#and he knows him so instinctively that he barely has to look away from the road to do this

[oopsiedaisydeer]

ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴘᴜᴘᴘʏ, ɴᴏᴡ ᴅʀᴏᴘ ɪᴛ

…𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘱𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘺!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵

smut, puppy play, roughdom!chris, slight degradation, softdom!matt, oral sex (m!receiving and f!receiving), rough sex, slight daddy/sir kink, bdsm, roleplay, minor choking, use of belt as collar, consent is given but with power dynamics, humiliation, tension, multiple partners

PLEASE read at your own discretion and PLEASE do research if u want to get this kind of freaky !! consent is sexy !! stay safe everyone:>

inspired by @theyluvivi bunny!matt and puppy!chris <3

word count - 2k

She’s curled up between them, knees pressed together, hands twitching against her thighs. Eager. Waiting.

Matt hums beside her, dragging a slow, lazy hand over her shoulder, his touch light enough to make her shiver. “Good puppy,” he murmurs, voice smooth, measured, like he’s rewarding her for simply sitting still. “So good for us.”

Chris scoffs from the other side, sprawled out like he has all the time in the world. “For now,” he mutters, tipping his head, watching her with something sharp in his eyes. His fingers brush over her knee, then press down, spreading her legs apart just enough to make her react.

“Chris,” Matt warns, but it’s barely a reprimand. Like he’s amused. Like he expected this.

Chris only smirks. “What? Puppy likes it.” His fingers trail higher, featherlight. Teasing. He stops just before it gets to be too much, pulling away like it’s nothing. Like she’s not already on edge.

She exhales, letting out a soft whine, shifting the tiniest bit closer to Matt without meaning to. And Matt notices. Of course, he notices. His lips quirk like he’s trying not to smile.

“Needy little thing,” he muses, fingers tilting her chin, making her look at him. “We don’t have to rush, sweet puppy.”

Chris laughs, low and lazy. “Oh, but she wants to.”

Her breath catches. Matt’s thumb strokes over her jaw, slow.

“Come here,” Matt murmurs, tugging her forward, guiding her easily like he knows she’ll listen. She barely has time to react before Chris grips her waist from behind, pulling her into his lap with a rough little chuckle. 

She nuzzles into his touch, her body arching instinctively, a soft groan escaping her.

“Good puppies wait their turn,” Chris says, voice full of something dark and amused. His hands grip her hips, holding her still even as she squirms.

Matt watches with something warm in his gaze, but there’s a challenge there, too. “You gonna listen, pup?”

Chris’s fingers tighten just enough to make her whine. “Or do we need to train you a little more?”

Her whole body tenses at that, heat creeping up her neck, because the way they say it… like it’s not even a question, like they already know the answer… makes her stomach flip. She presses her lips together, trying to stay still, trying to be good. But Chris notices the hesitation, the way she twitches slightly, barely resisting the urge to move.

“Tsk tsk,” he clicks his tongue. “Already disobeying?” His grip shifts, his fingers pressing into the softness of her thighs as he leans in closer, voice dipping lower, rougher. “Bad puppy.”

Matt sighs, but it’s not disappointment. It’s expectation. Like he knew she wouldn’t last long. His hand comes up to smooth over her cheek, fingers grazing the corner of her lips. “Is that true, sweetheart?” he asks, voice deceptively soft. “Are you being bad?”

“Nuh uh”, she shakes her head, wide-eyed, but Matt only hums, unconvinced. 

Chris, on the other hand, scoffs. “Lying, too? Definitely bad.” He shifts beneath her, his thigh pressing up just enough to make her gasp. “Maybe we should put you on all fours, see if you behave better that way.”

Matt’s fingers tighten under her chin, keeping her still as he considers. “Hmm.” His thumb ghosts over her bottom lip, pressing just enough to make her part her mouth. “Or maybe she just needs something to keep her mouth busy.”

Chris grins, slow and sharp. “Such a naughty puppy,” he murmurs, tilting her head toward him. He adjusts her on his lap before reaching underneath his t-shirt to his waist, undoing his belt and pulling it out of his belt loops. 

She gets visibly excited, smiling and opening her mouth, panting slightly. Chris just smirks. 

Matt chuckles from the other side, while Chris’ eyes are sharp, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re so excited, puppy,” Matt comments, voice low, almost teasing. His fingers brush along her arm, making her tense. “She’s already lost, huh Chris?” he adds with a quiet laugh, leaning in, voice dangerously sweet. 

“She’s such a bad puppy. Never listens. Never learns.” Chris taunts.

Her whole body freezes at the sound of his voice, but Matt’s hand on her shoulder is grounding. “Wait,” Matt says softly, his tone reassuring, firm but kind. “Stay calm, girl.”

But Chris doesn’t share the same patience. His fingers trail down her side, pressing just enough to make her flinch. “Sit,” he orders, voice rougher, commanding. “I said sit, puppy. And stay.”

Her eyes glisten as she obeys, her body almost vibrating with excitement. As she lowers herself, her cheeks flush, she feels the heat of both their gazes on her. Chris takes the belt and twists it into a loose open sem-circle, reaching it around her neck in one movement. Her body stiffens for just a moment, but the next moment, she’s all soft, letting herself melt into his touch.

“You’re so obedient when you want to be,” he murmurs and then he smirks, proud of himself. “We gotta get you a real collar, puppy.”

“That’s right,” Matt coos, stroking her hair. “Can’t have you running off. But you’re loyal aren’t you?” She tilts her head into his hand, seeking more affection.

Chris tightens the belt around her neck, just tight enough for her to feel a light pressure, but in no way restricting her breathing. “Such a pathetic puppy. You’d do anything for a treat, wouldn’t you?”

She nods eagerly, her breath catching as she looks up at him, eyes full of need.

Slowly, teasingly, Chris undoes his jeans, pulling them down. The stiff outline of his cock through his boxers makes her mouth water, and she hungrily looks between his lap and face, desperate for any kind of permission.

“Go on, pup.” He says the name mockingly, pulling her slightly forward by the belt. “Play with your toy.”

Chris grins wickedly as he puts his fingers around the belt around her neck, the leather digging into her skin just enough to send a thrill through her. He pulls her closer, until her face is inches from his hardening cock, straining against his boxers.

She tilts her head, a soft, submissive “yes, please” slipping from her lips. Matt and Chris observe the way her hands tremble slightly, reaching out. It’s all the permission they need for the rest of the night.

“Open wide, puppy,” Chris growls, his voice dripping with lust and dominance. “Show me how eager you are.”

Matt watches intently, his own erection visible through his jeans as he reaches out to stroke her hair soothingly. “Easy now, girl,” he murmurs, but there’s a hint of excitement in his tone.

“You want this, don’t you?” Chris taunts, his fingers pulling his boxers down. A soft whimper escapes her before she can stop it. “Want to taste daddy’s cock?”

She nods eagerly, offering Chris her best puppy dog eyes. She reaches out tentatively, barely containing her enthusiasm, before wrapping both her hand around his dick, thumb moving ever so lightly.

Chris yanks her away by the makeshift collar. “Uh uh, be a good puppy. Drop it.” She whines, reaching out, but Chris swipes away her hands.

A warm smile spread across Matt’s face, enjoying the sight of her desperation. “That’s our good girl. So hungry for it.” His hand slides down to massage her breast through her shirt. “Go on then, puppy. Show us what that pretty mouth can do.” 

Matt’s other hand tangles in her hair, gripping tightly as he guides her face closer to Chris's exposed cock. “What do you say? Think our pet deserves a taste?”

Chris smirks cruelly, fisting his hand in her hair and forcing her to look up at him. “Only if you get it nice and wet for me, okay? Then maybe I’ll let Matt give you a treat too.”

She nods once more, feeling heat flood to her core. With a mischievous smile, she tilted her head, lightly nuzzling against each of their hands. “Please. I want to be your good girl. Please master. Please sir,” she teased softly, as she met their gazes with a playful twinkle in her eye.

Matt and Chris waste no more time, together pushing her head onto the latter’s exposed cock, immediately forcing her to deepthroat it. She sputters and gags, spit immediately drooling all over the thick member.

Chris groans in pleasure as her hot mouth envelops his throbbing cock, her gagging only serving to heighten his arousal. He thrusts gently, not yet fully sheathing himself in her tight throat. As she begins to adjust, she licks furiously all over it, lapping up the precum leaking from the tip.

“That's it, take it,” Chris praises, his grip on her hair tightening. “Fuck, puppy, your mouth feels so good. Look at how eager you are, little one.”

Matt watches, transfixed, as she struggles to breathe around Chris's girth. A shiver runs down his spine at the sight of his brother’s cock disappearing into her willing mouth. He releases her breast to trail his fingers down her back, giving her ass a firm squeeze.

“So obedient, so eager to please,” Matt murmurs, his own erection straining painfully against his zipper. “I think our pet deserves a reward.”

Without warning, Matt drops to his knees behind her, yanking her hips back and pulling her shorts down to present herself to him. He buries his face between her thighs, kissing along the backs of them before his tongue delves into her soaked pussy. No hesitation.

“Mmm, so fucking wet. Attagirl pup,” Matt moans against her slick folds, his nose pressing into her clit as he licks and sucks greedily. “Can never get enough of your sweet pussy.”

Matt laps at her dripping slit, savouring her taste as he brings her closer and closer to the edge. His fingers dig into her soft flesh, holding her in place as he devours her pussy like a starving man.

Her legs already start to tremble, her knees nearly buckling as Chris continues to relentlessly facefuck her, his cock slamming into the back of her throat over and over. The dual assault has her seeing stars, her mind foggy with pleasure. With renewed vigor, Matt suckles on her throbbing clit, his fingers probing her slick entrance. He curls them just right, finding the spot that makes her whole body seize up, a whine escaping her.

Matt lavishes attention on her quivering hole, his skilled tongue driving her wild with ecstasy. He hums in approval as she squirms and mewls beneath him, her sweet cum coating his chin. “You going to come for us, puppy?” Matt coaxes, his fingers finding her sensitive clit and rubbing in time with his devouring mouth. “C’mon, puppy. Let go, we’ve got you.”

With a dog-like whine, her body seizes, her orgasm rapidly crashing over her in waves of intense bliss. Matt drinks down every drop of her release, his tongue working overtime to prolong her pleasure, his own cock throbbing in time with her spasms.

As she floats down from her high, Chris finally pulls out of her mouth, leaving her gasping for air. His release coats her chin, and her own release drips down her thighs. He gives her hair a rough tug, forcing her to look up at him even though she’s wrecked from being on all fours for so long.

“You were such a loud puppy. Woke the whole neighbourhood up.” He undos the belt on her neck, but still holds it there. “Bad puppies don’t get anymore.”

She whimpers desperately, but Chris is already standing up, walking away, belt in hand, leaving her with her other master.

Matt helps her into his lap, and lets her lick and kiss at his neck as he pets her.

“It’s okay puppy. You were such a good girl for us today. Always such a good girl, aren’t you?”

creds to rose for the dividers!! @bernardsbendystraws

a/n: um. chat. listen.

taglist: @sturnslutz @snoopychris @hazedsturns @sturns-mermaid @chrissweetheart @cowboylikenat @camzeecorner @sturniolo101 @courta13 @sweetshuga @st7rnioioss @throatgoat4u @shadowthesim237 @emely9274 @sturnberries @bluestriips @lovergirl4gracieabrams @chrisslut04 @tezzzzzzzz @strnilolover @vanteguccir @chrislova

till next time !

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° you outshine the morning sun

( sae itoshi x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — just a short drabble bc domestic sae has invaded my brain

♡ word count — 705

♡ content — sae itoshi x reader, sae x fem! reader, made sae abt 25 in this, marriage mentioned, pregnancy mentioned. AN: i'd give this man as many babies as he wants.

♡ synopsis — sae itoshi didn't need to be a soccer god, not as long as he had you

The roar of the crowd still buzzed in Sae Itoshi’s ears as he exited the stadium, the post-game adrenaline barely settled in his veins. The night air was thick with the voices of fans calling his name, their desperation and admiration mixing into a cacophony he had long since learned to ignore.

"Sae! Just one autograph!"

"Marry me, Sae! Please! Just one chance!"

"I’d give you as many babies as you want!"

The shrill voices of young girls, the deep admiration from older men, the wistful sighs of women both young and old—none of it meant anything to him. He kept his gaze forward, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides as he pushed through the chaos. The only thing on his mind was getting home.

A sleek black car idled by the curb, the driver standing by the door, already well aware of the arrangement. No talking. No questions. Just drive and get him home as quickly as possible, and the tip would be hefty. An even bigger one if the trip was fast.

Sae slid into the back seat without a word, the door shutting out the noise of the world outside. He exhaled sharply, leaning back against the seat as the car pulled away from the stadium and into the quiet of the night. The streetlights blurred past, but he barely noticed them. Instead, his hands moved instinctively to his duffel bag, fingers searching through the smallest inside pocket until they curled around something cool and familiar.

A simple silver ring, discreet and unassuming, warmed quickly in his palm. His thumb brushed over the carved initials—his and yours—etched into the metal. He slipped it onto his ring finger, feeling a sense of calm wash over him.

Yeah. He just needed to get home.

The drive was mercifully quick, and before long, he was stepping out of the car and up the pathway to the house—the one place in the world where he wasn’t Sae Itoshi, soccer legend. He barely had time to set his duffel bag down when something small and fast crashed into his leg.

"Daddy!"

A grin tugged at Sae’s lips as he looked down, teal eyes meeting an identical pair staring up at him with pure joy. His daughter, barely three years old, clung to his leg with all her might. Her soft pink hair was pulled up into two messy pigtails, bouncing as she giggled.

"Hey, sweetheart," he murmured, crouching down to scoop her into his arms. She fit so perfectly against him, her tiny hands grabbing onto his jersey as if she never wanted to let go. And he? He didn’t mind one bit.

"Oh! I didn’t know you’d be home so soon," your voice rang out from the kitchen, warm and full of love. Sae glanced up just as you turned the corner, a wooden spoon in your hand, eyes crinkling at the sight of him. "The game just ended."

"Took a shortcut," he said simply, stepping closer to you.

His gaze flickered down to the soft curve of your stomach, where a second life—one he helped create—was steadily growing. Without hesitation, he reached out, resting a gentle hand there, feeling the warmth of your body beneath his fingertips.

A soft smile played on your lips as he leaned in, pressing a quick but meaningful kiss against them. Before you could deepen it, a tiny voice piped up between you.

"Yuck!" your daughter squealed, squirming in his arms.

You laughed, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of pink hair behind her ear. "You say that now, but one day, you’ll think it’s sweet."

"Nuh-uh!" she insisted, her little nose scrunching up in defiance.

Sae chuckled, finally feeling the weight of the world ease off his shoulders. Here, there were no screaming fans, no demanding coaches, no suffocating expectations. Just you, your daughter, and the quiet hum of home.

Sae Itoshi didn’t need fangirls, fanboys, or old women begging for his attention. He didn’t need adoration from the world, validation from the media, or the empty promises of strangers who only saw him as a soccer god.

Sae Itoshi just needed this.

Sae Itoshi just needed to be home.

Sae Itoshi just needed you.

posting this as an apology for going MIA for a bit :)

likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated!

[rafeysbunny]

⌑ islander!reader dragging fwb!jj into the bathroom for a fuck 'cause she misses him

cw ! nsfw, unprotected p in v, pussy slapping, squirting.

you and jj are definitely not together. at least, that’s what you tell everyone. just friends —friends who happen to sneak off to fuck whenever they feel like it, who know each other’s bodies better than they probably should, who have been playing this dangerous little game for months.

but now, jj’s lounging on the couch, laughing at something john b said, looking so obnoxiously good with his messy blonde hair and that damn smirk. he knows you want him. he’s been teasing you all night, letting his fingers linger for a little too long on you waist every time he passed by, brushing his lips against your ear just to say something stupid. and you've had enough.

you haven't had him in days. you need him. bad.

so you do what any person in your desperate situation would do —you get up, stretch, and head towards the hallway, muttering something about wanting to lay down for a bit after you give him that look. that's all jj needs. you know the second you disappear down the hall, he’ll follow.

and of course he does.

as soon as the bathroom door clicks shut behind him, you're on him. his back hits the door with a soft thud when you slam him against it, his arms gripping your waist instinctively while he stares down at you, those stupidly pretty blue eyes shining with amusement.

"fuck, sunshine —couldn’t wait, huh?" he has the signature smug grin in his lips as he talks. "you that desperate for my dick?"

that little smirks does unholy things to you. "shut up."

gripping the nape of his neck, you tug him down to press a hungry kiss to his rosy lips, letting out a soft whimper. he doesn't waste any time, his tongue pushing into your mouth, kissing you back with the same intensity. his hands slide down from your waist to grip your plump ass, pulling you flush against him so you can feel his hardening cock.

after a couple of minutes, he pulls away just enough to whisper against your mouth, "bossy."

"you like it," you mutter back, full lips curling into a pretty smirk.

your small hands move to grip the hem of his worn out t-shirt, eagerly tugging at it to get it off his perfect body. he chuckles, low and deep in his throat as he lifts his arms, letting you pull the shirt up and off. his chest is bare now, all toned muscles and warm skin making you drool.

"yeah, i really fuckin' do," he admits, hands also moving to help you take off your own.

beneath your top you're not wearing anything so when he yanks it off, you're left bare chested, pretty tits bouncing out of the thin fabric. his eyes darken at the sight immediately, scanning your body like he’s hungry for you in a way that makes you ache.

his hands are rough as they slide up your sides, and the feeling of his calloused palms against your soft skin makes your breath hitch. you have to bite your lip, trying to hold back a moan, when his thumbs graze over your perky nipples, and you shudder, arching into him, eager for more contact.

