#Space was Cool too it hits hard man

[akascow]

was reminded of In Space w Mark and The Last Goodbye song and now im fucking crying

[drpicklesart]

they are going to mehnahnaroo

[winepresswrath]

recent wave of discourse over whether straight men/straight people/men more generally should go to lesbian bars is so depressing to me, living in a city with no lesbian bars.

[kenacoki]

Save the Best for Last

//Pairing// Evan “Buck” Buckley x Fem!Reader

//Summary// After so many terrible dates, you always seem to find yourself coming back to Buck’s loft.

//Word Count// 5.58k

//Request// smut prompts #2 & #4

//Warnings// smutty smut smut :)), Evan Buckley being a certified munch, lazy handjobs, p in v sex, and possessive talk

//Dividers// sister-lucifer

"Oh, goddamn it."

Here you are, standing outside Buck's loft door at 10:00 at night with a six-pack of beer in hand as you contemplate your life choices.

Your latest date had been a complete and total disaster.

The man was loud, obnoxious, and a bit too handsy for your taste. So, you left the date early feeling frustrated and angry. All you want to do is relax and complain to your best friend.

Reaching into your pocket, you pull out your key to Buck's place. Letting yourself in, you sigh quietly as you slip your jacket off. The loft is empty and quiet.

"Buck?" You call out, setting the beer in the fridge.

Maybe he’s in the shower? Or asleep? You don’t get a response, so you head into the living room, flopping down onto Buck’s new couch with a huff.

You lean your head back against the couch, your eyes fluttering shut as you sigh heavily. As you sit there mentally cursing out your dumb date, the sound of footsteps causes you to open your exhausted (e/c) eyes, looking over at the source of the noise; it’s Buck, walking out of his steaming bathroom.

Completely naked.

You immediately turned red, quickly looking away and sitting up. "Jesus Christ," you blurt out, feeling your heart pound in your chest. "Buck, for god's sake, a towel please." You keep your eyes trained on the wall in front of you, refusing to look at your equally embarrassed friend.

"Oh—oh god, I didn’t know you came in!” Buck mumbles, grabbing a discarded towel from the bathroom floor and wrapping it around his waist.

Well, now you understand how he got the nickname Firehose.

"How long have you been here?"

"Not long." You mutter, still refusing to look at him. The image of his bare chest is burned into your brain. What you wouldn’t give to rake your fingers over his toned muscles—

Nope. Stop. No, nope. Bad thoughts.

“I’m just uh, gonna go grab some clothes.” Buck practically scurries away, disappearing up the stairs to his bedroom. You exhale, letting out a deep breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

Finally looking away from the wall, you bury your face in your hands.

This is bad. You and Buck are just friends. Nothing more, nothing less. You need to get these feelings under control, but it’s so, so hard.

Buck emerges a moment later, thankfully with underwear and sweatpants on, although his chest is still bare. You try not to stare at his toned upper body as he shuffles back over to the couch, plopping himself down next to you; leaving little to no space. You desperately try not to think about it.

"S-so, how was your date?" He asks, his voice is casual but a tinge of tension in his words.

You try not to grimace as you remember the disaster that had been your evening. “Ugh, it was terrible. He was so loud and obnoxious, it was awful.” You sigh heavily, shaking your head. “I don’t know why I keep going on these stupid dates, honestly.”

Buck shifts next to you, his shoulder brushing against your arm, sending a shiver down your spine. He’s so close, that you can practically feel the warmth radiating off of his body. It’s driving you crazy.

You suddenly jerk forward, rubbing your sweaty palms on your dress as you stand, “I uh, I got us beer—to drink. Do you want one?”

Smooth, real smooth (y/n).

Buck nods, his eyes following you as you walk away, his gaze trailing down your body hungrily. He can’t help it, the sight of your curves in that tight (f/c) dress is so damn distracting. He swallows hard, tearing his eyes away from you as you disappear into the kitchen.

You open the fridge door, the cool air hitting your flushed face. You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. You need to stop reacting this way to him, you and Buck are just friends. No matter what your stupid heart may think.

You grab a couple of beers, opening one for Buck and one for yourself. Heading back into the living room, you desperately try to get your thoughts under control.

Buck’s in the same spot as before when you come back, his arm stretched out along the back of the couch. You hand him the beer and sit back down on the couch, putting a little distance between you this time.

As you get comfortable, you take a long swig of your drink. Buck does the same, his eyes flicking over to you as he does.

The tension in the room feels thick as if you could slice through it with a knife. You take another sip of beer, glancing over at Buck. He’s still looking at you, his eyes roaming over your face. It’s making you nervous.

“What?” You ask, lifting an eyebrow at him.

"Hm?" Buck seems to snap out of his thoughts, blinking at you. "Oh, uh, nothing—Just thinking." He replies, looking away quickly and taking another drink of beer.

You along nod awkwardly, taking another sip of your beer as you try to ignore the way Buck’s eyes still glance at you,“Don’t strain yourself too hard.”

Buck snorts, rolling his eyes at your sarcastic comment. The corner of his lips twitch upwards, a small smirk growing on his face. But the smirk fades quickly, a flicker of something you can’t quite place flashing across his eyes.

"You’re just hilarious, y'know that?” He teases, but there’s an undertone to it that you can’t quite put your finger on.

You roll your eyes at him, though your heart skips a beat at his smirk. You’re suddenly very aware of how close you two have gotten again, the heat from his body practically seeping through his clothes onto your own skin.

“Damn right, I am.” You snark back at him, taking another drink of beer as you try to ignore the way your heart is pounding in your chest.

Buck lets out a soft laugh, his eyes locking on yours again. The smirk on his face fades as he takes a deep breath, seeming to come to some kind of decision. He shifts closer, his body leaning slightly into yours.

"Can I ask you something?"

You involuntarily tense up, your heart slamming in your chest. His sudden shift in demeanor can’t help but make you nervous, you take a deep breath to steady yourself.

“Sure, yeah.” You say, trying to keep your voice even. You turn towards him, meeting his gaze with your own. “What’s up?”

Buck hesitates for a moment, his tongue darting out as he wets his lips. He’s so close to you now, his face only a few inches away from yours. When he speaks, his voice is quieter than before, barely above a whisper.

"Why do you keep going on these dates?"

His question catches you off guard, making your stomach twist into knots. You certainly hadn’t been expecting him to ask that. You take a deep breath, trying to keep your composure. You can feel your heart racing, the sound of it drumming in your ears.

"I, uh, I don’t know. Does-Does it really matter?" You reply, trying to keep your voice casual. But you can feel yourself start to fidget with your fingers nervously.

Buck watches you for a moment, his eyes scanning over your face. His hand moves, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from your face. The touch is gentle, his fingers tracing lightly along your cheek.

"Yeah, it matters." He says, his voice soft. "It matters because all these dates are doing is making you miserable. I hate seeing you like this."

Your breath catches in your chest as his fingers lightly trail along your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. You can feel your self-control slipping, your heart and mind warring with each other. You want to lean into his touch, but at the same time, you know you need to keep your distance.

"It’s fine, Buck. I promise." You manage to say, but the shakiness in your voice betrays your words.

Buck’s hand moves to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing over your skin. His eyes are still fixed on yours, his gaze intense and unwavering.

"No, it's not." He says firmly. "You're not fine. You’re miserable. I mean, you're going on these dates like some kind of punishment, like you think you need to suffer through it for some reason."

He moves even closer to you, so close that you can just barely feel his breath fan against your skin.

His words strike a nerve in you, because you know he’s right. You’ve been using these dates to try and punish yourself, to try and ignore your feelings for Buck. Now he’s calling you out on it, and it’s making it hard for you to think straight.

You lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment. You’re so weak for him, it’s pathetic.

Buck’s hand moves from your cheek to your chin, tilting your head up slightly, making you look at him. Your eyes lock with his, your heart racing at his proximity. His gaze is intense like he’s searching for something in your eyes.

"I don’t understand why you keep doing this to yourself." He murmurs, his thumb brushing over your jawline. "You deserve better than these idiots you keep going on dates with. You deserve someone who actually cares about you."

Your breath catches in your chest as he speaks, your heart clenching at his words. You know he's right, but you can’t bring yourself to admit it. You try to deflect, trying to keep the conversation light.

"Yeah? And who do you have in mind for me then?" You half-joke, quirking an eyebrow at him.

Buck’s thumb stops moving, his gaze steady and unwavering. His other hand moves to your hip, his fingers gripping you gently through the fabric of your dress

"Me." He says, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes flick down to your lips, then back up to your eyes.

Your eyes widen in shock at his words, your mind reeling. You’re speechless, unable to believe what he’s saying. Is he being serious?

You take a shaky breath, trying to form a response but struggle to find the words. Buck’s hand on your hip tightens slightly, pulling you closer to him.

“You…you do?” You ask, your voice a little breathless.

Buck nods, and his grip on your hip tightens even more, pulling you flush against his body. You can feel his heart beating fast, mirroring your own. He’s so close to you that you can see the tiniest flecks of green in his blue eyes; you can’t help but feel compelled to touch his birthmark.

"Yeah.” He says firmly, his voice rough and low. “I do. I want you so bad it’s been driving me insane.”

Your mind is swirling, your body reacting to his every touch and word. You should be pushing him away, shoving him back, and telling him to snap out of it. This is a terrible idea, bound to end in disaster. You could lose your friendship, and your job if things go bad. But you can’t bring yourself to care.

"God Buck, me too.” You murmur, your hand moving to clutch at his waist, your fingers gripping the soft fabric of his sweatpants.

Buck lets out a low groan at your words. Your confession is like a spark, igniting a fire within him. He leans even closer until there’s barely an inch of space left between your bodies.

"You have no idea how bad I want you.” He says, his voice practically growling. “I want to kiss every inch of you, make you forget your own name.”

“Then do it.” You whisper, your voice is a little shaky but so filled with desire it’s undeniable. You want this, you want him.

You. Need. Buck.

Buck doesn’t hesitate, his lips crashing down against yours in a heated kiss. His hand in your hair tightens, angling your head back to give him better access to your mouth. His other hand slides from your hip to the small of your back, pulling you into him.

The kiss is intense, desperate, like he’s trying to devour you whole.

You let out a muffled moan, your hand moving to grasp his neck; clinging to him like a lifeline. Your body feels like it’s been set on fire, every inch of you burning with need and desire for him. You can’t get enough, you don’t think you’ll ever get enough.

You open your mouth to him, letting his tongue slide into your mouth, your own tongue meeting his in a frenzied dance. You can feel yourself falling apart, losing yourself in the intensity of his touch, of his kiss.

Buck’s hands move to your thighs, gripping them tightly as he lifts you up, easily settling you on his lap so youre straddling him. You move your hips, grinding yourself down onto him, his body reacting involuntarily to the pressure. You can feel his hardness press against your core, it sends a throb of need throughout your entire body.

Gasping, Buck breaks the kiss before moving his lips to your neck; his mouth hot and demanding against your skin.

“You…drive me…crazy.” He mutters between kisses, his lips trailing down your neck and across your collarbone. Hishands slide under the lacy hem of your dress, his fingers burning hot against your skin as they trace patterns along your sides. You arch into his touch.

“You’re all I can think about. Every day.” He continues, his voice gravelly with lust. “God, even when we’re at work.”

You let out a gasp as his tongue swirls over your skin, your fingers tangling in his curly, blonde hair. His words make your heart pound even faster.

You press yourself against Buck, your hips rolling involuntarily against his, seeking more of that delicious friction. You can feel him growing harder underneath you, only making you ache for more.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve had to go to the bathroom to get myself under control,” Buck admits, his voice rumbles against your skin. He moves his hands lower, cupping your ass and grinding you down onto him. His mouth moves lower, his teeth grazing over a particularly sensitive spot on your collarbone, his thumb moving over your hip bone, tracing the outline of your underwear.

You let out a soft moan, your head falling back as he works his mouth down your neck and across your chest. His touch is like gasoline on an already out-of-control fire, and you can feel yourself losing more and more control.

“Buck…” You breathe out, his name a plea and a prayer all in one.

Buck moans at the sound, his hands moving to your hips again, holding you still against him. His mouth moves back up to your neck, his teeth and lips roaming over your skin.

“Fuck, I’ve wanted you so long.” He mutters, his voice rough and strained. “You keep coming to me after those stupid dates, all dressed up in these pretty dresses. Do you have any idea what it does to me?”

The mental image of him watching you from across the station, seeing you all dolled up for these dates and not being able to do anything about it, watching as you leave with another man, it makes your stomach clench. You wonder how many times he's sat there, fighting the urge to pull you into his lap, to kiss you senselessly and show everyone that you’re his.

You let out a pathetic whine, the thought making you throb with need.

Buck leans back slightly, his eyes raking over your disheveled form. You’re panting heavily, your (e/c) eyes dark with desire, lips swollen from his kisses. You’re a mess, and it makes him feel a sense of satisfaction that he’s the one who’s made you this way.

“God, look at you.” He murmurs, his hands pushing up your dress, his fingers tracing over your bare thighs. “You’re so goddamn beautiful.”

You shiver as his hands move higher, brushing over the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. You can feel your own arousal pooling between your legs, your underwear getting more and more damp at his touch. You want him, you need him so badly that it’s starting to become painful.

“Buck please,” You pant out, your voice pleading. “I need you…I need you so bad.”

Buck’s breath hitches at your words, his grip on your thighs faltering momentarily. He can see the desperation in your eyes, the need written all over your face.

“You’ve got me.” He says, his voice a low rumble. “You’ve always had me…just didn’t know it.”

Your heart clenches at his words, your mind warring with your body. Everything about this is a bad idea, you’re playing with fire here. But at this moment, with his hands on you, his body under yours, you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Prove it. Show me I’m yours, Buck.”

Buck’s eyes flash at your challenge, a wolfish smile spreading across his face. He moves without warning, standing up and easily lifting you with him. Your legs automatically wrap around his waist, and your arms cling to his shoulders. Spinning around, he starts the ascent to his loft bedroom.

You cling to him as he moves through the apartment, his hands holding you tightly, supporting your weight without any effort. You bury your face in his neck, leaving teasing kisses along his skin, your tongue and teeth nipping at his pulse point. You can feel every muscle in his body as he moves, your hands roaming across his back and shoulders, your fingernails scraping gently over his skin.

As you reach the top of the stairs, he walks you over to the edge of the bed and sets you down on the soft comforter.

“(y/n)…” He mutters, his eyes roaming over your body, taking in every inch of you. Your hair is tangled and messy, your chest heaving as you breathe heavily, your dress pooled up around your thighs, exposing your (s/c) skin. “You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?”

You smirk up at him, a feeling of power rushing through you at the way he’s looking at you. You lay back slowly, arching your back and letting the skirt of your dress ride up higher. You run your tongue over your bottom lip, knowing exactly what you’re doing to him.

“Pretty good way to go though, huh?” You tease lightly.

You don’t know how, but Buck’s eyes darken even more, the sight of you on his bed—practically inviting him to take you—pushes him over the edge.

“You’re such a tease.” He mutters, moving closer to you as his hands go to the waistband of his sweats.

You let out a small gasp as he starts to lower his sweatpants, the sight of him in nothing but low-hanging boxer briefs makes your mouth water. You can see the desire and hunger in his eyes, the fact that he wants you so badly sending a thrill of pleasure through you.

“Only for you, Buckley.”

Buck moves onto the bed, caging you in with his body, his hands on either side of your head.

“Better be.” He grins, leaning down to trail kisses along your jaw to your ear. His teeth nip at your earlobe, sending a shiver down your spine.

He moves lower, his lips finding your neck again, sucking lightly on the sensitive skin there, leaving a mark you know you’ll struggle to hide the next day.

You can feel your hands starting to shake as the ache between your legs grows and your mind gets fuzzy. You arch up into him, your body seeking more of his touch, more of his attention.

“Buck—need you to touch me.” You pant, your voice needy and desperate

Buck groans at your words, his hands sliding lower down your body, gliding over your stomach and then lower until they’re at the edge of your dress.

“Lift your hips.” He instructs, his voice commanding, leaving no room for argument. You instantly comply, lifting your hips off the bed, allowing him to slide your dress higher up your body.

With a quick tug, Buck pulls the dress up over your body and tosses it to the side. He takes a moment to admire you, trailing his eyes over every inch of you.

You’re laying there in just your (f/c) bra and panties, your legs slightly parted, your chest rising and falling quickly as you breathe through the need coursing through your body.

He leans back down over you, his hands and mouth immediately going to work. His mouth trails wet kisses down your torso and across your stomach, his fingers tracing lightly over your skin. You can’t help but whimper as he moves, your body responding to every touch, every graze of his lips against your skin.

His moves lower, just barely brushing the edge of your panties. You let out a gasp, your hands gripping the sheets tightly as your body arches into his touch.

You feel Buck’s smile against your skin, his hands gripping your hips tightly to keep you still. He loves seeing you like this, lost in pleasure and need, your body responding to his every move. He moves his mouth lower, his tongue tracing over the thin, damp fabric of your panties.

“B-Buck!” Your voice cracks

“You’re so damn sensitive,” Buck mutters, his fingers slowly tugging at the edge of your panties before pulling them down your legs and tossing them off to the side.

You clasp a hand over your mouth as you hold back a whine as you feel his hot breath fan against your soaked center.

Buck gently nips at the inside of your thigh, leaving small marks on your sensitive skin. He moves one of his hands to rest on your knee, keeping you spread open.

“It’s okay, (y/n).” Buck says, his voice full of desire. “Let me hear you, let me hear what I do to you.”

Before you can respond, his mouth is pressed against your soaking folds.

You let out a high-pitched moan, your hands automatically digging into his scalp, your fingers gripping his curly blonde locks. His tongue is skilled, his movements sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

“F-fuckin’ dick!” You manage to gasp out, your words quickly turning into broken moans and gasps as he continues his assault

Buck doesn’t stop, his tongue working you over, his lips and teeth nipping and sucking at you in all the right places. He loves the way you taste, and the sound of your moans. But he’s greedy, and he wants more.

He slides his hand from your knee to your core, one of his calloused fingers gently teasing at your entrance.

Your body is buzzing with pleasure and your mind is fogged with need. The feeling of his finger at your entrance, teasing and tantalizing is almost too much.

“O-Oh god, Buck…please…don’t stop!” You desperately gasp out, feeling the coil inside you building.

Buck groans against you, sending vibrations straight to your core, “You’re so damn wet.”

“All for you—Fuck!”

Buck practically groans with need at your words. He gently pushes one of his fingers into you, the slide easy due to your arousal. You throw your head back from the pleasure.

“You’re like heaven, baby.” Buck mumbles, his voice filled with awe as his finger continues to move, gently stretching you in preparation for more. “Like an angel…My pretty, perfect angel.”

You can’t respond, your words are caught in your throat, replaced by gasps and moans as Buck continues to work you. He adds another finger, scissoring them gently, the sensation making your eyes flutter shut.

“Look at me.” Buck commands, “Open your eyes, (y/n). Let me see you.”

With a great amount of effort, you force your eyes open, to meet his gaze. The sight before you is one that’ll be engraved into your memory forever.

Buck’s hair is a mess from your fingers running through it, his cheeks flushed, his lips and chin glistening with your arousal, eyes dark with lust and possessiveness that makes your skin flush with goosebumps. He looks wild, untamed, and yet he’s completely focused on you, on giving you pleasure.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good.” He whispers, his fingers curving slightly, the way that makes you see stars. “I’m gonna make you cum so hard that you forget your own name, how about that?”

“Yes, please!” You gasp, your words coming out needy and desperate. “Please, Buck, please. I need you-need you so bad.”

Reluctantly, Buck pulls his fingers from you, your walls fluttering around nothing. He doesn’t leave you waiting for long, shifting to kneel on the bed, his hands go to the edge of his underwear.

You watch, breathless and eager, as he slowly pushes down his boxer briefs, freeing his aching cock. The tip is red and dripping; you swear that you feel your mouth water.

“You see what you do to me? See what you caused?” Buck’s voice is rough, his breath coming out in heavy pants.

You run your eyes up and down his body, taking in the sight in front of you, the way his body is practically trembling, desperate for you. You lick your lips, your thoughts swarming with things that would make a sailor blush with shame.

“Please, Buck.”

He looks down at you, his eyes raking over your body, as he takes in the sight. You sound so needy, so desperate. He leans over you, his hands on either side of your head.

“Please, what, sweetheart?” He asks, his voice a low, teasing whisper.

You wrap your legs around his waist, your hands gripping his shoulders.

“Fuck. Me.”

Buck lets a curse slip from his lips as he captures yours in a hungry, rough kiss. One hand grasps your hip, while the other hand drifts to your thigh, gripping it firmly as he lines himself up at your entrance. Breaking the kiss, he lets his forehead rest against yours.

His eyes lock with yours, a silent question in his gaze. You nod, your hands running down his arms.

“Do it, Buck.” You say, your voice is desperate and whiny. “Please.”

Buck lets out a low moan at your voice, his body trembling from the effort of holding himself back. He can’t take it anymore, he needs you, needs to feel you around him, needs to taste you.

He slowly pushes into you, going as slowly as he can manage, relishing in the way your walls flutter against his member.

You let out a gasp, your hands tightening around his wrists, your eyes fluttering shut as you feel him fill you, stretch you in the best way possible. There’s a slight burn, but you welcome it as you shakily exhale.

“A-Ah...” Buck moans, his voice strained as his hands grip you tighter, burying himself fully inside you. His head drops to rest in the crease of your neck. “You feel… you feel so good—god, so warm.”

