#and then the next day he begged me to take him back and threatened to kill himself if i didn't

[lazysoulwriter]

grumpy and irresistible - joel miller. (MDNI)

LOOK AT ME WRITING A SMUT! - trying. hope is gooood. w.c: 1.8k ~

---

Running into Joel Miller months ago was both the best and worst thing that ever happened to you. I mean… he helps you, he protects you… but he’s a fucking hottie. A goddamn delicious man. And you can barely get close! He’s so moody, so pissed off about everything. You're in the end of the world, of course… but damn. It’s not easy.

Most of the time, he doesn’t even understand how he ended up letting a girl like you tag along on this survival journey. You’re much younger, and despite being strong and brave, you can be a real pain in the ass. You’re chatty, you make him hug you when it’s too cold (okay, he secretly likes that part), and you stop in the middle of nowhere just to say things like, "Oh, look! A hummingbird!"

A pain. In. The. Ass.

And today was no different. As you walked in search of food, you looked at him intently, thinking about how damn annoying he can be sometimes—or how it’s a total waste for someone that beautiful to be so grumpy all the time.

And then… well, then something crossed your mind.

How long has it been since Joel last had sex?

Like… you haven’t had sex in ages, but you have your ways of relieving yourself. And you doubt he even jerks off. Maybe all this frustration, all this grumpiness, comes from that.

Maybe.

"Joooeel…" you hummed in that way he knew all too well. He just glanced over his shoulder, signaling that he was listening.

"Can I ask you something? I know you’re gonna get mad, but—"

"Then no. I don’t feel like getting even madder." He cut you off, his voice rough, trying to shut you up.

But that never scared you.

"Please! I’m gonna start begging…" you threatened, knowing full well he hated when you begged.

"Just say it!" His tone turned even harsher. "And if I get mad, you’ll go find something to eat by yourself."

"Oh, stop. You would never leave me—" you picked up your pace, walking alongside him now. "So… how long has it been since you had sex?" You tried to sound casual, like you weren’t dying of curiosity. "Or, you know… something like that."

He stopped. Abruptly.

Like you had just punched him in the face.

You blinked up at him, waiting for an answer.

"Why don’t you just mind your own damn business?" he muttered, narrowing his eyes in that way that only made him hotter.

"I’m just asking! If you don’t wanna answer, that’s fine." You shrugged and started walking again. Moments later, you heard his footsteps behind you, along with a deep, frustrated sigh.

"I don’t know, okay?" His voice came after a long silence, just when you were already distracted. "I don’t even remember the last time I touched someone like that. And I have no idea when I last felt something like that."

You just nodded. But now? That was your goal. You were going to fuck this man. No matter what. When? You didn’t know. But you would.

-

You let it go—for now.

But after that day, something shifted. Maybe it was just in your head, maybe not. But you started noticing things. The way Joel’s gaze lingered on you just a little longer when he thought you weren’t looking. The way his hand would rest on your lower back when he guided you through dark hallways or past abandoned cars. The way he sighed—deep, exasperated, but never truly angry—whenever you leaned too close, testing the limits of his patience.

And, most of all, the way he didn’t pull away. Not really.

Not when you brushed your fingers over his forearm while handing him his rifle. Not when you sat next to him by the fire, knees bumping under the weight of exhaustion. Not when you made those little jokes, the ones that pulled a rare, reluctant smirk from him, even if he shook his head afterward like he wished he could take it back.

And then, one night, it happened.

You’d just set up camp inside the shell of an old bookstore, a storm howling outside. The fire crackled between you, throwing soft shadows across his face. You could see every line there, every scar, every tired thing he’d never say out loud. He sat against the wall, boots planted on the ground, legs slightly spread. He looked exhausted. But awake. Watching you.

You sat across from him, hugging your knees, tilting your head.

"What?" he muttered.

"Nothing."

A pause. Then—

"Bullshit," he sighed, rubbing a hand down his face.

You grinned, slow and lazy. "I was just thinking... if you can’t even remember the last time you touched someone, then maybe you’ve just forgotten how."

That got you a look. A dark, warning glance that made your stomach flip in the best way.

"Don’t start."

"I’m just saying—"

"No."

You pushed up onto your knees, crawling closer, testing the waters.

"Not even a kiss, Joel?" Your voice was softer now, teasing but not cruel. "No wonder you’re always so grumpy."

He tensed, fingers twitching against his knee. "You—"

"You could just let me remind you."

His breath hitched. Just barely.

You sat back on your heels, waiting. Letting him think. Letting him decide.

And then—slowly, cautiously, like he knew he was making a mistake—Joel reached out.

His fingers traced up the curve of your jaw, rough and calloused. You didn’t move, didn’t even breathe, afraid you might break the moment.

And then he kissed you.

It was careful at first, hesitant, like he was relearning something he used to be good at. But when you sighed against his lips, when your fingers found the back of his neck and pulled him closer—Joel groaned, low and deep, and that hesitation snapped like a thread pulled too tight.

His hand slid to your waist, gripping firmly, pulling you into his lap without a second thought. The heat of him seeped into your skin, his mouth moving against yours with a hunger that made your head spin.

And just like that, you knew. You were right. He had gone too long without this. Without you. And you were going to fix that.

The kisses were getting more and more intense and desperate. You couldn't afford to waste time.

In seconds, your blouse was thrown on the floor behind you, exposing your lack of bra and earning a little smile from him that you had never seen before. Desire. He attacked your breasts like no one had ever done before. He massaged one, sucked, licked, and bit the other, while your moans were already too loud for your good. But fuck it. You almost cried when you saw him taking off his shirt on top of you, his strong arms now fully exposed, his chest too delicious to be true.

You pulled him back to your lips, which this time was even more urgent. Soon, you were completely naked and desperate for each other. "Are you sure?" He asked, lining himself up at your entrance. And you were already going crazy. You just wanted to be fucked. "Of course! Just fuck me, please." You begged and watched as his eyes darken even more – if that was possible.

Without any further warning, he pushed inside you. Both of you let out heavy sighs. He was big. Really big. But you were so wet that you didn’t even feel him pushing it all in. He didn’t move for a few seconds, as if he was savoring something he had wanted for so, so long. “I know you’re having a moment. But please, Joel! Move!” You whimpered, holding one of his arms tightly. You didn’t need to say anything else. You could feel every inch of him. Every vein. And how he was pulsing inside you. Your legs wrapped around him, pulling him even deeper, if that was possible. His moans were like music to your ears. Low, heavy. “Fuck, that’s it… That’s it…” You clawed at his back in a delicious way. He lowered himself a little more, just enough to pull one of your nipples between his teeth, taking you over the edge. And making you scream. The sound of the skin hitting each other was almost pornographic, making everything more intense with each moment. He grabbed your leg and brought it up to his shoulder. This new angle took you to an absurd wave of pleasure, Joel caressed you all over. Your whole body. And he stopped under your belly, just to show off and feel his cock there, filling you.

“You’re fucking delicious…” He murmured between breaths. “So fucking hot… I’ve always wanted to fuck that little pussy of yours. Always.” That brought you to your orgasm. Obviously. Joel fucking Miller telling you that? With that voice? Fuck.

Without a warning, you came on his cock, moaning his name and making him delirious. He was euphoric and ready… ready to fill you. “Can I?” He asked, about cumming inside. It’s not the best option, but at that moment it was all you wanted. And you would have it. “Please… Fill me up.” You whimpered again, holding your own breasts, which made him lose it. And in the next second, you felt the hot jets inside your walls. And then… Oh my. His expression. Completely lost in pleasure. He thrust a few more times and pulled out, only to look at your pussy spilling his cum. Totally filthy.

Joel collapsed onto his side beside you, chest rising and falling with deep, heavy breaths. For a long moment, neither of you spoke—just the sound of the fire crackling, the storm still raging outside, and the quiet hum of satisfaction between you.

His arm draped lazily over his stomach, fingers twitching like he wasn’t sure whether to reach for you or keep his distance.

You made the choice for him.

Rolling onto your side, you pressed your face against his shoulder, tracing light, absentminded patterns over his chest. His skin was warm, damp with sweat, and you felt the way his muscles tensed, then relaxed under your touch.

"Jesus," he muttered, voice rough. "You really don’t give up, do you?"

You grinned against his skin. "Nope."

His chuckle was barely there, but it was real. And you liked that. Liked knowing you could pull something soft from him, even now.

After a moment, he exhaled deeply and finally—finally—wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you in, letting himself hold you.

"This doesn't change anything," he murmured, his lips brushing against your hair.

You just hummed, pressing closer. "Sure, Joel."

You’d let him lie to himself for now. But you both knew the truth. This changed everything.

---

[bewaryofpity]

happy vday fellow pisces <3 can I request smut #11 with Quinn pls?

thank you for requesting ! 🩵

11. “Let me come in you, please. I want to fill you up.”

.

Quinn thought he was going to be fine, but the more you interacted with his cousins’ kids the more the thought of knocking you up filled his mind. He watched you from the kitchen, his conversation with his mom long forgotten as you were being so gentle and kind and sweet and talking to the baby in the sweetest voice. And he would never admit it but his heart was melting because he knew you’d be a good mother.

You had talked about it before, this wasn’t new, but never brought the conversation further. Yet, all Quinn wanted to do right now was to fuck you so slow and sweet, and pump you full of his cum so you could give him a baby.

It wasn’t until the same night, back in the comfort of his bedroom, that he couldn’t hold in his desire as you talked about yearning for a kid of your own and the next thing you knew he shed your clothes, guiding you to his bed.

His kisses were feverish as he let his hands grip harshly at your waist, holding you still for his cock to pound into you. Your legs wrapped around his waist to have him reach right where you wanted him, deep until the tip of his cock brushed at that sweet spot that drove you crazy.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he whispered, hazel eyes boring into yours. You took your bottom lip between your teeth, trailing your fingertips along the muscles in his back. He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he looked down between your body and his. “Taking me so well, baby.”

You hummed eagerly, lifting your mouth to pepper kisses along his throat, lightly biting after a particularly deep thrust. He groaned as he started to rock his hips faster, reveling in how pretty you looked stuffed full of his cock. And in that moment you knew exactly what was going through his head. His hands always stayed around your hips, now fully caressing your stomach if not pressing down to feel his length come in and out of you. 

One of his hands traveled up to your tit, groping it and squeezing before running his thumb over your perked nipples and rolling the bud between his fingers as the thought of your swollen tits filled his mind. He wasn’t being subtle and he didn’t care, he wanted, needed you to know that he was going to fuck you full, tonight, and tomorrow, and any day until it stuck. You moaned loudly as he pinched and pulled at your nipple, making your cunt clench around him.

“Shit,” he panted out, brows drawing together as he pulled back to shake his head, still fucking into you at a quick pace. “Shh, shh, hold on a bit more f’me.” 

“Quinn— oh, please,” you mewled, craving for his cock to impossibly hit deeper.

He took that as his sign to get your knees pinned back against your chest while you took the bed sheets into fists desperately as you tried to ground yourself, the snaps of his hips bruising your skin to the point that tears were brimming in your eyes. 

Despite your blurry vision, you saw him falter, mouth opening and closing, searching for the perfect way to ask you to make him a daddy, and all it took for him to speak up was your cunt squeezing his cock so tight as the coil in your stomach threatened to break.

“Let me come in you, please. I want to fill you up.” He begged. Quinn was begging you to let him spill inside of you, let his cum fill you up. “Please, I need to see you swollen with my kid.”

“God yes,” you nodded against your pillow, eagerly with a string of yes please yes falling from your lips. And with a few more thrusts, you came undone at the same time, your cunt milking every single drop out of him as his seed spilled deep inside of you. His hips stuttered, his orgasm hitting him hard, but he just couldn’t stop moving his hips, not now, not until you’d let him fill you up a second time, just to make sure it’d stick. 

[nordic-language-love]

Casually remembering the time a guy tried to impress me by saying he spoke French so I said "oh bonsoir" because it was like 8pm and he said "actually it's bonjour unless you're speaking Italian" 💀💀

[seungisms]

( skz reaction ) when you get tired during sex .ᐟ

🖇️📂 how skz like to fuck their girlfriend to sleep

genre: smut, minors dni, warnings: unprotected sex, oral (female and male receiving) cockwarming, dry humping, somnophilia, overstimulation, minho and jisung being a tad pushy

방찬. BANG CHAN

he can be soso rough with you sometimes. he doesn’t mean to be, he just absolutely loses all sense of control once he finally sinks into your tight pussy :( especially when he’s had a particularly shit day at work, just counting down the hours until he gets home and is able to finally lose all his worries in the comfort of your cunt. loves making a pretty mess out of you, until you’re completely drunk on his cock and babbling nonsense. but tonight he could feel you struggling to keep up with his eager pace, eyes threatening to flutter shut and slumping in his lap, strong arms keeping you upright against his chest as his hips keep a steady pace fucking up into you. he feels bad as he continues on abusing your cunt, but he can’t help it when you’re fluttering around him and clamping down like a vice, he just wants to cum so bad. starts to slow his thrusts down when he feels you grind lazily down onto him, desperate for some kind of release yet too tired to do anything about it yourself. he’ll take your face in his hands, smiling soso softly it would nearly make you sick if you could manage to keep your eyes open. “pretty baby, did i tire you out?” and when you could only respond with a sleepy nod before burying your face in the crook of his neck he’ll lay you down, spreading your thighs open a little more and your body responds so easily to him in your fucked out state, he finds it cute. lets you tiredly wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, keeping him close to your chest as he sloppily fucks you to sleep. 

“shh baby, just let me take care of you.”

리노. LEE MINHO 

deep down he knew he was being selfish, he could see how tired you were after the celebratory dinner he dragged you to with the rest of the boys. but you just looked so pretty all dolled up in your silky dress, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the subtle expanse of your smooth leg peeking out from the slit of fabric, inching up towards your hips. and god your lips. so glossy and kissable and just begging to be wrapped around his stiffening cock. he has you on your knees as soon as you get home despite your sleepy protests, head leaned back against the sofa and shirt unbuttoned as you smothered and worshiped his dick. and he’s so close it’s almost painful - your slow, lazy licks teetering him on the edge of orgasm before ripping it away from him at the last second. he’s so pissed whenever he can’t cum and he has to do everything in his willpower to restrain himself from forcing your head down and putting your mouth to good use, fucking it like it should be fucked. and he just feels so heavy on your tongue, his deep groans shooting right to your core. tries to have take some pity on you though and gently coaxes you to relax your jaw, pretty praises falling from his lips and giving you the last burst of energy you need to get him off until the salty taste of his cum is invading your tongue, slipping easily out of your mouth and softening against his thigh. he’ll defiantly repay you too, waking you up the next morning with his hot mouth on your cunt, lapping and sucking and kissing your soaked nub until you finally stir awake, pulling away to rest his cheek against your thigh and look up at you through tired eyes. 

“just relax baby, let me make you feel as good as you make me feel.”

창빈. SEO CHANGBIN

changbin knows how busy you are, your schedule rivalling his on a normal day, so by the time you get home from work the only thing you can make time for is lazy makeouts in his office or rushed fucking in the shower before bed. the first day you both have off together in weeks is spent with him buried to the hilt inside of you, fucking you in every room and surface until you’re a sticky, pretty mess beneath him. and he just has you so worn out and it isn’t even mid afternoon yet, you just don’t understand how he still has the energy to wreck your cunt again and again the way he has been doing for hours on end. he’ll have you practically folded in half, legs bent and pressed tightly against your chest as he pounds into you - the sounds of his cock filling your cunt with another load of warm cum being the only thing you could focus on and stop your weary eyes from closing. he picks up straight away when you start to slip away from him, barely able to keep up as soft gasps leave your lips and eyes flutter close, slowing his pace to a stop, his cock stilling deeply into you. he’s soso enamoured by you, and it shows in the way he smiles softly at your worn out form, tucking a strand of messy hair behind your ear and letting your legs rest from their bent position. shushes your pained sigh as he slowly slips out of you, leaving your pussy feeling empty and cold before he’s pressing his chest against your back, spooning you close to his body then nudging his swollen tip back into you. and he loves the whine you let out when he buries himself balls deep inside of you again, your mind so fogged and clouded it hardly takes you a minute before you’re fast asleep - kept warm and filled to the brim with his dick as he coaxes you to sleep.

“let’s just stay like this, sleep well angel.”

현진. HWANG HYUNJIN

he knows how hard you work and absolutely loves loves loves taking care of you!! coaxes you into his arms when you get home, stripping you from your shoddy work clothes and slipping you into a bath, letting you yap his ears off about your frustrations while he works on massaging shampoo into your hair. lays you down on the soft comforter of your bed after, fingers lazily pumping into your pussy. works your mouth open with his own, tongue making its way past your lips as you whine and gasp into the kiss - hips sloppily grinding down to meet the press of his long digits curling deep inside of you. loves how easily he’s able to get you off in this state, his name falling from your lips so prettily and your eyes staring up at him like he’s your whole world and more - and it’s almost enough to ignore the painful squeeze of his cock left unattended, but he still can’t help but to rut his hips down onto the mattress, desperate for any type of friction :( stretches you open real good and nice on his fingers until he’s kissing messily down your tummy before he reaches your slit, tongue hungrily replacing his digits to leave fat licks against your nub. and he’s just absolutely obsessed with the way you look in his hold, fucked out and messy and all for him. your little pleas of, “hyun, please i’m so tired. can’t take anymore,” yet your hips continuing to grind against his face like a bitch in heat and he finds it so incredibly cute. swears he’ll take such good care of you, just stay awake a little while longer.

“you’re so pretty baby, gonna let me make you cum?”

