#and it’s not always easy so it’s not a nice ending tied up in a bow

[herawell]

.

[muntitled]

No Promises

Jake Sim x Fem!Reader

Summary: “So hypothetically, what would you do if I told you the condom broke-”

Warnings: Language, Domestic Fluff, Slight Angst, Himbo!Jake, Nerd!Reader, Smut +18 (minors dni) Dom!Jake, Pussy Drunk Jake, He really wants kids, Breeding Kink, Humping, Grinding, Slight Dub/Con, Unprotected Sex, Dub/Con Raw Sex, Perv!Jake, Rough Sex, Forceful Breeding, Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Unedited

I'm ovulating

Jaeyun's head is filled to the brim with unsavoury business as he shuffles through the university office.

'It's simple,' Jake says to himself as he cradles the rugby ball under his arm. 'Not. A big deal.'

Once Jake enters the university office, he is immediately bombarded by the smell of old, academic wood. Here, the less crowded, air conditioned space is a nice breakaway from the sweltering rugby field, but all that plagues Jake’s mind are the overwhelming memories of you.

Specifically, you last night, bathed under the sweet honey glow of your cheap salt lamp. His lips on yours as you straddled him on the floor. Skin everywhere.

Jaeyun still remembers his tongue meshing against your own, all he tasted was the ruddiness of white wine.

The pillow forte you were initially building in the living room lay forgotten around you, instead, the space became a lovenest with the moon staring idly from beyond your cream blinds.

"Ride me," Jake breathed out with his mouth attaching itself to the sensitive skin between your neck and shoulder. He drifted your braids out of the way, letting his hand massage your scalp as he craned your neck backwards.

"I need to see you ride me." His voice was hoarse as he manoeuvred you to straddle his hips.

He remembers the texture of the string of beads tied around your waist.

He remembers the air leaving his lungs when you lowered your heat to his cock.

He remembers not being able to stop.

"Did you buy the condoms," you had asked the diabolical question, right when he was about to get it in.

"Fuck the condoms…" he laughed dryly with his thumb skimming across your hips, bumping against the waist beads, "We're both clean. I wanna feel you."

Jake had been wholly disappointed to see your face harden into that pissed off look that was always aimed at the students you tutored.

He'd be scared if he didn't find it hot.

"That's so incredibly unfunny," you pushed at his chest until he released a winded breath, "Don't piss me off, Jaeyun,"

"Fine- fuck- I was kidding,"

He wasn't. And even when he slipped the condom on and slipped inside, Jake became delirious with pleasure of it all.

"Where do you want me to cum?" he had asked.

Naive, unsuspecting you, had replied, “Inside. Y-You're wearing a condom, right? Inside.” Jake fucking lost his mind all the same.

The evening had ended with Jake skimming his hand over the fullness of your ass as he pulled his bottom lip against his teeth.

He watched the softness of your skin mould under his grip as he snickered, "She gon' take it up the ass like a ventriloquist-"

"Do not quote Kanye at me after we just had sex." You groaned.

But Jake wasn't done because now he was thinking about your ass and you'd both gone on for 2 more rounds.

'It's easy,' says present-day-Jake, shaking his hair as if to clear away the thoughts before they took root and really became a problem for him.

His little inner pep talk guides him to the receptionist desk. 'Just tell her the condom snapped and I may have cum a little inside. It's not my fault I'm fucking huge,' but even just the thought of it has Jake warming with anxiety.

"Good morning, Jake!" It's not difficult to plaster on his golden boy smile for the receptionist. Everyone at this University buys the absolute shit he sells, never once questioning their star athletes true intentions behind his disarming smile. He could get away with murder.

"Morning," Jake replied, knocking on the wood of the large mahogany desk. All this mahogany and yet all he could smell was you. Cocoa Butter was an all consuming thing.

"Is she in?" He asks, prompting the receptionist to nod. As Jake walks down the mouth of a corridor leading to the offices of tutors, professors and assistant professors, he keeps his head bowed until he reaches your door.

When you let him into the empty office, all thoughts vanished. Storming in his mind were solutions as to how he might divulge his little slip-up.

"Keep the door open, Jake, I don't do scandals." He was enamoured at the sight of you seated behind the large brown desk with your eyes dark and sleepy. Jake already tried to work out the probability of you remaining calm at the knowledge that the condom he used last night had been breached but looking at you here, he knew there was no possible reality in which you wouldn't try to murder him.

He closes the door despite your words and all you do is look up from your paper and sigh.

Seduction, he decided, was his only defence.

“Is there a reason you're bothering me at work?”

"Didn't know assistant professors got their own offices," he says, dropping the rugby ball in a corner beside a stack of mind-numbing philosophy manifestos.

"We don't," you say, never looking up from your paper, "I don't know how long I'm gonna have this space to myself to mark in peace, that's why we have to be quick-

"Quick," Jake's head snaps up, "I can do quick."

Instead of taking note of your eyeballs rolling to the back of your skull, Jake instead focuses on the expanse of your cleavage spilling out of that diabolically tight v-neck. "The conversation, Jake. What do you want? I have essays to mark." You drop the papers in a huff of unbridled academic frustration, effectively giving Jake the opening he needs to walk towards your desk until he's behind your chair. His hands drift over your shoulders, kneading the tense skin until your head is rolling back, away from the work.

"I thought you'd be happy to see your boyfriend,” he loved referring to himself as ‘boyfriend’, it made him secure in his role. “I have an inter-uni game to catch with the boys but I'm gracing you with my presence instead," your eyes flutter closed as you relax back into the security of Jake's hands.

"You really don't have to talk, babe,"

"But this place is so suffocating," Jake huffs, letting his eyes drift over the dark and dreary room flooded with books, papers, old, depressing paintings of old depressing philosophers. "I can feel myself getting smarter just being here. It's disgusting."

You hum as Jake's thumb drifts under the thin fabric of your v-neck, kneading into the tissue surrounding your shoulder blade. "It's almost like there's more to campus than just the rugby field," your him bleeds into a moan as Jake fingers prod at a particularly sensitive bundle of nerves.

"I had no idea," he says with mock sarcasm. You chuckle lightly as you let Jake's fingers coax you into a much needed break. The peace is a welcome getaway from the tedium that came from fixing grammatical issues and spelling errors.

Jake's left hand continues to knead at your back while his right drifts to the front of your neck. He could've been a chiropractor in his past life, Jake thinks idly as he cups the base of your throat until he's turning your head to match his ministrations.

"Fuck," that tiny sound leaving your mouth does everything to focus Jake's attention down on you. His eyes are hooded as he watches you seated before him and he's all too aware of the fact that this angle allows him to see down your top, into the pillowy expanse of your cleavage.

Jake pushes his hardening cock against the back of your high back chair as he continues to massage your back and neck.

And sure, maybe his hand may drift a little lower down your chest while the other continues to work at your neck.

You almost don't catch him when he says, "So hypothetically what would you do if I told you the condom broke-"

Your eyes snap open and you try to rid yourself of Jake's hands but the hand drifting against your cleavage cages you to the chair. No running.

"What the fuck is wrong with you lately?! Did I not tell you I would rather die than let you inject me with your evil spawn-"

Something dark settles on Jake's face as he stops his ministrations.

There's a moment of disorientation before you realise that Jake spun your chair to face him. One hand on the back of the chair as he leans down, with your faces far too close for it not to be inappropriate.

"Would it really be so bad?" He whispers, before tilting his head to slot his mouth against yours.

Luckily your senses are heightened but still rational as you push him away, effectively standing up to create more distance between you two.

Jake, however, sees your plan and instead of letting you act it out, he slots you in between himself and the desk. Your butt pressing against the edge of the wood so there was no escape.

"No Jake," you say in frustration because now Jake's hands were pawing at your hips like he usually did when he was coaxing you into being as horny as he was. "Getting me pregnant wouldn't just be bad-"

"Perfect," he says, dipping down to place a kiss on your collar bone, "So we agree-"

"It'd be catastrophic. I'd abort it immediately." Jake's hands curl into your hips and you watch under furrowed brows as Jake begins to fiddle with the drawstring of his shorts.

"You're catholic," he says before dipping down to undo the buttons of your jeans. "You're not aborting my baby."

You think your boyfriend is utterly delirious, but even more harrowing is the bit of molten attraction stirring in the bottom of your stomach at seeing him so sure of something. So in charge.

His bare arms are glistening from playing rugby under the sweltering sun and his skin has that honey tint that drove you feral with lust.

You hated the urge that plagued your mind to push your thighs tightly together but Jake immediately stops you. He pushes your jeans down, leaving you standing dumbly with your mouth hanging open as he slots himself between your legs. You try to wriggle yourself away but Jake keeps you locked with his hands framing your sides.

"Last night was hot, yeah?" He huffs with his shorts hanging lazily under the bulge of his Calvin Kleins. He presses himself against you, moaning straight into the crook of your neck.

"J-Jeez, Jake," you whimper, unable to stop yourself from lifting your hips to meet his grinding, "Y-You're disturbing me from work-" speaking was growing very difficult, especially because Jake was unclipping your bra from behind. "Cus all you think about is sex-"

"All I think about is sex with you." He clarifies as wriggles you out of the v-neck.

"I don't think that's a crime-" he says, immediately cupping your breasts in his large hands as he pushes his cock further against you. Jake throws his head back before huffing and puffing while he stares down at you needily humping against him.

"You say you don't want it," he swipes his tongue over his bottom lip as he lifts his shirt, "but you're like a pup in heat, babe,"

"F-Fuck, if we're gonna do this, hurry before anyone comes," the words are like music to his ears and his exposed stomach flexes as he hurriedly pulls down his boxers.

You help him out of his shirt, and both your movements are so heated, so clumsy, you don't think you've ever been this wet.

"Fuck- you gotta be quick, big boy, before someone comes, yeah?" You repeat, knowing your boyfriend became completely unresponsive and pussy drunk during sex. Jake hums in weak response, far too focused on jerking himself off…the head of his cock periodically bumping against your clothed cunt.

"Say you want this dick- c'mon, say it-" he urges with heavy eyelids and all the fight is wiped out of you. You lean back, opening your legs to accommodate him further between you and Jake only groans as he jerks his cock.

"J-Jake, you can't cum in me, yeah-"

"Come on, bro," he groans as he brings his hand in between your legs. “Still?!”

His fingers prod at your clit as your hips stutter to meet his hand. "I'm just tryna get it in, why are you being like this?"

You manage to slip out a scoff in between your moaning.

"Y-You're not 'getting it in' until you divulge what on earth you're thinking about that has you this fucking feral." he was operating on neandthral level need and you needed to know what the cause of it was. You needed to know what had your boyfriend so strung out on your body, on the scent of you, at the sight of you.

You want this Jake all the time.

"You're so pretty," he mumbles, instead, with his gaze locked firmly on your cunt. He swipes your panties aside, unwilling to part with the cute pink material yet and you arch your back, inviting him in.

"If I tell you what I'm thinking about…" he says, lining his cock up with your cunt. Your entire back now pressed supine against the desk, "You'll end up pregnant before the end of the day," Jake concludes his statement by ramming his cock into your cunt, effectively lodging all your complaints in the back of your throat. The desk creaks as he continually rams his cock into you in viscous, rough thrusts.

He's a panting mess, watching your body contort in pleasure as your breasts jiggle with every thrust.

"Oh my fucking g- fuck-" Jake hovers over you, never once slowing his movements even when he tweaks your nipples.

"You're so fucking pretty, you know that? Taking this dick so fucking good-"

You clench around him, loving how vulgar he got whenever you had sex. His hair is already messy but it becomes even more so when you drag your fingers through it, discarding the hair tie that kept his black curls rained to the back.

"Oh my god, baby, you're such a slut-" he lets his words slip and it only turns you on more and more as you drag him down for a sloppy kiss. Your hips rise to meet his thrusts, willing your orgasm to crest.

"B-Baby-” he pants, “Pretty Baby, I need to tell you something-" the second those words left his mouth in sloppy succession, your alarm bells were ringing. Even more so when he dipped his hands between your body until he was rubbing furious circles against your clit.

"J-Just, shh, Jakey, I'm close-"

"The condom broke, last night-"

Your hips still, but his continue to fuck into you- continues to rub at your clit until your body can't help but obey.

"WHA- OH FUCK, JUST LIKE THAT-" your seeing stars when the tip of Jake's cock rams against that particular pillow of nerves. "F-Fuck Jakey."

He was still your Jakey and he took that as a sign to continue fucking into you with reckless abandon.

"Gonna fill you up with my cum, again princess?"

"Jake-"

"Yesterday when you were riding me," he says in harsh staccato. His breath is rough and rugged. "A-And your hips were moving just right and your tits- God those tits." He leans back to watch them jiggle underneath them and Jake's balls squeezes in warning. "I just-" his voice cracks as he whines, "I just needed to flood you with my cum, baby-" your cunt squeezes his cock once more and you're both dangerously close to the edge.

"H-Here-'' he says, bringing your hand up to his throat. "Choke m-me, I think I'm gonna cum." His words alone have your back arching off the desk, slipping into your own orgasm.

“J-Jake-” Somehow you still muster the energy to choke him like he wants and that has his hips stuttering and the praises flying from his lips as he says, "F-Fuck, I'm cumming for you, Angel. You're milking my cock- babe-" his hips ram into yours as his eyes squeeze shut. Jake's caught in the ultimate pleasure as he imagines everything from your tits swelling with milk, to him fucking you while you were pregnant.

"O-Oh my fucking god," the amount of cum leaking out of his cock threatens to push him out of you, and you're both huffing in the quiet office air.

Soon you're both hurtling down to your current reality, but still, Jake keeps his hand on your hips, listening to your heartbeat.

"If you really don't want one - I'll go get you a plan b right now-"

"W-wait," you stop him from leavi⁷ng, "Let's... talk about it later. No promises."

Jake smiles, "No promises.”

[bluetimeombre]

˚ · . Nothing fucks with my baby, ˚ · .

You are Hugh's young controversial girlfriend

[FINALLY! it's here, I have kept you all waiting, I hope I haven't disappointed! I said in the other posts that I wasn't gonna do much smut but I think I went more than even I thought. Got me blushing and kicking my feet. I hope you enjoy, I'm still riding this Hugh train (want to be riding him) who said that?]

warnings: older man! younger reader! fem!reader. Not proof read. Smut! Penetration, riding, oral (both receiving) praise kink,

Only a bed separated you and Hugh.

"Ok, so we're gonna pick it up from where we left it last time," said the director. "Get ready."

Hugh was in black clad trousers, shirtless, 'sweat' that was really water sprayed. His hair was already messy, perfectly so as if you'd been running your hands through it.

You still had a robe on, your makeup artist touching the highlight to be 'sweat' while Hugh watches every sway of the brush on your cheeks.

The scene was this: Hugh's character seduces yours. Well, there was seduction on both ends, characters or not. It was the first kiss, the first sex scene, the first true intimacy between your two characters. It was hot, heavy, sensual and loving. It was supposed to be all gripping hands and racing pulses, moving bodes and fumbling lips.

But it was the first kiss scene you'd share with Hugh. There'd be plenty more to come, but the director thought it would capture the true emotions of your characters to get it first try.

"Yummy," whispered your makeup artist in your ear as she leant over, slowly un-doing the ties of your robe.

"Play nice," you mutter to her.

"You don't," she winked before parting with your robe, leaving you in your silk nightgown that fell mid-thigh.

Hugh gulped, his eyes raking over you as you smiled. Your nerves were sky high, but Hugh seemed already in character.

He played the groundskeeper in 1930's Britain, best friend of your 'father', playing blackmail and seducing his daughter. You. And boy was it easy for Hugh Jackman to seduce you.

The cast and crew had been great at making the both of you comfortable and you'd all been for dinners, lunch's, cast parties, yoga sessions. They'd done everything to make it comfortable. And it had worked. You and Hugh got on like a house on fire, always around, always laughing. But there were the lingering looks once the laughter died, or the 'goodnights' that lasted longer than appropriate, and the touches, the constant excuse for it.

Maybe it was because you were young, alluring to a man not long divorced from an almost thirty year marriage. Maybe it was because he was everything you ever wanted, but you had a feeling lines were going to be crossed. The pit in your stomach was either dread... or desire.

"Right, all set?" the director asked.

Hugh smiled, patted his thighs and nodded.

You flashed a smile too but wiped your palms down your dress, un-knowingly shuffling it on your chest.

Hugh caught the movement and gulped. He was screwed.

"Action!"

You watched as Hugh, in character, stalked toward you. As scripted, you took a step back, hitting the bedpost but kept his gaze. You were a headstrong character, and you could do that, even if your knees felt weak.

"You er, get dressed for me, pretty girl?" he asked. He slipped his fingers through the strap, fingers caressing your skin.

Your shiver wasn't scripted and as Hugh's eyes flickered to your own, you wondered if he knew that. "You should go."

"Your pa's not home."

"My mother is," you whispered, standing taller on the bed post as if you weren't afraid.

He smirked and dragged the strap down until he could see your bare shoulder. His eyes flickered back up to yours. "Wendy's a nice woman. She doesn't expect much."

A furrow in your brows, as planned. "How dare you-"

Hugh kissed you with such force your head came back to hit the bedpost but his hand was already cupping the back of your head, easing the thump as he pressed you against it.

It wasn't scripted.

His lips were as soft as they looked, mixed with the gruffness of his stubbly beard that dragged over your chin as he dived into you like a man starved of breath. You obeyed his every move, every tilt of his head you followed.

His teeth sunk into your lip and your gasped. His tongue dipped in, meeting yours gently asking for permission.

You grabbed his cheeks, drawing back enough to get a look at him. There was a wild frenzy in his eyes causing them to go darker, but beneath that you saw his concern, his worry that he'd gone to far.

Whether this was acting or not, you didn't care.

You drew him back in, lips smacking as passion pulled both your strings. He groaned as you obeyed him, body flattening against yours.

His hands raked down your shoulders, taking the straps with you as you gasp and shiver. The gown wasn't supposed to come off but at that rate, you didn't care if it slipped a little. Hugh's hands moved down your sides, to your hips, gripping the material and bunching it.

"You," he gasped against your lips.

He met your gaze and you smirked, challenging him. Luckily, it could all work in character.

You had no knickers or anything on. It was all to easy to see the line in the dress if you did.

Hugh groaned and brought your head back to his, tongue wasting no time in sweeping into your mouth, tasting every corner and marking it as your own.

He spun you around until he was against the bed, his knees buckling and falling, you in his lap.

He groaned into your mouth, loud enough for the microphone above you to hear. Your lips paused on his, hands crawling into his hair as you felt it.

He was hard, so incredibly hard.

Hugh's eyes were scrunched shut as you backed away a fraction, his tongue licking at his lips for a taste of you. Your hair was starting to stick to your head from real sweat.

His trousers were pulled over his crotch, highlighting the size of him as your mouth watered and your thighs tightened on him. His gaze was hooded as he watched you in silent awe.

You bit down on your bottom lip as you pressed yourself against him, feeling every ridge through the tiny fabric of your nightgown. God, he couple feel every warmth of you. How much you wanted him.

He pecked your lips and brought your bottom lip out with his teeth. From the cameras and the lights and the amount of people in the room, the sweat on the two of you started to be real, mixed with your pants and soft moans that weren't necessary for the scene but needed to pass between the two of you.

Your fingers dug into the back of his shoulders as your rocked yourself onto him, grinding onto his clothed crotch to feel something.

Hugh kept one hand on the back of your neck, occasionally drifting into your hair and tugging with every rock of your hips.

You wondered if the director would ever call cut and you hoped he never would. If it all ended here. Your only consoling thought was the amount of intimacy scene's you and Hugh would have to share together.

He grabbed you and rolled you over as planned until you were flat, chest heaving with breaths and he was kneeling over you. His hands went to his belt, twiddling to undo it.

In a frenzy of passion, your hands reached out to help, grazing his bulge. He watched you as he finally un did the belt and your nails scraped down his thighs.