You let out a moan as he bottoms out, your mind lost in the pleasure of him filling you so perfectly. You want to tell him how good it feels, but words are lost amongst the fog in your mind.

Buck presses a kiss to your shoulder, his lips feeling like fire against your skin. His hand leaves your hip and moves to grip yours, his fingers carefully intertwining with yours. Using his other hand he gently cups your face, forcing you to look at him

“Look at me, baby.” He mutters against your skin, “I wanna see your face. I wanna see how good I make you feel. Can you do that for me?”

You force your eyes open, meeting his gaze. The way he’s looking at you makes your heart swell; his eyes are filled with such adoration, such love.

Buck lets out a pleased noise, “That’s it, so good for me. Look so pretty when you’re like this…all flushed and trembling, just from my touch.”

He gives a shallow, experimental thrust, eliciting a sharp gasp from you as an electric feeling shoots through your body.

He moans against your skin, the sound making the hairs on your neck stand up. He moves again, this time pulling out slightly before slowly pushing back into you. You gasp again, your hands grab at his shoulder; your nails breaking the skin.

He sets up a steady pace, pulling out and then pushing back in with slow, steady movements.

Each moan and gasp, each twitch of your brow or hitch in your breath, he takes it in, and stores it away. He shifts his hips slightly, changing the angle, and a guttural, desperate moan tumbles from your lips.

Buck lets out a taunting chuckle, “Did I find a sensitive spot, baby?” He asks, his voice teasing and gruff against your ear.

You can’t find it in you to respond, completely blissed out from the pleasure Buck is giving you. Your words catch in your throat, replaced by a series of ‘uh-uh-uhs’ as he continuously slams into you.

His pace quickens as his breath comes out in short pants, his hand gripping yours just a little bit tighter.

“F-Fuck…Who do you want?”

“You. Only you, Buck.”

Buck’s eyes close for a moment, a shudder raking through his body at your words. He lets out another moan, his head falling forward to rest his forehead against your shoulder as he untangles his hand from yours. Hastily he brings it down, harshly rubbing it against your sensitive bud.

The sudden change in stimuli makes your eyes roll back, the pleasure and heat reaching a breaking point.

“B-Buck, I’m not gonna—”

“I know, baby, I know.” He whines, his own voice wavering. “I want to feel you cum around me. C’mon, cum for me.”

That’s all it takes, the feeling of him inside you, the sound of his voice, the sensation of his hands on you against you—your orgasm crashes over you like a wave. Your entire body tenses, a broken moan falling from your lips as your back arches against Buck’s sweaty figure.

Buck groans as he feels you cum, your walls clenching around him tightly. His hips stutter, losing their steady rhythm as he pulls out and starts pumping himself over your stomach.

“Ngh—shit!” Buck gasps suddenly as he feels your fingers wrap around his weeping cock, taking over for him.

“(y-y/n), you don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.” You look up at him with a small, exhausted smile on your lips as you continue to leisurely pump him at your own pace.

Buck lets out a high-pitched whine, his hands gripping onto you tighter, “M-mm’ so close.”

“Then come for me, Evan.”

Buck lets out a desperate noise, the sound of his real name falling from your lips being his final breaking point.

“(y-y/n)—”

You keep stroking him through his orgasm, watching as his body shivers from the overstimulation. Slowly, Buck’s flushed face lifts from your shoulder, his breaths leaving his lips in heavy pants, the corners of his mouth turned up into a small smile. His blue eyes meet your gaze, they’re hazy and unfocused.

“God, I love you.” He mutters, his voice a little hoarse, but still filled with an amount of tenderness that makes your heart skip a beat.

You bring your clean hand up to his face, running it through his messy, tangled hair, your fingernails gently massaging his scalp “I love you too.”

Buck lets out a content hum, pressing a few soft kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your nose—Anywhere he can reach without having to pull his body away from you.

You laugh softly at his affection, your chest filled with a warm, fuzzy feeling, a smile resting on your lips. You feel…at ease.

Happy.

Safe.

Buck slowly pulls away, just enough to move off your body and lay next to you. He instantly pulls you against his chest, one arm around your shoulders, cradling you against him. He sighs contentedly, burying his face in your hair, inhaling your scent.

You rest your head against his chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat under your ear grounding and soothing. Your eyes slowly close, your exhaustion finally catching up to you. You snuggle closer to Buck, a soft yawn escaping your lips.

Buck chuckles as he hears you yawn. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back.

“Sleep, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

You give a tiny hum, the sound of his voice and the feeling of his hand on your back making your eyelids grow heavier and heavier. Sleep starts to overtake you, but not before you mutter out one final sentence.

“I love you, Buck.”

Buck’s heart warms at your words. He pulls you even closer to him, relishing the feeling of having you this close. He presses a kiss to the top of your head again, his voice soft and gentle as he speaks.

“I love you too, (y/n). More than anything.”

[stiles24]

Right on Time. | e.m.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x (f)reader.

Summary: Eddie's best friend comes to the rescue when a certain 'fan' of his band just won't quit.

-----

Rushing through the doors of The Hideout, you're greeted first by the familiar rush of smokey air, and then the gruff smile of Nick the bouncer. Squeezing his arm as you walked past, something near the stage caught your eye.

Gareth had spotted you the moment you walked in, and was now waving frantically. Subtlety had never been his strong point, and today was no different. As each step took you closer to him, his eyes darted between you, and the side of the stage.

"Where's the fire, G?"

Following his gaze, it took only seconds to zero in on the source of his panic.

Eddie was kneeling at the edge of the stage, tonight's setlist clutched tightly in his ringed fingers like a lifeline. Leaning dangerously close to him was the She-Devil, dressed in her usual skin-tight clothing. Her real name was Tiffany, and she'd graduated from Hawkins High a few years earlier. She had a thing for guys in bands, and apparently, Eddie was really doing it for her these days.

Tiffany had been to the last four Corroded Coffin shows, each time doing more and more to get Eddie's attention. To her, this seemed to mean wearing less clothing, and invading Eddie's personal space more. You'd been a little surprised when Eddie had brushed her off the first week, but it was clear that he wasn't interested, something she wasn't, or didn't care to understand.

The first time she'd shown up to one of their shows with a few friends, it had earned Jeff a punch to the chest while the boys were packing up. He'd joked that you had competition for the title of their number one fan. You'd not so politely reminded him that you were their first, number one, and sometimes only fan, and that if he ever disrespected you like that again, you might slip and tell Ms. Dunne the math teacher about the dream of his she'd starred in.

Looking back at Gareth, he gestured wildly.

"You have to do something!" He went as far as to grab you by the shoulders and shake. "You have to save him."

"First of all, you've been reading too many fantasy novels, Gar. You need to take a breath."

It made you laugh a little as you watched your friend visibly inhale, as if it was the first time in a while that he'd done so.

Looking back over your shoulder, you took a breath of your own, trying to come up with an idea. Though you weren't above violence, The Hideout wasn't the place for it. You didn't want Nick to have to get involved, and it'd be a pain in the ass for the boys to have to find a new place to play for five drunks each week.

If you were being honest, you didn't want to get involved either, but Eddie looked like a drowning man, and as his best friend, you were almost legally obligated to help him in this situation. He winced as Tiffany ran a blood red nail down his arm, and that was the final hit of courage you needed. You just hoped what you were about to do wasn't going to blow up in your face.

Steeling yourself with a few deep breaths, you gave Gareth's arm a final squeeze and turned to where Eddie was in She-Devil's clutches.

"Hey, handsome!" Eddie's head whipped towards you at the sound of your voice, his eyes wide.

Before you could second guess your actions, you pushed yourself up on your tiptoes, and grabbed Eddie's collar, pulling him close enough to press your lips to his own.

The kiss was quick, over before it had really begun, but Eddie's hand came up to circle your wrist, his rings cool against your heated skin. When his eyes opened, you widened your own, pleading silently with him to play along.

A scoff came from behind you, and you called on everything you'd learned in tenth grade drama class as you turned to face the She-Devil herself.

"Oh, hi! I hope I'm not interrupting. It's just so hard to keep my hands off this guy when he's in the same room." Before she could say anything, you looked back over your shoulder to Eddie, who was trying his hardest not to laugh. "Sorry I'm late, baby. Heather just kept talking about her boyfriend instead of helping me close up, when all I wanted to do was get here to see mine."

At the insinuation that Eddie was your boyfriend, two things happened. Eddie's arm snaked around your shoulders from behind, and Tiffany huffed loudly, before turning to stomp away towards the bar. Once she was out of earshot, you turned to face him, raising an eyebrow.

"Mission accomplished?"

Instead of saying anything, Eddie slid himself off the edge of the stage, coming to rest directly in front of you.

"You-you kissed me."

"I know, Eds. I was there. I'm sorry. I just couldn't think of anything else, and you looked like you needed help, and-"

"You wanna do it again?"

It was pointless to try stopping the blush that spread across your cheeks, so you buried your face into Eddie's chest, feeling the rumble of his laughter. Folding you into his arms, a calloused hand found a home on the sliver of skin at the base of your spine, making it very hard for you to think.

"My hero," he whispered into the crown of your head.

"Sorry I was late,"

Pulling back a little, he shook his head.

"Nah, you were right on time."

[betweenstorms]

butcher!simon… he’s so husband… his big rugged calloused arms… you know how those men are… arms the thick and strong, veiny but not in a way a nurse/vampire would love, but in a way you can see subtle long bump of it through the length of his tattooed sleeve… my gosh. i despise going to a butcher shop bcs i'm sensitive to the smell and loud noises scare me but for butcher!simon ? i'd deliberately buy just enough meat for one day worth of my meal + extra portion to give to him the next day as i go for another cut of meat… i'd bat my lashes and sweetly ask "i want to make soup… which cut do you think will cook quickly ?" ARGH. and like use scrap bones and veggies to make cream mushroom soup at the end of the week and pack it nicely with fresh sourdough… and on thanksgiving of christmas i’d take it as my chance to ask “celebrating christmas with your family ?” as a way to invite him to my homeeee aaaaa 😫😫😫😫😫😫😫

I love this so much anon! This is how I imagine the situation...

Part Two of What's Between Fridays (previous part) (next part) (masterlist) Butcher!Simon x fem!Reader

The scent of the small butcher shop never quite sat well with you.

It clung to the air, thick and metallic, mingling with the cold chill of the room. No matter how many times you stepped through the door, the sharp tang of raw meat always hit you, a sour note that made your nose twitch. And yet, you found yourself there almost every Friday afternoon, drawn by something far stronger—something that had nothing to do with the cuts of meat behind the glass.

Simon Riley.

He always stood behind the counter when you came in, broad and imposing. His bulky arms marked with the same ink that wrapped around his soul like a storm cloud, curling up his forearms like violent vines, disappeared beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his worn shirt. You had traced them in your mind a hundred times, wondering where they began and where they ended.

His presence commanded the room without a word, the quiet strength of a man who had spent years carving through flesh and bone. He moved with the ease of someone who knew his power but never flaunted it, his hands deft and skilled as they handled the cleaver with a precision that was almost artful.

You were never sure how to explain the pull that kept you coming back, your heart a little too quick in your chest every time he glanced up, those dark hazel eyes catching yours with an intensity that almost made your breath hitch.

Perhaps it was the way his silence spoke louder than words, the way he listened without speaking, as if he could hear the questions you didn’t dare ask. Or maybe it was the way his presence lingered, even after you’d left, a shadow that clung to your thoughts like the scent of the butcher shop clung to your clothes.

You came back that Friday afternoon too, the bell above the door chiming softly as you stepped in.

The air was cool and hard, and there was Simon—his name stitched onto the apron that hugged his broad chest. You murmured a soft hi as you neared the counter, your eyes drifting over the display, but you felt his gaze settle on you, intense and unyielding. His eyes were sharp, like the blade he held, cutting through your flesh and bones, leaving you exposed and raw.

“I want to make soup... which cut do you think would cook quickly?” you had asked him once, your voice barely above a whisper, breaking the heavy silence between you, your wide eyes filled with quiet devotion as you waited for his answer.

Simon’s head tilted slightly, those sharp eyes narrowing just a fraction, like he was studying you, as though your question held layers he hadn’t yet peeled back.

His hand moved to the display, selecting a small cut of meat with the same deliberation he used in everything.

“These'll do,” he said, his voice low, a rumble that seemed to fill the quiet space between you.

When he handed you the package, your fingers brushed his, and the warmth of his skin against yours was enough to send a shiver down your spine, despite the cold of the shop.

You took the package, your heart fluttering in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. For a moment, you stood there, unsure of what to say, but then his gaze softened, just slightly, and you felt the tension ease from your shoulders. You smiled, murmuring your thanks, the sound of his voice still echoing in your ears as you left, feeling the weight of his gaze linger on your back long after the door closed behind you.

Weeks had passed since then, and yet, like clockwork, you returned every week. The butcher shop had become more than just a place to buy meat. Visiting him, Simon, was a quiet ritual, one that you couldn’t seem to break. 

You hadn’t known how it started, but after a while, you began bringing him food. At first, it was just a small gesture—a way to thank him for the beautiful cuts he’d handpicked for you, the subtle nods and quiet exchanges that had started to feel more personal than professional. He always seemed reluctant, a slight hesitation in his movements when you handed him a carefully wrapped package of the food you had made. But he accepted it nonetheless, those hard lines in his face softening just a touch when your eyes met his.

As time went on, it became a silent exchange between the two of you. You’d bring him food, and in return, he’d set aside the best cuts for you—the most tender meats, the freshest products, pieces that were meant to be savoured. It felt intimate, in a way that neither of you acknowledged, but both understood.

And with each passing week, the quiet between you grew less suffocating, replaced by something that hummed just beneath the surface of your interactions—an attraction, a connection, but still undefined, still lingering in the unsaid.

Then came that particular afternoon.

You had made cream mushroom soup this time, the rich scent of it filling your small kitchen as you prepared the dish with more care than usual. The holiday season was approaching, and the streets outside had already begun to sparkle with festive lights, the world around you glowing with a soft anticipation. There was something about the air, something about the warmth that wrapped itself around you as you stepped into the shop that made you bold.

He looked up when you walked in, his hazel eyes meeting yours, and for a brief moment, the world outside seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of you standing in the dim light of the shop. 

After exchanging your usual greetings, you handed him the small container of soup, your gloved fingers brushing his for just a second longer than necessary. And then, before you could stop yourself, the words slipped from your lips.

“Are you… visiting anyone during the holidays?” Your voice was soft, almost a whisper, the question hanging in the air between you. “I mean, celebrating with your family or…?” You winced at your own awkwardness, feeling the weight of the silence that followed. But you couldn’t stop now. “If not, I was thinking, maybe… you could join me for dinner this week? At my place.”

For a moment, Simon didn’t speak.

His eyes searched yours, unreadable, his expression as steady as ever, though you thought you caught the faintest flicker of surprise in those hazel depths. The rain outside tapped softly against the windows, filling the quiet space with its gentle rhythm, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest, waiting for his answer.

He exhaled slowly, his gaze still fixed on you, and then, to your surprise, he nodded. Just a small tilt of his head, but enough to send warmth flooding through you, enough to light something in your chest that you hadn’t expected to feel.

“Okay,” he said, his voice low, a quiet promise whispered between raindrops.

You smiled, feeling lighter than you had in weeks, the weight of your nerves lifting as you took your package from the counter.

The cold winter air wrapped around you as you stepped out into the street, but it felt different now—like a secret you were carrying with you, a warmth that Simon had unknowingly placed in your hands.

[reidmarieprentiss]

Something Better

Summary: You overhear Spencer and Diana talking about JJ's confession, it hits too hard with the issues you and Spencer have been experiencing.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: angst, hurt

Warnings/Includes: crying, insecurities, fighting, leaving

Word count: 2.5k

a/n: sorry!!!! i am notttt having a good time in my relationship (he doesn’t know we’re in a relationship)

main masterlist part two

The complexity of your relationship with Spencer had deepened significantly, ever since the enigmatic and dangerous Cat Adams had entered the picture. Understanding the nature of Spencer's job, you had been kept well-informed about his interactions with Cat, ensuring that you were on the same page with him throughout this unsettling chapter. You and Spencer had been together for four years, a relationship that was marked not only by affection but also by the trials that had weathered your joint experiences, including Spencer's traumatic stint in prison. Amidst the turmoil, recent events had only added to the strain: Spencer had once again found himself a hostage, and in those fraught moments, JJ had confessed her love for him.

This unexpected confession stirred a troubling mix of emotions within you. Despite your deep-seated trust and the solid foundation you had built together, insecurities bubbled to the surface. The knowledge of Spencer's initial crush on JJ during his early days at the BAU added layers of doubt and fear. You couldn't help but wonder about the what-ifs—whether Spencer harbored any regrets about the path he had chosen with you instead. 

—

As you held the tray with steaming mugs of tea, the warmth of the ceramic seeping into your palms, your intention was simple: to bring a small comfort to the room where Spencer and his mother, Diana, were deep in conversation. But the words that drifted through the slightly ajar door halted you in your tracks, the comforting heat from the cups suddenly replaced by a cold grip of fear tightening around your heart.

“You think that’s what I’ve been doing? Closing myself off to possibilities because I’m waiting for JJ?” Spencer's voice carried a mix of confusion and introspection, a tone you recognized all too well.

“I hope not,” Diana’s response was gentle, yet it carried an undeniable weight of concern.

The gravity of the conversation, the raw honesty of the words spoken, pierced through the veil of assurances and understandings that had surrounded your relationship with Spencer. The mention of JJ, with the concept of ‘possibilities’ he might be closing off, struck a vulnerable chord. It echoed the very insecurities that had been gnawing at you—fears of being a placeholder, of not being the ultimate choice but rather the safe harbor in the storm of his complex life.

The impact of this realization was instantaneous and visceral. The ceramic mugs slipped from your numb fingers, shattering on the floor as a symbolic fracture mirrored in your composure. A sob escaped your lips—a sound of pain so raw it seemed to carry the weight of every doubt and every shadow of fear that had gathered in the corners of your relationship.

“What was that?” Diana’s voice was sharp with alarm, slicing through the tense air as the sound of the breaking mugs echoed down the hall.

Unable to face them, to see the concern or confusion on Spencer’s face, you turned and fled down the hallway. The coolness of the walls was a stark contrast to the pain burning inside you as each step took you further from the room, from the conversation, from the man you loved yet suddenly felt miles away from. Your mind raced, caught in a whirlwind of emotion and a desperate need for solitude, a space to breathe and to grasp the full meaning of what you had just overheard.

“I’ll go check it out, Mom,” Spencer said, patting his moms hands.

Spencer's heart thudded with increasing urgency as he navigated the hallway, his eyes scanning the chaotic scene of shattered mugs and spilled tea, a silent testament to a sudden departure fueled by distress. "Y/N?" he called out again, his voice tinged with confusion and concern. The lack of response only heightened his worry, each unanswered call amplifying the fear that something was profoundly wrong.

As he passed by a window, his gaze inadvertently swept over the driveway, catching the sight of you getting into your car. The pieces clicked together in his mind, albeit without understanding the why behind your actions. His concern morphed into sheer panic, propelling him into a jog as he made his way swiftly towards the front door, his mind racing with possible reasons for your abrupt exit.

Reaching the door, he flung it open and stepped out into the cool air, his breath visible in the quiet of the afternoon. "Y/N, wait!" he shouted, hoping to catch your attention before you could drive away. His voice carried a desperate edge, a plea woven through the urgency.

Spencer's mind was a whirlwind of worry and bewilderment. He had no clue what had triggered your sudden need to escape, no understanding of the emotional turmoil that had driven you to such a rapid departure. As he jogged towards the car, his only thought was to stop you, to understand, to fix whatever had gone wrong, unaware of the conversation you had overheard and the doubts it had reignited within you.

He reached the car just as you were about to start the engine, his expression full of fear, confusion, and concern. His hands gestured slightly, asking for a moment of your time, his eyes pleading for you to stay, to talk, to explain what had caused this rift to suddenly appear between you.

As the window descended, revealing your tear-streaked face and the distress clearly written across your features, Spencer’s heart sank even further. The sight of you so visibly upset was enough to tighten the already squeezing panic in his chest.

“What happened?” he asked again, his voice rough from the sprint and the growing dread. He leaned closer, his eyes searching yours for an answer, for anything that could explain the sudden shift in the day.

“I don’t want to hold you back from anything,” you managed to say between sniffles, the words muffled slightly by your emotional state. Your voice was thick with pain, each word laden with the weight of your fears.

“What?” Spencer’s confusion deepened, his brows knitting together as he tried to decipher the meaning behind your words. His face fell, a mix of worry and incomprehension as he struggled to connect the dots. He reached out tentatively, resting his hand against the car door, needing some physical connection to bridge the gap that the conversation had opened between you.

“You’re not holding me back, Y/N. Please, tell me what’s going on,” Spencer urged, his tone softening, trying to provide a calm amid the storm of emotions swirling around you both. His eyes held yours, filled with concern and a plea for clarity, as he tried to understand the source of your sudden decision to leave.

As you struggled with the words, each one a reflection of the turmoil within, Spencer's expression shifted from confusion to a dawning realization of the depth of your concerns.

"Why haven't you proposed, Spencer?" The question came out choked, a manifestation of the culmination of doubts and fears that had been gathering, fueled by recent events and lingering insecurities.

"Y/N...what? What is happening?" Spencer's voice was tinged with a blend of confusion and fear, grappling with the sudden confrontation of an issue he hadn't realized was so pressing in your mind.

