#One of my legs has been hurting off and on

[embbarnes]

This took me so long I'm so sorryyyyy. I meant to do this like, last week. I've just been busy prepping for my new addition lol.

I adored this one, you did such a good job writing him and I think this is one of my fav Logan fics from you!

Like always my thoughts and such are below the cut ~

He hates how commercialized the holiday is thanks to the multi-billion dollar corporations that fill department stores with trinkets the second that Christmas is over. He hates all of the pressure and unrealistic expectations that come with planning the perfect date. And as much as he hates to admit it to himself, he hates that it's a stark reminder that he's just as alone in this universe as he had been in the last one.

My first thought was yes, I feel this hard.

He'd never admit it aloud, but just maybe the fact that he can’t keep his thoughts from straying to a specific next door neighbor certainly doesn’t help. He hates to use the word crush at his grown age, but he can’t really think of a better word for it. If it’s not a crush, why else would he be wondering what your plans are for this evening? Why else would he feel the unmistakable, undeniable twinge of jealousy when he thinks of the mere possibility of you spending your night in the arms of someone other than him?

I love a jealous Logan. I love the neighbor trope so much too, it was one I never really thought about until reading your fics.

“Oh, no. Not a date,” you correct him quickly with a bashful grin. “Well, maybe. Is it considered a date if I’m dining by myself?” “You’re going to dinner by yourself?” Logan asks, unable to hide the surprise in his tone. “Looking like that?”

Ay ay ay...Logan, don't judge. Sometimes it's nice to go out and treat yourself

All it takes is one look at the table that the host takes the two of you to for Logan to realize that he has indeed never had Korean barbecue. You don’t appear to be the slightest bit confused so he assumes that the circular grill built into the middle of the table is normal, though he’s never seen anything quite like it in a restaurant before. You giggle when you notice the curious expression on his face. “It’s kinda like hibachi,” you begin. “Except instead of someone cooking it in front of you, you cook it yourself.” Logan takes in the array of various meats on the tray to the left of him. You pick up a piece of what appears to be some kind of beef with a pair of tongs, and place it on the grill. It sizzles, and he watches as you add a few more pieces of meat onto the hot surface. “Isn’t that kinda the whole point of going to a restaurant? To have someone else cook the food for you?” He asks the question as gently as he can, not wanting to hurt your feelings. He’s just happy to be here with you – even if he doesn’t fully understand the appeal of going to a restaurant to pay to cook your own food.

I've never been to a place like this or had Korean bbq at all and my first thought was the same as his, but I've always wanted to try it lol.

“Last week, when we got stuck in the elevator together,” you begin in a low voice. He swears that your eyes flicker to his lips for a split second before meeting his gaze once more. “Were you nervous?”

She's better than me I'd NEVER work myself to ask him this lmaoo

“Do you wanna come up to my place?” you breathe, nodding your head in the direction of the apartment building. “What? You don’t wanna come to mine and hang out with Al?” he teases, nudging you in the direction of the building’s entrance. “As tempting as that sounds…” You trail off, following his lead. The second that the elevator door comes to a close, his hands are back on you. He backs you up against the wall, his hands gripping your hips as you spread your legs enough to allow one of his thick thighs in between them. This time, he’s the one who kisses you, wasting no time in slipping his tongue between your lips. You whimper into the kiss, your tongue fighting his for dominance.

Yesss this is what I was waiting for! She's so playful lol and he's a big ol' tease.

“Fuckin’ hell,” you groan. “Not this again.”

No no...this is good.

There’s a mischievous look on your face. Before he can question you, you’re sliding down the wall until you reach the floor. You reach for his belt with your hands, making quick work of undoing the buckle and then the button to his jeans. Oh. All Logan can do is stare down at you in wonderment as you tug his zipper down. “This okay with you?” you ask, but the look on your face says that you already know the answer.

This okay with you - girl, he's about to bust rn. He's def okay with this lol

Later, he tells himself. He’ll get you naked later, in the privacy of your apartment, where there’s no risk of the elevator doors sliding open at any given moment.

A gentleman, don't argue w me.

Your cunt tastes as sweet as the fruity wine from the restaurant did on your tongue. He eats you like he wants to get drunk off of you, alternating between soft licks through your folds and fervent kisses to your swollen bud. He feels your legs quiver around the sides of his head. He supports you from below, letting you go all but limp above him. He glances up at you, your head thrown back in pleasure and your chest heaving with ragged breaths.

He is diving in there 😩 Grab his hair and tug -

“Do you.. wanna wait until we get back to your..?” “God, no,” you exhale, and pull him to you by grabbing his flannel in your fists.

LMAO same girl 😭

“Mind if I still come back to your place? I know we just…” He trails off, glancing down at where he’s still tucked inside you. “But I just realized I forgot to pick up cigarettes for Al and she isn’t gonna be too happy with me.” You roll your eyes, and playfully push him away from you so that you can tug your skirt back into place. “I think I can find a way to be okay with that,” you smirk. “If we ever get out of this fuckin’ elevator.”

This ending was so hilarious too I absolutely loved it from start to finish. The fin little moments and the build up, the smut scene was HOT and the funny little quips added into the fic were MUAH. You did sooo good with this one ~ 💕💕💕

either way, i'm going your way

logan howlett x reader (worst!logan x reader)

word count: 4k

summary: logan doesn't remember the last time he celebrated valentine's day, and he doesn't have any reason to believe that this year will be any different. then he runs into you, wade's neighbor, who happens to love the holiday despite not having anyone to celebrate it with.

warnings/tags: smut, 18+ only mdni, sex in a public place kind of, oral (m&f receiving), unprotected p in v, logan's pov, neighbor!reader, reader is afab, reader is described as being shorter than logan, no use of y/n, hints of grumpy x sunshine

this is my entry for @yxtkiwiyxt & @lubdubology valentine's writing challenge! thank you both for hosting this, i can't wait to read the other submissions ❤️

logan howlett masterlist

Logan has been alive for two centuries worth of Valentine's Days. He can count on one hand how many he’s actually celebrated, and he can't recall the last time he had a reason to even acknowledge the day.

To him, Valentine’s Days have always been just another Tuesday, or Thursday, or whatever day it falls on that year.

He hates how commercialized the holiday is thanks to the multi-billion dollar corporations that fill department stores with trinkets the second that Christmas is over. He hates all of the pressure and unrealistic expectations that come with planning the perfect date. And as much as he hates to admit it to himself, he hates that it's a stark reminder that he's just as alone in this universe as he had been in the last one.

Technically he can't say that he's entirely alone. Romantically? Yes. Sexually? Yes.

Physically, however, he’s lodged between a blind eighty-year-old cocaine addict and a ten pound living tumor - the latter of whom keeps trying to French kiss him.

Wade might be out with Vanessa for Valentine’s Day, but for Logan, this is any other Friday night – watching Who Wants To Be A Millionaire reruns with Al and Mary Puppins.

Something about his current predicament makes him feel even more alone than if he actually were alone. Maybe it’s how unfamiliar and foreign this universe still feels in so many ways – he’s been here for some months now, but there’s some things that remind him that he still has a ways to go in terms of adjustment.

He'd never admit it aloud, but just maybe the fact that he can’t keep his thoughts from straying to a specific next door neighbor certainly doesn’t help. He hates to use the word crush at his grown age, but he can’t really think of a better word for it. If it’s not a crush, why else would he be wondering what your plans are for this evening? Why else would he feel the unmistakable, undeniable twinge of jealousy when he thinks of the mere possibility of you spending your night in the arms of someone other than him?

He has no one to blame but himself, and he knows it. He had the perfect opportunity to ask you out just last week, and he didn’t take it. The two of you were both taking the elevator up to your neighboring apartments when it broke down for the third fucking time in the last month. It took nearly an hour for maintenance to get it back up and running, and he couldn’t find the nerve to simply ask if you have any plans at any point during the time you were trapped in the fifteen square feet of space together. Instead, he awkwardly rambled about he had walked in on Wade and Vanessa in a compromising position the day before.

He cringes at the memory, tossing back another swig of whiskey when he realizes the bottle is empty. He sighs, earning a side-eye from Mary Puppins.

If this is how he’s going to be spending his evening, he should at least be a little intoxicated.

“I’m going to the liquor store,” Logan announces as he transfers Mary Puppins from his lap to Al’s before standing up from his position on the couch for the first time in hours. “You need anything?”

“Pick me up a couple of scratchers and a pack of Newports.”

Just her usual requests, then.

Logan throws on his leather jacket, dreading the cold and dreary February night but willing to face it for a bottle of bourbon and some cigars. He’s been out of those since yesterday, so a trip to the nearest convenience store is much needed, anyway.

The door to the apartment complex’s singular outdated elevator is sliding to a close when Logan hears a familiar, feminine voice call out.

“Hold up!”

Logan immediately pushes the hold button, freezing the door in place. A second later, you appear in the doorframe. You’re slightly out of breath, with a relieved expression on your face.

“Thanks,” you greet him as you lean against the wall of the elevator, smoothing your hands over the fabric of your plaid skirt. “I’m running late to my dinner reservations and really didn’t wanna have to take the stairs in these.” You glance down at the heels of the uncomfortable looking thigh high boots that you’re wearing.

Uncomfortable looking and hot, he thinks, before your words sink in. Dinner reservations – of course you’d have plans tonight. He feels a slight pang of disappointment (and jealousy, if he’s being honest with himself) at the realization, but he isn’t surprised.

“Well, let’s cross our fingers that we don’t get stuck in here again and that you make it to your date on time,” Logan says with a forced laugh and smile as he pushes the button once again to close the door, followed by the button that says lobby.

“Oh, no. Not a date,” you correct him quickly with a bashful grin. “Well, maybe. Is it considered a date if I’m dining by myself?”

“You’re going to dinner by yourself?” Logan asks, unable to hide the surprise in his tone. “Looking like that?”

Your eyes widen in shock. “What’s wrong with how I look? And what’s wrong with going to dinner by myself?”

“Nothing!” Logan begins to backtrack when he realizes how his questions came across. “You - you look great. I'm just a little surprised. Would’ve assumed that you had a date tonight is all—”

He trails off when he realizes that you’re pursing your lips together in an obvious attempt to hide a smirk. The mischievous glimmer in your eyes gives you away.

“I’m just fucking with you, Logan,” you snort with a playful slap to his arm. “I know it’s a little unconventional to take yourself out on Valentine’s Day. But I’ve always loved the holiday despite being painfully single, so I thought why not? Better than sitting at home and sulking all night.”

The corners of his lips threaten to twitch upwards at the words painfully single as he contemplates the rest of your response. He can’t help but admire your way of thinking. He was content with staying holed up inside the apartment and drinking himself into a stupor, but he can’t deny that your outlook on the holiday is far less depressing and boring than his.

“What about you?” you ask as the elevator comes to a stop with a melodic ding. You exit, looking back at him over your shoulder. “Are you on your way to your Valentine’s plans?”

He chuckles at the question. For a second, he considers lying to you. He considers telling you that yes, he is on his way to pick up his date right now, just so he doesn’t have to tell you the truth – that he’s on his way to buy bourbon, cancer sticks, and lottery tickets for him and his elderly roommate. But with his luck, you’d run into Wade tomorrow and he’d open his big fucking mouth about how Logan actually spent his night, and the thought of that is even more mortifying than telling you the truth to your face.

“Not unless you count making a liquor run as Valentine’s plans,” he sighs, averting your gaze as he opens the door to the apartment building for you. “The only thing I plan on doing tonight is listen to Althea scream at her game shows.”

You come to a stop outside of the apartment building, wrapping your coat tightly around your chest to fight off the chilly night air. There’s a peculiar look on your face that Logan can’t quite read – something between amusement and hesitation.

“You could have worse dates, I suppose,” you laugh.

“That’s true,” Logan agrees. “At least I have Vanessa to thank for a Wade free evening. But I’ll let you go, don’t wanna make you late for your—”

“Do you like Korean barbecue?”

Logan freezes, taken aback by the question. He snaps his mouth shut, realizing he’s staring at you like a deer in the headlights.

“Korean barbecue?” He asks lamely. “Don’t think I’ve ever tried it.”

He’s had barbecue. He’s had Korean food.. maybe? He’s been alive a really long time, he’s sure he’s had Korean food at some point in the last two hundred years.

But he can’t say that he’s had Korean barbecue.

A nervous looking grin appears on your face, and you cross your arms over your chest before taking a small step towards him.

“Are you hungry?”

••••••

All it takes is one look at the table that the host takes the two of you to for Logan to realize that he has indeed never had Korean barbecue.

You don’t appear to be the slightest bit confused so he assumes that the circular grill built into the middle of the table is normal, though he’s never seen anything quite like it in a restaurant before.

You giggle when you notice the curious expression on his face.

“It’s kinda like hibachi,” you begin. “Except instead of someone cooking it in front of you, you cook it yourself.”

Logan takes in the array of various meats on the tray to the left of him. You pick up a piece of what appears to be some kind of beef with a pair of tongs, and place it on the grill. It sizzles, and he watches as you add a few more pieces of meat onto the hot surface.

“Isn’t that kinda the whole point of going to a restaurant? To have someone else cook the food for you?” He asks the question as gently as he can, not wanting to hurt your feelings. He’s just happy to be here with you – even if he doesn’t fully understand the appeal of going to a restaurant to pay to cook your own food.

“It’s about the experience,” you explain with a shrug. “To be fair, when most people come to a Korean barbecue restaurant, they usually come with a group of people – hence the large amount of meat.” You nod towards the arrangement of the meats that have yet to be cooked.

“It’s a social thing. But all of my friends had plans with their significant others tonight, so…”

You trail off as the server places another tray on the table – this one covered in various colorful side dishes that he’s definitely never had before. He wouldn’t exactly describe himself as adventurous when it comes to trying new foods – for the most part, he lives off of ham and cheese sandwiches and frozen TV dinners. But he tried shawarma when he’d first arrived in this universe and ended up loving it, so he’s determined to try a bite of everything on this table.

“Sounds like it’s a good thing that you ran into me, then,” Logan murmurs when the server walks off.

You take your eyes off of the pieces of meat that you’re paying careful attention not to overcook, looking up at him through your lashes with a soft smile.

