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chubby-bun-bun · 14 days ago

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untitled (part 6)

He helps you deal with a problem in his own thoughtful way—unconventional (and illegal) it may be.

nav: one, two, three, four, five, six (current) or: read on ao3

tags: sylus x reader, an au where you're an average citizen, slow burn, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, mentions of death, descriptions of a panic attack, problem-solving the n109 zone way

There’s nothing quite like dragging someone into your nonsense—especially when they always let you get away with it.

After that impromptu Frostlight holiday hangout, the long-overdue coat-and-sweater handover felt far less nerve-wracking, even during the meetups that followed. Over the past few weeks, you’ve managed to whisk the busy fruit vendor away to some of the most random spots the city has to offer.

Sometimes, your plans are scenic: the aquarium, park strolls, cozy cafes, trendy restaurants, and curated museums. Other times, they’re chaos incarnate: amusement park rides, escape rooms, and that one rage room session sparked by your urge to send your manager to the afterlife. While Sylus’ schedule frequently takes him out of the city doing whatever it is that in-demand fruit vendors do, you’ve come to appreciate the effort he puts into showing up whenever he can.

(You’re yet to successfully pay for anything. No matter how sneaky you try to be with the waiters and cashiers, he always seems to be one step ahead, swiping his card before you can even reach for yours.)

Funny enough, the more time you spend together, the less you view him through rose-tinted glasses. You've grown to look past his conventional looks and genuinely enjoy his company—especially his deadpan tendencies and razor-sharp wit. That doesn’t mean you’ve stopped obsessing over your appearance before hanging out with him, though. You still agonize over your outfit, fuss over your hair, and polish every detail you can catch in the mirror before stepping out of the house. You can’t help it. But in many ways, you’ve also grown comfortable enough to be yourself around him and bother him with your shenanigans.

Like so.

[You] You sent fruit man a link. [You] let’s go ୧(•ᴗ•)୨ [fruit man] Now why would a kitten go to a cat cafe? [fruit man] Visiting your colony mates? [You] because i said so [You] LETS GO

And so, here you are at the cat café you frequent, gently petting the resident caracal you've grown so fond of.

The café staff often marvel at how calm he is with you, noting that while he doesn't harm anyone, he tends to hiss at every guest and employee. No one else seems to have managed to break through his haughty exterior like you have. Now, the giant feline is practically putty in your arms, its massive paws kneading biscuits into your thankfully jean-covered thighs.

You tell Sylus as much, smugly stroking its floppy ears.

“Well aren’t you comfortable?” he drawls, glancing at the cat.

“He sure is!” you coo, planting a big, fat kiss on its fluffy head.

You miss the way he narrows his eyes at the feline. “Your drink’s getting cold,” he says, pointing at your neglected cup on the table. “Shouldn’t you finish it while it’s warm?”

You hold the caracal’s face, its big, round eyes tugging at your heartstrings. “Yup!”

You continue cooing at the cat, massaging its ears. Sylus scowls.

“This café seems to have quite the selection of pastries,” he comments airily, head tilted back as he skims through the barely readable menu above the counter. “Do you have any recommendations?”

That perks you up, snapping your gaze back to him and pausing your petting. “I think they have some seasonal goods this time of the year! I’ll take a look for you. Stay here.”

With that, you get up, sneak in another scratch under the big furball's chin, and take your leave. Once you’re out of earshot, Sylus smirks at the cat, who hisses at him.

“Know your place, little one.”

He’s met with another discontented hiss.

As your eyes trace the elegant cursive of the overhead menu board, you absently note the familiar chime of the café door. Your focus flits from brownies to croissants, savory dishes to frothy lattes, until a featured seasonal s’mores cookie catches your attention. Your mouth waters. Maybe Sylus would like this?

The decision is cut short when you’re abruptly shoved against the counter, the edge biting into your abdomen. A sharp yelp escapes you as pain blooms, forcing your palm to press against the throbbing spot. Rattled, you spin around.

“Excuse me—“

The words die on your tongue.

Standing before you is a man in a crisp white button-up, the sleeves rolled neatly above his forearms. He must be important—if the expensive-looking suit jacket draped over his shoulder is anything to go by.

But it’s not the over-gelled hair, the tacky accent color of his suit pieces, his inability to use his inside voice in a small café, nor his apparent lack of spatial awareness that has you frozen in place.

This is the guy that killed your family.

You're sure of it.

You can’t be mistaken. How can you be mistaken?

That smirk—cocky and insufferable—has been seared into your memory since the day you sat in that cramped police room, papers shaking in your hands as his lawyer delivered their settlement offer. You’ve never fully remembered the details of that day, but the sinister curl of his lips as he shook your hand would haunt you till the day you die.

He’s talking. Laughing. With a woman at his side and a man on the other. Maybe they’re his colleagues? You’re not sure.

You’re going to be sick.

Ears ringing, you hold a hand out as you move to the café’s door. The dull gleam of the sun registers faintly, along with the jagged pattern of the sidewalk bricks and the discarded, empty cup beneath a bush. As you stumble outside, the cool air bites sharply, unforgiving against your exposed skin.

Then you’re in the alley, doubled over by the dumpster, heaving until there’s nothing left but bile and ragged breaths.

What are you doing?

You know time doesn't stop. It never has, and it never will—not even in the face of mortal loss. The world doesn’t get to pause for your grief; people will still go to work, teachers will still hold their classes, the sun will still rise, and people will still find joy and laughter in their everyday lives. Death is inevitable and universal. Some face it sooner, some in ways more cruel than others—but in the end, it claims everyone.

You know this. You know this.

So why does it feel like your graduation day all over again?

You don’t know how long you’ve been hunched over, knees and palms pressing painfully against the rough concrete. Gradually, the ringing in your ears begins to subside, and you slowly discern the distant garble of words behind you and the grounding hold on your back.

“...You’re okay. I’m here, sweetie. Come back to me. You're okay.”

Large, calloused hands cradle your jaw with careful tenderness, gently guiding you to meet a pair of worried scarlet eyes. The moment your unfocused gaze regains some semblance of clarity, he lets out a slow exhale, the cold air puffing around him.

“There you are,” he murmurs, smiling slightly.

“...Sylus?”

He traces a finger along your cheek. “Did something happen?”

The spell breaks, and a wave of heat rises up your neck as you finally register your form on the ground, your unpleasant mess just beside you. Worse, you’ve inconvenienced him. And for what? For some overreaction to a man you had already agreed to settle things with?

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” you say with a shaky laugh, trying to push yourself up. But your knees give way, and you collapse back onto the ground. Shuddering from the impact of the cold, wet concrete, you flash him an embarrassed smile. “I, uh, might need a few more moments.”

Without a word, he lifts you by the armpits, a startled squeak escaping you as he effortlessly cradles you in his arms. He gently guides you to sit on one solid bicep, then scoops up your fallen bag with his free hand. You instinctively wrap your arms around his neck.

“Wait—”

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” he says as he begins his trek toward his parked SUV. “You’re not obligated to explain yourself to anyone.”

Your breath catches. He opens the door to the passenger seat and carefully lowers you onto the plush leather. Leaning down, he meets your gaze, his forearm resting on the roof’s edge.

“But know that you don’t deserve to have your feelings or experiences downplayed—especially not by yourself.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

Sylus settles into the driver's seat, the engine purring to life as he starts the drive, presumably toward your house. He must be thinking that a familiar, comforting place would be best for you right now.

A wave of guilt washes over you for cutting your time together short, especially since you were really looking forward to surprising him with that s’mores cookie. But the words won’t come, lodged tight in your throat.

By the time you reach your neighborhood, the sky has darkened. Just as he pulls up, ready to open his door, you reach out, placing your hand on his forearm.

"Sylus, I..."

Your voice falters.

To your surprise, he takes your hand in his, his fingers brushing over yours in a gentle caress. He doesn’t rush you. No hint of impatience. Just a quiet, comfortable presence, giving you the space to breathe and find your words.

Slowly, you tell him everything.

Keeping his earlier words in mind, you tell the facts as they are, your emotions as they unfolded. You describe the accident, how it happened, and the events that followed—the pressure to accept the settlement offer, the intimidation. You talk about the loneliness that set in, the growing distance between you and those you once felt close to, all because their happiness became too much to bear. How the world kept moving, while you felt trapped in the same place, stuck in time.

You talk about how you saw the driver again in the café earlier, how it resurfaced all those unpleasant memories and unearthed emotions you’d buried. Despite his advice on not minimizing yourself, you let an apology slip for letting things get to you and cutting your hangout short as a result.

You don’t tell him, but his presence in your life—albeit unexpected and fairly new—has done wonders in pulling back the heavy darkness weighing you down. You hope the depth of your gratitude comes across in the way you hold his hand, gripping it tightly, like it’s the only thing keeping you from sinking.

“Wow, I feel much better,” you finally say, laughing shakily at how silly your earlier reaction seems now. You squeeze his hand gently. “Thanks for listening to me, Sy. I really appreciate it.”

You miss the way his eyes flash at the nickname.

You watch as he examines your reddened eyes and watery lashes, his expression unreadable, before squeezing your hand in return. “I’m just honored that you trusted me enough to share that with me.”

You muster a grin. “I promise to make up for earlier. I've been dying to try this new recipe I found. How about a box of experimental cookies?”

After a brief pause, he lets out a low chuckle. “As long as it’s edible,” he says, lips curling into a smirk, effectively dissipating the lingering tension.

You give his arm a soft whack. “You’re gonna regret it when they turn out actually good!”

He sighs, gazing at where you swat at him with faux pity. “What, with that little kitten pat?”

After a few rounds of bickering—with you insisting that it was not a little kitten pat—you finally exchange your goodbyes. Stepping out of his SUV, you wave cheekily, heading toward your doorstep. He returns the gesture, his wave a little slower, as he waits for you to reach the door.

As soon as you turn your back, the bright scarlet in his eyes dulls to a dangerous crimson hue, black-red tendrils barely contained within a closed fist.

—

You stare up at the building in front of you, mouth agape.

At least eight stories high, its grandeur is impossible to miss, even amidst the notable luxury shops and high-end establishments of the uptown plaza. Massive windows stretch across the facade, their panes glinting like polished gems in the late afternoon light. At its center, a grand arched entrance commands attention, flanked by twin marble columns with gold detailing. The architecture is reminiscent of those vintage and timeless mansions you always see on royalty-themed documentaries.

Discreetly, you pull out your phone to scroll through your conversation with Sylus, double-checking the maps link he sent.

[You] sy!! [You] the cookies turned out pretty good!! [You] i wanna give you some [You] should we meet up?? [fruit man] Congrats on the successful outcome of your baking experiment sweetie. [fruit man] When do you want to hand them over? [You] i was thinking today if it’s ok! they taste best while they’re still fresh [fruit man] I might run late due to a meeting. why don’t you head here while theres still light out? [fruit man] We can go have dinner after. [fruit man] fruit man sent you a link. [You] oooh is this the place you’re staying at? [fruit man] Its an old guest lodging I run. [fruit man] Its convenient for whenever I have business in Linkon.

You stare at the screen incredulously, then glance back up at the towering behemoth before you. This is the old guest lodging he was talking about? You’re no lodging connoisseur, but you’re pretty sure this is a five-star hotel.

Deciding not to question it further lest you get a headache, you square your shoulders and step inside.

Immediately, you feel like an outsider as you pass through the elegant interior, your gaze flitting between the extravagant glass chandelier and the plush velvet sofas in the vast lounge area. Even the guests moving about look like they own at least three vacation homes around the world, like they spend their weekends at the golf club for fun.

A staff member approaches to greet you, her gloved hands neatly clasped as she dons an excellent customer service smile.

“Welcome to the Noir Manor! Do you have a reservation?”

“Um, no." Crap, even your voice sounds out of place. "But I’m here for Sylus?”

Her eyes widen. She reaches into the pocket of her work skirt and pulls out a small notebook, swiftly scanning its pages. She reads your name aloud, her eyes flicking to you for confirmation.

“That’s me, yes,” you say, fingers fiddling with the handle of your wooden picnic basket.

Without missing a beat, she pulls a walkie-talkie from her breast pocket.

“Attention, over. We’ve got white dove in the lobby. Please be advised. Over.”

She then tucks the device back and turns to you with a more genuine smile.

"Mr. Sylus is currently in a meeting on the top floor, but he’ll be finishing shortly. Please, make yourself comfortable in the lounge area in the meantime."

You don’t need to be told twice. The wide lobby space and high ceilings are starting to make you feel claustrophobic. After relaying your thanks, you beeline for the single sofa chair at the farthest end.

You’re content enough just admiring the impressive architecture and interior design of the place, but strangely, hotel staff keep coming up to you every few minutes, bringing fresh pastries and tea. They also keep bringing in soft throw pillows, helping you settle more comfortably in your comically large seat. The attention has you mortified—both from the employees and the guests casting furtive glances at the table they brought over, laden with your private snack spread.

Desperate to shake off your nerves, you scan the room again, your eyes immediately locking onto the massive widescreen TV mounted on the pillar near the lobby desk. It’s muted, but the bold headlines and auto-generated captions on the news report are more than enough for you to follow along.

You barely make out the words flashing across the screen. Something about the new CEO of a prominent national bank chain drunk driving down the highway and crashing into a streetlight pole. The family has apparently urged the local police to investigate for foul play, citing the unnaturally high speed he was driving. An image of the driver flashes on screen.

You stand up abruptly, your pulse hammering in your ears.

It's the guy at the café.

Your family’s killer.

He’s dead.

“There better not be a missing cookie in there,” an amused voice says from behind you, making you jump.

Sylus. He’s wearing a patterned maroon button-up. Normally, the exposed collarbone beneath his inner white shirt would have you looking away, heat rising to your cheeks. But you're too stunned by what you’ve just learned to even register it.

Your thousand-yard stare has him frowning. He rests a hand on your shoulder, the other tucking stray strands of hair behind your ear.

“Everything alright, kitten?”

Words catch in your throat as you weakly point a finger toward the TV, the report now showing a live interview with the former CEO—the driver’s father. Apparently, they’re filing for bankruptcy by the end of next year’s first quarter and are asking for prayers during their difficult time.

You don’t see Sylus’ face, your eyes drifting in and out of focus on the gold pendant of his necklace. Instead, you feel him gently guide your head against his chest, a hand softly patting your back in a soothing rhythm.

“If anything, he had it coming.”

The vibration of his voice hums against your ear, and you exhale, your eyes fluttering shut. "It just feels surreal, I guess," you mumble, your hands hanging limply at your sides. "I mean, I just saw him, what, two weeks ago?"

A brief silence hangs between you before he pulls back, carefully cupping your cheeks and guiding your bleary gaze to meet the intense scarlet of his.

“How about showing me what you've made for me? I've been looking forward to tasting it with you all afternoon.”

You nod absentmindedly, allowing him to guide you to the private elevator concealed behind the lobby desk. With your bow-adorned basket in one hand, he flicks a finger over his shoulder. Instantly, the staff moves with practiced ease, swiftly tidying up your previous spot in the lounge.

As the elevator doors close and begin their ascent to his office on the top floor, he gently coaxes you out of your dazed state, sharing stories about a fishing excursion he recently took up north. He laments his lack of catch during the three-day trip, especially since it was supposed to be the prime season for a rare species in the area.

Had you been more present, you would’ve noticed that, despite his apparently horrendous luck, he seems awfully chipper.

note: i'm 6 parts in and i still can't decide on a title 🧍‍♀️

nav: one, two, three, four, five, six (current) or: read on ao3

tag list: @thepotatoislost, @xxfaithlynxx, @browneyedgirl22, @vorfreudevortex, @midiplier, @wisteriaflowersss, @euclase0, @leighsartworks216, @keyiswatching, @goldenbirdiee, @delaythings, @datura109, @iloveboysinred, @everythingistaken00, @moonlight-inthe-sea, @blueberrysquire, @mourning-into-dancing, @bookfreakk, @everywherenothere, @vvhira, @laidenbreecatchall, @kyushii, @lucifer-says-hii, @sylus-crow, @carmelves, @nishayuro, @comatosebunny09, @withering-dream, @rmjace2, @tinnyrabbit, @socutesotall

check out my other works!

#ori.writes #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus x mc #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace #sylus #sylus fluff #sylus hurt/comfort #sylus comfort #sylus angst

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royalsweetteaa · 9 months ago

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Title: Thinking about us all

Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!reader x Bucky Barnes (Stucky)

18+ ONLY | MINORS DNI

WARNING - The following story contains: Explicit smut, MMF threesome, petnames (doll, sweetheart), dom/sub/switch roles, establishing polyamory, stucky, bisexual!Steve Rogers & Bucky Barnes, oral sex (M/F receiving), cum eating, anal sex, rimjob (M receiving), unprotected sex, P in V/P in A sex, creampie, spitroast, love confessions, fluff, aftercare.

Sequel to: ‘Thinking about her’

Summary: Steve and Bucky finally confess their feelings to their female secretary, and luckily everything goes in their favor.

2nd person POV

It was another day at the Avengers Tower, and you were as per usual at your office handling the two super soldiers’ routine work such as letters and other paper work. Steve and Bucky had appointed a time in the afternoon to have a meeting with you.

While it was just a regular meeting of the week going over important future events they have to be prepared for, you always looked forward to those meetings.

You couldn’t help but thrive in the feelings the two men gave you as you sat alone all three, occasionally talking about personal things like the friends you had grown to be. It felt good, and you thought it was harmless to have a crush on them.

Okay, ‘crush’ could be an understatement, but it was still harmless if you kept it to yourself, right?

It wasn’t like you had expectations of them returning those feelings to you. You could tell what they had lied so deep, there was no way they would leave it for anyone else.

And you were completely fine with that. Seeing the two together made you believe soulmates for life was a real thing, and you looked forward to the day you would find your own.

But until then…

You kicked your feet giddily as you were waiting for the two men to arrive in the empty meeting room. A stack of files were in front of you and you kept a mantra in your head of all the topics you had to inform them about.

They finally came by the door minutes later, apologizing for their slight delay as they sat on each side, putting you in the middle.

You felt butterflies swirl in your stomach as they smiled at you ever so kindly, making small talk of asking how your day was and if you’ve eaten or drank enough water.

You respond saying you’re feeling just fine as you bring forward the folders, a copy for each to look at before you begin going through them.

It was much of the same schedule the super soldiers had followed for months, most importantly noted being that there was an international conference hosted by T’challa on Friday for them to attend to and a gathered Avengers meeting on the weekend.

As you rounded up the report of their upcoming schedule, you looked up at them, expecting that to be the end of the meeting as they thanked you for the report. But as you were about to stand up and conclude the meeting, they stopped you from rising up from your seat.

Bucky and Steve exchange each other confirming glances before they faced you again.

“Y/N, Bucky and I have something important we’d like to share with you…if you aren’t otherwise in a hurry to get home for the evening.” Steve begins.

You stared at him, your heart noticeably skipping a beat from the super soldiers’ ears as you say, “I’m not in a hurry…what’s up, boys?”

“We uh…”

“Well, you see…um…”

The men turn to each other again as if they are now realizing how difficult it is to lay out their confession of love to you compared to how they had imagined it in their heads. You all the meanwhile stared at them dumbfounded, not sure what was going on between them.

“…Is everything okay?” You ask with a hint of worry in your voice. “Has something happened that I should know about?”

“No, - I mean yes, everything is fine, it’s just…” Steve says. “We are a bit nervous to tell you, because…”

“…as it turns out…” Bucky slowly fills in.

“…we have feelings for you, Y/N. Both of us.”

“….Oh…wait, what?” You ask as you pull a double take when you let their words sink in. “How? - But -…aren’t you two together?” You ask the question with a confused frown. “I thought you had each other?”

“Well yes - of course we still love each other but, - we have kind of mutually developed feelings for you. And we aren’t just interested in you for ‘curious’ reasons - we genuinely like you, more like you’ve captivated us beyond just liking you, you know?”

Steve clears his throat as he speaks over Bucky, “What Bucky is trying to say is we both absolutely adore you, - how sweet and caring you are towards us in what feels like is something beyond just your job as a secretary and friend. It has come to us realizing we have more love to share, and we would like to share it with you. But we would also like to take you out on dates first as the three of us to explore our dynamic…with a romantic viewpoint.”

“That is…if you feel the same.” Bucky quickly adds. “Do you?”

You’re left in awe after everything they have told you, and you close your mouth as you try to gather your thoughts. “Wow, I…I’m in shock honestly. I didn’t expect this at all…” you say, causing Steve and Bucky to stiffen as fear starts to settle in on a possible rejection.

Had they read you wrong? Had they misunderstood your physical reactions for something else?

Steve shakes off the worries as he fills the paused silence with a thoughtful reminder, “You can think about it for as long as you’d like. We understand this might be all too overwhelming for you, so if you’d like for us to give you some space while you consider -!”

You shake your head as you dismiss Steve, “Wait, no…I…- truth is, I’ve had a huge crush on both of you for a while. But I never spoke or tried to make a move on any of you because I respect your relationship, and I would never, and I mean never try to ruin what you have. What you have is beautiful and I…” you sigh as your eyes get glossy. “I can’t believe you’re both interested in bringing someone like me into it. Like, do you truly mean that? Because I swear if you’re pulling a prank on me, I’m quitting today -!”

“We’re not!…we promise you that.” Bucky chuckles at your doubts, but also pulls a face of fondness. “And why would you think ‘someone like you’ wouldn’t be perfect for us? Sure, we are the super soldiers here but there’s only one of you in the entire world.”

“We have lived for a very long time and met all kinds of people. We know what we want.” Steve says. “We want you, as much as we want to be yours.”

“So what do you say?” Bucky asks as he gets closer to you, gently placing his hand on yours at the table. “Can you at least give it a chance?”

You bite the inside of your cheek as you know already the answer to that, but still you take a moment to give it to them. “I…yes. I absolutely want to give it a chance.” You answer with a bright smile, and you witness as they pull gleeful smiles of their own.

The two men pull you into an embrace, surrounding you with excitement. You chuckle as you welcome them, pulling them closer with your own arms.

“But, that doesn’t mean I’m jumping into bed with any of you on the first week.” You clarify in a playful manner. “I’m not that kind of girl, you know.”

Both men hum as Steve comments, “Of course, we don’t expect any less, doll. I don’t know about Buck but I can wait for as long as you want before doing any of that if it means you’ll be ours.”

Bucky bumps into Steve’s shoulder, huffing, “I can wait too just fine!”

Steve narrows an eyebrow and teasingly replies, “oh really? I seem to remember back on you being particularly needy one night and expressing how -!”

Bucky shoves his palm over Steve’s mouth, making him unable to finish his sentence. “Okay, that’s enough oversharing, Steve…”

Giggles erupt from you and the two men turn to you, smiling somewhat confused.

You shook your head, “Don’t you worry James, I’m not going to lead you on. Just work for it and you might get some of me soon enough. That includes you too, Steve.”

Both men nodded, saying in unison “Yes, ma’am” before they wrapped an arm around each of her side and left to the parking lot to drive off for some more spend together.

The next few weeks consisted of dates in romantic locations and dinners at each other’s places.

As true to the men’s word, they never pressured you into anything, - so much so that you had to engage in your first kisses with them. Kissing would develop into sweet long-drawn kisses, then eventually into full make out sessions.

While they were heated and breathless by the end of it, nothing went beyond of what you wanted and you continued your conversations like it was nothing, - except the noticeable big bulges between their legs said otherwise when they so easily dismissed it.

One night during the usual ‘at home’ dinner though, you felt you couldn’t hold yourself back any longer either from what you desired, and one thing led to another involving the new founded throuple relationship.

You were on your knees, bare as the two men had gloried over your body earlier, seeing you bare for the first time. You had to stop them from taking it further as you were eager to please them first and have them reveal their naked selves too.

Before you knew it, they had unbuckled their belts and zipped down their trousers, revealing their huge semi hard cocks, twitching out of their restraints.

You took notice of how Bucky’s cock is thicker while Steve’s is longer, and even then your small hands struggle to fully wrap around both. You swallow as you ogle their lengths, licking your lips at the sight of them leaking pre-cum already. The men chuckled lowly, gesturing you to touch them any way you wanted to.

“Get closer to each other. My hands are too small to pleasure you both properly at the same time…” you pointed out with an undertone of nervousness.

Steve and Bucky could tell you were a bit anxious with the pressure on you as you were giving them pleasure by your own, so they encouraged you with tender strokes on your shoulder.

“You’re doing such a good job honey, don’t worry your pretty head…” Steve reassured.

“But don’t mind if we do get a little close...” Bucky added smugly as he got closely to Steve, letting you guide his cock to rub against Steve’s as you stroked them both in the same pace. You licked and sucked their cocks, taking turns as you swirled your tongue to have a taste of their pre-cum.

They grunted and held a hand on each side of your shoulder, encouraging you to keep going.

“Fuck, look at her…she’s more amazing than I imagined her to be..”

“Mmm, she’s perfect. You’re perfect, doll.” Steve redirected to you.

You looked up at them with doe eyes as you sucked their tips together, and the men thought they were loosing it at that moment.

“Oh fuck….Bucky…” Steve called after his lovers’ name to catch his attention before leaning in to kiss him, moans and whimpers leaving their mouths as you kept pleasuring them where it mattered.

You hummed around their cocks as you were sending down vibrations to their shaft, making them receive a shockwave of pleasure.

“Fuck! M’gonna cum, Y/N…milk us…take our cum…shit!” Bucky cursed as he felt his balls tightening. Steve followed suit too, releasing himself into your mouth.

“Fucking hell…” Steve groaned at the sight of you trying to swallow their loads, but ultimately spilling some down your chin.

“Language…” Bucky joked through a murmur, making Steve roll his eyes with a smile.

With the use of his thumb, Steve gathered what had spilled up from your chin to between your lips, having you suck his fingers clean lewdly.

Steve purred in delight, “What a good girl you are…taking us both like a champ.”

“Now you’re about to receive twice the reward, sweetheart…you sure you’re ready for it?”

You nodded eagerly, “oh fuck yes, don’t hold back on my account…”

The men smirked, knowing she was in for it all.

“Holy shit!”

Bucky had a wicked grin as his tongue glided along your folds, not holding back with the way his tongue explored you as per your request.

Steve cooed, “Look at her cute little button…so puffy and sensitive, isn’t it?” He kept rubbing your clit with his thumb, making your whole body twitch in pleasure. Bucky hummed against you in response just then, not leaving his lips from your quivering heat.

He managed to mutter something in the lines of ‘tastes so good, doll’ while his tongue found the source of your wetness, lapping up every drop of pussy juice that threatened to leave for the mattress beneath you.

“I can’t - I don’t wanna cum before I have a dick inside of me..” you whined, and the men stopped as they grinned, looking at each other.

“Who’s dick do you want in you first, doll?” Steve then asked teasingly while stroking your cheek.

“…I don’t know…” you answered, suddenly pondering. “Do I really have to choose?…”

“Well you can’t have us both at the same time…you’re not ready for that.” Steve spoke, humored.

Bucky held his gaze at Steve, “I think…it’s best if you take her first, Stevie. You have better control than I do and I wouldn’t want to ruin the mood or hurt you, Y/N.” He then turns to look at you for a brief moment.

Your face falls at Bucky’s words and you’re about to open your mouth to speak but Steve beats you to it. “You couldn’t hurt her, Buck…but if you feel doubtful of yourself, I’ll take it into my own hands for now until you feel more sure. Does that sound good, doll?” Steve asks as he looks at you too.

You nod, agreeing to the solution as Bucky encourages it with a soft expression. “Sounds good.”

Steve sucks in his breath as he pushes his tip through your folds, holding your hips graciously with you on your back. “Gonna give it to you long and hard…you’ll never want for anything other than us, doll.”

A whimper escaped your lips as Steve impales you. “S-So big…you might split me in half..”

He chuckled at the underlying compliment and strokes your cheek gently. “I won’t move until you say so, love…take your time in getting used to my size, okay?” He says and strokes your clit gently.