"shit, you’re so damn soft," jj mutters under his breath as he leans forward to kiss down your neck, lips slowly trailing over the sexy tan lines on your chest. "fuckin' love your body..."

“fuck, jay...” you whimper, fingers tugging at his waistband, eager to get him out of his clothes.

he chuckles against your throat at how needy you sound, his lips moving to capture yours while his hands slide down, cupping your ass before he lifts you up like you weight nothing. instinctively, you lock your legs around his waist, feeling his thick cock pressing against your sex through his board shorts, which makes you gasp into the kiss.

he walks you over to the old counter, setting you down so you’re sitting on the cool surface, which creaks beneath your weight, making you both pause for just a second.

"you want it, sunshine?" he teases, voice low and raspy. "my dick so deep inside you?" his hands squeeze your supple thighs, pulling you closer to him him. "say it, pretty girl."

"yeah," you start to say, but then he grinds against your pussy and all rational thought vanishes instantly.

"yeah, what?" he prompts.

he moves his hips again so his dick drags against your clit through the thin fabric of both your bottoms, his hands gripping your legs like he’s holding on for dear life.

"need your dick inside my pussy so bad," you answer to his enjoyment, struggling to hold back your pretty whimpers.

"that's it, sunshine. fuckin' love when you beg for it," he praises.

letting go of one leg, he pushes down his shorts and boxers, just enough to free his large, thick cock, which is fully hard for you. you mouth waters when you see it, and you're tempted to drop to your knees for him, but you don’t have time for that —not today. a gentle tap on your thigh brings you back to reality, and you hear jj asking you to lift up, so you obey, hips lifting from the sink as his fingers grip the waistband of your shorts.

he yanks them down and off of you in one swift movement, along with your panties, tossing them somewhere across the bathroom without a care.

"fuck– pussy looks so pretty and wet for me," he groans out, watching with hungry eyes as you spread your tanned legs for him.

"you been teasin' me all day..." you whine in response, sweet voice all breathy and shaky.

your cunt is already throbbing in anticipation as you wait for him to do something, anything really.

"yeah, well... how about i make it up to you, huh?" he smirked, fisting his cock and giving it a couple of pumps. without warning, he rubs the head against your slick folds, teasing your puffy clit with it. "you missed having this dick?"

your whole body shudders at his action, little bundle of nerves buzzing from pleasure. you can feel your pussy clenching around thin air, begging to be filled up.

"jay," you cry out almost pathetically, "stop that."

"stop what?"

he chuckles mischievously, dragging his length up and down your slit oh-so-slowly, the fat tip pushing against your opening briefly before he pulls back, denying you both again.

"stop teasing, fuck," you huff, finally snapping.

your hand sneaks between your bodies to wrap around his shaft, lining him up with your dripping hole before you sink onto him, and you both have to bite back a moan of pure relief. he nearly loses his balance at how good you feel squeezing his cock, one hand slamming against the counter behind you for support.

"shit..." he hisses through clenched teeth, his free hand keeping you spread open for him. "that's so hot..."

it drives him crazy when you take control like that, and you know it, so you enjoy doing it every now and then —despite how much you love him being in charge. his face burrows into the crook of your neck as he tries to keep his cool, and his hips start moving slowly, pulling out just an inch or so before sliding back in, his thick cock stretching you out so good.

"fuck, you feel like heaven."

you have to reach up to cover your mouth while you throw your head back against the mirror, muffling a whiny moan that you can't possibly hold back. jj’s fingers dig into your hips, his grip bruising as he finally starts to move, fucking into you with hard, deep strokes that have your breath hitching.

his lips find your jaw, then your ear, voice dripping with smug satisfaction as he says, "pussy's squeezing me so tight... she’s fuckin' made f'me."

he punctuates his words with a sharp thrust, making you choke on a gasp. with the way his dick pumps into your cunt just right, it's impossible to look anything but a complete mess for him. you can't even bring yourself to care about the rest of the pogues hearing anymore, not even when the sink creaks with every thrust.

he leans back slightly to watch as his dick slides in and out of your perfect, puffy pussy. the sight is so fucking hot that he can't help but pick up the pace even more, slamming into you over and over again until the sound of bodies slapping together echoes loudly through the bathroom. your cunt is soon fluttering around him, and the muscles in your tummy tighten as you approach your climax, the pleasure so much that it has your pretty little toes curling.

"shit, you're gonna make me nut if you keep doing that," he groans, and you can hear the strain in his voice.

"uhm, can't help it..." you mumble.

smirking roguishly, you clench around him again, voluntarily this time, and his eyes roll back as he bites his lip, trying his hardest not to come just yet. he knows you're close too, and he wants to make you cum first.

"such a tease..."

he punishes you by slapping your clit, making it sting. but then he starts rubbing it, and the combination between pain and pleasure makes the coil in your belly snap, pussy squirting around his dick when you finally orgasm. your release leaves you shaking and panting for air, almost crying from how intense it is —you have to bite down on your lip to keep quiet, so hard that you almost draw blood.

and you look so damn pretty, trembling beneath him and soaking his cock, that jj swears he falls in love with you on the spot, spitting out a curse while relishing in your fucked out expression.

"my gosh, sunshine, you just squirted f'me? fuck..."

the sight, added to the feeling of your snug pussy gripping him so fucking tight, has him spilling his cum inside you, head dropping back with a shaky breath. it takes everything in him not to moan out loud as he keeps thrusting erratically, pumping you full of his seed.

when you both come down from your respective highs, you notice jj is staring down at you with hearts in his eyes, but you force yourself to ignore it —not wanting to acknowledge the way it makes your heart flutter. you just push him back gently to climb down from the sink and start throwing your clothes back on.

jj is terribly hurt by that, but he also pushes the feelings away, focusing on accommodating his shirt and pants; pants which happen to be soaked in your squirt, and which cost him a lot of mocking comments from the pogues when he leaves the bathroom to go change, leaving you behind not to raise any suspicions.

"ew, jj, did you fuckin' pee yourself?"

at least, they don't seem to have noticed about your little... rendezvous.

[snoopychris]

leave me alone

in which... chris just cant get reader out of his head

inspired by this song!

chris was three drinks in when he saw you walk into the club. they were minimally alcoholic, but it was enough for him to feel a buzz. it felt like his drunkness hit him like a ton of bricks when you walked over to him. he had been fine just a few minutes ago, what had happened during the thirty seconds it took you to walk over? chris swallows as his grip on his drink tightens instinctively, glancing at nick for a lifeline. that’s when chris pieces together that you weren’t here for him. you were here for nick. right. you could still be friends with nick even if you and chris weren’t on speaking terms. chris pushes all of his emotions to the side as he pretends to be okay. just for the night. for his brothers sake. 

the alcohol streaming through him wasn’t doing any wonders right now. he couldn’t help but glance the way you moved on the dance floor. your black dress was incredible on you. it sparkled like you were the only diamond in a jewelry store. chris wanted to know if feeling this way five months after a breakup was normal. if it was normal to have what’s basically a heart attack whenever he locks eyes with you. he hopes it is. 

“chris?” chris hums in response to the voice, whipping is head to find the source. the last thing he expects is to see matt standing with a girl by his side. well, two girls. one to his right and one to his left. how was it possible that matt could get two girls in one night and chris was still struggling to work up the guts to talk to one of them. chris brings up one of his hands to run through his hair, the other extending to the girls next to his brother. matt gestures to the one on the left, smiling gently. “hailey here… is hoping that someone’s gonna take her home tonight. do me a favor and grant that wish for her will you?” matt smiles, heading back into the crowd with the other girl. chris can’t help but chuckle at the fact that matt got him a date. this was a step in the right direction. a step in the direction towards moving on from the girl who had the entire dance floor in a trance. 

“so you’re the youngest triplet?” hailey asks, her hand resting on the small of chris’ neck. the club is so crowded that there’s barely any room to move, but he’s making it work. he nods slowly, his grip on her waist tightening. “yeah… by twenty or so minutes.” he smiles, lips moving close to her ear. she lets out a shaky exhale as he nips on her earlobe, tightening the grip she had on his hair. chris is so close to closing the deal and taking her home that he feels freer than he has in weeks. he feels like there’s nothing restraining him. he feels just fine. it all ends in a flash when he bumps into you while dancing. 

“shit… sorry.” you whisper, sipping your drink as your eyes go between the blonde and chris. you hold back a laugh at the sight, biting down on your bottom lip. the look you give chris at that moment gives him flashbacks to the day you broke up. a day full of yelling and screaming and crying where the last words you said to chris were  “you’ll never be moving on.” he hated how right you still were. Chris felt so sad right now. he didnt feel sad in the way that he thought he was about to cry, but sad in the way that he felt pathetic. he felt pity for himself. he didnt know it was possible for a person to pity themselves until now. “you two have fun tonight…” you whisper, locking eyes with the girl who was seemingly your replacement. “hes a power bottom by the way… hope you can do some squats.” chris feels his breath hitch as you walk away, talking another step in the direction towards moving on from you. he pulls hailey from the dance floor and the club entirely, walking towards the alleyway nearby. she looks a lot like you now that he can see her in slightly better lighting.

Chris, still continuing his move on journey, presses a long passionate kiss to her lips. the alcohol is still coursing through his system, but its a different kind of rush thats going through him right now. this feels right. moving on feels nice. he thinks that maybe, just maybe, hes finally out of the woods and at this point, youre just a thing of the past. when chris pulls away, he smiles at the lip gloss smudge on haileys lips. he licks his own for a brief moment, eyes furrowing as he pieces things together in his mind. “you um… what is that? that lip gloss? thats colourpops cherry glaze lipgloss?” he whispers, rubbing his mouth with the back of his palm. Hailey nods slowly, pulling out the product from her purse and placing it in lips hand.

he’s all too familiar with the packaging. the flavor. the color. the scent. the way it was yours. you had at least three different tubes of it when you were together. one at chris’ place, one in your car, and one in your house. Chris sighs when he realized that he liked kissing hailey so much because it was the closest he would ever get to kissing you again. God, chris hated himself so much right now he could cry. he felt like he was leading the poor girl on by thinking that she was you in his head. he hates himself more because he doesnt let that stop him at all. 

it doesnt take long for chris to end up back at his house with hailey. and yet, it takes a lot longer than he wouldve liked it to take. within seconds of having her inside, shes being pinned to the wall. flashes of you in her place fill chris’ mind. he wants to shout to whichever version of you is haunting him and tell it to stop. to leave him alone. he wants to tell you so desperately that one day youre going to have to leave him alone. but he cant bring himself to. especially since chris knows that deep down, you left him alone months ago. he moans against the girls lips quielty as she slips off his shirt, pulling him further and further through the depths of his house. they end up in his bedroom eventually, quickly jumping onto the bed. Chris goes first, and despite wanting you out of his life, despite wanting to move on, all chris can picture is your naked body next to him.

his eyes dart his bedside table when hes grabbing a condom, holding back a sigh when he lays eyes on the picture frame you had gotten him once. as if that wasnt enough, theres an old bobby pin laying there too. its also yours. Chris doesnt want to begin to think about the amount of things in his room that are all rightfully yours, and thats still where his mind is going. despite having kicked you out months ago for the final time, youre still living in the roots of the room. you had helped him put the bed together. you helped him paint the walls a color he enjoyed. this room would always be part you. the poor girl above him doesnt even know that the entire time that shes doing anything with him, all chris can think about is you. its a relief to chris that this night is probably going to end and he’ll never have to face poor hailey again, but he still wants to keep her around long enough just to be able to have any version of you nearby. 

a/n: this song has actually been stuck in my head all day. this was also supposed to come out last week but. whatever.

tags! @ifwdominicfike @frankoceanfanpage @mattssslutbby @sophand4n4 @matthewsturnsgf @izzylovesmatt @m11rx @chris-hallelujah @sturniolotoast @wastelandzella @le4hsblog @mattsd0llfac3 @st7rnioioss @isabellewhatt @sturnslutz @bluessturniolo @courta13 @sturns-mermaid @ivysturnss @slutformatt17 @emely9274 @princessesgarden @marrykisskilled @cykss @13hoax @riasturns @oopsiedaisydeer @darksturnz @chrisbratt333 @throatgoat4u @whore4mattsturniolo @camzeecorner @joanakaulitz @starrysturns @muwapsturniolo @darksturnz @bernardsbendystraws @strnilolover @ilovedanielcaesar @sturnshood @immaqulate @batbabylolo @lol-milfy

[rosekeu]

soft like a bunny : r. sukuna

this is part 5!

a/n: highschool au, fem!reader, reader has braces, shy+nerdy+sensitive reader! [if you don't like that then leave ig lol] soft spot for reader ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡ gosh i finally updated thisss hip hip HURRAY!!!

sypnosis: you get an unexpected warning from someone about your recent relations to sukuna.

[ part 1 ] [part 2] [ part 3 ] [ part 4 ] [ part 6 coming soon! ]

the next day at school was surprisingly quiet. all your classes ran as normal, maybe all of your bullies were intimidating now that you were associated with a delinquent like sukuna. you didn't think about it much, it didn't matter, did it?

as you entered your chemistry class you sat in your usual spot but you missed sukuna’s pestering. you can't deny it was annoying but it was the good kind of annoying that made you want more of it when he wasnt near.

so there you were, exhaling dramatically, your chin placed on the palm of your hand. as you think about what sukuna must be doing at his house. 

and then you remembered. 

he had invited you over. to his house.

you mentally facepalmed at the memory. how could you forget that? he’d casually mentioned it yesterday through text. a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you thought about it. you'd need to remind him to send you his address later. you weren’t sure what to expect, but you felt a flutter of excitement in your chest.

you were snapped out of your thoughts when a voice cut through your musings.

“hey.”

you blinked and turned to find naoya zenin sitting next to you. your stomach immediately dropped. 

of all people... naoya zenin?

he was the twins’ rude, misogynistic cousin. he’d barely acknowledged your existence ever.

even when you went over to maki and mai’s house for family gatherings, so why was he sitting next to you now?

naoya flashed a grin, clearly seeing your surprise, and before you could react, he leaned in closer. “don’t look so startled. i’m just here to talk. you’re... kinda cute, actually.”

you instinctively shrank back, cheeks flushing slightly as you awkwardly tugged at your sleeve, trying to avoid eye contact. “u-um... i-i don’t think we have anything to talk about…”

“yeah we do.” he teased, pushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. looking into your eyes with a fake warmth. “you and sukuna, huh? what’s that about?”

you furrowed your brows, confused. naoya wasn't a person who talked to just anyone, that was clear. he always acted as if he was above everyone else, and you figured that was one of the reasons why he avoided you at all cost. 

social suicide. 

you weren't popular— but you weren't hated, per say. you were just bullied…that's not that bad right?

“we’re lab partners—”

before you can say another word he puts his hand over your own mouth. “ah– don't lie. what was that shitshow yesterday? when he beat up those bullies?”

he paused, raising a brow as his eyes skimmed your figure. what did sukuna see in you? 

“for you? a little pipsqueak who can’t even stand up for herself? interesting," naoya's voice had a teasing, almost mocking edge to it now. his eyes narrowed as he leaned in even closer, his hand still hovering near your mouth.

you felt your breath catch, your nerves tightening. naoya’s presence was suffocating, and his words stung. your face flushed, both with embarrassment and the uncomfortable weight of his gaze on you. why was he doing this? it wasn’t like he ever cared about you before—why now?

"uh, excuse me, but i really don't think this is your business," you muttered, your voice softer than you intended but still firm. you pushed his hand away from your face, feeling your heart race. you didn’t know where this sudden surge of confidence was coming from, but you remembered the promise you made to yourself to stand up for yourself more. 

naoya chuckled, an evident smirk plastered onto his face. "oh? getting feisty now, huh?" he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he studied you like you were some kind of puzzle he was determined to solve. "well, if you ask me, you don’t seem like the type to hang around someone like him."

“but you don't know me, naoya.” you speak truthfully. he talked as if he was your friend, but you both knew that was a lie. 

naoya chuckled, as if he were entertained by your words. "you’re cute i’ll give you that," he said, leaning back again, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you. "but you better be careful. people like sukuna don’t just take an interest in anyone. and the fact that you’re hanging around with him now? well, that’s just begging for trouble."

you couldn’t help but feel a knot form in your stomach at his words. sukuna had a reputation, sure, but did it really matter what others thought? wasn’t that the point of why he was different? he didn’t care about what others thought, and that was part of what made him… well, him.

before you could respond, the bell rang, signaling the start of class. naoya stood up, shooting you one last smirk before gathering his things.

 and his words keep a small space in your brain.

taglist!

@thepup356

@mahi-tamashi

(can't find the otehr taglist members lol)

[endofthelinegang]

hello 👋🏻 how are you? As a request how might Frank would react finding out that his gf worked as a model but only to pay the school where she studied? Yes, like Izzie Stevens 😅, my imagination has no limits 😂 ofc it's up to you, if you don't like the idea, pls feel free to ignore this :)

first of all I LIVE for an izzy stephens reference, so you know i had to whip this out, and frank too?? ik your anonymouse but i love you so much you do not even know. anyway guys while i bite my fist over the punisher here is this:

Frank finds the pictures by accident.

It starts with something small.

Your phone buzzes on the couch, lighting up the dim apartment with a soft glow. His own phone is dead, left charging by the bedside, and without thinking, he reaches for yours. Instinct considering you always give him your phone since you rarely wear pants with pockets.

But when the screen wakes, it’s a text, from a friend of yours he assumes. He doesn’t know what to expect when he opens the message but he shook his head once before looking again. It was a picture of you.