Hugh loomed over you, grinding down into your cunt until he could feel how wet you were, his lips coming to your shoulder. He didn't have to bite, but he seemed satisfied with it.

"Cut!" called the director.

Your hands halted where they were in his hair and Hugh fell against you, caging you to the bed as you both panted.

"Well done, guys, that was great, you got it over and done with. Now for the rest of them, but that'll come gradual," said the director as both Hugh's and your team came to the bed.

Still, neither of you moved.

"Gradual, yeah," you panted, your hands still stroking back Hugh's hair until you realised what you were doing.

Hugh kissed your shoulder once before rolling from you and taking the robe offered to him. You took things slower, knees weak at just the memory of him.

You took the robe and wrapped yourself up.

Hugh glanced back at you, not once, twice.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

You’d thought about it all day. Even as you half-heartedly did the rest of the scenes for the day. Your head was only half on set, the other half focused on the feel of Hugh under you.

In your trailer that night you played your music, gripping your hair in one hand and riding your hand with the other, trying to re-make the magic of feeling him under you.

God, how wrong it was. He was your costar. Old enough to be your father and your celebrity crush for god knows how long. You couldn’t be with him even if you wanted to, he’d probably leave the project if he knew how you’d watched every semi pornographic scene with him in it just to get yourself off.

The knock on your trailer altered you.

Quickly you pushed yourself from bed and wiped your fingers on your shorts, rushing to answer the door.

Hugh’s hands were braced on either side of your trailer door, panting as if he’d ran a matharon before turning up at your step.

“Hugh,” you smiled, desperate to act casual. “What’s up?”

He sighed, staring at you dreamily. He didn’t wait for an invite in. “I thought we could practice, some more.”

You looked up at him. You must have looked a mess, flushed cheeks and devilish hair, but he didn’t look much better. He was in a casual top, black sweatpants low on his v-line.

Daring to peak, you could see the indent. He was still hard.

Your thighs clenched in together from the overwhelming heat. “Yeah, of course.”

You sat next to Hugh on the sofa where you’d left your last script. Your thigh against his, his finger grazing your knee.

You cleared your throat, trying to read when all you could do was bask in every little touch from him.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” said Hugh. His eyes were on you, script forgotten.

Glancing from him to the script, you flicked a page. “I don’t- where does it say-”

With a rough hand, he tilted your jaw to him until your lips were a hairs breath away. His tongue flicked out, darting over your lips, begging. “Honey, I can’t stop thinking about you.”

You gulped, mouth opening for breath or for him, you couldn’t tell which was more important. A hand crept up to cradle the back of his head. “I can’t tell if we’re practicing or not, Hugh.”

His head rested against yours as he moved it side to side. “Whatever gets you to fall in love with me.”

His eyes met yours.

“As if you even have to try.”

Your lips were soft and mouth wide as you received him, tongue gracing his mouth as he grabbed your hips to pull you on top of him, the script crinkling between the two of you. Your hands were in his hair, grown longer for the part, then raking down his neck then over his shirt until you were gripping it in your hands, pulling him closer to you while you lost air.

Hugh pulled back enough to kiss your jaw, biting at the skin.

“Is this-“ you gasped, holding onto his shoulders. Your thoughts weren’t working, nothing was. All you could think was him, his hands on your hips.

Hugh's lips reluctantly dragged away from your skin, as if he'd die to be parted. "Is it what baby?" when he saw your concern, his desire dimmed. All he wanted was for you to be alright. "Tell me," he brushed back your hair, thumb pulling down your bottom lip, after all, he still needed you like you might die tomorrow.

You sat back on his lap, trying to distract yourself from the dampness in your pants. "Is this real?"

"Doesn't it feel real to you?" he laughed, rocking himself into you.

"Is this Hugh?" you whispered, "or just your character."

His eyes softened. Hugh cradled your cheeks, holding you to look at him. "This is me and you, honey. I-I know this all seems sudden, and we can stop if you want-"

"I'm not saying that," you quickly cut him off as he chuckles, pressing a kiss to your neck. You wanted him, even if it meant heartbreak for you later.

He pulled back and looked up at you. "This is me wanting you. As y/n. As whatever you will give me. As my love, as my baby. As- as everything i've been thinking about for months. As everything I've been waiting for, baby," his thumb smoothed over your cheekbones as you nuzzled into his palms. "If i've made you feel like i'm using you i'm sorry, i'm so sorry, but this is real to me."

You glance up at him. Your lips press a kiss into his palm as you hold his hand to you. "Good," you mutter. You adjust yourself, settling down on his lap again until his clothed erection is begging for your wetness. "Because this is real to me too."

Hugh growled and kissed you, all tongue and teeth as he sort to get every piece of you in one. His arms, strong and large, wrapped around your back and held you into him until even when you pulled away to breathe, your breath was full of him.

With his strength, he pushed you down on your sofa, throwing the script behind him and pulling your legs until they were thrown on either side of his hips. He was lucky you were still in costume, your dress riding up to reveal your white panties, with a damp spot.

Hugh lied down, looking at your pussy as his one hand held down your hips, the other crawling up your chest to squeeze your breasts. "This real? This all for me, honey?"

"Yes," you gasp, running your hands through his hair as his salt and pepper beard scraped your thighs.

"You want me?"

"Yes, Hugh."

"How badly?"

"So, so badly," you whisper, eyes shut as his breath fans where you need him most. "Please baby, please."

He kissed over your panties. "So polite, honey. So good for me." He licked a stripe up, letting his tongue swirl over your clit.

Your back arches. As he repeated the motion before hooking his fingers through the band and slowly- agonisingly slowly- pulling down your panties and the scrunching them up in his hand.

He moaned at the sight of you dripping before him. How he had you panting by the smallest touches. You were his to touch. To ruin. To taint with him and only him. "Thought about this cunt of yours more than should be allowed."

You chuckle, propping yourself up to indulge in the sinful image of him between your thighs. "Yeah? Thought about it too."

"Tell me," he said. His eyes were on yours as he peppered kisses on the inside of your thighs, fingers indented into your flesh.

You moan, eyes fluttering shut. You think of every crude images you'd conjured in your mind. Him suffocating between your thighs, you sitting on his face, riding that perfect arched nose. Your mouth stuffed with his cock as he eats you out. Riding him. Up against a wall. Every filthy thing, you wanted to do with him. "Thought about your tongue, your cock, fingers, nose."

He laughed, glancing up at you. "My nose, huh?"

You chuckle with him, falling back and throwing your arms over your face. The laughter catches in your throat when you feel his tongue dive into your folds, the warmth spreading. You moan, legs going to close if it weren't for Hugh tapping them.

"Keep them open baby," his voice was rough in demand as he focused on you. On tasting you, on spreading your folds with his fingers- sliding them in and out to get a feel, as he shoved his tongue in depths you didn't know he could.

You bite down on the back of your hand, but your cry is barley muffled. "Fuck, baby."

Hugh eats you like he's starved man. He moans into your cunt, sending vibrations through your body that he receive gladly. It goes through him like you're one person. He finds himself grinding down on the sofa like a teenage boy. That's what you're doing to him, making him focus on you and not cumming before stuffing you with him.

"Hugh, I'm-" you mutter all too quickly.

"God, can't wait to taste you cum on my tongue, honey," he said. "You want my nose huh?" He stuffs his face into your pussy, tongue flicking up and down your folds as he nudges his nose on your clit repeatedly until he has your thighs shaking.

"Hugh!" you moan, holding onto his shoulder to stabilise yourself.

Hugh slides his fingers into you, using your wetness to his advantage as he continues to work you with his tongue. He slobbers, spitting down your folds and fingers as he works it into you, groaning at the sight. "Can't wait to feel this around me. God, I wanted you on my cock so bad, with the camera's watching, with the crew. Want them all to know an old man like me can have you falling in love."

"Always," you gasp, focusing on the warmth in your stomach and Hugh's fingers curling inside of you. "Want you to take me. Use me. Have me."

Hugh flattens himself against your sofa, groaning, eyes rolling in the back of his head like it's your mouth warm against is cock. He grips your hand that was on his shoulder and holds it until his fingers bleach white from the grip. He rests it on your sternum, looking up at you.

Wisps of your hair stick to your forehead, your chest spilling out the dress and rising and falling as your body trembles. You hold his hand just as tight, if not, tighter.

"Cum on my lips baby, please," he begged. "Want to taste you. Want to make you cum."

It took little more encouragement from you before you came on his tongue, gasping and grasping as you did. Hugh ate it up, licking the mess from your pussy and your lips. It has him quivering and knowing he'll need this taste every day just to keep him sane.

"Hugh?"

He glances back up at you. Your pink cheeks and wide eyes. He grins, licking his lips and wiping your juice from the corner of his lips and licking it from his fingers as he crawls back over you. He nudges his nose against yours and grins at your smile. "That was amazing."

"You're saying it like you just had the best orgasm of your life," you laugh.

His brows rose. "Best orgasm of your life, huh? I can give you plenty more where that came from?"

You smirk, running your hand from his chest to between his legs, rubbing your hand over his dick that trembles at your touch. Satisfaction gnaws at you as you watch his eyes shut and jaw clench.

"Baby, almost had me cumming in my pants like a teenager," he chuckled, shakily.

You tut, sitting up to have better access to his lap. "Can't be having that."

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

That's how the rest of the months of filming were spent.

At first, the two of you agreed to take it slow. Little dinner dates, grabbing coffee together and walks in the local parks. Luckily it was known you were filming together and the paps weren't too fussed.

You tried to take it slow, but the sex was anything but.

In the mornings when you were inevitably in the make up chair first thing- as the star of the movie- Hugh would join you, passing you your coffee order and breakfast before taking a seat next to you and chatting away with you and the make-up artists. Even if he wasn't shooting that day, he was there. On the dot. Every day.

Your team of people smirked knowingly even if neither of you confirmed it. But the stolen stares and kind offerings were enough. Surprisingly, nobody warned him about being with one so young and neither you him much older as he was.

Because everyone knew it was true, real love. Because first, it came from friendship.

He helped you with scenes when you asked, helping the emotions play out. Even you gave him new perspectives of looking and taking om scenes. It was refreshing. Life with you was refreshing.

The more intimate scene's became harder, oddly enough. Because you'd get to into it, the director yelling cut several times to tear your bodies from each other. Then, when you were alone at night, you jumped on Hugh, climbing him like a tree.

Sometimes you couldn't wait till night and dragged him into your dressing room, sliding down to your knees and un-doing his belt.

"Eager?" he'd tease.

You wouldn't justify him with an answer. Your hands messaging his balls and tongue licking up his cock until you had him down your throat or stuffed in your cheeks was enough for him.

At the end, you had to stop reading scripts with Hugh as his glasses perched on his nose was too much for you.

Enough times he knew that and would eat you out wearing them. And only them. You'd watch the lenses steam up as he licked and moaned in you until you were cumming over his chin, sometimes landing on his glasses.

"Honey, you're too much," he grinned and kissed you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

Dinner nights after long days always ended up with your foot gently trailing up his leg in his dress pants, his hand gripping your ankle as it inched closer to his cock, finger running circles.

Hugh would have to park in the dark and pull you onto his cock, ruining your dazzling dress and tearing the seams of his trousers to have his cock free and nuzzled into you.

One of your breasts was in his mouth as you rode him, his arm wrapped around your waist and helping you move. His cock warm and throbbing inside of you.

"Oh baby," he moaned around your breast, teeth pinching at your nipple. "Grip me like a dream."

His hand gripped your ass, pushing you and pushing you, throwing his head back and groaning out as the car rocked form your hard movements. It didn't matter how many times either of you had each other, it was a constant need never satisfied. You breathed new life into him and he wanted to use it all on you.

"Hugh, I need you!" you whined out even as his cock was deep in you.

But he got it. Because it wasn't enough for him. "I know, baby, I know!" he lurched forward and kissed you as you grabbed his cheek, keeping him there. Your tongues fought as you tried to catch your breath, bouncing on his cock. He growled. You whimpered.

"Fuck me, Hugh," you told him, biting down on his earlobe as you cuddled into him, bouncing on his dick as fast as you could to reach your third high that night.

"Shit, just there- right there!" he held your hips down as his cum spluttered into you, him growling and moaning out your name like prayer. Nobody in the world had been so devoted to something like Hugh was to you.

And the balance was perfect. The next night Hugh would join you in your trailer- where most your times were spent. You were curled into his side as he was shirtless, reading. Those annoyingly attractive glasses still there as he laughed at some parts of the book and you'd ask what it had said and he'd explain it to you while his fingers twirled strands of your hair.

The next day you'd be attached to him all day, lips forming as one as the camera rolled and the director gave you pointers. It was a scene of the two of you in the garden. Both indecent (although of course following Hollywood guidelines) Hugh didn't even let you up from his lap, instead holding you there as you both acted professional and took the director's words. You could fuck him, love him and work with him all you needed.

That night, Hugh would have you on the floor of his trailer, the two of you hardly making it through the door before he had his cock in your mouth, stirring you with his hands in your hair.

"Did so good today, my good girl, working so hard for everyone," he groaned as you chocked around his cock.

You took him deep and took him out, spitting over his cock and working him with your hand. "So big," you mumbled, drunk on having him. You sucked one of his balls into your mouth, devoting attention to both of them.

"Oh, fuck, y/n, you're gonna be the death of me. God, I just know you wanted to ride me with everyone watching, could feel how wet you were."

You take his cum down your throat, licking every last drop before you both fall asleep in his bed to film together the next day.

You both walk on set, laughing, smiling, with coffee in hands and every on set watches and smirks cause they know. Maybe they don't know all the filthy things you get up to, but they can see it's more than just another hollywood controversial talk.

But Hugh is in love with you.

taglist (thank you!): @oatmilkriver, @angstdaddy, @chronicallybubbly, @white-wolf-buckaroo, @th3mrskory, @wolfyychan, @chaimshelii, @wolviesgirl, @haytchee, @aoi-targaryen, @apizzacalledmel, @corvusmorte, @slut4you, @ellak69, (how you're only just on the taglist no idea babe), @wolverigrl

[happy74827]

One Call Away

[Wade Wilson x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: During one of his "jobs," Deadpool gets a call from his favorite gal [GIF Creds: jdsheart]

WC: 1970

Category: Fluff, Major Comedy {TW: Deadpool’s Humor/Nonfiltered Personality}

This man is so hard to write. I’m always stressing the noggin when it comes to planning and plotting 😔

『••✎••』

"And away we go..."

One neck crack and a couple of hip twists later, he was off like Aladdin and his fucktoy carpet, scaling the building similarly to a chameleon on LSD.

The only thing that was missing was some epic music.

He'd been chasing this baddie around the city for almost two days now. Some big-shot mob boss with ties to Hydra, or the Mafia, or the Yakuza, or some other three-letter-acronym organization. It was hard to keep track of them all at this point. They were all the same, except for the name.

They all had their own agenda.

Kill him, keep him prisoner, pay him off...

Wade never cared enough to listen because it was always the same. He just got hired to do the dirty work, and the pay was good.

The killing was better.

This one, however, was particularly good at eluding him. He'd been trying to get his hands on this man for a few days now. It wasn't as though he was trying to be stealthy or anything, either. He'd walked right up to his front door, knocked, and was greeted with a spray of machine gun bullets.

So, the usual.

But then the guy ran and didn't stop. It was like the fucking Roadrunner met Sonic the Hedgehog, and they decided to fuck around and find out.

Wade was getting real sick and tired of being a Roadrunner, too. He had a reputation to uphold. He wasn't known as the Merc with the Mouth for nothing. He was supposed to be the one doing the running and the killing.

Not the other way around.

Finally, finally, he managed to reach the roof where the guy was currently taking cover behind a small brick shack. The sun was rising, but it was still dark, and there were a couple of floodlights shining on the rooftop. It made him think of the night he'd had that heart-to-heart with Blind Al, even though all she really wanted was for him to bring her some of that special brownie mix.

What a night that had been.

But anyway, this monologue is starting to get too long, and we should probably move things along, eh?

Right.

So, the baddie.

His name was something long and non-English.

Salvatore, or Santino, or Salvation... Whatever the fuck it was, it didn't really matter. What mattered was that it was time to make him dead.

He stepped around the corner and was met with a spray of bullets, all of which lodged themselves into his Kevlar vest.

"Oh, come on!" he yelled over the sound of the gunfire. "This is real leather, you know. I'm tired of all the offscreen sewing and shit."

When the spray finally ended, he took a moment to catch his breath.

"…ow," he whispered to himself.

"You shouldn't have followed me here," the man said.

"Yeah, whatever," Deadpool replied. "Look, I'll make this easy for you. You drop down and give me fifty, and I'll let you keep that hideous mustache you're sporting."

The man's eyes widened in surprise.

"It's not that bad, is it?"

"Yes, yes it is," Deadpool assured him. "You got a squirrel living in it or something?"

"It's just a little bit of gray, you dick," the man argued. "What about you? What's with the mask? Are you hiding a mustache under there, too, or something? Maybe some acne scars?"

Deadpool shook his head and stepped forward, his guns drawn.

"Don't come any closer!"

"You know, this would be much more intimidating if you didn't look like a cartoon mouse."

"Stop it with the mustache!"

"Alright, alright," Deadpool said. "Enough with the mustache. But what is it about your hairline? I can't put my finger on it."

The man sighed in exasperation and pulled out his pistol, aiming it right at Deadpool's face.

"Hey now, don't point that at me," Deadpool scolded him. "That's not a very nice thing to do."

He ignored him and pulled the trigger, a loud boom ringing out as the bullet fired. It whizzed by him but missed its mark.

"You really are a dick," He grumbled before aiming his gun right between the man's eyes. And he was going to shoot, honest.

He really was.

But then his phone rang, and he was well-reminded of the current song playing through his head.

I'm a buff baby that can dance like a man. I can shake-ah my fanny, I can shake-ah my can!

Needless to say, he was distracted.

He lowered his gun and looked down at his pocket, where his phone was still ringing and still vibrating against his leg.

"Shit, hold that thought," He said to the guy, and he holstered his gun.

"Wh-what the hell are you doing?!"

Deadpool put his finger up to shush him before pulling his phone out of his pocket to answer it.

If you're an evil witch, I’ll punch you for fu—

"Heyyyy," he said in a sing-songy voice, "you've reached the phone sex hotline. For kinks and fetishes, press one. For booty calls, press two. For your favorite mercenary, press three."

"Ey, pendejo—" His opponent started, but he cut him off by snapping and raising his finger.

"Cut it, Tuco Salamanca. Breaking Bad called and wants its meth-cooking mustache back."

"Wha-I-you-"

"Anyways, this is your favorite merc speaking. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?"

"Is this a bad time?"

Wade's eyes widened in shock, and his jaw dropped open when he heard her voice on the other end of the line.

"Baby girl! Is that you? Oh, how I've missed your voice. It's like hearing an angel, or an angelic chorus, or a whole bunch of angels, but you're the most important one. Like, the lead singer or something."

"I literally saw you last night." Your voice was always drenched with the most amazing kind of sarcasm, and he'd missed it.

"And?"

"It's only been a few hours."

"And?"

"That's a short amount of time."

"And?"

You sighed, but he knew you weren't really annoyed.

"Anyways, you sounded busy," you continued, "so I'll just let you go."

"What?! No! Don't hang up!" He shouted into the receiver. "I've only fiddled with my pistols! Nothing interesting is happening right now!"

"Your pistols, huh?" You asked a hint of mischief in your voice.

"Well, yeah. They're the most important part of the mission, you know."

In the corner of his eye, he could see his target making his way towards the edge of the building. Quickly and efficiently, without dropping his attention from his conversation with you, he lifted his gun and fired a shot at the man's knee.

"Ah, fuck!" the man screamed in pain. "My knee!"

"Hey! Language!" Deadpool scolded him. "The lady of the house is listening!"

"Lady of the- what the fuck?!"

"I said language, you mustachioed rat!"

"Mustachioed rat?" You asked.

"Sorry, babe," he replied. "You know how excited I get when Downtown Abbey is on."