You shook your head slowly, signaling the seriousness of your need for an answer. "Just answer me," you said quietly, a firm resolve underlying your soft tone. 

"I don't... I don't know," Spencer admitted, his voice faltering. His uncertainty was palpable, reflecting his own confusion about the future and his feelings about where your relationship stood, especially in light of his recent traumas and challenges.

"That's not good enough for me," you stated, the pain in your voice evident as you began to roll up the window, a physical manifestation of the emotional barrier you felt compelled to erect in the face of his indecision.

Spencer's heart raced as he saw the window closing, a barrier rising not just between him and the outside air, but between him and you. He placed his hand against the glass, a silent plea for you to stop and listen.

"Please, Y/N, wait," Spencer's voice cracked, his usual composure unraveled by the intensity of the moment. "I love you. I'm just... I've been dealing with a lot, and I didn't realize you felt this way. Can we just talk about this? Please?" His words rushed out in a torrent of emotion, a mix of apology and confusion, desperately trying to bridge the growing gap with his earnestness and vulnerability.

The tension in the air thickened as you left the window half-cracked, Spencer stood rooted to the spot, his heart heavy with the burden of your words.

"I know you’re going through a lot...I understand, I’ve been here with you through it all," you said, your voice steadier now, each word deliberate. Taking a deep breath, you lifted your gaze to meet Spencer's, the pain in your eyes a clear reflection of the turmoil within. "Are you waiting for something better?"

The question hit Spencer like a physical blow, leaving him momentarily breathless, his mind reeling. "Something better? You’re the best there is, Y/N," he managed to say, his voice laden with sincerity and a touch of desperation, wanting nothing more than to dispel your doubts.

That response, however, triggered a shift from sadness to anger. "Then why did you tell your mom you’re waiting for JJ?" you yelled, the volume of your voice a stark contrast to the quiet despair of moments before.

Spencer's face paled, the accusation and the misunderstanding cutting deep. "No, Y/N, that’s not what I meant," he stammered, his mind racing to correct the misunderstanding. "It was taken out of context. I was talking about not closing myself off to healing, to moving forward with my life, which means with you. JJ's confession threw me off, yes, but it doesn’t change how I feel about you. I love you, and I'm not waiting for anyone else."

He stepped closer to the car, his expression earnest, almost pleading. "I haven't proposed because I've been scared—scared of not being enough for you with all my baggage. But I know that's no excuse. You deserve certainty, and I've been unfair. I'm sorry for making you feel this way."

Spencer’s eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of understanding or forgiveness, hoping his words could bridge the gap that had opened up between you, driven by fears and miscommunications.

Your glare didn't waver as Spencer began to unravel the layers of the conversation you had misinterpreted, each word weighed with a heavy mix of regret and urgency to clarify the misunderstanding. He shifted uncomfortably under your intense gaze, knowing how crucial this moment was to salvage the trust and future of your relationship.

“Bullshit,” you had said, the sharpness in your voice slicing through the air.

“What?” Spencer’s confusion was evident, a mixture of desperation and hurt flashing across his features.

“That’s bullshit, Spencer. Tell me the truth,” you pressed, your voice firm, demanding honesty over comforting lies.

Spencer took a deep, steadying breath, recognizing the necessity of complete transparency. “Fine. My mom…she wants grandkids, she wanted to know why we hadn’t given her any. I told her the truth, I’m scared to bring children into this world.” His admission came out in a rush, a confession of his deepest fears about fatherhood and the future.

You continued to glare, silently urging him to continue, to explain every nuance of the conversation that had driven you to such a state of distress.

“She asked if I thought JJ made a mistake having kids. I didn’t know what to say. She thought I was being quiet because I was upset about JJ being with Will, which I am not—definitely not. And that’s what you must have heard,” Spencer explained, his voice earnest, pleading with you to understand the context and his true feelings.

The air between you seemed charged with his words, each sentence he spoke unraveling the knot of misunderstanding that had tightened around your heart. His explanation painted a different picture, one not of longing for another but of fear and apprehension about a future he felt unequipped to navigate.

Your expression softened slightly, the initial rush of anger ebbing as the truth of his words began to resonate. The misunderstanding had morphed your fear into anger, but with his honest explanation, the foundations of trust began to show signs of mending.

Spencer watched you carefully, gauging your reaction, hoping that his honesty and the vulnerability he displayed would be enough to start healing the rift that had formed. His eyes conveyed a silent plea for forgiveness, his posture open and unguarded as he stood before you, laid bare by his confessions.

“Okay,” you had said simply, leaving Spencer clinging to that word as if it were a lifeline in the turbulent sea of your relationship.

“Okay? Is that—is that all? Are we okay?” His voice was tinged with uncertainty, searching for more reassurance, more solidity than the ambiguous affirmation offered.

“I don’t know,” you replied, the honesty in your voice reflecting the turmoil within. 

“Y/N...please, I love you so much,” Spencer implored, his words thick with emotion, his eyes begging you to see the depth of his sincerity.

“I love you too, but saying it and showing it are two different things,” you sighed, the weariness in your voice painting a vivid picture of your emotional state. “You’re my world, Spencer. I just want to feel like I’m yours too. Can I go please?”

His heart sank with those words, a stark reminder of the disconnect that had formed between your perceptions of the relationship. “Go? Go where? You’re leaving?” The panic was evident in his voice, his mind racing through scenarios of loss and loneliness.

“I need to be alone right now. Can you catch a cab?” you asked, your tone resolute yet gentle, not wanting to hurt him but needing the space to sort through your swirling thoughts.

“Are you breaking up with me?” The question was out before he could stop it, a fear-driven reflex.

“No,” was your simple, firm reply, a small comfort amid the storm.

Spencer nodded, accepting your need even as it pained him. “I can get a cab. I love you, darling. So, so, so much.” His words were a whispered caress, an affirmation of everything he felt, everything he hoped for despite the current heartache.

“I love you too,” you responded, a whisper of reciprocation that served as a temporary balm to his aching heart.

With that, you drove off, leaving Spencer watching the space where you had been, his mind heavy with love and fear. He pulled out his phone to arrange a ride, his heart clenching in his chest.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[riizegasm]

Impure Intentions || L. CY (Anton)

❀ pairing: chaebol heir!anton x rival!reader, implied fem!reader

❀ genre: enemies to lovers (but not really), fluff, suggestive

❀ word count: ~6.7k

❀ warnings: explicit language, mentions of dysfunctional families, one heated kiss scene

❀ summary: From the day you were born, all you ever heard was, “don’t fall in love with Anton Lee.” A better heir to a multimillion dollar conglomerate would follow their family’s advice. But you…not so much.

❀ a/n: sheesh, talk about writer’s block. This work has taken me so long and so much effort, but i'm very proud of how it turned out! It may have even helped me out of my slump. Also, please don’t judge me too hard. I know nothing about business and corporate families!!! As always, likes, reblogs, and replies are strongly encouraged. Happy reading!

Your head aches. The lights in the banquet hall are too bright and the clink of gilded silverware is too loud. Polite chatter buzzes around you like a pesky fly evading a swatter. The air is suffocating, overly stuffy with high end perfumes and colognes clouding the space. This is torture; the Lee family banquets always are.

It would be better if you could enjoy the food or engage with the various guests like everyone else does, but this is enemy territory. Your family had made it abundantly clear that this was not an event for fun, but rather for scoping out the competition. Lectures about a corporate acquisition going south and details about poor contracting simply entered in one ear and left via the other. You didn’t care why you had to be there. The knowledge of your forced attendance did enough to damper your mood, especially once you were hit with all of the rules around your presence.

Sit still, look pretty, smile politely, eavesdrop on any corporate plans, and don’t talk to Anton Lee.

You never understood your family’s obsession with keeping you away from him, the prized son and heir of the Lee empire. Everyone made sure to fill your mind with negative opinions and baseless rumors about the young man, as if to deter you from even giving him a chance. It wasn’t like you had much of a choice, however. You’ve never even seen the man, let alone had a conversation with him. Anton Lee was much more of a mythical being than he was a person, in your eyes. He was always whispered about, but never seen.

From what you gathered, he was around your age, tall, broad, and supposedly extremely handsome. He was known for his overly harsh demeanor, rumored to command a room with a simple word. His presence apparently spoke volumes, enough to speak to his blunt nature and bad intentions. It made sense, your parents would always say. After all, he is a Lee.

“Fix your face, honey,” your mother snaps with a forced smile. “You’ll give yourself wrinkles before you turn thirty if you keep scowling like that.”

It takes everything in you to fight an eye roll, biting back the string of expletives waiting on the tip of your tongue. “Sorry. I’m going to run to the powder room.”

You don’t bother to wait for her response before excusing yourself from the cocktail table, getting lost in the crowds of people as you head towards the bathroom. Away from your family, the air feels somewhat lighter, although it still reeks of entitlement. The throb in your head is insistent now, forcing you to escape to find relief.

You find yourself heading towards a set of grandiose double doors, hoping they will lead you anywhere but here. Luckily, your prayers are answered as you step through them onto a stone balcony. The crisp nighttime air does wonders to cool your heated skin, a slight breeze ruffling the loose fabric of your dress.

This is exactly what you needed, space and solace.

“Rough night?”

A soft voice makes you jump out of your skin, whipping your head around to find the source. Its owner leans up against the exterior wall, somewhat bathed in shadow. All you can make out is a glimmer of white teeth, reflecting the moonlight.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” the figure apologizes, taking a small step forward into the light.

You feel your breath stutter in your chest as you take in the man. The first thing you notice is his sheer beauty, lips enticingly full and nose broad. His beauty is complemented by his tall stature, the height difference between you two becoming increasingly apparent as he approaches. Like this, bathed in the moonlight, it’s impossible not to notice the broadness of his shoulders and how they taper into a small waist. He fills out his all black suit beautifully, the garments clearly tailored to his every curve.

“Are you alright?” The man asks, stopping only a few feet away.

The concern in his tone is just enough to snap you out of your reverie.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just, um, needed some air.”

The man nods in understanding, leaning over to place his forearms against the balcony’s railing. You struggle not to eye the way his suit jacket stretches across an impossibly wide back. Instead, you mirror his stance, looking out at the beautiful gardens below, bathed in silvery moonlight. Just beyond the seemingly endless maze of hedges, you can make out what looks like a small lake, it’s surface rippling under the nighttime breeze. 

“It can be stuffy in there,” the man says softly. 

You find yourself hanging onto his every word, shocked that such a mild tone could come from such an intimidating man. “Yeah, it really can be.”

The man lets out a small chuckle, no doubt amused by your clear annoyance. “So I take it you’re not in the business.”

“No, I’m–,” you pause for a moment, not sure how much of your identity you should reveal to the stranger. “I’m related.”

He chuckles again, this time turning to look at you. “Hm, I guess I could say the same for me, then.”

A round of applause sounds from somewhere inside, and you curse under your breath, knowing your family will kill you for your absence. The man next to you seems unphased, as if he’s used to the party going on without him.

“I think I should get back.”

The man flashes you a smile, its brightness almost blinding in the dark. “That’s okay. It was nice chatting with you…”

“Y/N. And you are?”

“Anton,” he whispers. “I hope I can see you again, Y/N.”

An icy chill travels up your spine, momentarily freezing you in place. But you force yourself to remain composed, plastering a smile on your face. You silently thank your years of etiquette training and the countless social events you have had to smile for. With a slight nod of your head, you disappear back through the double doors, instantly choking on the scent of Chanel No. 5.

.        .        .

It’s easy to believe that your first encounter with Anton Lee would be your last, especially as the weeks pass without a single sign of him. It makes sense that he wouldn’t start making regular appearances at events after attending just once. He has managed to spend twenty years staying out of the spotlight, and you can’t imagine that changing now. 

But, for some reason, you can’t help but search for him in the crowd of every gala or at the tables of any grandiose banquet.

He would be easy to spot, with his overwhelming height and dazzling smile. Maybe his honey brown hair would be slicked back off his forehead this time, or maybe it would hang in front of his eyes to conceal his bright gaze. You’re sure that he would still talk in that overly soft tone of his, somehow managing to command a room without a change in volume. 

Even his absence begins to feel like a presence in and of itself, drawing you in like a moth to a flame. You tell yourself that it’s simple intrigue and nothing more. The first time you had ever laid eyes on your supposed family nemesis had been on a balcony bathed in the moonlight. Where had he been all these years?

More importantly, why had he disappeared again?

The question runs through your mind as you accept a flute of champagne from a waiter, eyes flitting around the charity dinner in hopes of spotting a specific someone. Somewhere near the front of the banquet hall, the Lee family is seated at a table with a few other wealthy families, but their oldest son is nowhere to be found. 

You crane your neck to get a better look. Just to be sure, you tell yourself. But the contorting you force yourself to do has you leaning right back into a waiter, your elbow knocking into his empty tray. The sudden movement has your champagne flute slipping out of your grasp, icy bubbles splattering across your chest and down the front of your dress. You can practically feel the daggers that your mother is shooting you from across the table, always having scolded you about the embarrassment that comes along with being a klutz. Before she can part her lips to tell you off, you excuse yourself politely, dashing out to find a restroom to freshen up. 

You let your heeled feet carry you through a maze of hallways, side stepping waiters and party guests as you move further and further away from the event space. It’s only when you travel down a flight of stairs that you find yourself a seemingly private restroom, briefly stepping inside to clean yourself up. No matter how much you dab at the stain in the center of your bust, the wine doesn’t seem to budge. You thank the heavens that it was champagne instead of a red, saving you some degree of embarrassment.

After a few minutes in the restroom, you find yourself wandering around, ending up in a much more secluded lounge space, equipped with a couple of couches surrounding a coffee table. You immediately collapse onto one, sighing as the ache in your feet finally lifts. 

It’s only then that you feel your eyes begin to sting, a familiar rush of heat striking your face as a lump begins to form in your throat. The sticky sweet smell of champagne still clings to your body, your dress uncomfortable where the alcohol seeped into it. You’re sure that you look a mess, knowing that tear smudged makeup would be the last thing to complete your disheveled look. 

“Another rough night?”

The soft rasp of a voice instantly has you perking up, breath caught in your throat as you take in the tall figure approaching you. His crisply pressed suit hugs his broad shoulders and cinches at an impossibly small waist. His lips are quirked upwards into a small smirk, clearly teasing. Something about it is enticing, setting off a stampede in your stomach.

“How could you tell?” You mumble, trying not to stare as Anton settles into a lounge chair across from you.

The man’s smirk just deepens. “Wild guess. What happened?”

“I spilled champagne on myself and now I look a mess.”

“You don’t,” Anton states, smirk dropping from his face. “You could never look bad.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. “How would you even know that? You’ve only seen me twice.”

Anton chuckles, finally relaxing into the plush of his chair. His legs separate ever so slightly at the action, allowing you to admire his mile-long legs. It’s almost frustrating, how perfect he looks. You imagine that if anyone never looks bad, it’s him.

“I’ve seen you way more than twice, Y/N.”

The simple statement has you turning your eyes away from his figure, meeting his open gaze. He seems so casual, so unbothered, as if that one sentence hasn’t turned your world upside down.

“Wait, what?” You find yourself tripping over your words in the rush to get them out. “Wh-what do you mean you’ve seen me more than twice? I only met you the first time at that contracting dinner a few weeks ago.”

Anton chuckles again, cocking his head in a puppy-like manner. “Yeah, that was the first time we’ve met, but I’ve seen you so many times. You and your family have been at every major event since we were kids. How could I not see you?”

“But, I’ve never–,”

“I know,” Anton interrupts. “I like to stay outside or in whatever lounge areas I can find. These things always make me really anxious.”

Wow, you didn’t expect such an honest admission from a man of Anton’s status. If anything, his candor makes him much more attractive, as if he could get even more perfect.

“You know we’re supposed to hate each other?” He asks, a small smile making his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Apparently you’re my rival in the field, and I’m supposed to hate everything you say and do.”

Unfortunately, you know the feeling, causing you to let out a small giggle. “Oh trust me, I know. Do you, though?”

“Hate you?”

You nod, fighting a smile as Anton pretends to think.

“Nah,” he eventually answers. “My grandfather taught me from a very young age that I should never harbor negative feelings for beautiful women.”

The implication has heat rushing to your face, forcing you to struggle to keep your composure. “Well, my family has always told me that attractive men always have impure intentions.”

Anton chuckles, shaking his head slightly. He takes a beat before standing, letting his eyes rake over your still seated figure as he begins to retreat down the hallway. It’s impossible to decipher where the intensity of his gaze stems from. He eyes you as if he were hungry, trapping you against the couch with his stare alone.

“Then let me show you just how impure my intentions are.”

The man is gone with little more than a wink and a smile, leaving you with warm cheeks and the scent of champagne clouding your nose. 

.        .        .

You’re surprised to see Anton as soon as the next event, only three weeks later. It’s a simple charity ball for some rare disease research, but for some reason, Anton has decided not to hide in the shadows for this event. It’s interesting to watch how despite his supposed anxiety, he is clearly in his element. He greets everyone kindly, shooting various guests a charming smile as he is introduced to them. His father looks proud of him, a hand kept clapped over his shoulder the entire time. 

You wonder if he’s comfortable like this, with a blur of people and faces constantly passing by him. However, you are instantly snapped out of your wondering when a manicured hand grips your shoulder. The feeling of your mothers lips close to your ear sends a shiver down your spine, a perpetually bad omen. 

“Straighten up,” she scolds. “We’re going over to talk to the Lees. Their son is making a public appearance at an event like this for the first time. No funny business.”

You would laugh if not for the uncomfortable way her nails dig into your shoulder. It forces you to instantly fall in line behind your father, taking a deep breath as you get closer to the Lees. What is only a few seconds feels like hours until you finally stand face to face with your supposed rival. 

“Yoon Sang, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” your father greets, shaking the hands of the head of the Lee family. 

He even leans in to place a friendly kiss on Mrs. Lee’s cheek. You find yourself standing frozen in place as the parents exchange greetings, unable to do anything but stare at the man before you. He sports his signature charming smile, mouth full of perfectly white teeth on display. Not for the first time, you feel your face grow warm. 

“We thought it was about time for our Y/N to meet Anton. After all, they will be competitors when they take over the respective businesses, right?”

Your father’s comment snaps you back to attention. However, you are immediately distracted by the feeling of Anton’s large hand engulfing yours, his palm both warm and surprisingly soft to the touch. You have to glance upwards to meet his eyes, but it’s impossible to miss the amused glint in his stare. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N. I have heard so much about you.”

You force a smile on your face. “The pleasure is all mine.”

It’s easy to tune out the conversation after that, letting the adults blabber on while you reminisce about the feeling of Anton’s hand in yours. The man seems to be similarly distracted, clearly eyeing your figure. The silence between you speaks volumes, and you hope your parents are too deaf to hear it. 

“We would love to have Anton over at our headquarters sometime,” your mother suggests, her piercing voice rising above the noise of the ball. “I’m sure Y/N would be happy to show him around!”

You don’t even have time to process the full body panic that begins to overcome you before Anton’s family is readily agreeing. 

“I agree that it would be great for them to know the ins and outs of the business,” Mr. Lee replies with an overly saccharine smile. “We would love to have Y/N over for lunch at the estate as well. Who knows? Maybe they’ll find themselves to be friends.”

Your dad chuckles, obviously disgusted by the thought. “You’re so right. The two might even do a merger some day!”

As the group erupts into phony laughter, you feel the beginnings of a migraine tingling behind your left eye. Something about the cacophony of laughs and the dull classical music is making you ache, your stomach starting to swim with nausea. You dare a glance upward, fighting the pain that blooms in your head with the motion. 

Anton’s gaze is bright where it meets yours, a soft smile poised on his full lips. His cheeks are dusted with a slight blush, clearly flustered by the implications. There’s a slight fidget in his fingers, twirling expensive rings as a means of soothing himself. 

He’s cute, you realize, not for the first time. 

It’s only after a few more moments that the families say goodbye, the Lees promising to send a lunch invitation soon. Anton shoots you another smile before he follows behind his family, suddenly looking small despite his large stature. You can’t help but smile as you watch his departure, suddenly realizing that your migraine has disappeared. 

.         .         .

The Lee estate is just as gorgeous as you expected it to be, with tall stone gates and artfully placed landscaping. It looks impossibly large from where you’re seated in the car, causing nerves to begin to creep up your spine. You pass off the butterflies that begin to flutter in your core as obvious intimidation that comes with being on the property of your family’s biggest rivals. It surely has nothing to do with an overly soft voice, broad shoulders, and kind eyes. 

“Remember,” your mother had told you before sending you off. “This is business. Reveal nothing and absorb everything. And most importantly, remember that Anton Lee is not your friend.”

You take a step out onto the perfectly paved driveway, surprised to already see someone standing by the door. Anton seems to perk up when you lock eyes, shooting you a polite smile. His wave betrays his excitement, though. You imagine that if he were a puppy, his tail would be wagging. 

“Y/N, hey! I’m glad you actually came.”

“Please,” you shoot him a cheeky smile. “As if I could ever turn down an invitation from the Lee family.”

Anton lets out a slight groan. “Don’t remind me that this is ‘business.’”

“Well then what would you like for me to call it?”

Anton shrugs, turning to hold the front door open for you. It’s only when you pass through the threshold, Anton still standing behind you that he responds. 

“A lunch date.” Before you have the chance to respond, Anton is shutting the door behind you both. “Come this way. Food’s on the patio.”

