourites and maybe a few more and then we rank them."

You nodded slow, thoughtful , the sharp trill of the bell signalling the end of recess making you jump and Eddie groan. "Okay. That sounds fun. But what if we can't agree on what ranks first?"

Eddie rose ungracefully to his feet and you had to shield your eyes from the low burning sun when you looked up at him, light dousing him in gold that made his eyes look like pools of warm caramel when he grinned down at you and offered you his hand.

"Then we keep having marathons until we do."

**

Nine years later and you Eddie still hadn't agreed.

You were beginning to think you never would. Or maybe even if by some miracle you did, you still wouldn't tell the boy that had become your best friend the moment he'd asked you that question in the playground.

Because it had become your tradition now. These marathons that you had every October 1st without fail because that was the same date that you showed up at Eddie's door for the very first time, a box of cookies in your hand that your mom had sent you over with and a beaming smile that had matched his when he'd flung the door wide open and pulled you inside.

You weren't sure when it became your favourite day of the year or when Eddie became your favourite person but it did and so did he. Never happier than when you were surrounded by warm blankets with a hot chocolate cradled in your hands.

There was always plates piled with freshly baked goods on your laps, movies playing that you sometimes wouldn't remember the names of after and your face pressed to the boy's collarbone when things occasionally got too scary. His arm looped around your shoulder so he could murmur, soft and sweet, against your hair. "It's okay, it's nearly over."

You also weren't too sure when your feelings for your best friend began to change, only that they most definitely had.

He was still the same Eddie, your Eddie. He was big, warm eyes and startlingly pretty grins, an energy that made you think of bottled lightning, the kind you couldn’t tear your eyes away from, beautiful and utterly unruly.

He was all-encompassing hugs, tangled limbs in a too small bed when one of you stayed the night because even if you were to lay at the other end, the boy would somehow still find his way to you in his sleep, strong arms pulling you tight to his chest and a happy sigh on his lips.

But somewhere through the years, through the horrors that started on the screen where they should have stayed but then seemed to leech into your real lives, the familiar touches came more frequently and hands lingered long enough that it caused pulses to spike. Hugs got a little longer too, a little tighter.

There was a reluctance to let go when mornings came around, no longer shy or embarrassed when streams of pinkish gold filtered through the window and stirred you awake only to find the two of you were once again moulded around each other, fingers linked between your bodies.

Instead it felt right, like that was how you belonged. A Feeling that only grew with each year that passed.

Each October 1st that you refused any other plans because this was yours and Eddie's day. Every time you turned up to the other's homes, sitting a little too close on the couch than was considered friendly, eyes drifting to watch each other instead of whichever person was fighting for their lives on the tv when you thought you wouldn't get caught.

It grew, blooming wild and stubborn in your chest, snaking around each rib, until you were forced to admit to yourself that you were in love with him.

And that scared you more than any horror movie ever could.

**

"Sweetheart, you're supposed to be watching this, not hiding through the whole thing."

The admonishment in Eddie's voice was weak - too soft to be truly serious and even if you couldn't tell by the boy's tone, the way he grinned at you when you finally lowered your mug, with what he thought was the most adorable pout on your face, immediately gave him away.

It made you poke your toes into his jean clad thigh in retaliation, a choking gasp of faux betrayal bubbling past your lips when he caught at your ankle and tickled your foot with quick fingers before you could yank it back under the safety of the blanket he'd thrown over you earlier.

You were a lot less mad than you would have been had it been anyone else and christ if Eddie didn't know it, his eyes bright even in the low flickering light of the room and the pillow of his lower lip caught between his teeth to choke down a laugh as he threateningly wriggled his fingers at you once again.

Glaring at the boy across from you, there was a half hearted grumble to your voice when you aimed a nod towards the person being ripped apart by the undead horde on the screen and told him. "You know this wouldn't be a problem if you didn't bring a zombie movie nearly every year."

The noise he made in response told you that wasn't going to happen. But as he leant forward, stretching over to the coffee table to grab a cookie that he then practically inhaled, you could feel his eyes on you. The way he was silently checking if you actually thought the movie was too much or if you were just playing up because you liked to mess with him.

"You want me to turn it off? We could put the next movie on?" He asked in the way he always did, a little teasing but still sweet, touched with hope because you both knew what he would ask next when you shook your head, determined like you always were to sit through the movie just because Eddie loved it.