Not the you he knows—the one tangled in his sheets in the morning, hair a mess that you toss about before even consider brushing it out, mumbling something about coffee before you can form a full sentence. Not the one who steals his hoodies, drags him through “girly shit” just to watch his reactions, laughs at his terrible jokes even when he barely cracks a smile himself.

No, this version of you is something else entirely.

Draped in silk. Skin polished and plastic looking beneath the studio lights, eyes lined dark, lips parted just enough to be suggestive with a beautiful dark sultry color on your lips. There’s something distant in the way you look at the camera, something almost untouchable, like the flash of a blade just before it cuts.

Frank stares.

The photo shifts, the album scrolling of its own accord, showing him another.

And another.

And another.

He sees all of them, because apparently your little girlfriend thought it was a genius idea to joke with you about these memories.

A spread from some high-fashion magazine. An editorial, glossy and cold, the kind of thing rich men drink scotch over, admiring the artistry of a body like it’s just another piece of fine art.

Frank’s stomach knots.

His pulse hammers—too fast, too tight—but he doesn’t move. He just sits there, phone heavy in his hands, dragging his gaze over each frame like he might be able to feel what you felt in those moments.

The precision of your posture.

The weight of someone else’s vision pressed into you.

The way you aren’t there in your own body.

It hits him all at once.

You modeled.

Not for fun. Not for passion.

For money.

And you never told him.

The thought burns.

He sets the phone down carefully—too carefully, like if he isn’t, something in him might snap. His jaw ticks, teeth grinding as he presses his hands against his knees, grounding himself in the feeling of rough denim, something real, something tangible.

He isn’t mad.

He just—

Fuck.

He’s something.

The sound of water cuts off down the hall. The bathroom door creaks, hinges a little warped from age, and then you step into the room, towel wrapped around you, hair dripping dark rivulets down your bare shoulders.

You smile when you see him, soft and easy, like the sight of him alone is enough to make you happy.

It shouldn’t make his chest tighten the way it does.

“Hey,” you murmur, leaning down to press a kiss to his temple. The warmth of you lingers even after you pull away, but Frank doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, just watches as you grab your phone.

He waits for you to notice.

For that smile to drop.

For the shift, the tell—

You don’t.

You don’t even see it.

“What’s up?” you ask, voice light, casual, still wrapped in that post-shower drowsiness. You could tell something was wrong, he was just staring, not even at your but at your hand, at your phone. Which was very out of character for him.

Frank exhales slowly, steadying his voice. “You ever gonna tell me you used to be a model?”

The air in the room changes.

It’s instant. Subtle.

Like the drop in temperature before a storm, before the first crack of thunder splits the sky. Your eyes go wide and you are the one staring at your phone no longer able to look at Frank.

Your fingers tighten around the phone. Just a fraction. Your breath catches—not much, barely there—but Frank feels it, hears it in the way your body stills, like prey caught in the open.

“…How’d you find out?”

His eyes flick to the phone. “It was open.”

You inhale sharply through your nose, head tilting just slightly. Frank knows that look. It’s the same one people wear when they’re deciding how much truth they can afford to spill. You honestly were not sure what to say because you had not seen exactly what he had.

“I mean,” you say, “it wasn’t exactly—”

“Don’t.” His voice is quiet. Firm. “Don’t play it off.”

Your lips press together. You hesitate, the beat between seconds stretching long enough that Frank can hear the weight of it.

“…It paid for school,” you say finally.

Frank’s stomach drops.

You shift, like you’re waiting for him to react, waiting for him to pass some kind of silent judgment.

But all he can think about is you—you, alone, standing in front of that camera, doing whatever the hell you had to just to claw your way out of something that didn’t want to let you go.

That gives him a prickly sting in his chest.

“Sweetheart.” His voice is rough now, thick, something breaking open in his chest. “You think I’d look at you different? That I’d—I dunno, think less of you for it?”

You say nothing.

And that silence?

That tells him everything.

Frank leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “That why you never told me?” His voice is softer now, the edge dulled with something worse than anger—hurt. “You think I’d see you like some kinda—”

“I don’t know, Frank,” you cut in, voice suddenly sharp. Defensive. “You—you live in a world where people don’t just do things because they have to. You see the worst in people all the time, and I didn’t—I didn’t want you to see me like that.”

His chest aches.

Like that?

Like what?

Like someone who survived? Like someone who did what they had to?

His jaw tightens. “Like less.”

You shift, arms crossing over your stomach like you’re physically holding yourself together.

“I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t good enough for you,” you admit, voice small.

Frank physically recoils.

His fingers twitch against his knees, grip tightening like he’s holding himself back from breaking something.

“You think you’re not good enough for me?”

You let out a humorless laugh. “I mean…look at you.”

Frank stares at you. He cannot believe what he is hearing, in fact it sounds like nonsense.

Then, without thinking, he grabs your hands and throws your phone down into the bed. Not rough, not hard, but firm, pressing it flat against his chest—against the scarred, ruined skin beneath his shirt.

“I ain't the one who spent their life doin’ something clean,” he says, voice rough with something raw and aching. “I ain't the one who pulled myself outta somethin’ just to make my life better. I don’t—I can’t have that.”

His fingers tighten around yours, grounding himself in the feel of your pulse against his.

His fingers tighten around yours, grounding himself in the feel of your pulse against his.

“But you?” He shakes his head, voice thick, like he’s trying to force something down that just won’t go. “You’re the onlything in my life that ain’t broken.”

You let out a shaky breath, eyes glassy, and Frank feels the way your walls start to crack. Then, slowly, finally, you lean into him.

It’s not a dramatic fall, not some grand collapse—just a slow, quiet surrender, like your body was waiting for permission to stop holding itself together. You press your forehead against his shoulder, and he exhales, deep and steady, like he’s letting go of something too.

For a while, neither of you says anything.

The room is warm, quiet except for the soft buzz of the streetlights outside and the faint creak of the old apartment as it settles. Frank shifts slightly, adjusting his hold on you, tucking you against his chest like he’s keeping you from slipping through his fingers.

And then, after a long beat of silence—

“So, uh…” His voice comes out low, and rough, but there’s something else beneath it now, something lighter. “You ever wear that little red dress for me, or is that just a special occasion?”

You freeze for half a second, then pull back just enough to look at him. The sheer audacity of it makes your mouth drop open.

“Frank.”

He shrugs, barely holding back a smirk, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. “What?”

“You cannot—” You slap his chest, not hard, but enough to make him huff out something that’s almost a laugh.

“Hey, I’m just sayin’.” He lifts a hand, resting it at the small of your back, fingers tracing absentminded circles over your spine. “You already got me wrapped around your damn finger. Might as well use it.”

You shake your head, pressing your face against his shoulder to hide the way your mouth twitches. “You’re unbelievable.”

He hums, and you can feel his lips moving against your hair when he says, “Nah. Just lucky as hell.”

His arm tightens around you, holding you there—close, safe, his. And even though he’s still got that rough, teasing drawl in his voice, there’s something else underneath it, something real.

Because yeah, he might joke. He might take the tension and twist it into something softer, something easier to hold.

But the way he looks at you? The way he touches you like you matter?

That tells you everything you need to know.

And maybe, just maybe—you’re lucky too.

[ariminiria]

just. how casually. how easily. how very second-naturedly Jack reaches out from the driver's seat and grabs Mac by the belt when he's hanging out the window of a moving car. the trust. the brotherhood.

[prlssprfctn]

Damian wakes up, startled. He doesn't remember what he saw in his dreams, and he is not sure what caused him to feel so anxious, but he knows what to do. The routine is easy and comforting; he just needs to find his brother Jason. So, he goes.

His bare feet against the cold floor is soundless, making no sound, and he keeps rubbing his eyes until he sees one of the doors open. It must be Jason. He always keeps the door of his room open, just in case.

There is a dim light in the room, a small lamp on the desk, where the stakes of paper are stored, and Jason is here, as tall and huge as always, tapping on his feet in an attempt to concentrate, while twirling a pen between his fingers. He is either reading or working on something else: writes down memories, afraid of them slipping away due to the Lazarus Pit hammering in his temples all the time.

Damian yawns and steps closer, tapping on his back.

'Akhi Jason,' he calls hoarsely. The body freezes, almost surprised — he is not supposed to; Jason hears him from the corridor, even if he is the most soundless kid in the whole world. 'I want to sleep.'

He never says he sees nightmares or that he is scared — just that. It always works.

Expect, this time it doesn't.

'What did you say?' Brother asks, his voice sounding so unusually stiff.

'Jason,' he repeats, more irritated this time. 'I said, I want to—'

When Jason turns around, Damian instinctively staggers back, his eyes widening.

The man in front of him is not Jason.

And for a second, Damian is panicking, until-

Until he doesn't remind himself that he is not home anymore. He is in the Wayne Manor, with his father.

With his father that looks exactly like his brother, only older, without scars, marring his face, and without a white streak that makes him look like a bird.

'Damian,' his father calls, slightly shaken. 'How do you know Jason?'

He swallows down. He is not supposed to tell about his brother. They instructed him not to.

But father has a familiar desperation in his eyes, the same one Jason had, when he was pacing around the room, muttering something incoherent, the cut out from newsletters photos of Bruce Wayne with Tim Drake in his hands, and-

And Damian shrugs.

'He is my brother,' he says, almost too innocently; because if he is going to be clueless about it, then what others will have to tell him? 'He stayed with a grandfather. It is a shame.'

Almost as if he doesn't understand what all of this implies.

'I was sleepy,' he adds. 'And got confused. My apologises, father. I shall return to my bedroom.'

Bruce stares, stares, and stares. And then, rubs his face with his hands, exhausted.

'I'll tuck you in. Let's go,' and a second later, with his voice sounding so familiarly small, just like how Jason's sounded when he first acknowledged him as his brother, he adds: 'Can you tell me more about your brother, Damian?'

And Damian tells him, of course.

He is not surprised to see the result of his work the next week.

[monstersholygrail]

You, a cute Deer hybrid foolishly make another attempt to get away from your Tiger hybrid bf’s grip while his tongue ravishes you in the name of “grooming.” You huff, slumping against his paws that encircle your body.

He chuckles darkly, the sound sending a chill down your spine. You try as hard as you can to not appear as aroused that you are by it, but when you hear him inhale sharply you know he’s picked up on the scent of lust that seeps from your pores.

“It’s no use trying to get away from me, mate.” You can’t help but whimper, the jittering buzz of restlessness coursing through your pent up body.

“I wanna run,” you whine, looking longingly toward the grassy distance even as you arch into his embrace. A part of you resisting possibly because you know how wound up it makes him.

A second later the tiger’s prickly tongue resumes its course of lapping up and down your exposed throat and you shiver, resisting a pleased sigh that begs to be released. A rumble passes through his chest as he soaks up your warmth, his protective instincts roaring to life at your irritating insistence.

“If you run then you get dirty and then you will be right back here in my enduring embrace with no chance of escape,” he growls, not completely hating the idea for a moment. The idea of caring for his mate’s body as much as he wrecks it an intriguing one. So why not do both?

Even with his warning you don’t stop your wriggling. Of course you don’t. Not when the urge to run and burn off your energy is pumping through your veins. You don’t even notice how your endless squirming has you grinding into your bf’s dick, causing it to harden and stir to life. Bringing forth its need to hunt and make its prey submit. He rumbles huskily in your ear, jerking forward and pinning you down with his hips.

“Stop your moving this instant or I’ll make you,” he threatens with that deadly rasp in his tone that would’ve had you baring your neck for him in an instant if you were paying any attention.

Your damn squirming doesn’t stop and it’s even worse now that his aching cock is nestled right between your plump thighs. His red bulging tip dribbling pre-cum. The fact that you don’t even notice as it leaks down onto your exposed slit is his last straw.

“That’s fucking it. You’re done for.”

Chilling noises leave him as he leans back and yanks your ass up into the air. Flipping your dress up and fully exposing your glistening pussy to the cold air as you help in surprise. That yelp quickly growing into a full-blown cry as before you realize what’s going on, your bf slips his entire length inside your warm wet cunt in a single thrust.

He doesn’t bother waiting for you to adjust before he starts slamming his cock along your quivering walls. His claws digging into your fur to keep you perfectly still for his onslaught. You hadn’t given him a moment of relief and he plans on affording you the same courtesy. Growls tear from his throat at how tight you are, especially as your pretty pussy clenches down on him like the good Doe you are.

You moan wildly, your body buzzing as it finally gets the exercise it truly needed. You try and meet his thrusts but your bf roars in protest, his claws sinking deeper into your flesh. Snapping his cock inside you with brutal thrusts, using your body like a fleshlight. Fucking into you with no restraint and unleashing all his pent up frustrations on you. Just like him your climax sneaks up on you and completely overwhelms you with endless shocks of pleasure. Your body shakes as he doesn’t stop, prolonging the buzzing inside you and you have a feeling he’s not gonna stop for a long time…

With each orgasm that wracks through your form, your body grows weaker. The only thing keeping you upright anymore is your bf’s claws still sunk into your hips. Drool pools from your lips as he pumps inside your pussy just right. Clearly aiming for his own release as few thrusts later he’s spilling himself deep inside you, filling your spent cunt to the brim with his cum. A sweet little reward for how good you were for him.

“Look at you. So perfect like this,” he says in awe, his claws scraping up and down your back in a way that has you moaning weakly.

Your body is so perfectly still, your mind completely fucked out. He now has you exactly how he needs you. With you no longer able to move, your bf leans over you, cock still fully sheathed inside you, and resumes his grooming. This time with no interrupts besides the occasional whimper.

[marvelstoriesepic]

In too deep

Pairing: Fuck buddy!Bucky x Reader

Summary: After Bucky calls, and you come running, you end up locked in his bathroom, trying to get rid of the evidence that something hasn’t gone well this time.

Word Count: 7.4k

Warnings: 18+ (mdni) blood; descriptions of sex; feeling pain during sex and not saying anything; friends with benefits; mentions of periods; mutual pining; miscommunication; self-doubt; self-loathing; worried!Bucky

Author’s Note: This is my first time writing something more suggestive. It is not outright smut, but there’s lots of talk about sex, so if you are a minor, please stay away. And if you are not, then I hope you enjoy and I'd be happy to know what you think ♡

Masterlist

You are bleeding.

The sting between your legs is sharp. Like a wound still weeping after the blade has been pulled away.

The yellow light above the mirror of Bucky’s bathroom hums and flickers slightly, ghostly shapes of shadows draping against the walls.

Your breath is shallow.

The bleeding won’t stop.

With toilet paper in your hands, you press your trembling fingers against the inside of your thigh. It soaks, leaving your skin warm and sticky. The scent of iron is in your nose.

You know your body. You know how it shifts and bends beneath pleasure, how it aches in the aftermath and you know that this is different. It’s wrong.

A breath shudders out of you at the pulsing pain.

Bucky is still in his bedroom.

Probably waiting for you to come out and leave.

That’s how it’s always been.

He calls, you come, you make him feel good, then go.

He never asks you to stay. Not really. He asks you to come over, to press your lips against his, to carve his pleasure into your skin, but he never asks you to stay thereafter.

But you still keep running. Every time.

The sting flares up again and you clench your fists against your thighs, your body curling inward on instinct.

You don’t know how long you usually take to freshen up, but it certainly takes too much time right now.

You don’t want to be a burden. You want to be something simple, something easy.

But fuck, it hurts.

You glance down again, lifting the hem of your shirt you pulled over quickly before retreating to the bathroom. Crimson smears against your skin, staining the inside of your thighs and you curse under your breath.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you exhale slowly.

You need to get up. You need to clean yourself up, put on your clothes, and walk out of his apartment like nothing happened. Like it doesn’t matter. Like you don’t matter.

The thought is a sour taste on your tongue.

Bucky had a bad day. That’s why he called. That’s why you came. That’s why you let him take and take, why you let yourself pretend it was more than just relief and release.

And now, you are bleeding in his bathroom, barely able to stand, barely able to breathe without wincing.

Your fingers grip the edge of the sink as you haul yourself up. The room tilts for a moment, and you grip it tighter, knuckles whitening.

You look in the mirror. You look ruined - cheeks flushed, eyes glassy, lips swollen from kisses.

You press your hands to the cool porcelain.

One more breath.

Then another.

Then you reach for the toilet paper again, dabbing at the blood, pretending you don’t see the way it just keeps coming. Pretending it’s not seeping through the white thin fibers. Pretending it doesn’t matter.

Because if you want to keep coming back, it can’t.

It’s not like he hasn’t been nice to you.

Bucky is always nice.

You were friends first, after all.

Before the weight of need, before his hands started lingering a little longer, before the heat and the fleeting contact.

Things had been easy, light, and simple.

You had inside jokes, late-night conversations that bled into mornings, you even cooked together - well, you cooked, while he hovered, occasionally stealing a bite, occasionally setting the table with that soft little smirk. It was comfortable. Safe.

Until he kissed you one day. So many weeks ago.

It was an accident. Or maybe it was inevitable.

You were both drunk. You were both in a good mood. There is not much you remember about that night. All you remember is how close you two were and that all your friends from the party were gone already.

You remember the way his knee had brushed yours, sitting on his couch, the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for you. And then you remember that he did. He kissed you. And your heart stuttered, his breath caught, he hesitated for a second, giving you a chance to pull away. You didn’t. You should have.

Because there was no stopping from then on.

You left the moment you woke up in his bed to him snoring in your ear and leaving drool in your hair.

But you keep coming back when he calls.

He is careful with you, always. Slow and attentive. He never lets you leave without asking if you are okay, without pressing a bottle of water into your hands, without brushing his fingers against your wrist as if needing something. Maybe a reminder that this is real. Maybe something that’ll hold him back from saying something.

But today was different.