“I'd say that you’re right about that.”

••••••

Despite the breeze and the chilly night air, Logan feels perfectly toasty on the walk back to the apartment thanks to your tight hold on his arm and the wine that you had insisted that he try.

He'd learned a lot tonight – a lot about you; your hobbies and your interests. He’d learned all about Korean barbecue, and that he likes bulgogi and buldak.

Most importantly, he'd learned that he was stupid for ever being nervous about asking you out.

He feels at ease with you. He already knew he enjoys your company from all of the times that you’ve joined Wade’s movie nights and get-togethers – but he’d never been alone with you (with the exception of getting stuck in the elevator with you last week). Wade, Vanessa, Al, Peter, Yukio, and countless others always seemed to be present, making it near impossible for him to get to know you in the way that he’s wanted to since he first met you.

But now, with your arm intertwined with his and the scent of your perfume hitting him each time there is a gust of air, he knows that he is going to do all that he can to keep having moments like this with you.

“I have a question,” you state as the two of you turn onto the street where your apartment building is. Logan glances down at you in curiosity, but you’re not looking at him – you’re looking ahead, your teeth biting into your lower lip.

“What’s that?” Logan murmurs.

You hesitate, your eyes flickering up to him before quickly looking away again. “Did you actually like the kimchi?”

Logan can’t help but cackle, taken off guard by the question.

“That’s your question?” he laughs, thinking back to the spicy and tangy flavor of the fermented vegetables.

You come to a stop next to a streetlight outside of your apartment building, pulling your arm away from his to stand just inches in front of him.

“No,” you admit with a smirk. “Though I am curious about that, too.” You take a step closer to him, your chest ever so slightly brushing against his. He feels his breath catch in his throat at the way that your eyes twinkle in the glow of the streetlight.

“Last week, when we got stuck in the elevator together,” you begin in a low voice. He swears that your eyes flicker to his lips for a split second before meeting his gaze once more. “Were you nervous?”

He thinks back to his nervous rambling in the elevator, to how you looked so pretty that he found it difficult to hold direct eye contact with you, and to how it felt like half of his brain was screaming at him to ask you out and the other half was screaming at him to not make himself look like an idiot.

Yeah, nervous is accurate.

“That obvious, huh?” he sighs.

“Just a little,” you shrug. “But don’t worry. I was too.”

“Is that right?” Logan asks, trying not to give away just how happy the confession makes him. “And what about now?”

He doesn’t have to ask – he's standing close enough to you that your increased heartrate is easy for him to detect.

“Something like that,” you whisper, and before he fully process what’s happening, you’re raising up on your tippy toes to capture his lips in yours.

The taste of the fruity wine from dinner still lingers on your lips. He places his hands on the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. Your hands cradle his face, pulling him down closer to you. The warmth of you is a balm against the brisk night air, making him feel like he can’t get close enough to you. You don’t pull away until you’re breathless, looking up at him with dilated pupils in the florescent street lighting.

“Do you wanna come up to my place?” you breathe, nodding your head in the direction of the apartment building.

“What? You don’t wanna come to mine and hang out with Al?” he teases, nudging you in the direction of the building’s entrance.

“As tempting as that sounds…” You trail off, following his lead.

The second that the elevator door comes to a close, his hands are back on you. He backs you up against the wall, his hands gripping your hips as you spread your legs enough to allow one of his thick thighs in between them. This time, he’s the one who kisses you, wasting no time in slipping his tongue between your lips. You whimper into the kiss, your tongue fighting his for dominance.

It isn’t until he pulls away for air and opens his eyes that he realizes the elevator has come to a stop. It couldn’t have been moving for more than ten seconds –

“Fuckin’ hell,” you groan. “Not this again.”

Logan looks at the panel of buttons to his left. Sure enough, the number reads that you’re still a floor beneath your apartments. He beats his fist against the elevator wall, as if that’s actually going to help the matter.

Still pinned between his body and the wall, you pull your cell phone out from an interior pocket of your coat. You quickly find the number for building maintenance in your call history, but it just rings, and rings, and rings.

“I could probably pry the doors open,” Logan muses as he begins to pull away from you. He thinks back to how it took maintenance nearly an hour to get the elevator back up and running last week, and knows that he wouldn’t have the patience for that now. The thought of having to wait even a fraction of that long to get back to your apartment…

“Let’s not do anything that could potentially put the elevator out of commission permanently, yeah?” You pull him back to you, grabbing his face in your hand and making him look at you. “I think that we'll be just fine right here for a while.”

There’s a mischievous look on your face. Before he can question you, you’re sliding down the wall until you reach the floor. You reach for his belt with your hands, making quick work of undoing the buckle and then the button to his jeans.

Oh.

All Logan can do is stare down at you in wonderment as you tug his zipper down.

“This okay with you?” you ask, but the look on your face says that you already know the answer.

He nods, his mouth suddenly feeling too dry to speak. He helps you shimmy his boxers and jeans down enough for his cock to spring free. He glances around the elevator, double checking that there aren’t any security cameras. Considering this elevator is ancient and doesn’t even function half the time, he isn’t surprised to see that there aren’t any.

You take the base of him in your hand, languidly massaging the length as you tease his slit with your tongue. You lap up the beads of pre-cum before easing him past your lips.

The sight of you on your knees for him is enough to have him twitching in your mouth. Add in how your soft lips and tongue feel working his length, and he knows he won’t last long like this.

You bob your head around him, gagging when his head juts against the back of your throat. You pull off of him, leaving a thick rope of saliva that trails from his cock to your mouth.

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything prettier. He could spend hours looking at you like this.

But this isn’t how he wants to finish – in your mouth, before he’s even had a chance to make you feel good. So as much as it nearly kills him to do it, he pulls himself away from your sweet lips and yanks you back up by the tops of your arms. There’s the slightest hint of disappointment on your face, but it quickly disappears when he pushes your coat off of your shoulders and down your arms. It falls to floor, leaving you in still too many articles of clothing for Logan’s liking.

Later, he tells himself. He’ll get you naked later, in the privacy of your apartment, where there’s no risk of the elevator doors sliding open at any given moment.

For now, he settles for pushing the restrictive fabric of your skirt upwards, bunching it around your waist. He sinks to the ground in front of you, splaying his palms on your inner thighs and spreading your legs open for him. He rubs the pad of his thumb over the soft material of your panties, right over your clit. He feels shudder at the sensation, and notices the goosebumps that appear on the skin of your thighs.

He hooks his index finger through the cotton fabric, pulling it to the side. He looks up to see if there’s any kind of hesitation on your face, but you quickly pull him to your center by the back of his head, erasing any doubt. He chuckles lowly, and flattens his tongue over your slit.

Your cunt tastes as sweet as the fruity wine from the restaurant did on your tongue. He eats you like he wants to get drunk off of you, alternating between soft licks through your folds and fervent kisses to your swollen bud.

He feels your legs quiver around the sides of his head. He supports you from below, letting you go all but limp above him. He glances up at you, your head thrown back in pleasure and your chest heaving with ragged breaths.

His name slips through your lips, your voice strained with desperation. He loves the sound of it, and wants more than anything to hear you keep saying it. He snakes one of his hands between your thighs, and teases your hole with the tip 9t his finger. You involuntarily sink down, nudging the tip of it past your entrance.

He groans against your clit at how fucking tight you feel around his finger. God, he can’t wait to be inside you. He pumps the digit, your walls already clenching around him.

“Logan,” you moan from above him. “I’m gonna—”

“I know,” he hums against your clit. “Let go. I got you.”

Your climax washes over you with a sharp cry of his name and Logan mentally prays that the elevator walls aren’t as thin as the apartment walls.

When you go still above him, he reluctantly takes his mouth off of you and stands up. His jeans and boxers are still bunched just above his knees, his erection painfully hard and his balls full. He wipes the excess of your slick from his mouth with the back of his hand, and then begins to stroke his own length in his fist.

“Do you.. wanna wait until we get back to your..?”

“God, no,” you exhale, and pull him to you by grabbing his flannel in your fists.

His lips crash against yours as he nestles himself in between your legs, teasing your slit with the head of his cock. He coats it in your juices and eases into you slowly. You groan into his mouth and he has to try not to cum on the spot.

You’re tight, and warm, and your walls flutter around him just right. He hikes one of your thighs over his hip, deepening the angle before he pulls almost all the way out. He rocks back into you, working up to a steady pace.

The small, confined space is filled with the sound of your body meeting his and the sweet noises you make that are music to his ears. You grip around him like a velvet vice and he knows that he isn't going to last long.

“Gonna cum, honey,” he warns in a grunt next to your ear. “Ya feel too fuckin’ good.”

He feels your walls pulse around him at his words and he can tell that you're just as close as he is. A few more deep thrusts that hit your cervix just right and he’s spilling into you as you cum around him.

When he’s empty, his movements cease but he doesn’t pull out. He nuzzles his face against your throat, pressing kisses to the soft but sweat-slicked skin.

“Happy Valentine’s Day to us,” you murmur in a borderline delirious voice. He laughs, pulling back just enough to press his lips to yours.

“Mind if I still come back to your place? I know we just…” He trails off, glancing down at where he’s still tucked inside you. “But I just realized I forgot to pick up cigarettes for Al and she isn’t gonna be too happy with me.”

You roll your eyes, and playfully push him away from you so that you can tug your skirt back into place.

“I think I can find a way to be okay with that,” you smirk. “If we ever get out of this fuckin’ elevator.”

not my favorite thing i've ever written by any means, i've been feeling really unmotivated to write and have felt kinda burnt out, but i still wanted to get this out before valentine's day bc if i didn't then i never would have finished it at all, lol. so i'm sorry it's short 😭 hope you still enjoyed

reblogs/comments are always appreciated, thanks for reading!

[jinxvex]

hiii!! i love ur abby hcs 😭😭😭

pleasee write abt abby and like the reader touching herself when shes not supposed to and abby has to punish her 🙏

♱ numb. ♱

mm!! yes me thinks!!

syp: abby punishing that p***y wbk...!!

cw: nsfw content!!, daddy kink (oops!), mean!dom abby, sub!reader, lots of degradation and rough treatment (yummy), finger-fucking, vulgar language/dirty talk, bdsm-ish elements, squirting, cunt slapping, slight choking!!

to put things simply, abby anderson owns you; every aspect of you. your heart, mind, body, and soul belong to her and you quite like it that way. you like the control of it all—the feeling of your brain shutting down and having someone who loves and cares about you take the reins. she lifts the weight off of your shoulders and holds it up whilst she plunges her cock into the deepest parts of you to awaken something so pleasurable that you melt away.

not to mention the other times she uses her tongue to lick the stress away—her fingers to press the negative thoughts and energy from your body forcing orgasm after orgasm out of your poor, achy little cunt. although, there is a layer of gentleness.

she’s holding back.

at times, you want her to fuck you until you’re numb. you want her to fuck you until the only thing spilling from your mouth are incoherent little pleads and moans for her to slow down and take it easy on you.

nevertheless, she doesn’t have many serious rules regarding your sex life. but! there is one that she’s been extremely adamant about from the start of the sexual part of your relationship which, hadn’t begun until fairly recently. her only rule as of late:

“don’t touch yourself without my permission, got it?”

knowing the extent of her rules or lack thereof, sparked some sort of disobedience within you—a craving to be ravished and punished and to push her so far beyond her limits that she has no choice but to punish you and ruin your pussy for anyone else.

oh! how you’d come to just slightly regret your approach to that… (you love it)!!

…

“f-fuhh-ck!! oh fuck, please! daddy, please ‘m- i can’t!” you plead to abby with shiny, tearful eyes.

right now, she’s resting her back against the headboard whilst she has your back pressed against her front. you can feel the swell of her warm breasts and the heat of her clothed pussy on your rear as she takes you apart. your legs are spread apart by hers. she’s got your legs locked under her strong, muscular ones—forcing you to take everything she’s giving you. her fingers that is.

her other hand is placed firmly on your throat not squeezing but holding you there for one sole reason.

so you can’t escape.

“nuh-uh. shut the fuck up. take it—take this shit. you’re gonna take everything i give this slutty little pussy since you wanted it so fuckin’ bad. you were begging f'me as soon as i walked through the door.”

the room smells strongly of sex, sweat, and your own sweet desperation, it’s almost painful the way abby’s fucking your pussy open on her fingers—you feel yourself going numb. at this point, your cunt has perfectly molded around her middle and ring finger, sucking her in to compensate for the intrusive way she bullied herself into you with no prep. the sounds being produced from you are downright sinful—loud squelches and creamy pussy noises.

not that it wasn’t easy, breaking you in. you were already awfully wet before she walked in on you. you’d been rubbing your clit to one of her ab pictures for an unprecedented amount of time, waiting for her to just walk into your open apartment to pick you up for the dinner date you’d scheduled. she’d walked in on you touching yourself in skimpy black lingerie—loud porno-sounding moans coming from your lips and filling up the entirety of the space around you.

she was furious. and still is from the way she’s handling you.

“‘m so sorry, baby! ‘m sorry, please. it hurts, ‘s too much, i already came twice!” you sob.

“thought this is what you wanted? huh?” she tuts disapprovingly. she pulls her fingers out of you to whack your cunt with the palm of her hand. that motion causes your wetness from your previous orgasms to splatter on her upper arm and your inner thighs. you can’t see her face at this angle, but you can hear the anger seeping from her tone.

“didn’t you want me to stretch this little pussy out? so i could break you open ‘n loosen you up for daddy's cock?”

you moan but make no orderly response.

she slaps your cunt once again, and from the force of her strike, you knew she wouldn’t ask again. “mm, f-fuck! i- i don’t know, i just—yes. i wanted it, daddy. wanted you to punish me. wanted it.” you babble.

she laughs out and whispers an octave quieter into your ear, her tone dripping sex, “i know, sweetheart, i know. you jus' needed to get this pussy fucked up for being so needy, hm?”

“who’s pussy is this, huh?” she asks you, unwavering.

“‘s yours! ‘s yours, promise!” you respond.