You groan and nod in response, “mhm, just give me a minute…”

“We’ve got all the time in the world…” Bucky reassures as he gets behind Steve and caresses his body.

You groan at the sight, “Apart from the love between you two which I adore, - you look so hot together.”

“Yeah? You have always enjoyed watching us being intimate haven’t you?” Steve teased as he leans back a little more against Bucky. “Since the very beginning, we could smell it on you…”

Your face turned red as you realized, shit, of course they could tell when you were aroused. They are enhanced in everything to smell such things…

Bucky interrupted your overthinking with his chuckle, “don’t let it embarrass you, doll…your bodily reactions only ensured you felt the same…thanks to your honest body, we’re here together at all.”

“Now, while we wait for you to get ready, how about we give you a show?” Steve suggested with a seductive grin. You nodded feverishly as Steve turned his head behind to give Bucky a loving kiss, with Bucky’s hands wandering around Steve’s pecs and stomach. Steve then sneaked his hand below and stroke Bucky’s cock as Bucky stared down at you, mesmerized.

“Fuuck, seeing you buried inside Y/N makes me so fuckin’ horny…” at Bucky’s confession, you blush profusely.

“Yeah? Well, if you’re so needy and desperate, you know what you could do about it.”

Bucky’s eyes wandered down to Steve’s ass. “Oh, don’t I know it…” He reached for the lube on the nightstand and inserted some into Steve’s puckered hole with his metal finger, making Steve grunt with arousal. Bucky positioned himself, towering over Steve’s back.

“Just shove yourself in already…you know I can take-!” Steve’s sentence is cut out from a sharp hiss as Bucky slides home.

You witness before your very eyes as Steve closes his eyes tightly, a high pitched moan getting choked as he grits his teeth. His long drawn ‘fuuuuck~’ is the confirming evidence you gather that he’s feeling absolutely amazing.

You can’t help yourself and cover your mouth to hide how turned on you are by this very scenery. Your attempts are due to fail as you feel your core growing wetter and tighter. “…I’m…”

“Fuck, you’re hugging my cock even tighter than before…” Steve purred as he glanced at you through his lashes. “Mmh, does it turn you on to see me between you like this? - Shit…” Steve cursed as Bucky got himself fully seethed inside of him. Steve’s once self assured look was growing twitchy and fading into one of a bottom.

Steve’s cock pulsed inside of you, making you mewl, “Y-Yes! It’s so hot and - god, I need you to start moving, Steve. I’m so ready to be fucked…”

“You hear that? Our girl wants to have her sweet pussy fucked…let’s fulfill her needs, shall we?” Steve nodded and Bucky started to move, causing Steve’s hips to move with him, creating a thrust.

You bit back a loud moan, your breath growing shallow as Steve’s length drags through your tight channel.

Bucky smirked as he looked over Steve’s shoulder, his eyebrows knitted in pleasure, “damn, Stevie…look at what you’re doing to her…”

Steve moaned as he didn’t take his eyes off of you, seeing the way your face scrunches in pleasure for each thrust. “…don’t hold back any noises, love. We want to hear all of it…”

You nod and let a whimper escape you. Bucky starts to move faster just then, encouraging Steve to go along the rhythm as they stay connected. While Bucky leaves rough grunting noises, Steve and you left ones of whines and moans of various pitches.

The pleasure of being deep inside of you while having his prostate hit was overwhelming for Steve, “oh my…” is all he can mutter out as moans take over his speech.

“Steve…aahh!~” you moan as you feel Steve’s cock nudging against the deepest parts inside of you, and you become flushed from overwhelming amount of pleasure.

“Please, cum inside, Steve…I’m on the pill, it’s fine…mmmh~ need it…”

“A-Alright whatever you want, doll…- fuuuck!” Steve aches his back behind as he becomes overdriven, feeling his male lover’s cock continuously hitting his prostate which makes him all the more weak.

Bucky can only snicker from pride as he picks up the pace. “Found your sweet spot, huh? I always do…”

Steve could only groan in response as the sex gets more intense. He feels an overwhelming pleasure being between his two lovers, one piercing inside of him while he’s deep inside the other.

It feels absolutely ecstatic.

“Gonna dump my cum inside you any moment, Stevie…” Bucky suddenly announces while he grunts and pounds relentlessly into Steve’s ass until he reaches his climax through a loud gasp.

You gasp, “Oh shit, I’m going to…”

Steve whines just then, feeling you become close too as he shouts, “C-cumming!..” while biting his lip.

Steve spills deeply into you, coating your walls in hot sticky cum while Bucky does the same inside of him. It’s all too much for the three of you as you go through your highs, remaining still as you catch your breaths from your first round of mutual orgasms.

Bucky pulled out of Steve, making him whimper as his cock slips out of your oozing pussy, exposing what he had left behind. Bucky leaned in to kiss Steve’s shoulder, watching down on you at your post orgasmic expression. He chuckled when he caught your playful smirk, and he pulls up Steve with him to sit up before parting Steve’s legs a little.

“Look at that…” Bucky pointed out as he spread Steve’s ass cheeks, showing the sticky mess he had left behind. Bucky took notice of the way you licked your lips at the sight, and immediately suggested in his husky voice, “Would you like to clean him up? I’ll clean Stevie’s mess on you in the meantime…”

Steve turned around as he understood what Bucky was proposing and blushed, “You don’t need to do that, doll…it’s probably new to you and -!”

You shake your head, "No, I want to do it. Bring America’s ass over to me.” you interrupted, determination showing through your features as your lips form a smirk.

Steve blushes even more furiously at your confidence, not expecting to hear that at all. “Oh…well, since you’re offering and only if you want to…”

Bucky snorts as he nudges at Steve with his shoulder, “You’re catching Stevie off guard and it’s making him all flustered…been a while since I’ve seen him this red.” He comments, snickering as he pulls your lower body over to him and licks up Steve’s and yours mess between your legs, making you groan.

Steve simply huffs, and Bucky adds an order, “Get in front of her face, Steve. Our naughty girl said she wants a taste, so let her have it…” while he spread your thighs wide apart, his mouth eagerly meeting your pussy again and sucking out the cum dripping out of your cunt.

You moan from the pleasure Bucky provides you, but you stay composed to take care of the other big man beside you.

Steve helps you gain easy access as he spreads his ass cheeks apart, anticipation written all over his face as you inch closer to his hole, your nose nudging against his balls in the process while your tongue makes its way. He groans when he feels you licking around his rim where Bucky’s cum is dripping out, and he shivers when you hum against his sensitive skin from savoring the taste.

“Ahh…that’s it…” Steve speaks through a low rumble and he spreads his legs wider as you get closer to him. “Oohh, I’m so in love with you…”

You snicker as you tease him with your tongue techniques, but as you feel Bucky forcing his own wet muscle inside of you, you begin to crumble yourself. “J-James…”

Bucky coos at your whine, assuming you’re feeling overwhelmed. “It’s okay, sweetheart…m’just cleaning your insides, that’s all…won’t leave ya overstimulated…”

“N-No, that’s not it…” you whine once more while shaking your head, “I want you inside of me.”

Bucky’s eyes widen as he feels his cock harden by this very plead, but he still restrains himself, “Are you sure? Doll, you just had Steve and he’s no bigger than me…besides, I’m not sure I’d be able to hold back…”

“I don’t care.” You say, biting your lip at how needy you make yourself sound, but you’re desperate. “I need your cock…please, I need you to fuck me before we call it a night.”

Bucky glances at Steve who has a growing smirk on his face, “I think you should give our doll what she wants, Buck. You don’t want to deny her when she’s begging so nicely, do you?”

Bucky hums in thought before he shakes his head, “no…I don’t.” He rises up above you as he strokes his shaft, his cock pulsing with anticipation. “Turn around, sweetheart. I’m taking you doggy style.”

You grin seductively and do as he says, raising your ass up. A moan leaves your lips as you feel Bucky’s cool metal arm wrap around you while he uses his other hand to guide his cock to your heat.

“Fuck, I’ve been waiting for this for so long, doll…I’m going to savor every moment of taking this cunt…”

You mewl as Bucky takes a hold of your hips almost possessively while he guides for your bodies to meet. His tip intrudes against your entrance as he pushes forward, and before you know it, his whole length seeps in, making you cry out in pleasure.

Steve kneels in front of you as he takes in Bucky picking up a rhythm, his thrusts quickly going from gentle to desperate. He then turns his gaze at you and notices you’re looking up at him directly, as if you’re pleading for something. Steve caresses your chin with a smirk growing on his face, and he gives you what you want as he inches himself closer, his cock stiffening again when your lips meets it.

The room becomes filled with filthy moans, grunts and curses for the next moments as they engage in the spitroast.

“O-One thing for sure…I’m never gonna be needing that pussy pocket ever again.” Bucky breaks the silence from behind you as he stutters his hips desperately into you. You moan as it dawns over you what he was implying. They had fantasized about you before.

“Yeah, we won’t have to…you’re such a good girl for taking care of us…so, so proud of you…” Steve murmurs his praises as he takes in the sight of you sucking his balls before licking your way up to his tip again where you continue sucking him off.

Bucky clenches his teeth as he realizes he’s far too gone to hold it any longer, and he announces through a weakened whisper, “I’m about to bust…”

“Right behind you…want to be fed with my cum, doll?” Steve asks, his breath now shortening.

Your head bobs, giving an eager ‘yes’ as you swallow him inside your mouth some more. Steve guides you to take more of his cock down your throat, his hips bucking forward with neediness while he reaches his own climax.

Bucky fills you to the brim with a final thrust, emptying himself as he throws his head back. “Ah fuck!!” The senation Bucky provides makes your orgasm crash over you, having you quivering underneath him.

You roll your eyes to the back of your head as Steve’s cum spurts down your throat, what feels like buckets. You pull your mouth off of him and gasp for air as you swipe your tongue around your lips, gathering any drop that managed to escape. Steve leans down onto the bed to cool down, his cock finally softening after what felt like hours of sex.

Bucky brings you carefully with him to lie down too, his cock slipping out of your pussy as he softens, allowing his cum to escape and drip down between your legs.

As you catch your breath, you can’t help but laugh a little, making the super soldiers perk down at you curiously.

“You guys cum a lot…and it’s what, your third orgasm? How is that even possible? Never met guys who can do that.” You share as you chuckle, amused.

“We’re enhanced, sweetheart…we’re supposed to be above average in several aspects. That includes going for several rounds without tapping out.” Steve explains as he sends a wink your way.

You giggle at that while they bring you closer between them, nuzzling against you as you go into a session of aftercare.

“This has to be the best sex I’ve had in a long time…” you sigh with satisfaction, “I don’t think I could ever get enough of this…” the men simply hum, agreeing with your thought.

“Trust me, there’ll be more of where that came from….plenty of it, every day if it’s what you desire.” Bucky speaks in a teasing tone as he steals a kiss from you, holding his gaze at you ever so lovingly.

Steve hums in agreement as he adds, “or, even if you would only want it once in a while, we will to our best abilities make you crave more and more each time we do it…” he leans in to take a passionate kiss from you too, not being able to help himself from joining the soft intimacy.

You express fondness by your smile alone as you look in between them, and when Bucky and Steve reach for each other above you for a final sweet kiss, you’re settled in for a good night sleep, the three of you feeling so closely connected like never before.

N/A: This turned out incredibly filthy…so I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. 🤭

Hearts + Reblogs are incredibly appreciated! <3

#stucky x reader #stucky x you #stucky x y/n #steve rogers x bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #stucky #stucky smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #sebastian stan x reader #chris evans x reader

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namfinessed · 7 months ago

Text

ex-things - m.yg.

genre: angst (after breakup!) (4.8k)

summary: over the years, everything you've owned has belonged to yoongi and everything yoongi's owned has belonged to you but when you break up, everything is your's and everything is his but none of it belongs to the two of you anymore and both of you can't stand it.

masterlist

“scarf,” you say as soon as yoongi appears at the door, you fail to hide your smile when he throws his head back in exasperation and throws the door open.

you push past him and enter his apartment which looked…exactly the same.

but then again, you did just break up some ten minutes ago so, of course, it would be the same.

you don’t know why you expected the universe to shift just because your heart was broken.

and as you throw back the cushions on his sofa, push the things on his coffee table, look under the sofa and table, and walk past him to check the coat rack and then the kitchen, you feel his piercing gaze following your every step.

you knew where it was.

it was in your bedroom.

or well, his bedroom now.

“can you hurry the fuck up?” he groans and in that second, you eye the black plastic cover filled with two or three soju bottles sitting on his kitchen counter.

you swallow and yell back, “can you just let me look for my scarf in peace?”

another groan.

a stomp on the floor.

“fuck, i’ll mail it to you,” yoongi makes his way into the kitchen with loud steps and you arch your eyebrow at him, then look towards the green bottles shining on his counter, he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and spits out, “i was going to drink today before anything ever happened, don’t feel too special.”

“really?” you muse, clinking them against each other, and in the next second, yoongi’s hand is wrapped around your wrist and he’s pulling you, gently, towards the door.

“i’ll send it when i find it,” he murmurs as he pushes your coat, your car keys, and your phone into your hands, and you don’t say anything for a while.

you clutch your belongings and stand by the door until you notice how yoongi's eyes are bloodshot, their usual sharpness dulled by exhaustion. his shoulders rounded with an invisible weight, and you feel guilty for leaving.

“a-are you okay?” you ask, it feels stupid to ask because you know, you were the same as him.

he laughs bitterly and throws you a glare, you notice how his hands tremble beside his body, and you look away to save him and yourself from the pain of asking again.

“i just broke up with my girlfriend of three years, so yeah, i’m doing fantastic,” he breathes out, you wonder if it pains him like it’s paining you to hear his words, “now, can you leave?” yoongi gestures towards the door again.

you sigh, “wait a minute,” and enter your his home again.

“what now?” he throws his hands in the air and stomps after you.

he watches you grab the scarf from under his bed, he turns his eyes away when he sees your hands shaking while holding it, “did you know where it was?” yoongi breathes out, his face and voice in disbelief.

you don’t say anything again.

and when you leave, he pours himself glass over glass to forget the trembling of your jaw and how you paced around the apartment while knowing exactly where you kept the scarf.

he laughs again, the sound is strange, rough, and just wrong without your laugh chiming with him.

he pours himself a glass again.

it’s been a week.

“hi,” you say as yoongi walks into his house, he jumps a little, clutching his chest as his eyes widen to look for you.

you raise a hand to wiggle your fingers at him as a ‘hello, hi, ex-boyfriend, you’re back at your home and so am i!’ and yoongi blinks.

“what the fuck are you doing here?”

“oh, i was loo-“

“wait wait, how did you even get in?” yoongi frantically marched to his front door and twisted the knob to check for any damages and you roll your eyes.

“i found your key under the potted plant. speaking of which, do you want to get robbed or something, why would you even put it there?” you throw your hands in the air as you sip tea, grimacing as the strange, bitter taste of yoongi’s favorite green tea spreads in your mouth.

“first of all, stop drinking my tea, you don’t even like it” you put the cup down with a sheepish smile and fold your hands on the table.

“and second of all, i didn’t think i had to worry about any ex-girlfriends breaking in, my bad,” yoongi complains loudly and you press your palms to your ears, shaking your head, “i’m not even here to see you, i’m here for…well, i’m here for,” you struggle to finish the sentence.

and yoongi glares at you.

“what is it?” as he moves his head to pin his glare on you, his soft, freshly straightened hair moves with him.

“straightener!” you say loudly, clapping your hands, and yoongi’s eyebrows narrow again, “you’re going to get wrinkles, yoongi.” you point at his eyebrows but he doesn’t let up, you’re sure that his eyebrows furrowed deeper.

“okay! i’ll be on my way once i get that,” you wander off into his bedroom and yoongi throws his head back in exasperation.

your straightener is easy to find because well, it’s not yours, it’s his and it’s just sitting on his vanity but yoongi doesn’t bat an eye at that.

he only watches you move around his home with his arms crossed on his chest and an unreadable satisfaction on his face.

and when you leave, you can’t help but notice that for all his annoyance, he never tells you to not come back, and he never tells you to find everything you own and leave at once.

with that knowledge, you leave his home with the biggest grin on your face.

“you need to get out before my booty call gets here,” you happily eat your ice cream on the kitchen counter as yoongi walks into your home as if he owned it.

did you mention that he was the one to bring you ice cream?

your favorite too, one scoop of hazelnut and one scoop of brownie.

“ha ha, very funny, you should start thinking of a career in stand-up” he responds with a roll of his eyes and you giggle even more, sliding down to catch up with his pace around your home.

“what are you here for?”

“t-shirt, you know the one you stole,” yoongi shrugs and glares again, walking right into your room and you follow with hands closed behind your back, “which one?” you muse as you remember all the (10) t-shirts you’ve stolen from him.

he looks back as he nears the closet, eyes narrowing at you, “how many do you have?”

“how many can you remember that i have?”

yoongi groaned in sheer frustration and you crawled on your bed, watching him pick apart your closet, and glaring at you whenever he found one of his t-shirts in there.

for a moment, it was amusing.

it was the funniest thing to watch yoongi get annoyed, you always enjoyed it.

but in the next moment, when he was around his fifth t-shirt, you felt this ache slowly develop in your chest and spread across your throat and then your mouth, then it was everywhere.

it was this dull throbbing that you couldn’t shake and your eyes dropped to fiddle with your fingers instead of looking at him, collecting his belongings from your home.

because, just two weeks ago, it had been your t-shirts too, hadn’t they? and it wasn’t just your home then, it was yours and his, wasn’t it? sure, you had separate apartments but it never felt like that, it felt like you had two homes and both homes belonged to both of you.

and now, you only had one.

you had wrapped your arms around his back when he was in your room two weeks ago, he was here now but you couldn’t even touch a hair on his head without feeling like you’ve crossed a line.

your head was starting to collect the ache and make a home for it so you ask, “are you almost done?”

you didn’t mean to ask him that, you actually very, very badly wanted yoongi never to leave so you could believe again, ‘i have two homes, i have two toothbrushes, two mugs, two keys, two doors, and two of everything’ but yoongi pauses, he collects the t-shirts he found and nods, “yeah, i’m done.”

when he walks out of your room, the ache finally takes over your head and you follow him with dazed eyes and stumbling feet.

at the door, yoongi stops, he turns around with concern brimming in his eyes and that is enough for your hands to shake again, “you good?”

“i just broke up with my boyfriend of three years, so yeah, i’m doing fantastic,” you deepen your voice to mimic his and yoongi shakes his head with a small laugh, “you better be okay,” he says at the end, and his voice is so soft, it feels like cotton pressed into your cheeks.

and you nod because if yoongi says you have to be okay, you’ll find a way to be okay.

but when he leaves, you are back to having just one home, with one toothbrush in the bathroom, one mug in the kitchen, one set of keys in your purse, one door, and one of everything else.

and you’re sorry to yoongi.

because you don’t know if you can be okay.

a couple days passed again.

you had an angry yoongi pacing in front of you as you watched.

“you’re being ridiculous,” yoongi shoves a hand through his hair, glaring at you as you sit with arms across your chest and refusing to look at him.

“i’m not,” you huff out and he rolls his eyes.

he did that a lot.

he did that a lot with you.

“i didn’t steal your plushie, are you fucking kidding me?” yoongi whines and walks away into the kitchen to pour himself a drink.

you follow him and right at the doorway, you don’t enter, you just watch his even more sunken eyes and even more rounded shoulders with conflicted eyes.

a part of you wanted to hug him.

a part of you wouldn’t mind killing him.

a part of you wanted to kiss his shoulders to lift them.

a part of you wanted to leave a red mark on his face.

but all parts of you, you couldn’t trust or believe.

these past few days, you couldn’t trust or believe anything actually.

yoongi senses your eyes on him, he knows how you look at him and how you seem to show so much with just a gaze but he holds strong.

you were broken up.

you shouldn’t be here.

hell, he’s not sure if he should be here or not either.

but he betrays himself over and over again, he lets you into his house and you let him into yours, and he feels ridiculous every time he closes your door, he’s not sure what you feel when you close his.

“i threw it away,” he shrugs his shoulders, eye muscles tensing oddly, he’s not sure if you notice or not.

“what?” your whisper is so quiet, yoongi wouldn’t have known you were speaking if he didn’t see your lips moving.

“i threw it, okay? there was no use of it being around here anymore, so i fucking threw it away,” he didn’t mean for his voice to be loud, and he didn’t mean for his words to hurt but maybe he did, maybe he wanted to hurt you.

but he loves you?

but he’s also okay with hurting you.

to an extent.

yoongi had never understood why he couldn’t love properly, why his love for others and himself had to hold a touch of pain, a touch of misery, but it was always out of his control.

it had been different with you.

for a while, that is.

but he was back to his roots now, pain and misery and love and affection held his hands and danced around him.

and he had to dance with them too.

“i threw it,” he repeated, but your plushie was tucked into his pillows, into his sleep, and into his days and nights.

it was stained with salty tears now, it was stained with the ice cream he ate after he left your home, and he didn’t want you to see it.

for a moment, you both didn’t even twitch in the wrong direction, yoongi watched the dark liquid in his cup with growing intensity and you waited for him to tell you that your plushie was safe.

“fine,” you sniffled, grabbing your coat and stomping to the door and yoongi followed, he tried not to but his feet walked ahead of his mind.

at the door, you angrily shoved your feet into your sneakers and pushed your hair out of your face, as if to prove that you weren’t crying, that you weren’t affected and anyone else would believe you.

but yoongi knows you.

and he knows your red nose and cheeks can only mean one thing.

before you close his door, you say, “you’re a horrible person, yoongi.”

he thinks he knows what you feel when you close his door now.

hatred.

you swore to yourself that that would be the last time you turn up at his place, but you had genuinely forgotten something there and needed it this time, so you swallowed your pride and rang his doorbell.

you don’t greet him when he opens the door and yoongi feels like he could fall to his knees when you shove a bag with his favorite ice cream, matcha, and coffee (he’s a caffeine guy, he runs on it), into his hands and yoongi knows he’s forgiven.

“i forgot my trousers here,” you mumble afterward and head straight into his closet to dig through for the work trousers that you cannot live without.

yoongi doesn’t dare to utter a word, he looks through his closet beside you and apologizes when his skin touches yours in any little way.

you can’t believe there was a time when you would touch him as if his body was yours too and he would touch you the same. but his apologies just dug the truth deeper into your skin, which was that you didn’t belong to him, and he didn’t belong to you.

so, you nod, you bear your cheeks heating up and thighs going weak, and just look through his neatly organized piles of clothes too.

he used to organize your stuff too, he used to section them, fold them, and keep them neatly by his clothes.

that’s how you find your trousers, crisp folds, and fresh-smelling, right beside his work clothes.

and your heart squeezes as you pull it out.

the folds loosen, the trousers limp in your hands, and that small change in its structure, makes you think of yoongi and everything that fell apart with him.

when you leave that day, you pause at the door and whisper, “you’re not horrible, yoongi, but maybe i am, maybe i ruined everything, but please don’t hate me.”

before he can catch you and wipe your tears and tell you that you were right last time, he was the horrible one, he was the one who texted late, who came home late, who missed birthdays, but you were already running away and he was left with a lit cigarette burning his throat.

“i swear, it was here,” yoongi shifts the things around your closet, head buried deep in shelves and racks of clothes and shoes, you stand at the doorway with your arms crossed against your chest, trying not to roll your eyes.

“and you have a million other headphones, so i don’t understand why you would need to find this one,” you step into the room and lazily move things around to try and find it too, yoongi scoffs from a few feet away, “it was special to me,” he says and turns his back to you again.

“why?”

“my grandfather gave it to me,” yoongi huffs, and his hands stay busy.

but.

“your grandfather died when you were five,” there was no way his grandpa gave it to him and you know you’ve caught him.

he could’ve at least tried harder with his lies.

it was strange, seeing him here, standing in your bedroom, surrounded by things that no longer belonged to both of you.

you don’t think you’ll ever get over that feeling of loss.

the moisturizer you would’ve shared with him.

the cheap wig that he would wear to make you laugh.

the razor that you would hide to annoy him.

they only belonged to you now.

though you don’t bring up his grandfather to drive him away, you only say it because it was hard for you to understand why he was here, looking for headphones that he could buy tens of pairs of.

he pauses, you wait for him to say something else, or lie about a friend who didn’t exist who gave it to him, lie about his dad giving it to him.

but yoongi doesn’t say anything.

he keeps looking.

you refused to keep anything that touched you in the last three years.

well, except for some things.

“yoongi,” you call out, pointing towards the unopened box in your closet and he turns his head that way, quickly walking over to it and flipping it upside down.

the photo album that carried your first anniversary.

the promise ring that he gave you on your second anniversary.

the matching couple t-shirt which he cringed at but wore whenever he could.

the.

so many the’s and so many first’s and second’s of things that you kept, though ‘kept’ was the wrong word, you treasured these things, you loved them.

and all of them fell on the floor with noise that shook your ears and chest, not because of the volume but because it was like you were pouring your heart in front of him.

but you loved them in the past, you liked to think that you did and you were in the present now, watching yoongi eye the things you gathered without his knowledge.

and all of it was only yours now.

“when did you keep this here?” he asks, and you immediately know he’s asking about the simple diamond ring that everyone thought was your engagement ring.

but it was just a promise ring.

and you removed it when, “that day you didn’t come for my birthday,” you mumbled, picking up the things and putting them back where they belonged.

buried inside a box.

shoved into a closet.

but before, you pull out his headphones from the box and hang it over your head for him to take.

when he takes it, his fingers touch the smallest part of your palm and your eyes gather tears as if rivers were breaking a dam in them.

yoongi stands without saying a word for a long time but then he walks to the door, “you’re not going to close your door?”

you’re not coming to see me off?

you get up unwillingly and walk to the door without sneaking another glance at him and drop the ring into his palm, “bye, yoongi.”

his hands tighten around the band of platinum.

both of you look at the dangly, worn-out wires of his headphones that hang from his other hand.

you had given them to him for your first anniversary.

not his dead grandpa or dad or friend.

it was you.

and both of you refused to acknowledge that fact.

and when yoongi finally leaves, he leaves behind a space in the air that waits for him to come back and take his place again, in your life, in your home, in your space.

but he doesn’t turn back.

and you close the door, letting the space remain.

a few days went by again.

neither of you showed up at each other’s doors anymore.

neither of you had anything left to collect.

neither of you had anything that belonged to the other.

and it was strange, the quiet, the loneliness that crept on your back and it always hit at the most unexpected of times.

when you poured your cereal in the morning, you realized you were holding the box that you had bought while grocery shopping with yoongi, it was your favorite time of the month, the one time you could really feel that he was your person.

but the box was empty by the end of your breakfast and you kept it back in the cabinet.

when you arranged your clothes, you saw your messy folding and fell back on the pile of clothes that still needed folding.

how yoongi did this every day, you had no clue.

but as you lay in pieces of cotton, linens, satins, sequins, and many more materials that hugged and pinched you, you couldn’t help but think that surely, yoongi wouldn’t leave you like this, there has to be something of his that you still own.

there has to be something.

so, you got up and with renewed desperate energy, you started searching.

you pulled upon every desk, every closet door, every nook and cranny, you searched with shaking hands and watery eyes.

“there has to be something, there has to be,” you whispered to yourself, your voice choking as things fall over from the tall walls, they fall on your feet, and your toes, and a sharp pain hits you every single time, but you push through.

because.

there has to be something.

you can’t end it like this.

you and yoongi cannot end like this.

anyone else can.

but not you, not him and you.

and the closets you look through stay ajar, the desks you’ve emptied stay tipped over, and everything you own is on the floor.

but there is none of yoongi in any of it.

so, you sink.

you sink to your knees, sobbing and flipping over items as you reach them.

because goddamit, there has to be something.

when the bell first rings, you don’t register it, you are way too intent on the clutter in front of you.

but then it rings.

and rings.

and rings, again and again.

relentless.

and you push yourself up, hoping it’s no one you know because you don’t think you can explain the tears on your face.

but when you open the door, your mouth goes dry and you know you don’t have to explain anything.

because across from you, is a red-eyed yoongi and he’s carrying a box.

