#at all. i never want to hear noise. i just want everything to be quiet and i want alone time and space in the house. why is that so evil.

[gdinthehouseee]

Bittersweet: KWON JI-YONG x READER

summary: ji-yong misses you a lot, and he finally decides to visit the one place he's been avoiding. it seems some things must be set in stone...

word count: 3311

tags: pure angst; grief, implied depression and suicide - i wanna say now this is real damn sad so if you feel it's too much please click off and prioritise yourself, do NOT feel pressured to read <33

ao3 link

"You always said I had terrible taste in movies."

Ji-yong’s voice carries a quiet chuckle as he leans back against the couch, arms crossed over his chest. The dim glow of the TV flickers across the room, casting soft shadows on the walls. You’re curled up beside him, wrapped in one of his oversized hoodies—the same one you swore you weren’t stealing, even though it had been missing from his closet for weeks.

He won’t admit it out loud, but he thinks you look ridiculously cute in his hoodie. It’s too big on you, the sleeves swallowing your hands as you reach for the popcorn, the fabric hanging loose around your frame. He should probably be annoyed that you keep stealing his clothes, but instead, he finds himself staring—at the way the collar slips just enough to reveal your collarbone, at the way you absentmindedly tug the sleeves over your fingers when you’re focused. It’s stupid, really, how something so simple makes his heart do that weird, unsteady thing in his chest.

"I never said that," you protest, nudging his leg with your foot. "I just said you have… a very specific taste."

"Right. That’s just your polite way of saying it sucks."

You don’t argue, only biting back a smile as you take another handful of popcorn. He watches the way you focus on the screen, even though he knows you’re not really paying attention to the movie. You never do. Half the time, you’re too busy commenting on the set design or the background music, pointing out details he wouldn’t have noticed.

"You know, if you hate my movie picks so much, you could just pick one yourself."

"I don’t hate them," you murmur, voice softer now, more thoughtful. "I just like watching them with you."

Ji-yong doesn’t reply right away. There’s something in the way you say it—simple, effortless, like the thought has always been there, just waiting for him to hear it. He swallows, suddenly hyper-aware of the way your fingers rest against his arm, the warmth of your body so close.

He thinks about saying something then. About how his favorite part of movie nights isn’t the film itself but the way you lean into him when you get tired, or how you always steal the blanket halfway through. He wants to tell you that it doesn’t matter what’s playing, as long as you’re here.

But instead, he just laughs. "You’re lucky I put up with your commentary."

And just like that, the moment passes. Ji-yong never realized how much he memorized about you until now.

Sitting here, watching the same old movie alone, he can still hear your voice filling the empty spaces. The way you’d hum along to the soundtrack even if you didn’t know the melody. The way you’d lean your head against his shoulder when you got sleepy, murmuring something about how his stupid movie choices made the best background noise. He almost turns to say something—some teasing remark about how you’d probably still find a way to make fun of his taste. But when he glances beside him, the seat is empty. The hoodie, the warmth, the quiet weight of you tucked into his side—it’s all gone. The air feels heavier now, like something is pressing against his chest. He lets his head fall back against the couch, staring at the ceiling, and before he can stop it, another memory rises to the surface.

"Can’t sleep again?" He asked

Your tired sigh crackled through the speaker. "Yeah… not really."

He frowned, adjusting the phone against his ear. He glanced at the time—2:47 a.m. The calls always came late, always started the same way.

"What’s on your mind?" He asked softly.

You hesitated. "Nothing, really. Everything. It’s just… I don’t know. Some nights, it feels like my brain won’t shut up. And some nights, it feels like there’s nothing there at all."

Ji-yong sat up a little, propping himself up on his elbows. "Did something happen?"

"No," you said, too quickly. "Nothing new. Just that same heavy feeling, you know? Like I’m tired, but not in a way that sleeping can fix."

He exhaled slowly. He hated when you talked like this—not because he didn’t want to hear it, but because he didn’t know how to make it better. "Then don’t sleep," he said after a moment. "Just talk. I’ll listen."

You hummed quietly, like you were trying to find the words. "Do you ever feel like… you could disappear, and the world would just keep going like nothing happened?"

Ji-yong’s grip on his phone tightened as an uneasy feeling settled in his stomach. "Don’t say that."

"Sorry," you mumbled. "I just—forget it. Tell me something stupid. Distract me."

He wanted to tell you that it wasn’t nothing. That it wasn’t something to just forget. That if you disappeared, his whole world would tilt off its axis. But instead, he swallowed down the lump in his throat and played along.

"Okay. How about this—did you know octopuses have three hearts?"

There was a pause before you let out a soft laugh, and for now, that was enough.

Ji-yong blinks, pulled back into the present. His apartment feels quieter than it should. The TV is still playing, the dialogue muffled in the background, but the warmth that filled these moments before is missing.

His fingers curl into the fabric of his sleeve.

"I never told you how much I liked it," he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. "The way you always called me at night. The way you trusted me with your thoughts."

The screen flickers in front of him, but Ji-yong doesn’t see it. His gaze is lost somewhere in the past, in all the moments he never realized were fleeting. The way you’d smile when you thought no one was watching, the way your voice softened when you spoke about things that mattered most to you, even the little quirk of your lip when you were about to tease him. He had taken all of it for granted. The laughter, the late-night talks, the warmth that filled the space between them.

Now, in the silence, he feels the weight of it all—the things he should have said but never did, the moments he let slip away, assuming there would always be more. But time doesn’t wait. The feeling of regret curls around his chest, suffocating him. If only he had told you, if only he had shown you how much you meant to him when it still mattered. He wishes he had told you then. But now, it’s too late. The space beside him is cold, the echo of your absence louder than anything the screen could show.

The apartment is too quiet. The TV hums faintly in the background, but it feels like it's just there for noise—just there to fill the silence that’s pressing against him, suffocating him.

Ji-yong rubs his face, eyes blurry from lack of sleep, and stands up slowly. He moves mechanically, as if on autopilot, because every other part of him feels frozen in place. He walks to the window, staring out at the city below, the lights flickering like stars in the distance. But the view is meaningless.

Everything is.

He can’t help but remember the nights when you were there beside him, when everything felt like it made sense. The way you’d call him, even if it was just to talk about nothing, the way your voice had comforted him, grounding him. He remembers the softness of your laugh, the way it would echo in his chest long after the call ended. He remembers the feeling of your hand, warm and sure, when you’d place it on his arm or reach out in the dark of night. But now, the silence is deafening.

It’s too late.

Ji-yong runs a hand through his hair, breathing in deep. It’s the first time he’s had to face it, the first time he’s allowed himself to feel everything that he’s been running from. The truth, the pain, the regret—it’s all too much.

He pulls out his phone, his fingers trembling as he scrolls through the messages—the ones that should have been answered, the ones that should have been sent. But all of it is still here, untouched. Every text, every missed call, a reminder of the words he never said.

He should have been there. He should have noticed. He never imagined it would come to this. And now, he’s left with nothing but memories of the person he let slip away.

Ji-yong’s hand shakes as he places the phone back down on the counter, the weight of his own guilt heavier than any silence he’s ever known. The emptiness presses down on him, unbearable, and he finally allows himself to feel the sting of tears that had stayed hidden for so long. But it's too late to fix it now.

He has to go. He pulls on his jacket, his steps slow but determined, like he’s walking toward something he doesn’t want to confront but knows he has no choice but to face. There’s a place he hasn’t visited in far too long.

His footsteps feel heavier with each step, the quiet of the world around him amplifying the weight of everything he’s been avoiding. The gray sky seems to press down on him, like it’s holding his pain in place. He’s been walking for what feels like hours, but he can’t bring himself to stop. He’s drawn to this place—this place he’s tried to forget, tried to ignore, but no matter how far he runs, it always pulls him back. He doesn’t want to be here, doesn’t want to face the truth that’s been gnawing at him from the inside out. But somehow, it feels like this is the only place he can go.

Finally, he reaches the spot.

The air is thick with the scent of the earth, the stillness around him suffocating, like the world has paused for a moment, holding its breath. His heart beats in his chest, painfully loud.

He sees the familiar silhouette of something ahead��the marker, the seemingly insignificant landmark that stands where everything shifted. It doesn’t have to say a name for him to know what it means. His throat tightens, and his pulse quickens as the realization sinks in. This is it.

He kneels slowly, the cold ground pressing against him as his fingers dig into the dirt, as if somehow, if he touches the earth, it will bring him closer to you. But it’s not enough. It will never be enough.

"I’m sorry," he whispers, his voice cracking. "I should’ve known. I should’ve seen it." His words are barely audible, lost in the emptiness around him. "I should’ve been there. I should’ve... told you..."

His breath catches in his throat, and the words he’s been holding back for so long rush out in a broken sob. "I should’ve told you that I loved you."

His head falls forward, and tears escape, mingling with the dirt beneath him. The pain in his chest is unbearable now, like the weight of his regret is crushing him from the inside out. His hands tremble as he presses them against the earth, trying to reach something he can no longer touch. He stays there for a long time, the world spinning around him, as he whispers the words he never said before. The things he should have said, the things he’ll never get the chance to say now.

One more chance. That’s all he wanted. But it’s far too late now.

Ji-yong stays kneeling, his hands gripping the cold earth beneath him as the weight of everything crashes down on him. His tears have turned into sobs, raw and uncontrollable, but still, he whispers the same words over and over, as if saying them could somehow undo the reality he’s facing.

“I’m sorry... I should’ve been there... I should’ve known...” he repeats, as if whispering these words would bring you back to him.

But the world doesn’t stop. The wind continues to rustle the leaves around him, the empty, hollow sound only serving to amplify the silence. And still, he doesn’t stop. His hands press harder against the stone, his nails scraping against it as if trying to carve through the pain.

Then, with a force that takes him completely by surprise, his gaze lands fully on the marker in front of him. At first, it’s a blur—his eyes were too full of tears to focus. But when his vision clears, it hits him like a punch to the gut. The name.

Your name.

The truth smashes into him all at once, and for the first time, he lets out a gut-wrenching scream. A scream filled with pain, with sorrow, with a guilt so deep it feels like it’s splitting him in two. His hands tremble as they reach out, clutching the stone as though it might shatter with the force of his grip.

“No... no, no, no!” His voice is strangled, broken, the words unrecognizable through his sobs. “I didn’t... I didn’t mean for this to happen...”

He falls forward, his forehead pressing against the cold stone, the only connection left to you. His entire body shakes violently as he sobs, each breath a desperate gasp. The weight of his regret, of everything he never said, is suffocating him. Once more, he can’t see. He can’t think. He can’t breathe.

“I should’ve been there...” The words are barely more than a whisper, but they’re filled with such agony that it’s as if they’ve torn through his very soul. He screams again, louder this time, his voice echoing into the emptiness, his heart breaking with the realization that it’s too late to fix anything.

It’s too late.

The words feel like a knife. There’s no going back now. No way to take back the time he wasted, the moments he lost. He’s left with nothing but his grief, his guilt, and the unbearable weight of your absence.

“I love you...” he whispers, his voice broken. If it meant he could get you back, even for just one more day, he would have traded anything. Because you were his everything. You still are his everything. His love, his home, his world: all taken away from him in the blink of an eye. 

His chest heaves as he tries to breathe, but it feels impossible. The weight of his own heartache is too much, the emptiness too vast. He presses his palms to his eyes, as if trying to push the tears back, to stop the flood that feels like it’s drowning him. But it never works. They fall anyway, each drop a reminder of all the things he will never say to you again. All the moments that will never come.

He lets out a choked sob, his voice barely a whisper as he says your name one more time, like a prayer, like a desperate plea for something he knows he can never have again. He was too late. Too late to protect you, too late to save you from everything that hurt, too late to show you the love he was too afraid to admit before. Now, with you gone, all he has are the ghosts of his regrets, haunting him in the silence. He doesn't know how to live with them, but he knows he will—because living with this pain is all he has left. He has to live for you. 

Ji-yong’s fingers twitch at the thought, his mind pulling him back to that night. The memory lingers, sharp and suffocating, like a wound that hasn’t healed. He can still feel the dread that crept into his chest when he glanced at his phone, the screen lighting up with missed calls from your number.

The calls had come in rapid succession, one after another, like a hammer striking him over and over. His stomach dropped, instinct kicking in before his brain had even caught up. He didn’t even listen to the voicemail. He didn’t need to. He knew. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

His heart raced as he dialed your number, his fingers trembling, but it just rang and rang, no answer. His mind spiraled, but his body was already moving. He didn’t even grab a jacket or his belongings, he just rushed out the door, every step feeling heavier than the last. The only thought in his mind was you. Whatever was happening, he needed to be there. He had to make sure you were okay.

The hospital was a blur when he arrived—too many flashing lights, too many voices. The sterile smell of disinfectant, the cold air that wrapped around him like a death sentence. He pushed through the doors, his breath shallow, his pulse quickening, but nothing prepared him for what he found.

Your family was there, standing in the hallway, their faces pale, their eyes empty. They didn’t need to say anything. The look in their eyes told him everything. He barely registered the nurse who spoke to him, her words muddled, drowned out by the roar in his ears.

It’s too late.

They tried to save you. That’s all he could hear. They did everything they could. But it wasn’t enough.

He collapsed in a chair, his body no longer able to hold him up. His hands shook violently, and he could feel the air around him turn to ice. He had failed you.

“I should’ve been there,” he whispered, his voice barely audible as his head dropped into his hands. He could still hear your laughter, see your smile, feel the warmth of your presence. Now, it was all gone, slipping through his fingers like sand. The calls, the hospital, the frantic rush to save you—it all felt like an endless loop, and nothing could change the truth that it was too late.

The sound of you calling his name echoed in his mind, a cruel and harsh reminder that he’d never hear that properly ever again. You must’ve been so scared in your final moments, yet the only thing on your mind as you drew your last breath was him. It had always been him. 

“I’m sorry, Ji-yong.” 

A sudden sensation stops him in his tracks. A soft breeze, warm and gentle, brushes past him, despite the stillness of the air around him. It feels like your touch, like the comfort of your presence, even though he knows you’re not there.

His breath catches, his heart skipping a beat. He spins around, looking toward the grave, expecting to see nothing but the same cold stone that has haunted him for so long.

But there’s something different this time. In the silence, there’s a memory—your laugh, the way your voice used to light up his world. He hears it, faint, almost like another echo, and his eyes widen as the tears rush back. He holds his breath, afraid that if he moves or speaks, the moment will vanish.

The world feels suspended, like time itself has decided to hold its breath. And then, in the quiet, there’s a sense of warmth that he can’t explain. It wraps around him, pulling him into something soft and familiar. It’s as though you’re still with him, as if the distance between the two of you isn’t as vast as it feels.

“Aein?” he whispers, his voice barely audible, the words trembling with a mixture of hope and pain.

For a brief second, he thinks he feels your hand on his shoulder, the warmth of your touch grounding him, and his heart swells with a fleeting sense of peace. His chest tightens with emotion as he reaches out, but when he looks around, all he finds is the empty grave—silent, still, and so final.

"You’ll always be with me, won’t you?"

taglist: @thanosscrossmain @maskedcrawford @mirahyun @riddlerloveb0t

[goldenroutledge]

if tomorrow never comes

pairing: carlos sainz x fem!reader

word count: 2.0k

prompt: ❛ i didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, i just have a lot on my plate. ❜. based on this request.

summary: in which you and carlos drift apart and the tension boils over on your anniversary.

a/n: i’m having so much fun writing these requests! thank you to everyone requesting :)

masterlist || be my valentine blurb event 💌

“When do you think you can be here, Carlos?”

His voice is tight on the other end of the line, knowing that you won’t like the answer. “An hour. Ninety minutes tops.”

You want to scream out and repeat his answer back to him so loudly that he can hear from the balcony of your shared apartment. It’ll let all of Monaco know how ridiculous he sounds. The flight attendant’s presence at the other end of the cabin helps you keep your composure. “And you’re sure that’s it? One hour?”

“Yes cariño, I promise.”

“Don’t call me that when I’m annoyed with you.”

“Can’t help it.” Carlos smiles cheekily, you can hear it in his voice. You can’t help but roll your eyes, feeling that he’s not taking you seriously. Postponing time spent together, sometimes venturing into canceling dates altogether, was becoming too frequent for your liking. But patience had to be your strong suit dating Carlos. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Yeah. See you soon.” You end the call abruptly, leaving him to a last minute business meeting while you’re sitting here, awaiting your boyfriend on the private jet he has abandoned. Then again it would only be considered abandoned had he shown up on time to begin with.

He’d returned home from training yesterday exhausted as ever, yet reassured you with the promise that you two would spend a few days on a quiet getaway for your anniversary. Just the two of you, alone together. A trip you’d been planning for weeks now, with the need to make it an anniversary you’d always remember. If getting away was what it took to get Carlos to relax again, to be with you free of any distractions from work, you’d do that.

Carlos regards his career with a dedicated spirit, diligently organizing his schedule to make sure nothing falls between the cracks. His training, his sponsorships, his future at Williams… As badly as he feels to leave you waiting, duty calls. A last minute Zoom meeting with a new sponsor held him back at the apartment for longer than he anticipated. While most people have already resigned themselves to the fact that they can’t have it all, Carlos Sainz is not most people. He’ll either have everything, or die trying. It’s one of the many traits you love about him. Your heart aches at the thought of it being what tears you apart.

“Champagne?” The flight attendant offers you the drink, one of two that was meant for your celebratory toast with Carlos to kick off your anniversary trip.

“Thank you, it’s been a long day.” The flight attendant gives you a sympathetic smile, watching you down the drink with no effort. If this keeps up, it’ll be a long weekend too.

–

Once Carlos finally joins you on the plane, his ask for forgiveness is difficult to deny. He brought you a bouquet of flowers so large they took up their own seat on the plane, and he hadn’t stopped showering you with love since he arrived. Something about making up for lost time, he’d mumbled into your ear when you questioned his overwhelming affection. The colors of the flowers tied in beautifully with your outfit; Carlos was sure to capture it with a few photographs.

His attention to detail was another thing that you loved about him, it drew you in everytime. When you’re together like this, free of the outside noise, you wish it could last forever. Always on the other end of the phone or outside the airplane window is something ready to whisk him away. Ideally, an anniversary spent with him would consist of a lazy morning making breakfast together, simply basking in each other’s company.

His company was hard to enjoy when you were barely experiencing it, now sitting alone at your anniversary dinner hours later. Your mood turned sour when Carlos excused himself to take a call, walking away from the table before you had a chance to express your distaste. The tension that had been simmering between you two was bound to bubble over once again as Carlos returned to your table with a guilty look, phone to his ear as he ended his call with his cousin/manager.

You didn’t bother to look up, taking your anger out on your meal instead, poking and prodding the food with your silverware. It was a delicious meal that did nothing to deserve a brutal assault by fork and knife, ruining its picturesque presentation.

“Mi amor, I’m sorry.”

“Did you know that the more you say those words, the more they lose their significance each time?”

He sighs, running a stressed hand through his dark hair. “You know the kind of pressure that I’m under right now, cariño. How much this year has worn on me in general. Please, I just need you to be a little more-”

“Understanding? Yeah, I’ve been doing a lot of that lately.” You cut him off harshly, and the look you give him across the table is worth flinching from.

“You have. And I feel terrible, but it won’t last forever.” He attempts to soothe your worries, reaching for your hand. You don’t accept or deny his touch, you’re just still. It sends a shiver down his spine.

“You’re right, Carlos. It won’t last forever. You’ll make sure of it.”

“What do you mean by that? You think we’re going to break up?”

“I’m saying that if you don’t make time to nurture our relationship, there won’t be a relationship left! I’ve been here, Carlos. For you, for us, while juggling my own life and career, so don’t tell me it’s impossible. There was a time when you balanced it all before, when you weren’t working yourself to the bone because you decided you have something more to prove to the world.”

“I’m trying to balance everything, but it’s not always going to be smooth sailing. You know it’s not easy.��

“I know it’s not. I don’t need it to be, but I miss the days when you felt like our relationship was worth making time for. When I wasn’t the last of your priorities.”

“Maybe I miss the days when you understood that I’m not always going to be available for you 24/7.” Carlos rants, feeling defensive at how this time, the gloves are off, you’re finally letting Carlos feel the weight of the burden you’ve been carrying– loving enough for the two of you. Your pounding heart reminds you that it’s impossible to carry on like this. Something has to give. “Do you realize how much time I’m spending away from training to be with you? Is that not making time for our relationship?”

Tears prick your eyes in frustration, the air suddenly feeling warmer than before. Your nervous system begs you to get out of there, to leave the conversation before either of you say something you’ll regret. If it hasn’t been said already. “You still don’t get it, do you? I don’t even need any of this! I just want you! I remember the days when that wasn’t too much to ask for.”

Your hand has long dropped his, and Carlos’ eyes widen in panic as he watches you move out of your chair. “Amor, stay. Please, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Confliction moves through you like a strike of lightning, torn between staying to talk it through or taking a moment of space, after pouring out the feelings you’d spent so much time locking away. The last straw is when your waiter approaches your table, holding a small cake in his hands. On the top of it is a picture of you and Carlos together on your first anniversary, more content and in love than ever. A candle burns on the cake and wax melts down the sides, resembling the tears that wish to fall. Carlos’ eyes plead with guilt, begging you to stay and forget. Smile and pretend that right now, you’re still that happy couple printed on the cake.

Instead, you throw your napkin to your plate. “I need some air.”

–

Carlos watches you go, he doesn’t stop you. A timeout will do you both some good right now. He tries to tell himself that it’s not that bad. Couples fight. But he sits there, sullen, knowing that he’s fucked up this time. His heart burns as he stares at the picture of you two on the cake. It’s unbearable, and that little surprise he orchestrated now feels like a pointed joke at his expense. He blows out the candle and the light goes out. But closing his eyes won’t help his fear of the dark. Even he can’t run from this.

He finds you outside of the restaurant, sitting on a bench, staring down into the renewing waters of the fountain. It’s mesmerizing, the way you can drown in the sight and get lost in the calming sound. He slides his jacket off and wraps it around your shoulders.

“I’m sorry, mi amor. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, I just have a lot on my plate. But that’s no excuse to put our relationship on the backburner. I’m so, so sorry.” Carlos presses a chaste kiss to your temple, and feels comforted by how you subtly lean into his space. It’s a step. “I love you, and I’m going to listen to you. I want to make this better because there’s not a life for me without you in it. I need you, cariño. I want to be with you, always.”

“I’ve felt so disconnected from you lately and being here on our anniversary, reminded of all the happier times we’ve shared, I just… that scares me. I’m scared we won’t get back there if there’s any more distance between us.”