“There’s gunshots in Downtown Abbey?"

"Gunshots? Oh, no, no. That was… uh, a car alarm. Yeah, the neighbor's car alarm was going off."

"Uh-huh," you said, not sounding very convinced. And, of course, that was right around the time the guy's gun went off again, this time hitting him square in the shoulder. It made the phone fall out of his hand and clatter onto the ground, but the call was still connected.

"Dammit!" He yelled, looking at the fresh blood dripping down his arm. "That's gonna take forever to heal!"

"Who are you talking to?" The man demanded, his gun still aimed at Deadpool's face. "You're working with someone?"

"Hey, now, I don't remember giving you permission to talk," Deadpool told him, holding his bloody arm up to his face. "Look, I've gotta call you back, babe. I know it's been so heartbreakingly long—"

"Again, only a few hours," you said.

"—but duty calls. Love you, bye."

"Love you, bye."

With that, the line disconnected.

"Ugh," he groaned, his heart aching for the loss of your sweet voice. "I miss her already."

"Ey," his opponent growled, drawing his attention. He started speaking in rapid-fire Spanish, which Deadpool didn't really understand, but he didn't have to. The guy was just ranting and raving.

"Alright, alright, chill," Deadpool said. "Just calm down. It’ll all be over soon, little buddy."

"I am not little! I am a giant!" The guy protested, and Wade could practically see the steam coming out of his ears. "And I will not chill!"

"Well, can't argue with that, I guess," Deadpool said with a shrug, and he took aim. But before he could pull the trigger, the guy was running again.

"Hey, what did I tell you about running?!" He yelled, but his voice fell on deaf ears as the guy reached the ledge.

"I am a giant!"

"No, you're a giant asshat!"

"I will not be bested by some masked buffoon!"

"Buff? Me? Why, I never!"

"You're the biggest asshole I've ever met!"

"You know what? I am a big ass! A big, round, bubbly ass." He paused for a second. "Hey, what's your favorite flavor?"

"Fuck you, you red-clad imbecile!"

"You know, I'd ask you out to dinner first, but we're kinda past that now."

"Argh!"

"Alright, enough stalling," Deadpool said. "It's time to end this."

"Yes," the guy said, turning his gun back on Deadpool. "It is."

Of course, Deadpool being the smart-ass he was, he'd already taken a step to the side. As the bullet whizzed past him, he reached for his gun.

"Now, where did I put that thing? Oh, there it is."

He aimed the gun and fired, and the man fell back onto the ground. The bullet hit him right in the middle of his forehead, his blood splattering all over the concrete.

"Ha ha! Fatality. Deadpool wins!" He said, his voice taking on the deep, grounded tone of the narrator from Mortal Kombat. "Flawless Victory."

He stood over the body for a few seconds, reveling in his victory, before he felt the presence of another.

The gun on his right side got ripped from its holster, and the barrel was aimed back into his face, as it always seems to be.

But, he already sensed it was coming, so his fingers wrapped around his other and aimed that right in the golden spot… and let’s just say, The Golden Girls was a little less golden and a lot more crimson.

"Wow, this has got to be a record," He said as he bent down to stare at the new one’s anguish. "Two dead ugly mustaches in the same day. You can call me Sweeney Todd because shit… I just shaved you the fuck up."

He didn’t give the poor bastard a chance to even whimper before he fired another two shots into the man's head. All in all, this had been the easiest payday he'd had in a while.

He picked up his cell phone and slipped it back into its pocket before bending down and scooping up the mustache man's pistol.

"Ooh, lookie here, a nice, shiny new pistol," he said to himself. "Just what I've always wanted. Well, I don't actually need it. It's not like I have any other holes in my body, but you know what they say. The more the merrier."

He stuffed the gun in his holster and turned around, heading back the way he'd come.

"Time to get back to the good stuff," he said. "I have a date with my favorite girl."

He hopped up onto the ledge and looked down, his eyes locking on the window to his apartment.

And when he arrived, bloody and battered, you could only smile while holding up little ole Mary Puppins in all her drooling glory.

God, how he missed his girls.

[keikikait]

can you do something really angsty for rafe please. like one where they might not end up together:(

ᴅʀᴜɴᴋ ᴡᴀʟᴋ ʜᴏᴍᴇ (ʀᴀꜰᴇ ᴄᴀᴍᴇʀᴏɴ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

pairing: rafe cameron x kook!f!reader, (not au, both are early to mid 20s)

word count: 4.8k

summary: from the corner, at the party, you watch him

warnings: ANGST!!!!, pining/whipped reader, rafe & reader are friends, kook!reader & kook!rafe, drinking, not proofread

a note: yeah....yeah....

please reblog and like, it means a lot! let me know what you think!

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

He’s never looked more beautiful. 

You bring the red solo cup to your lips, eye twitching and throat burning as you take a sip. It was foul, cheap vodka mixed with melted skittles, but it was getting you drunk, and that’s all that mattered. You felt like a creep, sitting in the corner of Barry’s living room, practically eye fucking Rafe as he stands in the kitchen, but you couldn’t help it. Your eyes naturally went to his figure, tracing the expanses of his toned arms. 

You wanted him.

You always have.

From the second you met him in elementary school, when you were around 6 years old, you’ve had a crush on Rafe. You remember that day like it was yesterday. You had just gotten new shoes that had laces instead of Velcro, and even though your mom had tied them for you in the morning, you were struggling to tie them yourself after they had come undone. Rafe had spotted you in the courtyard and expertly tied them himself before sticking his hand out towards you to shake, announcing his presence with the upmost confidence. Ward had been raising him to be a businessman, after all.

You fell for him immediately, and you fell hard. As your friendship grew, so did your feelings towards him. You had just moved to Kildare, and your parents had exclaimed that you would be best friends forever when you discovered that you were actually his next door neighbour. Through the trees you could just make out his bedroom window, and if he tried hard enough, he could see right into yours too. You spent the rest of your days wanting, needing, dying for him, hoping one day he would pick you over whatever girl of the week he was seeing. You wondered what it was like to be chosen. You were never chosen by Rafe. You were a maybe, a probably, sometimes even definitely, but never his first choice. 

You remember when he got his first actual girlfriend, April. You were 13, already head over heels in love with him, and were absolutely devastated when he sent you that text. You cried so hard you nearly threw up, yet your reply to him was a simple ‘Congrats!’. You knew that he didn’t like you back then, and that showing any type of jealousy would just drive a further wedge between you. He was already starting to pull away. He was dealing with so much at home that he was taking it out on everyone else at school, constantly screaming and yelling and throwing things. He needed the attention he wasn’t getting, and it seemed that the attention you were giving him wasn’t enough.

At 15, he got a new girlfriend, Lillian. They weren’t serious like how he was with April, but this was the first girl he had in a while that actually stuck around. Lillian didn’t like you, and you didn’t like her. She was, quite ironically, jealous, and was constantly reading your texts with Rafe. She purposely excluded you from parties and hangouts, doing everything in her power to get you away from Rafe. They only lasted seven months before Rafe dropped her, saying: ‘I’ve known her for a few months. I’ve known you my whole life. It’s a pretty easy choice.’

He didn’t get another girlfriend until he was 17, bordering on 18, when he met Jacquelyn. The daughter of one of Ward’s business partners, they were essentially a PR relationship, only hugging and holding hands during fancy black tie events. Jacquelyn was nice to you, nice enough, although you always had a feeling that she knew you loved Rafe. 

And it was hard not to love him. You had tried so many times over the years to just get a grip and move on, but something about him was so alluring. You had watched him grow, blossom into the most handsome man you’ve ever seen in your life, and it was hard not to fall for him. You had tried to gaslight yourself a few times into believing you were truly over him, climbed out of the hole you were stuck in, but the next time you hugged, and you got to bury your face into his chest, you fell right back down. He was the moon in your universe, and you were barely even a star.

Just as you had seen Rafe blossom, you had seen him shrivel up. Watching him get into drugs, alcohol, and violence was heart-wrenching, but he never listened to you. He said you didn’t get it, and you didn’t understand him, but when things got too much for him, or he got too drunk, he would always turn up on your porch, your favourite candy in hand as a figurative olive branch. And you accepted it every time, eagerly opening your arms to welcome him, revelling in the feeling of his whispered apologies in your ear. 

You were always the one he went to.

Until he met Sofia.

You didn’t want to hate Sofia, but you couldn’t help it. She had everything you wanted, and she was everything you wanted to be. She had Rafe, and she was Rafe’s. After Rafe heard of Ward’s death, Sofia is the one he went to, not you. You didn’t see him until weeks later at The Island Club, and as you tried to give him your condolences, she whisked him away. He left the room as quickly as he entered it, leaving only a waft of his cologne and a pit in your stomach in his wake.

She stole him away from you, constantly hanging on his arm and dragging away during parties. He never responded to you anymore, too busy spending time with her, taking her to some stupid boutique on the mainland or going with her to the beach when the UV was too high to resist. Did he rub sunscreen on her back? Did his hands ever slip under the bikini straps as he caressed her skin, did his hands ever wander around the front and slip underneath the cups?

Did you even want to know?

You had grown apart these last few months. You rarely saw him, even out on Kildare, and your conversations were few and far between. Even then, your feelings for him never faded. You would sit on the chair by your window, staring out towards his, wondering if just maybe you would catch a glimpse of him walking by. You felt, for lack of a better word, hollow without him. Rafe was one of your best friends, and after spending years together attached at the hip, you were suddenly missing your other half. It felt like a breakup, except you were never together in the first place. You were grieving a relationship that never even happened. 

You advert your eyes from Rafe, realising you’ve been staring for a bit, and go to take another sip, only to find your cup empty. You sigh, chewing on the inside of your lip as you look back up at the kitchen. His arm is slung around Sofia’s neck, his fingers absentmindedly rubbing at her collarbones as she leans against his chest, a smug look on her stupid pretty face as she sips on her hard seltzer.

You look back at the cup again. You needed more alcohol if you were going to stay sane at this party. You stand up, placing the pillow that was once in your lap on the chair before moving across the room towards the kitchen, manoeuvring through drunk Kooks and groping couples until you reached the linoleum.

‘It’s an open bar,’ Barry said, ‘Take whatever.’ so you didn’t feel weird about immediately digging through his liquor cabinet, pulling out the giant bottle of Everclear from the bottom shelf. You had only ever had Everclear one other time, and all you remember of the night was waking up face first in the sand with seaweed in your hair. You had promised yourself never again, but this night was different. You wanted to stay at this party and be with your friends, but you couldn’t bear to look at Rafe and Sofia sober.

Rafe’s thumb moves up to caress Sofia’s jaw as he watches you set the Everclear down on the kitchen counter. “Damn, already?”

Oh, shit. Was he talking to you? You look over, pursing your lips together. “Uh, yeah. Why not live a little, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah, I guess…” He mutters, dragging his thumb down Sofia’s neck. “You know that stuff is hella strong, right?”

Did he not remember that night? “I’m just gonna take one shot, dude.”

“Well, one shot can turn into two, then into four, then…” He trails off. “You know how you are after a few shots.”

You unscrew the Everclear and pour some into your solo cup. Your hands are shaking from the vodka you had before, and you dump in more than you had initially planned on. You screw the cap back on and slip it into the cabinet again before opening the fridge to grab a mixer. “I got it.”

He watches you pour, eyebrows raising when he sees the amount that flows into your cup, but he says nothing, simply continuing to caress the skin of Sofia’s jaw with his thumb. “Mhm, okay.”

Sofia looks between the two of you, sipping on her drink before speaking up, “You never drink like this.”

You don’t even fucking know me, you want to say, but you don’t. You shrug as you open a can of Cherry Coke and dump it into the solo cup before crushing it and tossing it into the recycling bin on the edge of the kitchen. “Just wanna try something new.”

“You could do that with literally anything. Everclear is not a good start,” He sighs, looking down at you. “One shot of that stuff will have you on your ass within the hour.”

You swirl the drink in your cup and shrug again as you leave the kitchen to go back to your spot. “We’ll see.” You glance at Rafe over your shoulder as you take a sip, moving back through the crowd.

It tasted disgusting. You felt the liquor burn all the way down to your stomach, your eyes watering slightly as you hold back a cough, but you keep drinking. You wanted to forget. You wanted to be drunk enough to not care about Rafe and Sofia. You sat back down without a word, grabbing the pillow you had left on the chair and putting it back on your lap. You watched the party from the corner, hesitating as you lift the cup to your lips and take another sip.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

The party gets too hot too quickly.

November was one of the cooler months in the Outer Banks and although the patio door was wide open, you were starting to sweat. The alcohol, mixed with your bubbling anxiety as you watched Rafe and Sofia, was causing you to start to squirm uncomfortably in your seat.

You hadn’t even finished your drink when you head outside, pushing through the crowd bottlenecked at the door, breathing a sigh of relief when you reach the pool area. Your shoulders droop as you start to relax, your skin starting to cool down. The loungers and seats are full, but the pool is empty, even though Barry had been promising everyone it was heated. There were a few Kooks sitting on the edge of the hot tub, their feet in the water, beer cans littering the surrounding ground.

You look around, biting the inside of your lip. You start to move, looking around the expansive backyard before finding a small concrete bench pressed up against an old out of use fountain full of leaves and dried algae. You brush some of the leaves off and sit down, a small noise escaping your mouth at how fucking cold it is. You zip up your jacket, sitting cross-legged as you try to get as comfortable as possible. 

You continue to people watch, taking some brief moments to look up at the stars.

It’s peaceful, and you’re grateful for the silence. The sound from the house is still audible, but it’s muffled enough from being out in the yard. You watch the Kooks in the hot tub, noticing a couple of them starting to kiss.

You were grateful to be out of there.

You were grateful not to be looking at Rafe and Sofia. You couldn’t stop your mind from wandering back to the kitchen. Rafe’s hands on Sofia’s hips. Him burying his nose in her hair. The soft kisses they exchanged every time they thought you weren’t looking. It made your stomach turn.

You look up at the clear night sky, shivering as a breeze passes, brushing the stray hairs that escaped your low bun away from your face. You could see Orion, you could see the moon, you could even see some stars you didn’t know the name of. They manage to distract you for a long time, so long that you don’t even remember how long you’ve been sitting there.

You feel something heavy being placed on your shoulders, the weight startling you. You turn around, ready to snap at whoever had disturbed your solitude, but you're met by Rafe. He's wearing only a t-shirt, his own jacket in his hands. “Couldn't let you freeze to death sitting out here alone.”

“I have a jacket,” You say. It’s true, your jacket was keeping you warm, and a large part of you felt bad that Rafe was trying to give his up. “Keep yours.” As you stop dissociating, your fingers and toes suddenly feel stiff. You move the cup to your other hand, clenching and stretching your fingers.

He ignores your protest, draping his jacket over your shoulders anyway, even going as far as to zip it up under your chin. “No arguments. You looked like a baby deer sitting here shivering.”

His cologne smells so good. It smells like home. “Thanks.” Your eyes follow him as he sits next to you on the bench, beer bottle in hand.

“No problem,” Rafe looks out, his knee brushing your leg as he turns to check out the backyard, eyes scanning the Kooks in the hot tub as he takes a sip of his beer. After a moment, he turns back to you, eyebrows furrowing as he notices your drink. “You didn’t finish that.” he nods towards the cup in your hand.

“No, it’s uh…” You clear your throat and sit up straight. “It’s disgusting. Guess Everclear and Cherry Coke don’t mix.”

He snickers, “Told you so,” He takes another sip of his beer, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he looks at you. “You shouldn’t drink that stuff anyway. I’ve seen people go down quick after only one shot. Not pretty.”

“Eh. Wanted to try something new.” You say, swirling it around in the cup.

“Yeah, well, don’t go drinking Everclear again. I’m not gonna hold your hair back while you’re puking,” He gives you another once over, eyes lingering on your face. “You don’t look very good.”

You weren’t doing good. Not at all. You were trying to live your life without Rafe around, even just as a friend, and it was proving to be a very difficult task. It was so hard to not immediately rush to text him, or to send him a million TikToks throughout the day. You missed him, as much as it pained you to admit. You shrug. “Just kinda tired. Didn’t sleep well.”

He notices the change in your demeanour instantly, the walls that he was so used to seeing come down were up now. You were shutting him out. “You gotta stop staying up late on your phone, then.” he elbows you playfully, hoping to get you to laugh, like old times.

You don’t.

You awkwardly look back down at your drink and swirl it again. You had thought that maybe this unwelcomed distance would do you good, and you would eventually fall out of love with him, but it seems to get harder and harder every day. You just wanted to hold him one last time. You needed him back then, and you needed him still. You let out a breath. “Yeah. Probably.”

He stays silent, taking another sip from his beer as he looks back out to the yard. There was a tension in the air now, but he wasn’t sure if it was all in his head. You seemed…distant. Shut off. He was so used to your bright personality, your happy demeanour, your laugh. Now, you were just…blank. His knee bumps yours again as he shifts. He looked back over at you, watching you for a long time. You were just staring straight, avoiding his gaze.

You clear your throat again, setting your cup down beside you. You unzip his jacket and stand up as you slide it off, trying to avoid his gaze as you drape it over his shoulders. “I’m gonna head back inside.”

Rafe catches your wrist as you start to move away, fingers gentle, but firm, almost reluctant to let you go. His eyes meet yours immediately, holding your gaze captive as he looks at you. “Wait.”

“What?” You ask, picking your drink back up with your free hand.

“We…” he trails off, his thumb rubbing the sensitive skin of your inner wrist as he looks at you. It was cold outside, but your skin was so warm against his. It felt so natural. Like everything was right again. He didn’t ever realise how much he had missed you until now. “We need to talk.”

You try to pull your wrist away. “About what?”

He lets the grasp on your wrist loosen, but he doesn’t let go, his touch trailing down until his fingers are laced with yours. “About this…distance…” he motions vaguely between you two, “That you’ve been building for the past couple of months.”

“That I’ve been building?” You ask, your eyebrows raising. “You’re the one who’s been ignoring me.”

“Not on purpose. I’ve been busy.” he says defensively, almost immediately. He’d be lying if he didn’t say that he had been busy lately. Sofia had been keeping him on his toes lately, and he hadn’t had much time alone during the day, let alone time alone in his own home. But he also couldn’t deny that he had been purposefully avoiding you, knowing that if he spent too much time with you, Sofia would have something to say about it.

“Maybe I’ve been busy too.” You say, although it’s a lie. 

Rafe snorts, almost calling you out on the lie, but he lets it go with a sigh. He doesn’t say anything for a long time, just looking at you. His thumb rubs slow circles on the inside of your palm, the touch familiar. It hurt his chest. “I don’t like this.”

“Don’t like what?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest.

“This,” He gestures between you and him. “This distance. I don’t like it,” He looks away, a frustrated expression on his face. “We’re friends. We’ve known each other for years. Why do you act like I can’t even approach you anymore?”

Friends. You never hated a word more. You take a step back, sighing as you glance out over the pool again. “Sometimes friends drift apart, Rafe.”

He looks at you, his jaw clenched as he watches you avoid his gaze once again. You wouldn’t even look at him. It was infuriating. He couldn’t believe that you were so nonchalant about all of this. Friends drift apart. That’s what you said. Did he have to mean so little? His hand falls back to his side, but the expression on his face stays fixed. “Bullshit.”

“You’re busy, I’m busy,” You say. “Sometimes that happens.”

“I’m only busy with Sofia,” He snaps, frustration seeping through in his voice. He takes a step towards you, eyes narrowed. “And even when I’m busy with her, I still manage to find time-” He stops himself, taking a moment to slow his breathing. He was getting too worked up. The last thing he needed right now was to blow up at you.

You chug the rest of your drink and set the empty solo cup on the bench, immediately regretting it. You should’ve dumped it out a while ago. The last thing you needed was a drunk walk home. “We’ve both been busy. That’s it, Rafe.”