“can i come in?” is all he asks, his voice barely a whisper and you’re already opening the door and pulling him in.

but once he’s in your home, in your space again, the familiar soft and sharp scent of him, the sight of him, it was too much. you couldn’t breathe. your eyes never leave him, every breath he took, every shift of his fingers, every fall of his chest, all of it was dancing in your eyes and for the love of god, you couldn’t look away.

he sets the box down and stands there with his hands opening and closing around nothing, and you want to grab them, you want to spread them across your cheeks and feel his warmth, which was sometimes cold too but you didn’t mind, you never minded with yoongi.

but instead, you curl your hands behind your back and stop yourself because it still wasn’t right.

“i don’t have anything of yours,” you start, voice already breaking, “anymore,” you finish with hands tightening so hard around each other that you could feel the bruises blooming on their surface.

“i know,” he takes a sharp inhale of breath and looks away from you and you want to beg him to look at you.

for a second, it’s just you reliving every second you weren’t with him and it’s him looking at your apartment that was void of anything personal, anything that called it a home.

“i want all of it back,” he sniffs, looking at you finally, you want to take it back, you aren’t sure how you survived three years of his eyes only on you and you squeeze your door handle, “all of what?” you whisper, and he sniffs again, “your stuff, all of it, your stupid scarf, your straightener, everything, i want all of it back, in my place, in our place, where it belongs.” he says it so quietly, so earnestly and each word has you pulling your skin tighter.

“your plushie is in this, i never threw it away but i’m taking it back, my t-shirts and headphones are in this, i’m leaving them here,” he bends over the box and starts picking things apart, and each thing he pulls out, fills you with relief.

but.

“but that isn’t right, yoongi,” you try to defend, “we aren’t together anymore,” you hate the words as they surface out of you and yoongi shakes his head.

“but is this right?” he lifts his hands from the box, his jaw trembling again and you instinctively smooth your hand over it and yoongi pushes his face into your hands.

“is it right, both of us miserable?” he whispers and the world bottoms out from underneath you, suddenly gravity is nothing and you’re both floating towards each other.

“but i hurt you,” you grip his headphones and this time, his tears fall the same as yours do, “i hurt you too.” he places a hand on your knees and that cold warmth, that bare touch leaves you open.

“but i’m done, i don’t want to hurt you anymore,” yoongi begs, he shakes his head as he says it as if he can’t believe there was a time that he had hurt you but you’re the same, you can’t believe that you hurt him once.

“before you came here, i was looking for something, anything that was yours so i could come back,” you sniffed loudly, your voice falling and lifting and yoongi listens with eyes that have always looked at you, “but i didn’t find anything, yoongi and it killed me.” your voice fully gives up as you bury your face into your hands and immediately, you feel his arms pulling you into his chest and his hands running down your hair.

“you don’t have to do that anymore, i’m back see,” he tips your face towards him and his smile is so soft, so real that it makes you smile too, “i’m not going anywhere.” he assures you with a kiss on the top of your head and your watery eyes dry out.

“me too, i don’t want this anymore, i want us, i want two of everything, i want you and i want everything,” you utter back to him, the weight of the words floating between you too.

“and you have it, you have everything again, the ring is in there too but that is for whenever you’re ready.” he kisses you again and you snuggle into his embrace, feeling like you’ve lost centuries of holding him, the thought of the ring swells your chest into a balloon that could snap, “that will take time, but thank you,” you whisper, kissing where his shoulders met his neck.

“like i said, whenever you’re ready but it will always belong to you.” yoongi whispers back and you smile in pure delight, nodding along to his words.

“we were stupid for thinking that we could stay apart,” you laugh hesitantly into his chest, the idea of the two of you trying to be separate was ridiculous to you and yoongi laughs with you, which makes you melt into his body, because it was ridiculous, you were two parts of a whole, two houses in a home, two mugs in a kitchen, two keys in your purse, two toothbrushes in one bathroom and two of everything else that you could think of.

and that was how it should’ve been, that was how it was always meant to be.

somewhere in the night, yoongi crawls up your sheets and your plushie is between the two of you and you make fun of him for acting as if he threw it away, he rolls his eyes and shushes you with a kiss.

“by the way, that straightener is yours, not mine,” you whisper and he is aghast, “i fucking knew it,” he yells and sits up, and immediately starts to complain “you know how stupid i’ve been looking with hair that looks just like holly’s!”

and you remind him, playfully this time, that what was yours was his, and what was his was yours and he falls on the bed, grumbling under his breath and complaining until the sun comes up.

and it feels right, everything that belonged to you and him back in their place, back in their homes and yoongi, back in your life, your home, and your space.

just as it should be, just as it was meant to be.

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silkjade · 11 months ago

Text

MIDNIGHT VICES

alhaitham x reader ⤀ synopsis: a year older, and none the wiser… doesn’t the birthday boy know not to mix his alcohol ? as alhaitham grows incessantly needy, he sneaks you away for a quickie behind the tavern ⤀ cw: fem!reader, established relationship, drunk sex (more of a buzz + everything is consensual), unprotected + rough sex, fingering, creampie, exhibitionism, very sweet — mdni || ꒰ 2.5k wc ꒱ ⤀ notes: it is still feb.11 in my time so happy birthday to the loml ! ♡ slightly selfship coded, prev titled ‘places we won’t be found’

10 minutes before the clock strikes twelve, Alhaitham takes note as you slip away from his side with a quick kiss to his cheek, promising to return in haste. 2 minutes before the clock strikes twelve, you return with a round of shots for the table—Snezhnayan firewater, of course.

“And an extra for the birthday boy,” you tease, sliding the remaining glass towards your ashen-haired boyfriend.

And thus, at midnight of his birthday, Alhaitham takes two shots of firewater—and in the 10 minutes it takes for the liquor to mix with the wine already in his system, he realizes that his wisdom has yet to catch up with his age. Because despite turning a year older, he feels none the wiser when you sidle up to him so nonchalantly, as if every brush of your bare skin on his, isn’t crackling with electricity that makes his hairs stand on end. As if he doesn’t wish to drag his tongue and teeth down the curvature of your neck and shoulders. As if you were not the direct cause of the lecherous, alcohol-induced thoughts forming in his head or the tightness quickly growing in his pants.

Beneath the table, he reaches for your hand, intertwining your fingers in his. You smile into the rim of your drink; Alhaitham has always been clingier in private, and even more so with a drink or three in him. Leaning over, you rest your head on his broad shoulder, turning just a smidgen to press a kiss into the mottled flush of his skin, but it only makes the throbbing worse.

Maybe—no—it was definitely due to the influence of that firewater, but it’s a thrum like no other. He cannot think, he cannot will it away, he cannot ignore it. Frustrated, he squeezes your hand, just a semblance of a warning before guiding you to his crotch, showing you just what you’ve done. I need you, his actions say, coughing to stifle the grunt that escapes when you inadvertently palm him through his pants.

You blink, eyes wide in revelation. Ah.

“I think I need some air,” you lie. “Haitham, would you accompany me?”

Though really, it’s Alhaitham who’s dragging you out the back door of the tavern, where you’re immediately herded until your back is pressed flat against the wall, and your lover’s lips find their place firmly against your own, the lingering notes of wine still apparent on his tongue as you follow his lead. He’s bolder than usual, uncaring of who might turn the corner, and hungrier in his kisses, biting, tugging at your lip for an audience with your tongue, entitled in the way he steals the breath from right out of your lungs, as if it were his air to breathe in the first place. Perhaps it’s the alcohol, treating his veins like marionette strings, but you’ve lit a fever in his belly and he’s resolute to soothe the heat fogging in his head.

You’re no better as your nails graze down his chest, one hand scrambling to undo his pants, while the other slips beneath the opening, working along the hard length of his cock, pumping his shaft, and glossing over the leaking tip until he bucks into your fist, groaning, because a handjob just isn’t enough.

The grip on your waist tightens—pulling you in, ever closer until your hips are aligned, and you can feel how his standing erection rubs against your belly, wordlessly asking for something more. One of his hands roams further down: smoothing over every curve your body offers, but only settling upon the underside of your thigh, slowly oscillating up and down over your tender flesh. It’s not long before you feel his touch slide higher, up past the edges of your skirt, fingers hooked between the waistband of your panties.

Elegant, romantic… Alhaitham knows you’re well versed in his preference of lingerie, knows that he could quite confidently, recognize each pair by touch alone… and so he notices when something feels different—the pattern alien to the very fingertips that have traced and memorized the details of every piece you own. And though the alcohol has burned through the last remnants of his inhibitions, the pleasant buzz in his veins surges anew, and the lace material shifts as he feeds into his earthly desires—tugging the flimsy cloth down just an inch, then pausing as if to ask permission before tearing the little thing apart.

“Are these new?”

You whine at the halt in his movements, wriggling and grinding your hips so that maybe he’d get the hint to touch you again. “Was supposed to be a surprise,” you breathe.

And though he has yet to lay eyes on your salaciously thoughtful gesture, Alhaitham hums low in his throat, delighted. “Then I can’t wait to unwrap you later,” he whispers into your ear, trailing wet kisses down the sides of your neck, and leaving you to shiver in his wake.

Alhaitham is not a frugal man by any means, but he’d never let a gift like that go to waste… so he’ll try to be careful, he tells himself, for he dares not make it a promise. Between the alcohol swirling in his head, and your familiarly pavlovian scent, there lies a nebulous cloud of lust and want, blowing air directly into the heart of the fire, urgently demanding him to quell the almost painful erection that threatens his good sense.

Still though, he tries—willing himself to untangle his fingers from the gossamer threads, opting to migrate just a bit further south, comfortably cupping his large hand around your dripping cunt, thumb rubbing firm circles onto your clit, from across the lace. Hips jerking, your arms tighten around his neck, fingers lacing a crown in his head as you hug him close, crushing your lips back against his in the hopes it’d muffle the whimpers begot from the sudden spike in stimulation.

At your wordless insistence, two deft fingers swiftly push your panties to the side, running back and forth, feeling the wetness between your folds, as more kisses line across the edge of your jaw, down the column of your throat, and in the spot at the juncture of your neck, where he knows you’re most sensitive.

“I want you,” he mutters, jagged breaths painting an irregular warmth onto your skin, like droplets of cold fire that melt into your flesh, teasing arousal to twist and churn in your belly until it breaks through the barrier, leaking out of your cunt and coating his fingers in your slick.

“You have me,” you promise.

Without warning, his digits slip through the threshold, immediately beginning his campaign within. You buck at the sudden, but welcome intrusion—tipping your head back against the wall, fists clenched and eyes squeezed shut, as a quiet, stuttered gasp sounds from your lips.

Alhaitham fucks you harsh and fast—sloppy, though that’s not to say it isn’t without his usual precision. The way the pads of his fingers rub upon all your hidden ridges, and how his knuckles angle to brush against all the right spots—every twist and curl is deliberate, every movement a tribute in working you wet and open, until you’re lightheaded, and rocking into his slender digits, desperately in need of something more.

Adjusting his position, he digs the heel of his palm against your clit, mercilessly bullying the nub until the rough sensation draws a low moan as you clench around him. Liquid fire continues to run its course, and then again and again through your veins, and you’re unable to fathom how your legs could still possibly be standing. By your trembling alone, you’re sure you’ve already melted to putty in his hands.

“H-haitham—please…” You all but moan as he crooks his fingers again, once more prodding where you need him most, before drawing out, ignoring the way your cunt clenches and sobs, begging him not to go.

But he too, is eager to remedy the loss, and you’re quick to feel it by way of the thick tip—far wider than a mere couple fingers—lined against your entrance. Guided by the hand still on your thigh, you wrap a leg around his waist, locking him in close, as he breaches beyond your sticky folds, plunging his cockhead home into your silken insides.

Alhaitham swallows your moans for you, slotting his mouth onto yours, deepening his kiss just as he deepens his cock, easily slipping to the hilt in spite of the stretch. He starts moving immediately, long thrusts, powerful and relentless as he slams in and out of your hole, desperate and haphazard and messy. There’s little time to waste in this indeterminate window of privacy, but he cannot help but savor the way your cunt rejoices with every drag of his cock, grasping onto every inch, every vein. You’re so tight when you squeeze around him like that, trying to milk him for all he’s worth, and at this point, he’s quite sure that no amount of alcohol could intoxicate him the way you do.

His tongue in your mouth, his cock in your cunt—all your senses seem to be overridden by alhaitham. The subtle spice of harra fruit in his cologne, the sweet notes of wine still lingering on his tongue. The wisps of hot breath as he pants and groans quietly beside your ear, and the bruising grip on your ass and thighs, digging into your skin, guiding your other leg to, too, wrap itself around his waist so that you’d fall ever deeper onto his length.

Haitham! Haitham! Haitham! Your mind churns up a cacophony in your head, screaming in lieu of what your voice dares not utter so close within the vicinity of the public eye. But holding it all in does nothing, except heighten your sensitivity, both that of tangible and intangible nature.

You feel as if you’re about to burst at the seams, because how lucky you are that even in his inebriation, your lover still fucks you so well, like a beast in rut—careless, merciless, but you’re so, so full. Your lashes flutter with tears, opening the gates for a litany of soft mewls and whimpers to escape out of the depths of your throat, unwilling to be silenced.

“Any louder and someone might notice,” he whispers, nipping at the skin beneath your ear as he teases you with a playful chide. “It’s a packed house tonight.”

Immediately, you slap a hand over your mouth, hoping it’d be enough to muffle your moans because there’s no way you can suppress anything any longer—not when Alhaitham can feel your walls convulse at the threat of discovery, and especially not as he further feeds into the not-so-distant fantasy.

“Unless that’s what you want,” he rasps, shifting you on his hips. “For someone to stumble out the tavern, find you fucked out. Cockdrunk. Exposed…”

With each word, he makes sure to follow with a soul rattling thrust, letting gravity do its work as he prods even deeper, sinking you further into a delirious haze. But you shake your head no as you bury your face in the juncture of his neck, sobs racking through your body, more slick gushing from your hole. Your hand, previously clamped over your mouth, now joins the other as it digs into the flesh of his shoulders, holding on for dear life.

“Only want you to,” you hiccup, pausing to break, singing gasps as his languid strokes hit a particularly delicate spot. “Only wan’ y-you to see me like this.”

And the wires in his head short-circuit in the drunken pool of his thoughts, clearly pleased at the fact that you share his sentiments. Because he should be the only one to ever lay eyes on this lascivious sight. Cheeks flushed, imprints dappled about your skin, cunt split open, stuffed full of his cock, from the fat tip all the way down to its even girthier base… He could care less who happens upon the grand scribe engaging in such perversions; the worst case scenario is but public discourse. You however, well…he isn’t one keen to share in his gifts.

“Then cum for me,” he coos, and he shifts his hand between your bodies, searching for, and stroking your clit as he finds it—until you’re writhing in his arms, between he and the wall, thighs quivering around his waist as you cum and clench and release around his cock.

Your chest heaves, hugging your lover close, chin digging into the dimple that sits on the back of his shoulder. His thrusts grow uneven, stuttering as he too, fractures into his own high. Ribbons of his cum run hot as he fills your insides, cock pulsing with each spurt that paints your walls with his seed. The two of you stay like this for a minute, hearts syncing between the breathless wake, panting in the warm afterglow of two bodies strained, breaths mingling into something sweet.

“We should—” He starts, breathless.

“Before someone sees us,” you interrupt, nodding at what you can only assume would be the most logical end to this tryst.

But Alhaitham only lets out an airy chuckle, pressing a chaste kiss to the crest of your cheekbone, before resting his forehead against yours. “I was going to say we should stay like this a little longer.”

“Oh? Did one birthday suddenly turn you into a romantic?” you tease, yelping as the hand still gripping your ass pinches at the soft flesh.

“I’m always romantic.”

“That’s debatable,” you quip back, “But…since it’s your birthday, I suppose I must agree that you are the most romantic man in all of sumeru.”

“Not all of Teyvat?” Alhaitham smirks, and you can’t help but melt, giggling as you kiss at the crooked corner of his lips. His hold loosens as he begins to untangle your limbs, snapping those new lace panties back into place, and setting you down gently, though never fully letting go until he’s sure you can stand, albeit on wobbling fawn legs.

It takes little time for him to redo the buckle of his pants, and even less for him to notice the nefariously lecherous state he’s left you in: your hair’s a mess, clothes wrinkled, lipstick smeared upon kiss-swollen lips. And who could ignore the drying stains of your cum and slick staining your thighs, or the white trails of his cum leaking out from your folds, slowly making its way down the insides of your legs.

“You should head back in first. I…need to clean up a bit, clearly,” you mumble, but Alhaitham only scoffs. As if he’d ever allow anyone in that tavern to see you in such a state. His fingers reach for the sharp end of your chin, tilting your face up towards him, and drawing your doe-eyed gaze back into his orbit. If he remembers your words correctly…

“I want to be the only one to see you like this,” he murmurs. “So let’s go home. And if I recall, you still owe me a surprise, no?”

notes2: wrote this in one day so it’s not my best T^T and it's far from optimal posting time, but i wanted to post while it's still alhaitham's birthday in my timezone :'D anyways, thank you for reading, and as always, reblogs + feedback are greatly appreciated ! ♡

#— 𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓙. ༯ #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham smut #genshin x reader #alhaitham x reader smut #genshin x reader smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin thirsts #genshin impact x you #alhaitham x you

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f1goat · 10 months ago

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more than friends ; lando norris + part six

In which your best friend is going to help you to gain more sexual experience and say goodbye to your insecurities, but he's quick to discover that he never wants to share you and your new experiences with others - the only problem being, him having to confess his feelings.

masterlist - playlist

fem!y/n x lando norris

warnings: smut with a plot. minors dni! probably grammar or spelling errors due to english not being my first language.

requested: yes, based on this request: something with a driver sister that’s still a virgin & lando (her bestfriend) suggests to teach her things

a/n: this is a rewritten story, you can find the explanation on my profile

part one / part two / part three / part four / part five

The dinner is going on and on. Normally you really like the dinners with the McLaren team, but tonight you can’t seem to focus on anything that’s happening around you. Lando isn’t seated close to you like normal, you don’t know how it happened but there is a couple seats between you. It causes you to stare at him all the time. Oscar however is sitting next to you. He’s nice and polite, but the both of you are a bit shy. Something that causes the conversation to go not as smooth as when Lando is with you. You couldn’t stop yourself and drank a bit more then you’d normally do. You try to talk it right for yourself, but all your excuses are around Lando. Instead of doing the wise thing and order a water or a soda, you order another cocktail when the waiter asks you for your drink order. Oops?

You don’t know what’s going on with you. Since you have arrived in the restaurant, you have been feeling vague. At first it was just because Lando was seated a bit far away from you, but eventually something else happened what causes you to feel like this. Maybe vague isn’t the right word, but you can’t confess the right word. That would make things so much worse.

The weird, unsettling feeling in your stomach and head started when Lando started to talk with another girl. You don’t know her personally and you haven’t seen her around before. Nothing too weird since McLaren is growing rather fast and hires a lot of new employees quite often. If she’s from McLaren, you don’t know for sure. Lando is talking and laughing with her, it causes you to feel terrible. Every time he lets out a laugh, you feel yourself getting jealous.

Oscar sends you a confused look when you take a big gulp from the cocktail the waiter just brought you. He seems even more confused when he looks at his own glass, which is still half full and was order a round earlier. You can only hope that Oscar doesn’t say anything about it, but you’re quick to let go of that hope when Oscar starts to talk.

“Everything okay?” He asks you.

You show him a simple nod as a reply.

“Do you want me to switch places with Lando?” He asks you with a small smile, “I understand if I’m a bit boring tonight, but I’m exhausted from the race.”

“Oh no,” you quickly state, “I’m also pretty tired, so I’m not the most fun person tonight as well. And I can’t focus on anything right now.”

“Maybe that’s because you’re drinking quite a lot for someone who wants to focus?” Oscar jokes.

You let out a soft laugh. “You’re right,” you agree with him, “Don’t even know why.”

“Maybe because of the girl who’s flirting with Lando?” Oscar says without even a single doubt. Are you that obvious? Fuck. Before you can say anything to Oscar - not that you know what, are you going to lie to him or confess? Oscar is already talking again, but this time softer. “Let me help you. Just follow my lead and this is fixed in only minutes.”

You show Oscar a confused look, but still nod at his words. Oscar says a loud hi to someone who’s sitting next to you, quickly starting a conversation with him. You look at what he’s doing, but you still have no idea how it will help you right now.

“Did you already meet Y/N?” Oscar suddenly asks the guy. The guy shakes his head. “Really?” Oscar asks confused, “This is her, you should really get to know her.” In only seconds the guy is shaking your hand and introducing himself as Pedro. You introduce yourself as well. A small conversation is started rather quickly. Pedro is pretty interested into you, Oscar is quickly fading to the background of the conversation. You try to keep him into it as well, but Pedro keeps focussing on you.

“We should totally dance together at the club later!” Pedro tells you full enthusiasm, you chuckle and tell him that you’re a terrible dancer. Something he doesn’t seem to care about. Conversations with him are pretty easy, before you know it he talks about how he got by McLaren recently and what he does. It seems that he’s involved in Lando his trainings, helping the team with making a better rhythm for your friend and assisting his main trainer John when it’s needed.

“I can teach you how to dance later tonight,” Pedro tells you with a smile. It sounds a bit suggestive now that you think about it. Before you can realize, you see Lando coming closer to you. He presses a kiss against your cheek. You almost jump up when he does, since when are you doing this in public as well?

“Hi babygirl,” Lando softly greets you.

Pedro sends you an embarrassed look. Before he can say anything, Lando greets his shortly as well. “Pedro,” he simply says with a small nod to the guy. You don’t know if you’re right, but Lando his tone seemed different when he greeted Pedro. It almost sounded annoyed. When you look at Oscar and he shows you a grin, you realize that this was his plan all the time.

“Sorry Lando, didn’t know you two are a thing,” Pedro quickly says, he stands up and walks away after saying so. The words to deny it are still laying on your tongue. Lando is quick to take Pedro his seat next to you. You show him a confused look. What did just happen? Why didn’t Lando deny it?

“Sooo, the two of you are a thing?” Oscar asks his teammate with a small smirk on his face. He knew exactly what he was doing by letting you meet Pedro. You send him an annoyed look, but don’t say anything. Lando can fix this. He acted this strange. “We’re not dating,” Lando states.

“Oh then why did you kiss her cheek and call her babygirl?” Oscar asks.

“It’s just the alcohol,” Lando mutters.

Oscar laughs. He doesn’t believe the tiniest bit of it. Lando makes things even worse for himself by grabbing you on a soft way by the shoulders and pulling your body onto his. You show him a confused look, but then you allow your body to lean onto Lando. His hand find yours, he plays with your fingers before interlocking them with his own.

“And that’s the alcohol as well?” Oscars asks while laughing.

“Fuck off mate,” Lando sighs.

“Weren’t you talking with that other girl?” You can’t help yourself and ask Lando. When you look around and let your gaze wander to where Lando was sitting before, you notice that the girl is already looking at Lando and you. You quickly look away from her, feeling uncomfortable with the stare.

“Which girl?” Lando asks you. “The one who’s looking at us,” you reply.

“Oh, her,” he says, “She’s a bit too interested to be honest. So smile at me and act like you love me,” he continues to joke. You do what he says, you press a small kiss against Lando his cheek. You don’t even have to act like you love him. You know all to well that it’s not an act. It has never been an act.

+++

When you’re finally in the club, you’re quick to find the dance floor. You’re dancing for fun with a couple of McLaren team members. Lando has find a place on the sidelines where he can focus all his attention on you. He laughs when you almost bump into another girl. Oscar has found a place next to his teammate. The words Oscar is saying aren’t landing by Lando, he’s way too focused on you.

He’s completely focused on you and the dress you’re wearing. The dress has been on his mind for the whole evening. It’s unfair how good you look in it. It causes him to want to spread your legs for him so he can pull out another orgasm from you. Or for you to drop on your knees, so he can fuck your mouth and finally can get rid from the sexual tension that has been hanging around him since his podium. Or just your hand firmly around his boner to give him his release. Now that he thinks about it, he doesn’t care how it happens as long as there happens something. And the best would be if you were just close to him, showing everyone that the beautiful girl on the dance floor belongs to him. Only you don’t. It causes him to have a headache. Why aren’t you his? He really needs to change this.

“There’s really nothing going on between Y/N and you?” Oscar asks Lando.

“No,” Lando quickly states.

“So you won’t mind if my friend asks her on a date?” Oscar continues to ask, “Since you acted a bit weird with Pedro giving her attention..”

Lando doesn’t even react to the question, he can only focus on one thing. “Who?” He asks. His head is filling up with all kind of questions. Which friend from Oscar wants to date you? Would you date that friend as well? He lets out a sigh. This is the worst.

“Logan.”

Logan? Does Logan even know you? Do you even know Logan? Lando starts to wonder if he ever saw the two of you talking. Would you say yes to Logan if he asks you on a date? Fuck. Why didn’t he thought about this before. Of course there’s someone interested in you.

“Do they even know each other?” Lando sneers. He can’t help himself.

“Kinda,” Oscar shrugs, “they talked a couple races ago when Logan DNF’ed. She made him feel a lot better about it.”

“Fuck,” Lando sighs. He can’t hold the words back anymore. “Fuuck.”

Oscar laughs. “That says enough, don’t you think?”

“No,” Lando quickly mutters, “I mean if he wants to he should, you know. It’s up to Y/N what she says.”

This time it’s Oscar who lets out a sigh. “Lando just be honest, you like her so you don’t want anyone else to date her. Why aren’t you telling her that?”

Lando doesn’t answer to that question. He wachtes you dance and sip from your drink. When he watches the people around you, it’s not surprising to him how many guys are doing the same as him. Watching you. He’s quick to realize that Logan, or Pedro, aren’t the problem. There’s always someone who would want to date you. The problem is always that you aren’t his. How is he ever going to fix this mess? What if you meet someone who you want to date? Someone who can offer you anything you want? Like being always there for you instead of needing you to travel across the world with them? What if he loses you want you start to date someone else? Lando can’t stand by the sidelines while watching you have a relationship with someone else. Right? He would lose his mind.

It doesn’t even surprise Lando when he sees Logan coming closer to you. He sighs. It’s pretty normal that after a race a lot of the drivers are clubbing, so he isn’t surprised that Logan is her as well. But still, it stings. It’s stings even more when you greet Logan with a hug before talking to him full with enthusiasm. He wachtes away. He can’t see this.

“You’re an idiot,” Oscar sighs when he notices the way Lando looks away from you for the first time that evening.

“I know,” Lando mutters, “and you don’t even know the worst parts.”

“Worst parts?” Oscar asks curiously.

Lando knows that everything that’s happening between you two is a secret, but he also knows that Oscar will keep it that way. Right now he really can use some advise from someone. Oscar can probably give him some, he even has a great relationship. Lando stops questioning it and starts to confess to Oscar. This must be because of the alcohol, otherwise he would have thought about it longer.

“The short version is that we’re fucking,” Lando confesses, “or not really fucking, but doing a lot of other sexual stuff. Probably fucking soon.”

Oscar almost drops his drink. Then he lets out a loud laugh. “And you’re still doubting if she wants you?” He asks. “Fuck man, you’re stupid. Why would she do those things with you without being interested into you?”

“Because she wants sexual experience,” Lando explains.

“But still, why with you? There were probably enough others who wanted to help.”

“I offered,” Lando states.

“Same question, why did she chose you?”

Lando doesn’t reply at first. He watches Logan and you again. The two of you are dancing. Logan looks if he tries to get as close to you as he can manage. Fuck, that should be him. Lando curses himself, he should have make sure that he was on the dance floor with you. Embarrassing himself, but having fun with you.

“I don’t know why with me, probably because I offered and she didn’t have to contact others to ask. She’s embarrassed about her experience, so she probably wants to keep it a secret,” he explains to Oscar.

