#and looking at things that aren’t there.’ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thecoochiefairy · 2 days ago

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sonder. suguru.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 11.4K word count. southerncoded!au, semisoutherncoded!suguru, mechanic!suguru, originalblackfem!reader, fiancè!suguru, grumpy!suguru, sweet!suguru, dominant!suguru, slightlysubmissive!suguru, black woman, vaginal penetration, rough sex, foreplay, fingering, clit rubbing, kissing, sweet talkin’, hair pulling, creaming, choking, squirting, praising, LOTS of dirty talk/aggressive dirty talk, pet names, condomless sex, creaming, slapping ass/face, riding, laying sideways sex, oral [f] [m], deep talks of religion/non—religion practices, family problems, minors aren’t welcome!

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ i missed my suguru. i know some of y’all did too. this one is a little emotional, so tw to that, lol! not gonna say too much, hope you enjoy. no nasty twitter links ‘cause they all sucked :/ so just—use your nasty lil’ imaginations, close your eyes and think. hehe.

visual.

YOUR LEFT PALM STAINED WITH INK, BLEMISHED AS YOU FINISHED OFF THE FINAL SENTENCE IN YOUR JOURNAL. You had a lot on your mind at this moment, hoping that gathering your words on paper would help for a future conversation—one that you knew you’d disagree with your fiancè about.

You enjoyed the early morning of Sundays. It felt like the opportunity to clean your slate of everything that happened a month prior, forgiving yourself of all the mistakes you made, hoping blessings would come in return. But nothing felt more rewarding than the love you received when meeting him.

Maybe it was his looks—dark, long midnight hair that fell past his shoulders, wafting with the scent of his cologne that was a mixture of patchouli and tobacco. The fullness of his eyebrows that furrowed in a natural glare, piercing within his left side glinting each time he frowned. Big, broad body that was inked up like a flash sheet at a tattoo shop, just coaxing you in.

But no, it was more than that. It was the cadence of his deep voice, the puff of smoke that released his full lips with every cigarette he smoked, the way his large palms raked through his hair when he was frustrated—the way he peppered you in affection despite his attitude, the way he fucked you despite his attitude, the way he loved you despite his attitude, the way he protected you despite his attitude—He was yours, as you were his.

Of course you had to marry him.

But with every love, came a price. A sacrifice. One thing you knew about your fiancé, as much as he worshipped the ground you walked on? He always told you where you were wrong.

Back to the point of enjoying Sundays, you’d read a new scripture from your Bible, closing it with a soft hum as you finished. Your eyes flickered to the door leading downstairs—his territory, never yours. The industrial architecture of your condo was built by the hands of your fiancè, who’d structured the second level to be the house itself—sleek black interior, soft dim bulbs hanging from the ceiling to give a more vintage feel. He’d known your wants of a home that looked as if you lived in New York, as you were settled within the city of New Orleans.

The first floor, a garage. Your fiancè spent most of his time down there—customizing, repairing, or maintaining vehicles brought to him as downtown's most known mechanic. You were used to the rumble of alternative metal music trembling the walls upstairs as he worked, and oftentimes you could endure it—but at this moment? Not so much.

The deep red slip dress you wear flows on your body perfectly, the round of your ass peeking from the bottom as you stand within the kitchen—your curls clasped onto a dark cherry claw clip, Vera Wang glasses tilting at the bridge of your freckled nose, heart shaped engagement ring shining on your finger like a silver heartbeat.

Palm wrapping along the knob of the garage door, a whoosh of motor oil consuming your nose as you pad your feet down each step—and there he was.

My Own Summer, by DEFTONES echoed within the walls of the halfway opened garage, sun of the morning attempting to peek in from under. His back was facing you, tattoos sunken into his entire upper body—black ink traced beneath the white wife beater he wears, having a bit of oil smudged across the material. His arms flexed as he kneeled further into the hood of a Ford F250, hair draped in a messy tie at the back of his head.

“Workin’ hard?”

He didn’t even flinch—he could always tell when you were near.

“‘Truck is old as hell,” he grunts, “My customers expectin’ a miracle.”

His fingers tugged at the bolts within the truck’s hood, the low murmur of a cigarette hung between his lips as he spoke to you.

You hum, “You’ve always been good with your hands—I’m sure you can work somethin’ out.”

A puff of smoke, and then, a chuckle.

“Babydoll,” he husks, “Always the optimistic one.”

Hazel irises flick up, taking his hands away from the hood.

“You hate comin’ down here. You’ alright?”

“Just missed you.”

He was a silent killer, undressing you with his vision in milliseconds. They traced everywhere—the dark tresses of your curls, your heart shaped lips, snubbed nose and deep brown freckles on your caramel face—your nipples mirror your complexion through the thin cotton material of your slip, curved figure full as if you’d given birth.

He could damn near smell it on you, that you wanted something.

“‘Missed me, huh?” his voice lowering, “You sure?”

Your glasses slide a bit lower on your nose, an annoying habit as you push them up—you ask in the most innocent way, “Want some company?”

“C’mere.”

You make your way over to him, giggling softly as he instantly cuffs you by the fat of your ass. Your arms wrap along his neck, his large frame looming as he has to lower himself a bit to your comfort.

Your nose scrunches from the smoke that hazes against your face, “You have to do that this early in the morning?”

He smirks down at your little scrunch. That only makes him pull you closer, hands squeezing your flesh through the slip, the other pulling his cigarette for another puff.

“Open.”

Your mouth obeyed, parting your lips for him. He flicks his ashy cigarette between finger and thumb, blowing a thick plume of smoke at you—the puff of sharp smoke billows into your mouth, long lashes fluttering against your cheeks in return.

You take the bud from him, “You need to quit.”

“‘Gives me a big knoggin’,” he exhales, “You gon’ smoke it, or keep talkin’ shit?”

A roll to your eyes comes at that. You place it back between his lips, tightening your arms around his neck as you question, “Did you sleep well?”

“Slept just fine, darlin’,” he pauses, taking another puff, “You?”

“Like a baby,” you inhale the scent of his cologne, exhaling as you say, “Come upstairs. I made breakfast.”

“Oh?” he cocks an eyebrow, “You made breakfast?”

He’s already pulling you away from the truck, keeping an arm secured around your waist as his free hand shuts off the music from the speakers.

“Didn’t burn anythin’, did you?”

“I poisoned it.”

He could feel your body going to pull away, but a grunt has him tighten his arm around you, making you grin as you try to hide your amusement.

“Where’re you goin’?”

He spanks your ass, “What happened to breakfast, huh? Not gonna’ feed a growin’ man?”

“Be nice, Suguru,” you pout, “I’m sensitive.”

“You’re a brat is what you are,” he counters, clutching your chin.

When he sees the genuine frown on your lips, he dips his mouth down—his hair nearly brushed against the cheeks of your face as he murmurs, “I’m sorry.”

His grip then softens on your jaw, “Didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, doll,” he assures, “I promise.”

It was rare to get an apology out of him. Not like this, at least. You figured, maybe he really was in a good mood.

“‘S okay—I love you, bunny.”

You called him by a nickname that wasn’t his favorite, something you found yourself saying as he showed his sweet side. But of course, your tongue laps out for a kiss that might’ve overshadowed that.

A mixture of a groan and huff follows as one hand tangled into your dark tendrils, holding you still as he slotted his mouth against yours in return. He loved you right back.

Suguru then carried you up the stairs as he closed the door with his foot, attempting to persuade you into taking a shower with him before he ate breakfast. He promised kisses, and much more, but you were more into journaling to accept such an exciting offer. So, he promised to see you after.

You’d made him French toast sprinkled in sugar powder, scrambled eggs and bacon alongside a cup of coffee. When you hear the hefty thump of his returning steps, his long hair was now damp from washing it, grey tee snug on his muscular upper body, enhancing the ink on his ivory complexion—your left hand continuously scribbled off, full lips twisting a straw in between as you drank your morning matcha.

“You’re too good to me, you know that?”

You hear that grunt before you feel it, a soft hum sounding from your nose as you feel his arms wrap along your hips from behind. The scent of his cologne masks your senses as he buries his face within your neck, smelling the vanilla oil you dabbed along it.

“I’m still gon’ be good after I tell you there was no pancake batter?”

You lean into him, continuously writing cursive letters on paper, “You forgot to pick some up last night.”

“You forgot to remind me.”

His nose nuzzled into the space of your neck, inhaling the rice milk scented soap, a deep sense of satisfaction settling within his chest.

“What’re you writin’?” he murmured, attempting to peek at the open journal.

“You know my rule—no peeking,” You reach forward, tugging a newspaper behind yourself, “Go eat.”

“Yes ma’am,” he grumbles, pressing one final kiss to the side of your neck, before begrudgingly pulling away.

Suguru’s broad shoulders stretched against the fabric of his shirt, emphasizing the strength beneath—He wore it like a second skin, his physique evident through every stitch—The dark material hugged tight around his frame, matching sweatpants giving no modesty as you could easily find the weight ot his dick between his spread legs. The chair groaned under his body, his imposing presence making it seem almost miniature in comparison.

Even when he was eating, he was loud, taking huge bites out of the French toast, food crunching between his teeth before he washed it down with a swig of coffee. The newspaper you offered to him was already sprawled open, fingers flipping through the pages as he ate.

“Cat stuck in a tree?” You tease, taking another sip of your matcha, “What’s in the news today?”

“Funny,” he sarcastically drawls, completely engrossed in the section he reads, “Shooting,” he then mumbled, “Down by the Garden District. Three dead, one injured.”

He pauses, expression sobering.

“They were kids, Baby. Not even twenty yet.”

“Jesus,” you sigh, “By the Garden District? You sure?”

“I’m sure,” he confirms, “It was a drive-by, happened around two in the mornin’. Probably some college kids fuckin’ around.”

“How’s your parents’ market doing Uptown?” You question, your voice carrying more concern, “Any trouble around there?”

“Uptown’s fine,” he assures, his tone firm as he shakes his head, “They’re always busy. Nothin’ too bad happens in the gentrified areas, you know that.”

You have the urge to feel his touch at your anxiety—you’re walking over to where he sits, wrapping your arms along his shoulders from behind—your palm slides across his hair, “I’m not so sure—somewhere like the Garden District having crime? It’s gettin’ scary being here.”

The second you made contact, he was leaning back into your front, allowing you to run your fingers through his hair.

“It’s always been scary,” he points out.

Suguru’s free hand settles along your forearm, anchoring you close against his back. His thumb rubbed a soothing circle against your skin as he continued eating.

“That’s why we live in Lakeview—I got you, remember? You’re safe, stop worryin’.”

This seemed like a good transition into what you really wanted to bring up.

You peck the side of his face as you lean forward, right against his ear as you hum, “‘Wasn’t really worried about me.”

You give it a second of silence, “I spoke to my parents today.”

“You should talk to them. It’s First Sunday.”

Okay, here was the thing. Your parents lived about twenty minutes away from you—but it’s not like they knew that. You’d run away from a pious environment years ago like a thief in the night, going a long time without talking to your family. Despite the resentment you held, Suguru’s Japanese background made him an extremely prideful man—keeping a bond with your family was important regardless of the issues you had with them, he said.

Your voice draws a bit of irritation, “I’m shocked you’re pining for them, considering they don’t know you.”

“You chose to hide me from your family. Not the other way around.”

You frown, “I have my reasons, Suguru. You know that.”

“What’s the excuse? You haven’t even told them we’re about to get married, ‘cause what? The shit isn’t happening in some church with a pastor?”

Yup, there it was.

Growing up in a religious home the way you did was overbearing, overwhelming, and closed you off to the life you could’ve had as a young adult. It created a resentment of others not like you, with your parents, with God, and kept you entirely shelled up until your late twenties.

Eventually you found your way back to the Bible. Meeting Suguru wasn’t too long after, who was nothing like you—being an Asian man growing up in Louisiana, his parents were different from the traditional culture they provided back home. With that insouciant upbringing, your fiancé was in fact atheist, and had no belief of a man up above.

It caused a lot of disagreements between you two when it came to certain topics—but you were always understanding of each other in the end, and he always appreciated your prayer over him, no matter what he felt about it.

But this wasn’t about how you felt—your domineering parents were the concern when it came to you being married, and although you did a good job of keeping your life private—this time, you wanted them to be included. Their blessing, essentially.

But that didn’t come too easy when you had a man that didn’t think God was in between your relationship, or parents that seemed to think otherwise.

Your arms slide from his chest, “I’m gonna go finish writing in the room.”

“So you’re mad now?”

You’re nearly halfway down the hall as you hear him call, “You walkin’ away from me?”

That had you turn around, “Why are you tryna’ make me do this? You want me to be good with my parents, but you refuse to not bring up the fact that you’re atheist, knowing they’re gonna have a problem with that!”

“I don’t need your parents' approval. I wouldn’t give a fuck whether they accepted me or not,” he reminds you, “This marriage is between you and me—but I know how you feel about keepin’ this from them.”

You frown, “And that’s not what you’re seeming to understand, Getou. They’re not gonna accept this at all if they hear something like that.”

“So I’m Getou now?”

He was exhausted with this ongoing argument, the same one you’ve both had numerous times over. The subject was a delicate balancing act, teetering on the edge of the emotional. No matter how many times you tried to find a resolution, it always ended up in a heated discussion.

“You think I don’t know my own parents?”

“Baby—for so long, all you’ve ever wanted to do is mend shit with them.”

“It’s not just about me, Suguru!” you exclaim, cutting him off, “This affects us both—“

“I don’t need no blessing. I’d kill for you, die for you. None of that has changed since the day we met.”

Your jaw clenches at his words.

You sigh, “All I’m asking is that you not bring all that up to them, Suguru. Why do you have to be so prideful?”

“Prideful?”

His jaw was now clenching in return.

“The shit is called honesty—Somethin’ you’ve already failed to do by keeping this from them. Is it prideful to not want to change who I am? Me being atheist' isn't gonna be the first topic of conversation.”

“It’s prideful when you have to rub it in somebody’s face,” you cross your arms over your chest, “What would you get out of that argument?”

“You think I’m tryna’ go there intentionally startin’ an argument? That’s what you think?”

Your shoulders slouch, “I didn’t say that, Suguru.”

The way you soften your tone had him releasing the built up tension in his own jaw, hazel irises following your form. He huffs, standing from the chair to cross his arms over his chest as well.

“Let’s talk, baby. I’m not tryna’ argue,” his voice is just above a murmur—softer.

“I’m saying—“

You halt, your fingers fidgeting against your forearms. His eyebrow piercing shifts, sculpted face watching you, anticipating the rest of your sentence.

“My parents are strict. You know that. I’m trying to learn to forgive them and myself for the distance we have, and upsetting them isn’t gonna help the situation. I respect your morals, you know that. But they won’t. And the one thing I want is for them to love you just as much as I do.”

He couldn’t stay away from you any longer, taking a step closer.

“…They don’t gotta’ love me,” he finally murmurs, “You do. That’s all I need. I’m not tryna’ cause trouble between you and your parents, baby—I’d never do that. But I’m a grown ass man, and I’m not gonna’ put up a front for anybody.”

This wasn’t necessarily the answer you wanted—but one thing about your fiancé, he loved you more than the world, and he loved himself enough to be true to his word.

Your arms wrap around his hips, burying yourself within his chest as you exhale, “You’re warm.”

“Warm?” he repeats, a chuckle escaping him as his arms wrap tight around your shoulders, “You’re always cold.”

You give yourself a moment of silence, just being with him.

“They wanna meet you.”

“When?”

“…Tonight?”

Suguru’s body tenses.

“They said First Sunday would be a good time to bless our relationship, pray over new beginnings, stuff like that—I told them okay,” you rush by your own words, as if you didn’t know what his reaction would be.

And in return, your fiancé said—

“Shit.”

A couple of hours had gone by, and you were now sitting at the edge of the bed, watching Suguru swim through his articles of clothing as you tried to find something—presentable.

You shook your head, “Absolutely nothing short sleeved. You look like you’re in the Yakuza.”

He had been attempting to pull on a white tee, which you immediately tugged off his arms, tossing the material aside, “Next.”

“You sayin’ I don’t look presentable?”

“I’m saying I need you to look less like a bad boy,” you mutter, swimming your arms through his clothes on the floor—you stop, “How about a V—neck sweater, yeah? Does that say sweet boy?”

“I could still fuck you in a V—neck.”

You glare, “Are you trying to help? Or just be a smart ass?”

“Help.”

The best thing you could find was a long sleeve black tee, a sigh pulling at your lips as you question, “Got any slacks?”

“Did you forget everythin’ ‘bout me right at this moment? Slacks?”

“Suguru,” you whine, “Please just help me.”

The sound of your whine has him suck his teeth, pushing himself off the wall to begin rummaging through the clothing piled along the floor.

He crouched down to where the pants were, pulling out a pair of dark jeans as he tossed them on the bed, “That’s all I got, baby.”

The outfit you had to settle on was a long sleeve that unfortunately clung to his muscular build, equally dark jeans, boots and a belt along his waist.

Suguru stood below the ventilation in your bathroom as he lit a cigarette, leaning his head back as you attempted to brush his hair up into a more neat bun. When your eyes flicker to him in the mirror, the sight of smoke exhaling from his full lips, his Adam’s apple throbbing beneath the tattoos on his neck—you nearly facepalm yourself, murmuring, “This is hopeless.”

“Why are we even dressin’ nice? We’re sittin’ at the dinner table—or would you just be happier if I got naked?”

“I’m ignoring you,” you deadpan, “Just go sit on the bed while I get ready. Can you do that? And not make fun of me?”

“Gotta’ give me a kiss, bunny.”

He called you that in return when you were the opposite of sweet.

“And then you’ll leave me alone?”

“Promise.”

A palm comes to grab your chin, thumb gently grazing along your bottom lip as he plants his mouth against yours, “You’re cute.”

“I bet I’ll be adorable once I put you in a chokehold.”

The unfortunate issue was that you also didn’t have the best clothes to see your parents. So you settled for a black halter top secured by one shoulder, strings tying the material to your elongated waist similar to a corset, jeans molding your full hips, heels on your French tipped toes to pull the look together. You decided not to go heavy on the makeup today, your freckles sprucing heavily upon your nose—curls spiraling around your face, enhancing the natural flush of your caramel cheeks.

You did a spin within the mirror as you called out, “Baby? You like it?”

His eyes were already locked onto you the second you emerged from the bathroom, scanning over your curves clad in the form fitting material. A slight nod of his head comes in response, hands buried deep within his pockets, “You look good, pretty girl."

“Aww—you’re so sweet today,” you pout, hearing his grunt as you plop down onto his lap.

You hold his cheeks within your palms, “Today’s gonna be a good day, right?”

“Best day of my life.”

“Mhmm—And you’ll be good today?” You kneel your forehead against his, “‘Cause you love me?”

“You know I’m always good,” he murmured against your lips, a smirk at his mouth, “You doubtin’ me?”

“Maybe a little.”

“Yeah, okay.”

The Garden District was one of the most picturesque areas in all of New Orleans, situated in the heart of the city. Known for its nineteenth century architecture, the neighborhood is filled with the smell of freshly cut flowers and the sight of grand gardens—hence the name. The houses were known for being beautiful, almost like works of art themselves.

Your fiancè leaned back against the seat of his black Subaru, twisting the wheel effortlessly as his GPS took him in the direction of a gated house—no, a mansion.

“Damn,” Suguru murmurs, eyes peering up as he pulls in the circular driveway of the home, the outside of the house looking like something out of a movie. The mansion was made of bricks and granite, surrounded by massive oak trees sitting on a perfectly manicured lawn.

You sigh to yourself, “The fortunes of being a well known pastor.”

“You sure he ain’t a drug lord and just ‘kept it from you?”

“Suguru.”

“Damn, tough crowd.”

An older woman wearing a lemon patterned dress exits the house, hands clapping together when she sees the two of you stepping out the car.

“You made it!”

The woman’s voice was laced with a distinct creole accent.

You shriek, wrapping your arms around the neck of your family’s housekeeper—Hazel, who’d been in the house as long as you’d been born.

“I’ve missed you,” you sigh, squeezing her tighter, “And your delicious cooking.”

“I’ve missed you too, baby,” she returns the hug with a laugh, clucking as her hands rest against your shoulders, “Have you been treating yourself? You look wonderful,” she playfully taps the fullness of your hips, laughing once more.

The elder woman’s gaze shifted to your fiancé, dark brown eyes trailing over his built figure, “And you’re the young man who’s stolen my sweet babydoll away, ain’t you?”

Despite being a towering figure looming over the smaller women, a boyish grin spread along his face, gauges within his ears swinging as he extended a large palm for her to take, “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

Hazel nearly yanks him down as she takes his face within her palms, squeezing his cheeks, “Mwen pa t 'konnen ou te renmen gason Japonè—“

“Pa gen kreyòl devan lòt moun ki pa ka konprann li,” your face flushes as you rush through the creole dropping from your own lips, “Please, Hazel.”

She clicks her tongue, crossing her arms over her chest, “You’re big, huh?”

“Guilty,” he answers, a slight smirk upon his face, “Always makin’ sure to eat all the food your babydoll cooks.”

She merely huffed at the smugness of his tone, “Cocky, too.”

You roll your eyes, “How are you doing, Hazel?”

“I’m exhausted, honey girl, but I can’t complain, y’know?”

She sighs nonetheless, walking back towards the front door, “C’mon—let’s get you inside. Your parents are dyin’ to see you!”

A nervous knot formed within your stomach as you followed close behind Hazel, Suguru’s footsteps heavy as he walked beside you. You hadn’t seen your parents in years.

They could be the same.

But they could be completely different—

No.

You had to remain optimistic.

Your palm felt shaky beneath your fiancés, eyes peering at the golden trimmed ceiling—you felt a small tug as he pulled you closer to him, “You good?”

“Yeah,” your voice is soft, pressing your palm into his chest, “Just a little nervous.”