“That’s it?” He repeats, looking at you incredulously. He couldn’t believe you were so blasé about this. About you guys practically ignoring each other, never talking, practically avoiding each other every chance you got. Was it so simple to you? To forget years of friendship over something so idiotic like being busy? “You’re bullshitting me.”

You hated this feeling. Your heart ached, and your hands went numb, your body full of tingles. You take a few more steps back. You had to do it, you had to rip the band-aid off if you wanted to finally move on. You didn’t want your happiness to live and die with him. “Maybe this friendship thing isn’t working anymore.”

It felt like you had stabbed him straight in the chest, twisted the blade, and then pulled it out slowly, painfully. Every word that you spat out felt like another layer of pain. It was bullshit. You had been by his side through everything. You were always there. He trusted you more than anyone. And this was how you felt now? You didn’t want to be friends? Rafe clenched his jaw, biting back the sting of emotion. “You’re not serious.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Rafe.” You say.

“I want you to tell me that you still give a damn about our friendship!” he says, a frustrated tone in his voice.  “I want you to tell me that this distance is bullshit and that I still mean something to you! That you still want to hang out and talk and everything else I thought we’d still be doing when we got older, and that I’m just reading into this too much! I want you to tell me that you’re just busy, and it’ll all get better in a little bit, because I can’t handle this anymore.”

“Rafe--” You try to speak, but he cuts you off.

He was getting more worked up now, his chest heaving as he stares at you. He had never felt like this before. You always knew how to calm him down from whatever fit he was throwing, but you weren’t doing that now. He takes a step closer, getting into your personal space now, anger evident in his eyes. “Do you even care about me anymore, or are you just pretending you do whenever I’m around? Do you hate me now?”

You would probably still adore him with his hands around your neck. “No, of course I don’t hate you.”

“Then why are you doing this to me?” He demands, his tone a mix of anger and desperation. He was getting louder, but he didn’t care. For once, he wanted to let his emotions out, knowing that they would be safe with you. “Why are you acting like this?” He gestures between you, “You’re shutting me out, and you’re pulling away, and you can’t even look me in the eye without flinching. Why? Tell me why.”

“Because I like you, Rafe!” You blurt out. Your eyes widen slightly when you realise what you said. You let out a shaky breath. “I like you a lot. More than I should. And seeing you with her, with Sofia… it’s so hard for me.”

He stares at you for a moment, stunned into silence by your confession. 

You liked him.

A lot?

More than you should.

His jaw clenched, his mind trying to process everything as he sits back down. He had suspected that you liked him more than a friend for a long time, but he had never dared to try and confirm it. The words were out in the open now, though. And it changed everything.

You hate how silent he’s being. Your voice is shaky when you start to speak again, “And I know that you don’t feel the same way about me. I know that, and I’m okay with that.”

He lets out an almost bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. The sound is harsh in the air, like a slap in the face. “That’s what you think? You think I don’t have feelings for you?” His voice was quiet, but there was something in it that made it even more threatening than if he was yelling.

“I know you don’t.” You say softly, tears starting to well in your eyes. You weren’t stupid. You knew from day dot that he would never feel the same way that you do, and you always knew that he would never be yours, but it was never enough to help you finally move on. 

For the first time in Rafe’s life, he struggles with what to say. It takes him a few seconds to find the words he's looking for. “Jesus Christ, are you kidding me? We’re not romantic or anything, we’re just friends.”

“I know that.” You say.

“We’re just friends.” He says again, as if you didn’t hear him the first time.

Your stomach hurts. “I know.”

He looks away from you, standing up from the bench. “How long have you liked me?”

“Since the day we met,” You say. “When you tied my shoe for me.”

He runs his hand through his hair again. “And you never said anything.” It’s a statement, not a question, and it stings.

“There was no point,” You say. “I knew even back then that you would never feel the same way.”

He doesn’t know what to do. You’re right, he doesn’t feel the same way. He doesn’t like you the way you like him. At least he thinks he doesn’t. He stays quiet, his fists clenching.

“I don’t want to ignore you, Rafe,” You continue. “But maybe this distance will be good for us. I’ll be able to get over you.”

“You shouldn’t have fallen for me in the first place.” He snaps.

It takes you by surprise. Your eyes flutter for a second as tears start to fall, and you take a step back, chest clenching.

He stares at you, his stomach lurching as the first of the tears roll down your face. He stays silent for a moment, before finally sighing. “It’s not supposed to be this way,” He walks towards you again, reaching out to take both of your hands, trying to stop you from backing away from him. “You’re supposed to be my best friend, not some girl in love with me.”

“I’m sorry.” You say.

“Stop apologising,” He says, holding your wrists tightly, like he’s trying to keep you in place. “I hate it when you do that.”

You almost apologise again. You just nod, looking down at your feet before moving your gaze back over to the pool. No one has noticed you two yet.

He follows your gaze, looking towards the pool. No one had even spared a glance in your direction. It was just you and him, secluded in the quiet corner, surrounded by a party that seemed a mile away. He doesn’t know what to say, or how to react to your confession. All he knows is that he still hates seeing you cry.

“Do you still want to be friends?” You ask quietly, looking up at him.

Rafe hesitates. 

His first instinct is to push you away. To tell you that it would be best if you two just never spoke to each other again, that things would be better that way. But he knew he didn’t mean that. And when he looked down at you, seeing the heartbreak on your face, he knew he couldn’t say it. He wasn’t the best at expressing his feelings, and he had no idea what he was doing, but you were his oldest friend. You had been by his side through everything. There was no way he was pushing you away that easily.

He pulls you into a hug, pressing his nose into the crown of your head. “Of course, I still want to be friends,” he murmurs. “You’re my best friend, you idiot.”

You hug him back, and it feels so good to finally hold him again. You interlock your fingers behind his back. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” he mutters, resting his chin on the top of your head. “Stop apologising.” He stays silent for a moment, soaking in the feeling of being able to hold you again. He had missed this. He had missed you more than he had ever realised.

You stay there for a while, nose buried in his chest, before you speak again. Your voice is quiet, muffled against his jacket, but he can hear you loud and clear. “I love you.”

Rafe sighs, pushing your hair away from your forehead before placing a kiss on it. “It’ll pass.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

part two is here!

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[vivwritesfics]

Beautiful Monster

Vampire!Max is instantly hooked when he meets a girl that looks like the vampire that turned him. He searches for her, until he finds himself on her sofa, teeth against her neck.

Warnings: max killing (not reader), blood drinking, slightest smut, reader doesn't die but she is lowkey a dumb bitch

Viv's AUgust Event

There was nothing wrong with the house on the hill. It was probably very nice inside, but the rumours that surrounded it, the rumours about the beast inside.

He knew the rumours around him, knew what the children said as they dared each other to ring his doorbell and run away. The curtains were always drawn and the beast rested through the day, emerging at night.

He was so damn beautiful, but he didn't see that (yes, he can see his reflection in the mirror, since his mirror is a modern mirror and not backed with silver). He saw the monster that everybody else should have seen. But everybody else saw an angel.

Well, before they died. That was the only time he emerged from his house; to feed. The pretty girls at the bar happily followed him out to the alleyway, where he sank his sharp teeth into their neck and drained them dry.

She would have followed him out to the alley, would have let him pierce the skin of her neck. But Max couldn't. She looked too much like her.

Like Max's first love. The woman that drew him in and kissed his lips until they were red and swollen. He'd been human back then. His heart had been beating and he was capable of feeling love.

She had bitten his neck and fed him her blood, turning him into the nocturnal beast he was today. A hundred years of solitude, of only emerging when he needed to feed.

At first Max thought it was her. It had to be, there was no other explanation. But he watched this woman carefully. She was alive. A living, breathing being. She wasn't a monster like him.

The first time she approached him, she fluttered her eyelashes and giggled at everything he said. Flirting with him. She wasn't the first woman to do so, but she was the first one to leave him tongue tied.

Normally, Max only danced with her when he had to. He only twirled a girl around the dance floor when he was hungry and she was making him work for it. But when she asked Max to dance, he said yes. He already knew he wouldn't be feeding from her, she looked too much like his first love.

At the end of the night Max was draining another girl in the alleyway before he returned to the house on the hill. But he couldn't get her out of his head.

So much so that he went out again the next night. But she was nowhere to be found. She wasn't at the bar, wasn't anywhere at all. She must have been home, safe from all of the monsters roaming the town, safe from him.

Max went out again the next night, searching for her. She wasn't at that bar, but she was in the park, sitting on a beach with a little dog running around in front of her.

When Max approached, the little dog growled. "Leo!" She scooped the dog up and sat him in her lap.

Max had never been a dog person. Even when he was human, cats preferred him. Things only got worse once he was turned. Dogs growled and barked at him. Cats still tolerated him.

"Is he yours?" Max asked as he slipped into the seat beside her. The way she petted Leo's ears had him quiet in her lap. If it was possible, he would have been glaring at Max.

She shook her head. "He belongs to my friend, but I'm taking care of him while he's out of town."

He released a breath, one he hadn't meant to hold. So what if she owned a dog? She was just some mortal woman who would die in a few hundred years anywhere (when you're living forever, it's easy to forget how long the human lifespan was).

"You were a good dancer," she mused, fingers still absentmindedly petting Leo's head.

"I had a good partner."

What did she taste like, Max found himself wondering. Would her taste be as sweet as her scent? He could feel his fangs appearing as he ran his tongue over his teeth.

He kept them covered as he spoke to her. Well, it wasn't really a conversation. Just the two of them flirting back and forth until she picked him up and took his hand in her own, leading him out of the park.

Max didn't expect to end up on her sofa, with the dog barking away in the kitchen. He kissed her with fervour, his tongue exploring her mouth. In control of the situation, since he couldn't control himself.

She swung herself onto his lap as Max pulled away. It would be so easy to sink his teeth into her neck and drain her dry.

He couldn't stop himself as he started kissing the skin of her neck. She gasped when she felt his pointed teeth against her skin. But she wasn't pulling away, wasn't panicking. Her hips still moved against his, fingers working at the barrier of clothes that separated them.

But then his teeth sank in.

She stilled, breath catching in her throat as Max slowly began to drain her. But then she began to moan.

He knew it was a pleasurable experience for humans, remembered it from when he was still a man. She tasted so damn sweet, body going limp against him. Shit, he had never tasted anything like this.

Breath heaving, he pulled away from her. His tongue flattened against the puncture wounds, licking up what remained. Her hand came to settle on his chest and she looked at him with wide eyes.

"You're a monster," she said between breaths, too exhausted to rock her hips against his. If Max decided to explore what was in her jeans, he would have found an undeniable mess. "A beautiful monster."

She touched his cold cheek and pulled his face towards her own, kissing him.

[biolumien]

Hi Hi! first time requesting like this and I just recently finished watching the latest episode of Kaiju number 8. I was wondering if your could write something for Vice Captain Hoshina.

I was thinking something along the lines of a reincarnation storyline? Maybe Reader is a renowned painter or something. And one day they come across a dream of Hoshina in their past life and they paint his face. And Hoshina is suddenly bombarded by a few officers/cadets a few days later about a sudden article blowing up online with a painting that had extremely similar structure to his face. And maybe they'd end up meeting because of it?

I love your writing. Particularly the one with the glasses reader that I read a few days back. You're free to change things as you see fit. And I'm sure whatever you come up with will be very nice. Sorry if my words are confusing. I don't speak english language that well. 😊👌 Thank you if you decide to write for this ask.

notes: ok the way i am. actually obsessed with this i hope you enjoy!!

every 'one line' drawn.

soshiro hoshina x gn!reader no warnings, i think wc: 1768

in your dreams, you always see the same face. red eyes watching your face, purple hair framed over his face and the feeling of a callused hand on your hand, on your cheek. and every time he leans into kiss you, you find yourself pressing your face closer to his, as if desperate, and then you wake up. 

and when you wake up, you always feel the telltale trickle of a tear down your face, the feeling of salt on your tongue. 

there’s no time to wonder what the dreams ever mean, what with your job as a painter. you lived commission to commission—and while your customers were always high brow and paid generously, still meant that you couldn’t be lost in daydreams forever. 

and in your studio, with the pungent smell of turpentine and linseed oil, with your hands inevitably smeared with oil paints, it was easy to forget the stranger whose hands felt rough and weary, and yet held your face with measured gentleness. it was easy to forget him—up until you went back to bed, and you’d always be back in the same dream. 

“i keep seeing you,” you murmur in your dream. “who are you?” 

the man laughs. 

he seems sad, for a second. 

“a dear friend,” he responds. you see it on his face, the way his lips twist at his words, that it’s not quite true. and he leans in again, watching your face. “it’s okay if you don’t remember me.” 

“but i do,” you say in protest. you think you remember this face. “i want to.” 

you must remember this face, surely—this face that, upon your words, looks sadder. and then you wonder if he’s even real—or if this is simply your subconscious, saddened that you can’t remember. saddened that your mind replays this moment, again and again, a repeated brushstroke pulling open the blank canvas underneath. 

“we all want things we can’t have, sometimes,” the man says. 

he leans into kiss you, 

and you jolt up out of bed, awakening to a phone call from your manager. 

“hello…?” you mumble into your phone, pressing it against your cheek as you rub the sleep out of your eyes. “it’s rare you call me randomly like this…” 

“tis no random call,” your manager responds. “you’ve received a request to exhibit some of your works from a museum. will you do it? i hear the pay’s pretty good.”

“mmm… any specific theme?” you ask. 

“not really. they said to let your imagination go wild.” 

“hm.” 

you touch your lips, and when you close your eyes, you see a hint of those crimson eyes again. 

“alright. i think i’ve got a pretty good muse this time,” you say. 

[…]

hoshina wasn’t exactly someone who was very in the know about art. his job, for one, meant that it’s not like he would exactly be interested in art in general, and it’s not like he was even spending his days off on art museum trips or admiring the local art scene. 

so why was it that everyone seemed all abuzz about art today?

and why did it seem like there were more eyes on him than before? not that he particularly abhorred attention or anything, but the eyes seemed to be looking at his face specifically. 

his eyes flit to some of the new officer recruits—iharu, reno, kafka… fuck, even haruichi and aoi? what the hell was going on—huddled around a laptop. haruichi’s brow furrows as he stares at the illuminated screen, and then flits up to look at hoshina. when hoshina stares back, harder, haruichi’s gaze immediately ducks back to the laptop.  

okay. 

well, something was definitely up. 

hoshina strolls over to the recruits, who immediately seem to start panicking—the panic is written across kafka’s face more obviously than the others, and reno elbows kafka in the side. 

“what’s all this about? if you’ve got time to huddle you’ve got time to run laps—” hoshina starts, leaning over at the screen before—

“about that, vice captain,” iharu says. 

hoshina’s in stunned silence staring at the screen, because… isn’t that—

“holy shit,” hoshina says. 

“holy shit indeed,” haruichi says grimly. 

on haruichi’s laptop screen is a painting of— him. hoshina’s damned face, brows gentle and a softened smile on his face. it was a beautiful painting, and yet—there was something sad about the smile, the brows belying deep sorrow. 

“this painter’s pretty well-known, too, aren’t they?” kafka asks. “for like… the psychedelic stuff.” 

“no,” reno says. “they’re like our modern-day monet or something. impressionist paintings.” 

“impressi-what? how do you know this much about art, reno?” iharu asks, wrapping his arm around reno’s neck in a headlock. reno coughs, slapping iharu’s arm. 

“shut up,” reno chokes out, but even as the bickering picks up, hoshina’s gaze is still transfixed on the painting. 

it’s him. no doubt about it. 

“i’ve never talked to them before,” hoshina says after a moment. at once the arguments rattle to a halt, but in the empty relief of silence is the carved truth—that the painting is definitely of him, and its painter was a person who he’d never talked to before in his life. 

“the artist is going to be doing a panel about their exhibition soon,” haruichi says, glancing up at hoshina. “i think they can get me a ticket if i ask.” 

“… just don’t expect me to lighten your laps around the training course,” hoshina says with a chuckle. 

[…]

you hated speaking in front of an audience. cliche, of course, the introverted artist that squirrels away in in their studio—but that was often your reality. you liked to say you wanted your work to ‘speak for itself’, as it were, so you didn’t often make public appearances. 

but your most recent exhibition, featuring the painting of your mysterious dream visitor, created far more buzz than you could have asked for. suddenly everyone and anyone wanted an answer as for who your muse was, why he had a very striking resemblance to soshiro hoshina of the japan anti-kaiju defense force’s third division, and had you gotten permission from hoshina to do it? did you have a specific message surrounding your work?

“just stick to the script,” your manager says to you. “i talked it through with some of the reporters and i wrote some answers for you if you’re scared.” he hands you a slip of paper, and your eyes scan the page, and you swallow the lump in forming in your throat. 

“i shouldn’t have done the painting after all,” you say.

it was strange. in the days and weeks you’d worked on the painting, you hadn’t seen your muse in your dreams at all. you’d been forced to rely on only the memory of the dream–which only seemed to get fuzzier and fuzzier until it became barely a wisp. and now, in those ensuing weeks that the painting has been on exhibition, you almost felt embarrassed of the painting–its vague subject matter might have been charming and a little kitsch, but charming and a little kitsch wasn’t supposed to garner this much attention.

“nonsense,” your manager says. “it’s a wonderful painting.” he pushes you by the back, gently urging you forward. “they’re ready for you.”

you push past the door separating you from the reporters–and then are immediately flashbanged with cameras and lights, and jumbling, layered voices creating a discordant symphony that made you wince.

“um. thank you… for…” you wince as your grip fumbles on your microphone, nearly dropping it, the feedback screeching across speakers. “um. sorry. i’m not exactly the best public speaker–my repertoire of events… like this, isn’t many. but thank you for attending this panel… surrounding my exhibition of my latest work. i’ll answer… a few questions.”

the reporters looked like a jumbled blob for the most part–a thrumming organism of similar faces that melted together into one homogenous mess, a splotch of badly-mixed paint on the palette that you’d scrape away with a knife and discard. 

reciting your manager’s written responses wasn’t the hard part. as you continued to banter, your eyes swept across the crowd.

what were you even doing here?

you wanted to crawl back to your studio, already, and go back to painting. at least then the idea that you’d dreamed up some man who bore a striking resemblance to someone who already existed would fade away with time. and then your eyes found that telltale shade of crimson and purple–for just a moment. and you think his eyes meet yours, too–crimson eyes the exact shade as the one in your dreams. 

his eyes widen. 

“... as you were saying?” a reporter’s words float back to your ears, ephemeral, and you pause.

“can we… no more questions.” you shake your head, finding your vision swimming, blurring, and you raise a hand wiping tears from your face. “sorry. something just… came up–”

and you push into the crowd, trying to find the face from your dreams.

that had to be him, right? his face? it was like as soon as you saw him, the underpainting of your memories flowed back to you–a heartaching loss pounding in your chest. something was wrong. something was missing, because you’d forgotten–and now that you’d remembered it, it hurt. 

“i’m sorry,” you say. 

“you’ve nothing to be sorry for,” the man says to you, and leans in to kiss you. “i’ll find you again in the next life.”

“i’ll remember you,” you say. 

the man watches you, a somewhat sad look on his face.

you press your thumb to the corner of his lip.

“and when i do, i’ll do something big. to capture your attention. and then your eyes will be on me forever.”

you finally manage to catch the man in the crowd, and you realize you’ve seen him before. only once or twice, though–on a small poster or on television. soshiro hoshina, of the third division. you did know this man–but just barely.

he lets out a surprised noise as soon as you collide with him, and you gasp breathlessly. 

“i’m sorry,” you say, looking up at hoshina. “i just… have we…”

“met?” hoshina answers your question, cocking his head, blinking down at you.

“yes,” you say. “i think… i think so. maybe. we… you look familiar.”

hoshina blinks, and then smiles.

it’s so different than the way he smiled at you in your dream. the corners of his lips quirk up, his eyebrows relax almost as he watches you. 

“i thought so too,” hoshina says, and you hear relief in his voice. “so… um. hi.”

“hi,” you respond, and he laughs.

