#album flash sheet

[frank-enweenie]

In the wind and rain // Make me new again.

Past Lives by L.S Dunes

[slowdivinqs]

Golden

Summary: A Sunday afternoon on your farm with Joel.

WC: 4K

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Soft, dorky Joel. We pretend Abby and Joel chatted it out. Joel and JJ moments. Breeding ( ? ) kink. Oral sex f! receiving. PinV. In da farm house we’re in love baby! Joel doing physical labor…yeah. Can imagine Pedro or game Joel. Reader can paint!

A/N: I just wanted to give a HUGE thank you for all the love, kind words and support on Magnetism! You all melt my heart. Thank you! I’m not so happy with the smut in this but whatever :,)

The Sade record crackles before your favorite song on the album begins drifting through the air. The birthday gift Joel gave you last year that made hot tears fall out of your eyes, just like him when you gave him a painting of Sarah and Ellie for his birthday that hangs in his woodworking space. Your birthday last year ended with 8 hours spent in the sheets, passed out by the end of it, Joel with a sore back for a week - yet claims it was worth it.

You look up at him right now, peering outside the large kitchen windows and spotting him pulling out carrots, in a tight shirt and his work jeans, arms flexing at the particularly stubborn ones. Banjo following along and sniffing inside Joel’s wicker basket filled with vegetables, his tail smacking into Joel’s side. Rosie and Posie bleating in the distance, their fuzzy woolen coats glowing in the sun, seeming to also take an interest in watching Joel work, just like you.

You hear Banjo’s excited barks before Joel closes the dog's mouth shut with his hand playfully, shaking Banjo’s head side to side lightly, riling him up. The sun starts to set behind them, past the fence surrounding your ranch, behind the tall Wyoming mountains. Orange, pink, and yellow, exploding in waves. The bees returning to their hives from the flower box in front of the kitchen windows．

You laugh when Banjo manages to knock Joel over lightly, the two tumbling onto the grass. Joel laughs too, holding the border collie back with his forearm as he tries to lick Joel’s face with all his might.

You smile to yourself as you get back to work, just as Sade starts singing about ‘his hands’ and ‘the way the mountains look’. Lost in the haze of measuring out ingredients, 2 and 3 quarter cups flour, a quarter cup of sugar. Feeling the weight of the ingredients slide into the bowl. Just as you see Joel slowly walk towards the chicken coup, Banjo waiting in the grass - knowing he’s not allowed there.

Milk and salt are next, and you drift over to the fridge to grab the milk, your long white skirt, embraced with abstract flowery patterns flows against your bare ankles as your toes feel the comforting wooden floors of your warm farm home that Joel made sure to install after you mindlessly talked about your love for warm wooden accents. Sat a 20-minute walk outside the walls of Jackson, a small distance away from Ellie’s farm, closer to the lush woods atop the hills.

As you settle back by the kitchen counter, lit up by warm - almost honey-colored rays of sunlight, you try to spot Joel amongst the chickens, but he seems to have vanished, Banjo too.

You glance around surprised for a moment, your eyes flitting from the coup to the vegetable patches, to the flower beds he planted for you, the fairy garden that he denies he took part in yet carved all of the little toadstool homes for you, and Ellie to paint, and even to Old Beardy grazing in the distance, yet Joel is nowhere to be found.

You even turn to the back door, yet there’s no sign of your man. How can a big teddy bear like him disappear in less than a minute?

You jump and let out an embarrassing squeak as a sudden flash of salt and pepper pops up right on the other side of the window pane. You clutch a hand over your chest as Joel’s face comes into view, his cheeky smile and scruffy beard. Utterly pleased with himself at his success in startling you.

You glare at him half-heartedly, trying to hide the smile that’s inching up your face.

He reaches into one of the large pockets in his jeans, and your attempt at hiding your smile fails when he pulls out a little yellow chick. He lifts it to your view, the little fluff ball wiggling and chirping, looking tiny in Joel’s large, dirty palms. His smile grows wider and tender as he sees you beam at the sight through the window.

He scratches the chick’s head with one of his fingers before walking back to reunite the yellow baby with its mama.

You laugh to yourself at his antics. At a grown, grizzly man, surprising you with a baby chicken. He’s a dork and doesn’t deny the allegations when they’re thrown his way.

Banjo runs circles around the vegetable garden just as the back door opens, closing softly with a click. Joel’s heavy footfall, accentuated by his boots, sounds behind you, getting softer as he heads to the guest bathroom. The house creaks and groans as the water turns on. You’re back to baking.

“Smells real good.”

He hums, his, now soft, footfall appearing once again as he approaches from behind you, burying his face in your neck and sniffling dramatically, you feel his wet beard and hair drip onto your neck, giving you goosies. He’s splashed his face and washed his hands, probably so he can distract you without your scolding.

“Me or the food, old man?” You ask with a smile, continuing to knead the dough.

“‘Mm, both.” He hums, rubbing his facial hair against your neck like a cat. You suspect he might start purring soon. It’s not unlike him, even though he ignores you when you tell him that he basically purrs while snuggling against your chest as you read whatever novel you two have picked aloud to him in the evenings.

“Cinnamon rolls, bread’s in the often.” You hum, tilting your head to the side so he can keep giving you his beard scratches. He starts nibbling too now. You sway your hips slightly to the music, and the way his hands fall to your hips tells you all you need to know.

“Cinnamon rolls.” He repeats amused, smiling against your skin, nibbling again to make you tut at him, grinning when you do.

“Ellie and Dina are comin’ over later.” You say as you grab the jar of cinnamon on the shelf, leaving Joel to step back and watch.

“They bringin’ JJ?” Joel asks, voice loosing his husky tiredness and instead replaced with a lighter sound.

“Yes baby, they’re bringing JJ.” You say with a soft smile, looking back at him only to find he’s disappeared once more. That man is silent as a mouse usually - a habit you suppose. Although, whenever he walks into the house, he does three stomps of his boots - just to make sure you know it’s him. He may have gone soft, but there are some things time will never strip away entirely. His knack for safety is one of them.

Just as you’re finished adding all the wet ingredients to your dry ones, you hear Joel in the living room lowering a box, a few things spilling out. An obnoxious squeak of a toy - you think it’s banjo’s plastic chicken that Joel hid away after the noise drove Joel so insane he accidentally beheaded a cowboy carving he was working on for a month. You catch Banjo’s head shoot up as if he got a sense that his long-lost soulmate is near. Joel hides the chicken away again quickly.

He’s brought out the small bundle of toys you two own - JJ’s toy box - Joel calls it, even made one of those shape sorters and toy soldiers for the little boy to play with, and asked you to paint them when he was done, as he does most of his carvings.

This is the one thing Joel doesn’t try to hide his excitement about. Whenever he sees JJ, or ‘potato’ as Ellie calls him, they might as well be the only people in the world. You think it’s the sweetest thing, makes you want to beg him to have a potato of your own, your body going into overdrive imagining how he’d look at your child while putting them to sleep, how he’d kiss their forehead softly.

Joel begins to organize the toys, placing the few dinosaurs, soldiers, and stuffed animals in a battle scene. The soldiers are apparently no match for the fluffy bear, as he’s flung them around in defeat.

Never did you think you’d see the day that Joel Miller would organize a battle scene between stuffed animals and wooden soldiers, just to see JJ’s face light up in excitement - like the little boy's face doesn’t already do that when he just sees Joel as the front door opens.

You manage to pull your eyes away and start folding your dough. Smiling to yourself at your sweet sweet man. Your stomach swoops the more you think, kneading the dough mindlessly as you’re painfully reminded how badly you want it. How badly you want him to pump you full, make you swell. You don’t even notice how your eyes have gone hazy, kneading the dough harder and harder until you jump at Joel’s big hands cupping your wrists from behind, pulling them upwards slightly to relax them. His beard tickles the fly always at the back of your neck as he kisses the soft skin there.

“What’s got my lady all worked up, hm?” He murmurs against your neck, kissing down the side and inhaling, almost like he wants to brand himself with you.

“You.” You whisper shakily, squeezing the dough slightly like an anchor. You feel his cheeky, boyish smile against your skin, only for a moment before he replaces that smirk with a nibble.

“Me?” He asked softly, planting his chin over your shoulder to watch as you ‘work’, definitely not to watch the way his calloused hands cup over your tits. The dough between your palms is the only thing keeping you stable right now.

“Yes, you.” It’s a breathy whisper, and although he doesn’t see it - Joel already knows your eyes are drooping when you tip your head back slightly, able to breathe in that perfect scent of him after he’s spent the day working in the sun. The musk that is uniquely Joel, that screams man man man.

“Don’t know what you mean, honey bee.” He hums, his mouth ghosting over your earlobe just as his thumbs circle over where your nipples are unfortunately hidden away from him. He knows exactly what you mean.

“Why don’t you head South and find out then, cowboy?” You tease, expecting a playful slap and pinch of your ass before he wanders off to the shower, but instead, you find his hands, then his whole self sliding down down down until his knees plant themselves on the floor.

“Gonna let me spoil my desert?” He hums, his hands sliding slowly up from your ankles, bringing your skirt with them, until he can see the little cotton-lace panties that are hidden underneath. He bites the soft swell of your right asscheek that the cotton doesn’t cover.

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip softly as you arch your back slightly, leaning your weight on the dough, squeezing harder as the soft caress of your thighs leaves you dripping - more so than before.

“You know I’d let you do anything.” You whisper to him, and it’s all he needs before you feel his calloused fingers on your lower back, sinking into your underwear before dragging them down, burying his head under your skirt.

He throws your panties somewhere, with a proper flick of his wrist. You can see them land somewhere in your periphery, the white lace discarded, very Joel-like in the most crude matter possible.

“Joel!-“ you begin to exclaim before his warm tongue parts your slick folds with an obscene sound. Slurping up the wetness he’s found as his calloused hands grip the front of your thighs. Squeezing tightly like it’ll let him get his tongue deeper into your pussy.

You almost want to laugh at what it must look like: his head buried under your long white skirt, like a ghost he probably dressed up as for Halloween. But fortunately for him, you can’t laugh when his mouth has sealed around the hood of your clit, when it’s hot hot hot and wet.

“Oh, Joel-” you moan in a breathless gasp, your head falling back and then forward as his tongue licks the underside of your clit, making you squeeze the poor dough for it’s life.

He groans into your pussy, tongue leaving your clit to lick side to side, sliding down your cunt until it’s breaching your drenched hole. His hands grip your ass-cheeks tightly, eating at you like it’s his last meal.

He pushes two of those thick fingers inside you, instantly curling forward so deliciously you think you might die. You lose your voice, moaning hoarsely as you clench around the intrusion. He starts moving his hand faster, paired with the suckling of his hot mouth on your clit, you’re not going to last much longer.

“Give it t’me baby- let me have it.” He whispers against you, and it’s his words that do it, as well as that final crook of his fingers that hit you right where you need him. You’re cumming with an intensity only he can give you. He slurps up all the wetness he can until you’re whining at him that it's ‘too much, too much’ and he stands. Gripping your chin between his thumb and pointer finger before kissing you deeply. Guiding his tongue into your mouth just as he had done your pussy.

“I love you.” He whispers against your lips, and your chest blooms, blinking up at him as he looks into your eyes with a calm tenderness like you’re exactly what he always dreamed of - like he lay awake at night as a little boy getting giddy at the thought that one day you might be real, and now you are, more importantly: you’re his, and he’s yours.

“I love you too.” You whisper back, kissing him once more before he’s once again lifting your hands from the dough, which now looks positively mixed from your absent-minded squeezing.

“‘M gonna go shower, baby.” He says softly, stepping back from you just as you turn to look at him.

“You’re gonna deny a woman her fun?” You ask with a raise of your eyebrow, looking down as he re-adjusts his jeans. His hands glancing at your ass before smirking at something you don’t see yet.

“You’ll get your fun later, baby.” He says with an amused smile, before he’s turning and heading upstairs. You sigh and look around the kitchen, laughing brightly as you see your panties dangling on the hook by the back door, how he flung them so far, you’ll never know.

There’s a knock at the door at 5pm sharp, and Joel bounds down the stairs before walking to the door, the creak of it sweet before the sounds of ‘hello!’ and ‘how’s it going, old man?’ ring through the house. You move away from the kitchen to great Dina and Ellie as they walk in, JJ already cooing excitedly in Joel’s arms as he hugs Dina, then Ellie from the side. Smiling widely at the little boy.

“Hey Els, Dina.” You say softly as Ellie gives you a tight squeeze, her mullet brushed neatly, most likely done by Dina. The Ellie you know would let her hair stick in every direction like the wild child she is and always will be.

“Smells good.” Ellie says softly, a hand on the small of Dina’s back before she’s walking to the kitchen to inspect what you’ve made. You see Ollie - JJ’s favorite toy elephant that Ellie won in the Jackson Fair at 19 - hanging out of her back pocket. You smile at the similarities between Joel and Ellie, clear that he raised her in subtle ways. The most obvious being her recent taking for boots, jeans and flannels. She goes over to Joel and JJ after that, crouching behind Joel who’s sat on the carpet by his battle scene, giving him a bear hug from behind.

The afternoon is spent chatting away with Dina, Ellie occasionally chiming in, yet all three of you mainly watch Joel and JJ playing on the living room rug. Your home is filled with the delighted laughter of a child. Ellie joins in soon too, taking on the role of the toy dinosaurs which makes JJ shriek with laughter as they attack Joel’s stuffed bear, then Joel himself.

Everything is warm.

You all eat together. Roasted Venison with salad and bread, cinnamon rolls later that JJ tries to devour whole while sitting on Joel’s lap - similarly to Ellie who sneaks an extra two with Joel in the kitchen when they think their respective partners aren’t looking.

They stay in the small cottage outside which Joel made sure was perfect before their arrival. JJ and Dina fast asleep as you, Ellie and Joel find place on the couch watching some cheesy action movie that Ellie picked. Just like old times when she was a young teenager. She still leans against Joel’s shoulder all the same. Both of his girls in his arms as lights flash across the screen. You glance up at his face once, and smile when seeing he looks as happy as can be.

He deserves this, he deserves to be happy. Even if he might not believe it, you do, and you’ll let hell freeze over before you stop trying to make him happy.

Ellie bids you goodnight before going to curl up in bed with Dina and JJ. Similarly to the way Joel follows up the stairs behind you as you make your way to the bathroom to get ready for bed. Smirking at the twinkle in his eye you see as you pull out his favorite night dress of yours

You’ve just finished up in the bathroom when you walk back into your shared bedroom. Joel shucking off his shirt, leaving him in his boxers. You admire his broad back in the low light of the bedroom. The shadows dusting along his muscles like rivers.

You float up behind him this time, your nose pressed to the line down his back, hands wrapped around his stomach.

“I want one.” You whisper into the quiet night, and it feels like you’re the only two people in the world. He turns to face you - you rest your chin on his chest and look up at him.

“Want what, darlin’?” He whispers softly, his thumb running over the apple of your cheek as he breaths softly. You can hear his heart beating, in sync with yours.

“A baby.” You whisper, and it’s so silent, so quiet. His eyes glimmer and brighten, his breath bated as he looks down at you.

“You want that with me, sweet girl?” He whispers, his voice suddenly hoarse and thick.

“More than anything.”

He kisses you deeply, his hand burying at the hair on the back of your head. Cupping the bowl of your skull so tenderly you can feel his love for you pulse through your veins. Your arms wrap rest on his broad shoulders.

“Me too, baby. Me too.” He whispers, and emotion wraps around your throat, as you can tell it does his when you see the shine in his sweet eyes.

You fall to the bed together, his boxers discarded as he makes quick work of your night gown. Kissing along your breasts until you’re driven so positively crazy you need him to soothe it with his mouth.

Your hand wraps around his shaft and you gaze into his eyes as they flutter slightly at the sensation of your fingers, his own meet you there, guiding him inside you until you both gasp softly at the sensation. He lets his hips push in all the way moments after. Your walls grip around him, the thick, hot - length of him, pushing its way through you until he fits into the space he’s made for himself within you. The noise of your wetness clenching around his girth as he holds himself over you on his strong forearms is nothing short of one of Joel’s favorite erotic sound.

“I love you, I love you so damn much.” He whispers, his large - paw like hand cupping your skull as he grinds his pelvis against your pulsing clit, listening to the soft shk shk shk as his cock twitches inside you, pushing up against that spot inside you that turns you stupid.