“Lando she won’t be doing this with you if there wasn’t some sort of interest,” Oscar quickly states.

Lando just shakes his head to disagree. He focuses on Logan and you again. There’s still a lot of dancing happening and it’s getting more closer with the second. He can’t watch this anymore. Without saying anything else to Oscar he starts to walk towards Logan and you. He hasn’t even a plan, but he needs to do something abut this. Oscar lets out a laugh when he notices the way Lando is walking towards you. He didn’t tell his teammate that he told Logan before that it would be dumb to ask you onto a date, since you’re too close with Lando. Oscar believes that Lando needs a push and this could be exactly the push Lando would have needed. And who is he to not give his teammate that much needed push?

It doesn’t take Lando long before he stands in front of you. You stop dancing to focus on him. What’s Lando doing? Logan also stops dancing and wait for what’s going to happen. Oscar already warned him for this, but he still wanted to try. “Can we go back to the hotel?” Lando asks you.

He notices that Logan takes a bit more distance from you. Something he’s glad abut. You look worried at Lando.

“Back to the hotel?” You ask him, “What’s going on?”

“I’m not feeling well,” Lando lies. Although he doesn’t feel well, but that can be easily fixed if every guy would leave you alone.

“What’s wrong?” You ask him worried.

“Just a bit too much alcohol,” Lando continues to lie. He can’t confess that he isn’t feeling well because of the attention every boy is giving you tonight. You send Lando another worried look and get closer to him.

“Let’s go back to the hotel then,” you tell Lando.

“Sorry if I’m ruining your night right now,” Lando says apologetic. He almost feels ashamed of himself for acting like this, but he can’t help it. He needs you for himself right now. He wants nothing more then to lay in bed with you right now and to cuddle up against you, instead of worrying about every guy around you.

“It’s fine Lan,” you quickly say.

Then Logan starts to meddle in the conversation. He sounds a bit unsure when he talks, a bit nervous even, “I can also bring you back to the hotel?” He suggests, “If you want to stay longer of course.”

“That’s really sweet of you Logan,” you say. Before you can say anything else Lando is talking as well. He feels himself getting more frustrated. Who does Logan think he is by suggesting this? He doesn’t even think about his next actions. He just acts. Word are quickly leaving his mouth.

“We share the room and I only have one pass,” he states with a harsh undertone in his voice, “so you can’t.”

You look confused at Lando. Why is he acting like this? Doesn’t he notice that Logan is trying to help? Why is he this rude? Since when can Lando even act like this? You don’t know this side of him.

“Oh sorry I didn’t know,” Logan quickly says, “I just wanted to help.”

You feel ashamed when Lando continues to talk. “That’s unnecessary,” he states. You quickly take a step closer to Logan, you don’t realize that it causes you to stand in front of Lando while doing so. Lando on the other hand is quick to notice.

“It’s really sweet of you Logan,” you say, “but I’ll get back with Lando. Enjoy the rest of your night.” To give your words a bit more power, you give Logan a quick hug. When Lando sees your action he almost loses his mind. He feels like the most childish person when he grabs your hand and drags you away with him. He doesn’t take the time to say goodbye to anyone, he just needs to get you into the car with him. When he is outside the club, he starts to feel more ashamed for his actions. He barely dares to look at you. What are you thinking about him right now? You are probably really annoyed with him. And he gets it.

“What’s wrong with you Lan?” You ask confused, Lando is just happy that you still use the nickname for him. “Logan only tried to help.”

Lando doesn’t reply at first. He lets out a small scoff. Of course you’re dragging Logan into this as well.

“You acted really rude,” you tell him annoyed.

“Of course side with Logan,” Lando sighs, “give me an even bigger headache right now.”

You let out a sigh. “You’re acting crazy,” you state frustrated.

Lando doesn’t reply anymore. He’s glad when the taxi is standing in front of him. He opens your car door and walks towards the other side to take place himself. He knows that you’re right, but he really doesn’t want to confess that right now. Unsure he grabs your hand and interlaces his fingers with yours. He smiles when he notices that you aren’t pulling away from him, but even give him a small squeeze.

After a short taxi ride, Lando and you are quick to find your way back into the hotel. When standing in the room, you change your outfit. The dress from before quickly lands onto the floor and is replaced by a shirt from Lando. Lando can only focus on you walking around in his shirt with only a thong underneath. He wants nothing more then to hold you right now. Maybe remind you of your earlier promise, he still has an awful hard dick that can use some help.

You on the other hand are thinking about other things. One of them being Logan. “You should apologize to Logan,” you softly tell Lando after a comfortable silence, “He only tried to help us.”

“He tried to get in your pants,” Lando scoffs annoyed. The frustrated feeling of before is coming back rather quickly. Why are you starting about Logan again? He wonders if you really don’t realize that Logan only wanted to bring you back to the hotel so he could get more from you?

“Lan,” you sigh annoyed, “now you’re just exaggerating.”

“I’m not,” Lando quickly replies.

You let out a big sigh and take a seat onto the bed. Lando is already laying in it. “You are,” you tell him while sending you an angry glance, “not everyone who’s nice to me is trying to get in my pants.”

“But he was,” Lando exclaims with a raised voice.

“Why?” You ask.

“Because Oscar told me he wants to date you,” Lando confesses.

“So?” You ask, “That doesn’t mean he wants to fuck me.”

“Y/N,” Lando sighs, “just believe me on this one.”

“Even if he is, why do you care?” You eventually ask Lando, you’re done with this conversation but it doesn’t seem to be even close to ending. You can’t help yourself from questioning it. Why does it seem like Lando cares this much about Logan wanting to date you and maybe wanting to have sex with you? It gives you a tiny bit of hope that Lando might return your feelings. Could that be possible? Is he just acting jealous? It almost seems so.

“I uh,” Lando stutters a bit, he doesn’t know what to say. “I uh, I just want to be sure that your first is with someone who cares about you,” he says after a bit of stuttering. That is a good reason, right?

“Are you afraid you won’t be my first anymore?” You ask Lando confused.

Lando doesn’t know what to answer. He realizes that you’re right. He is afraid that things will change and that you don’t want - and need - him anymore. He really wants to be your first. “Maybe,” he confesses eventually.

“Don’t,” you tell Lando.

“Don’t?” He asks confused.

“You’ll still be my first,” you tell Lando, “I trust you and I want it to be with you. But..”

“But?” Lando asks.

“But you still need to apologize to Logan, otherwise I will find someone else,” you joke.

“Fucking hell,” Lando mutters annoyed. He grabs his phone from his nightstand. You lay down on the bed next to him in the mean time. You get yourself close to Lando, you lay your head on his chest. Lando plays with your hair while scrolling in his phone, you watch the screen with him. You see Lando searching for Logan’s contact. When he finds him, he’s quick to type a message.

Lando: Hey Logan. Sorry for my behavior tonight. It was rude, I understand now that you were only trying to help. Sorry.

You smile when Lando hits send. What the both of you don’t know is that Logan and Oscar are reading the message right now together. “I told you so,” Oscar tells Logan, “She has him all wrapped around her finger.”

When Lando puts his phone away, he is quick to focus his attention back on you. He doesn’t have to do anything to get your attention as well. You’re quick to move closer to him and press your lips onto his. The kiss was meant innocent, but Lando is quick to turn it into a make out session.

“Fuck babygirl,” he mutters, “I’ve been so fucking turned on the whole night because of you.”

You look at Lando. All the annoyed, mad feelings from before have melted away like snow for the sun. He grabs you and moves you on top of him. When you’re sitting on his lip, you feel his boner pressing on your body.

“Can’t get the taste of you out if my system,” he continues to say, “Have been thinking about all the things you can do to me all night. All the ways you can make me cum. Fuck.”

You grind your ass on Lando his lap. “You like that don’t you?” Lando asks you, “When I talk dirty to you.” You show him a nod. “My dirty girl,” Lando continues to speak. His words cause you to grind on his crotch again. You feel the pressure from his boner sliding on your pussy. Fuck that feels good.

“I need you to do something about it,” Lando groans when you take his boner into your hands. You won’t let him say that twice to you. Without giving it a second thought, you unclasp Lando his belt. Within seconds you pull down his pants and boxers. His boner springs free. When you take his boner into your hand and slowly stroke it. Your small movements cause Lando to let out a soft relieved moan.

You try to remember what Lando likes. After a few firm strokes, you move down your head towards Lando his member. You place a few small licks around the top, making it wet. After that you carefully take his boner in your mouth. Slowly bobbing your head while sucking harshly on it. You use one of your hands to stroke the bit of his dick that doesn’t fit in your mouth.

Lando sees the way you subtle move your head a couple times to remove the hair from coming in your sight. He lets out a low chuckle. Then he grabs your hair with one of his hands. Pulling it behind your head in a ponytail and keeping it in his hand like that. You increase your pace a bit.

“Babygirl,” Lando suddenly says, “I’m going to give you a pace, but if it’s not okay you need to let me know. Okay?”

You remove your mouth from his boner only to tell Lando yes. When your mouth is back around his dick, Lando firms his grip on your hair. Slowly he shows you what he means. He softly pushes and pulls to make you get on his pace. He lets out a loud moan. “Fucking hell baby.”

Slowly you use your other hand to explore Lando his dick a bit more. Eventually you let your hand find Lando his balls. You use your finger to trace over them. For Lando this is a bit new as well, he always knew it would feel good but former girlfriends weren’t interested in it. He loves the way you doing things like this out of yourself. He doesn’t need to ask, you just explore the exact same things as he wants. When he feels your hand form around his balls and softly squeeze them, he lets out the hardest moan so far. It feels insanely good.

You continue doing the same over again. It doesn’t take Lando long before he feels his balls getting a bit more tight. He lets out multiple moans before one hard grunts leaves his lips. It says enough to you. Lando his grip on your hair loses. A salty taste enters your mouth. You swallow it before sucking slowly until Lando is completely empty.

“You’re the best,” Lando eventually says to you. You show him a smile. Lando pulls you close to himself, causing you to land on his chest with your body again. He plays with your hair. “Don’t give me that innocent look,” Lando says with a small smile, “because I know for sure that you’re not that innocent.” You show him a smile again, not knowing what to reply.

“I can’t wait to find out how you feel around my cock,” Lando tells you.

“I’m ready for that,” you tell Lando shyly, “Maybe we can do that soon?”

“That sounds like a good plan.”

Then Lando realizes that he has no idea what will happen after that. Will this thing between you two end when Lando takes your virginity? He realizes that he needs to think about that and talk to you about it. But for now he focuses his attention onto you again. He presses a soft kiss against your forehead.

part seven

taglist: @booksandplushies @dinodumbass @formula1mount @words-are-cheap @allywthsr @inejghafawifesblog @chonkybonky @formulas-bitch @harrysdimple05 @vildetry06 @wherethefuckisthething @nonameishere @lauralarsen@meadhbhcavanagh @obliviatevamps @shy4turcs @fix5idiots @nightlockcornucopia @marialovesf1 @kapsylia @im-an-overthinker @jule239 @lanando4 @lauralarsen @leclercdream @agentadhd @rewmuslupin @allsouls-emma @iamshiningeuw @teenagedreams-cl@kiskso @loxbbg @vellicora @thomaslefteyebrow @avg-golden-retriever @amorydsmt @killjoynotes@barelytolerabled @starmanv @changetyre @kami10471633 @2bormaybenot @httpmrklee @buendiabebeta @aliceespector@ryiamarie @mickslover @sop-hie092 @miniemonie2001 @greymarvelskaikru @kapsylia@swiftiedrafts @thatchickwiththecamera @formulas-bitch @venisvendetta @t3a-3njoy3r @landowecanbewc

taglist p2: @chezmardybum @booksandflowrs @mineandneveryours @strawberryy-kiwii @noneofyourfbusinessworld @secretgal66 @trinity2058 @evieepepi08 @shutupmymomsc4lling @smiithys @nanamilkbread @hellowgoodbye @annie115 @random-1927 @sadmeal444 @christianpulisic10 @peachiicherries @toppersjeep @lovingaphroditesworld @kiskso @silentreader128 @lauralarsen @scopeiguess @trinity2058

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris x y/n #lando norris fanfiction #ln4 #formula one #lando norris imagine #f1 #lando norris imagines #lando norris smut #formula one smut

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hayleythesugarbowl · 6 months ago

Note

hello! I've been seeing a lot of smosh vidcon content lately as well as rewatching shayne guesses and it made me brainstorm a bit!

How about a Spencer x reader where he freaks out about his favorite creator being at vidcon (the reader obvi) and the other cast members trying so hard to get them to meet and they hit it off? *you know Kiana would be allll over helping a bestie out lol*

or maybe even the same kind of thing but instead of meeting, reader is one of Spencer's fav youtubers in Shayne's guessing favorite youtubers video? Shayne immediately knows it's spencer and kind of outs his crush! reader is a big fan of smosh so she sees the video and it goes from there!

absolutely adore your work and keep it up queen! 🫶

See You Online || Spencer Agnew x reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ masterlist • smosh masterlist ⋆˚｡⋆୨୧⋆

summary: when you see a smosh video of spencer saying you’re one of his favorite youtubers, you begin to interact online. then, when you both attend vidcon (and spencer’s friends convince him to talk to you) you hit it off

word count: 2.6k

warnings: mild language

a/n: hey darling! so i kind of went with both of these ideas and i hope you like what i did 🤭 i included some fake insta/yt in this because it fit so this is partially a social media au. fem!reader. enjoy!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Well, this is obviously Spencer.”

Shayne tapped his pen against the desk as he looked at the screen in front of him.

Three YouTuber names had appeared next to him for the viewers to see.

“What makes it me?” Spencer’s teasing voice came from off camera.

“C’mon,” Shayne said. “We got Retro Game Corp, MandaloreGaming, and (Y/n) (Y/l/n).”

He continued. “Everyone knows you love retro shit. MandaloreGaming sounds like just the kind of nerd thing you’d be into. And (Y/n)—that one’s just self explanatory. I mean, Spencer’s obsessed with (Y/n). Ask anyone in the office.”

“Ok woah,” Spencer piped in again. “I don’t know about obsessed.”

“Dude, you just told me yesterday that you watched her videos until two in the morning the night before,” Shayne addressed him.

Then he faced back to the screen, to the viewers. “Spencer’s got a little bit of a crush on (Y/n). It’s uh, it’s honestly adorable.”

A woman’s muffled voice came from offscreen.

Shayne laughed. “Kiana said Spencer would have (Y/n)’s babies.”

“Dude!” Spencer yelled at Kiana offscreen. “What if she sees this!”

“There’s no way,” Shayne laughed. “There’s no way any of the YouTubers from this video are seeing this.”

“Imagine,” Spencer joked. “I’m like, ‘hey (Y/n), hit me up’, and then she sees this, bro.”

“Hey,” Shayne raised his eyebrows. “You never know. I mean, I married a YouTuber.”

“Just an excuse to bring up Courtney,” Spencer coughed.

“Anyway,” Shayne put his hands on the table in front of him. “We’re getting a little off track here. We’ve established Spencer’s in love with (Y/n). Now—do I even have to guess?—show me Spencer!”

He pointed to the side as an imagine of Spencer popped up on the screen.

“Well, thanks for that easy round,” Shayne joked. “Now, let’s see the next set of YouTubers…”

And that was where you stopped watching the video every time. You’d seen the whole of Shayne Guesses Favorite YouTubers before, but when you went back to rewatch it, it was always this clip.

You’d been sent this specific clip by hundreds of people. Your followers and subscribers on all different platforms. The comments ranged from ‘oh my gosh look at this’ to ‘you have to see this smosh video’ to ‘petition to get Spencer and (Y/n) to go out’.

What they didn’t know, was that you’d seen it long before they began tagging you in it.

You were a huge Smosh fan, and had been for years. Imagine your shock when you yourself were named in one of their videos.

You’d only been a creator for a little over a year now, but you’d quickly gained a following and were becoming more and more popular online. It still all felt so surreal, and seeing yourself named as someone’s favorite YouTuber—especially on one of your favorite channels—felt like a huge moment.

That, and you were flattered by Shayne’s comments about Spencer. You thought it was sweet that he enjoyed your content and—you couldn’t stop the blush from spreading to your cheeks—you.

That was what prompted you to leave a comment under the video—a comment which Spencer responded to.

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Can Shayne Guess Our Favorite YouTubers? Smosh Games • 721k views • 38k 👍

comments 2.9k

yourusername ✓: does this count as being in the youtuber and the celeb crush vid?

♥️ by creator

spennser ✓: it was actually only until 1am i swear smoshyyy651: spensser LMAOOOO chumbawumbasnumbertwofan: the fact that (y/n) (y/l/n) saw this ✋😭 y/nstanforlifeee: oh my gosh my queen is here 👑 I love you and your vids (not as much as Spencer apparently asksfsk)

mya_sol: how many times have you watched 8:04? me: yes

yourfavoritepizzaplace: ‘spencer would have (y/n)’s babies’ KIANA THATS WILDDDD 💀

──────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────────

And from there, you began interacting. Leaving comments and likes on each other’s videos and instagram posts. Leaving fans to obsess over your every interaction, to make compilations, to wonder if you were dating.

Because you’d be lying if you said you didn’t read most of the comments about you two.

You enjoyed your little online back-and-forth. You’d known who Spencer was before the Shayne Guesses video had come out. Watching Smosh on-and-off for years, you’d seen him in multiple videos.

It still felt so unreal for him to know who you were—not only know who you were but like your videos.

And now look at you, messaging him and liking his posts like you were old friends. Spencer pretty much liked and commented on every one of your feeds or stories or uploads.

After your original comment on the Smosh video, things just…took off. You didn’t really know how it started, one comment led to another, and suddenly it was like you had always congratulated each other and left witty comments on each other’s pages.

You smiled as you stared at the screen of your phone, looking over your’s and Spencer’s latest interaction. You couldn’t deny that he was really cute. You’d always thought so.

You thought of Shayne saying that Spencer had a crush on you and you felt your smile grow bigger.

Your empty suitcase caught your eye as you looked up, sitting on your bed and reminding you that you still had to pack.

You set your phone down. Fangirling over Spencer could wait. You still had yet to pack for your flight that that was in two days, and you didn’t want to leave it ‘till the last minute—or, more last minute than it already was.

You had been lucky enough to be invited to VidCon this year, and you were thrilled about getting to go as a creator and meet other artists who had inspired you. You were less thrilled about the packing.

You stood up and walked towards your closet, starting to decide which outfits you wanted to bring, daydreaming about what VidCon would be like. All while thinking about Spencer.

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yourusername

liked by hannahmontoya, spennser, and 21,449 others

yourusername: new vid up now !! 💌

view all comments

haleypham: about to go watch it right now xoxo love you

yourusername: stop ilysm 🤭

ynsgirlfriend: WAKE UP SHE POSTED 🙏

spennser: guess what i’m going to be doing at 2am

⤷ liked by yourusername

darlingdaisy: please do a grwm next i need to see your skincare routine!!

ryla768: we’re being fed well today 🙇‍♀️

──────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────────

spennser

liked by yourusername, filmingamanda, and 17,914 others

spennser: it’s giving cat lady

view all comments

phatchanse: *cat queen

yourusername: my cat says to tell ur cat hi

spennser: my cat says ur cat’s pretty cute carmensanfransisco: LOL 😂🐈 urmom17: oh my gosh she commented spencer are you freaking out? spennser: urmom17 shitting my pants fr

jessicarabbitsimp: who else has noticed spencer and (y/n) all over each other’s igs 😏

smoshismylife: love you spencer 🫶

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

liked by spennser, iamjordiofficial, and 32,712 others

yourusername: thx for 100k 🥂

view all comments

spensser: yay i contributed

⤷ liked by yourusername

yourusername: how’d you have time to create 100k accs tho? ⤷ liked by spennser

lucindajones101: congrats girlie!! you deserve it

ynfan7: my queen 🧎‍♀️

butterflyenjoyer: been here since the beginning 🥹 keep shining!!

getyninasmoshvideo: the way spencer makes an appearance on all her posts 😭

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VidCon was amazing.

Today was the first day, and you couldn’t wait for all the festive still to come. You had already seen so many cool presentations and been a part of so many workshops and met so many interesting people.

And now, as you stood at the table set aside for you, staring at the slowing line of people still waiting to meet you, you thought that this was definitely your favorite part.

You’d gotten to talk to people who watched your channel and hear how your content had impacted their lives or inspired them to create. It really made it all feel worth it. It made you love your job and all of the opportunities it had given you.

You’d been here for nearly two hours already, and still there were a few more fans waiting to speak with you and get a picture.

You smiled to yourself as the last of the people filed through, letting the momentary silence wash over you. You had just picked up your phone to take a quick selfie for a later post, when you heard a commotion to your left.

You turned to the source of the noise and had to do a double take when you saw the entire cast of Smosh at a setup similar to yours, having their own meet and greet.

You didn’t know why in all of your thinking about Spencer you hadn’t assumed that Smosh would be at VidCon. It seemed obvious now. They were YouTubers, weren’t they?

Speaking of Spencer, you saw him talking to Courtney and your heart did a little flip in your chest. After interacting with him online these past few weeks, and watching his channel for these past few years, it seemed crazy to see him in person.

As if sensing your presence, he looked your way and you turned away in time so it didn’t look like you’d been staring. You didn’t think he’d caught you watching him.

“Wait? Spencer, is that (Y/n) (Y/l/n)?” Courtney’s voice carried over the several feet that separated you.

“Oh, is it? I hadn’t noticed,” you heard him say sarcastically, even though your back was turned to him. You stepped a little bit closer to their location, pretending to be fixing something on your lanyard.

“Dude, you have to go talk to her,” you heard a male voice—Shayne? You didn’t dare turn around—say.

“No way man,” Spencer answered, “What would I even say?”

“You’ve been commenting on each other’s instagrams for like a month, you’ll think of something,” Courtney said.

“Yeah, but that’s different. This would be, like, a real conversation,” he answered. “I don’t actually know her. What if she thinks I’m just some creepy fan, and it’s like bro back off.”

You bit your lip, stifling a giggle. Oh, what he didn’t know.

Then the music in the venue picked up and you couldn’t hear their conversation for nearly a minute. You walked a few feet back over to your table, picking up and looking at a few of the gifts fans had given you, finding a new way to look busy. This went on for another minute before you heard a new voice say,

“What’s this about Spence and (Y/n) (Y/l/n)?”

“Just that Spencer’s going to go up to her,” Courtney announced.

“I’ll get the popcorn,” the voice said.

“No, Kiana,” you heard Spencer say. “That’s not what’s happening.”

“You’ll regret if forever if you don’t go talk to (Y/n),” The voice—Kiana—stated.

“No way. That’d be like if I asked you to just ‘go up and talk to’ Darren Chris,” Spencer said

“My favorite white guy,” Kiana joked.

“Hey bro, I thought we established that was me!” Spencer said in outrage.

“You will be if you go and talk to (Y/n),” she finished.

“I will not be manipulated,” you heard him say, and you stifled another chuckle.

“No, but you will be shoved,” Kiana said.

“Wait what?” Spencer got out, before you heard a scuffing sound.

You turned around just as Kiana pushed Spencer and suddenly he was right before you.

“Hey,” he said, looking uncomfortable, shooting a glare behind him at Kiana. “I heard there was a meet and greet?”

You smiled. “You just missed it, actually.”

“Damn, next year then,” he said.

“I suppose I could make an exception,” you teased. “I wouldn’t want to be the one to take away anyone’s Favorite White Guy title.”

Spencer winced. “How much of that conversation did you hear?”

“What conversation?” You winked at him.

“I can’t remember,” Spencer said, smiling as he rubbed a hand along the side of his face.

You were both silent for a moment.

“So,” Spencer started, breaking it. “I would tell you that I love watching your content—until a very reasonable hour of the night, might I add—but you kind of already know that. And I bet you’ve already been told that by hundreds of people today.”

“Not by anyone nearly as cute though,” you replied, before leaning in to mock-whisper. “And I don’t mind hearing it again.”

“Also,” you continued. “I could say the same to you. I love Smosh—I’ve watched your channel for years. You guys are all so talented.”

“Really? No way,” Spencer smiled. “You watch Smosh?”

“Really,” you smiled back. “I did know who you were before the Shayne Guesses video, you know.”

“Don’t remind me,” Spencer said, shaking his head.

“I thought it was sweet,” you told him, laughing. “And if that video had never happened, we wouldn’t be here right now.”

“Or at Buca Di Beppo tonight at 8?” Spencer said, with trepidation.

“Or that,” you agreed, nodding. “Are you asking me out on a date, Spencer Agnew?”

You felt a blush creeping up your cheeks.

“I guess I am,” he said. “Unless you’re going to slap me, in which case no.”

“Only if the date goes badly,” you teased. “And if you don’t make 100,000 more accounts to subscribe to my channel with.”

Spencer grinned. “Done. And I can introduce you to the rest of the gang.”

“Are they good with me crashing your guys’ dinner?” You asked. You couldn’t believe you were going to meet the members of Smosh.

You couldn’t believe you were going on a date with Spencer.

“Oh, they already know about it. They’re listening to every word of our conversation right now.” Spencer pointed a thumb behind him and you looked over his shoulder to see all of the Smosh cast watching you.

They all waved at you.

“Hey girl hey!” Kiana called to you, smirking at Spencer.

You waved back at them, grinning.

“Well, I don’t want to keep you from meet-and-greet-ing any longer,” you said, turning back to Spencer.

“Isn’t that what we’re doing right now?” Spencer joked, gesturing between the two of you.

“Doesn’t count,” you said back. “Technically we’ve already met on the internet.”

“Yeah, well, you’re much prettier in person,” Spencer said, as he backed up towards the rest of the Smosh cast.

“Well then,” you said, only a little bit breathless. “I guess I’ll see you tonight.”

“Unless I see you on the internet first,” Spencer said, turning around and walking away.

You couldn’t wait. Not only did you have your date with Spencer to look forward to, you also had the rest of VidCon to get to know Spencer better and hopefully hang out with him before all this was over.

You turned to leave as well, walking in the opposite direction of Spencer as you tried to think where you had to be next. It was hard to focus when all your thoughts were occupied by something else. Someone else.

You were almost out of earshot when you heard Kiana’s voice, carrying over the crowds of people.

“Get over here, loser. I’ll take my thanks in the form of cash and/or worsted weight yarn.”

──────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────────

yourusername

liked by spennser, co_mill, and 41,813 others

yourusername: had the best time with spennser at vidcon ‘24 ❣️

view all comments

kianaparker: ok but i’m glowing (also yw 💁🏾‍♀️)

⤷ liked by yourusername

spennser: new phone who dis?

yourusername: definitely not your gf ⤷ liked by spennser materialgorl199: GF?!? AHHHHH heatherscandystore: wait they’re together? I’m so happy for them ily both sm 🤭

jessicarabbitsimp: I KNEW IT WAIT 😭

thirdcutestsmoshboy: i met both of them there and they were so sweet

ynislife: so are they dating???

angelagiovanagiarratana: GUYS 🥹

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ˋ°•*⁀➷ hope you guys enjoyed this little bit of a different format. i had sm fun writing this. check out my other spencer fics if u want more like this 🎀

#spencer agnew #spencer agnew x reader #smosh fanfiction #x reader insta #smosh #smosh imagine #fanfiction #fanfic #x reader #reader insert #spencer agnew insta #spencer agnew texts #x reader youtube

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ceilidho · 1 year ago

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prompt: IKEA soap/reader fic. PART 1. tags: dubcon

You duck behind a stack of boxes when you hear Johnny come whistling into the warehouse.

He shouts your name out somewhere off on the other side of the warehouse, voice echoing through the building. You keep absolutely still, fingers clamped around the clipboard that’s pressed close to your chest. Even your breathing slows, open-mouthed so as to keep it almost soundless. It’s strategic. You’ve gotten good at making yourself invisible back here, practically melting into the stack of boxes.