“I should’ve seen it sooner. The truth is, I am able to do what I do because you’re always there. You support me when things are up, when they’re down. When I lost my seat, when I got sick with appendicitis, when I won races… you’re there for it all. I took you for granted thinking that I could give everything I have to my career, when it’s you who deserves it.”

“You do give it everything, but I think you’ve lost sight of things a little bit. Usually you give me everything you have too, I mean the little cake with us on it… I love that you did that for me, Carlos. I’m only so upset because I love you too.”

Those words haven’t stopped echoing in his mind. He swears he’ll engrave them into his brain forever, as long as you’re happy. “Maybe I have been overcompensating a little bit, feeling pressure to make things perfect in my career. The year has been difficult, but I couldn’t have gotten through without you.”

You kiss his cheek, warming up to his affectionate words. He’s sincere, he truly means them. “You’re more than enough, Carlos. Just the way you are. Weathering the storm isn’t always easy but there’s nobody else I’d rather be with either.”

“Can we start over?”

“I’d love nothing more.”

“I have an idea. Should I throw my phone into the fountain, cariño? You’ll have my undivided attention for days.”

“Tempting, but no. Keep your phone dry, my love. Would you be opposed to going back to the villa? Enjoying the rest of the night in?”

Carlos wiggles his brows, as he recognizes that familiar glint in your eyes. One that shimmers with hope and longing. “We do have a pretty sweet cake being boxed up as we speak.”

“Maybe we can light the candle again? I promise I won’t leave the room this time.” Your hearts soar at the thought of blowing out your candle together, hands held as you make a new promise to each other. The past years together have been bliss and the rainbows have always shined through the cloudy skies. The next years together, you will wish for the same and even more.

“Anything for you, cariño. Happy Anniversary.” He presses a kiss to your cheek, leaving you with no choice but to cup his jaw and bring your lips to his. The cool breeze outside is no match for either of you– you’ve got your love to keep you warm.

“Happy Anniversary, Carlos.”

💌: thanks for reading! reblogs & comments are very much appreciated :)

taglist: @marjorieswrld

[puppyscatorccio]

what do you think about noncon tfem!lottie & tmasc!nat x reader :))

lottienat who take advantage of the fact that they are two, to destroy you, because you are so helpless.

lottienat who take turns: “stay at the door to make sure no one sees me fuck her, you next.”

lottienat who are mean to you, kinda aggressive, but kinda sweet like: “don't you like our attention? you seem to like it so much.” “yeah, we like it too, you make cute noises when we give you our attention.”

lottie who's sweet while fucking you, while nat likes being aggressive and mocking seeing the fear on your eyes.

lottienat who force you to watch them fucking.

lottienat who love to force sex on you at parties.

lottienat who drugs you to force you to do anything.

can you write some horny things based on this I've wrote hehe 👉👈 also sorry my english

never apologize, your english is great! i love these thoughts... / mdni, noncon, drugging, blackmailing

it starts out with you catching them making out in the locker room one time. of course, you'd never tell anyone about it, it's not really any of your business, but they have to make sure that you really do stay quiet.

they approach you so menacingly that you're sure they're gonna beat you up to silence you. "come on, i promise i won't tell anyone." but it's no use. when you're sure your life is over, you feel lottie pressing her lips against yours, rough and mean, pushing you against the wall.

"nat, watch the door. make sure no one comes in," is the last thing you hear before lottie is getting on her knees, pulling your pants down. even if you try to resist it, to tell her to stop, she doesn't really seem to care much. it's even more embarassing with nat standing right there, watching everything and clearly enjoying it.

it quickly becomes a habit. they get addicted to using you, love how the fight drains out of you so quickly because it's two against one, there's no wau you're getting out of their grip. the adrenaline and power that it gives them only feeds their ego.

lottie & nat who always corner you at parties, making you drink/smoke more than you can handle, nat slipping in a few pills on your drink so that you're nice and pliant for them. they don't even take you too far, they want everyone to see that you belong to them. nat bending you over the hood of lottie's car, fucking you with his strap while lottie just watches, waiting for her turn.

lottie who usually likes to take her time with you, drying your tears, kissing you all over, while nat is more on the aggressive side, degrading and spitting on you. sometimes, they'll switch roles, just to throw you off balance.

lottie & nat who insist on making you watch them fuck. it could be after they're done with you or before they even got started, but they're forcing you to sit your ass down and watch lottie dicking nat down or nat blowing her. they love putting on a show.

lottie & nat who take pictures and videos of you whenever they're using you, both for their own enjoyment and so that they can force you to keep coming back. "you wouldn't want everyone to see how much of a slut you are, would you?" while making you watch the videos they took, telling you that if you don't listen to them, they'll share it with everyone they know.

[pepprs]

im so fucking overstimulated lmfoaoooooo

[misswynters]

The Noble Daughter

Viktor x fem! reader / wc. 1.5k

synopsis: You are the daughter of a influential noble house. And Viktor is your little secret.

warnings: 18+, smut ofc, getting caught, him whimpering, soft sex 🫶🏼, reader getting eaten out, switch lean sub! vik, fingering

there might be some mistakes… -.-

[note | pls don’t just like, but also reblog & give me feedback. i don’t want to get shadowbanned <3

Every shadow and flicker seemed to embrace the secrecy of your meeting, cocooning you in a world that was just yours and his. Viktor turned at the touch of your hand on his shoulder, his amber eyes widening in surprise before they softened, filled with a mixture of longing and tenderness that made your heart ache.

"You shouldn't be here," he murmured, his voice low and gentle, laced with both worry and desire. But his hand found its way to your waist, as though he couldn't bear the thought of letting you go.

"I had to see you," you whispered back, lifting a hand to his cheek, fingers grazing the roughness of his stubble. He leaned into your touch, and before either of you could say another word, his lips met yours.

The kiss started soft, hesitant, but soon grew with a fierce urgency. Viktor's hands moved to your waist, pulling you close, as if he needed to make up for every second you'd been apart. He broke the kiss only to breathe, his lips brushing over your cheek, your jaw, leaving a trail of heat wherever they touched. You leaned back against his worktable, the cool metal pressing into your back.

With a glance up at you, Viktor lifted the edge of your blue dress, his fingers grazing the bare skin of your thigh. The contact of his hands sent a shiver up your spine. His gaze flickered up, silently asking permission, and at your nod, he continued, his hands guiding you, exploring every curve with a careful reverence.

"Are you sure?" he whispered, his voice gentle, his eyes searching yours, filled with both longing and concern. "I don't want you to feel..."

"Viktor," you murmured, sliding a hand along his jaw, tilting his face so he could see the determination in your eyes. "I’m in desperate need of your touch."

He bit his lip and with a shaky breath, Viktor nodded. His eyes never leaving yours as he positioned himself between your legs, his hands gripping your waist. He entered you slowly as he filled you inch by inch. This is what you were yearning for. His eyes were shut close trying to suppress his sounds, however here and there a whimper would slip through.

Each thrust was met with the wet, quiet sounds of your bodies slapping against each other, amplifying every sensation in the silence of the lab. All you could hear was the wet squelching sounds you’re pussy made as he continued to fill you.

As he moved, Viktor's hands slid under your thigh, lifting one leg to rest against his hip. The new angle sent a jolt of pleasure through you, and you bit down on your lip to keep from crying out, your nails pressing into his shoulders.

Viktor's breath grew heavier, his forehead pressing against yours as he tried to hold back his own sounds. His gaze dropped down between you, watching where you were joined, the sight sending a shiver through him that made him let out a quiet whimper, his grip tightening on your thigh.

He began a slow, steady rhythm, each movement creating soft, wet squelching sound that continued to grow rapidly. The intimacy of it, the restraint you both held, only made the tension coil tighter. Viktor's gaze was intense, filled with both wonder and awe as he watched the way your bodies moved together. "I never thought..." he whispered, his voice breaking with emotion. "You're... everything I dreamed of."

You leaned forward, capturing his lips in a breathless kiss, muffling both your gasps as he quickened his pace. The sounds between you grew louder, the wet, rhythmic noises blending with the quiet hum of the lab, filling the space with a symphony meant only for the two of you. Every motion, every shift, was precise, Viktor's movements guided by both his passion and his care for you.

The tension built, coiling tight as Viktor's restraint began to slip. His breaths came in shallow gasps, and his eyes met yours with a look so full of longing, of devotion, that it nearly undid you. You clung to him, burying your face against his shoulder to stifle the moans that threatened to escape, your body moving in time with his, caught up in the quiet, forbidden passion.

With a quiet, trembling sigh, Viktor buried himself fully, his own quiet whimpers echoing softly in your ear as he felt you shudder around him. His hand found yours, fingers intertwining, grounding you as the last waves of pleasure washed over you both.

In the stillness that followed, Viktor pressed gentle kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, his hands still resting at your waist, as though he couldn't bear to let go. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice full of awe and tenderness. "For loving me... for being here."

Moments have passed since you have reached your first organism and you were still on the table. As the quiet settled over the lab, Viktor held you close for a few lingering breaths, his forehead pressed gently against yours. But soon, the intensity in his gaze softened, replaced by a tenderness that left you breathless.

With a quiet reverence, he carefully knelt before you, his hands resting on your thighs. He was weary to not hurt himself which would cause him more pain on his limp leg. Viktor’s golden eyes met yours as he slowly lowered himself, his expression filled with something almost worshipful. He pressed a gentle kiss to the inside of your knee, then to your thigh, each touch lingering as though he was committing every inch of you to memory. His lips moved higher, grazing over your skin with soft, open-mouthed kisses that left a warm, tingling trail in their wake.

Your breath hitched as his mouth moved closer towards your pussy, the intensity of the moment making your heart pound.

Viktor's metal fingers traced along your thigh, the coolness of his touch a delicious contrast to the heat he was leaving with his lips. His long, slender fingers followed the curve of your leg, slipping inside your walls with a grace that was gentle. You felt his thumb press softly against your skin, steadying you, while his other hand reached up to rest at your waist, grounding you in the moment.

The coldness of his metal hand sent a shiver through you, heightening every sensation, and he seemed to notice, a slight smile tugging at his lips. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, a hint of mischief in his gaze. "Still alright?" he asked softly, his voice filled with concern, but his tone held a knowing warmth.

You managed a nod, your hand reaching down to thread through his hair, tugging him slightly closer. His lips quirked into a soft smirk before he returned his focus to you, pressing another kiss to your folds. His mouth moved with a slow, deliberate patience. His kisses growing bolder and deeper, as his tongue darted inside you.

Viktor's metal fingers traced light patterns along your skin, each touch careful, his control a testament to his dedication. As he moved higher, his thumb pressed gently along the inside of your thigh, guiding you open for him with a mixture of care and desire. The coolness of his touch, combined with the warmth of his lips, sent tremors through you that you could barely contain.

His mouth hovered near your folds, his breath warm against you, but he paused, looking up with a gaze full of tenderness. "You're... beautiful," he whispered, his voice barely a murmur, as though he was confessing a secret.

Before you could respond, his lips finally met your pussy, a quiet, reverent kiss that left you dizzy. His metal fingers continued their journey, a gentle, precise touch that sent waves of sensation through you, heightening every nerve. He took his time, savoring each reaction, each shiver, his mouth and hands working in tandem as he explored, worshipping every part of you with a devotion that left you breathless.

As his cool fingers reached deeper, finding your sensitive spots. His mouth followed, leaving soft, lingering kisses that melted any remaining restraint. The contrast of his cold touch and the warmth of his mouth created a rhythm that had you gripping the edge of the table, biting down on your lip to keep from crying out.

Viktor's pace quickened, his cool fingers moving with a newfound intensity. Each motion was calculated yet filled with passion, his gaze flickering between his hand and your face, drinking in every reaction, every quiet sound you made. His metal fingers, precise and deft, moved inside you at a pace that left you breathless, teetering on the edge as he guided you closer with each stroke.

He murmured soft, breathy reassurances between the kisses that he laid on your thighs. His voice filled with warmth."You're perfect... absolutely perfect," he whispered, his free hand caressing the curve of your thigh.

Viktor's replaced his slender fngers with his tongue again, alternating between teasing flicks and deep strokes, savoring every taste. His metal fingers splayed across your thigh, holding you firmly, while his other hand trailed down to his own body. He shivered as he began to touch himself in time with his mouth on you, his quiet moans and hitched breaths vibrating against you, only intensifying your pleasure.

He glanced up now and then, his amber eyes darkened with desire, watching the way you responded, drinking in every soft gasp and tremble. The sight of your flushed face and parted lips seemed to drive him further, his movements becoming more hungry as he lost himself in the pleasure he was giving you. His fingers dug into your skin, his grip tightening as he grew more desperate, his own moans blending with yours, low and needy.

The lab was filled with the squelching sounds of your bodies. A mix of his restrained groans, the wet, rhythmic noises of his mouth, and your own stifled whimpers. You felt like you could cum any second as your stomach turned tighter. Viktor seemed to sense it, as his tongue pressing deeper, his pace quickening. His free hand gripped your thigh harder, pulling you even closer to him, as though he wanted to consume every last bit of you.

Just as you felt yourself reaching the edge, Viktor lifted his head slowly, his lips and chin glistening with your juices. His chest rose and fell in deep, unsteady breaths, his flushed cheeks and slightly dazed expression showing just how much he'd enjoyed himself. His fingers traced gentle patterns on your thighs, grounding you as you came back down, while he gazed up at you with a look of pure adoration.

He brought his metal thumb up to wipe away a stray drop from his chin, a slight, satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "You taste... exquisite," he murmured, his voice low and rough, a mix of pride and lingering hunger shining in his eyes as he leaned up to kiss you, letting you taste the passion you had just shared.

Viktor then reached towards your soaked pussy to finger you again. The quiet wet sounds filled the air, amplifying the intimacy of the moment, creating a world that felt entirely your own. But then, a faint creak echoed through the room, and both of you froze. The unmistakable sound of the lab door opening snapped Viktor back to reality, and he stilled, his eyes widening as his gaze shot up to yours. You both turned, just in time to see Jayce entering, a stack of papers in hand.

Jayce's eyes met yours first, and then drifted towards Viktor, his fingers still inside you. For a brief, painful moment, silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the distant hum of hextech machinery. Jayce's expression shifted from surprise to awkward shock as the realization dawned on him. His mouth opened, as though he wanted to say something, but words seemed to fail him.

"I... I didn't mean to interrupt," he finally managed, his tone caught between embarrassment and disbelief. Jayce quickly looked away, his cheeks flushing as he backed out of the room, practically stumbling over his own feet.

"I'll... come back later," he stammered, disappearing from sight. The door clicked shut, leaving the lab filled with silence once more. Viktor's face had gone red, his eyes fixed on the floor, clearly mortified. But as he glanced down at you, the edges of his mouth twitched, and a quiet laugh escaped him, breaking the tension.

"Well," Viktor murmured softly, a hint of humor in his voice, "that... was unexpected." He lifted his soaked fingers towards his mouth as his other hand still lingering on your waist, sucking all of your juices as he maintained eye contact. His mouth made a popping sound as he let his fingers go from in between his lips. He then led his once soaked fingers towards the back of your neck, caressing your hair.

"Perhaps we'll continue... later?" he suggested, his voice low, a promise glinting in his eyes as he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. You couldn't help but laugh, nodding as you pulled him into an hug. You hoped that jayce didn’t go out and tell anyone what happened. Because if he did and your parents knew, you would sure be in for a scolding.

taglist: @luneariaa @minagrayson @aliives @mammonsleftring @gxrextxgaidk @anna1-1 @bl-0-ndi-3

banner: @cafekitsune

[fairyysoup]

easy living

pairing: eric (a quiet place: day one) x fem!reader

summary: You ran into Eric on accident. Now you're facing the end of the world together. How do you get to know someone when you can't make a sound?

tags: smut, oral (f receiving), dry humping, piv sex, silent fucking, angst, hurt/comfort, survival, discussions of trauma, slight suicidal ideation by reader, words of affirmation as a love language, stay silent or die (obviously), strangers to lovers, apocalyptic, the cheesiest ending bc it's me writing, billie holiday lyrics bc it's also me writing

a/n: here it is, the silent fucking fic i promised y'all a year ago when this movie was announced. it was supposed to be like 1-2k words of plain smut but then I got too into the theory of what one does when you can't show affection through words and I genuinely discovered a tidbit of trauma I didn't know I had while writing it so I will be talking to a therapist about it, and also I'm literally out here baring my soul lol.

i also want to thank @bigtiddythanos @raraeavesmoriendi and @maximoffwxnda for supporting me throughout this writing process <3 this fic literally would not have been finished or published without y'all

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

The rain has ended. Morose, you stare up at the ceiling, wondering when you’ll get something close to free reign with your voice again. 

Of course the world had to end while you were at fucking Whole Foods.

You’ll miss certain things. Things you always took for granted, that you never even considered made a lot of noise until now. Typing on the computer. Making stir fry. Microwaving a burrito at 3am. Lighting a match, washing your face. Taking a shower.

And other things, too, that are more obvious, like singing while making cookies. Slurping the bottom of a milkshake. You’ll never be able to have a pet bird. You’ll never be able to see another concert again, and damn it if you didn’t really want those Glastonbury tickets a month ago. But it all just seems trivial, now. You don’t see why you shouldn’t just lay here on the couch forever. 

On the other side of the coffee table there’s a gentle shuffling. Eric rouses as quietly as he can; at the very least, your apartment creates a hospitable enough environment that he isn’t startled awake. It’s so silent in the apartment that you can hear the slight shift in his intake of breath, the rustle of the pillow as he turns his head to look at you. 

You want to look at him, but you fear that you’ll end up wanting to talk. So, you say nothing. You do nothing. You stare at the white paint on the ceiling and you wonder whether it would be better to get on one of the boats headed out into the water, or to move inland, away from people, away from sound. There has to be somewhere far enough away from the city that the… creatures won’t go, right?

Eric waves his hand in your periphery, so that you have no choice but to acknowledge that you know he’s awake. You have no choice but to turn your head and look into the depths of his eyes, and feel all the pain of the last 48 hours return to you. You’d been able to talk last night, just enough, in time with the rain and the thunder– enough to learn that he has family across the world. 

You can’t imagine knowing that somewhere, across an ocean and half a world away, your parents may or may not be dead. No way to contact them, no way to know what’s become of them. You can’t even begin to fathom the fear that he’s feeling, as much as you’re despairing. 

Eric’s big eyes tell you everything. Sadness and fear, and trying to grasp at the smallest hint of normalcy he can get. He blinks at you, and mouths, You okay?

No, you’re definitely not okay. Things are not okay. Things are broken and can’t be fixed. Things will never be the same again. He knows that, as much as you know that. But you nod anyway, even though you feel your heart beat a little bit slower than usual, like it wants to just go ahead and give up already. Tears prick at your eyes, and you have to close them before you let on that you’re lying.

Eric knows you’re lying, of course. How could anyone be okay, in this kind of situation? But he waits until you open your eyes, and then he mouths, Coffee?

You let out a small sigh of relief, and a smile that’s indescribably warm crosses your face. Even though he can’t make a sound, he knows exactly what to say.

You don’t have a coffee maker that doesn’t also make a ton of noise. But through some kind of witchcraft, Eric quietly empties two k-cups into a glass measuring cup and boils a soup pot full of water on the stove, and suddenly you have hot coffee in front of you. 

On a notepad left on the counter, you write, Wish I had some tea for you. 

Eric’s lips turn up at the edges, and he takes the pen from you. You’re able to doctor your coffee for about one second before he slides the notepad back to you.

Bloody American.

Your ensuing huff of a laugh is enough to make him turn pink around the ears, and he turns to place the dirty measuring cup into the sink. He reaches for the faucet, but then thinks better of it. You’ll have to figure out how to wash the dishes later.

You both drink your coffee in silence on the couch. You never considered yourself uncomfortable with silence; you’ve lived alone, you’ve gone for weeks without uttering a word before. But it’s so difficult to be sitting next to someone– someone you feel you could really get to like– and not be able to say a word. To make a sound, laugh or cry or snort or grunt. 

You’ll never be able to know what Eric’s laugh sounds like, or listen to his favorite song with him, or watch some stupid rerun of Friends with him while ignoring your responsibilities. He’s right there next to you, he’s risked his life to save you once already, and yet he’s so far away. You’ll never get to know him in all the ways you want to. Will you ever really know him at all?

He’d created a diversion when one of the fucking things had you trapped in a corner, between a dumpster and a brick wall. He chucked a rock at a car and set off an alarm, and then ran with you down an alleyway, his arm wrapped tight around your waist. Eric looked so sad, following you like a lost puppy. He was fucking drenched, too, so you know he’d probably been through one hell of a morning. And then the rain started, and the creatures were confused and… well, you weren’t just gonna leave him, scared and alone.

You, too, were scared and alone.

Eric’s hand appears to brush away a tear that had begun to fall down your cheek, betraying your internal monologue. You look to him with puffy eyes, and he pulls his hand away, suddenly unsure of whether you’re okay with such an intimate gesture. 

Your coffee cup meets the table with a quiet tap. You’re slow to move, but you scoot towards him, his arm still outstretched towards you, his eyes wide. Eric has the prettiest eyes in the world, you think. You want to tell him so.

But you’re a little too choked up to form words, anyways. Your forehead meets Eric’s shoulder, and his arm comes around you before you can huff the first silent sob that brims up. He coos softly into your hair, so softly that you can barely hear it, but it conveys enough. It does enough. 

The world is fucked. Your life is fucked. You have tunnel vision and you can only see things getting worse from here on; the only good thing you know anymore is holding you and caressing your head so gently that it pushes your tears out for you. 

You’ll never get to see a movie in a theater, and smell the stale popcorn again. You’ll never drive down the highway with the wind in your hair. You’ll never ride a roller coaster or sing karaoke. You’ll never go to a club and have a drunken heart to heart with a stranger in a bathroom.

“Do you think it’s worth it?” You whisper, so faintly that it’s barely above a breath, your lips pressed to the shell of his ear. “To try to exist in a world where you have to pretend like you don’t exist?”

Eric pauses, holding you to him. You can see the wheels turning in his head, while he tries to figure out what to say. Then he turns his face to put his lips against your ear, the same way you’d done to him. 

“I think it’s worth it to try to survive.” His breath tickles your skin when he whispers, “So survive with me, yeah?”

You nod solemnly, your tears threatening to rise up again. “I can’t stand not talking to you.” It’s so hard to keep your voice from cracking, from rising above the merest hint of a whisper, directly to him and no one or nothing else. 

Eric takes it in stride. “You are talking to me.” He pulls back and bats his eyelashes, and you think, he oughta fucking know what that does to me. 