“yeah, it is. good girl. ‘s my fuckin’ cunt and i get to decide who touches it. even you, baby.”

her fingers then slam right back into your heat and they seem to reach deeper into you, hitting your g-spot so good that your pussy squirts out violently all over the bed and all over you both, soaking you in your own juices and creating a creamy white ring around her pruney digits. she’s fucking you through your high at the same pace she’s had the whole time, unrelenting.

slow and steady—yet rough and deep.

“don’t worry. i’m not stopping. 'm not gonna stop fucking this cunt until you pass the fuck out.”

you’d be lying if you said her comments didn’t cause your eyes to cross so far into each other that your vision spots—her words cause you to moan so loud that you’re bound to get a noise complaint. you need this. you need for her to be so mean and rough that it’s borderline psychotic, masochistic.

‘fuck.’ you curse yourself internally.

and as if she could hear your inner thoughts, “yeah, babe. you should be happy, though. you wanted to get fucked so bad,

— and now you’re gonna get it ‘til you’re numb.”

...

[leyavo]

| I am my father’s daughter |

💖 Dad!price x Daughter!reader

PART THREE: John Price hasn’t seen or heard from his daughter in over year, but that changes when she calls him one night asking for help. 2983words

TW: hurt/angst/mentions of abuse/complicated father-daughter relationship

🔈Readers view of John is different, he’s come and gone in her life etc so she thinks he’s not that great. So don’t send me hate

Previous parts > [series masterlist]

The repetitive beep echoing in your ear grew louder and louder, but you couldn't focus on the chatter around you. Your body heavy, the weight of your limbs not moving the way you wanted them to. The dull ache across your shoulder blades tingled, prickling sensation shooting down your arm and settling at the lump on your wrist.

A warmth spread over your hand, smooth and rough in places as the phantom touch traced your knuckles. Light and gentle, it'd been ages since someone had been so tender with you. You lifted your finger, a twitch against something soft beneath your palm.

Your lashes remained stuck, eyelids heavy, but you managed to force your eyes open. The piercing white light blurring everything in your vision, face burying into the pillow as you tried to get used to it.

Did you pass out on the sofa again? Why weren’t they turning their alarm off? You squeezed your eyes shut trying to make sense of where you were. Oddly, your mind was light, a little groggy from the sleep you’d just broke away from. 

No, it was too quiet to be on mum's sofa. The slow beep started to climb, doubling in speed until you realised it was your own heart beating. Where were you? No, you can’t be back there. 

A rough voice sounded beside you, the whooshing in your ear muffling their words. Throbbing pain pulsating in your head, you squeezed your eye's shut whining at the tight pull over the bridge of your nose. You must have gone down hard.

You just couldn't remember, head empty and you didn't care, all you wanted to do was close your eye's again. A hand pawed at your hair, you wanted to shrink away from their touch, but you were too tired to move.

You caught the edge of their words, your old man. 

“Captain.” Your words slurred, but you can hear your dad’s voice now that the beeping has disappeared. He's reassuring you about something, the weight of his hand on yours. You feel like you're being tucked into bed like a kid, something your dad only did for you when you stayed at his. That didn't happen often though.

You're in and out that haze for another few days, well thats what the kind nurse told you as she checked your vitals and sat with you whilst you ate breakfast. At first you thought she'd force the hospital food down your throat, but she observed you pushing the warm food around on the tray. She didn't push though, trading the plate for a pot of green jelly. The only thing you could stomach, you scraped the pot and she came back with two more, stayed by your side until you finished them.

Kyle and Johnny frequented the infirmary more than your own father. You hadn't seen him since your first dazed wake up and even then you weren't sure if you'd dreamt it or not.

The past two days Johnny accompanied you on a walk down the corridor, his hand hovering behind your elbow in case your legs gave out, like the first day you got out of bed. He'd caught you, your cheek smushed into his firm chest. You'd found out the reason for Johnny's light touch, the demolition specialist comparing the skill of disarming a bomb no different than dealing with you.

Johnny was quite the charmer too, every women that passed him seemed to fawn over him. You wasn't sure if it was the thick Scottish accent that made him stand out or the way he always seemed to have an answer for everything.

The days seemed to merge with each other, you couldn't keep track of the time either. Always waiting for something, someone.

After the Fifth day you refused to take your medication, Toff crumbling under the pressure and telling you that the Captain was at your beside during the evening whilst you slept. His work keeping him away during the day.

So you did everything you could to stay awake, the nerves twisting your stomach as you thought of what your dad would say to you. What questions he'd ask you.

The worse of them all, you hoped he hadn't called your mum. You found yourself staring at the door, waiting for her to walk in.

What you didn't expect though was Simon Riley walking in and taking your dad’s seat. You slid down the headboard, fingers twisting in the blanket at your waist.

What the fuck was he doing here?

You rubbed your eyes, regretting the action as Simon pulled your arm away from you face.

“Mind that gash,” Simon said, voice muffled under his mask. He pointed to the cut on the bridge of your nose, the area swollen and tender where something had fallen on top of you in the bathroom.  

Apparently you’d caused quite the stir on base, word getting round of how a specialist agent a.k.a Kyle scaled the two story house and removed the window. All that just to get to you.

If you weren’t staying willingly, you’re sure the base would kick you out as soon as they could. The captain would probably drive you home, some half assed excuse about needing to go dark.

Home, you don’t know where that is anymore.

You wished it were Johnny or Kyle in his seat, at least Kyle read the latest trashy magazine articles out loud to you to fill the silence. Johnny asking you twenty one questions, more to check brain activity and memory loss. Not that you answered all of them. 

No Simon Riley stared at you, his muscular arms crossed over his chest making them look ten times bigger. The black hoody pulled up over his head, white skull sticking out against the dark mask covering lower part of his face. You wondered if he wore it everywhere outside.

"Bones?"

He raised a brow, shifting in his chair and widening his legs as he leant back against the seat. Not much of talker, that or he didn't want to entertain your curiosity.

“Your call sign. The skeleton mask isn’t a clue then?” you said, head sinking back into the pillow as you laid back down. Might as well the fill silence if he was just going to sit there and stare.

"Tell me his name and I'll tell you mine," He tilted his head to the side, his fingers digging in his biceps.

Your eyes followed the lines in the tiled ceiling, the whirring of a fan pushing cold air in your face. "What does it matter? It's not like I'm going back," you said, wanting to believe your words, no matter how much they trembled from your lips.

What did he care anyways? You'd only showed up last week, a stranger to him and your own dad. You wondered if that was why he hadn't been to visit during the day, couldn't look at your face and recognise the girl who he used to know.

"Tell ya' dad at least, eh."

"Sure," you mumbled, turning your back to him as you pulled the blanket over your shoulders.

As much as you hated to admit it, you and your dad were more alike than you thought.

In the presence of his task force and the other military personnel on the base, he was the no nonsense Captain, telling them exactly what he thought.

With you though he seemed to be holding back, you just didn’t know how or what he was going to say. You had plenty to say, but even more to keep to yourself. Tension building between your unsaid words, manifesting as silent brooding. If he wasn’t going to ask, you weren’t going to lay it all out and piss him off.

Was the Captain angry at you? You had no clue, but the knot in your stomach twisted as his gaze swept to you.

He shrugged off his jacket and helped guide your arms through the sleeves. “Here, couldn’t find a coat in your bag,” he said, tugging the collar forwards. You stumbled into him muttering an apology as he let go.

The brown cord jacket probably older than you were. Cream fleeced lining still holding his warmth, the sleeves rolled up at the cuffs so it’s not too long on you. It hung off your shoulders, swamping you. The Smokey scent clinging to the fabric, a mixture of tobacco and spice merging with it. Something you didn’t want to wash away as a kid after hugging him goodbye.

In your rush to get out of that place, you’d forgotten your coat. Even with months of planning you’d slipped up, calling your dad being one of them.

“Come on kiddo,” he said, nudging his towards the old brown truck.

The same truck you used watch disappear down the street after every visit as a kid. Your mum threatening to shut you out if you let the cold into the house.

“You looked through my stuff,” you said, trailing after him as he opened the passenger door for you. You climbed into the seat, staring at the faded heart sticker still on the dashboard. A sparkly one you put there so he’d always think of you whilst he was saving the world.

He scratched his moustache, leaning one arm against the door. “Well, yeah. You needed clothes, doubt you’d wear your old man’s clobber,” he said, leaning across you and yanking the belt strap, he still hadn’t fixed the bloody thing.

His hands fumbled over the clasp, cursing under his breath as it caught halfway. You pressed your back into the seat, not quite sure why he was trying to clip you in like a child. The scar on his jawline sticking out against the stubble, you wondered how he'd got it.

“I got it, Captain,” you said, flinching as the belt sprung back over your shoulder and down the side of the seat. “Think it might be time to retire the old dear.” You tapped the glovebox, snatching your hand back as the compartment opened. Your dad slammed it shut, the only way to keep it there with force. The car shook with his movement.

The Captain hated buying new stuff. Preferred the old, originals that stood the test of time. “I’m the only thing that’ll be retiring.” He chuckled, shaking his head and closing your door.

Shifting in your seat, you winced. Eyes squeezing shut and nose scrunching as you tried not to groan in pain. The tight pull of your nose and the cut there drawing a trembling breath from your lips. The back of your shoulder felt like it was burning, you tried not to put all your weight on it and angled your body to the right, gaze on the now moving car.

“You okay kiddo?” He glanced at you, palm patting your knee. The low hum of the radio of some obscure band filtering through the speakers. You nodded, wondering why he was driving around the carpark.

Recruits marching in the distance, the check out booth coming into view. Why was he handing over your passes? Where were you going? You checked the back seats, expecting your bag to be there, but it was clear. Maybe it was in the boot.

His phone rang, your mother’s name on the screen. No, you asked him not to. You glanced to the door, locked. Not that you’d be tumbling out anyways.

The car was rolling out of the base, chain linked fence fading behind you. Your dad silenced his phone, letting the call go to his voicemail.

“I’m not going back.”

He glanced at you, fingers tapping the worn steering wheel. He turned his body to yours, red light giving him an opportunity to really look at you.

“You don’t wanna go back to base?” His gaze flitting between your face and the rearview mirror. “Where you going to go kid?” He’s back at the steering wheel, light green. Stepping on the pedal a little too hard that you jutted forward, seatbelt digging into your collarbone.

“You fucking called her, I’m not going back there. You can’t make me,” you spat, throat scratchy and dry. You folded your arms over your chest, twisting his jacket in your clenched fists.

If he’d called your mum, that meant she knew where you were. And you knew if she turned up, you’d go with her just to make things easier. Easier on the Captain, not you. You found it difficult to tell her no, she made it that way. Good at getting in your head, saying things you wanted to hear, then proving you that she’s exactly the same person she was before.

You’re still trying to figure out what kind of person your dad is.

“Hey, woah. We ain’t going anywhere. I just need to pick something up.” He won’t look at you though, his phone dropping into the cup holder. “Your mum deserves to know what’s happening with her kid. She’d be worried.” His face getting redder and redder, brows furrowed as he makes a sloppy right turn. Tyre hitting the kerb, old car groaning at the assault.

Yeah, worried about money. Worried that you'll tell the Captain what she's really like. Not worried about you.

“Well she didn’t think you deserved to know about a lot of things.” You say it before even thinking and wished you didn’t. The captain’s probably storing that piece of information away for his interrogation later.

“Don’t do that. Don’t pit me against your mother.” His words were firm and clear, a glimpse of the father you should have grown up with. The same words he used when you told him your mum had been seeing another man. If he’d have stayed it wouldn’t have been so bad, but then again it was your fault for him leaving. Maybe you shouldn’t have said a thing.

You can’t help, but laugh. “The woman cheats on you, multiple times and you still can’t say a bad word about her. Well I’ve got plenty.” You know you shouldn't be picking apart old wounds, but you want to see how far you can push. What he'll do when he's annoyed or angry.

He doesn't bite though, exhaling a controlled breath and taking a moment to collect his thoughts. “She’s your mother, I ain’t going to talk about her like that.” Ever the respectful man, your mother not so much when it came to him.

You wondered if what your mother said to you about your dad was true. Not that you wanted to find out.

The rest of the drive silent, the static radio buzzing every now and then when the signal dropped out. Your dad pulled up in a parking space, a small row of shops lining the high street. He didn’t even glance your way as he exited the car, a pack of cigarettes in his hand.

The click of the locks echoed through the car, door handle not budging as you pushed your shoulder against it. His phone rang again and you stared at your mother’s name, as if she could sense you there. You cancelled the call and silenced the ringtone, dropping it back into the cup holder.

What you didn’t expect to see was a small photo of you taped to the back of his phone case, little you sitting on your dads lap, clutching a teddy bear and one of his ridiculous army hats on your head. You must have been four, didn’t go anywhere without it. The teddy lost in one of the many moves growing up.

The picture creased and faded as if it’d been stuffed in a pocket. You don’t even remember the photo, never even seen it. Little things like this, make you second guess everything you thought you knew about your father. You don't even have many photo's, that wasn't an interest for your mother.

Another photo tucked away on the sun visor, one of his wife and your little brother, their smiles contagious that it makes your lips curve. So much love in one photo, the Captain's chin resting on the toddlers head and his gaze fixed on his wife. A unit, a family, something foreign to you.

Flicking up the visor, you fell back into your seat. Reminding yourself, that you're time there was temporary. You stared out at the lady pushing a pram along the high street, gaze lingering on the mother leaning over to smile at her baby.

The Captain climbed back into the drivers seat, passing you a paper bag and dumping it in your lap. He started the car, indicator ticking as he drove off.

"A phone, Kyle said that was a good one," he cleared his throat, scratching his moutache and pointing to the bag, encouraging you to peek inside. "The one in ya' bag's smashed to shit, need something you can use," he grumbled on like it was no big deal.

You slid the box out of the bag, a shiny new phone inside. Not just any phone, but the latest model in your favourite colour, lilac.

"I really don't need..." You turn the box over, scanning all the specs and the barcode. This was more than something you needed, any one would have done.

"Just take the damn phone, but do me favour..." The captain finally glanced in your direction, smokey scent mingling with the three dangling air fresheners dotted around. "Leave the location on, Kiddo."

Nodding, you put it back in the bag. You'd use the phone for now and leave it behind once you're gone, not wanting to be in his debt. "Uh, yeah thanks."