And you tried to not let it show on your face the way your heart fluttered and swooped in the cage your ribs when he opened his arms the moment you gave your answer, looking far more enticing than you thought a best friend ever should.

All wrapped in a large sweater with sleeves that drooped over his ringed fingers, cosy blankets tossed over his lap and curls still messy from the weather outside.

It really was unfair just how fucking pretty Eddie was.

"Wanna come here?" He murmured in a way that made your cheeks warm, your pulse jumping from fear that he'd caught the way you were staring and his lips tugging up into a soft grin when he added. "Promise I'll keep you safe from zombies."

You narrowed your eyes like it was an offer that you needed to consider - something that took a ridiculous effort considering how badly you suddenly ached to fall into the boy.

In return he rolled his own at the suspicious gaze that you flicked over him - from his fondly exasperated expression to the hands that made impatient little grabbing motions whilst you fought back a smile and warned. "Only if you don't tickle me again."

There was a soft snort when he laughed, grin turning impish as he took matters into his own hands and reached over to pluck your mug from your fingers, placing it on the table before catching you in a gentle grip. "I swear on Dustin's mother I won't tickle you again. Now c'mere."

And so you went - with a shake of your head to hide your smile, you let yourself be pulled into him.

Desperately trying to ignore the way your skin buzzed beneath his touch as he lifted the blanket and folded you tight into his side, waiting for you to throw your arm around his waist and swing your legs over his lap until there was no part of you left that wasn't pressed up against him.

He looked like he was trying and failing to hide how pleased he was as he drew the blanket over the two of you and you all but melted in his arms. Corners of his lips quirking and a soft dusting of pink creeping over his cheeks when his hand automatically began stroking over your hair and you let slip a quiet little sound that was half sigh, half moan - his body still burning despite the innocence of it.

For a little while after that an easy silence fell over you both, a sense of contentment that couldn't be broken by the sounds of gore that came from the screen.

Eddie smelt like Autumn with every slow inhale you took, like cold, night air and smoke, spice from the cologne you bought him two birthdays ago and the cinnamon off the pastries you'd baked especially for that night that he'd almost completely devoured within half an hour of sitting down.

He was warm in a way that felt like safety when he wrapped you up in him like this and it was all too easy to forget how much the movie had previously made your stomach turn slightly. Now barely even batting an eye when somebody screamed because you were too happy being lulled by the rise and fall of Eddie's chest beneath your cheek and the weight of his head rested atop of your own.

You watched the screen with an almost foggy type of interest. A little dazed by the hand that had previously been playing with your hair now slipping down, fingers dancing over the nape of your neck and down your spine to where it eventually stopped. Palm moulded flat to the dip in your back - the heat of it searing through your shirt.

His other hand was curved around your knee - thumb stroking soft circles on the inside that made a tremor sweep over your skin.

It took you far too long to realise when he eventually spoke, oblivious to his smile, the question he pressed to your hair at your shiver, until your trance was broken by the rumble of a soft laugh when a beat too long passed without any response.

Gentle fingers that had previously been resting on your knee were now hooking beneath your chin, tilting your gaze to meet his as he dipped his head to look at you in a way that made your mouth run dry.

"Still with me there sweetheart?" He asked. Voice low, hushed, a little rougher and less teasing than you think he had intended it to be.

And suddenly the room felt a little warmer than before, an electricity present that crackled in the limited space between your bodies.

You swallowed hard, stomach twisting, the sounds of horror in the background fading to a mere hum as you nodded. Your breath hitched when your nose brushed his but you made no move to pull back and if the boy heard it, he didn't say anything. "M'here." You whispered. "What- what did you say?"

In the near-dark you watched him bite back a strained smile, curls bouncing as he shook his head ever so slightly, not at you, but at the way he suddenly felt tongue tied. Frozen with his fingers still cupping your chin and his mind alarmingly blank because you were just so close and fuck, what was it that he'd said again?

"I uh," He stumbled, words a little awkward as he attempted to subtly clear his throat." I was just wondering how you can't watch a zombie movie without hiding behind me, which to be clear, I am not complaining about , but when we got attacked by demon bats you were totally fucking fearless."

You felt flushed at how awestruck he sounded, gaze lowering and your hand coming to clasp his wrist, touch gentle on the scars that only recently healed there. "I was hardly fearless Eds." You muttered.