한. HAN JISUNG

he so eager and energetic during sex that it’s hard for you to keep up sometimes. he could go for hours, so drunk on your pussy that time just seems to cease to exist, fucking into you until it was nothing but a creamy mess of spit and cum. he’ll do his absolute best to keep you awake when he notices your lids twitching to shut - pressing his cock into you at just the right angle, fingers reaching down to play with your sensitive and raw nub, nails deliberately digging into the plush skin of your thighs to keep you from slipping away from him. so needy with it, he just loves watching your eyes shoot open in surprise when he acts out like this. but he becomes insanely pathetic when he feels you start to slump in his hold, hips picking up an erratic, rushed pace as he desperately tries to chase his high. roughly pulls your hips up until your ass is perched high in the air for him, head shoved into the pillow to muffle your gasps from his sudden greediness. “please baby, give me one more and i’ll leave you alone.” begs and sobs and pleads falling from his lips in messy whines, tears threatening to slip from his eyes when he feels your pussy close in around him, the promise of finally cumming is right there and he couldn’t just let you fall asleep now, he’s so close 🥺 it wouldn’t be fair!! and he can’t stop the selfish thoughts from taking over, he’s been so good to you all day, the least you could do is let him play with you until he’s spent and painted your cute cunt in his seed. sometimes, he’ll continue fucking into you when he sees you’ve actually fallen asleep on him, your soft sighs and fluttering cunt edging him closer and closer until he’s filling you up with warm load after load. and he can only look away bashfully when you wake up all sticky and used the next day. 

필릭스. LEE FELIX 

he’s such an angel truly 🥺 making sure you’re well looked after is enough to get him off. hates when you come home all stressed and tired, a worried furrow between your brows and pretty face slacked with sleep. gently coaxes you to lay with him, taking his time to love on your body - your tits, tummy, thighs, just everywhere!! they’ll all be marked with his lips. and he almost has you dozing off with his soft touches before the warm press of his tongue against your pussy has you letting out a choked gasp, hands threading themselves through his long hair to push his face further into your core, nose bumping against your nub in the most pleasing delicious way. but even with the mind numbingly hot swipes of his tongue against your hole, and the deep groans he lets rumble against your slit, you still manage to slip away, eyelashes fluttering against your cheek as sleep becomes more and more appealing from being surrounded by his comforting presence. his languid strokes of tongue actually spiralling you further into slumber. and he can’t help but smile lovingly against you when he catches sight of your peaceful form, sleepy apologies tumbling past your lips as your fingers lose their grip on his lock, hips twitching slightly when he give you one last messy kiss against your cunt before settling beside you. such a giver that he’ll easily ignore the swell of his dick, he’d fuck you asleep over and over again as long as it keeps his baby happy.

“let me make you feel better honey.”

승민. KIM SEUNGMIN

you just couldn’t sleep. all you needed was a bit of comfort, some soft fucking to urge you to slumber but he’s always so pent up and frustrated after work, eager to bully his problems away on your pussy. and you couldn’t find it in yourself to deny him, letting him play with you until you were a cock drunk mess beneath him. he’s always so mean with it though :( his dick was practically kissing your womb, legs aching from where they were rested on his broad shoulders and gasped whines leaving you when he nudges his cock past your folds - your headboard threatening to give out with every rough grind of his hips. you couldn’t even find the energy to meet his greedy thrusts, pussy twitching lazily around him and head lolling to the side when sleep threatened to take over, but the swell of his cock filling you up was sure doing a good job keeping you awake. and he almost felt offended when he spotted your lids slipping shut - stilling to the hilt deep inside you and just begging to finally paint your plush walls with cum - mouth opening to shoot you a sarcastic quip like the meany he is. before he notices the small bags sunken under your eyes and the worried crease of your brow, and he just can’t help but to cut you some slack. settles his body on top of you and softly shushes the pretty whine you let out when his dick rocks deeper inside you with the sudden movement, so desperately wanting to fuck you until he finally empties his load but he’ll let you rest for now. keeps himself buried in your warm pussy all night, kissing the shell of your ear as you quickly fall into a deep slumber. you bet your ass he’s gonna make you pay for falling asleep on him though.

“it’s okay baby, just gonna rest here. you’re gonna have to make this up to me tomorrow though.”

아이엔. YANG JEONGIN

this boy has such a high sex drive, genuinely thinks he’ll never get tired of the feeling of your warm cunt fluttering so nicely around him. it drives him mad. wants to spend every waking moment buried to the hilt inside of you, to the point where you’ll have to tell him to back tf off 😭 he’s so nice and gentle with you when you’re tired though, never pressuring you to do anything you’re not up to and letting you use him until you fall asleep, ignoring the painful swell of his fat dick resting against his thigh with every soft whine and gasp you let out. just likes having you sat pretty on his lap, dry humping like a bunch of honey teenagers but he fucking thrives on it. his hands will be guiding your hips to help you rut down on his bare cock, every slide causing the tip to bump into your nub. and he has to hold everything inside him back to not just lube himself up with your wetness and force his way into your tempting cunt. no, that’s not what you need right now. what you need is for him to be a good boy and let you rut down onto him like the needy girl you are until you finally stain his thighs with your slick. the tired look on your face is enough to make him melt, kissing your cheeks softly and muttering sweet praises between every glide of his hard cock. just lets you grind sloppily against him, gushing with wetness and all your frustrations slipping away as you nudge yourself closer to orgasm before your hold on his shoulders tighten, your nails raking down his back when you finally soak his cock in your juices, a relieved sigh leaving those pretty lips of yours before you’re sinking in his hold. coaxed into a deep sleep with his dick laid bumped against you, still red and swollen with need but he can’t find it in himself to care when you look all cute cuddled up against his chest. 

“that’s it sweetheart, let it all out.”

© seungisms - all rights reserved. reposting/modification of any kind is not tolerated.

[whisperofwonder]

Continuation of this

fem!reader x Kuroo Tetsurou

You smile at your reflection in the mirror as your maid of honor tucks one wayward strand of hair back into your updo. In less than an hour, you'll be walking down the aisle. You wonder what Tetsurou's face will look like when he sees you. You wonder if he'll cry. He'd insisted he wouldn't, but, well.

"You look so gorgeous!" One of your bridesmaids breathes, and truthfully, you'd have to agree with her. The hair dresser and makeup artist have worked their magic, and you'd found the absolute perfect dress. Now, all that's left is to wait until the ceremony begins.

Your friends' fawning over you is interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Yes?" Your maid of honor moves to stand by the closed door, hand hovering over the handle.

"Babe," The voice belongs to none other than your soon-to-be husband, and you instinctively cross your arms over your front, even though the door is still firmly closed. He can't see you before the wedding!

"I need you to tie my tie!" You resist the urge to roll your eyes.

"You know how to tie a tie," You call back carefully. "Just do it yourself!"

"But you always tie my tie." His voice is the next thing to a whine.

You sigh. "Where's Kenma?" Surely his best man didn't allow this. You wonder how he managed to slip away.

"Kenma is 'sick of my shit'," He intones, and you can practically hear the words in Kenma's voice. You sympathize. "Baby. My love. Please." He's begging now, and you can't help it. You start to soften.

Your maid of honor is looking at you with wide eyes, slashing her hand across her throat in a clear gesture: NO. You love her for that, but still.

"You'll close your eyes?" You ask in your sternest voice. "You can't see me, you know! It's bad luck."

"Yes, I'll close my eyes! Promise."

"Close them TIGHT," You insist, making sure he understands the gravity of the situation.

"They're tight," He promises. "Open the door already."

You nod. Your maid of honor hesitates for a few moments, but slowly swings the door open with a shake of her head.

There he is. Tetsurou. Your fiancé. In less than an hour, your husband. You feel your heart begin to swell in your chest. He wears a suit every day, but he looks especially handsome in this one. The tie in question is draped loosely around his neck.

"Babe?" He has his eyes squeezed shut, that much is obvious. As an added measure, your maid of honor pulls him inside and moves behind him, pressing her fingers across his eyes.

"Go ahead," She sighs. You reach for the tie, carefully straightening it around his neck. You reach for his collar, making sure it's turned up all the way around, and you watch as a smile begins to tug at his lips.

"I'm so excited," He murmurs as you work. "Can't wait to see you." The fingers covering his eyes tighten.

"Me too," You can't help the smile that's stealing across your own face. "I can't wait."

You begin making the knot, enjoying the dopey grin that's now completely filled his face. "There you go," You finally say, giving the knot a pat. "Perfect." Like always, you tug on the tie, just a little. Tilting your chin up, you lean into his kiss, savoring the feeling of it.

"I love you so much," He murmurs as he pulls away. "Thank you."

"I love you too, Tetsu." You take a step back, just drinking him in. "I'll see you soon."

He opens his mouth, but before he can drag the moment out any longer, your maid of honor steps in. "Okay, lovebirds, that's enough." She pulls him back. "Get back to wherever you're supposed to be. I'll kill you if you mess this up," She threatens sweetly.

"Yes ma'am," He murmurs as she shoves him back through the door, slamming it shut nearly in his face.

"You two make me sick," She sighs. The mushy smile on her face doesn't match her words at all. "Come here, let me touch up your lipstick."

[authorscurse]

No one understood why you chose Ryomen Sukuna as your boyfriend out of everyone you could have chosen instead. Not even your family, friends, or coworkers knew why.

You are the kind of girl who loved having ribbons in her hair and made sure it matched with the color of your outfit. The kind of girl who watched and read about soft and romantic lovestories that could only exist in books and movies. The kind of girl who wouldn't have fallen for the notorious Ryomen Sukuna!

"Do you think he blackmailed her to be his girlfriend?"

"Do you think he paid her?"

"He probably threatened her,"

No, no, and no! Sukuna never did any of that!

"I just fell for him, that's it," you always answered whenever someone asked. And still, no one understood it. Not until they saw the way Sukuna treated you.

You had a bad habit of biting your nails, sometimes you never knew you were actually biting your nails until someone pointed it out.

One time you decided to visit your parents with Sukuna just because they were staying at your grandparents house while they were in the city.

You sat with your parents in the living room watching whatever was on the TV and that's when Sukuna noticed something from the corner of his eye. You were slowly bringing up your fingers to your mouth, ready to bite.

Instead of loudly pointing it out and embarrass you, he immediately took your hand in his to prevent you from biting them. The action was small and barely noticeable but your parents noticed.

You were known to always ribbons in your hair no matter the occasion and you made sure the color and theme of your bow matched your outfit.

While out with your friends, your boyfriend and theirs followed closely behind while you girls roamed around the mall choosing what to buy.

"Kuna, look!" You showed Sukuna a beautiful red silk dress that had a slit that would sit at your right thigh. Your friends watched as Sukuna nodded and grabbed the dress from your hand and placed it inside your basket without any comment.

When it was time to check out, a matching red ribbon was inside your basket that you never picked up or placed inside it. Your eyes widen and showed Sukuna, "did you get that?" You asked even if you already knew the answer. Sukuna clicked his tongue while giving the cashier his credit card. "'Course I did, who else would've put it there if you didn't?" He responded.

You only smiled sweetly before placing a kiss in his cheek. Of course you both had eyes watching you closely, despite the Sukuna's sassy reply his actions was sweet and small, but your friends noticed.

You loved the raining, but you get sick so easily so Sukuna hated (not really) having to take care of you while you were sick after you disobeyed his orders of not playing in the rain. It was raining when Sukuna picked you up at your office's exit.

He had you raincoat under his arm and he helped you get it on you. "Kuna," you started but before you can utter the words Sukuna already knew what you'll be asking.

"No," he cut you off, pulling the strings of your raincoat to fully cover you. "But Kuna—" you reasoned but Sukuna was not having it. "You'll get whiny and teary eyed when you get sick and I'll have to deal with all of it," Sukuna says buttoning up the last button on your raincoat. "Please," you begged, you pulled off your best puppy eyes and Sukuna tried to resist but the longer you stared at him the shorter his resistance held on.

Sukuna could only sigh and watch you smile widely while taking the hood of your raincoat and ran. Sukuna sighs loudly and trailed behind you. The next day, Sukuna called your office to tell them you were sick from what? Playing in the rain.

The whole day Sukuna took care of you, clearly the opposite of what he said to you a day prior. After getting better, you walked back to work all well and energised.

"I'm okay now. My boyfriend took great care of me," you told everyone who asked how you were doing. Your coworkers noticed that you were much more cheerful than before. You think your coworkers wouldn't notice, but they did.

Again, no one really understood why you love Ryomen Sukuna so much. But you did. The subtly actions, the concern and care under the sassy tone, and of course the actions hidden behind closed doors.

Others just really need to look closely to see why you love Ryomen Sukuna so much.

[holeforzenin]

ׁBoyfriend Megumi that loves your pretty tits ໑ৎ

Tw- Tit fucking, panty sniffing, taking photos. Both are 19+. Not proofread

“Gumiii” Your breath hitches as your skin develops goosebumps from his cold calloused hands touching your soft breasts. He smirks as he moves his head down to nibble on your neck. “Hmm?” He hummed nonchalantly against you, making you shiver when you felt the vibrations against your skin. “S-stop, someone’s going to see!” You pleaded nervously as you closed your eyes and try to conceal the moan that was threatening to escape from your lips as he fondled with your tits from behind as if they were squishy playballs.

His clothed hardened cock thats staining through his boxers—practically begging for attention, twitches against your panty-clad ass as he softly humps it into your cheeks—your skirt all brunched up by him to reveal your ass. “Shhh baby we’ll be quick, they won’t see, m’promise, you know how much I love playing with these pretty tits, can’t help myself”. He opposed, his right hand now snaking down to your panties, rubbing his fingers along your clothed folds, making you moan lowly. “So wet already—is this turning you on baby? Mmm love my horny little slut of a girlfriend sooo much” he chuckled lowly, burying his face into the crook of your neck while he squeezes one of your rounded breasts as he teases your clothed cunt with the other. Two of his fingers rubbing your soft clit, forcing more wetness from your pussy to leak out your entrance, soiling your panties even more.

He groaned into your neck—taking a deep sniff as your head fell onto one of his big broad shoulders. “Does our friends being downstairs training while you're slutting yourself out for me makes you horny baby? You’re so nasty” He hummed against your skin with a hint of laughter as your cheeks grew red. “I’m not! You’re the one t-touching me perv” You pouted as your brows furred. He laughed against you as he marauded his hand inside your panties.

Megumi could be so much trouble sometimes, it’s like he doesn’t know the concept of “there’s time and place for everything” because on the contrary, he doesn’t give a fuck, he’d grope and squeeze your boobs together and pull your top down and watch as they bounce out any second of the day. He loves your tits so much, everything about them was perfect.

A part of you was so horny and hazed with lust while the other was scared and frightened that one of your friends were gonna barge into the classroom and see the lewd scene in front of them. But on the other hand—Megumi really couldn’t care less.

That’s how you end up on your knees with Megumi’s cock being choked snugly between your swollen tits as his tall figure leans against the desk—his head falling back, eyes rolling back to his skull as his tongue drags against the creamy crotch of your dirty discarded panties, lapping up your juices as he mumbly groans into the material pathetically—the intoxicating smell of your pussy filling up his nostrils, making him dizzy as you stare up at him with pleading eyes. Your core dripping onto the floor seeing your boyfriend being such a pervert with your used panties. “Fuckk—keep going baby, just like thatt” his jaw falls slack feeling you squishing your tits together around his cock with enthusiasm, dragging it against his length like a good girl.

You whined, feeling your needy hole flutter excitedly around nothing, “That’s ittt, pleasuring my cock so well. Such a good girlfriend to me, aren’t you baby?” He praises you, dark blue eyes piercing down at you. You were so perfect to him, you look so pretty like this, on your knees worshipping his cock. If he could have you like this twenty-four seven, he sure as hell would. His dick twitches seeing your big doe-eyes gazing up at him. He murmured a low “fuck” before placing your panties next to him—grabbing a handful of your hair, “Ya know what, stay still f’me baby, fuck don’t move, keep those tits pressed together around my dick, justtt like that” he groans, thrusting himself between your tits, his tip kissing your throat as his balls slap against your skin, you mewled lowly as he dragged his cock along your soft skin. He lets out broken groans—which you know exactly what it means, he’s about to cum. You did him a favor by sticking your tongue out, sucking and licking on the twitching tip every chance you get as you feel your pussy pooling slick on the floor. “Fuckfuckfuck that’s right, s’good baby, you're so good. Such a obedient little slut for me. Gonna blow my load on those pretty tits, don’t fucking stop”.

You whimpered at his praises, obeying what he says, and kept going till his angry oozing tip shoots out long ropes of cum, decorating your boobs with his seed. “Hah-fuckkk mmmpf! Shit fucking take it, you’re going to be so fucking tainted after I’m done with you baby”, He moaned out as he drained every drip of his balls on your body, biting his lips as his eyes rolled back.

He quickly stops you before you got the chance to let go of your breasts, picking up his phone from the side and opening his camera to snap a photo for memories obviously!! “Smile for the camera baby, fuck you’re so good to me, attta girl. You look so fucking sexy all covered with my cum like this” he laughs out as he snaps a couple photos before pulling his cock out from between your cum-covered tits. Ahhh yes, those photos will definitely be kept for memories! Printed memories actually! That will be hidden in the depths of his wallet for him to jack off to at night when you’re not there.

[luvhiromi]

pussy-eater! (jjk dilfs) | toji and shiu ver.

content: how i imagine toji and shiu eats pussy.

a/n: this was fun to make! ;) requests are open!

cw: written porn HAHA, pussy-eating, overstimulation, fucked out!reader, toji calls reader mama, shiu calls reader sweetheart/princess, light praising, pussy-drunk toji and shiu.

pairing: toji x fem!reader, shiu x fem!reader

the series: pt 2, pt 3

Toji Fushiguro

You should be scared when he gets down on you. He’s not letting you go till he’s satisfied, basically eating you out for his own pleasure fr. 