“Not like this,” you breathe to him, because that’s really what it is– it’s a breath. A sigh. A gust of air and nothing else, barely anything that registers on your vocal chords. Your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him close to you. His hand, tightening on the middle of your back, holding you there. “I want to talk– I want to get to know you.” 

“Well, this isn’t so bad, is it?” Eric turns his head. His forehead nudges yours at the temple, and you swear you see a flash of a smile on his face. “What do you want to know?” 

His forefinger traces up and down, up and down, a gentle pattern that keeps you grounded. You bite your lip, trying to keep from letting the sounds come out too loud. You say the first thing that comes to mind. “What’s your favorite song?”

“Easy Living. Billie Holiday.” 

“You’re kidding.” You’re blushing, hot in the cheeks. You’re imagining it; slow dancing in the kitchen with him while oldies plays on the radio. You didn’t think such an innocent question would send you spiraling like this, but it hurts worse to know that it will probably never happen.

“Absolutely not.” 

“Somehow… I can’t picture you listening to jazz.” 

“Picture it all you want,” he whispers. Eric swallows, and continues, “My granddad used to have these records, and we used to play them on Christmas. But when– when he died, the records went missing. I couldn’t find the song until a couple years ago,” he explains, and his voice cracks just slightly into a murmur. 

You both freeze. You wait for the sound of creatures coming down the hallway, busting down the walls… nothing happens. You let out a breath, and you pull his face closer to yours. His eyes flick over your face, and you put your lips against his ear. 

“You have to be so quiet. Can you do that for me?” Eric nods in your hands. “I wish we could do anything but this. I wish that we could have met in better circumstances. I wish… I wish I had known you before all of this. I think we would have had a lot of fun. But if this is the only way I can get to know you, and hear your voice now, I’ll take it.” You’re nodding as well now, like you’re trying to convince yourself of it. “I’m telling you this because I don’t know how long we have. Together, I mean. And I don’t want to waste it passing notes. Okay?” 

“Okay.” He sounds clipped. His hand fidgets on your back, and you pull away to find him misty-eyed, his brows turned up. He fishes for words that don’t come, and then he nods. “Okay.” 

Neither of you move. The atmosphere around you feels heavy, like it’s pressing in on all sides. Eric’s hand slides up your back and to your face, and you remember that you’re still holding his. You’re near sitting in his lap with how close you’ve become, and the realization of that feels like a punch to the gut.

You think you should pull away. You don’t. 

Eric’s thumb traces a gentle arc across your bottom lip. It’s so featherlight it’s barely there– his eyes are honed in on your mouth, clearly lost in thought. You’d let him stay there as long as he wants, but you want every minute you can get. “Eric–”

He closes the gap and kisses you. The way you’d said his name– or not said it, rather, you sort of mouthed it against his thumb– had done the job you wanted it to. It feels like this was the obvious conclusion to the system you’d worked out, the close proximity and your shared fears. He’s scared, he said as much last night. You’re scared, you said so just now. 

Nowhere to go, nothing else to do except be right here, living. Alive, together. Kissing Eric, and him pulling you close by the waist, so that you do swing your leg and seat yourself in his lap. And as much as you love talking, and it breaks your heart that you can’t jabber at him, there are some things you just can’t put into words. Like the way that his hand on the back of your neck lights you up inside, or that you can’t think of anything other than all the areas where his skin is touching yours, and how you suddenly wish there was way more of them.

It’s stupid how much you like him already, really. You can feel your nonexistent friends clucking their tongues and shaking their heads, saying, “One day? That’s all it takes? You find some guy at the end of the world and you fall in love in 24 hours?” And they’d be right– maybe it’s not love. Not yet, anyways. But you could see it easily becoming that. And that fact scares you even more.

Your hands find Eric’s chest and the frantic beating of his heart tells you nearly the same thing. You break the kiss, trying to quietly catch your breath without gasping like you’re half-drowning. It’s harder than you expected. 

“Been wanting to do that all morning,” Eric whispers. And just like that you’re falling again, faster this time, like he’s just melted your wings right off and sent you plummeting.

You struggle to keep from gasping aloud when he kisses your jaw, just beneath your ear. It’s the lightest touch but you swear it burns, sears your skin. 

Your hands find the back of the couch, twitchy fingers digging in to keep you steady. Your mouth finds his again, his tongue tasting of coffee, and Eric kisses you a bit harder now, a bit sloppier. 

Breaking away, you open your eyes to find his wide, starstruck, his mouth hanging open like he’s been shocked beyond belief. You didn’t honestly intend for this to happen– you wanted to talk. But somehow this seems better, more appropriate. 

How do you get your feelings across when talking isn’t really an option? When innocent attraction becomes… whatever this is? 

You press a single finger to his plush lips, signaling exactly what you mean without a word. Quiet. 

Eric purses his lips, kisses your finger without breaking eye contact. His pupils are blown out so far that the barest hint of golden brown surrounds them, glinting in the sunlight from the window. 

You lean forward, until your mouth touches his ear. “Your eyes are so fucking pretty, Eric,” you whisper to him, and your teeth latch onto his earlobe to tug gently. You can’t help it– you grind your hips down into his lap, without even thinking of doing it. “You’re so pretty.”

Eric whimpers. It’s a soft sound, hollow in the back of his throat, but it’s still too loud for the world that you’re in. You clamp your hand down over his mouth, and his breath comes out sharp and hot over your knuckles as he tries to regain composure.

“Do you want me to stop?” You ask him, whispering gently in his ear. Against you, he shakes his head no. “Want me to keep going?” Eric nods his head yes. 

He’s shaking under you, his fingertips digging into your lower back like he can’t hold onto you hard enough. At the thought, your pulse pounds, blood positively humming through your veins. 

You nuzzle his cheek, and give him the sweetest kiss you can while your hand is still clamped over his mouth insistently. “You have to be. Fucking. Silent. Do you understand?” He nods. “We can’t make a sound. Okay?” 

Eric nods again, and keeps nodding until you let him go. If the rain was still pouring like earlier, you could tell him how much you want him, too. How you don’t want to be mean, you just don’t want to get hurt. This is a bad idea, all things considered. But Eric slides his hand down and cups your ass to lift you up a bit, and the words bad and idea suddenly fucking vanish from your vocabulary.

You stand long enough to kick off your sweats, your day old panties going down with them. You hadn’t dressed to be sexy yesterday, you dressed to get groceries. You don’t necessarily want Eric to see your faded cotton underwear with the stretched out elastic and multiple frayed holes. You don’t think it would add to your sex appeal right now. 

He doesn’t notice the lack of a strip tease– he’s already taking you by the hips, not even waiting for you to shuck your t-shirt. He pulls until you’re stood in front of him, and then hooks your leg over his shoulder. 

So. Eric doesn’t need to be asked to go down on you, he just does. The gentleman. His hands are firm on your ass as he nuzzles into the patch of hair between your legs, and the precarious balancing act makes you snatch onto the back of the couch again. 

His tongue glides through the folds of your pussy slowly, methodically. You aren’t sure if he wants to take his time, or if he’s going slow so that he doesn’t make too much noise when doing it, but he latches onto your clit and sucks agonizingly softly, like he knows he should do it harder but won’t risk making you moan. 

It’s so gentle, and it builds. Pretty soon, you’re having a tough time keeping your whimpers in, even when he’s basically just teasing you, flicking his tongue over your clit with even the barest pressure. Your head has fallen back on your shoulders, your hand now clasped over your own mouth to stifle your sighs. 

Then, Eric’s hand glides up to splay across your lower back, and he sucks long and hard at your clit, and your hand squeezes murderously at the back of the couch while you ride out your orgasm on his tongue. 

Knees buckling, you collapse into Eric’s lap. He has a doe-eyed look on his face that’s way too innocent after what he just did to you. With panting breath and shaking hands, you cup his rosy cheeks in your palms, shaking your head in disbelief. 

Eric’s brows tilt in worry, like he did something wrong. He opens his mouth, but you put your fingers against his lips to silence him, and lean forward to breathe, “You’re too sweet for me, Eric.” 

He traces his fingers lightly up your spine, and turns his head. “Maybe one day I won’t have to be sweet. Maybe then I can really fuck you.” 

The sound of his whispering voice in your ear makes you shiver, your lust reaching a boiling point. The idea of him really fucking you– that this isn’t even him as normal, that he’s having to hold so much back– makes you burn hot all at once. That this isn’t something he’s planning on doing once. That there’s a ‘one day’ that he sees in the future with you in it. 

With a nod, your breath catches in your throat. You find your way to his mouth again, kissing him desperately. You can taste yourself lingering on his lips, and your hips rock forward against his again. 

Eric inhales sharply, stifling his own moan. You guess you have to take it just as slowly as he did, ease him into it. You work your hand beneath his unbuttoned fly and palm him, keeping your touch gentle against his hot skin. He shakes, his hands laid out against your spine, his eyes sparkling when he looks up at you. 

You push your forehead against his as you sink onto his cock, letting yourself adjust to his size. His breath stutters as he tries to keep quiet, small puffs of air spilling out and meeting your electrified skin. You curl your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, rocking your hips just barely, settling into his lap. 

This is more intimate than you can ever remember being with anyone, but right now it just feels right. Maybe it could be cathartic to fuck like a couple of animals in the face of doom, but Eric pulls your body flush against his, one strong forearm around your waist, and his nose nudges yours, and you think this is better. This is what you both need. Closeness. Sweetness. 

There isn’t a lot of movement– you can’t risk it. You and Eric seem to be in agreement on that, because as soon as you start trying to move in earnest, he just pulls you back to him, his arm around your waist and his hand petting the back of your head. 

Eric rocks his hips up into yours slowly, deeply, and it’s the depth of it and the slow sensuality that keeps you floating. Your clit catches on the patch of hair at the base of his cock each time you roll your hips with him, and you have to kiss him to keep from keening aloud. He doesn’t seem to mind it. 

You know he’s close when he tucks his face against your neck, his arm tightening around you. “Feels so fucking good,” comes his whine in your ear, and you gently shush him, your hand resting on the back of his head to keep him muffled against your shoulder. You want so badly to look at his face when he cums, but there’s that pesky issue of staying alive, and that hinges on whether or not he can keep quiet when he does. 

To his credit, he bites your shoulder and only whimpers a little bit. It’s just a squeak, but really, he could have been much louder about it, and then you would have both been in trouble. Imagine having to run for your life with your pants down. 

Ever the gentleman, he keeps you there even after he’s spent and sensitive, his hand clamped down on your thigh to prevent you from moving. His thumb finds your clit, and he lifts his head to watch you, his hooded eyes trained on your face as he brings you to the edge and over it again. He watches the way your brows tilt up, the way you struggle to keep your own eyes open, and the silent moan that threatens to break past your parted lips.

Eric claps his hand down over your mouth before it can. Your eyes fly open, your cunt clenches down around him, and he bares his teeth as you cum hard. It’s cyclical, comes in waves as he continues to stroke you through it, as he keeps his hand clamped down on your mouth to keep you quiet. 

To keep you quiet. 

Feverish and exhausted, you come down with your chest against his, Eric’s head flopped back onto the backrest of the couch. Your knees fucking hurt and you have yet to get off of him, and you sort of dread the moment when you have to. But this means your mouth is positioned right next to Eric’s ear, and you’re nothing if not a talker.

“Eric?” you whisper, and he turns his head just enough to let you know he heard you. “I’m glad that I met you when I did. Even if it’s terrible timing, I’m glad we met.”

A sweet, tired smile flits across Eric’s beautiful face. He nudges his nose against your temple. “I’m glad, too.” 

You shift off of him, and he squeezes your thigh just at the same time as he scrunches his face. He’s such a trooper about it, you kiss his cheek as you go, leaning over to grab a pair of earphones from the coffee table. 

You hand one ear bud to him, watching as confusion crosses his face. He watches you type on your phone as he tucks the bud into his ear, and you the other. 

On low volume, you listen to the soft piano and saxophone intro to an old jazz standard. Eric grins, his hand finding your cheek before he pulls you in for a kiss. 

And then, Billie Holiday’s voice plays for only you two to hear. 

Living for you is easy living, It’s easy to live when you’re in love And I’m so in love, There’s nothing in life but you.

[cathnospam]

Posttimeskip/Canon!Bakugo Katsuki NSFW Alphabet

Thanks for 100 follows :-P

(((Black girlfriend reader mentioned a few times, if you are not black or a girl you can obviously ignore it.)))

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

You were his first everything so with that you wanted to teach him just a few things like aftercare. However, Bakugo already had to down to a science. He didn’t like sleeping in sweat and cum so he’d offer you to take a shower while he puts new sheets on the bed and he joins you a little later. He noticed how thirsty you get after so he’d bring a water bottle and some juice/tea, maybe even a sweet snack if you don’t fall asleep too soon. A lot of this stuff was common sense except the cuddle part. It’s not like he didn’t want to hold you after it was just awkward for him. He just had you cross eye’d and crying on his dick now you him to be held and babied? But after some reassurance that you definitely do and you also wanted to make sure if you did good. “Of course you did dumbass you always do.” Is what he could huff out hearing such nonsense.

Post nut clarity Bakugo is softer, more touchier somehow and quiet. He’d much rather hear your yapping and he just responds with “Yeah.” “Of course” “No. dumbass” with a lot of kissing in between of course

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Yeah we all know he loves ass. He does, shamelessly so, smacking it while eating you out, smacking it when your back is faced him, patting it while you lay on his lap . But he loves your lips just as much. They’re like pillows, bouncy, and incredibly soft. It’s like a sweet flavor as well knowing you always have different types of lipgloss to wear.

I don’t think he is very particular of any part of his body, but since dating you, you love to talk about his back and arms, the way you hug him from behind or grab onto his arm walking through a crowd. More importantly how you scratch his back when he’s inside you and claw his shoulders when he keeps overstimulating you. It’s become partial motivation to his workout now.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Bakugo actually practices safe sex 90% of the time. He isn’t prepared to have any children yet and he doesn’t want any scares so he does at least buy the ULTRA thin condoms. However. The day you finally let him w/o a condom for his birthday he almost came faster than usual which actually made him upset LMAOO.

“What the—F-FFUCK!”

“Y-Y’ok—“

“I AM!…just…fuck this feel good.”

So he will cum in you or on your ass, and smack it with his dick because he seems clean but he’s such a dirty bastard at heart.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He doesn’t keep many secrets from you but the few are really only justified. The first one was that when you both were making out for the first time you grinded against his semi hard dick and he let out a soft moan in your mouth. You never pointed it out but it sounded so hot and it almost threw him off because he never made that noise before. After that, for the next few months before you both finally had sex he thought of that feeling alone to get off when masturbating. Not his finest moment but he couldn’t help it.

He likes when you pull his hair but you only did it once and he’ll be damned if he asks you to do it again. Do it again

Another one would be when you and him were just talking and not having sex yet he used to only watch porn where the people looked similar to you. So he’d sometimes type up Asian guy x black girl or some shit. He was actually using it to mentally prepare himself for when he does fuck you and it’s something he isn’t ready to ever tell you because he knows getting sex advice from porn is absolutely terrible.

Speaking of getting prepared he also asked Kiri for some advice on how to eat you out. Bakugo used to watch a lot of oral sex videos and honestly he really was most nervous about that part, he’s aware he wasn’t the best kisser at first and the last thing he wanted to do was bite you or something so he simply asked his best friend that loss his virginity before him the question: “Where is the clit?”

He swore Kiri to secrecy to never speak of that conversation again after that.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

A virgin up until he dated you. Like I said you’re his first everything so teaching him was actually something you were expected to do, however his pride always got the best of him so when you corrected him he’d always get pissy.

“My clit is here—“

“I fucking know that.”

So instead of verbally telling him what to do you you showed him with your body, moaning louder when he hits or licks the right spot, praising him when he uses the right move. He caught onto this quick and by the time it was the 2nd round he was damn near perfect

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

A lot of people say backshots but I personally think Lotus and honorable mention is missionary Hear me out: Bakugo gives vanilla. He just does he doesn’t need all the special positions and areas to fuck he just wants you, him, and a comfortable surface preferably a bed or couch. He doesn’t want to be perceived as some sex freak or anything he is very simple when it comes to sex. Mostly because he’s so shy but won’t admit it.

The Lotus Position is something that actually overwhelms him in the best way possible. Your foreheads touching, your breast pushed up against his as he assist your push to keep grinding and bouncing against him, FUCK does he love the noises you make in his ear when you’re close too, biting him as you cum. He kisses you a lot too to swallow some of your sounds. How your hands creep onto his neck moaning his name. Plus he is squeezing your ass as you both move in sync. He loves it.

Missionary is almost a ties in because he feels he has the most control. Yeah he can be soft but he still loves to be in charge. He likes the intimacy that comes with these positions so best believe it’s a go to.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Unintentionally. He has always been so funny to you, but he likes it believe he is serious during sex. Yet you can’t help but giggle when he makes a comment about blaming you for making him get so close to cumming.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He has a visible happy trail. Doesn’t grow much so he never needs to trim it, he was going to cut it off the day after you had sex with him the first time and you were able to stop him. Bakugo wanted to make his pelvic area smooth for you because he was worried his hair was itchy to you, once you explained it felt good to feel it on your pussy when he fucked you he haven’t touched it since.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Well….he can try. You can tell when he tries but bless his heart he is so damn aggressive on accident. He once tried to give you a massage but his own sweat mixed with the oil cause his hand to slip so much to the point he got mad and pop a small explosion on your lower back.

You still have the small burn mark and laugh at it from time to time. He doesn’t laugh though he regrets it a lot.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He masturbates…often. He has for years and even after graduating high school he only did it every other day or week when he was really tense or couldn’t sleep. But ever since he got with you it stopped.

Because you do it for him.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He’d tell you he doesn’t have any. Which is half true.

He is pretty vanilla, BUT from the last few times you tried something new you noticed he enjoyed a couple things:

Overstimulation is always fun, he used to do it on accident. Now, it’s almost expected to happen after oral or penetrative sex. Something about that second orgasm really puts him in a whole ‘ other cloud 9 he can’t even explain. It’s the rarest times he’s ever selfish with you sexually.

Praise Kink 100000%. It’s so funny to see the frustrated look on his face of focusing to not cum when you’re in his ear telling him how amazing he is and how nobody else could make you feel this way. Gets him hard every time.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He does enjoy the bed, but he has a huge couch in his dorm, he ate you out a few times during a movie and it led to you on top riding him. It felt so cozy falling asleep after that now 90% of the movie nights y’all have in his dorm leads to something not so wholesome.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You.

Your reactions, your twitches, your moans, the way you say his name it all drives him more to keep going and practicing to get better for you. He absolutely loses his MIND the way you cry out for him too.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He will not ever do anything like humiliation or too much violence like slapping your face. He knows he can be abrasive as it is on accident and even the thought of going to far and harming you would possibly cause him to take a pause on sex no matter how much he loves it

I am 50/50 on somno. I believe he wants you alert to what he’s doing to you for his own peace of mind. But he wouldn’t be opposed to him waking up to YOU touching him.

He’s not a big fan of “daddy”, he won’t stop what he’s doing but he’d rather hear his name or “baby” or even a nickname you made out of his name.

You will not peg him. He is very sensitive about his ass.

No threesomes or anybody watching. Call him selfish, but your body is his in his mind so he’d prefer if nobody sees what you have only blessed him with.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

LOVES giving. Way more than he will admit, there has been days where he’d finish sparring with someone and to release the stress he had from Deku almost beating his ass again he came to your dorm and offered to lay between your thighs as you studied.

You didn’t get much studying done.

He’s improved on his skill too. However he’s constantly messy, it’s not just kitten licks with this man he sucks and fingers and even nibbles on you like he’ll never eat you again. It’s almost selfish.

He loves the feel of your pussy against his tongue, he doesn’t taste much. If you were to ask him what you taste like he would say nothing, really but the warm, slimy slick just does something to him. If he could he’d eat you for hours

Now that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love seeing you gag and swallow his dick absolutely not. When you both started getting more physical you actually sucked his dick quite often (since he was afraid to eat you out at the time) he would actually anticipate on it whenever you both were alone so he’d keep his sweats incredibly low to his waist on purpose

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Bakugo an intense guy so he starts off slow and his touches gradually turn more focused towards your reactions. He’s consistently looking into your eyes with every noise you make, each thrust is deep and nearly knocks the wind out of you. It’s not until he’s close he begins to chase that high, breathing into your mouth, circling your clit w his fingers, and going faster with slightly shallow thrusts.

He’s a big kisser btw so be prepared for little to no air because if he’s not kissing your low lips he’s kissing your upper lips with each thrust swallowing your cries

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Hates em.

The idea is always fun to him but when he realizes he has to stop right when he’s getting started he hates it. He wants to take his time. He probably enjoys foreplay the most which is why he can’t stand having to make it short.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Bakugo is pretty stubborn and doesn’t like too much change but if you’re willing to reassure him about what you want he may consider. It can’t be any of the no though.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Man can last a while. He can even if he’s sensitive, but he can last EVEN LONGER in between breaks. Just as long as you cock warm him. An average night of sex with him is usually 30-35 minutes, but including foreplay is actually an all day thing. Foreplay can start from the moment you wake up and he’s kissing you good morning all the way to that evening when you both are showering together and his fingers are creeping between your thighs

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Doesn’t understand toys but if you’re willing pick like a vibrator he wouldn’t mind it. You just can’t use it too much, he has read those things can fuck up your sensitivity and he’ll be DAMNED if he loses to a TOY

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Bakugo actually wasn’t that much of a teaser until you brought it out of him. When he went down on your once he kept kissing and biting your thighs for WAY too long that you began to whine his name. Once he heard that pretty little “please” slip through your tongue something just snapped. He loves to hear you beg now so occasionally he’ll edge you or tease you a bit before giving you what you want.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s not that loud. A few mumbles of your name and a couple groans is the most you’ll get because he wants to hear you more. When he’s close he’ll begin to say a few “cum with me” “cum for me’s” which is so hot to hear since his voice breaks when he’s cumming

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He learned sign language through out the years after finding out his hearing was becoming worse and he taught you as well. Now you both communicate in public through SL, and a few times he said the nastiest shit to you across the room during a lecture.

Bonus: He’s a big Pokémon nerd. Loves Gengar, Charizard, and Growlithe.