A minute or two goes by with repeated calls of your name, echoing from different parts of the warehouse like Johnny’s making the rounds. Searching for you. He’s probably been looking around the store for ages, with his track record. Someone must have let it slip that you were assigned to inventory today instead of being out on the floor.

You only let out a sigh when it’s been long enough that any reasonable person might have given up on trying to find you in the loading dock.

“Hiding from someone?” a deep voice asks from behind you.

Your gut all but self-ejects. When you turn around, he’s standing there in the same bright blue shirt that you also wear. His is stretched tight across his chest though, like it’s a size too small. You wonder sometimes if it’s on purpose. It’s hard not to let your eyes wander, but by now you’ve trained yourself to keep your eyes level when speaking to Johnny.

“Nope,” you squeak. “Just…you know…counting. Counting boxes and…stacks.”

He laughs, loud enough to make you startle. It’s far too enthusiastic, like you told a particularly funny joke instead of stumbling over your words and you still don’t actually know if he finds you funny or not.

“Cool,” Johnny says, taking a step closer to you. The clipboard doesn’t feel sufficient enough to put any real distance between the two of you. “Thought I could maybe come hang out with ye back here. Dinnae want ye to feel lonely.”

“Nope, not lonely at all. Totally peachy. Actually glad I could catch a break from…everyone.” You take a step back.

He follows you, another step forward. “Aye, dinnae worry, I get what ye mean. Some of the others—” he whistles, “—right buggers. Glad to catch a break myself as well.”

A bead of sweat rolls down the back of your neck. “Aren’t you supposed to be…out in the front? I, uh, don’t want you to get in trouble with Jeff—”

“Ah, Jeff’s fine, kitty, dinnae worry about me,” Johnny coos, sounding pleased as punch. He takes you at face value instead of reading into the set of your jaw and the way you keep inching away from him as he gets closer to you, convinced that you genuinely in your heart care about whether he gets written up or not. “They fuckin’ love me, ye ken? Think he wants ta take me out for lunch tomorrow, but told him I’d only go if he invited ye as well.”

“Oh. That’s nice,” you whisper instead of screaming. You’re doing that a lot these days. Talking through the scream bubbling behind your front teeth.

“Would ye want ta then?” he asks, suddenly in your face, three quick steps bridging the gap between you in barely a second, hardly enough time for you to blink. You blink and it’s just Johnny, in startling definition. Thick eyebrows and scar across his chin, the bridge of his nose perfect like he’s never broken it before. “Grab some lunch with me?”

“I, uh…I brought my lunch from home.”

“It’s a’right, I’ll buy it for ye, hen. Dinnae need ta waste your money.” Sometimes when he talks to you, he gets like this, fervent and almost desperate. He seems only half aware of it. “Ye like that mediterranean place nearby, right? Seen ye go there once or twice; wanted ta tag along, but dinnae want ta alarm ye.”

“You saw me go there?” you repeat.

“Aye, happened ta glance out the window when ye were on your lunch break. Back before management changed my break time. Cheers for that as well because it was really startin’ ta bother me, ye ken? Not being able ta eat with my favourite coworker.”

You never know how to respond when Johnny lets on a bit too much about how he feels about you. Sometimes he slips up and it comes rushing out, a big spool of thread unwinding in front of you.

“Yeah, well…I don’t know about today but maybe…” you say, trailing off. There’s a danger in just brushing him off, you feel.

“Tomorrow then,” he decides, grin still splitting his face. “I’m no’ on the schedule, but I can drop by at your lunch break and go with ye. How’s that sound?”

“Well, you know…it sounds…” He’s close enough now that if you lean forward, you’ll faceplant in between his pecs. Despite everything, you have to slightly fight the urge. Sometimes you think it’d be easier if he weren’t so absurdly gorgeous. It doesn’t make any of his actions okay, it doesn’t excuse his behaviour just because he’s pretty, yet still he pulls you in somehow, magnetic. “It sounds—you know, actually, I think Jeff wanted to talk to me about something, so if you don’t mind—”

Johnny tries to say something, but you manage to duck around him and scurry off, disappearing into the stacks of boxes before pressing forward until you burst out the main doors out of the warehouse. It leads to a hall that goes towards the store, but you haul it to the women’s washroom instead. The one place he can’t follow you inside.

In the washroom, you can finally breathe. Resting your hands on either side of the sink, you look into the mirror where haggard eyes with deep circles underneath stare back at you.

You flinch when one of the toilets flush and the stall door opens, another coworker stepping out.

“Did I hear Johnny outside?” she asks, taking the sink beside you to wash her hands. You nod, still tongue tied. “He really follows you everywhere, huh?”

For a second, your shoulders relax. “God, I know, he’s always just hovering—”

She cuts you off, sighing dreamily. “You’re so lucky. He’s so hot, it’s unreal. I can’t believe he works here, like that’s insane. I’d kill to have him as obsessed with me as he is with you.”

“He’s—he’s not into me, he’s just…you know, he just hovers.”

The water shuts off. Your coworker shoots you a dubious look, almost mocking. “Yeah, alright. Sure. Not into you. Not like he hangs off your every word. You don’t have to be humble—we’re already jealous. It’s like rubbing it in when you pretend like it’s totally normal.”

You slump, defeated, when she leaves without drying her hands. It’s moot to try and commiserate with anyone. They don’t see him the way you do, not for who he is. Your coworkers love Johnny; you’ve seen someone genuinely fistpump after being scheduled with him.

They don’t see any of the weird shit though. They don’t see the way he insists on walking you to your car well into the evening after a closing shift together. They don’t notice the way Johnny laughs a little too hard and with too much vigour when someone calls him your shadow, his eyes just a little too bright and fervent.

They’re never around to see him ask if you want to sit on his lap while he shows you how to use the forklift in the backroom. They’ve never seen him beg management to let him take his breaks with you and doesn't let you have a moment of peace, just sits with you in the breakroom or follows you to your car when you say that you're going out for lunch.

Sometimes you look at him and think, this guy should not be in the Appliance section of a big box store. Johnny should be on the front cover of magazines, in commercials for toothpaste, acting in Hallmark movies, or maybe hand modelling for obscenely ornate watch companies that cost the equivalent of a mortgage—not handing out free samples of sliced cheese.

That was then.

It starts like this: an overeager sales associate who butts his way to the front of the line on your first day.

You think at first that you’re golden. It seems like a sweet deal—an easy enough job, maybe not what you went to school for, but still something to pass the time and not too backbreaking. Plus, the guy shaking your hand and chatting up a storm in front of you is making you melt inside. He’s easy on the eyes—all bright smiles, effortless charm, either just brushing or exactly six feet, and built. Broad shouldered and lean.

Johnny’s a model employee as well—knows the handbook inside and out, and shows you the ropes on your first day along with the assistant manager giving you a tour of the store, which is helpful because there’s at least three floors that you could easily get lost on. He walks elderly customers to their cars with their bags, shows up to work early for every shift, always with a smile and a positive attitude, and you find out early on that management loves him because of his frankly incredible sales record.

(And you get it too; you can’t imagine anyone looking into those gorgeous blue eyes and turning him down.)

He's also a spokesperson for the company in all of their internal training videos because he was hired through some “Jobs for Vets” program that they just rolled out. The guy can also stack things on a shelf like no one's business, products lined up with military precision (hence the ex-military status).

All in all, you can’t help feeling like for once in your life, you didn’t draw the short stick.

Then one day, you’re alone with Johnny in the breakroom early in the morning before the store has opened yet and he turns to you with a wide, boyish grin and says apropos of nothing, “Named my fleshlight after you.”

You think your brain skips a couple tracks like a record player. You rewind and replay what was just said to you. There’s no two ways about it—you must have misheard him. Of course you did because surely your coworker of two months didn’t just look you in the eyes and say with a sweet sunshine smile that he named his sex toy after you.

He doesn’t laugh, just stands there and smiles while stirring sugar into his coffee. He takes it black. You take note of that because the brain still has to work when the mind shuts down momentarily, so you use it instead to catalogue things around the breakroom. One of the motivational posters hanging near the door is hung a bit off-centre. The fluorescent lightbulb on the far side of the room is dimmer than the others. Johnny’s eyes have a little light spot in them like the tip of an ocean wave.

“Excuse me?” you ask, dumbfounded. Your voice sounds hollow even to you.

“I named her after ye,” he repeats, not a trace of shame in his voice. “Used ta not have a name at all, but figured since I say it so much when I’m enjoyin’ her, she might as well share it with ya.”

He stares at you after saying that, letting it hang in the air. Your brain chooses that moment to come back online and all it can do is load that image of Johnny home alone with his fleshlight, toes curled in his sheets and the muscles of his legs straining as he moans your name. All you can do is give a little awkward laugh, growing more uncomfortable by the second the longer he stares at you without blinking.

Then, something passes over his eyes and suddenly he's back to normal, laughing and clapping you on the arm before wandering off to the men's apparel section.

It leaves you reeling for the rest of the day, sure you imagined it. It recontextualizes a few things for you though. He’s always been on the handsy side, verging on inappropriate, but skirting just enough around the edges of it that you usually brush off Johnny’s weird behaviour. Chalk it up to annoying little brotherly tendencies. You know he has a few older sisters anyway; you figured it was just how he related to women in his environment.

Not so.

It escalates after that initial escalation. Not that things started off on an appropriate note, but at least before you could rationalize most of his quirks.

Now it’s this: his hand on your lower back during work hours when you’re busy helping a customer and he sidles up next to you, pinkie brushing so low on your back that you worry for a second that he might slip it down the back of your pants. Lifting you up by the hips whenever you have a hard time reaching something on a shelf instead of just reaching up and grabbing it for you. A complete misuse of his height. He digs his fingers into your sides and never lets you go right away when he puts you down.

“Aw shit, bonnie,” he coos when you complain about it hurting you. “Dinnae mean ta hurt ye. Want me to give ye a little massage in the breakroom?”

You learn quickly that there’s no point in complaining about his behaviour to anyone. You can't complain to any of your coworkers because the second you so much as criticize his work, they bark at you to be nice to him. He's just re-acclimating to civilian life, of course he's not perfect at his job yet, they say. They defend him almost viciously; the real jealous ones even tell on you in front of him, leaving you to stand there embarrassed and on the spot until Johnny just smiles and says that it's alright. That you'll just have to teach him better.

There’s not much you can do besides grin and bear it. You can hope one day that you'll get transferred; you don't have much hope for him being transferred. Not with how endeared he is to management.

When you finally open the door, ready to leave the bathroom and get back to work, you nearly scream when Johnny lurches off the wall across from the bathroom door where he’s been leaning. Waiting for you.

“C’mon, hen,” he says, all teeth. “Lemme walk ye back ta work.”

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #soap x reader #john soap mactavish #soap x you #soap/reader #ikea soap #john mactavish #soap mw2 #soap mactavish #soap cod

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threeacttragedy · 2 months ago

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Entry 9: The One Where You Choose Your Own Brazilian Adventure

My planned post – the “In Dedication of JVN” one where I fangirl over Jonathan Van Ness and what a fun and interesting piece of the Lukola puzzle he is – was derailed today because I was once again asked about Brazil. Well, more specifically, I was asked about whether I thought we were ever going to get those steamy, hopefully X-rated pictures, from Brazil. There’s pictures?!

In truth, I thought we’d collectively squeezed that grapefruit dry and left the rind somewhere between Italy and the Glamour Awards.

Alas, here I am writing about Brazil.

It’s funny because I’ve never thought much about Brazil. I know, I know! How could I possibly type those words without my nose growing six inches in front of my face? Well, it’s because it was always Australia that intrigued me. More on that later…

So why exactly do we believe there are pictures from Brazil? And, why do we think they are going to prove some kind of hot affair between Luke and Nicola? This theory is likely fueled by rumor; rumor born from how Luke and Nicola behaved towards each other while they were in Brazil.

I thought it would be fun to play a little game of “Choose Your Own Adventure” to determine if we’re ever going to see these alleged pictures. And, yes, I will be a very sarcastic bitch when doing this.

Before I start, though, I want to give a quick shout out to my dear friend, whom I shall call The-One-Who-Drops-Random-Pics-Into-Our-Group-Chat-and-Lets-Us-Sweat-Over-Them-for-Atleast-Three-Minutes-Before-Finally-Explaining-Them. She was a wealth of information about Brazil and even had a nice mother-daughter chat with me about the significance of a clean-shaven face (pardon me for never having dated a bearded man, which is odd because I find facial hair quite attractive).

Now, gather ‘round and I shall give you a little prologue to our adventure!

I’m sure most of you already know all about Brazil. In fact, many of you are probably self-described experts at this point. But, for those who are new here, let me go ahead and light the candles and set the ambiance for you.

On May 19, Luke and Nicola were shuttled off to do their beach photoshoot in Brazil. You know, the one where Nicola was walking the dogs; Luke was strumming the guitar; Nicola was being all girlfriend-like fixing Luke’s jacket; Luke was gazing up at Nicola at the pub while she was touching his neck; and then there was that moment when we all thought they might kiss. Yeah, all that plus Luke’s scruffy face from the week prior suddenly appeared clean-shaven. Apparently, you can never be too “Casual” when you’re headed down south (pun intended – as was that Chappell Roan reference). And, about now is where I’ll “insert disclaimer that this is speculation only.”

The following day, we had the actual premiere. I’m not sure what those two were up to before the premiere but both were un-fucking-hinged by the time they made it to the red carpet. We had angel-face Nicola looking up at Luke like he had created the universe and Luke answering Nicola’s Little Red Riding Hood vibe with one sexy ass Big Bad Wolf persona. I mean, the bits and bobs that came out of Luke’s mouth that day! “There’s a carriage downstairs.” “I mean, in this heat, all I’m thinking about is when we didn’t have to wear clothes ‘cos that would be quite nice right now.” “I mean the show is proof that it is [okay to kiss your friends].” With Nicola whispering back, “This is true.” Then there was Luke taking that mic without taking his eyes off Nicola. We had Luke helping Nicola put on her bracelets because – God forbid! – she let go of him for 30 seconds to do it her fucking self. And, let’s not forget about the two of them holding on to each other behind that woman’s back (I’m sorry, I don’t recall her name and I’m too lazy to look it up – mainly, because I’m certain most of you don’t really care about that other woman).

We were also given snippets of Luke and Nicola at the premiere afterparty, looking like two people who, at a minimum, enjoyed each other’s company. They greeted fans outside the venue and, as they walked away together, Nicola seemingly put her hand on Luke’s lower back as if to guide him in the right direction (go ahead – let your imagination run wild – it’s a great opening for a FanFic).

Then, throw in the beach walk with the giant security guard; the interview where Nicola was wearing the fluffy pink skirt and the two of them talked about Chappell Roan’s “Kaleidoscope” (seriously, those two were listening to that song together?); Nicola couldn’t stop giggling about the “meat” of the Carriage Scene; and Luke appeared perhaps a smidge too interested in Nicola’s answer about what she looks for in a man (which fit perfectly into Luke’s “Like, how nice is it when someone notices, like, your kindness or your sense of humor?”). And, we can’t ignore them seemingly sharing a tea cup and Luke reaching for Nicola’s spoon after she’d sampled a dish. Don’t even get me started on over-analyzing Luke’s “manspread” that day.

Let’s also not forget about the rumor portion of this Brazilian escapade – because that is what fuels the sexy hot pictures theory and the central plot of our storied adventure.

Rumor has it Luke and Nicola spent a lot of time with each other in Brazil.

By themselves.

In one or the other’s room.

On the beach.

By the pool.

There were also rumors of them making out in the hotel hallway.

The only evidence we have of any “alone time” are some pictures that were dumped on X of them dining together alone, without any other members of their team.

Now that the backdrop has been set, let’s go on my little adventure.

During the summer between my 7th and 8th grade years, I was bored out of my mind. I grew up in the countryside. No neighbors. No sidewalks. No cable! Just fields, wooded areas, and my two sisters, both of whom had no interest in entertaining me that summer. My mother suggested I read. After boredom had dug itself so far into my being that I was left with no choice but to read, I finally ventured over to the bookshelf and grabbed the thinnest book I could find. It was a “Choose Your Own Adventure.”

If you don’t know what a “Choose Your Own Adventure” book is, then you (and your children) are missing out. Basically, you play the role of the protagonist and make choices to determine the outcome of your story. Sometimes you make the right choice and survive; other times you make the wrong choice and get turned into a little mouse that may or may not be eaten by a cat.

Here we go.

As the protagonist of our story, you are:

THE EMPLOYEE

You’re an employee of the hotel Nicola and Luke stayed at while in Brazil. You have sworn to maintain the privacy of hotel guests; you’ve signed a non-disclosure agreement of sorts to protect the privacy of guests, especially since you have access to VIP areas. You can be a housekeeper, a watchman, a concierge, a seven-foot-tall security guard, whatever tickles your fancy. Doesn’t matter – you’re all bound by the same provisions to protect the privacy of the hotel’s guests. But, in this story, let’s say you’re the housekeeper because – what’s that old saying – the only person who knows everything going on in the house is the maid?

You’re cleaning Nicola’s room and you find lots of signs of a man being in the room. In fact, you find a coat that looks exactly like the one Luke was wearing the night of the premiere. Oh my. As you’re leaving, you see two people making out in the hallway – headed straight towards the room you’re just leaving! It looks like Nicola and Luke. What do you do?

Choice A: Well, you’re a pervy housekeeper so you pull your phone out and start taking pictures. I mean, those two are so into each other, they don’t even notice. You then run and play show-and-tell with your friends because you can’t keep a damn secret. Unfortunately for you, that gossip spreads faster than lice in a preschool, and hotel management tracks your ass down because, guess what, your friends can’t keep a secret either. So, congratulations on being fired. You’re meeting with the lawyers is first thing in the morning. Oh, we also need your phone and the names of all your friends.

Choice B: You respect the privacy of Nicola and Luke and simply turn and walk the opposite direction. Taking photos of them never even crossed your mind! But, damn, what a good story to tell your bestie when you get home, even if you don’t have “receipts.”

THE VIP GUEST

You’re a random guest staying at the hotel. In fact, you’re a random VIP guest staying on the same floor as Nicola and Luke. When you checked in, you signed a non-disclosure agreement. I mean, you want your privacy protected, too! And, heck, NDAs are thrown out like candy these days. You’ve seen so many at this point, you don’t even bother to read them.

You take the elevator up to your floor and, as you step into the hallway, you’re confronted with – goddammit, there’s two motherfuckers all over each other! The guy is trying to slide his key into the door, but the woman’s dress is so awkwardly large, he can’t seem to find the right slot! You realize the people look a lot like those two stars from Bridgerton, and your best friend, Effie, is a huge fan! What do you do?

Choice A: You can’t believe Effie is missing out on this excitement so, of course, you pull your phone out and start taking pictures!! I mean, that NDA you signed didn’t even cross your mind three minutes later when you were forwarding the pictures to Effie! And, because you can’t control what Effie does, she forwards the pictures to all her Bridgie buddies. The next morning you awaken to find the pictures all over X. Oopsie. You feel slightly guilty, and a bit peeved at Effie – but only until you’ve had your morning coffee.

Choice B: You take people’s privacy very seriously. Well, maybe you don’t take it that seriously, but it would be too difficult to dig your phone out of your handbag to take pictures. And, to be honest, Effie is the huge fan, not you. Plus, it seems the guy finally got that door open and damn, based on the sounds of it, he's unlocked something magical. Oh well. You’ll call Effie in the morning to tell her your story, if you remember it.

THE RANDOM STRANGER

You’re a random stranger taking an evening stroll along the beach. You love the sound of the ocean. It’s so peaceful…the sound of the waves… Ugh, what is that noise?! It sounds like – shit, it is! – two people snogging in a cabana about 10 yards away from you. Wait a minute – is that? Yeah, you think it could be! I mean, you were just at the Bridgerton premiere last night! What do you do? Without hesitation, you pull out your phone!

Choice A: You creep behind an umbrella and zoom in as close as possible with your camera! I mean, shite! You can’t believe this! How long have you been filming? Probably longer than necessary but who cares? Suddenly, you feel a presence behind you, perhaps a seven-foot-tall presence, and you slowly turn around. Fuck! Who’s this guy?! He takes your phone, drops it to the ground, and stomps on it, shattering its insides. Asshole. You bend down to pick up the phone, but the man taps your shoulder and shakes his head, “No.” Well, umm, yeah, I guess you best be leaving.

Choice B: You use your camera to zoom in on the couple. Snap! Snap! Snap! Then you get the FUCK OUT OF THERE! You tell yourself you don’t look suspicious at all, even though you’re practically running and your heart is about to pound its way out of your chest! Oh, thank God, you’ve made it to your car. You start it up and, like I said, YOU GET THE FUCK OUT OF THERE! You get home and take a look at the photos! Goldmine! So, should you drop them on X? Maybe be a little see-you-next-Tuesday and try to sell them to Nicola or Luke’s teams? But, hell, you don’t even know where to start with that! Or, should you just pocket them for your own pleasure? You tell me….

The End.

Yes, I am absolutely being a facetious little ass! The above scenarios were for (the most part) my own entertainment. I mean, there are so many situations where these alleged pictures could exist (these playful ones don’t even scratch the surface). But, do the pictures exist?

If we’re being logical here, you would think that, if anyone in the general public were in possession of these alleged sexy-time pictures of Luke and Nicola, or had seen them, it would be all over social media at this point. I mean, ALL OVER. So, what can we deduce from the fact that they aren’t?

That the pictures probably don’t exist. Don’t shoot the messenger! Seriously, watch where you point that thing!

But, let’s say pictures did exist. Who is the most likely person to dump them on, say, X? The hotel employee, the VIP guest, or the random stranger? I would place money on the random stranger, followed by the VIP guest. The hotel employee, who probably has the most access to VIP guests but the strongest legal barriers, would be the least likely to photo dump. What is the likelihood that someone from one of these three groups – for example, a random stranger – (a) had pictures of Luke and Nicola, (b) didn’t drop them on social media, and/or (c) didn’t share them with someone who dropped them on social media?

I’m all for a good conspiracy theory but I find this one to be a hard pill to swallow.

Maybe one person can act as a lockbox for this kind of secret, but when you start including more people, the ability to keep something (like illicit photographs of two celebrities) out of the public eye diminishes rapidly.

Remember what Benjamin Franklin said, “Three can keep a secret, if two of them are dead.”

Unfortunately, this quote is incredibly accurate. The general public cannot keep secrets.

If the pictures exist, they are most likely in the possession of Luke and/or Nicola’s team (of lawyers). So, unless they’re going to sneak them on to X for giggles (I mean, it’s been known to happen), you’re probably never going to see them – and that’s assuming they even exist.

However, if you’re the housekeeper from our first adventure and you happen to have some candid photographs you’re just dying to share, just find yourself a printer – one that cannot easily be linked back to you – and print them out. Then, “accidently” drop them at the feet of someone who knows exactly what they are, and then give them enough time to take their own photos of them and send them to their best friend’s brother’s sister-in-law’s third cousin’s wife’s neighbor, who could drop them on X for us. I mean, you should be golden with seven degrees of separation.

#lukola #luke newton #nicola coughlan #my thoughts #my opinion #speculation only #just me being ridiculous

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marvelfanfn2187a113 · 9 months ago

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Face Your Fears

Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: You get into a fight with your brothers, but your recklessness that follows creates problems for everyone.

“You were hunting before you were my age! I don’t get why—“

“It doesn’t matter if you get it or not! I said no!”

Sam rushed to the library when he heard his siblings’ voices raised in argument.

“What’s going on in here?” He asked, trying to keep a calm and neutral tone.

“She—“ Dean started, but you cut him off.

“Dean is being completely unfair!”

“Ok, ok, calm down,” Sam sighed.

“Calm down?! You two are off all the time, actually helping people, putting your lives on the line, and I’m—“

“Exactly! You don’t need to be putting yourself in danger like that!” Dean interrupted.

“It’s what you do! And I sit here and read books!”

“Don’t downplay what you do,” Sam said. “We need you here.”

“But I could do so much more out there with you!” You argued. “I’ve been training, I know I can help!”

“Yeah, or you’d screw it up and get killed, and I don’t need your blood on my hands!” Dean exploded.

The silence that followed was deafening.

“Dean—“ Sam tried to speak up, but you interrupted him.

“So that’s it, really? You think I’m some kind of screw up?” You scoffed, and continued before Dean could speak. “It’s not like you’re perfect! You’ve screwed up the world before, and no one’s stopped you from going out to screw it up again!”

“Y/N—“ again Sam’s attempt to calm the situation was met with resistance.

“Well fine then, if I’m too much of a screw up for you, then I’ll get out of your way!” You shoved past your brothers and beelined for your room, slamming the door behind you.

…

Your brothers didn’t try to go after you. They were probably angry. You knew you went too far with what you said to Dean, but he called you a screw up; were you just supposed to take that and not say anything back?

It didn’t matter either way. You didn’t want them to try to talk to you, because you had something to do.

You had a hunt to go on.

You’d been researching one before you went to ask Dean about joining the next one; since he’d said no, you would take this one whether he liked it or not. And you were going alone.

…

It wasn’t hard to sneak out—back when you lived in motels, it would have been almost impossible to leave without one of your brothers waking up, but with the bunker it was easy.

You didn’t take the Impala—that would be too far, even for this rebellious streak. Instead, you took a cab to the next town over; you had struck gold, finding a hunt so close. It was pretty simple, too; three victims with hearts ripped out, definitely a werewolf. You had more silver bullets than you’d need packed up with a couple of guns in a duffel at your feet.

Dean was wrong about you, you could do this. After all, how hard could one little werewolf be?

…

Dean was right, and you were suffering the consequences of being wrong.

You struggled to pull your phone from your pocket, your fingers fumbling as your phone slipped around in your blood-soaked hands. Your breathing was labored, and every breath brought stabs of pain to your slashed-up abdomen.

You hadn’t noticed the signs of the second werewolf, so determined were you on taking the first one down. You hadn’t even seen him until he’d been right on you, ripping into your stomach. You’d had your gun in your hand, and by some miracle you’d managed to fire off a round into the werewolf on top of you, but not before he’d injured you pretty bad.

You finally got the phone in your hand, and you didn’t hesitate to press Dean’s number. You held the phone just slightly away from your face, wary of irritation the cuts on your cheek.

The phone barely had time to ring before Dean’s voice flooded your senses.

“Where are you?” His voice came out in a growl.

“D-De…” you hadn’t realized you were crying until you had to push your voice out past your tears.

“Sweetheart?” Dean’s anger was gone in a second when he heard your pained voice. “What’s going on?”

“I’m-I’m sorry, De,” you sobbed. “You were right, I’m-I’m sorry.”

“Shh shh, hey,” Dean soothed. “It’s alright sweetheart, I forgive you. Just tell me where you are and I’ll come get you.”

“I-I turned on my phone’s location,” you said. “Ple-please hurry. It hurts…”

Dean tried to ask you more, but a bang from somewhere nearby had you flinching, and the phone slipped out of your soaked hands and shattered on the concrete floor. You realized it was only your own gun, slipping off the table you’d laid it on. But it was too late; your phone was broken, and you had no way to call Dean back.

You could only hope that the tracker would still work.

…

Dean broke both the law and probably some speed records getting to your location. Sam was in the passenger seat, a first aid kit in his lap as he held on for dear life.

“I should’ve known she’d do something stupid,” Dean grunted.

“Dean, you couldn’t have known,” Sam reasoned. “And blaming yourself isn’t going to help her.”

Dean didn’t speak, and the rest of the ride was tensely silent.

“Here,” Sam said as navigator. “Turn left here, and she should be close by.”

Dean swerved the Impala to the left and screeched to a halt in an empty parking lot near a warehouse. Sam was right at his heels as he burst into the warehouse.

“De?” Your pained voice echoed throughout the building, so that it took Dean a moment to find you. When he did, he swore his heart skipped three beats. You were sitting in a pool of your own blood, propped up against the wall. Dean rushed to you, kneeling next to you and almost slipping in your blood.