He didn’t ask you how your day was when you walked through his door. Didn’t wait for you to slip off your shoes, to drop your bag onto its usual spot by the couch. Didn’t even give you a chance to breathe before his hands were on you.

He had you pressed up against the wall next to his door and claimed your mouth in a searing kiss that almost tasted desperate.

His fingers curled around your waist and pulled you to him so tightly, you felt every single one of his ragged breaths against your chest, the tension thrumming beneath his skin.

Then he lifted you, carried you over to his bedroom, and basically tossed you onto his bed, his body following. He pressed you down, caging you in, his weight and scent and whole behavior dizzying you.

There was no hesitation. No slow unraveling. No playful touches and teases meant to draw things out. It was pure and unfiltered need.

His hands gripped your hips so firmly, not enough to leave bruises, but hard enough to tell you that he needed this.

He fucked you like you were the only thing on his mind.

He fucked you like you were the only thing keeping him here.

He fucked you like it’s you he craved.

He fucked you like it was making him blind.

It did.

Because he didn’t see the way you gritted your teeth, the way your nails dug into the sheets beneath you, the way the dull pain at the beginning began to sharpen, spreading with every of his hard thrusts.

His face was buried in the crook of your neck, lips tracing the curve of your skin, his breath warm and heavy against your pulse.

He was lost in it, consumed by the feel of you, the way you were wrapped around him, the way your body clenched.

Normally; his weight, his deep groans, the heat of him, his sheer presence pressing you into the mattress would be grounding, would be something good. Something addicting.

But it wasn’t today.

Because the pain only grew.

The stretch felt wrong - too much, too sudden. He gave you time to adjust, asked if you were ready with that husky tone of his, and you only nodded. You lied.

You thought you were able to push through the pain and that it would soon turn to pleasure. But that wasn’t the case, and every snap of his hips only had you fighting to keep from flinching.

Your breath stuttered as he shifted, angling deeper, hitting something that made you gasp. It must have sounded like pleasure to him because he then groaned into your hair, but it was a sound stemming from startled pain.

You felt that deep, bruising pressure that shot up your spine, making you bite down hard on your lip to refuse a cry to slip out that would surely make him stop out of concern.

You only squeezed your eyes shut, trying to will it away. But it didn’t.

It kept spreading, kept tearing, kept building with every thrust.

You know you should have said something.

You know you should have told him to stop, to slow down, to give you a second to breathe.

But then he panted against your neck, breathing into your skin how good you feel, whispering praises and words that sounded a little too affectionate for the kind of arrangement you are having and you felt him let go of whatever was plaguing him.

So when he checked in again, asking if you were alright, you nodded once more. Forcing your lips into a shape that could resemble a yes, and you felt him shudder, felt his grip on your waist tighten as he dived into you again, lost in the feel of your walls.

And you let him.

Because you didn’t want to ruin this.

Because this is what he needed, what he asked for, and if you had told him to stop, what if it changed something? What if it broke that thing between you? What if he would have ended up being disappointed? Unpleased? What if he stopped calling?

So you swallowed the pain. You kept biting your lip and tried to focus on his breathing, the warmth of his skin, anything but the way your body protested, the way the ache morphed into something unmanageable.

You still don’t stop bleeding.

It’s not your period.

You had your period last week. It’s what kept you away from him, what had you say no when he asked you to come over. The thought of bleeding on his sheets, on him, was enough to make heat run along your neck, mortified at the very idea.

But Bucky had just shrugged, voice low and unbothered when he told you he didn’t mind.

But you did, so you declined. And when he asked you, soft and caring, if there was anything he could do for you, you declined as well.

There is a limit to his affections you can take. A limit to the sweetest things he can tell you, the lovelies things he can do for you, and the softest ways he can touch you because you believe none of them mean as much to him as they do to you.

So you stayed home, curled in your bed with a heating pad, ignoring the way you ached for something that had nothing to do with cramps.

And now, here you are, bleeding anyway.

God, you hate this.

Thankfully, the blood started coming when you already sat down on the toilet. When your thighs pressed together and you felt the wetness along the sharp sting that made your breath catch.

But you tell yourself it will stop soon. It has to.

You just need a few minutes - just long enough for your body to calm, for the pain to fade into something tolerable. Long enough to clean yourself up and pretend like everything is fine.

You take another breath, pressing your palm against the cool porcelain of the sink. Your time is running out. You can’t stay here too long or Bucky will notice. You never take this long. And you certainly can’t let him see this. Can’t let him know. Can’t let him ask questions you don’t want to answer.

A knock comes. Soft and firm, rapping against the wood of the bathroom door. Once, twice, before his voice follows, rough but laced with something gentle. Careful.

“Hey, you alright in there?”

Your stomach drops. Shit, you took too long.

You squeeze your eyes shut, inhaling sharply, trying to keep yourself from spiraling. You force your voice to steady, to keep the waver out, to sound normal.

“Yeah,” you call back, trying to make it sound light, breezy, unbothered. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

Silence. Just for a second. Then, another knock, a little firmer this time, a little more insistent.

“You sure?” Bucky’s voice carries through the door, and there is something new in it now. A crease in his tone.

You can practically hear the way his brows furrow, the way his jaw ticks, that little frown tugging at his lips and deepening the line between his eyes.

Normally, you would think it’s cute. Normally, you would have to suppress the urge to press your finger to that little divot and smooth it out like your touch could unravel the tension in him.

But right now, thinking about it only makes your pulse halt, makes you feel like there is something thick and choking in your throat.

Bucky shifts on the other side of the door, his voice lower, softer when he speaks again. “Do you need-”

Panic flares in you. “I’ll leave as soon as I’m done,” you blurt out, too fast, too sharp. “Just- just give me a minute.”

There is a beat of silence.

The air in this small bathroom seems to be thinning out. You stare at your own reflection in the mirror, at the wide eyes, the parted lips, the tension in your shoulders that pulls them up.

“You don’t gotta leave, doll.”

It’s quieter. His words are careful, almost hesitant, but there is something insistent in them too. Him trying to piece something together.

“I just-” He exhales, and you hear the way he scrubs a hand down his face, the way he shifts his weight from foot to foot, like he is trying to keep himself still, trying to keep himself from pushing open the door and looking at you. “Is everything alright?”

It’s the way he asks, the way he lingers on the words, like he already suspects the answer but is hoping - praying - you will say or do something to prove him wrong.

And you want to. You want to smooth it over, to push away his worry before it sinks too deep, before it turns to annoyance or impatience. But before you can get a single word out, he keeps going.

His voice turns tighter. Faster. His knuckles still seem to rest on the door.

“Are you hurt?”

Your breath stays caught in your throat.

“Did I-” He stops. Starts again. “Did I hurt you?” The words rush out of him, like he can’t stop them. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You open your mouth, but he still continues talking.

“Shit,” he exclaims, as if it hits him square in the chest. His voice dips lower, rawer, tinged with something like guilt, something thick and pressing. “Doll, was I too rough?”

You can hear it all in his voice - the worry, the guilt, the panic, that desperate need to fix something before it even fully breaks. And there is no impatience, no annoyance, none of the things you were afraid of.

You should have known, but somehow you keep lying.

“No, Bucky,” you say, and you hate the way your voice wavers, the way it doesn’t sound that much convincing. “Don’t worry.”

The door handle rattles.

“Doll.” Bucky’s voice is closer, pressed right up against the other side of the door, low and urgent. The knob jerks in his grip, testing it, trying to keep his touch gentle but unable to stop himself. “Can you let me in?”

You swear you can hear your own heartbeat, a dull, thrumming thing pounding in your ears.

“I’m fine, Bucky.” The lie stumbles out too fast, but you don’t know what else to say.

The knob shakes again, this time harder. “C’mon,” he breathes out, and you hear the strain in his voice, the way his words come tighter. “Please, doll. Just open the door.”

You don’t move. Your knees are weak.

“Fuck.” He is frantic. His breath is ragged and sharp. You hear him shift, pressing more of his weight against the door as if he is fighting the urge to force it open. “Y/n, I didn’t mean-” he stops himself, and you can almost picture his hand running through his hair, his jaw clenched tight, his brows pinched together so deeply. “I didn’t mean to be rough with you. Fuck, I- I swear, I-” His voice falters, cracking on something heavy.

You swallow hard, but your throat is closed up and it can’t pass through cleanly. “You weren’t rough, Bucky,” you try to assure him.

But he only lets out a troubled sound. “Yeah?” His voice turns gravelly. His tone turns desperate. “Then why the hell won’t you open the door?”

You can’t answer that. You can barely stand, gripping the sink so hard you feel your fingers might start to cramp. The pain flares up again and you grimace.

“Doll,” he tries again, his voice frenetic. “Please, let me see you.”

The door handle tugs again.

“I need to see you.”

You blink rapidly, trying to keep the frustrated tears from welling up your eyes.

“Bucky-”

“Please.”

That word is laced with a plea so deep, you feel it in your bones.

“Buck, I need a second, okay?”

You force a slow inhale through your nose as you rip off another wad of toilet paper and press it between your legs. The crimson smears against the white. You do it again. Again. Until there is nothing left to wipe away and nothing more is coming. For now.

Your thighs sting where you rub at the dried streaks, the skin tender, hypersensitive. You force yourself to ignore it. You just have to get out. That’s all. If you can get out of his apartment before it starts bleeding again and without crumbling to the floor in pain, there is nothing to worry about.

“You’re scarin’ me here, baby. Please. I need to see you. Need to make sure-” His voice catches.

You toss the balled-up paper into the toilet, reaching blindly for the handle, flushing it down, and cutting Bucky’s desperate words off for a moment.

The pain gets worse, dragging along your nerves and making you lose your balance slightly. You grip the sink again. Your vision goes dark for a short second. The floor is cold beneath your bare feet.

“I wasn’t tryin’ to be rough with you. Y/n! I- I needed you, and I got lost in it, and fuck- I didn’t-” he chokes out, not able to continue. His words sound like a confession.

You grit your teeth, twisting the faucet of the sink too hard, too fast. Water rushes out, scalding against your skin as you scrub your hands, scrubbing at the blood, scrubbing at the proof, as if that will make it disappear.

Your lungs feel too tight, too small to hold enough air. Your heart beats against your ribs like it wants out.

You don’t know if it’s because he went too deep, or too hard, or if something inside you just wasn’t ready for him, but it doesn’t matter now. What matters is that you don’t let it show.

On the other side of the door, Bucky exhales vehemently.

His fist knocks twice again before curling around the door handle. “Baby, please let me in.”

“I’m fine,” you call out, but it doesn’t sound right.

Bucky’s breath shudders out.

You try to straighten, try to compose yourself, and open that door to pretend you are fine, but a sharp, searing pain rips through your lower abdomen and you gasp. Your vision swims and the ground beneath your feet feels wobbly, shifting like it might fall out from under your feet.

Bucky’s breath is rough and broken through the crack beneath the door. His palm presses flat against the wood, a low thud that makes your stomach churn.

“Y/n,” he warns, voice low, but so incredibly distressed. So incredibly worried. “If you don’t open this door, I swear to God-”

Your legs give out.

It’s not a full collapse, but it’s enough. Your knee buckles and you stumble, hip knocking hard into the edge of the sink before you pitch sideways, shoulder crashing into the shelf beside you.

The impact rattles the whole thing.

A bottle of cologne topples over, then a razor, then something heavier - a glass jar filled with cotton pads - shattering on the tiled floor with a violent crack.

“Alright, I'm coming in.”

Bucky doesn’t wait for permission.

The door bursts open with a bang, the hinges groaning under the force of his shove. He is on you in an instant, all broad shoulders and frantic energy, filling the small space with his presence before you even have time to react.

Bucky’s hands find you - not grabbing, not pulling, just there, at your back, your arm, holding you together, holding you up before you can fully meet the ground.

His breathing is uneven, his chest rising and falling too fast, and the sight of him nearly knocks you off your feet once more.

His eyes are wide, pupils blown, that storm of worry you have heard in his voice through the door now a full-blown hurricane.

“What’s goin’ on? Doll, what is it?”

You don’t answer. Instead, your own gaze shifts to the glass jar at your feet, fractured lines spiderwebbing through the surface from the fall.

Your chest tightens. Your throat locks.

“Shit, Bucky, I’m so sorry.”

You barely recognize your own voice - thin, trembling, too damn weak. You grip onto him, the shirt he must have pulled over when you disappeared into the bathroom, and you hate it. You hate how bad of a burden you are to him right now, when all he wanted was to let off some stress of the day.

But Bucky doesn’t even seem to hear you.

He doesn’t seem to see anything else than you. Doesn’t look at the glass, doesn’t blink at the mess.

His eyes are on you.

And the way he is looking at you makes something inside you crack even deeper than the broken jar at your feet.

His eyes are sharp and they trace over you, cataloging everything.

He doesn’t just look at you, he dissects you. His gaze maps every inch of your body, searching, calculating, reading between the lines of what you’re not saying.

The way your shoulders are drawn tight. The way your chest stutters on each inhale, as if even breathing is too much right now. The way you clutch at him, your knuckles white, not even trusting your own legs to hold you up.

You swallow hard, shifting your weight in his hold, and the pain flares again, enough to make your body involuntarily tremble. You clamp down on a wince, but he notices.

Bucky’s jaw is tight.

You tug at the hem of your shirt, yanking it lower, bunching the fabric between your fingers as if that will do anything.

Bucky’s gaze snap to your movements. He narrows his eyes, drinking you in with an intensity that makes you want to shrink.

“Doll,” he lets out, voice hoarse and rough, like the single word is punched out of him.

His hands skim over your arms, your waist, searching.

Then he stills.

His fingers twitch against your hip. His shoulders stiffen.

His gaze drops.

The storm behind his eyes turns feral.

You know what he is seeing.

You feel it before you even look down - the slow, unwelcome warmth trailing down your inner thigh.

The blood.

A single, thin ribbon of red against your soft skin.

For a second there is nothing. No sound. No breath. Just his stare.

“Jesus Christ.”

His voice comes in a way you’ve never heard before. It’s rather a harsh croak of sound than his normal voice.

You try to move, do anything to shift his focus, to stop the way his grip on you tightens as if he’s afraid, in pain himself.

But the second you move, another sharp pang shoots up your core, stealing what little breath you have left and you gasp.

Strong arms wind around you tightly, pulling you into his chest firmly.

“Bucky-”

“Hush.”

It’s not an order. It’s not a demand. It’s a plea, soft and urgent and broken, whispered against your hair as he holds you like you might break. No, like he might break.

“You’re hurt.” There is an aching note of guilt hanging between each syllable. It’s so thick and pronounced, you wince. “Fuck- I hurt you.”

You shake your head against him, trying to swallow past the lump in your throat. “No, Bucky, you didn’t-”

“Don’t.” His voice breaks on the word. His grip tightens, his fingers pressing into your skin. “I hurt you. God, fucking hell, I hurt you.”

His grip on you is firm, but not rough.

His arms cage around you, holding you as if you might slip right through the cracks of his fingers if he lets go.

Large fingers press into your hip, your thigh with a feverish desperation, enough for you to feel the slight tremble in them.

His breathing is so ragged, like he’s been running. Chasing something he’s already lost.

He is shaking.

A whisper of his lips presses to the side of your temple, lingering. A contrast to the way he has been claiming your mouth moments before.

It feels like he is pressing his regret into your skin, hoping you’ll absorb it.

“I'm so sorry,” he breathes. It’s hoarse. Nearly choking.

You hear the fracture in his voice, something splitting open inside him.

Another kiss, this time on your forehead. Another apology, spoken in the warmth of his mouth against your heated skin. Another kiss, soft, like he’s praying to you, trying to breathe the apology into you.

“Shit- I'm so sorry, baby.” The words rasp out of him, broken, spilling into your hair, against your forehead, over your cheek.

His hands won’t stop moving. You feel them everywhere - gliding over your back, skating down your arms, searching. For what, though you are not sure. A sign that you’re okay? Proof that he hasn’t broken you?

But perhaps he has. Just not in the way he fears right now. Not in a way that bruises or cracks like a bone, but in the way that has you swallowing down the shame rising thick in your throat.

You don’t want him to see you like this.

It’s humiliating. It’s too much. The way he is looking at you is making you lose control over your limbs and you really can’t afford that right now.

Heat pools beneath your skin, then it vanishes, leaving you cold, your body not able to decide whether to fight or flee.

He gathers you and lifts you in the air, pulling you to his chest. He does it slow. Careful. Looking at your face for any indication that he hurt you some more.

With that, he walks you out of his bathroom.

You should fight him, tell him you can walk, but you’re not sure you can. Your legs are trembling in his hold, unsteady, and the deep throb of pain is still biting at your insides.

And Bucky is holding you like you are the most important thing he ever carried.

You whimper in pain and his hold tightens instinctively. His hands shake against you.

You hate the way your stomach spins in on itself at the thought of staining him. At leaving blood on his clothes, on his skin, on his belongings.

But Bucky does not seem to care at all. He does not seem to think about that at all.

None of it seems to matter.

Only you.

He sits you down carefully, on the edge of his bed. The very same one he just fucked you raw in. His hands hover even after he lets go, still gripping at your waist, brushing along your arms, your knee.

Then he takes off.

You can hear the frantic rustling - the opening and shutting of drawers, cabinets, his movements fast and panicked.

And when he returns to you, he is kneeling in front of you with a damp cloth.

He doesn’t speak at first.

Just opens your legs slightly, with gentle hands, for better access and begins to swipe. Soft, slow drags over your sensitive skin, barely any pressure at all, afraid even the slightest touch might make this worse for you.

But the thing is, he is already making this worse.

Not in the way he thinks.

Not in the way that physically aches in your body but in a way that fills you with something barely manageable.

Bucky is not annoyed, or exasperated at this turn of events. He is not disgusted. Not even a little.