[ace-turned-confused]

planted in your garden | joel miller x f!reader

joel masterlist | read on ao3

summary: joel has always shown his love for you through flowers, and now it's your turn to do the same word count: 1k warnings: 18+ only, reader has tattoos & is shorter than joel, joel being soft & lovey-dovey & just the best in general, bit of spiciness at the end a/n: written for @morallyinept's Fauna & Flora Challenge ❤️ not beta’d or any of that jazz, please enjoy :)

If there’s one thing you know about Joel Miller, it’s that he will always find a reason to buy you flowers, no need for a special occasion. It’s been a long hard week and I wanted to get you something, saw these pretty flowers and thought of my pretty girl, got them just because I love you. Whether it’s an entire bouquet or just a few wild stems tied together by a ribbon, you’re sure he’s given you more flowers than you’ve received in your entire life.

It started on your birthday — you told him you hadn’t planned anything because you didn’t want a big fuss and it wasn’t a number worth celebrating, and he insisted on bringing you dinner so you wouldn’t have to spend the evening on your own. Every number is worth celebrating, it means you’ve been around another whole year. You were floored when he showed up on your doorstep, pizza boxes in one hand and a bunch of red and pink tulips in the other.

“Saw the ink on your arm there and just assumed they were your favourite. None of the stores ever have anything fresh or pretty enough, so I just cut these from my back garden.”

Joel Miller. Cut red and pink tulips for you. From his own garden.

You’d only known each other a few weeks at that stage, and he’d been more observant in that short time than any other man you’d met. At first, you didn’t read into it too much, he’s just doing something nice for you. You told yourself it didn’t matter that this ‘something nice’ was the single nicest thing anyone ever did for you.

You ate your takeout pizzas and talked for hours that night, record player on in the background, sharing stories of years gone by and remembering the person you each used to be. A few stray tears even slipped down your cheek at one point — Joel moved to sit close next to and almost on instinct you rested your head on his shoulder. It was oddly comforting knowing just how vulnerable you could be around him. He was a kind soul, a rather rare find in today’s world, and you found it surprisingly easy to open up to him.

You asked him for a hug that night and he wrapped his arms around you, holding you firmly against him, his chin resting on the top of your head and it was the safest you felt in years. Of course, and next time you don’t have to ask. You smiled into him, letting out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding. He eventually pulled back to check on you and planted a hand on your waist; he bid you goodnight with a wink, called you sweetheart and went home, leaving you standing like an idiot, mouth hanging open in a daze and still feeling the heat that had radiated off his palm and the grip of his fingers through your shirt on your skin.

‘Sweetheart’ played in your mind over and over for hours, days, weeks after that — soon enough you acknowledged that you weren’t immune to his charms and you’ve never looked back.

The flowers aren’t only for you to enjoy — you noticed early on that Joel takes great pride in his garden. The lawn always mowed, flower beds always with manicured edges, bees and butterflies in abundance. You’ve spent many hours lounging in the sun just admiring him, your book long abandoned — temples and greying curls damp with sweat, t-shirt clinging to his arms and back, gym shorts showing him off deliciously, all while he potters around tending to his garden, refilling a bird bath, touching up the fence and spewing out endless plant facts.

He even expanded the bed of tulips, planting bulbs of different varieties and an array of colours — ones with frilly edges, ones with pointed petals, and even blooms that look almost hand-painted in their beauty. He told you he’d been planning this for months, long before he met you, but you knew that part of him was doing this for you, too.

Late one night he finally told you the red and pink of your birthday flowers represented eternal love and affection, and sheepishly admitted he only remembered that once he’d already knocked on your door. He had hoped you wouldn’t ask him the meanings that night and figured there must’ve been someone looking out for him when you simply accepted them with a dazzling smile and that twinkle in your eyes. He wonders how things might have played out differently if you had asked him that night.

Now it’s Joel’s birthday and you want to do something special for him — so here you are, lying underneath him in a matching set, simple and white and covered in daisies. Propped up by his elbows, he traces over a flower right in the centre of your bra.

“You gonna tell me anything about them?”

“Daisies supposedly represent innocence and purity…” His voice fades off as he trails his fingers featherlight across you, goosebumps rising in his wake. With a faint smile pulling at his lips, he lifts his gaze to look you in the eye. “But something tells me you already knew that.”

He leans to kiss you, tongue licking into your mouth and you feel him pressed against your core, thick and heavy. You spread your legs wider to accommodate him and he grinds his hips into you, your fingers raking through his hair and tugging ever so slightly. He pulls back and starts snaking a hand down between you, now taken by the same applique daisies on your panties.

“Not sure those words apply right now, though,” he whispers to you, knuckles grazing the fabric.

“What, ‘innocence and purity’? You don’t think that’s true about daisies?”

“I ain’t talkin’ bout the daisies, sweetheart.” He smirks at you and you simply grin at him and huff a laugh in response as he shuffles down your body to pull your panties down your legs.

comments & reblogs are hugely appreciated, forehead kisses to all 💜

dividers by @saradika-graphics

[seattlesellie]

no bc why does ellie give off older brother’s sorta meanish friend who’s always teasing you ….

mean older brother’s friend ellie hc’s ☁️

cw: smut, mentions of alcohol

♡ mean!bbf ellie who’s introduction to you isn’t a nice or comfortable one. it's rather... bizarre. you had just finished showering, your hair still fully wet, tiny droplets of water flowing down your body. you leave the bathroom in a tiny towel, mindless as ever because this is your house, and as soon as you open the door, she just stands there. she was literally about to walk in, probably to pee or something, and she fucking startles you because who the hell is this absolute converse wearing, messy auburn haired stranger standing in front of your door?!

your parents may have told you something about your brother coming home from college for the holidays… perhaps with a certain girl this time, and you were just happy he finally got a girlfriend, or something. when you see her… yeah. thats definitely not his girlfriend. she’s so… i mean, you get it. she doesn’t look like someone who’d be into his type.

you huff out a small squeal when you’re startled by the absolute stranger, and she seems to be completely unbothered, although… her eyes wander down for a second before she catches your gaze. “who the fuck are you?” you gasp, and automatically hold the towel with a tighter grip to your body, since it almost fell off completely when you lifted your hands up out of pure panic. “ellie” she says with a smirk. she brings her hand forward to form a handshake, clearly aware that if you lifted your hand up, the towel will completely fall down. when you hold the fabric even tighter, she sighs, and places her hand back in her pocket. “are you my brother’s girlfriend?” you question, and she looks at you like you’re so fucking dumb. “do i look… like your brothers girlfriend?”

♡ mean!bbf ellie who decides that fucking with you is the funniest thing on earth, since ticking you off and making you go completely mad seems to be too easy, and one day when you have a simple dinner, just you, ellie and your brother— (since your parents maybe… went off to visit some relatives for the night) they have a conversation and she seems to completely ignore you, and he obviously does too. when they talk about something apparently “hilarious” that happened in college, a dumb thing a guy said during a lecture— as you play with your fork, squishing the food down on the plate, you decide to butt in on the conversation.

“something exactly like that happened in one of my cla—“ you quip, and ellie fully side eyes you and huffs under her breath. when she sees you stutter on your words since that look was so mean, she mocks you completely.

“my class— i mean, one t—ti”

“t—t t- what… you can’t talk?” she smirks, and tilts her head to the side. then, ellie immediately looks over to your brother and sighs. “didn’t know your sister had a stuttering problem”.

he giggles like an idiot and they immediately move on to a different topic, leaving you completely embarrassed, hot in the face and incredibly famished. you can't even eat— what if she says you chew funny.

♡ mean!bbf ellie who plays the stupidest, meanest pranks on you. they vary from hiding on the other side of the door and jumping on you with a terrifying scream, to replacing the sugar with salt in your tea like a literal 12 year old. ellie cant help but grow obsessed with how loud you yell and how your eyes pop out of your head, stomping your feet on the floor whenever you’re pissed at her. something about the way you snicker and tell her that you wish she returned to her stupid college already, the way you add an “ellieuhhhh” to the end of every sentence really just satisfies her deeply, for some reason she doesn’t… fully get yet.

♡ mean!bbf ellie who plays soccer with your brother in the yard, all sweaty with her bangs sticking to her forehead, dressed in basketball shorts and a stupidly tight tank top that make her stupidly tight abs pop out because she’s so stupidly damp with sweat, and you’re staring out of the window of your room like a creep. you’d usually rather not join because she has made it very clear that she doesn’t want to be around you unless you’re squirming or growing absolutely embarrassed. unfortunately, you’re so freaking bored and the weather outside truly is so nice— barely cloudy, the grass shining green and— fuck it. you pace downstairs, and stand stupidly still in the yard for a moment, before you gain the courage to ask if you can join. ellie obviously doesn’t want you on her team (she’d much rather humiliate you by taking the ball out of your feet at any given chance) so your brother has to take you in. you skip around the living room to put on some sneakers and when you join— it’s on. clearly, it’s not a proper game of soccer with only three players, but it’s their own version of it, and their own version is incredibly aggressive. all they do is yell at each other and elbow one another in order to keep away from the ball, and once you magically have it intertwined between your legs (your brother had finally passed it to you after literally begging for ten whole minutes) ellie makes sure to run as fast as she can, kick it violently out of your legs (that is definitely a foul, red card for ellie) and swiftly nudge you so that you fall on the grass with your nose bumping into it’s softness. she moves to stand right above you, towering over your body completely, and she's laughing her lungs out. she moves to the side to cover the sun from glowing directly in your eyes, just to force you to look into her and see how happy she is to humiliate you again. you’re absolutely pissed now, so you push your legs forward and kick her right back— she falls over you, her chest right on top of yours.

she’s heaving and panting, and you swear you could almost taste the sweat slowly leaking on her forehead. the world literally stops.

“you’re so fucking dumb” she snickers, and lifts herself off of you.

you go into your room to punch a pillow. shes so fucking annoying.

she goes into her room to do something… different. you’re so fucking annoying.

♡ mean!bbf ellie who always rolls her eyes when she sees you come closer, and constantly gives your brother those certain looks, that she clearly makes to piss you off and watch that little pout form on your lips. one morning, you walk over to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, and ellie’s in her pajamas (for some reason, you really can’t stop looking at her arms, since she’s only wearing a wife beater and some low hanging sweats). when you greet her with a chipper good morning, she mumbles a lazy “morning” back, and when you lift yourself up on your toes to grab your favorite mug, she sees your shorts ride up a bit and her breath completely cages in her throat. she considers coming over and helping you, but hearing your sweet, breathy little huffs is so much nicer.

♡ mean!bbf ellie who finds you extremely attractive, and wishes you stopped walking around the house in tiny outfits (she wouldn’t be too far off if she called them literal napkins) because you’re making it very hard to concentrate when she works on a project with your brother in the living room and you just happen to walk by, carrying a tray of freshly squeezed lemonade and offer it to them. and she hates how fucking kind you remain even though shes so mean, so she gets even meaner and tells you that the lemonade tastes bad. she spits it out inside the glass, and the way you squint your eyebrows and ask her if she wants you to make her a new one literally tugs at her heartstrings. she tells you; “s’fine, you shouldn’t be near a kitchen, like— ever again. tastes awful” and when you take the glass out of her hand and walk off without even commenting anything back, she huffs a silent “shit” under her breath and closes her eyes for a second.

♡ mean!bbf ellie who one day has a super… weird dream about you. you lounged inside a lively kitchen— but it wasn’t the one she grew familiar with. it was mostly filled with mahogany furniture, an aqua green stove and a peach colored carpet. you were baking something, and it smelled like maple and cherry and vanilla and peach cobbler, it smelled messy and like an explosion of sweetness but god, she felt the hunger in her sleep. you stood there in a little apron, and just when you shut the stove’s lid up, she hugged you from behind. she smelled your neck, and wrapped her arms around you. “smells nice, babe” she whispered. you turned around and smiled at her so big, and just as you closed your eyes and parted your lips— she woke up.

♡ mean!bbf ellie who can’t. stop. thinking. about that freaking dream. she wakes up and she feels parched, and so fucking confused. she bumps her palm against her forehead and decides she needs a tall, refreshing glass of water before she tries to slumber again, because god knows she wont be able to. she goes downstairs to the kitchen, and gets so startled when she sees your shadow standing over the stove, its just like that dream but you're not baking, there's just a bowl of cereal in your hands and random music silently coming out of your phone. when she jumps— you jump too. and you drop the whole entire bowl and the milk is now running all over your top.

“jesus fucking christ!” you gasp, and when you see that it’s ellie, her face all puffy from sleep, your heart thuds in your chest. you’ve never been… completely alone with her, not ever since you met her outside of the shower for the first time, anyways.

“why are you standing like a creep in the kitchen in the middle of the night?!” she questions.

“i was… eating”

“at 3am?”

“yes and now i guess i wont be eating anymore since you made me— drop! the entire bowl!”

for some reason, she tells you that she’s sorry. maybe it’s that fucking dream—

she hastily grabs some paper towels and helps you wipe. she’s awkwardly rubbing all over the material and shes being extremely stupid because clearly you can just change your top, this is your house after all, and your closet is right there, but she doesn’t seem to be able to stop wiping and whispering that she’s sorry and she’s tugging at your top and it… makes her flustered so she fucking stops, and throws the paper towel on the counter.

“clean yourself up— you’re the weirdo awake at 3am”

(she was right where you stood yesterday, eating some cheese puffs on the floor while watching a gaming stream but she obviously wont mention that)

♡ mean!bbf ellie who instead of surrendering to her feelings that are obviously starting to creep up, decides to grow even meaner. it’s not just random comments and stupid pranks anymore, it’s quite literally pure evilness. when she watches a film with your brother, a bowl of popcorn in her hands and some fuzzy socks, cuddled up inside a thin blanket on the couch, you decide to make an appearance. you, bored out of your mind, decided to to join in on the fun. usually, ellie had no problem if you just lounged in the living room while they watched television or played video games, because you would quite literally be completely mute and not bother them at all, untill ellie made a joke (“that dude’s head looks like the titanic’s fucking iceberg”) that you couldn’t help but laugh at. when you laughed, so hard you practically wheezed, it kind of made her feel soft and icky and she wanted to slap it out of her. today, when she saw you slide into the living room from the corner of her eye, she deadpanned completely.

“no— no, we’re not watching this with you” she snickered, and her tone was so serious and it didn’t even carry a glimmer of teasing, it was purely just mean.

you scrunch your eyebrows, and huff a quiet “what? why?”

“because you’re fucking annoying and we don’t want you around”

you went pure silent, just staring at the floor.

“why are you still standing there? go” she waved her hand, as if she was kicking out a small, pesky little animal.

you really weren’t a crybaby, but you truly didn’t deserve this. for some reason, a lump formed down your throat, and your eyes glistened. you climbed up to your room and silently sniffled.

even your brother thought she was being too mean now.

“that was kinda… fucked up”

ellie brushed her tongue on the side of her mouth, and clenched her jaw. she knows.

♡ mean!bbf ellie who notices you appear less and less around the house. mean bbf ellie, who really isn’t a bad person, she isn’t even that fucking mean, she just can’t handle her feelings and masks them completely untill you absolutely hate her guts. after that night— the night where she kicked you off to your room, you don’t chipper a good morning. you enter the kitchen, groggy and quiet, make a drink and disappear to your room with the cup in your hand. you don’t make lemonade anymore, and you don’t even laugh when she makes a stupid joke. mean ellie who misses your laugh, and tries so hard to hear it again, but fails miserably.

♡ mean!bbf ellie who loses it completely when you decide to go out to a party one night. you’re so quiet it feels almost as if you’re sneaking out, but you truly aren’t. you’re just scared she’ll make a mean comment on your dress or tell you that you look stupid with your makeup done like that.

♡ mean!bbf ellie who stares you down completely, and shamelessly checks you out when you twist the doorknob in order to leave the house.

“wh… where are you going?” she questions, and it’s so hard to keep it cool when you look so good and your thighs are on full display with your ass almost popping out of your dress. it makes her gulp because she fucking knows it’s not for her. you’re gonna go out and you’ll have people gawking over you and it drives her crazy.

“party” you simply mutter.

“dressed like that?” she clearly runs her eyes all over your body.

she's going to say something mean again. you just know it.

“really don’t have the time or the energy for your comments right now, ellie”

she wishes you added that cute uuuh, at the end of her name. you don’t.

“you look… stay safe—“

“i look what, ellie?”

“nice. y’look nice”

you shut the door. she just complimented you. that was a first.

♡ mean!bbf ellie who waits for you to come back from the party because she’s worried. she doesn’t admit it to herself, and excuses it by thinking she just can’t fall asleep because the winds too loud or the room’s too hot, so she just lays awake, waiting to hear your footsteps and your room’s door close shut— but you don’t. seem. to come. home. she feels sick because what if something happened to you— and then she feels completely stupid because you’re an adult and you’ve probably been to numerous parties already, but she can’t help but feel it in her guts. what if something happened to you? what if you drank too much and god forbid— what if you went home with somebody? she falls into the mattress with a thud and stares at the ceiling for half an hour, just picturing you making out with someone and them grabbing your waist or your ass and now she feels like she’s about to punch the damn wall— and then she hears you. you’re humming a song, specifically— cash shit by megan thee stallion, and you sound obviously drunk. she can’t let you go to sleep like that.

♡ mean!bbf ellie who propels the door open, to see you sliding down the wall, smelling like alcohol and sweet perfume and she feels sickly but she needs to take care of you, so she grabs you by the waist, guide you through the corridor, opens the door to your room and puts you down on your bed. she coo’s at you to stay quiet and calm for her.

“yeaupp m’in my baggg but im in his too…” you blabber, and burst out laughing.

“okay— okay, you good? you got contacts you need to remove? if you’re gonna throw up, i’ll get a bucket” she whispers, as she watches you swing back and forth. you look so pretty it’s incredible hard for her to be calm.

“some new sh—shoes… blah… mwahhhhh” you pull out your tongue and pucker your lips. you look incredibly silly and she swallows a giggle.

“you’re wasted, aren’t you?” now she's just caressing your face. why does she feel like she's going to faint?

“k— not t’wasted… you’re wasted… you’re wasted and pp—pretty” you mumble.

“huh?” thank god you’re drunk, because shes full on blushing.

“pretty pretty els…. s’pretty and so evil and m—mean and pretty…. like a millions pretty but—b’millions evil… so e—evil”

she decides to just shut the fuck up. keep going.

“i k—kissed somebody”

and now she’s the one who feels like she’s gonna puke.

♡ mean!bbf ellie who decides to completely give you the silent treatment. you didn’t even do anything, but god it feels like she hates you now.

♡ mean!bbf ellie who confronts you about that stupid kiss and asks you who the fuck dared to kiss a drunk girl, and you look so panicked and afraid, and it hurts when she tells you she’s gonna let your brother know and that he’s gonna kick their ass and you’re gonna be done for.

♡ mean!bbf ellie who fully breaks one day. it’s the last week of her and your brothers visit, and you haven’t talked to her for three whole days. she feels it inside of her chest, and every time you come near, it becomes harder and harder not to push you against the counter and kiss the hell out of your lips. it’s hard to stop staring and it’s hard to keep her distance so she confronts you.

“you know you told me i’m pretty, right? before you threw up on the fucking bed?”

your eyes pop out of your head. you feel absolutely embarrassed. no you didn’t.

“i did not— what? what the hell is the matter with you?” you huff, and back away.

♡ mean!bbf ellie who comes closer and closer the more you back away, because it’s becoming incredibly difficult to keep that distance apart, so she makes sure you can feel her breath on your lips and makes sure it makes you shiver— before she mutters a loud “fuck it” and takes your lips between her’s.

♡ mean!bbf ellie who kisses you so hard, it truly feels like you've never been kissed before. nothing could ever compare. when she takes your lips between her's, and sucks on the bottom one, just to hear a sweet little breath leave your mouth, she grunts. it feels like everything she's ever felt was flowing out of her body and crashing onto yours. when she squeezes your waist, and pulls you in closer so her chest bumps into yours— she breaks the kiss to look at you. my god, you're panting, and flushed, and she can feel you shaking.