“I love you too.” You whimper, barely able to think past the way your eyes are rolling. He hasn’t even thrusted yet. You don’t catch the way he’s gazing down at you, like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, like you own every part of his heart and soul, like you might as well be living and breathing within his ribcage : as if you’re the sole thing causing that glow he seems to have.

He starts moving, slow, deep slaps of his hips against yours. Holding you against him as you arch your back slightly, making sure he digs against that spot that drives you wild.

Your fingers dig red lines down his broad back. His head falling forward as he groans so deep and roughly you think you might die from being overly aroused. This man does things to you that you can’t even explain with words, your cries of pleasure seem to communicate it well enough though. Everything is hot and wet and sticky as he whispers into your ear.

“You’re gon’ be such a good mama- fuck darlin’ - take it, yeah-“ he groans into your ear, and your whole body shivers. You clench tighter around him, making his gasp slightly as his hand finds your clit. “Got me achin’ f’you all day baby-“ he whines - whines - into your ear, the soft skin of his balls drags against the curve of your ass, just like his tip dragging through your walls, taking you higher and higher until you can’t even hear the noises you’re making.

He rubs your clit harder, round and round on that pulsing nub until you open your eyes and see his disheveled face. Skin flushed, hair a mess, and his gaze fluttering as he moves his hips against you- his big strong body shining with sweat.

You’re done for.

You dig your heel into the soft flesh of his ass, pulling him closer and locking your legs around him, trapping him deep inside of you.

“Please cum inside me-“ you whimper, gazing into his eyes as he fights with all his might to make sure you cum first, his hand doesn’t let up on your clit, and you clench. “Please let me have it-“

His groan breaks into a soft whine as he drops onto his forearms, face right in front of yours, his nose bumping into your own. You can feel his harsh breaths against your swollen lips.

When you feel him start to fill you up on a slamming thrust, you cum with him, clenching tighter every time you feel one of his thick, sticky ropes shoot inside you while his cock twitches wildly inside you - his moans even sweeter than the sensation.

“Oh god, I love you-“ he whimpers, his moan cracking as you push him impossibly closer with your heel, his hands gripping the sheets next to your head for dear life. He kisses you messily, tiredly as you both lie there - sweaty and catching your breaths.

“I love you.” You whisper back to him, your hand running through his messy hair as you litter kisses along his damp forehead. He nuzzles into you like a big bear still inside you as he softens.

“You need somethin’?” He asks once he’s found his thoughts again, sitting up slightly before you pull him back down with an ‘oof ’.

“Just you.” You whisper back sleepily, your eyes closing shut as you bask in the feeling and love he gives you. You feel a soft kiss to your jaw. His hand splaying over your tummy.

“You got me, baby. Always.”

A/N: Thank you so much for reading ! ♡ please lmk if you enjoyed it and reblog if you did ◡̈

[ohimsummer]

BAD HABIT ft. BULLY! SATOSUGU

— minors dni, perverted!+bully! satosugu, uh light fluff? (mostly in the bonus?), mostly satoru x reader, fantasizing about smut (gojo), prob inaccurate college rep idc <3, pet names (princess, darling), explicit language, suggestive comments, some recording/photography, one mention of blackmail

summary; suffering exhaustion beneath a pile of college projects and exams wasn’t enough, now you’re stuck tutoring the most annoying men in the world. couldn’t hurt to take a little nap during it

wc 3.1k ??

The last few weeks have been long, nerve-wracking. It seems all your professors have co-conspired together to drop some kind of test or project, all worth a large portion of the grade and all due in the next month. Your nightly 8 hours of sleep have dwindled to a measly four, and of course, to top it all off, now your Bio Chem teacher has donned you the responsibility of tutoring Gojo and Geto indefinitely.

They had to have something to do with this, you just know it. Call it a wild hunch but there’s no way, of all the people in that class, a lot of which have higher grades than yours, that the professor would ask you to tutor Gojo and Geto. Maybe they slipped a few hundreds in the teacher’s hand or appealed to his emotions. Knowing the theatrics of Gojo, he probably gave the man big, puppy-dog eyes and crocodile tears during his fake pleas of ‘please, sir, we really want to pass this class!’.

A light knock on your door drags you out of your thoughts, followed by the familiar voice of a white-haired pest. “Knock, knock!”

You’ve been dreading 5PM since yesterday, the time they, and reluctantly you, had agreed on. Demanding they come to your dorm was akin to putting acid on your tongue, but going over to theirs like Geto’d offered would be like walking into the lion’s den.

They await you within the hall, and Gojo perks up immediately at the sight of you. He unwraps himself from Geto’s shoulders, and your suspicions that they don’t really need your knowledge only grow when you notice they’re both empty-handed, not a book or worksheet or even a flash card in sight. Though you can’t dwell on it for too long as Gojo’s immediately barging into the room.

“Princess, good to see ya!,” comes his boisterous greeting. “Nice place ya got here.” Entwined in his teasing compliment is a conniving tone; Gojo examines the various pink decor of your bedroom. “Should come by more often.”

“Negative.,” you snap with furrowed brows, terse and patience already wearing thin at Geto’s languid pace through the door.

He nears Gojo to study the photo album adorning your tack board, leaving you to prepare by getting out the needed textbooks. You ignore their childish whispers, giggles, points at the various pictures that contain you and your friends, though it causes a bout of unease to settle in your stomach. Hopping onto the tall bed, you scoot until your back’s to the wall, placing down a recently-made stack of notes and the class’s assigned textbooks. It’s a short hunt for the page you desire, somewhere lost in the middle because this professor jumped from subject to subject so often.

You clear your throat to signal it’s time to begin. “Okay. So–“

Already you’re off to a bad start as the textbook disappears from your grasp, now suspended above Gojo’s head, far out of your reach. “This looks super bo-oring!”

You spring away from the sheets, landing with a soft ‘thud’ and instantly move to crush his feet, or kick his knees in, or have him hunched over with a punch to the stomach, but your movements are halted by Geto’s sudden grasp on your waist. Head jerking to the side, you shoot him your deadliest stare, nails steadily sinking into his unfortunately clothed forearms.

“Let go.,” you bark and he doesn’t move a muscle.

“Pft. Aren’t you adorable?,” he murmurs into your neck, tone bathed in condescension. “Just relax, he’s joking.” Against your wriggling and squirming, Geto backsteps to the shiny wooden desk in your room, still clinging to your waist. “Have a seat, it’d do you some good to calm down a little.”

And before you know it, he’s descending into the cool comfort of your chair, dragging you with him to rest in his lap. Gojo slams the book shut and approaches your restrained, restless form, grinning wildly the whole time. He pushes you back to recline atop his friend, thoroughly amused at your continuous flailing. A round of delighted laughter leaves Gojo’s lips, especially at the childish kick of your legs that don’t reach the floor from your position.

“Would you let fucking go of me?,” you huff between grunts, only to be met with Geto’s thoughtful hum.

“I might when you relax.,” he finally speaks.

You twist around in Geto’s lap to jab an enraged finger at his broad chest, a disdainful scowl painted across your features. “Did you two come here to play, or did you come here to learn?”

Gojo reaches out to ruffle your hair, smirking when you slap his hand away. The book precariously wobbling on his fingertips begins to fall, caught by him at the last minute before it hits the floor. “Can’t we do a little bit of both?”

Your toes brush the rug as you scramble forward in Geto’s lap, promptly ignoring the growing hardness you feel on your behind. “If you two aren’t gonna take this seriously then get out of my room.”

Geto chuckles as Gojo heaves out a loud sigh, and holds the textbook out to you. “Fine, jeez, you’re such a little buzzkill.”

You leap up from Geto’s lap and snatch it back. “Shut the hell up and sit down.”

Tension seeps away as they obey without question. Geto claims your swiveling desk chair as Gojo flops down on the huge, pink carpet covering majority of the floor, and you settle back onto the bed, flip again to the designated page and begin going over your plans for today’s tutoring session. You can feel two pairs of eyes burning into you, but opt to just concentrate on dumbing down the material for them.

Gojo zones out immediately as you dive into the information. Ocean blue eyes catch onto the curves and dips of your body and admire the cute loungewear you have on. Snug, white shorts that hug your skin and ride up the crease of your plush thighs. He studies the curve of your ass long enough to realize he can spot pink panties barely showing through the translucent fabric. With the way you’re sitting, knees midway pulled to your chest, Gojo can see the outline of your pussy, and blood rushes to his dick as his mind goes haywire. Gojo visualizes a different scenario, one where he spikes that stupid textbook into the floor and fucks you senseless. He can imagine perfectly the look on your face as he pins you to a mattress, voice wavering through false bravado as you whine through plump lips at him to move. Complaining even though your rounded thighs are rubbing together to ease the ache of your cunt, a damp spot forming in the crotch of your shorts as Gojo peppers kisses along your neck. The view of your beautiful tits with perked nipples rubbing against his chest and driving Gojo insane until he rips the thin layers off, both the panties and shorts together to leave your glistening pussy bare for him, ready to be ravaged and abused by his cock–

“Gojo.” He hears his name, but it’s like someone calling him underwater. “Gojo.”

A sharp kick in the ribs and he’s at full attention. Geto snickers at him, still swiveling back and forward in the leather chair, and Gojo looks over to meet your sharp dagger of a glare over the textbook.

“It’d be nice if you could focus on me and not waste my time.,” you sigh in utter annoyance.

Gojo grins that boyish smile, one that makes you want slap it off his face but maybe also makes your heart stutter a tad. “Oh-ho, babe, I‘m always focused on you.”

His statement brings a warmth to your cheeks, but you’re an expert at pretending around Satoru Gojo. Rolling your eyes, you huff and backtrack on a couple paragraphs in an effort to catch him up. Less distractions for him to latch on to.

“I think I’d focus more if I wasn’t so lonely down here.,” he interrupts to sulk in your direction.

The look you give is like one a mother gives a disobeying child. “Okay? No one told you to sit down there.”

You regret the words as soon as they leave your mouth, especially since Gojo perks up at the sentence. “Oh, inviting me to sit on the throne with you, princess?”

Eyes widening in disbelief, you try to sputter out a ‘no!’, but Gojo’s already sprung up and leaping into bed next to you. “No takebacks!”

You frown, brows knitted as he gets a little too comfy, squishing your favorite stuffed animal in his arms and blinking a wide-eyed look at you. Geto eyes you two and continues slow swirls in the chair, getting slightly dizzier with each rotation, but at least he’s actually been taking in the information you’ve explained. Not that he needs your tutoring, he’s up there with you as one of the top students in this particular class. But it’s hard not to read your lips when he’s been shamelessly ogling them the past ten minutes.

Sighing in defeat, you allow Gojo to curl up next to you. It’s easy to feign his attention and he pretends to read over your shoulder, though his mind is anywhere but in this textbook. If anything, this was far worse. Being in such close proximity, your alluring scent threatens to drag him deeper into your space. Instead of focusing on your body or, you know, the material, now all Gojo can concentrate on is pinpointing the ingredients of your shampoo. It’s so familiar, right on the tip of his tongue…vanilla? Maybe, but he can also catch hints of strawberry in there somewhere. Perhaps if he was a little closer…

“Can you back off a little?,” you snap at him. “Damn, you’re almost on top of me.”

Gojo smirks. “I can be actually on top of y-“

“Anyways you two can look over this.,” you ignore his flirtatiousness and stand up to get away from him. “Since you apparently know this more than me. I don’t even get why y’all asked for tutoring if you weren’t gonna listen.”

And before Gojo can object, you teeter towards the edge of the bed, land on the soft rug, and head towards the mini fridge for a much-needed drink of water. It’s bad enough you were asked to tutor them when they clearly don’t care for it, but for them to actually come and then waste your time, too? Egregious. You have half a mind to kick both of them out and tell the professor they don’t need anyone’s damn help, much less yours.

You bend over for a cold water bottle, and in the few seconds it takes you to grab it, you swear you hear the faint sound of a camera click behind you. Quiet noises follow after, almost like they’re trying to have a conversation without you noticing, but it’s silent as you turn around to continue the lesson. They’re so fucking weird. Whatever.

Drawing near the bed, you steady a hand and make ready to hop back into place, only for a strong pair of hands to hoist you up and set you on the edge. You let out a soft ‘oh!’, sincerely taken aback, and turn to look at Gojo, who’s readjusting back into his original spot like nothing has happened.

“What?,” he asks. Something about the nonchalant upturn of his lips is different than his usual smirk. Something more genuine and less smug.

Doubt clouds your vision, tugs the corners of your lips down as you glance between him and Geto, who’s halted his endless chair twirling to give a curious tilt of his head. They eye eachother, and then you again; Geto has the smallest smile, seemingly unassuming but you’re skeptical of it nonetheless.

“Nothing.,” you decide to dismiss it because you’d only be setting yourself up for failure trying to explain why it was a problem. Besides, addressing it would only serve to fuel Gojo’s numerous efforts to throw everything off track. Maybe he was seriously just trying to help. Fine, no big deal.

You awkwardly flounder backwards, making sure to put a few more inches of space between you and Gojo. All to no avail since the second you settle your laptop upon your bare thighs, he instantly closes the gap. The radiating heat of his body sends warmth throughout your skin, exhaustion catching up to pierce through your bones, and you find yourself wanting to swaddle up within blankets and go to sleep.

“The professor has a few study guides on the website.,” you yawn, keys clicking beneath your fingers until the aforementioned pdf file is loading down the screen. “Hundreds of questions but a lot of this stuff will be on the final, so it’d be helpful to study it all.”

Your eyelids flutter, and next is Gojo’s low voice in your ear. “Tired, princess? I thought you were supposed to be teaching us.”

His warm breath raises goosebumps on your skin, and you suddenly notice how cold this room is. “Fuck off.,” you mutter, shortly followed up by both their chuckling.

“Told you to relax.,” Geto voices in the most ‘told ya so’ tone ever. “Get some rest, we can take it from here, and we’ll wake you if we need something.”

It’s a bad idea, you know it’s a bad idea, but…you can’t help succumbing to a little nap. The past several days have worn you thin, and despite not trusting these two to find a drunk in a bar, let alone have unsupervised access to your room, the promise of a little sleep is tempting. You are exhausted so, against your better judgement, you bank on the fact that they have the potential of grown, mature men who won’t get up to something nefarious while you rest your eyes for a little. Surely it couldn’t hurt to put the slightest amount of trust in them, and you allow your vision to fade.

During your catnap, you have the poor luck to dream of school. Studying, finals, projects, classes, anything related to college, you conjured up an even more miserable version of it in your dream state. Though in one dream you cuddle that stuffed animal Satoru grabbed from your bed, so that’s a plus. In the dream it’s warm, snuggly, fuzzy. You smother it in your arms, bury your face into it to inhale the smell of it, a scent you’re infatuated with. You vaguely recognize it in your sleep, it smells so much like…

You awake to the jostling of your shoulders. Someone, two people actually, are talking, maybe to you? What are your whereabouts, actually?

“Ah, there she is!” The familiar voice sounds vague and foggy, loud but far away. “Have a good nap, princess?”

Harsh light beams into your eyes, tampering with the return of your sight. You hover a hand over your forehead to shield your face, peering around in a hope to get your bearings.

“I think she’s still half-asleep.,” another voice whispers, and then says louder, “Take your time, darling.”

Everything is bleary, but you can just make out the details of your room. There’s your fridge over on the opposite wall, the lamp on your desk, speaking of which, who’s in your chair? You start to sit up, wondering in the back of your mind when you laid down to begin with, utterly bewildered when you feel something, a hand, firm and warm on the bare skin of your hip. Pink bedsheets, white dorm walls, your legs, someone else’s legs stretched out beside yours…A chuckle rings somewhere to your right as you gape at these seemingly disembodied legs. Your gaze trails up to see they’re attached to a waist, a chest, a pair of arms, and then your eyes fall on the face.

“G–!”, you hesitate, stumbling backwards away from Gojo who laughs maniacally. “Get off me, Gojo!”

He scoffs, Geto huffs a laugh somewhere in the room. “You were the one laying all up under me, actually.”

“I was not!”

“You so were,” he argues, giddiness in his voice. “You were allll over me, baby. Hugging my arm, rubbing my chest, all of it. Wanna see the video?”

You gasp out, “Vi–? Video?”

Gojo fiddles around on his phone. “Yeah, check it out, sweet cheeks!”