It takes a few turns down intricate hallways to get to a set of double doors that lead to the patio. As promised, there’s an assortment of sandwiches and salad laid out on a round table, two seats set across from each other. You would be impressed, if not for the even more stunning view that lay before you. 

The patio looks out on sprawling gardens, tall bushes and blooming flowers swaying softly in the breeze. A little beyond the landscaping, a wooden dock leads out to a large pond, its greenish-blue water seemingly sparkling under the midday sun. 

“Wow, this is beautiful,” you breathe out, unable to take your eyes off the sight before you. 

“Yeah, it is, isn’t it? My parents have always had an affinity for water.”

You imagine that all of their properties have pools or lakes, much like this one. Meanwhile, your own family prefers the hustle and bustle of the concrete jungle, never expanding beyond brutalist modern penthouses in the tallest apartment buildings in the city. It must be nice, you imagine, to have a space that feels like a home and not just another office. 

Eventually, the two of you sit, settling into a comfortable silence as you distribute food amongst yourselves. It’s quite amusing to watch Anton as he eats, clearly possessing the hunger of a growing young man while forcing himself to take small bites and practice the etiquette of an heir. You wonder if you look the same, so obviously restrained while you want to let loose, if only for a bit. 

Despite the fact that you haven’t seen another person since you set foot in the Lee estate, you know that people must be somewhere. There are always eyes on you. 

“I’m surprised that your family was so adamant about having me over,” you begin, settling back in your chair. “I thought I was the enemy.”

Anton smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Well you know what they say. Keep the enemy close and all that.”

“Is that what you want to do? Keep me close?”

You know you’re treading in dangerous waters. All it would take is one word about the obvious flirting to Anton’s parents for you to become your family’s disgrace. You can practically see the headline now: Conglomerate Heiress Gets Rejected By Rivals’ Son. Your family would disown you. And yet, as color begins to flood Anton’s cheeks, you can’t find it within yourself to care. 

“Yeah,” he says, voice coming out even softer than usual. “I think that is what I want to do.”

You duck your head, clearing your throat in an attempt to settle the flutter in your stomach. “I’d like that.”

A sudden interest in lunch leaves both of you munching away in silence. It’s peaceful, despite blushing cheeks and racing heartbeats. It allows you to realize that being around Anton is unlike being around anyone else in your family’s circle. Here, there’s no pressure to be prim and proper, no pressure to listen out for secret ins and outs of business. 

It’s odd to find comfort in the one person who is supposed to bring you anything but. And yet, with the warmth of the sun on your face and the pleasant fullness in your belly, you’ve never felt more at home. 

“You know,” Anton starts once you have both cleared your plates. “I think we’re supposed to be talking about business.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. “Can I be honest?”

Anton nods slightly, honey brown hair shifting across his forehead. 

“The business is the last thing I want to talk about.”

Anton smiles. “Trust me, I feel the same way.”

There’s a beat of silence, the two of you content to simply sit as the breeze ruffles the flowers that dot the landscape. When Anton speaks again, you watch his mouth, noting the way that his lips hold the same hue of the red tulips in the nearby flower bed. 

“Can I show you something?”

The simple question has your gaze flickering back upwards, trying to ignore the way your heart races when his eyes meet yours.

“Sure,” you whisper, words instantly carried away by the wind. 

Following behind Anton through the grass proves to be harder than you imagined, his long legs allowing him to move with a grace and speed that is difficult to match. He leads you in between a maze of flower beds, bringing you deeper into the garden until you’re surrounded by tall hedges on either side. From here, it’s impossible to see the house, so you just continue to follow behind Anton. You find yourself eyeing the broadness of his shoulders and the way his shirt shifts across the muscles of his back as he walks. It’s hypnotizing, so much so that you don’t realize that you have arrived at your destination. 

“This is my thinking spot,” Anton says with a little flutter of his arms, clearly trying to present the space to you. 

The hedge maze has opened up to a small central pocket, not housing much except for a small fountain and a stone bench. Anton is quick to take a seat, motioning for you to occupy the space next to him. It’s a bit of a squeeze, putting you and Anton close enough that you can feel the heat of his skin on your own. You dig your nails into the stone of the bench, hoping that it will steel your nerves. 

“I like to come out here when my parents get in my head about the business. It’s pretty peaceful.”

“Yeah,” you say softly, despite knowing that no one is within earshot. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah, it really is.”

There’s an airiness to Anton’s voice that has you turning to face him. You take in a sharp inhale when you notice that his eyes are already on you, the close proximity leaving your faces mere inches away from each other. The overwhelming rush of blood in your ears forces you to turn away, taking a deep breath to calm your thundering heartbeat. 

“You take all the girls here?” You aim for teasing, but the slight break in your voice makes it err more on the side of desperation. 

Anton shakes his head earnestly. “You’re the first person I’ve brought here who isn’t my family.”

The admission feels like a sucker punch to the gut. Except there’s no pain, just a rush of warmth that climbs up your throat like ivy. Anton is clearly surprised as well, his own words deepening the pretty flush that has taken hold on his cheeks. His bottom lip is trapped by his teeth, its plushness oh so enticing in the afternoon sun. 

“Y-you know,” you stutter out, swallowing thickly before continuing. “When you said you had impure intentions, I thought you were joking.”

“I don’t think I could joke about how bad I want you.”

It should feel like a corny line. It should feel like something he says to all the girls. After all, he’s Anton Lee. He could get anyone he wanted at the drop of a hat. So why does it feel so real when he says it to you? Why does it feel like those words are meant for you, and only you?

Anton’s gravity is pulling you closer, allowing you to lean further into his space. You’re close enough that you can feel his warm breath fanning your face, coming out in gentle puffs that reveal just how fast his heart is racing. He has released his bottom lip by now, leaving it glossy with saliva. It’s impossible not to anticipate the smooth glide of it against your own. 

A sudden vibration snaps you both out of your bubble, the two of you popping apart as if you were repelling magnets. It takes a few seconds for you to realize that the vibration is coming from your own phone, buzzing incessantly. You shoot Anton an apologetic look before stepping away to take the call. 

“We need you back home,” your mother rushes from the other side of the line, not bothering to waste time greeting you. “Your father wants to hear about your business with the Lees before he heads to his strategy meeting in an hour.”

“But the Lee house is thirty minutes away!”

You can practically hear your mother’s eye roll over the phone. “Then you better get going.”

.         .         .

Business meeting, my house at 4pm?

The text comes as both a surprise and the most expected invitation in the world. In your flurry to leave his house the week before, you had made sure to leave the man with your number. In turn, he smiled wide, promising to invite you over for another “business meeting” soon. 

Before you can inquire about how much business will actually be necessary to discuss, your phone buzzed again. 

My parents just left for a business trip to Milan. 

A flutter rushes through your stomach at the implications. It’s clear what that means, that the two of you will finally have a chance to act on your chemistry without the watchful eyes of competitive families. The two of you will finally get to exist as your own people, and not as rivals and heirs of major global conglomerates. 

The thought alone has you spending extra time on your appearance as you get ready. You make sure your hair sits just right and that your lips are perfectly glossy before pulling on a swimsuit and heading over. You try your best to remain as still as possible during the entire ride there, knowing that nerves in combination with the late summer heat will be enough to set you aflame. 

Your heart is slamming in your chest by the time you finally pull into Anton’s driveway. It’s accompanied by a soft flutter of affection when you spot Anton’s figure, waving at you from the doorway. The wide smile on his face alone is enough to melt you. But the relaxed fit of his muscle tee and the way his swim shorts sit low on his hips has your face flooding with heat. 

He greets you with a tight hug when you cross the threshold into the house. You try not to swoon at the firm pressure of his arms around your torso, ignoring the heat of his bare skin on your own. Anton had never touched you before, not beyond a simple handshake exchanged in front of parents, always respectful to a fault. For the first time, you find yourself grateful for that fact, knowing that now that you’ve had a taste of his touch, you will forever be addicted. 

“I’m so happy to see you,” Anton gushes. “My parents have been really getting on my nerves about business and competition lately.”

“So you decided to invite the competition over to chill?”

Anton smiles, cocking his head in a puppy-like manner. “No, I invited the competition over to swim!”

So that’s why he reminded you to wear a bathing suit mere minutes before you left for his house. It makes sense, from the minimal texts that the two of you exchanged. Anton was always excited about the balanced heat of late summer, citing it as the perfect time for a lakeside swim. You wouldn’t know, of course, never having the luxury of having a lake in your backyard.

“What about your staff?”

“I let everyone have the afternoon off,” Anton responds proudly before letting his smile sink into something softer, more private. “I just wanted us to have some time alone.”

The simple admission rings out loudly in the otherwise quiet house. It’s clear how badly Anton wants this, how bad he wants your company despite the taboo that comes with it. Unsurprisingly, you find yourself wanting it just as bad, if not more. You’ve never craved anyone’s presence the way you have craved Anton’s, despite him being the one person in the world that you supposedly need to keep your distance from.

A small nod on your end is enough for Anton’s smile to grow once again, pearly whites on full display as his eyes wrinkle at the corners. The sight alone has your heart beating a little harder in your chest, the minor flutter in your abdomen growing into a full stampede of emotions. The feeling only intensifies as Anton engulfs your hand in his, lacing your fingers together as he leads you out into the backyard.

The late afternoon sun sparkles against the water, illuminating everything in a blue-yellow glow. It’s the most captivating sight for miles, you’re sure, until Anton begins to take his shirt off. The way his muscles shift under his unblemished skin rivals the beautiful surface of the lake, sparkling in its own way. His shoulder blades dance across his back enticingly as he leans down to remove his socks and shoes.

He shoots you a smile over his shoulder before cannonballing right into the water.

It takes only a few seconds for the man to reemerge, slicking his honey brown hair off of his forehead. His biceps bulge with the movement before waving you into the water. It’s as clear of a signal as any, but you can’t help but hesitate, suddenly shy at the thought of stripping down to your bikini in the presence of such a man. But the delicate reflection of sunlight in his eyes and the easy smile on his face is enough to draw you in.

Before you know it, you’re discarding your clothes, taking a running head start to join Anton in the water.

Your skin is submerged in an icy chill, the water surprisingly cool for so late in the day. But soon the warmth of another body is nearing, making the cold that much more bearable. You resurface with a giggle, giddy from the feeling of swimming so long. Instantly, Anton is joining in, clearly happy seeing you filled with such glee. 

“Fuck, it’s cold!” You exclaim, shrieking when Anton splashes a bit of water your way. 

“It’ll get better,” Anton grins. “You just gotta keep swimming.”

It’s easy to do as told, letting your body relax as you continue to wade in the cool water. Eventually you let yourself fall into your back, feeling the contrast between the warm sun on your face and the cool water surrounding your body. It’s serene, allowing you to let your worries quite literally float away. However, the feeling of a chilled hand grazing your hip is enough to snap you out of your relaxation, scrambling to right yourself in panic. 

“Sorry!” Anton chuckles. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just getting bored without you.”

“It’s okay,” you soothe, finding that the pace of your heart is beginning to quicken for an entirely different reason. 

Anton looks especially beautiful like this, with his damp hair splayed messily across his head and drops of water dripping down his face. The sun has just begun to set, painting Anton’s skin with a beautiful golden hue. His eyes glisten just like the water, sunlight sparkling as it dances across the reflective surfaces. Like this, Anton seems so bright, so luminous, that hating him seems impossible. 

“I’m really glad you came today,” Anton says, his voice dropping to that soft shy tone he always uses in the presence of others. “I’m glad to have someone who gets what it's like.”

You can’t resist the smile that begins to tug on the corners of your mouth. “You’re not just saying this to get my family’s business secrets?”

Anton huffs out a laugh. “No. I’m saying this because I really like you. I like spending time with you, even though I’m supposed to hate it.”

With every word, you find yourself drifting closer to the man, his hand remaining steady on your hip as you tread lightly. Despite the obvious effort to keep your head above water, you feel like you’re drowning. But the slick feeling of Anton’s skin against yours reminds you that you won’t drown. Anton won’t let you. 

“I like you, too.”

The simple admission has Anton’s face flushing, the pretty rose color glistening orange in the light. It’s beautiful. He’s beautiful. You hate to dull his beauty in this moment, but you have to. 

“But what about our families? It’s not like the two of us can ever be anything.”

Anton sighs, his face dropping with realization. “I know, but…is it crazy to say that I don’t care?”

The hand on your hip tightens, pulling you even closer into Anton’s space. It’s close enough that the two of you end up bumping knees every so often, constantly moving to keep yourselves afloat. Here, in his space, you can see the way that his lashes cast subtle shadows on his cheeks. It’s easy to count the few moles that pepper his face and neck, sitting stark upon unblemished skin. 

When his eyes meet yours, it becomes clear what you wish to do. No, what you need to do. 

“Anton,” you whisper. “What did you mean when you said you had impure intentions?”

The man moves to open his mouth, but before he can get the first syllable out, you cut him off. 

“Don’t tell me,” you coo. “Show me.”

You would be lying if you said you never thought about the feeling of Anton’s plush lips on yours. In reality, you spent too many nights lying awake, thinking about the slick feel of his mouth on yours, of the way his large hands would feel clutching onto your body, of the feel of his soft brown strands underneath your fingertips. 

But dreams never compare to the real thing. 

Nothing could compare to the pure bliss of having Anton’s mouth slide against your own. He moves fervently, letting the kiss carry the twinge of desperation that you both have felt since you’ve met. It’s far from the polite way that you expected Anton Lee to kiss, but that makes it that much better. 

His nose grazes your cheek as he tilts his head, angling himself to kiss you deeper. His tongue is warm as it eases its way into your mouth, the warmth a welcome contrast to the chill of the lake. The hand that was once grasping your hip travels down to your backside and thigh, lifting you up to wrap yourself around his waist. It’s improper, at the very least, but you can’t find it in yourself to care when Anton sighs softly into your mouth. 

It feels like ages before the two of you part, chests heaving where they remain pressed together. You’re so close that you imagine that even water can’t exist between you two. Anton’s abdomen is solid where your core is pressed up against him, supporting your weight so that neither of you are at risk of sinking. 

“That,” Anton whispers, “is what I meant by impure intentions. 

You can’t help but giggle at the boy’s breathless tone, suddenly feeling giddy that you were the one to make him this way. You were the one to fluster the ever-perfect Anton Lee. It was you. It’s always been you. 

“Our parents…” you mutter reflexively, your mind a war zone. 

“Hey,” Anton coos, bringing a hand under your chin. 

With just a gentle tilt, you meet his eyes, instantly getting lost in the way his gaze bores into yours. As if he can’t help himself, Anton leans in to place a quick peck on your lips. When you part, a soft whine escapes your lips, mourning the loss of your lover’s kiss. 

“Y/N, we’ll figure it out. I won’t let this go south because of our parents.”

You nod nervously, trying your hardest to believe in the reassurance that Anton is trying to provide you. As if he could sense the residual nerves, Anton presses his lips against your forehead in a soft kiss. The sensation makes your eyes flutter shut, a content smile beginning to grown on your face. After a brief moment, Anton chuckles. 

“Who knows?” He mutters. “Maybe our parents will get that merger after all.”

.         .         .

[8 years later]

BREAKING NEWS: Lee Enterprises and TOTAL, Inc. have announced a historic merger to form one mega-corporation. This announcement comes one year after CEO and President of Lee Enterprises, Anton Lee, and Chairperson of TOTAL, Inc., Y/N Y/L/N, announced their marriage. The new multinational conglomerate will be known as Lakeside, LLC, and is said to have a current stock value of over five billion dollars.

.FIN.

[tirfpikachu]

are we just crazy or are lgbt spaces getting legit deranged?????

every unusual experience of sexuality/gender is a valid part of the bootiful qweer biodiversity of the world by default, but you can't be gay/bi/trans and not want to be called the q slur or see cishets say the q slur. and you can't say that you're afab4afab or amab4amab, that's just a creepy bigoted fetish you freak. unless you're transmasc4transmasc or transfem4transfem ofc, you get a free pass. but also kinkshaming is evil and deeply harms the most marginalized. but also make sure you don't have a fetish about genitalia... if you do, it's a "preference" not an inborn trait and you really can therapize yourself into liking it, just try hard enough. if you fail to you're a bigot, so just keep trying!! make sure to feel guilty abt it at least, you dirty homo. but getting beat up can be a cool sexual thing and bestiality or noncon is fine. but actual genitalia "preferences" are bigoted. if you don't call the genderqueer person pansexual instead of bi they'll chew their own arm off and hit you with it and call the cops but don't say you're a female trans man or that you're a trans guy lesbian or link it to being a female homosexual in any way ever okay?! you can't be at peace with acknowledging your sex/agab as a trans person!!!! or feel a connection to lesbian spaces as a trans man or gay male spaces as a trans woman!!! that's BIGOTRY and that's just feeding terf cunts you dumb theyfab. you can't link your cis womanhood to being afab AT ALL either bc that's transmisogynistic and dangerous rhetoric but every other group of gender marginalized folks can define their own identities and have a billion microlabels. you can't say you're not into girldick because not all trans women have dicks dumbass, surgical vaginas are defo the exact same as bio vaginas anyway so if you only like afab pussy & afab bodies you're a gross pervert mocking bottom surgery. and someone's upbringing as a male/amab or female/afab person definitely isn't a huge part of why homosexual ppl are into the same-sex/agab so you shouldn't give a single shit if a transbian flirting with you hasn't grown up facing misogyny or going thru afab/female body struggles or any of that, that has NOTHING to do with lesbianism between female ppl and has no bearing whatsoever on attraction you absolute psychopath. sexes/agabs is just a mix of detached body parts and you can play mr potatohead with it all and if you glued it good enough homosexuals wouldn't be able to tell at all that he used to be a mrs potatohead!! so they'd still hit that, right? homosexuals will go for anything anyway right?? homosexual love obvs can't be any deeper than genitals and fetishes. amab4afab ppl can be homosexual too anyway if they pass as gay irl too so homosexual isn't even a real tangible thing anyways it doesn't involve sex/agab at all and those ppl don't get to be their own specific oppressed class and do their own activism and have agency over their own identity bc they're super privileged worldwide and the enby living as a gender conforming woman in society dating a neckbeard looking for a third is more oppressed than a visibly gnc crossdressing bio guy holding hands with his normie bf. they might be gay but they're not qweer... except to the rightwing ofc!! oh and if you're trans and recently started passing as straight you're more privileged than an afab4amab couple who has lived as hetero til they transitioned! so shut the fuck up and listen to the New Gays. don't call yourself homosexual anymore or you're a cis bootlicker and if you're transmasc you're oppressing every transfem, including ones who have never faced misogyny irl a day in their fucking life!!! just be valid the RIGHT WAY!!!!!! be more queer you dirty normie homo!!!!!!

HAHAH i love it here

[pha55ed]

Song Abt Your Break-Up || Formula 1/2

type :: angst tw/cw :: none contains :: lando, oscar, ollie, kimi, paul, summary :: singer!reader make a song about their ex and your fans go crazy - for the better or for the worse. you hope their pr team can fix their reputation... f1 masterlist || f2 masterlist || more here!

Lando Norris | 04 "happier than ever" - billie eilish || fc : gracie abram

yourusername : happier than ever out now! filming was a blast despite the many tears :") thank you for all of the love on this song - hope you enjoy it!!! <3

ㅤㅤ→ user 01: LANDO WHEN I CATCH YOU!!!! LANDO WHEN I FUCKING CATCH YOU!!!! OH MY GOD 📢📢📢

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ→ user 02: BRING ME WITH YOU!!!!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ→ user 03: guys (y/n) said to not bring any hate to him! she said in an interview that they're cool now!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ→ user 04: did you... even listen... to the song....? obv she's lying - she wants the mans balls cut off

ㅤㅤ→ user 05: "you call me again, drunk in your Benz - you scared me to death" OH MY GOSH??? Lando is literally fucking evil who tf does that. Revoke his F1 seat bruh, that shit is so irresponsible

ㅤㅤ→ user 06: everything about this is so perfect omfg, the sadness, the anger, the exposing?!?!?!

ㅤㅤ→ user 07: this is literally giving me flashbacks to my toxic ex, i'm glad she got out

You and Lando were the new "it" couple for F1 for a long time, almost two years of being the top couple. But that was quickly ruined when you both cut each other off after a huge nasty fight. Everyone was speculating on why you both broke up, even stalking you to your house to ask questions.

So you decided to just make a song, a song with all the answers that those big nosed reporters wanted. And holy shit, the crowd ate it up. The song was just supposed to be a hidden song on Spotify, but it got over 200 million streams, getting you awards and so much recognition. You even got a brand deal with Lego, which was a bit random but who would say no to that???

As you arrived at Lego's headquarters to discuss plans with the company - you ran into someone you knew way too well. Lando Norris. You completely forgot that one of McLaren's newest sponsers was also Lego... Did Lego fucking set you up???

But that didn't matter. Because now you were trapped in the awkwardest elevator ride with your ex, the man who once made cry from laughing so hard who is also the man who made you cry for days after ghosting you for a week to party in Miami after his win, doing only God knows what.

You both stood on opposite sides of the elevator, you were hoping he would take the stairs to respect your space - but he didn't. The silence was driving you crazy, and what's even crazier is that Lego's headquarters is fucking 45 floors and you were only on the 3rd floor after 2 minutes.

"(Y/N)", Lando said quietly, as if he was trying to not break you. You didn't move your head or body to face him, only your eyes. "Uh,"

It was as if he collapsed from your glance alone. As if the guilt from losing someone as amazing as you finally hit him as he looked at you. You were no longer his, no longer giving him a soft glance with your gentle smile.