“Hey, hey,” his voice was a mixture of soothing and panic as he brushed your blood-stained hair away from your face. “Alright sweetheart, tell Doctor Dean where it hurts.”

It was a pathetic joke, but you laughed anyway; Dean’s jokes always made you laugh.

But your laugh sent you to a fit of coughing. Dean winced as he examined the long gashes on your stomach.

“Ok, you’re ok,” Dean leaned back in relief when he saw that it wasn’t too deep; you’d be ok. “But I’m gonna have to carry you to the car, ok? Brace yourself.”

You gritted your teeth and clenched your fists, but you still couldn’t hold back the cry of pain when Dean lifted you into his arms.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Dean cringed. “I’m sorry. You’re gonna be ok.”

Dean laid you on your back in the backseat of the Impala, before taking the first aid kit from Sam and retrieving a needle and thread.

“Can’t we just bandage it up?” You whimpered, already squirming away from the needle. Dean’s finger froze for a second before he shook his head, his features softening. Both brothers were very aware of your fear of needles, but sometimes it couldn’t be helped.

“Sorry sweetheart, it’s gotta be stitched. Just close your eyes, it’ll feel worse if you watch.”

You closed your eyes, trusting your brother completely. However, before he could make the first stitch, your eyes popped open and you grabbed into his wrist.

“Wait,” you said. “I-I…I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Dean sighed. “I’m sorry too. I said some things that…that I didn’t mean. You aren’t a screw up, ok?”

“What do you call this?” You gestured to your own banged up body.

“Inexperience,” Dean answered. “And you never should’ve been out here alone. Going solo on your first hunt is never a good idea.”

“I’m sorry about that, too,” you mumbled.

“It’s ok, kiddo. Maybe later we…we can talk about you tagging along on one of our hunts.”

“Really?” You grinned.

“Later,” Dean said sternly. “After you’re all better. Now let me get to this.”

As Dean lifted the needle, you closed your eyes again. You felt Sam’s large hand grab onto yours, and you squeezed his hand gratefully, holding on as Dean started to stitch you up.

“I didn’t really think you would screw up the hunts,” Dean said as he worked. “I just…I don’t want you out there. It’s dangerous, and I…I’m scared something will happen to you. But I guess I can’t keep you from it if it’s what you really want.”

“It is,” you said. “I want to do what you guys do. I want to help people, and I wanna be with you guys.”

“Ok then,” Dean said, tying off the stitches and patting your side to let you know he was done. You opened your eyes, and he smiled at you.

“I guess I’ll just have to face my fears.”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl

#dean winchester #the winchesters #dean and sam #dean winchester x reader #supernatural dean #dean winchester x you #winchesters x reader #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #winchesters x sister #dean winchester x little sister!reader #dean winchester x sister!reader #dean winchester x sister #sam winchester x sister!reader #spn sam winchester #sam winchester x little sister!reader

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butchvampireheimerdinger · 1 month ago

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okay hear me out…butch4butch Sevika where Sevika is a power bottom???👀 reader is taller and stronger than her but very shy and intimidated by her🙈

Pairing: Powerbottom!Sevika x gentle giant-service top! reader

Warnings: ns/fw, fingering, cunnilingus, grinding/dry humping, smoking, mentions of violence, and horny lesbian activityyyy

Word count: 3k

A/N: Love you. Love this. You have come to the right place for this one, my friend. The lack of butch4butch Sevika content is criminalll if that woman has a type it begins with D and ends in Y-K-E-S. Anyways, how appropriate is it that my first fic is butch4butch Sevika smut. Checks out. (that being said, it is my first fic so you freaks betta be NICE) Now without further ado…

You Have No Idea

By ButchVampireHeimerdinger

It was the slow ending to an eventful shift at the last drop. Customers were in good spirits all night, likely due to a sudden influx of Piltie goods some gang had rattled up through more or less honorable means and was making its way through town. In any case, the energy was contagious and it had you, the buff and generally even-tempered server/bouncer, doing things you didn’t normally do. Like drink on the job — just a beer you had been nursing for over forty minutes — and fraternize with patrons. Y’know, other than the obligatory how are you, do you wanna pay out now or open a tab. Real actual conversations -- which led you to number three on the list of Things You Don’t Normally Do; you were hunched over the bar playing Texas Hold ‘Em with three regulars. Two were men, you didn’t remember their names, but they always came to the bar at about this time. A package deal — they snickered in your direction as a nearby shady-looking customer walked out on his tab.

“Hey, isn’t that your cue, tough guy?” The man gave you a patronizing sort of eyebrow raise as he dealt the next round.

Technically, it was. You got hired pretty much on account of your physique — you were 6’3” and a tank, always had been. Broad shoulders, biggest girl on the playground growing up, you gained muscle at the drop of a hat. You didn’t even try. But it was all for show. You were more of a lover than a fighter. Sometime in the first few months of the job the staff discovered you were better equipped to work inside the bar. Customers liked you because you were polite, a breath of fresh air from the culture of animosity that permeated the undercity. Still, it didn’t help your ego in situations like this. ”Hey, you don’t know what she’s got under her sleeve.” The third voice at the table spoke up. The right hand of Zaun. Sevika.

She had been a regular since before you started and probably would be long after. You had heard some pretty nasty stories about her and the things she was capable of. But when she came up to your counter for a drink, she came without malintent, always respectful to the waitstaff. It was disarming. Tonight, especially, your eyes lingered over her toned shoulders and sharp collarbones.You wanted to run your hands over them, to see how her body would react. And maybe it was the house IPA you had been drinking, but probably not.

Sevika gestured toward your dwindling pile of poker chips with her chin as she looked down, analyzing her hand. “Clearly, she must be the type to play the long game.” This earned her another light fit of snickers from bar idiots one and two, but they were easily impressed. You rolled your eyes.

Sevika raised two chips. The table matched. She spoke again.

“So, tough guy, do those arms of yours get you any female attention? Since you’re obviously not using them for any other tactile purpose,” her eyes traveled to the empty seat where the tab-skipper had been sitting.

You shrugged, suddenly warm and very aware of your body and not sure where to rest your gaze. “I get around.”

For some reason, tweedles dum and dee found this hilarious, and howls of laughter followed. You slapped your hand over your heart and feigned a look of deep hurt, to mask the bit of real hurt you were feeling. Yeah, it had been a while, but surely not long enough to warrant that response.

“Is it that implausible?”

Sevika chuckled and shook her head, but her expression was good-natured.

“Just make your move, Casanova.”

You had a full house. Three aces. Two kings. You matched, and didn’t raise.

Sevika raised, the men matched, and you folded.

The table revealed their hands and Sevika won the pile with a straight. Not a bad hand, but the round would’ve been yours if you had taken the risk. Sevika clicked her tongue, scolding you, which made your palms sweat. You averted her gaze and became suddenly interested in wiping down the bar.

Following your pitiful defeat, the two guys payed out, leaving the bar empty save for you, Sevika, and a couple stragglers who always stayed until morning and probably didn’t have anywhere else to spend the night. To your surprise, the woman beckoned you over once more. Something in your heart lifted. Something in your pants dropped.

“Blackjack?” She pushed the cards toward you, and her dominant sort of gaze made you feel, once again, compelled to do what she asked.

You won the first few rounds. Sevika was risky to a fault. If it wasn’t 21 exactly, trust she would draw. And she always made you the dealer, watching your hands intently, hungrily, even, as you shuffled. The third round was a tie, but she didn’t have anything left to raise.

“Tell you what,” she said. “You win this round and I’ll spread it around that I walked out on my tab, and you chased me down and kicked my ass for it. Should prevent other situations like our friend earlier, at least for a while.”

“Are my bouncer abilities really that pathetic?” You picked at the side of your nails. Sevika’s gaze pierced through you and you found it difficult to meet her eyes. But you didn’t necessarily hate the way her eyes took you in. Slowly and deliberately, like you were a battle map and she was trying to parse out her strategy.

“And if you win?” You looked up, all innocent. Maybe you imagined it, but your doe eyes seemed to rile her up a little bit. Something in the way her jaw shifted, the way she rubbed her flesh palm on her pants.

“Already planning for defeat? See, this is exactly your problem. You’re talking through a universe where you lose before we’ve even started.” She shoved her pile towards you again.

“Deal ‘em.” She commanded, you obliged.

“I’m serious! I just wanna know what I’m agreeing to. Fools rush in, and all that.” Your voice made everything sound like a question. With her, it was. Sevika was hard to figure out.

“You’re cute. If I win, I want…” The woman took a hit of the blunt she was holding and used it to gesture, her movements creating little loops of smoke that rose and dissipated. Her eyes followed them, and not you. For once.

“I want an hour. With you. N’ those arms.” You jerked while shuffling, accidentally knocking over your beer in your surprise. You picked it up quickly, hoping she didn’t notice.

“You serious?”

“Deadly. Fuck me up, Casanova.”

She won. Wasn’t even close. Three sevens, if you could believe it. As soon as you slapped the last seven down, you both shot up from the counter at light speed and she followed you to the back.

“A little eager, aren’t we?” Her voice was low and husky, but with a little something else.

“Sore winner,” was all you could think to respond. You shoved her lightly. She shoved you harder with her prosthetic arm. The two of you kept at it, pushing and shoving back and forth as you practically raced to The Last Drop’s back office. Play-fighting, like you were “one of the boys,” but it had a bit of a bite to it. Like you wanted to eat each other alive.

The office was hardly used except for the rare moments when staff wanted to crunch numbers. Or, of course, engage in extra-professional affairs like this one. That couch had seen some things. You fiddled with the key for what was apparently a moment too long.

“I’m getting bored out here, Casanova.” You looked into Sevika’s eyes through her thick brows, a couple inches below yours. You slammed your shoulder into the door and it gave way immediately, with a satisfying bang as it swung open. Sevika followed, grabbing you by the shirt as she brought your lips down to hers, hard, and kicked the door shut behind her without looking.

She dragged you toward her, her back pressed against the peeling drywall. Her tongue dragged against your bottom lip and something deep in your pelvis vibrated in anticipation. One of your hands reached up to the wall, to keep you both steady. Sevika grabbed your other hand and guided it under her tank top. You squeezed her breast, tracing over her nipple with your thumb. Your bodies pressed together and you brought your knee in between hers, rolling your hips forward and pressing your leg into her crotch. She moaned into your mouth. Like her voice, it was deep and gravelly.

You set a pace. Her hips seemed to agree with it, bucking upwards to get that friction where she needed it most. Her hands gripped your waist and hips as she started to manhandle you, making you move faster against her. Your kissing was frantic and sloppy, like there was anger behind it. Your lips shined with her spit, and you moved to kiss up and down her neck. She reacted with a throaty panting noise when you got to a sensitive spot — a fleshy and soft area where her jaw met with her neck. You twisted your head to the side and downward to get better access, to fully exploit that weakness. Without fully thinking through your actions, your sucking collapsed into biting. You drove your teeth into her neck and Sevika’s jaw shot upward as her panting became gasping. She grabbed the back of your head and pushed it harder against her neck to say what she couldn’t; more, more, more.

Your hands fumbled with her belt and she noticeably did not help you with it. It was like she got a kick out of watching you struggle. You finally got them unzipped and you reached under to start palming her through her boyshorts. She had already soaked through. Good.

You pulled away to look down at her again while tugging lightly at her waistband. You raised your eyebrows to ask, May I? Chin still tilted upward, she nodded, huffed out a “yuh” sort of noise, and hooked her leg around the back of yours to bring your chests closer, all rough.

You pulled down the panties and your fingers dipped into her folds. Sevika’s eyebrows knitted even closer together, if that was possible. You continued sucking and working that spot on her neck. Her lips were against your ear and you heard her panting grow more desperate, more melodic; whines and vocalizations mixed with the gruff and grainy rhythmic in-and-out of her breaths.

Your middle and ring finger sort of skated all around her entrance, just barely avoiding her swollen clit. You took in the sight — Sevika’s heaving chest, her eyes closed as she chased the pleasure you were giving her. Her moans grew to something not exactly desperate, that wasn’t like her, but deranged and shameless. She panted like she was breathing fire. And like she didn’t care if all of The Last Drop could hear her, even though they probably couldn’t.

The pulse of her hips grew a little more erratic and she shifted her legs like she was ready to switch positions. You gestured subtly with your head toward the couch, and she dragged you toward it.

The woman collapsed on it and rested her arms outward, elbows relaxed on top like it was a throne. She leaned as far back as she could as you helped work her pants and boyshorts all the way down until they dropped to her ankles. She pulled her shirt off with both hands, pulling it up and over from the back of the neckline. She threw the tank top to the side and all of the air left your lungs, as you took in the sight of her upper body. Where you were buff, she was cut. Unlike you, Sevika didn’t have the type of figure that was imposing simply by nature — her physique came from blood, sweat, and tears. She had the body of a bruiser, of someone who spent their life fighting. The Sevika before you made you realize why some of the patrons kept their distance. But it somehow made you want to get closer. It made you want to please her, and to be good at it.

Sevika had a manspread going and you dropped to your knees in front of her. But she wasn’t having that — not yet. With her flesh hand she grabbed you by the throat and dragged you up to her lips for another messy kiss. Your teeth clashed together and when your tongues made contact, you felt those butterflies low in your pelvis. You moaned into her mouth instinctively, and it came out higher and breathier than you expected. You felt her lips form a slight smile against yours and she released her hold on your neck, making you drop down to your knees. You were certain the impact must have shook the entire city block.

Breathing heavy, you went to start kissing and sucking at her inner thigh, but she tilted your chin upward to look at her. Breathless, she commanded,

“Take your shirt off for me, Casanova. I wanna see those arms while you… Yeah.”

You fought the smile forming and stripped for her. You took off your tank top and sports bra the same way she had — in one fluid motion, from the back. You were caught between a sudden wave of self consciousness and the urge to draw it out, to put on a show for her. You settled at maintaining eye contact as you subtly flexed for her, and placed your broad hands on her knees. Sevika smiled, all smug as she reached over to a nearby discarded vest, brought out the rest of her blunt, and lit up as her eyes poured over your exposed upper body. She inhaled deep using her metal arm, and with her flesh hand she traced over your biceps, satisfied.

All confident, you started on her inner thighs, taking your time. When your lips finally connected with her wet cunt, you heard her make a sharp exhale through her teeth. You kept going, first going over it all with a flat tongue, drinking in the moment, then using your tongue to explore her folds. Sevika let out a satisfied hum as you started sucking at her swollen, neglected clit.

That was when you brought your fingers up to her entrance, casually tracing, nothing else. That pissed her off.

Sevika slapped the top of the couch to get your attention. Your eyes snapped up to hers as she leaned forward to get all up in your face, with her signature sneer on.

“Did someone pay you to waste my time?”

You froze.

“That wasn’t rhetorical, I’m seriously asking you if some outside party with an interest in distracting me paid you to bring me here and do absolutely nothing with me.” You raised your eyebrows, eyes all wide and innocent. That made her groan, and she covered her face with one hand, your puppy eyes making her feel horny and desperate and a little guilty about snapping at you.

“Just. Fuck. Me.” She collapsed backward and you didn’t respond, just immediately did what she asked. You pushed your two fingers inside her without warning — hard. Again she exhaled through her teeth.

With your mouth, you continued giving her clit attention, and you pushed in and out of her, fingertips maintaining contact with her front wall, the one closest to you.

The sounds she made were pornographic, and it made you aware of the pool of slick that had established itself in the crotch of your boxers. Listening to her body, you gradually picked up the pace and you found Sevikas hand weave through your hair, grabbing you roughly at the scalp and pressing you closer and closer still.

Her face was angled toward the sky as she whined, her metal hand gripping the cushion tight enough to create what was probably going to be permanent ripples in the fabric. You brought her closer and closer and her grip on your head tightened as she bucked her hips upward, essentially fucking herself on your tongue and fingers. She occasionally let out a depraved vocalization that a trained ear might recognize as “fuck,” “don’t stop,” and “faster-FUCK faster.”

Until the pulse inside her cunt became erratic, and you felt a familiar tremor in her legs. You didn’t let up. You started fucking her deeper, with more pressure, using your tongue to play with her clit faster. Sevika’s thighs involuntarily snapped up to trap your head and you brought your hands up to brace them. Your tongue still moving as she cried out, loud and animalistic as she rode out her orgasm. Her thighs held you so tight against her pussy that you couldn’t escape if you tried, and the strength would probably have suffocated someone more petite.

Eventually, Sevika’s cries retreated back into deep panting and her legs dropped back to the floor, still trembling and spasming. She looked down at you, eyes half lidded, and gave you what could have been interpreted as a smile. She spread her arms back out on the top edge of the couch cushions, somehow still holding the half-smoked blunt. You shook your hair and a bit of ash fell out, which made you giggle. You were so invested in fucking her, you hadn’t noticed the active fire hazard against your skin the whole time.

With her chin, the woman gestured to the spot on the couch next to her. You settled in, your sides touching and your head leaning back against where her bicep was resting. She wrapped that arm around to bring the blunt to your lips.

“You can finish it, I don’t like the roach,” she said, and you obliged. You took a deep hit from her fingers and the last fiery bits assaulted your lungs, but you liked it. Sevika ashed it out on the couch, as if you hadn’t already desecrated it enough. You settled into a comfortable silence and she allowed you to lean your head on her pec, still uncovered. Until she spoke up.

“Promise me something, Casanova.” Her voice hoarse and gravelly from the earlier activities.

“Mm?” you responded. She wrapped her arm around you to reach up and ruffle your hair.

“Promise me you’ll never get good at cards.” You sucked your teeth and sneered back at her, giving her a hefty shove, which she gladly returned with equal force.

#arcane league of legends #arcane #arcane headcanon #arcane s2 #sevika #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika smut #arcane smut #sevika headcanon #arcane fanfic #arcane fanfiction #sevika fanfic #sevika fanfiction #vampdoessmut #vampdoessevikasmut

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prael · 1 year ago

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c'est la vie - Kim Minju

Part 3 of folie à deux.

IZ*ONE Kim Minju x Male reader smut. (ft. a sprinkle of Wonyoung)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6

Masterlist word count: 10,553

c'est la vie - that's life

"I'm so fucked."

Fists clenched and eyes scrunched, you’re venting out loud to no one in particular. You repeat it, "I'm so fucked." Louder this time—to the sky. Well, more accurately, to the plastered ceiling of this little hole-in-the-wall. Either way, the solution isn't there.

It isn't at the bottom of a bottle either, but you're determined to find that out the hard way.

"Is there a friend I can call for you?" The woman behind the bar has stopped polishing off the glasses; interrupted by what she would say are the ramblings of a madman.

"There's no coming back from this." You throw your head forward, catching it in your now open hands, elbows resting on the wooden bar top.

"Sir? I'm going to call you a—"

"I don't need a cab." You draw your head from your hands and open your eyes—allowing the light to pour onto you from one of those little round lights above you. The drink sits in front of you, unfinished. Hard liquor in a tumbler just waiting to be thrown back like the three before it—a plea you can’t ignore. The large ice cube rests against your nose as you pour every last drop onto your tongue and swallow. "I do need another drink."

With the glass set back down, your body slouches and sinks. Eyes stare down at the empty glass and your face is cold to the world, cold to the woman across from you. You must reek of self-pity, the smell thick in the air.

Let’s be honest, you've had far better days.

She's got her delicate fingers around the neck of the bottle, pouring you a fresh drink and placing it on a napkin, "you know, you're not the first person to stumble into this bar wearing a face like that."

You slide your eyes over to the glass and reach for it. "I highly doubt it."

"But, few of them show up this early, even if it is a Friday." She has a point: you’re propping up the bar alone and drowning your sorrows solo. In fact, there are only two other people in this whole place, sitting together at a table. "So what’s your story?"

"Does there have to be one?" You grip the glass in your hand, giving the stranger the best smile you can fake.

She steps back and brushes her hand on her trousers as she laughs, "I've seen many broken men and women sit at this bar and spend too many hours drinking their life savings, with hearts broken, dreams smashed and most of all, mistakes they regretted. But you seem different."

"Oh really, why's that?" Your eyes stare into your drink. It stares right back at you.

"You're still young."

"Does being broken have an age requirement?"

She shifts and reaches for something, something you can't quite make out, being locked in the most intimate of stares with your drink. It’s the sound of her placing down another fresh glass that gives it away. "Actually, yes. Because you've still got time to work with."

"That's the irony. All I have left is time."

“Then you have to believe in yourself to make the most of that time.” Her words are heavy, like their meaning holds weight within her too.

She lets you dwell on it for a moment while she pours her own drink. She settles herself against the bar top, across from you, resting her head in one open hand. Her gaze burns into you like sitting in the sun. You can feel something else too, a soft vibration in your pocket.

You finally break away from your staring contest with your drink—one you lost anyway—to fish your phone out of your pocket. The screen alights with Gaeul’s name and is followed by the words ‘1 new message’.

After a swipe, it reads, ‘wtf where are you? what happened?’ but the thought of sending a reply never crosses your mind. And, just in case, you switch it over to silent.

“Is that her?” The woman gently waves a slender finger towards your phone as you put it back where you found it. “The reason you’re here?”

"Do you press all your customers like this?"

“Only the interesting ones,” she returns her hand to her glass, taking a sip of it before continuing, “and there’s sadly so few of those.”

"And if I'm not as interesting as you think?"

"Then I'll buy you a drink.” She tilts her glass at you. "For the trouble."

"And if I'm fascinating?"

"I'll still buy you a drink." Another sip from her glass as her lip gloss stains the rim, "maybe two."

"Then no, it wasn't her." And here's the thing, you don't know who to blame. Yourself? Probably. Wonyoung? Maybe. The mystery cameraman who got it all on video? Almost definitely.

“But it is another woman, right?”

“It’s complicated.”

“I’m not exactly rushed off my feet here.”

You sigh, unsure exactly where to begin with this whole mess. The complete story is a long one. You could tell her about your family—the trouble at home and why you had to leave—but that’s not for anyone to know.

"I transferred here. Moved here with my brother. He's at work right now, and he will be late into the evening." You pause to take another drink. Another burning sensation. "To keep food on our table and keep me in college."

Even saying so little it weighs on you, the feelings of regret and the feeling that you're saying too much. You bite your tongue and hesitate.

"So why are you here and… you know... not at college?" She pushes you for more. She flicks a finger towards you with her free hand and then brings her glass to her lips.

You drag your eyes up for the first time and finally inspect the woman across from you.

She's your age, roughly—if you had to guess. She's pretty, and that part you're more confident about. She wears her long brunette hair over one shoulder, running in a loose wave, over her slate black blazer, which sits over a small black tee, cropped at the waist. She smiles when your eyes meet hers. And maybe she had no idea, and perhaps it's all subconscious, but the tips of her slender fingers squeeze slightly against the glass now that you're paying her some attention.

"I never got your name," you say with curiosity laden in your voice.

"Minju."

"And why is a young woman like you working here on a Friday afternoon?"

"Were you not the one telling me about your troubles?" She follows her words with a soft laugh.

"Call it quid pro quo. You answer and then I’ll tell you all about it," you say.

"Fine." She stands back upright, adjusting her blouse with a few gentle touches. The way her finger glides across the collar and tugs at it slightly. It's more than a little distracting. She cuts a sleek hourglass shape out of the shelves of bottled booze behind her. "I'm between gigs right now."

"Gigs?"

"Ah." She waves a finger. "My turn."

Minju tilts her head and then rests her palm against the bar—leaning toward you and eyes focused. It’s like an inspection and you instinctively sit up straighter.

"So why are you here?" she asks.

"Expelled. About..." You bring up your wristwatch into view. "About an hour ago."

Her brows go up a fraction and her eyes narrow on you again, almost as if to accuse you of lying to her. But her expression softens almost instantly. You would never notice if not for watching every second in painstaking detail. Her widening eyes reveal to you the thoughts passing through her mind as she racks her brain for a reason you would be expelled.

"You said that you're between gigs, so what is it you do?" you say, shifting the focus back away from yourself.

"I sing. I dance. I model. I act." She pauses with a bitter look. "However, right now, I serve drinks." You get it; she looks the part. That much is clear. She's far too gorgeous to be spending her time polishing glasses and serving screwdrivers to burnouts at happy hour. She looks every bit like a woman who should be so much more, but this isn't Hollywood, and the storybook tale of the waitress who makes it is so cliché.

You swill the last of your drink around in the glass, watching the little tidal pattern inside. The way the ice cube moves with the current, it hypnotises, entrances. You speak, looking down into the amber-hued ocean within your glass.

"And you have the talent to back up the looks?"

"So they tell me." There's no joy in the words or the tone. No pride or smug sense of achievement. If anything, it's dismissive. “It’s just a slow period. That’s life.”

“C’est la vie.” You catch her gaze as you utter the phrase under your breath.

Minju continues despite you, “but things will turn around soon enough. I'm going places."

"Every actor who is going places never seems to get there." Maybe it's the alcohol or maybe it's because, right now, you hate this city and everyone in it, but everything that comes out of your mouth is uncharacteristically curt.

And look, you regret it as soon as it leaves your mouth but that doesn't change the way you just dismissed her. It wasn't meant personally, but it's hard to stop your thoughts from curdling into words right now.

Minju is quiet, and the air becomes heavy. You swallow deep and finally look her in the eyes again. There's something there, some little flicker of emotion untold that gives her away for a moment. She is a woman told repeatedly that she has the world at her feet, but the hard truth of it is that she's here, working away behind the bar because, in fact, life is a lot more cruel.

Absorbed by her vulnerability, you feel the need to backtrack, "that's not—"

"So what, you look at me and see nothing but a girl who couldn't cut it?" There's a flash of fire in her eyes. A burn. A spark that sets the sky alight. A very attractive spark.

The way she fires it back. The passion in her words. The tension building between you as your eyes linger on each other.

You can't explain the attraction, but you can certainly feel it.

"No," you fire back without hesitation, leaning towards her, "what I see is a woman working two jobs just to afford a place to live." Your confidence rises with the alcohol pumping its way through your system and you do your damnedest to rescue the situation. "What I see is a girl with stars in her eyes and a dream that somehow she still keeps alive where so many more have given up. I'm not judging."

Silence.

Sudden, silent, and slightly sinister.

"Yeah, you were," Minju's eyebrows arch in amusement, "but that's fine, I'll take my turn now."

As she leans forward, there are words on her tongue. She looks ready to bite back, but she's looking over you, across the room, watching the only other two people in the bar leave. And for a minute, everything is held in suspense, you are locked together in silence, the clap of their shoes echoing through it. Then the sound of the door, and the brief exposure to the outside world, it's the rain pouring and the cars passing by and then it's the slam shut. It's just you and her, Minju, alone under the dim of the lights.

"So what was it?" she finally breaks the silence.

"Hm?"

"What got you expelled?"

You could lie. There's an opportunity for that. But what's the point? Even though she's a stranger, it doesn't feel like there's a risk if you just come clean and spill your dirty little secret, besides, you owe her one now.

"I got caught fucking in the library." The truth comes out plain and simple. It’s a brazen statement to make in the middle of the afternoon to a stranger. Her gaze shoots down at you. Whatever she expected, it wasn't that.

"I’m sorry, you were caught fucking in the library?" She repeats it out quizzically as if she’s taking time to process. Minju has this way of talking—a lilt in her voice. She has a tone and a pitch that rises and falls with each word. She's amused, that much is clear, by the slight smirk that has curled a corner of her mouth to accompany her sound.

"We were alone, or at least we thought we were, and it’s not like we hadn’t done it before, but apparently, there's evidence." You gesture your empty glass at her, a secondary conversation, unspoken but clear that you need another drink before you tell her anything else.

In doing so you see how she tenses her lips together, holding in her laughter at the thought. She’s holding and you’re watching until she finally cracks, her grin wide and laughter loud.

"Now I am the one judging you. You made fun of me for trying while you're too busy swinging your cock around to even try. So, you tell me, who is the stupid one here?"

"Alright I deserved that one." Your hand had been holding the empty glass to her but now you bring it to rest against the bar top. "In my defence, it's not like I had much of a choice. That girl..."