He holds the phone out to you, and a large, empty feeling plummets to the bottom of your stomach. You, spooning him, a betraying smile spread on your lips as you nuzzle Gojo’s chest, completely oblivious to your surroundings. His hand snaked around your waist, fingers occasionally playing with the hem of your shirt or ducking beneath to pinch your hips. You whine when he does so, and in the video you see the stutter of his body, hear traces of his quiet laughter. The phone currently shakes in Gojo’s grasp from his endless giggling.

“Delete it!,” you stammer in complete disbelief. “Pervert!”

“Pervert?,” Gojo repeats your accusation. “You’re the one feeling me up in the video!”

“Get y’all’s asses out of my room!,” you shout at them, leaping to the floor to immediately escort them out. “Both of you, now!”

Gojo glares, huffs, and does his signature pout, all the while Geto chuckles hysterically behind his palm. “How rude of my tutor to kick me out after falling asleep during the session on top of trying to seduce me!”

Geto chimes in before you can tell his friend to shut the fuck up. “Surely you can spare a few minutes to make up for that time?”

“No.,” you say bluntly. “Out.”

You watch in disapproval as they grab their things, foot tapping impatiently the whole time as you hold the door wide open for them to leave through. They take their time, eventually prompting you to just start shoving them out into the hall.

“So, same time tomorrow?,” Geto teases, stumbling through the doorway.

You grimace, giving them both a last push out of your room. “Absolutely not-“

“And get some rest too, while you’re at it.,” Gojo bids you farewell with one last aggravating comment.

“Whatever.,” and you slam the door in their faces, Satoru poking his tongue out at you with a wink.

bonus!

— It’s the early hours of the morning. Geto has long since passed out, but Satoru can’t seem to get a wink of sleep. The video replays in his mind, and he tries desperately to imagine the sensation of your body laying against him. No teasing, no sex, no filthy, perverted thoughts. Just the feeling of your head on his chest again, limbs haphazardly wrapped around him. The even sounds of your breathing, warm breath brushing over his collar. Such an adorable, peaceful look on your face when you’re not glaring at him and spouting insults in a rage. Yeah, he told Geto he was taking pictures and a video as some kind of future blackmail, but, truth be told, Satoru really just wanted them all for himself.

[crows4luna]

759 words. mature, no explicit content. gn!reader. allusions to having sex for the first time, reader identifying as aspec.

Gods, this was embarrassing.

You always berated yourself for feeling different from others, not seeing or understanding the pull of attraction that your friends ogled about. More often, that grimacing discomfort came up amid the overwhelming desires the public had over celebrities. Deep down, the detachment wasn’t from a place of malice or pure hatred.

You just… never had the explicit feel, so to speak.

Even in high school, through college, you thought of crushes as an obligatory part of your generational experiences. (For a brief moment, your mind flashes back to when you were gifted the latest album of your favorite boy band by some guy who was infatuated with you. It ended quick, lasting only for two weeks before you cut things off through text.)

Considering everything you’ve dealt with, you like to say you have refined tastes. It holds up in truth, for you were currently laying in Sylus’ lavish bed, clad in only his burgundy robe he often wore after showers. It was early morning in the N109 Zone, as much as a morning could show itself, and he had gotten up first. You couldn’t help but to let your gaze linger on his slightly sluggish form.

Sylus was everything you’d dreamt of and more, that sometimes he didn’t feel real. He knew the kind of man he was, confident of his status and power. Certainly, that played a part in how you two got off on the wrong foot when it came to your first meeting.

But now, he means everything to you. He means the world. Your heart was sated knowing the feeling was mutual.

He stretches his right arm across his chest, craning his head from side to side to even out the tensions in his shoulders. Your observation is a bit intense, but you can’t even blame yourself.

Sylus was already tall in his stature, maintaining a build that was the result of hard work and priority of physicality. The foundation of broad shoulders, followed by delicately contoured lines surrounding the center line of his back. A slim waist with slightly wider hips and defined, thick glutes. Though his back was facing you, your breath hitches knowing of the frontal plane of his abs and hardened, cushioned pecs.

He was captivating, and though his figure appeared godlike, blessed to even spare a glance, you’ve seen it in action countless times. The very same figure that protects you like a natural reflex, that trains with you to heighten your own senses and defense.

“I can feel your stare, sweetie,” his deep voice rumbles, a low, amused chuckle filling the room. “Enjoying the sight, are you?”

Quickly, you avert your gaze, curling in on yourself and now focusing on the tousled sheets of midnight silk. You clear your throat, speechless and overwhelmed that it is Sylus who dedicates himself to you. The heat that pools in your stomach makes itself evident when your cheeks warm up — then you feel a dip in the bed.

Your eyes flicker up, now face to face with those sharp, red eyes.

Sylus grins, tracing his finger over your jaw, “Don’t get shy on me, now. It’s quite alright—I like that you’re enjoying yourself.”

Damn it. Say something, you coward.

Cautiously, you lift your hand to cup his. The slow motion is familiar and tantalizing, practicing it the same way Sylus’ touch would linger on your skin. You’re perceptive to the way he inhales just slightly, anticipating your next move. The mystery of your initiation.

“I…” You begin to say, your voice nearing a whisper, “I think… I wanna try.”

He raises a brow, subtly smirking: “Try…?”

“Sylus, please. You know what I’m—it feels embarrassing to say.”

“We’re both adults, capable of voicing our thoughts and consent,” he surmises, shifting his hand away to lean into your palm. He lets his cheek rest for a second, before turning to press a soft kiss. “I told you before, I won’t make a move until you gain that confidence to tell me what you want. I want you to be honest with me, and only honest.”

Your expression softens, nodding slowly in understanding. You lean forward a bit more, now cupping his face with both hands. Your thumbs brush over the areas beneath his eyes, admiring him.

“...I want… you. To make me feel good.” You tell him, your voice firmer this time, contrary to moments ago, “I trust you. I want this, and I want you.”

He lets out a relaxed sigh, chuckling again. He nods, “Okay.”

[chr0llossexygf]

ON FILM

pairings; mean!ellie x fem reader

summary; spending countless nights wrapped in Ellie’s bed but not in her arms made you realise something. You want more, you’ve always wanted more. But Ellie doesn’t want more. Or maybe she does. But what if it’s too late?

cw; ellie is rlly mean :((, angst, guns, set in tlou universe!

“ Els could you pass me my shirt?” You ask sitting yourself up on your girl- well not girlfriend. Your friend with benefits? Not even, not like it was decided and talked between the two of you that you are friends with benefits. Does your relationship with Ellie even tick the boxes of a friends with benefits one? It has benefits, most definitely. Like now, when you're laying half naked on her fitted sheets, which are supposed to be tightly secured around the corners of the mattress, may have come loose as a result of you and Ellie making love or from how harshly she sprung from the bed the second you two came down from your highs.

A delicate and tender brush of the strings of her guitar is the answer you get, did she not hear you? It's not like you're far away. She's only a few feet away from you. Sitting on her worn out black rolling chair with her guitar placed delicately on her thighs. You watch as the auburn strands of her hair that were just in your hands a mere 5 minutes ago move softly with the gentle bopping of her head, as her skilled fingers sweep across the strings like they are the most fragile thing. Nothing compared to the roughness she displays on her fingers when they are touching your skin. “ Els-” The strum resonates with an unpleasant, off-key twang. 

She lets out a loud sigh. And suddenly, you're picking at the delicate skin of your palms. The same palms which were trying to feel the warmth of her palms only to be roughly grabbed and pinned above your head. With one hand gripping the neck of her guitar and the other resting over the strings she raises her head up. “ What?” She says with her eyes closed. You raise your hand and point at the dark green fabric laying down crumbled next to her feet. Ellie lets out a sigh as she bends over in her chair, grabbing your shirt and throwing it over to you. 

The shirt didn't even make the flight as it fell to the ground near the edge of the bed. You push your body towards the end of the bed, leaning over to pick up the shirt. The rough fabric of your shirt doesn't meet your fingertips, cold metal does. You raise an eyebrow in confusion as you pull your hand up. Your eyes widen and your lips part. “ Holy shit you have a polaroid camera Els?!” You energetically exclaim rotating the camera in your hand.

“ Yeah yeah.. Joel told me to start a photo album. Apparently-” She cuts herself off placing her guitar down on the floor gently against her table. “ Hey, you're still covering my shift for me this morning right?” She asks, leaning her body back against the backrest of her chair. Crossing her arms as her eyes are planted at your hands holding the camera.

“ pfft yeah- But oh my god this is so cool! I've been wanting one for so long! I've never had my picture taken-” You rotate the camera around towards you, your finger presses a button. “ No wait-” Ellie stands up from her chair, sending it flying back. Almost hitting a wall from the violent shove the chair has fallen victim to. There's a bright flash on your face, your lips puckered and your eyes widely opened. 

Ellie snatches the camera from your grasp. You furrow your eyebrows, your lips parted in surprise. “ E-Els what-” Your voice is high-pitched as your cheeks grow a slight shade of pink from shock. 

“ Damn it!” Ellie shouts, throwing the camera on the other side of the bed, away from you. Your head shoots around to look at the camera, afraid that it was gonna bounce off the bed and break into a hundred pieces. “ W-what are you doing-” She cuts you off.

“ No, what are you doing?! Jesus.” She shouts, putting a hand over her face. Harshly sliding her hand over her skin in frustration. You raise an eyebrow in confusion and tilt your head to the side, “ What did I do?” You ask your voice rising in pitch but growing weaker in volume. Like a child. 

Ellie throws her head back in annoyance, “ Do you have zero manners? Did your mom not teach you? You don't just grab someone's stuff and act like it's yours-” You shoot up from her bed quickly putting your shirt on, your lips are still parted in shock. Why is she so mad? 

“ Jesus Els i-it's just a picture.” You say crossing your arms, suddenly feeling insecure and small. Ellies pacing back and forth, letting out disgruntled cuss words under her breath. “ That was the last film I had- And now it's been wasted on you! It wasn't meant to be used on you damn it! Now where else am I gonna find more films!” She shouts, throwing herself on her chair. 

Ouch. You feel a sting in your heart. Actually no. A sting would be an understatement of the century compared to the hurt you feel in your heart. You feel sweat form on the back of your neck and your fingers immediately grabbing the ends of your worn out shirt. It feels like your heart was harshly grabbed and thrown into 50 layers of glass. Each little piece of glass  being every memory of you and Ellie in which she would treat you like a toy and the final big shard of glass piercing your heart through and through is this. Do you as a human being, as someone who searches for her in every crowd, as someone who looks at her whenever something funny happens during bar nights in Jackson, as someone who would be wrapped up in her sheets every other night have less value than polaroid film? 

You remain silent. The realization just now hitting you. The reality of the situation just now hitting you like a harsh tidal wave knocking you out on the sand. Your fingers which were nervously picking at the loose strings of your shirt suddenly stop. 

Your lack of response seems to anger Ellie more. “ You know what-” She shoots up from her chair and walks up to you. “ You're gonna find me more film today on your supply run. And your not coming back until you have it or whatever the fuck-” Her finger swats back and forth between the two of you. Just as she was about to open her mouth to throw more cruel words at you, there were 4 knocks on her door.

“ I don't wanna interrupt you two girls but Ellie, Jesse is looking for you.” A deep voice cut through like a worn, steadfast anchor falling down the depths of the ocean only to be pulled back as he mentioned Ellies name. 

Ellies body softens as she hears Joel speak. His voice snapping her out of her trance, her sudden fit of anger. She shakes her head and looks at you. Her eyes soften as she gazes into what usually are your warm and soft eyes now suddenly distant. As if a veil had descended over them. Her gaze, accustomed to finding solace in the familiar gentleness of  your eyes, in which she would hate to admit and despise herself for , now falters upon encountering their newfound coolness. Where once there had been an openness that mirrored the tender embrace of a summer breeze, now there lay a guardedness that spoke of unspoken burdens and distant thoughts. And it had all been her doing. 

“ Hey s-sweetheart- '' Her voice trembles at the nickname. And suddenly, you remember how her voice never trembles or shakes when she calls Dina or Cat sweet names. It 's just you. Do you disgust her so much you're not even worth the nickname. The sweet calling, the term of endearment which would usually make you melt. Not that she ever called you any sweet name. It's always Y/N or just ‘you’. And now that you've heard it. You never wanna hear it again.

“ It 's fine.” You whisper, scared that if you were to raise your voice just a note that you would break down. You gently push Ellie to the side, your shoulder hitting hers. Your voice, usually a beacon of exuberance, fell silent. It was as if the air around you had grown heavy with unspoken words and unshed tears, casting a solemn curtain over your once-cheerful demeanor. 

Your touch, once a balm against the trials of the day, met an unexpected resistance, a subtle tensing beneath the surface of your skin. Ellie felt it instantly. The fleeting hesitation in your shoulder, the barely perceptible shift in your posture. Where once there had been a seamless connection, a dance of harmony between your souls, now there lay a fragile distance. A silent rift that echoed with unspoken questions.

—-

“ You're unusually quiet.” Jesse says shoving the christmas mugs on the shelf of a store you two stumbled upon. His fingers wrapped delicately around the handles of the bright red,green, and white mugs. It's Christmas time in Jackson. Maria had sent you and Jesse on the hunt for christmas decoration. Not forgetting to repeat that if it's red it doesn't mean it's Christmas themed to Jesse at least 5 times. Or maybe it was more. You weren't exactly listening, your mind preoccupied with the Ellie situation. You feel your body tense up at the mention of her name.You feel something poke your knee, immediately looking down. You see Jesse's hand holding the mug nudging you.

“ Hey. You okay?” He speaks, his voice soft and gentle. You almost feel bad for zoning out on his rambles. Rambles that would usually be spewing out of your mouth. You nod your head smiling, “ Yeah no im alright- Hey uh.. do you think they've got like camera film in here?” 

Jesse laughs, shaking his head. “ Let me guess. Ellie has gotten you looking for film? Her fault for running out, she took like 30 of just Dina and Cat.” Jesse says standing up, turning around placing both of his hands on his hips looking around the store. He takes a deep breath in squinting his eyes trying to catch a glimpse of the store signs hanging above. “ Its too dark to see cus of these stupid lights but I think maybe-”

All you hear is static. Your entire body feels like it's being filled with static. You know that feeling, when your arm or leg is asleep and they feel too heavy to move and you just keep getting that stinging sensation. That's how your entire body feels. She took 30 of Dina and Cat. 30 pictures. 30 pictures of the flash hitting their face. 30 pictures of them doing a face. Maybe sticking their tongue out or even puckering their lips. So why was it a crime when you did it? Why was it a big deal when you did it? 

“ Yeah thanks.” You say patting Jesse's shoulder. You dig your cold hands into the pocket of your jeans and start walking. Following the way down the aisles of the store, peeking your head in each aisle hoping to find a bright coloured pack of film. You weren't gonna talk to Ellie after you find her the film, that is if you can even find the film. If you can't find the film she[ll be the one not speaking to you. 

You stop on one aisle. Removing your hands from your pockets, feeling the cold breeze hit them immediately. Cursing under your breath, you repeatedly rub your hands up and down the sides of your legs hoping that the friction would atleast give you some heat. You bring both hands up to your mouth, blowing into them. “ No way they had to worry about which color ribbon to buy.” You whisper to yourself, your eyes fixated on all of the colorful ribbons hanging on the shelves. Puckering up your lips, you breathe out through your nose. Walking down what seemed like an endless row of ribbons. You finally spot them.

You speed-walk towards the end of the aisle. You pull your backpack off and immediately start stuffing the packs of film. Grabbing as many as you can and shoving them in ruthlessly as you bite your lip. Your eyesight goes blurry. You're tearing up. Nope, scratch that you're crying. Tears roll down your cold cheeks as you keep shoving in the film at a remarkable speed. You're biting your lower lip trying to stop a sob from escaping. Before you were about to have a full blown breakdown you hear Jesse shout. 

“ Y/N! WATCH OUT!” Jesse shouts running to you, shooting a clicker behind you. You immediately shoot up, throwing your backpack over your shoulder and grabbing your gun from your holster. “ Jesus fuck!” You shout stumbling backwards at the hoard of clickers running towards you and Jesse.

Jesse grabs you, pulling you up. “ We can't take them all- We have to make a run for it!” He says running, your hand still in his. Your heart is racing, you can feel it in your fingertips, your ears, your toes. Turning your head around to catch a glimpse of exactly what you're dealing with, you almost stop on your feet. There's at least 20. “ Fuck fuck Jesse we wont make it!” You shout, pointing your gun backwards shooting aimlessly at the hoard of clickers only growing faster.  