Bonus two: He has a secret tattoo he got when he turned 21

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Bakugo is a more length than girth guy. He’s a shower and cut. About 7.8ish inches and it curves to the left. He also had a beauty mark on the left side of his shaft and pelvic area.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Y’all have sex about 4-5 times a week. If yall miss a week spike it up to 6 because he needs to release some stress

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

You fall asleep before him so after taking care of you and cleaning you up he usually waits until you’re sleep and follows suit. Sometimes when you’re still yapping and he’s ready to go to bed he’ll gently fan your eyelids to close with his fingers. Somehow it works everytime and you slowly stop talking a dm cuddle in his chest.

[revehae]

girls goon too

pairing ↠ jeno x (f) reader x haechan

genre .. warnings ↠ smut, stepcest, unprotected sex, oral (m receiving) / face fucking, virgin!reader, dubcon

summary ↠ jeno can’t take it anymore. you just won’t stop gooning in your bedroom for all the world to hear, and he’s tired of it. he’s pretty sure all you do with your spare time is watch porn. haechan suggests that he just jerks off, but his morals won’t let him; until he decides that he can’t hold back anymore. he has to shut you up.

wc ↠ 5.3k

a/n ↠ um… i know i said No to Nohyuck but i saw these pics of jeno and started hearing The Voices. i hope you guys appreciate me losing sleep over this. as always, feedback is appreciated!

don’t like it, don’t read.

“she’s doing it again,” jeno grumbled, walking into haechan’s bedroom. only because the door was ajar, though. he knew the sight he’d walk in on if it was completely closed would be worse than what you were surely doing.

haechan snickered, eyes fixed on his computer. “what’s the occasion? sixth-month gooning anniversary?”

jeno scoffed. he didn’t know why you did it. he thought jisung was bad, but you were next level. “i thought surely she would give us a break for november.”

“and she did,” haechan quipped, moving his mouse. “for all of three days.”

that was true. for the very first three days of november, the house had been relatively quiet apart from haechan’s shouting when he was losing. then, on the fourth day, it was back to hearing your annoyingly perfect fucking moans in the afternoon.

and god forbid your parents would be coming home late. you were relentless on those days, touching yourself to no end. jeno couldn’t stand it. he hated minding his business, trying to rest or work or do anything that didn’t require thinking about the sounds you were making as you persistently edged yourself.

but he couldn’t help himself. sometimes, he could hear your moans even when you weren’t there, and that was when he knew he was finally losing what little bit was left of his goddamn mind. 

haechan, on the other hand, didn’t seem as miffed. jeno was certain his brother could hear the noises you were making down the hall, but he was sitting here without a care in the world, typing an email to his professor of all things. which made no sense to jeno, considering he knew how much haechan liked noisy sex.

“okay, i’ll bite,” jeno said, crossing his arms. “how in the hell are you okay with this?”

haechan shrugged, trying and failing to suppress a smirk. he was well aware of the fact that jeno always got worked up when it came to you, which was fair. you were the biggest minx this world had ever known. “well, first of all,” haechan started, snickering again. “there’s a thing called jerking off. i’m sure you’ve heard of it. it’s really popular amongst guys we know.”

jeno looked almost scandalized. “i’m not jerking off to my stepsister.”

“then, you’re an idiot,” haechan retorted. “she’s given us enough material until new years. of the year after next.”

“it’s wrong.”

haechan rolled his eyes. “you’ve got such a stick up your ass, like a proper princess or something.”

“i’ll beat your ass, hyuck,” jeno warned. 

haechan threw his hands up. “i’m just saying. i’m not telling you to stick her in a washing machine, bro. but the answer’s obvious. just jerk off. you know you want to.”

jeno sighed. had he thought about it? obviously. but he couldn’t shake how wrong it felt, even if you made him perpetually horny. “i want to smack the shit out of you right now, but i haven’t done it yet.”

rather than recoil, haechan laughed. that asswipe finds humor in everything, jeno thought to himself, irritated. “and i commend your patience, man,” haechan replied. “but it’s only making you more frustrated when you could just bust a nut and be happy.”

jeno was thinking about it now. well, he had thought about it countless times, but he had never allowed himself to stoop that low. you were his younger stepsister and it was his responsibility to take care of you. not picture your face as you moaned and imagine how you would feel, tight and sticky and creamy as you wrapped around his…

haechan broke the silence, musing more so to himself, “maybe we should put her in the washing machine.”

jeno’s eyes flickered. “what the hell, man?”

“my bad,” haechan replied, although he didn’t look very apologetic. “i was just thinking out loud.”

fuck, now jeno was picturing that too. your house had one of those washing machines that opened from the top, not the front. too many times had jeno seen you struggle to take your clothes out, dangling over the washing machine and nearly falling inside. he would offer to help, every now and then, but he liked watching you climb the washing machine just to get your clothes from the very bottom.

it was much more realistic for you to get stuck in that than the kinds of washing machines in porn. 

haechan broke the silence again, still thinking. it was his greatest skill and simultaneously his worst habit. “if you’re so against it, why haven’t you just asked her to shut the fuck up then?”

that was a good question. jeno wasn’t the kind of guy to shy away from an altercation, not with friends and not with family. he had certainly never shown haechan any mercy. he loved his brother, but he was annoying as all fuck.

“i see,” haechan said, smirking. see, annoying. “it’s because you don’t really want her to stop.”

jeno sighed. “yeah, fine. i don’t want her to stop. happy?”

haechan burst out laughing. always laughing, always scheming. he was going to get a stocking full of coal for christmas. “i have an idea.”

“oh, god,” jeno groaned.

haechan finally pressed send on his email and turned around in his desk chair. “hear me out. we should fuck her.”

jeno gawked in disbelief. then again, none of haechan’s ideas were ever truly brilliant. “you’re insane,” he murmured.

“thanks,” haechan chirped, the insult rolling off his shoulders. “just sleep on it.”

“you know what? sure,” jeno replied, walking out of his brother’s room and shutting the door. he didn’t want to hear another word.

he went about his day like everything was normal, going on a walk so that he didn’t have to hear you, eating dinner and watching netflix in the living room to ignore the fact that you existed altogether. and then he went to bed.

jeno couldn’t fucking sleep. on it, over it, under it. he couldn’t sleep whatsoever. 

it wasn’t like you were just loudly moaning all day long, that would be absurd. but every now and then, there would be a whimper you’d let slip. jeno could tell that you were actually trying to be quiet. but this was one of those nights where your parents wouldn’t be back and you were taking advantage of that. again.

jeno decided that he was at his breaking point. the need for you was too goddamn strong and he was tired of pretending that he was better. he couldn’t ignore it anymore. he couldn’t fight it, suppress it.

he threw the blankets off his bed and went to haechan’s room, the door closed this time. he knocked on the door and called out, “stop jerking off and get your ass out here.”

jeno heard a groan, one of the disgruntled sort. a few seconds later, haechan opened the door, a scowl on his face. “what the hell, man? your voice ruined my nut.”

it was jeno’s turn to laugh. he clasped a hand on haechan’s shoulder. “don’t worry. you’ll be in the mood again in no time.”

haechan lifted a brow. “are you saying what i think you’re saying?”

jeno nodded. 

“we’re gonna teach her a lesson.”

“we’re gonna put her in the washing machine?”

jeno’s smile instantly dropped and his hand fell from haechan’s shoulder. “why the fuck are you both so addicted to porn?” he asked.

the excited shimmer in haechan’s eyes died a little. “no, i was… i was just kidding. let’s go.”

jeno sighed and started down the hall to your bedroom, deciding not to argue haechan on that. it would be a waste of valuable time.

jeno knocked on the door and called out your name. “can we come in?”

there was audible shuffling as you called back, “just a moment!”

haechan glanced over at jeno. “so, how we doing this?”

jeno looked calm, collected. as if fucking his stepsister was something he did on the regular. “just follow my lead.”

you opened the door, a towel thrown around you. but your skin looked damp with sweat, not water. your face was a little flushed. it was obvious that you were naked. “um, can i help you guys?” you asked, somewhat breathless. 

jeno looked you up and down subtly. haechan, on the other hand, was damn near ogling you. the former repeated, “can we come in?”

“um, i guess,” you murmured, stepping out of the way so that they could enter your bedroom.

haechan closed the door behind himself, not that there was anyone to worry about. it was only the three of you in the house at the moment. 

jeno glanced away, looking for traces of what you had been doing. he found them very quickly; your laptop shut on your bed, the blankets messily thrown on top to conceal the damp spots in your sheets, and your shirt and shorts on the floor by your bed, implying you were only in your underwear.

“is there something you guys need?” you asked, a bit annoyed at having been interrupted. 

jeno walked towards your desk where your laptop probably should have been, though he saw something fearful flash in your eyes. his brows furrowed, but he didn’t inquire about it. he would figure it out on his own. “do we have to need something to want to visit you?” jeno asked, a small smile on his face. “i haven’t seen you all day long. we just wanted to make sure you’re still alive.”

“oh, that’s… very sweet of you,” you murmured. “as you can see, i’m perfectly alive and breathing.”

“yeah, you’re breathing a lot,” haechan commented. 

jeno chuckled. he moved away from your desk and instead towards your nightstand, noticing your eyes still watching him like a hawk. “relax. what’s got you so worked up?”

“i’m not worked up,” you lied, eyes darting between him and your bed. 

that was when it clicked in jeno’s brain. the bed. you didn’t want him to see the bed. he chuckled again, sitting down on top of it. “are you okay? you look a little… flushed.”

“yeah,” haechan chimed in, moving your hair out of your face. you jolted. you had been paying so much attention to jeno that you failed to notice haechan had creeped up behind you. “and sweaty.”

you released a shaky breath. you were nervous, but you couldn’t tell them that. because then they would start asking questions. “i’m okay, guys. you can go.”

“why are you trying to get rid of us?” haechan asked, leaning in a little too close. “it’s almost like you’re hiding something.”

“what are you watching?” jeno asked, grabbing your laptop. 

your eyes widened in horror. “no, wait!” you exclaimed. you tried to stop him, but haechan was quick to pull you back against his chest. 

jeno opened your laptop, being met with a twitter porn browser. he feigned surprise. “oh, wow,” he said, merely blinking. “wow.”

“what is it?” haechan called from the other side of the room. 

jeno turned the laptop to face you and haechan. “guess she’s really into… creampies, sucking dick, and doggy style.”

your face was hot with embarrassment and you thrashed in haechan’s arms. “this is an invasion of privacy! you guys jerk off, don’t you?”

“jerk off? sure. watch porn for hours on end? no, i don’t,” jeno answered, setting your laptop down. he moved your blankets out of the way, revealing a few damp spots on your bed. “how long did you have to sit here for this to happen?”

you felt very exposed at the moment. like your deepest, darkest secret was steadily reaching its way around the whole world. “i’m not that bad,” you murmured, shy. 

haechan laughed. he tugged at the towel and brought his hand to your chest, pinching your nipple. “not that bad? you almost gave poor jeno over there an aneurysm with how enticing you’ve been.”

your whined when haechan squeezed your chest, tearing your gaze away from jeno to look up at him with wide eyes. “what are you doing?”

“fuck. yeah, that’s what i’m talking about, princess,” haechan groaned, pressing himself against your ass. “those sweet sounds have been driving him mad.”

any other moment, jeno would have narrowed his eyes at haechan and called him disgusting. but this was different. jeno didn’t care about what was right or wrong anymore. maybe he never truly had. what was certain right now was that any desire to behave in a morally acceptable manner was outweighed by the desire to fuck you brainless.

“bring her over here,” jeno said, shoving your laptop of the way to make room. 

haechan grabbed your waist and led you towards the bed, pushing you towards his brother. jeno grabbed your chin, smoothing his thumb over your cheek. “gooning isn’t healthy,” he told you straightforwardly. “you know what you need?”

you glanced at him, fretful. the towel had completely fallen at this point, leaving you solely in your water, just as jeno had pieced together. “what?” you whispered.

“a fuck,” jeno replied unabashedly. “you’re so damn touch-starved. always complaining about how you want a boyfriend, but you never go out, because you’re too busy playing with your clit.”

your face was hot. honestly, they hadn’t given you the opportunity to cool down. but you had to admit that he was right. compared to how much you touched yourself, you didn’t go out enough.

“have you ever even had sex?” haechan asked, running his hands up your thighs. 

you wanted to hide so fucking bad, but that clearly wasn’t an option. “no,” you replied, ashamed.

jeno snickered, because apparently that was funny. “obviously,” he said, moving his thumb to your bottom lip. “this pretty body has gone untouched for too many years, that’s all. once you get fucked, you’ll be as good as new. worked for jisung. didn’t it, hyuck?”

“yep,” haechan chirped, nodding. “he was the biggest gooner i’ve ever seen. jaemin had so many roommate horror stories. then, we got him some pussy, and he’s all better now. actually goes outside and gets light that isn’t from his laptop.”

“so, what do you say?” jeno asked, turning your head back to him. “want something other than your fingers inside you?”

your heart racing. were you really about to agree to getting fucked by your stepbrothers? when it was over, you could blame it on the fact that you genuinely were touch-starved and desperate for a release for all this pent-up frustration.

and because you really, really needed to come after having avoided it for hours, you nodded your head.

“words, princess,” haechan said, his hands still gripping your thighs as he thought about how soft they were. “say it. say, ‘i want you to fuck me, haechan.’”

you swallowed, but you weren’t going to disobey. “i… i want you to fuck me, haechan.”

“jeez, you don’t have to beg. i’ll do it,” haechan replied, playful as ever. “and because it’s your first time, i think we should do missionary. is that okay, princess?”

“that’s… fine,” you murmured timidly. it didn’t really matter to you how he fucked you. you just wanted someone inside you. 

haechan was beaming, like he had prayed for this day and it was finally happening. “good. and if you ever want me to fuck you on all fours, you know the way to my room.”

the way haechan was looking at you was entirely overwhelming, so you glanced over at jeno instead, though he was also watching you intently. “what about… you?” you asked. 

jeno chuckled, thumb sweeping over your lips. “i don’t need to fuck your pussy. i’ll leave that to haechan. i just want to fuck this pretty little mouth that’s been keeping me up at night.”

haechan, growing impatient, tugged at your panties. you lifted your hips, watching him drag them down your legs. “jesus,” he murmured. “they’re fucking drenched.”

“they better be,” jeno replied with a chuckle, stepping out of his pants. “long as she’s probably been wearing them.”

haechan spread your legs, wanting to get a good look at the treasure hidden between them. he moaned at the mere sight of your pussy, dripping with arousal. “fuck, you don’t even need prep,” he mused.

as if you couldn’t get any more embarrassed than you already were. they knew exactly what to say to make you want to hide your face beneath a pillow and hopefully suffocate to death.

despite his declaration about you not needing prep, haechan couldn’t help but drag his tongue along your folds, which made you gasp in surprise. it wasn’t a tentative lick, either; he was confident and unreluctant. you were clearly sensitive, but he didn’t seem to care, eager to suck and lick at you.

“haechan,” you whimpered, involuntarily trying to close your legs. he swore his dick twitched when you said his name like that. 

all the while, jeno was stroking himself beside you, half hard. for the first time thinking about you at the same time that he touched his dick, and god, he really should have done it sooner. just the thought of you made his blood pump harder. 

haechan pulled back after a moment or two when he was finally sated. “sorry,” he apologized, completely inauthentic. “just wanted a taste.”

jeno tapped your cheek. “open up, baby.”

you slowly opened your mouth, wide enough for him to push inside. which jeno seized the opportunity to do as soon as it presented itself. he was impatient now, tired of waiting. you had tortured him long enough with those pretty noises; it was time you paid him back for tolerating your horniness.

“fuck,” jeno cursed upon feeling the warmth of your mouth around his cock.

haechan snickered. it was amusing to him that only a few hours ago, jeno said he was insane for suggesting that they fuck you. and now here he was with his cock down your throat. a few hours could truly change a man, for worse and for better. “how’s it going?” haechan asked.

jeno closed his eyes, trying to go slow before he started fucking your throat with a purpose. he didn’t necessarily want to hurt you, but damn, he was getting pretty damn close. “how do you think?” he retorted.

you watched jeno as he slowly moved inside your mouth, though his patience was obviously dwindling by the second. part of you wanted to see what it would look like when he lost it all, but the other dreaded it, uncertain whether or not you could handle it.

you were still a virgin, after all. in the important and unimportant ways. you had never been fucked. you had most certainly never had your throat fucked until this very moment. the furthest you’d ever gone with a boy was a little bit of groping while kissing and even that was awkward.

haechan licked his lips, appreciating that they were coated in your arousal. “taste so good, princess,” he said, dropping his hands down to his shorts.

you would have gawked when you glanced down and noticed the dent in them, even if it weren’t for the fact that your mouth was preoccupied. when did he get so hard? 

haechan started to undress himself, pleased now that he had gotten a taste of you and eager to be inside you. he was quick to shed his shorts and the layer underneath, unafraid to show just how desperate he was. for him, it was easy to accept his attraction to you and even easier to act on it now that he had your consent.

he climbed onto the bed, grabbing your thighs again and spreading them apart. he gave them a few affectionate, departing kisses and sat up to grab his cock, bringing it between them. “say ‘goofer gooner’ if you’re ready,” haechan joked, knowing you couldn’t speak.

you furrowed your brows, but you couldn’t even focus on his nonsense because jeno was noticeably forgoing all restraint. could you blame him? your mouth was warm, alive, and everything about you seemed to drive him straight through the brink of insanity. 

“you know, jeno,” haechan started, gazing down at the little distance between your bodies. “you were right. i’m already in the mood again.”

you had that effect on him, on them. haechan knew he probably should have fought it better, but he truly saw no point. it was easier to fold and surrender to the fact that he found you infuriatingly sexy, despite your tendencies. and with nothing more to say, he slowly but surely pressed himself inside you.

haechan tipped his head back, already moaning like a bitch and he wasn’t even fully sheathed inside you yet. “holy fuck,” he said, his grip on your thighs tightening.

you whimpered, the sound muffled by jeno’s cock as his balls slapped against your chin. you immediately pulsed around haechan’s cock, clinging to him like now that he was there, you would never let him go.

“holy fuck,” haechan moaned again, stopping for a moment as if the breath had been completely sucked out of him. “so fucking wet, my dick just slides in.”

he was damn near flabbergasted. maybe there was benefit to you gooning for hours on end, a benefit that he got to reap. he had never seen anyone this wet before, much less felt anything this wet, and it was taking a toll on him. his head was already reeling.

“okay,” haechan said, more so to himself. he was adjusting. “okay. fuck. i’m gonna move.”

and he did, growing more and more mesmerized with every thrust of his hips. his mouth hung open, moans of your name and explicit curses dangling from his lips with a shrill touch to them that only made you even more aroused.

to say nothing of the sounds jeno was making, almost directly in your ear. he was so close to your face that you could explode. he was finally moving comfortably, fucking your throat with a rhythm that almost made it hard to breathe. 

though you had no intention of making him stop. you had fantasized about making yourself available for this purpose many, many times. not necessarily to your stepbrother, but well, it wasn’t like you were discriminating. especially not when he sounded so goddamn sexy and his face was tensing the way it was in pleasure.

it was strange, but you found yourself going from solely craving the experience to wanting to pleasure them. and it would appear that you were doing a fantastic job without hardly even trying, all things considered.

haechan was gripping on your thighs for dear life as if without the support, he would get blown away into the eighth dimension. or maybe drown in how wet you were, gushing around his cock, if not for him using your soft thighs as an anchor to keep him afloat.

“this sweet fucking pussy,” he sighed, losing himself in the vice of you. he had set a pace too, fucking you without intention of stopping. with every fiber of his being, deep and hard. “i could fuck you forever.”

you could sit here and take it forever. you had never felt so full in your life. your fingers hardly did the job, always reaching just shy of where you needed them instead of completely offering you the satisfaction you’d long craved. and here haechan was handing it to you on a silver platter.

the only problem was that you felt slightly overwhelmed with so much happening at one time in two different holes. you didn’t know who to pay attention to; jeno fucking your throat with a vengeance, eager to gain something out of your mouth for once, or haechan railing you to kingdom come, making you feel hot everywhere.

you found yourself trying to juggle both, eyes flitting between them, moaning around jeno’s dick at haechan’s angled thrusts and throbbing around haechan at every guttural groan that slipped from jeno’s mouth. you couldn’t help yourself; it was too goddamn arousing.

jeno noticed how fucked out you looked, eyes rolling back to another timeline, and it was doing unimaginable things to his cock. you looked better than he could have ever imagined and he knew that he wouldn’t be satisfied until he left you hoarse and rasping.

with that thought, he grabbed your hair to push you down and started to fuck your head against the mattress rather roughly, which caught you by surprise. you tried to take it, you really did, but it was overwhelming. you could barely breathe.

“take it,” he hissed, holding your head in place. you looked pretty like this, struggling to keep up with his hectic movements.

your eyes were watering as his cock went too deep for you to handle, and you started gagging. jeno moaned, but pulled your head off him to let you relax for a second, a string of saliva connecting your mouth and the head of his cock.

“breathe,” he said, letting one hand run through your hair almost tenderly.

you nodded, willing yourself to relax. all the while, jeno marveled at how pretty you looked with saliva on your face and tears strolling down your cheeks.

“you guys okay up there?” haechan asked from between your legs, having noticed the action. 

“we’re fine,” jeno answered on your behalf. he moved his hand from your hair to your cheek. “you ready?”

you nodded your head. you couldn’t shake the urge to really make him proud, to satisfy all his inappropriate cravings. it was the least you could do when you had been tantalizing him for months on end.

“good girl,” jeno whispered, guiding his cock back to your mouth and this time using your hair to push your head onto his cock as he fucked your throat.

you moaned at the pet name, because something about the way it sounded coming from him made your head spin. maybe you were just horny and in dire need of a fuck like he’d said. maybe after you came, all of these feelings would wear off, and you would feel somewhat sane again. 

but you couldn’t deny that you were somewhat indulging in your fantasies here. you didn’t necessarily hate the the way jeno was treating you, even if it was a little beyond your limits and more than a little rough. but limits were just boundaries you’d yet explored.

haechan was a different situation altogether. your pussy was still sensitive from the hours of playing with it and you were already about to come much before him. there was a familiar heat in your stomach and festering throb of energy in your core, only more intense than you had ever experienced.

but haechan recognized it, even without being able to hear your sweet moans of his name. he could see it in your body language and it flattered him in a way; he always felt proud when he lasted longer than the person he was fucking, especially without necessarily even trying to finish them quicker.

“she’s gonna come,” haechan pointed out, grinning. “come for me, princess. come on this dick. you know you want to.”

it was like he your voodoo doll or something, because merely seconds after those words parted from his mouth, you were shuddering and tightening around his cock with climax, your eyes rolling to the back of your head and your toes clenching.

haechan let out the pitchiest moan ever when you throbbed around him repeatedly. words could not describe how good it felt, but sounds could. and the sounds he was making were sensational, only contributing to the mind-numbing pleasure wrecking you from within.