From one simple glance at him, you shattered his harden facade - just like you always do. The tears welled up in his eyes, his jaw slightly shivered from the nervousness he had. But he did his best to keep his composure as he stared back into your cold eyes.

Oscar Piastri | 81 "i wish i hated you" - ariana grande || fc : idk :(

yourusername : the most intimate mv filmed - but it was so worth it <3 thank you for all of the love on the song and an even bigger thanks to my besties who helped me get through filming haha :")

ㅤㅤ→ user 01: i know she said she could never hate him but I CAN!!!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ→ user 02: girl she literally has no hate for that man,,, they ended on good terms

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ→ user 03: oscar even said he listened to the song recently and said he liked it, but his fav is "bye"?!!!??!?!! like bro he's making a joke out of it

ㅤㅤ→ user 04: oscar pulled a baddie, broke her heart, and she doesn't even hate him??? his rizz is fucking insane

ㅤㅤ→ user 05: her VOICE CRACK IN THE SONG!??!?!?! (Y/N) I WILL LITERALLY JUMP OFF THIS BUILDING

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ→ yourusername: pls dont omg 😭

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ→ user 05: yes ma'm!!! 🫡

Oscar and you didn't end on bad terms, just simply were getting pulled in different directions. Your music career was blowing up and work slowly consumed your whole life. Same goes with Oscar, as he was pushing himself to his limit just to try and get his first win. Which he did recently, you couldn't help but smile and like his post. Although your break up was heart-breaking for the both of you, you couldn't lie and say he was a bad boyfriend.

You were getting ready to head out for your first show of your world tour. Of course, you had to start in Australia, your home town and also the home of most of your fans. It was a huge stadium, packed to the brim that you were questioning the legality of having this many people in one spot.

But somehow, despite the thousands of people in the crowd, you made eye contact with a stupid boy with a stupid smile and stupid bright orange outfit... Oscar, he came to your first show while still in his ugly McLaren polo and jeans outfit, it was painfully obvious that he got an instant flight here just to watch you.

Despite him wearing the outfit you hated so much, you couldn't help but smile at him. His attendance meant so much to you. What meant even more to you was the fact that he was holding up a small poster, perfect size to not block anyone's view:

"Play "i wish i hated you." I need an ego boost"

Of fucking course he couldn't be serious for a second. Your smile only grew as you chuckled at the sign, you couldn't say no to his request after he put in the effort to make a whole poster , even if the poster looked like shit.

Ollie Bearman | 03 "second best" - laufey || fc : marissa long

yourusername : lots of therapy needed to make this song... but it's finally done! second best is out and i hope it becomes you're first choice! (something i never was)

ㅤㅤ→ user 01: praying to fucking god that this isn't about ollie PLEASEEEE

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ→ user 02: i think it is, sadly :( they both unfollowed each other and haven't been seen in public since last month...

ㅤㅤ→ user 03: "kissed me with somebody else in mind" OLLIE HOW COULD YOU?!?!??!?

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ→ user 04: even crazier is "you swung me around in that midsummer dance, held me in close as you thought of your past." cause that's fucking VILEEE to do to a girl

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ→ user 05: literally!!! looking back at old photos of them, she seemed so deeply in love while he just looked spaced out :((

ㅤㅤ→ user 06: (y/n) is better than me cause i would have spilled gasoline on his car during a race

Turns out those 8 months with Ollie were for nothing. Those sunsets in his arms, cold nights in his jacket, and those kisses in the rain meant nothing to him. He did his best to hide it, but you always had a feeling deep down that he wasn't fully committed to you. You just ignored it to keep him longer.

But you couldn't ignore it forever, so you let your curiosity loose as you looked through his phone while he was sleeping. It was wrong to do, but what's even more wrong is for Ollie to spam his ex with over 300+ messages within a span of 6 months begging for a chance with her... So basically throughout your entire relationship, he was missing her.

Fucking 6 months, of Ollie texting, calling, even emailing her, for another chance. Love letters upon love letters proclaiming that you mean NOTHING to him and it's just to distract him from how much he misses her. That he only picked you because you looked like his ex, that you sounded like her, that you would never ever replace the hole that she left in Ollie's heart.

It was insane how much of a poet he was with her and yet you couldn't even get a kiss in public.

But his ex never responded to any of his messages, the last time she checked his messages was about 10 months ago, the exact time they broke up. You're pretty sure she blocked him and he's just messaging a brick wall. But that doesn't matter at all. His words hit you like a train at 200 mph, crushing your heart into a million pieces.

You broke up on the spot, never seeing him again since that day. But he can't say the same. If anything, it's like you haunted his phone. You were constantly on the radio, his for you page, on billboards, God he couldn't escape his guilt even if he tried.

Your song didn't help his regret at all. Now that the fans had a glimpse into the cause of your break up, Ollie was receiving huge amounts of hate every single day, even during interviews with fully grown adults. One time a reporter straight up asked him if he was going to make a diss track on you? Why the fuck would he do that??? That's besides the point, the point is: everyone knew about this drama, no matter their age, job, or interest.

Once again, Ollie went to his favorite restaurant in Italy. Well, actually it was your favorite restaurant, you showed it to him and ever since then, he's never found a place with better pasta. It's ironic since the restaurant he doubted so heavily but ended up loving and never leaving - was the same exact story he had about you...

Although he would beg for his ex for months on end, the second you left he felt the biggest regret and guilt he's ever had. His ex completely left his mind, despite the fact that she finally unblocked him and was texting him back for once. He couldn't give two shits, because he realized what he lost, you.

He spent hours every single day beating himself up for losing you. Hours in the gym to try and run from his problems, but he couldn't because everything led back to you. His favorite pair of shorts that you gifted him, the small sticker on his headphones you placed, the little stuffed animal you both got at a carnival together - God he didn't want you back, he NEEDED you back.

Ever since you left, he was a completely different person. His racing skills dropped, he crashed more than ever, and yet he couldn't even seem to focus since his mind could only think of you. So as he sat in his seat, waiting for his pasta, he glanced around the room to see the back of your head.

It's just a head of hair, is what an outsider would say, but to him, it was your shiny hair that was so easy for his fingers to comb through. How could he ever forget what you looked like. You were all he thought about, after all.

As if his body moved on his own, he stood up from his seat and walked over to you. His mind completely blank on what to say, despite his body being so eager to meet you.

Before he knew it, he was standing right before you. His eyes wide as he looked down at you, his breathe unsteady from nerves, and his hands shaking from how scared he was. Now he was stuck in front you, awkwardly staring at you as if he was hoping for words to magically come out about how sorry he is.

Kimi Antonelli | 04 "two slow dancers" - mitski || fc : rebecca armstrong

yourusername : two slow dancers out now! one of the hardest songs i've ever wrote but i hope you all love it <3

ㅤㅤ→ user 01: literally gonna rip off my skin why would you make this right when i broke up with my boyfriend

ㅤㅤ→ user 02: "it's funny how you always remember, and we've both done it all a hundred times before, it's funny how i still forgot"

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ→ user 03: STOP I'M GONNA CRY OMFG

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ→ user 02: "to think that we could stay the same, but we're two slow dancers, last ones out." IM THROWING UPPP AHHHHH

ㅤㅤ→ user 03: i can't even hate kimi since the song is so fucking good likeeee

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ→ user 04: REAL!!!!! the fact he hurt (y/n) to THIS DEGREE??? to make this master piece is both a blessing and curse

ㅤㅤ→ user 05: (y/n) needs to put her fucking pen down... i can't take it anymore....

Kimi and you broke up on rough terms, but not in the usual "rough" way. Instead of any cheating, fighting, or pain: it was a gradual change within both of you. As he grew, his passion for racing only flourished even more and now he even has a chance at being in F1 next year. Meanwhile, you were still trying to make it big as a musician while struggling in college. The distance between you two grew not only in milage, but also romantically.

You both agreed to split: allowing both of you to grow in your careers fully without having to feel the guilt and pressure of a relationship that was no longer filled with love. It was gut-wrenching, to say the least, to say goodbye to Kimi for the last time for good before you left for college and he left for Italy to train.

The song you made blew up, with millions of people posting about how the relate to it, cried to it, and screamed to it. This was your huge break through song, which only made the rest of the songs on your album a massive hit. You were the brand new rising star of the year, and you were overjoyed.

You were invited to Italy to do a brand deal with Miu Miu, a huge honor and amazing deal. As you wiped the sweat off your hands and let your makeup artist put some light powder on your face, you walked out onto the small stage to do your interview.

But the second you step foot on stage, you couldn't help but make eye contact with someone too familiar: Kimi.

As if time froze, you could feel your smile drop as your heart sunk. Although you knew the break up was for the best, you could never lie and say that you didn't miss him. That you didn't miss his bad jokes, his curly hair in your lap as he slept, his sweet encouragement as you showed him your new songs.

Your eyes stayed stuck on him despite moving towards the seats, that suddenly seemed as if they were a mile away. His eyes stared back into yours, as if he was able to read the hidden affection and small hint of regret of your break up. But Kimi wasn't any different, his face and body said the same exact thing, but in a more forward way.

It was as if his eyes were screaming, "I miss you." a thousand times into your head. As if he was begging you for a chance of redemption, as if he waited 6 months purely to see you in person just to tell you that he still loves you. That he still needs you by his side, and he always will.

Paul Aron | 17 "logical" - olivia rodrigo || fc : _jannah on ig (she's stunning omfg)

yourusername : filming logical is done! mv is coming soon >:) thank you for all of the love for this song. i didn't think so many of you would relate,,, i hope you're all okay <3 connecting with you all has been so healing

ㅤㅤ→ user 01: literally a child of divorce rn... i can't believe paul and her broke up :(

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ→ user 02: it's not confirmed for sure if they're broken up though!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ→ user 03: (y/n) def wrote this about him,,, "february sky" paul's bday is in february, "i'm sure that girl is really your friend" hinting at his childhood bsf who lowkey ruined their relationship, she's even filming in the desert because she wanted it to be the exact opposite of who she wrote it about - and paul is from the snowy regions of estonia...

ㅤㅤ→ user 04: PAUL ARON BETTER SLEEP WITH HIS EYES OPEN.

ㅤㅤ→ user 05: l'VE SCREAMED THIS IN MY CAR NONSTOP I CANT WAIT FOR THE MV OMGGGG

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ→ user 06: "ARGUEMENTS YOU HELD OVER MY HEAD!!! BROUGHT UP THE GIRLS YOU COULD HAVE INSTEAD!!!" 🗣️🎤😭

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ→ user 05: "SAID I WAS TOO YOUNG, I WAS TOO SOFT!!!! CAN'T TAKE A JOKE!!!! CAN'T GET YOU OFFFFFF!!!!!!" 🗣️🗣️🎤🎤💔

You always knew deep down that Paul wasn't ready to settle down. He even told you himself while drunk once, but you ignored it just to keep him around for longer. But eventually, he started to feel stuck - his fear of commitment becoming too strong. He started to talk to other girls, not fully cheating but setting them up to be a rebound if he were to ever break up with you.

And the idea of breaking up wasn't far fetched, since it happened almost every week. You two got into arguments over almost everything, ending up with you in tears and Paul storming out while you sobbed alone. But, only God knows how, you two always managed to patch it up just enough to ignore the issues and act normal again.

But it was draining both of you - mainly you. Paul was good at hiding his emotions, pushing them down and ignoring them for months. You, on the other hand, were more emotional and aware of the subtle resentment you both held for each other.

As months progressed, you made a pros and cons list for him... Your relationship was doomed the second you even thought of that. When you made that list, it seemed as if the cons never ended while the pros could barely even start.

Paul planning his future rebounds, his extremely close girl best friend who never treated you kindly, him hiding you from him family, him not wanting to visit you after his races, him ghosting you for days because he "needed space" despite the fact that you would leave voice memos of you barely able to breathe because of how depressed you were - and so so SO many more.

You ended the relationship, which was extremely hard on your part. Especially since you were the one trying so hard to keep the relationship afloat. But, you never felt so free since the break up. It was as if a ship-load of issues and fear were lifted off your shoulders, you were able to geniunely smile and laugh for the first time in ages. You took care of your hair and makeup again for once, your fashion upgraded massively too.

Although you only broke up about a month ago, you already had so many changes in your lifestyle and yourself that you barely even thought about Paul - unless it was late at night when your depressing thoughts came out. But you always slept those away, ignoring them and suppressing them, something you just learned how to do.

You made "Logical" while dating Paul, you only got the guts to post it after about a month after the break up. Since then, "Logical" was EVERYWHERE. So many people could relate to it, which concerned you, but you were happy to help a community of heartbroken people. But, while your community was flourishing - Paul's was the opposite.

People were wondering how he could fumble someone as talented and gorgeous as you. Everyone knew Paul was cold and apathetic at times, but so many clips arose of him flat out ignoring out. Even worse, a paparazzi released a super old photo of you and Paul arguing in public, with you crying while Paul stormed off like usual.

The hate he was receiving was so extreme that his entire PR team was on fire - making him go on a month long break to try and hope that the internet just forgets about him. It was slightly working, but the hype behind the song was still too high to let Paul come back to film any videos or do interviews.

All of the hate started to crack down on him, making him finally open his eyes and realize how awful of a boyfriend he was. So, he decided to make the first step in improving himself: reaching out to you.

When you saw his number in your phone, your heart sank. A single notification crushed your entire day, making panic rush through you like a broken dam. But, you were able to open it.

When you opened it, you were met with a huge text, a text so long that it could classify as a dictionary. It went on and on and on, about his regrets for hurting you, how he was such a dickhead, how he knows you most likely will never forgive him, and how he loved your song...

f1 masterlist || f2 masterlist || more here!

[lovelettersforthedamned]

Request for smut 6 & 9 I got this idea from a movie heheh where you’re texting peter at your family dinner and it’s dirty texts and he’s like 😳 then meet each other in the bathroom and fuck with you sitting on the counter but cover Peter’s mouth because he moans loud naturally

Really Quick

--genre: fluff & smut

--pairing: tasm!peter parker x afab!reader

--word count: 0.9k

--warnings: bathroom quickie, PinV, unprotected sex (don't), creampie, mirror sex(ish), this is so silly and so hot.

--gif credits: @onscreenkisses

Conversation elevated the dining room’s atmosphere, and yet all you could focus on was Peter and the phone in your lap. 

petey<3: i need you, bug. so so bad. 

You look up at your boyfriend who is sitting directly across from you, a stupid smirk on his face. Your hands have suddenly started to become clammy, as you look back down at your phone to make sure you’re not misreading his text. 

You know Peter has been pretty worked up this week. Work has been keeping him at the office late, which meant less time seeing each other. Peter’s a moody man to say the least, especially when it comes to you. If he doesn’t see you for at least an hour every day, grumpy. If you two don’t spend dinner together, grumpy. Some people would call this clingy and annoying, and if you weren’t utterly obsessed with your boyfriend, you would say the same. But he makes it so hard to be mad at him, until now. 

Looking back up at his face, your eyes cut into his, you’re shocked. He brings his water glass up to his mouth, taking a long sip as he doesn’t break eye contact. He loves this. 

you: don’t give me that look. 

petey<3: i have no idea what you’re talking about baby. 

You’ve had enough, “I’m gonna head to the bathroom really quick, excuse me.” Standing and walking away from the table, you shoot a quick glance at Peter, an unspoken request for him to follow you. 

He takes a deep breath as he takes another sip of water, clearing his throat before he speaks, “Oh shit…I’ve got to take this call, I’ll be right back.” Your family barely noticed, too involved in separate conversations to actually pay attention to the two of you. 

Peter walked through the home and finally found the bathroom, light seeping through the crack at the bottom of the door. He knocks twice before you open the door and quickly pull him into the cramped space. 

You waste no time as you plant your lips onto his, the kiss messy and uncoordinated. Pulling away from his kiss, you're the first to speak, “You think it’s funny to tease me like that in front of everyone?” He doesn’t respond right away, too flustered to even comprehend what you just asked him. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Peter.”

You knew you had to make this quick as you strip only the bottom half of your clothing and pull your panties to the side. Peter lets his pants and boxers fall to the floor as they pool at his feet. Grabbing under your thighs, Peter lifts you onto the bathroom counter, the cool tile giving you goosebumps. 

Looking up into his eyes, you grab Peter’s cock and line him up with your entrance before he thrusts into you, your back arching off of the mirror behind you. A breathy sigh escapes your mouth. For as long as you’ve known Peter, you still have never gotten used to his length. The tip of his cock always hits that special spot inside of you leaving you craving for more. 

Peter starts to pick up the pace, a sudden urgency plaguing his mind as he comes to realize the situation the two of you are in. The moment he starts to move, you clench around him, the feeling of him inside of you bringing a smile to your face. Peter stares out in front of him and takes in the sight, the mirror perfectly reflecting the way his cock disappears in you, a loud pornographic moan leaving his lips. The sound makes your eyes snap open and clasp a hand around his mouth, “You know I love how you sound, but please Pete, be quiet.”

He nods against your hand as his pace speeds up. You’re getting close. Squeezing his arm next to you, you squeeze your eyes tight as you cum around him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck���baby, oh my god,” you whisper, just loud enough for him to hear. 

You two are making a mess, especially when Peter cums inside of you. Your pussy filled with him, some of it spilling out of you and falling onto the counter. Even though he came, Peter is still pumping into you, the pace slowing but still strong. 

Letting go of his mouth and arm, you reach around to his back, clawing at the skin. He’s making you feel too good right now, “P–Peter, fuck, wait I’m gonna cum again.”

“C’mon bug, cum on my cock again. Let me feel you around me,” he’s panting in your ear, his breath fanning over the side of your neck. 

The second time you came, it was Peter who had to cover your mouth, the pleasure becoming too much. You’re coming down from your high, and the world around you is a blinding white, but all you hear is Peter talking you through it, “That’s it, baby, you did so well. Take a breath, my love.”

Opening your eyes, you see him looking down at you as he pushes some hair that has fallen into your face away and behind your ear. You can’t even speak, your mind is still a little foggy. Peter starts to plant kisses across your cheeks, forehead, and nose before he breaks the silence, “I’ll head out first, don’t follow too close behind.”

You laugh, “You don’t want to announce to my family that you just fucked me in the bathroom?” 

“I’m on their good side, I can’t ruin that,” he winks. 

--author's note: 200 follower celebration BEGINS!!! WOOOO!!!!!! this is so hot, and i love a good mirror sex quickie. thank you nonnie for this request!!!! ILY!!! please continue to support me and your fav writers by liking, commenting, and reblogging! ok, ily bye<3333

[m4rv3l-girl]

Plums

Bucky x Y/N

Love’s a weird thing. Especially when you’re an 109 year old super soldier.

Requests open!

Warnings: None. it’s just fluff - and a brief kiss at the end.

Bucky Barnes was a man of few words, especially after Steve left. He was adrift at first, unsure of where to place his loyalty or even his feet. Y/N, though, had stuck around. She was there when things got too quiet, there when he needed someone to listen, and there when he just needed silence. Over time, their friendship had become his anchor, something stable amidst the ever-shifting tides of his life.

It was a normal day, or at least as normal as days got when you were Bucky Barnes. He’d been out on a long walk through Brooklyn, getting a bit of air and space to clear his mind. The breeze ruffled his hair, the sound of cars and conversations filling the space between his thoughts. When he came back to his apartment, he kicked the door shut behind him and tossed his jacket on the couch.

That’s when he noticed it.

A small, brown paper bag sitting neatly on the kitchen counter.

He frowned, stepping closer. It wasn’t often that random grocery items showed up in his apartment. And then he saw it—the top of a plum peeking out from the crinkled paper, the dark purple skin almost glossy. His heart did this weird little flip. Y/N had bought him plums.

He picked up the bag, a smile tugging at his lips, and that was when he heard her voice.

“Oh, you found them!” Y/N leaned against the doorway, beaming, arms crossed with a satisfied expression. “You like them, right? I remembered you mentioned it. So…I got some at the market today.”

Bucky stared at her, his fingers still clutching the bag. Something soft and warm curled around his chest, and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe. She had remembered. Out of all the random things they’d talked about, she remembered his offhand comment about loving plums.

And she’d bought them for him.

“You remembered that?” His voice came out a little rough, not quite what he intended, but Y/N didn’t seem to mind. She just shrugged, biting her lip in that cute way she did when she was nervous.

“Of course, I did, Buck. It was kind of random, but I figured—hey, why not?” She chuckled, pushing herself off the doorframe and walking over to him, her eyes twinkling mischievously. “Besides, you need some fresh fruit in your life.”

Bucky swallowed hard. His gaze flicked between the plums and her. The realization hit him so fast and so hard that it almost knocked the wind out of him..

He was in love with her.

Not the friendly, you’re-my-best-pal type of love. No, this was deeper, fiercer, and infinitely more terrifying.

His thumb brushed over the top of one of the plums, and he looked up at her, eyes softening. “Thanks, doll,” he murmured, his tone gentler now. “You’re somethin’ else, y’know that?”

Y/N smiled, a little shyly, and reached out to poke the metal arm. “I know.”

Bucky set the bag down, taking a slow step towards her, his voice dropping as a smirk tugged at his lips. “Trying to drive me crazy, kitten?”