Your brain is short-circuiting. Millions of scenarios are running through your head. 99% of them are of you dead, bleeding out on the floor with a hoard of clickers feasting on your body like it’s their first and final meal. Your chest is heaving up and down. Your breathing but it’s not enough. It probably is enough if it weren’t for your brain trying to convince you it’s not. 

You two won’t make it out of the store without them attacking your horses. You need to come up with a plan. You need to come up with a plan now immediately. 

“ Jesse, keep going! I’ll distract them!” You shout, ripping your hand out of his tight grasp, surely he’s left prints of his fingers on your hand. Jesse’s hand immediately tries to grab yours again, “ No Y/N! What are you doing you idiot!” Jesse shouts.

You push him forward out of the store doors, you turn around and shoot the clickers that were too close to you. You lean your back against the sliding glass doors, Jesse's on the other side pounding on the door trying to push it open. “ Fucking go!” You shout shooting more of them. God why are there so many.

“ Open the fucking door Y/N!” He shouts banging on the door. You shout in frustration, stomping your leg on the floor at his stubbornness. Your other hand reaches for the knife strapped to your thigh. Turning around you stab the window with the knife. The glass shattering all over the floor, some shards even landing on Jesse. You yank your backpack off and throw it throw the window  “ Give me your gun and fucking go!” 

Jesse’s hand shakily hands you the gun as he grabs your backpack, slinging it over his shoulders and runs to his horse. You turn around and watch him mount the horse, his eyes are shiny with tears. He leans down grabbing a rock and throwing it to a glass window on the other side of the store distracting some of the clickers. Mounting his horse he sets off.

You move away from the glass and keep shooting the clickers, alerting the ones Jesse had just distracted. The hoard rushes towards you. “ Fuck.” 

——

Ellie immediately runs to the gates of Jackson after hearing the shouts of the guards on the watchtowers announce Jesse’s arrivals. Her heart racing. Her hands sweaty at the thought of seeing you after everything that's happened, not like her hands aren’t usually sweaty when she thinks about you. Just the mere thought of you makes her heart race and her palms sweaty. And it scares her. Really fucking scares her. 

The gates opening cuts her out of her trance. She sees Jesse. She doesn’t see you. Where are you? She makes a run for the gates expecting you to be following behind Jesse but your not. “ W-where’s?” Her voice is cut off by Jesse’s. “ We need backup! Damn it Y/N!” He jumps off his horse, his hands in his head. 

No. 

She sees your backpack on his back. No. No. No. Please no. God no.

Your backpack falls off his shoulders. Ellie makes a run for your bag, almost breaking the zipper. 

“ T-the place got overrun and Y/N stupidly distracted them and-”

Your bag is full of films

[starsforselene]

Pairing: Kim Mingyu x Afab reader

Rating: explicit MDNI

Contains: masturbation (m), mentions of recorded sex acts, mentions of vaginal penetration

Word count: 1.2k

Summary: Mingyu misses you during a sleepless night while he’s away. Thankfully, he has a special folder full of memories you two have been working on.

Note: This is a little different than things I’ve written before. Would love to know if it’s a hit or miss? Haha.

—/

Mingyu tossed and turned, trying to find comfort in yet another hotel bed. While there’s nothing wrong with this undoubtedly expensive mattress and the high thread count sheets, it wasn’t home. He knows the traveling is part of what he signed up for, but tonight the bed is too big; it’s too empty.

He reaches for his phone and squints at the brightness until he can adjust, thinking maybe he can send you a text or maybe even call, anything to feel connected to you. Of course, it’s 3:45 AM and you’re asleep by now, and no matter how lonely he feels it’s not lonely enough to wake you up.

Scrolling through social media does nothing to ease the heavy feeling that’s settled in his chest, the ache of missing someone. He pulls up the photos app and scrolls through the album you made for him; photos he’s taken either of you or of the two of you that bring back memories. So you can have it handy when you miss me, you said when he’d asked about it.

It helps tonight, the images of times spent together from those shy first dates to the familiarity of having someone he can know is his, someone he counts on and loves that he can confidently know loves him for who he is. Your smiling face looking back at him from your spot on a beach towel after a day trip to the coast, your back shining in the sun, your hair whipping wildly around you from the ocean breeze…the way your waist curves perfectly and the swimsuit bottoms that barely covered your ass.

Something stirs inside him, a pull deep in his belly that he’s well acquainted with. Flashes of you running through the waves that day, the way you laughed and splashed at him, your body dripping wet from the saltwater. How he laid you down on a beach towel as the sun set and worshiped every inch of you; how you squirmed as he tasted the salt on your skin, your sweet moans and whimpers as he buried himself inside you—fuck. He groans as his now hard cock strains against his boxers.

Mingyu backs out of the photo and makes his way towards another album, one that’s locked behind a password only the two of you know. There’s this small thrill that tickles his stomach as he puts in the passcode and the album opens up, the previews from the various photos and videos enough to make his cock twitch and arousal buzz through his limbs.

He caresses his fingers down his chest, breath faltering as he pictures your hands there instead. His fingers hover on the waistband of his underwear as he scrolls for the one video that never fails to make his blood rush. He finally finds it, the preview image alone has him palming his throbbing cock over the thin material of his underwear even though that’s not going to cut it and he knows this.

The video starts playing, your voice playing over the phone speakers, transporting him back to that night, how you were just as giddy as him when he had decided to pull his phone out and record you both—for the memories—you had said.

Mingyu groans to himself as the camera finally settles on a shot of you on top of him, hand on his cock as you run the head between your glistening folds. There’s a moment where you giggle and ask him if the flash needs to be on and he smirks through the haze of his arousal at your playfulness. The mood quickly shifts as you finally align him with your entrance and slowly sink yourself on his cock, a combined gasp from you both making him throb and leak pre cum.

Unable to tease himself any longer, he pulls down his underwear just enough to be able to stroke himself fully, his eyes rolling back momentarily as he finally gives in to his need. He runs the slick that’s gathered at the tip down his shaft, a low moan rising from his throat at how fucking good it feels as he watches you swivel your hips onto his cock on screen, your sweet moans filling the otherwise quiet hotel room.

“Fuck, Gyu, your cock feels so good baby. So full—shit.”

Your words make him pump himself faster, desperately wishing he was feeling your tight walls clenching around him instead; the memory of your tight heat spurring him on. He watches you ride him, the way you eagerly take all of him with every rise and fall of your hips, the lewd smacking sounds making his belly tighten.

“That’s it, gorgeous, fuck yourself on my cock. Just like that.” He listens to the way you whine and groan to his praise, his balls tightening as he watches your hand appear on screen to rub tight circles on your clit.

His breathing is uneven from trying to hold back just long enough to get to his favorite part, thigh muscles straining as his hips lift into his hand to match the pace you're keeping in the video. You’re moaning louder now and he knows from memory that you’re about to come, his own release fast approaching as he watches your hips falter and his own pick up the slack to get you there. The way you’re chanting his name, begging him to keep fucking you like that makes the room spin. He stops holding back; fisting himself harder, twisting at the head just the right way, his limbs burning with need.

Mingyu watches you come on his cock with a breathless cry, his name on your lips, the way you quiver on top of him with each pulse of your orgasm—that’s what does it. He whimpers, your name moaned out into the empty room as he works himself through his release, spilling come on his stomach with every pump of his hand. With every throb of his cock he wishes more than anything it was you he was coming inside of, you praising him for doing so well, you kissing his face as he comes down from the heaven you bring him to.

It’s not, but it’ll have to do, he thinks with a sigh as he finally settles. The heaviness feels delightful; he’s no longer a ball of anxiety and the loneliness has dulled in his chest. Sleep tries to claim him as he fumbles for a tissue to clean himself off, suddenly more tired than he’s ever been.

He takes care of the mess as best he can, ready to pass out until he’s needed again when he hears his phone buzz on the nightstand. His brows knit together as he reaches for it, his heart flopping in his chest when he sees it’s you.

“Baby, are you okay? It’s so late.”

“Yeah I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you, I’m okay I just…I missed you. I had a dream about you and now I can’t sleep,” you say quietly.

He knows that tone, though, and he smirks as he lays back against the pillows again.

“Tell me all about it, gorgeous.”

[mads-schubert]

flash sheet designs inspired by MCR's first album. Prints available here.

[springgirlshowers]

could you do joost x gn reader, but it’s literally just them cuddling in bed during a thunderstorm??

Monsoon Season

Pairing: Joost x GN!Reader (no pronouns used)

CW: none!

WC: 726

AN: such a cutey cute lil concept!! fun fact: i wrote this as it was storming hard as hell outside lmao

Just as you were about to send Joost a text, asking how far away he was, you heard the front door open behind.

As you sat up from your spot on the couch, you were met with Joost standing with grocery bags in his hands, absolutely drenched from the rain.

It had started storming about ten minutes ago and Joost must’ve got caught in the middle of the rain on the way back from a recording session.

“I got the stuff you said we needed for dinner.” Joost gave you an amused smile as he held up the bag.

You immediately got up and went over to him, as much as you tried not to, you giggled at a bit at his soaked state.

“Thank you.” You smiled, giving him a small kiss, “Now, I’ll put these away, you go change.” You said as you took the bags from his hands, he just nodded and kicked off his shoes, walking down the hallway into your shared bedroom to change into drier clothes.

You put the groceries into the fridge and kitchen cabinets while waiting for Joost to get finished changing.

You were already done putting everything away by the time he returned, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a green hoodie, camouflage patterns on the hood. His hair had dried a bit more, now messier.

Joost walked up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Better?” You asked, putting your hands on top of his.

“Mhm, much.” He let out a happy breath. It felt so peaceful in the apartment, the hard rain from outside with the warm light from the lamp in the living room made the perfect cozy atmosphere.

Until a flash of lightning and loud rumble of thunder struck outside, scaring and making both of you jump of you a tiny bit.

“The weather app said it’s gonna be like this for the next few days.” You sighed, turning around in his grasp.

“I guess we’ll be stuck inside for the next few days then.” He moved his hands from your waist to the sides of your face, you nearly shuddered when felt how cold his palms were.

“You’re really cold. You’re sure you feel better?”

“I could use some warming up.” He shrugged, a knowing smirk on his face. You rolled your eyes playfully, letting him take your hands and drag you into the bedroom.

You got into bed first, shuffling under the sheets while Joost followed, laying on top of you.

“I’m so tired. Today was so exhausting.” He mumbled against your chest. Joost enjoyed making music, but this feeling wasn’t uncommon for him after being at the studio for hours on end.

“How’s the album going?” You hummed, pulling the blankets up over the both of you.

“Its frustrating. Nothing is turning out the way I want it to.” He let out an annoyed sigh at the thought of it. “I’m honestly just thinking about scrapping most of the songs because of it.”

“Oh come on, you’ll get them how you want them eventually.” You frowned. “You always do.” You added, hoping it would bring some relief.

“You really think so?”

“I know so.” You ran your hands through his hair, he let out a pleased breath and wrapped his arms a little bit tighter around you in response.

Even though you didn’t have a good look at his face, you could feel his smile against your skin.

The sound of the rain hitting the window and soft thunder in the distance with the warmth of your body against his and you raking your hands through his hair made him feel the most relaxed he’s been in weeks.

It didn’t take long after for his eyelids to become droopy, eventually shutting his eyes in complete bliss.

“I was thinking dinner tomorrow could be pasta. But you might have to go back into the rain again to get the noodles.” You joked, there was no response from Joost.

“Joost?” You said softly, no response again.

Craning your neck a bit to get a better look at his face, you could see he was absolutely knocked out.

His eyes shut, lips slightly parted, face completely relaxed. You smiled to yourself, deciding maybe you could let him sleep for a little bit before you got up.

[jpnriikicore]

── public eye

paring colby brock x fem!musician!reader, word count 958, genre fluff, authors note ngl this is my fav piece i've did, ( masterlist )

fireworks burst in the sky lighting up the entire night sky, as you and your members are rushed backstage.

"hi, baby!" you rush towards colby, as you enter the dressing room. he picks you up from the ground engulfing you in a tight hug. you kiss his cheek as he places you back onto the ground again.

"here you go." sam said, handing you a bouquet of yellow roses.

"thanks, sammy!" you pull sam into a quick hug.

you haven’t seen colby nor sam in two months since they went to their trip to japan and you went on tour with your band.

"alright, sorry to break this reunion, but we have to go right now." maría, your band manger said.

you held hands as you walk into the hotel as multiple paparazzis cameras flash taking pictures of you. even some yelling questions towards you.

"y/n, what project are you working on next?"

"an album." you flash him a smile. tightening your grip on colby’s hand to make sure you don’t lose him within the crowd.

"can you tell us what is the album about?"

"a dedication towards someone special in my life." you replied quickly as you walk through the doors of the expensive hotel.

this action of holding hands wasn’t unusual between you two, so nobody would suspect anything. you’ve been friends with sam and colby since they started vine. you was the one to film their vines and youtube videos. occasionally starring in one of their vines or videos. according to the media you’ve been strictly friends since forever.

you got into the elevator pushing the eleventh floor going up to the presidential suite. "I’m sorry, baby." you apologized, as you leaned against him looking up at him. you stood on your tippy toes reaching to give me a quick kiss. you know at times all of the paparazzi could get too much. hell, you’ve had one too many anxiety attacks because of it. lucky one of your members or your beloved, colby, was there to help you. you’ve even helped colby through some when he has them out in public. normally he keeps his head down and stays as close as possible to you when the paparazzi gets too much for him.

"it’s alright." he pulled you in closer engulfing you in a tight hug. he pressed a kiss on the top of your head.

you exit the elevator and into the suite with his arm around your shoulder and your arms wrapped around his waist. you noticed your members joking around in in the kitchen, as you quietly sneak over to your room.

"did you have fun in japan?" you asked even though you already knew the answer. he sent you videos and pictures of places he visited. he even stay up just a bit longer than normal just to talk to you about his trip. you slipped on a pair of his sweat pants and an xplr hoodie.

"it was good, but i missed you." he replied, settling in the freshly washed sheets of the bed.

"i missed you too, baby." you said, turning off the lights of the bathroom crawling into bed settling between his legs.

"do you think it’s a good idea coming out to yours fans?" you asked, leaning your head back onto his shoulder.

"it’s going to fine, baby." he kissed the top of your head.

it was your idea in the first place to finally go public with your relationship after dating for three years and being married for three years already. with the recent news of you founding our that you was pregnant you thought now would be the time.

all though when you purposed the idea he shut down the idea completely wanting to protect you and the unborn baby, but you convinced him to do so. using the fact that once the baby comes fans were going to find out anyways. it was better to hear it from him than figuring it out by another source.

"stay for five minutes longer!" he whined, shuffling in the sheets holding onto your wrist, after his miserable attempt to keep you stay put in the hotel room with him. he let go of your wrist grabbing the pillow next to him shoving his face into the plushand groaned into the cotton material.

"babe, i can’t you’ve already made me late and maría is starting to hate you because of it." you said, slipping on your leather jacket. the leather jacket you’ve been waiting to wear since you got married. a leather jacket decorated with a bunch of pins in the front and your married surname spray painted in white on the back. you lean down and move the pillow away from his face to quickly kiss his lips.

once finally escaping clingy colby you made your way to the hotel lobby out to the valet where your bands van was. you slid open the van door slipping into the seat you always seat in.

"sorry, i was late it’s-"

"because of colby." your members said in sync causing you to chuckle. it’s been a recurring theme even since you started dating colby. that he would make you incredibly late most times because you would spend most of your time with him and forget about time making you late for important events.

you scrolled through twitter seeing all the tweets from fans going utterly crazy over the new update of your relationship. you noticed a new notification from colbs.

colbs <3

i miss you 🖤

© JPNRIIKICORE, 2023

[frank-enweenie]

𝕹𝖔𝖇𝖔𝖉𝖞 𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖘 𝖙𝖔 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖗 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖘𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖆𝖇𝖔𝖚𝖙 𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖉𝖌𝖊𝖉𝖞

[leth-writes]

Some thoughts about Tim and the Batfam

SUMMARY: just thinking about Tim and the batfam

WARNINGS: 18+ as always on my blog, though the work is safe for work. Typical yandere shenanigans. HEAVY discussion of drugging and taking away of autonomy.

MASTERLIST: https://www.tumblr.com/leth-writes/757800060720496640/requests-open?source=share 

Requests are open!