"When we get back, we'll have a little chat. Figure it all out."

And just like that, the knot in your stomach twists and twists. You wonder what kind of talk awaits you.

Taglist: @unclearblur @enfppuff @reiluvr @elita1 @tired-writer04 (Some of the tags wouldn't work so sorry if I didn't tag you. If you would like to be added just let me know)

✨ Thanks for reading I hope you enjoyed it :) there might be some errors/mistakes as I'm dyslexic, I do check my work a couple times, but I do miss bits and pieces - Leya

[inkyquillstories]

Quick Quills: College Swap

Note: Hello! I’ve started writing some Quick Quills for you guys which are digestible short stories. These are way faster to write. I’m still cooking some longer stories for next time though but at least we have variety! I hope you enjoy this one.  PS. The discord version of this story has nsfw pics. If you would like to read that version, you can find it here: https://discord.gg/mMY9wSu4rS

Quick Quills: College Swap

The moment Professor Grayson opened his eyes, he knew something was wrong. The room spun in a dizzying blur, his head pounding like a drum. He blinked, trying to focus, and caught sight of his hands—hands that weren’t his. Smooth, strong, with veins running like rivers under taut skin. He flexed them, watching the muscles ripple in awe. These aren’t my hands, he thought, and then it hit him. This wasn’t his body either.

He stood up, wobbling slightly on legs that felt both foreign and powerful somehow. The mirror across the room called to him, and he stumbled toward it, his heart racing like a frantic rabbit. When he saw his reflection, his breath hitched. Staring back at him was not his balding, middle-aged self but a young god—chiseled jaw, piercing blue eyes, and a mop of golden hair that screamed vitality.

James. The name came to him like a whisper, though he wasn’t sure how he knew it. James, the jock from his lecture hall. James, who had been sitting in the front row, muscles straining against his too-tight T-shirt, looking like he belonged on a billboard rather than in a psychology class.

Professor Grayson—or rather, now James—ran his hands over his new body. His chest was broad, sculpted, like a work of art. His abs were a washboard, firm and unyielding under his fingertips. He could feel the raw power coursing through him, a vitality he hadn’t felt in decades. His heart raced with a mix of disbelief and exhilaration.

“This… this is incredible,” he muttered, his voice deep and smooth, a far cry from the gravelly tone he was used to.

The phone on the desk buzzed, jolting him out of his reverie. He picked it up, seeing the caller ID flash “Professor Grayson.” For a moment, he hesitated, then swiped to answer.

The screen lit up, and there he was—his old body, bald and wrinkled, with a look of pure panic etched across his face.

“What the hell is going on?” the voice that used to be his demanded, high-pitched and frantic. “What did you do to me?”

Professor Grayson couldn’t help but laugh, a deep, rumbling sound that startled him. “Calm down, James,” he said, savoring the way his new voice wrapped around the words. “We’ll figure this out.”

“Figure this out? I’m trapped in your—your old body! My joints hurt, my back is killing me, and I can’t even see without these stupid glasses! You have to fix this—now!”

Professor Grayson smirked, leaning back against the desk. “We will, James. Soon. But for now, just relax. Enjoy the experience.”

“Enjoy it? Are you kidding me? I’m stuck in this—this carcass! Fix it!”

“I promise, we’ll sort it out,” he said, his tone soothing but firm. “Just give me some time.”

Before James could protest further, he ended the call and tossed the phone onto the bed. The silence that followed was almost deafening. He looked down at his new body, at the muscles that seemed to thrum with life under his skin. He couldn’t help but marvel at it, at the sheer power of it.

Walking over to the mirror again, he stripped off his shirt, letting it fall to the floor. His chest was a masterpiece, sculpted from stone and sinew. He ran his hands over his pecs, feeling the warmth of his skin, the hardness of muscle beneath. His nipples were small, dark, and incredibly sensitive, sending shivers down his spine as he brushed against them.

He moved lower, tracing the ridges of his abs, his fingertips catching on the faint trail of hair that led down to the waistband of his jeans. His breath hitched as he realized just how alive he felt, how every touch seemed to ignite a fire within him.

Undoing the button of his jeans, he slid them down his legs, revealing a pair of boxer briefs that clung to him like a second skin. He could feel the weight of his arousal already, the heat and pressure building between his legs. With a shaky breath, he pulled off the briefs, letting his cock spring free.

It was a sight to behold—thick, veiny, and impossibly hard. He wrapped his hand around it, his breath catching in his throat as he felt the warmth, the pulse of it in his grip. He gave it a tentative stroke, moaning softly as pleasure shot through him like a lightning bolt.

His eyes fluttered shut as he began to stroke himself in earnest, his hand moving up and down in slow, deliberate motions. The sensations were overwhelming—the way his skin felt so smooth, so alive, the way every touch seemed to send ripples of pleasure through him. He could feel the heat building in his groin, spreading out to his thighs, his stomach, his chest.

His other hand reached up to squeeze his pec, his thumb brushing against his nipple. The dual sensations—of his hand on his cock and his hand on his chest—were almost too much to bear. He moaned louder, his hips thrusting forward into his grip as he lost himself in the pleasure.

The scent of his arousal filled the air, musky and heady, and he breathed it in deeply, savoring it. He could feel sweat starting to bead on his skin, his body heating up with every stroke. His breath came in short, ragged gasps as he moved faster, his grip tightening slightly.

“Oh god,” he moaned, his voice low and guttural. “This is… this is incredible.”

His toes curled against the carpet as he felt the pressure building, the tension coiling tight in his gut. Every nerve in his body seemed to be on fire, every touch sending shockwaves of pleasure through him. He could feel himself teetering on the edge, his body trembling with the need for release.

“James,” he breathed, his hand moving faster, the sound of skin on skin filling the room. “James…”

And then it hit him—a wave of pleasure so intense it stole his breath away. His cock pulsed in his hand, ropes of cum shooting out and landing on his stomach, his chest. He moaned, long and loud, his body jerking with the force of his orgasm.

When it was over, he sagged against the wall, his legs trembling, his heart racing. He looked down at himself, at the mess he’d made, and couldn’t help but grin.

“Well, James,” he said, his voice still shaky but filled with satisfaction. “I think I’m going to enjoy this.”

The End (?)

[moonzzip]

thinkin' bout you | kwon jiyong

a/n — so, this is a story I had an idea for out of the blue, I don't know if I'll post more, only time will tell, I enjoyed writing it and wanted a bit of jiyong's angst, now I'm sharing it, english is not my first language, so sorry for any mistakes

summary: you wanted to help jiyong, but it didn't go as planned

pairing: jiyong x gn!reader

warnings: bigbang debuted recently in this story, little angst, happy ending, small appearance of taeyang and daesung, indirect mention of t.o.p

lowercase letters, word count: 1,1k

when you walk into the practice room, your eyes go straight to the floor, seeing jiyong crouched down with sweat dripping from his temples, slightly out of breath. you sigh, “jiyong, that’s enough, right? you’ve been here for hours. if you keep pushing yourself to the limit, you might get hurt.”

your gaze shifts to the corner of the room, where empty water bottles are scattered—evidence of the countless hours jiyong has spent perfecting his dance. walking over, you pick up an unopened one and twist the cap off, making your way toward the man on the floor. “here, you need to dri—”

a sharp slap sends the bottle flying to the ground, its contents spilling instantly. you don’t even have time to react before he snaps, “shut up. stop bothering me. i’m busy right now.”

he runs a hand through his damp hair, sighing in frustration. “you don’t even know what i’m going through. you don’t know how hard it is to keep doing this for hours. if you didn’t have what it takes to debut, then just leave others alone and stop being a nuisance.”

you stare at jiyong in shock, completely speechless. he had never acted like this before. you knew he was stressed, but you still worried about him. before you can even process it, he’s already walking away, slamming the door behind him and leaving you alone in the practice room.

you stand there, blinking, unable to believe the words that just came out of your (former?) best friend’s mouth. you had always been there for him. you spent so much time by his side, sacrificing your own things just to help him—whether it was with his idol career or anything else. you had been there from the very beginning, even before jiyong met the other members of the group he always talked about.

looking down at your feet, unsure of how to react, your eyes land on the fallen water bottle. without thinking, you walk toward the small supply closet in the practice room to grab something to clean up the mess. as you wipe the floor, you feel your legs weaken. you crouch down, biting your lips hard as your eyes well up with tears. clutching your hair in anguish, you let go of the mop and cover your eyes with one hand, drowning in your own misery.

you don’t know how long you stayed there—it couldn’t have been too long—but eventually, you stand up and walk out of the dimly lit practice room, the setting sun casting long shadows across the floor.

as you descend the stairs to the company’s lobby, you pass by taeyang and daesung, who greet you cheerfully. “hey, ___! have you seen jiyong around?” taeyang asks, while daesung waves at you with a smile.

you glance at them, then simply shake your head with a neutral expression before continuing toward the exit. the two watch you walk away in silence.

“what do you think happened?” daesung wonders out loud, not really expecting an answer.

you walk aimlessly for about ten minutes, staring up at the starry sky. turning your head to the side, you see the vast han river, its waters reflecting the scattered stars above. approaching a nearby bench, you sit down, stuffing your hands into the pockets of your hoodie. leaning your head back against the bench, you exhale a shaky sigh, then lift your arm to cover your eyes, breathing heavily, lips trembling.

the sound of the wind fills your ears, drowning out everything else.

your arm slowly falls to your side, away from your face. your eyes remain closed.

“…aren’t you cold?”

your eyes snap open in an instant, locking onto the ones you sometimes admired in secret. the two of you stare at each other in silence. jiyong’s gaze lingers, waiting for your answer, while yours are wide with surprise. you blink, his breath faintly hitting your forehead due to how close he is when speaking.

for a small, minuscule, almost imperceptible moment, your eyes flicker to his lips—but you quickly look away.

you stand up from the bench, tilting your head just slightly to avoid bumping into his.

“…jiyong?” you whisper, noticing the cold air leaving your lips. how long had you been walking? you don’t know.

your eyes shift to the man in front of you, only a short distance separating you both, with the bench still between you.

silence.

but soon, you’re the one who looks away first, turning your gaze toward the river, where the moon’s reflection shimmers on the surface. even when you hear footsteps, you don’t look. jiyong stops beside you, but neither of you speaks—until he finally does.

“here.”

you turn your head, only to find something practically shoved into your face, blocking your view of him. your hands instinctively reach out, taking the small bag. you glance down at it, then realize what it is. your breath hitches, and your eyes glimmer slightly as a small smile tugs at your lips.

“ohhh~ kwon jiyong is giving me chocolates? that means you’re confessing your love for me, right?” you tease, grinning mischievously as you nudge him with your elbow.

before you can say anything else—

“…yes.”

your world stops.

everything freezes.

your eyes widen in shock. you’re completely paralyzed. and apparently, so is jiyong. the two of you stand there, speechless. your mouth hangs open. his does too—but he quickly covers it with his hand, as if unable to believe what he just said.

silence again.

you gently take his hand in yours, pulling it away from his lips.

“it’s okay, ji. i like you too.”

delicately, you hold his hand.

“i’m sorry, ___.”

you lift your eyes to his, but before you can say anything, he continues,

“i said things i shouldn’t have, and i hurt you. that’s the last thing i ever wanted to do. i was just stressed and couldn’t express myself the right way. i was frustrated—still am, actually—but now it’s because i said things that hurt you. i never meant them. i’ve never been good at expressing my feelings. and the way you take such good care of me… it made me confused. embarrassed. happy. warm.

i tried to distract myself by dancing—not just to improve, but to stop thinking about you, and i—”

his words are cut off by the soft touch of your lips against his.

gentle. warm. comforting.

but just as quickly as they came, they are gone.

jiyong stares at you in shock, his cheeks heating up as he processes what just happened.

you smile. “your speech was getting too long. i forgive you, you idiot.”

taking his hand in yours, you squeeze it lightly. “we should go get some ramen, just the two of us. the other three eat way too much—unless they’re paying this time.”

you start walking, pulling jiyong along with you.

he stares at your back, at your hand holding his, and he smiles—his heart warm, the cold from before completely forgotten.

a/n — I wrote this while listening to 'this love' by gd, I saw the m/v recently and I thought it was so... I don't know, a really good vibe to write, I hope you liked it! I have some difficulties with english so I used a translator to help me write it, but I hope it's not bad, thanks for reading!

[sunrisecaminus]

Ratchet x Sick Reader

Summary - Human Reader gets sick with something terrible and Ratchet takes care of you like the little sweetheart he is.

Warning - Vomiting (Only once)

Type of Fic - Comfort

You have been sick for about two days now. It was light coughing, runny nose, headaches, the normal small symptoms of a cold. It was winter, so you were ready for something like this and is right now wearing a mask while shopping for clothes. You didn't want to take any chances accidentally coughing on someone, so you bought a cheap mask to give people a chance to avoid you. Ratchet looked up a bunch of stuff and knew you weren't in any danger so everything was ok right now. Honestly, you were happy that the bots weren't worried about you. Having Chicken noodle soup for lunch, relaxing on Ratchet's shoulder and drawing sketches. Letting Ratchet have the kids not touch or get close to you was funny. You still can recall him shooing them away like bugs, you couldn't help but laugh. Looking in the clearance section, you have been finding some good deals and put them in your arms. Finally leaving after paying for your lovely clothes, you walk yourself over to the base which was a few miles away. Being in such a small town, you were used to walking far distances because how spaced everything is from each other. It wasn't snowing or windy, so thankfully you were able to walk on the sidewalk without feeling worse than you already were. The scenery was lovely too, the inch of snow around on the ground and the lovely few rare trees around the area with no leaves standing still.

No one is around you. It was just you and the road, so you took off your mask and breathed in the nice cold air. That was when you felt something in your stomach, something that made you ache. You confusingly hold your stomach a bit and felt a bit weird…couldn't be from lunch. All you had was chicken and noodles, you didn't eat anything raw. All of a sudden, you puke all over the snow. You can't control your body as you bend down on the sidewalk and feel yourself shaking, vulnerable after the horrible event that just happened. Being close by to the base, you honestly didn't want to call anybody. Your throat was now hurting like crazy, breathing and trying to speak made the pain worse so you tried not to speak the whole way.