But the boy was already tutting, an argument ready on his tongue before you could finish your dismissal.

"Babe, I watched you decapitate one of those things with an oar like it was nothing." He grinned, feeling a little more daring as he grazed his thumb just below your lip, eyes dark on you as your lashes fluttered and you swayed further into the touch. "It was the most metal thing I've ever seen, maybe the hottest too."

He added the last part like a whisper and maybe it was the way you felt too fuzzy, not quite connected to your brain - a little too lovesick and touch-drunk from the way Eddie was surrounding you. The words that set your blood alight.

Or maybe it was just that the credits were rolling on a movie the two of you had barely watched because you'd been too focused on each other, the room falling into the type of darkness that made you a little less afraid of giving away your feelings for the boy.

But you found yourself telling him, unflinchingly honest and without a second thought. "I was only like that because they tried to hurt you, I was beyond terrified until then."

"Is that so?" Eddie mused. He was beaming like you'd just said the best thing he'd ever heard, like having proof of you being murderous at the idea of him being hurt was enough to light the boy up from the inside and make his features glow with a new softness.

You only hummed in response, heart suddenly in your throat, pulse fluttering wildly and you briefly wondered if Eddie could feel it when his hand slipped along your jaw. Thumb teasing along the edge and fingers warm on your neck.

"So if we ever got attacked by an undead horde instead of bats and cat-eating lizards?"

You laughed, shrugging. "Then I guess I'm beheading some zombies."

It was meant to be a light comment but it made the air around you grow heavy, like you couldn't move away even if your life depended on it, when he pressed his forehead to yours with a little theatrical groan.

The way his eyes bore into yours under the dark fringe of his lashes making you breath catch, lungs tight when he teased. "Careful babe, with that kind of talk I might think you're trying to make me fall in love with you."

You don't know what possessed you, the words spilt passed your lips before you could catch them.

"What if I was?"

You felt more than heard the sharp inhale of his breath, the way he froze beneath you, slack-jawed, eyes wide and searching like he was nervous of the possibility you'd suddenly laugh and tell him you were only joking.

But then he seemed to find something in the shyness of your own gaze that made his turn bold, his hand on your back pressing you that little bit firmer against him as he shifted to turn into you fully.

The smile tugging at his lips was one you'd never seen before, the type he only ever gave when he was sure you weren't looking because there was no doubt in his mind that every ounce of love he had for you was written all over his face.

And Eddie swallowed hard before he spoke, his voice shot, affection flooding through the cracks, whilst he bumped his nose to yours. "Then I'd say you're about nine years too late."

Oh.

Wait-

You made a choked sound of surprise as you jerked back to look at him, stunned, fingers curling tight into his jumper and the warm skin of his wrist so you could steady yourself.

"Nine years?" You repeated, feeling dumbstruck whilst Eddie laughed.

But then he was cupping your cheeks with both hands, drawing you back to him with a grin that was all dimples and soft honey eyes and it felt like your heart would burst in your chest when the moment he was confident he had your full attention, he told you. "Sweetheart, I was a goner from the moment you showed up on my doorstep."

"Oh."

It felt like you'd been utterly floored.

It hit you that through all the years that you'd been in love with your best friend you had never truly considered a reality where he felt the same, and now you had no clue how to react.

However you were suddenly, painfully aware of all the times where you'd ached to touch him in a way that you'd then had to remind yourself wasn't allowed, all the time you could have spent learning what his lips felt like on yours, how he tasted. How long you could have called him yours if you both hadn't been so scared.

It felt like a crime to let it go on any longer.

"Eddie?" You whispered, nerves like a champagne fizz in your belly that then spread all the way to your fingers and toes as your eyes fluttered closed at his breath on your lips.

You could smell cinnamon and smoke, a hint of mint underneath, and god, you'd never craved something so bad as you did him.

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

He sounded no better than you - voice hoarse - a little wrecked. Thumbs digging into the hinges of your jaw like he was desperate to keep you anchored to him as he waited with baited breath for you to ask.

"Can I kiss you?"

His mouth was on yours before you could finish.

Soft and sweet at first despite the energy you could practically feel thrumming beneath his skin. You swallowed the groan that almost immediately slipped from his throat, both hands coming up to clutch at his wrists as he tugged you closer, tilting your jaw so he could deepen the kiss - lips sliding over yours again and again as you clung to him.