The inside was something out of an interior design magazine; white painted walls to offset the various floral rugs spread along the hardwood floors, framed family photos, and a tabletop filled with fresh cut roses.

“You got nothin’ to worry about, babydoll. Just breathe, a’right?”

“You’ll love me? Even if this is the worst experience ever?” You question, your finger rubbing at the gauge of his ear, pushing the tendrils of fallen hair from his jaw.

“You think you got’ enough reasons for me not to?”

You sigh, giving a weak laugh.

“You’re a dork.”

“Ma chérie?”

That name—one you were called all the time as a child.

Your eyes flick over, and that’s when you see them—your parents.

Your father stands over six feet—a height you hadn’t adorned, soft brown waves dusted with strands of silver and a well kept beard, a slight paunch to his stomach. He’s dressed in casual beige slacks and a button up, a Rolex watch along his wrist.

Your mother is inches shorter in height, wearing a floral patterned dress under a cardigan. She’s adorned with a tennis bracelet and pearl earrings, bob curled perfectly above her shoulders.

Your mother, ever the sunshine, gives you a warm smile as she steps forward, “Baby—look at you,” she croons, cupping your cheek within her hand, “You’re as lovely as ever.”

“Momma.”

You don’t know why you feel tears within your eyes, but you instantly bury yourself into the brace of your mother, your body shaking as you tremble, “Hi.”

Your mother’s arms wrapped around you tightly, hushing a soothing noise to calm your tears, "Shhh—mon chou, you’re okay.”

“I’ve missed you so much,” you murmur to her, “I love you so much.”

She presses her hands against the sides of your face, her thumb swiping away the tears that streamed down your freckled cheeks, “I love you too, cheri,” she gives you a reassuring smile, “It’s been too long—“

“S’bout time you come home.”

You stiffen. Your eyes slowly pull away from your mother, finding your father’s displeased ones.

Your mother takes your hand in hers, “Ignore him—how about you introduce me to this handsome man of yours?”

You briefly swipe the tears from your face—Your free hand takes hold of Suguru’s, “Momma, this is my fiancé—Suguru Getou.”

“Your what?”

A loud swallow came from your throat as you gulped, “Yeah, we’re getting married in September—how about we talk about this at the dinner table, yeah?”

Your father’s mouth opened to speak, but was shut off by your mother’s hand covering his palm—she gave you a slight nod, lips pressed together in a tight smile.

“Right,” she manages, “Dinner.”

Here was the thing. Suguru was a man that didn’t say too much—he just observed—like now. Your father hadn’t acknowledged him, greeted him, even asked for a handshake. Suguru could tell that he was a man full of pride, and having his daughter come in with news as big as marriage? Probably wasn’t off to a good impression. But that didn’t irritate Suguru any less.

Your mother and father sat next to one another as you and Suguru sat across the dining table—It began awkwardly, nothing but the noise of silverware scraping against the plates as Caesar salad was the appetizer.

You couldn’t bear to have this entire dinner be silent and uncomfortable.

So you push, “What’s Hazel cooking tonight?”

“Gumbo.”

That was the only word that came from your father, and you found no interest in trying to add anything else. Though, you could feel the agitation rolling off of your fiancé without having to look.

“Your father helped Hazel in the kitchen a bit,” your mother smiles, attempting to keep the conversation going by any means necessary—she was trying.

Hazel thankfully waltzed into the room, the rich scent of gumbo wafting in the air with its warm aroma—A smile adorned her lips as she approached the table, beginning to fill each bowl with the soup.

“Mmm,” Hazel lets out a hum of contentment, “That smells good, doesn’t it?”

Your mother couldn’t help but agree, “It does, Hazel.”

She then adds on, “Your father did a sermon in Houston not too long ago, babydoll.”

You raise your eyebrows, “Really? How was that?”

“Fine,” is the word you received from your father.

Fine.

“Just fine?”

You see your mother make a face—one that you usually gave your fiancé at times, almost like a warning.

“It went well,” he then murmured, picking up the glass of his wine to take a sip, “It was for a big family’s church. They’re a generous group.”

“Right,” you hum softly—at this point, you’re not even sure what to say. So you end up circling back to the first topic of conversation, “Suguru is really good at making Gumbo too, Dad. His parents own a Market in Uptown—right, baby?”

The moment you mention Suguru, your father’s eyes flick over to his form, observing him from head to toe.

Nothing.

Somehow, your fiancè seemed relaxed. His expression was calm, a forced grin upon his face as he nodded, “I’m pretty good in the kitchen, yeah.”

“Sounds like you’re feeding my ma chérie well,” your mother smiles, “Is she feeding you the same?”

He nods once more, hand tightening on your thigh for a short moment, “More than well, ma’am. She’s real good to me—probably tryna’ fatten me up.”

You giggle, lightly swatting his chest in return. You say, “I’m not—“

“So you work in a market?”

The attention is pulled away between you and your fiancé, hearing the question come from your father.

You answer, “Um—no, Daddy—Suguru is actually a mechanic.”

“Mechanic?”

There was something within your father’s tone that sounded almost disgusted. Your back straightens at hearing it.

“Yes, sir. My parents own a market up town—not that anythin’ would be wrong with me workin’ under their business—“ he looks directly to your father, “I own an auto shop. ‘Specialize in Japanese imports to Louisiana.”

“I see.”

Your mother, however, seemed more pleased, “My—You have a business? That’s wonderful—my husband still doesn’t know his way around cars too much, it’s good we now have a mechanic in the family, huh?”

“Family?”

Your father’s brows furrowed.

“This one here”—he refers to you— “Hasn’t mentioned anything that sounds like a wedding date, so I’d be careful throwin’ the term ‘family’ around.”

Your father’s words left a silence hanging over the entire room. You felt the grip of Suguru’s hand on your thigh, fingers digging into the flesh as if to calm down his irritation.

“September 22nd, actually.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, “We’re tryna’ find a venue in Kyoto.”

“As in Japan, Kyoto?” your mother repeats.

“Yeah,” you smile, “I’ve always wanted to go there, and—Suguru figured it’d be the perfect opportunity to bring our family’s together,” you nod, slipping your fingers between his own, squeezing for comfort.

Here comes the main topic of discussion. Your father asks—

“Have you found a church?”

Your lips pressed together.

Your voice is soft, “No, Daddy. We um—we decided not to do it within a church.”

Both of your parents’ eyebrows shot up in surprise at your statement—But it was your mother that voiced the question, “You’re not?”

The air around the table was growing tenser by the second.

“I want somewhere outside—a pretty, full garden.”

“There are plenty of church venues with gardens in their backyard, cheri. Have you not liked any of the ones you looked at?”

“There’ve been many,” you murmur softly, “But—“

“I’m not a religious man, sir.”

Your eyes pop from their sockets.

Your mother nearly choked on her food, your father’s frown heavy over your fiancé— a slight pause of silence hangs in the air before speaking, “You’re not a Christian?”

“No, sir.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve never been able to get behind it,” he replied simply, “Never clicked with me.”

“You believe religion is a lie?”

“Dad—“

“Not necessarily a lie,” Suguru replied easily, “‘Just ain’t a factor in my own personal beliefs.”

“Suguru—“

“Let him speak.”

The sharpness in your father’s tone had you immediately snapping your mouth shut, shoulders visibly tensing—this wasn’t going how you wanted it to.

Your father’s jaw clenched as he took in Suguru’s words, “You’re aware you’re marryin’ into a religious family, right?”

“Absolutely. And I love your daughter more than anythin’ in this world, but that doesn’t mean I have to agree with her beliefs, just like she doesn’t have to agree with mine.”

“So you think my daughter is going to change her beliefs just to please you?”

Suguru’s eyes narrowed, “I didn’t say nothin’ like that.”

“Sure sounds like that’s what you’re implying,” Your father hissed, “Converting others isn’t too far after abandoning a religion.”

Your mother tries to step in, “Honey—“

“Your daughter’s an intelligent woman, sir. Nothin’ is gonna’ change my relationship with her—including religion, or lack thereof.”

“And that’s where your problem lies, Suguru. You don’t think religion is relevant, even though it’s the cornerstone that humans built upon—you don’t think it’s a factor in what drives us as people? How do you think you got that shop of yours? How your parents' market is still in business? How any of your successes come into your life? God did that.”

You see the way Suguru’s jaw clenches, “I don’t need religion to keep me goin’. I got your daughter, my family, myself. The same strength I always had—It has nothin’ to do with some metaphorical bullshit up in the clouds.”

A fist slams down against the table.

Your father’s palm nearly made the dishes jump, “You don’t speak about God that way in this house!”

Hearing Hazel push through the swinging door of the kitchen from the commotion, your mother places her hand upon her husband's chest, “You both need to calm down!”

“I need to calm down?” Your father hissed, “This is your daughters doing!”

“I didn’t come here to make you upset,” you try to intervene, “I just wanted you to accept—“

“You thought this was the way you’d get my blessing? Disappearing for years, coming back with a man that spits in the face of my morals? Disrespecting me?”

You frown, “I never disrespected you, Dad.”

Your father’s eyes were nearly bulging.

“You chose him over God.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, stifling. Hearing him say exactly how he felt was painful, and it nearly clasped your emotions by the throat.

Your head slowly shook from side to side, voice shaky, “I didn’t choose anyone over God— nothing is wrong with him being different from me!”

“He’s supposed to be on your level,” your father snaps, eyes flashing with anger, “You’ve chosen a future with this man—With this—low life!”

“Daddy!—“

“I ain’t no fuckin’ low life,” Suguru snarls, “You don’t know shit about me. You don’t even know your own goddamn daughter.”

“Don’t you dare lecture me about my own daughter!”

The chair legs shriek against the floorboards as the men both stood from the table—your father stood at his full height, but he was nowhere near as physically imposing as Suguru.

You were in absolute shock—your palms tug at Suguru’s arm, pleading for him to calm down, your mothers creole echoing across the room as she tries to calm her own husband, “Sispann sa! Ou pa ta dwe goumen ak pitit fi ou yo—“

“You did this.”

Your father looks directly at you.

A mixture of absolute disappointment and betrayal was carved all over your father’s face as he spoke, the words hitting you like a truck, “You chose this.”

The silence felt like an eternity—Your face remained blank, completely frozen in shock as the words registered within your brain.

“Dad—“

“Mon chou,” your mom interrupted, “Please.”

Your mouth clasps shut. This was all your fault, it had to be. All the years you could’ve opened yourself to them, all the apologies that could’ve come before. They were hurt.

The kitchen door swung as your father exited through there, leaving the three of you standing in place.

Suguru frowns, “I wanna apologize—“

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, Suguru.”

Your mother’s voice was soft, hand placed within a gentle hold at your shoulder, trying to sooth you as much as she was capable of, “I wanted to calm the situation down before it got worse. It’s just—different. It’s very different.”

She could feel you nearly trembling under her hand. Another beat of silence, she then asks, “Do you smoke, chou?” she questions your fiancé.

You could feel the anger burning off him. But out of respect, he gives your mother a nod, low voice responding, “Yes ma’am.”

“How about you get comfortable in cheri’s old bedroom, hm? I can’t allow you to drive home after an upsetting situation—there’s a terrace for you to smoke, Suguru.”

Your voice is tired, “Momma, I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking,” she smiles, “You’re too old to believe anything should come from you asking me to do so.”

Her fingers brush at your hair, pushing it back from your face—she could see the frown in your eyebrows, rubbing your cheeks as she hums, “Pa gen devan, lanmou mwen.”

She then turns back to Suguru, “How about you get a head start? Hazel will show you up, provide towels if you’d like to prep for bed—I’d like to speak to my daughter, alone.”

Even if the request was phrased as a soft command, there was no room for refusal, and he knew that. He merely nodded, glancing towards you one last time—the grip he had on your hand was tighter as he looked over your face. Then, he let go. It felt cold without him.

Once being left in the dining room by yourselves, your mother sits in a chair beside the table—she pats the one beside her, “Come sit, chou.”

The moment you sit next to her, she presses her palms against the floral of her dress. She hums to you, “Do you remember the story of Joseph and the Colorful Coat?”

“I don’t know if I’m in the mood to hear a sermon, momma.”

An airy laugh comes from your mother, “You’re not getting a sermon, I’m simply reminding you.”

She leans back in her seat, a reminiscing look coming to her expression as she spoke, “Joseph is one of the most important figures out of the Bible. Do you remember why?”

You shake your head, “Not really.”

Your mother sighs, fingers curling gently around the hem of her dress, “Joseph was favored by his father. This favoritism, however, was hated by his brothers—and out of anger, they sold him as a slave. He was taken to Egypt, where he was then raised up as a servant, and grew into a man of success and power—even while being under the control of someone else, his life had a purpose.”

Your brows furrow a bit, taking in her words.

“I don’t really know where you’re tryna’ take this story, Momma.”

Your mother smiles once more, tilting her head so that her face rests against her palm, “Patience, babydoll.”

She exhales, “One day, he reunites with his brothers. Even after they did him wrong—he forgave them—but he didn’t just forgive them. He helped them.”

Her next words were delivered with soft intonation.

“He was able to turn a hardship into something so beautiful.”

Her hand rested on your own, “You’re just like Joseph, mon cheri.”

“Momma…”

“You’re not perfect,” she admits softly, “And neither am I, neither is your father—None of us are. Everyone in this world has a story— with those flaws being reminded, you have to forgive those who hurt you in order to move forward.”

You didn’t realize your vision had blurred—all of the pain you felt over the years, the strain of your parents—you had to remember that they also hurt from the distance you’d put between them.

You wrap your arms around your mother’s neck, your tears burying within her shoulder. You cry, “I’m so sorry, Momma. I just—“ you sniffle, “I just didn’t know how to come back. I wanted to live for me, and Dad wouldn’t—“

“I know, baby—“ she held you, gently rocking you side to side beneath her chin, “But your father loves you, and he’s sorry too. He’s just—a dummy, as you kids say.”

That makes you giggle through your tears, hugging her tighter than before.

She then says, “You’re marrying a man just as stubborn as him, you know.”

You keep your cheek within her shoulder, swiping your tears as you murmur, “I’m sorry about dinner tonight.”

“Don’t apologize,” she insists softly, voice tender and filled with reassurance, “You did nothing wrong, and neither did Suguru.”

“You don’t think he did?”

“Suguru spoke the truth, and—he’s right. You shouldn’t be forced to live your life the way your father would want you to. And as much as he loves you, he will come to his senses.”

“You think so?”

She taps your chin, “Look—it’s late, baby. Go on upstairs. You have time to talk to your father tomorrow. And once that settles over, we can start planning a wedding.”

You wipe the tears from your face, “You’re already planning a wedding and my father can’t stand him.”

She presses her palm over your hand, the other wiping gently at your tears, “And I’ll make sure it’s the most beautiful, gorgeous—the most magnificent wedding Kyoto will ever see.”

You smiled.

“I love you, Momma.”

She smiles in return, pressing a kiss on the crown of your head, “I love you more, babydoll.”

Closing the door to your old bedroom, you leaned your back against the wooden surface, letting out the breath of air you had been holding. You stared at the deep blue walls of the room, the furniture made of white, duvet covers and frills—The angel statuettes and artwork hung all across the ceiling like heavens within the sky.

You pushed yourself off the door, stepping towards the glass sliding door that led out to the terrace, finding your fiancé standing just in view—Your hand rests at the white sheer curtain, parting it slightly with the pads of your fingers as you looked out—Suguru had his back leaned against the ledge of the patio, cigarette raised to his lips as he smoked.

As he stood facing away from you, you could see the muscular outline of his body in the shadows cast upon him—every contour on display beneath his top. His hair was a beautiful mess. Some strands fell from the bun he had it in, falling over his face and along the nape of his neck.

“Needin’ a little company?”

His head turned towards the glass door, spotting you standing beneath the sheer curtains—the first thing he can discern is your eyes. His expression visibly softened, pierced eyebrow furrowing with concern.

He eyed you, “You were cryin’ again.”

A beat of silence.

You nod gently, “Yeah.”

Suguru’s silent for a long moment. He comes forward, eyes fixed on yours as he pulls you by your waist, “Talk to me.”

It’s another long stretch of silence before you break it.

“My father…” you trail off, trying to put your words together, “He can be stubborn.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

You nod along as well, taking in the silence of the night—the crickets that sounded around, the soft wind that brushed against you.

You feel his grip on your waist tighten as he asks, “You all right, though?”

He then sighs, “Baby, I wanna apologize for how I acted earlier—“

“You don’t have anything to apologize for. I wanted my father to meet you—to give us his blessing, not for him to start an argument with you.”

Your fiancé’s thumb rubbed gently at the curve of your hip, his brows furrowing just a bit, “It’s not my place to get into it with your father, but he was sayin’ shit to—“

His chest rose and fell, taking another inhale off the cigarette—he then exhaled out into the air, the smoke disappearing with the wind, “It just didn’t sit right with me.”

You rub your fingers against his bicep, trailing it up to the ink of his neck—you sigh, “I know that. I’m not mad at you, Getou.”

“I’m supposed to be apologizin’. You’re not supposed to be consolin’ me.”

Your fingers reached for the back of his neck to scratch gently at his hairline, “So stop apologizing.”

You reach to grab the cigarette from his fingers—taking a drag of the smoke, the burn tickles your throat, nearly satisfying.

Suguru then murmured, “You seem to get that soft shit from your momma, bunny.”

A small smile played at the corner of your lips, “You’d be the first to say so.”

The taste of nicotine stuck to your tongue as you ran your thumb along the back of his neck, his eyes slowly shutting as your fingers moved in small circles.

He then asked, “You feel better now?”

“Mhm,” you murmur, “I wanna go cuddle.”

He chuckles lowly—deep and rough—just how you liked it, “You’re spoiled.”

A grin pulled at his lips when you nod in response, your smaller body leaning into his. He reached to pinch the base of the cigarette, pressing it to his lips for one last inhale before tossing the remnants away.

"C’mon.”

The moment you made contact with the soft comforter of your bed, your upper body leaned against the frame—your journal was sprawled against your thighs as you had your knees close to your chest, Suguru’s arm wrapped behind you in a way that kept you close as his face laid within your shoulder—your smaller form almost seemed to sink into his.

“You ever gonna’ tell me what you’re writin’ in there?”

You smile, glancing to the nightstand before you answer—an angel structured night light gleams the darkness of the room, stars glowing atop of the ceiling.

“You really wanna know?”

His chin rested upon your shoulder, nose buried within the skin of your neck, breathing you in—He nods, “Yeah.”

One of his hands rested atop your thigh as he spoke, palm rubbing along the skin in slow motions. The oversized shirt you wear smells of him.

You hum, “Unicorns, rainbows, babies. All the things I want in this lifetime.”

There's a grin pulling at his expression, “A baby, huh?”

You look back at him, nodding, “A boy, Keiji,” you scribble down within your journal, “‘Means peaceful.”

Suguru’s lips brushed against the sensitive skin of your neck, nose just right over your pulse point, “You put thought into all of this.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, your answer a whispered, “M’always daydreaming.”

“I know.”

You pull your journal a bit closer to your chest, continuing to write your thoughts of the entire day. As you do so—you’re noticing something. Your fiancés fingers are circling at the top of your knee—but that’s when he slowly takes your thigh closest to him, raising it atop of his body in a way that has your legs spread open.

At first, you were too absorbed within your journal—but the moment his fingers draw closer on your inner thigh, his body looming above yours, your grip on the pen falters. Your face flushes, dropping your journal as you reach for his hair.

You giggle shyly, “Suguru.”

A low chuckle spouted from his lips —He leans down to nudge the tip of his nose against yours, “‘Thought you were writin’?”

He grunts the words to you.

His aura, his size—the giggles from your lips die down the moment his forehead pressed against yours, glaring down.

Suguru drops his lips onto your mouth, sucking them in between his before snatching them back, a popping flesh sound coming in return.

At the same moment, he spreads your legs just a bit more. His palm grazes up your leg, down to your thigh, following the sway of your hips as you gently squirm—then, his fingers make contact with your clit. They don’t move. They just—stay there.

Your fingers are the current comb in his ocean of hair. The moment you feel him below, you graze his scalp, a small pout forming at your lips.

“Whatchu’ poutin’ for?”

His fingers stay pressed between your legs, unmoving. His nose brushed against yours, lips still a few centimeters close to your own.

You could never hide your emotions from him—nor how sensitive you were.

And then, he’s rubbing—it’s slow, but it’s so intense. Your eyes shut as you weakly gasp into his mouth, thighs trembling in response.

He can feel the way your legs begin to respond, your grip on the back of his neck only gets tighter—He groaned out huskily, “Look at you.”

His tongue licked at one of your parted, panting lips.

Your teeth sunk into the flesh of your mouth—hard. But it fails to muffle the little mewl of his name that comes from your lips, all four of his fingers just rubbing.

“‘Bunny’s just too sensitive, huh?”

His voice sounds like a deep grumble to your ears.

Your lips part, another soft, breathless plea of his name comes from your mouth. He can feel how heated you are from below, how drenched you’re getting from just the simple touch of his fingers.

“Yeah—Yeah, you’re right there, ain’t you?”

Your head just nods so feverishly, your hand pulling him closer at the back of his neck.

His voice is rough, “Just listenin’ to your pussy, baby. She’s so loud.”

And it was—you could hear how wet you were, feeling the secretion beginning to build on your inner thighs. You pout even more, your mouth trembling—you say so softly, “Ohmygodbaby.”

“She fuckin’ missed me.”

The moment he said that, your breath left your lungs in a heavy, husky moan, a low slur of, “Suguru,” coming from your trembling lips.

His middle and ring finger suddenly sink in so slowly—Suguru lets out a moan, feeling as you tighten around his knuckles. Your mouth drops against his, cheek burying into his shoulder as you pout, “Ughn,” whining into the comforter to mask your reaction.