Ratchet was working at his desk when he hears small footsteps coming from the entrance. He turns to see you groggily walking, wet from the snow, and your plastic bag dripping a little of water. Before he could say something to you, he smelled an awful smell coming from your body as you flop yourself on the ground, your legs weak and your hair a mess. "Y/n?!" He rushes over and scans you, already messaging June in seconds on his comm that he needed her here. "H-hey Ratch-ow." He sees that you hold your neck from the pain, wincing and shut your mouth before you complete the sentence. June was already at the base with Jack so she quickly ran from the railing and starts to check on your body. "This isn't a cold. It might be something serious, where were you for the past few days? Miko go to her room and grab her some extra clothes, I can smell throw up." Miko nods and ran to your room immediately to grab something nice for you. Ralph and Jack ran over and watched June clean you up with a towel. You didn't know what could have given you this horrible mess. Unless…"My work just got a new storage of materials to make stuff. I don't know much of it but the air wasn't clear at all when we were unloading the truck."

…

You have been laying on the couch for about a day. Ratchet kept a close optic on you and kept you company while Darby went to investigate what you had. You have been coughing and hacking for a while, and your throat has gotten worse after a few hours of waking up. You couldn't eat anything as well and Ratchet kept begging you to eat something. "Miko made sandwiches…" Ratchet put a plate on the coffee table and you glared at it, turning your body around to cover your face as a motion to the Doc that you were not hungry still. "Y/n, you have not eaten anything after lunch yesterday. Eat!" Both of you were stubborn as you groaned at him, feeling his giant digit poking you on the back to get you up. Finally after a few minutes, you turned and grabbed his pointer finger before he could retract, hugging him. Ratchet could not believe how weak you were. He has never seen you so sick. Your arms holding his digit felt like you weren't even hugging him. The feeling of wanting to protect you increased and he gently puts you in his hand and cradles your small body. "Hey…I know it sucks, but you are probably starving. You need to eat something or you will get worse. Please y/n." You looked up at him with watery eyes, you were already tired of this horrible illness you have and didn't want to be hurting anymore. Your breath didn't sound clear either when you breathed. Ratchet hears a small whisper. "I'll do it…for you." He blushed a bit in the cheeks when you said that and grabbed a plate. Seeing you slowly eat was such a relief in his eyes, giving a small smile (at least the best smile this doctor can give) when he saw Darby angrily ending a call on the phone with papers in hands. She walks up to you two and shows Ratchet the folder. "She has something called Bagassosis. It is a horrible sickness that is created from breathing in dust, specifically a type of sugar that is used to make cardboard. If not treated, it could get worse and become chronic…meaning she will feel pain and cough for years. Thankfully there was good results when taking medication so I already have the bottle." She looks over at you and hands a pill. "Take it, and we just have to wait for your body to except it or reject it. Please tell me or Ratchet if you feel worse after."

You didn't care, you grabbed the pill and looked at the bottle. Damn it was steroids, you didn't know this was that serious. Taking the pill, you kept eating the sandwich and drank water. Leaning against Ratchet's servo, you clenched your hand one his thumb, not wanting to let go of him. Ratchet feels your motion and that is what made him realize he wasn't going to be able to get back to work today. He knows, he wasn't going to let go of you. In his processor, he had a patient in his servos, clinging and begging for his attention, and he was going to give his full attention. Ratchet loved and cared for you, he wasn't going to leave you cold on the couch during your recovery. The only work he would do, for the days you were recovering, was only reading reports from missions and maybe a few check ups here and there. You would always be with him, sleeping on his desk, his hands, sitting on his shoulder, and maybe even sleeping in his berth if he was on missions. The only motivation this mech had was to come home to you intact to give you the love you needed with his support. Three days goes by after the puking event, and you feel so much better with the prescription you were taking everyday. The only thing now that was still not fully treated was your throat and breathing problem. You weren't weak anymore, and your head was ok, but your breathing sounded terrible and talking still kind of hurt a bit. Grabbing some pencils, you go into Ratchet's blanket and start to draw Ratchet in his vehicle mode. It has been a while since Ratchet gave you so much care and love, maybe you should have another life or death situation…no never mind that would be horrible. You hear the door opening to Ratchet's birth as familiar footsteps walk inside. "…Y/n?" Ratchet sees you poke your head out cutely from out of his blankets and show your drawing of him. He looks closely at it and smiles. "Awe thanks sweetspark." He sets his medical bag down and goes into the bed, letting you crawl up to his neck and ready to take a nap with him. "I can't stay here forever, I have work to do y/n." He pats your head while talking. You cling to his digits again and give a smirk. "Never."

[pellaaearien]

Here With Me (Chapter 8)

Dreamling | E | Caretaking, Porn With Plot | ~20k total

--

In the end, Dream reflects, it is not that it is easy to forget that he is no longer the oracle. It is just that so many things have changed in such a short span of time that none of it seems especially noteworthy.

They leave the inn at sunrise, neither of them able to sleep more than a few hours at a time despite their exhaustion. Dream is unexpectedly sorry to leave the inn behind — it had been a place of rare refuge, and will remain such in memory.

Riding astride Jessamy, with Hob’s arms encircling him from behind, it is impossible not to be reminded of his changed status, the ache between his legs beating out a tempo with every mile.

Hob, who would shield him from every discomfort, apologizes whenever he is jostled. Dream shakes his head. It feels right and proper that it should hurt, that he should carry such a permanent change in his body somehow.

Hob takes them off the road as soon as might be, following the track of a convenient stream to, as he explains, foil pursuit.

“I’m expecting Burgess to send men after us,” he says. “But perhaps only a specialized team. He’ll want to get us back to save face; to the rest of the world, he might pretend he still has you in custody.” He grips Dream tighter at the thought, and Dream is only too happy to lean into his embrace. “Otherwise, we might have had to contend with the entire kingdom hunting us down. It’s the only reason I didn’t kill him.” The darkness of his voice suggests how near of a thing it had been.

Dream hums acknowledgement. He wants to have something more useful to say, but in truth it is difficult to care about such dilemmas while ensconced in the safety of Hob’s arms. 

Hob had come for him. Out of the jaws of death, behind enemy lines. When he had taken off that helmet and revealed himself, Dream had been reborn, his world bursting back into vibrant life. Alone in his cell, Dream had sunk into the clinging depths of apathy. Upon seeing Hob, that feeling had transformed. He still feels as though nothing matters, with one caveat: so long as Hob is there, he can face whatever happens.

He is happily, entirely Hob’s, the release of his body having released him from his function. 

“After that, I’m afraid I haven’t much more of a plan,” Hob admits. “We won’t want to stay in Burgess’ kingdom, and you’d be recognized back home.”

“Oh.” Dream blinks, coming back to the present, realizing he’d never told Hob this part. “I know where we’re going.”

“You do.” Dream can’t see Hob’s expression but he suspects the only reason he doesn’t sound more surprised is his amount of trust in Dream’s abilities. 

“This vision, it was… different.” Dream thinks of how to explain. “I just… know. Where it was. How to get there.”

“Well, then, my love,” Hob says, with another kiss to the top of his head that Dream is quickly learning to expect when they ride like this. “Where are we going?” 

Dream closes his eyes, reaches inside himself for that feeling of certainty. Without opening them, he points. “That way.”

Hob leans in; Dream is surrounded by his warmth, his scent. He no longer has a function. He might, in time, learn how to be human.

“That way?” Hob murmurs next to his ear. Dream wants to wrap himself in the sound of his voice. He nods, not trusting himself to look.

“That way, then,” Hob says, and turns Jessamy without another word. 

Summer has yet to quite lose its grip on Burgess’ lands, making it warm enough to sleep under the stars as long as they have a fire going, which Hob lights once he deems they are a suitable distance from the road.

Hob has supplies with him enough for a week’s return journey, enough for two — he hadn’t considered failure an option. Dream eats the simple rations with good will, not feeling the need to mention that the fare is as good or better than what he’s been eating recently. He thinks Hob knows, anyway, as they have a brief disagreement over Hob trying to give Dream part of his share. 

“And if you were to weaken due to lack of nourishment, who would defend me, out here in the wilds?” Dream finally demands, at the end of his patience. He does not like holding Hob’s oath over him like this. But it means he prevails, Hob smiling ruefully as he finishes his portion.

Hob had only bothered with one bedroll, Dream is pleased to discover, when he unrolls it next to the banked fire. They lie down on it, curled close, and it suddenly occurs to Dream that there is no longer anything forbidding them from touching each other. That there never will be again. That he will never have to wear a chastity belt, never be locked up in another’s keeping.

As the thought occurs, Dream shifts against Hob. Perhaps not as subtly as he’d hoped, if Hob’s hum of interest is any indication.

“Need something, beautiful?” Hob murmurs, a smile in his voice, and Dream bites his lip. He wants, suddenly. Urgently. But…

“I don’t think I can—”

“Shh,” Hob soothes, tracing simple patterns over Dream’s belly. Even this casual touch is like fire, and Dream wants to be consumed. “I never would. Not so soon. Not here. You deserve better than that. But I can…” He slips his fingers lower, and Dream’s breath catches. “I want you to have as many orgasms as you want. Every single day of your life. Will you let me give that to you?”

“Yes…” Dream’s voice is high in his throat. He can’t bring himself to care. “Hob, yes—”

“Hmmm…” Hob’s fingers withdraw, and Dream nearly sobs at the loss. Hob rummages around a bit, and returns with the salve.

“That is… for your wounds,” Dream protests, but the warm slide of Hob’s fingers over his most sensitive parts, where he is sore and aching, makes it difficult to complain.

“I’ll heal,” Hob shrugs. “Let me take care of you.”

And who takes care of you? Dream thinks, but then Hob gently brushes his clit and all higher thought flees from him. 

There is no grand production here, just the press of their bodies, and Hob’s careful touches. The pleasure builds slowly, sweetly, almost imperceptibly. His climax, when it comes, takes Dream by surprise.

“Oh,” he says, once he comes down. He hadn’t known it could be like this. He’s almost disconcerted at how easily his body had gone.

“Feel better, love?” Hob says softly, withdrawing his hand. Dream nods, a floaty sense of well-being flooding him. He has a vague thought that there’s a very important question he ought to be asking, but he’s asleep before he figures out what it should be.

Burgess looms over him, curled up as small as possible on the stone floor. “So, you were useless after all,” he hisses. “Not a single prophecy? What is the point of you?” There is a line of men standing behind Burgess, their faces in shadow. The core of him already aches. In front of him, Hob lies staring up at the ceiling with blank, lifeless eyes, his blood spreading in an ever-growing pool. He opens his mouth to scream, but nothing comes out.

Dream wakes, and doesn’t know where he is. 

It’s dark; the ground is cold and hard beneath him. Is he still in his cell? Was the rescue, Hob being alive, all a dream, and this the reality?

He lies very still. Perhaps if he doesn’t move, pretends he hasn’t woken, then he might find his way back to the place where Hob was caring for him.

“Dream?” Hob’s voice, heavy with sleep, comes from behind him. Dream squeezes his eyes shut, willing himself to decide if he is dreaming or waking. Wishing he saw anything behind his lids but Hob’s lifeless eyes. “Wuzzit?”

The body behind him stirs. Dream doesn’t look, can’t look. If this is a dream, then he refuses to open his eyes and ruin it.

“Love, are you hurt?” Dream shakes his head. “Can you open your eyes for me?” He shakes his head again. “Why not?”

“You’ll be gone,” Dream blurts out, seized by the utter conviction that this is so.

“I’m not going anywhere, darling,” Hob’s voice says. “I promise. And I always keep my promises, don’t I?” He sounds so sad and concerned that Dream opens his eyes, willing to do anything for Hob.

Hob’s face is hovering over him, just visible in the darkness. Dream can’t make out the look in his eyes, and for a moment he’s just like those shadow-faced men, then he blinks and he’s just Hob again. Dream whimpers.

“Hob?” He doesn’t know what to believe.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Hob cups his face, and Dream grips his hand for dear life, the proof of something real. “What’s wrong? Did you have a nightmare?”

“You were dead,” Dream whispers, as though saying it more loudly would draw attention. “And I was alone…”

“Shh, dove.” There are lips against his, clumsy and warm and real, and Dream sobs. “You’re never going to be alone, not while I’m here, and I am so alive.” 

He shifts, and somehow Dream ends up nestled on top of him like before. “Here, darling. Hear my heartbeat?” 

He cards his hands through Dream’s hair, pressing his head against his chest, until Dream has calmed sufficiently to hear the thrum of his pulse.

“Hob,” Dream sobs, pressing closer to that vital sound.

“It’s all right, love. I’ll remind you as many times as you need. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

Dream huffs. He doesn’t see the point of responding to such a ridiculous statement. 

“We’re using the rest of the salve on your wounds,” he says instead.

Hob’s chest rises and falls in a sigh. “As you wish, my love.”

[dazaih]

wingman - luke skywalker x reader

chapter one, chapter two, chapter three

chapter four -> cloud city ii

your university roommate han solo finds a rival (and love interest) in student council president leia skywalker, but both of them are too stubborn to admit that they have feelings for each other. luckily, you and her twin brother, luke, devise a plan to get the two of them to spend more time together. challenges arise, however, when you start to develop a crush on him.

chapter warnings: drug and alcohol usage, violence, blood, injuries. if you wish to skip the fight scene, scroll down to the text divider and begin with the line “You were going to be fine.” i personally don’t think there’s anything incredibly graphic (especially considering the nature of star wars lol) but i never want my stories to cause stress or discomfort for anyone. please take care of yourself!

a/n: incorporating a lil bit of canon content into this au and introducing some plot! i’ve been really nervous to post this chapter because of the slight tonal shift but hopefully you don’t hate it lol <3

By the time the band ended their set, you were sweating, feeling parched and slightly sore with a small headache from enthusiastically moving your body to the songs. Han must have felt similarly, because he pointed to his breast pocket and flashed you a grin.

“Cigarette?” he asked, gesturing to the door.

“I’ll go with you since you’re so drunk,” you slurred, only slightly better off.

“Chewie?”