He doesn’t even have a particular reason to eat you out. “Just cause i wanna” and proceed to give you the best head you’ve ever receive. 

Will tease you at first, then go full out making out with your cunt like it’s some kind of dessert. Doesn’t hold back and you can feel his stubble on your pussy burning it lightly (i just know toji doesn’t shave everyday) 

His face would be so messy smeared with your fluids, but he doesn’t mind it, hell he loves that shit. Would be lapping on your pussy like it’s some sweet ice cream and fucking you with his tongue. Just so messy.

Slamming you on the bed. “Lemme make you feel good, pretty mama” he teases your folds with the tips of his fingers admiring your sloppy cunt, liking your whines and begs for him. Your cunt looking so mesmerizing just begging to be fucked out. He doesn’t waste any more second and latched his mouth on your cunt and sucked on it.

“Mmmh, ya like that mama?” he starts lapping on your cunt, making you squirm in pleasure. He groans lightly, humping on the bed chasing pleasure from eating you out. He licked your cunt, lapped on it, and fucked you with his tongue till you can’t even feel your own pussy. Legs shaking threatening to close feeling your high coming, his hands gripping on your thighs tighter forcing your legs to stay open. 

“Nngh, keep your legs open for me mama. I’m far from done,” he growls lowly to you, warning you. You can’t even think anymore, all you feel and know at this moment is pleasure. Your eyes were rolling back and jaw falling slack, you can’t even moan at the overwhelming pleasure anymore. You reached your high, gripping his hair tightly, don’t even know if you’re pushing his head away or pulling his head even closer to your squelching cunt. You can’t get enough of it, but it’s all too much.

“Mmmmh you did great mama.” He finally lets go of your poor abused pussy. His face is messy with your fluids. He grins at your fucked out expression trying to catch a breath, proud of his creation. He flicked at your folds, earning a flinch from you cause your pussy is just so sensitive.

“Ready for round two, mama?” Your eyes widen in shock and you whimper at his words… 

Shiu Kong

He’s the opposite of Toji. While Toji eats you out for his pleasure, Shiu eats you out for your pleasure. If you’re ever feeling stressed out, his solution to it is eating you out. “To relieve all your tension, sweetheart,” he reasons with you. 

He’ll blow on your cunt sending shivers down your spine. He focuses on the most sensitive parts, lightly nibbling and sucking on it. Gives your puffy pussy loving soft kisses. 

When you’re close he gets a little bit more intense that leaves your mind blank. He lets you ride through it until you can’t take it anymore pushing his head away. He’ll let go and come up to you just to make out. So you could taste yourself on his tongue. 

But when he’s stressed, oh sweetheart you better put your seatbelts on fr. There’s no way out of his grasp, he’ll be gripping your thighs till it’s bruised the next day. Lapping and sucking on your abused sloppy cunt till you’re falling apart on his hands. 

He just came back from work and was greeted by you buried with work and you’re laying your head on top of file. “Hey there, you okay sweetheart?” You look at him pouting, your cheek mushed on top of a file. 

“Rough day.” You say tiredly towards Shiu and give him a soft smile. “Want me to make it better princess?” Shiu suggested and you look up at him confused. “Sure..?” 

“Why don’t you lean back for me sweetheart.” You obeyed his words and lean back on your chair. Shiu kneels down in front of you, “I’ll make you feel all better princess.” Your breath hitch finally realizing what he’s about to do. He pries your legs open and pulls down your pants & panties in one go.

“Such a beautiful pussy, and it’s all for me right princess?” You nod at his words feeling a sense of content at his compliment. He blows on your puffy pussy right before he lightly sucks and nibbles on your sensitive spot, that he knows all too well. He looks up at you while he laps on your now wet cunt, always loving your blissed expressions. Your breath getting more erratic, your chest heaving and your eyes rolling back as you’re getting close.

“Eyes on me sweetheart, I want you to look at me when you come on my mouth.” His hands softly rubbing your thighs as he sucks and laps on your cunt. You look down at him, making eye contact and you grab his hair to pull him inevitably closer to your pussy. He grins at your actions and laps at your wet soft cunt as you reach your high. He hums in content as you cum in his mouth. He rides you through your high until you push him away from your tired trembling cunt.

He pulls back from your pussy and smirks at you smugly. “Did I make you feel all better princess?” He asked while licking his lips, tasting you. You nod at him and he stood up towering over you. He grabbed your chin to make you look up at him. He kissed you, mainly to put his tongue in your mouth to make you taste yourself.

hope u guys like it <3 reblogs and likes are always appreciated!

[solifloris]

≡;-꒰ 𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I  𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒘𝒊𝒄𝒆

╰┈➤ ❝ zayne x afab!reader | VALENTINE'S EVENT !

tags : established relationship, light kisses, hurt/comfort, angst with fluff, reader has a bad day, kinda slight references to 'hidden motive', it's like if the "youtiful" series had no smut LMAO, use of pet names "love" "sweetheart". ((also... unedited... i finished this at like 2:30am... AHFNNSNF))

wc : 3k (haha......)

an : so i have. been on a bit of writer's block since i recovered from my sick week, but i did somehow get the urge to write something a little angsty… so this was actually the perfect request to work on and i had sm fun with this!! TYTYYY FOR REQUESTING @deepspacenova ILY <333 (also i know canonically valentine's day is azure's echo day but… for consistency we'll stick with valentine's :D)

taglist : under the cut! (SIGN UP HERE)

ko-fi jar / commissions

Valentine's Day wasn't supposed to go like this.

When you woke up, the space beside you was empty.

The curtains were drawn, and the room had been left relatively dark despite the little rays of sunshine peeking through. Comforting, in a sense, but—your hand reached out to run through the sheets beside you, now cold and devoid of the warmth of his presence. He'd left it like this on purpose; you knew that.

And it was quiet without him.

The kind of quiet that was loud, the kind of quiet that was uncomfortable.

Your eyes drifted towards the clock on the nightstand, and your heart sank at the realization—you'd slept in, and completely missed seeing him off. On Valentine's Day.

You'd both known from the start that he wouldn't be getting a day off despite the occasion, and you'd accepted it, but you had promised yourself to be present for him in the morning. What kind of girlfriend would let him leave just like that, right?

There was a note on the stand.

You reached out to grab it, and something about the emptiness in the bedroom made you feel so small. Even though you'd always been fond of the neutral colors surrounding you, they looked drearier and gloomier than they'd ever been. Your arms twitched with the urge to reach out for a hug—

There was no one there.

Good morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well? I noticed you've been very tired lately, so please get some rest. Don't feel too bad that you didn't see me this morning. I'll be home in time for dinner, let me know when you wake up.

It was so sweet. So Zayne. Yet the heaviness in your heart didn't seem to lighten in the least, because the circumstances didn't change:

It was Valentine's Day. And you were spending it all alone.

In retrospect, you could never place the blame on your boyfriend. It had been this way from the start; you'd talked about it, accepted it, that with all of this came his busy schedules and the ever-present possibility that he would miss days like this without having much of a choice himself. You, yourself, weren't exempt to the setup, anyway—normally, your own work hours would have you out of the house in a similar manner. It was only that, this time… the mere prospect of having to spend a majority of the day alone with your thoughts had your skin crawling.

It had to be today.

It had to be now.

You could beg for a new work assignment to come in and save you from drowning, but you had been ordered to take a rest.

…Was this resting?

The air was stifling. You could breathe, but only barely.

You felt nailed to the bed, your head heavy, your body heavy, the tension in your shoulders nearly having you want to cry out if only you could muster a sound.

It had to be today.

It had to be now.

On Valentine's Day, the day of love. You would feel so pathetic, and needy, and so desperate to feel him next to you when you knew that it could not be so and you understood that this was simply the way things were. How they always have been. And it took every ounce of your energy to fight back the tears that were threatening to spill, because what kind of girlfriend would be like this, and why couldn't today be a day you felt normal?

You had to hastily wipe your tears with the sleeve of your sweater, and your hands reached for the phone next.

A simple good morning, a little how-are-you.

You would make yourself be normal today if you could help it.

So you did the only thing you could think of:

You redirected.

Pushing yourself out of bed was a task difficult enough to do, but you grit your teeth through it. Feet touched upon the soft carpet, footsteps padding across the room and towards the door. If you had the majority of the day to yourself, you could do something productive, couldn't you? You could still do that, couldn't you? You could still be the simplest, simplest form of a functioning human being… couldn't you?

A mantra repeated in your head as you made your way to the kitchen.

A list of things: you could clean, you could organize, you could read, you could play… You could cook something, maybe even bake, just so he could have some sort of surprise waiting when he got back.

It sounded like a good plan.

…

It was a difficult plan.

Deep breaths weren't enough to calm you down. Sure, every movement pulled you out of the rubble of your thoughts for a moment, allowed you to continue being for a moment. But a moment was merely a moment. And once that moment was over, then it was over. The wreckage dangling above your head would come crashing.

It was a terrifying, terrifying thing to be alone.

Every so often your eyes would drift towards your phone in hopes for a text; even a simple update, anything, anything—

You liked the quiet, but you liked it when he was around.

You liked the slowness of things, but you liked it when he was around.

On days like these, then only when all this empty space could be filled by the warmth of his presence… that was when everything else could be bearable.

And you stirred the cookie batter absentmindedly, only barely paying attention to what you were doing, when—

Ding!

Your heart jumped.

Immediately, you dropped the spatula back into bowl and turned towards your phone.

—heeeeyyyy, happy valentine's, bestieee!!! —hope you get to have a sweeeett, sweet time with your boyfie!

Ah.

Your racing heartbeat calmed down in slight disappointment; the last conversation you'd had with Zayne had been an hour ago, and you knew realistically enough not to expect another message so soon.

And, sure, you were disappointed, but… to Tara's defense, these texts still made you smile.

She sent a flurry more of messages; silly things, cute things, just a couple of somethings to leave in your chat log. You didn't know if she'd picked up on your own behavior being off at work, but you supposed that if Jenna had, then it was more likely that Tara hadn't overlooked it, either.

A thought rang suddenly in your mind, because you could spend the rest of your day with her. A glance at the time told you that it was only half past two in the afternoon, and you still had a couple of hours left before Zayne would be on his way home. If you were looking for a distraction, perhaps, a day out could have solved it, but—

Realization dawned.

You'd have to put on something pretty, spend a couple of minutes doing makeup. You'd have to speak with people, interact with them, seem normal to them… and then maybe, then, you'd be more conscious of the fact that you were blatantly masking in front of people you held close to your heart.

Vulnerability was a fickle thing.

Though you could desperately want to be so, it was difficult to know where to begin.

It was something to accept—you didn't have the energy to… be.

Not today.

Maybe Zayne was right; you did need to rest.

And the realization furthered in that really, truly, all that you wanted was to spend a moment curled up in his lap, maybe watch a movie, maybe sit in silence… Just enough to recharge, just enough to feel safe enough to be.

You wouldn't have had to think of anything else.

But, he wasn't… Here.

He wasn't here.

Hours passed by in a similar manner, then. A cycle of distracting yourself, and failing, and trying again, and failing… You had gotten a few things done, in your defense. The kitchen and the bedroom had both been cleaned spotless. Your newly-baked batch of chocolate-chip cookies sat to cool on the counter, a treat for your boyfriend, something to remind you of what day it was today. You were proud of yourself for it, of course; despite everything, you could still do a little something.

But the feeling in your chest, the heaviness of it, the burden you bore that you couldn't quite place, yourself… it was still there. Unmistakably, still there.

And then it was late.

Later than you knew his shift to be.

You glanced at your phone once, twice—thrice, and a few times more.

The message you'd sent had received no reply.

It must have been an emergency.

You understood; really, you understood. It was like this. He had no access to his phone when things were busy, and especially not when something had come up. You knew this. You knew.

And so you grabbed a blanket from the bedroom to drape over yourself, as you curled up on the couch.

You could wait.

You could.

You could.

…You could, right?

Surfing through channels proved easy enough.

Not that one.

Not that one.

No, not that one, either.

You huffed as each channel played a show that didn't particularly interest you, the sound of their dialogue merely causing you to be irritated rather than successfully distracted. You had little to no choice but to passively play on a show, lower the volume—and at this point, truly… it was difficult to take.

You curled up, drew your knees up to your chest.

The blanket smelled like him.

You could recall how often it had been like this; it had been busy at the hospital, as much as it had been busy at work… The two of you had barely any time to spend with each other these past few days, and undeniably it had started to take a toll on you.

Because it had to line up with the way that you'd been feeling.

Useless. Worthless. A little bit less like yourself.

Thoughts like these were easy to ignore when you had the capacity to, but you didn't anymore. Once again, the space around you was too big; too heavy; too much. It cemented on you all these feelings of helplessness, the way you were left in the middle of this cold, empty space with nothing to offer solace. It was pathetic to feel this way, you thought, but you no longer had the ability to rationalize it.

You didn't like it here without him.

You missed him—a feeling that had built up all these days spent away from each other.

And then the tears started to fall.

Silent tears, an occasional sniffle here and there… Your eyes glazed over as you continued to hug your knees to your chest, head resting upon them. You weren't focusing. The television remained what it was—white noise. You could barely remember what channel you had left it on in the first place.

Your phone lit up a couple of times.

You no longer noticed it.

—

A light shaking could be felt over your body.

It was a colder touch, you could feel it through even the blanket. Your eyes stirred open. Yet, truly, even before your gaze could focus enough on the figure next to you, you knew this touch.

Zayne.

He had his hand on your arm, having nudged you awake, and you could see the faint outline of a bouquet of flowers seated right next to him. Your favorites, no less.

In front of you, the television had been turned off, and a quick glance at your phone to the side showed several missed calls and texts from him. The time flashed as eight in the evening. You had fallen asleep. Your eyes were likely puffy, and you probably looked exhausted…

Yet, these things, despite how much you had noticed and despite how much you were still thinking—

They didn't matter anymore.

The moment of silence between you two, the way he didn't ask, the way he waited, the way he watched… A wave of understanding passed over the both of you before he pulled you into his arms, and that was it.

This was home.

It wasn't dark, and gloomy, and empty, and cold—

It was warm. Comforting. Full of his presence, just the way you had been longing it to be since you'd woken up. The smell of his cologne was one familiar enough to make you tighten your hold on him, make you snuggle deeper into his chest. It was secure. It was safe.

You'd missed him, truly.

And there was no need for words, not really. Instead, he stroked your hair, patiently, lovingly. A gentle kiss to the top of your head. A little reassuring squeeze of your hand.

"Zayne…"

"Mn. I'm here."

Another moment of stillness.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

You could still hear the faint ticking of the clock on the wall, but this time, it didn't bother you. Not when you could just as well hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat, not when his quiet words of reassurance could resound in your head like a lullaby.

And a stray tear fell.

Maybe, it was the relief of it. Maybe, it was how everything had bubbled up to crash into you like this.

But—

You lips trembled, and you cried.

You cried, and cried, and cried.

And it was such a stupid way to spend the day of love.

"You're… You're home, hic, I-I'm sorry, I didn't— hic— I fell asleep, a-and then—"

"Shh. It's okay, my love."

His voice was low. Soft.

"B-but I was… It's Valentine's Day, I should've…!"

"No, you do not owe me anything. On the contrary, I, too, have not been a satisfactory partner… I apologize, sweetheart. I wish I could have spent the day with you."

"It's… It's not your fault…"

"Then, it is not your fault, either."

He paused.

"You… feel unwell. You've been unwell. Haven't you? Aren't you?"

Slowly, gently, he coaxed your head up to look at him. His thumb raised, moving to wipe away your tears; to draw you closer by your chin and place a chaste kiss on the tip of your nose.

You sniffled slightly. "I… I didn't want to be needy… I know it's been busy at the hospital, and I thought I could manage, a-and I'm sorry, I know I should be more understanding! I-I should be better, be good, be someone who can give you the world like you deserve, be— something more worth of the comfort you give me, than this…"

The words flowed out before you could stop them, and, in the end, you appreciated that you could be vulnerable with him. But it still tore at your heart to have him listen. Because what if it was silly? What if it was stupid? In the back of your mind, even though you thought these things, you were hoping for him to tell you otherwise. And what would you do if he didn't? If he agreed with you? What if these words, these insecurities, would make him think less of you, or find it irritating, or…

You were spiraling.

You could see yourself drowning, reflected in the very window of his gaze.

But he gripped your shoulders—he wouldn't let you.

"I never asked for you to give me the world."

It was firm this time, and not necessarily gentle... Yet, the look in his eyes told you everything even before he spoke.

Slow, careful words, and his eyes never strayed from yours:

"All I've ever wanted was you."

Your breath hitched.

You waited, quiet, a little stunned; watched as he leaned in to give you a soft kiss. One to your forehead, one on your eyelids. Your cheek, the corner of your lips—

"I ask nothing of you, if only to know that you are okay. If only to know that you understand… that I will cherish you, and care for you, for as long as you are alive. Do you remember that?"

A memory stirred.

I should think about… how to live my life to the fullest. Because in this world, there's someone who'll like me for as long as I'm alive…

Those were your words.

A wave of warmth washed over you once more as he brought back memories from that day, one that, likely, was one that he thought of often himself.

"The moon…" he mumbled. Gently, he nudged your head sideways to allow you to glance out the window. He'd drawn the curtains back, and the night sky showed itself in full view to you. "Is beautiful tonight. Just as you are. Less than you are. Because you always shine brighter. And, to me… That is all of the world that I need."

"Zayne…"

"I bought you flowers, and I saw the cookies that you left on the table. However… how much you mean to me is not meant to be celebrated for simply one day of the year, and I don't plan to do that. I would celebrate it every day, every minute, every hour of my life. Besides… no matter how hectic things get, I will always want to see you."