“Makin’ a fuckin’ mess already,” he mutters against your neck, sucking just beneath your jaw—His fingers curl inwards—Suguru grumbles a little moan, “You gotta’ open up more, baby. Gonna’ hurt when I go in.”

You whimpered, feeling his fingers sliding in and out of you, that all you could do was hold onto his hair.

You felt like you looked pathetic. His lips brush against yours and you try to capture them, mewling, “Suguruu.”

“You’re so fuckin’ whiny,” he grunts—“Agh,” you moan against his mouth, and he swallows it with a moan of his own, his fingers sinking even deeper.

“Look at you, baby. Look.”

The hand cradled behind you finds its way into your hair—it’s yanking your head up to peer down—you see his fingers going in and out, dropping deeper each time. You frown up to his face, pleasure so within your eyes as you squeal, “You’re so deep, baby.”

His fingers hit right at that little spot that made your back arch, “There we fuckin’ go.”

“Fuck, baby—“

“”Can’t wait ‘til I’m inside, bunny.”

You whimper, “I need you now, baby. Please.”

“There you’ go with that beggin’ shit.”

His fingers slide against your folds, slapping against your pussy—your thighs tremble, “C’mon, Suguru.”

When he gets you to a place of begging, it never stops. You take his large palm, clutching it around your throat as you lay on your side—your back presses to his chest, your palm now reaching down to spread your folds from behind as you whimper, “Please, ‘guru. Please.”

A growl comes from behind you, his jaw buried within your shoulder as his face pushes to the side of your head, pressing his mouth to your ear, “Keep sayin’ that shit. Keep sayin’ you want it.”

“Please,” you were so pouty, “I want it.”

His palm left your neck for a second, his hand coming down to grip onto the curve of your leg, lifting your thigh to adjust himself behind you, rubbing the fat tip of his dick against your folds, “How deep?”

“So deep.”

“Goddamn. I’m finna’ give you this shit.”

His tip sinks in just a little, spreading you apart in a discomforting pinch. And then—

Deep.

A grunt is ripped out of his mouth, his fingers digging into your thigh, finding their way back to your throat, “Fuckin’ hell, girl.”

The way you grip around his dick would’ve left another man falling apart, but—Suguru—he just kept going, his hand spreading your thigh further.

It hurt—but you loved it. This was the hurt you wanted. The pleasure is so violent that it courses your entire body, voice so whiny as you rock your hips back, “Yeah, baby. Uh—huhhh.”

Your little mewl only causes his fingers to tighten around that neck of yours—he’s tugging and yanking you back onto his dick, “Shit,” he groans out huskily, “Feels tighter every time I’m in you.”

He sounds drunk, so lost in the wet, warm feeling. You grip onto his fingers at your neck, nails sinking into his hand, “Itssobigbaby. So big.”

“Yeah?” he’s stroking into you, “This all you’ been wantin’?”

You are in fact so whiny, “Uh-huh,” your fingers grasp at his hand, “Yes.”

“Bounce back on it,” he grunts, “Move on me.”

You’d do anything he’d ask of you.

Your ass claps on his pelvis, bouncing back against his abdomen. His forehead knocks into the curls of your hair from behind, his palm tight on your throat, “Uhfuck,” he moans to you, “Just like that. Keep doin’ that.”

He’s letting you set the pace, “Goddamn,” His fingers twitch around your neck, “You’re so fuckin’ good.”

His moans against your ear are so much louder every time he sinks into you, balls drenched in your folds in such a nasty way, “—I feel you clampin’ so hard, girl. I can feel you all around me.”

“I’m so full.”

Between those words, you could barely catch your breath in a repetition of, “You’re so big.”

“You’re so small, girl,” he’s moaning into your ear, “I’m fillin’ you up.”

But something in him feels—hungry—like he’d lost his appetite hours before and found it in this moment. It’s like the blink of an eye, and his long, dark hair spills across your stomach—his mouth is now between your legs.

Your fingers are in his hair, pulling against him. His tongue is warm, sliding up and down your folds, wagging along your clit that saliva parts lines from the sides of his lips.

His name comes from your mouth in moan, and he only moans back, feeling the way your legs are clamping around his face, his hands pressing your thighs to keep you from moving away, “Pussy so pretty in my mouth—keep movin’ for me.”

His mouth was so good, he moans on your clit, able to taste all of your arousal—he groans into your core, “Uuunnhhh,” he moans into you, “I could eat you forever, baby.”

His hands are clamping down at your thighs, keeping you spread wide open, you could hear how sloppy his tongue was getting, “So fuckin’ wet for me, huh?” he asked, “All for me.”

He’s evil—the way his hair falls around his clenched jaw, eyebrow piercing glowing beneath the light—His pink tongue spreads out to show you the cream on it, straight teeth white as he grins above your pussy, “You see that? How you’re creamin’?”

He’s licking it up like it’s a treat, “You taste so good,” He moaned into you, “Can’t get enough of you.”

The feeling was mutual—you couldn’t get enough of him, either. You find yourself tugging him up, pulling his mouth into a kiss that wraps your tongue around his, his large body looming above yours—his hair shadows the both of you into a deeper kiss, tongues sinking in and out of each other's mouths.

His tongue laps your own, “You want me this fuckin’ bad?”

You don’t necessarily answer—but instead, flip yourself to where his back is against the bed—your tongue glides up the flesh of his abs, slender eyes coaxing his vision deeper into yours.

“Where you’ think you’re goin’?”

But he didn’t have to ask again—now, your mouth was on his tip.

Suguru groans—Your tongue laid flat, slowly lapping at the base of his length—his fingers sink into your hair as his head hits the headboard, “Shit, baby.”

Your fingers grip the base of his dick, stroking him up and down as your mouth works the head—he’s so big, he stretches your mouth wide, but you love it. You’re drooling spit onto his tip, the sexiest smile on your face as saliva coats your full lips—your freckled face is flushed, curls sprawling around your head so prettily—you whimper to him, “I miss you inside me, baby.”

He grips your hair, fisting your tresses as he tugs you back upward, “You wanna’ be on top that bad, huh?” His fingers grip the flesh of your waist, “Come fuck me.”

“That’s how you want it?” you slide your fingers against your swollen nipples, “Tell me.”

You keep your weight on him with one hand at his shoulder, the other gripping his tip as you slid it on your dripping folds.

“You’re too big.”

“Quit playing,” He moaned into your throat, “You’re tryna’ get me to beg.”

You grip the clench of his jaw—your palm connects with his face, the grunt he gives in return making you giggle—you whimper at the smack he gives your ass, “I know you’ll beg.”

“You’re a brat.”

His hips grind along yours, and you repeat, “Lemme’ hear you beg, pretty boy.”

Your hands find grip within the mess of his hair, yanking against the tresses. His jaw clenches, “Mmnnngh,” he moaned as you slapped his tip against your folds, “Fuck.”

His voice is low in your ear, his grip tight and hard on your waist, “I want you so bad.”

His tip is back to sinking in, curls hanging above his face as you whimper, “You want me this bad, baby?”

“I need you, fuck.”

Your fingers rake through Suguru’s hair—He’s so deep, he’s spreading you open—you moan, “I’m so wet—just stay here,” you beg him not to move, smacking your lips against his for a moment.

“So good,” he’s panting to you, kissing you back, “You’re just so good.”

His hand slides down your back, finding the curve of your ass to hold. His other hand clenched around your thigh, beginning to lift you up, “Look at that, baby.”

Your thighs are clapping onto his, bouncing. Your mouth falls open at the feeling of him, your back curving forward, “Fuck.”

You whine to him, “I love bouncin’ on your dick, baby.”

“Yeah?” He’s grunting, “You take it so fuckin’ good. You must love that shit.”

Your curls are in your face—your eyes peer back to watch your ass jiggle and bounce with the rhythm of your tits —that you mewl, your head falling back as you groan, squeezing your arms tighter around his neck.

“There you go.”

He’s watching you with dark, glazed eyes, fingers coming up to your lips to wipe away the spit around your mouth, dragging it across your nipples, “Don’t you fuckin’ stop.”

It happens before you realize—you’re squirting on him, your eyes watering all at the same time, rolling, face pouty as you grind on him, feeling the rupture of your body’s release.

You’re drenching his tip—You’re so over sensitive, he’s just grunting and moaning, like something out of a dream, “Goddamn, your shit is leakin’, baby,” he thrusts, “Let it all out.”

”I made a mess on you,” you’re sobbing, your body trembling in his arms as your sensitive clit aches. Suguru’s hand comes around and lands a smack that echoes off your ass. You moan as he snarls, “You’ made a fuckin’ mess, girl. You and that pretty little pussy.”

“Cum with me, pretty boy,” you whimper, “Cum in me.”

That name, it makes Suguru huff in return—but the sound is weakened by a whimper he does, “You’re so fuckin’ wet.”

His fingers grip the back of your neck as his body tensed beneath yours, “I’m gonna’… fuck…” He whined, burying his face against your shoulder, rocking you through the cum warming your insides, you’re panting in each other's mouths, moaning, so full of passion you’d never have for anyone else. He was yours, and you were his.

There’s silence for a moment in your shared bliss—your foreheads rest against each others, fingers brushing through hair, your chests rising and falling with heavy breaths.

Both of you laugh softly, feeling eased and content. He looks up to you, pressing a kiss to your chin, "You alright?”

“Yeah. I’m…”

You’re unsure—maybe it’s the moment—maybe it’s the fact that you were already crying. But more tears begin to fall from your face, your hands flying onto your flushed cheeks—you’re sobbing once more.

His face twists in panic, hands immediately coming to wipe at your tears, “Woah, baby, you’re good. Why you’ cryin’?”

He’s so gentle, sitting up straighter, keeping you close on his lap as you cling onto him.

“You’re okay,” he repeats, “Was it me? Did I do somethin’—“

“No,” you sniffle, “I just—I’m so sorry for keeping you from my family this long. I love you so much, Suguru. I wanna marry you a thousand times,” you whimper to him, “I wanna have your little babies and everything.”

When you press your face into his chest and cry harder, your fiancé can’t help but chuckle at your emotions—he cradles your head to his body, “You make a good case. But I’m not mad at you, baby.”

He lowers his neck, peeping your eyes through your covered face—he murmurs, “You gonna’ let me in?”

You sniffle, lowering your fingers from your face.

After a second of comfortable silence—just the sound of your breathing and Suguru’s soft laughter, he pressed a kiss to your shoulder, “You had to connect with your family before I came in, and now we got’ all the time in the world to make shit right. I can’t wait to see you all pregnant, and married—I’m gonna give you a whole damn clan, girl.”

Your arms wrap around his neck so tight that you feel a grunt, squeezing as you repeat, “I love you so much, Suguru.”

“I love you so much more, pretty girl.”

“More than automobiles?”

“More than a damn car lot.”

Of course, you giggled.

When your eyes open again, a ray of sunlight peaks through the slit of white curtains, dancing across the bedsheets to greet your body the next morning. As your vision adjusts, an arm shifts around your waist—the ink on the strong, defined muscle holds a grip, fingers digging just slightly into your flesh.

Your heart was so warm, that it nearly had forgotten about the day before. But you were quickly reminded seconds later, as a soft knock came to the door of your old bedroom.

You frowned.

Slowly, your body turns towards your fiancé, mouth raising over his ear as you murmur, “I’ll be back, okay?”

He stirs just slightly, his thick fingers reaching to clutch onto your side when you move—his eyes cracked open, “Don’t forget ‘bout me.”

You smiled softly, reaching to brush the hair out of his eyes, “Promise I won’t.”

The moment you throw Suguru’s shirt onto your head and slip on some sweatpants, you quickly tug at the door in anticipation of Hazel—instead, a more familiar face.

Your fathers.

You glance around the hallway, narrowed eyes going back to him, “Good morning—you okay, Daddy?”

He clears his throat, hands resting behind his back. He looked exhausted.

“Can we…” he began softly, “Talk?”

You’re quick to nod, “Of course,” opening the door a bit further to step out, closing it gently behind you.

You stood opposite of him in the hall, face showing no emotion as you waited for him to begin. He exhaled silently, hands folded behind his back, “About yesterday…”

He shook his head, “I’m sorry to both you and your fiancé for the way I acted. I shouldn’t have—behaved the way I did.”

He takes another breath, “From not seeing you in years, to finding out you’re getting married—I just couldn’t admit to myself that you had grown up without me, baby girl. And—if you left home, it must’ve been my fault.”

Your eyes soften as you watch your father. He’s being completely vulnerable, and that wasn’t something you expected of him. You can’t help it—your hand reaches for his, gripping it tightly in a comforting gesture, “Daddy, that’s not true.”

He shook his head, fingers tightening around yours, “I messed up, baby,” a small sigh left his lips, “I messed up, not you. You wanted to see the world and spread your wings. That’s something I had to respect, even if it hurt me. I’d do anything for you, you know that.”

Your fingers are still wrapped around his, your free hand coming up to rub his shoulder affectionately, “Of course I know that.”

You sigh, “I have to apologize too. Being an adult, I should’ve been communicative with how I felt about leaving home—I just didn’t think you’d be receptive to it, so—it was easier to just leave. And—meeting Suguru, he made me realize how important family was.”

Your father’s eyebrows raise.

“Despite your moral differences—Suguru is amazing, Daddy. He loves me more than I could express to you, and wants nothing more than for me to be happy. He encouraged me to come here yesterday.”

“He told you to come here?”

You nod, “He did.”

Another beat of silence.

“You’re happy, mon chou?”

Your hand squeezed his, your voice a soft whisper, “Happier than I’ve ever been.”

“Then that’s all I want, baby girl. I’m happy for you, I’m so proud of you.”

A few tears welled up in your eyes, your fingers gripping onto his back so tight that you were afraid you’d leave a mark underneath his button up, hugging him. You buried your face into his shoulder, “I’m sorry for leaving, Daddy.”

“Don’t be sorry, princess,” his hand rubbed up and down your back, “You can always come home.”

You smiled, “I’d really like to make up for the missed years.”

He let out a soft hum from his chest, hand coming up to graze your cheek affectionately, “We can start by planning this wedding together—Tell me everything you want, and how much my pockets gonna break from it.”

He then sighs, “And—by letting me know when your fiancè wakes up, so I can talk to him as well.”

Your head tilts at that, eyes wide, “Really? You’re ready to do this?”

“As ready as I can be.”

Your face lights up, excitement spreading through your body as you cling onto his arm, “Good—I have so much to tell you! C’mon, you can treat me to some beignets— Then, you and Suguru can be besties, yeah?”

“You’re pushing it, babydoll.”

You sigh, “Thought I’d give it a shot. Let’s go!”

#suguru geto smut #suguru getou x reader #getou suguru x reader #suguru geto x reader #suguru fluff #suguru getou #suguru geto #jujutsu kaisen suguru #geto suguru #jjk suguru #suguru x y/n #suguru x you #jjk smut #suguru jjk

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coolwyous · 2 days ago

Text

┈─★ 𝘪'𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝙥𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙬 . / pt ii.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ you and sophia mutually decided to be just friends, which is totally fine, and there aren’t at all any lingering feelings! (and truly, it’s really none of your best friend's business if you and your team-captain-turned-situationship are secretly still in love with each other, but certified girlfailure megan skiendiel feels like it’s her duty to do something about it.)

ˎˊ˗ 🌌 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ୭˚. ⠀ ᵎᵎ ⠀ 🗝️

➴ pairing: volleyball captain!sophia laforteza x f!volleyball player!reader.

➴ genre + wc: 8k, slow burn, angst and fluff, LOTS of mutual pining, ice queen sophia but she's a lil softer this time, reader is STILL a big dork.

➴ you might want to tune in...: pov - ariana grande. ♫ + understand - keshi. ♫

┈─★ a/n: the promised sequel <3 luv luv luved wriitng for my fav leader. hope u enjoy!! ps. vball!megan's fic next!!

end of winter in malibu is undeniably gorgeous. considering you moved here at the very end of summer, getting a chance to see it in the cooler temperatures was a beautiful experience. but with january comes spring, and with spring comes rebirth, and you can’t help but feel like a new semester is exactly what you need.

you’re in the passenger’s seat as megan drives down the highway towards the airport. you can both feel the anticipation. you’re on a mission— the two of you are about to be someone’s personal taxi, and the car buzzes with the excitement of welcoming her home.

you peek at the girl. megan is one of the best things that had come out of your transfer to msu, quickly becoming one of your favorite friends as you took her under your wing. she makes a face like she’s thinking too hard, and you immediately jump in to see what’s on her mind.

“hey,” you poke her arm gently.

“hi,” she says back, her eyebrows furrowed.

“what’s up?” you ask, sensing something off with her.

megan blinks once, letting out a quiet sigh. “y/n, i’m really sorry for last semester.”

you pause. megan has apologized before, for the way things played out, for the things she mentioned (or left out) but you can tell it still gnaws at her.

“nothing to apologize for,” you reassure her, reaching out to pat her arm. you look ahead at the beautiful sunset on the edge of the road as the airport gets closer and closer. “i’m grateful you were honest with me. saved me a lot of heartbreak.”

“i feel like i ruined things,” megan breathes, biting her lip, her eyes fixed on the road.

“never. our friendship is better than ever.” you nod confidently. “both you and me, and me and sophia.”

her name finally comes out of your mouth, and it feels like the sun rises. your skin warms.

“i’m sorry again,” megan sighs. “me and my stupid big mouth...”

“stop it,” you press, shaking your head. “we love you, megan.”

you see the compliment lighten the weight on her shoulders. her eyes light up cheerfully. “you really do love me? is that why you keep looking out for me? wow. i never connected the dots.”

“you’re ridiculous,” you laugh. “you know the world is a better place with you in it.”

she beams back at you as you guys pull into the parking lot of the airport. cars honk around you, people reconnecting with their loved ones, tired bodies all getting into their cars.

as if your eyes are magnets to her, you spot the purple suitcase and the black baseball cap pulled down over her eyes. you’d recognize her amongst a million people if you had to, you know that with certainty.

“mommy’s home!” megan chirps excitedly. you laugh and shake your head as she leaps out of the car and sprints ahead, nearly getting hit by the incoming traffic, body buzzing at the sight of her captain.

you cross and follow quickly behind megan, who is already vibrating with excitement as she leaps into sophia’s arms. sophia lets out a grunt and drops her bag onto the ground, freeing up her hands to catch the oversized girl in her arms. you shriek with laughter at the sight, megan wrapped around sophia’s torso like a little kid, watching as sophia nearly topples over but manages to keep them both up.

her skin is more tanned, kissed by the sun no doubt, her eyes less tired than you remembered them being. after your team won their championship, you and the girls all pitched in to surprise your devoted captain with a flight back home for winter break for all her hard work the whole season.

megan lets go of sophia and grabs her suitcase from her, racing to go lead you all to the car and get you guys back to campus.

you and sophia stand face to face. something deeply warm comes over you as you both pause to take each other in, as if you weren’t facetiming every night, as if she wasn’t texting you updates of everything as it went on around her. sure, you and sophia were never more than a few hours without talking, but now she’s here, in the flesh, and that’s something your body is still clearly adjusting to.

“how was it being back?” you ask.

“perfect,” sophia smiles gently. “my mom couldn’t stop crying every time she looked at me. i am grateful to be here, though.”

“five weeks is a little long to run away for, don’t you think?” you tease her, pushing her in the arm playfully.

“too long, agreed,” she nods back, before quickly flashing you her teeth. “you’ll have to come with me next time.”

you feel your heart thud in your chest. you nearly scream at yourself, don’t start, as if you have any control over it. this is just how sophia is— she seems moody, she seems intense, but she’s actually a huge sweetheart, super considerate, super charming, super witty, with super pretty sad eyes and super soft lips…

you blink again, trying to re-focus on the conversation at hand. megan is throwing the suitcase in the trunk and eagerly beckoning for you guys to get in so you can start the drive back to campus and see the rest of the girls.

“everyone’s still in one piece,” you pivot quickly, eager to shift the conversation.

“how many times did megan almost die?” sophia arches a brow, sliding into the backseat.

“nine,” you tattle on her instantly.

“not even!” megan whines as she turns on the radio, starting the drive. she rattles them off, counting on her fingers. “there was the snorkeling incident, the food poisoning incident, the bus incident…”

you lean in as megan continues her rambles, whispering quietly to the brunette. “missed ya. i think things will run a little smoother now that you’re back.”

“missed you too.” sophia smiles softly, her eyes searching your face. “a lot.”

“...and the second snorkeling incident. that’s only eight!”

you pause and try to recollect whatever she had just listed that you’d missed. “actually, you forgot the superglue incident.”

“i don’t want to know about the superglue incident,” sophia groans, throwing her head back against the seat.

“no, it wasn’t even my fault dude! manon dared me that i couldn’t squeeze a whole bottle of superglue out in less than a minute, which is so stupid ‘cause those tubes are so tiny, so we went to the dollar store and picked up a bunch to test it out, and then…”

you look over to smile at sophia, only to realize she’s already smiling at you.

“dani almost got arrested, and now yoonchae’s starting to practice with the team so she’s ready for next year when she joins, so that means i’m not gonna be the youngest any more, and then there was manon and lara almost fighting over the same girl until they realized she was straight and just queerbaiting them…”

megan doesn’t even pause to take a breath.

the girls all meet you in the parking lot of sophia’s dorm, cheering on their leader to welcome her back after so much time spent apart. sophia rolls her eyes at the grand gesture but makes it a point to hug each of them, clearly having missed her team. a handful of you guys cram into her dorm, megan and lara helping with her bags up the stairs, trying to squeeze the 7 of you in her tiny dorm room.

“sounds eventful,” sophia blinks, taking out her clothes from the suitcase.

the girl nods, sitting on sophia’s bed, before motioning over to you casually. “oh, and y/n also didn’t go on any dates.”

“megan!” you say her name sharply, as dani bursts into laughter behind you.