"i'm sorry" she mutters, and she truly isn't, but if you keep on shaking like that, she's gonna have to start running away.

"please— don't stop"

honestly, she wasn't planning on stopping.

♡ mean!bbf ellie who picks you up, and as your legs automatically intertwine with each other on her lower back, takes you to your room and bangs you up on the door.

“what— what are you doing?” you ask, and it’s completely interrupted when her lips land on yours again. she can’t do this anymore, she can’t keep playing with you because if you kiss another person again who isn’t her she swears she’s gonna run out and beat them up, or even worse— kill them completely, and she can’t help but moan against your lips because you’re so fucking cute when you let out those noises and she needs to touch you right now or she’ll die.

♡ mean!bbf ellie who need's to hear you add that little "uuuh" at the end of her name after you kiss her because she'd imagined it too many times.

"say my name like— fuck"

"say it like you fucking do when you're pissed at me— say it"

somehow, you immediately know what she means.

"ellieuuuh!"

she's never swallowed so hard in her life. she looks at you like she's famished, and she growls. when ellie kisses you again, it feels like you're going to crash down and die.

♡ mean!bbf ellie who eats you out like shes starved in your childhood bedroom. swirls her tongue and spits on your cunt and tells you to “keep fucking quiet” or else your brother will hear, and he’s right in the next room and she told him she just went to get something to eat, so she shoves your little panties right in your mouth and holds your stomach down on the bed with her two hands, parts your pussy lips so far apart they practically burn and she goes on and on till you cum on her face twice. “atta fucking girl just like that… just like that”

♡ mean!bbf ellie who plays with your clit in little circles, sits with your back pressed against her chest, and growls every time she sees feels hole clench around her. she tells you to be a good little whore for her and take her fingers before she gives you her strap, and you don’t even know why she has it with her because— is she fucking other girls?

♡ mean!bbf ellie who isn't fucking other girls— she just brought it because she... well, maybe she looked at your brother's facebook before coming over and she happened to stumble across a very, very pretty girl

♡ mean!bbf ellie who slaps your pussy hard every time you yell out her name— “you better keep fucking quiet or m’not letting you cum” and then shoves your panties even deeper inside of your mouth till you’re almost gagging, and only takes them out by replacing them with her cunt, and makes you eat her out completely controlled by the sway of her hips as she grinds herself down and god— she fucking needs it because getting off to you from knowing you were right next to her room truly wasn’t enough so she makes sure you make her feel good, and pats your cheeks every time your tongue swirls around her clit just right.

♡ mean!bbf ellie who straps you down on the bed, whispers short circuited “take it. take it. take it” every time it hits that one spot inside of your cunt, and makes you whisper in her ear to fuck you harder and faster because hearing your sweet little voice saying these obscenities is making her clit pump and brush on the bottom of her harness just right. “you gonna be my good fucking girl— make me fucking cum inside you? hmmph?”

she can’t help but… ask you,

“you want your brother to know how much of a fucking slut you are? letting his best f—fucking friend fuck you like this?” and all you can do is whine and hiccup broken sobs of “n—no ellie dont want him to know!”

“think you fucking do— if you keep on fucking screaming like this”

♡ mean!bbf ellie who… makes you cockwarm her strap while watching tv. this time, she doesn’t kick you out. with your brother’s eyes glued to the screen, watching E.T, it’s very easy to miss out on the bulge that’s hiding inside of ellie’s sweats. she signals you to come sit on her lap, and you just nod and whisper “no”, because what if he see’s— but she grabs your waist, slides you to sit right on her lap, pulls your pants and your panties down, and god— you’re already soaking just from being around her. she makes you roll your hips down her strap, separating your pussy lips apart and rub yourself all over it, guiding your motions with her hands. she can barely keep quiet herself because the way you whimper so softly and slap a hand on your mouth makes her lose it. she knows you wont be able to keep quiet if she bounced you up and down.

“stop being so loud” your brother snickers, and he almost… almost turns his head to the side. if he looked— he’d see his little sister sitting right on his best friend’s lap. that same best friend who kicked you out, same best friend who teased and mocked— what if he sees?

“shh… shh— just sit on it” she whispers in your ear and you shiver. you obey, and move your hips up. its almost too big, you have to swallow a screech when it slides inside of your hole. you want to bounce on it so bad, but your brothers still fucking awake. she almost snickers at how easily it went up inside, your slick completely swallowing it whole, but she stops herself. her could wake up at any given moment.

“keep on sitting on it” she grabs your thighs and digs her nails into them. “don’t move” and whenever you do—, eagerly attempting to disobey her, she pulls you down and grinds you deep on it, making sure you're caged inside. when she hears the quiet shores of your older brother sound asleep in the background, she starts fucking it into you deep. she thrusts her hips forward, and you don’t even have to move a muscle, you really did earn it after all.

"such a good fucking girl— have to make it up to you"

♡ mean!bbf ellie who sneaks little spanks, and grabs your tits whenever no ones looking, creeping up on you from behind and smelling your neck— just like she did in her dream. she kisses and kisses and almost doesn’t care if she gets caught— she has only three days left.

will you go away with her, or are you going to have to wait till next year’s visit? <3

[magicians-abode]

Saw this post on my page as I was scrolling and immediately got inspired, so I opened my notes and started writing. This is fresh out of my brain, so enjoy! ♡~

Characters Included: Laios Touden; Kabru of Utaya; Asra Alnazar; Yaad Melini; Thistle

Warnings: none - fluff

If you ever were to approach him and decided to ask him "what exactly is so great about me?" Oh he'd start slowly pointing out "obvious" things. They're obvious to him, maybe not to you if you're insecure about yourself, but hell they are one of the first things that stand out to him. He'd look at you with a gentle smile as he points out how your hands fit so nicely in his. How he loves the feeling on your skin against his when he's holding you, caressing you ever so softly.

He loves the way the sun hits your hair, whether it be short, long, tied up or not, the sunrays always manage to tangle in your locks and create a soft angelical halo around your pretty head. He adores the way your chest subtly rises and falls when you breathe in and out, and how if he were to rest his pretty head over the place where your heart is, it'd lull him to sleep, creating a soft rhythm for his ears.

And then he would start going more into depth about things. Don't expect him to just answer with a: "you're pretty/beautiful, smart, funny" because that just simply won't do. It's not enough to describe how it makes his heart feel whole and full of light.

Speaking of full of light; "have you got any idea of how beautifully your eyes shine whenever you smile?"

He says your voice feels like it's carried by the wind itself whenever you speak. It's beautiful. Never too loud, never too soft, just perfect for him to listen to you all day long without getting tired.

"It's as easy as breathing to love you, and more necessary than air itself" he'd declare, placing a hand over his heart, swearing it on his life.

He likes your curves: your stomach, your shoulders, your hips, your legs, and not sexually, no he'd never just mean it that way. He loves the way you carry yourself, the way you walk and how your hips shift with every step, how your arms swing softly by your sides and how your hair seems to softly bounce.

In your face lay the most gorgeous features any painter would've loved to portray in a portrait, that years later, would end up in a museum for everyone to admire and gush about how breathtaking the model was.

Lips as soft as a summer breeze, refreshing and always leaving you wanting for more. Eyes as bright as the sun, eyelashes as its rays of light. Cheeks sometimes the canvas of a gentle blush whenever you're too cold, or feel too shy.

He loves you from the inside out and from head to toe, and that is something that will never change. It didn't happen yesterday, it won't happen today, and it won't happen tomorrow either. You are a beautiful child of nature, made of beauty and love, meant to be happy and even more.

In his eyes, perfection has a definition, and it's you.

A/N: I've been racking my brain all day trying to get inspo to write what has been in my ask box for days now, but instead wrote this. I'm happy but also disappointed in myself ;-; please tell me this happens to someone else too (this is me:)

[feyhunter78]

Since you did Buck could you do Eddie Diaz??

I definitely can! This one is a bit sweeter than Buck's

Three Times Eddie Wanted to Sleep with You (and the One Time He Kissed You)

Description: Three times Eddie had to hold himself back and the one time he tried something a little different.

Eddie knows it’s not smart, falling for you, wanting you. You’re Buck’s girlfriend’s cousin, and he’s never seen someone so protective in his life. She’ll skin him alive if she catches him, but he can’t help it, he’s a sucker for pretty eyes, and you’ve got the prettiest he’s ever seen. So, he tries to distance himself, tries to stay friendly and think about anything but how pretty you are, how perfect and kind you are to everyone you meet. Luckily, he’s got a lot of practice pushing his emotions aside for the good of others. Unluckily, you’re far more tempting than he thought you’d be.

One: It starts with a pool day, and he’s focused on keeping his eyes at respectful levels. Everyone is having fun, Chris is in the shallow end with Harry, and someone’s just brought him a drink, Bobby is at the grill, and Eddie thinks he’s doing pretty good. Then he sees you. You’re in a bikini because of course you are, he can’t catch a break. It’s cherry red with gold ties, it’s aesthetic apparently, but he just sees it as the bane of his self-control.

His mouth goes dry when you make your way over to him with a bottle of sunscreen in your hand. “Eddie? Do you mind helping me?”

He thinks he says yes, he must’ve said yes because you sit with your back to him, gathering your hair in one hand, sweeping it away from your neck. He takes the sunscreen from you, and starts applying it, apologizing when you hiss from the change in temperature.

You both sit quietly as he rubs the sunscreen in, making sure there’s no white cast, his large hands smoothing over your back, and shoulders, taking care to get every inch while trying to remain as respectful as possible.

“I have to—do you mind—?” He lifts the strips of fabric that keep your bathing suit top tied together ever so slightly, waiting for you to nod, or pull away.

“No, no, you’re good, I’ll just…” You hold your top to your body with one hand just in case as Eddie rubs the sunscreen in, much quicker than before.

“Okay, I think you’re all good.” He says, snapping the cap back on the bottle, and setting it aside.

You turn to face him hand still pressed to your top, your breasts are right there, in his face, slightly pushed up by your hand, and you smile at him. “Thanks!”

He wants to grab you, feel the soft flesh beneath his hands, see what sounds you make, what sounds he can get you to make. “Yeah, no problem, it’s a nice suit.”

You toy with the strings of your bikini bottoms. “Thanks, it’s part of the new line I did a shoot for, the designer said I wore it so well she wanted me to keep it”

His mind plies him with a montage of you undoing those strings and letting him feast, suffocating him with your soft thighs, his hand over your mouth to keep the others from hearing your moans.

“She was right.” He says breathlessly, because you’re a model, an actual model who’s sitting next to him in a bathing suit that’s probably worth more than he wants to know, and you’re smiling at him again, brighter, and happier than before.

You squeeze his bicep gratefully, looking up at him with those pretty eyes of yours. “You’re always so sweet to me, Eddie.”

“It’s uh, it’s easy to be sweet to you.” His heart is tripping over itself in his chest as your fingertips dance down to trace the lines of his tattoo.

You smile at him again, and he tries to focus on the sounds of the pool rather than the way his skin tingles under your touch.

Two: You’re in front of him with your cousin, who’s gently teasing you about your inability to pick a nail color, so you ask him what he thinks.

“Don’t you usually decide that at the salon?” He asks, trying to remember the last time someone asked him what color they should get for anything.

“Usually, but it goes a bit faster if you already know what you want.” You say, smiling when you see the color bloom across your cousin’s cheeks as Buck leans closer to her, one arm around her waist.

“Get whatever you want, sweetheart, you know what I like.” He says, in a low, seductive tone.

She clicks her tongue but smiles, “scoundrel.”

“So, which colors were you thinking about?” Eddie asks, drawing your attention back to him.

You push out your bottom lip in a pout, “I don’t know, I really can’t decide.”

Eddie takes one of your hands in his own and tries not to audibly react to the fact that they’re so much smaller and more delicate than his own. “Maybe a light blue or a green? That could look nice.”

“Like an army green?” You ask him, giving him a stunning, playful smile.

He looks up from your hand, shrugging, the corners of his lips quirking up. “It’s a good color.”

“Oh yeah?” You look up at him coyly, tilting your head to the side, and it makes all his blood rush south.

“I think so.” He says, managing to return your smile without dropping to his knees and begging you to let him feel your hands somewhere other than in his own.

“Y/N, let’s go, we can’t be late.” Your cousin calls, linking her arm with yours and dragging you away before you can respond.

Eddie’s phone buzzes in his pocket right as he unlocks the door to his apartment, luckily, he’s got some time to shower before Chris and Carla return from the movies.

He reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone and unlocking it, clicking on the text notification from you.

It’s an image, your hand flat on a white marble table with long almond shaped nails, and they’re green, army green with little white flowers.

Y/N: What do you think, Sergeant? Do I pass inspection?

Eddie: With flying colors

He sends the message then chucks his phone on his bed, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes, the darkness doing him no favors. Images of your hand splayed out on his chest, gripping his sheets, wrapped around his cock, all moving front and center now that there’s nothing else for him to focus on.

He groans and lets his hands fall to his sides, eyes opening just in time to see another text come in.

Y/N: Glad to hear it, wouldn’t want to disappoint my superior officer

You’re going to kill him, slowly and painfully, he thinks as he types back a safe neutral response then forces himself to leave his phone on the bed heading towards the shower. He’s going to need to take a cold one.

Three: You approach him anxiously, fiddling with your hands, dressed in a cream sundress, the sunlight framing you from behind, catching in your hair, giving you a halo. An angel, you look like an angel.

“So, Chris told me about the thing they’re doing at his school where the kids bring in their moms to talk about their jobs or what they do day to day...” You start, and guilt twists in his chest. “He said some of the other kids are bringing their aunts, or sisters, or grandmas, and he asked me if I would come and talk about my job.”

He sighs and drags a hand down his face. “Y/N I’m so sorry, I’ll talk to Chris when I get hom—”

“No, no, I want to go, I just wanted to check and see if it’s okay with you. I don’t want to overstep, I mean I adore Chris, and I’m honored he asked me, but I just want to…I don’t know, I don’t want to cause any problems, or accidentally cause him any trauma, I just want to do right by him.”

An angel, you’re an actual angel; he could kiss you, he wants to kiss you, so badly, but he can’t, not here, not now.

“If you’re comfortable with it, and Chris wants you to go then, yeah, I’d really appreciate it.” He says, giving you the smile that earned him the nickname Hollywood.

“And then Y/N told everyone about how she went to Paris four times last year for photoshoots, and how she’s been in a bunch of fashion shows, and how she’s been all over the world, and all the other moms looked super jealous.” Chris says, excitedly retelling the day’s events to Eddie when he comes to pick you both up at the end of the day.

You’re smiling a bit embarrassedly, but ruffle Chris’ hair. “I think they were just tired of everyone asking me questions.”

“No way, everyone thought you were the coolest.” Chris insists, begrudgingly letting Eddie take his backpack.

“That’s because I brought cupcakes from that designer bakery downtown.” You say, and Eddie’s eyes are drawn to the box resting on your hip, the gold embossed lettering, the ribbon hanging from the sides.

Then you lean towards him, lowering your voice. “Though one mom pulled me aside afterward to ask how I got my figure back in time for the 2011 fashion week, which was a slightly awkward conversation.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow, he doesn’t necessarily think you and Chris look all that alike, so he’s not sure why anyone would mistake you for his mom, especially since other maternal type figures were supposed to be there. “She thought you were his mom?”

“I guess she wasn’t listening when Chris introduced me.” You shrug. “Anyways I told her I do coke and that’s how I got the weight off.”

He freezes dumbfounded staring at you, no way you do coke, he would’ve seen the signs, right?

You burst out laughing. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding, I told her I’m not his mom, so I never gained any pregnancy weight. But honestly, I should’ve said that, would’ve served her right for being nosy.”

He laughs breathily, relief washing over him. “You scared me for a second.”

You elbow him playfully, “come on Eddie, you know I work too hard to let drugs get the credit.”

“Of course, of course, I don’t know why I doubted you.”

“I don’t either, oh no, don’t look.” You grab onto his bicep and duck behind him.

He doesn’t see anyone, just Chris’ teacher. “Y/N?”

“Um, Chris’ teacher might definitely have a crush on you, and she did not like hearing him talk about how cool it is that his dad’s best friend is a model and how much time I spend with you guys.” You explain, looking covertly over his shoulder, your breasts pressed against his arm.

He tries not to look, tries not to think, he’s at his kid’s school for goodness sakes, he needs to get control of himself. Seriously, seriously, needs to get control of himself.

The one time: It’s his birthday, his family sends him well wishes, the 118 throw him a little party but it’s the sight that greets him when he gets home that stirs something within him. He can hear giggles and shushing, the lights are off, and he flicks them on, to be greeted with two cheers of “surprise!”

You, and Chris, are holding a cake with way too many candles. The icing is messy, there’s ten different types of sprinkles on it, and when he spots the flour on your neck and the icing staining the end of Chris’s sleeve, he realizes what you two have done for him.

He moves to the table in a blur, shedding his coat and keys, happiness making his steps light.

“Come on Dad, you have to taste it, we spent hours making it.” Chris urges, dragging out the word hours in a perfect mimicry of you. How had he not noticed you’ve spent so together much time together that his son was starting to sound like you?

You hand him a piece of cake, waiting until Chris wasn’t looking to go up on your toes, and press a fleeting kiss to his cheek. “Happy birthday Eddie.”

“Thank you for this.” He says quietly.

You bump your shoulder into his lightly. “How can I say no to my favorite boys?”

Your favorite, he and his son are your favorites. You took time out of your busy schedule to make a cake with his son for him. He thinks he might be in love with you, and he watches as you help Chris carry out a neatly wrapped gift, smiling brightly as Chris bounces around excitedly.

It’s a scrapbook filled with pictures of him and Chris, even ones he didn’t know you’d taken. Each photo has dates and details written below in your handwriting, with little blurbs and commentary added in by Christopher on bright blue stickers.

He takes a bite of the cake to keep from tearing up. It’s decent, not the best, a little lumpy, but it’s homemade and the smile on Chris’s face makes it taste better than anything he’s ever eaten before.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Chris says suddenly, taking off back towards his room.

He’s alone with you, and he brushes the flour from your neck, a sudden urge to taste your skin striking him. His bent finger is at his lips before he can even think, flour and something sweeter underneath on his tongue.

Your eyes widen, but you lean closer to him, tilting your head ever so slightly exposing more of your throat to him, inviting him to have another taste. His hands settle on your hips, and he scans your face, finding nothing but acceptance and anticipation. He strokes the side of your throat with the same bent finger, breath catching when you shiver under his touch.

“Y/N, you couldn’t have given me a better gift.” He breathes, dipping his head down, lips ghosting over yours.

You tilt your head up, hands resting on his chest, “I know. I know you, Eddie.”

He’s nearly bowled over by his desire, wanting desperately to feel this way forever, wanted, loved, seen. He needs Chris to stay in his room for the next few hours or so. Give him enough time for him to get on his knees and thank you properly before taking you on the couch, until he can’t remember a time when desire, and you weren’t intertwined.

You smile softly, eyes on his lips. “Oh, you have a sprinkle on your lip.”

And now he needs Chris to come back before he dies of embarrassment, he moves to pull away to wipe at his mouth, but your hands fist in his shirt and pull him down to meet you. Your lips are warm against his, sweet, like the insane amount of sugar on his birthday cake, and when the tip of your tongue flicks out, he groans softly, tightening his grip on you.

“Got it,” you whisper against his lips, a shiver running down his spine at the barely restrained longing in your voice.

“Are you sure?” He asks, his hands moving, one splayed out on your lower back, the other remaining at your hip, adjusting his grip, keeping you close. “I think you might have missed it.”

“I think you’re right, let me try again.” Your hand finds its way up, manicured fingernails carding through his hair, as you close the gap between you two, the taste of sugar on his tongue.

[amymbona]

I love you so much. Seriously, you are so precious.