Tim is a really interesting person, in general. I’m just obsessed with the idea of him drugging a darling, just keeping them all pliant and sleepy and curled up in his bed, even if he’s platonic. 

He spends a lot of time just…watching you, whether that be through cameras or in real life.

You never find the cameras, even though you know they’re there. If you asked him, he wouldn’t deny it. Why would he? There’s nothing you could do about it, and he honestly doesn’t trust your opinions on your own safety. Tim views you as quite innocent and naive, and that’s part of why he spends so much time building a little cocoon in the bed for you to curl up in, your soft snuffles just barely moving the light sheet he’s laid around you.

Just. UGH. I think at first he’d drug your food.

But you start noticing, and you start avoiding food. This sets the rest of the batfam off; is TIm not taking care of you properly?!

(They sometimes talk about you like a pet. It’s weird. You’ve learned not to mention it.)

In response, you’re tied down with soft satin straps and drugged out of your mind through an IV. You’re on an all-liquid diet, practically seeing stars. Tim doesn’t need you conscious or coherent, just safe from harm, after all.

I could even see him putting you in a temporary coma, at least until the heat from your kidnapping dies down. 

I can’t get  over the idea of you just. Trusting him so much, so naively, and he’s just. Fucking drugging your hot chocolate to get you to the manor, he knows if he doesn’t then Jason will and Jason won’t be as gentle about it.

UGH just imagine him doing those exercises every day with you to keep your muscles from atrophying AGHHHH

You wake up afterwards, it’s dark and your mouth is dry. You try to sit up- and you can’t. You’re too weak, too tired from the still-present drugs coursing through your veins. It’s then you see a bright flash, illuminating the corner and it’s FUCKING TIM JUST STANDING THERE

He uses his best camera, just dedicates it to pictures of you, creates an album.

He shows it to everyone else, they’re all cooing and aweing and you’re just sitting there like HELLO PLEASE LET ME LEAVE 🙁

Eventually he might even give you a bit of a choice. You can eat the food, or you can get an injection. When you take the injection you lose an entire day of time, and who knows what the FUCK happened? (nothing, Tim just. Spent most of the day working, occasionally taking the time to brush a hand over your face, just gently tracing your features.)

The others start to get annoyed Tim’s hogging you, and he gets you a wheelchair. You’re too weak, too drugged to be able to move yourself around, and he somehow manages to put some sort of thing on the wheels that lock if you try to go out the door. Like the fucking Grocery Carts.

He starts wheeling you around, letting you see the garden and the birds and Batcow. You spend a lot of time in the library with Alfred the cat curled in your lap, purring as you try to follow the plot of a simple book, your eyes too blurry to see the words properly.

Jason’ll read to you, he likes the bonding time. Plus, your eyes can’t really focus on anyone’s face too long, so he doesn’t have to worry about you being scared by the scars ripped into his skin by his death.

Cass’ll roll you into her studio, prop you against the wall, and just do a stunning routine. Unfortunately you can’t see it very well, and you clap really slowly because your hands feel like they’re filled with lead. She appreciates the effort.

Dick eventually takes over your stretches, though he does sometimes have to fight Bruce for the right. Both love helping you gently stretch out your limbs, admiring the shaking that only comes from intense effort. You’re cute, like a newborn lamb.

It’s infuriating watching Dick do all these complicated moves, while you can barely lift your head, but oh well, they’re so happy you’re here!!

Damian treats you like a younger sibling, even though you’re significantly older than him. He adores having this position of power over you, and abuses it to spend most of his time with you just. Showing you his animals. Titus is practically your emotional support dog at this point, and he trains Ace to be your guard dog.

Bruce loves having you curled up in the office, snoring slightly on the couch, as he slowly wades his way through work. He’ll throw a blanket over you, even as you whimper and shy away from the food he’s hand-feeding you. You aren’t allowed to feed yourself anymore, hell you can barely lift your hand to your mouth.

You eventually get used to spending all your time just. Hanging around, sleeping and letting everyone else do everything for you.

[missmielyhoran]

Denial

face calim- Lily James

Masterlist // Series Masterlist

[Warning- Angst, Cheating, smut but not written, crying, alcohol consumption, more crying, suicidal thoughts, people not knowing meaning of privacy, Hayden being a bitch]

Liked by Harryfan2, Y/Nfan3, Harryfan1 and 663,989 others

Y/Nupdates Y/N out with kids in London today getting ice cream.

View all comments.

Harryfan1 Milf fr

Harryfan2 Where are the kids?

Y/Nfan1 They're cropped out. Harry and Y/N didn't want their faces to be public yet.

Y/Nfan3 Is it just me, or have you guys also noticed that Harry has not seen with kids for a long time

Harryfan3 Maybe he's busy with new album and stuff

Y/Nfan1 No me too

Y/Nfan2 @/Harryfan3 he was seen with his friends at pub few days ago

Harryfan5 Aww she bought flowers for Harry

*****

They say that when someone dies, their whole life flashes before their eyes. The good, the bad, all moments move in front of their eyes like a movie, that's how you felt when you opened the door of your bedroom.

A movie of your marriage dying.

You were going through your day like normal. Your shooting had ended early, so you decided to pick up the kids from school and take them out for ice cream. They were now standing in the kitchen. You could hear their muffled giggles while you stood upstairs in front of your room like a mannequin watching your husband scramble and quickly put on clothes.

"Fuck- Baby I can explain-" Harry tried to approach you, but you couldn't look at him or react to his words. Your eyes remained trained on the woman lying on the bed, on your bed. Sheets up to her chest, her head perched up on her arm while she looked straight in your eyes without any shame or remorse. Oh no, she had a smirk on her lips.

"Kids are downstairs," You motioned with your thumb downstairs, "I- I'm going to drop them off, and then we will..." You couldn't complete the sentence. You felt like your body was on autopilot as you went downstairs and ushered the kids back to the car, your and Harry's four years old daughter asking why she couldn't see her dad and what could you say?

"He has some important work to do. Why don't you guys have a sleepover at Elliott's tonight?" You asked them, putting all your acting skills out there to hide the waver in your voice. Elliot was your ex-boyfriend and father of your eldest son Emiel.

"Yayyy" Amie clapped her hands, excited to hang out with her best friend. Meanwhile, Emiel stayed silent and looked at his mom from the passenger seat. You knew he knew something was wrong, considering he was older and much more aware of his surroundings than your little girl.

You just sighed and kept driving to Elliott's house. Soon enough, they arrived at the familiar small cottage-esc house. You got out of the car and then unstrapped Amie from the seat belt. As soon as you put her down, Amie ran towards the door and knocked on it, being too short to reach the doorbell. Emiel laughed and picked her up so she could ring the bell.

Soon enough, Elliot was opening the door with the biggest smile on his face. "If it isn't my two favorite people," He exclaimed and pulled both of them in hugs. Behind him, his Fiancé laughed at his antics, and she smiled a bit, too.

"Mom said we're having a sleepover!" Amie screamed near Em's ear, making him groan. It's then Elliot looked up, his blue eyes met her tired ones, and he knew something was wrong considering they were friends for a long time.

"Em, why don't you take her inside with Bran?" He smiled at his son, and Bran took them inside, talking about something.

"Are you okay?" Elliot immediately asked, and you shook your head. Your brain was still too jummbled to speak or to cry or to be angry or even comprehend what had happened.

"Why don't you come inside for a second and drink some water? I fear you might pass out from the way you're looking so pale." He looked at you concerned, and before you could protest, Elliott pulled you inside.

You sat on the dinner table and looked out to the garden, finding Em holding Amie in his arms, her head on his shoulder. The tiredness of school and excitement finally caughting up to her and knocked her out.

You took your phone out and clicked a picture, them being the only hope she could grasp on at the moment.

Elliot didn't ask any questions. He understood that if you wanted to talk, you would. He just stood there as emotional support staring at their kids as you drank the water.

"I might need them to be here for a few days before I sort things out. I hope you don't mind." You asked Elliott, looking up at him sadly. "You hurt me, sucre. Of course I don't mind." He shook his head and pulled you in a hug.

*****

Liked by Y/Nfan1, Annetwist, Harryfan4 and 1,987,456 others

Yourinstagram Mon chéri

View all comments.

User1 Omg babiess

User2 That's Emiel? He has gotten so big

User3 I mean he's 13 now

User2 the small Gucci bag🥺she's soo like harry

annetwist Oh my sweet babies...miss you so much

Yourinstagram miss you too mom🥺

User4 still can't get over that she calls Anne mom😭

User4 Harry didn't comment?

*****

When you arrived at you-Harry's house, the sun was setting. You was dreading the conversation that was bound to happen. Six years went down the drain in a few hours.

Your whole life felt like a lie.

Harry was sitting on the couch when you walked inside. A major part of you hoped he had some explanation, that it wasn't what it looked like or that it was just a mistake. But when you walked more inside and saw her there still after everything, your heart cracked a bit more.

"Y/N," Harry breathed out, his voice coming out in heaves as if he's out of breath, but you knew him. You knew he was just nervous.

He looked so young when he was sad, his eyes droopy yet shining, the mess of curls and clenched jaw reminded you of the early Harry who stole your heart.

Now, he reminded you of the one that broke it.

"Why is she still here?" was asked first thing first you asked. Harry looked behind him, and Hayden just shrugged and plopped down on the kitchen bar stool eating chips while scrolling through her phone.

"Emotional support for him after you leave" She said with a wink pointed at Harry.

"I just thought it would be better to talk with all of us here," he said, fiddling with his fingers, as if searching for a ring on his ring finger, but there wasn't one. Now that you think of it, you hadn't seen him wear it in so long.

You should have seen the signs.

All you could do was nod. You sat down far away from him on the loveseat, which was ironic cause there was no love in the atmosphere.

"I-" Harry started but couldn't. He closed his mouth again and opened it again, gaping like a goldfish. He looked at you, and you looked at him. Your husband, the person you loved the most after your kids, your first love, your everything.

"How long?" You asked, looking at Harry with dead eyes. It had nothing in them, no spark, nothing just lifeless saphire stones to see.

"Five months," Harry said, looking down at the rug, unable to look into your eyes.

Five months...

They were at your parents' house for Thanksgiving six months ago. The first time, he met Hayden after being with you for almost seven years. He never met your sister, and there was a reason for that.

"Thanksgiving," you mumbled out to herself more than to anyone. He fell out of love with you for so long, and you didn't even know.

"Why, Harry?" You finally asked. You still couldn't cry. No, you still had no expression on your face. You felt like a ghost, pale, feelingless, breathing ghost.

"I don't know," He said, his own lips wobbling.

"I'm going upstairs, babe. Come when you sort this out." Hayden said, walking towards the stairs like she owned the house, "See ya, sis!" She yelled from the top of stairs.

Awkward silence sat between them. The lovers who were laughing, kissing, and playing with their kids just this morning are now sitting in a souless house with a dead relationship.

How can things change so fast?

"Y/N" Harry called you softly. You looked up hopefully, thinking he would say it now, say anything to save whatever was left. You could make a home out of ashes, but for that you did need the ashes.

"I think it's better if you stay here. The kids will not be able to adjust somewhere els-" Harry spoke but stopped when he heard a sniffle.

For the first time since you walked in on them, tears flooded down your face. In just a moment, your eyes were blood red, glistening with tears.

"Where will you live?" You asked with your wobbling voice. A frown took over Harry's face watching you cry, but he was to blame for that.

"I didn't mean for it to happen this way Y/N" he said guiltily.

"Then which way did you want Harry?" You shouted at him, "Having one of our kids walk in on you two, or were you thinking of running away with her? or just wake up one day and throw divorce papers on my face?" You asked, your crying increased, making you choke on it and go into coughing fit.

Harry on instinct went to help you, but you raised your hand, stopping him. "Don't." You shook your head and stood up, calming down your coughing fit.

"I just thought I would talk to you," Harry mummbled his head down, looking at floor.

"You thought you would talk to me. Was this thought came before you stick your dick into my sister or after that?" You asked him clearly angry. You were still crying, your knees felt weak, and your head felt dizzy.

"Harry, we still have time. I- we can still be together just throw her out of house and never see her again. I will not go to my parents' house but please." You fell down to your knees sobbing. You wanted to save the only real thing you ever had, the only person you ever loved, who had been through her thick and thin. You needed him. You needed him for the kids.

Harry was looking down at you sympathetically, his own tears falling down. He felt too much shame to look in your eyes when you looked up at up for answers.

"I don't-" He choked a bit, "I love her Y/N" He whispered.

The final nail was in, the corpse was six feet under, there was no ashes to make home from.

You stilled on the ground, then a loud sob broke from you. You cried with your legs tucked to her chest in a fetal position on the floor. Harry came beside you and brought you to his chest. This time, you didn't move away or push him. You clutched onto his shirt, fully sobbing into it.

You digged your nose into his neck, and the shirt smelled like you. Even after everything, he still smelled like you, but it didn't matter now, did it?

The two lovers cried, holding each other, knowing that once they broke away. Everything else would also be broken.

You didn't know how long it had been. You just knew Harry's shirt was fully wet with your tears, and all you could hear was his heartbeat.

You pulled away from him and looked up in his glistening green eyes and after everything for some reason your eyes held hope.

Maybe it was denial after all they do say it's thr first stage of grief.

But you still knew you had to get out of this house. So, you got up and fixed your clothes to best of your knowledge, tears still falling from your eyes.

You didn't say anything just made your way towards the door concerning Harry. "Y/N were are you going?" He asked following behind you.

"Kids are wt Elliot's" Was all you said as you got into the car and drove off. You didn't know where you were going but you just wanted to go far away from all this.

You weren't a mother who knew her daughter didn't go to sleep until she told her a bedtime story or a wife who just got cheated on by her husband. No, you were just a broken soul who got betrayed by a person who vowed never to hurt her.

You drove in autopilot like you have been for the whole day, how you were alive you didn't know. How many cars and trucks you have doged you didn't know, you didn't even know where you were.

It was a bridge of some kind, you would thinking living in this place for so long would grant you the knowledge of where you are but you didn't know shit. Parking on the side of the road you turned off the car and pulled your windows down. The night cold air filled up the car, making your nose and ears red immediately.

You looked around the place, the small city lights twinkling in the diatance, people returning to their homes. Many who will return to a empty space many to someone waiting for them but you? You lost your home.

Having so much money and fame couldn't give you back your home.

You cried, you cried until you couldn't. You cried until all the tears were drained and all there wad left was a ragining headache and heartache.

You got out of the car and stood near the bridge. Your hair blew in the cold air and somehow you knew you have caught cold. You hugged your coat closer to you searching for any type of warmth.

Putting your hands on the metal bridge you leaned into it more. The rings you were wearing clinked against the metal making you look down to your hands and there it was the pretty diamond he especially got made for you, the one that once held a promise, a promise of faithfulness, love and family and some how in just couple hours you lost all of that or maybe you lost it six months ago just didn't realize it.

You took it off. It didn't held any meaning now did it?

You started crying again. It felt like once the dam broke, it didn't want to stop, but maybe that was for the best. You had kids to be strong for.

Oh god the kids...

What were you going to tell them? Maybe Harry would come back for the kids? He didn't love you but kids? He would come for them, right?

You were soo consumed in you misery you didn't realize your phone was constantly ringing in car or the texts or that from cross the bridge couple of girls were taking your pics.

*****

Harry was getting scared.

When you left the house, he thought you would go to Elliot's house, but you weren't there, and now both of them were constantly blowing up your phone to get a hold of you.

You were in no shape of driving. He should have stopped you, but like most of his decisions, he had nothing to do but regret on them.

He walked back to the couch and plopped down. Hayden was still in the bedroom upstairs. The bedroom that was once yours and his. It felt wrong cause it was wrong, wasn't it? But he loved Hayden, so it has to be right? right?

He looked up from his lap, and his eyes went straight to the flowers sitting on the coffee table. It was a habit of yours to bring something home whenever you come back home early. Mostly, it was flowers or the sushi from the sushi place you both love and went to on your first date.

His heart grew heavy as he picked up the flowers, which might be the last one he ever receives from you. Before he could examine them more or cry over them, a pair of hands were taking them out of his hold.

"C'mon baby, let go to bed. I'm tired" Hayden pouted just like you used to, her same yet different eyes as yours looking back at him, and he couldn't resist. He gave her a somber nod and stood up, making his way upstairs. Once he was out of eyeshot, Hayden threw away the flowers in dustbin and happily made her way to the bedroom.