“goddamn,” haechan said, mesmerized by how hard you came. it was probably warranted after hours of resisting.

but the other thing on haechan’s mind was how much wetter your pussy sounded, sticky with your release. he whined, literally going mad. he knew that his own orgasm wasn’t far out and just the squelch of your cunt could easily finish him off.

jeno was facing a similar predicament, fucking your mouth without restraint and not letting you escape his thrusts. “fuck, i’m gonna come,” he groaned. “swallow it. or don’t. it’s your sheets.”

the last thing you of all people cared about was having your sheets ruined. at the moment, you were more burdened with how sore your throat felt and how overstimulated your pussy was being fucked despite having already orgasmed. it literally felt like you’d had the soul fucked out of you.

you didn’t even know it was possible at this point, but jeno’s hips went faster. it was a brutal but steady pace, which was somewhat admirable. he was trying to get himself there, right over the edge, knowing release was only seconds away.

with a few more smacks, jeno released down your throat with the sexiest groan you’d heard, one that claimed every award. when you’d milked him of every drop, his hands tight on the sides of your face, his grip on your head slacked and he slowly pulled your mouth off him.

you swallowed what you could, but he had came so goddamn much at once, it was borderline ridiculous. what you couldn’t take dripped down your chin, blending with the saliva from the messy fucking.

haechan glanced up at you and the sight of your cum-stained face triggered something so primal in him that he knew he wasn’t going to last another minute. “princess, where do you want me to come?” he asked breathlessly.

“inside,” you replied with maybe half your voice, if even. it hurt to speak. the sound pleased jeno.

the thought of coming inside your pussy had haechan levitating and was the last push he needed to bring himself past the cusp of ecstasy. his hips stuttered as he came inside you, crying out half of your name, leaning on top of you as he buried his load inside your warm, wet, gushing, sticky hole.

a satisfied hum escaped you when you felt his cum seeping inside your pussy. why did it feel so good?

“d-don’t move yet,” you whispered, because it was all you could muster.

haechan glanced up at you, recognizing the look of pleasure on your face. if he had the energy, he would tease you about how you wanted to feel him cum inside you, but he needed to catch his breath. so he answered with a nod.

jeno whistled. this had gone better than he’d hoped. “well goddamn. you’re just a virgin slut aren’t you?”

haechan chuckled breathlessly. “she took that shit like a champ. i’m impressed.”

jeno kissed your forehead. “you did so good,” he whispered, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “i’ll get you some water in a second.”

you nodded, appreciating the tender side after all that had just happened. your heart felt a little lighter than usual, despite its racing. you had so many questions, but you didn’t want to strain your voice. was it normal to feel like a different person after having sex for the first time?

haechan was going to pull out, but seeing the look on your face, he decided to stay nestled inside you for a little longer. “you okay?”

you bobbed your head. “i’m good.”

haechan snickered and teased, “whoa there, batman. what have you done with my sister?”

you rolled your eyes, but giggled. jeno joined in on the laughter, but he added, “don’t speak. you’ll make it worse.”

haechan sighed contentedly. knowing that you wouldn’t say anything in response, he decided to tease, “our little gooner.”

you glared at haechan wordlessly, conveying a lot of different things with your eyes. 

jeno translated playfully, “i think that means ‘fuck you.’”

“again?” haechan joked. “what can i expect from a gooner. but hey, i guess girls can goon too.”

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

MILF

Tags: Toji x Reader, nsfw, mdni, breeding kink, unprotected sex, car sex, daddy kink

Synopsis: Toji loves fucking milfs. Send tweet.

An: I love how we all collectively as a fandom decided Toji is the nastiest mf out there. I just really feel like he is down w everything.

Toji thinks it’s adorable when you’re apologizing profusely for canceling plans on him again. Kid’s gotta come first, right? He knows that being a single mom is hard, and that you wouldn’t be cancelling plans so often if you didn’t have a kid.

He doesn’t mind sitting with your kid while you take a while to get ready. He sits next to your son on the couch and plays xbox with him, telling you to take your time. He knows you don’t get to get out too often. Hell, your kid probably doesn’t know what a babysitter is because you never know how to take a break.

Toji finds you stunning as soon as you walk out of the bedroom in that sexy black dress. He doesn’t even mind that your snot nose brat just killed him in whatever game they were playing. “Haha! I beat you!” Your son gloats. While you talk to the babysitter about what your kid can and can’t have, he leans over towards your son’s ear. “Yeah, well, I’m gonna go fuck your mom, so who’s really winning?”

He has to practically drag you out of the house, placing his hand on the small of your back as a firm guide towards his car. He knows how badly you need “adult time”. You’ve complained plenty about only hanging out with your kid and having no social life.

His excitement grows as he watches you get tipsy off one glass of wine. You really don’t get out much, do you? He carefully walks you back to his car after dinner, and you’re just gushing over your little brat back at home. He’s had to stop you from calling the babysitter like 5 times to check up on him.

“Too busy takin’ care of everyone else, ma. Let me take care of you.” He mutters in your ear as he parks his car in the middle of nowhere.

Toji fucking loves the curves that come from childbearing, and don’t even get him started on the stretch marks. He’s a fiend when it comes to your full breasts that aren’t as perky as they were before your son.

He adores how moms aren’t afraid to get it on anywhere. They know the value of time, and they never know when another opportunity will arise. They take it when they can get it, and right now, you’re taking it in the back of Toji’s car.

“Mmmn~ shit. You swear you’re not a virgin?” He moans as your gummy walls squeeze tightly around his length. You’d giggle at his comment if you weren’t so full of his cock. You can only manage to let out a pathetic quiet whine.

“Nuh uh, louder baby.” He instructs as he works on stretching your cunt out. “Tonight’s all about you. Let me hear you.” A more confident moan falls from your lips from his words, and he grins behind you, loving the way you sound while you struggle to take him all in.

Toji has you face down ass up in his back seat. Your ass ripples with each time he plunges his thick cock in and out of you. The car fills with the nastiest noises straight from your sopping wet cunt. He swears to god moms always get the wettest. Their bodies are experienced, knowing more lubricant helps ease his cock in and out.

“Fuuuck, ma. You feel so fuckin’ good.” He groans behind you as his hips continue to slap against your asscheeks. “Makin’ me want to breed this pussy for myself.”

“Ngh~ T-Toji!” You cry out as your face is pressed to the leather of the seat. Your mouth is slightly agape, drooling everywhere from being so cock drunk.

“Hm? What you think about that, ma? I could give you another little brat to raise.” The car creaks and rocks back and forth with each harsh thrust. His eyes are fixed on your juices that are pooling around the base of his cock.

“I- … oh god, fuck~” You don’t even have it in you deny him. His cock feels so fucking good; you don’t want to say anything to make him stop. You need this.

Slap!

His hand connects with the fat of your ass as he swats at you. “Not an answer, ma.” He grunts as he leans his weight onto you, using it to his advantage against your poor sticky cunt. His large hand presses between your shoulder blades, holding you down to the seat.

“B-breed me!” Your voice cries out in a tone you’ve never heard before.

“Thaaat’s it.” He drawls with a smirk as his hips start to pound harder. “Good girl. Usin’ your words like that f’me. Daddy’ll give you what you want.”

Toji leans his head back, basking in the way your pussy is practically crying for him. Oh, the things flooding in his mind right now are downright fucking filthy. Thinking about how pretty you’d look pregnant with his kid. Thinking about giving your son a little sibling.

“Ohh~ my g-god… pleaasee.. I’m gonna come..” Your poor voice sounds so fucked out, your hips start to move, bouncing back against him while chasing your orgasm.

“Fuck yeah, ma… That’s it. Fuck me back.” He praises as his hand starts to massage your pillowy ass. His lewdly balls are clapping against your clit, stimulating you as well as making the most erotic noises. “Cum on daddy’s fat cock. C’mon. I know you can do it.”

Within seconds, your pussy is clenching around him, milking him for all he’s worth while your orgasm washes over you. “Shiiiit~ ma.” He hisses as he has to force himself to keep thrusting. His cock is throbbing from how sensitive he is right now, on the brink of his orgasm.

“Fuck. Toji, Toji, Toji..” You feel tears spring into your eyes as he continues to fuck you into oblivion. Overstimulated tears stroll down your cheeks as your body is so sensitive.

“Keep sayin’ my name, ma. Keep sayin’ daddy’s name.” He groans as he leans more into you, almost mounting you at this point. “Ngh~ gonna put a baby in you, okay ma?”

“Please—“ You hiccup as your body is continually getting wrecked.

A growl rips through his throat as he yanks your hips back into him, shoving himself as deep as your body will allow, and his cock pulses as he spills deep inside you.

Toji loves takin’ pretty mamas like you home after he’s finished ruining them. The way they half waddle and stumble back onto the house with his cum still nestled in their cute cunts. He imagines they try to sober up enough to kiss their kids goodnight before they get the best sleep of their life.

It ain’t much, but it’s honest work for Toji. 🫡

tags: @lemonlimecrystal-blog @theuniversesnepobaby

[peachsukii]

— emergency contact

it’s been two years since you’ve seen your ex-boyfriend, and didn’t plan on changing that anytime soon. a nasty villain fight lands you in the hospital during an overnight patrol and leaves you unable to tell the doctors who to call in your dazed state.

✮ content. late 20s. ex-boyfriend bakugo, hospitalization, sappy confessions & second chances. distance makes the heart grow fonder kind of deal.

『 #reis softie sundays 』

Sharp, shooting pain down your back and a desperate cry from your partner ⎯ that was the only thing you remember from the last…four hours? Time is becoming illusive at this point, blending together with how fast everything unraveled around you.

Were you injured on patrol? Did that villain slip through your fingers and escape? Where was your partner in all this chaos?

“Doctor, she’s waking up,” you hear in the distance, muffled but clear enough to understand. A nurse walks into your blurred vision, a soft smile on her lips. “Hi hon, you’re in the hospital. We’re taking you to your room now, hang tight.”

All you can manage to do is nod in acknowledgement, the world spinning on its axis and making you extremely dizzy. Your eyes fall closed, a hazy sleep welcoming you in seconds.

When you wake next, you're not quite sure how much time has passed. The room sits in darkness, the only sources of light coming from the moon outside the window and the various machines chirping around you. There's a static in your head, as if you're stuck on a radio frequency that hasn't been adjusted to the correct channel. Even with all the noise in your head, a familiar voice can be heard outside in the hallway, one you'd never mistake for anyone else.

"It's late," a nurse says, presumably trying to convince him to go home. "Are you sure you want to stay? We can try her other contacts again in a few hours."

"M'sure. Do I need'ta sign in or whatever?"

"No, that's alright. I'll notate it on her chart and let the front desk know. I'll be back in a bit and we can talk more about treatment."

The door slides open to prove you're not imagining things ⎯ your ex isn't a manifestation of your delirious state. Bakugo's standing in the dim light of the hallway, tip toeing inside and shutting the door as quietly as possible. When his eyes fall upon your hospital bed, he notices that you're awake and sighs. "Been awhile."

You don't have the energy to do this dance with him, to go back and forth with lightheartedness like old times. "Why are you here?"

His lips press into a straight line, jaw clenched tight as he seems to silently ask himself the same question. He makes his way over to the bed, taking a seat at the edge by your feet. "I'm still one of your emergency contacts in your hero file."

Your eyebrows scrunch together in confusion. There's no way you haven't updated your database profile in two years...right? Bakugo catches onto your confusion and explains before you have a chance to press him further on the matter. "M'the only one who answered."

What time was it, anyways? Your eyes bounce around the room swiftly to find a wall clock. You squint a bit to read it, finally making out the numbers. 4:30...am?

"What did they call you for?" you yawn, rubbing the exhaustion out of your eyes. "I don't even know what happened."

He takes a deep breath as a large hand finds your thigh, resting atop the thin blanket. His touch makes you want to melt into a puddle, memories of your past relationship coming back in waves.

"They didn't tell me much, only that it was life or death. Thankfully, your ass chose life." He shakes his head, a quiet huff escaping him. "Somethin' about a villain's poison quirk. Ya got hit in the spine and it paralyzed you temporarily, an' you fell from someplace high up. Your partner caught ya and the paramedics got to you just in time."

Oh. Well, that explains the pain from earlier.

"But why did you answer their call, Baku⎯" you cut yourself off to correct his name as it leaves your lips. "Katsuki?"

"I'm not heartless, just 'cause we haven't talked in ages doesn't mean I don't care about ya."

You shift in your bed a bit, eyes gravitating toward the window to avoid his gaze. Truth be told, you two ended on decent terms and not maliciously. Wrong place, wrong time...at least, that's what you two chalked it up to. You were both too busy with hero work, too absent from each other's lives to properly be a couple. After a year, you convinced yourself that you were satisfied watching him from afar, catching brief glimpses of his life through interviews and news reports. That was your excuse, a cowardly way to keep him out of reach and prevent you, and him, from getting distracted.

"Hey." Bakugo's fingers squeeze your thigh to recollect your attention, the blanket crumpling under his palm. You're terrified to look at him, knowing full well that in your battered state, you'll crumble like stone if he says anything remotely sweet. Those vermillion eyes of his always had a way of making you weak ⎯ soft. "I was thinkin' on my way over here that I should'a called ya, reached out to keep in touch. M'sorry for not doin' that."

"It's...fine," you stammer out, a shaky hand coming up to wave off his concern. "We don't have to talk about that now."

"I don't wanna only talk to you when you're hurt, or worse..." he trails off, screwing his eyes shut to avoid the dread lingering in his chest. "Look. What m'gettin' at is you scared the shit outta me, and it made me realize that I've got a lot to say after all these years."

Oh boy, you brace yourself for impact, expecting the explosive nature to come pouring out any second. But, it never comes.

Before you could stop him, Bakugo's on his feet and leaning over the bed, arms slung around your shoulders to pull you close. A strange but familiar veil of comfort drapes over you in the moment, pulling on your heartstrings. Your eyes begin to sting when the words he whispers finally reach your ears. "M'done usin' hero work as an excuse to avoid you. I wanna talk this shit out...when you're ready. I'd love to make ya dinner again."

You can't help but let out a breathless laugh, arms finally coming up to return his hug. "Only if you promise to make your special katsudon. I've been craving it for weeks."

He chuckles over your shoulder, squeezing you a bit tighter in response. "Deal."

Who knew that a villain was what you two needed to face your fears, to finally admit that the spark was never smothered into nothingness. And this time, something tells you that you'll both make damn sure it stays ablaze.

happy softie sunday!! I know it's been awhile since I've written one. hope you don't mind some baku-sap :)

✮ network. @pixelcafe-network

✮ tags. @slayfics @maddietries @starieqq

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@strwbrrykthv @awkwardchick87 @stunies @sakufilm

[seungfl0wer]

*Backstage*

Pairing: Bangchan x Reader (Fem)

Genre: Smut

Warnings: Unprotected sex, Cream pie, Basically public, Slight biting, Scratches, dirty talk (Ofc), I think that’s all?

From this request ❤️‍🔥

-🩵

The concert has started, watching from the side as your boyfriend and the rest of the members perform. They were such great performers and it never got old watching them. So much passion and drive for what they do. As their solo stages started they said their hi’s as they passed you all full of so much energy.

They were performing new songs that fans have never heard and Chan kept his a secret telling you he wanted your live reaction to it. As Chan passed you to go on stage he kissed your cheek quickly smiling as he walked away yelling to you “enjoy the show baby” he winked.

You watched Chan with wide eyes, the song was hot. The way his voice sounded the visuals- oh god him. Your eyes widen even more as you watch your man basically putting on a strip show. He had fake scratches all over his toned body. As you watched him taking it all in you couldn’t help but feel turned on.

It’s not the first time you’ve seen him naked. Of course not, this man lives in nothing but his birthday suit. However this was- this was just hot. You rubbed your legs together subconsciously as you watched him, wetness flooding your panties.

You watched as he fell backwards into the dancers arms, he made a quick b-line towards you grabbing your hand pulling you with him. He pulled you to a small almost closet like room waisting no time in kissing you. His hands wondered your body pulling you into him as he deepened the kiss. When he finally pulled away he looked down at you with a smirk.

“There’s 4 more solo stages before I have to go back, I need you y/n. I need you.. badly” he breathed out before crashing his lips back to yours. His hands pulled up at your shirt caressing your breast as he played with your nipples. Pinching them slightly as he rubbed his crotch against your leg. The adrenaline from being on stage and knowing you were watching him had him already so hard.

The friction from his movement made him let out a desperate moan against your lips. He pulled away placing kisses along your jaw to your neck where he quickly started to suck softly. He ran his hand down your body unbuttoning your pants as he slid his fingers so delicately across your clit. He let out a small whimper making him smirk a bit.

“I think we should try and be quiet” he teased as if he wasn’t the one who made the first noise. He nipped at the skin of your neck before he pushed his fingers into you. You let out a soft moan before you smacked your hand over your mouth trying to muffle the noise. He worked his hand, fingers curling in you hitting all your weak spots. His eyes were dark full of lust as all he wanted to do was devour you.

“God y/n I can’t take it anymore need you.” He said pulling his hand back swiftly pushing your pants down as he did the same to himself. His hard cock smacked against this abs, fuck he’s so damn hot.

He positioned you, your legs wrapping around his waist his hands holding you tightly as he aligned himself. He looked up at you as he pushed himself into your wet cunt bottoming out right away. You could see the soft imprint of his cock in your stomach.

“Uh- fucking hell princess- I can tell you right now- I will not last-“ his words sounded like croaks, breaking as they came out. He made a medium pace hitting you deep, his cock gliding in and out of you. “Did you like my stage beautiful?” He asked.

You nod “mhm you did so well” you said back. He loved when you praised him like that. He rolled his hips quickly hitting your g-spot perfectly. You moaned loudly at the feeling head resting against the wall.

“You want everyone to hear how good I’m fucking you?” Chan teased a bit as he brought his fingers down to play with your clit. You let out a high pitched moan at the feeling. The whole situation to you was so hot, everything about this was just fucking hot.

Chans pace picked up after hearing you moan knowing you were close already. He leaned down to bite at your neck as he worked at your clit mercilessly. You dug your nails into his back as he pounded sloppily into you. “Ah- sh-shit yeah, fuck dig your nails into me, make real scratches on my back beautiful fuck-“ he rambled out.

Between his movements, his hand toying with your clit and his words your high was about to crash over you. Chan could feel your walls clench around him making him groan “gonna cum on my cock baby? Hmm gonna make a mess before I go back on stage?”

“Chris! Fuck cu-cuming!” You almost scream out hoping the sound of the crowd would drown anything out. Chan threw his head back at the feeling of you, his high rushing over him fast as he pumped deep into you dumping all his cum deep into you.

“Shit y/n- that was- fucking hot” he panted out trying to catch his breath. You laugh a little “yeah” you say softly as you try catching your breath as well. Chan kissed you softly letting you down but holding you so you don’t stumble.

You both get dressed fixing yourselves before leaving the small room. Chan watched as the last solo stage was almost done. “Channie” you say sweetly. He turns his head with a loving smile “round 2 when we get to the hotel?” You say with a smirk. He just laughs kissing your cheek “round 2 maybe 3” he says before grabbing a mic to head back to the stage. Leaving you there to watch him again.

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something🩵

Taglist: @satosugu4l @do-you-remember-summer-127 @xines16

[grimmweepers-archive]

— ★ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: afab!reader. dry humping. premature cumming. ok it’s his first time, he’s trying. reader is a tease. 0.8k words. MDNI. 18+ only.| masterlist

Virgin!Alhaitham who is known for being one of the brightest minds to come out of the Akademiya in years. A genius in his own right who can speak over 20 languages and executes everything he tries to perfection. But still has one thing that’s completely out of his realm: sex. 

He acts like it’s no big deal, shrugging off the idea of casual flings just to get his dick wet. It was beneath him, a pointless distraction from his personal goals. Instead, he turned to erotic literature, dissecting it for information like he would any other subject. It’s still educational, he reasons, a way to learn without getting tangled in something that would just waste his time. 

But then Virgin!Alhaitham starts dating you, and suddenly everything he’s learned doesn’t seem so abstract anymore. He’s thorough, methodical— he thinks he knows enough to ensure his first time with you goes off without a hitch. And yet. 

The first time you grind on his clothed cock, he was unprepared for the intensity, the friction, the heat— before he knew it he was already twitching and soiling his pants, his face flushing with embarrassment as he squeezes his eyes shut, white-knuckling your thighs at the realisation that he just came prematurely. 

“Did you just cum?” You ask with a playful lilt in your voice.

“I didn’t mean to…” he mutters, slightly mortified.

But really, who could blame him? You’re too much for him. Too beautiful. Too sharp. Too incredible with just the right amount of taunting. The way you look at him is overwhelming. Every touch leaves him on edge and every kiss is so sloppy because he wants you so badly, he can barely think straight. 

It happens again and then again after that. No matter how much he tries to keep his cool, to stay calm and focused, he can’t handle it. You make his brain fog up, his thoughts scatter, and he curses himself because all he wants to do is fuck you without cumming at just the sight of your pussy. 

However, you don’t let him off the hook that easily. After he’s ruined his boxers, you love to tug down the waistband and admire the mess he’s made, smearing his seed on your fingers and licking it clean with a grin. Just give it a minute and his cock will be hard as rock all over again. 

When he finally manages to put it in you, it’s with one big, unexpected thrust. He can’t help it— the way your walls gripped the tip sent his hip jerking forward as it moved on instinct. 

“I’m… sorry,” he breathes out, though there was no regret in the way his cock throbbed in you. 

And the worst part? You know exactly what you’re doing to him. You bat those pretty lashes at him, feigning innocence while you’re driving him wild, watching him try not to nut just from groping your tits and hearing you sigh his name with that breathy, sweet voice. 

He’s in over his head and you’ve completely flipped the script. Alhaitham has spent his whole life being the one in charge, always knowing what to do, but with you, he’s just a bundle of raw, needy energy. 

And now— he burns with a desperate need to fuck you harder, faster, to feel every inch of you clenching around him that he’s completely lost in it. You’ve made him realise how much he’s been holding back and now he’s ready to give you everything he’s got. 

So when he starts thrusting, it’s deep and unsteady, driven by hunger he’s never felt before. And poor Alhaitham, so out of his element, feels his usual self-control slipping away with each thrust. He thinks the least he can do is stay quiet, to maintain some semblance of composure. But then you whisper in his ear, telling him he can be as loud as he wants. 