She blinked up at him, all wide eyes and innocence, though he knew she could be just as playful. “What? Me? Drive you crazy? I’d never…”

“Uh-huh.” He closed the gap, their shoulders almost brushing now. Her scent hit him—something sweet and tasty—and it took everything in him not to just pull her into his arms. Instead, he bent his head down, his lips brushing against her ear as he spoke. “You’re doin’ a pretty good job at it, though.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, and Bucky felt a surge of satisfaction at the sound. She looked up at him, trying to play it cool, but the slight flush on her cheeks gave her away. “Bucky, they’re just plums,” she said softly, her voice teasing but with a hint of nervousness behind it.

“Yeah, but you remembered,” he replied, his tone almost reverent. His eyes softened, and for the first time in a long while, Bucky felt…happy. Not just content or less haunted, but genuinely happy. He reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You always remember the little things.”

Her gaze met his, something unspoken passing between them. The air around them seemed to hum, filled with something electric, something more than friendship. Bucky could feel his heart pounding in his chest, a mix of excitement and fear clawing at him.

“I do,” Y/N whispered, her lips curving into a soft smile. “I care about you, Buck.”

There it was. The simple truth.

Before he could second-guess himself, Bucky cupped her cheek, his metal hand surprisingly gentle against her skin. He leaned down, his lips brushing against her forehead, then her temple, lingering there for just a moment. “You’re my best girl, y’know that, darlin’?”

Y/N’s eyes fluttered closed, her breath catching again. “Am I?”

He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his blue eyes locking with hers. “Yeah, doll. You are.”

And then, before he could stop himself, Bucky kissed her. It was hesitant, tentative at first, and he was genuinely afraid she’d pull away. But when she kissed him back, locking their lips together in a jigsaw of love, all of that hesitation melted away. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight, as if letting go wasn’t an option.

When they finally pulled apart, Y/N was smiling up at him, her lips still slightly parted. “That was definitely worth the plums.”

Bucky chuckled, pressing his forehead against hers. “Yeah, kitten. It was.”

[battlekidx2]

“Do you like girls?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you like boys?”

“I don’t know. I think I like TV shows.”

I remember when I was in middle school all the other girls were talking about the guys they liked and I said I didn’t like anyone. I just wanted to do my own thing.

I didn’t really get why I would want to date anyone. I understood friendship, companionship— having someone to share my interests and mutually info dump to sounded cool— but I struggled to understand the appeal of spending every day and every night with someone else. Of holding hands and going on dates. 

This led to a lot of homophobic bullying and a few of them would act disgusted that I might be into them. Constantly acting like I was looking at their boobs and sexualizing them (I never made eye contact with anyone and would frequently look at the wall or space out while looking in their general direction). Or make a big show of not being interested and many other things.

I didn’t get this either. I didn’t know why I would be interested in any of them. They treated me poorly and I thought attraction was something people made up and simply just claimed to feel towards other people.

Just like I never understood celebrity crushes. You don’t know the person so how could you possibly know you liked them? And I never understood how people “chose” who they dated. Did they just choose whoever they liked hanging out with the most?

But any time I voiced this it was always met with worse and worse reactions. It led to isolation among peers and my family. My parents made it pretty clear I wasn’t who they wanted me to be. That I wasn’t normal.

I soon learned to fake it. Pretend I understood it.

The idea of not being attracted to anyone seemed like a foreign idea to most people I met. Even when I branched out and moved away, I met a few people in the lgbt community who couldn’t grasp it either and reacted poorly and it made me feel stupid. Like maybe I wasn’t just screwed up to people who fit in the neat little box society wants you to fit in, but to everyone else as well.

Maybe I was wrong. If it’s an impossibility even in this community that champions diversity and acceptance then can that really be my reality?

I kept trying to force it. To date, but every time I did I always felt that same skin crawling discomfort and it always petered out. It didn’t matter who it was or what gender. It always felt wrong. It was suffocating.

I don’t think there’s a movie that better portrays that all consuming, suffocating stagnation of feeling so out of place– knowing you’re out of place compared to those around you– and in response forcing yourself to fit what other people expect of you than I Saw the TV Glow.

Whenever I think back to growing up or whenever I return home that same feeling this movie is centered around always drenches my experiences.

And even now it’s hard to put into words when I talk to other people what I’ve felt when it comes to this aspect of my life.

That comment from Owen about knowing there’s nothing there when talking about romance and attraction, but being too afraid to look and knowing that his parents know something is wrong with him hit harder than any other scene from a movie I’ve watched this year.

It’s that absence of something that is at the heart of asexuality that makes me always question what I choose to identify as when I have to explain it to someone. Because for the most part my explanation boils down to (in broad oversimplified terms): I’ve never felt attraction, I’m more interested in watching a Spider-Man movie than I’ve ever been into even just the idea of dating, every time I’ve attempted to date it’s been uncomfortable and I’ve actively dodged anything beyond friendship while in the “relationship”.

And when I try to voice that to another person it always feels like those experiences don’t hold water. That’s describing the absence of something. There’s no real proof of the identity.

With being bi or gay or lesbian there’s something you can I don’t know—point to?— that can help you know your identity.

And that’s the fact that you’ve experienced attraction towards one or more people of one or more genders.

It’s defined not by the lack of something but the presence of an experience.

And so every time I try and explain it I end up feeling stupid. Like I just haven’t tried hard enough to find someone compatible. That I need to get back into the proverbial saddle and try again. I always in some way feel ashamed and backtrack as a result.

This is in no way to say that it’s harder or easier to be one identity or the another. Everyone’s experiences are different and everyone experiences are valid. This is just a struggle I’ve found that’s unique to asexuality that many people I’ve talked to have also experienced.

I haven’t felt that part of my experience be seen in media until I saw this movie. Maybe I’m latching onto what I can get or maybe that was an intrinsic part of the movie. That’s not important. What’s important is that it’s something I felt seen in even if it was literally just one scene.

This is my really long winded and roundabout way of saying that I really think this movie is going to stick with me much longer than any other thing I’ve seen this year.

Things can be hard to put into words and as a result I tend to keep things inside. I’m fairly certain I’m ace but it might turn out I’m on a different romantic spectrum then I thought or I fall somewhere different than I thought on the ace spectrum. I don’t know what I’ll discover in the future.

I’m likely not going to express my label out loud to anyone but a select few. I still can’t express this particular label out loud to many people. My family is definitely never going to hear it. A friend or two might.

It’s something I struggle with on a regular basis. I’m fine with identifying with the label in my head—in a lot of ways it makes me feel comfortable and happy— but any time I try to voice it the words die in my throat and I can’t help but feel ashamed. It’s easier to just tell people I don’t want to date right now. That there are all these factors in the way (finances, time, jobs, etc) than it is to try and explain what I’ve just rambled about above.

I know many people have felt and understood that experience and I hope people know they’re valid. You can express your identity with your full chest, shout it from the rooftops and let people know, or you can keep it to yourself, identifying as your label solely in your head. Both experiences are valid. And if your label changes at some point in your life that doesn’t make what you chose to identify as at this point any less valid too. People are always learning and growing. You can gain a new understanding of yourself as time move forward.

Sorry for the way too long ramble. This movie made me feel things.

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part eleven —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 2.6k tags: death. blood. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: here ya go

A dry mouth and a symphony of aches awaken you.

Ambery light spills through the cracks of the hunting cabin, catching the silvery glint of dust particles in the air. It must be morning or possibly even noon based on how rested you feel. As your eyes peel open, you can see everything better than last night. The cramped space is mostly barren. There are some rusted animal traps in the corner and a faded poster with dancing bears and cheesy lettering: NATURE BE OUT HERE WILDIN'. Blue's head lays upon your shoulder. Gently, you maneuver it off, but her lashes flutter open despite your efforts. 

"Twix?"

"Hey," you whisper. "Everything's okay. You can go back to sleep."

"Can you... get me some water?"

Ghost's backpack is likely off-limits, but you go through it, anyway. Beneath cigarettes and tools you don't even know the name of, you retrieve the canister of water and usher it to her lips. She sips weakly. The blanket covering her falls to her waist, revealing a bare, bandaged leg. Ghost must've taken off her blood and urine-stained jeans. You tuck the insulated blanket back over her and touch her forehead, relieved to feel the skin is cool.

"How are you feeling?" 

She lays back down, wincing. "It hurts. And... and I'm tired."

"That's normal. Your body is working hard to heal. Do you need anything else?"

There is the smallest shake of her head before her slack eyelids lower back down.

Ghost is leaning against the side of the cabin when you slip outside. He must have a tolerance for the cold to have stayed out here all night without his jacket. Only a black thermal hugs his chest, a dried stain at the side where you nursed his wound. His stare instantly finds you, alert yet ringed with faint lines of fatigue.

"She's doing good," you announce quietly. "Still sleeping and no fever. Did you see anything out here?"

Ghost clears his throat before speaking, voice rougher than usual from the hours of disuse. "No." His eyes flicker down to your legs. The jacket, although leagues warmer than your own, falls above your knees, leaving them shuddering against a crisp gust of air.

“Should be dry now," he says, motioning to a nearby tree where your clothes are draped over a branch. He must've put them there because you have no memory of doing so.

"Oh. Thanks."

Begrudgingly, you change behind the cabin, your muscles and joints groaning. Despite the dip in the river, your clothes still bare faint stains of blood and whatever fluid came out of that dead Grey. They don't offer the same physical comfort that his heavy loaner did. You can't say you don't miss it when you hand it back. 

"You should sleep, too."

He shucks it on, eyes glued to the distance. "I'm fine."

“You think there’s more of them, don’t you?”

He takes a moment before answering. "I took out five, then there's the two that attacked you. Big group. They would've left one or two behind to watch their camp."

It's true, and the thought grazes your teeth against the inside of your cheek. Either they will realize something happened to their companions and go looking for you, or they will be wary of the threat and keep to their turf. You aren't too concerned with Ghost here, but if they’re stocked on military-grade gear like he said, then it's better not to let your guard down.

"Look, you won't be able to keep her safe if you pass out from exhaustion. I can stay out here."

Finally, he exhales deeply, his chest moving beneath all the gear. "Wake me up if you see anything."

"I will."

You watch him go before a sudden realization hits you.

"Ghost, wait—"

He halts, eyebrows raising in question. 

"My bow... I think I lost it. In the river."

There is a long pause of thought before he reaches for the handgun at his waist, offering it to you with a firm look.

"Just for now, in case there's anything."

Keeping watch is far from enjoyable. Every little movement makes your fingers curl tighter around the gun. You keep your gaze up and alert while making a small fire to purify some water from the river, drinking until your stomach feels tight. Then, you settle on a tree stump by the cabin and take out the single dried squirrel you brought. But when you bite in, a strange taste floods your mouth. Blood. Cartilage. Human flesh. You spit it out, your stomach expelling more watery vomit. 

"For later, then," you whisper, wiping your mouth.

The plan was never to stay here for more than a night, but with Blue's recovery, you'll have to find more food. It could be three or four days before she’s ready for the long trip back. You ponder how you can make do without the bow, and figure you can use those animal traps. There's also a bush by the cabin that, if Paul's teachings did you any good, appears to be unripened salmonberries.

Hours drone by, each one more tedious than the last. The scent of moisture in the air begins to grow stronger. It's not until dark, swollen clouds roll in from the north that Ghost reemerges from the cabin.

"I didn't see anything, but I think it's going to storm." You gesture to the sky.

The abrupt arrival of sharp lightning and pillaging rain brings both of you back within the shelter. The storm clouds quickly swallow all the light, which leads Ghost to start another fire with the dry wood he has left. You find a few candles dressed in cobwebs and ignite them with your newfound lighter. It's not long before Blue wakes up, likely unable to sleep with all the sounds and the steady leak of water that begins to drip from the ramshackle ceiling. 

Ghost may have brought a lot with him, but he doesn't have anything to patch up a leak, which leads to a small puddle taking up space and pushing the three of you uncomfortably closer. Of course, Blue is the only one lying down. You tuck your knees under your chin while Ghost bends his long legs into a crossed position. He's wide enough that his knee and shoulder brush against you no matter how much you try to inch into the corner.

Though, you secretly can't complain. There seems to be an everlasting heat that radiates off him, even here, as the fire struggles to sustain itself and the rain thrums incessantly. 

He shifts around to fish something out of his backpack. Crackers. 

"Here, kid."

"I'm not hungry."

"You need to eat something."

He has to practically force little bites into her mouth, cradling her head up with his gloved hand. The sight makes your stomach howl, but you refrain from eating the squirrel in case you throw up again. You don't suspect either of them would appreciate that.

Blue goes back to staring dully at the wall after she eats, and Ghost continually peeks out a crack in the boarded-up window. The whole thing is quite miserable, even though, at the very least, you are all alive. The look in her eyes reminds you of how Joseph would get sometimes, and you hate it. 

At some point, you take out the book you found.

"Hey, Blue. I... I found this. Want me to read it to you?"

Her gaze shifts to you. "Oh. What's it called?"

"Um." You glance at the cover, cringing when a male model and corny title stare back at you. That's right. It was the only book in the store for a reason. "Well, maybe not. It doesn't look very good."

"You could tell me a story," she suggests in a murmur. "Ghost isn't any good at that."

You glance at him. He must be listening, but he pretends not to. Rather, he fiddles with the magazine of his rifle: taking it out, counting what's there, putting it back in. 

Under the roar of thunder, you murmur a story to her. That one your mother used to tell you. Then, you move on to memories. The happiest ones you can recall, mostly about your sister. You tell her about the time your parents surprised the two of you with a hampster, and how you argued over who got to name it, only deciding after a fierce battle of rock-paper-scissors in which you won. 

"So what did you name him?"

"Frank."

"Frank," she repeats. A weak smile. "That's a terrible name."

The storm ebbs on for another day. You and Ghost set up a silent routine of taking turns to sleep, though with how he leans against the wall and clutches the rifle with his eyes closed, you wonder if he is even really sleeping. Blue is only awake to eat, drink, and listen to a few stories. You steal peeks at her wound when he redresses it, pleased to see no evidence of infection. 

You finally bring yourself to eat, taking small bites and forcing it down. The pain in your limbs starts to fade, and the cuts on your face and hands are already scabbed over. When the rain clears, you set up the traps. Paul used to have ones like these. It's not long before you've got yourself another squirrel to eat. The salmonberries are terribly sour, but you wolf down a bush's worth.

Two days. You've been here for two days, and no one has snuck in an attack. There hasn't been a trace of rot in the air. You should feel relieved, but something in the way Ghost behaves makes you wary. He keeps looking through his backpack, fiddling with his guns. Perhaps over the past month, you've grown so used to his mood only shifting between hostile and indifferent, that it's easier to pick up on the signs of his unease. 

Before you can decide to question him what's wrong, he confronts you.

"Twix. We need to talk."

He's caught you with berry remnants around your mouth as you sit on the tree stump and finish your meal. You swipe your tongue across your lips, staring up at him. It's sort of awkward, craning your neck as he towers above you.

"What is it?"

"I need to leave."

You inhale sharply. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," he takes the rifle off his shoulder, "I've got five bullets for this one. And," he juts a finger to the handgun, "One magazine for this one."

Understanding sinks to the pit of your stomach. He's running low. Of course. Between the people and all the Greys, he must have used up a lot.

"That's not enough to get us back?" You tuck some hair behind your ear.

"If we run into all those fucks like before, then no. I don't feel comfortable with this much."

"So what are you going to do? Go loot their bodies?"

"I already did that," he almost growls, frustrated. "This is what I've got including what they had on 'em."

"Their camp, then. You want to go find it?" When he nods, you glance behind you at the cabin where Blue rests inside. "No. No— I don't like this idea. I have nothing to protect her with while you're gone."

"I'll leave you a gun."

"I'm not good with a gun," you protest, curling your fingers into your palm as you frown. "She can barely walk, and I can't carry her if shit happens."

"Well, I can't get us all back safely if I don't have fucking ammo. You think I want to leave her? I have no choice here."

Everything he's saying makes sense, and yet, you hate it. You just barely protected her the first time he left you alone, the memory of desperately biting that guy's nose off being evidence of that. Admittedly, you don't know what to do once someone gets close. If something were to happen while he was gone, you’re not confident that you could keep her alive again. But he needs this. The trip will be a waste if he doesn’t get this ammo— the risk to all your lives would’ve been for nothing.

"What if—" Your eyes slide shut as you swallow thickly. "Fuck— what if I go get it?"

Immediately, he scoffs. "That makes no sense."

"Your priority is keeping her safe. You stay here and do that."

"You have no bow," he reminds you, roughly shaking his head. "Don't be stupid."

"You said there's likely only one or two people guarding it. I don't have to fight them. I just have to find their place and steal from them, right?"

"Why?" He demands, eyes narrowing from their typical half-lidded state. They sweep over your face, from your forehead to your chin. "Why would you do this? Risk your life?"

It's a fair question, and you realize how ridiculous you must sound even suggesting this idea. Looking at the ground, the first answer comes to you quickly. You value Blue's life more than your own at this point. Like you told Ghost, you don't know why you even bother fighting. She's a kid. A piece of light in this world. He can protect her better than you can, and he needs the ammo to do so. But there are a few other reasons you find yourself willing to do this for him, and those are the ones you decide to share with him. 

"Because like you said, you need the ammo to get us all back safely. Plus," you look back at up him, "They probably have some things I need, too. Like more medicine." It's something you've pondered quite a few times since realizing how healthy and populated their group was. You lucked out in the village. There will never be another opportunity for medicine like this. "But... if I can get your ammo, then you owe me."

A deep breath expands his chest, then he huffs it out. "What would you want?"

You mull it over. "The couch," is the first thing that comes to mind. You imagine having to sleep in a flooded shed, which will undoubtedly happen with this northern weather, and the thought alone makes you miserable. "When we get back, I want to sleep inside on the couch from now on. And a new bow. You can make me one."

He stares at you for a few seconds before shaking his head to himself, grumbling something under his breath. He slings the rifle back over his shoulder, and you think he's ready to rightfully tell you how stupid you are again, but instead, he grits out, "Anything else?"

"A few shirts and your jacket," you breathe out, eyeing the fabric that fits his broad shoulders much better than it did yours. "And..." a flush threatens the base of your neck, "I also want you to teach me how to better defend myself. Once someone grabs me, I panic."

There's something detectable that passes through his eyes, maybe the memory of how helpless he rendered you not so long ago. He looks at the cabin, shaking his head again, before returning his stare down at you. 

"I'm going to tell you exactly how to get this done. You're of no use to me dead, Twix. Get me a backpack full of ammo, and we'll have a deal."

[sashiavi]

Merry Late Christmas M'Loves! Thank you @birdielouwho for inviting me to this little Kinkmas Event~

And thank you to my wifey Spirit for listening to my bs and helping me get through this monster </3

Sebastian x Reader - Trapped in a Closet With Your 'Unrequited' Crush, Sebastian at a Holiday Party~

Warnings : Tipsy/drunk Sex, forced proximity, stuck in a closet, fingering, cunnilingus, piv, afab reader, some dirty talk, unprotected sex ♡

Word Count - 8.6k

•·············°·············•♡•·············°·············•

Being locked up inside of a stuffy closet wasn't particularly on your list of goals for the night, and yet here you were, barely illuminated by the soft seam of light daring to leak through the cracks of the door. The night air outside was still young and in bloom, voices leaking through the gap under the door with cheers and Holiday joy. You hear the cork to a bottle burst with a pop, a voice shrieking a happy cry as foam inevitably froths over the bottle, spattering to the hardwood floor of the Saloon.

Your own breath feels as if it echoes around you, bouncing off of the built-in shelves lining the closet, hitting you back in the face with a ring paired in your ears. Your back digs into the sharp plastic faux leaves of a holiday wreath, pulled out in the chaos of decorations brought from the very back end of the space, spewing from boxes, unworthy decorations strewn on shelves and wood panel floors - It was a miracle you hadn't shattered a glass bauble under your feet.

You shuffle, knees feeling wobbled and numb, breath punching out from the depths of your lungs, layering the small space in a sickly sweet warmth, hot and humid as if you were trapped in a sauna. Your fingers twirl into thick and dark tendrils of hair, wound into curls with a tight squeeze of your fingers, flexing every time the hard metallic lap of a pierced tongue grazes hot over your clothed clit. Despite the freeze beyond the front door of the Community Centre, the air inside of the closet was thicker than creamy hot chocolate, heated by the dancing bodies of the townsfolk celebrating the late-night festivities. That, and the spiked eggnog you had nursed through the night, settling under your diaphragm and rising up, a flush that kissed your cheeks, skin already bitten sensitive by the cool air on your walk there. And of course the man between your legs had a helping hand with it too - Lengthy fingers grabbing around the soft squish of your thighs, thumbs daring to dig just enough to have you squirming. Sebastian’s hands were slender and elegant, decorated with glinting rings and cracked nail polish, said nails digging loving crescents into the supple soft of your skin.

He had you sighing, swallowing down milky-thick saliva, your eyes catching his own, dark brows furrowed in focus as his lips latched with a smush against your mound, a breath heavy and hot on your cunt.

Now how exactly did you end up here anyway?

There was something of a Holiday Party occurring - A new tradition since the Community Centre had been cleaned up, spacious for the entirety of the town to attend, freely mingling and dancing away with a few pocket groups chatting on the sidelines. The more “Adult-Adults” - The Parents of many young people of the Valley - Congregated by the fire, letting the flicking warmth absorb into their skin, soothed from the chilling bite of the outside with their own fire burning up in their guts, born out of the little treat of alcohol they sipped at. Others mingled elsewhere, spread across the varying rooms, even the children ran and played in the crafts room, welcomed now that festivities didn't have to take place in the depths of the Saloon or the frosty outside of the Town Square.