*****

Liked by Y/Nfan2, Y/Nfan4, Harryfan5 and 482,786 others

Y/Nnews Y/N spotted by some fans near the bridge.

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User1 Why she looks so sad?

User2 I met her..it was my friends who took the picture. I tried to tell them not to but they didn't listen.

User3 What happened?

User2 She looked sad and tired. I mean it's hard being mom but she her usual aura was down like she's usually so chirpy and happy but she looked like she didn't want to be disturbed so we didn'task for a picture.

User3 Yet you invaded her privacy and took her pictures

User4 Is it just me or did anyone else seeing that she's not wearing her wedding ring?

User3 Omg yes I didn't realize

*****

You didn't know when you got here. All you know is Elliot somehow found you and brought you back to his house. He left you in the guest room and asked you to call him if you needed something.

You tossed and turned for hours in bed, or maybe it had been a few minutes, time didn't exist for you anymore. You got up to go to the kitchen and get some water when you saw the wine bottle. The temptation was bad, your fingers were itching, and your mouth went dry.

If there was any time to get wasted, it was this. The evil little voice in your head said and you gave in.

You took the bottle out of the cellar and sat down on the floor with your back against the kitchen counter. You brought the bottle to your lips, your hands shaking so badly that you almost dropped it.

The first drop felt like heaven. Like an old friend, you meet after a long time who you cut off cause you knew they were toxic, but the feeling of sweet reconnection and nostalgia still felt like bliss.

You were so in your head thinking about wine that you didn't see Bran coming to the kitchen or watching you from the doorway. He wanted to stop you but knew it wasn't his place, so he went back to his bedroom where his soon to be husband was sleeping.

"Babe," He shook him lightly, "Babe, wake up" He said a bit loudly, making him whine and grumble. He felt bad for a bit cause Bran knew that things have been hard, the school wasn't doing so well so he had to work extra but right now you needed him and Bran knew Elliot will blame himself if something happened to you.

"What happened?" Elliot asked, "I think you should talk to Y/N. She's is in the kitchen.." Bran paused, "Drinking".

That woke Elliot up, "But she hadn't drunk ever since she got cl-" "I know that's why I said go talk to her before things get worse"

You were halfway done with the bottle when Elliot came back to the kitchen. You were hitting the back of your head against the counter, filling the silent kitchen with a thumping noise.

"Y/N" He called out softly and for a second he wished he didn't. You looked like a mess your already ruined makeup was now in shambles, your eyes blood red and your lips were adoring a drunk smile.

"Put the bottle down Y/N you're hurting yourself" Elliot said, sitting next to you. You rolled your eyes and took a big gulp of the wine again.

"My life is already ruined. What's the worst can happen now?" You said laughing, but there was no humor in it. It was hollow like you felt. A hollow shell.

"You want to tell me what happened?" He asked quietly, trying to take the bottle from you by distracting you.

You burst into tears hearing his question. You wanted to tell him, tell him everything that happened, but your brain was not letting you talk. Like keeping it to yourself will make it go away. It was still in denial that it really happened.

"I don't know how to," you said in between sobs. Elliot pulled you to his side, his hand rubbing up and down your back, trying to soothe your crying.

"Harry-" you said and sobbed harder. "You want me to call him?" He asked, but you just shook your head.

"C'mon sucre tell me what's going on." He urged you to tell him. As time went by, Eilliot became more and more concerned. It wasn't like you to cry so much over a fight. You were the one who mostly solved them. So, it had to be something big for you to be here and crying rather than with Harry.

You stared at him for a few seconds, contemplating if you should tell him, but who else would you tell? He was the only friend you had except your little brother who was miles away in Sydney.

So you told him. You told him how your shooting wrapped up early, how you picked up kids, and went home to surpirse your husband only to get your heart broken in the worst way possible. How your husband of five years and almost seven years of love was now in love with someone else and that someone else was none other than your sister.

"I'm going to break his face!" Elliot seethed and scrambled to get up from beside you, but you took his arm and pulled him down back beside you, having no doubt he actually would.

"It will do nothing but harm to you and to him." You sighed, wiping your tears. You started to hate the feeling of being sober after crying, so you took swing of your wine again.

"I just don't understand how and what went wrong." You said staring at the cupboard's golden handle, "We were so happy this morning. I went to shooting, and he dropped kids to school I-" You choked on the lump in your throat.

"Do you think maybe he's doing this to get back at me for leaving him to go to Venice last minute?" You asked Elliot, "Do you think it's just a elaborate prank, I mean you know how Hayden is, she's bitch I won't be surprised if she came up with the idea of this prank."

Elliot looked at you with sad eyes, his hands rubbing your arms affectionately. "If it's a prank then it's one fucked up prank sucre so no I don't think it's a prank" Elliot said sadly looking at your sleepy eyes.

"It has to be. I mean, we were talking about having another baby after my shooting ended. Why would he want to have another baby if he didn't love me?" You asked him, hoping to get any just any answer to soothe the ache in your heart.

"I think you should ask that to him once you get a bit better. For now lets get you to bed" He said, taking the bottle out of your hand amd you let him. The physical and mental exhaustion of day caught up to you, and pairing that with wine had you sleepy.

Elliot carefully placed you on the bed and then put a glass of water and painkillers on the bedside table, knowing you would have a bad hangover since you drank after a very long time.

Sleep engulfed you soon enough, and you dreamt of the time your life wasn't in distress.

*****

Harry woke up in the morning and smiled when he felt soft hands around his torso. It was the part of the relationship he didn't experience with Hayden, but now he could do it as much as he wanted.

He turned around and pulled her in a lazy kiss, which soon turned heated and led to his boxers flying off from bed and his hands trailing around naked her body earing soft sounds from her.

Both of them fell asleep again. Harry woke up around 10 am to a hungry stomach. For a second, he was about to yell for you cause you always brought him breakfast in bed on weekends. Only to realize his mistake, but before he could feel bad, his eyes fell on similar blonde hair, fanning your his pillow, and he forgot everything.

He took a quick shower and got ready to get some coffee and breakfast. He decided to wake up Hayden to ask what she wanted. "Babe, wake up. I'm going to get breakfast. Do you want anything? " He asked her, getting a grumble in reply.

But then Hayden woke up fully alert. "I want to go with you!" She said excitedly, "I can finally have all for me please" She said pleading and how could he resist her?

She went to ready while Harry sat on couch downstairs going through his phone, but when Hayden took too long, he went to look for her.

He heard hushed voices behind the closed door, "Babe, are you ready?" He called her and opened the door. She stood there with a bright smile, her hair side parted with a white t-shirt and blue jeans much like his outfit.

"C'mon, let's go!" She said and took his hand in hers. Harry smiled and went with her. They sat in the car, and Harry brought her hands to his lips and drove off.

They arrived the hidden cafe they went most of the time cause it was in small area where most people didn't recognize him and there were no chances of him getting caught.

He ordered his usual, and so did Hayden, but as soon as they got out of the cafe with their food, the flash of the camera went off and then another. Harry went into full panic mode cause not only this will go back to you but to the whole world and quickly took Hayden's hand running to his car, dodging questions, and camera flash both.

Liked by Harryfan2, Y/Nfan2, Harryfan4 and 1,002,789 others

StylesNews Harry Styles seen out with mystery woman at secret cafe.

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Y/Nfan2 That's Y/N's sister wtf

Harryfan1 I didn't know she had a sister

Y/Nfan2 they're not that close, Y/N told in an interview.

Harryfan3 He's hanging out with her family aww

Harryfan4 they look a lot closer for my taste🤨

Y/Nfan1 IKR like that hand holding is suspicious

Harryfan4 I hope it's not what I'm thinking it is after seeing Y/N's pictures from yesterday

*****

Meanwhile, you woke up with the worst headache of your life. Thankfully, there were medicines and water beside your bed cause your throat felt dry as a dessert.

You walked out of your room groaning at the amount of light filtering through. "Good morning, sleepyhead." You heard your son say laughing.

"Good morning, mum. We made pancakes!" Your daughter squealed and held up pancakes with both of her hands above her head. You laughed and kissed her cheek.

"It looks delicious, baby and good morning to everyone," you said with a smile, forgetting about your pain for quite some time until your daughter asked you when they would be going home.

"What you got bored of me so fast?!" Bran fake hurt while you stood their staring at her thinking when were you going and where were you going cause you could go anywhere you wanted other than your home.

You were in literal, psychological, and in every sense homeless.

"Let mum have her coffee Amie, you know how she's without it." Elliot joked, and Bran picked Amie up, taking her to the living room to keep her busy, and Em followed them.

You took a mug out of the cupboard to make coffee while Elliot sat there looking at you with pity.

"How did you find me yesterday?" You asked, wanting to change the look in his eyes.

"Oh some girl posted you on twitter" He said biting into his pancake while you made your coffee.

"Someone posted me?" You asked and groaned when he nodded, "My manager is going to kill me"

Great now, top of a cheating husband. You also had to deal with getting your crying pics off the internet and deal with an amgry manager.

You took out your phone out of your jeans, which were getting uncomfortable as time passed.

But nothing matched the uncomfortable and shattering hurt you felt when you saw the trending topic of twitter.

They were already parading out? It had hardly been a day, and he was already over you? Did he not think what will happen when tabloids will find it? which they already had found out making their own stories.

Did he not think what kids will think when they will see it? Em was 14 he knew everything and had a phone of his own. What were you supposed to tell him if he asked you? you didn't even know yourself what was going on.

Your head started pounding more than before, and you could feel the migrain coming in . Even though you knew you had to talk to him, you couldn't today in any shape or form.

Your sadness was slowly subsiding now, and as your headache grew, so did your anger, and you knew it was going to be shit show happening in front of everyone.

*****

Same day in evening-

Liked by Harryfan2, Harryfan5, Y/Nfan2 and 998,765 others

Duexmoi This fan favorite couple, an A list actress, and popstar are getting divorced according to an insider. Who do you think they are?

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Harryfan1 Harry and Y/N?

Y/Nfan2 Rumor has it one of them cheated

Y/Nfan4 Defo Harry remember the pictures

Harryfan2 Omg with her sister? that's fucked

Harryfan3 don't jump to any conclusion guys maybe it's someone else or maybe it's fake you know how these are.

Y/Nfan1 Fuck Harry and fuck Hayden

*****

Welll...tell me if you guys liked it pleaseeee i need to know!! here♡

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[withleeknow]

fold.

pairing: minho x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff; cursing, unedited lol word count: 0.9k note: idek what this is lol i just wrote this to get the brain wiggles out 🤣

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation › masterlist › ko-fi

“You’re banishing me to the couch because of a little prank?”

“Because it wasn’t funny! God, you’re such an asshole.”

“It was!” Fucking hell, Minho is still laughing. “Babe, you should’ve seen your face.”

You hold up your big fluffy pillow to hit your boyfriend over the head, though he dodges it easily. "Piss off to the couch!"

“For real?” he asks, scanning your face with his big eyes, his brows raising annoyingly. “Sure you wanna sleep alone tonight? You're serious?”

“As a fucking heart attack,” you huff angrily, wildly kicking your feet at his legs under the sheets. “Out!”

“You’re so cute. You know you always fold, right?” he coos, eyes crinkling with mirth as he raises his hands, seemingly trying to hold your cheeks in his palms. “At least give me a kiss before I go.”

It only sharpens your dagger glare, and before Minho knows what’s even happening, he’s yeeted from the bed to the floor, rubbing the sore spot on his butt that you just kicked and sent him flying off the mattress.

“Ow! Fine, I’m leaving. See you in a couple hours."

Thirty minutes later, your phone lights up with a message, Minho’s screen flashing on your screen like an omen. You frown when you reach for the device on your nightstand, the furrow between your brows only deepening as you read the words Attachment: 2 Images.

Your finger hovers over the notification, clearly curious, but you know your boyfriend too well to be that naive.

There’s a 76% chance that he just sent you something scary that he got from the internet, which you think would be a stupid thing to do, considering that you’re “mad” at him.

But then again, he’s already on the couch. Maybe he’s got nothing left to lose.

Damn that man.

You shake your fist in the direction of the door, even though he can’t see you, before you decide to just get it over with and pop open his messages.

Hmm.

It’s nothing. No jumpscares, no scary photos of ghosts or ghouls or anything of the likes.

It’s only a couple selfies of him lying on the couch this very second, just a few footsteps away from your bedroom door, hugging his pillow with a content look on his face.

The first thing you do is save the photos to your designated Minho album, because even though you’re “mad” at him, he still looks cute with his stupid Snow filters and bunny smile, his gleaming eyes and-

Oh.

You see what this is.

Ass.

He’s banished, but he’s still pushing it, trying to show you just how much he seems to be loving it out there.

You huff out yet another annoyed breath. What on earth are you going to do with him? That’s a question you ask yourself every day.

In the end, you only reply to him with the middle finger emoji before you put your phone on the nightstand again.

You turn away from the device and snuggle further into your bed, willing sleep to come find you but you have to admit that it’s hard. It’s not because you’re scared or anything, you’re just used to sleeping next to someone.

No, not just anyone.

Only Minho.

You’re so used to sleeping next to Minho that now the bed feels infinitely empty without his warmth next to you, all over you.

Rationally, you know he’s right there in the living room - you can still hear him every time he paddles to the kitchen to get some water - and you’re clearly not strong enough to leave him on the couch for more than one night.

Actually, he has never been banished for a full night. Hell, his timeout on the couch has always ended much earlier than you’d like. Your boyfriend was right. You always fold. Pathetically quickly too.

You toss and turn for another while before you hear his unabashed giggles from the living room, light and relaxed, over the echoes of dramatic music. He must have put on a scary movie.

With your eyes closed, you listen to the sounds of make-believe doors slamming, floorboards creaking, a blood-curdling scream here and there. You’re still as wide awake as you were earlier, when Minho popped up from underneath the sheets, wearing a fucking Chucky mask just as you were getting into bed.

The idea of having his arms around you gets more appealing by the minute. You know you would be out like a light within seconds if he was holding you.

With both palms gripping the pillow beneath your head, you let out one last irritated exhale. Fuck it. This was a losing game from the start and you were all too aware of it.

You paddle out of your bedroom on light footsteps and into the enemy’s territory. When you’re in front of the couch, Minho calmly pauses the movie on the TV before he peers up at you with innocent eyes.

You hold out a hand wordlessly. This isn’t your first rodeo, and it sure as hell won’t be your last, as much as it pains you to admit it.

“Told you,” he titters, checking his phone for the time before he takes your hand in his. “You lasted 58 minutes. So close. Almost made it a full hour.”

You roll your eyes, though your body instantly relaxes now that you’re touching him in some way. He turns off the TV, grabs his phone and pillow, then waddles the both of you back into your cozy bedroom.

Your friends were right when they said they'd never seen anyone fold so quickly.

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 02.11.2023]

[rodolfoparras]

Thinking about Price and the kinks he likes to indulge in

Pairing: John Price x Top Male reader

Content tags: 18+, MINORS DNI, blowjobs, anal sex, hard dom! Male reader, sub! Price, possessiveness, make up sex, price likes to be photographed while nude?

Thinking about Price, who’s set on keeping his private life and work life separated, but then there’s a drawer in his desk, containing an album full of Polaroid pics, taken of him in many different obscene positions.

There’s one that’s taken in his dorm, with Price on all four, orange sunlight beaming over his skin, and with cum smeared between his thighs and cheeks. His neck is cranked to face the lens and there’s a dopey smile on his face.

BACK IN THE BARRACKS

It had been a long day at work, with him feeling more frustrated than usual. He had showed up to your room acting like a dark cloud was clinging onto his form.

You had offered to help him unwind, shoved him onto the bed and made him cum multiple times. There was one point where his body felt separated from his mind, feeling everything and nothing all at once. In the haze he heard your voice, honey coated words telling him to “turn around John”

He hadn’t even had the time to process, body reacting on reflex as a flash passed by his eyes and before he knew of it you had a nude Polaroid of him laying around.

Soon enough another Polaroid joined the ever growing collection.

There’s nothing tender about the picture. Your tags hang around his throat, with you clutching onto them to pull him closer for the shot. His skin is all marked up, lips rubbed red and eyes wide, as he takes your cock as far down his throat as he can.

A MOUTHFUL AND A HANDFUL

He doesn’t remember if you’d been in the middle of an argument, Polaroid taken amidst a moment of what was supposed to be make up sex but he remembers the flux of emotions bubbling in his gut, voice hoarse from continuously sucking on your cock with black and blue knees that was a result from the minutes spent kneeling.