"Here we go. Let's see how you justify this one." She finally takes your empty glass and when the edge of her fingers brushes across the back of your hand, they linger for far too long. And when she draws back, dragging away those long, delicate fingers from your own, you find yourself suddenly cold.

"It's not like I could turn her down if I wanted to. Also I would never have done it in the library if she didn't make me."

"She 'made' you. Go on." There's scepticism in the words. Her mocking tone teasing you as you watch her turn to the shelves behind her, eyes scanning the possibilities.

"No one says no to her. Never."

"Wow, sounds like quite a woman," she says, ever more playful, as she reaches for the top shelf. Her blazer is pulled up now, ever so slightly exposing her back above the waist of her trousers. Trousers hugging the subtle swell of her hips. Her small, tight, round ass is defined through the fitted fabric. You can't look away.

"Everything comes easily for her. There are literally men fighting for her affections. They would die for her," the words tumble from your mouth, as your gaze lingers.

You must have been lost in the daze and absent-mindedly following the contours of her thighs because by the time you shift focus to her face, she's peering at you from over her shoulder. Eyes sharp as daggers, as if to say it’s a little too obvious.

"Wow she sounds like a real piece of work. I know someone like that too. " Minju turns with bottle in hand, hair swirling around her as she does so. She's graceful. Unbothered and unhurried by anything. "This one is perfect. This bottle is older than me."

She pours two fresh drinks with more ice in each.

"Am I going to regret this in the morning?" you question as the weight of the glass finds your hand.

"You might. But at this moment? No."

You trust her, somehow, inexplicably; you do.

She asks, “so, what will you do now?” it’s a question as funny as it is difficult to answer.

The truth is that you haven’t got the slightest clue. You tell her as much and try to explain it as best you can, and her eyes soften as you share the details. It’s supposed to be a back-and-forth—quid pro quo—but she’s pressing you with question after question: how long have you known her? Is she pretty? Where does she see you in all of this?

“You and her. Still a thing?”

Minju is on your side of the bar now, sitting by your side with little caution about personal space; there’s not an inch of space between you. Her thigh presses against you and her upper arm is flush with your own.

"Me and Wonyoung were never a thing, not really."

Minju stops dead and chokes, holding her throat, and forcing the drink down. Her whole body shifts. She nearly falls off the bar stool and, after steadying herself, she stares blankly forwards.

"Wonyoung? Jang Wonyoung?"

"Yeah, her." The new drink meets your lips and its taste is a hell of a lot richer than the cheap stuff you were pouring down. It’s laden with a smoky taste over sweet tones.

There's a silence even after you finish taking a drink. Something untold hangs in the air. You know it. She knows it. She's here on the verge of telling you something, but what? And you sit here and wait, despite the racing of your heartbeat.

"I should have known." Minju shakes her head, laughing, but without a smile.

"Should've known what?"

"You're Wonyoung's new toy. I should have guessed as soon as I saw you, she has this effect on people."

You stiffen at that. It's always the truth that hurts the most and the fact is you really were just a toy. A convenient dildo.

"You know what you need right now?" She twists on the stool, and suddenly, you've got Minju looking straight at you. Eyes locking with you. Right there. Looking up at you. So close. Right there, leaning back ever so slightly so her chest arches towards you, accentuating her small breasts, straining against her shirt.

"Drinking helps," you reply, raising your glass.

"Yes, but so does fucking."

That’s a line. It’s one that shouldn’t come as a surprise because a girl like this probably has a lot of experience in being wanted, so who is to say she can’t turn the table for once? But in one breath you’re giddy, taken out of yourself and feeling drunker by the moment. Not on the booze, but her. She is intoxicating.

It takes you a few seconds to notice but her free hand slips on your leg, rubbing and caressing as it snakes further and further up.

"What?" You ask as if it needs confirmation and in those long few moments, you think you must have imagined it. And the same way a nervous laughter rises, the laughter spilling out of your throat, she is quick to quench the growing dread inside of you by sliding her palm across your bulge.

"Wait here." Something has switched inside her. You don’t know what, but either way, it's got her standing up and strutting towards the door. With each step, she opens her body language. A growing swagger, letting you see the sway of her hips. Left and right. Just enough to catch the eye. And oh boy, does your eye get caught. You couldn't pull your gaze away now if you wanted to.

She's swiping hands at the door now and flicking the locks. Then she's pulling the blinds shut. A giggle comes from Minju as she spins back to face you. She runs her bottom lip through her teeth and stares right into you.

You feel exposed but, strangely, comfortable. It's so very odd; with no clue as to what happens next. It has your heart pounding out of your chest.

"I thought you were alone tonight because you were upset, but no, I understand it now. You're frustrated. Angry. Stressed. She used you and got away with it."

She kicks off her heels, loses a few centimetres in height, and is walking barefoot across the floor - toward you. Her shoulder rolls to one side and then to the other as her body rises and falls, sashays with the pace of her hips. She can see that you're stuck. You’re rooted to the seat with a dumb look on your face, and yet she saunters ever closer.

“I am a little confused,” you finally say. She's so close that all your senses are lost to the approach of Minju's swaying frame. Her curves, her body, her gentle steps, the way her perfume smells—it's consuming you.

She ignores you and continues, "I’m frustrated too. I'm so frustrated that I'm wasting time in this damn bar. I'm angry at all the auditions that ended up with producers rejecting me. I know exactly what you're feeling. You're angry at the world and everyone in it." Her tone grows raspier. More raw and less stable. "You feel alone. Hung out to dry and in need of attention."

"And you feel the same?"

"Yes, and I'm hungry. Starved of any real satisfaction. You told me I’m going nowhere and I guess it means I need a little attention, too."

You watch her eyes flittering as she looks you up and down. The sultry grin she wears shows she likes what she sees.

"So what are you going to do about it, Minju? What is the solution?" You drop a look down to the soft and slender flesh of her neck.

"No strings. We get this all out of our system." Minju leans in. Lips so close to yours. She stays there. It's torture. "You let all that shit out. Take out your pent-up stress, frustration, anger."

"On you?"

"Exactly. You'll feel better. I will too. Because right now…" Her nose presses against the side of your own. Soft skin. Gentle pressure. "I need it rough."

Her hand lands on your thigh again, rubbing down the denim of your jeans.

The offer is enticing. It has your head swimming with dirty images of everything the two of you could do together, and your cock? Well, that's already twitching in your underwear.

"This isn’t going to help, it will just make things worse."

"Can they really get any worse?"

Minju brings your hand, hers and yours, to her waist. Your thumb feels the soft material of her shirt, and your fingers touch that small patch of skin below it.

"Are we prepared to find out?" Your lips graze gently against hers. The thrill. The electricity in the air.

"I’m ready. More than ready. Just this once, do what you want to do and make me the star of your fantasy. Use me. Make me everything you need." She plants her lips firmly on yours. You both go quiet, muffled by a kiss.

Nothing to do but feel.

Minju's grip tightens on your leg, and yours on her waist. The other hand slides up to her chest, finding her breast, cupping it and feeling her. She opens her mouth. And you follow. Your tongues are colliding and sweeping across one another, eager and desperate.

So you push, guiding the two of you to stand. Minju staggers back, and you're with her every step of the way. Stumbling through a kiss. Hands everywhere. Uncertain. Lost, confused, and passionate. It's an incoherent tumble that takes you both crashing through chairs, pushing them aside until you hit something sturdy. Minju's ass slams against the pool table and she grunts into your mouth.

Her lips drag away and she smiles. "Fuck me."

You grab her by the hips, lifting her onto the pool table.

"I need to see the big cock that’s got Wony all worked up. She wouldn’t settle for anything disappointing." She's fumbling at your waist, struggling with the buckle of your jeans.

"This what you want?" Your words vibrate through her. And when you take a handful of her hair and tug, there's a long, soft, desperate sigh from Minju's parted lips.

"Use me. Abuse me." Her fumbling finally succeeds and the waist of your trousers slackens. "I know how I look, but don't worry, you're not going to break me."

She's pushing at your trousers, your boxers, and when that stiff dick pops out, her smile spreads into a big, stupid grin. It's not an unattractive expression—not really. It just tells the truth. She is excited.

It’s as clear as day that you are too. You’re rock hard, stiff as hell, ready to fuck, and this, this will give you the chance to let it all out. All of it.

"Perfect." Minju grabs your cock in both hands, still warm, throbbing, and strong. "Just look at this thing."

You pull on her hair again, harder, until she breaks away from you, until she gives way—losing the grip on your cock and falling back on the table. And now you slow as if to savour the moment as you’re sliding your fingers under the waist of her trousers. Not often you get afforded a measure of control.

"C’mon, please, don't be gentle," Minju moans out through gritted teeth. The desperation is painted on her face and that’s the difference here: while a girl like Wonyoung wouldn’t let you go slow, Minju is the type of girl who makes you not want to go slow.

So you pull at the trousers of the girl sprawling out in front of you, tearing the button from the fabric, yanking them open and pulling them down those long, slender legs. The flesh is soft. And to touch, so smooth and light. Minju's breathing picks up—becoming shorter and deeper with each touch to her sensitive skin.

"I might leave marks."

Minju stares you down, hands already massaging over her panties. "I hope you will."

The thought is intoxicating, so much more so than the alcohol in your blood, as your hands paw over her legs; you knead soft skin with a kind of aggression you haven't felt before.

Minju is a rare girl.

Beautiful. And by definition, beautiful women have seen it all before.

But her?

The look she gives? Like no man has ever fully satisfied the itch within her. It's deep-set hunger. The kind that she chases endlessly for.

This hunger makes people behave stupidly, careless and forgetful of the consequences. And maybe you know that all too well but even still it's a risk worth taking. Every choice has led you here and maybe that is your solace, that it's not all downhill from here.

And as your hands reach her small satin panties, the warmth embraces you, and the urge within you grows. You hook your fingers inside and draw the panties aside to expose the tight pink flesh of Minju's cunt.

Not that you would expect anything else, but she is clean-shaven. So smooth. Not a single blemish. This is a girl who kept herself neat and pristine, and yet from her mouth spills utter filth, "just look at how wet this pussy is for you."

She's running her fingers between her lips, showing you everything she has to offer between her legs, showing you where she expects you dick will get put to use.

"This tight fucking cunt can take everything your thick cock has to give."

"Minju, you’re so..." You're standing over her, her legs spread wide beside you, blazer falling from her shoulders leaving nothing covering her but that low-cut top.

Minju stares right at you, eyes fixed, wide and eager, her chest heaves with every deepening breath she takes in. She's wild, reaching for you with one hand, stretching to hold you and then pulling at your shirt to draw you in.

"I'm so needy. Please fuck me." She's whining through closed lips as her other hand slips away from her pussy and glides over her taut abs and leaving her cunt ready to be used. She wants it, desperately, and you're drawing it out. Making it build inside her, and you hold your cock in your hand.

You're stroking, and she's watching. And for all her strain to pull at your shirt, to pull you into her, you hold back. You hold just long enough. Enough for her arm to fall limp. Enough for her to almost give in. "Please..." she trails off with a whimper.

You push the head of your stiff cock against her cunt—against her clit. Your hips roll as you run the entire underside of your cock between her lips. She gasps and breathes deeply. She's holding it all the while. All the time it takes for you to draw your cock back, so the tip is right there. Ready.

She let's go as you do. The air escapes her lungs with a sharp squeal. You let your cock sink in. Slow but persistent, you push further and further, feeling her tensing. Then the clench and tightness overwhelms. She gasps and squirms, wriggles beneath you and her nails scratch at the fabric of the table beneath her.

You push again, sinking your cock as far as you can through her wet hole.

There's a loud snap and squeal from Minju. Pretty girl broke a nail. It flew off somewhere across the room, such is her grip onto the table. "Fuck. So fucking full," she manages, barely. It's more the noise you force from her than any actual communication.

You draw your hips back and she's quick to encourage you, "again," she says.

Your hips are driving forward again, pushing every last centimetre back through her.

Minju whimpers. There's this short, sweet purr from deep within her. You feel her stretch, she moves a little, adjusting herself atop the pool table. There's a warmth that swells, tightens, and pulsates. And you feel the breath come easier. It leaves her as though her body has settled to a kind of ease and pleasure, some form of satisfaction.

You refuse to let her rest. It's not what she would want.

It's not what you want.

You run your hands along her inner thighs, past her knees until you finally reach her ankles and pull them together and hold them aloft. You lift and pull her ass up slightly from the table. She's suspended now while you fuck into her.

The shake of her small frame is completely erotic. Watching her ass and thighs jiggle as you fuck into her. That plump little ass taking slap after slap from your hips.

Her perfect skin reddens as her moans louden the longer you last. There are high-pitched squeals and low and gritty growls. They bounce around the empty bar, reverberating and multiplying—echoing back louder than before.

"Harder." She thinks she can take more. Look, Wonyoung was demanding, she wanted to control everything and push your limits, but Minju? Minju is whole different type of demanding. She's welcoming everything you have with every fibre of her being. Her pussy so eagerly taking it all, and it just seems like no matter what limit you push past, or the more Minju takes, the more she craves.

You pull her legs to you, calves on your shoulders, feet in the air, and your hands move firmly onto her hips. You steady her—ready her. Your grip bruises the tender skin (hey, it's what she wants) and then you fuck her like your life depends on it. Your cock pumping inside with reckless abandon.

"Keep going! Just like that! Fuck!" her voice rises over the rhythm of your low grunts, and the crack of your hips slapping against her ass.

Minju's face twists, red and flushed. She's so tense. Muscles tight around the neck and her teeth buried in the soft flesh of her lower lip. Her voice is low and raw, growling, as she pleads for more with words you can't pretend to understand. It's not eloquent or graceful... In fact, it's that incoherence that makes this all the better—so utterly unbothered, unconcerned with anything other than being thoroughly used, fucked and defiled.

She has that hungry glaze in her eyes when you look down upon her, a girl being exactly the kind of filthy thing she promised to be. And those eyes only draw you in, you're pushing over her, folding her legs further against her body until she's truly helpless. Pinned to the table. Bent in two. No ability, nor want, to stop you from dominating her.

"I'm gonna—" she tries to speak until you press down, right into her. She squeezes your cock inside that tight, creaming hole. Then she whines, loud.

So loud.

Her back would arch high if it could. But she can't break free. You have her completely immobilized with your upper bodyweight. And fuck does she love every second of it. She's got handfuls of her shirt, pulling it, clutching, writhing. Ecstasy courses through her and eyes roll.

And now she's rolling, you're turning her. Ankles in your hands, you have pulled out and you're flipping her onto her front, face down into the table. She’s just… accepting it. Not an ounce of fight in her. Not even a word. Just a throaty moan.

"Be a good girl for me, won’t you?” you’re ordering, “give me your hands.”

She reaches her arms back over her subdued body and lets you take her delicate wrists.

She submits.

Just lying there prone, her delicate body against the table, with that tight little ass perched on the edge of it, and that skimpy underwear still pushed aside for her throbbing cunt. Those slender legs left hanging either side of you. And go on, you're allowed to think it in the simplest of terms; Minju is sexy. In a word, that's it. Sexy. And yet, the reality is there's so much more you can say. Every soft curve of her toned body is alluring, she is magnetic and inviting, and that cute face peering over her shoulder, long hair spilled all behind it. All the words in the world couldn't do justice to describe her—couldn't properly capture the image.

"What are you going to do to me, daddy?" Oh, she says it so seamlessly, slips it in like it's been on her lips for a while - floating in the atmosphere since you took control. And now that it's finally landed, you feel its weight. It has her voice different; smokey and dripping with sex. And it hits you straight between your legs.

She licks her lips and tests it out again, just for good measure: "what does daddy think I deserve?"

One hand holding her wrists against the small of her back, another gripping her hip. Her legs sway lazily, unable to reach the floor. Helplessly dangling, waiting for her fate. And you're not a man to disappoint a girl like Minju.

"I'm going to use the needy little slut in front of me," you say as the head of your stiff cock probes at her cunt, slipping between her wet lips and sliding against her swollen clit. Teasing her.

You draw it back up again and pushing apart her ass cheeks with the length of your cock. Slipping under the thin fabric of her soaked panties.

She bites her lower lip and whimpers through her teeth. The head of your wet cock slides against her tight asshole, and her hips twitch back. "Whatever you need, take it from me." She means that. There's yearning in every word. The hunger and desire in her voice growing thicker.

You push against her, cock sandwiched between her cheeks, pushing your weight down and pressing her against the table. Her eyes close for a moment, her fingers curl into her palms.

"Yes. Fuck," Minju's desperate encouragement spills through clenched teeth.

You pull back your cock and replace it with your thumb, sliding your hand over her ass and slipping it against her puckered hole.

"Please da—" You slip the tip of your thumb just inside her ass and hold it there while she holds her breath.

Anticipation—

Waiting—

Knowing what's coming next.

Minju is completely still as you drive your cock into her cunt again. Sinking yourself in so deep—balls deep. Her hands become tight fists and her whole body is shaking. You withdraw and plunge again, and she hisses, breathing from the bottom of her lungs, ragged and shallow, and fighting to speak.

"I'm a dirty, needy, little slut and you’re going to use me—"

You spit at her spread ass, right onto your thumb, and use it to dig a little deeper. "What are you?" your question provokes an instant answer,

"I'm a horny slut. I'm a fuck-hole. That's what I am."

As if it's a reward for her honesty, you fuck her a little harder. Push your thumb a little deeper. She smiles through a howl of ecstasy, the sound swelling into the room.

"Tell me again," you command with another pump of your hips, stretching her even more with your thumb.

Her words crackle, dying in her throat with each impact of your hips, "I'm just a dumb girl who needs to be full of cum."

No sane man would refuse it. Not you, not anyone. Definitely not you at all. You couldn't resist any part of her, but especially not that filthy demand. Especially not with how you felt watching those gorgeous fucking curves ripple every time your hips slapped against her ass.

It's all so easy, how you continue, keeping pace. Thumb deep in her ass. Balls smacking against her soaked pussy with every thrust. It's a pleasure all too overwhelming—a thrill, a sensation, a powerful sense of utter fucking satisfaction and all-consuming desire—an erotic overflow inundates, a swell, an ever-growing crest inside your balls.

"Minju. I'm. Gonna—"

"Cum in me? Please." She's the hallmark of innocence-gone-wrong; the way such words roll off her tongue with playful ease. And she knows all the right ones. The ones that she knows will bring all the right reactions. To speak to you on a primal level. She's at it again, cutting into you, "Inside— Inside me."

Cutting through you like the blade of a knife, right to your core and you obey—fuck.

"Daddy please."

You're incensed.

Dogged with the pounding you're giving her, you have lost control of just how deep you have your thumb in her ass. This is so Indecent. Obscene, even. For you, or for anyone, to just... enjoy something like this. Your body is roaring with lust as her ass and cunt both squeeze on you, clamping you as you drive yourself to the brink.

"I wanna... feel your hot load," her voice comes shaking through the unabated pounding you're inflicting. "Fill me please," she's begging and it sounds a little clearer now, stronger, a little louder, no doubt because she knows it's almost done.

You tug at her wrists, pulling her arms back and her body away from the table. Her head hangs forward beneath a wave of hair. Face covered by sweat streaks across those pretty sculpted features.

"Please, I'll be a good girl and take every drop. All the fucking cum that daddy has. Make me your stupid dirty little slut," she compels, then yelps with every new slam and stroke of the stiff cock being buried into her again and again.

That tight asshole, and that cock-hugging pussy. All the relentless slamming that you have done and will do. All the desires, with the pent-up frustration, the rage and anger and tension that has built up—you release it. Everything goes as you send your load rushing through your cock to paint her insides.

Pushing everything you have in. Pumping. Driving hard.

Her squeals are like music to the soul. Relief and rapture are overflowing. And fuck. What a ride. What a rush. You pump her full until she's gasping for air, struggling in your grasp and making sure to moan each and every dirty word into the atmosphere as she fights to hold on. What a thrill. And as the two of you hit the limits of physical exhaustion and exhilaration, you pull back. Letting the girl lay there, spent, and filled, on the pool table.

Used.

Satisfied.

Sullied.

Minju to you, today, is a feeling of freedom. Fulfilment. Absolution. As she lay limp, arms out, legs hanging, hair draped over her face and pooling on the table—a girl well fucked and on display. She is satisfaction. And she is dripping with your cum.

She slips her fingers under her panties. That shrivelled piece of fabric that clings, or struggles to. Now she pushes them off her hips and they tumble over her feet.

When this beautiful girl speaks her voice has the distinct scratch of someone whose lungs have had the oxygen stolen from them, her throat sore with moaning, "I need more."

She moves to her back and you can only watch in amazement as she turns to you with that flush face. One of her small, delicate hands falling between her legs and her dainty fingers tracing around her cunt—through her pink folds, and dousing them in your leaking cum.

There's a knock at the door. It rattles in the frame. "Open up!" It's the voice of the young man seeking an afternoon drink. You think that, luckily, hopefully, between the blinds, the posters and the neon lights in the windows along with the dim lighting, he can't see in.

"Fuck off!" Minju shouts. Her chest is heaving, and there are the gentle lulls of a giggle welling in her throat.

You notice she hasn't moved the fingers away from her swollen and sticky cunt. There's a building cackle, almost as if she is going to fall into hysterics.

"Let me in! You should be open!"

"I said fuck off!" Minju's climbing from the table with a wild smile on her face. Cum is trailing from her cunt, pooling, oozing, dripping down her thigh, down her leg. Her tongue slides over her lips, she's eying you up like a tiger.

"I want to ride your thick cock." She's breathing the words out heavy and finally pulling that shirt over her head. Small round breasts exposed. Stiff dark nipples. Hard and taught. That bare torso. Tight and tone. Firm and solid. Every muscle defined under glistening, sweaty skin.

She pushes herself against you until you push between a pair of stools and your ass plants against the bar. "You made me a dirty girl, and now I can't stop."

You find her strength a little unnerving, the way seems so unphased and determined. She's running on pure adrenaline. It's hot, sure, a kind of raw passion is certainly not without appeal, but also maybe a touch too overpowering. The way that she grabs at you, a touch forceful, and the way you come together is perhaps too rough and less than elegant.

So unkempt, un-romantic, yet so insanely gratifying as her soft skin finds yours.

You take her body in your arms, lips on one another, exploring mouths with tongues. Grasping the round cheek of her ass as she lifts her left thigh up to your waist. Hand trailing between the two of you and then grabbing a firm hold of your cock, guiding the thing back to her pussy—and not letting go.

This is it. This is where she belongs.

It’s all so natural for her to be on the end of your cock, so much so that she can casually pull away from the kiss to switch her focus to finding a drink on the bar behind you. She’s taking a drink of it now and some of it spills from the corner of her mouth.There is something undignified in that, but utterly perfect nonetheless.

She's grinding against you now, swirling her hips and cooing like a little kitten, as your hands move over her ass and that silken smooth back.

Minju sets the empty glass back down on the bar, and pulls back to meet your eyes. She presses a finger to her tongue, her eyes gleaming and focused solely on you, as she guides a small, playful trail of drool to run over her glistening tits. "Fuck," she breathes through a grin, taking both her hands and smoothing that drool over her chest.

Another knock at the door. Another fist pounded into its frame.

All these fucking interruptions.

"Ugh! Fuck this. Come on, follow me." And before you know it, she's guiding you across the room. "I'm going to ride you until I can't walk. Until I'm so sore that every step will remind me what it felt like to have you deep inside me."

Your phone rings, on the floor in the pocket of your trousers. Who would call right now? Just as one interruption finally concedes at the door, another emerges.

Minju bends to fish it out of your trousers. Her little ass, one cheek marred with a handprint from your grasp, is so close you could bend forward and eat it (any other time, you would.) but it's not that which intrigues you the most. When she rises, slowly, your phone is in her grasp, screen displaying Wonyoung's name.

"This should be fun," Minju chuckles to herself. She swipes the answer button and raises the device to her ear. "Hello?"

Minju reaches out to hold your hand and pulls you toward the staff only door. "Sorry, he's a little busy right now," she says as she walks through the door with you in tow. Her head pivots. Minju stares, eyes boring deep into yours. That sultry expression. The spark of desire igniting all over again.

Minju turns on her heel, letting you go and taking a step back. Thin fingers stroke over her cum-soaked thigh, up and along her wet lips, higher and past her flat stomach, sliding between her firm tits. "He is really busy."

She points at the couch in the break room, gesturing you to sit. You oblige, a little nervous about the turn of events. She's rubbing at her perky little tits as she speaks, "do you want me to take a message?"

"Minju..." you say with warning, ready to take the phone off her. But it's so hard to ignore how utterly sexy she is, and your hand starts to stroke along your shaft. She turns her body and poses, looking over her shoulder to you, and she grins. Minju affords you all the time you need to admire her while she listens to the ramblings of Wonyoung through your phone.

Minju steps toward you, looking down at you. "You need to speak to him?" She rests a hand on your shoulder, and then she clambers over you, straddles you. Her leaking cunt right above your cock. She licks her lips and rubs her slick pussy over your stiff dick, eyes focused on you, head tilted down. "Give me one second."

She holds the phone against her collar and shifts above you, resting the tip of your cock against her hole.

"Minju, let me—"

She sinks onto your cock.

Inch by pleasurable inch, she takes you. Minju rocks forward and adjusts to settle on the length of your rod. Fully hilted and stuffed. She's a slick sheath of velvet on your stiff rod and you realise then just how perfectly she fits on you. You bite your tongue, trying to not make a noise so you don't alert the woman on the other end of the phone. Minju, however, is careless, and she lets out a soft moan as she shifts on you, readying herself.

Cum still seeps out of her cunt and down your shaft—your own and hers in some messy cocktail. The smell is sharp but unmistakable. It hangs in the air as the unmistakable evidence of what has happened and what will happen again. It’s so potent; invigorating and exciting. A reminder of everything and more, as if you would ever forget it—as if you could ever forget what she has become for you.

Minju draws the phone back to her face and, with a cocky smirk parting her lips, she speaks again, her voice breathy and full of lust.

"He's in a bit of a tight spot right now." She throws you a wink and continues, "give him ten—wait, no—give him fifteen minutes and whatever is left of him is all yours."

There's the sound of a voice coming through the phone, so unmistakably Wonyoung's but you can't make a word of it out. There's another sound, one much dirtier, that fills the air between the two of you. The soft squelching as Minju rocks and rotates those full hips on you.

"Sorry, what was that?" Minju is stifling a giggle and not-really trying to keep the naughtiness of the situation in check. "Yeah, Wonyoung,you’re right. It's me, Minju," she purrs, biting her lip as her eyes fix on you. Then her tongue flits from her lips, sweeping from left to right.

‘It's me, Minju.’

Look, it’s not really a surprise that they know each other well. It was always a possibility that Minju had just heard of Wonyoung but had never really been acquainted. Thinking back, however, the strength of her reaction to the girl’s name should have told you everything. The truth is now ever so clear.

Not that Minju is going to let you process it. She will not allow you to focus on anything other than the caress of her pussy over your sensitive cock. She's elegant with the movements of her hips—the motions subtle and slow. Her pace is sinful. She's running her tongue over her teeth and staring at you, enjoying the quiet grunts that rattle from your throat.

"He showed up in—" Her breath hitches and she catches a moan in her throat before it escapes. "In the bar, drinking alone."

There's a gasp, then another as she strokes her hands through the locks of your hair. "Yeah. He was doing that." She's laughing under her breath and looking you up and down. "That thing with his hand, yeah, it's cute."

“What? No. I wouldn’t.” You’re getting half a conversation and none of it makes any sense.

She reaches out her hand to the side of your face, thumb brushing the line of your jaw and her body leaning in. "He's got a sexy jaw line," she admits and then picks up the speed of her movement.

Her hand slides down your neck and presses into your collar. "His body?" Minju hums as her hips are churning; her body is rolling and her abs are flexing. "Yeah, I think so too."

Minju's back arches and her tiny tits bounce as her movement changes, bouncing rhythmically on your cock. She's adjusting and getting more comfortable on you. As the seconds pass, she's getting rougher and moving ever faster.