And the moment those words reach him, he breaks, unable to hold back the sounds that had been clawing at his throat. He lets out strings of groans and grunts, each one rougher than the last, filling up the room with his lewd noises. 

He’s determined to keep going, to fuck you senseless but you’re so wet and tight, you’re damn near milking him. Between your occasional praise and begging him for more, he finally snaps with a guttural moan, burying himself inside you. His body trembles as he spills into you but even then, he doesn’t stop. He keeps moving, slower now, to savour every last second, despite the sensitivity.

When it's all over, he collapses on top of you, so utterly spent. All those late nights he allowed himself to indulge by jerking off at the thought of you, feeling a little guilty while trying to imagine what it would be like, was nothing compared to the real thing. 

As he lays there, panting and dazed, he tells himself that this will be a problem.

Because now he can’t do it any other way. If this is what he wanted, he was going to have to get better at it. And being the diligent person that he is, there is only one way to improve: practice. 

And who better to practice on than you?

a/n: the idea of virgin!alhaitham has me breathing into a paper bag

© 2024 grimmweepers — do not repost, copy, translate, modify my work on any platform

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[cceana]

Arcane Highschool!AU

characters - vi, caitlyn, jinx, sevika, ekko, jayce and viktor content - 7.1k words, cliche highschool tropes, gn!reader, just pure fluff also a little reverse comfort

A/N this was so fun to do, cant believe i finished this in 1 day ahahahahhaah. this is my longest work yet so hopefully you guys enjoy it <3

— Star Athlete!vi and Band!reader

You’ve spent most of your high school life flying under the radar as the band’s flute player—quiet, responsible, and perfectly content in your niche. Your days revolve around early-morning rehearsals, sheet music, and the steady rhythm of practice. It’s predictable, comfortable.

That is, until the school’s star athlete, Vi, always in whispers and cheers, bursts into your life like an unrelenting storm.

Shes everything you’re not—loud, brash, impulsive, and dangerously confident. The type who winks at the crowd after scoring the winning goal, whose swagger fills the halls, and who’s constantly making headlines for their fiery outbursts on and off the field. You’ve heard the stories: the scuffle at last week’s game, the heated argument with the coach, the rumors of detention slips piling up.

You’d barely exchanged more than a few words with her, but that changes when the school decides to host a collaborative pep rally—complete with a showstopping performance featuring both the sports teams and the band.

When the coach volunteers them to help promote school spirit by playing a surprise number with the band, you’re horrified. So is she.

“I don’t have time for this,” she scoff when she gets dragged to the band room. “Why don’t you all just play louder or something?”

Your teacher assigns you the unenviable task of teaching them how to play an instrument. You can practically hear your friends giggling behind your back as you pull them aside, thrusting a trumpet into their hands.

Vi groans, slouching in her chair like a bored kid in detention. “What’s the point of this? Everyone’s here to watch me win, not play this stupid thing.”

You bristle at their cocky tone. “Well, if you don’t want to embarrass yourself in front of the entire school, I suggest you try.”

VI then gives you a smirk, leaning in just a little too close. “Oh, you think I can’t do it? I’m good at everything.”

It turns out, she's not.

The first few lessons are a disaster. She blow into the trumpet like she's trying to blow out a candle from across the room, their fingers fumble over the valves, and she keep snapping, “This thing is broken!” every time it makes a screeching noise.

But underneath all the bravado and eye-rolls, you start to notice something. The way she glares at the trumpet when she messes up isn’t just frustration—it’s determination. she hates failing, and she hates it even more that they’re bad at this.

“I’m not giving up,” Vi declares after her third failed attempt to hit a note. “I’m not letting some dumb piece of metal beat me.”

The more you work together, the more cracks appear in their tough exterior. she's fiercely competitive, yes, but also surprisingly quick to laugh at themselves when the trumpet sputters out the wrong notes. Her cocky grin softens when you praise even her smallest improvement, and she starts showing up to practice earlier than you do.

One afternoon, as you’re packing up your sheet music, you catch them staring at the band photo on the wall. “You guys practice this much all the time?” Vi asked, her voice uncharacteristically quiet.

“Yeah,” you say, surprised. “It’s a lot of work, but it’s worth it.”

she nod slowly, her usual swagger replaced by something contemplative. “Never thought about it like that. I guess… it’s kind of like training, huh?”

That’s when you realize she's not as invincible as she seem. Behind the hot-headed confidence is someone who works just as hard as you do, who’s just as passionate about what they love—even if they show it in a completely different way.

And when the pep rally finally arrives, with the gym packed to the rafters, she surprise's everyone—not just with how she learned to play, but with how she step aside during the performance to let the band take the spotlight.

Afterward, as the crowd cheers, she give you a lopsided grin. “Not bad, huh? Guess I’m pretty good at this whole teamwork thing.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t hide your smile.

The pep rally is over, and the gym is buzzing with energy as people file out, still cheering and talking about the unexpected performance. You’re gathering your things in the corner of the stage when you hear footsteps behind you.

“Hey,” she calls out, her voice softer than you’re used to.

You turn to find her standing there, holding her trumpet in one hand, the other rubbing awkwardly at the back of her neck. For once, her usual cocky smirk is nowhere to be seen, replaced by an expression that’s… almost nervous.

“Uh, so… you were pretty great out there,” she says, her eyes flickering between yours and the floor. “I mean, you’re always great, but, like, today—you really killed it.”

You blink, caught off guard by the compliment. “Thanks. You were pretty great too. You didn’t even mess up the solo.”

She laughs, a warm, genuine sound that makes your chest flutter. “Yeah, well, I had a good teacher. Guess I owe you for that.”

You shrug, trying to play it cool. “Maybe. But you did the work. I’m impressed, actually. Didn’t think you’d take it so seriously.”

She steps a little closer, her usual confidence creeping back into her voice. “Yeah? So, I impressed you?”

Your face heats up, and you roll your eyes to hide it. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late,” she teases, but her grin softens as her gaze lingers on you. For a moment, neither of you says anything. The noise of the gym fades into the background, and all you can hear is the faint hum of your own heartbeat.

She looks down at the trumpet in her hand, turning it over like she’s stalling. “You know… I used to think band stuff was just… background noise. Like, nobody really notices it. But being up there, seeing how much you guys put into it…”

Her voice trails off, and when she looks back at you, there’s something in her eyes that makes it hard to breathe. “It made me notice you more.”

Your breath catches. “Me?”

“Yeah.” She takes another step closer, so close now that you can feel the warmth radiating off her. “You’re not just some quiet band geek who hangs out in the background. You’re… amazing. And I’ve been an idiot for not seeing it sooner.”

You open your mouth to reply, but the words get stuck in your throat. She’s staring at you like you’re the only person in the world, and for the first time, you don’t feel small or invisible. You feel seen.

“I know I’ve been kind of… impossible,” she continues, her voice dropping lower. “But I don’t want to screw this up. So if I asked you to, I don’t know, grab milkshakes or something sometime… what would you say?”

You bite your lip, trying to suppress a smile. “I’d say… as long as you don’t try to play the trumpet during the date, I might say yes.”

Her laugh is loud and bright, and before you know it, she’s grinning down at you. “Deal.”

The gym lights flicker as the janitor starts cleaning up, and you realize you’ve been standing there for what feels like forever. But as she walks you out, her shoulder brushing against yours, you can’t help but think that maybe this impulsive, hot-headed star athlete isn’t so bad after all.

— Childhood Bestfriend!caitlyn

You and Caitlyn were inseparable once, two halves of the same whole. Summers were spent running through sun-drenched fields, plotting grand adventures, and swearing eternal friendship under the stars. But that was years ago, before her family moved away to chase bigger opportunities, and you were left behind with only memories of her bright laugh and unshakable confidence.

Life moved on, and so did you. By high school, she’d become little more than a bittersweet memory. Until now.

When she walks into your homeroom on the first day of senior year, it feels like the air’s been knocked out of you. She’s taller now, with an effortless grace that makes the room go quiet. Her uniform looks somehow sharper on her, her long, dark hair falling in perfect waves. There’s something in the way she carries herself—poised and self-assured, like she owns the world—and maybe she does.

Her family name has become a symbol of power and wealth. She’s been in the headlines, her achievements as a youth advocate already earning her a reputation as a fierce voice for justice. And yet, when her gaze scans the room and lands on you, her face lights up with the same brilliant smile you remember from childhood.

“Hey,” she says as she slides into the empty seat beside you, her voice low and familiar. “Long time no see.”

You’re too stunned to do anything but nod.

You quickly learn that she’s not just here for nostalgia—she’s here with a purpose. Between rigorous AP classes, she’s working on a project to bring awareness to systemic issues in your town. Meetings, interviews, and late nights at the library seem to be her norm, and it doesn’t take long for her to rope you into helping.

At first, it feels surreal being around her again. The girl you once knew has grown into someone so driven, so ambitious, that it’s almost intimidating. She seems untouchable, like a shooting star too far away to reach.

But every now and then, the cracks in her polished armor show. When it’s just the two of you poring over notes at your kitchen table, she leans back with a sigh and pulls her hair into a ponytail, muttering about how she wishes she had more time to breathe. And when you laugh at her frustrations, she throws a crumpled piece of paper at you, her grin wide and mischievous.

“You haven’t changed a bit,” she says one evening, her eyes soft as they meet yours. “Still the only person who can make me laugh when I want to scream.”

It’s during one of these late-night sessions that the air between you shifts. You’re sitting on the floor of her family’s impossibly grand living room, surrounded by papers and laptops. She’s wearing a sweatshirt that’s too big for her, a far cry from the polished image she presents to the world, and you can’t help but think about how beautiful she looks like this—unguarded and real.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” she says, tilting her head to look at you. “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing,” you lie, your heart racing under her gaze.

She raises an eyebrow, leaning closer. “I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re lying.”

You hesitate, your pulse hammering in your ears. “It’s just… I can’t believe you’re here. That after all these years, we’re… us again.”

Her expression softens, and she shifts closer until your knees are almost touching. “I’ve missed you too, you know,” she says quietly. “It’s been so hard, being away from everything I used to care about. From you.”

Her words hang in the air, heavy and electric. You want to say something—anything—but the way she’s looking at you steals the breath from your lungs. Her dark eyes search yours, and for a moment, the world seems to still.

“Do you ever think about those nights we spent under the stars?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, swallowing hard. “All the time.”

“I do too,” she admits, her hand reaching out to brush against yours. Her touch is warm, grounding, and yet it sends a jolt through you. “Back then, I always thought we’d have forever. And when I left, I realized how much I hated being wrong about that.”

You’re not sure who moves first, but suddenly the space between you disappears. Her hand lingers on yours, her thumb tracing gentle circles against your skin, and you’re acutely aware of how close her face is to yours.

“Tell me if this is okay,” she murmurs, her voice trembling just slightly.

You nod, barely able to speak. “It’s more than okay.”

And then her lips are on yours, soft and hesitant at first, like she’s afraid you’ll pull away. But you don’t. You lean into her, your hand sliding up to tangle in her hair, and the kiss deepens—sweet and full of years’ worth of unspoken feelings.

When you finally pull back, she rests her forehead against yours, a breathless smile on her lips. “I’ve waited so long to do that,” she says, her voice tinged with relief.

“Me too,” you whisper, your heart soaring.

As the night stretches on, you realize that the girl you thought you’d lost has come back into your life, not as the same person she once was, but as someone even more extraordinary. And for the first time in years, the future doesn’t feel so uncertain—it feels full of possibilities, with her by your side.

— New kid!jinx and Class president!reader

You’ve worked hard to get where you are. Every meeting attended, every speech prepared, every carefully crafted decision—it’s all been for the sake of keeping order in the chaos of your high school. As class president, your name carries weight. You’re the dependable one, the one who keeps everything running smoothly, the one who always has things under control.

Until Jinx shows up.

The whispers start on her first day. The new girl. The one who doesn’t seem to care about blending in. She strides into the building like she owns it, her uniform already disheveled, her blazer slung over her shoulder, and a wild grin on her face.

It doesn’t take long for her reputation to spread. She’s unpredictable, impulsive, and utterly magnetic. Within a week, she’s already broken half the school’s rules, talked her way out of three detentions, and somehow charmed half your classmates in the process.

And for some reason, she’s decided you’re her favorite target.

It happens during lunch. You’re sitting at your usual spot, surrounded by student council members, going over plans for the upcoming fundraiser when she walks up to your table.

“Class president,” she says, her voice dripping with mockery and something else you can’t quite place. “Mind if I join you?”

You glance up, already annoyed. “I’m busy.”

She smirks, pulling out a chair anyway. “That’s cute. You think I was asking.”

Your friends exchange uneasy glances, but she doesn’t seem to care. She leans back in the chair, her sharp pink eyes locked on you, as if she’s trying to unravel you with her gaze alone.

“You’ve got a real stick-up-your-ass vibe,” she says casually, plucking an apple from the tray in front of her. “I like that. It makes messing with you way more fun.”

You glare at her, trying to keep your composure. “Do you need something, or are you just here to waste my time?”

Her grin widens, and for a moment, you see a flicker of something wild and untamed in her expression. “Maybe I just like watching you squirm.”

She becomes a constant in your life after that. You find her waiting outside your classroom, lounging against your locker, or casually walking into student council meetings as if she belongs there.

“Do you ever stop?” you snap one afternoon, cornering her in the hallway after she’s disrupted yet another meeting.

“Stop what?” she asks innocently, tilting her head.

“Whatever game you’re playing.”

She steps closer, and for the first time, you notice just how intense her gaze is. “Who says it’s a game? Maybe I just like you.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and electric, and before you can respond, she turns on her heel and walks away, leaving you standing there, utterly baffled.

It’s not until much later that you start to see the cracks in her chaotic facade. One night, you find her sitting alone in the empty music room, the piano keys beneath her fingers. She’s not playing, just pressing random notes, her usual manic energy replaced by a quiet stillness.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you say, stepping into the room.

She doesn’t look up. “Neither should you.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then she sighs, her shoulders slumping. “I bet you think I’m crazy.”

You hesitate, caught off guard by the vulnerability in her voice. “I think you’re reckless and impulsive and… exhausting. But no, I don’t think you’re crazy.”

She finally looks up at you, her eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them. “You’re too nice for your own good, you know that?”

“I’m not nice,” you counter. “I just… I think there’s more to you than the act you put on.”

Her lips twitch into a small, almost shy smile. “Careful, president. You keep saying things like that, and I might start to believe you.”

The more time you spend around her, the more you realize how deeply she feels everything. Her chaos isn’t just for show—it’s a shield, a way to keep people from getting too close. But with you, she starts to let her guard down.

One evening, she shows up outside your house, her hair messy and her eyes wild. “Come with me,” she says, grabbing your hand.

“Where are we going?” you ask, letting her drag you down the street.

“Anywhere,” she replies, her grip tight. “Everywhere. I don’t care.”

You end up at the park, sitting on a swingset as the stars blink overhead. She’s unusually quiet, her hands gripping the chains tightly as she stares at the ground.

“You ever feel like you’re spinning out of control?” she asks suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper.

You glance at her, surprised by the question. “Sometimes.”

She exhales shakily, her fingers brushing against yours. “You… you make it stop. Just for a little while.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you don’t know if it’s the raw honesty in her words or the way her fingers linger against yours, but you feel something shift between you.

It happens later that night, as you’re walking her home. She stops in front of her house, turning to face you with an unreadable expression.

“Why do you put up with me?” she asks suddenly, her voice soft.

You frown. “What do you mean?”

“I’m a mess,” she says, her gaze dropping to the ground. “I break things, I hurt people… I’m not like you. I’m not good.”

“You’re not perfect,” you admit, stepping closer. “But you’re not as bad as you think you are, either.”

She looks up at you, her eyes shining with something you can’t quite name. “You’re going to regret saying that.”

“Maybe,” you say with a small smile. “But I don’t think so.”

Before you can overthink it, you lean in, your lips brushing against hers. She freezes for a moment, like she’s caught off guard, but then she kisses you back, her hands clutching at your sleeves as if you’re the only solid thing in her world.

When you finally pull back, her face is flushed, and she’s breathing hard. “You’re insane,” she mutters, though there’s no heat in her words.

“Takes one to know one,” you reply, grinning.

She laughs, the sound light and genuine, and for the first time, you feel like you’ve truly seen her—every broken, beautiful piece of her.

—Troublemaker!sevika and Tutor!reader

You weren’t thrilled when your teacher assigned you as her tutor. You’d heard all the rumors: skipped classes, biting comebacks that left people reeling, and a permanent spot on the troublemaker watchlist.

Her reputation painted her as unteachable, untamable, and entirely uninterested in anything resembling authority. When your teacher insisted she “just needed guidance,” you couldn’t help but feel skeptical.

The first session confirmed it.

She slouched into the library ten minutes late, her bag dragging on the floor, and dropped into the chair across from you with a loud huff.

“Look,” she said before you could even greet her, “I don’t need some perfect little know-it-all telling me what to do.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “I’m just here to help.”

“Sure,” she scoffed, leaning back in her chair. “Let’s get this over with.”

Her tone was cutting, her expression bored, and yet… there was something about her. A quiet intensity lurking beneath the surface, like she was daring you to break through her tough exterior.

Each session felt like a test of patience. She was sharp, no question about it, but her attitude made every interaction a battle.

“You’re not even trying,” you said one afternoon after she tossed her pen aside for the third time.

Her eyes snapped to yours, hard and unyielding. “Don’t act like you know me,” she said coldly. “You think I don’t try? You think I don’t bust my ass every single day?”

You froze, startled by the edge in her voice.

She leaned forward, her gaze cutting through you like a blade. “I don’t need this. I don’t need you. I’m here because they told me to be.”

For a moment, you considered walking away. But then you saw it—just the faintest flicker of something vulnerable beneath her defiance.

“You’re right,” you said, keeping your voice calm. “I don’t know you. But I know you’re capable of more than this.”

Her jaw tightened, and she looked away, her fingers drumming on the table. “Whatever,” she muttered.

But she didn’t leave.

Slowly, things started to shift. She showed up on time—barely. She started taking notes—reluctantly. And every so often, she’d let her tough exterior slip, just enough for you to catch a glimpse of the real her.

One afternoon, after a particularly grueling session, you handed her a worksheet.

“You’re getting better,” you said, offering her a small smile.

She snorted. “Don’t get all sentimental on me.”

“I’m not. I’m just saying you’re improving.”

“Yeah, well, don’t hold your breath for a thank-you card,” she replied, but there was a hint of a smirk on her lips.

Her walls were still up, but they were starting to crack.

It happened on a rare quiet day in the library. She was hunched over her notebook, her brow furrowed as she worked through a particularly tricky problem.

“Got it,” she said suddenly, sitting up straight.

“Really?” you asked, leaning over to check her work.

She shoved the notebook toward you, her smirk firmly in place. “Told you I’m not dumb.”

“I never said you were dumb,” you replied, meeting her gaze. “You just make things harder than they need to be.”

She rolled her eyes. “Maybe I like a challenge.”

“Or maybe you’re just stubborn,” you teased.

Her smirk softened, just for a moment. “Takes one to know one, princess.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the way she said it, her voice low and almost… fond.

After weeks of late afternoons spent together, you found yourself walking her home one evening. The sun was setting, casting a warm orange glow over the quiet streets.

“You’re not as bad as I thought,” she said suddenly, breaking the silence.

You blinked, surprised. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Don’t push your luck,” she shot back, though her tone lacked its usual bite.

When you reached her house, she stopped at the gate, turning to face you. Her usual confidence wavered, just slightly.

“Why do you bother with me?” she asked, her voice quieter than usual.

“Because I see how hard you work,” you said honestly. “And because I think there’s more to you than what you let people see.”

She stared at you for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, without warning, she stepped closer, her hand brushing yours.

“You’re a real pain, you know that?” she murmured, her voice soft but firm.

Before you could respond, she leaned in, her lips capturing yours in a kiss that was as bold and unapologetic as she was.

When she pulled back, her cheeks were flushed, but her smirk was firmly in place.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” she said, turning toward her door.

You smiled, your heart racing. “Too late."

—Artist!ekko and Muse!reader

It was one of those golden autumn afternoons, the kind where the sunlight made everything look softer, warmer, like it belonged in a painting. You’d escaped to the park during your lunch break, clutching a well-worn book in one hand and a coffee in the other. It wasn’t the first time you’d come here for a little peace and quiet, but it felt like one of the rare times you’d actually get it.

You settled on a bench near the fountain, a cozy corner of the park where the only sounds were the gentle trickle of water and the rustling of leaves in the breeze.

The moment you opened your book, however, you felt it—a faint, almost electric sensation prickling at the edge of your awareness. Someone was watching you.

Glancing up, you spotted him.

He was sitting on the grass a few yards away, sketchpad balanced on his knees, pencil flying across the page. His hair fell messily across his forehead, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to reveal forearms speckled with faint smears of paint. Despite the chaos of his appearance, his focus was absolute, his gaze darting between you and the paper as if you were some rare discovery he couldn’t afford to lose.

You furrowed your brow, unsure whether to feel flattered or alarmed. “Can I help you?” you called, your voice cutting through the quiet.

He blinked, as if snapping out of a trance, and stood quickly.

“Sorry,” he said, striding toward you. “I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

His voice was smooth, tinged with an earnestness that made it hard to stay annoyed.

“I’m an artist,” he explained, gesturing to his sketchpad. “I know this sounds weird, but you’ve got this… look. The way you’re sitting, the way the light hits you—it’s perfect.”

“Perfect?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“For a piece I’m working on,” he clarified, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “Do you mind if I sketch you? Just for a little while.”

You hesitated, studying him. He didn’t look like a creep—just young, maybe a little unkempt, with an intensity in his eyes that was hard to ignore.

“I’m not really dressed for a portrait,” you said, gesturing to your casual sweater and jeans.

He smiled, and the way his face softened surprised you. “It’s not about the clothes. It’s the way you carry yourself.”

The compliment was unexpected, and it caught you off guard. “Alright,” you said slowly. “But just for a few minutes.”

“Great,” he said, dropping to the bench across from you with a grin that felt like the sun breaking through the clouds

It turned out he was a prodigy, a young artist with a growing reputation in the city. His work had been featured in galleries, and he’d even won a few prestigious awards. But for all his talent, he was surprisingly down-to-earth.

“I don’t really like the whole ‘genius’ label,” he admitted one afternoon after convincing you to pose for him again. “It just makes people think I’ve got everything figured out. But most of the time, I’m just trying to keep up with my own ideas.”

You quickly realized that his art wasn’t just a skill—it was his lifeline. He spoke about it the way others might talk about breathing. And for some reason, he’d decided that you were his muse.