Despite the rough vibe he didn’t mind, wanted to please you as much as he could even when you stripped him off of his title as captain and lover and treated him nothing but a gaping hole meant for your pleasure only.

Then a third Polaroid joined the collection, one he’s very much fond of.

It’s a picture of him sprawled out on your sheets, wearing nothing but a shirt with your last name on it. His legs are spread obscenely wide, and there’s a teal green plug nestled inside his ass, with streaks of cum staining the black material of the shirt.

MY JOHN

That day he remembers well, a shot prompted by your jealousy. Someone had attempted to flirt with Price, which wasn’t a crime, since they didn’t know he was a taken man. That’s at least what he had said when you had confronted him about it but you hadn’t been able to let it go especially when the person had been set on taking him out to dinner.

He had declined of course, showed up to your room to sooth the burn but didn’t know he’d be engulfed in the flames as soon as he had crossed the threshold.

You had pinned him to the bed, face determined and goal set. You were going to remind your boyfriend that you could offer him everything he’d ever need whether that be with three fingers thrusting into his slicked up hole, or perched on your face and riding your tongue or having him cum so many times on your cock he ends up losing count.

That very day he had only been able to remember your name, your cock, your face, hadn’t even be able to recall who you were talking about when you’d mentioned the person trying to take him out on a date.

Needless to say, Price likes to keep his private life and work life separated, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like to indulge in things in his own way

(Bonus: it’s impossible for him to look at this picture without him getting hard. He’ll wrap a hand around his dick, jerking himself til he’s inching closer to his release, before ropes of cum end up all over the Polaroid pictures.)

[sevenop]

Billie Eilish x Fem!reader: But I already have love in LA

A/n: 5,692 milli is the distance between calm nighttime Paris and sweltering Los Angeles, which almost makes Eilish howl like a wolf. A Paris promo in honor of the album mercilessly separates the two of you on an important date, but you find a way out.

Billie's point of view. 'Cause I like it.

"The person you are trying to reach is currently unavailable, please call back later," is the peremptory verdict unchanged over these endless eight hours, echoing coldly from a woman's voice on the other side of the handset. Not the voice I want to hear so much, not the timbre that makes my heart flutter so incredibly, as if it were your most expensive wind-up toy. Not your voice, absolutely not. You don't get in touch for such an ungodly long time, and I just diligently shut up the feeling of anxiety devouring from within throughout the day: a dark woolly monster grins hungrily with its wide mouth, loudly clicking its massive, fanged jaw. Each click is a new, painstakingly detailed picture in my head, causing hot anxiety. What if you're really lying helplessly on the hot as hell asphalt of LA, caught under the spiked wheels that tried to slow down with a soul-shattering screech? I know how hurried you are. What if you turned into a disadvantaged area, taking a shortcut, and now your lifeless body is lying in the nearest ditch, turning paler and colder by the minute? What if you just stopped breathing in your sleep for no reason?...

I take a deep breath, and the chains behind the monster immediately tighten with the deafening clang of massive links: it leaps, wanting to grab at me with its clawed paws, to pull me into the viscous pools of panic, but it still can't reach me. With a menacing guttural growl, its fangs gleam faintly in the semi-darkness, covered in viscous saliva. It's actually easier to contain my anxiety when my head is full of thoughts about the shoot, about the phrases I have to elegantly slip into the interviewers, turning their question marks into confident dots. It's easier when you're surrounded by a horde of people: security, staff, family. But when I'm in the silence of an insanely expensive French hotel, drowning in the uncompromising gloss of the surroundings, still perfectly styled and dressed in expensive dark clothes, coming straight from the shoot, nervous and clutching my phone in my hands with hope - it all becomes so impossible.

I'm dialing twelve digits again, just a little more and I'll be able to dial your number blind. "The person you are trying to reach is currently unavailable, please call back later." I lean back noisily on the cold silk of the sheets while that toothy, infinitely dark ball of anxiety laughs snidely. I check all the messengers, only to fling my phone away in a brief flash of anger somewhere upward, toward the ruched beige pillows: you still haven't been online in eleven hours, my messages unanswered. Fuck! It's becoming more and more like Jenga, where with each passing hour I take one wooden brick out of the structure and put it on top, making it even more rickety than before. Indeed, something has definitely happened, you couldn't just disappear from everyone's radar for no good reason, especially when today is our little celebration of a month-long relationship. There's five thousand six hundred and ninety-two miles between us, and the silence on the wire makes me want to howl. God, I'm going to go crazy...

Beep! It sounded like someone had thrown a grenade with the pin pulled right under the bed. I reacted immediately, but on the desplay is just a message from Fin in an endless string of unnecessary things. Well, better than nothing. Better than drowning in madness alone.

"Are you asleep?"

"No." How the fuck can I, bro?

"She still hasn't responded?"

"No."

The three dots bounce around again as my brother puts the right letters into words. Maybe I should call you again.

"Can you open the hotel room door right now?"

The restless gears in my head rumble to a grinding halt. Now? For what?

"For what?"

"Just open it, sis." - so unobtrusive and unexplanatory, followed by another gray block of letters: "You'll thank me later :)"

"Don't smile at me."

":)" - naturally, a smile. Damn Finn.

I dial you again and reluctantly get out of bed, shuffling my feet as if I were going to the lacquered scaffold under the shouts and whistles of the French Revolution crowd, but in fact only the thin tulle is swaying in the night wind, and the noise of rare cars, which enters the room so valiantly with the help of the open balcony. And here is the guillotine itself in the form of an oak door. I touch the gilded cold handle with the palm of my hand with pressure, and feel the massive blade whistling as it flies straight at my neck, severing my head. You're standing in front of me.

You look me in the eye and leisurely take the phone out of the pocket of your wide bard palazzo pants. Your accurate fingers finally touch the ill-fated green answer button before you bring the display to your ear. There's a slight, confused smirk on your lips, and on my end of the line there's finally the beeps and this mechanical female voice have finally died down. But it is still impossible to answer you, I can only stare at you in disbelief, as if you were a masterpiece that had escaped from the Louvre and had personally come to my doorstep.

"Bonsoir, Madame Eilish," your soft, purring timbre mightily shatters all anxiety, defeating the monster in my head. The only thing left were the massive chains of patience and self-control that held it back. You say what I've been longing to hear for these fucking eleven hours. You sound the way you've imprinted on my memory for the many hours we've spent together. - "A special gift exclusively for number one hundred and eleven."

I grab you into my hage, pulling you into the room in a flash. The door slams too loudly for midnight, but I don't care, you gasp, rustling a small package - I don't care, you babbling a hundred apologies for this frightening silence - I also don't care, girl. I don't care, I don't care, I don't care! I just leave a lot of barely visible lip gloss prints on your face, showering you with hot kisses, clinging to your lips with mutual hunger, making you almost choke, but I don't care! You don't pull away, just squeeze tighter, sliding down the wall a little. You're here right now, and the rest of it doesn't matter. And how can I take offense at you, when you have overcome five thousand six hundred and ninety-two miles...? At least not right now.

We calm down only when we reach the floor and settle down on the soft pile of the carpet. Your face now gleams beautifully in the warm light of the bedside lamp, your hair slightly ruffled either from my hands or the wind outside.

"I'm sorry." - You gulp in air with your mouth and repeat again, touching my cheek gently as if I were fragile Chinese porcelain.

"I almost lost my mind, Y/n." - I snuggle closer into your palm, finding the needed reassurance finally. - "But I'm so glad you're here now, my dumbass."

You chuckle lightly before rising to your feet in one merged motion, then gallantly offering your hand to me. My gaze first clings to the not-so-little bard stain spilling over the once flawless whiteness of your favorite shirt.

"What's this?"

"It's wine," you answer innocently as we walk to the back of the room, me holding your hand and intertwining our fingers, you holding the paper bag in front of you in your free left. - "I thought it unseemly to show up on a deep Parisian night and on our little holiday without a present. While we were choosing a variety with a nice elderly sommelier, he accidentally spilled some on me, for which he apologized for an extremely long time and stuffed a whole assortment of vegan sweets into the gift."

"Actually, it looks pretty good," I touch my hands to the damaged fabric where the wine petals had opened exactly opposite the heart. - "It looks like a flower, and it goes well with the pants."

"I told him the same thing, only in broken French!" - you laugh, sitting down on the bed. The package drops to the floor for nothing, revealing a dark bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, a corkscrew, and a dark blue box of obviously not cheap candy. - "Got a cup of any kind?"

"Only if it's cup after some coffee," the porcelain taps lightly as I hand you the cup along with the saucer that was on the bedside table. Drinking coffee at night is a little professional whim.

The cork easily yields to you under the spiraled steel of the corkscrew, so the generous scarlet stream quickly fills the porcelain cup almost to the brim, cleverly masking the coffee ring, which has already managed to imprint on the white dishes. You carefully pass the cup back to me, giving me the honorable right of the first sip. You already have a chocolate candy hiding behind your cheek. Sweet tooth.

You ask me about the past day, listening with incorruptible interest, you ask about the progress of the promo, about my dreams, I listening about your flight, about our first meeting, about Paris at night. We just talk about everything that comes into our heads, while the candy slowly runs out and the scarlet column of alcohol reaches the glass bottom of the bottle, and the bottle becomes more transparent than before in the weak light.

"You look ravishing, did I mention?" - My throat burns a little with the slight spice mixed with the flavor of currants and cherries, and your careful and transfixed gaze, albeit slightly cloudy from the wine, pleasantly burns my heart. - "Although, you absolutely always have that."

And I see you blush and your lips bend into a pleasant smile. When you're drunk, you're so sweetly embarrassed every time, like the word compliments are received by you, not me. Insanely nice. Insanely beautiful.

"Merci beaucoup, L'amour de ma vie." - in sweet, purring French, because you are a total provocation today, presented so elegantly and unobtrusively that I can't think of anything else. The chiseled collarbones are not only hidden under the thin fabric of the branded shirt, but also topped with a weighty gold chain. I catch myself thinking that you remind me of exactly this wine in the porcelain of the cup, which I want to sip leisurely, enjoying it alone. To taste you on my tongue is much more desirable than that cedar-currant flavor in the cup.

The bottle is almost empty, and you will soon begin to look like this pink wine stain blooming on your shirt. You giggle, shifting your gaze in embarrassment to the rich black lacquered wood that elegantly fills the bedroom space.

"Wow, is that a piano?" - so childishly naive, just to avoid my gaze. Gently I place the cup in your palms and then touch your chin with my fingers, turning you straight toward me. - "it's beautiful."

Along with the alcohol and fever rushing through my arteries, an absurd idea popped into my head, and it was an original sin not to realize it. I lean closer, deliberately slowly, though the knot of heat has tightened quite a bit. I like getting you so hot, Y/n, you'd know.

"It's beautiful, but it's only missing your nakedness," a languid whisper in your ear and you're already burning like a match. It's gorgeous. - "Shall we fix it?"

And you nod so obediently that even an expensive room in the best hotel in France and the same expensive wine are nothing compared to this one gesture. This will be the first time for you, the first time for the two of us, and believe me, I'll do everything I can to make sure that it goes well. I won't disappoint you, because all I really want is to drown you in a sea of pleasure. Think of it as my little gift to honor our date, like this wine.

×××

You moan so sweetly, and the only thing I really want right now is to seal your voice in a bottle so that I can open it later at any opportunity when you're not around again. You rest both palms against the shiny black lacquer on the closed top of the grand piano, standing with your back to the most elegant instrument and your face to me. You're standing completely naked, just a pile of clothes under your feet, and I'm already face between your thighs, kneeling. You grip the fabric of my black cardigan with trembling fingers, and like a whimpering child, you pull it on yourself. And it's so exciting to fulfill your little whims, knowing that it's still going to be the way I want it. I throw the dark, soft cotton off of me - a "storm cloud" glistens and shimmers slightly in the light of one dim lamp before falling to the carpet with the rest of my clothes. I'm completely naked now, too. Your lustful eyes dance on the ink of my tattoos, as if not knowing where to stop.

"Do you like the view too much, my girl?" - a grin, and you look away a little in renewed embarrassment. I touch your beautiful thigh, stroking it. "Hey, I like it when you watch."

And you watch again, only now you're looking clearly into my eyes, looking into the depths of my abysses, which for you alone are ready to serve not as destruction but as an unbreakable refuge. Your gaze is so focused, as if you want to dive in headfirst into my seas.

"I just... I just like absolutely everything, and I really don't know where to stop."

"So look, you can even touch me, as much as you want and wherever you want. You're allowed, Y/n." - I rise from my knees to push the banquette back to the piano again and sit down. - "Just for you."

And you explore, touching my skin with a gentle that the most distinguished musicians of classical orchestras will envy. Your hands outline my hips, my waist. You cling to my ribs with your fingers, then you stroke my shoulders and arms. I see a spark of delight in your eyes when you feel how the muscles are easily felt under the alabaster of my skin, while you reach to the very tips of my fingers, interlacing one hand in a lock with yours. Your other hand touches my chest, alternately slightly squeezing each one, and frankly speaking, it becomes infinitely difficult to breathe evenly. The same your hand slides over the stomach, heading to the bottom with like a sharpened arrow. Oh, my Goodness...

"Does that feel good?" - you whisper, touching two fingers to my clit with light pressure, alternating with circular motions. It feels good. Crazy.

So much so that all the words suddenly disappear from my head and stick in my throat in broken syllables, unwilling to form into something intelligible. I had to make an effort not to just nod like a silly dummy, chiseling out a single: "good."

You smile, feeling a gradual confidence, as if you're finally stepping on solid ground after the weightlessness of space, having been successfully rehabilitated. And I finally realize I don't have to hold back anymore. I can pull you close to me, rewarding you with a dozen deep, hot kisses, I can marked you with a bright hickeys on your neck, I can pick you up under your hips and lay you top of the piano cover with your shoulder blades, under which steel strings are silently stretched. While you're trapped in a haze of excitement, I can trace a path with my tongue and lips from your breasts to the bottom of your belly, where everything is burning Vesuvius flame. I can, I can, I can...

"It's so romantic in Paris, isn't it? Won't even try to compare it, it's all love everywhere." - I make the first quick stroke of my tongue and then pull away, hovering over your face again. You barely keep the back of your head from banging against the wooden lid, arching your back in longing. Who says I forgot to get back at you for my nerves?

"I don't know, I guess, but I already have love in LA." - You exhale so hotly, but you endure stoically. You realize you deserve it, yes. - "And I don't need anyone else."

My own heart begs for mercy on your account with a solid thump against my sternum, and I'm back down in a flash, repeating the strokes again, playing with your folds to the accompaniment of your moans. You're delicious.

And when you thrust yourself on my fingers so obediently, waiting for the denouement, which burns you to the point of shaking, and then you spur me with my back to the lid, hovering over me with intermittent heavy breathing, but with such selfless love in your eyes; when you enter me with two fingers sharply, but so necessary and precise, easily beating out moan after moan from my lungs and ligaments, that I really realize how suitable an instrument like a piano is for you.

I realize that I also definitely already have love in LA, in the form of you.

[tokiwarcube]

Later

You didn’t mean to start the game, but don’t worry — Skwisgaar will happily finish it for you.

Or, in which you rile up Skwisgaar just a little too much at the album release party, and you remember what a damn-good flirt he is.

Skwisgaar Skwigelf/Reader (AFAB, GN.)

Handjobs, unintentional edging/orgasm denial, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, mild exhibitionism, semi-public sex, mirror sex, slight size kink. Established relationship, you guys are very much in love. 3.9k

All things considered, Skwisgaar is pretty put-together at big events like this. He doesn’t get too horrifically wasted, or yell at the waiters, or do anything to attract unnecessary attention. Sure, the little things he doesn’t mind letting loose on, but when it matters, he’s generally pretty good at not causing a scene.

But that doesn’t mean he’s on good behavior.

No, what he does is far more secretive. You’re reminded of this as he places his hands on your hips from behind — long digits reaching far more than your own hands ever could — leaning down to rest his chin on your shoulder. To anyone else, it looks like an innocent gesture — knowing your luck, this moment would be commemorated as little more than a photo in Times Magazine, with some tagline about the happy couple embracing at their album release party.

But what the world doesn’t see is the way his half-hard cock presses against your lower back.