He is not wincing at the blood smearing on your thighs, isn’t hesitating when it stains the cloth, and also might stain his hand, the sheets on his bed. He just keeps wiping. Keeps caring. Keeps frowning with that expression of utter concern and remorse.

And this hurts so much more.

It would have been easier if he had been an asshole about it. If he had sighed in annoyance, rubbed a frustrated hand over his face, and told you to just go if you were gonna act weird. Maybe you would have been able to handle that.

But Bucky Barnes is anything but an asshole.

He is kneeling before you, hands still cautiously wiping at your skin. Each motion is so slow, painstaking, like an artist restoring a ruined masterpiece, knowing no stroke of his hand can undo the damage.

His touch is soft, but his body is anything but.

His spine is a pillar of strain, each muscle wound so tightly, even the act of breathing seems like an effort to him, like something he must force past the knot in his chest.

His jaw is hard, teeth pressed together in a pressure you can almost hear.

Rigid shoulders don’t really move with his breaths, as if the guilt inside of him has turned to iron and settled deep in his bones.

Every inch of him seems to be screaming with the need to undo something that has already been done.

His blue eyes are flooded with regret. With something heavier than guilt, something closer to self-loathing.

It feels like he is bleeding grief.

And it would have been easier if he didn’t care so much.

Because if he was indifferent, if he brushed it off, if he let you go, then at least you could pretend this didn’t mean anything. At least you could convince yourself that this arrangement was just that - an arrangement. A convenient thing. A way to feel wanted without asking for more.

But this makes it impossible to lie to yourself.

This makes it impossible to stop falling for him over and over again.

And that is what really hurts, what dives deep into your insides to carve out a room and stays there.

His fingers brush over your knee as he cleans.

And then, after a long, silent moment, he speaks.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

His voice is rough. Not accusing. Not angry. Just wounded. Pained.

He lets out a sharp breath, his throat bobbing as he swallows thickly. He looks away for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut as if blocking out what he did to you.

His gaze flicks back up to yours and the way he looks at you nearly takes you apart.

“Why didn’t you stop me, doll?” His voice breaks, as if it physically pains him to say it. “I- Jesus, I- why didn’t you tell me?”

You shake your head, your throat tight, trying to find the words. Trying to explain. But the shame, the embarrassment make it hard to pull in a full breath, making it impossible to speak.

Bucky waits.

And again, that makes it worse.

Because he is patient with you, even now. Even when he desperately searches you for something, when he looks like he wants to rip himself apart with his bare hands.

He is still waiting for you, waiting for you to think about your answer.

You push past the lump in your throat and force up something. “I didn’t want to ruin it,” you admit quietly.

His brows pull further together, face twisting. His hand stays on your knee. “Ruin what?”

You exhale shakily, your fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt. “For you,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want to ruin it for you. I just- I wanted you to feel good.”

Bucky might have stopped breathing in front of you. Might have just died and come back in the same second.

A sound leaves him. You can’t make out if it is a word or something else, but it is deep and gravelly and it slams into your chest like a fist.

His head dips forward, his hands flexing into fists on his thighs before he drags them over his face. The stained cloth lay discarded.

He shakes his head, not believing what he is hearing. Not even knowing what to do with himself.

He looks at you again. His eyes are darker now. So full of pain.

“Doll,” he breathes, and the way he says it - like it hurts him, like it breaks him - have you staring at him helplessly. “You think I’d rather you suffer through it? That I’d rather have you- have you just take it? That I’d rather get off than-” He stops. He has to stop. His breath hitches in a gasp. His fists shake. “Fuck.”

You can’t look at him.

You want to. But you can’t.

Because he is too much.

Because he is everything.

Because he is making it impossible to pretend like this isn’t something more than what it is.

There is a deep, pulling sensation in your stomach, a hand reaching inside and twisting and turning everything around.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out. Your bottom lip trembles and you fight against tears welling up in your eyes.

Bucky moves instantly.

He is on you in a heartbeat, as close as he can possibly get, as if he could crawl into your skin if it meant keeping you from hurting.

His head shakes, frantic, desperate. “No, hey- no.”His voice sounds like it has been dragged over broken glass. Fractured.

“Don’t apologize, baby. Please, don’t.” He cups your face, his palms warm against your skin. He forces your eyes to his, refuses to let you look away, refuses to let you hide in your shame.

His brows are pulled together, his jaw is tight. His entire body vibrates with something fierce.

“Don’t be sorry. I’m the one who is. I’m the one who needs to apologize.”

His thumb catches a tear.

His hands tighten, like he can physically hold all of you.

“God, I gotta apologize, baby,” he breathes, and the sheer pain in his voice has your heart pounding. “I shouldn’t have- I should’ve never let you think this was all it was.” His fingers flex against your face and he drags in a breath that seems to hurt him.

His forehead almost touches yours.

“I should’ve told you,” he croaks out, words something like a confession. “That first night. That next morning. Should’ve told you then. Should’ve never let you leave thinkin’-” He stops himself, his eyes so blue, so damn intense, burning into yours with something so vulnerable it has your ribs crack open.

He regains a firmness in his voice when he speaks next.

“I should’ve never let you walk out thinkin’ you were just some good time to me.”

You choke on your next breath.

Your mind blanks.

He shakes his head, like he hates himself.

“I thought-” He exhales and rubs a hand over his jaw, his stubble rasping against his palm. “You were gone so fast that first time, baby. So fast. And I- I thought maybe that’s how you wanted it. Maybe that’s all it was for you. It broke my heart, but hell, I thought that’s all I was gonna get. And I didn’t wanna risk it. Risk losin’ that with you.”

You didn’t feel your lips part. You just know that they are gaping.

Words are lost on you.

Bucky’s hands slide down your arms, squeeze at your elbows, needing to ground himself, needing to feel you solid beneath his fingers. His thumb brushes over your pulse point, as if trying to memorize the beat of it.

His voice lowers. Softens.

“But I can’t do this anymore.”

His fingers tighten.

“Not- not like this.” He swallows hard. “Not when it’s hurtin’ you. Not when I-” His throat tries to work around the words, his gaze searching. “Not when I’m hurtin’ you, and giving you the impression you’d just have to take it. That you couldn’t tell me to stop when you need me to.”

His voice splinters.

You stare into the glossy sheen of his eyes and only see sincerity and the utter despair he is in.

Something pushes against your ribs, trying to carve out space where none existed before. A deep heat blooms low, not the kind that you knew to ignite in the dark between tangled sheets and intertwined limbs, but something slower, something deeper.

“I left that morning because I thought it’s what you wanted, Bucky.” Your voice wavers, but you hold his gaze, watching the way his entire body tenses, the way his brows draw together.

Your hands move to his shirt, nails pressing into it, eyes moving away from his, but he keeps them on you so firmly.

“I was scared,” you admit quietly. “I was scared you would wake up, look at me, and regret it. That you’d think it was a mistake. And then, you never asked me to stay-” You swallow hard, blinking rapidly to slow the tears. “And I thought that meant I was right. That you didn’t want me to.”

Bucky’s eyes go wide.

He looks broken.

His body jerks forward as if you hit him. His mouth is parted and his lips are trembling. His throat works words up.

You watch as something dark and agonizing moves through him. He blinks fast, breathes in sharp, and exhales even sharper.

Then he shakes his head, over and over again, lips moving to a curse he doesn’t speak out loudly. His hands adjust themselves on your skin.

“You thought I wanted you to leave?”

The sheer disbelief, the sheer devastation in his voice makes your chest cave in on itself.

“I-” You try to answer, try to explain, but he continues.

“No. No, sweetheart, no.” His hands slide down, gripping your arms, your hands, begging you to listen. “I never- Fuck. I never wanted you to leave.”

His eyes are wild, urgent, stormy.

“I wanted you to stay. Every damn time. But I thought it’s what you wanted.” His voice hitches, his shoulders rigid with tension. “You were gone so fast, doll, you didn’t even-” He swallows, his expression shattering. “I figured you didn’t wanna wake up next to me.”

You feel everything crack open inside you.

Your pulse hammers in your throat, in your wrists, in your ears, in the very tips of your fingers, both in a wild and certain way.

“You never told me to stay,” you whisper.

Bucky’s face contorts in pain.

“I was terrified,” he breathes, his forehead pressing against yours. “Terrified that if I asked, you’d tell me no. And I- I couldn’t-” He exhales a profound breath, shaking his head. “I couldn’t stand hearin’ that, doll. I couldn’t stand losing even the little of you I had.”

Something harsh tugs at your chest, making it hard to breathe.

You had it all wrong.

And so did he.

You want to laugh, maybe, or cry, or press your hands to his face just to make sure this moment is real, to make sure he won’t take back what he just told you.

You let out a shaky breath. A finger lifts gradually and brushes against his jaw. He leans into your touch like he is starving for it.

“I always wanted to stay,” you whisper, voice breaking.

Bucky’s breath stutters, his fingers twitching against you. His lips are parted.

With a long and drawn-out breath he moves to cup the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair, holding you to him.

His lips press against your forehead, once, twice, a third time, his breath warm and unsteady against your skin.

“I fucked up,” he mutters, voice thick with regret.

You shake your head, but he won’t have it.

“No, baby. I shoulda told you from the start. I should’ve never let you walk out that door.” Another kiss. Another released breath. “But you ain’t walkin’ out now. Not this time. Not ever. M’ not gonna let you.”

His voice is low and rough, filled with something sore.

“You’re stayin’ right here.”

You pull him in, needing him closer, needing his arms around you and his warmth against you.

And Bucky melts.

Completely, he folds into you. His arms wrap around your body, pressing against the small of your back, fingers digging in like he needs to feel you.

He buries his face into your hair, leaving kisses there, his breath strained against your scalp. He smells like soap, like something faintly sweet, like safety.

His hand smoothes over your back, tracing slow and grounding patterns, memorizing every inch of you, needing you to be okay.

“How do you feel, baby? You still hurtin’?” he whispers against your temple.

Your stomach flips at the care in his voice. How much he wants to know. How much he needs to know.

You hesitate for a second, words sticking to your tongue.

Bucky pulls back slightly, enough to look at you. His eyes sweep over your face, over every tiny micro-expression, over every little glimmer of pain you can’t quite hide.

His gaze drops lower, assessing you, thoroughly. The bleeding seems to have stopped and relief washes over his features. But it’s fleeting.

“I’m okay,” you assure, even though the soreness still lingers, the ache still exists beneath your skin.

Bucky gives you a warning look.

“It only hurts a little.”

Bucky closes his eyes for a beat, and when he looks at you again, you get uneasy. It seems he wasn’t quite done with confessing things.

“Please don’t do that again, baby. Don’t ever put me before you like that. Don’t ever let me hurt you just ‘cause you think it’s what I want. I could never feel good at the cost of your hurtin’.”

His face is twisted with pain, the idea of you suffering in silence unbearable to him.

He is looking at you like you are everything.

“I promise, Buck,” you tell him reverently. Softly. “But I really am okay.”

“Doll.” His voice is low, firm. “We need to get you checked out. We ain’t just sittin’ on this and hopin’ it’s fine. We’re going to the ER.”

You sigh.

“Bucky-”

“Not up for discussion,” he retorts, shaking his head. There is tension around his mouth, pulling it taut. “We’ll let a doc check you over, and gonna let ‘em tell us you’re okay. And if you’re not, we’re gonna figure out what to do. But we won’t ignore this, sweetheart. Not when it’s you. Not when you’re in pain and bleedin’.”

Your chest is filling with something warm, something fond, something that hurts and heals all at once.

Still, you try. “It’s better now, Buck-”

He doesn’t even let you finish.

He is already moving, already reaching for clothes. He grabs a new pair of his boxers for you to pull on, seemingly not caring about the remnants of blood that will stain them, along with sweats and one of his hoodies.

And before you can argue, or can even fully process what he is doing, he dresses you in those clothes and immediately lifts you into his arms when he is done.

His hands are strong, gentle, so cautious, one cradling your back, the other under your knees. He holds you like you weigh nothing, but also like you are the most precious thing in the world.

You let out a startled noise, but Bucky shushes you tenderly, pressing a sweet kiss to your temple.

“I got you, baby,” he soothes, voice so warm and full of something so achingly deep you don’t know how to hold it.

But you try to.

Because you want to.

“Real love doesn’t meet you at your best. It meets you in your mess.”

- J.S. Park

[blue-jisungs]

[ 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨 ] kiss attack

# author’s note … i dunno pookies just a random thought inspired by the first pic ^^

# summary … surprising them with kisses OR pepper kisssonf their faces (out of the blue, mostly hehe)

# warnings ... some members might be suggestive if u squint, some r longer than others, not proofread (bare w me bc i wrote this in a car during multiple ocasions in my notes app w/o autocorrect so ! :D i know u love me guys heheheh)

┆彡 SEUNGCHEOL [ 승철 ]

coming home late from yet another photo shoot, cheol desired nothing more than a warm bed and falling asleep with you in his arms. he tries to be as quiet as possible when entering your shared home, aware that you’re probably asleep. and his leader instincts are correct, the place drowning in midnight darkness. taking his shoes off, slipping into fresh pajamas, slowly but surely dipping into the mattress… and home, he’s finally home. your sleeping silhouette is drawn next to him, only slightly lit up by the moonlight peeking through the window. just when he sneaks his arms around you and closes his eyes, ready to drift asleep, your body moves suddenly and there’s a quick but deep peck landing on his lips. then, as if nothing happened, you roll on the other side and curl into him. seungcheol feels his heart grow and fill with warmth as he falls asleep with a smile blooming on his lips and pink dusted on his cheeks.

┆彡 WONWOO [ 원우 ]

"hey, wonu?" you ask and peek your head through the door, only to notice him being busy with a video game.

"give me a sec!" your boyfriend hums and the only thing you can see are the flashing lights and images on his screen "is it important?"

"no, not really" you answer and walk up to him, noticing that he has one of his headphones off his ear to hear you. a habit he developed ever since you moved in "i mean, depends how you look at it"

wonwoo turns around to check up on you and then you attack. cupping his face quickly and planting a sweet kiss on his plush lips.

"bye!" you giggle and run away, leaving him frozen in place. he’s too stunned to speak and too flustered to move, heart beating like crazy and stomach filling with butterflies.

"hey, dude, come on! we’re losing because of you!" someone whines in the voice chat and wonwoo takes a glance at the door, where you were moments ago. with a whipped grin plastered on his lips he shakes his head and returns to the pleasantly interrupted game.

┆彡 MINGYU [ 민규 ]

mingyu was cooking dinner peacefully, focused on his task. mingyu’s engagement in the kitchen was no joke, multitasking and executing the recipe on spot. which is why he didn’t hear nor see you entering his work space. better yet, he didn’t acknowledge your waltzing in and wrapping your hands around his waist. only when you gave him it a little squeeze. your man turned around, shocked pout on his face. to be fair, you didn’t want to disturb him. but pouty mingyu was just too adorable not to kiss - so you did, gently but quickly; his lips tasting like the vegetables he was cooking (and snacking on).

"what was that for…?" he hummed and wanted to kiss you properly but you leaned away, resting your cheek against his broad shoulders.

"nothing" you mumbled incoherently and he came back to cooking, not noticing he just added too much salt.

┆彡 VERNON [ 버논 ]

you would think vernon is asleep at the first glance. laying in bed, one hand on his stomach and the other under his head. his eyes were closed and face was resting, chest rising up and down slowly. but occasionally he’d reach and scratch his nose. he was listening to a podcast with his headphones in. and something just possessed you, it was like you had to cover his cute face with kisses or you’d - not to be dramatic - explode. you climbed on top of him, cupping his face slowly. vernon didn’t even budge. then you started gently pepper-kissing his face, planting kisses on the most random places. your plush lips tickled him a bit but he didn’t really mind; just when you were done but still holding his face, he peeked an eye open.

"everything okay?" vernon asked. you just nodded and placed one more kiss on top of his nose, then left to continue with your day.

┆彡 SOONYOUNG [ 순영 ]

"yah, kwon soonyoung!" your yell echoed through the practice room, causing all the members to halt. the said criminal turned with his eyes widened in pure terror. his mind raced with thoughts: did he forget something? did he do something? or didn’t do? recalling events from this morning, he failed to notice when you stormed right at him.

"i’m sorry i’m sorry im sorry–" he started whining, eyes scanning your face in search of bad signs but he saw a flash of mischievous smirk on your lips.

"you forgot this" you hummed and pecked his lips quickly with a loud 'mwah!' and ran away, giggling.

"that woman is crazy. she’s making me crazy. actually, we’re both maniacs" soonyoung murmured, touching his lips. his friends shared a laugh, looking at his whipped state.

┆彡 JUNHUI [ 文俊辉 ]

"hey, sleepyhead, wake up!" you whine as you tug jun’s shirt for the millionth time in the span of three minutes. your boyfriend decided to take a nap before you leave to the planned date but apparently he wasn’t keen on waking up. "jun!"

he mumbles something you can’t quite decipher and turns to his back, soft snores escaping his parted lips.

"fine" you sigh and straddle him, pepper-kissing his face. with each kiss landing on his features, you feel his smile grow. once you brush just against the corner of his lips, his smile is way too wide to pretend he’s still sleeping.

"you did that on purp–" you start but aren’t meant to finish because junhui’s large hands grab your face and pull you in a real, deep and passionate kiss.

well, you take that as a yes.