“Why me?” you asked one day as he sketched you in his studio. The walls were covered with half-finished canvases, each one brimming with vivid colors and raw emotion.

He glanced up from his sketchbook, his eyes soft but focused. “You’ve got something about you,” he said simply. “A kind of… light. I can’t explain it, but when I see you, I want to create.”

His honesty was disarming. There was no pretense in his words, no calculated charm. He spoke as though his heart was an open book, and every word was written in your honor.

“Do you say that to all your muses?” you teased, trying to lighten the moment.

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “I’ve never had one before you.”

As time went on, you got to know him beyond his talent. He was fiercely independent, refusing to rely on anyone for his success. His compassion, however, was what surprised you most. He spent his weekends teaching art classes at a local youth center, his eyes lighting up as he helped kids discover their own creativity.

“They’ve got so much potential,” he said once, his voice filled with quiet pride. “They just need someone to believe in them.”

It was clear that he poured himself into everything he did, whether it was a painting, a lesson, or simply spending time with you.

One evening, he invited you to his studio after hours. The space was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of paint and turpentine.

“I want to show you something,” he said, guiding you to the center of the room where a large canvas stood covered by a cloth.

With a dramatic flourish, he pulled the cloth away, revealing a breathtaking painting. It was you—your pose, your expression, every detail captured with such tenderness that it felt like staring into a mirror of your soul.

“Is that… me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, his gaze steady. “It’s not just you,” he said softly. “It’s how I see you. Strong, radiant… inspiring.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

“It’s beautiful,” you said finally, your voice thick with emotion.

“So are you,” he replied, his lips curling into a small, genuine smile.

There was no grand confession, no dramatic moment where everything changed. Instead, your relationship grew in quiet, unspoken ways. The way he brought you coffee when you visited his studio. The way he asked for your opinion on his work, genuinely valuing your thoughts. The way his hand would brush against yours when he passed you a sketchbook, his touch lingering just a second too long.

One day, as you sat together in the park where you’d first met, he turned to you, his eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite name.

“You know,” he said, his voice low, “I’m not sure I’d be able to do this without you.”

“Do what?” you asked, tilting your head.

“Create,” he replied simply. “You make it… easier to believe in myself.”

You smiled, your heart fluttering at his honesty. “I think you’d do just fine on your own.”

“Maybe,” he said, his gaze never leaving yours. “But I don’t want to.”

—Bestfriend!jayce

The two of you had been inseparable for as long as you could remember. From elementary school to your final year of high school, your lives had been stitched together with countless shared moments—late-night study sessions, chaotic group projects, and lazy afternoons spent at the local diner. You were the grounded one, the planner, while he was the dreamer.

He was everything you admired in a person: ambitious, creative, and unrelentingly passionate about making the world a better place. Whether he was organizing a charity event for the school or advocating for a greener campus, he didn’t just talk about change—he embodied it.

“Alright, hear me out,” he said one afternoon as you sat in your favorite spot in the school library. His voice was alive with energy, his words spilling out faster than you could process them.

You glanced up from your notes, already bracing yourself. “This is going to be another one of your big ideas, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” he said with a grin. “It’s what I do best.”

He leaned forward, spreading out a sketchbook filled with colorful doodles and bold handwriting. Each page was a mix of blueprints, campaign slogans, and notes for an initiative he wanted to pitch to the student council.

“I’m telling you, if we can pull this off, it could really make a difference. We could partner with local businesses, raise money for community programs, and even involve the younger students—”

“You’re going a hundred miles an hour again,” you interrupted gently, a smile tugging at your lips.

“Not when I’m onto something good,” he replied without missing a beat.

That was him in a nutshell: a whirlwind of ideas and determination, always moving forward. It was both inspiring and exhausting to keep up with him, but somehow, you always did.

For all his big ideas and boundless enthusiasm, he had a softer side too—a side he reserved just for you.

One Friday night, he showed up outside your house, honking his car horn until you came outside in your pajamas.

“What are you doing?” you hissed, glancing around to make sure your neighbors weren’t watching.

“Get in,” he said with a grin, leaning out of the driver’s side window. “I need your opinion on something.”

“You’re insane,” you muttered, but you climbed into the passenger seat anyway.

He drove to a quiet hill on the outskirts of town, parking near an old tree you’d both claimed as “your spot” years ago. He pulled out a notebook from his bag and handed it to you.

“These are my ideas for the youth outreach program,” he said. “I need to know if I’m being too ambitious.”

You flipped through the pages, your heart warming as you saw the effort he’d poured into every word and sketch.

“This is incredible,” you said softly. “You’re not just ambitious—you’re inspiring. People are going to listen to you.”

He looked at you, his expression unreadable. “You really think so?”

“Always,” you said, your voice firm.

For a split second, you thought he might reach out to take your hand, but instead, he leaned back, staring up at the stars. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

After particularly grueling school days, he’d find you at your locker, holding out your favorite drink or snack without a word. When the stress of finals hit, he’d sit beside you in the library, quietly working through his own assignments while offering words of encouragement.

And then there were the moments when his usual confidence wavered.

“Do you think I’m crazy?” he asked one evening as you sat on the hood of his car, staring up at the stars.

The two of you had just spent hours planning his latest project, a school-wide fundraiser for a local shelter. Despite his ambitious plans, his voice was quieter now, almost hesitant.

“You? Crazy?” you teased, nudging him playfully. “Absolutely.”

He laughed softly, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t completely fade.

“Seriously, though,” he said, turning to you. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m aiming too high. Like, what if I can’t actually pull all this off? What if I fail?”

You reached out, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. “You won’t fail. You’re the most determined person I’ve ever met. And even if something doesn’t work out the way you planned, it doesn’t mean you failed. It just means you’re brave enough to try again.”

His gaze softened, and for a moment, the air between you felt heavier, charged with something unspoken.

“Thanks,” he said quietly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The moment lingered, and as he pulled back, his hands stayed on your shoulders. His gaze searched yours, and for the first time, you saw a vulnerability there that he usually kept hidden.

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this for a while now,” he began, his voice soft but steady.

Your breath caught. “What is it?”

“I don’t just care about you as a friend,” he admitted, his cheeks flushing slightly. “I mean, I do, but it’s more than that. You’ve always been my anchor, the one person who gets me, who believes in me even when I doubt myself.”

Your heart raced, the world narrowing down to just the two of you. “I think I’ve always felt the same way,” you said quietly.

Relief washed over his face, followed by a smile so genuine it made your chest ache.

“Then we’re in this together,” he said, reaching for your hand. “Like always.”

From that day on, your friendship transformed into something deeper, something stronger. His dreams grew bigger, but now, they weren’t just his—they were yours too. Together, you were unstoppable, a team bound by shared passion and a love that had been years in the making.

Whether it was planning for college or brainstorming ways to change the world, one thing was certain: with him by your side, anything felt possible.

—Enemies to lovers!viktor and reader

From the moment the new kid transferred to your school, it was as if the universe had dropped a puzzle piece into the wrong spot. He was a contradiction: introverted yet razor-sharp in class discussions, quiet but with an undercurrent of passion that seemed to burst through in unexpected moments. His snarky comebacks and aloof demeanor were practically tailor-made to clash with your confident, no-nonsense approach to everything.

You couldn’t help but notice how he kept his distance from everyone else, often retreating to the farthest corner of the library or lab. Despite his unassuming presence, he somehow managed to infuriate you with his brilliance. Teachers fawned over him, classmates whispered about him, and you? You glared daggers at him every time he raised his hand in class to counter one of your arguments.

The first real confrontation happened in science class. It was a group project, and your teacher, in a cruel twist of fate, paired you with him.

“Great,” you muttered under your breath.

He barely glanced at you as he set down his notebook, already flipping through its pages. “It’s not my favorite pairing either, but let’s just get this done.”

His tone was clipped, and his eyes barely met yours.

“Oh, so we’re starting with passive-aggressive remarks? Good to know where we stand,” you shot back, folding your arms.

He sighed, finally looking at you. “Look, I don’t care if you like me or not. I care about getting an A on this project. If you want to argue, fine, but at least do it while we’re running the experiment.”

His bluntness took you off guard, and for a moment, you were speechless. But you quickly recovered, rolling your eyes. “Fine. But don’t think for a second I’m letting you take over.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he muttered under his breath, already scribbling in his notebook.

Working together was like a storm brewing in slow motion. You were both stubborn and headstrong, constantly butting heads over the smallest details.

“Why are you doing it that way?” you snapped one afternoon as he adjusted the settings on the experiment’s apparatus.

“Because it’s the correct way,” he replied without looking up.

“You didn’t even let me explain my idea!”

“Your idea would’ve blown up the circuit.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You don’t know that.”

“Let me guess—you’re the kind of person who thinks trial and error is the only way to learn?”

He finally turned to face you, a faint smirk playing at his lips “And you’re the kind of person who thinks you’re always right,”

The tension crackled like static electricity, but neither of you backed down.

It wasn’t until a late-night study session in the empty library that things started to shift. The project deadline was looming, and you’d reluctantly agreed to meet outside of school to finish your work.

He was unusually quiet that night, his usual snark absent as he stared intently at the data on his laptop.

“Hey,” you said, breaking the silence. “You okay?”

He hesitated, his fingers pausing on the keyboard. “Just tired. And frustrated. I want this to be perfect.”

Something in his tone softened your usual defensiveness. “You know, it doesn’t have to be perfect. You’re allowed to mess up sometimes.”

He gave a faint, humorless laugh. “Not really. Not when people are counting on me.”

The vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard. For the first time, you saw past the walls he’d built around himself—the pressure he carried, the weight of expectations.

“I didn’t realize you were dealing with so much,” you said quietly.

He glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “Why would you? We’ve been too busy trying to outsmart each other.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly. “Fair point. Maybe we should call a truce—for now.”

He smiled, just barely, and it was the first time you’d seen him let his guard down.

As the project progressed, the two of you started to find common ground. You discovered his love for science wasn’t just about theories and equations—it was about helping people.

“Why are you so passionate about this?” you asked one day as he carefully calibrated a piece of equipment.

He hesitated, then said, “Because I want to make a difference. I has a chronic illness, and I’ve spent years struggling with treatments that barely work. I want to change that for me, and for anyone else going through the same thing.”

His words hit you like a punch to the chest. You’d always thought of him as cold and detached, but now, you saw the fire that drove him.

“That’s… incredible,” you said softly.

He shrugged, his cheeks tinged with color. “It’s just what I care about. What about you? What drives you?”

You hesitated, caught off guard by the question. But as you opened up about your own dreams and ambitions, you realized something had shifted between you.

On the night before the project was due, you were sitting in his garage, putting the final touches on your presentation. It was late, and the two of you were running on caffeine and adrenaline.

“Here,” he said, handing you a mug of tea. “You’re going to burn out if you keep pushing yourself.”

“Look who’s talking,” you teased, taking the mug.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet hum of the garage filling the space.

“You’re not so bad, you know,” he said suddenly, his voice low.

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that your idea of a compliment?”

He smiled faintly, looking down at his hands. “I mean it. I’ve never met anyone who challenges me the way you do. It’s… refreshing.”

Your cheeks warmed, and you looked away, pretending to focus on the data. “Well, don’t get used to it. I’m not going easy on you just because you’re finally being nice.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less,” he said, and there was a softness in his tone that made your heart race.

[whor3ing]

𝑩𝒆𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔 | 𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝑺𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐

Chris Sturniolo!bf x f!reader

WARNINGS : smut, phone sex, FaceTime, tapping it on the screen, established relationship, lots of dirty talk, mutual masturbation, mentions of breeding! mentions of spitting (in mouth) usage of “slut”

╭────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╮

IN WHICH.. after a rough day and missing Chris while he’s away, What starts as playful teasing to cheer you up, quickly turns intense. Chris guides you through the heat of the moment, making the distance between you feel like nothing.

╰────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╯

second tumblr post! word count : 4.4k ♡

Any day without Chris' arms around you late at night felt like something was missing, similar to the last piece to a nearly finished puzzle, the one that had made everything click into place.

You'd gotten used to his warmth, the way his body seemed to fit against yours so perfectly, the steady beat of his heart slowly lulling you to sleep every night without fail. Being in his arms made you feel safe, loved, and wanted. With each breath, each beat of his heart, you felt your mind grow quiet and your body relax, as if each hum of his heart was him whispering "i love you' over and over.

You knew him going on this brand deal trip had been a good idea for the channel, and you knew that it had already been planned months in advance, but missing him was hard, and missing him was painful. It was only supposed to be a few days now, but each one seemed to drag on longer than the last and it made you relentlessly question if the clock was against you, if time moved slower than it actually did.

Just the night before he had left, his arms had been curled around you and you had been resting on top of his chest, his fingers combing through your hair. Everything had been perfect, everything had felt complete. But tonight, you were alone, and it felt like the quiet of the room echoed louder than it should.

Your day at work had been a full-on nightmare—endless tasks, long hours, all of it seemed to last forever. Every email you had sent felt as if it was another weight added onto your shoulders, and every conversation felt like it had drained every ounce of energy from you. Even now, the fluorescent lights of the office still lingered in your eyes, making your head throb with a dull ache.

Usually, you would come home to Chris, the soft sound of his voice greeting you, followed by his arms pulling you into a warm embrace. He would hold you close, put on a random film and snuggle into you, his hands always wandering to your thighs. He would rub his palms on them, cursing at how soft your skin was while smiling at you, and with that, he would lean in to kiss your forehead as you would drift off.

But tonight was different. The apartment was cold without him, the sheets of your shared bed empty and frigid.

With a sigh, you pick up your phone, swiping up to enter your password.

Your thumb hovers over Chris' name in your contacts; needing to hear his voice, needing him to somehow fill the empty space in your chest, the same emptiness lingering throughout the entire apartment.

Without thinking too much, you press call.

The phone rings only twice before Chris picks up and upon the first word he speaks, you can hear the smile in his voice, immediately warm and familiar.

"Hey, sweetheart, wasn't expecting you to call so early, what's up?"

Sinking into your bed, you let out a heavy sigh, letting your gaze drift upward to the ceiling fan, its quiet hum the only other noise in your quiet apartment.

"Hey," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper, the word catching in your throat. You clear your throat, trying to dislodge the lump that's formed there, and continue, "I needed to hear your voice, I miss you."

As the words leave your lips, you feel a slight tremble in your voice, something that your boyfriend, Chris would never dare to let slide.

There's a pause on the other end, and when he speaks again, his tone is softer, full of concern. "I miss you too, you alright, baby?"

You nod, even though he can’t see it, your eyes fluttering shut as you take in his warm voice. "Just… it’s been a rough day," you admit, curling into your blanket. "I can’t stop thinking about you, Chris. It’s so hard without you here."

You hear him chuckle from the other side of the phone, his voice still soft and concerned, "I wish I could be there with you right now. You know I’d make it all better, right?"

"I know," you murmur, your lips pursing. "I just miss everything about you. I miss your arms around me, I miss your smell."

He lets out a light, teasing laugh, cutting out slightly over the phone as he inhales afterward. "My smell, huh? Really, ma? You miss the way I smell?" He chuckles his laugh sweet, "You sure it’s not just my cologne you’re missing?"

You shake your head as he talks, sitting up and propping your back against your headboard, a smile finding its way onto your face. "No," you say pausing as you try to sound serious, "It's you. It's just you."

You smile as Chris lets out another laugh, his voice playful, "Well, well, aren’t you the romantic." He pauses, letting out another soft giggle. "You must really be going crazy without me, huh? Can’t even sleep without my scent on your pillow."

Without thinking you laugh, slapping your hand down onto your comforter as you giggle, "Shut up, it's not funny!"

"It’s a little funny," he teases, his voice husky. "There's that laugh I love," he murmurs.

His words settle in your chest, and a warmth spreading through you. "You’re ridiculous," the smile tugging at your lips as you talk. "But I missed you, I missed you so much."

"I know, baby, I miss you too," he murmurs, chuckling. "Maybe I should become a therapist, I should start charging you for daily sessions with how fast I brought that smile back."

You roll your eyes as you let out another small laugh, raising an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? What's the payment plan like? Not sure I can afford daily, maybe weekly."

"Depends," Chris pauses and there's a silence on the other end of the phone.

After a few seconds, a low chuckle leaves his lips. "You offering cash, or are we talking.. other forms of payment?"

You smile, licking your lips and leaning your head back to rest against the headboard. "Wow, so nasty of you to be talking like this when your brothers are god knows where."

You hear rustling for a moment over the phone before you hear Chris chuckle again, the sound absolutely adorable. "I may be a little dirty, but I'm still a gentleman," He whispers, his voice like velvet even despite the crackles of the air in the background as he speaks.

You can almost hear the heat in his voice and it burns you even through all of the distance, leaving tingles on your body as he continues, "Matt and Nick went out, some stupid costume store for a video idea. They're going to be gone for a while, and I have to admit, I'm kind of glad."

His voice drops to a low, husky tone, sending shivers down your spine. "I was thinking about you baby, and I couldn't focus on anything else."

You feel a warm blush rise to your cheeks as you hear his words through the phone, your pulse beating faster, so loud you can nearly hear it through your ears. "What were you thinking about?" You ask curiously, soft grin reaches your face and your hands begin to toy with themselves as you lay the phone on your lap to listen.

"I was thinking about how your breath hitches when I do that thing with my tongue, and how your fingers would dig into my back when I do that thing with my hands."

"How your back arches when I fuck you," He pauses, his voice exasperated. "When I tell you to keep looking me in the eyes while you take my cock in that dripping pussy of yours."

His words leave you breathless and full of desire. You can feel your face burning with heat, your nipples hardening against the fabric of your top with every word he speaks, as if his words are urging you to want him even more than you already do.

"Chris..." You whisper, his name barely audible over the sound of your own ragged breathing.

"Yeah, baby?"

"I want you," you finally manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. "I want you so bad, Chris."

"I want you, let me see you, baby," You hear him lick his lips, his breathing just as loud as yours. Turn on your camera, can I see your pretty face?"

You smile, pressing the familiar FaceTime button, and as the camera flickers to life, you adjust yourself to fit in frame, the soft light from your room casting a glow over your features, putting them on full display for him.

Chris' camera flutters to life soon after, you see him in the corner of the screen.

The first thing you notice is his hair, tousled and messy as if he's been running his fingers through it out of habit. The soft lights of his hotel room and the sunset outside of his window catch faint golden undertones onto his skin, making him look like an absolute dream.

His jawline catches the light when he shifts slightly to look closer at you, the shadow of his stubble visible to you as a grin forms at the corners of his mouth, a grin that's just for you.

He looks absolutely perfect, in fact, you weren't even sure how a person could manage to look that good during every second of the day until you had met him.

The most amazing part? He was all yours.

His voice pulls you back to reality, warm and teasing. "See something you like, or are you just gonna keep staring, baby?"

You roll your eyes, though the blush creeping up your neck betrays you. "Oh, please," you tease. "You’re the one who wanted to see me."

Chris leans a little closer to his screen, his piercing blue eyes sharpening as he takes you all in. His eyes travel over your frame, lingering for a moment before his lips part slightly, his voice dropping just a bit. "I mean, can you blame me? Look at you."

His eyes trail over you slowly, and then he pauses, his lips curling into a smirk. "Wait a second... Is that my shirt?"

You glance down, your fingers instinctively brushing over the soft fabric, the only thing you were wearing a side from your underwear, "What if it is?" you ask, arching a brow, trying to sound casual despite the sudden flutter of your pulse in your chest.

His laughter comes easy, warm and deep. "You’re unbelievable," he mutters, but there’s something softer behind his tone. "I was wondering where that went."

Relaxing a bit, Chris leans back slightly, running a hand through his hair, but his gaze never leaves you. When he speaks again his voice is soft but teasing, "You know, you wearing my shirt like that? It's not fair."

"Fair?" you repeat, tilting your head with a playful smile. "What’s not fair about it?"

Chris sighs, tugging at his hair,"The fact that I’m sitting here wishing I could take it off you myself."

"Maybe if you were here, I’d let you," you murmur, your eyes locked onto his.

"Don’t tease me like that, baby." You watch as his tongue licks around his lips, his eyes laced with desire, "You know I’d do it in a heartbeat."

"Who’s teasing?" you reply softly, your fingers toying with the hem of the shirt. There’s a moment of silence, charged with electricity, before you meet his gaze again. "What if I took it off right now?"

Chris’s breath hitches audibly, his confidence momentarily faltering as his eyes darken. "Don’t say that if you don’t mean it," he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

Adrenaline and desire course through you as you slowly lift the hem of the shirt, just enough to tease him, right below your breasts, allowing them to peek out, just a little bit. His reaction is immediate—his eyes are glued to the screen, his jaw falling open as he takes in the sight of you. .

"Your turn," you say softly, smiling as you tease him. Your hands reach up to rub at your tits, the hem just covering your nipples.

Within an instant, Chris shuffles slightly letting the camera fall to the side of the bed. You hear the sound of fabric sliding against his skin and a moment later, he picks up the phone resting it on top of his stomach, one of his arms behind his head as he props it up to see you rubbing your tits for him.

Suddenly, he angles the camera even further down, revealing a very obvious bulge in his boxers. His boxers are tight against his cock and you feel yourself nearly drool as the outline of his hard dick is directly on display in front of you, straining against the fabric.

You watch as his fingers trail over the waistband of his boxers, teasing you just as much as you’ve been teasing him. He’s still staring at you, waiting for your next move.

Your hands move instinctively, pulling your shirt off, your tits falling out from underneath his shirt. You reach over, letting it fall to the side of the bed as you arch your back slightly, giving him a better view, as your fingertips trail across your bare chest. His eyes seem to devour you from the screen, and you know he’s getting just as impatient as you are.

You drag your fingers down your body, feeling the slight shiver of anticipation in your fingertips. The way his eyes stay locked on you makes your pulse race faster, a part of you already craving him even more. You glance, making sure he’s watching as your hand moves lower, slipping down to rub against your thighs, just as he would if he were with you.

His breath hitches as you continue rubbing yourself, the sound of his voice a low growl in your ears, even with the static from the call.

"God, you're so fucking beautiful."

His breath is hoarse as you see his hand slide down his body, down his abs as he rubs them for you through the phone, just as you would.

"I want you to take those panties off, please baby. Let me see all of you."

His words stir something deep inside you, and without thinking twice, you push your pants down, dragging them past your thighs, over your hips. Your heart races as you make sure he’s watching, feeling the weight of his gaze as you slowly expose yourself to him, piece by piece, just like a puzzle.

His eyes glisten as he watches you take them off, his mouth open, full of drool as you open your legs for him, placing the camera directly in front of your pussy.

"God, fuck. You're so fucking wet."