Chewie shook his head, pointing to the bar. He wanted another drink, probably so he could match the level you and Han were at. With that, the two of you made your way outside, Lando eyeing you as you left. Something about the look he gave you made you feel a little on edge, but you chalked it up to the tensions you’d experienced earlier in the night. Han led you to the alley on the side of the building, lighting his cigarette and exhaling the smoke with a sigh of relief.

“Lando pours ‘em strong,” he remarked, closing his eyes, “Always has, but man. I’m a little fucked up.”

“Well, that’s what we came here for,” you said, sitting down on the sidewalk next to where he was standing.

The two of you stayed there for a bit, a comfortable silence playing out as Han smoked. All things considered, you’d had a good time so far. It had been a while since you’d gone to a nice venue like this. You leaned your head against his leg, closing your eyes and sighing as you soaked in the city’s soundscape. Being here still felt surreal sometimes, but you were thankful to have friends who made you feel so grounded.

“Han Solo,” a voice rang out, piercing the tranquility the two of you had created out in the alleyway.

You didn’t know who the voice belonged to, but Han sure did. He immediately tensed, but didn’t put his cigarette out.

“What a surprise,” your roommate replied, though you caught an ounce of distress in his drunken words, “Good to see you, Fett.”

“Wish I could say the same,” the man said, finally close enough to see. The streetlight illuminated his features only slightly, but he was strong, with a stern expression that made you feel uneasy.

“Can we help you?” you asked, standing up from your spot on the sidewalk. When Han gently nudged your hand, however, you shrank back against the wall slightly.

“You probably can’t,” the man—Fett, Han had called him—replied coldly, meeting your eyes. This guy had to be at least thirty, and you tried to sort through your scrambled thoughts to figure out what he could want with Han.

“He’s right,” Han agreed, surprising you, “You should go inside. Find Chewie.”

“No,” Fett said sternly, grabbing your wrist as you turned to leave, “I won’t hurt you, but I can’t let you do that. You just stand there and watch.”

“Watch what?” you asked, stomach starting to churn. You didn’t like this.

“That all depends on him.”

“Listen, Boba. I told the Hutts that I’d pay them back once I graduated. I’ll pay them double, even. I just have to take another semester.”

“Jabba doesn’t think you’ll graduate at all,” the man replied, inching closer to Han, “And he doesn’t give a shit about your education, anyway. He’s been generous enough to offer you your old job back, though. He’d take the money you owe him out of your paycheck, and you’d have to work for him until it was all paid off.”

“We’ve been through this before,” Han said, taking another drag of his cigarette and blowing it in Fett’s face, “I don’t deal anymore, and he knows that. You know that.”

“I’m here to give you another chance to make the reasonable choice,” he warned, his fierce tone contradicting his words. This was a threat, you realized.

“No,” he said, putting his cigarette out against the wall and letting it drop to the ground, “I can’t. They’ll kick me out of here if I get caught smuggling drugs, Boba. Just tell him that I’m graduating soon, and I’ll be able to land a pretty nice job with an engineering degree, so he doesn’t need to—“

Boba didn’t let him finish before he punched him square in the jaw, Han falling back against the wall from the force of it. Immediately, you turned to run inside, but you were quickly grabbed and restrained by another man. You watched in horror as a few more people emerged from the other side of the alleyway, walking towards your group. Reinforcements, you supposed. If you weren’t so frightened, you’d find humor in the fact that Han was apparently enough trouble to warrant such a sizable crowd.

Han braced himself against the cool brick, managing to muster enough energy and coordination in his drunken state to land a hit on his opponent. Boba faltered slightly, but the attack only served to piss him off even more.

“Hold him still,” he ordered, and two of the men he was with each grabbed one of Han’s arms, forcing him to stand upright. Your stomach sank when Boba pulled out something shiny from his pocket, and when he fitted the metal onto his hand, you lurched forward, trying to come to your friend’s rescue. When the men pulled you back, you continued to struggle, resulting in a harsh blow being delivered to your ribs.

“Kid, ‘s alright. Don’t get yourself into any trouble,” Han mumbled, his speech slightly obscured by the blood pouring from his upper lip.

“You’re gonna kill him,” you cried as Boba admired the brass knuckles on his hand.

“Last chance, Solo,” he said, ignoring you, “You can either repay your debt by coming back to work for Jabba, or you can repay it with your life right now.”

“You don’t understand,” Han hissed, almost collapsing but being jerked back upwards by the men restraining him, “I can’t transport that shit anymore. I’ve worked too hard to get here. But I can still pay him. Hell, I’ll even do triple. Don’t be a fool—“

That was the wrong answer, it seemed. You screamed as Boba delivered the first punch with the brass knuckles to Han’s ribs, helplessly thrashing against your captors.

“Lando will come looking for us,” you yelled, still trying to fight back against the men holding you, “He saw us walk out here.”

“I paid Lando a hundred bucks to stay inside and mind his business,” Boba replied coolly, hitting Han again, “Don’t you worry about a thing.”

Realizing the direness of your situation, you shoved your heel as hard as you could into the foot of the man to your right, his grip loosening on you just enough to allow you to break free for a moment. Without thinking twice, you pushed your finger into the eye of the man on your left, causing him to reel back in pain.

You ran as far as you could to the end of the alleyway, trying to at least make sure your cry for help was heard before your captors inevitably caught up to you. You almost made it, and when your escape attempt was thwarted by one of the men pulling you backwards, you screamed as loudly as you could. The consequence of this was that a piece of cloth was shoved into your mouth, effectively gagging you. Tears streamed down your face as you struggled again, trying to resist being dragged back to the scene of your closest friend being beaten within an inch of his life. The man whose eye you’d injured welcomed you back into the group by throwing you onto the concrete harshly, and you let out a deep wheeze of pain.

“Not worth it, kid,” Han pleaded, his voice strained, “It’ll be okay. ‘S okay—“

He was cut off by Boba gripping his hair harshly and delivering a knee to his stomach, causing him to gasp and cough up a small amount of blood.

“What a fitting end for you, Han Solo. Getting the shit beat out of you in the back of an alley while those rich brats you’ve tried so hard to fit in with don’t even care enough to come see what all the commotion is about. You were better off as one of us.”

Han said nothing—he couldn’t speak anymore, you realized. Between the copious amounts of alcohol he’d consumed and the violence he’d endured, it was a miracle that he was even still conscious. You watched helplessly as Boba continued to hit him, only using the brass knuckles on occasion, making you realize that he was intentionally dragging it out. It was audacious to believe that no one would catch him, but Boba had convinced even you that no one was coming to your rescue at this point. The weight of the realization was suffocating, and you weren’t sure if the gag choking you or the deep despair you felt was what caused more tears to escape you.

You couldn’t watch any longer. You looked off into the distance, trying to focus on something else as you were forced to listen to Han’s pained grunts and gasps. Your vision was slightly blurred from crying, but when a familiar silhouette appeared at the end of the alleyway, you felt relief wash over you. It was Chewie. He’d come to look for you.

You briefly fretted over him meeting a fate similar to your own, but you realized quickly that he wasn’t alone. None other than Luke Skywalker was in tow, his teammates still following him.

“Hey!” he shouted, racing towards you all. You tried to warn him about the ferocity of your opponents, tried to tell him that this was no normal bar squabble—but it was too late. As soon as he had breached the group, Boba turned sharply, punching him in the face with his bare hand. Luke hissed in pain, but to your surprise, swung back with enough force to make Boba stumble. The other man grunted and raised his other fist—the one with the brass knuckles—and you tried to scream out a warning, your cries muffled by the rag in your mouth. Surprising you further, however, Luke dodged his attack, throwing him off balance enough to shove him to the side harshly and rush towards you. In his tracks, his teammates picked up his slack, and there, in the alley of Cloud City, a true fight broke out. The men who had been keeping watch over you ran to defend their leader, and Luke made his way to you.

“Call the police!” Luke shouted, kneeling down in front of you. Blood was pouring from his nose and his lip, but he didn’t seem to mind as he pulled the rag from your mouth. You coughed, choking slightly at the sudden change in pressure. His hand cupped your cheek immediately, thumb gently wiping away stray tears from your face. You weren’t sure if it was the adrenaline getting to your head, but in that moment, you felt incredibly cared about in a way that was all too genuine for the type of relationship you and Luke had.

“It’s okay,” he told you, seemingly much more sober than he’d been inside, “I’m gonna take care of everything. Gonna get help.”

You looked past him to see Chewie and his teammates fighting off Fett’s group, Han having collapsed onto the ground without the support of his captors holding him up.

“Tell Lando to get out here now!” Luke yelled again, and one of his teammates raced towards the bar.

“They paid Lando a hundred bucks to stay inside,” you recited, your head pounding.

“Okay? I’ll pay him two hundred to get outside,” Luke scoffed, trying to help you sit up.

“Police are on their way!” you heard someone yell. You looked down the alley to see Lando himself, two bouncers standing next to him. You could have hit him at the moment, but because of your current injuries, you stayed put.

You watched as Boba delivered a few more heavy blows to Luke’s teammates, only two of his own men still standing, stumbling to catch up with him.

“You’re gonna regret this, Calrissian. You should’ve kept your ass inside like I told you to,” Fett shouted, backing up to exit the other end of the alley.

“I didn’t realize you were trying to kill Han outside of my bar,” Lando retaliated, watching Boba carefully as he walked backwards to his escape route.

“It didn’t concern you.”

When he stumbled in your direction, he couldn’t resist the urge to pull Luke up by his hair, the other man surprised by the sudden attack.

“And you,” Fett hissed, Lando and Luke’s remaining teammates now sprinting towards you, “I’ll teach you to interrupt a man’s business.”

“Do your worst. We’ll see where it gets you,” Luke replied, voice strained by the tugging on his hair. You watched as Luke took the opportunity to carefully study Boba’s face rather than fight back, and you were once again seized by an emotion that you couldn’t quite place.

Fett glared at him, pulling him higher up and then throwing him to the ground as hard as he could, the sound of Luke’s body smacking against the concrete making you wince. He groaned beside of you, and you weren’t sure if the blood pouring from his face was new or from the first altercation he’d had with him. With that, Fett escaped the alleyway, Lando and his men chasing after him.

“Luke!” Biggs shouted, running to where you all were.

“Leia,” Luke choked out, gasping for air as most of it had been knocked out of him, “Call Leia.”

Biggs nodded, and you heard sirens wailing in the distance, the red flashing lights of what you assumed was an ambulance illuminating the surrounding buildings. One of Luke’s other teammates stumbled over to check on him, and you knew instantly that he’d never seen such violence firsthand. It was Elias.

“Elevate his head,” you told him, struggling to pull yourself to your feet, “Find out where he’s bleeding.”

Elias nodded, shaky hands lifting Luke’s head and placing his coat underneath it. You stumbled towards Han, mustering all of your strength. Chewie was already at his side, having leaned him up against the wall so he was sitting upright.

“Han,” you gasped, falling to your knees next to him, “Can you hear me?”

When he didn’t say anything, you began to panic slightly, lifting his head to try to make him meet your eyes.

“Han,” you said again, and his eyes opened slightly as he tried to take in your appearance.

“Bleeding,” he managed to sputter out, “You’re bleeding. Your face.”

“You’re a whole lot worse, man,” you tried to joke, but you couldn’t stop your eyes from watering.

“I need a cigarette,” he slurred, and you leaned his head to the side slightly.

“Spit,” you told him, and when he did, you couldn’t even see any saliva—only blood. His eyes fluttered closed again, and you brushed his hair from his forehead gently.

“You have to stay awake, Han,” you told him sternly, keeping his head upright. Chewie gave you a concerned look. This was bad.

Luckily, the ambulance arrived then, parking at the end of the alley. A few paramedics rushed out and immediately identified Han as being in the most critical condition, lifting him onto a stretcher and taking him to the ambulance. Two more arrived soon after, and a few police cars were there as well. You watched as Lando reappeared, explaining the situation to the cops.

“You should go with Han,” you told Chewie. He frowned, looking you over and shaking his head.

“They probably won’t let me do it because they need to check me out first, but you’re fine. You should go. I’ll be okay.”

Reluctantly, Chewie nodded, pulling you into a gentle embrace before departing, running towards the ambulance Han was in. You let out a sigh of relief, feeling better knowing that your roommates would be there for each other. You saw Elias, Biggs, and some more paramedics help Luke into the back of an ambulance, and when he murmured something you couldn’t quite make out from this distance, Biggs came over to where you were standing, some paramedics behind him.

“They wanna look you over,” he explained, offering you his arm. You nodded, allowing yourself to be escorted away from the blood stained alleyway.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

You were going to be fine. You had broken your wrist from how you’d landed when you were thrown, and you had some serious bruising on your ribs, but overall, you were going to be fine. When you were cleared, you exited the back of the ambulance, only to find Luke sitting on a bench across from you.

“Shouldn’t you be in one of those ambulances?” you asked, taking in his appearance.

He had a black eye and a busted lip that had been stitched up, but he smiled at you regardless.

“Already got cleared. Got a concussion, a black eye, stitches, and my ribs are all bruised up, but nothing that requires going to the emergency room. How about you?”

You sat down next to him, sighing from the ache in your body, “My ribs are bruised too. And I broke my wrist. Wanna sign my cast later?”

“Of course,” he said happily, leaning back and looking at you, “But really, are you okay?”

“No,” you whispered, frowning as you stared at the sidewalk, “I thought I was about to watch him die.”

Luke sat up, taking your good hand into his own.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t get out here sooner. Chewie came to see if you were with me, and then we went outside to look for you. Then we heard you scream. I had no idea. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” you assured him, squeezing his hand, “Glad I didn’t mess my throat up for no reason, I guess.”

He didn’t laugh, and instead he pulled you into a hug, his hand resting securely on the back of your neck. The safety of his embrace made your eyes water, and you melted into his touch.

“I was scared,” you whispered into his shoulder, allowing a man you hardly knew to hold you on a park bench in the middle of the city.

“Me too,” he told you, gently carding his fingers through your hair, “But it’s over, and we’ll have more answers tomorrow.“

You nodded, the words causing your mind to drift to Han. You pulled back and checked your phone.