Can we address the fact that art can be so mean? Like, that sauna scene is so extra and wild. The meanest boy ever with literally no reason.  So I was thinking about a reader, being actually a good girl, kind and shy and nice and pretty and everybody just loves her and art is going bananas over it because he can't stand her, and he's so mean and manipulative and kinda crazy kinda want her to "show her true colors 'cause he's not buying the good girl act" kinda wants her to be his, but after he MAKES HER his. Molding that pretty thing to behave how he wants.  sorry if you can't match my freak it's fine it's cool I won't cry :( 

User I love you so so so much *kisses your forehead* 🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶 I'll definitely match your 𝔣𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔨. That's what I'm here for! Perhaps I could make this a little series. 🤭🤭

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Art is so crazy for you. He adores the thin ribbons at the end of the braids you usually wear, tied into two neat bows. He has the collection of your plaid miniskirts etched into his mind, knowing exactly what kind of low cut tops you combine with them. Sometimes, you're dressed in so little clothing - one of your short skirts and a stupidly thin blouse that shows more than it hided - that he questions whether you're still comfortable, and considers offering you a hoodie of his.

You're a kind soul too, not hesitating to lend people your pens if their runs out of ink and stops writing, generously offering whatever the person next to you might need. Somehow, you seem to carry whatever could be missing. You're so soft spoken, encouraging people and comforting them if their exam doesn't go well, always laying your palm on a person's shoulder to rub it and bring them a sense of comfort. And people adore you for that, their faces shine when they spot you in the corridor and you smile at them. You are the Stanford's sweetheart.

And sometimes, Art can't help himself but stare at you in the class, chewing onto the end of his pen, wondering whether that smile is permanently etched onto your face. Because even now, when you're simply sitting and listening to the lecture, there is such an aura of grace and easiness glowing around you, as if you were made to convince the whole class that they have nothing to worry about and everything is going to be okay. You're simply too soft for your age, in his eyes, too benign for the people you hang out with a too gracious in general. All, as if you were hoping to get something in return, even though you never ask for it.

Art is tempted to find a crack in your shell, to discover who you really are, because he's definitely not buying the good girl act. So he gets to work. Being Art Donaldson, he approaches the whole situation cautiously, surprising himself with his own patience. However, he's aware that if he really wants to get as close to you as possible, it's gonna take some time. Even despite your friendliness, you surely can't be naive enough to let him in with a simple smile.

He is a mastermind, of sorts, accidentally forgetting his pens or erasers and asking to borrow one from you. You respond with a usual smile and a soft "Of course," and let your fingers graze his palm when you hand him one. He's so tempted to keep it by the end of the lecture, as if to keep a part of you with himself. But he can't do that yet.

Slowly, Art figures out most of your schedule, showing up in the cafeteria or the campus' park where you might currently be. Some hi's and hello's are exchanged between the two of you, accompanied by a cute smile on your face. The more you smile at Art, actually, the more he is tempted to wipe that expression off of your face. He wants to see you cry, to see you scream and whine and beg and yell, to finally see the walls you've built up around yourself fall and uncover your true self.

Soon, without actually planning it, Art becomes obsessed with you. But not with the gentleness or your actions, nor the generosity of your innocent soul. Definitely not with your kind smile and big eyes. On the contrary, he wants to see them fill with tears, he wants them to be red and glossy while they look at him. He wants you to either encourage him to keep hurting you or beg him to stop, squirm and whine and protest, that you can't take all the pain he's about to give you. As long as you are below him, helpless and vulnerable, he will be content with his doings.

[aesthetically-dying101]

Take me back, to the night we met. (part2)

A/N: see i'm being nice, also i was soooo tempted to say "his pale blue orbs" (iykyk)

Part 1.

Warnings: idk yall, so parental grief as a warning, gojo cries, reader cries, everyone cries, get ur tissues, happy ending cause im not evil cmon. in my world everyone gets to live happily ever after (usually)

Other warnings: use of y/n a couple times, no description of her but her family is japanese/chinese so ye

The world came back to you slowly, in fragments, like shards of glass scattered across a floor.

Pain was the first thing you felt—sharp, burning, relentless.

Fuck no, kill me. Was the first thing you thought.

The sterile smell of antiseptic filled your lungs as you tried to take a breath, but even that felt like dragging broken glass through your chest.

You didn’t remember much at first. Just flashes. The curse’s jagged grin, the way it loomed over you, its claws slicing through the air. The rubble that rained down like a death sentence, smashing into your hastily raised shields. The screams of the students as you ordered them to run.

And then... light. A blinding, all-consuming light as your cursed energy poured out of you like an ocean breaking its dam. You’d reached deeper than you ever thought possible, past the point of safety, past the point of reason. You hadn’t defeated the curse—you’d annihilated it.

And nearly yourself in the process.

*-*

When you opened your eyes, weeks had passed. The nurses told you the story in hesitant, careful tones. How some civilians had found you among the ruins, barely clinging to life, your body broken and your cursed energy flickering like the dying embers of a fire.

How you’d been brought to this remote hospital, far from Jujutsu High, far from the field, far from him.

They didn’t ask questions. Maybe they were too polite. Maybe they didn’t want to know why someone like you—someone with scars like these, with the shadow of battle etched into their very bones—had ended up here.

*-*

Your recovery was gruelling. Days blurred together in a haze of physical therapy and quiet despair. Every movement hurt. Every step felt like climbing a mountain with weights tied to your limbs. And your cursed energy...

It was barely there.

Once, it had flowed through you like a river, steady and reliable. Now, it was a faint trickle, a distant echo of what it used to be. You could still sense it, still touch it, but it was like trying to grasp smoke.

You assumed it might come back with time. Or it might not.

And somewhere along the way, you stopped caring.

The nightmares started a week after you were able to walk again. In them, the cursed spirit’s grotesque face twisted into something cruel and familiar. It taunted you, sneering about your weakness, your failures.

You would wake up drenched in sweat, the hospital walls too white, too clean, too suffocating. And always, always, there was the gnawing thought in the back of your mind: I can’t go back.

You thought of the world you’d left behind.

The missions.

The sorcerers who had been your comrades.

Gojo.

Your heart twisted painfully at the thought of him. You could imagine the look on his face if he knew you were alive—the sharp relief that would fade into anger, into questions you couldn’t bear to answer.

But that wasn’t the worst of it.

The shame was.

You were ashamed of your exhaustion, of your inability to pick yourself up and step back into the field. You were ashamed of the scars that lined your body now, the ones you couldn’t bring yourself to look at in the mirror. You were ashamed of the way your cursed energy had flickered out in that final moment, leaving you drained and broken.

And most of all, you were ashamed that you didn’t want to go back.

*-*

You needed to breathe.

It wasn’t an easy decision. Every part of you screamed that it was wrong, that you were a coward, that you were running away. But you silenced that voice with a quiet conviction you hadn’t felt in weeks.

“I need this,” you whispered into the dark, the words trembling on your lips like a fragile promise.

You didn’t tell the nurses. You didn’t tell the doctors. And you certainly didn’t tell anyone at Jujutsu High- you were sure that by now, they had held a memorial, the usual small ones for the fallen teachers.

You slipped away quietly one morning, the hospital still and silent around you.

*-*

The flight from Japan to China felt like a blur, a series of restless hours spent in airports, trains, and buses. You didn’t remember much of it—the thought of what lay ahead too heavy, too suffocating to let your mind wander.

The truth was, you weren’t sure what you expected when you returned home, but standing at the door of your parents’ house, key in hand, you realized you hadn’t prepared yourself for the flood of emotions that would rush over you.

This was the home you’d left behind.

The home where you were once a daughter, and now, a ghost.

You opened the door.

The smell of jasmine and rice, the soft, comforting scent of home, filled your senses. But the warmth of the house felt like a strange comfort and a cruel reminder all at once.

You stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind you. The walls, the furnishings—they were all exactly how you remembered them. There were the framed photos of your childhood scattered around, family photos, those little details that made it yours.

You walked in quietly, not wanting to alert them, but the moment you stepped into the hallway, you saw it.

The altar.

It was exactly as you remembered.

Your father’s Shinto shrine beside your mother’s Chinese Buddha, their two worlds converging in one space. On top of it, as always, was the incense they burned daily, a delicate dance of cultures, of prayers for peace, for protection.

But what caught your eye wasn’t the shrine. It was a single photograph that sat in the center.

The last picture you had ever sent them.

You were grinning, holding up a thumbs-up with your usual mischievous sparkle in your eyes.

You had sent it just before the mission. The one where you had disappeared.

The sound of soft footsteps echoed from the kitchen, and you didn’t need to turn to know who it was. Your mother’s voice—always so soothing, even in moments of chaos—called out from behind you, filled with disbelief.

“Y/n?”

Your mother’s gaze locked onto you with a kind of stunned awe, her hand instinctively rising to her mouth as though she were afraid you would vanish into the air at any moment. Her breath hitched, and for a moment, it felt as though the world had stopped spinning.

“I... I’m home, Mama.” You barely managed to speak through the lump in your throat. Your voice was hoarse, broken by the weight of your absence.

Your mother’s face crumpled. She collapsed into you, pulling you into an embrace so fierce it almost knocked the air from your lungs.

Her hands trembled as she cupped your face, her fingers running over your features as if to make sure you were real, to make sure you weren’t some illusion.

“I thought… I thought I lost you,” she whispered, her voice fragile. “I thought… you were gone. Forever. They said you were dead, Y/n. Jujutsu High said you were…Oh my baby.."

The guilt, the crushing weight of it, settled in your chest as you hugged her back, feeling the tears burn in your eyes. She had believed you were gone. Gone. It was an unbearable thought.

“I’m so sorry, Mama. I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted…” Your voice cracked, and for the first time in weeks, you allowed yourself to break. You couldn’t hold it in anymore.

But your mother only held you tighter, her sobs muffled against your shoulder. “You’re here now. You’re here.”

Then, you heard him. Your father’s heavy footsteps behind you, and before you could turn around, you felt his hands on your shoulders, strong and familiar. His touch was always firm, but this time, it felt different—like he was afraid if he let go, you might slip through his fingers again.

His voice was low and tight with emotion, his words nearly lost as they stumbled from his lips. “You’re alive.”

The tears were evident in his eyes too. He held you, not with the stoic detachment you had come to expect from him, but with a tenderness that felt foreign. He was broken. The stern, steady father who had raised you—now crumbled in the face of your return.

“You’re alive,” he repeated, voice cracking as he held you in a vice grip, as if he could will you to stay by the sheer force of his embrace.

You buried your face into his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your ear. The warmth of both of them was like a balm to your soul, and you let yourself melt into their touch, letting the grief you had held in for so long break free.

"I just... I need time," you whispered, the words like a confession, raw and vulnerable.

Your father nodded, a quiet understanding in his eyes. "Take it," he said. "Take all the time you need."

You couldn’t explain the emotions that were rushing through you—guilt, relief, shame, sorrow. But there, in their arms, you felt something you hadn’t in a long time.

Home.

*-*

Slowly, you could feel it coming back, the familiar rush of power that had once been a constant hum beneath your ribs.

It felt strange, though, as if it belonged to someone else. Your body had been battered, your spirit cracked, but there was a glimmer of what you had once been, barely visible, but alive.

Your mother, who certainly wasn't going to let you go back to the Jujutsu world so soon, saw it too. The flicker of your cursed energy trying to rise again—and she stepped forward one evening, her voice soft yet firm, as you sat on the couch of the living room.

"Put it in your bones, not in your muscles," she instructed, her hands moving in slow, deliberate gestures, guiding you through the motions. "Let it go deeper. Let it be buried in your core, in your marrow. You are not a sorcerer here. You are simply a person."

The words felt foreign, alien even.

It was like learning to breathe again after having forgotten how for so long. But you trusted her-more than you trusted anyone else. So, you closed your eyes, and you listened.

It took time—longer than you expected—but slowly, you began to learn how to keep the energy within you, hidden and still. It wasn’t control, not in the way you had known it as a sorcerer—it was suppression, a delicate balance between strength and restraint.

Your mother never rushed you. She simply allowed you to feel it, and when it felt right, she would teach you to carry it in silence, as if it were a secret you had to keep from the world.

Honestly if she could've, your mother would've locked you in the basement and never let you leave.

*-*

But even as you learned to control your energy, there was still the need to remember who you were, what you could do.

So, your father—always the more stoic and methodical of the two—began training with you again.

One evening, as the sky turned to shades of deep purple, he set up a series of practice obstacles for you—wooden dummies, thick, metal poles, anything he could find to simulate an opponent’s strikes.

He was preparing you, not just to defend, but to destroy.

"Use your shields like walls," he said, his voice rough from years of experience. "When they strike, let the energy build up, compress it—like a barrier, like a wall you can collapse when they push too hard. Your energy becomes the force that crushes them. You let the pressure build and then release it. You can stop them, but you must be ready to break them."

The old techniques were family traditions passed down through the generations—defensive strategies and energy manipulation that had always been part of your bloodline.

They weren’t flashy or elegant. But they were effective.

These were the same techniques your father had used in his youth, and they had kept him alive all these years.

You took your stance, focusing on your father’s instructions, trying to suppress the weariness in your limbs. But as he threw another punch toward you, you couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at your lips.

"Ah, so... like a garbage compactor?" you joked, using the energy to deflect his strike and feeling the air shift with the pressure you’d created.

Your father paused for a moment, his gaze softening just the slightest bit. It was a brief moment of warmth, an unspoken understanding passing between the two of you.

"Exactly," he said, his voice tinged with something resembling a smile. "You make them feel like they’re trapped, and then you crush them with their own force. Remember, defence is never passive. It’s active. You control it."

You met his eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of his words sink into you. You could feel your strength returning, little by little, in each movement, each carefully calculated strike. You weren’t the same person you had been before the mission, but you were starting to find pieces of yourself again.

Your mother, watching from the doorway, smiled faintly at the two of you. There was something reassuring in the way your father pushed you, the way your mother held your energy back, the way both of them protected you, even now, from the world outside.

And though they tried to hide their relief, you could see it in the way they watched you, the small glances shared between them that told you more than words could.

You were still their daughter. You were still here. You were still you.

*-*

But the deeper you dove into the training, the further away you seemed to drift from the life you had left behind. You couldn’t bring yourself to think about Japan, about Jujutsu High, about him.

Gojo. The name clung to you like a shadow, but you pushed it away.

You had to.

You weren’t ready to face the world of sorcerers again—not yet.

Not until you were sure you could stand on your own two feet again.

*-*

Late at night, when the Jujutsu Society had gone quiet, and the weight of the world fell into silence, Gojo would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, eyes wide open in the dark. His thoughts were consumed by you—the way your eyes had looked as he walked away, the way you had begged him to stay.

"I know the risks, Satoru... I chose to be with you."

His chest tightened at the memory of your voice, full of desperation, of love.

"It’s not fair to you."

It felt like an eternity since he’d said it, but it still reverberated in his mind, louder than anything else. What had he been thinking? How could he have let you go so easily, knowing the danger you’d be in without him by your side?

The feeling of guilt had become his constant companion, suffocating him in every waking moment.

Gojo, the indomitable Satoru Gojo, was broken. He was so fucking broken. He had no one to blame but himself. And though he threw himself into his work, it did nothing to erase the gnawing void in his chest. He had lost you, and there was no mission, no fight that could fill the emptiness.

*-*

It didn’t go unnoticed by the higher-ups, of course.

They saw his decline, his increasing instability, and while they had long maintained their tight grip on him, the signs were clear. He was breaking.

A call came one evening, and after an awkward exchange between the elders, the verdict was delivered: Gojo was granted a two-day vacation. Not for rest, not for healing, but because they were afraid of what he might do if he didn’t have some time away from the endless grind of missions and expectations.

They didn’t understand. No one did. But they saw the way his eyes were sunken now, the way he seemed to float through life like a shell of his former self.

They saw the way his typically composed demeanor was cracking, how his silence spoke louder than his words.

They saw how each mission report came back with more erratic behavior, how he couldn’t hide the trembling in his hands, the edge in his voice.

So, they gave him the time.

Two days. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

Gojo didn't know what to do with the time, anyway. He couldn't sit still.

He couldn't forget.

On the first night of his forced break, Gojo found himself on the roof of his apartment, his legs dangling over the edge as he stared at the sky. The city lights below flickered in a blur of color, but his eyes were drawn to the stars, cold and distant above him.

He had always been able to see the stars, but now, they felt so... unreachable. Like they didn’t matter. He didn’t matter. You didn’t matter to him anymore, not the way you used to.

I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I'm so sorry...

The words broke through his thoughts again, like shards of glass. His voice trembled as he whispered them into the wind, as if hoping the wind would carry his apologies to wherever you were in the afterlife.

He didn't know what he was looking for—maybe for you to show up, to tell him that it was all just a bad dream, that he could go back and undo the damage he’d done.

But it was just him, alone with his thoughts and the weight of his guilt.

And that, it seemed, was the price he had to pay for pushing you away.

*-*

It had been ten months.

Ten long months of silence and silence only.

Gojo had sunk deeper into his own mind, his own torment. From time to time he had dared to hope, and used his Six Eyes to try and see your cursed energy but of course.. you were nowhere to be found.

He couldn’t stop thinking about you. He couldn't stop remembering how his decision had left you behind, and now, with every mission he completed, every battle he fought, he only had one thought swirling in his mind: What if? What if he had stayed? What if he had told you the truth? What if he hadn’t pushed you away?

He had gone mad with it. And now, here he was, on the brink of losing his mind completely.

You had come to terms with your survival—not just physically, but mentally. Your cursed energy was returning, not in the explosive way it once had, but in a steadier, more controlled manner.

You had buried the past with your parents, but now, you were ready to return—if only a little.

You had no intention of jumping back into the field just yet, but the thought of working with younger sorcerers, training them, teaching them to survive the same horrors you had faced, felt right. It was your way of making amends—for yourself and for the ones who had been left behind, for the world that had once held you in its grasp.

*-*

You hadn't even contacted Gojo, or anyone for that matter. You had let the heads of Jujutsu High know, just a day before, that you were back. They knew the significance of your return, and the turmoil it would stir in the heart of the man who had been torn apart by your 'departure'death'. But they had no idea how to break the news to him.

They didn’t know how to tell him that the woman he had thought lost was standing right in front of them, stronger and colder than before.

*-*

The first day of your return was filled with awkward tension. No one knew how to handle it—how to explain the impossible. You were supposed to be dead. The idea that you were alive, walking and breathing, was too surreal to comprehend. They hadn’t told Gojo. They didn’t know how to.

But Gojo would find out soon enough.

Gojo was walking down the hallway when he noticed a commotion. His eyes narrowed as he watched a younger sorcerer take down a photo from the wall—the picture of all the fallen sorcerers, the ones who had died in duty, the ones who’d sacrificed everything. You had been one of them.

He felt his heart twist as he watched the sorcerer fumble with the picture, about to put it away, probably in a storage room where no one would ever have to look at it again.

Without thinking, Gojo moved forward. His face flushed with anger, a violent flash in his chest.

“What the hell are you doing?!” he snapped, his voice a growl.

The young sorcerer froze, startled. “I—I was just… it needs to be archived—”

“No. Leave it. Right. There,” Gojo said, his voice low and furious, eyes blazing with the intensity of his power. “You don’t touch the dead. Not like that.”

He stepped forward, ready to demand more, but the young sorcerer’s hands had already recoiled in fear-but there was confusion in his eyes.

He looked over Gojo’s shoulder, and suddenly, there was a sharp burst of sound from down the hall.

Gojo turned just as Shoko came sprinting down the stairs, moving with an unusual urgency.

Shoko. Running? This was bizarre. She never ran. Especially not in heels.

She passed Gojo without a word, her expression focused, tense, and she shot him a glance that he couldn’t read. But the panic in her eyes was unmistakable. She wasn’t just running; she was rushing somewhere—away from something.

Toward something.

Gojo’s instincts screamed at him.

A strange, sickening nostalgia hit him, a memory of when you and Shoko had been inseparable. Back when you were both alive, back before everything went to shit. He remembered you two laughing together, sparring, talking late into the night about everything and nothing.