When you parted, it was only for a handful of seconds. A beat to catch your breath, to stare at each other like you couldn't believe this was finally happening. But then you caught sight of Eddie, eyes burning dark and hooded, lips swollen with your kisses, and it already felt like far too long.

Clearly Eddie felt the same.

The kiss became demanding when you crashed back together, greedy lips and greedy hands, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips before hungrily licking into your mouth. And then you were being pulled onto his lap, soft thighs falling open for him to fit beneath you and the prettiest moan you'd ever heard coming from the boy as your hips settled flush over his.

You gasped against him, a desperate noise that sent heat rushing to your cheeks, when his hand slipped under your shirt to grip your waist. Dizzy at the contrast of cold rings and warm fingers that were gently neading your skin, making you melt further into him than you thought possible.

It made him grip you that little bit harder, squeeze a little tighter to see if you'd make the same sweet sound for him again and Eddie felt like he'd go wild when you did. Like he could lose himself right there and then, with your fingers buried in his curls and your mouth hot on his, because you were all he could think about, see, hear and smell.

He was drowning in you and if you asked anything of him in this moment you can be damn sure that he'd do it in a fucking heartbeat if it meant you'd continue looking at him the way you were when your lips finally parted and you swayed back.

You were all soft smiles and slightly glassy eyed - a bit drunk on the way your best friend had kissed you like he would die if he didn't - and he couldn't resist stealing another, a second and then a third. Quick and a little clumsy because Eddie was smiling too.

There was so much warmth in your chest it felt like you could burst with it. All the emotions and feelings for the boy that you'd buried for so long now free to bloom wild and unhindered in the spaces between your ribs.

You couldn't help the bubble of laughter that poured past your lips, grinning so hard it hurt as he pressed his forehead to yours, thumbs stroking circles over your sides whilst he tried to pull you even closer.

'Strange." You mumbled, soft and a little drawn out like you were just waiting for him to ask.

He didn't let you wait long, nose brushing yours, heart-achingly indulgent.

"What is?"

"I think I've changed my mind about zombie movies, maybe they're not so bad after all."

[xoxolaw]

Hiii congrats on your 500 follower (^з^)-☆

This is my request for you 500 followers event

Character - Go Hyuntak 🥋

Song - I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend by Hot Freaks ｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ

AU - Childhood friends, one-sided love

𐙚˙✧˖°🍮 ༘ ⋆｡ ˚

+ 𝗡𝗢𝗧 𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗜𝗖𝗘𝗗

in which Go Hyun-Tak’s been in love with her since age seven, but all she does is steal his hoodies and call him "bro."

+ 𝗚𝗢 𝗛𝗬𝗨𝗡-𝗧𝗔𝗞 𝗫 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥

fluff

Go Hyun-Tak had been in love with her since the third grade.

Not that she noticed.

Not when she made him pinky-promise to be her best friend forever after he shared his juice box. Not when she’d nap on his shoulder during field trips. Not when she still—still—stole his hoodie in high school and never gave it back.

Now she was seventeen, sprawled beside him on a patchy hill in the local park, legs tucked beneath her, sipping bubble tea while humming off-key to the playlist they made together. She was scrolling her phone like nothing mattered, occasionally shoving the straw toward him for a sip—like it was the most normal thing in the world to share drinks and air and heartbeats.

And Hyun-Tak let her.

Because he was weak.

Because she called him “Takie” in that lazy, syrupy way that made his brain short-circuit.

Because when she turned to him with those wide, guileless eyes and said, “I think I might like someone,” it felt like someone had hit pause on the whole damn universe.

He blinked. “Oh?”

She didn’t look up from her phone, just shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. Like she hadn’t just turned his world sideways with one sentence. “Yeah. It’s stupid.”

Hyun-Tak swallowed, throat dry. “It’s not stupid.”

“You don’t even know who it is.”

No, he thought bitterly, but I know who it’s not.

She adjusted her weight, curling slightly on her side, propping her head up with one arm. A blade of grass stuck in her hair. The oversized sleeves of his hoodie fell past her knuckles. Her eyes flicked to his—half-lidded, lazy, familiar—and she gave him that soft, conspiratorial smile. The kind that made him feel like they were the only two people in the world.

“You wanna know?”

He hesitated.

Everything in him screamed no.

But he nodded anyway. “Sure.”

She grinned, bashful in a way she almost never was. “Okay, but don’t laugh.”

“I won’t.”