You were with your usual gaggle of friends; Samson, Abigail and Sebastian, tucked away by the storage pantry, sat on crates and barrels filled to the brim with bits and bobs. You giggle airily at Sam and his usual antics, nursing your cup of eggnog while you shift on your makeshift box-seat, careful to avoid lodging a splinter in Yoba knows where. The vibe was cozy, wrapped in a glowy warm as you look between your friends, a buzz in your tummy leaving your head a little light, lips a tad looser than before.

Your eyes land on Sebastian, propped up on his own crate, chin tilted up high enough to reach the crack of an open window, blowing hot nicotine smoke from his lips into the brisk chill outside. He drags his cigarette hard, the end firing to life with a burn of hot orange, ashes flecking off of the edge before it dies away, smoke carried into his lungs to settle before he blows out once again. He was methodical, practiced in the movements as if he’d sneaked a puff of tobacco before, pierced tongue wetting over his lips, spit surely warm enough to battle the cold kiss of night air reddening his mouth with a blush.

You can’t help but watch him, eyes soft with puppy-love, attention easily slipping away from the present conversation. It was a known fact that you harboured a few feelings for the dark and mysterious man - To you and your other friends at least - Having Samson and Abigail on your back about just asking Sebastian on some sort of date, heck, they’d even offered to set the entire thing up! But there was something that nibbled at your subconscious, a whisper chanting doubts into your thoughts like an earworm, suck on repeat as if it were a bad but catchy song. They assured you, swore up and down that he totally felt the same! But you couldn't let yourself believe it, stuck in a loop of pitiful pining, drooling like a dog with its favourite treat just out of reach, dangled above your head like the sweetest forbidden fruit.

You're snapped out of your trance with a soft kick to your shin, Abigail’s boot tip connecting with the bone enough to jump a startle out of you. She was snickering, and so was Sam, eyebrows raised with a soft mocking cat call, ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ whistled slyly under their breaths lest the other man notice. You pout at them, hiding the expression behind another sip of spiked eggnog, eyes squinted enough to show off your unamusement and potential embarrassment. 

The thick brandy-laced custard slides down your throat with a swallow, adding to the warmth flushing inside your tummy, aided with the bashful sear brought on by Sam’s continued pokes. The alcohol leaves a subtle burn on your tongue, a bubbling in your stomach, turning the sweet and giddy fizz of a crush into something thick and near nauseating. You smack your lips, letting them pout into a small frown, tongue poking past in a childish manner before you let yourself giggle again.

Abigail hops up, sauntering to Sebastian to bum a cigarette off of him, joining by the slight crack of the window on the other side of the room, out of earshot for the next few babbles Sam had for you.

“He looks good tonight, doesn’t he?” Samson ever the lightweight dares to slur your way, cheekily taunting at the crush he knew you harboured for the other man. At first it was all comforts and sweet reassurances, repeating the same lines over and over- Of course you're pretty, of course you're his type, he looks at you too you know? - Until it morphed into not-so-subtle teases and jabs, Sam and Abigail growing tired at the same song and dance of reassurances, opting to wiggle their eyebrows and wink with a coo every time they caught you even glancing at Sebastian. They cared still, obviously, soothed away at the sharp stabs of insecurity that wriggled it’s way past the wall of your inner thoughts and out to them, these days the comforts presented themselves in a sly glance and a knock on your back forcing you to bump into the dark-haired man.

It was true that he did look good tonight; Hoodie swapped for a fitted black button down, coat forgotten at the door with the swallow of warmth inside the building. Piercings all matched with a dark silver sheen with rings to pair on a few of his fingers, bracelets and necklaces tied everything together, sheening behind his unbuttoned collar and rolled up sleeves.

You always hung out with the man in a group, surrounded by the others as a social buffer. Of course you had settled down in Abigail's room many nights past, eating snacks and playing video games until the ranch rooster crowed and the sun kissed its way up and over the horizon. Heck, you'd even spend afternoons with Sam, walking him home from work and staying until dinner, brainstorming music and chatting general nothingness until his mother had politely asked you to head home. 

But Sebastian was another story. How could you invade his sacred space for your own amusement? You could barely open the door to his home for his mother's services without biting your bottom lip and looking at each nail in the floorboards for a distraction, heart tingling at the idea of just seeing him in his natural habitat. A group meant safety, in numbers and outlets, avenues to sprint down in case of an emergency - The emergency being your hopeless and stumbly feelings for him.

Of course you talked to him, chatting away at your interests and his alike, walking drinks from the bar to the pool table with your eyes locked all doe on his face. You had a fair amount in common as well, but that darn bubble in your stomach often kept your feet glued to one spot, a half smile directed towards him in acknowledgement to whatever he would say.

– “You reckon that ring’s new? Looks kinda new…” Sam continues, pondering his astute observation, prying his way past the protective wall you had meticulously crafted surrounding your social body, urging for a comment.

“Maybe..” Your reply is short, safely guarded behind the fear of alcohol loosening your tongue. Sam hums, tilting his head, not at all hiding the fact that he was analysing the man by the window, smoking his way through a conversation, puffs of thick nicotine coming with the replies he had for Abigail before he sticks his head out of the window to blow again. You try not to stare, missing the way Abigail points your way, beaded bracelets on her wrist giving a clacking jingle, her own teasing comments falling off of her tongue with a steady drip of amusement.

“Should ask him.” Sam’s voice chirps again. Subtle teases, as always, trying to push the pair of you together like a girl does with her dolls, announcing the prophet of “Now Kiss!” while smushing their plastic faces together. It had happened once; Sam convinced you to go against him at the pool table, clumsily cracking the triangle of billiard balls with his pool cue, unmanaging to sink either solids or stripes. You admitted you hadn't a clue about how to play, and you were sure you were off the hook until the sunshine boy beams that cheeky, toothy smile at you.

“Sebastian will help!” he had exclaimed, failing to hide his grin when the raven-haired man shrugged and stood from the worn-out Saloon armchair he had been resting in. Though a little initially shy, Sebastian was one to open up with a little push.

That night was something of a struggle. Feeling the warmth of Sebastian's chest laying over your back, lengthy, nimble fingers drowning your own as he guided the pool cue, digits wrapping around the thrumming artery that pulsed in your wrist with a squeeze, just enough to have your head reeling. Click and clack went the sheeny resin balls, sinking into the holes of the pool table with an easy thrust of the cue thanks to Sebastian’s assistance, practically babying you through the process. His cologne stuck to you that night, soft and spicy and barely a hint of sweetness, bled into the threads of your top- Yoba, you’d never properly admit it but you didn’t wash the poor thing for far too long, not until the thick stain had properly lost its essence. The imprint of his body was something unforgettable, towering over your back, chin tucked by your ear, breaths slow and careful, full of focus as he whispered instructions with every turn, guiding your body as if you were his puppet. 

Ever since, it seemed to be Samson’s mischievous mission to pin the two of you together.

There were countless attempts only ending in hot embarrassment, the need to recreate a one off moment only becoming a tangled mess with its execution, like a failed flash mob two counts out of time. But you couldn’t be mad at Sam, in the end he was only trying (and mostly failing) to be your wingman. You squint at him, watching the blonde obnoxiously play with the bar lodged in his tongue, leaned back upon a box from his spot on the floor, eyes fuzzed out of focus in deep thought. Well, as deep as Samson could manage with the clear wash of tipsiness leaking from his body language. He huffs a sigh and chuckles, a goofy, lopsided grin leaning your way before it's hidden by his own sip of his drink, his pierced eyebrow raising as if to dismiss the curious thoughts you had swirling around behind your forehead. 

Sam hops up, a sway in his movement, humming under his breath as he explores a nearby storage closet, spewing out Christmas decor used to add Holiday Charm around the rooms. Ever so nonchalant. He rifles loudly, snickering to himself when he finds a dusty Santa hat, putting the wretched thing over his mane of hair before he continues on. The other pair make their way back over, the window now fully shut, locking in the warmth of the Community Centre, any remnants of the bristly chill snuffed out with a warm wash. Sam’s antics were loud, hands roughly exploring the space, pulling things out that surely shouldn’t be touched - At least not by him of all people. Sebastian and Abigail sit either side of you, the male opting to share a corner of the wooden pallet crate you had situated yourself on, very nearly pressing his bicep into your own as he watches Sam.

“Duuuude..” The blonde calls with a hiccuped laugh, practically jumping into a box to nab at something. Sebastian tilts his head, an amused quirk of a smile plastered on his pierced lips, the point of a double vertical labret (Not snakebites as Sam always annoyingly calls them) lifting with the action.

“That can’t be good.” Sebastian’s voice cracks soft, tone low enough for only you to hear, like a hidden inside joke. Of course, you giggle, top teeth sinking into your bottom lip to stifle the noise, your brain letting you laugh so effortlessly, as if you were a crushing school girl - Yoba it felt silly, and yet your body strives to work against you.

“I’m scared..” You mock a wobbly tone, a fake frown on your face which easily turns upwards as Sam yelps, coming up with his lucky-dip mystery prize he’d yanked up from the box. 

“Ooho..” The blonde calls, lifting up the very thing he had practically dived for; A stringy and sad looking worn-out piece of plastic mistletoe, decorated with a gnarly bright red ribbon in the beginnings of the end of its life, fraying right at the edges in wispy fabric feathers. His grin turns shit-eating, eyes darkening in your direction, dangling the sad plastic plant as if it were poison ivy, ready to rash anything it touched. “Ohh, Sebby-Webs~” He teases, making a wet, spit-filled kissy face at the other man. 

Sebastian rolls his eyes with a huff, pulling out his lighter and flicking the flame to life with a hearty click, a silent threat against the very existence of the sad excuse of mistletoe. Sam makes a show of pouting, sniffling faux snot up his nose in defeat before his attentions turn to you.

“He’s so mean, right?” He keeps up his pout, fake tears in his eyes. “You’ll smooch me, right?” He looked like a kicked puppy, bottom lip wobbling as he neared you, holding the plastic piece above your head. He looks to Sebastian, a glint in his eyes and a near smirk daring to twitch on his lip, stirring the pot, so to say. You fake a gag, looking to Sebastian to spout a joke but the man looked.. Well, tense. Brow furrowed just enough, body stiff in his spot beside you compared to the lucid and wobbled movements of Sam. “Just oneeee~” The blonde begs, teasing at you, making another puckered kissy face as he dramatically leans in.

Another one of his forced proximity plans perhaps-

A lean hand smushes into Sam’s lips, ring clad fingers squishing his cheeks, firmly but gently shaking his head. Oh, it was on now. A roughhousing play fight between the two men, giggles and fake insults, Sam and his mistletoe with pucker kissing noises now directed back to Sebastian. “Kiss meeee, kiss me- You know you want to~” Sam would sing, only to be refuted by Sebastian calling him some sort of choice word. You and Abigail can only look to one another, a stifled smile as the boys go at each other- Until an unhealthy crashing tumble occurs.

Sebastian yelps a swear, falling back on a box within the closet space, saved by the crinkle of tinsel rather than any sharp and nasty decorations. You don’t think, jumping to your feet, eggnog forgotten as you spring to help him.

“Seb-! Are you alright?” You reach him, lending your arm for him to use you as leverage, doing your best to pull him free. You get him up and standing, faced with his collarbones with his height compared to your own, closer than you initially had thought you'd be, the space tighter than it seemed with all the storage boxes-

A chuckle comes from the door, Sam with a teeth-filled and lopsided grin, one hand on the frame and the other tossing the sad little plastic mistletoe right at you before the door comes to a hearty, thunking close. Boisterous laughter is muffled, taunts of “Behaving” going nearly unheard as crates scrape against the hardwood floors, only logically being pressed against the door, successfully locking yourself and Sebastian inside of the tiny storage closet.

This felt juvenile, as if you were thrown into a game of Seven Minutes in Heaven, the door un-opening as you try your best to push - No luck. 

A hand rests snugly on your waist as Sebastian leans over, trying his luck at pushing the door to get it moving along its hinges, palm and fingers spread flat over the wood. It's a futile attempt. He chokes around a pant as he tries again, breath straining with a soft whine right at the back of his throat with his pushing, forming into a weak and disheartened groan of a sigh when he fails again. He swallows, breathing huffed, squared to catch himself before he braces to try again.

“Seb-” Your voice calls with a crack, your hand daring to reach for his bicep, giving him a soft squeeze, heavy with your touch thanks to the soft swirl of alcohol in your stomach. “Hey..” You try again before he relents, face snapping to yours in the dimmed-down closet, barely illuminated by the crack under the door. His breaths huff against your lips, hot and laced with tobacco and a wash of mint in a feeble attempt to mask the smell. He had managed to work up a small sweat with his attempts, smoker lungs surely fiery behind his ribs, puffs coming to an easy slow, air still coming from past his lips, brushing into yours like a faux kiss.

His hand on your waist doesn't move, plastered stuck right in place before the other joins, holding you right there - Closer than arm's length. You hear him swallow, see the bare brush of his tongue swiping over his lips, wetting them with saliva, piercings glinting with the bare shine of light. “Fuck..” Comes his voice, barely above a whisper, more rounded with the shape of his mouth and that harsh digraph sound nestled at the back of his throat.

It's quiet - So, so quiet. Save for the shake of your breaths, coming into a rhythm, forced into tandem as you try to make out Sebastian’s face in the dim. Your pulse thrums in your ears, thumping like a ball in your throat, gushing red-hot anxious blood to your head, already washy and tipsy drunk off of that damned eggnog- The air between you seared, hot tension rising as you come to terms with exactly what just happened, a heavy weight of mortification washing down your shoulders and to your toes, curdling the contents of your stomach into something bubbly-sick. It was as if a kettlebell fell down on your head right as you’d jumped down from high up, a spiking shock running up your legs and down your shoulders, meeting up in the middle. Your hand moves to come off of his bicep, the squeeze of your fingers off from his flesh-

One slender hand moves up, cupping at your ribs as if to stop you, accompanied by a short and startled disapproving hum, rumbled from Sebastian’s throat. You stare at him, he stares back, eyes searching left, right, left, right, flicking and unknowing of where exactly to look- Until he sighs, air punched from his gut before his head drops, carefully landing on your shoulder, face turned into your neck. His piercings barely press a graze to your sensitive skin, poking dully on your pulse, scraping as he speaks right under your ear.

“Sorry.. C-Can..” Your body sparks a shiver. “Can I..?” He asks, such an open-ended question had your brain searching all the ‘what ifs’. You mouth his name with a whisper, a questioning tone pitched up before he hums a long sound from his chest. “I can’t take it anymore- Really.. Fuck- Can I just..” He huffs another breath, a thick swallow following down his throat. His lips graze a trail up, pressed right by your ear as he asks; “Please-” exacerbation and frustration, it oozes off of him, “Tell me I can kiss you- Yoba I can’t...” 

Was this an eggnog induced hallucination? Was your sick pining something mutual? No more clawing through the six feet of thick insecurity to grasp at measly straws or long over the reassurances Sam and Abigail had gifted you? It was your turn to beg a short please of your own before your lips were captured in a desperate lock - All teeth and tongue, clumsy in movement, heads turning to find the perfect fit. Sebastian's hands wander, caressing up and down your sides, to the small of your back, letting them dive further to cup the fat of your ass as his tongue moves to take over your mouth. It swirls lovingly over your own, the ball of his tongue bar rolling and lapping, tastebuds dragging rough against each other, sloppy with spit and tipsiness, each and every breath of his tainted with a moan that cracked its way up his throat. His piercings poke against your lips, kissing them raw with every move of his mouth on your own until he lets your bottom lip thread through his teeth with a needy bite.

He pecks you hard, capturing your lips in a short frenzy before he's back on you again, deep and needy, pulling your body towards his own, soft in comparison to his lean build. You throw your arms around his neck, fingers twirling girlishly into the back of his hair, giving him a sweet tug with every few kisses you give back. His tongue is on you again, lips parting with a groan as he licks into your mouth, the mixed taste of whiskey tainted custard-cream and spiced smoked tobacco swaps with your spit. The air around you thickens, noses huffing against each others cheeks as you try to catch your breath, unwilling to part from the sloppy lock of your lips - Curse the need to breathe, Sebastian pops off with a wet puckered sound, a line of spit still connecting you together. His arms tighten, fingers turning into a claw to grab at you, anything he could get his hands on, his lungs huffed up choked breaths, head shaking in some form of disbelief.

“Fuck.. Yoba-” His lowered voice calls. Your response is barely a squeak before he's on you again, capturing your lips between his in a hot and heavy manner, pulling you into his body, pressing himself against you, the finality of having you in his arms coursing a magma-hot sear through his blood. His knee rests between your legs, an arm caged around your upper back, caressing and rubbing in a feverish frenzy, bundling the fabric of your clothes into desperate fists while the other rubs circles into your hip, tugging right at the waist of your pants. You feel it, the hot pulse of something down below, the strain of his cock pressing up against the seam of his jeans and by proxy, poking against your own body. “I.. Fucken’... Need you.” It’s said between kisses, slurred against your lips, “F’So… Long.. Too fucken’.. Shit-.. Too, mmph.. pussy to say-” That's when you cut him off, a sweet tug to his hair with one hand and a cup to his chin with the other, tippy-toeing your way to press against him, kissing up, chasing his mouth.

“Shh..” You soothe, your own desperation showing as your palms come down to massage his shoulders, caressing up and down his chest over the sheeny smooth fabric of his button down. Your fingers trace against his collar, dipping past the edge of his shirt, already slightly unbuttoned from the top to show off the silver chain of his necklace. Another swear comes from his pierced lips, hands leaving your body for barely a moment for him to tug at the strip of fabric housing the plastic buttons, pulling the poor placket open with a needy tug, losing at least one rounded badge with a snap, the poor little thing landing on the floor with a bounce before it was forgotten completely. His chest was exposed, milky skin bright enough to see in the dim light, sparsely dotted moles dancing over his otherwise clear skin. It's warm against your touch, tacky with the rise of sweet arousal, in the beginning stages of working up a heated sweat.

His hands are back on your body, reaching for the hem of the ‘ugly sweater’ you’d picked out for the night, decorated with kitschy Holiday motifs sewn into the knit. It was one of your last layers you wore to the party that night, a warm and cuddly jumper and scarf left to sit in a neat pile. Off it came with a tug over your head before his bare hands were on your skin, forcing sweet shivers in every spot he touched, sparking like needle pricks with every squeeze and brush. His lips brush into your neck with open mouthed kisses, bites and bruises peppered into your skin- Your nails dig into his shoulder, dragging down his front before your palms flatten, taking in the feeling of his body against your fingertips. “Sebastian~.. Mmnn..” Your head tilts back with a sweet chirpy moan, giving the man all the access he could ever want to your body, thoughts swirling behind your closed eyes, dizzy with the slur of alcohol inebriating your finer thinking ability. Yoba, you didn’t care- Couldn't care less towards the fact.

Sebastian bites against the strap of your bra, the elastic snapping against your shoulder before he mouths at your collar bone, sinking down to the valley of your breasts, bent over to press tender kisses and love bites into the once untouched and hidden skin. You reach back and fumble with the clasp of your bra, picking at the stubborn latch to free your tits, feeling the wet spit of his kisses linger coolly with the huff of his breath.

“Hahh.. Shit..” His voice pipes up again. Kisses come back up, arms wrapping snug around your body to squeeze you into him, tits squishing into his nude chest all soft and pretty, the rougher poke of his necklace making an imprint into your skin. His hands are grabby, arms flexing to hug and pull at you, teeth sinking into your neck, over your collarbones, wet kisses smothered up your jaw to your awaiting lips.

“S-Seb-!” He only groans in response, head nodding as if to say ‘I Know,’ pierced lips dragging into your skin with the movement. Your hands grab his face, cupping his jaw on either side, thumbs caressing in rough swipes, feeling the subtle grain of his shaved face under the pads of them. You grab back at him, palm sliding down his neck, massaging into the bob of his Adam’s apple, against the slope of his shoulder into that tender trap muscle, skin soft with peach fuzz until you move to his chest, feeling the slightest wiry rough of chest hair, barely enough to frame his torso. You rub the expanse of his chest, hands between your pressed bodies, kissing hot and sloppy, tongues swirling, lips fully parting to moan into his mouth as your thumb brushes over his bare nipple, feeling the hard metal of a piercing. It sends a thick course of arousal to your core, throbbing behind the press of your pants. 

You squirm, rubbing your thighs together for a sweet release, anything to feel the sticky heat of friction against your budding arousal- Yoba you don’t have to chase it though. 

It's like he reads your mind, his hand allowing itself to press between your legs, long and dexterous ring-clad fingers pushing against your mound in a caress, palm pressing richly hot pressure against your clit. Your lips part in another moan, eyes rolling softly, allowing your lashes to flutter into a dreamy close, body melting as if you were moulded out of thick molasses. Things were getting hotter - Heavier - Pleasures beginning to spark under fingers and they soothe and caress, as Sebastian’s palm grounds rough at the seam of your pants, fingertips pressing their pads against your clothed fluttering hole. Your lips part from his with a breathy gasp, his name hot on your tongue, barely whispered, those syllables rounded as you suck air into your starving lungs. Yoba, it's all you can say - A mantra of his name over and over with every few seconds, spewing from your lips as if you knew nothing else. 