This time, he pulled you back to him, gently easing his lips onto yours. A quick kiss, but a meaningful one. One that made the world disappear, your troubles disappear… at least, enough for you to focus on him, and all the love that he offered— to you.

"…Zayne?"

"Hm?"

"I love you."

You snuggled into his chest, curling into his warmth.

It felt lighter, now. Perhaps, not to be completely freed from the chains you had put on yourself, but… it felt lighter. More bearable. No longer suffocating.

No longer difficult.

"I love you," you repeated. You would whisper the words, quiet as you focused on his heartbeat. "I love you, twice… thrice… and more times… Because saying it once wouldn't be enough."

"And I love you, sweetheart." Once more, he pressed his lips to the crown of your head. "Twice, and thrice, and more. And, for tonight… We can do whatever you want. My time is all yours."

And perhaps, you thought, he was your world just as much as you were his.

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© solifloris. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

[tpwk-formula1]

Could you please write a story where lando x reader have basically 'adopted' keegan (even tho he's like 3 yrs younger than them) and she hates whenever they make him do dangerous stuff

AN: SPECIAL EXTRA FLUFF POST!!!! (I know I said I wasn't gonna post a fluff this week but this came in and I got too excited so I quickly wrote it before work! NOT proof read!

OMG stop I absolutely love this idea!! I stopped writing a fic to get this one started! I did switch timelines just a big to make the story work so pretend the video on Quadrant where Keegan tried Karting for the first time happened after summer break!

TW: NONE

WC: 1.1K

Y/N POV

"Keegs, have you eaten anything today?" I ask walking up to him with the sandwich I had made for him before we had left for the yacht day.

"I had breakfast," he says softly knowing we had eaten over 6 hours ago and he had been outside all day in the sun.

"Keegan, you're an athlete stop being stupid," I laugh while tossing him the sandwich which he great fully took and started eating it.

"He's a grown man, love. Let him live," Lando tells me softly while approaching me from behind and taking me into his hold.

"You too Norris, sit down and eat," I say while passing him the second sandwich which has him groaning but instantly sitting next to Keegan and starts eating his sandwich.

"Whipped," I hear Max Fewtrell say from somewhere else on the yacht making me shake my head and threaten him with the last sandwich in hand.

"You and P are such moms," Max rolls his eyes while taking the food from me and sitting next to his best friend.

Over the last year or so the friendship between Lando and Keegan had grown from more than just a sponsored athlete to a truth friendship. When the younger boy started coming around it was almost instant that my motherly instincts kicked in with him.

I mean hell when he called us after winning gold at the Paris Olympics I hadn't stopped crying from podium. He still laughs about it and even pokes fun but he has also on multiple occasions expressed how thankful he to have Lando and I in his life.

Once the yacht day has come to an end we make our way back to the house we had rented for the week.

"We're going cliff jumping tomorrow, do you guys want to come?" Martin's friends asked the rest of us when we had made it back to the house.

"No," I instantly say a long with P while all the boys instantly say "yes" making me look directly at them.

"Have you all lost your damn mind? 1 of you is in contract for racing which mind you comes back in just a few weeks and the other just came off of Olympic gold, you need to be fucking careful," I start ranting while Martin starts laughing at the group dynamic not expecting anything less from us.

"It's fine, we'll be fine," Lando reassures me making me me shake my head.

"Get Zak's approval and then it's fine," I say with a smirk and a little shoulder shrug knowing his boss would lose his ever living mind if he found out his young driver is trying to do something so dangerous.

"Please! I promise we wont get hurt," Lando begs giving me his puppy dog eyes I have never been able to say no to, a long with Keegan behind him giving me the same look.

"Okay fine, but I swear to God if you get hurt," I say while pointing a finger before the two boys.

With that the broke out in bright smiles and Lando instantly took me into his arms and places a few kisses on my lips.

We're now coming to the end of our trip when Lando and I are relaxing in bed having some much needed downtime when a knock rings out through our room.

"Come in," I call out grabbing my bookmark and putting the book I was reading to the side.

When Keegan walks in he has a nervous expression written all over his face.

"What's wrong?" I ask sitting up a bit taller making Lando sit up a bit more noticing the serious expression written across the younger man's face.

"Can I ask for some advice?" Keegan says while walking into the room and closing the door behind him.

"Of course, you can sit on the bed," I say laughing a little when I noticed him awkwardly standing near the end of the bed.

"So I've been talking to this girl," Keegan starts while sitting on the bed.

"Aye! My man," Lando says excitedly while dapping Keegan up making his cheeks grow even redder.

"Well anyways, her name is Ella and we've been talking for awhile and I want to make it official but I'm nervous she might say no and I also need ideas on how to plan the perfect date to ask," Keegan admits making me smile. While it might have been Lando's first time hearing about about Ella, Keegan had already come to me about her and from what I had gathered he really liked her and she seemed really sweet.

After about an hour of planning the most perfect date for Keegan to take Ella on he thanked up both before leaving the room with a bright smile on his face.

"That's my son for real," Lando says laughing making me shake my head with a laugh falling from my lips.

"He's such an awesome kid," I reply back before cuddling closer into Lando's side.

"Did you pull the same move on Carlos when you where asking me out," I tease with a smirk on my face.

"Maybe," Lando admits with his cheeks reddening.

It's been a few weeks since summer break and we already have a week off from racing which means it's time to film for Quadrant and as we pull up to the track both Lando and Max have been suspiciously quiet about what we will be filming.

When we pull up to the track I see Keegan almost instantly making everything click for me.

"No! He is not about to hope in a kart without any training!" I say sternly making Max laugh and Lando turn and give me a reassuring smile.

"He's fine, he can drive a car, he can drive in a few circles on a kart," Lando says but it just makes me groan and throw my head back.

Lando did end up giving Keegan a small run down before filming and once he was in the first Kart I could already feel my stomach drop. He was going as fast as his car will allow him to go but you can see the difference between Lando's control of the Kart and his control but after the first lap he was able to adjust and already looked more comfortable.

As the karts got faster the more I go stressed. Keegan was clearly having an amazing time in the karts but my anxiety is going through the roof.

By the end of the video it is clear to all of us that Keegan loved every moment of it and even asked the next time he could drive one.

When the video was posted fan instantly clung to the fact that I was like a mom to Keegan. I mean an entire compilation was made where it was every moment I made a comment, face, or gasp throughout the short video making fans across F1 laugh at the endearing moments between friends.

------

Sorry it feels a bit rushed I just loved the idea and might even circle back around in the future and add to the story

[pretentious-blonde]

aftermath

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: steve is wrecked, haunted by the thought that he’d lost you for good. but when he finally braced himself for the worst, your answer shattered him in a way he never saw coming

warnings: 18+ emotional distress, angst, depression, major self-hatred, crying, smut, but like make up smut, minor bruising/scratches during intimacy (consensual), this is heavy guys

a/n: i hope this makes up for the cliff hanger. you do need to read this to fully understand what is going on. hope i did the make up justice!

series masterlist

You’ve been living in your pajamas since Friday, the same ratty jumper and threadbare bottoms you’ve slept in for days. The curtains in your living room are half-drawn, letting in just enough gray light to remind you it’s daytime—though you’re not quite sure which day it is anymore. 

Tuesday, probably. 

You’d asked for the whole week off, a near-unheard-of request, but you couldn’t face the world after what transpired. Your hoarse voice must have been enough to convince your boss of your current state, though he most likely believed it was a result of a bug or the flu. You were grateful he didn’t press further. 

Everything in your flat reminds you of him. The bookshelf he painstakingly built and shoved into the corner. The stupid T-shirts he left behind, folded on your desk. The toothbrush tucked in next to yours in the bathroom. You’ve cried more than you ever thought possible, especially as day after day passes with no call, no communication. Nothing.

That’s why you’ve barely left, lying low in your own sorrow. You should be out celebrating your first ever published article—yes, that finally got the green light—but even that feels tainted now. Steve had helped you with the idea, reading every paragraph you placed in front of him for inspection. Thinking about it only reopens the wound.

By late afternoon, you’re in a numb haze, scrolling absentmindedly through the same TV channels, when a sudden knock on your door makes you freeze. Your pulse spikes with pure dread. You beg some higher power as you take a few tentative steps toward the entrance, pleading for it to be anyone else but him. 

“Who—who is it?”

A boy’s voice answers. 

“It’s Dustin.”

Surprise fills you, but you tug the door open anyway, still half-hidden behind the frame. The teenager stands there, head tipped back to look at you with wide eyes. He takes in your rumpled clothes, your blotchy cheeks, the dark circles under your eyes—and his face softens with genuine concern.

“Hi,” he says quietly.

“Hi?” You can’t hide your confusion. You’ve met him enough times to be friendly—even invited you to his birthday party—but this is definitely not the level of closeness where you expect him on your doorstep.

“Can I come in?” he asks, his tone polite.

“Uh—yeah,” you say, stepping aside. You’re mortified at the state of your living room—blankets and tissues strewn around, half-eaten toast on the coffee table. But Dustin doesn’t so much as blink. He just walks in, glances at the chaos, and settles himself on the couch.

“Have you heard from Steve?” he asks gently, but the question punches you right in the gut. Your breath catches, tears immediately threatening to spill. He sees the way your eyes go misty and holds up both hands in alarm. “Whoa, hey. No, wait, why are you crying?”

“Sorry,” you manage, swiping at your face with the edge of your sleeve. “I just—I don’t think me and Steve are… together anymore.”

“Alright.” The boy exhales, like the missing piece just slid into place. “Well, that… would explain a few things.”

“Explain what?” you ask, voice shaky.

He glances around, looking conflicted. Then he pats the space next to him on the couch. 

“I think you need to sit down.”

Something about his earnest, grown-up tone makes you want to laugh and cry at the same time, but you sink down anyway. You stare at your own hands, picking at a loose thread on your jumper.

“Do you want something to drink? Tea?”

“Um… yeah.” You blink, surprised by the shift. “Top cupboard in the kitchen.”

“Okay… You stay there.”

He heads into the kitchen and starts rummaging through your cupboards like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You watch him, baffled as to how this kid is behaving. 

He returns, balancing two mismatched mugs in his hands. He places one gently on the coffee table in front of you and then settles next to you on the couch. You notice the way he glances around at the mess once again, but he doesn’t comment on any of it—just holds his own mug close, like it’s offering him a little comfort.

“Um,” he begins, voice hesitant, “I need to ask you… about Steve.”

Your grip tightens on your mug. 

“Have you…have you spoken to him?” you try not to let your voice crack. 

“Sort of.” Dustin exhales. “That’s why I’m here. He didn’t show up on Sunday when he was supposed to, and when I tried talking to Robin, she just told me to stay out of it.” He rubs the back of his neck, looking troubled. “I’m worried. Robin says he’s gonna quit—his job, I mean—and I haven’t been able to get ahold of him since Thursday. I was hoping maybe you knew what was going on.”

You let out a shaky breath, tears pressing at the corners of your eyes again. The puzzle just kept getting more complicated, first his outburst, and now he’s quitting? None of it made any sense to you. 

“Dustin, I wish I fucking knew what was going on,” you admit, voice trembling. “But I don’t. Steve made it very clear how he felt about me.”

Confusion crosses his face. “He…made it clear?”

“More or less.” You manage a bitter laugh, though it hurts. “Let’s just say…there’s no chance of me diving back in to figure out what’s wrong, okay?”

“You won’t?” he presses, leaning forward, his mug clutched between both hands. “I know it’s a lot. But the only time I’ve seen him act like this was when…” He hesitates, almost like he’s afraid to say something more. 

You speak before he has the chance to elaborate. 

“Yeah, well…” You suck in a breath, blinking away fresh tears. “I’m pretty sure it’s over between us.”

He sets his mug down so hard you’re surprised it doesn’t spill and scans your face, as if trying to analyse the best approach to this situation. 

“I wouldn’t be asking, except… I’m scared.” His lower lip trembles, and suddenly you realise how much this is hurting him, too. “He never talks to anyone about how he’s feeling. Not really. You were my last option.” He swallows, looking away. “Whenever I call and he hears it’s me, he hangs up. He’s shutting me out. And Robin. And—everyone.”

Something tightens in your chest. You see Dustin’s fear written all over his face, and it hits you how much he looks up to Steve—how much he cares. 

Without thinking, you set your own mug aside and pull him into a hug. At first, he’s stiff with surprise, but then he slumps against you, like the weight of this worry is too heavy for him to carry alone. You press your lips together, forcing the tears back as you hold him. 

“Okay,” you murmur, stroking his back. “I’ll try. I’m not making any promises, but…I’ll try.”

“Thank you,” he says, relieved. “Thank you so much. I just—I don’t know how else to reach him.”

You nod, your throat still thick. 

“I’m not making any promises,” you repeat, needing him to understand that you’re as shaken as he is. “But I’ll figure something out.”

He offers you a small smile, picking up his mug again. You both take a few moments to sip your tea—hot and soothing, but not nearly enough to un-knot the anxiety in your stomach. Still, Dustin’s presence is oddly comforting; it’s nice not to be alone in this, even if it’s a teenager by your side.

“So…” You clear your throat, stealing a glance at him, gaining the courage to lighten the sullen mood. “Are you gonna tell me how you know where I live?”

“I’ve seen Steve practically sprint here a bunch of times.” A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Took me about three tries before I got the right door.”

You let out a laugh, but then something clicks. 

“Wait—three tries?”

Steve had never felt so low in his life. Five days holed up in his room, only sneaking out to the ensuite to splash water on his face or raid the kitchen for whatever snack he could grab—mostly stale crisps and soda—before retreating back inside. 

The place was still a wreck, remnants of that explosive outburst he couldn’t even remember starting. Not that it mattered, really; he’d be getting kicked out in a few months, so why bother cleaning up?

He’d turned off the ringer a while ago, but the calls still came, filtering distantly through his phone on his bedside. Sometimes he picked up the receiver out of some faint, mechanical impulse, but he never spoke. Except once, to Robin. 

’M not feeling so good… might quit, but I dunno.

He’d mumbled it out, half-delirious, knowing she’d recognise the alarm in his voice. She’d shown up at the door not long after—he could feel her worried presence behind the wood—but he couldn’t make himself stand, couldn’t find the will to undo the lock and let her in. Plus, he’d moved the key. 

She had her own life anyway, right? 

Her own happiness, her own girlfriend.

His body ached from lying in bed so long, muscles protesting every slight movement. His mind felt worse, drifting in a haze of guilt and regret so heavy that sometimes he wondered if he could even take another breath. 

He had no more tears left to cry, not after everything that went down—especially with you. The memory of your face—that hurt, that fear—was seared into his brain. Even when his eyes closed, he saw it.

Part of him wished you had stayed, just so he could apologise or explain or… something. But another part felt a grim sort of pride that you walked out. You deserved more than the pathetic shell he’d become, and he knew it. He’d flung the ugliest parts of himself at you and he couldn’t even figure out why. 

It felt like some twisted reflex, lashing out the moment he’d felt cornered.

It stung especially hard because he remembered every time you’d cried into his arms about your job or life in general, how he’d held you close and never once used your own aspirations against you. He’d admired your drive—even if it sometimes left him feeling insecure. 

So how had he ended up painting you as the villain for doing what you love?

Now, it all felt rotten inside him. He could see exactly how cruel his words had been—every insult sharpened by his own self-loathing. And there was no taking them back. He’d never understood before what it meant to watch someone you love crumble right in front of you and realise it was your own damn fault. 

It hollowed him out, left him lying in stale sheets, counting the cracks in the ceiling, wishing for the strength to rewind time.

But it was too late. And with each hour that passed in that cramped, messy room, he felt himself caring less about fixing anything—less about everything. Because when he closed his eyes, you were always there, the memory of your wounded gaze burning behind his eyelids. 

And he didn’t think he deserved a way out of it.

The moment you pull into the driveway, your hands grip the steering wheel with white-knuckles. You can’t shake the memory of your last conversation—if it even counts as a conversation. 

Part of you wants to slam your car into reverse and leave Steve to his own devices. He hurt you, humiliated you, and you haven’t forgiven him. But you made a promise, if not to him, then to Dustin. The kid all but worships him, and someone has to check on Steve.

Seems like you were the logical option here. 

So you climb out and make your way to the front porch, heart pounding with each step. The absence of his parents’ car in the driveway tells you they’re gone; the Harrington house is eerily still. You knock, loud and firm, each rap echoing in the silence.

No answer.

A chill snakes up your spine as you bend down to lift the mat—nothing. You bite down on your lip, anxiety churning. But then you notice the pot beside the door. You reach in, fingertips brushing over cold metal, and pull out the key. You feel bitter that this is the thing he decides to listen to. 

Stepping inside feels like walking into a tomb. The air is dank, a smell of something musty that makes your nose wrinkle. You notice the coffee table, still shoved askew from wherever he’d kicked it last time. 

A glimpse of the kitchen stops you in your tracks. The muffins he must have finished are perched on the counter, days old now, untouched. They look sad, deflated. You can’t decide if you’re more confused or hurt by that. Mail lies in a messy pile on the table, corners curled, unopened envelopes scattered. It’s like the whole house has been abandoned.

Each step up the staircase feels heavier. Despite the countless hours you’ve spent here—movie nights, lazy mornings, heated make-out sessions on the couch—it all feels foreign now. Wrong. The hallway is silent, the lights dim. The air clings to your skin, intensifying the sense that you shouldn’t be here.

You notice his bedroom door, slightly ajar. You pause, trying to calm the growing panic in your chest. 

You didn’t come to intrude. You just needed to make sure he’s alive. 