“what?” the youngest blinks innocently. “it’s true! you were too busy keeping me in one piece.”

sophia grins, tilting her head over at you curiously. “is that so?”

“we’re not talking about it,” you shake your head, feeling your cheeks burn.

you’re about to call megan out for her putting you on the spot, but the girl gets that same look in her eye from earlier, like she’s about to say something, and beats you to it.

“can we all hang out here?” she asks eagerly. “please? i missed being one big happy family.”

sophia looks around at the 7 of you squished up in her room. “meg, sleep where exactly? the balcony? there’s only one bed.”

“we can all cuddle on the floor,” megan offers, her eyes lighting up.

as much as the idea of spending the night on the ground does not excite you, you know sophia is lowkey just a giant softie for her girls, and relents nearly instantly. less than 20 minutes later, all of you are making a giant blanket pile, surrounded by pillows and each other, crammed together like sardines. megan is happily in the middle of the mix, beaming brightly as sophia turns off the lights.

“good night everyone,” megan announces. “i love you all so much.”

manon throws a pillow from her side of the floor. “meg, girl, please shut up.”

you laugh and turn on your side, realizing somehow, you’ve ended up next to someone you have far too much experience sleeping next to.

sophia’s eyes are already closed, facing you, her arm tucked underneath her head. she looks so precious and cozy, dozing off with quiet breaths escaping her perfect lips. you can feel the warmth radiating off her body, and if you wanted, you might even be able to touch her. but this isn’t a version of sophia that you should touch, and you have to remind yourself of that as you close your own eyes and try to drift off to sleep.

you’re not sure how much time has passed between the snores and the breaths, but amongst the silence, you hear a grumble.

“psst. anyone?”

you stifle a laugh. of course it’s megan.

you open your eyes only to realize sophia has an eye cracked open. you smile as you realize she looks absolutely over it.

“your daughter won’t go to sleep,” she whispers, half-groaning, hoping the girl in question won’t hear you guys.

“she was yours first!” you argue back.

“she likes you better,” sophia grins.

“i’m hungry,” megan whines once more. “will one of you, ideally both, please feed me?”

you click your tongue. so much for not getting caught.

“rock paper scissors?” you offer, holding up your hand to sophia.

she wrinkles her nose and laughs. “you’re going to read my mind somehow and i’ll be the one stuck ordering way too much food on uber eats and she’ll somehow still end up hungry.”

“scared to lose, laforteza?” you stick your tongue out at her challengingly.

sophia smiles, holding her fist up.

“not to you,” she says softly, and you two start your silly little competition to see who’ll be stuck feeding your teammate’s voracious appetite.

and just like that, it’s like she never left.

you and sophia do everything together. from the moment you wake up, your first text is to sophia, who is usually already up and ordering you both a coffee. you meet for class, walk across campus together, you text during your lecture about whatever stupid little things come up, you have meals together, meet up with the girls together. literally every waking moment is spent with sophia laforteza.

it’s confusing, sure, but neither of you are willing to rock the boat by bringing up what happened. your kiss, the way it was so close to evolving into more, the secret sophia had kept from you. it was still a sore spot for you, but the fact that sophia is willing to gloss over it as if it had never happened in order for you guys to stay comfortable with each other feels like a blessing in disguise.

you and sophia’s friendship has a second chance to go uninterrupted, and you’re not about to risk that for any reason whatsoever.

you’re at the gym with sophia when she steps away to go refill your water bottle for you. you insist it’s not necessary, but by the third time you’ve sipped from sophia’s stanley, she’s making fun of you and snatching your bottle up to go fill it at the water station.

you’re putting in your numbers into your fitness tracker when a figure interrupts, clearing their throat politely in front of you. you assume it’s someone wanting to use the equipment you’re on, and you look up ready to apologize, but your stomach drops as soon as your eyes land on the person waiting.

“marquise, hi,” you breathe.

she smiles kindly, almost too kindly to be real. “hi y/n.”

your skin crawls at the idea of them together, made-up scenes flashing in your head. of course you know what marquise looks like. you had gone crazy while sophia was gone over break and done some digging of your own. neither of them had any photos up together any more, and sophia didn’t follow marquise any more, but marquise still followed sophia, as well as most of your other teammates.

“what are you doing here?” you ask, feeling your throat go dry.

“looking for sophia,” she answers. her voice is soft, gentle, almost too perfect. you see exactly why her and sophia would make sense together. she peeks around. “have you seen her?”

as if on cue, you hear that familiar voice behind you, coming to your rescue.

“marquise, i asked you to wait until y/n and i were done hanging out,” sophia grits.

“okay, that was my mistake. i didn’t realize you guys were still together,” the girl holds her hands up innocently, and you can tell she’s sincere in her apology. she never once gives you a dirty look. “you texted me that like two hours ago, i just assumed, i’m sorry soph. i’ll wait somewhere else.”

you get an overwhelming sense of dread, not wanting to cause further issues, you figure it’s a better option to just bite the bullet and excuse yourself.

“it’s totally fine, you must be super tired, marquise.” you grab your gym bag and nod at the captain. “soph, i’ll see you.”

she stares at you, and you nod back reassuringly. the exchange makes her shoulders soften ever so slightly, but she still looks at her ex with extreme apprehension. you wave to marquise awkwardly, eager to get out of there, and escape to your dorm, praying whatever conversation these two have leads to some kind of decent outcome.

(plus, what’s the worst that could happen? they decide to give things another try and end up falling in love all over again in front of your very eyes?)

you take a long, hot shower as soon as you get home, falling back onto your bed in exhaustion. you debate calling up one of the girls to hang out, but you decide to bear through this on your own, opening up tik tok to distract you.

luckily, your plan works, because a mere hour later, you’re getting an incoming facetime call from captain crunch ☀️.

“hey,” you greet, instantly seeing the distress written all over her face. you feel your heart drop in concern. “sophia, how’d it go? are you okay?”

“can i come over?” she asks instantly, her voice hard.

you let out an aching breath, realizing her pain. “soph, you don’t even have to ask.”

there’s a pause, her breathing heavy, before she hangs up. she’s at your door less than 10 minutes later, racing immediately to your bed and pulling her knees to her chest. you know it’s stupid, but you immediately rush to wrap her in a hug. she tenses, but quickly melts into you, hugging you back with her fingers gripping your hoodie.

“she apologized. for everything.” she finally says after a beat. her voice is neutral, like she’s reading something out of a book. “said traveling made her reflect.”

“i mean, i get it,” you shrug, feeling her grip you even tighter, her chin in your shoulder. you rub a soothing circle into her back. “you broke up with her over text. she expected to come home and fix things and you shut that down.”

“you’re such an empath,” sophia laughs, and the sound rumbles through her chest as she sniffles.

you smile, squeezing her gently. “you are too.”

sophia pauses, and you can tell she’s debating sharing something. before you can beg her to not leave you in the dark, she surprises you.

“she wanted to get back together,” she says, keeping her face hidden in your shoulder. “to try.”

“oh.” you feel a lump form in your throat. your worst fear feels like it’s facing you in the eyes, but this isn’t about you, this is about being there for your best friend. “what’d you say?”

she takes a deep breath, her nose poking into your neck. the brief touch of her skin against yours makes your chest thud.

“things ended for a reason,” she says curtly. “no need to try again.”

you feel yourself let out a breath of relief.

“short, simple, to the point. so efficient, soph,” you tease.

you feel her smile against your shoulder, and she pulls away. she looks lighter now, the distress melting from her features. you smile back at her, looking down at your phone for the time.

“soph, should we get something to eat?” you ask.

she wrinkles her nose, tilting her head to sniff herself. “i need to shower first. she caught us post-cardio.”

you nod.

“i’ll wait for you.”

sophia looks at you, her eyes shifting with something familiar in them, and her lips part to say something. you wait, curious as to what she has left to say, but nothing comes out. she stands there, frozen, as if something is stuck in the back of her throat. you feel your heart break, hoping you can relieve her of some of the weight she carries on those shoulders of hers.

“shower here,” you reassure her, standing up and sliding your shoes on. “i’ll go get the girls. we’ll meet you at the dining hall?”

“the girls,” she echoes, smiling down at the floor. you wonder if she’s got something else to add. forever gracious, forever composed, she nods. “group dinner, yeah, that’s perfect. see you in a few, y/n.”

manon and lara meet you outside, and megan is quick to join. dani texts to say she’ll save you guys a table.

“i feel like it’s driving me crazy. i haven’t been used to having sophia on campus again and now her ex is back too?” you groan, after telling the girls about your run-in with marquise.

“that’s gotta be the msu curse,” megan shakes her head.

“i hate when you drop lore that i should know about,” you groan, feeling your eyes go wide. “please tell me about this before i go insane.”

“it’s a stupid superstition,” manon laughs.

“at msu, something horribly bad happens every year,” lara informs you.

megan holds up her fingers as if to count them.

“two years ago, marquise broke her hip.”

she folds a finger down.

“last year, you guys got into your fight.”

then she points to herself.

“who knows what might happen this year?” her eyes go wide. “if you play volleyball for msu, he curse is alive and well, and ready to fuck you up.”

lara shoves her, laughing wildly. “shut up bro, you’re stressing y/n out. look at her face.”

“she deserves the warning!” megan huffs.

“okay, let’s be done talking about it, please,” you plead.

“gladly,” manon grins, wiggling her eyebrows. “y/n, the season being over means you have more free time.”

you wrinkle your nose at her. “what are you implying?”

“you could go on a date. people have been asking about you,” lara jumps in.

“not interested,” you immediately shake your head.

“you don’t even know who’s been asking about you!” lara cries.

“i don’t need to know.” you shake your head again. “not interested.”

you won’t admit it to yourself. there’s only one person worth focusing that on, and there’s no chance there.

before they can keep egging you on (or expose your lingering feelings) the familiar voice cuts in from behind you.

“what are we talking about?”

you let out a sigh of relief. sophia immediately comes up alongside you, and you smell the coconut and mango of her shampoo radiating off her freshly-washed hair. bare-faced, and skin still pink from the hot water, she still looks absolutely stunning.

“hi leader,” manon beams.

megan, seemingly clueless but always somehow having your back, simply beams at the captain, sparing you from having to get called out.

“we’re talking about the cyclones curse.”

“oh god, you guys and your spooky stories.” sophia rolls her eyes and pushes megan playfully, walking past her to start in the direction of the dining hall. “are we going to dinner or what?”

you beam and motion for her to keep walking. “lead the way.”

she grins back at you and pauses, gesturing for you to step ahead of her. “nope, after you.”

megan eyes you both curiously, suspiciously, from the corner of her vision.

ever since the incident with marquise, megan has been weird.

you and sophia are fine, better than ever, if anything, but you’ve noticed something is off with the ginger girl. she’s always been a little eccentric, but now she’s acting uncharacteristically needy, and for whatever reason, the only people who can ever seem to come to her rescue have to be either you, or sophia laforteza.

and as of recently, it’s been both, for some reason, at the same time.

megan calls you up out of nowhere late one night when you’re watching another episode of your favorite netflix show. your eyes are heavy, and you’re about to fall asleep, but you know megan is relentless, and if you don’t pick up, she’ll call you until you do.

you pick up, and she wastes no time even greeting you.

“y/n. i’m feeling stressed out.”

“go to sleep, meg,” you groan sleepily.

“come over.”

“megan, what? i’m already in bed,” you shake your head, turning over onto your side.

“please, i need the moral support,” she pleads.

“to sleep?” you question suspiciously.

“yes, to sleep.” she insists, her voice softening playfully. “come hug me?”

you laugh, already picturing the girl’s silly face. “what are you, three? ugh, i’ll be there soon. you better not fall asleep before i get there.”

you can practically hear megan smiling from the other end of the line as you get your shoes on and slip out the door.

you make it to megan’s dorm and knock on the door. there’s a rustling sound from inside, and before you know it, the door swings open.

much to your confusion, you stand face to face with sophia laforteza.

“oh hi,” you greet, quickly stepping back to make sure you had walked to megan’s room, not sophia’s by accident. but no, room 414, residence of megan skiendiel. you’re not mistaken.

“hm.” sophia looks you over quickly, before calling out over her shoulder to the girl still inside. “megan? why is y/n here?”

the girl in question bounces up to the doorway, her giant grin nearly taking over her face. she pushes past sophia to reach for your hand, yanking you into her room. “‘cause i invited her, duh.”

“you invited me,” sophia reminds her, crossing her arms over her chest. she looks unamused, but not annoyed— the look she tends to reserve for megan exclusively.

the ginger beams. either she doesn’t notice sophia’s displeasure, or she flat out does not care.

“slumber party!” she chants, motioning to the way she has her bed set up to face the tv, three pillows lined up neatly. the implication is clear: megan planned this.

“meg, you do know y/n and i hang out plenty outside of class?” sophia laughs, shaking her head.

“do you guys still have slumber parties?” the girl quips back, pointing to the bed and insisting you hop in.

you pause, looking nervously between sophia and megan’s bed. sure, when you guys traveled for games, sharing a room with her had quickly turned into sharing a bed, and at a certain point, your hangouts would usually end in the two of you falling asleep side-by-side. but since the season ended, you two have been extremely careful not to cross that line again, sophia always heading home before she gets too sleepy.

“i mean, not this semester. soph just barely got back...”

megan nods as if you’ve proven her point. “then let me have this!”

“you are something else, skiendiel,” sophia shakes her head, but you see the smile on the corner of her lips.

“please don’t make me run laps, oh leader…” megan pleads playfully, wiggling under the blankets and reaching for the remote. “i just wanted to be in the middle again. can you blame me? you guys are like, my favorite people. please? pleasepleaseplease…”

“shut up,” sophia rolls her eyes, but she’s getting under the covers as well, wiggling in onto the side closest to the wall. “pick a movie.”

you laugh and follow her lead, ending up on the other side of megan. the ginger beams widely as you and sophia both get cozy, the three of you squished like sardines in the tiny dorm bed. sophia crosses her arms, clearly unamused, but you don’t mind. falling asleep in her presence again is a small gift you’ll take happily.

friday night, nothing to do, and your hands are much too quick to dial her up.

(arguably, she’s just as fast to pick up, but that’s not an issue you’re willing to unpack right now.)

“hi you,” she chirps, her voice instantly melting you into a puddle.

“are you going to that party lara’s been talking about?” you ask, already smiling down at the ground from her greeting alone. “the one off campus.”

she pauses. “are you?”

“you answer first,” you laugh.

“only if you do.”

“only if i answer?”

“only if you go.”

your heart thuds at how confident she sounds, how certain.

“deal,” you smile. “what, you need your emotional support libero there that bad?”

“you’re the only one i trust to help me keep an eye on everyone,” she laughs.

“ah, i love being your special helper,” you tease her.

“come on,” sophia chuckles. “i’ll see you in five. we can share an uber.”

and you do meet her in five. and you do share an uber. and your breath catches in your throat at the sight of her, so effortlessly gorgeous in a simple tee with a jacket and some jeans, her hair falling in perfectly tamed cascades over her shoulders. as it always has, and likely as it always will.

you follow each other through the house party, and even though the idea was to find the other girls, you’re too caught up in your own conversation to even bother looking for them. it’s nearly painful for you, how easily you two can get lost in your own little world, but it feels so inevitable. you don’t know how anyone could stay away from her— the inevitable pull that is the gravity of sophia laforteza, the warmth in her smile, the sheer strength of her presence enough to overwhelm you, to keep you in her orbit, to keep you circling around her as if it’s the only thing you’re capable of doing.

you wonder then, if you’ll be happy with it. if friendship with a force like sophia will ever feel enough, knowing now what her lips taste like and seeing a glimpse of her most intimate thoughts. yes, things are different now, but she still trusts you. still opens up to you, still seeks you out, still makes you feel seen. you’ve resigned yourself to accepting that that will be it. your friendship with sophia will have to be enough.

the two of you are laughing in your own little bubble when a girl, clearly a little tipsy, gets a little too close, stumbling into you. sophia eyes her hesitantly, but before you can check to see if the girl is okay, she’s shrieking at the top of her lungs, her eyes going wide.

“oh my god, y/n.” the girl blinks, stumbling to her feet. “this is crazy!”

another two or three girls catch up to her, and you feel sophia tense. you’re not quite sure what’s going on, but you know for certain that you don’t recognize this girl who somehow recognizes you.

“i’m super sorry, how do i know you?” you ask gently, trying to not come across as rude.

two of the girls behind her look nervously amongst themselves, but the first girl simply keeps rambling as if she’s known you her whole life.

“oh my god, we play for UCLA, silly!”

“no way,” you hear sophia breathe behind you, her body instantly tensing. she stands up to step beside you, her body rigid as she puts some space between you and the first girl.

you’re not quite sure where her hostility is coming from— the girls seem harmless, and you never ended up joining them, so what’s the harm?

the girl curls her lip into a dramatic pout. “ugh, y/n, you didn’t want to join us? we could have been besties.”

you laugh gently, shaking your head. “thanks, but i’m happy where i am.”

“we wouldn’t have hurt you, you know?” she continues, her eyes pleading and sincere as she reaches out for your hand. “we would have been excited to have you.”

you’re about to laugh at the gesture, a drunk girl lamenting her missed friendship with you, but you’re shocked when sophia pushes the girl’s hand away, scowling at the group.

“you guys are psychos,” she hisses quickly. “i know about last year.”

you’re about to ask sophia what her deal is, but the girls’ faces all shift instantly. falling, hardening, narrowing their gazes at her. whatever sophia is talking about, it’s clearly a sore subject.

“that was an accident,” one of the girls says coldly, but sophia refuses to back down.

“accidents don’t blind one of your teammates in one eye,” she spits angrily, and you gasp hearing exactly the extent that the ucla team was infamous for. “that girl is never going to play again.”

the first girl, who seems truly sincere, gives sophia a pleading look. “they investigated it. it was honestly just a freak accident. we were playing a prank and it went wrong. pranks have never gone wrong for you guys?”

you turn to sophia, grabbing her by the wrist, your eyes wide in disbelief. “how did you know that?”

sophia finally snaps and takes your hand, shoving past the girls to pull you outside, away from the chaos of the party, away from the other girls’ prying eyes. her eyes are frenzied, her cheeks flushed from her anger, her lips parted as she tries to steady her breathing. you guys find a quiet corner in the backyard and she sits you down to talk.

“i asked around about their team. i know some other captains. the ucla pr team tried to keep it hush-hush, but word gets around when captains get in trouble. it’s insane that they can still play, i mean it’s so unfair and completely unethical—” she rambles, her voice raising with every sentence, and you realize your hands are still linked.

“soph,” you cut her off gently, squeezing her hand, your voice soft. “soph, it’s okay.”

“i fucking hate them,” she finally spits out. it’s not often that you hear her swear, so the emphasis is enough to really drive the point home for you. she pauses, her voice softening, realizing she’s rambling angrily. she gives your hand a quick squeeze back, her head dropping. “i’m so glad you didn’t go with them.”

“me too,” you smile softly. “i’m right here, with you.”

she lets out another breath, running a hand through her hair. “i hope they fucking rot. can’t wait to beat their asses next season. god.”

“leader, you’re being a little too psycho,” you laugh, letting go of her hand to poke her cheek playfully. “earth to leader!”

but sophia doesn’t match your tone. she takes your hand once more in yours, her eyes burning with something so intense, it makes your heart ache. her dark gaze pierces into you, her tone dropping into something low.

“y/n, you were always meant to be a cyclone,” she emphasizes.

“i agree,” you smile, cradling her hand in yours. “i was always meant to be here.”

“with me,” sophia breathes quietly.

you nod. “with you, soph.”

weeks go by, and a part of you is finding it easier and easier to ignore the gnawing feelings clawing through your chest. as long as you focus on the day by day, and don’t picture any part of the future or what it might look like with sophia, you’re totally fine.

yes, you guys are basically attached at the hip, and neither of you goes more than a few hours without texting each other, and yes you know her like the back of your hand and she knows you just the same, but it’s not your problem to unpack that right now. that’ll be a future you problem. for now, your sole focus is to just enjoy your life, pass your classes, and not make any decisions you’ll regret.

so when megan invites you to go on a “best friend date” to a super nice restaurant just off-campus next to the beach, you figure it’ll be the perfect opportunity to spend a night focusing on something other than school and your soul-crushing devotion to sophia laforteza.

you don’t usually have a lot of excuses to wear your semi-formal clothes, but megan insisted you both go all out, so there you are, sitting on a bench outside the restaurant, waiting for the ginger to show up as she texts you that she’s a few minutes out.

and yet again, for what seems like the millionth time that semester, the too-familiar voice is over your shoulder.

“why are you so dressed up?”

you look up, and feel your breath hitch in your throat. she looks like an absolute angel, a floral purple top flowing off her shoulders, her hair in those perfect waterfalls down her back, her makeup done and her lips so shiny you swear you could see the sun beam off of them.

“why are you?” you barely manage to stammer, the smile coming out before you can even register it.

“i’m here for-“ she starts.

“megan,” you both say at the same time.

it clicks. of course it would be megan.

“where the hell is she?” you laugh.

as if on cue, sophia’s phone rings. the brunette picks up and puts it on speaker, giving you an eyeroll as megan’s voice rings out.

“sorry guys! literally shitting myself right now. like it’s soooo bad. ah, ouch, darn.” she’s not even trying to convince you at this point, her rambles rattling like she’s trying to get a script out. “you have no clue, gotta sit this one out. huge bummer, sorry!”

“how did you know we were together?” sophia arches a brow.

“i have both your locations.”

“were we both supposed to be your date?” you question.

“guess you’ll have to be each other’s date!” she chirps, much too giddy for someone who is supposedly that sick. “sorry again guys. take lots of pictures. love you tons!”

before sophia can reprimand her, the phone beeps with the call ending. she rolls her eyes and looks to you, and you simply smile back at her.

fucking megan.