4 new notifications

Chewie: he’s stable. in and out of consciousness, but he’ll be okay. doing x-rays soon.

Chewie: r u ok?? did u get ur injuries checked out?

Chewie: ok he has some broken ribs and a broken nose. pretty bad concussion too. they want to keep him overnight at least.

Chewie: i’m gonna stay tn. you should go home and get some sleep. you’ve been thru a lot. pls txt when u can to lmk ur ok

Texting a quick message back, you sighed, relieved that Han was going to be okay but still nervous about his injuries. The stress must have shown on your face, because Luke placed an arm around you, letting you lean your head on his shoulder.

“How is he?” he asked, rubbing your arm.

“At the hospital. Broken bones, but he’ll be okay, according to Chewie,” you said, allowing him to console you, “Thank you, by the way. I owe you one.”

“Don’t thank me,” he told you, “Setting my sister up with Han doesn’t really work if he gets killed in the back of an alleyway.”

You chuckled a little at that, glad for Luke’s ability to lighten the mood.

“But really,” he said seriously, “You don’t owe me anything. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Just then, a sleek, black car pulled into the parking lot, and none other than Leia crawled out of the passenger seat. Of course they had a personal driver.

“What the fuck,” she muttered, taking in the crime scene tape and Luke’s battered appearance before rushing over to you, “What happened?”

“Some guys tried to kill Han during his cigarette break,” you explained simply, the weight of your exhaustion setting in, making it impossible for you to offer more context.

“Han?” she asked, concern written all over her features, “Where is he?”

“Hospital. They’re keeping him overnight.”

“Shit,” she huffed, taking Luke’s face into her hands and evaluating the damage, “How did you get involved?”

“He and Chewie and his friends stepped in,” you told her, watching as she eyed the stitches on his lip, “Probably would’ve died if he didn’t.”

She sighed, stepping back and putting her hands on her hips, seemingly unsure of what to do. She stared at you for a second, and then back at Luke, clearly distressed by his injuries. Her concern for him was sweet.

“Local news headlines are gonna pick this up,” she said, frowning, “I think Lando’s gonna talk to the press to make it clear that it was an attack and you came to the rescue, but I don’t know.”

“I don’t care,” Luke told her, waving his hand dismissively, “I don’t wanna worry about stuff like that right now.”

“I know,” she replied, sighing again, “Mom and Dad are gonna lose their shit—“

“I don’t care.”

“You should call them,” she urged, looking at his injuries again, “Someone else probably has by now. Have you checked your phone?”

“No,” he said, looking annoyed, “Have you?”

“No. I’ve been afraid of what they’ll say.”

“Will they be angry with you?” you asked, not sure what kind of reaction you should be anticipating from the Skywalker family.

“Probably with me for not filling them in,” Leia admitted, her voice weary.

“Probably with me for getting hurt,” Luke added.

“I bet they’ll want us to come home for the rest of the weekend.”

“Absolutely not,” Luke grimaced, rubbing his temple with his free hand.

“Or they’ll send someone to check on you.”

“That’s such a waste of time,” he scoffed.

“Dad’s press tour is soon. The last thing you need while you’re recovering is for a bunch of delusional kids online to speculate about how you got hurt. They’ll probably find a way to romanticize it. You know how they are.”

“Leia,” Luke said sternly, though his tone was still gentle, “You know I don’t care about that stuff. They’ve been writing weird shit about me since I was sixteen. And if they publish something about me getting in a fight, that’s okay. It’s for me to worry about.”

“You’re right. Sorry,” she replied, sighing, “I don’t know where my head is at right now. I was so worried about you.”

Luke sighed too, standing from the bench to hug his sister.

“I’m fine, Leia,” he told her, and seeing how soft he was with her made your heart beat a little faster. He was a good brother.

“You should stay at our place,” Luke offered suddenly, meeting your eyes, “Since Han and Chewie won’t be home. I don’t want you to be there by yourself after tonight.”

You almost protested, feeling awkward invading their space like that, but then Leia spoke too.

“I think that’s a good idea. Especially with those men still on the loose,” she added.

“I don’t wanna intrude—“

“You won’t be. Please,” Luke interjected, looking at you with wide, hopeful eyes.

“Only if you’re sure it’s okay,” you reluctantly agreed.

“Of course,” he insisted, helping you stand, “It’s just me and Leia, so there’s nothing to stress about.”

You guys are basically aristocrats. How is that not stressful? you wanted to say, but you held your tongue, following them to the car where their driver was holding the door for you. The high quality leather seats felt alien to you when you sat down in the back with Luke. He must have noticed your discomfort, because he reached for your hand soon after. With little hesitation, you accepted, and he immediately tangled your fingers together, giving you one of his signature soft smiles. Even in the mostly dark vehicle, his eyes still shone brightly, and something about that fact made your cheeks flush.

You briefly wondered if you were getting too personally involved with the Skywalkers, but with Leia in the front seat telling the driver to take you all home and Luke in the back with his hand in yours, you knew that there was little you could do about it now.

[highway-143]

back then <3

(my first time posting a work of my own, so dont come at me hehe. idk how to use tumblr well so bear [bare? idk at this point] with me)

genere: fluff, smut (MDNI) friends to lovers <3

pairing: childhood friend sunghoon x female reader, reader is presumed to be a few inches shorter than him. sunghoon is an idol (fellow delulus where you at!?) and his members make cameos (jake, heeseung, and sunoo) your friend, hannah, is also mentioned but doesnt actually appear

smut warnings: (unprotected sex, [DONT, ITS NOT WORTH IT] fingering, creampie, breast sucking, size kink, buncha crap really) its just straight up porn towards the end, you've been warned (hey, at least its got plot) i will say it is more public sex (while the guys are over) there is also swearing :D oh yeah, sunghoon has a big dick too.

word count: also not willing to figure that one out, but its a medium sized oneshot, probably about a 5-10 minute read?

(not fully proofread, but i did scan)

synopsis: you and park sunghoon have been best friends since you were in third grade, but what happens when the line of friendship and romance is danced across too often for feelings to allow?

(this is a work of fiction. all scenarios are fake)

song: paranormal- enhypen

back then:

"ow ow ow! ow!" you shouted as you covered you bleeding knee with your hand, the other grabbing your back like an old lady, something a nine year old shouldnt be experiencing.

turns out, falling off the firemans pole on the school playground hurts. your scraped up knee was looking rough as you clutched it. your lower back ached with a duller pain, definitely less piercing as your poor knee.

you saw a shadow cover your spot on the woodchips. "are you okay?" said the squeaky voice of a boy your age.

you looked up at him, the sun making your eyes glitch while you tried to see his face.

once your vision was cleared, you saw a short boy with dimples and a cute bowl cut standing over you and looking at your busted knee. "do you need a band aid?" he asked, pointing a thin finger at the bloody skin.

"yes please." you said, tears forming in your eyes. you couldnt cry, not now, not with a boy standing right in front of you.

he ran to the first aid station by the bathrooms and fumbled for a bandage. when he hurried back over to you and knelt down, you tried to grab the band aid, but he wouldnt allow it.

"I'll do it, your hand looks scraped up too." he said while peeling apart the wrapper. you pulled your hands off of your leg and back and looked at them. both were bruised and the skin was dented from the failed attempt at catching your fall. just wonderful.

"im sunghoon," he put the large bandage over your knee and patted it with his hand. "who are you?"

"im y/n," you say, timidly walking into a conversation. "who's class are you in? i haven't seen you before."

"im in mr. jung's class, i just moved here last week." he crouched to sit on the pokey woodchips across from you, beding his knees to his chest.

"oh cool! im in mrs. lee's, we're right next door!"

he smiled and looked around the playground, searching the other children's faces. "do you have any friends?" he asked, wanting to get to know more people.

school had been rough for sunghoon so far. he couldve chalked it up to the fact that he was new, or that the kids needed time to get to know him, but the truth was that he was just an introvert. so were you, in a way. that's why you assumed he was talking to you, because you reminded him of himself, whether consciously or not.

"not really," you mutter, blushing and picking at a funny-looking woodchip. "i dont talk to people very much, i just do my own thing"

he grinned at your words, happy to find a new friend that was like him.

now:

"SUNGHOON!" you called from the kitchen, staring at the dishes in the sink, piled up like someone was trying to recreate the leaning tower of piza out of ceramic plates and silver cutlery. "HOW THE FUCK DO YOU DO THIS?"

he slinked into the room, a suppressed grin teasing his lips. he knew exactly what he was doing.

every time you come to hang out at his house, there are either dishes in the sink, clothes on the floor, or socks on the lamps. you honestly dont know how he does it.

"im just magical" he said, taking the plate out of your hand and opening the dishwasher. "you do know its my house, right?"

"you do know that if i never came over, it would be an absolute crime scene, right?" you retorted, earning a laugh from sunghoon.

you couldnt help but stare when his forearms flexed, the veins in his hands showing very well as warm water flowed over them. the brush in his hand didnt make it better. you sat back and leaned against the marble counter, watching him clean up.

he glanced over his shoulder to catch your attention. "what are you doing tomorrow night?"

"probably gonna get dinner with hannah," you say while giving him a quizzical look. "why?"

"do you want to hang out with me and some of the guys? we're doing a movie night and they said i should invite you."

"why not? i just wont ask hannah then!" you say, laughing. you only ask hannah to hang out when sunghoon is busy and you need a friend, which is kind of rude, but you two arent as close as you and sunghoon.

he laughs along and flicks you with water from his long fingers, and you shriek in shock. "sunghoon! dont you dare, or i swear-" but you were cut off with another flick of hot water and a smirk

the water soaked into your oversized tee, clinging to your skin as sunghoon continued to pelt you with droplets. you ran to the couch and covered yourself with a blanket, and he tackled you onto the plush cushioning, his legs tangling with yours and his hair sweeping over your nose.

when you realized that your best friend was currently lying on top of you, his hips pressed against yours and his lips only inches away, you scrambled to push him off of you, huffing "youre too heavyyy!" and "get off you weirdo"

your heart hurt when he pulled away, the knife twisting a little bit more.

you knew that any romantic relationship with sunghoon was destined to fail, that being with him was practically impossible. the fandom would go absolutely insane and sunghoon would be in too much turmoil to fix it. just rumors of dating could ruin a career in k-pop, let alone actual relationships.

so you kept your distance, or at least as much as you could. you shut down any romantic feelings because you loved sunghoon too much to jeopardize his job. sometimes, all you could hope for was a crack in the kpop world, one where "fans" wouldn't try to hurt someone for finding happiness.

"i should head to work. lock the door when you leave" said sunghoon while standing from the couch.

"sounds good! i'll finish those dishes i guess." you mutter, rolling your eyes out of a mixture of amusement and annoyance. you stand up and go into the kitchen to get to work.

back then:

sunghoon pushed his legs back and forth on the swing next to you. it had been almost two months since you two became best friends, and you were practically inseperable. every morning, you would walk to class together and talk about your soccer practice or his figure skating or whatever you thought of. it was great being able to finally have a friend to talk with and share things with.

you hand him a bag of kimchi, chewing on a piece of your own while slowly rocking back and forth on the swing.

sunghoon turned to you, opening his mouth to say something, but he stopped himself.

"what is it?" you asked, wondering what he was going to say.

"do you want to come to my competition this weekend?" his cheeks flushed when he asked you, and you laughed at his embarrassment.

"sure i'll come! i wanna see you on the ice!" you beamed at him and he grinned back, thrilled to have a friend that he could share his interests with.

now:

"hey sunoo!" you said as he stepped into the house, kicking his shoes off and giving you a hug.

"hey y/n!" he started to walk to the couch, where jake, heeseung, and sunghoon were already sitting at. sunghoon was flipping through movies, pausing at a few to see if they looked interesting.

"what do you guys want to watch?" he asked, looking at everyone.

"i personally vote rom com, but thats just me" you said, laughing when everyone rolled thir eyes in an 'as usual' way.

"im feeling that too," said jake. "theres a good one on netflix that my mom liked"

"me three," said heeseung.

"its looking like rom com, you good with that sunoo?" asked sunghoon.

"i was hoping for avengers, but that works too," he laughed when you looked at him, confused. sunoo has never once expressed interest in any action film ever.

"im kidding!" he says, and you all burst into an insane laughter.

once the movie started, you and sunghoon went to make popcorn in the kitchen.

he pulled a packet of kernels out, handing it to you. "so, feeling romantic lately?"

you scoffed. "what makes you say that?"

"come on, we both know you only watch romantic movies when youre either on your period, or have a crush. and your period was last week, so im hoping its a new crush."

you smack his bicep and roll your eyes. "number one, no, i dont have a crush. number two, youre wrong, im ovulating. youre gonna have to deal with the rom coms i guess."

his face went blank, a lost in thought look that he had on a lot these days. you wished you could see into his brain, what he was thinking, what he was plotting.

"so, youre ovulating, hmm?" he whispered, pressing his chest against your back and putting his hands on your waist. the touch made your cheeks flush. "i can think of a way to cure the... excitement."

you leaned into his touch, soaking in his warmth. you let out a small gasp when he runs his hands in between your thighs. he cups your mound, gently stroking at your sweatpant-clad skin. the intimate touch sends your nervous system into a frenzy, scrambling to make sense of what you were feeling.

your best friend of over 15 years was finally touching you where you needed him most. however, as soon as he started, he pulled away.

"not here. ten minutes." and he walked back to the couch with a slight swagger to his step and a smirk on his face.

when ten minutes had passed, you "went to use the bathroom," but really snuck into sunghoon's room, taking a seat on his bed and twiddling your thumbs nervously. what were you doing? this was not best friend behavior.

sunghoon walked in, shutting the door quietly behind him and turning to you. "before we do anything, theres something i want to tell you"

your heart was beating faster by the second, almoat loud enough to the point where you couldnt hear him talking.

"i love you, y/n. ive loved you ever since that day on the playground. you have always been my best friend, but now i want you to be more. please tell me you feel the same." his voice trembled as he laid his feelings out.