But a quick glance through the gap reveals a sight that stops your breath short. Clothes strewn everywhere, books and tapes littering the floor, a desk chair toppled on its side. The place looks destroyed. 

Not in a casual, messy way—this is carnage.

You push the door open, and the state of the room hits you like a punch to the gut. This isn’t just sloppy. It’s the aftermath of something far darker. A breakdown. And there, at the center of the chaos, is Steve—sprawled on his bed like a shadow of the person you once knew.

He stirs at the creak of the door, blinking groggily. When his gaze lands on you, his face pales even more, if that’s possible. He looks so different, like a ghost wearing his skin. His cheeks are hollow, hair unkempt, eyes ringed with shadows. 

He doesn’t speak—just stares, wide-eyed and stricken, as if he can’t believe you’re really standing there.

Anger simmers beneath your ribs, fighting with a rush of pity so strong it nearly chokes you. You’re furious with him, furious for how he treated you, but the sight of him like this—broken, listless—makes your stomach lurch. 

No one deserves this.

You snap into problem-solving mode. No words, just action. 

You stride to the window and yank it open, letting a sharp gust of air sweep into the stale room. Behind you, Steve finally rouses enough to realise what is happening, but you cut him off by walking past him, heading into the bathroom.

The pipes groan as you turn the faucet. Steam fills the air, and you test the temperature with your fingers. Your mind runs on autopilot: 

Get him up. 

Get him clean. 

Breathe some life back into him.

When you return, he’s half-upright in bed, blinking in confusion. You hold out a hand, expression set in stone. For a moment, he just stares.

“Come on,” you say, your voice quieter than you intended, but firm. He looks at your outstretched hand like he isn’t sure what it means. 

You try again, gentler.

“Steve… let’s go.”

Slowly, he sets his feet on the floor, wincing at the effort. You guide him toward the bathroom, every step feeling like treading on eggshells—somehow both intimately familiar and gut-wrenchingly new. 

You still hate what he said, what he did—but seeing him like this, you hate the situation more.

No words pass between you as you ease him toward the tub, your body moving on memory. Your gaze flicks over his clothes—so easy to remove in moments of warmth and laughter, but now the act feels unnatural.

You pause, fingertips brushing the edge of his shirt, and look up into his sunken eyes for permission. His nod is barely there, just the smallest tilt of his head, but you accept it.

Stripping off his clothes feels like undressing a corpse; his limbs move sluggishly, offering no resistance. You gather his T-shirt and jeans, tossing them aside on the sink, your stomach twisting at how distant he feels in your presence. By the time he’s left in nothing but his underwear, you can hardly meet his gaze.

“You got it from here?” you ask unsure.

He nods again, a weak gesture that does nothing to reassure you. You scoop up the discarded clothes, slip out of the bathroom, and softly shut the door behind you.

Outside, his room looks just as you left it—an absolute wreck, the fallout of some internal war. Despite the roil of anger and pain under your skin, something in you is set on fixing whatever can be fixed.

So, you get to work.

You gather wrappers and empty bottles, muttering under your breath as you fling them into the bin. Next, you scoop up the random VHS tapes littering the floor, shoving them onto the shelf in a messy row. 

He can reorganise later if he wants to. Not your problem.

The clothes get tossed into a laundry basket, clean or not—it doesn’t matter anymore. You strip the bed, sheets and blankets in one swoop, hauling it all downstairs and stuffing it into the washing machine along with the rubbish. 

You don’t even know why you’re doing this, not when your own place is a disaster. But each step feels necessary in a house that’s clearly falling apart from the inside out.

In just under half an hour, you’ve turned the carnage into something that resembles a house again—no longer a battlefield. Even got rid of the stale baked goods in the kitchen. 

Your heart thumps in your chest as you head back upstairs, nerves jangling when you hear water draining from the tub. You catch sight of his half-open drawers and rummage for something soft—a pair of old joggers, an oversized sweatshirt.

At the bathroom door, you knock lightly before pushing it open just enough to slip inside. Steam clings to the tiled walls, but the sight of him makes your chest tighten. The towel wrapped around his waist might hide him as he brushes his teeth, but you can see the exhaustion carved into every line of his shoulders. 

Even clean, he looks terrible. Empty.

He notices the clothes in your arms, glances between them and your face, then finally takes them from you without a word, toothbrush hanging awkwardly out his mouth. 

“I’ll be outside when you’re ready,” you say softly. 

It’s the only explanation you can offer before turning on your heel, escaping the suffocating press of sadness that fills the bathroom. 

He emerges, hair damp and curling at the ends, wearing the sweats you picked out. He looks like he’s expecting a lecture—or worse—and some part of you can’t help but want to give it to him. 

After all, he hurt you. Yet the sight of him, freshly washed but still sunken-eyed, strips away most of your anger, leaving something more complicated in its place.

He glances at the newly cleaned space. 

“You… you didn’t have to do that,” he mutters, voice scratchy. He won’t meet your eyes.

“I know,” you shrug, your tone clipped. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

He swallows, nodding once. 

“Okay.”

Silence. 

He moves to sit on the far edge of the mattress, opposite you, as if he’s afraid to cross an invisible boundary. You can feel the tension stretching between you—a chasm carved out by wounded pride.

“Are you seriously not going to talk?” you finally bite out, the frustration tightening your chest.

He flinches, as though your voice itself is too sharp. 

“I-I don’t know what to say,” he admits.

“A ‘sorry’ would be nice,” you snap, though your anger is already warring with pity. He looks so frail.

“I’m… sorry.” He ducks his head, hair falling into his eyes. 

A beat passes, and you feel your patience fray. 

“Great.” You swing your legs off the bed. “If that’s all I’m getting, I’m leaving.”

“Wait.” His voice cuts through the air, urgent and tremulous. “No—please. Don’t. Just—”

You pause, catch a glimpse of his face, and see raw panic etched into every line of it. With a sigh, you sink back onto the bed, crossing your arms.

His relief is almost palpable, but it’s quickly replaced by shaky breaths. His hands tremble, and he can’t seem to keep them still on his knees. Panic floods his features, twisting them into something agonised.

“Steve,” you say quietly. He’s on the verge of hyperventilating, chest rising and falling in uneven bursts.

“I—I can’t—” he stammers, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. “I just—fuck, I’m sorry, I—”

You shift toward him without thinking, placing a hand on his quaking shoulder. 

“Shhh, hey, it’s okay,” you murmur, gentling your voice. “Just breathe. Start from the beginning, okay? We’ll work from there.”

His eyes flicker up to yours, haunted and glassy. The weight of everything unspoken hangs between you: all the damage he’s done, all the nights you spent upset and alone, all the ways you once trusted him.

You can’t forgive him—not yet. But you can’t leave him like this either.

“Please?” you add, your own voice betraying a shaky undercurrent of worry. “Just… talk to me.”

Like you once did.

He takes a ragged breath and nods, swallowing hard. His hands cling to the bare duvet as though it’s a lifeline. 

You wait as he struggles to form the right words. And he tries—is trying—lips parting and closing in fits and starts, heart pounding so loud you can almost hear it. 

“I’m—I’m so sorry,” he says, voice ragged. “Never should’ve spoken to you like that. I—I don’t even know where it came from.”

“It clearly came from somewhere, Steve. But we’re not talking about us right now.” You quietly shake your head, eyes fixed on him. “We’re talking about you.”

He exhales, shoulders slumping as he stares down at his unsteady hands. 

“Okay,” he whispers, “yeah. Okay.” A deep breath. A hesitant glance at your face. Then, almost in a flood, the words come out once more.

“My dad… my dad got in my head. T-told me I was nothing, a disappointment—couldn’t even bear the thought of me.” His voice quivers, and he squeezes his eyes shut like he’s trying to block out the memory. “I just—I don’t know how—don’t even know who I am anymore. He just—just looked at me, like I wasn’t even worth the conversation.”

Your heart twists, but you don’t speak—just let him continue.

He scrubs his hand over his face, eyes flicking to the doorway as though someone might burst in at any moment. 

“I was going to come see you on Friday, I swear—you have to believe me, angel—I really was. But he caught me on the way out, and…” His breath hitches, panic threading through his words. “He was just confirming what I already thought—what’s already true. That I’m a fucking failure.”

He presses a palm to his chest, as if trying to steady his heartbeat. 

“And I know that,” he says, voice shaky. “I know I’m nothing special. And in that moment, I just— I wanted someone to feel what I felt—even…even you.”

You swallow, stunned by how raw and desperate he sounds. Even in your worst nightmares, you never imagined him this broken.

“I know it’s not fair—but I’ve seen this story before. You’ll get bored of me—I know you will.” He glances up at you, eyes pleading for understanding. “You say you won’t, but you will. And I’m sorry—so fucking sorry. You have to believe me. I never meant to be mean to you or—or scare you.” His mouth twists in self-disgust. “God—I can’t believe I made you feel that way… Like you were ever unsafe with me.”

You reach out, gently placing your hand on his arm, and he flinches—more out of self-loathing than fear. 

“Hey,” you say, your voice soft, but firm, “Breathe for me, okay?”

A shuddering exhale racks him, and he bows his head, eyes squeezed shut. For a moment, you think he might push you away—tell you not to touch him, that he doesn’t deserve it. But the words never come. 

Instead, he stands there, quietly shaking under your hand, a broken boy who’s convinced himself he can’t be saved.

Your chest feels like it’s caving in at the sight of him—at the guilt, at the rawness, at how he’s clinging to these warped ideas of his own worthlessness. 

“I don’t know how to fix this.” He keeps going, voice splintering as he tries to get it all out before he loses his nerve. “There’s no fixing this—I’ve got three months.”

“Three months?”

“He’s kicking me out… basically—my dad. If I don’t get my shit together, I’m done here.” His breath comes in ragged gulps, the admission shaking him. “And I know—God, I know this is so unfair. So fucking unfair on you, sweetheart. I’m sorry you got caught in the crossfire. I never should’ve—” His voice breaks, and he drags a hand across his mouth. “Never should’ve asked you out that day you came into the store—never should’ve done this to you.”

You want to protest, to tell him he’s talking nonsense—but your words get stuck behind the wave of memories that crash over you from all those months ago. 

That first day, his dorky smile lighting up the entire shop. The way he nearly jumped out of his skin when you said yes to hanging out. Building that bookshelf together in your living room, both of you laughing as he insisted he didn’t need your assistance. 

The time he showed up at your door unannounced because he just sensed something was wrong. Showing you off to all of his friends. All that progress, all those private jokes, all that slow, deliberate peeling back of each other’s layers—cut to ribbons by a single night’s outburst.

Now, here he is. Tears still clinging to his lashes, voice choked with regrets. The ache in your chest flares hot—hurt and a fierce tenderness all mingled into one. 

You couldn’t bear it any longer. 

You slide closer without a word, pulling him into your arms, and he clings to you. Trembling so violently it’s like he might shatter if you let go. His breaths come in spurts, each exhale sending a tremor through his body. You press your forehead to his shoulder, eyes burning. 

“Steve?” you ask softly after a minute, voice muffled against his sweatshirt.

His head lifts, eyes rimmed in red. “Yeah?”

You hesitate, brushing the hair off his clammy forehead. 

“Have you eaten?”

“Uh, no?” His brow furrows. “That’s not really—why are you asking?”

You pull back just enough to fully meet his gaze, then lean in, pressing a gentle kiss against his lips. He freezes, almost like he doesn’t believe what you’ve done is real.

He doesn’t question it, just grateful that it means you’re not leaving him alone. He won’t read too much into it now, doesn’t want to assume that you’re here for good.  

“Because,” you say, “we’re gonna go downstairs and make something to eat.” Your voice is calm, like talking to a scared child. “And then we’re going to figure out what to do.”

“You’re staying?” He stares at you, confusion and hope warring in his eyes. “But—why?”

“Because, Steve,” you murmur, the corners of your mouth twitching in a sad smile. “You said it yourself. I’m independent.” You pause as you cup his jaw, running a thumb over his cheek as you gaze up at him. “And you’re going to learn how to be, too.”

He sits at the kitchen table, eyes fixed on the way you move around in front of the stove. If he blinks just right, he can almost pretend it’s a normal day—just you and him, making an impromptu meal after a long shift. 

He watches you crack eggs into a pan, stifling a sigh when you scrape the shells into the trash. You’d hoped for something more elaborate, but the fridge was nearly empty—most of the produce spoiled. He curses himself silently for not taking care of it.

A pang of guilt floods him, prompting him to stand, to do something. He goes to the cupboard, rummages around until he finds the familiar box of tea bags you keep here for yourself. He lifts a mug, glances back at you. 

“Tea alright?” 

You shoot him a quick look over your shoulder and nod. 

“Yeah. Tea’s good.”

So he gets to work, carefully measuring out just enough hot water, placing a teabag in each mug. He adds a bit of sugar and a splash of milk to yours. 

Just how you like it. 

When he turns back around, you’re already plating the eggs—fried sunny side up, edges crisp and a little burned around the rim—along with a couple of slices of toast.

Just how he likes it. 

The two of you sit down across from each other at the table. The clink of cutlery against plates sounds almost unbearably loud in the silence. For a moment, neither of you speaks. You watch him push at the meal with his fork, taking tentative bites at first. Then something shifts. He goes from nibbling to devouring the entire plate in a matter of moments, like a man who hasn’t seen food in days.

A pang grips your stomach. Clearly, he hasn’t had anything decent to eat in a while. You slide your plate toward him. He gives a shaky protest. 

“No, I’m good.” 

But you shake your head.

“I already ate,” you tell him gently. “Not really hungry. Please, eat.”

He studies your face, then seems to accept it, nodding slowly. Within seconds, he’s finishing off your portion, too. You sip your tea, quietly reeling at how hollow his cheeks look, the bones more pronounced than you remember.

When the food is gone, he rubs his hand over his face and slumps back in his seat. 

“You’re not at work?” he asks, voice low.

You exhale a thin breath. “I… took the week off.”

“What?”

“Yeah, well,” you say, trying and failing to sound nonchalant, “I was kind of upset. Didn’t want to hide in the red room if I needed a cry.”

Remorse surges in his eyes, and he ducks his head. 

“Sweetheart… I know it doesn’t make up for anything I did, but from the bottom of my heart, I’m sorry.”

“Steve,” you begin, voice trembling slightly, “it’s fine. We’re focusing on you right now—”

He shakes his head, cutting you off.

“I know, and that’s important. But there’s something I gotta ask...” He presses his palms to the table, steadying himself. “What I did was unforgivable. If we’re over—if you can’t do this anymore—tell me. I just—I need to know.”

Your heart lurches; the raw plea in his voice stabs at you. 

“Steve—”

He lifts a hand, begging you to let him finish. 

“I don’t care if you—if you need space, or if you don’t want to see me for a while. I get that. I just… I need to know that I still have a chance. That once I figure this shit out—I haven’t—haven’t lost you completely.”

You swallow hard. The weight of his gaze feels almost too much to bear, but there’s no hesitation in your reply. 

“You haven’t lost me.” Your voice softens. “I....I love you too much.”

His face crumples with relief, a choked exhale leaving his lips. You reach out, tentatively resting your hand on his, and for a moment, the two of you stay like that—clinging to the thin thread of hope that still binds you together.

Finally, you clear your throat, pulling your hand away.

“So,” you say, steadying yourself, “we need to figure out what you’re going to do. Are you sure your dad will kick you out?”

“Yeah. He will.” His mouth twists into a grimace. “He’s an asshole, but he doesn’t lie. He cut me off already when I didn’t go to college—he follows through on every threat.”

“Okay. So what about renting? You make enough to cover it, right?”

“I’m pretty sure I do, but there’s hardly anything on the market. And what there is…” He trails off, leaving the rest unsaid. 

You know all too well how soul-crushing it can be to search for a decent place in Hawkins. It took you months to find yours.

“Yeah,” you whisper, nodding, “I know.”

A hush settles between you, the quiet palpable, almost electric. He fiddles with his empty plate, pushing around the leftover crumbs with his fork, while you stare at him, mind churning over possibilities. 

Then a single thought sparks—a ridiculous, terrifying idea that sets your heart pounding.

“Steve?” you say softly, and his eyes lock with yours. “I… I might have an idea.”

His eyes scan your face, searching for any hint of hesitation. And then, suddenly, it all clicks into place for him. 

No. 

There is no way you’re suggesting that. It’s absurd. It’s idiotic. It’s not even something he’d ever let himself consider.

“No,” he rasps almost immediately, shaking his head. “No, angel, I can’t—I can’t do that. Are you serious? That’s yours—not mine. I can’t just—whatever you’re—I mean, after what I said? After what I did to you?”

Finally, you see what you’ve been searching for all week—you see your Steve. 

The Steve you’ve always known. The one who never wants to impose, who refuses to be a burden, who won’t ask for more even when he desperately needs it. The remorse in his eyes is painful, and it only solidifies your decision.

This is your boyfriend, Steve. And God, if it meant keeping this version of him—the one you cherish, the one you love—you’d let him stay with you forever.

“This is my offer,” you say. “I’m offering it to you. If you want to treat it like a last resort, that’s fine. But…” Your throat bobs with emotion as you draw in a shaky breath. “I really, really want to wake up with you every day. Split the rent. If your dad’s so concerned about your future, why don’t you make one? One you’re actually proud of... One with me.”

He blinks, tears shimmering in his eyes, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths as he struggles to compute what you’re saying 

You’re insane for doing this. 

In his eyes, at least. You’re supposed to be the smart one—the one who thinks things through, who knows better. And this? This is the furthest thing from a smart move.

But he sees it—the way your eyes shine with conviction, how your expression doesn’t waver, how every fiber of your being is offering this to him, fully and completely. 

You’re not lying. 

He knows when you are. And this? 

This is real.

“You… You really mean that?” His voice trembles, and the raw hope shining through makes your heart twist.