His words send shivers down your spine as you feel your body heat up, the anticipation of what's to come making your heart race. You watch him on the screen, his hand still rubbing his abs, his eyes locked on the camera pointed at your pussy.

"I want you to touch yourself, show me how much you want me," he murmurs as his hands slide further down his body. He smiles, angling the camera right below his bulge as he begins to rub on his v-line.

With instinct, your right hand slides up your body slowly. Your hands slide against your thighs, your stomach, all the way up to your mouth where you silently spit into your hand.

Your hand slides back down your body, your fingertips brushing against your needy clit, so wet and so wanting.

"Wish I was there, my god.. I would spit in that beautiful mouth and make you use that to rub yourself," he murmurs. Your eyes stay trained on his and on his body as he slides his boxers down, his cock springing out from under them.

His words are like a drug to you, making you even more aroused. You moan into the phone, your breath coming in short gasps. Your eyes follow his cock as he spits onto his hand in the same way, his hand sliding to hold the base of his cock.

With a small chuckle, he positions his phone to be right below it. You can see how big he is, how thick he is. He smiles, leaning his cock forward gently to tap it directly onto the camera.

The head of his cock hits the camera with a loud thud three times, you can hear how hard he is.

"Do you like what you see, baby?" he asks, his voice low and seductive as his cock stands straight up, his fingers beginning to slowly stroke against his rigid shaft.

“Do you like it when I slap this dick on this camera for you, just like how I should be slapping it against your clit while I make you cum for me with my fingers.”

He continues to tease you, slowly stroking his cock as he talks dirty to you. "I bet you wish you were here with me, don't you? Feeling my hot cum on your tongue."

His words cause you to rub your clit even faster, your hands diving into your wet folds as you watch him stroke himself.

He leans in closer to the camera, his cock just inches from the lens.

"Mmm, you're such a dirty girl, aren't you?"

He moans, biting on his lips as he watches you pleasure yourself to him. "You love watching me jerk off over the phone for you, don't you?"

He gives a slight thrust of his hips, his cock twitching in his hand. "I bet you'd love to taste it, wouldn't you? To have my cock in your mouth, down your throat, choking on it as I fuck your face."

You moan, murmuring yes a thousand times as you rub your puffy wet pussy for him, your breath hitching every second with just how good he makes you feel.

"Take your fingers and slide them into your wet pussy, baby," he moans out, his hand working magic on his cock as he strokes it even faster for you.

You can see so much precum, so much of his spit running down the sides of it with every stroke he makes. You can't help but wish that it was your spit, that his precum was deep down your throat, and looking at him, that's all you can think about.

You wish you could run your tongue against the shaft of his dick, you wish his hand could be replaced with yours. You wish it was your mouth he was fucking into instead of his hand, wishing that it was your pussy making him feel that divine.

He groans as he sees you slide your fingers inside of your pussy, smiling with his tongue over his teeth as he sees you begin to finger yourself.

You moan softly, arching your back as you push your fingers deeper into your wetness. You glance down at the phone, watching his eyes follow your every move. You can see the lust in his gaze, the desire to be with you right now.

"Oh fuck," he breathes, his voice thick with need. "I wish I was there with you."

The tip of his cock swells, his shaft hard and rigid, just aching for you, and his hand immediately picks up the pace on his cock as he imagines that your fingers inside of you is his cock instead, fucking you so deep.

"I want to fuck you so bad," he whispers, voice strained with desire. "I want to feel your tight pussy wrapped around my cock, milking me dry."

He groans, his hips thrusting forward as if he could push his cock through the screen and into you, if only it were that simple.

"I want to breed you," he whispers, his voice thick with desire as he pumps his cock with his hand, stroking it so good for you. "I want to fill your pretty pussy with my cum and make a baby with you."

“tell me you want that”

You gasp, your fingers only moving faster at the mention of having his cum inside of you, spilling out onto your thighs. "Oh god, yes Chris, I want you to breed me.” you moan, slipping your fingers out of your warmth to rub at your swollen clit again in large circles.

You can hear him taking deep breaths on the other end of the line, trying to control his voice from faltering as he rapidly strokes his cock for you. "I wish I was there with you," he says again, his voice strained.

"I would cum inside you, I would cum in you and then I would finger that pussy and rub it all over that wet clit," he moans in the middle of his talking, his voice coming out as if it was meant to be a whine.

You can feel your orgasm building, your fingers moving faster and faster on your clit as you moan louder. You moan, reaching your other hand down to finger yourself at the same exact time, "Oh god, I'm going to come, Chris please come with me," you gasp, your voice breaking.

It's as if you can almost feel him with you, his hands on your thighs holding them for you as he watches you come undone.

“No, slut. Hold it for me,” he coos suddenly.

You gasp out exasperated, your mouth quivering as you slow down your pace, trying to hold yourself together. You want to come so bad for Chris, you want to soak your sheets and scream out his name.

But he won’t let you.

You look at him pleadingly, he can see you so exposed so vulnerable as you look at him, pleading with your eyes.

“Aw, does my baby want to cum for me?” Chris’ voice is soft, as he spits into his hand, his hand slimy and wet as he slides it back onto his cock, rubbing it so fast for you.

You can hear him grunt as he urges you to continue, “I didn’t tell you to slow down. Rub that pussy, now.”

Obeying, your hands find your clit again and you rub your wetness in circles, his eyes never leaving you, moving from your cunt to your face to your tits and back again.

Your legs shake as your movements urge you closer to release, your pussy clenching, begging for his cock inside of you.

Chris nods at you, his voice whiney, “Oh fuck, ma. Oh god, put your fingers back in there for me.”

You whimper as your fingers enter you once again. Staring at his cock, you imagine that instead, it’s him entering you. Chris fucking your pussy so good, Chris in front of you pounding you into the bed.

He lets out a moan, his cock making you salivate and his noises driving you insane with how badly you crave him.

Within an instant, Chris can’t seem to hold himself anymore and instead of denying you like he loves, he’s too close to make you beg anymore.

"Come for me baby," he groans, struggling to keep his eyes open to look at you. "Come all over your pretty hands for me, yes.. God yes."

“Please, Chris,” you whimper, your voice pleading, desperate to come with him, “I need you… I need to feel you.."

"Show me how much you need me, do it slut," he moans, stroking faster. "Show me baby, let me watch you."

Chris leans forward, his lips parted as he breathes your name, his hand still gripping the phone tightly, positioning it so he can see you, and you can see him.

You move your fingers faster, harder, needing that release more than anything else. You hear him do the same, his hand moving faster, each stroke pushing him closer to his ownrelease.

"Come on, baby," he urges, his voice a low growl. "Let go for me. I want to see you fall apart, tell me you want my come.”

“I want you to come, Chris. Please come for me,” you murmur as your body starts to convulse.

You feel your whole body tense with his words, your back arching as the pleasure rips through you, your hands nearly dropping the phone as you finally come for him.

You're lost in the moment, unable to think, unable to do anything but gasp for air, your hand still between your legs as your body quivers, waiting and watching for Chris to come for you.

As promised, Chris follows right behind you, his moans louder than before, and you can hear the sound of him finishing, his voice raw with release and raw with pleasure. You watch as his come drips from the tip of his cock, begging to be licked up.

On the other end of the screen, Chris collapses back onto his bed, laying fully down, his face flushed and his hair messy, his cum all over his stomach.

"Well… that was definitely worth the wait," he murmurs, his voice warm and affectionate. "God, I wish I could kiss you, baby."

You smile to yourself, your heart fluttering at his words. "I wish you could too, Chris," you whisper back, "Come back soon, I'm dying without you here."

"Just a few more days, my love. I promise." He smiles, messing with his hair as he smiles at you. "And when I get back, I’ll take you out, wherever you want to go. Maybe a fancy dinner… or," he pauses, giving you a sly grin, "we could go somewhere more fun, like an amusement park. Y'know, so I can win you a giant teddy bear."

You can’t help but laugh at the image of him winning you a stuffed animal, and you playfully roll your eyes. "An amusement park? Really?" you tease, "You’re gonna win me a stuffed bear?"

"Yeah, absolutely. I’ll win you the biggest one, just so you can carry it around everywhere and make everyone jealous." His smile widens, a grin too big for his face. "And then, we’ll ride all the roller coasters, just to make sure you’re holding onto me the whole time."

He chuckles, throwing his head back at his own remarks.

He makes a soft kiss sound as he continues,"hey, I’m just trying to make sure you don’t fly off the ride. Somebody’s gotta keep you safe, right?" You roll your eyes, smiling at how adorable he is.

"And I think you’d be holding onto me for more reasons than just the ride."

You raise an eyebrow, your heart racing a little as you grin back at him. "Is that so?" you tease a serious undertone to your voice. "Well, maybe I’ll just hold on tight to you then, but only if you win me that bear."

"I'm gonna win you the biggest damn bear you've ever seen."

i love my cutie endings, thank you so much for reading! sorry for any writing mistakes

if anyone has any requests and likes my style of writing, please please lmk! I have lot of free time and am trying to come up with more ideas for scenarios ♡

.ೃ࿐ rafe smut fic "gods & monsters" : finished

ೃ࿐ chratt fics (dealers & tutors) : next up

[ka1rin]

“I need you, meine liebe.”

michael kaiser x fem!reader

m-dni! - mutual m*sturbation / phone s*x / uncensored words.

Michael Kaiser, your loving, caring boyfriend who feels like a dream come true. He spoils you with everything you could ever want: Birkin bags in every color, plushies so soft they feel like clouds, bouquets of your favorite flowers delivered just because, and even surprises that leave you speechless.

He knows all your favorite things , the little quirks that make you happy. He remembers how your eyes light up at limited-edition collectibles or how your heart melts at handwritten notes hidden in unexpected places.

But there’s one thing he rarely gives you, no matter how much you crave it. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he can’t.

Kaiser is a busy man — an athlete with a demanding schedule. There are nights when he gets home so late that you’re already fast asleep, and days when he has to travel to faraway places for games. Despite this, he never fails to make you happy, even during the rough patches in your relationship.

Whether it’s a heartfelt call, thoughtful gifts, or handwritten letters, he always finds a way to remind you how much he cares. But there’s one need that can’t be fulfilled through calls, gifts, or letters alone.

While Kaiser was far away — in Japan, specifically, for a few months training for an important tournament he still found time to call you. His voice, warm and familiar, filled the lonely silence of your room as you answered, the time difference making it either early morning or late at night for one of you.

"Hey," he said, his tone soft but tinged with a certain breathiness. You could tell he was exhausted, likely from his intense games.

"Micha, why’d you call?" you asked, curious. You were certain it was late in Japan. "You must be tired from playing. I saw your game against Manshine. You were amazing, as always."

A low, tired chuckle came through the receiver. "Mhm, thank you, liebe," he replied, his voice unsteady, as though he was preoccupied with something.

"It’s late there, Micha. You should sleep," you said gently, concern softening your tone.

"Y-yeah, it is. I—" He paused, and you could hear his uneven breathing, the sound oddly labored. You frowned slightly, your thoughts running wild with worry.

And then, a strained whimper slipped from him, one that made your stomach twist in confusion.

"Micha? Are you okay?"

He groaned softly; the noise unmistakably needy. "I miss y-you so fuuucking badly," he finally confessed, his words shaky and raw.

The line went quiet for a beat, except for his faint whines and sharp intakes of breath. That’s when you realized—this wasn’t just about being tired. He was yearning for you, aching in a way that distance couldn’t ease. You could almost picture him, running a hand through his messy hair, his lips parted as he wrestled with his longing for you.

"Micha, what are you doing?" you asked, your voice now laced with a mix of amusement and exasperation.

"Thinking about you," he admitted, his tone dropping into something deeper, a little rougher. "It’s so hard not to, liebe. I need you so much right now."

That’s when it hit you — he needed you so badly, and you needed him just as much.

"P-please, keep talking, meine Liebe. I need to hear your voice sooo fucking badly," he said, his voice dripping with desperation.

A shiver ran down your spine at the raw longing in his tone. You felt the heat pooling between your thighs, and your breath hitched. You needed to be touched — so badly it almost hurt.

Your hand instinctively started to trail downward, crawling its way to your wet core, seeking the relief you craved.

"M-Micha... mhm— I miss you too, my love," you whispered, your voice trembling as your hand worked its way lower. You couldn’t help yourself, touching where you needed it most.

Through the phone, you could hear his soft, breathy moans, and it sent a jolt of heat through you. Fuck, it turned you on so badly.

"F-fuck… I wish it was your hand stroking me right now, r-rather than mine," Kaiser groaned, his voice breaking with desperation. "S-shit—"

Your breath hitched as he turned on his camera, the screen filling with the sight of his toned chest glistening with a faint sheen of sweat, his head thrown back in pure ecstasy. Oh fuck, you thought, biting your lip. He looked so unbearably hot.

The sound of his labored breathing spurred you on, and your hand moved faster, drawing louder, needier moans from your lips.

Then, with a shaky hand, Kaiser switched the camera to the back view. Your eyes widened as the screen revealed his large, throbbing cock, his hand moving up and down its length in perfect rhythm. The pretty rose tattoo on his wrist flexed with every stroke, making the sight even more intoxicating.

"M-Micha, I'm so close... Fuck!" you moan, your voice trembling as the heat in your core builds to an unbearable peak. Your body arches instinctively, each wave of pleasure pulling you closer to the edge. The tension coils tighter and tighter, your breaths coming in short, desperate pants as you feel your release rapidly approaching.

"I-I'm so close too, baby-oh, shit!" he groaned, voice thick with desperation. His hand worked faster, the slick glide of his strokes emphasizing his urgency. Pre-cum glistened at his tip, dripping steadily as his cock twitched, every pulse a telltale sign of how close he was. His breathing grew ragged, each gasp and moan echoing the intensity building between you.

Then, suddenly, a wave of pleasure crashes over both of you, leaving you breathless. "Micha!" you cry out, your voice mixing with his. "Y/N-fuck!" he groans, his head tipping back as his body trembles. Your pussy clenches as your release washes over you, a creamy white liquid spilling out and dripping down.

On the screen, you see his cock twitching, thick spurts of cum spilling from his tip, coating his hand as he continues to stroke himself slowly, riding out his high.

"F-fuck... I really missed you, Micha," you murmur, your voice soft but still shaky.

"Mhm—I miss you even more, liebe," he replies, his tone low and possessive.

"'l’ll make sure to fuck you real badly when I get home. I promise" His words send another wave of heat coursing through your body, making you ache for him even more.

he better keep his promise ;)

(note: I did not proofread this)

[mrsmangi]

past life - luigi mangione

♡ summary: luigi has never dreamed, but one night he finds you—familiar in a way he can't fathom. the dream of you blurs reality and fiction, leaving him yearning for more. ♡ w.c.: 1.6k ♡ a/n: hi. this is my first luigi fic. i was inspired by the post of luigi that has been going around about how moles are where your past lovers have once kissed you. i had to write something about it. enjoy!

—

Luigi does not dream. It’s a strange phenomena to him–one that draws his lower lip between his teeth and nibbles until the taste of blood floods his mouth. His friends are always telling him about their dreams: ones that are frightening, some exhilarating, others that are lustful. Dreams are illogical, irrational, and confusing.

There has never been an instance in Luigi’s life that he has been inherently ungrateful that dreams do not come to him in his slumber. He has other things to focus on: school, his family, his friends. Plenty of things keep him busy on a day-to-day business. Dreams are no fuss, but even he has to admit: when his friends are recalling their dreams to him, with stars in their eyes, he wonders if he’s missing out on something. That’s what bothers him.

He ponders it for hours at a time. Why doesn’t he dream? When he sleeps, why is he pulled into a vast pit of nothingness? He’s done his research, but it all just points him to the same direction: difficulty sleeping properly. But how? He’s done everything right: he gets 8 hours of sleep a day, wakes up in the morning without trouble, and feels properly rested each time. What is he missing?

Lack of REM sleep and fucked memory recollection just can’t be it.

Remembering your dreams can’t be distilled down to a science, but there are some tips you can try–

“Bullshit,” he groans tiredly, tilting his head back and dragging a hand down his face. With a sigh, he shuts his laptop and begins to prepare himself for bed. In the shower, it annoys him. As he brushes his teeth, gazing at his face, it annoys him. When he’s finally beneath the warm sheets of his bed, he is exasperated. As he falls asleep that night, Luigi’s thoughts drift into a thoughtless abyss and sleep overcomes him.

–

Something shifts that night in Luigi’s slumber. He can feel it in his bones, in his head that pulses with pain. He lets out an uncomfortable noise, shifting in bed. He suddenly becomes aware of the bed he’s in: one that doesn’t feel like his own.

There’s a soft linen beneath him, the kind he can’t imagine buying because it’s too expensive to afford, but somehow there it is. The smell of the sheets is faint, not entirely familiar, but not unpleasant. A little floral and musk, like the lingering scent of perfume.

The bed creaks and he feels himself stiffen. There’s someone beside him.

He wants to open his eyes, but his body won’t allow him. He really wishes it would because there’s a stranger in his bed (or is this his bed?). He feels the soft pressure of their arm against his own and hears the soft hum of their breath.

“Luigi.”

The sound of it is so clear, like a bell ringing out, and he realizes, even in his paralyzed state, it sounds different on this stranger’s lips than it ever has on anyone else’s. It’s quiet. It’s intimate. A tenderness he’s never quite known. If he could, he thinks he would laugh, but all he does is pause, stunned to a place that rests between awe and disbelief.

He’s dreaming. This is finally it. He’s dreaming and he knows it.

The air is thick around him, heavy with silence until they break it once more.

“Luigi,” they repeat, this time a bit louder, more insistent. It sounds like a girl. Her voice is warm and soft and so close–he feels like he could lean into her and let himself fall.

His eyes finally flutter open.

The first thing he sees is your smile. You’re looking at him with a calm, knowing expression. The sunlight catches your eyes as it slips through the cracks of your curtains. The room is bathed in the early morning light, the kind that makes everything look softer and unreal.

As he drinks in your appearance, Luigi is sure he’s never met you before. Your skin glows in the slanted light, a golden stripe drapes across half your face down to your bare neck.

It’s the oddest thing. He doesn’t question any of it as your smile softens and grows. The kind of smile he could never find himself deserving of, but somehow he’s found it anyway. Then, you lean in, pressing two soft kisses to each of his cheeks. One after the other–each more tender than the last. Your lips peck his cheek beneath his left eye, and linger further down when you bring them to the right side of his face, near the curve of his cheekbone.

At this gesture, he can’t help himself. He stares at you as though you’ve just grown two heads.

You laugh softly and melodically, as if his bewilderment is the most natural thing in the world.

“Luigi,” you say, playfully. “You’re staring.”

“I–,” he starts, voice catching in his throat, but you shake your head, still smiling.

“You should get used to this, you know,” you tease, rolling to your side. The blankets shift away from your body and your bare back is revealed to him. You stretch lazily, and he can’t find it in himself to look away. He watches you, transfixed. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You pause, crossing your arms over your chests to cover your breasts. You look over your shoulder at him, hair glowing in the light like a halo. “Except to make us breakfast,” you grin and lean over once more to quickly peck his lips. You push yourself off the bed and pick up a plain white tee, previously discarded, from the ground, throwing it over your head. It fits you, just a bit too big, covering your body. He vaguely realizes it's his.

“Breakfast?” he murmurs. The word feels foreign on his tongue, as he attempts to piece together the pieces of a puzzle he can’t recall beginning.

“Yes, breakfast,” you reply, laughing again. You make your way to his side of the bed and place, yet again, another loving kiss to his forehead. The entire motion feels so natural, so lived-in, that he swears this isn’t the first time. It can’t be, but he doesn’t even know your name.

“Unless you’re planning to keep staring at me all day,” you call over your shoulder as you make your way to the door.

I might, he thinks and he startles himself. That doesn’t sound like himself, at all. Before he can say anything, though, before he can make sense of any of it, the room begins to fade. The light dims, you’ve walked out the door and your voice is growing distant, and he feels himself slipping away. He’s being pulled into something more uncertain than this.

He’s waking up. Panic sets in, but before he can get up to follow you, it’s too late.

–

He awakes with a sharp gasp, chest heaving and back aching. His heart pounds erratically, thrumming against his ribcage frantically, while a dull sting blooms in his chest. A longing he doesn’t fully understand settles in the pit of his stomach.

When he looks around the room, he’s certain that it’s his own, but it feels colder, heavier, emptier. His blinds are drawn shut, no traces of sunlight slip through to warm his face.

He sits up slowly, hands gripping the sheets as he attempts to ground himself. His cheeks burn faintly, and he swears he can still feel it–the plush of your lips.

Luigi feels his breathing become uneven as he swings his legs over the edge of his bed. The cool floor beneath his feet jolts him into wakefulness. Something inside him screams–check, see, know. With great rendition, he stumbles out of the room, his steps unsteady but urgent. His mind chases phantom traces of his dream–the very first dream he’s ever remembered–as if he can catch it before it vanishes from his grasp completely.

When he reaches the bathroom, his hand trembles as he flicks on the light. The stark, fluorescent glow floods the confined space, and for a moment he’s blinded. Then, he steps forward but hesitates, afraid of what he might, or might not, find. Shaking his head, he leans over the sink, his gaze meeting his reflection.

His face stares back at him, disheveled and familiar, but he doesn’t look away. He stares at himself with an intensity he’s never felt before. Eyes dark and searching himself, darting over every inch of his face–his brows, furrowed; his cheekbones, sharp and shadowed in the harsh lighting; his wild curls of brown hair, tousled from his sleep. He scans himself for something–anything–that might prove what he felt was real.

His eyes trail lower, to the faint flush of his cheeks, and there, just beneath his right eye, is a small mole. His gaze lingers on it for a moment before shifting to the left side of his face, where the second one rests near the curve of his cheekbone. He lets out a sharp gasp, clutching the sink until his knuckles begin to lighten. Though he’s seen them a thousand times before, something about them feels different now, as if they’ve been marked. By you.

Something stirs in his chest, a sensation that’s warm and blazing. The flicker of a flame.

He doesn’t even realize how much he’s trembling until he releases the sink from his grasp, hands raising to touch his face. His fingertips brush over the spots where your lips pressed against his skin. The memory of your warmth lingers, faint but undeniable.

It sends a shiver through him–not from the chill of his bathroom, but from the inexplicable comfort it brings. His chest tightens as a soft, quivering breath escapes him.

“It couldn’t have been real,” he says aloud, softly, as if it could make the statement indisputably true. Still, the warmth that blooms beneath his fingers says otherwise.

For the first time in his life, Luigi feels the ache of what he’s been missing all along.