“how was she gonna afford a restaurant like this?” you laugh, as sophia holds the door open for you. you both take it in— a gorgeous restaurant with high ceilings, a live piano, even a crystal chandelier.

“i was going to pay for her. i assumed that’s why she invited me,” sophia shakes her head, following behind you.

“oh no, totally. i assumed the exact same thing,” you laugh.

the host nods politely and beckons for you both to follow him. “your reservation, ladies.”

you end up at a table right next to the window, the view of the malibu shoreline just over your shoulders. it’s breathtaking in a way you feel like you almost don’t deserve. the table has a tall candle and a single rose placed between you two, and everything about it screams romance. you feel stupid for not looking it up sooner— how would megan possibly have gotten away with claiming she wanted a casual friend date with you at this gorgeous, insanely romantic spot? it wouldn’t be the weirdest thing the girl has ever done, sure, but you can’t believe your girlfailure of a best friend was capable of getting both you and sophia to show up and fall victim to her plan so easily.

“this place is so nice,” sophia breathes, taking a seat across from you.

you stare quickly at the menu that your server sets down in front of you, sophia thanking him quickly with a smile.

you blink over at the captain. “not gonna lie… i’m lowkey scared of the menu.”

she laughs, her features softening. “i pick something for you and you pick something for me?”

“you’re on,” you beam.

you chat mindlessly after you order and it feels easy, too easy, to fall back into this with sophia. to start imagining what it could be like to do this more often, to see her dressed up, to wonder what she’d look like if she’d dressed up for you, to tell her she’d be perfect even in her shorts and her favorite hoodie. you get lost in her dark brown eyes, in the way they crinkle when she smiles, in the way she laughs with her whole chest, so loudly sometimes, people stop to turn and look at her.

you don’t care. you get it. sophia is worth stopping the world for, just to admire.

your server places your dishes in front of you both, and you immediately look up at the captain. you see her eyes widen with excitement.

“why’d you pick this for me?” she asks quickly, looking up at you as the server walks off.

you smile. “just thought you’d like it.”

“why?” she presses.

you pause, trying to dive in deeper, but there’s no better explanation than just the simple truth.

“i guess i just know you.”

she smiles back at you, something warm behind her eyes.

“funny. that was my rationale too.”

you two waste the night away enjoying your dinner. she insists on paying, forever the gentlewoman, and you two step outside just as the sun has disappeared over the skyline.

“we’re across the street from the beach,” she points out, motioning to the sand.

“at night?” you question.

“we can just walk,” she offers.

you nod, smiling. “okay. i’d love that.”

you always see sophia shift when you guys get to the sand. you remember her mentioning about how it reminds her of home. you wonder if you’ll ever get a chance to see it through her eyes.

you both take off your shoes, dipping your toes in the tiniest of waves that reach up to meet the sand. you’re walking side by side, the salt in the cool air filling your lungs. sophia’s hair never falls out of place even as it shifts in the breeze, forever perfect, as she always has been.

“y/n,” she says quietly.

“sophia,” you answer, poking your tongue out at her playfully in response.

she smiles, but her face falls slightly as the silence goes on. her gaze drops to the sand, her brows furrowing. you can sense it. she’s trying to get the words out.

“i um…” she starts, clenching her jaw to try and conjure the right words for what she’s seeking. “i’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to try.”

her apology catches you off guard. you guys haven’t talked about it since it happened, and you knew that was part of the agreement. you traded it off— sacrificing closure to maintain your friendship.

“don’t think about that,” you reassure her, reaching out to brush her arm gently. “it’s okay.”

she shakes her head, and you notice her lip trembling through it all. “it’s my fault though, i know it is.”

“don’t carry that with you,” you insist, giving her arm a squeeze. “i’ve had the best few months since then all because you’re in my life. i’m so lucky either way.”

“no, i feel the same way. i just thought you deserved an apology.” she looks at you, her eyes soft, and lets out a deep breath. “i went about it so, so wrong.”

you feel something shaking from deep inside you, something repressed unlodging itself from deep within your chest. you try to will it away, insisting on focusing in the moment. sophia is fixating, you know she is. this isn’t about you, this is about supporting sophia. you remind yourself of your purpose and insist on moving forward.

“you’ve already apologized. i forgive you,” you tell her gently. “forgive yourself, soph. we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be.”

she nods, but the look in her eyes tells you she has more to say.

“y/n…” she starts.

the shaking within you stops, something snaps. you can’t do this. you’re not strong enough for whatever comes next. you need to focus on the right now, on the day to day. not on the lifetime ahead of you and wondering if you’ll still orbit around the sun that is sophia laforteza, at the center of your galaxy.

“sophia, please. let’s not do this again.” your voice is shaky, trembling as you stop her. “i can’t risk it.”

you look up, and her eyes are round, her brows furrowed, the concern written all over her face. she nods slowly, empathetically, kindly.

“i understand.”

“thank you, soph,” you breathe, stopping to catch your breath. she stops with you, and you figure you owe her at least a small explanation. “you’re my best friend. you have no idea how bad it’d hurt to be without you.”

silence. you’re met with gnawing, clawing silence.

you can’t tell if she’s thinking or if you’ve said enough. you chose your words carefully, certain to ensure you wouldn’t cross any lines that you couldn’t come back from, and you feel confident knowing you guys will be okay. your friendship will remain in tact. you’ll get to keep her in your life. it’s fine, you think. you’re okay with this, with the silence, with the uncertainty, as long as it guarantees today with sophia. you’ll take it day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute if you must.

a hand reaches for you. a single, shaking hand.

sophia, perfect, confident sophia, who never cracks under pressure, reaches a trembling hand out to you, taking your hand in hers.

“y/n.”

your name sounds so beautiful coming out of her mouth, gentle, sincere.

“yeah?” you’re too scared to look at her, but she insists.

she ducks her head down, tilting slightly, forcing your gaze to meet hers. her words come out slowly, nervously, like she’s been holding onto them in her coat pocket and is now unfolding them, hoping they still work.

“i’d like to try.”

you blink, uncertain of what you’re hearing. “what?”

“maybe it would be worth it to risk it all.” her voice is shaky, but her eyes never leave yours. dark, sincere, intense. all the things you know of sophia to be true, laid out bare before you. “if you’ve taught me anything, it’s that there’s beauty in trying over and over.”

“soph…” you start, but she cuts you off with a shake of her head.

“you tried for me. even when i pushed you away, you kept trying, and in the process, i fell in love with you.” she pauses, as if she’s said something wrong, but instead of overthinking it, she simply presses on, eager to get it all out. “that’s got to be worth something. you know it, and i do too.”

your head is spinning. nevermind what sophia is suggesting, nevermind the way she’s holding your hands, nevermind what she’s confessing. you’re too scared of the what-if’s to even let yourself glimpse into the future.

“soph, what if we—” you start, but she cuts you off once more.

“i think the ‘what if’s’ are irrelevant. you saw something in me that i couldn’t. and i know i hurt you, and i made you distrustful of me, but i see something that you can’t. i see something so incredibly beautiful if we’re both willing to take that risk. can you see that?”

she pauses, deliberating, before her hand comes up to cup your cheek, holding it in her palm. the crash of the waves behind you makes your pulse ring even louder in your ears, the contact nearly setting you on fire.

“i’m asking you to see what i see,” she tells you, her eyes burning into yours. “take a chance. let me show you.”

“sophia,” your voice is shaking, your pulse throbbing throughout every vein in your body. your body screams out to be close to her, and you can’t think of anything else.

“i want to kiss you,” she blurts, almost exactly like the first time, her hand tightening against your cheek, her gaze scanning every inch of your face. “i want to fix everything that i got wrong the first time around.”

it strikes you then. the gravity you feel, pulling you towards her at any given chance. is there any possibility she was being pulled to you too? does the sun simply pull, or does it dance, watching the celestial bodies spin around it? does the sun let itself be lonely at the center of it all, or does it shine to pull someone in, to warm them, to give them a place to bask in the light?

could sophia need you, just as much as you realize you need her?

“i’m going to want to keep kissing you,” you admit, letting the last of your apprehensions melt away. “so you’ll have to be okay with that.”

“i’m willing to try,” she nods eagerly, her lips curling up into a smile, her other hand coming up to take both your cheeks in her palms. “and i’ll keep trying until we get it right.”

the gravity takes over between you both. slowly, gently, and with the waves lapping at your feet, the world stands still as you get a second chance at a first kiss with sophia laforteza.

sophia’s hand never leaves yours as you stroll into the dining hall for breakfast with the girls the next morning.

you sit side by side, megan and manon both glued to their phones as they play battleship against each other. megan doesn’t notice the hand holding. megan doesn’t notice the fact that sophia is wearing your hoodie. megan doesn’t even notice that you guys are sitting side by side, leaning against each other.

you realize you may have to ramp up your pda to get her attention.

“hold on,” you grin, motioning to sophia, before you plant a gentle peck on her cheek.

the smacking sound is enough to snap megan out of her fixation on the phone, her eyes darting to the two of you instantly.

“woah!” she screeches, jumping up to nearly stand on the chair. “bro, what the fuck! was that tongue?”

“megan, it was a kiss on the cheek,” sophia rolls her eyes, and you burst out laughing at how megan always manages to get underneath the captain’s skin.

“are you guys trolling me?” the ginger narrows her eyes, glancing around at the rest of the girls, who all stare back at her innocently. she glares at you, before pointing to sophia. “no way. kiss on the lips right fucking now.”

sophia shakes her head, clearly not eager to play any of megan’s weird games, but you grin and reach for the captain anyways. she grumbles for a brief moment, but she appeases you, and you feel her perfect lips curl up into a smile as they meet yours. it’s quick, tender and gentle, but it’s enough to leave megan with her chin nearly glued to the floor as her mouth drops in disbelief.

“since when?” she barks irritatedly.

“since last night,” manon sing-songs, grinning devilishly. “what, you don’t check the group chat any more?”

megan furrows her brows, snatching up her phone instantly before her eyes blow wide. “oh what the fuck? you guys removed me from the groupchat?!”

“okay, who did that?” sophia rolls her eyes, glaring at the rest of the team as dani and lara burst out laughing. “no, not funny, now she’s gonna whine about it for the rest of our lives.”

“are you fucking kidding me?” megan rants, throwing her hands up into the air. “do you know how much effort i put into setting you guys up? do you know how many plans i schemed to make sure you guys ended up together? i was literally prepared to do this until the day i fucking died.”

manon claps her hands, motioning between you and sophia. “well, as of last night, they’re official.”

“how the fuck am i last to know?” megan whines, tossing her head back.

“if it’s any consolation, i actually think you were first to figure it out,” sophia admits.

she wraps an arm around your shoulders and you melt into her. you hope you’ll get lucky enough to spend a lifetime basking in her warmth. she looks down at you and smiles. you smile back.

your favorite view, up close, hopefully forever.

#☆ﾟ coolwyous works.#☆ﾟ coolwyous - pov.#☆ﾟ pov thoughts.#sophia laforteza x reader #sophia x reader #katseye sophia #sophia laforteza #sophia #katseye x reader #katseye #angst scale: mmm i think 1 tbh

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laceyfaeryy · 21 hours ago

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[not necessarily a request, hope tumblr doesn't eat this up.]

Gaz allowing Simon to fuck you deep into the mattress — almost all of him is in you. unfortunately, or fortunately, you're a whiner. a really really big whiner who whines your way out of situations. So when you whined and complained when Simon grabbed your hair, asking for Gaz to tell Simon to be nicer — hoping he'd give into your whims, Gaz just rolled his eyes and told Si to be rougher — even giving him full reign and permission to do whatever he wanted.

[hope this.. complies with your requesting guidelines, im pretty sure you mentioned having a side member in the stories,english is not my first language.]

MDNI 18+

sorry for the disappearance!! i’m back i promise i was just enjoying my break a little

“such a loud pretty lil thing aren’t ya?” simon cooed as he fucked you into the mattress, the bed creaking with each thrust as you moaned into the pillow. simon had been waiting to get his hands on a sweet thing like you, and know he wouldn’t stop, he couldn’t.

a low hiss escaped his lips when he felt your warm walls clench around him, almost milking him dry. “yer lil cunnie is quite greedy,” his breaths becoming slightly ragged, his teeth clenching as you continued to squeeze him.

simon’s desperation was evident from the tangled state of your hair, his large tatted hand wrapping the locks around his fist before giving it a mean tug. “si!” you whined as you tried to lift yourself up, your elbows and legs giving up as he continued fucking you.

a low whine escaped your lips, your face scrunched up from the pleasure.

“quite a whiner isn’t she gaz?” simon grunted as gaz lazily lounged on the chair bedside the bed, his bulge visible through his cargo pants. “‘m too sensitive si,” you whined as you looked at gaz pleadingly.

“think i should be more gentle?” he raised a brow only to have gaz shake his head. “teach the brat a lesson, her cunts leakin’ so damn much.” gaz muttered sternly, his eyes narrowing in on the sight. “do whatever yer want to her, she’s enjoying it, lil minx.”

and simon listened.

shoving you face down on the soft pillow, with your ass up in the air as he fisted your hair tightly, the sound of his hips slamming against you filled the room with your muffled moan, droll dribbling down your chin as your eyes rolled all the way back.

“si, ‘m too sensitive,” you whined but it went unnoticed, sweat dripped from simon’s forehead and down his chest, his thick brows furrowed in concentration to not fill you up.

“quit yer whining doll, or else’s you’ll be here all night.”

@happysmappy @mydickishuge560 @dolli333 @madebyyicarus @l-otti @butlerslut @vampwifee @i-wanabe-yours @bluebarrybubblez @cinnamongrl2006 @akkahelenaa @yanfeiiiiii @actualpoppy @lilyalone @other-fandoms-reblogs @goonette6969 @doubledizzy22 @lucienofthelakes @arabellatreaty @tessakate @kayden666 @ghostsd8s @ama-eve @webmvie @your-internet-tenshi @novthewolf @1ilo @simpingreader @angeldoll1e @avgdestitute @anonymouse1807 @chaieanne @i-live-in-spite @angel-z-xdx @trashaccount19

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #cod #simon riley x female reader #simon riley x f!reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley imagine #cod simon ghost riley #cod simon riley #simon riley smut #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x reader

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wonderjanga · 2 days ago

Text

Adoption

One day, Marvel suddenly came in with a baby. He’d had it strapped to his chest, muted with a spell as he let it chew on his fingers while he listened to the meeting. Eventually, when it was over, somebody asked where in the world he got it from and they received a very convoluted explanation in response.

Marvel: “…So, yeah! I found him in a dumpster and I’m kind of taking care of him now!”

A small silence filled the meeting room. There were so many questionable things in that statement. Why was Marvel close enough to a dumpster to hear a baby crying? WHO left the baby there? Also, most of the JL are pretty sure Marvel isn’t human either so… how does he plan to raise a human baby??

Surprisingly, none of those questions were the one asked.

Flash: “Cap, aren’t you a little young to have kids?”

Marvel: “Uh… maybe? But it’ll be fine. I’ll just have to cut back on expenses in certain areas but other than that, it should be good.” *holds the baby at arms length so he can look at it*

Supes: “You have an actual job?”

Marvel: “Yes?”

*silence*

Batman: “Captain, you talk as if money is tight. What will happen if you can’t afford to take care of the baby?”

Marvel: “Wha— Of course I can!”

Batman: “Yes, but what if you can’t?”

Marvel: *hesitating* “I dunno. Would you take him?”

Batman: “If it had to come down to it, yes.”

Marvel: *super casual* “…mmm okay then. When I get all the documents in order, I’ll make you his Godfather or something.”

While Bruce didn’t mind becoming the godfather to Marvel’s ward, he was just wondering how he was going to explain this to Alfred, to his kids, and to literally everyone.

Marvel: “Oh, but you can’t make him into a Robin until he’s 12, okay? 12 is the minimum and nothing earlier.”

Batman: “I’m more surprised you’d actually let me if he came into my custody.”

Marvel: *shrugs* “Heroism runs in my family. Even if we aren’t biologically related, I wouldn’t be surprised if he asked to become Robin.”

Eventually, when it was just Marvel and Bruce alone. Bruce asked why Marvel was so keen on adopting the kid.

Marvel: “It’s just, he was thrown out, like me. He’s even younger than me when I was thrown out too! I don’t want him to grow up the way I did.”

Batman: “Homeless?”

Marvel: “That and bouncing through foster homes for a bit.”

Batman: “…I see. They had foster homes in Ancient Greece?”

Marvel: “Something like that.”

#billy batson #shazam #dc captain marvel #captain marvel dc #fawcett city #fawcett #fawcett comics

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bowtiepasta · 3 days ago

Text

bokuto first loves you by instinct before will.

before he even knows he loves you: he’s leaning in when you talk, putting his hand over your head so you won’t hit it, tying your shoelaces when they come undone, filling up your empty water bottle, walking on the outskirt of the sidewalk when taking you home on later nights, and opening every door you walk into.

yet when akaashi comes up to him one day to ask him if he likes you, all he can say is “what? why?” because aren’t those reasonable things to do? model citizen acts? part of the good samaritan rulebook?

but he dissects them slowly, runs through it all in his head, a replay reel of each tiny, unconscious act lined up in neat little rows. he doesn’t remember when it started; can’t pinpoint the moment it stopped being “my friend” and became “my person.”

he realizes that maybe, akaashi’s right.

he starts doing things more deliberately, more carefully, scared of being caught in the act. scared you will catch him, and he won’t know what to say.

he’s clumsier with his affection now that he knows it’s affection. holds the door open too early. brushes your hand and jerks away like it burns.

he tells himself it’s just who he is. warm-hearted. attentive. his mother raised him right.

but when he sees you laughing with someone else, head tilted back, eyes squinting in the way he’s learned means you’re genuinely amused—he feels something tighten in his chest. something unfamiliar. something that doesn’t feel make him feel like such a good guy.

he sits with it. wrestles with it.

later, he finds himself watching you scroll on your phone, feet tucked under you on the gym bleachers, hair slightly out of place. and when you look up and smile, not tired out by the world today, everything clicks into place.

he doesn’t say anything. not yet. but when you stand, he’s already beside you, already lifting your bag onto his shoulder, already asking if you want to grab something to eat before heading home.

this time, he knows. this time, he doesn’t need akaashi to tell him.

he’s in love.

which should be a good feeling, right?

it should be.

yet every casual gesture is now laced with consequence. every look, every word, every action, feels loaded. he starts second-guessing the very instinct that used to guide him so easily.

should he still tie your laces? is that too much now?

can he offer you his jacket without it meaning anything?

was he being obvious before? were you just being kind by not pointing it out?

he means to leave.

the second he hears your voice, he tells himself—go. you weren’t talking to him. he shouldn’t be standing there behind the door, eavesdropping with a racing heart and a dry mouth.

he freezes when he hears his name: soft and unsure, a fragile thought spoken aloud. then a laugh from tatsuki, and a reply along the lines of “looks at you like you hung the moon.”

you sound nervous.

he peeks over, bolder now. you’re fidgeting with the hem of your shirt and nodding intently at what his teammate is telling you—more than clearly agreeing.

right as he convinces himself it’s wrong to listen in, begins to back away and starts to leave, he picks up on the last thing tatsuki suggests to you:

“if you like him so much, tell him.”

and suddenly, all the instincts and all the will in the world are on his side.

#ant with knapsack #bokuto x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #bokuto koutarou #hq bokuto #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x you #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #bokuto koutaro x reader #bokuto kotaro

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splinter-cat · 1 day ago

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Unfortunately, if we want men to believe that the body on the right isn’t the ideal we all want, we’re gonna have to combat the messaging that so much of society and media is already sending them.

Think about it, the body on the right is everywhere. Movies, TV shows, magazine covers, advertisements, book covers, video games, online articles, hell even fanart of characters who aren’t buff in the slightest in the canon will regularly feature abs that look like a pack of sweet rolls.

It’s almost impossible to escape the messaging that says this is the thing to aspire to and anything less isn’t good enough.

And yes, women participate in this messaging, too, unfortunately. Both as the creators of some of the media that does this and as fans. It’s less apparent on platforms like tumblr, but having been on e.g. some facebook groups and hanging out with more conservative family members, I can tell you there absolutely are women who will not shut up about the body type on the right.

Does this make women to blame or mean that they all share the same view? Absolutely not. See what I just said above about this being a societal issue. But not acknowledging that everyone can participate in patriarchy (which is to blame for the idea of “ideal” body types in the first place) keeps us from being able to solve these issues.

Do I know exactly how to fix this? Not really. I’m just a trans guy who definitely doesn’t have either of the bodies shown above and doesn’t want to, but still has his own share of body issues, definitely in part because of all the messaging I’ve talked about.

All I can suggest is that we get louder. Show more appreciation for other body types; support media that not only features diverse body types, but shows them as desirable; create that media ourselves if we cannot find it.

i think the reason a lot of men are screaming, puking, and crying about this is bc it forces them to acknowledge that the reason they can’t get women to like them is not actually bc of their physique but bc of their shitty personality

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wrotebymii · 20 hours ago

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HOUSE FIEND | Date Everything gn!Reader

Summary: You are the friend of the Homeowner, they need you to house sit for a month. During the time weird things happen that you hope to ignore.

Warning: Fluff, banter. I named the homeowner ‘Homie’ cause I can’t keep calling them homeowner, Homie befriended everyone, no love plot.

PART TWO | MASTERLIST | READ ME

What you thought of Homie didn’t really matter, you were friends with them and Sam. Though, you’d be a liar if you said you didn’t think they were slightly crazy—since the group chat consisted of them ranting about their…household objects…and their relationship status with each of ‘em.

You’d also be a liar if you said you weren’t at least a little bit curious about ‘Dateviators’ especially now because they asked you to house-sit for them. You stared at the message blankly, not reading the entire paragraph of why they needed to be away from the house for a long period of time—something about making sure they aren’t on their trail about having the glasses…whatever that meant.