You nod, eyes glistening with your own tears. 

“Yes. I really mean that. I’m ready to do this—seriously.”

A choked sound escapes him, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. His body aches with the need to have you near him. 

“Come here,” he whispers, voice cracking. “Come over here, please?”

You push your chair back, crossing the short distance in two steps. The moment you’re within reach, he pulls you onto his lap, arms locking around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. 

His hands come up to brush the hair away from your face, the gentleness almost undoing you. Then his lips meet yours in a lingering kiss. It tastes like promises and second chances, and he pours every ounce of relief, every fragment of devotion into it.

“You’re not gonna regret this,” he murmurs between soft presses of his lips, voice thick with emotion. “Swear on my life, I’m gonna spend every single day showing you how much you mean to me. You’ll never—ever have to worry about anything again, long as I’m around. You know that?” He kisses your jaw, your cheek, your temple, like he can’t get enough. “You’re an angel—call you that all the time, I know, but you have to understand I mean it—fully. You’re a godsend—straight from fucking heaven.”

You feel your heart swell, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. A little laugh slips out—half joy, half disbelieving relief—while you bury your face in his neck, letting him cling to you as if letting go might shatter the fragile moment.

Eventually, you have to pull back, your lips still tingling from his. 

He inhales shakily, a new determination igniting behind his tired eyes. A tear slips down his cheek, but he doesn’t look away. 

He couldn’t. 

Even if he wanted to.

Because this girl—this stupid, stubborn, impossibly insane girl in his lap—has just given him the one thing he never thought he’d have. 

Salvation. 

A way out. A chance to live his life—not the one dictated by his father, not the one shaped by expectations he could never meet, but his life. The way he’s dreamed about since leaving high school.

It’s been a few days since that heart-to-heart—since all the raw emotions and apologies spilled out and brought you two back together. You find yourself trudging up the stairs to your flat, a small duffle bag clenched in your hand. 

It’s not your bag. It’s Steve’s. 

He insisted on carrying the heavier stuff, so he’s right behind you with a large cardboard box balanced carefully in his arms. He keeps throwing concerned glances your way, reminding you not to overdo it, especially after the whirlwind you both survived these past few days.

When you offered him your place—opened the door to your home, and more importantly, to your future together. It felt cathartic at the time, but neither of you were naive enough to think it would be easy. Later that same day, the two of you ended up at his dining table, drafting a meticulous list: bills, rent, utilities, a hundred different phone calls you’d need to make to set everything up. 

You were both determined to do it right. He kept emphasising that he’d pull his weight, that he’d take on more than his share if it meant showing you how committed he was. The idea of this new life with him thrilled and terrified you—but mostly, it filled your chest with a heat you could hardly articulate.

Hours passed, and by ten at night, you were rubbing at your eyes, complaining of a headache from all the numbers and paperwork. He looked at you, concern shadowing his features. He’d noticed your exhaustion well before you said anything and felt guilty for letting you push yourself so far. Relenting, he agreed that you both needed to step away and breathe.

That night, you slept at his place, and the sensation was immediately familiar—like returning home. Wearing his old Hawkins Phys Ed shirt, you crawled under the covers and felt his arms circle around you. He held you so gently, like he was afraid you might slip through his fingers. You could feel his shaky exhale against your hair as he tried not to tear up, clearly thinking about how damn lucky he was.

Even after you drifted off, he found he couldn’t sleep. Not with the guilt still gnawing at him, not when the knowledge of how he’d hurt you weighed on his mind.

Call it self-inflicted punishment or penance, but he carefully slipped out from under your arm, doing his best not to stir you. 

With measured steps, he made his way back downstairs, returning to the scattered papers on the table. He picked up the old calculator he thought he’d never use again, muttering every sum under his breath. Even though it was late, the methodical tap of buttons and scribble of pencil across paper soothed him.

Each calculation that confirmed a real, shared future gave him the momentum to keep going, no matter how sleep-deprived he felt. Some of the equations he did twice, not wanting any part of this to be left up to chance. 

When you woke up sometime later, you realised the bed was still cold on his side. Anxiety prickled through you as you called his name into the darkness, flipping on the lamp to peer through the dimly lit bedroom. The quiet of the house led you downstairs, where you found him hunched over the table, eyes rimmed red from strain, pencil in hand. 

He didn’t even notice you right away, so lost in thought—tallying numbers, crossing them out, re-checking them. Your heart melted at the sight of his serious expression, that little line between his brows telling you just how deep in concentration he was.

Padding across the floor, you stepped into his line of vision. He glanced up at you, and the softness in his eyes nearly made your breath catch. Leaning back in the chair, he waited—almost timid—until you climbed right into his lap. His arms came around you instantly, hugging you like he was grounding himself in your warmth.

“Should be sleeping, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice husky with fatigue. “S’almost two.”

“You’re not in bed.” You told him in a drowsy mumble as you burrowed yourself further into his chest.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he admitted softly. “Thought I’d finish what we started. Want to make sure all of this works out.”

“It’s not going anywhere,” you gave a small shake of your head.

It was true. All these papers and logistics would still be there tomorrow. There was a movement in his eyes but he still wasn’t quite ready to give it up. Wanted to be absolutely sure he wasn’t going to lose this too. 

“Please?” You pleaded, brushing your fingers against his cheek. “Wanted to sleep with you... Haven’t had the chance all week.”

At that, he broke. His expression gentled as he brushed a few stray hairs out of your face. 

“Okay,” he whispered, like he was surrendering to something bigger than both of you. “Yeah, okay. Come on.”

You led him quietly back upstairs, exhaustion weighing down both your limbs. The moment you slipped under the blankets and into his arms, you felt a warmth settle through your bones. He held you close, and you could sense his heart thudding in his chest as he finally let himself relax. 

Within minutes, he was drifting off. 

That was four days ago. Now, everything’s official—all the logistics sorted, all the phone calls made. You stand in your bedroom, setting his duffle bag in the corner of your room. Behind you, he carefully places a large box on top of the dresser. When you turn, he meets you with a soft, lopsided grin that crinkles the edges of his eyes.

“Is that it?” he asks.

You cross your arms over your chest and nod slowly, taking in the modest stacks of his belongings that are now scattered around your bedroom. 

“Thought you had more stuff than this,” you say, frowning. 

“I decided to get rid of a few things.” He shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets. “New start and all that.”

“You threw them away?” You scowl in mock indignation. “Instead of giving them to me?”

He chuckles, stepping closer to hook an arm around your waist. 

“Sweetheart,” he lets out a low chuckle, nudging your chin with a gentle finger. “You now have full access to my entire wardrobe, and you’re complaining?”

“Hmmm.” You pout as he leans in, you let him kiss you—warm and tender. When you finally break away, you clear your throat. “Did you call Keith?”

“Yeah,” he replies, running a hand through his hair. “Got my job back—already squared things away about my time off. Robin forgave me for being a complete idiot, and Dustin too.”

He’s got a second chance, and he’s not going to blow it.

When you told him how Dustin had turned to you for help, you saw the panic ignite in his eyes again—fear that he’d let everyone down, especially the kid who looked up to him like a brother. 

So you’d forced him into the passenger seat, driven to Dustin’s house, and watched from the window as Steve hesitated on the porch before finally knocking.

You weren’t sure what was said in that living room—he spent an hour in there. You do know that, by the time you joined them, Dustin had tears in his eyes, but they were happy tears. And Steve looked lighter. Like he’d scraped the burden off his shoulders and left it on the welcome mat. 

The three of you ended up sprawled in Dustin’s living room, eating too many slices of pizza, and watching a random comedy on TV. By the time you left, your heart felt a little sturdier.

No more tantrums. No more breakdowns.

You’d believed him too, especially with how his eyes shone with fresh resolve.

“I, uh, moved some of my stuff around in the bedroom,” you tell him. “Had a few spare drawers or whatever—you’ve got the bottom two, and there’s some free hangers in the wardrobe.”

His eyes flick to the space you’ve made for him, you catch the gratefulness that softens his entire expression. He looks at you like he still can’t believe this is real—that he’s here, that you made room for him. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you in for a slow kiss, his lips lingering on yours.

When it ends, he presses his forehead to yours, murmuring a playful “thank you.” But before you can reply, the gentle press of his mouth becomes more insistent. His hands shift to cradle your jaw, and you melt into him as the kiss deepens—hungry, a little desperate.

“Steve,” you mumble, pulling back just enough to speak, though his lips still ghost over yours. “We need to unpack…”

He hums, not letting you stray far. 

“We can unpack later,” he murmurs. “Got all the time in the world.”

You want to roll your eyes at the cheesy line, but the way he’s looking at you—like you’re the only thing in the universe that matters—makes your heart ache. When he dips his head to nip gently at your neck, you let out a breathy laugh, your hands coming up to clutch his shoulders. In one swift move, he lifts you onto the bed, settling you against the pillows.

Your pulse skitters in your chest as he looms over you, his warm, steady gaze sweeping across your face. 

“Can I?” he asks, voice hushed. “Wanna say thank you properly—wanna make you feel good.”

A little huff slips past your lips, your cheeks hot. He’s ridiculously sweet, and he knows it. He sees you hesitate for half a second, so he leans in, pressing a series of gentle, coaxing kisses along your jaw, his hands finding purchase at your hips. 

“Please?” he murmurs, breath fanning against your skin. “Wanna take care of you. You gonna let me, angel?”

His thumbs begin to knead soft circles into your sides, and you feel your heart skipping a beat—or maybe five. You tug him closer, inhaling the comforting scent of his shirt as your arms loop around his shoulders, deciding then and there you’ll never get enough of him.

You blink up at him, heat already flushing across your cheeks. The second you mumble your agreement—“Yeah, all right. Okay.”—his face lights up with a grin so bright it makes your stomach flip. 

He leans in, giving you a quick kiss before pulling back to yank off his shirt. The muscles in his arms and chest shift, and you can’t help the way your eyes trail over his skin. Your own shirt follows suit as well as your bra, stripped away and tossed onto the floor, and then he’s on you again—breath warm and urgent against your mouth, hands skimming over your bare sides.

He’s nipping gently at your bottom lip, then your jaw, and you feel that fevered press of his body. Each touch says he needs this. Each breathless kiss says he’s missed you.

“Wanted to do this all week,” he murmurs, voice raw with relief. “Can’t believe you chose me, sweetheart—I mean—could’ve had anyone.”

Your heart clenches at the genuine wonder in his tone. You cradle the back of his neck, pulling him down for another firm kiss. 

“I want you,” you say, voice catching on the words. “Only you.”

He groans, pressing his forehead to yours, eyes falling shut as though your confession alone is enough to undo him. 

“Oh yeah?” he breathes, the corners of his mouth curving into a smirk. “Well, I gotta show you how grateful I am, then. Gonna make you see stars, baby. You deserve it—so fucking beautiful.”

Heat crawls up your face, and you instinctively try to duck your head, flustered by his praise. He catches the motion, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. 

“Oh? You getting shy on me?”

“N-no…” you protest, but it comes out smaller than you intended.

“That sounds like a ‘yes.’” His voice is teasing as his fingers hook into the waistband of your pants. Before you can work up a witty retort, your trousers and underwear are slipped down and off, leaving you bare. His gaze darkens appreciatively. “You don’t like it when I say nice things?”

You shake your head, but the denial dissolves the moment his hand slides between your thighs. Calloused fingertips brush against your slick skin, and the breath escapes you in a shaky exhale. His responding chuckle warms your ear. 

“Oh, baby, I think you're lying—just look at you.”

A mortified whimper bubbles out—though your body clearly isn’t complaining. It’s a mess of conflicting emotions: the embarrassment of his unabashed words and the molten desire pooling low in your belly.

“It’s—it’s embarrassing when you talk like that,” you manage to squeak, squirming under his touch.

“Embarrassing?” he echoes, sounding far too amused. He presses his hand more firmly, and a moan slips out of you, your thighs quivering at the sensation. “Can’t have that,” he murmurs, dipping his head to kiss down your neck. “Was so mean to you, angel—don’t deserve you.” Another slow swirl of his fingers has you arching up. “Gotta make it right—s’only fair.”

You part your lips to respond, but all that comes out is a broken, breathy sound. The rhythmic press of his hand is driving coherent thought right out of your head. He watches you, clearly reveling in how easily he can undo you.

“You’re dripping, sweetheart,” he drawls, voice dropping to a low hum. “You sure you don’t like it when I tell you how pretty you are? How perfect you are for me?”

You give a pitiful whine, your cheeks practically on fire. It only seems to spur him on, his fingertips slick as they work you open. Each thrust of his hand feels so sinfully good that you can’t tell if you want him to keep talking or just shut up and kiss you senseless.

Steve was always all sweet words and gentle smiles in bed, but this was different. He was savouring you, getting off on calling you names—not the degrading kind, but the ones that made your stomach twist and your throat tighten.

His cocky little grin flashes again. 

“Aw, baby, you’re so sensitive.” He leans in, brushing his mouth against your ear. 

You let your eyes fall shut, surrendering to the flurry of sensation he’s stirring inside you. The desperate tingle in your stomach builds with each curl of his fingers, and just when you think you might be careening toward the edge, he pulls away. You open your mouth to protest, only to watch him stand up and strip out of his jeans and boxers.

He shifts back onto the bed, bracing himself over you, and a sharp bolt of arousal lances through your core when you feel him—hot and hard—rubbing insistently against your clit. 

“Gonna fuck you, baby,” he breathes, voice hoarse. “Gonna show you how much you mean to me—how good you are to me—”

He guides himself to your entrance and pushes in, inch by inch, until he’s fully sheathed inside you. Your jaw goes slack at the delicious stretch. Both of you gasp at the same time—like you’ve just remembered how good this can feel when all the walls are down, when you’re both so desperately in need of one another.

A shudder runs through him. 

“God, I missed this,” he groans, beginning a slow, steady pace. “Missed you.” He leans in, mouthing at your neck, your collarbone, anywhere he can get his lips. “Gonna do this every day—after every shift—hell, before every shift. Want you on my cock anytime I can have you.”

The rhythmic drag of him thrusting deeper and deeper has you arching your back. Your nails instinctively rake down his shoulders in an attempt to ground yourself. The sting must register because he lets out a rough moan.

“You gonna scratch me up, huh?” he rasps, his pace growing more determined. “Gonna leave a mark on me?”

“S-sorry.” You freeze for half a second, peering up at him through hazy, pleasure-blurred eyes. “Don’t wanna hurt you—”

“Could never hurt me—not after what I did.” He shakes his head, eyes burning with intensity. “I—I want it, baby. Wanna feel you tomorrow—everytime I move—wanna remember who’s at home waiting for me. Our home.”

Something about that—our home—sends sparks of electricity tearing through your veins. 

“Steve,” you breathe. Your voice cracks with urgency. “Shit, I’m gonna—”

He knows what you mean before you even said the words. Bearing down, he snaps his hips a bit faster, and his words become even more ragged and desperate, tumbling from his lips in quick succession. 

“So fucking smart—so fucking pretty,” he manages between thrusts. “Always so sweet for me—God”

His chest is heaving, damp with sweat, and he’s pounding into you like he can’t hold anything back. He feels you squeezing around him, and it only drives him further—spurs him on like he has something to prove. He can’t give you much, but what he can offer, he gives tenfold. 

This is what he can give you, and fuck, he wants to give you so much more. He’d give anything to make you happy—to make you feel even a fraction of what you’ve given him. He needs you to understand. Needs you to feel it.

“Always working so hard—taking such good care of me—making me feel so fucking good—aren’t you, angel?” he mumbles brokenly, delirious. He’s teetering on the edge, and you feel it in the way his strokes start to falter. “Need you to know how much I—Fuck—need you to cum on my cock, baby. Won’t stop ’til I feel it—please.”

You’re too strung out to do anything but obey that fierce longing in his voice. With one more thrust, you tumble into release, your body seizing beneath him. The rush has you clawing at his shoulders, your head thrown back as waves of ecstasy roll through you. You vaguely register him letting out a guttural moan as he follows you over the edge, the tension in his body snapping as he spills into you.

For a few seconds, you both just hover there—lost in the throbbing aftermath that feels electric and tender. Your vision spots with warm, dizzy bliss, and you’re semi-aware of him collapsing onto you, his lips brushing your temple in a dazed kiss.

You pull away from him, chest still heaving, and the giggle that slips from your lips sounds almost delirious in the quiet that’s settled around you both. his flushed cheeks crease into a satisfied grin as he tilts his head, studying you.

“What is it?” he asks, brushing his fingers through his damp hair.

You push at his chest—just enough to make him tumble to the side—and roll your eyes. 

“You talk too much.”

 “Me?” He gives an exaggerated gasp. “That’s weird. Usually you love my mouth.”

Heat crawls up your cheeks as you huff, trying to will away the memories of just how much you do love his mouth. 

“Yeah,” you grumble, “but when you talk like that…makes my head all scrambled.”

“Oh, I know, baby. I’m so mean, aren’t I?” He pouts exaggeratedly. 

Another huff leaves you, though you can’t hide the corner of your mouth twitching in amusement. He leans over the side of the bed to grab his discarded shirt and jeans, and you start to do the same—only to freeze when you catch sight of his back in the low light.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe out, eyes going wide.

“What is it?” He whips around, alarmed by your tone. 

 “I, uh…I actually did leave marks on your back.” You grimace a little, shifting your weight to your knees. The faint, reddened lines stand out against his skin—four vivid stripes that trace the path of your nails from earlier.

He glances over his shoulder with a casual shrug, though the slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth betrays his real reaction. 

“Oh yeah?” His voice dips lower, interest obvious.

“I’m really sorry,” you say, feeling a hint of guilt.