You let your eyes sweep across the room, searching for staring eyes as he tilts his head to press an insistent kiss on your jawline. Shutters sound like gunshots in the busy room, and you tense when you realize there is indeed a lens trained on the two of you. You watch them check the preview on the screen, and you watch their face for any reaction… and… nothing. No furrowed brows or double takes — no new taglines to be added to tomorrow’s newspaper as they, thankfully, move on to capture more of the party. You breathe a sigh of relief, relaxing, and Skwisgaar’s lips upturn against your skin.

“You ams looking very pretty tonights.”

You smile, and huff out a laugh. Always one for the flattery.

“You always say that.”

He’s been chasing you around the label party all night, each time with a new attempt to get into your pants — sweet words here, a graze across the shoulder there. You can’t say you mind, especially considering the events leading up to now, although now he seems to be growing more bold in spite of your reassurances for “later.” Part of you thinks he’s growing impatient, although another part of you thinks he’s enjoying this game you’re playing just a little too much. You switch your drink to your other hand so you can reach around and run your fingers through his hair — his hips buck into yours at the contact, noticeably reflexive with how his fingers flex over your clothes, but you cling to your composure.

“And I always means it,” he says.

He takes your hand in his own, rough callouses rubbing gentle circles into your wrist, and that, that’s, what almost gets you. Flashes of tangled limbs and white satin sheets flash through your mind, as familiar as the feeling of air in your lungs. His voice drops as he presses his lips to the back of your hand, still kept close to your ear.

“But I think you ams especially pretty in white.”

Bastard.

He places one last kiss to your jaw before leaning back up, pulling you back into him a bit more as he does so, his chest a firm wall beneath your back. "This ams boring,” he says, this time at normal volume, “we should leaves.” He punctuates his words with another tempting rock of his hips against yours, cock filling out further with each consecutive half-thrust.

“Later,” you murmur, although this time, its more for your sake than his. He hums low in his chest, continuing to drag his thumb across the exposed skin of your wrist — undeterred even as you drag him to the dance floor, even as you sit among the label staff; and even as you’re seated for dinner among all of the people that makes your shared lives possible. With how free he’s become around you — less of his cool facade, and more of the humorous man he really is — you had almost forgotten how damn well he can flirt… especially with his new repertoire of little tricks curated just for you. Your resolve begins to crumble bit by bit as the night goes on, and you find quickly yourself regretting this game that you, albeit inadvertently, started.

You’d known about the party for months. It was impossible to miss really, with how often Charles reminded the lot of you of the date and it’s importance — a simple message of “don’t fuck this up” coming through in all of his reminders. And maybe if the sun didn’t filter through your curtains just so, illuminating the features of your lover so heavenly, maybe you would have thought about that just a bit more before placing an insistent trail of kisses along his jawline to rouse him from his slumber.

He sighs as he wakes, elegant as ever, ocean-blue eyes peeling open to peer blearily at you. Too early for his tastes he squints for a moment, eyes softening as he takes in your own sleepy features, before throwing an arm around you and hiding his face in your neck.

“Good mornings,” he hums into your hair and, insatiable as ever, you feel him stiffen against your bare thigh — still unclothed from last night’s activities. You titter out a quiet laugh, running your hand through his tresses for a moment, end to end, before burying your hand deeper to scratch gently at his scalp, coaxing a quiet groan of contentment from his throat.

“Good morning to you too,” you tease, “sleep well?”

“With you? Always.” His vowels and consonants always seem to slur together a bit more in the early hours of the day, accent more prominent in the fog that comes with waking. It’s a charming thing, but you don’t have time to savor it when he’s being so damn distracting — running his hand down your side so lovingly, so tenderly, before easing you onto your back. Your hands fall to your sides at his fluid movements, and silken white sheets cradle you as he presses his soft, plush lips to your collarbone. Then, to the left clavicle. Then the right. And then lower, to your sternum; your stomach; the crest of your pelvic bone. He moves so slow, so sensual, that it’s almost — almost — embarrassing how easily he works you up. But then he’s rising back to your lips, knee slotting itself back to where his mouth almost was, and you rock yourself against him at the same time you wrap your fingers around his cock. He groans into your mouth as you twist your grip around his length, and with a morning voice so pretty, how could you not want to pull him undone?

You drag the blunt of your nails along the planes of his chest, reveling in the goosebumps that rise in your wake, and you drink up every little reaction greedily. Slow movements from each of you drag out the experience — his own shallow thrusts into your grip, your steady movements against the leg parting your thighs — its a slow rise to pleasure, as slow as your rise to wakefulness. He pulls his mouth from yours for a quick breath, lips kiss swollen, and you can’t help but run your thumb across them in admiration.

It’s then that he takes your free hand in his hold, guitar callouses rubbing undeniably fond circles into the underside of your wrist. Soft lips press equally soft kisses to each one of your extended fingers, humping into your loose grip with a steady rhythm all the while, before finally interlocking your digits with his own. Your conjoined hands press gently into the bedspread, and from this angle he looks positively divine — golden hair falling delicately to form a shimmering curtain around the two of you, plush lips parted in growing pleasure, long eyelashes fluttering… He’s always so beautiful, but like this, it’s enough to—

The shriek of your alarm startles you from your stupor, and shit, Charles is going to kill the two of you if you’re late. You drop your hand from his cock, scrambling for your phone as best you can in this position, thankfully turning off the shrill screaming. His face falls — his whole body following soon after, and collapsing his face into your neck for the second time this morning. He makes a noise of discontent into your shoulder, moving to wind his arms around you in protest. And yes, it’s cute, and maybe another day you would indulge him, but you have to go.

“Come ons,” he groans, “it ams too early for a stupids meetings.”

“Baby, it’s not a meeting, it’s release day,” you shake his shoulder lightly, but he doesn’t budge. Instead, he places a kiss to the junction of where your shoulder meets your neck, and the offer is tempting, but then the memory of your alarm shrieking plays in your head, and Jesus, Charles will actually kill you two if you’re late. You tell him as such, and for his credit, he does roll on his side to let you free, albeit with a sigh. You scramble out of bed, darting towards the closet when you cast a look over your shoulder at him, mouth parted to urge him into getting ready… But the view of him spread across the white sheets has you pausing.

His eyes roam over your naked form as you stand — slow, intentional, like he’s mapping all of the places he wants to bite and hold, and you know that’s exactly what he’s doing when his lashes flutter, eyes darkening. Its almost enough to tempt you back into his arms, to risk the reprimand from the higher ups. Silently, with a raise of his brows, he extends his hand back to you. Expectant. Cocky. Confident. You bite the inside of your cheek, mulling over the consequences in your mind as you take a half step forward. And really, what’s—

Shit. Second alarm.

His face falls again as you turn and dart toward your wardrobe, this time with an unshakable determination. And while there’s truly nothing you’d want more than to spend the day in bed with him, you know damn-well that you can’t.

“Later,” you promise, rifling through your closet.

Although you know, this isn’t all entirely your fault, either. Because if he didn’t look so kissable in the plane taking you to the event, you wouldn’t have nibbled at his lip the way that you did. If he didn’t fill out that suit so nicely, you wouldn’t have drug your nails up his thigh in the moments before takeoff, wouldn’t have cupped his bulge as he hardened in his slacks. And maybe it’s his fault for getting worked up so easily — you know well enough that he has no problems testing your self-restraint, so really, what’s the harm in throwing it back at him a little bit? But he seems to care for none of this now in the present, as your previous promise of “later” leads you to the sprawling dinner table.

And God, you feel like you’re on fire. His hand rests on the inside of your thigh, petting gently, never too close, but just close enough to impart a heat that grows further and further up your face with every passing second. And any time he deems you too comfortable, he squeezes firmly, bringing you straight back to attention. You hate how composed he looks through it all too, casually sipping at his glass without even casting a glance towards your trembling form. Although you suspect he must be watching you in his peripherals, as his lips upturn coyly when you pout in his direction.

He’s getting off on watching you lose your composure.

Thoughts grow fuzzy the longer he teases, long digits never quite landing where you need them to be — but with so many watchful eyes, you can’t quite tell whether or not it’s a blessing or a curse. You’re just thankful that nobody’s asking you for extra details about the album, tonight — you’re not sure if you can even form a coherent thought at this point, nevermind formulate a truthful response. You lean against your lover a bit, canting your head up for a kiss, and graciously, he does meet you in the middle for one — quick and chaste, but it gives you enough time to mumble out a half-hearted “mean” against his lips. He grins at the same time your lips quirk downwards.

“Later,” he says mockingly, throwing your words from earlier at you, and takes another sip from his glass. More for show at this point, really, the damnable bastard. You huff, but accept your fate nonetheless — it’s not like you can go home any time soon considering Charles’ insistence on your full attendance. And, well, getting Skwisgaar to keep his hands to himself on any night is nothing short of a Herculean task, nevermind one where he’s already worked up. You lean a bit further into him, trying to will away the heat in your cheeks.

What you don’t expect is for him to take your wrist in his grip, and place your hand over his bulge. He presses your digits insistently against him, dragging the tips of your fingers up to trace along his length, from the head the rests on his right thigh, and back up to the base. He spreads his legs a bit further beneath the table cloth, giving you a bit more access, and even that little movement is enough to spark vivid memories that leave you more affected than you’d like to admit. You swallow thickly, feeling the heat pool further between your legs — his words, his touch, his own unabashed arousal all mixing together in your thoughts — and you’re just about ready to say fuck it to this whole event. You’ve done everything the label has asked of you, so do they really have a reason to keep you?

He knows he has you when you drag your hand across him of your own accord, stroking him beneath his slacks. He drops your hand then, and against your better judgement, you keep up your movements. Each inch your fingertips caress beneath the table cloth is an inch you ache to have buried in you, and Jesus Christ, you’ve never wanted to leave an event more.

His lips meet the top of your head for a moment — another sweet couples photo for Times, you think to yourself — evidently pleased at the fact that finally, you were chasing him.

“How abouts we finds a place a bit more… private?” He murmurs against your hair, for your ears only, “Been wantings to fuck you stupid since we woke up this mornings.” You feel him grin, victorious, when you nod shallowly, and he continues on with your confirmation. “Bathroom at the ends of the hall. Right sides. Five minutes.” And with that he’s rising from his seat, pushing his chair out and turning off to stride down the corridor.

And maybe you’re a bit too obvious in the way you let your eyes trail up his long legs as he moves away from you, but you’re glad to have taken the second look, because the short few minutes spent apart from him is tortuous. You squeeze your thighs together eagerly, swallowing at the barest bit of friction it provides to your clit, and when the time feels right, finally rise to your feet to follow after him. It’s easy enough to slip away unnoticed, with how little you’ve been chatting with your not-quite-peers tonight, and you only feel your excitement grow as you turn the corner — right, you remember — and dip into the bathroom.

You hardly have time to take in your surroundings as a pair of large hands come to cradle your face, bringing your lips to his own. This kiss lacks all of the restraint of the ones before — sensual precision replaced with desperate wanting as his tongue presses insistently at your lips and into your mouth. Hot and heavy, the breath is all but stolen from your lungs as you meet again and again, and yet you can’t seem to get enough. Kissing you this deep, he nearly has to fold himself to meet your mouth, and the image has you whining wantonly, dizzy on him. His blazer falls to the floor just after in an uncharacteristic display of impatience, but his hands aren’t off of you for long. The click of the lock is hardly heard over the thrum of your heart in your ears as he spins you gently away from the door and walks you backwards, not once breaking away from your passionate embrace.

It’s only when your backside brushes against the edge of the counter that he parts, and you quickly realize why he chose this bathroom in particular. Donned in hues of white and gold, this bathroom is full length, with a large, curving mirror towering over the countertop that he, evidently, wants little more than to bend you over. Curious hands roam up your sides, and flat against your ribcage like this, it’s startling how much room they take up.

“Ams such a tease,” he breathes, following the shape of your curves with his long fingers, and squeezing your hips firmly. It’s enough to draw a gasp from your lips, and you don’t have time to defend yourself against the accusations because soon after his hands are tugging insistently at your own slacks, fingers pressing against your dripping core through the fabric beneath them. You buck up into his touch involuntarily, stretched thin with want and lust, and God, you can’t believe he’s this damn good at taking you apart.

“Actings like you don’t wants this as much as me,” he scoffs, “you wants me to takes care of you? Huh?” He circles tightly around your clit through the fabric, as though to punctuate his sentence, and it’s enough to have you nodding your head rapidly in want. But that’s not enough.

“Ams you sure? Sure you don’t want to wait for laters?”

You whine high in your throat, pressing your hips against his hand insistently. “Skwisgaar, please— please, I want you.”

“Say it.” His pupils are blown wide, watching your expression eagerly, lips upturned at your wanting.

“Please fuck me? Please?”

And that, that finally seems to be enough for him — because just as the words leave your mouth he’s spinning you around to bend you over the sink, marble ice cold against your too-hot body. You hear the jingling of his belt as he shucks his slacks, and you wag your ass in temptation, netting you a firm hand to grope at you, and then come down with a soft crack against the tender flesh. He then slips the last of your bottoms off, nudging your feet apart with his own. Your pussy welcomes his fingers eagerly as they stretch you out — you were ready hours ago, embarrassed as you are to admit it — and with the newfound stimulation, you feel like a fucking live wire beneath him.

“‘Skwis—”

He hushes you, withdrawing his hand with a lewd slick. You flush at the noise — an undeniable fact of your wanting — but all thoughts die when the head of his cock runs through your folds, smearing your slickness before sliding slowly into you. You sigh in unison as he bottoms out — and suddenly all too aware of the party just down the hall you bite your tongue just as he grips your hips for a bit of leverage to find a rhythm.

Focused on keeping your voice low, the only noise for a bit is the sound of your shared panting, hips meeting with the soft jingle of his loosened belt. But it’s hard to hold your composure for long, with how his cock drags so expertly against your walls— sensitive, with the hours of wanting leading up to now.

He tangles his hand in your hair, pulling your eyes up to the mirror in front of you. There, you see the two of you — moving in tandem, a perfect song and dance, chasing your shared high. From this position you can’t see the way he enters you, taking you apart with each calculated thrust — but you can see the effects of it everywhere else. You’re a mess — all tousled hair and kiss-swollen lips — and he’s not much better for wear. His hair bounces with every thrust, pressing deeper and deeper each time; lips bitten raw from his cycle of biting and panting; muscles tense and lean, with the veins in his hands popping in the cold light of the bathroom. His undershirt clings to his chest, slick with sweat, tie long loosened for that extra bit of breathing room. He’s a vision — all disheveled, and undeniably gorgeous — and with a view like this, you could watch him pull you apart all day long.

Again and again his hips meet yours, growing more desperate with every passing second, and he slaps his hand across your mouth when your cries become too loud, too risky. Each thrust gets more shallow, more forceful, and you have to slap a hand of your own against the mirror to keep from sliding too far up the countertop. Soon enough he’s folding himself over you, hardly pulling out more than an inch before slamming back into you again, and again, and again—

“So fucking goods for me,” he praises low in your ear, “always takes me so well. Been waiting for this all night, haven’ts you?” A kiss just below your ear finishes his statement, but a hand on your clit starts a new one.

“So needy, getting fucked in publics like this, where anyone could just walk in and see. But you’re all mine, amnst you?”

You moan against the hand silencing you as he draws rapid, tight circles, nodding fervently. You hardly catch the praise that follows your needy submission, the coos of “that’s right,” as you’re cumming hard enough to send your head swimming. Your walls tighten around him, and it’s not much longer until he’s lurching forward with a stifled groan of his own — cock kicking as he fills you.

The room falls into silence again, save for the sound of your panting. After a few minutes of shared breathing he runs his hand reverently up your spine, then over your ribcage, before massaging your shoulders gently. A kiss to the base of your neck, and then he’s leaning back, pulling his softening cock from your folds and drawing a hiss from both of your lips. You can feel the way he drips from you as you catch your breath against the cold marble countertop, willing your heart into a slower rhythm. He gives one last affectionate squeeze to your hips before tucking his softening cock back into his pants... and then pulls your undergarments back up, for you. You feel the remnants of him leak onto the fabric as you stand, and you’re just about to scold him, to go grab some poor sod’s hand towel to wipe yourself down with, but he grabs your wrists before you can even think of moving.

Callouses. Little circles. A kiss. Your same song and dance that you always do. You pause.

“Amnst done with you yet,” he promises, “Want you like this.”

Turns your wrist, placing a kiss to the back of your hand. Then your shoulder. And then your collarbone. You swallow, and he smiles against your jugular as he moves up just a fraction more. His breath is hot against your neck, as he murmurs:

“Later.”