You type back “yap alert” then adding “sure”

Then going back to mundane work life, when your manager snapped at you for slacking. Hmm, maybe a month house sitting and working at home would be better.

You wouldn’t say you’re a hermit like Homie, but sitting somewhere that isn’t a cramped cubicle would be a nice new environment. And keep you from the itching that thought in the back of your head to resign.

After a few weeks of preparation and informing your bosses that you’ll be working from home for the time being, you grab your packed backpack and walk up to their home. You’re about to knock on the door with your knuckles but you notice the…rather small door knocker and gently use that instead.

Dorian was apprehensive at first seeing you, readying himself for an obnoxious pound at the door that would escalate to more knocking when Homie didn’t come fast enough, but no. You stopped yourself and used the actual door knocker and waited patiently.

He liked you already, platonically, of course.

Homie opened the door and not so gracefully dragged you inside. They looked paranoid looking you up and down with aviators as if you’re a spy—shaking their head they started explaining. Something about how their parents are finally talking with them again, and blah blah blah.

“I can’t take Sky- Er…the glasses with me cause they’d probably take her back, and these are like my prized possession…” Rightfully ignoring the feminine pronouns for the glasses, cause what? You tease them a bit.

“Good to know your bank will repossess…glasses instead of like? Your car or something to inconvenience you more” From behind you, the curtains hung up on a bronze rod ruffle. Homie glares at it.

“Okay, it seems to me that you need to spend some time out of this house…and…interact with humans” The stairs creak along with the walls—something from the living room shutters.

You don’t notice Homie muttering under their breath “they didn’t mean it like that…”

“Your house makes a lot of noise, huh?” You ask, they guide you around each room, they grab their luggage rushing out the door—waving at things…then turning to me as they’re stepping outside. The door groans as if displeased, causing Homie to sigh.

You ignore it, better for your sanity to place logical reason to it. They grab your hands firmly, then take off the glasses and place them in your palm—like it’s a sacred symbol.

“Take care of the house, I hope you get alo—ugh just be nice, don’t break things…or insult things.” They say with a wave of their hand trying to articulate their wishes best for you.

“Also, feel free to use the glasses…I think they—well maybe not all of them but new faces are nice, I think” They pause pondering the thought comedically. Their statements and backtracking is throwing you through a loop.

“Okay, I don’t have time to explain the glasses, but if you try them I’m sure Skylar is willing to help you—‘kay byyye!!” They skip away nearly tripping on the walkway payment to their car. You laugh which was more like a huff.

You placed a hand on the back of the door to close it but it quickly shuts on its own, and a click locks. You stand there processing the weirdness of that but to convince yourself you mutter.

“Must’ve been the wind…” Look down at the top lock that you knew you didn’t touch.

“…intelligent wind…” You felt a breeze caress your check—not wanting to stay and stare in one place that would likely make you lose it and probably talk to—you don’t know maybe the personification of dread, just spitballing. You take your bag and place it next to the sofa and the glasses on the coffee table. Deciding that you’ll be sleeping there after you plopped down and melted into the cushioning.

You rather not sleep in Homie’s bed after giving great detail about how the Dateviators worked and how most of their home appliances are frisky. They never said that they’ve slept with any of them but you couldn’t get the teasing comments you’d make with Sam about it.

Thus, sleeping on the sofa no matter how many kinks you get in your neck or sore spots you get. Now that you think of it. How many of your friend’s household necessities are sentient? Also, how does that work?

You look at the glasses on the table that felt like they were inching closer to you. If—hypothetically—you were to put them on in your home would it be the same set of people or different? What are the laws of their physics? Is the object their body—or does the glasses make them transform into a mirror person? Or maybe it just takes their consciousness and personifies it instead of the inanimate object—

You groan and log your head back against the couch, bringing a hand up to rub between your eyes.

First day you and you were already thinking of the impossible, becoming your friend.

You need to do something to keep your mind off it.

Maybe writing out some emails will help.

You pretend to not care about how you felt you were being watch but in a weirdly comforting—almost robotic way. Like a person looking out for someone they don’t really know but need to be friendly with.

Weird things have started happening that you refuse to understand or accept in anything other form than a vague logical explanation.

You were working inside the office, they allowed you to use their computer you ignored when they said “they’re friendly”

It ran faster than the company issued one in your cubicle, you were nearly done with a very long chain email to your co-workers when out of the corner of your eye something moved. You didn’t even glance at first thinking it was from the light coming from the windows behind you.

It happened again. You squint at the monitor forcing yourself to stay focused, then again, then—drop.

Something fell, hit the side of the desk making a wobbled thud and onto the rug. You snapped your head to the side, realizing that the red die was missing.

You get up and peer over, seeing it laying on the ground. Rolled onto a 20. You roll your eyes and snicker. Picking it up and placing it back where it was—sitting back in the chair to start typing where you left off only to notice that…it's completely finished.

You scroll through the email—your email and are completely bewildered by the perfect spelling and even creative suggestions for the upcoming events at the office. You slack your head into your palm, mouth agape as you read through it.

Homie did say…the computer was…friendly.

You take a few minutes to think about if you should scrap it or let it be and send it. Sighing with a reluctant hmm.

Mac takes it as a thank you.

You needed a break and a high dose of caffeine…or maybe something from that mini bar you’ve been eyeing—why did Homie even have a mini bar?

Through the walkway and into the kitchen, heading straight for the coffee maker. There were some cute decorative cups by it that you placed on the center of it. Tapping a few buttons and crossing your fingers that you didn’t break it. The air fills with the rich scent of coffee.

As you wait you glance at the cute cat clock on the wall thinking about what you’ll have for dinner soon. As the coffee continues you look around their cabinets and fridge noticing how it’s only junk/fast food minus the few rarities.

The coffee dings. Stopping your search for nutritional value foods. When you took the cup you stopped. The coffee was decorated with a chocolate wafer, a dollop of vanilla cream that spread out into a beautiful design similar to a leaf, and some speckles of caramel.

This was not your typical desperate espresso that the break room had…no…this was art—something you could shed a tear at.

It made you feel guilty taking a sip and ruining the artwork. It was packed with sugar but on everything that you owned—it was the best goddamn drink you’ve ever had. It literally made you moan a “oh shit—“

You slumped your shoulders letting the warm drink fill you, trying to ignore the positive energy that was radiating from the machine. Kopi was happy you enjoyed it. You were too preoccupied with the coffee you nearly trip on your way back to the office.

You look down. Your foot was on the arm of a clothes hanger. Stepping back you look up, eyes wide in confusion. There were multiple hangers hooked onto a vent, cold air flushing out.

You do something you’re not entirely why you considered it: You pick up the hang you accidentally stepped on, dusting it off annnddd…hooking it with the rest of them.

You stare at the hangers feeling stupid.

You question how the hangers got there but that’ll give you a headache. The only thing your dumb human brain comes up with is that there could be a ghost.

And honestly you’d take the ghost over sentient objects.

So, you’ll suck it up and deal with dancing around the fact your friend is in kahoots with their memorabilia and or ghost.

You had finished making dinner with the minimal ingredients that were in the kitchen and ate in peaceful silence before cleaning up.

You are hand washing them because the dishwasher gave you the creeps after you stared at it for a long period of time. You’re at the sink rinsing the plate, on with healed cracks and seams on it like it’s been meticulously fixed with delicate hands.

You wonder if Homie did this.

You smile at the thought. Daisuke smiles at you, appreciating your gentle touch to his dishes.

As you dry the plate and silverware finishing up cleaning. You turn, and there on the center of the table were the glasses…didn’t you put them on the coffee table?

Your brain couldn’t comprehend it—so much so you again choose to ignore it. Slowly walking away while maintaining eye contact with the glasses.

This is going to be a long month.

#character x reader #date everything #date everything x reader #gender neutral reader #x reader

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my-castles-crumbling · 2 days ago

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awesome - june 1 - jegulus - @taylorswiftmicrofic - word count: 401 - based on an idea that @emeryinthestars sent, lmk if you want me to take this down!

As soon as James went to the bathroom, Regulus took his chance.

He wasn’t a complete stalker, of course. He’d just learned a lot in his sixteen years of life. Namely, how one organized one’s room was a huge look into one’s personality.

So of course, when James Potter left him alone in the Gryffindor Boys’ Dorm Room, Regulus decided to snoop.

He started with the bedside table. It was…almost endearing. There were so many pictures. One of what had to be James’s parents, another of James with his friends. Regulus’s heart skipped several beats when he noticed one of himself on there, too. A few loose coins and a couple gum wrappers told him that yes, it was definitely still James’s table.

He moved on to the desk, which was much messier.

Scribbled notes, crumpled up pieces of parchment, slightly-lewd doodles with several different types of handwriting, empty bottles of ink…it was overwhelming, but it was also, comfortingly, James.

The whole thing made Regulus smile until he looked at the shelf of books and gasped.

“Potter!” he exclaimed, forgetting that he shouldn’t be looking through James’s things in the first place.

James ran back into the room, hands still wet (at least he washed them, Barty didn’t always do so, much to Regulus’s dismay). “What?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“Are your books…in rainbow order?” Regulus accused him, tone sharp, because the situation deserved it.

The seventh year broke into a grin. “Oh. Yeah! Isn’t it fun?”

Regulus blinked several times. Oh, this wouldn’t do. “I’m breaking up with you,” he muttered, standing and moving to the door.

“What? Reg, wait!” James exclaimed, moving to wrap his (still slightly damp) arms around Regulus’s waist.

He squirmed, refusing to make eye contact. “Color, Potter? You organize by color? That’s…anarchy!”

James laughed out loud. “It’s fun! Plus, what were you doing, going through my things while I was in the bathroom, hmm?”

Regulus froze, stomach dropping. Oh. Whoops. “I was doing no such thing,” he murmured, looking down.

A hand moved his chin so suddenly, he was drowning in hazel eyes. “Sure, love,” James beamed. “You’re obsessed with me, aren’t you?”

He grimaced. “No. I hate you. You and your color-organized bookshelf.”

The Gryffindor continued to smile, bringing their mouths tantalizingly close. “No. You don’t,” he murmured, brushing their lips together.

Regulus groaned. “I don’t,” he admitted, before closing the gap between them.

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frannyzooey · 2 days ago

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Joel Miller x f!reader

Part three of Squirming & Restraint

Rating: E, implied age/experience gap

A/N: Thank you endlessly to the beautiful, talented human that is @intheorangebedroom for reading this and reassuring me ❤️

A shot ricochets off brick to the left of your shoulder, and you flinch, wincing at the dust thrown into your eyes. Another one follows it, closer still, and your sneakers scramble over gravel to stay crouched low behind Joel. He raises his rifle, the breadth of his shoulders tensing as he fires off a rapid succession of shots.

“You there? Right behind me?” he yells over the answering shots that dent the shell of a car you’re hiding behind.

“Yes!”

He nods, raising in his crouch just enough to fire off two more shots, and then he’s back down again.

“Listen. Hey,” he scolds sternly, getting your attention. “There’s a crack in the wall over there. It’s been blown out.” His chin jerks in the direction of it, but your frantic eyes stay on his face. His eyebrows raise with an urgency that matches the tone of his voice. “You see it? Look.”

The second your eyes leave his, shots explode on the ground near the car and he tucks you tight to his body. He smells like sweat and adrenaline, and you quickly press your face into his flannel and inhale, clutching the fabric of it along his ribs. The shots stop, and you can hear the men shouting in the distance, regrouping.

“Go,” he urges you, his arm tightening for a second before he pushes you towards the crack. “Go now, and stay there until I come for you.”

“Joel –” you start to beg, and he silences your pleading with a look.

“I’ll take care of ‘em,” he urges. “They aren’t going to get you.”

Your face twisting with fear and panic, you reach for his hand, but he pulls away.

“You gotta go,” he says. Bullets gouge chunks of brick, and he quickly glances over his shoulder, his expression darkening.

“Go!” he yells.

He doesn’t leave until he sees you disappear into hiding.

–

You wake with a start.

The darkness around you black and dense, it takes you a minute to remember where you are.

As promised, he took care of the group of men and had come back for you. You had watched through a slice of light: a formidable bulk of shadow that turned into the fuzzy-edged shape of him, then into clear focus, the shoulder of his flannel drenched in dark blood.

You could see it pulsing from the wound, but he paid it no mind as he reached for you, surprising you by pulling you into a tight hug. You took to it immediately, clutching him just as fiercely. His whiskered cheek rested on the crown of your head and his lips pressed against your hairline, and your tears leaked into the fabric of his shirt to mix with the blood there. They spilled from your eyes, and when he pulled back to inspect your wellbeing for himself, his calloused thumbs wiped at the damp tracks that slid down your cheeks. The emotion held within the depths of his brown eyes showed worry, desperation, relief – or maybe you just imagined those things, because you wanted them to be true.

He led you out of the city, not saying anything, too consumed with staying vigilant. Ending up at a house tucked into one of those winding developments of a time past, you wanted to help patch up his shoulder, but he waved you away.

“Can’t stay here long,” he sighed, peeling away the corner of a piece of newspaper that covered the front window. “Get some sleep while you can.”

Curled up on a mattress that had been stripped long ago, your boots and jeans are off, and your bare legs stretch underneath the blanket that Joel must have placed over you. Turning, you feel for him, though you know he’s not there. If he were, you’d be able to feel it – that pulse of electricity that he gives off whenever he’s close, the one that nestles between your thighs.

Sitting up, you see him on the edge of the bed. His back faces you, his t-shirt stretched tight across the muscles. His rifle rests next to him, a silent sentry protecting you while you sleep, as if it’s not as important to watch over the entire house, but rather just you alone. You stare at the shape of him, the breadth. Remembering the tight hold he had on you earlier, something kindles in the cradle of your hips; simmering, warm and wet.

As if he can sense it, his head turns, his profile outlined in the dark. “You okay?”

Slipping from the bed, you pad over to stand between his knees. Feeling slightly childish in your t-shirt and underpants, vulnerable and bare, you push it down to cup his face in your hands.

“Are you?”

He looks tired – so tired you can see dark circles under his eyes, so tired he stays passive and still as you cradle his face in your hold to inspect it. Your touch drifts down to his shoulder, and he stiffens.

“Can I see?” you ask.

He stares at you for a long moment. You’re used to his stare, his long, assessing gaze that sometimes gives you a direct view of how much he wants to accede. He waits a beat, and then his hand reaches back, gripping his shirt to pull it off with a tug over his head. He lets out a soft grunt of pain, and when he’s bare, you let your touch skim over the self-applied bandage that covers his shoulder.

“Is it bad?” you ask, your finger tracing the edge of the gauze.

“Not really,” he shrugs. “Bled more than anything. Just a knick.”

The bandage looks out of place on his formidable frame. Or maybe it’s that it only serves to highlight how solid he is, how sturdy. His broad shoulders, his thick chest dusted with hair. Leaving the scrap of white taped to his tanned skin, your eyes follow a path down his sternum, over his torso, sliding down the trail of hair that thickens just over his belly to lead beneath his belt.

You stare for a beat too long, your thighs shifting in an imperceptible rub together, and he frowns, reaching for his shirt.

“Don’t”, you stop him. “Let me look?”

His frown deepens. “You’ve looked long enough.”

“I haven’t though,” you argue back. You’ll never have your fill, it feels like sometimes.

You step closer so you’re situated between his wide-spread thighs.

“Just want to make sure you’re okay.”

He gives you a knowing look, yet makes no effort to put his shirt back on. His eyes find yours, hooded and dark.

“I told you I’m fine. You should get back to –”

“I didn’t like it today. When you left me.”

You interrupt him before he can put a stop to whatever intimacy is building between the two of you. Your voice wavers with the truthful admission, and he stops talking.

His expression contains so much: care, empathy, resolve. “I had to. You know that.”

“I know. I still didn’t like it.” Your lower lip trembles, your eyes dropping to the floor, and he drops his t-shirt, his hands instinctively cupping the back of your bare thighs. His touch is soft but sure, tender but firm. “I kept thinking about what I would do if you didn’t come back. If something happened to you.”

He lets you talk, his hold caressing your skin. You close your eyes with a sigh, leaning into his touch.

“Nothin’ is gonna happen to me,” he reassures. You open your eyes, and watch his throat work with a swallow, with his speech. “And I ain’t gonna let anything happen to you either. You got it?”

You nod, but he isn’t satisfied. “Repeat it. Say it like me.”

“Nothing is going to happen to you,” you repeat.

“And?”

“And nothing is going to happen to me either.”

“Why?” he presses, his hold tightening.

Your eyes find his. “Because you won’t let it.”

He nods in approval, and you step into his arms.

He holds you tight, just like earlier, and you press yourself along his body as if to merge it with his own. Straddling his thigh in a need to be closer, you sink further into his strong hold, tucking your face into the crook of his neck. He squeezes you tighter, knowing the kind of comfort you’re seeking. One arm banded around your waist, the other skims over your thigh, up over your hip and along your ribs in a soothing circuit. The pressure of his firm thigh between your own paired with the scent of his hot, bare skin has your hips canting forward in a barely-there roll. Your mouth can feel the heat of his body, your lips so close to the pebbled skin of his neck and your hand slips down, fingering the wiry hair on his chest.

You shift your hips forward in a disguise of getting comfortable – one he sees right through. His hand stills yours.

“Hey now,” he says lowly, the rough words rumbling under your palm. “What do you think you’re doin’?”

His scent pulls you under, past all reason. Thinking about how far away he was from you today and how close he is now, you press your mouth against his skin, letting out a soft sound of content when you taste the salt you find there. Your hips rock forward, and his hands grip your hips.

“Stop.”

You shake your head, your face still tucked into him.

“No,” you breathe, kissing his throat.

You push further, needing to taste him, needing to feel the solid sureness of his body against yours. Your tongue slips out to lave over his skin, your lips mold to his throat. Another delicate kiss pressed to the hinge of his jaw, and you feel his rough swallow, his deep sigh…but he doesn’t stop you.

“I was so scared today,” you murmur between kisses. “Not for me. For you.”

He says nothing, his rough hands sliding up from your hips to splay and map over your back. He pushes his touch under your shirt, stroking your bare skin.

“I’m right here, babygirl.”

Babygirl. It’s not the first time he’s called you that, but the endearment isn’t easily come by. You’ve heard it more often than not on the edge of sleep, when he thinks you can’t hear him.

Lifting your face at the name, you lean forward for a kiss.

His mouth is still underneath yours for a split second, your lips pressing against his unmoving ones. Your eyes are closed, but you can feel the frown between his brows without seeing it, so much that you start to pull away – but it’s then that he yields. His fingers stretching to splay over your ribs, his mouth opens and he matches your kiss with his own.

It’s rough, like the man himself. Demanding, thorough. His tongue strokes yours and his mouth devours and it’s all you can do to hang onto the dark curls at his nape while you tilt your head to deepen it. A hungry, bottomless thing; your hips begin to roll over the meat of his thigh, his grip forcing you tighter against him. You can feel how wet you are against the denim, and you wonder if he can feel it too. He eats at your mouth, taking what you’re offering and more, rough sounds sliding from his throat to yours. He forces you open, and your fingers trip down his belly, dancing over the thatch of hair that swirls around his navel.

You get to his belt buckle, and he breaks the kiss. His hold closes over yours, stopping it from moving.

“Gonna keep that closed, darlin’,” he says, his voice like gravel.

Disappointment and want fill your belly with a weight that aches, a soft whine leaving your throat. His taste lingers on your tongue, his thick thigh wedged tight against where you need him, but it’s his chest and the scent of his bare skin that has you a desperate, wet mess. Perched in place on his leg, your hips roll on their own, an action that makes his eyes drop to watch. A muscle along his jaw feathers, heat radiating from his body and when he looks up to find you silently pleading, his expression softens as much as it can for the arousal written all over it.

You can see the shape of him beneath his fly: a thick, solid heft. Your mouth waters, and your cunt aches with a needy throb. If you focus hard enough on imagining it, you can feel the weight and warmth of it in your hand and sliding your hand from his, you try to slip your touch down between his thighs to mold your palm around his cock, but he grabs it before you can.

A sob hitches at the base of your throat, and he clucks his tongue.

“Easy, easy,” he soothes. “I got you.”

He fingers the hem of your t-shirt, and you raise your arms automatically, letting him pull it off. Dropping it on the floor to join his own, his fingers efficiently work open the clasp of your bra. The action is deft, perfunctory, a practiced thing like everything else he just knows how to do and you sit pliant and willing on his lap, vibrating with the want that fills the space between your bodies. Bare chest to bare chest, it takes a certain level of trust to wait patiently for him to do as he wills — trust you’d given to him months ago, in every way that mattered.

Your life; this.

“So beautiful.” His words dripping with reverence.

He cups your breasts in his weathered hands, fondling the plumpness of them. The first time he’s allowed himself an indulgent look, he uses his broad hands to cup you wholly. You watch as he tests the weight of them, the softness, watch as his tongue slides along his bottom lip as he looks at them, but nothing can prepare you for when he envelopes the peak of your breast with an open mouthed, hungry kiss. The wet muscle drags across your nipple, your back bowing as he pushes more of it into his mouth so he can taste everything you’re offering. He nips, teases with the tip of his tongue just to feel the bud tripping across his palate and then, he sucks. Your breath hitches in your throat, and need flickers up your spine to drip down from the peaks of your breasts to the cradle of your hips, leaking out in his firm thigh. He groans against your skin, an entirely new sensation that ratchets everything higher and when you look down at him, he’s got his eyes closed in desperate savor.

So familiar with his facial expressions and his silent looks, it’s an expression that you haven’t seen. He’s never shown it to you, never allowed you to see his unrestrained want. You’ve felt it, but you’ve never seen it. It’s a picture of what you feel on the inside when you look at him and when his brow furrows deeper as if in pain with how much he needs you, you writhe your hips harder over his thigh.

You ride it, shamelessly, blatantly, your back bowing to give him access, your fingers threading through the curls at the nape of his neck, tugging him closer.