Fuck.

"Well, he's drunk, so it's no surprise."

It's been no end of strange situations over the past couple of months, but this may well be the strangest yet. The girls are having a friendly conversation, but one is on top of a cock that's dripping with her mess.You're still trying to piece it together. They're friends—that much is clear. But there's still so many questions unasked: How? Since when? And why are they having their catch up right fucking now?

Her delicate frame moves fast now and the rise and fall of her chest growing sharper leading to short breaths.

"Mhm," she utters, keeping her voice low and words at a premium. "N—No we aren't." To give her credit, she's actually very good at sounding natural. In some twisted way, it's one hell of an audition for how talented of actress she can actually be.

But that image comes crumbling down before your eyes.

Just for a moment, the picture freezes. Her mouth is half-open, eyes wide. She bites down on her lip, silencing herself, and then she drops her hand from her ear. She's hitting her fist, clenched around the phone, against her thigh repeatedly as she fights against her own body. There's another choked grunt as she is being pushed ever so close to the edge.

She draws the phone to her face again, breathing in deep and staring at you with those glossy eyes scanning all across your body, and she swallows.

"We aren't fucking," Minju denies, as your hands creep up from her slender thighs, sliding over those beautiful taut hips, gripping tight and helping pull her back and forth. It's clear, from the way she bites down on her bottom lip, the subtle trembling of her chin, she's hanging on by a thread, ready to lose it at any second.

"No. Don't—" Minju holds the phone out, and she’s looking at it—you can see it too—Wonyoung has just ended the call. "Ah fuck it." Minju throws the phone down on the couch.

She looks at you with a face that's a little lost in thought, considering things unknown to you. All while her body is on auto-pilot, still fucking down onto you.

After a moment, her face changes, an expression of indifference, of calmness. She smiles a little and rests both of her hands on your shoulders. Staring deep into your eyes, she grows ever more serious with a tinge of intent. She shifts from auto-pilot to manual, tightening the grip with her legs and slowing the pace, but fucking you harder.

Minju rides the ridge of your cock. Your whole length is dragged up and down her insides, setting every inch of you on fire. She moans every time she slams onto you.

Every time.

She's falling further apart in front of you—coming completely undone. Eyes rolling and biting that lip again. Hips shifting in all kinds of directions. A cacophony of beautiful grunting sounds that flood the room.

Minju is a woman derailed by pleasure.

"God. Your cock— Your cock is—" She's struggling now and you're only going to make it worse. Using the hands on her hips, you buck yourself up into her, bringing yourself a fraction closer each time.

"The things this cock— the things you— fuck." Minju has no power to string any kind of sentences together, no matter how many words you force from her. They grow less and less like words you can understand until all that remains are these loud and unashamed gasps.

Gasp after sharp and unstoppable gasp.

The rush of exhilaration courses through her, from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes. She feels it. All over. It's written on her face, in the way that she moves and in the look in her eyes. A look like that is a hard thing to fake, even for her—there's nothing else like it. Minju is cumming all over your cock and every bit of it is evident in every tense muscle, the quiver in the corner of her mouth, the sheen across her brow, the mist in her eyes as she blinks lazily and tries not to be overcome, overawed, with emotion and all the intense sensations, one wave after another, rippling through her.

You're just about there again too. You try to warn her, but you're fucking up into her with so much energy that you're not sure if the words ever left your mouth. But she knows it, somehow, because she has renewed aggression in her. Even through her orgasm, she's bouncing on your cock with such ferocity. Minju takes hold of your head and draws you into her. Nose to nose. Foreheads touch. "Cum in me again."

They're four of the best words she could have said.

She rides you faster still as you pump rope after hot rope into her cunt, your entire length filling her already overflowing cunt. You cum so hard inside her that the world seems to distort, twist, and wane.

"Yes! Yes!" she shouts in a whisper—her voice stolen by pleasure. "Fill my little pussy."

And with every last ounce of strength you have, you continue. Bucking into her, driving deeper with the last throes of your second load. It's too much. It's beyond pleasure and into pain now, as you have nothing left to give her.

You squeeze at her hips and waist, holding her down and doing everything you can to stop her fucking you.

You're panting. Tired. Done.

Done.

Minju raises herself just enough to slip that ruined and swollen cockhead from the depth of her. You watch as your combined fluids flow out of her onto your leg.

All that filth, a dirty combination of the two of you. Two loads of your cum drained into that one pretty pussy.

Minju is stroking a hand up your stomach, your chest, along your neck and jawline. Across your face and to your chin, so slowly, as if memorising your features.

You watch her body, so fucking perfect, flexing and trembling still and her breasts heave beneath sweat and exertion. Her breath is so ragged that a chuckle emerges between the hard, deep inhales and exhales. She's sweating, perspiration painting her body and strands of long hair matted to her head. So beautiful. Always so fucking beautiful.

She looks into your eyes, studying, thinking. "You feel better now," her voice has returned to the softness of before, low and sultry. "Don't you?"

With a smile, your hands move again, wandering further up. They snake their way around her slender waist. There's something strange, something new, about how they explore her—before, you were quick to set them and demand control. But not now. Now, it's tender and grateful and you have a slow, searching rhythm to the touches that skim the skin across her skin.

"Yeah." It's honest. You do. She has done her magic, she has restored the balance, and the release has cleared a space within the self, within the mind. You stare back into her gaze, "thank you."

"No." Minju brings her head forward, her face almost colliding with yours. "Thank you. This is exactly what I needed, I really—" She bites down on her lips and hesitates. She pauses for a second before she begins to move herself off you. Standing up straight, wobbling for a moment on the spot before stepping off and the sticky remains of your fucking cling to her inner thighs, glistening on the flesh, thick and trailing down from her hole.

She stares at you for a moment in some profound silence. You sit on the couch, on that musty old fabric, fully spent and staring. She's searching for something, eyes drifting over the room until it catches her eye, and she heads right for it.

You find the strength to stand and as you do, you’re still watching the sway of her body—noticing each bounce of her perfectly formed butt. Your eyes linger, appreciating the body that was given to you, enjoyed by you, and that gave so much to you. Your strength slowly builds from within, your legs are sore, your stomach and core are aching, your lungs feel crushed.

She's fumbling around on the table for something, she's leaning over slightly, her thighs pressed together. She wears sex like a crown—the pride, confidence, and accomplishment manifesting in her natural glow. Minju radiates. There's always something so electric about a woman in the post coital haze.

"You smoke?" she asks.

"No."

"You should," she says as she turns, fishing one out of the pack and perching herself on the edge of the table, crossing over her legs. "Makes you less nervous. You might need it."

There's an elegance in the way she slips the filter between her lips. An attractiveness in the casual way that she places the box down. With practiced poise, she flicks her wrist with lighter in hand so it flips open and her thumb runs against the sparkwheel. Once, twice, and on the third go the light takes and the flame holds steady. Minju lights the end of the cigarette and leans in, taking a deep draw and holding it.

It's mesmerising to watch. The way her mouth closes around the stick, how the soft glow dances upon her features. A darkness in the hollows of her cheeks as the smoke fills within, while she flicks the lighter back closed and slides it on the table.

Minju tilts her head back as her lungs empty, billows and tendrils escape into the room.

In the silence, you've had some realisation.

Minju is cool.

Like— really cool.

So you stand naked, facing her, in the breakroom of the bar she... works in? Owns? Hell, you don't even know that. Doesn't matter. And you finally ask her, "how do you know Wonyoung?"

For a long moment she just smiles, blowing smoke towards you, teasing with silence.

"We go way back," she says, and that is hardly the complete answer that you've hoped for.

Eventually, she offers more. "High school. We were friends." Minju studies the cigarette, eyeing the burning stub. "Guess you could say we were closer than that. Fuck. If not for—"

Silence.

And yet you wait.

"Well, there was this boy," she continues eventually, offering a soft and resigned smile. "My crush, and then my boyfriend. He was my first. First kiss, first date. First—" Minju looks over to the wall and inhales hard on the cigarette again. She breathes in slowly and you watch the small ember dance, the edges turning amber and glowing bright before she brings the cigarette down and flicks ash in the tray.

"What happened?" you ask, taking a seat alongside her on the table, pushing a cup aside to make space. It's not exactly hygienic, but nothing the two of you just did was.

"Wonyoung happened. Right before we left school, he left me for her and he thought he had a chance, but, well, you know Wonyoung. She's unattainable."

"You blame her?"

"Fuck no. But it didn't exactly bring us closer. He left me for her, she rejected him. What a mess."

There is always something when Wonyoung is in the picture, a messy little tangled web, something hidden behind those silky smiles. She's the reason for many lost loves and many lonely nights. You take a pause to appreciate that fact—to see what's really at the core. She’s the common denominator. Wonyoung—the arrogant heartbreaker.

"So what was all that about? On the phone?" you ask, trying to make some sense of it all.

Minju laughs aloud, tilting her head back and blowing smoke up towards the ceiling. She holds her cigarette between her slim fingers and rests her other hand on your thigh. "I wanted to play with her a little. I wanted her to know. Because well, and no offense, but you’re one of her possessions. She basically owns you. Don't get me wrong, it's kinda hot, but I wanted to see how she would react."

"So you teased her."

"Pretty much."

She laughs a little. There is some spark in her eye, born out of childish fun.

"Don't think she cares," you shrug.

You both turn toward the door that leads back into the bar. You both heard it. Out there. The knock against the front door of the bar.

Minju turns to you, crushing her cigarette into the ashtray beside her. There's a smirk on her lips and amusement in her eyes. In that look alone, there's a lot to unpack; there's an air of knowing, a glimmer of deviousness, and something else lurking beneath the surface.

"Then why is she knocking on the door?"

Next Part

#minju smut #minju x reader #izone smut #kim minju smut #kpop smut #male reader #m reader #wonyoung smut

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russo-woso · 2 months ago

Text

Wicked || Leah Williamson x actress!reader

Masterlist | Prompt list

Summary You spent hours practicing songs, Leah having to deal with it all but as soon as she saw it all come to life on the big screen, all she felt was pride

A/N I saw wicked today and immediately thought of this idea

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It's time to try defying gravity

I think I'll try defying gravity

And you can't pull me down

You sang the words with emotion, practicing the scene and lyrics like you were filming then and there.

But instead of in a studio practicing, you were at home, scrubbing a frying pan because you’d burnt it.

You were playing the role of Elphaba in the new and upcoming movie ‘wicked’.

It was a breakthrough role for you, due to being a relatively new actress so you had to be perfect. Hence why you were practicing with every free minute you had.

There was one song though that you’d been dreading, defying gravity.

It was slightly out of your vocal range but you were determined to nail it.

So because of your determination, you were singing it fifty times a day

Which was admittedly, helping you, but it was also driving your girlfriend up the wall.

Leah had always been your biggest supporter, helping you practice lines or lyrics but this time, the non stop singing was driving her crazy.

She understood though, and each time you sang it, a small smile would appear on her face.

“How was that, baby? Did I hit the note?” You asked Leah, who walked into the kitchen.

“You were perfect, darling. You always were with the song and even more so now. So can you please stop singing it?” Leah said, walking behind you’d wrapping her arms round your waist and resting her head on your shoulder.

“I have to sing it, Le. I have to get it perfect. Now, sing it with me.” You said, a grin appearing on Leah’s face as you belted out the song.

I'd sooner buy defying gravity

Kiss me goodbye, I'm defying gravity

And you can't pull me down

Leah just watched you in amazement, your voice sounding angelic.

“Darling, that’s the thirty seventh time you’ve sung it today. Don’t you think that’s enough?” Leah asked

“Fine. Anyway, my throats hurting a bit now.” You said, Leah laughing in response.

“I’m not surprised.”

—

It had been three days since then and you had flown out to America to film the final few scenes of the film, including the song defying gravity.

You and Ariana finished the final notes, the whole set silent, every single crew member speechless and mesmerised at the song.

It was incredible, even you could admit it.

The movie was officially over, it was all done and wrapped.

You flew back to England the following day, Leah welcoming you with open arms, whispering how proud she was.

Now, it was time for waiting.

—

It wad finally happening. The premiere.

Your leg bounce up and down on the taxi floor.

“Darling, it’s gonna be fine. You’re gonna do perfect, I know it. Everyone’s gonna love the film.” Leah said before pressing her lips to your temple. “I’m gonna be with you the whole time too.”

“I love you, Le.”

“I love you more, pretty girl. Now come, the crowds waiting.” Leah grinned, opening the car door and holding it for you to get out.

You stepped on the red green carpet, the press calling your name, telling you to look at them.

You gripped Leah’s hand, Leah squeezing yours in return, the two of you doing simple poses for the cameras.

You made your way inside, calming down a bit.

You had a few conversations with cast and crew members before finally taking your seats, the lights dimmed and the screen lit up.

Leah was already so proud even before defying gravity but my god, she was overwhelmed with pride.

You sang the words effortlessly, hitting the notes you’d spent weeks working on perfectly.

Tears shelled in Leah’s eyes as she watched you on the screen, her emotions getting to her.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” You whispered quietly, wiping her tears.

“I’m just so proud of you.” Leah sobbed

You just pressed your lips to her cheek in response.

The credits started rolling, cheers filling the room.

The director of the film quickly said a few words before calling you and Ariana up to say a few too.

Ariana went first, before handing the mic to you.

“Firstly, I just want to say thank you to the crew members, without you the magic wouldn’t be able to come alive. Ariana, a big thank you to you. You made the god awful night scenes speed by. However The biggest thank you goes to someone who’s been with me for my when career. Leah, you have had to endure the torture of hearing me belt song after song for weeks. Thank you, Le. Anyway, enough of the tears now. Let’s get the after party started!”

“I know you said no more tears, but I can’t help it. I’m just so so proud of you.” Leah said, wrapping you in her arms.

“Thank you, baby. Thank you for everything over the past few months.”

“Don’t say thank you. Now, do you feel like going to the after party?” Leah asked, a smirk on her face.

“Why? Have something else in mind?”

“Maybe…”

#woso #woso community #woso x reader #woso imagine #womens football #woso fanfics #leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #Spotify

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livwritesstuff · 2 months ago

Text

Steve returned from the grocery store the Saturday before Halloween expecting to be met with the naturally kind of bedlam his three daughters and Eddie carving pumpkins all together.

He expects yelling and arguing and all kinds of mess (last year Steve found pumpkin "entrails", as Eddie calls them, on the ceiling somehow). On the contrary, the house is quiet when Steve walks into the house, and in the kitchen, where the pumpkin carving was supposed to be taking place, he only finds Eddie, laser-focused on his own pumpkin amidst an otherwise vacant table.

“So how’s pumpkin carving with the kids going?” Steve asked pointedly.

“Yes, yes, I love spending quality time with our children,” Eddie replies without looking up.

“Where’d they go?”

“Well, Moe didn’t like dealing with the pumpkin guts, which, whatever, that’s fine. I said I’d de-gut her pumpkin for her, so she left, and then I lost the other two when their arms got tired.”

(He puts air quotes around that last part).

“Lo and behold, here I am carving pumpkins all by my lonesome.”

Steve looks at the table to see three gutless pumpkins sitting where their daughters had once been.

“Hmm.”

He heads off in search of the hellraisers and finds them all piled in on the couch watching cartoons.

“Uh, hello,” he said, switching the TV off and ignoring their groans of protest, “Did we get lost or something? Dad’s carving pumpkins all by himself. Not very Halloween-spirit of you guys.”

“The pumpkin seeds part is so gross,” Moe says, nose wrinkled.

“Yeah, nice try. Dad took care of it for you. He took care of that for all of you, and so you’re gonna go downstairs and carve pumpkins with him because he’s really good to the three of you and he loves getting to do this Halloween stuff with you guys.”

Steve can tell that they’ve all been convinced even if they’re pretending not to be (and Hazel would probably be downstairs already if she wasn’t following her big sisters’ leads), but maybe just need one last pre-teen push.

“Whoever’s downstairs first gets first-round pick in the candy draft.”

The girls glance at each other for a moment before all at once they’re all scrambling for the kitchen.

#the candy draft is how they divvy up whatever candy is left in the bowl they leave outside while they’re out trick-or-treating #it’s a very big deal #moe and robbie end up competing for 'most complex pumpkin carving' and sit there for hours #also for the record - steve was at the grocery store because eddie got all the pumpkin carving supplies *except* tealights #liv’s steddie dads verse #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie dads

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sweetimpurity · 3 months ago

Text

💖 day 24!! literally by a minute woah this is part three I hope it makes sense haha! it's hard to write when there's two different Miguel's. wc: 2.3k

Mig = Earth 731 Miguel = Earth 928

Part 1 Part 2

Earth 731

The dreams haunt him for days. Then for weeks. Then those weeks turned into months. Every night he’d dream of you. Your body, your face. Every day he would watch you. Watch you wake up beside your Miguel, watch you get ready for work, watch you leave for work. He’d observe your walk to work and like always, make sure you get there safely. And by the end of the day he’d watch you do it all again in reverse. All the while he goes about his days. Working on his portal generator and analyzing video feed, collecting parts for his machine and even going to a few shady shops to buy rare parts. Determined to get to you. Determined to leave his dimension and go somewhere else. With you.

He’s got his sights set on Earth 546. It’s almost a mirror to your dimension but there’s no Miguel O’hara there. And there’s no you there. So you’ll both easily be able to take your place in this new dimension.

And finally… finally after months of working, of obsessing, he finally cracks it. The generator glitching and sparking during his first few test rounds but then he’s able to send an object through and track where it lands. Tossing his ‘worlds biggest brain’ coffee mug through the swirling portal and watching it through his numerous feeds, plopping down in Earth-965A. Exactly the coordinates he set. Success. Now to think of a plan. He’s got the destination, he’s got the wristbands he constructed to prevent glitching across dimensions. One for you and one for himself. Now to find his opening.

Tonight, he’s watching the feed as usual. Some of the views from street cameras and satellites are obscured as you and your Miguel take a walk on the beach. His brow is furrowed, studying the feed, trying to figure out what the two of you are doing. He knows it's your anniversary. He listened to you talk about it with a friend at work today. And he already knows that your Miguel is going to miss it. Even while you’re holding hands and walking on the beautiful sunset soaked sand, he doesn’t trust your Miguel to actually follow through.

Finally he watches the two of you entering the restaurant. Your favorite restaurant. He knows because he’s heard you say it before. Sitting down and watching you order the food. Watching the way your Miguel speaks to you, like he’s judging every inflection, every phrase. Pushing up his glasses and working quietly on something else he’s building. Always building something, always trying to work on new inventions, it’s one of the ways he escapes.

"Babe... I'm so sorry... I think I have to go." He hears through the feed, looking up, turning up the volume and paying closer attention. Hearing your heartbroken tone when you ask if he’s sure. Like you’re just begging for him to give you a sliver of undivided attention. Watching your Miguel get up from the table and say a few more words before he’s leaving the place. Leaving you alone sitting there on your anniversary.

"You'll be my number one babe... when I get back I promise… I love you…” He hears the words. Your boyfriend clearly is not caring about the effect his words and departure are having on you. Just watching him go. Switching the feed to watch him scaling the side of the building and swinging off to go fight another villain. Of course he can understand the temptation, with great power comes great responsibility. But this is you. You are the one being forgotten and he can’t let it go on. This is his opening.

Over the next hour, everything is set and ready. Pressing his suit to go on, nanotech spread over his skin and his face. Punching into his generator and then…

Destination: Earth 928 calibrating…

"Baby!" He calls. His breath catching in his throat seeing you there at the end of the alleyway. Like an angel. A vision from his dreams: you're there. And it’s the first time he’s seeing you in the flesh. “You have to come with me. Right now baby… This dimension’s gonna go.” He explains, trying to sound believable. Trying not to break down when he finally feels the pressure of your hands in his. Just like how he’d always imagined it. And looking down at you through his suit, your eyes, your pretty face is so much more beautiful when it’s not on a pixelated screen. He has to stop himself from hugging you tight and never letting you go.

When you willingly go with him, it’s an answer to his wishes. The promise of his torturous dreams come to life. Keeping his hands on you so he’ll never be separated from you again. He walks you through the portal and it closes behind you both. Gone.

2 months later.

Earth 546

“YOU!”

Mig looks up from his desk, out his office door to see who’s shouting down the hall. Alchemax employees turning and looking too, whispering and discussing the drama unfolding. Whispering about ‘twins’, chatting about ‘that guy looks just like Dr. O’hara’ until Miguel 928 storms across the room. “Shit shit shit” Mig 731 grunts, leaving his seat and rushing to get up and try to close the door before he can barge in. But it’s too late. And that door wouldn’t have done much of anything anyway. BAM! Miguel bursts through the door, knocking it through, in his spider suit ready for action and shooting a death glare at the variant before him. “Where is she??” He demands an answer.

“Where is who? I don’t-”

“Where is my girlfriend? The one you literally stole from me two fucking months ago??” He shouts through the small room, making people get up from their desks and wonder what's going on. Miguel growls, turning and seeing prying eyes. Grabbing the door he busted down and slamming it back in the doorframe, securing it with webs so no one can get in.

“L-look you-”

“Just shut up and tell me where she is. She’s coming home with me, I’ve been searching for two months, tracking that damn portal and now I finally found you. Where. Is. She?” Miguel stalks closer to him, making Mig step back up to the windows, his back facing the glass. Increasingly on edge. He didn’t think this day would come. He didn’t think he’d be caught. There are infinite Miguel O’haras and yet he still found him. The two Miguel's face to face.

“You-”

“What, did you kill some other Miguel and take his place here? Think you can put on a fucking lab coat and pretend like you belong here? There’s not even supposed to be a Miguel O’hara in this dimension!” Miguel shouts.

“I know that! And I didn’t kill anyone!” Mig finally shouts back, taken aback by his alternate self’s aggression. But he’s not surprised after watching him treat you so poorly for months.

“Then what’s this all about? What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Miguel growls. Glaring at him with fury in his eyes. “This is about her.” Mig says simply, stoking the fire that’s already blazing in Miguel. “You left her alone… so many times and… she needed you. She needs me.”

“You think you can be me, you don’t know the first thing about me.” Miguel seethes. And Mig gives him an incredulous look.

“Are you kidding, I am you!” Mig shouts before he’s socked in the nose by Miguel’s flying fist. Knocking his glasses off his face, instant blood dripping down his lip. “You son of a bitch-”

Hands go flying, the variants tearing the place apart. Mig’s nose is bleeding still while Miguel’s anger gets the best of him. Webs scatter and stick to almost every surface in the room as the two hulking heroes try to take each other down.

“I watched you ignore her for months!” Mig shouts, slamming Miguel up the wall and landing a powerful blow to his alternate’s jaw. “You don’t deserve her.” He growls, winding up for another punch before Miguel slams his shoulder into his opponent's chest, knocking him back, the fight continuing because they’re perfectly, flawlessly matched of course. Neither of them is stronger to defeat the other.

“You think you deserve her any more? She doesn’t even know who you are!” Miguel yells, throwing punches of which most are dodged, shooting webs, pulling, knocking Mig off his feet. He scrambles off the floor, pushing through the broken door and webs. Alchemax workers gasping in horror watching him emerge. This man they’ve come to know in the past two months as a new geneticist. And his insane, violent twin come to kill him.

Mig bursts through the door, dashing down the hall and loosening his tie. Pressing the side of his neck and his suit starts to appear. Nanotechnology spreading down his body and covering his skin, replacing the smart work attire he was wearing before. He runs down the halls, past panicked onlookers. Running for the door to the roof and when it’s locked he just slams his shoulder into it to get it open. Sprinting up to the roof of Alchemax Industries, the wind whipping past his cheek until his mask fabricates over his face. Masked in his signature red and blue cowl. Checking his surroundings to quickly make sure Miguel 928 isn’t on his tail before thwipping off and swinging from building to building to get to the apartment.

…

Miguel’s been so lovely ever since the collapse. When he told you the dimension was as good as gone, he assured you this life would be better, guiding you through and explaining that this dimension was meant to be your home now. Together.

You even have a diamond on your finger now. Finally after all this time. You suppose all it took was the collapse of the timeline to make him get his priorities straight. Proposing only days after getting to this new place.

“Baby?” You hear him call from the living room. Poking your head out of the kitchen to see him stepping in through the bay window. In his spider suit? That’s a bit unusual nowadays.

“Hey, how was work?” You ask with a smile. Mig smiles at you in the dimness of the apartment, trying to calm his breathing and act like everything’s normal. As he’s been doing for two months now. Pulling the shades in the living room closed, walking past you and kissing your cheek tenderly, passing to the kitchen to close those blinds too. It’s been a little hard to read him ever since coming to this new place. He’s just so different now in a lot of ways. But for the better you think. He hardly ever goes out as Spiderman anymore, always opting to stay home with you to make dinner, maybe slow dance in the kitchen. To spend the evenings talking and laughing, end the night making love. Even the way he makes love to you is a bit different. More tender, more patient. Less like he’s coming to you for relief and more like he’s genuinely interested in making a connection with you every time. Like every time he’s inside you it’s like he’s been longing for it for ages.

“Work was good um… yeah it was good” He stops in the kitchen to face you and it’s in this light you’re able to see the marks on his face. The bruises and the stain of red under his nose. “My god, what happened?” Your smile fades, stepping closer and looking up at his beaten face. And why are you in your suit? You think silently.

“Just ran into some crooks, y’know…” He sighs, not wanting you to worry,but his calm demeanor hardens when his super sensitive hearing picks up a thud on the roof. Staring at you with wide eyes as you speak. “You should put some ice on that, love, it’s going to really hurt…” You say, walking past him to get the ice from the freezer. He stays deadly still, listening. Footsteps, heavy footsteps on the roof and he just knows. He huffs, fast, long strides around the apartment to lock the doors, even pulling the chain locks closed. Making sure the windows are closed, the curtains closed. You’re trying to get him an icepack and he’s marching around the apartment like a madman. Locking up the place. He won’t let you leave him. Not ever. Not when he’s finally got you to himself. He loves you too much.

“Baby…” He hums suddenly at the kitchen door. Watching you wrap an icepack in paper towel so it won’t be too cold on his skin. “Yes?” You look up at him, in his eyes.

“I love you…” He sighs. All serious and sincerity. Slowing walking towards you around the kitchen island. “I love you too…” You reply softly, watching him come closer. “Did you hit your head or something?”

“No… I just… want you all to myself tonight… and forever…” He hums, brushing some hair behind your ear and admiring your face. The face he watched on a screen for so long, takes his breath away every time he’s this close to you. Feels like he’s known you a lifetime. “Will you say you’re mine?” He whispers, cupping your cheek.

“I’m yours…” You reply without a thought. Because why would you need to think?

His lips are instantly on yours, like he’s been yearning to kiss you. Like he’s needed to do it for a million years. His tongue delving into your mouth, his large hands coming to both sides of your face and holding. Bringing your mouth back to him anytime you gasp for air. Anytime you’re too far from him for even a second. Biting down on your lips and rubbing his tongue alone your firmly. Tasting you and licking into your sweet perfect mouth.

You’re his. And no one will take you from him. Not even himself.

Taglist!! love my sweeties!

@spooky-sculder

@slushycoookie @xxyaoi-nationxx @snails-doodles22 @scaryplanetdestroyer @fate13

@divorcepaperz @yeahnohoneybye @zaunsin @tomalymme @drefear

@mrs-pondwater19 @saintdiior @aphinthestars @hyjionie

@palomanh @maxad99 @muuuwoppppp @reader-1290

@sp0ck136 @lazyninjaphilosopher

@pinkdizzyship @opalwitchart

if you'd like to be added/dropped from the taglist, please comment on my masterlist post. Or else I might not see it! thank you! 🩷

plus those who requested a part 2+:

@d3stin7 @laysmt @yougavemeyourheartyouknow @marshhbs

@twwcs @resident-clown @haveclayeveryday

@fullmetal-spiderling @grumpyahjumma

@lxverrings @lazyjellyfish300

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