┆彡 MINGHAO [ 徐明浩 ]

whenever minghao was meditating, you avoided to disturb him. not to lose balance and be able to focus… you closed the door and waited until he was done. but today you just couldn’t bare a second without him, your heart longing to be in his presence (even though you live together). hao had his eyes closed, focused on his breathing. but he did hear the soft click of door opening and then the sound of your food paddling against the floor. you tried to keep your volume down, certain that he did not hear you. before he could expose you, there was a series of kisses attacking his face. the feeling of your lips against his skin was pleasant but made him lose focus completely. before he could realize, you were already running off, giggling. minghao opened his eyes and looked around, shocked, and with the tips of his ears painted with red shade.

┆彡 CHAN [ 찬 ]

chan was sitting on the sofa, brows slightly furrowed and concentration all over his face. his slim fingers were typing at the speed of light, discussing something with his members. normally you’d think it’s something important but to be honest, you knew them too well. they were simply arguing what to eat for lunch tomorrow.

you were watching him, smiling subconsciously; he still made your stomach swirl with butterflies as if you were a teenage girl with her doorway crush.

and the feeling was just too strong to resist, you just had to kiss him.

so you got up and stood in front of him, not aware of your presence yet.

with a quick lean, you pressed a tender, loving kiss onto his plush lips. chan froze, fingers halting mid-air. he kissed you back and leaned away with a puzzled look.

"what was that for…?" he whispered, blinking slowly.

"nothing. you’re just cute" you answered with a shrug and sat down next to him, opening instagram. chan, a little flustered, reassumed the lunch dispute

┆彡 JEONGHAN [ 정한 ]

"you’re cheating!" jeonghan whines, a pout forming on his lips. you sigh, shaking your head with the cards in your hands.

"just because my cards are good doesn’t mean i’m chaeating… unlike you, sneaky fox" you snickered and put another card on top of his. maybe you should’ve known that playing uno with him won’t end well but in the end, jeonghan is passionate about winning in every game.

"that’s literally not possible, how come you have three cards left and i have like… thirteen?!" jeonghan puffs his cheeks and places a green one card "i hate this–"

you lean over the stack of cards and shut him up with a slightly aggressive kiss, nibbling on his bottom lip with a smug smirk.

you can hear him sigh softly and kiss you back. before he can realize, you put down your three colored ones and lean away, patting your things.

"uno… and, well, also no uno since i won" you smirked and jeonghan was left speechless, mouth open wide. whether you cheated or not during the game, it was an impressive win.

"no… but… that’s, that’s– that was cheating!" he whines again but this time only to make you laugh again.

┆彡 JOSHUA [ 조슈아 ]

joshua was still half asleep when he was brushing his teeth, his hair sticking in every direction possible and eyes half closed… struggling to keep his head stable.

you just looked at him through the mirror, smiling at your boyfriend’s drowsy state.

"do we have to get up so early…" he mumbled, barely audible due to the foam in his mouth.

"you booked the flight so early, not me" you chuckled and finished applying cream onto your face. you had to leave soon if you wanted to be at the airport early.

joshua answered something incoherent and spat out the toothpaste, washing his mouth with water.

he blinked slowly and caught your gaze in the mirror.

you just smiled and turned around, cupping his face. then you started peppering his face with gentle kisses everywhere: cheeks, forehead, nose, eyelids. and finally, his peppermint tasting lips.

"awake yet, sleepyhead?" you titled your head with a gentle smile and joshua nodded, a lazy smirk on his lips "good. i’ll make us breakfast then"

and when you left the bathroom, he realized he’d really feeling more awake.

┆彡 JIHOON [ 지훈 ]

jihoon had his headphones on so he wasn’t able to hear you but he did certainly see you. a small smile painted on his lips as he was observing you pacing around the gym. while he was busy curling his arms, you were bored out of your mind and there was nothing to aggravate your boredom. it’s not like you didn’t like accompanying him to the gym and watching him work out; no, quite the contrary. it’s just that he was in his space and there was nothing interesting to do besides watching him. you peeked at him in the mirror and caught his eye on you. then, your gaze slid to his arms.

"hey, my eyes are up here"

your gaze snapped back to him and his cocky smile. heat rose to your cheeks upon being caught. you had to shut him up.

"i know you’re bored but–" jihoon started, probably to tease you, but was interrupted by your lips meeting his. he almost dropped the dumbbell he was holding but came back to reality once he couldn’t feel the plush of your lips no longer. "what was that…?"

"go back to working out, smartass" you snickered and watched him be the flustered one now.

┆彡 SEOKMIN [ 석민 ]

"and then chan came out, fully dressed as pi cheolin! i swear, the sound of carats’ laughter made my day" dokyeom rambled. even though your back was facing him, you could still feel the gentle shake of the mattress due to his dynamic gesturing

"and i couldn’t help but laugh too! our chan is just so talented, maybe he should start an acting career! because i swear, it’s like… chan is gone and pi ch–"

as much as you loved dokyeom’s voice, whether talking, singing or laughing, you just wanted to doze off after an exhausting day. but he just wouldn’t stop talking.

"–possessed him! i swear i think my ribs got fractured after laughing so hard, he was just so into it–"

seokmin suddenly felt your lips crushing on his. the taste of your toothpaste exploded on his tongue, freezing on spot due to the passion of your kiss. it felt like eternity but in a good way; he kissed you back until he couldn’t breathe anymore. you noticed that and pulled away, this time facing him and burying your face into his side.

"i love you, kyeom, but for the love of mine please go to sleep" you murmured softly and he fell silent. not only because you told him to, also because his huge grin prevented him from further talking.

┆彡 SEUNGKWAN [ 승관 ]

"what a beautiful view…" seungkwan let out a deep sigh, looking amazed at the panoramic in front of him. you were holding his hand and admiring it too.

it was a random tuesday afternoon and you decided to go on a hike on a nearby hill. and even though it was exhausting, it was worth it. pallets of greens and yellows sprung in front of your eyes, blurring with the cloudless, blue sky.

"this one is more beautiful tho" you hummed suddenly. seungkwan turned around to see what did you mean but you just pecked his lips and squeezed his hand with a cheeky smile.

"that was so cheesy…" he rolled his eyes and while you turned again to adore the nature, his eyes stayed glued to your face with amused smile.

masterlist <3

taglist. @mirxzii ,, @primoppang ,, @l3visbby ,, @nicholasluvbot ,, @planetkiimchi ,,

@weird-bookworm ,, @slytherinshua ,, @kazmura ,, @laylasbunbunny,, @mon2sunjinsuver ,,

@eternalgyu ,, @rubywonu ,, @mine-gyu ,, @nonononranghaee ,, @haecien

[abyssyby]

Touch, touch, touch

—every time you and sylus touch is out of necessity, until it isn’t just.

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: baby’s first drabble! hello! soft, yearning, aching, hand-flexing sylus has been eating away at my brain like a maggot (affectionate). here’s the first of hopefully more of whatever this is ♡ i havent written in a hot MINUTE, so feedback is super appreciated. i hope you enjoy! ❀ -urs

sylus x reader | fluff, longing, dressing wounds, dates, and touches

The hunter’s attempts at sneaking up on him amuse him and make his chest ache at the same time. It was an all-too-familiar sight— her face and her eyes watching him like a hawk’s, her motions like a wild cat’s. A knife in hand isn’t favorable, sure, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. He’s barely looking when he catches your wrist with his sturdy fingers, head gracefully turning to look at you with no trace of urgency. 

“Kitten.” glowing rubies scrutinize your failed attempt at causing harm. Or a good startle. He couldn’t read if that was murder or mischief in your eyes. Either way, he liked it. “Nice try.” 

𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

Always so lost when it comes to the base, Mephisto is your only friend. The halls were made to be a labyrinth to anyone who dared trespass. Only Sylus and the twins truly know the way. Sylus spent hours programming the bird to know the ins and outs of the base, so he is your beacon. But he flies quick, and after shaking him like a tambourine that one time, he doesn’t really care if he loses you. 

“Shit.” you mutter, turning in a circle. A comical fork in the hall before you. You just wanted to find the library Sylus has been so proud of. You wonder how you’ll ever get there. You wonder how you’ll ever get out… 

Warmth on your shoulder and a sturdy grip on your arm maneuver you towards the rightmost hallway. Sylus towers over you, unimpressed. “He went that way.” 

Cheeks growing warm, you wanted to punch him— for sneaking up on you in a most idiotic state. But you thank him instead, shaking him off and stalking after the stupid bird. Maybe you’ll give him another shake for good measure. 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

Amongst all your injuries, the broken nail on your thumb irks you the most. At least the lock is broken, and you’re safe and warm inside the safe house. The uncharacteristically charismatic safe house with leather couches, plush rugs, and a fancy fireplace. It smelled of white ginger incense and cinnamon. If you weren’t so dizzy and cold from the blood loss, you’d be living it up in this gold brick bungalow. 

Slumping against the door, respectfully getting only the wood floors wet and not the carpet, you assess the situation: bruises and scrapes (no big deal), gunshot to your shoulder, bullet still lodged and bleeding slowly (not so bad), and possible concussion (maybe a little concerning), broken thumbnail (big issue). 

You know exactly what you need to do. Where the first-aid kit may be, how to dig the bullet out, and what to bite on when you do it. Simple, easy, quick— as you were trained to do. A few winces and groans, and you’ll be fine. You lose a slow and steady breath. You’ll be fine…

 A few minutes to rest wouldn’t be so bad. Just a few breaths, a moment to rest your eyes, to calm your heartbeat and slow the bleeding. Just a minute. Just a minute. 

The click of the broken lock disengaging wakes you, sends you into a panic. How long have you been out? Instinct makes you reach, point, and cock your gun to the door— where it meets a dragon’s rock-molten glare. He scowls at you, incredulous— maybe at the blood on the polished mahogany floor, seeping between its crevices. Or at the shattered, high-end biotech door lock. Or the fact that you broke in. You have no energy to ask.

“You welcome this house’s owner by pointing a gun to his head?” he asks, but his voice carries no venom, nor does it any humor. He’s kneeling the next time you blink, hands hovering over your left shoulder. There’s something in the scrunch of his brows, the crease beneath his eyes, the short breaths he tries to hide— as if he’d been running, panicking. 

“How…?”

“A safe with a broken lock tends to make itself known, sweetie.” he murmurs, too focused on all the blood. Too much to be coming from you. “Although the treasure usually doesn’t walk right in.” 

He applies pressure. You groan. “What?” 

“Can you stand?” he asks. You try, but at the first sign of strain on your face, he stops you and moves you himself. 

He lays you by the fireplace, leaves the room to retrieve a first aid kit, and then works carefully in the dim light. He doesn’t speak a word, and you wonder if it’s because he’s mad. It is pretty shameless of you to break into his property. And you suppose pointing a gun to his head is even worse. 

He shouldn’t have to do this. He shouldn’t be dirtying his hands with your mistakes, dealing with the consequences of your poor and ill-tempered decisions. Shouldn’t have to be dealing with a bloody floor and a broken lock— and it’s all your fault. Guilt, cold and sickening, bubbles up in the pit of your stomach.

But his hands are gentle and soothing. His presence, the sound of his breathing is lulling you into calm-surfaced waters with a current that runs rapidly, dangerously beneath. You hate that you want to drown. 

“Sylus…” you start as he wipes his hands on his thighs, finished with stitching up your wound. 

He holds out a pill. “Take this.” 

You blink at him. 

“Painkiller.” he nudges your hand open, and you wince as he hits your thumb. The broken nail making its presence known once more. He freezes, wondering if he’d done that. If he’d missed a broken bone. He didn’t check for sprains. He opens his mouth to say something.

But you cut him off, bringing your finger to your lips and sucking. “I broke it when I picked your lock.” 

“Your finger?” he sounds mad.

“My nail.” you clarify, voice quieter now. A response at his own tone.

The cord that pulled his shoulders taut and froze his spine breaks its tension. He exhales. The rest of him follows, and with softness, he whispers. “Let me see.” 

You lift your hand to him carefully, and his strong fingers wrap around the base of your thumb and your palm. He inspects it with such care you’d think it was a protocore worth his time. “Looks bad.” 

“Feels bad.” You confirm, tugging at your hand. But with no real force. Maybe just to see if he would let go. 

He doesn’t. In fact, he looks pained. Maybe he had been looking pained this whole time— when he cleaned your cuts, when he pulled the bullet out of your shoulder and stitched up the gaping hole. Too engrossed in your guilt, you hadn’t noticed that what you thought was anger on his face was something else entirely. Anguish. Worry. The last fraying thread of composure his sanity clings to tonight. His grasp tightens around your hand, and he cleans it with the same tenderness he gave your worse injuries.

Then he pulls your hand up to his lips. His breath ghosts over your skin, heat lacing through your veins, down your arm and pooling in the crevices of your chest. “Call me, next time. When you need help.” 

He gauges your expression. He looks different here. His usual blood-cursed irises now looking like sweet, warm honey in the glow of the firelight. 

“Please.” He insists, voice low and imploring. It snaps you out of your reverie, and you nod. That’s enough for him. 

You spend the rest of the night talking, or at least he tries to keep you talking. You still did have a concussion after all. 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

You shouldn’t be surprised, and yet. In the mirror, you scrutinized yourself in the dress he bought you. The shifting hues of black and red at the movement, how the gloves looked like starlight and felt like butter on your arms. How the heavy diamonds adorning your ears and your neck glimmer in the ambient light of his guest room.

There is a knock on the door and at your command, it swings open to reveal an equally stunning leader of Onychinus.

The strap of his watch catches his skin as he pushes the door open. He’s scowling at his wrist when you see him. And as he looks up, he meets your wide-eyed gaze in the mirror. There is a rupturing, caving so grand in your chest at his heated gaze. A smile he cannot help graces his dangerously, beautiful lips. “You look…” 

“My dress,” you say at the same time. Desperate, quick to fill the silence that stuffed the room now that there are two people in it. Now that he— handsome and alluring— is in it. You need to get a grip. “Can—“ you pause when you realize he was speaking too. But he simply gestures for you to go on. “Can you help me?” 

Sylus takes in the ask and nods. Willing the thrumming in his chest to cease and his breathing to steady as he comes up behind you. Closer and closer until you feel the heat of his fingers on your skin. 

“I’m going to—“

“Go ahead.” you feel his knuckle glide up the skin of your back as he zips you up snugly in the dress. So perfectly fit, you tried to find a flaw— but there was none. The glitter didn’t scratch under your arms, the fabric didn’t itch around your waist and it draped just below your ankles. it was soft and flexible enough should you have to move more than needed during tonight’s operation, you could. 

Something stirs in you that Sylus, under the guise of wanting to handle things himself, still took to account specific, necessary modifications for your comfort without you having to say a word. 

“Thanks.” you say, catching the reflection of his eyes again. His own lingers on the zipper for a moment before he pulls his hands away like he’d touched fire. He grunts in reply. Whatever he came in to say was lost to him, and frankly, he had no interest in getting it back.

“Take your time.” he says instead, voice tight. Then, unable to say another word, he turns on his heel and marches out with a rigid spine and stiff shoulders. Unbeknownst to you, his ears had gone as crimson as his irises. Meanwhile, you curl in on yourself, nails digging into your arms as you drop to your ankles, willing yourself into a ball to distract from the inferno in your chest. 

Good thing the dress was stretchy.

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

“Sylus?” turning, you wonder how it was possible to lose such a tall, formidable man. 

The crowd is an ocean that pulls you within its current however-much you push against. He asked you, very kindly, actually, to stay by his side— or so you recall. And yet the pastries, the trinkets, the lanterns and the small stall with the adoptable pets have charmed you like the lilt of a flute’s tune. 

The Linkon plaza is never this crowded, if it weren’t for the new year festival. From his cave, you thought you’d lure him out and show him how bright and happy a celebration should be beyond the confines of the base. Sure, the lanterns are up, the gold coins are scattered, the streamers and confetti have littered the floors of the mansion (thanks to the eagerness of the twins), but being out with the people celebrating the arrival of a new year is still, you argued, different. 

“I don’t need anyone else.” He’d said when you coined the idea. With his gentle look, and the hint of a challenge beneath a raised brow. You turn away before he spots the visual evidence of the prickles you feel under the flesh of your cheeks. He still does, anyway. It makes him grin. 

Never truly one to deny you, he agrees on one condition: stay close. And here you are… not. 

“Excuse me— sorry.” You weave through people as gently as you could, straining your neck trying to look over countless heads to find familiar moon-touched hair. A part of you itches in frustration— with his height, he should find you easily. Why wasn’t he looking for you?

The crowd spits you out by a sidewalk where children have gathered nearby to watch a puppet show. He’s impossible to miss in his red coat and bright white hair. There he stood in the back of the short crowd, watching intently as the paper dragon dances with the princess. 

You wander next to him quietly, not wanting to disrupt his intrigue. There was a far-away look in his eyes that made you wonder if he was watching at all. When he flinches ever so slightly as the dragon is slain, you’re sure he is. 

He feels your hand slip into his palm, and his fingers instinctively find their place between the spaces of your own. And something like freshly cooked rice or a hearty soup travels down into your chest at the feeling that this— this was right. You should have been doing this from the moment you arrived; then you wouldn’t have wandered, then you wouldn’t have strayed. You make a mental note: don’t let go. 

He thinks of how well you’ve gotten at sneaking up on him. 

Your grasp tightens. “There you are.” 

“You left me.” he says, his voice a little raspy from underuse. Unlike yours, that has been yelling his name the moment you realized he was gone. 

“No, I didn’t.” you insist, nudging him. “I just lost you for a second.” 

“Felt like ages, sweetie.” he says, looking at you. He means to tease, but his words carry the weight of a lifetime.

“Sylus.” you frown. You don’t like the way his features look haunted by a specter you cannot slay. Your free hand comes to touch his face, fingers brushing just below his eye, easing lightness back beneath his skin. “I found you.” 

And as if by your touch, his soul snaps into place. This one, now. Not any other life before. His brows unfurl and his distance from sea to shore recedes. A tenderness. A gratefulness. A prideful, present sort of affection. “You did.” 