He groans again, licking a wide stripe up the plane of your chest, both of his hands now on your hips. His fingers tighten, and the hands that have helped so much already — helped feed you, pulled triggers to keep you safe, bandaged you when you’ve been hurt – they help now in another way, in their guiding movements. He tugs you forward and pushes you back, his biceps straining with the motion. His eyes locked on where you’ve darkened the denim over his thigh, he moves you surer, quicker. You clench your jaw with a whine, the pressure on your clit overtaking everything, and he rocks your hips forward and back, forward and back, giving you what you need.

“It’s – you feel so good,” you moan.

“That’s all you, pretty girl. You’re the one fuckin’ me.”

Filthier and more blatant than anything he’s ever said to you before, his mouth latches onto your nipple with a wet, hungry suck, his whiskers scraping across your skin, and you feel like you can’t breathe with how good everything feels. Cradled in his hold, perched on his thigh, forced to come because of the way he’s making you move, you rest your forehead against his and look down at his lap. He’s hard, a thick bulge reaching from the apex of his jeans up towards his hip, the lewd image forcing your lips to part with a pant –

His hand nudges your chin back up. “Eyes on me, darlin’. Keep ‘em up here. Right on mine.”

“Please,” you plead, begging. “Can I see it?”

The constant question, the thing he keeps denying you. You want it in your hand, in your mouth. You want to touch it, taste it, see it with your own eyes to know if it’s as big as it looks hidden beneath his fly or as thick as it feels when he’s pressed it against you. It’s a line he won’t cross, and though you ask him the same question every time, every time it seems to wage a war within his eyes.

“Let me make you feel good,” you push, hoping this will be the time he breaks. “Please.”

You’re babbling, your hips rolling faster, your release drawing everything tight and his hands slip down underneath the band of your underwear to splay over your ass. They bite into the plump flesh, tugging you in a ceaseless rhythm.

“This does feel good for me. Makin’ you feel good makes it good for me.”

You shake your head quickly. “Please,” you beg into his mouth, your hot breath sliding over his parted lips. “I need more. I want more.”

He growls, and flips you on your back.

His fingers frantically work at his belt buckle, and at the prospect of finally seeing what you’ve been wanting for months, you thrust your hand underneath your underwear and find your clit with a practiced swirl of your fingers. Everything is soaked and sensitive, sticky and slick, your throat outstretched as you cry out, your thighs spread wide as he pushes his jeans down to mid-thigh, the fever-pitch desperation in his movements pushing you closer to the edge. Leaving his briefs on, he drops himself down to fit between your legs. Tearing your hand out of your panties, he forces it into the mattress next to your head with a firm hold. Bending to wrap his mouth around the slick digits, his hips lower against yours at the same time he begins to suck.

Then, he starts to move.

The outlined heft of his cock a stiff weight pressed tight along your soaked seam, he rolls, rolls, rolls his hips. It’s a fluid motion, unceasing, your legs winding around his waist to keep him in place. The grinding weight of his strokes presses you deeper into the bare mattress, shifting you up underneath the bulk of his body. He fucks you with his clothed cock, groaning deeply around your fingers as he licks your arousal from them, and you shamelessly moan underneath him, lost under the bulk of his body.

“This what you need?” he asks, his breath hot against your cheek.

You nod frantically, consumed with the need to come. “I need it. I want your –,” you whine, a particularly rough stroke tipping you closer to the edge. “I want it. I want it.”

“Can’t even say it, why should I give it to you.”

A frustrated sob rips from your throat, the edge of his reprimand shoving you closer to the edge. The thick ridge of his cock presses against your clit just right, rubbing it again and again through the soaked fabric that separates your bodies, and for a moment, it’s just heavy panting breaths, the stretch of your inner thighs as they widen to make room for him, and the faint squeak of the bed. His heavy bulk presses you down deeper, the forward rocking of his hips never stopping and for a glimmering second, you think he’s going to give you what you want when his hand reaches down –

He shoves it under your tailbone to tilt your hips up just as he rolls his own down. Twin groans of relief fill the humid air between you, the angle just right. The friction of the soaked fabric drags over your clit, his hips pushing down harder, and a release that’s been building since you woke up floods through the cradle of your hips outwards, your body tightening with it, your hips moving against his on base instinct.

“Joel!” Your eyes clenched shut, your body existing as sensation alone, you are buried safe underneath him, protected and cared for as he watches your face as you come, and come.

“Christ,” he grits out. He tenses, and you feel him jerk against your cunt, his cock a stiff throb between your bodies before a searing hot wetness saturates the fabric between you. His hand pins you roughly in place, forcing your hips to stop moving against his while his eyes shut tight, his stomach jumping with the spurts of his release.

When he’s done, your bodies stay together.

Silently, tentatively, still catching your breath, you roll your hips.

He lets you feel his softening bulk, still thick and heavy between you. It feels more exploratory and somehow more intimate than everything you just did, to rock your cunt over his lap just to know how he feels against you. Your eyes lift to meet his, and you find him already looking down at you.

His fingers sift through the hair at your temple, and you turn your head to kiss the inside of his wrist. Your lips linger there, and he hums.

“Always so soft after you come.”

Shocked and surprised by his words, a laugh bubbles out from you and he smirks.

A yielding of his usual defenses, he looks younger for a moment, and for a fleeting second, you can almost see the old world: the two of you in bed after a date, the tender yet ravenous touches of something newly explored. But this isn’t that – this is a house on the edges of a desolate town, and you’re on a stripped mattress and he hasn’t given in yet to what you really want.

You think you like this better.

#joel miller #joel miller/you #joel miller/reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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starry-eyednihilist · 2 days ago

Text

not me going on a rant😭😭but is it just me or does not look like this new gen of teenagers are literally being conditioned to be easily puppeteered?? short social media clips are creating widespread short attention spans, training brains to regulate dopamine based off of feedback loops. weed is so strong compared to back then. vapes are catered to teens and it is scary how addictive they are. there just isn’t any observable resolve within us anymore to passionately think for ourselves, we just numb ourselves out to the max and pass thru the day to day motions, AI is our collective brain.

instead of AI being used to help out with mindless chores, it’s being used in place of us generating our own creativity and logistic thoughts and voice (how many politicians’ administrative teams just churn out AI generated tweets..?). covid created a huge gap in the education system that never got repaired and instead new maladaptive conceptions bridged the void. i remember post on social media the other day where 8th graders were talking about the jobs they had and the physical labor those jobs required. any posts about school were negative or just romanticized thru some admittingly toxic Rory Gilmore aesthetics. …

industrial age anyone, a whole generational gap in education. a lot of gov jobs will not be filled up by this new gen most likely. crowd mentality on social media is definitely used to the advantage of some. a whole focus on culture wars literally everywhere on media, especially targeted for teens? historically there’s been a huge emphasis on symbolic victories against racism rather than concrete actual victories that would help (hello like liveable wages and equitable opportunities for affordable housing, food, etc it goes on). everyone including teens are all hanging onto a thread waiting for the next pin to drop in the news. guess what that gives us collective anxiety as well. global warming? radio silence. no concrete equity and other things that actually matter will ever be addressed or resolved in this capitalist society, they love to tell us progress is slow to placate us.

another thing, social media is SO loud meaning there is so much content that we aren’t processing intellectually, rather we’re mindlessly consuming every bit of media noise. teens cannot live without Spotify. teens do not connect the same way anymore, and it’s isn’t just a shallow teenager thing; when they get older, trust🤞, they are only going to find more destructive ways to cope with the loneliness. nobody really looks at each other anymore in general and they are so focused on mirroring each other or trying to impress one another, so focused on the inner noise in their own heads, that we don’t see each other anymore and don’t see the world around us. Fahrenheit 451 anyone🙋‍♀️ and all of this is just what’s on the surface and is blatantly observable imagine everything else in our daily lives that’s been so normalized…

Whenever I think about students using AI, I think about an essay I did in high school. Now see, we were reading The Grapes of Wrath, and I just couldn't do it. I got 25 pages in and my brain refused to read any more. I hated it. And its not like I hate the classics, I loved English class and I loved reading. I had even enjoyed Of Mice and Men, which I had read for fun. For some reason though, I absolutely could NOT read The Grapes of Wrath.

And it turned out I also couldn't watch the movie. I fell asleep in class both days we were watching it.

This, of course, meant I had to cheat on my essay.

And I got an A.

The essay was to compare the book and the movie and discuss the changes and how that affected the story.

Well it turned out Sparknotes had an entire section devoted to comparing and contrasting the book and the movie. Using that, and flipping to pages mentioned in Sparknotes to read sections of the book, I was able to bullshit an A paper.

But see the thing is, that this kind of 'cheating' still takes skills, you still learn things.

I had to know how to find the information I needed, I needed to be able to comprehend what sparknotes was saying and the analysis they did, I needed to know how to USE the information I read there to write an essay, I needed to know how to make sure none of it was marked as plagerized. I had to form an opinion on the sparknotes analysis so I could express my own opinions in the essay.

Was it cheating? Yeah, I didn't read the book or watch the movie. I used Sparknotes. It was a lot less work than if I had read the book and watched the movie and done it all myself.

The thing is though, I still had to use my fucking brain. Being able to bullshit an essay like that is a skill in and of itself that is useful. I exercised important skills, and even if it wasnt the intended way I still learned.

ChatGTP and other AI do not give that experience to people, people have to do nothing and gain nothing from it.

Using AI is absolutely different from other ways students have cheated in the past, and I stand by my opinion that its making students dumber, more helpless, and less capable.

However you feel about higher education, I think its undeniable that students using chatgtp is to their detriment. And by extension a detriment to anyone they work with or anyone who has to rely on them for something.

#us politics #ai generated #chatgpt

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p1astr81 · 3 days ago

Note

what about the reader being oscar's engineer?

there are many many talented women in Motorsport. This is a work of fiction and in no way meant to diminish any of their accomplishments!

also this is set in my ideal alternate universe where the 500 and Monaco GP are still the same day next year.

This one’s a sorta long one lol (wc: 3k)

cw: use of y/n, awkward scenes that made me nervous writing them, multiple time jumps, sexual references (nothing explicit), one bed trope, two clueless idiots, i guess you could say pining but not really, not proof read

He was a stubborn fucker, always convinced he knew what was right.

“The mediums aren’t working” He claimed after a free practice session.

“They are. We have-“ you tried to correct.

He cut you off. “I’m telling you, as the person who is sitting in the car, they’re falling off way too quick. And not worth it.”

Eyes narrowed, you tilted your head. “Perhaps it’s a driver issue then.”

He just shook his head. “Just saying, I think two Hards and a medium for the race.”

You nodded, sure you’d take his opinion into account, but, “we have a team of people whose entire job is analyzing strategy. I’m sure they know what’s best for you.”

And in the race, when he felt that you’d left him on the mediums for too long? “Mate, think about getting me off of these fucking mediums.”

Despite his attitude, “Plan A, Oscar,” was all you said in response.

“And I’m telling you Plan B.”

You chewed your cheek, then looked to Andrea. Andrea looked to your lead engineer. Back at you. He nodded.

You huffed. “Box this lap.”

Oscar said nothing. Not in the moment.

But boy did you hear it after.

“I told you.” Was the very first thing he said to you.

You rolled your eyes. “You do one thing right and you think you’re the smartest man alive.”

He shrugged. “Smarter than you, I guess.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Just go get ready for media before I have Sophie on my ass.” You gave his shoulder a shove.

A chuckle, the sound low and rumbled. “Wanna come with? Watch me change?” It wasn’t a real offer, said just to get a reaction out of you.

Shaking your head, you gave him another shove. “Get out of here.”

It was flirting. Thinly veiled by constant arguments—or bater, as Lando would say.

Three races later, Oscar caught too much of a curb, lost control and hit the wall. The rear suspension broke, as well as the rear wing.

You waited for him in the garage.

He blew right past you.

You followed him all the way to his driver’s room.

“I told you to watch that curb.” You expressed, calm but with the undertones of irritation.

“I’m aware.” He muttered.

“Then what was what?” You gestured a hand to the door.

He sighed. “A mistake.”

Your arm fell back to your side, shoulders slumping. Something was off about him. You could see it in the way he threw his gloved down and yanked at the sleeves of his overalls.

Concern etched its way onto your face. “You alright?”

“Yeah. Fine.” He dismissed.

But you pressed, stepped forward. “Don’t lie to me.”

Mirroring your movements, he also took a step closer. Dangerously close. Almost chest to chest. He glared down at you, but the look was fragile. Forced. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak-

“Oscar, media!” The shout through the door came after two quick knocks.

His eyes lingered on yours a beat longer before he shoved past you.

McLaren held their usual end of season party. You were in a blue dress that reached your ankles. The top half didn’t hide your curves, nor did it annunciate them. From your hips, the dress fell strait. The happy medium between professional and good looking.

Andrea took the microphone.

“Thank you all for being here tonight.” He started. Many more thanks followed after that. Paid special attention to each department, devised individual thanks to each of them. And then to the drivers. “You both gave us an incredible show this year, even if it did make us all nervous on many occasions. And thank you so much for maintaining the peace between you two. Truly, it makes everyone’s lives much, much easier.” The room erupted in laughter. “So if you could both come up here?” Andrea gestured with his hand.

Lando spoke first, thanked the team for the car they built and Oscar for allowing him to have a chance at the championship. Cheeky, as Oscar would say.

Oscar was next, followed the same script of thanking the whole team for helping him win his first championship. And then, “and a special thanks to my race engineer, y/n. Despite the many disagreements we had, this wouldn’t have been possible at all without you.”

Your face went pink. You gave him a small smile and a nod.

Later in the night, he found you secluded in a corner. “Wow, I got special thanks? An honor, truly.” Sarcasm, obviously. It carried your usual conversations, and this one would be no different.

Or so you thought. “I meant what I said. I don’t think I could’ve done it without you.”

You shrugged. “Yeah, well. It’s kinda my job.”

“It’s not just that. If it was anyone else…” he shook his head and shrugged, implying that he wouldn’t have been able to do it.

Staring at him, you tried to decipher whether or not he was joking. He had to have been. “You’re just saying that so I don’t-“

“No I’m not. I’m serious.”

And he was. You could see it in his eyes. Still, a part of you was skeptical. You shifted on your feet. “Okay. Thanks.”

You hadn’t seen each other until testing in late February. Headset over your ears, arms crossed and brows furrowed against the sunlight. “Your car looks good with that number one.” Was the very first thing you said to him.

He chuckled. “Hopefully I can keep it for another year.”

Both hands raised in defense. “Hey, they’ve done the best they could. It’s up to you now.”

His lips split into a smile, showcasing his bunny teeth. “And you. Don’t forget, I can’t do it without you.” He repeated his words from months earlier.

Those words did something funny to your chest. Your heart, more specifically. Like the beating of it had stopped completely, and shocked into a new rhythm.

“How about we get some laps in?” You changed the topic quickly.

The rain was coming down hard in Australia. Droplets the size of golf balls chucked down to the pavement outside repeatedly.

Stupidly, you’d forgotten your wallet at the track. Which held all of your cards. Including your hotel room card. It was too late to go back.

You’d been standing in the hotel lobby somewhere between thirty minutes and an hour. Apparently, they’d given you the only existing keys to your room.

Oscar, hungry for a small snack, came down to the lobby. He paused, spotting your slumped figure at the receptionist desk.

“What are you doing?”

You’d heard a lot of Australian accents today. But his was easily distinguishable. You turned around, brows raised and eyes tired. “Oh uh, forgot my wallet at the track. Apparently they have no extras room keys so now I’m standing here waiting while they figure something out because they also have no open rooms.”

Oscar glanced around. No sign of any employee. And you looked exhausted. “Why don’t you just stay with me tonight?”

A blink. Then a strange, awkward laugh. “What?”

“I don’t mind.”

Your attempt to stand up straighter failed, weighed down by exhaustion. “No, I wouldn’t want to be a bother.”

It was his turn to laugh. A genuine sound, not awkward like yours. “I just said I don’t mind. And besides, you look beat and I need my engineer wide awake for qualifying.”

It was dangerous and potentially crossed the line to unprofessional. Even so, a nice bed sounded like heaven to you right now. A second more of confliction. And then, “I’m too tired to fight you.” You shook your head and started walking with him.

Right after he got a snack from the vending machine, you both went up to his room.

He loaned you a pair of grey and white pajama pants, and a t-shirt of his.

He ignored how the sight did something weird to his stomach. Like it had just done four summersaults in a row.

The both of you settled into bed, your backs turned to each other. Everything was fine that night.

But then the sun rose the next morning. He woke before you to find your body hugging his. Your head snuggled into his neck, an arm around his torso, and a leg across his lap.

That wasn’t the issue, though. No, it was something much harder to ignore. Especially when you were shifting every five seconds, your leg rubbing against him each time.

He cursed under his breath, shifting slowly away from you. Waking you would be the worst mistake of his life. He could say it was typical for guys to wake up hard, but would you believe him? He doubted it, and he didn’t want to risk whatever dynamic you two had going.

Lucky for him, he was able to slip away from you without waking you up. He went and took a cold shower while you continued to sleep.

Oscar had an issue. He couldn’t get you off his mind. It’s like you were haunting him, even though you were still very much alive.

He knew why. But it scared him—terrified him, even.

And he was being stupidly obvious with his infatuation. “I think we should go plan B. Given where you’re starting, I think it’s the smartest.” You shrugged, pointing out graphics on the computer.

“Sounds good.” He smiled.

That threw you off, rapidly blinking at him like he had eight heads. “That’s it? No argument? No ‘what about’s?” It was a historical moment in your books.

He just shook his head. “You have more degrees than me, so.” A shrug.

Still, you didn’t believe him. “Are you feeling okay?”

He laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world. “Of course.”

You looked genuinely scared, glancing around the garage. “Okay.” You said it like you didn’t really believe him.

Everything exploded after he won in Monaco. After the celebrations died down, and the both of you were drenched in champagne, he found a moment alone with you. “Hey, uhm-“

“Ah! Hey! Congratulations again! Honestly it’s unbelievable!” For the fifth time since the race ended, your arms were circled around his neck.

Yes. He was keeping count.

His hands were on your waist. Just enough to be there. The faintest of touch. “Yeah, but do you want to come over to my place and watch the 500 with me?” He asked after you pulled away.

Pause. “Uh,” a glance around. Then a small smile. “Sure, why not? I’ll see you soon.”

Soon was sooner than he anticipated. You were knocking on his door before he got the chance to make the house look spotless. The living room looked great, but that was about it.

He opened the door to you sporting a shy smile. “I hope I’m not too early. But I just thought-“

“No, you’re okay. I was just tidying few things up.” He dismissed quickly, a tiny white lie.

You took in his living space. Spacious, but not so much to the point it felt empty. There wasn’t much color to it though, apart from the occasional pop of blue. You nodded as he closed the door behind you. “Expensive.” You commented, a light chuckle.

“Oh. Uh, yeah.” He muttered, moving around you to the living room.

You followed him slowly. The sofa cushions absorbed you as you sat down.

The tension in the room was thick. Awkward. You’d never been alone before, not without someone else nearby. Save for that night in Australia, which didn’t really count because you were only half conscious, living off energy drinks.

It was like without other people’s eyes prying, neither of you knew what to do or say around the other.

“It’s nice though. Not what I was expecting from you.” Then you realized how that sounded. Typically, you wouldn’t care. If anything, it just goaded him into another back and forth. But today felt different. He felt different. “Not in a bad way, just. Yeah,”

“No, yeah.” He paused. “Do you want anything? Something to drink or a blanket? Or- or-“

“No I’m good.” You shook your head.

The broadcast turned on as soon as the green flag was waved. “Right on time.” He joked. You laughed along.

The awkward tension in the air only thickened with each lap. Oscar’s reactions were expressed through subtle shifts in his brows. Yours were limited to how hard you bit down on your lip.

Finally, it was too much for you. “Scotty is doing good.”

“Wha- oh, yeah.” He nodded, hardly sparing you a glance.

You sat forward, within his peripherals. Tilted your head and a brow raised in question. “What’s up with you? You’re acting off.”

“No I-“ he cut himself off when he looked at you. Afraid at how much he wanted to kiss you. He swallowed and adverted his eyes. “No I’m not.” Quiet, like he was unsure of his own claims.

The way he stuttered. The way his throat bobbed when he swallowed. You noticed it all. “Okay that was weird.” You laughed, trying to ease the tension. “Did I say something? Or do something?”

He shook his head. No words offered.

“Then why are you so…” you gestured with your hand. “Nervous?”

His eyes met yours again, flickered down to your lips. His eyebrows were creased like looking at you pained him. “Just the race.” He brushed off.

You let him off the hook.

But it kept happening.

Every conversation, Oscar only spared you glances. Kept every sentence as short as it could be. Even when you tried to start an argument to get something out of him… nothing. Hardly a response.

You caught him alone in the hallway of the hotel in Belgium. “Oscar.” You called, audibly irritated.

He paused before turning. “Hey.”

“What is wrong?” The irritation was gone. Morphed into distress. “You’ve been so weird since the beginning of the year. It’s frustrating and frankly-“

His hand closed around your wrist, and he pulled you into his room. “I know.” He breathed.

“Why?” Your eyes darted between his eyes, searching for something in them. A hint of sorts. “Is it me? Did I do something?” And when he didn’t say anything, “tell me Oscar, damnit!” You shoved him. He didn’t move. You bit your lip softly, eyes going glossy. “Please. Because this,” you gestured between them. “It’s not working. I can’t work with you like this.”

It was a long moment before he gained the courage to speak. “It’s not you.” He sighed. “I mean, I guess it is, but it’s nothing you did. Or I guess, it’s everything you did.” He shook his head, nothing inside making sense to him.

“I don’t understand.”

Another long pause from him as he chewed his cheek. “I don’t- I don’t think we can work together anymore.” He said quietly.