“I wanted you to,” he replies without hesitation, and you notice the flicker of heat in his eyes. “Shows I was doing a good job.”

“Still feel bad,” you mumble, cheeks burning. You move closer, fingers ghosting over his shoulder blades. 

“You know…” His grin widens. “Could always kiss ‘em better. Hear that helps.”

You scoff but lean in, pressing soft kisses to each mark, and he practically melts under your touch. 

“Better?” you ask softly, lips brushing the raised skin.

“Much,” he murmurs, letting out a shaky sigh. There’s a definite pink tinge staining his cheeks now—you’ve managed to fluster him now.

"Aw, you getting shy on me?" You tease as a giggle bubbles up your throat.

"Shut up." He huffs as he leans down to pull on his boxers, holding out his shirt for you to slip on. "Shower?"

You nod as you pull on your clothes, letting him guide you to the bathroom, his touch gentle.

He doesn’t let you lift a finger—cleaning you up was his job tonight, just like making dinner, just like everything else.

He promised you wouldn’t have to worry about a damn thing ever again, and Steve keeps his promises.

Any stress?

That’s his job now. Not yours.

Because you’ve already given him the greatest gift anyone could ask for. You. Your trust, your future. And he’s going to spend the rest of his life making sure you never regret it.

He didn’t tell his dad he was leaving. Didn't see the point.

If the old man wanted to find him, he could, but it wouldn’t change anything. He had made his choice, and for the first time in his life, it wasn’t about living up to someone else’s expectations.

He blocked out the past, because the only thing that matters now is you—safe, warm, cared for, loved. He would spend every day proving that you’d never have to doubt that again.

[luveline]

Idk if you've ever written it, but like, hotch having to save bau!r after she's been kidnapped and tourtered and shit and when hotch finds them, babes is BLEEDING and shit and like barely coherent but spewing the absolute most random bullshit to hotch bc their panicking and whatnot?

thank you for requesting 💌 fem, 1.2k

Hotch has felt sick for three days. 

He stands with his ear pressed to his shoulder, as though holding the ear piece further in will bring news of you quicker. His hands are up and ready, torch and firearm held aloft, wrists crossed. 

Morgan has to go in first. Morgan, because if you’re dead, Hotch will take actions that will disbar him from being Unit Chief. He can’t keep his head, not if you’re gone. His anger will swallow him whole, and he will do things that can’t be forgiven. 

His stomach churns, waiting, waiting, waiting. The sky is dark as pitch and the house they surround doesn’t stir for a time. 

Then, low and long, carrying heavy through the air like a sledgehammer to his chest, is the reed of your screaming. It’s a strangled sound, sobbing to begin with, begging as it ends. Hotch hears your, “No, no, please! Please! Please.” Your third please fractures into a writhing scream as the pain begins again. 

Hotch’s arms twitch, threatening to fall to his sides. You’re alive, but… 

“Okay, we’re going in,” Morgan says through the ear piece, clearly having heard the same agony as Hotch. “Right now. Team two with Hotch. Everyone ready?” 

You must have screamed so loudly for it to get through walls. That’s all Hotch can think as he follows behind the second team, the sounds of cracking wood and tight footsteps ahead.

He’s not in the room, but he’s down the hall, he can hear the fuss as he hurries forward. “Drop the weapon!” Morgan shouts, evidence of his own anger in the sheer booming volume of his voice. “Drop the weapon now! Drop it!” 

A sharper crack as a bullet hits something and a thud. Hotch forces himself into the room just in time to see a large, short-haired figure fall to the floor. 

You’re covered in red and purple and brown, blood in long lines and gushing from deep wounds, a mess of it. He doesn’t even know where to start, your gutted, exhausted sobbing like a knife in his stomach, your limp hands hanging either side of the strange chair you’ve been strapped to. “Morgan,” you say, audibly relieved and yet your pain obvious and electric as you gasp for air, “Morgan, you have to get me out.” 

“I’ve got you,” Hotch says, holstering his gun in one breath and by your side the next.

A SWAT agent begins to saw through your binds with a serrated knife. Hotch’s hands stutter on the metal ends of the chair, wanting to touch you but terrified he’ll put a hand in a wound he hasn’t noticed. 

“Hotch,” you say, and your relief is worse now. Like you aren’t covered in your own blood, like his being there has fixed everything. 

“Y/N,” he says back, holding your elbow carefully, “it’s okay, it’s all right.” 

“You have to get the straps off of me. I need to go home-”

“I know, that’s what we’re doing. We’ll get them off of you–”

“–I have to go home, Hotch. You have to take me home.” 

He knows that medical are close behind them, they’re coming in just as soon as the building has been cleared, and there’s more than enough agents to have it done in the next thirty seconds. He has to assess you in that time. He can take care of you. 

The SWAT agent cuts your last bindings and you immediately attempt to get up, gasping in pain when four hands push you down at the same time. “Sit down,” Hotch says, “Y/N, just stay there, just for a second.”

“No, no, let me down, I need to go home, I haven’t looked after anything and– and the laundry’s piled up, and–”

“Honey,” he says firmly, “I’m gonna take you home. I am.” He meets your eyes, panic and tears and concerning bloodshot clouding your vision. “I’m gonna take you home, but please stay still. Just until the EMS is here. Just so they can look at you.” 

“I want to go home now,” you say, nearly shrieking, grasping at his arm. It’s so loud in the room with so many people speaking that he’s almost glad for it. 

Your fingers slide down his sleeve and leave streaks of gore in their wake. Your hands are caked in your own blood. Done with his bargaining, you push up into his arms and get onto one of your feet, an incredible amount of force behind you as you get your way. Your knees buckle immediately —Hotch scoops you up and dumps you back in your chair, even as you cry and cry into his chest. 

“No, I need to go home, I have so much to do, I can’t stay here,” you whine, pain eating at your voice, your fingers weakening where they’re pressed to his stomach. 

“I promise I’m going to take you home,” he says, ducking to speak directly into your ear. “Do you trust me? I promise I’m going to take you back home. Please, please, sweetheart, trust me.” 

You hiccup, tears thick running down your cheeks, and orange where they collect at your chin, chest heaving as you border incoherency. “I do trust you. I– I trust you, I just–”

He takes a showful breath. “Deep breath. I’ll bring you home soon.” 

“All my plants are dead,” you mumble, blood smudging over your eyelids as you rub them harshly. 

Hotch holds your wrists. 

— <3 

He keeps his promise (though you don’t remember him making it, not beyond what Morgan recounts). Hotch takes you home when you’re well enough to be there, and he, done with pretences, stays for a while as you recover. 

“What are you doing?” you ask, more tired than you’ve ever been in your life, peering at him through sticky lashes where you lay in bed. 

He’s odd to see without shoes. “Nothing,” he says, misting the leaves of your window plant with a frown. “Just hoping I can bring this one back to life.” 

You’re not sure why he’s so worried about the plants. It can’t be judgement; he knows exactly why they died. 

Well. Whatever professionalism was between you is well and truly gone. You wonder what it is you said to him that made him finally snap, but it was nice to wake up with his hand in yours, and it’s nicer still to see him each morning. When you clear your throat and look at him longingly, you know without asking that he’s going to find his way back to your side, and kiss your cheek, hands smelling of fresh soil. He does it all with ease. 

“You brought me back to life,” you joke weakly. 

“I had much more help than the plants.” He’s been panicky around you sometimes since he found you again, but not scared. He tilts your face gently one way and then another. “You look pretty, but very tired. Why don’t you sleep some more, hm?” 

“Can I… I mean, do you think you could…” 

He takes your arm as he settles in to comfort beside you. His fingers begin to trace a gentle line down your arm, meandering around cuts and bruises. 

You close your eyes, hesitant of the darkness. “Are you sure I’m okay?” you ask quietly. 

“You’re home, honey. Safe and sound.” 

[nemesyaaa]

western nights // mean!S2!barry x kook!reader x s2!rafe

summary ; /

warnings ; mentions and using of drugs. kinda violence. barry doesn't give a shit about pogue/kook thing. threesome(mxmxf/switch). smut without real plot. shotgunning (smoking). choking. double p in v. boys kissing (if you see that challengers reference, no you don't.), oral (f&m receiving.). scars mentions. threats.(3k words.). be careful with the warnings.

author's note : i want rafe and barry back as a chaotic duo for S4 part 2, please. it's a threat, not a request. im watching you obx screenwriters.

“someone you know very well owes me money.”

you looked up from your line of cocaine in a loud snort, before sitting comfortably on the bed while rubbing your nose to clean it quickly.

"and how does that concern me barry? you have your business, i have mine. and by the way, are you stalking my clients because you're losing yours ? ”

“ you’re such a fucking ungrateful princess. let me remind you that it’s because of me that you even have a business in the first place. you were nobody before i helped you, it doesn’t matter how much of a kook you are in this business.”

"wow.. someone’s got an attitude. it's not my fault your boy chose me over you.”

"yeah, he’s gonna regret that when you fuck him over."

“and why would i do that?”

he approached you, a big blunt falling out of his lips, before leaning toward you, made you feel quietly small. a short breath escaped your throat while you shivered. a smile with a wicked expression on his eyes showed on his face. “ still afraid of me. why ? it’s been a long time since i’ve had to put you in your place. you still got that scar? ” with a sick, softened voice, he added just over your lips. “that expensive makeup covers it up real good.”

“ what do you want, barry ? ”

in the intimacy of silence between the two of you, he pressed a thumb in the corner of your lips, letting his finger open it a little wider, before pulling out and blowing smoke directly into your mouth, letting your tongue disappear on the shot.

you scoffed, before your throat had swallowed the smoke. “ i want my money. and you're gonna do what i ask you. ”

“ and if i don’t ? ”

“ you don’t have much of a choice actually.”

barry placed himself above you, more threatening than when he welcomed you into his home. you placed a hand on his chest before responding calmly. “ don't be mad at me. it's your own fault you decided to trust him. why are you giving him free shit? you know he can afford it. and don’t give any of that ‘he said he’ll bring the money next time’ bullshit, when has rafe cameron ever been trustworthy?”

“ y/n. don’t start shit you can’t finish. ” he warned.

"what do you want me to do? you have a gun, and no reputation to preserve, if you want to shoot him, he's all yours. don't involve me in this. i'm having a good relationship with my client, do not mess it up. "

“do you think it’s that easy, princess?” he laughed nervously. "obviously. you really think I can get away with taking out Rafe Cameron?”

"i just think if you really wanted to, you would. Since when does Rafe scare you anyway? "

"i had a little disagreement with ward. it’ll just be easier if you handle it."

“what do i gain from all this?”

“It’s your choice. But we’ll talk about it when we’re out of this situation.”

you sighed. the next day, you invited rafe cameron to your house. like every time you called him, he came back.

“ so, where’s the coke ? ” he asked. “ tell me you have something for me. ”

"obviously I do, I'm a dealer, what did you expect ? But do I have any for you ? that's another question. ” you frowned. your gaze was on his beaten puppy face, his eyes were glinting, completely desperate, and his voice was almost pleading and nervous. “ i think i’ve been too nice to you, rafe. maybe i should be mean for once. look at this scar you have, should i give you another one? because that’s what’s gonna happen if you don’t behave. ”

“I’m begging you, please. i'm gonna pay you back.”

"begging already? wow. tell me why i should believe you’re pay me back?”

“ just trust me. you know i have money, i just have to get it.”

“ i have no reason to trust you. “ you shook your head with a tsk tsk that meant you didn’t believe him. he was a pathological liar, it was in his nature to save his ass with lies.

you laughed in frustration, making him raise an eyebrow. "you’re gonna pay me back, huh? I’m not even the only person you owe money to. is this about what we did last time?”

“If i can recall, you were enjoying yourself just fine.” he cut in.

"rafe. you have nothing to offer me. to tell you the truth, if I really needed money, there are ways I can get it. So whatever is going on here, it’s not fair because you’re getting something out of it and I’m not.”

"I told you, I’m gonna pay you back, just please, give it to me. I’ll pay you back tomorrow.”

"We’re going to try this another way. I’ll see you tomorrow and if you have the money you owe us then you’re good. And I’ll take care of you again.”

you kicked him out of your house. the next day, he showed up in your room as you were coming out of your shower. you planned to procrastinate all day before he stormed off like crazy.

"What are you doing? You think you can show up here like this?”

“I have your fucking money. now, i want my coke. i did what you wanted me to do ! ”

you smiled, while giving a pat on his curtain bangs. “ good job, pretty boy. ”

“where’s the coke? give it to me. ”

“i don’t have any.” you replied.

rafe laughed, a nervous and uncomfortable laugh. he took a few steps towards you, pushing you against the wall.

“rafe?”

“where’s the fucking coke? ”

“dude, are you high?” you asked, suddenly unwell by the rising tension you can't feel through the air. “ i just tol...”

he was mad, more than that, frustrated. the way you played with his feelings, you were making him go around in circles. and his hands began to irritate him, to make him wickedly agitated. which meant that he was gradually losing control because you were showing that it was you who had the power. he was just asking for drugs, only a little. it was such a small ask in his eyes, just a fucking line how you gave him some every time he came. like a child's whim, you couldn't take away from him what you had always given him. from his point of view, it was not okay.

and the thing was, you were doing it just now. he felt a horrible chaos inside him which made him spiral. his hands fell terribly on your throat, fingers wrapping in tight around you like a collar.

"i just asked you a question. and you better hope your answer is what i want to hear, because if it’s not this isn’t gonna be fun for you.” he whispered, his lips softly ghosting over yours.

“you’re scaring me….rafe ”

“ good, maybe now you’ll show me some fucking respect.”

he grabbed you by the throat, forcing you to bend your knees so that you were at his feet. you coughed, and he responded with a smirk.

“i don’t have your fucking coke. "

“but you know what, that’s not fair. i held up my end of the deal, o got your money and you don’t have my coke.”

he slipped each of the bills against your tongue down to the exact amount he owed you, forcing your mouth to stay open.

"not having so much fun now, huh?”

“ what a great surprise, my two favorite people in the same place. " had commented a voice behind the kook.

it was barry. you and rafe both shivered. at the same time.

“what the hell is this ?” rafe replied.

“relax country club, i didn’t come to give you a hard time. ”

“so why are you here ?” Rafe replied.

you spat the money back into your mouth and barry came closer to you.

“what the hell are you doing here?” you replied.

"so you're stealing my clients, you're taking my money and what more, you're lying to me?" barry had wisely articulated.

“wait, what do you mean?”

“shut up, rafe.”

“barry, it’s not what you think.”

"that's exactly what i believe. but you know what I believe even more? is that you need to be taught a fucking lesson.yeah, spoiled, rich girls like you need to learn that they can't play with everyone. come on, country club. ”

“barry.” you started. " listen..."

"I would love to listen to you, princess but I'm going to have a hard time doing once i fill that pretty mouth with my cock."

“what?” you retorted.

" oh you know, i'm in a grear mood. you seem to really enjoy playing with people around you. guess today, it's just my turn to play. i'm also thinking we should invite rafe to this game. would be fair actually. will princess be able to say sorry after being her nasty mouth being fucked to death ? ” replied barry by pulling you by the side of your face, hair caged in his grip, making you gasp.

“ pretty sure, bitch like her can. ”

" you're too high to even know where you put your dick. ” you said.

“ very funny. ”he laughed in a sarcastic way, before pulling his pants down, his cock slapping against his stomach, following his movement by plunging it straight into your mouth, one hand with rings covering your throat, pressed tightly his fingers against the back of your neck. “still funny?” he continued as he pushed himself even deeper, feeling his dick deep down in the inside of your pleasing mouth widening around him. “ can't even answer now. ”

Barry smiled before undressing his pants, guiding your hand to his own cock. you quickly got the hang of it, starting to masturbate him, your free hand circled around his full length stroking back and forth, all the while having rafe’s thick length, lodged hard in your throat.

your fist was wrapped around barry’s cock, fingers tightening and sliding around his girth quickly while rafe was buried completely inside your mouth, fucking you faster on the tongue. you already started to get soaked on the inside of your thighs, the wet forming a damp spot on the fabric of your underwear.

both boys stood in front of you, above your kneeling position while you were at their commands. barry invited himself into your mouth, his cock next to rafe's hitting your dripping, sloppy tongue. their two dicks were working your throat at the same time, same pace as your muscle rolled over the two shafts that stretched you open. you could feel the weight of their lengths filling your stuffed mouth. your face was weeping with spit and saliva.

you grabbed their cocks with your free hands, sucking with your mouth and pumping with your fingers, their grunts hovering in the room.

your mouth was completely blocked by the growing size of their dick. rafe smeared all the drool from your mouth on your face, before spitting on your tongue, followed by barry. you touched them both while continuing to deepthroat the two boys. you let your tongue run on the veiny flesh of their dick, trailing your wet muscle around their veins, followed by balls lapping. your received both of their cocks so well like you were always made for this. you coughed several times, letting a trickle of saliva slip from your jaw. they both pulled out, before slapping their cocks on your drooling cheeks. your face was pressed with tears, running down your skin to the floor.

“don’t be lazy, open your legs. ” ordered rafe.

you had spread your thighs, leaving them with a full view of your glistening pussy. “ but look at you, already so wet, soaking like a mess when neither rafe or me already touched you. ” barry mocked.

rafe pushed your glossy lips apart with two fingers making you suck on them, stuffing you full in the mouth to the throat and barry found a place between your legs, and trailed his tongue against your folds filled with wetness that poured over his face.

he traced your clit, before eating out your hole that was pulsing against his messy mouth, the way his tongue licked your slit, slurping in and out, before circling your beating clit. his lips were wrapped around you, dirty lapping your cunt as rafe taking his thick fingers deeper in your throat to the point you choked on them. he cleaned them with his own mouth, before diving his thumb in your lips. the corner of your mouth were foaming as he roughly brushed his digits inside your cavity, two fingers fucking your tongue and throat, as barry widly sucking your cunt. your taste were flowing and he keeping it before kissing you slowly, let in drip back in your mouth.