He didn’t know why, but the sight of Shoko in such a state made his chest tighten painfully. He was unsure of what was happening, but something told him that the news wasn’t going to be good.

Not after everything.

*-*

He was walking down the hall, trying to shake off the strange heaviness in his chest. The building felt different. The air was wrong. His footsteps echoed a little too loudly, like a constant reminder of how much he had lost.

And then, just as he passed the training grounds, he saw her.

At first, his brain didn’t register it.

His body was already reacting—a curse—it had to be.

She stood there, talking to Shoko, like she belonged. His mind screamed at him that this couldn’t be possible. That this wasn’t real. That the girl standing in front of him, the one who looked so... alive, couldn’t be the same person who was supposed to be dead.

It was you.

You.

Alive.

For a split second, he couldn’t breathe. You were standing there, casually talking to Shoko, gesturing with your hands as if explaining something. The light hit your hair just right, and for a fleeting, terrible moment, he thought he was hallucinating.

And then, instinct kicked in.

His cursed energy flared dangerously, his hand twitching toward the edge of creation. His mind screamed one thing:

This isn’t real. It’s a curse. It’s wearing her face.

“Shoko,” his voice was low, deadly, the kind of tone that made even the strongest sorcerers hesitate. “Get. Away. From. It.”

Shoko blinked at him, confused, then horrified as she realized what he was about to do.

“Satoru, wait—”

“Don’t.” He stepped closer, his blindfold catching the light, hiding the searing rage in his eyes. “I don’t know how you got her face,” he snarled, his cursed energy spiraling around him like a storm, “but this ends now.”

Your heart jumped into your throat. You had expected this reunion to be awkward, maybe emotional, but not this.

(Dying because of him after all this would be the most ironic thing in the world.)

Instinctively, you raised your hands, activating your defense technique. A shimmering barrier formed around you, the culmination of years of training, of desperation to survive.

It wouldn’t do much against him, you knew that, but your body moved on its own.

“Satoru!” you shouted, your voice cutting through the air. “The fuck is wrong with you?!"

He froze, his energy wavering, but the rage in his stance didn’t falter.

“Nice try,” he hissed, taking another step closer. “You’re not her. You’re a curse wearing her skin, and I’m going to make sure you don’t take another step.”

“Are you insane?” you snapped, your barrier flaring brighter as his energy bore down on you. “I’m not a curse, you idiot! Put your stupid technique away before you blow up half the school!”

The sheer audacity of your tone made him pause. His head tilted slightly, the storm around him ebbing for a moment.

“You think I’m just going to believe that? That you’re suddenly alive, here, after a year?”

“Yes!” you yelled, exasperation lacing your voice. “Because I am alive, you dense, blindfolded moron! And you’d know that if you weren’t so busy trying to obliterate me!”

Shoko, still standing off to the side, groaned loudly. “For the love of God, Gojo, she’s real! She’s alive! Stop acting like a lunatic!”

Gojo turned to her, disbelief etched into every line of his face. “And you’re just... taking its word for it? You’re a doctor, Shoko! You should know better than to fall for—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Satoru!” you interrupted, stepping forward despite the suffocating pressure of his energy. “Look at me! Use those stupid Six Eyes of yours and look at me!”

For once you had let your jujutsu out, he would be able to see you. If he looked.

He hesitated. His fingers twitched, his energy wavering again. Slowly, cautiously, he peeled back the layers of his perception, focusing on you. What he saw made his breath hitch.

Scars. Faint traces of cursed energy buried deep within you, almost imperceptible. Pain, survival, and—most importantly—you.

It was you.

His knees nearly gave out. The rage, the disbelief, the grief he’d been carrying for months—all of it collapsed under the weight of the truth.

“It’s... you,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “It’s really you.”

You lowered your barrier, but your fists remained clenched.

“Yes, it’s me. And you were about two seconds away from turning me into a smear on the ground.”

His shock melted into something raw and broken, and then—anger. “You left me,” he said, his voice rising. “You let me think you were dead. Do you know what that did to me?”

Your eyes flashed. “I left you? You broke up with me! You threw me away like I was nothing, and then I almost died a day later!”

“I broke up with you to protect you! To keep you safe! And you still—” He cut himself off, his hands shaking as he pointed at you. “You still went on that mission! Alone! You didn’t even—”

“I didn’t have a choice, Satoru!” you shouted back, tears stinging your eyes. “It was my job, my life. And guess what? I survived! I dragged myself back from the brink, but I couldn’t face you. Not after what you did.”

He stepped closer, his voice dropping into something dangerously soft. “So instead, you let me think you were dead. For a year. Do you know how many nights I stayed up thinking about you? Wondering if I could’ve saved you? If I could’ve stopped it?”

“Do you know how many nights I stayed up hating you for leaving me?” you shot back, your voice cracking. “For making me feel like I wasn’t enough? Like I wasn’t worth fighting for?”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. For the first time in his life, Satoru Gojo was utterly at a loss.

You took a shaky breath, wiping at your eyes. “I didn’t come back to fight with you, Gojo. I came back because... I finally found myself again. And I’m not going to let you ruin that.”

He stared at you, his hands trembling at his sides. “You think I wanted to ruin you? You think I wanted any of this?”

"I... listen. I'm sorry. I should've told you. I.. apologies." You whispered.

Then, suddenly, he moved. In one swift motion, he closed the distance between you and pulled you into a kiss. It was desperate, raw, full of all the things he couldn’t say—I’m sorry. I missed you. I love you.

You froze for a moment before your hands found their way to his chest, clutching his shirt as you kissed him back. The anger, the pain, the confusion—it all melted away, leaving nothing but the undeniable truth of what you felt for each other.

When you finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breathing ragged.

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Don’t ever leave me like that.”

Your eyes softened, your hands still clutching his shirt. “Then don’t push me away again.”

He nodded, swallowing hard. “Deal.”

The next kiss was very sad and pathetic.. and salty.

Damn tears.

A/N: alr so uuummm i hope this is even half decent, im not exactly a fan of the ending, so i might revise it later, im unsure

:)

[deepestnightcolor]

✩⁺₊✩☽⋆Kinkmas - 7th of December⋆☾✩⁺₊✩

ᴀ/ɴ: Kinkmas day 7 already! Ready to see who is waiting you behind the door? Then open up, love, they are excited to see you! Thank you so much for your time and I hope you enjoy!

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Shane (SDV) x Fem!Reader

ᴡᴄ: 1328 words

ᴍᴅɴɪ ✧ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: physical labour, degredation, cursing, breath play/choking, raw sex, Shane has an axe, but he knows what he is doing!-

Winter wasn’t necessarily Shane’s favourite season, but it was a season where he knew what he had to do, especially now that he was living on the farm with you. Fixing fences so they would survive the snowy burdens that would soon rest upon them, making sure the barns, coops and huts were up to speed and fixing whatever was needed, from feeders, to heaters, to troughs, he fucking fixed it. Getting the boiler ready in your house so you could stay nice and warm, and, of course, one of the tasks he kept an especially careful eye out for: firewood. He always made sure to keep a pile of wood behind the house, neatly stacked, just ready to be smashed into smaller pieces and carried into the house in that basket he had gotten specifically for that reason – the perfect size to last you for two days, and easy enough to carry (at least for him). He always made sure that basket stayed full and thus making sure the house stayed warm for the two of you, especially for those cozy nights you shared in front of the TV watching cheesy Christmas movies (to be honest, Shane often fell asleep as soon as the two main characters met, but even in his dozing state his hand kept running through your hair lazily, so you didn’t mind too much).

“Gonna cut some firewood,” Shane told you as he tied up his heavy winter boots, making you look up from the bowl of dough you had prepared for making some holly jolly cookies. “Don’t you wanna take a coat, Shane? It’s freezing out there.” “Gonna get hot cuttin’ wood, don’t worry ‘bout me.” He walked past you with a tender kiss to the head and a rather sloppy smack to the ass, gripping the axe on his way out, making you roll your eyes with a small smile.

You had looked out of the window at some point to see how far your husband had come, after all, you had been hearing the rhythmic cracking of wood being split and dropped into the basket for a while now. What you saw was…certainly something to see. Your husband, with his broad shoulders and big arms stretching as he had lifted the axe, letting it come down on the piece of wood, cracking it open. Holy fuck. You could see the muscles of his arms flex despite him wearing a hoodie, and you had been pretty sure his back muscles looked just as fucking good. And again he went, placing a chunk of wood on the log, lifting the axe just to let it come down quickly. His whole body had been working, tensing up to collect its strength, just to release all of that pent-up energy at once. You hadn’t been sure how long you had been watching, and you still weren’t quite sure how you ended up sitting on that log that Shane had just used to cut wood, his long, girthy cock nestled deeply inside of your pussy, the handle of the axe pressed against your throat, pinning you right against the shed behind you. He hadn’t added enough pressure for you to struggle breathing yet, but certainly enough for you to be drooling around his fat cock. The way he was fucking you was so mean, too! Taking his time to pull his hips back, moving slowly even, just to fuck his cock right back into you with a force that made your whole body feel like you were being split like a piece of firewood. “You are so wet already, little slut- and I have barely even fuckin’ started. Did that turn you on that much, huh? Watchin’ me chop some wood? That’s what’s makin’ this cunt spew? Fuckin’ pathetic,” he growled, smacking your thigh with the hand that wasn’t holding you pinned to the wall, his dick rutting inside those squishy walls again, making you choke around a moan that couldn’t quite escape. “Kissin’ my dick, baby? You’re basically suckin’ it in, princess- fuck, you feel so good, you know that? Warmin’ me up like that, warmin’ me up with that pretty little whore cunt that I love so much- fuck, I fuckin’ love you,” he rambled, pressing the axe a little tighter when he saw that dumb look in your eyes, the one you always got when you were completely cock-drunk. He just couldn’t help himself, needed to move faster, needed to pound that pussy -after all, that’s what you had come out for, wasn’t that right? Fuck that little spiel about “wanting to bring him a hot chocolate”, he had seen you standing at that window for minutes. Had even put on a little extra show for you, flexing his arms a little more, grunting a little more heavily. And it had worked – perfectly so. “Dirty lil thing saw me work and got horny, ain’t that it? Huh? Yeahhhh, clench that dick, princess, that’s fuckin’ it, take it, fuckin’ take it all.”

His voice was edging on a snarl again, underlined by a huffed groan as he was rutting into you roughly, his hand collecting a fistful of hair to tug your head back, making you look up at him. Yoba, he was down bad for you, that fucked-out face making his dick twitch, balls pulling tight. He needed you to know how fucking much he loved you, needed you to fucking now that you were his everything, that for you, he would walk for hours to keep you warm, that for you, he’d give the shirt off his back- His thrusts turned into something more frantic, quick, hard humps that made you bounce on the log you had been placed on, the wooden handle, still warm from Shane’s hand, keeping you from yelling out his name as your pussy was ruthlessly bullied by him. But Shane didn’t need your words. He knew you, and he knew just what exactly you needed. “Fuckin’ little princess slut, being fucked out here in the cold by me, just ‘cause she couldn’t wait to get dicked down inside,” he hissed, the pressure on the handle now enough to have you struggle for air, even more so when you felt Shane’s cock twitch deep inside of you. If he kept this up, you were going to cum sooner rather than later, your head already spinning, brain short-circuiting with the fuck-induced bliss you were in. Your mouth was hanging open as you tried to let your moans, a small trail of drool dribbling from the corner of your lips, hips weakly trying to take Shane’s hard fucks. “You’re gonna cum, arentcha? Gonna cum all over my cock? Out here? Fuckin’ hell, you are dirty, slut, a dirty fuckin’ whore,” he laughed, albeit a little shaky. His thumb found your clit, giving it a mean, hard swipe, only adding fuel to the arousal you were already feeling. You were close, you knew it. And Shane knew it, too. Your thighs had started to twitch, and your cunt was already beginning to spasm a little as your breathing came out in quick and needy little puffs against the wooden handle. But just as you were about to be pushed over the edge, the pressure was gone, just like the stretch of Shane’s meaty, thick cock. “What?-,” you whined, voice a little shaky and breathless, the whiplash from being dropped from the high you had just been able to taste making you tear up, lower lip quivering. Your husband, however, seemed composed as he tucked away his cock that had just been buried balls-deep inside your still gushing cunt. “I wasn’t done yet,” he hummed, looking down at you sternly, helping you up on your feet and buttoning up your pants, wiping his thumb over your still quivering lip, collecting that droplet of drool before licking it off, “and I gotta keep my princess warm now, don’t I?”

[wooahaes]

a healthy change of mind

pairing: non-idol!hoshi x fem!reader

genre: domestic fluff. established relationship au.

warnings: food mention. mentions that reader didn't enjoy her bday growing up. skinship.

word count: ~1.0k

daisy's notes: domestic fluff i love u i love u i love u-

There was always an odd sense of intimacy in tying someone’s apron for them. Soonyoung liked it most when it was you, because he could always press a gentle kiss against your neck when he was done… and you would do the same, giving him butterflies in his stomach all over again.

Today was your birthday, and Soonyoung was happy to greet you when you finally came home from spending time with your friends. He liked being the person who saw the way you melted a bit with exhaustion, the person who snuggled with you on the couch as you recharged your battery. He understood how that felt, too: sometimes after he spent his days with his friends, he just needed to rest in your company. There was always something so easy about being around you. He felt special that you could just snuggle up with him and relax. He’d watched you remove your makeup and take off the jewelry (all little things your friends had bought you over the years), and he stole a kiss from you after you’d shed your shirt to change into sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. 

“I don’t wanna go out tonight,” you had sighed against his shoulder. “Soonyoung?” You lifted your head, meeting his gaze. “Can we cook?”

Soonyoung was not a chef. Hell, he didn’t really cook much at all. You’d taught him a little before, but he never felt any good at it. His food never tasted anywhere near as good as yours (although, strangely enough, you said the same when he made you scrambled eggs one morning to surprise you with how much he’d been practicing), and half the time he ended up burning something… But if you wanted him to help you, he would happily help you. It wasn’t the first time you’d ask him to do that anyway. He’d always stay by your side, chopping ingredients and preparing whatever it was that you needed him to do. 

Unfortunately, it did call for a visit to the grocery store. Soonyoung held the basket in one hand, and your hand in the other as you guided him around the store. Another day, you two would do a proper grocery store visit… But that was for another day, definitely. He carried the bags home, still keeping his fingers intertwined with your own. And then he tied your apron, and kissed your neck before you did the same for him. That was what led to now, as you passed him a pair of gloves and asked him to dice chicken for you while you started to work on a sauce for your pasta. 

“You know,” you’d been measuring out heavy cream when you spoke up, “I like my birthday now.” 

He glanced up from where he was carefully cutting chicken. “You do?”

“Mhm. My birthday always kinda sucked when I was growing up,” you shrugged. “I mean—It always kinda felt like they were about other people than just me. My cake always had to be something everyone liked instead of something I liked.” For a moment, you paused, and then looked up, waving a hand. “Not that I didn’t like it! I like vanilla cake just fine,” you shrugged. “But… I dunno. Ice cream cakes are nice. Cupcakes are nice. I just kinda wish it was my decision more often, y’know?”

Is that why you told him not to worry about a cake…? He just watched you for a moment, trying to gauge your thoughts. “It can be your decision now.”

For a second, you just stood there, processing that. “Soonie?” You looked up, voice so small now. “Can we order cake? It can just be two slices for delivery, but—”

He laughed, warm as ever, and nodded. “I’ll pull up the app when I’m done and we can look. Tell me more about your birthdays.”

You shook your head. “Nah. I mean… I never really liked being ‘the birthday girl’ with all the attention on her, y’know? I like what I can do now. Going out with my friends, and then just… getting to come home to you and do something laid-back.” With a blissful sigh, you continued to make the alfredo sauce for your pasta. “I like that I don’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not.” 

Something ached in his chest at that. You hadn’t told him everything about your past, sure, but you’d told him that you did hide things about yourself growing up. Your interests, your personality, all wrapped up in a tight package of anxiety that you’d say the wrong thing or do something and be hated. It was all irrational, and you knew that now, but as a child with anxiety? Soonyoung couldn’t fault you for struggling so much with it growing up. Yet something softened inside of him as he realized the implications of what you said: you felt safe being yourself around him.

Good, then. He liked being himself around you, too.

The gloves crinkled as they came off, and he tossed them into the bin before making his way over to you. You turned right as he wrapped his arms around you, pressing a long kiss against your lips before drawing away. 

You smiled at him. “Hi?”

“Hi,” he giggled. “Happy birthday. I love you.” 

You kissed him back, soft and sweet, before pulling away. “I love you, too, you dork.” 

Soonyoung drew away, already going for his phone to start looking up dessert places. He would have done this for you a thousand times over if it meant he could see that pretty smile on your face. And he knew he’d kiss that smile again when the night was over and you were back where you belonged in his arms.

Hopefully, you two could spend your next birthday just like this, too.

taglist: @twancingyunhao @wonuziex @synthetickitsune @staranghae @porridgesblog @weird-bookworm @bangchansbae @laylasbunbunny @bewoyewo

[hwanchaesong]

Chatoyant (Soulmate) Preview

pairing: Jay X F!Reader

synopsis: You've never believed in the braided vermillion strings that are supposedly tied in your pinky, where the other end is where you'll find your beloved. Not until you're standing in the middle of a story ridden room.

word count: tba

genre & warnings: angst, smut, fluff, warnings tba

a/n: this is a teaser for the upcoming Enhypen: Tropes & Parallels series that i've been working on. i hope y'all look forward to it. please don't hesitate to tell me if you wanted to be added to the taglist. tysm 🩷

You listened to Jay, your class representative, in boredom as he lists the do's and don'ts for your next destination. Apparently, it's some kind of history museum where millions of stories are etched on the items that are displayed there.

Certainly picked your interest, but not enough to make you excited.

"I want to go to the amusement park instead." your friend Sunghoon, who was sitting next to you muttered, to which you agreed to an extent, but hey, this is your country's archive, might as well enjoy it while you can.

You groaned and stretched your back when you got off the bus, a chuckle caught your attention so you turned with a frown, catching Jay red-handed on his attempt to cover up his amusement.

"You think this is funny? My back aching is worth the lols?" you asked in disbelief, making small talk with the man.

"You acting like an old woman is funny." he corrects, patting your shoulder in a casual manner, "Come on, let's get inside. It's too hot here."

He trudged towards the museum, leaving you there with your thoughts for a moment.

The touch felt like a zing, it's always been like that. Conversing with him was easy as a pie, skinship was rare but when it did happen, it's pure electricity. Although, you may put this in the 'I admire you type of crush' instead of overthinking things.

You shrugged, entering the building and occupying yourself with the exhibit.

It was nice, finding some statues or swords cool. Jake triggers your ijbolitis when he starts lecturing you and Sunghoon about the legend of whatever sculpture it was that caught his attention. (you have to admit, he's an adorable nerd)

Sunghoon begged you to stay, but you blew him a kiss and left him with the aussie, opting to enter a room that you haven't explored yet.

When you step foot inside though, a gush of air suddenly hits you. Which was weird, to say the least, since there are no open windows around, surely the place is airconditioned.

You sighed, brushing it off and sauntering towards the small bulletin, there you learned that the room is full of trinkets between two lovers, torned apart by the war.

A story of an empress and her general.

Then, time seemed to stop when you finally set your eyes on the largest painting hanging by the wall.

You felt a pang in your heart, especially when you saw the letters that they had exchanged. The clothes, jewelry, all of their personal belongings felt so... intimate.

It was uncanny and you dumbly stood there, thinking and staring at the art because it looks exactly like-

"It's like I'm looking right into a mirror."

A familiar voice suddenly spoke from behind and you gasped, losing your balance when you accidentally twisted your ankle in surprise, but fear not, your knight in shining armor dramatically caught you.

"Woah there," Jay peered at you with concern, "Are you okay?"

Will it be a bad decision on your part if you say that this is more than okay?

taglist

@lilyuwon @ramenoil