Silence. And then a scoff. “No! You said that you couldn’t-“

“I know what I said.”

“Then what is your problem?”

“You! You’re my problem!” He raised his voice. “I can’t focus with you around because- be- because”

“Because what?”

More silence. The words right on the tip of his tongue, but he was terrified of letting them roll off. It could fuck up everything. He could lose you forever.

“Because what, Oscar?” You asked again, quieter this time.

It coaxed the courage out of him, the fragility in your voice. He swallowed his fear. “Because I think I may be in love with you.” His voice cracked, his throat closing.

A sharp exhale expelled from your lungs. Then a deep breath. “You can’t just say that!”

“You asked!”

The silence stretched again. His eyes on yours. He hated how glossy they looked. The air around you shifted, thick with mutual hesitation.

You stepped forward first. Took the first move. Hands on his face, you pulled him down, smashed your lips onto his.

Oscar was too stunned to move. Too stunned to kiss back. Until you tried to pull away. He grabbed the back of your neck, bringing your lips back to his in a kiss that could only be described as needy. Needy in the way that he thought he would die if he didn’t taste your lips again. He finally got a taste of you, and he wasn’t letting it go.

You leaned against the closed door of his driver room, trying not to stare too hard as he got changed. “I need you to actually listen to me today. The team wasn’t happy with what you did last week.” A mini scolding. Your crossed over your chest. They told him to hold position while they lap the backmarkers.

He didn’t listen. Overtook Lando, and stole the win. Or not really stole per se, he did earn the position on merit, but the team wasn’t happy about it.

He huffed and ran a hand through his hair before tugging the balaclava over his head. “I get paid to go racing. So I go racing. And then I get reprimanded for going racing.” His hands flew about the place. Not so much frustration, just baffled.

“It’s more so about risking the 1-2, you know, taking each other out.”

Humming, he sauntered over to you, looking annoyed. But when he reached you and his hands fell to your waist, a smirk grew on his lips. “I’ll take you out.”

Smooth. You scoffed, a small shove to his chest. “You better. I’m expecting dinner on you tonight.”

His nose scrunched. “Only if you let me fight.”

The click of your tongue echoed around the small room. “You can fight. Just don’t be stupid about it.” You shrugged, fingers drumming on his chest.

“I wasn’t stupid.”

You rolled your eyes, no real fire behind it. “Right. You were risky.”

“But I didn’t crash. He didn’t crash.”

“You could’ve.”

“But I didn’t.”

Looking to the ceiling, you smiled. “Tell you what, if you don’t pull any stupid moves today… maybe there’ll be a reward after dinner.”

Now that was something you knew would get to him. And evidently it did as he chewed his cheek and scrunched his nose. “Okay. Fine. But I’m holding you to that.”

You got closer to him, chests pressing together, noses brushing past one another. “Great.” Was all you said, a sensual whisper. Then your lips were on his. Soft and slow.

“Good luck.” You whispered when you broke apart. “Go get another win.”

He pecked your lips again. “Anything for you.”

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 blurb #f1 fluff #f1 x you #op81 #f1 angst #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x fem!reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri angst #oscar piastri imagine

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steddieas-shegoes · 1 day ago

Text

he likes you, you idiot

for @steddiemicrofic prompt ‘sign’

rated t | 507 words | cw: mild language, implied sexual content | tags: friends with benefits, friends to lovers, idiots in love, platonic Stobin, good friends Nancy and Jonathan trying to talk Steve into not being dumb, and max is here

💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟

“What do you mean you don’t know if he likes you?” Nancy smacks his arm. “He had your dick in his mouth!”

“And in his ass,” Jonathan adds from the couch, flipping through a magazine that Steve can’t see the cover of. “Which I think is a better qualifier.”

“Those aren’t signs that he likes me. Those are just signs he likes getting fucked!” Steve throws his arms up and sinks down in the chair. “You guys aren’t helping.”

“I told you they’d say the same thing I did,” Robin says from the floor. “He likes you. These are signs.”

“Why would you think these aren’t signs?” Nancy asks as she settles on the arm of the chair, patting Steve’s head. “Is this because of the concussions?”

Robin snorts. Steve glares at her. She looks out the window to avoid his gaze.

“Because people hook up all the time without having feelings for someone,” Steve explains. “I’ve hooked up with tons of people and don’t even remember their names!”

“People might, but Eddie doesn’t.”

Steve turns to look at Max in the doorway to the living room. He didn’t even know she was here. She stays with him when her mom’s being…her mom.

“You shouldn’t be in this conversation.”

“Steve, I’m 18. I’ve had sex.”

“Shut up!” Steve covers his ears. “You don’t even know what sex is.”

“Anyway,” Max crosses her arms and rolls her eyes. “Eddie’s been in love with you for, like, years. He’s been lying about going out with other people so you wouldn’t know you’re the only person he’s fucked.”

Steve moves his hands into his lap. The room is silent. Max leaves, halting any chance Steve may have had to ask questions.

“You guys saw her too, right?” Jonathan asks, magazine on his chest and eyes wide.

“Yes, Jon.” Nancy stands up and stands in front of Steve. “Do you think you should call Eddie? See if he’d be interested in talking about things?”

“Talking about what things?”

Steve jumps up at Eddie’s voice. He’s standing awkwardly at the front door, letting himself in like he always does, no idea what he’s walking in on.

“Eddie! You’re here!”

“I’m…yep. I’m here. At the exact time I said I’d be. You okay?” He’s looking around the room, but finally settles on Steve. “You look like you just got caught doing drugs by Hop.”

“Nope! No drugs!” Steve laughs awkwardly.

Eddie raises a brow and walks further inside, closing the door behind him. He checks the coffee table, sniffs at Jonathan, then stops right in front of Steve.

“What are you up to?”

Steve bites his lip. Nancy smacks his shoulder and mouths ‘ask him.’

“Do you wanna go to dinner? Sometime? With me?” Steve clears his throat and looks down at his feet as he asks.

“It took you long enough,” Eddie laughs. His hands grasp Steve’s tight, a vice grip that makes him feel tingly. “Gave you every sign I could think of.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Eddie kisses him. “I like you.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddiemicrofic #steddiemicroficjuly #steddie events #stranger things #steve harrington x eddie munson #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #max mayfield

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bratzray · 2 days ago

Text

ᥫ᭡Forever Theirs ᥫ᭡

❥ Chapter 2: Interview Phase!

Warning: Obsessive behavior, Gwi-ma slightly mentioned {phone call}, jealous!Abby, mental tension, stalking

Synopsis: The day after you meet the Saja boys, you decide to go shopping with Ji-yoo for your new companion Luna, that’s when you bump into Abby at the store, you don’t recognize him at first but Ji-yoo does. There’s tension between you and Abby that you can’t quickly put your finger on but you continue on about your day. Later when walking home you find a poster, stating that a manager position is needed for an idol group but it doesn’t state which one, you call in a schedule your interview, which then takes a interesting turn

Tag list: @doodle-with-rhy, @just-set-things-on-fire, @strayharmony943, @nonetheartist, @mazzk1ng

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It was the next day after the crazy encounter that you had with a group you now know as the Saja boys. No matter how hard you try you’re constantly thinking about them, and that crazy feeling you got when you were around them. Trying to push that feeling away you get out of bed to prepare for the day ahead of you.

After taking a nice long shower, you decided to do your hair and put on a nice and simple outfit. Nothing too complicated, but still looking cute as ever. You pick up your phone and take a couple pictures with you and your new cat Luna, before making a post on your instagram and posting some pictures.

You text Ji-yoo telling him to come pick you up so that you can go to the vet and pet store together before getting some groceries. He responds telling you he’s on the way, so you start putting on your shoes and grabbing a purse big enough for the kitten to lay inside of it. You hear a car horn blaring outside and that's how you know that Ji-yoo is waiting for you.

“Let’s go, little baby.” you say as you pet Luna before making your way to the elevator. You finally make it to the front of the building as you see Ji-yoo standing outside his car waiting for you to get inside. He opens the car door for you then he closes the door behind you, placing your purse in your lap, you start playing with Luna.

“Soo, what did you decide to name the little rascal?” Ji-yoo asks as he reaches over the middle counsel to pet Luna.

“Luna since I found her under the moon.” you say as you smiled at Luna as she purred while Ji-yoo petted her. He hummed in response before starting the car and driving off.

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On the other side of town were the Saja boys and they were going crazy about the new post that you made on your instagram

“Just look how beautiful she looks, oh my goodness.” Romance mumbled to himself as he looked at the pictures you posted

“Isn’t that the cat that was outside when we were there?” Abby ask as he also scrolled through the pictures

“Yea dummy, the damn cat followed her home.” Baby said as he continued playing his game on his Ipad

“Of course you remember because you also followed her home.” Romance said with a snarky attitude before feeling something hit the side of his head. That something being Baby’s bottle that he was drinking out of.

“Stop fighting you two…” Jinu said as he walked into the room

“I wonder if she’s taking the cat to the vet..” Mystery spoke up before looking at the photos you posted.

That’s when all the boys paused taking in the words that he just said. It seems like the most responsible thing to do, especially knowing the cat was the stray. They all hummed before they looked deeply into the photos you posted

“We’re going to the vet aren’t we?” Mystery whispered already knowing the answer

“Yes.” The other four boys said before getting up from looking at the Ipad and putting their best outfit on to go see you again.

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While you were walking out of the vet with Ji-yoo, you got that warm feeling again and this time it felt much closer and powerful than the other two times. You tried shaking it off and made conversation with Ji-yoo

“So, baby girl is healthy but she’s a little underweight.” you said to Ji-yoo as you pet Luna behind the ears, feeling her bite slightly at your finger

“Yea, which means I’m going to have to spend a whole bunch of money buying everything you need for her.” He said rolled his eyes before taking out his phone to find the nearest pet store

“Oh please don’t be acting like I’m forcing you to buy anything, if anything I can get it myself I just need someone to carry it.” you replied, an attitude slightly growing in you as you walked off.

Ji-yoo just huffed before following close behind.

As you continue walking you hear voices somewhat behind you

“Who is the man with her?” One said in a slight low pitch

“I don’t know but I don’t appreciate how he talks to her.” Said another

Right as you were about to turn around to figure out who they were talking about, Ji-yoo pulled you into the pet store. You huffed, annoyed as you were thrown off your footing but you said nothing. You start looking and walking around shopping when you suddenly bump into a brick wall.

“What the hel..” you say as you rub up and down on the surface before looking up and seeing a man’s face, a beautiful man at that.

“OH MY GOODNESS!! I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have rubbed on you like that.” you quickly said as you bowed to show your embarrassment, that was until you felt an arm wrap around your waist bringing you back up to make eye contact with said man.

“Don’t worry darling, this won’t be the only time you cop a feel.” the man mumbled. That same warm feeling that you got before came back again, you feel like you should recognize him but you can’t put your finger on who he was, as you blush slightly at the words he said. He smiles down at you before placing his other hand on your cheek.

“You’re really as beautiful as I thought you were…” the man whispered before rubbing your cheek. You smile slightly at the compliment before feeling someone tug you back roughly.

“Can we help you?” you know that voice and tone from anywhere. Ji-yoo never really liked when others hit on you but that was more or so because he was like a protective older brother, always making sure that you were safe.

“You can’t help me but she can” said the man, but you had a feeling these two know each other so you ask

“Ji do you know him?” you whisper as you look over to Ji-yoo. The face he made back at you made you feel stupid

“You’re telling me you don’t recognize who he is?” he said, raising his voice slightly. You shook your head no before looking back at the man trying to put things together. The man smiles down at you before glaring at Ji-yoo

“I don’t understand why you’re interrupting the conversation me and this beautiful woman are having…” He said practically growling ask he spoke to Ji-yoo

“Don’t act like I don’t know what’s up..you’re just trying to play with her feelings and I WON’T let that happen.” Ji-yoo barked back before pulling you away to the counter to pay for the things you were going to get. You wave bye to the man before following Ji-yoo, he waves back before blowing you a kiss.

You huffed as you followed Ji-yoo to the front

“What was that all about?” you asked trying your best not to get upset at his protective behavior, but instead of responding he continues to ignore you

“Ji-yoo, I’m talking to you.” you say, annoyed at him ignoring you. He finishes paying before grabbing you by the arm and rushing you to the car. You finally push your arm out of his tight grasp

“What is your damn problem?!” You ask raising your voice because you were generally upset at the way that he was acting right now

“[✮] get in the car.” He mumbles before putting the stuff he brought in the back of the car

“No I won’t get into the car until you tell why you’re acting like this. That man was nice and kinda cute. You might just be dramatic right now!”

“[✮] GET IN THE FUCKING CAR!” He yelled which caused you to jerk back and tear up from frustration. You shake your head before opening the car and sitting down, slamming the door behind you.

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The boys were waiting for Abby to get back from inside the store when they saw what unfolded between you and some man they now hate. It took almost everything in them not to deal with him themselves once they saw tears swell in your eyes

“I’m going to fucking kill him…” Mystery mumbled as he clenched his fist

Right before they got up, Abby walked over to them.

“He’s protective…” He said

“What the hell does that have to do with the fact he just yelled in baby girl’s face?” Romance asked slightly annoyed at Abby’s simple “explanation”.

“The reason he yelled is because she wanted to talk to me, but he didn’t want her to. He said he knew what I was up to and didn’t want me playing with her feelings.” Abby responded before sitting next to Baby who was on his Ipad

“What…that makes no sense, what could you possibly be up to and why does he think you’d play with her feelings?” Jinu asked before taking a sip of his milkis.

“She didn’t recognize me, but he did. It’s just we’re idols so he probably thinks we’re just messing with her…” Abby said finally shaking his head understanding why the interaction just happened, but cannot shake off the fact that he didn’t like how controlling this man can be. Right before he was going to say something, Baby spoke up.

“He’s her best friend, his name is Ji-yoo.” He said before showing the boys a picture of the both of y’all together, you holding the camera as you both made a silly face in the photo. The boys looked at the photo not liking how close the both of you were to each other

“Why the hell is he in nearly every picture…” Jinu said before rolling his eyes at the pictures silently wishing that it was him instead of Ji-yoo.

“Apparently they’ve been friends for years which would explain why he’s in so many photos. It also looks like she used to be a manager for a couple small music artists.” Baby replied before showing the group more pictures from your public instagram.

“I have the perfect plan, it just requires a printer and a phone number…” Romance smiles before making his way to the car that they came in.

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It’s been nearly 3 hours since you last spoke to Ji-yoo after his little outburst in front of the pet store. It was just you and him in the car since Luna had fallen asleep from being out all day

“[✮]...” Ji-yoo finally spoke up, breaking the tension between the two of you, but he was met with the same silence he had given you when you wanted to talk.

“[✮] please. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way but you know how I can get.” he said trying to get you to understand him, but you just huffed in return. You knew he could be protective but cussing at you and ignoring you isn’t the way to address whatever problem he was having

“[✮]...He’s a Saja boy. They play with girls' hearts, he’s an idol for goodness sake. I just didn’t want to see you get hurt..I just shouldn’t have yelled at you, I really am sorry [✮]...” he said practically pleading with you to finally listen to him and understand that it truly was a misunderstanding

“I understand your protectiveness, but don’t you ever cuss at me again or it's your head..” you said sternly because you smiled at him. He pulled into the parking space in front of your house when you saw a paper hanging on a light post by the car that read, “Looking for an experienced manager for a new idol group, please contact 03-1240-5896”. You smiled knowing you could finally start working though you did and still do have a decent amount of money saved from your jobs in America. You end up saving the number, planning on calling it later once you and Luna get settled.

“I’m gonna go take Luna upstairs and open the door so it’s easier to take the stuff upstairs kay?” You said to Ji-yoo looking over your shoulder before making your way into the apartment complex

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Right as you walked away, Abby walked up to Ji-yoo. Ji-yoo was getting the things out of the car to make things slightly easier to carry inside when he felt a presence behind him. Turning around was when he saw him.

“Did you fucking follow us here?!” He said, surprised at the fact that Abby was standing right behind him.

“No, I was taking a walk and recognized you. I wanted to apologize if I had done anything to upset you, I truly like her and I want to be with her” Abby said knowing for a fact that he’ll still be stubborn like he was before at the store

“I love that for you but she’s someone I value greatly and I won’t let some 개새끼 [son of a bitch] hurt her for some idol fantasy.” he replied before pushing past Abby, carrying the litter box and bed for Luna, right before he could continue walking, Abby picked up the rest of the stuff and raced over to Ji-yoo

“Please understand that my intentions aren’t to hurt her, cause I wouldn’t be saying sorry to you if I felt like you didn’t have some influence in her life.” He said while following Ji-yoo to the elevator, standing right beside him while making it up to the floor you lived on

“I won’t believe a damn thing until I see it. I’d be stupid to believe a 바보 [fool] like you.” Ji-yoo replied as the door opened, making his way to your apartment complex. Abby already knew exactly where your apartment was thanks to Baby, but that’ll look a little too creepy

They finally make it to your house, when Ji-yoo knocks on the door and as soon as he does you can hear tussling around the house. You open the door while Luna is hanging from the front of your cardigan, craws digging deep into your skin

“I’m sorry Ji, I know I said I’d be down but she didn’t want to let me go.” You laugh a little though in pain, as you grabbed her off your shirt and placed her on your shoulder. You noticed the man from earlier standing right beside Ji-yoo

“It’s nice to see you again…” You look at him confused trying to figure out who he is since Ji-yoo seems to know him

“You can call me Abby darling.” He said holding his hand out to you, you gave him your hand and he placed a light kiss on the back of it. You smile slightly as you heard a huff from Ji-yoo when you finally cut the tension between all three of you

“Please come in, I don’t want you standing out here holding all that stuff.” You said as you stood to the side to let the men in. They placed everything down, and Ji-yoo started to unpack everything in the corner.

“Thank you for helping us Abby.” You said to him smiling up at him as you smiled up at him

“I’d do it again for you darlin.” He said as he returned the smile you gave him

“How can I repay you?” You asked ready to take out some money to give him

“Don’t do that, but I would love to have your number.” He said, smiling down at you as he pulled out his phone. You blushed slightly before putting your number into his phone and leading him out your house. Giving him a quick goodbye, you made your way back to Ji-yoo.

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It had taken nearly 3 hours to set everything up for Luna but you finally did it. It was a bit late but you still wanted to try your chances with calling that new management position, Ji-yoo had left nearly 30 minutes ago so it was just you and Luna. You got your phone and called the number, you didn’t expect anyone to answer until you heard it.

“Ahh…how may we help you…” A deep male voice spoke on the other end, your body stiffened like you recognized the voice from somewhere but couldn’t quite put your finger on it yet.

“Um. Yes I would like to apply for the manager position that was posted on the paper…” You said slightly shaken up from the person on the other end

“Mmmm…What name should I put down for the interview…” The man asked, he seemed very uninterested and sounded angry.

“[✮]-” Right before you could say your last name you get cut off by a ground shaking laugh on the other end of the phone, before you could say anything you hear

“These boys…I knew there was a reason they needed my help and this is why!!” The man continued with his barking laugh before he got replaced by a kind woman.

She asked your name again, which you gave her and you set up a date for the interview which was now 2 days away. You couldn’t wait, this is your chance to actually work and feel comfortable in your new environment

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The boys had been sitting around the phone, listening to your sweet voice which was contrasted to Gwi-ma’s deep and intimidating voice.

It was fine until he heard your name and started barking and that was when they cut the call and replaced him with someone else. The reason they didn’t answer the call themselves is because they were afraid you would recognize their voices so they asked Gwi-ma which seemed like a big mistake.

“You boys are foolish.” They heard his voice blaring in their heads, unable to escape whatever he had to say to them.

“Weak and hopelessly in love…foolish boys truly.” Gwi-ma continued to degrade them as he saw them asking for help to talk to their bonded lover as weak and useless.

“Gwi-ma, we only asked because she could recognize our voices, it wouldn't be completely useless to want the surprise effect..” Romance mumbled before continuing to stay quite as Gwi-ma continued

“I cannot help you everytime you cannot talk to a girl especially if that girl is bonded to you even when she dies.” He snarled at Romance's comment before huffing, not wanting to continue the conversation, disappearing back to wherever he came from.

The boys signed, feeling relieved that Gwi-ma finally is leaving them alone

“Lets remember not to ask him for anything again…” Romance said, annoyed at what Gwi-ma said to him

Right before the others could reply a demon worker of theirs knocked on the door. Once allowed permission to enter, she talked

“My lords, she has agreed to the interview process and she’ll be here in the next two days.” She said before turning back around a closing the door

Before any of them could react, Abby jumped out his seat in excitement.

“What the heck is wrong with you?” Baby said looking up from his Ipad, glaring at Abby for messing him up while he was playing a game

“She texted me…” Abby mumbled to himself, he kept repeating the same phase before Jinu came up behind him to see what he was so excited about, that’s when he saw your name at the top of his messages and y’all had begun a conversation

“When the hell did you get her number?!” Jinu question Abby causing the other boys to jump up

“You got her number?!” Baby yelled, upset that Abby got it before him

“When were you gonna tell us??” Mystery questioned surprised Abby actually got your number

“WOW! Imagine keeping baby girl from me…” Romance said with a attitude that Abby didn’t tell him that he got your number

“Yea I got her number when I went to her apartment…” He whispered hoping they didn’t hear him

“YOU WENT TO HER APARTMENT?!!” The other boys yelled, upset that he went without telling them first

“Yea..but we’ll see her in two days…” Abby responded, laughing slightly trying to lighten the mood, before feeling at least 20 projectiles being thrown at him at an alarming speed causing him to fall.

The boys huff but they can’t be mad for long, because they’ll see you soon and once they get ahold of you they’ll never let go

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❥ Chapter 3

#blk reader #kpop demon hunters #black coded reader #saja boys x reader #baby saja #mystery saja #romance saja #jinu

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