“ do not swallow it. i bet country club wants a taste of you…” he commented, through the kiss.

without swallowing, you kissed rafe, moving your lips against his and released your tongue over his own. you were over the moon, both of them kissing you, tongue mixed with streams of saliva, and nasty spits.

you placed your hand through your slit, before pushing your fingers against rafe's mouth, forcing him to open wider while you do the same with your other hand with barry's mouth, feeding the two boys with your juice flowing around their hanged jaw. you rushed your digits further in their throat, as they gasped around them. you were so turned on, the way they were literally drooling like dogs over your hands was making you feel insane.

you slowly pulled out your hands as their faces got closer to each other, while watching them kissing through your dirty fingers. you watched them with a twisted smile, as rafe hand reached the throat of barry, his thumb running over his cheek. your gaze was focused on them, and your ears filled with the wet and horny sound of them licking each other. that was hot, and you hated how hot it was. “ are you gonna fuck or should i do it all the work myself ? ”

“ want to be fucked so bad ? ” cutted rafe.

“ is my legs open enough for you, rafe ? ” you said, teasing him flirty.

“ she's really asking for it. ” answered barry.

“ which one's gonna fuck me first ? ”

they both laughed at you as you said something very funny. you raised an eyebrow.

“ you're gonna take us.”

“ it's not gonna fit. ”

“ it's gonna fit. because that pussy is tired of being tight. ”

when they started fucking you it made the heat rise inside you. your whole body was horribly hot, their two cocks were both pressed and stuck in the same hole. you gripped the sheets with your fist, while they stretched your weeping pussy over and over, shoving every inch of their cocks into your soaking pussy. your head was spinning as you lost yourself completely, your flesh smushed onto the mattress. both wrecked your canal, and hitting every one of your spots. you felt strange spasms, a mixture of pleasure and pain as you trembl d and moaned under their thrusts.

“ don't fucking cry, you're the one who wanted those cocks inside you. was too mean to do what your pussy begged for ? too late. neither rafe nor i are going to stop. ” shouted barry while ramming his hips against you in a brutal stroke, making you whine harder.

“ pl-please…”

“ the only thing you need to “ please please ” is for us to fuck you even harder. ” continued the curtain bangs one with a sick smile around his lips.

rafe shutted you cries with a rough snap of his hips, his firm body slammed into yours, while barry next to him, pounded you in the same raw way. his hair was messy as yours, unbrushed and bouncing against his shoulders, as the air became more hotter. you were crying and panting for breath like a crybaby, tits swaying while your vision was getting blurred.

the kook one grabbed your face, hollowing your cheeks with his fingers, before spitting in your open mouth, watching his globe of saliva dripping from your glossy lips. inspired, barry spat on rafe's mouth, forbid him to swallow with his hand brushed on his partner jaw before letting the spit drooling over your mouth.

the pace sped up, as your pussy squeezed them like a vice, the room filled with the wet smacking sounds of your core getting speared roughly. they were fucking you deeply, your cunt dripping around them as they thrusted into you back and forth, all spots getting touch.

next position, you were bouncing on rafe's dick, big hand tugged on your hips, your ass jiggling against and slamming into his large spreaded thighs, as barry letting you suck on his dick. you were giddy, feeling overheated, messing everywhere on both of them. they were working on each part of your body, the overstimulation draining you.

“ suck it well, pretty thing.” he grabbed your jaw, his glare locked into your teary eyes. “ don't forget that you have still another free hole. and trust me, you don't want two cocks in. ”

your mouth found barry's cock, tongue out and wrapped around his crazy shaft, as you slowly pushed your muscle above his tip. you were now used to it, and sucked it directly to the throat, you spitting on it before licking to feel the size hitting the deep of your neck. you were like a dizzy free-use doll that were fucked to heaven.

you placed the dick of barry between your swayed tits that was unstoppable because of rafe's hard strokes on your sloppy cunt. your cunt that was actually filled by his large cock. before starting to pump the dealer with your boobs, you caged the painful boner in the middle of your breasts, and pressed them to the bulging girth before moving up and down quickly. when you heard his raspy grunts near your ears, his mouth and breath brushed your sensitive skin, you accelerated the pace, leaving him growling speechless.

few minutes later, he came around your neck, painting your flesh with white loads. rafe released his cum in you five minutes after, while kissing you, swallowing every breath of yours.

you fell on your back, completely exhausted. “ you guys…are crazy…”

“ just the beginning. ”

[azrielbrainrot]

In the Face of Your Love

Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader

Description: A love confession wasn't in Azriel's plans for the day.

Warnings: a tiny bit of angst

Word Count: 1,3k

Notes: In the face of writer's block I bring you another quick little story (that actually took me entirely too long to write). Hope you enjoy!

No matter how hard he tried Azriel couldn't remember the last time he had been in this situation. That's not to say he had never been confessed to before of course, that was far from the truth, but he didn't quite remember what to do in such a situation.

It didn't help that you were his friend, and because of it, someone he hadn't ever considered as anything more. If it were anyone else, he would probably be searching for the words to let them down as gently as possible, but looking into your expectant eyes, he can't help but wonder why exactly he had never thought about it before.

You were exceedingly beautiful and kind, remarkably intelligent and hard-working. You took care of your friends and helped them to the best of your abilities, always offering them a shoulder to cry on. Even though you weren't a fighter, Azriel was time and time again reminded of just how strong and fearless you were. You were perfect in his eyes, one of the best people he had ever gotten the pleasure of meeting in his centuries of life. He knew all of this as your friend, so how come he never looked deeper into the connection you shared?

Azriel knew it was partly, or mostly really, because of his lack of luck when it came to such things. Spending centuries in love with the same person, out of habit more than anything, pushing away everyone that threatened to make him feel anything of consequence gave him a long list of detachment issues unsurprisingly, and when he thought he could have something special with the middle Archeron sister after finally moving on from Mor only for it to blow up in his face before it even started, he was forced to take a good look at himself and his actions, and upon realizing that he was in no way ready for a relationship even though he felt desperate for it, Azriel came to conclusion that it was best to focus on his work and his friends, and leave such glittering dreams behind him.

That had been almost a decade ago, before he even met you. For the first time since then, he finds himself thinking of what it would be like to wake up next to someone, share his thoughts and dreams with that person, have someone to hold him through the hard times and take care of them in kind. For the first time in years, Azriel wonders if he could deserve someone's love after all.

His hesitation seems to start weighing on your excitement, pretty eyes moving to watch the ground as a heavy breath escapes you, not bearing the sight of his wide hazel eyes anymore. When you look up at him again a bitter smile is etched on your face, one that makes Azriel’s chest feel heavy and constricted.

“You don't have to say anything. I just wanted you to know, it felt like it was eating me alive keeping it to myself.” The humorless laugh you let out brings a furrow to his brows, but you keep going before he finds the right words. “I hope I'm not making things weird between us, nothing really has to change-”

“Wait,” Azriel finds himself calling out when he notices you taking a step back, away from him.

Unfortunately he stays quiet a second too long after and you end up taking yet another step back, your next words even more heartbreaking than before. “It's okay, Az. You really don't have to comfort me.”

“I don't want to comfort you.”

“Oh.”

He grabs onto your arm gently when you go to turn around, intent on walking to the door this time, cursing himself when he notices the wetness gathering in your eyelids.

“Please don't go,” he begs, staring into your eyes, hoping his will show you a glimpse at all the emotions swirling around in his heart, maybe you could make better sense of them than him. “I'm not good with words and I'm even worse with my feelings, but I can try to explain myself if you just give me a moment. Please.”

“Alright.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, your body letting go of most of the tension as you watch him. He drops his hold on you and offers you a small, grateful smile.

“You caught me off guard, I never noticed your feelings for me weren't entirely platonic,” he starts carefully, eyes flickering down towards your hand, wondering for a moment if holding it in his would be too much, too unfair to you.

“Some Spymaster,” you tease him back, a breathy chuckle escaping him and releasing the tension from his body, his hand reaching down to hold yours.

“I gave up on love a long time ago, long before I met you. Things have never worked out for me, partly for my own faults, making me think I just wasn't meant for these things.” The frown that settles over your face makes his heart skip a beat. Cute, it was cute, adorable even. Gods, how had he been so blind? “So, you see, I never stopped to wonder if we could have a relationship beyond our friendship even though I cherish your presence in my life immensely.”

“And now?”

“Now I'm thinking back on all our time spent together, the times we laughed and cried together, the times you cared for me and I cared for you.” This time he's the one to move, except he's taking a step closer to you, the distance feeling too big now. “I'm wondering what it would be like to come home to you every day, to hold you in my arms at night, to take you to every restaurant and bakery shop you talked about, to hold your hand in mine whenever I want.” Azriel squeezes your hand softly, your smile widening at the gesture. His other hand reaches for your cheek, cupping it delicately before continuing in a hushed tone, “Now I'm thinking I really want to know what your lips taste like.”

“Az,” you breathe out, eyes falling on his lips. He leans down and pecks your cheek softly, taking a step back to look into your eyes.

“If you still mean what you said…”

“Of course I do.” It's your turn to squeeze his hand, tugging on it to pull him back closer to you, he finds it extremely hard to resist you, but he wants to do things right.

“Then I want to invite you for dinner tonight,” he says, a weight he didn't realize was there before lifting off his chest when you nod immediately. “I think we should take things slow, for both of our sakes, and I don't want to promise you anything, the last thing I want to do is hurt you, but I want to try. I want to know what it's like to feel loved and give it back in kind.”

Your face lights up, smiling up at him with an intensity that threatens to blind him. Familiar dark thoughts start swirling in his mind, telling him how he would only snuff it out of you, but he does his best to tamper them down.

Azriel knew he loved you, that much was never up for discussion, and when comparing the love he had for you to the love he held for his brothers or the rest of his family, he can only feel disbelief that he had never questioned it. He would never do anything to hurt you, he would give his life for you without question, and was ready to face his fears and faults head-on if it would make him worthy of being by your side.

“It's a date then?”

He smiles even wider, his face hurting with the unfamiliarity of it, bringing your interlocked hands up to his face and dropping a kiss on the back of your hand, heart fluttering in his chest.

“It's a date.”

[quarterlifekitty]

Promethean

fuckboy!Soap x Shy!Reader x Ghost (college!au) p.2 here’s part 1

Uhh warning soap isn’t in this chapter and reader isn’t acting very shy rn lol

Simon managed to drag you, shocked and still on shaky legs, into his surprisingly clean car and across town to a little cafe. The guy with eye bags behind the counter starts making his order as soon as he comes in the door— must be a regular.

At the counter he points to a couple of items in the display case, before prompting you— you stutter out your go-to, and Simon whips out a beat-up debit card before you can think to pull out your wallet.

The largest size of earl grey almost looks normal in his large hand, a plate of pastries in his other mitt. You grab your own drink and follow where he tilts his head in gesture.

When you sit, he pushes the plate towards you. Like he’s dropping a fresh kill at your doorstep—a courting gift. Eat. Be provided for, sensitive doe. You pick up a danish, if only to ease the clench of his fist on the table. He pulls the black surgical mask down to sip his tea in a way that’s almost hilariously delicate given his permanent scowl.

You couldn’t have sat in silence for more than 10 minutes. But it feels like a lot longer.

“Simon. What are we doing here?” You probe quietly. Saying his name when you’ve never actually been introduced to each other feels wrong. Like you’ve stolen a piece of him that he hasn’t given freely.

“He never takes you out,” he grunts. As if that explains anything.

“It’s not… what we have isn’t like that.”

——

Simon chews on your overly diplomatic response for a minute. That’s what it must be, chewing— why else would he grind his teeth together when his tongue is still wet with his favorite soothing beverage?

You’re kind. Kinder than the mutt deserves.

“But you want it to be.” He says it with an almost biblical level of finality. Your pastry making the plate clink against the table as you drop it back down.

“What would you know about what I want?”

“You’re an easy read. S’how y’got yourself in this situation. Soap’s not exactly a rocket scientist when it comes to chattin’ up birds, you’re jus’ an open book.”

Simon shamelessly stares at your lips as they quirk in anger— so unused to vitriol. It’s gorgeous.

“So he’s using me. I know. Is that what this was about? Taking me on a pity date to let me down gently? Or did you just wanna see if you could have a go as well?”

Seeing you like this. It’s something else. He’s seen you mope around so many times, silently begging for crumbs that will never be tossed your way. It’s even harder to pull his gaze from you, now that you’re hissing. He wants to dig his teeth into your heart shoulder and rip out the bruise Johnny left you with.

Soap is his best friend.

“He’s a dickhead. You don’t need him. You’ll find something better.”

Simon has never been what he would call “something better”. Not in any sense. But this might be the first time he’s wanted to be.

“I won’t,” you say with the lower half of your face hidden by the sipping of your drink. As if it’s quenched your fire, and all that leaves you is vapor. “I’m not… the type.”

He gets it. Really, he does. He’s not the type either— or so he’s thought. You’re making him wonder if he’s imagined that about himself— the same way you’ve clearly imagined it about yourself.

“What’s the rest of your day look like?”

“…Nothing set in stone.” The not that it’s any of your fucking business goes unspoken, but is plain to see in the air between you.

“Lemme take you around. On a date. Be mine for today. If y’hate it, I’ll drop you back at yours and the next time you come round, I’ll mind my business and keep the door closed.” Well, that’s the most you’ve ever heard him say in one go. And it begs a question.

“What happens if I like it? You’ll fuck me in a different room of the same frat house?” Your unimpressed look makes him feel ravenous. She-wolf is threatening to turn her eyes from the display. Rejection. Not an option. “Or maybe you’ll ask me to go steady,” you huff under your breath like it’s a bad joke.

“If y’like it, then you’ll stay mine, and y’won’t fuckin’ want for anything. You’re supposed to be worshipped, not begging for scraps at a mutt’s door.”

He really didn’t mean to say it like that. He meant to bite his tongue. He’s trying not to think of how hot it would be if his intensity scared you into pissing yourself. He’s trying not to let himself show through the lines. It’s not working. Any of it.

The venomous bile that spills from behind his teeth reminds him that his eloquence is just one of many reasons why he’s single. Why he should be muzzled instead of kept. He doesn’t know why he’s taking it upon himself to do this. Selfishness, maybe. There’s plenty of better men he could’ve put up to the task, easy. The man who wants to feel blood on the back of his throat makes a terrible savior.

He feels like he can see your pupils dilate. You pick up your danish again and take a bite. You hold it out for him to try. It’s a test. You don’t think someone with eyes like his can handle doing cutesy, saccharine things. Like what couples do. That must be it.

He tries not to think of his teeth going past the flakey flesh of the pastry and sinking into your fingers. When his tongue meets the butter between the layers, he tries not to think of the salt sweet flavor of your sweat and tears. A seed from the blackberry jam gets thoughtlessly crushed between his molars— he hopes the bitterness will suddenly wake him up and he won’t be a beast crying for love at the heart of the world anymore.

It doesn’t.

[simonriley09]

Mask Kink - König [Kinktober Day 28]

TW/CW: KINK, SIZE DIFFERENCE, FEM!READER X COD, OLDER!KÖNIG X YOUNGER!READER

König usually keeps his mask and uniform away from his little liebling so when you saw him in full gear for the first time your cunt clenched around air. He notices your needy expression and grins under his mask. "You like vat you see schatz?" He watched you nod eagerly, strutting over to him to poke at his gear, making him laugh. He soon left for a mission but when he came back tired and covered in mud he was flabbergasted at what you asked him. "H-huh? Maus... say.. say zhat again?"

"I asked can you fuck me with your mask and gear on?, pleaaaase!" You asked, looking so innocent but having such a dirty favor. König practically pounced on you once you asked him that, he threw you over his shoulder, walking to the bedroom. His footsteps loud and echoing in the tiny apartment.

He put you on the bed, getting ontop of you and bite down harshly on one of your nipples through the thin fabric of your tanktop. Slurping and wetting it. You squealed, squirming and pawing at his helmet, trying to grab onto anything as your pussy ached for attention. "K- König!"

He ignored your pleas, suckling on your nipple before switching to suck on the other one, before he let go and took your shirt off, relishing in the sight of your plump tits heaving with each breath, pink perky nipples hard and standing at attention. He moved down to your panties, swiping up your clothed pussy with his tongue, teasing you until your panties are soaked and you're hastily removing them, showing him your glistening slit. "Please König! just fuck me already!" You begged, needing him to be inside you after not feeling anything in your cunt for ages. He finally whipped his hard cock out, standing proud before rubbing it all over your slit and thrusting the head in before slipping in fully, stretching you wider than anyone ever has, You throw your head back against the pillows and let out a soft whine at the ache of the stretch. He gripped your hips with his gloved hands and started thrusting into you, watching his fat cock disappear into your tight heat and bulge out of your stomach. You fisted the bed sheets, overwhelmed from the sudden pace after not feeling it in a while. You moan and whine loudly, the neighbors might complain but you can't help it. It feels so damn good. His cock hits all the right places, making you see starts. Your head swims and your toes curl, making you fist the bedsheets tighter as you felt the coil in your belly tighten, Threatening to snap as you got closer to climax. König groaned as you tightened down on him, increasing his pace while his heavy balls ached. His grip on your hips tightened enough to leave bruises. He continued thrusting, picking up his pace until you cried out, clenching and shaking as you came.

König sped up, fucking you through your high until his balls drew up and he emptied a load inside you. Pulling out and collapsing next to you making the bed dip. He panted and pulled you to his chest, not bothering to take his gear off and falling asleep with you.