"hoonie.... of course i love you. you are the sweetest, funniest, and most amazing person i know. i want more too."

you stand up and stand in front of him, grabbing and holding his hands. you look him in the eyes and kiss him, softly, tenderly.

he moans against your mouth and grabs your hips, pulling your knee up to his waist and deepening the kiss past the territory of "tender". your cunt throbbed while waiting for him, the pressure was too much.

he brought his hand down to your sweatpants and hooked a finger under them and your panties. he slowly pulled them down your legs and went straight for your slit with his nimble fingers, sliding them in while he continued to kiss you.

you whimpered as he thrust his digits in and out of you, hitting deeper than you ever could have yourself.

you felt your insides tighten, muscles clenching and your breathing becoming labored as he continued to flick his fingers inside you.

he grinned against your mouth when you let a soft "hoonie, im gonna come" slip out. and the band in your stomach loosened as you poured all over his hands, head rolling back and legs giving out. he held you up with one arm, the other hand still in you and feeling your flow.

sunghoon pushed you onto the bed and climbed over you, licking his fingers in the sexiest way possible, then sliding them in your mouth. you tasted yourself on his fingers, an impossibly arousing sensation coursing through your body.

he pulled his fingers out of your mouth and worked at the button of his jeans. you could see his erection pressing at the zipper. deciding this was as good a time as any, you tore off your shirt and bra and leaned back down.

sunghoon came back over you and kissed you again, putting a hand on your bare breast while the other arm held him up. he slid his tounge into your waiting mouth and let his tounge circle yours. you groan against his lips as he fondles your tender flesh, pinching and rolling your hard nipple.

"h-hoon... in me... please" you whine, pleading for him to finally enter you. you felt his length hard against your stomach.

he pulled away slowly, leaving your lips hungry for more while he lifted your legs. he moved your knees over his shoulders, a position that had you leaking, your cunt insanely wet.

"tell me if i hurt you, please" he says, his breathing labored.

"unh-" you moan as he slowly enters you. his tip was so large, he just barely fit it in. you squirm, the pain both pleasing and slightly uncomforatable.

sunghoon placed his hands on your hips, holding you steady. "you got this baby, so good... so good..." he groaned when your walls clenched around his slowly furthering length.

once many sounds had come from both mouths, as well as the point of your connection, sunghoon bottomed out, his large cock fully sheathed in your aching pussy. your head lolls to the side of your pillow as he leans forward, kissing your breast.

"h-hoon... i need... go... plea- ugh!" you let a loud whine slip out as sunghoon pulls out and slides back in harshly. you hear the squelches of your pussy against his cock and blush, feeling embarrased for the unholy sounds.

sunghoon only laughs at your shyness, grinning up from your chest. he looked so beautiful, your legs around his neck, his dick buried deep in you, his hair messy and his lips swollen and red.

he continues to thrust in and out of you, whimpers escaping your mouth as he repeatedly hit that spot deep inside of you.

sunghoon placed a hand on your abdomen, feeling the bulge of his cock pounding into you. he smirked in satisfaction, his size perfectly fitting you.

your eyes roll back as you feel the band in your stomach tightening again. it felt wonderful, your sweat falling down your neck, sunghoon panting against your breasts and his tounge licking up the dew forming between your mounds. it was everything you had wanted for the last 10 years, and yet... everything felt so different. in a good way, but different.

sunghoon let his head roll back as he pumped harder into you, your pussy in so much pain, the stretch so wonderful, yet too much at the same time.

"y/n... please tell me youre close.... i need to come... with you..." he pleaded with you, and that was all it took to tip you over the edge.

"sunghoon- ohhh" you whimpered his name, strings of curses coming out of your mouth as your cum spilled over his dick and eventually the bed.

he gripped your hips tightly as ropes of his cum filled you to the brim, pouring out of you only to be desperately fucked right back in by sunghoon's still thrusting cock.

your back arched with the orgasm coursing through you, your legs slumping to the sides, the strength to hold them on sungoon's too much.

"baby.... oh my god, that was fucking wonderful," sunghoon said as he slumped over you. his chest pressed against yours, his legs tangled around you.

"mmmh- it was.... i love you so much hoon." you kiss his cheek, slowly pushing him off of you. "we should get back to the others now. theyre going to wonder where we went."

"yeah," he said, smiling at you. "but once theyre gone.... we're gonna stay up all night"

copyright- highway-143, 2025

DO NOT plagiarize, but reposting is welcome (credit is appreciated)

authors note: feel free to comment with recommendations! i need ideas hehe. im open to writing about anyone from skz, txt, enha, ateez, p1h..... basically any bg lol. please give me inspo :D

also- i hope yall enjoyed it!

[andre-and-cal]

heh. . . request!! uhh cal Getz into some sort of accident and has brain damage :( now it's up to you to determine what will happen wit the zero day plans . . .

AHHH MY BABYYY 😔🙏 Your wish is my command! This was super fun to dew !! :3

What if Cal got a severe head injury before Zero Day?

Starting off, I think that Cal would suffer a serious blow to the head from getting in a vehicle collision with his parents. This is one of the most common ways people get a traumatic brain injury. The other driver was at fault for being under the influence of alcohol, and Cal’s parents ended up suing the man to cover his medical bills. The airbag had saved Mrs. Gabriel’s life, and she was only given a broken nose, while Calvin had hit the dashboard— his frontal lobe and temporal lobe sustaining the worst of the hit.

Following, when Andre found out, he was shocked. While Zero Day was at the back of his mind, he was extremely worried about Calvin. He wanted to know what happened in detail, if the guy he held so dearly was getting fixed up, if he was okay or if he’d be fine within a few days. He couldn’t imagine that the Calvin Gabriel he’s known for years… was temporarily incapacitated. He couldn’t stand it as he paced around his room, his worry turning into agitation while waiting for Cal to call him from the hospital, to assure him that he was alright. He never did. Andre almost didn’t want to accept how things were gonna be now. So, he decided to hop in his car and drive to the hospital himself. Andre’s parents wanted to wait a little bit, unsure if Calvin was even ready for visits. But Andre didn’t care. He needed to see him.

In the hospital, Calvin was in bed with some monitors hooked up to him. He had sustained a moderate traumatic brain injury (TBI) and had a large, puffy bandage wrapped around his head. He wasn’t in a coma; he just wasn’t even really awake. He’d been having sporadic seizures, so he had to get an EEG (Electroencephalogram) done, and then soon an MRI scan for his head. Overall, he wasn’t in good shape. When Andre arrived to see him, he’d greeted Cal’s parents, the somber atmosphere enveloping them. Then he went over to Cal’s side, absentmindedly placing a hand on his arm, then his hand. The sight of Cal in this state really made Andre want to break down— and he hadn’t broken down since he was a kid. Yet he didn’t, instead remaining stoic even though he was hurting on the inside. He just wanted Cal to be okay.

A couple days later, Cal’s seizures had ceased— though he still had to stay in the hospital for a few more weeks. Andre decided to visit him again, with his parents coming along with him. Upon arrival, he was relieved that Cal was mostly awake now; he looked down at him over his hospital bed, observing his features, and he tucked a strand of blond hair behind his ear. He wanted to show him some affection so badly, and while he previously didn’t want his parents to get suspicious of their close affinity, he didn’t really care at this point in time. He just didn’t want to hurt Cal. As mentioned prior, he’d experienced a gut feeling that told him Zero Day probably wasn’t going to happen anymore. He was okay with that, even when normally he wouldn’t really be able to dispose of Zero Day. But Cal meant more to him than their plans of violence, and he just wanted to make sure he was going to be alright.

After his stay in the hospital, Calvin was set to stay in bed for another week— except, he’d be at home now. His motor control was noticeably fine for the most part, but since he’d hit an area in his frontal lobe— which controls his executive function, impulse control, attention, and cognitive and motor abilities— he’d still gained a little head and hand twitch. In addition, he developed restless legs, and his ADHD was substantially worsened. He started getting migraines more often and he’s gotten short-term amnesia. He literally cannot remember what he did 10 minutes ago, even though it usually comes to him later in the day.

Also, his impulse management is now poor, and he blurts sentences out without meaning to. With his temporal lobe damage, sometimes it’s hard for him to hear certain tones of voices, so sometimes he has to ask for people to speak up. During the first week he was in the hospital, he suffered from dysphasia, often speaking slowly and incoherently. However, this has since improved. His ability to process given directions and language is around the same as it was from when he was in the hospital, but Andre has been trying to resolve these issues with him.

Andre has been staying over a lot more than he used to and working with Cal’s parents as well as his own to try and teach him what information he may have lost after the brain injury. He knows recovery will be difficult, but he wants Calvin to be like his old self again. It’s tough for Andre, thinking about what he went through and all. Cal remembers the accident, having described to Andre about what he remembered from it, and he has refused to get into Andre’s car ever since that day. Which— Andre has tried to push him to overcome these fears at first, but he realizes it’s easier said than done. So he became more understanding about it.

Also, he hasn’t brought up Zero Day to Cal. He isn’t sure if he even remembers their plans, but he’s pretty positive that he doesn’t— Cal hasn’t brought it up to him since he came home. Besides, even if he is able to recall their plans, he doesn’t want to be selfish. Losing Zero Day is upsetting, but practically losing Cal for a brief period of time was even more upsetting. It’s a big change for both boys, but Andre has recognized how much Cal means to him, Zero Day or no Zero Day. Sometimes he’s thought of what he would’ve done if Cal had gotten killed in the wreck. Andre knows he would’ve ended it or done something rash. After all, he can’t live without Cal.

[hauntingblue]

Gear 5 luffy's laugh is so contagious I just hear the drums and go insane how does this work. What did he do to me

[pyrriax]

ANYWHO goodnight tumblr i'll be back on the art grind tomorrow i think 🙏

[orcelito]

A testament to how fucking Awful my post-hiking soreness has been. I got out of bed & had a moment of like "Wow! That wasn't verging on agonizing to do! My muscles Must be getting better!"

Then as I walked to the bathroom, I had a moment of "... 🤨 you're still limping, though."

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[sugucide]

two weeks.

it's been two weeks since kento has been inside of you. He's gone months, hell even years without sex before he met you and he was fine. he didn't even wish for it like most of his bachelor counterparts did.

but now that he's had a taste of you? two weeks may as well be a death sentence. which is ironic, giving the nature of this sex ban. everything you do is inviting: maybe it's just his underworked sex drive or maybe he's reverted back to his teenage years because he sure does feel like an impatient, entitled brat whenever you walk past him.

he can smell you. not the smell of your perfume you spritz on each morning. not the product in you hair. not the moisturiser you use. but you, the scent of your self, your body, the skin he's so often inhaled as he bit down between your thighs or up the column of your neck. he can smell the memories of sex, sweaty and tangled in pheromones and all things primal.

he can hear you. not your words or laughter or the way you hum absentmindedly when you're pottering around the house. he can hear that sharp little intake of breath when you accidentally, or not-so-accidentally, brush against him. he can hear that whining tinge to your voice when you tell him you won't sleep with him, that you're punishing him, as if its moreso a punishment for you than him. he can remember the way you'd moan for him, desperate and glassy eyed and oh so perfect for him as he ruins you from the inside out.

he can't take it anymore.

"two weeks is more than enough time for me to think about my actions," he tells you over dinner one night, eyes cast downwards at his plate. "...and to come up with a suitable apology."

you place your chopsticks down at his last words and look up at your husband. "oh? let's hear it then."

over the frames of his glasses, kento's eyes meet yours. "i apologise for worrying you and risking my life for my work."

you tap your fingers against the table. "and will you continue to do it?"

"yes," he admits. "it's my job, one that i do well. if i die doing it, i hope it's in place of someone who didn't sign up for it, like you."

kento reaches over the table and takes your hand. "i can't just stop being a sorcerer. that would be too selfish of me. but i do promise that i will make more of an effort to reduce my chances of getting hurt from now on: no more unnecessary risks. okay?"

though that was all you needed to hear from him, you start to wonder if lifting the sex ban was a good idea when your pent-up husband is swiping plates from the dinner table to make room for you to lay back on it. claiming he can't wait the few extra second to carry you to the bedroom, he has you stripped and laid bare on the dining room table in no time, and he's ready for his meal.

"missed her," he mumbles as he parts your legs with a strong hand and bends down to kiss once at your clit. that's about and gentlemanly as it gets, though, because soon after he's making out with your pussy like he's a virgin. no technique, no precision, nothing but unfiltered need and its so much hotter than you'd imagine it to be.

eyes locking onto yours from between your thighs, he adds two fingers and works you open. two weeks was a long time for the both of you, so he'll need to get you used to the stretch of him again. he scissors his fingers inside of you, curls them upwards to hit your g-spot and smirks like a saint when your back arches off the table in response.

"missed you ken," you ramble on as your climax nears. "missed you so much. hated doing this. love you. loveyouloveyou god i love you."

you cum hard, harder than you've cum in a long time and kento laps it up like he's never tasted anything so good. he savours your taste on his tongue like he would an aged wine, something expensive and delicious and worth keeping bottled. though he's harder than diamond and worried he'll cum in his pants if he doesn't sink inside of you soon. so he stands and undoes his belt in record time (with those lovely hands of his) and repositions you at the end of the table with his leaky cock already pressing against your wet entrance.

he leans over you and shares a kiss with you as he pushes in. he inhales the gasp you let out at the stretch and moans into your mouth as a gift in return. he pulls out almost entirely, so it's just his head nestled in your tight pussy, and then slams in again. hard.

"god kento—" you start, about to chide him for being so rough with you when you notice his face dip into your neck and the sudden warmth filling you from the inside. kento's hips stutter and he bites at the skin of your shoulder to muffle the heavy moans that ache to free themselves from his chest.

"did you just—"

"don't," he cuts you off, cock twitching inside of you with his release. he's plugging you up, keeping you full of him and his cum. "give me a minute and i'll fuck you so stupid that you forget that just happened."

"you just—"

"don't laugh."

"im not laughing! it's just, you know like our first time..."

"shut up." kento's hips pull away and then slam back into yours as he starts a brutal pace with you.

that shuts you up good.

[g-hua]

Do you know that "friend" who makes you feel bad about the things you do by talking about someone else who also does these things and saying that the reason that other person does these things is on purpose to be selfish or piss off others but never talks to you about the times you do those things?

Especially when they are mental health related things?

Yeah?

Fuck that friend.