“I mean it.”

“Promise.”

A beat passed. Two.

She buried her face in her sleeve for a second, groaning. “Ugh, now I feel dumb.”

“Hey.” His voice gentled without thinking. “It’s me. You never have to feel dumb with me.”

She peeked up at him again, and this time something in her expression shifted—just the tiniest bit. Something quieter. Something more unsure.

And then, just as she opened her mouth—

Her phone buzzed.

She glanced at the screen, thumb hovering.

“Hold on—it's him,” she said, without thinking. And just like that, the moment passed.

Hyun-Tak froze. Watched her face light up like a goddamn fireworks display.

And it gutted him.

He tried to look somewhere else. Anywhere else.

He ended up staring at the hem of his hoodie hanging off her wrist. It looked better on her than it ever did on him.

“You okay?” she asked after a moment, eyes still on the screen, smile tugging at her lips.

“Yeah,” he said softly, leaning back into the grass, eyes skyward. “I’m always okay.”

And he was.

That was the problem.

He was always okay. Always there. Always Takie—her safe place, her stand-in boyfriend for practice dances, her emergency contact, her ride home when it rained.

Everything but the one thing he wanted to be.

✮⋆˙

It was three days later when she brought it up again.

Same hill. Same park. A little windier this time, with leaves rustling in dry circles around their shoes. The sky was overcast, the kind of cloudy that made everything feel muted and slow—except for her, apparently, because she was pacing in front of the bench while Hyun-Tak sat, watching her unravel in real time.

“I swear to god, if he says one more thing about how I’m not like other girls, I’m gonna throw my phone into the lake.”

Hyun-Tak blinked up at her. “You don’t even like lakes.”

“That’s not the point, Takie,” she huffed, running both hands through her hair, tugging at the strands. “The point is he’s so—ugh—he’s so confusing! One minute he’s texting me like he’s interested, and the next he leaves me on read for an entire day. And when I ask what’s wrong, he just says ‘lol nothing.’ LOL NOTHING?! Who does that?”

Hyun-Tak bit the inside of his cheek, holding back a smile. Barely.

She spun on him. “Why are you smiling?”

“I’m not,” he said, all innocence, but his lips were clearly betraying him.

She pointed at him with a glare. “You totally are! I am losing my mind, and you're just sitting there with your little smug face like this is a rom-com and you're the side character getting popcorn.”

He held up both hands. “I swear I’m not enjoying this.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“…Okay, maybe a little,” he admitted, ducking as she flung a crumpled straw wrapper at him. It missed by a mile.

She flopped onto the bench beside him with a groan, letting her head fall dramatically onto his shoulder. “He’s such a jerk, Takie. Like—a real jerk. Not even in a hot way. Just a mildly emotionally unavailable but still somehow pretty way. Which is worse.”

He didn’t say anything at first. Just sat there, letting her vent, letting her rest her head against him like she always did when the world got too loud.

Then, quietly: “So… you’re done with him?”

She sighed into his hoodie. “I should be. But I’m not. I don’t know. It’s like—ugh—I think I just liked the idea of it, you know? Of someone liking me. Wanting me. Even if it’s… not real.”

His chest ached at that.

She didn’t see herself clearly. Never had.

Didn’t realize that everyone wanted her. That she was the kind of person who made playlists with her friends and remembered their birthdays and gave away her heart like she was born with too much of it.

“You are wanted,” he said quietly.

She pulled back a little, brows furrowing. “What?”

“You said you wanted someone to want you,” he repeated, more careful now. “But… you already are.”

She blinked, caught off guard. “By who?”

Hyun-Tak opened his mouth—then closed it.

Laughed under his breath.

“Just… in general,” he said instead. “You’re easy to want.”

A pause.

Then she slumped forward again, exhaling into his shoulder. “You always say the right thing. You suck.”

He smiled down at the top of her head.

If only you knew, he thought. If only you looked at me the way I look at you.

But instead, he just said, “Want me to go beat him up?”

She snorted. “You and what army?”

“Just me. I’m terrifying.”

She laughed for real this time. Loud, open-mouthed, free. Her nose scrunched in that way that made his stomach hurt.

And he swore—

For just a second, she looked at him a little too long.

Not enough. But longer than usual.

+ 𝗔𝗨𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗥'𝗦 𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘 + 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧

Hope this was enjoyable 🥲 cause I'm not sure

+ 𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧

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