“Wasn’t easy.” you huff, shoulders sinking in frustration. Spreading out the tension as the air between you has gotten too thin. But your hand stays in place, curling around his jaw to stabilize itself. Your thumb has a mind of its own, rubbing the back of his hand. To ground him, you say. For him. For… you, too. “There are too many things, I got a little overwhelmed.” 

He smirks, reaching up to your face and swiping his thumb over the corner of your lip. It comes away stained with blue icing. From the very cupcake that lured you away. He brings it to his lips and tastes it. “Show me.” 

“Hm?” you blink, distracted at the act. The sound of your pulse muffling your ears, drowning out the droning of the crowd. 

“Show me the many things.” he says again, a chuckle sanding his tone. His voice is clear as day, the only true thing you hear in the cheerful chaos of the festival. He shakes your joined hands. “I’ve got you.” 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

thank you for reading!

[s0dium]

Obsession

Warning: Love drunk men, fingering, titty sucking, nipple play, unprotected sex, love drunk reader

~

Love courses through your veins. He’s all you can think about.

You wonder if it's normal to be this enamored with someone, to be this hopelessly head over heels infatuated and obsessed. You can't even focus on what needs to be done anymore because he's absorbed your entire being; he's in your head when you wake up, a gentle whisper in the back of your mind during conversations, a constant in your dreams, day or night.

But it's a doomed one-sided crush you remind yourself. You're not even sure if he knows you exist and in quieter moments, you wonder if perhaps it’s better this way. Loving from a distance means you never have to face the potential heartbreak of rejection, never have to see that polite smile of someone who doesn’t return your feelings. It's safer, you tell yourself, to admire him from afar, keeping your heart guarded behind the shield of daydreams and what-ifs.

So surely, right now in this moment, you must be dreaming.

It feels too vivid, too intense to be just a figment of your imagination. The warmth of his breath against your cheek, the weight of his bare body pressing gently down on yours, the softness of his lips moving against your own with an insatiable hunger—it all feels astonishingly real.

Because it is.

You don't know how but now you're naked underneath him, letting him touch, grope, suck, kiss, nip, and bite anything his hands and mouth can find. He doesn't let up either, he's exploring your body like a starved man, like he'll never get a chance to touch you ever again and wont pull away until he's had his fill.

You gasp when you feel his fingers between your legs, tracing your inner thigh before gliding between your pussy lips. Instinctively, you jerk back at the feeling; his fingers collecting your arousal and sliding up and down. But before you can speak, he kisses you again, his tongue eagerly intertwining with yours. When he finally pulls away, leaving you breathless, a thin strand of saliva connects your mouths.

"Just let me take care of you okay?" He hums before dipping two fingers into your tight hole. "Just been waiting so long to do this."

You don't even have time to react before he's curling his digits and massaging a sweet spot you could only dream about hitting on your own. His other hand gropes your left breast and with his index and thumb, begins to play with your perky nipples. As if that wasn't enough, his mouth found your other breast and gave it the same attention, licking sucking, and rolling your nipple like it was candy.

Colors dance across your closed eyelids and you wonder if this is heaven, if you've died and reached nirvana because the pleasure is just that good. You dont know if you can handle this, handle the fact that he's sucking and playing with your nipples while finger fucking you. Your toes curl and uncurl from the hot searing euphoria that is absorbing your body and emitting from your core. Your back arches off the bed and your crying his name, moaning it even, something you only dreamed about doing late at night when you craved him.

Suddenly, his mouth releases your nipple with a pop and he ceases all of his ministrations, leaving you breathless and confused.

"Fuck, I-" He's breathless himself, his face flushed and pupils blown. "Need to be inside you, need to feel you." He practically groans, and you thickly gulp at his words. Your brain goes fuzzy and you dizzily watch him pull down his boxers, the length slapping against his abdomen after being released from its confines.

He watches you lay down on the bed, breasts and cunt glistening from juices. You dont know this but he actually thinks he is dreaming. You look like a painting right now and he has to bite his lip to stop himself from spilling just at the sight of you.

"Please," You whine, "Please fuck me."

Who is he to deny you?

Without a word he presses his tip against your entrance and slides into you, grunting at the snug fit of your walls. You let out a loud moan from the feeling of him filling you so so perfectly, so well you mentally curse yourself for thinking a dildo or your fingers could ever do the job.

Then with a moan of his own, he slides out of you, nearly leaving you empty, before rocking himself back into you. Oh, how he wanted to fuck you slow and nice, like you deserved, but as the seconds passed, his resolve seep away until he just couldn't possibly hold back anymore.

His thrusts become faster, quicker, slamming in and out of you with such vigor and ease due to your combined juices coating and dripping from both his length and your hole. The friction is delicious, and his tip seems to hit your g-spot perfectly with each thrust. He even grabs the underside of your thigh and pushes them against you, effectively folding you and half and allowing him to go even deeper inside you.

You could feel your rational slipping away as he groaned about how fucking good you felt, about how good you where taking him, how he had been dreaming about this. You want to say something too, say something about how you feel the same way, but the only thing that comes out of your mouth right now is wanton moans of his name.

The pleasure was becoming too much, it had been slowly building and building and you know your about to break any second, burst with such euphoria you don't know if you will ever come back from the high. Before you do though, your brain manages to work again for half a millisecond to express the exact words you are feeling.

"Love you! M'love you so much!" You gasped before letting yourself succumb to the mind-numbing orgasm that was waiting for you. Your whole body shook and quaked from the pleasure and your mind went white. You thought you might cry, from happiness or pleasure you did not know. But you didn't. You simply went limp while you let him use your body like a sex doll.

You are barely clinging onto consciousness when you feel his hips stutter against you and he scoops you up, holding you close while he cums inside you.

"Love you too, love you too." He groans against your ear.

Any character you want ;)

[darksturnz]

── ⋮ ⌗ “FUCKIN’ TAKE IT. . .” ⟢ BF.ᐟMATT ᵎᵎ

CONTENTS: smut heavy-plot ・unprotected p n v・part two to THIS ・ this was requested!

His words replay in your mind, looping, sinking deep.

M’gonna make you the prettiest momma ever, ‘kay?

It’s filthy. It’s possessive. It’s exactly what you didn’t know you needed to hear.

A quiet whimper slips past your lips before you can stop it. You try to suppress it, biting down on the inside of your cheek, but Matt catches it—of course he does. His smirk is slow, knowing, dripping with amusement as he dips his head to press a kiss just below your ear.

“Didn’t answer me, sweetheart.” His voice is low, teasing, but there’s an edge to it now, something rougher, something hungry. His fingers press into your thighs, urging you forward, making you grind against him just a little harder. “Y’gotta tell me if that’s what you want.”

Your breath stutters. “Matt—”

“Yeah?” He doesn’t ease up, doesn’t let you shy away from the heat between you. His lips ghost over your jaw, down to the sensitive spot beneath it, where he knows you always melt for him. “Use your words, baby.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, humiliated by how quickly you unraveled, by how easily he turned your ache into something entirely different. But Matt doesn’t let you drift too far into your own head—he never does. His hands are patient, coaxing, always knowing exactly what you need before you even realize it yourself.

One of them slides up your back, threading into your hair as he tilts your head, forcing you to look at him. His gaze is heavy, burning into you, his pupils wide, dark, consuming.

“C’mon, sweet girl,” he murmurs, lips barely brushing against yours, teasing but not giving. “can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me.”

Your body betrays you before your mouth can. Your hips shift instinctively, chasing friction, chasing him. His hold tightens in response, and the sharp inhale he takes tells you everything you need to know—he’s feeling it, too.

You swallow hard, embarrassment burning beneath the want. “I just—” Your voice is unsteady, barely a whisper. “I just need you.”

Matt hums in approval, his fingers flexing, pulling you flush against him. “Yeah?” His lips finally, finally press against yours, a slow, deep kiss that steals the breath from your lungs. “let me take care of you.”

His hands move with purpose, trailing lower, dipping beneath the hem of his shirt that swallows your frame, slipping past the last barrier between you.

His fingers push your panties to the side, barely brushing over your soaked cunt before pressing in deep, curling just right, sending a sharp pulse of pleasure straight through your core. His other hand grips your thigh, holding you still as he works you open, taking his time, watching the way you fall apart in his lap.

“Already so fuckin’ wet,” he murmurs, his voice thick with amusement. “Barely touched you.”

You whimper, your hips rolling against his hand, desperate for more. But before you can even reach for him, before you can beg, he groans low, frustrated.

His cock is straining against his sweats, the fabric damp where he’s leaking against it, and he exhales sharply before yanking them down just enough to free himself. The thick head of him presses against your entrance, rubbing against your clit for a moment before he lines up and sinks inside in one slow, unrelenting thrust.

The stretch has you gasping, nails digging into his shoulders, but he doesn’t give you a moment to process it before—

“Matt! Where the fuck are you kid?”

His teammate’s voice from the headset he threw onto the desk startles you, breaking through the haze.

Your breath catches, your body tensing, but Matt barely reacts. He exhales through his nose, visibly annoyed, then reaches over, picking up the headset. His other hand remains firm on your waist, keeping you completely still with his cock buried deep inside you.

He un-mutes.

“Right here,” he says, completely level, voice smooth, steady, like he’s not currently splitting you open. “What’re you yellin’ for, told you my girl was sleeping”

Your nails dig deeper into his skin, your hips shifting instinctively, desperate for movement, for relief, but he doesn’t budge.

You whimper softly, barely able to think past the need clawing through you, but Matt—cruel, infuriatingly hot Matt—just picks up his controller and returns to his game.

You try again, grinding against him, but all it earns you is a sharp squeeze to your thigh—a silent warning.

His mic mutes.

“What?” His voice is lazy, rough, thick with something darker. “You wanted it, didn’t you? So fuckin’ take it.”

Your breath stutters.

You have no choice—he’s not going to move, not going to help you.

So you do as you’re told.

You start slow, rolling your hips, testing, adjusting to the thick stretch of him. The burn in your thighs is immediate, but it’s nothing compared to the ache between your legs, the desperate need for friction, for more.

You whimper, pressing closer, your arms wrapped around his shoulders. “Matt,” you plead, voice shaking. “Please—please move—”

His mic unmutes.

“Matt, cover me dipshit—fuck—”

“That’s on you dude, I’m hitting my shots” he mutters, completely indifferent, but his fingers flex on your hips, betraying his composure.

It’s unbearable—the slow build of pleasure, the strain in your legs, the torture of knowing he could so easily take control but won’t.

Eventually, your body gives out.

Your thighs tremble violently, burning with exertion, and you falter, collapsing against him with a frustrated whimper.

His mic mutes.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” His voice is soft now, teasing, taunting.

You shake your head, fingers clutching at his shirt. “Can’t,” you whisper. “Need you—please.”

His hand slides up your back, pressing you close, his lips ghosting over your ear.

“Yeah?” His breath is warm, thick with amusement. “You given up already?”

You nod frantically, too far gone for embarrassment. “Please, Matt—need you so bad.”

Matt groans, the sound low and wrecked, and that’s all it takes—his own patience snaps.

His hand flies to his headset, tearing it off. “Nate—I’m getting off.”

“What? We’re in the middle of—”

Matt doesn’t even wait for a full response before exiting the game entirely.

The screen goes dark for a moment before his PC background illuminates the room—a picture of you curled against his chest, tangled in his sheets, the soft glow casting light across his sharp features.

And then he moves.

The first thrust is brutal, knocking the breath from your lungs, and then he’s pounding into you, gripping your waist, pulling you down to meet each deep, punishing stroke.

“This what you need?” he growls against your ear, voice rough, breath ragged. 

You nod frantically, moaning his name, nails dragging down his back.

His grip on your waist is tight, almost bruising, holding you in place as he drives into you. The wet, obscene sounds of it fill the dimly lit room, mixing with the soft whimpers spilling from your lips, with the ragged, uneven breaths against your ear.

He doesn’t ease up, doesn’t slow down—just takes you, hips snapping up into yours with a brutal rhythm, pulling you down every time you start to lift yourself off of him, making sure you feel every single inch.

You sob against his shoulder, overwhelmed, body shaking, thighs trembling from the sheer force of it. Your hands fist the fabric of his shirt, clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.

And maybe he is.

“You feel that?” His voice is a low growl against your ear, rough, breath ragged, laced with something dark, something possessive. “Gonna let me put my baby in you?”

You nod frantically, barely able to form words, your breath coming in shallow, desperate gasps. Your nails drag down his back, digging into the hard muscle beneath his shirt, and he groans, sharp and guttural, his pace stuttering for just a second before he recovers.

“Fuck—” His hands tighten on your hips, pulling you down harder, making you take him deeper. “Wish I knew—knew you wanted this sooner.”

You whimper, pressing your forehead against his, nodding weakly. “Wanna have your baby,” you breathe, barely coherent, voice small and wrecked. “Want you, Matt—please.”

His jaw clenches, his breath hitching slightly. His hips slow for a fraction of a second, like he’s processing it—your desperation, your need for him—before he lets out a sharp exhale and picks up the pace again, fucking into you with a newfound urgency.

And at this point, you don’t even care how loud you are, how utterly wrecked you sound. You just hold onto him, sobbing his name, letting him take exactly what he wants—letting him give you exactly what you need.

Matt’s grip tightens, his fingers digging into your hips with a bruising force, guiding you, controlling every desperate shift of your body. The force of his thrusts sends you bouncing in his lap, each deep stroke shoving you further into the mattress of his chair, forcing you to take him exactly how he wants.

Your legs are trembling, thighs burning from the earlier effort, but it doesn’t matter—not when he’s finally giving you what you begged for, not when every sharp snap of his hips has you spiraling closer to the edge.

“Shiiiittt,” he groans, burying his face in the crook of your neck, teeth scraping against your skin. “So fuckin’ tight—gripping me—”

You whimper in response, barely able to hold yourself up anymore. Your arms loop around his neck, fingers tangling into the soft hair at the nape of his neck, nails scratching lightly against his scalp as you cling to him.

Matt grunts, a sharp exhale against your skin, before he shifts slightly, planting his feet firmly against the floor.

Then he really starts to fuck you.

The rhythm turns relentless, deep and rough, his hips lifting off the chair to meet every downward roll of yours. The chair creaks beneath you, the obscene slap of skin-on-skin filling the space between your ragged breaths, between the filthy, low groans Matt presses into your throat.

“You takin’ it, sweet girl?” His voice is rough, nearly wrecked, but still teasing, still cruel. “This what you were cryin’ for?”

Your only response is a choked sob, your head falling back, eyes squeezing shut as heat builds low in your stomach, tightening, coiling, ready to snap.

Matt’s mouth is on you immediately—lips dragging down the column of your throat, teeth grazing over sensitive skin before he bites, sucking a mark into the dip of your shoulder, his own way of branding you, of making sure you feel him even after this.

The pressure is unbearable now, your body trembling, overstimulated and desperate, but you still want more.

“Matt,” you gasp, voice barely a whisper. “Close—gonna—”

He exhales sharply, his grip on you turning brutal. His hands move down, sliding to the backs of your thighs, spreading you open even more as he pounds into you, pushing you right to the edge, forcing you into it.

“Then come for me,” he mutters against your skin, his voice pure sin, pure need. “C’mon, baby—let me feel it.”

Your body locks up, the pressure finally snapping, pleasure crashing over you in waves so intense it nearly knocks you unconscious. You sob against his shoulder, every muscle in your body going taut as you clench around him, shaking, unraveling completely.

Matt curses beneath his breath, the sensation sending him straight into his own undoing. His thrusts turn frantic, messy, his breath hot against your skin.

Then you clarify it—

“Inside—please, Matt—inside,” you gasp, barely coherent, but completely, utterly serious.

His entire body tenses. He didn’t really think you’d actually let him, but he wasn’t complaining either.

His jaw clenches, his grip on you tightening to the point of pain, and then he slams deep one final time, burying himself inside you completely, holding you still as he fills you, groaning deep in his chest.

The only sound left is your heavy, uneven breaths, the soft hum of his PC still glowing behind him, the slight creak of the chair as he slumps forward, wrapping his arms around you.

His lips find your temple, soft, warm, pressing against your damp skin as he exhales, still catching his breath.

His voice is lower now, hoarse, rough, but serious.

“Y’know I mean it, right?” he murmurs against your skin. “Not just sayin’ shit, I will give you all the babies you want, sweetheart.”

authors note: spectacular gimme 14 of ‘em!

TAG LIST: @jetaimevous @sturnsblunt @riasturns @ifwdominicfike @chrissturns-wife

@pip4444chris @ribread03 @ariestrxsh @angelic-sturniolos111

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[inkandapex]

racing heart

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary : Y/N is determined to prove she’s got the skills to take on Lando’s karting challenge, but Lando’s protective instincts go into overdrive. Despite her insistence that she’s fine, Lando can’t help but fuss over every little detail, from her seatbelt to her speed, unable to hide his concern.

Words : 2.1k

Warnings : some swearing, small crash.

— (tbh I wrote this one half-asleep, not my favourite but here you guys go!)

As soon as Y/N watched Quadrant’s new video with Keegan Palmer, she was immediately determined to try the challenge herself. Almost without fail, she’d been pestering Lando to let her have a go. But ever the protective boyfriend, Lando wasn’t so easily convinced.

The four sat around the table, waiting for their lunch to arrive—Max and Lando deep in their own conversation, while Pietra and Y/N chatted away. It wasn’t until Pietra reached over to grab Max’s hand, catching his attention, that the table suddenly fell silent.

“Y/N has a question for you,” Pietra starts, a grin already spreading across her face.