He breathes your own name back to you, rasped off of his pierced tongue before his kisses are on your throat, nose nuzzling in slow shakes of his head. His hand comes up, swiping the button to your pants with his thumb and forefinger, zipping down the fly enough for him to connect closer - His fingers dip behind your panties, the taught elastic band surely digging into the back of his hand as he glides his digits over your drooly folds. He outwardly groans, another ‘Fuck’ grit through his teeth. You whimper, head leaning into him for comfort, thighs squishing around his teasing hand. Ohhh that was it- The sweet dip of his long middle finger sinking into your wetness, past the weepy ring of your cunt, coated in sweet drool as he dares to curl. You bite into your bottom lip, a long and keened hum following his actions.

“God- Yoba..” He stains, his finger working its magic, curling sweet caresses, a beckoning of ‘come here, come here!’ over and over again. “You’re so.. Fuck- so wet..” He says in bewilderment, tongue running over his kiss-bitten lips, past the metal pierced through them. You nod, an ‘All f’you’ about to drip off of your tongue if it weren't for the grind of his palm sparking a delicious pressure against your clit- Instead you moan, a pathetic affirmation of a noise whining out. One became two, the slip of his ring finger clad with a ring, in fact, easily being stained with the sweet and creamy nectar of your cunt.

Oh, how he works them into you. Cupping your pussy with his lean hand, lengthy fingers rolling sweet curls against the gummy little spot inside of you, giving you his palm to grind back on, lips kissing at the top of your head, huffing an enamoured chuckle each time you clench your squishy thighs against the bone of his wrist and the dig of his bracelets. Yoba, it forces him to be rougher with you, a game to push past the tight trap of your thighs, free himself from the confines all so he could fuck into you. You look up at him, eyes glassy from the abuse of his fingers, pressing right where you needed him. You flutter a blink, bubbles of tears threatening to fall past your bottom lash, doe and unfocused with a pouty bite to your lip.

“Hohhh.. Fuck, that's it.” He holds you into him as your legs go jelly-soft, a hot wash of ditzy dizziness creeping up your knees as his fingers fuck and curl. He stares right at you, brows furrowed in an upward pinch, a tug of a frown born out of hot arousal and focus appearing right at the corner of his lip. Your breaths hitch, rapid, in pace with a sinful hiccup tainting any feeble attempt at speaking-

“Seb.. ast-tian~” It's almost like a warning, sharp with arousal and stuttered in pleasure, breathed inward as you gasp, hands fisting into the fabric of his open button-down like a lifeline.

“Hmmn?” He hums with a nod - Right there. Sebastian was right where you needed him, his fingers mashing into that supple little spot inside of you, that sweet and spongy swell that had your brain all foggy. “What is it, Princess..?” The name alone had you melting further than you thought was possible, your entire body rippling with a sensation that felt as though you were on fire. Your fingers tighten on the fabric of his shirt, chin tilting up in a desperate plea, lip bitten raw and in need of more kisses.

Of course, he obliges, hearing your begs despite the lack of a peep chirped from your throat - Slow and deep - That's how he kisses you. Capturing your lips with a sweet bite of teeth, tongue caressing your own with a loving lick, out of time with the hot and feverish way his fingers fuck your cunt. The juxtaposition only adds to the wobble in your body, coming closer and closer to the very edge, moans drunk up by his lips, swallowed with a happy humming in his throat. One hand comes off of his shirt collar, fingers curling around Sebastian's arm, your soft palm feeling the bump of his wrist bone press into it, greedily pushing him into you while your hips hump back on his digits.

“I..- I’m.!” You can barely formulate your sentences, whipped thicker than cream under his spell, the sinful caress of his fingers beckoning in your cunt.

“Fuckk, Babe.. S’okay- I gotcha’..” Sebastian promises. You cling to him for dear life, your body leaning its weight against him, pushing him further into the wedge of shelves supporting the both of you. You feel it, that spark right at the bottom of your tummy, twisting and turning, firing into ignition as your thighs clench and squirm. So close- So, so close!

Any attempt at a legible sentence is easily cut with a gaspy whimper, crying out as you cream over his knuckles, properly messing up the fabric of your panties with gushy slick, bleeding pat and surely leaving a messy wet spot on your pants. Even with the taut press of your waistband limiting the man’s movements, he doesn't let up, curing those lengthy fingers through the rush of your orgasm, feeling the clenchy release lovingly pulse on his knuckles. He works you through it, eyes wide and enamoured with the way he had you, closer than arm's length, the sole reason for the sweet bliss that rushed through your body - “Shit- That's it.. Thaaat’s it- Fuck.. Look at me.. Look at me-” You obey, fucked out eyes flicking up to his, seeing the wash of arousal pool and swirl behind his dark lashes, his lip bitten bruised as he focuses on you, enamoured. “Feels good? Hmmn?” He nearly begs for reassurance, huffing a relieved laugh when you nod, your body twitching with each sweet pulse.

His lips attack yours, hungry and hot, throat groaning up a delicious noise you couldn’t help but eat up, body on fire with the way his palm rides you through the remnants of your hot burst of arousal. 

“Fuck..” His hand softens its press, fingers giving a last curl before he carefully pulls them from the confines of your pants. They're drenched and sticky, dribbles of arousal sticking to his fingers like a lattice, spider webbing with a sinful drip that had you clenching your thighs once again. It drips over his rings, cream and slick mixing with the precious metal, soaked knuckles curling as his lips part, tongue lapping a lick before they’re suckled into his mouth.

The groan he lets out is near animalistic, needy and punched from the depths of his lungs, his own arousal going painfully unnoticed only pressing harder and stricter against the seam of his jeans. The man murmurs, words raspy-hot on his tongue; “Need more of’ya-”

It felt almost comical to describe the next moments as a blur, but the post-orgasm airiness lingering in your boozed tipsy brain had your perception flicking with a whack of whiplash. Turned from your position, the skin of your naked back now pressing into a collection of forgotten Holiday decorations, a slight itch thanks to the plastic of a faux wreath. Your pants are tugged down, eager fingers hooking into your waistband and stripping you of your bottoms, it's a short fumble, hot and clumsy, the air within the closet turned stuffy with breath and sweet arousal-induced sweat. 

Hands are on you, flat palms squishing into the flesh of your bare thighs, fingers still slick, pressing their pads into the sensitive, rarely caressed skin - Thumbs daring to dig just enough to have you squirming. His lips are next, sharp with the bud of his piercings and the nips of his teeth, daring to suckle a bruising kiss against your inner thigh, piping up a squeak from your throat, another call of his name. You search for Sebastian in the dim, eyes focusing on the milk of his skin reflecting off of the crack of light, his being nestled comfortably between your legs. His dark hair parts with an affectionate caress of your fingers, looping themselves through his locks to pat him. He hums against your flesh, warm on your skin, breath moist with humidity born out of the hot and tacky stick of arousal leaching into the air from your bodies.

He smacks his lips on the skin of your thighs, itching up and up, further into the centre of your heat, nails digging loving crescent marks into your skin with every eager grope. He kisses against your bikini line, right by the taut elastic hugging at your upper leg, hiding away the sweetness of your cunt behind a wall of silky pantie fabric. He nuzzles his nose into the crevice connecting your thigh to torso, the point of it dragging over your clothed cunt with an affectionate press accompanied by a shameless inhale. Sebastian sighs something dreamy, lips peppering kisses that had your breath hitching, right over the mound of your heat - So pretty and accentuated with the tight and taught pull of your panties, outlining the swell of your pussy. Yoba, he swallows thick, gulping down saliva that dared to pool under his pierced tongue. 

Your arousal sticks to his lips, pooling a clear wet spot in your panties, a target for him to kiss at, to tentatively lick at, feeling the slick remnants of your previous orgasm wet on his tongue. He groans- More of that taste on his tongue, eyes heavy as they look up at you, washed over with need. Your fingers twitch, straining against his scalp, tugging his dark strands enough to have him diving right in.

His lips latch to your clothed cunt, impatient to get more of you on his tongue. The soft prick of his lip piercings press a spiky pressure on your sensitive mound, a reminder harsher than the eager lap of his tongue- Yoba.. Fuck- His tongue, strong and flat, licking between your pantie clad folds, adding his own drooly spit to the mess staining the poor fabric. His lips purse against your pussy as he indulges, eyes fluttered shut, thick, dark brows creased into an affectionate scrunch, full of focus.

“O-Ohhh.. Seb… I’m.. I need..” You breathe past the burn of your lungs, panting with jolty huffs each time his lips and tongue brush over the fabric covering the sensitive bud of your clit.

“Hmm.. Mhmmn-” He hums, smacking a harsh kiss before he pulls off, “Need to- Fuck, need my tongue on you. Gotta-” He shakes his head, kissing at his teeth with a ‘tut’ before his thumb dares to leave your thigh, hooking at the fabric of your panties in a motion to pull them aside. He looks to you, a thick gulp down his throat as he watches your head bob- Nod, nod, nod goes your head, almost in desperation to just feel him again, fingers curling in his hair, clenched with arousal and the budding frustration to just make him take you already. Yoba, he was sweet, though, the sentiment of him asking such things, checking in with a silent ask for consent, making your back teeth grit in hot enamourment.

Sebastian takes it, your gifting nod, and eagerly yanks your underwear to the side. His thumb pulls your panties taut, shifted aside to show off the wet glisten of your folds, gushy with your last orgasm, puffy and swollen thanks to the prior abuse of his fingers, good enough to kiss-

Obviously, he does. Planting a wet and obnoxious open-mouthed kiss to your budding clit, lips smacking together before he properly dives into you, selfishly savouring all the sweetly creamed arousal you had for him. You gasp, fingers tightening in the twirls of his hair, surely enough to leave a harsh sting but Yoba- It doesn't seem like he cares. If anything it spurs the man on, a hot groan erupting from his chest, lips parting, the prick of his piercings digging a delicious pressure into your cunt. He’s messy with you, hungry slurps uncaring of the vulgar noise - The sharp and uncomfortable itch of the Holiday wreath biting at your skin was incomparable to the searing hot pleasure ripped from your pussy, stinging with overstimulation, forcing an endless string of whines from your lips.

Your throat hiccups, panting hot swears and the syllables of his name, rounded easily from your lips as he takes to you. It's easy for another orgasm to threaten your body, the feeling eager to roll from your cunt, twisting sweet and stabby like a suckled on candy cane, licked into a pin-thin spike poking at your gut- Especially with the works of Sebastian's tongue, swirly with his movements, tongue fat and flat as the metal ball of his piercing kisses at the bud of your clit in his rhythmic laps. He’s vocal with you, only spurring you on; Sweet hums tainting each breath he sucked in, feeble attempts to get oxygen in his lungs. You’re not sure he cares, not with the hearty mash of his lips against your mound, pursed with a stingy-sweet suckle directed right against your clit, teeth grazing at the supple soft swell of your pussy. 

You can’t help the hot babble, the filthy cry you speak next, steadily rushing to the very edge- Wanting to just take him- Damn any refractory period, you needed to feel the pulsy stab of his length drilling you over the edge. 

“Fuck me- Please- please, please Sebby just- Ahhnn..~” You whine, fingers giving his hair some grace, opting to feverishly pet him, clumsy affection in your fingers as you work them in a soothe. “Want you- Want you so, so bad- Y’know? F’so long-” You don't have to convince him.

He pops off of your cunt- Not without leaving several plants of hot kisses, pecking hotly on your clit before he tugs your panties down. His cock comes free with the jangle of a belt buckle, the leather sliding from his belt loops with a zip, metal buckle daring to clank on the floor before he’s working at the button and zip of his fly. His lips kiss at yours, the taste of your cunt on his tongue, sweetly salty and drenched in arousal, twinged with the last remnants of spicy nicotine and cream-sweet eggnog, swapped with the swirly spitty lap of your tongues mingling together in a hot collide.

It feels like a hot blur, motions moving quickly, Sebastian's arm jutting as he fists his free cock- Weepy dribbly tip all swollen and pink, finally free from the tight seam of his jeans. You squirm, lips clumsy on his own, arousal knocking you into an instinct-driven motion, oh so needy, “Seb..- Please.. Fuck… Fuck me~” You beg, muted between hot kisses, words slurred with the lick of his tongue, cutting you off with his mouth.

You move in tandem, arms throwing themselves around his neck as he grips the squish of your thigh, lifting your leg to wrap around his lean hip, hooking you into him as he lines himself up. He pops off of your lips enough to breathe, murmuring filthy things against them, coated in hot spit and your sweet arousal; “M’gonna fuck you- Promise, God- Yoba I promise, Princess-” He throws more sweet pet names your way, “Wanted me? Hmm? Wanted- Fuck.. Wanted you f’so long..” He promises. You feel the pudge of his cock press to your cunt, sparking a drooly clench of your drippy hole. He grinds on you, hips rolling, tip weeping as if it were crying, dribbling its milky pre over your puffy clit, pathetically kissing against your folds as his hips rut.

“Fuuuuckkk..” The ring of your cunt hugs his tip, suckling him in as he finally makes an effort to press in, he groans out a moan, matching the supple whine of your throat as you take him. Slow and sweet was something that could surely come later- The pressing itch of desperation easily taking over between you. Heavy rolls turn into needy fucks, hips jutting, pudgy cock tip making love to your cervix, kissing hot and lovingly hard pecks against the sweet mush in the depths of your pussy.

It's easy for his hips to roll into you, the base of his cock pounding against your mound, grinding the wiry curls that decorated him into the sensitive bud of your clit. Plap, plap, plap goes his hips on yours, skin to skin, sticky and sweat sheened, tacky to the touch as your bodies collide. You brace one arm on a shelf behind you, swiping off any stray decorations with a clamouring clutter, mystery items bouncing off into the depths of the closet, rolling on the floor. Your other arm hangs loosely on his neck, doe eyes fucked out and glossed as they look up at him, lips parted sweetly, kiss bitten and spit-shined, captured in a heated tongue and teeth-filled kiss before Sebastian groans. 

“Everythin’ I fucken’ dreamed of-” It's said between gritted teeth, his gaze snapping from your wet eyes to your drooling cunt, huffing an arousal filled chuckled laced up in disbelief, seeing that drooly ring of cream coat over his length, making a mess between yourselves. “So fucking perfect- Fuhhhck m’not gonna last long- Hahh.” You nod in agreement, eyes closing, that bubble of tears falling down your cheeks with a streak. Closer and closer came the tight twist of your next orgasm, your poor and abused pussy clenching loving squeezes on his cock, spurred on with the hot sting of overstimulation- Your thigh cramped, spread over his hip for him, tits bouncing with every thrust, lungs stuck in a sweet burn.

Your skin sweats, lips drool, eyes blink all glossy and dumb, brain firing off every time you have the pleasure of looking at him- Closer, closer - Your clit throbs, hips pathetically humping back into his fucks, chasing the hot high that threatened to gush!

There's sudden laughter, slurred and obnoxious, rasped from an all-too-happy voice. It leaks from beneath the crack in the door, the outside world leaching into your little space, a phantom chill washing over your body as if the door has swung open to the fresh fall of snow that blanketed the street. A crash occurs, a feminine voice scolding someone, furniture scraping against the wood floor of the outside. You hadn't noticed your attention had wandered, not until Sebastian grips your chin, turning you back to lock into another searing kiss-

“Oiii-” A fist bashes against the door, rattling the thing on its hinges. Sebastian’s hand moves, coming between your legs to rub at your poor bud- The fiery thrill of a threat- A burning fear of being caught by a drunken Sam had your body twitching. Sebastian seemed to feel the same, making something of a challenge to get you off before the blonde had the audacity to finally clear the doorway. “Ha- ‘ave you kissed yet?” Yoba knows you’ve done so much more.

Sebastian presses you harder into the shelves, hips snapping rough, filthy words spat into your ears as his hand worked overtime on your poor clit- His hips roll sloppily, breathes coming into a hard and slow pant, huffing in your ear- “Fuck.. M’ Gonna fucken’ cum- Yeah? G-Gonna take it? Hmmn? Look so pretty like this-” he babbles, tone heavy in his throat. “Gonna make it up t’you- Yeah? Promise.. Hnng fuck- P-Promise..” His fucks turn snappy, jut, jut, jutting- Punching at your poor cervix, cunt mashing against the base of his cock.

“Seb- As.. Tian~” You choke, head lulling back with an eye roll, teeth biting into your lips as you finally gush again, wetting his cock with a weepy clench of your pussy, filthily kissing at his length, adding to the wonderful mess between your legs. So sweet and squeezy, your velvety walls massage the length of his cock as you cum, pussy suckling him in, inviting the hot pulse of his own orgasm with a loving hug.

His hips snap in sharp staccatos, throat stuck in a perpetual growl with each lingering fuck as he spurts. He creams into you, hot and ropey filling up the depths of your sweetness, milked off by your squeezing. His sweaty forehead comes to rest in the crook of your neck, fingers holding your thigh up squeezing a grab, a stingy dig of his nails leaving desperate crescent marks behind. He rasps a drawn-out groan, nosing into the tacky, sweaty skin of your neck, mouthy kisses back on your shoulder, just adding to the bitey kiss marks he’d left on you already.

You jolt when another knock rasps against the door, sloppy and full, thunks formed by a fist connecting to the wood. “Alright, you guys, you've definitely been in there long-e-fucking-nough." Sam’s voice calls with a snort, a failed attempt at stifling his laughter. “Don’ make me open this door~” He sings.

The fumble for clothes and the accidental collide of foreheads seemed worth it all - Especially when you roll over and see the man now in your bed, chest rising and falling as he sleeps, more bruises kissed into both of your skin, all sticky and spent, a shower surely in order by the time morning came. For now, you bask in the luxury of resting your head on Sebastian’s chest, lulled to sleep by the dull ache in your legs and the tipsy swirl of spiked eggnog settling in your stomach.

[ddarker-dreams]

missing scarlet ribbons so bad… brain food for SR: confined space stand that lowkey locks SR reader in a really small alternate dimension space with the bucci gang. like… chest to chest on top like “aughh sorry!! its so cramped in here :((“ and the guys r j internally screaming over it

RETURNING WITH SOME SCARLET RIBBONS !!!!!!!!!!!! i love them your honor <33333333

[Scarlet Ribbons index]

Although Giorno recognizes this predicament's unique benefits, he still prioritizes your well-being. He will check you over, ensuring no harm has been inflicted. Once that’s settled, admittedly, a few mischievous thoughts flit through his mind… none that he’ll act on, however. He accommodates you to the best of his ability. Ever the opportunist, he’ll gratefully accept any physical contact your shuffling around results in. Should you find yourself bored while waiting out the Stand’s effects, he’ll humor (most) requests you make of Gold Experience. And no, he won’t agree to create an elephant, no matter how passionately you plead your case. You’ll have to settle for a duckling or something similarly small. Capybaras aren’t off the table. 

Your level-headed leader, Bruno, finds himself unusually flustered. He recoils a bit too fast from any contact and dedicates a lengthy chunk of time to clearing his throat. He steels his nerves by asking if you’re alright, feeling any adverse side effects, etc. Sticky Fingers is summoned to check for a way out of this pocket dimension, an idea that’s proven implausible. You’ll both have to wait it out. Bruno gives you as much space as he can, to the point his contortions are stressing you out from how uncomfortable they must be. He almost chokes when you offhandedly suggest sitting on his lap to ‘free up space.’ Poor man. 

Fugo’s irritated over the fight’s outcome. He feels useless, since your presence prevents him from utilizing Purple Haze, lest you fall victim to the Stand’s abilities. He critiques your strategies and lists what you should’ve done differently. Don’t take it personally — internally, he’s berating himself for being unable to do more. The self-loathing steadily fades away as he recognizes how close these accommodations have you. Fugo cuts himself off mid rant, sputtering incoherent gibberish. His heart starts beating so hard, he wonders if he might be going into cardiac arrest. Your knees are brushing against each other. Why aren’t you panicking? Why is he panicking? … And why does he feel some gratitude toward the Stand User responsibles for this? 

Narancia considers this a golden opportunity to prove how reliable (and cool!) he is. Will most likely quote an action hero for maximum effect. He reassures you that he’s ‘totally got this’ and suggests shooting the walls with Aerosmith to bust out. You have to talk him out of this brilliant plan, reminding him that ricochet is a thing. Sitting still and waiting for the Stand’s ability to run its course hits him the hardest. He wants to be proactive, primed to pummel the asshole that got you both in this situation. However, your presence greatly decreases the likelihood he’ll do anything rash. At a certain point, he finds the whole thing kinda cool, like a secret base only you two know about. 

Mista used to pray for days like these. He’s thanking all the saints (that he can remember) for this gracious opportunity. Still, he’s mindful of your boundaries, doing his best not to intrude on your space. He will be inhaling your perfume, though. In copious amounts. While escape should be a high priority, seeing as neither of you are dying, he’s rather chill about the entire ordeal. You’re his favorite person to goof around with. He jokes about offering himself up if you’re stuck here long enough for starvation to kick in. You don’t get why his mind always ends up in a Hannibal-Lecter-esque place, but it’s a nice (?) sentiment. The Stand’s ability ends far too fast for his liking. 

Abbacchio is secretly grateful it’s you he’s stuck with and not some other schmuck. He might give you a hard time, but your presence is tolerable, even if you have a proclivity for yapping. The fact that you’re nice on the eyes is an added bonus. Considering his height, it’s impossible for you to have absolutely zero contact. Abbacchio’s always been tough on himself — he wouldn’t blame you if you were repulsed by him. So for you not to shrink away when your hands touch… it warms his heart in a way he hadn’t thought possible. He’ll humor your musings, adding his own dry wit on the occasion until you’re both freed.