“Oh, here we go,” Lando sighs, reaching for his glass to take a sip, already knowing exactly what’s coming.

“What?” Max asks, confusion written all over his face as he glances between his girlfriend, his friend, and Y/N—all of whom are wearing entirely different expressions.

Lando sets his glass down with a knowing look. “She’s about to try and get you on board with letting her do the karting challenge we did with Keegan.”

"That sounds sick actually—"

“Right?!” Y/N interrupts excitedly, eyes practically glowing with joy.

“No,” Lando says firmly, shaking his head.

“Mate, we’ve gone karting with Y/N before,” Max points out.

“Yeah, indoors—and those karts weren’t that fast,” Lando argues, trying to reason with him.

“Lan, please, it looks so fun,” Y/N pleads, leaning in.

“Baby, no—”

“Lando, you go over 200 miles per hour, and Y/N never says a word about it,” Pietra cuts in, backing her friend up without hesitation.

“That’s different, P… Max wouldn’t let you do it either,” Lando huffs, turning to Max for support.

“I would, actually.”

“Lando, please,” Y/N presses, eyes wide with excitement. “You and Max would be there to teach me! I’ll be safe, I promise. We can even—”

“—Fine! Fine, alright,” Lando finally caves, running a hand through his hair, already regretting his decision.

“We’re filming this, right?” Max smirks, barely holding back his laughter.

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

At the same track where they did the last challenge, Max holds the camera, zooming in on his friends standing near the circuit. Both Y/N and Lando are dressed in fireproofs, helmets in hand. Lando gestures animatedly as he talks, the mic picking up his voice as he explains the racing lines and braking points to Y/N, who listens intently.

Max moves closer, camera still in hand, ready for a quick interview. “How you feelin’, Y/N?”

Y/N turns to the camera with a big grin, giving a small wave. “So excited.”

“Lando?” Max pans to his friend.

“I’m gonna shit myself”

“You’re overreacting.”

“Baby, you’re a walking hazard.”

“That’s true, actually.” Max briefly turns the camera on himself, giving a small nod of agreement.

“Guys—no, remember Silverstone last year?” Lando points accusingly. “Y/N showed up with her arm in a sling because she missed the bed while trying to jump onto it and landed straight on her shoulder.”

"That's different—"

“—Alright! So you already know what’s about to happen,” Max says, handing off the camera before stepping between his two friends, slinging an arm around each of them. “Lando’s gonna set a lap time, and Y/N will get a shot with different karts—one faster than the other to see if she can beat him.”

The camera zooms in on Lando’s face, his expression a mix of nerves and dread, clearly uncomfortable.

“Mate, you look ill.”

“I will be after this,” Lando chuckles softly, trying to lighten the mood.

“She’ll be fine. C’mon, go ahead. We’ll be up there watching,” Max laughs, giving his friend a pat on the back. “I’ll make sure to give her tips as you go.”

"Oi, excuse me? Hold on a minute! Where's my kiss?" Lando pouts, feigning offense. "I can’t believe you’re not being sweeter to me after I agreed to do this."

Y/N halts, throwing her head back and laughing. "Sorry! Just really excited." She jogs back towards him, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Have fun, be safe."

You could almost see Lando's body relax—maybe for the first time all day—as he holds her face with his free hand and gives her a soft kiss. "You're lucky I love you," he mutters against her lips. "Go on then, let me get the job done." He chuckles, ruffling her hair before turning to walk toward the kart.

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

As Lando takes his warm-up lap, Y/N can be seen sitting beside Max, listening intently as he gives her pointers. Max talks her through the track, explaining the braking points and the tricky corners she needs to watch out for, doing his best to guide her through every detail. Y/N nods along, fully focused, ready to take on the challenge.

"Unbelievable” Max muttered with a scoff.

“What?” Y/N, concerned, turned to Max.

“He’s going slow on purpose.”

“No way…”

“He’s already two seconds behind the lap time he set last time we did the challenge.”

“He clearly doesn’t want me on the faster karts then” Y/N slouched in her seat, deflated.

Max nodded, grabbing his radio to speak to Lando. “Mate, you have to do one more. The clock wasn’t working properly, sorry.”

“Copy,” Lando replied, completely unaware that his girlfriend and best friend had caught on to his little trick.

Lando took one more lap, and it was even slower than the previous three. The two of them walked over to the track to greet him.

“How was that?” Lando asked, pulling off his helmet with a grin.

“Yeah, no, mate—no chance,” Max said, shaking his head. “You were going slow on purpose.”

"No I wasn't!" Lando immediately shouts in defense

"I'm setting the lap time," Max says, handing over the stopwatch to Lando before heading back into the building to grab his own helmet.

Y/N stands with her arms crossed, staring at her boyfriend with a look of clear disapproval.

"Oh, come on, baby," Lando chuckles softly, stepping toward her and pulling her into his arms. "You can’t be mad at me."

Just then, Max walks back out, helmet on, heading toward the kart. "Alright, lovebirds, enough with the mushy stuff," he teases with a grin.

"Max I swear—"

Y/N tugs on Lando's arm, dragging him to where her and Max were previously sat, leaving Max to get to his kart "Goodluck Maxie! Fast and safe yeah?"

"Always"

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

As expected, Max set a solid lap time, one that left both Lando and Y/N chasing after it. The three of them were all significantly faster than any of Lando's previous attempts, creating the perfect challenge for Y/N to take on and hopefully beat.

The scene cuts to the three of them back on track, with Max standing off to the side, a sheepish grin on his face as he watches Lando double, triple, and maybe even quadruple-check every little thing while Y/N sits in the kart.

"Mate, at this point, you’ve checked her seatbelt so many times, I’m pretty sure it’s been inspected more than your car before a race," Max laughs, shaking his head. "You planning to give her a full service next?"

Lando lets out a sigh. "Hey, better safe than sorry," he says, tugging on the straps for what feels like the hundredth time.

Max chuckles. "At this rate, she’s gonna need a nap after all your—"

Y/N, fully embracing the teasing, drops her head forward and lets out exaggerated snoring noises. "Oh— and she's down," Max laughs, enjoying the moment.

Lando rolls his eyes and shakes his head, his focus not breaking as he checks the brakes one last time. He leans in to gently lift her head, making sure she looks at him.

"Don’t push yourself beyond what you're comfortable with," he says, his tone serious but soft. "If at any point you want to stop, just let us know. And if anything feels off—"

"I know, baby," Y/N interrupts with a playful smile, brushing him off. "I’ll be fine. You worry too much."

Lando gives her a soft smile before planting a quick kiss on the top of her helmet, then gives her a light tap on the side before starting her kart.

"Okay, let’s go, lover boy. Drive fast, Y/N!" Max teases, already dragging Lando off the track.

"I will!" Y/N calls back, already revving the engine.

Lando pauses, his voice rising as he watches her take off. "Safely, baby, please! Drive safely!" He shouts after her, hands still hovering nervously at his sides.

Max smirks. "You're really gonna keep yelling at her like that from the sidelines?"

"I've only got one of her, I’ve got the right to worry," Lando mutters, but a smile creeps onto his face.

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

The challenge was going smoothly, with Y/N only a couple of seconds off the target lap time on her first attempt. By her third kart, she finally beat it by just tenths of a second. However, that didn’t stop her from wanting to try out the fastest kart they had available, much to Lando’s frustration.

"Baby, you’re already faster than the rest of us. Why do you need to go any faster?" Lando groans, running a hand through his hair as she approaches the kart.

Y/N grins mischievously, her competitive spirit clearly not satisfied yet. "Because I can. Besides, I’m just warming up," she teases, hopping into the sleek, speedier kart.

The first lap went perfectly, with Y/N letting out shouts of joy as she sped through the track. Lando and Max watched from the sidelines, impressed by how well she was handling the kart, both commenting on how fast and smooth she was. However, by the fourth turn of her second lap, they began to notice a change. Y/N’s arms were starting to give out. She was struggling to keep the kart under control, her once-smooth movements becoming more jerky with each turn.

Lando immediately grabs the radio, his voice laced with concern. "Y/N, love, you’ve gotta slow down now, alright? Your arms are giving out a little, you’re gonna go off track."

Lando watches anxiously, his fingers gripping the radio tightly, waiting for her response. Before he can radio her again, he sees Y/N miss the braking point, her kart spinning out and slamming into one of the barriers on the turn.

Both Lando and Max jolt up from their seats, the panic flashing in their eyes. Lando grabs the radio and bolts down the track, Max following closely behind. Their feet pound against the ground as they rush toward where she’s spun out.

"I'm okay. Just dizzy from the spin," Y/N's voice crackles through the radio, making Max stop in his tracks and squat down on the spot, letting out a relieved breath.

Lando, however, doesn’t slow down. He keeps sprinting toward where she’s stopped, his heart racing as he sees her starting to get out of the kart.

Max, noticing her movement, immediately grabs the radio. "Hey— no. Y/N, slow down. Wait ‘til we get to you. Lando's nearly there, sit tight."

Lando’s feet hit the track faster, his worry growing with every step as he sees Y/N trying to move. He reaches her in no time, dropping to his knees beside her. With quick, precise movements, he removes her helmet, immediately inspecting her for any signs of injury.

"What's hurting? Are you okay? What hurts?" His voice is frantic, eyes scanning her for any sign of damage.

Y/N shakes her head, offering a small, reassuring smile. "Lan... I'm okay. It wasn’t that bad, really. Just felt like a soft bump to the side. I’m feeling peachy, I promise. Just... embarrassed is all," she admits, a hint of a blush creeping up her cheeks.

"Fuck me... Right, we're done for today. C’mon." Lando pulls her into a tight hug, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before gently helping her out of the kart.

Max, still out of breath, finally catches up to them. "You good, Y/N?"

"Yes, I'm okay. Still in one piece," Y/N laughs, giving a thumbs-up, earning a facepalm from Lando.

"That looked really bad from where we were," Max says, looking at the kart, then back at her with concern still lingering in his eyes.

Lando shoots him a look. "Yeah, thanks for the commentary, Max. We’re all fine now, though." He turns his attention back to Y/N, making sure she’s steady on her feet. "Let’s get you checked out properly, just in case."

The three make their way back to the building, with Lando softly checking in on Y/N, making sure she’s still feeling alright after the spin. Their light chatter fills the air as Max trails behind, looking at the pair with a sheepish grin.

"So, uh... we’re keeping this on the video, right?" Max asks, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Lando glances over at him "You muppet"

Y/N smirks, giving Max a playful nudge. "Honestly, I wouldn’t mind. They live for drama."

Lando groans, but a grin tugs at his lips. "You're both impossible."

[chuluoyi]

✎ to my beloved

- gojo satoru x reader

bad days don't mean the end of the world, and your husband is making sure you know that

genre: hurt/comfort, fluff, fluff, fluff—just gojo pampering you

note: my job has been so hard for me this week :') so yeah it's very self indulgent as i need a lil hurt/comfort and i think you should too~

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

This week... has been a total dumpster fire.

You were utterly exhausted, covered in grime and blood, a persisting headache made you almost black out, all while sitting in the hospital waiting room as survivor's guilt slowly consumed you.

Grueling paperwork, a new project, facing the higher-ups, being substituted to Kyoto for days, and then a sudden attack of a curse user on the loose.

In times of need, you were supposed to protect others— you are a jujutsu sorcerer.

And yet, what happened? Megumi suddenly bathed in his own blood. You barely managed to save him in time, and now you were waiting for the news that he would be okay.

Why couldn't it be you instead? You wanted to break down each time you replayed the scene that took Megumi out. It was so eerily similar to how Haibara was—

"Are you okay!?"

You whipped your head, surprised to find your husband pounding down the hall. Satoru looked unlike himself—he was disheveled, and when he saw you, he immediately dashed towards where you were.

"Satoru..." you voice came out in a croak, feeling the lump in your throat closing in. When he dropped to his knee, put both hands on the sides of your face, and then your body, feeling you over to check if you had any injuries—

You finally burst into tears.

"Sweets, hey..." Satoru immediately pulled you close, trying to soothe you. You were shaking in his arms and he tightened his arms around you. "What happened to you?"

"I-I was... w-with him..." you sobbed, burying your face in his shoulder. "S-Satoru... I-I'm sorry...! M-Megumi—"

Your husband immediately shushed you. "Shh... it's alright, yeah? He'll be okay—"

You were still inconsolable even as he held you in his embrace. He hadn't seen you like this... not ever since tragedies during your high school years ago. And he struggled to reconcile this sight of you with how you were back then.

"I-I s-should've stood in his way— t-that way, he won't be hit—" you hiccupped as you poured your heart out and clutched at his shirt. "I-It would be f-fine if it... was me—"

But all thoughts flew when he heard your words, and suddenly he felt so angry—

"What do you mean?" his voice was so low and sharp that it startled you. "How will it be fine if it was you?"

You stiffened, and Satoru gripped your shoulder, pulling away to look you right in the eyes.

"If something bad happened to you... how is it fine?" he emphasized with gritted teeth. "Where do you get that kind of bullshit from?"

Your lips were wobbling as you sniffled. "At least... i-it isn't him—"

"If you got hurt, how do you think it'll make me feel?" Satoru posed the burning question on you next, his cerulean eyes glinting with silent fury, and you almost recoiled.

"T-that's...!"

"I'll wreak havoc if anything ever happens to you." His tone was harsh and forceful. "So if you think you can just—"

"I'm tired!" you screamed then, and he was stunned, wide-eyed as he took in your outburst. "I-I'm just... I've had enough of this— this shit! I want to quit!"

You were openly weeping, and this time, Satoru felt his heart lurch. You looked so heartbroken and utterly inconsolable that his first instinct to protect you took over.

"Then quit." He rose and took a seat next to you, before cradling you closer and pressed your head against his chest. "Even if you quit, I'm still here. I can protect you well enough. I don't like you being a sorcerer anyway."

You were his beloved wife and he hated seeing you like this. You were supposed to be happy and smiling.

He let out a disgruntled grunt. "Did you know how I was when I heard from Ichiji that you were at the hospital? I thought I might go mad thinking something had happened to you."

You sobbed harder at his words.

"It's perfectly okay if you're tired," he affirmed, patting your back gently. "If you're fine with giving up everything, then I'm on board too. Whatever makes you happy, sweets. Just... don't think of anything that might hurt yourself. Don't think of anything that might make you leave me."

You didn't know you needed to hear it. Right at that moment, your heart swelled with warmth. All your feelings were validated, and even if you chose to let go of everything, Satoru would accept you as you are.

You felt safe, so incredibly and irrevocably secure.

"Whatever happened this time..." he breathed out, feeling the dampness in his chest, his fingers gently combing through your hair. "It's not your fault. No one will blame you. I don't blame you, and Megumi won't too."

Your sniffles quieted down a bit at his words, and your throat still felt tight, clogged with tears.

"H-he... looked s-so much like Haibara... w-when—"

"Shush, he does not. Megumi will be okay. You will too, hmm?"

And just like that, you let go of everything and surrendered your entire being into his arms.

Clinging to him, you finally believed, in whatever shape or form it might take, you would be okay.

A week later, Megumi was discharged after being cleared by the hospital. His wounds were thankfully shallow, and you cried in relief when he woke up.

And after escorting him back, later that night, you laid on top your husband...

Your weight on him felt like a comforting reassurance as he gently patted your back. Satoru couldn't help but smile when he saw how peaceful you looked, like a baby about to fall asleep.

He couldn't resist and planted a firm kiss on the crown of your head.

"Mmm?" you looked up at him, eyes fluttering open, and he cracked a grin.

"What?"

"What?"

"Can't I kiss my own wife? When she's adorable as heck too."

"You..." your lips curved into a bashful, yet exasperated smile, poking his chest in the process.

"Heh."

You drew circles on his broad and sturdy chest, noting how his arms extended and feeling how your toenails only reached a little past his knees. "Your arms and legs are ridiculously long. You are like an oversized plushie."

Satoru snickered. "Well, isn't that good? You don't have to buy them anymore. I can be your personal talking plushie."

"Ew." You hit his chest playfully, and he pushed your bum forward until you were face-to-face with him. He smooched you on the lips, and you giggled afterward.

His eyes shone as he stared at you, breaking to a smile himself. "Finally smiling. Pretty."

"Satoru..." your eyes found his, and you marveled at how sparkling they were. Seeing him so close, even after being married to him for more than a year, made your heart skip a beat. "I..."

"Hmm?"

"I want to keep being jujutsu sorcerer..." You had thought about it ever since, and you still arrived at the same conclusion. "It's true if I give up on it, you'll still keep me safe and all, but..."

Your husband waited for you to continue, still smiling, blinking expectantly.

"...this is something I have to do. I know there will be more hard days ahead, but believe it or not, I... found purpose in doing this," you said, shifting your gaze away from him. "It makes me feel... I can be useful. Even if I'm not special like you, I can still contribute in my own small way..."

How you pressed up against him, the way you looked hesitant and yet convinced at the same time... Satoru thought you were the most precious thing there was.

"Then keep going. I'll still be here too." He hugged you tight then, surprising you. "Just let me know when you feel like you need a long leave, and I'll definitely give you the solution."

"Eh? How?"

"Easy... I can just put a baby in you~ They won't deny you maternity leave or put you in missions~"

"...Satoru, you're—" You shot him a look so unamused, before resigning with a sigh. "Never mind... alright, sure, whatever you say."

"Ooh! So does this mean you want to try now?!"

"—? No, not now yet—!"

"When? We have to try one of these days before some meddlesome aunties ask us when we will have kids!"

Being sillies like this made you so glad that you had him in your life, and that you married him. And if he felt the same way as you... then you really thanked the stars for it.

You huffed, yet wrapping your arms around him in return. "Satoru, you're a clown."

"Your personal clown, you mean. Right~"